#kai ff

The snow winks at you differently, today.

Jaw tight, you kick and tread through heavy snow piles. The air is like glass on your cheeks and snowflakes wet your head where they come falling down over you, but faulty paint strokes and the heavy weight of a paintbrush in your hands smear over it.

No matter how you plan before sitting down to create, it just falls flat. The colors are flat and wrong, the shapes don’t bloom into story, and…

None of it looks good. It’s as simple as that. You are shit at it, and it’s what you’ve chosen to do for the rest of your life. When you’re not able to make something worthwhile, even for a grade? 

You don’t create much for school, and you create nothing at home. All that will come from you putting brush to canvas is wasting the hours of your day away. All that will come is creating something that further solidifies your failings. Maybe you aren’t the worst, but you are a lifetime away from the best. That doesn’t get you anywhere; so what is the point of it? It’s pointless. You are doing something pointless with your life, and you are only going to hate it more each time you drag your feet into the classroom you once loved to slather paint on canvas. And then, when you take that long walk back home that leaves you an awful amount of time to think, you come to one conclusion.

You can’t create. Not if you want to preserve that talent that you once had. Or, at least your ability to believe that you have it. If you pick up your tools and from it create something awful, then your fear becomes real. So, you can’t.

 Today, you’ll create your last piece. Something impermanent, that you can kick down and move on from. Then, you’ll drop out, and find something else. Maybe someday, you’ll find what you used to feel for your first love again. You hope so; you’ve watched it leave you with each frustrated swipe of the brush and felt it go when your throat would tighten at the sight of your finished projects. Losing that love is something featured in stories since the dawn of humanity. But, losing this love is different. You can’t go and speak with it, nor can you plead with it, and you certainly cannot touch it to drag it back. It’s something wholly inside of yourself, and you find it impossible to reach. You’ve tried forcing yourself to paint, you’ve tried breaks, and you’ve tried waiting for inspiration. Still, it’s so far from your touch.

You blink a stray snowflake out of your lashes and stop. The little patch of snow is flat and twinkles with morning—it’s perfect. For a moment, you admire it. Then you get to work.

Handfuls of snow melt through your cotton gloves. At some point, your fingers go tingly and then unfeeling. The snow is powdery and loose, but that’s no matter to you. You compact it down into something solid and pack it into smooth-edged shapes. Around you, just beyond the thick focus that you let fall over you when you work, people bustle by. Some stop to watch you, the ice crystals like glitter captured in the form of the sculpture catching their eyes as they pass. They move on when you don’t entertain them, though.

All you know is the sweet song of a mourning dove cooing, and the working of your hands. You don’t think much further than that; what comes from your carving and shaping is a misty, shimmering wisp of consciousness. Whatever had been brimming in your blood, you let it go—let it take shape.

You give a little here, adding chunks where it’s missing, and take a little there, carving when your heart suggests it. It grows and claims space for itself. It seems that it’s never enough; every time you intend to take a step back, you find just one more thing that needs your fixing.

When you do finally dust off your gloves, snow clinging to the fluff, you’re stricken to the spot—hit right in the gut with a roll of something you haven’t felt in so long. In the angles of the shoulders, you see flashes of resting your head there like they were built just to hold you. In the column of the neck, you feel the pressing of your lips against the warm skin down the side of it. In the pretty splay of the hands, you feel the appreciative, devoted pressure of hands roaming and kneading the plusness of your belly and thighs, holding them with reverence even when you didn’t see them as something to revere.

And, in the face, you see him held  everlasting in the wintery serenity of the snow: your dead boyfriend.

Tracing the lines of him, you swallow hard. He’s exactly as he was in life, but he is unmoving. His eyes are all twinkling with ice particles, and not with the alive, benevolent light that you remember. When you tug off a glove, itching to feel the shape of his cheek once more, he’s sickeningly cold to the touch.

You run your finger over his cheek, as soft as you remember it, and down the length of his nose, heart aching at the little bump on the bridge of his nose as you find that just as you remember it, too. Looking up into his eyes, you can almost feel the weight of his gaze the way it feels in your memory. 

His lips are crisp against your mouth. Maybe you look mad to a passerby, but you want to remember the shape of his lips, too. You linger there for a few moments. Just long enough for you to pretend, and then you let your lashes flutter back open and bring your mouth away from the snow.

Sitting still, lifeless, he does not smile that easy smile he should. The one he used to, when you’d steal his lips in a chaste kiss. Your heart, having soared up into the snow-heavy clouds as light as air, sinks. Of course, he doesn’t. The only place that his smile still lives and breathes in is your memories. You just ache to see it somewhere else at least once more. That’s all.

Tugging your glove back on to save your pale fingers, you try to dull the twinging in your chest and the bitterness that closes around your throat. You’ll go home, and you’ll begin trying to forget your art. You don’t kick it down like you’d come here intending to, though. Not this one. What a beautiful last work it was. Huffing a curling breath of frosty, silver air, you take one last look at him.

From his lashes, clumps of dusty snow fall like fairy dust. You furrow your brows, and more comes tumbling down. It crumbles and crumbles, falling from his eyes to reveal deep chocolate, and then from his face to reveal warm flesh, and then he shakes it off the rest of him.

He shakes it off the rest of him. 

Your mouth goes dry, looking up at his eyes, and he looks at you back.

“Love?”

The sound comes from his chest like both a potent balm and the sharpest blade. It melts into your skin and nurses the hurt there, and it cuts them right back open. Hearing the name you’ve not heard for so long in his voice—you reel.

“Kai?” you say. Your voice wobbles like your legs do. Aside from the both of you, the rest of the world goes hushed and still. 

He furrows his brows, bringing a hand up to caress your cheek. Your skin prickles at the warmth. He’d been so, so cold just a moment ago. “What’s wrong? Why do you look like you’re about to cry?” he asks.

You want to sit here all shaken, but you can’t. Not when he’s standing before you in the flesh. Standing before you real. Opening up your arms, you crush him between them and press your face into his chest. Puffing your breaths, your nose and cheeks sigh relief at the warmth that seeps out from him, and in that you know he is solid.

“Woah,” he says, trailed off by a soft laugh. Kai wraps his arms around your waist and rests his cheek on the top of your head. “Hugs, baby.” 

For a few moments, something between just a split second and an eternity, you hold him and he holds you. It snows and snows down on you. When you finally pull back enough to speak to him, you say, “You’re real. Oh my god, you’re fucking real.”

With a raise of his brows, he says, “I’m real. Right here. I’m right here.” He runs a quick hand through his hair and drags his hand down his face to show it.

Opening your mouth, you close it right back up to decide which of the infinite things you want to ask him. “I…” you start. “Kai, you were dead. You were dead, and now you’re standing… right here in front of me. I don’t…”

In the sweet, dorky way that tugs at memories, one corner of his lips turn up into a slight smile. “I guess I was. But I’m here now, aren’t I?” He takes your cheek in his hand. “I never left you, darling. Maybe you couldn’t see me like this, but I never did. I promised you that, didn’t I?” When your face crumples, an awful twisting of your features that you fight to contain, he curls his fingers over your hand and brings it up to his cheek. “Feel. Feel, I’m real, aren’t I? Don’t cry. You don’t have to cry, because I’m here.”

Your heart thunders and storms, and your cheeks sting with tears. Swallowing it all down, you say, “I missed you so much, Kai.”

He reaches up to brush snowflakes off your hair. “I know. I missed you too.” When his eyes fall on you and your shivering self, he says, “I was there with you the whole time.”

It hadn’t felt like that. If he was alive inside you, you didn’t feel it. All you felt was hollow. And if he was in the world around you, that felt empty, too. But, he’s here now, and it doesn’t feel so much the same. “How?” you say, shaking your head. You wish you could have felt him. “Where?”

“Everywhere, love. You didn’t go one day where I was not there. In the frost, I was there.”

You don’t know what that means. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how that might be possible, or if it’s even the truth, or if this is some kind of miracle spun with the silver threads of the fates. Whatever it is, he stands in front of you now. Nothing else really matters much but that.

“Do you want to go home?” you ask. Out here, this moment feels fleeting. All you want is to be there, in the same place where you’d made your lives together, so that you can solidify it and keep it safe from the world. 

Peppering kisses all about your face, he snorts. “Look at your nose. You should’ve been home hours ago.”

You let your eyes flutter shut in the onslaught of his lips against your skin. “I know,” you mumble. Then, you would’ve snarked about his worrying. Kai was always worrying over you, and you’d crinkle your nose and demand that you’re doing fine.

Like this, though, you don’t mind his doting so much. Not now, and not ever again, you think. Not when he, hewn from snow and brought to life by your kiss, is utterly real and utterly alive in front of you. Not when he is the art in your life.

You think you might go home and pull out your paints.

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

✎୭ ashlynn's note AHHH i don’t know how to feel about this one.

 He closes his eyes when his finger pressed the last digit, he bites his lips and presses down the door handle. His heart almost leaps out of his rib cage when the familiar tone sounds and the door opens. Kai is still able to go home and sleep inside tonight.

He takes his time to have his warm shower, finishes his cup of tea, and of course his 10 steps skin routine. He finishes his preparation for bed, but he's not feeling like sleeping yet. His mind still preoccupies him with the surprising news the whole world read. Kai glances at the sleeping figure on his bed. Yes, he always asks you to sleep first and to not wait for him to come home.

 He knows you need sufficient sleep to work from nine to five each day. Usually, you force yourself to wake up and wait for your boyfriend. You feel like it is necessary for couples to wait for each other after work, share about what happened that day, and maybe after some teas you two can go to bed together. Tonight, Kai finds you sound asleep already and he's a tad bit grateful. He kisses your mouth quick and walks to the balcony to clear his mind.

His hand trembles when he takes out a box he has never reached for years. Sadly tonight, he will break the promise he made. Kai lifelessly takes out a bar of cigarette, bites it between his lips, and he lights it up in one go. The small red glow from the bud, accompanies him under the hiding moon. He lets out a trail of smoke out of his lungs and coughs from the foreign feeling. He stops to cough and inhales clean air. He knows if Kyungsoo and (y/n) knows, they will feel sad and Kai especially hates seeing the two of them sad, but he cannot help it today.

His mind is still cloudy from the encounter earlier, the sudden hug, the shocking news, and the company's warning. Little did they know, even the ex girlfriend threatens him earlier. She threatens him by telling Kai that she can bring the break-up incident to the social media and let fans decide what Kai must do. 

Although in reality, they break up nicely because Kai doesn't feel the same anymore to his ex upon seeing her walking out of a bar with another man. Kai lets her go nicely, but she doesn't really accept the break up. Kai meets you three months after his heart break and he grows fond of you. He met you when his order of coffee got mixed up with yours. You become the healer of his love life, and you step into a deeper relationship with Kai after three months of knowing one another between tight schedules. You move into a shared apartment after your first anniversary.

Kai reaches for his phone and dials a number hovering in his mind.

"Kyungsoo hyung,"

The talk goes on for a moment, with Kai not realizing you're already eaves dropping him. You know it is wrong to eaves drop someone, but when you smell the faint hint of smoke and you see Kai still not sleeping beside you, you know something is wrong. He reaches for his second bar, and you know you have to stop him right then and there. You rise from the comfortable fortress and slip into your fluffy slippers. You make your way to the half closed French window.

Kai is still taking his time, pouring his emotions into the call with his favorite brother. You stand behind him, wrap your arms around his hard rock torso and you lean in slowly to breathe in his soft shampoo scent. He jolts a bit but puts his palm over yours and slowly caress it.

"Hyung, I think it's all for tonight. Go take some rest, sorry for bothering you. Good night," Kai ends his call urgently and turns off his half smoked bar.

You keep your mouth closed, but your actions shower him with attention and speak enough. He tightens your hug and you clearly see Kai sheds a tear under the moonlight. You're hurt to see the pain in his eyes and the tears that slow but steadily made their way to stream down the perfect face. You bring your thumb to wipe it and pull him to a sweet and slow kiss before he can sob.

You know about the news that afternoon, you know about the fans that are hyping up and wishing them to bring back their relationship. You know about him being called by the company, probably asking him if he is up for another public play.

"It's okay to cry, we will get through this together. I trust you Kai," you pull back and stare into his wet eyes. It hurts you so much to see tears falling down from that same eyes that always offer you the stars and galaxy. After all idols are also humans, Kai is a human who bleeds when he falls down, he crashes and he breaks down. He feels touched when he realizes you trust him with all your heart that he knows which is the right thing to do.

"I'm going crazy. They're now controlling my life even to my love life." He forces a smile into his face and after pulling his mind back together he whispers close to your lips, "I need you,"

You push him back and smirk, "You're done crying? Not today nini, you're tired and emotional. A good cuddle to sleep is what you need."

Kai steals another quick kiss and drags you into the warm room. He closes the French window and draws the curtain back. You jump to the bed faster than him, your eyes are aching to close. Kai walks to the other side, before stopping at your words.

"Kai, stop smoking. I am not kissing your mouth anymore. It feels and smells smoke."

He smiles, brushes his teeth and return to hug you by your side. You smell his fresh scent and nod, "That's better. Please instead of smoking, just share to me what is bothering your mind. Wake me up if I fell asleep like before. Your well being is more precious than my sleep. Now, good night sweetheart, I trust you and I love you."

Last night I told you everything.

Last night, I blurted it out, suddenly careless and reckless with my tongue, because you were smiling. It was the kind of smile that feels warm from every angle, like suddenly being kissed by sunlight or touching candle wax after the flame has been extinguished. It was the kind of smile that made my heart feel too full, the swell of it pushing things out of me without my permission. When you smile, it’s always like this, but lately, I’ve been losing control over myself around you. I’m surrendering to you. I do not want to stop.

The words fell out of my mouth, fast and gleeful and desperate to touch your air, your skin, your lips. They fell out of my mouth, messy and disorganized - a lot like me, really - and so fast that I didn’t even know I was hurting you until I saw your eyes, crestfallen behind your grin as you collapsed into confusion. I know I should feel remorse for this, for all of it. For the words and the feeling and your anguish, and I do but only for part of the reason.

Hurting you, however small or large, feels like slitting my throat, a fast tear at the jugular that makes it hard to breathe or see past the horror. Like this, I bleed out until I am barren, a husk that has emptied itself for you, angry at itself and wishing for things to be fixed. Hurting you feels like tearing fissures in the terrain of your skin, making grooves and valleys where there should be none, and watching the pain quake you into something not have to be. Hurting you feels like destruction, like an unintentional oblivion, and I can’t forgive myself for any of it. Can’t but, mostly, don’t want to.

It’s hurting you that I hate, but I’m not sorry for saying the words. The thing is that they are the truth, and the thing is that they are so ingrained in my love for you that simply saying I love you feels like a lie if you don’t know the whole of it. This kind of love has been living a life, always, before I even knew it existed. This kind of love has been sitting in the back of my throat for centuries because it’s been growing. We’ve done this a hundred times, and we will do it again - I will do it again.

Here is what I said: The best part about time travel is that I always find you and get to love you.

What I meant to say is: I’ve been loving you since the dawn of time.

You have to remember that time is a human construct, it doesn’t actually exist unless someone is counting it. You have to remember that time is conceptual, always happening, always moving, always waiting to be touched. You have to remember that time only starts the moment you can perceive it - anything before doesn’t really exist unless you ruminate on it, unless you choose to let it.

What you have to remember is that time, for me, only started the moment I saw you.

1953 / 301 AD

I was born in 1936. Back then, the world was not quiet and we as people could no longer pretend that it was. That was standard, you know, ignoring the reality of things in favor of the pictures, the radio dramas, the neighbors and their new car. Back then, we couldn’t pretend things were okay, not anymore. The Depression was real, even as a child I could feel it in the way my mother opened the canned food, could feel it in the way the cake never tasted right. Did you know that was how boxed cakes came to fruition? Condensing ingredients to save women money and so the kids could at least say they had something remotely sweet. They’ve gotten better, I’ve found. You can’t taste the salt as much.

By the time I turned seventeen, the world was completely different - not just in the map, but in the mood. Things were different, but still there was pretense. Everywhere, people were trying to pretend the world wasn’t on the brink of death. We had an economy and we had surplus, but still we had fear. I guess that’s why I stopped thinking on time altogether, because no matter what we survived nothing, not even our way of life, would change.

Things were tense, I was tense. At that age, I’d already suffered through the terror, the trauma, and the horror of war. I was close to draft age, thought maybe the end of my life was coming. Admittedly, the precipice of it felt anticlimactic. I wasn’t mad that I hadn’t truly lived, just bitter in my acceptance of this reality. It seemed fitting, in a way.

But then, in the middle of an April heatwave, I felt myself start to fade.

It wasn’t the mental kind of fade, the rebellious teenage detachment or the withdrawn emotional recoil from the news and the papers. I mean the kind of fade that says you exist everywhere, everywhere and all at once. I was suddenly spread into little more than a veil, something easily passed through or ignored, an invisible being made of atoms and light and nothing else. My body was gone, as if I never had one, as if my bones were figments of my wasted imagination. For the first time, I was little more than a conscious, lost and screaming.

The world moved around me, slipped and fell apart in spirals around my fingers and I could hold on to nothing because there was nothing. I thought an atom bomb had gone off. I thought the world was ending.

When things reformed - I say things because how do you describe the act of being given a body? How can I explain the way the pavement became grassy plains filled with wild flowers? Intangible, imaginary things became a vivid reality and I didn't know how to react. All I could do was bend over and vomit, soiling this new Earth with things I didn't remember eating.

When things reformed, I saw you. Not this you, but the first one - my first one.

The first time I saw you, the world was small. Not the size of it but the scope of it, the perspective of it. To be fair, back then the world was probably bigger than it had ever been, vast, empty, and mostly uncharted. I guess in a way it was life that felt small, brief and volatile and aching to be lived into extremes.

To this day, I still am not quite sure what you were doing, but your toes were in the river water and you were laughing. There was no one else around but you were laughing and wet, and the simplicity of this moment suddenly made me feel like I was human. For the first time in my brief life, I felt like I was alive and living.

I stayed like that for a long while, a hundred feet away and aching to be close to you. I hated the space but I didn’t want to scare you. My clothes were alarming, I was sure. I didn’t know what had happened or why, but I knew the when was different from the where. You were in robes. They were white. I thought that was meant to be the colour of mourning, but then, maybe you just wanted to remake history with your bravery. You’ve done that a lot, you know, even though you don’t remember doing it.

Regardless, the point is that I had found you and I wanted to stay.

The point is that you were there.

The point is that I saw you.

The point is that you saw me, too.

I got pulled back to my time the second our eyes met and, in the middle of my lawn, I cried. I mean, really openly cried, let the tears fall freely because I knew I’d lost you. Something about you felt important. Something about you felt like you were mine, and without you there, smiling and laughing, the world felt like a void.

For two years, I tried to pull myself back to you. I thought about your face and your eyes and that river so often I even dreamed about them, over and over and over, until all I had to do was think about it before I fell asleep in order to be back in technicolour memory. You were lush and you were lucid, but you were lost.

Until, one day, you weren’t.

Until, one day, I found you.

1741 AD

The perfume smelled different on you, not really bad or good, just different - beyond beauty. Truthfully, it didn’t smell like clove, which is what I think the parfumier told you it was meant to be, or even like the roses you were handing out. You kept those in a basket tucked in the crook of your arm, away from your wrist and neck, as if they were trying to hide. Rather, it smelled like euphoria - or maybe that was me.

I think I got ahead of myself. Let me explain.

When I found you again, it was in the market square of Paris. Dirty, filthy, awful, truly, but wondrous in the way it bustled with activity. Like before, the first thing I saw when I was whole again was you, and again you were smiling. This time, you were wearing red. You had this red traveling cape that made you look like a fairy tale, and I couldn’t even say as much because I didn’t know if it had been written or published yet. Instead, I pretended I invented for you, that the story was mine, or ours, and the world had spent centuries telling the tale about how I, the wolf, found you and loved you into tiny pieces.

You said I looked strange, but you showed no fear. The way you looked at me felt like you were getting close, under my skin and into my marrow, learning my DNA so that you too could copy it. I let you in, let you stay there, swore to myself that you would never leave even if I faded away.

The parfumier thought I had money - laughable, really, because I had just come from a lecture and was emptying myself of all things necessary when I faded. He asked if you wanted to try the clove, said it would match your whim, and you let him spread it over your skin like butter. I was envious, then, of how he got to touch you so freely.

That day, I realized two things:

The first, is that colour is a brute force that means and implies too many intense things. Red is passion, red is fury, red is ownership. It demands something, demands love and demands devotion. You wore that shade all over your person like you were compelling me to submit, to kneel, and to beg. I wanted to. I didn’t care that the cobblestones were covered in piss, I just wanted you to feel proud.

The second, and I think this is most important - because it lasts throughout time - is that odor is persuasive beyond logic, language, and will. You take it in, you hold it, and you taste it. You feel it on your tongue with every movement of your lungs, and it overtakes your blood vessels. It arrests you, totally. You can’t deny it, you can’t eradicate it, you just let it.

You arrested me, totally. You have not stopped.

1252 AD

The third time I saw you, I had finally learned to do it on purpose. All I had to do was think of you, and there you were, but this time it was different.

The third time I saw you, I got stuck. I don’t know when I arrived but I know that by the time I left it had been a year. I haven’t forgiven myself for leaving. Just know, always, it was against my will.

The third time I saw you, we had to hide. That’s what I mean when I say it was different. This time, we couldn’t smile or pretend or say that I was odd. This time, I was a heretic. This time, we had to run.

In our current life, you ask why I wake up screaming, sometimes. It’s not because I’m dreaming, it’s not fucking sleep apnea, it’s because I’m remembering. A lot of me, the soft me, was lost during that year. Months in, I got used to running with blood under my fingernails, got used to seeing you with Godless eyes. Faith was leaving you, reminding you that loving me meant giving up paradise, or, at least, forcing yourself to redefine it. What I remember the most is the sound of swords and the sound of women crying or men dying. Honestly, they all sound the same, in the end.

When we found the hut on the outside bank of the woods, you started to cry. We hadn’t really slept for days, the floor of the forest hard and uncomfortable, animals refusing to be silent. Really, I think we told ourselves this was the problem. Really, it was the open space and the knowledge we would burn if we were found that kept us awake. It was easier to say it was the forest, more pleasant even if it wasn’t honest.

When we found the shack, you started to cry, the stress and the agony falling in hot streaks down your cheeks. I saw the whole of time in those tears, all the problems of the past and future spilling out and over to your skin and my fingers as I wiped them away. That night, I made love to you, felt like the only way we could stay together was by holding on to the flesh and bone of our bodies, loving each other raw until not even God could deny we were destiny. You cried when we found the shack and I cried after we came, hard and long into the crook of your shoulder while my shoulders shook with the thought of disappearing.

I’d been feeling the pull for days and didn’t know how to tell you. It seemed cruel and unfair, at the time, but looking back, all I did was leave you unprepared.

In a year, the worst year of my life, I built something beautiful with you, something I got to call mine. You loved me like a habit, without questions - I mean, really fucking loved me. You never asked questions or forced me to tell you anything, you just loved me with all of you like it was the only thing you knew how to do. How could I tell you I spent years doing the same, not just with all of you but, with every version of you?

I love every version of you because you love me the same way, with open arms and an open heart, making room for me whenever you are because you recognize me as yours, too.

When I faded back, I didn’t go back to my time, I arrived in 2014, lost and sobbing, and knowing that you were probably dead. They’d found us, wrapped in each other’s arms, wholly impossible, wholly in love, and wholly illegal. The found us and I disappeared.

I could not take you with me.

But, like always, you found me. You bought me a coffee. It took me another year to love this new you, and not the one who skinned rabbits to keep herself alive. It took you a year to love me into something less like an animal and more like a man. It took you a year to love me back into someone soft, someone who could say he loved you without filling with regret.

2017 AD

I was born in 1936 and you were not there, or maybe you were and instead I had to find the rest of you first. At seventeen, I discovered this gift or maybe I developed it, maybe it’s my genetic code or maybe there are others like me. I don’t know. I don’t really even care. The point is that I was seventeen the first time I saw you and now I don’t know how old I am, only that time moved the moment I saw your face. I know how I look, young and handsome and fittingly yours, but I know where I’ve been. No, that isn’t right. I know when I’ve been, and this means age is meaningless.

I know I’ve been loving you through, around, and within time. I love you in both a past and present tense, even a future tense, where language bends to make room for the shape of my affection. I have been loving every single version of you, every piece, because it is you and all of you loves me too. Again, that isn’t right. It’s not just all of you, it’s every you. Every me, every you, we fall in love as fast as breathing because it’s natural.

I think of us less as a linear progression of love and more as a circle. It doesn’t really matter where we end or we begin, we are an ouroboros of fervent ardor, consuming one another until I fade and we start again.

Last night, I told you everything.

Last night, you asked me to show you.

I’m telling you that I can, but I am also saying I won’t. Leaving means fading, and I’ve only just started to feel whole. Leaving means leaving you, and I can’t promise I’ll make it back.

You pout, stretching slightly as he rests between your legs and looks up at you. How can a man who did such devilish things to you last night look so sweet and innocent so early in the morning? “It was meant to be my reward and you took that away from me.” Jongin chuckles as he draws a line along your inner thigh and watches how you shiver at his touch.

Your lower half is uncovered, apart from where Jongin lays but the sheets are tangled around him, covering his waist with one knee peeking out from the mess of satin. Your clothes cover the apartment, from the front door through to the bedroom, clothing thrown carelessly as you stripped each other in a hurry to make it to the bed. The smashed vase in the hallway is evidence that Jongin couldn’t wait until the bedroom to have you against the wall and you pray that it wasn’t too expensive – though, it’ll be an expensive reminder of what he’s capable of.

You look down at him from your comfortable position in the large bed and chuckle at the mess you’ve made of his neck and back - like the mess he’s made of your own body. His back is covered in scratches, shoulders a little red from when you sunk your teeth into them to silence the screams that he soon encouraged because he wanted the neighbours to hear. His abdomen is littered with purple blossoms that trail below the belt but Jongin has given as much as he received; your neck, chest and thighs all bear his mark, all show his possessive nature despite knowing that you do not belong to him.

Not that he cares, he enjoys pretending that for today, you are his and he is yours.

“I’d say you were very much rewarded when I came in your mouth halfway home.” He smirks before lifting himself off you and rolling onto his back.

You playfully slap his arm and pout when he looks over at you. “That truly isn’t fair though, that was you who got to have the fun when I was the one who behaved herself all day.”

“I’m the one who had a raging hard-on that was literally painful to have.” He puffs out his cheeks and you giggle at how someone so sexy can be so cute. “Shall we place a bet?” You roll onto your side, placing a leg over his thigh and moving closer towards the body that seems to be like a human sun with how hot he is.

“I bet you’re a betting man.”

Jongin lets out a loud laugh and nods. “I am. I have a fun little toy, a vibrating egg, and if you can make us both a coffee without cumming or begging to cum then you can do whatever you want to me.”

You can’t help but laugh, the nerve of this man to think that he holds all the cards in his hand when you have a few aces up your sleeve. “Oh, Jongin.” Your tone is patronising and he looks at you with a quirk of a brow. “Don’t you think you’ve made enough requests? A blowjob while you’re speeding through the city, the roleplay of two lovers – which we are still playing the part of, I might add – and now, you think you can hold all this power in your hands while I go and make coffee like a good little girlfriend?” He nods slowly, the direction of where you are going with this not quite registering in his head. “How about I make a counter proposal? CEO’s love to make those, don’t they?”

You sit up, tracing a hand up and down his body and watching as goosebumps spread across the golden expanse of his abdomen. “I’m listening.” Jongin speaks slowly, looking at you with excitement and curiosity swimming in those gorgeous brown eyes of his.

“How about,” you kiss above his navel, “I tie you to the bed,” a flicker of the tongue against a sensitive nipple, “and have a vibrator against that pretty cock of yours.” You nip at his collarbone and he shivers with delight because the way you talk dirty does something to him, something he enjoys more than he’ll say. “If you manage to last while I play with the settings, then you can do whatever you want to me.”

“Whatever I want?” His voice is deep, raspy with need and you hum, nodding as you hover your lips over his. “That sounds like a challenge. You’re not going to make it easy.”

You wink. “Of course not, baby. I can’t have you thinking that this will be an easy win but I’m sure you’ve had many challenges and won them all, hmm?”

Jongin takes a moment, contemplating whether he should let you have your fun or if he should play dirty. He’s known for that, especially when it comes to women. His reputation speaks for itself and you’ve heard about the homme fatale CEO who has ruined more marriages than anyone you’ve ever known; Jongin takes what he wants, he doesn’t care who they belong to because when he’s finished with them – they only want him. He was once a professional dancer before building his company from the ground up and you know that his hips don’t lie but you also know – he’s not winning this by whispering a few sweet, seductive words in your ear to get what he wants.

“Uh uh,” you smile knowingly when he opens his mouth to speak. “You took my prize from me last night and you owe me this much.”

He rolls his eyes, wrapping you up in his arms and putting you on your back as he rolls on top of you. “What if I just take what I want?”

“Then, you’d be forfeiting and there’s no fun in that.”

“There’s no fun when my girlfriend isn’t letting me have my way.”

You kiss his chin and look up through your lashes. “Good thing that I’m nothing more than the escort you’ve asked to play the role then, isn’t it?” He huffs, rolling off you and you make your exit quickly, taking his silence as him agreeing to the bet. “Now, where is everything?”

It didn’t take you long to have everything you wanted: red, silk ribbons, a hands-free fleshlight and a vibrating cock ring with a remote control. You straddle Jongin’s waist and he runs his large hands over your thighs and rests them on your hips, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin while you place your palms on his chest and have a moment to appreciate the man underneath you.

His beautiful golden skin is littered with your marks, something that claims him as yours for a short period of time. His body is well toned and proportioned, a dancer’s physique with a waist that makes any woman envious. Everything about him, as you admire the way he looks, from his heated gaze down to the Adonis belt and trimmed pubic hair, screams desirable. Any one of the men you’ve been with, all nine of them, have been in their own looks and ways, desirable; but there is something about Jongin, about the way his eyes capture you in a trance, that makes you almost give everything up for him.

It’s dangerous, a man holding that much power without needing to utter a single word but you know that Jongin wields that power with pride.

“Well,” he breaks the spell, pulling you out of your daydream and back to the task at hand, “shall we begin or are you willing to give me what I want?”

“Maybe if you’re a good boy.” You tease, tapping him gently on the nose with your index finger and causing him to try to bite it.

You grab the ribbons and he allows you to tie his wrists to the headboard, eyes on you the entire time while you focus on making sure that the restraints aren’t damaging his skin, cutting off circulation or going to loosen from his struggles. “If you lean forward a little closer, I could almost suck on those delicious tits while you play the role of the dominating girlfriend.” He teases and you click your tongue. He leans forward, lips latching onto your nipple and you jolt from the slight tug of his teeth when he relaxes and you pull away. “I didn’t pay enough attention to those last night.”

“No.” You settle back onto his lap and trace your hands down his body, moving lower so that you’re on his knees and a hand able to wrap around his erect member. “You were too busy with your head between my legs and having me feel like I’m going to transcend to another plane with how good you are with your tongue.”

Licking his lips, Jongin indicates with his chin for you to come closer. “Maybe instead of going along with this bet, you could just sit on my face and I can see if I can get you to transcend.”

“That sounds like a forfeit, baby, don’t think you can handle what’s about to come?”

“I’m only wanting to play the giving boyfriend role properly.” He gasps when you begin to stroke him. You watch, satisfaction and pride swelling in your chest as Jongin’s pretty pink lips fall open and his eyes flutter for a moment at the feeling of your hand pumping him at a leisurely pace. “If you really want to play this game though,” he sucks air through his teeth, taking a moment to compose himself before looking at you, “I should assure you that I don’t like losing.”

You smile, leaning down and giving him a little kitten lick before reaching for the cock ring; Jongin’s hips lift, hoping for more attention but you are wanting to tease, drag this out for as long as possible before causing him to become putty in your hands. “I can assure you that I don’t plan on losing either, baby.” You chuckle when it seems to effectively shut him up the moment you turn the ring on, the lowest setting at first, and spit on his cock to add some lubrication. “Do you have lube?” You bat your eyelashes, a demure look on your face like you aren’t making his heart race, and Jongin throws his head back in frustration because he attempted to point - but his hands are restrained.

“In the drawer, next to the condoms.” You let him go, climbing off him and he lets out a low whine at the loss of contact.

Jongin’s self-restraint is hanging on by a thread because he wants to enjoy as much of his time with you as he can and he’s not going to achieve that by being tied to the bed. He manages to hold out though, the bet being a push in the right direction because he’s determined to win and turn the tables on you.

The thought of you tied to the bed, whimpering under his touch and begging for him to let you cum is a compelling thought.

The coolness of the gel makes him hiss slightly and you coo softly, making up for the slight uncomfortable chill by spreading it over his red, hard cock and bending down to lick the underside of the shaft. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to forgo the bet, have him at your mercy and play with him in ways that would ruin him for any other woman - though, you know if you were to do that, it would mean you lose and there’s a glint in Jongin’s eyes, one hidden under his desire, that tells you he would have you screaming for him to give you what you want.

“You know the rules.” You let him go and reach for the fleshlight, sliding it onto his cock before turning it on. “You cum before I get back with coffee, you lose.” You turn the ring onto the third setting, watching with delight as his cock twitches from the added stimulation and his toes curl.

“If I don’t, you know I’m going to pay you back for all of this with interest, right?” He grits out, rolling his hips in time with the fleshlight. “I’m going to make sure I’m all you’ll be able to think about for days after this.”

You giggle, sitting next to him on the bed now because you don’t want to disrupt the flow of suction the fleshlight has on him. You trace your lips along his abdomen, mouth against his neck, which he strains to give you access to, before placing your lips next to his ear. “I bet you say that to all the girls, honey.” Jongin growls out in frustration and you stand up, exaggerating the sway of your hips as you walk naked out of the room with the control in your hand.

You take your time, searching through the cupboards and boiling the jug. The remote sits on the counter next to two mugs and you hum to yourself as you look around his spacious apartment. You press the + button twice and hear a distant “fuck” coming from the direction of his bedroom; you don’t hear much else after that though, the sound of water boiling overpowering everything and as the jug grows louder, you increase the speed.

The moment the jug stops, the button clicking off, you quickly lower the speed down to 1 and chuckle at the image of Jongin in your head. His stomach tensed as he was so close to his release, teeth biting into the soft, swollen flesh of his bottom lip as he refused to make a sound and hands tightly holding onto the ribbon as he tried to free himself from the restraints. The moment the vibrations lessened, you imagine a lovely little whine being released, muscles relaxing as he slumps further into the mattress and you smile to yourself as you pour the water into the mugs.

Dating life would be so hard for either of you, the constant disappointment in bed would lead to infidelity and with Jongin’s reputation and your job, it just seems so much easier to deal with casual lovers rather than a committed relationship.

Deeming enough time having passed by, you increase the intensity of the vibrations as you lean against the bench and lazily stir the coffee, continuing to hum a happy tune to yourself. You shake your ass from side to side and begin to play with the vibration settings and speed; you know that it’ll be absolutely torturous for him but you are determined to win the prize that he so rudely took from you last night. You decide to make sure that your victory is secured by turning the vibration right up before grabbing the two mugs and remote, and making your way back to the bedroom.

The scene you walk into is sinfully delicious. The sounds he releases as his head is thrown back, mouth open and moaning loudly as he erratically thrusts into the air and inches closer towards his climax. His sun-kissed skin glistens with sweat and sunlight and you watch as his toes curl with the approaching orgasm and his biceps bulge from the tension of him trying to free himself with no success. The vibrations are faintly heard under the sounds of his sweet, sweet moans and you sip your coffee, watching as his toes curl, eyes clench shut and hips shaking in the air as he cums into the fleshlight and soon begins whining and twisting on the bed as the overstimulation set in.

“Stop,” he whines, “fuck, please.”

You almost clench your thighs together because the sound of his deep, sultry voice whining and begging as he begins to be pushed towards another orgasm. “God,” you shiver with delight, placing the coffees on the bedside table and sitting on the edge of the bed. “Maybe I’ll keep this as my prize.” You watch as his breathing grows heavy again, the intense vibrations mixed with the wonderful workings of the hands-free fleshlight bringing him closer and closer until he groans and throws his head back, shaking as his cum fills the silicon toy. “How does it feel?” You whisper as you trace a finger from one hip to the other and watch him react so sweetly to your touch that you wonder how far you could push him.

“It’s too much.” He whimpers, the stimulation beginning to border the pain side as his cock refuses to soften even though he’s already come twice. “Fuck, please, give me a break.” You take pity, turning off the ring and fleshlight before slowly pulling the toy off his cock. It’s weeping, hard and ready, even though he’s adamant he can’t take anymore.

“How would it feel to have my lips around your cock?” You give the head a kitten lick and he gasps, the shuddering release of his breath indicating that he may be more into this than he’s letting on. “How would it feel to have my pussy milking that cock? Watching you like this has made me so fucking wet.”

Jongin licks his lips, lifting his head slightly to look you in the eyes. “Give me a taste.” You raise an eyebrow, the power you currently have over him intoxicating you in a way that nothing else could. “Please, can I have a taste?”

You hum in satisfaction with his words, climbing onto the bed and straddling his head as you hover your dripping cunt over his hungry mouth. Lowering yourself down, Jongin licks you with the flat of his tongue and you sigh with delight. “I think I’ll take my victory like this.” You say as you reach forward and release his wrists from the silky restraints. “Riding your face until I scream.” Jongin wraps his arms around your thighs and gets to work, humming as he tastes how sweet you are and you just prepare yourself for the fun that’s about to ensue.

If he thinks that this is all you’re going to get from this – he’s sorely mistaken. You have zkdlin’s CEO at your mercy until the end of the day – you’re going to lap this victory up.

The evening air begins to cool the room but Jongin’s warmth keeps you from wrapping up in the sheets. His face is buried into your shoulder blades, his sticky, naked body pressed up against you as he sleeps soundly after the last few hours finally caught up with you both. You had taken that man for a spin that would remain a wonderful reminder of this adventure and conquest you were on. Sure, you may not have gotten anything fancy and spent the entire time in bed but you got the bragging rights of being the woman who got the Kim Jongin to submit and that’s a reward in itself.

Your phone dings and you wonder who it is, you have no more obligations to the men unless they want to set something else up but the message you get is surprising to you. It’s from Kim Junmyeon, asking you if you had thought about his offer. You ponder over the answer, not entirely sure what to do. On one hand, this can’t be your life forever, you have to eventually leave the job and even though you have the money, you refuse to rely on it; on the other hand, you very much like this job, if you did it for at least another four or five years, you’d easily be able to retire without a care in the world.

You click your tongue repeatedly in a thoughtful manner, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as you think about your reply. Jongin pulls you closer, kissing your shoulder before looking over at the phone in your hand. “Is he really serious about the job?” Jongin scoffs, rolling onto his back and you turn to look at him, abandoning the device for the moment.

“What, you don’t think I can do it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know the first thing about you other than whatever you’ve told me and how you sound when you cum.” You roll your eyes when Jongin’s lips pull into a shit eating grin. “It just seems like such a downgrade to go from this,” he waves a hand over himself, “to working at a school.”

You raise an eyebrow, a little annoyed that this man would have the audacity to have an opinion about what you should do with your life. “You have a better offer?”

“I normally do,” he laughs before looking at the annoyance clear in your eyes and letting it die down to a forced cough. “Come work for me. Come be my secretary.” You let out a laugh, knowing exactly what thoughts are crossing his mind. “Or, if you really want to work at the school, you could work in the dance department. I assume you work well with numbers; you know how to handle different people and your organisation skills would be something to rival.”

You nestle into Jongin’s embrace and chew the inside of your lip. There is so much to think about, so much to work out and a list of pros and cons to make but one thing is for sure – you aren’t making the decision tonight.

You pick up the phone and send Junmyeon an emoji blowing a kiss, telling him that you’ll think it over and let him know tomorrow evening. “He’s expecting an answer and you’re telling him to wait, bold move.” You grin, tossing your phone to the side and straddling Jongin’s waist, leaning down to kiss him.

“We have a few more hours of this fantasy of yours, shouldn’t let it go to waste.” He nods, pulling you in for a heated kiss as you begin to grind on him. The night isn’t over yet and if you’re going to change everything about your life – you’re going to make every second of this night count.

But what would tomorrow bring, what answer would you give? Remain living your life as a highly paid escort or work for an ex-client of yours and make a good, honest living? Whatever you choose, that’s tomorrow’s problem.

Profile:

That’s all it was meant to be when she took him back to her place, lips mashed together and hands basically ripping the clothes off each other. It was meant to be one night, a fun one-night stand with a handsome and funny stranger, nothing more, nothing less.

Until the next time happened.

And the next.

Before she knew it, she liked him more than she cared to admit. She wouldn’t have called it anything deeper than an attraction but he always somehow made her feel good. That was until a pattern started to be displayed and alarms started blaring in her head. He would always have to initiate the first move; this was always whenever alcohol was involved and things had to be kept quiet.

She didn’t exactly want anything deep but she did know she deserved better than this.

And that’s when he cut her off.

She was confused, hurt and felt like an idiot. She thought things were okay, thought they had fun and enjoyed each other’s company until she realised the truth - she was nothing more than the flavour of the month.

So, she cut herself off. Built the walls up around her heart and began to understand why he had gained such a nickname throughout the campus grapevine. He had the charm, the dimples and the smile, he knew the right words to say and how to make you feel like his world was about you. They called him The Heartbreak Kid, she never quite understood why when she was first warned about him but like every foolish heart before her, she thought that she might be the one to tame such a man.

If only she had listened to the warnings.

Life moved on, as it always does. Linda finished college and began working full time as a teacher, helping mould the minds of the future generation, she hadn’t dated or given anyone the chance to grow close since which only caused her friends to give her sympathy and pity which she didn’t want. Life had also thrown her a curveball shortly after graduation, an accident had caused her sister and her husband to pass away, leaving their three-year-old in her care.

Linda adapted, managed her life around what was left for her and Addy, and began to raise her niece like her own child. She often jokes about how it was fate that caused her to be a teacher because she needed at least some of that knowledge when it came to kids - but Addy added a little sparkle to her life that she never knew she was missing.

She never gave him another thought, not after that night, because the words he spat in her direction only caused confusion to cloud her mind and anger to boil in her stomach. He treated her like she was disposable, like he could do anything he wanted and if she’s honest, he destroyed her and made her into something unrecognizable. He was true to his name, The Heartbreak Kid, and she was one of his victims.

Soon to be his biggest downfall.

The bath has been something she’s looked forward to, the indicator that the week is done and she can rest. Linda sighs as the warmth seeps into her bones and she relaxes into the tub; no housework, no child to tend to for the weekend, just her and Netflix being able to pretend for a moment that life isn’t super busy 5 days out of the week. She closes her eyes and listens to the sound of silence with a gentle smile on her face.

A soft vibration from the counter beside the tub interrupts her peaceful serenity and she sighs before reaching for her phone. She relaxes a little when she realises that it has nothing to do with her niece but then raises an eyebrow at the name that is in her notifications.

New Message from Kim Kai

Well, that can only mean trouble but strangely instead of being disgusted, she is kind of intrigued. Jongin was fun, even if he was an asshole towards the end, she thought that maybe life had taught him a lesson or two and that they could talk like grown-ups - even if she knows that what he had in mind was something completely different.

Past Linda would slap her for this, knowing that this guy is just bad news but Linda is stronger than that now. She isn’t going to allow some fuckboy to mess with her and besides - he was fun and she needs a bit of a release.

Getting ready, she didn’t put much effort into how she looked, she knew that it’s not like they would be talking and she would be out of her pyjamas quickly so what she is wearing doesn’t make any difference. She laughs when he sends another message telling her that he’s ready and waiting, causing her to take her time, making him wait is part of the fun. It doesn’t take her too long to get to him, he’s standing outside in the cold night air and she shakes her head and laughs when he gets in the car, a smile wide on his lips and practically looking like a puppy wagging his tail. He leans over and kisses her cheek, asking her how she is and she’s glad that it’s dark, the darkness hiding the warmth that’s flushing her cheeks as she drives off, back to her place.

“So, what have you been doing?” He sips his beer that he brought with him and she shakes her head, chuckling. “What?”

“I assumed that when you messaged that there was alcohol involved.”

Jongin gasps, looking slightly offended. “What, I can’t just message you?”

“You can, but it’s been a year and you haven’t. But, it’s not like I was wrong, you smell like a brewery.” They laugh and exchange some ideal chit chat before Jongin turns it onto a serious note.

“I’m sorry for the way I treated you back then, it was a pretty asshole thing to do.”

“Well…”

Jongin cuts her off. “No, it wasn’t okay that I did that to you. I’m sorry.”

Her heart warms a little, hearing the sincerity in his apology and she nods, not letting him off the hook that easy. “Yeah, it was a pretty asshole thing to do but hey, it’s in the past. It’s not like I cried over it or anything. It happens.” He looks at her, watching her and she starts to blush deeper from the intensity of his stare. It’s been so long since she’s looked into his eyes, those eyes that almost tell you everything he’s thinking and instead of giving into his charms, she clicks her tongue. “Stop staring, it’s weird.”

“Have you been dating anyone?” Jongin asks out of nowhere, taking off his cap and ruffling his hair slightly before putting it back on.

Linda shrugs, not wanting to tell him that she hasn’t been able to get close to anyone out of fear of falling for another mistake. “I guess. It’s been a while but I was seeing someone a while back. He was a really nice guy but the distance was too much.” Out of nowhere, Jongin hums like he’s paying complete attention but grabs her hand and intertwines their fingers, holding her hand and sighing in relief. “Aww, are you getting a little jealous?” She laughs at him.

Jongin shrugs, looking out the window for a moment. “Maybe, what if I am?”

She quickly changes the subject, opting to talk about anything that can avoid moving into a deeper conversation and Jongin follows suit. Things begin to feel natural, easy; they are laughing and teasing each other while Jongin tightly holds her hand all the way until she parks - then, he makes the move he’s been waiting for.

It takes her by surprise how quick he is, barely making it into the house before he presses her against the wall and kisses her like his life depends on it. Clothes are quick to fall to the floor, her back hitting the mattress as they switch position, lips claiming every inch of skin as she nibbles on his neck in the spot she knows he loves and he’s quick to travel his hand down her body towards the treasure he’s been waiting for.

This was how it was always going to go; Linda knew that the moment she opened his message but what she wasn’t prepared for was what came after. She has kept these walls up for so long, she knew that they were never coming down anytime soon but as she lay in Jongin’s arms, staring into his eyes as he randomly steals kisses and makes her giggle - she almost believes that they could.

“You know, you’re really cute.” He beams at the praise, giggling as she traces her fingers down his neck, admiring the fresh marks she left there. “Also, why are you so cuddly?”

He continues to steal kisses from her, placing them everywhere he can reach while playing with her hair. “I just really like to cuddle, plus you enjoy it?” She shrugs nonchalantly and he scoffs, rolling his eyes at her with a smile. “Hey, because I’m cute and you’re beautiful, why don’t we…”

The meaning behind his words hangs in the air and Linda sits up quickly, looking down at him in confusion while he just lays there, looking innocent. “Did you just ask me out? You’re not serious, right?”

“If I did, you’d say yes, wouldn’t you?” He wriggles his brows and she knows she’s falling for a trap.

“To spare your feelings right now, I withhold from answering that question.” He’s a little taken aback by her comment but instead of letting her see it, he grabs her and rolls on top of her, beginning round two and hopefully erasing this from her mind.

A few days passed and Linda couldn’t help but be distracted by something that happened. Jongin had called her at 3am, drunk, of course, but he didn’t want anything more than to sleep and cuddle. She had turned him down but the thought doesn’t seem to want to leave her mind and she slaps herself mentally for even entertaining such a thought.

Jongin hasn’t changed, she knows that but with what he was saying and the behaviour that he is showing - it seems that there is some kind of interest there.

So, she tests it out.

Do his words hurt? Absolutely. Did she expect anything less? No. Jongin hasn’t changed, he is still the same guy who lures you in, makes you feel safe and relaxed in his company and gives you the impression that there is something more to the encounter than what there is. Linda has changed though, even though the words kick down her confidence, she reacts by building the walls higher and placing thick, steel gates to make sure that nobody can ever get through.

With a deep breath, a solitary tear trailing down her cheek, she replies: sorry, maybe it was the time we spent together and you almost asking me out twice that led me to believe there was something more to it than what it was. Goodbye, Jongin. She deletes his number, every message he ever sent and took a moment to let the pain flow through her until it left her body.

It isn’t that Jongin played her, again, that seems to be the least of her concerns but Linda wonders if there’s something wrong with her. Something that makes her the type of girl that guys don’t seem to want to date, they are purely there for hook-ups or one nights. She’s fine when it’s on her terms but that’s because there are rules, boundaries; you don’t stay to cuddle, you don’t hang out and laugh, you go meet up and do the deed before never speaking again but that isn’t Jongin. No, he has to lure in his prey, make them feel special and wanted, he’s very good at that, the affection and she still can’t believe that it’s all an act.

But, it doesn’t matter now.

As Linda settles into reality that she may remain forever alone, unable to let anyone in without fear of ulterior motives, Jongin looks at her reply with shaky hands clutching his phone. He didn’t realise what he had sent until he sent it, he wishes he could have taken things back but what can he say to fix what he’s done.

He freaked, he really does like her and it freaks him out that she may want more from him than just casual sex. She is special, she’s always been special, from the very first moment that he laid eyes on Linda, he knew that she would change his life and she did - but he went and messed her up, again.

He sends her a message, something that he hopes will try and fix things but the message doesn’t go through and he knows what that means - she’s blocked him. It’s done, he deserves it but he feels sick inside. Linda places her phone down, fighting the pain in her chest as she crawls into her niece’s bed and wraps the small child up in her arms with a tender kiss on the top of her head. Even if she feels like no one would want her, that no one could ever love her in the way that she wishes they would - she would always have Addy.

Jongin may be called The Heartbreak Kid but with her little girl resting so sweetly in her arms, she knows that it won’t hurt for long.