You sigh at the thought, blaming the pounding in your skull on last night’s cocktails with your girl friends and the tiny hairs still sticking to your damp shirt from a morning shower. You’re not ready for polite family small talk, questions about your job or relationship—or the endless commentary about how “you should really be settling down.”

You pull over your parents’ street, already noticing a whole luggage outside the house.

“Seems like she’s here.” You mutter to yourself, as you got out the car, quickly looking at the mirror to make yourself presentable, and totally not hangover.

Grabbing your bag, you try to summon your most convincing “I’m totally together” expression. If your mom’s friend was anything like she described, this was going to be a lot of chatter, a lot of smiles, and probably a few pointed questions about your love life that you weren’t ready to answer.

You knock on the door. “I’m home!” you annouce, and almost immediately, you hear your mom’s footsteps scampering over to open it. You chuckle at her cuteness—always so excited to see you, even when you barely had your life together.

“Finally!” she exclaimes, practically dragging you inside. “You’re just in time—she’s already here!”

You groan inwardly, bracing yourself for endless small talk and awkward introductions, but couldn’t help smiling at your mom’s enthusiasm.

When you came inside the house, in the living room, a middle-aged lady—seemingly the same age as your mom—sits on the couch, her posture polite but relaxed. She looks around with a warm smile that could make anyone feel immediately welcome, though your hungover brain mostly registered her as an interruption to your carefully curated morning recovery.

“She must be Mrs. Lee,” you say, glancing at your mom, who was practically glowing with excitement. You couldn’t help but grin despite yourself—your mom always had a way of lighting up a room, and apparently, it was contagious.

“Oh, my, she had grown up to be such a fine young lady!” Mrs. Lee greets with a smile, hugging you warmly.

You return the hug with a polite squeeze, your head still pounding from last night and your brain screaming too early for this kind of energy. “Thank you,” you mutter, secretly hoping your slightly messy hair and damp shirt weren’t too obvious.

“I’ve been telling her so much about you!” your mom chimes in, practically beaming. “All good things, of course.”

You smile faintly, wondering exactly how much she had told her friend about your chaotic, fun-filled nights out with friends—and mentally prepare yourself for a gentle roasting session disguised as small talk.

But Mrs. Lee just look at you softly, a motherly smile plastered on her face, as if she could see right through all the bravado you were trying to put on. It was the kind of smile that made you feel both warm and a little… exposed.

“What about your boy, Lee?” Your mom asks and Mrs. Lee claps her hands as if remembering a completely important detail.

“Right, right!” She laughs. “I told him to buy us some fruits at the supermarket! We can’t stay here and come empty-handed.” She smiles, in which your mom joking hits her arm. “What a hassle! But, thank you anyway,”

Mrs. Lee looks over to you. “I feel like you and my son could be such good friends too!” She grins, in which you awkwardly smile.

Great.

Another one of your mom’s friends trying to set you up with their good-for-nothing sons.

“Honey, help her get her luggage inside!” Your mom says, walking to the kitchen, already arms in arms with Mrs. Lee. You nod before walking towards the entrance.

That’s when you heard a car pull up outside.

The sound of tires against the pavement cut through the room, followed by the soft thud of a door closing. Your mom glanced toward the window almost instinctively, her face lighting up even more than before.

“Oh, perfect timing,” you can hear Mrs. Lee’s voice from inside. “That must be Heeseung!”

You decide to pay no mind to it, as you walked over to carry her luggage.

“Shit, what does she pack in here?”

“Clothes enough for two weeks.” A voice answers your little mutter to yourself.

A familiar one—deep, oh so soft, and far too recognizable—making your breath hitch as you stand straight.

“Do you feel good? Am I making you feel good?”

“Let go for me, baby.”

Your mind suddenly betrayed you, replaying the words spoken in that same voice two months ago—back when you’d been careless, impulsive, and not so smart.

Heat rushed to your face as the memory collided with this current moment. You turn to look and there he was, still wearing the soft eyes you had been so enchanted by that night.

Evan. Evan Lee. At least that’s what he introduced himself as.

The same eyes that had studied you under dim hotel lights now widened, just barely, before masking it with something polite and unreadable.

Mrs. Lee came out before you could even say anything, her voice bright and proud as she introduced you. You barely registered the words, too focused on the way he straightened beside her.

He nodded, polite and distant, the kind of courtesy reserved for strangers. “Nice to meet you,” he said smoothly, without a flicker of recognition in his eyes.

Then he smiled—easy, effortless—before turning to follow his mom into the house. He picked up her luggage, handling it with practiced care as he walked past you, close enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne.

He didn’t even glance back.

So he didn’t remember.

You had both been drunk that night, after all.

…

Dinner is already laid out by the time everyone gathers around the dining table a few hours later. The familiar smell of your mom’s cooking fills the room—warm, comforting, painfully normal for a moment that feels anything but.

You take a seat near the edge of the table, choosing distance over comfort. Across from you, Heeseung pulls out his chair and sits down smoothly, posture relaxed, expression polite. To anyone else, he’s just a guest—your mom’s friend’s son, well-mannered and quiet.

To you, he’s the man whose voice still lingers in the back of your mind—whose hands had memorized you in the dark, whose lips had left impressions you were foolish enough to think time would erase.

Conversation flows easily between your mom and Mrs. Lee, laughter spilling over shared memories from high school, old teachers, stories you’ve heard a hundred times before. You nod at the right moments, pushing food around your plate, forcing yourself to eat despite the tight knot in your stomach.

“So, Heeseung,” your mom says brightly, turning to him, “Are you okay with the spare room? Her brother hasn’t been home since his marriage, and she doesn’t want to give her childhood room for guests,” Your mom turns to you and snickers.

“That’s because I visit you and dad all the time, I still need a room here.” You groan softly, while Mrs. Lee laughs.

“Yes, ma’am. The room is just nice. Very well-kept.” Heeseung smiles at her.

“Well, that’s good,” she continues. “By the way, you two are around the same age. You should show him around a bit, don’t you think? This isn’t a city he always comes by.”

Your grip tightens around your utensils.

Before you can answer, Heeseung looks up—briefly, carefully—meeting your eyes for the first time since earlier. There’s no recognition on his face. No spark. Just polite interest.

“If she’s free,” he says simply.

If you’re free.

You force a smile. “Yeah. Maybe.”

The lie settles between you, heavy and unspoken.

Under the table, his foot shifts slightly—close enough to make your breath hitch, close enough to make you wonder if it’s accidental. He still doesn’t look at you. Still doesn’t acknowledge the past.

But your body remembers a different name.

And for the first time since he walked past you without a second glance, you realize something unsettling.

Heeseung might not remember you.

But Evan would have.

After dinner, the house settles into silence faster than you expect.

Laughter fades. Doors close softly. The hallway light dims until only a thin strip glows beneath bedroom doors. You lie awake longer than you should, staring at the ceiling you’ve known your whole life, listening to the unfamiliar rhythm of another presence in the house.

You tell yourself it’s nothing.

Just an old insignificant memory overstaying its welcome.

Eventually, thirst wins.

You slip out of bed, careful not to let the floorboards creak, padding your way toward the kitchen. The house smells faintly of detergent and leftover dinner, comforting in a way that almost makes you forget why your chest feels tight.

Almost.

The kitchen light is already on.

You freeze in the doorway.

Heeseung stands by the counter, sleeves rolled up, a glass of water in his hand. His hair is slightly tousled now, stripped of the careful neatness he wore earlier. He looks… different. More real. More like the man you left sleeping behind hotel curtains two months ago.

He looks up when he hears you.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake anyone.”

“You didn’t,” you reply, voice steadier than you feel. “I just—couldn’t sleep.”

He nods, accepting that without question. No tension. No recognition. Or maybe too much control to show either.

You grab a glass from the cupboard, deliberately choosing the one farthest from him. The tap runs. Too loud in the silence. You focus on the sound, on anything but the awareness of him standing only a few feet away.

“Your mom’s cooking was really good,” he says after a moment. “She didn’t exaggerate.”

You let out a small breath of a laugh. “Her cooking is the best.”

A pause.

Then, softer, almost absent-minded: “You mentioned earlier you don’t live here?”

“Not anymore,” you answer. “I moved to my own apartment a year ago.”

“Oh,” he says.

The word hangs between you.

You take a sip of water, finally glancing at him. He isn’t looking at you—his attention fixed on the counter, jaw relaxed, expression unreadable. If he remembers, he gives nothing away. If he doesn’t, then this ease is genuine.

You hate that you can’t tell which one hurts more.

“Well,” you murmur, setting the glass down. “Good night.”

He looks up then, meeting your eyes fully for the first time since dinner.

“Good night,” he says.

Still nothing. No crack in his voice. No hesitation. Just calm, polite distance.

You walk past him toward the hallway, careful not to brush his arm, careful not to slow your steps. Behind you, you hear him turn off the light.

In the darkness of your room, you lie awake again—heart louder now, thoughts sharper.

You were the one who left that morning.

You were the one who chose silence.

And yet somehow, standing in your parent’s kitchen, it feels like he’s the one holding all the control.

…

Morning comes too soon.

Sunlight filters through the curtains, thin and pale, landing across your face like an accusation. For a moment, you forget where you are—until the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen reminds you that you’re back in your parents’ house. And that you aren’t alone.

You sit up slowly, rubbing at your temples. The night had offered no answers. Just silence, politeness, and the unbearable calm of not knowing.

By the time you make it to the kitchen, your mom is already bustling around, apron tied, hair pulled back. Mrs. Lee sits at the table, sipping tea, looking far too refreshed for someone who traveled across the country.

“Morning,” your mom chirps when she sees you. “Perfect timing.”

You hum in response, reaching for a glass of water.

“Could you help Mrs. Yang walk her dog later?” she continues casually. “You remember—next door. You used to do it all the time when you lived here. Besides, little Jungwon is in Uni now, so no one is there to help her.”

You pause.

“Maeum? Yeah,” you say. “I can do that.”

Mrs. Lee’s face lights up. “Walking outside right now would be so refreshing,” she says warmly. Then, almost as an afterthought, she turns toward the hallway. “Heeseung!”

Your stomach tightens at the sound of his name.

He appears a moment later, sleeves rolled up again, hair still slightly damp like he’s just washed his face. He looks… awake. Calm. Completely unaffected. “Hm?”

“You should go with her,” Mrs. Lee says easily. “It’ll be good for you to get some fresh air after traveling.”

Heeseung blinks once, then nods. “Sure.”

Sure.

Your mom smiles, clearly pleased. “Perfect! Two birds with one stone.” You force a smile of your own, even as your pulse starts to pick up. “Yeah. No problem.”

Heeseung glances at you—not searching, not curious. Just attentive.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says.

As you step outside together a few minutes later, the morning air feels too crisp, too quiet. The street looks the same as it always has. Familiar. Safe.

And yet, walking side by side with him, you’re painfully aware of the space between you—and how little it would take to close it.

You’re the one who left. It’s a one-night stand.

You remind yourself of that as you head toward the neighbor’s gate.

So why does it feel like this walk might be the first step toward something you can’t walk away from again.

Heeseung kneels slightly as Maeum charges toward him, tail wagging like it could knock him over.

“He’s… lively,” he says, keeping his voice casual as Maeum circles him, sniffing, then jumping up in excitement. A low chuckle escapes him, and you feel your chest tighten unexpectedly.

“Yeah, Maeum’s a handful,” you reply, gripping the leash before he decides to chase a squirrel or something worse. “But he’s harmless… mostly.”

Heeseung brushes a hand along Maeum’s back. “Mostly is good.”

Maeum barks happily, spinning between the two of you. There’s a brief moment where the dog seems to notice the tension radiating off both of you, but of course, he can’t name it.

“Shall we get going?” you ask, starting toward the sidewalk.

Heeseung falls into step beside you, careful not to crowd, careful not to overstep. Close enough to notice the little things: the way you tense when Maeum yanks, the faint crease in your brow, the subtle sway of your hair in the morning sun.

The street is quiet. Early birds call from the trees. Leaves rustle under your shoes. Maeum dashes ahead, then back, sniffing everything in sight.

“So…” you begin, trying to sound casual, “long drive yesterday?”

He shrugs. “Enough to make me remember why I prefer flights.”

You laugh softly. “Fair enough. It is kind of chaos on the road here sometimes.”

Silence falls for a few steps, filled only with Maeum’s padding and your own heartbeat.

Then Maeum stops abruptly, sniffing at a patch of grass right between you and Heeseung. The leash jerks. You stumble forward slightly, and his hand reaches out before you can think, steadying you.

Fingertips brush.

A fleeting touch—but it’s enough. Enough to spark memory, enough to make your stomach twist.

Heeseung doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t say a word. He takes Maeum’s leash and keeps walking.

And that’s the worst part.

Because whether he remembers—or is pretending—you have no idea.

And it leaves the quiet hanging between you like a question that refuses to be answered.

Maeum slows near the corner, distracted by something only he seems to find interesting. You stop with him, shifting your weight as you wait.

Your fingers curl in on themselves without you noticing.

A slow fist.

Tight enough that your nails press into your palm.

Heeseung’s gaze drops.

Not immediately. Not obviously.

But it lingers just long enough.

“You do that often,” he says.

You look up. “Do what?”

He nods toward your hand. “That.”

You follow his eyes, startled, and force your fingers open. Faint crescent marks bloom red against your skin.

“Oh,” you say lightly. “I guess I clench my hand when I’m waiting.”

“Or when you’re holding back,” he replies, tone even. Too even.

The street feels quieter suddenly.

You laugh, trying to brush it off. “You’re very observant.” He doesn’t smile. Not quite.

“Hard not to notice,” he says.

And just like that—

Your mind betrays you.

Dim light. Your back against unfamiliar sheets.

His voice low, close, asking something you can’t quite remember the words to—only the way your hand had curled then too, nails biting into your palm as you nodded instead of answering.

You remember looking down afterward.

The half-moon marks.

The way he’d gently pried your fingers open, thumb brushing over the indents like he was committing them to memory.

The leash tugs.

You blink, pulled back into the morning air, the quiet street, Maeum wagging his tail impatiently.

Heeseung is already looking ahead again, expression unreadable.

“You good?” he asks, as if nothing had happened.

You nod, heart racing, and start walking again.

But your palm still tingles.

Both of you continue walking with Maeum tugging on his leash once in a while, before stopping infront of a convenient store near the park.

“I’ll buy us drinks, anything you like?” He asks. You look at him as you shake your head. “Anything’s fine.”

He nods, entering the store while you wait outside while Maeum settles at your feet. Through the glass, you watch him move with easy familiarity— scanning the shelves without hesitation.

He came out a few minutes later with two drinks in his hand. Americano for him, and another for you.

Green Grape Ade.

“Green Grape Ade?” His voice rings in the loud bar music, looking at you with precise judgement, while you mockingly glare at him.

“What’s wrong with it?” You ask, voice slightly loud trying to drown out the music at the bar. He smiles.

“You’re original.” He clinks his glass againts yours, the ice chiming softly over the music.

“I just prefer sour drinks. Especially from the convenient store.” You drink as your gaze turn to him. He’s already staring at you.

He hums. “That’s why your face so sour?” He teases in which you gasp, mock-offense.

He laughs, before shaking his head. “That was a lie. You might just be the sweetest girl I’ve ever met.”

The memory fades as quickly as it came.

You’re back outside the convenience store, the morning air cool against your skin. The bottle in your hand is cold, condensation slick against your fingers.

Heeseung is already walking ahead with Maeum, Americano in hand, posture relaxed like he hasn’t just reached into something you never gave him permission to keep.

You take a sip. It tastes exactly how you like it. How you were imagining it when you were admant on telling Heeseung or Evan it was your favourite at the bar.

And for the first time since you woke up that morning, you wonder if leaving first had really meant leaving anything behind at all.

You catch up to them, glancing at Heeseung. He has a questionable smug look on his face.

“What?” You ask. He shrugs before looking at you.

“I have a lot of things I remember about you.”

…

A few hours pass.

The afternoon drifts by slowly, measured in the ticking of the clock and the occasional sound of movement elsewhere in the house. You spend most of it in your room, half-lying on your bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone without really reading anything.

Every so often, you hear his voice. Muted through the walls. Calm. Easy. Laughing lightly at something your mom says.

It shouldn’t bother you, but it does.

When hunger finally wins over avoidance, the sun is already dipping lower in the sky. The house smells faintly of reheated food, warm and familiar. You take a breath before leaving your room, practicing a neutral expression in the mirror.

The kitchen is quieter now. You’re just about to turn the corner toward the kitchen when you hear your mom speak.

“…She’s been a little off today,” she says, voice gentle. “Probably tired. Or avoiding something.”

You pause without meaning to. Heeseung answers after a beat. “She does that.”

Your chest tightens instantly.

Your mom chuckles softly. “Does what?”

“Pulls back,” he says, careful. “When she doesn’t know how to react yet.”

Silence. Then the faint clink of a spoon against a bowl. “You sound like you know her pretty well,” your mom says lightly.

Another pause. Short. Measured.

“I had an impression,” Heeseung replies. “A while ago.”

An impression.

Your fingers curl at your side.

“Huh,” your mom hums. “That’s funny. She actually does leaves impressions on people,”

There’s a smile in Heeseung’s voice when he answers. “Yeah. She does.”

Your mom moves on easily, talking about dinner, about how long Mrs. Lee plans to stay. The conversation drifts, harmless again.

But you don’t move because impressions aren’t made in passing. They’re made when someone sees you up close. When you let them.

You step back quietly, retreating before either of them can notice you there. Back in your room, you sit down slowly, heart still racing.

He didn’t say you’d met.

He didn’t say when.

But he didn’t say you were strangers either. And somehow, that middle ground feels far more dangerous.

A soft knock echoes through your room a few minutes later.

“Hey… you awake?” Heeseung’s voice—calm, controlled, but just close enough to make your heart stutter.

You freeze. Your chest tightens, your pulse spiking. Act normal. Just act like you weren’t eavesdropping.

You smooth your hair with a trembling hand, blink rapidly, and open the door. “Yeah… just woke up,” you say, voice a little too bright, trying to sound casual.

Heeseung steps into the doorway, just enough to glance around your room. His eyes flick over you—not accusatory, not teasing—just aware. The way he looks at you makes the air between you feel suddenly heavy, like it’s charged with electricity you both can’t ignore.

“Your mom’s calling,” he says softly. “Everything’s ready.”

You nod quickly, gripping the doorframe as if it can anchor you. “I’m… not that hungry,” you murmur.

Heeseung tilts his head, that faint, knowing curve of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Uh-huh,” he replies, voice smooth, steady, and sharp enough to cut through your attempts at calm.

You step aside, but your foot catches on the edge of the rug. You curse under your breath, forcing a laugh. Too loud. Too sharp.

He doesn’t comment. He doesn’t need to. The silence itself feels deliberate, heavy. The space between you is so tight that you feel him even when he doesn’t touch you.

“I’ll be eating downstairs,” he finally says, straightening, eyes lingering just long enough to make your stomach clench.

“Okay… see you there,” you say, breath uneven, heart hammering.

He nods once, easily, and leaves, closing the door softly behind him.

The click echoes like a verdict.

You press your back against the door, sliding down slowly, hands trembling.

He knows I was listening.

He remembers… more than he should.

And he didn’t say a word.

The thought alone makes your stomach twist.

You straighten abruptly, forcing yourself to move. Down the stairs. To the dining room. To the table.

Every step is a battle between calm and the chaos churning under your skin.

Because you know tonight, nothing is going to feel casual. Not with him. Not after this.

The whole time during dinner, you caught him staring at you. Shamelessly at that, gave you a sheepish smile when you eye him suspiciously. He’d move his leg closer to yours, it’ll bump a few times, but he doesn’t pull away.

After dinner, you volunteer on doing the dishes. Your mom and Mrs. Lee’s voices fade into the living room, laughter and chatter blending together.

You take a steadying breath and move to the sink, rolling up your sleeves. Warm water runs over your hands, steam curling around your wrists. For a second, it almost feels normal. Almost.

Then you sense him before you hear him.

Heeseung steps beside you, quiet as a shadow. You tense instantly, shoulders stiff, fingers tightening around a plate.

“Need some help?” he asks softly, tilting his head. Not teasing, not accusing. Just calm, measured.

“I’ve got it,” you reply quickly, eyes trained on the suds, forcing the tone casual.

He doesn’t insist. He simply picks up a stray plate, moving closer than necessary, letting his hands brush yours ever so slightly as he rinses it. You flinch, heart hammering, but he doesn’t comment, doesn’t linger. Just present.

The silence stretches, heavy, almost oppressive. Every splash of water, every clink of a dish, echoes too loudly.

You scrub a pan a little harder than needed, trying to focus on anything else—the warmth of the water, the smell of garlic, the mundane rhythm of washing—but his quiet presence keeps threading through every thought.

He moves another plate, sets it down. Your hands brush again.

You feel your pulse spike, your chest tightening. Every subtle movement, every glance he doesn’t make—it’s all charged, all deliberate.

The kitchen is small. Empty. Safe. Except it isn’t. Not with him here.

You swallow hard, scrubbing away your nerves as the quiet stretches on, aware that he notices everything, even the things you think he can’t.

And somehow, that makes it impossible to breathe normally.

The sponge squeaks softly as you scrub, the rhythm steady but your thoughts anything but. You’re just about to reach for another plate when he speaks again.

“You know,” Heeseung says, evenly, like he’s commenting on the weather, “you’re not very good at pretending.”

Your hand stills.

“…Pretending what?” you ask, eyes fixed on the sink.

“That you weren’t listening earlier.” He sets a plate onto the rack, movements unhurried. “In the hallway.”

Your chest tightens. You swallow. “I wasn’t—”

He cuts you off gently. “You were.” Not accusing. Just factual. “You always stop breathing when you do that, though your eyes give it away, that you’re pretending everything’s fine.”

That makes your fingers curl instinctively around the sponge.

You let out a short laugh, more defensive than amused. “You don’t know what I ‘always’ do.”

He glances at your hand, then back to the dish he’s drying. “I know because I’ve seen it before.”

You twist the dish towel in your hands, knuckles whitening. The quiet stretches too long, presses too hard against your ribs.

“Are we really doing this?” You snap, turning to look at him directly.

He raises his eyebrows, “Do what?”

You gesture vaguely between the two of you, before sighing. “Implying things happened, without really saying it?”

He watches you for a second, expression unreadable—not defensive, not amused. Just… attentive.

“I’m not implying,” he says evenly. “You are.”

That only makes your chest tighten.

You scoff, turning back to the sink and reaching for another plate you definitely don’t need to wash. “Right. Of course. Because I’m the one who keeps bringing up impressions and ‘remembering’ and—whatever this is.”

He lets out a quiet breath, more tired than annoyed. “I brought it up once.”

“And you’ve been hovering ever since,” you shoot back, voice sharp but not loud. “So tell me—are we pretending we don’t know each other, or are we circling around it until I crack?” The words hang between you.

He sets the towel down, slow, deliberate. “I’m not trying to crack you.”

“Then what do you want?” you ask, finally facing him again.

He meets your gaze, steady. No smile. No games. “I wanted to know if you leaving meant what I thought it did,” he says simply.

Your throat tightens. “And what did you think it meant, Evan?”

His breath hitches at the usage of his other name, “That you didn’t want to stay,” he replies. “Not just that morning. In general.”

You laugh softly, but it’s brittle. “It’s a one-night stand.”

He nods once. “It is, but I clearly told you before we fell asleep, that I’d prefer you staying.”

Silence settles again, thicker now. The kitchen light hums overhead. Somewhere in the living room, your mom and Mrs. Lee laugh at something on TV.

“I didn’t leave because of you,” you say finally, quieter. “I left because staying would’ve made it… complicated.”

His jaw tightens just a fraction. “And now?”

You hesitate. “Now it already is.”

He holds your gaze for a long moment, then exhales slowly. “Yeah,” he says. “It is.”

Neither of you move back to the dishes, he wipes the last plate before walking out of the kitchen.

APRIL 2025

The room is dim, lit only by the city glow slipping through the curtains. Everything feels slower, warmer—like the night hasn’t quite caught up with you yet.

You’re tangled in the sheets, limbs heavy, head resting against the pillow. Your skin is still buzzing, your thoughts pleasantly loose around the edges. Somewhere nearby, Heeseung shifts, the mattress dipping slightly as he turns onto his side.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low, a little rough around the edges.

You hum, half-laughing into the pillow. “I think so. Might need a minute to remember my name.”

He chuckles softly. “Fair.”

The pause lingers, easy and unforced. The city light paints soft lines across the ceiling, and for a moment, neither of you moves.

You’re the one who breaks it first.

“Evan,” you say, voice lazy, still warm with alcohol and comfort. “What do you actually do when you’re not… here?”

He exhales a quiet laugh, turning his head slightly toward you. “That’s a loaded question.”

You smile into the pillow. “I’m serious. You feel like someone with a very normal answer and a very complicated explanation.”

He considers that. “I work in the music industry. Producing. It sounds fancier than it is.”

“Everything sounds fancier at night,” you mumble. “Especially after drinks.”

“True,” he agrees. Then, after a beat, “What about you?”

You shrug, the sheets rustling. “Still figuring it out. I bounce around a lot, job-hunting.”

He smiles and run his hand on your hair, as if wanting to see your face clearly. “You’re tense, like there’s a lot going on here.” He softly taps on your temple.

You huff a quiet laugh, eyes fluttering shut at the gentle touch. “Is that your professional opinion?” you murmur. “Because I didn’t realize producers did mind-reading too.”

He chuckles, thumb brushing lightly through your hair, unhurried. “Not mind-reading. Just… paying attention.”

You turn your face toward him then, cheek sinking deeper into the pillow. “There’s always a lot going on,” you admit. “I just don’t like sitting still long enough to sort it out.”

“Why not?” he asks, not pushing—just curious.

You think about it for a moment, gaze drifting to the ceiling. “Because if I do, I might realize I’m not as put-together as I pretend to be.”

He hums softly, fingers still tracing slow, absent patterns. “That doesn’t sound like a bad thing.”

“Easy for you to say,” you mumble. “You seem like you’ve got things… handled.”

He smiles faintly. “I’m good at looking like I do.”

You glance back at him. “Really?”

“Really,” he says. “I just learned how to keep the chaos quiet.”

That earns a small smile from you. “Guess we’re not that different then.”

“Guess not,” he replies.

The room settles again, the air warm and slow. His hand stays in your hair, grounding, gentle—like he’s in no rush to let the moment slip away.

Neither of you says it, but the thought hangs there between you, soft and dangerous all at once:

This feels easy.

Too easy.

He pulls you closer, lips pressing on your temple as he sighs.

“I’d love it if you stay.”

And you felt your heart breaks a little when you doze off.

…

Three days.

Three days until he leaves.

And for the past two, he hasn’t said a word to you.

You can feel it in every glance across the kitchen, every step in the hall, every time the front door opens and closes. He’s there, moving around the house, calm and composed as ever, but the silence between you? It’s deafening.

You try to keep yourself busy—laundry, dishes, scrolling mindlessly through your phone—but the tension follows you everywhere. Even sitting in your room, pretending to read, you can hear him talking to your mom in the living room, laugh light and easy, and it makes your chest tighten.

Your mom insists on taking Mrs. Lee and Heeseung to the city’s famous park for a “little sightseeing and fresh air,” and somehow, you’re drafted along.

“Come on,” your mom says, practically bouncing. “You’ll enjoy it! The weather’s perfect, and it’s not a usual thing that we all went out together!”

So here you are, in Heeseung’s car with your moms at the back chatting mindlessly, pointing out shops, telling stories, laughing easily, while you sit in the passenger’s seat and him driving beside you.

He doesn’t say much, just drives with that calm, effortless composure that makes your stomach twist in ways you’re not ready to name. Your mom and Mrs. Lee chatter nonstop behind you, oblivious to the tight coil of nerves in the seat beside him.

You glance at him occasionally, catching his profile in the sunlight, the way his hands rest lightly on the wheel, the faint line of concentration in his jaw. He doesn’t meet your eyes, but you can feel the awareness there, quiet, unspoken, like a weight pressing just enough to make you swallow hard.

“I hope you like walking,” your mom says suddenly from the back, as if reading your tension, “the park’s beautiful this time of year. Lots of trees, fountains—perfect for photos!”

“Yeah,” you murmur, keeping your voice neutral, though your chest is still tight.

Heeseung hums softly, not answering but shifting slightly in his seat, just enough that you notice.

The car slows, pulling into the park lot. Sunlight streams through the windshield, glinting off the pavement and the scattered autumn leaves. Your mom practically leaps out first, Mrs. Lee following close behind, both chattering excitedly.

You take a deep breath, adjusting your bag, and slide out of the car. Heeseung steps out after you, calm and measured, slipping into the rhythm of the park like he belongs there—yet you feel every step he takes, each one a quiet reminder that the past two days of silence haven’t lessened the tension between you.

As the group moves along the tree-lined path, your mom and Mrs. Lee wander ahead, comparing flowers and pointing out fountains. Heeseung falls in step beside you, hands tucked into his pockets, walking slightly behind but close enough that you can feel the space between you shrinking.

“Nice day,” he says finally, casual.

“Yeah,” you reply, voice careful. “Not too crowded either.”

He hums softly, and you feel that subtle glance he throws your way—quick, unobtrusive, but enough to make your stomach twist again.

The silence between words is heavy, but not hostile. It’s loaded. Sharp. And as you continue along the winding paths of the park, you realize these three days—and these stolen moments in the quiet—might be harder than anything you expected.

You barely get a chance to say more to him before your mom is already digging through her bag.

“Phone—where’s my phone?” she mutters, then brightens. “Oh! There it is.”

Mrs. Lee laughs beside her. “You’re just as excited as ever.”

“Of course I am,” your mom says. “When do we ever get everyone together like this?”

Everyone.

You glance at Heeseung without meaning to. He’s still looking around, taking the place in quietly, like he’s memorizing it. First time here. First time seeing your city like this.

“Alright,” your mom says, raising her phone. “Group photo first.”

You shuffle closer, standing beside Mrs. Lee. Heeseung ends up at the edge, half a step apart from you, hands in his pockets.

“Wait, no,” your mom frowns. “Heeseung, come closer. You’re getting cut out.”

He obeys, stepping in just enough that his shoulder brushes yours—brief, accidental, but it sends a jolt through you anyway.

Click.

“Again,” Mrs. Lee says. “That one was blurry.”

You barely have time to reset before your mom adds, “Okay, now just you two.”

“What?” you and Heeseung say at the same time.

“It’s nice to have one of the younger generation,” your mom insists. “For memories.”

You exchange a quick glance with him—too quick to mean anything, too loaded to be nothing.

“Just stand there and act normal!” your mom says.

Easier said than done.

You stand side by side this time, not touching, but close enough that you’re aware of his presence—his warmth, the way he’s careful not to move too suddenly.

“Smile,” your mom sings.

You do. Heeseung offers something polite, restrained.

Click.

“That’s nice,” Mrs. Lee says warmly. “You both look good.”

You almost laugh at that.

As your mom reviews the photos, muttering happily to herself, you step back without thinking. Heeseung does the same.

You don’t make it five steps more into the park before your mom stops again.

“Wait—stand there,” she says, already lifting her phone. “The trees look really nice from this angle.”

Mrs. Lee nods enthusiastically. “Oh yes, the lighting is beautiful.”

You exchange a look with Heeseung. Not a look—just a flicker. A silent here we go.

Click.

You start walking again. Ten steps this time.

“Oh!” your mom gasps. “The fountain—Heeseung, you’ll love this. You two, go stand near it.”

“We just took one,” you say weakly. “That was over there,” she replies, like it explains everything.

So you move again, standing side by side while people pass behind you. Heeseung keeps his hands in his pockets, posture relaxed, expression neutral. You keep your arms crossed, suddenly very aware of where you’re standing.

Click. Click.

Mrs. Lee laughs. “You look very natural together.”

You almost choke on air.

The walk continues. The photos do too.

By the flower beds.

Near the bridge.

In front of the pond.

Each time, your mom adjusts angles, steps back, waves you closer, tells you to smile more, tilt your head, stand straighter.

“You don’t have to look so tense,” she tells you at one point.

You laugh, tight. “I’m fine.”

Heeseung glances at you then, quick and unreadable.

At some point, he murmurs quietly, just for you, “If we keep this up, we’ll have enough photos for a family album.”

You blink, surprised.

“…I’m sorry,” you mutter. “She gets like this.”

He hums. “I noticed.”

There’s no edge in his voice. No teasing. Just observation.

Another photo.

Your shoulder brushes his this time, accidental. Neither of you move away immediately.

Click.

“Perfect!” your mom says.

You step away first.

The walk goes on, but your nerves don’t settle. If anything, they tighten with every forced smile, every staged moment, every second you’re made to look like something you’re very much not.

And the worst part?

Heeseung never once complains.

He just keeps walking beside you—calm, composed—letting the photos pile up like quiet evidence of something neither of you is ready to name.

You make it halfway up the stone path before it happens.

“Wait—wait, here,” your mom says suddenly, already lifting her phone again. “This spot is perfect. The water, the rocks—very scenic.”

You glance down at where she’s pointing and feel a flicker of hesitation. The stones near the edge of the stream are uneven, damp from the spray of the fountain nearby. The drop isn’t dramatic, but it’s enough to make you cautious.

“I don’t think that’s—” you start.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Mrs. Lee says cheerfully. “Just be careful.”

Famous last words.

You step forward anyway, because of course you do. Because this is not the hill you’re dying on today.

Heeseung follows a step behind you, quiet as always.

“Stand just there,” your mom says, framing the shot. “Yes, yes—perfect.”

You shift your weight slightly to adjust your footing.

And then your shoe slips.

It happens fast—too fast for you to catch yourself. One second you’re steady, the next the ground tilts and your stomach drops, breath punching out of you as you instinctively reach for anything.

Strong hands grab your arm.

Another slides to your waist, firm and immediate, pulling you back before you can even gasp.

You stumble—not forward, not down—but straight into him.

Your back hits his chest, solid and warm, his grip tightening just enough to keep you upright. For half a second, you’re frozen there, heart racing, fingers clutching at his sleeve.

He’s close. Too close.

You can feel his breath near your ear, feel the tension in his hold, the way his body adjusts automatically to steady yours.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, voice low—meant only for you.

You nod, a little too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, I—thanks.”

He doesn’t let go immediately.

Just long enough to make sure you’re steady.

Just long enough for the moment to stretch thin and dangerous.

“Careful,” he murmurs, almost instinctively.

Then—click.

“Oh my goodness!” your mom exclaims. “That was scary! But—oh, wait. Hold on.”

You stiffen.

“That one looked nice,” Mrs. Lee says, peering at the phone. “Very… natural.”

You finally step away, cheeks burning, suddenly very aware of how his hands had been on you, how easily he’d caught you, how familiar it felt in a way that made your chest ache.

Heeseung straightens too, composure snapping back into place like nothing happened. Hands back in his pockets. Expression calm.

But when you dare glance at him, his eyes linger on you just a second longer than necessary.

Your mom laughs. “See? Good thing he was there. You’d have fallen otherwise.”

“Yeah,” you say, forcing a laugh. “Good thing.”

The walk continues, the photos continue, but something has shifted.

Your heart doesn’t slow down.

And every time Heeseung walks just a little closer after that, you can’t tell if it’s accidental—

—or if he’s making sure you won’t fall again.

…

After dinner, you decide to hog the living room all by yourself, continue binge watching another C-drama you have postponed watching for the longest time.

It’s almost midnight, the moms had already wished you goodnight. You smile to yourself at the very well-earned time to yourself.

Or not?

Heeseung appears at the bottom, slightly disheveled, hair tousled like he’s just run a hand through it one too many times. He’s in simple grey sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt, the kind that clings just enough to show he didn’t bother thinking about how he looked.

His eyes are still half-lidded with sleep as they settle on the TV screen, expression calm.

He looks at you, before taking a seat.

“I watched this one.” He says softly. Voice hoarse with sleep.

“No spoilers, please.” You says, turning away to look at the TV. He laughs.

“Nothing too extreme, it’s a rom-com. Nothing can be a spoiler.” You clutch your heart, dramatically looking at him.

He shrugs. “What? It’s true. You know in the end they end up together.”

You sigh, leaning back. “Well, true that.” He lean back too, making your shoulders touch.

“Why did you wake up?” I look at him. “It’s barely midnight.”

“Can’t sleep. I mean, I kept waking up.” He replies, fingers tapping on his thigh. You nod, continue watching the romantic scenes on the TV.

“You enjoy stuffs like these?” He asks, not looking at you.

“Anything feel-good is enjoyable.”

“So the concept of romance, you like it?” He asks, carefully.

“Where are you going with this?” You look at him, eyes narrowing. He meets your gaze, his expression looking more earnest.

“Just wondering, if you’d like it in real life too.”

You scoff. “You and your nonstop bull—“

“Is it bullshit, really?” He asks, seriously this time. You felt your heart beating fast, you look away, just anywhere. Not sure where to look when he’s all up in your space like this.

“Evan.” You started,

“No, let me tell you this.” He straighten up, body now fully facing you, as he look directlt into your eyes.

“I’m sorry if I ever come up as pushy, talking about you with your mom, hinting at our past to her, making you feel things you don’t like, that wasn’t my intention.” He winces.

“I just…I just wanted to get to know you, really look at you. No dim lights of the bar, no dark night sky as we walk back to some hotel, and certainly no dark hotel room where I spent the whole night feeling good with the woman I knew nothing about.” He sighs.

“It’s just a one night stand, I get it.” He scoffs, “but what if I told you that I wanted more? That I regret waking up without your presence the next morning, how every sound you let out that night made me fantasize the sounds you’d make if it wasn’t casual?”

At this point, you were looking at him speechless. You’re not trusting your voice right now.

“Evan—“

“Heeseung.” He corrects. “Evan saw you first, but Heeseung fell for you.”

You fall silent again. Just staring at him like he didn’t just pour his heart out while you’re watching some corny C-drama.

“Say something. Anything.”

The TV continues playing, characters confessing under scripted rain.

But this?

This isn’t scripted.

And you’re not sure which feels scarier.

Your throat feels tight.

The drama’s background music swells dramatically, the male lead on screen confessing under artificial rain, but it feels distant—like white noise compared to the very real, very raw man sitting inches away from you.

You swallow.

“Heeseung…” you finally manage.

He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t interrupt. Just waits.

“You’re leaving in three days.”

It’s not the response he expected—but it’s the only one that makes sense in your head.

His jaw tightens slightly. “I know.”

“So what is this?” you ask, your voice quieter now. “You confess, we… what? Start something? And then you’re on the road back home in another city?”

He exhales slowly, running a hand through his already messy hair. “You think I haven’t thought about that?”

“I think you’re being impulsive,” you snap, but there’s no heat behind it—just fear. “You’re here. It feels intense. Nostalgic. But when you go back—”

“It’s not nostalgia,” he says firmly.

The way he says it makes you pause.

“It wasn’t just that night,” he continues. “I’ve tried to brush it off. I’ve tried to tell myself it was just chemistry. But then I see you here. The way you argue. The way you laugh with your mom. The way you pretend you’re tougher than you are.”

You glare at him slightly. “I am tough.”

His lips twitch faintly. “I know.”

That softness again. It’s worse than teasing.

“I don’t expect you to promise me anything,” he says. “I just needed you to know that I’m not playing around.”

Your fingers tighten around the blanket.

“You don’t get to say all that and then expect me to just… be calm,” you whisper.

“I don’t want you calm,” he admits. “I want you honest.”

The word lands heavily.

Honest.

You look at him then—really look at him. There’s no arrogance. No flirtation. Just a quiet steadiness that makes your chest ache.

“You think this is easy for me?” you ask softly. “Seeing you in my house. At dinner. At the park. Acting like we didn’t—”

Your voice falters.

“Like we didn’t matter,” he finishes.

You nod.

Silence settles again, but it’s no longer suffocating. It’s fragile. Balanced on something sharp.

“I didn’t plan to fall for you,” he says quietly. “It just happened.”

Your heart pounds harder at that word.

Fall.

“You don’t even know me that well,” you argue weakly.

“Then let me,” he replies immediately.

That catches you off guard.

“Let me know you properly,” he says. “Not just the version from one night. Not just the version that pushes me away when things feel too real.”

Your breath hitches.

“You’re scared,” he says gently.

“Of course I am,” you admit, almost frustrated. “You’re leaving. I don’t do long distance. I don’t do uncertainty, I…certainly don’t just date from one good sex.”

“And I don’t do pretending I don’t care,” he counters.

The drama on the TV ends its confession scene with applause-worthy music. You grab the remote and mute it.

The silence now is entirely yours.

“What are you asking from me?” you whisper.

He leans a little closer—not touching, just closing the space enough that you feel his presence fully.

“A chance,” he says. “Not a guarantee. Just… don’t shut the door before we even try.”

Your pulse is loud in your ears.

Three days before he leaves.

Three days to either build something—or protect yourself from it.

You look at him, eyes searching, trying to find a reason to dismiss this as temporary emotion.

You don’t find one.

And that’s what terrifies you.

“Say something,” he murmurs again, softer now.

This time, you don’t look away. You stare at him for one long, overwhelming second.

Your heart is racing too fast. Your thoughts are colliding into each other. Three days. Confessions. “A chance.” It’s too much. Too sudden. Too real.

You stand up abruptly.

“I—I need time to think,” you say, words tumbling out before you can filter them.

Heeseung rises halfway from the couch instinctively. “Hey—”

But you’re already stepping back.

“I just… I can’t answer you right now,” you add quickly. “It’s a lot.”

His expression tightens, but he nods once. “Okay.”

You don’t wait for anything else.

You bolt down the hallway, heart pounding, shutting your bedroom door a little harder than necessary. You lean against it, breath uneven.

Why now?

Why three days before he leaves?

Why does it feel like if you answer wrong, you’ll lose something you didn’t even realize you were holding?

You slide down against the door and press your palms to your eyes. You needed time. You just didn’t expect it to feel like this.

The next morning smells like butter and coffee.

You frown, your mom does not wake up early on weekends.

You shuffle out of your room, still half-asleep, hair messy, expecting silence. Instead, you hear the sound of a pan sizzling. You blink.

Heeseung is in the kitchen.

Sleeves slightly rolled, apron tied awkwardly around his waist (clearly borrowed), hair still soft and unruly from sleep—but this time he looks very awake.

Focused.

Your mom and Mrs. Lee are seated at the table, watching him like he’s some kind of five-star chef.

“He insisted,” your mom says the moment she sees you. “Said we should let him cook.”

He glances up at you.

Not smug, not teasing. Just steady.

“Morning,” he says.

You clear your throat. “Morning.”

He turns back to the stove. “Scrambled eggs or sunny side up?”

You blink. “What?”

“For you,” he clarifies. “How do you like your eggs?”

Your mom gasps softly. “He even asked me what you usually eat.”

You shoot her a look.

He continues like this is completely normal. “I made toast too. And there’s fruit.”

You step closer to the counter, still confused. “Since when do you cook?”

“Since always,” he replies casually. “You just didn’t stay long enough to see.”

Your ears burn, looking over to your moms if they notice it, they don’t.

He plates the food carefully—neatly, intentionally—and sets it in front of you first before sitting down.

That alone makes your stomach flip.

He doesn’t bring up last night.

Doesn’t push.

Doesn’t corner you.

Instead, he talks to your mom about the park photos. Asks his about souvenirs to bring home. Clears plates without being asked.

Too proactive.

Suspiciously proactive.

When your mom mentions needing to run errands later, he immediately says, “I can drive.”

When Mrs. Lee talks about wanting to visit a bakery nearby, he says, “Let’s go after breakfast.”

You watch him the entire time.

He’s not performing.

He’s consistent.

Intentional.

When your mom leaves the table to grab something from her room, and Mrs. Lee follows, you’re briefly alone in the kitchen.

He stands by the sink, rinsing dishes.

“You don’t have to… do all this,” you say quietly. He doesn’t turn around immediately.

“I know,” he replies then glances at you over his shoulder.

“But I want to.” There’s no pressure in his voice, just effort.

You swallow.

“You said you needed time,” he continues calmly. “I’m giving it to you.” The water runs softly between you.

“But I’m not going to act like I didn’t say what I said.” Your pulse stutters.

“I meant it,” he adds. “So I’ll act like I meant it.”

You stare at him and he turns the tap off and dries his hands slowly.

“I’m leaving in three days,” he says. “I don’t want to waste them pretending.”

And somehow, that hits harder than the confession itself.

…

From the moment breakfast ends, he doesn’t leave your side. Not in a suffocating way. Not hovering. Just… present.

When your mom asks you to help bring laundry out to dry, he’s already reaching for the basket before you can. When you struggle with the stubborn sliding door, he steps in quietly, fixing it without making a show of it.

“You don’t have to follow me everywhere,” you mutter at one point, adjusting the clothespins.

“I’m not following you,” he replies lightly. “I’m staying here temporarily too, remember?”

You glance at him. He looks almost amused—but there’s intention behind it.

Later, when you head to the small grocery store nearby because your mom forgot coriander, he walks beside you without even asking if he should come.

The afternoon sun is warm. The air smells like pavement and fried snacks from a stall down the street.

“So,” he says casually, hands in his pockets. “What did you want to be when you were younger?”

You blink. “What?”

“When you were eight. Ten. What was the dream?” You huff softly. “That’s random.”

“It’s not,” he says. “It tells me things.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You analyzing me now?”

“Maybe.”

You roll your eyes—but you answer anyway.

“I wanted to be a novelist,” you admit. “I used to write stories. Cringey ones.”

His eyebrows lift slightly. “You still write?”

You hesitate. “…Rarely now, in my notebooks in my apartment, or my notes app.”

“Why’d you stop wanting to be it?”

The question is gentle. Not invasive. Just curious. You shrug. “Reality. Expectations. It didn’t feel practical.”

He nods slowly, absorbing that like it matters.

“It still matters,” he says after a moment.

You glance at him. “What does?”

“The fact that you wanted to create something.”

Your chest tightens slightly.

He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t brush it off. Just lets it sit there like it’s important.

Back home, when your mom asks you to help reorganize some old boxes in the storage room, he follows again.

It’s dusty. Warm. Dim.

You crouch down to open a box of old photo albums. He kneels beside you, shoulder nearly brushing yours.

“That’s you?” he asks, picking up a picture of you at maybe twelve years old, hair shorter, smile wider.

You snatch it lightly. “Don’t judge.”

“I’m not,” he says. And he isn’t. He studies the photo like he’s memorizing it.

“You looked happy.”

“I was a kid.”

“And now?”

You look at him sharply. “What’s with the interrogation?”

“I told you,” he reminds you quietly. “I want to know you.”

There’s no rush in his tone. No desperation.

Just steadiness.

The day continues like that.

When you wash dishes, he dries them.

He asks about your university. Your friends. What stresses you out. What makes you laugh. What kind of music you secretly listen to when you’re alone.

At one point, he says, “You hum when you’re focused.”

You freeze. “I do not.”

“You do,” he insists softly. “You were doing it while cutting fruit earlier.”

You didn’t even realize.

“The thing you do with your hand? That too.” He points out, while taking your hand, opening it and see the crescent marks on your palm.

“You notice too much,” you murmur.

He doesn’t deny it.

“Someone has to,” he replies.

The living room is dim, only the lamp by the window casting a warm glow across the space. The TV is on but forgotten, some late-night rerun playing to fill the silence.

You’re curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked under you. Heeseung sits beside you—not too close, not too far—close enough that you’re aware of him without feeling crowded.

He’s been quieter tonight. Observing.

“Can I ask you something?” he says eventually.

You glance at him warily. “You’ve been doing that all day.”

A faint smile. “Humor me.”

You sigh. “Fine.” Only because you can’t resist his charming smile.

“That night,” he says carefully, “why were you really there?”

You stiffen slightly. “At the bar?”

“In another city. On a random weekend.”

“It wasn’t random,” you reply automatically.

He waits.

You stare at the muted TV screen for a long moment before answering.

“I party a lot with my friends,” you say finally.

He doesn’t react. Just listens. “More than people expect,” you add.

“Why?” he asks softly.

You let out a small breath through your nose. “Because it’s loud.”

He tilts his head slightly.

“Because when the music’s blasting and the lights are flashing and everyone’s moving,” you continue, “I can’t hear my own thoughts.”

The honesty surprises even you.

He doesn’t interrupt.

“You know how exhausting job hunting is?” you ask quietly. “Applications. Tailoring your resume for every company. Writing cover letters that feel fake. Preparing for interviews. Smiling. Selling yourself.”

His expression shifts—more focused now.

“And then the emails,” you continue, voice flattening. “‘We regret to inform you.’ ‘After careful consideration.’ ‘We’ve decided to move forward with other candidates.’”

You laugh softly, but there’s no humor in it.

“Sometimes they don’t even reply.”

Silence stretches.

“It gets to you,” you admit. “You start wondering what’s wrong with you. If you’re not good enough. If everyone else is moving ahead while you’re just… stuck.”

He doesn’t look away.

“So yeah,” you shrug lightly, though your chest feels tight. “I party.”

“To forget?” he asks.

“To breathe,” you correct.

You shift slightly, hugging your knees closer.

“When I’m out with my friends, I’m not the girl refreshing her email at 2 a.m. I’m not the candidate who didn’t make it to the final round. I’m just… me.”

He studies you carefully.

“And that’s why you were in another city.”

You nod.

“We’d just gotten two rejections that week,” you admit. “Back-to-back. I felt so stupid for getting my hopes up.”

Your voice lowers.

“So we booked a cheap place, took a train, and told ourselves we deserved one reckless weekend.”

“You call it reckless,” he says quietly. “But you sound calculated.”

You frown slightly. “What?”

“You didn’t go there to ruin yourself,” he says. “You went there to survive.”

That makes you blink.

“I like dancing,” you add quickly, deflecting. “I like dressing up. I like feeling wanted without having to prove I’m competent or impressive.”

His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly at that word.

“Wanted.”

“It’s simple,” you say. “No resumes. No interviews. No expectations beyond having fun.”

“And me?” he asks gently.

You swallow.

“You weren’t part of the plan,” you admit.

His eyes don’t leave yours.

“I wasn’t looking for something serious,” you continue. “It was easier that way. Temporary city. Temporary connection. No future to mess up.”

“You think you mess things up?” he asks.

You give him a look. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”

“I’m not,” he says evenly. “I’m trying to understand.”

You hesitate.

“When you don’t get chosen enough,” you say slowly, “you stop expecting to be.”

The words hang in the air.

He goes very still.

“That night,” you continue, quieter now, “I wasn’t thinking about tomorrow. I just wanted to feel good. To not think about rejection emails. To not feel like I was behind in life.”

“And I was… what?” he asks softly.

“A distraction,” you answer honestly.

The word lands heavy.

But before he can retreat into it, you add—

“A good one.”

His gaze sharpens slightly.

“You were easy,” you explain. “Not in a bad way. You didn’t interrogate me. You didn’t act like you were doing me a favor. You just… were there.”

He exhales slowly.

“And when I woke up alone,” he says quietly, “it didn’t feel temporary.”

You look at him.

“I didn’t want to be just a distraction,” he continues. “I wanted to be something that stayed.”

Your heart stutters.

You look away first. “I don’t know how to let things stay,” you admit.

“Because you’re used to them leaving?” he asks.

The vulnerability in the room shifts everything.

He doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t crowd you. He just sits there, steady.

“You party to break free,” he says after a moment. You nod.

“I’m not here to take that away from you.”

You glance at him cautiously.

“But I don’t want to be another escape,” he continues. “I want to be something you choose even when the music stops.”

Your chest tightens again.

Outside, the night is quiet. No music. No flashing lights. No crowd to drown out your thoughts.

Just him.

And the terrifying possibility that this time, you won’t be the one walking away before you can be rejected.

The room feels smaller after that.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

The lamp beside the couch casts a soft golden glow across his face, catching in his eyes. The TV is still muted, forgotten entirely now. Outside, the world is quiet—no music, no city noise, no chaos to hide behind.

Just you.

And him.

“I don’t know how to let things stay,” you admit again, softer this time. “Nor how to stay.”

He doesn’t rush to fill the silence. He doesn’t try to fix you. He just watches you like your words matter.

“Then don’t decide forever,” he says gently. “Just decide now.”

Your heart pounds.

“That’s how it starts,” you whisper. “Now turns into later. Later turns into expectations.”

“And expectations scare you,” he says.

“They fail,” you correct.

He studies you for a long moment. Then he shifts closer—not abruptly, not cornering—just enough that the space between your knees and his disappears.

“I’m not an interview,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to impress me.”

Your throat tightens.

“I already like you,” he continues. “On your stressed days. On your stubborn days. On the days you party too hard to feel free.”

You huff softly. “I don’t party too hard, I still control myself.”

He almost smiles. “You know what I mean.”

The tenderness in his voice makes your chest ache.

“You don’t have to earn staying,” he says.

The words hit somewhere deep.

You look at him, really look at him. His hair is still slightly messy from earlier. He’s not styled, not composed like the first night you met. He’s just… him.

And he’s looking at you like you’re not temporary.

Your voice comes out barely above a whisper. “You’re leaving.”

“In two days,” he says.

“And then?”

“Then we figure it out,” he replies. “Or we try. Or we fail. But at least we won’t be wondering.”

Your breathing feels uneven.

He lifts his hand slowly, like he’s giving you time to pull away.

When you don’t, his fingers brush lightly against your cheek.

The touch is soft. Careful.

Nothing like that first night.

That night was heat and impulse and dim lights and stolen glances.

This is quiet.

Intentional.

His thumb traces gently along your jawline, barely there. You feel your pulse everywhere at once.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

You swallow.

He doesn’t laugh at you.

Doesn’t tease.

His hand shifts slightly, cupping your cheek fully now. Warm. Steady.

“Tell me to stop,” he says quietly.

You don’t.

Instead, you lean in first.

It’s small. Barely an inch, but it closes the distance.

His breath brushes your lips before they meet. Slow. Careful. Testing.

When he kisses you, it isn’t rushed.

It isn’t hungry.

It’s soft.

Like he’s asking a question.

Your fingers clutch lightly at the fabric of his T-shirt without thinking. The kiss deepens just slightly—not intense, not overwhelming—just enough to make your heart feel like it might burst.

He pulls back a fraction, forehead resting against yours.

His voice is low. Almost unsteady.

“This isn’t an escape,” he says.

You nod faintly, breath mingling with his.

“I know.”

He kisses you again.

This time with more certainty.

Not claiming. Not demanding.

Choosing.

Your hand slides up to the back of his neck, fingers threading lightly into his hair. He exhales softly against your lips, one hand moving to your waist—secure, but not pulling you in without permission.

The world outside the living room feels nonexistent.

No rejection emails.

No interviews.

No expectations.

Just this moment.

When you finally pull back, your lips feel warm, your thoughts scattered.

“Now,” he murmurs softly, echoing his earlier words.

You let out a shaky breath.

“Now,” you repeat.

And for the first time, it doesn’t feel like something you’re running from.

It feels like something you’re choosing.

The living room feels impossibly small after that kiss. Your pulse is racing, every nerve on fire, yet your mind is dizzy in a way that makes thinking impossible.

Heeseung pulls back just slightly, his forehead still resting against yours, and you can feel the warmth of him everywhere. For a heartbeat, neither of you moves, the air thick with unsaid words.

“I—” you start, but your voice falters.

“I’ve got you,” he says suddenly, firm but gentle. His hands slide under your arms, and before you can protest, he lifts you effortlessly.

Your stomach flips. “Heeseung! Put me down!” you squeak, half-laughing, half-panicking, but you don’t resist.

“I don’t want to,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the side of your temple as he carries you toward your room. His voice is low, intimate, and the closeness makes your chest tighten even more.

Your room feels impossibly far and yet too close. The walls, the soft glow of your lamp, the familiar smell of your space—all of it is suddenly charged.

He sets you down gently on your bed, but the tension doesn’t leave. His hands linger near your waist, fingers brushing against the soft fabric of your shirt. You feel the deliberate weight of his gaze on you, assessing, quiet, patient.

“Are you… okay with this?” he asks, voice husky but careful, and you can’t tell if he’s asking about the kiss, being alone together, or everything.

You swallow hard, your pulse loud in your ears. “I—I think so,” you admit, your words trembling just enough to betray your certainty.

He shifts closer, sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand resting lightly on the mattress near yours. You’re inches apart, every movement amplified. The air feels electric, charged with anticipation and heat.

His eyes trace your face slowly, almost like he’s memorizing every line, every shadow. “You’re warm,” he murmurs, voice softer now, almost a whisper.

Your breath catches. The room is quiet except for the distant hum of the city outside. Your fingers twitch at the edge of the blanket, trying to ground yourself, but he leans in, closing the space further.

His hand moves to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, brushing against your jaw as he does. You feel your own hands rise, unconsciously resting on his forearm. The intimacy is subtle, teasing—every touch deliberate, careful, yet charged with something unspoken.

“You’ve been on my mind,” he admits quietly, gaze locking with yours. “All day. Since breakfast. Even when we were doing the dishes… I couldn’t stop thinking.”

Your chest tightens. The honesty in his tone, combined with the nearness, makes your head spin. “Maybe you also have been lingering in my head all along for the past two months.”

“I—” you start, but he leans in closer, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. It’s slower, deliberate, exploratory—but there’s a hunger there too, restrained yet unmistakable.

Your hands find his chest, fingers brushing against the fabric of his T-shirt, feeling the solid warmth underneath. The kiss deepens slightly, teasing, suggestive, daring—but still measured.

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, reading your reaction, searching for consent in your gaze. Your pulse is racing, your thoughts scattered, but the answer is clear in the flutter of your heartbeat.

His lips hover over yours again, close enough that you can feel the warmth and breath, and for a moment, nothing else exists: no hesitation, no past regrets, just the two of you, the quiet room, and the thrilling, dangerous pull of something more.

And then he whispers, low and husky, “Do you trust me?”

Your answer is a shiver, a nod, a soft, “Yes,” barely audible—but it’s enough.

The air between you thickens, charged with a suggestion, a promise, a question that doesn’t need words—because the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s close enough to touch, it says it all.

…

Heeseung’s lips trail down your neck with a slow, teasing warmth—each kiss featherlight at first, then lingering just enough to leave faint tingles in their wake. His breathing is uneven but controlled, clearly trying to balance the haze with focus.

“Always smell so good.” He murmur between kisses. One hand rests tentatively against your shoulder while the other tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear before continuing his path lower.

Then he pauses abruptly near your collarbone as if remembering something, “I don’t have condoms with me,” He looks at you.

You huff, turning to your handbag. Pulling out the small foil packet, he smiles at you. “For your other one night stands?” You laugh.

“That was the plan, but I stopped doing those after you.” He doesn’t question it, You tug at his shirt, signalling you want it off.

Heeseung makes quick work of his shirt, tossing it aside before popping the button on his pants. His movements are fluid—confident but not rushed—as he steps out of them and kicks them toward the floor.

“Better?” He asks, voice low as he reaches for you again, now only in his boxers.

His fingers are gentle but eager as he helps you out of your own clothes—each piece discarded with care until there’s nothing left between you. His touch lingers on bare skin, like he’s relearning every curve after months of yearning.

"God… I love this,"he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. “So beautiful.”

Heeseung trails kisses downward—slow, deliberate—each one hotter than the last. His hands follow, mapping your body like he’s memorizing it anew. When his lips finally reach the place you have been dying for him to touch, he glances up at you through his lashes, smirking.

“Want me to touch you here?”

You nod, he tsks. “Need to hear you, baby.” As his breath brushes your open folds.

“Yes.” You gasped, “Yes, please.”

He smiles, Heeseung doesn’t waste another second—his mouth sealing over you with practiced devotion. Every flick of his tongue, every hum against your skin is calculated to unravel you.

And it works.

His free hand grips your thigh, holding you steady as he focuses entirely on pleasuring and loving you—like this is the only mission that matters tonight.

Heeseung zeroes in on your clit instantly—his tongue circling it with just the right amount of pressure before sucking lightly. His eyes stay locked on yours, gauging every twitch and gasp to adjust his technique.

"This okay?" he murmurs against you, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear you say it anyway.

You nod, he hums in approval—taking your nod as permission to double down. His tongue flicks faster now, alternating between broad strokes and precise little darts while his fingers slip inside you, curling just right.

You yelp at the sudden intrusion, Heeseung pauses immediately—pulling back just enough to check your expression. His brows furrow in concern, but he keeps his fingers still inside you.

"Too much?" he asks softly, ready to adjust at your slightest hint. You shake your head, “It’s good, s’good..”

He exhales in relief—his tension melting into renewed focus. He resumes with even more care now, his movements deliberate and gentle as he coaxes you toward pleasure rather than overwhelming you.

"That’s it," he murmurs, lips brushing your inner thigh between words. "Just relax… I’ve got you."

“I’ll make you feel better than that night.”

He adds a second finger—stretching you gradually as his thumb replaces his tongue, rubbing slow circles over your clit instead. His eyes stay locked on your face, tracking every flutter of pleasure.

“Tell me if anything’s too much," he reminds, voice thick with concern beneath the desire.

Heeseung's touch remains gentle and attentive, his fingers moving in a steady rhythm that builds pleasure without rushing you. Every now and then, he glances up to make sure you're still comfortable—his expression soft with care even as desire burns in his gaze.

“So good for me, you’re so good for me.” He murmurs againts your skin, words warm and reverent.

He senses you're close—your breaths hitching, your body tensing around his fingers. He presses a final open-mouthed kiss to your clit before murmuring,

"Come for me, baby.”

His words are the last push you need—your climax crashing over you in waves as Heeseung rides it out with his fingers, his touch never faltering. When your tremors subside, he presses a kiss to your inner thigh and slowly withdraws his hand.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, crawling up to claim your lips in a deep kiss—letting you taste yourself on him.

“Need you, now.” You breath againts his lips

Heeseung groans at your words, his body responding instantly. In one fluid motion, he flips onto his back—pulling you atop him, before rolling the condom on with practiced ease.

“Ride me,” he rasps, before teasing his tip on your folds and guiding himself to your entrance. He hisses as you sink onto him—his hands flying to your hips, gripping hard as he adjusts to the sudden tightness. His head falls back against the pillows, eyes squeezing shut for a second before he forces them open again, needing to see you.

"Fuck," he grits out, "You feel…"

Words fail him—too overwhelmed by how perfectly you take him in.

His breath comes in ragged bursts as you start moving—his hips instinctively bucking up to meet each of your descents. One hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck, pulling you down into a searing kiss while the other presses possessively against your back.

He loses himself in the rhythm you set—every roll of your hips sending sparks through his veins. His hands roam your body, worshiping every curve as he murmurs praise against your skin.

“Gonna kill me like this, baby.” He cups your breasts as he pinches one of your nipples, you moan.

His control starts to fray—his thrusts becoming less measured, more desperate. He can feel his climax building rapidly, but he refuses to let go until you do first.

Heeseung flips you onto your back with surprising gentleness despite the urgency in his movements. The second he’s nestled between your thighs again, he surges into you—each thrust deep and deliberate.

"Look at me," he demands softly, cradling your face as his pace turns relentless. "Want to see you when we finish."

His thrusts grow erratic—his breath coming in sharp gasps as he chases his release. But even now, at the peak of pleasure, his focus stays on you, making sure you’re right there with him.

“Searched for you like crazy, kept..kept..asking around.” He went down to latch on your nipple, sucking softly and twirling his tongue making you whimper underneath him.

“Need the girl that made me fall hopelessly from just one night.”

Heeseung’s eyes lock onto yours, the intensity in his gaze nearly overwhelming as he pushes you both toward release. His thrusts grow sharper—each one hitting that perfect spot inside you while his thumb circles your clit with just enough pressure, making your moans slightly louder than before.

"Close?" he rasps, voice strained with restraint.

You nod frantically, your body coiling tight with impending pleasure. Heeseung’s answering grin is fierce—he can feel it too.

"Then let go," he urges, his own rhythm faltering as he chases his own peak alongside you.

The moment your climax hits—waves of pleasure crashing over you in relentless succession—Heeseung follows with a broken groan. His thrusts stutter before he buries himself deep, shuddering through his release as he holds you close.

For several breathless seconds, all either of you can do is cling to each other, sweaty and spent but utterly satisfied.

“Don’t go. Don’t leave this time.” He says, pressing a lazy kiss on your shoulder.

“Can’t run even if I tried,” you laugh, finally aware that you guys fucked in your childhood bedroom, in your parents’ house. With his and your moms just a few doors away.

…

Morning comes softly.

Not with alarms. Not with loud footsteps downstairs.

Just sunlight.

It slips through the thin gap in your curtains, warm and golden, stretching slowly across your walls, across your desk, across the edge of your bed.

You blink awake gradually, consciousness returning in pieces.

The warmth against your back registers first.

Then the weight around your waist.

Then the steady rise and fall of someone else’s breathing.

Your heart stutters.

Heeseung.

His arm is draped securely around you, palm resting flat against your stomach like it belongs there. Your back is pressed lightly to his chest, his face buried somewhere near the back of your neck, breath warm against your skin.

For a second, you don’t move, you just lie there and lets the reality settle.

Last night wasn’t loud or reckless or fleeting. It wasn’t dim bar lights and alcohol-blurred edges.

It was slow.

Intentional.

You remember how careful he was. How he kept checking in. How he looked at you like this wasn’t just physical.

Your cheeks warm at the memory.

Behind you, he shifts slightly. His arm tightens instinctively when you move.

“Mmm,” he hums, voice thick with sleep. “Don’t go.” You freeze.

“I’m not,” you whisper, even though you hadn’t actually planned to.

He exhales softly against your shoulder, clearly not fully awake yet. His fingers flex slightly against your waist, like he’s grounding himself.

The sunlight climbs higher.

You slowly turn your head just enough to glance at him.

His hair is a mess, falling into his eyes. His lips are slightly parted, expression relaxed in a way you’ve never seen before. No guarded composure. No teasing edge.

Just him.

Peaceful.

He blinks awake a moment later, eyes adjusting slowly.

There’s a brief second of confusion.

Then recognition.

Then something softer.

“Morning,” he murmurs. Your heart flips.

“Morning.”

Neither of you moves away.

Neither of you makes it awkward.

He studies your face like he’s making sure you’re real. Like he half-expected to wake up alone again. “You’re still here,” he says quietly.

You swallow. “So are you.” A small smile touches his lips.

He lifts a hand, brushing his thumb gently along your cheekbone. Not suggestive. Not urgent. Just… tender.

“Regrets?” he asks carefully.

You consider it. The sunlight. The warmth. The quiet. His arm still wrapped around you.

“No,” you answer honestly.

Relief flickers across his face so subtly you almost miss it.

“Good,” he murmurs.

Silence settles again, but it’s comfortable.

You’re suddenly aware of the house. Of your mom downstairs. Of Mrs. Lee probably already awake.

Reality creeping back in.

“We should probably get up,” you say softly. He groans lightly. “Five more minutes.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t move. His fingers trace lazy patterns against your waist absentmindedly.

“Last night,” he begins quietly, “wasn’t just… heat.”

You turn slightly to face him more fully now, the blanket shifting around you.

“I know,” you reply. His eyes search yours.

“I meant what I said,” he continues. “About wanting more.”

The weight of it is still there. But this time, it doesn’t feel suffocating. It feels steady.

You reach out, brushing a piece of hair away from his forehead. “I’m still scared,” you admit.

“That’s okay,” he says immediately.

“But I don’t want to run,” you add.

Something shifts in his expression—something hopeful. “We’ll figure it out,” he says quietly. “One step at a time.”

He leaves tomorrow.

But right now, he’s here.

Warm. Real. Looking at you like you’re not temporary.

His hand slides into yours under the blanket, fingers intertwining slowly.

SEPTEMBER 2025

Three months later, your apartment feels both fuller and emptier at the same time.

Fuller — because his hoodie is draped over the back of your chair. Because there’s a mug he likes that you bought “accidentally.” Because your call logs are filled with his name. Because there’s a toothbrush tucked into the corner of your sink like it belongs there.

Emptier — because right now, he isn’t here.

Long distance wasn’t glamorous.

It was: falling asleep on video call, propping your phone against your pillow just to see his face, texting “reach home safe” every long rides he takes back home, syncing up dramas and pressing play at the same time,

It was him visiting every three weeks without fail. No excuses.

He comes by Friday night, spends the weekend before saying goodbye Sunday night. Sometimes with a small bouquet.

Sometimes with your favorite snacks.

Once with nothing but a tired smile and open arms.

And every time he left, the goodbye got quieter. Less dramatic. More heavy.

But you were trying. Both of you were.

Tonight, you’re expecting him again.

You’d cleaned the apartment earlier, even though he’s seen it messy before. There’s a faint scent of citrus from the candle you lit. Your heart always beats a little faster on visit days.

When the knock finally comes, you don’t pretend to be calm. You open the door.

Heeseung stands there with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

And that smile, the one that makes three weeks feel like three seconds.

You don’t even greet him properly—you just step forward and hug him. He laughs softly, arms wrapping around you tightly, lifting you slightly off the ground for a brief second.

“I missed you too,” he murmurs into your hair. When you pull back, you notice something. He looks… different.

Not physically.

But there’s a weight behind his eyes.

“What?” you ask immediately. He exhales lightly. “Can I come in first?” You narrow your eyes but step aside.

He drops his bag near the couch, looks around your apartment like he always does—taking it in, grounding himself.

You close the door.

“Okay,” you say, crossing your arms. “What’s going on?”

He runs a hand through his hair—a nervous habit you’ve come to recognize.

“I have news,” he says. Your stomach drops slightly.

“Good news?” you ask cautiously.

He hesitates just enough to make your heart pound.

“I’m moving.” The word hangs in the air.

Your mind scrambles. “Moving?” you repeat. “Where?”

He steps closer. “Here.”

You blink. “…What?”

“I got a transfer,” he continues, the words coming faster now. “There was an opening in the branch here. I applied a month ago.”

“A month ago?” you echo.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to promise something that might not happen.”

Your heart is racing now. “I got it,” he says quietly. “It’s finalized.” Silence fills your apartment.

“You’re… moving here?” you whisper.

He nods. “I don’t want to do long distance anymore,” he says. “Not when I don’t have to.”

Your brain is still catching up.

“But your mom? Your place? Producing?”

“She supports it,” he replies. “And my job is still my job. Just different location.”

You stare at him.

“You did this… because of me?”He steps closer until there’s barely space between you.

“I did this because I want a life where I don’t count down weeks just to see you,” he says. “Because I don’t want to miss small things. Your bad interview days. Your random 2 a.m. thoughts. Your victories.”

Your throat tightens. “I don’t want to visit you,” he continues softly. “I want to be here.” Tears prick at the corner of your eyes before you can stop them.

“You’re serious,” you whisper.

He cups your face gently, thumbs brushing just beneath your eyes.

“I’ve never been more serious.”

Your laugh comes out shaky. “You’re insane.”

“Probably,” he admits. “But I’m yours.”

note: freaking finally! i know i promised you guys this a month ago, and yes i’m alive. just wanted to wrap things up with my semester and have a small break after stressing out for finals, but alas! here we are! first work kinda nervous >< hope u guys love it!

Heeseung barely reacts at first, eyes still locked onto the screen, fingers moving like you’re not literally sitting in his lap.

“Hee..” You whine, hips grinding involuntarily despite his words earlier telling you not to move.

“Hold on,” he mutters, focused. “One round.”

You tilt your head, watching him instead of the game, how can this man act normally when he’s so deep inside you?

“‘One round’ like the last three times?”

No answer—just a quiet hm under his breath when something doesn’t distract him.

He felt you clench around him making him exhales sharply, dropping his head back against the chair.

“Fuck—Y/N, baby, stop that, I won’t last.” He groans againts your temple. You can’t help it, the stretch is so good and you can literally feel every vein of his.

You give up, groaning softly as you relax and rest your cheek on his chest while he whistles in victory.

“Good girl, we just did it an hour ago. Just relax on me while I game, yeah?” He huff while his fingers work on the keyboard, turning his head slightly to mouth your temple.

“You got the text about Jay’s birthday party?” You ask suddenly, in which he hums. “Tonight,”

“Get dressed, we’ll go together.” His legs moved the chair to give you space to get up, he pats your hip.

Your thighs shake as you got up, his now-soft length pulls out. He let out a groan.

The sudden wave of cold air hitting your bare privates made the both of you wince and hiss, before looking into each other’s eyes with a soft laugh.

“You still have that outfit in my closet—from two nights ago,” he says. “Go put it on.”

You blink, trying to place which one he means.

“The black one,” he adds, a slow smirk forming. “The one I like, though it was so hard to take off.”

Once you’re both ready, the room feels different—like everything that was chaotic before has been tightened into something deliberate.

Your hair is pulled up neatly, a few soft strands framing your face, and your makeup is done just right—clean, sharp, but still natural enough to make it look effortless. You catch your reflection and adjust your outfit one last time, smoothing it down even though it doesn’t need it.

When you step out, Heeseung looks up—and actually pauses for a second.

Not dramatic. Just… still.

His eyes scan you slowly, like he’s making sure he’s seeing it right.

“…yeah,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than you.

You raise a brow. “What?”

He shakes it off like he didn’t just stare a little too long.

“Nothing. Let’s go.”

But as you walk past him, he lightly taps your hip—casual, almost absentminded—but his hand lingers just long enough to make it feel intentional before he grabs his keys.

The air between you feels charged in that quiet, familiar way again.

Outside, the night is cooler. The streetlights glow faintly against the pavement as you both head to his car. He unlocks it and opens the passenger door for you without saying much, like it’s automatic by now.

Once you’re inside, he shuts the door and circles around to the driver’s side.

He gets in and starts the engine, and finally glances at you properly again—like he’s still taking you in.

Then he looks away, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary.

The city lights smear across the windshield as the car moves through traffic, music from outside faint but still pulsing through the windows.

He drives like he always does—calm, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely near the gear shift.

Too close. Always too close.

You glance at him once, then look away.

“Hey,” you say.

“Yeah?”

Your voice drops a little. “Remember. Not too touchy tonight. It’s better to have no contact at all.”

He doesn’t look at you right away. Just tilts his head slightly, like he’s considering it.

“I’m not too touchy,” he says after a beat.

You turn your head.

“Last time you literally—”

“I fixed your strap,” he interrupts smoothly, eyes still on the road.

You pause.

“That’s not—”

“It was falling. You don’t want to flash everyone in the club.”

You exhale, looking forward again, unimpressed. “That’s not the point, Hee. They gave me a suspecting look and it weirded me out. It’s uncomfortable.”

A short silence settles.

Then you add, quieter, “And don’t call me baby in front of them. Or any other stupid petnames you always do.”

That time, his fingers tap once on the steering wheel. Slow.

He glances at you briefly, then back to the road.

“…you’re serious.”

“They’re gonna question it. And! we’re not a couple.”

Another beat.

The car moves under green lights, steady. Then he says, almost casually, “You’re fine with everything else though?”

You don’t answer immediately.

Your grip tightens slightly in your lap.

“That’s not what I meant.”

He hums under his breath, like he doesn’t fully agree, but he doesn’t push it either.

Instead, he just nods once. “Alright.”

But the air in the car shifts anyway.

Being with him like this feels… normal. Almost annoyingly so. And when you have talks like these, reminding him about your rules, it’ll always ruin the mood a little.

Years of knowing each other—childhood friends first, then somewhere in college it blurred, then now in adulthood it’s become this unspoken thing neither of you really defines out loud.

It’s easier that way.

At least, that’s what everyone else thinks.

To your friend group, you’re just the two who are always together. The ones who naturally drift toward each other in every room, every gathering, every late-night decision.

No one questions it.

No one looks twice.

No one knows that almost after every hangout, you both head to his or your apartment—making each other feel good.

“It’s like they’re choosing a club so far away on purpose.” He clicks his tongue, looking at the Maps app.

You look at the scenery outside, the night sky, other cars passing by. You’re grateful he changed the topic.

Almost 20 minutes later, we’ve finally arived to an unfamiliar club, picked by Jay and the others.

Heeseung parked the car, cutting the engine and turning to look at you. He didn't make a move to let go of your hand, his grip still firm as he looked you over silently for a moment.

"You ready?" He asked, a hint of a smirk on his lips—an attempt at humor to hide the worry in his eyes. You nod, and both of you got out of the car and walked towards the entrance.

“No petnames, no touches.” You remind him.

Heeseung paused at that, his expression almost comically annoyed as he stared at you for a long moment. A low huff of breath left him as he ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath.

"Damnit." he said, the word low and almost petulant. "I was looking forward to you clinging to me all night like a damn koala."

“What are you talking about, you silly.” You flick his bicep, “I’m not your girlfriend and we’re not some—couple to be so…PDA-ish.”

Heeseung's smirk vanished instantly, replaced with something that looked dangerously close to hurt for half a second before he schooled his expression back into nonchalance. He rubbed the spot you flicked with an exaggerated wince.

"Ow." he muttered—too sharp to be just about the flick. "You're right. We're not."

A pause as he met your eyes again, his tone deliberately light: "Guess I'll have fun flirting with someone else then."

Heeseung didn't say anything as you scoffed at him, simply following you into the club. He kept his hands in his pockets now, keeping a comfortable distance between you as the other members came into view.

"About goddamn time." Jay's voice cut through the low thrum of music as he noticed you both, his usual smug smirk in place. "Almost thought you two were ditching."

“Who the hell chooses the club? Why is it all the way downtown?” Heeseung grumbles as he took the glass Jake offered as soon as you both went to the group’s booth.

Your friends, the two guys and one more, Beomgyu and two girls, Yunjin and Ryujin is already there.

Yunjin smiles at the both of you before hugging you, talking about missing you the whole day even when she saw you two days ago during a hangout while Ryujin laughs.

Your friendgroup was formed during college, Heeseung was friends with Jay and Jake first, and then later on was introduced to Beomgyu which knew Yunjin and Ryujin.

Heeseung introduced all of them to you, he knew you’re someone reserved and doesn’t need to be in big friendgroups to have a great college life, and you’re content with just having Heeseung as your bestfriend.

However, he promised you these people are worth to be friends with. Real people with real feelings. No drama—just a couple of friends who are always up to weekend getaways and party nights.

Sitting beside the girls, Heeseung sat a few meters away from you, his gaze darting over to you every now and then as the night went on. He was uncharacteristically quiet—only throwing out sarcastic comments now and again while the others chattered.

He was trying so hard not to look at you it was almost funny, his jaw still clenched, teeth grinding slightly.

However, you’re completely unaware how much you’re hurting him right now.

It was a little after a few hours of drinking that everyone was starting to get a bit tipsy. The others were all laughing and chatting, getting rowdier as the alcohol started to go to their heads.

Heeseung, however, remained sitting quietly in his corner of the booth, his gaze never straying far from you. His expression was almost brooding as he sipped at his beer—a stark contrast to the overall atmosphere of the group.

“Hey guys, the birthday boy has a suggestion!” Jake laughs as Jay stands up, clearly too tipsy for his well-being. “Alright, friends.”

He looks around, before turning to us again. “The single ones, tonight everyone needs to get laid.” The others are already chiming in with excited replies.

In the group, only Jake has a girlfriend, someone who’s not in our friendgroup. You saw her a few times during hangouts where he’d bring her but she’s not here tonight.

“Hell yes.” Yunjin cheers, “Gotta find someone to make out with tonight!” The others join, yelling about not wanting to go home tonight or, having their protections ready.

“Wait, so we’re seperating?” You ask and the group’s eyes turn back to you, a chorus of agreeing nods and reassurances greeting you.

“Duh,” Jay smirks. “It’s the perfect time to pick up some cuties, right, Heeseung?” He looks at the man who has been silent since the conversation started.

He looks at you, before looking away, “Yeah, plenty on the dance floor.”

Jake looks at you, “I’ll leave early then, what about you, Y/N?”

I turn to the girls. “Seriously?”

Ryujin shakes her head, gaze going to the crowded dance floor. “There are some fine ass guys here. No way I’m gonna glued to your side all night.” She laughs.

You groan at that, watching everyone slowly leaves the booth.

Everyone except one person.

Heeseung sets his drink on the table and smirks at you, voice soft but clear despite the loud music of the club.

“Guess that leaves just you and me, princess?” He murmur, leaning back againts the booth and spreading his arms across the back of the couch. “You’re gonna keep me company all night?”

“Heeseung, no petnames.”

Hisa smirk faltered for half a second—just long enough to betray the sting of your words. His jaw tightened as he pulled his arms back, resting them on the table instead.

"Right." he muttered, tone clipped. "Y/N."

The way he said it was too formal now—almost cold. He took another sip of beer before adding, "Guess I'll just sit here alone then since you don't want anything to do with me either."

You frown, “I didn’t say that.”

A scoff escaped Heeseung's lips at that—something between a huff of irritation and a laugh.

"Could've fooled me." He mutter, running a hand through his hair. "You've been keeping your distance all goddamn night, avoiding even looking at me."

“Well, the others are around. And that’s our rule?”

He rolled his eyes at that, a sharp scoff cutting through the air. His expression is hard, almost cold.

“Like they care, Y/N.” He replies sharply, “They’re grown adults and they know we’re friends since we’re ten. A little closeness wouldn’t make them go crazy.”

You sigh, “But—”

Heeseung cut you off with a sharp, frustrated gesture of his hand.

"But what?" he bit out, voice low and rough—almost pleading now. "You're acting like I'm some dirty secret. Like this is something to be ashamed of."

A pause as he ran a hand over his face before muttering: "Just tell me what the hell you want from me."

“…You know they make a big deal once there’s a couple in the friendgroup.” You look down.

Heeseung let out a dry, brittle laugh at that, almost bitter. "Yeah. Just like you make a big deal out of me saying goddamn petnames."

He leaned back in the booth, fixing you with a dark gaze. "What's it matter? Are you embarrassed of me or something?"

You look at him, “What? Of course not!”

Heeseung's jaw tightened at that, his grip on the beer bottle turning white-knuckled again. He stared at you for a long moment—silent, calculating.

"Then why?" he finally bit out, "You act like I'm some secret to hide. Like this isn't real."

A pause as he shook his head slightly. "Fuck it. Forget I said anything."

You stood up, taking his hand. “Whatever, let’s dance.”

Heeseung's eyes widened in surprise for a half-second. His gaze flickered down to where you held his hand, something like hope flickering across his face—almost too brief to catch. He let you pull him up from the booth, but his grip tightened on your hand as he looked at you, almost uncertain.

"You're not just doing this to shut me up, are you?" he asks, voice gruff.

You didn’t reply as you drag him. Heeseung let you lead him to the dancefloor, his eyes never leaving you as you moved through the crowd. The music was low and sensual—perfect for the kind of dancing that required touch.

He placed a hand on your hip—hesitating for a moment before pulling you flush against him, chest-to-chest. His hand stayed there, grip firm and possessive.

He lets out a soft hum, his hands moving slowly to feel your back. Your breath hitch, as your fronts kept brushing while you sway to the music.

But you can’t let anyone see this.

“Heeseung, I said dance—“ Your palms softly againts his chest to push him away. “Y/N, it’s just one dance.” He looks into your eyes, pleading now.

“No. Don’t be too close, Hee. The others are going to see.” You say, and that made him snap.

Heeseung exhaled sharply through his nose, frustration flashing across his face as he finally let go of your hip—hands raising in mock surrender.

"Fine." he bit out, stepping back just enough to put space between you two. His jaw was still clenched tight though, eyes burning with something unreadable. "You want distance? You got it. I’m done.”

He took another step back into the crowd—letting the bodies around them swallow him up until all you could see was a flash of dark hair and tense shoulders before he disappeared entirely.

You know you didn’t just pushed him away physically, but mentally as well.

“…Fuck.” You mutter to yourself as you try to get away from the crowd.

You wove your way through the people, trying to weave through the packed club. The music was loud and crowded—flashing lights and hot bodies everywhere.

You stumbled around another group of people, muttering under your breath as you tried to search for any sign of Heeseung. "Dammit." you cursed under your breath, "Where did that idiot disappear to…"

Your gaze flickered over the crowd—searching the sea of bodies for a familiar head of dark hair. You weaved through the people, cursing under your breath as each passing face proved just how hard it was to find someone in a club this packed.

"Damn it." you mutter again, frustration growing as the minutes ticked on. Where the hell was he?

You give up on searching and just sit back down on the empty large couch that was full with your friends earlier.

“Guess I’m the solo one tonight.” You sigh, taking a sip “By choice.”

And stupidity.

You slumped back into the booth, a sense of defeat washing over you as you realized how alone you were now. Everyone was off in pairs or in groups—and you were stranded in the booth on your own.

Your thoughts kept wandering back to Heeseung—the way he'd looked at you before he stormed off, the way his touch seared against your hips—but you pushed it aside, telling yourself to forget about him for now.

The feeling of being lonely in the club was something you were all too familiar with. Your friends were off with whoever they were hooking up with for the night, while you were left behind, alone in the booth like some third-wheel.

The sense of isolation was crushing. The music was too loud, the lights were too bright, and the people were too drunk. You felt completely alone in the chaos of it all.

However, usually Heeseung would come sit next to you, quickly coming out with conversations that’d make you forget being sad and laugh.

That’s how your best friend would usually come during times like these.

Yeah, your best friend.

Who also is your fuck-buddy. Who isn’t exclusively yours and you always try to stay aware of that fact.

The minutes ticked by like hours, and you sat there in the booth, nursing your drink as you watched the crowd around you. Everywhere you looked, people were dancing together, touching each other, having a good time…while you were stuck sitting there, alone. It was like a cruel reminder of how singled out you were in the club.

You pushed yourself up from the booth and made your way through the crowd, heading towards the washroom. Finally, some solitude.

You pushed the door open and slipped inside, the sound of the music muted now as the door swung shut behind you. The washroom was mercifully empty, and you let out a sigh of relief as you leaned against the sink.

You went out a few minutes after and you caught sight of a couple—pressed up against a wall, all over each other. The man's lips was pressed against the woman's as they kissed, hands roaming over each other and—wait.

His face was familiar, even from this distance. You recognized that face. Heeseung?

Your best friend?

“…Wow.” You mutter softly to yourself as you walk away.

It was definitely him. There was no mistaking that face—the sharp jawline, the dark eyes, the defined features. That was unmistakably Heeseung. He was making out with some random girl in the corner.

Your stomach churned with something you refused to identify as jealousy. You looked away, trying to push down the bitter feeling in your chest.

“I deserved this. I was pushing him away all night.” You sigh as you slumped back into the booth, your earlier frustration giving way to something heavier—something that felt a lot like regret.

The club was still loud, still chaotic around you, but it all faded into background noise as you replayed every stupid thing you'd said to Heeseung in your head.

“Fuck." you muttered under your breath, "I really messed this up."

The bitter taste of the drink on your tongue did nothing to distract from the gnawing guilt in your chest.

You sat in the booth for what felt like ages, wallowing in the realization that it was entirely your fault. You'd spent all night pushing Heeseung away—reacting coldly to his touch, distancing yourself from him as much as possible. And now look where that got you.

The image of him, kissing the girl was stuck in your head like a broken record. You couldn't stop thinking about it—replaying it over and over like some kind of sick punishment.

The guilt was eating you up inside, twisting your stomach in knots. You'd been so hellbent on keeping Heeseung at arm's length, and now look where it got you.

He was off making out with someone else while you sat alone in the booth like a goddamn idiot.

“His dick was literally in me hours ago.”

Your own words hit you like a punch to the gut, sharp and brutal.

You have always been in love with him. Like—how can you not? But in college, you both agreed only to have sex, feel good, and that’s it. Other than that? He’s your best friend.

The lines were blurry sometimes? But Heeseung’s careless. You need to be the one who’s keeping the both of you in check. Reminding it’s all casual.

Or is it?

"Fuck.” You dropped your head into your hands, nails digging into your scalp as if it could physically tear the thought out of you. "I really am an idiot."

The thought of him touching her the way he’d touched you—hands sliding over skin, lips pressed to throat, voice rough in her ear—made your chest burn with something dangerously close to rage. And worse? The fact that he probably didn’t even give a shit about what you wanted anymore.

"I did this."you muttered into your palms, "I fucking pushed him until there was nothing left for me."

A bitter laugh escaped you as the truth settled in like poison: “Guess I got exactly what I asked for."

Your fingers fumbled slightly as you pulled out your phone, scrolling through the app with stiff movements. The club lights were too bright now—too loud, too much.

"Cab in 5 minutes," you muttered to yourself, shoving the phone back into your pocket. You didn’t even bother looking for anyone else in the group—let them stay gone.

The thought of Heeseung stumbling back to an empty booth later crossed your mind…but you crushed it underfoot as you grabbed your jacket and stood up.

You walked towards the exit, shoulders slumped and head down. The cool air of the night enveloped you, like a cold slap to the face—grounding you in a way the stuffy air of the club couldn't. You shoved your hands in your pockets, jaw clenched as you stood outside, waiting for the cab.

The wait felt endless, each second like torture as your thoughts spiraled. You couldn't stop thinking about the look on Heeseung's face when you'd pushed him away—the flash of disappointment, mixed with frustration.

What an idiot you were. You'd had it all, right there, and you let it slip through your fingers like it meant nothing. The guilt gnawed at your stomach, sharp and bitter.

Your thoughts were a mess of images—Heeseung, his touch, the way his voice sounded when he'd said your name.

A bright light suddenly cut through the dark night, jolting you out of your thoughts as a cab pulled up in front of you. The driver called out, asking for a location. You hesitated for a moment, your gaze flicking back towards the entrance of the club—as if for some kind of sign.

But there was nothing waiting for you there. Just the loud music and the flashing lights of the club.

You took a deep breath, pushing aside the ache in your heart as you gave the driver your address.

The cab ride was long—longer than it normally would have felt. You watched the city pass by outside the window—all the people on the street, all the bright lights, all the couples laughing and touching each other. Everything that was out of reach for you now.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, making you jump a little. You fumbled for a moment, clumsily pulling it out and tapping the screen awake. The sudden light of the screen stung your eyes—blindingly bright after the darkness of the cab.

Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the name on the screen. It was a text from Heeseung.

hee: where the hell are you?

You stare at the message, your heart pounding. Your thumb hover over it, half-tempted to ignore it all together. But damn it, you can’t resist. You type your reply.

you: on my way home.

The reply was almost instant. Your heart gave another painful squeeze, but you couldn't help the little flicker of hope that flared in your chest. Goddamn it all.

hee: alone??

you: everyone’s busy. don’t wanna disturb.

The reply was slower this time—as if he was debating his response. The 'typing' dots appeared and disappeared a few times before Heeseung finally sent the message. You stared at the screen, almost holding your breath as you waited for his next text.

hee: can i call?

you: the driver is a woman, you don’t have to.

Another pause, and then the call notification flashed across your screen. You hesitated for only a moment more before accepting. You put the phone to your ear, heart in your throat.

Heeseung's voice came through the line, low and hoarse. God, those damn chills it sent down your spine should be illegal.

"You left." he said, a note of something almost like hurt edging into the words. It was so subtle, you almost missed it.

“Said you don’t have to call, I’m safe.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, as if Heeseung was debating whether to say something or not. When he finally spoke again, the words came out sharp and frustrated.

"Damnit, I don't care if you're safe." he muttered, his voice laced with something like irritation and something else you couldn't quite name. "That's not the goddamn point."

You frown, “You don’t care..?”

He sighed, and it came out more like a ragged huff. "I didn't mean it like that, goddamn it. You just—" He broke off, his tone taking on a frustrated edge as he continued.

"You left without saying anything. Didn't even send a goddamn text. Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

“…You were busy.”

There was an incredulous sound on the other end of the line—like Heeseung had just rolled his eyes or something. When he spoke again, there was a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"So? That doesn't matter. I'd never be too busy for you." he grumbled, a note of something like annoyance—or was that hurt?—coloring his words.

"You know that. You could've at least let me know you were leaving. You just disappeared, without a goddamn word."

“Well? With the way I’m alone the whole time and everyone is sucking other people’s lips? Of course.”

Heeseung's response came almost immediately, sharp and biting—a hint of something almost like anger in his voice now.

“You think I wanted this? You think I wanted to spend the night like that? You're the one who kept pushing me away all night. What the hell did you expect." he snapped, the words coming out harsh and frustrated.

"You were so goddamn cold all night—did you really expect me not to go find someone else to keep me distracted?"

“I told you we have to be discreet—“

Heeseung cut you off before you could finish, his voice rising as irritation flared in his tone.

"Yeah, I know. You told me. But damn, was it so goddamn hard to give me a bit of attention? Even a little touch? You acted like you didn't want me near you at all. What the hell was I supposed to do?"

He was definitely angry now—the words coming out harsh and sharp. You could hear him breathing heavily on the other end of the line, like he was trying to control his own emotions.

"You wanted me to act like a friend? That's what you wanted? To push me away anytime I tried to get close? To act like we're nothing more than friends? Fine, I did what you wanted. I acted like I didn't care. Like you don't mean anything to me. That's the whole damn point, isn't it?"

His voice dropped dangerously low at that, sharp and bitter.

"You think I don't know what you want? You think I don’t see it?" A rough exhale came through the phone—almost a growl. “I just spent half the night watching you act like you didn’t even want me to breathe in your direction. So yeah. Maybe I got tired of playing by your goddamn rules."

A pause as his tone shifted slightly—something almost wounded seeping into his next words:

"But sure. Let's pretend this is all on me."

You were speechless, the words cutting into you like a damn knife. Because as angry as he sounded, he wasn't even wrong.

You'd given him the cold shoulder all night, pushing him away again and again—and now you were going to act offended when he went and found someone else to give him the attention you refused him? It was a gut-wrenching realization.

His breathing was ragged on the other end of the line—like he was struggling to keep his voice even. When he finally spoke again, it came out low and rough.

“You really don't get it, do you?" A bitter chuckle. "I didn’t go with her because I wanted to. I did it because you kept pushing me away until there wasn't a goddamn thing left for me."

A sharp inhale—almost pained. "But yeah. Sure. Let's act like this is all my fault."

You sigh, “It’s not your fault, Hee—”

He huffed, the sound sharp and bitter.

"Damn straight it's not my fault. It's yours. You're the one who wanted to keep this a goddamn secret. You're the one who wanted to act like we were just friends."

He let out a low scoff. "Don't get pissed at me for finding someone who wanted to give me the attention you refused to."

The words stung, more brutally than you wanted to admit. Because part of you knew he was right. You'd been the one to set the rules—set the boundaries.

You'd pushed him away every time he got close, every time he touched you, every time he got too intimate.

And now you had the audacity to get pissed off when he finally got tired of the game and found someone else? It was a bitter pill to swallow.

In public, the only time you want to be all touchy feely with someone is when it’s exclusive. When it’s established. Not some hookup, or a fuck-buddy. Even when it’s your best friend. Even when it’s Heeseung.

You start to feel your tension increase as well, “Is this why you called? To bitch at me?”

His huff of irritation was almost a snarl. "No. I called because I was goddamn worried. But then you started this bullshit. You really gonna act like you're the victim here?" He scoffed, his voice taking on a bitter edge. "You've been cold all night, pushing me away every time I tried to touch you. You can't blame me for finding someone else to give me some goddamn affection."

The words felt like a punch to your gut. Because goddamn it, how did this get twisted so much? Hadn't you been trying to do the right thing? To keep things casual, to keep things secret?

But now it felt like you were the bad guy. The one who drove him into another girl's arms. The guilt twisted in your chest, the realization that your rules had backfired coming down on you like a ton of bricks.

“It was mutually agreed in the first place, we keep it from our friends.” You say, tone no nonsense.

He cut you off with a sharp, frustrated sound—almost like he couldn't even believe what he was hearing.

"You really don’t get it. Do you?" His voice dropped to something low and rough—dangerous. "I don’t give a shit about the secret. I care that you act like I'm some dirty little mistake even when we're alone."

A pause as his breathing hitched slightly. "So yeah. Maybe I went looking for someone who won't make me feel like garbage.”

Once he noticed the silence on your end of the line, and he let out a dry laugh—the sound sharp and almost cruel.

"What? Nothing to say now? No explanation for why you've been treating me like I don't even exist all goddamn night?" he muttered, the frustration and hurt coming through in his tone. "Go ahead. Say something. Tell me this isn't all on me. You know you want to."

You were done, you didn’t want to talk anymore as you feel your emotions are starting to get over you, “Don’t you have a girl waiting for you? Hang up.”

Heeseung's laugh this time was bitter—almost angry. He was getting pissed now—angry at you, at the whole damn situation, at himself for even caring so much.

He wanted to snap back, to say something cutting and cruel—to hurt you as much as you hurt him. But instead, he forced himself to take a deep breath, his voice coming out low and hoarse

"Yeah. I do have a girl waiting for me. So why the hell am I even still talking to you?" he muttered, irritation edging into the words.

“Don’t be surprised when I’m not there to wait for you anymore. With the others around or not.”

That was the last thing he said before hanging up.

The tears stung in your eyes as the dial tone cut through the air, the silence in the cab suddenly feeling heavy and oppressive.

You tried to push away the feeling of guilt twisting in your gut, the realization that all of this was your damn fault hitting you like a ton of bricks.

You'd pushed him away, pushed him to look for comfort elsewhere, and now he'd gone and found it. In someone else's arms, someone who was probably giving him the affection you refused to give him all night.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. Heeseung was right—you hadn't even given him a goddamn explanation for treating him like a dirty secret. You'd just expected him to accept it, to put up with being treated like a mistake you couldn't let anyone find about.

But he wasn't just some goddamn mistake. He was your best goddamn friend, the one person who mattered more to you than anyone else.

And you were treating him like he was nothing more than a dirty little secret to be kept hidden away in the shadows. How goddamn stupid were you?

The tears came even harder now—hot and fast, the weight of guilt and regret crashing over you like a goddamn wave. You'd messed up. And not just a little bit—you'd royally screwed up. You'd pushed away the one person who meant more to you than anything else—all because of your stupid fear of people finding out.

So there you were, sitting in the backseat of a damn cab, crying like a fool over the man you'd driven into another girl's arms.

The image of him with the girl burned in your mind—his hands touching her like they should've been touching you, his head bent close to hers like it should've been bent down to whisper in your ear instead.

You wanted to scream, to turn back time and undo every goddamn stupid choice that led to this moment. Because right now, all you wanted was for him to be there with you—not in someone else's arms.

The last few days had been hell. The image of Heeseung with that girl kept replaying in your damn head like a broken record—the guilt twisting in your gut every time you thought about it.

You'd tried to keep yourself occupied, to throw yourself into work, into anything that would get your mind off of him. But no matter what you did, all you could think about was him. His smile, his laugh, the sound of his voice, the way his hands felt against your skin.

You stayed away from the friend group as best as you could, giving excuse after excuse about why you couldn't hang out.

"I've got meetings this week." "There's a new project I'm helping out on." "Sorry, I can't come out tonight—I'm too swamped with paperwork." A hundred different bullshit reasons, all avoiding the goddamn truth.

The days bled together—same excuses, same routine. You’d show up to the hospital early, leave late, avoid any group texts with a million replies you didn’t have energy for.

And if anyone noticed how quiet you'd gotten? How your eyes kept darting toward the door like some part of you was still waiting for him?

No one called it out.

At least until Yunjin herself comes to your workplace, bringing you out for a lunch break.

She appeared in the doorway of your office, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. The look on her face was a mix of concern and stubbornness—the kind that said she wasn't leaving without you.

"Okay, what the hell is going on?" she demanded, "You've been dodging us for days. And don't even try to feed me that 'workload' bullshit—I know damn well you're not scheduled for anything, I’m literally in a department next to yours."

Her gaze softened slightly as she took in your tired expression. "C'mon, Y/N. Let's go eat something before I drag you out by force."

You felt like passing out. You can’t believe Yunjin Huh—the manager of the HR department, going all the way to the Finance department for something as personal as a friendgroup problem during working hours.

You continue looking at your computer screen because there’s just no way.

Yunjin scoffed, her arms dropping to her sides as she shot you a look that said "seriously?" She rolled her eyes and pushed off the doorframe, striding into your office without a care for personal space.

"Alright, that's it. No bullshit excuses. You're coming with me, even if I have to drag you out by the ear." she said, her voice leaving no room for argument.

“How the hell did you get in here without work business?” You question, looking at her.

Yunjin shrugged, a sly smirk crossing her face. "Please. I’m the boss’s favourite" she jokes.

She paused, taking in your tired, distracted state. Her expression softened slightly—almost like she knew exactly what was going on. “And stop trying to change the subject. You're coming with me. Period."

Yunjin led the way to the cafe, her expression determined. The cafe was packed with hospital staff, the place buzzing with the usual lunchtime rush. She weaved her way through the crowd effortlessly, finding an empty table near the window.

She plopped into the chair across from you, her eyes scanning your face intently. "Okay. Spill. What the hell is going on? And don't give me any of that bullshit."

You sigh as you lean back.

Yunjin raised an eyebrow, watching you closely as you sighed.

She knew something was up—your expression, your demeanor, the fact that you'd been avoiding the friend group like the damn plague. She leaned forward, her voice softening slightly.

“C'mon, Y/N. You can tell me. You know that. Is this about Heeseung?"

Your gaze snap at her. “How..”

Yunjin rolled her eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Don't act surprised, okay? You two aren't exactly subtle."

Her gaze softened as she took in your expression—the way your eyes flicked away, the way you avoided looking directly at her, the guilt etched into every line on your face.

"Besides, you've been avoiding the friend group for like, a week now. We're not idiots, you know."

You keep quiet. Not knowing what to answer to that.

Yunjin sighed, her expression softening further as she reached across the table and touched your hand.

Her touch was light, but it was grounding—a reminder that she was there, that she cared.

“Hey. Talk to me. What happened between you and Heeseung?“

You look at her. And then your hands together.

“We’ve been sleeping together…all this time.” You reveal to her.

Yunjin's eyes widened at your confession. She hadn't been expecting such a blunt answer and it took her a moment to process what you'd said.

But she was a smart girl, and it didn't take her long to fit the pieces together.

The late nights, the secret text messages, the tension between you and Heeseung… It all made sense now. She leaned back in her chair, her expression a mix of surprise and understanding.

"You've been hooking up the whole time? Since when?”

“Final year.“ You nodded. “And..we didn’t plan on telling you guys because, it was physical. We’re best friends. That’s all. Nothing exclusive.”

Yunjin let out a slow breath, her gaze never leaving yours.

The cafe noise faded into background static as she studied your face—the exhaustion in your eyes, the tension in your jaw. “Y/N.” Her voice was quieter now—less teasing, more serious.

"You don't get to call something 'physical' when you're crying over it for days straight."

A pause as she leaned forward slightly, “So tell me. What's really going on?"

You hesitate before answering.

“I made rules when we were still hooking up, to never show it when you guys are around. But, I was so anxious that you’re gonna caught us, so I just decided to push him away all together. Acting like if he’s too close I’ll burn.” You chuckle, but it didn’t reach my eyes.

“I know what we had was casual, and strictly no feelings involved. We were friends the longest in the friendgroup, so I never wanted to ruin that. And…” You look down, your free hand fumbling.

“And?” Yunjin urges.

“And I freaking like him. I’m in love with him. I think I already did during highschool. And now with intimacy involved? It’s…insane.”

Yunjin nodded—like she'd already guessed as much.

She'd seen the way you looked at Heeseung, seen the chemistry between the two of you. It was obvious to anyone with eyes.

"And he likes you, idiot. Any moron could see that."

Your eyes went to her, before shaking your head.

“Even if that’s true, we still did everything out of order. In what world that can work? And what will the others think?

She snorted, reaching across the table to flick your forehead lightly. "Who cares about 'order'? Since when do you give a shit about what anyone thinks?"

She leaned in, her voice lowering as she fixed you with a dead-serious look. "Heeseung's been obsessed with you for years. And yeah—maybe it started as casual. But that doesn't mean it can't be something more."

A smirk tugged at her lips. "Unless you're too chicken to try."

You huff, “Yunjin, I’m serious!”

She raised an eyebrow, her smirk growing wider. She was enjoying this a bit too much now—the way your face got all worked up, the way you tried so damn hard to be calm and composed…

She leaned in, resting her chin on her hand—still smirking like a smartass. "Yeah? Then what's the problem? If you like each other, just be together. Seems like a no-brainer to me."

“…And if we don’t work? I’m risking my best friend here.” Your lips tremble.

Yunjin's smirk vanished. Her expression shifted—suddenly serious, her eyes sharp as she studied you.

"That's bullshit and you know it." She pointed a finger at your face. "Heeseung isn't the type to throw away years of friendship over one messy breakup. And neither are you."

A pause as she crossed her arms, "But fine—if that's really what scares you? Then tell him how you feel before things go any further. No more hiding behind 'casual' crap when we both know damn well this is more than that for both of ya."

“Easier said than done.”

She rolled her eyes, exasperated now. "Nothing worth doing ever is, idiot. This isn't a Disney movie where everything turns out perfect."

She leaned back in her chair, a sigh escaping her as she ran a hand through her hair. "Look—I get it. It's risky, it's scary…but you're not doing yourself any favor by keeping your mouth shut. You want Heeseung, right?"

You took a deep breath, before nodding.

Yunjin nodded too, her gaze steady on yours.

"Then you gotta take a damn chance" she said firmly.

"Tell him how you feel. Make it clear. Because if you don't, you'll be spending the next who-knows-how-long wondering 'what if' every goddamn time you see him with someone else."

You tilt your head in confusion, “You know about the girl?”

Yunjin rolled her eyes again, scoffing. "Of course I know. You think we're all blind, dumbass?"

She paused, her gaze still locked onto yours. "Heeseung's been weird all week—edgy, short-tempered. None of us are that stupid to not put two and two together. We've been friends with him just as long as you have, you know. We know when he's acting off."

She leaned forward again, her expression turning serious again.

“And even if none of us knew, we aren't blind enough to miss how you've been avoiding everyone like the goddamn plague. Do you have any idea how shitty it feels to see our friend, someone we care about, acting like we don't exist, just because they're too scared to talk about a boy?"

She shook her head, her voice tinged with frustration now. “So yes. I know about the girl. And it's pissing me off to see you let it go down this way."

“A boy who’s also in the same friendgroup as you and can literally make things awkward once we date each other.”

Yunjin rolled her eyes yet again, her expression going fond despite herself. “Regardless, he’s a friend who's head over heels for you. You really think we don't see it? The tension between the two of you? The looks, the stolen touches during hangouts, the way his eyes follow you around like some goddamn lost puppy…?"

She paused, shaking her head as she leaned back in her chair. “Hell, even the way he talks about you when you're not around…it's sickeningly sweet."

Your gaze drop again, “That night, we argued. After I push him away, he just stopped fighting back. We…we never really argued like that before, you know?”

Yunjin's expression softened as she took in your demeanor—the way you were avoiding her gaze, staring down at your hands like your whole damn world was falling apart.

She reached across the table, her voice quieter now, more gentle. "Hey… Look at me.”

"Arguing means you care." Her voice dropped lower—almost fierce now. “You think Jake and his girl never fight? They fight a lot during our hangouts, even sometimes she left without him. It’s hilarious.”

A pause as she leaned in closer, “But the next time we see them? They’re closer than ever.”

Yunjin's grip on your wrist tightened slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to make you look at her. Her expression was dead serious now.

"Listen to me." Her voice was low, firm.

"Heeseung is a goddamn idiot for letting things go that far with some random girl when it's you he wants. But if you're really this scared?"

She let out a slow breath before continuing,

"Then go talk to him before this gets any more messed up. Or I swear to god, I'll drag both of you into a closet and lock the door until one of ya says something real."

You chuckle, before shaking your head.

“No need, I’ll…try to call him today.” You smile at her, in which she smiled back.

Yunjin's smirk returned, sharp and victorious.

"Good. Because I will follow through on that threat."

She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed—looking way too smug for someone who just basically blackmailed you into fixing your love life. "And if he picks up? Don't be a coward about it. Just say what you mean."

A pause as she pointed a warning finger at you, "Or I will find out…and then we're having another talk."

A few hours had passed since lunch, and the moon was up high in the sky when you finally worked up the courage—your finger hovering over the call button.

Heeseung's contact stared up at you from the screen, the profile picture a stupid picture of him making a funny face. As the phone rang, your heart thudded in your chest.

Each second felt like forever as the call rang once, twice…and then, finally—on the third ring, Heeseung's voice came through the other end of the line.

"Hello?" His voice was casual, almost distant, like he didn't have a clue what you were calling for.

“…Hi. It’s me.” You say quietly.

There was a pause, a beat of silence on his end—then his voice came through again, lower now, a tinge of hesitancy in the words.

"Hey." The single word was quiet, an uncertain exhale. It sounded like he couldn't tell if you were calling to talk or to yell at him again. The thought sent a pang through you—the same guilt you'd had ever since that goddamn argument with him.

You hummed.

Heeseung exhaled on the other end of the line, almost like he was bracing himself. "Spit it out. I know you didn't call just to say uhm."

His tone wasn’t harsh—just tired, a little rough around the edges. Like maybe he hadn't slept well since that night either.

“…Could you pick me up tonight after work? At 11.”

Heeseung went quiet for a moment, clearly surprised by your request.

You could almost hear his brain working, trying to guess what the hell you were up to.

But eventually, he sighed—a resigned sound, like he knew he was walking straight into your trap, whatever it was.

“Yeah, I can." The words came out with a hint of wariness, but it was clear he'd already made up his mind to do what you asked. “I'll be there."

“Thanks, see you, Hee.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line—almost like he was hesitating, wanting to say something before you hung up. But in the end, he didn't.

"See you." He replied, his voice gruff, before the line clicked to silence. You were left with the buzz of the phone in your hand and a churning guilt in your stomach.

A few hours passed as you finished your shift, the minutes ticking by excruciatingly slow as you tried to keep your mind off of the fact that you'd be seeing Heeseung again in less than an hour.

By the time the clock hit 11, your heart was in your throat, your hands shaking a bit walked out of the office building. You were exhausted, the long shift taking its toll on your body…but that was the least of the things on your mind right now.

Heeseung was already there when you walked out—standing outside the building, leaning against his car and lit cigarette in hand.

He looked…tired.

Almost like he'd had a damn long week too, dark circles under his eyes. But of course, being the goddamn handsome bastard he was, it didn't take away how good he looked.

He pushed off the car when he saw you approach, tossing the cigarette and crushing it under his foot.

“Real nice. Smoking in front of a working civilian? Told ya to quit.”

He scoffed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he opened the car door for you to get in.

The action was so damn effortless—it was so damn natural, the casual ease he had when he was around you. It made your heart twist a bit, but you pushed the thought away.

"What, gonna go all doctor and tell me the dangers of smoking now?" he said dryly, watching as you got in.

Heeseung walked around the car and got in the driver's seat, starting the engine and pulling out of the building’s parking lot.

For a few seconds, he was silent, staring out the windshield with the same stoic expression he always had.

The only difference was that damn tired look in his eyes, the slight heaviness in the air between you. And then—

"So." He cut through the tense silence, his eyes flicking to you. "You gonna tell me why you wanted me to pick you up at the goddamn office?"

You leaned into his carseat, the familiar scent of his car calming you slightly, but not entirely.

“You always do.”

He rolled his eyes, a scoff leaving his lips as his fingers tightened on the steering wheel. And of course that goddamn motion caught your eye, because damn it, those hands were so attractive.

But no. You weren't gonna get distracted by that tonight, no matter how many times the thought had plagued you in the last week.

“Stop avoiding the question, Y/N." he said, his gaze glued to the road but his voice sharp.

I sighed. “I’m sorry, for acting stupid the other night.”

Heeseung's gaze flicked to you for a second before he focused back onto the road, the muscles in his jaw tensing as he replied.

There was a hint of something in his voice—like you'd just hit a damn nerve.

“That's all I get? Just an apology and nothing else?" His voice was low, rough around the edges. Like he was trying to hold himself back from saying something else, some damn emotion that was itching to come out.

Heeseung exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on the steering wheel again—knuckles going white for a second before he forced himself to relax.

“You kept pushing me away like I was some goddamn mistake." The words came out rough, almost pained. "And then you got pissed when I went and found someone who didn't make me feel like garbage. That's what this is about."

A pause as he shot you a sideways glance, “So yeah. You were acting stupid."

You winced under the harsh words, the guilt in your gut twisting harder at the truth in the words. Because the worst part was, he was right.

You'd been a goddamn hypocrite, expecting him to wait around for you like some idiot while you pushed him away yourself.

But you weren't gonna admit that. Not right now, when he was acting like that.

So you forced yourself to scoff, crossing your arms over your chest defensively—trying to hide the damn guilt from him. From yourself. “That's a goddamn exaggeration and you know it. That’s why I’m apologising right now.”

Heeseung huffed in disbelief at your damn nonchalance, his eyes still fixed on the road in front of him.

But you didn't miss the way his jaw clenched, the way his fingers tightened on the steering wheel—he was trying goddamn hard to hold back his emotions, to keep his cool.

But he was failing. You could see it in the tension in his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw.

He was frustrated.

“Yeah, well…your apology sucks."

“…Want me to write a letter?”

A bitter laugh escaped his lips—short, sharp laugh that sounded more like a scoff. The sound sent a pang through you. Damn it, he really was frustrated.

“How 'bout an essay, smartass." He shot back with a mocking tilt to his lips. “With proper citations and everything."

You sigh, “Are you…still talking to that girl?”

Heeseung's grip on the steering wheel tightened for a split second—his jaw clenching as he shot you a sharp glance. The question clearly caught him off guard, and from the look in his eyes? He wasn't about to let that slide.

“That's what this is about?" His voice dropped lower, rougher. "You want to know if I'm still talking to her? After all that goddamn guilt-tripping?"

A bitter scoff left his lips before he added, "No. Not anymore.”

“I’m not guilt-tripping.” You try to say,

Heeseung scoffed at your denial, the sound harsh and disbelieving. Like you were being a goddamn idiot and he had no patience for it.

“Bullshit,"he said bluntly, his knuckles turning white around the steering wheel again.

"You say you're sorry for acting like an idiot, and then in the very next moment, you ask me about some other girl."

He glanced at you again, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Or do you not think I can see straight through you?"

The silence in the car went on for a few seconds, the air thick with tension. You could've heard a damn pin drop.

Heeseung's irritation lingered, his jaw clenching as he gripped the steering wheel like he was fighting the urge to snap at you.

His fingers drummed an irritated rhythm against the wheel, like he was trying to burn off some of the anger with that small motion.

"Say something, goddamnit."

“…I didn’t want to tell the others about us not because I’m embarrassed of you.” You start,

“It’s..just complicated. We’re not dating. It’s casual. So why do we have to tell them? We don’t owe them anything.”

Heeseung's expression hardened at your words, the look in his eyes almost cold now. He didn't look at you as he spoke, his gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead, but his tone was sharp.

"Right. So it's casual." He huffed out a humorless laugh, the sound bitter. "And yet for some goddamn reason, you still get all jealous when I start talking to someone else."

“For the love of God, let me finish!” You huff, and it’s like the normal banter you always have again, except it’s nothing unserious.

Heeseung's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his jaw clenching as he exhaled sharply through his nose.

The car fell into a heavy silence for a second—just the hum of tires against pavement and your own damn heartbeat pounding in your ears.

"Fine." he finally bit out, still not looking at you. "Finish. But don't act surprised when I call bullshit on whatever excuse you're about to pull."

“…It was casual. But is it really? Even when we weren’t in bed, you’d still call me petnames.” You sigh, “Still make me meals, still stay the night, still drive me to and from work. I mean, you’re my best friend. But…I feel..something now.”

Heeseung's shoulders tensed as you spoke, his jaw clenching slightly as you listed off all the…coupley things he did for you.

It was like you were listing off every little thing he did to show you he cared, every way he proved he wasn't just some casual hook-up. And you were right, goddamnit—he did all of that. He always had.

There was a long, heavy silence, and then he forced out a quiet, "What do you feel?"

You look at you trembling hands, “Love.”

His breath stuttered for a split second, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel even more. The word hit him like a damn ton of bricks.

He'd been expecting some excuse, some stupid justification—some reason for why you felt something now.

But love? He almost couldn't believe his own goddamn ears.

He shot you a sharp, disbelieving look, like he was trying to see if you meant it. Like he was trying to see if this was just some cruel joke.

You take another deep breath, “Well-that's what I felt. At least,” looking outside the window.

“But I'm scared. Because we did everything out of order, and I'm not sure if we'll be okay. If-If we stopped, I'm not only gonna lose my boyfriend, but my best friend." You continue, voice slightly trembling now.

Heeseung went quiet, his expression softening slightly as he realized you were serious-as he saw the tremble in your voice, the fear on your face.

He wanted to tell you it would be okay. He wanted to pull you into his arms, to wrap you up in his embrace and soothe away the damn anxiety he heard in your words.

But he didn't. He took a deep breath, his shoulders tensing again as he gripped the steering wheel like a lifeline.

"..ls that the only reason you're telling me this now? Because you're scared of losing a friend?"

“You’re not just a friend, Hee. You’re basically my other half.” You confess,

A low, heavy sigh left Heeseung's lips at those words, and this time, his shoulders slumped slightly.

It was like all the frustrated tension finally left his body, leaving just the tired, worn-out weight of those words.

Hearing you say that...it did something to him. It made his heart clench, made his breathing get a little uneven.

He looked over at you then, the look on his face almost vulnerable. "...Your other half, huh?"

You nod, not trying to filter anything now.

“You’re my other half, someone who knows me the most— I don’t— I don’t think I can live normally again if we ever stopped being together, friends and all.”

His breath caught in his throat at that statement, his chest tightening painfully.

You were saying the words so damn casually, like you didn't realize the weight they carried for him. He had to force himself to breathe, to speak past the sudden emotional lump in his throat.

His voice was a little hoarse when he finally managed to grit out a question. "And you're just telling me this now? After a whole goddamn week of avoiding each other? After years of dragging it as some hookup?”

You keep quiet, silenced.

“That’s a question, Y/N.” He bite out.

“I’m sorry.”

Your apologies are like a broken record by now, as he let out a bitter laugh.

“You’ve said that.”

“But it’s the truth! I’m sorry I hurt you because I know I did, and I wasn’t acting my feelings for years straight.”

He let out a sharp exhaled at your words, his jaw clenching as he tried to swallow back the mix of irritation and...hope that flared in him at your confession.

The mix of emotions was getting to be too damn much. He was tired, he was frustrated, and he was tired of the games.

He glanced over at you-and dammit if you didn't look like you meant it.

And Heeseung, damn his bleeding heart, couldn't deny that look in your eyes. He let out a low, exasperated sigh.

"You goddamn idiot." He said, his voice gruff.

"Do you have any idea how pissed I was? How goddamn frustrated l've been all week? I didn't know if you just regretted it, if you thought I was some stupid mistake, if...if I meant anything to you."

The words left his lips before he could stop them, a hint of vulnerability in the tone.

He was being damn honest for once, letting some of the emotional mess swirling around in his head spill out in front of you like that.

And you didn’t even realize you’ve arrived to your complex. But he didn’t ask you to leave yet, he just parked his car and switched off the engine, the sudden silence in the car suddenly deafening.

For a moment, both of you just sat there, the tension in the air almost stifling.

Then, he looks over to you. His expressions are unreadable.

“We’re here.” he said simply, like it was some kind of warning.

A warning that this conversation was about to continue, and there was no avoiding it.

“You were never, ever a mistake to me.” You look into his eyes.

Heeseung's breath hitched at your words, the honest admission sending a pang through his heart.

He'd been going back and forth between annoyance and irritation all goddamn week-trying to convince himself you just regretted the hookup, trying to ignore the fact that he still wanted you.

Hearing you say that, hearing that quiet honesty in your voice—it made it hard to hold onto the irritation.

It made him feel guilty for doubting you in the first place but damn it, he was still angry.

He stared at you for a long moment—your expression, the way your hands were fidgeting in your lap.

The vulnerability in it all made his chest ache. He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand over his face like he was trying to physically push back the damn emotions clogging up his throat.

"I know that now," he finally muttered, "But it took you avoiding me and acting like I didn't exist for a week to say that shit."

A pause as he turn fully towards you now.

“You don’t get to keep pushing me away and then act like that when I go looking elsewhere.”

“I’m not going to push you away anymore.”

His breath caught in his chest at your quiet admission, the raw sincerity of it making something inside him ache.

He was still pissed—still frustrated beyond belief but the confession did soften the edges.

“Good,” He says gruffly. “Because you’re not going to dismiss my feelings, not again.”

That made you look at him, “What do you feel?”

He froze at your sudden question, his heart leaping in his chest. The look in your eyes was damn intent, leaving no room for bullshit.

You were asking him what he felt-for real this time, not some half-ass excuse or half-true response.

He clenched his jaw, conflicted. He wanted to be honest. He wanted to tell you exactly how he felt.

But part of him was still pissed, still frustrated by that week of avoiding each other, and he wanted to make you hurt just a little bit, too.

Gosh he’s so petty.

“What do I feel? I’m pissed. Hella freaking pissed,” he bit out at first—zero hesitation, "Because you made me think I wasn't shit to you. That all of this"—a sharp gesture between the two of you—"was just some goddamn mistake."

A pause as he swallowed hard, his voice dropping lower.

"But I also feel like a damn idiot for caring this much when we never even called it what it was."

The sight of you wincing at his bitter confession made something in Heeseung ache, but he didn't let that stop him from speaking.

He'd been keeping this all bottled up for a week, and damn it, it was time for you to hear what that felt like.

He continued, the words falling out like a damn train wreck.

"You have any idea how much of an idiot I've been this past week? | thought you were ashamed of me. Like I was some kind of regret."

There was a note of anger in his voice still, the frustration and hurt of the past week coming out in sharp breaths as he continued.

"I was trying to keep my distance, trying to forget you. But you have no goddamn idea how that felt when I was lying in my bed every damn night, and all I could think of was you."

He took a sharp inhale, his throat tight with emotion. "I'm tired of being the one who cares, damn it."

You retort immediately, “I care too!”

"Then damn it, why didn't you act like it?" He huffed out bitterly, his irritation and frustration getting the best of him. He was angry, so goddamn angry, but the hurt in his voice was undeniable.

"All you did was push me away. You acted cold, you avoided me, you never gave me a straight answer about us! You made me doubt everything we had! So excuse me if I thought you were ashamed!"

“It’s because I’m fucking scared, Hee!”

His shoulders tensed at that sudden outburst,

the raw emotion in your voice finally getting through his walls of anger-piercing through to the vulnerable thing beneath.

He felt that confession down to the very bone-and it only made His own guilt claw at his conscience.

But he was still angry, still hurt, and he needed you to understand why. "Scared of what?" he snapped, voice slowly rising.

"That maybe I'm ruining things with someone who probably know me the best out of everyone!” You snap, “that I'm ruining my friendship with someone I always wanted to be with!"

He felt those words like a punch to the gut. It was like you were saying everything that'd crossed his mind in the past week, and damn if it didn't hurt like hell.

A part of him, the soft part that loved you with all the damn intensity of the sun, wanted to pull you into his arms and soothe your fears.

But the part of him that was still hurt and angry kept him holding back.

"If you were so scared, then why did you let it get this far?!” He yell.

“Stop yelling!”

"I'll stop yelling when you start making some goddamn sense!" He fired back, his voice rising again as he struggled to rein in his emotions.

Goddamn it, he knew he was being unreasonably loud, but he couldn't help it.

He was struggling to hold back the mix of anger, hurt, and goddamn affection swirling through him at the sight of you, vulnerable and so damn familiar.

"You can't just avoid me for a week, act distant and cold, and expect me not to be pissed!"

You never heard him scream at you like this, at it scared you.

Your best friend, who’s smug and stupid at time— but always so soft-spoken. That’s one of a million things you loved about him.

The way he speaks— like he’s scared if he’s too loud or too harsh you’ll fade away.

But right now? All of that is out of the window.

Rightfully so, he’s hurt. You hurt him.

And nothing scares you more that hurting the one person you cared the most.

“Please,” you tear up.

Holy fuck, are you crying?

You wanted to slap the shit out of yourself.

“Please don’t yell when I’m so fucking scared right now.”

Heeseung froze the moment he saw your tears, his entire body going rigid.

The anger drained from him in an instant-replaced by something far more visceral, something that made his chest tighten painfully.

His hands dropped to his sides as he exhaled sharply through clenched teeth, like the fight was being punched out of him at once.

He looked…guilty now.

"Shit." he muttered under his breath before running a hand over his face, "I'm not yelling anymore."

He stayed quiet for a long moment, his jaw working as he fought to keep his own damn emotions in check.

The silence between you was thick with everything unspoken-anger, hurt, fear. But the way your voice had cracked on that last word made something in him cave.

Slowly, deliberately—he reached over and took one of your hands from where it was clenched into fists on your lap. His grip was firm but not tight, grounding.

“I’m not going to yell, I’m sorry.” he says softly, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, the frustration and anger still simmering in his chest-but your quiet plea made him pause.

He wanted to yell, damn it. He needed you to understand how much he'd been hurting too.

"I'm not yelling," he muttered again gruffly-though the way he bit out each word was soft. "But I'm not just gonna sit here and pretend like this didn't fucking destroy me."

A pause as he swallowed hard, forcing himself to lower his voice further when he added, "You don't get to be scared of losing me when you're the one who pushed first."

You look at your hands together, “I don’t know how to do this, Hee.” You confess, “I’m going to mess up again, I’ve messed up, so I don’t…know how to do it,” you bite out, “But I know I want to be with you.”

His grip on the steering wheel loosened slightly as he stared at you—really looked at you—for the first time since this whole damn mess started.

"You don't get to say that," he muttered, but there was no real bite left in his words now. Just exhaustion.

A pause as he exhaled sharply, "But...if you really want this? Then we figure it out. Together."

“You mean everything to me,” you say. The tears never stopped.

At that quiet declaration, He felt his heart twist and some of the anger left draining from him ever further.

But he wanted you to be sure. He wasn’t going to accept this all sincerely and then watch you push him away again once your friends are in the room.

“Like hell I mean everything to you, after the shit—” He starts but you cut him off before he could even continue.

“I know I acted like shit recently, heck, maybe even months now. But before that?” You look into his eyes, “All the years before? When we were kids and the grandmas in the neighborhood always predicted we’d get married? Isn’t that obvious, you jerk?” If you weren’t then, now you are full on sobbing.

Heeseung felt something in his chest ache at those memories. Those years you spent growing up together. The elderly neighbors who'd always tease about how cute you were together, how sure they were that you'd end up getting married down the line.

Those damn memories were playing on repeat in his mind, and it only made him feel all more frustrated.

He bit back a scoff, shaking his head slightly as the words left him in a low mutter. "You still pushed me away for months, idiot."

“Well I’m a little stupid, sorry!”

He couldn't help but huff out a dry, humorless laugh.

Your blunt confession, just blurting out that you were sorry and stupid... it was so damn typical of you that he couldn't stay angry for much longer.

He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, shaking his head as he muttered, "You're more than a little stupid, you know that?" He smiles, and you sob harder.

He finally reaches out, taking both of your hands together now.

“Stop crying, you’re not a kid anymore.” He kisses your hands.

“I’m trying. But it kept pouring out.” You whine softly.

He felt his lips twitch at that whiny tone—so typical of you. Even in moments like this, you still manage to make him feel giddy.

He squeezed your hands tightly, “No more crying, baby.”

That was the last thing he says before guiding you to sit on his lap in the driver’s seat, pulling you against his chest.

You break again, like the comfort finally reaches you from the anxiety of this whole talk.

Heeseung let out a slow, tired breath as you practically collapsed into him-your sobs muffled against his chest.

The weight of your body against his, the way you clung to him like he was some damn lifeline...it made something in his heart twist painfully.

“You’re okay,” He kisses your temple. “I’m here, I got you.”

One of his hands tangles in your hair, playing with the strands as he feels you calm down.

He could feel a lot of things at once. The rise and fall of your chest against his, the press of your legs against his, the way you gripped his shirt tighter in your fists...it was maddening.

“I love you.” You mutter, lips pressing against his chest as you feel his beating heart.

He smiles, hearing you say that felt so good—especially after years doubting everything between you two.

He took a shaky breath, his arms tightening around you even as he muttered,

"I love you too, idiot."

“That’s not what you call me.”

He let out a low, amused huff at that— your sniffly protest was so adorable it made his chest ache. He pulled away slightly to cup your face in his hands, wiping away the lingering tears with rough thumbs.

“I love you, baby.” He smiles.

When he sees you cry again, he laughs and tuck your face into the crook of his neck-letting you soak his shirt with those damn tears.

“What am I going to do with you?” He chuckles in your hair.

Heeseung let you cry against him for God knows how long, just running his fingers through your hair and holding you close.

He'd always been a quiet and relatively patient person, but damn it if it didn't take everything in him to keep from falling to pieces at the feeling of you crying in his arms.

Eventually, though, he knew this needed to stop. He'd been putting off the hard conversation for far too long. So he pulled your face out of his neck, forcing you to look up at him with a gruff "Hey, look at me.”

Staring down at you for a long moment, he takes in your beautiful face despite the tears.

Your eyes were red and puffy, your cheeks flushed and wet. You looked so damn vulnerable, and it made his chest ache in a way that was almost too much to handle.

But he had to be the one to push through it this time. He knew you needed him to be the stronger one right now.

“I need you to listen and answer okay? Truthfully.”

Heeseung let go of your face, his hands dropping to your hips now, holding you tightly in place on his lap.

He didn't want you to look away-didn't want to lose your focus for even a second. He kept his gaze locked with yours, his expression unwaveringly serious.

The way you were looking back at him? So damn vulnerable and open, make his heart hurt like hell.

“Why’d you push me away, baby?” He asks, this time he wants a clear answer from you.

No more It’s because I’m stupid bullshit.

“Because…” You look at him, “It’s too much.” You pat your heart, “Right here. And I have this nagging voice that if I am beside you any more without letting it out, the wrong words are gonna come out." You wince.

"And then, I saw you kissing that girl."

"It was my fault of course, but...still hurt." You chuckle.

Heeseung listened in silence as the words spilled out of you. He still had you sitting in his lap, still holding onto you with a tight, almost possessive grip.

The sound of your voice was shaky, the confession making the ache in his chest intensify even more.

And then you had to go and bring up that innocent girl he used to numb whatever you two had going on?

He swallowed hard, clenching his jaw for a moment before replying, "That was nothing. You know that."

“Still, Hee.”

Heeseung exhaled sharply through his nose, "It was nothing," he repeated firmly, gripping your hips tighter as he stared at you with a hard expression.

“I kissed her because I was pissed off, I was confused as hell after the way we left things. I didn’t know where we stand, even if I was confident I loved you, It was still confusing.”

“You were hurt.”

He shakes his head. “I was, but I still acted like an asshole about it. I want you. Only you, but I still kissed her.”

A pause as he looked away briefly, clearly struggling with himself for a second before turning back to you with sharp eyes.

"But I don't want us to keep doing this shit—avoiding each other and pushing one another away just because we're scared of what might happen if things go wrong."

He brings his hand to cup your cheek as you lean in.

“We’re better than this, baby. We’re adults. We need to communicate, or none of this is ever going to work. You hear me?”

You give him soft nod. He searched for any hint of hesitation, and when he sees one? He let out a deep sigh.

“Good girl.” He smiles, “We’re going to tell each other everything from now on. No more pushing, no more running.”

“I want to be exclusive.” You say, out of nowhere. Thinking it was the best time to clarify.

He raised his eyebrows at that, “Yeah? Want me to be your boyfriend, princess? Say it again.”

You felt your cheeks heat up. “You heard me, I’m gonna take it back—”

“Nope. You’re so not.” He laughs. "Not when I've been waiting to hear those damn words from you since we were goddamn ten years old, baby."

Huh?

Those words made you snap. You grab his face, and crush your lips together.

There was only a second of hesitation from him before he was kissing you back, his hand on your hip pulling you even closer as his lips crashed against yours.

There was something almost desperate to it, the months of hurt and longing and pent up emotions from the past week suddenly catching up to him now.

He kissed you hungrily, almost roughly, until finally pulling back slightly-gasping for air with your foreheads pressed together. His voice came out barely above a whisper:

"You're mine, got it?"

“And you?”

“All yours.” He smile and leaned down to kiss you again, his lips moving roughly against yours. This time a low, possessive sound left his chest-his tongue darting out to push past your lips with an almost feral need. He was claiming your mouth with his own, dominating without question.

When you both finally pull away, his breathing was labored, the hand on your face dropping to your hip once more in a tight grip.

He sees your expression, so honest and exhausted. But full, so full of love. Your eyes a bit hazy and dazed, like he can feel the tiredness all over you.

“Long day, yeah?”

You nod, and he chuckles. “Let’s get you inside.”

Heeseung kept a tight, protective grip on you as you got out of the car, his arm wrapping around your waist to steady you.

He could tell you were barely staying standing, and he was determined to get you inside and taken care of as quickly as possible.

Without another word, he closed the door and started leading you towards your complex, his eyes scanning the surroundings around you for any potential dangers.

Despite his usual nonchalant demeanor, there was a subtle protectiveness in the way he held you close to him—a determined edge to his expression.

The elevator ride up was short-lived, and soon enough they were stepping through the doors into your apartment.

He kept a steadying hand on your waist as you walked inside, guiding you towards your room.

Heeseung led you straight to your bed, carefully helping you sit down on the edge of it. His eyes roamed over you, taking in your exhausted state with a mixture of concern and affection.

The urge to get you comfortable and taken care of was practically overwhelming.

He gently tugged on your arm, his voice soft and gruff. "Lay down."

You obeyed, slowly laying back on the bed.

Something about the way you looked right now was so vulnerable, so damn soft, it was almost making his head spin.

But he pushed past the emotions swirling in his chest, determined to get you cared for first.

He knelt at the edge of the bed, his eyes scanning your face with a mix of concern and tenderness.

"I'll be right back, okay?Just gonna get something."

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze before reluctantly letting go. Getting up, he moved across the room, rummaging through your drawers until he found some comfortable clothes for you.

He quickly grabbed a tank top and hoodie, along with some sweatpants, before making his way back over to the bed.

Kneeling beside the bed again, he looked down at you. "Sit up for a second."

He waited until you pushed yourself up into a sitting position, and then he started helping you out of your clothes.

His touch was gentle as he pulled your top off, his eyes roaming over your skin almost reverently.

He could see the weariness in your movements, and he worked quickly, but his fingers lingered against your skin with a tender touch. Once you were wearing the tank top, he offered you the hoodie next. He helped you into the hoodie, watching as the fabric swallowed you up.

The way you looked now—wearing his hoodie and looking so damn tired—was somehow unbearably endearing and it only made the protectiveness in his chest intensify.

But he kept his focus, helping you slide out of your pants and into the sweatpants next.

Throughout the entire process, his touch was careful and gentle, his eyes lingering on each piece of skin he exposed.

Once you were changed into the comfortable clothes, he helped you lay back down on the bed.

He pulled the covers up over your body, making sure you were properly tucked in and cozy. His eyes scanned your face for a moment, taking in how exhausted you looked once again.

He reached up and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his voice low and gruff.

"Go to sleep, okay? You're dead on your feet, baby."

You replied with a soft pat on the space beside you on the bed.

Heeseung couldn't help the small smile that pulled at his lips as you patted the space beside you, the wordless request obvious.

He knew you were asking him to stay. And damn it, if that wasn't one of his favorite things in the world.

He didn't hesitate, carefully climbing onto the bed next to you. His arm immediately went around your waist, pulling you closer until you were tucked against him.

He settled behind you, adjusting your bodies until you were cuddled against him, your back pressed against his chest.

He could feel the exhaustion coming off you in waves, and the feeling filled his chest with a mix of affection and concern.

He tightened his arm around your waist, pulling you even closer, almost possessively. He nuzzled his face into your hair, inhaling the familiar scent.

His voice was quiet and gruff as he spoke, almost a whisper next to your ear. "Sleep, baby. I'll stay with you."

He continued to hold you close, his body molded against yours. He could feel the way your tired body relaxed into his embrace, the way you automatically shifted closer against him.

His hand on your waist began tracing slow, idle circles against your side, hoping the gentle touch would soothe you even more.

“I love you,” was the last thing you hear before drifting off to sleep.

Morning settles softly over the room, pale light slipping through the curtains and stretching across the bed where Heeseung wakes first, eyes blinking open slowly as the quiet replaces last night’s noise.

For a moment, he doesn’t move—just lies there, one arm still draped loosely around you, your head tucked against his shoulder, hair slightly undone from sleep.

There’s a faint crease on your cheek from the pillow, your breathing even, steady, like none of the tension from before followed you into the morning.

He shifts just enough to look at you properly, gaze lingering in a way he’d never admit out loud, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your arm before he exhales softly, like he’s trying not to disturb something fragile.

He feels you stir awake slowly, and register the warmth between the both of you.

Your lashes flutter open, adjusting to the soft morning light spilling through the curtains, and for a second you don’t move, still caught somewhere between sleep and awareness.

Then you realize where you are—how close you are—and your fingers instinctively curl slightly against his shirt.

“Hi,” he mutters, his smile soft and still heavy with sleep.

Up close, it’s different—quieter than anything he ever gives you when he’s fully awake. His eyes are half-lidded, hair slightly tousled, and there’s something unguarded in the way he looks at you, like he hasn’t had the chance to put his walls back up yet.

His thumb brushes faintly against your arm again, slow, absent, like he’s still halfway dreaming.

“You’re up early,” you murmur, voice still rough as you shift slightly against him, but not enough to pull away.

Heeseung lets out a quiet hum, the corner of his lips lifting just a little more.

“Could say the same about you.”

Neither of you moves after that.

The morning stretches between you, calm and fragile, like if either of you says the wrong thing, it’ll snap back into what you usually are.

“You should sleep more, you were so tired last night,” he suggests, his hand moves to your hip for a grounding grip.

His hand slides from your arm to your hip, settling there like it belongs, fingers pressing lightly—just enough to keep you from drifting too far away.

The touch is grounding.

Steady.

You let out a small breath, barely noticeable, your body sinking a little more into the mattress despite yourself.

“I’m okay,” you mumble, though your voice betrays how heavy sleep still feels in your limbs.

Lee Heeseung huffs quietly, almost amused, his thumb brushing once against your side.

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

You shift slightly, your hand coming up to rest against his chest, feeling the slow, even rhythm beneath your palm.

For a second, neither of you says anything, the silence filled only by quiet breathing and the soft rustle of sheets.

Suddenly, he shifts closer, his head dipping into the crook of your neck, breath warm against your skin. His lips follow a moment later—slow, lingering, open-mouthed presses that make you inhale sharply, your fingers tightening slightly against his shirt.

It’s unhurried.

Sleepy, almost.

Like he’s not fully thinking—just acting on instinct, on familiarity.

His hand at your hip steadies you when you shift, thumb pressing lightly as he continues, each kiss softer than the last but no less intentional.

The quiet of the morning wraps around you both, broken only by the faint rustle of sheets and your uneven breathing.

You tilt your head just a little, giving him space without realizing it, and he exhales softly against your skin, like he notices.

You hum, while he continues mouthing at your collarbone.

“Hee, it’s—” you glance at the clock on the nightstand, squinting slightly, “9 in the morning,” you sigh.

He doesn’t pull away.

If anything, Heeseung just exhales softly against your neck, lips still brushing your skin in slow, unhurried presses, like the time doesn’t matter.

“Mm,” he hums, voice muffled.

His hand on your hip tightens just slightly when you shift, keeping you right where you are.

“I missed you, baby.” He nuzzle his nose against your jaw, trying to coax you into giving in.

Sly fox.

“I’m right here.” You smile.

“But I want to kiss you all over, make you feel good.” He murmur again, voice turning slightly whiny.

You let out a small laugh, which died as soon as he moves his hand to cup your clothed core.

“You’ll let me, right? You’ll let me love this sweet body of yours?”

He looks into your eyes, asking for permission.

“But breakfast…”

“It’s Saturday, baby. We can have breakfast at 2PM.” He whines.

You grin, before nodding.

Heeseung wasted no time in claiming the skin of your neck, his mouth and tongue working at your pulse point, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat once again.

The entire time, his hands roamed your body, pushing up the bottom of your hoodie and tanktop and slipping underneath to touch your overheated skin.

He practically groaned at the feeling of you, hot and pliant underneath him—he's been dying to touch you like this for days now.

His hands were rough as they groped your breasts, his fingers pinching and rolling the hardened peaks between them. His mouth left wet trails along your collarbone before latching onto one nipple—sucking hard through the fabric of your top.

"Fuck," he groaned against you, his hips grinding down instinctively, "You always taste so damn good."

A sharp nip to punctuate it—because he knew you liked that little sting.

You help him take off your clothes, hands trembling slightly.

Heeseung lifted his head at the sudden motion, staring at you hungrily as he watched you lift your shirt up.

"Good girl."he said, his eyes dark with intensity as he watched your movements."That's it. Show me."

His breath hitched as he took in the sight of you—bare, flushed, and already so damn needy for him. His gaze raked over your exposed skin like a starving man at a feast.

“Beautiful, my woman.”

Without another second of hesitation, his mouth descended on one nipple—sucking hard while his fingers pinched the other between rough fingertips.

Heeseung's tongue flicked against the hardened peak as he sucked and swirled it around in his mouth. It wasn't enough, though. He nipped and lapped at your skin—his hand moving from your chest to your inner thigh.”

It was almost as if he was intent on memorizing every inch of your body with his touch, leaving no area unmarked by his lips and teeth.

“Mm, I could stay like this forever," he murmured, his words partially muffled against your skin.

His hand skimmed up your thigh, pushing up the hem of your pants. He pushed them down just far enough to bare your legs to his sight, and his mouth left your breast to press kisses along the soft skin.

"Lift your hips."

The order was said in a rough, lust-filled tone, and he didn't give you even a second to hesitate before hooking a finger into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs.

His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, now fully exposed.

Heeseung practically growled as he took in the sight of you—bare, exposed, and so damn perfect.

His fingers dug into your hips for a second before sliding lower to grip the backs of your thighs, yanking you closer to him.

"You're already wet for me? I'm not holding back, baby.”

His hands were everywhere, touching you with a mixture of impatience and desperation. His mouth latched onto the soft skin of your neck, sucking and biting down on your pulse until he left a blossoming mark behind.

He wanted you, and he wanted you now.

"Can't wait to be inside of you," Heeseung hissed against your skin. “Can’t wait to love you until I’m milked dry.”

“Watch me touch myself first.”

Heeseung had to hold back a groan at your suggestion.

While his main goal right now was to be inside of you, the thought of watching you touch yourself right in front of him sounded almost sinful.

During your hookups, Heeseung was the one that take the lead but once in a while, you would give suggestions like these.

To try and experiment with each other, of course.

"Yeah? You wanna put on a show?" he teased, an eyebrow raised as he pulled away slightly to look at you. He already sounded breathless just from the thought of it—he was practically salivating for the sight.

Heeseung's expression darkened as he watched you, his eyes glued to the sight of your hands slowly moving over yourself.

Your smaller fingers rubbing your bundle of nerves, still sensitive after waking up.

He couldn't tear his gaze away for a second, as if he was a starving man staring at his prey. His own hands flexed against your thighs, pressing more firmly into the soft skin as he fought the urge to take over and touch you himself.

This was your show right now—not his. He had to be patient.

"So pretty," he murmured hoarsely, "All for me to watch." His eyes darkened even further. That tone of your voice, the way you looked right now... God, if you weren't careful, he was going to lose all self-control and take over again.

“Hee…Touch yourself too..”

He swallowed thickly, the sound almost audible to your ears. His breathing was already shaky, his voice strained as he replied.

"Yeah? You want me to touch myself for you, baby?” Heeseung's breath hitched as he watched you nod, his hands immediately moving to the waistband of his jeans.

His fingers fumbled slightly in his haste—he wasn't used to being this desperate for something so simple.

"You're lucky I'm weak for you."

With one rough yank, he pulled down just enough fabric to free himself—already hard and aching from watching you. His grip tightened around the base as a groan escaped him at the first touch.

He was going to die just watching you.

His chest was rising and falling heavily, and he could feel his self-control hanging on by a mere thread at this point.

He wanted to touch you, to be the one to touch you—but the sight of you touching yourself like this just for him was almost torturous.

"Mmm, look at me, baby." he commanded hoarsely."Want you to keep your eyes open while you do that for me."

Heeseung's grip on himself tightened painfully as he watched you slip your fingers inside, his breath hitching in response to the wet sound.

His eyes were practically glued to where you touched yourself—his entire body tensed with need.

"Fuck, that's it," he gritted out between clenched teeth, "Keep going just like that."

A rough thrust of his own hand matched yours instinctively—mimicking the rhythm you set for him.

You whine with need when you feel your own fingers aren’t enough to reach the places that can make you see stars.

Heeseung's hips jerked forward involuntarily, a strangled groan tearing from his throat as he watched you.

His knuckles whitened where they gripped himself-too close to the edge already just from watching you.

"Y/N," he warned lowly, "You keep making those sounds and I'm not gonna last." A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as he fought for control-his entire body coiled tight with desperation.

His head was swimming; the air felt like it was crackling with electricity. Every nerve was on fire, desperate for release.

He needed you, but there was something about watching you like this—so open, so vulnerable, so perfect—that he couldn't stop himself from prolonging his suffering.

"Sweetheart, I need to touch you..." he gasped out, a strangled plea on his lips. "Please..."

The moment you removed your fingers, giving him permission, he moved forward with an almost feral speed to grab you by the hips and pull you closer-settling himself right between your spread legs.

"You have no idea how much I ache for you," he muttered hoarsely, his voice rough with need. "I need you so much."

Heeseung's mouth crashed against yours before you could respond, his lips moving hungrily over yours.

There was no tenderness, only a raw, desperate need as he claimed your mouth completely. His hands were everywhere, touching you with a rough familiarity that spoke of his desperate need to feel every part of you all at once.

His breath came out in a sharp, ragged exhale as he pressed the thick head of his cock against your entrance—teasing, torturing both of you with the slow drag.

His entire body was trembling from how hard it was for him to not just shove inside right then and there.

“Ready, baby?”

And when you finally nod, he slides in with zero resistance, given how soaked you are.

A guttural groan tearing from his throat as he buried himself to the hilt, both of you immediately losing your sleepy haze.

"Fuck-" he choked out, forehead dropping to yours, "You feel so damn good."

A ragged breath before he started moving—deep, punishing rolls of his hips that left no room for gentleness.

“Ngh, fuck—Hee!”

Heeseung's entire body locked up at the sound of your voice, his hips stuttering to a halt for a second. The way you clenched around him-tight, wet, perfect-had his vision whiting out for half a second.

"Fucking hell," he rasped against your neck, "You're trying to kill me."

A rough grind of his pelvis pressed even deeper as he fought not to lose it right then and there.

He needed you so badly right now. More than he'd ever needed anyone—and he never thought he could possibly be this addicted to someone, but here he was.

Addicted to you, his love.

Completely and utterly addicted to the feel of your skin against his, the sounds you made as he moved inside you, the way you looked at him like he was the center of your entire world.

“All this, mine, right?” He murmurs in between moans. “No one else to touch, to love, to have.”

He stops for a second, pulling back making you whine due to the sudden absence.

“Shh, baby, I know—I know.” He cooed, grabbing a pillow to move it under you, and then entering you again.

The angle change made the both of you breathless. He felt even deeper than what you thought was possible.

“So good—you’re so good for me.”

You felt the tight knot forming, and started clenching harder around him—making him jolt forward.

“Shit—baby, I know, I’ll get you there, yeah?” He kisses your temple.

He speeds up his thrusts, his tip hitting hard against your cervix.

He pulled you closer, his lips trailing up your neck to your ear, his breathing ragged against your skin.

“Come with me, baby.” He murmur, “That’s my girl.” He smiles when he feels you arch and tremble as your climax ran through you.

A ragged, guttural groan tore from his throat as he buried himself impossibly deeper—his entire body shuddering with release. His grip on you was ironclad, like he was afraid you'd vanish the second he let go.

"Fuck—yes," he panted against your sweat-slicked skin, "Mine. Only mine."

A few more rough thrusts before his hips stilled completely—spent and wrecked in the best way possible.

He dropped on top of you, making sure not to crush you with his weight as the both of you catch your breaths.

He got up, looking at you disheveled state. His hand ran through the sweaty hair sticking to your face, taking a good look at his girlfriend.

“How can it feel even better when we’re finally together now?”

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Yunjin didn’t even blink. She just stared at you over the rim of her iced americano, unimpressed. “You haven’t even heard the details.”

“I don’t need to,” you replied smoothly, setting your drink down. “I already have plans that day.”

“Oh really?” she leaned back, crossing her arms. “What plans?”

“…Important plans.”

She raised a brow. “Name one.” You hesitated for half a second too long. “Laundry.”

Yunjin snorted. “You’re skipping a once-in-four-years reunion… to wash clothes.”

“It piles up,” you defended weakly. “Hygiene is important.”

“Right. Because you’ve totally never let laundry sit for a week before.”

You ignored that. “Also, I might be tired. Work has been very, extremely exhausting.”

“You literally just told me yesterday you’ve been bored out of your mind.”

“…I can be tired and bored.”

“Mm-hmm.”

You grabbed your cup again, taking another long sip just to avoid her stare. “Plus, I don’t really like crowds.”

Yunjin blinked. “You went to a concert last month.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“…There was music.”

“There will be music at the reunion.”

You paused. “…I don’t like that kind of crowd.”

She leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm, eyes narrowing playfully. “You’re running out of excuses.”

“I’m not making excuses,” you said quickly. “I just don’t feel like going. It’s not that deep.”

“It’s very deep,” she shot back. “You said no before I even finished the sentence.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again.

Okay, maybe that part was true.

Yunjin tilted her head, studying you like she was trying to crack a code. “What is it, then?”

“Nothing,” you said immediately.

“Liar.”

You let out a small groan, dropping back into your chair. “Why do you care so much if I go or not?”

“Because,” she said simply, “you used to love this kind of thing. Reunions, gatherings, all that nostalgic stuff. And now suddenly you’re acting like it’s a life-threatening event.”

You fiddled with the straw in your drink, pushing the ice around. “People change.”

“Not that much.”

Silence settled between you for a moment, filled only by the low hum of the café and the occasional clink of cups.

Yunjin softened, just slightly. “Look, I’m not saying you have to stay all night. Just… show up. Say hi. Exist for a bit.”

You stared at your drink again, watching the condensation slide down the plastic cup.

“…What if it’s awkward?” you muttered.

“It will be,” she said without hesitation.

You looked up at her.

She grinned. “For, like, five minutes. Then you grab a drink, talk to a few people, and suddenly it’s not a big deal anymore.”

You exhaled slowly, unconvinced. “Or it stays awkward.”

“Then we leave,” she shrugged. “Simple.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re not going to ditch me there, right?”

“Wow. I’m offended.”

“That’s not a no.”

She placed a hand dramatically over her chest. “I would never. I’ll be glued to your side the whole time.”

“…That sounds worse.”

Yunjin laughed. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here I am, being forced into social events against my will.”

“You’re not being forced,” she corrected. “You’re being strongly encouraged.”

You huffed, tapping your fingers against the table. “I just don’t see the point. It’s been years. Everyone’s doing their own thing now.”

“Exactly,” she said. “Which is why it’s interesting. You get to see how everyone turned out.”

You raised a brow. “And what if I don’t want to know?”

“Too bad,” she shot back lightly. “Curiosity is part of being human.” You shook your head, but a small smile threatened to break through.

She caught it instantly. “There it is.”

“There what is?”

“That face,” she pointed. “The ‘I’m about to give in but I don’t want to admit it’ face.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re delusional.”

“Am I?” You held her gaze for a second… then looked away first.

“…I’ll think about it,” you mumbled.

Yunjin lit up like she’d just won something. “That means yes.”

“It means maybe.”

“It means yes.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “You’re so annoying.”

“And you love me,” she shot back effortlessly.

You sighed, reaching for your drink again.

“…We’ll see,” you said, trying to sound firm—but it came out a little too uncertain to be convincing.

Yunjin only smiled, completely unfooled.

And a week later, you arrive at the specially booked restaurant, arms locking with Yunjin, who has the brightest smile on her face people would mistake it for her birthday party.

You look around, already noticing familiar faces. Classmates who you shared one class with, those who you met on frat parties, and even those who you have worked with in the college’s management before.

“Holy fuck. Everyone’s here.” You sigh at Yunjin, who just chuckles. “That’s the point, darling. A reunion—Oh! There’s Minjeong! Hi!” She smiles.

Kim Minjeong, another mutual friend of yours who you’re quite close to, has been overseas a lot lately, so it’s been hard to keep in touch. She isn’t technically outgoing, but when hanging out with her, it’s plenty of fun.

“Hey, girls! It’s been ages!” She goes in for a hug, which the both of you reciprocate.

“You’re the one traveling around the world. I still meet this girl every week.” Yunjin blurts out, while Minjeong passes two glasses of champange.

You politely decline. “I’m driving.” You smile, but Yunjin wriggle her eyebrows. “Or you don’t wanna make some stupid drunk mistake again?” In which you pinch her side, making her yelp.

Fuck.

Minjeong claps her hands, as if remembering a completely significant detail in her life. “Right! I heard it from Yunjin, I was so wasted I missed it.” She laughs.

You can feel yourself heating up from embarrassment. “You both remember yet you still ask me to come?” You grit your teeth.

“Relax…it’s bee…what, 4 years? I kid you not no one in this room remembers.”

Just as she say that, a group of four men enters the room. Your eyes wander to one of them, and you already feel like throwing up.

“I can’t do this.” You are about to turn away from them, removing Yunjin’s arm.

“Girls!” Jay, the ever-so-loud and familiar goes up to your group. The other three followed him without hesitation.

“Wow…you guys barely change..” Yunjin says, analyzing their faces as if so much could change in a matter for four years.

“Can’t say the same to you guys, you guys look more mature now.” Jake teases while the three of you try your best not to give him the stinkiest stare known to mankind.

While they kept on conversing, your eyes landed on the last guy in the group.

Features as sharp as you remembered, only more defined now—time had carved a quiet confidence into him. His hair was a little longer, styled like he didn’t try too hard but still got it right, and the way he carried himself… steadier, grounded.

Older.

Familiar.

Dangerously so.

Lee Heeseung.

His eyes capture yours, and years of attempt to bury the past seems to fail you right there and then.

4 YEARS AGO

Your head is hazy.

The music is too loud—bass pounding through your chest, lights blurring every time you blink. Everything feels warm, unsteady, like the floor might tilt if you stand still for too long.

You shouldn’t have had that last drink.

Or the one before that.

Or… any of them, really.

But it’s too late now.

Because across the room—

You see him.

And suddenly, the noise fades just enough for your thoughts to latch onto one thing.

There he is.

Your heart lurches, something bubbling up in your chest—something that’s been sitting there for far too long.

It feels big.

Too big.

Too loud to keep in anymore.

Before you can think better of it, you’re already moving—pushing through people, brushing past shoulders, ignoring the way someone calls your name from behind.

By the time you stop, you’re right in front of him.

He looks surprised.

“Hey—are you okay?” he asks, eyes scanning your face.

You stare at him.

God, why does he look so… normal?

Like he hasn’t completely rearranged your brain chemistry just by existing.

“I need to tell you something,” you say, words slightly slurred but determined.

His brows pull together. “Maybe not right now, you look—”

“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “No, I have to say it now.”

A few people nearby glance over.

You don’t notice.

Or maybe you just don’t care.

Because your heart is racing too fast, your thoughts tripping over each other as they try to come out all at once.

“I like you, Heeseung.” you blurt.

There it is.

Out. Done. No taking it back.

Silence.

His expression freezes—caught completely off guard.

“…You do?” he says after a beat, like he’s trying to make sure he heard you right.

You nod, a little too hard. “Yeah. Like—like a lot. For a long time.”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

Too long.

He runs a hand through his hair, clearly scrambling for something to say. “I—I didn’t know that.”

“Well, yeah,” you let out a shaky laugh. “That’s why I’m telling you now.”

“Right,” he nods slowly, still processing. “I just—uh…”

He hesitates.

And that’s all it takes.

That tiny pause.

That flicker of uncertainty.

Your chest tightens instantly.

Because in your head, it already sounds like a no.

“I mean,” he starts carefully, “you’re really—”

“Oh my god,” you cut in, the words hitting you all at once. “You don’t like me.”

He blinks. “Wait—no, I didn’t say—”

“It’s fine,” you laugh, but it comes out sharp. Too sharp. “You don’t have to do the whole ‘you’re really nice’ thing, I get it.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave him off, stepping back slightly. “No, it’s cool. Totally cool.”

Your heart is pounding now—but not in the same way.

Hot. Embarrassed. Defensive.

“Wow,” you let out another laugh, louder this time. “I really picked the worst time to say that, huh?”

He looks genuinely concerned now. “Hey, maybe we should talk when you’re a bit—”

“What? Sober?” you shoot back. “So I can be rejected properly?”

“I’m not rejecting you,” he says quickly.

But you’re already shaking your head.

“No, no, you are,” you insist, like you’ve already decided it. “It’s fine. You don’t like me. Great. Awesome. Love that for me.”

“Can you just—listen for a second?”

You scoff, folding your arms. “Oh, now you want me to listen.”

“I’ve been trying to—”

“Save it,” you cut him off, your voice rising without you meaning to. “You hesitated. That’s all I needed.”

A few more people are definitely watching now.

Still—you don’t stop.

“Honestly, it’s whatever,” you ramble, words spilling out faster now. “You’re not even—like, all that.”

His brows lift slightly. “…What?”

“Yeah,” you nod, doubling down. “You’re just—there. Like, I don’t even know why I—”

“Okay, that’s enough.”

A hand suddenly grabs your arm.

You turn to see Yunjin, eyes wide and mildly horrified.

“Abort,” she mutters under her breath.

“Wait, no—” you try to pull back, pointing at him. “He needs to hear this—”

“He really doesn’t,” she says, already dragging you away.

Another friend appears on your other side, helping her pull you back through the crowd.

“You’re making a scene,” Yunjin hisses.

“I’m not—!” you protest, twisting to look over your shoulder. “I just think it’s funny how he—”

Your words fade as the distance grows, the noise swallowing everything again.

The last thing you see is him standing there—

Still.

Confused.

Like he didn’t even get the chance to finish what he was going to say.

By the time graduation rolled around, you had a plan.

A very simple one: Get your certificate. Take pictures. Leave.

No lingering. No wandering around. And most importantly—no running into him.

“Okay, one more!” Yunjin called, already dragging you back into place with the rest of the girls.

You forced a smile, adjusting your gown as the camera flashed again.

Click.

Another one.

Click.

“Wait, wait—this lighting is good, don’t move!” someone said, pulling you slightly to the side.

You laughed, letting them reposition you, arms slinging around familiar shoulders as you leaned in.

For a moment, it felt normal.

Easy.

Like nothing embarrassing had ever happened.

“Family next!” your mom called from behind the crowd, waving you over.

“Coming!” you replied quickly—maybe a little too quickly.

You slipped out of the group before anyone could stop you, weaving through people until you reached your family. Your mom immediately fussed over your hair, your gown, your everything.

“Stand properly—smile nicely,” she said, fixing your collar.

“I am smiling,” you insisted.

“Not like that. A proper smile.”

You forced one, holding it as the camera flashed.

Click.

Another angle.

Click.

“Okay, now one more—”

“How many is one more?” you muttered under your breath, but stayed in place anyway.

More flashes. More poses.

You nodded along, played your part, laughed when you were supposed to.

But your eyes—

Your eyes kept moving. Scanning. Just in case.

Just to make sure.

“Alright, done!” your dad finally said, lowering the camera.

“Great!” you replied instantly, already stepping back. “Okay, I’m just gonna—uh—go find the girls again—”

“Wait, one more with your aunt—”

“I’ll come back!” you said quickly, already inching away.

You didn’t wait for a response.

You turned.

And walked.

Fast.

Not running. Definitely not running. Just… walking with urgency.

In the opposite direction.

Away from the crowd.

Away from—

“Hey.”

You froze. Oh no.

Slowly, you turned. And there he was.

Standing just a few steps away.

Of course.

Of course this would happen.

Your brain short-circuited for half a second before you forced out the most normal response you could manage.

“Oh—hey,” you said, like your heart hadn’t just dropped to your stomach.

There was a brief pause.

He looked like he wanted to say something.

Anything.

You didn’t give him the chance.

“Congrats, by the way,” you added quickly, words coming out a little too fast. “On, you know—graduating. Obviously.”

Wow.

Incredible.

He blinked, a little caught off guard. “…Thanks. You too.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” you nodded, already stepping back. “Okay, I’m gonna go—my friends are—uh—waiting.”

They weren’t.

But that didn’t matter.

“Wait—” he started.

“I’ll see you around!” you cut in, already turning away.

And then—

You bolted.

Actually bolted this time.

Straight back into the crowd, not daring to look over your shoulder.

You didn’t stop until you found Yunjin again, grabbing onto her arm like a lifeline.

“Hey—what—” she started.

“We’re leaving,” you said immediately.

“Now?”

“Now.”

She blinked. “But we haven’t took pictures with—”

“I said now.”

She stared at you for a second… then glanced past you, as if piecing things together.

“…Did you see him?”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t need to.

Yunjin sighed, already gathering her things. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Please,” you muttered.

She shook her head, but didn’t argue further.

And just like that—

You made your exit.

Quick.

Clean.

And determined to never, ever relive that moment again.

PRESENT TIME

You find yourself spacing out the whole time the group talk to each other, reminiscing old memories, fun times at parties, late night study sessions that ends up in a movie marathon.

However you can’t seem to focus.

Not when he’s literally sitting beside you, while the others talk like everything’s fine.

To be fair, everything is fine. You’re the one that’s having issues right now, while the others clearly moved on from that incident.

“Not drinking?” You hear his voice beside you.

You turn to him, and his eyes are already on you.

You shake your head. “I’m on the wheel back home, and I don’t trust Yunjin driving me back.”

He lets out a small laugh. Eyes wrinkling and his smile soft, like always.

“Don’t make that your limitation. The cabs are always there.” He says, motioning you the untouched glass of champagne.

You wonder did he see you eyeing everyone’s lips as they took sips of their own drinks, feeling envious—or he’s trying to force you to drink.

You immediately dismiss the latter. No way. He’s not the type. Definitely not.

So, carefully, slowly, you lift your drink to your lips, forcing your hand not to shake. You tip it just enough to take a sip, letting the liquid slide down like a quiet, private concession.

And when you set the glass down, your eyes flicker to him again.

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t comment. Just… watches.

Something about the way he looks at you makes your chest tighten in a way you can’t name yet.

He leans slightly closer as if to be heard over the music, tilting his head with that familiar, careful expression. “So… how’ve you been?”

You blink, caught off guard. It’s casual, normal—easy—but somehow it makes your stomach twist. “I… I’ve been good,” you say, keeping your voice steady. “Busy. You know how it is.”

He nods, the corners of his mouth tilting up just slightly. “Yeah, I do. Still working in journalism?”

You grin faintly, a little proud despite the nerves. “Yeah. Mostly features and interviews now. I cover some big events, travel occasionally… keeps me on my toes.”

He whistles softly. “That’s… impressive. I didn’t realize you’d gotten that far.” His tone is easy, conversational, but you catch the hint of genuine interest in his eyes.

“And you?” you ask, leaning slightly forward. “Still with media? Behind the camera side of things?”

He chuckles, a low, easy sound that makes you almost forget the pounding of your heart. “Yeah, same scene. Producing mostly, sometimes directing. We haven’t… crossed paths though, have we?”

“Nope,” you say, shaking your head. “Funny how that works, right? Same world, just… never colliding.”

He laughs quietly, almost ruefully. “Guess some things just take their own time.”

You glance at him, noticing the subtle change in his expression—something softer, more open than you remember. The air between you feels… lighter, and yet, heavier, in a way that keeps your fingers gripping your drink a little too tightly.

“So,” he says, leaning back slightly, “what’s the craziest story you’ve covered recently?”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling despite yourself. “Crazy is subjective, but I might have a few that would make you spit out your drink.”

He grins, and for a moment, it feels like no years have passed at all.

—

The conversation between the both of you are going smoothly.

Infact, too smooth.

Like the fact that you crashed out in front of him and possibly humiliate yourself and him a little did not happen.

That you went all out in front of him years ago. That night. The one that was supposed to be your big, humiliating, heart-on-your-sleeve confession.

You almost expect him to bring it up. Maybe a teasing remark, a half-laugh, an eyebrow raise, something subtle. But he doesn’t. Not even a flicker of recognition.

Your chest tightens just a little, a mix of disbelief and nervous amusement. Did he even remember? Or is he just… choosing not to?

You take a slow sip of your drink, letting the liquid steady your racing thoughts.

“Feels like we’re actually having a normal conversation,” you say, trying to mask the strange flutter in your stomach.

A few drinks in and you finally feel it—the subtle, creeping warmth spreading through your chest and limbs, the light buzz at the edges of your thoughts.

A small smile tugs at your lips as you realize just how… relaxed you feel. Not fully drunk, not sloshed, but that gentle, teasing tipsiness that makes your laugh come a little easier and your words just slide out without overthinking them.

You take a slow sip of your drink, letting it wash over you, and notice your fingers brushing the glass a little too often, your hand trembling ever so slightly.

You blink a few times, trying to steady your gaze, and that’s when you notice him watching you. Not in a pointed or intrusive way—just… observant, like he’s quietly taking stock.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low, careful.

You let out a soft laugh, brushing a hand over your forehead. “Yeah… just… maybe a little tipsy.”

His eyes flicker with something—concern, perhaps, or maybe just mild amusement. “You’re starting to look it. Head’s a little heavy?”

You tilt your head, the movement slow, a little clumsy. “Yeah… maybe. Just feeling… tired, I guess.”

He leans in slightly, not too close, but close enough that you notice. “Want me to get you some water? Or maybe sit down for a bit?”

You shake your head, smiling faintly, a little embarrassed. “No… I’m fine. Just… didn’t realize how much the day caught up with me.”

He nods, accepting your answer, though his gaze lingers a moment longer than necessary, making your chest flutter. “Alright… just… don’t push yourself too hard, okay?”

You glance at him, catching the way his eyes soften when he speaks. “Yeah… I’ll try.”

And just like that, the buzz in your head feels a little warmer, a little more bearable—not just from the drink, but from the quiet care in his tone.

“Why are we acting like it never happened?” you ask, searching for his eyes through your hazy ones.

Literally what is wrong with you?

He blinks, caught off guard by the directness, and for a moment, his carefully composed expression falters. “…We… what?”

“That night,” you insist, tipping your drink slightly, letting the amber liquid catch the light. “Graduation party. Me, completely falling apart, confessing… probably embarrassing both of us. That night. Why are we pretending it didn’t happen?”

He exhales slowly, a small, almost rueful smile tugging at his lips. “I… I don’t know. I guess I just… didn’t think it mattered. Didn’t want to make it more awkward than it already was.”

You squint at him, teasing but still slightly accusatory. “Not awkward? You mean the part where I’m yelling at you, convinced you were rejecting me, and my friends had to pull me away?”

He winces slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay… yeah, fine. That was awkward.”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “Awkward? That’s one word for it. Humiliating would be more accurate.”

He chuckles softly, like he can’t help himself. “I didn’t want you to feel like I was judging you. Honestly, I was… surprised. And kind of… baffled.”

“Baffled?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Baffled is the nicest word I’ve ever heard used to describe that disaster.”

He shrugs, grin teasing but gentle. “Hey, you made it memorable.”

You groan, pressing a hand to your face. “Memorable. That’s exactly what I wanted—my nightmare plastered in my memory forever.”

He laughs quietly, and you feel a little of the tension in your chest ease, even as your cheeks burn.

“See?” He mutters, “This is why I can’t act like it didn’t happen.”

He leans back slightly, looking at you with something softer in his gaze. “Alright. It happened. And… honestly? I’m kind of glad you brought it up.”

You blink, caught off guard. “…Glad?”

He nods, grin small but real. “Yeah. Makes this… easier. Us talking now, I mean. We’re past it.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the tipsy warmth in your chest suddenly feeling a little lighter. “Past it… sure. I’ll try to believe that.”

And for the first time in years, the memory doesn’t sting quite as much—mostly because it’s not just a memory anymore. You’re here, talking. Laughing. And he’s still looking at you.

You fan your face instinctively, heat creeping up your cheeks. Just talking to him—him—makes your chest flutter and your stomach twist, like it used to back in college.

Or maybe it’s the booze. Probably the booze.

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, but the warmth lingers anyway. Fingers tapping nervously against the rim of your glass, you force a laugh, brushing at your hair like that will hide how flustered you feel.

He notices, of course. His gaze softens, just a little, and it makes your chest clench in a way you’re not ready to admit out loud.

“Too much?” he asks lightly, a teasing edge that makes your ears burn even more.

“N-no,” you stammer, fanning yourself again, probably looking ridiculous. “Just… warm. Hot in here, I mean.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, raising a brow, clearly unconvinced but letting it slide.

You sip your drink quickly, hoping the liquid will do more than cool your throat—that it’ll calm the frantic beat of your heart. But even as you set the glass down, you know the truth: whether it’s college nerves or the booze, just being here with him has you all twisted up again.

And god, it’s thrilling. Terrifying. And completely unavoidable.

Before you can fully protest, you feel his hand brush against yours—and then grasp it firmly.

“Hey,” he says softly, voice low, steady. “Come with me for a sec. Get some air.”

Your heart does a little stutter. “Uh… outside?” you ask, trying to sound casual while your fingers tingle where his hold lingers.

He nods, tugging gently but firmly. “Yeah. Just… a quick breather. Trust me.”

You hesitate for only a fraction of a second before letting him lead you out. The restaurant door swings open, and suddenly the noise—the music, the chatter, the clinking glasses—falls away.

The night air hits you like a wave, cool and sharp against your flushed cheeks. You inhale deeply, letting it settle in your lungs, fingers still lightly entwined with his.

“You… didn’t have to,” you murmur, glancing up at him.

“I know,” he replies quietly, his thumb brushing your hand in a small, unconscious gesture. “But you needed it. I could tell.”

You swallow, feeling your chest tighten. The world feels quieter here, simpler, like the space between you shrinks in a way it never did back in college.

“Thanks…Hee,” you whisper, almost embarrassed by how sincerely you mean it.

He gives a small, easy smile at the nickname, one that somehow makes the tipsy nervousness in your chest melt just a little. “Anytime.”

You realize, as you stand there under the dim glow of the streetlights, that maybe—just maybe—it’s easier to breathe when he’s around.

You start staring at him, and suddenly it all clicks—the reason your crush had lingered all those years.

He’s… stunning. Not just good-looking, but the kind of presence that lingers in your chest like a low hum. His voice drifts to you, soft and deliberate, saying your name like it’s fragile, like you might vanish if he’s too loud.

And his eyes… they’re honest. Sincere. Like when you meet his gaze, he’s not just looking—he’s pulling, gently, hypnotically, drawing you into the orbit of him without any effort at all.

But the part that steals your breath? His aura. Quiet, commanding, just a little dangerous. Back in college, everyone wanted Heeseung. He was the silent one in the friend group, keeping mostly to himself, but that quietness only made him magnetic. Girls would orbit him, laugh at his half-smiles, and before anyone even realized, he’d slip away with them upstairs, private and mysterious.

And now, standing here, just talking, just existing… all of it is clear. The looks, the quiet confidence, the way he moves without needing to draw attention—he’s still the same Heeseung, and somehow, somehow, it’s even more intoxicating than you remembered.

Your chest tightens, your pulse picks up, and you realize… yeah, this crush? It never really faded. Not then, not now.

—

You shake your head, trying to push the thoughts away before they spiral any further. With a shaky breath, you let him guide you back inside, reminding yourself to focus on something else—anything else.

But the moment the door swings open, reality hits.

Your friends are already there, dragging both of you toward the dance floor. The crowd presses in like sardines, bodies bumping, brushing, too close for comfort. The bass rattles through your chest, and you can barely see through the mass of people, let alone move without stepping on someone’s toes.

You glance at him, half-expecting him to protest, but he just lets out a small laugh, brushing an invisible piece of stray hair from your face. You force a smile, gripping his hand lightly—half for balance, half because the warmth there is grounding.

Somehow, you’re swept along, the tipsy buzz in your chest mingling with the chaos around you. Every movement, every laugh, every brush of someone else’s arm against yours makes your heart race just a little faster.

And you can’t help but wonder… if he notices how much closer you’re holding on, or if he’s lost in the crowd as well.

As the crowd shuffles and sways, Yunjin suddenly bumps into you from the side, jostling you back. Before you can steady yourself, your back hits him—Heeseung—and instinctively, your body freezes.

Instead of stepping back or letting you go, a warm hand settles on your waist, steadying you. His touch is firm, deliberate, grounding against the chaos of the dance floor.

You feel the press of his front against your back, the faint brush of his chest along yours, and your breath catches in a way that’s impossible to ignore.

He sways slightly with the movement of the crowd, and you realize his hand isn’t just keeping you upright—it’s guiding, moving with you in a rhythm that matches the music, subtle but intimate.

Your pulse hammers, and for a moment, the noise of the dance floor, the heat, the crowd—all of it—blurs away. There’s just the warmth of him behind you, the gentle sway, and the sharp awareness of every accidental contact.

You inhale sharply, fingertips brushing against his hand at your waist, and you know the tipsy heat in your chest just got a lot more dangerous.

The press of his body against yours is subtle at first—just a nudge here, a sway there—but with each accidental brush, the tension coils tighter in your chest.

His hand on your waist doesn’t move, doesn’t falter, just… stays, guiding your body slightly with the rhythm of the music. Every small shift makes you hyper-aware: the warmth of him behind you, the faint scent of his cologne, the way the beat makes your bodies move closer without any real thought.

Your stomach twists, heat pooling lower, and you realize just how intimate this accidental closeness has become. The tipsy warmth in your head mingles dangerously with the awareness of him—his strength, his scent, the way he’s so steady—and suddenly every sway, every brush, feels loaded.

You glance over your shoulder, heart hammering, catching his eyes in the briefest of moments. There’s a faint smirk on his lips, and the look in his gaze is… unreadable, teasing, but undeniably deliberate.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, and you know you’re far too aware of him, far too conscious of the way your bodies are pressing, rubbing, moving together despite the chaos of the crowd.

And just like that, what should have been an innocent brush in a dance floor sardine-fest has started to feel… suggestive. Too suggestive. Too thrilling. And definitely, definitely impossible to ignore.

“Screw all this.” He mutters and brings you out outside again.

He steps closer, and before you can even process what’s happening, his hand gently presses against the wall beside you, trapping you in the small space between him and the brick.

Your breath catches in your throat as you glance up at him, heart hammering painfully in your chest. His eyes search yours for a fraction of a second, soft and steady, before his lips meet yours.

The kiss is slow, deliberate, and warm, melting the last of your tipsy haze into something sharper, more urgent. Your fingers curl at his shoulders, holding on as if letting go would make the world collapse, and every nerve in your body lights up with awareness—his warmth, the press of his chest, the taste of him.

He deepens the kiss just slightly, careful but insistent, and you realize there’s no part of this that’s accidental. Every movement, every touch, every brush of his lips is intentional—and it leaves you dizzy, breathless, and entirely captivated.

For a moment, nothing exists outside of the two of you: the night, the faint hum of distant music, the cool air on your flushed cheeks. There’s only him, only this kiss, only the overwhelming pull you’ve felt for years finally becoming real.

“Heeseung…” you whisper, still catching your breath, pulling back just enough to look at him.

He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze lingers on you, intense, dark, and impossibly magnetic. Then, finally, he reaches for his phone, thumbs moving quickly. “Cab’s coming,” he says, voice low, a rough edge to it that makes your chest tighten. “I can’t drive like this… but I want to get us somewhere… private.”

The words hit you, sharp and urgent, and your stomach flips. You feel his hand brush yours, almost brushing your fingers against the hem of his palm, grounding you even as your pulse races.

He drapes his jacket over your shoulders without a word, his hand lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. You shiver—not from the cold, but from the heat of him, the closeness, the way he looks at you like he’s been waiting years for this moment.

The cab arrives, and he gestures for you to step inside first, letting his hand hover near yours in a silent promise of care and anticipation. You slide into the seat, the leather cool against your skin, and he follows, closing the door with a soft click.

The hum of the engine and the blur of city lights outside do nothing to quiet the electricity between you.

You steal a glance at him, heart hammering. His eyes catch yours immediately, dark and serious, and for a second the world shrinks down to just the two of you. Every inch of closeness, every brush of warmth, makes it impossible to think clearly.

And as the cab moves through the night, the air between you thick with unspoken desire, you realize… this is far from over.

Your hands rest on your lap, fingers twitching nervously, when you feel him gently brush against yours. Just a graze at first, teasing, testing—but then he takes your hand in his.

He doesn’t squeeze or hold too tightly, just… plays with your fingers, tracing subtle patterns, sliding your fingers between his, rolling them lightly, letting you feel his warmth without saying a word.

You catch your breath, tipsy warmth twisting into something sharper, something electric. Every touch makes your heart hammer, every movement of his fingers against yours feels deliberate, intimate, like he’s silently marking you as his.

You glance up at him through the dim glow of the cab lights. His eyes meet yours, soft but teasing, watching your reaction like he’s savoring it. And somehow, just the act of his hands on yours, the closeness, the quiet intimacy, makes everything else—the embarrassment, the crowded dance floor, even the alcohol—fade away.

You can’t stop the small shiver running through you. He’s just playing with your hands, and yet it feels like so much more.

—

The moment the front door clicks shut, everything snaps back into focus—too close, too fast, too much.

Before you can even turn properly, his hand finds your wrist, then your waist, and suddenly your back meets the door with a soft thud.

Your breath catches.

And then he’s kissing you again.

Not like before—this time it’s urgent, like he’s been holding himself back the entire ride and finally gave up. His lips crash into yours, warm and insistent, and your fingers instinctively clutch at his shirt, grounding yourself as the world tilts.

The faint scent of him surrounds you, familiar and intoxicating, and the quiet of his place makes everything louder—the sound of your breathing, the soft shift of fabric, the way your heart pounds like it might give you away.

He pulls you closer, one hand still firm at your waist, the other bracing against the door beside your head. There’s no space left between you now, no room to think, only feel.

You melt into it despite yourself, responding, your hands tightening slightly against him as the kiss deepens just enough to make your head spin.

For a split second, he pauses—just enough to catch your breath, his forehead almost brushing yours, his voice low and uneven.

“…We can stop,” he murmurs, even though his grip doesn’t loosen. “If you want.”

But the way he looks at you—like he’s been waiting, like he’s barely holding on—makes your answer feel inevitable.

You shake your head, pulling him even closer. “Please, I want it.”

Heeseung responded eagerly to your confession, his hands roaming over your body, pulling you closer to him. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a heated, passionate dance.

His eyes darkened with a possessive gleam at your words. He picked you up easily, his hands gripping your thighs as he carried you to the bedroom like a prize.

Laying you down on the bed, his body covering yours. He captured your lips in a fierce kiss again, his hands roaming over your body, his touch burning hot. "Are you sure about this, Y/N?" He asked between ragged breaths.

You nodded, looking directly into his eyes before saying: “I trust you.”

Heeseung's expression softened at your words, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and something deeper—something protective. He exhaled sharply before pressing his forehead against yours.

"Then I'll make sure you don't regret it." His voice was rough but tender as he slid a hand under the hem of your shirt, fingertips tracing slow circles on your skin.

As his mouth moved from your lips to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses down your throat, His hand traced over your waist, his touch leaving a trail of fire on your skin.

"You're so beautiful." He murmured, his voice low and ragged. "Obsessed with you. Always been." He murmurs into your skin.

He took his time exploring your body with gentle, teasing touches, his fingers tracing over the curve of your hips, his lips teasing at sensitive spots that made you shiver.

You let out a small whine when the heat gets to you and you want nothing but your clothes off right now, and he understands just that.

Heeseung's hands moved with slow, deliberate care as he peeled off your clothes. His eyes darkened as more skin was revealed to him—his gaze hungry but worshipful.

"God..." he breathed out, his fingertips ghosting over newly exposed areas like he was memorizing you. "You’re so fucking pretty. I might cum from just looking at you like this."

His lips followed the path of his hands, kissing down your collarbone, lingering on the swell of your breast before looking up at you through hooded lashes for permission.

“Please,” is all you say.

He groaned low in his throat, the sound rough and wanting. His hands cupped your breasts with reverence before he lowered his mouth to one peaked nipple.

"Fuck—so good," he muttered against your skin, tongue swirling teasingly before sucking hard enough to make you gasp. His free hand pinched and rolled the other nipple between his fingers while he watched for every reaction on your face.

He switched sides with a dark chuckle, "Tell me if I'm too much."

You clench your thighs when he said that making his grin widen, stroking the skin between them.

“I’ve got you, sweet girl.” He says, “Just tell me if I need to slow down, okay?”

His mouth trails lower and lower and his delicate hands pulls your underwear down.

Heeseung's breath hitched as he pulled off your underwear, his eyes roaming over the newly exposed area with a possessive hunger that made your breath catch.

He took his time, his touch trailing up from your thigh, his fingertips leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake.

"So beautiful. So perfect." he murmured, "I want to taste you—can I?"

As you nod, he lets out a small noise. “Words, baby.” He nips your inner thigh making you yelp, “Yes! Please, taste me!”

Heeseung groaned, his hands tightening on your hips as he lowered himself between your legs. His tongue traced a slow, teasing line up the center of you—just enough to make you shudder.

"Fuck," he muttered against your skin, "You taste even better than I imagined."

Then he dove in fully—sucking and licking with an intensity that had stars bursting behind your eyelids.

Each stroke of Heeseung's tongue was a spark of fire, lighting up every nerve. He took his time, learning your body like a favorite song, every sweet spot, every little sound, just another part of this perfect dance.

The alcohol is really messing up your mind, you whine, feeling needy and impatient.

Heeseung chuckled against your skin, feeling your impatience. He lifted his head, his lips glistening with arousal.

"Someone's needy, huh?" He teased, before sitting up and grabbing your thighs. "Turn over. Hands and knees."

Heeseung's hands guided you, helping you turn over, until you were on all fours in front of him.

"Good girl," he said, his voice rough with desire. "Just like that."

He ran his hand down the arch of your back, admiring the view before him. "So pretty."

The tip of his finger trailed further down your spine, just barely grazing the sensitive skin of your rear.

"Can you take me like this, baby?" He asked, his voice a low purr.

You let out a another soft moan, nodding.

Heeseung groaned, unable to hold back a smirk at the sound. The way you responded to him, it lit a fire within him. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your skin.

"That's my girl." He praised, his hand roaming across your skin possessively before he shifted on the bed, positioning himself right behind you.

His fingers slid into you with slow, deliberate pressure—curling just right to drag a choked gasp from your lips.

"Fuck, so tight," he gritted out between clenched teeth. His thumb pressed firm circles against that sweet spot as he scissored his fingers inside you. "Gonna make sure I get every damn sound out of you."

He leaned over further, his chest pressing against your back. He wanted to feel you closer, so close that he could hear every beat of your heart. His lips brushed the shell of your ear.

"You ready for me, pretty girl?"

Your moans became louder, but he isn’t satisfied.

Heeseung chuckled, the sound dark and rough as he nipped at your earlobe.

"That's not an answer." His fingers curled deeper inside you—punishingly slow—just to feel how wet and desperate you were for him. "Say it. Tell me what you want."

"I want you. All of you." I said, my voice thick with wanting.

Heeseung shuddered, the words sinking into him like a drug, the alcohol’s influence isn’t helping either. It was exactly what he wanted to hear.

"Such a good girl." He murmured, his words punctuated by a sharp bite to your shoulder. Then his hands left your body—leaving you empty—and for a moment, all you could hear was the sound of him fumbling with his clothes.

"I'm gonna give you all of me."

When you turn your head to look at him, he was already bare, the sight of him make your stomach flip. He looked like a goddamn marble sculpture come to life—all hard muscle and smooth skin, every line of him taut with tension. But it was his size that made you gasp.

"See something you like?" He teased, his eyes dark and hungry as they traveled over you, taking in the flush on your skin.

“Please go slow, I’m gonna tear.” You said, still baffled at his ridiculously large size. He’s huge, way huge than the other guys you’ve experienced sex with.

Heeseung's smirk softened into something tender at your plea. He cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

"It’s alright, I got you." His voice was rough but gentle as he pressed a slow kiss to the corner of your mouth. "I'll go as slow as you need me to."

He positioned himself at your entrance, one hand bracing against the bed while the other guided his length in with agonizing patience—letting you feel every inch stretch around him until tears pricked at the corners of his eyes from holding back so hard.

He paused then, letting you adjust to his size. He pressed warm, open-mouthed kisses over your shoulder, your back, your neck. He was everywhere, surrounding you with his presence.

He whispered in your ear: "You okay?"

He let out a ragged groan, his entire body tensing as he tried to keep control. His hands tightened on your hips, fingers pressing into soft flesh as he fought the urge to just take.

"Fuck, you feel too good." His voice was wrecked already, strained with restraint. He pressed his forehead at your back and exhaled hard. "Tell me when I can move."

You nodded, taking a moment to adjust to the overwhelming fullness before giving him a shaky nod a few seconds later. "You can move."

Heeseung groaned at your words, relief and desire warring within him. He eased back at a slow, steady pace, his hands steadying you. After a few more thrusts, he turn you around so that you’re facing each other.

"Wrap your legs around me." The command was growled out, barely recognizable as his own voice. "I want you closer."

His breath hitched as he watched you obey, his body trembling with restraint. The second your legs locked around him, he snapped—burying himself to the hilt in one rough thrust.

"Shit—!" His voice broke on a groan, fingers digging bruises into your hips as he held you there for a torturous moment. "You take me so damn well baby,"

His control was teetering, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold back. He leaned forward, pressing you down into the bed with the weight of his body.

"You know just how crazy you make me?" He murmured, his lips brushing your ear with every word. "That night, and then graduation, you left without me having any say,"

He ran a hand down your side, his touch possessive, almost greedy as he mapped every curve, every dip and arch. “Not letting me tell you how much I wanted you too..”

You clench harder at his confession.

Heeseung's entire body shuddered as he felt you clench around him—tight, wet, perfect.

His grip on your hips turned bruising as a ragged groan tore from his throat.

"Thought about you every—shit, baby relax—" he choked out between gritted teeth. The sensation was almost too much to bear; the way you pulsed around him had his vision whiting out for a second.

"You trying to kill me?" he rasped, hips jerking instinctively into yours despite himself.

You laugh at him, finding him silly before another sharp thrust making you fall apart.

Heeseung's breath caught in his throat at the sound. The way you laughed and then immediately fell to pieces, moaning for him? It was like music to his ears.

Heeseung smiled against your neck, his grip tightening on you as he pulled back just enough to watch the way your body responded to him. “Oh fuck, Heeseung! Like that—“

"Like this?" he teased, dragging his hips forward in a slow, filthy roll—letting you feel every inch of him stretch and fill you all over again. "Or do I need to go harder?"

You moaned, “H-harder!”

His eyes darkened with a primal hunger at your plea. A rough sound tore from his throat as he reared back—then slammed into you, hard.

"Fuck—fuck—!" His hands clamped down on your hips, fingers pressing bruises into soft flesh as he pistoned in and out of you with brutal precision. "You take it so damn good."

A bead of sweat trailed down his temple; the room filled with the lewd slap of skin-on-skin and ragged breathing.

Without warning, he flipped onto his back and hauled you atop him—your thighs straddling his waist as he smirked up at ya from beneath hooded lashes. "Ride me.”

The second you took control, his hands flew to your hips, fingers digging into soft flesh as he watched—transfixed—while you bounced on top of him.

"Fuck—yes, just like that," he growled, his voice wrecked. The sight alone was enough to make his vision blur; sweat dripped down his temple as he struggled not to lose it too soon.

"You feel so goddamn good."

His hands were everywhere—roving across your skin in scorching paths that left your nerves singing. His touch was feverish, desperate, as if he was trying to memorize every inch of you. He leaned up and captured your mouth in a hard kiss.

"Look at me," he muttered against your lips. His hand came up, fingers grasping your chin and tilting your head back so he could see your face—eyes dark with a primal hunger. "I want to see you fall apart for me, can you do that baby?"

You could only obey, lost in a haze of pleasure. His eyes—God, his eyes—seemed to see straight through you, right into your soul.

The intensity of his gaze was almost too much to bear and yet, at the same time, it was what you wanted most, needed in this moment.

You felt exposed, vulnerable, but paradoxically, you also felt safe—known. Loved.

You lean down, Heeseung groaned and met you halfway, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, holding you in place. He kissed you like a man starving, all teeth and tongue—almost desperate in its urgency. His other hand roamed over your body, pulling you impossibly closer until you were pressed flush against him.

"You're so goddamn perfect," he muttered, his breath hot against your mouth. "And mine."

He groaned low in his throat, his body going taut beneath you when he feels you clench around him again.

"You like that, sweetheart?" he chuckled, his hand moving from the nape of your neck down your spine so his fingers could curl over your hip, gripping you tightly.

"That I'm calling you mine? That you belong to me?"

You nod, and he smiles. “Then let’s move on with that, baby. You’re mine. All mine. And I’m yours—Fuck, so tight baby,”

You can feel the tight coil in your stomach about to burst, your moans grow even louder.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he muttered, his voice rough with a note of command that sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes locked with yours, dark and intent, his expression a heady mix of tender and feral. "Let me see you."

He set a brutal pace, every thrust deep and rough, his hand snaking up to cup your cheek. His thumb traced a line across your lip, the touch almost tender as he watched you—eyes blazing with a mixture of possession and adoration.

And when you fall apart? He’s there to catch you.

Heeseung's eyes shut tight, a guttural cry torn from his lips. The feeling of you surrounding him completely was overwhelming, the intensity sending shudders down his spine.

His hips stuttering beneath you as he chased the high with reckless abandon. His hands clamped down on your waist—fingers bruising—as he drove up into you one final time.

"Fuck!" he snarled, back arching off the bed as pleasure ripped through him in white-hot waves. He spilled inside you in hot pulses, his breath ragged and uneven while sweat dripped from his brow onto your chest.

"...Lord," he muttered dazedly, "You're gonna be the death of me."

You whine in response, too overstimulated and sensitive to reply verbally.

Heeseung let out a shaky laugh, his fingers tracing soft circles over your skin as he tried to catch his breath. He gently maneuvered you off of him, laying you delicately on the bed beside him.

"Sensitive, baby?" he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead as his hand came up to brush the sweat-soaked hair away from your face. He could see the effect he'd had on you, the flush on your cheeks, the faint tremble in your limbs.

“You’re with me? You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” You murmur, dazed with the aftershock and alcohol.

Heeseung's expression softened as he scooped you up effortlessly, his arms strong and steady around you. He carried you to the bathroom with surprising gentleness—no teasing now, just quiet focus on making sure you were taken care of.

"Let me," he murmured when he set your feet down by the toilet. His hands hovered near your waist in case you wobbled before turning to wet a cloth under warm water.

"You did so good for me."

The words sounded almost reverential as he wiped you clean with the cloth. He was careful, tender even, his touch feather-light on your sensitive skin as he took his time making sure every remnant of what they'd done was erased.

"You're so damn beautiful," he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to your shoulder.

“Let’s get back to bed.”

—

The next morning, a sharp ringing in your head drags you out of sleep—loud, relentless, unforgiving.

You groan, burying your face deeper into the pillow, hoping it’ll stop. It doesn’t.

Your head pounds. Your throat is dry. Your entire body feels heavy, like it’s been weighed down by something you can’t quite name yet.

The alcohol.

Right.

That explains the headache. The dizziness. The way your limbs don’t feel entirely like yours.

But then—

Your eyes snap open.

Memory doesn’t come back all at once. It trickles in. Slow. Dangerous.

The reunion.

The drinks.

The laughter.

Him.

Your stomach drops.

No.

No, no, no—

You push yourself up slightly, wincing as the room spins just a little too much, your heart starting to race for an entirely different reason now.

The dance floor.

His hand on your waist.

Your breath catches.

The cab.

His fingers playing with yours.

His place—

“Oh my god,” you whisper, voice hoarse.

And then it hits you.

The kiss.

The way he thrust up into you.

The way you didn’t stop him.

The way you didn’t want to.

You freeze, every nerve suddenly awake despite the pounding in your head.

Slowly—very, very slowly—you turn your head.

And that’s when it sinks in.

You’re not in your room.

Not your bed.

Not your sheets.

Your grip tightens on the blanket as your eyes scan the unfamiliar space, heart thudding louder with every second.

This is his place.

Which means—

You swallow. Hard.

A soft, hoarse voice from right beside you.

“…You’re awake.”

You freeze.

There he is.

Hair messy, eyes barely open, voice still thick with sleep as he shifts slightly on the bed, one arm tucked under his head. He looks… different like this. Softer. Less composed than last night, but somehow even more real.

Your heart does something dangerous in your chest.

“You’re staring,” he mumbles, a faint, sleepy smile tugging at his lips without even opening his eyes fully.

You immediately look away. “I—no, I wasn’t.”

“…You were,” he murmurs, voice still rough, but there’s amusement in it.

Your face heats up instantly, memories flashing back in fragments that make your stomach flip all over again.

Silence lingers for a moment.

Then—

“You okay?” he asks, quieter this time, a little more awake now.

You hesitate. “…Define okay.”

That gets a soft huff of laughter out of him. He shifts again, turning slightly toward you, propping himself up just enough to look at you properly now.

“Head hurts?”

“…A lot.”

“Yeah,” he nods, like he expected that. “You drank more than you think.”

You groan, dragging a hand over your face. “Please don’t remind me. I’m already regretting my entire existence.”

He watches you for a second—really watches you this time.

And then, softer—

“…Do you regret last night too?”

The question lands heavier than anything else so far.

You go still.

Because suddenly, it’s not just about the headache anymore.

You swallow, forcing yourself to meet his eyes despite the way your chest tightens.

“We have a lot to talk about.”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer.

He just looks at you—really looks at you, like he’s been expecting this, like he knew the second you woke up this would be where things go.

“…Yeah,” he says quietly, voice still rough from sleep. “We do.”

The air shifts.

No more teasing. No more distractions. Just the two of you, the morning light creeping in through the curtains, and everything unsaid sitting heavy between you.

You sit up a little, pulling the blanket closer around you, suddenly too aware of everything—your surroundings, him, last night.

“I don’t… fully remember everything,” you admit, glancing away for a second. “I mean—I remember enough. Just… not in order.”

He lets out a small breath, nodding. “Same. Bits and pieces.”

That somehow makes it worse. Or maybe better. You can’t tell.

Your fingers tighten slightly in the blanket. “But I do remember… the important parts.”

His gaze doesn’t leave you. “Yeah?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah.”

Silence stretches for a second, thick but not uncomfortable—just… honest.

Then you exhale. “Look, I just—” you stop, gathering your thoughts, then try again. “Last night wasn’t just… random for me.”

Something flickers in his expression.

“It wasn’t just the alcohol,” you add quickly, like you need him to understand that part most.

He shifts closer, not touching you yet, but close enough that you feel it. “It wasn’t impulse either.”

Your heart stumbles.

You look at him again, searching his face for any hint of doubt, hesitation—anything that would make this easier to brush off.

Bu there’s none.

Just that same steady look.

“…Then why,” you ask softly, “did it feel like we were pretending nothing ever happened? All those years?”

He exhales, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Because I didn’t know what to do with it.”

You frown slightly. “With… me?”

“With you. With what you said. With how you looked at me that night,” he admits, quieter now. “I wasn’t rejecting you. I just—wasn’t ready. And you were drunk, and everything was happening so fast…”

Your chest tightens. “So I just… misunderstood everything.”

He shakes his head immediately. “No. I didn’t explain anything either. I just stood there like an idiot while you spiraled.”

You huff out a small, disbelieving laugh. “Wow. Love that for us.”

That earns a faint smile from him.

“But I didn’t forget,” he adds, more serious now. “I just thought… you’d moved on. And I didn’t want to come back and make things messy again.”

You stare at him.

“…Too late for that,” you mumble.

He lets out a quiet laugh, eyes softening. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

Another pause.

This one feels different.

Lighter.

You glance down at your hands, then back at him. “…So what now?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, he reaches out—slow, careful—giving you enough time to pull away if you want to.

You don’t.

His fingers wrap gently around yours, warm and steady, grounding in a way that makes your chest ache a little.

He then sat up, while you follow suit.

“Y/N,” He started.

“Heeseung.” You reply, a small smile on your face.

“I like you. I have been in love with you, since freshmen year. In fact, since orientation.” He started.

“Wait what?”

“You heard me. For me, it’s always has been you. During that party, I went home and got even more wasted, because I felt stupid for letting you go on and on and I just—stand there…like an ass.”

“Lowkey, you were.”

“And I’m regretful.” He took your hands to his lips, pressing a grounding kiss on it.

“It’s been four years though?”

“May I remind you that a certain someone had been avoiding birthday parties, small hangouts? I even thought you won’t be there last night.”

You look at him sheepishly. “I just—that party really ruined it for me, you know?”

“You regret going last night?”

“Never.”

He smiles, before picking you up, and walk to the shower, peppering soft kisses on your face.

“Then I’m keeping you forever and we’re going to spend today and tomorrow onwards making up for the past four years.”

“We said we would,” he replies quietly, voice steady in a way yours isn’t. He took your hand in his, before kissing it. “I’m right beside you, baby.”

You swallow, nodding once, more to yourself than to him, before reaching forward again. Your finger hovers over the screen for a second too long.

Three years of dodging questions.

Three years of silence. Of subtle hints.

And now… this.

“Okay,” you murmur, barely above a whisper, before pressing the button.

The screen flickers.

For a split second, it’s just the two of you—unchanged, unseen.

Then, YOU ARE LIVE! shows up on the screen.

Numbers begin climbing faster than you expected. Comments flood in almost instantly, too quick to read, too loud even in their silence.

“Hi everyone,” Heeseung starts first, his voice calm and grounding, but you could feel the excitement in it.

welovetheace: WOAH THIS NEW

dialtragedy2790: wait i’m scared r they announcing a pregnancy?

You choked on your saliva at that. “What—No! No pregnancy announcement,” You reply with a huff in which he just laughs at.

“We’re here today because…” He looks at you, smiling before turning to the camera again. “…We want to talk about us. Answer questions and reveal things we never did over the past few years.”

“That’s right, I know all of you are dying to know—we went public three years ago, but that’s just it. Just an official statement from our agency and that’s basically it.”

You laugh, “Some of you even accused us of being a PR stunt!” narrowing your eyes at the screen while Heeseung smirks.

“Not so PR stunt if I kiss you right here, no?”

ynlover: oh here mr flirtypants go

heedagoat: she’s stronger than me i would’ve died

hevanly: the way you can tell she’s used to his bs 😭😭

You clear your throat as you change the topic.

“So, I told you guys to ask me some questions about our relationship on Instagram and to say the least, we were entertained by your questions!”

You smile at the screen, your hand ready with your phone full of questions—some picked by you, some Heeseung and of course, filtered by the assistance of your dedicated Manager, Jen.

“Let’s just get into it, then?” He looks at you, gaze loving.

lovestrucked2508: he is looking at her like she’s his whole world… I’m sick.

———

“The first question—What’s something fans were right about—but you never confirmed?” You read, Heeseung hums.

“Oh! That we were already dating during that award show, remember?” He grins at you,

“The one that you wouldn’t stop staring at me?” You scoff, he nonchalantly shrugs.

“In my defense, that dress? With the split? You were killing me, baby.” He holds his heart, as if you are actually assassinating him.

You can already imagine what the comments are like.

“Oh stop it, you were not helping it. Even other celebs were suspecting it that time!” You laugh.

number1ace: WE WERE NOT CRAZY AFTER ALL

You read another question, “Who gets sulky more easily?”

“Heeseung.”

“Y/N.”

You gasp, mock-offense. “You do! I literally have to put up with your little pout every time I say no!” Your finger boop said pout he’s forming right now.

“Well, I can’t help it. That’s just how my lips are. Besides, what type of girlfriend refuses her boyfriend’s cuddles?”

“The type that has schedules to attend, and not stuck in bed with you all day!”

He pouts.

jujuprincess: THAT POUT omg she’s so strong to deny him

“Okay, moving on!” He reads. “How did going public affect your relationship emotionally?”

He thinks of a second, before answering.

“To be completely honest, nothing. Both Y/N and I are aware that once we go public, the lack of privacy, interrogations, people over analyzing our actions and words— are a given,” He turns his attention to me. “I guess, we’re both mentally strong people?” He chuckles.

“Because while yes, the world knows us as each other’s person, but the moments that we kept to ourselves? That’s what ground us as a couple. Because the Y/N off screen is for my eyes only, and that made me feel like…nothing really changes.”

You smile at his sentimental answer, while agreeing with him.

“What’s your ‘normal date’ actually like?” He reads another one.

“It’s our favourite, actually. Locking our doors and spend the whole day sleeping,” I chuckled.

“While hugging each other, of course.” He laughs, “We both have demanding schedules, so when we’re tired and have eachother? Y/N becomes my teddy bear.”

You roll your eyes, faux annoyed. “His grip—God—It’s like he has magnets in him.”

“But I never see you complaining.” He winks at you.

f4taltroubl3: why is she calmer than me and I’m not even in the relationship

The questions continue, some light-hearted and funny, some headliner-worthy you could feel your manager stressing out as she monitors your live from her screen.

“What’s a moment where you felt proud of each other as artist?” You read, and immediately answer.

“Uhm, while I am proud for all the awards he achieved…what makes me even prouder of him is that his tendency to stay commited to his intentions. By his side, you can really see how much hardship he went through.” You continued.

“However, through it all—his mindset never wavered, and that’s so significant in this fabricated and chaotic industry. As a fellow artist, I respect him so much. As a lover, I’m so proud of him.” I held his hand, and smile.

Heeseung’s breath hitches as he stares at you answering.

“That means so much to me, baby.” He says, voice soft enough it passes as a whisper only you hear.

LHS1COMINGSOON: the way u can tell they protected this relationship a lot, oh my heart.

He reads another one: “When was a moment you felt ‘this is my person’?”

He smiles before answering, “Before her, I’m someone who avoids talking to people or in general shut myself out from the world when things get tough, and then get back on track myself. But…when we started dating, I realised instead of wanting solitary, I crave her. In my silence, I search for her. She grounds me even more that past me can do it myself.” He chuckles.

“Loving Y/N is so easy. You just can’t not fall in love with her.” He kisses your hand again, and you feel your face heating up, as well as the lump in your throat forming.

“Tch, what a sap.” You smile, blinking quickly to avoid tearing up.

He just grin at that.

beliftlabdestroyer: The way they talk about each other is so gentle

heeseung4life: No wonder he fell for her

“Who is more affectionate in private?” You scoff, “I fear this is obvious, you guys.”

Heeseung looks at you, before smirking.

“Oh really now?” His hand creeping up your inner thigh.

“Yup.”

“But the last time I checked, it wasn’t me who was on their knees last n—”

“Okay—! Next question.” You glare at him, “Have you talked about your future seriously?”

Heeseung hums, “Future…” He shrugs. “Both of us really hold onto the concept of Carpe Diem, but…” He tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“I’m so sure we’re each other’s future too. Maybe a family of our own?” He smiles.

You grin, “Well—that’s a given. But, too early to talk about that.”

gojosatoruineedthatdih: wait lowkey imagined a kid with both of their genes….we’re not ready

After the last question fades and the comments slow just enough to breathe, you glance at Heeseung, unsure who’s supposed to end it. For a moment, neither of you speaks—until he quietly thanks the viewers, his voice softer than it’s been the entire time.

“Thank you for supporting us,” you add, voice steadier than you expected.

You reach for the screen to end the live—

—but he stops you. Just for a second.

Not dramatic. Not obvious.

Just enough to gently intertwine his fingers with yours and kiss your temple.

“Now you can end it,” he murmurs.

And of course—

the camera catches everything.