#neocity-net

By the time you hear his key in the lock, you’ve forgotten all about it. You were in sweats and one of his hoodies, reheating leftovers and scrolling through social media when he walked in with a grin tucked into the corners of his mouth like he already knows something you don’t want to admit. 

“Hey,” he greets, dropping his bag by the door. “About what you said earlier…” 

“I was kidding,” you tell him, handing him a plate. “Mostly.” 

Mark smirks, brushing a kiss to your cheek before settling on the couch. You join him not too long after. Dinner is easy, quiet. You eat with your legs tangled together, shoulders brushing, the TV humming in the background. It’s the kind of night that feels domestic. Warm lighting, full bellies, a shared blanket. Ordinary in the best way. 

But then Mark’s hand slips beneath the hem of your hoodie. Just a little. Just enough to trace circles over your bare waist, his thumb brushing the softest part of your stomach. His fingertips graze the band of your underwear like it’s an accident, but you know better.

You glance at him, ready to tease, but he’s already watching you, his gaze low-lidded and dangerous. 

“Still too lazy to go buy some?” he asks. 

You blink at him. “You’re the one who drove here and didn’t stop to buy any.” 

“Mmm,” he hums, lips twitching. His fingers trail higher, ghosting just beneath the curve of your breast before slipping away again. “Guess we’re not doing anything tonight, then.” You shove his shoulder lightly, but he only laughs, leaning closer until his breath warms your ear. “Nothing at all,” he whispers, hand skimming down your thigh under the blanket. 

“Nothing,” you agree, biting back a smile, though neither of you seems to mean it as the teasing touches linger, each one daring the other to break first. 

The first kiss is slow, more a press of mouths than anything urgent. But it builds fast, his fingers skating under your shirt, yours curling in his hair, the blanket slipping off both of your laps as he nudges you onto your back. 

Mark’s hips settle between yours. It was just the weight of him, the warm slide of sweatpants against you. Then he grinds down, and your breath catches. 

He groans, low and sharp. “Are you sure we don’t have anything?” he groans into your neck. “And you’re not—”

“Nope,” you respond, already rolling your hips up into his. “Not on anything.” 

You both freeze for a second. The tension builds between you in a shared, sharp awareness. But then he does it again, a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, letting you feel how hard he is even through the layers. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. “This is—this is so bad.” 

“It’s so bad,” you echo, arms tightening around his shoulders. “But you feel so good.” 

You’re both laughing under your breath, the kind of laugh that dissolves into breathless sighs as your bodies fall into a rhythm. Dry heat. Friction. His hips meet yours again and again, your panties growing damp.. You feel his cock twitch, how close he’s getting just from this. 

Mark pulls back just enough to look at you. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that.” 

“Doing what?” you tease, but your voice is thin, your thighs already trembling. 

He kisses you again, messier this time, his hand dipping down between you and into your underwear. His fingers slide through the heat of you, and he groans into your mouth. “You’re so—” He doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he pushes two fingers inside, your walls gripping him instantly, and he swears against your lips. 

The stretch makes you gasp, your hips lifting into his hand. He curls his fingers just right, knuckles dragging against your softest spots until your thighs tremble. It’s all slick sounds and sharp breaths now. His fingers massaging your walls, your hips rocking into his hand helplessly. 

Your hand finds him, too, slipping past the waistband of his sweats. He’s flushed and hard when you feel the silky heat stretched tight over the heavy length of him. He shudders when your fingers wrap around him, leaking slick against your palm. You stroke him in time with the thrust of his fingers inside you, the rhythm sloppy and desperate but perfectly matched, each of you unraveling the other with every tug and curl. 

“Fuck, babe—” Mark’s forehead drops to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. His fingers pump faster, curling deep until your thighs quake. The heel of his palm grinds against your clit with each movement, pulling sharp little sounds from your throat. You squeeze him harder in return, dragging your thumb over the swollen, wet tip, making his hips jerk helplessly into your hand. 

It builds fast, too fast, and you’re clenching around his fingers, pulling him deeper, moaning into his mouth as your body seizes with release. He doesn’t let up, working you through it until your hips fall limp beneath him, sweat slicking your skin. 

You barely catch your breath before you’re fumbling at your waistband, tugging your pants and underwear down your legs, and tossing them aside. Mark sits back, chest heaving, pupils blown wide as he watches you crawl towards him. 

“Wait, wait—” Mark’s protest is drowned in a choked sound as you kneel between his thighs and tug his sweats down just enough to free him. He’s thick and flushed in your hand, twitching when you lean down to take him in your mouth. 

The first wet lick up the full length of his cock has his head tilting back against the couch. “Oh, fuck.” His fingers thread into your hair, not pushing, just clinging. 

You hollow your cheeks, sliding down until he hits the back of your throat, then pulling off with a wet pop to lick along the sensitive underside, tongue tracing every vein until he’s trembling. Mark moans helplessly, thighs flexing beneath your hands.

When you cup his balls gently, his whole body jerks. He gasps your name like it’s the only word he knows, high and thin, hips twitching up despite himself. You suck harder, dragging your tongue in slow, deliberate laps, alternating between swallowing him down and teasing the swollen head with light flicks until he’s whimpering. 

“Fuck—baby, please…please, I can’t,” he pants, tugging weakly at your hair. “You’re killing me.” His voice breaks on a groan. “I need to be inside you, just the tip—I promise, just the tip.” 

You hum around him, pulling back just enough to smirk. “Only the tip. You have to promise.” 

“I promise!” he cries out, already dragging you up for a desperate kiss. 

You’re already half gone, nodding as he pulls his sweatpants and underwear off, throwing them to join yours on the floor. He pushes you back against the couch, guiding himself to your entrance. The first stretch has you crying out, your nails digging into his arms. 

Mark shudders, jaw tight, pushing only the head of his cock inside. His whole body shakes as he exhales through clenched teeth, forehead pressing to yours. 

“Fuck—just the tip,” he growls, almost like a warning to himself. His hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise as he fights not to push farther, but every pulse of your walls around him drags him deeper by instinct. He’s panting, chest heaving, veins standing out in his neck, yet he stays still, like he’s convincing himself as much as you. But then your hips twitch, a needy little roll that drags another inch of him inside.

“Mark,” you whine, already trembling. 

He curses again, thrusting shallowly, just enough for the tip to press and retreat. His resolve breaks with every little sound that escapes from your mouth. Each time he rocks forward, more of him slips past the tight clutch of your walls until you feel the thick weight of him stretching you open. 

“I only meant—just the tip,” he pants, but the lie dies when his hips drive forward harder, burying half of him in one slick thrust. “God—fuck—you’re so tight,” he stammers, voice cracking. His rhythm falters as he pulls almost all the way out, then sinks back in, slower this time, savoring every inch. 

You cry out, back arching, knuckles white against his shoulders. “Mark—fuck, you’re already inside,” you whimper, voice breaking. “You might as well just fuck me.” 

Mark squeezes his eyes shut, groaning like he’s tearing himself apart. But your desperate pleas crack him wide open. With one hard thrust, he pushes fully inside, hips flush to yours, the stretch searing and euphoric. 

The heat of him fills every inch, thick and throbbing, textured veins dragging against your walls until you’re gasping, overwhelmed by how deep he reaches. You cling to him like you’ll fall apart if you don’t, sobbing his name against his shoulder as he holds you there, buried in your wet heat, shaking with the effort to stay in control. 

It’s too much, too hot, too good. Mark sets a rougher pace, hips snapping into yours with raw need. His body trembles against you, growls ripping from his throat as he loses his rhythm. You’re gasping, nails scraping down his back, his body shaking with the effort of holding on. 

“Shit—shit, I’m gonna cum—” His thrusts grow frantic and desperate, the tip of his cock nudging so deep you swear you can’t breathe. 

Your hands fly up, clutching Mark’s face, forcing him to look at you. “Not inside, Mark—You have to pull out.” Your voice is broken but firm, even as your own pleasure crests. 

He groans miserably, teeth gritted, fighting his body’s instinct. “Fuck—I will, I will—”

Mark’s hips stutter before he yanks out at the last second with a ragged groan cry, spilling hot across your stomach in heavy spurts where your hoodie rode up. The sound of his pleasure tears out of him, sharp and guttural, as his body bows and then collapses forward. His forehead falls to your shoulder, chest heaving, his muscles trembling with the aftershock. His breath is harsh against your neck, broken gasps tangled with the sound of your own ragged breathing. 

But he doesn’t stop. Still shuddering, he drags his mouth down your throat, pushing your hoodie up higher, exposing your breasts, and leaving open-mouthed kisses on them as he makes his way lower. His hand slips between your thighs, spreading you wide as he settles in, his other palm smearing through his own release across your skin. He groans at the mess, at how wet you already are even before his tongue is on you. 

The first drag of it is slow and deliberate, from your entrance to your clit, but then he’s sucking you into his mouth, greedy and insistent. He flattens his tongue against you, licking broad and heavy until you’re writhing, then narrowing to spear inside you, fucking into your heat with wet strokes that make your hips jump. He pulls back just enough to circle your clit, lips closing around it, sucking until your vision swims. 

“Mark—holy fuck—” Your voice cracks, your thighs trembling around his head, but he only groans into you, the vibration shooting straight through your core. He alternates between tongue-fucking you deep and sucking hard on your clit, working you with a feral sort of focus that leaves you gasping. The wet, obscene sounds fill the air as he slurps at everything you give him, tongue drinking you down like he can’t get enough. 

It’s too much, the pleasure building until it finally breaks you. Your body arches, shuddering hard as your orgasm rips through you, your thighs clamping tight around his head. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow, licking you through it, swallowing every drop as you cry out and shake against him. 

Only when you’re trembling and boneless does he finally let up, kissing back up your body in slow, messy lines. His tongue traces your stomach, licking up the cooling streaks of his cum, lapping at the taste of himself before moving higher. 

When he reaches your lips, he kisses you deep and wet, pushing the salty tang of him and the sweetness of you onto your tongue. The kiss is filthy and desperate, spit-slick and hungry, until you’re both panting against each other’s mouths. 

At last, Mark lowers himself onto you, his body heavy and warm as he goes limp. His arms circle around your shoulders, holding you close, his cheek pressed to yours, while his breathing finally starts to steady. 

His hair is damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead when he finally cracks a grin against your cheek, breath ghosting over your skin. He nuzzles into you, lips brushing lazily along your jaw before he murmurs, voice hoarse but teasing. “My pull out game is pretty solid, huh?”

You let out a weak laugh, still dazed, smacking lightly at his shoulder. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.” 

Mark only chuckles, smug but exhausted, pressing another sloppy kiss to your mouth as if to seal his point. “Almost doesn’t count, babe.” 

You groan, burying your face in his chest, but the corners of your mouth betray you with a smile. His arms tighten around you, and even as his joke lingers, he melts further into your body, humming softly as sleep starts to creep in. 

Edit: To celebrate this fic reaching 1k notes I compiled a short list of p!links that are related to the fic. (Must be signed in to Twitter/X to view the links.)

Autoplay: If you liked this, you may also like LOL (Laugh-Out-Loud) - S.Johnny

i made this such a long time ago and was supposed to release this in july this year but it just slipped my mind 😭 but anyways it's here now! hope you guys enjoy this little one!!

mark lee

brain malfunctioning

"mark? are you alright?"

alright? define alright.

if that meant that he knows what to write for the next love song for the group, then yes, he's more than alright

a blush creeps up to his face and he looks away

you caught on and twirled to fully shoe off your dress, giggling at how mark left out a small "oh damn dude…” under his breath

and then you would tease him about him calling you a dude

huang renjun

you're a little behind schedule, but renjun understands that and told you a fake earlier time

but as he's waiting for you, he couldn't help but hear the sighs coming out from your shared room

"need any help, love?" he shouted with a smile adorning his face and a shake of his head

"yeah could you come in for a sec?"

"yeah what's up-" his breath is taken away right there

and so was your frown, now replaced with a satisfied smile

"good?" You asked shyly

renjun stuttered over his words, so he nodded instead before shutting the door

"t-take your time!"

lee jeno

it was supposed to only be a quick stop at the mall and the purchases were made for your friend's birthday

you decide to gift her a dress, one that she's been eyeing for a while

jeno is dragged there but as soon as you let his hand go to smooth the fabric, he couldn't even blame you

"ok i'm going to try this on for a sec." As you and your friend have the same size

jeno just nodded, the image of the dress in front of you already making me excited

when you walked out of the dressing room for a better full body mirror, you're surprised with a hug

"i'm buying this for you," as he plants kisses on the crook of your neck, tightening his hold so that you won't run away

na jaemin

spoils you in every little way possible and so when he comes home with a handful of bags you couldn't help but gasp

"how much did you spend?!"

"hear me out!" he interjected, "these are necessities."

"...they're not food, jaemin."

"well...they make you look like one-ow! ok ok!" kisses you on the forehead and looks at you with sparkling eyes "try these on for me?"

"fine..."

jaemin paces around the room, excited about his new purchases

you, on the other side of the door, are amazed by his perfect choice of clothing for you

he really is the most perfect, attentive boyfriend

as soon as the door clicks open, jaemin lifts you up by your waist and pushes you back inside the room, kicking the bedroom door shut

lee haechan

the choice of outfit was his last straw in keeping your secret relationship...no longer a secret

he knew the moment you walked out of your house with it on, his eye twitched with jealousy as other guys were at this party

but you're free to wear whatever you want

you're happy to know that his camera roll is full of you posing in the sunset with your outfit

"let me see!"

"my eyes only!"

"hey," someone pushed in, haechan's face souring and eyes slightly glaring, "i was wondering if you ever want to go on a date with me...?"

"excuse me?" Haechan let's out first, an arm around your waist where the stitching of the dress accentuates your figure, "stay away from my gorgeous girlfriend."

zhong chenle

his fashion brand is opening a new women's section

what better way to have you as his model

of course, being the supportive girlfriend you are, you agreed to the modelling, excited at the designs on the paper at first sight

"wait what?" chenle exclaims when he opened the final product, the dress length different from what he expected, "it was supposed to be a long dress but it ended up being this? this is the third time they messed up on the work! tell them we're not going to work with them anym-"

"it's so pretty, lele." you appear next to him, kissing his cheek. "can i try it anyway?"

he has no reason to reject, and that ended up being his best choice

"HOLD THAT CALL-"

park jisung

brain mulfunction part. 2

you're having a little fashion show in front of the mirror, one pile full of clothes to donate to those who would give them more love

"i mean...i guess?" not sure of which to donate anymore

as the unchecked pile decreases, you realise a dress that you've never seen before

"...huh?" but soon your eyes widened at how pretty it is, two thumbs on the shoulder straps to pull it up, "ok, i don't remember getting this but let's go, i guess"

jisung keys into the apartment when you were changing, "bubs i'm home!"

your excitement made you forget your little poses to the mirror, running out the door to hug your boyfriend

and as jisung holds the side of your exposed waist through the cutout of the dress, his eyes widened, "o-oh you found it..."

your head tilted before a moment of realisation, "i'm sorry was it supposed to be a surprise? i'm so sorry i just found it on the floor i guess, and it got mixed up with my clothes because i was decluttering and-"

"i say this is the best surprise I could get after coming home."

the most gorgeous, sweetest dress on you, making him place a kiss to your lips

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 nct dream masterlist

“You’re back,” he said, setting his phone aside. “How was the concert?”

You practically floated over to the couch, dropping down next to him with a dreamy sigh. “Oh my god, Jaemin, it was amazing. Taemin was... unreal. Like, how is one person even allowed to be that hot and that talented? His dancing? His voice? Ugh, I’m ruined. Completely ruined.”

Jaemin’s lips twitched, and you thought for an instant that you witnessed a flicker of something cross his face, but it was gone before you could place it. “Oh, really? That good, huh?”

You nodded vigorously, too caught up in your excitement to notice the way his jaw tightened. “Yes! He did ‘Move’ and ‘Criminal,’ and I swear, the way he moved his hips—” You fanned yourself dramatically, laughing. “I think I ascended to another plane of existence.”

Jaemin leaned back against the couch, crossing his arms, showing off his biceps in the process. “Sounds like you had fun,” he said, his tone light but with a hint of something you couldn’t quite place.

“I did! But you should’ve been there. You would’ve understood. Taemin is just... wow.” You sighed again, leaning your head back against the couch, still lost in the memory of the concert.

Jaemin watched you for a moment, his expression softening despite himself. You knew that in his mind, you were adorable when you were this excited, but there was a tiny, nagging part of him that didn’t like how much you were gushing over someone else. Even if it was Taemin.

“Well,” he said, standing up abruptly, “since you’re so impressed with Taemin’s dancing, maybe I should remind you that your boyfriend isn’t too bad either.”

You blinked up at him, confused. “What are you—”

Before you could finish, Jaemin grabbed your hands and pulled you to your feet. He spun you around playfully, making you laugh as he started moving to an imaginary beat. His movements were exaggerated and silly at first, but then he shifted into something smoother, his body rolling in a way that made your breath catch.

“Jaemin,” you giggled, trying to keep up with him. “What are you doing?”

“Showing off,” he said with a smirk, pulling you closer. “He’s not the only one who can move, you know.”

You laughed, your hands resting on his shoulders as he guided you into a slow, rhythmic sway. “Okay, okay, you’re good. Really good. Happy now?”

“Not yet,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower. His hands slid to your waist, holding you firmly as he pressed you against the couch. His hips rolled against yours in a deliberate, teasing motion, and your laughter died in your throat.

“Jaemin,” you said, your voice breathy now. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” he asked, his lips brushing against your ear. “Or are you just realizing that you don’t need to go to a concert to see someone hot and talented?”

You shivered, your hands gripping his shoulders tighter. “You’re jealous,” you accused, though there was no real heat in your words.

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, his smirk turning into a full-blown grin. “But I think I’m doing a pretty good job of reminding you who you come home to.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he cut you off with a kiss, deep and possessive, leaving no room for argument. When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your cheeks flushed for an entirely different reason.

“Still thinking about Taemin?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

You shook your head quickly, your eyes wide. “Nope. Not at all.”

“Good,” he said, his grin widening. “Because I’m not done reminding you.”

He gently spread your thighs and hooked them around his hips, settling between them as he continued the movements he started earlier. He was hungry, and he had a purpose. He groaned in satisfaction as his mouth roamed, licking and biting your neck and shoulders. He grinded his core against you more firmly with each rolling of his hips, and your moans spilling out when you returned the friction.

“Jaemin…” you breathed out as his lips kept digging at your skin, making you his meal. “Baby, calm down…. just a little-” but whatever you were about to say left your mind as Jaemin started showing very special attention to that specific spot on your neck. Biting hard, making you scream his name as he smirked against your skin, feeling proud of your reaction. He kept going, pressing and rolling his hips against yours, holding your hips tightly while marking your necks, dragging his tongue all over.

“You taste so sweet, baby.”

Your boyfriend is insane. Mad. But you love him, and you love the way he knows you and your body to a tee. You can’t help but grip his hair with your right hand and hold the coach with the other.

“Not talking about Taemin anymore now, are we?” He whispers, teasing you to the fullest, bringing back what started it all.

“Fuck, Jaemin… ”

His left hand is dragging lower on your body, to palm your core under your skirt - slowly drawing circles over your clit, not caring about ruining your panties.

His hips and fingers are working hard, stimulating you, making you whine and squirm all over the place. Your hand grips hard in his hair, making him groan and kiss you harder in return.

You couldn’t help but move your hips against his hard member, both letting out sounds of pleasure.

“You.. feel so good Jaemin.” you softly gasped out. Talking had become way more difficult than it should have.

And sometimes, just the simplest sentence could break a man, his mind almost going blank. His hand focuses on your core ,and his hips press exactly where you need him, mercilessly grinding. Your mind was as dazed as his, the hand holding the coach now under his shirt, scratching his toned back, holding him closer than physically possible.

His response to your neediness was grabbing your throat with his free hand, forcing you to look at him, allowing you to see how wrecked you were just from grinding against him. Smirking, he returned to attacking your mouth, sucking on your tongue. You both were gone, drunk on each other.

“I- Jaemin..” you moaned into his mouth, gasping, “I-I’m close..”

“Me too baby,.. fuck me too,” he let out, never stopping his movement on you until the end.

Release came crashing onto both of you, loud moans, panting while breathing.

Jaemin rested his head against your marked shoulder, holding you tight as you both tried to catch your breath. Your hands are still all over each other, staying in this position until you come down from your orgasm, kissing the top of his head.

“You feeling good, baby?” he softly asked you as he was raising his head to look at you.

You just hummed in response, smiling back at him and stealing a kiss from his lips.

“Not jealous at all, right ?” you teased him, a bright smile on your lips, watching his face change, almost offended by this statement.

He tickled your side in response, making you squirm and laugh out loud. A smile formed across his face, and anyone could tell that Jaemin loved you just by seeing the way he was looking at you. He cherished you.

He kissed your forehead, whispering an “I love you,” and decided to carry you bridal-style up the stairs to the shower and then to bed.

Today really was incredible for two reasons, just don’t tell Jaemin you said that.

bonus scene

The following day, the two of you were curled up on the couch, a movie playing in the background, though neither of you was really paying attention. You were scrolling through your phone, still buzzing from the concert, while Jaemin pretended to watch the screen, his arm draped lazily around your shoulders.

“Look at this,” you said suddenly, holding up your phone to show him a video from the concert. “Taemin did this move during ‘Idea,’ and it was insane. Like, how does he even do that?”

Jaemin glanced at the screen, his expression unreadable. “Hmm. Impressive.”

You didn’t seem to notice his lack of enthusiasm. “Right? And his outfit—ugh, he looked so good. I mean, the leather pants? The mesh shirt? It should be illegal.”

Jaemin’s jaw tightened, but he forced a smile. “Sounds like you really enjoyed yourself.”

“I did,” you said, completely missing the edge in his voice. “But you know what would’ve made it even better? If you were there with me.”

He raised an eyebrow, his tone dry. “Oh, so you could compare my dancing to Taemin’s in real time?”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “Don’t be like that. You know you’re my favorite.”

“Do I?” he asked, his voice dropping as he turned to face you. “Because it sounds like Taemin might be giving me a run for my money.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on your lips. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” he asked, his hands sliding to your waist as he pulled you closer. “Maybe I just need to make sure you don’t forget who you belong to.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he leaves no room for argument by kissing you, sweeter than the previous night. You could feel him smiling against your lips, his hands moved to your hips, holding you close, his body hovering over yours.

“Jaemin,” you breathed, your hands tangling in his hair. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he murmured against your lips. “But you love it.”

You didn’t argue because he was right. And as he kissed you again, you realized that no concert, no matter how amazing, could ever compare to this. No one could ever make you feel the way he did.

✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated! › anonymous review form & join my taglist

@ credits┆thank you @cheers-to-you-th for beta reading my fic once more ☆彡

☘︎ taglist: @shinysobi, @kyeomofhearts, @eclipsaria, @gentleisa, @nightshao, @neocity-net

The annoying ring of your alarm engulfed the silent, peaceful room, startling you from your rest. You groaned softly, but didn’t make a move—which, of course, didn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend, he always sensed even the smallest flicker of discomfort you went through. Jeno kept one hand wrapped around you, his fingers playing with your messy morning locks, as his other hand reached out to turn off the alarm. 

He looked down at you lovingly, sleep slowly slipping away as he gently caressed your head with soft pats. He swore he would rather do this all day instead of going to some boring work place. All he wished for was for you, his pretty angel, to fall back asleep, despite knowing damn well that both of you had to wake up for adult life duties eventually. Eventually, though, was a faraway concept, because the right moment for you to start your day didn’t seem to be near enough. The only right thing he felt like doing was admiring your still sleepy face, his eyes holding literal hearts in them. He chuckled lightly as you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, crumpling his t-shirt into your fist in hopes to get even closer to him. That was his ideal morning (minus the adulting part).

Jeno had known it from a quite a young age—he was smitten with you. With you two being prom partners and later on being crowned as prom king and queen, it was pretty obvious to everyone around you that you were going to be highschool sweethearts. He could still see it clear as ice: the proud smile that stretched across your pretty face while the silvery tiara was placed on your head, his own eyes turning into crescents at the sight. It was back then when his life took quite a flip, and so did his heart, moving to be held by you and sealing itself there for good. He sighed dreamily at the memory, thumb brushing your cheek while his thoughts wandered to your first kiss, and he swore he didn’t even realise he’d puckered his lips at the memory. He just loved you that much, and he was thankful all the time for getting the chance to treasure you. 

But, like all the good moments, this one had to come to an end… eventually. 

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath when the alarm rang once again, even louder this time.

He felt you shift on top of him, and he was quick to stroke your back in slow circles, knowing the alarm was going to startle you. 

“Good morning, my love,” he whispered, pressing a loving kiss to your temple. 

You smiled sleepily, grumpiness long forgotten as you pressed a sweet peck on his neck. “Morning, Nono.” 

He scrunched his nose at the nickname, but you both knew that it still made his heart flutter, even after all those years—just like he sent butterflies dancing in your stomach with every glance he gave you. 

“We have to get ready,” he sighed dramatically, yet he didn’t make any efforts to stand up—not as long as his angel was still hugging him. 

Your co-workers knew it was basically impossible to separate the two of you—you followed the same university and were now (disgustingly) adorable employees at your workplace. Sure, everyone found it endearing how you two tried to keep it so professional at work, going as far as not even telling them that you were partners at first. You smiled at the memory, but decided it was time to actually start your day and freshen up, so you rolled out of the bed, laughing at Jeno’s slight pout. 

You went to the bathroom and brushed your teeth together, laughing at the funny faces Jeno made in the mirror. You then proceeded to do each other’s skin care, stealing innocent kisses between the application of your moisturizer and the drops of serum. 

Less than an hour had passed since you woke up, yet there you were—still in bed, limbs tangled together under the sheets. Jeno was gently holding your hand, occasionally pressing kisses to your fingers—especially the one that was now adorned by the shiny band of a promise ring, matching his. The silence was comforting, the cuddle was warm, and the morning light was still blocked by the night curtains. You wanted nothing more but to be able to cuddle and stay indoors all day. 

“Baby, I really am extremely comfortable right now…” you whispered, looking in his beautiful eyes. 

He looked back at you, nodding in approval. He loved his job, sure—but not more than he loved his quality time with you. Despite all the teasing he received from his friends, he just couldn’t stop being clingy, not with you. It felt right—and that’s when the best idea popped into his mind.

“How about we work from home today?” 

Your eyes lit up as excitement bubbled in your chest.

“You are the best, Nono!” you beamed, grabbing his face softly. 

He looked at you for a second before closing the gap between your lips in a slow, yet passionate kiss. One hand found your waist, while the other tangled with your fingers. You couldn’t help but giggle because, somehow, every kiss felt just like the first. You pulled away after a while, fingers brushing his hair as a mischievous smile took over your features, your lips curved in satisfaction.

“Oh, and babe? You are the one calling our boss. Hope you don’t mind!” 

You pecked his plush lips once more before hopping out of bed, already on your way to set up your home office for the day, leaving a shocked Jeno behind—he was entirely helpless.

Unbeknownst to many, you are the complete opposite of what you choose to present to the public. At the hands of your boyfriend, Johnny, all of the innocent pretense melts away, replaced by an untamed desire. The moment you get behind closed doors, your public persona is discarded on the welcome mat, and any lust you kept hidden away comes to light.

Your sex drive is concerning, to say the least. Your innocent persona is like a hypothetical chastity cage, locking away your dirty desires for a place more private, where nobody can see nor shame you for your thoughts. Outside, you avoid sexually charged situations like the plague, but inside, you’re the initiator, and you’re glad you have someone equally as dirty as you who can keep up with it. 

When he met you for the first time, Johnny saw right through your good girl persona. There was no way that someone as beautiful as you had never pursued something like that before, and so he spent his time with you chipping away at the walls you put up, trying to discover whether there was something about you that you were hiding.

And, lo and behold, he found exactly what he was looking for. 

For better lack of a word, you were a complete and total slut. The moment he gave you the go-ahead, you were all over him, kissing him, marking him and palming him through his trousers like your life depended on it. He saw the way lust clouded your pupils so quickly, and instead of being freaked out, he encouraged it, murmuring words of praise into your ear as you humped his erection desperately.

“Poor thing,” he whispered, large hands gripping your hips and pulling you harder against him. “Must be hard hiding all of this from your friends, right?” You nodded into his neck, tongue flicking against his skin as you prepped it for yet another hickey. “You don’t have to do that with me, princess. I can give you everything you need.” 

And so he did. That night, he figured that to keep you from going batshit insane with need, he would have to make you cum until you passed out, stuff you full to the brim until you insisted that you couldn’t take any more. And even when you did tell him that you couldn’t, you would still rub your tired clit against the tip of his cock, shallow breaths coming out stuttered as you would work yourself up to yet another orgasm. 

His girlfriend, his sweet, innocent girlfriend turned out to be a complete nymphomaniac, and he loved it. You took anything and everything he gave you, bathed in the afterglow of multiple orgasms time and time again, dug your nails into his back to the point where small crescents would form. And your need was sexy too; those innocent eyes that drew him in at first would be used against him at his behest, and you would look up at him, pupils dilated and lashes fluttering as he coddled you into your blissful state. 

It’s how you look up at him now, tits bouncing with each thrust and mouth wide open in an ‘o’ shape. You’re quite the sight, but it’s a sight he loves to see nonetheless.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispers, hips flush against yours as his tip prods at your g-spot. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.” 

“W-want you,” you stutter, eyes focusing and refocusing as you feel the coil begin to wind in your tummy. “Want you to fill me up.” 

Johnny laughs breathily, sweat soaked strands of hair falling into his face. “But I’m already filling you up, sweet girl. Surely you don't need any more than that.” 

He just loves the way your face contorts when he teases you. You get so dumb like this, and when he uses that condescending voice he knows you love, your eyes gloss over as tears begin to form. “Don’t be mean.” 

“You like it when I’m mean.” He leans back, wrapping his hands around your waist and observing the way your tiny pussy swallows him whole. “You like it when I use your cunt like my own personal doll, don’t you sweetheart?” 

You hum in satisfaction, cheek pressing into the pillow, but you’re snapped back into the moment by a hand wrapping around your throat. “C’mon, answer me. You like it, don’t you?” 

“I do,” you moan out, your hoarse voice mingling with the sounds of wet skin slapping. “Love it so much, love you-” 

“I know you do, baby. Now…” He runs his thumb along your bottom lip before dragging it downwards, pulling your mouth open. You instinctively stick your tongue out and he smiles, gathering a glob of spit in his throat before dropping into your open lips. “Be a good girl and tell me what you want. What you need.” 

Your eyes squeeze shut, but the hand around your neck slaps your cheek, forcing them wide open again. He wants you to look at him, to look at how he so mercilessly destroys your poor pussy, all at your request. “Need your cum, Johnny. Need you to stuff me full of your cum.” 

“‘I need your cum’, what, princess? Remember your manners.”

You gulp before blinking up at him, trying so hard to fight off your impending orgasm. “Need your cum, please, daddy. Please.” 

Oh, you’re so pretty when you beg for him. You’re even prettier when you call him ‘daddy’; it’s one of the clear signs that you’re way too far gone, and that if he edges you any further, you might not even be able to speak. So, he grants you some reprieve.

When Johnny cums, he buries himself deep inside, skin pressed against yours as he pumps his load right against your cervix. Of course, you’ll take the morning after pill tomorrow, but the thought of him stuffing you to the point where you could carry his children turns him on immeasurably, and his cock throbs heavily inside you, walls clamping down as it surrounds itself with warmth. 

All the while, you’re a trembling mess beneath him. Sweat drenches your skin and sticks to the bedsheets, and your cunt throbs in the rhythm of your racing heartbeat, thighs shaking as your orgasm tears through your veins. All you can say is ‘thank you’, coupled with broken sobs and shaky moans.

Johnny holds you through all of it, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he rides out his own climax against your cervix. “Such a pretty girl,” he whispers in your ear, lips pressing against its shell. “Such a pretty doll for me, aren’t you?” 

All the energy has been drained out of you, and you can only nod, humming sadly when you feel him pull out, the feeling of his release coating your thighs sending a shiver down your spine. All the while, he continues to kiss you, continues to call you his good girl as he caresses your shaking thighs. 

Johnny is happy that you can be your real self around him, even if that means milking him dry every other night. He loves being the one who can truly satisfy you, but when he thinks you’re finally done for the night, he flinches at the feeling of you wrapping your hand around his still-erect cock.

“One more,” you whisper, and his eyes shift from where you nudge his tip against your swollen clit to yours, and the blissful glossiness is gone, replaced by a crazed lust. 

He could never decline you – he knows better than not to – and so he just grins at you, pushing his hair back before slipping his tip into your cunt again. 

“Fucking slut,” he grunts as he continues to slide in, pushing out his own release. “Never satisfied, are you?” 

You grin at him wryly before shaking your head. “Nuh-uh. Always want you.” 

And have him, you will. 

Giselle hums, tilting her head in consideration. “I mean. Fair.”

You find the tape—buried under a pack of sketch pens—and tear off a piece with your teeth. Giselle doesn’t even blink. You’ve clearly been driven past the point of rational behavior.

The common room is nearly empty at this hour. The vending machine hums in the corner, a lone microwave beeps from the communal kitchen, and some guy is asleep at one of the tables, his face smushed into an open textbook. Outside, the campus is quiet, bathed in the dull orange glow of streetlights.

And above all that—above you—the same godforsaken sound drifts through the ceiling. A soft, melancholic strumming, like the soundtrack of a coming-of-age movie that just won’t end.

You slap the notice onto the bulletin board and smooth the tape with your palm. Giselle huffs as she gets up from the couch to read the piece of paper you’ve put up.

NOTICE: TO INDIE GUITAR GUY

Some of us just crawled out of finals week held together by caffeine and regret, and the only thing we want to hear at 2 AM is nothing. But instead, every night without fail, you’re out here strumming away like we’re all living in some coming-of-age movie where you’re the main character. 

Newsflash: we’re not. This is a dorm, not some group therapy tent at a shitty music festival, and I promise you, no one is having a life-changing moment listening to your sad indie ballads through these paper-thin walls. I don’t know what heartbreak you’re working through, but please—either take it somewhere else, invest in some headphones, or play at a reasonable hour like a normal human being. 

If not, I will personally start hunting you down to cut your guitar strings. Try me, asshole.

“You do realize you could just go up there and knock, right?”

You cross your arms. “And then what? Have a conversation?”

“That is generally how human interaction works, yes.”

You shake your head. “No. If I knock, I have to be nice. And if I’m nice, I can’t say everything I want to say. This is a better solution.”

Giselle gestures toward the board. “Your better solution is an unhinged public rant?”

“Yes.”

She squints at the paper, then snorts. “You threatened to cut his guitar strings.”

“Because if I get my hands on them, I will.” You shove a thumbtack through the top of the page for extra measure, pinning it onto the board with a little more force than necessary. The other notices tremble in protest—flyers for dorm cleaning (which you think would definitely be a scam), someone looking for a new roommate, and a very questionable ad for adopting a cat together.

You furrow your eyebrows at the last one. Whoever put that up actually lacks brain power because pets aren’t allowed in the building and the RA can easily see what’s on this board. 

You turn away from the bulletin board, brushing your hands together like you’ve just solved a great moral dilemma. “Okay,” you say, “I’m going to bed.”

Giselle barely glances up from her phone. “Good luck with that.”

You ignore her and make your way toward the hallway, already fantasizing about the blissful, uninterrupted sleep that will hopefully be in your future. Maybe you were a little dramatic, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

And if Indie Guitar Guy has even an ounce of common sense, he’ll take the hint.

E

The placebo effect is when your brain tricks your body into thinking something is working, even when it isn’t. Like when people take sugar pills in medical trials and somehow start feeling better just because they believe they got real medicine. It’s mind over matter, proof that sometimes, the illusion of change is just as powerful as change itself.

And right now, you’re pretty sure you’re experiencing it firsthand.

For the next two days, you sleep like a rock.

The thought of guitar guy reading your notice, and finally stopping his antics makes all your post-exam exhausted brain latch onto the idea like it’s a lifeline. It doesn’t matter how it worked—whether it was shame, guilt, or a sudden revelation that 2 AM concerts aren’t a personality trait. What matters is that it’s quiet. No more strumming drifting through the walls, no more tossing and turning while waiting for him to get tired.

You wake up feeling victorious.

For the first time in weeks, you don’t have to drag yourself out of bed like an extra in a zombie movie. Your coffee tastes better, the air smells cleaner, and even your 8 AM lecture seems bearable. Giselle eyes you over her cereal as you practically float around the dorm, humming to yourself.

“Wow,” she says, shoveling another spoonful into her mouth. “I almost forgot what you’re like when you’re not being slowly driven to insanity.”

“You see?” You gesture at yourself. “This is what happens when people respect community living.”

By the third night, you almost forget he ever existed.

But of course, you were being delusional. Stupid, even. Because this dorm not only houses you and your friends, but also stupid boys who would probably not give a flying fuck about notices like the one you put up. 

You rub your eyes vigorously, trying to scrub away the sleepiness. It’s past midnight and you should be cruising through your REM cycles right now. Instead, you listen to the strumming of a guitar somewhere above you.

And because the universe is cruel like that, you actually recognize the damn song.

Why would anyone sane play Mariposa by the Peach Tree Rascals at fucking 1 in the morning? You curse internally before groaning, rolling onto your stomach and shoving your face into your pillow, as if that’s going to block out the sound. It doesn’t. If anything, the acoustics of the dorm—cursed, absolutely cursed—only amplify the soft, lazy strumming. He’s not even playing the full song, just absentmindedly plucking out the chords, like some guy in a movie sitting by a campfire, contemplating life or whatever.

For a brief second, you think, Okay, fine. It sounds kind of nice.

And then you remember that it’s past midnight.

Sitting up abruptly, you push your covers off, jumping off your bed with a newfound motivation. What kind of asshole sees that big notice that you put up and still doesn’t have the decency to stop?

When Giselle hears you shuffling around, she looks up from her econ textbook, shaking her head with a sigh. “You’re going to feel bad when this guy turns out to be, like, the sweetest person ever.”

You scoff, yanking a hoodie over your head. “I’ll take my chances.”

Giselle closes her book and watches you with something between amusement and resignation. “What are you even gonna say?”

You shove your feet into a pair of slides. “I don’t know. Something about common courtesy and how not everyone wants to listen to his fuckass music?”

She snorts. “You’ve already committed to the villain role, huh?”

You jab a finger in her direction. “No. I’m the protagonist. He’s the inconsiderate side character messing up my storyline.”

Giselle slumps into her desk, her voice coming out muffled. “Again, you’re going to feel so bad when this dude is actually, like, a golden retriever in human form.”

You ignore her, grabbing your phone and stomping toward the door. “I highly doubt that.”

And with that, you march out of your room, slamming the door behind and scaring the scrawny but tall kid who lives in the dorm next to yours. His clothes and the corridor smell vaguely of something burnt, but you don’t think too much of it, fully prepared to give Indie Guitar Guy a piece of your mind.

The walk to his room isn’t long, but it gives you just enough time to fully work yourself up. Your footsteps are firm, your hoodie sleeves bunched around your fists like you’re ready to throw hands if necessary. Every tired, miserable night flashes before your eyes.

You knock once. The chords still continue to be played. You knock again. No reaction.

Your eye twitches as you knock again—hard, promising that this is the last and you’ll break his door the next time if you have to. 

The strumming stops. There’s a beat of silence, then the sound of soft shuffling. You hear the doorknob turn and then the door swings open and the entire speech you’d prepared dies in your throat.

He’s cute.

And not in the way you were expecting (not that you were, but still). He stands there, slightly disheveled, hair messy like he’s been running his hands through it, an old hoodie hanging loose on his frame. His guitar pick is still caught between his fingers, and his eyes—dark, warm, blinking at you in confusion—look way too soft for someone who’s been torturing you for weeks.

You forget, briefly, what you came here to do.

Then he scratches the back of his neck, looking at you in confusion. “Hey… Can I help you?”

To your absolute horror, instead of going off on him, the only thing that escapes your mouth is, “Um.”

UM?

What happened to excuse me, asshole, do you have no shame? Where the hell did that go?

He looks at you expectantly, still waiting for you to continue.

You swallow hard, mentally scrambling to put yourself back together. “So… I don’t know if you saw, but I put up a notice on the bulletin board?”

He blinks. “What notice?”

You hate how your stomach flips at the way his brows pinch slightly, confused but genuinely curious, like he actually wants to know.

You clear your throat. “Just—about the, uh. The guitar.” You gesture vaguely, as if that explains anything. “At night.”

“Oh.” It comes out almost sheepishly as he looks down at the pick he was flipping in between his fingers, like he’s only now realizing.

You should push. Tell him off right now, stand your ground and speak your mind. But all you manage is to say—

“It’s just, um… really late, y’know?”

Oh my God.

What is this? A customer service complaint? Where is the wrath, and the all-caps shouting you promised yourself on the way up here?

He blinks at you again. Then, slowly, his lips part in realization.

“…Wait,” he says, eyes widening. “Am I the asshole from the notice?”

You stand there, every inch of your body fighting to scream YES. YES, YOU DUMB, SILLY, PRETTY BOY.

“...I mean—I wouldn’t say asshole?” You grimace.

You did. In fact, you didn’t just say it—you typed it out, printed it AND posted it in the common room’s bulletin board. Why didn’t you just scream it out of the windows while you were at it?

“Oh, shit.” He scratches his forehead, “That was you?”

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “I—uh.”

He watches you for a second before exhaling. “Oh, man. I’m really sorry about that,” he says, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “I swear, I didn’t see the notice until earlier tonight.”

You should still be annoyed. Should. But the way he says it—so earnestly, with his brows slightly furrowed—makes you forget.

“I thought it was just some general complaint,” he continues, glancing down before hesitantly meeting your eyes again. “Didn’t realize I was the ‘asshole.’”

You feel heat creep up your neck. “Okay, but, like, not seriously—”

His lips twitch, like he’s fighting a smile. “Right. Totally.”

Your face burns.

Guitar guy must sense your embarrassment because he quickly clears his throat, straightening up. “Anyway,” he says, voice a little softer, “I really didn’t mean to keep you up. I just—I play when I can’t sleep.” He scratches his forehead, looking almost bashful. “Didn’t think it was carrying through the walls that much.”

Before you can mumble out something incoherent or non-sensible again, he continues. 

“No, yeah. You’re right. I’ll stop.” Then, almost shyly, he glances back at you. “I, uh… I don’t think we’ve met before?”

You blink, caught off guard.

“I’m Mark,” he says, smiling a little. “Since, y’know. You technically already know way too much about my sleep schedule.”

You let out a breathy laugh, more surprised than anything. You hadn’t expected him to be this nice. Or this—

Well. This.

“I guess that’s fair,” you mumble, suddenly feeling a little stupid standing here in your sleep shorts and oversized hoodie.

Mark’s smile lingers. Then, with a little hesitation, he nods toward you. “So, uh. Do I get to know your name, or?”

You hesitate for half a second—because this is not how this was supposed to go, and he is not supposed to be this sweet—but eventually, you sigh, giving him your name.

Mark nods, a small grin on his lips, “Cool, well. I’m really sorry. I’ll stop now, so you can go sleep!”

Maybe it’s because he said he couldn’t sleep, or maybe it’s because you think that in your notice it may have seemed like he’d a bad player (he’s not), or maybe it’s just because your sleepy brain finds him cute that you pipe up, just before you leave.

“I’m sorry if I came off as really rude. It’d just been a hard week.” You sigh, a little hesitant, “And you don’t have to stop playing… I mean—at this time, please don’t. But I wouldn’t mind listening to you some other time.”

Mark blinks, clearly caught off guard. “Oh—uh—really?”

You nod, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze. “Yeah. You’re… not bad.”

His ears turn a little pink. “Oh. Thanks.” He scratches his neck, smiling softly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

There’s a pause.

Then, before you can process it, Mark lifts a hand, pointing his fingers toward you like a finger gun. “Sleep well, neighbor.”

Oh my God.

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “Goodnight, Mark.”

And with that, you turn away, fully aware that you’ve just lost the battle. God, Giselle is never going to let you live this down once you tell her.

A

The next morning, you groan as you shuffle out of bed, running on autopilot as you grab your mug and head to the common room, your only goal in life being to reach the sad, overworked coffee machine.

The moment you step in, the sharp smell of burnt coffee greets you—bitter, slightly tragic, but necessary. You yawn, rubbing your eyes as you press the button on the machine, waiting for it to sputter out something drinkable.

“You actually slept last night, right?”

The voice makes you blink. You turn, and standing next to you, looking way too put together for this hour, is Mark Lee.

Oh.

You fight every urge to react. He’s in a hoodie, hair slightly mussed like he just rolled out of bed, his hands shoved into his pockets. He’s looking at you, head tilted slightly, waiting for an answer.

“Uh.” You blink again, processing. “Yeah?”

Mark lets out a tiny breath of relief. “Good,” he says, nodding. “I, uh… I stopped playing. Like I said I would.”

Oh, he’s shy.

Somehow, this is worse. You were prepared for maybe an awkward nod or a "what’s up?". Not this gentle, earnest follow-up on whether you got enough sleep.

“Yeah.” You swallow. “I noticed. Thanks”

Mark nods again, rocking back on his heels. He’s quiet for a second, then gestures toward the coffee machine. “You, uh… do this every morning?”

You shrug. “Unfortunately.”

He lets out a small laugh, and for some reason, you feel stupidly warm.

“There you are.”

You both turn as Giselle enters the room, hair still a little messy from sleep, her own mug in hand. She barely glances at you before heading straight for the coffee machine, too preoccupied to notice the tension in the air.

When she’s finally done shoving your mug out of the way and filling her’s first, she looks up at the two of you.

“Who’s this?” Giselle asks you, voice loud enough for Mark to hear.

You’re about to reply when Mark steps forward instead, holding his hand out for her to shake. She stares at it for a second.

“I’m Mark. Um… the annoying guitar guy.”

“Oh!” Giselle exclaims, a smile making way onto her lips as she shakes his hand. “Good to meet you. Damn, did she yell your ears off yesterday? I tried to stop her, I swear.”

Mark laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nah, it was fair. I didn’t even realize how loud I was.”

Giselle smirks, nudging you with her elbow. “See? Not everyone’s out to get you.”

You roll your eyes, choosing to ignore her as you finally bring your coffee to your lips. The second the burnt liquid hits your tongue, you wince. “God, this is awful.”

Mark watches, slightly amused. “Yeah, it smells kinda brutal.”

You sigh. “It’s usually bearable. Can’t function without it.”

“You ever try the café across campus?” Mark asks. “Way better than whatever this is.”

You shake your head. “Too much effort. This is closer.”

Giselle hums, sipping her own coffee. “She’s lazy,” she supplies helpfully.

You glare at her, but Mark just chuckles, rocking back on his heels. “Well, if you ever decide to make the trek, let me know. I’ll come with.”

You nod absently, still focused on your coffee. “Mm, noted.”

Mark hesitates for half a second, like he’s waiting for something, but when you don’t react, he clears his throat. “Alright, I’ll catch you later.”

“Later,” you mumble into your mug, already preparing for the day ahead.

As soon as he’s gone, Giselle turns to you, staring.

You blink. “What?”

Her lips curl into a slow smirk. “Oh my God.”

You narrow your eyes. “What?”

She snorts. “Nothing. You’re just an idiot.”

You scowl. “Great. Love to hear that first thing in the morning.”

Giselle just shakes her head, looking far too entertained as she takes another sip of coffee. “No, no. This is fun. Let’s see how long it takes.”

“See how long what takes?”

But she just grins. “Nothing. I’m going to shower first.”

D

The library is quiet, save for the occasional sound of pages flipping and hushed whispers between students. You’re not here by choice. You’d have preferred to sit in the common room, a little more comfortably, but the heated discussion over banning glitter for the upcoming door deco competition isn’t something that you’d sit through either.

So now, you’re here, settled at a table near the corner, your laptop open, coffee beside you. You don’t even realize someone is sitting a few seats away until you stretch, glance up—

And Mark Lee is looking right at you.

Oh.

Your brain stalls for half a second before you lift a hand in a casual wave.

Mark grins, like he was waiting for you to notice, and—without hesitation—grabs his stuff and moves over.

"Hey," he says, plopping down across from you.

You blink at him. "Hey?"

He gestures vaguely. "Thought I’d say hi."

You squint. "Didn’t look like you were studying."

Mark laughs, rubbing his jaw. "Yeah, well… he’s having roommate trouble right now, and I’m a great listener."

It takes you a second to register that he’s talking about the guy still sitting at his old table. When you glance over, you realize—oh. Renjun.

You nod as you glance back at your laptop. You vaguely remember seeing the notice that he needed a roommate, but it’d probably been taken down a few days ago. 

“Has he not found one yet?”

“Worse. He forgot to mention that he’d only room with guys,” Mark sighs, glancing at him before shaking his head, “And now he’s living with a girl that he’s definitely starting to like.”

You almost laugh out of disbelief. “Is co-ed rooming even allowed?”

“Nope,” Mark pops the p. “But he’s a fucking goody-two-shoes and the RAs love him, so honestly, even if they find out, they’ll give him a good notice period for either to move out.”

“I can hear you two.” Renjun hisses, before shrinking a little as he looks around, hoping no one was bothered.

You clear your throat. “So, what, are you just here for moral support?”

Mark grins. “Kind of. I keep them sane.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Right. Naturally.”

He leans in slightly, chin resting on his palm. “But, you know, the library’s not so bad.”

You shoot him a skeptical look. “Didn’t take you for the type to hang out here for fun.”

Mark shrugs, the corners of his lips quirking up. “Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf. Becoming a dedicated academic weapon.”

You exhale. “Right. And I’m the dean of the university.”

He gasps. “Wow. No faith in me at all? For all you know, I could be topping my classes.”

You hum, unconvinced.

Mark watches you for a second, then leans in just a fraction closer, voice lowering slightly. “Guess I’ll have to prove you wrong then.”

You blink at him, caught off guard, but before you can say anything, Renjun finally looks up from his laptop, fixing Mark with a withering stare.

“Can you prove it somewhere else?” he mutters. “Some of us are actually trying to study.”

Mark grins, completely unbothered. “See? Told you he’s suffering.”

G

You’re halfway through filling your water bottle when you hear a loud clatter followed by an equally loud “Shit!”

You whip around just in time to see Mark Lee standing in the dorm kitchen, staring at the floor like it personally betrayed him. A broken instant ramen cup lays at his feet, noodles spilled across the tiles in a sad, soupy mess.

“…Do I even want to know?” you ask.

Mark looks up, startled. He must not have noticed you walk in. His hood is halfway up his head, and his sweatpants are hanging loose at his hips, like he just rolled out of bed to grab food.

“I—” He rubs the back of his neck. “I thought I could grab it before it hit the counter.”

You raise an eyebrow, stepping closer to assess the damage. “And?”

He sighs. “And I could not.”

You try to hold back your laugh, but it slips out anyway. Mark groans, crouching down to clean up the mess, and you, feeling slightly bad for him, grab some napkins to help.

“Appreciate it,” he mutters as you both start wiping up the broth.

“No problem. Midnight disasters seem to be a running theme in this dorm,” you joke.

Mark huffs a small laugh. “Tell me about it. Last week, Jisung nearly set the toaster on fire.”

You pause, still crouched down. “Is that the kid that lives next door to me? I swear that the night I came and complained—” You shoot a slightly guilty look at him. “—to you, he smelled like burnt stuff.”

“Probably,” Mark shakes his head, “I mean, I’m not the best person to teach him how to cook, but he’s got a few friends. The kid’s just too stubborn and a little bit of an airhead to ask for help.”

The two of you continue cleaning in comfortable silence for a moment before you stand to toss the napkins in the trash. When you turn back, Mark is still crouched on the floor, gathering the last of the noodles into a pile. His hood has slipped back slightly, revealing the messy strands of his hair, and his sleeves are pushed up just enough to show his forearms.

Not that you’re looking.

Mark groans as he tosses the ruined noodles into the trash. “Man, this sucks. I was really looking forward to eating that.”

“You could just make another one?”

He hesitates, then sighs. “That was my last cup.”

You frown. “That was your only food?”

Mark scratches the back of his head, avoiding your gaze. “…Maybe.”

You stare at him. “Mark.”

“I meant to get groceries,” he mutters. “I just forgot.”

“For how long?”

“…A while.”

You let out a long sigh before turning toward the fridge. “Alright, come on.”

Mark blinks. “Huh?”

“You’re not starving on my watch,” you say, pulling out a container. “I made extra earlier.”

His eyes widen slightly. “Wait—really?”

“Don’t make it weird.” You shove the container into his hands before you can think twice.

Mark stares at it for a second before looking back up at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re kind of nice, huh?”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Don’t spread that around.”

He hums as he pops open the lid. “Guess I owe you one now.”

“Damn right you do.”

Mark laughs, leaning against the counter. “You know, if you ever wanna cash that in, we could go grab real food sometime.”

You snort. “Yeah, sure. In exchange for a half-eaten bowl of ramen.”

He grins, scooping up a bite. “Deal.”

You shake your head, grabbing your water bottle before heading back to your room.

You twist the cap back onto your water bottle just as Giselle walks in, kicking off her shoes with a sigh. She doesn’t even look at you before flopping face-first onto her bed.

“I give up,” she mumbles into her pillow.

You glance at the clock. “On what? Life?”

“Basically.” She groans, turning her head just enough so her voice is no longer muffled. “I ran into my ex on the way back. He saw me trip on the dorm steps. I don’t think I can recover from this.”

You snort. “You literally dumped him. Why are you embarrassed?”

She lifts a hand in the air, shoving her middle finger at you. “I have my reasons.”

Shaking your head, you take another sip of water. “You could always poison his meal plan or something.”

“Maybe.” She turns onto her side, finally looking at you. “What about you? You were out late.”

You shrug. “Just went to get water.”

She narrows her eyes slightly. “And?”

“…And Mark was there.”

That gets her attention. She sits up properly now, leaning forward. “Oh?”

You frown. “What?”

She tilts her head at you. “Nothing. Just…interesting.”

You roll your eyes. “He spilled his ramen. I helped clean it up.”

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s it.”

“Uh-huh.”

You sigh, climbing into bed. “What?”

“Nothing.” She flops back, pulling her blanket over her legs. “You just seem to run into him a lot.”

You pause for a second. “He lives upstairs.”

“Mhm.”

You throw your pillow at her before slumping into your bed as well, switching your lamp off with a sigh.

It’s not weird.

Mark lives upstairs. You’ve only run into him a couple of times. Completely normal, considering the dorm isn’t that big. Still, as you stare at the faint outline of your ceiling in the dark, you think back to the way he laughed, how he leaned against the counter, how his eyes crinkle when he smiles.

He’s cute. That’s just a fact. In an endearingly clueless way, with his messy hair and his habit of rubbing the back of his neck when he talks. Objectively cute. Universally acknowledged cute. Annoyingly cute, even.

But it’s not like that. Obviously.

You roll onto your side, pulling your blanket tighter around you.

Just a coincidence. 

You close your eyes, willing yourself to sleep, but for some reason, you can still hear his voice in your head. The soft laugh, the way he said we could grab real food sometime. The casualness of it.

Not an invitation. Not really. Right?

You huff, pressing your face into your pillow.

Whatever. You’ll probably forget about it by morning.

B

You hear the music before you see him.

The common room isn’t empty, but it’s quieter than usual—just the occasional shuffle of someone flipping through a textbook, the distant hum of the vending machine. And then there’s him.

Mark is curled up on the couch, one leg tucked under him, guitar resting easily against his chest. He’s not playing anything loud—just soft, absentminded strumming, like he’s working through a song in his head.

And you should keep walking. You really, really should.

But instead, you hesitate, shifting from one foot to the other just enough that the floor creaks under you. Mark glances up at the sound, fingers faltering slightly over the strings.

“Oh,” he says, blinking like he wasn’t expecting company. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you say back, already regretting this.

His lips twitch, like he’s holding back a smile. “You look like you were about to turn around.”

You scoff, stepping fully into the room. “I was just—” You pause. What were you doing?

Mark tilts his head, waiting.

“I needed a break,” you sigh.

He nods, adjusting the guitar in his lap. “Good timing.”

He doesn’t elaborate, just keeps playing, and maybe that’s your cue to leave—but your feet carry you toward the couch anyway. You sit down—not next to him, but close enough to see the way his fingers move over the strings.

You watch for a second, then glance at his face. “You play in the daytime now?”

Mark exhales a quiet laugh. “Only because I’ve been feeling considerate towards a certain someone.”

You’re sure that there’s colour rising to your cheeks now, but you try to mask it off by laughing. “Wow. Growth.”

He shakes his head, letting out a soft hum under his breath, but he doesn’t deny it.

For a while, there’s no talking—just the sound of the guitar, the occasional scrape of his pick against the strings. You don’t realize how much time has passed until you catch yourself fully zoning out, elbows resting on your knees, watching his hands like an idiot.

Mark notices.

He doesn’t call you out for it, but his fingers slow slightly, like he’s suddenly aware of the attention.

You snap out of it immediately, shifting your gaze. Nope. Absolutely not.

Mark clears his throat, tapping his thumb against the body of the guitar. “You play?”

“What?”

“The guitar,” he says, nodding toward it. “You don’t play, do you?”

“Oh.” You shake your head. “No.”

Mark hums, considering. “Do you want to?”

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs, adjusting his grip. “I could teach you something. If you want.”

You hesitate. You could say no. You should say no.

But Mark is already tilting the guitar toward you, his brows raised in a quiet ‘well?’

And against all logic and reason, you reach for it.

The guitar is heavier than you expected.

You fumble with it, your fingers slipping against the strings as you try to mimic the way Mark holds it. It feels unnatural, like trying to write with your non-dominant hand.

“Here,” Mark says, shifting closer on the couch. His knee brushes against yours, and you stiffen slightly, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t care. He reaches over, adjusting your grip. “You’re holding it like it’s gonna bite you.”

“Maybe it will,” you mutter.

Mark laughs, low and warm, and you try not to focus on how close he is. His fingers guide yours to the fretboard, pressing down on the strings. “This one’s the B,” he says, plucking it. A soft, clear note rings out.

You frown. “Sounds like every other string.”

“Wow.” He feigns offense, clutching his chest. “And here I thought you had an ear for music.”

“I have an ear for silence at 2 in the morning,” you deadpan.

Mark grins, “Fair.” He leans back slightly, but his knee stays pressed against yours. “Okay, try pressing here.” He taps a spot on the neck.

You attempt it, but the string vibrates pathetically under your finger.

“You’ve gotta press harder,” he says.

“I am pressing hard.”

Mark hums, skeptical. Then, before you can react, he reaches over and presses his finger on top of yours, adding pressure. “Like this.”

Your brain short-circuits.

His hand is warm. His fingers are calloused from playing. And he’s so close you can smell his stupid laundry detergent—the one that everyone else in this dorm uses.

You swallow. “...Right.”

Mark doesn’t move his hand. “You got it?”

"Yep." Your voice cracks slightly.

"Sure?" His thumb brushes against yours as he adjusts your positioning - just for a second, but it's enough to make your pulse jump.

"Positive." You stare very hard at the guitar's soundhole.

Mark finally pulls back, rubbing the back of his neck. The tips of his ears are pink. "So, uh. That's... the basics."

You strum all the strings at once. It sounds like a trash can falling down stairs. "I'm a prodigy."

Mark snorts. "Yeah. Next Ed Sheeran right here." He fiddles with his pick. "We could... keep practicing sometime. If you want.”

You shrug. "I mean, I guess I owe you for not murdering me over that notice."

"I wouldn't say no to, like. Coffee instead." He says it too fast, then backtracks. "I mean—not like—just caffeine helps with—"

"Mark."

"Yeah?"

"You're rambling."

His shoulders hunch. "Right. Sorry."

You hand the guitar back. "But yeah, coffee's fine. The dining hall swill is killing me anyway."

Mark brightens instantly. "Remember that place across campus? Their cold brew is actually decent and they've got these chocolate croissants that—" He cuts himself off, clearing his throat. "I mean. If you're into that."

"Cold brew gives me heart palpitations."

"Oh." His face falls. "We could find somewhere else—”

"But I'd commit crimes for a good chocolate croissant," you add.

Mark's smile returns, slow and warm. "Tomorrow? I'm free after two."

"Sure." You stand up, completely missing the way his fingers tap an anxious rhythm against the guitar body. "Don't be late."

"I won't!" It comes out too eager. He cringes at himself. "I mean. Yeah. Cool."

As you walk away, you don't see him slump back against the couch, dragging a hand down his face. You definitely don't hear the quiet, frustrated whisper of: "Smooth, Lee. Real smooth."

E

You're lacing up your sneakers when Giselle walks out of the bathroom, rubbing her damp hair with a towel. She pauses mid-step when she sees you.

"Where are you going?"

"Getting coffee with Mark." You tighten the knot on your shoe.

She stares. Then, very deliberately, looks you up and down.

You're in a hoodie (a slightly wrinkled one), sweatpants, and the same sneakers you've been wearing for three years.

"...Dressed like that?"

You frown. "What?"

She gestures vaguely at your entire existence. "You're just going out like that?"

You scoff. "Dude. We’re just hanging out."

Giselle presses her lips together like she’s trying very, very hard not to lose her mind.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

You glance up. She's watching you in the mirror, towel slung over one shoulder, eyes sharp.

You narrow your eyes. "What."

She exhales sharply. "Okay, tell me this: how many times has Mark asked you to ‘hang out’?"

You shrug. "I dunno. A few times? Haven’t really been able to go."

"And these ‘hangouts’—" she makes little air quotes, "—were they things like, ‘Hey, wanna grab food?’ or ‘Hey, wanna get coffee?’ Or, oh, I don’t know, ‘Hey, wanna come sit really close to me while I teach you how to play guitar?’"

Your mouth opens. Closes.

Because, yeah. That is... exactly how it’s been.

Giselle sees the realization hit. "Oh my God," she says, dragging a hand down her face. "He’s been asking you out this entire time!"

You blink. "What? No. He hasn’t—he’s just been nice."

Giselle shoots you a deadpan look. "Nice?"

"Yeah!" You wave a hand. "Some people just—invite other people to do stuff! It’s normal!"

Giselle rubs her temples. "Okay. Let’s say, for a second, that I believe you. Do you think Mark has asked anyone else to ‘just hang out’ like this?"

You open your mouth. Pause.

Giselle’s smile is way too smug. "Mhm. Exactly."

You shift uncomfortably. "Okay, but—but what if you're wrong? What if this is just his personality?"

Giselle flops dramatically onto her bed. "Then I will personally apologize to you for enabling your delusions." She waves you off. "Now go. And if he confesses, don't let your dumbass panic and run into traffic."

You scowl. "That happened one time."

Giselle is already onto her dressing table, raking through her makeup brushes.

You check the time. Mark’s already waiting.

Your stomach flips.

You swallow. "I'm gonna go."

"Yeah," Giselle sighs, rolling onto her side. "Go figure your shit out."

—

You’re definitely overthinking this as the two of you walk around campus.

Mark walks beside you, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, shoulders relaxed. He kicks a stray pebble down the sidewalk, eyes mostly on the ground. Meanwhile, you are internally spiraling.

Because Giselle’s words won’t leave you alone.

"He’s been asking you out this whole time."

And the more you think about it, the more obvious it feels.

The coffee. The late-night talks. The stupid guitar lesson where his hand had covered yours, warm and steady.

You sneak a glance at him. He looks normal. Maybe a little cold, but not like someone who’s been trying to ask you out for weeks.

You fidget with your sleeves. Just ask. It’s Mark. It’s not like he’s gonna laugh in your face. Right?

“…Hey.”

Mark glances over. “Hm?”

You swallow. “So. This whole, uh. Hanging out thing.”

His brows lift slightly, like he’s waiting for you to continue.

You take a deep breath. “You—you weren’t, like. Asking me out, were you?”

Mark stumbles.

Not dramatically, but just enough that his shoe drags weirdly on the pavement.

You immediately regret everything. “Never mind! Stupid question, forget I—”

“What?” Mark fully stops walking.

You stop too, face burning.

Mark turns to you, brows slightly furrowed, like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle. “…Why would you ask that?”

You die internally. “Giselle said something,” you mumble.

Mark blinks. Then he shifts from one foot to another. “What… exactly did she say?”

You stare very hard at the sidewalk. “Just. That you might’ve been, um. Subtly. Asking me out this whole time.”

Silence.

You dare to look at him.

His ears are so red.

“Oh,” he says, voice sounding a bit strung, higher than usual.

You panic. “You don’t have to say anything! I just—”

“I mean,” Mark rubs the back of his neck, looking very interested in a nearby streetlamp. “I… kinda was?”

Your stomach flips.

Oh.

Oh.

Mark winces. “Not in, like, a weird way! Just—” He exhales, rubbing his temple. “I thought you were cool. That night when you came up, i thought you were like…really pretty. And I figured, if you weren’t interested, we could just keep hanging out and it wouldn’t be—” He gestures vaguely. “A thing.”

You nod. Maybe too much. “Right. Yeah. Totally.”

Mark watches you carefully. “So, uh. Is it weird now?”

You pretend to think, but you already know your answer. You can see Mark’s shoulders shrinking with every waiting second.

“No.”

Mark’s shoulders relax. “Oh. Cool.”

You fidget with your sleeve. Your breath stutters.

“I think I like you too,” you admit, voice way too soft.

Mark stares for a few seconds, like he almost didn’t hear you, before his whole face lights up.

“Oh.” He clears his throat. “Uh. That’s—that’s cool.”

You laugh, nervous. “Yeah?”

He nods, a little too fast. “Yeah.”

When he looks at you again, he’s still flushed, still blinking like he’s trying to process this in real time.

“So, uh,” he starts, “what now?”

You don’t really know how to answer that.

You rock back on your heels. “I mean… we’re still getting coffee?”

Mark lets out a soft laugh, like he hadn’t even considered otherwise. “Right. Yeah. Obviously.”

The two of you start walking again, a little slower this time. The air between you is different now—not awkward, but buzzing, like a chord just on the verge of ringing out.

You steal a glance at him. His hands are jammed in his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched, but there’s something almost relieved in the way he carries himself now. Like he wasn’t expecting this to go well.

You bite your lip, hesitating.

“You know,” You begin, “I thought you were cute too.”

“What?” Mark lets out, a little too loudly.

It almost makes you giggle. “That night when I came up to complain. I was supposed to go all out on you and make sure you’d never play your stupid guitar again. I was quite serious about cutting your strings off.”

Mark shakes his head sheepishly with a small laugh. 

“But when you opened the door, I kind of forgot all of that.”

He stares at you, lips parted slightly like you just short-circuited his entire brain.

You shrug, suddenly feeling way too exposed. “I dunno. You just—looked cute.”

Mark drags a hand over his face, groaning. “What the hell.”

You blink. “What?”

“That’s so unfair,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “You showed up looking all pissed off and intimidating, and I was standing there in, like, the ugliest shirt I own.”

You snort. “It wasn’t that ugly.”

Mark groans again, looking up at the sky, almost too embarrassed to meet your eyes. “This is crazy.”

“What is?” you ask, still laughing.

“That you thought I was cute!” He gestures wildly. “Like. That doesn’t happen!”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach is doing so many flips. “Shut up.”

Mark looks at you for a second, then exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. The tips of his ears are still bright red. “I was really nervous that night, you know,” he admits.

Your brows lift. “Really?”

He nods. “You were just—you had this whole, like, ‘I will end you’ vibe, and I was trying so hard not to make it worse. But then you kinda—” He stops, mouth twitching. “You hesitated. Just for a second. And I thought, ‘Oh. She’s not actually as scary as she looks.’”

You gasp, shoving his shoulder. “Wow. Rude.”

Mark laughs, bumping into you slightly. “Sorry, sorry. But I was right, wasn’t I?”

You purse your lips. “Debatable.”

Mark hums, tilting his head. “Guess I’ll have to spend more time with you to figure it out.”

Your heart does a weird little jump.

You don’t let yourself overthink it.

Instead, you nudge him back, eyes flicking forward to the coffee shop just ahead. “You better buy me the best chocolate croissant they have.”

Mark grins. “Deal.”

And when his fingers brush yours, just briefly, you don’t pull away.

Idol life is hard.

The grueling practices, the juggling of multiple schedules, the little sleep you get when you're overseas for a tour.

Idol life as a foreigner is even harder.

The constant switching between your mother tongue and the Korean that's been drilled into you from your trainee days makes your brain feel heavy. The many nights spent trying to catch your family before they head to bed. The stuttering feeling that creeps in every time you're at a work event and it takes your brain a minute to decipher what everyone else is saying.

Somehow dating Jeong Jaehyun came easy. It felt like breathing most days. Of course the hiding and not being able to love out loud was no cake walk, but that didn't matter. The mismatched schedules made seeing each other a bit more difficult, but even that didn't matter.

What the two of you had was yours and yours only.

You came home, tired as all hell, to each other.

The two of you met when you were a host for Music Bank and he had been promoting with NCT 127 for their song, 2 Baddies. You'd cursed at him in your mother tongue when you slipped on a drink he'd accidentally spilled. The mess he made effectively ruining your pants as you were five minutes away from being on stage. Instead of being scared off by your cursing, he just laughed and offered to replace his jeans with yours. You had looked at him incredulously for the offer and he replied that he had no use for the jeans since he'd wrapped filming already. Johnny, who had seen the whole thing go down, said that the rest was history was at that point.

And he was right.

Later that day, Jaehyun actually stayed until after you were done filming the show to ask for your number. Over that year, texting turned into flirting in the halls when schedules allowed. Flirting turned into one date. One date turned to many. Secret meetups at the Han River under masks and the night sky. Until the two of you couldn't take it anymore and came clean to your members. Your girls couldn't be happier and his members took you in like you were their own. Management was painfully cautious, but eventually supported the two of you.

After surviving your first year together, the two of you decided to move in together. Every once in a while fans of yours or his would speculate about the similarities of the backgrounds whenever either of you were doing a livestream. This prodded the two of you to be more careful and eventually you two decided that streams would no longer happen at the apartment you shared.

Your members asked if keeping the secret ever got to be too much and you indulged that sometimes the secrecy actually made it more fun. It was a game where you and Jaehyun were the only players and again, it was something that yours and yours alone.

The beginning of your second year together was marked by his military enlistment. You'd known it was coming but that didn't make seeing the notice hurt any less. If you were being completely honest, you were scared. Jaehyun had become your rock, the thing that kept you tethered when the pressures of idol life were threatening to pull you under. You knew your members could relate to the anxiety you felt, but there was a different comfort that Jaehyun brought to you.

The day it came out, he'd begged the others to end practice early so that he could come home and console you. When he swung your door open, the sight of you teary eyed and pouty-faced made him chuckle. His deep giggles simultaneously comforting you and annoying you.

"It's not funny Jae! What am I supposed to do while you're gone?"

He cooed at you and smoothed your hair over as you cried in his arms.

"You work jagiya. You literally have a tour scheduled right after I leave." You softly hit his chest to which he responds with a hum, the vibration of it ringing through his chest. He assured you that his time away would pass by like nothing. You knew he was right but the sting of him leaving was still etched into your heart. He wiped your tears with his thumb and the two of you fell asleep that night in each other's embrace.

You wished with every bone in your body that you could've spent more time with Jaehyun before he went in. But idol life called, and there was an overseas tour waiting for you. The days leading up to his enlistment, you spent holed up at your company. If you weren't in dance rehearsals, you were in the studio recording backing vocals. If you weren't shooting promotional videos, then you were in fittings for your tour outfits. By the time you would come home, it would be late and your body would be on the brink of falling apart. But Jaehyun didn't mind, he never did. He knew exactly what this life was like and you couldn't be more grateful for that fact. Every time you came home, he'd greet you at the door, the biggest smile on his face. Another thing he'd have ready is a steaming cup of your favorite tea, knowing how much it brought you comfort.

On particularly frustrating rehearsal days, he'd let you ramble in your native tongue. Never expecting you to slow down, even if he could not understand a single word that sped out your mouth. He knew how tough rehearsals could get, he lives the same life, he pieced together what it is was you were frustrated by. Endearingly, he'd pick out words that he thought sounded interesting and have you teach him instead. You always obliged, finding the ask incredibly sweet. Not once in your relationship have you ever had to feel like your language was something that you couldn't share with him.

The day he shaved his head he didn't even give you a warning. Just a selfie with your favorite goofy smile. When he came home, you spent a few minutes mourning his blonde locks. Giggling as you chased him around the living room fake crying over his head that honestly reminded you of a golden kiwi.

The day before he left, you two planned to spend the entirety of it together. Jaehyun went the extra mile (like he always did) and filled your apartment with an overwhelming amount of bouquets of your favorite flowers, the sweet smell of them hitting your nose when you woke up that morning. You disguised yourselves to walk along the Han River, reminiscing about your secret meetings under the moonlight. Laughing about how the first kiss you shared only happened because you had burnt your lip on the ramen you had been sharing. It hadn't snowed in Seoul yet, but the air was cold enough that the laughs you shared after the kiss could be seen against the night sky.

The morning he went in, you were the first to say goodbye. The two of you came to the conclusion that it was probably best if you weren't at the training center, for fear that you being there might cause speculation. The cruel timing of your idol obligations made it so that you were promoting your newest single off the new album that you'd be touring with. So even if you could have been there, it would have been physically impossible. You look at him wistfully and with tears in your eyes when the guys come around yours to pick him up. With a final wave the two of you said goodbye and you went about your day. You were still an idol after all.

That was November of 2024.

Time passed quickly. Jaehyun was right, (of course he was) time flew by. Of course it didn't come without its moments of terribly missing him. Your tour was an absolute success and you even got to see your family while you were overseas. Every once in a while, the two of you would be able to make your schedules match and you'd be able to spend some time together.

But that time together never felt enough.

You don't know what it was that was different, but you found yourself getting sadder every time the two of you said goodbye. There was a sadness that you hadn't been able to pinpoint. And as the time away was drawing to a close you found yourself getting restless.

It was now February of 2026 and Jaehyun was a little over two months away from being home.

More specifically it was February 14. Valentine's day. His birthday.

You woke up that morning to your bedroom being filled with balloons of different hues of pink and red. When you stepped out into the living room there were even more balloons but it was also filled with what looked like a billion roses. You hurriedly find your phone to greet your lover and thank him for the flowers.

Admittedly, you weren't too excited about the day. Jaehyun had shared earlier in the month that he had military obligations so he wouldn't be able to come home for the weekend. You expressed your disappointment with an understanding smile. Of course you understood, who were you to ask him to defy the Korean military?

Only one of the bouquets had a card in it. Shoving some of the balloons out of the way, you gingerly pick up the card and open it.

Will you be my Valentine? xx J.

There a smile making its way across your face and without a second thought you're making a video call to him. You place the card on the kitchen counter as you wait for him to answer. After a few rings, the face of your handsome boyfriend appears. You quickly shoot out an apology, acknowledging that you knew he was supposed to be at work. The smile of adoration on his face let you know that he was at the very least happy to see you. Letting you know that he had a bit of time, you gush about how much you loved the gesture.

"You didn't have to get me a billion roses you know. Would've been happy even a single rose," you jokingly tease him. He returns a dimpled smile and teases back that he would have bought you more if there was space. You roll your eyes and start humming the lyric to Unconditional. The two of you share a chuckle, both probably reminiscing about the chaos that came from his release of the song. You distinctly remember being up well past midnight laughing as the two of you dived into endless Twitter threads dissecting the song.

Your recollecting is cut short when you hear a group of people calling Jaehyun's name. He turns around and yells something back at them. When he returns to face you, there's an apologetic look on his face. One that says, "I don't want to leave, but I have to."

"Duty calls," you say wistfully, giving him a nod. You try and give him a smile that reads as understanding. You quickly wish him a Happy Birthday and tell him you love him. Blowing you a kiss, he thanks you and ends the call with,

"I'll see you soon. I love you."

Giving him one last wave, you end the call and the rim of your eyes start to get wet. You sigh and let out a breath, the room becomes a blurry mess of red and pinks.

The rest of the day goes by in a bit of a blur. A meeting with your manager about an upcoming brand deal. A quick live with one of your members to promote the sub-unit that was just announced. Later in the day you attended a concert of your sunbaes, S.Coups and Mingyu, with your members. You'd been a Carat before you were a trainee and you found yourself lucky enough to have gotten close with the maknae line. You'd also met Mingyu a few times through Jaehyun since the two were part of the infamous 97 line. Through them you met the rest of the group, which is how you found yourself in the back of the concert hall for their Busan concert.

After the concert you were completely ready for the day to be over. You walk into your apartment and the sight of the roses and balloons reminds you of the melancholy feeling that had been hanging around your head all day. After hanging your purse inside the closet hallway, you plop yourself on the couch. The exhaustion of your unexpectedly busy day hitting you hard as you sink in. You shoot a quick text to Jaehyun asking if he was available to call one more time before the day ended. While passing the time to wait for his reply, you scroll through Weverse and reply back to some fans. A bit of time goes by and he hasn't replied yet. Glancing at the time, you reason that he may have already gone to sleep. You continue answering your fans, more of them posting when they noticed that you were online, many of them asking to do another live. Mulling over the thought, you reply back that you'll do an audio only live. Bouncing to your bedroom, you grab the tablet's that's been charging so you can set up the stream.

You start the stream and immediately the comments flood in asking you if you could turn your camera on. Teasing them and calling them selfish, you deflect the question by greeting everyone a Happy Valentine's Day. Scrolling through the chat, you find comments asking about sub-unit spoilers, a TMI, some of them even asking about love advice. Answering the questions here and there, you don't even notice that another hour has passed.

In the midst of the stream, a knock on your door startles you. You weren't expecting anyone, especially not this late at night, so you brush off the noise. But then the knock happens again. You sit up straight and check your phone to make sure that you hadn't missed a notification from your manager. Luckily your fans can't really hear much of what is going on. You send off a rattle of texts to your manager and your group members, asking if any of them were here or were dropping something off. Your members reply that they were all home from the concert. Your manager texts back that she isn't at your door, but that you'd want to open your door. A bit suspect of the text, you tell your fans that you'd run to get some water. Before you leave the living room, you turn up the music that had been playing on your phone just in case.

When you open the door, you don't know who or what to expect. You certainly don't expect to see your idol/military boyfriend standing in front of you with a bouquet of deep red roses. Fighting the urge to squeal on the off chance that its louder than the music, your jaw just drops open. Jaehyun opens his arms and your body moves before your mind does. Pulling him into a hug, you walk the two of you back into your apartment. When you pull away, there's a smile on his face. You look at him in shock, the obvious question is being asked in your eyes. You feel like you could be hallucinating this right now.

"You di-" The deep and loud baritone of his voice brings you back to reality. You clap your hand over his mouth and jerk your head toward the coffee table in the living room. He follows the direction of your head and immediately understands, you feel him trying to fight the giggles under your hand. Scurrying over to the tablet, you quickly tell your fans that you actually have to go. Most of them reply with nothing but question marks. There's a few comments that ask if someone else was with you. Quickly ending the live, you exit the app and turn the tablet off to ensure that nothing can accidentally get recorded. Putting the tablet back on the table, you turn back to Jaehyun, who you still can't believe is right in front of you. He's staring at you with the biggest smile on his face and you swoon at the sight. The exhaustion of the day melting off you when you run back into his embrace. He picks you up and spins you around, the two of you fighting for oxygen as your lips crash together. The sparks between the two of you blossoming into a full-on firework show. He gently lets you down and when you finally pull away, both of your chests are heaving.

"Jae… What are you doing here? I thought you were-"

"You never answered my question," he says very nonchalantly. Your eyebrows knit up in confusion and ask him what question, but he doesn't immediately supply you with an answer. Instead he walks over to the kitchen counter and picks up the card and waves it at you. Picking up the bouquet he was holding earlier, he walks back to you. You think about your video call from earlier and the gears in your head spin. When he had said I'll see you soon, you thought nothing of it. You'd moved on because the two of you always ended calls like that, never goodbye. The two of you decided that saying that would maybe help when contact between you would be minimal.

Love glimmered in his eyes as he calls you "darling" in your first language. When he reaches you, he presents the roses to you and takes hold of your hand.

"Will you be my Valentine?" He asks with the biggest smile. You feel the turners of your mouth turn up, as you nod and kiss him in response. He pulls away, smile even bigger than before. He plants three kisses on your face; once on each cheek and on the tip of your nose. He utters a word between each kiss.

"Best."

"Birthday."

"Ever."