“I’ve accepted it.” You groan, plucking out another lace panty from the meticulously folded display. “I mean, why am I even buying sexy underwear if I’m not even gonna show it off?”

“Because these are absolutely adorable!” Your best friend squeals, going through the drawers with practiced ease. You swear that your best friend buys way too much underwear because her nightstand is overflowing with them, but for whatever reason she thinks the 8 for 28 is such a steal every other month and drags you along for the ride. She brandishes a cute pair of boyshorts decorated in pink peach animations, dropping it in her bag. “And don’t you feel so hot when you’re wearing cute underwear?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“You suck.” She pouts, her little body weaving towards the display of body sprays. With a flourish of her hand, she hikes her shopping bags higher up her arm to spritz a ruby tinted bottle on the inside of her wrist. “Vernon loves the smell of strawberries.” She warbles thoughtfully, her voice just as light and sweet as the perfume. Vernon Vernon Vernon. You remember exactly how your best friend got around to dating the guy, a moment of happenstance. You remember the night she stumbled into your apartment sporting a yellow bruise on her hip, claiming that she ran into the banister and then Vernon ran into her, causing both of them to tumble down nearly half a staircase in the Academic Building. (“But we’re alive!” she hummed as you pressed a bag of frozen peas to her leg, “And I got his number!”)

It seemed like after they started dating his presence grazed nearly every conversation of yours like a fine blade. “How exactly did you guys start dating? When you two fell down the stairs, did you guys immediately fall for each other too?” you ask, picking up another pair of peach underwear for yourself.

“Ha ha, very funny.” Throwing the ruby body spray in her bag, she props a hand on her hip. “But no, actually. Jun introduced me to him beforehand, the whole falling-down-the-stairs thing was just the tipping point. Get it, tipping point?”

“You’ve inherited your bad jokes from Vernon too, right?”

“Possibly. But you should definitely meet Jun if you need some help in the dating department. And considering you spent the last three nights holed up in your room with your vibe,” your friend cackles shamelessly at the way you blanch, “I’m sure he’s the perfect guy to set you up with someone.” Without even asking she hands over her cell phone, swiping down the contacts. “Give Wen Junhui a text, you never know.”

With a scoff you accept the proffered device, your lazy eyes trailing down the ten digits and pretending not to care at how potentially precious this person’s number could be. You watch your best friend trail behind the register. In plain view you saw the easy smile on her face as she talked to the cashier about how it was “date night” and how she thinks that Vernon would find the pineapple boyshorts the perfect amount of “booty to her cutie”. While it was a disgustingly worded phrase, you had to admit that while her and Vernon were pretty stupid, they were stupidly adorable together.

Biting the inside of you cheek, you quickly add Wen Junhui to your contacts list before you could regret anything.

[You] Hey uh, you hooked my best friend and Vernon Chwe up last year. I just wanted to let you know that I really appreciate what you’ve done for them! They’re super happy (to the point of me wanting to throw up my own blood, in a good way, I swear) and I want to thank you. If you have any pointers as to how you did that though, I’d really appreciate it.

[Jun] lol so you want to be matchmade? just had to ask. Meet me after my class tomorrow if you’re free, room 2125 after the 1:10 session.

[You] Sounds perfect, see you then!

You visibly flinch at how absolutely desperate and needy you sounded before you could bring up the topic of needing his help, the fact that you probably sounded like a 40-year old virgin with a stickler for proper grammar. The thought of being “matchmade” sounded incredibly forward and almost too daring for your comfort, you couldn’t even recall what Jun looked like from the parties his brothers had hosted from previous semesters.

The awkward small talk was already on the tip of your tongue as you fiddle with your phone, the screen indicating that it was already 1:10 and students were milling out of the room like ants. Leaning against the wall by the door you pretend to busy yourself with the buttons of your light blue button down, playing with the small plastic like it was the biggest conundrum of your day.   

Your eyes cling to the pair of black Vans that suddenly parallel yours, and you hear your name being called. You blink and look up at the caller, mouth subconsciously parting open and unable to close.                                                 

Oh hell no.

You can’t help but wonder how drunk you were the night you visited his house, because you would definitely remember a guy like Wen Junhui. He leaned opposite from the wall, clutching the strap of his half-slung backpack and looking mildly amused at your wide eyes. You blame the undying thirst for human contact, but you couldn’t help but take in the fact that his burgundy and navy striped button down was crispier than a bag of Lay’s potato chips, and the way his onyx jeans were impossibly tight around his lithe frame, contrasting his warm blond tresses. He was a tall glass of something special, and you couldn’t believe he was interested in helping you.

“Uh, hey Jun!” you say, your throat feeling more cramped than a rock and hard place. You try not to contract at the obligatory handshake, the way your hands disappeared under his large ones and linger on your skin a tad too long for comfort.

“Hello.” His reply is velvetine, his voice comparable to the taste of raw honey. “You’re tense.”

“I’m—I’m not!”

Jun pouts down at you disapprovingly, the pink tint in his uneven lips reflecting in the yellow light from the building. “I was told you’d be awkward.”

Damn you Vernon.

“But that’s okay.” he adds, “It’s kind of adorable.”

With that he gestures for you to follow him out, and it takes you all of three seconds to smack your face when he’s not looking before falling into step. It took two long strides for you to match up to his one lazy step as you walk outside to the main yard of the campus. There’s a stretch of metal tables and open grass for the students to lounge around, and a pizzeria to snack in before the next class period.

With the minimal talking you could practically feel Jun’s stare as you order a slice of pizza for yourself. Is he silently judging you because you want the mac and cheese pizza? Wordlessly going outside, you find yourselves a two-seater under the shade.

Jun comes out seconds later with his own slice of pizza and a pepper flake shaker. Taking a seat, his hands violently pat at the pepper flake shaker, fiery red flecks coating the slice of cheese. You raise a brow questioningly, making a face at the excessive amount of pepper.

“What?” he asks, not bothering to look up. “I like my things spicy.”

Trying not to choke on your mac at the implications of his comment you chew harder, looking away from him to stare at the Starbucks that was crowded out the door. Jun didn’t seem to mind, and went back to adding some oregano and decorating his pizza like it was the finest piece of art to graze the campus.

“So,” your eyes flicker back to Jun, and you’re surprised to find that his pizza was already a quarter of the way eaten. “Who’s the guy that you’re interested in?”

You mentally blanch at the comment, suddenly feeling dehydrated. It wasn’t like you didn’t expect him to ask something like that, after all, he was here to matchmake you. But the bluntness of his question just made the possibility of you getting out of this single-rut so much more possible, and it simultaneously excites and terrifies you. The problem is however, there wasn’t really a guy under your radar. Sure, there’s really attractive guys here and there, but nothing to make you hide under the table and blush like a middle schooler.

The matchmaker himself looked at you expectantly with those deep cacao eyes, and with a bitter taste in your mouth you reminded herself that Wen Junhui could not be an option.

Your eyes dart back and forth past the guys in the grass area, two of which you know very well. They’re seated on the plush foliage, laughing about something on one of their phones. The one with the blond hair that challenged the brightness of the sun is Yoon Jeonghan, a medical student with a heavy reputation for being simultaneously smart just as he is irritating. Irritating in a good way, unattainably so. Would it be too cliché to ask if Jeonghan was single? Was this a question Jun got asked on the daily? To be honest you didn’t mind dating anybody, heck even a blind date would do nicely. Biting your lip, you ponder the friend next to Jeonghan.

“Wonwoo?” You wondered aloud.

A pregnant pause. “Wonwoo?” Jun cries aloud, so loud that the people behind them are startled by the outburst.

“What’s wrong with Wonwoo?” You snap, ripping a piece of crust with your teeth.

“He’s boring.”

“I think you’re mistaking boring for intelligent.” You retort sharply, looking back at Wonwoo and Jeonghan to find them lounging in the sun, Wonwoo’s head on Jeonghan’s lap. You watch as Wonwoo’s face scrunches up at something Jeonghan says, his nose crinkling adorably. “I think he’s pretty cute.” When Jun didn’t answer right away, you glare at him. “Were you like this when you set Vernon and his girlfriend up?”

“No. They’re losers.” he shrugs, “They’re perfect losers together.”

“True. Then are you saying that Wonwoo and I can’t be a perfect match?”

The challenge in your gaze bothers him, the sharp plane of his nose lifting up in defense as he drinks in your hard stance. And in one fell swoop he collapses, stuffing the last of his crust in his mouth and shrugging his broad shoulders. “I’ll find your perfect match.” he promises, crumpling his paper plate. “My methods are foolproof.”

“I hope so.” You reply. “So, how does this work? Will you set us up or something?”

“Something like that. But first, are you free Saturday afternoon?”

“I guess, why?”

“Because you’re going on a date.”

And that’s how you ended up spending your Saturday in the corner of the Korean-Japanese fusion restaurant, wringing your fingers under the table as you watch Jun order the both of you a mango shaved ice. Your eyes drift over to the open street, knowing your apartment was just a way’s off the road in case you needed to run back and hide before Jun knows all of your deep dark secrets.

You look down at your unfinished bowl of chicken katsu, regrettably noting that when you assumed that Jun said you’d be going on a date, you didn’t expect the date to be with him. It was simultaneously unnerving and exhilarating, every time Jun asked a question about yourself you’d fumble to answer. It wasn’t about being coherent, but it was doing your best to sound interesting. You would’ve given anything not to sound boring like he claimed about Wonwoo, you reasoned to yourself. No way, no way did you want to sound interesting because you were so allured by the fascination that filled his tawny gaze when you answered something. Maybe you’re embellishing your life a little bit, but it was well worth it knowing Jun was holding onto the other end of the conversation like a leash, his attention focused on nothing but you.

“So,” he drawls, waving his spoon around. “Have you read any good books lately?”

An innocent enough question, but enough to make you furrow your brows together and mull over the last time you’ve ever read a book for fun. “Huh, kinda?”

“Have you read King Lear?” he asks airily.

“Uh, no.”

“Ah, my bad. You look like you’re into romance. How about Me Before You by Moyes?”

You raise your brows, “Are you into romance?”

“No.” He says, “they’re Wonwoo’s favorite books. I’m just trying to gauge potential conversations you two could have. It’s be a whole lot easier if you actually had things in common.”

The way Jun said it, hurt. you felt the familiar pang in your chest, the feeling of rejection you’ve tasted too many times to count. You didn’t know if it were possible for you to have anything in common with anyone you’d be remotely interested in, but you’ll take your chances. You force yourself to bite back, waving your own spoon around. “We do have things in common! We’re quiet and sensible and intelligent!”

“Sounds like a study buddy rather than a boyfriend.” he teases, momentarily distracted by the waiter dropping off their mango shaved ice between them. “Oh, they put Fruity Pebbles on top.” he giggles, stabbing his spoon in the middle.

You try to ignore the way that Jun’s face lit up at the sight of the confection, his coral pink tongue darting out to lick at the beads of mango juice that dribbled onto his lips. It’s so uncharacteristic of the charming, calculated Wen Junhui you acquainted yourself with earlier this week, and it was terribly attractive.

Wonwoo who? The evil subconscious was asking yourself, because all you really wanted was to be matched up with anyone, but then Jun had to go ahead and ask if you were interested in someone specific. If you said no, you would’ve sound desperate (which wasn’t a lie) but at the same time ultimately pointless if you really didn’t even like Wonwoo in the way you claim you do.

Jun calls your name, once, twice. You probably look like an idiot, staring intently at the colorful mochi that dotted your desert. Shaking your head you ask, “Yeah?”

He grins, “I’d like to take you out on another date.”

Cupid help me.

Jun explained that you two were hanging out so he could get to know you (“For Wonwoo, of course.”) But it seemed like Wonwoo was a brittle foundation for what was really going on between the two of you, at least in your head. Jun was enigmatic, charismatic, and every single -matic that seemed to gnaw at every fibre of your being whenever you two hung out. He asked a lot about you, and you were fairly sure he knew all the unnecessary things about your life from the way you like your tea to your unbalanced study habits. You never found it necessary to ask about Jun, if he really wanted to tell you his life story he’d say it.

Sometimes he didn’t even have to say it.

You press yourself further into the mirror, feeling the heat of the room circulate further and further into your face. It was as if you were turning into furniture, because Jun was so absorbed in his own dancing that he probably wouldn’t blink at the thought of you leaving at this very moment.

But you can’t leave. He is captivating. The music pounds so far that it reached through every cell of your body to the point that your heart must’ve pounded, too. Beads of sweat pool from his gold bangs, glistening like little gems against the white fluorescents. Every move he conducted is calculated, the way he moves his hips back and forth in the rhythm, in control of everything in the room.

The music stops, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

“Wow,” you gape, “You’re really good.”

He blinks, momentarily distracted as he tried to unplug his phone from the speaker. “What were you saying? Something about me being tall, dark and handsome?” He broke away from staring at the mirror to smile at you, sending you a playful wink that had you folding your legs closer to your chest.

You scoff, pushing yourself up, “Did you just bring me here to show off?”

“Did it work?” he rubs his neck with a white towel, his head tilted cutely. “The look on your face says it did.”

“Go to hell.”

“I’ll meet ya there.” He holds out his hand. “Now do you want to dance with me, or not? Before we got to hell, of course.”

The relationship doesn’t feel as business-like as you anticipated, and you can’t gauge as to whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Today you opted against hanging out with Jun because of a little kitchen accident in the beginning of the week. You were trying to cook pasta (and how the fuck does anyone manage to screw up cooking pasta, but you) and you accidentally burned your stomach leaning against the stovetop. You were sporting a pretty pink burn under the layers of bandage, lying on your bed with your laptop on your lap.

Two knocks on your door and you didn’t bother to reply, continuing to stuff more white cheddar chips in your mouth. Halfway into your second chip two more knocks echoed through your room, and you sigh a half-hearted “Come in!” before letting your eyes roll back to your dimly lit laptop screen.

“Hello hello, it’s your favorite person in the world.”

You bite the inside of your tongue at the sound of his voice, jolting so far in your bed as to disrupt the dull pain in your stomach and have your laptop slide dangerously to the edge. Jun pops his head in, the gangly thing then ducking his way inside with his sock-clad feet and soft grey sweatpants. He must’ve gotten in through one of your roommates, the sneaky bastard.

“Favorite person?” You scoff, propping the pillows up so you could look at him properly. “Who told you that lie?”

Jun quirks his lips in a crescent smile, plopping his long body on your bed. Truth to be told, it was a little much when you insisted on cancelling your plans for today because of a little burn you got five days ago. But it was moments like this why you can’t handle Jun, especially at your weakest moments. He demands attention, and unfortunately you were more than willing to give it to him. “Don’t deny me.” he says, stepping inside and making a beeline to your bed.

He started bouncing on your thin mattress, each bump creaking the weak wood as he dents your duvet.

“Jun, my roommate might hear.” You glare, “She gets really nervous when you hears noises late at night, she’s terrified of ghosts.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to be quiet.” Jun murmurs in that all-too familiar milk-and-honey drawl, his fingers trailing over your flannel shirt. “Can you do that for me, doll?”

No matter how dark it was, you could always see his pearl white canines poking through his playful grin, edging you on. It was infallibly frustrating, the way you felt him hover over your bed like he owned it, and yourself dipping further and further into the plush blankets like you’re being swallowed in a sea of cotton and silk. This was beyond friendship, but then again what you two had wasn’t exactly friendship.

“Don’t ‘doll’ me.” you half-hiss, your fingers curling expectantly over the duvet, ready to fight.

“But I need to do this. I’ll die if I don’t.” he resorts to a puppy-pout, revealed through the moonlight that seemed to hit him like the way a spotlight would be so perfectly planned to aim at the right moment. “It’ll benefit the both of us, I promise.” he murmurs, his saccharine-drenched  words trying its hardest to destroy your sanity.

“It’s going to hurt.” you whimper.

“Only if you let it hurt.” he reasons calmly, “Just relax.”

“Okay, nope.” you grit out, shooting up like a silver bullet and pushing his chest away with both hands. The attempt was destined to be futile, and he bobs an inch forward only to come even closer to you. “Get the hell away from me!” you cry as loud as you could between the thin walls of your suite, backing further in an attempt to grasp the cool metal of your headboard.

His gaze suddenly darkens, and if it wasn’t obvious by his looks, it was definitely felt in the air. It was fueled by his ambition to win, especially when you two fight over petty things. “That’s it,” he growls, jumping forward to grasp at your flannel pyjamas, his fingers going under the sensitive skin.

With a fierce tug, he pulled at the bandage that wrapped around your stomach with a sickening riiiiip.

“Jun!” you cry with a yelp, tears pricking the tips of your eyes. Screw your roommates, the pain was unbearable. Your hands immediately grapple at the tender flesh, white hot needles pricking at every crevice of where the bandage settled itself. “I told you not to take it off! It’s still healing!”

“You were whining like a baby all week!” Jun shot back in frustration, his gangly arms up in the air. The slightly yellowed bandage dangles in his grasp like a trophy. “Girl, that burn needs to breathe! How do you think it’s going to heal if you don’t let it see the light of day?”

“Quit being sassy to me and say you’re sorry!”

“Why would I say that, that’d be lying.” he raises his eyebrows in innocence, and if it was just a little lighter in the room you could imagine how satisfied his smirk must look. “Problem solved. You can heal your burn and I can leave knowing I’ve done my good deed for the year.” he got off the bed, his weight sinking into your fuzzy carpet.

“Get out.” you seethe, pulling the the covers over your body, “You’re never allowed over ever again.”

“I’m okay with that.” he shrugs, already halfway out the door. “See ya in the morning, doll.”

Ignoring the way he blew a kiss in your direction, you groan, throwing the white duvet over your frame. Like the burn Jun was absolutely painful to deal with, but even more painful to be without.

“So what got you into matchmaking?” you ask, twirling your cup of hot cocoa with the café’s tea spoon. “Did you just watch Hitch and get inspired?”

“No.” he replies as if you told him elephants could fly, his brows furrowing together. You can tell he’s never watched the film before, even though it was sorta-kinda representative of his situation. “I married my best friend’s sister two years ago. Talked to her old high school sweetheart for her because she was too shy.”

“So what, they dedicated you at the wedding and all that?”

“Yup. And a little figurine of me at the bottom of the cake.” He deadpans, drawing triangles of condensation caught by the hardwood. You could tell that there’s more to this story, but he doesn’t look terribly inclined to share. “Why, are you questioning my ability of getting you a hot date?”

“I mean, I’ve only heard stories.”

“I’m not doing this to play with people’s hearts, that’s never my intention.” Jun looks up, his eyebrows disappearing under his fluffy fresh-from-the-shower bangs.

“Then what is your intention?”

He then puffs out his cheeks, something he’s been making habitual these past few weeks when you’re together. The expansion in his mouth causes the apples in his cheeks to bloom a fresh shade of cranberry.

“To make people like you happy.” His smile is trapped between his lower lip, his teeth fighting the urge to not smile too hard. He looks embarrassed, his gaze focused on his half-full coffee. “I’m sure Wonwoo’s going to make you very happy.”

The authenticity in his reply suddenly made you feel very guilty, and you look down to your own drink, feeling your lip quiver as you bite your straw.

“Hooooolllllyyyyyy shiiiiiitttt.”

How the hell did your best friend get the key to your suite? Her voice was too loud, like call-the-police frightening.  

“Holy shit, Kerry!” she screamed towards your roommate, the flabbergasted voice echoing from the living room. You hear the padded footsteps of your roommate coming to the main dining area at the beckon. “She bought a new bra! And it’s sexy and made of lace! Our girl’s boutta get laid!”

You freeze, spitting toothpaste foam all over the sink. Rinsing once and swiping your mouth with a towel you storm in the living room where your two girlfriends were currently gushing about your new purchase from Victoria’s.

“Guys!” you cry, gaping at the two of her ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’-ing at her latest purchase. “I have a date with Jun and he’s going to get here in thirty seconds so will you please fucking leave—”

“Hey.”

The front door shutting sounds more like your fate being sealed, ending with social suicide as Jun appears at the front of the doorway. He looks effortlessly chic as usual, despite the fact that he’s only in a black and white raglan and cuffed jeans. He grins amusedly at your friends, his canines popping against his cheeky smile.

“Hi Jun!” Your two friends pipe up, and Kerry was still holding your new bra up in the air.

“Hello ladies.” he tilts his head to the petite pair that are grinning eagerly at him, then turn to you. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

The door slams shut just as quickly as it was opened, and you glare at your two friends menacingly as soon as he was out the door. “You let him in!” you huff angrily, quiet enough for Jun not to hear from the hallway but loud enough so that the two ass-brats would get the picture. “You let him in and let him see my underwear!”

“But don’t you want him to see your underwear?”

“I do!” you hiss, reaching over to rip the bra from Kerry’s grasp. “But when the door is obviously locked and we’re in the moment not when your curiosity,” two pairs of smirks creep up on you, “makes you act like two year olds with no sense of privacy!”

Your two friends are going off like Bonnie and Clyde, spitting comments back and forth to each other like a juggle tag team.

“She’s been going out an awful lot with Jun these past couple of weeks!”

“Shit you never even goes out with me that much.”

“That’s sayin’ something. I bet this bra is the make or break of this relationship—”

“Shutupshutupshutup.” you grit out, stomping back into the bathroom. The silly giggles of your friends only continue in your head as you close the door shut. Frustrated exhales escape your mouth, echoing against the faded yellow tiles. Holding the royal blue bra in your hands, you untangle the straps in an attempt to put yourself back together.

“So, we’re here.”

Maybe you were a little over your head when he said your plans for the night were a surprise. A walk around the bridge, maybe more silly conversations over mango shaved ice. Romance is not dead, you convince herself, but it was certainly unconventional. The large house of ΣΛΤ is  a beacon of strawberry milk pink in the middle of the street, making the dark houses pale away in the darkness. Girls and boys were hanging out on the deck, Converse clad feet dangling off the railing and and red cups lazily cupped between their fingers.

“Um,” you bite your lip, realizing that this was the moment. Jun’s about to set you up with Wonwoo. “I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

“I didn’t spend a month with you preparing so you could run away when the magic really happens.”

“If the magic is in there,” you wince as one of the brothers trail down the stairs with only a pair of green and purple Patrick-esque boxers, “I want no part in it.”

“What are you talking about?” Jun furrows his brows, holding his arms out to you. “You look beautiful tonight.”

Your heart warms, and it wasn’t because of any alcohol, at least not yet. You look down at your plain mustard tee with the embroidered rose on the side, tucked into a pair of light wash shorts. It really is nothing special, despite the fact that you may have spent a good half hour in front of the mirror fixing your makeup, it was nice to know that someone still appreciated the effort you put into your appearance.

“Let’s go inside, yeah?” Before you could make another nervous protest, his hands splay across the small of your back, fire hearth warm as his grip melts through your shirt and into your skin.

The inside wasn’t as much of a mess as you anticipated, but nevertheless it was a party. Lee Jihoon’s lips purse fretfully as he toggles with his MacBook in his respective corner of the couch, presumably in control of the synthed beat that reverberates through the building. The room is comfortably crowded, and for once you don’t feel like sweating in a college party.

“Here,” Jun hands you a small glass of something clear and questionable, “Liquid courage.” His voice is terse as he took his own gulp of the liquid, smacking his lips and pointing his pinky to a corner in the back. “Won’s over there.”

You take your own shot, feeling the alcohol burn away your throat as you saw Wonwoo with some brothers playing darts. He is adorably dressed in an oversized black hoodie, but there was no denying that you felt absolutely nothing for him. It was the inevitably tragic high school movie twist: you can’t help who you’re attracted to. You poke Jun in the chest with your glass. “Another one.” You mumble.

He raises a brow, but took your cup away to refill it once more. “Drink up, buttercup.” He toasts his glass to yours and you take another one together.

By the third one you start to feel dizzy, and while Jun isn’t necessarily swaying, you feel like he’s moving much like a jellyfish from his stagnant position by the kitchen table. He grasps your shoulders, leaning down and tilting his head next to yours. “Ready?”

“Mhm.” Ready for what?

And all of a sudden he whirls you around, enough to believe that the world’s axis had broken. He lets go of your body, and instead of being reunited by his warm hands you feel a frosty grip take its place.

Wonwoo calls your name, and smiles down at you. You’re surprised he’d even remember you, from that one god-awful business class where you didn’t utter a peep. He’s remarkably sober, looking like he’s been having a good time. Your semi-inebriated self hopes you wouldn’t be the one to ruin his night. “Hi!” You squeak, your voice an octave higher than normal.

“You came here alone?”

“I came with Jun.”

“Ah,” Wonwoo’s eyes clear, and he nods in realization. “So I suppose it’s me then, right?”

A shot of lightning courses through your body, and you realize that Jun was nowhere to be found, and it was just you and Wonwoo in the kitchen. Wonwoo knew of Jun’s escapades, but he seems willing to fall into them like quicksand, slow and steady.

But falling in love, falling in like, or just crushing on someone isn’t willing at all. You can’t help what your heart wills for, and your heart wasn’t willing for Wonwoo.

“Yeah,” you sober up quickly, “I suppose it’s you.” But you were shaking your head, trying to rid yourself of the music that was eating at your eardrums. “But it’s not you, I’m sorry.”

You squeeze Wonwoo’s shoulder, giving him an apologetic smile. You had no idea whether Jun told Wonwoo about you or not, but it didn’t matter. You didn’t want any of this. Your stomach hurts and your chest hurts for turning down a guy you claimed you wanted, your brain hurt from all the running around you’ve been doing this past month. Turning around you leave the house, needing a breath of fresh night air. Jun is hanging by the door, in the middle of talking to another brother.

“What happened?” he pulls away from his slouched out form.

“I’m going home.” You declare tersely, trying to brush past him.

“What? Why?” You could hear his feet bouncing against the pavement, his long legs taking no time into getting in front of you. “Are you crying? Did he do something to you?” It wasn’t until you brought a hand to your cheeks that you realized that slow streaming tears were in fact flooding. You rub a hand over your eyes, uncaring of your smudged liner.

You hated how Jun felt the need to bend down and look you in the eyes when you couldn’t even find the strength to run away. The way his carmine eyes bore deeply into yours, his soft golden hair contrasting against the night sky as his lip worries in a frown. It’s frustrating, being so needlessly coddled by him when all you want is to go home and pretend he never existed.

“Please, I’m fine,” you hiccup, doing a shit job at looking fine. “Just let me go.”

You feel bad for pushing past him and ignoring how fucking sad he looked as you stalk away from the house. You feel bad for yourself, because you feel absolutely awful for playing along all this time because you couldn’t admit how much you liked the matchmaker himself.

[Jun] Open the door

[Jun] open open openopenop

[Jun] ur not deaf

[Jun] i cn hear you BREATHING

Trashing your Half-Baked Ben and Jerry’s, you hop off your couch and pad to your door, only standing but not opening. You’ve been ignoring his messages the past couple of days, which was probably a shitty thing to do but considering you’ve been feeling nothing but shitty it seemed appropriate. You could practically feel Jun’s insistence through the door with each rap at the wood, your hands twitching with the urge to open it. You miss him. And you hate hate hate it.

So you open the door and muster the sweetest smile you could possibly conjure, because you’re weak and at this point uncaring as to whether you could salvage your friendship or not. “Hey.” You feel like you were practically hacking out the word, it had only been a few days and it was more than enough just to have your heart skip when he’s looking right at you.

“Hey,” he echoes breathlessly, blinking shamelessly. He looks tired, like he just came from a day full of classes. “I honestly didn’t expect you to open the door. You’ve ignored my texts all weekend.”

“I haven’t.” You reply defensively, opening the the door wide enough only for his lithe body to slip through the cracks. He dumps his bag by the door, following you to the couch. You pick the corner farthest from him, but he decides to sit at the coffee table in the middle, stretching his legs out to face you.

“Saying K when I send you a whole novel is considered a felony in my books.” He says bluntly. “Was there something wrong with Wonwoo last night? Because I know he says some stupid shit but we all gotta accept that people can be a little weird—”

“It’s not about Wonwoo.” You say levelly, crossing your arms.

“Then what? Did I do something wrong?” He jabs a finger in his chest, looking palpably annoyed. “Because I just did what you wanted me to do. Is that not what you wanted?”

“It wasn’t.” You mumble, rubbing your fingers over your forehead.

“Then what do you want?” Both of you were equally frustrated. Jun, not knowing what direction to turn to, feeling cheated out of his own work. And you, frustrated at yourself for not being honest with him, for being too scared and stupidly insecure to realize that the one thing you wanted was right in front of you.

You take a breath, wanting all the butterflies in your stomach to fuck off and let you handle this on your own. “Jun, you matchmake people because you want them to be happy, right?”

He gives you a funny look, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Yeah. I told you that.”

“Well, I’m happy with you.” you confess, your words feeling both gummy and dry against your mouth. “And that’s all I want, I’m sorry I wasted your time and couldn’t tell you sooner.”

You feel all the air in your system evaporate, the weight you’ve been harboring disappear from your shoulders. You gnaw at the inside of your cheek, Jun’s expression warping in and out of the room as he lets your words sink in. You can practically feel your heart rate accelerate and unable to keep up with your body, ready to take a trip down the road so you could never fall for someone ever again. The chestnut wood of your coffee table creaks in protest as Jun gets up, his hands gripping at the armrest and the couch cushions, effectively trapping you.

“I want that, too.” Is all he says before he leans in, pressing his lips to yours.

Jun’s lips feel pillow soft against yours, and tasted like cotton candy and red hots rolled up into one superdrug because you were both heavily confused and aroused by the turn of events. You sigh at the loss of body movement, letting Jun shift the both of you on the small couch that definitely wasn’t capacitated for extended making out, but it wasn’t stopping either of you.

“‘Mm still angry that you lied to me,” he mumbles, nibbling your bottom lip between his teeth. You take this opportunity to let your lips dance over his jawline. “But there’s multiple ways to curb anger, if you wanna get a head start.”

He rubs himself into your belly, and something in your body stirs equally in response.

“Y-yeah,” you manage to answer, a little wobbled at the sudden turn of events, but the tension in the room was high and the both of you were more than ready to make up for lost time.

A few more rushed kisses to his jaw and you’re pushing him off, tugging him into your room.

In a rush of making your way to your bed you bang your knee against your open drawer, yelping as you land on your sheets. You expect him to pounce on you just as he’s ambitious for everything he does in school, but his eyes dart over to the glass item that rolled around the shaken drawer. Looking towards you in question, he bends over to pick up the object in question.

“Is this?” his eyes were practically blown apart as he looked through you with your glass toy, the amethyst color tinting his view of you.

You bite the inside of your cheek as you watch Jun utterly fascinated by the pink dildo. You can’t tell if you’re sweating from how turned on you’re on, or your sheer embarrassment, possibly both. You ordered it online sometime ago, but ever since you moved in you haven’t been able to try it out to its full capacity. Attempting to use it with enough alone time in a dorm filled with three other roommates was moot, you were lucky your mates were out at the moment. He held it in an almost embarrassing childlike wonder, feeling the smooth material like it was silk. His eyes flicker between you and the pink bulb expectantly.  His gaze is thick, and full of want.

“Uh, yeah.” You choke out, feeling considerably less bold. “I haven’t used it yet, though. I haven’t been able to, y’know.”

“Probably weren’t ready for it yet.” He says, plopping on your bed. “But I can fix that.”

You couldn’t find the air for a snappy retort when Jun reaches over to cup your sex, his fingers mapping out constellations over your clothed core. You whimper off like a switch, throwing your head back to hit the wall as you quickly squirm out of your underwear, digging your heels into the blanket.

Jun traces figure eights into your dampened skin, his tongue making a path in the dip of your collarbone. He slips a finger in, and with a few experimental thrusts you were already writhing in your own world, absorbed by his warm touch.

“Tight,” he murmurs simply, letting your juices butter around your folds, coating his long fingers. He inserts another, the squelch of your arousal echoing in the small bedroom as he thrusts slowly. You feel his fingers scissor and stretch you out, feeling every minute pressure of your skin as it conforms to his digits.  

On the other hand you definitely feel cheated, Jun’s fully clothed and here you are, oversized shirt hiked all the way up to your chest and revealing the propped up hem of your cobalt lace bra. Your body is so hot you’re almost sure the clothes would singe off before you managed to remove them.

“Jun,” you huff, tugging on his black shirt, “off.”

“Lights off?” he murmurs into your skin, thrusting deeper.

“Ngh, no.” You cry, swiveling your hips distractedly, “take it off.”

“Take the lock off from the door?” he hums jokingly, “Then everyone will see me fucking you. Unless you’re into that.”

“Fucking take your clothes off or I’ll do it for you.”

It got silent, only the dirty sounds of his fingers inside you painted the room. He lifts his head from your neck, looking down at you with his molten eyes. “Is that a threat, doll?” He adds another finger, stretching you even further. It stings a little, but it still felt feels pleasurable as you’re under the hypnotic spell of Jun’s gaze. “I wouldn’t go around being mean to the one who’s making you feel this good. I’m still a little upset, don’t you want to apologize to me?”

Everything is getting blurry and clouded with stars both from the night sky and your mind, quickly succumbing to his molasses drenched words and soul-searching stare. You manage to take off your shirt and bra, throwing it across the drawer. His fingers are still welled deep into your core, your hips thrusting against his.

“Look at you fucking my hand,” his tongue darts out to lick his lips, gesturing for you to look at the way his hands disappear like a mantra into your body. “Looking absolutely pretty, who knew you’d be so good at this.”

His other hand reaches to unfurl his sweatpants, easily shucking them off to the side. Your eyes can’t help but focus on the apparent bulge between the white boxer-briefs, but you continue thrusting in his hand, feeling the high quickly approaching.

“But I think you’ll be even prettier with this inside.”

With a “pop” he removes his hand, and before you could groan in protest he wiggles the cool glass toy in its place, rubbing your fluids against the smooth surface. You nearly forgot about the dildo, but now your thighs are practically on fire, and with a firm push the head was already inside of you, gliding like butter through your folds. The pressure is almost decadent, you never knew how useful a sex toy would be until you had Jun using it to it’s fullest. Your juices squelch in pattern to his thrusts, his eyes mesmerized as he watches the pink dildo appear and disappear before him.

“J-Jun, don’t stop,” you sigh, your voice overwhelmed with breathy distraction and overstimulation, “Mmph, I need more,”

“Are you sorry?” He asks tauntingly, slowing his pace, and you can feel his warm grip linger across your folds, blocking the dildo’s path.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, edging your lips closer to the toy, but he only pulls it farther.

“Sorry, for,” he presses the head inside, and you whine, aching for sweet relief.

“S-sorry, sorry for—ungh—ple-ease,” you could barely formulate a reply when he swirls your gloss with the tip, “Sorry for, ah, not telling you I wanted you.”

“Are you sorry that you missed out on this?” he stage-whispers, leaning his body so every inch of his skin was against yours as he returns his thrusting to a steady pace. His other hand moves to trap your wrists above your head, preventing you from moving too much. His voice is rough yet smooth, gliding across the shell of your ear. “Are you sorry that we could’ve done this sooner?”

“Mhmph, yes!” you sigh aloud, lifting your hips to match his pace, You dig your fingers into his palm. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please just do whatever you want to me and don’t stop!”

Letting go of your grip his long legs move to straddle you, going over one of your thighs in particular as he thrusted the toy faster. Resting his pelvis on your outstretched thigh he cants his hips against your bare skin in tandem to his movements, the thin material doing absolutely nothing to hide his hardness.  Feeling his dick against your skin only made you even wetter, your slaps getting louder as you start to hit the peak of your release. Getting messier you feel the stars in your head implode into supernovas, your fingers squeezing the sheets taut and your walls clenching around the toy that was now equally hot as your body.

You’re numb, but still willing to go farther once you see the hunger in Jun’s eyes. He pulls out the toy with a painful slowness, and you shiver from the sensitivity. Your juices are dripping from your orgasm, and Jun brings it up to his face. Looking straight at you, he licks the toy.

Your clit twitches in betrayal.

Throwing the toy across the bed his long arms reach for the drawer, pulling out a condom from the same place he found your toy. Somehow his shirt is already off, probably stripped away in the middle of your orgasm. He quickly throws off his boxers, and his dick stands erect, scarlet with pearls of precome at the tip. The foil rips like it’s being cut with a thin blade, Jun quickly throwing the condom on his hardness.

“Do you still want more?” He asks, running his hands over his dick a few times. As sexy as the phase sounded, his gaze looks nothing but boyish in front of you, waiting for your consent. It was uncharacteristic of his previous control but nevertheless welcomed. Moonlight decorated his hair, reflected by the cracked window and the navy sky.

You manage a small nod, and a careful “Yes.”

“Good.” he hovers over you, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Because I want to give you more.”

Your hands splay across his chest, running across his neck before securing a grip on his shoulders. Jun adjusts the two of you as he rubs himself at your entrance, filling you up. You gasp, lifting up slightly to grab onto Jun’s shoulders as he stretches your folds, feeling comfortably full. He groans into your ear, the sound echoing through every pore of your body as you felt him start to rock against you. This was by far better than any silly toy, and it didn’t feel as if you were satisfied just moments ago. You wanted more, and Jun was here to give you everything you needed. His hips snap against yours in a steady rhythm while his smoked out breaths sighed into your ear, murmuring your name and telling you how you’re good, so good for him.

“You feel so nice,” he groans, his thrusts getting sloppier as he edged on, “Nggh, you feel so good with my cock stuffed in you, does it feel good?”

“Yes, yes it feels good,” you whimper, unable to catch up to his messy thrusts. His dick went all the way to the spongy spot in your body, one that was making your head spin. You feel the walls connecting you two slicken, giving him more room to fuck you harder as he lifts your leg to penetrate deeper. “Mmph, Jun, keep going—” you encourage, reaching a hand to rub circles into your clit.

His hips were going at a fierce rate, slapping against your skin as you moan in pleasure, writhing your head and marking his back with your crescent shaped nails. “Come around my cock,” he husks out, his voice quickly losing traction, “So I can come too.”

His mouth was gaped and against your neck, sighing and gasping for release when you squeeze his dick, and with a final thrust he collapses over your sticky body, moaning in satisfaction. His face plants itself into the crook of your shoulders, nuzzling your skin. With a couple lazy thrusts he pulls out, a blind hand reaching to safely remove the condom from his body. You close your eyes in an attempt to settle your breathing, focusing on the inhale and exhale of your chest as Jun gets up to dispose of the latex. Your eyes slowly return to a mere half-liddedness, a notably perkier Jun returning to your bed and putting his face close to yours.

“Hi.” He chirps, carding a hand through your sweaty strands.

“Hello.” You smile weakly.

“So, are you satisfied with your service?”

“Satisfied? Jun!” You laugh tiredly, slapping his shoulder.

“Has my performance as your matchmaker improved your lovelife?”

“I don’t feel the need to satisfy your ego after you just pounded me into my mattress.” You reply tartly, snatching the blanket and placing it higher above your chest.

“Please?” He lets his face sink into your pillow, his eyes twinkly and sweet in the dark room.