#riize fics

your brother, sungchan, had never needed to set rules when it came to you. he didn’t tell his friends to stay away, didn’t make a show of being overprotective, but it lingered in the way he spoke, in the way he dismissed every guy you mentioned with an ease that felt almost practiced. no one ever seemed to meet whatever quiet standard he held, and over time it became less of a conversation and more of a fact. you stopped bringing people up. he stopped asking. it settled into something unspoken between you.

anton had never been part of that dynamic.

not because sungchan approved of anything, but because anton had never been anything that required approval.

until something shifted, so quietly that you almost convinced yourself it hadn’t.

…..

it started with a car ride that should have meant nothing. sungchan had texted you that he was caught up and couldn’t make it, that anton would pick you up instead, and you hadn’t thought twice about it until you opened the passenger door and realised it was just the two of you. the interior of the car felt smaller than it should have, like the space had narrowed without warning.

anton greeted you the same way he always did, a soft “hey” paired with a brief glance that lingered just slightly longer than you remembered. you returned it automatically, settling into your seat, the door closing with a muted thud that seemed louder than usual in the quiet that followed.

the drive began simply enough, the hum of the engine filling the silence, but it wasn’t the kind of silence you were used to with him. it wasn’t empty. it had texture, something faint but persistent that made you aware of things you had never noticed before — the way his hands rested steady on the steering wheel, the slight flex in his fingers when he slowed at a junction, the way he adjusted the air conditioning without asking, like he had already picked up on the smallest change in your posture. at a red light, his gaze shifted toward you for a moment, not intrusive, not lingering, but deliberate enough that you felt it.

“you don’t have to drop me all the way,” you said eventually, your voice cutting through the quiet more to steady yourself than anything else.

“i know,” he replied, his tone even, almost absent-minded.

that made you turn slightly, catching the side of his profile. there was no hesitation in him, no sense that he was doing you a favour.

“i don’t mind,” he added, softer this time.

the words settled somewhere you couldn’t quite name.

the rest of the ride passed without much else said, but the atmosphere didn’t ease. if anything, it deepened, something unspoken threading through the space between you. when he pulled up outside your place, the car came to a stop a fraction too smoothly, like he had anticipated it before you even noticed you were there.

you reached for the door, pausing just briefly.

“thanks, anton.”

he nodded, his gaze meeting yours again for that same fraction of a second that felt longer than it should have.

“yeah.”

you stepped out first.

and the moment lingered long after the car pulled away.

…..

the second time, sungchan was there, and that should have returned everything to normal. it should have reset whatever had shifted into something familiar, something easy.

instead, it sharpened it.

you had called your brother halfway through a date that had gone exactly as badly as you expected, your patience worn thin enough that you didn’t bother hiding it. he had shown up quickly, as he always did, already irritated in that quiet, controlled way that meant he had been right and intended to let you know it.

you expected him alone.

so when the car pulled up and you saw anton in the passenger seat, it caught you off guard in a way that was hard to explain. you slowed without meaning to.

“come on y/n!” he called out, already impatient. “get in.”

you opened the back door, sliding in, the leather seat cool beneath your palms. “i thought it was just you.”

“it is just me,” he replied dismissively. “he was already with me.”

anton didn’t turn around, but you caught his eyes in the rearview mirror anyway, a quick flicker of acknowledgment before he looked away, like he was aware of the line he wasn’t supposed to cross.

“how bad was it?” sungchan asked, pulling away from the curb.

“i don’t want to talk about it,” you groaned.

“that bad, huh?” he muttered, a quiet scoff following. “i told you not to go.”

“you tell me that about everyone,” you shot back, your tone edged with irritation.

“because everyone you pick is questionable,” he replied, not missing a beat. there was a pause, his voice lowering just slightly. “you don’t have to sit there and entertain guys like that.”

you leaned back into the seat, exhaling slowly. “you’ve decided that about someone you’ve never met.”

“i don’t need to meet him,” sungchan said flatly. “if he’s wasting your time, he’s not worth it.”

the words settled heavily in the space, familiar in their bluntness. from the front seat, anton shifted almost imperceptibly, the movement so slight you might have missed it if you hadn’t been paying attention.

“then who is?” you asked, more quietly this time.

sungchan didn’t answer. the silence that followed stretched just long enough to say what he wouldn’t.

“exactly,” you murmured, turning your gaze to the window.

for a moment, the car filled with nothing but the sound of the road beneath the tires, the tension sitting low and steady.

then anton spoke.

“do you want to stop somewhere?” he asked, his voice cutting through the quiet in a way that felt deliberate. “get something to eat?”

you blinked, caught off guard by the shift. “what?”

“food,” he clarified, still facing forward. “you could use the recharge.”

the simplicity of it contrasted too sharply with everything else.

before you could respond, sungchan leaned forward slightly, interest immediate. “yeah, actually. drive-thru sounds good.”

a small laugh escaped you despite yourself. “well i guess that’s decided.”

anton chuckled. you watched the side of his face through the mirror for a moment, wondering if he would look back.

he didn’t.

but you had the distinct sense that he knew you were looking anyway.

the rest of the ride softened into something easier, sungchan talking, you responding, but the undercurrent remained. it lingered in the way anton stayed quiet but present, in the way his attention seemed to settle in small, precise ways you couldn’t quite ignore.

when the car stopped outside your place, you paused again before stepping out, the hesitation so brief it might have gone unnoticed.

…..

you only meant to drop your bag and find your brother.

that was it. you had just gotten back from your semester break, the house already warm with the sound of your parents in the kitchen, something cooking, voices moving in and out of each other. you followed the noise toward the back without thinking, pushing the sliding door open—

—and stopping.

because sungchan wasn’t the first thing you saw.

anton was.

he stood at the edge of the pool, turned slightly away, the light catching on him in a way that made everything else feel a little less sharp. you had always known he swam — sungchan talked about it often enough — but knowing had never felt like this.

because seeing him like this was different.

it wasn’t loud. it didn’t try.

it just held your attention.

your eyes moved before you could stop them, tracing over him without permission — the line of his shoulders, broad but easy, the kind that came from repetition, not effort; the way water still clung to him, sliding down slowly, catching along the definition of his abs just enough to make you look longer than you should have.

and you did.

you shouldn’t have, but you did.

then your gaze drifted again, taking in his height — just slightly shorter than sungchan, but not enough to matter, still tall enough that it shifted something in the way you looked at him now. it felt like you had missed something obvious this whole time.

you didn’t realise how long you had been standing there.

not until he moved.

it was small — a shift of weight, a subtle tightening through his shoulders — and then he turned.

not startled. just certain. like he already knew.

his gaze found yours immediately. and just like that, you knew, you hadn’t been subtle at all.

you looked away, quick, almost abrupt, trying to recover before the moment could settle into something worse—

too late.

“my baby!”

sungchan’s voice cut straight through it, loud and bright and completely unaware, snapping everything apart as he hauled himself out of the pool and walked toward you, water dripping everywhere like he had no intention of stopping.

“stop calling me that, oh my god,” you groaned, the heat in your face thankfully easy to blame on him.

“when did you get back?” he asked, ignoring you entirely as he came closer.

“just now,” you said, stepping back automatically. “don’t—seriously, don’t touch me, you’re dripping.”

he grinned, not slowing down at all. “missed me, sis?”

“no, i did not.”

“liar.”

you did miss your big brother, of course you did, but your mind was still stuck somewhere else, still trying to shake off the fact that anton had caught you like that.

you slipped past sungchan before he could reach you, rolling your eyes. “you are exhausting.”

“and yet you love me,” he said easily, turning to follow you inside. “who else is going to deal with the cockroaches for you?”

“unfortunately, you do serve a purpose.”

he laughed, satisfied with that, already moving ahead of you—but you slowed at the doorway, just for a second, the awareness hitting before you even turned.

anton was behind you.

close enough that you could feel it. close enough that the space felt different again.

“oh,” sungchan added casually, like it meant nothing, like it wasn’t about to land at all, “anton’s staying for a few days.”

you stopped without meaning to. just a fraction. then you turned.

anton was already there, already watching, like he had been waiting for you to look at him again.

“hi, y/n.”

he says it like he always does—easy, familiar, like nothing about the last few seconds had been out of place.

“hi,” you answer, a little too quick, like you’re catching up.

…..

you woke earlier than usual the next morning, the house still quiet in that way it only ever was before everyone else got up. the air felt still, untouched, and you moved through it half-awake, more instinct than thought guiding you as you stepped into the bathroom, already reaching for your toothbrush—

and then you stopped.

anton was there.

he stood at the sink, sleeves pushed up, head tilted slightly as he rinsed his mouth, like he had been there long enough to settle into it. he looked up at the same time you did, catching your reflection in the mirror before you had the chance to react, and for a moment neither of you moved.

“morning,” he said.

“morning.”

your voice came out softer than you intended, quieter in a space that suddenly felt too contained.

you stepped in anyway, because turning around would have meant something, because leaving would have been noticeable, and acting normal felt easier than acknowledging anything else. the mirror caught both of you at once, side by side but not quite, close enough that it became difficult to ignore how little space there actually was between you.

you focused on your routine instead, on the familiar rhythm of it, on anything that did not require you to look at him directly.

it worked for a few seconds.

then, without meaning to, you glanced up and found him watching you through the mirror. not openly. not enough to call attention to it.

but enough.

“what?” you said, brushing your teeth, trying to sound unaffected.

“nothing.”

“you’re looking.”

“so are you.”

you stilled for half a second before continuing, slower this time, more aware of every movement. “i’m not.”

he didn’t respond.

that silence settled heavier than any answer could have.

because when you looked up again, he was still there, still watching, his gaze steady in a way that made it impossible to pretend it hadn’t been intentional.

and this time, he didn’t look away first.

after that, it became harder to convince yourself it was nothing.

it followed you into the smaller moments, the ones that should have passed without leaving anything behind.

…..

thirst pulls you from the living room, your bare feet padding softly across the cool kitchen tiles. you flick on the dim under-cabinet light, rummaging for a glass in the cupboard, when the soft creak of floorboards makes you pause.

anton steps in, rubbing the back of his neck, still in a gray t-shirt and loose sweatpants that hang low on his hips. his hair is tousled from sleep, and he slows when he sees you, something small and familiar curving at the corner of his mouth. “couldn’t sleep either?” he murmurs, his voice low in the quiet.

you nod, turning to the sink as you fill your glass, the rush of water sounding louder than it should. “yeah. too wired.” it’s true, but not entirely.

he moves toward the fridge, reaching past you for a bottle, and his arm brushes yours. the contact is brief, accidental, but it lingers anyway, something that settles under your skin before you can ignore it. when you turn, you’re closer than you expect, the space between you narrowing without either of you stepping in.

his gaze drops for a second, then lifts again, slower this time. “you okay?” he asks, softer now, like he’s testing something he hasn’t said out loud yet.

the question hangs there, quieter than it should be.

you lean back against the counter, taking a slow sip of your water, aware of him beside you without needing to look. he is close enough that it changes the air, close enough that your focus doesn’t stay where you want it to, close enough that the silence starts to feel like something.

“you don’t look like you’re in a hurry to leave,” he says after a moment.

you turn your head slightly, meeting his gaze. “what does that mean?”

“it means you’ve been avoiding me since you got back.”

you let out a small scoff. “i have not.”

“really?” there’s a hint of something in his tone now, not quite teasing. “because it took this long to catch you alone.”

the words settle between you, and the quiet stretches with them.

you look at him properly then, without anything in between. “and why would you want that?”

he holds your gaze for a beat, like he’s deciding how much to say. “so we can talk.”

“about what?”

there’s a pause, longer this time.

then, steady, “did it ever occur to you that i might’ve missed you too? not just sungchan.”

it lands without resistance.

you don’t answer right away.

the silence shifts, no longer neutral, no longer something you can move through without noticing. it settles into something heavier, something that lingers.

you glance down at your glass, then back at him. “this is weird.”

“i know.”

“then why are you still here?”

he doesn’t answer immediately, and for a moment you think he won’t.

then, quieter, “because you didn’t ask me to leave.”

your breath catches, just slightly.

“that doesn’t mean—”

“i know,” he says, just as soft. “i know.”

and the way he says it makes it clear—

he does.

you should step away then. you should say something that puts distance back where it belongs, something that makes this smaller, easier, nothing.

you don’t.

it gets easier after that.

not better.

just easier.

the tension stops feeling accidental, stops feeling like something you can brush off or ignore. it settles into something steadier, something you carry without naming, showing up in the way you move around each other, in the way conversations linger a fraction too long, in the way silence starts to feel deliberate instead of empty.

sungchan never notices.

of course he doesn’t.

he moves through the house the same way he always does, loud and careless, leaving you alone with anton without thinking, without questioning, like nothing has changed at all.

but it has.

and it is getting harder to pretend it hasn’t.

because now it isn’t just in the glances, or the moments that stretch a little too long.

it is in the way he stays.

anton was the first to cut the tension by stepping forward. his hand brushes your waist—light at first, then firmer, pulling you against the counter. your breath hitched, glass forgotten on the edge, and he leaned in, lips hovering near yours.

“i've wanted to do this for so long,” he confesses in that quiet voice, the words carrying a freaky undercurrent that makes your pulse race. then he kisses you, soft and exploratory, his mouth warm and tentative, tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you part for him.

it deepens fast, his hands sliding up your sides under your tank top, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. you taste the faint mint from the toothpaste, and he groans into your mouth, the sound low and hungry. your fingers tangle in his shirt, yanking him closer, and he responds by pressing his body flush against yours, the hard line of his cock already thickening in his sweatpants, grinding subtly into your thigh.

anton breaks the kiss to trail his lips down your jaw, nipping at your earlobe before whispering, “quiet baby, don't want to wake everyone up now do we,” but his actions contradict the warning; one hand cups your ass, squeezing hard as he lifts you onto the counter, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. the cool granite bites into your skin, but his heat overrides it, his erection now pressing directly against your core through your shorts, the friction making you whimper.

he captures your mouth again, this time fiercer, tongue fucking into you with deep, possessive strokes, saliva mixing messily as you suck on it in return. his free hand dives under your top, palming your breast, pinching the nipple until it pebbles and you gasp into his kiss. “fuck, these tits,” he breathes, voice still soft but laced with that freaky growl, pulling the fabric up to expose you. he latches onto one nipple, sucking hard, teeth grazing the sensitive bud while his hips roll, dry-humping you with increasing urgency.

your hands roam down, pulling him tighter. he's rock-hard, cock throbbing as it nudges your clit through the layers, pre-cum likely smearing his tip. anton straightens, eyes locked on yours with intense hunger, and yanks your shorts aside, fingers finding your soaked pussy. he strokes your slit, parting the folds to circle your clit, then dips two inside, curling them against that spot that makes your vision blur.

“tight and wet already,” he murmurs, pumping his fingers slow and deep, thumb pressing your clit in firm circles. the wet sounds echo softly in the kitchen, obscene against the quiet house, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan, but he pulls your hair back gently, exposing your throat. “let me hear you baby,” he demands quietly, biting down on your neck, sucking a mark that blooms red. his fingers speed up, stretching you with a third, scissoring inside as your walls clench, arousal dripping down his hand.

he curled his fingers against that sensitive spot deep within, pumping slowly at first, then faster, his thumb grinding against your clit. your hips buck involuntarily, chasing the building pressure as wetness coats his hand. “god, you're dripping for me,” anton growls, his voice low and rough, eyes dark with lust. he pulls his fingers free, bringing them to his mouth to suck them clean, tasting you with a moan that vibrates through his chest. “i need more of that,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to your exposed core before he sinks to his knees between your legs.

anton spreads your thighs wide with his strong hands, gripping your hips to hold you open and exposed. he leans in close, his hot breath teasing your folds, making you shiver in anticipation. then his tongue flattens against your pussy, licking a long, slow stripe from your entrance up to your clit, savoring every drop of your arousal. the raw sensation hits you like a spark, and you gasp sharply, your fingers immediately tangling in his hair to urge him on. he devours you hungrily, his tongue lapping at your slick entrance before swirling around your swollen clit with firm, insistent circles that make your toes curl.

he sucks your clit into his hot mouth, teeth grazing the sensitive nub just enough to draw a whimper from your lips, then releases it with a pop before plunging his tongue deep inside you, fucking your pussy with deep, rhythmic thrusts. your body arches off the surface, thighs quivering as the pleasure builds relentlessly in your core. anton's hands knead your ass cheeks, pulling you flush against his face, his nose bumping your clit with every eager lick and suck. he groans deeply into your folds, the vibrations sending fresh waves of heat pulsing through you, your walls clenching around his invading tongue.

“fuck baby, you taste incredible,” he rasps against your skin, his voice muffled but thick with desire, before diving back in with renewed fervor. he alternates between flicking his tongue rapidly over your clit and thrusting it inside you, his fingers digging into your flesh to keep you pinned and writhing under his assault. the intensity coils tighter and tighter, your breaths coming in ragged pants as you teeter on the edge, but anton senses it and pulls back just enough to deny you release, his lips shiny with your juices and a wicked glint in his eyes.

desperate now, you reach for him as he stands back up, shoving his sweatpants down just enough to free his cock—thick, veined, the head flushed and leaking pre-cum. your hand wraps around the hot length, stroking firmly from base to tip, thumbing the slit to spread the slickness. anton hisses through his teeth, his hips thrusting into your fist as his fingers return to your pussy, now three digits stretching and fucking you relentlessly, his palm slapping wetly against your clit with each plunge.

he bites your bottom lip hard enough to sting, drawing a sharp gasp from you, then soothes it with his tongue, the kiss turning messy and desperate, chins slick with spit and your combined arousal. tongues tangle fiercely, breaths mingling in hot, urgent pants as the dual sensations—your hand pumping his cock, his fingers pounding into you—drive you both toward the brink.

“need to fuck you now baby,” anton says, his voice husky and commanding, that soft-spoken facade completely shattered. he withdraws his fingers with a wet pop, replacing them with the blunt head of his cock. he rubs it along your folds, coating himself in your juices, teasing your entrance before pushing in inch by inch. the stretch burns so deliciously, your pussy yielding to his girth as he bottoms out, balls pressed flush against your ass. “fuck, anton, you're so big,” you moan, nails raking down his back.

he stills for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, both of you panting in sync. “so fucking good,” he groans, “gripping me like a vice.” then he starts moving, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, setting a brutal pace that has your tits bouncing and your cries echoing through the room. his cock hits that spot inside you with every thrust, the wet sounds of skin slapping skin mixing with your gasps. anton's hands pin your wrists behind your back, his mouth claiming yours in a bruising kiss as he fucks you harder, deeper, the earlier oral tease amplifying every sensation until you're both chasing that explosive climax with raw, unfiltered passion.

he shifts, angling to pound your g-spot, the rhythm brutal now—pull out, slam in, over and over, your juices coating his shaft and dripping onto the counter. “cum for me,” he whispers fiercely, dropping his hand to rub your clit fast and rough. pleasure explodes, your orgasm ripping through you, pussy spasming wildly around his cock, milking him as waves of ecstasy make your toes curl and thighs quake.

"where do you want me to cum, baby?"

"fuck, inside me, cum inside me, anton," anton let out a guttural moan at this.

anton follows seconds later, groaning low into your shoulder, thrusting deep as he unloads, hot cum flooding your core in thick pulses. he grinds through it, prolonging the bliss, until you're both trembling, breaths mingling in the dim light. he pulls out slowly, a mix of your releases trickling down your thigh, and kisses you tenderly, the freaky intensity ebbing back to his gentle demeanor.

the room settles into a quiet that feels different now, not tense or uncertain but full in a way that makes it hard to look away from what just happened. you sit there for a moment, close enough to feel the warmth of him in front of you, your breathing still uneven as you try to steady it, like if you focus on something small enough it might make everything else easier to process.

anton shifts slightly, not pulling away, just enough that you’re aware of him again, like the moment is still there between you, not something either of you is trying to undo.

“hey,” he says, his voice low, careful.

you lift your head toward him. “hey.”

it comes out softer than you expect, like the quiet has settled into you too.

there’s a pause that lingers, not awkward, just heavy with everything neither of you has said yet.

“are you okay?” he asks.

you let out a breath that almost turns into a laugh. “yeah i am.”

you look at him properly then, not through glances or reflections, not in passing, but like this, with nothing in between. “that just happened.”

“yeah.”

“and sungchan is literally in this house.”

“i know.”

“you’re very calm about that.”

“i’m not,” he admits quietly. “i’m just not… showing it.”

that makes something in you ease, just slightly. “right.”

another pause settles in, softer this time, less sharp around the edges. then, after a moment, he says it.

“y/n, i like you.”

there’s no hesitation, no attempt to soften it, no way to pretend it means anything else.

you don’t look away.

“okay,” you reply, just as steady. “i… i like you too, anton.”

that catches him off guard, just enough to show.

“you do?”

you let out a small breath. “yeah.”

something shifts in his expression, the faintest hint of a smile that doesn’t quite stay. “you could’ve said something.”

“so could you.”

“yeah,” he says, quieter now. “i should’ve.”

you study him for a moment, taking in the way he’s looking at you now, like he’s done holding anything back. “how long?”

he exhales slowly, gaze dropping for a second before coming back to you. “long enough.”

“that’s not an answer.”

“it’s the only one i’ve got.”

you nod, accepting it for what it is.

“and you?” he asks, more careful this time.

you don’t answer immediately. you think about the way this has been building, the way you’ve noticed him noticing you, the way neither of you ever said anything out loud.

“i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t,” you say finally, your voice quieter now.

that’s enough.

you see it in the way something settles in him, not relief exactly, but something close to it, something steadier.

“so what are we doing?” he asks.

you let out a slow breath, your gaze drifting for a second before finding him again. “i don’t know yet.”

“that’s not very reassuring.”

“it’s honest.”

he nods, taking that in without pushing.

you shift slightly closer without thinking about it, your voice softening. “we’ll figure it out.”

he doesn’t hesitate.

“okay.”

and the way he says it, like he means it, like he’s already decided to stay in this with you, makes something settle in your chest, not resolved, not simple, but real enough that you don’t question it.

By the time you arrive, the sky has softened into a pale gold, the kind that makes everything feel possible again. The countryside stretches wide and empty, fields rolling like open palms, the air smelling faintly of damp earth and something sweet you can’t quite name. It feels safe in a way that almost startles you.

The man who meets you at the station introduces himself as Mr. Lee. He smiles too much, but you tell yourself it’s just friendliness, the kind you forgot existed. His handshake lingers, but only for a second too long. You notice it but dismissed it.

The drive to the house is longer than you expected. Roads narrow into winding veins through dense woods, the trees pressing close, as if they’re leaning in to listen. You try to follow the turns, but soon it becomes impossible. Everything looks the same, green and shadow and silence.

“It’s easy to get lost out here,” he says lightly, glancing at you. “But don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.” You smile, because that’s what you do.

The house is smaller than you imagined but neat. The windows are spotless, the curtains freshly pressed. Someone has left flowers on the table white, tightly arranged, scent faint but persistent. There’s something about the stillness inside, the way the air feels untouched, like it’s been waiting.

“It’s all yours,” Mr. Lee says, watching you as you step inside. Not looking at the house. Looking at you. You thank him. Again. Too many times.

That night, you unpack slowly, trying to fill the quiet with movement. Every sound feels amplified by the creak of floorboards, the soft click of drawers, your own breathing. You tell yourself it’s just because you’re not used to the silence yet.

You tell yourself this is the start of something good.

A better school. Better funding. Polished hallways and bright futures. You stand outside Yoonseul High and let yourself feel it for a moment, the clean lines of the building, the quiet prestige humming beneath its glass and steel. This is the kind of place people envy. The kind of place that fixes things.

You smooth down your sleeves before stepping inside, rehearsing the version of yourself you want them to see composed, capable, unshakeable. Hopeful.

By 7:00 a.m., the corridors are empty. Your footsteps echo faintly as you find your classroom. It smells untouched, like fresh paint and expensive polish. Everything is pristine. Controlled. Perfect. You like that.

You step inside and place your bag down, exhaling slowly as you turn to the board. Your name looks strange written out so large, so permanent. You say it under your breath, testing your introduction, shaping your tone. Friendly, but firm. Warm, but not soft.

You don’t hear the door open. You don’t hear the footsteps. Just the voice.

“That was so cute.”

It slips into the room like something that’s always been there. You flinch. The chalk snaps between your fingers. When you turn, he’s already inside leaning slightly, as if he belongs in every space he enters.

You glance at your watch instinctively. 7:15. The bell doesn’t ring until 8. Your stomach tightens, but you force a polite smile. “Oh hi. I didn’t think..” He steps closer before you can finish.  “Hi,” he says, extending his hand. “I’m the class president. Lee Chanyoung. But you can call me Anton.”

His voice is smooth. You hesitate for half a second too long, then place your hand in his. “I’m your new homeroom teacher,’ you say with a smile. His grip closes around yours. Firm. Too firm. You try to ignore it. Try to match his smile, but something about the way he’s looking at you feels… wrong. Not inappropriate. Not obvious. Just wrong in a way you can’t name yet.

You start to pull your hand back. He doesn’t let go. There’s a beat a small, suspended moment where your brain tries to catch up with what your body already knows. You laugh, light and nervous, tugging a little more. “Okay..” Still nothing.

His thumb shifts slightly against your skin. Not enough to be called anything. Just enough to make your skin crawls. You look at him then and he’s smiling, it unsettles you.

“I see you’ve already met my son.” The voice cuts clean through the moment. Your hand is released instantly. You step back without meaning to, your fingers tingling as if something has been left behind in them. Mr. Lee stands in the doorway, composed, immaculate. His presence fills the room in a way that feels heavier than it should.

“He’s a good kid,” he adds, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You nod quickly. “Yes, he…he seems very… polite.” Anton says nothing. You can feel him still looking at you, even as you turn toward his father. Mr. Lee gestures for you to follow him.

“The school can be a bit confusing at first,” he says. “I’ll show you around.” You’re grateful for the movement, for the excuse to leave the room, but as you step into the hallway, you feel it. That subtle awareness. Like something is watching you.

The tour is thorough. 

Teachers’ room. Bathrooms. Offices. Doors that require key cards. Doors that don’t. Mr. Lee speaks with quiet authority, explaining things you’ll forget immediately, his tone calm, controlled. Reassuring.

When the tour ends, you thank him, your voice steady enough to pass. “Of course,” he says. “We take care of our staff here.” The words linger longer than they should. As you walk back toward your classroom, the halls remain quiet, but it no longer feels peaceful.

By 7:55 a.m., the school is alive in a way that feels almost reassuring. Voices echo down the hall, lockers click shut, shoes tap in hurried rhythms. It’s busy enough to quiet the unease still clinging to you from earlier. Busy enough to make you feel safe.

Students begin to filter into your classroom, filling the space with movement and noise. You greet them, steady now, your smile practiced but convincing. You write your name again on the board, clearer this time, stronger. You introduce yourself, your voice finding a rhythm that feels like control.

You move through the seats, learning names, repeating them, attaching them to faces. Some meet your gaze. Some don’t. Some look at you a little too long.

Anton doesn’t need to introduce himself again. He stares. That same stillness about him, that same quiet certainty. You avoid lingering. You don’t give him anything to hold onto.

The hours pass fast. By the time the final bell rings, the day has folded itself neatly into something manageable, something almost ordinary. You let yourself believe it the morning was just nerves, just adjustment. The classroom empties. Chairs scrape, laughter fades, footsteps dissolve into the distance until it’s just you again. You exhale, shoulders dropping, the silence settling in.

You begin packing up, methodical, focused on leaving. Papers stacked, pens gathered, your bag pulled closer. Then it slips. The bag falls from your desk, hitting the floor with a dull, abrupt sound that feels too loud in the empty room. You mutter under your breath and bend down to pick it up.

And that’s when it happens. A shift in the air behind you. Before your mind can catch up, your body reacts your muscles tightening, your breath stalling. There’s a presence there, unmistakable now, pressing into your space like it belongs.

Something brushes against you from behind, slow enough to register, deliberate enough to freeze you where you are. It lingers just a second too long, just enough to make your stomach drop, just enough to make your skin crawl as if something invasive has slipped beneath it. You’ve never stood up so fast in your life. The world tilts for a second as you turn and there he is. Anton. Standing directly behind you. Like he’d always been there.

His expression doesn’t change. No apology. No embarrassment. Just that same calm, unreadable gaze, fixed on you like you’re something he’s trying to understand… or something he already does. Your throat tightens.

“What are you doing?” you manage, your voice sharper than before, but not as strong as you want it to be. “Waiting for you,” he says simply. Like that explains everything. You glance at the door. Closed. You didn’t hear it. Didn’t hear him. Didn’t hear anything at all.

A cold realization creeps in, slow and suffocating…he never left the room. You take a step back, creating space, but it doesn’t feel like enough. It doesn’t feel like it matters. “You need to leave,” you say, more firmly now, clinging to the words like it can protect you. Then, that faint, almost amused smile. “No I don’t.”

Your heart stutters. The silence stretches between you, thick, pressing, wrong. You reach for your bag again, your movements tighter now, controlled, every instinct screaming at you to leave, to get out, to put distance between you and whatever this is.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say, already moving, already turning toward the door. “Of course,” he replies. Your hand grips the handle, colder than it should be. You pull the door open and step into the hallway, the noise distant now, muted.

You don’t look back and as you walk away, something settles deep in your chest. 

A couple of weeks pass before you begin to understand how this place really works, and when it finally comes, it isn’t quiet. It isn’t subtle. It announces itself in sound. Something hard striking something softer. Again. And again. A dull, sick rhythm that crawls down the corridor and finds you and by the time you see it, it’s already happening.

Anton stands over a boy on the ground. He curls inward, absorbing it, like he knows resistance only makes it last longer. For a second, you freeze. Because this isn’t a misunderstanding. This isn’t roughhousing or just plain stupidity.

This is something else. You move before you can think better of it. “Hey stop!” Your voice cuts through the hallway. You reach him, grabbing his arm, pulling him back. He lets you. Too easily. That’s what unsettles you.

“What are you doing?” you demand, breath tight, pulse already racing. The boy on the floor doesn’t look at you. Not once. Anton does. And he laughs. Not loud. Not wild. Just… amused. Like you’ve said something funny.

“What are you going to do?” he asks, stepping closer. You don’t step back. Every instinct tells you to, but something stubborn, something still clinging to the idea of authority, keeps you in place. You hold his gaze, even as something cold coils low in your stomach.

“Stop it. Now.”

Your voice is steadier than you feel. For a moment, it looks like he might say more. His expression shifts, just slightly like he’s considering you in a new way, recalibrating. The bell rings. The moment gone. He exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Saved by the fucking bell.”

And just like that, it’s over. He turns, walking away like nothing happened, a few others falling into steps behind him without hesitation. Without question.

You’re left standing there, the echo of it still vibrating in your chest. You bend down quickly, reaching for the boy. “Are you okay? Let me—” He jerks away from you. Hard. “Don’t touch me.” The words hit sharper than you expect. You pull your hand back instinctively, staring at him.

“What?” His eyes flick up to yours then, and there’s something in them, something almost furious. “You just made it a hundred times worse for me.” The words land heavy. Before you can respond, he’s already pushing himself up, ignoring you completely as he walks away, shoulders stiff, movements strained but determined. You stay where you are. Kneeling. Useless. The hallway is empty now, like nothing ever happened. But it did.

You try to report it. Of course you do. You find Mrs. Baek in the staff room later, your hands colder than they should be, your words already forming before you reach her. “It’s about Anton—” She cuts you off instantly. Just a quiet, sharp “No.”

It stops you mid-breath. She glances around, checking the room like someone might be listening even when no one’s there. Then she leans closer, her voice dropping. “Unless you want to get fired,” she says, each word measured, “don’t even try to report him.”

Your stomach tightens. “What do you mean?” you ask, but it comes out smaller than you intend. Her expression doesn’t soften. “Others have,” she says. “They don’t work here anymore.” There’s something final in the way she says it. Not a warning. Not advice. A fact. She straightens, stepping away from you like the conversation never happened. Like you never spoke at all.

By the end of the week, everything looks the same. That’s what unsettles you most. Your coworkers still smile. They still greet you warmly, still ask how you’re settling in. The students still laugh, still answer questions, still play their parts perfectly.

Everything is normal. Except now you can see it. The gaps. The silences. The way conversations stop just a second too early when certain names come up. The way no one ever says Anton’s name unless they have to. The way he moves through the halls untouchable.

And the worse is the way he looks at you now. Not the same as before. Not just curious. Something deeper. Something that lingers. Like he’s waiting. Like he knows something you don’t. Or maybe like he knows exactly how this ends for you.

You’ve just pulled into your parking spot, the engine ticking as it cools, one foot already on the ground when it cuts through everything. A yelp. Not the usual low hum of a school morning, no chatter spilling across the lot, no easy laughter.

Then a crack follows.

You hear it before you see anything, before you even have time to turn, and something in you tightens, goes cold, because your body already knows this isn’t something you can ignore, or explain away, or walk past like it didn’t happen.

You follow it. Of course you do. Around the side of the building, where the cameras don’t quite reach, where the walls feel closer, the air thinner you find them. Anton’s fist connects with another student’s face. Once. Twice.

A third time that lands with a sickening finality, and the boy’s nose gives way under it. Blood spills instantly, bright and fast, too much, too sudden. It runs over his lips, his chin, dripping onto the concrete like something being poured out. For a second, you stop.

Not because you want to. Because something inside you hesitates, some instinct whispering that stepping in doesn’t end this. It changes it. Then you run towards them anyway.

“Stop!”

You grab him, your hand closing at his collar, your other pushing hard enough to break his rhythm. He stumbles back, off-balance, hitting the ground with more surprise than pain. It takes him a moment to process what’s happened. That you touched him. That you interrupted him.

You don’t wait. You turn to the student, crouching, your voice urgent. “Are you okay? Can you..” But he’s already moving. Not toward you. Away. He scrambles to his feet, blood still pouring, eyes wide but not with relief. With fear. “Wait!” you call after him.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even look back. And that’s when your breath catches. Your hair jerks violently backward. A sharp, blinding pull that snaps your head up, your spine following, your breath catching somewhere between shock and pain. Fingers tangled deep, unrelenting, dragging you into position like something being arranged.

You gasp, your hands instinctively reaching up, but he’s already there. Behind you. Your neck strains as he forces your head back, your line of sight tilting until all you can see is him. Anton. His face inches from yours, his grip tight. His expression has shifted now, no softness, no amusement. Something irritated.

“It was cute,” he says, voice low, almost thoughtful. “But now it’s getting on my fucking nerves.” The words land slowly, each one deliberate. Like you’ve crossed into something that belongs to him. You don’t think. You react.

Your elbow drives back into his chest with everything you have. It connects to something solid enough to make him loosen his grip, just enough for you to tear yourself free. You stumble forward, spinning to face him, your pulse roaring in your ears.

“Don’t touch me,” you snap, your voice shaking despite you forcing it steady. “Put your hands on me or another student again and I’ll report you.”

For a second. Nothing. Then he laughs. Not a nervous one, it was entertained. “I’d like to see you try,” he says. There’s something in the way he says it that sinks deep, heavy, like a weight pressing into your chest.

“Don’t forget,” he continues, stepping closer again “my dad is the fucking dean.” The words feel like a door closing. “I could get your fucking smart ass fired.” You hold your ground. Barely. Because now you understand something you didn’t fully grasp before this isn’t bluff. This isn’t arrogance.

This is a system that bends around him.

He brushes past you, his shoulder knocking into yours hard enough to unbalance you, deliberate enough that you feel it long after he’s gone. You turn, watching him walk away, his pace unhurried, like there’s nothing in this world that can touch him. No consequences. No fear. Just control.

The space he leaves behind feels wrong. Disturbed. Like something’s been taken out of it and something else left in its place. You stand there, your scalp still aching, your breath uneven, your hands trembling despite how hard you try to steady them.

“Fucking asshole,” you mutter under your breath, the words small, thin, disappearing into the empty air around you.

Your hand felt heavy knocking on the dean’s office door “Come in.” His voice had sounded warm from the other side. It doesn’t feel warm now. “Ah,” Mr. Lee says as you step fully inside. “There you are.”

The office smells faintly of polish and something older underneath, something stale that doesn’t belong in a place this pristine.

He smiles like this is expected. Like you were always going to end up here, sitting across from him, the door at your back, the handle just out of your line of sight. “Good evening,” you manage. “Sit,” he says.

You do.

Because that’s what you’ve been doing since you arrived following instructions, trusting structure, believing there’s something solid beneath all of this. The chair feels too low. Or maybe he’s just sitting too high. It’s hard to tell.

You fold your hands together in your lap to stop them from moving. Your mind runs through the words you practiced, the careful phrasing, the professionalism, the facts. But now that you’re here. They don’t come out right.

“I just… wanted to talk about Anton.” There’s a pause. Mr. Lee leans forward slightly, his expression attentive, almost concerned. It’s convincing. “Oh?” he says. “Is something wrong?” For a second, you almost believe he doesn’t know.

“It’s just that I’ve noticed him… bullying some of his classmates.” The word hangs there. Ugly. Heavy. And he laughs. Softly. Briefly. Like you’ve misunderstood something simple.

“Oh, I wouldn’t call that bullying,” he says, leaning back now, relaxed again. “Just a couple of students having a disagreement. Nothing too bad.” Your stomach drops. “No, sir,” you say quickly, the words pushing out before you can stop them. “He was..”

“You’re new here.” It cuts through you cleanly. You stop speaking. Because something in the way he said it tells you that finishing that sentence would be a mistake. “This is normal,” he continues, his tone even, almost bored now. “You should stay out of it. Let them work it out among themselves.” Normal. The word echoes, wrong in your ears, like something distorted. “But sir”

“Listen.”

This time it’s sharper. Not raised, but heavier. It lands with weight. He leans forward again, and now you see it, what was hidden beneath the politeness, beneath the professionalism. “Unless you don’t want to work here again,” he says quietly, “I suggest you stay out of it.”

Your chest tightens. “There are… dynamics at this school you don’t yet understand.” Each word is chosen carefully. “And it would be wise not to involve yourself in matters that don’t concern you.” But it does concern you. That’s what sits, choking, just beneath your tongue.

You open your mouth and close it again. Because suddenly, you understand something you didn’t before. This isn’t a report. This isn’t a conversation. This is a warning. You sit there, staring at him, the silence stretching too long, your thoughts scrambling for something to hold onto.

There’s nothing. No support. No authority. Nothing. Just him. Watching you. “Okay,” you hear yourself say. Your voice doesn’t sound like yours. “Sir.” His smile returns. Like a switch being flipped. “Good,” he says lightly. “Enjoy your weekend.” Weekend.

The word feels absurd now. Meaningless. You stand too quickly, the chair scraping softly behind you. The sound makes you flinch, and you hate that it does. You turn toward the door, your fingers closing around the handle. 

The hallway outside feels colder, wider. You walk faster than you mean to, your footsteps uneven, your mind replaying everything, every word, every look. By the time you reach your car, your hands are shaking. You sit inside, staring straight ahead, the engine still off, the silence pressing in around you.

And it hits you. Slow. Heavy. You can’t report him because the person you were supposed to go to, The person who was supposed to stop this is part of it. Your grip tightens on the steering wheel.

You thought this place was structured. Safe but now it feels like something else entirely. And as you sit there, alone in the fading light, one thought settles in, quiet and suffocating, you didn’t just fail to report him. You just told the wrong person everything.

The clock on your nightstand reads 9pm when the smash comes from your living room, like something heavy and alive just shattered against your floorboards. You stop dead. 

Your feet hit the cold carpet before your brain catches up. Heart slamming against your ribs. Breath shallow. You creep toward your bedroom door because what else can you do? There’s no back exit from this room, just that thin slab of painted wood between you and whatever is breathing on the other side. You press your ear to the grain. Listening. Nothing.

Then the door explodes inward.

The impact lifts you off your feet. One second you’re standing, the next you’re airborne, then you’re skidding across the floor on your side, your temple cracking against the hardwood with a sound, you feel more than hear. The world tilts. Spins. Warmth trickles down the side of your face, into your hair, pooling in the hollow of your ear. Blood. You know it’s blood because you taste metal at the back of your throat.

A hand closes around your ankle.

You’re being dragged backward like a carcass being pulled from a road. He flips you onto your back with one rough shove, and the ceiling light blooms above you like a white, staring eye.

Anton.

His face swims into focus. That sharp jaw. Those pale, empty eyes that never quite looked at you like you were human. He’s smiling.

“Get off me,” you snarl, and you mean it. Your hand connects with his face a backhand that snaps his head to the side. Then your foot finds his stomach, and you feel something give beneath your heel. He flies backward, hits the bedroom door frame with a grunt, and you’re up. Moving. Jumping over his crumpled body like a hurdle. You make it three steps into the hallway before the kick comes.

His boot connects with your shin; the bone-deep pain is instant, nauseating and your body folds sideways into the wall. Plaster cracks under your shoulder. You try to push off, to run, but his hands are in your hair now, fistfuls of it, and he uses your own skull as a hammer against the wall. Once. Twice. Your vision fractures.

Then he’s dragging you again this time by the hair, your heels scraping uselessly against the floorboards, through the hallway, into the living room. He doesn’t stop. He throws you. You clear the coffee table like a rag doll and land in a heap on the other side, ribs screaming, lungs empty. “Fuck,” you gasp. The word barely makes a sound.

“You just had to mind your fucking business.” His voice is eerily calm. Conversational, almost. He walks toward you slowly, like he has all night. You try to crawl. Your arms are shaking. He grabs a fistful of your hair again not to drag this time, but to lift. He hauls you up until you’re kneeling, then standing on your toes, your scalp screaming, your neck bent at a brutal angle. His other hand cracks across your face. Your lip splits open.

Then his fingers close around your chin. He tilts your face toward his, and his eyes roam over you like he’s reading a menu. There’s nothing behind those eyes. No anger. No hate. Just the flat, curious hunger. “But no,” he whispers, thumb pressing into your bruised cheek. “You had to tattletale to my dad.”

“Please stop.” Your voice comes out tiny. A child’s voice. The voice of a woman who has just realized that no one is coming. “Please.” He tilts his head. His mouth curls. “Please,” he mimics, high and sweet and mocking. Then he laughs, his head thrown back, throat exposed, a raw, jagged sound that bounces off your walls like shattered glass.

When he looks at you again, the smile is gone. “Fucking headache,” he says, like he’s disappointed in you. Like you’ve ruined his evening. And then he kicks you again. This time, you hear your ribs crack before you feel them. The pain comes a second later a white-hot flood that fills your chest, your throat, your mouth. You curl inward, hands clutching at nothing, gasping for air that won’t come.

He crouches beside you. His breath smells like coffee and something rotten. “Don’t worry,” he says softly, and his hand comes down to stroke your hair with grotesque tenderness. “We’re just getting started.”

The clock is still ticking somewhere. You can hear it between the wet sounds, between your own ragged breaths, between the thud of your heart trying to punch its way out of your chest. You feel his finger first. Tracing your side. Light. Almost teasing. The pad of his fingertip drags along your ribs, slow, deliberate, and something inside you snaps. 

Your leg draws back. Your foot connects with his face.

There's a crunch and then blood. Not yours this time. His. It gushes from his nose in a dark cascade, flooding down over his lips, his chin, dripping onto the floor in hot, fat splatters. He reels back, hands flying to his face, and for one brief, glorious second, you think you've won. He looks at his palms. Red. Glossy. His own blood. And then his face changes.

It doesn't twist with rage. Doesn't contort with pain. It goes dark like someone snuffed out a light behind his eyes. The shadows in the corners of the room seem to crawl toward him, pooling under his skin, sucking the last traces of humanity from his features. He's not a man anymore. He's something else. He reaches for you.

You're flipped onto your stomach before you can breathe. Your cheek smashes against the floor. Your nightshirt rides up, you feel the cold air on your lower back, then your underwear being yanked down, past your hips, past your thighs, snagging at your knees.

"No," you gasp. "No, no, no!"

But his weight drops onto you. All of it. His chest against your spine, his hips against yours, and then the push, the brutal, invasive, splitting push and you scream. A raw, guttural sound that tears out of your throat like something dying. Because you are dying. Something inside you is tearing. You can feel it, the wrongness, the stretch, the way your body is trying to reject him but can't, can't, can't because he's too heavy and too strong.

"Fuck, you're tight." His lips brush against your ear. His blood drips onto your neck. "Loosen up a bit." Loosen up. As if your body belongs to him. As if your pain is an inconvenience. "Get the fuck off me!" You scream it so loud your throat shreds. You try to buck, to throw him, to do anything but his arm is around your neck now, forearm pressing into your windpipe, and your voice cuts out like a snapped wire.

You can't breathe.

You try to claw at his arm, but your hands are pinned beneath you, trapped by your own weight and his. Your fingers scrabble uselessly against the floor. Your vision spots. Your lungs burn.

"This is what you deserve," he whispers, and you feel his smile against your neck. He's moaning now, low guttural, almost lazy like he's enjoying a cigarette. "To be fucked like a dirty fucking whore." He laughs. The sound vibrates through your back, through your ribs, through the place where he's splitting you open.

And then he rises up. Just slightly. Just enough for his weight to lift off your spine and you lunge. Desperate. Frenzied. You almost make it. But his hands catch yours. Slam them down. Pin them at the small of your back with one palm, and you're immobilized again, face-down, helpless, as he drives into you harder now, faster, chasing something you will never understand.

"I'm gonna cum."

You shake your head. No. No no no no no. The word dies in your throat.

"I don't fucking care, bitch."

He laughs again and then his hips stutter, and you feel it. That hot, flooding realization. The way your body becomes a vessel for something you never consented to. The way every muscle in you goes slack, not in relief but in surrender. In defeat.

The fight leaves you like a ghost abandoning a body. He pulls out. You feel every inch of it, the wreckage he leaves behind. A wet sound. A cold rush. "Fuck," he breathes, almost satisfied. Almost bored now.

You lie there. Your nightshirt still bunched around your ribs. Your underwear around your knees. Your face pressed into the floor where a smear of your own blood has dried. He stands. Zips his jeans. Wipes his nose with the back of his hand.

"Try to report this one," he says, and his voice is light. Pleasant, even. Like he's reminding you of a trivial task. The front door clicks shut. You don't move. The clock ticks. And in the silence, you realize the worst part isn't what he did. The worst part is the tiny, whispering voice in the back of your head that sounds just like him.

No one will believe you.

No one is coming.

You let this happen.

You lie there until the shadows shift, until the blood on your neck dries stiff and cracking, until the only thing left in the room is the smell of him and the sound of your own breathing, shallow, broken, and utterly alone.

“Hey,” Sungchan said. “I got you something in a red cup…” He wrinkled his nose. “On second thought, it might not be safe to drink.”

“Thanks,” you said, wiping your nose with your denim jacket.

He sat down next to you. “Y/n. Are you alright?”

“Just tired.” You grabbed his hand. "Let's get out of here. Let's go to a movie, let's go home, let's just drive!”

Sungchan laughed. “But the party's just getting started.”

“I'm sick of these people,” you said quietly.

“They're our friends!” Sungchan said, frowning.

You looked at him, hard. Then you leaned in and kissed him. You captured his soft bottom lip between yours, your hand scrunching up his jacket. The throbbing in your head finally went quiet. All your senses went black, your world shrinking to the sweetness of his mouth. For a second, he kissed you back, grabbing you in return.

You kissed him again, harder this time, your tongue nestling between his lips. You pushed him down onto the plush bed; his large hands held your waist as you went down.

He let go, allowing you to push his jacket off his shoulders.

You climbed up his body so you were hovering over him. You kissed down his long, muscular neck, sucking the hot, trembling muscle. Sungchan smelled of beer, tangy sweat, and something lighter, maybe his citrus perfume.

“Baby,” he said, craning to look down at you. “Talk to me.”

“I don't want to talk,” you said.

With a desperate desire, you hiked up your skirt and began grinding over his bulge, the fabric of your panties chafing his jeans.

Sungchan moaned, grabbing fistfuls of your skirt, bucking his hips up to meet you. You felt his hardness pressing against your core.

Your fingers moved rapidly to undo his belt and unzip his jeans.

“Wait,” Sungchan said. “Y/n, what is this?”

“What?” you said, cupping him through the thin fabric of his boxers, making him shiver.

“What's gotten into you? We're at a party! Anyone could come in that door!” he said.

“Everyone does it at parties. That's what bedrooms are for,” you bit back.

You pulled his pants down and revealed his quivering dick. It was surprisingly long and dark, nestled in his lower hair. It twitched when you began stroking it with one hand.

Sungchan groaned. “Y/n… you’ve never touched me there before.”

You leaned into him and sucked the soft skin under his jaw. “How does it feel?”

Sungchan’s hips bucked up a little into your fist. Fast breaths left his nose. His eyelashes were fluttering fast. He did not reply.

While you stroked him, you reached into your bag and pulled out the small blue square - the condom you’d got from your school nurse.

You pressed it into Sungchan’s palm and stared deep into his eyes.

He looked down at it, biting his lip. His cock pulsed in your hand.

“I can do it. I can do anything for you. I love you,” he whispered. “Just tell me why we’re doing this now.”

You shook your head. “Sungchan… I just really don’t wanna talk right now.”

After a long pause, he nodded. He carefully slid the condom out of the wrapper, flipped it and pressed it to the head of his cock.

When he rolled it down, he shivered a little at the feeling.

You pushed him back down onto the soft bed, and kicked off your underwear.

Squeezing his member in your hand, you kissed up and down his throat and onto his lips. Sungchan’s face looked even sweeter when he was lying on his back. His eyes seemed bigger, his hair crazier as it splayed out on the bed.

You shifted so you could put his dick inside you.

“Y/n” he said, stopping you with a hand on your waist. “Wait. Can you just tell me you love me?”

You looked at the black window past his shoulder, unable to meet his eye. Although you loved Sungchan, you couldn’t say it to him now.

How could you be the girlfriend who loved him when your world was falling apart?

How could you feel anything towards him except jealousy?

How did you deserve to love him when you were a failure?

You sank down onto his cock, wincing at the burn as he stretched you out. Sungchan grasped your waist harder and sighed.

As you grinded slowly up and down, you could hear Sungchan’s panting breaths in your ear. However, you could barely focus on him. Sungchan’s penis made the space between your legs feel full, but that was where the feeling ended. You were still hollow inside.

The closer you got to Sungchan’s warm, sweating body, the more distant he felt.

“Baby,” you heard him say. “Tell me you love me. Please.”

The sound drained from your ears, replaced by a faint ringing noise. It was like Sungchan was speaking at the end of a long tunnel. He looked so small, so distant.

You shook yourself out of your daze and kissed him hard on the lips, again and again. You bounced your hips faster. You couldn’t tell him you loved him, but you could make the sex good for him.

Sungchan grunted softly. He lay his head back on the bed and closed his eyes, as if he was going to sleep. His hips jerked up as you moved, shadowing yours.

“Are you close?” you said in what you hoped was a sexy whisper - or at least a happy one.

“Yep,” Sungchan said, not opening his eyes. His chest rose and fell as he panted.

You bent down, stroking his cheek, and kissed him. His mouth followed yours, cold and slow, almost as if his lips were numb.

You bounced on him again, and then his fingers dug into your butt, hard.

With his black eyes fixed on the ceiling, and his pink lips screwed up tight, Sungchan let out a low groan, and came.

His hips jutted up into yours. You felt a sudden heat inside you as he filled the condom.

Sungchan lay beneath you, his softening cock still inside your cunt. He rubbed his face slowly with his hands.

Neither of you spoke for a while. You didn’t have anything to say.

“How was that?” you said finally.

Sungchan brought his hands down, stroking your lower back. “It was good. It was fine,” he said, trying to smile. “Now will you tell me what got you so upset?”

He touched the tear tracks on your cheek. He was so gentle. You felt a wave of grief roll up in your chest, and it took everything in you not to burst into tears, and lay it all on him, all of your fears, your guilt.

You wanted to rely on Sungchan, but you couldn’t. It was simply too cruel. You knew that he would switch to whatever college you went to, or he would forever feel terrible for getting in.

He deserved so much better than that. He deserved better than you.

You pulled yourself off him, gritting your teeth in pain as his penis dragged out of your dry vagina.

As you walked to the door, you heard him get up off the bed and scramble to put his jeans on.

“Wait. Y/n,” he said softly. “You’ll call me right? When you calm down?”

As you walked down the hallway, you did not answer him. Honestly, you did not know if you would ever be able to call him again.

And in that moment, you loved Sungchan too much to lie.

"Y/n?" Sungchan said, from behind you. His voice was cold, as if he knew he would never see you again. "That wasn't how it was meant to go. Not for my first time."

—

Riize Masterlist ⭐️

MAIN MASTERLIST

Anton Lee had a way of filling a hallway without trying.

Broad shoulders, easy stride, head slightly bowed like he wanted less attention when his body demanded more of it. He never said much, his voice quiet whenever someone tried to drag him into conversation. But his silence was never awkward. It was steady. Watchful.

Nayeon noticed him before she realized she was noticing.

The first time was at the campus gym pool— her friends had dragged her to cheer for the swim team. She didn’t care for sports, not really, but she carried her camera anyway, out of habit. It gave her hands something to do. Through the lens she caught flashes of him: slicing through water, chest and arms flexing as he pulled himself out of the pool, wet hair dripping into dark eyes.

Too handsome. Too untouchable.

She pretended not to look. She told herself she wasn’t interested. She had no business being interested.

But then came the small crossings.

Passing him in the library stairwell. Seeing him sit outside the lecture hall she was leaving. Once, standing in line at the café and catching him glance at her camera strap dangling at her wrist. Their eyes brushed for half a second before she looked away so fast she nearly bumped into the person ahead of her.

She was always the one to turn away first. Always.

What she didn’t know was that Anton remembered her.

Not in the obvious way— no, he didn’t stare, didn’t smile like the other guys on the team who threw winks at any girl in sight.

He only… took note. Observed.

The quiet girl from the photography club, always dragged into places by her friends. Always polite, always nodding along, but her eyes told a different story.

Reserved. Careful.

And maybe, just maybe, she lingered on him a little longer than she meant to.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

The party wasn’t Nayeon’s idea. It never was.

Her friends thrived in crowded houses where music pulsed through the floorboards, where drinks sloshed in red cups and laughter spilled too loud. She, on the other hand, clung to the edges, cup half-full, smiling when she had to.

She spotted Anton almost instantly.

He leaned against the far wall, beer in hand, looking completely out of place yet somehow magnetic in the chaos. He wasn’t talking much, just listening to his teammates banter, nodding occasionally.

But she caught it again— that moment when his gaze swept across the room and landed on her.

Brief. Steady.

Enough to make her heart stumble.

And then someone shouted.

“Truth or Dare!”

Of course.

Nayeon was pulled into the circle before she could protest, knees pressed awkwardly against the carpet, her friends giggling beside her. Anton, to her horror and thrill, was dragged in too.

The dares started harmless.

Chug your drink. Text your ex. Dance on the table.

The crowd loved it, the room echoing with cheers.

Then it was Anton’s turn.

“Truth or dare, Anton?” one of his teammates grinned, clearly eager to put him on the spot.

Anton’s lips curved faintly. “Truth.”

Booing followed, but the question came quick.

“How many girls on campus have you kissed?”

Nayeon nearly choked on her drink.

Anton didn’t flinch. “None.”

The circle erupted. “Bullshit!” “Liar!”

He only shrugged, calm as ever. “Why would I lie?”

Nayeon’s cheeks burned. She kept her eyes on the floor, but something in her chest throbbed at the thought. None.

The game rolled on. More dares, more laughter. Until someone’s grin turned sharp and the words landed like a bomb.

“Nayeon. Truth or dare?”

Her throat tightened. “...Dare.”

“Easy. Kiss Anton.”

The room exploded into cheers, stomping feet, whistles. Nayeon froze, wide-eyed, heat climbing her face. She looked at him without meaning to. Anton sat across from her, relaxed, gaze steady. Waiting.

Her friends nudged her. “Go on!”

Her pulse roared in her ears. People-pleaser that she was, she leaned forward, intending to make it quick, just a brush to silence the crowd. Her lips grazed his, feather-light—

And then his hand caught her wrist.

Her breath snagged as Anton tugged her back, not rough but sure. His mouth pressed to hers again, slower this time, deliberate.

A real kiss, deep enough for silence to fall before the circle erupted louder than ever.

When he pulled back, Nayeon’s face was on fire. Anton’s expression hadn’t changed much— calm, unreadable, but his eyes on her were heavy.

The game rolled on, but she barely heard it. Her lips still tingled.

And then the bottle spun.

It clattered to a stop, the neck pointing straight between them.

The crowd howled. “Seven minutes in heaven!”

Before she could protest, hands pushed them both toward the nearest closet.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

The closet door slammed, and the lock clicked shut.

Darkness pressed in, hot and heavy, with only the muffled bass of the party seeping through the walls.

Nayeon leaned back against the wall, trying to sound casual even as her pulse pounded in her throat.

“This is stupid. We can just… wait it out.”

Anton’s voice was low, steady, far too close in the dark. “You don’t actually want to wait.”

Her chest tightened. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because you kissed me back.”

She opened her mouth, but before she could answer, Anton closed the distance.

His lips crashed against hers, firm and hungry, swallowing whatever excuse she might have had. He kissed her like he’d been holding back for years, tongue slipping between her lips, hand cupping her jaw to tilt her head just right.

Her body reacted before her brain caught up, knees weak, fingers clawing at his shirt. He pressed her against the wall, his solid chest pinning her in place. She gasped into his mouth when his thigh nudged between hers, the hard muscle rubbing against the ache building between her legs.

“Anton—” she breathed, but it came out more like a moan.

He groaned at the sound, kissing down her jaw, biting lightly at her throat until she whimpered.

“Fuck, you sound good.” His hands skimmed down her body, over the swell of her breasts, squeezing until her back arched into him.

Then lower.

His fingers slid up her skirt, brushing against the heat of her panties. He felt the dampness immediately and chuckled, low and rough.

“Already soaked,” he murmured against her ear. “You’ve been wanting this too, haven’t you?”

She shook her head instinctively, but the whimper that escaped her lips betrayed her. “I—I don’t—”

“Don’t lie to me, Nayeon.” His fingers pushed her panties aside, stroking her folds with slow, deliberate pressure. She gasped, clutching at his shoulders. “Say it.”

Her chest heaved, shame and need twisting together.

“Yes,” she whispered. “For you.”

That was all he needed. He shoved two fingers inside her, filling her tight heat in one smooth thrust. Her cry echoed in the small space, hips bucking against his hand.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growled, pumping his fingers deep, curling them until she trembled. “Clenching around me already. You gonna cum just from this?”

Her head dropped back against the wall, thighs shaking, the wet slap of his fingers working her filling the air. Her moans tumbled out helplessly, each one swallowed by his mouth as he kissed her again, rough and messy.

“Anton—oh god, don’t stop—”

“That’s it, good girl.” His thumb found her clit, circling fast, relentless. Her whole body jerked, pleasure tearing through her as she came hard around his fingers, crying out his name.

He didn’t give her a chance to breathe.

The sound of his zipper filled the dark, and then he grabbed her hand, guiding it down to wrap around his cock.

Thick. Heavy.

Her breath hitched as her fingers curled around him, stroking clumsily.

“Stroke me,” he ordered, his forehead pressed against hers, eyes burning even in the shadows.

“Or I’ll fuck you against this wall so hard they’ll all hear.”

Her thighs squeezed together, her pussy still pulsing from her orgasm. She pumped him faster, feeling the hot slickness at his tip. He groaned, low and guttural, gripping her hips like he was holding back with effort.

Then he snapped.

In one motion, he lifted her, her legs wrapping around his waist. His cock pressed against her entrance, sliding through the wetness before pushing inside. Her scream tore out, muffled by his mouth as he swallowed it with a kiss.

“Fuck—” Anton hissed, slamming into her until he was buried to the hilt. “You’re so tight—taking me so fucking well—”

Nayeon clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, the stretch burning and perfect. Every thrust drove her higher up the wall, his hips snapping into her with raw, desperate force.

The closet filled with filthy sounds, the slap of skin against skin, the wet squelch of her pussy gripping him, their gasps and moans tangled together.

“Anton— f-fuck— so deep—” she sobbed, her head rolling back against the wall.

He growled against her neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. “You feel that? That’s me inside you. All of me.”

His pace was brutal, fucking her into the wall, every thrust hitting that spot that made her scream. Her moans grew louder, shameless, until she was shaking in his arms.

“I’m—oh god—I’m gonna—”

“Cum for me,” he demanded, driving into her harder. “Cum on my cock, Nayeon. Let me feel you.”

Her whole body seized, walls clenching around him as she shattered with a scream, wetness gushing down her thighs. He groaned, fucking her through it, his thrusts growing ragged.

“Shit— I'm gonna cum—” he snarled, hips pounding into her until he finally buried himself deep, spilling hot inside her with a guttural moan. His whole body trembled against hers, forehead pressed to hers, both of them gasping for air.

They stayed like that, tangled and ruined, sweat dripping, cum leaking down her thighs. The music outside roared on, muffled but distant.

And the door never opened.

Their friends knew.

They knew the seven minutes had long passed, but no one interrupted. They left them in their own dark heaven, moaning and shaking until neither could move.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

The party felt like a blur the next morning. At least, that’s what Nayeon told herself.

She told herself that as she sat through lectures, eyes fixed on her notes. She told herself that as her friends whispered and giggled about the “legendary” closet session, their eyes flicking knowingly in her direction.

And she told herself that every time she caught sight of Anton.

Because he was everywhere now.

In the cafeteria line. On the quad, sitting with his teammates. Passing her in the library, his dark eyes locking on her for just a second too long before she ducked her head and pretended to be busy.

She hadn’t forgotten.

How could she? Her body still remembered the ache of him, the bruises his mouth had left, the way his voice had growled her name like it belonged to him.

But she had to forget. Or at least pretend. Because facing it meant… what, exactly? That she’d fucked Anton Lee in a closet while half the party laughed outside? That she’d begged him to make her cum, and he had?

No. Better to smile politely, to keep her head down, to let it fade into the fog of alcohol and dares.

For a while, Anton let her.

He didn’t push. He didn’t speak up in public. He only watched, his expression calm, unreadable, the way it always was.

But beneath it, frustration simmered.

He remembered everything— the way she’d moaned against his mouth, how tightly she’d clung to him, the way her body had come undone for him. And now she walked past him like he was just another face on campus.

Like nothing happened.

By the end of the week, he’d had enough.

The photography lab was nearly empty when Nayeon slipped inside, camera bag slung over her shoulder. She liked it that way— the quiet hum of the enlarger, the faint chemical tang of developer trays.

Safe. Familiar.

Until the door shut behind her.

She froze. Slowly turned.

Anton stood there, broad shoulders filling the doorway, eyes locked on her with a calm intensity that made her stomach flip.

“...What are you doing here?” she asked, voice too light, too forced.

His expression didn’t change. “Looking for you.”

Her heart thudded. “Why?”

“You know why.”

She swallowed, forcing a laugh. “If this is about the party—”

“It is.” He stepped closer, the darkroom light catching the sharp lines of his face. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t—”

“Yes, you have.” His tone stayed quiet, but the edge in it cut deep. “You won’t even look at me.”

She turned away, fiddling with her camera strap. “There’s nothing to look at. We were drunk. Things got… messy. That’s all.”

Silence. Heavy.

Then his footsteps crossed the room, steady and slow until he was right behind her.

“Nayeon.” His voice was lower now, softer but dangerous. “Don’t lie to me.”

Her hands trembled against the camera. “I don’t remember, Anton. Whatever you think happened, it was just—”

He caught her wrist, gentle but unyielding, spinning her to face him. His eyes burned into hers, dark and furious and aching all at once.

“You don’t remember screaming my name while you came around my cock?” he asked, voice harsh in the quiet.

Her breath caught, her face going scarlet. “Anton—”

“You don’t remember begging me not to stop?” He stepped closer, his chest brushing hers now. “Don’t stand here and tell me it was just the alcohol. You were sober enough to feel every second of it.”

Her knees went weak, back pressing against the edge of the counter as he crowded her space.

She couldn’t look away. Couldn’t breathe.

Because he was right. And he knew it.

The silence between them stretched, thick and choking.

Anton’s hand still circled Nayeon’s wrist, his grip firm but never cruel. He could feel the quick flutter of her pulse beneath his fingers.

She yanked lightly, testing, but he didn’t let go.

“Anton,” she whispered, flustered, “you’re… you’re remembering it wrong.”

His eyes narrowed. “Am I?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. If she admitted it, if she let the words spill, then there would be no going back. Pretending would no longer be an option. And wasn’t pretending safer? Cleaner?

“You’re making it sound like—”

“Like what?” he cut in, voice low. “Like it mattered?”

Her breath caught. His eyes searched hers, sharp and searching, as if he could drag the truth out of her throat by sheer will.

And maybe he could, if he pushed harder.

But then, slowly, he exhaled. Released her wrist. Stepped back.

Nayeon nearly stumbled at the sudden freedom, the absence of his heat.

He raked a hand through his damp hair, jaw tight, expression hard to read. “Fine. Pretend it didn’t happen. If that’s what you need.”

Her chest squeezed. His voice wasn’t angry, not exactly— it was worse. Controlled. Clipped.

Like he was holding back an entire storm.

She tried to gather herself, forcing the words out. “It didn’t.”

His eyes flicked back to hers, pinning her in place. “You really believe that?”

Nayeon faltered, her throat dry. She looked away, fumbling with the strap of her bag like it could anchor her. “I have to go. I’m late.”

And just like that, she brushed past him, heart hammering against her ribs.

Anton didn’t stop her. He only watched, silent, his expression unreadable as the door shut behind her.

But after that, avoiding him wasn’t so easy.

He was everywhere. Passing her in the halls. Standing in line at the café. Leaning against the railing outside the library when she left late at night. Always calm, always composed— but his eyes never left her.

Not accusing, not demanding. Just waiting.

It made her skin prickle, her stomach knot. Because every time she told herself it had been the alcohol, every time she forced herself to believe the excuse, his steady gaze seemed to strip the lie bare.

And deep down, she hated how much a part of her wanted him to call her bluff.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

The annual campus festival was noisy, colorful, crowded— the exact kind of place Nayeon usually hated. But as part of the photography club, she had no choice but to be there, camera in hand, weaving through throngs of students to capture snapshots for the club’s display.

She’d told herself it would be fine. Big crowd, plenty of distraction. Easy to avoid him.

Until she spotted the swimming team’s booth across the courtyard.

Anton.

Tall, broad-shouldered, unmistakable even among his teammates. He wore the club’s team shirt, sleeves stretched tight over his arms, posture easy as he leaned against the table. He wasn’t doing anything extraordinary, just existing— but even from a distance, her lens lingered on him longer than it should.

Her chest tightened. She quickly turned her camera elsewhere, snapping photos of balloons and food stalls, anything but him.

But her eyes betrayed her, flicking back again and again.

And then she saw it.

One of the swimmers— tall, pretty, with glossy hair pulled into a high ponytail, drifted close to him. Too close.

She touched his arm as she laughed, fingers curling lightly against the curve of his bicep. Anton tilted his head, listening, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

Something ugly twisted in Nayeon’s chest.

She froze, her camera half-lifted, lens still pointed at them.

Jealousy.

The realization hit like a stone in her stomach.

Hot, bitter, irrational.

She had no right, none at all, and yet the sight of someone else leaning into him, touching him, made her blood run hot.

Her hands tightened around the camera.

Stupid. This was stupid. They weren’t anything. What happened in that closet didn’t mean anything. She’d decided that. She needed it to mean nothing.

So why did she want to march over there and rip the girl’s hand off him?

She sucked in a shaky breath, spun on her heel, and disappeared into the crowd.

For the rest of the day, she threw herself into work, snapping photos with ruthless focus, refusing to glance toward the swimmers’ booth again. When one of her friends called her to join for snacks, she made excuses. When another tried to drag her to watch the stage performance, she slipped away.

Anything to keep distance.

Anything to bury the jealousy clawing at her throat.

But later, when she ducked behind the library building to catch her breath, she felt it again— that heavy, piercing weight.

She didn’t have to look to know.

Anton was watching her.

Across the courtyard, leaning casually against a lamppost, his eyes fixed on her like she was the only person there. No accusation, no anger. Just steady, quiet focus.

Nayeon’s stomach knotted, heat flooding her chest. She tore her gaze away, shoving her camera into her bag, and walked off quickly.

This time, she didn’t just avoid him. She ran.

Avoidance became Nayeon’s full-time job.

If Anton entered a room, she left. If he lingered in the hallway, she ducked into the nearest classroom. If their paths crossed by accident, she kept her gaze fixed firmly on the ground, pretending she didn’t feel the weight of his eyes on her.

It was exhausting.

Worse, it didn’t work.

Because no matter how far she ran, he was there. Quiet. Unshakable. Watching.

Not chasing, not cornering her again. Just existing where she could see him— like a shadow she couldn’t shake.

And that made it worse.

At night, lying in bed, she replayed the image of that girl’s hand sliding over his arm. The way he’d tilted his head, the faint smile tugging at his lips. The picture looped in her head until her chest ached.

He can smile like that at her, but not at me.

Her fists clenched in the sheets. Good. That’s good. I don’t want him to. I don’t care.

But her body betrayed her, warmth pooling low in her stomach as memories of the closet bled through— his mouth on her throat, his hand between her thighs, the way he’d whispered her name like he owned it.

Nayeon buried her face in the pillow and groaned.

Her friends didn’t make it easier.

“Seven minutes in heaven, huh?” one of them teased over lunch, waggling her eyebrows. “More like thirty. What were you even doing in there?”

“Nothing!” Nayeon snapped too quickly, cheeks burning. She fumbled with her chopsticks, almost dropping them. “It was just… the dare. Nothing happened.”

Her friends exchanged knowing looks. “Mmhm. Sure. Totally nothing.”

She wanted to disappear.

By the end of the week, she was unraveling.

Her photos turned sloppy, her sleep was wrecked. Every time she thought she’d found her footing, she’d feel it— that heavy gaze on her back. She’d look up and find him across the library, across the courtyard, across the cafeteria, calm as ever.

Waiting.

It made her furious. It made her restless. It made her want him.

And the more that want festered, the harder she avoided him.

Because if she stopped running, even for a second, she knew the truth would catch her.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

It happened again.

The courtyard was buzzing with festival prep, students hauling boxes and stringing banners. Nayeon had her camera raised, framing shots of the chaos, pretending her pulse wasn’t already climbing just from knowing Anton’s team was stationed nearby.

She told herself she wouldn’t look. Not today. Not again.

But she did.

And there she was— the same girl, ponytail swinging, leaning into him with a laugh that seemed too rehearsed, too sweet. Her hand lingered on his shoulder this time, casual but possessive, fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt like she belonged there.

Anton didn’t push her away.

He didn’t encourage her either, not in any obvious way. Just that faint, polite smile, his usual calm. But it didn’t matter. To Nayeon, it felt like a blade twisting in her gut.

Her throat tightened. Heat flared sharp and ugly in her chest, burning through every excuse she’d clung to.

She spun on her heel, camera clutched too tight in her hand, and fled before she could humiliate herself with the expression on her face.

By the time she stumbled into the empty stairwell of the arts building, her breath was ragged.

This is stupid. This is so stupid.

She pressed her forehead against the cool wall, eyes shut tight. But shutting them only made it worse. Because the moment darkness filled her vision, the memories came rushing back— not hazy, not blurred by alcohol, but sharp and vivid.

Anton’s mouth dragging down her throat. The rasp of his voice in her ear. The heat of his hand shoving her skirt up, fingers sinking into her until she was gasping against his lips.

The way he’d pushed into her, filling her so deep she thought she might break, his grip on her hips bruising and desperate as she clung to him.

Her body shivered, betraying her, the ache of those moments still alive beneath her skin.

She remembered everything. Every second.

And no matter how hard she tried to scrub him from her mind, Anton was there— in her thoughts, in her dreams, in the restless heat that never quite faded no matter how many times she tossed and turned in her sheets at night.

The alcohol hadn’t made her want him.

It had only stripped away the walls she kept building around herself.

Walls that were crumbling now, faster and faster, no matter how she tried to patch them up.

She hated it. She hated him.

And most of all, she hated how badly she wanted him still.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

Nayeon thought she was safe.

The library was quiet at night, nearly empty, the air heavy with the smell of old books. She’d stayed late, burying herself in editing photos, determined to drown out the restless thoughts Anton had left festering in her.

But when she left, slipping into the shadowed corridor, she froze.

Anton leaned against the wall by the exit, as if he’d been waiting all along.

Her stomach dropped. “You—”

“Yeah.” His voice was calm, steady, but his eyes glinted in the dim light. “You’ve been running long enough, Nayeon.”

She tightened her grip on her bag. “I told you. I don’t—”

“You don’t remember?” He pushed off the wall, stepping closer. His sheer height and breadth made the hallway feel smaller. “Funny. Because I do. Every fucking second.”

Her throat went dry.

His mouth curled faintly. “Do you know how many nights I’ve woken up because of you? How many times I’ve come in my sleep, hearing you beg me not to stop?”

Her knees nearly buckled, heat slamming through her body like a punch.

Anton’s voice dropped lower, rougher. “I’ve been dreaming about you, Nayeon. About the way you sound when I’m inside you. About how tight you feel around me. You think you can erase that with silence?”

Her breath hitched, shame and want tangling violently in her chest.

Then he held up his phone. “Give me your number.”

She blinked, startled. “What? No—”

“Or I’ll ask one of your friends,” he said simply, tone maddeningly even. “But you’ll give it to me. You want to.”

Her pulse thundered in her ears. Against every shred of reason, she rattled it off. He tapped it in, eyes never leaving hers, the weight of his smirk unbearable.

Later that night, her phone buzzed.

1 New Message.

[Anton]: don’t ignore me again

Her hands shook.

The next buzz came before she could breathe.

2 New Messages.

[Anton]: been hard ever since i saw you at the festival [Anton]: want to see?

Her chest locked tight.

Another buzz. A photo.

She gasped, heat flooding her face as she fumbled the phone. Anton, sprawled on his bed, shirt rucked up, sweatpants shoved low enough to see his cock straining against the fabric. Hard. Thick. Undeniable.

The caption burned into her vision.

[Anton]: thinking about your mouth on me

Her legs pressed together instinctively, her body betraying her with a sharp, aching throb.

She should delete it. Block him. Anything.

Instead, she stared.

Another buzz.

[Anton]: you’re wet right now, aren’t you?

Her breath shuddered out, guilt and hunger tangling until she could barely think.

And somewhere down the hall, Anton’s low chuckle echoed— because he already knew the answer.

The worst part wasn’t the picture.

It was the waiting after.

Nayeon lay on her bed, phone face-down beside her, chest tight. Every buzz made her jump. Every second she didn’t check it felt like torture.

When she caved and turned it over, the screen lit up.

[Anton]: still thinking about you in that closet [Anton]: the way you clenched around me when you came. fuck

Her throat worked, dry.

Another buzz.

[Anton]: you ever touch yourself thinking about it? [Anton]: bet you have

Her fingers curled tight around the phone, heat spiking through her veins. She typed a reply— Stop. Don’t text me. Then deleted it. Typed again— You’re disgusting. Then deleted that too.

She tossed the phone aside, burying her face in the pillow.

It buzzed again.

[Anton]: you’re quiet. that means yes [Anton]: good girl

Her body jolted, shame and want twisting deep.

By midnight, she was trembling. Her thighs pressed tight, her sheets tangled, the ache between her legs unbearable. She picked up the phone with shaking hands.

One message blinked, unread.

[Anton]: want me to stop? say it.

Her breath shuddered. Her thumbs hovered.

She typed slowly, against every nerve screaming at her to resist.

[Nayeon]: yes

Send.

The reply came instantly.

[Anton]: liar.

Her chest seized.

Another buzz. Another photo.

This time, his cock in his fist, glistening at the tip, veins thick under his grip.

[Anton]: i’m stroking it for you right now [Anton]: thinking about how you tasted

Her stomach dropped, her pulse hammering between her thighs. Her phone slipped from her hand onto the mattress.

She stared.

Her breath came ragged, shallow, as heat clawed through her chest. Before she could stop herself, she lifted the phone again, flipped the camera to front-facing. Her reflection stared back: flushed cheeks, mussed hair, lips bitten red.

Her thumb trembled. One photo. Send.

The message blinked away, leaving her stomach plummeting.

It wasn’t much— just her face, the look of her flushed and undone. But it was enough. Too much.

The three dots appeared immediately.

[Anton]: pretty [Anton]: bet you’re soaked right now

Her hand shook. She almost dropped the phone again.

Another buzz.

[Anton]: show me.

Her whole body burned, shame and desire pulling her in opposite directions until she thought she might break.

And yet, the phone stayed in her hand.

Waiting.

The phone burned hot in Nayeon’s palm. The last message sat there, mocking her.

Her body ached. Her panties were already damp, her thighs slick where they pressed together. She shouldn’t. She couldn’t. This was the line, the one she swore she’d never cross.

And yet…

Her breath shuddered as she slid her hand down, tugging the waistband of her shorts low. The cold air hit her skin, sharp against the feverish heat between her thighs.

She switched the camera. Lifted it.

For a second, shame stopped her. Her finger hovered.

Then she pressed record.

Just ten seconds. Her fingers spreading herself, glistening. A muffled whimper spilling past her lips.

She hit send before she could stop herself.

The second it left her screen, her stomach dropped.

What did I just do?

She threw the phone down, burying her face in her hands.

But when it buzzed again, she couldn’t resist. She looked.

No text. Just dots. He was typing. Then it stopped.

Another buzz.

Incoming call: Anton.

Her chest seized. She froze, trembling.

The screen glowed. Ringing. Ringing.

Her thumb slid across before she even realized it.

“...Hello?”

His voice hit her like a blow, low and rough, heavy with need. “Fuck, Nayeon.”

Her breath caught.

“You’re killing me,” he rasped. “Do you have any idea what that did to me? Seeing your pretty pussy spread open for me like that?”

Her knees curled up against her chest, her whole body trembling. “Anton—”

“You’re soaked, aren’t you?” His breath hitched, sharp in her ear. “I can hear it in your voice. I bet your fingers are still wet.”

Heat pulsed between her thighs, unbearable. She whimpered.

He groaned low, like he could see her even now. “Touch yourself for me. Right now.”

Her hand slipped between her legs before she could think, slick fingers circling her clit. She bit back a moan, the sound strangled.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice cracking faintly. “Let me hear you.”

Her eyes squeezed shut. Her hips jerked helplessly. The sound of his breath on the line— heavy, ragged, only pushed her higher.

“You think I haven’t been jerking off to the memory of you every night since that closet?” His voice dropped, raw and feverish. “You think I haven’t dreamed about fucking you on my knees, filling you up until you scream for me again?”

Her moan ripped free, loud and broken, her fingers working faster.

He groaned in response, the sound so guttural she swore she could feel it in her bones.

“Good girl,” he growled, breathless. “Cum for me, Nayeon. Cum while I’m listening.”

And with his voice dragging her over the edge, she shattered, gasping his name into the phone as her body clenched and broke around her own fingers.

For a long moment, all Nayeon could hear was her own ragged breathing— quick, shaky, broken by little whimpers as the aftershocks rippled through her.

Then she heard him.

A low, guttural sound. His breath uneven, almost a snarl. “Fuck— Nayeon—”

Her heart slammed against her ribs. She curled tighter on her bed, phone pressed against her ear, every nerve in her body raw.

“Do you— do you even know,” Anton choked, voice breaking, “how hard my cock is right now?”

Her throat worked, dry. She couldn’t speak.

“You drove me insane the second you sent that video,” he went on, voice hoarse, every word jagged with restraint. “I almost— almost came just watching it. You spreading yourself open for me, whimpering like that— fuck, I can’t—”

A wet, rhythmic sound reached her ear. Her body jolted.

Her lips parted, breath catching. He was stroking himself.

Fast. Hard.

Her thighs pressed together again, the oversensitivity sparking into new heat.

“Anton…” Her whisper cracked, pleading without meaning to.

He groaned, sharp and broken, like her voice alone pushed him further. “Don’t— don’t say my name like that— I’ll fucking lose it.”

The pace quickened on the other end of the line, slick and desperate. She could almost see it — his fist pumping up and down his cock, veins standing out, tip flushed and dripping.

Her body burned all over again.

“Tell me—” His voice was ragged, almost desperate. “Tell me you’re still wet for me.”

She swallowed hard, eyes squeezing shut. “I am.”

He cursed low, almost vicious, before sucking in a sharp breath. “Fuck. Do you know what I’d do if you were here right now? I’d bend you over that bed and sink into you raw, make you scream into the pillow so no one else could hear. Fill you up till you couldn’t take anymore.”

Her moan cracked out of her, uncontained.

“That’s it,” he growled, breath tearing out of him. “Don’t stop— let me hear it— let me hear you fall apart for me again.”

The slick sound grew faster, rougher, his breath wild. “God, Nayeon— I’m so close— I’m gonna cum— fuck—”

She clutched the sheets, nails digging deep, her body trembling as if she could feel every snap of his hips against her.

“Say my name,” he demanded, voice raw, breaking.

“Anton—”

That was it.

He groaned so loud she had to bite her lip not to cry out with him. The sound of it— wet, messy, uncontrollable, filled her ear, echoing in her chest. She could hear it, the release, the low curses spilling between his gasps as he stroked himself through his climax.

Finally, silence. Only the two of them breathing, ragged and uneven, connected through the faint crackle of the line.

Then his voice came again, low and wrecked, but with a dangerous edge of a smile.

“Next time,” he murmured, still panting, “you won’t get to hide behind a phone.”

Nayeon shivered, unable to answer, the weight of what just happened crashing down.

And yet… she didn’t hang up.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

Nayeon woke up to the sound of her alarm and the weight of dread pressed down harder than the sunlight streaming across her sheets.

Her phone lay on the pillow beside her, screen black, but she swore she could still hear him in her ear. His groans, his curses, the way he said her name like it belonged to him.

Heat prickled up her neck. She shoved the phone under the pillow like that would erase everything.

But nothing erased it. Not the shower she took— twice. Not the coffee she forced down. Not even the chatter of her friends in class. The memory clung to her like sweat: the way she came with her own fingers while he listened, the slick sound of his fist on his cock, his voice breaking when he finished because of her.

She could still feel it. The way her body tightened just hearing him lose control.

And worse— she wanted it again.

She wanted him again.

Her stomach twisted, a knot of shame and hunger. She avoided her friends’ curious glances, laughed when she had to, nodded at jokes she didn’t hear. Every time her phone buzzed in her bag, she froze.

But she never deleted the messages.

By evening, she gave in and checked.

A single unread text blinked back.

[Anton]: can’t stop thinking about your moans last night

Her breath hitched.

Another followed before she could put the phone down.

[Anton]: you sound even prettier when you’re about to cum

Her pulse hammered so hard it hurt. She set the phone face down on her desk, covering her face with both hands.

“No,” she whispered to herself. “No, no, no.”

But the problem was she remembered.

Every second in the closet. Every word over the phone. Every dirty thing she swore she’d forget, replaying on loop whenever she closed her eyes.

And no matter how much she told herself it was a mistake, her body betrayed her. The ache came back. The heat. The way her thighs pressed together under the desk as if seeking relief.

She hated herself for it.

She hated him more for making it impossible to stop.

And yet, when her phone buzzed again, she reached for it like she’d been waiting all day.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

Days had passed since the phone call.

For Nayeon, time seemed simultaneously endless and impossibly short. Every class, every corridor, every moment between school bells felt suffocating, like the world had shrunk around her own inability to forget Anton’s voice— raw, commanding, shattering.

Even now, she could replay the phone sex perfectly in her mind: the way he’d groaned her name, ragged and needy; the way his voice had tightened when she moaned into the phone; the way he’d come, his gasps vibrating through the line like they were tangible.

Her fingers itched, her thighs burned, but she refused to give in again.

She told herself she was done. That she was in control.

And then she saw her.

The same girl from before— standing by the poolside, leaning close to Anton, laughing too loudly, brushing her fingers against his arm in that casual, intimate way that made Nayeon’s stomach drop.

Time seemed to stop. Her chest tightened, her jaw locked. The ache she had been suppressing for days suddenly burned like fire through her veins.

She wanted to turn away. She wanted to vanish. And so she did.

For the next few days, Nayeon became a ghost around him.

She skipped the photography club meetings where he might appear. She took alternate routes across campus to avoid the pool where his team trained. She ignored texts he sent— some playful, some teasing, some impossible to ignore.

Every avoidance came at a cost. Her thoughts would wander, betraying her:

Do you think he’s thinking about me now?

Does he remember the way I came for him on the phone?

What if he’s touching himself while she’s there?

Her skin flushed with heat and guilt at the mere thought.

Even in class, her attention wandered. She found herself staring at empty seats, imagining him leaning there, voice low, brushing words across her mind as he did over the phone.

When her friends tried to tease her, she snapped. When they asked if she’d texted him back, she evaded.

And every time her phone buzzed, her chest clenched, a mixture of hope and dread tearing her apart.

By the end of the week, her focus on schoolwork had deteriorated.

Photos she once took with careful framing and attention to detail now came out sloppy, haphazard, mirroring the chaos in her mind.

Every time she glimpsed Anton in the hall— tall, broad-shouldered, calm as ever, her stomach knotted. She clenched her bag tighter, blinked rapidly, and turned away.

Even as she tried to convince herself that avoiding him was the answer, a part of her knew it wasn’t. The memory of him— of that night, of the phone call, was embedded in her body, a pulse she couldn’t suppress.

And yet, she ran.

She ran from him, from the jealousy, from the truth that she could no longer deny: she wanted him, needed him, and nothing else mattered.

Across campus, Anton noticed. Always. Patient. Observant. Waiting.

The library was nearly empty, the late afternoon sunlight slanting across the stacks in golden shafts.

Nayeon had tried to convince herself that she could hide here, that she could immerse herself in her photography notes and pretend the world, and Anton didn’t exist.

She failed almost immediately.

He was there, leaning against the doorway, tall and calm, eyes locking on hers the instant he saw her.

Her chest tightened. Her stomach dropped.

She tried to slip between the shelves, to disappear into the shadows, but he moved faster, cutting off her path effortlessly.

“Really?” His voice was quiet, steady, but layered with frustration. “You’ve been avoiding me for days. Days, Nayeon. Care to tell me why?”

She froze, words catching in her throat. “I—”

“You’re jealous, aren’t you?” His tone softened slightly, teasing, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. “I saw the way you looked when she was with me last week. Don’t even try to lie to me.”

Her throat tightened, her fingers curling around her bag strap. “I— it’s nothing. I don’t care.”

He shook his head, stepping closer, a predator calm and sure. “Bullshit. You’re jealous. And the way you’ve been avoiding me proves it.”

Her breath hitched. “I… I don’t know why I—”

“You do,” he cut in, voice low and teasing, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear without touching her face. “You remember every second of what happened. The closet. The call. Every time I made you come. You can deny it all you want, but your body won’t lie. And neither will mine.”

Her pulse thundered. Her legs trembled. Heat pooled low in her stomach. She wanted to run. She wanted to deny. She wanted to scream.

And yet, she stayed.

Anton smirked, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I’m not letting you run anymore, Nayeon. Not now. Not ever. I want you to stop pretending you don’t feel the way you do. I want to hear it from you.”

She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “I… I’m jealous. I… I don’t want anyone else… I want you.”

The corner of his mouth lifted into a satisfied smirk. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I’ve only ever wanted you.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low growl. “And now, I think it’s time you stop running and let me show you exactly how much I want you.”

Her knees nearly buckled. She could feel the tension in the air, the pull of him, and for the first time in days, she didn’t try to escape.

The library was empty except for the two of them, the quiet hum of fluorescent lights the only witness to the storm building between Nayeon and Anton.

She tried to focus on her notes, but her hands shook slightly, the paper slipping under her fingers. Every memory of the phone call— every moan, every desperate whimper into the line, burned in her chest.

Anton leaned closer, his shoulder brushing hers, his presence sharp and overwhelming.

“Stop pretending,” he murmured, low and dangerous, voice vibrating straight through her. “You’ve wanted me from the moment I got on the phone with you. Admit it.”

Her throat went dry. She couldn’t speak.

He smirked, one hand sliding to her wrist, holding it gently but firmly. “Look at me, Nayeon.”

She obeyed, heart hammering, pulse spiking as his dark eyes held hers like they owned her.

Without another word, he tilted her chin, brushing his lips over hers. Soft at first. Testing.

Nayeon froze, then shivered, lips parting instinctively.

His hand slid to her waist, pressing her gently against him. She could feel the heat of his body, the hard line of his chest, the strength in his arms.

Her hands went to his shoulders, clutching him as the kiss deepened. Tongues brushed, mouths moved together with a hunger that had been building since the closet, since the phone call, since the very first moment she realized she couldn’t ignore him.

Anton’s lips trailed down her jaw, her neck, whispering her name in rough, breathless murmurs. “So beautiful… so needy for me…”

Nayeon’s back arched against him, thighs pressing together under the table, trembling as his hand slid under the hem of her skirt. She gasped, breath hitching, body betraying her every attempt to stay composed.

His fingers found her slick folds, sliding inside her carefully, teasing, drawing soft moans from her lips. “God, you’re so wet for me,” he murmured, his mouth pressing against her ear.

She could only shiver, unable to speak, unable to stop the flood of sensation crashing through her. His thumb circled her clit, fingers thrusting inside her, and she moaned freely, loud, messy, entirely unashamed.

Anton’s other hand gripped her waist, steadying her, his own arousal pressing against her thigh. “You feel so good, Nayeon. I’ve waited too long to have you like this again.”

She gasped as his mouth returned to hers, tongue tangling with hers, every kiss a mixture of hunger and control. Her body shuddered, thighs trembling uncontrollably.

“Cum for me,” he whispered harshly, hand working her faster, lips nipping at her jaw and neck. “Let me hear you.”

She cried out his name, her body clenching and breaking around his fingers, waves of pleasure shaking her from head to toe.

Anton groaned against her, lips brushing her ear. “Fuck… yes. So perfect…” His own hips pressed harder, and the sound of him losing himself, close, restrained, made her gasp again.

The table, the empty library, the quiet stacks— none of it mattered. There was only them.

The ache, the heat, the need, and the first messy, perfect reunion of bodies finally giving in to everything they’d been holding back.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

on another note, the riize members have also dubbed anton as the most sensitive member and/or the member who gets upset the most, which in addition to his age, has me wondering about his maturity level / ability to handle conflict. I think he could be someone that has a tendency of saying hurtful things when he’s upset and shrugging off any of the responsibility for it. there was a moment in a riize vlog where anton called sungchan and eunseok lazy for not coming with the rest of the members to eat in chicago (HERE at 22:04). shotaro had brought up that sungchan would probably be upset at him for saying that, but anton doubled down on it anyway. very innocuous moment that shouldn’t be read into too deeply, especially because they were all smiling and laughing + i doubt sungchan would be upset if he even saw it, but still, one might interpret that as an example of anton being unapologetically snide towards others when he feels justified in his convictions. 

SOHEE

i’m gonna bring a little bit of astrology analysis into this one. sohee is technically a scorpio but i personally consider him on the cusp of scorpio and sagittarius since his birthday is on the 21st. a big sagittarius trait in my opinion is being brutally honest to others in a way that comes across as mean, and not really caring about how others react to your honesty because “they should be able to handle the truth,” and/or “they should appreciate that i’m being honest with them.” a big scorpio trait in my opinion is being petty / holding things against people for unreasonable amounts of time. i sometimes see these traits in sohee, especially the brutally honest piece. in a previous post i also discussed how he suffers from the neat freak + picky eater combo, which tells me that he can be very particular when it comes to what he wants. in a relationship, he may expect you to be a manic pixie dream girl who fits all of his standards which may feel like a lot of pressure / limiting. i can also see him being nitpicky and causing small issues to snowball into irrationally big ones. at times, he can be quite stubborn and expect a lot from others because he feels like “if i can easily do this, why can’t you do it too?” this tends to be a trait of super talented people as well because since talent comes so inherently to them, they can’t comprehend why others may struggle with the things they easily excel at. for these reasons, sohee may also have trouble compromising and handling conflict. he may have some growing to do in terms of his openness to other ways of living / behaving / thinking.

WONBIN

wonbin can at times come off as someone with a low self-esteem, particularly if you notice the way he completely talks down on himself whenever he makes minor mistakes on stage. he has that perfectionist, “i'm never good enough,” kind of attitude, which i think could have several repercussions in a romantic relationship. for one, he might always assume that those around him hate him, and therefore be self-sabotaging in that he’ll presume an issue is there even when it isn’t. he seems like he’d be a very skittish partner; the moment he senses a conflict arising, rather than handle it maturely, he’d find some excuse to leave the relationship in order to protect himself from potential rejection and hurt. the mindset is almost like, “i’m going to hurt you before you can hurt me.” wonbin’s ability to truly enjoy romantic connection may often be dampered by his constant thoughts and worries about his partner’s perception of him. he’s the type of friend to leave a hangout and spend the rest of the night hyperfixating over all the embarrassing things he said and the jokes he made that no one laughed at. and again, with the fear of rejection in mind, he might hide his true emotions from his partner with the thought that he’d be judged for having them. so all in all, he could be an emotionally unavailable sort of guy who comes across as a fuckboy but really just has a lot of feelings that he doesn’t know how to healthily deal with.

SUNGCHAN

sungchan seems like someone who could demand a lot from his partner in order to feel loved by them. it's almost like in his eyes, he’s either your number one person or he’s nothing at all. he’s either the center of your attention or just another stranger to be ignored. he views nearly all things within a relationship in this same black and white way (a mindset which, in itself, is kind of a red flag). to bring up astrology once again, his virgo sun may cause him to feel this competitive urge to be the most important person amongst all the people in your life, and his leo venus could make him sort of self-centered in desiring to be constantly praised and pampered. as his partner, you may find yourself on the receiving end of several "tests" from him, questions like, "am I the best person you've ever been with?" or "are you sure you want to be with me for the rest of your life?" that he poses in order to confirm your continued interest in him. it's very possible that there is no right way to respond in these situations because even if you answer him affirmatively, he may believe you in the moment, and yet, he's never going to stop wondering whether you truly love him or not, even after years of being together and plenty evidence. sungchan can also be very sensitive towards anything he perceives as you sidelining him. to that end, i see him as someone who could be very jealous and possessive. something as simple as you engaging in a long conversation with another man could be considered a betrayal in his eyes. he'd even be so upset as to go and flirt with another girl in a manner 10x worse than you did just so that he can make you understand even a fraction of the same disregard and pain he felt. all it all, i could see it being exhausting trying to please sungchan and remain in compliance with his impossible standards. but what's sort of fair about him is that he will never hold you that a standard that he isn't willing to hold himself. everything he expects from you is what he already does himself.

EUNSEOK

i mention this in literally everything i write about eunseok, and so it is at the risk of sounding like a broken record that i assert, once again, that this man is painfully nonchalant. as his girlfriend, it would be easy to assume that he doesn't care about you because he's seemingly incapable of expressing love in overt or loud ways. he’s like a school child in that his method of flirting is being mean. in his mind, it should be obvious that by giving you any form of attention, he’s showing you how much he likes you, because when he dislikes or is ambivalent towards something, he won’t engage with it at all. he doesn’t realize that it is a rather unique thing to be a person who is very boundaried when it comes to what he likes and doesn’t like. so it will not even come across his mind that he is not being a sufficiently affectionate or loving boyfriend because just the fact that he chooses to still see you everyday should be proof enough. he justifies himself with remarks like, “if i didn’t like you, why would i still be with you?” and “if i didn’t want to be with you, i’d just say that.” he approaches all forms conflict like this: logically without consideration of the messy, emotional parts of love, which may be frustrating to deal with. furthermore, he wouldn’t have a lot of patience for a partner who has non-verbal ways of showing that they’re upset. he has the attitude of, “if you don’t tell me, i’m not going to try to read your mind,” which again, may come off as disinterest. you could literally throw the most obvious tantrum and he still won’t acknowledge it at all until you put your issues into words. stubbornness, then, could be said as another red flag of his.

SHOTARO

i'm having such a hard time thinking of a moment in which shotaro did or said something that triggered my red flag alarm lol, but what i will say is that in my IRL interactions with people like shotaro, it is almost always the most cheerful and kind people who are the WORST to get upset, because they will go off on you with the same intensity as their kindness usually is. in his everyday efforts to be a good person, he likely suppresses a lot of his negative feelings, and so when they're provoked to finally come out, it's in a volcano-like manner. almost like a switch going off, he could become a totally different person in his rare moments of genuine anger. he may find himself saying cruel, nasty, and out-of-character things. i see him as being especially sensitive to situations where he feels like his kindness has been taken for weakness. another potential red flag is that he may come off as clingy or hyper-dependent. he's almost the opposite of eunseok in that he expresses his love in nearly every way possible; it literally oozes from his being, and at times that could feel overwhelming. if you're sick, he'll insist on getting in bed with you and cuddling anyway. if you're out of town, he'll want to spend the whole day on the phone with you. if you're upset, he wants to know what's wrong and fix it immediately. he views his capacity for love as his best trait, so it may be hard for him to understand why a person would be hesitant to receive such overflowing love.

thank you for asking!

anton was fucked, he was sure of that. it only took a glance at his reflection in the mirror to notice the jewelry he was missing, his usual earrings nowhere to be seen.

hand shooting up to feel his jewelry-less earlobes, he sighed and massaged his temples slowly. it was barely 10 in the morning, and he'd just trudged back to his place after being shooed out of your apartment.

you and anton were … complicated, for a lack of better terms. if the two of you were being honest, you'd say you were talking — although you definitely did a lot more than that when you were together.

anton didn't mind the slower pace; he wasn't itching to jump into anything super quickly, and he enjoyed getting to know you bit by bit.

what he struggled with a little more was you requesting to keep things between the two of you a secret. your friend circles were pretty much merged, and you weren't super keen on letting them in on your escapades with the taller boy just yet.

this meant quiet excuses away from larger functions, meeting up to walk to one of your places, and panicked morning afters.usually he had until at least noon to make his way back to his own place, but today you'd promised your friends that you'd study for a calculus exam with them.

anton groaned and whined when you'd shaken him awake at nine in the morning, saying something about some people coming over in an hour. he could barely hear over his exhaustion, eyes bleary as he looked at your face hovering above him.

you were trying to explain that his friends were on their way but all he could focus on was the strands of your soft hair falling in his face and how good you smelled. you eventually herded the poor boy out of your apartment, sending him on his way back home with a wet kiss to his cheek and a protein bar.

what neither of you seemed to remember were anton's earrings sitting in the small tray on your nightstand. they were the earrings he wore everywhere — gold links with his initials engraved on the front.

over time, anton made a habit of taking them off and placing them on your nightstand before getting in bed with you. the two of you learned the hard way that keeping them on in bed was not a good idea; the second time anton came over, your hair had gotten tangled in the metal and he almost lost an earlobe.

groggily pulling his phone out of his pocket, anton debated sending you a text. he typed it out before hesitating. what if someone looked at your phone screen and saw the text from him? how would you explain yourself? frustrated, anton shut his phone off and tossed it onto his bed.

god, anton hated sneaking around. but he liked you, more than he'd like to admit, and the last thing he wanted was go against what you asked of him. he just hoped that no one would notice the earrings before going to take a shower.

...

"morning." seunghan greeted you cheerfully as you answered the door. shotaro and sohee followed after, waving at you before walking into your apartment.

"sup, ning." as you shut the door you heard shotaro greet ningning, who had arrived 10 minutes earlier and was sitting in your living room.

eventually, the 5 of you migrated to your bedroom to study — you, ningning, and sohee were sprawled across the floor while shotaro and seunghan sat on your bed. your calculus notes were strewn about, having studied for what felt like days.

yawning and stretching his arms, seunghan sat up a bit, taking his attention off of the chapter you guys were reviewing. the rest of you were chattering with each other, reviewing a practice problem that was particularly confusing.

"ugh, what time is it?" he mumbled, leaning over to look at the clock on your nightstand. his phone was somewhere in your blankets and his notes, and he wasn't keen on looking for it.

before his eyes could drift to your alarm clock sitting on the nightstand, his attention was caught by something shiny glinting at his eyes.

your focus was pulled from your notes as you heard a soft gasp from the direction of your bed. looking up, your eyes widened at the sight in front of you.

seunghan had one of anton's earrings in his fingers, eyes squinting as he inspected it curiously.

"are these anton's?" he asked suspiciously, turning to look at you. his lips were curled slightly upwards, clearly amused by the discovery. your cheeks burned in embarrassment as you stumbled over your words, not knowing what to say.

"uh-" before you could deny it, sohee interjected.

"they totally are! he wears those like every day!" sohee exclaimed. shotaro and ningning also looked up from their work, both of them giggling at how obviously flustered you were.

"no they're not, those are mine." you mumbled unconvincingly, cringing at how bad your lie was.

"you're lying! i can see his initials on them!" seunghan was leaning across the bed to show the rest of your friends, all of them nodding in agreement.

"y/n why do you have those?" ningning's head tilted confusedly as she turned in your direction. after a beat of silence, a look of realization passed across shotaro's face.

"he was here, wasn't he?" he asked, the knowing smile on his face growing even bigger. you choked on your spit at his question, coughing lightly.

"what are you talking about?" sohee rolled his eyes and seunghan laughed loudly at your weak response.

"hyung's right, he totally was here!"

"did he spend the night?"

"oh my god y/n did you guys fuck?"

"ok, enough!" you spoke up, finally finding your voice. you gulped nervously before continuing. "yes, anton was here last night. we've been seeing each other for a while."

you let out the biggest breath, one you didn't even know you were holding as the words escaped your mouth. seunghan was the first one to break the silence following your announcement.

"i fucking knew it!" he exclaimed, taking you by surprise.

"huh?" you asked, perplexed.

"you know you guys aren't that subtle right?" ningning laughed as she spoke, ruffling your hair gently. "we all noticed you two leaving every function together."

"not to mention the way you basically eye fuck each other 24/7" sohee fake gagged, earning a punch in the arm from you.

…

after his whirlwind of a morning, anton decided to shower and take a well-deserved nap. unlike you, he did not have calculus test to study for, so after washing up he climbed into his covers and caught up on some much needed sleep.

a couple hours later, he finally woke up, groaning at the sun shining onto his face. it was late afternoon, and the light shined directly on his eyes, making going back to sleep nearly impossible. stretching his arms and legs, he rubbed his eyes and sat up groggily, grabbing his phone to check the time.

to his surprise, he was greeted by what seemed like 100 notifications from his messages. clicking them open, his eyes widened as the words came into focus.

it was in fact, your friends' group chat discussing the two of your and your not-so-secret arrangement. his eyes nearly popped out of his head reading the texts, still groggy from just waking up.

scrolling through the rest of his notifications quickly, he clicked on one with your name.

3 missed calls from y/n <3

[2:03 p.m.] y/n <3: r u asleep? call me when you see this

anton's fingers were practically shaking as he dialed your number, each ring making him wish the earth would open up and swallow him whole. his anxious thoughts were interrupted by your soft voice.

"hey."

"hi."

"um… did you see the groupchat?" anton winced. straight to the point, then.

"yeah… i'm sorry. i forgot them in a rush this morning" he felt like he was holding his breath waiting for you to answer, until he heard you chuckle on the other end of the line.

"anton, it's okay."

"what? but i thought-"

"it's about time we told them anyways, i'm tired of sneaking around." you laughed as you heard anton stutter on the line.

"plus, i like you, a lot."

"me too." he spoke softly, his heart nearly exploding in his chest. you smiled on the other end; his timidness never failed to make you feel giddy.

"good, cause it would've been really awkward if you didn't" you giggled, fiddling with the end of your shirt.

"so … does this mean i can take you on a real date now?"

"hmmm i guess that's fine" you answered teasingly. anton sighed dramatically on the other end, slapping a hand over his chest so loud that even you could hear it.

"in that case, what are you doing tonight?"

…

[bonus] the groupchat