#seongje

"oh shit, my bad. sorry."

you don't even bother to stop walking. he feels his body tense.

your inability to acknowledge it was the geum seongie — it's not out of fear, but rather a lack of it. you're quick to run off in the direction of the bathroom half a second later, more concerned about your bladder than his ego.

you should've known from the way he looked at you when you returned to your seat: his eyes looked at you like you were crazy, careless or just plain stupid — his perfect playmate.

"could you stop looking at your phone when you're eating? so rude.” jeongyeon hooks a finger over the top of your screen, flicking it down before setting it onto the table with a playful shake of her head. “unbelievable, [full name] — zero manners. could you eat something?"

you roll your eyes playfully, shutting your phone off and picking up your chopsticks again. you thought about giving an excuse for not eating — no appetite, lunch menu was horrible today — ooh, maybe you already ate on the way to class.

your friend's eyebrows furrow. "i know you haven't eaten breakfast. i heard your stomach screaming during chemistry lab."

you're picking at your rice grains. you don't know what to say — it'll be the same as a few days ago. the scenario would play out exactly like this:

'you fought with your boyfriend. . . again? god, when are you going to leave that fucker?' and then you'll be defending him like you were an experienced attorney earning six figures at korea's top law firm.

you've run out of excuses by now.

"you know what? i feel the break coming." you shrug, your chopsticks picking up grains one by one and feeding them into your mouth. "it's like a premonition — i asked him what he was doing on hyeri's story, and that dog dodged it so hard. who the fuck lets other girls sit on their lap? it's ridiculous, really. . ."

it's defeat. your tears don't sting your eyes anymore, if there are even any. you thought he was a good man in the beginning — flowers, chocolates, dates. asking your mom for her blessing. you don't know when he began to change, right before your eyes, and you used to blame yourself for not stopping it.

maybe it was when he started hanging around some of the kids from the union — not geum seongje, no, that guy was almost always alone — he was hanging around seongje's pets. the first time you saw him vaping with them, you told him off.

he promised you he wouldn't mix around with them again, that he just wanted a hit. you knew he hadn't touched a vape in months since you made him quit.

back then, you didn't let him date you if he still did it. it's only ironic now.

". . .hyeri?" jeongyeon's ears perk up like a puppy. "the story where she's at that one club, right? fuck, what's the name again—"

oh, you should've known that your best friend would be up to date on it. you respond before she can start brainstorming out loud, embarrassing you in front of everyone else in the canteen. "yes, the one with the purple and blue neon lights. the drinks are cheap, apparently."

jeongyeon mouths an 'ohhhhh', as if she knew which club you were tallking about before your mentioning of it. she nods. "shit, you know what?"

your eyes dart from your plain, unappetizing meal to jeongyeon's face. you know a terrible idea is coming from the way she puts her chopsticks down and puts her hands together, like she's in a serious meeting with HR and her promotion is on the line. "fuck no, i'm not doing it."

"i haven't even said anything, asshole," jeongyeon exhales calmly, as if regaining her composure only to say something utterly idiotic. "maybe. . . we could drop by — you know hyeri's a club addict. she'll probably be there tonight too."

you raise an eyebrow while continuously chewing on your rice. "go on."

your relationship is too far gone to save. you swore to yourself you'd never run after a man who was chasing another woman — still, it doesn't make the heart ache any less intense. you can only wonder whether it was worth it for him: if the free drinks made it all guilt-free, if all the girls grinding on him made him forget about your feelings of betrayal.

you're unsure if what you feel in your chest is your heart shattering into two, or rage manifesting and taking it's rightful place.

"we'll say hi, throw a drink or two in his face, and we can get ice cream after." her eyes glimmer at the ice cream part, and momentarily, your heart feels lighter and the pit in your stomach shrinks.

so you nod, sealing your fate — tonight was the night you let go.

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it's approaching 11pm. you're sure many of your schoolmates would be on the way home from private classes by now, and you usually would be too — but nothing's usual about today. if not for your emotions pulling you apart at the seams, you would be thinking much more logically and clearly, so you don't have anyone to blame but yourself.

you feel uncomfortable. your texts have been left on delivered since last night, and you wonder if you should've sent a good morning message to remind your own boyfriend — soon to be ex — that you existed. your hands find their way out of your pockets, fiddling with the ends of your sleeves.

you know you'd break up with him today regardless if he replied or not. perhaps you were just craving some confirmation that you still mattered, even just a little.

jeongyeon's hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you into the club — the atmosphere shifts and the music deafens you almost immediately. you can barely hear your friend telling you she sees your boyfriend, tucked away in a leather booth with none other than hyeri, joined by a couple of unfamiliar faces.

your eyes follow her finger that points towards their direction, and you see it too. hyeri's beautiful in this light, unsurprisingly, and your boyfriend is whispering something into her ear. it makes her visibly blush, and your eyes laser focus on the way her hand weakly smacks his chest — the same chest you've felt thousands of times before.

you don't know exactly when you lost him, but it's evident that you did.

jeongyeon doesn't say a thing, which only makes you want to curl up into a ball and cry. she always had something to say, especially when it came to your stupid boyfriend; but instead, her head turns back towards you, a regretful expression on her face.

"y'know what, i don't think this was the best idea," she smacks her lips awkwardly. "we should go. you got your answers. just block the asshole, okay?"

she tries to pull you in the opposite direction, but you don't budge. not one bit.

what she got wrong was that you got your answer the very moment you saw that video on hyeri's story. you came here for a different purpose, a different outcome.

your footsteps are light, fast, steady. you barely feel the weight of your body on your own feet as your instincts whisper to you: grab that drink and throw it in his face.

so you do.

in the strobing lights of the club — pink, purple, blue — your boyfriend barely registers it’s you. you move too fast for anyone at the booth to react. your hand finds a glass, filled to the brim with liquor — what kind doesn’t matter. what does matter is that every last drop crashes against that asshole’s face.

its a shock — physical, mental, all at once. hyeri gasps, her first instinct to check her clothes, while your boyfriend bolts to his feet.

"fuck's your problem?"

this whole time, your boyfriend hasn't realised whose eyes he's met. he only sees the glint in her eyes, the occasional flash of a blank face which hold seemingly no emotion. it makes his blood run cold.

your hand grips the glass tight, and you think if you held on any tighter that it would've shattered into pieces in your palm. you choose not to strike it against his head, instead slamming it on the table in front of him — it causes his phone to fall from the impact.

"i'm breaking up with you." you say. it's calm, despite your actions. the boys at the table laugh amongst themselves, quick to shower you with condescending praise.

"fiesty," you hear one of them scoff, and it's like a pack of starving hyenas just entered the room — ready to swallow you whole. "this your fuckin' girlfriend, huh?"

you don’t wait to hear whatever your ex has to say. you don’t look back to check if he’s following. you just walk — steady, certain — until the backdoor swings shut behind you, and the night air in the alley feels like freedom.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

you're crouched over, squatting back and leaning against the wall to steady yourself. you hug your knees, looking down at the concrete, following the cracks.

you haven't returned any of jeongyeon's calls. sooner or later, you're dragging your sneakers against the pavement as you mindlessly continue your walk.

you notice you've made your way back to ganghak territory, remembering your school's a few turns away — you know this because you recognise the 7-11 you used to frequent in your first year. practically eons ago.

seoul is quiet, cold. the wind is howling and the trees rustling are the only thing you pay any mind to. you're sure it's past midnight, with how you don't see anyone in uniforms making their way back home anymore. you only see the occasional groups of club-goers, some people on their way to the night shifts at their job, or a random stranger taking a night stroll with their dog.

you wish you brought your earbuds. phoebe bridgers would make a banging soundtrack—

"[name]? oh, what a nice gift."

you're confused.

your head whips towards the alleyway between the two buildings on your left, from where you hear the familiar voice. the streetlight above flickers before it remains on — it's like a horror movie, you almost want to laugh.

you see geum seongje, dressed like he's about to go hiking. you think he must own a colourful variety of windbreakers with the way it's all you ever see him in. he's holding a cigarette between his index and middle finger, bringing it up to his lips, and he inhales like it's the last time he'll ever touch nicotine.

"geum seongje, hi."

your greeting makes him smile. how adorable you were, so cute, so small — he could crush you between his fingertips, roll you into a ball and flick you away.

he blows the smoke from his mouth. "you smoke?"

you shake your head. "nah, i don't."

"shame." he's walking towards you now, and you're a little clueless about why.

the height difference becomes much more obvious as he inches closer, footsteps getting louder as his face in your vision becomes clearer — you start to wonder what he's doing around here at such an ungodly timing.

though you suppose he could ask you the same, so you don't pry.

with nothing else to say, you agree half-heartedly: "mhm."

when he's this close, it's easier to analyse him. you notice the smidge of blood on his sleeve, but no cuts on his face — could only mean he was up to his gangster nonsense, probably beating up some defenceless kid. you already decided you didn't want any part of that.

you don't notice you're fiddling with your skirt. his eyes move downwards, focusing on your pretty hands. he can't help but to snicker tauntingly. "nervous?"

"no."

seongje's smirk only grows, seeing your fear physically manifest. he thinks he could hear your heart race, too, if you'd just let him that close. "you always speak with single words?"

"not really."

it's a few seconds of eye contact and no other words exchanged. seongje sighs and flicks his cigarette away — no concern for the environment. how unlikeable.

"gosh, you're no fun to talk to." his honesty pisses you off. he turns on his heels and starts to walk back into the alleyway. "more boring than you look."

you mutter 'dickhead' as he walks away, and he turns his head around as if he heard you. he only flashes a brief smirk before the lights start flickering again, and his frame disappears into the darkness.

what a fucking creep.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

you don't remember how you got here.

well, that was a bit of a lie — you remember taking your phone out, double clicking the power button for apple pay, and then hauling a bunch of bottles out the store — it's a little blurry after that.

you remember sitting yourself down on the curb, downing one bottle of strawberry soju. and then it was another. and then another. you were hoping to get one uniform flavour, but the store was running low on all of them.

strawberry, grape, peach, oh dear. you had a whole spread in front of you.

you're thankful you can't drive. you think you might lead yourself off a cliff with the way this night unfolded, but you think the worst you could do now is fall and hit your head somewhere.

"shiiit," you hear an unfamiliar voice laugh from behind you. "she's fucking hammered, bro!"

you're more confused now than when you saw seongje earlier.

your vision is hazy. you think this is comparable to when you didn't sleep for a few days before your mock exams — you couldn't register a fucking thing someone else was saying. it made sense to you in the moment, and whatever you reply sounds logical as well, but it's not until you're sober that you realise you were talking shit.

"hey, pretty girl," and you can roughly make out a face. it's some guy, possibly a little older than you — maybe in college — you don't even know. "drinking all alone?"

your heart drops for the wrong reasons. the sober you would know you should be hitting this guy's head with the bottle you just bought because he's clearly spelling danger. no, instead, your heart sinks because of the pet name:

pretty girl.

the words get caught in your throat. in less than 3 seconds, you're finally bursting into tears.

"fuck, she's actually wasted," he's talking to someone else. you know because his voice is louder, and his head is turned back. "shit, baby, let me take care of you—"

his rough palm is reaching for your inner thigh, and he rubs his thumb up and down. it's an action you've seen millions of times, and it only makes you sob even harder.

another voice whines, their voice a little deeper than the guy who was feeling you up: "fuck, dude, you gonna share that or what?"

laughter erupts from behind you, and it feels utterly humiliating. it's sinister, it's telling you you're in deep trouble — you can't even think straight, but you knew even that much.

your thighs instinctively close, trying to pry yourself out of the stranger's grip. he only forces them open. "we're just trying to help, yeah?"

you're scared.

you can't deny you have no idea how you're going to get out of this. you don't think you can even walk in a straight line — if you were to get up and bolt, someone's going to catch up to you, if you didn't face plant into the ground first.

another pair of arms snakes under your armpits, gripping your torso — someone else is lifting you off the ground. more than one person is coming for you. your heart hammers in your chest, your lungs burn, throat dry.

you close your eyes, hoping to wake up and realise that it's all a nightmare — that something horrible isn't going to happen to you.

when you open your eyes, you realise you're standing up now. two men are on both your sides, your arms slung over their shoulders as they help you steady yourself.

"gonna take you somewhere fun—"

his words cut off abruptly. you're taking deep breaths, tears flowing down your red, flushed cheeks. you want to go home.

"ah?" someone else entirely is speaking now. "what? no invite?"

you force your head to look up, which was difficult in itself — your own weight felt so incredibly heavy.

when your eyes focus on the boy in the red and black windbreaker, you don't know whether to be relieved or even more fearful.

it doesn’t take long for geum seongje to reach the two at your side. maybe you’re too drunk to see clearly, but you can hear it — the sickening snap of bones, the grunt of bodies hitting the floor, the wet, heavy thud of fists connecting. it makes your stomach twist.

the grip the two strangers had you is released: you stumble and feel your body slam against the wall, before you slump over and slide down to the floor.

tears fall from your eyes, tiny droplets staining the pavement.

a few minutes stretch like hours, and then sudden silence. the groans, the fists, the snapping bones, all gone. you watch with blurry vision as seongje kicks the two strangers in the ribs, over and over again — till he gets bored.

"fuck, that was annoying," seongje's panting for air, his grin as wide as ever. he fixes the glasses on his face, middle finger pushing the bridge of his frame up. "weaker than i thought."

when he notices you staring, teary-eyed and lips trembling, he can't help but think about how vulnerable you look.

your eyes look in front of you, bloodied bodies laying together, unconscious. you look up at seongje again, and then back to the bodies.

"shit, you crying?" seongje puts on a mocking pout before laughing. he tilts his head in amusement, like you were a little puppy performing it's first trick. "where's my thanks? do you have any manners?"

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

you're still a little tipsy, enough to definitely not remember stumbling into this place.

it's filthy, reeks of cigarettes, and all that deserved to be called 'furniture' was a small leather couch at the far end of the room. you grimace. nevertheless, when seongje said he'd help you sober up — you didn't think it'd be in a place like this. still, you notice the plastic bag with water bottles and painkillers in his hand. you had to give him some credit for caring like that.

the air is quiet, thick with tension. you're sitting down on one end of the sofa while seongje is comfortable next to you, lighting another cigarette. he puts it in his mouth and inhales, before using his free hand to pass you one of the plastic water bottles.

"you always drink alone?" seongje finally says something when he notices you're done taking a sip. you hold onto bottle using both hands, posture stiff and your skin cold. "didn't think you were the type."

you're not sure why he didn't think about bringing you home, but you remember your parents were probably going to disown you for bringing a boy over at such an hour. still, it makes you anxious.

"it's a. . . an occasion," you try not to lie. it's either this or tell an embarrassing truth, one that you know geum seongje would never let you live down. "i'm not much of a drinker in the first place."

he despises your naivety. "you're just asking to be taken advantage of, huh?"

"well, no. . . i just wasn't thinking. it was a tough day."

"seems like you don't think much at all." seongje's leaning back into the couch, nose pointed towards the ceiling. the smell of smoke fills your lungs, and it's strangely comforting compared to the sweeter smell you were used to with your ex lover. "saw you storming out of that club."

"you were there?"

"had some things to settle in the area. you know how it is."

you turn your head slightly towards him — he's not looking at you, but you see the way his adam's apple moves up and down his throat as he slowly breathes.

it's mesmerising.

"i broke up with my boyfriend today — or yesterday, technically."

seongje's muttering under his breath, "i always knew he was a fucking loser."

something else catches your attention: for the briefest moment, a smirk tugs at his lips — gone as quickly as it came, buried beneath his familiar poker face.

"mm, i see," seongje pretends he didn't say what he just said. it only makes you more confused. "well, shit. . . was he good?"

if this was an anime, you think there'd be huge red question marks popping up over your head.

you weren't stupid. you knew geum seongje wasn't the... therapist type. he wasn't asking you if your ex was a good man — fuck, he was asking you something completely different — and you weren't sure if you should answer.

so you play dumb.

"good?"

your voice echoes throughout the empty room. seongje gives a short, knowing laugh: like he knows something you don't. he straightens his back, arms resting on his thighs and he flicks his cigarette away into some dusty corner.

"was the sex good, i meant," he clarifies. his tone is unbothered, as if he asked millions of girls the same question before. "probably not, huh? always knew that guy had a small one."

you gulp.

your heart races, unsure how to answer. you twist the hem of your skirt, knees pressed together, eyes fixed on the floor. "it was okay," you murmur. "i was happy. not much to complain about."

you're not sure where all your bravery went. months ago, you were set on ignoring geum seongje; much less caring about his antics, even from a distance. you were supposed to be fearless, unconcerned.

but you're still nervous.

"not a very good review," he laughs, voice low and it's making your head spin. "ever forgotten your own name before, [name]?"

you feel and hear weight shifting on the sofa — the sound of leather squeaking. before long, his thigh is touching yours.

when you look up to turn your head in his direction, you think you're about to go insane: the little amount light hitting his face illuminates his features perfectly. seongje's looking right at you, scanning every part of your face like you're an image he needs burned his memory.

you answer. "no."

when you're looking at him like this, you start to understand — even if a little — the physical appeal to geum seongje.

"wanna try?"

you swear you almost go into cardiac arrest. you feel your heart pounding against your ribcage, threatening to rip itself out of your body. you must be drunk, you had to be — you couldn't be hearing him right.

nonetheless, when the mental images of your ex pops up in your mind, your thinking falters. it feels like you're cheating on him — your nervousness around seongje feels like sinning.

still, when you remember that he's probably had hyeri underneath him while you were busy studying, or occupied with personal issues; it only makes you need seongje more.

"okay."

the speed at which he unzips his windbreaker — then tosses it onto the floor — is almost too fast to register. his jaw tightens when you agree, so innocent, so unaware of all the things he wants to do.

as soon as he gets that green light, your lips are clashing with his — feverish, sloppy, and full of need — you swear you hear him groan into your mouth when your hands wander all over his chest.

the wet sounds of lips smacking and tongues swirling make you dizzy. it's so lewd, so sinful — it's addicting, like a scene pulled from a wet dream.

soon, you're lying down on the couch as he feels you up — rough squeezes to your breasts, and he's pushing his free hand up your shirt, the other caging you in.

when you whimper at the feeling of his index rubbing your nipple, you whine against his lips and he pulls away. "he made you cum before?"

the grin on his face is pure evil.

"n-no."

oh, you’re so fucking adorable. seongje can’t help but chuckle at your flustered response, staring down at you like a madman starved for weeks — and you can’t shake the sense of impending doom.

"gonna make you do everything he couldn't," he says, his voice sending chills down your spine and right back up to your neck.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

you're a little bit more sober now, and you know this cause you can feel every fucking nerve in your body that's being shot by geum seongje.

"mhm—" seongje's leaving rough, open-mouthed kisses on your neck and jaw like he hasn't eaten in days. the tears that rolled down your face earlier give your skin a salty flavour — god, he can't get enough. "bet he never fucked you as good as i will."

you're lying down on the couch, and seongje's crawled on top of you. it's a tight squeeze with how tiny it is.

"seongje. . ." your voice is soft, tender, almost so that he can't hear you. you sniffle as much as you whimper: he would almost get the wrong idea — that you didn't want it — if not for your arms feeling his back up like they are, pulling him in so sweetly. when he takes too long between kisses, he smirks at how you pull him right back in. "mmh—!"

"pretty fuckin' thing," he says when pulls away, smiling down at you with that evil fucking smirk that you've seen in videos before. "still crying?"

the name makes something swell inside you.

"mmhm," you're nodding desperately, eager for him to do something about it — and he sure does. wipes your tears away with his thumb before resuming his kisses. you feel yourself burning, head riddled with thoughts of why you're craving seongje's affection.

those are quickly wiped when he sucks on a sensitive spot, the skin right under your jawline — and you feel his tongue flatten against you.

it's sinful.

you can't seem to control your voice. "o-oh. . ."

you're not sure what the fuck you're doing. you broke up with your ex less than 5 hours ago, and now you're second base with the one guy you thought you would spend the rest of the school year avoiding.

"sure you want this?" his breath is warm against your neck, it tickles. he knows your answer by the way your hands move up his back and into his hair with a feverish speed. he thinks you might want it more than he does. when you're too busy moaning his name to respond coherently, he gets irritated.

"come on, baby — use your words, you're a big girl." and you feel his body press impossibly closer against yours, his right knee riding up and in between your thighs and consequently pushing your skirt up.

you bite back any more noises 'till you can actually reply to him. you feel the fabric of his pants rub against your underwear, and it's fucking soaked — you're embarrassed at the fact. you've probably left a giant patch on his pants, but you don't look down to confirm.

"shit," you whine when seongje shifts his thigh slightly, his quad bumping right against your clit. it's sudden, and it's humiliating. "s-seongje. . . need more."

he bites down on his lips, his smirk manifesting once again — it makes something bubble inside you. a desperate need, an overwhelming desire, you have to have him.

"damn, can't even speak in full sentences?" his breathing is so loud that you can hear it hitch when he moves his long, slender fingers up your skirt — palm pressing against your heat like it's the most normal thing. "this all for me? fuck. . ." his palm moves higher up, towards your belly button. his fingers trace your folds through the soaked fabric. "i'm flattered."

you know you shouldn't be doing this: fucking another guy in some dark, sketchy place right after your break up. yet, the way your body refuses to let go of seongje and how your heart feels a little less heavy — you think his digits teasing you feels better than throwing any drink in your exes face, tenfold.

maybe even better than any of the actual sex you've had with your ex.

when you buck your hips up, seongje puts on a taunting pout, shakes his head as if to say 'not yet' and pulls his hand out of your skirt: he's fucking teasing. "say please, and 'thank you for saving me, seongje.'"

his voices jumps a few octaves for that parody. you shut your eyes, turning your head away: too fucking overwhelmed with humiliation to even look at him directly, just hoping he'd give up and continue after realising you couldn't, wouldn't say that shit.

you feel seongje's fingers grasp your face tightly. you gasp at the sudden roughness — his index and thumb press firmly against your cheeks, forcing you to look right at him.

your eyes can't help but to flutter open, your eyelashes batting so prettily at him: he feels his cock harden in his pants and he's afraid to admit how little control he's got left.

seongje's got half a mind to unbuckle his belt and take you right here, raw and rough and in the most romantic way possible.

"say it."

his voice sounds breathless, he can't get enough air in — the evil glint in his eyes tell you he's serious, but you're too shy to play into his antics. his eyes narrow at you, eyebrows slightly raised: he's entertained by your ability to hold out.

you suffer for it, cause soon, he stands up on his feet and you're left alone on the couch — confused, needy, and whining. "s-seongje?"

he sits down on the opposite end of the sofa, motioning for you to come closer with his index and middle finger. seongje's silent until you start moving towards him. "bend over my lap, real quick."

you know what's coming: eventually, your ass is on full display for geum seongje as you're stomach first on his thighs. your panties are still on but your skirt is flipped upwards, and he's landing harsh smacks to the skin, fascinated about how fast your cheeks turn red at the contact. it's one, then two — he pauses before the third. you don't see it, but he sneers at how the fabric of your underwear is almost completely soaked with your slick.

"you'll say it," he asks — more like a covert demand — you in the most condescending, scornful tone and you know what he's referring to. "won't you, baby?"

you moan at the third slap. "f-fuuck, seongje—!"

smack. "not what i remember asking, [name]."

you don't know why you're complying. you don't know why you want to fuck geum seongje, so much so that you're submitting. all your resolve of staying away from him faded so quickly — you feel pathetic.

still, your heart beats faster thinking about where this is leading.

"t-thank you—"

smack. smack. smack.

it's three consecutive spanks, and you can only sob in response — the sting hurts so badly. you want to kill him for making this harder for you, even more because you know he probably has the widest, most shit-eating grin on his face while watching you struggle this badly for him.

"go on." seongje's snickering. "i don't have all day."

you bury your face in your forearms out of pure embarrassment. you're sure you'll regret this all in the morning — but when you feel seongje's hard-on twitch in his pants, right against your belly button, you feel something stirring deep in your core.

all it does is strip the ability to feel any indignation, or exercise any control.

"thank you for s-saving me, seongje."

he lands one more harsh slap on your right cheek, before his palm caresses it lovingly. "there's my good fucking girl."

his middle and ring finger pull your panties to the side — and his breath hitches at how absolutely fucking beautiful you are. seongje feels absolute rage at the fact that he didn't have his face buried into that cunt of yours months ago, before you had that stupid boyfriend: god, his mind wanders far enough to imagine himself as your man.

"fuuuck." he groans.

he'd worship a pussy like this any day, any hour. he's seething with envy at the fact that someone else had it first — still, seongje remembers it doesn't count if he couldn't even make you finish.

the sudden feeling of cold air breezing against your core makes you whine.

seongje doesn't even do anything for a good minute — just sits there admiring. he can't believe you hid something so pretty from him. even if you two were never close in the first place, he is absolutely offended at the lack of consideration and mind reading.

god, if only his phone wasn't dead... he thinks he'd take a picture. how could he not when you're bent over so beautifully, all for him? he had to immortalise this moment, even if it's just a mental image.

he feels the precum against his boxers. he'll never admit this is the hardest he's ever gotten, and he hasn't even touched you properly yet. he's aching to be inside of you, but the (somewhat) logical part in him knows to savour.

his middle finger pushes into you, slowly, and he smiles at how easy it is; the moan it pulls from you only makes him hungrier. soon, his ring finger joins in and he's pumping into you at a rate you can't register.

"o-oh fuck, seongje, right there—" you're shameless, he thinks. such a fucking slut. "feels so good,"

seongje's mesmerised at how you suck his digits back in whenever he pulls out. like a fucking vacuum. "so fuckin' greedy. . . "

when the tips of his fingers brush against that spot that makes your vision go blur, you're desperate to chase the high you never got. something coils in your stomach, slowly: and you need seongje to make it snap. "p-please, fuck — right there!"

"gonna cum? so quick?"

oh, you're so cute. you don't answer his question, and he takes that as yes — the only cacophony leaving your lips are a mix of "s-seongje," "yeah, right there," and "so fucking good".

his pride swells.

you're close, so achingly close — your brain is turning to mush. seongje regrets not flipping you over to see your pretty expressions, but with the way you're screaming his name.. he thinks it's better to save the best for last.

"i'm g'na fucking cum, seongje, oh my god—"

he studies your reactions. he notices how you squirm and clench when he curls his fingers at just the right angle, how you moan louder when he hits that one spot.

so when you're on the edge of breaking, he pulls his fingers out completely — leaving you empty and frustrated.

as much as he wants to see you unravel in front of him and all over his fingers, he'd rather feel it up close and personal — all over his dick, where it's supposed to be.

seongje smirks. "bet he never got you that close, huh?"

you feel a pit in your stomach when seongje laughs so damn loud that you almost consider it bullying. you feel a tear roll down your cheek. he's whispering for you to sit up on his lap, his strong arms helping you adjust your position. despite his harsh words, his touch makes you swoon.

when he meets your face, you can't help but notice how flushed he is — even in this dim lighting, you feel your heart race at how absolutely desperate he looks. his lips parted, half lidded eyes locked on your lips, eyebrows slightly raised.

you had to hear him moan your name. you need to. with that pretty face and smooth, sinful voice that'd been taunting you all night.

"you cry too much," seongje wipes your tear stains with his free hand, "gets really annoying."

your legs rest next to his, your perfect body straddling him so snugly. your hands rest against his chest for stability: you find yourself wondering how often this man must work out to achieve such toned muscles.

seongje reaches for his glasses before putting them next to him, letting a long exhale leave his lungs. his annoyingly gorgeous eyes lock with yours, and he can't help that a smirk pulls at his lips.

you ask: "what are you doing?"

if you could see yourself in his eyes, you'd understand why he looked so out of it — your hairs a mess, you're flushed all over and absolutely littered with hickeys down from your collarbone and up to your jawline. you're his work of art — as well as wanted so badly to ruin.

"i'm a man of my word," seongje whispers, and his gaze darts down to your lips. "you're cumming all over, yeah? don't you dare fucking fake it, i'll know — shit, you're probably a pro at that, aren't you?"

he jeers at his own comment. god, still fucking full of it.

"seongje," you breathe. "please — just fuck me already."

he tilts his head in amusement. "oh?"

"need you. . ." you bring his hand to your lower abdomen, a few inches above that cunt he was admiring so extensively earlier. "right here."

his jaw tenses. a switch is flipped inside of him — one that turned off all his control. "fuck, you talk to him like that too?" and his hands are moving to unzip his pants, pulling it down just enough for you to feel his length through his boxers pressing against your inner thigh.

seongje wonders if you had the same effect on your ex. he finds himself irritated at the scene his mind plays: you, on top of your ex boyfriend just like this, saying his name.

"you're so mean."

you have the urge to start rutting yourself against him, desperate to get yourself off: but the frustrated, impatient look on his face warns you — don't try anything.

you look down, resting your ass on his thighs as you slowly pull his boxers down. when you do, the sight makes your breath hitch.

it's longer than it is thicker. no doubt, it'll still leave you squirming — you bite down on your lip, thinking of how you'll fit all of him. his precum makes the lewdest sounds as your hands wrap around his swollen tip, and you drag it out in slow, sensual strokes.

"so pretty, seongje," and your smirk makes his head spin.

seongje notices it: how much fun you're having with him. before long, his head is thrown back and he tries his best to keep his composure. you see the muscles in his jaw clench, desperate to shut him up — the air in his lungs leave his mouth hard and heavy. "f-fuck, yeah. . ." he's groaning, praying to the gods that your hearing was terrible; you listen to him finally lose control and it only makes you greedier.

his hands find their way to your jaw and around your neck. they pull you in for the sloppiest, most teeth clashing kiss you've two have shared since meeting. when your thumb swipes over his tip, he moans into your mouth.

seongje feels your almost immediate smile against his lips, but he's too far gone to care. the sounds of your hand pumping him increasingly faster fill the room and is all that he hears — sticky, wet and so incredibly lustful.

"god, fuck—" he whines, and his hands are flying to your waist, lifting you up and aligning you to his tip. you don't fight it. "can't wait anymore, baby."

the way you smile down at him is absolutely evil. he lets you sink down on him, slowly and deliciously — eye contact unbroken. seongje notices the tears forming on your lower lash line, and it reminds him of the leash he has on you.

"s-shit. . ." you mewl, the stretch threatening to take you out. with every inch, it feels like your lungs shrink, the air you're breathing in clearly not enough. "'s too big, i can't. . ."

oh, his favourite phrase. his ego was already inflated enough at how soaked you were before he was even inside you, but now — he feels how your walls get greedy, sucking him in all over again — and his confidence skyrockets. "he ever fuck you like this? as good as me?"

you bite down on your bottom lip, already swollen from his rough kisses, and shake your head like you're desperate to please him. "n-no, not as good you—fuck—!"

his tip kisses your cervix when you finally bottom out. the way his lips curl into that familiar smirk makes you dizzy. "what's wrong, baby? never felt that before?" he mocks, "can feel you clenching around me."

oh, seongje doesn't know who he'll tell first after this is over — your beloved ex boyfriend? the stupid brats at the internet café? your best friend?

seongje snickers when he imagines your ex's face morphing into one of horror when he says he had you gushing all over him in record time.

his hands grip your waist, guiding you up before letting you sink down on his cock again. so fucking tight — he doesn't know how your ex ever let this shit go — so beautiful.

"shit, you're barely letting me move," he laughs, and when you squeeze around his length again, he almost snorts. "come on. show me how much you want it."

your vision almost goes white, littered with stars as you fuck yourself on his cock — your insides molding into the shape of his veins, remembering every detail. "mmh, s-seongje," you whine, and he only watches: lazy bastard, you think. you wonder why he isn't doing anything, considering how he was so close to cumming all over your hands earlier.

your head remains low, eyes trained on his sharp v-line and the wet mess at the base of his dick. that's all you.

when your hands wander up seongje's shirt, he doesn't stop you. you feel every dip in his muscles, every flex of his abdomen as you ride him. his breathing stops momentarily each time you take him in completely, so fucking warm and inviting. might have to have you cockwarm him sometime in the future.

your thighs grow tired eventually. your pace slows, and seongje snickers. exactly how he wanted you: tired and unable to fight him. he licks his lips before asking: "need some help?"

he's fucking taunting you again.

still, you nod feverishly like the good girl you are. you needed him to do more. it was cruel for him to take that orgasm away from you, and even more to make you work for it after the fact.

"please." you sound defeated.

when seongje sees your fucked out expression just from this, he wonders how dumb you'll get after he does his part: his eyes sparkle at the possibility.

so when he grips your waist, you feel much lighter; seongje lifts you up before slamming you back down. it's rough, animalistic and yet romantic. the way his gaze is full of longing and absolute adoration, eyes speaking of his desires, you can't help but feel like a goddess being worshipped.

seongje practically bounces you on his cock himself, reminding you of how strong he really was compared to you. your body falls limp against his — chest heaving as you took in deep breaths only to have the wind knocked out of you right after. you hear him groan in your ear as you buried yourself in the crook of his neck, the mixed smell of sweat and his cologne filling your nose.

"so fucking wet," seongje moans. "all for me."

your tongue swipes against the skin of his neck, and you feel his thrusts quicken and intensify. "tell me i fuck you better than him—s-shit—tell me you're all mine,"

"all yours," you confirm his statement, finding yourself believing it. you feel his hands wander down to your ass, spreading your cheeks apart, a desperate need to hit the deepest parts inside of you. "it's so m-much better, baby—"

any control seongje had left has dissolved when the name rolls off your tongue. when he hears you call him so sweetly — he feels his heart skip a beat and his cock swell inside of you, and it's fucking humiliating. his hands grip onto the fat of your ass, so rough you swear it'll leave bruises, and you're left a babbling mess as he continues to slam you down relentlessly, unforgivingly: if not for the filthy moans leaving his mouth, you'd think you did something wrong.

"dirty fucking girl—cum all over me baby, c'mon."

seongje's mind is blank, thinking only of giving you that beautiful orgasm that your ex never attempted — well, more like failed to: how fucking selfish of him, he thinks he might have to beat him up just for that. you looked so beautiful losing yourself on top of him, he wonders how he didn't fight harder to keep a girl like you.

god, the way you could only say his name as he pounds into you: "seongje, seongje, seongje". he's never loved his name more than now — the way your hands wander around his body, unsure of where to touch. the way your tears run down your flushed cheeks as you make eye contact with him, biting down on your bottom lip 'till it's raw — no, he can't ever let anyone else enjoy you after this.

he's already pissed off at the fact there was one before him.

you're staring down at seongje. beads of sweat roll down his temple, his lips slightly parted as he breathes heavily. his ears and cheeks look airbrushed with a peachy red — his pupils blown like he's experiencing the best high he's ever had in his life, not breaking eye contact with you: "so fuckin' good, baby, you feel so good." his voice is breathy, laced with desperation.

it's in this moment that you both know this won't be the last time. it's not enough — having each other once was never going to be enough.

when his tip continuously bumps into that one spongy spot inside of you — you feel yourself squirming, a tight rope forming from deep inside. the constant squeezes and pulsations signalling to him that you were close. "s-seongje, baby, i'm gonna cum," you warn him, and you watch as a smile manifests on his stupidly pretty face. "gonna cum all over—"

"show me." it's a powerful phrase, suddenly giving you a burst of energy; you're desperate to prove yourself to geum seongje. he moves your hips in a way that drives you crazy while you bottom out on him, again and again.

"seongje, fuuuck, s-seongje, i'm close—" his name falls from your mouth like a desperate prayer, and he's drinking all of it up. your hands hold onto his shoulders like pillars of support, your hair covering your face as you move up and down his length.

"yeah?" one of his hands shift to move your hair out of your face. seongje was determined to be the first (and only) one to see your pretty face when you finish. "then cum for me."

with one, harsh thrust, you've snapped. it's disastrous. you're twitching over him, walls squeezing him impossibly tighter — it takes everything in him not to fill you up with his cum right then and there. your vision goes white for a moment and every nerve in your body feels electric.

seongje groans as he feels you contract around him. "fucking filthy," he spits, "but i'm not done yet. you can take a lil more, right?"

it's not a choice for you.

you're not even done riding out your high when he decides to let his hands grip your hips again. seongje grins, so pussy-drunk that you begin to feel genuine fear of what he's going to do.

"seongje, w-wait—!"

his thrusts are sloppy, the cum flowing down your thighs from your orgasm only makes it easier for him to fuck into you so haphazardly — you're overstimulated, a crying mess as your arms fly to his chest and around his neck, nails digging into the cotton of his sweat-stained shirt.

"f-fuck, 's too much—" you whine in his ear, and seongje only groans in response. "i can't, seongje,"

he doesn't listen: the begging only spurs him on.

now that you've come undone, it only speeds up the process for him. the combination of your sweet, lewd moans in his ear, the smell of your skin and slick, the way you grip onto him like he's the only man in the world — god, it turns him on more than he's willing to admit — to the point where he actually wants to be the only man in the world to you. "gonna fill you up, okay?"

he feels so proud of you when you nod desperately. you knew what was good for you. "y-yes, please."

his orgasm takes over him quickly thanks to your plea. you're feeling him twitch inside of you again, and he lets out the nastiest fucking moan, his eyes shut and head thrown back, before he slams your hips down for the last time.

"oh fuuuck, y-yeah—" seongje groans, voice breaking as you tighten your embrace, feeling every drop of warm fluid empty into you in spurts. you realise his voice gets all high and whiny when he's close. "oh my god, baby. . ."

his hands let go of your hips, instead moving up to your back — he hugs you tightly, as if to tell you 'stay right where you are'.

the room smelled like sex. you're both breathing heavily, trying to catch your breaths as you hold each other tight: like a couple after they make love for the first time, except this was anything but love making — it was filthy, sinful.

when you pull away from seongje, his fingers move your hair out of your face — like he was your loving boyfriend. for a moment, he admires you; he wonders how a pretty face like this went under his radar. even in this horrible lighting, you're absolutely breathtaking.

he'd never say that shit, though.

"i'll clean you up," he's the first to speak. "you look like a fucking mess."

you land a weak smack to his chest and it only pulls a smile from him: one that's genuine instead of mocking. "like you're any better."

"sure. but you should probably cover those up before tomorrow," his thumb grazes the hickeys on your neck, observing. "not a good look after a fresh break up, no?"

"i wish you'd just beat me up when i bumped into you that day."

geum seongje snickers at your little joke. you're too adorable for your own good. he doesn't laugh, but his hand reaches for your jaw, pulling you in for a kiss that makes your heart pound.

it's genuine. you know because you feel his lips curl into a small smile against yours, and it earns a giggle from yours. he's sweet when he allows himself to be.

it almost makes you forget that you just got your shit rocked by the same man.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

the following day almost kills you. you can barely walk without your thighs turning to jelly, and you curse geum seongje's name in your head every time that happens.

after cleaning you up, he sent you home and pressed a kiss onto your forehead before he left. you admit you might have fucked up in letting that happen.

"you can go first, y'know. you don't have to watch me go in. . ." you scratch your neck, eyes avoiding his.

seongje chuckles, kissing your forehead before he tucks your hair behind your ear. "you're a vulnerable girl."

you roll your eyes, sensing the undertone of sarcasm he has. still, your heart flutters when you feel his lips graze your skin again. "just go, asshole."

"goodnight, baby," he makes sure to emphasise the baby. he laughs loudly before turning on his heels and walking down the street, humming as he faded. you see his figure take a box of cigarettes out from his pocket, smoke soon following him.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

the months that follow are confusing. rumours have started to circulate around ganghak that geum seongje has taken a liking to you — and you can see why that is.

he's a strange guy. he follows you home from school and cram class, but he's just far enough to seem like a creep instead of your boyfriend. he goes up to your table between classes to scribble stupid doodles on your books, using your pencil. you only grumble, instead of telling him off or cursing him — which is what you've been known to do with guys who didn't leave you alone.

god, you'd even sneak into supply closets just to make out. it was getting ridiculous. you thought it'd just be a fling, and you were sure it was — but when seongje's whispering sweet praises in your ear, making sure you eat well, and teaching you how to defend yourself... how could you stay firm on that belief?

"so you stand like this," he adjusts your legs. it's a random saturday night when geum seongje realises that he isn't always going to be there — that he'd rather you be able to protect yourself if he was unavailable. his touch lingers far too long on your thighs and waist to maintain that teacher-student professionalism, though.

"yeah, nevermind. i'll teach you another time." before he starts to take off his shirt. you could only burst out laughing as he looks at you, clueless.

you can't help it. something about him makes you feel safe, watched over. you don't drink anymore after that night, but you know he's going to be around the corner if you do (you know this because he insisted you call him whenever you were going to consume alcohol).

at first, you were confident geum seongje was playing with you — and you still think so. perhaps it's a little stupid and immature to let yourself live in a delusion, but it just feels too damn good to let go.

jeongyeon has started to suspect you. at first, she was brushing everything off — no, of course [name] would never like geum seongje! she's not the type!

oh, but when she catches you smiling at seongje's ridiculous texts... she raises an eyebrow. it's gotten to a point where she can't defend you from the girls whispering your name.

"are you fucking crushing on this guy?" she blurts out one sunny afternoon. you're sitting next to the basketball court on campus, watching some freshmen years play around — you can tell they've just joined the club. "just tell me."

"what guy?" the sounds of you sipping chocolate milk from a carton muffle your defensiveness. "i don't know who you're talking about."

"dude. . . do you think i don't see what's going on with you and that psycho?"

"he's not a psycho. he's pretty sweet," you roll your eyes, looking away from the conversation. "you'd know if you talked to him."

she gives you a concerned look. "when did this even start?"

"uh. . . well," you scratch the back of your head, sniffling before you break the news. it'd been 5 months since that day. "i kinda slept with him a bit ago. like. . . 5 months ago."

"are you fucking kidding? wasn't that when you broke up with your ex?" she bursts out laughing, not believing her ears. "ooh, it had to be good."

"yes, it was fucking amazing," you cover your face with your hands, and you both squeal like fangirls watching their favourite drama. you feel the blush creep up on your face, your cheeks burning hot, and you don't dare to show jeongyeon how hard you've fallen. "god, it was so good—but he hasn't even asked me to do anything since then, i'm kinda worried."

as jeongyeon opens her mouth to reply, your phone dings four times in a row.

jeongyeon's looking at you, and then your phone, signalling for you to answer. "geum?"

you pick it up, your face unlocking the device instantly.

asshole geum seongje: hey

asshole geum seongje: im ag the nurses office

asshole geum seongje: i beat up your ex lol

asshole geum seongje: took out a penknife and cut my cheek, fucking asshole cant even use his fists

the gasp that escapes your lungs tells jeongyeon everything she needs to know, and in the next second you're sprinting in the direction of the nurse's office.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

you slide the door to the nurse's office open, finding geum seongje sitting on the couch with his phone in his hands — playing that stupid mobile game he's been addicted to for weeks.

"oh, hey," he looks up at you, shutting his phone off. you're surprised at that. "missed you, pretty girl."

your hands rest on your hips, giving him a stern look that you'd only see on a mother's face. "what are you doing here? what do you mean you got into another fight — with that loser out of all people?"

you take a seat next to him, your hands reaching for his face. he doesn't flinch when your thumb grazes his bandaid. "you're so stupid, geum seongje."

after you two got involved, you noticed that he'd been fighting less — reduced union meetings, more time spent lazing around your bedroom while he left his clothes all over your floor. you knew he had to give some things up if he could show up that often.

his eyes soften when he looks at you, leaning into your palm.

it's baffling, the way the evening sunlight shines on him through the window — specks of dust float in the air, but you're more focused on how his brown hair shines so beautifully. you're amazed at how every kind of light seems to bless seongje's features, but you think this has to be your favourite: golden sun kissing his skin.

"i love you."

you blink. "huh?"

"i said i love you, [name]."

you think you're dreaming — this had to be made up. it's no wonder he looks too good. "you're not real."

when geum seongje leans in to press a tender, passionate kiss to your lips, you think you're definitely hallucinating. this was a scene right from your dreams, like that one two months ago where you went on a picnic date and he rode with you on a pony.

he pulls away just enough to touch noses. "i'm real."

your hands push his shoulders away, and he laughs at your shocked expression — you're still so adorable to him, even after all these months of knowing you. the blush on your face gives him all the confidence he needs to press another kiss to your lips, this time much quicker.

"anyway, since you're so concerned: that boyfriend of yours was talking about how insufferable you were," his tongue pokes the inside of his cheeks. "just asking for it, honestly. dragged him to the bathroom and dealt with it, though. think he's still there."

your face is one of disbelief, jaw hung as seongje continues describing the events: "he said he was too good for you. shit, i think he passed out like 2 punches in."

"are you fucking kidding me, seongje?" you smack his shoulder, and he only smirks at you in response. "you can't just beat people up like that."

"you're forgetting how we met."

"don't even bring that up," your eyebrows furrow, trying to cover the intense blush that you know makes seongje all prideful. "why the hell would you do that?"

"cause i can't stand him," seongje shrugs. "it was fun seeing him cry, really top tier stuff—"

your hands pinch his thigh and he hisses. you know you'd be dead if you were anyone else. "you're lucky i love you too, geum seongje. . . i'd really kill you if i didn't—"

"oh?"

your eyes go wide before you shut them, realising what just left your mouth: the boy is never going to let you live this down. when seongje's fingers force your eyelids open, you can't unsee how flushed he is.

"you love me?" and that familiar, cheshire smile makes something bubble inside. "ooh, how long were you planning to hide that from me?"

you're admitting your insecurities to him, thoughts that you've kept to yourself for months in fear of rejection: "i just thought you weren't. . . the relationship type. you told me that a long time ago."

"i'm not." seongje admits.

a pit grows in your stomach. this must be where it all ends — he tells you to keep it casual, and you'll forget each other when you graduate. you don't know if you'll survive that kind of heartbreak, never seeing geum seongje again.

you're prepared to tell him to end things here, until his slender fingers reach for your hair — he tucks it behind your ear before pressing a kiss on your forehead. "so i'm sorry if i make a few mistakes."

"huh?"

"what the fuck is with you today? has your hearing gotten worse?" seongje's index finger reaches into your ear, and you squirm and giggle at the ticklish sensation. you push him away, and he feels fuzzy seeing you laugh. "i said i'm not a very good boyfriend, [name]."

"who's boyfriend are you, huh?" you make a fist at seongje's face, and he can only grin. he pushes his glasses up.

his expression is vulnerable. you can tell he's biting the inside of his lip, thinking of an answer — for once, geum seongje waits for someone else.

"you know you want me, [name]."

all he'd been used to most of his life was not fitting in. people looked at him like he was a monster — na baekjin's shield who would never have his loyalty reciprocated. a lone wolf who would never need anybody. eventually, he thought he'd stop trying all together.

yet, recently, geum seongje has been feeling like someone is on his side — despite all his fuck ups, despite all his flaws, despite him. a shoulder to lean on when he's too tired to stand, a hand to wipe his tears when he feels shut out from the world.

so when he sees you smile wide, ears turning a shade of bright red — he lets hope take over his being: a mistake he has paid for millions of times in the past.

"i do," the girl in front of him mutters, "i do want you."

geum seongje’s hands are quick as light; his right hand lifts her chin, and he kisses her gently, like it might be the last time.

gawd this is PREPOSTEROUSLY long. but i hope u guys enjoyed it fr fr... reblogs appreciated with a kiss

────

Pookicookie 🦦

➤ “Are you out of rehearsal yet?”

8:39 p.m.

➤ “Did you get home?”

8:57 p.m.

➤ “Where are you??”

9:10 p.m.

➤ “Don’t ignore me. Are you mad, jagi?”

9:21 p.m.

➤ “I’m talking to you. Don’t pretend you didn’t see it.”

9:27 p.m.

➤ “If you’re mad, cuss me out or then tell me. Don’t treat me like I’m fucking stupid.”

9:44 p.m.

➤ “Answer me, this isn’t funny.”

9:50 p.m.

➤ “I’m coming if you don’t answer.”

10:03 p.m.

────

The screen lit up his face like it was the only light he had left. The blue glow from the phone shimmered against the glass of his lenses.

He called you again.

Even knowing exactly what he’d hear.

He waited.

“We're sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again.”

His finger twitched.

Just barely.

Enough to end the call. He locked the screen again hard, like that could somehow shut off the knot in his chest that had been tightening for a while now.

It wasn’t the first time you didn’t answer right away. But this… this didn’t feel the same.

There was no “delivered” status. No blue notifications.

Nothing.

And you weren’t the kind of person to just vanish. There were no signs.

You never turned off your phone.

Not like this.

Not without telling him.

────

One of the guys from “The Union” barged into the room with a bag just like the others, stuffed with stolen phones. The screens clinked against each other with a dry, hollow sound every time the bag swayed. His steps were clumsy, almost dragging, shoelaces slapping the ground with every move. He was breathing hard, like he’d run too far, too fast, just to get there.

He swallowed before speaking, voice trying to sound steady but trembling just slightly.

—Seongje… it’s me, ChungHee.

No reply.

He stood still, frozen in place, like moving would only make things worse.

ChungHee looked away, awkward, and with a weak attempt to lighten the moment he asked:

—Are you playing?

But nothing.

No response, not a word, not a glance, like he wasn’t even there.

Seongje didn’t turn, didn’t look up he didn’t even blink.

He couldn’t tell if he was being ignored on purpose, or if his presence just didn’t register at all.

The gunfire from the game grew louder.

—They’re fucking idiots, I told you to shoot them.—he muttered, voice low and flat. The screen flashed violently as his fingers moved across the mouse with surgical precision.

—Y-yeah… sorry.—the guy next to him mumbled, shrinking back slightly.

—That’s why I don’t go on missions with dumbasses who aren’t on my level.—Seongje scoffed, leaning back in his chair and exhaling like even being annoyed took more effort than it was worth.

The other guy took a step back, still holding the bag full of phones, his knuckles stiff and back straight like even the air might shatter if he moved wrong.

—Talk.—Seongje ordered, without so much as glancing at him. Like he wasn’t even worth a flick of the eyes.

ChungHee hesitated. He’d heard that tone before the way Seongje spoke to others. Dry, sharp, like every word was a loaded bullet. He wasn’t sure if that tone was for him now, or if the contempt just clung to the air itself. But when the silence between them tightened like a wire, he knew. Yeah, it was aimed at him.

—Ah, yes... These are today's, hyung.—His voice barely trembled, though the effort to sound steady showed through.— It got a little complicated... there was movement but it was worth it. At least thirty-six, hyung.

He gave a nervous smile, the kind you make when you hand someone a trophy and hope they’ll say “good job.” Or at least look your way.

But there was nothing.

—Ah, shibal… useless bastards.—Seongje spat, the words dripping with disgust.

He turned back to the monitor. His match had ended without him, automatic loss. The map still on screen, his character dead. Eliminated.

But his mind wasn’t there.

He couldn’t focus.

Because one line kept echoing in his head, over and over:

➤ “I’m coming if you don’t answer.”

And you never went that long without answering.

Not even when you were mad at him. Sure, you could ignore him but you always made sure he knew you were okay.

—Open it.—he said suddenly.

ChungHee reacted instantly, like his hands moved on muscle memory. He fumbled with the bag, Seongje reached in started going through the phones one by one. Powered off, cracked screens, most looked the same.

Except one.

At the bottom.

He recognized it immediately.

And it hit like a punch to the chest.

Your phone.

That case covered in messy little stickers and tiny charms he’d helped you pick out. He used to buy them for you whenever something reminded him of you even if it was stupid. Even knowing you already had a thousands.

He didn’t say a word.

Just reached in.

Pulled it out, gently.

Held it in his cold fingers like it was burning.

And in that moment, it all made sense.

The silence on the calls.

The empty messages.

—Where’d you get this?—he asked, without raising his voice.

His voice came out rougher than usual. Slower. Like he was holding back something that hadn’t exploded yet.

ChungHee didn’t catch the tone. Oblivious, he flashed a dumb, careless smile. The kind people wear when they’ve never had to weigh their words.

—Who, me? Oh, yeah I grabbed that one. Girls from that school have money so I figured it’d be worth it. Seriously, they’re so damn dumb… that bitch didn’t even notice.

The silence that followed was thick.

Seongje looked at him, then slowly set the phone down on the desk.

And stood up.

He stepped in front of him, expression blank. Even smiling, a smile that might’ve looked genuine if you didn’t know the storm brewing in his eyes but it wasn’t relief.

It was the warning.

—Shibal…

He grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the keyboard.

Once.

Twice.

Three.

Four times.

The monitor shook with each impact. The keyboard snapped keys flying, some scattering across the floor.

The poor guy let out a muffled groan, too stunned to react before his head hit the desk again.

—Motherfucker…—Seongje spat through clenched teeth, gripping him by the back of the neck like he wanted to drive his skull through the desk.

The kid squirmed, confused, not understanding what the hell was happening.

—H-Hey! What the hell’s wrong with you?! It’s just a phone I don’t get it…!

The usual low hum of the PC Bang shattered.

In the back, two students looked up.

One pulled off his headphones.

Another paused his game.

But no one moved.

No one.

Because it was Seongje.

And when he snapped like that, there was only one thing left to do:

Disappear.

Don’t breathe.

Don’t exist.

He didn’t yell.

He didn’t have to.

His voice dropped lower, darker, sharper.

—Are you fucking stupid, huh? How many times do I have to say it there are zones you don’t touch?

—Hyung! I’m sorry, I swear! I didn’t know! I’m sorry please!—the boy whimpered, eyes wet, face streaked with blood.

—Of course you didn’t know, you fucking idiot…—Seongje snapped, dripping with contempt.—Because if you did it never would’ve even crossed your fucking mind.

He let go.

The kid collapsed to the floor.

Seongje followed him.

He crouched, grabbed him by the neck, and leaned in close, his voice like a blade.

—Listen carefully because I’m not gonna repeat this.—he whispered.

—There are places you don’t touch. If you stick your hands where they don’t belong again… I won’t say it twice. I’ll break your bones, one by one, until you can’t breathe without a damn tube.

He let go with a look of disgust.

Stood up slowly.

Looked down at him with something that wasn’t just hate, something darker.

Something he couldn’t even name. Something that only ever came out when it was about you.

He went back to the desk.

Picked up the phone gently.

Like it was something that could bruise.

Slid it into the inside pocket of his jacket.

Somewhere safe.

The room was silent.

Not a single word.

Not a breath out of place.

Everyone stared like a hurricane had just torn through.

And maybe it had.

Because when it came to you, he was ready to burn it all to the ground.

Author’s Note

Geum Seongje was always a mess, but he was your mess. Until he stopped being one.

Now everyone knows him as a member of the Union, a heartless sadist and a violent thug. But he wasn’t always like that.

When you met him, he might have had a hint of those traits that now define him so well, but it wasn’t just that. The two of you went to the same high school. It was two or three years ago. You were the new kid, in a classroom full of strangers, but the boy sitting right behind you decided to ask you for a pencil, and that’s how it all began.

You joined a group of friends that included him. It doesn’t matter who they were—you don’t even hang out with them anymore. You got along with them, but you clicked with him the most. You became friends pretty quickly. You had things in common, like video games and music. In fact, that’s how you fell for him.

You were showing him a song by your favorite band at the time. You lent him an earbud, and since they were wired, you were closer than you usually were. You were facing each other; he couldn’t see you, but you could see him: you watched his eyes, his expression, to see if he liked the song. But in reality, you were seeing beyond that.

As soon as you told your friends, they disapproved.

“Geum Seongje? Seriously? He’s an idiot.”

You didn’t care what they thought anyway. To others, or to people who only notice what they see at first glance, Seongje is a somewhat violent idiot. But in reality, he was more clumsy than cruel. If we compare him to who he is today.

To you, who notices every action, every glance, every subtle shift in people’s expressions; Seongje was just a guy with problems at home who took out his stress by being a jerk to others. And as far as you know, deep down in his soul, he’s a guy just like any other, with feelings.

You knew Seongje was complicated, so you were the one who took all the important steps. You made the first moves, you took his hand, you took the initiative to go out together. Every day, the line between friendship and something more became blurrier.

You started noticing small changes that, for someone like him, were huge. Like him buying you a little something at the coffee shop just because, or walking you home.

When you were completely sure his feelings were mutual, you confessed. At first, he laughed in your face. You got scared. But then he softened and confirmed your suspicions: he liked you too.

A relationship with Seongje is… interesting. He was cold, but if you read between the lines, if you slipped your finger into those tiny cracks, you’d open up a whole heart. 

Seongje had problems at home. He had a strong temper, so his house was always full of shouting. From your perspective, there were no good guys or bad guys, just a couple of incompatible people who had the misfortune of being family. But slowly, Seongje started to turn into a jerk.

You went to his house a couple of times, and every single time there was an argument. Seongje was very argumentative, his mother had little patience, and his father was inconsiderate. He also had a little sister whom your boyfriend loved very much, and she always got caught in the middle of everything. 

That’s why you didn’t go over there much. Your house wasn’t an option either. When you brought him over for the first time, your parents immediately said no—that if you wanted to be with him, you could, but not at their house. That didn’t stop you from having him over when your parents were out. Or when they were asleep. But most of the time, they were at school or out later in the evening anyway.

Time with him was simple. Half the time they just talked nonsense or simply did their own things but in each other’s company. There was almost no physical contact if anyone else was around. No overly romantic gestures either, but it didn’t matter. You loved Seongje, and even though he didn’t respond when you told him, you knew he felt the same way.

The first time he did it, he wasn’t even looking you in the eyes. He was sitting in front of his computer, the LED light from the screen outlining his features. You had to leave after spending the afternoon at his house. You gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I love you. See you tomorrow at school, okay?”

“Yeah, I love you too.”

You didn’t make a big deal out of it, because he hates it when you make too much of things, so you just stayed quiet, with a faint smile and a look of surprise on your face. You were so, so in love with him.

Because in private, he was different. There, he was more affectionate. Plus, you talked about more personal things, like his fears and worries. You witnessed the decline of his home life with him—how his parents kicked him out when they’d had enough of him, how he lost contact with his sister, how he felt lonely and misunderstood. You were always there.

Seongje’s downfall was something that really hurt you. Seeing the person you loved most in the world turn into a potential psychopath was painful. Every time you saw him, he had a new wound. He started getting into fights and using violence as a form of communication. Or rather, as entertainment. 

He didn’t really change much with you. With others, he did. He distanced himself from the group, was more irritable, and barely spoke to anyone. You were the only one he didn’t lose touch with. That made you feel special; it made you feel that he truly loved you and cared about you.

But then he grew distant from you, too. He avoided physical contact, he didn’t say “I love you” back anymore, and when you spoke to him, he didn’t pay attention. You knew he was going through a very tough time in his life, so you just let it slide. 

But one day he snapped.

After that, nothing was ever the same again. In fact, nothing had been the same for a while, but that incident really changed everything more than before.

You didn’t actually see what happened; you just heard people running through the hallways, shouting incoherently, until, amid the chaos, you heard Seongje’s name. You ran out with your heart in your throat, filled with doubt and fear.

What if he’d gotten into something serious, like a fight? Or what if he’d had an accident? Thoughts raced through your mind at the speed of light until you reached the door to your classroom, which was packed with people.

You pushed your way through the crowd to see what might be the most shocking sight your eyes had ever seen: Seongje grabbing the collar of a student lying on the floor while repeatedly punching him in the face with his other hand. You didn’t know who he was because he was unrecognizable with all the blood on his face. His nose was visibly broken, and the area around his eyes was swollen.

But the one you couldn’t recognize was the attacker, either. The sadistic expression and vacant stare on the face of the person you called your boyfriend were something you had never seen in him before. 

Your chest tightened, letting in just enough air to scream your beloved’s name in the hope that the situation would stop—which worked. Seongje’s grip loosened, and the boy finished falling onto the cold tiles, his head hitting the floor with a loud thud.

After that, things got a little fuzzy. You only remember waiting for Seongje outside the principal’s office and then seeing him come out with his parents. You never saw him again after that day. Or at least not at school.

He was transferred to a school quite a distance away, which meant you saw each other less often. That made him more insecure. You loved that he was protective and possessive of you, but not being able to be close to you got on his nerves. Any boy who approached you or whose name you mentioned ended up on a blacklist. You remember once making a new friend who, curiously, after you mentioned him to Seongje, showed up with a cut on his face and never spoke to you again.

With every thing he told you, or that was told to you, you knew he was getting worse. At his new school, he was a bully everyone feared, and he started hanging out with increasingly worse people. He also picked up the habit of smoking, so every time he went home, he smelled like tobacco.

Because of this, Seongje was already living on his own. After an agreement with his parents, they paid for a very small apartment far away just before he turned eighteen, on the condition that he never show up to bother them again. They paid for his basic utilities; he had to fend for himself with the rest. But instead of getting a normal job, he decided to make money in a… shady way.

Something called “The Union” started dominating conversations at nearby schools. It was like a mafia made up of all the school gangs in the area. It was led by a guy named Na BaekJin, a wealthy, very calculating, and organized guy. They stole motorcycles, laundered money, and that sort of thing. It was never entirely clear to you where they actually got all that money from. 

Soengje quickly climbed the ranks until he became one of the leader’s most trusted people. That meant he was around less because he spent so much time there. It made you feel neglected; for the first time, he wasn’t putting you first.

All of this, added to what came before, began to darken the image you had of Seongje… he was no longer your guy hiding behind that tough facade; he was already tough. And you were no longer the exception; you weren’t the one he opened up to and felt comfortable with.

You ran away from home one night and rushed to his apartment. He greeted you with a cigarette in his mouth and a familiar smile—the kind he usually gave to strangers.

“What a surprise at this hour,” he laughed.

“I’m not here to hang out with you.” His expression turned serious. “I can’t take this anymore, Seongje. I’m sorry.”

You turned around and didn’t look back as you walked away. You were dying to see his expression, to hear him say something, to see him try to stop you. But this was starting to hurt you. And deep down, it always had, but this time you put yourself first.

You didn’t see him for months. Until he started showing up again.

At first, it was nothing—just a blurry shadow in the background. But little by little, that shadow became less of a mystery and stepped closer into the light. Maybe you’d see him once a week in an alley near your school during dismissal, smoking. You just ignored him; it was surely just a coincidence.

But then he started showing up there more often. There were weeks when you saw him there every day. But again, innocently, you ignored him and attributed his presence to the fact that the group of bullies at your school had recently joined the Union.

One day, as you were heading out with a couple of friends to a café you’d frequented since before you met Seongje, he showed up. You can’t deny that seeing his face and body so close again gave you goosebumps. What was he doing there? His house was far from the café. Does he miss you? Is he spying on you? Or is it both?

Even though he didn’t actually come within 10 meters of you, that was enough to trigger a major reaction in your nervous system. But then you got used to the feeling, because yes, you ran into him again.

Out of the corner of your eye, you recognize the color of his bright orange coat walking on the sidewalk across the street. You just go about your business, making an effort not to look at him. But I don’t know if he was doing the same.

Seongje’s gaze is piercing, deep, and intense. Anyone who has ever been looked at by him would understand. And you, who have been scrutinized so many times by his eyes—whose pupils traced the contours of your body—know the weight of his gaze all too well. 

He watched you from afar, from the darkness of those corners; his eyes stood out like a cat’s in the dark. That scared you a little. But if you feared Seongje, you were simply giving him more power.

When you felt your sanity returning to you, you began to hear him. Not directly, but his name. And the Union in general. Were you hallucinating, and were these delusions not only visual but also auditory?

“Geum Seongje.” You didn’t hear the rest of the sentence, but as soon as you recognized his name, your attention went straight there.

“Who?” you asked.

“Geum Seongje,” your friend clarified. “He used to come here, don’t you remember?” I think you got along well with him.

“Yeah, now that you mention it, I remember.”

Your new friends don’t know he’s your ex. Of course you remember him. It still feels like yesterday when he’d come to pick you up from your classroom to walk home together, when you’d spend afternoons at the local convenience store. Why did it still feel so vivid? You just want to leave it behind. 

He was out on the streets on his way home, near the bus stop, in the alleys outside the school, at your favorite café—your friends had mentioned him. The only place left was your house. And it seems his Panini album of reappearing in your life is now complete.

You saw him from afar, yes, but the fact that he’d go this far—hanging around your neighborhood, with a perfect view of your living room window—gave you chills. You didn’t say anything; you wanted to handle it on your own, because only you knew how to handle Seongje.

But it seems you forgot that, because your first plan was that if he saw you with someone else, this harassment would stop. How naive. Seriously? The crazy, possessive Seongje? If he caught you with someone else, there’d be no telling which of the three would end up dead. 

But you did it anyway. A very nice guy named Go Hyuntak was the one you chose. Actually, you were interested in him—he was the boyfriend of a friend of yours. But the moment the guy’s hand touched a part of your body, you smelled smoke.

One night, you went out to take out the trash in the alley behind your house. Only to run into Seongje. You froze.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, startled.

He lit a cigarette before even looking at you. He took a drag and looked at you. “Seriously? Go Hyuntak?”

“What are you doing here?” you asked again.

“I’m wherever the hell I want to be.” He took a step toward you. You backed away. “I don’t know if you’re trying to make me jealous or what, but that shit doesn’t work on me.”

“Then why are you rubbing it in?” you replied shrewdly. Seeing himself exposed, he sighed, feigning calm, but you knew him.

“That idiot Eungjang…” he muttered to himself. “I wrecked his knee a while back, but maybe I’ll do it again to see if he learns not to meddle in what isn’t his,” he said, turning back to you.

“I’m not yours.”

“I didn’t say that.” “We all know what he meant.” “But you’re not his.”

“Just go away, okay?” you asked, looking away, a little fed up.

He listened to you. He dropped his cigarette on the ground, stubbed it out, and turned away. You went back home with your heart beating a little faster. You hated that Seongje still wasn’t completely indifferent to you. But you didn’t hate Seongje; you never hate something you once loved. 

But you never would have expected… this.

Seongje, at your front door, with messy hair, his uniform and body dirty, cuts and scrapes all over his face, limping and with a bandage on his foot. You both stand in silence. He because he doesn’t know what to say, you because you don’t know what to say.

But there’s no need—you understand everything. You know exactly why he’s there: he has nowhere else to go. He doesn’t have a family waiting for him at home, he doesn’t have friends to turn to—there’s only you. In theory, you were nothing to him, but to him, you were still everything.

“What happened to you?” you break the tense silence. He refuses to look at you. 

You sigh, assessing the situation. Your ex-boyfriend in a vulnerable state, your parents were just out. You didn’t want to, but something tugged at the depths of your soul, something telling you, “Help him; he can’t ask for help, but he’s screaming for it anyway.”

“What happened to your foot? Where are your glasses?” He remained silent, as if waiting for something. “Are you going to talk or…?” you sighed. “Okay, come in.”

He does, and you close the door behind you. He looks embarrassed. Now you’re basically in charge of him, so your brain gets to work trying to handle the situation. 

“Don’t sit on the couch, you’re all dirty.” You turn your head, looking at him closely, trying to figure out a little more about what he got himself into. It’s obvious he was in a fight, but with whom? “What happened to you?”

“I got into a fight,” he spits out.

“Yeah, but with whom? No one’s ever left you… like this.”

“Some idiot named Eunjang.”

You didn’t know who he was talking about, but you thought it was Baku he’d fought with. The mud and dirt on his uniform were starting to dirty your house. Only one idea came to mind.

“Go take a shower; I think I have some old clothes of yours to give you,” you say, walking toward your room.

“You still keep my clothes? How much do you miss me?” You shoot him a withering look, and he doesn’t apologize, but he stays silent.

As you grab a set of clothes to give him, you try to assess the situation you’re facing. Now you have an injured stray kitten in your living room, waiting for you to take care of it. You know you probably shouldn’t, but deep down, the love you had for Seongje keeps softening your heart toward him.

You hand him the clothes and help him turn on the shower. You wait for him outside while you grab a few things to tend to his wounds a little.

When he comes out, you’re waiting for him on the couch with a small first-aid kit you found in one of the kitchen cabinets. 

“What do I do with this?” he asks, referring to his dirty clothes. 

“Leave them there; I’ll take them and bring them back to you tomorrow. Now come here.”

He sits down next to you on the couch. You open the kit and take out something to disinfect the cuts scattered across his face. When you have to get close to his face, your heart beats hard—not fast, but it feels heavier, and you feel it wanting to burst out.

Seongje still seems stupidly attractive to you, seeing him fresh out of the shower, with wet hair, covered in wounds. You don’t know it, but there’s something about him that makes him look better than ever.

“Who did this to you?” you ask as you press a gauze pad against his wound. It stings when it touches his skin.

“I was beating up some guys from Eunjang when Yeon Sieun showed up and we started fighting.”

“Who is Sieun? Did he hurt your foot?”

“A crazy guy who, from what I heard, stabbed a guy with a pen and broke another guy’s foot with some weights. He stabbed me in the foot.”

“They stabbed your foot?” you asked in astonishment. 

“Yeah, can’t you see I’m not even wearing a shoe on that foot? Can’t you see it’s bandaged?” he said, annoyed and defensive. You finished cleaning his cuts and went back to get some ointment. “The idiot first tried to stab me with a pen, then hit me with a flowerpot, took off my glasses, and stabbed me with the arm of my glasses.” You laughed a little because the situation was… unusual. “What are you laughing at?”

“Nothing.” You paused. “And did you go to the hospital?” You leaned in to apply the ointment to the wounds.

“No, but at the station they told me I have to get a tetanus shot because it was metal.”

“The police station? Did they catch you?”

“What do you think?” he said sarcastically. “And then I ran into Na BaekJin.” He didn’t even ask how I was…

“And how are you?”

“Fine.”

Now that your little nursing stint was over, you were back to being a hairdresser. You were standing at the foot of the chair, behind Seongje,  who had his eyes half-closed. You ran the dryer through his hair gently.

You don’t know what’s wrong with you; you don’t understand why this man makes you feel this way. Is it pure maternal instinct and pity? Or is it just love? You still loved him. You knew it. If that weren’t the case, you wouldn’t have let it happen. Or maybe it was nostalgia.

You unplugged the hair dryer and started putting it away in a box. You also rearranged the sofa so it could serve as a comfortable bed for Seongje.

You were adjusting the cushion so it wouldn’t rub against the armrest. When you’re done, you step back. You go to turn off the light, do so, and before heading into the hallway, you pause and look at the man lying in your living room.

You sigh.

“When are you going to the hospital to get the vaccine?” you murmured calmly.

“I don’t know. Maybe when I have time,” he replied in the darkness.

“We’ll go tomorrow. I’ll go with you.”

“No need. I’ll go alone another day,” he clicked his tongue in annoyance and sighed. “I don’t know why you keep helping me.”

“Because no one else will.”

You let that slip and walk away. Even though you can’t see him anymore, you can feel him. You feel how those words changed the air and the atmosphere between you. He knows you’re the only person he has (sort of)—you know him, you know his life, you were his girlfriend.

Your footsteps fade away as you reach your room. You close the door and breathe. You don’t think about anything. You enjoy the moment when your mind is blank. You like doing this; it makes you feel good. But it’s true that sometimes you feel like instead of talking to Seongje, he’s spitting in your face like a child.

Maybe you’re seeing him as a child. Not as a child, but more like a teenager—the way you first met him. As you go to bed, you wonder: Why is he letting himself be taken care of? The Seongje you know wouldn’t let anyone touch his hair, let alone dry it for him. Maybe not the one you know, but the one he is now. The bad boy, violent and sadistic, without a shred of empathy or any other visible emotion. Because the Seongje you know was this one.

You stare at the ceiling, lying on your back, hands on your stomach. What are you getting yourself into? Or where are you getting yourself back into? You don’t want another disappointment. You don’t want to knock on his door one day and tell him it’s over, only to run away, and then have him show up at your door later like a lost kitten. You don’t want an endless cycle where you’re begging him for a change, for the slightest effort, to make you a priority.

You bite your lip. Thoughts and worries flood your head. You just take a deep breath, hoping that when you exhale, the chains will vanish like dust on a surface. 

You shouldn’t be so kind. There’s a song that talks about that, or has a line about it. “Never be too kind; you forget to be smart.” And maybe the smartest thing would have been for him to leave early in the morning. And for those minutes at the hospital to be the last ones you spend together. 

Sleep is drawing near. Your eyes feel heavy, your senses are fading, your body is relaxing. And in the distance, something else is approaching. Your bedroom door opens. You just pretend to be asleep; maybe he just needs something and has come to ask you for it. Through your eyelashes, you see Seongje’s silhouette in the doorway, getting closer and closer. Before you know it, he climbs into your bed.

He settles in and forces you to make room for him. Half-asleep, you see what he’s doing; you feel his hand brush past your waist and gently trace up your torso. The first thing you think is that he wants to have sex. Given the circumstances—how tired you were—you were going to reject him. Your hand reaches for his, trying to push it away from your body. But just then, his head falls. It falls onto your chest, nestling into the curve of your neck.

At first, you don’t understand. You don’t understand what he wants. Seongje was a very sexual person when you were together, so it would make sense for him to want to sleep with you that night. But no. He was looking for something else. Something different. He was looking for companionship, comfort. He was looking for you. Not your body, but you.

Once the shock had passed and you’d analyzed the situation, you rested your hand on his back. His legs were tangled, his face hidden in your neck, his breath caressing your collarbones. It was quite… serene. You just accepted it. 

When you woke up, nothing had moved. He was still in the same position he’d fallen asleep in. The two of you were still entwined. You know he’s a heavy sleeper, so you easily break free from his grip. You crawl across the bed and manage to touch the floor with your feet.

The house is completely silent: no one is there, the couch is untouched, as if he’d tidied everything up before rushing over to you. As if he hadn’t even touched the bed. 

In the kitchen, you grab a glass and fill it with water. You don’t usually eat breakfast because it makes you feel sick later in the day. But today you need it; today is sure to be a long day. Plus, you need to process last night. And the future too, because knowing him, this isn’t a one-time thing, a slip-up or accident that happened one night, just by chance. 

You’re going back to him. And he’s coming back to you. 

the noise is deafening to you in a different way—a slow, rising pressure in your chest. you want to speak, to make them stop. but your voice won’t come, and the words you want to say die in your throat, replaced by that quiet ache of helplessness.

that’s when seongje steps in.

he’s not supposed to be there. he’s supposed to be in baekjin’s office, probably arguing or being a general pain in the ass—but the noise coming from the alleyway catches his attention. he comes striding out, a curse on his lips as he surveys the scene, his eyes lighting up with the familiar flash of anger.

“what’s with all the fucking noise, fuckers?!,” seongje shouts, his voice dripping with disdain as he eyes the delinquents, but his gaze lands on the one holding your hearing aids, who freezes up as soon as he realizes who’s standing in front of him.

“aww, you guys are really fucking pathetic,” seongje steps forward, his mood shifting from bored to dangerous in an instant. he slaps the delinquent’s face, knocking the hearing aids out of his grip, and catches them before they hit the floor.

the delinquent stumbles back, startled, and seongje doesn’t miss the way his bravado slips. “hey, if you want to get your ass kicked, i’ll be happy to oblige. otherwise, get the fuck out of here,” seongje growls, and his voice carries an unmistakable warning.

the delinquents scatter quickly, realizing they’re not really looking forward to get beat up by the wolf himself. seongje watches them leave with a bored smirk, but his eyes return to you, where you’re still sitting silently, your gaze downcast. his anger bubbles under the surface, but it doesn’t seem to be directed at you—it’s more frustration at how they treated you. and, maybe… it’s confusion. because why would he be frustrated?

he despises those who put on a front, acting all tough and dominant when they're around someone they know is weaker, but turn into cowards the moment they face someone like seongje. the hypocrisy makes him sick—they don’t even have the balls to face him.

you look up at him then, your lips parting as if to say something, but the words stay locked inside. seongje stares back, a little too long, before he gestures to the now-empty bowling alley with a roll of his eyes.

“shit, it’s way too quiet in here now,” seongje mutters, half to himself. “i need a fucking drink. you coming?” his fist reaching out to you, making you flinch, but he simply turns and opens his palm to reveal your hearings aids, offering it back to you, his gaze not even meeting yours.

you hesitate, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your face. seongje doesn’t wait for a reply. he knows how this works—he doesn’t need words from you to tell if you’re okay. you’ve already said more than enough with that silence of yours.

it’s a few weeks later when seongje starts to notice something he wasn’t expecting—something soft. you’re not the type to speak, but you show him things. you leave him little letters. they’re simple at first, just words on paper—carefully written, neat and soft. but each one has meaning. you might leave him a note after a chaotic day, telling him, thank you for helping me today—a gesture he’s not used to.

seongje can’t stop himself from reading them over and over, even if he pretends they don’t matter. he tosses the first one aside in an exaggerated motion, but later, when he’s alone, he pulls it out again, trying to make sense of it. there’s something oddly comforting in your words. something real. his usual sharpness dulls just a little when he reads them.

it’s a typical night, and you don’t expect anything to go wrong. seongje has always been unpredictable, but you can’t stop yourself from trusting him. there’s a strange sort of understanding between the two of you now. he doesn’t need you to speak, and you don’t need him to be anything but… himself. still, you don’t expect what happens when he calls you to meet him in a parking lot late one evening.

the dim light from the streetlamps makes the whole place feel cold and detached. you spot him standing there, leaning against the hood of a car, his eyes narrowing slightly when he sees you approach. but there’s something different tonight—something unsettling in his stance.

"come here," seongje says, his voice almost too casual for the tense atmosphere.

your breath catches in your throat as the boy on his knees comes into focus. you've seen him around before—he’s one of the delinquents from the union. the same one who’d been taunting you in the bowling alley, waving your hearing aids like some cruel joke. that memory hits you sharply, and your stomach churns with discomfort as you recognize him now, his face bruised and bloodied, a lip split open, looking like he’s been through hell.

but why is he here? why is he on his knees, shaking in front of seongje? what happened to him?

seongje stands over him, his posture casual, his grin wide and wicked as he watches the boy with almost bored amusement. he kicks the delinquent’s side lightly, like it’s a game, and the boy flinches.

"come on, kid," seongje says, his voice teasing but edged with something darker, something almost amused by the kid’s fear. "just like we practiced."

the delinquent on his knees doesn’t speak, his eyes downcast, probably too terrified to even look up at seongje, but his shaky hand lifts. you watch as he tries to make the "a" handshape, his fingers clumsy as he attempts to sign. seongje looks down at the boy, his grin stretching wider as he watches him fumble.

the delinquent hurriedly completes the sign, his hands shaking, his breath coming in short bursts as he struggles to perform it correctly. he spins his hand in a half-hearted clockwise motion, and you can tell how hard it is for him to even try. he looks humiliated, and maybe that’s what seongje wants—to make him feel small, to show that he’s the one in control now. like how the boy probably felt back in the bowling alley with you.

“sorry.” he signed.

as the boy finishes, seongje pats his shoulder with an almost affectionate thud, a grin still plastered on his face. “good job,” he mutters, voice dripping with mock praise. but his eyes flick to you, then back to the delinquent, as if waiting for some kind of reaction.

the delinquent scrambles to his feet, not daring to say a word, but you can see the fear still fresh in his eyes. without another glance, he stumbles off into the shadows of the parking lot, and seongje doesn’t follow him, not bothering with any more theatrics. “now that’s how you apologize,” he sighs contentedly, glancing at you from the corner of his eye as he walks back to where you two came from.

you don’t respond, but you follow him. because, despite everything—despite how messed up all of this is—he’s still the one who, somehow, happened to feel like the safest person to be around. despite his… unique antics.

despite the way he does things no one else would dare to. because even if he’s rough around the edges, unpredictable and loud, seongje never made you feel small. and that, weirdly enough, was enough.

seongje’s desk at the bowling alley becomes a quiet sort of shrine to you—littered with your letters and notes, half-crumpled from him rereading them over and over. he never bothers to clean it up. they’re scattered across the surface like leaves in a storm, but he knows exactly where each one is. it’s an organized mess, chaotic in the same way he is. but if anyone even looks at them too long—tries to pick one up, makes a joke about the handwriting, even breathes too close to the edge of his desk—they’re basically asking for a death wish.

“touch it and you die,” he’ll mutter without even looking up, one foot kicked up on the desk, cigarette dangling from his lips. it’s not even a threat—it’s a promise.

somewhere in between the late night meetups—where the world is quiet and it’s just the two of you—and the stolen moments in back rooms lit by vending machine glow, seongje softens. not in a way that’s obvious to most, but in ways you catch. like when he plays bowling with you late at night at the union headquarters, just the sound of pins crashing echoing through the empty lanes. he’s terrible at it, but he doesn’t care. he would fair better hitting someone at the back of the head with these bowling balls. he only really lights up when it’s your turn.

you roll the ball, knock down every pin, and before you can even react, he’s throwing his hands in the air, exaggeratedly signing applause, a wide grin stretching across his face.

“that’s what i’m fucking talking about!” he shouts, clapping loudly on top of the sign for applause he just made, just because he’s still him—loud, obnoxious, impossible—but now he’s loud for you.

yeah… to seongje, you’re like a stray puppy at first. small, quiet, following him around without saying a word, eyes always wide and watching. at first, he thinks it’s kinda funny—endearing, even. you don’t talk back, don’t flinch when he’s loud, and you’ve got this habit of showing up with little notes or food like some soft, strange ritual he doesn’t understand. he starts calling you “puppy” just to mess with you, ruffling your hair whenever you come around.

but somewhere along the way, that fondness stops being just a game. no, you’re not a pet to seongje. but maybe, you became an equal.

he starts waiting for your notes. starts leaving his office door slightly cracked, just in case you come by. he catches himself watching you instead of his phone. gets weirdly pissed off when other people so much as look at you wrong.

and the night he realizes it’s different—that it’s not just him babysitting some quiet kid—it’s when you sign “stay” with soft hands after a long night, and he does. no grumbling, no jokes, just settles next to you and doesn’t leave.

after that, it’s not a question. you’re not a puppy. you’re his person.

and yeah, maybe he never said you were dating. but everyone knows. you leave your food in the union’s fridge, your letters in his desk, your comfort in the chaos of his life. and he protects you, respects you, listens to your silence more than he’s ever listened to anyone’s voice. and no one in the union dares to bring it up or even question your soft presence in the nitty gritty bowling alley.

seongje is loud. like, really fucking loud. he talks with his whole body, yells when he's annoyed, laughs like he owns the air around him, and never knows when to shut up. he's noise and motion and chaos wrapped in one, dangerously sharp-edged boy. but you—you're quiet. not just in voice, but in presence. you move gently, offer kindness without demanding attention, speak in ways that don’t need sound.

and somehow, in all the noise of his world, your silence is the only thing that ever made sense. he used to think silence was empty, but now it’s where he finds comfort. he’s still loud, still volatile, still the type to throw a punch first and maybe ask questions never. but now there’s this... softness around the edges. a space he carves out just for you. like you’re the eye of the storm, and he’s always, always circling back to you.

in your quiet, he feels understood. and maybe that's the wildest thing about this whole mess—that a boy made of sound found peace in someone who never had to say a word.

note: aaa i feel like this so short >><< i wanted to give them more of a backstory but for now this is what i’m going with. if you’d like to see more of them that’d be nice 🫶 this is such a different take from collarless tho, and it’s nice to also write a softer character to contrast our tough collarless!reader to explore more dynamics with seongje.

i don’t aim to reform or soften seongje, but have the peaceful presence of the reader be incorporated into his life without changing his ideals and personality.

the air inside baek jin’s office always smelled like old paper, cigarette smoke, and something faintly metallic—like blood that never quite left the floor. the room was small but efficient. a modest desk sat tucked against the far wall, cluttered with files and an aging laptop baek jin used for both homework and union logistics. behind him, shelves groaned under the weight of ledgers, envelopes, and binders—some labeled, some not. a coat rack stood near the door, his school uniform jacket hanging neatly as always, untouched and ghost-like.

on the couch, which was barely wide enough for two, she sat cross-legged, a thick folder open on her lap. her fingers were stained with ink and nicotine, flipping pages with practiced speed. her brows were drawn tight in concentration, but her mouth was already forming insults.

“you’re breathing too loud. move.”

beside her, seong je let out a long, lazy exhale, smoke trailing from his lips. “it’s my lungs. want me to stop breathing next?” his thumb scrolled absently on his phone.

“you say that like it’s a bad idea.”

“you like having me around. admit it.”

she snorted. “i’d rather put out this cigarette in my eye.”

baek jin didn’t look up from his desk. this was routine. predictable. he only paused for a second when seong je flicked a crumpled receipt at her face, smirking when it bounced off her forehead.

“touch me again, i will rip your ears off and mail them to your mother,” she said, without even flinching.

“joke’s on you, she’s already deaf.”

that earned him a hard jab to the ribs with the sharp edge of a folder. he groaned theatrically, tipping his head back against the couch and blowing smoke toward the ceiling.

“i swear to god, you're like a feral cat with a calculator,” he muttered.

“and you’re a hemorrhoid with a motorcycle license.”

baek jin turned a page. the yelling had escalated, but it was background noise. normal. expected.

the argument died the same way it always did—abruptly and without resolution.

she slammed the folder shut and stood. the air shifted. joon and gyung, who had been waiting outside the office door like loyal shadows, straightened as she stepped out.

“collection day,” she said simply, already moving.

seong je rolled his shoulders and stood with her, but she didn’t wait. joon and gyung fell in line behind her like trained dogs, their footsteps echoing as the group left the safe walls of the bowling alley and stepped into the dusk.

@ . !

they found them behind a school, deep in the alley that smelled like piss and motor oil. it was a place for things that didn’t want to be seen—perfect for business.

a few boys loitered under the flickering light. low-ranking union lackeys, careless with the rules. she stopped a few feet away, her presence slicing through the tension like a box cutter.

“you’ve got my money?” she asked, voice cool, indifferent.

one of the boys stepped forward. too confident. too dumb. “you don’t get to bark orders at us, bitch.”

seong je was sitting nearby, on a low concrete barrier, smoking. he didn’t move. not yet. he was watching, the way a wolf watches another predator test its luck.

she didn’t blink. “you’re two days late.”

the guy stepped closer, nudging her shoulder. once. twice.

“maybe you wait a little longer,” he said with a smirk. “maybe say please.”

behind her, joon and gyung tensed. she didn’t say anything, just gave a lazy glance to her left.

gyung understood the signal.

the jab to the gut was fast and brutal—air left the guy’s lungs like a popped balloon. he stumbled back, wheezing, while the others flinched. two of them ran.

“go,” she said calmly.

joon darted after them.

only two remained: the one bent over in pain, and another who hadn’t moved yet, watching with wide eyes, deciding if he wanted to be stupid or not.

she crouched beside the first guy, lit another cigarette with a flick of her lighter, and exhaled slowly.

“you work for me,” she said. “you pay, or you bleed. got it?”

the second guy tensed—fight won the war in his brain.

he lunged.

he never reached her.

seong je was a blur of violence—one second on the edge of the scene, the next driving a fist into the boy’s face hard enough to drop him instantly. no words. no warning. just pure, sharp brutality.

he didn’t stop.

fists rained down, calculated and furious. blood splattered against the wall. the sound of bone meeting flesh echoed through the alley.

she stood slowly, arms crossed, cigarette glowing.

“enough,” she said.

seong je didn’t look at her right away. his fists paused mid-motion. then he stood, blood staining his knuckles, breathing hard.

she met his eyes for a moment. something silent passed between them. then she turned and walked away.

“get the cash,” she called over her shoulder.

gyung moved without question.

seong je wiped his hand on his shirt and lit a new cigarette. he glanced once at the boy groaning on the ground and then followed her into the dark.

business, as always, was done.

@ . !

the streets were quieter now. the sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows that swallowed the cracks in the pavement. she walked ahead, cigarette still burning between her fingers, the orange tip flaring with every drag. her steps were calm, composed, like she hadn’t just threatened teenagers and watched one get half-pulped into a brick wall.

behind her, seong je followed. blood still clung to the ridges of his knuckles, crusting dry in the creases, but he didn’t care. he never did. he flicked his own cigarette aside and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.

they walked in silence for a while, their footsteps echoing softly in rhythm. the kind of quiet that buzzed—static thick with unspoken things.

“you know,” seong je finally said, “you could’ve told gyung to handle it before that dumbass even touched you.”

she didn’t look at him. “he barely touched me.”

“he pushed you.”

“and i didn’t fall. so?”

he scoffed, catching up until they walked shoulder to shoulder. “you’re insane.”

“says the guy who beat someone half to death over a shoulder nudge.”

he grinned. “you like it when i get violent.”

she rolled her eyes. “i like it when you shut the fuck up.”

“but you let me handle it.”

“i let you burn calories.”

seong je laughed under his breath, a short, dry sound. “you’re welcome, by the way.”

“for what?”

“for being your unhinged guard dog.”

“you’re not my anything.”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he glanced sideways at her—at the bruise just barely starting to form on her collarbone where the guy had pushed her, at the cigarette held steady between her fingers, at the calm, calculated cold in her eyes.

he liked her too much. it was a problem he hadn’t figured out how to fix.

“...you patched me up last week,” he muttered. “don’t pretend like you don’t care.”

“i patched you up so you wouldn’t bleed on baek jin’s couch.”

“sure,” he said. “totally believable.”

she slowed a bit, enough that he noticed but didn’t comment. she glanced over, squinting at him through the dimming light.

“you’re bleeding,” she said flatly.

“you always say that like it’s a surprise.”

she stopped walking. so did he.

“you’re an idiot,” she said, stepping in close. her hand reached for his face, thumb brushing a cut on his cheekbone. it was rough, not tender—like everything she did. “you didn’t have to go that far.”

“he was gonna hit you.”

“i had it handled.”

“yeah,” he muttered, not smiling anymore. “but i don’t like watching people touch you.”

her expression didn’t change. not much. maybe a flicker in her eyes. maybe.

she shoved his face gently to the side with the palm of her hand. “possessive freak.”

he grinned again. “you love it.”

“i tolerate it.”

“that’s practically a love confession coming from you.”

she started walking again. “say one more word and i’ll smoke my cigarette out on your forehead.”

he laughed, trailing behind her.

and behind the sarcasm and bruised knuckles, there was something solid between them—twisted, loud, dysfunctional.

@ . !

by the time they reached the back entrance of the bowling alley, the sky had faded to charcoal grey. the neon sign buzzed above them, flickering like it was trying to decide whether to die or hang on another day. she pushed the door open with her shoulder and stepped inside, the familiar scent of oil, dust, and stale air greeting her like a second home.

seong je followed her, hands still in his pockets, quieter now. at the door to baek jin’s office, he hesitated. she paused, looking back at him.

“i’m heading to the internet café,” he said, voice casual, but his eyes lingered on her a little longer than necessary. “need to blow off some steam.”

she shrugged, already reaching for the doorknob. “go waste your brain cells.”

he smirked. “you love me dumb.”

“don’t flatter yourself.”

she pushed the door open and stepped inside. he didn’t follow.

“patch your hand,” she added over her shoulder. “or don’t. maybe it’ll rot off.”

“aw, worried about me,” he teased.

she gave him the finger without turning around.

he chuckled and walked off, footsteps fading down the hall.

inside, baek jin didn’t look up as she entered. he was at his desk, sleeves rolled up, pencil in hand, methodically underlining something in one of the ledgers. the room felt quieter without seong je in it—thicker, somehow.

she dropped her bag beside the couch and sank into it with a tired exhale. the tension hadn’t left her body yet, but it always faded in here. in this space where time moved slower, where baek jin never asked more than she wanted to give.

“you’re back early,” he said after a moment, eyes still on the paper.

“boys ran faster than usual.”

he nodded once. “anyone give you trouble?”

she pulled another cigarette from her pocket. “one tried. he didn’t try again.”

this time, baek jin did look up. his eyes flicked to her shoulder, narrowing slightly. “you’re bruised.”

“occupational hazard,” she muttered, lighting up.

he stared at her a second longer, then stood. she watched him cross the room in that quiet, deliberate way he moved—like he didn’t waste energy on anything that didn’t matter. he disappeared behind her for a moment. when he came back, he tossed his jacket over her.

she stiffened slightly, cigarette hovering near her lips.

“still cold,” he said simply, sitting back down.

“i’m not cold.”

“you always say that.”

she didn’t take it off.

they sat like that for a while. just the two of them. him scribbling quietly. her smoking in silence, baek jin’s jacket draped over her shoulders like it belonged there.

no yelling. no banter.

just stillness.

the only sound for a long while was the scratch of baek jin’s pencil against paper and the occasional soft crackle of her cigarette.

“you let seong je come with you again,” baek jin said eventually, not looking up.

she snorted. “he follows me around like a leech. what am i supposed to do? spray him with bug repellent?”

“he’s loud,” baek jin replied calmly.

“so are you, when you feel like it.”

“not with fists.”

she gave a half-smirk, flicking ash into the tray on the coffee table. “you jealous?”

“no,” he said plainly. “he’s reckless. you’re not.”

“he only steps in when i let him.” she tilted her head against the back of the couch, eyes drifting toward the ceiling. “you know that.”

baek jin hummed, noncommittal, and went back to his work.

for a while, there was nothing but silence again. not awkward. not empty. just their kind of quiet.

“you still live off convenience store food?” she asked after a minute, squinting at him.

“i eat what’s easy.”

“that’s not eating. that’s survival.”

“i survive just fine.”

“could’ve fooled me,” she muttered, stretching out along the couch. “you’re gonna die from sodium poisoning before you even graduate.”

“and you’ll die from chain-smoking before i do.”

“touché,” she murmured, a tired smile curling at the corner of her mouth.

her voice grew softer, like sleep was already tugging at her edges. “...how do you do it?”

baek jin paused, pencil hovering over the paper. “do what?”

“stay calm all the time. even when shit hits the fan. even when everyone’s losing their heads.” her voice had dropped low. “how do you not break?”

he was quiet for a beat.

then, “because if i break, everything else does.”

she didn’t answer. her breathing was slowing now, cigarette burned out in the ashtray. she was curled on her side, one arm under her head, the other tugging baek jin’s jacket closer around her like she hadn’t meant to.

he glanced up, setting his pencil down soundlessly.

she was already asleep.

he stood, walked over with soft steps, and crouched beside the couch. carefully, he pulled the jacket tighter over her frame and adjusted the pillow under her head. for a second, his hand hovered near her temple, like he wanted to brush the hair away from her face—but didn’t.

baek jin’s face didn’t show much. it never did.

but something flickered in his eyes. something quiet. protective.

then he stood, returned to his desk, and went back to work.

behind him, she slept soundly under his jacket, breathing even and steady.

and outside, the world kept turning. dangerous. unforgiving.

but in here, for a little while longer, it was still.