only yours sometimes - l.sh
fwb!sohee x yn | wc: 6.2k angst, suggestive (sexual themes, mentions of and allusions to sex)
note！wrote this only for blonde hee. he's all i think about these days 😊 this is my favorite thing i've written for hee yet. be on the lookout for pt 2 in the future, as well! plz enjoy and thank u for 700 followers <3
when you heard that sohee actually dyed his hair blonde, you decided that you hated him.
you had to convince yourself of it. otherwise, you would spend the rest of your life trapped in this stupid, neverending cycle of heartbreak.
“you’d look so good blonde,” you said to sohee the last time he was in your bed.
his arm was draped around your bare shoulders, your cheek pressed against his chest while your fingers wandered through his hair. at your words, he raised an eyebrow.
your heart skipped a beat.
if you hadn’t been so exhausted from the previous round, you might have jumped his bones all over again.
“really?”
his hand moved lazily to your face. he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before letting his fingers linger against your cheek.
you smiled and nodded against his skin.
he looked down at you with sleepy eyes and a small smile you wanted desperately to believe belonged only to you. for a moment, it almost felt like he was yours.
but he wasn’t.
sohee was only yours after a party. after a bad exam. sometimes before a party. sometimes to celebrate a good grade. otherwise, he belonged to everyone else. never you.
after he failed a job interview and you got dumped by a fling, the two of you found yourselves drunk enough to stop making good decisions.
the rest of your friends called it a night when sohee insisted on another round at his place for new year’s. you were the only one who said yes. you told yourself it was because your heart was broken and you wanted somewhere to put the hurt.
that night, sohee told you that you were beautiful. you told him that he was amazing. somehow, both confessions led to him making you feel amazing as the clock struck midnight.
since then, the two of you have always found your way back to each other. when things were really bad. when things were really good. when you were really drunk.
somewhere along the way, you realized you wanted sohee all the time.
drunk. sober. happy. miserable.
you wanted him on ordinary tuesdays and sleepless thursday nights. you wanted him when nothing remarkable had happened at all. but you knew that wasn’t how this worked. things like this were never allowed to become something else.
there were no spoken rules. still, you knew not to tell your friends about that first night—the one you had convinced yourself would be the only night.
sohee followed suit. he even took it a step further, treating you like less of a friend than everyone else whenever other people were around.
as if distance could erase what happened behind closed doors.
to make matters worse, realizing you had feelings for sohee drastically reduced the number of men you could tolerate looking at. meanwhile, sohee’s roster of girls only seemed to grow.
so the moments you got with him became precious. when you traced the moles on his skin. when he absentmindedly drew shapes against your arm. when you kissed his shoulder and played with his hair. when he whispered sweet nothings into your ear. he was good at lying, too. you had learned that.
“but don’t actually do it, hee.”
you gave his hair a small tug, hoping it would inflict even a fraction of the pain this arrangement had started causing you. imagining sohee blonde made you dizzy.
he hummed before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.
“why’s that?”
sleep was already pulling at your eyelids, but you decided you wanted one more kiss before it stole sohee away from you.
because i’ll want you all to myself.
when a blonde sohee really stands in front of you and the rest of your friends, you realize it isn’t actually that difficult to hate him.
he’s looking only at you, the same way he looks at you when he tells you you’re pretty. the same way he looks at you when he’s touching you. like he knows. like he knows you love him.
the blonde looks amazing. he looks painfully handsome. the grin on his face is too smug. your stomach turns. you excuse yourself from the table.
one of your friends—the one convinced you and sohee had some catastrophic fight on new year’s—offers to come with you. her eyes dart between you and him. you refuse.
you need air. you need to be alone. you need sohee to stop being blonde.
outside the bar, your feet carry you two and a half blocks before you can breathe properly again. tears prick at your eyes. you press the heels of your palms against them before anything can fall.
sohee listened to you, which is the problem. if he had laughed it off, forgotten about it, ignored it completely, none of this would hurt so much.
but he listened. the realization plants something ugly inside you. something possessive. you want blonde sohee to be yours because blonde sohee exists because of you.
everyone already wants him. you’ve spent years watching people want him.
but now he somehow looks even better than before, and every time someone compliments his hair, you’ll remember that the idea came from a sleepy conversation after sex.
he’s blonde because he listened to you. and now you want him all to yourself more than ever. which means you’ll never have him.
you ask a pretty girl outside the bar for a cigarette. she hands one over without hesitation. you place it between your lips and prepare to ask for a light, but she disappears back inside before you can.
you stare down at the cigarette. you don’t even smoke. you think you just wanted something else to focus on. something that wasn’t sohee.
“need a light?” a voice appears behind you.
your shoulders tense. you don’t have to turn around to know he’s grinning.
“yeah,” you say. you keep your eyes elsewhere. “do you have one?”
from the corner of your eye, you see him shake his head.
of course he doesn’t. sohee hates cigarettes. he hates anything stupid. anything addictive. anything a person could end up depending on.
“no, but my scalp was so hot after all that bleach, i swear it could’ve started a fire.” he laughs.
nothing is funny. tears prick your eyes again. you slip the cigarette into your purse.
“i should probably get back,” you mumble, stepping around him. “they’re probably waiting.”
his hand wraps around your wrist. the touch sends a shiver down your spine.
“yn.” his voice is soft.
you don’t know what he’s about to say. maybe he’ll tell you he knows. maybe he’ll tell you this has gone too far. maybe he’ll tell you he’s sorry. still, you let him stop you. because hope is a stupid thing.
his hand slides from your wrist into your hand. he takes a few steps backward until you’re standing face-to-face.
“do you like my hair?”
of course you like his hair. you love his hair. you told him to dye it blonde, and he listened.
you love him.
suddenly, your chest feels too tight. sohee is looking at you with something bright in his eyes. hope. stars. something you don’t want to name.
this time, you can’t stop the tears.
“you’re mean,” you whisper. your voice barely exists. you drop your gaze to his shoes. he’s wearing the same pair as you. you wonder if he knows.
sohee’s expression immediately crumples. his hands cup your face. he tilts your head back toward him. “what’s wrong, baby?” he asks softly. “why are you crying?”
you think he’s punishing you. you don’t know for what. maybe for loving him. the word baby feels like a knife twisting between your ribs.
he’s never called you that while fully clothed. he’s only ever looked at you like this behind locked doors.
you wonder how many other girls he’s called baby. how many other girls told him he’d look good blonde. maybe one of them is the reason he actually did it.
“i hate you,” you lie. the words come out weak and small.
sohee freezes. his world seems to stop rotating. if you hate him, then he dyed his hair blonde for nothing.
“i’m mean,” he repeats blankly. “and you hate me.”
“yes.”
“then why are you crying?”
“why are you blonde?!” you shoot back immediately.
sohee’s eyebrows lift. to him, the answer is simple. you told him he’d look good blonde, so he went blonde. it never occurred to him that there could be another answer.
before he can say anything, your eyes catch a familiar figure walking down the sidewalk, a lifeline.
“riku! hey,” you call.
the dark-haired boy turns around, confused at first, before his face brightens. “hey, yn!”
he walks over without hesitation. his eyes flick between you and sohee. something passes across his face. understanding, maybe. riku knows who sohee is. more importantly, he knows what sohee is to you.
“it’s been a while,” he says warmly. his hand finds your wrist.
“we should catch up soon.”
you nod immediately. “yeah. definitely. i’m free right now?”
sohee understands at once. his face grows hot. suddenly, he feels stupid. he feels confused. his scalp still feels strange from the bleach, and he’s been worrying all week that he ruined his hair forever for no reason. and now you’re standing here holding another guy’s hand in front of him.
“i think i’m done for the night, yn.” his voice comes out flatter than he intends. he runs a hand through his hair, the hair you told him to dye. “see you later?” the question leaves him before he can stop it, hopeful and pathetic, maybe.
because no matter how strange things have gotten between the two of you, you’ve never gone out drinking and not ended up at his apartment afterward.
“don’t count on it.” you mean it. or at least, you think you do.
for a second, neither of you moves. then you watch his face fall. it’s subtle, but you’ve spent years memorizing sohee. you see it. you watch him turn away and watch his stupid, perfect blonde head disappear down the sidewalk.
and somehow that hurts, too.
sohee thinks you actually hate him. he can’t figure out when it happened. he replays every conversation in his head during the walk home. he wonders if he missed something, or if he said the wrong thing. maybe he should’ve never dyed his hair at all.
the image of you standing with another guy follows him the entire way. riku’s hand around your wrist, and the way you smiled at him. the way you told sohee not to count on it.
for the first time in a long time, sohee goes home alone.
it’s been two weeks since you’ve seen sohee, which means it’s been three weeks since you last touched him.
you can count the days since then, but you’ve lost track of how long he’s been on your mind. each passing day feels more unbearable than the last. you miss him. you miss the scent lingering at the back of his nape and drumming your fingers against the warm, smooth skin of his bare back. you miss the way he sings your name softly when he wakes before you in the mornings. you miss the amber in his eyes that only seems to appear beneath sunlight, glowing like something hidden just beneath the surface.
it’s become a cycle. you stare at the last message he sent, then the only picture you have together, then his instagram, and then back to the messages again. when you wake up, you remember the hurt on sohee’s face the last time you spoke. when you walk to class, you find yourself missing the feeling of his hand against your skin. when you eat, you wonder if he’s eating properly these days. when you lie awake at night, you try to remember what it felt like when you and sohee were just friends.
to you, sohee was always the life of the party. if anything ever went wrong, he could fix it with a joke, a funny face, or a laugh so contagious that everyone else had no choice but to join in. you’ve always been the quiet one, too cautious, too afraid to let go and have fun. the first day you spent with sohee, he made you laugh so hard your sides ached.
these days, sohee only makes you sad.
after two and a half glasses of wine, you confided in riku.
you told him how badly you wanted sohee. how happy he made you. how much he had come to mean to you, and how terrifying that realization felt.
riku told you to be honest with him. he said sohee deserved to know how you felt. he said that maybe sohee felt the same way. but how could you?
if you told sohee that you loved him, you risked losing one of your favorite people in the world. you wouldn’t be able to go to him anymore, not when things were good and not when they were bad. there would be no late-night calls. no comfort. no laughter. no sohee.
a life without sohee doesn’t seem worth living. even if he’s surrounded by other girls, even if he’s never really been yours, he’s still yours sometimes. thinking about losing him entirely only makes you realize how much you need him.
it’s almost two in the morning when sohee gets your text.
he’s standing by the door of his apartment, about to go for a walk in a desperate attempt to clear his head after what feels like the tenth straight night without sleep. his hand is already on the doorknob when his phone buzzes.
sohee barely glances at the notification. he assumes it’s another girl who isn’t you.
two months ago, he probably would’ve answered. he would’ve welcomed the distraction, let someone else occupy his mind for a few hours. but lately, every conversation feels hollow. every face blends together.
because none of them are you.
he pulls out his phone. all your text says is "hi," but it’s enough. it’s enough to make his heart stumble against his ribs. enough to make him abandon the walk entirely. enough to make him shove his phone back into his pocket, lace up his shoes, and start running.
if he takes the shortcut through the park, he can make it to your apartment in ten minutes.
maybe less.
it’s been five minutes, and sohee still hasn’t responded to your text.
before panicking, you remind yourself that it’s two in the morning. he’s probably asleep. you’re the one lying awake every night, tossing and turning and living in a constant state of unrest. sohee is probably sleeping peacefully.
you’re about to give up and call it a night when a knock sounds at your door.
your stomach drops.
with every step toward the door, your heart rattles harder against your ribs. by the time your hand reaches the doorknob, you’re convinced it can’t possibly be him.
when you open the door, sohee is standing there trying to catch his breath.
his cheeks are flushed pink. his blonde hair is messy from the wind, falling into his eyes as his chest rises and falls beneath a thin t-shirt. for a second, neither of you says anything.
then sohee’s face breaks into a grin the moment his eyes land on you.
you want to cry. all at once, you’re struck by the overwhelming realization that you love him.
before any tears can fall, you reach for his wrist and pull him toward you. the second his arms wrap around you, something inside your chest finally settles. you think sohee sighs against your hair.
“you ran here?” you mumble into his chest. he smells like sweat and sohee.
“yeah,” he says softly. his voice vibrates through you.
“why?”
sohee pulls back just enough to look at you. his eyes find yours immediately.
“you texted me.”
you stare at him. his arm around your waist doesn’t loosen. if anything, it tightens slightly. there’s nowhere to look except his eyes. your cheeks begin to burn beneath his gaze.
your fuck buddy dyed his hair blonde because you told him it would look good. then he ran to your apartment at two in the morning because you sent him a text that only said hi after weeks of no contact.
you aren’t sure what you’re supposed to do with that information.
“come in,” you say eventually. your face feels impossibly hot. you try to step away.
“it’s been so long. i don’t get a kiss?”
sohee pulls you back against him with the cheekiest grin you’ve ever seen.
your entire face burns, because that’s the problem with kissing sohee.
if you kiss him tonight, you won’t stop there. and if you don’t stop there, nothing will change. you’ll still love him, he’ll still be sohee. and tomorrow morning you’ll wake up wanting even more.
“let’s at least get inside first,” you say weakly.
sohee rolls his eyes, but the grin never leaves his face.
the second his grip loosens, you lean forward and press a quick kiss to his cheek before slipping out of his arms and making a beeline for the kitchen.
behind you, everything goes quiet. you glance over your shoulder.
sohee’s head has fallen back. he’s staring at the ceiling with one hand covering his eyes, a helpless grin spreading across his face. his ears are pink. his cheeks are pink. for a moment, he looks younger than usual. softer.
you have to look away before your heart does something stupid.
sohee thinks you’re way too cute.
he inches around the corner into the kitchen, where you have your head buried in the fridge.
when you spin around, he can’t quite hide his smile.
“want a water?” you ask, pressing a cold bottle against your flushed cheeks. “since you ran and all?”
sohee is standing too close and he’s grinning.
before you can take a step back, he hooks two fingers into the pocket of your hoodie and gently pulls you toward him. your breath catches. your chest rises and falls with anticipation while you clutch the water bottle between the two of you.
“i would love…” he says, his voice low enough to make your heart race. your hands start shaking.
then sohee releases you, reaches past your hands, and takes the bottle. “a water. thanks, yn.”
he twists the cap open and grins. sohee watches your reaction and remembers exactly why you became his favorite girl to play with. you wear every emotion openly—surprise, annoyance, hope. all of it passes across your face before you can stop it.
he loves that about you.
you escape to the couch while sohee drinks his water. settling into your usual spot in the center cushion, you try to focus on the television instead of him to no avail.
your eyes drift to his throat. you watch his adam’s apple bob as he drinks. watch the way his hair falls over his forehead. watch the way the blonde somehow makes his eyes look even warmer.
sohee catches you staring and his grin widens immediately.
you look away first. you wonder if he’s really this happy. you wonder what makes him smile when you’re not around. you wonder why he smiles so much when he’s with you. has it always been like this? or does three weeks simply feel long enough to make you forget? the time apart feels less like three weeks and more like a year.
the last time you sat together on this couch, you barely made it through half an episode of whatever random show he’d put on before his hand was up your shirt and your tongue was in his mouth.
today, you’re determined to talk, like you used to.
sohee drops down onto the couch beside you, close enough that his leg immediately presses against yours. his hand settles on your knee, warm and familiar, and leaves it there.
you put all your concentration into choosing a movie while trying not to think about the fact that sohee’s hand is finally back on your skin.
he leans forward and you feel his breath brush the back of your neck. his chin settles against your shoulder.
“sohee…” you whine softly, nudging him away.
you click on the first movie that looks remotely watchable before finally turning your attention toward him.
“what?” he asks.
he pulls back, but only slightly.
“what’s wrong?”
his leg remains pressed against yours. his eyes shine beneath an exaggerated pout.
you still can’t believe he’s blonde, and back in your apartment. he’s blonde and sitting on your couch and looking at you like that. but he’s not yours. sohee has occupied every corner of your life for months. he’s been inside of you, and still, he isn’t yours. the realization stings every time.
you turn toward him completely and reach up to run your fingers through his hair. the strands are softer than you expected. “your roots haven’t come in yet,” you say quietly. sohee immediately brightens. “i’ve been keeping up with it.” your fingers continue combing through the pale strands. “you have?”
“you haven’t really gotten to see much of it.” he smiles. “i figured i should at least do that much for you.”
your hand stills, and so does your heart. “for me?”
something flickers in his expression. something soft. he wants you to keep touching his hair. he thinks he could stay exactly like this forever, on your couch, with your fingers in his hair.
he nods slowly. “i want to keep this color for a long time, yn.”
his words make you feel a little insane, and you can tell that they were carefully chosen. every time you try to move on, sohee hands you another sliver of hope. like water to someone dying of thirst.
he’s maintaining a difficult, expensive hair color because you once told him it would look good. he wants to stay blonde because you suggested it. your heart takes that information and runs far beyond what he’s actually said.
it imagines permanence and commitment and a future. it imagines him choosing you the same way you’ve already chosen him.
before your thoughts can spiral any further, your hands slide from his hair to his face. your thumbs brush over the moles on his cheek, the ones you’ve always loved.
sohee closes his eyes briefly. he thinks he could stay here forever, too.
then reality returns. you wonder how many other girls have played with his hair. how many have touched his face. how many have looked at him and fallen in love despite knowing better. how many text him at two in the morning. how many he would run to.
your chest tightens.
riku’s words drift back into your head: the only way you’ll ever know is if you tell him. but you’ve already decided you can’t. so instead, you choose uncertainty. you choose darkness.
“hey.” sohee’s voice is gentle. he brings his hands over yours. “what’s wrong? let me in.”
you pull away first. your hands fall into your lap as you shift against the back cushion. drawing your knees to your chest, you rest your chin on them and look at him. his eyelashes, the slope of his nose. his messy blonde hair. you memorize him instead of answering.
sohee doesn’t know what to do when you close yourself off. he isn’t sure where he stands anymore. not after three weeks, not after the bar. not after tonight. more than anything, he doesn’t want to make the wrong move. so he waits.
“how have you been, sohee?”
he hesitates. he isn’t sure whether to tell the truth. he wants to say the right thing. he wants to make you happy. he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.
“i bet you’ve been good, right?” you continue. your voice is light, but only barely. “you’ve probably been busy. probably even more popular with that hair.” your lower lip juts out into a small pout. “it’s okay. i already know.”
what you really wanted was for him to say he’d been miserable. that he couldn’t sleep. that he couldn’t stop thinking about you. but that’s not how this works. you know that much.
sohee shakes his head. “i haven’t been busy.” you glance at him, confused. “a lot of…people wanted to see the blonde, sure.” he shrugs. “but it didn’t matter.” your stomach twists. “why not?” he looks down at his hands. “because they weren’t you.” his voice is quiet, almost embarrassed. “you were the one who suggested it.”
the room suddenly feels too warm. you stare at him. you aren’t sure if he understands what he’s saying. you aren’t sure if he’s trying to make you feel this way. you aren’t sure whether to be touched, angry, hopeful, or completely confused. all you know is that your face is burning. all you know is that your heart has been racing since the moment he appeared outside your door.
“why didn’t you text me?” you try to keep your voice steady. you try not to cry. sohee answers immediately. “you told me not to count on it.”
sohee doesn’t know what else he can do to make you understand him.
you stare at him. at his blonde hair and his big brown eyes staring right back at you. he looks softer tonight somehow. maybe it’s because it’s really late. maybe it’s because he’s sitting on your couch after running all the way here. maybe it’s because you missed him so much that everything about him feels overwhelming.
you want to believe that he’s been thinking about what you said ever since the last time you saw him. the possibility makes your chest feel light. thinking that sohee spent the last few weeks upset at the idea of losing you makes you want to smile.
sohee drops his gaze to his hands. “what are we doing here, yn?”
you lift your head from your knees and glance around the room as though the answer might be hidden somewhere between the couch cushions.
it’s almost two thirty in the morning. you’re sitting on your couch with sohee. he ran here because you texted him. he dyed his hair blonde because you told him he’d look good that way. and now he’s asking what the two of you are doing here.
you search desperately for the right answer. what does sohee want you to say? what does he want the two of you to be? would he be upset if you were honest? you don’t even know what honesty would sound like.
“we’re friends,” you try. your voice lifts at the end like a question.
sohee lets out a slow breath. you watch his shoulders sink. his eyes stay fixed on his hands. you have a feeling that was the wrong answer.
the problem is that sohee doesn’t know what answer he wanted, either. he only knows that he didn’t like that one. because how many friends do you have? how many friends make your chest hurt like this?
“was riku a friend, too?” he finally looks up at you, but something about him has closed off, just enough for you to notice. you have absolutely no idea what you’re doing.
“riku is my friend,” you say with a slow nod.
sohee reaches over and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear before it can fall into your face. the touch is brief and gentle. you wish it lasted longer.
“but you’re a different type of friend, sohee,” you add carefully. immediately, a little brightness returns to his eyes.
“oh yeah?” his lips curl into a grin.
you nod again. you pray he doesn’t ask you to elaborate. you wouldn’t know where to begin.
“and what kind of friend is that?”
you stare at him. sohee watches you think. watches you turn the question over and over in your head like you’re afraid of choosing the wrong answer. he hopes you don’t.
“a friend who sleeps over?” you finally offer. your voice comes out small. your eyes are impossibly wide when you look at him.
for a second, sohee just stares. he hadn’t expected that answer. it feels like you’ve thrown him a rope after weeks of drowning. he refuses to let go of it.
“you can sleep over tonight, sohee.” you nod once, as if convincing yourself. you’re not sure if you’ve made the right decision. if anything, you’re pretty sure you’ve made things worse.
“okay.” sohee smiles.
he looks soft and beautiful. his hair falls into his eyes and his cheeks are still faintly pink from the run over. you want to kiss him.
“just sleep, though,” you add quickly when he starts leaning closer. his grin widens. “just sleep.” his voice drops into a whisper. “no funny business.”
when his lips begin brushing dangerously close to yours, you force yourself to turn your head away with a nervous giggle. “y’know what i’ve been thinking about lately, sohee?”
he pulls back with a disbelieving laugh. one hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. “what’s been on your mind?”
you chew on your bottom lip. your eyes stay glued to him and his pretty pink lips, the slope of his nose, and the warmth in his eyes. his blonde hair.
“i was remembering the first time we hung out.” your hand drifts into his hair automatically. “how much fun we had.” your fingers comb through the pale strands. “you’ve always been so fun.”
sohee leans into your touch without realizing it. “we still have fun.”
you shake your head. “not like before.”
a pout immediately settles onto his face. you almost laugh. he always looks offended when you criticize him, even a little.
the truth is, sohee always has fun with you. he’s having fun right now. he’d probably have fun sitting in complete silence if it meant being next to you. but he wants to make you happy. so he plays along.
“okay,” he says. “then let’s just talk tonight.” he shifts closer, resting his arm along the back of the couch behind you. “we’ll stay up like we used to.”
you raise an eyebrow. “just talk?”
“just talk and sleep.”
the smile on his face makes it very difficult to believe him. and judging by the smile slowly spreading across yours, neither of you is convinced.
it’s technically afternoon, but you wake up exactly where you wish you could every morning.
sohee spent hours talking to you and making you laugh until the sun came up. when you dozed off in the middle of a laugh, he woke you gently and guided you through your nighttime routine. the two of you washed up for bed side by side in your bathroom like you used to, and the toothbrush of his that you’d kept for weeks was finally used again.
when it was time to sleep, sohee pulled you into his chest and tucked your head beneath his chin. sleep found both of you at the same time.
sohee wakes up first. he reaches up and pats your hair softly, taking his time looking at you. you’re so pretty. even now, with sleep still clinging to your face, you look calm. happy.
he presses a kiss to your forehead and hopes you’ll allow a friend that much. this is the best sleep he’s gotten in weeks. he isn’t sure he can sleep without you anymore.
“yn,” he sings softly, barely above a whisper. just like always.
his voice drifts into your dream so naturally that you don’t realize you’re awake. your eyes flutter open to sohee. you’ve been tired for so long that you can’t quite tell the difference between dreams and reality anymore. everything feels soft around the edges.
everything feels warm. everything feels right.
“mmmm, my sohee,” you mumble, smiling sleepily. your hands find his face immediately. his skin feels awfully warm for a dream.
sohee melts beneath your touch. he leans into your palms as your thumbs brush over his cheeks and wander into his hair. his eyes soften. a smile tugs at the corners of his lips.
you don’t give him the opportunity to say anything before your lips find his.
it’s been so long since you’ve kissed sohee that kissing him in a dream feels perfectly reasonable. except this dream feels strangely real. your fingers are tangled in his hair and his lips are warm beneath yours. when you kiss him again, he kisses you back.
you’ve missed him so much. you kiss him like you might never kiss him again. for something that’s supposed to be a dream, you can feel everything, from the warmth of his mouth to the spit around your lips. when you kiss him harder, he presses your body flush against his. if you think friends can kiss, he hopes your idea of friends can do this, too. your body fits against his like it always has.
if this is a dream, you decide you don’t want to wake up yet.
eventually you pull away just enough to catch your breath. your hands drift back to his face. you brush your thumb across one of the moles on his cheek.
“i love your moles, hee,” you murmur. you lean forward and press a lingering kiss there.
“love your cute nose.” another kiss.
sohee’s heart is beating so hard he’s convinced you can hear it. he has no idea what’s happening. he doesn’t know whether you’re awake. he doesn’t know whether you know you’re awake.
he only knows that every soft confession makes him feel a little more unsteady.
your lips wander to his jaw. your fingers drift lazily over the warmth of his body. “i love…” you begin softly.
your hand slips beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.
“i love this too, but most of all…”
“yn.” his voice comes out rougher than he intends. his heart feels seconds away from bursting out of his chest.
he’s still trying to recover from your kiss, from your hands in his hair. from the way you’re looking at him. he doesn’t think you’d ever say any of this so openly if you knew exactly what was happening. and as much as he wants to hear the rest, he’s terrified of ruining whatever this is.
“good morning,” he says instead. he pulls you gently against his chest.
when your ear settles over his heartbeat, reality crashes back all at once. you remember last night on the couch and talking until sunrise. sohee ran to your apartment.
this isn’t a dream. sohee is actually here, in your bed, holding you. all you did was talk and sleep. and it was perfect.
"good morning,” you mumble. your voice is small now. “what time is it?” you make no effort to move from where you’re tucked against him. “don’t know,” he says into your hair. “didn’t want to let go of you to check.”
his heartbeat stays calm, but yours doesn’t. you think you should tell him to check. you think you should move. instead, you stay exactly where you are. it’s been so long since you’ve been held. so long since you’ve slept this well. “sohee,” you mumble against the thin fabric of his shirt. “yeah?” “i just woke up, right?”
he pauses. there’s something fragile in your voice. he already knows the answer you’re hoping for. “yeah.” you relax immediately. “okay. good.” a beat passes. “thanks.” he brushes a hand through your hair. “why do you ask?” you burrow deeper into his chest. “had a crazy dream.” your voice comes out muffled. “it felt real.”
sohee smiles into your hair. for the first time, he thinks he finally understands what this is.
eventually, the two of you climb out of bed. you brush your teeth side by side like you used to, bumping shoulders in the tiny bathroom. neither of you says much. it feels too normal, which makes it feel dangerous.
you find yourself staring at sohee’s back while he changes his shirt. at the broad slope of his shoulders. at the familiar shape of him. you look away before he catches you.
sohee wishes he didn’t have to work. he wishes he could stay here all day, in your apartment, in this strange little bubble where nobody else seems to exist, where it’s just you and him.
when he leaves, he presses a long kiss to your forehead. you look too fragile, too delicate. he almost doesn’t go.
after the door closes behind him, the apartment feels quieter than before. you return to your bed and pull the blanket over yourself. in your imagination, sohee belongs only to you. there are no other girls, uncertainty, or wondering. for twelve hours, it felt like that imaginary world had somehow become real. returning to reality hurts more than you expected.
later that day, sohee texts you. he says one of his friends is throwing a party later this week.
you stare at the message longer than necessary before answering. i’ll see you there.
