#sunghoonxreader

“Yeah,” he shrugged, like that explained everything. “It’s called ‘Fantasy Express.’ Kind of a vibe, right?”

“…Doesn’t that sound like a porn parody of the Shinkansen?”

Sunghoon gave you a blank look. “You said budget. I delivered. Be grateful.”

You snorted and took a sip of your drink. “Right. This better not end with me cuddling you for warmth in a windowless shoebox.”

He grinned. “Is that a threat or a promise, bestie?”

You flipped him off, laughing. But deep down, you were buzzing with excitement — not just because of the trip, but because it had been years since you and Sunghoon got away together.

After college, everything changed. Jobs, time zones, relationships that fizzled out before they even began. But Sunghoon was constant. He was the one person who could make you laugh even when you were crying into your broken laptop at 2 a.m. He was the voice note at midnight, the “I made too much ramen, come over,” the comfort in chaos.

So when the two of you finally managed to book this long-overdue trip to Japan, it felt like pressing pause on real life. No deadlines. No drama. Just the two of you, trains, street food, and maybe — if the stars aligned — a little karaoke.

You’d been talking about it since your second year in college. A pinky promise made over shared takoyaki from a food stall on your campus lawn.

“One day, we’ll go. Just you and me. Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka. A no-plan plan.”

You remembered that promise because Sunghoon never broke his.

Which is why you didn’t question it when he said he’d handle the hotel. And flights. And a few “must-see” locations, because even though you called it a “no-plan plan,” you both knew you were the chaotic one.

The night before your flight, Sunghoon came over to help you pack. In reality, he just sat on your bed, eating your snacks and judging your underwear choices.

“Why do you need seven pairs for five days?” he asked, mouth full of chips.

“In case I fall into a river. Or sweat. Or get possessed and pee myself. I don’t know, leave me alone.”

He laughed and reached over to zip your suitcase, fingers brushing yours for a second too long.

Neither of you mentioned it.

The flight was smooth. You watched a rom-com, he watched anime. You fell asleep on his shoulder. He didn’t move.

When you landed in Tokyo, everything felt surreal — the bright signs, the clean air, the sense that something new was about to happen.

The train ride to the hotel was quiet. You scrolled through Instagram while Sunghoon triple-checked the hotel address on Google Maps.

“We’re almost there,” he said, pointing to a small tucked-away building near the corner of a quiet street.

It looked decent. Small. Cozy. A glowing pink sign above the entrance read:

“Welcome to FANTASY EXPRESS — All Aboard the Love Line!”

You stared at it. Then at him.

“Hoon.”

“Yeah?”

“…Did you just book us into a love hotel?”

Sunghoon blinked. Looked back up at the sign. Back at you. “…No?” he tried, voice cracking halfway through. You deadpanned. “This is literally vibrating with sex energy.”

“I thought it was themed!”

“It is. The theme is fucking.”

He dropped his suitcase. “I swear on everything holy, I didn’t know. I just thought it was quirky. It said ‘train carriage rooms’ and had cute colors!”

You stared at him, unblinking. “You booked us into a love hotel. For five nights.”

A silence.

And then, slowly, the two of you burst into uncontrollable laughter — loud, ugly, bent-over laughter as passersby gave you weird looks.

Sunghoon wiped a tear from his eye. “Guess we’re really going on a ride.”

You shoved his shoulder, still laughing. “Idiot.”

The door slid open with a hiss, revealing the room Sunghoon had confidently reserved for five full nights.

You took one look inside and immediately stopped.

“…You’re joking.”

“Nope,” Sunghoon said in a flat voice, already sounding like he regretted every choice he’d ever made.

There were train handles hanging from the ceiling.

The walls had digital screens showing looped footage of Japanese countryside rolling past at high speed.

A faux train announcement played in the background every few minutes: “Next stop… pleasure.”

You turned slowly toward him. “Sunghoon.”

“Okay, wait—just hear me out.”

You stepped in and did a slow, horrified turn.

There was a chrome pole right in the middle of the room.

The bed looked like it was upholstered with actual train seats, complete with seat belts and tray tables. And worst of all, the mirrored ceiling had a blinking LED banner that read:

🚨 “ALL ABOARD — NONSTOP EXPRESS” 🚨

You gaped. “So its really is a love hotel.”

“No it’s not! …Okay maybe. Technically. But—look, I didn’t know! I thought it was just themed!”

“You thought this was a railway-themed budget capsule, and not a sex train hotel?!”

“I didn’t read that far down the listing, okay?! It was cheap and looked… clean! Plus the review said ‘lots of amenities!’”

“Sunghoon. There’s a vending machine for underwear's and condoms next to the door.”

He paused. Looked. “…Okay, I’ll give you that one. You sighed, dragging your suitcase in anyway. “We are going to get diseases just by existing here.”

Sunghoon followed behind sheepishly, dragging his bag. “You know, in a different light, this place is kind of hilarious.”

You turned to him and blinked. “We’re literally sleeping in a porn set.” “A very affordable porn set.”

You flopped dramatically onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling mirror.

He was right. It was funny. And the more you looked at the blinking lights, the mood lighting, and the suggestively placed towel basket beside the bed, the harder it was to stop laughing.

You both ended up bent over, wheezing from laughter as the fake train announcement repeated:

“Passengers, please hold on… for your own safety.”

Ten Minutes Later

“…Wait,” you muttered from the bathroom doorway. “Is that a jacuzzi?”

Sunghoon looked up from his phone. “A what?”

You pointed. “There’s a jacuzzi in here. And… no way. Is that a sauna?” He came over and peeked in. Sure enough, tucked behind the ridiculously clean glass partition was a legit two-person jacuzzi tub with sleek jets, LED lighting, and a discreet shelf of complimentary scented oils. And beside it? A cramped but actual mini sauna, already set to a cozy 45°C.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “They really want people to… marinate before they—”

“Okay! I’m not letting this place win,” Sunghoon cut in. “We are taking full advantage. This shit is expensive in normal hotels.”

You looked at him in disbelief. “You want to use the sex jacuzzi?”

He shrugged. “It’s just a tub. The jets don’t know what’s going on. You want to spend the night pouting, or do you want a hot bath with free tea tree oil?”

You groaned. “I hate that you’re making sense.”

Twenty Minutes Later

You were in the tub first — submerged in warm water, hair tied up, sighing as the jets eased the travel ache out of your spine.

“I feel gross about how good this is,” you mumbled.

Sunghoon was sitting just outside the sauna, half-wrapped in a towel, drinking water. “Don’t get used to it. This is our peak. We’re about to suffer in a train-themed sex chamber for five nights.”

“You say that like it’s not your fault.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Fair.” You watched as steam curled off his shoulders, his skin flushed slightly pink from the sauna. He looked good. A little too good.

You quickly looked away and sank deeper into the water. Nope. Not thinking that.

You were best friends. The kind who shared hoodies and bitched about exes and had matching pajamas from a failed couples Halloween sale. You weren’t supposed to be noticing how broad his chest was, or how low his towel sat on his hips.

He caught you looking. You snapped your head the other way.

A pause. “You okay?” he asked, voice lower.

“Yup,” you replied, too fast. “Just tired.”

You heard him chuckle under his breath. “You’re a terrible liar.”

You splashed water at him. “Go back to your sauna.”

But the heat in your chest had nothing to do with steam.

You both climbed into the ridiculous velvet-upholstered bed and laid side by side, limbs awkwardly angled to avoid touching too much.

The train screen looped soft countryside visuals.

The LED sign above the mirror blinked softly:

“Don’t miss your stop…”

You stared at the ceiling. “Why does this feel like the foreplay part of a drama?”

Sunghoon’s voice was low. “Because everything here is designed for people to fuck.”

You both went quiet. Too quiet.

Then he added, a little too casually. “If you get cold tonight, just say something.”

You turned your head slightly. His profile glowed in the soft red light. “I won’t.”

“I know.” But neither of you moved. Not yet.

You woke up to the smell of grilled fish and miso soup.

Blinking groggily, you turned your head to find Sunghoon already sitting up in bed, hair messy, skin flushed from sleep, and a gleam of childlike wonder in his eyes.

“Room service,” he said simply, holding up a laminated card with neat checkboxes. “And it’s actually good. Like. Too good for this place.”

You sat up, blinking blearily at the silver-domed trays on the fold-out tray table. “Wait—this place has room service?”

“Apparently. I checked last night before sleeping. They serve breakfast to the room for ‘maximum comfort and pleasure.’” He did finger quotes around that last part. “Very suggestive. But also… delicious.”

He peeled the lid off one tray, and the smell immediately hit you: steaming rice, grilled salmon, soft tamagoyaki, pickled vegetables, and even a little matcha jelly cube for dessert.

Your stomach growled audibly.

“Oh my god,” you mumbled, crawling across the bed like a zombie. “I’m never leaving.”

He passed you chopsticks. “See? You talk a big game, but deep down, you’re just here for the perks.”

You dug in. “Mmf—if you booked this place on purpose for this breakfast alone, I forgive you.”

“I’ll take that as my official pardon,” he said, chewing on a piece of miso-glazed eggplant.

For a moment, the room was quiet — just soft clinks of chopsticks, muffled chewing, and the fake train sounds looping in the background.

And then, as always, came the banter.

“So,” you said, mid-bite, “you gonna keep walking around in that towel all morning or…?”

Sunghoon glanced down at himself — still shirtless, his towel hanging loose around his hips as if he were starring in a shampoo commercial. He smirked. “Jealous?”

You scoffed. “Of what? Your man boobs?”

“First of all,” he said, popping a grape into his mouth, “these are pecs. Try not to cry when you see me in real lighting.”

“I’ve seen you in fluorescent kitchen lights eating ramen at 2 a.m. I’ve survived worse.”

“I’ve also seen you drunk with a sheet mask on and mismatched socks, so don’t act superior.”

“Those socks were a fashion statement.”

He snorted. “A cry for help.”

After breakfast and a little too much matcha jelly, the two of you finally started getting dressed.

Or trying to, anyway.

You were standing at the small mirror near the door, brushing your teeth and fussing with your hair when you heard Sunghoon behind you, grunting in frustration.

“What’s your problem?” you asked, spitting out toothpaste.

“Where the hell is the other sock I packed?”

You glanced over and nearly choked — he was half-dressed, hair still wet from the shower, towel hanging on the rack, shirt hanging off one shoulder like a K-drama lead in distress.

You raised a brow. “Check your suitcase. Or maybe the laundry bag?”

He groaned dramatically and flopped onto the bed. “Why does this always happen to me?”

“Because your packing skills are trash.”

“You packed seven pairs of underwear for five nights!”

“Prepared. Not chaotic.”

“Psychotic.”

You tossed a sock at his face. “Shut up and wear this.”

He caught it, looked at the pattern — pastel pink with tiny peaches on them — and grinned.

“Wait… these are your socks.”

“They’re clean. Be grateful.”

He gave you a playful look. “If my feet feel too soft and feminine later, it’s your fault.”

You rolled your eyes. “You could use a little softness.” There was a beat of quiet as you both finished dressing.

And then, almost too casually, Sunghoon asked, “You good with the plan today? Shibuya, food, maybe teamLab Planets?”

You smiled. “Hell yeah. Let’s go get blinded by LED art and overpay for strawberry mochi.”

You grabbed your tote bag, he slung his camera over his shoulder, and together you stepped out into the Tokyo sunlight — blinking against the sudden warmth, the city buzzing with life all around you.

The love hotel’s sliding door closed behind you with a soft mechanical hiss.

“God, being outside feels illegal after that room,” you muttered, stretching.

Sunghoon yawned beside you. “We need to get out as much as possible. If we spend too long in there…”

“…we’ll end up using that pole, and not ironically.”

You said it jokingly, but the second it left your lips, you realized you were both thinking it.

You looked at him. He looked at you.

You both looked away.

Sunghoon cleared his throat and started walking. “Right. Food. Vibes. Let’s pretend we’re not staying in horny train hell.”

You followed, heart doing weird things.

By 10:30 a.m., you were already on your second iced drink and your fifth photo taken by Sunghoon.

"This one’s blurry,” you said, looking over his shoulder as he flipped through the camera roll.

“You moved,” he replied, flicking to the next one.

“I was mid-chew.”

“Exactly. Candid.”

“You got my molar in HD.”

He laughed, slinging the camera back over his shoulder. “You’re welcome. That’s raw content.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and tugged him toward the next street corner, where a little taiyaki cart was steaming golden fish-shaped cakes onto paper trays.

He bought one with custard and one with sweet potato, handing you the first without asking — he always remembered your favorite.

The day passed in a colorful, unfiltered blur.

From Asakusa’s temple streets to Ueno Park’s shaded paths, you strolled through the buzzing city under soft summer clouds, sharing bites of grilled yakitori, stopping at claw machines, and laughing until your stomach hurt every time Sunghoon got scammed by a vending machine.

“Bro,” he groaned as his Pocari Sweat got stuck halfway. “I just wanted electrolytes.”

“That’s what you get for bullying me about my socks.”

“They are ridiculous.”

“And now they’re your lucky socks, so shut up and suffer.”

He grinned, defeated, as you shook the machine for him until the drink finally dropped.

He brought the good camera — the one he only took out during special trips or when he really wanted to remember something.

At first, it was just the usual:

Colorful alleyways, Vintage signs, Cats in front of bookstores and Neon billboards starting to glow as dusk rolled in

But then the lens kept shifting toward you.

He’d tilt the viewfinder just slightly to the left whenever you were sipping your drink, or smiling up at a paper lantern, or holding up a peace sign in front of a giant tanuki statue.

He didn’t make a big deal out of it.

He never did.

Just snapped quietly, a small smile on his face, pretending to be adjusting settings every time you caught him in the act.

“Stop taking pictures of me looking ugly,” you said as you leaned against a vending machine at golden hour.

“You never look ugly,” he replied without thinking.

You blinked. He clicked his shutter.

You smacked his arm. “Flattery gets you nowhere, Park.”

“I was talking about the vending machine, actually.”

“Oh, screw you—”

By late afternoon, the two of you were barefoot, wading through glowing water and walking across mirrored floors.

The floating flowers, the endless lights, the reflection of stars above and below you — it all felt surreal.

Sunghoon was quiet most of the time, too busy adjusting focus, waiting for the exact second a projection shifted, or the water stilled, or your silhouette lined up against the light.

“Stay right there,” he murmured, crouching low.

You stood still, bathed in blue and purple.

A single glowing lily floated past your ankles.

Click.

When he finally looked up from the lens, his expression was soft, like he’d forgotten where you were — like the whole room was quiet just for a second.

You waved your arms. “Earth to perv?”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, standing up and brushing dust off his knees. “Just… this lighting’s good.”

“Mm-hmm. You’re not slick.”

Dinner was ramen from a tiny shop hidden in an alley where no one spoke English and the broth was so rich it felt illegal.

You walked off the food through quiet backstreets, with neon signs humming above your heads and laundry flapping on upper balconies.

Sunghoon carried your bag without saying anything.

You bought him an ice cream without asking.

It was so easy. The kind of night you wanted to fold up and keep in your pocket forever.

At one point, you stopped to take a photo of your own — just a snapshot of him in the warm city light, licking ice cream and grinning.

“Got you,” you said, triumphant.

He raised a brow. “You finally captured my beauty?”

“No. I finally got proof you like vanilla.”

“You said you wouldn’t judge.”

“Too late.”

The fake train ambiance greeted you again as you entered the room — soft station chimes, muffled track sounds looping on the hidden speakers. You kicked off your shoes with a groan and threw your bag down like it betrayed you.

Sunghoon collapsed face-first on the bed. “We’ve walked 23,000 steps. I checked.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“My knees are 47 years old now.”

You laughed as you peeled off your socks. “Okay, Grandpa. Want me to book us an onsen for tomorrow?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he lifted his head slowly, eyes narrowing at the frosted-glass door in the corner.

“…wait. We still haven’t used the sauna together.”

You followed his gaze.

The in-room sauna and jacuzzi setup was tucked into the corner like an afterthought — sleek, surprisingly clean, and wildly over-the-top for the price. You hadn’t dared touch it yet.

You raised a brow. “You serious?”

He was already standing.

“I’m not walking like a gremlin tomorrow. Sauna it is.”

The small wooden sauna heated up quickly — enough for the two of you to sit side by side, towels wrapped around your waists, foreheads already glistening.

It smelled like cedar and something citrusy.

“I feel like we’re in a rich person’s armpit,” you muttered.

Sunghoon cracked up, head tilted back, eyes closed. “I feel like we’re about to get a motivational TED Talk from a man named Daisuke about financial freedom.”

You snorted. “We are literally boiling ourselves in a love hotel sauna. What freedom?”

There was a pause.

Then—

“This is nice though,” he admitted. “Like… surprisingly.”

You hummed, wiping sweat from your brow. “We deserve it. That yakitori hunt was a whole workout.”

A beat passed.

“Also, you were sweating this much at the gacha machine, so I feel like this is just your brand.”

“Don’t come for my capsule toys. They bring me joy.”

“Your suitcase is full of tiny plastic sushi. Let that sink in.”

After the sauna, you both flopped into the jacuzzi — towels still on, bubbles swirling lazily, the overhead lighting dimmed to a soft purple glow.

You leaned back against the edge and sighed so dramatically that Sunghoon mimicked it seconds later.

“Haaaaa~”

“Haaaaa.”

“…Why do you sound like a dying anime girl?”

“Why do you sound like a wounded elk?”

You flicked a handful of bubbles at him, and he retaliated by splashing water into your face.

By the time you both settled down, your cheeks hurt from laughing.

He nudged your foot underwater. “Hey. For real.”

You looked over.

“This whole day was perfect. Thanks for not letting me book some sad capsule hotel instead.”

You smiled softly. “Thanks for accidentally giving us the weirdest five days of our lives.”

A pause.

You both sank a little deeper into the water, the bubbles rising quietly between you.

Nothing else needed to be said.

Not yet.

After the sauna and jacuzzi, everything felt heavier — your limbs loose, your muscles relaxed, your brain pleasantly fuzzy in the best way.

Sunghoon handed you your toothbrush like always. Same side of the sink. Same rhythm. You brushed shoulder to shoulder, bumping elbows whenever one of you leaned over to spit.

You wore your oversized shirt — the one with faded cartoon prints and sleeves too long for your arms.

He wore a black tank top and gray sweats, his hair still damp and curling a bit at the nape.

It looked domestic.

Dangerously so.

You didn’t comment on it.

The sheets were still warm when you both flopped down again — you on your side of the bed, Sunghoon sprawled diagonally, legs halfway off the edge like a kid after a sugar crash.

"What do we watch?” you mumbled, tugging the blanket over your legs.

“I found a channel earlier that only plays weird food documentaries,” he said. “One of them was about a guy in Osaka who makes noodles with his feet.”

You blinked.

“That sounds unappetizing.”

“And yet I couldn’t look away.”

He flipped on the TV, and soon enough, soft narration in Japanese filled the room. Onscreen, a slow montage showed close-ups of dough, broth, and a man lovingly caressing noodles like they were his own children.

You both stared.

Then:

“His foot game’s strong,” Sunghoon muttered.

You snorted, smacking his arm. “Stop.”

A second later, he tilted the screen toward you and snapped a photo of your mid-laugh face.

“Delete it,” you said.

“Nope.”

“Sunghoon—”

“That’s a top-tier smile. Archive-worthy.”

You reached for the camera.

He held it just out of reach, laughing as you tried to climb over him, only to lose your balance and flop onto his side of the bed.

He oofed softly as your elbow landed against his stomach.

And then…

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

You were both breathing, barely, quiet again except for the soft murmur of the food show and the faint rumble of train sounds from the wall speaker — still looping, still somehow comforting.

Your head rested near his shoulder. His arm lay beside you, palm up.

You didn’t think about how easy it would be to lace your fingers through it.

Because that wasn’t the point.

Not tonight.

Eventually, you mumbled, “I’ll fall asleep right here.”

“Good.”

“Then you’ll complain that I drool.”

“I always do. Doesn’t stop you.”

“…True.”

A beat passed.

Then Sunghoon shifted slightly, pulled the blanket over you too, and said, soft as a sigh:

“Night, dummy.”

You smiled into the pillow.

“Night, Hoon.”

You both woke up later than planned.

To no one’s surprise, the blackout curtains plus the post-sauna coma plus the gentle train track sounds had knocked you both out cold.

When you opened your eyes, Sunghoon was already awake beside you, scrolling on his phone with bedhead and one eye squinting at the light.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he greeted without looking.

You groaned and threw the blanket over your face. “Why are you always so chipper in the morning?”

“I already ordered breakfast. It’ll be here in ten.”

That made you peek out

“Pretty good options. Surprisingly tasty too.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Did you ate already?”

“I may have had a mini croissant. For science.”

The tray rolled in like a hotel drama — miso soup, boiled eggs, tamagoyaki, rice, fruit, juice, and coffee, all neatly arranged in little porcelain dishes.

“This is way too fancy for a place with a pole in the corner,” you whispered.

Sunghoon burst out laughing. “We should eat on the pole.”

“Try it. Break your back.”

You sat cross-legged on the bed, carefully pouring soy sauce into the tiny saucer while Sunghoon buttered his toast like an old man at a countryside inn.

It was… cozy. Stupidly cozy.

He took a photo of the spread — and then one of you holding a strawberry between your lips.

“You’re so annoying,” you said.

“Smile,” he replied.

And you did.

You both dressed quickly — jeans and sneakers, matching windbreakers by accident (he insisted you copied him), camera packed again.

The plan today was Shimokitazawa, the artsy thrift-store-filled neighborhood that smelled like espresso, vinyl records, and dreams of quitting your job.

You wandered between secondhand shops and cafés, trying on sunglasses, picking up ugly mugs, posing in front of graffiti.

Sunghoon’s camera was out the entire time — and even though he pretended he was just testing settings, you saw how he always pointed it at you when you weren’t looking.

You caught him once.

He didn’t deny it.

“I like how you look when you’re not trying.”

You blinked.

He looked away, adjusting the lens. “Lighting’s better.”

“…Right.”

It was small.

You reached for a cold canned drink at the exact same moment.

Your fingers brushed his. Barely. Briefly.

But it lingered — just a half-second too long.

You felt it. So did he.

Neither of you said a thing.

You were sitting on a bench outside a vintage bookstore, sipping soda while he reviewed the photos on his camera.

“What are you deleting?”

“Blurry ones.”

“Let me see.”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“Because some are mine.”

“…Some?”

He paused.

Then smiled a little — not in a teasing way this time.

“Some are just for me.”

You didn’t ask what that meant.

You just let it sit there between you.

Warm. Quiet. Weightless.

But not really.

You returned to the hotel a little earlier than Day 1, shoes dusty, legs tired, hands full of little finds — enamel pins, a thrifted shirt, a random keychain he insisted matched your vibe.

In the jacuzzi again. This time quieter. You both leaned back and let the water do the talking.

Later, you brushed your teeth side by side again, yawning into your sleeves, shoulders bumping gently.

You climbed into bed first. This time, when he laid beside you, you noticed how close your hands were on the blanket.

Not touching.

Just… close enough. You didn’t pull away.

Neither did he. It started small.

Just a joke, really. After another long day out — this time at the Shibuya Sky deck and walking through Harajuku — you’d peeled off your jacket and complained about how sweaty you were.

“You’re melting,” Sunghoon commented, flopping dramatically onto the bed while you stood near the mirror, tying your hair up.

“You’d melt too if you had boobs trapping heat.”

He snorted. “Do you want me to confirm that or—” You threw a pillow at him.

“Okay, but real talk,” Sunghoon said as the door hissed shut behind him. “This sauna is saving my life. I’m starting a petition to install one back home.”

You chuckled, stepping inside after him in your towel, feeling the warm steam immediately cling to your skin.

Tonight felt hotter somehow — and not just because of the temperature.

Maybe it was how Sunghoon looked right now. Hair swept back slightly damp, skin already glowing, the soft edge of his collarbone visible. His towel was secure but low, and he sat with one arm resting over the wooden bench behind you, casual, almost… cocky.

“So,” he started, turning slightly toward you. “You gonna keep avoiding the fact that you made a noise when you sat down yesterday?”

“I did not.”

"You groaned like you were starring in a drama.”

You blinked at him. “Are you being flirty right now?”

He smirked. “Would it work?”

You gave him a look.

He laughed, leaning his head back against the wall. “Relax. I flirt with everyone.”

“…No, you don’t.”

He looked at you again, slower this time.

You felt it — that shift.

The quiet drawl in his tone when he said, “Right. I don’t.”

Ten minutes in, the steam got thicker.

You leaned forward to reach for your water bottle, not realizing your towel had come a little… loose.

You tugged it quickly and pressed it tighter to your chest, but the damage was done.

Sunghoon’s eyes had flicked down.

And then—back up.

He cleared his throat and smirked. “…Nice catch.”

You threw him a glare, cheeks hot, but not from the heat.

“Don’t be gross.”

“I’m not being gross,” he said, tilting his head lazily. “I’m just observant. It’s part of my charm.”

“Your charm is a menace.”

“Yeah?” he said, voice dropping just enough to make your skin prickle. “Still keeping me around, though.”

Later, while drying off, you were both laughing over a dumb quiz show playing on the love hotel TV, towels replaced with your usual comfy clothes. But the air still hadn’t gone back to normal.

You sat on the bed, brushing your hair.

He sat behind you, watching something on his phone, absently letting his fingers toy with the end of your shirt hem.

You didn’t realize he was doing it until he stilled.

Then—

“You always wear this one,” he said softly. “It’s got a little hole in the back.”

You turned to look at him.

“You’re really paying attention, huh?”

His gaze didn’t waver.

“I always do.”

There was no laugh this time. No grin. Just the warm glow from the room lamp and the way his eyes dropped for a second — from your face, to your lips, to your collarbone — before he looked back up.

You swallowed.

He looked way too close all of a sudden.

And yet, not close enough.

You stood up.

Quickly. Casually.

“I’m brushing my teeth.”

“Okay,” he said behind you, quiet… amused. “Run away, then.”The night settled in earlier than usual — maybe because you both agreed your legs needed a break, maybe because the city lights felt better admired from the bed with snacks and cold drinks.

You kicked your feet up, pulling the blanket over your lap while Sunghoon scrolled through the hotel TV’s library.

"We’re not watching something sad,” you warned.

“Why not?”

“Because every time we do, you start doing that emotional whisper voice after.”

He raised a brow, amused. “‘If I die, tell my cat I loved her’ isn’t emotional. It’s factual.”

You snorted and popped a grape into your mouth.

He settled on a coming-of-age romance film — something soft, slow, with golden lighting and friends-to-lovers tension that hit a little too close.

You didn’t comment.

Thirty minutes in, the movie faded into the background. You were half-focused, shoulder-to-shoulder with Sunghoon beneath the same blanket, a bowl of chips between you.

He reached over to grab one, and his fingers brushed yours again.

This time, you didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

You felt him glance at you — not a quick flick, but a lingering stare.

“…What?” you asked, not looking at him.

"Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m admiring.”

Your heart thudded once.

“…What?”

He smiled slowly, eyes dropping to your mouth. “I said nothing.”

Somewhere between the third snack break and the movie credits, Sunghoon nudged your leg.

“Truth or dare?”

You looked at him sideways. “What are we, twelve?”

“Pick.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Truth.”

He leaned back against the headboard, one arm behind his head.

“Have you ever thought about kissing me?”

Your breath caught

He didn’t laugh this time. He didn’t smirk.

He just watched you — calm, unreadable.

You stared at him, pulse ticking louder.

“…Is that a real question?”

His voice dropped lower. “You chose ‘truth.’”

The silence stretched. You felt it thick in your throat, in the space between your knees touching beneath the blanket.

Then, softly—

“Once or twice,” you admitted.

His lips curved, slow and smug.

You shoved his shoulder, embarrassed. “Okay, your turn.”

“Dare,” he said immediately.

You blinked. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want to lie.”

You stared at him.

“…Fine. I dare you to—”

“Kiss me.”

Your breath stalled.

“What?”

“I dare you to kiss me.”

He said it casually, but you saw the way his hand gripped the blanket — the slight twitch in his jaw, the sharp inhale he tried to hide.

You licked your lips slowly.

“Sunghoon—”

"It’s just a game, right?” he said, voice velvet-soft.

You looked at him.

At his eyes. His mouth. His flushed cheeks and the way he was so close but not making a move.

Like he was giving you control.

And that scared you more than anything.

Because suddenly, the game didn’t feel like a game anymore.

You leaned in.

Just a little.

Just enough that he felt your breath.

But before your lips touched, you pulled back and whispered, “Next round.”

He exhaled sharply, a chuckle slipping out — part relief, part frustration.

“You’re evil.”

You smiled.

“Just playing the game.”

“I’m sleepy,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

The tension from the game still clung to your skin, warm and heavy. Your heart was doing too much—pounding like you just ran up a hill instead of almost-kissing your best friend.

You tugged the blanket up and turned on your side, facing away from him.

Or so you thought.

Because as you lay back on the pillows, eyes half-lidded and breath evening out, your gaze landed somewhere else.

Above you.

The mirror on the ceiling.

You blinked.

It was such a stupid, love-hotel thing to have, and you hadn’t even paid attention to it since the first day. But now?

Now you saw everything.

You.

Sunghoon.

Lying side by side, under the same blanket, bodies close enough to share heat.

His head tilted toward you slightly, lips parted like he was going to say something—but didn’t.

Your breath caught.

The image in the mirror wasn’t what friends looked like.

It wasn’t casual. It was intimate.

Too much.

Not enough.

You shifted, just barely.

And in the reflection, you watched Sunghoon do the same.

His hand moved above the blanket.

Closer.

Not touching you—but hovering near your waist.

You felt his knuckles brush the hem of your shirt, barely there.

Goosebumps rose instantly.

Your eyes flicked up again—to the mirror.

He was watching it too.

Watching you.

“…Sunghoon,” you said, barely audible.

He didn’t move his hand. Didn’t blink.

“I know,” he said softly, like he already knew what was in your chest. “You’re sleepy.”

But he still didn’t pull away.

Instead, he let his fingers rest lightly against your side—just enough pressure to make you feel it.

His voice dropped, rougher now.

“But if you weren’t…”

Your stomach twisted.

“If I wasn’t?” you asked.

He met your eyes in the mirror.

“I’d kiss you,” he murmured. “And this time, you wouldn’t stop me.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

The air between you was thick. You felt the heat from his body, the blanket suddenly too warm. His words echoed, burning a hole into your chest.

Still, you didn’t move.

Not away.

Not toward him.

Just… there. Caught.

Heart racing.

Eyes locked in the reflection.

And then—

He pulled his hand away slowly.

A soft breath left your lips.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes.

But you didn’t sleep for a long, long time.

Not with his voice still in your ear.

Not with his hand still ghosting your skin.

And not with that mirror burning above you, showing you something you couldn’t unsee.

“C’mon,” Sunghoon said, tugging your wrist gently as you both stepped out of the taxi and into the Tokyo night. “We’re not leaving Japan without at least one club night. Live a little.”

You gave him a look. “You’re the one who googled ‘clubs that don’t have a cover fee’ and filtered by ‘low noise.’”

“Exactly,” he grinned. “I’m a responsible party animal.”

You snorted, but let him guide you in.

The club was tucked away under a neon sign and a set of stairs, with a cozy, crowded feel—dark corners, glowing drinks, and music that thudded deep in your chest.

He ordered you both something sweet and sparkling. The kind of drink that made your lips sticky and your smile looser.

It was supposed to be harmless.

Just a night out.

You wore a black dress—Sunghoon’s pick, actually, from earlier that day.

“I’m not letting you pack a bunch of oversized hoodies for a night out,” he said back in the hotel. “Show some skin. It’s Japan. Everyone’s hot.”

So you did.

And now?

Now you were paying for it.

Two drinks in, you danced near the edge of the floor, swaying with the beat, laughing with Sunghoon beside you. His hand hovered low on your back—not touching, but close enough to be there if you stumbled.

Until he stepped away for a second to use the bathroom.

And they showed up.

Two guys—tall, confident, clearly a little tipsy.

“Hey, you alone?” one of them asked, smiling too much, eyes dipping low.

You smiled politely, shaking your head. “I’m with someone.”

“Oh?” The second guy grinned. “Boyfriend?”

Before you could answer, you felt it—a hand on your waist. Warm. Familiar.

Sunghoon.

“No,” he said smoothly, his voice sharp behind you. “She’s with me.”

You blinked, surprised by the edge in his tone.

Sunghoon wasn’t the jealous type. Or at least, he’d never acted like it before. Not when guys checked you out. Not when they flirted harmlessly.

But tonight?

He wasn’t joking.

One look at his face and you knew.

The guys backed off, muttering something in Japanese you didn’t catch. But you didn’t care. Not when Sunghoon’s fingers stayed on your hip even after they were gone.

You turned to him.

“…You okay?”

He stared at you for a second.

Then he laughed—short, breathless.

“You have any idea how you look tonight?”

You blinked. “Sunghoon—”

“No,” he said, pulling you gently toward a quieter corner of the club. “I let you out in that dress and thought, yeah, sure, I’ll be normal about it. But then I see guys eyeing you like they have a shot and suddenly I’m—”

He cut himself off.

You stared.

“Suddenly you’re what?”

He looked at you. Really looked.

And for the first time tonight, there was no filter.

“I’m not normal about you,” he said simply. “Haven’t been for a long time.”

Your heart stuttered.

The music faded into nothing.

“…Sunghoon.”

“I know,” he said, eyes flicking to your lips. “We’re best friends. This whole trip’s been fun. Flirty. Safe. But tonight?”

He leaned in.

“Tonight, I want to make it clear.”

Your back hit the wall, gently.

Not rough.

Not rushed.

Just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You’re with me,” he whispered, lips barely brushing your jaw.

And you didn’t move.

Not away.

Not at all.

The cab ride back to the hotel was dead silent.

Not because there was nothing to say.

Because everything had already been said — in the way Sunghoon looked at you when those guys tried flirting at the club, in the way his hand gripped your waist like it belonged there.

And in the way he whispered, low and rough:

“You’re with me.”

The words looped in your head the whole ride. And when you stepped into your room — the one with the ridiculous train-themed decor, mood lighting, and giant mirror above the bed — it was over.

The second the door clicked shut—

He kissed you.

Not like a friend.

Not like someone testing the waters.

Like he knew what you tasted like.

Like he needed it.

His hands were everywhere — cupping your face, sliding down your waist, pressing into your lower back until your bodies were flush. You were barely able to keep up with his mouth — all tongue, teeth, urgency.

You gasped when his lips left yours to nip your jaw.

“Sunghoon—”

“I told you,” he growled, voice wrecked. “I’m not waiting anymore.”

He walked you backward toward the bed, kissing you between every step.

You fell onto the mattress, breathless, heart racing. The mirror above showed your reflection — the two of you tangled in shadows and heat, your thighs parting instinctively as Sunghoon leaned over you.

“You don’t know,” he whispered, nose brushing yours, “how many nights I’ve watched you sleep in this bed.”

His hand slid under your dress, fingertips grazing your thighs.

“Thinking about this.”

You gasped when he squeezed your leg, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re soaked through,” he murmured.

“I’ve been—thinking about it too,” you admitted, cheeks warm.

That was all he needed.

Sunghoon yanked off his shirt, revealing the hard lines of his chest, the trail of muscle down his abs — you stared shamelessly.

He noticed.

“Like what you see?”

You nodded.

“Use your words, baby.”

“I like it,” you whispered, eyes blown wide. “I want all of you.”

He groaned. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

Then he was kissing down your neck, tugging your dress off slowly, his mouth dragging over every new inch of skin.

“No bra?” he murmured against your chest.

“You told me to wear something easy to take off,” you whispered.

His eyes burned.

“I was joking,” he growled, “but fuck, that’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said.”

His tongue circled your nipple before sucking hard, making your hips buck.

“Sunghoon—”

“Be patient,” he said, sliding your panties off. “I’m going to make you cum on my tongue first.”

Then he was kneeling at the edge of the bed, pulling your legs over his shoulders, and diving in.

You cried out.

He licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit, groaning like he’d just tasted heaven.

Then again. Slower.

His fingers gripped your thighs, keeping you open as he licked you deep — tongue teasing your folds, swirling around your clit, then flattening with just enough pressure to make your legs shake.

You tangled your fingers in his hair. “Sunghoon, please—please—”

He paused, pulled back just enough to speak.

“Say it again.”

You moaned. “Please, Sunghoon—make me cum—please—”

“Good girl.”

He dove back in, and you were gone.

Your orgasm ripped through you, thighs clenching around his head as you came with a broken moan of his name.

He didn’t stop — he kept licking, slow and lazy now, lapping up everything you gave him until you were panting, trembling.

He crawled back up your body and kissed you — letting you taste yourself on his lips.

Then you felt him.

Hard. Heavy. Pressing against your thigh.

You reached down, wrapping your hand around him, and his head dropped to your shoulder with a groan.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “If you touch me like that, I’m gonna lose it.”

You smirked, kissing his jaw. “Then lose it.”

He laughed — low and rough — then pulled back to line himself up.

You were still soaked. Still twitching from your first orgasm.

He met your eyes, voice hoarse.

“Tell me you want this.”

“I want this,” you whispered. “I want you.”

He slid in with one deep thrust.

His hips rolled into you, slow and deep.

One thrust — thick, stretching, deliberate.

You gasped, hands gripping his shoulders as he filled you to the hilt.

“Fuck, Sunghoon—”

“I know,” he murmured, mouth brushing your ear. “You’re perfect like this.”

He stilled inside you, chest heaving. You could feel how hard he was — how much restraint he was using just to not lose control.

Then he pulled back.

And pushed in again.

Deeper.

Your breath hitched.

Above you, the mirror reflected everything — the way your body arched into him, how your mouth parted when he bottomed out, the tension in his jaw as he watched you take him like you were made for it.

You whimpered.

“Look up,” he said softly.

You did.

And your entire body shivered.

The sight was unreal.

His body between your legs.

The way your back curved.

The way your nails pressed into his skin.

Sunghoon leaned in close, lips dragging across your jaw.

“Now imagine if you could see this again.”

You blinked, dazed. “What?”

He reached for his phone.

Tossed a look toward the dresser, a sly smirk playing on his lips.

“I brought the tripod.”

Your stomach flipped.

“You’re joking—”

“Nope.” He was already sliding the legs out, adjusting the angle toward the bed. “Consent. One hundred percent. Just for us. Just for tonight. I want to remember everything.”

Your thighs instinctively squeezed around his waist.

He placed the phone on the stand, hit record, and returned to you.

Settled between your legs again.

Caged you in with his arms.

Kissed you like it would never be enough.

“This okay?” he whispered against your lips.

You nodded, eyes wide, chest rising.

“Say it, baby.”

You swallowed. “Yes. I want it. I want you.”

He groaned — guttural, raw.

Then he started moving.

Long, slow strokes at first.

His hips grinding into yours, dragging over every sensitive spot with maddening precision.

His hand slid under your lower back, lifting your hips slightly — angling you better, deeper — until you were gasping his name.

“God—Hoon—”

“You hear that?” he rasped, breathless. “That sound you make when I hit here—”

Thrust.

You cried out.

“—that’s going to ruin me.”

His thumb brushed your clit in tight circles while he fucked you, rhythm getting messier — your thighs slick, sheets twisted, the air thick with skin and heat and moans.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “Look at how fucking pretty you are when I’m inside you.”

You forced yourself to glance up at the mirror again—

And it was filthy.

Your eyes glassy.

Your body bouncing gently with every stroke.

Sunghoon — hair messy, jaw clenched, sweat slicking his chest — completely lost in you.

His thrusts got faster.

Your fingers clawed at his back.

You were getting close again. Too close.

“Sunghoon—Hoon—I’m—”

“Let go,” he growled. “I want to see it. Want to see you cum all over me.”

His hand gripped your thigh tighter, holding you in place as he slammed into you, dragging your orgasm out until you were moaning shamelessly, your body shaking under him.

You came hard.

Eyes rolling.

Toes curling.

He groaned loudly, head dropping to your shoulder.

Then he pulled out suddenly — tugged his cock in his fist once, twice—

“Where?” he panted.

“Stomach,” you gasped. “Please—”

And he spilled with a sharp grunt, hot ropes across your skin, your belly, his hips still twitching from the force.

The room was silent except for your panting.

You both stared at the mirror.

Then each other.

Sunghoon let out a soft, broken laugh.

“...We’re fucked.”

The room was still warm.

The soft buzz of fake train sounds from the speaker had long since faded into the background, replaced by only your uneven breathing and the low whirr of the air conditioner above the bed.

Your body was still tingling.

Muscles relaxed, core aching in the best way, thighs sticky with the aftermath of everything you just shared.

Sunghoon was lying beside you — one arm tucked under his head, the other draped lazily across your bare stomach. His fingers traced little, absent-minded shapes there, gliding through the mess he’d left on your skin like he couldn’t bear not to touch you.

He looked wrecked. Hair messy. Eyes soft. Lips red from kissing too hard.

But the way he was looking at you now?

Completely different.

Like the teasing and jokes were stripped away.

Like he was finally seeing you.

And maybe for the first time—you were really letting him.

“You okay?” he murmured.

His voice was soft, a little hoarse.

You turned your head slowly, looking at him. “Yeah. More than okay.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Good.”

Then, quieter, “Because that... wasn’t just for fun.”

Your heart stuttered.

“I mean—” he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, looking up at the ceiling. “I know we’ve been friends forever. I know this trip was supposed to be, like, low-budget ramen and chaotic sightseeing and those vending machines you’re obsessed with, and I definitely didn’t mean to—book a fucking love hotel—but—”

You cut him off with a quiet laugh, rolling over to face him. “Hoon.”

He looked at you, eyes wide.

Your fingers reached up, brushing his hair from his forehead.

“I know it wasn’t just for fun.”

You paused.

“...Did you really mean everything you said tonight? At the club? Back here?”

His gaze didn’t flinch.

“Every word.”

Your breath caught.

“You’ve... thought about this?” you asked, almost shy. “Us?”

He nodded slowly, like he was afraid he’d scare you off. “For longer than I should have.”

You swallowed, heart thudding.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

He smiled, soft and bittersweet. “Because I didn’t think I had a chance. You’re...you. You flirt with ramen vending machines.”

You laughed, burying your face in the pillow. “I do not.”

“You do,” he teased. “You called that one in Shibuya a good boy.”

You giggled.

Then his fingers stilled on your stomach.

“But the second I saw that guy at the club looking at you like you weren’t the most precious thing in the room... I snapped. I couldn’t keep pretending.”

You looked up at him. “And now?”

He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours.

“Now I want to be the only one who gets to touch you.”

Your breath caught.

“I want to take you on real dates. Hold your hand in public. Make you breakfast. Wake up beside you without wondering if I crossed a line the night before.”

Your chest ached — in the best way.

You wrapped your arm around his neck, pulling him closer.

“Then let’s do that.”

His brows lifted slightly.

“Yeah?” You nodded. “You idiot. I’ve wanted this too.”

He smiled — slow and real, the kind that reached his eyes.

And then? He kissed you again.

Gentle this time. Lingering. No rush.

Just the start of something real.

When you finally broke apart, curled in the sheets, your limbs tangled—

Sunghoon rested his cheek on your chest, humming softly.

“We’re kind of gross,” he mumbled sleepily.

You blinked. “What?”

He pointed up lazily.

You looked. And laughed. The mirror.

Still foggy. Still showing your bodies — flushed and messy and completely tangled up in each other.

“Let’s clean up,” you whispered.

Sunghoon groaned dramatically. “Can’t move. Dead. Died from your pussy.”

You smacked his arm with a pillow. “Romantic.”

He grinned.

Then he sat up—still shirtless, still glowing—and stretched.

As you slipped off the bed to grab your robe, something caught your eye.

That little panel near the bathroom. The one that looked just a little too clean. Too new.

You padded over, curiosity tugging.

Pushed it open— And found the train.

“Sunghoon…”

Your voice was breathless, laced with awe and disbelief as you stared into the hidden room tucked behind the bathroom mirror.

He came up behind you, still shirtless, eyes scanning the strange, atmospheric glow pouring out of the secret space.

“…What the hell?” he murmured, stepping in beside you. The small room looked exactly like the interior of a luxury train car.

Gold-trimmed velvet seats lined both sides.

The projected windows showed nighttime scenery rushing past, as if the whole place were actually moving.

And above it all? Mirrors. Full-length. Perfect angles.

“Did you book this on purpose?” you whispered.

Sunghoon laughed quietly, slipping his arm around your waist. “You’re giving me too much credit.”

You turned to look at him, still flushed, still warm and full from earlier.

He stared back at you—his gaze darker now, hungrier.

“You know,” he said, voice low, “we can’t just find a secret room like this and not do something stupid.”

You shivered.

“Define stupid.” His lips ghosted your neck.

“Take off your robe,” he murmured.

You blinked. “Here?”

“Here,” he said, nodding toward one of the seats. “There.”

Then he tilted your chin toward the mirror above.

“So you can watch.” Your stomach flipped.

He pulled you inside gently, guiding you toward the plush velvet seat like it was a throne.

“Sit,” he said, voice deeper now. “Right here. Legs open.”

You did. Robe sliding down your arms, bare underneath.

The second you sat, the coolness of the velvet against your thighs made you gasp.

Sunghoon dropped to his knees between your legs, spreading them wider, mouth just hovering over your center.

He looked up at you once—dark eyes, flushed cheeks, messy hair. Yours.

“I didn’t get enough of you earlier,” he murmured. “Wanna taste you right. Wanna take my time.”

You whimpered.

Then his tongue was on you. Sunghoon devoured you.

Tongue slow and firm, licking up every drop, nose pressed into your folds, mouth working you open until your head fell back and your hips jerked against his mouth.

You glanced up, dazed—and moaned when you caught the mirror reflection.

Everything. Your legs trembling. Your hands gripping the seat. His messy hair buried between your thighs.

He glanced up mid-lick, locking eyes with you through the mirror.

“Keep looking,” he said, mouth shiny. “I want you to see what you do to me.”

He sucked your clit into his mouth then—hard. You gasped, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

“Oh my god—Sunghoon—!”

“You gonna cum again, baby?” he whispered, licking slow circles again. “Right here, in this fucked-up train fantasy room?”

You moaned—loud, desperate.

“Say it.”

“Yes—please—yes, I’m gonna—fuck—”

He flicked his tongue in a perfect rhythm, and when his fingers slid inside you—two, slow, deep—you shattered.

You came on his tongue, thighs shaking around his head, crying out as he licked you through it, swallowing everything you gave him.

When you finally stopped shaking, he kissed the inside of your thighs, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked up.

Still on his knees. Still hard.

But now? Smiling. Smug. Possessive.

“Still alive?” he teased. You gave a breathless laugh. “Barely.”

“Good,” he said, standing. “Because I’m not done with you.” He pulled you up to your feet and spun you to face the mirror.

Your reflection was glowing—lips parted, chest heaving, legs weak.

Sunghoon pressed up behind you, cock dragging along your ass as he leaned in to whisper:

“Bend over the seat.”

You obeyed—bare hands gripping the backrest, legs shaking as he kicked your feet further apart.

He stroked himself behind you, tip brushing your folds.

“Look how ready you are,” he murmured. “Already dripping again.”

He slid in with one thrust. You both moaned. You watched in the mirror as he grabbed your hips and began to move—slow at first, letting you feel every thick inch inside.

Then harder. Faster. Filthy.

The sound of skin slapping, your breathy moans, his rough grunts—it was insane. His hand slid around to grip your throat gently, tipping your face toward the mirror again.

“Watch, baby. Watch me fuck you.” You did.

And it was the most erotic thing you’d ever seen.You—bent over, mouth open in shock. Him—behind you, wrecked, hips snapping, muscles straining.

And you couldn’t last. You were already so full. So overstimulated. So his. “I’m—gonna—again—”

“Do it,” he panted. “Cum for me. Make a mess. I’m right behind you.” You came again—harder this time, louder, a cry ripped from your throat as your body clenched around him.

And with a final groan—“Fuck, yes”—he came too, spilling deep inside you, his hips twitching, hands gripping your waist tight as he gave you everything. You collapsed onto the velvet seat, breathless, shaking.

Sunghoon leaned over you, arms wrapped around your waist from behind.

You both stared into the mirror. Sweaty. Marked. Ruined.

“…Best love hotel ever,” you mumbled.

Sunghoon laughed, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Welcome to the last stops, baby.”

The water steamed around you, warm and humming, tiny waves lapping at your sides as you sank back into the love hotel’s private jacuzzi.

The bathroom light was dim, glowing low and amber, reflecting off the tiled walls like candlelight.

You barely had time to close your eyes before a pair of arms slipped around your waist from behind.

“Round three,” Sunghoon murmured into your shoulder.

“Already?” you whispered, dazed. “You’re serious?”

“You’re mine now,” he said simply. “I’m never gonna be done.”

You moaned as he pulled you back into his chest, your legs floating around his hips, his hands sliding across your stomach beneath the water.

Then higher.

Until he had your breasts cupped in both palms.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “I’m obsessed.”

You bit your lip, gasping as he started to play with them — thumbs brushing your nipples, squeezing gently like he’d been waiting to get his hands on them all night.

“I always noticed,” he confessed, pressing kisses to the back of your neck. “Every time you stretched in front of me, every time your shirt clung to them when it rained—"

“Sunghoon—”

“—and now they’re mine,” he said, voice rough with need. “So I’m gonna touch them whenever I want.”

His mouth trailed down your neck, then he reached around, shifting you to straddle his lap in the water.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he muttered, lowering his mouth to your chest.

Then he kissed your breasts—slow, wet kisses, tongue flicking across your nipple before he sucked it into his mouth.

You let out a soft moan, your hands burying in his wet hair. He groaned into your skin, pulling your body even closer until your tits were pressed to his face. His voice was muffled. “I could live right here.” You giggled breathlessly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m obsessed,” he corrected, licking again. “Let me worship you.” You felt his cock harden again beneath you, hot and heavy in the water.

“Sunghoon…”

“I’ll be gentle,” he whispered, mouth brushing your chest. “One more. Just one more.”

He reached under the water, lining himself up, and slowly eased you down onto him — warm water swirling around your waists as you sank onto his cock, inch by thick inch.

You both groaned. It felt so full like this. So warm. Slippery. Intimate. His forehead pressed to yours, hands gripping your waist.

“Move for me, baby,” he whispered. “Nice and slow.”

You rolled your hips, riding him gently in the water, the movement easy and fluid with the water supporting your weight. And he couldn’t stop watching your chest.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “Bounce for me, just like that. Look at them—"

Your tits bounced with every movement, droplets clinging to your nipples, glistening under the soft light. His hands returned to them again and again — massaging, squeezing, sucking one into his mouth as you moved on him.

You whined. “You’re too into this—”

“I warned you,” he growled. “They’re mine now.”

Then he grabbed your hips, took over the pace, thrusting up into you as the water splashed gently around you. Slow, deep strokes. His cock dragging against your sensitive walls, your body already so used to him but still twitching at the stretch. You clung to him, lips brushing his. “You feel so good.”

“I want you to cum on my cock like this,” he breathed. “Wanna feel you clench around me again.”

His hand slid between your bodies, thumb brushing over your clit under the water — slow, tight circles until you were gasping again.

“Cum for me, baby,” he whispered against your lips. “While I’m buried inside you. I want to feel it.”

You did. With a broken gasp, body trembling in the bubbling heat, your walls tightened around him, clenching so hard he swore under his breath—

“Fuck—yes—fuck, you’re perfect—”

And then he came too, moaning into your mouth as he spilled inside you again, his arms tightening around you as if he couldn’t let you go. You stayed there, clinging to him, your body spent and warm, water lapping gently against your skin.

He kissed your forehead. Then your nose. Then your boob. Again.

“Seriously?” “What?” he said innocently. “They’re the love of my life now.”

The water steamed around you, warm bubbles churning against your skin as Sunghoon's hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you flush against his hard body. His lips trailed hot kisses down your neck, teeth grazing just enough to send shivers racing through you despite the heat. "Mine" he growled low, voice rough with need, his cock already throbbing against your thigh, slick with the jacuzzi's warmth and his own arousal.

You arched into him, fingers digging into his shoulders as he lifted you slightly, the water sloshing around your waists. His mouth captured yours in a fierce kiss, tongue plunging deep, claiming every inch while one hand slid between your legs. Fingers parted your folds, stroking your clit with firm circles that made you gasp into his mouth. He didn't tease for long—Sunghoon never did when possession burned this hot. Two fingers pushed inside you, curling to hit that spot that had your walls clenching around him.

"Fuck, you're still so wet for me," he murmured against your lips, pumping his fingers faster, thumb grinding your clit. The water made everything slicker, hotter, your body responding with desperate bucks against his hand. But he wasn't done worshipping yet. Withdrawing his fingers, he brought them to your mouth, pressing them past your lips. "Taste yourself. Taste how much you want this." You sucked eagerly, tongue swirling around his digits, eyes locked on his darkened gaze.

Satisfaction flashed in his eyes as he pulled his hand away, replacing it with the thick head of his cock nudging at your entrance. But instead of thrusting in right there, he stood fully, water cascading off his toned chest and abs, muscles flexing as he hauled you up with him. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, the jacuzzi's edge pressing into your back for leverage. "Not like this," he said, voice husky. "I want to fuck you standing, feel every inch of you gripping me while I hold you open."

He shifted, one arm banding around your back to support you, the other guiding his cock. The tip breached you slowly at first, stretching your pussy with that delicious burn as he sank in inch by inch. You moaned, head falling back, the steam-filled air thick with the scent of sex and chlorine. Water lapped at your joined bodies, but it was nothing compared to the heat building where he filled you completely, balls pressing against your ass.

Sunghoon groaned, hips snapping forward in a sharp thrust that buried him to the hilt. "God, yes—tight like this, just for me." He started a rhythm, powerful and unrelenting, each drive lifting you slightly against him, your breasts bouncing with the force. His free hand roamed, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you cry out, then soothing it with his mouth, sucking the peak between his teeth. You clung to him, nails raking down his back, urging him deeper.

The standing position let him angle just right, his cock dragging along your inner walls, hitting your g-spot with every plunge. Water splashed around you as he fucked harder, possessive grunts escaping him. "No one else gets this. No one else fucks you like I do." His pace quickened, hips pistoning, the slap of wet skin echoing in the steamy enclosure. Your pussy fluttered around him, building toward that edge, clit grinding against his pelvis with each thrust.

He sensed it, shifting his hold to free a hand, fingers finding your clit again. He rubbed in tight, fast circles, matching his brutal rhythm. "Cum for me. Milk my cock while I fill you up." The command pushed you over, orgasm crashing through you like a wave, walls spasming as you screamed his name. Sunghoon followed seconds later, thrusting deep one last time, hot cum flooding your pussy in thick spurts. He held you there, both panting, his forehead pressed to yours as the aftershocks rippled through.

But even spent, his grip didn't loosen. "We're not done" he whispered, already hardening inside you again. "I want more".

Sunghoon's cock twitched inside your still-pulsing pussy, the mix of his cum and your juices leaking down your thighs into the bubbling water. He didn't pull out yet, instead rocking his hips in slow, deliberate grinds that kept the friction alive, his mouth crashing back onto yours. The kiss was messy, tongues tangling with renewed hunger, his teeth nipping at your lower lip as he swallowed your whimpers. "You feel that?" he rasped between breaths, one hand cupping your ass to tilt you higher on his shaft. "I'm gonna fuck you until you're ruined for anyone else."

He thrust up again, harder this time, the water churning wildly as he bounced you on his length. Your oversensitive walls clenched around him, every slide sending sparks of pleasure-pain through your core. You gasped into his mouth, breaking the kiss to beg, but he silenced you with another deep plunge, his free hand tangling in your wet hair to yank your head back. His lips attacked your throat, sucking marks into the skin—dark bruises that would linger as proof of his claim.

The rhythm built fast, his hips snapping with possessive force, cock stretching you wide with each entry. Your clit rubbed against his base, the pressure coiling tight despite the fresh ache from your first climax. "That's it, take it all," he growled, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to bruise. You shattered again sooner than expected, body trembling as another orgasm ripped through you, but he didn't stop. Sunghoon kept pounding, chasing his own release while your pussy fluttered helplessly around him, overstimulated nerves firing wildly.

"Fuck, yes—squeeze me like that," he grunted, finally spilling inside you with a guttural moan, hot ropes of cum painting your walls anew. He held you impaled, panting against your shoulder, but his cock stayed buried deep, semi-hard and insistent. Slowly, he lowered you both back into the jacuzzi, the warm jets massaging your joined bodies as he pulled you onto his lap facing him.

His hands roamed your back, tracing the scratches you'd left earlier, before cupping your face for a slower makeout. Lips brushed softly at first, then deeper, his tongue exploring lazily while his hips shifted beneath you. You felt him thickening again, the third round stirring as he broke the kiss to murmur, "On your knees. Show me how much you need my cock."

You slid down eagerly, the water lapping at your chest as you positioned yourself between his spread thighs. His erection stood proud, veined and glistening with your combined fluids. Wrapping your hand around the base, you leaned in, tongue flicking out to lap at the slit, tasting the salty mix of cum and arousal. Sunghoon's fingers threaded through your hair, guiding you gently at first. "Suck it. Take me deep."

Your lips parted, sliding over the head, hollowing your cheeks as you bobbed down, taking more with each pass. The jacuzzi's bubbles tickled your skin, adding to the sensory overload as you worked him with your mouth—tongue swirling along the underside, hand stroking what you couldn't fit. He groaned, hips bucking slightly, fucking your face with controlled thrusts. "God, your mouth... so fucking good. Look at me while you do it."

Eyes locked on his, darkened with lust, you hummed around his length, the vibration drawing a hiss from him. Saliva dripped down your chin, mixing with the water, as you deepthroated him, throat relaxing to accommodate his girth. His grip tightened, possessive, holding you there for a moment before letting you pull back for air. "Enough." he said hoarsely, hauling you up for another searing kiss, tasting himself on your tongue.

He spun you around then, pressing your back to his chest, legs draped over his as he positioned you. One arm locked around your waist, the other parting your thighs wide. "Spread for me," he commanded, fingers dipping into your soaked pussy, scooping out some of his cum before rubbing it over your clit. You moaned too cock drunk to speak, arching into his touch, but he was already lining up his cock, slamming home in one fluid motion.

This angle let him go deeper, the head of his dick battering your cervix with every upward thrust. Water splashed over the jacuzzi's edge as he fucked you relentlessly, his mouth on your neck, biting and licking. "You're mine to use"he whispered hotly, fingers returning to your clit, pinching and rolling it until you were sobbing with overstimulation. Your body betrayed you, hips grinding back despite the intensity, chasing the building pressure. "Yours only-fuck— yours." You managed to replied back.

He didn't let up, pace brutal, cock dragging against your g-spot with precision. The coil snapped violently—your pussy gushed around him, squirting in forceful arcs that mixed with the jacuzzi water, soaking his thighs. "Fuck, yes—squirt for me, baby," he praised, thrusting through it, prolonging the waves until you were a trembling mess.

Sunghoon came with a roar, flooding you once more, his body shuddering against yours. He held you close through the aftershocks, kisses turning tender, lips brushing your temple, your jaw. "All mine,"he murmured, finally softening and slipping out, cum trickling from your abused pussy.

Exhausted, he lifted you effortlessly, wrapping you in a towel before carrying you to the nearby lounge chair. The steam still hung in the air as he settled beside you, pulling you into his chest. His arms encircled you possessively, one hand stroking your hair as your eyelids grew heavy. "Sleep now" he whispered, voice soft and kissing the top of your head. You drifted off to the rhythm of his heartbeat, safe and claimed in his embrace.

The scent of miso soup and freshly baked melonpan woke you before sunlight did.

You blinked against the soft morning glow spilling in through the patterned blinds.

The mirror above the bed was foggy now from the jacuzzi steam the night before — a quiet, ghostly reminder of everything you’d done in this ridiculous love hotel.

The sheets were wrapped around you like a cocoon, and when you turned over, the space beside you was empty. But only for a second. Because then Sunghoon walked in, shirtless, hair a mess, tray in hand. Room service.

“Good morning, superstar,” he grinned. You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes. “You ordered food?”

“I ordered everything.”

He plopped the tray down on the bed — steaming rice bowls, tamagoyaki, cut fruit in flower shapes, and melonpan fresh enough that you could smell the butter. Two iced coffees sat sweating in the corner. You blinked. “You remembered melonpan?”

“You moaned about it in your sleep,” he teased, climbing back into bed. You slapped his chest lightly. “You’re lying.”

“Maybe,” he grinned. “Maybe I just like hearing you moan.”

You groaned, flopping face-first into a pillow. “Stop talking.”

He chuckled. “That’s rich, coming from someone who begged me in a fake train room last night.”

You threw the other pillow at him.

He caught it mid-air. “I’m keeping this one. Smells like your shampoo.”

You peeked out from under the sheets, still flushed.

“Are you… always like this in the morning?”

“Only when I wake up with my favorite person naked beside me.”

He leaned over to kiss your cheek.

Then your shoulder. Then your chest.

You shoved him back with a laugh. “Eat your breakfast.” “I’m trying, but my meal’s hiding under all those blankets—ow, okay, I’m done—!”

He handed you a cup of coffee like it was the holy grail. You drank. Grateful. Warm in more ways than one. After a moment of silence, your voice dropped.

“So… this isn’t just a one-time thing, right?”

Sunghoon didn’t hesitate.

“Babe. I came like a dozen times and cried into your neck. You’re not getting rid of me.” You snorted into your cup. He reached across the tray, brushing your fingers with his.

“I mean it. I want you. All the time. After we go home. Even when you’re being annoying.”

You narrowed your eyes. “When am I annoying?”

“Specially when your annoying,” he smiled. He reached for his phone and, without asking, snapped a picture of you wrapped in blankets, coffee cup in hand, cheeks flushed from laughter.

You groaned. “No—delete that—!”

“Nope,” he grinned, adding it to an album. “This is my favorite version of you. Hair messy, barely alive, and mine.”

You went still. Then softly, “Yours?”

He looked up. “Of course.” Then quieter.

“...Always hoped you’d be.” You leaned in and kissed him slow. Sleepy. Full of a new kind of sweetness.

“Okay,” you whispered. “So what now?”

Sunghoon leaned back against the headboard, arm around you.

“We’ll finish the trip,” he said. “Take more pictures. Eat ridiculous food.”

Then, with a cheeky grin:

“See if the other rooms here have different themes. Maybe one with clouds? A plane? Hospital bed—?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay, but hear me out—”

You shoved a piece of fruit into his mouth.

He chewed, smug.

Then he laced his fingers through yours.

“I want to do this every year,” he said seriously. “Travel. Get lost. End up somewhere weird.”

“With me?” you whispered.

“With you,” he said. “Always.”

@ tobiosbbyghorl 2026

series taglist: @vissnipherwifeey @jnsknls @tessa365 @acute4angel @seranghaesvt @blueluvies @missoxy @pastahoon @renatojr @katishot147 @nimeah @je-tsime @hyyhwriter @satorus-slut @simjakeyjake @choke-on-flowerz @enaesthetix @ynzyy @chromeheartsquartz @hoonsucker @bkatarina @zsrcx @rikidaze @f-nari @tia-08 @paleunhee @lisie-loves-u @nikidikiy @shadesodc00l @heehee67 @shaiimuraaa @la-choiblog @babbatt @et3rn4lmo0nl1ght @defnoterda @devilish-meangadh

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Sunghoon was drawn to you from the very first time you walked out of the office elevator to submit your internship documents. You seemed aloof until the associate spoke to you and from then on, Sunghoon swore he was hooked. He slowly finds himself glancing at the elevator whenever it opens, hoping he gets a glimpse of you before you enter your little cubicle and dabble in your own tasks. 

Jake thinks he's just infatuated. Why wouldn't he? It was apparent to Jake that you had your charm and it was especially effective on his best friend. But his best friend disagrees. Sunghoon believes he’s finally met the love of his life. For sure, the poor IT intern is a mad man and a loser. His knees would buckle whenever you passed by them to grab lunch in the cafeteria with your co-intern, Yunjin, but you don't seem to acknowledge Sunghoon's existence. Yet, he didn't seem to mind. He solely believes that the stars have finally crossed for him and it brought you to him.

Lucky for him, Yunjin was not as dense as you and immediately noticed the young man's overflowing feelings for you. She found it laughable at first how downbad he is, but then maybe that's exactly what you needed—a little excitement, a little thrill in your routinary life. If she can't stop you from your clockwork, maybe a little office romance would.

And so, through Jake, just so she wouldn't excite Sunghoon too much to the point of combustion, Yunjin managed to slip a sticky note with your number and Instagram username. Oh boy, Jake was sure he saw a tear slip down Sunghoon's eye when he handed him the note. God, Jake had to hold his laugh back with his friend’s extreme reaction. He's expressive, he tries to convince himself… nothing's wrong with that.

“Good morning, this is Y/N from HR. Mrs. Lim is asking for a keyboard to be replaced here in the training room,” your voice was static and monotonous over the telephone, yet Sunghoon on the other line was already imploding. It wouldn't be reaching to say he might've peed his pants. 

“Coming right up, love,” Sunghoon blurts out before he could second guess his impulsive thought. 

“Boy, what?” Jake was quick to hit the back of his head out of second hand embarrassment. 

“But my name is Y/N…” you replied innocently, confused as to why he thought your name was love. You said your name clearly, didn't you?

“Yeah, right… Sorry… It kinda slipped, I had a friend named Love and I was thinking of her just before you called.”

“Well I hope your girlfriend is thinking of you too, Sunghoon. Mrs. Lim needs the keyboard to be replaced ASAP. It's kind of urgent,” you replied to him politely, completely not noticing the fact that he just openly flirted with you and failed so miserably.

“You are an embarrassment to this family!” Jake whisper-yelled at him, running hand on his face as he gets up to go to the training room. Sunghoon does not seem fazed by his rizzless attempt to flirt with his office crush. Jake, on the other hand, wants the ground to open and swallow Sunghoon whole so he doesn't have to deal with his cringeworthy attempts to woo you.

“Do you honestly not find him attractive?” Yunjin asked you as she sat next to you in your little secluded cubicle in the corner of the office. “He's tall, and honestly conventionally handsome—c'mon, he's an athlete! He's literally preparing for the national figure skating competition on the weekends as we speak!”

“I suppose he is,” you hummed, seemingly uninterested, while your eyes tunnel vision to him in the training room which you and Yunjin had a clear view of from your little corner. He was fighting with Jake over something about picking the wrong wire. “I guess he's cute. But he has a girlfriend. So, he's not that interesting at all.”

“The fuck you mean he has a girlfriend?” Yunjin asked, appalled at the sudden information, while still keeping her voice in a whisper volume, afraid to attract attention and get a violation for swearing. “That son of a bitch has been flirting with you and I'm finding out that he has a girlfriend? How did you find out?”

“On the phone when I called them over. He thought my name was Love and he said he was thinking of a friend with the name Love. So that friend must be his girlfriend right? If he's thinking of her!”

Yunjin's face falls before letting out a snort that she tried very hard to hide but it turned out to be louder than she thought it would be. 

“Miss Yunjin, inside voice please,” your other supervisor, Ms. Hwang calls. Yunjin slaps a hand over her mouth to hold back her laughter.

“Bitch, Sunghoon has been giving you heart eyes since you walked into this office! How dense must you be to not see that he was openly flirting with you?” Yunjin argued in a whisper tone. “I am so done with you!”

“He was thinking of Love!”

“You are Love! He probably made up a stupid excuse because you didn't buy his advance!” Yunjin continued laughing. “Oh my God! Baby girl! Are you okay? Have you ever flirted in highschool?”

“I was homeschooled…” you replied shyly at your lack of experience with socialization. “Family moved a lot when I was a kid.”

“Explains why you're so weird,” Yunjin nodded understandingly. “Doesn't matter now! Do you like Sunghoon?”

“I never spoke to him other than a while ago when I had to ring him up to fix Mrs. Lim's issue,” you replied shortly. 

“Ugh! Do you find him attractive?”

“I told you! He can be cute,” you replied, nonchalantly as you slowly transition your focus back to your unfinished task. 

“Then text him! I have his number!” Yunjin clapped excitedly, earning another stern glare from Ms. Hwang but Yunjin does not pay her any mind and instead pulls her phone from the back pocket. “Text him! Here!”

You mindlessly copied her actions, unlocking your phone and typing the number from Sunghoon's contact displayed on Yunjin's phone. But as you typed, the same number appears in your suggested contacts. 

“Wait? Do you have his number?” Yunjin asked, confused as she took your phone from your hand. “Why is his number named ‘Weird delivery man’? Is he stalking you? Already?”

“No! The weird delivery man keeps sending me delivery notices! I didn't even order anything and nothing ever arrives! I only saved its number to report it to my service provider this weekend!” You explained, taking your phone from Yunjin to show her the messages between you and the weird delivery man.

“What a fucking loser,” Yunjin mumbles to herself as she holds back a laugh. “It is Sunghoon. It's obviously Sunghoon! You don't have to report it. I gave your number to Jake yesterday, that's why he has it!”

“So you're just giving out my phone number out there, Jennifer?”

“I only ever gave your number to Jake and Sunghoon!” Yunjin replied, holding her right hand up to prove her innocence. 

“What are we talking about? Why am I being spoken about?” Sunghoon asked, popping right beside your cubicle.

“Why did you pretend to be  stupid delivery man, you idiot?” Yunjin asked him, moving to slightly slap his arm. “You almost got reported to the service provider!”

“Wait, you thought I was an actual delivery guy?” Sunghoon asked, flabbergasted that she bought on to the joke when he only thought she was just playing along.

“You introduced yourself like a delivery man, Sunghoon, what were you expecting from me?” you roll your eyes at me. “You're disturbing my work. Go back to your area now!”

You wanted them out as soon as possible—you were embarrassed, of course! Your heart was beating so fast and it wasn't something you were used to. Is it really embarrassment that got your heart racing? Or was it your first time ever finding someone attractive and then realizing they are into you?

You hated to admit it but you knew deep inside it was the latter. Yunjin would agree.

“You like Sunghoon,” Yunjin happily says before moving to look at her pile of papers to scan on her own.

Just as when you thought your internship term was boring.

 .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

The following weeks were filled with you, Yunjin, Sunghoon and Jake waiting for each other on the way to the office,  before lunch or before going home. It turned out that Sunghoon and Jake live in the same apartment complex as you and Yunjin, just a few floors higher up. So, it was only sensible to just wait on each other and just take one cab instead of going on two different cabs on the way to the office.

You could’ve sworn you were buying your own morning coffee for the entire week. Until you realized you had saved up some money already from Sunghoon buying your coffee before you could do it for yourself. You couldn’t hide the violent blush that rushed to your face when you realized that while you were sitting in your cubicle with Yunjin. You couldn’t calm your heart from racing once again the moment you put in a thought about it. 

Sunghoon took the time to note your usual order when you were ordering it for yourself one time and made sure he got the same one every day before you and Yunjin met them in the apartment lobby. He always made sure you were seated behind the driver because not only was it the safest seat to be in, but also he noticed you got motion sickness whenever you sat in the middle seat. He would also drop by whenever he has the chance to the cafeteria before lunch to ask for what would be served for lunch and inform you and Yunjin beforehand, just in case you were allergic or did not feel like eating what was going to be served. 

So, yes. You are violently and absurdly blushing over the fact that for once in your life, you are experiencing what it is like to be adored by someone who isn’t a friend or family. While most of the times, you didn’t pay it much mind, due to the fact that you always seemed to be busy getting buried under mounds of papers that needs to be scanned, sorted and filed into very specific color coded folders—now it made so much sense why Sunghoon stuttered whenever you two spoke, because you were gradually finding yourself doing the same way.

“Coffee,” you smiled at Sunghoon, handing him his usual iced americano. The boy seemed surprised that you were earlier than him and Jake without Yunjin to be found anywhere. 

“You didn’t have to!” he blushed, a smile growing from ear to ear as soon as he saw the little ‘Good luck with your day’ note you asked the barista to write on his cup. “I was supposed to get your coffee every morning. Why are you here so early?”

“I just thought I should get the coffee this time. Here’s Jake’s!” You smile at him, handing Jake another cup from the carton tray you obviously struggled to hold on your own, leading Sunghoon to immediately take it from you. “Thank you. Yunjin could not be bothered to wake up earlier than she usually does, so I just went and grabbed our coffee on our own.”

Sunghoon couldn’t help but look at you adoringly. You were so… nice and innocent in a way. Over the course of the past few days, you seemed like the person to just mind your own business, succumbing into your own little world. With a little more confirmation from Yunjin, he was able to understand that this has always been the case for you. You weren’t  the best at socializing and it really does take some time for you to adjust to some people. And something about you being so lively and smiley with him and Jake now (compared to your stoic expression when he first saw you) meant too much to him because it was as if you were finally letting them in your little bubble. 

“Thank you, Y/N!” Jake happily takes the coffee from the tray. “Yunjin just texted me. She’s on her way down. I’ll go book the taxi right now.”

“I’ll wire you the amount–”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on me–”

“What? Sunghoon, no!” You argued but your little arguing figure only seemed to bring him even more joy that you were interacting with him more and more. 

“You bought us coffee, the taxi is on me this time,” he explained carefully.

Oh boy. You just looked at him, stunned at his soft tone. 

“Smitten, I’m telling you. Sunghoon is smitten, and you can’t do anything about it, Y/N. Just let him pay for your taxi. Plus it’s gonna be like you paid for it anyway because you bought us coffee.”

You already felt like you weren’t going to win an argument with the both of them especially without Yunjin’s presence so you decided to just let it go. 

 .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Lunch break came around sooner than you thought as you were sorting through the signed official documents that needed to be filed away in the storage room after lunch. Yunjin was going around trying to get some documents signed by the superiors so it was mostly her doing all the tedious work without anyone to remind her about the time. You were only brought back to your senses when Yunjin came back calling you to go get lunch as Jake and Sunghoon were already waiting by the exit door of the floor. 

You tried to hide your excitement to see Sunghoon and Jake and complain about the piles of papers you had to sort through just a while ago. Yunjin often rants about it more, but since you did most of the work, you couldn’t help but get excited over wanting to dish about it. 

Yunjin could not help but notice the way your face and mood dropped when you found Wonyoung from Marketing talking to Sunghoon, even laughing about something you couldn’t quite point out. You heard they were working together on the upcoming event, which honestly, for the first time in your life you wanted to be involved in but unfortunately it wasn’t a job for the Human Resource department, so there wasn’t that much to do. 

Does Sunghoon find her more interesting now that they’re spending more time together outside of lunches? 

You couldn’t explain why you were feeling that way. You and Sunghoon haven’t even talked about where you stood and you were already reacting like this. He would definitely lose interest in you even more as soon as he realizes how hard it is to put up with you.

“Jang Wonyoung!” Yunjin happily calls as the both of you approach them. “I haven't seen you around in a while!”

“The marketing team has been really busy with the event, so I haven't had much time to hang around,” she explained. Jang Wonyoung was ethereal to look at. You were sure that even if you spent the entire day staring at her face, you would still struggle to find a flaw. Even so, she had this light aura around her that made her so easy and light to be around with. Sunghoon would like her even more than you, surely. You had no chance against Wonyoung.

“Hi, Y/N!” She greeted you happily. “I haven’t seen you that much around. It’s nice to finally have a face to your name!”

“Hello, Wonyoung,” you replied, shyly, trying to match her energy even though it took a lot of energy for you to do so. “It’s nice to finally meet you too.”

“Well, I should go. Sunghoon, please remind Mr. Kang that the meeting in Room 601 at 2PM. Thank you so much, you are a saint!” Wonyoung skipped away, which somehow made you feel bad that you thought of her as someone who would take from you—she did nothing wrong and either way, she did not care. You seemed like the only person who cared about it and what does that make you feel? Pathetic. 

You couldn’t believe it. All these feelings for a boy that you’re not even exclusive with! You thought you were going insane!

“Y/N, are you coming?” Sunghoon asked, snapping you back to your senses, realizing that they were a good few steps away from you now on their way to the office cafeteria.

You nodded at him before following them, sticking close to Yunjin this time, instead of your usually comfortable proximity from Sunghoon. This time you were sat farthest away from him, avoiding any glances that would make you feel even more pity for yourself. It was ridiculous! All this for a boy? Insane! That’s what it is.

“Don’t you like your vegetables?” Sunghoon asked once again as he noticed you just looking at your beans and carrots on the side of your tray. You usually loved those, but you did not seem to be in the mood for them right now. Mind going back to the thought of Sunghoon falling for Wonyoung and choosing her instead of you over and over. 

You shrug your head, still not giving him a verbal response until now. “But you always ate those?” He asked curiously. 

“Are you okay, Y/N?”  Jake asked.

Oh you hated that everyone’s eyes were on you now, even Yunjin’s. You feel like you were being put on the spot and you hated it. It feels like you don’t have a choice but to say something even though technically you have every right not to say anything. 

You lied and nodded at them. 

“Liar,” Yunjin rolled her eyes. “Your mood has been off since we got to the dining hall. It’s going to help you so much if you could just tell us what’s going on.”

You could already feel that you were creating an awkward atmosphere by going non-verbal on everyone. “Sorry. Just wasn’t feeling like talking.”

Lunch was over before you knew it. Even though everyone carried on with their conversations with you just listening to them, you knew that all of them were concerned with the sudden dip in your mood with how everyone glanced at you every now and then. 

“Jen, could I borrow Y/N for a minute?” Sunghoon managed to grab you by the arm as you and Yunjin moved to leave the cafeteria. 

Yunjin looked at Sunghoon understandingly before turning to look at you. “Do you want to be borrowed?”

You looked at Sunghoon, who looked like a kicked puppy, pleading for a bit of your time. How could you say no to that? 

The both of you found yourself in one of the empty balcony areas of the office that usually served as a smoking area to some visitors and employees that smoked. 

“Did something happen?” He asked, as he sat next to you in one of the benches in the balcony.

You thought of it hard if it was worth saying. After all, you really were no competition to Wonyoung. There was no point fighting him for it—it’s not like you were something in the first place. You were just overreacting right?

“I’m just overreacting. Nothing really happened,” you confessed, looking at your hands while you picked on them to continue avoiding his gaze. 

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. You hoped he would eventually buy your lies but it did not seem to convince him at all.

“If it makes you react like this, then it must’ve mattered to you,” he explained, reaching for your hand to keep your fingers from picking at the skin around your fingers, a habit he noticed you do whenever you were uncomfortable or anxious. “Was it something I did?”

You shrugged, letting him hold your hand. “You’re okay.”

“Then what seems to be wrong, darling?”

You contemplated on whether you should tell him or not because now that you’ve thought of it, you think that you might’ve been jealous and had been obvious with it. You and Sunghoon are merely just friends—you haven’t talked about anything. You knew you absolutely had no right to be jealous if that was the case.

“It’s petty.”

“I don’t care if it is,” he sighed. “Petty or not, I want to know just so if I can do something about it, you wouldn’t be uncomfortable about it the next time.”

“What’s it like to work with Wonyoung?” You blurted out.

He looks at you surprised, though somehow was able to piece it all together as he smiled at you softly, squeezing your hand in between his. 

“Were you jealous of Wonyoung?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘jealous.’ We’re not even a thing to begin with.”

“Do you want us to be?”

It was your turn to be surprised. You did not expect to hear that question so soon, with only just two weeks of hanging out. Well, if he was that important to you to the point that you were feeling jealous, then maybe you liked him that much as well, don’t you? You liked Sunghoon. You were way past the point of denying that when you asked the barista to write him the note this morning and when you decided that you were going to make an effort to do something nice for him today.

You didn’t know what made you confident enough to do what you did, you managed to clasp your hand with his and nodded your head. 

Sunghoon almost jumped in his seat, he could feel a tear forming in the corner of his eye. Despite his cold visuals, god, he was expressive as hell and his eyes always had a warm look on them. You didn't quite understand why his parents made him look like that. He looks so handsome and confusing everytime you look at him, but it is always a pleasure to be confused if it's Sunghoon you're looking at.

“What's to say you're not going to choose Wonyoung over me along the line?” You asked him, making him chuckle.

“Because Wonyoung and I are related,” he smiled softly. “She's close to me, we grew up together. Our mothers are siblings.” He explained it so carefully while he ran his thumb in circles against the back of your hand, soothing you as he breaks down his relationship with Wonyoung. “I'm also pretty sure Wonyoung likes girls more than she likes guys. Who knows? Maybe Wonyoung can steal you from me?”

Now that you know that information, you realize that Sunghoon and Wonyoung did slightly look alike. You were too jealous to spot it the first time—also, how dare Yunjin not tell you earlier! She's friends with Wonyoung! There's no way she wouldn't have known! She definitely knows.

“Wonyoung could be our kids’ fun sapphic aunt!” he joked, making you snap back to reality.

“Hold your horses, Sunghoon,” you chuckled at him. “Dine me first, at least!”

“What does 7PM after shift sound like? I'll tell Yunjin that I'll bring you home before 10?”

“Only if there's wine.”

“We'll take the best one they have then,” he chuckled, pulling you for a tight hug. You instinctively wrapped yours around his waist and accepted his embrace. “I'm sorry for making you feel weird about me and Wonyoung, Y/N.”

“I should've asked first,” you mumbled. “At least I can be friends with Wonyoung without worrying if I'm homewrecking her relationship.”

Sunghoon laughed at your reply, pulling away before checking his watch. 

“I should give you back to Yunjin. Your break time is almost over,” he sighed. “But I'll pick up at your table later, alright?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed. “Don't miss me too much.”

“A lot to ask for, darling.”

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

“Are you cold?” Sunghoon asked as soon as they entered the diner near the office. It wasn’t too casual, it didn’t look too fancy either. It looked like it was built a few decades before but it was well-maintained, especially the mini tabletop jukebox sitting on the table that’s looking more pristine than ever.

You shrug your head politely at Sunghoon. “How did you know about this place?” You asked, looking around, mesmerized at the decades old interior that survived the different aesthetics that evolved outside of it through the years. 

“My mom used to bring me and my sister here after practice,” he smiled, looking around even pointing at the diner’s mini photowall. “I have a picture right there when I was seven, when I won my first junior national title. During the weekends, my mom and my sister would wait for me until late night to finish practice. We’d eat late dinner here because it would be the only place that’s open by the time I get out of training.”

Something about Sunghoon fondly looking at the place while he talked about his childhood made your heart swell in your chest. You were at least glad that the story behind bringing you to a cute diner was a fond memory and not a routine thing for every single girl he asks out on a date. You were relieved to find out that he isn't like anything Yunjin had tried to warned her about.

“Any suggestions on what I should order then?” you smiled at him. Sunghoon wanted to melt right then and there when you asked, he already had everything written and rehearsed in his head back when he was only fantasizing about talking to you and how here he is on a full on date in a place that he have always been dreaming of taking a girl to ever since he was a little kid.

Sunghoon excitedly scooted over and smiled at her, reaching for the menu to see if it had changed and if his favorite burger was still there. Fortunately, it was still there. He chuckled and pointed it out, explaining every ingredient and how to add up to the immaculate taste of it. He does the same in the pizza that they decided to order. You couldn’t help but chuckle at how big of a nerd he is. It was cute. It really adds up to his charm.

“The last time I was in an actual diner was when my mom picked me up from the hospital because I broke my arm from a bullying incident in school. I was homeschooled after that and we tend to move a lot so I didn’t have any friends prior to being classmates with Yunjin when we finally settled here in Seoul,” you told him, looking at your phone scrolling through your mom’s facebook to show him a photo of you from your freshman year in your pretty private high school uniform with a cast and a pink sling on your arm. You had spaghetti sauce all over your face and your uniform from trying to eat with one hand only. 

“Do I have to get you a napkin? You seem like a really messy eater,” Sunghoon teased. You glared at him playfully, locking your phone and putting it back in your purse.

“No, thank you. I have two functional arms now.”

“Was it fun?”

“What is?”

“Moving around the world,” he asked, fiddling on the engravings of the spoon as he looked at you. 

“Depends on how you define fun,” you responded. “I'm convinced I never really had fun before I met you, Jake and Yunjin.”

Sunghoon cocks his head to the side, curiously raising his brows as if it was going to help him hear better. 

“You guys seem to know how everything works and rarely ever cared about how things would affect you,” you explained. “Maybe that comes with being exposed to the world. I didn't have much of that. Myself from 3 years ago would have a heart attack if she found out that I am on a date now, to be honest.”

“Myself from 3 months ago would have a heart attack if he found out that I am on a date with you right now,” he grinned, eyes crinkling cutely as he giggled. 

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

After many more personal stories and a few more glasses of wine, you were tipsy enough for Sunghoon to assume that it was time to go home. He later found out that you have never tried riding a bus without your mom before due to your semi-overprotective mom choosing to drive you around or give you cab money instead of letting you get on the platform. There was no judgment at all, after hearing all your stories about you and your mom’s adventures around the world and with your dad walking out on you and your mom when you were very young, Sunghoon understands that you were all that your mom has and even he would do whatever it takes to make sure you were safe and alive if you were the only one left for him too.

That being said, it’s the exact reason you and Sunghoon are waiting for the bus’ last trip all tangled in each other's arms, giggling as you continue telling each other’s lores.

Sunghoon was nice. Scratch that—he was amazing—incredible even. He walked on the side near the street, he held your hand while crossing, always made sure you were comfortable, seeing as it was your first time experiencing all that. He was a gentleman. Oh dear. You couldn’t ask for anything more. 

It didn’t take that long though before you started gaining stares, especially after the event where the other Marketing interns watched Sunghoon cling to your side the entire time despite them having more time to work together during the preparations. Wonyoung had her fair share of death stares towards her colleagues but it could only go so far—she couldn’t control them whenever she had her back turned on them. You and Wonyoung eventually became friends too after all that fiasco.

“It’s so annoying!” Wonyoung complained as she brought her tray next to you and Yunjin across from her cousin and Jake. “They are still yapping about seeing you and Y/N in the event! It’s not like they’re entitled to your ugly ass’ attention! Literally it’s so awkward to work with them! All they talk about is Sunghoon this, Sunghoon that. It’s like they want to lick your ass or something!”

“I’m not sure if I want to hear that girlypop,” Jake snorted, holding back his laughter at Wonyoung’s choice of words. 

“I heard one of the marketing interns whispering names when we were in the elevator this morning,” Yunjin rolled her eyes. 

Jake found it bizarre that you seemed to be the most unbothered among you three. You were just minding your own business sorting out the beans and the carrots from your vegetable side and seemed to be having a great time unlike your friends who are about to burst in annoyance that all those are being said to you.

“You don’t seem bothered by it, Y/N. No?”

“I’ve been bullied multiple times before,” it was your turn to snort now. “All these are not even a quarter compared to what I’ve experienced. Plus, if I’m going to be called a slut, which happened on multiple occasions in middle school and high school, it's at least worth it now.”

“For the record, I do not treat you like anything of that sort,” Sunghoon defended himself. 

“Thank fucking god, Sunghoon!” Wonyoung dramatically sighs. “Thank you for giving us the bare minimum!”

“The bar is in hell anyway,” Yunjin laughed. “I think he’s at least decent.”

Everyone else will have an opinion about how Sunghoon treats you but to you, Sunghoon was the nicest guy you’ve ever met. Okay, maybe that’s not as reliable to hear considering you don’t meet and be friends with a lot of people—but Sunghoon isn’t anything like Yunjin’s ex-boyfriends. He listens to every word you say and remembers it. He treats you very well—even your mom agrees when you told her about him once. Yunjin was giddy kicking her feet while lying on her stomach on your bed that night. They were both so fond of Sunghoon and how gentle he is with you.

So, yes. Maybe you were going to be called a slut probably more times than you thought but maybe for once it’s worth it—if this time, you are with Sunghoon.

—end

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

masterlist

a/n : hi hello ! i've been soooooo busy with internship and the idea of this fic might or might not be inspired by my little office crush on the IT intern on the other side of our floor pls HAHAHAHAHA anyways, i hope you liked this one ! you can leave your thoughts here or through the notes! lemme know what i can still improve on or what you want me to write nexttt !!

tnx for making it this far <33

Look, in my defense, I wasn’t trying to uncover any dark, mysterious, emotionally tortured secrets today.

I was just skipping math.

Again.

And I don’t even hate math, okay? I just hate it when numbers start pretending they’re letters and suddenly I’m expected to know what “cos(θ)” is. The unit circle is hard to look at, and suddenly even harder to understand. No thanks. Not when I could be doing something far more important. Like napping. Or dramatically sighing by a window somewhere.

So there I was, speed-walking behind the gym like a very cute fugitive, when I heard the sound.

Scrrrchhh. Swish. Tap. Swish.

My brain said: squirrel. My heart said: ghost. My very dramatic imagination said: figure skater haunted by the ghost of the Olympics.

And because I have absolutely no impulse control, I tiptoed toward the abandoned rink—the one Coach Min swore was “out of order” but really just looks like a Pinterest board had a mental breakdown in there.

And then... I saw him.

Black hoodie. Skates. Alone. Moving like he wasn’t even touching the ice. Like the laws of gravity took one look at him and said, “We’ll allow it.”

I think my jaw might’ve dropped. Which was rude, honestly. I don’t usually let boys make me gasp unless they’re fictional or handing me free food.

But he didn’t see me. He was busy doing a spin so smooth I almost clapped. I stopped myself. Barely.

Anyway, my fingers reached for my phone like they had a mind of their own. Not to record—I'm not that creepy (yet). I just needed to remember this moment. Mysterious ice boy. Secret skater. Vibe of a tragic K-drama lead with a soundtrack playing somewhere in the snow.

Before I could even unlock my screen, he skated right up to the edge of the rink and—

Paused.

Like paused, paused.

I froze too. Not because I’m shy (I’m literally allergic to silence), but because this felt sacred. Like if I moved too fast, he might vanish into a cloud of mist and unresolved trauma.

He wasn’t looking at me. Not really. He was facing the boards, one gloved hand resting on the edge, the other reaching up to pull his hood down.

And that’s when I saw his face.

I know beauty is subjective, but this boy? This boy looked like the human version of a plot twist. Sharp jawline, calm eyes, and the kind of expression that says, “Yes, I’ve seen pain. And yes, I drink iced lattes in the winter.”

It was rude. Honestly. People shouldn't be allowed to look like that on school property. Especially not while doing fancy little turns in complete silence like a poem in motion.

He still hadn’t seen me. So naturally, I panicked.

And by panicked, I mean: I cleared my throat dramatically, like a Victorian ghost trying to get attention during a séance.

“Nice pirouette,” I said, stepping into the doorway like I definitely hadn’t been standing there for five full minutes narrating his life in my head. “Or is it called a triple lutz? Or... toe loop? Skatey swirl? I don’t know. I failed P.E.”

He turned.

His eyes met mine.

For a second, I expected him to glare, or shout, or skate away in cold, broody silence.

Instead, he blinked slowly and said, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Which was fair. But also rich, considering he clearly wasn’t supposed to be here either.

“Says the mystery boy on secret ice,” I replied, folding my arms and leaning against the doorway with my best I’m-totally-chill-and-not-spiraling smile. “I could report you, you know.”

He didn’t laugh.

Of course he didn’t laugh.

Instead, he just stared at me with that terrifying combination of calm and judgment that only people with perfect posture and trauma can pull off.

“I mean, obviously,” I added quickly, throwing in some frantic jazz hands because I’d lost control of the situation somewhere between “I could report you” and “this hot guy is scary, oh man.” “I’m not gonna snitch. I’m barely passing algebra. Do I look like someone who follows rules?”

Still nothing.

Okay, cool. He was either a robot or one of those beautiful loner types who only speaks in plot-relevant sentences. Tragic.

“You’re… skating?” I offered, because apparently my brain had given up on intelligent conversation and was now just narrating the obvious.

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a question?”

“No,” I said. “Yes. No. I—okay, yes, I was just wondering if this is like… your thing? Skating alone in secret rinks behind abandoned gym doors while looking like a moody Vogue ad?”

He finally exhaled. Not quite a sigh. Not quite a laugh. Somewhere in the middle. And then, just as I was about to pass away from sheer embarrassment—

He smirked.

A tiny one. Barely there. But it was real.

“Do you always talk this much?” he asked.

“Only when I’m nervous,” I replied automatically. “Or bored. Or awake.”

Another pause. He looked down, did a little pivot on his skates, and then—like it was the most casual thing in the world—he said, “Don’t tell anyone.”

And then he pushed off, gliding backwards again like he was being pulled by the music of my crushed soul.

“Wait, that’s it?” I called. “You’re just gonna emotionally mic drop and skate away?”

But he was already mid-turn, hoodie flaring slightly with the movement, back to being all broody and cinematic.

“I don’t even know your name!” I shouted, taking one dramatic step onto the bleachers like I was in a telenovela.

He didn’t stop.

But just before he reached the far end of the rink, I heard him say—soft, but definitely on purpose—

“Exactly.”

By lunchtime, I’d nearly convinced myself I imagined the whole thing. Maybe he was a mirage. A highly attractive hallucination born from skipping math and not drinking enough water (hydrate or dydrate everyone!) Stranger things had happened—like that one time I sleepwalked into the kitchen and started giving my toaster a pre-volleyball game pep talk. (I don't even play volleyball?!)

But then I found myself aggressively stirring my carrot and lentil soup, staring into it like it might give me answers.

“You’re just soup,” I muttered to the bowl. “You can’t help me.”

“Talking to your food again?” Yizhuo’s voice was smooth and amused, like it always was. She slid into the seat next to me looking like the human version of a sparkly Instagram filter. Effortlessly perfect. Not even fair.

“I’m reflecting,” I said, very maturely. “Deep introspection. Respect the process.”

Except I wasn’t reflecting.

I was daydreaming. Hard.

I leaned over my soup dramatically, letting the steam hit my face like it was some kind of cleansing ritual.

And then— His face appeared.

In the soup.

I screamed. Like, externally. Out loud. In the middle of the cafeteria. Not full-volume scream, okay, I’m not a menace. But definitely a loud, startled yelp that made at least four people at the next table look over, mid-chicken-nugget bite.

“Are you okay?” Yizhuo asked through laughter, already tapping my arm because she knew. She knew. She always knew when my brain decided to malfunction mid-lunch.

I blinked down at my bowl. No face. No mysterious boy. Just soup. Mildly orange. Steaming. Innocent. Mocking me.

“Yup!” I said brightly, like I hadn’t just imagined a boy materializing in root vegetables. “Totally fine. Just—hot soup. Caught me off guard. Happens.”

Minjeong, across the table, gave me the squint.

“Soup attacked you?”

“Violently,” I nodded. “Unprovoked.”

Jimin shook her head and offered me a napkin like I’d done this before (I had). Aeri snorted into her carton of chocolate milk.

“You sure you’re okay?” Yizhuo asked again, still smiling like she already knew the real answer. Which was rude, because I didn’t even tell her about mystery skater boy.

“Yes,” I said, stirring my soup again with suspicious eyes. “I’m just… existential today.”

There was a beat of silence. Then—

“I mean, same,” Aeri said. “But, like, mine’s about failing physics. Not… hallucinating soup men.”

“Soup men,” I repeated, flatly. “Thanks for that.”

Minjeong raised a brow. “Are you having one of your main character episodes again?”

“I don’t have main character episodes,” I scoffed. “I am the main character.”

“Yeah, of a high school rom-com where you fall in love with a cafeteria worker and dramatically sing about it,” Jimin chimed in.

“Honestly,” I said, dipping a piece of bread into my soup, “I’d watch that.”

They all laughed, and I smiled too, trying very hard not to visibly stare into the middle distance like a Jane Austen heroine haunted by an anonymous boy in skates.

I would not be weird about this. I would definitely not Google “how to casually run into someone at an abandoned ice rink without seeming like a stalker.”

I would just eat my soup. Be normal. Be chill. Be—

“Wait,” I said suddenly, voice sharp.

Everyone paused.

“Do we know,” I continued carefully, “if anyone at this school… like… ice skates?”

Jimin blinked. “What?”

“Like… professionally,” I added. “Or secretly. Or—I don’t know—dramatically?”

“Why would we know that?” Aeri asked, squinting at me like I’d just asked if any of them moonlight as circus acrobats.

“I just think it’s a cool sport,” I said quickly. “The jumps! The glitter! I’m a fan of artistic twirls!”

Yizhuo narrowed her eyes. “Why do you sound like you're trying to sell us Olympic propaganda?”

“Do you have a crush on someone?” Minjeong asked, because she always went straight for the jugular.

“No,” I lied, face entirely too warm. “I just believe in… skating rights.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then: “You’re so weird,” Jimin muttered fondly, stealing my bread.

But nobody answered my question.

Because apparently, no one at this school skates.

Which either meant: A) He wasn’t from here. B) He was a ghost. C) He was a figment of my imagination sent to teach me the value of patience and edge control. Or D) …He was hiding something.

And I? I was very good at finding things people were trying to hide.

Okay yeah, I rescind that statement.

It started innocently enough. I got home, opened my laptop, and totally meant to finish my bio homework. Like, I even clicked on the Google Doc and everything. But then my cursor wandered. And my brain whispered:

"What if he’s famous?"

And honestly? My brain makes a lot of terrible suggestions. Like bangs. Or hot yoga. But this one? This one had potential.

So naturally, I opened Naver.

Search: “high school figure skater black hoodie Seoul boy” Zero results. Rude.

Next attempt: “teenage male ice skater Seoul private school mysterious”

Still nothing, except an article about some 9-year-old prodigy who once skated blindfolded and a BuzzFeed-style quiz titled “Which K-pop Skater Boy Is Your Soulmate?”

Tempting. But not helpful.

I tried every combo I could think of:

“broody boy ice rink Korea”

“skating competition quiet student Seoul”

“hot guy looks like he hates everyone but skates like a dream”

“black hoodie jawline Seoul ice ghost??”

At one point I just typed “boy” and glared at the screen like I expected the algorithm to hand him to me on a silver platter.

It didn’t.

But then… salvation.

I remembered something: Instagram location tags. God’s gift to nosy people everywhere.

I tapped the one for Mapo Ice Arena, the old rink tucked behind our school that everyone pretended was off-limits because the ceiling was leaky and the lights hummed like they were possessed.

After ten minutes of scrolling through selfies, smudgy ice pics, and one cursed video of someone doing a belly flop in skates (still not sure if it was a joke or a cry for help), I found it.

A blurry vertical clip posted by some hockey account called @rinkratskr.

Caption: “Who even is this kid?? That spin was insane?? #skatinglegend #openrinknight”

And there he was. My hoodie boy. Same gait. Same calm control. Same "I don’t know I’m being filmed but I still look like a cinematic dream" aura.

I paused. Zoomed in.

And there—tagged at the bottom—was the username: @/sunghoon.pk

Click.

Public account. Minimalist. Very him.

Seven posts. No bio. Profile pic: a backlit skyline, probably the Han River. He posted like someone who wanted to be found just enough. Like a trail of breadcrumbs but make it moody and artsy.

Mostly photos of scenery. A cracked skate blade. A black-and-white coffee cup. A picture of someone’s cat with no context. And one post that stopped me cold:

A shot of the rink. Empty. Blue-tinged. He was in the corner of the frame, barely visible.

Caption: “It’s quieter now.”

I exhaled slowly.

Because of course. Of course he posted like that. He was a poetic enigma wrapped in a triple axel. And I’d made awkward soup eye contact with him.

I leaned back in bed, stared at the ceiling, and muttered to no one:

The ceiling said nothing. Judgy.

The time? 1:06 a.m.

My chemistry reading? Still unopened. My brain? Hijacked by a boy who spins like silence and smirks like it’s a secret.

I closed my laptop with the kind of dramatic flair normally reserved for season finales and rolled over, shoving my face into my pillow.

“Get a grip,” I whispered into the cotton. “He’s just a guy. A random guy. A guy who ice-skates like he’s in a perfume commercial, sure, but still—just. A. Guy.”

My pillow offered no comfort.

It took me approximately forty minutes, three unnecessary scenarios of us bumping into each other at a convenience store, and one fake argument in my head that ended in a confession (??) before I finally fell asleep.

Only to wake up the next morning with a crick in my neck, exactly one minute before my alarm went off.

Which is a special kind of betrayal.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

I woke up to the sound of my alarm and the sinking realization that I’d hit snooze three times without remembering.

Fantastic start.

The sky outside was that too-blue winter kind of bright, and the cold coming in from the window crack felt unnecessarily personal. I dragged myself out of bed like I was being summoned to war, tripped over my backpack, and muttered something in the general direction of gravity.

In the bathroom, I stared at my reflection for a long time.

My hair was passable. A little pillow-flattened, but it gave off that “I woke up like this but didn’t mean to” vibe. But my eyeliner?

A crime scene.

Attempt one: crooked wing. Attempt two: thicker crooked wing. Attempt three: somehow got eyeliner in my eyebrow. Attempt four: panic.

I finally gave up, grabbed my mascara like it was a magic wand, and aggressively swiped it on until my lashes could pass for intentional.

I called it “smoky desperation.” It was fine.

I was five minutes late to class. Not dramatic enough to make an entrance, but enough that everyone looked up when I walked in. My teacher paused mid-sentence, gave me a long look, then kept going.

I sank into my seat and took out my notebook like I had any intention of using it.

I didn’t.

Chemistry was—no offense to science—slowly sucking the will to live out of me. Something about molecular bonding or ion pairs or maybe it was how the fluorescent lights made everything look like a bad hospital dream. I don’t know.

I just knew that at 23 minutes in, my brain started playing static.

So I raised my hand.

“Bathroom,” I said.

My teacher didn’t even look up. Just waved me out like I was a regular escapee.

I took my bag. Casual.

Walked down the hallway. Normal.

Turned the corner and passed the bathroom.

Kept walking.

Turned again.

The moment I stepped into the rink, the cold slipped over me like a second skin. It was sharp, almost biting, but not unwelcome. My shoes echoed softly against the concrete as I crossed the threshold, keeping to the side, hoping not to disturb anything—or anyone. But it didn’t matter. He saw me almost immediately.

He was mid-stride, arms loose, gliding through a curve with perfect balance, when his eyes flicked toward the entrance. He slowed, not abruptly, but gradually, coasting until he reached the edge of the rink where I stood. There was no surprise on his face, no confusion, like he’d expected me somehow. The silence stretched for a second before he came closer, the dull scrape of his blades the only sound in the room.

“You’re back,” he said, calm as ever, voice low and even.

I blinked at him, caught off guard by how unbothered he looked. “Yeah,” I replied, a little breathless, trying to will my heart rate back to normal. “You… skate like you’re not touching the ground. You deserved to be photographed, it's truly amazing.”

His gaze didn’t shift. If anything, he studied me more closely. “Then you should photograph me.”

I froze, blinked. “What?”

He shrugged slightly. “I heard you do photography.”

That made my stomach dip. I looked down, almost instinctively, at the strap of my camera—my beat-up FujiFilm that never left my side, hanging from my shoulder like it belonged there more than I did. I hadn’t even realized I’d brought it today. I always did, without thinking.

“How—how did you know?”

He tilted his head like the question didn’t make much sense. “It’s hard not to notice when you carry it everywhere. I saw it last time. And I’ve seen you around school.”

That last part sat heavier than the rest. I wasn’t sure if it was the way he said it—casual but deliberate—or the fact that I hadn’t noticed him noticing me. I was usually the observer, the one watching moments unfold from behind the lens. To be seen like that, so plainly, knocked something loose in my chest.

“Oh,” I said, like a genius. “Right.”

There was a pause, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. He was still watching me, but not in a way that asked anything. It felt like he was just waiting to see what I’d do next.

I adjusted the strap of my camera, suddenly hyper-aware of its weight against my side. “If you’re offering,” I said carefully, “I’d love to.”

His mouth curved—not quite a smile, but something near it. “Good. Because I think better when I’m moving.”

And just like that, he turned, pushed off, and skated back onto the ice, his figure slicing through the cold air like it welcomed him back.

I sat down slowly on the cold bleachers, fingers instinctively wrapping around my camera like they always did when I didn’t know what to say. It was my FujiFilm X100V—silver with black leather grip, a little scuffed at the corners from too many school trips and spontaneous weekend walks, but I liked it better that way. The metal body felt familiar in my hands, like something that had always belonged to me, even before I knew how to use it properly.

I flipped the switch, felt the soft click vibrate under my thumb. The lens extended with its smooth little hum, and I thumbed off the lens cap, tucking it into my coat pocket like I’d done a hundred times before. But this time felt different. My hands weren’t clumsy, but they were careful, like I was afraid of making the wrong move.

I lifted the viewfinder to my eye and let the world shift.

He was moving again—arms loose, posture relaxed, that same quiet confidence in every motion. The camera softened everything around him, framed him in the square like a subject I hadn’t realized I’d been waiting to find. Through the viewfinder, the rink lost its rusted edges, the cracks in the boards blurred away, and all that was left was him gliding through the middle like he was made for it.

I tapped the shutter. Once. Twice.

The sound was quiet, almost shy, like it didn’t want to disturb him. I adjusted the aperture—f/2.0, to catch the soft winter light filtering through the high windows—and widened the shot. He dipped into a turn, one foot crossing over the other, hoodie fluttering slightly with the motion. His jaw was set, brows just a little furrowed in concentration. I captured that too.

Every few seconds, I’d lower the camera just enough to see him with my own eyes. I don’t know why. Maybe to make sure it was still real. Maybe to remind myself that I was here—not behind a screen, not watching a video online, but here, in the cold, watching him carve his thoughts into the ice like it was paper.

The camera strap shifted against my neck as I leaned forward, elbows resting on my knees for balance. My thumb hovered near the focus ring, adjusting just slightly as he moved closer, faster, a flash of motion that almost slipped out of frame. I caught it. I caught him. Not just the spin, but the moment right before—the gathering of energy, the breath he took as he prepared to push off. I liked that part the most.

I bit my lip and smiled a little to myself, heart warm despite the cold settling into my fingertips. The world always felt quieter when I had my camera up, like there was only the subject, the space between us, and whatever I chose to keep.

And him?

He didn’t perform. He didn’t look into the lens or try to impress me. He just kept skating like he forgot I was there—or maybe like he didn’t mind that I was.

I kept shooting, frame after frame, until I stopped worrying about whether they were perfect and just started chasing the feeling. The light. The way his hair moved under the edge of his hood. The way his skates sounded against the ice, steady and sure. The way I didn’t want to miss any of it.

Eventually, he slowed again, gliding into a soft stop near the edge of the rink. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked up at me, his chest rising and falling as his breath formed clouds in the air.

“Do I need to pose?” he asked, voice calm, teasing just barely.

I lowered the camera, smiled. “No. I like it better like this.”

He nodded, almost to himself, and turned away. He skated again, and I raised the viewfinder once more—this time, not just to watch him, but to remember what it felt like to see something beautiful in motion and be lucky enough to catch it.

He came back slower this time, his skates whispering across the ice until they drew him back to the edge of the rink where I was sitting. I had just lowered my camera, the screen still lit with the last photo I’d taken—him caught mid-turn, arms slightly out, eyes focused on some invisible line ahead of him. The moment looked like a dream. Not something staged, not something posed. Just real. Honest.

I watched as he glided to a stop, eyes on me, expression unreadable. He didn’t say anything right away, and I wasn’t sure if I should. The silence settled between us, not quite heavy, but full of everything unsaid. So, naturally, I filled it with words I didn’t think all the way through.

"We need to post these," I blurted, lifting my camera like it explained anything. "Seriously, you don’t even know how good you look out there. You’re like—skating poetry. It’s illegal to be this photogenic and not let the world know."

The change in him was immediate, like a light switching off somewhere behind his eyes. He didn’t smile. If anything, he looked away for a second, and the quiet stretched thinner. There was a subtle shift in his expression, a darkness—not quite sadness, but something older, heavier. His jaw tensed slightly, and he looked back up at me with a gaze that pinned me in place.

I hesitated, my hand tightening on the grip of the camera. "Or not," I added quickly, softer now. "It was just an idea. No pressure."

He looked down at the ice before meeting my eyes again. "Don’t post them," he said, his voice even but firmer than before.

I nodded, feeling like I’d overstepped some invisible line I hadn’t known was there. "Yeah, of course. Just for… me, then. I mean—not me, me. Like, us. Just for us. I guess."

He studied me for a moment longer before replying, voice quieter this time. "They’re for our eyes only."

Something about the way he said it lodged itself deep in my chest. The words weren’t romantic, not exactly. But they held weight. Like a promise. Like he had handed me something fragile and trusted me to hold it. My stomach flipped, and I hated how fast the words took root in my mind.

For our eyes only.

There was something about it—something unspoken and just barely intimate. A shared secret I hadn’t realized we were creating. My heart fluttered before I could stop it, and I had to look down at my camera to stop myself from staring at him like a total idiot.

I pretended to check my photos again, though I didn’t see any of them clearly. I was too aware of the stillness around us, of him still standing there, too aware of my own heartbeat thudding far too loudly in my ears.

When I finally looked back up, he was still watching me, calm and unreadable as ever.

"Yeah," I said aloud, trying to steady myself. "Just for us. Got it."

He nodded like it settled something between us. And maybe it did. Maybe that was the thing—these pictures weren’t for an audience. They were just for this moment. For him. For me.

After a pause, I blinked and realized something that made me sit up straighter. "Wait. How am I supposed to get them to you?"

He stepped a little closer to the railing, eyes steady on mine. "Give me your phone."

I opened my mouth to ask why, but before I could even finish the breath, he reached out, fingers brushing softly against mine as he took the phone from my lap. His hands were cold but sure, and there was something ridiculously confident in the way he unlocked it without asking and swiped straight into my contacts.

He typed quickly, efficiently, then passed it back like it was nothing.

There it was.

Park Sunghoon

Saved in my phone like it had always belonged there.

"Now you can send them," he said, glancing down at the camera that still hung from my neck.

I stared at the name on the screen, brain momentarily short-circuiting. "Oh. Okay. Cool," I managed, and then immediately wanted to faceplant into the bleachers.

Cool? That was the best I could do? He just casually slid into my contact list and I was out here saying cool like I was a malfunctioning robot.

He nodded once, like that settled it, and then turned back to the ice. His blades whispered across the surface as he pushed off again, not looking back. I sat there a little stunned, still gripping my phone, watching him disappear back into motion.

I watched for what felt like forever, my camera resting against my chest, heartbeat loud in my ears. I didn’t raise it to shoot again. Not yet. The moment didn’t ask to be captured. It asked to be remembered.

Eventually, he circled back toward the far end of the rink, movements slower now, more thoughtful. I watched him pause for a second, look toward the ceiling like he was thinking through something no one else could hear, and then spin again, this time looser, like he was skating to let go of something.

I stayed there, seated and quiet, camera in my lap, hands warm from where he'd brushed them. I kept staring at his name in my phone, the plain, unstyled contact card glowing against the screen like it meant more than it should.

I should’ve stood up. Should’ve gone back to class. But I didn’t. Not right away.

"Hey," I called out suddenly, not even realizing I was going to speak until the word left my mouth.

He slowed, turned in place, skating a half-circle before gliding back to the edge again.

"Why me?" I asked. "Why let me take the photos?"

He tilted his head slightly. "You didn’t ask me to pose."

That was it. That’s all he said.

And yet, I felt it. The trust in it. The quiet weight of someone who didn’t want to perform anymore.

He turned again, without waiting for a response, and disappeared back into the curve of the rink. And I sat back, phone still in hand, heart still catching up.

I didn’t know what this was. But I knew what it wasn’t.

It wasn’t just about skating. It wasn’t just about photographs. It wasn’t just a fluke.

It was something that belonged to both of us now.

Just for our eyes.

I checked the time on my phone—I'd been there nearly twenty minutes, maybe more. Class had definitely moved on without me, and if I didn’t get back soon, someone was going to notice. Probably my chemistry teacher, who kept track of bathroom breaks like a hawk with a stopwatch.

I shifted, standing up slowly, letting my bag slip back over my shoulder, camera still hanging at my side. Sunghoon had slowed again, watching me from a short distance away. I hesitated, unsure whether to say goodbye or just slip out the same way I came.

But then he spoke.

"Find me at lunch," he said simply.

I blinked, halfway to turning. "Huh?"

He didn’t elaborate, just offered a faint shrug. "You’ll find me."

My brows knit together, caught somewhere between confused and amused. "That’s totally not weird at all," I muttered under my breath, but I knew he heard me because the corner of his mouth lifted—just a fraction, barely there.

Before I could ask what that even meant, he was already skating away again, like that was all he intended to say. I stood there for another second, still slightly stunned, before finally forcing myself to move, slipping back out of the rink and into the hallway.

The warmth hit me like a wave, and I walked toward class with my thoughts racing ahead of me. I didn’t know where I’d find him at lunch. I didn’t even know what I was expecting. But I knew one thing for sure.

I would look.

And I had a feeling—some quiet, ridiculous feeling—that he would be there waiting.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the beginning of something neither of us had a name for yet.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

Youth. A time that is supposedly the best time of your life. Adults always say that you should enjoy your youth while you can, becoming an adult would only be stressful.

"I actually liked you ever since you sat next to me in the lecture," she said while looking down to the floor. He put his finger under her chin and lifted her face up to look at her eyes. "I like you too." Slowly, both of them moved inches closer and-

Mirae was not sure if she would consider her youth the most beautiful moment in life. More than anything, she always wanted to escape from her school life. She couldn't wait until she finally graduated high school and started university. For her, her teenage years were mediocre at best and she always imagined how great her college life would be.

Parties, doing a major she likes, and most important of all, a love life.

***

"My god this is so cringe," Mirae said, rolling around on her bed. She covered her face with the opened book she just held in her hands and started kicking her feet out of second-hand embarrassment. Even though she found the story quite cringy, she couldn't help but smile. Mirae might not seem like it but she actually really enjoyed romance novels and movies, it was her guilty pleasure. Even the ones her friends would define as cringe and embarrassing, she still enjoyed them.

She could spend hours reading or watching anything of the romance genre until late at night, even though she has classes the next day.

Her eyelids already felt heavy so she took a look at the clock. 02:34. Shit! I have classes at 8 tomorrow...

She quickly put the book on her bed table and turned off the light.

The next morning, Mirae could barely make it out of bed.

Mental note to myself: never take 8 am classes ever again. She thought while taking her jacket and leaving her small apartment. She was thankful to the universe that she was able to find a small apartment near her university, so she didn't have to commute for too long.

Arriving at the lecture hall, Mirae sat down in the back in hopes to take short naps if she was too tired.

She put her arms on the table and rested her head on them while waiting for the lecture to begin. If I still have 15 minutes I might as well...

Three months ago...

It only felt like she closed her eyes for 3 seconds, yet she already heard the professor walking in and talking. How was that already 15 minutes?? She thought but still stayed in that position.

A loud thump from her right and a slightly panicked "Hey!! Hey Mirae!" made Mirae shift her attention, though.

She looked up to see her best friend Yumin looking at her with panicked eyes.

"Yumin, morning. What's up?" Mirae said, still with a sleepy tone in her voice.

Her friend sat down and inched closer to her. She started whispering so that only Mirae could hear, "Did you not look at your surroundings? How can you sleep like that on the table while he is sitting next to you?"

Mirae's eyes widened. He?

Trying to act as normal as possible, Mirae leaned back in her chair and put her bag on her lap, taking out her notes and a pen for the lecture. While doing so, she tried to glance around the lecture room until she turned to her left.

He sat next to her, eyes concentrated on his phone, fingers tapping on the screen. His dark brown hair slightly covered his eye as he looked down. He looked so pretty, like always. He didn't notice her at all, but she was okay with it. She was used to it after all.

Mirae tried not to stare too much and turned her head towards the professor who just started the lecture.

But her mind wandered to the guy sitting next to her, the one she started to develop a crush for since the semester orientation party. Park Sunghoon.

It was loud and bustling, people wherever you went. Mirae had one plastic cup in one hand and her other hand reached out for her friend Yumin who was eager to go around and make new friends at the start of the semester. They were at the orientation party for people starting university and Yumin asked Mirae to come along. Mirae was more of an introvert, not really the kind to party a lot, but she thought it could not hurt trying to make more friends at university before it would be too late. She didn't want to end up being a loner afterall.

It was nonetheless difficult for her to open up and strike up a conversation with strangers which was the reason why she tried to stick to Yumin the best she could.

Yumin and her were friends since high school and decided to go to the same university. They both chose to major in business while some of their other high school friends were in different majors at the same university.

The two girls tried to search for their other friends to catch up and exchange their experiences about their orientation of their majors. Making their way through the crowd, Mirae bumped into someone and lost her hold on Yumin, who didn't seem to notice. She apologized to the person and looked around to find her friend. She can't be far. I just lost her for a second. She thought and looked around, but sighed in defeat when all she saw around herself were unknown faces. Tired of all the searching she made her way towards the seating area with vacant couches to take a breather. She sat down and nipped a little on her drink, looking around, observing all the people gathered at the grand student's hall. It hasn't even been long but she already longed to go back home, reading her webtoons or watching her dramas instead. Mirae took out her phone to send her friends a short text, telling them her location in case they're trying to find her.

Mirae's thoughts of going home got interrupted when she heard a voice next to her.

"Hey, may I sit here?" a deep voice called her out of her trance. Mirae looked up and saw a guy stand in front of her, offering her a small smile. She nodded and moved a bit to the side. "Sure, feel free." She smiled back.

There weren't others in the seating area, only the two of them. Mirae tried not to pay too much attention to the guy, as she found it awkward to initiate a conversation. Which is the reason why she was thankful that he suddenly started to speak.

"Hey, what major are you?" He leaned a little closer to her so he didn't have to shout too much against the music. She was slightly surprised by the action but tried to stay cool.

"I'm a business major, how about you?" She asked, looking at his face, taking in his features. His eyes were mesmerizing.

"Oh, me too! Maybe we'll have some courses together!" He beamed, showing her a thumbs up. His smile was so contagious, she couldn't stop smiling back.

The two of them started talking more casually about various topics that night. It was very chill and Mirae almost forgot about searching for her friends. Bzzt bzzt. Her phone buzzed on her lap.

Mirae, we're outside for some air. Where are you? We can't find you. Let's meet outside.

-Yumin

Oh crap. She thought. Mirae looked up at the boy and had an apologetic look on her face.

"Hey, sorry. My friends are looking for me, see you in class maybe!" She proceeded to stand up but she was held back by a force pulling her jacket. Mirae looked back in surprise and saw the boy holding onto her jacket.

"Wait, may I know your name?" He asked.

"It's Mirae. What about yours?"

"I'm Sunghoon," he said while letting go of her jacket. "See you around."

***

"Alright, don't forget the project presentation I talked about, which decides your final grades. I uploaded the pdf-file with your partners on the platform online. If there are no questions, class is dismissed."

Mirae was interrupted in her train of thoughts when it started clattering and people started talking around her. Right, the stupid project. She thought. Mirae turned to Yumin, "I hope we'll be partners for it..." Yumin simply laughed. "That'd be great! Let's check later, I gotta go to my other class!"

After classes, Mirae stopped by a bookshop to get some new stories to read. As she entered the familiar bookshop, the scent of paper welcomed her. She did not hesitate and hushed over to the aisle with the romance novels and stood there for a while, studying the book covers. That is until a certain book in the corner caught her eye. She picked it up and studied the cover. It was a pretty, vintage style book with a lot of golden embellishments, almost looking like a book from some sort of royalty. The title that was decorated on the cover read Cupid's bow. Interested, Mirae packed it under her arm and went to the cash register to pay for it.

Finally arriving at home, Mirae took a shower and ate dinner before she could finally make herself comfortable in her bed, with her newly bought book in her hands. She opened the book but instead of reading the first page, a bright light greeted her harshly, making her squint her eyes and nearly throw the book away out of shock. "What the-"

As the light subsided, a small figure was levitating above the book. It had small white feathers and curly hair, dressed in white attire. Mirae was horrified and freezed on the spot.

Did I not get enough sleep last night? She shook her head and slapped herself with her hands, hoping that she would wake up from this bizarre dream.

"My my, no need to hit yourself!" The small creature said to her in a mocking tone.

Mirae's eyes widened even more. She didn't remember taking any drugs ever, so what the heck was she seeing in her room?

"No  need to be so surprised, lady," the creature started, "Let me introduce myself. I'm the one and only, famous, cupid!" He said proudly, stretching out his chest.

"Cupid...? Those things actually exist?" Mirae was finally able to speak after the shock. "Am I really not dreaming?" She asked, reaching forward to pinch the so-called 'cupid'.

"Hey hey! A little more respect here," Cupid said, inching away a bit. "You're certainly not dreaming, you summoned me from that book." He pointed towards the book that Mirae held in her hands just a moment ago, now lying upside down on the floor next to her bed after she threw it away in surprise.

"What? I have no idea how I did that." She scratched her head in confusion.

"Whatever. Since I was finally able to escape this stupid curse a witch put me under, I can finally go back to my job." Cupid dusted off imaginary dust from his arms and legs, implying that he was inside the book for decades. He gave Mirae a short look and proceeded to look around the room. "Hm... Since you were the one getting me out, I should offer you something as my gratitude."

Mirae raised her brow in confusion. "It's okay, I don't need that..."

Still floating in the air, Cupid crossed his legs and tapped his finger against his chin, thinking for a short while.

"How about this? Since I'm Cupid, I'll shoot an arrow into the person you love! Doesn't that sound fantastic?" He laughed, his tone of voice sounded happy and ecstatic to which Mirae could only scoff. This truly started to sound like a weird dream.

"How does that sound? This is an exclusive offer only for you! Usually, I'm not allowed to let people interfere in their love lives with magic." Cupid crossed his arms and shook his head while pouting. "Strict rules. But I can make only one exception for you."

"I still feel like this is some kind of hidden camera prank," Mirae said while looking around, checking to see if any cameras were there.

Cupid laughed and flew towards her, circling around her. "Oh come on. Will you believe me now?" He let a bow and an arrow appear out of nowhere. The arrow's tip resembled that of a heart.

"Now, tell me do you want to accept this offer? Spice up your love life a little, you know," he said while winking at her. Mirae was perplexed but at the same time, very curious how it would turn out. Maybe she could get Sunghoon to like her, too? Since the encounter at the party, they made almost no progress at all. They did talk when they saw each other and were comfortable, but Mirae was too scared to be any more bolder than that. It already took her the biggest courage to ask for his number. Of course, she only asked for his number with the excuse to ask him about lecture related stuff so he wouldn't be suspicious. Even if she consumed a variety of romance related media, she had no real life experience regarding love, at all.

***

"Actually, it doesn't sound too bad Cupid," she said while smiling. "I accept your offer!"

"There's a condition though." Cupid said while waving the arrow like a warning.

"What is it?"

"If the person in question already has pre-existing affection towards you, the feelings will disappear as soon as the arrow strikes them," he crossed his arms, sounding very serious.

Mirae blinked. "That's it?" She giggled. "Since that's out of the question anyway, yes I still accept." She stood up and put her hands on her hips in a triumphant pose.

"You're fearless," Cupid smirked. "Then, I warned you about the conditions so there's no turning back. Now tell me, who do you want to be the recipient of the cupid's love shot?" He made an exaggerated dance with the arrow, turning upside down in the air. Mirae giggled at the sight, wiping away a fake tear. "Well, even if I'm still unsure if this is the right decision, there's this guy who's the same major like me in uni. Park Sunghoon has been my crush since months ago..." She started to blush while thinking of him.

Cupid got her attention back by speaking again. "Why are you unsure if this is the right decision?"

Mirae stayed silent for a few seconds until she started again, "Well, feelings shouldn't be forced right? If he falls for me just because of magic...it wouldn't feel real, not genuine. And thinking that his feelings might be fake after being hit with the arrow...kind of makes me sad." Mirae stared at the floor, a rush of sadness suddenly overcoming her.

"Hey hey, don't worry too much about that. The person won't be enchanted forever, you know. But this is a different story. You don't even know how it will turn out so cheer up!" Cupid gave her a thumbs up. Mirae smiled at that and laughed. "So does that mean Sunghoon might like me back when I face him tomorrow?" She beamed.

"We'll see! It was nice meeting you." And with that, Cupid disappeared in a wave of sparkles.

Mirae fell with her back on the bed, facing the ceiling. Will I finally have the chance with Sunghoon? She took her pillow and hugged it in her arms, a smile forming in her face from ear to ear.

Sunghoon felt a tingling sensation on his chest, moving his hand towards his heart. He narrowed his brows. "Weird..." He mumbled and proceeded back to what he was doing before.

Cupid floated in front of a window of an apartment, cautiously eyeing the person inside. He sighed. "Oh well, I did warn her about the condition..."

He took his bow and arrow and got into position. One eye closed for better aiming and...

Shoot! The arrow flew through the window and landed right on Sunghoon's heart. Cupid stayed a while to observe if anything happened to him.

Cupid turned away and flew higher into the sky. "Good luck for this one, Mirae."

___

Word count: 2711 words