you swing the door open and there he is — bruised, bleeding, barely standing. he tries to smile, but it tugs at a split lip, and you immediately step aside to let him in, your heart slamming against your ribs like it wants to escape the moment before it breaks.

“don’t say anything yet,” he says, voice rough. “let me shower. i’ll be easier to look at after.”

you don't answer. you just nod, throat tight, and grab a towel while he drags himself toward the bathroom.

you hate this part — the waiting. the sound of the water running as it washes away blood you didn’t get a chance to clean. the way your hands shake as you lay out gauze and antiseptic and stitch kits like it’s routine. like you haven’t cried over this exact setup more times than you can count.

he steps out fifteen minutes later, hair dripping, body clean but riddled with fresh bruises. a deep purple welt blooms across his ribs, and there’s a long, angry gash above his eyebrow that still seeps a little blood. he's got a towel around his waist and tired eyes locked on yours.

“sit,” you say, voice flat, pointing to the bathroom counter. you’re too tired to yell. too scared to fall apart.

he obeys.

you press a clean cloth to his wound, just a little too firmly. he winces but doesn’t move away.

“you’re gonna get yourself killed one day,” you say. your voice comes out quieter than you meant it to. smaller.

“i’ve had worse,” he mutters.

your hands freeze.

"that’s not the point, tae.”

he sighs. “i know.”

“no, you don’t. because if you did, you wouldn’t keep doing this. you wouldn’t come home every other night with new wounds and old ones ripped open again. you wouldn’t keep making me wonder if the next time the door knocks... it’ll be someone else telling me you didn’t make it.”

the words hang heavy in the air, thick and shaking. he stays silent.

you bite the inside of your cheek to stop it from trembling. you dab at his brow, slower this time, careful. “you don’t have to break yourself to be enough.”

he looks down at his hands. his knuckles are torn open — fresh from tonight. “it’s all i know. fighting… it gives me something. i feel like myself in the ring. it’s the only place i know who i am.”

“and who are you when you’re not bleeding?”

he looks up, startled by your question.

you’re not angry anymore. just aching. tired in a way that sleep won’t fix.

“when you’re here,” you say, voice soft, “with me… who are you then?”

he stares at you, chest rising and falling unevenly. “i’m yours.”

you nod slowly. “then act like it. stay. stop choosing pain over peace. stop making me watch you fall apart just so you can feel whole for a few minutes in a ring.”

“i can’t just walk away from it—”

“i’m not asking you to quit,” you say quickly. “i’m asking you to survive.”

he looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn't. instead, he lets you tend to him — your fingers gentle now as you clean the gash and close it with small, precise stitches. you dab antiseptic over his knuckles, wrap them carefully, and by the time you’re done, your hands have stopped shaking.

but your heart hasn’t.

“you don’t have to do this alone,” you whisper, more to yourself than him. “you don’t have to keep hurting just to prove something.”

his hand reaches out, shaky and hesitant, and finds yours.

“i’m scared,” he admits.

“of what?”

“of being nothing if i’m not fighting.”

you step between his legs, cradle his jaw with both hands, and lean your forehead against his. “you’ll never be nothing. not to me.”

he pulls you into him like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. your arms wrap around his neck as his settle on your waist, and suddenly it’s too much — the fear, the relief, the way he still smells like blood and sweat and safety.

you kiss him — soft, slow, like you're stitching him back together with your lips. it’s not rushed, not desperate, just… tender. the kind of kiss that says i see you. all of you. and i’m still here.

your lips brush against his once, twice, a gentle question, and when he kisses you back, it’s like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. like he’s been starved for something only you can give. his hands tighten at your waist, not to pull you closer — you’re already as close as you can be — but to ground himself, like the feel of you is the only thing tethering him to this world.

his breath shudders against your cheek, and your thumb traces the line of his jaw, careful not to press against any bruises. his skin is warm beneath your fingers, flushed from the shower, from the fight, from you.

you feel it in the way his lips linger — how they tremble just a little when you deepen the kiss, how he sighs softly into your mouth like he’s finally letting go of everything he’s been holding in.

your fingers slide into his hair, still damp, and he tilts his head just enough for the kiss to deepen, mouths moving together in a quiet, aching rhythm. it’s not about passion, not really — it’s about presence. about showing him that he’s more than the blood, the pain, the fight.

when you pull back, just a breath away, his forehead stays pressed to yours. his eyes are closed, lashes damp, and he looks so young like this. like the boy underneath all the bruises is still learning how to be loved.

you press another kiss to the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, then the cut above his brow. “you’re okay,” you whisper between each kiss. “you’re here. you’re home.”

his hands cup your face then, rough knuckles brushing your skin so delicately it makes your chest ache. he opens his eyes and looks at you like he’s never seen you before — or maybe like he’s finally seeing you the way you’ve always seen him.

“don’t go,” he whispers.

you lean in again, pressing your lips to his in an answer. slow, certain, full of every silent promise you’ve ever made him.

“i’m not going anywhere,” you breathe. “not as long as you keep coming back to me.”

and in that moment, with bruises still darkening and your hands still stained from cleaning his wounds, he feels whole — not because he’s healed, but because you’ve made space for every broken part of him.

Because your boyfriend is standing in front of you with bright red hair. In theory, it should look strange. It should be one of those changes you need time to adjust to. But it isn’t. Not even close. If anything, it makes it worse in the best way possible, because Taesan looks unfairly good like this, and your brain seems to short-circuit on sight.

A warm rush floods through you at the way the colour frames his face, sharpens his features, makes him look even more infuriatingly attractive. You press your legs together without thinking, as if that alone could ground you.

Taesan, on the other hand, looks like he’s bracing for impact. He rubs the back of his neck, gives an awkward little laugh, clearly uncomfortable under your silence. “I lost a bet with the guys,” he admits. “This was my punishment.”

You don’t answer. Not because you’re upset, but because words have officially stopped working for you. Your brain is still buffering.

The lack of response only makes him more uncertain. He waves a hand in front of your face. “What? Is it really that bad?”

That snaps something in you. Bad? He thinks this is bad?

If only he knew what it was doing to you.

Your voice finally returns, but it comes out softer than you expect. “Tell your friends I said thank you.”

He barely has time to process that before you step forward and kiss him.

It isn’t gentle. It’s immediate, hungry in a way that surprises even you. You nip lightly at his bottom lip, slipping your tongue against his, and for a second he freezes—caught off guard—before he melts into it, matching your intensity with a slow, growing heat.

Any restraint disappears quickly.

You don’t care how desperate it feels, or how obvious you’re being. All you can think about is him, the warmth of his mouth, the way he responds when you pull him closer like you’ve been waiting for this without realizing it.

When you finally break away just enough to look at him, he’s breathless. His red hair is slightly tousled now, eyes a little glazed, lips parted like he’s still catching up. It only makes everything worse in the best way.

You kiss him again, immediately, like your self-control never stood a chance in the first place.

This time it deepens, faster, more consuming. His hands find your waist, firm and sure now, pulling you in until there’s barely any space left between you. You let out a quiet sound against his mouth when he shifts you backward without breaking the kiss, guiding you until your back meets the wall of your apartment entryway.

The change in position makes your breath hitch.

Taesan doesn’t stop there. One hand stays at your waist, the other slides lower to steady you, holding you there like he’s decided he’s done being startled and fully committed to this moment instead. You cling to him without thinking, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, like letting go isn’t even an option anymore.

The kiss turns slower, deeper—less rushed, more deliberate—but no less intense. It’s the kind that makes time feel slightly irrelevant, like everything else has been pushed out of the frame except the two of you and the way he’s looking at you when he finally pulls back just enough to breathe.

His forehead rests briefly against yours. He laughs softly, breath still uneven. “Babe,” he murmurs, voice low, “I need to breathe.”

That alone almost makes you forget how to function.

He presses a light kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, like he’s trying to steady both of you back into reality without fully letting go. His hands are still at your waist, anchoring you there.

“So…” he says after a moment, a teasing edge creeping back into his voice, eyes flicking over your face like he already knows the answer, “I take it you like the new hair?”

You let out a shaky breath, still a little dazed, still not fully recovered. Your hands don’t move far from him either. “Yes,” you admit simply.

His smile widens at that—soft, knowing, entirely too satisfied.

He leans in one more time, brushing his lips against yours, gentler this time, almost playful. “Good,” he murmurs.

Then, with a faint laugh, he tilts his head slightly, red hair catching the light again as he adds, “So the hair stays?”

© All rights reserved @gigisnextdoor 2026.

taglist♡

He lifted his head, and a slow cloud of breath escaped his lungs in a soft hitch. 

You didn’t look like the young princess he spent every single day guarding, following like a shadow, carrying the sword that was meant for you and you only. At least, not at first glance. 

Instead of the usual silks and hair ornaments, you wore a simple hanbok in muted winter colours: soft cream jeogori, pale rose chima (skirt), and a dark wool shawl wrapped around your shoulders—obviously borrowed from a palace maid on your way out. Nothing flashy. Nothing that screamed your status and bloodline. Nothing expensive enough to buy Taesan and his entire future bloodline’s souls. 

Tonight, your hair wasn’t pinned up the way etiquette deemed appropriate for a princess—no neat braid, no ceremonial ribbon. Instead, your hair fell loose around her shoulders, dark and soft, a waterfall flowing over the simple collar of your borrowed hanbok. 

It made you look younger than you already were, freer… almost like the version of you that Taesan barely got to see behind palace walls. 

Your voice wasn’t the one you used at court and in the palace, that cut through the stinging winter cold like the universe was personally at your command. It was gentle this time, maybe a bit shy, expectant. 

Like an ordinary girl.

If that word was even worthy of you.

Taesan bowed his head automatically. A habit. That quiet, instinctive movement that he never quite unlearned despite the absurd amount of times you told him he didn’t have to. 

Old routine from his old post. Or… not that old, honestly. 

He used to stand at the palace gates, stoic with the rest of the faceless line of elite guards who were supposed to be part of the background. Nobody important. That was before the crown prince, your older brother, had pulled him aside. Before the hushed orders that he seamlessly fell into. Before he started showing up everywhere you were. 

Pure coincidence, of course. 

At least according to every palace record ever. 

“Your Highness.”

You smiled. That alone was enough to knock the loyal guard off his feet. 

“You should call me by my name, Taesan,” you said.

That soft winter glow that bestowed upon your face—lightly flushed cheeks from the cold, black eyes bright with a mix of nerves and determination that he couldn't help but find deathly adorable—made Taesan’s heart ache. There were no words suited to describe it, except that he could only soothe it if he took his heart out and physically ripped it apart. 

The guard shook his head. “I could never, Your Highness, it’s…” he couldn’t finish. The word was stuck in his throat. Dangerous and too honest. Too close to the truth he wasn’t allowed to even imagine. 

Inappropriate, perhaps. 

No, he didn’t deserve to say your name. It hovered between his lips, tempting and impossible. A forbidden fruit. His tongue didn’t have the capability to savour the sweetness of your beautiful name—it was too lowly, too humble for someone like you. 

Even without the usual jewelled binyeo, there was something unmistakably regal about you. Chin up just at the right angle, posture a little too perfect, movements careful like you could never really switch off years of court etiquette. 

Taesan would never let himself utter your name. It was a kind of heaven no commoner like him could even dream of having. 

But he let himself slip out a compliment for you. 

“You look wonderful, Your Highness.”

The words came from his heart. It showed in his usually empty eyes—too warm, too soft—fonder than any guard should sound toward his princess. 

“Really?” you asked, that small smile forming on your lips. 

Taesan nodded earnestly. Maybe too keen. But he meant it. 

“Always,” he replied. 

Here, in the shadowy back corner of a warehouse, wrapped in a hanbok meant to make you invisible in the crowd, Taesan would’ve recognised you anywhere. Not because you looked royal, or because you were the most angelic young woman he’d laid his eyes on, but because you looked like you.

“Do you smell it?” you asked, the wind blowing softly at the strands of hair hanging free from the sides of your face. 

Your question pulled Taesan out of his trance. He blinked himself back into reality, though the sight of you in simple hanbok felt like a hazy dream anyway. 

“Um, smell what exactly, Your Highness?” 

The nearby festival had given them the wonderful mix of sweetened red beans, pumpkin juk, roasted chestnuts, cinnamon, honey, meat on smoky grills—the smell drifting steadily through the dense winter air. 

You shrugged. Not sure what the combination was made out of. 

“You reckon they sell yakgwa?” you asked. 

Taesan snorted. He didn’t mean to, but it was a dulcet sound that you had never heard come from him. His head dipped forward momentarily, the front of his black hair brushing his eyes. 

“Your Highness,” he said, the remnants of his amusement evident in the faint smile pulling at his lips, “you told me to bring you out to the festival so you could see for yourself how us commoners eat.” 

He was right. You had asked him to bring you around the winter festival, so you could experience it for yourself. Your father, the King, would never grant you the permission to stroll the streets as ordinarily as other people could. So, you resorted to this.

You scoffed lightly, rolling your eyes. “Right, right, you don’t have to remind me.”

A beat passed. 

But it felt like a really long one. 

The wind blew softly at your hair, the unrestrained locks loose against your face. There was a soft tint of pink across your cheeks, your breath forming puffs of cloud against your lips. 

Taesan wanted to chuckle along with your jest, to make things less stiff and awkward between him and you. 

Instead, he found himself extending his arm towards you, his smile fading.

“Should… we?”

The gesture itself was a leap that made his heart beat so fast, and his heart betrayed him because when you slipped your hand into the fold of his arm, he swore he almost died. 

Your fingers were light against his sleeve, a little unsure just like him. You didn’t look at him right away, but when you did, the ground seemed to shift under his feet. 

You smiled. Again. 

“Lead the way.”

Taesan swallowed so quickly, nervous, hoping that you wouldn’t notice. He nodded before his feet began stepping forward, careful. He guided you around the corner of the warehouse and into the streets. The festival glow spilled over the both of you as you walked closer—the orange glow of the lanterns bobbing against the dark blue sky, music and laughter weaved in a warm ribbon between stalls of hearty tidbits. 

The festival was comforting and warm against the cold winter night. 

Yet Taesan felt colder with every step. 

Not because of the breeze.

Not because the tip of his nose was about to freeze to death. 

Because your hand was still resting on his arm, fingers dainty but heavy against his sleeve. 

Too light yet too warm. 

Dangerous. 

His mind pulled an image together—how the palace would react when he was seen like this with you. A princess, carefree and all smiles, with a mere guard. A lad who was pretending for one implausible moment that he was allowed to walk beside his lady like an equal. 

He tried not to think about it. 

A moment later, he cleared his throat. 

“Your Highn–”

He stopped when, from the corner of his eyes, you shot him a warning look. 

Oh. 

Your fingers tightened slightly against the fabric of his sleeve. 

“What was that?” you said, eyes narrowing a bit. “Try again.”

A breath escaped Taesan, slowly curling into the night air. A secret of some sort. 

“Yes,” he said, a tad stiff. “I’ll… try. Next time.”

You raised a brow at him, a little wary, but you shrugged it off. 

The two of you then stepped into the warmth of the festival, the drifting glow of the lanterns bringing together the atmosphere you had always dreamed about. 

The change was immediate. Laughter, occasional banters, clinking bowls, sizzling batter on iron pans, running children weaving past adults with sticky candy in their hands—every sound wrapped around you with a strange kind of nostalgia. You’d never experienced this sort of ambience before, but somehow, it felt like this was home instead of the cold stone walls of the palace. 

A stringed haegeum played a melody from somewhere in the street, the notes gentle. 

You stopped walking. 

Naturally, Taesan did too. He turned towards you, unsure. 

But you weren’t looking at him anymore. 

The lanterns sparkled like bright stars in your eyes. Wider, gleaming more than any gemstone you wore in court. You were taking in everything with a kind of awe that painted itself across your face—unguarded and genuine. Nothing like Taesan had seen before. 

It made something deep inside his ribs twist.

“I have no words,” you breathed, finally, “it’s… beautiful.”

Taesan took a moment to gather himself and his words together, his eyes unable to pry themselves away from you. 

“Yeah.”

He didn’t know if you meant the lanterns, the streets, the people, the food… 

…or the freedom that you’d been trying to find. 

But he kept his question to himself. 

The way your hand still gripped his sleeve was enough of an answer. 

A stall keeper nearby called out, pulling your attention. He was loading a fresh batch of hotteok onto a metal tray, the steam white curls against the night. 

The wonderstruck look on your face made Taesan almost laugh. Almost. 

Instead, he asked quietly, “Do you want one?” He didn’t have to wait for your nod to know the answer. 

He carefully slipped away from you, his hand lingering on yours before he stepped towards the stall. He bought a few of the warm pancakes, steam still curling out of them. When he returned, he handed one to you, half-expecting you to take a small bite out of it. Proper, like how you took every ceremonial dish served back in the palace. 

But you didn’t. 

With the biggest, most excited grin he’s seen yet, you took a huge bite. 

Taesan choked on nothing. 

“Mmh—” You chewed slowly, the gooey syrup of cinnamon and nuts filling your senses. “My goodness…”

At the sight—you being the most adorable thing he’s ever seen—Taesan couldn’t stop laughing. It burst out of his chest, startled, soft and full of joy. He didn’t even know he was capable of sounding like that. 

He wasn’t sure he was even able to feel this way. 

You looked up at him, lips slightly glazed with the sweet syrup of the hotteok you were eating. The expression on your face—albeit endearing—was the most unprincess-like look he’d ever seen. 

It was perfect. 

“It’s good?” he guessed, voice as soft as his laugh earlier. 

You nodded rather vigorously. “Taesan, why don’t the kitchens serve something like this?”

Taesan chuckled again. “I’m sure they’d make some if you asked, Your Highn–”

He stopped, smile fading, when you looked at him pointedly. 

“Right. My… my point still stands.”

You snorted, grinning into your hotteok. 

In that moment—amidst the golden lanterns, the chatter, and the illusion that you could be an ordinary girl with your very much ordinary lover, enjoying the market—Taesan let himself believe, just for a lingering breath, that it would last. 

But then…

A metallic clang rang in the distance, sharp and delicate. 

Precise. 

Taesan froze. 

The festivity around you was now too loud. Too bright. Too crowded, easy to lose you in. 

His hand instinctively drifted to where his sword should’ve been. 

Shit. 

You noticed. Of course you did. 

“Taesan– hey, what’s–?”

He didn’t look away from the direction of the sound. “Stay behind me.”

“Taesan!”

“Please.”

You stopped. 

His voice wasn’t what you’d expected it to be. Not that of a guard. Not quite. 

It was urgent, too human. 

You stepped closer to him, your finger clutching the half-eaten hotteok tighter. 

And there it was again. The same clang, echoing a little too loudly in both your ears. 

A warning, perhaps. 

Taesan’s breath steadied. The look in his eyes betrayed his rather calm expression. 

“Taesan,” you called, voice barely above a whisper, “what’s happening?”

He didn’t answer, and just simply returned your gaze. 

But you could see it. His body tensed akin to a bowstring pulled too tight. He’d shifted just enough to block you fully from whatever that produced that sound earlier. His shoulder squared, his breath held. 

“Taesan,” you whispered once again.

“Don’t call my name like that.”

Your breath hitched halfway out of your throat. 

Before any of you could react further, a burst of laughter erupted from a group of children hurrying down the street, pushing past people as they waved long wooden sticks tied with bells. One had whacked his stick a little too enthusiastically against a pole, sending another sharp metallic ring through the crisp air. 

You winced slightly at the shrill sound, but your eyes were trained on Taesan’s expression.

He blinked. 

Once. Twice. 

His shoulders dropped a fraction, and you couldn’t hold back the grin that pulled on your face. 

The children scuttled past, chasing one another with their improvised toys, oblivious to the near heart attack they gave him. 

One of them—a girl with a missing tooth—grinned at Taesan before she ran off to join her friends. 

“Well,” you turned to him, the corner of your lips evidently twitching. “What was that again?”

Taesan exhaled the breath he’d been holding in. His frown softened, expression turning begrudgingly sheepish. 

“I was just being cautious,” he muttered, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. 

But you giggled regardless. The sound was soft but bright, and Taesan felt his ears warming under the winter cold.

“Come on then,” you said, fingers reaching out to tug lightly on his sleeve. “Let’s explore before someone else terrorizes you with… sticks.”

Taesan sighed, internally rolling his eyes. 

But he let you pull him along, silently praying the ground underneath his feet would swallow him whole. But your amusement wasn’t cruel. Not at all. If anything, it held a fondness he wasn’t sure he deserved.

The two of you wandered deeper into the festival. 

Deeper into the laughter and the warmth he wished he could share with you more often. 

YOU tried everything.

Everything. 

Spicy rice cakes that made you choke in a way that made Taesan’s eyes widen with worry. Roasted sweet potatoes that you took a bite of regardless of his warning that it’d burn your tongue because it was fresh off the grill. He watched with a soft smile, helping you fan your mouth with his hand. 

And the games—ugh, so annoying. 

Taesan tried to convince you the ring toss game was rigged. You didn’t believe him, of course. 

Now, after failing your first throw, you were starting to doubt your own insistence. 

He stood behind you, as loyal as ever, hands clasped behind his back. He was polite, but he stood close enough that you could feel the warmth from his chest radiating against your shoulder blades every time you moved. 

“You’re throwing it a bit too softly,” he murmured, leaning down just slightly. 

“I don’t want to hit someone with it,” you gritted back, eyes narrowed. 

Taesan simply laughed, his shoulders shaking. “Fine, fine. Throw it however you like.”

Hours passed without either of you realising. 

The festival shifted seamlessly from bright and bustling to something gentler. Quieter, like the night was finally wrapping around the remaining visitors like a fluffy blanket of dark blue and the soft golden glow of dying embers. Musicians switched to slower melodies as the crowd began to thin, and your breaths puffed in the air like white, velvety clouds. 

Taesan walked you to the top of the hill overlooking the town. 

From up here, the festival looked like tiny fireflies, scattered across earth. 

Your arms hugged the rabbit plush made out of leftover scraps of colourful hanbok material—the one that he won for you earlier—as the wind combed through your loose hair. The moonlight bathed your features in silver, highlighting the royal beauty that the night had hidden from the world. 

Taesan stood beside you, his hands clasped behind his back like always. His gaze was fixed forward, but even a child could tell that his attention was fixed on you. 

Not the view. 

You. 

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed. 

“Of course. Of course it is.”

You glanced sideways. He was staring at you instead of the horizon. 

A soft, rather knowing smile tugged at your lips. 

“Taesan,” you said softly. 

His breath hitched, because the sound of his name on your tongue—no formality, no title—felt forbidden. Yet it was the closest to heaven he’d get in this mortal world. 

THE walk back was quieter.

Not awkward, of course, but it was full. Heavy in the way snow-laden branches bend, not from burden, but from abundance. 

You walked close enough that your fingers brushed the fabric of Taesan’s sleeve every now and then. Each time it happened, his breath hitched the tiniest bit—so faint you might’ve mistaken it as the breeze. 

The palace walls loomed ahead, tall and dark against the moonlit sky. A sight you dreaded, banging heavy in your heart. 

The guards stationed at the outer courtyard had already begun their shift change. Lanterns glowed dimly, throwing elongated shadows across the tiles.

Taesan stopped first.

He always did.

A quiet signal that this was as far as he could follow you.

As far as he should follow you. 

You turned to him, the silver moonlight making that soft smile on your lips look more majestic than ever. 

“Thank you for tonight,” you told him. 

He didn’t reply instantly. 

Instead, he let the wind curl between the two of you, cold enough to sting, but Taesan was by far the warmest he’d ever been.

His mouth opened to speak, but closed before he uttered anything. 

Your eyes softened, and he knew it meant you were expecting him to step back into the shadows.

Well, that was what broke him.

Not desire.

Not the longing. 

Not even the lingering memory of your lips against his in hidden corners of the palace. 

It was the way you looked at him like you knew he wouldn’t choose himself. Like always.

But tonight… 

He did. 

Taesan stepped forward, ignoring the violent hitch in your breath. 

He held his hand out. Slow. Reverent. His finger brushed a stray snowflake from your cheek, lingering a beat too long. His eyes searched yours for permission. 

You didn’t speak. 

You only gave a tiny nod. 

That was all it took.

Taesan leaned in.

Not forceful, frantic. But with such gentleness it almost made your heart jump out of your ribs. 

His forehead touched yours first, as if giving you one last chance to stop him.

You didn’t.

Why would you?

So he closed the distance.

The kiss was soft.

Warm, but trembling with everything he never let himself say.

His other hand rose to cradle the back of your neck, thumb brushing the edge of your hairline. He held you like you were fragile porcelain—laughable, given who you were—but to him, you were something far more breakable.

Like if he was being too greedy, too human, it’d break you.

But you kissed him back, breath warm against his lips. But for once, you weren’t the first to move.

Taesan deepened the kiss—just barely—enough for you to feel the subtle shiver running through him. Enough for the world to disappear except for the warm and desperate press of his mouth against yours.

When he finally pulled away, his breath came out in a trembling puff that tickled your swollen lips.

He rested his forehead against yours again, eyes closed, clearly struggling to piece himself back together.

“That…” His voice cracked. He swallowed. “I should not have done that.”

“But you did,” you murmured softly. 

“Yeah,” he opened his eyes, swallowing again. His gaze dropped to your mouth before riding back up to your eyes, forehead still resting against yours. “I did.”

You brushed your nose lightly against his. Playful, tender, teasing. “You know, I could get used to this.”

Taesan inhaled sharply, dread pulling at his eyebrows. Only you could turn a moment of painful desire and longing into a lighthearted jest. “Your Highness, please.”

You rolled your eyes as you stepped back. “Fine, fine.”

A beat. 

“You should get going,” Taesan said softly. 

Before I can’t stop having you.

You swallowed, nodding. The palace walls behind you felt too tall. Too restricting. 

“Yeah.”

As you slipped toward the palace doors, you glanced over your shoulder.

Taesan was still watching you.

But not like a guard.

Like a man who had finally let himself want something forbidden.

You whispered his name—just once, just for him—and he straightened as if called to battle.

Then you vanished behind the sliding wooden door.

Taesan stayed there long after it closed, the hand that had held your face stiff in place, trying to make your warmth linger longer between his fingers.

He didn’t care if he died from the cold, standing there. He breathed in the ghost of your kiss, indulging in the memory of your lips against his, as if it were the last warmth in winter. 

And maybe, just maybe… 

He’d force himself to want. To come back for more.

― © htaesan, 2025.

With the competition getting near, you found yourself seeing more of the studio than your own home. Out of all your teammates, you were the chosen one so naturally you felt the pressure this put on your skills and ability. Attending a renowned dance academy had its advantages but being given the responsibility to represent your school was both an honour and a burden. This only meant you had to put in the extra effort to show your worth to both the academy and the judges. You needed to prove yourself. 

Ever since being selected at the audition, your rehearsal schedule has been vigorous. Aside from the compulsory competition practices set by your dance teacher, you’d booked the studio for an extra few hours each day to get in the practice. With each step and each turn, you felt the choreography being etched into your body until till there was no more room for error, for the competition was now only days away. Everything you had worked for so far was about to play out in just a few days. 

“Alright, I think that’s enough for today. Just make sure to work on your turn out. It’s a little weak on your arabesques,” your teacher comments whilst packing her things away. 

“I noticed too. I’ll work on it now.” 

“Now? Aren’t you going home?”

“No, I booked the studio for a few more hours so I can practice a bit more.” You weren’t supposed to let her know, but it slipped out. Your dedication wasn’t as well-received as you’d expected. 

“Y/n. What did I tell you. Our class schedule is enough. The first few weeks I understand but it’s getting out of hand now. You practically live here. Soon you’re going to end up overworking yourself which will affect your performance at the competition. We can’t afford to lose it again. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Miss Everett. But since I already booked it for today, can I just use today as one last extra practice,” you begged, trying to see her into reason. 

“Fine. But if I hear you in the studio past 10pm, then I might have to ban you from being able to book it for extra sessions in the future and I’m sure you don’t want that. Understood?” 

“Yes, Miss Everett.” 

“Good,” she nods approvingly, granting you one of her rare smiles, “I’ll see you tomorrow then.” 

“Have a good evening!” 

The door slams behind her as she leaves the room. It was just you in here. You and your reflection. Casting your eyes upon yourself, you pull your legs into an arabesque, noticing your sickled foot. Shifting its position, you attempt to get it into the right alignment when the door crashes open once again. 

Immediately dropping your leg back to the ground, you turn your eyes to meet his sharp gaze in the mirror. His lips instantly lift into a soft smirk, teasing you for being alone in the studio once again. He’d intruded on your private space and with that thought your blood boils as you grit your teeth awaiting an explanation. 

“What a surprise! You’re here again,” he exclaims, his tone flooded with sarcasm. 

“I booked the studio so of course I’m here. Can’t say the same for you though,” you scoff, ensuring your irritation was explicitly conveyed, “I don’t enjoy being interrupted mid-practice.” 

“I’m sure you don’t. But I booked this studio.”

“No. You didn’t. You’re in another one. I booked it for 8pm today.” 

“The confirmation message says otherwise.” He shows you his phone, confirming the date and time of the booking and you run to check your phone immediately. 8pm Tuesday. You’d booked it for the wrong day. Your face turns red, embarrassed to admit your mistake to him.

“Now if you don’t mind, can you leave. I’ve got to practice.” 

You slumped over as you begin slipping off your pointe shoes, complaining to yourself about his bad attitude. 

“Is that mumbling I hear?” The arrogance visible in his voice and composure as he crosses his arms, looking down at you in front of him. 

“No. You must be hearing things,” you state, standing back up once again, “now, if you move, I’ll be on my way.” 

“What if I don’t?” his smirk had only grown longer since the time he’d first entered, only causing your irritation to explode within you. 

“Han Taesan! Move out the way!” 

“Woah woah, calm down Shorty.” 

He knew you hated that nickname and yet he continues to insist upon using it. You dropped your bag back on the floor, pushing his shoulders with all your might. Your brows arched into that of anger as you continue to hit against his chest, pushing him towards the mirror until he’s cornered against it. 

“Call me that again and you won’t know what’s come over you.” 

“Is that right? Shorty?” 

It doesn’t take him long to turn you around, slamming your back against the glass. His arms cage you in between his chest, his face inching closer to you. Heart beating faster at the lack of space between you, you put up with your act of anger, grabbing the fabric of his t-shirt, moving him even closer to you. 

“I fucking hate you.” The words come out through the grit of your teeth. 

“Is that so? What are you going to do about it?” His infamous smirk once again plastered across his face, almost as if he was diminishing your sense of being. It didn’t help that he stood towering over you, standing at a head taller. 

Without a cue or warning, his arms shift place to instead wrapping around your waist almost swallowing your entire being. 

“Do you remember this? You used to love being wrapped up in my arms,” he taunts, giving your waist a squeeze. 

The past flashed in front of your eyes. The times when you were both so carefree, messing around in bed almost every other day and on nights when he wasn’t deep inside you, you’d be watching your favourite shows, or cooking dinner together. Before he disappointed you and left you to fend for yourself as he gave you up for his first love. Dance. You knew well enough that a dancer’s love will always remain with their art, you just didn’t know that that love couldn’t be shared with another person. Maybe you didn’t love your art as much as he did. Maybe that’s why you were so hurt by his betrayal. Those maybe’s slowly tore you apart after your breakup. You swore to yourself to love your art just as much as Taesan did his, if not even more. You became obsessed with the idea of being more dedicated to your dancing than he was. But where did that lead to now? 

“That was then. Back when you weren’t a fucking jerk.” 

“Do you ever miss it?” 

“Miss what?” 

“This.” 

Within seconds he lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, as he uses this as his gateway into getting even closer to you. The cold mirror presses against your half exposed back with the goosebumps travelling down your spine. 

“Do you ever miss me holding you like this, knowing what comes after?” 

“Taesan…let go,” your voice was weak, knowing you didn’t mean it. 

Your attempts to push him off only resulted in him tightening his grip around your thighs. It was embarrassing how quickly you folded, with each push getting weaker as your arms became jelly under his touch. 

“I’ll let go when I want to. Now be a good girl and take me like you used to.” 

Dropping you to the ground, his hands wandered around your body effortlessly, meandering through the familiar curves. The straps of your leotard fell down your shoulders as he pulled them down revealing your half naked torso. The only thing blocking him from you was the black bra he gifted you on your anniversary 3 years ago. 

“Still got this, huh?” He teases, pinging the strap of your bra. 

With ease, he removes it from your body, staring intently at your perky tits as your nipples hardened upon contact with the cold breeze of air. Whilst one hand goes up to play with your nipple, his mouth takes care of the other, sucking around the skin of your boob. 

“Fuck! Taesan. Stop!” Your words said one thing whilst actions meant another. Your handed tangle into his hair pulling him closer to your chest, heightening the sensations of his mouth on your sensitive buds. 

The sound of a pop bought you back to your sense as he released himself from your tits. He scans the rest of your body before ripping your nearly tied skirt off your waist and pulling down your leotard to the floor, along with your tights and panties.

You felt so exposed standing naked in the vastness of the studio. The studio which you saw as the holy grail as it stood by you through thick and thin. It felt wrong to be in such a vulnerable state in a place where you knew you were going to be in the next day with your unsuspecting teacher.  

“Turn around,” he commanded. 

One swift move and your facing your naked form in the mirror as he pushes your head against the mirror, pulling your lower half closer to his as he begins grinding his clothed dick against you. 

“Fuck, you’re dripping. Such a slut aren’t you?” You peer down at his grey joggers, noticing the evident wet patch you’ve created which only turned you on more.

His slow pace picks up and his actions almost emulate him fucking you despite being fully clothed as he grabs your hips, pounding them against his tented cock. 

“Taesan, please!” Your moans were stifled as he pushes against your head harder, the mirror fogging up against your face. 

“Please what? Use your words. You were given a mouth for a reason. Or was it so you could suck my cock like the slut you are? Remember how feral you used to go over my dick?” His chuckle echoed through the room, only further getting your closer to your orgasm.

“Taesan, fuck me. I need you inside me. I wanna cum.” 

“My bitch wants to cum does she? Didn’t you say you hated me just a few minutes ago? Now you want my cock inside you pounding you like I used to?” 

“Mhmm! Please!” Your begging was received with his devious laughter. He loved the control he had over you and deep down you knew you loved it to. You missed it. 

“Only because you insist.” 

He pulls off his T-shirt over his head in one swift move, then immediately removing himself of the remainder of his clothes, allowing his hard, long cock to spring free. He aligns the tip over your throbbing core, pushing in half his length before pulling back out again. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He asks before repeating the same action. 

Taking matters into your own hands you begin sinking your hips down onto his dick, taking it all in as it hits the top of your cervix. 

“Who said you could do that? I’m in charge, don’t forget.” His hands take their place on your hip, gripping it so firmly as to disallow you from moving it any further. 

He pulls out his length completely, leaving you whining over the loss of contact. It only takes him a few seconds before he slams it back in, sharp and strong as the vibrations hit your throat, leaving you gasping for air as you let out a strangled moan. 

“You like that bitch?” Your frantic nodding only boosts his ego as he repeats it once more, before he sets up a rhythmic pace of thrusting into you. 

It doesn’t take long for you to re-familiarise yourself with his veiny cock, going dizzy at the way he’s stretching you out. 

“Faster! Please!” 

“My baby wants me to go faster? Only if you look at yourself in the mirror. Watch how well you’re taking me.” 

You instantly move your head from the mirror, feeling hazy at the sudden shift in position, Taesan continuing to fuck your brains out. 

You see yourself in the mirror, face and hair disheveled as you look up to meet Taesan’s lust filled eyes. Just as he promised, his lace picks up making your legs wobble. If it weren’t for his hands holding you up, you were certain you would have passed out. You drop your head as the pressure builds up in your core, your vision going blurry with the build up of tears. 

“Look up. I told you to watch yourself in the mirror.” His hands grab ahold of your ponytail, pulling it backwards to your head faces the mirror once again, “I want you to watch yourself fall apart on my cock. Look at you. Fucked dumb already?”

“Taesan…Ahhh! I’m gonna cum!” Your whine screeches throughout the room, desperately praying the room was soundproof. 

“Fuck. Me too. Cum with me.” 

The last few thrusts were sharp and calculated as his hand wanders down to your leaking pussy, stroking your swollen clit. Seconds later, your orgasm explodes, the tingling travelling throughout your body as you drop to the floor, your legs finally giving up on you. Taesan’s cum erupts out of you like a volcanic eruption, staining the polished wooden floors in sticky white. 

“You missed this didn’t you?” 

You had no energy left in you to respond but that was enough for Taesan to figure out the answer. 

“I’ve missed you.” 

His confession appeared out of nowhere as you lift your head up to meet his. He was now crouching on the floor to be level with your glowing face. 

“Taesan…” 

“If you don’t want me back, I understand. Just know that there’s not a day that goes by where I’m not thinking about you. From the way you laugh to the way you fit in my arms, I’m always thinking about you.” His words were much more gentle than they were before. You were reminded of your past once again. 

“I missed you too Taesan, in more ways than you can imagine. You broke my heart yet you were all that I could think about.” 

“I never should have abandoned you. My dance is important but never as important as you, baby. I’ve realised that too late.” 

“It’s never too late. I want to be held by you again. I want to kiss you like I used to and simply live like we did before. Before we were all-consumed by dance.” 

“I want to go back to that. If you’ll let me, can I ask you out? Will you be my girlfriend again?” 

Pulling him closer, your arms wrap around his neck, attaching your lips to his, the kiss was soft yet passionate enough to have your stomach fluttering from butterflies. 

“Yes. Of course I’d say yes. Let’s have a do over.” 

Competition day rolled around as both you and Taesan paced around nervously in your respective changing rooms. You mentally go over the choreography which you had injected into your limbs and calm down the nerves. 

“Y/n, go up to the stage please. You’re on after Set 14. That gives you 3 minutes.” 

You nod your head and thank the runner before heading over to side stage where Taesan is already awaiting your arrival. He picks you up in a warm embrace, spinning you around before placing you back down, caressing your cheek fondly. 

“I know you’ll be great! Now go and show them that you’re my girl. Good luck, Shorty.” 

“Fuck you, Taesan.” You giggle, slapping his arm playfully at his teasing remark. 

“You can but after you perform. I’m on in a bit too. So how about tonight? We can have a celebratory fuck.” He raises his eyebrows, nudging you as you hide behind your hands. 

“We’re in public for God sake! Stop messing around.” 

“Who said I’m messing around?” 

“Ugh. You’re lucky I love you.”

“Indeed I am.” 

“Y/n, you’re up. Make your way to your starting position please.” The runner calls out as you give Taesan one last hug before making your way onto the stage. 

His mischievous smile removed you of all your nerves, leaving you instead with confidence that you’ll perform your piece to the best of your ability, which you did considering you came 2nd place in ballet out of 32 dance schools across the country. Moreover, Taesan won first place for street dance, having you both jumping around in your tight hug. 

“I guess we do deserve a good fuck after this then. I’m so proud of us,” he taunts, as you nudge his shoulder. 

“I guess we do,” you reply, running off as he chased behind you, catch you by your waist and wrestling you down onto the couch in your changing room. 

His eyes scan the room to make sure the door behind you was closed as he whispers, “Do you think you can wait or do you wanna let me fuck you now?” 

“Now? Are you kidding?” 

Sungho

Originally he invited you over to try out a new video game he got but neither of you thought that it will be so entertaining that you'll be at it for hours. First you were very calm about it, still figuring out how everything works but after you got into it, there was no stopping. You tried to accomplish more and more together in the game and playfully scolded each other when someone made a mistake. You had so much fun together that you didn't even realise how much time passed since you started. The sun slowly switched places with the moon and stars appeared on the dark sky one by one. When you noticed the time your were shocked about how long ago you started this game, but you didn't want to go home yet. So at the end you decided to turn this afternoon and evening spent together into a sleepover because you just didn't want to leave your boyfriend's side. Not tonight.

Riwoo

You planned a movie date for the evening at your place. What you didn't calculate with was the huge storm that decided to start right after he arrived and soon the electricity went off in the whole building thanks to that. So the movie date became impossible. You lit some candles to have something light up the place, it actually turned out pretty romantic. You ended up eating all the snacks you guys bought for the movie while waiting for the power to come back. After an hour or two everything went back to normal, the lamp working again, the tv turned on and the internet connection came back. However, Riwoo and you had so much fun doing nothing in the dim lights of the candles that movie night already became forgotten, you didn't want anything else than to just be with, and focus on each other. And maybe a little bit more snacks.

Jaehyun

Jaehyun is a weird guy. Everybody and their mother knows that. Therefore when he plans a date you never know what to expect. But something that you actually didn't expect was for him to put together the most romantic dinner ever known to mankind at his place. He put candles on the table, gave you your favourite flowers and cooked a delicious male by himself (or at least that's what he claimed). When you finished you didn't want to leave yet. It was a gesture that showed you how much he really loves and adores you and you didn't want this moment to end. So you just kept sitting at the table talking, really opening up to each other for hours straight. This was probably the point when both of you realised how serious you are about this relationship. And another thing that you realised that night was that Jaehyun can actually stay calm for more than an hour long.

Taesan

You were at his place, laying in his bed, cuddling. He hugged you so softly but still so close, your head on his chest. You could hear his heartbeat. It was calm. You made it calm. The same way he calmed you down. At that moment it didn't matter how stressful of a day you've had, how angry you were at the whole world just hours ago. But as soon as you were with him everything seemed to suddenly get better. And there you were, laying down with him as a calm melody was playing on his vinyl player. Words weren't needed in that moment. You were planning to lay there for a few minutes, but minutes soon turned into an hour and then more and more hours. "It's getting late" Taesan whispered to you "shouldn't you go home?" You looked up at him, right into those beautiful eyes of his, and said "right now all I want is to be with you"

Leehan

You know how much Leehan loves watching his fish even for hours straight. At first you didn't understand; how can someone be so entertained by some fish? they're not even doing anything special, just swimming around, how can someone just stare at them non-stop? But it seems like tonight you finally understood. Today was not just long but also really stressful for you and you didn't want anything else than just some comfort so you came over to your boyfriend's. After eating something the two of you just settled in front of his fish tank watching as the little animals swim around in the water. Your head resting on his shoulder, calmly breathing in and out, non of you breaking the silence. You didn't know how much time has passed since you sat down there but honestly, you didn't care. You felt closer to him than ever before, it gave you so much comfort, and all you did was watching some fish in the dim light.

Woonhak