#teaxtease

his timeline is steady and his patience is unnerving. flirting lasted two weeks before he asked you out, you went on dates for two months before he asked to be your boyfriend, and now you're hoping it's only another two minutes before he does something more than kiss you.

because if he wanted to fuck you, he would, right? he would subtly hint at it and tease you until you admitted that you want him just as badly. he would kiss you breathless and laugh as you chased his lips. he would want you to initiate, to take unapologetically. that's what you were used to. that's how your brain had been wired, through a system that rewarded your greed.

if you were naive enough to answer the text messages blowing up your phone, that itch could be scratched. you would not have to do more than give him a look.

seonghwa's leather couch shifts under his weight as he angles his body towards you, "you're quiet tonight. is everything okay?"

"i'm stressed,” you lie, putting your phone on the armrest and hoping he can’t see the brightness of every notification through your privacy screen.

his gaze is tender as he studies your features. you’re not sure what he’s looking for, but he finds it and hums in understanding.

hands sneak under the blanket and hook themselves around your legs, pulling them onto his lap, “is this okay?"

you nearly roll your eyes at how careful he is, but the worried curve of his pillowy lips makes it hard to be annoyed, “yes. hwa, you can touch me, you know?”

"i know,” he agrees, flashing you a pretty smile, “but i don't wanna make you—”

"—if i were ever uncomfortable, i would tell you.”

he hesitates before nodding, his hands just barely grazing the underside of your calves in slow motions, “good. what's on your mind?"

"i have… a lot of pent-up energy i want to take out,” you reply, fighting the urge to guide his hands higher, closer to where you need him.

there’s a second of silence as his adam’s apple bobs, and your eyes trace the movement.

"maybe we could, uh, go on a walk?" he asks, almost like it hurts to get words out.

his slender fingers are a little firmer on your skin, but just as slow, and you want to claw at the leather underneath you. you need it to be tonight. unlike him, you feel your patience running thin, and you’re so far gone that you could settle for dry-humping and messy kissing.

“do you need me to beg for it?”

"what?"

you exhale sharply, shoving the blanket to the side, moving your legs off his lap, and straddling him in a few swift movements. he startles, hands retracting to his sides as you settle down on him.

a frown etches itself onto your features and you take his hands in yours and guide them up your thighs, past your hips, and up your sides. his skin is soft on yours, and you nearly shiver as you lean closer, “please, i need you. please. do something, i can’t wait.”

"don’t beg,” he breathes out, struggling to look you in the eyes, “you never need to beg me for anything.”

your hands move off of his and you feel his grip on your sides loosen, but you can’t settle for that. not anymore. so you lean closer until his lips meet yours.

the kiss is charged with unbridled want, and your body doesn’t lag. as soon as he begins kissing you back, your hips begin to grind against his, the fabric of your shorts catching against his sweats.

his lips part in a moan at the feeling, and for the first time, he takes initiative by moving a hand from your waist to bring you closer by the nape of your neck. it’s different from his usual hand against your cheek, and his slipping restraint fans the flame building in your guts.

but he makes no other move— he doesn’t lean into your touch, his hips don’t grind up against yours, and he doesn’t even try to guide your movements by your waist. it’s more like he’s letting you use him rather than indulging in you.

“fuck,” he murmurs as he moves away from your lips, a strangled huff slipping past his mouth. his eyes trail down to where your hips meet his and his eyes squeeze shut. “fuck, you’re making this really difficult.”

rarely did he curse around you, if at all. but you found yourself becoming addicted to the expletives dropping from his pretty mouth, taking them as signs that he was affected by you. it makes you dizzy, the knowledge that he’s trying his hardest to be respectful and failing.

“seonghwa,” you say, slowing down your movements on his lap, “don’t you want me?”

there’s a moment of hesitation as he stares at you like you’ve just slapped him, “of course i do. this isn’t about what i want, it’s about… you’ve told me about the guy before me. i don’t want to make you feel the way he did.”

well, maybe not emotionally. because you might die if seonghwa couldn’t make you feel how he did physically.

your breathing quickens at the mention of the guy who’s surely still blowing up your phone. you resist the urge to glance at the device resting on the armrest of the couch.

seonghwa continues, his expression sincere as his hand moves away from under your shirt. he places it over yours where it rests on his chest for leverage, “believe me, it hurts me to say no. but i want to do this right. i want it to be special, for you to be completely sure of me. i want trust and connection and… i don’t want you to think i only want this from you. can you wait a little longer?”

embarrassment, hot and stinging, rushes through your body as you abruptly stop moving. you could feel him, hard underneath you, and you’d be impressed with his restraint if it wasn’t stopping you from getting what you wanted.

“okay,” you agree with a nod, climbing off of him with averted eyes, “yeah, i’ll wait.”

he looks at you with what feels like pity in the moment, a hand circling your wrist, “i’m not rejecting you, angel. i respect you, and i care, and i really want to show you that rather than tell you. is that okay?”

maybe you should be flattered. he isn’t treating you like a piece of meat, like something to be claimed and then tossed. but your nerves feel like they’re on fire with need and you can’t help the frustration building up. “that’s okay. thank you, seonghwa.”

“you don't have to thank me,” he replies with an easy smile, as if the past few moments didn’t happen, you aren’t dripping, and his pants aren’t straining against his hard-on, “you deserve better than a quickie on my couch on a random night.”

you aren’t sure if he’s right. but you mirror his grin until the moment he drops you off at your place with a kiss to your temple.

for the first time since your failed attempt at initiating sex, you check your phone. it’s another one of those nights, apparently. there are weeks of radio silence. some days you only get a view of your profile and no texts. others you get a single call while you sleep. but tonight, it’s one the ones where he spams your phone. you read only the last few.

unknown number | are you still with the guy?

unknown number | the one with the long hair

unknown number | i stalked his profile

unknown number | he seems nice? good for you

unknown number | too nice though

unknown number | bet he doesn’t fuck you how you like

unknown number | probably doesn’t know how to handle you 

unknown number | or how fucking greedy you are 

unknown number | don’t pretend you don’t miss me

unknown number | bet you even kept our videos

unknown number | i kinda wish i had sometimes

he stopped texting around an hour ago. and it might be the frustration, but you respond for the first time in months.

you | who is this?

the reply is immediate.

unknown number | fuck

unknown number | i knew it

unknown number | hi baby, it’s been too long

unknown number | answer my calls

the regret doesn’t even reach you before you’re typing back.

you | stop spamming

you | i’m content with him

he sends a thumbs down reaction to both messages.

unknown number | no thanks

unknown number | and ‘content’ is funny

unknown number | not happy?

unknown number | probably not pleased, i can tell he doesn’t know

there it is. how easily he knows exactly what to say to get under your skin.

you | doesn’t know what, wooyoung?

that one message changes the conversation entirely. he stops typing and takes longer to respond. when he does, it’s an audio message. you regret playing it as soon as you hear the honeyed voice coming from your speakers.

“got tired of typing,” he murmurs, taking a deep breath before continuing, “but i’m glad you’re not pretending anymore.”

you nearly pause the message and toss your phone, but you hear that familiar laugh and your thumb hesitates.

“you know, i promised myself i wouldn’t go stalk his page. but i couldn’t help myself tonight. i’m a little drunk. you can probably tell, huh? but what the hell is your type? we’re nothing alike,” you hear the sounds of him typing on a keyboard before he continues, “graduated from a good university, close to his family, models for his friends' clothing brand— wow. i’m almost happy for you.”

as always, he wants a reaction. you bite the inside of your cheek.

“if you’re listening at this point, he must not be as good as he seems, huh? what is it? bad breath? does he make you split the bill?” he giggles at his own jokes and you shake your head as if he can see you, “but i know what’s more likely. i bet he can’t handle you. not like i can.”

it ends there. abrupt, like he accidentally cut himself off and sent it anyway. you keep the message out of muscle memory and wince when you realize he’ll see you saved it.

unknown number | wow

unknown number | i thought you wanted to be left alone?

you | i do

unknown number | so go ahead and block me

you | i do what i want

unknown number | i know that better than anyone

unknown number | it’s my favorite thing about you

you don’t reply. another few minutes go by before he sends another audio message.

“do you remember the time…” he interrupts himself with breathless laughter, “the first time you asked me to come over and not the other way around? i remember. i think about it all the time, don’t you? up until then, you acted like it wasn’t mutual. and after that, you started calling me over like i was getting paid for it.”

there’s a small pause. you hear fabric shifting around, “you started using me like a fuckin’ toy. i loved it. i loved it cause you were just as mean as i needed. god, it was hot.”

your neck heats up at the memories. how he would smile unabashedly at you as you used him to get off, with no concern for his own pleasure. animalistic.

“i still don’t understand why you cut me off and gave me a speech about using you. that’s such bullshit,” he says, tone melting into something lower, “you caught feelings and you were embarrassed. pushing blame onto me doesn’t erase that.”

your phone pings with a good night text from seonghwa and you swipe it away as you keep listening.

“i did kinda take advantage of the fact you liked me. a little, i won’t lie. but it was so easy with you. there wasn’t any pretending, no dinner as boring foreplay, you were straight to the point. i miss that. you. your skin and how good you smell. and i can’t believe i’m missing out on it over some guy who would probably feel sick if you told him half of what we’ve done.”

your stomach sinks at his comment, the way he laughs it off like it means nothing. the worst part, you like it. you clench at the desperation climbing into his voice the more he speaks, the way he’s so direct about his desire.

“if you didn’t block me, i’m assuming you still have our videos. i wonder if you watch them and get off to them,” his voice wavers, “fuck, i‘m already hard thinking about it. call me. call me anytime, whether you’re done with that guy or not. i’ll come over like i used to. everything could be like it used to be.”

the message ends there. you have two minutes to keep the memo, and you nearly do, just to replay the last part and hear the whine in his voice that he tries to suppress. but the message disappears and you’re in the same exact spot on your bedroom floor, face warm and panties even wetter than before.

wooyoung doesn’t say anything else. not another call or text, doesn’t even like a message.

he’s put the ball in your court.

and he’s right, you have the videos. as proof that you weren’t crazy, that he had murmured a few ‘i love you’s while his hips were pressed against yours. that it had been real and not something to scoff at like he did when you asked for more.

“what more could you want?” he’d said, and you stopped replying to his texts soon after. you fell back against his mattress a few more times out of weakness, but you finally gathered the strength to leave. you met seonghwa only a month later.

the first message you received when you posted your new boyfriend was from that anonymous account. ‘you’re quick,’ is all they said.

too quick, you think. seonghwa’s name glows on your screen and you ignore it.

right now, you’re so worked up you would do anything to get off.

the easiest way? the videos saved in your hidden folder in your camera roll. whether you chose his favorite, with you in doggy and a close up of where you were connected, or yours, where he had you in a mating press with his lips against yours the entire time, was completely unimportant.

guilt would eat you alive anyway.

the texts stop coming in. the mysterious spam calls and the views on your stories disappear. in their place comes an all-consuming force: regret.

it’s only been a week since you’d received those voice messages from wooyoung and gotten off to his voice. you had scrolled through your hidden folder like a lunatic, watching short clips and long videos that told stories that hurt to remember as much as they hurt to forget. 

the earliest video he’d recorded spontaneously when you were both so turned on you during a house party that you could barely think straight. that night is too fresh in your mind; it had started with you grinding on a strange man to prove a point. it ended with wooyoung’s hand pressing your face against the cold marble of a bathroom sink.

another short clip not long after, focused on the bounce of your hips against his, your reflections in his full length mirror barely visible. he had a crazed look in his eyes, the look you mistook for affection no matter how many times he’d reminded you it wasn’t.

you hate first few videos. taken around the beginning of the year when you’d started hooking up. the way he talked to you was clipped, like he knew nothing about you other than how good you felt around him. most of them cut off right below your neck, with your face down and the focus of the video on your ass or the arch of your back. his groans were strained, and his hands were as shy as they could be for someone like him. it wasn’t the man who would hold your hand as he ate you out or the man whose thumb would graze the peak of your cheekbone as he pleaded against your lips for ‘one more’.

the videos dated in july were once your favorites. they were slower, more sensual. if you try hard enough, you can will yourself to believe that he meant every word that dropped from his lips. wooyoung, the man who used to fuck you like he was in a hurry to leave before the sun set, was almost delicate during the summer you spent together. your hand would wrap around his neck, and the tanned skin of his cheeks would cave in with those deep dimples you’d learned to love. he would hold you impossibly close to him, head tilted back, awaiting a string of spit from your lips. his tongue would clean up the tears trailing down your face after his hand came down too harshly between your legs. neither of you were below begging. it’s why you went well together.

perhaps the intimacy he constructed was one you weren’t meant to indulge in. when mumbled ‘i love you’s filled the minimal space between you, you should have ignored them, the way he ignored every request for him to stay the night. the illusion was supposed to remain unaddressed; he was always going to deny that he meant anything he said. wooyoung’s words were worth as little as your self-respect. because even when he’d laughed in your face, clarified his lack of intention, and pushed you away, you crawled back into his bed. too many times to count. more than you are willing to admit to yourself. 

even now, your thumb hovers above the button that could delete the entire album of videos you’ve kept. it would take two clicks, but the idea of losing that evidence terrifies you. so you chicken out, tossing your phone to the side in frustration. it bounces on your mattress once before landing on the smooth wood of your floor with a soft thud. 

when you lift the device back up, the screen is shattered. 

wooyoung is counting down the days. his calendar is full of circles and marks in black pen. friends’ birthdays, due dates at work, parties to attend. the winter is full of events and holidays, but none as important as the date he has marked in red. one week ago, the day you’d finally caved in. 

it’s not like he’s obsessed with you or anything, but you hurt his pride back in august, when you’d ended things. he thought you were bluffing. that you’d come back on a late night like always, too ready for someone who had cussed him out hours earlier. but you didn’t.

he was stuck in complete silence from you. he’d texted and called to no avail. he even considered showing up unannounced, but that was desperate. desperation wasn’t the role wooyoung took in your exchanges. 

a few days passed, then a few weeks, and before he knew it, you had a new toy to keep you busy. namely, park seonghwa. he was admittedly handsome and well-off from the looks of his profile. the kind of guy that gets you flowers just because. the kind that writes you sappy messages while you sleep. the kind that meets your parents and friends with shaky hands because he cares and he wants to make a good impression.

everything wooyoung isn’t.

to say wooyoung is jealous would be an overstatement. sure, if he could choose his life, he wouldn’t mind ending up like seonghwa. but wooyoung had taken too many left turns along the road for that to ever happen. 

he tried to move past you. called a few girls over, kicked them out afterwards, like he used to.

it didn’t work. not for long, anyway. the foggy nights would tide him over for a few days, keep him off your profile and away from your contact. but the feeling never lasted. 

as he looks through your profile for the hundredth time, he isn’t sure what exactly is keeping him there. he decides it must be the hit to his ego. the fact that things ended before he decided he was done. 

a little ‘s’ captions a highlight you have pinned, and wooyoung scrolls through it. it’s like all the typical couple’s highlights– dinner dates, flowers, sunsets– boring. so unlike you. 

he wonders if the smiling man has any idea he exists and hasn’t even been blocked. he wonders what kind of story you told him about your past relationships.

all he knows is that seonghwa has probably seen your posted pictures as often as he has. probably jerked off to them and felt shame afterwards. 

wooyoung can’t relate to that feeling. not even now, as he undoes his belt buckle, glancing at the calendar next to his desk. 

he gives it another two weeks before everything falls back into his hands.

the late autumn afternoon is particularly silent. only wind rushes against your windows, creating a small howl that you’d find creepy if your mind wasn’t so preoccupied with figuring out the exact shade of white paint on your ceiling.

your room is a complete mess, pairs of pants strung across the back of your desk chair while two large trash bags hold old clothes you’re not sure you’re ready to let go of.

you know you’re spiraling. there’s an unfinished bowl of oatmeal too close to the edge of your nightstand, probably already gone bad with how long it’s been sitting there. you can’t remember if you even checked that you turned off the stove before frantically deciding to deep clean your closet. but you decide to stay on the ground rather than check. 

with a frustrated swipe of your hand down your face, you feel around the ground to find your phone. when your fingers reach the cold device, you pause. who could you even call and tell all your worries? you had impulsively ghosted your therapist after they doubled their prices. that wouldn’t work.

so you scroll through your contact list, ready to give up and post anonymously on a forum, before you reach a name that pulls you out of your stupor.

cee, your previous roommate. the girl who had seen you sob over expired ice cream after one of those weeks at work. the one who gave you a live demonstration of her first time when the electricity went out and the two of you were bored out of your minds. nothing was considered oversharing with her.

you bite the inside of your cheek, hoping the time difference in her new city won’t kill your chances at reaching her.

“cee,” you mutter in relief as the line picks up, placing your cracked phone next to your ear, “i really need your advice.”

cee scoffs on the other end of the line, “whoa, no ‘hello’? ‘how are you’?”

“sorry, hi. i saw you post that you got promoted, and i forgot to congratulate you. seriously, congrats. you deserve it. uh, how’s the city? your girlfriend?”

there’s a soft laugh on the other end of the line before she replies, “thank you, but you’re rambling. we can catch up later. what’s the matter?”

your veins rush hot blood through your limbs, “this might be really tmi.”

“girl,” she replies, completely unimpressed, “please, spare me. spill, now.”

“okay. well, you know seonghwa, right?” an enthusiastic hum vibrates through your speaker, “and… wooyoung?”

there’s a moment of silence before you hear a quiet ‘yeah’.

she doesn’t need the backstory. she was with you the night you met wooyoung outside a house party in january. he smiled like he’d won something when you accepted his coat to put over the dress you’d insisted on wearing despite the threat of snow. she’d bumped into him in your shared living room when he was sneaking out after a late night. she’d seen you delete his number and unfollow him on everything after a pep talk.

you talk about everything from july onwards: meeting seonghwa through a mutual friend and clicking instantly. the social media stalking and the insistent calls. the cute romantic dinners and personalized bouquets. back and forth, like a ping-pong game.

cee doesn’t stop you, only interrupting for clarification when you mumble or trail off. when you’re done, there’s a moment of silence on her end. 

“so… you have your dream guy, but you’re stuck on wooyoung,” it sounds more like a question than a statement, but she schools her tone, “okay. i mean, he is practically a rebound.”

“he is not!”

silence.

“okay,” you concede, scratching the side of your face, “sorry, i don’t know why i’m getting defensive. he’s… you’d really like him.”

“he sounds like a dream,” cee offers, and you can picture her pressing her lips together as she contemplates how forward she should be. “but… maybe not a wet one?”

you feel ashamed at how easily that pulls a laugh out of you, “it’s not like i don’t want him, but it’s discouraging to be rejected so much. and like… he wants me too. he said so. just not now, i guess.”

“uh-huh,” she hesitates before continuing, “there’s something you’re not telling me, though.”

“...i told him about wooyoung.”

that seems to appease her worry, “okay, good, that’s honest. maybe that’s why he’s being careful.”

“it is,” you pause, “this is so embarrassing but… last week, i tried to initiate. we were making out, and i started grinding on him, and he was really into it until he kinda stopped me and told me he wanted to wait. that he didn’t want me to think he was like wooyoung. and that i deserved to have something special. more than a quickie.”

your ac whirrs quietly in the background as you wait for a response. you wish you could see her face right across from you, twirling a curl around her finger, and watch her brown eyes give away her every thought. desperately, you want someone to agree with you mindlessly, but you need her honesty. 

“am i supposed to root for wooyoung here, or..?”

“you’re not supposed to root at all, i need you to tell me what to do.”

her tone is a little harsher than you expect, “you need to stop self-sabotaging and stay with someone who actually gives a fuck.”

“but listen… wooyoung texted me that night. like non-stop. i was so overwhelmed with everything that i actually answered.”

cee shrieks, and you send her the screenshots as proof. she reads the texts and the transcript of the first voice message in complete silence, and you take the chance to fill the line with the most humiliating part of your story.

“he’s right. i have every single video, and the whole situation with seonghwa had me really frustrated, so i went back and watched them and i… you know?”

“oh my god. wow, this is bad. like really, really bad.”

“i know, i know,” you groan, head tipping back as you spread your body on your wooden floor, “i don’t know what to do.”

“i love you so much, but i think you need to,” you hear her fumble her words for a few moments before she sighs, “step back. break up, heal fully from that piece of shit, and move forward. delete those fucking videos. i’m so serious. the dick could not have been that good.”

you let the last statement linger and she inhales sharply.

“seriously?”

“yeah,” you mutter, nodding to yourself, “i didn’t even know i could squirt until he—”

“okay. okay, let’s not get nostalgic. delete the videos. tell seonghwa most of the truth. that you’re not fully healed and you don’t want to string him along, and… leave out the ‘i masturbated to old sex tapes with the man you hate after you blue-balled me’ part.”

the rest of the conversation is a blur as your mind wanders to the exact words you’ll say to your boyfriend’s face. you can only hope they make it past your lips, regardless of how shiny his eyes might look or how deeply he furrows his thick brows. 

seonghwa always smells like jasmine and something softer, a comforting scent that always lingers on his clothes. it surrounds you like an embrace as you step into the living room of his apartment, one tiny lamp in the corner of the room giving you just enough light to guide you into the space. 

“you okay?” seonghwa asks too sweetly, his eyes studying your features. the pad of his thumb swipes gently across your cheek to get your attention, mimicking the motion of wiping away a tear that isn't there. not yet, anyway. “talk to me.”

you inhale sharply at the kindness of his touch, the warmth you didn’t deserve. “sorry, i probably scared you coming by so late, but… it’s bad, seonghwa.”

he nods, never one to invalidate your words. the clock ticking behind you calls his attention: 2am. not a likely time for him to be up. but with the sight of your frown, he suddenly feels awake. “maybe it is. i still want to help.”

there are a few moments of hesitation. your mind is at war with itself, and it doesn’t help that he holds eye contact patiently, like he’s waiting for something he knows won’t arrive. but he tries, and that might be the worst part.

the words feel heavy on the tip on your tongue. you turn them over, taste the bitterness, try to swallow them and keep them buried. another swipe of his thumb right underneath your eye coaxes them out.

“we should break up,” you blurt, head tilting away from his touch.

“what?”

the small lamp flickers, the buzz filling the split second of silence, “we need to break up. this is so unfair to you. it’s really, really unfair and it’s wrong of me to keep you around for myself when i know i’m not over everything.”

his lips part with a soft interruption, “hey. slow down, you need to breathe. three deep breaths, okay?”

your eyes flutter with surprise. as if that wasn’t the response you were expecting. kindness. worry. him.

you follow his instructions without a second thought, but the expansion of your lungs feels tight, nearly uncomfortable as your heart thrums wildly in the same confined space between your ribs.

“okay,” he continues once he’s counted three inhales, “there you are. sit.”

“no, seonghwa—”

“i’m gonna get you water,” his voice drops to a near whisper, “and you’re gonna wait for me on the sofa, okay?”

“okay.”

after what feels like an eternity, he returns with a mug in his hands. it’s the mug you’d made when you went on a pottery class date, the one with your initials scrawled on the bottom. the water is cool as it passes down your throat, doing its job at soothing your nerves.

seonghwa sits beside you, keeping his hands to himself as he watches you take small sips in between breaths. he tries to appear calm, but his hand trembles slightly as he threads it through his silky hair. 

the mug clinks softly against his wooden coffee table, and you talk. you tell him most of the truth like you’d planned. you tell him how you’re overwhelmed, not fully healed from your recent past. you explain that you need time, that it’s not anything he’s done, and that you want to stay on good terms. you wonder if he thinks you only say that to keep him as an option.

he’s nodding in acknowledgment the entire time, searching your features as you run out of breath trying to get everything out at once. 

“i’m sorry, angel,” he fixes the strap of your tank top neatly over your shoulder, distracted for a second before he meets your eyes again, “i rushed you, didn’t i?”

you shake your head in firm disagreement, but he continues before you can get a word in.

“i got too excited. i overwhelmed you when i knew exactly what you were still processing. what still hurts you,” the corners of his pink lips turn down. “i thought i could help. but i should’ve given you time. i should’ve kept my feelings to myself for your sake, let us be friends a little longer. i was selfish and too quick.”

selfish.

“what the hell is your problem?” san scoffs when wooyoung stands up with so much force that the couch creaks as it shifts a few inches.

the latter holds his hand up, eyes jumping around his phone screen like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. he reloads the page once, twice, and a third time just to be sure.

the highlight with the little ‘s’ is gone.

“san, get out,” he practically commands, turning to his friend when he remains seated on the leather couch.

the larger man frowns, nose scrunching in distaste, “are you high? this is my place. i told you not to smoke before coming over, i hate the smell.”

“shit, you’re right,” wooyoung grabs his jacket off the back of the cushions, “and i’m not high, fuck you. i quit months ago.”

san pouts at the harsh words, voice tapering off, “i know. you quit because of that girl.”

“what?”

“you quit around the time you were messing around with that girl. you stopped being so antsy all the time. but you never even told me her name,” his arms spread onto the back of the couch, watching as wooyoung’s hand freezes around the doorknob.

“that’s not true.”

“okay.”

“you don’t believe me?” 

san shrugs like it doesn’t concern him in the slightest, “i know what i saw. we all do.”

the room feels smaller as wooyoung takes a few steps back into the studio apartment, “who’s we? what the hell does that mean?”

“everyone, woo. i mean, all the guys watched you freak out in real time when you got blocked or whatever.”

he can’t gulp down the defensiveness climbing into his words, “i did not get blocked.”

a fragile kind of quiet invades the room. the two men stare at each other, neither making any move to continue the conversation. it was a dead end anyway, it always was when this topic came up. the word ‘fling’ was practically banned within their friend group. 

a sharp beep interrupts the moment, and san looks up to the smoke detector on the ceiling before muttering to himself, “oh, that needs new batteries.”

wooyoung nods slowly, taking a step back, “yeah. well, i’m gonna…”

“run?” 

wooyoung nods, hand landing back on the doorknob as he adjusts his jacket under his arm. he feels like he’s waiting for permission of some kind, the cool metal under his palm doing little to battle the excessive heat his skin radiates. 

san seems to contemplate something before deciding against it, popping his neck with a smile, “sounds like you.”

“oh, fuck off. i need to make a call.”

“to who? the hiring manager at jongho’s office?”

“i’m not working in a cubicle at a company i don’t care about. it’d be bad enough to have jongho as a coworker,” wooyoung’s eyes narrow as he waves in dismissal.

the smoke detector beeps again and san glances at it momentarily, “you could use the stability. working commission forever is a little crazy.”

wooyoung raises a brow at his friend’s concern, “i do well for myself.”

“because you’re hot and the old rich ladies love younger men. but you don’t actually care about luxury coats and bags, either. you’re just afraid of being tied down to something.”

“i like fashion. i could work in fashion for a while, it’s exciting. it keeps me on my toes.”

“but you don’t love it.”

wooyoung looks off to the side, at the mirror hanging right by the entrance. his eyebrow piercing glints softly, and he adjusts it before turning the doorknob, “i don’t think you’re talking about work anymore, and i hate when you start talking in metaphors, so i’m leaving.”

“make the right call, wooyoung.”

the other side of the line is surprisingly silent when you pick up. there’s static noise, fabric ruffling momentarily, and then a soft breath.

“finally.”

the three syllables make you nauseous, and you pull your phone away from your ear, opting to set it down on your pillow. just after a thorough shower, you’re already feeling gross.

the honeyed voice continues, “i was right.”

your stomach flips. there are so many things he could be talking about. maybe he’d somehow found out what you’d done after those voice messages a little over a week ago. maybe he was reminiscing about one of the many times you cussed him out without letting him get a word in. “what?”

wooyoung huffs, eyeing his calendar, “nothing. when did you break up?”

“today,” you answer before you can help yourself. “you knew that, though.”

“mhm. how are you holding up?”

“i broke up with him,” you explain, as if that answers his question.

“i assumed. doesn’t make it any less difficult. you were content with him.”

you feel a familiar flutter deep in your chest as he uses your own words against you, a teasing lilt in his voice. “what do you want, wooyoung?”

“i can’t check up on you?”

“a bit late for that.”

he laughs, short and surprised, and you imagine the dimples hollowing his cheeks. your skin buzzes with anticipation, like he’s conditioned you to react to his voice. “ouch. i honestly am calling to hear your voice, though.”

your room starts to feel too hot, and you peel your robe off your body, throwing it to the foot of your bed before responding, “why won’t you just let this die?”

you’re baiting him. you want to hear him confirm that all those words he’d said in the heat of the moment weren’t in vain. that this was still salvageable, somehow. that it mattered.

wooyoung doesn’t know the answer to that question himself. he takes another look at his calendar before shrugging, picking at the lint on his pants, “isn’t that a mutual decision?”

“i did my part, i told you to leave me alone.”

he takes a few seconds before retorting, “you’d also tell me to slow down, all while pushing back onto me. you like to lie.”

“i’m not a liar.”

he exhales softly, “yeah? what’d you tell seonghwa?”

perhaps you answer him immediately because of the fact that he’s infinitely worse than you. anything you’ve done wrong once, he’s probably done a million times over. “that it isn’t his fault, and i need time.”

wooyoung chuckles, light and airy like you remember, “wow. what a speech. i almost believed you too.”

you grit your teeth, hating how his words make your chest rise and fall a little quicker, “it’s true.”

“partially,” he murmurs, “but it doesn’t really matter what you told him. what matters is you picked up.”

“only because i guessed that you’d keep spamming my phone if i didn’t.”

he hums, deep in his chest, “that’s a good guess.”

you lie down, turning to face the pillow where your phone is still resting. you close your eyes, pretending he’s there with you, like one of those rare nights he’d stay back and talk. you wonder if his hair is still half-bleached, if his brow ever settled down after the piercing he got, or if he’s marked his tanned skin with any new tattoos. 

he takes your silence as a cue to keep pressing, “do you remember what i told you when we last spoke?”

you don’t open your eyes, the pad of your thumb brushing idly over the waistband of your underwear, “to call you.”

“that’s what you took from our conversation? not the part where i told you i missed you?”

a grin pulls at your lips, “that’s only partially true.”

“it’s fully true, for both of us. i know you miss me too.”

it hits you right then that wooyoung is nothing like seonghwa. he always sounds sure of himself, never hesitates to call something out the way he sees it. even when he’s wrong, he has a way of convincing you otherwise. but he’s not wrong this time, not when you feel arousal pooling in your lower abdomen.

so you do as he taught you all those months ago. you allow yourself to shamelessly take, to trail your hand down without a doubt, because he hated hesitation more than anything.

“no,” you manage to keep a steady tone as you push the cotton to the side, “i don’t. i need you to stop—”

he interrupts, “i know what you need. let me come over and show you.”

you cringe internally at his interruption, but the urgency in his voice sends another thrilling wave through your body, “we’re done, wooyoung. we’ve been done for months.”

“doesn’t mean i’ve forgotten anything,” he notes, taking a deep breath, “please. please, i’ve been waiting for you.”

you squeeze your eyes a little harder, hips involuntarily twitching to meet your hand. you’re building a torturous pace, the kind he’d use when he wanted you to snap at him. as much as he liked your disgruntled reactions, he always refused to give in, wanting to take his time taking you apart.

you think back to the middle of spring, the night he kept his mouth on you for hours, unwilling to move away until you admitted that no one else compared to him. 

“are you… touching yourself?” wooyoung asks, his voice trailing into a warm laugh before it stops, like the realization hits him just as hard as the embarrassment hits you. “oh, fuck, you are.”

your heart races, stopping your movements as you straighten up on the bed. how could he possibly tell? “what are you talking about?”

“you are,” he replies decisively, not a hint of doubt in his voice, “i knew you were desperate, but this is almost sad, baby.”

“don’t call me that.”

“then deny it.”

you can’t. because you know he can probably imagine you accurately enough, and it bothers you to no end. how he always acts like he knows you, because he does. there’s a few shuffling noises on his side, and you apparently take too long to respond because he takes your silence as an affirmation.

“you didn’t come,” he says matter-of-factly, “should i help you? guide you over the phone like i used to? or is your door unlocked? can—”

“stop, wooyoung. you’re hearing things. i shouldn’t have picked up. go fuck one of your friends and stop calling.”

“don’t blame this on me. no one forced you to stuff your hand in your panties while i talked. that was all you,” his tone is sharp, his words drowning out his footsteps. he echoes his question from earlier, a little firmer this time, “is your door unlocked?”

there’s a certain sense of comfort in fucking wooyoung. you never had to shave, you could fuck him with dried drool on the side of your face after a nap. he never cared so long as he could get your lips on him, and it was nearly reassuring to see how much someone could crave you in every form. 

so when he shows up mere minutes after you hang up, you let him in. you don’t think he’ll even turn to look at the empty water bottles littered on your wooden floor or the dishes piled up impressively high in your sink, not when he’s busy getting as close to you as humanly possible. 

“hey, look at you,” he rasps, running his hand through hair that’s longer than you remember. you hug your robe a little tighter around yourself as he makes a show out of looking you up and down, asymmetrical eyes burning through you. “even prettier than i remember.”

“just do what you’re here to do, wooyoung,” you reply, not stepping back when he begins to crowd your space.

a crooked smile pulls at his lips, and he’s quick to abide. one hand settles on your waist, tugging you closer, while the other wraps around the back of your neck. 

but that’s too easy. and you’ve been too easy for much too long, so you decide against it last minute, just as he’s dipping down for a kiss. your hand covers his mouth, and you push back slightly.

“apologize.”

the one word floats in the air between you, weightless with how quietly you said it. 

wooyoung doesn’t fight it. he meets your eyes, taking a half-step back before slowly sinking to his knees. 

“i’m sorry,” he says, brown eyes still pouring into yours, “for everything.” 

he emphasizes his words by sliding his palms to the backsides of your legs, just above your knees. he moves closer, enough to rest the side of his face on the fabric that covers the top of your right thigh.

“i said things i didn’t mean,” he adds, sharp jaw dragging against cotton, “i would take everything back, if i could.”

you stare for a few moments, taking in the sight of the beautiful man groveling at your feet. his hair obscures his eyes a bit, the underside no longer blonde. you push the strands away from his forehead, using that as leverage to pull his face away, “and?”

“and i’m gonna make it up to you,” he responds hurriedly, eyelids lowering slightly as you tilt his head further back.

he’s basically saying nothing, and you know it. his apology is a string of words you want to hear, but not an acknowledgment of guilt. it makes you angrier, more determined. for what? you aren’t sure.

the look in his eyes stirs something deep in your chest, and you surprise yourself as you put your right leg further out in front of you. he looks confused for a split second before his hand leaves your left thigh to undo the small knot keeping your robe together.

“no,” you reprimand, moving his hand away, “you get my leg.”

for the first time since you’ve met him, wooyoung seems genuinely taken aback. “what?”

you don’t repeat yourself and hope your silence comes off as firm, not nervous.

he swallows, eyes flicking from your face to your exposed leg. there’s a moment of hesitation before he readjusts himself, positioning your shin right between his legs. then, he tentatively grinds up against your skin. the friction of his sweatpants against your leg burns just slightly, but you decide it’s worth it when you see his jaw clench.

his movements start off slow, but soon enough, he’s full-on humping your leg. muffled expletives drop from his full lips, chest heaving when you use the grip on his hair to pull his forehead away from your side.

“you’re fucking pathetic,” you say over his lewd noises. shameless, just like everything else about him, and the thought only spurs you on. “calling me, texting me, stalking my account. did nobody wanna fuck you? i bet they wouldn’t, after seeing this.”

you’re not even sure where all your words are coming from. they’re dropping from your lips like they’re rehearsed, with venom and confidence only he could get out of you. he chokes on a groan, hips moving like they have a mind of their own, “no— no, just you. i missed you. didn’t you miss me? fuck, our saturday nights?”

he’s smiling dazedly, so close to the edge he can practically taste it, but you yank his head away from you before letting go of his hair. “get up, wooyoung.”

you move your right leg back, enjoying the way his whole body folds towards you as you rip his pleasure away. he places his hands over his knees, leaning his weight forward as he stares up at you, “what? can you give me a second to catch my breath? i—”

“stand up,” you cut him off, stepping closer when he does as he’s told. “fuck me, and go home.”

he doesn’t need to be told twice, lips on yours in record time. it’s messy and full of unspoken frustration, but it’s yours. familiar in all the wrong ways as he strips out of his sweater. 

the walk to your room is short, and he manages to tug your robe off your body before climbing over you on the mattress. you’re bare underneath, and he hums in approval as he tugs his slacks down, “i’m trying not to finish just from seeing you again.”

“shut up,” you lean back on your elbows, giving him a disapproving stare that only serves to humor him.

he frees himself from his boxer briefs, leaning down so that he’s lining up with your entrance. you take a deep breath in sheer anticipation, and he appeases you with a slow kiss, “you’re already so wet for me. you can take it, baby.”

you relax against the mattress as he continues kissing you, two fingers spreading you open for him. he slides between your folds a few times before pressing in with a moan against your lips. 

“fuck, hold on,” he props himself up, watching as you hold your legs up for him. he screws his eyes shut, the view below him sending sparks of heat down his spine. “i’m close, from earlier.”

if anyone else were to finish prematurely with you, you would absolutely complain. but this was wooyoung, the man who would rather die than have a partner of his go around saying they were left unsatisfied.

so your legs come down, wrap around his waist, and pull until he’s buried in you to the hilt. 

wooyoung’s eyes fly open and find yours, a small laugh tumbling out of his lips, “you’re… fuck, squeezing me like crazy. relax.”

“just fuck me already,” you retort, hands traveling up his toned torso, tracing the tattoo on his ribs, “it doesn’t matter.”

his brows pinch when one of your hands pulls him closer by the base of his neck, “i’m gonna come inside if you keep—”

“then do it,” you challenge, heart leaping when he wastes no time and begins to thrust into you shallowly.

a moan of his name slips past your lips as he adjusts his angle, thrusts becoming more pointed as his mouth sucks a mark into the underside of your jaw.

“i know,” he mutters against your skin, but the words sound more like provocation than comfort, “that’s it, baby, don’t run from it.”

your bare chest meets his when he hits the spot only he’s managed to find, and your head tips back at the intensity of the feeling, “you’re so good, right there.”

“yeah? you’re so pretty, i bet he wishes he knew this body like i do.” the words get lost somewhere in the heated space between you, and wooyoung picks up his pace. he brushes his lips against your cheek when you complain, “just a little more, yeah? i need…”

he doesn’t get to finish his sentence before you’re squeezing the sides of his neck hard enough to rip a whine from his throat. he only gives two more pumps before he collapses on you, panting against your neck. 

a few moments pass before his weight comes off you, and he carefully pulls himself out. even as he’s softening, he twitches at the sight of your mixed arousals dripping out of you. 

one of his hands holds the back of your thigh up, pushing it closer to your torso, as his other hand spreads you further.

a groan rumbles in his chest as he leans down, tongue licking a broad stripe up to your clit. he glances up to gauge your reaction, smiling when you immediately cover your mouth with your palm. 

“uh-uh,” he tuts, kissing the inside of your thigh before climbing back over you. his larger hand holds your jaw as he kisses you, tongue swiping against yours. you can taste him and then yourself distinctly on his tongue, but the exchange muddles everything into one tangy mess. “see how good you taste with me? how good we taste together?”

the playful smile on his features reaches his eyes, and you’re almost convinced he isn’t aware how brutally those words made your heart twist. he pushes you up the bed when you nod in absentminded agreement, settling on his stomach with your legs thrown over his shoulders. “hurry, woo.”

“don’t rush me,” his hands pry your legs further, and when he’s satisfied, he places his strong forearm right over your waist. “i said i’d make it up to you, so i’m taking my time.”

he places a gentle kiss on your clit, the kind of action that had confused you just months earlier. it’d made you think your arrangement was much more than it ever was. even now, you couldn’t help but clench around nothing at the view. 

“such a sensitive pussy,” he mumbles to himself, blowing air right on your center before diving in. the tip of his hooked nose presses against your clit as he uses his tongue to tease your entrance. “and so pretty, too.”

after so long without stimulation, your body suddenly feels like it’s on fire, abdomen muscles tensing desperately under his gaze. he laps you up eagerly, moaning when you do, sucking on your clit rhythmically. 

he slows down when your breathing picks up, groaning at the desperate bucks of your hips.

“fuck, wooyoung, i was close,” you grumble, giving up on scooting closer to his mouth when his arm pushes you down.

he bites the plush skin of your thigh gently, meeting your gaze with a defiant glint, “i know, but it’ll feel better if i build it up.”

you shake your head in annoyance, not caring whether he’s right or not, “i don’t care. i wanna come.”

“you want to? or you need to?” he questions, slowly inching closer, until he’s close enough that you can feel his breath fan over you.

you know what he’s fishing for, the answer he’s pulled from you before. it means something completely different now, but you say it anyway. “i need you, wooyoung, please.”

“that’s it,” he praises, leaning back down to give you exactly what he knows you need. the pressure of two fingers curling right on that spot that makes your breathing tremble, his tongue brushing repetitive motions on your clit. “there’s my baby. so good for me.”

heat climbs up your back much quicker this time around, your jaw slack as you suck in quick breaths and exhale the moans you can’t suppress. your legs nearly close around his head, but he doesn’t stop, instead opting to hold his tongue out for you to use.

your hand rushes down to rest on the back of his head, pushing him impossibly closer, and he moans openly into you. the vibrations tip you over the edge as you orgasm with a force you hadn’t known before him. hot, white pleasure shoots through all of your nerves. your legs kick up, and your back arches all the way off the bed.

wooyoung continues licking stripes over your cunt as you catch your breath, enjoying the melody of his name dropping from your mouth. it takes the better half of a minute for your body to fully relax, and he rubs a soothing hand on the flesh of your ass while he waits. 

when you finally come down, you feel exhausted, body limp against the sheets beneath you.

“i got you,” he whispers, getting up to make his way to your restroom. the clean towels were still where you kept them months back, and he wets one with warm water before making his way back to you.

he cleans you up gently, cooing when he brushes over a particularly sensitive spot just to see you jolt.

you sit up when he’s done, watching closely as he tucks himself back into his boxer briefs, “are you staying?”

he looks up, “do you want me to?”

your shoulders rise and fall, “it’s up to you.”

he considers the offer for a moment. he feels your stare, the way your eyes trace over his features like you’re seeing him for the first time.

slowly, he nods, dimples deepening with purpose, “yeah, sure.”

the wooyoung you knew never stayed the night. not once. if he was drunk, he’d call a ride. he never cared how late it was. he drew a line at actually sleeping in the same bed.

so your heart soars at the change. you almost mention how easy it would be to just put a label on what was already a relationship. but you decide to talk about it in the morning, when your eyes aren’t shutting involuntarily.

now, he lies back on your pillow, holding you close as your head rests on his shoulder. and when he’s sure your breathing has evened out, he places a kiss on the crown of your head.

reaching over the bed, careful not to disturb you, he grabs your phone. it’s cracked, but the password is the same, the one he’d memorized by looking over your shoulder.

he opens your photo library, scrolling down to the hidden folder. it’s what he expected, all videos of you and him, save for a few screenshots of important passwords.

he contemplates deleting them himself. brushes the thought away. that was for you to deal with.

then, he opens the camera app, making sure to get your face in frame as he snaps a picture. the screen loads as it attempts to take a clear image in the dark. when it’s done, wooyoung checks it, and a satisfied smile carves into his features.

“cute,” he whispers to himself, catching himself staring at it for a beat too long.

from the start, it was clear how this would end. or more so, how he was going to end things. on his own accord, with his pride in tact.

yet the talk about stability and being tied down still linger in his head as he glances at your closed eyes.

but wooyoung doesn't like doing things he doesn’t need to do, and a relationship is at the top of his list of things he doesn't need. he hardly even wants one as is.

it doesn’t matter how pretty you look knocked out on his chest, breath warming his skin.

you have options anyway.

wooyoung can only choose himself.

with a quick tap of his fingers, he’s opening your messages. he scrolls a bit before his eyes land on the contact he wants. seonghwa.

it only takes four clicks to send the picture he took. he doesn’t follow up with any text, sure that it speaks for itself.

and just as easily as he walked through your door that night, wooyoung slips out.