#wonbin imagines

Jia: wow ur so anti-fun

You huffed, tossing your phone face down on your bed. End-of-semester beach trip, they said. It’ll be relaxing, they said. Somehow, the only thing you felt right now was a mix of anxiety and secondhand poverty.

Mina’s voice floated in from the desk where she was hunched over her laptop, tabs upon tabs open with photos of beach houses, price comparisons, and an ominous-looking spreadsheet.

“Okay,” she sighed, spinning her chair toward you. “If we get this place, it’s like… fifty dollars over budget per person.”

“Per person?” you deadpanned. “What are we renting, a castle?”

She swung the screen toward you; the listing showed floor-to-ceiling glass windows, a wraparound porch, a view of the ocean, and a hot tub.

“…Okay, it’s a really nice castle,” you admitted. “But still.”

Mina gnawed her bottom lip, then brightened like she’d just solved world hunger. “Actually, I might have a solution.”

You didn’t like the way she said that.

“What kind of solution?” you asked slowly.

She swiveled back to the laptop and clicked over to another tab—her messages. A chat with someone named Jihoon 🏄‍♂️ popped up.

“Mina,” you warned.

“So, Jihoon and his friends are planning an end-of-semester trip too,” she said, fingers flying over the keys. “They’re also broke. If we go together, we split the cost between more people. Boom, solved.”

From the floor, where Jia was lying on her stomach painting her toenails neon yellow, came a delighted gasp. “Co-ed beach trip? Say less. I’m in.”

“Of course you are,” you muttered.

Jia looked up, grinning. “What, do you hate fun and men?”

“Yes,” you replied without missing a beat. “Absolutely.”

Mina laughed. “Come on. It makes sense. We were gonna hang out with them anyway when we got back. This is just… combination hanging out. Economical hanging out.”

You frowned, trying to find solid ground under the wave of sudden change. “It’s supposed to be a girls’ trip,” you pointed out. “We planned this since, like, midterms. And now we’re just… adding a horde of loud boys into the mix?”

“They’re not a horde,” Mina protested. “There’s just five of them.”

“So a small horde,” you countered. “Also, is there even enough room? What if they’re disgusting and smelly and leave sand everywhere? What if they’re annoying? What if—”

“Oh my God,” Jia cut in, capping her nail polish. “Just say what you really mean.”

You crossed your arms. “I am.”

She and Mina exchanged the kind of look that said they’d been waiting for this.

Mina spun fully toward you, folding her arms to mirror your posture. “This isn’t about logistics,” she said. “This is about Park Wonbin.”

Your stomach dropped. “No, it’s not,” you lied immediately.

Jia laughed. “You just said boys like it was a slur.”

“That’s because he is included in ‘boys,’ and he’s basically a walking red flag,” you shot back. “Why would I willingly sign up to share a roof with Wonbin?”

Mina groaned. “You two don’t, like, actually hate each other.”

“Yes, we do,” you said at the same time Jia chimed in, “They definitely do.”

You pointed at Jia. “Thank you.”

“Babe,” Mina said, exasperated, “the most intense thing that’s ever happened between you two is him calling you ‘princess’ and you almost throwing your coffee at him.”

“First of all, I am the victim in that story,” you argued. “Second, he’s—he’s overconfident and annoying and flirts with anything that breathes. Including you two!” You gestured at them. “Why are you so excited to spend days trapped in a house with someone whose entire personality is being a menace?”

“Because he’s hot,” Jia replied instantly.

Mina snorted. “Okay but also he’s funny. And he’s Jihoon’s best friend, which means he’s vetted.”

“Vetted for what?” you said. “Being chaos incarnate?”

Mina sighed, softening her tone. “Look. Whatever this… thing is between you two, it doesn’t have an actual basis. You never could give me one concrete example.”

“He exists,” you said flatly. “Is that not enough?”

Jia threw a pillow at you. “You’re so dramatic. It’s not that serious. You talk about him like you’re writing an essay about idiots.’”

Heat crawled up your neck. “I do not.”

“You do,” Mina and Jia chorused.

Mina rolled closer and bumped your knee with her chair. “Be honest. He gets under your skin and you kind of… like having someone to spar with.”

You scoffed. “I like winning. Which I do. Often.”

Jia raised a brow. “You two are like… fifty-fifty at this point.”

The fact that she wasn’t entirely wrong pissed you off more.

Mina’s expression turned pleading. “It’s just a few days. You don’t even have to talk to him. You can pretend he doesn’t exist and enjoy the beach and the hot tub and not being broke.”

Your jaw tightened. A part of you wanted to dig your heels in, to prove them wrong about… whatever dumb theory they had about you and Wonbin. Another part of you imagined saying no and then listening to them complain about money for the next week.

You exhaled. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Mina repeated, eyes widening.

“As long as they say yes,” you clarified. “And as long as he doesn’t pull any of his usual crap. If he pisses me off, I’m dealing with him privately.”

Jia wiggled her brows. “Privately?”

“Not like that,” you snapped.

Mina’s grin was instant, blinding. “You won’t regret this.”

You already did.

~

They said yes.

Of course they did.

The beach house looked even better in person. The front porch wrapped almost all the way around, the salty air was thick and warm, and you could hear the ocean before you could see it—waves crashing in a soothing, relentless rhythm.

Your group’s car pulled in first. You stretched your cramped legs, shouldered your tote, and took a deep breath of sea air.

“Smell that?” Jia sighed happily, shading her eyes. “That’s the scent of freedom and bad decisions.”

“Smells like SPF fifty and sand in unfortunate places,” you muttered, but your lips twitched anyway.

You had just wrestled your suitcase out of the trunk when another car pulled into the driveway. Bass thumped faintly from within. Of course.

“Boys are here,” Mina sing-songed.

The car doors opened in succession. Jihoon, all sun-tousled hair and easy smile, waved as he stepped out. A couple of the other guys you vaguely recognized from campus spilled out after him.

Then he appeared.

Park Wonbin hopped out of the backseat like this was a commercial for summer, stretching with a groan that lifted his already-too-short T-shirt to flash a strip of tan skin. His hair was pushed back by a pair of sunglasses perched on his head. He slung a duffel over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.

The worst part was that Jia was right. He was stupidly attractive.

You schooled your face into neutral.

His gaze swept across the driveway, landing on you like it’d been looking for you in particular. His mouth curled.

“Aw,” he drawled, striding closer. “They let you come?”

You inhaled through your nose. “Unfortunately, no one enforced a minimum IQ requirement, so here you are.”

Behind you, Mina cleared her throat sharply.

Jihoon clapped a hand on Wonbin’s shoulder. “Play nice,” he murmured.

Mina slipped her arm through yours, voice low. “Remember what we talked about. Group morale. No banter.”

You bit back three separate comebacks. “He started it,” you said under your breath.

“Don’t care,” she whispered back. “If you murder him on day one, Jihoon’s going to be sad and I’ll be single forever.”

Wonbin’s brows rose as if he’d heard that last part. “I promise I won’t die,” he said easily. “Princess here doesn’t have it in her.”

Your eye twitched.

“Suitcases,” Mina said brightly, louder now. “Let’s get everything inside.”

You dragged yours up the steps, muttering, “If I push him down these stairs by accident, that’s not murder. That’s gravity.”

“Y/n,” Mina hissed.

“Fine,” you grumbled.

Inside, the house was cool and spacious, all wooden beams and big windows. You staked out a bedroom with Mina, unpacked just enough to feel like you weren’t living out of your bag, and changed into your bikini and an oversized T-shirt.

The others congregated in the living room, voices overlapping as everyone talked at once.

“Beach first?” Jihoon suggested.

“Beach first,” the group agreed.

You grabbed your book from your bag—a slightly battered paperback you’d been slowly savoring all semester—and tucked it protectively under your arm as you headed out.

The sand was hot under your feet, the early afternoon sun blazing overhead. Everyone scattered: some ran straight for the water with whoops and shouts, others started setting up towels and umbrellas.

You spread your towel a little distance from the chaos and lay down on your stomach, book propped in front of you. The familiar weight of it in your hands calmed you.

The noise of a volleyball game picking up further down the beach faded into background static as you lost yourself in the words.

You were just getting to a particularly devastating line when a shadow fell across the page.

“You know no one actually reads at the beach, right?” a voice said.

You didn’t even look up. “And yet, here I am, disproving your thesis.”

A low chuckle.

“Come on,” Wonbin said, dropping down in the sand near your towel without invitation. “You bring a book to the beach so everyone thinks you’re mysterious and deep while you stare off into the distance dramatically. You’re doing this all wrong.”

You turned a page deliberately. “Not everything is performative.”

“Says the girl who brought the thickest book she owns and placed it cover-up,” he pointed out.

Your eyes flicked to him, annoyed. “Maybe I like the cover.”

He tilted his head, studying you. There was something softer in his gaze that made your chest feel uncomfortably tight, so you looked away.

“So,” he continued, undeterred, “what are you reading that’s more interesting than inescapable fun with me?”

“You seriously want me to list all the things more interesting than you?” you asked. “We’d be here all day.”

He grinned. “Careful. You’re starting to sound jealous.”

You blinked. “Jealous… of what?”

He sprawled back on his elbows, sunglasses sliding down onto his nose. “Of how much everyone else likes me.”

A laugh burst out of you before you could stop it. You quickly turned it into a scoff. “Please. They’re just gullible. You turn on the charm and they forget you’re a bitch.”

“Or,” he said, voice taking on a teasing lilt, “they think you’re being a little extra about hating me for no real reason.”

A flare of heat licked at your cheeks. You sat up, closing your book. “I have reasons.”

“Name one that doesn’t sound made up,” he challenged.

You opened your mouth.

Silence.

He smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

Before you could respond, Mina’s voice called your name. You turned to see her and Jihoon waving frantically from the volleyball net.

“Swap out with us!” Jihoon shouted. “We need fresh legs!”

You shot Mina a look that said traitor. She mouthed please and made a heart with her hands.

“I’m reading,” you protested weakly.

“Come on,” Wonbin goaded, already getting to his feet. “What, afraid to lose to me again?”

“That implies I’ve ever lost to you,” you said, standing and brushing sand off your legs.

He walked backward toward the net, grinning. “There’s a first time for everything, princess.”

“Stop calling me that,” you snapped, following.

Mina and Jihoon jogged off the court, exchanging a relieved look.

“It’s like distracting two kids with a toy,” Mina muttered to Jihoon as they passed.

You pretended not to hear.

~

The game dragged on for longer than you expected. You forgot, briefly, that you were supposed to be avoiding Wonbin, caught up instead in the rhythm of serve, bump, set, spike. Sweat beaded on your skin, salt sticking to everything.

Wonbin, infuriatingly, was good. His serves were powerful, his reflexes quick. Every time he scored a point, he shot you a cocky grin across the net.

By the time someone finally declared a winning team, the sun had dipped lower in the sky, the light softening.

Of course, his team won.

“Losers,” Jihoon crowed, “go wet yourselves and get sand-bombed. We agreed.”

“Who agreed?” you demanded. “I didn’t agree.”

“You didn’t say no,” Mina sing-songed.

“This is peer pressure,” you muttered as you trudged toward the water, the other “losers” following.

The ocean was cool against your overheated skin. A few of your teammates dunked themselves fully, shrieking at the temperature.

You waded in up to your thighs, glaring murderously at the boys on shore gathering handfuls of sand.

“Don’t you dare,” you warned as you came back up the beach.

Wonbin, holding what looked like an actual bucket of sand, smiled sweetly. “Punishment builds character.”

Before you could escape, he upended the bucket over your head.

Sand rained down your hair, your back, into your bikini, everywhere.

You sputtered, blinking grit out of your lashes. “I hate you,” you informed him.

He laughed so hard he doubled over. “You look like a croquette.”

The others howled with laughter. Even you couldn’t help a disbelieving, half-strangled laugh once you realized how ridiculous you must look.

“You’re dead,” you said, wiping your face. “You know that, right?”

He only winked. “Worth it.”

~

By the time everyone trudged back to the house, the sky had turned pink and gold. You showered quickly, washing what felt like a pound of sand from your hair, then slipped into comfy shorts and a loose top.

The house’s porch was shaded, a faint breeze cutting through the warm air. You curled up on a chair outside, hair still damp, your beloved book in hand again.

The sliding door opened with a soft thud. You didn’t have to look up to know who it was.

“You know, if you sit in silence too long, you might start having thoughts,” Wonbin said, stepping out.

“I already have thoughts,” you replied dryly, eyes on the page. “That’s the problem.”

He leaned against the porch railing, looking out at the glimpse of ocean beyond the dunes. For a moment, he was quiet.

Then, “Jihoon says I’m not allowed to ‘provoke’ you.” He even did the air quotes.

You snorted. “Mina said the same. Something about ‘keeping group morale up.’”

“Apparently we’re exhausting,” he said.

“You are exhausting,” you corrected.

He glanced over, lips twitching. “See? That. Provocation.”

You closed the book with a finger marking your place and finally met his eyes. “You always have some criticism ready. It’s like a reflex. Maybe we just… don’t have compatible personalities. And that’s fine. I’m planning to pretend you don’t exist for the rest of the trip.”

You’d meant it to sound flippant, but the words came out firmer than you expected.

For a flicker of a second, something like disappointment crossed his face. It was gone almost immediately, replaced by his usual lazy amusement.

“Bold of you to assume you can ignore me,” he said lightly. “You’ll get bored and come running back for an argument. You’ll miss me.”

“In your dreams,” you shot back.

He pushed off the railing. “I have very interesting dreams,” he said casually, then slid the door open and disappeared inside.

You stared at the closed door long after he was gone.

Did you seek him out? You thought back—every party, every mutual hangout, every casual gathering. How often did you end up near him? How often did you launch the first barb?

You pressed your thumb harder into your book, annoyed at yourself.

It wasn’t that you liked the arguments. You liked… getting the last word. Putting him in his place. Right?

You reopened your book, determined not to think about it.

~

Dinner was loud and messy. Someone burned the garlic bread, but everyone ate it anyway. Afterward, you all migrated to the living room with drinks and snacks.

Games started: card games, drinking games, dares. Wonbin drifted in and out of your orbit, sometimes sitting across from you, sometimes ending up right beside you on the couch.

Every time your knees brushed, you pretended not to notice.

“Truth or drink,” Jihoon declared at one point, slamming a bottle down on the coffee table.

It devolved quickly.

“Who here would you hook up with?”

“What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve done drunk?”

“How many people have you kissed?”

You answered your share, deflected a few with sips, rolled your eyes a lot. Wonbin answered everything with almost infuriating ease, laughing his way through.

At one point, someone asked him, “Have you ever fallen for someone who hates your guts?”

The room ooohed.

He looked right at you when he answered.

“Not yet,” he said smoothly, taking a sip.

Your throat went dry. You looked away first.

Later, some of the group migrated out to the hot tub. You stayed inside, perched on the arm of an armchair, ostensibly scrolling on your phone but really just… watching.

You hated how often your gaze found him.

He was laughing at something Jihoon said, head thrown back, lips parted, eyes crinkling. He moved so easily, as if his body was made to occupy space like that. There was something magnetic about it, which you resented on principle.

He glanced over suddenly, catching your eye. You snapped your gaze back to your phone.

Smooth.

~

It was late by the time you finally peeled yourself away from the group and headed toward the hallway where the bedrooms were.

You were half-asleep on your feet when a shadow appeared at the end of the corridor.

You almost ran into him.

“Jesus—” you started, stopping short.

Wonbin leaned a shoulder against the wall, blocking your path just enough that you had to either brush past him or step back.

“I noticed you staring,” he said, tone lazy.

Your stomach plummeted. “What?”

“Earlier,” he clarified. “On the couch. By the hot tub door. You kept looking at me.”

You scrambled for logic and came up empty-handed. “I was… looking at everyone.”

He smiled, slow and knowing, like he could see right through you. “Sure.”

You grasped at indignation like a lifeline. “Not everything is about you,” you snapped.

He hummed, amused. “It kind of looked like it was.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. You genuinely didn’t have a solid reason, and that unsettled you more than you wanted to admit.

“It’s not what you think,” you managed finally.

“What do I think?” he asked softly.

You scowled. “That I want your attention or something.”

He shrugged, finally straightening up to give you space. “If the shoe fits.”

You shoved past him, heat prickling under your skin. “Go to bed, Wonbin.”

“Goodnight, princess,” he called after you.

You slammed your bedroom door harder than necessary.

Mina, already in bed, looked up from her phone. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” you said, too quickly.

You lay down, staring at the ceiling.

Ignoring him was going to be harder than you thought.

~

The next day dawned bright and hot. You tried to blame the heat for how restless you felt.

Out on the sand again, you staked out your towel right next to Mina and Jia, determined to focus on the water, the sky, literally anything else.

Wonbin jogged by on his way to join another impromptu volleyball match, pausing for just a second.

His gaze skimmed over you from head to toe, lingering for a heartbeat longer than it should have.

“I like your swimsuit,” he said easily. “It’s my favorite color.”

The compliment landed like a pebble in a still pool, sending rings of awareness through you.

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

He clucked his tongue. “Even when I’m being nice, you act like I’m about to bite you.”

“Force of habit,” you said coolly, reaching for your sunscreen. “You trained me well.”

He shook his head, smiling as he ran off. “Suit yourself.”

You watched him go, jaw tight.

“Y/n,” Jia said, sunglasses perched atop her head as she turned toward you. “He was being nice.”

“Exactly,” you said. “Which is suspicious.”

She laughed, flopping back down. “You exhaust me.”

You rolled your eyes and eventually wandered into the shallows with your friends. The waves lapped at your calves, the water sparkling around you. Further up the sand, the boys were mid-game again.

You tried to tune them out… and failed.

You found yourself watching Wonbin, tracking the way he moved, the easy power behind his spikes.

“Stop staring,” Mina murmured.

“I’m not,” you lied.

She gave you a look. You focused very intently on the water.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Wonbin go for a particularly ambitious hit. The ball flew up, catching the wind.

Too much power, wrong angle.

You followed its trajectory with growing dread.

“Oh no,” you breathed.

The ball arced perfectly toward the cluster of umbrellas where your towels and bags were spread out. And right in the middle of it all, lying face-up on your towel like a vulnerable sacrifice, was your book.

“No, no, no—” you splashed forward, but the ball had already landed, crashing into your things and sending sand spraying.

From the dunes, you saw Wonbin sprinting after it, feet pounding, sand flying. He skidded to a stop right on your towel.

Right on your book.

You watched in horror as his wet, sand-covered foot came down squarely on the paperback.

He froze, looking down.

You saw the exact second realization dawned on his face.

“Oh, he’s dead,” Jia whispered beside you, half-laughing.

Mina grabbed your arm. “Don’t fight,” she said nervously. “It was an accident.”

But you were already pulling away, storming up the sand.

Your heart pounded, rage lighting up your nerves. You barely heard your friends calling after you.

Wonbin bent down and gingerly picked up the book, wincing at the bent cover and creased, dampened pages.

“I can fix it,” he started.

“Don’t touch it,” you snapped, snatching it from his hands.

He flinched at your tone. “It was an accident.”

You held the ruined book up between you like evidence. “You would’ve reacted the same if it were your stupid sunglasses.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. “Okay, fair,” he admitted.

Your friends had caught up by then, hovering a few feet away.

“Guys,” Jihoon called out, half-laughing, half-worried. “Let’s not—”

“No one needs to see this,” you cut him off sharply, jabbing a finger at Wonbin. “We’re taking it inside.”

The group went quiet.

Wonbin blinked. “What?”

“You heard me,” you said, grabbing a handful of his hair at the back of his head and tugging.

He yelped. “Ow—okay, okay!”

You marched him up the beach, ignoring the disbelieving laughter and wolf-whistles behind you.

“You’re going to kill him,” Mina called out.

“He’ll be lucky if you ever see him walking again,” you threw over your shoulder.

Wonbin stumbled along, half-bent to relieve the pull on his scalp. “Is this really necessary?” he complained.

“Yes,” you said.

~

Inside, the air conditioning hit your heated skin, making you shiver. You shoved Wonbin toward the couch.

“Sit,” you ordered.

He flopped down, rubbing the back of his head with a wince. “You’re actually insane,” he muttered, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“What are you going to do now?” he asked, leaning back and spreading his arms along the back of the couch. “You made this whole spectacle about teaching me a lesson. Might as well commit. As long as you don’t make me cry.”

You glared. “I want to hit you over the head, but you’d probably enjoy that.”

He grinned. “Depends how hard.”

You threw your hands up. “See? This is why I hate you.”

You stalked into the kitchen, leaving him confused—but not nearly as confused as you felt.

Your eyes landed on the fruit bowl.

Slowly, a plan formed.

When you came back, you were holding a lime and your phone.

He eyed the lime warily. “Please tell me that’s not going where I think it’s going.”

“You’re going to eat this,” you said, holding it up. “The whole thing. Rind and all. While I film it. If you spit it out, I pinch you... as hard as I want.”

He stared. “Are you in middle school?”

“My book is traumatized,” you retorted. “It deserves justice.”

He gestured at the bedraggled paperback on the coffee table. “You can still read it. It’s just a little… creased.”

“Say that again, and I’ll go cut up your swim trunks,” you threatened.

His eyes widened. “You’re bluffing.”

You took a step toward the hallway.

“Okay, okay,” he said quickly. “Jeez. So, me eating that would actually make you feel better?”

You considered it. “Yes.”

He sighed, grabbed the lime, and bit into it like it was an apple.

You hit record.

The first chew was immediate regret. His whole face contorted.

“Oh my God,” he choked. “This is so bad.”

“Keep going,” you said sternly.

He made an inhuman noise, but complied. Juice dripped down his chin; his eyes watered. You zoomed in mercilessly.

“If you spit it out, I’m pinching you,” you reminded him.

“Y-you’re a sadist,” he managed around a mouthful of citrus and peel.

You bit back a smile. “You ruined my book. Actions have consequences.”

He powered through the last bite like a man on a mission. When he finally swallowed, he collapsed back against the couch, grimacing like he’d just seen God.

You stopped recording.

“Happy?” he croaked.

You set your phone down and, almost without thinking, reached over to pat his head, fingers brushing through his damp hair.

He went very still.

“Yes,” you said simply.

Then you stood, grabbed your book, and headed toward the door.

“Wait,” he called after you, voice faintly hoarse. “You’re just… leaving?”

“You served your sentence,” you replied over your shoulder. “You’re free to go.”

~

When you stepped back onto the porch, the air seemed brighter somehow. You walked down the steps toward the sand where the others were still gathered in a loose circle.

“Where’s Wonbin?” Jihoon asked immediately, half-joking, half-concerned.

“Alive,” you said. “Unfortunately.”

He relaxed.

A minute later, Wonbin emerged from the house, wiping at his mouth like he could scrub away the taste of citrus.

Everyone stared.

“What happened to you?” one of the guys blurted.

He glanced at you, something sparking in his eyes. “I apologized,” he said solemnly. “And I was forgiven.”

There was a chorus of disbelieving laughter.

Later, as the sun dipped and a cooler breeze rolled in, someone brought out more drinks. You all sprawled in deck chairs and on the porch steps, the sky shifting from orange to purple.

Stories began—about classes, professors, embarrassing moments from freshman year.

Inevitably, the lime incident came up.

“Tell it again,” Jia giggled, already tipsy. “I want to hear it from him.”

“Absolutely not,” Wonbin said.

“Yes,” the group countered.

He sighed dramatically. “Okay. So, I accidentally murdered her book with my foot. May it rest in peace.”

“It’s still alive,” you interjected.

He continued as if you hadn’t spoken. “And in a fit of righteous fury, she dragged me inside by the hair—”

“You deserved that,” you said.

“—and made me eat an entire lime, rind and all, on camera, under threat of violence.”

Mina choked on her drink, laughing. “You did what?”

“Show the video,” someone yelled.

You debated for a half-second, then shrugged and pulled it up, passing your phone around.

The porch erupted in screams and cackles as everyone watched his increasingly devastated expressions.

“You’re such a simp,” one of Wonbin’s friends declared between wheezes.

“You really ate the whole thing for her?” Jihoon added, incredulous.

Wonbin took a long swig from his cup, then flicked his eyes to you.

“You have no idea,” he said lightly.

Something in your stomach flipped.

“Y/n,” Jia teased, nudging you. “You look so pleased with yourself.”

You realized you were smiling.

“Because he deserved it,” you said quickly. “Not because—”

“Sure, sure,” she drawled.

You ignored the heat creeping up your neck and took a sip from your own drink.

~

Later, when the crowd started thinning—some people drifting to their rooms, others lying on the couches half-asleep—you headed to bed with Mina.

She changed into her pajamas as you sat on the edge of the bed, fingers picking at a loose thread on the comforter.

“Hey,” you said abruptly. “Do you think he’s… flirting with me?”

Mina paused mid-step. “Wonbin?”

You gave her a look. “No, the other boy I dragged inside by the hair today.”

She climbed into bed opposite you, facing you with interest. “I mean… yeah? I always kind of thought he was.”

You blinked. “What?”

She shrugged. “He only argues with you like that. He remembers everything you say. He knows exactly how to get under your skin. That’s not… nothing.”

You shook your head. “He just likes annoying people.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But don’t you ever feel like there’s… something else?”

Your mind flashed with the image of him looking at you when he’d answered that Truth or Drink question. The way he’d eaten the lime without really fighting back. The way he’d gone quiet for a second when you’d said you’d pretend he didn’t exist.

You swallowed.

“I’ve never even thought about him like that,” you lied.

Mina raised a skeptical brow. “Really? Not even once? He’s literally a campus heartthrob.”

You scoffed. “I have too much self-respect to fall for someone like him.”

She laughed. “You say that like you’re not obsessed with arguing with him.”

“I’m not obsessed,” you protested. “I’m… invested.”

“In what?” she asked gently.

You didn’t have an answer.

Mina sighed, a little dreamy. “I just think it would be cute, that’s all. If you and he actually liked each other, we could go on double dates with him and Jihoon.”

You groaned, flopping back. “I hate you so much right now.”

She turned off the lamp, plunging the room into soft darkness.

“Just think about it,” she murmured.

You stared at the ceiling again, this time with his face stubbornly occupying the space where your thoughts should’ve been.

~

The next morning, you woke up with the distinct feeling of having had a very important dream that you couldn’t quite remember.

It left you unsettled.

Mina’s words replayed in your head as you brushed your teeth, as you pulled on your swimsuit, as you tied your hair up.

If he didn’t like you, would he bother so much?

You thought about every time he’d sought you out. The way he lit up just a little bit more when you threw something back at him. How, even yesterday, when he’d clearly been worried about your wrath over the book, he’d still joked and fumbled his way through that stupid lime challenge.

If he truly didn’t care, he wouldn’t give you all that attention.

An idea slipped in, uninvited and unwelcome—and yet, once there, impossible to shake.

What if you tested it?

You stared at your reflection.

If you pushed, if you turned the tables, if you went as far as you could… would he still be there matching you? Or would he pull away and show you that you’d been right all along—that he was just an asshole who liked to play games?

You dried your hands and made a decision.

If he let you go all the way, you’d know.

And if he didn’t… well. Then at least you’d finally stop wondering.

~

The day unfolded like the one before it, but with one key difference.

You didn’t avoid him.

You sought him out.

At breakfast, you stole the last piece of toast off his plate just as he was reaching for it.

“Hey,” he said, eyebrows shooting up.

“You snooze, you lose,” you replied, biting into it.

His eyes narrowed. “Oh, we’re doing that today.”

“Doing what?” you asked innocently.

He studied you for a long beat, something sharp and curious in his gaze.

“Nothing,” he said at last, a slow grin spreading. “Game on, princess.”

On the beach, you splashed water at him first. When he retaliated, you only went harder, laughing as you ducked under the waves and popped up behind him to push him back down.

You chased him through the shallows, hooked your ankle around his to trip him, shoved him into the water when he least expected it.

He took it all, laughing, eyes bright, like this was the most fun he’d had in ages.

At one point, you climbed onto his back in the water, arms around his shoulders, pushing him under with a victorious whoop.

He surfaced, coughing, hair plastered to his forehead, water streaming down his face.

“You’re actually trying to kill me,” he accused, breathless.

“Maybe I am,” you said, heartbeat thudding oddly at how close your faces were.

He stilled for a fraction of a second, gaze flicking to your mouth and back.

Then he shook his head, swam away, and you followed, relentless.

You could tell he was trying to figure you out.

Good.

~

By mid-afternoon, he was flagging. Even you were starting to feel the burn in your limbs.

“I need a break,” he said finally, pushing wet hair back from his face. “I’m going inside for water before you drown me for real.”

“Coward,” you taunted.

He rolled his eyes, half-smiling, and headed up the beach toward the house.

You watched him go, chest tight with a mix of triumph and something you didn’t want to name.

Then you followed.

The kitchen was cool and bright when you stepped in, the buzz of the fridge loud in the quiet.

Wonbin stood by the counter, back to you, gulping from a bottle of water. He set it down with a sigh, bracing his hands on the countertop, head hanging for a moment like he was trying to pull himself together.

You leaned in the doorway, watching him.

He must’ve sensed you, because he spoke without turning around.

“If you came to drown me in the sink,” he said, voice a little rough, “you’re going to have to wait until I catch my breath.”

You pushed off the doorframe and padded into the kitchen, water still dripping from your hair onto the tile.

“Did you think I was done with you?” you asked softly.

He straightened and turned, eyes widening slightly when he saw how close you were.

“…Honestly?” he said. “Yeah. I was kind of hoping.”

There was a strain in his expression now, a tension in his shoulders. You noticed the way his fingers curled into the counter’s edge, the way his throat worked as he swallowed.

“What more could you possibly do to me today?” he asked, reaching absently for the fruit bowl. He picked up a lemon, holding it up as a joke, a crooked smile on his lips. “I’ll just go ahead and eat this if it means you’ll give me a break.”

You stared at him for a long moment, that same mix of amusement and something hotter pooling low in your stomach.

A laugh slipped out of you, surprised and genuine.

“You’re pathetic,” you said, stepping closer. “I didn’t expect you to give up so easily.”

His smile faltered, something raw flickering in his gaze.

“If you’re trying to give me a taste of my own medicine,” he said quietly, “you’re not playing fair at all.”

You tilted your head. “Unlike you, irking people isn’t really my thing,” you replied. “So I’m sorry if you don’t think it’s fair.”

Your apology didn’t sound very apologetic.

He studied you like he was memorizing you, eyes moving from your damp lashes to the droplets clinging to your collarbone.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s kind of what I’m afraid of.”

You felt something in the air between you shift, going denser, charged.

He was still holding the lemon.

It looked stupid between his fingers, bright yellow and harmless, like this was just another one of your stupid games.

Except it didn’t feel like a game anymore.

You could hear the faint thump of music through the walls, the muffled crash of waves outside. In here, though, it was just you and him and the hum of the fridge.

“You’re pathetic,” you repeated, softer now, watching the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

His hand tightened around the lemon until his knuckles paled. “And yet you still haven’t told me what this is,” he said quietly. “You flipped the script on me and didn’t give me a reason. Why?”

You swallowed, forcing yourself not to look away.

“Why don’t you tell me?” you countered. “You’re the one who’s always analyzing me, right? High and mighty princess, too proud for anyone. Isn’t that what you said?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You remember that?”

You scoffed. “Of course I do. You think I forget every little jab you throw?”

His gaze flicked over your face, lingering on your mouth. “No,” he said slowly. “I guess you don’t forget anything.”

Silence stretched between you, dense and prickly.

He set the lemon down with a dull thud and straightened, like he was bracing himself.

“Look,” he exhaled, “if this is you trying to get back at me for… whatever, congratulations. I’m officially off-balance.” A humorless little smile tugged at his lips. “You win. Again. So what now?”

You stepped into his space before you could overthink it.

Up close, he smelled like salt and sunscreen and something warmer underneath. His chest rose and fell a little too fast.

“Now,” you said, tilting your head, “I keep going until I figure you out.”

His voice dropped. “You think you don’t already know me?”

You searched his eyes. There was the usual teasing spark there, but underneath it… something else. Something you’d been carefully ignoring.

“I think,” you said slowly, “I know the version of you that likes pissing me off.”

“And?” he prompted, barely above a whisper.

“And I want to see what happens when I stop letting you hide behind that,” you finished.

His breath hitched.

For the first time since you’d met him, he didn’t have a comeback ready. No joke, no deflection, no smug little jab.

Just you, reflected back in his eyes, closer than you’d ever let yourself be.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he said at last, voice rough. “All of this. The toast, the water, drowning me, dragging me around like I’m your personal punching bag—”

“You like it,” you cut in.

He huffed out an incredulous laugh. “That’s the problem.”

Heat crept up your neck. “So you admit it.”

He looked down at you, something resigned and fond and exasperated all tangled together.

“Y/n,” he said softly, and your stomach flipped at the way your name sounded in his mouth. “I’ve been admitting it in every stupid way except actually saying it out loud.”

Your heartbeat stuttered.

He let out a breath, almost like he was tired of holding something in.

“You’re right,” he said. “I do think you’re a high and mighty princess sometimes. You overthink everything. You act like liking anybody is… beneath you.” His mouth twisted. “And still, I keep ending up where you are. Every party, every group hang, every stupid beach game. I look for you first. Even when I know you’re just going to roll your eyes and insult me.”

Your fingers curled at your sides, suddenly unsteady.

“You’re not special,” you said, but it came out too thin.

He smiled faintly. “I don’t do this with anyone else.”

You hated how that landed in your chest.

“Then why make fun of me?” you demanded, clinging to the familiar ground of irritation. “Why call me princess and talk about my ‘personality’ like you’re writing a character study?”

He shrugged one shoulder, eyes never leaving yours. “Because if I didn’t, I’d end up flirting with you like everyone else does. And you’d hate that even more.”

You opened your mouth to argue—and stopped.

Would you?

Or was that just what you’d been telling yourself?

“Say something,” he murmured, a hint of nervousness finally bleeding through. “You’re freaking me out.”

You swallowed, throat dry.

“So,” you said carefully, “all the picking on me, all the stupid nicknames, all the times you went out of your way to get on my nerves—”

“Were me being a coward,” he cut in. “Because if I didn’t turn it into a joke, it was going to be obvious.”

“Obvious that you… what?”

He held your gaze, no more room to run.

“That I like you,” he said simply.

The words dropped between you, so plain and serious they didn’t feel real.

You forgot how to breathe for a second.

Something inside you that had been coiled tight for months—maybe years—snapped.

“Then why,” you said slowly, “do you keep acting like an asshole?”

He let out a strained laugh. “Because you respond to that. Because every time I tried to be normal around you, you’d look at me like I’d grown a second head. You only ever looked straight at me when we were fighting.”

That stung more than you wanted to admit.

You’d given him attention, sure. But only the kind fueled by indignation and pride.

And he’d taken it.

Every scrap.

You realized, abruptly, that you were still standing way too close, your bodies only inches apart, his damp skin a line of heat in front of you.

You realized you’d walked him all the way out here, into this quiet, empty kitchen, with some vague plan to “test” him—as if he hadn’t been showing you his answer this whole time.

You realized you weren’t actually sure, anymore, which one of you was the bigger coward.

Your voice came out smaller than you expected. “If I stop making it a joke… what then?”

He searched your face, and whatever he found there made his expression soften.

“Then,” he said, “you can stop pretending you hate me.”

You bristled on instinct. “I never said—”

He stepped closer, close enough that his chest brushed yours when he inhaled.

“You never had to,” he said quietly. “You act like you do. But you don’t avoid me. You don’t shut me down. You don’t walk away when you could.”

His hand lifted, hesitated, then settled very carefully at your hip, fingertips barely pressing into the damp fabric of your swimsuit.

You felt it like a brand.

“If you actually hated me,” he continued, “you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Your pulse roared in your ears.

A part of you wanted to shove him away, toss out some cutting remark, push everything back into the safe territory of banter.

Another part of you—annoyingly loud—wanted to see what happened if you didn’t.

You heard your own voice before you fully decided.

“What if I’m here to keep testing how far you’ll let me go?” you asked, low.

His grip at your hip tightened, just barely.

“Then I should probably tell you,” he murmured, “that you’re playing with fire.”

“Maybe I want to know if you’ll burn me,” you said.

He exhaled a shaky laugh. “You’re unreal.”

You lifted your chin, stubborn. “Are you going to stop me?”

His eyes darkened.

“No,” he admitted. “I’m not.”

That was all the permission you needed.

You slid your hand up, fingers finding the damp skin at the back of his neck. He shivered under your touch.

He was watching you so intently it made your stomach swoop.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you lied, even as your thumb brushed the soft hair at his nape. “I’m just… curious.”

“Sure,” he said, voice gone rough. “Just curiosity.”

You hated how gentle he sounded. You hated how much you liked it.

“Say you’re not going to be weird about it,” you demanded, because control was the only thing you had left.

He huffed out a breath. “You’re about to do something reckless and I’m the one who can’t be weird?”

“Wonbin,” you warned.

His mouth curved. “Fine. I won’t be weird.”

He paused.

“Unless you want me to be,” he added under his breath.

You didn’t give yourself time to react to that.

You tugged him down and kissed him.

For a second, he just… froze.

You almost pulled back, panic clawing up your throat.

Then he exhaled a sound somewhere between a groan and your name, and everything tilted.

His hand at your hip tightened, dragging you flush against him. His other hand came up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone as his mouth moved against yours like he’d been waiting for this for a long, long time.

Heat flared low in your stomach, sharp and intoxicating.

He kissed like he argued—confident, unyielding, intent on pushing you just that little bit further than you meant to go.

Except this time, you didn’t mind losing.

Your fingers knotted in the damp hair at the back of his head, holding him there as you deepened the kiss. He made another low sound that went straight through you.

You felt him smile against your mouth.

“Still pretending you hate me?” he murmured between breaths.

“Shut up,” you whispered, and kissed him again to make sure he did.

He obeyed, but his hand slid from your jaw down the line of your throat, lingering over the rapid flutter of your pulse like he was memorizing it.

You’d meant to keep control. You’d meant to test him.

Somehow, without you noticing, he’d taken over.

You broke away first, breathing hard, lips tingling. His forehead rested against yours, eyes closed like he was trying to steady himself.

You could feel the solid press of his body against yours, every line of him warm and real and entirely too much.

“Say something smug,” you managed, voice unsteady. “Get it over with.”

His lashes lifted. He looked at you like you’d put the sun in his hands and then told him not to drop it.

“I’m trying not to scare you off,” he said quietly. “For once.”

Your chest did something unhelpful.

“This doesn’t make us… anything,” you said, clinging to the last of your defenses. “We’re still—”

“Enemies?” he supplied, amused.

You scowled automatically. “I was going to say ‘not whatever you’re thinking.’”

He hummed, thumb tracing idle circles at your hip.

“I’m thinking,” he said slowly, “that you’re going to overthink this to death if I give you any room. So how about this.”

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

“For now,” he murmured, “we keep it between us. No labels. No big talks. Just you and me, seeing what happens when you stop pretending you don’t want me.”

You shivered.

“You’re very sure of yourself,” you said, but it came out breathless.

“Not really,” he admitted softly. “I’m just sure I’m not done with you yet.”

Your fingers tightened at the back of his neck.

“You’re insufferable,” you whispered.

His smile grazed your cheek.

“And yet,” he said, “you’re still holding on.”

You realized you were.

You didn’t let go.

~

You were still pressed up against the counter, his hand firm at your hip, your fingers tangled in his hair, when the sound of the front door opening sliced through the haze.

The two of you froze.

You heard the familiar tune of a song being hummed. 

Jia.

You and Wonbin sprang apart so fast you almost slipped on the tile.

He caught your elbow on instinct, steadying you. You glared at him like this was his fault, which, to be fair, a good chunk of it was.

You yanked your T‑shirt from the back of a chair and shoved it over your head, trying to smooth your hair with shaking fingers. Your lips still tingled; you could feel his gaze flick down to them and dart away.

Jia rounded the corner a second later, sunglasses perched atop her head and a water bottle in hand.

She looked between the two of you, taking in your flushed faces, your slightly crooked shirt, Wonbin missing one entirely.

Her brows climbed. “What were you two doing?”

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.

“Staring contest,” Wonbin blurted.

You turned to stare at him. Staring contest?

Jia blinked. “Staring contest.”

He snatched the forgotten lemon off the counter and held it up like a prop. “Yeah, we, uh… challenged each other. Loser gets this squirted in their eye.”

You wanted to die.

Jia’s gaze slid to you, suspicious. “Well, am I interrupting?”

You crossed your arms, willing your heartbeat to slow. “No,” you said, forcing an eye roll. “He’s just being dramatic because he lost and he’s scared.”

Wonbin nodded too fast. “So dramatic. I’m traumatized.”

Jia narrowed her eyes, then smirked. “You two are weird,” she said. “Anyway, are you coming back out? We’re about to start a card game and Mina’s trying to cheat already.”

“Yeah,” you said quickly. “Just… getting water.”

She shrugged and padded back toward the porch, humming under her breath.

The moment she disappeared, you rounded on Wonbin.

“‘Staring contest?” you hissed.

He winced, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I panicked.”

“You’re an idiot,” you muttered.

He smiled faintly, the edges still a little dazed. “You’re shaking,” he said quietly.

You realized your hands were still trembling. You smoothed out your shirt calmly. “It’s cold in here,” you lied.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Right.”

From outside, someone shouted your name, followed by Mina’s whiney “Hurry uuuup!”

You took a step toward the door, putting space between you.

“We should go,” you said.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

You didn’t look at him as you slid the door open.

You felt his eyes on the back of your neck all the way out to the porch.

~

Back on the beach, it was like nothing had happened.

At least, that was how you were determined to act.

You plopped down on your towel, book in your lap, the text blurring as your mind replayed the last half hour on a loop.

The way his voice had gone quiet when he’d said I like you.
The way he’d eaten the lime just because it made you happy.
The way his hands had settled on you—not possessive, not cocky, just certain.

You’d come into this trip with the absolute conviction that he was an obnoxious flirt who cared more about reactions than people.

He had… not behaved like that.

You’d taunted him, tested him, tried to shake him. He’d let you drag him inside, let you punish him, let you push him around in the water. He’d confessed first. He’d tried, in his own backwards way, to make it less scary for you.

Unconventional methods, you thought, a little hysterical. But he got what he wanted.

He wanted you to take him seriously. And now, annoyingly, it was working.

You watched him from the corner of your eye as he mingled with the others—laughing at some joke from Jihoon, reaching for a drink, moving through the group with his usual easy charm.

Except now you could see all the ways his attention slid back to you, subtle as he thought he was being. A glance when someone mentioned your name. The way his smile shifted, softer, when your eyes accidentally met.

The new weight of those looks made your skin prickle.

You were hooked.

You didn’t want to be. You could feel your pride protesting, scrambling for excuses. You barely knew how to navigate people you liked normally, let alone someone you’d built an entire personality around disliking.

But the idea of this new version of him—of you and him—clung to you like salt.

Foreign. Fascinating.

Terrifying.

Throughout the evening, you both pretended.

Mina dragged you into a card game; you lost horribly and accused her of conspiring with Jihoon. Jia did a run to the kitchen for snacks and came back with enough junk food to feed a small army. Someone put on music, and there was a brief, chaotic attempt at a dance party in the living room.

Wonbin was never far, but never too close. He’d sit across the circle, leaning back against the couch, legs stretched out. He’d call you out when you tried to cheat, tease you when you lost, roll his eyes when you rolled yours.

On the surface, it was the same old script.

Underneath, everything had changed.

Every time your knees brushed under the low table, your heart jumped. Every time you glanced up and found him already looking, your stomach swooped.

He didn’t push. Didn’t corner you, didn’t say anything loaded in front of the others.

He just kept catching your gaze and holding it a second too long, the corners of his mouth softening like there was some shared joke hanging between you that no one else could see.

By the time people started drifting toward their rooms, the sky outside was ink‑dark and your head felt pleasantly fuzzy from sun and laughter and one too many drinks.

You yawned, stretching your arms over your head.

“I’m actually dead,” Jia groaned from the couch. “If I don’t sleep twelve hours, I’ll pass away.”

“You say that every night,” Mina said, but she sounded tired too.

You gathered your things—phone, book, a hoodie someone had abandoned—and headed toward the hallway.

You’d almost made it to your bedroom door when a hand appeared above your shoulder, pressing lightly against the wall just beside it.

You stopped short.

“Relax,” Wonbin said softly, stepping into the narrow space between you and the wall.

Your back was inches from the door; his chest was inches from yours. It felt like that kitchen all over again, but this time the hall was darker, quieter, the only light coming from the strip under the living room door.

Your pulse jumped.

“We’re in a hallway,” you hissed. “Anyone could see.”

He hummed. “That sounds familiar.”

You shot him a look. “Don’t start.”

He didn’t. Not with words, anyway.

His fingers brushed yours, just a ghost of a touch, then slid against your palm, offering. Without thinking, you let your hand fall into his. He squeezed once, like he couldn’t help it.

The simple contact made your throat go dry.

“Y/n,” he said quietly.

You hated how much warmer your name sounded from him now.

“What?” you whispered.

He leaned down, his breath brushing your ear. “I’d like to continue where we left off,” he murmured. “Before we were so rudely interrupted.”

Heat shot through you.

You fought to keep your voice steady. “You’re impatient.”

He laughed under his breath. “I’ve been patient for months.”

You stilled. “Months?”

He pulled back just enough for you to see his face. There was no smugness there, no joke. Just that open, slightly vulnerable look from the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “You’re just finally letting me do something about it.”

Your heart did something traitorous.

You swallowed. “If we do this now, someone will catch us,” you said, trying to be rational. “Do you know how thin these walls are? If Mina walks in and sees—”

He cut you off with a tiny grin. “I can work something out.”

“That’s not comforting,” you muttered.

He squeezed your hand again, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Just… don’t fall asleep too early,” he said. “Okay?”

You gave him a flat look. “That’s your master plan?”

“For now.” His smile tilted, equal parts mischief and promise. “Trust me.”

You opened your mouth to tell him you absolutely did not trust him.

Instead, you heard yourself say, “Fine.”

His grin went feral.

“I won’t need that long,” he said.

The implication made your face heat. You slapped his chest lightly. “Be serious.”

“We’ll see,” he replied, and then he was backing away, disappearing down the hall with a soft, “Goodnight, princess,” tossed over his shoulder.

Your skin buzzed long after he was gone.

~

You’d barely had time to wash your face, brush your teeth, and pull on an oversized sleep shirt before Mina burst into the room, squealing.

You jumped, nearly stabbing your eye with your hairbrush.

“What?” you demanded.

Mina bounced onto the bed, clutching her phone like it was a winning lottery ticket.

“He texted me,” she half‑whispered, half‑screeched.

You blinked, heart lurching for reasons that had nothing to do with her. “Who?”

She gave you a look. “Jihoon, obviously.”

Of course. Jihoon, who shared a room with Wonbin.

Your pulse picked up for a completely different reason.

“What did he say?” you asked, trying to sound normal.

Mina thrust the phone at you. A message glowed on the screen:

Jihoon 🏄‍♂️: hey, you still awake?
Jihoon 🏄‍♂️: come to my room? we can talk without everyone yelling over each other lol

Mina kicked her feet like a teenager in a drama. “Talk, he says,” she giggled. “Do you think he means… talk?”

You thought about Wonbin’s face in the hallway. I can work something out.

You swallowed a laugh that was half nerves. “Only one way to find out,” you said.

Mina flopped back dramatically. “But what if it’s weird? What if I go and he’s like, ‘So anyway, about this group project from freshman year—’”

“Mina,” you cut in gently. “You’ve been flirting for months. He’s not calling you in there to discuss academic policy.”

She covered her face with a pillow, muffling a scream. “I’m gonna throw up.”

“You are not,” you said, prying the pillow away. “You’re going to go in there, hang out, and if at any point you’re uncomfortable, you pretend you’re sleepy and leave. Simple.”

She peered up at you. “You really think I should go?”

Guilt and excitement warred in your chest.

Because you knew exactly why this invitation had materialized at this particular moment.

You also knew how badly Mina wanted this.

“Yes,” you said firmly. “Go.”

Mina squealed again, launched off the bed, and scrambled to fix her hair in the mirror.

“You’re a good friend,” she said, slapping on lip balm.

You forced a smile. “Obviously.”

When she finally squeezed you in a quick hug and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click, the silence that followed throbbed with anticipation.

You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at the door.

He wouldn’t actually…

A knock sounded, barely a minute later.

You jumped.

“Y/n?” came the low voice from the other side.

You exhaled, heart hammering. “You’re insane,” you muttered, standing.

You cracked the door open just enough to see him. The hallway behind him was empty, dim.

Before you could get a single word of scolding out, he shouldered his way in, kicked the door shut with his heel, and his mouth was on yours.

All the arguments you’d been lining up evaporated.

He kissed you like he’d been thinking about it every second since the kitchen—no tentative testing this time, no caution. Just heat and relief and a kind of hungry determination that made your knees go weak.

You made a sound into his mouth, half protest, mostly something else.

“I was going to yell at you,” you mumbled when you managed to breathe.

He laughed against your lips. “You can yell at me later,” he said, already chasing another kiss. “I’ll even let you win.”

“You used my best friend as a distraction,” you accused, even as your hands were already fisting in his shirt.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and serious in the low light.

“Do you really think I’d set her up with some guy who wasn’t going to treat her right?” he asked softly. “I’m not the only one who’s been waiting.”

That shut you up.

He watched your expression flicker, something like understanding settling in.

Then his gaze dropped to your mouth again.

“Can we get back to the part where you were doing that thing with your hands?” he asked, voice going rough.

You huffed. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re the one who decided you like me anyway.”

You hated how true that felt.

You grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked him closer.

This time, nothing slowed you down.

Your fingers threaded through his hair, just like he had wanted, lips moving against his, rushed and heated. He made a disgruntled noise, pulling your waist toward him, leaving no space between you. Your bodies were hot and buzzing with a tension that was ready to tip over the edge. 

Both of you stumbled backward, clumsily dropping onto the bed. Wonbin was quick to hoist you up, climbing over you while pulling your shirt clean off your body. He gave you no time to feel conscious of your nakedness, fingers cupping the swell of your breasts as his thigh slotted between your legs. 

Something burned, low in the pit of your stomach. You arched your back into his touch, inviting him for more. His tongue slid over yours deliberately, making your toes curl. You dragged your mouth away just long enough to suck in a breath. He chased you, lips landing at the corner of your mouth, your cheek, the hinge of your jaw.

Your head fell back, a helpless sound escaping you as his mouth found a spot under your ear, teeth scraping lightly.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured against your skin. “You have no idea.”

“Prove it,” you breathed, voluntarily reaching to slip your underwear off. 

“Fuck, y/n.”

Wonbin sat up just enough to take you in completely. A drunken expression washed over his face. His lips were glistening, eager hands tracing your thighs, trailing down your legs. He couldn’t decide what he wanted to do to you first. You could see the impatience in his eyes.  

You felt it too.

He started by rolling his tongue over your nipples. They were hard and sensitive. He sucked and released them with a salacious pop, the sound making your head spin. 

You sensed him moving away from you yet again, but this time you weren’t going to let it happen. You rose with him, fingers hooking into the hem of his shirt, urging him to shrug it off. 

As his shirt fell to the floor, you kissed him hard, digging your palms into his firm shoulders. 

“Pants too,” you followed. 

In this moment, to you, he was absolutely irresistible. 

He groaned in accordance and pushed his shorts down in one swift motion. You could see how uncomfortably tight his boxers looked. Your hands went there instantly, teasing, exploring.

Wonbin bit your lip in protest as he fell back over you. Feeling his weight on top of you made your heart hammer wildly in your chest. 

Before you could think, the words rolled off your tongue like they had been sitting there forever. 

“Fuck me. Now.” 

The moisture between your legs was an indication enough that you were ready for him. And you knew exactly where he stood. 

He fumbled with his boxers, and you gasped when his cock pulsed against your pussy. His eyes watched you carefully as he slowly entered you, fighting to remain focused the deeper his cock went. 

It stole your breath away. 

Your eyes rolled back, head falling slack against the pillow you were lying on.

He started slowly, hips moving steadily, as if he were savoring the feeling before he let greed take control. 

You were so warm and so tight. Wonbin sucked in a sharp breath, speeding up ever so slightly. 

He left a hand planted by your ear, the other cupping your neck, thumb sliding over your throat, where he felt the shallow reverberations of your quiet moans. 

He leaned in closer, needing to hear more. 

Maybe it was because you remembered where you were, or maybe because he was tapping into a part of your subconscious you never thought would surface, but Wonbin couldn’t stand that you were holding yourself back.

 His hips jerked forward, the movement harsh. 

“Fuck,” you exclaimed, and he did it again, the faintest smirk painting his parted lips. 

His thumb traced your lip as he began fucking you harder. You let it slip into your mouth, sucking desperately. That only spurred him on further.

“Oh, princess,” he moaned, his pace unrelenting. He was pounding into you now. “You feel so good.” 

Even though your mouth was occupied, urgent whines spilled from you. There was no stopping them. 

Wonbin pulled his thumb away so that he could hear you unobstructed. Even you were shocked by just how loud you were. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had made you feel like this. 

No one had come close.

“Say my name.” 

You gave in, though it wasn’t easy, sputtering his name between labored breaths. It drove him mad. He didn’t want to hear anything else. 

You felt his temple press against your cheek, a thin layer of sweat lining his skin. Your fingers curled into his hair, holding him close so that his hot breath tickled your neck. 

He was close. Even if he finished now, he knew he wasn’t done with you yet. He needed more. 

He was fast to pull out of you. Seconds later, his cum was dripping onto your stomach, warm and cloudy. His groans, deep and raspy, were invigorating. 

Your chest rose and fell vehemently. He let his cock slide against your pussy, softer now, but still bold. 

Wonbin turned you on your side and fell into place behind you, his strong chest pressed to your back. Instinctively, you bent your knees and pushed your ass against his cock, feeling the blood gradually rush back into it as he splayed wet kisses over your shoulder. 

“One more time,” he whispered into your ear, raising your leg so he could slip right back into you. His other arm wrapped around your chest, fingers pinching your breasts and nipples. 

You craned your neck around, lips searching for his. They found yours earnestly, his kisses messy and fervent. 

As if he had never stopped, he started again. 

~

Later, with your clothes scattered on the floor and the room dim and quiet around you, you lay on your back staring at the ceiling, lungs still trying to remember how to function.

Wonbin’s arm was draped over your waist, his chest warm and solid against your side. His breathing was a little uneven too.

Silence stretched, full but not uncomfortable.

“We’re dead if Mina comes back early,” you said eventually, voice low.

He hummed. “We’ll hear her.”

You weren’t so sure.

He must’ve seen the doubt on your face, because he sighed and pushed himself up on one elbow.

“Fine,” he said. “We’ll check.”

He grabbed his discarded shorts from the floor and dragged them on, hair a mess, skin still flushed. You pulled your shirt back over your head, heart doing that annoying jumpy thing again at the sudden domestic mundanity of it.

He cracked the door open carefully, peering into the hallway.

You eased up beside him, peeking over his shoulder.

From down the hall, muffled and unmistakable, came a breathy, stifled laugh followed by a low male voice you recognized as Jihoon’s.

You both froze.

“Yeah,” Wonbin said quietly. “She’s not coming back.”

You covered your face with one hand, equal parts mortified and relieved. “I did not need to know that.”

He shut the door again, locking it this time for good measure.

When he turned back, he was smiling.

“So,” he said, climbing back onto the bed beside you. “I can stay?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You can stay as long as you’re gone before Mina wakes up,” you warned. “If she sees you here, we’re both dead.”

“Noted.” He settled beside you, arm sliding back around your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You hesitated a second, then let yourself relax into him, head finding his shoulder.

The room felt smaller now, cozier somehow. The ocean’s constant shush filtered through the walls; someone laughed faintly in another part of the house. Here, everything felt oddly still.

“So,” you said, staring at the shadowy outline of his hand on your stomach. “What now?”

He was quiet for a moment, thumb drawing idle patterns on your side.

“When we get back to the city,” he said finally, “I want to take you out.”

You blinked. “Out?”

“On a date,” he clarified. “Like, a real one. Food, maybe a movie, me pretending I’m not already stupid about you.”

Your heart lurched.

“Confident,” you muttered.

He huffed a laugh. “Terrified, actually.”

You turned your head to look at him. In the soft half‑dark, he didn’t look like the overconfident flirt you’d built up in your mind. He just looked… young. Hopeful. A little scared.

“Why?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

“Because,” he said slowly, “you’ve spent this entire time convinced that you’re too good for me. And I don’t want you to wake up one day and decide you were right.”

That knocked the air out of you more than any kiss had.

You stared at him, throat tight.

“You really think I’m that horrible?” you asked quietly.

His eyes widened. “No. God, no. I think you’re… picky. And proud. And terrified of being wrong about people. Big difference.”

He reached up, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

“I also think,” he added, softer now, “that you’re the smartest person in any room we’re in, and that you make me want to be less of a dumbass. For whatever that’s worth.”

You swallowed around a lump in your throat.

“Don’t say things like that,” you muttered. “It makes it hard to keep my guard up.”

“That’s kind of the point,” he said.

You glared at the ceiling so you wouldn’t have to look at him for a second.

“What if I say no?” you asked. “To the date.”

He exhaled, not dramatically, just honestly. “Then I’ll be disappointed. And I’ll try really hard not to be weird about it.”

“You’re bad at not being weird,” you pointed out.

“Yeah,” he said. “But I’d still try.”

You were quiet for a beat.

“Okay,” you said finally.

He frowned. “Okay what?”

“Okay, you can take me out,” you said, staring resolutely at the ceiling. “Once. We’ll see how insufferable you are in public.”

There was a pause. Then his arm tightened around you.

“Deal,” he said, voice a little too bright.

You wanted to say you regretted it already.

You didn’t.

“Go to sleep,” you grumbled instead.

“Yes, princess,” he said.

You elbowed him lightly. He just laughed and pressed a quick, soft kiss to the top of your head, like he’d done it a thousand times.

Your heart did that stupid thing again.

You drifted off eventually, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you under.

~

When you woke up, the other side of the bed was empty.

For a split second, panic flared. Then you saw the indentation in the pillow, the faint warmth left on the sheets, and heard the sound of running water from the bathroom.

The door opened a moment later and Mina emerged in a cloud of steam, towel wrapped around her hair.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” she said, grinning.

You squinted at her, brain still booting up. “Why are you so cheerful?”

She wiggled her brows. “We both seem to have had a good night.”

Your heart stuttered. “What?”

She crossed to her suitcase, digging for clothes. “I didn’t get back until, like, four,” she said happily. “And when I finally snuck in, you were starfished across the whole bed like a corpse. Out cold. And there was someonestuck underneath you.”

She shot you a pointed look and winked.

Heat rushed to your face.

“Well,” you said, scrambling for dignity, “he had to sleep somewhere.”

She snorted. “Uh‑huh. Sure.”

You ducked your head, hiding a smile.

“Anyway,” she continued, pulling on a T‑shirt, “we have to be out by eleven, so start packing, lover girl.”

You threw a pillow at her. She dodged, cackling.

The morning blurred into organized chaos.

Everyone moved through the house with that particular end‑of‑trip energy—tired but wired, arms full of bags and leftover snacks, calling dibs on who got which shower.

You caught only flashes of Wonbin: him hauling a suitcase down the stairs, him laughing at something one of his friends said, him helping Jihoon wrestle with an overstuffed duffel.

His eyes found yours once, across the living room.

He didn’t wink or smirk. He just smiled, a small, private thing that made your chest feel too tight.

You looked away first, cheeks warm.

The driveway was a jumble of cars and people as everyone loaded their luggage.

Jia slammed the trunk of your car shut. “Shotgun,” she declared.

“You had shotgun on the way here,” Mina protested.

Jihoon wandered over, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh, actually,” he said, “Mina, do you… want to ride with us?”

Mina’s face lit up like someone had flipped a switch. “Yeah,” she said, a little too quickly. Then she glanced at you, checking.

You swallowed a grin. “Go,” you said. “Jia and I will survive.”

She squealed, hugged you briefly, then scurried off toward Jihoon’s car.

“Traitor,” Jia muttered, but she was smiling. 

Then, something dawned on you. “But doesn’t that mean someone from their car’s gotta switch with us?”

“I can switch cars,” Wonbin offered.

You whipped around. “No.”

Everyone looked at you.

You cleared your throat. “I mean, that’s not necessary,” you amended. “We’re fine.”

He sauntered closer, hands in his pockets, looking annoyingly unbothered. “It’s either me or one of the guys who sings off‑key to the same three songs the entire drive,” he pointed out. “I’m taking one for the team here.”

Jia clasped her hands dramatically. “Wow, what a hero,” she said.

You glared at him. He met your eyes, amusement flickering there.

“I promise I’ll sleep the whole way,” he added, more for the group’s benefit than yours. “You won’t even know I’m there.”

“Bold promise,” Jia said. “You snore?”

“If he snores,” you cut in, “I’ll suffocate him.”

“See?” he said cheerfully. “Group safety and accountability.”

The others laughed, already moving toward their cars.

Somehow, Jia ended up in the driver’s seat with you in the back and Wonbin sliding right next to you like this was the most normal thing in the world.

He leaned back, buckled in, and pulled one of the spare jackets from the back, tossing it over himself like a makeshift blanket.

“Wake me when we’re halfway,” he said lightly.

You rolled your eyes as Jia started the engine. “If you drool on my shoulder—”

“You’ll what?” he asked, eyes half‑lidded.

You hesitated. “Make you eat another lime,” you said.

He grinned, then let his head rest back against the seat, eyes sliding shut.

The first stretch of highway was quiet.

Jia put on a podcast episode almost immediately, mumbling something about catching up on her playlist. The hum of the car, the rush of wind, and the distant sound of waves fading in the rearview mirror created a weirdly soothing backdrop.

Wonbin stayed still beside you, eyes closed, jacket pulled up to his chest.

You focused on the cars outside, knuckles gripping a little too tightly on your seatbelt.

You were acutely aware of how close his knee was to yours. Of the way his hair fell a little into his eyes. Of the faint marks you’d left on his collarbone peeking out from his T‑shirt neck.

You told yourself he really had fallen asleep.

Then you felt it.

His fingers, sliding under the edge of the jacket, found your thigh.

You nearly screamed.

He didn’t grab, didn’t squeeze. Just rested his hand there, warm and solid, thumb brushing the inside of your leg in a slow, barely‑there stroke that made your breath catch.

From the front seat, Jia hummed in agreement along to something from the podcast.

You darted a glance sideways.

Wonbin’s eyes were still closed, lashes resting on his cheeks. The picture of innocence.

“You’re not sleeping,” you muttered under your breath.

His mouth twitched. “I’m resting my eyes,” he said quietly.

“You should try being more slick,” you hissed.

“And you should take a chill pill,” he replied.

You wanted to smack him.

Instead, your iron-clad grip on the seatbelt faltered for a moment—just long enough to slide the jacket closer on your lap. You let your hand meet his underneath.

His fingers stilled, then laced with yours.

You squeezed, once.

He squeezed back.

A slow, helpless smile tugged at your lips as the miles stretched ahead, the road unspooling toward the city and whatever came next.

You’d come on this trip determined to prove he was exactly who you thought he was.

Turns out, you’d been wrong.

And for the first time, that didn’t feel like a loss.

It felt like the start of something.