#yangyang fluff

the shout echoed in your living room before you even spotted him. you could recognize that voice even in your sleep. and there he was — liu yangyang, your childhood best friend, the boy you’ve been harboring secret feelings for the last five years, storming in with wild eyes and a kind of frustration that clung to him like static, restless and loud.

you clutched your towel tighter around your body, still dripping wet from the shower, “dude! i know i gave you my code but that doesn’t mean you can just walk in here with no warning!”

yangyang’s eyes flicked over to you, unimpressed. he didn’t even flinch at your half-naked state — too consumed in his own misery to care. he just groaned and collapsed dramatically onto your couch, burying his face into a throw pillow like he’d been waiting all day for this exact moment, “put on some clothes so i can die in your arms in peace, please,” he mumbled, his voice muffled, pout obvious even without seeing his face.

you exhaled, long and patient, already used to this. already too soft on him for your own good, “fine. but just so you know, i’m out of ice cream.”

“ughhhh, i hate my lifeee,” he whined, dragging the pillow closer like it could protect him from reality. you shook your head and padded toward your bedroom, trailing little wet footprints behind you.

this was his routine now — crashing into your space, sometimes drunk, sometimes stone sober, always wearing that perfect mask on the outside until it shattered behind your door. he’d been like this ever since the two of you got back from your internship in germany and found out that his best friend, renjun, and his girlfriend, now ex-girlfriend, love, had somehow fell in love with each other in the strangest, most heartbreaking way. a box dropping on her head. temporary amnesia. the illness between memories blurred until she didn’t know who was who. by the time the fog cleared, it was already too late, she’d fallen in love with the wrong boy (or the right one) depending on whose story you hear. yangyang had been stuck in the middle of that impossible truth ever since. he played the part so well, too — polite smiles, easy words about being “happy for them” when people asked. but the cracks always showed when the day ended, when he needed someone who wouldn’t call his bluff. so he came here. to you. and through it all — the late night breakdowns, the way he cycled through the same rants until even his tears felt rehearsed, the quiet collapses on your couch — you never once left his side. not when his voice broke. not when his walls crumbled. not even when your own heart kept breaking quietly in the background, knowing he’d never look at you the way he looked at her.

you pulled on a hoodie and your pajama shorts before returning to the living room. yangyang was still sprawled out into the cushions like he owned them, his head tipped back against the armrest, staring at your ceiling like it might offer him a divine answer. you grabbed the remote, flipped on the t.v. for background noise and nudged his leg with your knee, “scoot over,” you ordered.

he grumbled something incoherent but still obeyed, pulling his legs up and folding into a lazy criss-cross on your couch. you dropped beside him, close enough that your knees brushed, mirroring the way he sat. it had always been like this between you two — automatic, instinctive, like your bodies remembered how to fit together in any space.

from this close, you caught the faint tang of alcohol on his breath. your eyes narrowed immediately, “you went to the dream party, didn’t you?”

yangyang shifted uncomfortably, gaze darting anywhere but you. he tugged at a loose thread on the pillow, shoulders stiff, clearly guilty, “uhhh…”

you tilted your head, raising a brow, “now, why the hell would you do that?”

he let out a long, shaky sigh, finally dragging his eyes back to yours. the vulnerability there made your chest ache, “i-i don’t know! i-i just wanted to see her.”

the words hung heavy in the air. you bit the inside of your cheek, bracing yourself. “and?” you prompted, voice harsher than you meant it to be.

yangyang leaned back, hands fidgeting in his lap, like if he didn’t start talking he might actually combust, “and you would not believe what happened—” he said, launching into the story of what went down at the party.

*flashback to earlier today at the dream fraternity*

the music thumped in his chest, laughter spilling in the air, a red solo cup in his hand as he listened to whatever xiaojun and hendery was talking about, plastering on the same easy grin he’d worn all week, the one that said i’m fine. i’m happy. inside, though, every second felt like his ribs were caving in.

he saw them way before they saw him. their matching color palettes weren’t hard to miss — renjun and love wrapped up in pink. side by side. brushing like magnets, smiles soft and too tender for anyone else to miss. he swallowed down the lump in his throat and took another sip, pretending the burn was enough to numb it.

when renjun finally spotted him and made his way over, yangyang braced himself, smile sharpening onto something lopsided, practiced, “dude,” he said, gaze flicking over, “the pink?”

renjun blinked, caught off guard. “what?”

yangyang tilted his head, grin widening just enough to look genuine and pointed at his best friend’s new hair, “it suits you. makes you look… weirdly happy.”

renjun’s shoulders relaxed a little, mouth tugging into a shy smile. “yeah, well. she picked it.”

“of course she did,” yangyang let out a soft laugh. amused. or at least, pretending to be.

a cautious silence threaded between them like they were both balancing glass in their hands. then renjun’s voice dropped quieter, “can we talk?”yangyang didn’t even sigh. he just nodded and stepped off to the side with him.

renjun began, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, eyes darting everywhere but yangyang’s, “i should’ve told you sooner. but it all happened so fast and next thing i know–”

“you love her,” yangyang said simply. his tone was light, steady, betraying nothing. but inside, it was a knife twisting right in his chest. “i know. i saw it all that night we took her to the hospital.”

renjun’s throat bobbed, “yeah.”

“i already forgave you,” yangyang went on, managing a small, resigned smile, “i just needed a couple days to process and the let the sting wear off. besides, you were right. i wasn’t there. i should’ve seen it coming, really. it just makes sense that the two people i love most would fall in love with each other,” he concludes. not entirely sure if he was trying to convince the boy in front of him or himself.

renjun swallowed hard, “it wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“yeah,” yangyang said softly, “but it did. and maybe it was supposed to happen exactly like this.” there was a pause, full of memory, affection, and things left unsaid. yangyang took a sip from his cup, “anyway. the internship called me. i got the job.”

renjun’s eyes widened. “you’re kidding—?”

yangyang grinned, this time genuinely. “nope. full-time offer. i leave right after graduation next year…so really,” he went on, nudging renjun’s shoulder lightly, “it worked out for everyone. i got my future, and you got her. she was always yours, anyway. i was just keeping her heart warm till you were ready.”

“what do you mean?,” renjun asks, curious.

yangyang forced out a grin, pretending every word he uttered wasn't crushing his own heart, “you’ll have to ask her about it.”

renjun’s throat went tight. “yang…”

“don’t get sappy on me now, loverboy,” he warned, letting out a laugh that covered the crack in his chest. he didn’t want his pity. “go. be gross together. and tell her i said thanks for finally getting you to change your hair. i’ve been begging for color since sophomore year.”

renjun snorted, “thanks.” then, after a beat, quieter, sincere, “we’re still best friends, right?”

yangyang nodded once, smile beaming, even though his brain was still screaming a million curse words. “as long as you don’t mess this up.” yangyang says like some sort of wise man. literally, fuck him and his own savior complex. he should be screaming. he should be trashing this place. instead, he’s sporting a beaming smile all for the sake of other people’s happiness.

renjun met his eyes, “i won’t,” he promised. “i’d rather die.”

yangyang let the silence stretch, just long enough for the promise to settle between them. then he nodded once, smile still beaming like it didn’t cost him anything at all. he gave renjun one last look before clapping a hand to his back and heading into the house. the music swallowed him up again, laughter bubbling all around him. the party’s pulse thrummed against his ribs as he moved through the crowd. then he felt the weight of eyes on him. his own gaze flicked up and there she was – love. his ex-girlfriend. renjun’s girl now. for a second, the noise around them dimmed. she didn’t look away, didn’t flinch. just held his gaze across the room, her expression caught between guilt and gentleness, the kind that held both apology and acceptance. yangyang’s chest twisted but he forced his mouth into a small smile. quiet. understanding. and she returned it — a tiny curve of her lips, a silent acknowledgement of everything they had been and everything they no longer were.

*end of flashback*

yangyang’s voice trailed off, the party fading from his memory as reality came crashing back into your small living room. the background noise of your t.v. hummed low, mixing with the sound of his uneven breathing. he looked smaller than usual, hunched forward like the weight of his words was still pressing on him.

“you told him you forgive him?” you asked, incredulous, turning to face him fully, “but….you don’t.” you point out the obvious.

yangyang groaned, dragging both hands down his face before flopping back dramatically against the couch cushions, "i didn’t know what else to say!,” his voice cracked somewhere between exasperation and despair, “what? am i supposed to keep playing the villain and not let them be happy!?”

you stared at him, heart aching and pressed your lips into a thin line, “you’re not the villain, yang.” he tilted his head toward you, eyes glassy and vulnerable in a way he only ever let you see, “—you don’t have to forgive them if you’re not ready,” you added softly.

yangyang sniffled, reaching blindly for a tissue on your coffee table, “i hate this,” he muttered, voice muffled into the tissue as he wiped his nose, “i hate that i don’t even hate them. like…isn’t that what i’m supposed to do? get angry? yell? throw a drink in someone’s face?”

“you?” you snorted, “please. you’d apologize to the person you threw it at for wasting their drink.”

that earned you the tiniest huff of laughter, just enough to soften the tight line of his mouth. you leaned your head against the back of the couch, watching him. he sat criss-cross again, knee brushing yours, hair sticking up from where he’d been raking his hands through it. his chest still rose and fell unevenly, but at least he was breathing easier now.

“you’re allowed to be hurt, you know. you’re allowed to let the world know how you truly feel.” you said quietly.

yangyang stuffed another tissue into his fist like he could bury all his pain in paper instead. “yeah, well,” he mumbled, forcing his voice into something lighter, “lucky for me, i don’t need the world. i’ve got you. free therapist, 24/7, no copay.”

you rolled your eyes, even as warmth bloomed unsteadily in your chest, “don’t flatter yourself. you’re paying me in pizza next time.”

“deal,” he whispered, smiling weakly. then he let out a long, dramatic sigh, suddenly shifting and tossing the crumpled tissue onto your coffee table. before you could ask what he was doing, his arms reached out and hooked around you, tugging you straight into his chest.

“come here,” he murmured, already nuzzling his chin on top of your head like it was second nature.

you groaned, squirming in protest, “yang, no! you reek of alcohol and i literally just showered!”

“don’t care,” he mumbled stubbornly, holding on tighter, “i need my emotional support teddy bear.”

you shoved lightly at his chest, wrinkling your nose, “you’re gross. you smell like cheap beer and regret.”

he tilted his head down to grin at you, eyes glinting, “you love it.”

“i absolutely do not!,” you shot back, though your voice wavered with a laugh.

“yes, you do,” he said, sing-song, tightening his arms until you gave up fighting, “you’re addicted to me. admit it.”

“addicted? please.” you rolled your eyes, but you didn’t try to move away again, “you’re lucky i’m too tired to throw you off my couch right now.”

yangyang chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest against your cheek, “so basically…you like me enough to suffer through the smell. that’s real love, right there.”

you smacked his arm without much force, “don’t push it.” but your body betrayed you anyway. relaxing. softening. your head finding its place against his chest like it belonged there. his hand absently traced circles against your back, slow and soothing, the kind of touch that wasn’t meant to mean anything but still felt like everything.

the t.v. murmured on in the background, the glow painting soft shadows across the room as the two of you sank deeper into the couch. yangyang’s heartbeat was too steady, too familiar, it lulled you, each breath syncing with his. the silence between you wasn’t empty. it was lived in — a silence that had grown up with the two of you, evolving from playground whispers to late-night facetimes, from library study sessions to these countless evenings on your couch. it wasn’t awkward, never had been. it was a blanket you’d both wrapped yourselves in a thousand times before, stitched together with years of knowing each other’s rhythms, moods and unspoken words. and just when you thought he’d drifted off, his voice came low and quiet, threaded with a kind of sincerity he rarely let anyone hear —

“thanks for always listening to me, teddy.”

the nickname hit like it always did – tugging at the memory of a third grade classroom where it all began. to your favorite teddy bear lying on the floor, head ripped clean off from a game that got too rowdy, to your little hands clutching the broken stuffed toy, tears blurring your vision and yangyang’s panicked face staring at you like he’d ruined the world, crying with you. the very next day, he showed up to class with a brand new teddy bear in his arms — softer, cuddlier, shinier. he’d shoved it into your chest, muttering rushed apologies and awkward promise after awkward promise that he’d never hurt you again. and you, still sniffling, had promised him something too — that you’d be his best friend for as long as that teddy bear stayed with you. and it had. it still did. the years had worn it down, the fur dulled, one ear a little loose but it sat tucked safely in your bedroom. proof of a promise that hadn’t been broken.

you closed your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat, breathing him in despite the faint edge of alcohol clinging to him. this time, you didn’t protest, didn’t tease him, didn’t make a joke to deflect the way your chest ached. you just let the words settle over you, warm and heavy. and like so many nights before, you drifted into sleep tangled up on the couch together. two best friends, bound by years and promises, still holding onto each other like that was enough.

🧸 SEPTEMBER 15 - TUESDAY - PAINTING II.

out of every day of the week. yangyang has grown to hate tuesdays the most. he didn’t even understand why he needed this class — he was set after graduation, internship locked in, his future lined up in neat little rows. but a degree was a degree and this class was just another box to check off. — painting ii. should’ve been a class he enjoyed. he loved making things, experimenting with brushes and color, letting his hands move faster than his thoughts. now it just felt suffocating because, of course, renjun and love were in this class too. they came in together. side by side. her arm brushing his. renjun leaning close to whisper something that made her laugh effortlessly. yangyang’s jaw tightened but by the time they were in his line of vision, the mask was already back on. that same carefully constructed, almost-too-bright-i’m-fine smile.

“hey,” renjun greeted, his voice careful, still carrying the weight of friday’s conversation.

yangyang just grinned, like it was nothing, “what’s up?” – easy. effortless. like he hadn’t spend the entire weekend sprawled on your couch with romcoms on autoplay.

love gave him a small nod, polite, almost…grateful. like she knew he was sparing them. like she was silently thanking him for playing along.

but where yangyang’s mask held steady, yours did not — from your seat next to him, you glared daggers so sharp they could’ve cut through steel. your sketchbook was open, pencil poised, but your entire focus was pinned on the couple like you were trying to set them on fire with sheer willpower. yangyang nudged your knee under the shared easel, subtle but firm, a small warning, “stop it,” he whispered, voice low enough that only you could hear. your eyes didn’t move, “they don’t deserve your smile.”

he forced a quiet laugh, leaning back on his stool, the sound too casual, “and what? you’re gonna fight them with paintbrushes in the middle of class?”

“if i have to,” you muttered, jaw tight. he couldn’t help it — despite everything, a smirk tugged at his lips. that was the thing about you. he could be unraveling and somehow, you still made him laugh.

“play nice,” he murmured, shaking his head. you rolled your eyes, finally dragging your gaze back to the page.

right then, professor yuta strode to the front of the studio, clapping his hands once to get everyone’s attention. his black hair was tied back loosely, smudges of paint already dotting his arms like he’d been working before class. “alright, everyone,” professor yuta began, his smile sharp, “today, you’re working in groups of four. you’ll be sketching a concept for the university’s cafe logo — nothing final, just ideas. think simple, think clear and most importantly–,” his gaze swept the room, landing on a few nervous students, “-think something i won’t throw in the trash immediately.” a wave of laughter and a few groans echoed throughout the room along with chairs scraping and stools shifting.

you and yangyang didn’t even need to look at each other. it was automatic — you were a package deal. he angled himself towards you, already doodling a goofy smiley face in the corner like he owned the space.

“guess it’s us,” he said, teasing.

“like it was ever going to be anyone else,” you shot back, leaning over to draw another smiley beside his. he snorted softly, the tension in his shoulders easing for the first time that morning. but before he could completely fall into it, shadows fell across your table.

“hey guys,” a familiar voice said. you froze mid-scribble. renjun stood there, love right beside him, her hand brushing his sleeve like it always seemed to do these days. both of them were looking at you and yangyang with polite expressions as if this made perfect sense, as if nothing happened and everything was completely like the way it was before.

“looks like everyone else is already grouped up,” renjun explained, careful, almost apologetic, “mind if we join?”

yangyang’s smile flickered for half a second, the mask threatening to slip, but he caught it just in time. by the time he looked up, it was firmly in place again, “sure,” he said lightly, with a shrug that cost him more than he’d admit. you, however, weren’t nearly as composed. your pencil pressed hard enough against the page it nearly snapped. you forced your lips into a thin line, offering a curt nod that was more grit than grace.

renjun slid into the seat across from yangyang, love sat beside him, right across from you, her gaze flickering to yangyang for a fleeting second, soft and unreadable, before she looked away. yangyang leaned back in his chair, drumming his pen against his notebook like it was just another tuesday. but you knew better.

renjun set his sketchpad down, pencil already moving with the quiet focus he always had. beside him, love leaned over to peek at his lines, her laugh spilling soft and easy when he drew a messy curve. she nudged his elbow, teasing and he caught her wrist in that causal, familiar way. the kind that made yangyang’s stomach twist even if his smile didn’t falter. you had gone still, brush in hand, staring at the blank paper in front of you. yangyang nudged you lightly with his knee again, a silent reminder. play nice. you forced yourself to dip into the paint, sketching out rough shapes.

“so,” love said, tone bright, “maybe something with a coffee cup? simple lines, but kind of cozy?”

renjun nodded immediately, “yeah, and maybe we add steam that curls into letters — N C T U. what do you guys think?”

yangyang tapped his pencil against his page, pretending to consider it, “not bad,” he said lightly, “cozy but still sharp. professor yuta might actually not throw it away.”

renjun laughed under his breath, love’s shoulder brushing his as she leaned closer. the sound of it — soft, unguarded, theirs — filled the small silence that fell over your half of the table. you clenched your jaw. picked up your brush. painted one hard, deliberate line that nearly split the page. and before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out—

“god, could you two just…not? we get it. you’re in love. rub it in, why don’t you.”

the brush clattered a little too loudly against the jar of water when you dropped it. silence. renjun froze, pencil hovering midair, his shoulders going rigid. his eyes darted up to you, almost guilty, then quickly away, jaw tightening like he didn’t trust himself to respond. love blinked, caught between shock and guilt, her hand pausing on the page as though she’d forgotten what she was supposed to be doing.

the air went brittle — and then yangyang burst out an awkward laugh, too quick, too loud, too bright. it cracked through the silence like a sparkle burning too hot. “HAHAHA–” he drawled, arm swinging up and draping across your shoulder, pulling you into the curve of his space like it was all just a joke, “she’s kidding guys. don’t mind her. sarcasm’s practically her love language.” his grin was wide, practiced. the kind of grin that screamed easygoing, no harm done, let’s move on. but the weight of his arm pressed heavier than usual and when he turned his head to look at you, the smile didn’t reach his eyes. that pointed look said it all. and you understood what he was trying to say without even saying anything at all — cut it out. stop. please.

you let out a cough, “yeah, kidding,” you murmured, forcing out a fake chuckle. the word tasted bitter but you swallowed it down anyway, for his sake.

the next forty minutes dragged on like hours. renjun kept his comments short, never quite meeting your eyes. love spoke in measured bursts, careful and polite, her laughter gone. you stuck to clipped answers and yangyang….yangyang was everywhere. he cracked dumb jokes, nudged renjun into laughing once or twice, redirected love’s feedback to you with a soft, “hear that? she likes your idea.” every time the tension threatened to snap, he was already there, smiling over the cracks.

by the time professor yuta strolled past to glance at your group’s progress, it looked decent enough — a cozy coffee cup, steam curling into the letters NCTU, framed with warm tones and textured brushstrokes. he hummed approvingly, lingering for a second, “looks good, you four work well together.”

your laugh almost bubbled up at the irony but yangyang beat you to it, “thanks professor,” he said smoothly. perfect smile, perfect tone, like nothing was wrong.

finally, professor yuta clapped his hands together at the front of the room, “time’s up, brushes down. we’ll review the final drafts next class.” the usual post-class chatter buzzed low around the studio. you shoved your brushes into the case a little too hard, movements sharp, clipped. beside you, yangyang was quieter than usual, his tiredness bleeding through. you caught renjun and love laughing softly at something as they packed up. the sound was small, barely there but it crawled under your skin like barbed wire. you could practically feel your blood boil. yangyang noticed them. he always did. and this time, instead of nudging your knee or shooting you that warning look, he just stood — bag slung over his shoulder, eyes forward. he didn’t say goodbye. he just jerked his chin toward the door, a silent let’s go, and slipped out the classroom. you followed, trying to keep up with his pace. but the moment you were far away enough from the art room, he snapped.

“why did you have to act like that?!” yangyang’s voice was sharp, he whirled on you, brows knit tight, anger crackling off him like static, “you couldn’t just let it go for once?!”

you blinked at him, incredulous, heat rushing to your cheeks, “let it go? yang, are you serious right now?” your own voice shot back, louder than you meant, “—i’m sick of them acting like they can just waltz back into your life like nothing happened. like they didn’t—” you stopped, chest heaving, words catching, “—like they didn't rip your heart out!”

his jaw clenched, “you think i don’t know that?”

“then why are you letting them sit across from you like it’s fine?!,” you threw your hands up, protective instinct spilling over into rage, “you’re the one who’s been breaking on my couch for days, yang! and i’m supposed to just…sit there and watch you smile at them like they deserve it?”

“because its not about you!” he snapped back, louder this time. heads turned from students lingering down the hall, the echo of his voice bouncing off the walls. his own voice cracked on the edges, fraying, “it’s my mess. my pain. not yours to fight for!”

the words hit harder than you expected, cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. you were a package deal. you take one, you take the other. you hurt one, you hurt the other. apparently…not — you stood there in the hallway, silence ringing in your ears, chest tight, fists curled at your sides. yangyang dragged a hand through his hair, pacing two steps away like he needed the space to breathe. his shoulders heaved, every inch of him vibrating with that mix of rage and hurt he usually hid under jokes and easy smiles.

and now, he wasn’t just upset with them. he was upset with you.

“not mine to fight for?” you repeated, your voice low now, shaking with the effort of holding yourself together, “don’t you get it? every time you’re hurting, i’m hurting, too,” you stopped, chest heaving, like the words themselves were choking you.

yangyang’s laugh was hollow, ugly, a sound that wasn’t really a laugh at all. “you don’t get it. i don’t need a bodyguard, okay!? i don’t need you storming in like you’re gonna save me. i just need–” he cut himself off, teeth gritted, fists clenching tight, “i just need you to let me handle it.”

your throat burned, “handle it?! yang, all you do is pretend. pretend you’re fine, pretend you’re over it, pretend their smiles don’t cut you in half. you call that handling it?”

he turned on you, eyes blazing, “because if i stop pretending, i’ll fall apart! and i can’t–” his voice cracked, raw and sharp, before he swallowed it down, "i can't be that pathetic.”

the words slammed into you, heavy and unyielding. you wanted to reach for him. to tell him he wasn’t pathetic. to remind him you’d hold every broken piece if he let you — but he was already pulling back, shaking his head like your closeness was the last thing he could stand.

“just…stop.” his voice was quieter now, but it cut all the same, “stop fighting battles that aren’t yours. stop making it harder.”

you stood there, nails biting into your palms, your heart a mess of fury and ache. for a second, you thought about pushing further, about forcing him to see that you weren’t just some bystander in his wreckage. but the way he looked at you — pleading, furious, exhausted — froze you in place. so instead, you let out a bitter laugh, “fine.” the word cracked like glass. “if that’s what you want, then handle it. alone.”

his jaw flexed like he wanted to take it back, like something inside him was tearing. but he didn’t. he just nodded once, curt and turned on his heel. the two of you walked in opposite directions down the hall, footsteps echoing, backs stiff. neither of you looked back. and for the first time since the third grade, yangyang has consciously broken his promise.

🧸 SEPTEMBER 18 - FRIDAY - MR. BEAR

three days. it had been three days since that fight in the hallway. three days since the last time yangyang has spoken to you. three days of passing each other on campus like strangers, of him veering left when you went right, of group chats where his replies skipped right over you like you weren’t even there.

thirteen years of friendship, and never — never — had it gone this long. you’d shared lunch tables, secrets, and late-night video calls. you’d cheered each other through every minor victory, every heartbreak. you’d even applied to the same internship, bending and shifting your choices to make sure you were in each other’s orbit. there was no version of your life in which he wasn’t there. no version where the silence between you stretched out like this. and yet here you were, trapped in a version you hadn’t chosen. like he’d built a wall and left you on the other side.

your apartment felt smaller than ever. you sat cross-legged on your bed, your textbooks splayed open but ignored. no matter how many times you read the same line, your brain refuses to absorb it. all you could think about was yangyang.

the brown, worn-down teddy bear sat propped up against your pillow, it’s button eyes staring. you reached for it, clutching it to your chest, your frustration boiling over “can you believe him, mr. bear?” your voice cracked through the silence, sharp and small all at once. you jabbed a finger at the bear’s stitched face, “he’s actually mad at me? out of all people?!” you pulled the bear back to glare at its faded smile, your voice rising, “i’m the one who’s been there through everything. i’m the one who picked him up when he couldn’t even get out of bed. i’m the one who stayed when she left! and he’s mad at me?” the bear’s head lolled to the side, its seams sagging, like it was tired of listening to all of your secrets. you laughed bitterly, shaking your head, “it’s like–what? he’d rather i sit there quietly while he smiles through the pain? am i supposed to just watch that?!” your throat burned, your eyes stinging. you hugged the bear close, pressing your face into its worn fur, your words muffled against it. “he says it’s not my fight,” you whispered, raw and hoarse, “but if i don’t fight for him, then who will?”

the silence stretched, heavy and unyielding. the old bear didn’t answer. it never did. you glared at it’s worn down eyes, “you’ve seen everything, you know? every meltdown, every dumb heartbreak, every midnight pizza run. and now the silent treatment! he’s so—UGH!”

you didn’t hear the door creak. didn’t notice the smell of pepperoni hit the air, “wow,” came a voice you’d know from anywhere, dripping with mock astonishment, “three days of silence and you’ve officially lost it. yelling at mr. bear? should i be worried?”

your head snapped up. yangyang stood in your bedroom’s doorway, pizza box balanced on one hand, his expression somewhere between smug and fond. your heart lurched so hard you almost dropped the bear, “what the hell are you doing here?”

he stepped inside your bedroom like he owned the place. “fulfilling my promise, i owe you pizza remember,” he waved the box, “figured three days was long enough for you to stop being mad.”

you sat up straighter, arms crossing tight over your chest, heat prickling your cheeks, “i wasn’t talking to mr. bear.”

he smirked, setting the box down on your desk, “yeah, okay, teddy…next thing i know you’ll be asking it for relationship advice.”

“don’t call me that.” you muttered, your pout deepening even as your chest pinched the way it always did when he said it. yangyang just grinned wider, like he’d been waiting to use it again. he dragged your desk chair over, spun it around, and straddled it backward — his usual move when he wanted to make himself comfortable. his eyes flicked from the bear to you, amusement softening into something quieter.

“look,” he started, voice lower now, “i know i was an ass. i shouldn’t have snapped at you in the hall. i just—” he ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more, “—i don’t want them to know i’m falling apart…it’s…sad and pathetic. not everyone has to see that side of me.”

your heart thudded painfully against your ribs at the honesty in his tone. “you’re not pathetic,” you whispered, “but you’re human, yang…not a fucking robot. so stop acting like one.”

yangyang tilted his head, that crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips upon hearing his nickname, “so…truce? or do i need to get mr. bear’s approval too?”

you rolled your eyes, lips pursed in a stubborn line, “three days of silence and you just show up with pizza like nothing happened? like that fixes everything?”

yangyang raised his brows, completely unfazed, he rolled the chair closer until your knees brushed, “i mean…yeah? pizza fixes most things. don’t act like it hasn’t worked the last fifty times we’ve fought.”

“that was different,” you huffed, turning your face away, nose wrinkled, “this was the worst fight we’ve ever had. you were an asshole.”

he smirked, tapping his fingers against your chair, “i was. and you’re still sulking about it like a five year old so i guess we’re even.”

you whipped your head back toward him, glaring, “i am not sulking.”

“oh, no?” he leaned forward, tapping a finger against your pout, then gestured at mr. bear, “so you weren’t just yelling at a stuffed toy when i walked in?”

your cheeks heat instantly, but you cross your arms tighter, chin jutting out, “that’s different. he understands me better than you do right now.”

that got him — yangyang laughed, loud and unrestrained, tipping his head back until the chair wobbled dangerously, “wow. replaced by a bear i bought. didn’t see that one coming.”

you refused to smile, even though the corners of your mouth betrayed you by twitching, “you don’t get to joke your way out of this.”

he leaned closer, grin softening but still teasing, “you’re pouting so hard right now i’m shocked your face isn’t stuck like that...c’mon teddy, just admit you missed me.”

your heart pounded again, the proximity dizzying. you swallowed hard, “i didn’t.”

his eyes glinted, unaware of his effect towards you, voice dropping, “you so did.” you groaned, throwing a pillow at him, which he caught one-handed, still laughing.

“— and i missed you too, you know?,” his voice slipped quieter, softer, the grin fading into something that made your heart skip a beat.

you blinked, your pout faltering, “well, you sure had a funny way of showing it. three days, yang. three.”

he winced dramatically, hand over his heart, “trust me, i felt every second. do you know how boring life is without you? i had to actually…listen to hendery’s girl problems.”

a reluctant snort escaped you, but it melted quickly into a sigh, “you deserve worse than that.”

“yeah,” he said quietly, eyes finding yours, the teasing fading into honesty, “i know. and i’m sorry, teddy. for snapping at you. for acting like i didn’t need you. because i do.”

your throat went tight, the stubborn wall you’d been holding up all week cracking in two, “yang—”

“no, let me say it,” his voice broke slightly, softer than you’d heard it in weeks, “you’re the only one who’s been on my side through all of this. and i…i took it out on you. that was messed up. you didn’t deserve that.”

you swallowed hard, “i only snapped because i care,” you say, voice shaky but firm, “seeing you pretend like you’re fine when i know you’re not—it drives me crazy. i can’t just sit back and watch them hurt you. i’m not as nice as you are.”

yangyang moved onto the bed, even closer now, his usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. just him, raw and open, “i know. and i’m sorry for making you feel like it wasn’t your place. it is. you’ve always been my place.”

your heart slammed against your ribs so hard it hurt. he didn’t mean it the way you wanted him to. you knew that. but the words still stole your breath.

“god, you’re such a dummy,” you whispered, rolling your eyes playfully to hide the blush that was forming on the apple of your cheeks.

he smiled faintly, hand reaching out to nudge the bear against your arm, “yeah, but i’m your dummy, right?”

you let out a shaky laugh, finally leaning into him, into that familiar warmth you’d missed so much, “yeah. you are.” and when his arm curled around you, pulling you against his chest, your pulse went wild. to him, it was comfort. to you, it was everything.

“i’m sorry, too,” you murmured into his shirt, the words muffled but certain.

“don’t worry about it,” he whispered back, pressing his cheek into your hair, “no more silent treatments. ever.”

you hummed, forcing yourself to sound steady even as your heart thudded erratically. “agreed. now let’s eat the pizza before it gets cold,” you finally pried open the pizza box, the smell of melted cheese filling the room, sharp and comforting all at once. yangyang reached over immediately, snatching the biggest slice like it belonged to him by right.

“hey!” you protested, swatting at his wrist.

he smirked around a mouthful of cheese, “what? you need to be faster next time.” rolling your eyes, you grabbed your own slice, too hungry to argue properly. the only sounds were chewing and the occasional crunch of crust, the tension finally bleeding out of the room. when the last of the pizza was gone, you leaned back against the headboard, full and sleepy, mr. bear perched loyally at your side. yangyang stretched out with a groan, flopping back across your bed like he owned the whole thing.

“ugh, i swear, no one makes better pizza than that place,” he said, one hand resting over his stomach, eyes drifting shut.

you gave him a look, “you’re literally about to pass out, aren’t you?”

he cracked one eye open, a lazy grin tugging at his lips, “maybe. this bed’s comfier than mine anyway.”

your heart gave that stupid lurch again. “you can’t just fall asleep here,” you muttered, though your voice lacked conviction.

“why not?” he asked, already burrowing into your blanket like a cat, “we used to do this all the time. remember middle school? after movie marathons? or those all nighters we pulled in senior year?”

of course you remembered. you remembered every one. the sleepovers only stopped when you had your first boyfriend in first year. then was put on hold again when yangyang was dating love. you hesitated, then sighed, scooting down beside him, “fine. but you’re on blanket-sharing probation. you hog it every time.”

“pfft,” he scoffed, already tugging the comforter toward himself, “you’re just bad at blanket defense.”

you rolled your eyes again but didn’t argue, curling up with mr. bear clutched against you. a quiet settled over the room, not the brittle, painful silence of the past three days, but the warm, comfortable kind that wrapped around like the blanket you were reluctantly sharing. your pulse thrummed as yangyang shifted closer, his arm draping over your stomach in that absent, thoughtless way he always did when sleep tugged at him. your body tensed instantly, your heart hammering loud enough you were sure he could hear it. but he didn’t. of course he didn’t. yangyang’s breathing evened out within minutes, his forehead brushing the side of your hair as he slipped under, blissfully unaware of the way every inch of you was burning at the contact. you stared at the wall, hugging mr. bear tighter, trying to steady your racing heartbeat. eventually, exhaustion pulled at your own limbs and you let your eyes close, letting yourself sink into the warmth of him. the last thing you heard before sleep claimed you was his soft, steady breathing — familiar, safe, home. and just like that, the old routine returned. the fight, the silence, the ache — it all melted into the simple truth of where you belonged — pressed against him, even if he’d never know what it truly meant for you.

🧸 SEPTEMBER 20 - SUNDAY - SHOTARO.

sunday evening. 6PM. you needed a release — some way to get yangyang out of your head because the last week had been chaotic. the endless rants, the cuddling, the hallway fight, the silent treatment. you couldn’t even sit through a single class without thinking about him. your frustration needed an outlet, and you knew exactly where to turn. you grabbed your phone, texting the one person that was easy. no pleasantries. no teasing. just a blunt:

y/n: u busy?

shotaro: be there in 5

shotaro arrived just like that. the one person who never asked for explanations. no cuddling afterward, no holding, no lingering — just pure release. as soon as the door shut behind him, your hands were on him, pulling him into your bedroom. clothes became a nuisance, tossed carelessly to your bedroom floor. he was underneath you in seconds, hands and lips working in tandem. you straddled him, letting the heat build, letting the frustration and longing you’d been bottling for yangyang spill out.

“god, is this about yangyang again?” shotaro murmured against your skin, teasing in that familiar, knowing way.

“don’t say his name.” you sneered, as you grabbed a condom from your night stand and handed it to him. he wrapped his member with ease, smirking up at you with a teasing grin. you groaned, eyes squeezing shut, “don’t look at me like that…just…fuck me.”

his grin widened, sharp and wicked, before he grabbed your hips and sunk you down. the stretch burned, the ache was sharp but it was exactly what you needed. you rode him, let the world shrink down to skin, heat and sweat. no words, no names, just sex. he whispered little taunts under his breath, teasing you for your obvious crush, obvious to everyone except your best friend himself, but it only made you grind harder, your mind too scattered, too desperate to focus on anything else.

“fuck,” shotaro groaned, his hands gripping your thighs, watching the way your body moved against him, “you’re always so tight when you’re wound up like this.” you didn’t answer, just rode him harder, chasing the friction, chasing the distraction. your hair fell into your face, your chest heaving, nails biting into his shoulders as you moved. shotaro chuckled, low and teasing, “why don’t you just tell him? save yourself the—agh—trouble of coming to me every time you get worked up over your best friend.”

“shut up,” you moaned, slamming down harder on him, chasing the sharp crack of pleasure, “i didn’t call you here for advice, i called you here for dick.”

he laughed amusedly, “say less.” and in one quick motion, he flipped you onto your back, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, driving into you deep, fast, relentless. the shift knocked the breath out of you, a cry tearing from your throat. “this what you needed?” shotaro’s voice was ragged now, his mouth brushing your ear as he thrust harder, rougher, "something to get him out of your head?”

“fuck—fuck, just like that—fuck me—just fuck me—” you arched beneath him, words breaking into high-pitched moans, nails dragging down his back. the rhythm was sharp, unforgiving, each thrust grounding you in the heat of now, pulling you further and further from the ache that had been gnawing at you all week.

•ᴥ•

yangyang let himself into your apartment, unannounced, like he had been doing for the past month, ever since you gave him the code to your door. it was supposed to be like always — raid your fridge, sprawl on your couch, crash out about the same things over and over again until he gets tired enough and falls asleep. but halfway to your bedroom, he froze. the sound hit him like a slap — your voice, high and breathless, tangled in sharp moans. the wet rhythm of skin slapping against skin, faster, harder. the kind of noises he shouldn’t be hearing coming out from you.

“…fuck me—just fuck me—”

his stomach dropped. his brain short-circuited. he should leave. god, he should leave. but his feet stayed rooted, his chest tight, his throat dry. he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop hearing you. the words punched through him and then the answering growl from a man he didn’t recognize. deep. smug. taking you apart. he staggered back, heart racing, palms sweaty. he couldn’t go closer. but he also couldn’t bring himself to walk out. so he dropped into your couch instead, head in his hands, staring blankly at the dark t.v. screen. the sounds from your room carried — every moan, every gasp, every filthy slap of skin against skin. they painted pictures in his head he’d never once let himself imagine. pictures that had his cock twitching, heat pooling low in his gut before he even realized it.

“shit,” he whispered under his breath, shifting uncomfortably. but nothing helped. every noise made it worse — you’d always been his best friend. his constant. he’d never thought about you like this, not once. and now all he could think about was what your face looked like when you cried out, what your body looked like under someone else’s hands. he sat there, trapped, every muscle locked tight, his heart thundering out of control. listening as another man fucked you in a room he’d wandered into a thousand times before.

•ᴥ•

you came undone with a gasp, fingers digging into shotaro’s shoulders as his hips snapped up one last time. he groaned, body tensing before spilling into the condom, the both of you collapsing into the sheets at the same time. for a moment, the only sound was heavy breathing. then, as always, the spell broke. no kisses. no cuddles. no gentle aftermath. just silence and the faint, sweat-slick smell of sex. you pulled the hem of your oversized t-shirt, you’re sure is yangyang’s, letting it fall just enough to cover your thighs, “get out,” you muttered, already reaching for the water bottle by your nightstand.

shotaro just laughed, eyes crinkling with that easy expression he always had, “efficient as ever,” he rolled out of bed, tugging his cargo pants up without a care, “but damn…worth it.”

a few minutes later, shotaro padded out of your bedroom, running a hand through his already misheveled hair. you didn’t bother walking him out the door, staying rooted at the ede of your bed. but the second he stepped into your living room, he froze.

“uh…hi,” yangyang blurted, voice loud enough to snap you right back into your body.

“yang?” you stumbled out of your bedroom and into the living room, in nothing but your best friend's shirt and your blue underwear, heart leaping into your throat, “what are you doing here?”

he stuttered immediately, eyes wide, trying to ignore the fact that you’re wearing his shirt, “i—i just got here, i’ll just, uhm go—“

shotaro, completely unfazed and clearly enjoying the tension, cut in smoothly as he headed towards your door, “no worries, man. i was already on my way out.”

the casual tone, the little smirk on his face, the way yangyang’s ears burned bright red made the air between you sharp, electric, almost unbearable. and then the door clicked shut behind your fuck buddy.

for a second, the apartment was too quiet. just you. just yangyang. just the faint scent of sex lingering and his oversized t-shirt clinging to your skin. yangyang leaned back into your couch cushions, smirking like he had the upper hand, though his posture screamed otherwise. you could tell he was trying to look casual but the way he shifted, one of your throw pillows clutched across his lap, gave him away.

“so…” he drawled, lips twitching, “you and shotaro, huh?”

“shut up,” you shot him a glare but he only laughed.

you marched past him toward the kitchen, snatching up the abandoned empty pizza box you still needed to throw out, just to have something to do with your hands, “we just fuck sometimes. that’s it. don’t make it a big deal.”

yangyang let out a low whistle, rocking forward on the couch, “damn. my best friend’s got a whole secret sex life i didn’t know about.” his eyes sparkled with mischief, “kinda proud, teddy. lowkey impressed you snatched mr. dancing machine.”

you shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass, “i should’ve never given you the code to my door. you muttered, tossing the crumpled pizza box into the trash with a little too much force.

when you turned back, you caught him shifting uncomfortably, one of your throw pillows suddenly clutched across his lap. he tries to play it off, “what? no way. best gift you ever gave me. unlimited therapy session. plus i get to waltz in whenever i want. it’s like—“ he made a sweeping gesture, pillow still in place, “a VIP membership to your life.”

“yeah, a VIP membership to walk in on things you really shouldn’t,” you shot back, raising a brow.

he groaned, tipping his head back against the couch dramatically, “okay fair, but how was i supposed to know you’d be…you know…” he waved vaguely in the direction of your bedroom, like he could erase the memory with a gesture.

you crossed your arms, trying not to grin too much, “that’s why next time, maybe text first?”

you couldn’t help but notice how tightly he was clutching your throw pillow, fingers digging in like he was holding on for dear life. the fabric stretched under his knuckles and the way his arm trembled slightly didn’t escape your attention. “yang…” you said, tilting your head, voice playful but pointed, “why are you gripping my pillow like that?

he froze instantly, the pillow almost molded to the shape of his hand and a faint flush crept up his neck, “i-i’m not…” his voice trailed off and he shifted awkwardly on the couch, trying to loosen his grip without actually letting go.

“mhmm,” you crossed your arms, smirking despite your own heart hammering in your chest as you stepped closer, “—that’s a very relaxed way to hold a pillow, don’t you think?”

his jaw tightened, eyes darting away, but the tension radiating off him was impossible to ignore, “i-it’s just comfortable,” he muttered, still holding the pillow like it was shielding him from the world.

you laughed softly, crossing your arms, pretending to inspect him critically, “i see everything, you know. every little thing you try to hide,” you said, voice teasing, eyes sparkling as you let your words hang in the air.

his ears burned bright red, a mix of exasperation and embarrassment in his expression, “shut up,” he muttered. you walked over and with one swift motion, you yanked the pillow out of his grip before he could stop you. the second it left his hands, you caught the undeniable confirmation — the hard outline pressed against his sweats. your jaw dropped, then you burst into uncontrollable laughter, clutching your stomach, “you did not seriously get a boner over that. are you a teenager?!,” you gasped between laughter, pointing at him.

yangyang’s face blazed, “can you really blame me? that was like…audio porn!”

you laughed even harder, slapping your knees, unable to believe what you were seeing. he scowled for a moment, then suddenly lunged at you, toppling you backward onto the couch, “okay, you asked for this!,” he declared. the tickle fight that followed left you squealing, squirming beneath him, his hands grabbing at your sides and ribs, laughter spilling out of both of you. but as your bodies pressed together in the struggle, you felt it — the hard, unmistakable heat of him pressing right against the thin cotton of your panties.

yangyang froze for a split second, his eyes wide as he realized you might feel it too. the laughter caught in your throat, replaced by a sharp inhale. both of you were suddenly hyper-aware of just how wrong it was to be half-naked and ridiculously turned on while pretending to have a childish tickle fight. the room feeling heavy and charged —playfulness collapsing into something dangerous.

yangyang cleared his throat and rolled off you like the couch had burned him. you scrambled upright, tugging the hem of his shirt lower, refusing to meet his eyes. the silence was unbearable. so you reached for the remote and flicked the t.v. on. you curled up at the far end of the couch, he leaned against the opposite armrest, still flushed, the pillow back on his lap, pretending to look interested in whatever nonsense flashed on screen. but you could feel the weight of him. the silence between you wasn’t just awkward, it was suffocating. finally, desperate to cut through it, you risked a sideways glance at him and muttered, “...do you, uh…need help with that?”

yangyang’s head whipped towards you, eyes blown wide, like you’d just detonated a bomb in the middle of the room. his lips parted, no words at first. color rushed up his neck, burning his ears. he scoffed weakly, shaking his head, “you’re joking.”

were you? you weren’t even sure. you’d do anything for him if he asked. but of course, he didn’t need to know that.

“of course, i’m joking,” you forced out a teasing grin, leaning back against the cushions, “go to my bathroom and take care of it.”

he groaned, rolling his eyes and threw the pillow at you, “shut up. let’s just…talk about something else and it’ll go away.”

you tossed the pillow aside, smirking, “okay, what do you want to talk about?”

he cleared his throat, clearly grateful for the subject change, though his voice was still rough at the edges. his mind wandered back to the real reason he’d come over in the first place. “i saw them again today,” he started, eyes fixed on the t.v. though he wasn’t really watching. you sighed, sinking back into your side of the couch, already bracing yourself for another one of his renjun and love venting sessions.

•ᴥ•

later that evening, when yangyang shut the door to his room and collapsed onto his bed, it all came rushing back — the sound of your moans, the sight of you in his shirt, the feel of your body warm beneath his. and then your voice, low and teasing, brushing the edges of something dangerous.

“...do you, uh…need help with that?”

what if he’d said yes? would you really have done it? would you have dropped to your knees for him, lips wrapping around his cock, swallowing every ragged sound he’d make? the thought made his whole body tense, his cock throbbing so hard it hurt. a groan tore out of his chest as his hand slipped beneath his waistband, wrapping around himself. he was already leaking, already too far gone from hours of being so fucking hard. his strokes were rough, fast, chasing that impossible image of you — your mouth stretched around him, eyes flicking up, smug and playful even as you hollowed your cheeks. the more he pictured it, the more unbearable it became, until his hips were snapping into his fist, muscles drawn tight as wire. heat coiled sharp and low before it snapped all at once, spilling across his stomach in thick, messy ropes. his head tipped back against the pillow with a guttural curse, relief hitting so hard his thighs trembled.

all he could do was breathe. and when his chest finally slowed, as the sweat cooled on his skin, the guilt crept in — he stared at the ceiling, jaw tight, trying to shove the images away, trying to convince himself it didn’t matter. that it didn’t mean anything. that he was just pent up, just needed a release. that it wasn’t about you.

he wiped his hand on a tissue, tossing it blindly toward the trash and dragged both palms over his face. never again. he told himself. this can’t happen again. because you were his best friend. the one person he could be stupid with, unfiltered with. the one person he trusted more than anyone. he couldn’t let a few reckless urges ruin thirteen years of friendship. he wouldn’t. he swore it to himself, jaw set tight in the dark. she’s my best friend, he thought. that’s all she is. that’s all she can be. but even as the words repeated in his head, he felt how flimsy they were. like paper trying to hold back a flood. because even as exhaustion pulled him under, the realization hit him hard. for the first time in weeks, the thought of you had replaced the thought of her.

not his ex. not the best friend who broke his heart.

just you.

and somehow, that terrified him more than anything else.

🧸 SEPTEMBER 22 - TUESDAY - JEALOUSY.

it had only been a week since the four of you last sat in this class together. a week wasn’t long. the classroom hadn’t changed. the paint-splattered stools, the faint smell of paint, the hum of pencils scratching against sketchbooks.

but yangyang felt completely different.

a week ago, all he could see was them – renjun and love. sitting just a few feet away, whispering into each other’s ears, trading smiles so soft they might as well have been knives. watching them had been torture. watching them had cracked him open, ripped at his scars until they burned fresh again.

but now…now all he could think about was you.

you, sitting right beside him, bent over your sketchpad as you finalized the outlines for the cafe’s logo. the brush of your arm against his, the warmth of your thigh grazing his under the table — it was all suddenly unbearable. at one point you leaned just slightly closer to point out something on your paper and yangyang swore he forgot how to breathe. a week ago, this wouldn’t have registered. he would've been too wrapped up in heartbreak, in hating how much renjun and love looked like the perfect pair. but today, his focus had shifted. things he never noticed before, things he brushed off as meaningless, now had his pulse stuttering in his veins. every laugh you let slip, every time you slapped his thigh when the laughter was too much to hold in, every absentminded brush of your fingers against his, every small, careless detail of your presence, every innocent point of contact — felt like a jolt to his system.

renjun slid his sketchpad forward, tapping his pencil against the rim of the drawn coffee cup, “i added a little more detail to the cup,” he explained, casual but confident, “just to highlight the main focus.”

you leaned in to look, lips curling into something polite and careful, “that’s actually really nice,” you said, your tone smooth, deliberate, “the way you shaded the curve makes it look sharper. good detail.”

you were playing nice. yangyang knew it. he was the one who begged you to not make things harder and you were just doing exactly what he wished for. but now — all yangyang heard was the softness in your voice when you praised renjun, all he saw was the way you leaned in to look closer. his hand froze mid-stroke, pencil hovering above his page. his thoughts consuming him. why do you have to lean in like that? why do you sound so impressed when you talk to him? jealousy burned in his gut, hot and sour. his ex-girlfriend had already chosen renjun over him. would you, too?

renjun looked between the two of you, then casually asked, “what do you think, yang? too much shading?”

yangyang blinked, yanked back to the conversation. “yeah. probably. it’s a little overdone.” his voice was sharper than he meant it to be, his pencil pressing too hard against his own page.

renjun frowned, looking at his sketch. “i was just trying to—”

“—make it perfect, i know,” yangyang cut in quickly, forcing a laugh that didn’t land, “classic renjun, mr. detail.”

you shifted slightly, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. not a word — just a look he understood immediately. the one that asked, what’s wrong with you?

then you looked at renjun, muttering out an encouraging, “i like it. don’t listen to yangyang.” before redirecting your gaze back to your best friend, searching for answers. finally, he shook his head, sharp and small, and when he didn’t elaborate, you exhaled softly and turned back to the page.

yangyang forced his pencil back to the paper but the jealousy didn’t fade. class went on. renjun and love whispered to each other across from him, trading notes and soft smiles, while yangyang continued to sit stiff beside you, pretending to sketch. every time you leaned forward to ask renjun a question or murmured something polite, his chest tightened, green burning under his ribs. he didn’t say a word though. just let it fester, chewing on the inside of his cheek until class finally ended.

the four of you packed up. renjun and love left first. you slung your bag over your shoulder, waiting for yangyang to grab his things. it wasn’t until you stepped out into the hallway, the classroom door swinging shut behind you, that he finally spoke, “you were being awfully nice,” he said, low, almost casual but not really.

you blinked, glancing sideways at him, “huh?”

he shrugged, eyes fixed forward, like it was no big deal, “to them. to renjun.”

your brow furrowed, piecing the pieces together, “okay, wait—” you stopped walking, forcing him to stop too, “so, let me get this straight. last week you literally ignored me for being mean to them and now you’re mad that i’m nice?”

yangyang’s jaw clenched. he didn’t have a good answer and he knew it, “i’m not mad.”

you scoffed, “you sound mad.”

“i’m not,” he insisted, sharper this time. but his voice cracked halfway through, betraying him.

your eyes narrowed, “then what is it?”

his jaw tightened, “nothing.”

you folded your arms, not letting him off that easy, “bullshit. you’ve been sulking since renjun showed his sketch. so go on…say it. what’s actually bothering you?”

yangyang looked at you then, finally meeting your eyes and for a split second something raw flickered there. but just as quickly, he shoved it down. “it’s just—” he faltered, then forced a laugh. “you don’t have to praise him like he’s picasso, okay? it’s just a coffee cup.”

you stared at him, incredulous, “that’s what this is about? you’re jealous over…shading?”

his ears went red, “i’m not jealous.”

you raised a brow, “right. whatever you say.”

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face, “god, you’re impossible.”

“and you’re ridiculous!” you shot back, but softer now, playful. you sighed, letting your arms drop, “i was just trying to do what you asked me to do. be nice. keep the peace.”

that silenced him. his throat bobbed as he swallowed, guilt flashing across his expression before he shoved it away again. for a moment, neither of you said anything. the hallway buzzed faintly with other students passing by but between you two, the tension pressed thick and heavy.

yangyang finally muttered, barely audible, “yeah…i know. i just…don’t like it.”

you blinked at him, then let out a short laugh before a smirk took over your face, casual, easy, “relax. i’m not about to run off and join their little lovefest. you’re stuck with me, dummy.”

that tugged a reluctant chuckled out of him, low and quiet, but enough to soften the edges of his jealousy. the two of you walked on, the tension easing into something familiar again – banter layered over the unsaid, like always.

🧸 SEPTEMBER 25 - FRIDAY - SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVEN.

the bass downstairs rattles the floorboards, the whole riize frat house alive with drunk laughter and chants. someone’s passed you a red solo cup that’s been refilled too many times already and your head is pleasantly fuzzy, heart beating too fast in your chest. you hadn’t planned to be here. you only came because yangyang dragged you, promising “just one beer, chill night, we’ll leave early.” but somehow just one beer became just one shot and then just one more until you were giggling against the upstairs hallway wall, watching couples stumble into a closet as the next victims of seven minutes in heaven.

you’d been content to watch — until shotaro, grinning at you like the devil he is, suddenly points right at you, “yo, i nominate them,” he says, voice carrying over the cheers, “our favorite besties! yangyang and y/n!” he smirks, saying your name with way too much glee. the crowd roars. your stomach drops. and if looks could kill, shotaro would be five feet under while you fake cry with a bouquet in your hand.

yangyang laughs it off at first, waving them away, “nah, nah, pick someone else—”

but his refusal only made the chants louder, “YANGYANG! Y/N! YANYANG! Y/N!”

then shotaro delivers the killing blow, “if they don’t at least make out, they gotta streak from this room all the way to pool. naked. right now.” yeah, you were about ready to book his funeral date.

the crowd erupts even louder. someone pounds on the closet door for emphasis. you glance at yangyang, mortified. his cheeks are already pink from the alcohol but the flush deepens as his eyes meet yours. yanyang lets out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of hic neck, “guess we’re screwed, huh?”

before you can argue, hands are on your backs, shoving you both into the closet. the door slams and the lock clicks. the crowd outside starts a countdown, muffled through the wood but relentless, “SEVEN! MINUTES! IN! HEAVEN!”

the closet is pitch dark, the smell of coats and cologne hanging in the air. yangyang stumbles into you, shoulder knocking yours, both of you giggling awkwardly. the sound dies fast. something about being trapped in this tiny closet, being this close, hits you hard. he exhales, voice low, trying to keep it light, “okay, so…either we streak naked in front of like, half the frat…” his pause is long, deliberate, “or…we make out.”

your heart lurches, all those times you’ve been at your best behavior, trying not to ruin your friendship, trying to keep your feelings at bay, just for it to crumble down over a silly little party game. you scoff, trying to keep his light tone, “i’m never letting you drag me into a party again.”

outside, someone yells, “WE’RE LISTENING!," followed by laughter.

yangyang curses under his breath, hiding his own nerves under a giggle. then, after a beat, he adds, softer, almost testing, “honestly? i’d rather kiss you than have our nudes all over social media.” you couldn’t argue with that. plus you had more to lose than he did. the seconds stretch, your pulse thundering in your ears. and then yangyang moves, slowly, his hand brushing your wrist like he’s asking permission.

“you cool with it?”

“yeah,” you whispered, hoping he doesn’t catch the way your voice shook or the way your heart is pounding so loud you could barely hear the roar of cheers outside.

and before you could even register what was happening, he softly tilted you towards him, a finger under your chin — lips on yours in a soft, slow kiss, tasting faintly of beer and hesitation. it lasted five total seconds before you pulled back an inch, breathless. he did too. for a suspended moment, it was just the sound of your heavy breathing. then, as if drawn by the same thought — you both leaned in again. at the same time. firmer this time. mouths slotting together in a rush that felt inevitable. the longer it lasts, the less funny it becomes. his hand slides to your waist, tugging you closer in the tight space. your fingers fisted in the front of his shirt. the kiss grew hungrier, teeth clashing a little, tongues tangling in a way that made your knees week and a whine slip from your lips.

“OH THEY’RE DEFINITELY DOING SOMETHING!,” someone yelled from outside.

yangyang chuckled against your mouth, lips trailing dangerously close to your ear. his breath was hot, his whisper meant only for you, “guess we should give them what they want, huh?” he kissed down your jaw, lingering at your neck until a moan slipped out of you before you could control it. the crowd howled like they’d just won a prize. minutes blurred, heat and alcohol tangling until you weren’t sure where your laughter ended and your moans began. the world outside blurred into static as your world narrows to yangyang’s lips moving hungrily against yours, body flushed, fingers digging into his hair like you've been waiting years for this. which, technically, you have.

by the time someone outside banged on the door and shouted, “TIME’S UP!” you were both panting, clothes rumpled, lips swollen.

yangyang leaned his head back against the wall, laughing breathlessly, eyes gleaming even in the dark, “think we bought ourselves out of streaking duty?”

you couldn’t even answer, too busy catching your breath. his thumb brushed your lower lip, almost absent-mindedly, wiping away your smudged lipstick, like now that he’s touched you like this he could no longer stop.

the lock clicked, the door swung open, and the roar of the party came crashing in. everyone’s faces lit up at the sight of you two flushed and disheveled, shotaro looking prouder than usual. someone even shouted, “DAMN, THEY WENT IN ON EACH OTHER!”

your face burned. yangyang just slung an arm around your shoulders, calm and collected, like nothing happened, grinning lazily, “relax,” he murmured in your ear, sensing your embarrassment as if you weren’t both flushed and rumpled, “we just won the game.” you rolled your eyes, forcing a laugh but your pulse was still racing. the crowd quickly lost interest, moving on to drag their next victims towards the closet while you and yangyang slipped back into the swarm of bodies downstairs. the bass was heavier here, lights flashing orange and white across sweaty faces. yangyang steered you toward the kitchen, “shots?”

you looked at the alcohol like it hasn’t already gotten you in enough trouble for the night, “definitely.” the two of you lined up side by side at the counter, tossing them back one after the other. the tequila burned but it was better than the heat still lingering on your lips. better than the way your chest tightened every time you remembered how’d he pressed you against the closet wall.

you both laughed too loudly, moved too quickly, like if you just kept pouring and swallowing, you could wash away the last seven minutes. back in the living room, ningning pulled you onto the dance floor. yangyang followed instantly, a goofy grin plastered on his face, body moving to the beat with exaggerated moves. you bumped shoulders, trying so hard to act like it was just another party. just another night with your best friend. but every time his hand brushed your waist in the chaos, the memory of his mouth on yours came roaring back. so you drowned it in another shot. and another. and another.

yangyang mirrored you drink for drink, laughing, joking, throwing his head back like nothing in the world had changed. you didn’t notice the way his smile would falter in the moments between — how his gaze would drop to your lips before he tore it away, burying it in the crowd, the music, the liquor.

neither of you could stop drinking, like the burn in your throats was easier to handle than the fire that had just set between you.

•ᴥ•

the party was still raging when you and yangyang finally slipped out, laughter ringing behind you, the smell of alcohol clinging to your clothes. the cool night air hit your cheeks, the two of you stumbling down the sidewalk, drunk giggles bubbling between hiccups of silence.

“my feef hu-urrgh,” you muttered, tripping over a curb.

yangyang caught your elbow, though his own balance was barely steady, “what?” he laughed, blinking hard like it would steady the street spinning under his feet.

“my. feet. hurt.” you repeated slower, enunciating each word like it took every ounce of concentration.

that only made him double over with laughter, his arm looping around your shoulders just to keep the both of you upright. you clung to him, laughing so hard your ribs ached. every step was a stumble, every laugh another collapsed into each other’s sides, until the two of you were gasping for air like idiots. by the time you made it up the stairs to your apartment, your faces ache from laughing. at what? neither of you even knew anymore. yangyang nearly fell against the keypad, both of you struggling to remember the code while giggling like kids sneaking out past curfew. somehow, you got it in, and the door slammed behind you with a heavy thud. shoes kicked off somewhere near the entryway while you stumbled in tandem through the dark before collapsing in a tangled heap onto your bed, too drunk to care about the lights or the mess. the mattress groaned under the weight, the room spinning in dizzy circles, “a-are we spinning?” you giggled into your pillow.

“yeahhh,” yangyang slurred, rolling onto his back beside you, the mattress dipped, his arm brushing yours, his knee bumping your thigh. neither of you moved away. you turned your head, ready to tease him — only he was right there. closer than you expected. close enough to see the glassy gleam in his eyes, close enough to feel the heat of tequila on his breath. and just like that, the air shifted. the laughter died, choked out by the thud of your heart pounding too fast in your chest. his eyes flicked to your lips, then back to your gaze, lazy but sharp, like he was fighting to decide if he’d imagined what happened earlier.

for one suspended second, you swore the room stopped spinning.

then his lips were on yours again — this time sloppy, desperate, all the tension from the night finally slipping over. the second his hand slid to the back of your head like he’d been starving for this, your body gave in. you gasped into his mouth, the sound swallowed whole as the kiss turned hotter, hungrier, tongues tangling, teeth clashing, both of you desperate enough that precision didn’t matter. his body heat drowned out everything, pulling you in until you were chest to chest. his hands slid under your shirt, fumbling, tugging you on top of him with a growl muffled against your mouth. you straddled him without hesitation, knees sinking into the mattress, fingers fisting the fabric of his hoodie.

somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew you were crossing a line. but with yangyang’s lips moving against yours, breath ragged, hips pressing up into yours — there was no stopping it now.

“fuck,” he groaned, teeth grazing your jaw as his head tipped back, “we shouldn’t—”

“then stop,” you whispered back, dragging your mouth down his throat.

he didn’t. he couldn’t. his hands drag over your waist, clumsy but hungry, pulling your shirt off and tossing it to the side. every brush of his fingers made the blood roar in your ears, making the world tilt. clothes fell away in pieces — his hoodie yanked off, your jeans kicked off the bed. every barrier stripped felt less like a choice and more like inevitability. like this had always been where you were headed. by the time you were both bare, your skin slick against his in the dark — the air was thick with heat and alcohol. and when his hips bucked, the hard press of him against you made your stomach clench. your lips trailed lower, tasting the salt of his skin, kissing down the hard lines of his chest, your hands roaming, desperate to touch everything you’d never let yourself have before tonight. his breath hitched, hips jerking when your lips reached his stomach. and when you finally wrapped your hand around him, hard and heavy against your palm, yangyang’s head tipped back against the pillow, eyes squeezing shut, a hoarse curse tumbling out of his lips, “shit—” he groaned, hips bucking up helplessly. his knuckles went white, twisting in the sheets, his head thrown back, hair sticking damp to his forehead. the first slick drag of your tongue had him gasping, the second had him choking on a broken moan that sounded nothing like the playful, smug best friend you knew.

“you’re—shit—you’re bigger than you look,” you giggled before your lips sucked around his tip, collecting his leaking pre-cum.

he let out a strangled sound, a mix between laughter and a groan, his hips jerking helplessly, “don’t—f-fuck—don’t say that,” his voice cracked, raw and desperate, “god, teddy—shit, don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

the nickname nearly undid you. you sank your lips further down his length, the weight of him hot and heavy on your tongue, until your throat burned and your eyes watered, but you didn’t care. the more you took, the more you wanted. you were dizzy on the taste of him, the way he was begging, the way his thighs trembled around you, the way his hand clutched your hair like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. yangyang’s voice cracked again, hoarse and pleading, “please—please, more—,” his hips jerked like he was trying to fuck your throat, “you’re so—shit—you’re so good at this.”you choked around him and he nearly fell apart, the sound vibrating throughout his body, his voice breaking into a strangled cry as his cock twitched on your tongue, hips jerking harder.

“f-fuck, i’m gonna—,” his voice pitched high, desperate, like he didn’t even want it to end. his free hand fisted in the sheets, pulling them tight. his eyes rolled back, sweat beading at his temple, voice cracking on your name as he broke off in a long, drawn-out whimper, spilling hot into your mouth. you hollowed your cheeks and swallowed him down, drunk off of the way he fell apart for you, whiny and ruined and begging like he’d never known how to beg before.

you were still catching your breath, lips wet and swollen, when yangyang suddenly surged up, his hand gripping your waist. in a messy blur, he flipped you onto your back. your mind way too drunk to catch up, “yang—,” you gasped as his lips closed around your nipple, teeth grazing, tongue dragging clumsy but desperate.

“shut up,” he mumbled against your skin, breath hot, laugh muffled, “y-you think i’m letting you be the only one? fuck no.”

he was sill so drunk. both of you were. but the hunger in the way he mouthed at you didn’t feel dulled — it felt sharpened, frantic. his mouth blazed down your body, leaving sloppy kisses and bite marks until he shoved his shoulders between your knees. the first drag of his tongue had you gasping, head feeling back against the pillow. the second had you crying out, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“yang—ahh—,” the ceiling tilting above you. there was nothing polished about the way he ate you — just raw hunger. he groaned at the taste, pressing deeper, tongue messy, unrestrained, loud slurps, wet sounds, shameless moans that made your whole body shudder, his face buried deep like he couldn’t get close enough.

“holy shitt—you taste—,” his words slurred into nonsense, “—so fucking good—been wanting—god, i’m so—,” he cut himself off with a groan, nose pressing against you as his tongue worked deeper, sloppy and desperate. your thighs trembled, your hips rolling helplessly into his mouth. his grip only tightened, pinning you down, making you take everything he gave you. his hair was damp with sweat under your finger, his own moans muffled against you as he devoured you like he was starving.

“yang—fuck—fuck—,” your back arched, toes curling, the heat in your stomach bulding as his tongue dragged over that perfect spot again and again. you pulled at his hair, desperate for something to anchor yourself to and that only made him shove deeper, his nose bumping your clit as he tongue-fucked you. then two fingers pressed inside you without hesitation, the stretch clumsy but so, so deep, curling until your cry broke sharp and high. every noise he pulled out of you made him groan louder, rutting into the mattress below him. the bed creaked with his pace, each thrust of his fingers matched by his frantic grinding. his cock rock-hard again and leaking all over the sheets but he was too wrecked to care about the mess he was making. not when you were writhing underneath him.

“god, teddy—,” he whined shamelessly, his rhythm stuttering as your walls fluttered around his fingers, he curled them harder, faster, desperate to hear more of your noises, “you’re so hot like this. fuck–please—”

you sobbed out a whine, back arching, nails scraping his scalp and the noise he made was downright wrecked. his hips snapped against the bed, chasing friction, chasing relief. every time you moaned, he whimpered, rutting harder against your bed, smearing precum over your sheets without shame.

“please—please—,” the word tumbled from his lips, incoherent, half begging you to come, half begging himself not to finish again. his tongue lapped around your clit, “you sound so good—taste so good—god, i could—shit—i could do this for hours.

“yangyang—” your voice broke, shivering as his fingers curled impossibly deeper, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids.

“say it again,” he gasped against you, tongue moving messier, wetter, more frantic, “please—please say my name—” you screamed it this time, back arching off the mattress — and he broke with it. he moaned loud into you, his release spilling against the sheets as he came undone a second time, grinding into the bed like he couldn’t stop. and he didn’t stop. even as he shuddered, even as his cock twitched against the bed, he kept his fingers pumping, his tongue pressing until your climax hit hard — violent, wracking, tearing a broken cry from your throat as yangyang’s tongue and fingers pushed you over the edge. your whole body arched off the mattress, thighs clamping around his head as you came.

“yang—fuck—i’m—” your voice broke, the rest swallowed in a silent moan as you pulsed around his fingers. heat flooded every nerve, your vision going white at the edges. he drew every last shudder from you, swallowing down your release. when you finally sagged back into bed, chest heaving, your vision swam in dizzy stars. yangyang collapsed against your thigh, face sticky, lips slick with you, hair damp with sweat. his cock softening against the ruined sheets but his body still trembled faintly, spent from his own release.

netiher of you spoke. neither of you could. the alcohol, the mess, the sheer exhaustion weighed down your limbs. you reached blindly for him and he came up without hesitation, dragging himself up onto the bed beside you. the sheets were ruined, sticky with sweat and sex, but neither of you could care. you were too drunk, too spent, too wrapped up in the haze of each other’s bodies. you curled into each other automatically, his arm slung heavy around your waist, your forehead pressed against his chest. and just like that, tangled in the wreckage of your choices, you both slipped under.

🧸 SEPTEMBER 26 - SATURDAY - A MISTAKE.

sunlight cut across your room far too bright for your pounding head. the dryness in your mouth hit first, then the throb behind your eyes and then the heat pressed against you.

you weren’t alone.

the realization landed the same second yangyang stirred. his arm was around your waist. your bare chest flush to his. the sheets clung to your legs, tangled between your bodies. you blinked hard, vision swimming, just as his lashes fluttered open. the moment your eyes locked, sober clarity snapped like a rubber band pulled too tight.

“oh—fuck,” yangyang rasped, voice hoarse, eyes wide as he jerked back, only to freeze when he realized he was still naked under your sheets. your stomach plummeted. the pounding in your head drowned out by a harder, colder pulse of panic. you scrambled upright, dragging the blanket against your chest like it could erase the way his skin had been on yours just seconds ago. the silence was deafening. both of you breathing too fast, too shallow. both of you remembering at the same time — the shots, the laughter, the way you’d stumbled into bed together, into each other. the way you’d stripped and kissed each other down.

neither of you could take it back.

yangyang shoved a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath, his voice cracked around the word, “shit. shit. we—”

you cut in, voice sharper than you meant, “yeah, i know what we did.”

the air between you was heavy, thick, everything unsaid pressing down until it felt suffocating. he looked away first, jaw tight, muttering, “we were drunk. it…it didn’t mean anything.”

your chest constricted like he’d punched straight through it. a wake up call. a reminder of the thing you already knew deep down — the boy you’re in love with will never love you back. not in the way you want him to. that last night, to him, was nothing but a blurred mistake in a series of poor decisions. your pulse roared in your ears, but you forced your face blank, forced the words out even though they scraped your throat raw, “right,” you said quickly, too quickly, “it doesn’t mean anything. we were drunk.” you repeat his words, your laugh coming out hollow, brittle, a poor imitation of casual. you clutched the blanket tighter around yourself as if it could hold together the pieces of you splintering from the inside out.

yangyang let out a shaky exhale, his shoulders dropping, some flicker of relief passing across his features, “yeah. exactly. just…a mistake. we’ll forget it.”

a mistake. the word lodged in your chest like glass, sharp and cruel. you nodded anyway because what else could you do? admit you’re in love with him? admit that last night hadn’t felt like a mistake at all? that even drunk, it was the only thing that ever felt real? no. you couldn’t ruin thirteen years of friendship for something he wanted to forget. so you swallowed it down.

the burn of tequila was nothing compared to the ache of swallowing this truth.

“yeah,” you whispered, eyes fixed anywhere but him, “forget it.”

the silence stretched, unbearable, until it felt like the walls were closing in. he moved first, movements hurried, clumsy, as he shoved one leg into his jeans, then the other. his hands shook as he yanked the zipper, as he searched your floor for his hoodie. you sat frozen on the bed, nails digging crescents into your palm beneath the blanket. your body screamed to move, to say something, anything, but you stayed still like a statue.

he didn't look at you when he finally muttered, voice low, “i’ll see you later.” the door clicked shut behind him. and only then, when you were finally alone, did the first crack in your facade give way. your shoulders sagged. the tears you’d been biting back stung hot at the corners of your eyes, spilling silently down your cheeks as your curled into yourself on the bed that still smelled like the remnants of last night. the sheets clung damp to your skin. his warmth lingered like a ghost in the mattress. you pressed your face into the pillow, muffling the sob that tore its way out. the taste of last night still lingering on your tongue.

🧸 SEPTEMBER 28 - MONDAY - THE OBVIOUS.

yangyang couldn’t stop replaying it. the taste of your lips, the heat of your body, the way your laughter had broken into a moan in the dark. images of you flashing and consuming every waking thought he had. and then — yesterday. the look in your eyes. the word mistake. he told himself it was fine. you were fine. best friends go through shit and move on. but every time he tried to focus, the memory pressed harder, suffocating, until he felt like he was choking on the silence he brought upon himself. and the worst part? he couldn’t even talk to you about it. the one person he usually ran to when shit like this happens.

so he ended up standing outside the dream fraternity house, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, debating whether this was the dumbest idea of his life. the door creaked open before he could knock. jeno gave him a curious once-over, one eyebrow arched, before jerking his head inside, “renjun’s upstairs.” yangyang muttered a thanks, his throat dry — he found renjun hunched over his desk, sketchbook open, pencil tapping. the same renjun he’d been avoiding for weeks. the same renjun who had once been closer than a brother before everything fell apart. now here he was. because despite it all, renjun was the next person who would understand him.

renjun’s gaze lifted, sharp, unreadable at first, then softening into a flicker of shock. “hey…everything okay?”

yangyang leaned against the doorframe, suddenly aware of how stupid this is. he exhaled, running a hand through his hair, “i, uh…i need,” he clears his throat, exhaling, running a hand through his hair, “i need to talk to someone.”

renjun set his pencil down, leaning back in his chair, inviting him to come in, “you know i’m always all ears.” something in his tone — calm, patient, not holding the past against him, was enough to crack yangyang’s defenses, a nervous grin tugged on his lips as he stepped inside slowly before taking a seat at the edge of his friend’s bed.

“i–,” he hesitated, then the words tumbled out, low and rough, “i hooked up with y/n.”

the silence hit first. then renjun’s brows rose, not in shock exactly, more like confirmation, “hooked up as in—?”

yangyang groaned, dragging his hands down his face, “as in we were drunk and got to second base.”

renjun whistled under his breath, but his expression stayed calm, almost knowing, “well,” he said, leaning back further in his chair, “took you long enough.”

yangyang’s had snapped up, “the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

renjun tilted his head, studying him with that infuriating but familiar precision, no judgment in it, just quiet truth, “i always knew there was something else there.”

yangyang blinked. the words didn’t compute, “what? no way. we’ve always just been best friends.”

“sure,” renjun said evenly, “best friends who look at each other like the rest of the world disappears. best friends who packed their bags and flew all the way to germany for an internship because it was the only one the both of you got into—”

“what are you trying to say?” yangyang cut in, pulse stuttering, a little annoyed now, defensive because he didn’t know what else to be.

renjun’s gaze softened. his voice was steady, kind in a way yangyang wasn’t prepared for, “you can lie to yourself all you want, yang, but it doesn’t change what’s obvious to literally everyone else,” renjun paused, eyes searching his, “maybe to you, you’ve just been best friends. but y/n? she looks at you the same way i look at love.”

yangyang let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, shaking his head hard enough to make his messy hair fall into his eyes. “no jun, come on. if that was true, if there was anything like that, don’t you think it would’ve happened by now? we’ve had years of being alone together. sleepovers, drunk nights, heartbreaks, traveling halfway across the world together, even staying at the same shitty hostel in germany. and nothing. not once. until last night, when we were drunk out of our minds. that doesn’t scream fate, that screams…accident. that’s it.”

renjun just leaned back further in his chair, crossing his arms like he had all the time in the world. his silence pressed harder than words, like he was waiting for yangyang to trip over his own defenses.

yangyang’s pulse spiked under it, so he filled it, his words tripping over each other, “and don’t start with the whole ‘but look at how she looks at you’ thing. she has a fuck buddy, jun. a fuck buddy. not me. if she really wanted me, why would she need someone else for that?”

“maybe because it’s easy,” renjun replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “because it’s just sex. no strings. no danger of her heart being broken. sometimes a placeholder is easier than the one thing that actually scares the shit out of you.”

yangyang dragged his hands down his face, “that’s…that’s a stretch. you don’t just wake up and suddenly realize you’re in love with your best friend. that’s not how it works.”

renjun tilted his head, gaze steady, “or maybe that’s exactly how it works. maybe she woke up one night and realized that love is the comfort and safety you bring her. and now she’s too scared to ruin the one thing that’s always been safe. people don’t throw grenades into the only home they have unless they’re desperate. and you’d rather pretend it’s not there than risk losing her.”

that hit closer than yangyang thought it would. his throat went dry, “god, listen to how stupid this sounds. you’re making it into something it’s not. i just got out of a relationship…with your girlfriend, if you’ve forgotten. i’m barely keeping my head above water as it is. and now you’re trying to tell me what–,” his head snapped up, frustration and panic bleeding together, “that my best friend’s been secretly in love with me this whole time? that i’m too blind to see it?”

renjun shrugged, calm, unflinching, “not blind, yang. maybe you were just too scared to acknowledge the obvious.”

yangyang’s laugh turned sharp, almost bitter, “you hear yourself right now? you sound insane, jun,” yangyang’s chest rose and fell too fast, words spilling out like he couldn’t stop them if he tried, “you think you know everything huh? newsflash— you don’t. you weren’t there.”

renjun leaned forward, elbows on his knees, tone maddeningly calm, “then tell me what it was, yang. if it wasn’t what i’m saying, then what was it?”

yangyang shot to his feet like the mattress burned him, “it was a mistake! that’s all! two drunk idiots doing something they shouldn’t have. nothing more. nothing–” he broke off, fists clenching at his sides.

renjun stood slowly, not in challenge but in quiet steadiness, like he knew raising his voice would only make yangyang spiral more, “you keep saying nothing but your whole body’s screaming the opposite.”

yangyang let out a bitter laugh, shoving past him toward the door, needing air, needing escape, he had no idea why he thought coming here would help him, “you don’t know shit, jun. you don’t know me anymore.” his hand tightened around the doorknob, ready to twist, to bolt, to drown himself in anything but this conversation. but then renjun’s voice came, lower this time, not calm in that detached way, but warm, gentle, almost like before everything between them went to shit.

“yang,” he said quietly, “i’m not saying this to fuck with you. i’m saying it because i care. and you can keep yelling, keep pretending it was just some drunk mistake but i know you. and i know the way you’re looking at me right now — like you’re terrified i might be right.”

yangyang froze. his throat worked, but no sound came out.

renjun’s steps were slow, careful, until he was standing just a few feet behind him, “i’m not trying to corner you, yang. i just…don’t want you to ruin something good because you’re too scared to call it what it is. you don’t have to figure it out tonight. but the first step is being honest with yourself. don’t run from it.” the words sank deep. yangyang swallowed hard, staring at the wood grain of the door like it could give him an answer. his grip on the knob loosened, fingers slipping away until his hand fell uselessly to his side. shoulders heavy, he let out a ragged breath, eyes burning with a frustration that wasn’t just aimed at renjun anymore.

“i don’t…” his voice cracked, softer now, breaking under its own weight, “i don’t know what the fuck i’m doing.”

renjun’s expression softened even further, almost brotherly. “that’s okay. you don’t have to know yet. just… stop pretending you feel nothing. that’s the only mistake here.”

yangyang shut his eyes, leaning his forehead briefly against the door, caught between every instinct to run and the quiet relief of not holding it all in alone anymore. slowly, almost reluctantly, he turned and came back. his legs carried him on instinct more than choice and he dropped back onto the bed. when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, raw around the edges, “is this how scared you felt with love too?”

renjun exhaled, his chest deflating, “yeah, i was terrified. scared and guilty. every second i was with her, i knew i was hurting you. knew i was lying to myself, to you, to her. and the worst part? i couldn’t stop. i thought if i buried it deep enough, it would go away.”

yangyang swallowed, the knot in his throat tightening. he hadn’t expected renjun to answer like that — to sound so unguarded, so wrecked. he always thought he had the worst pain of the two.

“and it obviously didn’t,” he says, softer now.

renjun shook his head slowly, “no. it only got worse. until i couldn’t run from it anymore.”

for the first time that night, yangyang didn’t have a sharp comeback waiting. he just sat there, silent, the weight of renjun’s words pressing down on the panic he’d been trying to outrun. slowly, he let his hands drop, fingers flexing uselessly against his knees. his throat bobbed once, twice, before he finally muttered, almost to himself, “...thanks.”

renjun blinked, surprised. “for what?”

yangyang’s lips twisted, like the word itself was foreign to him. “for not bullshitting me. for saying it straight. i needed that.”

•ᴥ•

meanwhile in your apartment, you called the one person you were angry at. he showed up fast, still in sweats, hair messy like he’d just rolled off his couch. when you opened the door, he gave you a half smile, “texting me, already?”

you cut him off, stepping aside, “this isn’t that. sit down.”

shotaro’s brows furrowed, but he obeyed, dropping onto your couch. you stayed standing, arms crossed tight.

“why the hell did you do it?” you snapped.

“do what?”

“seven minutes in heaven! you’re the one who shoved that game on everyone, right? you’re the reason i–” your throat closed for a second, you forced the words out anyway, “the reason i messed up with yangyang!”

shotaro blinked, taken aback. “wait. messed up how—”

“it doesn’t matter!” you said quickly, cutting him off before the shame could choke you out, “what matters is you set it up like it was some kind of joke, and now everything’s fucked!” your voice cracked, fury fraying into panic, “do you get it? you ruined everything! you dick!”

shotaro leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes flicking up to you with something sharper than usual, “okay, first of all, don’t put this all on me,” he said, voice firmer than you’d expected, “you think i could control how you two were gonna act?”

your jaw tightened. “you put us in that position.”

“and you’re acting like you didn’t want it,” shotaro shot back, “c’mon, y/n. you and yangyang have been dancing around each other for years. everyone sees it. i thought maybe—” he stopped himself, shaking his head with a humorless laugh. “i thought maybe you two needed the push.”

your stomach dropped. “a push? you think what happened was some kind of—of fate!? that you did us a favor!?”

“i think,” shotaro said carefully, “that it’s about time you admit you’re in love with him. how long are you gonna keep this charade up for? are you going to be one of those sad best friends standing at his wedding acting like you’re fine? or what, when he has a wife and still runs to you when they have problems? are you gonna sit there and take it like you do now? how far in the future will you keep playing this up?”

shotaro’s words hung in the air. your hands flew up to cover your face, but it was useless — the sob slipped out anyway, sharp and raw. shotaro blinked when you suddenly broke, tears spilling hot and unrestrained down your cheeks. you shoved the heel of your palm against your eyes, but it only made it worse.

“y/n…” he murmured, caught between surprise and worry.

you shook your head hard, voice cracking. “he—he called it a mistake.”

shotaro straightened, frowning. “what was?”

your throat bobbed as you nodded, the words tumbling out messy, jagged, “we—we hooked up. and for one second i thought…i thought maybe i wasn’t insane for feeling the way i do. but then he—” your chest heaved, and you squeezed your eyes shut, “—he said it was a mistake, like it didn’t mean anything. like i don’t mean anything.”

shotaro’s mouth opened, then closed again, as if he wasn’t sure what to say. he only knew the edges of the truth — that you’d been crushing on yangyang for ages. that yangyang looked at you like you held the world in his hands but had no clue. that from the outside perspective, the two of you just made sense.

“y/n,” he said softly, “i don’t think that’s what he meant.”

a bitter laugh broke from you, watery and sharp, “you weren’t there.”

“no,” he agreed, voice gentle, “but i’ve seen the way he looks at you sometimes when he thinks no one notices. he wouldn’t mean it in that way.”

you shook your head, shoulders trembling, “you don’t get it. i’m just his best friend! he made it very clear by walking out and leaving me here. and i—i ruined everything!”

shotaro hesitated, then shifted closer, pulling you into him. it wasn’t romantic, not even close — it was messy, awkward, your tears dampening his shirt, his hand rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades.

“you didn’t ruin anything,” he murmured, “he’s scared. or confused. or both. but you? you’re not wrong for feeling what you feel.”

your fingers clutched the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline, “it hurts so much.”

“i know,” he whispered, pressing his chin lightly against the top of your head, “cry it out. i’ve got you.” and so you did, not because shotaro could fix it, not because he was the one you wanted, but because right then, he was the only one who wouldn’t call you a mistake. your sobs had quieted into hiccups, your face pressed into shotaro’s chest, when he finally leaned back enough to look at you. his thumb brushed under your eye, catching the stray tear you missed.

“hey,” he said softly, his smile crooked, “you want me to fuck the pain away?”

you let out a choked laugh despite yourself, smacking his chest weakly. “shotaro—”

“what?” he grinned, holding his hands up in mock innocence. “it’s my only real skill set here. shoulder to cry on, dick to distract you. comes in a package deal.”

you groaned, dragging your sleeve across your eyes, “god, you’re annoying.”

“but,” he leaned in, lowering his voice, “you’re laughing.” you bit down on your lip, shaking your head — but yeah, a small laugh did slip out. a real one, even if it was laced with ache.

shotaro leaned back against the couch, satisfied, and slung an arm lazily around your shoulders, “see? don’t underestimate the healing power of bad humor and good dick. it’s science.” you exhaled, the laugh dying down into something quieter, smaller. for a moment you just stared at your knees, twisting the hem of your sleeve between your fingers. the ache swelled again in your chest — not as sharp, but heavy.

“shotaro?” you asked softly.

“yeah?”

your voice cracked a little. “can you just…hold me? for a while?”

his teasing expression melted instantly. no hesitation, no jokes this time. “yeah. of course.” he shifted, tugging you gently into his chest again, this time lying back into the couch cushions so you could curl into him properly. his arm tightened around your waist, the other hand threading through your hair in slow, absent strokes. neither of you spoke after that. the last thing you felt was the steady rise and fall of his chest under your cheek before sleep pulled you under.

•ᴥ•

yangyang stood outside your apartment door, knuckles pressed to the wood, rehearsing the words in his head. this is what you did. this is what you’d always done — you talked. about everything. about bad grades and breakups, about internships and homesickness. if the world felt like it was falling apart, somehow you always put it back together again, piece by piece.

so why should this be different?

he swallowed hard, finally twisting the knob and stepping inside. the lights were dim, your living room quiet. he opened his mouth, ready to call your name. and then he froze — you were curled up on the couch. not alone. shotaro’s arm was draped over you, your face tucked into his chest, his hand still resting protectively on your waist.

yangyang’s chest tightened, heat and cold colliding at once. how could you? how could you kiss him one night, strip away years of boundaries, make his heart pound so hard he thought it’d crack open… make him question everything he thought he knew….and then just… have another man in your arms?

jealousy flared sharp, ugly in his chest, tangling with something deeper he refused to name. possessiveness. hurt. and stupid, stupid him — for even letting renjun’s words take root earlier. because this? this was proof he was an idiot. an idiot who overthinks everything when it was all really just a mistake on your end too.

he lingered a second too long, his jaw tight, breath heavy in the silence of your apartment. then, he turned on his heel and let himself out. the door clicked softly behind him. and it was like he’d never been there at all. he didn’t get far after leaving your apartment. just down the block, just far enough that your building wasn’t in sight anymore, before the weight of what he’d seen stopped him cold. his heart was still pounding, not with the same anger as before, no, this was worse — jagged and hollow at once, like his chest was caving in from the inside.

you were his best friend. his safe place. the one person he thought he didn’t have to question. and yet seeing you in someone else’s arms had gutted him in a way he couldn’t explain. you’d had boyfriends before and it never affected him like this. so it shouldn’t matter. it doesn’t matter. you weren’t his. he was the one who called what happened between you a mistake. he was the one who said it didn’t mean anything. but why did it feel like the ground had been ripped out from under him?

he shoved his hands into his pockets, pacing under the yellow streetlight, muttering under his breath, “fuck, why does this— why do i care?” the answer pressed against his ribs, sharp and undeniable. he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else touching you, holding you, making you laugh when you cried.renjun’s voice echoed in his head, steady and infuriatingly right: you’d rather pretend it’s not there than risk losing her. yangyang laughed once, harsh and humorless, dragging his hands over his face.

“goddamn it.”

🧸 SEPTEMBER 29 - TUESDAY - PRETENDING.

you slid into your usual seat, dropping your bag with a practiced little thud. same class, same canvas, same setup as every other tuesday morning. nothing had changed — at least, that’s what you told yourself as you pasted on that easy smile, greeting the professor, nodding at classmates, settling in like you weren’t suffocating behind the mask.

yangyang was already there, hunched forward, brush spinning idly between his fingers. the second you sat down beside him, the air shifted. a crackle. a hum in your chest. too much silence where there should’ve been jokes, shoulder nudges, shared smiles. it’s the first time you’re seeing him since that mistake.

“morning,” you manage to force out, light and casual.

he glanced up, eyes shadowed, lips pressing into something that wasn’t quite a smile, “morning,” his voice was low, hoarse, like he hadn’t used it all day.

you busied yourself with your palette, clinking glass jars, swirling water, anything to fill the silence. normally this was when yangyang would lean into your space, make some dumb comment about your color choices or brush his knee against yours without noticing. but today? he sat stiff, shoulders square, every moment careful like even breathing too close to you would give him away.

from across the table, renjun’s sharp gaze flicked between the two of you. he clocked the half-inch of space between your chairs that felt like a canyon. the way your laugh at someone else’s joke rang a little too bright, a little too forced. the way yangyang kept staring at his canvas but hadn’t laid down a single stroke of paint. at one point, yangyang risked a glance at you, just a quick flicker, like he couldn’t help himself, and renjun caught it. their eyes locked across the table. renjun tilted his head, gaze steady, saying without words— you see it now, don’t you?

yangyang’s jaw tensed. he shook his head almost imperceptibly, mouthing a tight “shut up.”

you heard him. of course you did. even when you were pretending not to pay attention to him, you were. you turned your head, “what?”

renjun arched a brow, lips curving. yangyang tore his eyes away from him, looking straight at you for the first time since that night, “n-nothing, i didn’t say anything.” you nod, not having the energy to push further, before busying yourself with your sketchpad. beside him, you kept painting, keeping your mask intact. pretending this was just another tuesday. pretending you didn’t feel your pulse spike every time his knee shifted under the desk. pretending his silence didn’t ache more than words ever could. and yangyang — stiff in his chair, heart hammering against his ribs, was the only one who can tell you weren’t fine.

class went on with the two of you dancing around each other, pretending everything was still the same. pretending you haven’t crossed a line. pretending the mistake was clearly just a mistake. until the clatter of chairs and zip of bags signaled the end of class. everyone filtered out, voices rising as plans for lunch and errands filled the air. you slipped into rhythm, packing up calmly, masking every motion as ordinary. yangyang moved slower. he lingered, dragging out the task of rinsing his brushes, watching the water swirl down the jar until it was nearly clear. he told himself he wasn’t waiting. that it didn’t matter. that he didn’t care if you left first. but when you stood, slinging your bag over your shoulder and offering him the same easy smile you gave everyone else, his chest tightened.

“see you later,” you said lightly, voice steady. too steady. he didn’t like it. his tongue pressed against the back of his teeth, words gathering, hot and restless — don’t leave like that. don’t act like nothing happened.

but what right did he have to say that? when he was the one who walked out of your bedroom? when he was the one who left you alone?

your back was already half-turned toward the door when his hand twitched against his side. just one word and you’d stop. he hesitated. and then you were gone. your laughter echoed down the hallway as you joined a group of classmates, the sound bright and hollow in yangyang’s ears. he stood frozen, breath shallow, watching the doorway long after you’d disappeared. his chest ached with something he didn’t want to name. but the truth had already lodged itself in his ribs, sharp and undeniable — he didn’t want to be the guy who shrugged it off as a mistake anymore.

🧸 SEPTEMBER 30 - WEDNESDAY - WE’RE OKAY, RIGHT?

at this point it had been three days of quiet war, not exactly the silent treatment but somehow worse it was smiling too bright and saying nothing at all.

you heard the code of your door being entered from where you sat on your couch reading a book and knew that it was only ever going to be yangyang. he stumbled inside like the floor might fall out from under him if he didn’t move fast enough. his eyes were wild, glassy with something that looked dangerously close to panic.

“dude, are you okay?,” you asked automatically, because that’s what you always did, check in, make the space softer. your book stayed open on your knee, pages unread.

“don’t—” his voice came out raw, cracked, a different timbre than you’d heard from him in a while. he pointed, unsteady, as if directing the whole world at you. “don’t act like this. not with me.”

you blinked, “what are you talking about?” you tried to keep it light, because light was your defense and you’d worn it like armor for years.

“that mask!” he ran a hand through his hair so hard it tugged at his scalp. frustration and something else, fear, maybe, flickered across his face. “the smile. the pretending everything’s fine. it’s annoying. i can see it. if you’re mad at me, then yell at me. say it.”

your throat went tight. the words caught somewhere between your lungs and lips. you wanted to ask him what right he had — what right he had to notice, when he never did before? but he was still talking, unraveling, in a way that left him exposed.

“you think i dont know you?” his chest rose and fell fast, his voice raw, “i know when you’re hurting. i can hear it when you laugh too loud. i can see it in your eyes when you won’t look at me for more than two seconds. don’t pull that shit with me, okay? not with me.” he looked wrecked standing there in your living room. like every piece of him was strung too tight.

your mouth opened but only a weak laugh came out, shaky at the edges. you weren’t ready for this. “you’re being dramatic. i’m fine, yangyang, really.”you crossed your arms because you didn’t know what else to do. the shrug felt automatic, the same little lie that had kept you safe for years, “it’s not that deep. like you said, it was just a mistake.”

his eyes didn’t move. they searched yours like he’d been practicing for this moment and somehow never learned restraint. and then, giving up whatever defense he’d planned, he exhaled like someone letting go of a boulder.

“i don’t want to lose you!” he said, the words tumbling out all at once. “not over something as stupid as this. not over one drunk night. you’re—” his breath hitched, his voice thinned to a fragile thread, “you’re my best friend. the only one that’s ever…felt like home. i can’t lose that. i can’t lose you.” the sentence landed like thunder. you felt it in your ribs, in the place that had been hollow for what felt like forever. it cracked something inside you. something older than the night before, older than the mask. you didn’t plan your next move — your arms slid around him before thought could get in the way, fingers folding against the fabric of his hoodie. he went rigid, like you’d startled a wild animal, then softened and wrapped himself around you as fiercely as you held him.

if there was one thing you hated more than being miserable, it was watching your best friend hurt.

you buried your face into his shoulder, breath hitching, “who said anything about losing me?” you whispered, the lie catching on the edges, “i told you—you’re stuck with me, dummy.”

yangyang shook his head, as if to dislodge the panic. his grip tightened so hard your hoodie scrunched under his fingers, “—but we were so awkward yesterday. i hated that.” the simple confession sounded like guilt and regret all mixed together.

you tried to bring the air back to something familiar. “i mean, i did see your dick for the first time, of course it’s awkward,” you teased, voice laced in the old, easy banter you’d always used to glue things back together.

that broke through his storm for just a beat. yangyang choked on a cough, half-scandalized, half trying not to laugh. his ears went a little red. “wow,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to look at you, “out of all the things you could say to lighten the mood, you went with my dick? that’s your angle?”

you grinned, relieved by the flicker of normalcy, “well, it was… memorable.”

“memorable?” his brows shot up, eyes narrowing with mock offense. “that’s it? not impressive? not life-altering? just memorable?”

you let out a snort, pushing his shoulder, “don’t get cocky.”

“too late,” he shot back without missing a beat, smirk tugging at his lips. “you literally just admitted you can’t forget it.”

your jaw dropped in mock horror, a laugh bubbling up despite yourself, “that’s not what i said!”

“close enough.” he leaned back, smugness flickering in his expression for the first time in days, like he’d been starving for this push-pull rhythm. his smirk softened into something gentler, tentative. “so…we’re okay?…right?”

you inhaled, wrapping your arms around him again, “yeah. we’re okay.” the words felt both true and dangerously partial. you nodded harder against him, because movement made the pretense feel more real.

neither of you moved to let go. the hug stretched, elastic and fragile, holding whatever fragile normalcy you could manufacture. you both clung like people who’d decided, with your last breath, to keep pretending a little longer — because the alternative was saying things that might not be fixable. when you finally pulled back, you practiced a small, careful smile, one with cracks patched over. yangyang mirrored it, softer, equally false. nothing more was said. nothing more was allowed to slip. the moment sealed itself — not healed, not whole, but held. for now, that would have to be enough.

🧸 OCTOBER 2 - FRIDAY - WHY DON’T YOU EVER SEE ME?

yangyang let himself in like he always did, the soft click of your door sounding too familiar. you two were okay now, the loose, careful kind of okay you’ve both been practicing, and he’d told himself he couldn’t ask for anything more. that thinking didn’t survive the second he stepped into your apartment — you appeared in the hallway, towel wrapped loosely around your body, wet hair dripping down your shoulders. droplets clung at the hollow of your throat and mapped a glittering path across your collarbone before escaping down the slope of your chest. he felt his breath hitch so hard it hurt.

“god,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as you padded back towards your bedroom, “i really need to change my code.”

he forced a laugh, leaning against the arm of the couch and pretending his throat wasn’t suddenly dry. maybe he shouldn’t keep coming in like this without knocking. maybe he needed to stop walking into moments that felt like traps. he told himself all of it while watching you move, trying to be reasonable in the face of the unreasonable. he dropped onto the couch and tried to make himself small, bouncing one leg restlessly, telling himself it was nothing. you’d just showered. he’d seen you in less and been fine before. he could be fine now. he’s not a kid. then he heard the closet door murmur, the zip of fabric, and your bedroom door creak — you stepped out and he swore he forgot how to breathe.

you were in the dress you’d found in that online shop you’d texted him about last month — red. the exact shade that made everything else mute by comparison. the fabric hugged the small of your back, smoothed over the slope of your hips, outlined the line of your thighs where it hugged just so. you turned, bare back exposed, the zipper dangling like an invitation, “can you zip me up?” you asked, voice casual as if you were asking the time.

he moved before he thought. his fingers brushed the metal at the base of your spine, and a small, private electricity sparked between them. for a beat his world narrowed to the warmth of your skin, the soft damp left by your shower, the tiny pulse at the base of your neck. he pulled the zipper up carefully, his hand pausing on the small of your back, thumb resting on the curve of your waist as if he could steady both the zipper and himself at once. it clicked to the top. he stayed there, fingers pressed to the red material, as if reluctant to let go. “there,” he said too softly.

“thanks,” you whispered, turning slightly to face him, practicing that easy smile he’d seen a thousand times.

“where the hell are you going like that?” he asked before he could stop himself. his voice came out sharper than he intended, half-joking, half-accusatory, and he immediately cursed at the tone.

you raised a brow, grabbing your tiny gold hoop earrings from the coffee table, “out.”

“out,” he repeated, like the word tasted wrong in his mouth, “out where?”

you smiled, too casually, too practiced, as you fastened the earrings, “on a date.”

the answer landed like a stone on his chest, heavy and unmovable. his jaw flexed but he leaned back on the couch, feigning disinterest with a lazy shrug, “cool.”

you bent toward the mirror in the middle of your bedroom and bathroom door, sliding lipstick over your mouth. yangyang’s eyes followed the motion like he had no control over them, heat crawling up his neck, “seriously,” he muttered, picking at a loose thread on his hoodie sleeve to hide his nerves, “you’re just gonna walk out looking like that?”

“like what?” you asked, tone light, almost mocking.

“like–,” his throat closed on the words — like you belong to somebody else. like you’re about to go love someone that isn’t him. like you’re about to ruin me. — “like you’re trying too hard.”

you shot him a sidelong glance, “that’s kind of the point, yang. it’s a date, not game night.”

he scoffed, leaning further back into the couch, arms crossed like a shield, “just saying, you don’t need to go all out. if the guy’s worth anything, he’d like you without,” he gestured vaguely at your dress, your hair, your lipstick and hated how bitter it came out, “...all that.”

you rolled your eyes, walking back into your bathroom to dry your hair, “gee, thanks, dad.”

and when you moved, he couldn’t help it — his gaze followed. the curve of your waist as you bent, the soft skin of your shoulders where the dress stopped, the soft throat where your pulse beat — felt suddenly like an unfair claim he’d had no right to know was there. you were slipping further away from him with every step. and he hated how much it bothered him.

you were in the bathroom, halfway through smoothing the last of your hair when he stepped up to lean on the doorway, watching you with something that tried to be casual and failed, “so,” he said, voice taut, “who’s this guy anyway?”

you didn’t look up from the mirror, “shotaro.”

the name cracked him open. yangyang straightened like he’d been struck. “shotaro?” he repeated, disbelief sharp in his tone. “i thought you two were just fucking.”

you finally turned, one brow arched, “we are. doesn’t mean we can’t go out for drinks.”

his laugh died in his throat, replaced by something heavier, “right. just drinks.” he muttered, every word wrapped in a film of something that could’ve been hurt if you looked close enough.

you brushed past him, grabbing your heels and bending over to buckle your heel, “why do you care so much?”

“i don’t.” the answer was too quick, too defensive. his arms crossed tighter over his chest, but his jaw was locked, breath shallow, “it’s just—you don’t go on dates with fuck buddies, that complicates things.”

you gave him a dry smile as you reached for your bag, “not everyone overcomplicates things the way you do, yang.” you slung your bag over your shoulder, gave your reflection one last glance and headed for the door. yangyang hadn’t moved from the wall, though every line of his body was wound tight like a coiled spring. your hand hovered on the doorknob, “you’re welcome to stay, lock up if you leave.”

he didn’t answer. just watched you with something unreadable burning in his eyes. you forced a little smile, as if this was normal, as if you weren’t both suffocating under everything unsaid and then you slipped out into the hall. he watched you go. the door clicked shut. the apartment slipped into silence.

yangyang stared at the empty space you’d just left behind, abruptly pacing, running hand through his hair over and over like it could scrape out the image of you in that dress. his chest ached, sharp and unfamiliar. jealousy bloomed — ugly, raw, gnawing with a possessiveness he had no right to feel.

“god, get a grip, she’s just your best friend,” he muttered, but his reflection in the darkened t.v. screen looked back at him with wide, haunted eyes. because now he knew. now he knew exactly what renjun meant. and it terrified him. he paced another circle through your apartment before his steps slowed outside your bedroom door. the air felt heavier in here, familiar in a way that made his chest ache. the last time he was in here you were doing things best friends definitely weren’t supposed to be doing. looking at your bed made the memory flash so hard he had to look away. his gaze landed instead on the stuffed bear propped up against your pillows.

yangyang let out shaky laugh, dragging a hand over his face as he sat on the edge of your bed, he picked up the bear, holding it loosely in his lap, “hey, mr. bear,” he muttered, voice low, rough, half a joke and half not, “long time no talk.” the bear’s stitched smile was the stupidest comfort — unchanging, honest in a way people weren’t. he turned the plush in his hands, felt the seam under his thumbs. he pressed the fur to his cheek because it smelled faintly of you, laundry detergent and something softer he’d never been able to name, and it made his throat close. “—a date,” he said to the bear, and the words went sour in his mouth. “can you believe her?…shotaro.” the name tasted like something he’d swallowed and couldn’t cough up. he pictured you across a table, your mouth moving, your laugh, that ridiculous lipstick. his stomach clenched. his grip tightened on the bear’s paw. “renjun’s wrong, you know. he has to be. because if he’s right, then…” his words faltered, throat burning. “then i’m in trouble.”

silence. the bear didn’t argue. yangyang shook his head, forcing a laugh that cracked halfway, “i can’t lose her, not over something as easily changeable as feelings.”

still no answer. just the bear’s stitched grin. yangyang slumped back against your pillows, hugging it to his chest like it could keep the truth out, “don’t look at me like that,” he muttered. “i don’t… i don’t love her…not like that.”

the sentence felt thin in his mouth. he ran his thumb along the bear’s paw, counting excuses. maybe it was the way you’d always been close. maybe boundaries blurred in late-night conversations, in shared hostels and stupid internships. people get attached, that didn’t mean they were in love. people mixed up comfort for something else all the time. but an inconvenient thought slid in and refused to leave. when had he last wanted someone else to hold you? when had the idea of another person making you laugh not made his stomach drop?

he’d made a habit of noticing you — cataloguing little things like a map. the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were thinking, the exact tilt of your smile. the way your breathing is naturally synchronized with his when he has you wrapped in his arms.

knowing, he kept telling himself, didn’t mean anything. it was just being close, like knowing the fastest routes across campus, harmless — but even he didn’t believe that. because the more he came up with excuses, the more he realizes he doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince.

his throat tightened until it hurt, and the laugh that clawed out of him was broken, shaky. “fuck,” he whispered, pressing the bear tighter against his chest, forehead dropping against its soft head, “fuck, i think i’m in trouble.”

the words sat there, heavy and terrifying. his heart thudded so loud it almost drowned them out, but not enough to erase them. he let out a breath that trembled all the way through him, closing his eyes, clutching mr. bear like the plush might hold him together, “you always were horrible at giving advice,” he told him, half-smiling despite the ache ripping through his chest, “but you keep secrets. you listen when no one else will.”

•ᴥ•

the bar was loud, packed with music and chatter, but you couldn’t shake the itch of yangyang’s voice still stuck in your head from earlier. you sat across from shotaro at a little round table tucked into the corner. he looked smugly perfect in his button-up and blazer, his easy smile drawing attention from every direction. but the truth was, this wasn’t a date. not really.

“thanks for coming,” he said, leaning closer so you could hear him over the noise, “i just…didn’t want to show up solo, like a loser, you know?”

you arched a brow, sipping your drink, “well, i do owe you one for letting me cry in your arms.”

he grinned, unbothered, “you look hot by the way.”you laughed, rolling your eyes. you weren’t here to play pretend with shotaro. you weren’t even here because you wanted to be. you were here because you couldn’t stand the thought of sitting at home, replaying the feel of yangyang’s hands, yangyang’s words, yangyang’s silence.

shotaro leaned back in his chair, studying you for a beat, “you’re somewhere else,” he said finally, soft but true.

your throat tightened, you forced a smile, swirling the liquid in your glass, “i’m here. with you.” but even as you said it, you both knew it wasn’t true.

the drinks kept coming. one minute it was a whiskey sour, the next a round of tequila shots someone ordered for the whole table, and before you knew it, your head was warm and spinning, your laughter bubbling too easily. shotaro leaned in, whispering in your ear, “you’re a lightweight, admit it.”

you squintied at him through the rim of your glass, nose scrunching, "i'm not–,” you hiccuped mid-sentence and slapped your hand over your mouth, “okay. maybe a little.”

he cracked up that bright, boyish laugh of his, drawing a few curious stares, “you’re adorable when you’re tipsy. don’t tell anyone i said that.”

“too late,” you pointed at him dramatically, though your finger wobbled with your balance, “i’m telling everyone. yangyang will—” you cut yourself off too quickly. the name had slipped out before you could stop it. your stomach dipped. shotaro tilted his head, teasing, but didn’t press. instead, he lifted his glass, saving you from your own slip, “to bad ideas,” he said.

you clunked clumsily against his, “to bad ideas.”from there, the night blurred into easy laughter and stupid dares. you convinced shotaro to try and balance on the barstool and he nearly toppled straight into the ground. he got revenge by dragging you onto the dance floor, where your limbs were looser than your coordination, the both of you laughing so hard you could barely keep upright. somewhere in the haze, the ache in your chest dulled. shotaro was fun. simple. no feelings involved. the more you drank, the easier it was to forget why you were here in the first place. the easier it was to pretend the image of yangyang in your apartment, jaw clenched and eyes dark, wasn’t still burned into the back of your mind. by the time the night wound down, you were clinging into shotaro’s arm, giggling as he half-carried, half-guided you out of the bar.

“you’re a mess,” he teased, shaking his head, “let’s get you home.”

•ᴥ•

shotaro steadied you against the doorframe, your fingers fumbling uselessly against the keypad. every time you punched in the numbers, it beeped angrily, red light flashing. you groaned, pressing your forehead to the cold metal, “why won’t it love meee?” you slurred, giggling.

“maybe because you put 1-0-1-0 three times,” shotaro deadpanned, biting back a grin.

you swayed towards him, whispering conspiratorially, “that’s yangyang’s birthday,” then you laughed like it was the funniest secret in the world. before shotaro could respond, the door snapped open from the inside. yangyang stood framed in the doorway, hair mussed like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times, hoodie hanging loose on his frame. his eyes flicked from your drunken smile straight to shotaro’s steady hand on your arm.

you lit up instantly, arms flying around his neck, “YANG!” you sang, voice too loud, too bright, too happy. you pressed your cheek against his shoulder, giggling like a child. yangyang froze under your touch, breath hitching as your perfume and the warmth of your damp skin from earlier hit him all at once. his arms stayed stiff at his sides for a beat too long before one slid around your waist to steady you before you collapsed. he lifted his gaze over your head, locking on shotaro. his voice was low, sharp, even though he tried to keep it casual, “i got it from here.”

shotaro looked at the two of you — your arms wrapped around yangayng, his hand gripping your waist, and shrugged, unbothered as ever, “yeah, yeah,” he smirked, stepping back with a wave, “goodnight.”

yangyang didn’t wait for shotaro to disappear fully down the hall before tugging you gently inside. he shut the door behind you with a click that sounded too loud in the quiet apartment. you clung tighter around his neck, giggling as he carried you toward your bedroom. he got you into your room and sat you down on the edge of your bed, crouching in front of you to unbuckle your heels as he slid the straps off and tugged the shoes away.

“you’re a mess,” he muttered, but his voice was softer than the words.

you leaned forward until your forehead rest against his shoulder, giggling, “but i’m your mess.”

his chest tightened but he ignored it, tugging gently at your wrist, “come on, teddy. let’s get you out of this thing.” he reached for the zipper at your back, careful, slow, trying not to notice the way the red fabric peeled away from your skin under his fingers. you tilted your head toward him, “yangyang,” you whispered, playful but dreamy, “you’re undressing me.”

his hands froze, “don’t say it like that,” he muttered, trying not to combust, “im just—helping.” you hummed, unconvinced, swaying closer as he eased the dressed down your body. he kept his eyes anywhere but your bare skin, swallowing hard as the fabric slipped lower until it pooled on the floor, leaving you in your underwear. he didn’t linger, he grabbed one of your oversized t-shirts from your dresser, which looked a lot like the t-shirt he’s been missing for weeks, and gently pulled it over your head.

“there. done.” he exhaled like he’d just run a marathon. he guided you to lie back against the pillows, tucking the blanket over your legs. when he sat at the edge, reaching for the makeup wipes on your vanity, you squinted up at him through heavy lashes.

“stay still.” he instructed. you wriggled anyway, just to be difficult, lips curling into a mischievous grin. but the second his hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing softly as he wiped away your lipstick, you went quiet, melting into the warmth of his touch.

the silence stretched until his voice came, quieter this time, careful, “so…how was your date?”

you smiled, eyes closing as you leaned into his palm, “it was soooo fun,” you sighed, cheeks flushed, “shotaro’s funny. he made me laugh a lot.”

the words scraped against his chest but he swallowed them down, “yeah?”

“mmhm, but…,” your lashes fluttered as you peeked up at him, tipsy and unfiltered, “i wish you were there.”

his hand stilled mid-wipe. for a second, all he could do was stare at you — at the way your drunken pout tugged at his heart, at the little hiccup that slipped through your words, at the way your hand wrapped softly around his wrist. his throat went dry. he could feel the words crawling up the back of his tongue, the things he shouldn’t say, things he wasn’t even sure of yet, but all that came out was a rough, “you’re drunk.” he forced his hand to move again, swiping gently at your eyeliner, pretending he didn’t feel your confession sinking into his chest like a hook.

“why don’t you ever see me?”

the words slipped out slurred and soft, dangerous in their honesty. you blinked up at him from under heavy lashes, a little tipsy smile tugging at your lips like you hadn’t even realized what you’d said. yangyang’s head snapped up so fast the motion jolted him. for a beat he simply stared at you, breath gone, “see you?” his voice came out quieter than he wanted, “what the hell does that mean? i see you every day.”

you let out a tiny hiccup that dissolved into sad, hiccupy laugh, “not like that,” you mumbled, eyes glassy, “you just—” your brow furrowed, the words slipping, stalling, before alcohol gave you a shove, “you only ever see your best friend. never me.”

the apartment folded into silence. the fan hummed somewhere, the fridge buzzed. everything felt too loud and too small at once. your lips wobbled into another hiccupy laugh, but this one was sharp with the sting of unshed tears, “why’d you call me a mistake?”

the question hung there, fragile and heavy all at once. you didn’t throw it like an accusation, didn’t spit it out with anger. you said it like an ache you hadn’t been able to bury, like a wound that had festered quietly in the dark until it spilled over.

yangyang’s chest seized so tight it hurt to breathe. he shook his head fast, desperate, like maybe if he shook hard enough the regret would come loose, “i–,” his voice cracked on the first breath, a broken sound that burned his throat, “god, i didn’t mean-”but you were already slipping, lashes sinking, your body curling inward under the blanket as if retreating into yourself. the alcohol had won, pulling you under just as the words had escaped.

and maybe that was the cruellest part — that your truth had finally spilled out when you were too drunk to hold it, and he was left with his regret alone. yangyang sank down onto the floor beside your bed, elbows digging into his knees, hands clasped so tight his knuckles went white. he stared at you through the dim light, your breathing uneven but soft, the blanket rising and falling gently with each inhale.

“i didn’t mean it,” he whispered, words caught in the quiet hum of the room. his voice broke on the edges, too fragile to hold, “i never meant it.”

🧸 OCTOBER 3 - SATURDAY - HAS IT ALWAYS BEEN LIKE THIS?

you woke up with your skull pounding, only to find a glass of water and a pack of pain relievers on your nightstand. suspicious. very suspicious. dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffled out of your bedroom, following the faint sound of pots clinking. when you peeked into your kitchen, yangyang was hunched over the stove, stirring something with more concentration than he’d ever given any of his classes.

“what did you break?” you croaked from the doorway.

he was startled so hard the ladle nearly flew out of his hand, “huh? i didn’t break anything,” he said, a little confused by your question.

you narrowed your eyes and walked up behind him, slipping your arms around his waist in a lazy back hug, chin landing on his shoulder, “then why are you acting like a househusband right now?”

usually, he would’ve shot back with something dumb but this time he just froze. because your body was warm against his back, your breath brushing his neck and suddenly his pulse was thunderous. he gripped the ladle tighter like it could anchor him. “uh…,” he said brilliantly, staring very hard at the ramen, “because…i’m nice?”

you snorted against his shoulder, voice muffled, “liar. you’re only nice when you want something or when you did something. did you clog the toilet? spill on the couch? scratch my switch again?”

“that was one time!,” he protested, voice cracking, “and i told you…your joy con was already peeling.”you squeezed him tighter, laughing, which only made his heart beat harder. usually hugs between you two were nothing — habit, background noise in your friendship. but now it felt like he was hyper-aware of everything. the way your fingers fidgeted against his hoodie, the weight of your chin on his shoulder, the soft sway of your body pressed to his. desperate to distract himself, he tapped the spoon against the pot, “don’t distract the chef, i’m doing very important work here.”

you hummed, still clinging to him, “pretty sure boiling instant ramen isn’t a michelin star situation.”

“how dare you?’ he teased though his ears were burning. after a couple more minutes, yangyang plopped the steaming bowls onto the table with an exaggerated flourish, “breakfast is served. please, try not to cry from how amazing it is.”

you looked up from your chair and gave him a skeptical look, “wow. gordon ramsay better watch his back.”

“exactly,” he said with a grin, sliding into the chair right next to you instead of across like he normally did, “you get it.” you snorted into your noodles. it was definitely the best hungover remedy. and when you slurped too fast and ended up coughing, he was already sliding the glass of water toward you, murmuring, “slow down, teddy,” with a softness that made your chest squeeze.

you nudged his shoulder with yours, “you’re being weirdly sweet today.”

“weirdly?” he raised a brow, “i’m always sweet.” you laughed, shaking your head and for a second his gaze lingered on you too long, his grin softening into something he quickly masked by shoving a mouthful of noodles into his face.

after a stretch of comfortable slurping silence, you set your chopsticks down and tilted your head at him, “by the way, your birthday’s in like, seven days, what do you want to do?”

he chewed slowly, stalling, before mumbling, “i don’t know, maybe we could just rent an airbnb and celebrate like we do every year.”

you paused, blinking, “uh…we usually do that with renjun and them.”

yangyang nodded, sipping his broth, “yeah, so?”

you leaned back, eyeing him, “so…are you okay with inviting renjun this year?”

“yeah, we’re okay now,” he said simply, chopsticks tapping against the edge of his bowl.

your brow arched, “since when?”

he froze mid-slurp, eyes darting anywhere but you, “...since recently.”

“uh-huh, that’s specific,” you teased, leaning in, clearly not letting him off that easy.

his lips twitched, fighting a smile, “drop it. eat your noodles before they get soggy.” but his ears were pink and you knew you’d hit something he wasn’t ready to explain yet.

•ᴥ•

the ramen was gone, the bowls stacked in the sink and the two of you ended up exactly where you always did — sprawled on the couch. your legs tangled, his arm thrown lazily around you, your head pillowed against his chest. it was nothing new. this was normal. routine. but yangyang couldn’t stop noticing how right it felt. the weight of you against him. the way your hair tickled his chin when you shifted. the soft, unconscious hum you let out when you finally settled, like his arms were the only place you could relax. he stared at the t.v. playing teen wolf but he wasn’t absorbing any of it. his focus was on the way his arm curved so easily around your shoulders like it was molded for you. the way his hand rested against your side like it had always belonged there — had it always been like this? had you always fit this perfectly against him? how is it that he was just now realizing it?

your hand absently toyed with the hem of his hoodie, fingers brushing the fabric and he swore his heart stuttered. you let out a soft laugh at some random line stiles stilinski blurted out, your body shaking lightly against him and yangyang’s chest tightened all over again. he didn’t move. didn’t dare. he just held you a little closer, silently wondering when the ordinary started to feel extraordinary.

your phone buzzed from your coffee table. you shifted just enough to reach it, screen lighting up with shotaro’s name. yangyang’s arm tightened instinctively around you before he could stop himself. his eyes dropped, catching the stupid little smile tugging at your lips as you unlocked the screen.

“what’s so funny?,” he asked, casual on the surface but his voice had a sharper edge than usual. you tilted your head toward him, showing him the message without thinking:

shotaro: did you recover from last night?

shotaro: or should i fall off another bar stool to make you feel better?

you giggled, typing something back, “he’s so funny,” you mumbled, thumb flying across the screen. yangyang’s jaw clenched so tight it ached. funny. right. so nice he makes you laugh like that. his chest burned with it, a jealousy that felt too raw to admit out loud. he forced a laugh, nudging you lightly in the side, “wow, look at you, miss popular. am i supposed to get in line behind shotaro now?”

you snorted, tossing your phone back on the coffee table and leaning your weight into him again, oblivious to the storm brewing in his chest, “don’t be dramatic. you’re first in line. always.”

that should have soothed him. should have. but the words only lodged deeper, because at the end of the day he knew shotaro could hold you in ways he couldn’t. could touch you in ways best friends shouldn’t. and yangyang hated how much the word best friend was starting to sound like a prison.

eventually, your weight softened against him, breath evening out as you drifted off to sleep. he felt the exact moment your lashes fluttered closed and your body surrendered fully into his chest. yangyang stared at the ceiling, trying to quiet the noise in his head. but it was impossible with your cheek pressed over his heartbeat, with your hand curled loosely against his hoodie like you had been doing it forever, which you have. he told himself it was just comfort. that this was what best friends did. you fell asleep on him all the time after late-night movies or long days. but something about tonight…about the way shotaro’s name lit up your phone, about how he’d felt a sharp, irrational sting in his chest just seeing it — made everything sharper. he exhaled slowly, his fingers absently brushing along your arm, realizing how silence felt less like emptiness and more like home with you filling it. the thought scared him. because if he let himself believe, it, he wasn’t sure he could ever go back. so he lay there, still and quiet, letting you sleep while his mind circled the same truth he wasn’t ready to admit even to himself.

🧸 OCTOBER 4-9 - SUNDAY-FRIDAY - REALIZATIONS.

the next day, you both swore off productivity, ordering greasy takeout and eating cross-legged on the living room floor because it was way more comfortable than your table. you told some ridiculous story — hands waving, face animated. yangyang laughed so hard he nearly choked on his fried rice. then he noticed how easily the sleeves of his hoodie swallowed your hands, how you leaned across the cartons to swat his chopsticks away from stealing another bite. the moment stretched too long. his chest tightened.

on monday, you dragged him for ice cream at the convenience store right after class. you bickered about flavors, your hand brushing his when you both reached for the same one. he laughed it off like always but his skin buzzed where your fingered grazed. later, when you leaned against his shoulder on the way back, arm linked around, spooning bites from your cup into his mouth without think, he had to swallow twice — once for the ice cream, once for the realization that he wanted this forever.

on tuesday in painting ii. you took your usual seats. you dipped your brush, tongue poking at the corner of your lips as you concentrated. yangyang tried to focus on his own canvas but every few minutes he caught himself staring instead — at the slope of your nose, the way your hair slipped loose and you absentmindedly tucking it behind your ear. you had called him out on it with a simple, “why are you staring at me?” his ears burned, he covered it with a scoff, dragging his brush harder than necessary, “please, i’m just laughing at how seriously you’re taking this.” but when you leaned over suddenly to dab a streak of blue onto his canvas, laughing when he gasped, yangyang swore your laughter made his heart stop.

on wednesday, you spent the evening sprawled in your living room, controllers in hand, locked in a mario kart bottle, “stop pushing me off the track!” you yelped, shoving his shoulder. yangyang grinned, not taking his eyes off the screen, “it’s called strategy, teddy.” the nickname he used all the came out sweeter, softer. you groaned dramatically as his kart sped past yours on the final lap, “you cheated!” he laughed but when you pouted, he wondered why winning a mario kart game suddenly felt like a loss.

on thursday, you were stretched out on your bed when he walked in, laptop open, calendar pulled up. he tossed himself onto the bed behind you, phone in hand, mr. bear in the other.

without looking up, you said casually, “i booked the airbnb for your birthday weekend.”

his head popped up “already?”

you hummed, still typing, “yeah, same spot as last year. i figured it’d be easier to just stick with what we know.” you glanced back at him with a small smile, “i invited our usual crew — xiaojun, hendery, ningning, renjun and…uh…the new addition, love,” you said her name carefully, like testing the weight of it. he used to flinch at the mention or brush it off too quickly like he didn’t want to deal with it. but tonight, yangyang just blinked, nodding.

“yeah, cool,” he said. no hesitation. no shift in his expression. just easy, even.

you narrowed your eyes, turning fully to face him, “wait, that’s it? no sarcastic comments, no sighing, no complaints?”

yangyang smirked, shrugging lazily, “what do you want me to say? i’m over it.”

“over it?” you echoed, skeptical.

“over it.” he repeated, getting more comfortable in your pillows. you stared at him for a moment, like you were trying to read between his words. he only stretched out more, feigning nonchalance. but inside, yangyang was reeling — not because of love. but because of how…nothing it felt. the name that used to twist his stomach now barely registered, as if the tether had been cut without him noticing. the only thing tugging at him now was you, sitting cross-legged on your bed in another one of his oversized t-shirts, hair falling into your eyes as you frowned at your laptop. and he was sure — he didn’t care who else came to his birthday. as long as you were there.

by the time friday night settled in, everything felt quieter, softer. the apartment lights were dim, the only glow coming from the t.v. screen where another episode of teen wolf played. you were curled up against him the way you always where. this was what you did every week, every day practically. but just like last week, yangyang couldn’t focus on the screen. his eyes traced the crown of your head, the curve of your cheek pressed against him, the way you unconsciously shifted closer like your body had long decided he was home. his arm curved around you tighter. he couldn’t stop replaying your drunk words in his head, the way you’d whispered, “why don’t you ever see me?” because god, he did. he saw you everywhere now. in the way you looked after him, in the way you teased him, in the way your laugh made something catch in his chest. he saw you in everything. the realization sank into him heavy, immovable, inescapable — he was in love with you. it had slipped in quietly, disguised as years of friendship and routines until suddenly it was all he could feel. he was in love with his best friend.

🧸 OCTOBER 10 - SATURDAY - TRUTH OR DARE?

the eight-seater car was cramped and noisy, hendery and xiaojun in the front arguing over directions, ningning on the aux cord singing at the top of her lungs, love laughing at renjun’s terrible jokes in the back. but for yangyang, the entire drive felt muted. his focus kept pulling back to you, sitting right next to him, in the middle of all the chaos. the way you leaned your head against his shoulder, tapping absentmindedly at your phone. the way your laugh rose above the noise like it was the only sound that mattered. it was his birthday, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything except the fact that you were there, pressed against him, fitting like you belonged in that spot. and when you reached for the water bottle in the cupholder by his side, hand brushing his thigh by accident. he didn’t flinch. didn’t move. he just swallowed, eyes fixed forward, like he could will his heartbeat to steady.

it took a total of two hours to finally arrive at the airbnb where chaos amplified as everyone claimed rooms, bickering about unpacking and setting up the food/supplies that you guys brought. you tugged yangyang along by the wrist, insisting he help you set up the decorations you hid in your bag.

“surprise,” you grinned, throwing up string lights across the living room, “thought we could make it more festive.”

he stared at the lights, then at you, then back again, “shouldn’t you have set it up first and then said surprise,” he teases, trying to ignore the soft pull in his chest.

“you really think i have time to sneak away and set this up without you catching me?,” you giggled, handing him the opposite end of the string light as the two of you decorated the living room together.

the rest of the day unfolded in a blur of noise — hendery grilling, ningning forcing everyone into drinking games, renjun rolling his eyes so hard they almost got stuck, xiaojun turning up his birthday party playlist, laughter and music filling the house. as night fell, everyone was in there swimwears, lounging in the airbnb’s hot tub, steaming under the night sky, stars hazy overhead, bottles clinking against the rim as everyone crammed in shoulder to shoulder. ningning was the mastermind, of course — three beers in and declaring that the only logical next step was truth or dare.

yangyang had been fine all day, riding the edge between best friend comfort and the dizzy new weight of knowing he was in love with you. but now, with you pressed against his side in the crowded tub, legs brushing underwater, hair damp with steam and stray pieces sticking to your cheeks — he felt wrecked.

“okay, okay,” ningning grinned, pointing the empty bottle at him first, “birthday boy starts. truth or dare?”

“truth.”

“boo, boring,” ningning pouted, then leaned in, eyes glinting with mischief, “fine. who here would you most want to kiss?”

the group whooped immediately. renjun looked a little nervous. while xiaojun and hendery banged on the sides of the tub like a drumroll. yangyang’s throat closed. his eyes flickered sideways before he could stop himself — landing on you. you were laughing, shaking your head, splashing ningning in mock protest.

“pass,” yangyang muttered, heat rushing up to his neck.

“no passes on your birthday!,” ningning sang, a smug smile on her face.

yangyang only took another sip, stubbornly silent until henderey hollered, “coward!” and the group dissolved into laughter. the game spiraled from there. dares to shotgun beers, truths about old crushes, ningning trying to get hendery to admit he had feelings for someone. you were glowing from it all, laughter spilling free, leaning heavier into yangyang’s side with every drink. everyone was loose, loud, shoulders bumping and splashing. ningning, of course, was thriving, eyes glittering as she scanned the circle fo her next victim.

“alright, y/n,” she grinned, pointing the empty bottle at you, “truth or dare?”

you thought about it for a second or two, the past two turns you’ve picked truth and now you were drunk enough for something bolder — “dare.”

ningning smirked like she’d just thought of the juiciest thing in the world, “i dare you to—” her eyes flicked between you and yangyang, lingering on the way you were half draped against his side without ever realizing it, “—kiss the person you’d most want to take home tonight.”

the tub erupted in hoots, xiaojun’s obnoxious “ooooOooOoohhHHh,” hendery splashing water everywhere, love grinning from ear to ear, renjun smirked at yangyang with an eyebrow raised like he already knew your answer and was waiting for you to confirm it. your stomach dropped but your grin stayed, drunk and playful. you turned your face toward yangyang, meaning to laugh it off, to share the mortified joke with your best friend. but he was already looking at you. already too close. his eyes unreadable in the dim of the hot tub’s light.

the air shifted. everyone else was still howling, waiting, chanting, KISS, KISS, KISS.

you leaned in just the tiniest bit — maybe to play along, maybe because the alcohol made it too easy, maybe because you wanted to kiss him. then your lips brushed his cheek. quick. harmless. but his hand clenched under the water, near your thigh, and you swore you felt the way his breath caught.

“lammmeee!,” hendery groaned. renjun, though, was smirking like he’d seen something the others hadn’t.

the dares heightened after that. more splashing, more laughter, someone daring xiaojun to stay underwater for two minutes or post an ugly selfie on his instagram story. but then renjun, grinning wickedly, fixed his eyes on yangyang, daring — “truth or dare, yang.”

yangyang swiped his wet hair back, rolling his eyes, “fine. dare.”

his grin widened, “i dare you to let the person of your choice sit on your lap for the next three rounds.”

the group cheered, ningning literally cackling, renjun’s teasing smile burning into his mind because they both knew there was only one person he would choose. yangyang froze before playing it off, like it didn’t have any effect on him at all. he smirked faintly, masking the way his pulse spiked before turning to you and patting his thigh under the bubbling water, “come on, teddy…don’t keep them waiting.”

you punched him playfully on the shoulder, giggling, before taking your seat anyway. and yangyang swore the heat of the hot tub can’t even compare to the heat of your skin against his.

the game went on, laughter and half-slurred joked spilled into the night. everyone was a little loose, a little unguarded, the alcohol smoothing edges that usually stayed sharp. until you were sitting back against the hot tub wall, cheeks flushed from both the heat and the drink. yangyang sat beside you once again, thigh brushing yours underwater in that way that felt accidental but wasn’t.

“okay, back to you,” ningning said, pointing at you, “truth or dare?”

you groaned dramatically, already feeling like the game has been dragging on, “truth.”

renjun smirked like a cat who’d just spotted a cornered mouse, “have you ever had a crush on anyone in this circle?”

yangyang stiffened beside you so suddenly you could feel the ripple of tension run through him. your mouth opened, then closed. you knew it was supposed to be fun and harmless but the way everyone was leaning in made your heart thud in your chest.

“uh–,” you cleared your throat, fumbling, “...maybe,” you admitted, forcing a smile like you weren’t two seconds away from boiling alive. ningning clutched xiaojun’s arm, demanding names, hendery started throwing out wild guesses, starting with himself, and renjun looked smug as hell, satisfied with the chaos he’d caused.

before it could escalate, love, seemed to sense your discomfort. she shoots you a small smile before tugging on her boyfriend’s arm, laughing as she said, “okay, i think we’ve had our fun, come on junie, let’s go,” and when renjun protested, complaining about how the fun just started, love whispered something in his ear and not even a second after, they slipped out of the water together, exchanging a glance that was not so subtle about where they were headed. definitely not just to sleep. ningning yawned next, waving a lazy hand, “yeah, okay you can keep your secret, i’m too sleepy for this,” she padded off toward her room, towel wrapped around her shoulders. xiaojun and hendery weren’t far behind, drunkenly bickering about who had been the worst at the dares. their voices faded as they disappeared down the hall, leaving the night suddenly quiet except for the gentle hum of the hot hub.

it was just you and yangyang now.

the air felt different, heavier, the stars above wide and indifferent to the way your pulse quickened.

yangyang leaned back against the tub wall, tilting his head toward you with that lazy grin that always made him look like he knew too much, “so…,” he drawled, eyes gleaming the low light, “you’ve had a crush on someone here, huh?” his tone was teasingly playful, voice slurring ever so slightly with the beer in his system, but underneath it something flickered sharper like he wanted the answer more than he’d admit, “why’d you never tell me?”

you tipped your head, water glinting off your shoulders as you gave him a sly grin, “that’s not the question renjun asked.”

he let out a low laugh, shaking his head, hair damp against his forehead, “you’re annoying.”

the two of you sat there in silence for a while, the tension coiling tight as the bubbles hummed around you.

“alright,” you said suddenly, breaking the silence with a mischievous lilt, “truth or dare?”

he didn’t even hesitate, “truth.”

you leaned in just a little, eyes dancing, “what’s your birthday wish?”

his lips curved, but this time it wasn’t the usual playful smirk. it was softer, more dangerous, “my wish,” he said, voice low, “is for you to say dare.”

your chest tightened. the steam, the closeness, the weight of his gaze — it all pressed down at once but you nodded, pretending not to notice the way your pulse jumped. “fine. dare.”

his smirk returned but it didn’t reach his eyes. they stayed locked on you, unwavering, “i dare you…to kiss your crush.”

you barked out a laugh, shaking your head, “you realize how ridiculous that sounds? there’s only two of us left here.”

“i know,” yangyang said, serious now, the playfulness stripped away. his hand shifted under the water, brushing against your thigh, grounding and dangerous all at once, “that’s the point. i can’t watch you kiss anyone else.”

your pulse thundered in your ears. the weight of his confession hung between you, heavier than the steam, heavier then the alcohol in your veins.

you swallowed hard, your laugh breaking somewhere in your throat, “what?...” but he was already leaning closer. not enough to touch, not enough to cross the line just yet, but close enough that you felt the heat of his breath on your lips. his eyes flicked down, just once, before snapping back up to yours like was daring you to stop him. you didn’t. instead, your hand, like it had a mind of its own, reached up and curled into the damp hair at the back of his neck, tugging him down that last inch.

the kiss was clumsy at first, a brush of lips softened by too many beers but the second it landed, everything tilted. his mouth slanted over yours with a hunger that startled you both, like he’d been holding back for years without even realizing it. his hand found your waist, gripping tight, pulling you flush against him until you were straddling him, water sloshing over the edge of the hot tub. the taste of beer, the faint sting of chlorine, the low groan rumbling from his chest when you kissed him harder — it all blurred into something dizzying, something that felt far too good to be just a dare.

he pulled back just enough to breathe, lips dragging along your jaw before he caught your mouth again. between kisses, his voice rumbled low, teasing but raw around the edges.

“truth or dare?”

you laughed into his mouth, breathless, trying to kiss him again, “yang, seriously?”

“answer the question,” he murmured, lips still grazing yours like he couldn’t stay away.

“truth,” you murmured, too far gone to even think of anything else.

he stilled for half a beat, eyes burning into yours. then, softer than the steam curling around you, he asked, “do you still have a crush on me now?”

you didn’t bother answering his question with words. you leaned in, kissing him harder, pouring everything you didn’t dare say for the past five years into the press of your mouth. he melted into the kiss instantly, pulling you closer like he couldn’t get close enough.

when you finally pulled back for air, your lips brushed against his, whispering, “truth or dare?”

his chest rose against yours, heartbeat erratic beneath your palm, his voice came out rough, almost broken, “dare.”

your mouth curled into a small mischievous smile, though your pulse was thrumming so loud it was deafening, “i dare you…to take off my top.”

the words hung between you, heavy and dangerous. you both froze for a heartbeat, aware of exactly what you were doing. aware of the line being crossed, again, only deeper this time. yangyang’s eyes locked onto yours, molten and unflinching. his hands, still braced at your waist, slid upward, hesitating. and then, right before his fingers reached the tie of your bikini top, he stilled.

“teddy,” he said, voice low but certain, “this is not a mistake.”

you were breathing hard, your heart pounding erratically in your chest at the words you’ve been wanting to hear. your answer came without hesitation, raw and true, “good,” you whispered, leaning closer until your nose brushed his, “i never wanted it to be.”

your words seem to undo him. whatever hesitation that lingered in his chest cracked open, spilling into the space between you. his hand rose, fingers brushing against your damp skin, following the string at the nape of your neck. his gaze never left yours. not once. even as his thumb toyed with the knot of your bikini top, he held your eyes like he needed your permission written there. you nodded once, barely, but it was enough. with a slow tug, the knot gave, the strings loosening under his fingers. your heart pounded so loud you swore he could hear it, feel it. his hand slid down your back to find the second tie, undoing it with the same deliberate care. the fabric slackened, floating away between you until your chest pressed against his. his breath hitched, sharp and reverent, and he immediately pulled you closer, shielding you with his body, as if even the night air wasn’t worthy of seeing you.

“fuck,” he muttered under his breath, voice wrecked, forehead pressing against yours, “you’re gonna kill me.”

you let out a shaky laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck, feeling the heat of his skin against yours, “that’s dramatic.”

he laughed before his mouth claimed yours again and you felt the unmistakable press of him through his soaked shorts, spurring you on, hips moving on instinct, grinding down slowly, his low groan vibrating against your lips.

“shit, teddy–” his hands gripped your hips, fingers digging in like he was trying to anchor you. the scrape of his teeth caught your bottom lip before his mouth trailed lower. the kisses down your throat, over your collarbone, made you shiver even in the hot water. and then he found your breast, lips closing over your nipple, hot and wet and desperate. you gasped, clutching at his hair, arching against him as this tongue swirled over you.

“yangyang—” you whimpered, rocking against him harder, his groan rumbling against your chest, sending sparks straight to your core as his tongue flicked and sucked, the sensation making your head spin.

“fuck,” he rasped against your skin, pulling back just enough to look up at you, water dripping from his hair, eyes darker than you’d ever seen them, “you feel so good. you don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

but you did know. you could feel him straining against his shorts with every grind of your hips. you could feel the heat in your stomach curling so hard, begging for release — your body continued rolling against him, nipples swollen from his mouth. the thin barrier of his shorts wasn’t enough anymore. and you know he’s thinking the same thing.

yangyang broke from your chest, breath ragged, voice cracking as he rasped, “teddy, i-i need to feel you….please.”

you pulled back just enough to look at him, your lips parted, your chest heaving. the sight of him — pupils blown wide, hair plastered to his forehead, jaw clenched like holding himself back was killing him, made you smirk through your own heavy breathing.

“no one’s stopping you.”

the words were a fuse. his hands shoved his shorts down beneath the water, the movement frantic, desperate. you pushed your bikini bottoms to the side, heat flooding every nerve as the head of his cock brushed against you.

you both gasped at the contact. he was thick, hot, even through the water pressing insistently against your entrance. for a second, yangyang’s hands froze on your hips, like he couldn’t believe this was happening.

“fuck, teddy—” he groaned as you took charge, lining him up, the initial intrusion causing his forehead to drop against your shoulder, voice shaking. “you’re so tight, i—” his voice broke off as you sank down onto him slowly, inch by inch, his cock stretching you open in a way that felt impossible.

“y-yeah? well–” you shuddered out a shaky laugh that melted into a whimper, nails digging into his shoulders, your body trembling, water sloshing gently against your back as you clung to him, he was so big you swore your breath caught in your throat, “you’re— fuck— you’re huge.”

the moment you were fully seated on him, both of you froze. it was too much. too good. nothing has ever felt so right before. your walls fluttered around him, greedy and unrelenting, and yangyang swore under his breath, a sound wrecked and reverent all at once.

“you feel—fuck—you feel unreal,” he panted, lifting his head just to kiss you — not rushed, not messy, but slow and deep. his tongue with yours, his lips moving in perfect rhythm, like he needed to savor the feel of you wrapped around him as much as he needed the air in his lungs.

you rolled your hips tentatively, a grinding movement that had the head of his cock dragging against every tender spot inside you, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths, the sound swallowed in the kiss.

“holy shit,” he breathed against your lips, his grip tightening when you did it again, slower this time, testing just how much of him you could take. the water shifted with every grind, bubbles brushing your bare chest as his mouth dropped back to your nipple, sucking softly, as if the added pleasure would distract him from how close he already felt.

your fingers tangled in his damp hair, tugging gently, “yangyang—oh my god—you feel so good” you cut yourself off with another whimper, grinding down harder. every grind sent sparks shooting up your spine, left your lips parting against his in a helpless moan. yangyang was shaking under you, every muscle pulled tight like he was trying to hold himself back.

but restraint couldn’t last.

you rocked against him harder, deeper, chasing that spot inside you that made your thighs tremble. his grip on your waist turned desperate, nails digging into your damp skin as though anchoring himself from falling apart too fast. the water sloshed around you, hot and slick, bubbling higher with each movement.

“f-fuck, teddy—” his voice cracked on your nickname, raw and reverent all at once. “i can’t—god, you’re so perfect.”

you moaned into his mouth, biting at his bottom lip as you rolled your hips again. your nails clawed down his back, urging him closer, deeper, “don’t hold back,” you whispered, breathless, half a plea and half a dare.

that undid him. his hands slid from your waist to your ass, hauling you down with every thrust of his hips. the rhythm shifted — messy, uneven, full of wet slaps and broken moans. every push of him inside you had you gasping into his neck, your body quivering against his. the hot tub water splashed against the sides, the whole night echoing with the sound of skin against skin and the helpless noises spilling out of your throats.

yangyang’s mouth was everywhere — your jaw, your throat, your nipple caught between his teeth before he soothed the sting with his tongue. each kiss felt like him branding you, marking you as his.

“teddy, i—shit—” his words tumbled out between gasps, his forehead pressing against yours again, sweat and water dripping down his temples, “i need more, i need all of you—”

before you could even respond, his arms slid beneath you, hoisting you up effortlessly. a squeak tore from your throat as your body hit the cool night air, suddenly perched on the slick edge of the hot tub. goosebumps prickled your skin, but then he surged forward, slipping back inside you in one deep thrust — your body yielding around him like it had been made for him all along.

it was overwhelming. without the drag of the water, yangyang had total control now, and every snap of his hips hit so much harder. your thighs trembled as you clung to his shoulders, meeting every desperate grind, every bruising thrust. the rhythm turned frantic — like all those years of buried tension had come bursting out at once, and now you both couldn’t stop even if you wanted to.

“yangyang—oh my god—” you cried, head falling back, nails leaving red trails down his slick shoulders.

“i’ve got you,” he groaned against your chest, voice ragged and low, before his mouth latched onto your nipple, sucking hungrily. his hips never faltered, each thrust driving you further against the edge, the sound of wet skin slapping echoing sharp against the bubbling water behind him.

pressure coiled unbearably hot and tight in your belly. your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking his mouth up to yours in a messy, desperate kiss. you moaned into him as you ground down harder, and then it broke — your body seized, thighs locking around his waist as pleasure crashed over you in waves, his name tearing from your throat in sobbed cries.

yangyang lost it the second he felt you tighten. his hips jerked erratically, a guttural groan ripped from deep in his chest. “fuck—teddy, i’m coming—oh, fuck—” he buried himself deep, spilling inside you, heat flooding you as his release poured out in thick pulses, making you clench tighter around him. neither of you cared that he came inside. you both kept grinding, chasing every last ounce of it, until the tremors finally slowed. he slumped against you, chest heaving, lips brushing your temple, cock still throbbing inside you, the connection grounding you as the steam rose around your trembling bodies.

you shut your eyes, resting your cheek against his damp hair, listening to the frantic rhythm of his heart, catching your breath. when you finally opened them, his gaze was already fixed on you, dark and unreadable, like he was holding something back. instead of words, he kissed you—slow and soft, a promise tucked inside the gentleness. a way to show that this wasn’t just a one time thing.

silence fell again, heavy with steam and the sound of water bubbling. after a long moment, you whispered, voice raspy, “let’s go to bed, yang.”

his arms tightened around your waist like he didn’t want to let go, then finally loosened. “yeah. okay.”

you slid off his lap carefully, tugging your bikini into place as your shared juices dripped down your thighs and into the water, body still buzzing from him. yangyang climbed out after you, quieter than usual, grabbing a towel—his eyes flicking toward you, then away, like he wasn’t ready to break the spell just yet.

🧸 OCTOBER 11 - SUNDAY - ONE MORE TRUTH.

the two of you split off into separate bathrooms, water running in unison. under the spray, you pressed your palms to the tiled wall, letting it scald your shoulders. the memory of his hands on your body replayed relentlessly — the way he’d held you so tightly in the water, like he was afraid you’d disappear. it hadn’t just been sex. that much you couldn’t lie about, not even to yourself.

yangyang was telling himself the same thing in his shower, he leaned against the wall, eyes shut, trying to steady the rush still coursing through him. he could still feel the shape of you around him, still hear the way you’d said his name, soft and broken. he wanted to call it heat, or alcohol, or just a dare gone too far. but none of that explained the way his chest had clenched when you looked at him, like you were his before either of you said a word.

you move slower than you mean to — careful, deliberate steps as if the floorboards might betray you. your hair is still damp, the oversized shirt clinging to your shoulders, the cotton cool against your skin. when you padded into the bedroom, he was already there. propped against the headboard, scrolling half-heartedly through his phone. he glanced up the second the door clicked, and his mouth tugged into a soft, almost shy smile. he patted the space beside him, “come here.”

the invitation is ordinary, an old habit. you hesitate only because there’s a seam of something new under it, the after of what you did in the water, the newness of the words neither of you have fully confessed yet. you matched his smile and climbed onto the bed.

the awkwardness buzzed faintly between you. the sheet is warm where you settle, his arm wraps around you without thinking. it’s automatic and it’s everything. for a long beat you let the familiar do the work — his chin resting softy on top of your head, the slow, steady cadence of his breath, the way his chest feels against your back, his arms wrapping around your middle. your breaths begin to line up, one inhale, one exhale, a private metronome.

the words that have been circling your chest all night press at the edges again. “what happens now?” you murmured, barely above a whisper.

he doesn’t answer right away, but you feel he pause in his steady heartbeat, “can i tell you another truth?” he asks, voice small in a way you’ve never heard from him before. you twist in his arms, turning so your face is level with his. the lamp casts half his features in soft glow. for a second, the room shrinks to the space between your chests, your foreheads almost touching. when you’re this close your heart does that thing it always does — it remembers every stupid, tender moment you’ve ever shared.

“what’s your truth?” you whisper.

he swallows nervously. his thumb softly swiping over the back of your hand, finding that spot he always does when he’s trying to steady himself–

“teddy—” he takes a deep breath, his gaze solely focused on yours, “i’m in love with you.”

it lands softer than you expected, quiet and seismic all at once. for a beat you only hear the blood in your ears and the faint rasp of his breath. his confession sits on the air between you, vulnerable and impossible. you’ve imagined this. rehearsed it in the quiet parts of late nights for years. but you always thought it would come from your lips, not his.

your mouth quirked before your brain caught up. small at first but honest, “about time,” you breathed, and the laugh that followed was wet and relieved, breaking out of you like a release valve.

he blinked, a strangled laugh tumbling from him out of sheer surprise, then a tiny, disbelieving smile split his face wide, “about time?” he echoed, like it was the most ridiculous and wonderful thing he’d ever heard.

you reach up and press your palm to his cheek, grounding the both of you, “yeah…i’ve been in love with you for a long time,” you admitted, softer than you meant, confession spilling out now because the shape of him in the dark makes honesty easier than pretending, “you just… finally caught up.”

his eyes widened, awe bleeding into guilt, like he couldn’t believe what he just heard, like he couldn’t imagine why he never noticed it before, “but,” he mumbled, voice tightening, “but what about shotaro?”

you giggled, the sound soft but sure, “i told you,” you said, “we just fuck sometimes.” his fingers clamped possessively at your waist without thinking, grip tightening in a way that made your breath catch. the thought of you with another man had a new jagged edge to it now. he didn’t even want to picture it.

“he knows,” you went on gently, eyes searching his, “…about me being in love with you. that’s why it’s easy with him. there’s no feelings involved,” your voice dropped smaller, more vulnerable. “there never were.”

yangyang’s face lifted, a slow, unreadable expression dawning across his features. he couldn’t believe his ears. none of it made sense — how you could have been in love with him all this time and he never noticed? he tries coming up with another excuse.

“but i saw you two cuddling on the couch…after we–” he confessed, faltering on purpose, “then you guys went on a date–”

you shook your head firmly, voice steady, “he was at my place because i cussed him out for initiating the whole seven minutes game,” you said, the memory of that party still sharp, “i got mad at him because i thought our friendship was ruined — and that wasn’t a date. it was a favor. nothing more.” you tucked your hand behind his neck, fingers threading into his hair, and the nervousness in his shoulders began to unravel as he leaned into your touch.

“god, i’m such an idiot,” he laughed, brittle around the edges.

“you always were the slower one,” you tease, thumb stroking the curve of his cheek. the old banter folds in around the new truths like a familiar blanket, “i was always the smarter one between the two of us.”

he snorts, that almost annoyed noise that used to end argument when you were kids. but it’s softer now, threading through with something like wonder, “how long have you been in love with me?”

you smiled shyly, eyes dropping before you forced them back up to his, “like…five years.”

“teddy—” he groaned, burying his face in your shoulder for a second before pulling back with wide, disbelieving eyes. “you kept a secret from me for five years?!”

“hey! you can’t blame me!,” you pouted, “how was i supposed to tell you i was in love with you when you had girl after girl…and then you fell in love and it all just felt…too late. plus i’d rather be your friend forever than lose you.”

yangyang looked at you with something between amusement and heartbreak at your outburst, his lips twitching into a helpless smile, “well…i can’t be just friends anymore,” he said finally, certain in a way that left no space for argument. your chest ached, the good kind, the kind that made everything inside you expand all at once. you cupped his jaw, tilting your face up before your courage could falter. and then you kissed him. it wasn’t like the hot tub or that drunken night. that had been fevered, messy, reckless with want. this — this was slow. careful. the kind of reverence that made your pulse stumble, his hand cradling the back of your neck as if you were something fragile.

but then, right as his thumb traced the corner of your jaw, right as you felt him about to tilt you back into the mattress — you broke into a laugh against his lips. yangyang pulled back, frowning, breath warm against your cheek, “why are you laughing?”

you covered your mouth, still giggling helplessly, “i just—,” your shoulders shook as the absurdity of it all rushed through you, “i can’t believe i’m making out with my best friend.”

his brows furrowed, feeling offended, though his eyes betrayed the smile fighting to break through. he leaned back just enough to glare at you playfully, “correction. you’re making out with your boyfriend.”

the word hit your ears like a spark, and your laugh turned into a grin you couldn’t contain, “boyfriend, huh?” you teased, eyes glinting.

“yeah,” he tugged you back into him with a cocky little tilt of his head, lips brushing yours again, “better get used to it, teddy. i’m not letting you downgrade me to ‘best friend’ ever again.”

but then he tilted his head down, catching the way you were staring at him with an amused expression. “what now?” he asked, suspicious.

you smirked, “just trying to process that my best friend is suddenly my boyfriend.”

he groaned, tossing his head back dramatically against the pillows, “well…process it faster.”

you giggled, nudging his ribs with your elbow. “fine, fine. you’re my boyfriend. happy?”

he angled his gaze back down at you, eyes gleaming, “say it again.”

you rolled your eyes, grinning, “pushy. typical boyfriend behavior already.”

“better than being your dumb, oblivious best friend you secretly loved for five years,” he shot back, pinching your side until you squealed. the room filled with your laughter, tangled together in that familiar, easy way that had always belonged to you.

but when the laughter quieted, his hand didn’t move from your waist. instead, his thumb brushed over your hipbone slowly, thoughtful, like he was weighing something in his head. his voice dropped lower, softer, “you know…i need to make up for that night.”

“yangyang—” you started, nerves and anticipation colliding.

but he was already shifting, pressing his lips to your temple, then your cheek, then the line of your jaw. each kiss deliberate, unhurried, “that night was sloppy. messy. we were too drunk to know what we were doing,” his fingers skimmed under the hem of your shirt, teasing bare skin as his mouth trailed down your throat, “you deserve better than that. you deserve me… taking my time.” heat flushed through you as he rolled you gently onto your back, his body hovering above yours. the lamp light traced the sharp edges of his features, the tenderness in his eyes. slowly, carefully, he pushed your shirt up, enough to cup your breasts in his hands, pressing kisses on each one, then lower to the curve of your stomach. each one softer than the last, reverent in a way that made your pulse stutter.

when his fingers reached the waistband of your shorts, he glanced up at you, pausing just long enough to let you breathe him in, “let me make it up to you,” he murmured, voice wrecked and earnest. his words settled over you like a vow. you nodded, breath shaky, and his lips curved into something soft before he dipped back down, resuming his trail of kisses. every inch of you got his attention like he was memorizing it. he tugged your shorts down slowly, as if he wanted you to feel the air, the anticipation, the way his fingers brushed your thighs when he peeled the fabric away.

your pulse was erratic, your skin buzzing. he kissed down the inside of your thigh with the same patience he’d shown everywhere else, alternating between soft presses and teasing grazes that had your legs twitching. two of his fingers pressed down on your clit, rubbing slow circles, and your breath hitched causing him to look up at you through his lashes, hair falling into his eyes. the sight alone nearly unraveled you.

“you okay?” he asked, voice low, thumb brushing circles on your hip.

“yeah,” you whispered, your throat tight, “better than okay.”

his smile was quick, almost boyish, before his mouth took over, kissing your clit. then he swiped his tongue, slow and deliberate, through your folds. you gasped, back arching at the contact and he hummed against you, pleased, doing it again — unhurried, savoring the taste of you like it was something he’d been starving for.

“god, teddy…” he murmured between licks, his breath hot against your skin, “you taste so much better when i’m not drunk out of my mind.” your laugh came out strangled, breaking on a moan when his tongue circled your clit with devastating precision. he licked you slowly, thoroughly, like he was relearning you sober — mapping every reaction, every breathless sound you made. his hands pinned your thighs gently apart, thumbs stroking comfort into your skin as his mouth worked lower, then back up again, dragging out your pleasure.

you tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging when the intensity built, but he only groaned into you and pressed closer, like he wanted you to fall apart. right there. every flick of his tongue was patient, teasing, until he found the rhythm that made you cry out his name. he pulled back just slightly, lips shiny, eyes blown wide with heat as he looked up at you, “this pussy’s mine now. you know that, right?”

the dirty talk had you reeling. you nodded desperately, words falling apart in your throat, “y-yeah—yang, please, don’t stop.”

he smirked, dipping his head again, his tongue flattening against you in a long, devastating drag, “didn’t plan on it.” and then he devoured you properly — no rush, no hesitation, just steady, reverent focus, kissing and licking you like he was worshipping every inch of you. the slow build had you trembling, the coil in your stomach winding tighter with every deliberate movement until all you could do was gasp his name and hold on. yangyang didn’t let up. every kiss, every slow flick of his tongue was intentional, drawing you higher and higher until you were trembling under him. he alternated between teasing circles and deeper, more insistent strokes, pulling soft whimpers and gasps from your throat that you couldn’t bite back, each one turning into a loud moan, unfiltered.

“teddy,” he murmured against you, voice wrecked, “you’re shaking.”

you tried to reply, but the words dissolved into a moan as he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, slow and steady, until your back arched off the mattress — the pleasure coiling so tightly it felt like your body couldn’t contain it. when you finally broke, it was sharp and overwhelming, your fingers pulling helplessly at his hair as waves of heat rolled through you. he held you down through it, tongue softening but never leaving you, coaxing every aftershock until you were pushing him away. only when your thighs stopped trembling did he finally ease back, pressing one last kiss against your sensitive skin before lifting his head. his lips glistened, his hair was a mess, and his smile was small but devastatingly fond.

“that’s how it should’ve been,” he said, voice hoarse, as he climbed up and pressed a tongue filled kiss on your lips, letting you taste yourself on him, as he pulled your shirt back down, carefully covering you.

you let out a weak laugh, body so relaxed you almost slipped into darkness. when his weight settled against your side, you curled into him, face pressing into his shoulder. there was only the sound of your breath evening out, the warmth of him grounding. but then you shifted, reaching for the waistband of his sweats with fumbling fingers, “your turn,” you whispered, trying to push past your sleepiness.

he caught your wrist easily, chuckling, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “you can barely keep your eyes open, teddy,” he teased softly, brushing damp strands of hair from your forehead.

“i can do it,” you argued weakly, though your body betrayed you with a sleepy yawn.

yangyang laughed again, low and gentle, kissing the crown of your head as he tucked you closer into his chest, “we have all the time in the world for that next time,” he murmured, then his grin turned playful, “but i can’t believe i fucked you out just from that, look at me already being the best boyfriend.”

that earned a weak swat against his chest, “you’re so full of yourself…it’s the beer’s fault, not you.”

he ignores that with a playful eye roll, “and you,” he leaned down to murmur against your temple, “are so loud. i swear, everyone in this house knows what we just did.”

your cheeks burned as you smacked him again, though it lacked any heat, “shut up.”

yangyang laughed, that low, husky sound that made your stomach flip, “i’m not complaining, it was really hot…but i’m just saying, teddy, if you wanted to announce we’re official, there were easier ways.”

you buried your face deeper into his chest, muttering, “i hate you.”

his arms tightened around you instantly, the teasing giving way to something softer, “no, you don’t.”

he kissed your hair, then added with a smile you could hear in his voice, “but i love you.” you pulled him tighter, too sleepy for anything else, earning a chuckle from him again, as he pulled the blanket up around both of you, tucking it securely like he never wanted to let you go.

•ᴥ•

the morning light filtered pale and soft through the curtains when you blinked awake. yangyang was still out cold beside you, one arm draped heavy over your waist, hair sticking up in every possible direction. his lips were parted, breathing slow and even, his face so boyish in sleep. you smile, brushing a stray bang from his forehead. you lay there, soaking in the impossible reality that this was real now — your best friend. your boyfriend.

carefully, you slipped out from under his arm, pulling the blanket back over him when he shifted but didn’t wake. one last glance, one last smile at his messy hair and you padded out of the room.

the kitchen was already buzzing when you joined. love was flipping pancakes while renjun brewed coffee. xiaojun and hendery were arguing over whether eggs needed more salt. ningning sat cross-legged on the counter, scrolling through her phone.

“morning,” you greeted, slipping in to help set plates and pour juice like nothing monumental had happened last night.

“morning,” came the chorus back, everyone too groggy and hungover to notice the spring in your step.

it wasn’t until the smell of coffee filled the air and laughter started to break through the collective hangover fog that footsteps sounded down the hall. yangyang stumbled out, hair still wild, shirt hanging crooked. he rubbed at his eyes, yawning so wide it made ningning snort. and then he saw you — without hesitation, without even remembering himself, he crossed the room, slid behind you, and wrapped his arms around your waist. his chin hooked over your shoulder, his voice still thick with sleep as he mumbled, “why’d you leave me, teddy?”

before you could answer, he pressed a lazy kiss to your temple. then another to your cheek. and then, without any warning, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he turned your face toward his and kissed you full on the mouth.

the kitchen froze. you felt your stomach drop at the exact second the room exploded.

“FINALLY!!!” ningning practically shrieked, nearly dropping her phone she slammed it down dramatically, “i told you guys! i told you!”

“YES!,” xiaojun cheered, throwing his arms up in celebration, “hendery, you owe me fifty bucks.”

“wait, what?!” you and yangyang whirled on the two boys, “you placed bets?!” yangyang asked, bewildered.

renjun smiled into his coffee, amused and smug, “called it,” he muttered, loud enough for yangyang to hear.

love was quieter than the rest — her pancakes cooked to perfection. she stared at the two of you for a beat, then let out a soft laugh that carried more relief than surprise, “i always knew there was… more,” she admitted, shaking her head. “guess i wasn’t crazy after all,” she glanced at renjun, who returns her smile.

yangyang tightened his grip, looking around in surprise, “what? it wasn't that obvious??”

“it literally was!” you hissed, elbowing him in the ribs, which only made them laugh louder. the kitchen filling with overlapping voices, mock cheers, and clattering dishes.

🧸 OCTOBER 12 - MONDAY - BUSY.

the evening settled lazy and quiet in your apartment, the glow of teen wolf flickering across the living room. you and yangyang were tangled up on the couch. the world outside didn’t exist — it was just you, him, and the muffled sound of werewolves snarling on screen. everything was normal. yet everything felt different. every so often he’d murmur commentary, usually something dumb like, “i could totally fight that guy if i had claws” or “why is derek always brooding, like calm down dude.” you’d swat him half-heartedly, but your cheek would hurt from smiling.

your phone buzzed where it rested on the coffee table. yangyang, closest, picked it up without thinking — the way best friends always did. but his entire body went rigid when he saw the name.

shotaro. his eyes flicked to you, then back to the glowing screen. the message was simple, casual.

shotaro: u busy?

you felt your stomach dip. you both knew what that meant. a code for hooking up. you opened your mouth, to grab the phone, to explain, you weren’t sure, but yangyang beat you to it. with a calmness that didn’t match the sharp edge in his jaw, he typed back:

y/n: she is busy. this is yangyang. her boyfriend.

you blinked, “yangyang—”

“he can’t keep texting you this,” he said, trying to conceal the jealousy in his tone. your heart hammered in your chest, torn between exasperation and the giddy flutter of seeing him like this, finding it amusing.

“you’re cute when you’re jealous,” you point out, a tiny smirk on your lips.

“i’m not jealous,” he retorts but the pout on his lips says otherwise.

you kissed it away quickly, making him chase your lips in the process before your giggle snaps his eyes open, “yang, you have nothing to worry about, mu heart is yours and yours only, everyone knows that,” you reassure him, a soft smile on your lips. before he could reply, your phone buzzed, shotaro’s message coming in.

shotaro: 😂😂😂😂😂

shotaro: finally dude, took you long enough!

shotaro: congrats lovebirds ☺️

you couldn’t help it — laughter burst out of you, bubbling until your cheeks hurt, “told you so.”

he shot you a look, somewhere between sulking and pouting, and rolled his eyes hard enough you thought they might get stuck, “this is embarrassing. you’re never letting me live this down, are you?” he muttered.

“not a chance.” you grinned, tucking your face into his shoulder, still giggling. you glanced at him through your lashes, biting back a grin, “well,” you murmured, voice lilting with a mix of tease and challenge, “now that you told him i’m busy, you gotta actually keep me busy.”

yangyang’s smirk was immediate, lazy and smug as he shifted to face you fully, “is that your way of saying you want to have sex with me?”

your cheeks burned instantly, “god, do you have to say it like that?”

yangyang leaned in until the space between you shrank, his hand curling gently around your thigh, “so… should i take that as a yes?” his voice dipped lower, teasing but not careless, like he wanted to hear it from you.

your heart gave a traitorous skip, and you rolled your eyes to cover it up, “just kiss me, dummy.” his grin softened into something quieter, sweeter, and he obeyed without another word. the kiss started light — his lips just brushing yours, testing, as though reminding both of you that this wasn’t like all the half-drunk makeouts of the past. he lingered there, pressing his mouth to yours until your hand came up on instinct to curl in his hoodie, pulling him closer. he tugged your shorts down with ease, hand sliding down your ass, cupping and squeezing like he couldn’t help himself.

by the time you pulled back, your breathing was already uneven. “yang…”

“ride my face,” he murmured, tugging your panties off, the suggestion making you clench on instinct.

“wait, what—”

he hushed you with another kiss, murmuring a “please,” against your mouth before he pulled away. yangyang leaned back on the couch, hair already messy from your tugging fingers, lips pink and swollen from kissing.

“yang—are you sure?”

“come here,” he said, voice low, guiding you until you were hovering above his head.

your palms flattened against the armrest for support, the position leaving you open, trembling. “yangyang, this is—”

“exactly what i want,” he cut in, his breath hot against you. his hands clamped onto your thighs, pulling you down until you were seated fully on his mouth. his nose brushed you, tongue working slow and firm, and you couldn’t stop the sound that ripped from your throat.

“yang—oh, my god—”

he groaned at your taste, the vibrations shooting straight through you. his eyes fluttered shut, messy blond hair fanning out over the cushions, hips twitching helplessly.

“fuck, you’re soaked,” he mumbled against you, his voice muffled and wrecked, “taste so sweet—you’re gonna make me cum in my pants.”

the filthy admission sent heat ripping through you. your nails dug into the armrest, your hips grinding down carefully, whines of desperation slipping from your lips, each second feeling better and better.

“take what you want teddy, c’mon, don’t be shy,” his grip tightened, holding you in place as he guided you to rock against him faster.

no longer able to control yourself, you chased the pleasure, faster and faster, eyes rolling back. the sound of your own wetness mixing with his low groans spurring you on even more. each time you ground down, he moaned like he was being fed something he’d craved for years. his chin and jaw were slick, shining with you, his tongue never faltering.

“feels so—” your voice broke, your thighs trembling harder, “so good, yangyang—”

he pulled back just enough to gasp in a breath, voice hoarse and wrecked, “yeah? then ride my face, teddy. just like that. don’t stop for me.”

the filthy words shattered the last bit of control you had. your fingers tangled into his hair, tugging hard, your thighs squeezing tighter around his head as you used him. his tongue met every desperate grind, licking broad and greedy, then flicking sharp and precise right where you needed him. you couldn’t hold back the sounds tearing out of you — half-moan, half-whimper.

yangyang’s eyes were glazed over, pupils blown wide as he looked up at you from between your thighs, sweat-damp hair plastered to his forehead. his jaw flexed as he pushed his tongue deeper, then dragged it up, slow and heavy, sucking your clit into his mouth until your hips bucked.

“fucking love this,” he groaned into you, the words muffled but hot against your skin, “love the way you use me.” he was so turned on, so wrecked from eating you out, that he was leaking through the fabric of his sweats without even touching himself.

you fisted his hair tighter, gasping, “yangyang—i’m gonna—”

his tongue flicked rapid and merciless now, sucking at your clit with each drag, matching the frantic way your hips were moving. he growled low, the vibration shaking through you, and it was too much. your climax ripped through you, sharp and blinding, thighs clamping down around his head as you cried out, grinding hard against his face. he moaned into you like he’d just been given everything he ever wanted, holding you down, tongue working you through every wave until your body shuddered and went slack. you slumped against the armrest, chest heaving, sweat slick on your skin.

below you, yangyang looked utterly ruined — mouth and chin drenched with you, lips swollen, pupils blown. he licked one last lazy stripe up your folds before pressing a wet kiss to your inner thigh, his breathing as ragged as yours.

“prettiest sight i’ve ever seen,” he murmured, voice hoarse, his cock straining visibly under the damp patch of his sweats, “you falling apart on me like that.”

your thighs were still trembling when you finally shifted off his face, sinking down onto the couch beside him. yangyang’s chest was heaving, lips red and swollen, chin slick with you. he looked so dazed that for a second you forgot how to breathe — then you leaned in and kissed him, tasting yourself on his mouth.

when you settled against him, your eyes dropped lower — that’s when you saw it. the front of his grey sweats was completely soaked through, darkened with a wet patch that left nothing to the imagination. he was painfully hard, twitching under the damp fabric, leaking without ever laying a hand on himself. you leaned in closer, lips brushing his jaw.

“that turned you on that bad? just me riding your face?” your hand slipped down, palming him through the damp fabric in awe, feeling the heat and the twitch of his cock straining against the thin material.

he groaned, head dropping back against the couch, “teddy—don’t—”

“don’t what?” you teased, giggling, palm pressing firmer against him, slow circles over the soaked outline, “thought you liked being used.”

his hips bucked up against your hand, giving him away, “you’re evil,” he groaned, voice tight, eyes screwing shut, “making fun of me when i’ve been leaking for you this whole time.”

you grinned, dragging your palm over him again, deliberate and slow, “you leaking for me, huh? that’s cute.”

“cute?” he cracked one eye open to glare at you, but his voice cracked halfway through.

you bit back a laugh, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth while your hand kept working him through the damp sweats. “yeah. cute. my big…” you squeezed his cock, making him whimper, “—needy boyfriend can’t even keep it together.”

his groan turned into a laugh, but he can’t hind the blush creeping up his ears, breathless and wrecked, “you’re gonna regret teasing me when i’m inside you.”

your teasing hand finally slipped past the waistband of his sweats — fingers wrapping around the hot, heavy length of him. you pumped him once, twice, slow but firm, and he shuddered under your touch, small whimpers slipping from his lips. the sheer weight of him in your hand, the way he throbbed against your palm, the noises he made, all made your stomach flip.

“god, yang—” you breathed, squeezing him just enough to make his hips jerk. “you’re so hard. already leaking everywhere for me.”

his breath hitched, hips bucking into your hand. his fingers clenched at your thigh like he was holding himself back, “teddy—stop—”

you tilted your head, pretending innocence, “stop?”

he pushed your hand away, chest rising and falling unevenly, “i’m not—” he groaned, frustrated with himself, “i’m not cumming in your hand. not tonight.”

you blinked, a little dazed, your hand still tingling from the heat of him, “then what—”

but before you could finish, he leaned forward, catching your mouth in a rough kiss, all tongue and teeth and pent-up hunger. his hands were already at your shirt, finally tugging it over your head, leaving you completely bare for him.

when you gasped against his mouth, he muttered against your lips, “if i’m gonna cum, it’s gonna be inside you.” your breath caught at the blunt honesty, your body arching into his touch as he pulled his own shirt off completely and pushed his sweats down. he guided you back onto the couch cushions, hovering over you with a look that made your pulse skip.

the kisses had deepened, slower but heavier, with his hands skimming up your sides like he was learning a new map. you shifted nervously against him, letting out a tiny laugh that broke the kiss.

“this is still so weird,” you whispered, in between giggles and kisses.

yangyang laughed too, the sound vibrating through his chest where you pressed against him, tilting your chin back up so he could kiss the corner of your jaw, “it’s weird that it took us thirteen years.”

you gave him a playful glare, but your lips betrayed you by curving up into a smile, “and who set that system up?”

he laughed, kissing you again. he took his time with each inch of skin revealed, drawing tiny shivers out of you that you tried and failed to hide.

“stop smiling,” you muttered breathlessly as he pressed another kiss just below your jaw.

“can’t help it,” he said, voice muffled against your skin, “you’re so beautiful, i should be allowed to gawk.”

“you’re annoying.”

“you love me.”

“i love you.”

he pulled you into another kiss, deeper this time, as he lined himself up against your entrance. when yangyang finally pressed into you, the air punched right out of your lungs. slow, steady, deliberate — like he was trying to memorize the exact moment you fit around him. your fingers dug into his shoulders, nails leaving tiny crescents in his skin as you gasped, “jesus, yang—”

he stilled immediately, eyes wide, chest heaving, “too much?”

you shook your head quickly, breathless laughter breaking out of you even as you squirmed around the thick, heavy stretch, “no — just… how are you this big?”

yangyang groaned, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder, “don’t say that right now.”

“why not?” you teased, threading your fingers through his messy hair, tugging just enough to make him lift his head again.

“because—” he grit out, rolling his hips an inch deeper just to prove a point, “—if you keep saying that, i’m gonna embarrass myself and cum before i even get started.”

you burst into a giggle, though the way your body fluttered around him betrayed just how much the words got to you, “oh my god, are you seriously admitting that?”

he scowled at you, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward, “we’ve been best friends for thirteen years. i don’t get to lie anymore.”

“you never could lie,” you shot back, kissing his jaw in between your laughs, “you get this stupid vein in your forehead—”

“stop—” he groaned again, cutting you off with a kiss, sloppy and urgent, like he had to shut you up before you completely ruined him.

but you were still grinning into it, tugging him closer, whispering against his lips, “biggest i’ve ever had, by the way.”

he made a strangled noise, hips jerking forward before he forced himself to stop, “okay — no. if you don’t want this to end in sixty seconds, shut up.”

you smirked wickedly, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, “fine. but only because i want to enjoy it.” his eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as he pushed in the rest of the way, every inch making you gasp and cling to him harder. the stretch burned, but it was the good kind—the kind that had your toes curling and your chest arching up against his.

yangyang groaned, forehead pressed to yours, his breath shaky, “god, you feel… so fucking good.”

“yeah?” you whispered, brushing your lips against his, your grin still lingering despite how wrecked you already felt.

“yeah,” he rasped, kissing you again, slower this time, his hips finally beginning to move. you clung tighter, every roll dragging a breathy sound from your throat you couldn’t bite back.

you clenched around him and he broke the kiss with a shaky laugh, brushing his thumb over your cheek, “you’re seriously trying to kill me, huh?”

you managed a grin between gasps, “pretty sure you’re the one doing the damage.”

“not my fault you’re…” he trailed off with a groan as your nails raked lightly down his back, “…tight as hell.”

you giggled, half-wrecked already. “not my fault you fill me up so well.”

his head dropped to your shoulder again, muffling a desperate laugh-groan into your skin, “shut up,” he whined, voice cracking adorably. but the way his hips snapped a little deeper, a little harder, told you he liked it—liked your teasing, liked the way you couldn’t keep quiet with him inside you.

when you hooked your ankles at his lower back to drag him closer, he hissed and shifted, suddenly lifting one of your legs up, then the other, until both were resting against his shoulders. the new angle made you gasp so sharply it turned into a moan, “y-yang—holy shit—”

he froze, smirking down at you even as sweat dripped at his temple, “that good?”

you shot him a dazed glare, though your hips rolled up to meet his without thought, “don’t… act smug—”

he pushed in deep, bottoming out so hard you saw stars. your words broke off into a strangled cry, and yangyang groaned low, burying his face in your neck, “fuck—you’re squeezing me.”

“i can’t help it,” you gasped, grabbing at the back of his neck, pulling him up for another messy kiss, “you’re—god—you’re so—”

“don’t say it,” he cut in quickly, panting against your mouth, “don’t say it or i’m done for.” you bit back your laugh, kissing him harder just to swallow the desperate sound you made when he hit that spot again. the pace stayed slow but deep, each thrust driving impossibly far with your legs curled over his shoulders. his hands gripped your thighs tight, fingers flexing like he needed to hold on or he’d lose it.

you moaned his name, breathless, tugging at his hair, “yangyang—”

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his face twisted in concentration, lips red and swollen, “yeah, teddy?”

“i love you,” you whispered, voice breaking, laughter tangled up with need.

he kissed you again, deeper this time, whispering against your lips, “i love you, too.”

his rhythm stayed deep and unhurried, every thrust dragging a sharp cry from you that melted into laughter, into gasps, into his name spilling again and again. then his hand slipped between the two of you, thumb rubbing harsh, precise circles on your clit, pushing you over the edge. your nails scratched at his back, tugged at his hair, every nerve in your body sparking, “y-yang… i’m gonna—,”

“i know, teddy, i know,” he murmured, voice breaking as he kissed your cheek, your mouth, the corner of your jaw, “come all over me, please.”

that was all it took. your body clenched tight around him, and the climax crashed through you, head tipping back against the couch cushion as you moaned his name. he kissed you through it, swallowing every sound, hips stuttering at the way you squeezed around him dragging him to his own climax, “fuck—gripping me so tight—i’m gonna come.”

your body was still fluttering around him when you gasped out, broken and breathless, “inside—please, yang, i want it inside—”

for a moment, he froze, eyes going wide like you’d just asked him to set the world on fire, “are—” his voice cracked, hips faltering, “are you sure?”

you tugged him down, kissing him hard, desperate, your voice wrecked against his lips, “please—please, yang,” you whined.

something in him snapped at that. his groan was raw, guttural, as he buried himself to the hilt, grinding deep enough to steal your breath. his forehead pressed against yours, sweat dripping at his temple as he muttered, “fuck—gonna cum—inside you, teddy—,”

your nails dug into his back, pulling him closer, “do it, yang. want it—want you.”

he bit back a curse, thrusts turning frantic but still deep, controlled. his hands held your thighs so tight they’d bruise, his voice low and breaking, “mine—fuck—you’re mine.” you whimpered his name, clinging to him as his rhythm broke apart. then with a strangled groan, he slammed in one last time and spilled into you, hot and endless, the force of it pulling a sob out of his throat.

the aftershocks tore through both of you, your body clutching around him, milking every drop. his chest collapsed against yours, lips brushing over your temple, your cheek, your mouth, like he couldn’t stop. when yangyang finally pulled out, his breath hitched, chest rising and falling fast as he watched his release spilling out of you, shining down your skin in little streaks.

“fuck…” he groaned, voice dropping rough and reverent, “that’s so hot…look at you, teddy, can’t even hold me in.” you whined, trying to close your legs, but he pressed them apart again, eyes dark and fixated. he dragged two fingers through the mess, slow and deliberate, and brought it up between you.

“suck.” his tone was low but coaxing, like he already knew you’d obey. your lips parted, and he slipped his finger past them, watching intently as you closed around him, sucking the mix of both of you clean. his jaw clenched, hips twitching like he could feel it himself.

“god—” he rasped, barely holding back a shudder, “you drive me crazy.” you hummed around his finger, eyes locking with his as you licked him clean, letting the lewd wet sound fill the room. he cursed again, pulling his hand free only to grip your jaw and kiss you deep, messy, desperate, like he needed to taste it on your tongue too.

“so…” yangyang murmured, grin tugging at his lips. “think that’s busy enough, or should we get busier?”

you smacked his chest weakly, too boneless to put any force behind it, “you’re ridiculous.”

“ridiculous,” he echoed, pretending to think. he kissed your nose, playful and soft, “nah. just making up for lost time.”

🧸 OCTOBER 16 - FRIDAY - CRISIS AVERTED.

yangyang let himself in like always, already calling out a lazy, “teddy, i’m here. did you eat yet? i brought—”

then he froze. the sound hit him before anything else — muffled crying, sharp enough to shoot panic through his chest. he tossed the pizza box on the counter with a thud as his pulse kicked up, “y/n!?” he called, voice already breaking with fear. he sprinted towards your bedroom, every worst-case scenario clawing at his brain, you hurt, you sick, you— but when he burst into your room, what he found was you, sitting on the floor, tear-streaked cheeks, clutching something in your lap.

“shit—hey, hey,” he rushed to you immediately, dropping to his knees, “what happened? are you hurt? talk to me.”

you turned toward him, lower lip wobbling, and in your hands… mr. bear. his worn out brown fur and now — his leg dangling, the seam ripped wide.

“i—i was cleaning my bed,” you hiccuped, voice breaking, “and i must’ve pulled too hard or something and—he just—yangyang, i broke him.”

yangyang blinked. his panic collided with relief so hard he had to sit back on his heels. his heart was still racing, but now he could finally see the whole picture — not a tragedy, but the most you kind of meltdown. and he knew exactly the reason. the promise attached to that bear — the one you’d made all those years ago — it all suddenly made sense of why you were crying so hard.

“oh, teddy…” his voice softened immediately as he reached out, brushing your wet cheeks with his thumbs, “you scared the hell out of me. i thought—” he stopped himself, swallowing down the lump in his throat, and nodded toward the bear, “he’s just a little injured. not gone. okay?”

your hands shook as you held the bear up between you, like proof of your failure, “but my promise… i said as long as mr. bear’s okay, we’re okay. and now he’s hurt.”

yangyang’s chest tightened, but not with fear this time. with something achingly tender. he took the bear gently from your hands, setting him carefully on the bed like he was still sacred, then cupped your face, “listen to me,” he said firmly, eyes locking on yours. “mr. bear can lose both legs, his stuffing, his head—and we’ll still be okay. i’ll still be yours. that promise was real, but it wasn’t about a toy. it was about you and me. got it?”

your sniffle cracked into a laugh-sob, shaky and small, “you sound so sure.”

“because you’re crying over a bear, teddy,” he wiped under your eyes again, softer this time, “and because i love you, and i’m never letting some third-grade bear decide that for us.”

you shoved at his chest weakly, embarrassed now, “don’t make fun of me.”

he caught your wrist, grinning, and leaned in to press his forehead to yours, “only sometimes,” he grinned, “but also? you’re lucky i’m amazing with a needle. mr. bear’s about to get the glow-up of his life.” your laugh finally came out properly then, tears still spilling on your cheeks. yangyang felt the knot in his chest finally loosen. he kissed your damp cheek once, then held you against him, rocking you gently on the floor.

“see?” he murmured into your hair, “crisis averted. we’re still best friends. still together. forever’s intact.”

🧸 OCTOBER 18 - SUNDAY - STUCK WITH ME.

two days later, mr. bear was back to his rightful throne at the top of your bed, one leg stitched up neatly with even and earnest thread. yangyang had insisted on doing it himself, tongue poking out in concentration while you teased him for looking like a “mad scientist surgeon.”

now, the two of you were in your kitchen — the apartment smelled like garlic and soy sauce, the pan sizzling as you stirred noodles with a little too much force. yangyang was leaning against the counter beside you, pretending to help but mostly just sneaking bites of the vegetables you’d chopped earlier.

“yang, if you eat one more carrot stick, i’m cutting your fingers off,” you warned, swatting at his hand with the wooden spoon.

he grinned, chomping it anyway, “i’d like to see you try.”

you rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. he always had that smug look when he knew he was getting away with something. but then, instead of reaching for another bite, he slipped a hand into his pocket, “actually… i’ve got something for you.”

you glanced at him suspiciously, stirring slower, “what?”

he pulled out a tiny box, holding it out like it was nothing, though his ears were already turning pink, “here.”

your brow furrowed, “yangyang… if this is a prank and a cockroach jumps out—”

“it’s not a prank!” he laughed, shoving it gently against your chest until you took it, “just open it, teddy.”

you wiped your hand on a towel and popped the lid open. your breath caught. inside sat a delicate gold chain with a tiny gold teddy bear charm dangling from it.

“oh my god…” you whispered, smiling instantly.

yangyang rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting away like he was suddenly fascinated by the ceiling, “you, uh… freaked out pretty bad when mr. bear almost lost his leg the other day. so i figured… this way you’ve got one you can’t break.”

you turned to face him fully, holding the necklace between your fingers like it was made of glass, “yang, i love it, i—”

“turn around,” he cut in quickly, a little shy. you turned around, holding your hair to the side. his fingers brushed against your nape as he clasped the necklace, lingering there like he couldn’t let go. when he was done, he didn’t pull back. instead, he bent to press a kiss against your neck. then another. and another.

“yangyang—” your voice cracked on his name, heat rising in your cheeks. he rested his chin on your shoulder, eyes catching the charm against your collarbone.

“perfect,” he murmured, voice low and sure.

you laughed softly, leaning back into him, “you know this is kinda unfair, right? you keep one-upping yourself.”

“that’s the point,” he hummed against your skin, lips curving into a smile as he trailed lower toward your shoulder, “i’ve got thirteen years to make up for,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder softer this time, like a promise.

your smiles, “that’s… a long time.”

“good,” he said easily, mouth brushing the edge of your jaw now, “means you’re stuck with me for a while.” you laughed, turning to swat at his chest but only managing to catch his hoodie. he kissed you properly this time, slow and sweet, before leaning back just enough to steal another carrot stick with his free hand.

“there he is,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. “the real yangyang.”

“mhm,” he said around the bite, grinning. “still the one you fell for though.”

you rolled your eyes, necklace glinting in the kitchen light as you stirred the noodles again. yangyang didn’t even pretend to help after that. he just hovered, brushing past you every chance he got, sneaking more vegetables, dropping lazy kisses on your neck or shoulder until you smacked at him with the spoon. by the time dinner was plated, you were laughing too hard to stay annoyed. you both ate slowly, the easy chatter filling the quiet of the apartment. he told you about the new song stuck in his head, you complained about an assignment your professor gave, he teased you about how messy you were with noodles.

it was the same rhythm you’d always had — best friends, trading jokes and stories, no one but him. no one but you — except now there was something new threading between it all. a warmth. a weight. his foot brushing yours under the table. his smile lingering longer than it used to. his lips wandering in between stories, a kiss to your temple, a peck on your cheek when you smiled, a soft press to your knuckles as if reminding you, over and over, that he was yours now.

ᥫ᭡ the end.

—

18+ only | watch at your own risk | contains mature content

yangyang x teddy coded links: #1. #2. #3. #4. #5. #6. #7. #8. #9. #10. #11.

—

an: and the first of the wayv trio is done!!!! this was kinda tough you guys, i didn’t want to do another fake dating trope so i really had to think about how i wanted yangyang to realize he’s in love with teddy. i hope you liked the nickname!!! i think it’s so cute. i gotta delete the teddy bear emoji for haechan and princess because that belongs to yangyang and teddy now lmfao. also how are we feeling with the yangyang and renjun reconciliation? and love always kinda knowing??? hehe i never planned this but im declaring its canon now that it took her so long to say yes to yangyang because of teddy 😝

last thing: im sorry to say this but the wayv boys will not be getting bonus scenes >.< im lowkey already struggling with the dream ones lol. BUT i hope you enjoyed this!!! and i hope you like the links ;););) #5 is my favorite hehe. as always, thank you so so much for reading!

ᥫ᭡ likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated.

ᥫ᭡ if you enjoy this series and would like to show extra love and support. my ko-fi is open <3

ᥫ᭡ love tags: @mangoescrazy @bamjjwi @jungwooie @erireadsstuff @rjreins @poemzcheng @jungwooismysavior @alexameliamg @neo-moa @dkkyeom @leleszn @rex-ie @generalpuppycloud @mots7g @chenleverse @kj0ne @ninety-nite-99 @xxxnrigi @idkwiexist @pankuya @amazinggraxia @jaeminiwrld @ni-ki-starnetwork @drunkhee @severeanxietyissues @peonyjoo @multifandom2515 @yeosayang @dongyoungknows @aegryo @malaysianctfan @booskies @ingridbirdman @vantxx95 @andluv @fancypeacepersona @heartsforsunwoo @222low @9yuldaengi @cowboyuyu @zarastrawberry @boxofinvisiblethoughts @jwikyo @horanghyuck @combinatoright-blog @emmy-l-r @karleereadssmut @asahisimpnation @httpsxnox

he felt hot. needy. it had been a while since he was this alone—and just the thought of it turned him on even more.

his fingers slowly traced the growing bulge between his thighs while his right hand worked the mouse with precision, scrolling through adult sites, searching for the video that would finally ease the burning tension in his gut.

he freed his erection with a simple pull—pants pushed down to his hips, shirt hiked up just enough.

he started slow, stroking his length up and down. small, breathy moans escaped his lips. he didn’t even bother muting the video; he wanted to hear the actress’ high-pitched whimpers fill the room. leaning back into his chair, he picked up the pace. all he could focus on was the girl’s bouncing breasts and the filthy wet sound of skin slapping against skin as she was pounded from behind.

it felt too good.

he did this almost every night, but tonight... tonight felt different. something about the loneliness, the silence—it made everything more intense.

the video ended, but yangyang wasn’t done. not even close. he clicked through the suggested videos, impatient, and chose another.

his head tipped back as he groaned, completely lost in the heat, the lust curling tight in his stomach, the climax building slowly—deliciously.

he was so close.

until a notification blinked on his screen.

it was a message from you.

“do you have the photos yet?”

ah. the photos.

yangyang had helped you with a photoshoot for your instagram feed a few days ago. nothing serious—just a few soft shots, sweet poses, and since he had a professional camera, it made sense to ask him. all he had to do was connect the camera, transfer the files, do a light edit, and send them over.

like the multitasker he was, he left the video playing, stood up, still hard and hanging, and rummaged through the desk drawer for the camera. with quick hands, he plugged it in. one hand editing your photos, the other wrapped tightly around his cock, pumping with more urgency now. wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through him, curses and moans slipping past his lips.

the filthy background noise filled the room—moans, wet smacks, filthy talk.

but his eyes?

his eyes were on you.

on the screen, your soft smile, the way you posed so innocently.

then—another message popped up.

“i’m like three minutes away from your house, lol. gonna stop by to see the pics.”

but yangyang didn’t read it.

lust had swallowed his mind whole. he kept editing. kept jerking. faster. harder. he was almost there, his release right on the edge of his tongue. breath shaky. fingers quick.

until the door burst open.

“hey, yang—!”

white lines shot across his stomach.

his body jerked, muscles tense, panting hard. he turned his head.

and there you were.

frozen.

a hand still on the doorknob, face lit up by the room light, smiling... for half a second.

then the smile vanished.

your eyes dropped. to his cock, still wrapped in his hand. then up—to the screen.

your photo.

from the shoot he took just days ago.

a sharp “SORRY!!” and the slam of the door brought him crashing back to reality.

he sat there, chest rising and falling, his face burning red. a deep crimson shadow spread across his cheeks.

but—fuck. instead of going soft, his cock throbbed even harder. shame only made it worse. the embarrassment turned him on.

he cursed under his breath, yanked his boxers and pants up, slammed a key to mute the sounds, grabbed a tissue, and wiped off the mess on his abdomen.

“y-y/n! w-wait!” he called, fumbling with his clothes, rushing out after you.

there you were—back turned, stiff, humiliated.

and fuck, seeing you like that? it only made him harder.

being caught jerking off?

embarrassing.

but being caught by you?

something else entirely.

you turned, face flushed red. he didn’t know what to say. how the hell was he supposed to explain he was editing your photos while jerking off—but not because of them?

“l-listen, what just happened—it's a misunderstanding. i mean, yeah, i was editing your photos. but i swear i wasn’t doing it because—”

“oh, really? you’re such a pervert! you were jerking off to my pictures!”

“n-no!! it’s not like that—” he stammered, the bulge in his pants making it hard to even think clearly. “i was doing... other stuff,” he emphasized awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

and of course—you had heard the filthy sounds echoing from his room.

“so you weren’t touching yourself because of me?” your voice—soft, tinged with disappointment—cut deeper than a slap.

“n-no... no, i wasn’t…”

“why not?” you said, voice quiet, hurt, maybe even angry.

his eyes widened. what the hell were you saying?

he stared, hoping he hadn’t just imagined it.

but no—you really had said it.

“c-can i… would it be wrong if i asked to see it?” your voice wavered, barely above a whisper. your face turned, avoiding his eyes, your own burning with embarrassment.

“w-what…?”

you crossed your arms with a pout, refusing to say it again. yangyang’s eyes slowly traveled down your body. you were wearing a black off-shoulder long sleeve top that subtly hinted at your cleavage, a short gray denim skirt, and soft white ankle socks. on your feet, kun’s indoor slippers looked comically out of place with the rest of your outfit—but somehow, they added to the charm.

"can you... show me how you do it?" your voice was soft, hesitant.

a curved, wicked smile spread across yangyang’s lips.

"oh no… you’re really perverted. you want to watch your friend touch himself, huh?"

"you did it first!" you snapped back, cheeks burning. "touching yourself to my pictures like it was nothing—"

yangyang chuckled and sat back down on his swivel chair, while you stayed frozen in the middle of the bed, sitting on your knees. he turned the chair to face you, spreading his legs a bit before slowly pulling his pants back down. he lifted his shirt and held the hem with his teeth to keep it from falling.

that move alone made your breath hitch. the way his toned stomach glistened—maybe from earlier—was almost too much to take in.

"i need to get in the mood first… you don’t mind, do you?" he asked with a teasing tone.

you blinked, not understanding what he meant at first—until he turned slightly and played a video on full screen. a blonde girl in seductive lingerie moved sensually on a bed, soon joined by a man whose hands roamed all over her.

"yeah... that’s better," he whispered, but his eyes never left you. even with the explicit video playing, it was clear the thing turning him on most was sitting right in front of him.

he freed himself again, his length thick and veiny, flushed a deep red. you swallowed hard, eyes glued to him.

"y/n, you really are a pervert..." he murmured in a deeper tone as his hand began to move slowly, deliberately. the moans from the video filled the room, mixing with the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

"i-i’m not..." you whispered, thighs pressing together to ease the growing ache between your legs.

"do you like what you see? because i definitely like what i’m seeing," he said, his voice low and almost dangerous. something warm and wet was starting to pool beneath your panties, your body reacting before your mind could catch up.

your skin broke out in goosebumps when you heard the soft grunts escaping his mouth. his head tilted back slightly, one hand holding up his shirt, the other working between his thighs, faster now.

your bra rubbed against your sensitive nipples, making everything worse. your body felt flushed, hot under your skin, and you couldn’t tell if it was from the room temperature or the way yangyang was looking at you—like he was losing himself in you.

"let me see you, y/n…" he murmured, voice full of need. "touch yourself for me too."

his words felt like a command you couldn’t disobey.

you pulled up your skirt, rolling it up to your waist, you discovered your panties, pastel pink ones, small, with lace and cute little bows.

"fuck..." he groaned the moment he saw you. his hand moved faster, his breathing heavier. "touch yourself. i want to watch you too."

he could see the darker spot forming in the center of your underwear—a clear sign of how turned on you were. your fingers moved gently over the fabric, and you gasped softly at the contact. even the lightest stroke was enough to make you feel weak.

your fingers caressed your sensitive area over the fabric. you gasped at the electric sensation — just the simple touch was enough to make your legs tremble and desire surge through your body.

you kept stroking yourself through the cloth, this time with more intention. spreading your legs a little, you caught a glimpse of yourself in that position — and just the sight sent a jolt of heat straight to yangyang’s length.

“take off your panties, sweetheart.”

you slid your panties aside just enough to reveal your swollen, glistening folds. “god...” yangyang whispered, completely mesmerized. this moment was more intense than any of his fantasies — and his fantasies were wild, as expected from someone so deliciously perverted.

with two fingers, you traced your core from top to bottom, drawing out soft moans of pleasure. when the fabric started to get in the way, you slipped the panties off in one swift motion — a motion yangyang watched breathlessly, swallowing hard as his eyes drank in every second.

now your legs were open, completely exposed before him. your fingers moved frenetically over your clit, already swollen and throbbing, pulsing under every stroke — desperate for your touch, aching for his. you slid lower, teasing your entrance before pushing a finger in, and a loud moan tore from your lips, raw and involuntary.

yangyang mirrored your pace, eyes narrowing with fierce desire. he was close, too close — but he wanted to wait for you. he wanted to fall with you, at the exact same moment.

“put another one in, love. i want to see you with two fingers inside,” he begged, voice cracking with lust.

and because his wishes were commands, you slid in a second finger. your body trembled from the stretch, the overwhelming sensation forcing out helpless moans, as if no one else existed in the world but you and him. it felt too good — the situation, the build-up, the way yangyang was right in front of you, stroking his cock with his jaw clenched, the very sight of it enough to make your mouth water. you needed more. more of him, more of this.

the knot in your stomach twisted tighter. you quickened your rhythm, fingers slick, desperate, chasing the high that had been building endlessly. you wanted to fall over the edge. to unravel. to feel something more.

“y-yanggie... a-ah!!! i'm gonna come—i'm gonna explode, god!” you moaned, body arching as the wet, obscene sounds filled the room. chop, chop. every squelch echoing your pleasure, feeding his hunger. beneath you, a slick pool of arousal formed — a sight that drove yangyang insane.

“let's finish together, baby—let's come together, fuck, yes,” he groaned, increasing his pace despite the ache in his wrist. the pleasure of cumming with you was stronger than the pain. everything around him blurred, adrenaline rushing wild through his veins. and as you clenched your lip between your teeth, trying to hold on just a second longer, he swore he saw the most erotic vision of his life.

your fingers reached as deep as they could go, and in that moment, it felt like you'd touched heaven. a wave of heat flooded your face, your mouth parted, a thin trail of saliva slipping from the corner of your lips. then, without warning, you released — a stream of wetness bursting out of you, your climax crashing through your body, marked by a loud, broken moan that sounded like music to his ears.

he came too, spraying his cum high into the air, staining his pants in the process. but he didn’t care. nothing else mattered. as you collapsed back, breathless and undone, your body trembled with aftershocks — tingling, overstimulated, electric. it had been... perfect. the sight of your best friend touching himself for you, eyes fixed on every movement. and you, touching yourself for him, all the while wishing it was yangyang's fingers inside you instead.

yangyang couldn’t look away. he watched as your juices continued to drip from your pussy, the sight making his mouth water. the hunger hit him hard.

he dove between your legs without a word, burying his face in your soaked heat. his hands grabbed your thighs, pulling you closer as his tongue slid up your slit, slow and deliberate — hot and hungry. each stroke of his tongue made your body twitch, breath catching in your throat, and you could only gasp, still sensitive, still open for him.

“a-ah!!! y-yanggie—!!!” you cried out, overwhelmed by the sensation. it felt so good — too good — but at the same time, incredibly embarrassing. “i-it's dirty there!” you moaned, face flushed deep red from the shame. you instinctively tried to pull away, but his strength was greater than yours. he held you down with ease, his low grunt sending chills down your spine as he leaned in again, so close that even his breath kissed your sensitive center.

“you taste and smell amazing, i still can’t believe you’ve been hiding this part of yourself, y/n…” he murmured against your skin.

his tongue moved deliberately now — gliding over your outer lips, circling your clit, teasing every inch of you. the touches were soft, wet, and slow… extracting the sweetest moans from your mouth. you tried to stifle them with your hands, but he noticed. he noticed everything.

“don’t hide your pretty voice, y/n. i want to hear you,” he growled, voice low and rough. “fuck, i want to hear you scream.”

he looked up at you then — eyes dark, mouth glistening, shamelessly buried between your thighs. the sight alone made your core clench, your heart pound harder. you were so turned on it was dizzying, yet too shy to say it aloud. when his nose grazed your clit, you let out a squeal you didn’t even recognize as your own.

he kept devouring you for minutes that felt like eternity, and somewhere in between your cries, your moans turned into whispers of how good it felt. any traces of embarrassment had melted away. your fingers tangled in his hair as you pulled him closer, voice barely audible.

“yang…”

“yes, baby?” he murmured, looking up at you with glistening lips and hungry eyes, waiting.

“…i want to suck you,” you whispered, turning your face away in shyness.

he let out a low chuckle, the sound wicked and full of mischief. “you want what? say it clearly, love.”

yangyang was enjoying every second — savoring your flustered expression, your trembling voice. he knew how to ruin you, how to make you squirm with embarrassment… and you felt it, that creeping self-consciousness wrapping around you again, even as desire burned hotter inside.

“i want to suck your cock,” you said — no hesitation, no shame. your voice rang out firm, clear, hungry.

yangyang’s breath hitched, eyes widening at the sudden shift in you — bold, dominant, devastatingly seductive. he felt his cock twitch, throbbing painfully hard at the sight of your confidence, your desire no longer hidden behind flushed cheeks or shy glances.

you pushed him gently back onto the chair, guiding him with soft hands until he sat. then with your hands you leaned on his thighs to make space between them in a very sensual way, facing him, your movements slow and deliberate. your ass remained raised, skirt bunched around your waist, your pussy still glistening and dripping — an open invitation, even as your attention turned entirely to him now.

you slid down between his legs, nestling there like you belonged, hands gliding up his thighs with featherlight touches. his cock stood proud, flushed and wet at the tip, and your fingers traced along his shaft with reverence — worshipful, but teasing.

yangyang swallowed hard, his hands gripping the edge of the chair. the way you looked up at him while stroking him gently… fuck. like he was something sacred, something you'd been dying to taste.

“i want to be good for you, yanggie…” you whispered, voice soaked in lust, in devotion, in something so tender it nearly undid him.

he groaned, one hand reaching to brush your hair back behind your ear, his fingers shaking slightly from anticipation. “you already are, baby… you are so good…”

your tongue flicked out, teasing his tip, collecting the precum before dragging a slow, wet line down the underside of his cock. he let out a low moan, hips bucking slightly, but you pinned him with a firm look — not yet.

you kissed along the base, lips soft and hot against his skin, taking your time, your fingers still stroking him in rhythm. then, with a sinful smile, you wrapped your lips around the head and began to take him in, inch by inch, never breaking eye contact.

“fuck, fuck— y/n…” he hissed, his voice breathless, wrecked. you hummed around him, pleased by the reaction, by the way his thighs tensed and how he gripped your hair just a little tighter.

you wanted to ruin him. you wanted to taste every drop, every sound, every trembling breath that left his mouth.

just as your lips wrapped around him, slow and warm, yangyang reached for the edge of the desk with one hand — the other moved to quietly disconnect the camera, his eyes never leaving you. then, with calm precision, he switched it to video mode, and pressed record.

he had to capture this — you, in all your beauty, in all your power. the way your eyes looked up at him, so hungry and soft at once. the way your lips moved with intention. it was art.

“god… you look so perfect like this,” he murmured, almost reverent, his voice hoarse and low, like the words were being pulled straight from his chest.

you felt your cheeks warm, a wicked little smile tugging at your lips even as you kept him deep in your mouth. you pulled back slowly, your tongue teasing his tip, your hand continuing the rhythm below. then, with a playful glance at the camera in his hand, you adjusted a loose strand of hair behind your ear, tilted your chin slightly — just enough to show your best angle — and asked, sweetly:

“do i look pretty, yanggie?”

your voice was soft, laced with mischief, and your eyes sparkled with the kind of confidence only you could carry mid-act.

he groaned like your words alone could finish him.

“you look... like sin,” he whispered. “like a dream. my dream.”

your lips curled in satisfaction, but you didn’t stop. you dove back in — lips, tongue, hands — working in harmony, now with the knowledge that he was watching you twice: in real time, and through the screen.

you made sure to keep the rhythm steady, purposeful, your movements fluid and mesmerizing. every now and then, you stole a glance at the camera, letting him see your pride, your power. you were putting on a show, but it was real — this was real.

and god, he was falling for you all over again with every second.

his breathing grew heavier, chest rising and falling as your rhythm became more intense, more focused. you felt it — the way his hips twitched slightly, the soft curses spilling from his lips, his hand tightening around the phone.

“shit, baby— i’m close,” he groaned, voice cracking at the edge of control. “i'm gonna—”

but you pulled back just enough to speak, voice sultry and breathless.

“no… not yet,” you whispered, licking your lips. “i want you to finish inside me.”

his eyes widened, the rawness of your words shooting through him like lightning.

“you sure?” he asked, barely managing the question, his voice all gravel and want.

you nodded, already rising, turning around with a confidence that left him breathless — your skirt still bunched at your waist, your skin glowing in the dim light, your body moving like a dream. slowly, you guided him back inside you, straddling him in reverse cowgirl, your movements fluid and steady, your hands gripping the arms of the chair for balance.

yangyang’s jaw dropped open as you began to move, your back arched, hips rolling — a rhythm both powerful and sensual. he adjusted the camera in his hand, angling it to capture everything: the way you rode him with control, the curve of your spine, the wet sound of your bodies meeting again and again.

“fuck… you’re unreal,” he moaned, the camera shaking slightly in his hand from the way his body trembled. “you feel so good, baby—”

you looked over your shoulder, lips parted, breath heavy, hair a little wild.

“i want you to remember this. every time you watch that video…” you said in a voice barely audible over the rhythm of your bodies, “i want you to remember how i chose this. how i chose you.”

and then you moved faster, your moans turning into whimpers, your body clenching with pleasure. he gripped your waist with his free hand, losing himself in the feeling, the sight, the sound of you falling apart on top of him.

“i’m gonna cum, fuck—” he growled.

“do it,” you whispered. “inside me, yanggie… i want all of you.”

just when you thought you were both about to finish together, yangyang surprised you — his hands gripped your waist and with one fluid movement, he pulled you off him and lifted you effortlessly into his arms. you gasped, startled, your legs instinctively wrapping around him as he walked toward the bed.

“not like this,” he murmured against your ear, breath warm, voice hoarse. “i want to see all of you… when we finish.”

he laid you down gently at the edge of the bed, the softness of the sheets contrasting with the fire between your bodies. without letting go of the moment, he tossed the camera aside — it landed somewhere out of sight, still recording, but forgotten. right now, all that existed was you and him.

his eyes never left yours as he aligned himself again, the tension between you snapping like a drawn bow. your hands reached for him, your body arched in invitation. the pace this time was deeper, slower, more intimate — like he was memorizing the way your bodies met, the way your breaths tangled in the space between kisses and gasps.

you whispered his name like a prayer, your nails digging gently into his back, and he answered with soft moans and words you could barely catch — praises, desires, promises tangled in the haze of pleasure.

your legs tightened around him, urging him closer, deeper.

“i’m right there,” he breathed, eyes searching your face. “with you. just hold on…”

you nodded, lost in him — in the feeling, in the heat, in the connection that pulsed stronger than anything else.

and then the moment hit — not just the physical rush, but something bigger, something that made your whole body shiver. your hands clutched at him, your voice trembled, and as he followed right after you, everything around you blurred, melted, disappeared.

for a few moments, there was nothing but silence, breathless and glowing.

he collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms without a word. your heart still raced, but it was softer now, steady in his embrace.

as you both got dressed slowly, still catching your breath and feeling the lingering sensitivity, yangyang bent down to pick up the camera from the floor. when he lifted it, he noticed the small red light still blinking.

“it’s still recording,” he said with a soft laugh, shaking his head with a mischievous smile. “guess it caught more than i expected.”

you giggled too, hiding your face with your hands, caught somewhere between embarrassment and excitement. he glanced at the screen for a second before turning to you with that teasing look in his eyes.

“do you want a copy?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “i can send it to you… along with your edited photos, of course.”

you bit your lip, amused, and nodded. “what if we upload it?” you teased, winking at him.

yangyang fell silent for a moment, clearly surprised. a light blush crept onto his cheeks, but his smile returned just as quickly.

“only if we keep recording more,” he whispered, stepping closer, his voice low and tempting. “so you can build a full collection… upload whatever you want.”

“one second baby, let me just clean up this big baby” he snickered and leaned to scratch the feline’s ear. his brows furrowed upon seeing a burgundy stain on its head.

yangyang’s heart dropped, thinking coco got hurt. he almost dropped the bottle he was holding but upon warranting a second look he realized it’s… a lipstick stain.

the shape of your lips. on coco’s white-furred forehead.

“morning, baby” your groan caused him to look up. he only smiled when he saw you rub your eye, smearing the mascara even more.

“hi, sleepyhead” yangyang hummed and joined you in the bed again, sitting at the edge next to you. he handed you the makeup remover and pointed at the pillow “did you have fun?”

“oh yeah. i think i broke a rib from all the laughing… it was good to hang out all together again. and, welp, drink… i drank so much… my head is about to explode, actually” you murmured, sending him a soft smile “i hope i didn’t wake you up when i came back home? i think i tried to be quiet”

he shook his head and scanned your features. you could see the amusement painted all over his face, ready to tease you about something.

“what? is it the makeup?” you asked, scoffing.

“no, no. it’s just that… i think you were a little too excited to see coco” he grinned and quickly grabbed the cat when it was strolling next to the bed. the feline meowed but snuggled against his chest.

only then you noticed the vermillion lipstick stain on coco’s head.

you started laughing and touched your lips, bare remains of yesterday’s makeup still on.

“i’m so sorry… i think, yeah. i don’t know, i forgot i had my lipstick on” you laughed and scratched coco’s head “how do we even get it off?”

“no idea… i guess i’ll have to look it up” yanyang laughed and put coco on the bed. the cat purred and sat, observing you two. especially it’s dad. he noticed the feline’s stare and started playing with it “whatcha looking at, hm?”

“well, she has a reason” you giggled and stood up, walking to the bathroom to take care of your face.

“i know i’m handsome–” he started nonchalantly.

“that’s not that” you interrupted him with a laugh.

yangyang furrowed his brows, confused. he stood up, joining you in the bathroom.

only then he saw his face. entirely covered in maroon colored lipstick stains. his nose, cheeks, forehead, chin. even one in the corner of his lips and under his left brow.

he felt blood rushing to his face, something quite… heartwarming about this sight. about the idea of coming home and just pepper-kissing his face with no control.

“you’re crazy” he whispered and traced one of the drunken souvenirs with a whipped smile.

masterlist <3

taglist. @l3visbby ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @mon2sunjinsuver ,, @w3bqrl ,,

that day we were to perform at a festival, specifically kcon, nothing out of the ordinary, right. but there was a little reason why i particularly looked forward to the show, or honestly, the sequence of it. just a tiny detail that made the whole thing more exciting. sighs — everyone knows what you’re about to say anyway. i was to see my yangyang again.

when we entered the stage, lights flashed in everyone’s eyes and i think yangyang was already gone by now, practicing his little mc speech for the night. it actually was his first time seizing this opportunity and he wanted to do his best, as he always was, being even a bit too hard on himself about this simple task.

i looked over at the audience, waving lightsticks and welcoming us — i believe some could faint from the amount of people and the hot atmosphere, but we were used to this. not like i found it normal either though, the concept of being famous and known, nauseating whatsoever.

we greeted the fans and made some cutesy poses, elevated by wearing that outfit — lace corset top, the tiniest puffy skirt you could find, and lots of jpop like accessories — ribbons, frills, fur leg warmers, rhinestones. everything angelic white with metallic touches of the jewelry and glitter lining. and how to dance in all that, you could ask. it looked cuter.

after a while of goofing around and doing some random dances, during half of which i just stood there prettily pretending to know the choreography, i noticed the growing commotion of the idols in the venue around us. probably some group photo time no one cared about. we ran over to the other end of the stage, making space for other groups, and wayv.

i found yangie in the crowd easily, like i was bound to him. and there he was, looking breathtaking as ever. just how handsome he was, how his dark hair complimented his honey-coloured skin, how ridiculously good his body looked in the outfit. he smiled at me politely for a brief moment, as if we were nothing more than people in the same industry. but i knew he wanted more, we both wanted more, just not yet.

he quickly turned away to not cause a scene and whispered something to standing nearby hendery, either the sweetest or naughtiest comment about me. but he always knew all too well how he pushed me to the edge, doing basically nothing, and how obsessed i was for him, even if i couldn't show it, he knew it. the way my knees would always weaken around him and my lips unable to not form into the warmest smile. damn him.

seeing him among fellow idols felt like in some romance drama, the story my destiny has written for me. sometimes things really align perfectly, huh. we were led backstage by the staff, as the first performances started and we were set to be the last for the day's show. i sat back on the couch in the waiting room with my members, absentmindedly watching ‘drama’ by aespa on the tv hung up on the wall. my mind was too filled with the lingering memory of the eye contact to even focus on anything else. suddenly, i felt my phone buzzing when i saw the notification, and from no one other than my one and only.

🐑💬 . . . “heyyyy”

🐑💬 . . . “i’m getting bored”

🐑💬 . . . “and missing you”

🐑💬 . . . “just hang on til wayv perform okay?”

🐑💬 . . . “and watch closely, i have something for u and just for u”

so i replied.

“hi u look gorgeous btw”

“i want to see u though . . .”

we kept texting the usual sweet nothings, until he was called to start preparing for their performance. until i was watching him on the screen absolutely mesmerized, with his hair styled on the side, shirt with only one sleeve, in his idol mode. then he did that — during ‘poppin' love’ when the camera panned close to him, yangyang smirked and winked in his usual seductive manner whenever on the stage. maybe it wasn't all he had for me in the store for that day?

but, fuck, the way he touched himself, the way his arm muscles twitched with his every movement, the way he bit his lip and his perfect face broke into that charming smile, as he knew all too well he had me all worked up in that tiny room. i literally had to look down in embarrassment and return to practicing my own dancing with a loserish grin. i could already hear my group members’ teasing and giggles, as if this would help my mental and physical state in any way. i was getting dizzy at the thought of having to perform myself later on as well.

and after wayv’s stage ended, a new message, of course.

🐑💬 . . . “i’m in some room number eleven”

🐑💬 . . . “idk u gotta find out where's that”

🐑💬 . . . “but hurry up please??”

“omw”

with a heavy sigh, i excused myself to the toilet, though everyone else present was most likely to know the real intentions, but well. after few minutes of nervously pacing around the back stage of the venue and bowing down to the oblivious staff members passing by, i found the eleven written on the door and entered the seemingly a storage room, already all shaky, and needy for him.

“ohh, there we are.” murmured in his sing-song voice yangyang and rushed up to hug me tightly, not even his sweat could stop me from practically melting into his body to feel more at peace. we haven’t seen each other at events often, not at all until then honestly, so it was a new, thrilling yet scary experience. way too risky to let yourself spend such intimate time with your lover, yet too tempting when he was looking just like that.

he quickly locked the door with the key, and i didn’t have the mind to question anything further, his presence itself overwhelming me. “i missed you, baobei.” he nuzzled his face into my hair and we stayed like that for a while. he held me by the waist to carefully pull us down on the small couch in the corner and make me straddle his legs and sit on his lap. i wanted to keep it nice and innocent at first, but i knew he has been way too horny recently to miss out on the opportunity. there was just no way out of this.

“my gorgeous boy…you were amazing, truly. you always do this great, even if you worry too much. i love you.” i was whispering my gentle words of praise into his forehead as i kissed him and ran my hand through his hair. he was still panting and visibly getting harder by every minute now so he only nodded and looked at me kindly. but he couldn't let himself cum just from that. “you look like a doll, you know? so beautiful… makes me wanna do things to you.”

soon enough i felt his bulge pressing between my thighs as he got a little more comfortable, not being able to control himself anymore. “y-yangie, fuck, here…? i have yet to…-”

he put his finger on my lip gloss coated lips and spoke in calm, composed tone as if he had it all planned beforehand. “no, baby, it's alright, trust me, we are safe here, yeah?” and he always had his way to convince me. “just have to keep quiet, alright? please.”

with that he lightly pushed me off him so i was laying on my back, looking up at him with shiny eyes, while he got up, unzipped his pants and tugged them down along with his boxers to reveal his thick, stiffened cock, all pulsating and ready to make a mess inside of me. we had to rush for sure, so not wasting his time yangyang offered generous help. “don’t be scared, love, i’ll do it for you.” he whispered and lifted up my skirt, pulling both my safety shorts and panties aside and immediately shoved his length inside my already soaked, throbbing cunt.

“fuck, you all wet like this just from seeing me, huh?”, he chuckled in amusement and settled into my entrance, pressing his whole weight against my body, while my hands rested on the back of his head, gently stroking his hair. “my poor little thing… just wanna make you feel good.” no foreplay, no preparation, no nothing. and he had to stretch me quickly, because despite his pretty face and sweet ways, he was not the one to play with in bed, or on this couch. that was actually the most attractive of him.

“p-please… don’t make me moan… yan-”, was the only thing i managed to yelp, before i could feel him dragging his shaft all along my walls, deep down in my stomach, but not like he could help his size, right?

“well…, not like i even have to try on my own, so you just gotta behave yourself, pretty girl.”

getting needier by every second, yangyang quickened his pace, slamming his dick against my swollen clit, until i couldn't hold it back anymore. i knew better for my own good that i should've stayed silent but, god, it was quite literally impossible to not let out a sound when he was doing wonders to my femininity.

“too deep, yang, i c-can’t… nnghh!” i cried out, burying my face in his neck. “shhh, baby i have told you- fuckkk”, he groaned and covered my mouth with his hand, still in the gloves from his stage outfit, so that my little whines and whimpers were, or he hoped so, barely audible. “mmphm… but… yangie…!” i dug my nails with white stars and bows on them into his clothed back, hoping it didn't cause too much pain. “just take me like the good girl you are, will you?” and an affectionate kiss on the forehead for mental support.

i was squirming beneath his touch, with my breast practically slipping out of the tight top, but yangyang didn't care about it in the first place now. all he needed was to cum. he thrusted in and out of me, panting heavily and brushing away his hair, with all the accumulated sex drive from the performance, kissing me lazily over my face as i felt myself clenching around his cock to the point i had to slightly free myself from his grip and gasp for air. i was so fucked out i could just blankly stare at his glistening with sweat bicep and try not to drool on his palm. “don’t do this, sweetie. look up at me.”

he leaned down to capture our lips in a desperate, sloppy kiss, just to have me focus on anything else than moaning into his hand. i wrapped my legs around his waist, riding up his crop top to reveal his hardened abs. i knew i needed a night with him in more comfortable circumstances, after all.

“i’m close, cumming inside you” he simply informed, not wanting to stain my outfit of course, but all i could comprehend were the squelching sounds of his slamming, this time a little too loud for my liking. “...alright? gotta use your words, jagiya.” he squeezed my thigh tighter, to get a reaction. “yes… please, yangyang… inside.”

and it was all he needed to know. “going to have you all filled up and warm” he said in his usual soft voice one last time, before his seed spilled all inside of my tightening walls and he pulled out of my pussy, with cum dripping all over his tip.

“ooh fuck, this was, well”, he ran his hand through his disheveled hair and quickly regained his composure, stuffing his softened dick inside his boxers, and helping me with adjusting my own outfit. it has been a while — about half an hour, so he had to reduce his normally long and tender aftercare to just a few kisses.

“you sure you're alright? you look dizzy, baby, don't want you to pass out on stage.” he started, his tone laced with a bit of concern. yangyang handed me a random bottle of water, holding it for me as i drank and was getting myself back to the reality. just like the caring boyfriend he was. “it’s okay, i just… i don't want to leave you. i’ll miss you, yangyangie.” i pouted and his features softened, him hugging me close for the last time.

“i’ll see you soon, don’t worry about it, alright? we are starting recordings soon, but for a few next days i’m free, if you are too.” i nodded and kept caressing his bare skin and kissing him all over his perfect features, until it got him all giggly and i had to leave for my performance. “you're my angel… take care, sweetheart. i’m with you, always.”

that's all that was left to him by his baby — lingering feeling of soft touch on his skin, most loving of the words, and his needs fulfilled, at least for now. and when he was just walking down the hall to get out of this damn place, he suddenly heard his name being shouted. hendery. the older man rushed over to yangyang and almost crashed into him, announcing with stupid excitement.

“yo, had fun with your girl? we have been looking for you, two boys wanted to do a tiktok with us. come on, you must have some spare energy, huh?” he teased shamelessly and not waiting for the maknae’s reply dragged him along outside to the said two boys — exactly riwoo and leehan of boynextdoor. they bowed down politely and greeted the wayv members but couldn't hide their giggles.

“uh… what’s so funny, guys?” asked yangyang, the sudden realization of what people could have heard from his encounter hitting him now, but he tried his best to keep an oblivious attitude. “oh, yangyang-nim haven't heard any… wet sounds…?” riwoo burst into laughter, while leehan just quietly chuckled under his breath. liu felt his palms sweating, when suddenly hendery interrupted and nudged his shoulder, a little too hard.

“ah, i guess some staff members were just feeling themselves, it’s quite hot in here, many people… needed to unwind.” yangyang only nodded and played along, but inside he felt like he could die from embarrassment. younger idols looked at each other smirking knowingly, but not pushing the topic further, they all filmed a trending dance challenge and bid farewell.

“you're not a vibe, bro. you weren't exactly subtle, you know.”

“go fuck yourself, at least i’m not gooning to anime figurines like you.”

Your apartment was already too warm, heavy with the breath of late summer heat. Fans buzzed uselessly in corners, wine bottles clinked together on the kitchen counter, and half-melted candles leaned drunkenly in mismatched holders. Your friends sat scattered around the living room, slouched in various stages of buzzed and barefoot, legs thrown over each other, necks craned toward glowing phone screens. 

The mood had turned rowdy an hour ago, drinks flowing faster than the conversation could keep up. Xiaojun, ever the instigator when tipsy, nudged Ten with a sly grin. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” 

“Which mythical creature would you let raw you?”

Everyone howled. Ten didn’t miss a beat. “A werewolf. Tall, repressed, dramatic. Just my type.” 

Kun groaned and covered his face. “You guys are the reason I can’t take horror movies seriously anymore.” 

“So?” Ten grinned. “Truth or dare, Winwin.” 

“Dare.” 

“I dare you to draw a summoning circle on the floor.” 

You all hooted as Winwin grabbed a paper and pen from someone’s bag and started scribbling. The lines weren’t symmetrical. He even added a warped little smiley face in the center for good measure. 

The red candle sat inconspicuously on your bookshelf, nestled between an old tarot deck and a plastic skull from last Halloween. You eyed it and brought it down onto the paper, lighting it without thinking, without ceremony. “For the ambiance,” you said. The flame bloomed tall, then steadied. 

“Okay,” your friend Xiaojun grinned, cheeks flushed. “Truth or dare.” 

You were three drinks in, tongue loose, body humming from a mix someone had made. “Dare,” you said. 

Xiaojun leaned forward, elbow knocking over a half-full glass of wine across the coffee table. “Summon a demon.”

You snorted while leaning forward to clean up the spill. “Is that all?”

Ten pulled up a Reddit thread on his phone titled ‘Demon Summoning Spells That Totally Work (don’t try this at 3AM)’. 

You laughed and read it out loud. It wasn’t even Latin, just a string of syllables that sounded like someone choking on poetry. You said it anyway, because why not? That’s what the night was for. To tempt fate, mock ghosts, drink too much, and feel invincible. You spoke the words with theatrical flourish. 

Then the lights flickered. The candle flared. A chill dragged its fingers down your spine. One of the wine glasses cracked sharply, a fault line webbing through the glass like it had been struck from within. 

You all screamed. Laughed. Clapped. 

“Damn, that was good timing!” Hendery said, and you all cackled until it hurt. 

But then you saw him. 

He was already there, already part of the scene, like you had forgotten to notice him until now. He sat on one end of the couch, a spot that you were sure was previously empty, his legs spread wide as if it was his throne. He wore a smug half-smile on his face, teeth catching in the glow of the flickering candlelight. 

He looked boyish and bored. The kind of handsome that made your stomach twist, not in attraction, but warning. He had an aura that suggested that he belonged in another time. That he knew things you didn’t. 

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” he chided, his voice low and amused. 

No one reacted. No one else even looked. 

He raised an eyebrow at you. You blinked, thinking maybe it was just your eyes playing tricks. He was still there. 

You didn’t scream. You didn’t run. Instead, you laughed, awkward and breathless, brushing it off as an illusion, a trick of the alcohol. 

You turned to Kun. “Truth or dare?”

He blinked like you’d pulled him from another thought. “Truth.” 

You thought fast. “If you had to be haunted by one supernatural being for the rest of your life, what would you pick?”

He tilted his head, considering. “A ghost. Preferably a quiet one that does minimal damage to my belongings.”

You laughed, the sound a little too high. “That’s fair.” 

You watched as Ten reached for the nearly empty wine bottle, pouring the last of it into his cup. “Guys, we’re out of wine.” 

Groans filled the room. Hendery was nearly asleep, half-curled on the carpet. The rest of them rallied together to clean up, lifting bottles and collecting stray corks. You hugged everyone goodbye at the door with a tired smile, laughing off the cracked glass incident and bad Latin with a theatrical bow. 

But he was still there. Leaning against the kitchen island now, watching the scene like it was one he’s seen a thousand times before. On Winwin’s dilapidated summoning circle, the red candle burned tall, its wax unmelted. 

When the door finally shut, the lock turned, and it was just the two of you. “I’m not drunk enough for this,” you muttered. 

“You summoned me,” he said, voice smooth as satin, smugness laced behind every word. “Whether you meant to or not.” 

“I didn’t summon anything,” you shot back. “It was a joke.” 

His smile didn’t fade. “Not such a joke when I’m right in front of you.” 

You crossed your arms across your chest. “Okay. What the hell are you?”

He stepped toward you—slow, like he had nowhere else to be, like time bent differently around him. “A demon,” he stated. “Sort of.” 

“That doesn’t sound comforting.” 

“It’s not supposed to. You summoned me, so now I’m here.” 

“I was dared to read a spell on Reddit.” 

He grinned. “And it worked.” 

You scoffed. “You’re not real.” 

He walked past you—solid, warm, real enough that the air stirred in his wake—and sat back on the couch. The candlelight reflected in his eyes. 

“I’m Yangyang,” he said lightly. “And whether you believe in me or not doesn’t really change the fact that I’m here now.” 

You stared. He stared back. “I’m not scared of you,” you said flatly. 

He smiled wider. “That’s your first mistake.” 

You shook your head, not saying a word to him. You went back into the kitchen and stacked the last of the glasses in the sink, and wiped the sticky rings off the coffee table with a dish towel. 

The summoning circle was smeared now, warped under wine stains. You picked up the red candle, still burning, still perfect, not a drop of wax spilled, and pinched the flame out between your fingers. It should’ve hurt. It didn’t. The flame didn’t go out either.

Yangyang lingered in your periphery, half-shadow and half-smirk, leaning on the arm of the couch. You didn’t look at him. 

“You’re really committing to this bit, huh?” you grumbled. 

“Bit?” He responded with mock sarcasm. “You said the words. You brought me here.” 

You ignored him. Turned off the lights. You climbed into bed without brushing your teeth and closed your eyes. 

You didn’t see Yangyang follow you into your bedroom, but you felt him there anyway. It was like static in your sheets, like pressure behind your eyes, like the space beside you was more than just empty. 

You buried yourself further under the blanket and told yourself it was just residual alcohol or perhaps a lucid dream. You would sleep it off. 

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of your own shower running. For a moment, you thought one of your friends had stayed the night. Then you remembered ushering them out, the cracked glass, the candlelight, the boy on your couch. Yangyang.

You rose slowly, moving toward the bathroom door. It was open. Steam curled out in soft spirals. 

And there he was, leaning lazily against the tiled wall, fully clothed, hair dry, arms crossed, watching you like you were the intrusion. 

“What the fuck,” you breathed, stepping back. 

Yangyang gave you a slow once-over. “Good morning to you, too.” 

“Do demons have boundaries?”

He scoffed while walking past you out of the bathroom. “Do humans have any sense of gratitude anymore?”

You slipped in and slammed the door shut. 

When you came out five minutes later, he was in the kitchen, legs swinging off the counter, eating a bowl of your cereal. Milk dripped from the corner of his mouth only the laminated marble. 

You pointed at him. “You don’t live here.”

He held up the spoon, waving it around. “Could’ve fooled me.” 

It didn’t stop at that. 

He was in the corner of your room when you got dressed, face buried in a book he didn’t even seem to be reading. He hovered behind your shoulder while you typed on your laptop, occasionally commenting on your essay draft as though he were your professor.

“Your thesis is soft,” he quipped, lips brushing the rim of your coffee mug before taking a sip. “Your transitions are sloppy.” 

You deleted a paragraph out of spite. 

When you checked your Zoom screen for class, he didn’t appear. But at the end of class, when you turned off your laptop, you saw his reflection on the black surface of the screen—upside down, hanging from your ceiling like a bat. 

“You’re not even trying to be subtle.” 

“I could be worse,” he teased, suddenly blinking up at you from under your desk. 

You nearly fell out of your chair. 

After that, you started searching for banishment rituals between classes. You didn’t find much, just blogs from the early 2010s and a YouTube video titled ‘15 Ways To Know You’re Being Followed By A Demon (And How To Make It Leave)’ with a thumbnail of a shadowy figure and a memed terrified face. 

You tried salt circles. You tried holy water that was really just tap water prayed over by your neighbor’s Catholic aunt. You even messaged a psychic on Yelp who specialized in ‘astral pests.’ She stepped into your apartment, took one look at Yangyang lounging on your couch in a plain t-shirt and joggers, and vomited in your sink. 

“I don’t do infernals,” she whispered, wiping her mouth. “You’re on your own.” 

Aside from that, the red candle never went out. You tried blowing it, snuffing it, even pouring water on it. The flame hissed and bent, but it always snapped upright again, stubborn and steady. 

Yangyang watched you from the kitchen island, head tilted. “You’re really trying, aren’t you?”

“I’d like my personal space back.” 

He smiled like he didn’t understand the concept of it. 

“Why are you always so close?” you snapped one afternoon, voice sharper than you meant it. “You hover. You watch. It’s like you’re in my skin.” 

Yangyang took a long breath, then stepped closer, slowly enough that you had time to stop him, but you didn’t. You felt his presence like pressure—behind your eyes, in your chest, beneath your ribs. It wasn’t quite touching, just proximity and awareness. 

He leaned in, mouth near your ear. “You ask too many questions,” he whispered, his voice like smoke, soft and poisonous. “Curiosity is dangerous.” 

You shivered. He laughed. 

Not long after that, he started showing up outside the apartment. At first, you thought it was your imagination playing a sick joke on you. But then you saw him across campus, sitting beneath a tree near the library, sunglasses on, arms folded, expression bored. 

He appeared again, in your class, sitting in a seat near the back of the lecture hall with an all-too-familiar smirk. The next time you looked over, he was gone. 

When you left the building, feeling as if you might have finally been rid of his presence, there he was, leaning against the wall just outside the door. 

“You’re so annoying,” you growled, speeding past him. 

“That’s nice of you to say,” he replied, falling into step behind you. 

That night, you lay on your bed staring at the ceiling, the candle flickering quietly on your windowsill. Then you felt the mattress shift. 

“I can’t sleep if you’re watching me,” you said flatly, still staring at the ceiling. 

“I’m not watching you.” 

“You’re literally in my bed.” 

“Correction. I’m on your bed.” 

You rolled over to glare at him. He lay sprawled across the edge, face turned toward you, his head propped up on one arm, completely at ease. 

There was a glitter of amusement in his eyes, but his voice had gone soft. “You summon me. I’m yours now.” 

You stared at him. And for the first time, you let the words sink in. 

Yours.

You sat cross-legged on the floor of your living room, remnants of party laughter and salt granules scattered on the carpet. The wax of a different candle had dripped down into a dish below in thick rivulets, pooling into shapes that almost resembled wings. 

Yangyang lounged in the armchair, one leg thrown over the side, twirling your lighter between his fingers like it was a toy. His eyes never left you while you cleaned up tarot cards, picked up glasses, or even when you yawned, loud and obvious. 

“I’m going to bed,” you muttered, brushing past him. 

“I’ll be here,” he said simply. 

You didn’t say goodnight or anything else, for that matter. You just climbed into bed, pulled the blanket over your body like armor, and pretended not to feel the weight of his presence behind the closed door. 

Sleep came in jagged waves that night. 

First, you dreamed of running barefoot down a marble hall that stretched too long, endless. Then Yangyang was there. He was dressed in something strange. White robes cinched at the waist with a golden thread that shimmered like sunlight underwater. There was a sword strapped to his back, and his eyes were filled with something darker than night. 

When he reached for you, you slipped through the floor and woke up gasping, fingers curled in your sheets. After your breathing evened and your heartbeat steadied, you found that the apartment was quiet. Too quiet. 

You stepped out of bed, and your foot brushed something brittle and blackened at the edge of the rug. You looked down. 

Burn marks. A perfect half-moon of them, like something had been burned right at the foot of your bed. You knelt slowly and felt them. The edges of the fibers were still warm. 

You didn’t scream. But your heart tried to. 

At the windowsill, something pale fluttered, drawing your attention. 

Feathers. Singed, charred around the tips, yet soft at the center. No bird in your neighborhood left feathers like that. 

Later that day, when you stepped out of the shower and looked at the fogged mirror, there were streaks. You moved closer to look at them. 

There, beneath the fog, were fingerprints. They dragged across the mirror like someone had leaned both palms against the mirror and sighed. 

Your spine crawled. You turned around in the bathroom, looking for anything else unusual but found nothing. 

When you brought everything up with Yangyang, he didn’t even look up from the book he was flipping through…upside down. “Could’ve been a cigarette ember,” he mused. “You know Winwin smokes sometimes.” 

“That doesn’t explain the—”

“The mirror? You probably did it yourself before the water got hot enough.”

“And the feathers?”

He paused, then shrugged. “Maybe from your pillows. You’ve had that one for years, right?”

“Bullshit.” 

“It’s just your mind playing tricks. Happens when you don’t sleep well.”

You stared at him, but he smiled like he had won something. But you let it go. For now.

Throughout that week, your dreams deepened. Each time you closed your eyes, Yangyang was there. Never the same but always him. 

One night, he wore a suit—black, sharp, blood on the cuff. He stood in the middle of a ballroom floor, alone. The lights above spun in slow motion, but no one else was there. Just him, holding out his hand, the other hidden behind his back. 

Another time, he was barefoot in the rain. His hair was soaked, his eyes red while he cried without sound. You ran into the rain and reached for him then, but your fingers passed through like water. 

The worst was the one where he fell from the sky. He had wings, and they were burning. You screamed his name in your dream, but it didn’t sound like ‘Yangyang.’ It felt older, something full of salt and flame, but your throat gave shape to it anyway. 

You woke up sweating. Above you, the ceiling bore new marks. Scorch marks in the shape of wings stretched outward above your bed. It was like the imprint of something massive and divine. Standing on your bed, you ran your fingers over the pattern, and they came back blackened with ash. 

This time, you snapped. 

“Okay. Seriously. What the fuck is going on?” You spat as you stood in the kitchen with your arms crossed, glaring at Yangyang.

He was stirring instant noodles like this was the most casual day of his life. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know what I mean. The dreams. The feathers. The scorch marks. The handprints. The ceiling. The thing you do when you show up in places and keep following me.” 

He looked at you, unreadable. Then he smiled, just barely. “Weird things happen all the time. Doesn’t mean they have a reason for them.”

“You’re lying.” 

“I’m protecting you.” 

That stopped you. “From what?”

Yangyang didn’t answer. He simply blew on the noodles and took a bite like it wasn’t your reality unravelling thread by thread. 

You groaned and turned away, frustrated. “Fine. Whatever.” 

And maybe that would’ve been the end of it, just another failed confrontation with the demon in your apartment, until you mentioned something else. “Oh, by the way, I ran into an ex on campus. It was odd seeing him again after so long. I didn’t know he still went to this school. He even texted me. Can you believe that?” 

You didn’t even look at Yangyang at first. You were busy pouring yourself a cup of water. But Yangyang’s head had snapped up. His jaw was clenched. 

“You didn’t block him?”

You turned to him, your head tilted in confusion. “Why would I?”

He didn’t answer right away. He stood there, tension simmering like smoke off a matchstick. “He made you cry. I remember that.” 

“You weren’t even—”

“Doesn’t matter,” he interrupted. “You don’t even know what you are to me.” 

You froze. “What?”

Yangyang’s eyes glowed. Not like fire, but like something older. Like something that remembers creation and loss. But by the next breath, it was gone. He blinked and smiled crookedly. “Forget I said anything.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. 

A few days later, you mention something else to him. “You know the old couple in the unit down the hallway?” you asked idly, eyes still on your phone. 

“Yeah?”

“I haven’t seen them in weeks. But suddenly their lights are on. I didn’t get a notice about anyone moving out or in or anything like that.” 

Yangyang stiffened. “They probably left. Happens all the time. You just didn’t notice,” he said too quickly, too easily. 

You narrowed your eyes. “But I always notice. They were here before I even moved in.” 

“Don’t make this a thing,” he muttered. “It’s nothing.” 

“Don’t tell me to—”

“It’s nothing,” he repeated louder, already walking away. 

You didn’t follow him. You just stood there, pulse quickening, wondering what you were missing. 

You were starting to get used to him.

Yangyang, with his ridiculous habit of leaving your refrigerator open like the concept of condensation didn’t apply to him. Yangyang, with his lazy sprawl on your couch, flipping through your books, commenting on everything with that bored lilt that somehow made you want to throw something at him and kiss him all at once. 

He was always around. Not quite human, not quite gone. Like static, like the buzz behind your thoughts, like the shiver that settled into your bones whenever he got too close. 

You didn’t talk about what happened. The mirror, the burn marks, the way the air sometimes went still when he walked into the room, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. 

You almost convinced yourself you were imagining it all. Almost. 

And yet, when sleep took you without warning, it felt like being pulled beneath velvet waters. 

When your eyes opened, you were still in your apartment. But not really. The room was the same shape, but the walls were deeper somehow, lined in dark wood instead of paint. The floor was polished, gleaming faintly beneath your bare feet. Candlelight flickered on every surface, spilling honey-colored light across heavy drapes, gilded picture frames, and furniture that looked too ornate to exist in your real life. 

It was warm and familiar. But not yours. 

You turned—-because you felt him before you saw him. 

Yangyang stood behind you, close enough that his breath stirred the wisps of hair at the nape of your neck. His hands ghosted up your sides, calloused fingers dragging slow paths just beneath your ribs. 

“You don’t remember,” his voice trembling. “But I do.” 

You tried to pivot and look around, but his hands held you in place, firmly. Like if he let go, everything would come undone. 

“This place,” he murmured, nose brushing the curve of your shoulder, “was ours once.” There was something ruined in the way he said it. 

You opened your mouth to ask what he meant, but he was already kissing you, soft and slow. His touch wasn’t hungry at first. His hands slid down your hips, then back up, fingers memorizing the shape of you like he had done it a thousand times and never got it quite right. 

“I found you,” he breathed into your skin. “Every time. Even when I wasn’t supposed to.” 

Your breath hitched. His mouth moved lower, and you reached for him instinctively, nails digging into his arms when he pressed you against the nearest wall. He wasn’t rough, nor was he gentle. It felt like his soul was tearing at the seam, and the only way to hold it together was this, the two of you tangled in something neither time nor death could erase. 

The fabric between you added a strange kind of tension. You hadn’t noticed what you were wearing until his hands slid over it. Cotton, pleated, heavy with time. Something from another decade. The kind of thing you’d only seen in old photographs, oil paintings, or museum glass. 

You gasped when Yangyang’s palm slid over your stomach, then lower. The fabric of your dress was old, threadbare, and thin, but it might as well have been soaked in water with the way his fingers glided across it. It clung to your body like it knew what was coming. 

Yangyang’s suit jacket had been discarded somewhere between one breath and the next, his shirt half-unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up his forearms like he had been preparing for this, for you. His hair was a little tousled, his gaze so dark it threatened to swallow you whole. 

His hands worked their way up your sides again, slower this time, mapping the seam where cotton gave way to skin. He cupped your breasts over the fabric, thumbs brushing lazily over your nipples until the cotton grew warm under his touch. When he dipped his head, mouthing at your jaw, your throat, your collarbone, he did it like he had worshipped you in another life and was only now allowed to remember. 

“That feels so good,” you whispered, breath catching as his teeth grazed a spot just above your heart. 

“I know,” he said simply, dragging his palm between your thighs, pressing through the soft folds of your dress, heat finding heat. “I know everything you like. Even the things you’re afraid to ask for.” 

The way his fingers found you under your dress felt like he had done it a thousand times before. Your body jerked when his thumb pressed against your clit firmly and his fingers ground slow, torturous circles on your folds through the barrier of your underwear. Your hips bucked forward, instinctively, wanting more. 

“That’s it,” he exhaled, his tongue slipping into your mouth when you moaned. “Don’t hold back.” 

You clung to him now, mouth open and panting into his throat. Yangyang didn’t stop. He reached under your dress, pushing it up past your hips with reverence and fever. When his fingers slipped under your panties and slid against your bare skin this time, it wasn’t just good. It was devastating. He circled your entrance with maddening patience, dragging his fingers through your slick folds like he was testing the depth of your want. 

And then he sank two fingers into you. You cried out, breath catching in your chest. He groaned against your ear, the sound low and broken, like it hurt him to be inside you but hurt more not to be. 

“You always feel like this,” he whispered. “Tight. Hot. Like you were made for me.” 

Your knees trembled, and he pressed his body closer to keep you upright, one hand braced against your lower back as his other moved between your legs, fingers working in slow, merciless strokes. He curled them just right, dragging over a spot that made your vision blur. 

You gasped again, shocked by how good it felt, how precisely he knew where to touch, how you were already tipping forward into ecstasy. 

Yangyang shifted slightly, angling his fingers inside you while applying pressure to your clit with his thumb. It made your whole body jolt. 

“There,” he murmured. “There it is.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, desperate, grounding yourself in the flex of his muscle, the damp heat of his breath at your throat, the glide of his palm as it pressed flat against your pelvis, holding you there while he fucked you with his hand. 

“I didn’t even know—” you tried, the words catching in your throat as pleasure began to build, your hips bucking into his forearm. 

“I do,” he said. “I always know.” 

Your breath stuttered, hips rolling in time with the slow, deliberate curl of his fingers. Each thrust grazed something inside you that made your pulse flicker like lightning behind your ribs, like your body had been waiting for this exact touch to remember what it meant to burn. 

Yangyang knew just how to move. When to press deeper, when to draw back, when to drag his fingers in a languid arc that made your thighs shake. His thumb moved in tight, patient circles, not rushed, not careless, but focused like he had all the time in the world and none of it went to waste. 

You whined softly, the sound catching on your tongue as your head fell against his shoulder. Everything else fell away, and there was only the slick drag of his fingers, the weight of his body grounding yours, and the heat coiling tighter in your gut. 

“Just like that,” he murmured, voice rough and close, like thunder caught in a storm cloud. “Let go for me.” 

You tipped over the edge in a slow, cresting wave, one that broke again and again as your walls pulsed around Yangyang’s fingers, drawing them deeper, clenching like your body never wanted to let him go. You moaned against the exposed skin of his neck, desperate and unrestrained, the sound swallowed by the curve of his neck and the press of his lips against your hairline. 

Your legs gave out first, but Yangyang caught you and held you through the aftershocks, his hand firm at your back while his fingers stayed nestled deep inside you, steady and unyielding as your body shook. 

“There you are,” Yangyang whispered, as if he’d been waiting lifetimes for this moment. His thumb slowed, drawing the last threads of pleasure out of you like silk from a spool. 

Your pulse thrummed against his chest, heart still climbing down from its peak. Sweat pooled at the base of your spine, your muscles slack, every nerve lit up and undone. 

Yangyang didn’t pull away. He cradled you through it, still moving soothingly between your legs like a vow, as if to remind you he'd been there and that he was still there. That he always would be. 

Then something in you shifted. A current ran beneath your skin as desire kindled again in the quiet space between ecstasy and hunger. His mouth brushed your cheekbone, then your jaw. You turned toward it instinctively, catching the soft tremor in his breath before his lips claimed yours. 

This kiss wasn’t careful. It unleashed something from inside of you. 

You found yourself dragging him with you, one hand fisting in the collar of his shirt, the other tracing blindly along the hallway. There were no words for the ache building again between you, only the thud of your heart and the shuffle of desperate limbs as he backed you toward the bedroom. 

Somewhere along the way, your dress slipped off your shoulders. Yangyang’s shirt hit the floor. Your panties were tugged down with shaky hands, and his pants followed, kicked off without grace. It didn’t matter. You fell into the bed fully bare, limbs tangled, skin pressed against skin like you were trying to remember a body you had forgotten in a past life. 

The sheets bunched beneath you, and his thighs slid between yours. Your palms roamed his torso, memorizing the lines and heat of him with greedy fingertips. You felt him shudder as you pressed your lips to the center of his chest, just over his heart, then lower. 

Yangyang let you guide him to his back, his breath catching as you slipped down his body and between his legs. You looked up at him once, and what you saw there in his eyes wasn’t lust. It was longing. Fierce. Ancient. Unhidden. 

You let your gaze linger on him for a moment longer—on the rise and fall of his chest, the tremble in his abdomen, the way his lips parted like he was already halfway gone. Your fingers trailed down his torso, light at first, teasing, until they wrapped around the base of his hardened length with a grip that felt familiarly confident. 

You stroked him slowly, savoring each movement, intentional and precise. Yangyang let out a sound that was low and broken, like it had been punched from the center of his chest. Your hand glided from base to tip, twisting just slightly at the top, thumb brushing the sensitive underside where he throbbed hardest. The heat of him pulsed against your palm, heavy and alive, and each roll of your wrist seemed to unravel him further. 

He threw an arm over his eyes, exhaling sharply. “Fuck—” 

You wanted to hear more. Needed to. 

You dipped your head, letting your tongue trace a single line up the length of him. A flick, then a swirl, then a kiss to the flushed tip. He jolted, his hips bucking up like his body couldn’t help but chase the warmth of your mouth. You wrapped your lips around him, slow and sure, and took him inch by inch until your mouth was full, jaw stretched wide. 

Yangyang’s hips tensed beneath you. His hand flew to his sides, clutching the sheets. 

You moved with grace, but not gentleness. There was desire behind it, a rhythm that felt instinctive, practice in another life. Your lips slid up and down in steady bobs, hollowing your cheeks just enough to make him groan. One hand steadied the base of cock, twisting with each descent of your mouth, while the other pressed against his thigh to keep him grounded as he writhed beneath you. 

“That…fuck, that feels—” he gasped, voice cracking, wrecked. He couldn’t finish his sentence. His head fell back, neck arched, throat bared. He looked divine like this, unraveling under your touch, lost in you. 

You moaned softly around him, just to feel the way he twitched in response, how his hips jerked upward despite himself. Your pace quickened, slick and controlled, your lips dragging down to where your hand met your mouth, and up again with a soft pop that made him curse like he was praying. 

Yangyang’s hand found your hair, weaving through and trembling as you continued. You watched the way his body arched, the way his abdomen tightened, and his thighs tensed. You knew that edge. He was close. Too close. 

Suddenly, his fingers tightened in your hair, and he pulled you off, breathless. “Wait, wait—”

You let him go with a soft drag of your lips, glancing up just in time to see the flicker of panic in his eyes, drowned quickly by something else, something raw. He surged upward and flipped you both in one smooth, fluid motion. Now he was above you, flushed and panting, absolutely wrecked. His hair was a mess of gold shadows, sweat pearling along his temple, his pupils blown so wide that the brown was almost gone. 

He didn’t speak. He just stared down at you like he couldn’t believe you were real. Then he lowered himself slowly, deliberately, until the weight of him pressed against your center, hot and heavy, his cock sliding between your folds. He didn’t slip inside, not yet, only gliding through the mess you’d both made of each other, wet and silken.

You felt the smear of your arousal over him, mixed with the dampness that clung to your thighs and his abdomen. The friction made you cry out softly, your hips arching up to meet his.

Yangyang’s breath hitched. His body trembled like restraint cost him something. “You’re so wet,” he groaned. “You always were.” 

He rocked forward, dragging the head of his cock along your clit in a slow, deliberate grind. You gasped, your thighs instinctively trying to close around him, but he pressed them open with a gentle firmness, keeping you spread open for him. 

“Feels like you missed me,” he murmured, amused and awed all at once. “Tell me how much you want this.” 

You whined, rolling your hips to match his pace. “Please.” 

He grinned faintly, but it was tight with control. “Tell me what you want, baby.” 

You almost sobbed. “I want your cock. I need it.” 

“You need it?” He echoed, grinding harder. “Say it again.” 

“Please, Yangyang—fuck—please, I need your cock, I need you inside me—”

That did it. He aligned himself, sliding just the tip in. The stretch made your back arch as your body opened for him easily, like it had always been his. Like you’d been waiting for this, for him. 

“You take me so well,” he moaned, pushing deeper, inch by inch. “You always do.” 

It felt impossibly good, familiar in a way that made your chest ache. The stretch, the weight, the slow push forward until he was buried to the hilt inside of you. Your body clenched around him like you didn’t want to let him go. It felt as if you had done this before. Many times. 

You whined his name, barely audible. Yangyang stilled for a heartbeat, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged. “Fuck, I’ve missed this. You have no idea.” Then he started to move. 

His hips rolled into you with a rhythm that felt almost ritualistic, like he was savoring every stroke, every clench of your walls around him. His mouth was everywhere. Your neck, your collarbone, your breasts, your shoulder, your jaw. Kissing, tasting, worshipping. 

“You’re perfect,” he murmured against your skin. “You’ve always been perfect for me.” 

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. Each thrust stoked a fire in your core, but it wasn’t enough. “I want more,” you whispered, breath hot against his ear. “Harder.” 

His breath caught, and then he gave you exactly what you asked for. His hips snapped forward, deeper and rougher now. But even like this, there was an intimacy about it.

Yangyang knew your body like a second language, like he’d written poetry in the curve of your spine and memorized the sound of your moans. His rhythm grew frantic but never careless, hitting the spot inside you that made you see stars. 

You cried out, fingers digging into his shoulders, holding on as he fucked you like he was trying to remind you of something, as if this was a reunion and not the first time. 

He swallowed every sound you made with his mouth, kisses messy and open and hungry. “I know you,” he growled into your ear. “I know this body. I know how you fall apart.” 

You felt your pleasure building again, fast, sharp, inevitable. Every snap of his hips, every praise spilling from his lips, every heated drag of skin against skin, it pulled you closer to the edge. 

Yangyang’s pace turned relentless. He buried his face in your neck, panting, groaning your name like it was a vow. “I’m right here,” he murmured. “Let go for me.”

And just as your body began to shatter again, just as pleasure surged up through your spine like a storm, you saw it. The flicker of gold light. The blur of candle shadows. 

Your eyes flew open. 

The air felt different. The scent of your own sheets filled your lungs, and the familiar warmth of your apartment surrounded you like a second skin. Your heart pounded in your ears as the last waves of your orgasm rippled through you, the aftershocks thrusting you fully back into reality. 

But Yangyang was still here, hovering over you. Solid. Hot. Panting. His pupils were blown wide, his lips parted, his chest heaving like he’d just run miles to get to you. The dream might have shattered, but he hadn’t vanished. 

And here, in your own bed, in your own space—something inside you shifted. 

You pushed at his chest, and his brows furrowed, confused, until he was lying on his back as you straddled his hips, planting your knees on either side of him. His cock, still slick from you, pressed against your folds. You rolled your hips slowly, dragging your wetness along his length, coating him in your juices. 

Yangyang’s breath hitched, his hands curling into the sheets beside him like he didn’t dare touch you. His voice cracked when he spoke. “Fuck, don’t tease me.”

You smiled, lazy and wicked. “You made me beg for this earlier.” You rocked against him again, slower this time, letting your clit catch on the head of his cock. “Your turn.”

His head tipped back with a groan that sounded like surrender. “Please…” His eyes met yours, glassy and desperate. “Please, I need your pussy. I need to be inside you.” 

You didn’t make him wait long. Lifting just enough to line him up with your heat, you sank down in one smooth motion until he was buried to the hilt. The stretch made your breath stutter, but the sound that tore from Yangyang’s throat nearly undid you. 

His hands shot to your hips like he was afraid you’d disappear. He sat up suddenly, chest pressed to yours, arms banding tight around your waist. His face was buried in your neck, and that made you realize—he was shaking. 

When you pulled back to look at him, you saw the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. “Yangyang…” you started, but he shook his head quickly.

“Don’t—” His voice broke, rough and urgent. “Just…please. Keep going.” 

You could have pressed, but something in his tone, fragile but commanding, made you move instead. You found a rhythm easily, your hips rolling in a way that felt less like improvisation and more like memory. 

The way you moved on him was slow filth, deliberate and precise, dragging him out nearly to the tip before sliding back down, clenching around him until his jaw locked. Every rise and fall made his breath stutter, his grip on your hips tightening as he lay back. 

Whatever restraint he had been holding onto snapped. His hips began thrusting up into you, meeting each grind with enough force to make the headboard tap against the wall. One of his hands slid to the small of your back, holding you down so he could drive into you harder, like he was chasing something just out of reach. 

“Fuck—” His voice was hoarse now, the words coming in fragments. “I’m gonna—”

You clenched around him just as he came, his hips rocking up desperately as if he could reach impossibly deeper, burying himself in you with each pulse. His forehead pressed to your shoulder, his moans muffled against your skin, his whole body trembling as the last of it shuddered through him. 

When his breathing finally slowed, he didn’t let go. If anything, his arms only tightened, keeping you locked against him as if letting you go might break him entirely. 

And yet there was still that glint in his eyes. That thing he wasn’t telling you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The silence felt thick. The only sounds were the fading echoes of your ragged breathing and the faint hum of adrenaline in your ears. 

Yangyang finally loosened his grip enough to let you shift, though his hands lingered like he was reluctant to let you go. His gaze swept over you—messy hair, glowing skin, the faint tremble in your thighs—and his expression softened. 

Without a word, he reached over to your nightstand, pulling a tissue from the box. His touch was careful as he cleaned you, swiping gently at the warmth spilling from between your legs. You shivered, not from the chill, but from the way he was looking at you, like you were something precious he didn’t want to lose. 

When he finished, he tossed the tissue aside and sat back, searching your face. “Do you…want me to go?”

The question was quiet, but it made something twist in your chest. “No.” 

He eased, just a fraction, but it was enough for you to see. He lay down beside you without another word. 

You turned toward him, reaching out until your fingers found his shoulder. You tugged lightly, and he came willingly, tangling his body with yours. His warmth bled into you, steady and grounding. 

Your eyes grew heavy almost immediately. The last thing you felt before sleep pulled you under was the slow rise and fall of his chest, his breath ghosting over the curve of your neck. 

It must have been moments, or centuries, until you opened your eyes. The room was still yours, but not. The walls looked softer, shadowed in a different century’s dust. 

You blinked, and the ceiling curved into an unfamiliar arch. Candlelight spilled across the floorboards, the faint scent of incense threaded through the air. 

A single chair sat by the bed, and in it, Yangyang, dressed in white so pale it seemed to ward away the dark. His hair fell loose, catching the light. There was something unearthly in the way he looked at you, as if he had been watching for days, afraid to leave. 

Your chest ached—not from illness, though your breath came shallow—but from the weight in his eyes. You saw it then, the knowledge that this was the end of this version of you. 

When he spoke, his voice was both a prayer and a rebellion. “I’ll find you again.” 

Your vision flickered. Candlelight fractured into shards, as though the room were made of glass and someone had tapped it. 

In one shard, you saw yourself lying in a hospital bed, plastic tubes whispering in and out of your skin. His hair was shorter there, his hands trembling as he smoothed a blanket over you. In another, you were beneath an oak tree, your blood blooming into the dirt while he knelt beside you, feathered wings curled tight to hide you from the sky. 

In every vision, the ending was the same. His hand on yours. His eyes lit with something stubborn and breaking. And then—

The punishment. 

Wings torn away. A body cast down. A life stripped to begin again in a different shape. 

The shards kept turning, each one another life, another loss. The pattern was so clear it hurt. Love, separation, the slow, relentless finding of each other. Always too late. Always in pieces. 

Somewhere between the shifting visions, you felt his real hand—the one in this life—tighten over yours. A tether. A vow that even if the glass broke a thousand more times, he’d step through every shard to reach you.

The images in the shards shifted. No longer ancient lives, but your own streets. Your own nights. 

You saw yourself walking home last winter, hands buried in your coat pockets, snow grinding under your boots. A shadow trailed a few steps behind, a stranger whose pace matched yours. But then Yangyang was there, slipping between you and them, his head tipped just enough for the stranger to falter. You couldn’t hear the words, but you saw the fear in their movements before they turned and left. 

In another shard, it was the night you left the school library well after the sun had set, your phone buzzing with messages from an ex who had never taken ‘no’ very well. You were convinced you were alone on the walk home, until the faint rustle of leaves behind you. You remember dismissing it as the wind. But here, in the vision, you saw Yangyang emerge from the shadows, his hands balled into fists. And behind him, white feathered figures, too bright to be human.

The visions came faster. Yangyang’s palms slamming into your bathroom mirror so hard the glass cracked into spiderwebbed pieces, leaving two burned handprints searing into the surface as a winged figure dragged him back. White feathers drifted from them onto the floor of your bathroom, your bedroom, and out onto the windowsill. 

Yangyang’s eyes had always been on you. Not in the way of someone watching from afar, but in the way of someone holding a line that no one else could see. Fighting things you didn’t know existed. Bleeding for a life you didn’t know was in danger. 

Your throat tightened, the truth crystallizing in you like ice spreading through glass. You weren’t just meeting Yangyang now. You had always known him. In every version. Every city. Every life. And every time, the end had found you. 

And it was finding you now. 

The last shard shivered, edges glowing like embers. You leaned closer without meaning to, pulled toward the vision as if it could burn its way into you. The image swelled, filling your sight until there was no edge, no glass, only your bedroom. The present. 

You were there, lying tangled in the sheets, your skin bare against Yangyang’s. His breath moved over your shoulder, his hand still clasping yours. Outside the window, the sky boiled with light, a golden storm swallowing the horizon filled with silhouettes of wings—dozens, maybe hundreds—-closing in. 

Then you blinked, and the vision was gone. 

The heat of Yangyang’s hand on yours was real. The smell of candle smoke was real. Yet as you looked around, the ceiling above you pulsed, breathing like a living thing. Your apartment was folding in on itself, the walls bending as if trying to push toward him. 

Yangyang’s skin caught the shifting light, and for the first time, you saw the mark below his collarbone, faint but unmistakable. A brand, shaped like the summoning circle from that night with your friends, glowing through his skin as though it had been carved into his soul. 

The truth settled over you heavy and undeniable. You weren’t drunk that night. The candle hadn’t been an accident. You were always going to call him. 

You understood now what he was, and what he had done. He was a guardian angel. Yours. Who had broken rules to save you, not once, but over and over, until heaven itself had torn him from its ranks. 

“I told you I wasn’t scared,” you whispered, the memory tasting different now, less naïve, and more like a dare you hadn’t known you were making. 

His gaze met yours, something in it sharp and unbearably tender. “That,” he began, “was your first mistake.” 

The walls trembled. A feather drifted through the window, not white, but blackened at the edges. 

He drew you in closer, the mark on his chest burning brighter between you. “I didn’t fall for power. I fell so I could stay.” 

Your lips parted to answer, but fate beat you to it. A crack split the room, not in the floor or the walls, but in the very air between you. The sound was sharp, like ice breaking on a frozen lake. 

The red candle on the nightstand stretched upward, its flame elongating into a twisting column of gold and shadow. The scent of lightning threaded through the smoke, stinging the back of your throat. Shadows moved along the walls, whispering in a language you didn’t know, yet the syllables felt like they belonged to your bones. 

“You feel it,” Yangyang murmured, his voice tight. He wasn’t looking at the candle, or the walls, or the crackling light flooding in through the window. He was watching you. As though if he kept his gaze steady enough, it could hold you in this moment, in this room, in this life.

He closed his eyes briefly, like the words he would say next hurt him to do so. “You’re breaking us apart.”

“Me?”

“You’ve always been my constant,” he began, almost a confession, almost an apology, “but it’s not supposed to be like this. You’re torn between timelines. Your lives are stacking, bleeding into each other. The more you remember me, the faster it unravels. And if I don’t go back—”

His voice faltered, and for the first time, you saw fear in his eyes. 

“If you don’t go back, what?” you demanded. 

“Then I’ll finish what I started, but we won’t survive it.” 

Another crack tore through the walls. This time, you saw a fissure of light, widening, pulling at the room like a tide. The ceiling sagged toward it, then the walls, the floorboards, even the bed frame groaning as though gravity itself was changing direction. 

You clutched his arm, nails digging into his skin. “Don’t you dare—”

“I have to,” he cut in, his voice breaking around the edges. “I have to go back to the celestial plane. I have to fix what I broke when I fell for you.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles, almost tender. “They’ll assign you a new guardian. One who won’t…” His jaw clenched. “On who won’t fall in love with you.” 

The words hit you like a physical blow. “No.” You shook your head, as if the sheer motion could stop him. “No, I don’t want anyone else. I don’t want—”

He smiled then, and it was the most devastating thing you had ever seen. Gentle. Resigned. “You were worth it,” he assured. “Every time.” 

The fissure above you cracked wide open like lightning. The room convulsed, shadows on the walls screaming now, the candle flaring high enough to lick the ceiling. The mark on his chest blazed like a star about to collapse. 

You barely had time to breathe before they came—white-winged silhouettes pouring through the rift in a flurry of blinding light and rushing wind. Their faces were hidden behind veils, but their presence pressed against you like the weight of an ocean. 

Yangyang’s arms encircled you, holding you tight for a second, then two until they were pulling him away. Not cruelly, but with the inevitability of the tide reclaiming what had strayed too far from shore. 

You fought to hold on, nails scraping on him, your voice breaking. “Yangyang—”

His forehead pressed to yours, shaking with something more than fear. “Maybe in another version, I get to stay.” 

The light claimed him, peeling him away from your grip, from your bed, from this life. You watched as he unraveled into golden dust, scattering into the rift as it closed until there was nothing left but the echo of his warmth on your skin. 

And then—

Silence. 

Your ceiling was still, your apartment whole again. No wings, no rift, no trace of him. For a moment, you almost believed you had dreamt it all. That it had been nothing more than exhaustion, too many nights away studying, too much loneliness bleeding into your imagination. 

Almost. 

Because on the floor was a faint patch of burned carpet in the shape of the mark on his chest. Because the scent of smoke lingered, warm and metallic. And because, on your nightstand, the red candle finally went out, wax finally melting down, wick finally charring. 

Autoplay: If you liked this, you may also like Regular - H.Hendery

Smiling, you read post after post as you waited outside one of the many practice rooms in the building. Your fans had been particularly attentive these past few weeks, deciphering messages even you wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t the girl giving them; it was entertaining, though, to see them slowly losing their minds with each day that passed and they didn’t get an official confirmation from your company.

Your boyfriend announced his presence before you could sense it, as you usually did, leaning curiously over you to try and sneak a peek at your phone screen. “What’s gotten you so giggly? Are you looking at pictures of that time Jaemin bleached his brows?”

Chuckling, you shook your head. As you switched off your phone, Yangyang took a seat on the floor beside you, waiting patiently for you to elaborate. He was still worn out from practice, skin glowing and dewy with sweat, taut chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Your fans,” you said with a smile. “They’re all going crazy trying to figure out if we’re dating or not.”

Yangyang paused for a moment before reciprocating your giddy smile. “I saw that, too. It’s getting a bit out of hand, though. Don’t want things to get too intense.” That, with a kiss pressed to your temple. Both of you knew too well how quickly these cute, funny online occurrences could turn dramatic, volatile. You hummed, leaning in to the touch.

Your fingers slotted with his when you rested your head on his shoulder, murmuring, “Maybe we should tell the company to release a statement, then. Four years with our relationship to ourselves sounds like long enough, no?”

Yangyang shook his head petulantly.

You chuckled at the childish act. “Baby, they’re going to find out eventually, anyway.”

“Yeah, but they don’t have to yet,” he said, stressing the last word. “I want to keep you to myself for just a little while longer. That’s no crime, is it? For me to want to keep you all for myself? I don’t happen to think so.”

“Neither do I,” you agreed. You pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before you added, “Especially because I want to keep you for myself for a little while longer, too.”

notes how much of a narcissist am i that i used most of yeri’s pics for reader because we have the same body type… 😁 also i am MAJORLY uninspired in terms of writing anything more than a few thousand words these days so sad that i have to make my smau debut like this, but i hope you guys enjoyed some yangles content from me!! wayv’s been on my mind recently (quick act surprised). apologies if this is actually ass i’m a smau nugu 😞💔 also, this was inspired by a riize version i saw of this trope by @032104 ! their series on this is sooo worth checking out ヽ(´▽`)/

@hyuneskkami @jwiloves @bluedbliss @ayukas @rubiiisyeon