lies not flies

The bathroom mirror caught him mid-smirk. Wooyoung leaned in, running his fingers through his hair until it fell into just the right balance of I don’t care and I spent ten minutes making it look like this. His shirt collar was open, chain glinting against his skin, and he tilted his head, testing how the club lights might catch him later.

“Not bad, Woo,” he muttered under his breath, flashing his reflection a wink before pushing out the door.

The bass swallowed him immediately. It thumped through the soles of his shoes, rattled in his ribs, and wrapped around him like an old friend. Strobes of red and purple painted the crowd in fragments, sweat and perfume mixing into a haze that clung to the air.

On his way to the bar, he collected glances the way other people collected phone numbers. A smirk here, a lazy wave there—every movement choreographed like he’d rehearsed it, though everyone knew he hadn’t.

A pretty brunette caught his eye and held it. Wooyoung let the corner of his mouth curl, slow and deliberate, the kind of smile that promised trouble. She ducked her head, blushing, and he chuckled under his breath as he moved on.

Two steps later, a girl spun past him in a blur of sequins. Wooyoung’s hand shot out, catching her wrist just long enough to twirl her into a messy spin. She squealed, laughter spilling out as she stumbled back into her group of friends. He bowed low, theatrically, before straightening and tossing her a salute that earned him another round of giggles.

The crowd seemed to part for him, not out of awareness but out of sheer momentum. He slid through bodies with practiced ease, grin sharp and playful, his attention skipping from one target to the next. When he spotted a blonde tangled up with her boyfriend, he didn’t even hesitate. He sent her a wink so pointed the guy stiffened and pulled her closer, glaring. Wooyoung’s grin only widened, satisfaction written all over his face as he carried on without missing a beat.

By the time he reached the bar, he looked like he’d walked off a stage—shoulders loose, eyes glinting, his signature mischievous smirk firmly in place.

Leo was already there, sleeves rolled up, knocking on the counter to get the bartender’s attention. A tray of shot glasses clinked into place just as Wooyoung slid up beside him, elbow hooking onto the counter like he owned the whole damn club.

“Perfect timing, Woo.” Leo said, passing him a glass.

Wooyoung lifted it in salute, eyes glinting under the neon. “Perfect? Leo, I was born for perfect timing.”

He clinked his glass against Leo’s with exaggerated ceremony, then against every other glass in reach—even some that didn’t belong to their group. The girl next to him blinked down at her drink, confused, while Wooyoung just winked and knocked his shot back in one go.

“God, you’re insufferable,” Leo muttered, though his grin betrayed him.

“Insufferably handsome, insufferably charming, insufferably—” Wooyoung cut himself off to slap Leo’s back hard enough to make him cough. “—lucky to be celebrating your graduation with me.”

Leo rolled his eyes, downing his own shot with far less flair. “Pretty sure I was the one who graduated, not you.”

“Semantics.” Wooyoung waved his empty glass like a trophy, signaling the bartender for another round. “I survived four years of hearing you whine about professors, deadlines, and existential dread. I deserve a medal. Or at least tequila.”

The bartender slid another row of shots their way, and Wooyoung immediately claimed two. He handed one to Leo and raised the other, voice booming like he was on a stage instead of at a sticky club bar.

“To the man of the hour!” he announced, drawing cheers from strangers around them. “And to his endlessly supportive, ridiculously good-looking best friend.”

“Your ego needs its own drink,” Leo said, but he couldn’t stop himself from laughing as their glasses clinked again.

Wooyoung grinned, tilting his head. “Hey, don’t hate the player, bro. Hate the game.”

“The only game here,” Leo said, smirking, “is how many people you’re going to charm before you pass out on my couch tonight.”

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, mock-offended. “Excuse me? I am a refined gentleman. I only flirt with consenting, attractive women.” He paused, leaning closer. “And maybe one very specific, impossibly distracting woman I met some time ago…”

Leo laughed, shaking his head. “Poor girl whoever she is… must be tough, having a charming womanizer after her.”

Wooyoung leaned in slightly, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial whisper, his grin mischievous. “Ah… I know she can handle it. Most people can’t keep up, but she’s different. Smart, sharp… not easily impressed… And she drives me nuts.”

Leo’s eyes narrowed, trying to figure out who he meant, but Wooyoung leaned back, tossing his hair and winking at the bartender. “Anyway… enough about mysterious admirers. More shots?”

Hours slipped by in a blur of music, strobe lights, and the constant pulse of the bass. Wooyoung was in his element, moving through the crowd like he owned every step of the floor. Drink in hand, he danced with a fluid charm, twirling a girl who laughed too loudly, leaning in just enough to make her think he was interested… then sliding away before it could go any further.

Leo was more of an observer, occasionally nudging Wooyoung to drink or laugh a little louder, but mostly letting him run the show. Wooyoung winked at a brunette on the edge of the dance floor, letting her think there was something more behind his gaze, but he never stayed long enough for any real connection to spark.

Every flirt, every laugh, every brush of a hand was calculated — a performance. A mask he wore flawlessly around Leo, around the club, around anyone who might look too closely.

By the time the clock hit a ridiculous hour, the drinks had stacked, and the energy of the crowd began to wane. Wooyoung, still smiling, still teasing, still moving with effortless charm, finally made his way back to Leo, letting a brief sigh escape that no one could hear over the music.

The music throbbed in their chests as Wooyoung and Leo pushed their way toward the exit, the crowd parting like water around them. The blonde from earlier sidled up to him, hips swaying as she pressed a little closer.

“You’re leaving already?” she purred, voice low, the kind of playful tease that usually had him hooked in seconds. “Why don’t you come back to my place? We can… continue the party.”

Wooyoung tilted his head, giving her the faintest smirk, like he’d just been presented with a puzzle too simple to bother with. “Ah… tempting,” he said, voice smooth, teasing. “But I have… a very important early meeting with a—friend. Yeah, a friend.”

The girl raised an eyebrow. “You always this… careful?”

He leaned just close enough to brush a fingertip against her arm, his grin mischievous. “Careful? Darling, I’m reckless… selectively.”

She frowned, clearly trying to parse what he meant, and before she could think of another angle, he added, with the kind of cocky charm only he could pull off: “But tonight? I think the universe insists I’m too busy for trouble.”

Her lips pursed, finally realizing the game was up. “Well… fine. Maybe next time, then.”

Wooyoung waved her off casually, the kind of casual that made her feel like she’d just lost the most charming man in the room, and slipped past her to meet Leo at the curb.

The curb was a blur of taxi lights and stumbling partygoers. Leo flagged down a cab, sliding in first with a grin. “So… the blonde,” he said, glancing at Wooyoung with a teasing sparkle in his eye. “She just… vanished, huh? Don’t tell me you actually passed her up.”

Wooyoung tossed his jacket over the seat, leaning back with that same devil-may-care grin. “Passed her up? Please. She’s… temporary entertainment. Not exactly the kind of challenge I’m interested in.”

Leo raised an eyebrow. “Temporary entertainment, huh? Is that what you tell them all?”

“Depends,” Wooyoung said smoothly, sliding one arm across the back of the seat. “Some are fun distractions, some aren’t worth the headache. Tonight? She’s… forgettable.”

Leo chuckled, shaking his head. “Right. ‘Forgettable.’ Sure, that’s your story.”

Wooyoung smirked, eyes glinting in the passing streetlights. “Hey, I’ve got a reputation to maintain. Can’t have people thinking I fall for every pretty smile that crosses my path.”

The cab travelled around the streets, the city lights streaking past, and Leo, still curious, didn’t push further. Wooyoung had said enough—smooth, untouchable, untangled. And yet, beneath that mask, something unspoken lingered.

Minutes later, Leo slid the apartment key into the lock and pushed the door open, gesturing for Wooyoung to step in first. The air inside was warm from the summer night, softened by the faint hum of the city outside. Bare feet padded against the cool hardwood as they dropped their shoes by the entrance, the familiar ritual of home making everything feel… quieter.

They moved toward the kitchen, but a soft sound froze Wooyoung mid-step. There, sprawled on the couch, was y/n. Her body had melted into the cushions, her loose tank top and shorts shifting with the breeze drifting through the open windows. The summer air lifted stray strands of her messy hair across her face, and the TV cast soft, flickering light that traced the contours of her closed eyes and parted lips.

Wooyoung’s pulse stuttered, though he didn’t dare let it show. A couple of empty beer bottles and a half eaten pizza sat on the coffee table, evidence of her earlier indulgence, yet despite the casual disarray, she looked… ethereal. Peaceful. Beautiful in a way that made his chest tighten.

He leaned closer, careful not to disturb her, letting his eyes linger for just a beat longer than necessary. Her legs peeked out from under the loose shorts, pale in the dim light, and for a fleeting moment, he had to remind himself to breathe.

“Shhh,” Leo whispered, nudging him gently. “Kitchen. Quick water. Then couch.”

Wooyoung nodded, forcing his usual mischievous grin back into place as they made their way to the sink. He filled two glasses of water, the cool liquid soothing after the night of drinking. Leo excused himself to his room, leaving Wooyoung alone for a moment.

And there she was again in his mind. He was supposed to sleep on the couch tonight… but after seeing her like that, after feeling the quiet pull she always had on him, what exactly was he supposed to do?

The soft clink of Leo’s room door signaled his return, a pair of pajama pants and a simple t-shirt dangling from one hand.

“Here,” he said, tossing them toward Wooyoung. “Figured you’d want to change before claiming the couch.”

Wooyoung caught them with one hand, smirking. “Thanks… I’ll take the honor of wearing your hand-me-downs.”

Leo rolled his eyes, grinning. “Try not to trip over yourself while putting them on.”

Wooyoung slipped off his oversized jeans and shirt and shrugged into the clothes, the fabric loose and comfortable. “Mmm, luxury,” he murmured, stretching like a cat. “Why don’t we all just live in pajamas?”

Leo snorted. “Because we wouldn’t survive the fashion police.”

Wooyoung laughed, loud and genuine, the sound echoing in the apartment.

Then, Leo’s expression suddenly shifted, animated as he remembered something from earlier. “I can’t stop thinking about that guy at the club trying to impress everyone with his breakdancing… He ended up smacking his own drink all over some poor girl. Priceless!”

Wooyoung doubled over, slapping a hand against the counter. “Oh my god! And didn’t he try to save face by blaming that girl’s boyfriend taking all the space? Poor girl...”

By the time they got to the punchline, both were snorting and wheezing, barely able to breathe, tears welling up in their eyes. Wooyoung threw his head back, laughter booming through the apartment, the sound still carrying a trace of the night’s reckless fun.

A soft stir came from the couch. Wooyoung’s laughter faltered just slightly as he realized y/n’s eyes were blinking open, hair falling across her face, one hand rubbing at her eyes as she slowly adjusted to the dim lights and two drunken idiots in the kitchen.

“What on earth are you two doing?” she demanded, voice still groggy but sharp, carrying that edge that made people listen.

Wooyoung froze mid-laugh, sweatpants-clad legs stiffening. His grin faltered slightly, and his usual loud, chaotic energy softened. “Uh… celebrating… graduation?” he offered weakly, trying to reclaim some of his swagger.

“Celebrating?” y/n echoed, voice rising just enough to make him flinch. “It’s nearly three in the morning, and you’re making a ruckus in my apartment? Do you even hear yourselves?”

Leo snickered behind him, but Wooyoung’s attention was entirely on her. Her glare wasn’t angry like it could have been with anyone else—it was commanding, precise, and it made something stir low in his chest.

“I… yes, ma’am,” he muttered, the smirk returning only slightly, replaced by something softer, more obedient. “We’ll be… quieter. Very, very quiet.”

y/n crossed her arms, leaning back against the couch. “You better be. And don’t even think about waking me again tonight, mister.”

Wooyoung’s grin shifted into something almost sheepish. “Yes, ma’am,” he repeated, voice lower this time, a little rougher, like he was tasting both rebellion and surrender at once.

Leo chuckled, whispering with a grin, “Wow… she actually shut you up.”

Wooyoung shot him a look over his shoulder, eyes darkening playfully. “Shut up, Leo.” But his fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the counter, a subtle echo of the rush he always got when y/n took control like this.

y/n finally rose from the couch, stretching just enough to remind Wooyoung of her effortless grace. “You two should get some sleep,” she said, voice carrying that calm authority she always had when she meant business. She grabbed her phone from the coffee table and walked toward her bedroom, the soft swish of her movement leaving a quiet trace in the apartment.

Wooyoung blinked, stiffening slightly, assuming her sharp glare had meant she was truly annoyed. “Great,” he muttered under his breath, shoulders slumping. “She’s definitely mad now.”

Leo yawned, already half-asleep leaning against the counter. “Relax, man. She’ll survive.”

But before he could even consider stretching out on the couch, y/n reappeared, barely making a sound. She carried something in her hands—a freshly changed sheet, neatly folded—and began adjusting it over the cushions. Her movements were gentle, careful, smoothing out every wrinkle so the couch looked almost like a proper bed.

Wooyoung’s breath hitched slightly at the sight. The playful, chaotic energy he carried all night suddenly felt heavier, tinged with something warmer, something tender. She was scolding him moments ago, fierce and sharp, and now… now she was making sure he would be comfortable. Just for him.

“You… didn’t have to,” he said, voice lower than intended, caught between amusement and awe. His drunkenness disappeared by the moment.  

y/n glanced over her shoulder, lips twitching as if to smile, though her expression remained composed. “I know. But you’re my brother’s best friend… and you’ve… well, you’ve had a long night.” She smoothed the last corner of the sheet and stepped back. “There. Comfortable enough?”

Wooyoung’s usual grin faltered, replaced by something softer, more honest. “Yeah,” he murmured, the word almost stuck in his throat. “Thanks.”

And just like that, she left him the couch, the air between them carrying a quiet, unspoken understanding: she could be hard-tempered, commanding, unyielding… but for him, there was always a crack in the armor.

The soft click of y/n’s bedroom door settling shut left Wooyoung alone on the couch. He laid back, one hand tucked under his head, the other resting on his stomach, gaze fixed on the ceiling as if staring long enough might untangle the chaos in his mind.

Leo padded over, barefoot and yawning, and set a water bottle on the coffee table beside him. “Here,” he mumbled. “Hydrate before you pass out completely.”

Wooyoung smirked faintly at the gesture, but his thoughts weren’t on the water. He traced the edges of the couch with his fingertips, lingering on the neat sheet y/n had placed, the faint scent she always carried. His chest tightened just slightly, the chaotic, confident energy he’d carried all night giving way to something quieter, more fragile.

Leo shuffled back toward his bedroom, muttering something about needing sleep, and the apartment fell into a hushed, peaceful quiet.

Wooyoung let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh. He should just sleep, right? Couch, water, quiet night. Easy. Simple.

But his mind kept wandering back to y/n. That sharp edge of hers… it always had a way of cutting through him, leaving him a little undone.

Wooyoung shifted slightly, rolling onto his side and curling into a small cushion he’d dragged closer. The soft fabric pressed against him, a small comfort in the quiet apartment. He let out a low sigh, adjusting his arm under his head as if the motion alone could settle the restless energy still buzzing in him from the night.

His gaze flicked to the TV, the flickering images of the show y/n had left on playing across the room. He tried to focus, letting the plot and dialogue draw his attention, using it as a shield against thoughts of her just down the hall. Quiet, restless, and half-aware, he let himself sink slowly toward sleep, the summer breeze brushing his face.

_______

Morning crept in soft and golden, slipping through the open windows. y/n padded out of her bedroom, hair messy, face still warm with sleep. The first thing she saw was Wooyoung sprawled across the couch — one arm dangling off the side, lips parted, TV still buzzing faintly in the background. An almost-empty water bottle sat abandoned on the table beside him.

She scoffed under her breath, reaching for the remote to turn off the TV. The sound died, leaving the room wrapped in silence except for Wooyoung’s slow, steady snoring. She meant to roll her eyes, but instead, her lips curved into a small, unbidden smile. He looked so different like this — quiet, unguarded… almost boyish.

Shaking herself, she padded toward the kitchen. The clatter of pans and the faint hiss of a stove soon filled the apartment. If Leo and Wooyoung were going to wake up with pounding heads, the least she could do was arm them with breakfast.

y/n moved slowly, still shaking off the weight of sleep. Lingering for a moment in front of the fridge, fingers tapping against the door as she wondered what they’d want — something hearty, something gentle on their stomachs. Pancakes and fruit, she decided. Simple. Comforting.

She slipped her headphones over her ears, pressing play. Music swelled into her morning, cocooning her in a rhythm only she could hear. The world outside faded, leaving only the soft sway of her body as she mixed batter, hips shifting lightly with the beat.

The first notes of sizzling butter filled the kitchen as she poured out a circle of pancake batter, the smell already warm and inviting. Behind her, the coffee machine gurgled to life, its rich aroma starting to fill the air. Careful not to wake them, she worked with practiced ease, lost in her quiet ritual, her movements in sync with the melody carrying her into the day.

A low groan slipped past Wooyoung ‘s lips as he stirred, the couch springs protesting when he shifted. His head throbbed faintly, the kind of dull ache that clung after too many shots, but then… something pulled him fully awake.

The smell of fresh coffee.

His eyes blinked open, adjusting to the soft morning light spilling through the windows. And there she was. y/n, hips swaying lightly in the kitchen, headphones on, completely oblivious to him. Hand reaching into a bowl containing some seasonal fruit, sunlight catching in her messy hair like it belonged there.

The ache in his head dulled instantly. Just watching her, the corners of his mouth tugged upward, slow and unbidden. If this was what mornings could look like, he thought, maybe making a move would be worth it.

Wooyoung pushed himself off the couch, padding carefully across the living room, each step measured so the floorboards wouldn’t betray him. He raked a hand through his messy hair, smirking faintly when he caught sight of her — back turned, body swaying subtly to a rhythm only she could hear.

“Good morning,” he called out, his voice carrying that low, teasing edge he always seemed to have.

Nothing. No glance over her shoulder, no acknowledgment. His smirk faltered, replaced by a faint furrow in his brow. Huh.

He tried again, a little louder, a touch more pointed. “Good. Morning.”

Still nothing.

Now he was scowling, convinced she was ignoring him on purpose — which, granted, wouldn’t be unlike her. Stubborn woman. With an exhale that was half amusement, half irritation, he stepped closer and reached out, fingers brushing her shoulder.

y/n startled violently, a sharp yelp leaving her lips as she spun around. The plum she’d been holding slipped from her hand, rolling across the floor. “Wooyoung, what the fuck?” Her glare was sharp, chin tilted as if daring him to laugh.

He did anyway, crouching to snatch up the fruit before rinsing it under the tap. He took a bold bite, juice running down his chin. “Hey. I was being polite,” he said around the mouthful, eyes glinting with that cocky spark, cleaning the mess in his face with the back of his hand. “I said good morning. Twice.”

y/n scoffed, snatching another plum from the counter and slicing into it with deliberate force. “You don’t sneak up on people at—” she glanced at the clock on the microwave, “—ten in the morning after a night of drowning yourself in tequila.” Her knife hit the board with a sharp thunk.

Wooyoung leaned lazily against the counter, still chewing, watching her with that infuriating grin.

“Scared you that bad, huh?” he teased, deliberately licking juice from his thumb.

y/n shot him a glare over her shoulder, turning back to the cutting board to slice a plum with more force than necessary. “You’re lucky I didn’t stab you with the knife. I haven’t had coffee yet, and you’re already testing me.”

Her voice was clipped, irritated — but there was a faint flush rising in her cheeks, one Wooyoung didn’t miss. His grin widened, sharp and slow.

Wooyoung leaned his hip against the counter, biting into the plum again with exaggerated satisfaction. “Relax, noona,” he drawled, deliberately dragging the word out. “You should be flattered I risked my life just to say good morning to you.”

y/n didn’t look at him, her knife moving cleanly through another piece of fruit. “Flattered isn’t the word I’d use.” She slid the slices into a bowl, shoulders stiff, the corner of her mouth twitching despite herself. Switching tasks, she brushed her shoulder against him, now focused on the stove. 

“Admit it,” he went on, tilting his head as though studying her. “Part of you was happy to see me first thing in the morning. Most women would kill for that honor.”

Her laugh was dry, sharp as she flicked a pancake in the pan, back still to him. “Most women don’t know you’re an overgrown child playing at being charming.”

Wooyoung pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense, grinning through it. “Child? That’s cruel. You wound me.”

“You didn’t deny it,” she said, tone clipped but playful. “Maybe try not giving me a heart attack before lunch time.”

Her eyes stayed fixed on the pan, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a glance — but he could see the slight flush at the base of her neck, and it made his grin turn sly.

y/n poured steaming coffee into two mugs, the rich aroma flooding the kitchen. She slid one toward him without looking, her voice dry as ever. “Drink. You need it more than I do.”

Wooyoung raised his brows, taking the cup like it was a prize. “Are you taking care of me, noona? How sweet.”

“Please,” she snorted, finally glancing his way. “The way you were sprawled on that couch, mouth wide open, I was two seconds away from tucking you in with a juice box. Honestly, you’re worse than Leo after a night out.”

Her words were cutting, but her tone dripped with a playful lilt, the corners of her lips twitching as she turned back to the stove.

Wooyoung’s grin sharpened, his voice dropping into mock-seriousness. “You’re saying you watched me sleep? That sounds… intimate.”

y/n let out a scoff, carefully flipping another pancake, refusing to turn around. “Don’t flatter yourself. You looked ridiculous.”

But the faint warmth creeping up her neck betrayed her.

y/n slid the last pancake onto a plate, reaching to turn off the stove. “If you’re just going to stand there smirking, at least make yourself useful. Set the table.” Her tone left no room for argument, sharp as a whip-crack.

Wooyoung arched a brow, fighting the grin tugging at his lips. He took another sip of coffee before setting the mug down with a dramatic sigh. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, deliberately obedient, grabbing plates and cutlery from the cupboard.

The clatter of forks and the scrape of chairs filled the kitchen as he moved around, deliberately brushing close when he passed behind her. She ignored him — or pretended to — shoulders stiff as she focused on arranging the fruit in a neat bowl.

“You’d make a terrifying boss, you know that?” he teased, laying out the last fork with a flourish. “Lucky for me, I follow orders well.”

y/n shot him a sidelong look, lips curving despite her best efforts. “Keep talking and I’ll make you do the dishes too.”

Before he could shoot back, footsteps shuffled down the hall. Leo appeared, hair sticking up in every direction, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Morning,” he muttered, grabbing a cup for himself from a tall cupboard. He gave his sister a lopsided smile. “Smells amazing...” Completely oblivious to the current of tension humming in the room, he reached for the coffee pot as if nothing were amiss.

They settled around the table, plates stacked with pancakes and fruit, coffee steaming between them. For a moment, the only sound was the scrape of cutlery against china, the low hum of morning filling the space.

Leo broke the silence first, yawning into his fork. “You looked like hell yesterday, man. I almost thought you’d never wake up.”

Wooyoung smirked, leaning back in his chair. “And yet here I am — radiant as ever.”

“Radiant?” Leo barked out a laugh. “You’re lucky y/n didn’t toss you out the window. You snore like a chainsaw.”

y/n hid her smirk behind a sip of coffee, not bothering to correct him.

“Chainsaw?” Wooyoung scoffed, dramatically clutching his chest. “That’s just my natural rhythm. Women find it soothing.”

“Poor women,” Leo said, shaking his head with mock pity.

Wooyoung only grinned wider, letting the mask slip right back into place. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got everything handled.”

The banter rolled between them easily, like it always did, their laughter filling the gaps. y/n listened from the edges, occasionally tossing in a quiet remark but mostly observing, her eyes lingering on Wooyoung longer than she meant to. His voice, his expressions, the way he moved so comfortably in their home — it all pressed at the edges of her carefully built distance.

Leo leaned back in his chair, fork paused mid-air. “So… what’s the deal with this photography project of yours? You’ve been talking about it for months.”

Wooyoung smirked, leaning forward, eyes glinting with both pride and mischief. “Ah, finally, someone interested in my genius. You wouldn’t understand, Leo... Art takes subtlety… sophistication… nuance.”

y/n perked up, coffee in hand. Her ears always pricked at the word “art,” her professional instinct kicking in—after all, she was trained to spot talent, composition, and potential from a mile away.

Leo grinned, glancing at her. “Hey, y/n, maybe you’ll want to take a look at his portfolio. Professional opinion, of course.”

Wooyoung froze just slightly at the proposition, but he hid it with a quick, cocky shrug. “Professional? Of course. If the great y/n wants to grace my work with her superior judgment, who am I to refuse?”

y/n raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Superior judgment, huh? We’ll see about that.”

Wooyoung’s grin flickered — equal parts excitement and nervous energy — but he quickly masked it with his usual swagger. “Come on, noona. I’ve been told my work leaves people… speechless.”

y/n tilted her head, studying him over the rim of her coffee cup, lips twitching as if to smile. “I’ll take a look… another time. Can’t have you distracting me before I finish breakfast.”

Wooyoung chuckled, leaning back slightly, letting the tension linger, that subtle mixture of playfulness and anticipation humming between them. “I’ll be counting the minutes, then.”

By late morning, Wooyoung had gathered his things, flashing his usual cocky grin. “Alright, duty calls. Don’t miss me too much,” he teased, tossing a wink over his shoulder as he stepped out the door.

y/n exhaled softly, sinking back into the quiet of their apartment. The tension of breakfast, of his smirking presence, even the way he had subtly tested her patience with his playful jabs—it all melted away. Her kitchen was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator, and for a moment, she just breathed, letting the sunlight through the open windows warm her skin. Breakfast dishes could wait.

By afternoon, she was out the door, tying her climbing shoes as her friends called to her from the base of the rock wall. Hands gripping rough holds, muscles straining, her body pushed to focus only on movement and balance. She loved the clarity climbing brought her: there was no distraction, no lingering thoughts of Wooyoung, no sharp teasing banter floating in the back of her mind. It was just her, the wall, and the rhythm of her own heartbeat.

Hours passed, and by the time she reached the top of another particularly challenging path, she was sweating, exhilarated, and filled with a quiet kind of triumph. The descent was careful, methodical; her friends chatted and laughed around her, voices bright and warm. Even after she’d shaken out her arms and grabbed a water bottle, her mind was calm.

She wiped sweat from her brow and reached into her pocket for her phone, just to check the time. That’s when she noticed it: a small, blinking notification—an unread message from Wooyoung. Frowning, she tapped it open, and her eyes widened slightly.

His portfolio.

Her pulse quickened, and for a heartbeat she just stared at the screen, seated on the thick pad right below the wall. With the muscles in her arms still tired but steadier now, she carefully shifted to a more comfortable spot, crossing her legs as she scrolled through the first few images. The photographs were sharp, intentional, each frame capturing light and shadow with a skill that immediately pulled her professional instincts forward. Composition, angles, mood—all evident, all precise.

And yet, there was something more, subtle but unmistakable: flashes of personality threaded through the work. Playful angles, mischievous shadows, energy that felt like… him. Wooyoung, behind the lens, daring the world to notice what he saw, what he felt.

y/n’s thumb lingered over the screen as she scrolled, and then she froze.

It was her.

It was a photo from that group's casual barbecue, the one Dae, Leo’s girlfriend, had invited her to—lunch, laughter, music floating on the late-afternoon breeze, glasses clinking, the sun sliding toward the horizon. But here, in Wooyoung’s capture, it was transformed.

Her hair was tousled from the breeze, strands catching the light like spun gold. She was laughing, head thrown back slightly, eyes disappearing into thin, crescent shapes, that careless, unguarded smile that never made it into mirrors or selfies. The orange glow of the sunset kissed her skin, making it appear warmer, more radiant, like she was glowing from within. Every line of her face, the tilt of her shoulders, even the gentle curve of her fingers mid-gesture—it all seemed to hum with life.

Wooyoung had framed her in such a way that the background blurred into a soft, painterly haze. Flames from a nearby grill, bottles, the other guests’ laughter frozen mid-movement—they became mere texture, a canvas on which she existed as the singular point of light. It wasn’t just a photograph; it was a story, a feeling, a pulse. The spark in her smile mirrored the sly caring in his eyes, as if they shared some secret understanding across space and time.

y/n could almost hear him there, behind the camera: daring, teasing, yet impossibly attentive. She tilted her head, studying the picture, noting the care in the shadows, the way the light played with the edges of her hair, the deliberate tilt of the frame that made the ordinary magical. It wasn’t posed, it wasn’t staged — it was a moment stolen, yet preserved forever.

Her chest tightened slightly, the kind of ache that was both unsettling and… thrilling. The mischievous energy that always clung to Wooyoung seemed to radiate off the image, wrapping around her in an invisible halo. She had never looked at herself like this—through someone else’s eyes, through his eyes. And the truth of it was undeniable: he had noticed everything.

y/n’s thumb hesitated over the screen, then flicked to the next image. A narrow street at dusk, shadows stretching across cobblestones. A figure leaned casually against a lamppost, hair catching the dying light, shoulders relaxed in a familiar posture. She didn’t need to see the face—she knew instantly that it was her. The same evening, the same quiet mischief, the same laugh that had echoed off the walls of the old neighborhood. Wooyoung had captured it all, framing it with light and shadow that made her feel seen, even though her face was hidden.

She scrolled further. A coffee shop, late afternoon light spilling over the table. The photo focused on a hand brushing a stray lock of hair behind the ear, the curve of a shoulder, a slight lean forward to listen to Dae’s concerns. Ordinary, almost nothing, but she remembered: this was her, completely absorbed in the world around her, entirely herself. The subtle tension, the gentle motion, the small details she assumed no one ever really noticed…

Except him.

Her pulse quickened as she reached the last few images. A rooftop at sunset, the city sprawling behind her. The frame captured only her silhouette, the arch of her neck, the tilt of her head as she looked toward the horizon. But the memory flooded back instantly: she had been here, alone for a moment, savoring the quiet, the freedom. And he had been there, quietly, capturing the light dancing across her form, preserving something only they had shared.

y/n leaned back against the wall, phone held carefully, a quiet smile tugging at her lips. The photographs were confessions disguised as art. Wooyoung had framed her, not for the world, not for recognition, but for himself. For the secret only they shared. And somehow, seeing it, she felt it too: a thrill, a warmth, a subtle pull, all threaded with the mischievous energy of the man behind the lens.

A laugh from behind startled her. “Hey! What’s got you grinning like an idiot over there?”

She turned, squinting against the light to see one of her friends standing next to her, bottle of water in hand. “Huh?”

“You,” her friend said, smirking knowingly. “I’ve been watching you from over there, and you are definitely distracted. Not planning on continuing climbing, are you?”

y/n felt a faint blush rise to her cheeks. She quickly locked her phone, hoping the smile didn’t linger too obviously. “Nothing,” she said, voice a touch too light, too casual. “Just… taking a breather. You know, my shoulder’s been acting up since last fall.”

Her friend raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Sure… ‘breather.’ Right.”

y/n rolled her eyes, tilting back her water bottle and drinking long and slow to stall. “You’re imagining things. Focus on your climb before you end up kissing the wall.”

Her friend bounded ahead, already hooking the harness carabiner to the rope to make another climb, leaving her with a quiet moment to herself. She exhaled, letting her thoughts settle… though her mind kept drifting back to her phone.

Unlocking the screen again, Wooyoung’s chat was still open, the portfolio images lingering in her memory. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment, unsure what to say.

Finally, she typed simply, carefully:

Thanks for sharing your work. Strong portfolio, you’ve got a strong eye. We’ll talk about it soon.

She read it over, a small smile tugging at her lips. Nothing more. Not daring to mention the photos—not yet. Just enough praise to acknowledge the work, to keep the connection neutral and light, to distract him from the topic she couldn't dare mention. With a soft tap, she sent the message, then tucked her phone away again, leaning back against the wall and letting the banter between her friends ease her mind.

By the time y/n got home, her muscles ached in that satisfying way that came after physical exercise— sore, but alive. She dropped her gear by the door and headed straight for the shower, letting the hot water wash away the chalk dust, the sweat, the lingering thoughts that still tugged at her from the climbing wall.

Wrapped in a towel, she padded into her room, tugged on a long-sleeve t-shirt and shorts, letting her damp hair fall around her face. The smell of food drifted down the hall—something savory, her stomach tightening with sudden hunger.

In the kitchen, she found Leo standing proudly at the stove, tossing vegetables in a pan like he was auditioning for a cooking show. A pot of pasta steamed beside him, and the table was already set with two plates.

“Wow,” y/n said, stepping in with a grin. “Did I accidentally walk into the wrong apartment? Since when do you cook dinner?”

Leo shot her a mock glare, ladle in hand. “Since I realized my sister would come home starving and try to steal whatever I made anyway.”

“Correct,” she said, already swiping a piece of tomato off the cutting board and popping it into her mouth before he could protest.

“y/n!” he groaned, swatting at her hand. “Do you even know how long it took me to chop all that?”

“Long enough for me to get here just in time,” she quipped, ducking past him to steal a sip from his glass of water too.

Leo shook his head, muttering under his breath, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward all the same. It was their rhythm, the easy, playful sibling banter that had carried them through the years: her needling, his overblown indignation, both of them knowing they’d split the meal in the end no matter what.

y/n leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him stir the pan with exaggerated focus. “So, what did you even do all day? Or do I not want to know?”

Leo gave her a look, half sheepish, half smug. “Define do.”

“Uh-huh,” y/n said, amused. “That already sounds suspicious.” She stole another chopped vegetable from the pan while he stalled with an unnecessary amount of stirring.

He sighed, but there was a spark of mischief in his eyes. “I watched a movie marathon. Classic stuff. You know, the important cultural education.”

y/n bit her lip to keep from smiling too wide. “Let me guess. Superheroes?”

“Obviously. Someone’s gotta keep the legacy alive.” He smirked as he scooped pasta onto the sauce. “Then I took a nap. A very productive nap, might I add. And now…” He gestured at the meal like a magician revealing his final trick. “Dinner for my loving sister. Redemption arc complete.”

y/n laughed, the sound bubbling out before she could help it. “Wow. A true hero’s journey. Eat, sleep, cape, repeat.”

They sat across each other at the table, Leo shaking his head but grinning all the same. For a while, they just ate, trading little remarks between bites. Nothing heavy, nothing complicated—just the kind of easy companionship that reminded y/n why she’d always protected him so fiercely.

She studied him as he launched into an enthusiastic tangent about one of the films, hands flying as he described some epic fight scene. Still the same boy who used to follow her around with wide eyes, now grown into his own, but still hers in a way no one else could ever be.

Leo was in the middle of an impassioned rant about why the third act of his movie marathon was “a complete betrayal of the fans” when y/n’s phone buzzed against the table. She reached for it absently, half-listening, but the second she saw the name on the screen, her attention slipped.

Wooyoung.

She thumbed the notification open, her pulse betraying her with a tiny quickening.

“That’s it? ‘Looking good’? C’mon, noona… you’re not even gonna mention your pictures? Or are you just pretending you didn’t notice? ;)”

The words radiated his voice—smug, reckless, infuriatingly sure of himself. She could practically see the cocky tilt of his grin through the screen, the one he wore whenever he thought he had her cornered.

y/n’s stomach flipped before she could stop it. Damn him.

She pressed the phone facedown against the table, ignoring the warmth in her cheeks, and made a vague noise of agreement as Leo kept rambling about cinematic universes. But her mind wasn’t on villains or superheroes anymore.

Dinner wound down in its usual rhythm—Leo still buzzing with stories, y/n half-listening, half-escaping into the small comforts of home. Later, once dishes were stacked and lights dimmed, she slipped away into her room and laid in her bed.

The door clicked shut, cocooning her in quiet. Only then did she let herself reach for her phone again.

Wooyoung’s message plastered on the screen, the smug words waiting for her like a dare. She read it once more, then again, lips pressing together against the traitorous smile tugging at them.

Rolling onto her side, she typed slowly, deliberately—not professional, not too personal, but enough to sting his ego just right.

“God, are you obsessed with me or something? Starting to seem like it.”

Her thumb hovered only a second before she hit send. The message darted off, wicked and dismissive, the kind of thing she knew would make him bristle.

But his reply came quicker than she expected.

“Yeah. What about it, noona?”

y/n blinked at the screen, her pulse skipping. No winky face, no laugh, no shield of sarcasm. Just the words, laid bare, daring her to flinch first.

The room suddenly felt warmer, quieter, as if even the hum of the city outside had stilled to wait for her reaction.

“Stop calling me noona. It’s annoying.”

She hit send, tossing the phone beside her like distance could cool the heat in her chest. But she knew him—knew he’d see the crack in her reply, the way her deflection was its own kind of answer.

The phone buzzed again, a sharp vibration against the sheets.

y/n’s eyes slid toward it, the glow of the screen lighting up the darkened room, Wooyoung’s name bold at the top.

She didn’t open it.

Instead, she exhaled slowly, rolling onto her back and turning off the little bedside table lamp. Her body hummed with restless energy, but exhaustion tugged harder. Whatever clever, cocky reply he’d sent could wait until morning.

Her last conscious thought was the faintest smile, because she already knew he wouldn’t let it go so easily.

y/n woke to soft morning light filtering through the blinds. After a quick shower, she headed out, earbuds in, letting her playlist set the pace for her run and light workout at the gym. On the way back, she stopped by her favorite café, the smell of coffee and warm pastries wrapping around her. She couldn’t resist picking up a few buttery croissants for Leo, tucking them carefully into a paper bag.

Carrying the paper bag in her arms, she returned to the apartment, slid the key into the lock, nudged the door open with her hip—only to freeze.

Wooyoung’s laugh carried from the kitchen, low and unguarded. He was leaning against the counter, sleeves pushed up, gesturing animatedly with one hand while the other nursed a mug. Leo, still in his sleep shirt, looked halfway between entertained and exasperated.

y/n blinked, thrown by the sight.

“Morning, noona,” Wooyoung called smoothly the moment his eyes landed on her. That grin was already in place, the one that dared her to react, to break first. A teasing reminder of last night's conversation. 

She set the bag down a little too firmly on the table. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting my favorite person,” Wooyoung shot back, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Then, without missing a beat, “And you too, Leo.”

Leo snorted, stealing one of the croissants out of the bag before she could swat him. “He showed up like ten minutes ago. Said he was in the neighborhood.”

y/n narrowed her eyes at Wooyoung, who was now helping himself to the coffee pot like he lived there. The audacity.

And yet, the way he moved around her kitchen—so casual, so sure—had her pulse tripping in ways she refused to name.

Wooyoung’s grin widened, like he could read the flicker of irritation—or something more—crossing her face. Clearly, showing up early hadn’t been a mistake.

y/n ignored him completely, muttering a quick, “I need a shower,” as she retreated toward her bedroom and shut the door behind her. The sound of running water started almost immediately, a deliberate barrier between her and the mischievous energy lingering in the kitchen.

From the other side of the door, she could still hear him moving, the scrape of a chair, Leo laughing quietly at something Wooyoung said. She exhaled, letting the warm spray of water wash over her, trying to disentangle the flutter in her chest from the stubborn irritation she was determined to keep.

Even with the water pounding over her shoulders, she couldn’t stop a small smile from tugging at her lips. That boy… he was impossible.

y/n stepped out of her room in fresh clothes, barefoot and dirty gym clothes in hand. Leo and Wooyoung were sprawled on the sofa, mid-conversation, laughter still buzzing between them. Leo was gesturing animatedly with his hands, some story tumbling out, while Wooyoung leaned back, his grin sharp and lazy, throwing in comments just to rile him up.

Without a word, y/n crossed the room, tossing the throwing sweaty clothes into the laundry basket before plucking a croissant from the paper bag on the counter, and sank into the armchair opposite them. She tore off a piece and bit into it, her gaze flicking between the two boys as she chewed.

Neither of them missed it—her presence shifted the air instantly. Leo, oblivious as ever, kept talking, but Wooyoung’s eyes found her almost immediately. Quick, then lingering. A glance that said more than it should, like he’d been waiting for her to join them.

y/n pretended not to notice, focusing instead on her croissant, her voice casual as she finally spoke. “Don’t you two ever get tired of listening to yourselves talk?”

Leo groaned dramatically, tossing his head back against the cushions. “See? This is what I deal with every day. Constant judgment.”

Wooyoung snorted, eyes still half-trained on her. “Better than silence. Besides…” his grin tilted, deliberate, “…some people actually enjoy listening to me.”

y/n raised her croissant, unimpressed. “Pity them.”

Leo laughed, oblivious to the subtle crackle of tension between his best friend and his sister, and launched right back into his story. Wooyoung, though, stayed half-focused on y/n, watching the way she sat curled in the chair, fresh-faced and cozy, pretending she wasn’t entirely aware of his gaze.

The domestic ease of it—morning light spilling through the windows, the soft sounds of Leo’s chatter, her croissant flaking between her fingers—made the moment feel deceptively ordinary. But for Wooyoung, it was anything but.

He leaned back into the cushions, one arm draped lazily over the back of the sofa, his eyes kept drifting toward y/n. He tried to catch her gaze—once, twice, three times—but she ignored him with infuriating precision, breaking off another piece of croissant like he wasn’t even there.

The corner of his mouth curved. Stubborn, impossible woman.

Finally, he tipped his head toward her, voice light but laced with something sharper underneath. “You know, noona… if you keep avoiding looking at me, people might think you’re hiding something.”

y/n’s hand froze midway to her mouth. Her eyes finally lifted, slow and deliberate, locking on his with a calm that was all façade. Her lips parted, ready with a retort—

—and then Leo’s phone blared loudly from the coffee table.

“Shit,” Leo muttered, grabbing it and shooting to his feet. “It’s Dae, hold on.” He disappeared into his room, shutting the door behind him, leaving the apartment suddenly quieter, heavier.

The echo of his steps faded, and Wooyoung’s grin lingered, sharp with satisfaction. For the first time all morning, y/n’s eyes were on him—and there was no one else left to interrupt.

y/n leaned back in the chair, finally giving him a flat look. “You really think you’re that interesting?”

Wooyoung smirked, leaning forward like he’d been waiting for that opening. “You’re the one staring at me now…. Took you long enough.”

She scoffed, popping the last bite of croissant into her mouth. “Please. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late.” His grin widened, eyes glittering as he studied her. “You should know by now—I live off flattery.”

“Self-inflicted, maybe,” she muttered, reaching for her coffee to avoid letting her lips curl into a smile.

Wooyoung watched her over the rim of his own cup, enjoying every flicker of irritation, every tiny effort she made to pretend he wasn’t getting under her skin. He let the silence stretch just long enough before tilting his head, voice dropping playfully.

“Wanna know why I took those pictures?”

The air shifted. Her fingers stilled on the mug, knuckles whitening just slightly.

She didn’t meet his gaze this time. Instead, she let out a quiet, almost bored breath. “Not really…” Her tone was casual, dismissive, but the heaviness in her chest betrayed her. Because she did want to know. More than anything.

Wooyoung’s smile softened—not all the way, but enough that the mischief bled into something steadier, truer. He didn’t push, not yet. He only leaned back again, stretching out like he had all the time in the world.

“Liar,” he murmured, almost too low for her to hear.

For once, y/n didn’t have a comeback. The teasing line caught in her throat, dissolving under the weight of his gaze. The silence between them stretched, filled only by the faint hum of the TV and the distant sound of Leo’s muffled voice behind his door.

Then, Wooyoung shifted.

He slid off the sofa, movements slower than his usual dramatic flair, and kneeled on the floor in front of her. The cocky grin was gone, replaced by something steadier, quieter. His hand brushed against her ankle as if to anchor her attention, his thumb tracing idly over the skin peaking out under her sock.

y/n’s breath hitched. She looked down at him, startled by how close he suddenly felt—not just physically, but emotionally, too.

“Hey,” he said softly, the single word stripped of bravado. His usual teasing lilt was gone, leaving only sincerity. “I didn’t take those pictures to mess with you.”

The warmth of his palm on her ankle seeped through her skin, grounding her even as her mind scrambled for composure. She should’ve pulled away, should’ve said something sharp to remind him of his place. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

For the first time, she saw the boy who wasn’t all smirks and swagger, but the one who felt deeply, who noticed more than he let on.

And it left her speechless.

“Those pictures…” Wooyoung’s thumb stilled on her ankle, but he didn’t pull back. His gaze lifted, searching her face, his voice low and careful. “I took them because you looked… different that day. Not just beautiful—though, God, you were—but alive. Like the world finally made sense, and I didn’t want to forget it.”

y/n’s chest tightened. She forced a short laugh, trying to wave the weight of his words away. “You’re sleep deprived, or still hungover. Whatever this is—it doesn’t count.”

He frowned, shaking his head, frustration slipping through. “No. Don’t do that. Don’t pretend my feelings aren't real.”

Her lips parted, caught between protest and silence, but Wooyoung pressed on, his voice rougher now, stripped of his usual shine.

“You think I flirt with everyone, right? That I don’t take anything seriously. But with you—” He broke off, dragging a hand through her calf before returning to her ankle, looking at her again, fire in his eyes. “With you, I can’t help it. I see you and it’s like—damn it, y/n, I can’t stop. You’ve been in my head for so long, I don’t even remember what it’s like not to want you.”

The air between them felt molten, too heavy to breathe.

y/n swallowed hard, her heart thundering against her ribs. She should try to shut him down—should remind him of Leo, of lines they weren’t supposed to cross. But Wooyoung’s voice, raw and unguarded, made every excuse crumble before it reached her lips.

y/n shook her head, forcing a brittle laugh as she pulled her ankle back. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Wooyoung. You’re Leo’s best friend. You’re younger than me. This—” She waved a hand between them, as if the air itself could be dismissed. “It’s just a game for you. That’s all it will ever be.”

He stared at her like she’d just slapped him. Something inside him broke.

“A game?” His voice was hoarse, sharp at the edges. He pushed himself higher on his knees, closing the space between them, desperate for her to see. “You think this is a game to me?”

She faltered, lips parting, but he didn’t give her the chance.

“I fucking love you, y/n.” The words ripped out of him, raw and unpolished, years of holding back catching fire all at once. “For so long, I’ve been trying to bury it, laugh it off, flirt with anyone else just so I don’t give myself away. But it’s you. It’s only ever been you.”

His chest rose and fell hard, every breath weighted. His eyes, usually glittering with mischief, burned with something deeper, truer—aching sincerity.

“Please.” His voice cracked, softer now, pleading. “Believe me. At least in this.”

The silence that followed felt deafening. y/n’s pulse hammered in her throat, every instinct screaming to push him back, to rebuild the walls he’d just shattered. And yet—she couldn’t look away. Not from him, not from the storm of devotion written all over his face.

“y/n,” Wooyoung pressed, his words tumbling faster now, desperate, unstoppable. “I don’t care if I’m younger, I don’t care if Leo kills me—hell, maybe I deserve it. I just—every time you walk into a room, it feels like gravity shifts, like I can’t breathe until you look at me. And I—”

She couldn’t take it anymore.

Her hand shot up, curling into the back of his neck, dragging him forward in one sharp, decisive pull. Their lips collided, rough and hungry, swallowing every unfinished word.

Wooyoung froze for a split second, breath caught in his throat, before melting into her, the tension of years unraveling in an instant. Still on his knees, he steadied himself with one hand against the armchair, the other sliding carefully from her ankle upward. His fingertips brushed her thigh, tentative, reverent, like he was terrified that pushing too far might break the spell.

y/n only pulled him closer, her kiss fierce, as if daring him to ever call it a game.

Wooyoung groaned softly against her mouth, his thumb stroking her skin in trembling circles, trying to memorize the moment even as it consumed him. After so long of pretending, of hiding behind charm and masks, finally having her—her lips, her hands, her fire—felt unreal, too fragile to be real.

And yet, it was.

When breath finally forced them apart, their foreheads lingered close, lips still brushing with every shaky exhale. y/n’s chest rose and fell fast, her eyes searching his, wide with something she couldn’t bring herself to name.

For a beat, neither of them moved. The world outside that narrow space felt far away—Leo’s muffled voice in his room, the ticking of the clock, the faint hum of the city beyond the window.

Then Wooyoung’s restraint snapped.

He surged forward, capturing her mouth again, but this time it was different—wilder, unrestrained. His hand slid from her thigh upward, only to tangle in her hair, fisting it gently but firmly as he tilted her head back to deepen the kiss. 

The rough tug of his hand in her hair stole a sound from her throat—soft, unguarded, somewhere between a moan and a whimper. She felt it vibrate against his mouth, and the answering growl he gave only sent her spiraling deeper. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, not pushing him away—never that—but anchoring herself, holding on as if the ground itself had shifted beneath her.

This wasn’t Wooyoung the cocky boy, the teasing charmer. This was him raw, undone, kissing her like she was the only thing he’d ever wanted, the only thing he’d ever let himself lose control for. A low sound rumbled in his throat, all frustration and longing, as if he’d been starving for this for years.

Without thinking, y/n’s hands were moving again—one cupping his jaw, thumb brushing over the sharp edge of his cheekbone, grounding herself in the heat of his skin. The other drifted lower, sliding to the column of his throat. She pressed lightly, just enough to feel the wild thrum of his pulse beneath her palm. Her touch wasn’t harsh, but steady, claiming, a silent declaration that he was hers in this moment just as much as she was his.

Wooyoung shuddered at the contact, his lips parting against hers in a ragged exhale. For all his usual bravado, it was that gesture that undid him—the way she held him, not as if he were some reckless boy begging for attention, but as if she knew exactly what he was worth and was daring to take it.

The kiss deepened, slower now, molten. Every brush of her lips, every sigh, every trembling shift of her body against his was surrender—finally, undeniably. And yet, beneath the softness, there was fire: her nails catching against his skin, her hold on his throat tightening just enough to remind him she wasn’t only yielding… she was choosing.

The sharp click of Leo’s door jolted them apart. Wooyoung all but tore himself back, breath ragged, lips swollen, still on his knees in front of her. He rapidly vaulted back onto the sofa, sliding into a rigid, almost comically upright posture. His hands scrambled for composure, one tugging at his shirt, the other tugging lower, desperate to disguise the obvious tent in his jeans. His arms folded over his chest, one leg crossed casually over the other, eyes pretending to scan the room—but not too carefully. Every inch of him screamed the opposite, the faint heat lingering in his cheeks betraying how recently he’d been kneeling at her feet.

Leo strolled out, phone in hand, a frown painting his face. “My girl needs me… I’ll be back before dinner.” He paused at the door, eyes flicking to Wooyoung without a trace of suspicion. “You eating here? I might bring some takeout…”

Wooyoung forced a casual nod, his voice rougher than he wanted. “Yeah, sure.”

Slipping off his shoes at the entrance, Leo called over his shoulder with a grin, “Try not to kill each other while I’m gone!” The door clicked shut behind him, and suddenly the apartment felt impossibly still—charged, heavy, waiting.

y/n turned slowly, breath catching, chest rising and falling as the warmth lingered across her skin, her lips still tingling from their last kiss. Wooyoung lounged on the sofa, smirk lazy and wicked, but in his eyes—dark, hungry—was a plea he couldn’t yet put into words.

And y/n… she looked right back at him, gaze caught between fear and fire, like she already knew what the rest of this day held. The way her mouth ached to be against his again.

This was going to be a long day… and by the end of it, she’d be his—every gasp, every moan, every inch of her surrender marked on him, never wanting to let her go.

masterlist

a/n: yooo so real talk 😭 been struggling hardcore proofreading san’s story… so i decided to take a lil break and write this oneshot instead, kinda refreshing my brain lol... after taking forever with san’s updates, consider this a lil gift for all your insane patience 🥺💖 hope u like it!!

this was heavily inspired by that vid of wooyoung loudly confessing his… degradation kink, and even tho there’s no smut here, i lowkey wanted him to have a lil hint of that vibe 👀

tiny side note: I wasn’t sure if you’d want the taglist to apply to other stories besides San’s, but if people are interested, I can definitely make a separate taglist specifically for drabbles and oneshots. Just let me know!

love y’all lots 💕 thanks for sticking with me, always.

✨ general taglist open! ✨

if you want to be tagged in my upcoming fics (or just keep up with whatever i post next), feel free to comment or send a message 💖

“it really is you!” he grinned. “a familiar face after one week! i almost gave up.”

you understood. you almost gave up too– making new friends was no easy feat. 

one thing common between the two of you was that you were both shy to the bone. being in the same school with the same people for years meant that you were comfortable, but anyone who knew you was aware of how introverted you were. 

you had a tendency to stay in the shadows until someone would physically pull you out. when choi san approached you, you felt like you were back in those comfortable shadows. 

with him, maybe you could muster the courage to step out into the light too.

it was very easy to fall for san.

how could you not? 

at first, you thought that it was just because you were comfortable with him. he was someone that you knew, someone you could trust amidst navigating the fragile environment of college where anything you said could be twisted and used against you. 

he was someone who was there to help you, whether it be with assignments or the anxious thoughts inside your head:

“i miss being a teen,” you pouted. “remember when all we looked forward to was one of the teachers taking off?”

“and when your section and ours would have free lessons together…”

“ultimate chaos,” you both echoed, laughing simultaneously. 

“you’ll make friends here too,” san assured you. “i met some nice people. you will too.”

“how do you know if they’re nice?”

“they speak their mind,” san said. “like wooyoung.”

wooyoung was one of your best memories of school. he was san’s best friend but that boy was friends with the entire school and naturally, you had enough interactions to remember him fondly.

“i’ll try to find someone like wooyoung then, but he’s one of a kind,” you reminisced with a smile.

“if you don’t find someone, you always have me,” san said and you locked eyes with him.

there he was, smiling innocently, a promise in his eyes. you have me. 

with the first signs of spring bloom scattered on his hair from the pink cherry tree under which you sat, from the cool breeze of the last signs of winter caressing your cheeks and drawing a pale flush on the apples, to the telltale signs of unexpected feelings blossoming in your heart.

perhaps, that was the moment when you first fell in love with him. you did not know it yet.

you were not sure– not until you found him napping across you in the library while he waited for you to finish your work so you both could head to the dorms together. 

you silently sat next to him and resisted the urge to tuck his hair away from his eyes– the strands could be poking him, but he looked so at peace, as if he did not have a care in this world.

you were not sure until you found him with a bunch of daisies in his hands that he collected near the pond on his way to the cafe where you were meeting up to try a new flavour and discuss your group assignment. 

the daisies reminded me of you. you asked him what exactly was it about the daisies that made him think of you. “they’re pretty,” he answered as if it was a given. 

you’re pretty, he said right after, making you two share shy laughter, the feeling in your heart blooming further.

you did not know that you were in love with him until you had a bad day and he found you in one of your spots– the spots that you had never shared with anyone. 

“the whole purpose of a hiding spot is that i do not wish to be found,” you announced.

“i know,” he tsk-ed. “but i also know that the whole purpose of going to your hiding spots is that you wish to be found by someone who understands and tells you that you are not alone.”

the stars were particularly bright that night, especially from the rooftop of the abandoned dorm building. that dorm building was situated between your and san’s dorms and you were good at picking locks. 

whenever you needed to get away from the world, you found yourself at the rooftop.

the moon was nowhere in sight, though. 

it did not need to be present. there was san who looked like a beautiful night sky– star-like freckles littered across his neck and face. the crescents of his eyes. the depth in his gaze.

he was the night sky, his presence like a mountain, true to his name. san. someone you could always lean on.

he placed his hand on top of yours– shy at first, but sure. you rested your head on his shoulder only because you could look him in the eyes no longer without ruining whatever dynamics you had. 

friends, but closer. friends, but more intimate.

“i am not alone,” you realised. “i have you.”

you were sure that you loved him when he wrapped one arm around you and leaned against you, resting his cheek on top of your head. 

he let you be, allowing you to relax into his embrace before asking if you wanted to talk about whatever was bothering you. 

you talked. he listened– he always did. he offered advice. you thanked him, and then your troubles were gone, leaving you both with the reality of your proximity. 

“san,” you breathed, pulling away. you felt dizzy now that your body was not leaning against his.

san licked his lips, pursing them as he scanned your face. “are you alright?”

“i’m more than alright,” you laughed. 

“then… can i?”

his gaze was stuck on your lips. yours parted in answer and he leaned in– experimental, restrained but sure. 

all you could think at that moment was that he liked you just as much as you did.

everything was going to be fine.

being with san romantically was the most natural thing. it was ingrained in his core to take care of you. 

wiping your face with napkins when you ate lunch together, fussing over your clothes (you shouldn’t dress so light in winters! what if you catch a cold?), making you walk on the other side of the footpath so you weren’t near the road, looking out for you on every occasion– he was perfect. 

he was everything that you ever wanted in a partner. a shoulder to lean on and a sleeve to wipe your tears away. 

his warm personality was something you would never get tired of. 

you basked in his presence endlessly, taking and taking. 

you shared company, friendship and a love like none other. you were both so innocent but so perfect.

he was perfect.

the problem with perfection, though, is that it can be overwhelming.

it started with the little things.

arguments. over the pettiest of things.

“i told you so many times not to sit on my bed when you come from your study sessions,” you reprimanded san. “your guy friends are filthy.”

“come on, that’s too harsh,” san got up with a sigh and took to the chair near your desk. from your nervous lip bite, he could tell that you were still uncomfortable.

“i just don’t like it,” you rolled your eyes. it wasn’t harsh. “you don’t like when i bite my nails, and i have stopped doing that. see?”

when you outstretch your hands, san actually leans forward and inspects the state of your hands. he looks at you and his gaze falls to your mouth.

“you bite your lips now. they’re all bruised.”

“some vaseline ought to fix that,” you point at the lip therapy balm and san tosses it to you. “maybe you should change into one of my clothes before we cuddle in bed.”

“my clothes are clean,” san was starting to sound impatient. “we do not roll around in mud when we study, y/n.”

“i have been to mingi’s place too. you guys had crumbs of food everywhere.”

“that’s when seonghwa was absent!” san took a deep breath. “you know seonghwa is a neat freak and we don’t mess around with him.”

when you don’t appear convinced, san pulls closer and tries to hold your hand. however, you recoil.

you realise how petty you were being right away.

“i’m– i’m sorry. i didn’t mean it–”

a sorry can’t fix the hurt that flashed in his eyes.

“i’m going back to my room.”

you make it up later when you take snacks to his room, eat and play around. everything is fine.

except everything is not perfect. the foundation of your relationship starts to crack further with more arguments.

especially over the more serious matters.

“i don’t think nari likes me,” san runs his hands through his hair, frustrated. “you’re overthinking. you always do.”

you always do. did he have to say that?

“what if i’m right about this?” you square up in front of san and he chuckles as if it is the most hilarious thing you have ever done. “i’m serious. the girls in my class confirmed that nari, in fact, does like you. a lot. she’s planning to confess soon, when she knows that you and i are dating.

“baby, i thought you felt secure in our relationship,” san holds you by the shoulders, meeting your eyes. “do you think that if she confesses, i would break up with you and start dating her?”

“no, but–”

“then her feelings shouldn’t be a problem, especially when she hasn’t said them out loud.”

“but she’s always hanging around you!” you cry out and pull away from him, hurt. “she keeps hovering around you, and you keep entertaining her! do you like the attention, san? do i not give you enough?”

san doesn’t realise what you meant by that at that time. he continues to pretend that you are the one overthinking

even after his friends start to complain about nari

it isn’t until nari goes ahead and kisses san– without his consent– that things blow up.

the news spreads like wildfire. nari and san kissed.

it reaches your ears, and a strange sort of satisfaction fills you.

you were right.

san finds you in your hiding spot. this time, you are not turned towards the sky.

this time, you are facing the door so when he steps out on the roof, he sees you right away.

“y/n,” he begins. “i can explain–”

“hold it,” you raise your hand in the air. “i don’t want to hear anything.”

“she kissed me! i didn’t– i pushed her away! please believe me–”

“of course i believe you,” you laugh and san frowns, confused. 

“you do?”

“yes, san,” you stand up, folding your arms and smiling, looking away. fighting to keep the tears at bay.

“i believe you. i know that you would never kiss nari when we are in a relationship.”

“then… there isn’t a problem, right?”

“there is,” your voice turns steel. “i warned you, and you didn’t heed my warning. you disrespected me by allowing things to get to this point. you could have told nari off and she wouldn’t have pulled this stunt. you kept her around, kept her close until she felt safe enough to kiss you, and then you pushed her away?”

you scoff. san looks as if he has been kicked in the stomach.

“you hear my concerns. you hear my rants. you let me yap your ears off, but you don’t listen. you never do. it’s like your heart doesn’t allow you to.”

“that’s not true,” san grows angry. “don’t assume things about me– don’t you dare say that i don’t care about you enough to listen to you–”

“then why didn’t you listen to me when i told you about nari?” 

this time, your voice breaks. 

it hurts san– it hurts him as if a knife has been wedged into his heart. he grows almost short of breath as he apologises, but you have had enough.

you tell him that you need a break.

it isn’t your first break, but it is starting to look like it would last longer than the others.

your relationship takes a sour turn, and it turns ugly and bitter as you start to take more breaks.

it turns into something toxic. you can’t let each other go. you want to let each other go but you can’t see each other with someone else.

when college ends, it signifies the end of an era in more than one way.

you and san part ways for good. you don’t promise to stay friends, but you promise to stay in contact and check in on each other every once in a while.

you do that for a few months, but life gets busy when you find work. checking in becomes harder when he finds work as well. your schedules never match, and a phone call sounds like the last thing you would do.

you find new friends. girl friends. you don’t need a man in your life. you have your two roommates who are incredible and respect your boundaries– unlike a certain someone.

san sticks with wooyoung. when he has wooyoung, he doesn’t have to search for anything else. wooyoung keeps him entertained and busy. 

just like that, you both move on. there are the occasional nights of drinking and crying over what you both lost, but it doesn’t weigh on you as heavily.

it just becomes a memory.

choi san becomes a memory– a memory that seems to be fading.

as soon as you realise it, you cling to it. he was your best friend. he loved you like no one else. 

even though he is not a part of your life anymore, you will always be fond of him. 

so you collect all your memories in a box– photos, cards, gifts and notes. you tuck it inside your cupboard. out of sight, out of mind. 

the box of memories in your head? you tuck it away too. you only go near it in your weakest moments for a momentary sense of relief

a few years pass before your paths cross again

it happens as a coincidence, or perhaps, the lord has decided to test you both again

you are attending a company conference in a beautiful town near the sea, and you have an amazing view from your room

however, the view right outside your room is no less beautiful

you open your door and find him standing right in front of you

choi san

he is still the dimpled-smile boy you fell in love with… except he has turned into a man

his face has sharpened and softened at the same time, making his features sit better

his shoulders are broad and you could fit two of you in his arms

there is a certain elegance and a sense of maturity in his aura

and those eyes

it takes a moment for him too, before it clicks for him. that it’s you

his eyes slowly scan you up and down, taking everything in and he realises he has stopped breathing when he almost gasps for air

“y/n.”

your heart does the same little tumble that it always does when he called your name

“sannie–”

when you call him by his nickname, san breaks into a smile and you both instantly relax.

“this is… a surprise, to say the least,” you shake your head. “what brings you here?”

“research,” san replies. “a team project. what about you?”

“a conference.”

“the conference organised by that food technology company?” a smile creeps up on san’s lips and it only grows when you nod.

“i knew you would make it.”

you smile back earnestly. your phone rings and you check the time before rejecting the call.

“i’m sorry, i really have to go. but… should we meet up for drinks later? how long are you here for?”

“i’m here for a couple of days. i’ll text you the address, i know a good place. you haven’t changed your number, right?”

“i haven’t,” you lock your door. “see you later?”

san nods and you leave with a grin, your heart filling with something that resembles hope.

the drinks late night help you both loosen up just enough to catch up on what you have missed

you learn that san is still living with wooyoung although they have moved to a bigger apartment

they work in different companies and fields but they make good roomies hence they stick with each other

san learns that you have finally started to work towards your dream of working for the biggest food technology company in this country

he tells you that he is proud of your accomplishments

you tell him that you are proud of the man he has become

one meetup leads to another, and then another

“wanna go to the beach?”

“wanna check the cafe at the corner of the street?”

you make the most of the couple of days that you spend together in the same town

you spend almost all of your free time together, to the point that you delay going into your rooms and prefer rooftops

“i see your love for heights hasn’t changed one bit,” san teases.

“neither has your love for cats,” you comment, eyes pointed at the kitten that he has befriended. the kitten lives on the roof but has made home in the man’s lap

the five days that you spend together heals something inside you– something that had cracked when you broke up with san

the breakup was done in a civilised manner, but it had shattered the little bubble that you had created

the bubble of familiarity and comfort

the bubble remained so until you met san again and you found yourself feeling young and hopeful 

when it is time to go back, you decide to stay in contact 

this time, you move with caution

this time, you have learnt the price of taking things for granted

when a position in your company opens up– the one you had been eyeing for a long time, you find that you will have to move

and you find that you will be much, much closer to san

you take it immediately. you will miss your girls, but you have wanted this position forever

when you tell san, he loops wooyoung in and they help you move

it is so good to reunite with the people that you have spent a good chunk of your teen years with

wooyoung decides to play cupid, as per usual, and this time his goal is to reunite you both

he emphasises that it’s not too late to start again

you’re both mature now, and you both know how to set boundaries

you both know what to prioritise

that’s what he tells you

to san, wooyoung says something else

he threatens to date you if san doesn’t up his game

that’s all the push that san needs

he finds yourself on your doorsteps on a wednesday night

you have just showered and you are still wearing a towel in your hair, dressed in the most comfortable penguin pjs

when the bell rings, you think it’s delivery– isn’t it too quick for delivery to arrive?

you open the door to find san looking disheveled

his cheeks are flushed as if he had too much to drink– or did he decide to run up the stairs?

he is still wearing a white shirt that you assume he wore to work, a few buttons undone and the tie loose around his neck

his hair is long and falls on his face even though they must have been slicked back earlier

“would you like to come in?” you frown in confusion, but your heart rate picks up

you recognise the look in his eyes

you’ve seen it so many times

you’ve missed it

“san–”

you don’t get to even call him by his full nickname before he is entering your apartment and towering over you, watching you intently with glazed eyes

“if you tell me to stop, i will,” san says and hesitantly brings his hands to your shoulders

“just tell me that it is too late for us.”

“it’s not,” you shake your head. “it’s not too late.”

san looks like he could cry

he leans down and meets your lips with his

the sigh that escapes your mouth is one of relief and it only prompts him to crane your neck with one hand and hold you by the waist with the other

soon, your back is against the wall and you are making out

it is slow and deep, full of promises and apologies

i’m sorry for letting you down

i’m sorry for letting you go

i promise that i will treat you better

some of these, he says out loud

the others, he doesn’t need to. his actions speak louder

curled in his lap on the sofa with his hand in your hair and lips on your forehead, you find yourself at home

you find yourself content and whole

choi san. the boy you fall in love with over and over again

it is still very easy to fall in love with him

it is still the most natural thing to be with him like this

you create new memories with him

the box that you tucked under your bed once is empty now, its content all over your apartment

his handwritten notes of affirmation on the fridge, his photos on the wall in your room along with the cards, and his gifts sprawled all over your place

you have new memories that you tuck in your heart

though you may still argue or fight, you know better now, for you both have experienced the pain of staying apart

you are meant for each other, through the ups and downs

“Vanille Fatale,” you mutter in a half-sigh, nearly tripping over your socked feet as you glide atop the polished wood floors in your home. It's a quarter past six in the evening, the sky has just bruised to the perfect shade of blueberry compote, and your ankles are begging for respite from a long day of work.

You follow the scent trail like a fish on a hook, trapped but willing to take the bait. There's a song playing in the living room with a subtle beat that makes your head bob mindlessly to its rhythm.

A blond head of hair is poking up from where he lounges on the couch, one ankle crossing over his knee, face dewy and fresh as if he has just come from a shower; though, you know personally that his skin is naturally luminous like that. After six years by this man's side, it's difficult to ignore his effortless beauty.

A smile breathes life onto your face and the stress melts away from your shoulders as you come up behind him. “Mmh,” you hum under your breath, bending down to gently graze your nose against his throat. “Someone smells good.”

His low chuckle vibrates in his throat. He turns his head slightly so his lips meet your cheekbone. “Hi, beautiful,” he murmurs, “I missed you.”

There's a book in his lap, one that he's been steadily making his way through this week during the evenings in order to wind down. It is a habit that both of you have been striving to keep as you become “real adults,” as you enjoy joking about every so often. Less phone time, more time in the present.

“I can tell,” you reply and answer his kiss with a small one on his mouth. You laugh against his skin. “How does the website describe this perfume? 'A beguiling, deeply seductive scent of vanilla, mahogany, and roasted barley?’” As soon as Yeosang comes home with a new fragrance obsession from Tom Ford, you're already committing the scent's official description to memory. It began as a way to tease him, but after some time, it has become tradition.

He kisses you again—this time, it's a beat longer, as if savoring your own smell, your unique musk and lingering remnants of apple blossom perfume. It's slow, patient. You know what he wants. “Well, is it working?”

You straighten from your bent position, already missing his warmth. There's a smile on your face, though. “What? The seduction or the beguilement?” You're taking long strides down the hallway then, your voice carrying through the acoustic wood-lined corridors, to disassemble your work self.

Dim, warm light floods the room as you tug the lamp cord on your desk, the metal beads zipping through their ring. You set your work bag on the floor by your desk, shrug your jacket off and drape it over the back of your chair. There is a considerable amount of weight that lifts from your body as you go through the motions, deconstructing the mounting tension that work always piles onto you.

Yeosang's lithe and lean figure appears at the mouth of your office, shoulder braced against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. He wears a smile on his lips, eyes soft at its corners, as he breathes you in.

You can't help but smile back at him, laughing. “What?” you voice out loud, taking your laptop from its fold in your bag and placing it onto your desk.

“Nothin’,” he muses. His blond hair falls in his eyes and you are struck by something awfully tender. “Just missed you.”

A pang resounds in your chest, not empty but full. "I missed you, too."

a/n: i love writing prose in first person ngl

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