Luxie

warnings: stepcest, family guilt, jealousy, petty drama, infidelity, addiction, manipulation, alcohol, vomit, mentions of a pregnancy scare, smut; more submissive mingi, more dominant yunho, choking, masochism, nip stim, pussy eating, unprotected sex, but also! lovemaking

“FUCK, BABY—”

it slips from mingi’s lips in a breathy whimper, too lost in the circle of your fist pumping him to realise what he’d done. it’s not until your wrist stills on his length, ringing filling your ears and static filling your brain, does it dawn on him. 

“—babe,” he corrects himself, but the damage was already done. 

disgust, the initial reaction, flares hot under your chest. your fingers fall away from him, grabbing at your forearms as you instinctively hold yourself. just that, your discomfort over something he said without meaning to, is enough to have mingi feel like the biggest piece of shit on earth. 

he tips his head back with a groan, smacking himself square in the forehead for making such an easily avoidable mistake. “shit. ‘m sorry.” 

you tell yourself to breathe, ignoring the anxiety coiling like a snake around your ribs, calling upon the return of the horny still floating around somewhere in your body, to wash away this negative energy. you push him out each time he attempts to creep back into your thoughts, summoned only by that stupid fucking nickname, uttered entirely on accident by your loving boyfriend. yes, mingi — boyfriend. you force your eyes open to stare down at him: flushed and heaving beneath you, face pinched in worry, cock still standing tall. still here, still who you’re really with right now. all it took was one word for you to forget, even for just a split second, like a sleeper agent activated. there’s a reason you’ve banned mingi from saying it.

“babe,” mingi calls out to you softly, pulling you from the sinking pit of your spiralling brain. his big arms engulf your waist as they wrap around you, beaming his glossy boba eyes up at you. “i’m so sorry, i don’t know why i said it, i didn’t even mean to.” 

you nod, lips pressed into a thin line. “i know. i know you didn’t mean it.” you say like you’re reminding yourself. 

your giant of a boyfriend pulls you into his bare, broad chest, nuzzling his nose into your shoulder as he lets out a big sigh, just like a tired puppy. “i love you.” he croaks out, sounding like he’s more distraught over the word than you are. 

you snicker, toying with his hair. “i love you too, my mingi.” he groans at that, the deep noise tickling your neck. you know exactly how your words affected him when you notice a prod at your tummy, suspiciously wet. “mingi.” he hums in response, already unable to help himself from slightly grinding up, tip sliding across your skin. he whines at the relief, and it sends a throb directly to your clit. you pull his head back by a fistful of hair, stopping him close enough for your noses to brush, lips only a breath away from kissing. “make me forget.” 

the request, simple and yet demanding, is all mingi needs to know exactly what you’re asking of him — what you need from him. his hold tightens around your waist, tongue darting out to wet his lips that instantly split into a helpless, wide smile. it’s not everyday you ask this of him, but when you do, he makes the absolute most of it for both of you. mingi presses a soft kiss to your lips, a stark contrast to his intentions to flip you face-down and ravage you until those pretty lips are drooling. “yes ma’am.” 

──

one thing about your boyfriend: in him you can trust to deliver on a good, thorough fuck when you need it. he’s always so docile and easy, in every part of his life, but he’s so obedient on fulfilling your every demand that he’ll be dominant if that’s what you ask of him. if you said to jump he’d ask how high. you love him the way he is and you’d never want him to change, but sometimes you do just need a full-body factory reset, and you know he’s always more than happy to help. courtesy of your cheeky little sex addiction for leaving you with that itch.

yep, your addiction to sex. yuqi and minnie had so graciously mentioned it to you once over brunch, like it was some type of intervention, explaining that they’d basically diagnosed you from the old town stories you’d told and “you, like, need to know. no offence.” you didn’t want to admit that they read you to filth, but they absolutely fucking did. you guess it’s nice to finally slap an excuse on your deranged body count — including that one that would result in your family disowning you — but it doesn’t exactly fix anything. you still wanted to have sex with him, and you still live while carrying that regret like sisyphus and his fucking boulder. while being haunted by the memories of that, admittedly, great sex. 

it’s horrible. you know it is. it’s your little secret you intend to take to the grave. you can still remember the way he held you softly and kissed you harshly, the way he was just too big of a fit and the way it felt so good it hurt. they always find a way to waft back into your thoughts like smoke, right until a detector called your big ass boyfriend goes off, reminding you where home is as well as your morals. mingi’s in a constant state of post-nut clarity from how often you jump his bones, begging him to fuck you mindless, all so that you don’t have to remember him — the way he’d done it. 

truthfully, you’d once gotten yourself mad while thinking about how amazing your boyfriend is at sex, wondering where the hell he learned all that from. mingi had quickly reminded you that he was ‘painfully single’ before you came along, that his large frame paired with his silence (anxiety) had made him less appealing than his more charismatic friends; such as the stone-faced seonghwa or the party animals woosan (wooyoung and san, who are basically one entity at this point). oh, and your brother, of course. but you don’t like to acknowledge that part. it stings too much, even now. even after avoiding any and all things him for months, disappearing from his life as if you’d never even returned. 

mingi has been your rock. you don’t know what you’d do or where you’d be without him. that day he climbed through your window and made you see the light, he’d helped you pack a bag of essentials and clothes, knowing well that you’d be staying the fuck away from this house for as long as possible. and here you are, months-deep into a never-ending sleepover with your own personal therapist who also fucks you on the side. the slew of guilt had been near unbearable, feeling like an ungrateful daughter for ditching your family so soon after getting them back. it was mingi who had pulled you through it, by force really; reminding you how your dad isn’t perfect either, how your brother is batshit insane. 

just the prospect of encountering mingi’s mother almost had you running back home, too. you knew it would be inevitable, dating her son and squatting in her house, and you knew it would blow you into fucking pieces. you couldn’t face her — you didn’t know if you could ever. the only reason you were still staying with him is because he’d reassured you with his mother’s own words. it was okay with her for you to be staying there, and she promised she’d be scarce, considering she works full-time at the hospital. she did feel guilty for what had happened, at least. 

yet, despite living in the house of the family that tore yours apart, despite coping with the point of no-return you’d crossed with your brother, despite mingi shouldering all of your burdens as if you’d ever be able to return the favour — despite everything that’s given you a hard time, beating down on your brain until you can’t take it anymore, still none of it compared to the pain that yunho’s silence brought. 

practically running away without so much as a word, you were expecting the worst of your brother’s reaction. for days you had sat by your phone in suffocating anxiety, waiting for him to blow it up with calls or texts. wishing for him to. yet you’d heard the same amount back that you gave him: nothing. it should be a relief, and yet it fucking hurt more than the rest, more than you could explain to mingi through confused tears. you wanted yunho to berate you, to fight for you; you wanted to know he still loved you. you haven’t yet been able to come to terms with the fact that you’d never known who your brother was, and yet he was just like every other man — all you were good for was one thing. and he’d finally got it. 

but whatever, it’s not like you wanted to talk to him (you did, god help you) after the shit he’s done not just to you, but to mingi. his own best friend, pinning the blame on him for the shit that went down leading into you moving away. knowing mingi’s pined after you since you were kids and throwing your closer bond in his face at any chance he could get. never giving him space to breathe outside of the guilt that he’s the reason they both lost you. you must’ve been a saint in your past life for mingi to still want to be with you in this one, in spite of all the bullshit your family has thrown at him. to be your shoulder to cry on, your crutch to stand on. and it matters even more, knowing he thinks the same about you. 

safe to say, you’ve got no interest in speaking to anyone who wasn’t your stepmother. it took a few days, too guilt-stricken to confront her worried messages, wherein you’d reassured her that you were alive, and sober… if you have one thing to thank yunho for, it’s the fact that it seemed like he hadn’t tattled on you. your stepmother was still fussing over you like she always does, and nothing in her tone over text or voice over calls suggested that she knew her two kids had slept together. if anything, she wouldn’t stop asking when you’d be home, insisting that they all missed you there. which had led to today: your stepmother’s birthday.

you’re still very much enrolled in the city college, and the first day was drawing nearer — which you’ve had to mentally prepare yourself to face yunho again. the sole reason you took a gap year back at the old town was to save yourself for this, attending the same college as your brother and friends. it’s all you ever wished for, and it’s all that’s been fucking terrorising you through these weeks of back-to-school preparations. you’re second-guessing your degree, your ambitions, if this is even what you need right now; and mingi’s been on the receiving end of each of those doubts, reminding you that you wanted this enough in the first place, that you shouldn’t turn your back on that version of yourself now. 

he’s right. he’s always right. like now, as you sit passenger in his car and his low voice pierces through your thoughts, halting your near-hyperventilating that he heard before you felt. “babe, if you don’t start listing five things you can see, i’m gonna put my breathing app on.” 

it makes you blow out a weak laugh, still chasing after your breaths to get them even again. you drag a hand down your face. “i’m fine, seriously. it’s just stuffy in here.” you smile at him to top it off. the last thing you want is for him to worry over you more than he has, considering he consoled you through an ugly breakdown earlier before carrying you into the shower. 

he shoots you a glare, brows pinched over his eyes, one that’s to say he sees right through you. all they have to do is flick down to the hands resting in your lap before focusing back on the road, and you sink into your seat, realising how he caught it. mingi had told you once that he knows when you’re lying: “you do this thing, where you touch your face before.” he’d said it was a self-soothing tactic, to mentally ‘feel better’ about the lie. you can never remember to prevent it before it happens naturally. next time, you tell yourself. 

“you owe me five.” he reminds you, cutting you one of his proud grins that never fail to drive you crazy. without shame you rake your eyes over him, feasting on the way his white tank top hugs his body, his wide shoulders and toned arms that you’d pinned above his head last night. the idea flashes in your mind: asking him to pull the car over somewhere quiet, let you crawl over the centre console and ride him right in the driver’s seat— “one,” mingi starts for you, as if he can feel your energy gradually riling up in the air. he must have a sixth sense for it now, considering how often you want him. it is hard not to when he looks like that. 

you roll your eyes, only at the interruption from the steamy daydream playing out in your head, before doing as he asked. “road.” 

“now two?”

you huff. “bossy man.” 

“hey—” 

you squint at his hair. “three, dandruff.” mingi shakes his head with a sigh, and you mime swatting the air while sputtering, acting like he’s getting the nonexistent flakes everywhere. “four, car with shitty air conditioning. five, hmm,” you open up his centre console, intending to name the first thing you see, before your face twists in confusion at the pile of foil sitting on the top. without thinking you reach for one of the few ripped packets, presenting it in the air. you say nothing, waiting for mingi to give you his attention again — and when his eyes flick over, his entire face drops at the empty condom packet between your fingers. you’ve been on birth control since you started dating. you haven’t needed these. 

mingi groans, scrunching his eyes, as if he’s already annoyed at where you’re very clearly going to take this. “babe,” 

“just be honest.” you tell him, tone teetering on the edge of something that’s entirely up to his answer. 

“it’s not mine.” he explains calmly, trying not to set you off. “you know i don’t have any.” 

“yeah, now you don’t. there’s like five in here.” you snap, leaping head first into conclusions. “what girl gave them to you?” 

“that’s not—” he cuts himself off before his voice gets too loud, keeping this from turning into the argument it didn’t have to be. you both jostle forward as his foot hits the brake, too focused on you to slow early enough for the red light. he takes the chance to face you fully, giving his entire attention. “i didn’t leave that there. one of my friends must’ve to piss me off. wooyoung, most likely.”

from what you’ve heard of wooyoung, it tracks, but you just can’t let yourself buy it. “and you didn’t throw them out?” 

“babe, i didn’t know they were there,” he laughs, a resonant noise from his chest, so genuine that you instantly feel bad for putting his mood down. “he probably emptied his pockets when i wasn’t looking. i drive his loud ass home and this is the thanks i get.”

given a green, mingi has to face the road again, and you sink into your seat as the car takes off. it dawns quickly how hypocritical it was of you — thinking mingi could ever be unfaithful to you, when you’re the spawn of the cheating satan himself. even if they were his, just not used recently, you can’t say it’d feel any better. again, hypocritical. as if you wouldn’t fuck anything with two legs and a dick between them back at the old town. “sorry,” you grumble out, too stubborn to meet his eyes as his head whips to you. 

“no, babe, it’s okay.” mingi reassures you without missing a beat, one hand leaving the wheel to sit atop your thigh, the contact lighting a flame under your skin. he’s always so patient and gentle with you. you have his time spent in therapy during high school to thank for that. “you excited to see your stepmother?” 

you nod, too caught up in your imaginative assumption-making to realise you’d entered your suburb, recognising nearby food chains and supermarkets. “yeah. i missed her.” 

he hums, his thumb brushing along your inner thigh, and your mind’s quick to drop back down into the gutter. this time, you are about to get the words out, but mingi beats you to it. “heard from your dad?” 

you should’ve just asked the first time.. now this conversation’s too somber for him to possibly agree to sex with you right now. sighing, you shake your head. mingi squeezes your thigh, a gesture meant to distract you from any sad thoughts creeping in, yet it only turns up the frisky ones tenfold. “would you wanna—”

“yunho still hasn’t—” he starts too, the both of you speaking at the same time, looking to each other with equally confused expressions. “you go first.” mingi says, “would i want to..?” 

your eyes drop to his hand engulfing your thigh, still stroking his fingers along the skin, and you silently mourn the car quickie that could’ve been. “nevermind. i’ll tell you later.” you blow out a breath, steeling yourself for the incoming topic. “you were saying?” 

you haven’t discussed him once — you haven’t wanted to talk about it, and mingi hasn’t wanted to ask, but you both know he needs to now. you’re seeing your brother for the first time in months, after sleeping with him and running away with his ex best friend, and you’ll have to act like a happy family again despite it all. you’re not okay. and you know he’s about to do what he can with that big, beautiful brain of his to make you feel as okay as he can help. mingi clears his throat, softening his voice for your comfort as he asks, “yunho still hasn’t said anything?” 

your nostrils burn, a telltale sign of incoming tears. you screw your eyes shut until your head throbs, willing the waterworks to disappear. you refuse to make mingi deal with you crying one more time today. you should tell him that you still check your phone everyday just in case you missed a notification. you should tell him that you contemplate caving first and reaching out if he won’t. you should tell him that your finger has hovered over the ‘call’ button more times than you can count. you don’t though.

“no.” is all you say. mingi just quietly nods next to you, and with the way his adam’s apple bobs in your peripheral, you know he’s still got more to say about this. he addresses you by name, and the gentle way he says it is almost enough to get you to open your eyes and face him. almost. you only just held back the tears from flowing, it’d all be for nothing if you looked at mingi now. 

“you know i don’t care what happened between you.” he reassures you for what must be the hundredth time by now, and yet you still can’t bring yourself to believe it. “and you know i don’t want to be selfish and take you away from your family. he’s an asshole, but he was my best friend once, and he’s yours too.” you cough to cover up the sob that almost escaped. his palm just keeps on stroking your thigh, keeping you grounded. “i care about you, so much, and somehow i still care about him too. if you wanna be friends with him, i’m okay with it. i understand.” friends with yunho. because you can’t just go back to being siblings after everything. just the thought of that has you sick to your stomach, a gag almost clawing its way up your burning throat. “just.. if shit happens, come to me, okay? let me be there for you. i’d drop everything in a heartbeat, you know that.” 

it’s mingi’s way of telling you to seek out him and him only; to trust him over the appeal of your bad habits and a temporary fix. he’ll support you through anything, and he’s proved that.. you just need to let him. 

“promise me.” he says, holding his pinky up from the hand sitting on your thigh. 

rubbing the tears from your eyes, your free hand finds his, fingers lacing together. “i promise.” 

you can’t see the way mingi purses his lips, choosing not to mention how you touched your face. 

──

“oh baby, my baby,” your stepmother sighs out in relief, her arms constricting like a boa as they wrap around you in a hug you can tell she’s been needing. “i love you, i missed you, my girl.” 

sugar assaults your senses as you breathe her in, her favourite perfume and the traces of baking still stuck to her skin. her sickly sweet scent immediately grounds you from the nostalgia, washing away the anxiety of setting foot in a home you barely feel like you belong in anymore. she smacks a kiss onto your cheek, and you squirm in her death grip, almost calling her ‘mom’ before you stop yourself. you feel like you lost that right after what you did with her son. 

“you look so pretty!” she comments as she pulls back, taking in the short, flowy dress you’d worn for tonight. “i’ve got an apple pie in the oven,” she tells you giddily, running her hands through your hair, fluffing and parting it the way she likes. “you can be the judge whether it’s still as good as i used to make it.” 

“you know i’m gonna enjoy it either way.” you smile at her, feeling so painfully bittersweet. 

she leads you out of the doorway with a hand on your back, “i’ve been in the kitchen all afternoon. i hope you’re hungry.” 

you giggle. “i saved myself for this, don’t worry.” 

“yes, well.. are they feeding you right over there?” it makes you pause in the middle of the room, caught off guard by the sudden question. ‘over there’, at the house of the lady who homewrecked her marriage, the boy who you ditched her son for— “just tell me if the cooking’s better than mine.” 

“no!” you blurt out, then laugh, in pure relief this wasn’t turning into an interrogation or something. “no, mingi can’t cook for shit. no need to worry.” 

“that’s good.” she beams at you, and it’s almost confusing how casual she is about this. to be fair, you’ve already answered her bombardment of questions over the phone concerning your business with mingi, so it’s not as if she’d reprimand you for it now. she’s had all this time to voice her disapproval if that’s what she really thinks. 

in fact, she completely contradicts that thought as she suddenly pulls you into another tight hug, giggling that she just can’t help herself. you let yourself hug her back, melting into the comfort of her arms, and she sighs. “it’s weird not having you around, baby.” she admits in a murmur, “it’s made me so happy seeing you and yunho hanging out again.” 

your stomach sinks at the mention of him, the memory of what you did together in your bed appearing like a flashbang before your eyes. the sweetest woman you’ve ever known is upset her kids aren’t getting along and it’s all your fault — all because you thought with your clit and not your brain again. it’s a wonder she’s even standing here hugging you right now, when she should really be slapping some sense into you. you moved back here to be a family again after all, you should do your part to act like it. 

“i’m sorry,” you tell her quietly. “i miss it too. i’ve just.. i felt like i needed space.” 

from what exactly, she didn’t need to know. you haven’t even told her anything about the situation yourself, just followed along with yunho’s words that she had repeated — being that you’d had a fight, where mingi somehow fit in. nothing more. where you should be relieved he hadn’t told the whole ugly truth, it only filled you with dread. though you were blindsided by his utter lack of morals, never once have you doubted the intelligence of your brother. you know he’s just keeping your little secret in his back pocket, waiting for the right moment to reveal his hand. no matter what it costs, he’ll still end up on top. 

“i know, it can’t be easy. you’re still getting used to living here, to each other again.” she rubs her hand up and down your back, just as a chill runs down it from the guilt weighing on your conscience. “just remember, this is still your home too, okay? i love you, we all love you.” 

you nod, swallowing down nothing as your mouth dries up. you wish she’d married a better man, and ended up birthing a better daughter of her own. you can’t even imagine the amount of headaches you’ve given her in the short span of time since moving back. her tender, loving heart deserved more than what you and your father could offer — though you suppose that’s where yunho came in to deliver on. the one thing he could do right was treat his mother well. 

“sorry, i’ve been feeling sentimental all day,” she grins sheepishly, shoulders bouncing. “yunho was helping me cook, and it reminded me of when you were both little, running around the kitchen and arguing over who got to do what. my two little helpers.” she chuckled, her eyes soft and fond like the memory was playing out right in front of them. 

you find yourself reminiscing too, eyes sweeping around the bottom floor of the house and seeing your younger selves chasing each other, squealing and laughing. mingi found his way in there too — all three of you attached at the hip, playing together in ignorant bliss of what was happening between your parents. you did miss those days. you miss when mingi and yunho could be in the same room as you without getting at each other’s throats. you miss when you didn’t know what yunho really felt towards you. you miss how simple things were, and how they’ll never be that way again. 

a creak of the staircase has your stepmother’s head whipping up, while your stomach plummets down, already sensing the crushing weight of his eyes on you before you even see him. “oh, speak of the devil!” your stepmother beckons him down, glancing at you as she anticipates a reaction. you can’t let her down, not on her special day, so you cave and tilt your chin up to look at him. 

yunho. grey sweats and a black tee loosely hanging off of his long frame, dark hair grown enough to graze his neck, bangs parted out of his eyes — topped off with a stare that burned straight through you. 

the sight mirrored the day you first came back, and you hate the relief that hits you over seeing him again, paired with something else you’re choosing to ignore. this time, yunho doesn’t barrel down the steps and scoop you into his arms like he had. he simply smiles, waves an almost shy hand, and greets you with a voice soft enough to rip your heart in half. 

“hey, baby.” 

you suppress the enticing urge to gag, to scream at his face, to drop to your knees and cry. there’s no doubt he must be able to see the storm raging inside you, and yet he doesn’t move an inch as you hold each other’s gazes in silence, like he’s ready to wait all day for you to say it back. which, you do, only because you care for how it’ll make your stepmother feel. 

“hi.” you reply, succinct. it’s worth it when her smile stretches wider next to you, and even more so when she’s excitedly tugging you to the kitchen, away from the giant gargoyle watching you from the top of the stairs. you regret wearing this tiny fucking dress. 

the warm aroma filling the kitchen hits you instantly, eyes finding the glowing oven with a puffy apple pie sat inside. your stepmother directs you to your seat at the dining table, the top cluttered with baking dishes and pots half-filled with the remainder of tonight’s roast. “go on, take however much you want. we’ve all eaten already.” she insists, setting out utensils in front of you and darting back into the kitchen before you can even thank her. 

even with your mouth practically watering over the feast before you, you can’t help but wring your hands under the table from the anxiety pooled deep in your stomach, your father’s eyes finally acknowledging you above the beer bottle he sips from. “baby,” he greets you impassively, tipping his chin like you’ve just come down from your room upstairs; like you haven’t spent months living at your boyfriend’s house, who he also fucking hates. 

you nod at him — only because of your stepmother’s presence — before helping yourself to plating some dinner. after fussing around in the kitchen, opening and closing different cabinets while commentating out loud, your stepmother finally returns with a thick book in her hands. your brows furrow as she approaches, clearing a spot on the table before dropping the book with a thud, and your entire body cringes as you recognise the front cover. 

your family’s photo book. a big behemoth documenting your entire childhood from the lens of your stepmother’s old camera. she really wasn’t kidding when she said she felt sentimental.. “you remember this, don’t you?” she asks as she pulls out the chair beside you, flipping to the first page and cooing over yunho’s baby photos. 

“i do..” you mutter, unable to rip your eyes away from the incoming car crash before you. you know you’re only going to upset yourself and lose sleep over the memories preserved in these pages, but you can’t help but continue to watch as her finger flicks through the book. the first few pages are solely yunho, and your heart clenches as you watch him grow up, all round cheeks and puppy-like smiles, your stepmother giggling and telling stories. she suddenly pauses at a specific photo where yunho’s accompanied by a lanky man, face blacked out with tape — his father. 

you glance at your stepmother, her lips pressed into a firm line as she looks upon the faceless man. you’ve never actually learned what happened there, between them. it’s not like she spoke of him, and she had no reason to after marrying your father. you briefly check his reaction too, though he’s unconcerned with the quality family time happening across from him at the table, sipping on a second beer and watching soccer on his phone. 

your stepmother clears her throat as she flips the page, moving into yunho’s early school years, where some familiar faces are introduced. mingi appears first in class photos and playdates — soon followed by you and your father as you first became one family. the pool in your stomach continues to sink as your stepmother peruses through the book, reminiscing fondly while you spiral over the same memories from right beside her; pure, innocent kids growing up as the bestest of friends, not a clue in the world of what chaos awaited them. 

you startle her with the genuine groan you let out as she reaches a photo of your nineth birthday. you’re blowing out the candles of your cake, mingi sitting at your left while yunho kisses your cheek from the right. your stepmother gushes as she hugs you to her side, like the cute, harmless picture doesn’t make you want to throw up your dinner right now. did he already see you as more than just his baby sister? when did his actions start to harbour darker intent?

you’re so out of it, that when she stumbles upon a photo of your little trio together, you laugh through the absolute heartache it brings. you can only faintly hear your stepmother asking what’s so funny as you gasp for air, choking back each sob that threatens to rip from your throat. 

you, yunho, and mingi sat on the couch in that order, nintendo controllers in hand as you pose for the camera. they must’ve been thirteen there, and you a year younger. you’ve got a leg thrown over your brother’s, his palm sitting on your thigh, while mingi’s arm rested around the back of the couch, hand slyly holding your shoulder. it’s funny how perfectly the candid encapsulates your fucked up little dynamic. yunho wedging himself between you both, you none the wiser as you show him affection, while mingi reaches for you out of his sight. you want to cry the longer you look at it. you were all so happy, and it’s ruined. your sibling bond, their close friendship; ruined, because you couldn’t keep your legs shut. 

or maybe it’s because yunho’s a fucking freak, a voice in your head reminds you. probably belonging to mingi..

“yunho!” your stepmother greets the footsteps approaching from behind, snapping you clean out of whatever rabbit hole you’d found yourself falling in. “look here, do you remember this?”

your breath hitches as his smell invades your senses, warm with faint traces of his favourite sandalwood cologne. he crosses his arms over your stepmother’s shoulders, leaning down to hug her from behind and peer around her head. yunho hums in response like he’s looking at the book, though you almost squirm under the weight of his eyes glued to you. “yeah, i mopped the floor with both of them in mario kart that day. baby was so sulky afterwards.” he chuckles, blatantly baiting you into a reaction that you refuse to give him. 

“someone’s still not over it,” your stepmother teases, pointing out how your face had completely dropped since yunho joined. 

yunho scoffs, his arms falling from her as he stands upright, eyes never leaving your face. “i let her win every other time.” 

your father’s head tips up in your peripheral, finally curious about the rest of his family, and the pressure’s on as their expectant stares wait for your mouth to move in a response. if it were just you and yunho, you wouldn’t think twice about ignoring him completely. he didn’t even deserve the honour of an insult. unfortunately for you — and luckily for him — your parents won’t let you rest if you don’t get along with him. you’re sure he must’ve been moping around the house in your absence, earning as many sympathy points as he could, all so you have no choice but to play nice or you’ll be the bad guy. though they’d never admit to having a bias, giant goody-two-shoes has never copped a scolding in his life, which is an almost daily occurrence for you.

forcing yourself to meet the favourite child’s eyes, you muster the weakest smile possible, gritting out a “thanks.”

the air’s sucked from your lungs as a large hand meets the back of your head, stroking your hair affectionately. “of course.” yunho smiles at you — an almost sadistic gesture, knowing exactly what his touch rises in you now. 

yunho walks off to the kitchen, your parents none the wiser as your stepmother returns to the book and your father to his phone, while you’re left paralysed in your seat. it takes everything in you and then some to keep those memories of what you did together at bay, to not let them consume your nervous system as you focus on getting your breathing back to even. five things, you can hear mingi tell you, pulling you out of the onset of a panic attack. you’re quick to follow, mentally counting things you can see on the table. plates, utensils, cups, dad’s beer—

your inner voice is cut off as a steaming apple pie enters your vision, yunho placing the dish by your end of the table. “oh, yunho, you didn’t have to—” your stepmother whines before he interrupts her with a quick kiss on the cheek, the pair of them breaking into giggles. 

“it’s alright,” he insists, setting down two small plates in front of you both. “you’ve done enough for your own birthday.”

“what a nice young man you’ve raised.” the remark slips out before you can stop it, with a bitter edge to your voice that has your father eyeing you. unwilling to meet the prying stares of your parents, your eyes subconsciously find their way to yunho’s. the air between you is charged, your hairs standing on end as if from the static — yunho’s eyes glinting at successfully provoking you, his lip curling with something you unfortunately recognise now. 

the heated look he’s sending you slides back into his usual soft resting face, as if it was just your imagination. “i’ve missed you too, baby.” he chuckles, breaking off the sudden tension in the room. 

your stepmother resumes cutting a slice of pie, while yunho gathers the used dishes from the table and carries them to the sink. at least he has enough grace to put some space between you and give you a god damn breather. keeping up this act, flaunting your secret in front of your parents’ faces, is strangling you alive. you silently promise yourself that after eating dessert, you’re calling mingi to get you the fuck out of here asap. 

you give a hum of approval after the first bite of pie, much to your stepmother’s excitement. “it’s not as good, it’s even better.” you tell her around a mouthful of pastry. 

“see? i told you she’d like it,” yunho adds from the kitchen as he loads the dishwasher. you barely hold back the urge to roll your eyes.

after a few more bites in comfortable silence, your stepmother suddenly clears her throat to ask, “so when will you be back home?”

three sets of eyes are on you as you chew slowly, buying yourself time to think of an answer….only to turn up empty. “i don’t know.” you admit, already prepared for your father to give his two cents. 

“ah, does mingi want you to move in?” your stepmother replies casually, your eyes widening as she continues, “what does his mother think about you staying there?” 

the room falls silent enough to hear a pin drop. you can’t help the way your eyes dart to your father at the mention — how he tips back the rest of his beer and firmly sets the glass bottle on the table, then loudly kicks his chair out before leaving the room without a word. you glare at him the whole way out; you can always count on your father to kill the mood, to ruin a good thing for the rest of you. your stepmother thins her lips, saying nothing as the grown ass man stomps up the stairs and shuts himself in their bedroom. it is truly a wonder how he managed to win her back, or rather, why she chose to take him back. even after divorce, it seems like he still hasn’t moved on from the whole.. fiasco. 

your eyes move without meaning to, which you realise is out of instinct as you lock eyes with yunho — who has only been looking at you the entire time, his face unreadable. “she doesn’t mind.” you respond as you rip your eyes away from him, remembering you had yet to answer your stepmother’s question. “uh, i wouldn’t want to move in though.”

“oh? will you be coming back before the semester starts?”

your spoon plays with the apple filling, appetite long gone. “i don’t really know, i’m sorry.”

she tsks, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you into a side-hug. “don’t be sorry. we just miss having you around, m’kay?” 

you nod, bile burning your throat as you catch yunho’s satisfied grin from the kitchen. he knows you feel terrible about it, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before you cave and come right back to home — to him. 

you busy your brain by helping your stepmother clean up — while avoiding yunho doing the same — excusing yourself upstairs so that you could let mingi know you were ready to leave. after he’d texted that he was on the way, you figured it couldn’t hurt to bring more clothes and some cosmetics back to his place, since you really had no idea how much longer you needed space from yunho before you could feel okay. clearly, the time you have spent separated did nothing the instant he was close to you again. you folded, so fucking easily, despite all the work and love mingi has poured in to help you move on from this. 

rifling through your closet and desk, you check to make sure everything is still in its place. there’s no doubt yunho’s been through here again — he’s obviously snooped around before, since he knew you had condoms. on that thought, you open the same drawer, laughing at the disappearance of the freshly opened box. wow, he really got you there. how are you possibly going to fuck other men now!

packing an extra bag for your never-ending sleepover at the song’s house, your hand stills where it reaches into your underwear drawer. you actually take a step back, examine the state of it, and mentally count off each pair of panties you own. you can’t decide whether you need to laugh, gag, or cry as you realise there’s some missing. 

it’s funny, and it’s disgusting, the fact you only know because you haven’t been home to touch your clothes. how much other shit did he get away with all those years, right under your nose? how much worse is he willing to do now that you’ve broken his heart?

as if all your thoughts have summoned him, your door quietly creaks open, yunho slipping in as if trying to not alert your parents. the very thought makes you feel faint as you stand, sick to your guts that he’s acting like you’re sneaking around, like this is some type of affair. nothing between you should have to be kept secret from your parents — if only you were normal siblings, that is. 

“you’re fucked in the head,” is how you greet him, jabbing a finger at him from across the room. “wash my underwear and then put it back where you stole it from, you fucking perv.” 

yunho shrugs, crossing his arms as he leans against your door. “why? it’s not like you’re home to wear them.” he’s shameless in how his eyes rake over your body, as if making up for every time he had to resist the urge in front of your parents. it almost makes you feel self-conscious, wanting to cover your bare skin from his eager eyes. 

you scoff in utter disbelief — that this is the real yunho, not the sweet, loving brother you saw downstairs. of course, humans are multifaceted, but it’s not like he suddenly became absolutely insane overnight. no, this side of him has been around for longer than you could comprehend, just lurking under the surface and revealing itself in fleeting moments, quick enough that you could doubt it was ever there. now that you’ve seen him in his entirety, without the guise of innocence and the benefit of the doubt, there’s no use in masking now. your brother wants you, you let him have you once, and you will live with that forever. 

“stop acting like there’s.. something, here.” you wave your hand at the space between you, grimacing. “i’m your sister. it doesn’t matter what you think, or what you want, that’s not going to change. so leave me the fuck alone already.”

he huffs, amused, tongue poking his cheek. “you know i can’t, right? especially after—”

“i don’t care! you will!” you cut in, eyes wild as you rip into him. “i have a boyfriend, we are family, get that into your fucked up brain!” you huff a bitter laugh, arms flailing at your sides, every single ounce of rage you’ve bottled now spilling out of you. “do you even understand how wrong it is? that there’s a reason we’re hiding it?” 

yunho’s deep chuckle interrupts you, his face lit up with such genuine joy even as you hurl jagged words at him, it reaches for your heart and twists. “all i care about is you.” he admits with his whole chest, sending a knife straight into yours. “and when you’re done lying to yourself, i’ll be waiting.” 

yunho leaves you with that, his words sinking in and burning like acid as he turns to reach for the door knob. oh god, he really fucking loves you. nothing else could compare to what he feels — nothing that you’ve just listed could stop it. 

“wait—” you halt him, and you damn nearly buckle under the smirk he throws your way, as if he knew it was coming. you gulp, resisting every single urge to run to him, into the arms of something you know would feel fucking amazing — and yet what is wrong on every single level. you can’t give in to him again. you can’t do that to yourself, or to mingi. “please don’t tell anyone what we did.” 

his jaw ticks at the tone you use, so desperate, so deliberate in how you’re trying to tug at his heartstrings. it’s obvious to the both of you, and yet it still works. “i won’t.” yunho promises in the sincerest voice he can manage. he allows himself to check you out one last time before readjusting the front of his sweats and opening your door, slipping out into the hallway just as quietly as he came in. like he was never there. 

you nearly sob out into the room once you’re alone, hating the way your body responds to him, even now. your blood charged with electricity, your skin sensitive with goosebumps, your mind hot and bothered. you hate that you know, if mingi wasn’t actively on his way over, yunho might’ve had you again. if you hadn’t distanced yourself from him, you don’t even know how many times in the last two months you would’ve let yunho corner you and take you apart beneath him. this could’ve grown into something much uglier and harder to hide than it was, and yet it still can — because he’s waiting for you to break. 

you don’t want this. you’re trying to commit to safe and secure with your boyfriend, not sneaky and forbidden with your brother. you don’t want to want him, and you do. all because he wants you more than you could ever fucking understand. and maybe, even more than anyone in this world could ever compare to. 

going back to mingi felt like being dunked in freezing water. you were completely out of it, offering only curt responses to his questions and weak huffs to his jokes as he drove home. he could tell something was wrong, it hung in the air like a fucking cloud, and yet he wouldn’t push you on it until you were back home, cozy in bed with his full attention on you. in the meantime, he just offered soft attempts at conversation, all to keep you from spiraling in the silence. 

but by the time mingi takes the turn into his street, your energy’s so drained that you don’t think you can bear another ‘talk’ without snapping at him or bursting into tears. they’ve been happening more frequently as your first semester at college approaches, your budding anxiety so palpable he can practically taste it whenever he kisses you. 

you know he only wants to help, to do what he can to ensure you’re in the best mental shape before heading into a new, stress-assured chapter of your life. you know he loves you more than you could ever thank him for, that you’d ever be able to deserve — and yet you’re tired. you’re tired of your brain being dissected and analysed, by being told “why you do this” or “why you think like that”. you long to be messy again, to make bad decisions and regret them, to exist freely without dreading another fucking ‘talk’ about how much better you could be.

you’re in love with mingi, and he’s in love with you even more. but even if he fell for the girl you are now, you can’t tell if he’d still want her over the girl he’s trying to push you to become. all you wanted was to be loved no matter what. no matter who you were, or who he was, you wanted…

fuck. 

mingi flinches as you tear your seatbelt from the buckle, asking you something you can’t hear as you crawl over the centre console — just like the two times he’s said your name in the past minute since parking out the front of his house, both with no response. without a word you straddle his lap and grab either side of his face, catching a brief glimpse of his lost, glossy eyes that almost have you hesitating before you dive into his neck. your lips latch to the skin, his vanilla cologne lighting up your palate. the boy beneath you jolts as your teeth scrape and your tongue licks, sucking a patch of marks under his jaw; no romance or intimacy in it, all heated haste. mingi just takes it, tries his best to get a word out or at least keep up as you practically eat his neck. 

you rut yourself against him, the car jostling as you hastily grind your crotch against his, right until you can feel that familiar hardness through the fabric. you lift yourself by the knees, sparing him from the assault of hickeys only when you need to breathe, your hands fumbling to get the annoying barriers of clothing between you out of the way. impatient, you settle on sliding your panties to the side, then tugging mingi’s pants and boxers down enough for his cock to spring free, thick and pretty even in the dark of the night. you don’t bother to prep yourself, already dripping with eagerness as you line him up with a hand around the base, then dropping to sit on his dick. 

the sting of the stretch makes you cuss, paired with the soft whimpers from mingi as every inch of him fills you to the brim, twitching inside you. you don’t wait to let either of you adjust to the almost unbearably tight fit, anchoring your weight on the knees bracketing his thighs as you start to bounce, spearing yourself on him over and over at a ruthless pace. mingi’s head falls back into his seat, eyes screwed shut and mouth dropped open with a broken stream of pathetic noises, his hands futilely trying to grab onto your waist, your thighs; to caress and hold you like he always does, while you’re determined to fuck him like he’s someone else. 

you chase nothing but your own pleasure as you ride him, too focused to even outwardly react as his length rubs against your g-spot, your gut tightening and pussy throbbing with each bounce. your orgasm’s close enough to taste on the tip of your tongue, and you’re so caught up in that edge of euphoria that you hadn’t even realised mingi had wedged his hands between your bodies — grounding you as his fingers slide over your cheeks, forcing you to meet his eyes. 

you don’t catch whatever he says to you, his brows pinched in worry as his eyes flit all over your face. you get out a nod, trying to hang onto the thread that is your sweet release, hoping that it’s enough to reassure whatever he could be worried about. you can’t believe he’s trying to talk right now — he’s a man, he should be over the moon that you’ve surprised him with some pussy. 

mingi’s face twists, a harsh pulse of his cock inside you follows, and you know that he must be close too. not that you were taking it into consideration, really. again, he’s a man, he’ll get there anyways. you do hear the way he cries out at your pussy clamping down, white-hot bliss surging through your veins as you cum around him, riding mingi right through it until he’s shooting out inside of you. before you can even slow down he’s pressing his lips to yours, kissing you through the aftershocks of your shared release — and that alone is what snaps you clean out of it. 

you pull back with a gasp, shock flashing across mingi’s face over the fact you didn’t kiss him back. you don’t hear him say your name, but rather see his mouth move in the shape of it, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. still soothing you, still worried about you, even though you hurt him.

it’s the last straw to break your back. you can’t feel anything but heat as everything rushes out all at once, flooding your body with feelings too big for you to understand. you only realise you’re crying as mingi wipes the tears from your cheeks; only realise you’re shaking as his arms wrap around you in a hug. 

“why?” you stammer out between sobs, neither of you even knowing what you’re asking until— “why do you love me?” 

mingi shakes his head as he shushes you, his cock softening where it’s still buried inside you. he presses gentle kisses to your face, to each tear that falls. “i love you.” is all he responds with, knowing there’s not much else he could say to settle this down, though it only has the tears flowing harder.

“what do you even see in me?” you wail, both hands trying to push at his chest to get him away from you, or you away from him. “i’m disgusting, i’m fucked up, i don’t fucking deserve you.”

“don’t say things like that,” mingi’s quick to refute, his arms tightening around you. “why on earth would you say that?” 

“we aren’t meant to be together.” you tell him with a harrowing certainty, mingi’s face cracking as your words strike through his chest, hitting right on target. “you’re not made for me.”

mingi’s throat bobs in a gulp, the pain written plainly across his features as the admission hangs in the air between you. he can tell it wasn’t from the heat of the moment — you’ve thought it before. it’s why it slipped out so easily, without hesitation. though you long for a reaction, for his patience to snap and for his words to tear you apart right back, you know that’s not the boy you’re dating. the boy who still chooses to love you everyday, even when you can gut him like this without thinking twice. 

mingi says nothing as he leaves a peck on your forehead, resting his own on top and forcing you to look into his eyes; to confront the sincerity in them as he pours his entire heart into his words. “if it’s not you, then it’s no one.” 

your head shakes; quick to refuse, to try and push him away again, but mingi’s quicker to pull your body to press firm against his, completely smothering you in his warmth. when it comes to your boyfriend, he’s nothing if not assured. he wears confidence like a second skin, unafraid to embarrass himself with a joke or flaunt his body for a reaction. everything he says and does is defined by sincerity — everything he feels is genuine, and pure, and honest. with all the blood in his body to keep his heart beating, his love is nothing if not yours. 

it could’ve been hours you sat like that, mingi’s body wrapped around yours, your thoughts that once spun a mile a minute now still, silent. when his arms suddenly fall away, panic begins to settle in the absence of his touch, until he’s shrugging his hoodie off his shoulders. you wince as he shifts below you, remembering he’s still buried inside you until one hand gently raises you off his length; the other quickly stuffing the hoodie under your dress, soiling it with his cum where it drips out of you. mingi presses a kiss to your cheek, now sticky with dried tears. “let’s get inside now, yeah?”

──

“shuhua hasn’t even left home yet!” minnie scoffs loudly at her phone before she presents it to you from the opposite side of the booth. you nearly shiver at the sight of life360 on her screen, seeing your icon still monochrome and frozen at san’s place from when you disabled your location months ago. 

“you think she’ll come this time?” you ask, distracting yourself from the unwelcome memories as you draw on the condensation of your glass of water. 

“probably not. she hasn’t even read the group chat.” minnie’s eyes roll from beneath her bangs, thumbs tapping away angrily before she plants it on the table with a sigh. 

“fivesome again?” yuqi wiggles her brows, earning a side-eye from you both. “or i’ll just go fuck myself i guess?”

the faces at brunch today had become the regular for group hang-outs. soyeon and miyeon were still on their way over, meanwhile soojin was busy and shuhua.. well, couldn’t care less. 

minnie and yuqi had introduced you to the rest of the girls, all of them having become friends in high school while you were in small town purgatory, and you fit right in as if there was a spot always waiting for you. after spending years with nothing but men in your corner, it was refreshing and yet a little unfamiliar having a whole group of girls there for one another. 

you can understand the difficulty of multitasking school and socialising — hell, even you haven’t been all that consistent at coming out because of girlfriend duties — but shuhua had noticeably been distancing herself from the group as of late. 

soojin had an actual excuse for her presence being a rarity, having graduated last year and immediately earning a great position in a full-time job, though she still made frequent appearances in the group chat and kept up to date with you all. in contrast to shuhua, who’d been practically awol since the first semester started a few weeks ago. you’ve only actually been at the same hang-out once, every other time you haven’t been able to come is when she’s able to show. it’s not as if her presence made all that difference though; shuhua was a girl of very few words, and it’s not like you’ve bonded enough one-on-one to get anything more out of her. 

outside of the odd girl’s day where shuhua would ghost the group and the rest would hate her for it, everything had been great, and more importantly— normal. you and mingi are in love and thriving, you’re killing it in your classes and staying on top of the workload, you go out with your girls every other day, and you’re.. back at home, surprisingly. 

mingi drives you to and from campus, and you usually spend the night at his place when you’ve both got classes the next day, but you’re not avoiding your own family like the plague anymore. as such, you and yunho have become… acquaintances, of sorts. you’re not friendly (at least not on your end), but you’re not hostile either. 

you just.. coexist. like siblings with different lives, that aren’t close. except, you do have similar lives, and you were closer than blood once. despite everything, at least he seemed to listen when you asked him to back off. 

life is the best it’s been in a long, long while. it really does just go on. and one day, maybe you can wake up and think that nothing ever actually happened between you and him. maybe then you’ll be able to sleep at night. 

“economics has been bending me over,” minnie casually says the second you tune back in, the girls still chatting while you spaced out at the wall. “oh, so glad you could join us!” she teases, noticing you’re finally looking at them. 

“ugh, real. let’s get bombed this saturday.” yuqi glances at you, asking sarcastically, “wanna smoke like that one time you told yunho about?” 

you groan, cringing at the callback to the elaborate tale you had told yunho just for him to catch you in the lie not even twenty minutes after. and then fuck you, but… that’s irrelevant right now. 

“what’s this?” minnie looks between you with eyes sparkling, her nose catching the trail of hot gossip in the air. 

the bleached blonde jabs a thumb your way, “she ditched yunho at san’s birthday to hook up with mingi, and asked me to cover for her. she told him we left together to get high at mine.” minnie oohs in response, while yuqi rolls her eyes with an ugh, “yunho sent me a novel the morning after. he texts like a serial killer.” 

“what?” it slips out before you can stop it, since that is news to you. nothing to be surprised of though — yunho is weird, this is known. 

yuqi nods, pursing her lips. “wanna see?” 

“i do!” minnie answers without missing a beat, scooting over in the booth to bump yuqi’s side as she unlocks her phone. you don’t, and their reactions as they read over the wall of text tells you enough to know you made the right call for your own well-being. minnie tips her chin up, sympathy in her eyes as they meet yours. “i see why you moved out.” 

“so,” yuqi clasps her hands on the table, “we smokin’ fat doinks this weekend or what?” 

you shrug. “i have to check with mingi first. i don’t know if we’re already doing something— or if he’s even okay with that.” 

“just ditch him.” yuqi replies, like it’s nothing. 

“yeah, you see each other every day.” minnie rolls her eyes, and the tiny gesture lights a flame of anger low in your belly, smoke rising up your throat. she obnoxiously flicks her ponytail over her shoulder as she turns to yuqi, “you think shuhua would come?” 

“god, no. i’m not inviting her.” yuqi shivers, “i got high with her once, never again.” 

“wait, why?” minnie prompts with a giddy grin, not even hiding her blatant excitement over the gossip concerning another friend. 

“she kept scaring me, like saying she could see ghosts and hear their voices and shit. then she started kissing on me?”

“girl, i don’t know if the weed was doing all that..”

“wait, this was our shuhua?” you laugh in disbelief, and they both just stare at you with raised brows. 

“well duh.”

“you know any others?” 

“—no, it’s just, i mean..” you give a weak chuckle, feeling oddly insecure over their blunt reactions. “i can’t even picture her acting like that. she’s so shy.”

the girls shared a confused look, like you’re speaking a different language. that unwelcome, yet all too familiar feeling of being left out creeps back in, and you want this conversation over as soon as possible. 

yuqi speaks first, “shuhua is not shy.” 

“well, i don’t really hear her talk, let alone acting all crazy like that.” you shrug, tone falling flat, suddenly disinterested. 

“she does talk.” minnie adds, “just not to you.” 

you blink once, before the rising smoke enters your brain and suffocates any self-control left in there, nothing but heat as you snap, “what the fuck does that mean?” 

“nothing.” minnie replies quickly, waving her hand in the air like it’s so absurd, sneaking a glance at yuqi that you don’t miss. “you’re just not close, girl. don’t take it to heart.” 

easier said than done. there’s something here you’re missing, and they’re not saying either. you can fucking feel it. 

“woah, cat fight?” 

the familiar high, cute voice is enough to halt whatever shitstorm you were about to launch minnie and yuqi’s way — the both of them sighing in relief as soyeon plants a hand on your shoulder, miyeon in tow as she sidles up behind. 

honeyed skin with a chestnut bob, soyeon manages to calm you with just a look, scrunching her brows as if asking you’re okay without words. after a tight-lipped nod from you, she turns her stare to the pair across the booth. “you’re not teaming up on her again, are you?” 

yuqi loudly scoffed, “she’s way meaner to us!” 

miyeon giggles as she scoots into the seat beside you, the raven-haired princess pulling you in for a hug. “it’s okay, i’m on your side.” 

before the pair opposite to you can get a word in, soyeon slides into their side of the booth, like a parent sitting next to their misbehaving kids. soyeon tended to look after you all like that. you hadn’t explicitly told her that you still felt like an outsider at times, and yet she seemed to just know, having your back whenever that feeling reared its ugly head. such as now, no thanks to minnie and yuqi being vague as fuck about someone you considered a friend who might secretly hate your guts. 

while that anxiety doesn’t exactly disappear, it does make itself scarce as the five of you order your meals and fall into conversation; an easy rhythm you’ve perfected after hanging out every other day, on or off campus. 

today’s topic of choice being dick sizes, starring your boyfriend’s and brother’s group of friends, who have apparently mixed with your group like paint since their high school days. the one reason you had to be grateful that you weren’t around. 

“i’ve heard he’s thick.” minnie emphasises with a click of her tongue at the end, “and surprisingly, a real freak.” 

“it’s always the quiet ones.” miyeon shrugs, elegantly sipping her americano from a straw. 

“then what does that make san?” you add with a laugh, not actually expecting the answer yuqi gives in the form of her fingers held many inches apart. 

“what? that big?” minnie gawks, while yuqi nods with a smirk. “no way..” 

“girl, he used to be so skinny, that’s how you know it’s like, banana long.” 

“well how do you even know?” soyeon finally pipes in, having nothing to add to the conversation as a raging lesbian. “haven’t he and wooyoung been dating since forever?” 

yuqi tucks her blonde locks behind an ear, playfully running her tongue over her lips. “a little birdy told me that sometimes, they let people join..” 

“it was seonghwa, right?” minnie snorts at the way yuqi’s brows furrow in shock. “he’s such a slut.” 

yuqi swats her shoulder, “then what does that make me!” 

the table erupts into cackles, yuqi blushing and stammering as she tries to defend her good name. 

“you’re gonna fuck woosan?” soyeon asks, trying and failing to hide the slight judgment on her face. 

“they’re gonna fuck me.” yuqi states proudly, while you cheer her on. “and i’m gatekeeping the deets from you prudish bitches.” 

“wow, friendship ende— oh shit,” minnie’s neck snaps forward abruptly, wide eyes darting around the booth as she murmurs, “guess who just walked in with karina.” 

you look over your shoulder, never giving a fuck about subtlety, and immediately regret not asking first as your gaze snags on the who. 

your chest cinches in shock, the girls muttering words that don’t reach your ears over the ringing in them, the world around you crumbling away as your sight tunnel visions on yunho; holding karina with a snug arm around her waist, his eyes already having found you. 

you don’t register the way your girls avert their attention under yunho’s heavy glare, ignoring his presence while it completely sucks you in. he nods along to whatever karina’s saying, lips curling into a grin the longer you refuse to break eye contact, no doubt your face wearing all of your frantic thoughts. 

in the corner of your vision, karina follows his line of sight, her glossy lips pulling into a sneer before she makes a show of pressing them to yunho’s cheek, a would-be kiss if only he had turned his head away from your direction. and he lets her. 

you feel like you can’t breathe, can’t even blink as you watch his large hand squeeze her waist, firm enough to make her lashes flutter with bedroom eyes, before he reaches to pull out a chair at their table for two. you could smack the smirk off karina’s face as she flips her shiny black hair over her shoulder, sitting her perfect body with curves in all the right places down.  

yunho just beams at you — obnoxiously, mockingly — like he’s showing off a new trophy, throwing it in your face and rubbing it in till it stings. and god does it burn. 

he tips his chin at your table, lifting his brows like he’s asking if he can come cover. you shake your head profusely, catching curious glances from the girls as yunho chuckles from across the restaurant. thankfully, he listens, facing away as he pulls out his own seat across from karina. 

it looked normal, you think. nothing about that exchange would imply anything other than siblings — yet nothing about the conflict swirling in your head is how a sibling should feel. 

why does it bother you so much? you asked him to leave you alone, to basically stop trying to fuck you at any chance he gets, and yet why do your thoughts read homicide as you stare at your replacement? 

that’s all karina is, right? it’s not like you’re on speaking terms with him, but surely you would at least hear from an excited stepmother if yunho had a girlfriend. she couldn’t be. he couldn’t like her that much, he couldn’t want her if he meant what he told you, this is all just to piss you off and yet it’s working— 

“how big was he?” miyeon whispers, curious eyes flicking to you. your heart actually stops for a good moment, mortified to your soul as you question if you heard that right, because surely she can’t be asking you? 

minnie and yuqi react audibly, the pair of them answering as they replicate yunho’s size with their fingers, debating each other’s memory as their scales differ slightly. you’re still thousand-yard staring at miyeon, which soyeon picks up on, fast to tell the girls to cut it out with how you’re “obviously uncomfortable” since this is “your brother they’re talking about”. 

miyeon covers her mouth in a gasp, face paling under her pretty pink blush as she exclaims, “yunho’s your brother?? oh my gosh!” she falls into your shoulder with an embarrassed giggle, “i remember seeing you really close together at a party, i thought you were— ahh! i’m so sorry!” 

a little part of you dies inside, thinking of just how many people saw you acting like a drunk, clingy mess and assumed the same. there’s also the fact that she really was asking you how big he is. 

“okay, well, this is awkward and i need to pee, so.” yuqi announces as she stands up, planting her hands on her hips with a pout at the lack of response. “no one wants to come with?” 

“i will.” minnie fake grumbles, earning an offended scoff from the blonde as they both shuffle out from the booth. 

once they’re out of earshot, soyeon makes a puzzled face as she asks, “so they’re cool with yunho now?” getting miyeon to giggle. 

you look between them, recognising you’re not in the know for the second time today. “what are you talking about?” 

miyeon and soyeon share a glance, one that you’re on the outside of again, except you can see the moment that they agree to let you in. 

“uh, this isn’t us being shady, but..” miyeon starts, looking to soyeon for reassurance, which she gets in a nod. “those girls used to sleep with yunho. i think it started just after you moved? yeah, yuqi and minnie ended up having a massive fight over it. he was messing around with both of them at the same time and they didn’t tell each other.” 

well, that part was new information. you definitely didn’t see it coming, but you can’t say you’re too surprised. from what the girls have owned up to, and what mingi has recounted for you, it was clear that yunho lost himself for a bit during that first year. when it dawned on him that you weren’t coming back, that he’d lost you for good, he pounced on the closest thing to you to warm his bed. 

in the sickest, saddest way, it makes you feel even more related to him. yunho was trying to drown out the pain in his heart by fucking whoever reminded him of you most. and by playing them both, it sounds as if he was channeling his pain outwardly — if he can’t be happy without you, then no one else can. 

“i do know.” you admit, which takes them both aback. “it’s okay. i get why they did.” 

soyeon motions at you with her hand, “elaborate?”

you turn your attention down to your glass of water again, unwilling to meet their eyes as the raw, vulnerable truth rushes to the forefront of your thoughts. 

“yunho.. he’s got a way.” you smile ruefully, accepting that this is going to spill out whether you let it or not. “he’s so bright on his own, you can’t help but want to feel that warmth. and when he lets you in on it— it feels like nothing else matters.” you don’t care if this is too weird for a sister to say anymore, the feeling cathartic as you confess, “he’s so smart, too. he knows how to use it to his advantage, and he always gets what he wants. he’s good. he’s really.. good.” you trail off, self-consciousness arriving too late as it suddenly crawls up the back of your neck, making you acutely aware of the way they’re staring at you. you clear your throat. “so, yeah. i can see how they fell for him.” 

miyeon resolves to sipping her americano instead of answering, while soyeon nods, taking everything in; the table entirely too quiet for your comfort. when she finally speaks up, it’s with a voice free of judgement as she says, “what is it about this guy that drives people insane?” 

miyeon chuckles, laying her head on your shoulder, while you try to follow along; letting this pass as a silly, forgettable moment, and not an impulsive confession from piles of laundry too dirty for what you think they’re ready to hear. 

“guess who woosan just invited to the welcome-back party?!” yuqi boasts as she saunters in, her voice careening from deep to dainty as she adds, “me, that’s who.” 

“we’re all invited every year,” minnie snickers, shoving yuqi into the booth first, the blonde gasping as she twists around and smacks her. 

“welcome-back party.. is that the one happening next weekend?” you ask. 

“yup,” miyeon answers, popping the ‘p’. “the boys throw a big one every semester, since freshman year. will you come?” 

“yeah, but mingi invited me, so i’ll be going with him.” you reply, earning two groans from the bickering girls with fistfuls of each other’s hair across the table from you. 

soyeon puts on her strict voice as she says both their names, like a mother about to start counting to three, and the moment passes as you’re all back to cracking jokes and talking shit. all the while, you ignore the unmistakable heat of yunho’s eyes flicking to you every other second. 

──

“ohmigosh, did you guys see what giselle posted on—”

“don’t care. stop distracting me.”

minnie gawks at you, uncaring if the snappy blonde looked up from her laptop and caught it. you sat on opposite ends of the large L-shaped couch — a statement of the family’s money as soon as you walked through the front door — a platter of snacks in minnie’s lap as you watched old kpop music videos on the cinema-sized flatscreen tv, on mute per yuqi’s demand. the blonde had taken the corner, glaring at her screen as her fingers flew across the keyboard, only pausing briefly to rain on your parade. 

“damn, what’s up your ass?” you butt in, at minnie’s defense. 

“not woosan.” she snickers, giving you a high-five. 

yuqi rubs at her temples before her arms extend out, all ten fingers pointing at the pair of you. “i’m at a really hard part of this paper right now, i’m literally doing math in my head, can you please stay quiet for like, five minutes?”

you and minnie nod with pursed lips, side-eyeing each other to check you’re both holding your laughter right now. yuqi did not play around when it came to schoolwork — a switch would flip in her usual silly, charming self, and you’d end up with the grinch sat across from you who was on the verge of kicking you both out. 

this was your fault, really. you had impulsively asked minnie to hang out, and she drove you both to yuqi’s place, under the assumption she still intended to get high. turns out, the bleach did more than just turn her hair blonde, since yuqi had completely forgotten about an assignment due on monday. she decided to let you accompany her while she was cramming it — or at least attempting to, while getting distracted and then barking at you for it. 

despite it, you needed this, today. stress had you cornered from all angles, and you needed something that could block it out, even just temporarily before the weekend was over; something that wouldn’t disappoint mingi further. 

you’ve been juggling a lot. what you previously had down pat in a rhythm, a routine, was suddenly falling from your grip and toppling all over you. maintaining your good grades, keeping the peace between your bickering friends, casually being around yunho while he’s replacing you with karina — weeks of consistent pressure had piled up on your plate, and the one steady thing you had going, the one part of your life you never had to doubt, was taking the brunt of it as a result. 

you and mingi just aren’t getting along. he’s steadfast as he always is in making it work, in talking it out until you both reach a satisfied conclusion, but having to self-reflect on your messy fucking brain every day is making you lose it. it’s why you needed today: you get to decompress with your friends, and you told him to do the same. not that you stuck around to find out if he listened. you were out the door and sitting in minnie’s car before your boyfriend could even say ‘bye’. 

the hum of an engine outside has your head turning in recognition, though you choose to ignore it, focusing back on the tv where t.o.p’s pissing on g-dragon in the zutter music video. 

a ding has minnie checking her phone, catching your attention as she slides the snack platter onto the couch, standing up. “shuhua’s here,” she announces, headed for the door. 

“shuhua’s here?” yuqi repeats, clearly thrilled to have more company. 

“yeah, i invited her after you texted me.” minnie says, glancing at you as she flips the lock on the door. “she said she had something to do first.” 

the door swings open and in steps shuhua: deep brown hair falling in waves to her waist, the cutest cami and skirt set hugging her figure, a tiny, satisfied smirk on her face as her gaze sweeps over the room. eyes narrowing a fraction as they land on you. 

“and where have you been?” yuqi exclaims, shooting a lethal glare at the youngest. 

shuhua sits on the couch with a guilty giggle. “mingi just dropped me off.” 

it’s as if all air is sucked from the room as you’re rendered stiff from shock, yuqi continuing to interrogate shuhua on her recent aloofness, while minnie watches you from the corner of her eye. your heart grips in your chest as that nearby engine drives off, and you realise you did recognise it, because it was your boyfriend’s car. 

what the fuck is going on?

“wh—um, you said mingi?” you interrupt them unapologetically, trying and failing to not let your immediate, hysterical thoughts take the wheel. “you were just with him?” 

shuhua nods, impassive. “yeah. we were hanging out.” she sneaks a glance at yuqi. big mistake. 

“why?” you snap, eyes shooting daggers into hers. the other two are quick to interject with stammers of your name, trying to stop this before it starts. 

“they’re friends,” minnie rushes to explain, to defend her. “they’ve been good friends for years.” 

shuhua smiles proudly at you, and she may as well be pointing and laughing in your face. 

“huh, weird that no one told me.” you snark, your bitter grin falling flat as you pick up your phone, shutting yourself off. 

the vibe had completely gone to shit, an uncomfortable amount of tension hanging in the air as the girls look between one another. they change the subject, voices on eggshells as they try to avoid setting you off. 

and for good reason — you don’t even care. mingi hadn’t mentioned diddlysquat to you about hanging out with a girl alone, a girl who was supposed to be ‘your friend’ too. you can question the weight of that now though, considering shuhua’s never made an effort to get to know you, and had probably been avoiding you while you were over here wondering how you could break the ice. 

when did you get so trusting? so fucking easy to fool? 

there’s no way they aren’t all in on this, plotting against you, even mingi hid it. frantic, you think back to the empty condom packets in his car, how he’d told you they weren’t his. and it’s true, he hasn’t kept any in his room, but if he’s been driving shuhua around… 

you did tell him that you needed space, that you were hanging out with friends and he should do the same, you just— you didn’t think it’d be this. you didn’t think he’d hurt you. 

[you] please call me

you set the phone down on your thigh, staring at the carpeted floor as you wait, then act like you’re startled when it begins to ring not even ten seconds after. 

you pick it up, the girls pretending like they’re not listening as you make a face at the so unexpected caller before answering. 

you don’t even get a word out as he’s instantly asking, “are you okay?” 

“hey, what’s up?” you greet him, shrugging in response to minnie’s arched brow. 

your heart sinks as you hear a girl’s voice in the background, which is quickly muffled as a door closes. shutting her out. 

gently, yunho says, “you tell me, baby.” 

“uh, i’m kind of at yuqi’s, why?” you prompt him, knowing he’s smart enough to catch on. 

yunho chuckles as it clicks. “ah, i see how it is. you wanna get out of there?”

your face drops in accordance to your fake response, “oh, shit. okay. i’ll see you soon?” 

he hums, his smirk audible even through the phone, and your thighs press together at the deep noise. “yeah. you will.” 

you catch karina’s voice again, asking yunho something beyond the door, and yet the call doesn’t end until you hang up.

“yunho called,” you announce, answering their nosey stares. “something happened with my dad, i think. he’s coming to get me now.” 

“your dad.” shuhua repeats, humming as she takes the information in. you blink, silently daring her to give you a reason to pop off. “i’ve been meaning to ask, what’s the deal there? are you half-siblings, step-siblings, your parents just date..?” 

you gulp down all the curses you long to throw at her cocky little smile. “they were married, and got divorced, but they’re back together now.” nausea spreads its tendrils through your gut as you feel the need to say, “yunho and i aren’t related by blood.” 

“noted.” shuhua replies, giggling at how serious your face had fallen. “i just think it’s funny, ‘cause some people thought you were dating.” 

your frown deepens, jaw grinding your teeth to dust. ‘you’re thinking it, aren’t you?’ you so badly want to say. ‘you think you know us, you think you know what’s going on between us, but you don’t. you’ll never understand. calling him my brother isn’t enough. yunho means more than that to me, and he loves me more than you’ll ever feel in your life.’

“so funny.” is all you say, deadpan. 

all four heads turn at the approaching rumble of an engine, and it’s only a few moments later that your phone’s buzzing in your hands. 

[DO NOT ANSWER] Here baby

that was.. suspiciously quick. after saying a curt goodbye, giving a half-assed hug to minnie who cornered you on your way out, then sliding into the passenger side of yunho’s car, you tell him as much. 

“you speed here or what?” 

he chuckles, eyes tracking the seatbelt as it crosses your chest. “i was in the neighbourhood.” 

you don’t think too much of it, already blurting out, “everyone’s being so fucking weird.” 

he hums, intrigued. “trouble in paradise?” 

“wouldn’t you like to know.” you scoff, knowing full well you’re about to rant every last detail. “ugh. either i’m losing my mind, or everyone secretly hates me.” 

“i don’t.” yunho replies, smug as ever while you glare at him. “what makes you think that, though?” 

“i can tell the girls are keeping something from me, i just don’t know what.” you frown, the ache of jealousy welling up in your chest. “and mingi hung out with shuhua without telling me.” 

yunho’s head snaps to you at her name, just as quick to snap back to the road, and it has your chest twisting in fear, wondering what the hell that reaction is supposed to mean. he sighs, pressing his lips into a firm line. “that’s shitty of him to hide it from you.” 

“you seem well informed.” you quip bluntly, not expecting him to throw his head back in a laugh. a smile fights its way to your lips, just before they begin to tremble, green flashing hot in your vision. “why would he do this, yunho?” 

your voice dropping to a shaky whisper has him ripping his eyes from the road to check your face, his brows pinched in worry, fingers tightening around the wheel. it still hurts him to see you like this, at least. “i can’t answer for him,” he replies, meeting your eyes to let you see the sincerity in them. “but hiding it implies he’s aware it’ll upset you, for whatever reason that may be.” 

“well, he’s right to think that.” you seethe, crossing your arms as you sink into the seat. “i am fucking upset now.” 

yunho smiles, wide and bright, and you know he must be overjoyed that you and mingi aren’t all sunshine and rainbows right now. despite knowing that to be fact, it’s oddly… comforting speaking to him, hearing his opinion, being able to rant without him following up with therapy talk. asking for his help and him listening without question, even after everything that’s happened. 

you’re starting to wonder if you’ve outgrown your group of friends, your own boyfriend, with how things have been falling apart now that you’ve settled back in. the initial excitement has worn off, and they’ve all begun to realise why you never kept in touch all those years. the fact that yunho is the only one in your good graces right now should be incredibly alarming. 

maybe it’s because you’re out of practice for emotional intimacy; the basis of all close bonds. at the old town, no girl friendships ever stuck, and all guy friendships ended with a fuck. it was more your fault than theirs. you never invested more than a surface-level version of yourself, with the sole exception of soobin of course — who you only kept around so long because he’s your stepbrother’s doppleganger. 

you’re too invested in every little doubt your brain churns out that you hadn’t realised where exactly yunho was driving to. it’s not until he parks by the curb out front that the panic settles in, your eyes on the familiar car in the driveway, avoiding the face that appears in the second-floor window. “why did you take me here?” 

yunho wrecks you with a soft smile. “no one’s at home right now, and i know you don’t like being there alone, so.” 

“why aren’t you home?” 

he reaches to unbuckle your seatbelt for you, effectively ignoring the question. “i’ll see you at school, baby.” 

it dawns on you that, once again, you’ve had a completely one-sided conversation. yunho hadn’t said a single thing about himself — like why he was in the area at all — only interested in prying information out of you. 

he’s not home because he’d be at karina’s, meeting her family and laying in her bed, that’s fucking why.

to your luck, the front door to the house swings open, cutting off anything you could’ve hoped to yell at yunho. the frame is filled up by mingi, leaning on it with his arms crossed, his face twisted in a scowl. 

“thanks, asshole.” you grit out, practically kicking the car door open without a glance back, ignoring his sweet “anytime.” before you’re slamming it shut.

your boyfriend watches the car as it zooms off, his hardened glare falling as he looks to you, pretty features knitted in worry. “are you okay?” he asks, arms dropping to his sides, already reaching for you as you approach. 

you push past him, knocking shoulders as he turns with you, wide eyes on your back. “fine.” 

“did something happen—”

“you tell me!” you snap, whirling on him. mingi flinches as you raise your voice, large frame shrinking in on itself. his lost eyes beg you for an answer, and you just laugh bitterly. “had fun with shuhua?” 

mingi’s adam’s apple bobs in a gulp, and you watch the way a guard slides over his face, preparing himself for the incoming outburst. he says your name as he reaches for your hand, and you snatch it back without thinking. the pain shows on his face instantly and openly, and it crushes you. guilt strikes you in the chest, and it takes you back. gives your blind rage enough pause for mingi to attempt to reach for you again. this time, you let him, his fingers sliding over the back of your hand, thumb finding the inside of your wrist. he strokes his thumb over your pulse; back and forth, back and forth. settling you with just a touch. you don’t want all his patience to go to waste, so you bite your tongue and wait for him to talk first. to explain himself. 

“shuhua is a friend.” mingi starts carefully. “we’ve been close for years, but i haven’t really spoken to her since you got back. i figured we could catch up today, and i was going to tell you about it when you got home.” he sounds honest enough — it sounds real enough. as if sensing your doubt, his eyes lock with yours as he affirms, “i promise you.” 

you want to believe him. you want to stop this itch at the back of your neck, the whisper in your ear that can’t help but ask, ‘how could he?’. how could mingi only want you? how could he, genuinely, love you? after the wringer your family’s put him through?

both hands grasp his biceps suddenly, eyes boring into his chest where his heart pumps, overcome with the desire to forget all of this, to numb your brain and channel this energy elsewhere. he can see it as your gaze find his, pleading how you want him — need him. 

mingi licks his lips, clearly intending to give in, but not before he asks the question that’s been burning down the inside of his head since you got here. 

“you and yunho hung out?” he says tentatively, so unsure of himself, nothing but a mutter. it melts your heart before completely ripping it up. your palms slide down his arms, fingers lacing with his. 

“oh, no. he just dropped me home. i was with yuqi and minnie, i swear.” 

he nods, eyes flicking down to your hands, so fast you could miss it. though he smiles at you like he’s reassured, it reveals the thoughts that he won’t voice. he was waiting for you to touch your face — he was waiting for you to lie. 

──

“for fuck’s sake!” you curse, rummaging around in your tote bag to snatch out your ringing phone as it rudely interrupts you mid-sentence. 

“just ignore him.” minnie mutters, bored as she picks at her acrylic nails, earning a warning glare from soyeon. 

“i have been.” you roll your eyes, having lost count on what number call this is as you slide to hang up yet again. the first time you had answered, reassuring him that class had run a little late and that you’d see him soon. the second time you tried to ignore it, feeling guilty as you locked eyes with his contact picture — a cute candid of him smiling with his chin in his hands, looking up at you in bed — and from the third call onwards it got annoying very quickly. 

ever since yunho drove you to his place on saturday, mingi has been leeched to your side like nobody’s business. if anything, you thought you would be hung up over him and shuhua, but you got that all out of your system after he fucked the jealousy out of you — and somehow caught it himself. you just can’t get him to stop clinging. you get it, he’s proved he only has eyes for you, but now it’s suffocating. 

“how about you tell us later, when you’re free.” soyeon suggests, tipping her head at your phone. “you should see what he wants.”

“my attention, that’s what.” you groan. “i wanted to join you guys for drinks tonight.”

“another friday,” soyeon reassures with a smile, “the welcome-back party’s tomorrow anyways, we’ll see you there.”

“but we won’t get to hang out!” you argue, and she just shrugs, already walking off with minnie. leaving you standing in the courtyard alone, no choice but to give your giant, embarrassing boyfriend the attention he’s so desperate for. 

rolling your eyes, you tap away at your phone, before your head’s whipping in the direction of a sudden shout of your name. your eyes widen at the sight of mingi bounding over, like a dog to a bone. 

“hey.” mingi huffs once he’s in front of you, running a hand through his tousled hair, your eyes instinctively tracking his bicep. “why weren’t you answering me?” 

“why were you spamming me like a psycho?” you retort, jutting your face at him. 

his brows flip over, looking down at you with those sad puppy eyes. “i’ve been waiting for you at the library. you were taking a while, i didn’t know if...” he trails off, and you only understand why when there’s a familiar chuckle behind you, your neck cracking with how fast you turn back. 

yunho, sitting cross-legged on the grass in a circle with three other boys: all bronze skinned, two with black hair, one with a deep crimson in the middle. you recognise the redhead as wooyoung, his left arm slung around san’s, yet his chin leaning on the shoulder of the boy to the right — body leaner, face sharper with shaggy shoulder-length hair, wooyoung whispering into his ear as they both stare directly at you. 

san’s attention is preoccupied as he flashes a dimpled smile at yunho, your brother’s mouth moving at a mile a minute, too wrapped up in whatever he’s saying to notice you. 

is this why mingi was bombarding you with calls? was he worried that yunho would.. get to you? take you away? you get your confirmation when you look to mingi, waiting for you to speak with big, guilty eyes. 

“okay.” you say flatly. “let’s go.”

per his request in the first call, you found the rest of your afternoon spent in the library with mingi, textbooks and laptops spread out on your table as you studied together. or, at least, you tried to study while mingi sulked across from you, eyes flitting to you every two seconds like his exam was on what pissed you off and not whatever topic was printed in the thick book in front of him. his anxiety was palpable, leaving a foul taste in your mouth, so with an intake of breath you decided to cut the tension with your voice. 

“i’m sorry, mingi.” you start in a gentle murmur, eyes on the table, knowing you’d break if you met his. “i know i’ve been snappy lately. i’m just really stressed out, and i—” cut off. once again, you’re cut off by the low hum of a phone vibrating. 

your eyes widen as they land on mingi’s phone, bright and buzzing with a call from shuhua. despite how quick he swipes to hang it up, you could tell it was her, because of her contact photo — a photo of them, together. their cheeks smushed together to fit in the frame, their smiles almost connected in a kiss. it looked like a couple’s photo, for fuck’s sake.

you’re completely wiped of any apologies. 

“actually,” you start before you can stop, all the spite that’s lurked in the depths of your brain taking full rein of your voice. “i don’t think i can do this anymore.”

“what??” he blurts out, paying no mind to the turning heads as he blanches at you. “wh-what? you— why? why not?”

a small, supressed part of you feels horrible for the way silver lines his eyes, mouth trembling as he toes the verge of breaking down. though, you’re more concerned with drawing attention in the library, so you try to soften the blow before he explodes. 

“i need a step back, from us.” you double down, his lashes almost overflowing with unshed tears. “i’m really struggling. you know that, mingi. i can’t keep letting it hurt our relationship. i need time.. to myself, to get everything in order before i can think about taking care of someone else.”

“you don’t need to take care of me, i’m here to help you. that’s my job.” he tries to fight it, like it’s just another passing moment of self-doubt he has to talk you out of. bless his heart. “i love you. you hear me? i love you, nothing could ever change that.”

his phone lockscreen lights up with a string of notifications before shuhua’s calling again, mingi cussing under his breath as he hangs up, yet it only stretches the rift between you. what business does she have blowing up his phone like she has a right to his time — like you do?

“just stop ignoring her, mingi.” you try not to spit, keeping your voice even. “go to her. she can comfort you.”

he blinks through his blurred vision, with upturned brows and a gut-wrenching pout. he blinks until he knows for sure that this is real life, that this is serious. you’re really done with him. 

“do you think..” he trails off when his voice cracks, clearing his throat before starting again. “are we still together?”

you frown, hating the way he sounds so fucking wrecked, how it’s all your fault. “not right now, no. i can’t, mingi.”

“what about after?” 

you smile ruefully, clenching your fists under the table, resisting the urge to touch your face before you answer. “i need to get there first, okay?”

honestly, you didn’t know. you’re not sure he’ll even want you again. not with shuhua on his tail. but it’s for the best — she is what’s best for him. it’s very likely that mingi was just bonded to you out of guilt, and you’re not actually meant to be together. you’re not beneficial for each other. 

mingi doesn’t want to, but he nods, accepting it. because he’d never argue with you.

──

you didn’t give a fuck. neither did he as he tipped the bottom of the shot glass to the roof, draining the sour liquor down your throat. you squeezed your eyes for half a second as you pushed it down, opening them with a squeal as the alcohol spread warm through your chest; heat flaring in your nose, eyes watering a little from its bite. 

the boy with the soft face and thick bangs just marvelled at you, dapping you up. “you take it better than my hyungs.” 

you giggled so hard you could kiss him, instinctively leaning into his side, skin already buzzing. you’d found him in the kitchen, beelining here after slipping through the front door, any escape from your sight futile as soon as you demanded he give you the strongest shit this place has got. he’d cocked his head, asked if you were sure, then challenged you to an arm wrestle — which lasted about a millisecond before he was pouring you a shot of the lime-scented spirit. 

you’d had a coughing fit, wiped your mouth, then presented your hand for a second round. you’ve lost count of how many times he’s pinned your wrist to the counter, but you don’t care as long as the drinks keep flowing down your throat. 

you can just vaguely recall his name — jongho — the one minnie said had a thick dick and a freak in the sheets. you were contemplating finding out, biting your lip as he told you some story you weren’t hearing, right until you register a second presence in the kitchen. 

“yeosangie!” jongho greets, beckoning him over with open arms. your breath hitched, the sight of him sucking you right back into memories you’d rather leave buried in your current state. 

rich brown hair falling in wisps around his face, the rest pulled up with a ribbon into a short ponytail. the years had left him even more gorgeous, yet his eyes still wide as they always were, flicking between you both. 

jongho introduces you to yeosang by name — like he doesn’t already know it — which you realise that you never provided. 

“wait— you know me?” 

“of course i do.” jongho snickers. “mingi doesn’t shut up about you.”

that name has your gut twisting, longing to burn with even more alcohol until it forgets. yeosang’s eyes manage to widen more as he says, “but aren’t you with yunho?” 

you’re about two seconds from snatching the bottle of lime liquor from jongho’s unnecessarily strong hands. 

“bro, she’s his sister.”

yeosang’s face pinches in silent shock, and you take that as a sign to prop your elbow back up on the counter, daring jongho to win another round of arm-wrestling. he just tuts at you, wagging a finger.

“uh-uh, i can hear them calling my name for beer pong.” right on cue, san’s screaming from across the house, summoning jongho like he’s the final boss. “i’ll be right back.” he pats yeosang on the shoulder, muttering something you can’t hear despite straining to. 

jongho takes the liquor bottle with him as he disappears behind the archway, and you don’t waste a second in marching over to the fridge, ignoring yeosang’s frantic stammers as you lug it open and grab the first alcoholic drink your fingers can find. 

ah, a nice cold can of beer. you hate the taste of this shit. fitting, you guess, since you’ve only ever used to drink them when sneaking some from your dad. now you’ve got not one but two things to remind you of the worst period of your life. you look to the other, popping the can open and taking a hearty swig while holding his worried stare. a bead of liquid runs down your chin and drops to your chest, yet yeosang’s eyes are focused entirely on yours. a part of you is disappointed. 

he gulps, oddly intimidated. “when did.. you and yunho..?” 

“yep. my stepbrother. since we were kids.” you shrug, licking your lips. “it’s a long story.” yeosang wears his bafflement plainly, and you know he must be drawing the similarities between yunho and soobin. eager to distract him, you ask, “you still a nerd?” 

that gets him to chuckle, albeit awkwardly. “i guess, yeah. i moved here on a scholarship.” you respond in the form of a nod, and an uncomfortable silence falls between you, yeosang fidgeting with his thumbs as he thinks of how to fill it. “uh, so what brings you back?” 

you grimace at another hefty sip of the beer. you won’t care about the taste when you’re gone enough, and you need the liquid courage right now. this small-talk is boring the hell out of you, and you know yeosang wouldn’t let you fuck him again, so you’re going to have to bear it. 

“our parents got back together. i figured it’s about time i go back to school, too.” you frown, right before the words come tumbling out, “i’m sorry by the way.” 

yeosang’s eyes soften, head tilting. “what for?”

for breaking your friend’s heart, finding out you had a crush on me then fucking you, just to get back with said friend… “um. everything?” 

he shakes his head, shifting closer. “you know i’m not upset over it, right?” he smiles, reminiscent. “i still haven’t told anyone” 

your brows scrunch. “soobin never found out?” 

yeosang laughs, genuine this time, shining his teeth in a grin. “it’s funny, he told me a bit ago that he always knew. but it didn’t seem like he cared.” 

you shiver, cringing. “you still talk?” 

“sometimes. he still asks about you.” he giggles at your groan. “also, he told me he’s been dating men.” 

your eyes bug out of your head. “seriously?” 

“yeah. said you were the only girl he ever loved. thought you should know.” 

“damn, i broke his heart so bad he turned gay.” you ponder down at your beer. “no, that uh.. that actually makes a lot of sense.” 

“it’s crazy seeing you again.” he muses, crossing his arms, the muscles bulging. you ogle without a care in the world, and he furrows his brows, coy. “so.. you and mingi? when did that happen?”

instead of answering, you flip the beer can with a tip of your chin, emptying the rest of it in a swift gulp. yeosang has to grab your wrists to stop you from crushing the can against your forehead, overcome with the urge to beat the pathetic thoughts out of there by force. 

freshly single and depressed, you’d dragged yourself out of your tear-stained bedsheets, dolled yourself up in the tiniest and tightest dress you own, and still showed up for the welcome-back party; eager to drink away your sorrows. neither the girls nor mingi knew that you ended up coming, but you figured you’d find company on your own just fine — particularly someone with a bed you could warm tonight. 

your skin was on fire under yeosang’s hands holding your shoulders, his mellow voice like honey in your ears. “how about we drink some water now?” he near-pleads, trying to sit you down on a stool by the island bench while you’re actively fighting him, eyes honed on the fridge. 

“hey, baby.” 

that fucking word has a shiver racing up your back, your saucer eyes darting to the archway — confused as they land on the crimson-haired, honey-skinned boy there instead. he’s smirking at yeosang like he’s walked in on something he shouldn’t have, and you realise that the petname was directed at him, not you. 

wooyoung faux-gasps, waltzing into the kitchen with a hand on his chest. “how dare you cheat on sannie’s boyfriend with mangi’s girlfriend?!” 

yeosang closes his eyes with a tired sigh, murmuring lowly to you, “we’re not—”

“you can act a tease all you want, sangie, i’m gonna catch you one of these days.” wooyoung rounds on him quickly and smacks a kiss to his cheek, the elder audibly recoiling. the redhead menace leans his hip against the counter, taking you in with hungry eyes. “and what are you doing here all alone, sweetie?”

you giggle, swaying in the spot, your empty stomach expediting the effects of the chugged beer. both boys reach for you, their hands ready to catch as they hover in the air. wooyoung tips his chin as he murmurs something to yeosang, the brunette shaking his head in response, and you seethe over being left out. 

wooyoung steadies you as you start for the fridge, chuckling at your disappointed pout. “aw, don’t pull that face at me, ‘cause it’ll work.” you fall forward into his chest, hoping it’ll entice him into giving you another drink, but he just pulls you off with gentle arms. his smile is still playful as he looks down at you, yet his eyes swirl with something softer. “do you remember me?” already tipsy, there’s a roadblock stopping you from accessing any memories that aren’t here and now, so you just shake your head at him. “we went to the same high school. i was in the year above, with sangie.” his smile stretches wider as your brows flip over, silently terrified for where this could be going. “i was friends with soobin. we met a few times.”

you gulp, feeling too vulnerable under their heavy gazes. “did we… did you and i ever—”

“we kissed once during truth or dare.” he pats your shoulder, sensing you need the reassurance. “don’t worry. i might be a slut, but i’m mindful about it. i won’t take a friend’s girl.”

you and yeosang share a glance. “oh.. okay.”

you choose peace by believing wooyoung’s version of the story, since yours is a complete blank from around that time. you were fully expecting to hear that you’d fucked him while shitfaced, and it wouldn’t even come as a surprise. those last few years of high school you spent at the town had all blurred into one; days and faces blending across weekends hollowed by liquor. the only memory that ever stuck was soobin — and well, it’d help that he has yunho’s face.

wooyoung cackles to snap you out of your little rumination, jostling you until you reluctantly smile, taking you under his arm and leading you to the fridge. yeosang goes to protest, but wooyoung just puckers his lips at him as he walks by, silencing the brunette with the threat of a kiss. “don’t be a party pooper, sangie. she’s still allowed to drink.”

wooyoung digs around in the fridge, bottles and cans clinking as he stuffs his hands with a mix of poison. he sets out three red plastic cups on the counter, filling them almost to the brim with two different bottles of clear liquor, then topped with a dash of raspberry soda. if you weren’t desperate to be black-out drunk, you’d question whether he’s trying to kill you. wooyoung hands you one of the special cocktails, tapping his cup to yours while yeosang shakes his head. “here’s to soobin.”

bottom’s up, you let the bitter drink sting your throat until you’re almost choking on it. you pull back as you cough, tears in your eyes as the alcohol hits you full-force, yet you continue to take little sips until your body settles down. 

“damn.” san comments, peering into your already half-empty cup. you blink blearily as you register the new presence, the wide-shouldered stud slinging an arm around his boyfriend’s waist. dimples pop from his cheeks as he smiles at you, helping himself to the third cup on the counter. “you with us?”

you nod, bringing a hand to your forehead as it throbs harshly, pissed off at you for chugging poison. you distract yourself with another gulp of the drink; you need to be gone enough to not register pain. 

san brings the cup to his nose, gagging just at the smell. he narrows his eyes at wooyoung. “how could you give her this shit?”

“she’s tanking it, isn’t she!” wooyoung marvels at you, somehow still standing, when he himself felt nausesous and had to hold his breath after the cheers. “i heard you were almost outdrinking us at sannie’s birthday. i wanted to say hi, but yunho was all over you. couldn’t interrupt the lovebirds.” 

for a second, the kitchen falls silent enough to hear a pin drop. the boys staring at wooyoung, you suddenly interested in the colour of your drink. the redhead cusses as he realises his error. 

“shit, i shouldn’t say that. he’s with karina now, isn’t he..” wooyoung leans in with a hand shielding his mouth from san, whispering, “looked better with you though.” 

you force a smile, mentally prepared for their reactions as you reply, “he’s my stepbrother.”

yeosang puts his head in his hands as the couple loudly react in shock, lots of ‘but why’s thrown in there. it puts into perspective how fucking weird your sibling relationship was from the outside, even before you did anything together. people assuming you were dating should’ve been the wake-up call, but you wanted to think that it was only because yunho’s never been openly close with a girl like that. because your bond is special and it only has to make sense to you two. jealousy over your own brother should’ve been the wake-up call for yourself.

“my whole family calls me ‘baby’. yunho and i have always been really close.” you answer to one of their many questions. wooyoung nods along, starting to get it, while san’s face screw up even more. 

speaking out loud, san wonders, “but why did he get like that on my..” he catches himself, waving it off. “nevermind.” 

your heart sinks, wanting to hide from what’s coming and yet longing to hear it. “why did he what?” 

wooyoung presses his lips into a firm line, electing himself as the bearer of bad news as san refuses to elaborate. “on sannie’s birthday. you left, and when yunho realised, he was freaking out. he was asking everyone if they’d seen you, and he just kept drinking, not chilling out for one second. poor joongie, he had to be the one to console angry bigfoot.” your heartstrings are in knots as you recall the voicemail from hongjoong, the dark bags under yunho’s eyes. “and then he started crying. like, really bad. he kept saying he wanted you, he needed to find you, cussing mingi out. we all thought mingi stole you from him. i don’t even know how hongjoong managed to get him home, since sannie and i were fuckin’ nasty upstairs.”

you nod, barely giving it time to sink in before you’re chucking back the rest of your drink, much to the boys’ surprise. their frantic words can’t stop you from downing it, and your head spins for only a moment before you’re back — barely there, but conscious. standing, blinking, breathing. eager for more. 

wooyoung cheers, pulling you into his side. “finally, someone who wants to fucking party!” you don’t notice the equally worried and disappointed expressions on san and yeosang; nor the way san’s low voice tries to talk wooyoung out of it before he mirrors you and chugs his drink. 

wooyoung shrugs his boyfriend off, turning to the tall bottles of liquor he left strewn about the counter, pouring the same strong concoction into your empty cups. “we’re gonna have some fun, my girl. let’s ditch these losers, whaddya think?”

you giggle as he places the drink in your hand, then curls his fingers around the other, leaving san and yeosang behind as he leads you out of the kitchen. 

you try to keep up with the social butterfly as he interacts with randoms from all angles, his hand snug around yours as you venture through the house, getting a taste of the fun happening in each room. tongue numb and eyes blurry from the bitter drink, you’re careless as you let loose, acting on each whim that occurs to you — soon becoming a singular, overwhelming urge with heat coursing through your veins. 

you bat your lashes, bite your lip, caress arms and faces as wooyoung just eggs you on and does the same. you’re a lethal pair together, zero restraint between you as you flirt your way through the crowds, meeting each and every intrigued glance that people throw your way. 

your body locks in the spot as your eyes freeze on a certain pair of deep brown, coated in disgust as they narrow at the nonexistent space between wooyoung’s body and yours. the redhead cuts off a sweet-talking sophomore to turn and check on you, as he felt you suddenly tense up next to him. 

you can’t feel your face, but you hope it’s twisted into the nastiest glare you can manage as you return the look karina’s sending over her shoulder. you don’t have the heart to glance at the boy at her side; back facing you as he towers over her, completely oblivious to your presence with a long arm slung dangerously low around her hips. 

sick to your fucking stomach, you go to empty your cup before realising you’ve already drunk all of it. wooyoung hands you his with a knowing nod, flipping karina off as you chug to your soul’s content. “i hate that bitch too.” 

you gasp for air once the alcohol’s down your throat, crushing the empty plastic cup in your hand and throwing it somewhere amongst the crowded room. “more.” you demand him hoarsely. 

he flashes that foxy grin. “you’re the boss.”

your sights set on finding someone to hook up with asap, you and wooyoung circle back to the kitchen, stumbling upon jongho and yeosang; their faces grave as they take the state of you both in.

“sup homos.” wooyoung greets them, letting you slip from his side as you go straight for the fridge. “damn, why are we all standing around like someone got shot?”

“what do you think you’re doing, wooyoung?” jongho says outright, stern. you don’t pay the boys any mind, perusing the fridge for your new pick of poison, and settling on a bottle of white wine. 

the redhead rolls his eyes, gesturing at you with a sassy flick of his hand. “i’m watching her.” 

“did you have to get her black-out drunk?” yeosang speaks up, his usual mellow tone nowhere to be found. 

“you know we don’t have to ruin her night, right?” wooyoung huffs, an instigative smile tugging at his lips. “if she wants to drink, have some fun, fucking let her. it’s not like anything’s gonna happen.”

yeosang makes a startled noise as you sip straight from the wine bottle; not a care in the world as your eyes drink jongho in, tongue running over your teeth. “if you have a problem, jongho, we could go somewhere else? just you and me?” 

you slouch back against the counter, showing off your body in a way you hope is enticing, and yet his eyes stay put on yours. jongho shakes his head, not a flicker of contemplation passing across his face: rejected. he didn’t even have to think about it. 

you click your teeth in annoyance, lolling your head across your shoulder as you hone in on the ponytailed brunette at his side. “what about you, yeosangie?” you coo, delighting in the blush that peppers his cheeks. “pretty boy.. i should’ve asked soobin for a threesome back in the day.” 

yeosang stammers, visibly flustered, yet he makes no move to reciprocate your efforts as wooyoung snatches your wrist and drags you back out from where you came. 

you whine at him once he releases the tight grip, shoving a finger in your face as he says, “okay, we’re friends, but that one is all mine. you’re not allowed to have sangie until i—”

“i’m not allowed to have anyone!” you sulk, punctuating it with a stomp of your foot like a child. wooyoung’s mouth drops open a little, amused. “they all look but none of them wanna touch. why won’t someone just match my energy??” 

wooyoung’s eyes flit behind your head, his smirk digging further into his cheeks, before both of his hands come to rest on your shoulders. his head tilts closer, almost as if he’s going for a kiss before he whispers, “that is why.” 

you follow his line of sight, looking over your shoulder to catch yunho death-staring him from across the room. within a blink it’s gone, an artificial smile on his face now that you’re looking. you almost return it out of pure instinct, but when your gaze snags on the shiny-haired, curvy-bodied girl leaning into his side, you have no remorse as you turn back to wooyoung. 

you’re eager to make some more bad choices together, and yet you find your evil twin.. distracted, tongue poking his cheek as he looks into the next room over. you notice a group all tangled up on a twister mat; san in the fray on his hands and knees, ass mapping abstract shapes in the air. 

“i’ve gotta go pounce on that.” wooyoung mutters before he pulls you into a hug, uncaring that yunho’s watching. “i wish you good fortune at finding some dick, my girl.” 

wooyoung practically skips over to join his boyfriend positioned in doggy, leaving you and your wine bottle stranded amidst the room chock-full with strangers, people you’ve never seen and won’t see again. 

you spin on jelly legs, scanning surrounding faces for any that you recognise. you’re moving before you can register it, shouldering your way through upperclassmen dancing and vaping, right until you find yourself in a room you can actually breathe in. a large flatscreen tv playing some baseball game is the centerpiece, much calmer groups of people strewn about the lounge and floor. 

your sight hones in on a guy sitting by himself on an armchair, leaning back with his legs spread as he scrolls on his phone. you do a double-take, triple-take, in disbelief that you’re seeing things right. he’s stunning — tall, toned, jet-black hair and a nice nose to sit on. so your type. 

you saunter over to him, holding out your hand, getting him to tip his chin up. you offer nothing but your name, and his mouth curls into a lethal smirk. he sits up, drops his phone to the chair and takes your hand in his, fingers long and smooth. 

“seonghwa.” he tells you, voice deep and velvety. “what year are you in, baby?” 

you press your thighs together, crazy about the way it sounds on his tongue. “first.”

his brows shoot up, and he leans back into the chair with a snicker, legs spreading wider. your eyes fall to his crotch. “i’m not trying to catch a case.” 

“you won’t.” you say without missing a beat, mouth nearly drooling over how his jeans hug his thighs, the band of his boxers peaking at the hips. “i took a gap year after high school. i’m twenty, promise.”

seonghwa hums, tongue poking his cheek. “then who gave you that?” his eyes point at the whole wine bottle still in your hand. 

“no one.” you murmur, acutely aware of how his gaze drags over your body. “i just took it.”

he snickers, his free hand coming to brush on the inside of his thigh, your own rubbing each other raw. “well, this seat’s free, if you wanna take it too.” 

you nod, letting him pull you in, both his hands on your waist as he gently positions you on his lap. you shift like you’re getting comfortable, and his eyes darken, a solid heat prodding your ass. you smile at him, every intention to see it with your own eyes later. seonghwa will be more than enough to satisfy this relentless itch under your skin. 

you’re blind to the time that passes as you sit on top of seonghwa; drawling and cooing to one another, sharing sips of the wine, your eyes on each other’s lips. your arms found themselves slung around his neck, and his fingers had crept under the hem of your dress, drawing on the skin of your inner thigh. 

gradually, your head falls to the crook of his neck, the overwhelming need nearly burning you from the inside out. you sighed into his ear, lips brushing the shell, begging him to touch you where your body’s screaming for it with a weak “please.”

seonghwa had sucked in a sharp breath, his face tilting to yours, and yet something completely rips his attention away — eyes shooting off into the distance, hands falling off your body. you sit up straight, close to chewing him out, until he speaks up first. 

“uh oh, fun police.”

you turn to follow his eyes, instantly finding a glaring, brunette shorty with his arms crossed. jongho’s in his ear, gesturing at you both, with a guilt-stricken yeosang standing at his side. he starts stomping over, the crowd parting for the tiny ball of fury, and it’s not until he’s standing in front of you do you realise that it’s hongjoong — not recognising him without the bright orange hair. 

“why, seonghwa?” hongjoong sighs. “do you have to pull this tonight?” 

“full-naming me?” seonghwa hums, eyes alight with more interest than you’ve seen in him all night. “i don’t see what’s wrong, we’re just talking.” he shrugs, looking to you. “right baby?” 

you frown, eyes flicking between them, the potent energy that you can tell has nothing to do with your presence. still, you nod for him, only in hopes that he’ll still fuck you. 

hongjoong rubs his forehead, tired. “hwa, shit will go down if he sees this—”

seonghwa laughs once, a mocking noise. “oh, did he tell you that? you’re friends again now?” 

“can you at least care about how mingi would feel??” hongjoong snaps, your heart sinking beneath the floorboards at the mention. 

“...he’s here?” you mutter, barely above a whisper. both seniors fall gravely silent. 

there’s something wrong — it’s as sure as the air you find yourself unable to breathe. why wasn’t he at home, torn up over you like you were over him? what reason did he have to still come as if he’d enjoy it without you? there had to be a reason. you already knew the reason, but you needed to see it with your own eyes. you had to feel the hurt to know it was true. 

“where is he?” you ask them, voice threadbare, and yet no answers fall upon your ringing ears. you take it upon yourself to jump from seonghwa’s lap and leave the room, pacing through sweaty bodies and clouds of smoke with tunnel vision. 

you steal half-full cups from tables and knock them back, but with how your head spins and floats away from your body, you definitely didn’t need them. you ignore a call of what might be your name, you scowl at a pretty girl who you think you hate, you stumble upon a redhead twerking on a muscled hottie. you just keep on pushing through the crowd, right until there’s girls laughter in your ears, beautiful and alluring like a siren’s song. you follow it, recognising that bleached blonde and high ponytail from a mile away, intending to ask if they’d seen mingi. 

and yet you see him yourself. 

he’s smiling, laughing, shuhua at his side as she says something that can’t possibly be that funny; yuqi and minnie across from them, happy as ever, like they aren’t plunging a knife deep into your back. 

you can’t feel anything but fire, rising up inside you and boiling your blood, your legs charging across the room; smoke pouring from your nose and ears, from your mouth as you open it, words roaring out beyond your control. 

“just couldn’t wait to get your dick wet, huh?” you spout, bile bitter in your throat as all four heads whip to you with saucer eyes. 

yuqi covers her mouth, minnie looks around for answers, shuhua scowls at you while your ex rubs at his forehead. 

“babe—” he starts before realising and cutting himself off, settling on calling you by your name. “can we…” his hands are in his hair, making a mess of it as he pleads you with big, glossy eyes. “let’s go talk somewh—”

“why?” shuhua butts in, looking only at him, like she’s too good to acknowledge you. “you don’t have to go anywhere with her if she’s gonna talk to you like shit.” 

“oh, you tell him what to do now?” you scoff, nothing but venom in the noise. “you take care of his needs?”

yuqi says your name, trying to step in. “don’t do this,”

you silence her with nothing but a look, earning a harsh glare from minnie that you ignore. 

shuhua tips her chin up at mingi, her voice not quiet enough as she murmurs, “did you tell her about us?” 

all you see is red. 

“oh. okay.” your mouth drops open in a senseless cackle, heads peering in your direction as you spit, “tell me, how does my fucking sloppy seconds taste, shuhua? does he still moan like a girl when you sit on his dick? does he cry for you to let him cum?” 

shuhua bites right back, “do you even realise who had him first?” 

“stop it!” minnie exclaims, arms outstretched to keep you both from closing the distance and ripping into one another. “both of you shut the fuck up!”

feeling broken enough, you let yourself look at mingi, whose eyes never left you. only now, they’re lined with silver, his lips pressed firm together to stop them from trembling. yuqi jabs a finger in your face, demanding you apologise, but you’re already storming off without a second thought — pushing past all the turning bodies as tears blur your vision, running as far as your feet will take you. 

you don’t even realise someone’s caught you until you lurch in the spot, firm arms pulling you in and pressing your head to their chest. 

“yunho?” 

“it’s me, baby.” you think it’s him before you bring your head up, locking eyes with seonghwa instead. “what happened?”

“he never told me they were together,” you sob hysterically, sputtering and choking on the words. “i thought i was the only one. i thought he loved me.” 

seonghwa shushes you, gently guiding you to walk with him, his hands around your middle all to keep you grounded. it’s all nothing but a blur until he’s sitting you down on the tiled floor, and you realise you’ve made it into a bathroom as he shuts the door behind him. 

your head and stomach spiral in unison, bleary eyes seeing double as you watch seonghwa typing on his phone. he pockets it and crouches in front of you, holding you against the wall by your shoulders since you were on the verge of folding in on yourself. 

“we’ll get you some water very soon, okay?” he promises you with the softest, sweetest voice you’ve ever heard. “on my count, will you breathe with me?”

breathing, counting.. “five things?” 

“what?” his hand slides over your cheek, propping your lolling head upright. “hey.”

“hi~” you giggle, a smile breaking out on his face despite himself. with feeble hands you reach for him, loosely tugging at his shirt. “kiss me.” 

seonghwa shuts his eyes, exhaling. “i would if i could, baby.” 

“why won’t you?” you pout, on the verge of fresh tears. “‘cause of hongjoong?” 

seonghwa stutters, caught off-guard, yet he doesn’t get another word out as the door’s swinging open. his hands fly off of you as a tall, handsome boy steps in. 

“thanks, hwa.” comes a deep voice, one that your heart recognises and has crying out in relief. “you’re the only loyal asshole around here.”

the senior stands, giving you one last, guilty glance before seeing himself out. you hear the door shut, and an uncapped bottle of water comes into your vision, getting you to drag your head up and acknowledge him. 

yunho, on his knees in front of you, smiling softly. you glance at the water, then back at him, seonghwa’s words rushing to the forefront of your brain: the promise that ‘we’ll’ get water, like he knew it was already coming. that’s why seonghwa had his phone out, he must’ve texted yunho. 

that’s why seonghwa had found you at all. 

the entire night crashes into you in waves, scattered memories of differents boys that you were too drunk to think of as anything other than potential fucks. jongho and yeosang keeping you in the kitchen, wooyoung taking you all over the place, seonghwa sitting you in his lap and hongjoong warning him against it. his friends have been hovering you like fucking flies, and it must’ve only been because yunho had told them to. none of them actually wanted to hang out with you, actually cared about you, it was all orchestrated so you didn’t fuck any man who wasn’t him — and maybe so you didn’t find out mingi was here too. 

you shove at his chest, his eyes wide as water spills between you. “you got your fucking friends to babysit me??”

yunho smirks, guilty. “not everyone.” he admits, knowing there’s not a chance you’ll remember this. “they all know not to piss me off, though.” 

“so what, you get to stick your dick in karina, while i can only talk to men that you allow?” 

“why can’t you talk to mingi?” he retorts with a smile too soft for the blow it deals to your heart. your gaze falters to the tiles, lips trembling, and yunho sets the water bottle aside with a tut, pinching your chin between his fingers. “aw, baby. i know. i know.” you almost cry over the way he says it, so pitiful, so demeaning. “don’t say i never told you so.” 

you try to pry his grip off with shaky fingers, though he just adds another hand, both palms sliding over your cheeks as he forces you to look him in the eye. he’s grinning, revelling in how vulnerable you are, how he can punish you for every little way you’ve torn his heart out these past few months. 

“this,” yunho’s head tips up and down, giving you a once over. “this is your dad.” 

violated, you claw at his hands and wrists, while he just sinks his fingers into your cheeks further. “what the fuck does that mean??”

“you know exactly what i mean.” he laughs, completely aware of the way his words sink beneath your skin like barbed wire. “do you understand how much it hurts me, seeing my baby sister beg each and every one of my friends to fuck her?” 

“they fucking would too.” you spit back at him. “if only you didn’t have a finger up all of their asses.” 

he just keeps smiling, in pure delight that you’re retaliating precisely how he hoped you would. “you’re mad i’m looking out for you?” 

“i’m mad you keep controlling my fucking life!” 

“well, if your dad won’t do his job right, someone has to.” your face falters, and it only spurs him on, wanting to provoke you as much as he can. “that’s where this all started. he was never there, too busy fucking a woman who wasn’t his wife, so you keep trying to fill that void with men that don’t give a shit about you. am i wrong so far?” 

you bite your tongue. even though you’re nothing but a drunk shell of yourself, you know that intelligent brain of his is picking apart yours with ease. the truth hurts, each word pierces, and yet you crave it. you want him to read you down to the marrow; you want to be seen. 

yunho licks his lips before moving in on you, face hovering over yours, sandalwood assaulting your senses. “i can be that for you, and yet you’re too scared to let me.” 

you hold your breath, knowing the tears clumping your lashes will fall if you don’t. timidly, you whisper, “why can’t you just be normal?” 

his brows scrunch, genuinely confused. “and love you less?” 

“this isn’t love, yunho. i don’t know if something happened to you that made you this way but, it’s not okay. you’re fucked up.” 

“go on, what else am i?” he eggs you on with a grin, getting right in your face, following each time you try to look away. “tell me, i’m desperate to hear.” 

your hand flies up, channelling all your might into slapping him — then giving him no time to react before you knee him in the stomach, knocking him back on his ass. 

for a second he’s left looking off to the side in shock, red blooming on his cheek until he smiles harder, huffing a satisfied noise as his eyes slowly find yours. you already know it before you glance down, seeing that he’s hard in his jeans. 

he catches you off guard by suddenly crawling forward on his hands. you brace against the wall as his body cages you in, his face diving for yours, and your eyes flutter shut in anticipation of a kiss — that never comes. 

your eyes fly open, yunho chuckling with lips ghosting over yours. “still so easy.” 

you lunge at him with your entire body, the surprise attack giving you an opening to stand on wobbly knees, powering through the urge to collapse as you go straight for the door and slip out of the room. you just keep running, not daring another look back, pushing through people and furniture until heaven’s clouds part in the form of an open door. 

you manage to make it outside, your body giving out once you’re breathing fresh air, collapsing into the grass on your hands and knees. you don’t even realise what’s going to happen until saliva pours from your mouth, the only warning sign before acid burns your throat and you’re heaving the remnants of every drink you shouldn’t of had. 

you’re officially out of it, since you hadn’t even felt someone pulling your hair back, their other hand gently stroking your back and murmuring at you from behind. you’re left gasping once it’s all out of your system, only knowing there’s another person here by the voice that comes. 

“you’re done for the night.” soyeon tells you sternly, and you don’t even have the strength left to fight it. “come on, let’s get away from this. up we go.” she hooks her arms under yours, basically dragging you through the grass until your back hits the wall of the house, leaving you propped up against it. 

she steps away to quickly finish the half-burnt cigarette between her fingers — the whole reason she was out here before you came crashing down — binning the butt before she crouches in front of you. 

“have you eaten today?” soyeon asks, only getting a mumble in response. “any water?” this time you don’t even reply, and she snaps her fingers in your face, getting you to open your eyes. “hey. i need you to cooperate with me here.”

“mm.. neither.”

you’re sure you’d be embarrassed by the look on her face if your vision wasn’t completely blurred. soyeon mutters a cuss and pulls her phone out, fingers flying across the keyboard. unfulfilled urges well up inside you, sharp and hot, and it latches onto the beautiful woman taking care of you. you promised yourself you wouldn’t leave here alone. you’ve never really gone there before, but, you can’t say you haven’t dipped your toes in the idea…

“soyeon..” you say softly, and she gives you her attention with a hum. you shamelessly stare at her lips. “have you ever wanted to—”

“—don’t even start.” she cuts in, holding a hand up. “i do not want to be anywhere near that weird roster shit you’ve got going on.” 

you frown. “i don’t have a roster..”

“girl.” she huffs a laugh. “i heard that you just tried every boy in that friend group, even the gays.” her brows raise. “now you wanna try being gay.”

“it’d be easier if i was.” you lament, resting your head on your shoulder. “i wouldn’t be so fucked in the head.”

“i agree men are the problem, but don’t say shit like that about yourself around me again.” her scolding you is the last thing you hear as your eyes shut, sleep all too enticing as it pulls you under. “i’ll slap you next time, got it?” 

you’re fading in and out of consciousness by the time the other girls rock up, half-listening to their voices. 

soyeon starts with, “where’s mingi?” 

“i don’t know!” yuqi exclaims, “i asked him what the fuck was going on earlier, why they didn’t come together, and he said to talk to her. i’m assuming they broke up, but she didn’t say anything to us.”

“it’s not really our business.” soyeon replies. “did you see where she came from?” 

“i saw her hugging that slut seonghwa, and then they were just gone.” minnie spits. “he definitely fucked her.” 

“what, with yunho around?” yuqi asks, doubtful. “i don’t think so.” 

soyeon looks to you, taking your state in. she sighs. “anyone wanna babysit with me?” 

“you’re taking her to yours?” 

“well obviously there’s a reason she ran out here when her brother and boyfriend— or, whatever, is still inside.” soyeon says firmly. distantly, you wish you could give her a big, wet kiss for being so smart and thoughtful. “i’m getting her out of here, and i’m going to bed. are you coming with or not?” 

──

you wake up with a jolt, feeling like you’ve been hit by a truck. you kick off the fluffy blankets from your body, soaked in a thick layer of sweat despite the cool air conditioning that hits you. you take in your surroundings: throw pillows around you on the couch, empty plastic bottles littering the coffee table, a bucket on the floor, alongside your dress from the night before… the smell of breakfast in your nose. 

miyeon enters, making a pleasantly surprised noise as she sees you’re awake. there’s a plate of steaming food in her hands, and you almost salivate as you realise she’s bringing it to you. “how’d you sleep?”

you just grumble, your head feeling like it weighs a tonne as you sit up. at least you don’t feel nauseous — you suppose you have all those water bottles to thank, which they must’ve forced you to drink before bed. 

miyeon sets the plate in your lap, sitting by your feet on the couch. “do you remember anything from last night?” 

already digging in, you shake your head. it’s like a chunk’s been carved out of your memory. some small leftover bits remained, though all of it was before you and wooyoung started prowling on the party. you’d totally blacked out. mission success, but at what cost?

soyeon walks out, yawning and scratching her head, wearing nothing but a tank top and boxers low on her hips. you’re confused at the faint flap of butterflies it causes in your stomach. 

“well, you’re gonna need to know.” soyeon adds sternly, sitting herself in an armchair across from you both. “i went through hell taking care of you last night. you can’t pull that shit again.”

“like what?” you ask, shame creeping up the back of your neck. “did we..” 

soyeon pinches the bridge of her nose. “nothing happened with us. i took you home, you vomited in my shower, i had to dress you and force you to drink all those.” you sputter, embarrassed, but she just waves it off. “it’s fine, girl. mimi’s put me through worse.” 

miyeon shrugs. then, they proceed to recount the details of the night; their sources being yuqi and minnie’s eyewitness account of the explosive confrontation with shuhua, as well as hongjoong’s worried texts to soyeon. this is how you find out they were even friends — by him snitching to her that you were homie-hopping in an effort to stop you. 

you can’t believe your ears as they repeat the words that your mouth very much said. you didn’t think you had it in you, but that’s precisely where it came from; your drunk self just had the balls to say what your sober self wouldn’t. 

above all, your heart is in stitches for mingi. he invested so much into you, all for you to prove that it was a waste. that every doubt or insult you’d directed at yourself was true, and nothing he’s done could help it. he couldn’t change you. 

“so what, mingi’s with her now?” you grit out, trying to stifle the sob that almost left you. 

the girls share a glance, then look back to you. soyeon answers, “we.. don’t think so. mingi wouldn’t do that to you.”

“what about shuhua? seems like she’d leap at the chance.”

“don’t say it so certainly. you don’t know.” miyeon shakes her head. “not cool.”

“i do fucking know, because she stole my boyfriend!” you exclaim, incredulous, waving your hands around. “and then the nerve to rub it in? to make it sound like he was cheating on me?” 

soyeon sighs, rubbing her forehead. “yes, shuhua’s being petty about it, but she has a good reason to be upset. she’s our friend too, you can’t just talk shit about her and expect us to let you.” 

“as if she hasn’t already talked about me.” you throw out in the air with a scoff, not even fully serious, but it dawns on you with their grave silence. “oh my fucking god, she has.” 

miyeon rushed to her defence, “she was so heartbroken, okay? we were trying to be there for her—”

“she’s allowed to rant,” soyeon cut in, firmer than miyeon. “but i told her that i didn’t want to hear any more about it after, because it’s wrong to you too.”

“so she’s hated my guts and no one said anything?”

“she loves him too.” soyeon punctuates it with your name, and it manages to rattle you to your core, as if she’s your mother scolding you. “can you, for one second, just see it from her perspective?” 

you let up, nodding, and soyeon sighs before continuing, softening her voice as she speaks again. “mingi was as close to her as we are, maybe more. then this girl she didn’t know existed moves back, and mingi drops her like nothing. because their friendship didn’t matter compared to what he once had with you.” 

you bite your lip, trying to ignore the horrible surge of pride in your chest over mingi’s blatant devotion to you. it should be unhealthy, it probably is unhealthy, but you don’t care. he’s yours and everyone knows it.

“you started dating what, two weeks in? then living at his house? shuhua hasn’t been hearing from him. and it’s not like she could join us when you were around.” soyeon explains. you try to stifle your smirk. “they’ve only been hanging out because you literally told him to. can you understand why she feels the way she does?” 

you gulp down any sarcastic jokes or bitter remarks. soyeon wouldn’t tolerate it for a second, and you know better than to get on her bad side. “i guess.”

“great.” she lets out a big sigh of relief. “i’m sick of this fighting over boys shit. we don’t need another minnie and yuqi situation.” that makes you almost vomit on the spot, remembering how they didn’t defend you last night. how they’ve both fucked your brother. “also, they’re sorry too. you just need to sort your shit out with them yourself.”

“let’s all be friends again!” miyeon adds cheerfully. 

you arch a brow. “um, after you just told me that she’s in love with my man?” 

miyeon looks to soyeon in a panic, who just shrugs. “she loves him as a friend. but, can you blame her?” your face falls, instant anger flashing hot in your chest — undoubtedly your dad’s — before soyeon waves a hand, as if swatting your imminent retort away. “mingi’s a great guy, and you know that means something coming from me. it’s not like she can let go of a feeling she’s held for years.” 

“shuhua knows she needs to get over it.” miyeon meets your eyes, as if making a promise. “and she will. you both just need to give yourselves, and each other, a little more grace. we actually thought you’d get along really well, until all of this...” 

──

“well, if it isn’t the campus communal dick.” minnie sneers over the rim of her plastic cup, while your fingers nearly crush yours. she gives him a once over before looking to you, studying your unexpectedly cold reaction to his presence. certainly the opposite of what everyone would be expecting now. 

seonghwa presses his lips into a firm line, nodding at her in a manner that’s almost out of character for how timid it is. “how are you, minnie?”

“hiv negative. and you?” you whisper her name sharply, and minnie rolls her eyes. “yes, i can give you some privacy with your boytoy. geez.” she throws one last dirty look his way before sauntering out of the hallway, joining the rest of the girls back in the kitchen where you’d all refilled your drinks. minnie had tagged along in finding a bathroom, and you were starting to regret not holding your bladder as seonghwa corners you now. 

“hey, uh..” he looks around, the walls offering a retreat from the spite burning in your eyes. “i haven’t seen you in a while. i wanted to check on you, ask if you’re okay?” 

the last fortnight had been hell on earth. soyeon’s couch had become your safe place since going home was out of the option, and because your overflowing baggage of shit had become too pungent to ignore, soyeon was going to take care of you even if you fought her on it. 

she helped you with assignments to actually turn them in, consoled you through every single breakdown that was a daily occurrence, and mediated your eventual confrontation with minnie and yuqi which almost ended physically. you’ve made up, for the most part — you don’t know if you’ll ever be over it, but you’ve gotta take it on the chin like an adult. on the bright side, your behaviour’s been so good that they’ve accompanied you to yet another party, on the condition that you can only drink under their supervision. you took that deal with no questions asked. 

wooyoung was throwing it at his family’s house — his parents and brothers away on a trip, while he was here trashing the place. they’re loaded, calling a modern villa on the beachfront their home. 

the guest list was a small, exclusive selection of faces you all know, and many that you can’t stand. it was their groups of boys, your group of girls, and karina. the worst possible blunt rotation on earth. you figure that’s exactly what wooyoung was going for though; with another party a mere two weeks after the eventful last, it’s obvious he wants drama, and he’s gonna get it one way or another. 

you’re hoping to sit this one out, being anywhere but at the centre of conflict this time around. you’ve been very mature in ignoring shuhua and mingi thus far, letting them exist in their own world while you try not to think of homicide in yours. none of the girls think they’re anything more than friends, but you’ve been broken up, so it wasn’t your business either way. as long as your belly’s warm with some alcohol, you can deal. 

“i will be soon.” you shake the drink in your hand, the plastic caved in from you strangling it. “so, how long have you been sucking my brother’s dick?” 

seonghwa shuts his eyes with a heavy sigh. “yunho’s one of my best friends. he asked me for a favour, i had to do it. you know how he gets when he’s mad.”

“what exactly was the favour?” you interrogate him, taking a hefty sip of the liquor you’ll be needing in your system. 

“he told us all to keep an eye on you, because you get.. messy.” suspicions confirmed, yet it still hurts like a bitch. “wooyoung and i had to make sure you didn’t leave with mingi.” et tu, woo? 

“wow. what the fuck is going on in your group?” 

“it’s all yunho.” seonghwa says, running a hand down his face. “mingi’s only been speaking to hongjoong, ever since san’s birthday. we don’t hate him, but.. no one knows what’s going on, or what happened with you.” 

that’s for the better, you think, even though they were left to assume you were dating yunho and then cheated with mingi….you don’t need any more noses in your business. you’ve removed yourself from the equation anyways, nothing was stopping the two boys from making up and being best buddies again. 

“so, did he say you had to put me on your lap too, or..” you say like you remember. you wouldn’t have known if hongjoong hadn’t spilled to soyeon. that damn big-lipped twink… 

seonghwa huffs, forehead creasing as his brows pinch together. “no, he didn’t. and i’d be in a coffin if he found out.” your stomach swirls at how sure his tone is, suddenly aware of how close he’s standing, how delicious his cologne smells.. “it was careless, but i was already pissed off that night, and— i do really like you. our short time together was the best part of my night.”

you try not to immediately drop your skirt. you’re too easy for someone that so perfectly fits your type. testing the waters, you mutter, “so what’s stopping you?” 

seonghwa smiles ruefully. he doesn’t have to say it, because you already know. you nod, grieving the loss of what could’ve been the best fuck of both your lives, before accepting it. taking the friend zone in stride. 

“what’s up with you and hongjoong, then?” you ask tentatively, and seonghwa chuckles, crossing his toned arms as he leans against the wall. you mirror him, figuring this might take a while.

“we’ve been in this annoying.. limbo, since freshman year. i fell fast, he fell harder. i was waiting for him to ask me out, to make the first move… i’m still waiting.”

“girl why?” you both laugh over it, and it should be confusing how easily you slip into having a kiki when you were ready to jump his bones not even a minute ago. it’s not though; it feels natural. right. “you couldn’t pay me to wait four years without dick.” 

“i didn’t, that’s the thing!” he admits, and you gasp. “i got sick of holding out for him so i started sleeping around, and joongie haaaates it, but he still won’t say anything.” you dap seonghwa up in solidarity, and he stops you just short of pulling away, asking a gentle “can i?” that you’re already accepting before he finishes. his arms wrap around you in a hug as he whispers, “i’m glad we’ve met.”

as you’re raising your mind back out of the gutter, a shrill voice rings through the walls and has you both flinching apart: wooyoung, calling upon all his guests to come to him. you and seonghwa share a look that smells trouble, before nodding and walking off together. 

everyone emerges from different corners to gather in the massive open space that was the living room: high ceiling, warm lighting, fluffy carpets and plush lounges, a flatscreen tv decked-out with speakers and consoles that all cost more money than you’d ever see in your life. the humble host stood in the centre, freshly-dyed blood-red hair matching his sweater, printed with the words ‘she’s got me by the balls’. 

you and seonghwa earn a few curious glances as you walk out together, jongho outright asking the senior where he was. neither of you can get a word out in defence before wooyoung’s clapping his hands, commanding the room’s attention. 

“isn’t this so much better than splitting off into little groups.” he states, clearly annoyed the party isn’t going how he hoped. “let’s play a game, shall we? truth or dare.” the collective less-than-enthusiatic reaction only spurs wooyoung on, his smile reading mischief. “no limits, no backing out. you have to do or answer whatever it is, or else you drink this.” he walks over to the coffee table, holding up an unlabelled bottle of dark-coloured liquor. “grandpa jung’s homemade moonshine.” 

“i’m not drinking that shit.” karina comments from where she’s hanging onto yunho’s side. you side-eye seonghwa, and he does it right back. 

“well then you can get out of my house, how about that?” wooyoung retorts, pointing to the door, and any complaints were sucked out of the house. the first thing you can all manage to agree on, is that leaving and risk being shit-talked was a fate worse than drinking the illustrious moonshine. “don’t pussy out, and you won’t have to drink it, simple. sounds good? great. now let’s start.”

at his demand, you all situate yourselves in a circle around the coffee table, the moonshine sitting there ominously as wooyoung elects mingi to start. he’d taken the floor, shuhua choosing to join him, while the rest of you were on couches or in chairs. his head lifts, brows flipped over in surprise, as his eyes sweep the faces in the circle. mingi completely ignores his left, where his ex best friend had found himself, and you can see something inside him crack as he accidentally locks eyes with you — seonghwa’s arm slung over your shoulders. 

mingi moves on, eventually asking, “hongjoong, truth or dare?” 

“uh.. truth.” 

seonghwa shifts at your side, and you check on him with a tilt of your head, getting a nod in response. you face forward, catching mingi’s eyes on you once again before they’re darting away. 

“u-um.. where do you see yourself after graduation?” 

hongjoong’s face brightens. “making music, hopefully.” 

he proceeds to go on a tangent about an opportunity he’s scored for himself, before wooyoung’s cutting him off with a, “booooring!” the senior glares at him, but it does nothing to deter him. “your turn, shuhua. chop chop.” 

shuhua replies right back, “truth or dare?” 

“truth.” wooyoung answers, much to everyone’s surprise. “make it dirty.”

shuhua thinks for a moment, meeting yuqi’s eyes before getting the idea. “out of everyone here, who would you invite for a threesome?” 

wooyoung says your name without missing a beat, and the room erupts into oohs and ahhs. you keep your eyes away from the two giants; one glaring behind the girlfriend sitting in his lap, while the other pulls his knees to his chest from his spot on the floor and shrinks into himself, shuhua murmuring what must be an apology. 

“i wanna know what had soobin so hooked,” wooyoung elaborates without even being prompted. he cuts your ex a glance, then your brother. “sorry, yuyu.” 

it’s not lost on you, the fact that he chose not to acknowledge mingi. san grips his boyfriend’s waist tighter, as if warning him to play nice. it’s pretty clear who wooyoung’s sided with in the whole yunho versus mingi drama. 

riding on the bold tone that shuhua set and his own thirst for drama, wooyoung looks at you. “truth or dare, sweetie?” you make the mistake of answering dare, since he smiles like a madman before following up with, “swap places with karina.”

karina protests instantly and loudly from her spot on yunho’s lap, while your girls are just as quick to have your back and snap at her; that she’s making it weird, that you’re family and it’s not that deep. it’s kinda funny how ironic it is. it’s kinda fucking sad. 

“karina, it’s just a game. don’t take it so seriously. if you wanna leave, by all means.” wooyoung gestures to the door, waiting for her to get up and make a choice. yunho even raises himself from the chair to slide her off, and she scoffs, shooting him a ‘i’m bringing this up later’ glare before flipping her hair over her shoulder and stomping around the coffee table, scowling in front of you and seonghwa. 

you stand reluctantly, karina knocking shoulders with you as she drops into your seat. all eyes are on you as you walk over to yunho, and he smiles softly up at you, holding out a hand for you to take. you don’t — making sure your dress covers your ass before tepidly sitting on the edge of his knees. you’re not close to drunk enough for this. 

not when his fingers find either side of your waist, inching closer to the middle as the game moves onto san’s turn. you’re not listening to what he asks yeosang as yunho’s hands slide over your stomach, and you’re still not when it moves to seonghwa’s turn, yunho pulling you in until your back meets his chest. all you can focus on is the heat of him, the soft sigh he lets out near your ear, the fingers dropping into your lap and toying with the edge of your dress — and the game reaches karina before you know it. 

her voice asking mingi is what has you tuning back in, revenge aflame in her eyes as he answers truth. “when’s the last time you fucked shuhua?”

you seethe, body nearly trembling from adrenaline, wanting so badly to get up and slap the smirk off her face. yunho must sense it, since he holds you a little tighter, as if stopping you from following through on it. 

mingi’s adam’s apple bobs in a harsh gulp. he looks to the floor, answering in nothing but a murmur, “january.” 

mere months before you moved back. he told you he had no luck, that he was single, and yet she had him first. you already suspected it, you already knew it was coming and it still shatters your fucking heart, twice over with how all your friends and his are here to bear witness. mingi can’t bring himself to confront the look you’re sending him; not with yunho’s satisfied smirk over your shoulder. 

awkwardly, it moves on to yeosang next to her, who stammers through daring yuqi to read out the last text she sent. her face goes white as a sheet as she checks her phone, contrasting the red blooming on her cheeks as she reads out loud: “pray for me to get eiffel towered tonight.” wooyoung’s ears perk up, and the game moves on. 

jongho asks soyeon what her body count is, and when she answers “five”, you catch yeosang counting the heads of the girls in your group. you’d laugh if you weren’t still on the verge of tears. then it’s hongjoong’s turn, who dares san to skull a whole cup of vodka. he takes it in stride, completes it with flair, and rips his shirt off over his head with a roar.  

soyeon, noting that karina hasn’t stopped trying  to explode you with her mind since you sat down, dares her to swap places with you again so she stops sulking. yunho rebuts, saying that’s unfair because it means your turn gets skipped, but you can’t have accepted it and stood from his lap quicker. he doesn’t even spare a glance to his girlfriend as she plops herself back down, his eyes tracking you as you lean back into seonghwa’s outstretched arm. 

minnie, arching a brow at the pda happening, uses her turn to ask seonghwa, “how often do you two fuck?”

the senior eyes the moonshine, his first instinct being to protect your honour, but you give him the okay with a hand on his shoulder and a nod. 

“we don’t.” he answers with a smile, setting the room off. you lean into his side instinctively, seeking shelter from their shocked reactions. you may as well have ‘SLUT’ written across your forehead in sharpie with how they loudly announce their assumptions that you were sleeping together. the boys mingi calls his friends, the girls you call yours — none of them expected any better from you. 

moving on to yuqi, she has a sparkle of mischief in her eye as she asks hongjoong. he timidly answers dare, and yuqi takes a big inhale as if trying not to squeal as she says, “give seonghwa the big, sloppy kiss he’s been waiting for.” 

amidst all the chaos that befalls the room, seonghwa only looks to you, gauging your reaction. you know how it must look on the outside — if you’re not fucking, then what is he doing with you? — but you appreciate seonghwa. if you didn’t have him by your side, you probably would’ve started a fight with one of your two boys, or something even worse. it’s why you smile, and give him the okay. 

seonghwa stands, walking to the opposite end of the couch where hongjoong sat, beet red and looking at you both with wide, lost eyes. jongho scooches away to make room as seonghwa places his knee beside hongjoong’s thigh. he leans down, his other knee mirroring the first as he props himself over hongjoong’s lap, the brunette sinking further into the couch and ripping his fingers into the cushions. 

you watch seonghwa murmur something to hongjoong, meant for his ears only, before he gains the confidence to surge forward and capture seonghwa’s lips in a kiss. the room erupts into cheers and claps for them; hongjoong grasping at his waist, seonghwa sitting in his lap, their tongues tangling as they kiss sloppily, loudly. you think you finally understand yuqi’s obsession with having a threesome. 

after turning everyone else into their cucks, seonghwa’s the one to pull away, wiping the saliva from his chin as he stands on wobbly knees. you watch him stiffly walk back to your side, crossing his legs as he sits down; while hongjoong brings his knees up, cussing at jongho who laughs at his obvious boner. 

“wooh,” wooyoung exhales, grabbing a throw pillow to shamelessly cover his lap. “i feel like i gotta take a pregnancy test after that.” 

soyeon softly nudges miyeon’s side, announcing that it’s her turn, snapping the room out of its suddenly sexually tense energy. 

since she was already looking in that direction, miyeon says your name and asks you. you answer truth, and she giggles, “ah.. i don’t have anything…” she looks to wooyoung, and you see the moment the question pops into her head. you wish you could’ve warned her against it as she asks, “oh! have you ever had a pregnancy scare?”

minnie and yuqi whip their heads to her, profusely whispering and shaking their heads, trying to communicate that this was not a good topic for you. miyeon’s too stunned to backpedal, stuttering while the rest of the room focuses twice as much as before over the fact you didn’t immediately deny it. 

if looks could kill, yunho and mingi’s combined would have you in millions of tiny pieces all over the floor. neither of them knew about it. 

“yeah.” you say, succinct. it didn’t have to be anything more than that. 

but with your luck, the turn passes to karina — and when her gaze doesn’t stray from you, lip curling with something sinister, you can feel your stomach sinking before she even utters your name. 

“truth or dare?” 

you know exactly what’s coming if you say truth. she’s going to follow up on that question, force you to elaborate and humiliate yourself in front of everyone. with how she’s been watching her boyfriend and your ex like a hawk, she’d have to be blind to miss how their demeanours changed drastically. something happened there, between you three, and she’s eager to sink her nails in to pick it out. you won’t give her that satisfaction. 

glaring, you mutter, “dare.” 

karina’s face doesn’t falter one bit as she says, “i dare you to tell us who the father was.” 

your girls are shooting out of their seats and yelling at her before you can even react. fingers and curses fly everywhere as minnie and yuqi pop off on her, while some of the boys try to intervene or even just understand the situation. 

“karina, that’s not a proper dare.” wooyoung interjects over the noise. 

“don’t take it so seriously, it’s just a game.” she mocks him with his own words, delivered like a slap across the face. “if she doesn’t do it, she has to leave, no?” 

all eyes were back on you now. all ears were waiting for you to say mingi. the obvious answer, the only answer, should’ve been mingi. 

but when you press your lips into a firm line, eyeing the moonshine on the coffee table, a deafening silence cloaks the room as you reach out and grab it. 

you uncap the bottle, taking an eager swig of the liquor, gulping pure acid as it burns your entire mouth, searing down your throat and spreading through your chest. it’s the worst thing you’ve ever fucking tasted.

the atmosphere shifts irrevocably after that. minnie and yuqi — who had talked you out of insanity throughout the scare, who assumed it was obviously him that did it — staring at you and each other with unbelieving eyes. 

mingi says nothing as he gets up and leaves, the door slamming as it hits the wall on his way out. you couldn’t bring yourself to look at his face. you’ve got no idea what he must be thinking, and you want to keep it that way. shuhua stands and follows after him without a word, which makes you laugh out loud, unapologetic. you think you catch your friends’ hard glares in your peripheral, but you think you don’t give a fuck either. 

bile rises in your throat suddenly, vomit threatening to topple over, and you don’t even realise you’re tilting with it until firm hands are grabbing you. from the front, and from the back.

“i’ve got her.” comes yunho’s deep, almost angry voice. the hands on your back fall away, which must belong to seonghwa. “why’d you drink that, silly?” 

you look down at him kneeling before you, into the eyes of the man responsible. the name you refused to utter in front of everyone in favour of drinking literal poison. 

it was yunho. 

or, at least, would have been, if you were actually pregnant. you weren’t, thank every fucking god there is. 

it had come about during a casual conversation with your girls about birth control. yuqi asked you and minnie for advice, and one thing after another, you realised you hadn’t gotten your period for close to a month. panicking ensued. 

a quick google search told you that even if you’ve taken plan b, you can have unprotected sex that same day and still get pregnant. although yunho did wear a condom, your panicked brain scrambled to the worst conclusions. perhaps he’d torn a hole in the rubber, or pushed some of his cum back inside with his finger. you didn’t know what he was willing to do anymore. babytrapping you so you’d have no choice but to stay with him? yeah, sounds just like your sweet brother. 

after weeks of horrifying confusion, having to hide what was going on from patient, caring mingi who could tell something was deeply wrong… you had finally gotten your period, promptly began taking birth control, and life moved on. 

until this moment. 

wooyoung breaks the staggering silence by looking to his now empty left side and announcing, “looks like it’s my turn again.”

the room groans in unison, wishing for this game to be a wrap already. it lost its fun long ago — if you asked your girls, when karina first opened her mouth. 

since you were practically slumped onto him, yunho had managed to slide you off the couch and into his lap on the floor. wooyoung blatantly stares at the pair of step-siblings too close for comfort. he gulps, scanning the circle for a victim, while his eyes keep flitting to the door like your angry titan ex may come storming back in at any moment. 

he looks at the moonshine, and then karina, intentions displayed so obviously across his face as if written in neon lights. he opens his mouth, giving and receiving a stare full of daggers to his new bestie, asking the question you’re all waiting for. 

“yunho, truth or dare?” 

he singlehandedly catches the room off-guard. any other person would probably avoid your little corner with yunho right now, after everything that silently went down with the last question. of course, this is mister shit stirrer you’re referring to, who is still the host of the party. that display between you three has probably only ignited his appetite for even more drama. 

yunho’s hold tightens around you under everyone’s stares. despite it all, despite him, you feel safer. it’s just how your body’s trained to react. you don’t know if it’ll ever unlearn the comfort that his touch brings. 

he presses his lips together, potentially holding back some harsh words against a friend who has very loudly taken his side against mingi. he finally answers, “dare.”

wooyoung smirks. you all know before he speaks that it can’t be anything good. 

“kiss the prettiest girl in the room.” 

you instantly look up at your brother, expecting him to let go; yet all air is sucked from the room when yunho tilts his head and plants a kiss on your cheek. 

there’s a single second of silent disbelief — before karina’s shooting up from her seat, jamming a finger like a knife at you both. “you’re both fucking shameless!” she’s met with furious shouts right back, but it’s not enough to silence her. “what, we’re all thinking it! just because you’re all too pussy to say anything doesn’t make you better than me!” 

minnie yells at her to shut the fuck up, miyeon holding her arm like the leash of a barking dog about to bite. wooyoung has stars in his eyes, his dare playing out exactly as he had hoped. san’s lips are pursed from his side, disappointed in him for deliberately causing this. yunho eases you up, trying to quietly usher you out — as if the attention isn’t solely on you both right now. 

“see! none of you can tell me that shit is normal!” karina laughs, straight from her chest, pointing at you both again. “like are we kidding? they’re weird!” 

“i bet you still beg him to fuck you.” you bite back, your knees almost giving out if it weren’t for yunho keeping you standing upright. 

she scoffs, mouth curling down for a fraction of a second before the corners are rising up again, her snake eyes honing in on you. she unlatches her jaw, and spews straight venom. “‘cause he’s too busy fucking you, right?” 

the world tilts. literally, it tilts, as you lose your footing and sway in yunho’s arms, a violent lurch in your stomach sending you sideways. acid claws up your throat, burning out any response you could’ve hoped to get out. 

“you’re disgusting.” you think you hear someone say in your defence, seonghwa maybe. karina’s voice comes out with the start of a comeback before a loud slap cuts through the room. your head whips up at the sound of screaming, which you quickly realise is karina, being pulled by her long, shiny hair in soyeon’s hands. 

the room breaks out into a riot — soyeon landing hits to karina’s head, everyone shoving and yelling at everyone — while yunho takes the chance to slip out of the room with you. he keeps you upright as he drags you along, all the way up the stairs until he’s leading you into a bedroom. 

yunho sits you on the edge of the bed, one hand holding your arm to keep you from folding as the other offers a cup of water. you have no idea where or when he got that. “drink. all of it.” 

you’re nonresponsive, and yunho settles on grabbing your hair to tilt your head back, tipping the water into your mouth himself. he’s lucky you’re not gone enough to choke; you only had one drink, it’s just the moonshine that fucked you up. you feel more sick than tipsy. 

once he empties it, he tosses the cup to the floor, dragging a hand through his hair as he regards you for a long moment. eventually, he releases a sigh. 

“baby, we gotta talk about it.”

you try to writhe away, but he’s stronger than you are. “there’s nothing.”

“it was me, right? you thought it was me?” his eyes study your face wildly, and though you try to school it, obviously you can’t hide anything from your insane fucking brother. “holy shit.” his hand tightens around your arm to the point it hurts, and he can barely restrain his temper from completely exploding as he exclaims, “you thought you were pregnant with my kid, that’s not fucking nothing!” 

you give him an attitude right back, “obviously i’m not, so it doesn’t matter.” 

“it does matter. fuck, baby, it matters more than anything.” yunho kneels on the floor before you, holding your hands in his, love pouring from his eyes. “what would you have done, if you were?” 

“what do you want me to say?” his jaw ticks at the utter disgust in your tone. “no, i wouldn’t have kept my stepbrother’s child then get disowned by everyone, actually.” 

“it wouldn’t be like that.” he strokes your hand, reassuring you, yet it all just stings like acid. “our parents love us. you and i are more than—”

“—you saw that out there!” you cut in, pointing five fingers to the door. “the looks on their faces when karina called us out? they think it’s weird too, yunho. it is fucking weird. also, our parents love you. she’s your mother before she’s mine, and my father barely even remembers i’m his.” you laugh bitterly, blowing out a breath through your nose. “if that.. happened, he’d probably say i came on to you. that i’m selfish for ‘ruining the family’.” 

“do you seriously care what that man thinks?” yunho seethes with a visceral hatred for your father. he doesn’t ever let it show, but you knew of its existence. that man betrayed his mother and stole you from him. he might hate your father more than you do. “he can’t say shit to me or eomma. she would still love us, you know she would. she’d be so happy to be a grandm—”

“eugh, stop, stop!” you exclaim. the thought genuinely has you almost throwing up again. “i don’t want any of that! i think i’d rather kill myself—”

you gasp as yunho pushes you back on the bed, the sudden movement making your head spin. his large frame cages you in as he climbs on top of you within the next second. face hovering over yours, he mutters, “would it really be so fucking bad to love me back?” 

you gulp, trying to not let the proximity affect you in all the ways it already is. without remorse, you murmur, “you know i only thought i was pregnant because i can’t trust you? i didn’t know if you’d done it on purpose, if you’d really go that far, and i couldn’t tell a fucking soul. i drove myself insane for weeks. you did that to me.” 

yunho’s lips press together, eyes dark as they bore into you, sending a chill racing up your spine that almost has your back arching. he’s pissed. you know he won’t do shit, or anything he hasn’t already done before, yet you can’t help but hold your breath as you wait for his reaction. 

a gasp slips as his fingers ghost over your jaw, drawing up to caress the side of your face, reverent in its gentleness. you know he’s doing it with a purpose, you know he’s luring you in with soft touches that promise more, and yet it’s still working. you miss being taken care of, being loved, being touched. you know he knows this too. 

“you want to get rid of me?” yunho whispers, his breath fanning your lips, thumb following as it swipes your chin. “you want me to leave, to never speak to you again? just say the word.” he offers, his voice deep and scarily sincere. “i won’t argue. i’ll be out of your life for good, i promise you. tell me to go, and i will.” 

he means it. he could and would do it without a second thought, and just that realisation dawning, has heat swelling in your chest and rising to your face. you’ve practically pleaded yunho for this, trying to bury what you did together in the past, and yet you haven’t been able to stomach doing your part. you couldn’t stand seeing him with a girl that wasn’t you, you couldn’t stay happy with mingi and move on. you thought you wanted this. why don’t you want this?

tears burn the corner of your eyes as you try to imagine a life where he’s not in it. after everything that’s happened, everyone that’s been hurt, it’d all be a waste if you and yunho’s bond never recovered. you’re sick of arguing, of hating yourself, of being tired of everything every fucking day. you just want your brother. you want him to hold you and tell you it’ll all be okay. you want him to love you so hard you forget anything else exists. you’ve both come this far in efforts to get over it on your own and failed — isn’t the only option left to turn to each other? 

yunho drags a thumb under your eye, wiping a tear clumped there, the tender touch heating up your cheeks. he holds your gaze as he brings it to his mouth, closing his lips around the tip of his thumb, and the fire spreads all the way down to your lower belly, roaring for a different kind of touch. your thighs press on instinct as the fervour oozes through your blood. it’s been a long, really fucking long time since you’ve gotten any. 

“is that what you want?” he asks in a whisper, as if speaking to a frightened animal. his hand returns to your face, stroking your cheeks and petting your hair. taming you. “hm? isn’t that what you told me?” his lips can’t help but curl into the slightest grin, the glint in his eyes mocking your timid state. you can feel how he’s memorising this in real time, as potentially the last time he’ll ever have you under him again. 

you can’t say the words. you can’t bring yourself to lose him the way you thought you needed to. he’s your best friend, your only brother, your yunho. and while you’ve been losing your mind trying to let him go, he’s still only ever been all about you. the prospect of yunho actually giving up on you, of walking out of your life for good, is worth more than any dignity you thought you held for yourself. 

yunho shifts above you, maybe intending to get up and make good on the answer your silence implies, yet you stop him with fingers balled in the front of his shirt. “please don’t.” your voice is strained, looking at his pinched brows and slight pout through your blurry vision. “i don’t want to lose you again.” you admit, his hand cupping over your fingers where they’re trembling in the shirt. “it almost killed me.”

“baby, not having you will kill me.”

you shut your eyes so you don’t have to confront his reaction as you surrender, barely above a whisper, “you can have it.” he gasps quietly above, silent and still from disbelief. “just.. never leave me. please.”

his warmth smothers your face; his palms holding either cheek, tip of his nose bumping yours, breath blowing onto your lips as he leans in. your lashes flutter open, breathing forgotten as his eyes meet yours. deep brown eclipsed in black, pupils dilated to the brim of his irises as they take your expression in; so worried, for what he’ll do, and what you’ll do back. 

within a sharp inhale, yunho mutters back, “i’d rather die.” before surging forward to capture your lips with his. the kiss is soft, sweet for all of one second, before you’re pressing back and snapping his last thread of restraint. 

it’s all desperation and haste, the way yunho parts your lips with his own, teeth knacking and spit mixing as his tongue shoves in. he licks into your mouth hard, letting out a helpless groan at the taste of you, kissing you more like he’s trying consume you. you let him take what he needs to, laying there pliantly as his tongue covers every corner of your mouth, delving so deep that you nearly gag. 

it’s obvious how much he’s missed you. the way his body presses yours into the mattress, firm and heavy, his thighs nudging your knees apart to slot himself in the space between. you can’t help but whine at the pressure of his stomach on your crotch, feeling his smile slotting against your mouth as he kisses you. 

it’s all so messy; your tongues tangling, drool in the corner of your lips, your hands tugging at his hair, his squeezing your sides. your underwear soiled through from his tensed stomach, his pants sporting a wet patch where he ruts against your thigh. you could almost think he’s pent up, unleashing energy kept bottled away, yet you’d be dumb to think so, considering the whole other girl he has at his disposal. 

still bitter over it, you nip at his tongue, yunho pulling back with a hiss. you watch as his mouth swishes around, his eyes wild as he tastes the faintest hint of blood. his hand snatches your jaw in a firm grip, fingers digging into your cheeks until your lips pop open with a wince. yunho spits, directly onto your tongue, chasing it with his own as he kisses you again, even rougher than before. you’re so overwhelmed by it all, barely keeping up as his fingers slide down to your throat, grasping with just enough pressure to make your head light. you let out a moan in shock, and again when his boner jabs your thigh with a particularly hard rut. 

you gulp, feeling the size of him, already painfully erect where he rubs it against your leg. yunho’s mouth comes off yours with a wet smack, his eyes studying your face as his free hand gently cups over your breast, then kneading the flesh when you don’t immediately swat at him. instead, you nod, unprepared for the way he tugs the top of your dress down. braless, he pulls the fabric beneath your breasts, muttering a cuss at the sight before delving down to take a nipple into his mouth. you cry for him, way too sensitive for your own good after an involuntary dry spell, his tongue swirling and flicking the bud. 

the hand still around your neck keeps you pinned to the mattress, no choice but to squirm under his weight as his mouth assaults your nipples, switching between each breast to suck until he’s sure he’s left a mark. he shifts above you, repositioning his hips to align with yours, his cock pressing into the thin, sticky fabric covering your pussy. you moan loudly, shamelessly, spurring him on to keep lapping at your nipples and grinding your crotches together. it feels too fucking good, to the point you almost want him to stop with how he’s overwhelming your body. you could cum, this soon. 

it’s a contrast to last time — how you tried to defy him, how he was teasing with a point to prove — the way you give and he takes without question. your bodies finding a rhythm, a familiarity between you. it’s dangerous, you could (and arguably did) get addicted to this. it’s exactly why you shouldn’t have it, if not for the stepbrother part alone. but the hickeys littering your breasts was solid proof that neither of you gave a fuck. the heat coiling low in your belly, your throbbing clit at the fabric rubbing it raw, was proof that you were always going to want this, whether you fought your body on it or not. 

you grab his shoulder, teetering on the edge of release, yet it’s quickly pulled from under your feet as yunho’s body tilts away. he leaves one last kiss on your nipple, glistening with spit, before he pulls back and flips the skirt of your dress up. cool air hits the damp spot on your panties, your legs nearly shutting under the intensity of yunho’s eyes honed in on the middle. you can see the moment a switch flips in his brain, both hands grabbing your waist as he sits up, then pulling you down with him as he lays back. 

“wait—” you say, acutely aware of your whereabouts: some random bedroom that probably belongs to wooyoung’s brothers. “we can’t, not here,”

“it’s my room for the night.” yunho says simply as he sits you on his chest, silencing any protests as he lifts your ass with one hand to give the other access to pull your panties to the side. his tongue runs over his lips, teeth biting down into the plush before releasing it with a sigh. you shiver as his fingers trace your folds, coating the tips in your sticky arousal, his brows furrowing ever so slightly when you clench around nothing. “you’re the prettiest girl in the world, baby.” 

“you’re just saying that.” you murmur, sucking in a breath as his thumb ghosts over your clit. 

his eyes flick up to yours, not a hint of insincerity in them, which is rare for someone who lies like it’s breathing. “i mean it. i’ve always thought so.” his lip curls when your hips wriggle, trying to get his fingers where you want them. “why else would i fall for you, so young?” 

“‘cause you were horny?” you huff, only half meaning it, yet you start to regret it with the way his face deadpans, fingers stilling on your inner thigh.

“do you understand that’s not all you are to me?” he utters, his gaze so intense you almost can’t hold it. “you’re my baby, my favourite girl. and i love you.” 

you don’t like where this is going. your whole pussy’s on display and yet you feel even more naked with his confessions. just the mere concept of his love starting out pure, with the attraction happening as a result. he loves you, really loves you, so much that he started to want you too, even when he shouldn’t. there’s also the fact that you know he’s pouring his heart out like this because he’s luring you in, enticing you to fall into this limerence with him. 

caught up in your own thoughts, yunho takes you by surprise as he pushes you forward, right until his mouth meets your pussy. you let out a yelp, your body tipping forward, yet he holds you upright with a hand closed around your bare breast, the other gripping your thigh to keep you in place as his tongue ravages you. the noise is obscene, loud slurping and squelching, more your arousal than his spit. his lips seal around your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue, and it’s all too much too fast — your vision whiting out as pleasure seizes your body. 

yunho doesn’t slow down for a second as you suddenly cum, fingers twisting in his hair as an anchor, his mouth merciless as your arousal gushes. you can’t even ride it out, but rather endure it as the bliss pushes into oversensitivity, your next release building immediately after with how yunho just holds you down by your thigh and keeps going. 

he can’t decide where he wants his mouth more; switching between licking through your folds, flicking over your clit, or burying his tongue into your hole. all while his fingers pinch and roll your nipple, sending shocks of pleasure straight to your pussy. you’re done, you’re spent already, but you know he’s going to pull another orgasm out of you, by force if he must. the smirk you’re sitting on says it all, his palm on your thigh continuing to push you down onto his face. 

at your attention, his hand leaves your breast to snake down, his mouth moving to your clit to allow two fingers to slip into your hole. your mouth drops open in a moan at the feeling of being filled, eyes screwing shut when yunho immediately curls them, finding your g-spot from memory. he targets it, fucking his fingers into the spot over and over, smiling as he makes out with your clit and watches you come undone on top of him. each motion is precise, he knows exactly where to stimulate, and it’s too much. your pussy burns from the overstim, yet you can’t help but weakly hump his face, desperate for the release racing up your spine. 

yunho pushes you to it with the moan that rumbles on your clit, your second orgasm slamming into you as you’re overcome with trembles above him, yunho’s tongue licking and fingers curling the whole way through it. on the tail end, you’re almost worried he’ll go for a third with how he doesn’t slow down, so you tighten your fists in his dark locks, pulling until you feel hair about to rip before he finally lets go of you. 

he’s smiling like a maniac as he sits up, wrapping his arms around your middle to take you with him as he lays you flat against the bed. your eyes widen as he brings your hand back to his hair, closing his palm over yours to guide you to pull again, his lips smothering yours in a helpless kiss. you taste yourself on his tongue, mixing with the whimper he lets out as he humps his clothed boner against your bare pussy, like he’s too caught up in wanting to be inside you that he can’t be bothered to get undressed. 

you’re throbbing over the noises he’s making into the kiss, so unlike him with how.. pathetic they sound — until you realise that he’s doing it on purpose. he’s fucking mimicking the types of guys you like to go after, all whiney and desperate, which is almost a mockery with how he’s making you submit to him. 

it reminds you too much of someone you can’t afford to remember right now, and you find yourself shoving at yunho before you can think it. it doesn’t deter him, even when you stop kissing him back, he just kisses you harder — egging you on to tug at his hair and hurt him, only causing more of his fake fucking whimpers to resound down your throat. you slap the side of his face, trying to knee his crotch where it still grinds into you, until yunho finally pulls away chuckling. 

“what do you think you’re doing, hm?” he smirks, his hand finding your throat again, not pressing but.. there, as a reminder. he dips his face low, tongue darting out to run over your lips, letting out a deep snicker into your mouth. “fucking brat.” you do not expect the way your body reacts to the word, your pussy clenching around thin air, nor the way his teeth nip at your lower lip, teasing a kiss that you suddenly find yourself aching for. “who do you think is in control here?” it’s you, you both know it’s you who determines this, and yet you’re nothing but putty in yunho’s hands, hanging on to his every word. “i get you off twice, but now you suddenly wanna stop? you think you’re too good to fuck me? even though you’ll throw yourself at all my friends?” 

“shut up.” you bite back, hurt flashing in your chest, quickly surrendered at the flicker of genuine rage in his eye. it has your pussy twitching, eager for him to take it out on you, even though you were just recoiling, as if you’d selfishly leave him high and dry. and despite cumming twice, you wouldn’t be any better off than him if it stopped here. you want him inside you, just as much as him. you want him to fuck you the way he did before, where all you could think was yunho. he’s good at this, and you want it bad. haven’t stopped wanting it bad, ever since the first taste. 

“you said i can have it,” yunho reminds you, fingers slightly pressing into the sides of your neck, your breath breaking off into a whimper. “so it’s mine.” he kisses you, startlingly gentle. “let me take care of you, baby.” 

you’re so close to giving in, right until a thought occurs to you, spite rising in your throat. “you’re not fucking me raw.” you snap, petty over the first time when he wore a condom just to rip it off and give you backshots anyways. “i’m not catching something from karina.”

“you won’t.” he replies without missing a beat. 

you scoff. “what do you—?” oh. your lip curls at the realisation, staring directly into his eyes, daring him to look away. “you never fucked her. did you?” 

yunho’s jaw ticks, but he’s able to keep his face impassive to your glaring pride. “no, i didn’t want to. that’s what you wanna hear, right?” 

“bullshit.” you call immediately, and yunho just smirks. caught.

“fine.” he looks at you through hooded eyes, licking his lips without an ounce of shame. “i couldn’t get it up.” 

he kisses you, and you can’t help the way your heart soars out of your chest. he tried to move on, he tried to force himself to have another girl, and he couldn’t. not after having you. it’s fucked up, but nothing’s ever made you feel so confident. it’s all the motive you need to kiss him back, humming in delight as he works his pants down, all impatient movement as he lines his cock up with your sopping hole. briefly, you wonder why he didn’t push for a condom, though you suspect it’s because he knows damn well you haven’t been with anyone in a while, ever since you’ve been running around single and desperate to mingle. 

yunho sighs as his tip nudges your wet heat, his hands splaying on your inner thighs to spread your legs. almost buzzing with anticipation, you let out a disappointed whine as his hips thrust up, his length sliding through your folds. 

“yunho.” you nearly sigh, too eager for his teasing. 

he cocks his head at you, hips stilling. “is that how you ask?” 

you do sigh this time, and he tuts at you, pulling his hips back. you frown at the loss of his heat, and despite yourself, give in. “please.”

he hums in approval, lining his tip back up, sliding his palms under your ass. “try again.” 

“please, yuyu.” 

he lets out a puff of air, not quite a gasp, before his pelvis snaps and drives his cock all the way in one movement. you sob out as he fills you to the hilt and then some, still as unprepared for his size as you were the first time as his tip presses your cervix. he doesn’t pause for long, pulling out until only the tip’s left in before ramming forward again, spearing you on every inch. 

“fuck. still feel so fucking good, baby.” he praises, breathless, slowly grinding forward just to feel your pussy flutter and adjust around him. you whine, trying to get him to pull out, the fit being way too tight even with how a wet squelching punctuated his movements. he takes the hint, sliding himself out, the palms on your ass grabbing your thighs. “my good girl.”

he pries your thighs as far apart as they go, watching your pussy sucking him in right before he’s slamming the rest of his length back into you. curses laced with praises tumble from yunho’s lips as he fucks you, his hips moving rapidly and slapping against your ass. his hands travel to your knees, pushing your legs back and folding you in on yourself, your ankles to your ears. 

you’re embarrassingly loud at the new angle, his cock fucking you as deep as possible, like he’s trying to mold your insides to him. his grueling pace doesn’t falter once, and you struggle to catch your breaths between each moan, eyes rolling back into your head with each ram of his tip against your g-spot. 

“good, baby. you’re doing so good f’me.” you don’t even realise how wrecked he sounds over your own cries, how his cock pulses violently over your own pussy clenching around him. “fuck, fuck, give me another?” he pleads, obnoxiously whiney, bringing a hand down to rub circles on your clit with his thumb. “yeah, you can. fuckin’ easy.”

you’re too out of it to register the way he talks down on you, only his whimpers reaching your ears, causing you to clamp down on his cock. he smirks as he feels the effect of his noises, quite literally pulsing around him as he rubs your bundle of nerves into a third orgasm, right along with his own. 

you’re gripping him so tight he can’t pull out, barely even moving as he fucks you with quick little snaps of his hips, rutting directly into the spot that has you seeing stars. every nerve end on fire, you only manage a gasp as you cum again, yunho following right after as he grits out a hoarse “good fuckin’ girl.” 

yunho’s frame fully presses you into the bed, shoving his cock in until your cervix lights up with hot pressure, his release dribbling into the deepest part of you. your heart grips in fear for a split second as he shudders and moans above you, months-old suspicions and anxiety flooding back all at once until you remember you’re on birth control. he can’t get you pregnant, you remind yourself. and yet, you’ve never forgotten that fact before — not with your ex. 

only yunho could make you feel like this. 

that tragic fucking realisation has you recoiling, the comfort his warmth brought now felt like crushing pressure. he’s gone limp enough that you’re able to guide him to lay down beside you, his cum seeping down your legs as you stand from the bed on wobbly legs. yunho watches you with half-lidded eyes, seemingly in no rush to stop you as you grab a shirt from the floor and wipe the mess from between your legs. 

you toss the soiled garment into the corner, tugging your dress into place, when yunho asks from behind, “where are you going?” his tone serious, nearly a warning. 

you force a smile onto your face before you throw him a look over your shoulder, hoping your eyes aren’t completely empty as you joke, “you already gave me a pregnancy scare once, i’m not getting a uti too.” 

you hear his laughter as you slip out of the door and shut it, the sudden silence feeling too heavy to breathe in. you try to trudge through it, to make your way to the bathroom, and yet you nearly collapse in the middle of the hall. your hands tremble as you hold yourself, the gravity of what you’ve done twice now crashing over you. in those few seconds, you’ve never felt so alone. 

there’s an approaching click-clack on the floorboards, and you tip your teary eyes up to be met with the worst possible company right now; karina as she rounds the corner. she’s adjusting her dress on herself, makeup smudged, that shiny head of hair messy. she stops when she notices you, disheveled and guilty, the look in her eye sharpening as she crosses her arms. there’s a quiet recognition between you two girls — of what you’ve both just come from. 

you wouldn’t have a clue which of the guys would choose to fuck karina after what happened, but to her, she knows exactly who you’ve been with, ever since you disappeared together downstairs. and that knowledge is enough to ruin your life. 

“you still got away with it, huh?” karina remarks, barely over her breath. “fucking sickos.”

you don’t wait to find out if she had more left to say, barging through karina and ignoring her curse that follows as you run for the stairs. you take the steps two at a time, your shoulders knocking the walls and feet tripping over each other as the edges of your vision blur, pacing the hallway in autopilot until you reach the kitchen. 

fortunately, there’s not a soul in sight to stop you from grabbing the first liquor bottle within reach from the counter, twisting the cap off and drinking it straight. the alcohol burns your throat, tears burn your eyes, shame burns your entire fucking soul. you need to stop it, you need to keep drinking until you can’t feel it, or at least forget it’s there. 

you empty it, setting the glass back down and realising that it was tequila. you gag once, twice, before powering through it and moving onto the next; a half-full bottle of rum, the taste so bitter you nearly choke. your body disagreeing is the last of your priorities, your mind demanding to take it as you keep on drinking. 

your vision’s already spinning before you can reach the bottom, and you don’t get to finish it off as you slump against the island bench, legs giving out on you. you’ve lost total control of your motor functions, and your body eventually slides down, hands feebly grasping at the counter. glass shatters as your head thumps on the polished floor, scalding pressure rising all the way from your stomach until it peaks in your throat. you just barely remember to turn your head to the side as your guts spill from your mouth — tasting the tequila and rum, the moonshine, the water yunho forced down. 

you think you hear voices, unsure if they’re beyond the walls or they’re around you. something turns your head, and you open your eyes to blinding light, vaguely hearing frantic strings of words that might be your name. 

“fuck, fuck, she’s out,” mingi cries, stroking your cheeks without caring for the vomit there. “what the fuck do i do??” 

“she already got it out, she just needs to lay down now.” shuhua tries to reassure the giant on the verge of a panic attack. “i’ve already ordered an uber.” 

“shouldn’t you go to a hospital?” miyeon asks from soyeon’s side, nursing her sore knuckles with a bag of frozen peas. 

“she’d hate that.” yuqi adds, and minnie agrees. “she’ll tank it. seriously, i’ve seen her come up from worse. just keep an eye on her.”

mingi nods frantically, picking you up in his arms, your limp body still clinging to him. he looks down to shuhua, crouched on the floor and picking up the smashed bottle of rum. “thank you, shuhua.”

the girl who you’ve been beefing with, who has clung to your ex’s side, who happened to hear someone in the kitchen and decided to check it out, who saw you laying there and immediately alerted mingi despite it all — simply waves it off, and smiles at him. “it’s nothing. text me tomorrow, let me know how she is.”

──

when your eyes flutter open, you’re not entirely sure you’re alive. it could’ve been seconds, or it could’ve been hours that you stared at the ceiling cloaked in darkness, before eventually attempting to move. though your sore limbs protest, you’re able to prop yourself up and stand from the bed; surprised that you only feel dizzy and a bit hungry, not spewing your insides out like you expected. granted, it must be because you’re still drunk, and the hangover has yet to actually hit. 

taking note of the shadowed shapes around the room, you recognise enough to realise that this is mingi’s room. you’ve woken up in his bed, and he’s nowhere to be found. you retrieve your phone from the charger beside his bed, flicking the flashlight on to find your shoes. 

your eyes widen at the mess that’s accumulated in his space: clothes littering the floor, random junk and bullshit covering the desk. sure, while you were staying here you often had to remind him to tidy up, but he never let it get this bad. 

your chest pangs with guilt as you pick your shoes up and traverse the floordrobe to the door, slipping out and tiptoeing through the hallway, headed for the light at the end of the tunnel: the front door, right next to the kitchen with a lamp left on. 

you’re so focused on escaping that you don’t even register the second presence as you pass by, and the soft call of your name nearly shocks you into an early grave. hand to your heart you jump, backing into the wall, facing with the woman you’ve spent the last few months of your life avoiding. 

mingi’s mother, sat at the dining table with a steaming cup of tea in hand, still in her scrubs and smiling at you. your eyes flick to the digital clock on the wall, reading 4am. she must’ve just come back from a shift — while you’re here trying to sneak out. 

“funny running into you here.” she says, tender. “been a while, hasn’t it?” 

“yeah.” you mutter, shifting on your feet awkwardly. you really don’t want to talk to her, but it’s still her house, and you still broke her son’s heart… 

she nods at the kitten heels in your hands, as well as your general unkempt appearance, still wearing the clothes you wore to the party. “big night?” 

“yeah.. big night.” you frown. “big fucking year.”

“i get that.” with her foot, she pushes out the chair across from her. “sit with me?” when your brows furrow, lips pressing firmer together, she adds, “i never did get to apologise.”

you’d rather do literally anything other than this right now, but you know this has been a long time coming. you couldn’t keep running from or drowning your problems out, they were gonna catch up the second you tripped — and you ate shit. the least you can do is listen to what she has to say, since you were living here rent-free for a while. before you can decide to just make a run for it, you push yourself off the wall, and sit down with her. 

“i know it must be worth nothing now. i know it will never take back all the pain i caused. but i’m so, so sorry.” she says with your name, and it sounds genuine enough. “never did i think it would get like this. then again, i wasn’t thinking much at all. i’m sorry. i should have known to do better. especially for you kids.”

all you say back, is “why?”

she gazes off into the distance, as if reliving those years of her life. “your father… he has a way. i was lonely, struggling on my own, and he said all the right things at the right time.” she smiles ruefully. “all i wanted was for my son to have a dad.” 

“but, my dad hates mingi.” 

she chuckles softly. “he only hated his crush on you. it was too confronting, given what we were doing.”

your lip trembles, a gasp almost slipping from how heat suddenly surges to your face, eyes glossing over. you think of how your father was trying to join a new family instead of being there for his own. how he drove your mother away, then he married yunho’s, just to try and get with mingi’s. through all of it he’s had you, his daughter, and yet it wasn’t enough. he still wanted more. another wife, another child. a son. 

“he didn’t take care of me.” you admit, tears brimming your eyes. “he was never there for me, and yet he could show up for you?”

she heaves a sigh. “i’m really so sorry. i didn’t know he was like that, back then, i.. was seeing a lot of what i wanted to see.”

“what did he do for you?” you ask, nothing more than a shaky whisper. “what made it all worth it?” 

“sometimes money, when it was tight. most times it was just physical… i realised he wasn’t the father figure i wanted.”

you grit out, “how long?” 

“over a few years. it wasn’t consistent. i tried to stop speaking to him, to end the whole thing, but he had his ways, and… i couldn’t keep mingi from seeing yunho, or you. i couldn’t do that to him.” 

you want to scream thinking about each time your dad dropped you and yunho off at mingi’s place then disappear with his mother upstairs. each time he came home late, each time he left early for work, each time he just wasn’t around because he was with her instead. it was happening all around you, and you were the only one who didn’t know. because yunho had told mingi to keep it to himself, for reasons you still don’t understand. 

you let yourself cry, no more than little hushed sobs as your nails bit into your knees. you can’t bring yourself to forgive her, nor can you find it in your heart to hate her. in all the ways you shouldn’t — you get it. you know what it’s like to push and push, all for him to still pull you back in. you know what you want means nothing when he has a way that wins every time. you know it’s not as simple as walking away, since you’ve barely survived a few months of it, when she endured years. 

your father had this coming, and your brother reaped what he sowed, but did all of you deserve to suffer? is it karma that you see yourself in the woman responsible for breaking up your family? is it fate that you’re repeating her mistakes and may end up doing the same one day? 

you don’t want to live through it again, and you don’t want your kids, or yunho’s kids, to grow up through the same shit. it’s already started, you just have to be the one to stop it. 

“i don’t know if i’m ready to.. forgive, but.. i understand.” you say. silver lining her eyes, a pair of boba identical to her son, she nods. “has mingi told you he knew, back then? that yunho made him hide it?” 

“yes, he.. had to go into therapy, after you moved. yunho was horrible to him for a while.” 

as a mother, and possibly the only grownup guidance you can get, you ask her, “do you know why yunho would’ve done that, if he’s the one who ended up telling his mom?” 

“what?” she says, taken aback. “i didn’t know it was yunho, i thought.. well.” her brows crease, some thought occurring to her. “now that you’ve said that, actually, i think i—”

“eomma?” mingi drawls, rubbing an eye as he trudges from the hall. long, loose pyjamas hang from his frame, hair mussed on his head. he looks adorable, and yet it guts you with how his eyes widen in shock at you. “oh, you’re..”

“i’m going for a shower.” his mother announces as she looks between you both, the chair scraping on the floor when she stands. she ruffles mingi’s hair as she rounds him, leaving you both to.. stare at each other. 

mingi takes a weary step forward, and you can tell he must want to hold you, or even just touch you, with how he wrings his hands together. “how are you feeling?” 

“okay, surprisingly.” you reply, and a small smile finds its way on his face. “where were you?” 

“i slept on the couch,” he points towards the living room down the hall, as if you’ve forgotten where it is after the time that’s passed. his face drops a little, brows tipping up in uncertainty. “are you leaving now?” 

“i can stay for a bit.” you reply. “we should probably.. talk, right?” 

mingi nods, wasting no time in shuffling over in case you change your mind, sitting in his mother’s seat. after a pause, you both go to speak at the same time, before apologising and offering the other to go first. it kills you how awkward it’s gotten between you. not long ago you were deeply, uncontrollably in love with this boy, and now you’re walking on eggshells, too scared to even talk over him. why did it get like this? why did you make it like this? 

sighing, mingi starts. “i’m not with shuhua. never was.” you both know it’s what he needed to address first, and you feel like you can actually breathe now. “in january, we had a kind of.. situationship, i guess.” he cringes when he says it. you can tell he’s put the label on it for the sake of your own closure, when it probably didn’t have one in the first place. “it didn’t feel right, so we both agreed to go back to friends. i stopped talking to her when you moved back, not for any reason, i’m just shit at multitasking. but, i care for her, and i felt really bad about it. i’ve been hanging out with her, and she’s helping me through my.. stuff, but i still love you. always.” 

“why didn’t you tell me from the start?” 

“i should’ve.” he admits easily, little resistance. “you had a lot on your plate with school, and yunho, your friends, your family... i just didn’t want it to be another thing stressing you out. it doesn’t matter to me either, sometimes i forget it even happened, but i know it does to you, and i’m sorry. i just..” his eyes find the table as he trails off, torn between continuing or not. you’re about to ask what’s on his mind before he tips his head back, covering his eyes as he groans, “ugh, i know how easy it is to lose you.” 

you gasp out, “what?” 

mingi’s big, guilt-ridden eyes meet yours, his lower lip jutting in a pout. “every little thing’s been setting you off, and i get it, i’m okay being there for you, it’s what i’m here for, but i knew hearing that on top of everything else could crush you. i couldn’t do that to you. not when you and yunho were.. talking again.” 

you hear the implication there, the words that he won’t say yet hang in the air. he was too scared of messing up and having you run to yunho again. 

oh, you love him. with every bone and vessel of blood in your body, you love this boy. you wish you could hold him, tell him that it’s just his anxiety talking, that it would never happen. you wish you could reassure him that he’s wrong and that you belong only to him. you wish you were better for him. 

“i haven’t been with anyone else,” is what you tell him instead, embarrassing as it is. “i tried, but no one reciprocated. i’m really sorry i did that with the boys, i wish i hadn’t… they’re good friends, at least.” 

mingi gives a rueful smile. “it’s alright. they came to me and we spoke about it, there’s no hard feelings. i know you have.. struggles, with certain impulses.” 

silence falls between you, your mutual shame and regret cloaking the air like a storm cloud. you wish you thought it was over, that there was nothing left to cover, but you know it just as mingi does when your eyes meet again. he has to ask about it. 

mingi’s voice comes barely above a breath. “you thought you were pregnant?” you nod, words too much effort to form with the thick knot in your throat. he doesn’t bother asking if it was his, you would’ve said so at the party if it was. “was it from.. that one time?”

your initial confusion flips into shame, utter fucking shame, as you realise what mingi’s really asking you. he’s wondering if you slept with yunho any other time he didn’t know about, which would overlap with when you were dating, when you were supposed to be on birth control too. 

“yes, mingi,” you rush the words out, relieved at how his face falls from the worry etched tight into his features. “my period was late because i was stressed, so i started stressing more and making it even later. i couldn’t have been pregnant. i was just too in my fucking head about it.”

mingi nods, taking it all in, his body untensing and slumping in the chair. the shine never strays from his eyes, and he looks even prettier when he’s about to cry. the memory of it still drives you crazy, how easy it is to pull tears from him just by being on top of him and telling him ‘no’. that piece of control being wholly yours is more than enough to be grateful for, so why couldn’t it be enough for you to stay with him? 

“let’s tell each other everything from now on,” mingi says, giving you that look that always make you buckle. the furrowed brows, the begging eyes. “i don’t want to keep anything from you again. no more secrets?”

“no more secrets.” you promise, mingi smiling across from you. you’re halfway to returning it, before a memory suddenly strikes you like lightning, petrifying you in place. 

you’d completely forgotten until now, until you thought for sure things would start to be okay. it’s as if you were trying to block the memory out, convince yourself it didn’t happen. no matter what you tell yourself, it very much did, and you owe it to mingi to know. you just promised him so. 

“mingi, i,” you can hardly speak, let alone admit it, hands coming to hold either side of your face as a sob works its way up your throat. he shifts in his seat, about to dive across this table to hug you, but you hold your hand up to stop him. you don’t deserve his comfort for this. “we, god, fuck—” you choke, mingi nothing but a blur as tears fill your vision. “yunho and i, it happened again.” 

you can’t hear the way mingi’s breath stops over your own soft sobs. timidly, he asks, “last night?” you nod rapidly. his voice stoops lower as he says, “he had you while you were drunk?” 

“no i—sobered up,” you’re quick to correct, making the mistake of rubbing your eyes to see him. mingi’s pain shows clearly on his face, the fact you’re still rushing to defend yunho like it’s your right.

mingi’s jaw works, his lips sucking in breaths and then pressing together like he can’t decide on what to say. knuckles turning white where they grip the edge of the table, he finally says, “i can’t keep doing this.”

“doing what??” you exclaim, trying and failing to not fall into full-blown panic mode. 

he uses your name, and it rips your fucking heart apart with how his voice is trembling, just as close to crumbling completely as you are. “i don’t know how much more i can take. i’ve been patient, and i’ve been understanding, and i’d never force you to choose. but it will always break my heart when you go back to him. i don’t know if i can keep watching it happen. if i can keep pretending that it isn’t.. not okay.”

“it isn’t! i know, fuck, i know it is. i don’t think it’s okay either, mingi. it kills me.” you rush to say, to fight for him, to plead with him to hear you. “i wanted it to stop, i wanted everything to be fucking normal. i never wanted this with him.” 

“but he still got you again.” 

the words hit the room like a bullet. the both of you wounded and bleeding, wanting to soothe each other, but knowing you’ll only cut yourselves deeper. 

mingi breaks the silence with a breath that sounds more like a gasp, his cheeks coated in thin streams of silver. “i’m sorry, i..i really love you. i love you more than anything, you already know that. but i.. i don’t know if i can be what you need right now. i don’t think i can take care of you.” 

“what do you mean, mingi? what are you saying?” 

“i just… i’m not taking it well, this time. i don’t want you to hate me, or have to deal with me, so… i think i need to be alone.” he sputters, crying, “i’m so fucking sorry.”

──

“so you’re on break, but not broken up?” 

you nod, picking at the slice of apple pie before you. a waste of money really, since you knew you’d lose your appetite anyways. “we both needed space.. which, we should’ve had more of from the start, instead of jumping into it so quick.” you know you’re both equally at fault for it — mingi wanted to make sure yunho couldn’t snatch you up, and you wanted anything but to feel alone again. 

after literal months of trial and error, finding your footing only to slip and fall; you’ve finally got the hang of feeling like you belong. in the time since you and mingi agreed to stay apart, your days have been spent with friends, who you can finally see holding onto for life. you had the guys; mostly seonghwa, with hongjoong if you third-wheeled, or yeosang and jongho whenever schoolwork had you crying. and you had the girls; whose homes you’ve been couch-hopping, and shockingly, now included the girl sitting across from you in cafe fossoway. 

“he’s been okay.” shuhua tells you around a mouthful of pasta. “he was harassing me earlier, asking if i could take a picture of you to show him.”

you chuckle, feeling so bittersweet over your boy. it was nearing a month since you’d last since him, keeping in touch solely through third parties (mainly hongjoong and shuhua), letting the distance reveal what it was that you truly wanted — and your heart has only grown fonder. you were sick of the endless conversations, of him always fussing over you, and yet you’d take that in a heartbeat over living a lie with yunho. mingi cares about you, more than you knew how to handle; and after the chaos that was the last few years without him, suddenly having someone to ground you felt like hell. you know just what mingi means to you now, and you’ve sworn to never take him for granted again.

shuhua makes a noise as a thought occurs to her, “ah, i just remembered something. you know that time i showed up to yuqi’s, after mingi dropped me off? 

“how could i forget..” you groan, head in your hands from the cringe. you back then would have dropped dead from the shock if you told her that you and shuhua eventually communicated like adults and made up, able to joke about your petty beef now. 

“that day, when i was hanging out with him, mingi promised me not to tell you— he cried over you.” your eyes bug out of your head. she goes on, “i can’t recall everything he said, but, he was so worried, and he kept talking about yunho. it sounded like he was scared you’d cheat on him, even though that’s your stepbrother, but still.” 

“what the fuck?” 

“yeah.. it’s why i was a bitch to you, sozz. but he was a fucking wreck.”

“no, that’s fair,” you deadpan stare at the pie like it’s personally responsible, and shuhua chuckles, reaching out to put her hand on yours. 

“he told me i could tell you about it now. i just thought you should know.” she smiles, reassuring. “i have never seen a guy in love like mingi is with you. never doubt that, okay?”

that lunch date with shuhua is what put the idea in your head, and the very next day you found yourself standing on the doorstep, hands full with a family feast of fried chicken.

“you’re here quick.” mingi’s mother greets you as she opens the door, smizing at the large paper bag you were cradling, from mingi’s favourite fast food chain. 

“i was already on the way over when i texted.” you admit shyly. thank god she answered on short notice, since there’s no way you could eat all this by yourself. 

“he’s in his room,” she tells you, stepping to the side so you could walk in. “never leaves these days.” 

you thank her before you descend the hall, knuckles tapping on his door. he softly calls out “come in!” like you’re his mother, and you coo to yourself, overcome with adoration for him. you turn the knob and nudge the door open, smiling as you appear in the frame, waiting for him to realise as turns in his swivel chair. 

mingi’s mouth drops open when he sees you, eyes blinking rapidly to check you’re really there, in case the lack of sleep has him seeing things. they flick between your face and the food in your hands, his fingers crushing the arms of his chair like he’s telling himself to stay put instead of leap at you. 

“can i come in?” mingi nods rapidly, too ecstatic to even remember to smile. you could cry over how cute he is, how he looks like a dog after you’ve said all its favourite words. how he’s yours. you walk over to him, his starry eyes tracking you as you stop beside him, placing the paper bag on his (now clean) desk. “what’s this?” you ask, gesturing at the program up on his computer. 

mingi does a double take, out of his element since you’ve surprised him. he scratches the back of his neck, “oh, uh, just messing around. making some beats.” 

“could i hear?” 

mingi looks like he’s buzzing with excitement, grinning widely at you, though you can tell he’s still trying to tone it down, like he might scare you off. he clicks around with his mouse, and the short track plays out loud. you’re not even exaggerating with your reaction, pride swelling in your chest as you listen, mingi’s eyes watching you for approval. 

“holy shit, is it finished?” he shakes his head, unsure where this is going. “mingi, that sounds really good.” 

the way pink dusts his cheeks and he giggles shyly gives you insane cuteness agression, wanting to sink your teeth in or jump his bones. you can’t help but feel so proud of him; he’s very passionate about music, and has danced around the idea of creating something himself, but he hasn’t been able to get the time or focus enough for it. you’re glad he’s come through, and that he felt open to sharing it with you. 

“is that..” you squint at the corner of the screen, reading the name of the file. “did you name it after me?” mingi stammers, caught off-guard, and you just giggle, placing your hand over his where it grips the arm of the chair. “that’s adorable, babe.” 

mingi’s eyes widen, his mouth slightly parted. he hasn’t heard you call him that for months. you hike your knee up next to his thigh, bending down to sit yourself in his lap, and mingi looks like a deer in headlights. you could almost forget you’ve spent years as close friends, the last months as lovers, with how clueless he seems on what to do. your hands come up to cup his face, and you just admire him for a moment. he’s so good-looking, your boy. sexy and adorable and pretty all at once. sharp features, a cutting gaze, all that seem to soften when they’re faced with you. 

“i don’t know what i was tripping for,” you start, looking into his big, glossy eyes. “you’re the only one for me. i should’ve never doubted that, and i’m sorry it’s taken.. all of this, for me to understand.” you give him a rueful smile, the knot in his brows deepening. “i love you, and i promise, i want to stay with you.” 

mingi continues to pout at you, clearly trying not to cry, and you can’t help but let out a giggle of adoration. your lips leave a soft peck on his, mingi’s face openly showing his shock as you pull back. uncertain in his silence, you murmur, “is this okay?” 

mingi nods frantically, cheeks splitting into a helpless grin, before his arms are snatching you up into a bear hug. he peppers your hair with pecks, breathing your scent in with a sigh. “i missed you.” he smooches all over the side of your face, while you yelp under his attack. “sososososososoooo much.”

“i missed you too, my mingi.” you giggle, sweetly pecking the tip of his nose, rendering him dumbstruck. you feel so enamoured with him, his lost puppy eyes that wait for your move first, that you can’t help but surge forward to kiss him again. there’s force behind it this time; channelling every moment apart where you longed to hold him, to hear his voice, to smell his vanilla cologne, to look into his eyes. you’re in love with him, and you spell it out as you kiss him, reverent as your lips move against his. 

mingi follows your lead, though you can tell he’s barely restraining himself from heating this up, having clearly outdone you in terms of missing each other. his arms still hold you, fingers splayed over your back; delicate, like you’re glass. though neither of you intended for the kiss to go anywhere, it’s no surprise that you work each other up, someone’s lips parting first before the kiss deepened — breaths turning into quick puffs, tongues teasing the edges of mouths, bodies pressed firmly together and it still not being close enough. 

you pull back before it can completely fall into the steamy direction it’s headed, your lips buzzing, fingers twisted in mingi’s soft locks. “what about the food?” 

“i’ll eat it cold,” mingi replies without missing a beat, his lips shiny from your saliva. “i just want you.”

he slots his lips against yours, tilting his head to lick into your mouth, a whine rolling off his tongue that you chase with your own. you stay like that for a bit, nothing more than kissing, your hands squeezing each other here or there. with how slow and deep your mouths moved together, how tight your bodies were pressed, you very quickly feel that familiar hardness prodding your ass where you’re sat on him. you’ve missed feeling it — not even in a sexual context entirely, just.. feeling the physical evidence of his love for you, how easily you can rise it out of him. 

he’s desperate for you, worsened only by the time apart. there’s an intensity in each of his kisses, a plea as his breaths turn into pants, hips ever so slightly twitching below you. mingi never makes a move without you explicity telling him to, even now that he knows your body as well as his own. he’s throbbing where your ass pushes on him, letting out needy little whimpers as your tongue slides against his, and yet he’d contentedly sit just like this if you didn’t want to go further. he’s so good. even too good for you. 

“i want you.” you mutter as you plant a hot, open-mouthed kiss on his neck, mingi’s entire body stiffening like a dog hearing the word treat. your tongue licks a stripe up his neck, and his adam’s apple bobs in a gulp, the sight driving you crazy. 

“i’ve missed you so much.” he says in a whine, with those flipped brows and pout that tugs at your heartstrings. “i was trying, but.. i couldn’t, do it, without you..” he admits meekly, unable to meet your delighted eyes. “it wasn’t the same.. it didn’t feel good.” 

you coo at him, brushing his hair back, leaving a sweet kiss in the middle of his creased forehead. “you were thinking about me?” he nods, and you pinch his chin, smile beaming down at him. “what did you think of?” 

he lets out a groan as you roll your hips, dragging your ass over his boner, precum making a mess of his sweatpants. his hands find your waist as you grind gently, eyes honed in on the space where your bodies connect. he gulps, willing his voice to come in an answer. “i thought of.. when you’re on top of me,” he blushes furiously as your hands run over his chest, brushing by his nipples, his pelvis jolting up from the sensitivity. “i tried to imagine you telling me what to do, or that it was your hands instead of mine..” 

you pout in sympathy, your chest swelling with pride over how whipped this giant is for you. your hand slides under his shirt, nails scraping over his toned stomach, and he responds with the sexiest of whimpers. “i can take videos, for the next time you miss me.”

mingi’s head falls back into the chair with a groan, his fully hard length straining against his pants, unbelievably worked up from friction the fabric offers. “you’d do that?” you hum, and he sighs out, fingers kneading your flesh. “god, you’re so good to me.”

“you deserve it.” you whisper at the shell of his ear, dragging your teeth over a sensitive spot at his jaw, his body overcome with shivers as you suck a hickey onto his skin. “i wanna make it up to you, make you feel good.” 

“please,” mingi whimpers, meeting the rock of your hips with the smallest rut of his own, a wet stain on the front of his pants from the heat gliding over his length. “i want you to, i want you so bad, please, you can do anything.”

telling you that right now, with the pleading eyes and pathetic tone, is some dangerous territority. if you weren’t feeling so soft for him, you’d absolutely make good on his request and ravage him until he couldn’t tell up from down. mingi gets a little too ahead of himself sometimes, especially when he’s balls deep in you and his mouth has a mind of its own, overestimating how much he can handle with the things he begs you to do to him. you make the choices for him while he’s in that headspace, despite how enticing it is to listen with tears streaming down his face and red patches littering his skin. 

too busy fawning over how beautifully behaved he is for you, you almost hadn’t noticed how close mingi was to ruining his pants; absentmindedly grinding on top of him, while he was heaving and digging his nails into your waist, eyes fluttering shut as an orgasm sat right at the back of his throat. you’d quickly pulled yourself off of his lap when you realised he was going to cum, perhaps not even knowing it himself, and mingi whines at the loss of your weight as you stand. 

you hold your hand out for him, raking your eyes over his body; how he’s slumped against the chair, face flushed and hairline sweaty, a thick impression against his sweats with a dark spot at the top. he’s so big, and pretty all over, and it’s all yours to have. “come to the bed?” 

mingi’s springing up out of the chair before you can blink, grabbing your face as he brings himself to you, connecting your lips again. he’s missed every part of you, more than he knew what to do with, so he can’t help but want to kiss you at every second there is to spare; just like the first time you kissed, all those months ago. you step with him as he backs you into the bed, his lips glued to yours until your knees hit the edge of the mattress. the brief kiss breaks as you drop down onto it, mingi towering over you. 

silently, he kneels on the floor, holding your heated gaze as his palms slide over your thighs. the eager look on his face is all that asks before you’re parting your legs for him, breath hitching in a gasp as his head dives in, kissing the skin of your inner thigh. he dotes on you, leaving kisses between your thighs, the heat in the middle throbbing for his attention. you sigh as he lightly sucks the skin, burying your hands in his hair and giving an appreciative tug, his whimper vibrating on your thigh. your legs shine with spit, dotted with pink spots by the time he’s done, looking to you for approval once more as his fingers find your shorts. you nod, raising your hips to let him tug both layers down. 

bare from the waist down, mingi looks like he’s falling in love all over again as his eyes marvel at the arousal glistening on your pussy. you feel a little shy with how hard he’s staring, which is quickly wiped as you notice a hand gripping himself through his pants. you nudge him with your foot, sending him a warning glance that has his hand falling away. “sorry, i can’t help it.” he murmurs timidly, the control entirely in your hands. “you’re just.. so beautiful.” 

you giggle, scratching at his scalp, earning a deep groan from him. “you’ll have your turn. don’t cum until i tell you to, okay?” 

he nods, eyes shining with a thirst for your approval, and it’s all he needs to lean forward, leaving a sweet kiss on your clit before his tongue runs through your folds. you gasp at the heat, the pressure he applies as he licks broad stripes up and down, mingi’s eyes rolling back from the taste of you. it’s almost polite, the way he starts off, pressing a few more kisses to your pussy between glides of his tongue. 

your fingers ball in his hair, tightening each time he licks over your clit, and the sting only spurs mingi on, hungry for your pleasure. his eating turns messy, his entire mouth buried in your pussy as he stimulates you all over. swirling his tongue at your hole, burying it inside you, nose bumping at your clit before he sucks it into his mouth. there’s no rhythm in it, just pure instinct as he follows the noises you grace him with from above, moaning out broken versions of his name as he devours you. 

mingi doesn’t even need a method, he always acts on whim and plays it by ear whenever his face is between your thighs, and yet it will never fail to have your gut tightening within record time. if anything, it’s the desperation in it, how you can tell it gets him off just as much as it does you — how you can hear it, with the high-pitched whines he lets out while he’s stuffed in your pussy. 

entirely too focused on your arousal coating his tongue, mingi doesn’t even get to add his fingers before your hands are grasping at the ends of his hair for dear life, your moans coming quicker as your orgasm takes you both by surprise. he’s still sloppy as he laps at you through it, your entire body rocking on the bed as bliss floods your veins. you even feel a little dizzy as you start to come back to, not realising how hard you were screwing your eyes shut. or how tight you were holding mingi’s hair, the boy whimpering in pain between your legs, getting your attention as he taps your thigh. 

your hands fly off of him, caressing his slick-coated cheeks, panic surging inside you. “fuck, i’m so sorry, mingi, are you okay?” 

he shakes his head, flashing a dopey grin up at you, running his tongue over the taste of you on his lips. “yeah. i was gonna cum, ‘s all. wanna be good for you.”

how he manages to completely take your breath away without trying, you’ll never know. you don’t know what to do about it other than just kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue, pouring your love as you lick into his mouth. you pull him up by his shirt, the kiss breaking as you guide him to stand. you smile tenderly at him, his own wide with adoration and a little bit of disbelief, and you reach out to tug at his waistband. he lets you bring both layers down, sighing in immense relief as his cock is freed, leaving a dot of pre where it bobs against his shirt. 

you mouth waters merely looking at him, your thumb not meeting your fingers as you grab it by the base; just like you’ve down countless times before, and yet his cock pulses as if this was the first. you stare directly into his eyes as you lean in — it always flusters him like crazy — pressing your lips to the head of his cock in a kiss. he giggles, shyly covering his face, and you pull away to tell him, “don’t. i wanna see you.”

as his hands fall away, mingi’s already red face is a shade deeper as your mouth meets him again, and he forces his fluttering eyes to stay open as you take him into your mouth. every single inch gliding past your lips with ease, long having adjusted to fitting his girth inside, mingi letting out a broken noise as his tip nudges the back of your throat. with the way your mouth stretches around him, you remember that he didn’t exactly get to prep you on his fingers — although, you’re gushing like a waterfall down there, he could probably slip right in with minimal sting. 

you know how this will go before you even start, and yet you continue because you want to return the favour (and just maybe to watch him fall apart above you, too). you pull back, hollowing your cheeks as your lips suck up his length, rivulets of pre coating your tongue. mingi can barely even stand with his knees buckling, his large hand in your hair all that’s keeping him upright. you remind yourself to go slow — else this will all end far too early — as you reverse the movement, bobbing your head to take him back down your throat, a high-pitched whined resounding above. 

you only make it halfway up his length before mingi’s face is screwing, and he gently pushes you the whole way off, his cock lurching in front of your face as he deeply groans through a wrecked breath. “‘m sorry..” he mutters, stroking your hair. “‘s too good.” 

“i know.” you smile, hardly an accurate representation of how insane he makes you feel. most days, he doesn’t even let you touch him before getting to the main event, since you both know he’ll cum way too fast for his own good. you’ve reassured him plenty that it’s far from something to be ashamed of. is there a better compliment in the whole world than the fact your touch feels so fucking good that he physically can’t hold back? 

you guide mingi down to your level, pulling him with you as you lay back on the bed, meeting him halfway for a kiss. he moans over his taste on your tongue, his body laying atop yours, hips lowering until his cock nudges your folds. you moan into each other’s mouths, sliding your wet heat together as you both rut messily, desperately. 

“how do you want it?” you exhale into the kiss with a suggestive lilt to your voice, already expecting his answer. 

“like this.” mingi huffs, taking you back. you assumed it’d be the usual: you riding him, considering how pliant he’s been today. he must be feeling sentimental, of course, with how his arms slide under your back and hold you, how each kiss is deliberate and firm. 

you position his cock for him, mingi pulling back with a hiss as his tip bumps your hole, big eyes looking into yours for confirmation. you nod, dragging your other hand up to hold his face. “go on.” 

your word is all he needs to push forward, and you focus on your breathing the head of his cock stretches you open. you’re soaked, mingi biting his lower lip raw at how you’re squeezing him, yet the glide is enough for him to nudge forward. his head drops to the crook of your neck once he fills you to the hilt, his length giving a harsh pulse inside you, and you wince over the sting. mingi drags his head up, sensing your discomfort, and you just kiss him with a nod to keep going. 

everything mingi does is slow; from the way his hips pull out and when his length pushes back in, to the rhythm he sets as he starts to move. he’s taking his time, savouring this; drawing out each drag of his length against your walls, each deep kiss he gives you that steals your breath away. his hands stay caressing your body, eyes attentive to each little twitch of your face, overwhelming amounts of love pouring out of his irises. every thrust fills you up completely, his cock deliberately pressing against your g-spot. 

it almost frightens you, how intimate this is. how you can feel him everywhere, the warmth of his body wrapping around yours, the weight of his love in each touch he gives you, sinking under your skin and turning you to mush. you’ve never felt more vulnerable in your life, and you’d run without looking back if this wasn’t your mingi. the boy who carried you through the hardships of your childhood, who picked up right back where he left off after you came back into his life all those months ago, who may continue to do so for the rest of your life. he’s your one love, your only love. it should’ve never taken this long for you to come to terms with it — but you suppose you’ve got forever to make it up to him now. 

deft fingers find your clit, and you moan out his name when he starts to draw circles on the sensitive bud, breaking a tender kiss to look into your eyes as he gives you another orgasm. his hips pick up slightly, fucking you faster and aiming for your sweet spot, giving you that little bit more pleasure to bring you to the edge — the same edge mingi’s been teetering on ever since he slid in, prioritising your release before he even thinks about his own. 

he’s memorised the perfect way you like it, so it’s not long at all until you’re throwing your head back into the mattress, moans spilling from your throat as your pussy clenches down on him. you don’t even hear yourself over mingi, letting out high, helpless into your ear as he focuses on fucking you right until the end, his orgasm following directly after yours. your walls are still fluttering around him by the time his cum spills inside of you, his hips kicking weakly as his body sags on top of you, your name whimpered into your ear. 

mingi kisses you, as he often does after you’ve both finished, except it feels like something else entirely this time. maybe it’s the way he breathes out an “i love you” and you return an “i love you too” right back. maybe it’s the way wetness coats your cheeks, mingi sniffling as he tears up from all the feelings welling up inside him. maybe it’s the way he makes no move to pull out, nor you to tell him to, as you continue to kiss and hold each other like there’ll be no tomorrow. his cock’s still hard where it’s buried deep in you, and you’re both in for a long overdue night with each other. though, if tomorrow does come, you know that you’ll belong to one another for good.

──

“daaaamn mamacita!” wooyoung exclaims from yuqi’s side, the pair swaying to the thumping music, beer cans sloshing in their hands. “give us a twirl!”

you add a spin into your strut, the short skirt of your dress flowing, the room erupting into hollers and cheers. seonghwa wolf-whistes at you, tucked under hongjoong’s arm where they’re sprawled on the couch. soyeon, miyeon and soojin were packed in like sardines beside them, sharing a bottle of wine and giving their finger taps of approval. minnie and shuhua were catcalling you from the dancefloor, alongside an already shirtless san and blushing yeosang. 

“i’ve got dibs on that ass first!” minnie shouts at the redhead, earning a cackle from you. “you can all fight for seconds!”

jongho, leaning on the wall and watching it all with a smirk, pushes himself off as you pass by, going to cheers his drink with yours — a glass of whiskey clinking your can of coke. even on a special occasion like tonight, joined by all your friends partying in the house you grew up in, you’ve long since lost your taste for alcohol. 

“young lady, where do you think you’re going?” seonghwa calls after you, moving like you’re on a mission. “come join us!”

“can’t, i fear.” you answer over your shoulder, earning a few groans and sobs of protest from the room. “mom asked for my help in the kitchen. i’ll be back after, i promise!”

you make your way over, eyes finding the cake on the counter as you enter — your name written in cursive, candles of the numbers ‘21’ on top — before you stop in place at the unexpected presence there too. 

“…yunho?” you mutter, stomach sinking to your feet. your parents said he was going out tonight — they said he was going to miss the party. and here he was, half-slumped against the counter, sending you a look so intense you could choke. 

you nearly do when he surges forward, too shocked to react as his arms wrap around you, burying his face in your shoulder and breathing you in. you do the same, grimacing at how he reeks of alcohol, just above his usual sandalwood cologne and the musk of sweat. you can’t help but wonder, where the fuck has he been? of course he has to do this to you today, on your day. of course he has to make it all about him. 

“i missed you.” yunho murmurs, pressing a hot kiss to your bare neck, and you shove him away. his eyes are wild, pupils pin-sized, and it has your chest gripping. you’ve never seen him look so.. a mess. 

“i told you this had to stop.” you feel like a broken record as you reaffirm it, just like every other time he’s cornered you around the house like this and almost got you. almost. there was one particular instance where you were too close to giving in, and that’s when you packed your shit and left for good. you and your brother can’t be left alone together, and you’ve learned that the hard way. “please respect my wishes, and move on.”

“i can’t stop loving you, baby.” he admits in a broken voice, the alcohol stripping him of all defences. “i can’t stop wishing for what we were, i can’t.. i can’t without you.”

“i know. i know that’s the way you are, and.. i’ve made peace with it. but, i’m done.” you take a gamble by grabbing his hand, meeting his glossy eyes. “you’re my brother, and i love you.”

yunho shakes his head, frantic. the acceptance cuts even deeper than a rejection — there’s no room for doubts, for moments of weakness, for changing your mind. “you begged me not to leave you. i’m doing what you wanted.” 

you press your lips together, unwelcome memories wafting back of that night you should’ve never shared at wooyoung’s place. “what if i told you that i don’t want you like that ever again? that i want us to be the siblings we’re meant to be?”

“then i’d wait.” 

torn. your heart is torn to fucking shreds. he’ll never give up on trying. you almost fear for what the future holds — how can you ever be a family, knowing that he’s always going to leave that door open? 

“one last time?” he asks, so gently tilting his head to align with yours. the way his glossy eyes beg you, it tugs at what remains of your heartstrings, wanting so badly to give in just to see him smile again. but you’ve come a long way, and you can’t give that all up for him. not when you couldn’t possibly do or say anything to get him to leave you now. 

you lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, softly, platonically. his eyes have darkened when you pull away, and you gulp when you catch his hands moving to readjust the front of his pants. before he can do anything about it, before you can do anything to stop him, your stepmother’s voice approaches. you whirl to face the direction, hearing yunho leaving out the other entrance before she can appear. gone, like he was never there. another secret to keep from your parents.

“aw, baby.” she drawls over your stricken face, pulling you in for a hug, holding a glass of wine that you smell on her before you see. the way she’s clinging to you, along with her drink of choice, you can tell this is something serious. she notices the way you tense, and she tuts. “you’re not in trouble, don’t worry. i just wanted to.. give you a piece of my mind, i suppose.” 

that does next to nothing to calm your nerves, but you nod, sipping your can of coke and hoping it can relax you the way a drink would. tentatively, you ask, “and what’s that?” 

she heaves a sigh, staring off into the distance. “after.. yunho’s father walked out on us,” she starts, already shocking you stiff. “i swore to myself that the next one would stay. i wanted marriage, i wanted a nice house, i wanted more kids. and i got it, your father gave me that, but.. i also breathed down his neck constantly to make sure of it. of course, if you love something, you shouldn’t strangle it, because they’ll only want to be free.” she laments, sipping from the glass. “i think that’s what pushed him to cheat.” she smiles at wide-eyed you. “yunho’s just like me. i see it in him, with you two.” 

you pick your jaw up off the floor, stammering as you try to find the words. “but, why are you blaming yourself for what he did?” you ask, meaning your father, and in a way, yunho too.

“i don’t want you to lose one another.” your stepmother says instead. “when you and your father left, i lost my boy. he was quiet, and cold, and uninterested. he’s never brought friends here, never even dated or spoke about girls. he was okay, when you came back,” her voice cracks, and she covers it with another sip of wine. “but when you and mingi dropped him a bit ago, he went back into his shell. it broke me to see.” she tears up, placing her other hand on your shoulder. “i don’t care how you both go about it. i just want you and yunho to have each other no matter what. some people may never experience the love you share, and that shouldn’t be lost.”

a part of you still bitter, you ask, “what about karina? he has her.”

her face screws, puzzled. “is that.. someone he’s seeing?” 

oh. 

it dawns on you, karina’s words ringing in your head: ‘'cause he’s too busy fucking you, right?' their relationship didn’t even exist outside of being thrown right in front of your face. he didn’t love her, he didn’t even like her, it was just to get back at you for hurting him with mingi. he played you, and it fucking worked. 

your stepmother downs the rest of the wine, setting the empty glass on the counter before turning her full attention to you. “baby.. yunho was so wrecked for years. i felt horrible that i divorced your father, that he lost you because of it. and oh, when i told him your father and i were speaking again, he wouldn’t stop asking about you. he was finally smiling again.” her hand slides up to hold your cheek, her eyes tearing up, and it rattles you before she even speaks. “i had a feeling. motherly intuition. i’ve seen it in him since you were kids, and even more when you came back, but.. i had no business judging him or telling him how to feel. not when i took you away from him.”

you half-gasp, half-whisper, “what?”

“he looks like he’s in love around you.” she goes on, stroking your face, as if it could be any comfort with your heart stopping in your chest. “when you started staying with mingi, i knew something must’ve happened.” she smiles, knowing, and you feel like you could vomit. “you’ve both had a hard life, and i’m so glad we’ve brought you together. i’ll always love you both, no matter what.” 

you can’t breathe, can’t even blink, blurry saucer eyes staring into your stepmother’s as she wipes the tears from hers. she knew. she’s known. she doesn’t say it outright — and who fucking would? — but you can hear what she’s telling you. she knows the truth of yunho’s feelings for you, she knows her two kids have been intimate, have crossed that line no family should, and she doesn’t care. 

“it’s funny,” she sniffles, “i can’t tell whether it’s for better or worse that yunho told me your father was cheating.” you thousand-yard stare at her, words beyond you. “we wanted to try for another kid, you know. but now it’s too late for that.” 

for an entire moment, your heart doesn’t beat. you think you could drop dead. all this time, you’ve been left wondering why the fuck yunho ruined everything. why he told mingi to hide it, only to reveal it himself and cause all the dominos to topple over. it’s because you would’ve been tied by a sibling. there would’ve been no room for him to ever fulfill his fucked up desires if you were his sister by blood. yunho had to fuck it all up, had to selfishly take away his mother’s wishes to have another child, just so he could ensure that one day, he still had a chance with you. 

happy fucking birthday to you. 

your stepmother changes the topic, asking you something about the cake, though you don’t hear her over the shrill ringing that pierces through your ears. you turn away, feet moving without thinking, taking you anywhere but here with her. you might faint, you might throw up your entire stomach, you might dissolve into the ground and never appear again. your brain pangs with solutions, with familiar urges that promise an easy fix — since above all else, you’re still your father’s daughter. but instead of drinking your weight in alcohol or fucking someone you’ll regret tomorrow like you’ve done countless of times before, you find yourself standing behind the large hunk of a man that brings instant comfort just from the sight of him. 

you tap his back, and when he turns, you let the waterworks flow freely before he can even get a word out. “eomma, i’ll have to call you back, i love you.” mingi rushes out, hanging up and pocketing his phone. he instantly reaches for you, tucking you under his arms as you try not to scream into his chest, staining his shirt with tears. “hey, hey, what happened?” he whispers softly, as if trying not to scare away a frightened animal. 

mingi looks through the windows of the house, gauging the inside, wondering what possibly could’ve gone down within the last ten minutes he left you alone. his mother had called him, and you promised him you’d be okay if he went outside to speak with her. yet now you’re here, clinging to him, shuddering with each sob, sounding more wrecked than he’s seen you in months. since the day he climbed through your window and you told him what yunho had done. 

“i can’t.” is all you tell him, all you can really say. “i can’t, i can’t,” 

“it’s okay.” mingi shushes you, patting your back and stroking your hair. the little comforting touches that always manage to calm you down. “you don’t have to.” he kisses the top of your head, his thumbs sweeping under your eyes to wipe the tears. “do you want to go home?” 

not back inside, not the house you lived your childhood and early teen years in, not the house you’ve thrown your birthday party at, not the house with all your friends and family inside. to mingi’s — the one you’ve moved into, the one you call your home now. 

—————-

“Whose turn is it?” Wooyoung asked, his words slurring slightly from his 4th drink. We were all at an AirBNB for his birthday and he was at the point in his evening where he wanted to play truth or dare.

“San! Truth or dare?” Woo asked. San thought for a moment before choosing dare. “Kiss Seonghwa for 30 seconds!”

Normally truth or dare was his excuse to make people kiss.

“What about you? Truth or dare?” He asked. You chose to play it safe this time, not fully as drunk as you should be to do any of the dares he came up with.

“Truth.”

“Oh, come on!” Wooyoung groaned. “Whatever. Okay, a truth.. which one of us do you think would be best in bed and who would be the worst?”

You rolled your eyes at his question.

“I am not answering that.”

“Nope! That’s not how the game works.” Hongjoong protested. “You chose truth so now you have to answer.”

“You guys just want to know who I might want to fuck.” I groaned from the silliness of it.

“Yeah, pretty much.” San confirmed and the other boys all nodded in agreement and laughed.

“Okay, fine.” I took a sip of my drink. “Is this opinion based on who I think would be best in general or who would be best based on my own preferences?”

“Your own preferences.” Jongho said and the others agreed.

You were somebody who liked sex on the rougher side. Spanking, choking, and name-calling were all on your must-have list if you wanted to leave satisfied. Vanilla sex was fine but, usually didn’t do it for you.

You scoped out the room of the 8 candidates and analyzed each part of their personality that could hint at their bedroom behavior. Your best was chosen quite quickly.

“I think San would be the best.” The boys all started to protest, trying to argue their case as to why they would be better.

“Guys, come on! She made her choice.” San laughed and threw his arms up in triumph.

“Okay she still needs to choose who she thinks would suck.” Seonghwa said, reminding you of the second part of the question.

“It’s not who I think sucks.” You emphasize. “It’s who I think would not be a good match for me.”

“Not be able to satisfy you.” Yeosang added.

“Exactly.” Your eyes rested on Yunho. He had been silent most of the game as he babysat his drink. He was overly sweet, gentle, kinda like a puppy dog. Definitely not somebody you could picture throwing you around in bed.

“Yunho..” you looked at him with sad, apologetic eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me?!” He yelled in shock. The room erupted in laughter along with fake sympathy remarks. “Why me?”

“You’re just such a sweetie. You’re gentle and soft. Romantic. And that’s just not what I get off on.” The alcohol seemed to have kicked in a bit. “I’m sorry. It’s just a game!”

Yunho pouted most of the night. You all had to pitch in together to move San and Wooyoung to bed after they has one too many. Once they were tucked in everyone went to their assigned room. Being the only girl on the trip, you got lucky and scored your own room you didn’t have to share.

You stripped down to your pajama’s which was a pair of underwear and an oversized t shirt. You climbed in bed after brushing your teeth and was about to turn off the light when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in?” You called out. The doorknob twisted and the door creaked open slowly.

“Hey.” It was Yunho. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest.

“Hey. What’s up?” You asked, a bit confused.

“You really think I couldn’t satisfy you in bed?” He asked.

“Oh my god, no more of this.” You groaned and threw yourself back onto the pillows. “Can I go to bed please?”

“So what is it that you like?” Yunho ignored your request for sleep. He shut the door behind him and turned to face you. The look in his eyes was something you hadn’t seen before.

“Yunho..? What are you doing-“

“Do you like to get fucked?” His voice was hard and serious, making the shocking words strike you even harder.

“I- I don’t understand-“ you stuttered.

“Answer me.” He demanded. A chill ran down your spine which made you sit up in bed.

“Yes.” You mumbled but felt embarrassed at the confession.

“Do you want to be held down? Choked?” He continued with the intimate questions. His hand turned the lock on my door, the sound of it alerting you of the true intentions of his visit and questions. “Do you like getting fucked into the mattress?”

“Yes.” Your response was shaky, nervous, but your body was responding to the questions he was asking.

“And you don’t think that’s something I’m capable of?” He walked towards the bed slowly, causing your heart rate to speed up.

“I don’t know.” Your voice came out hardly louder than a whisper. “It was just a game Yunho. You know I don’t know anything about that part of you.”

Yunho put his hands on the foot of the bed and leaned forward towards you.

“Exactly, you don’t know. And I want to show you that I’m different than what you think.”

You laughed out loud at what you thought was a joke however, he did not find any humor in your response.

“Why are you laughing at me?” He was serious and his tone confirmed that for you.

“I’m sorry.” You started to stutter. “I mean, you have to be joking right? Yunho we’re friends-“

“Right. We are friends. So why would you embarrass me in front of everyone?” He reached out and grabbed your ankles, he caressed the skin with his thumbs.

“I didn’t mean to. I just don’t think-“

“That’s the issue. You’re thinking way too much.” He interrupted you. “All you have to do is behave and I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

“Behave?” You laughed but you felt yourself start to get turned on by his words. “And what exactly is it that I want?”

“You want to get fucked like a whore.”

You opened your mouth to protest but had no breath to form words. He was right, you did want that. But with him? You couldn’t picture him doing anything more than missionary.

“Am I wrong?” He pushed when you didn’t respond.

“No, you’re not wrong.” You paused for a moment to watch him. He had thought he won a victory but you had plans to push him a bit farther. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t think you have it in you.”

Yunho’s nostrils flared in anger. He gripped on your ankles tightly and dragged you to him. You gasped at the sudden movement.

“Just give me the green light and I’ll make you eat those words.” He was inches from your face, his lips so close to brushing against yours.

‘Fuck it, maybe it will be good.’ You thought to yourself.

Just to be sure he knew exactly the vibe you craved, you continued to push him.

“I thought you said you wanted to fuck me like a whore?” You giggled, teasing. “You ask whores for permission? How soft of you.”

“There’s nothing soft about me baby.” He chuckled darkly. “You’ll see why I wanted your permission once I’m done with you.”

“You don’t scare me.” You reached your hand up to caress his cheek with your hand. “Do your worst.”

Yunho snatched your had off of his face and pulled you off the bed with it, making you yelp. He grabbed your chin in his hand and pulled you to his lips. He kissed you hard and pulled on your bottom lip with his teeth. The kiss made you dizzy and left you gasping for air.

“Last chance to change your mind.” He warned you after breaking the kiss but you shook your head. You were all in. He took a seat on the bed.

“Lay across my lap.” He ordered you and you obeyed, giggling uncontrollably. You couldn’t believe Yunho, of all people, was about to spank you.

Yunho lifted the bottom of your shirt up to expose your clothed behind. He placed his large hand on your ass and started to gently knead and massage the skin, placing very light spanks on your cheeks.

You smirked and rolled your eyes at the amateur attempt of being a dom-type.

“You humiliated me in front of everyone.” He told you, still gently kneading. “Made everyone think I was too soft and too gentle.”

Yunho’s fingers slipped under the waistband of your panties and slowly pulled them down to your knees. His fingers traced their way back up your legs, grazing very close to your core, before finding its place again on your ass.

“You’re going to wish I was gentle after we’re done.” He told you and quickly lifted his hand off of you and bringing it down swiftly on your bare skin. It was sharp and made you gasp. He did it a second time, a third. You started to squirm in his lap, trying to avoid the impacts.

“Stay fucking still.” He growled at you and spanked you again.

He used his hand to move your legs apart, changing your foot placement. His hand ran down your ass and to your core, cupping it with his hand.

“Dont run from me.”

Yunho lifted his hand off you and brought it back down onto your pussy with force. A bolt of pleasure echoed through you in an unexpected way. You moaned loudly and you felt wetness spread through your folds. He continued spanking you between your thighs over and over, each time getting harder, the impact more sharp.

“Fuck-Yunho!” You gasped.

“Wet from getting her cunt spanked. What a good little whore.” Your wetness coated his hand more and more as he continued to spank you. His fingers kept coming back down onto you in just the right spot. The impact always hitting your now throbbing clit. You felt a familiar feeling building between your thighs.

“Oh my god.” You said in shock. “I think- I think I might cum-“

It came out almost as a question as you could hardly believe you were about to climax just from him spanking you.

“I didn’t say you could cum, did I?” Yunho stopped and you felt your climax slip away.

“God, Yunho please.” You panted. “You proved me wrong. Please just let me cum.”

“I’ll make you cum but I’m not near done with you yet.” He plunged two fingers into you, making you gasp in stock. “Now, be a good girl and take my fingers.”

He moved his fingers in and out viciously. The noises he pulled from your body were almost primal, surely alerting everyone in the house of what was going on. His fingers were working you right on your g-spot.

“Fuck!” You screamed as you felt your orgasm gush out of you.

“Look at you squirting for me.” He cooed. “What a filthy slut.”

He continued to push and pull his fingers out. The floor below you was soaked as you continued to convulse on his lap. It took a while until he decided to show kindness to you and remove his fingers.

“Yunho.. holy shit.” You tried to get up but lost your balance in the process, your legs weak from your climax. He caught you in his hands and stabilized you.

“Lay down on the bed.” He told you.

“You’ve proven your point. I can’t cum again I think I’ll die-“

Yunho pinned you back against the mattress, his hand around your neck to hold you in place.

“You wanted to be fucked like a whore and that’s what you’re getting.” His voice was deeper than normal, full of desire. “I get to decide how many times you cum, not you. Your body is mine right now and you’re going to take what I give you. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” You whimpered, the pulse returning to your pussy.

“Are you going to take it like a good little whore?” You felt your eyes roll in the back of your head at these words.

“Yes daddy.” You moaned. Yunho bit down on his lip and groaned.

“Good girl.”

Yunho positioned his face in front of you and used his hands to push your legs back by your chest. You felt your folds being spread open, his hot breath hovered over your greedy core. He placed a gentle kiss on your swollen clit that made you whimper, then dipped his head down into you, his mouth deliciously licking up your slick. He moved his tongue up and down your slit, his tongue dragging over your clit again and again.

“God, you’re eating my pussy so good.” You moan and feel the vibration of a chuckle from Yunho as he confined to eat you. He wrapped his lips around your bundle of nerves and started to suck, making a ‘pop’ sound every time he pulled off. It drove you crazy.

“Shit! Oh my god, dont stop!” You writhed underneath him as he continued to devour your pussy. Your back started to arch off the bed as you neared your breaking point.

“Cum on my tongue baby.” He murmured into you before going back to lapping your clit. It took three swipes of his tongue to bring you to your second orgasm. Your hips jerked as you came, your clit sensitive from the second climax of the night. But, Yunho didn’t let up. Instead, you felt one of his fingers teasing your pulsating entrance.

“Yunho! I can’t-“ you shrieked when you felt him start to push his digit into you.

“You can and you will.” He ordered you. “You’re going to take it.”

He pulled his fingers in and out of you and placed his lips around your clit again. This time flicking the tip of his tongue over it as he sucked on you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and your mouth fell agape as a numbing pleasure spread over you.

“Yunho.” You hardly managed to choke out his name. Your body went rigid, a spray of clear liquid leaving your body and splashing onto Yunho’s face and shirt left your body. He moaned in satisfaction, licking up every drop.

“Squirting for me again? You spoil me baby.” He purred into you. You were still twitching from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Yunho dropped his sleeping pants down around his ankles, his hard cock was trying to break free from the boxers that were half-heartedly concealing him. He gripped himself over the fabric, jerking himself off slowly.

“Are you ready for daddy’s cock?” He used his free hand to reach out and spread your folds for him. You recoiled from his touch.

“I’m too sensitive.” You whined, unsure how much else you could take. Yunho made a disproving noise with his mouth.

“You still aren’t listening to me, are you?” He pushed his boxers down off of him, his rock hard cock recoiling as it sprung out of the clothing. His dick was dripping with pre-cum. “You’re going to take what I give you.”

Yunho grabbed your hips and pushed them hard into the bed, holding you down, then pushed his thick cock into you. A string of profanities left your lips as he filled up your overly sensitive cunt.

“I can’t, I can’t, I CANT!” You whined but made no attempt to stop him. You wanted it.

“Take my cock like a good whore.” Yunho told you, reaching to grab you by throat. He started rolling his hips into you, grunting with every thrust. He was ruthless with his pounding, taking exactly what he wanted. You.

“Oh my god!” You screamed. Your hands were frantically trying to grip onto the sheets under you.

“Do you love my cock baby?” He asked you, his pace still ruthless.

“Yes!” You started to get dizzy. “I love your cock Yunho.”

Yunho used his thumb to rub on your used clit, the added sensation sending you into a spiral.

“Cum on my cock. Do it for me.”

You shattered around him, a loud scream leaving your body as you clenched down around him in your final orgasm. Your ears started to ring and you started uncontrollably squirting on Yunho and his cock as he sloppily fucked you out.

“Fuck baby, I’m gonna cum-“ he didn’t even finish his sentence before releasing his load, filling you up. He collapsed on top of you when he was done, enclosing you in his arms. Your body convulsing once in sensitivity when he pulled himself out of you.

“Holy shit.” You were still breathing heavy as you tried to recover. “That was.. that was insane.”

“Good insane?” His dom persona disappearing. He seemed concerned.

“Yes. Insane in a good way.” You giggled.

“You made cum, what? 4 times?”

“5 times.” A smile spread across his face in triumph.

“I’m sorry I doubted you. I was definitely very, very, wrong.” You admitted.

“It’s all good. I had a lot of fun making you eat your words.”

We were both interrupted and startled by the door handle shaking as somebody tried to get in the room. You both covered yourself up in the duvet quickly.

“Um, yeah?” You called out, refusing to open it.

“What the HELL is going on in there?” Wooyoung’s voice carried through the door. Yunho and I glanced at each other and we stifled a laugh.

“We’re just playing truth or dare.”

——————-

The engine gave out hours away from her hometown. She was on her way back from a short vacation, only to get stuck in the middle of nowhere.

At first, Y/N barely noticed it. The steady hum beneath the hood faltered for a split second before the entire car lurched forward, the dashboard lighting up like a Christmas tree. Her grip tightened around the steering wheel as she instinctively eased off the accelerator, hoping the engine would somehow recover on its own. It didn't. Instead, the old sedan lost what little momentum it had left, forcing her to guide it onto the narrow shoulder of the road while the rain continued to fall in an endless, gray curtain.

Silence settled around her the moment she turned the key again.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

Each attempt was answered by nothing more than a weak, metallic clicking sound that echoed through the empty cabin, before fading into the rhythmic tapping of raindrops against the windshield.

For several long seconds, she simply stared ahead in disbelief.

"Are you fucking serious right now?" She groaned, letting her forehead fall against the steering wheel, before frustration finally got the better of her. "No. No, no, no... Come on."

The car, unsurprisingly, remained just as lifeless as before.

With a tired sigh, she reached for her phone, only to grimace when the battery icon flashed an unforgiving five percent. The signal was barely strong enough to load a webpage, but after what felt like an eternity of buffering, the search results finally appeared.

Most of the nearby repair shops were either permanently closed, had terrible reviews or couldn't tow vehicles until the following day.

Only one name kept appearing over and over again : JY's Garage.

Every review sounded strangely similar, almost as though hundreds of strangers had agreed to tell the same story.

"If your engine's dead, he's the only one who can bring it back."

"The guy works miracles, but don't expect small talk."

"Biker who rarely smiles, but does the job perfectly."

"A mechanic who fixes cars everyone else has already given up on."

"Pretty sure he likes motorcycles more than people, but his services... Top tier."

The reviews were oddly dramatic for someone who repaired engines for a living, painting the owner less like a mechanic and more like the subject of some local urban legend.

Y/N couldn't help rolling her eyes.

She had never been intimidated by the reputation people built around difficult men. In her experience, they were usually just ordinary people with an exaggerated myth surrounding them.

Still, with no better options and a rapidly dying phone, she called for a tow truck.

The driver who eventually arrived didn't have much to say. After securing the sedan onto the flatbed, he glanced toward the destination displayed on his screen, before letting out a quiet whistle.

"JY's Garage, huh?" He said, climbing back into the truck. "Guess your car's in good hands."

"You know the owner?" She asked.

The man shrugged. "Never really talked to him. Most people haven't. But everyone knows him."

That cryptic answer did little to reassure her.

Nearly twenty minutes later, the truck slowed to a stop in front of what looked far less like a repair shop and far more like the hideout of someone who preferred engines to conversation.

Rainwater dripped steadily from the corrugated metal roof as flickering neon signs cast streaks of red and blue across the wet pavement. Through the large garage doors, she could make out rows of beautifully restored classic motorcycles lined up with almost obsessive precision, their polished chrome reflecting the dim workshop lights. Somewhere deeper inside, old rock music played through worn speakers, blending with the metallic clatter of tools and the low growl of an engine being tested.

And then she saw it.

Parked directly in the center of the garage, as though everything else had been arranged around it, stood a matte-black motorcycle.

Its bodywork gleamed beneath the fluorescent lights without a single unnecessary detail, carrying the quiet confidence of something built for performance rather than attention. Even standing perfectly still, it seemed to command the entire room.

It looked beautiful. Arrogant. Expensive. Probably just like its owner.

The rhythmic clink of metal against metal echoed from somewhere in the back of the garage. It was the only warning Y/N received before someone emerged from the shadows.

Her breath hitched slightly. He was younger than she expected, tall enough that she instinctively lifted her chin to meet his gaze, his broad frame filling the doorway as though he belonged there as naturally as the motorcycles surrounding him. A white polo with deep crimson stripes clung to his shoulders, the sleeves carelessly rolled to his elbows, exposing forearms dusted with grease and dotted with tiny cuts that spoke of years spent working with stubborn machinery. Platinum-blond hair fell across his forehead in effortless disarray, partially obscuring a pair of dark eyes that carried the permanent expression of someone thoroughly unimpressed by the world around him.

A silver wrench rotated lazily between his fingers, so practiced that it looked less like a tool and more like an unconscious habit.

He looked attractive, but arrogant, charming, but stubborn.

His gaze landed on her, then shifted to the smoking sedan waiting on the tow truck, then returned to her.

"Can I help you?"

His voice was low and completely flat, stripped of anything that could remotely resemble warmth. There was no greeting, no polite smile, not even the faintest hint of curiosity.

Y/N folded her arms across her chest, standing her ground. "My car died."

His eyes drifted toward the vehicle again. "Clearly."

One eyebrow twitched. "What I meant was that I need you to fix it."

He leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, the movement so relaxed it bordered on dismissive.

"Tomorrow."

She blinked. "What?"

"The garage closes in ten minutes."

For a second, she genuinely thought he was joking. Well, he wasn't.

"You're seriously telling me... " She started slowly, trying, and failing, to keep the disbelief out of her voice. "That you're leaving me stranded because your workday ends in ten minutes?"

One shoulder lifted in an indifferent shrug.

"Your car should've broken down earlier, I guess."

Y/N stared at him in complete disbelief. There it was, without question, the most ridiculous thing anyone had ever said to her.

She took another step closer.

"People online said you were the best mechanic in town."

"I am."

Surprisingly, there was no trace of arrogance in the way he said it. That was somehow worse. It wasn't boasting. It was simply a fact, delivered with the confidence of someone who had no reason to prove himself.

"And yet..." She continued. "You're refusing to help a customer."

"I choose my customers."

"Oh." She let out a humorless laugh. "So you're difficult on purpose."

For the first time since he'd appeared, something shifted. The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk almost imperceptibly.

"Most people figure that out faster."

She narrowed her eyes. He was infuriating. Completely, undeniably infuriating.

For several seconds, neither of them spoke. Then his attention drifted toward the thin stream of steam escaping from beneath her hood. A long sigh escaped him. It wasn't the sigh of someone convinced. It was the sigh of a man accepting an inconvenience he already regretted.

"Open it."

Y/N frowned. "Excuse me?"

"The hood." He caught the wrench in his palm before spinning it again. "Unless standing in the rain arguing with mechanics is your favorite hobby."

She blinked. "I thought you were closing."

"I am."

"Then why are you helping me?"

This time, when he met her eyes, there was the faintest trace of amusement buried beneath the indifference. "Because if you keep talking, the entire neighborhood is going to hear you. You've got quite the mouth on you, sweetheart."

Her jaw clenched at the sudden term of endearment, her eyes narrowing dangerously. She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but deciding against it. After all, she needed his help, not the other way around.

Without another word, she marched back to the sedan and pulled the hood release. The latch clicked open as she lifted the heavy metal panel, stepping aside as Yunho approached.

The teasing vanished the moment he reached the engine. His entire demeanor changed. Every movement became deliberate, efficient, almost mechanical in its precision.

He leaned over the engine bay, brushing damp strands of platinum hair away from his face with the back of his wrist, before his grease-stained fingers began moving from one component to another. Hoses. Belts. Wiring. Coolant reservoir. Every inspection followed a pattern so fluid it was obvious he'd repeated it thousands of times before. He didn't waste a single motion. He didn't hesitate. He barely seemed aware of anything except the engine in front of him.

"So..." She cleared her throat. "Do you always treat customers like they're inconveniences?"

The only response was the soft metallic click of his wrench. Y/N huffed, shifting her weight.

"Or did I win some sort of special prize?"

Still nothing.

"Do you actually speak?" She snapped.

"Unfortunately." He replied, his voice flat as he was mostly invested in the engine in front of him.

After another minute, he straightened, grabbing a worn rag from his belt to wipe the grease from his hands.

"How long has it been making that noise?"

"What noise?" She frowned.

His eyes lifted to hers. "The one telling you your engine was begging for mercy?"

"I... It wasn't that bad."

He stared at her. Not dramatically. Not accusingly. Simply... stared.

"Did you ignore the check engine light?"

Silence.

"Maybe...?"

"You ignored it."

"It came on about two weeks ago."

For the first time all evening, an actual emotion crossed his face. He closed his eyes. Not in frustration. Not in anger. In disappointment. Pure, exhausted disappointment.

"I was busy, ok?" She defended.

"No." His voice remained perfectly calm. "You were irresponsible."

She folded her arms again. "Oh, and you're charming."

"I'm not paid to be charming."

"With customer service like this, I'm amazed people still come here."

Without looking at her, he nodded toward the illuminated sign hanging above the entrance.

"I do just fine."

She followed his gaze. He wasn't wrong.

Even now, nearly closing time, motorcycles and cars occupied almost every available space outside the workshop. Some looked freshly restored, their paint gleaming beneath the neon lights. Others had clearly been sitting there for weeks, waiting patiently for parts or attention. Inside, every tool hung in perfect alignment. Every drawer was labeled. Every workbench was spotless despite the grease and oil. Nothing was out of place. Nothing about him was careless.

A few more minutes passed before Yunho lowered the hood with a firm click. His expression hadn't changed.

"Well?"

"It's bad."

Her stomach tightened. "How bad?"

"Depends on what you consider bad."

She forced a smile. "Try me."

"You won't be driving it tonight. Nor tomorrow."

The rain suddenly sounded deafening. She laughed once, hoping he was joking.

"Very funny."

"I'm not joking."

The smile disappeared from her face.

He turned toward the garage as though the conversation was already over.

"The radiator's gone. The engine overheated and I won't know the full extent of the damage until I take it apart."

She hurried after him. "How long?"

He stopped without turning around. "Four days."

Her eyes widened. "Four days?"

"Maybe five."

"What am I supposed to do for five days?"

Another indifferent shrug. "Not ignore warning lights."

She stared at the back of his head in complete disbelief. "This can't be serious."

"It is."

"No, seriously, I need my car."

"So does everyone who brings one here."

She stepped in front of him, forcing him to stop. "You can't just tell me that and walk away!"

This time, something finally cracked. Only slightly. A flicker of irritation darkened his expression as his eyes locked onto hers.

"What exactly do you expect me to do?" He asked, his voice sharper than before. "Magically repair parts I don't have?"

The question hit harder than she'd expected. There was no sarcasm. No arrogance. No attempt to belittle her. Only facts. Simple, inconvenient facts.

For the first time since arriving, she found herself without an argument.

Yunho walked past her. "Come back tomorrow afternoon. I'll know more after I open the engine."

She watched him reach the garage controls. "Wait."

He paused. "What?"

"I don't even know your name."

For a moment, he said nothing. The metal shutter groaned to life, slowly descending between them. He rested one hand on the control panel before finally speaking.

"Yunho." Another pause. "Jeong Yunho."

The shutter reached the ground with a heavy metallic thud. And just like that, he was gone.

Y/N remained standing alone beneath the rain, soaked to the skin, stranded hours away from home and thoroughly irritated by the most impossible man she had ever met.

She should have been thinking about hotel rooms, repair bills and how she was going to explain all of this to her friends and family. Instead, all she could think about were a pair of cold, unreadable eyes... and the impossibly beautiful hands that had moved through the engine with the same effortless precision an artist reserved for a masterpiece.

By the time Y/N woke the next morning, she already knew the day was determined to test her patience.

The motel she'd settled for the night before had been the definition of good enough, if good enough meant peeling floral wallpaper that had probably survived three decades, a mattress that seemed designed to punish anyone foolish enough to sleep on it, coffee that somehow tasted both burnt and watered down and a shower that appeared to have a personal vendetta against hot water. She had spent the better part of the night tossing and turning, alternating between cursing her luck and mentally calculating how expensive the repairs were going to be.

Neither exercise had helped.

The morning hadn't improved much by the time she left the room. The motel was a 25 minute walk from Yunho's garage, which wouldn't have been so bad if only the roads hadn't been intentionally designed to confuse people who weren't from the area. Trudging along, the realisation that she was completely at the mercy of the most insufferable mechanic she'd ever met finally hit her.

Wonderful.

By the time she reached Yunho's garage, the overcast sky still threatened rain, leaving the pavement slick beneath her shoes. Before she even stepped inside, the familiar scent of motor oil drifted through the open garage doors, mixing with warm metal, coffee and the lingering smell of rain-soaked asphalt.

The place looked entirely different in daylight.

Larger.

Busier.

Alive.

Three vehicles occupied the service bays, each in a different stage of repair, while motorcycles lined one wall with almost military precision. Shelves packed with meticulously labeled boxes stretched nearly to the ceiling, every spare part arranged with almost obsessive care. Tool cabinets stood perfectly organized, each drawer closed, every wrench, socket and screwdriver resting exactly where it belonged.

There wasn't a speck of clutter anywhere.

The immaculate order only made yesterday's encounter with the owner even more irritating.

She hated admitting it, but the place reflected him perfectly : efficient, disciplined and frustratingly composed.

Classic rock played softly from the aging radio somewhere deeper inside the workshop, occasionally drowned out by the hiss of compressed air or the distant whir of power tools.

But Yunho was nowhere in sight.

"Hello?" She called, her voice carrying through the spacious garage.

No answer.

She took a few cautious steps farther inside, her gaze sweeping across the workshop.

"Excuse me?"

A sharp metallic clang echoed from somewhere beyond the nearest service bay. Then came his voice.

"Customers wait at the front."

Flat.

Calm.

Already mildly annoyed.

Y/N stopped in her tracks before following the sound. Only then did she notice the pair of worn work shoes sticking out from beneath her sedan, which was suspended several feet off the ground on a hydraulic lift. The rest of him remained hidden beneath the car, accompanied only by the steady rhythm of a ratchet turning somewhere above him.

A familiar wave of irritation immediately resurfaced.

"Good morning to you too."

The ratchet clicked again.

No response.

"You told me to come back today."

Still nothing.

She shifted her weight onto one hip and folded her arms across her chest.

"And technically..." She added, glancing toward the open garage door. "It's afternoon... somewhere."

The turning of the wrench stopped.

A moment later, Yunho slid out from beneath the car on a mechanic's creeper, pushing himself upright with practiced ease.

Grease stained his hands and traced dark smudges across his forearms, evidence that he'd likely been working for hours already. Gone was yesterday's striped polo, replaced by a fitted black tank top that revealed lean, well-defined muscles earned through years of lifting engines instead of weights. Loose gray sweatpants sat low on his hips, making him look unexpectedly... domestic.

It was an oddly unfair look on someone who seemed so determined to be difficult. You bit the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself not to stare too much... Or at least not make it so obvious.

His platinum-blond hair was even messier than it had been the previous evening, several strands falling stubbornly into his eyes as though he'd abandoned any attempt to tame it before sunrise.

Yet despite the change in clothes, one thing remained exactly the same. That perpetually unimpressed expression. As if the entire world had become a minor inconvenience before he'd even finished his first cup of coffee.

"You came early."

"You noticed."

Yunho didn't bother looking away from the engine. "I have eyes."

She let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling her own in response. "You're impossible."

He shrugged, setting the ratchet aside and reaching for a clean rag, methodically wiping the grease from his fingers before finally turning toward her. "The engine's worse than I expected."

The lightness she'd been forcing into the conversation disappeared instantly, her stomach tightening.

"How much worse?"

For a moment, he seemed to weigh the answer, as though mentally sorting through a list of possibilities.

"The radiator's done."

"I knew that."

"The head gasket may have gone with it."

"Which means...?"

"More work."

"How much more?"

"It depends."

She threw both hands into the air. "Everything with you depends on something."

He folded the rag neatly before setting it beside the toolbox. "Because reality works that way."

She stared at him. "Has anyone ever told you that you make normal conversations feel unnecessarily complicated?"

"Frequently."

"And?"

"I've never found it to be my problem."

She resisted the overwhelming urge to throw the nearest socket wrench at him. Instead, she wandered closer to the lift, looking up at the exposed underside of her car.

"Fine, so... what happens now?"

"I ordered the parts this morning."

"When are they getting here?"

"Tomorrow."

"And after that?"

"I install them."

"That's your entire plan?"

A brief pause. "It usually works."

She couldn't help letting out a disbelieving laugh.

It was ridiculous. Everything about him was ridiculous. His answers were painfully short, almost irritatingly literal and he possessed a remarkable talent for making every conversation feel like she was pulling teeth.

And yet... There was something strangely reassuring about him. He never exaggerated. Never promised miracles. Never softened the truth just to make someone feel better.

When he spoke, there was an unwavering certainty behind every word, as though failure simply wasn't something he considered possible once a machine was in his hands.

Almost against her will, her eyes wandered around the workshop. The daylight revealed details she'd missed the evening before.

Framed photographs covered one section of the wall. Some showed vintage motorcycles lined up at race tracks. Others captured groups of riders standing shoulder to shoulder, helmets tucked beneath their arms, grinning at the camera.

One face appeared in nearly every photograph.

Yunho.

Younger in some. His platinum hair shorter in others. Always dressed in black. Always towering over everyone around him. And, almost without exception, looking as though he'd rather be literally anywhere else.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She doubted he'd willingly admit those pictures existed.

"Do you race?" She asked.

The effect was immediate. The rag stopped moving. The workshop seemed to fall strangely quiet. Even the music from the old radio faded into the background.

Yunho didn't answer right away. When he finally did, his voice was quieter than before.

"Not anymore."

Two words. Short. Final. An unmistakable end to the conversation.

Interesting.

Y/N leaned back against the workbench, folding her arms.

"So you really are a biker."

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "I own motorcycles."

"That's not what I asked."

"I wasn't aware this was an interview."

She smiled, refusing to let him escape so easily.

"And I wasn't aware mechanics were legally required to have terrible personalities."

His eyes lifted to meet hers. For the briefest fraction of a second, she thought she saw something soften. Not a smile. Not quite. Just the faintest flicker of amusement hiding behind the usual indifference. It disappeared before she could be certain it had ever been there.

The bell above the entrance jingled.

An older man stepped inside, removing his cap as he looked around.

"Morning, Yunho!"

Yunho gave a small nod. "Morning, Mr. Han."

"Bike still running alright?"

"Fixed it yesterday."

"I figured you had." The older man laughed warmly. "You're a lifesaver, kid."

Kid?

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. The man finally noticed her standing nearby.

"Oh!" He smiled politely. "New customer?"

Before she could answer, his expression shifted into one of knowing amusement.

"Careful with this one, miss." He jerked a thumb toward Yunho. "He looks grumpy enough to scare people away, but he's got a good heart."

Silence.

Yunho continued cleaning his tools as though the conversation had absolutely nothing to do with him.

Mr. Han chuckled. "He's been fixing everything in this town since he was barely an adult. Cars, motorcycles, tractors... Doesn't matter what breaks." He looked back at her. "Best mechanic for miles."

"So everyone keeps telling me." Y/N replied.

"They're right." The older man lowered his voice conspiratorially. "He only pretends to hate people."

Without lifting his head, Yunho spoke.

"I can hear you."

"Good." Mr. Han laughed. "Means your hearing still works."

He accepted the keys Yunho slid across the counter, thanked him once more and disappeared through the front door, the bell chiming softly behind him.

The garage settled into silence again.

Y/N turned toward Yunho.

"So."

He continued arranging his sockets by size.

"Does that mean you secretly have a heart?"

Without looking at her, he placed the final wrench into its slot.

"Your car will be ready when it's ready."

She sighed dramatically. "That wasn't the question."

He walked past her toward another workbench.

"Do you always ask this many questions?"

"Do you always avoid answering them?"

This time, he stopped. Slowly, he turned to face her. Their eyes met. There was something different in his expression now. Not annoyance. Not boredom. Something quieter. Something almost... challenging.

"Do you always come to mechanics just to annoy them?"

She smirked without hesitation. "Only the rude ones."

A heartbeat passed. Then, the tiniest twitch pulled at the corner of his mouth. Gone almost before it existed.

Y/N stared.

No.

She had definitely seen it.

Small. Practically microscopic. But real.

Her eyes widened in triumph.

"Wait." She pointed at him with exaggerated accusation. "You almost smiled."

Yunho calmly returned to organizing the tools on the shelf. "I didn't."

"You absolutely did."

"No."

"You're denying physical evidence."

"The evidence is unreliable."

She folded her arms with an exaggerated huff.

"You're impossible."

"And yet..." He took a single step forward. It wasn't much. Barely enough to close the distance between them. Yet somehow it changed everything. His broad frame eclipsed the light above her, leaving her caught in the shadow of his taller body. She hadn't realized how close they'd been standing until there was suddenly nowhere else for her eyes to go except his. "You're still here."

His voice remained as calm as ever, low enough that it barely carried beyond the space between them.

Y/N tilted her chin, refusing to give him the satisfaction of backing away. "So are you."

He frowned. "I work here."

"Convenient excuse."

One corner of his eyebrow lifted. "You expected me to leave my own garage?"

"I expected you to admit you don't mind my company."

A quiet scoff escaped him. "That's a generous interpretation."

She grinned. "You haven't told me to leave."

"I've considered it."

"But you didn't."

"No."

The word lingered between them. Neither of them moved. The garage had grown strangely quiet. Somewhere outside, rain tapped softly against the metal roof, while the old radio crackled through another classic rock song. It should have been ordinary. Instead, the air felt unexpectedly heavy.

Y/N became acutely aware of how close he was. Close enough to catch the clean scent of soap beneath the unmistakable traces of engine oil and metal. Close enough to notice the faint freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose, details she'd missed yesterday beneath the dim lights and rain. A stubborn strand of platinum hair had fallen over his forehead again and before she could stop herself, her gaze lingered there for a fraction too long.

"You stare a lot." His voice pulled her back instantly.

"I do not."

"You've been looking at me for the last ten seconds."

"I was observing."

"Is there a difference?"

"There is when the subject is particularly..." She looked him up and down. "Interesting."

For the first time, Yunho didn't answer immediately. His dark eyes searched hers, unreadable as always, yet somehow softer around the edges. Neither of them spoke. His gaze dropped briefly, just briefly, to her lips, before returning to her eyes. It happened so quickly she could almost convince herself she'd imagined it. Almost.

The silence stretched. Neither seemed willing to be the first to break it. Then, without warning, Yunho reached past her shoulder.

His arm brushed lightly against hers as he grabbed a wrench hanging from the pegboard behind her, the movement forcing them even closer for the briefest moment.

"You're in the way." He sighed.

Y/N looked over her shoulder at the now-empty hook before turning back to him with a knowing smirk.

"You could've just asked me to move."

"I did."

"When?"

"You're in the way."

She snorted, shaking her head and moving aside.

For the first time since she'd walked into the garage, Y/N realized she wasn't counting the minutes until she could leave. And judging by the fact that Yunho hadn't once told her to go home... Neither was he.

The following morning arrived with clear skies for the first time since she'd broken down.

Sunlight streamed through the motel curtains far earlier than Y/N would've liked, dragging her from sleep before her alarm had the chance. She stared at the ceiling for several seconds, mentally debating whether she should wait until the afternoon like Yunho had originally suggested the first evening they met.

She lasted exactly twenty minutes.

The excuse she settled on was perfectly reasonable. She was simply checking whether the parts had arrived. It had absolutely nothing to do with wanting to see a certain mechanic again. Absolutely nothing.

She reached his garage just as a delivery truck was backing into the loading area behind the workshop.

The driver jumped down first, followed by Yunho, who was already signing paperwork without wasting a second on unnecessary conversation.

Unlike yesterday, he wore faded blue jeans and another black tank top, a pair of worn work gloves tucked into the back pocket. Morning sunlight caught the pale strands of his hair, making them almost silver against the darker interior of the garage.

She shouldn't have noticed. She did anyway.

The driver laughed while handing over another clipboard. "You're the only mechanic I know who gets excited over radiator hoses."

"They're the correct ones."

"See? Exactly my point."

Yunho ignored him.

Within minutes, cardboard boxes were stacked neatly beside the service bay.

He crouched beside them, slicing through the packing tape with a utility knife in one smooth motion before inspecting every component one by one.

Radiator.

Gaskets.

Coolant lines.

Bolts.

Every item was examined with almost obsessive attention before he finally nodded to himself. Only then did he notice her standing nearby.

He sighed. "You came back."

Y/N folded her arms. "You sound surprised."

"I am."

"You told me the parts were arriving today."

"I didn't expect an audience."

"I'm making sure you don't replace my engine with cardboard."

He regarded her for a long second. "Reasonable."

She blinked. "Was that a joke?"

"No."

"It almost sounded like one."

"It wasn't."

"Liar."

"I don't lie."

"You've smiled once and joked once."

"I've done neither."

She shook her head, visibly amused. "You really commit to the bit."

He picked up the new radiator and walked toward the lift. "It's called consistency."

She followed him. "I thought it was emotional constipation."

He stopped walking and slowly turned his head.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me."

"I wish I hadn't."

She smiled sweetly. "I know."

Yunho stared at her for another second before shaking his head almost imperceptibly and continuing toward the car. "You enjoy provoking people."

"I enjoy provoking you."

"I noticed."

"You keep responding."

"I keep hoping you'll get bored."

"Oh." She clasped her hands dramatically. "So you do pay attention."

His only response was a nearly inaudible sigh. It sounded suspiciously fond.

Later that day, the garage settled into its familiar rhythm.

Power tools whirred.

Compressed air hissed.

Classic rock drifted lazily from the old radio while Yunho disappeared beneath the hood of the sedan once again.

Y/N perched on a nearby stool, watching despite herself. She'd never seen anyone work the way he did. There was no hesitation, no wasted movement. Every tool was picked up without searching. Every bolt loosened in exactly the right order. Even something as simple as setting a wrench back onto the workbench looked practiced enough to become muscle memory.

It was... Oddly attractive.

She hated that.

"You know..." She said after several minutes, grinning smugly. "Most people charge extra if someone's going to stare at them while they work."

"I was wondering how long it would take."

She frowned. "For what?"

"For you to start talking."

"I've been quiet for almost ten minutes."

"A personal record."

She rolled her eyes. "You timed me?"

"I didn't have to."

She climbed off the stool. "I could leave."

"You could."

"But?"

"I didn't say there was a 'but.'"

"You implied one."

"I did no such thing."

"You wanted me to."

He looked at her then. Really looked at her.

"You assume a lot."

"You don't deny much."

For a brief moment, neither of them spoke.

The sunlight filtering through the open garage doors illuminated tiny flecks of dust drifting lazily through the air.

Somewhere outside, a motorcycle rumbled past. Inside, everything felt strangely still.

Yunho reached for a socket wrench without taking his eyes off her. "You've got grease."

"Hm?"

He nodded toward her cheek. "Right there."

Instinctively, she rubbed the spot.

"The other side."

She frowned and tried again. "This one?"

"No."

She sighed dramatically. "You're terrible at giving directions."

"So I've been told."

"Well?"

"Still there."

She huffed. "Fine." She looked around for something reflective. "Where's a mirror?"

"There isn't one."

"Helpful."

Without another word, Yunho stepped closer. Close enough that she could hear the quiet rustle of his shirt as he moved. Close enough for the familiar scent of soap and engine oil to settle around her again.

She stopped breathing for half a second.

"You missed." His voice was quieter now.

Before she could answer, he lifted one hand. Slowly. Giving her every opportunity to pull away. His thumb brushed lightly across her cheekbone, wiping away the dark streak of grease with surprising gentleness.

The touch lasted barely two seconds. It felt much longer.

"There." He stepped back immediately. "Better."

Y/N remained perfectly still. "Thanks."

"You looked ridiculous."

"I was wondering how long it'd take before you ruined the moment."

"I improved it."

She laughed despite herself. "You absolutely did not."

"I removed the grease."

"You added an insult."

"They're complimentary."

She shook her head. "I genuinely don't understand how anyone puts up with you."

"They usually don't."

"But I do?"

The question escaped before she could stop it.

Silence followed. Something unreadable flickered across Yunho's face. Small. Almost invisible. Yet somehow more revealing than any smile.

His gaze lingered on her for just a heartbeat too long, before he cleared his throat and looked back at the engine. "I should finish this."

His voice sounded just slightly rougher than before.

Y/N swallowed. "Yeah... Probably."

Neither of them moved immediately.

Outside, the wind stirred the leaves lining the street. Inside, the distance between them suddenly felt much smaller than it had any right to. Neither of them acknowledged it. But for the first time, it wasn't only the engine running hot.

The next day disappeared almost without either of them noticing. Somewhere between replacing the damaged radiator and checking the cooling system for leaks, time simply slipped away.

The garage remained comfortably noisy. Wrenches clicked against metal. Compressed air hissed every now and then. The old radio drifted lazily from one classic rock song into another.

Y/N had long since abandoned any pretense of being there purely for updates. She sat cross-legged on an overturned crate near the lift, absentmindedly scrolling through her phone without actually reading anything. Every few minutes her attention wandered back to Yunho instead.

Not intentionally. It just... happened.

He had changed into another shirt somewhere during the afternoon, although "changed" wasn't entirely accurate. The black tank top remained, but now a faded charcoal work shirt hung open over it, the sleeves rolled carelessly to his elbows.

She'd noticed. Unfortunately.

The fabric shifted every time he reached for another tool, exposing the lean muscles in his forearms as they flexed beneath skin marked by tiny scars earned through years of stubborn engines refusing to cooperate. But it was his hands that made it hard to look away. Heavy, pronounced veins roped across the backs of them, trailing down to his knuckles and pulsing with every movement. His fingers were distractingly long, rough and oil-smudged, wrapping around the cold tools with a slow, deliberate possession. There was something unfairly captivating about the raw, effortless strength in his grip, the way those thick veins shifted under his skin every time those long digits handled the heavy steel.

Her mouth went suddenly dry as her thoughts drifted into dangerous territory. She didn’t even realize she was openly staring until his eyes snapped up, catching her dead in the act.

"You've inspected me more than the car."

She looked up without missing a beat. "The car doesn't move."

"It also doesn't stare."

"I wasn't staring."

"You've said that before."

She smiled innocently. "And you've been wrong before."

"I haven't."

"You have."

"When?"

"When you assumed I'd get bored."

His wrench paused for barely a heartbeat. "Fair."

Her eyebrows shot upward. "You admitted I was right."

"I admitted nothing."

"You literally–"

"I said 'fair.'"

"That's practically an apology."

"It absolutely isn't."

She snorted. He didn't.

By early evening, thick gray clouds had begun swallowing the remaining daylight.

Y/N wandered toward the open garage door, folding her arms against the cool breeze. "I think it's going to rain again."

Yunho didn't look up from tightening the final bolt. "It is."

"You checked the weather?"

"I looked outside."

She sighed. "Of course."

A low rumble echoed across the sky. Seconds later, rain began falling. Not gently. The heavens simply... Opened.

Within moments the street disappeared beneath shimmering sheets of water, the downpour loud enough to drown out the music entirely.

Y/N stared. "Well."

"Hm?"

"There goes my walk."

"Hm."

"I don't think I can walk back to the motel like this."

"You probably can."

She turned toward him. "You call this weather?"

"I call it Thursday."

She rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."

"So you keep saying."

A jagged flash of lightning threw the workshop into sharp, sudden relief, followed by the deafening roar of rain pounding against the metal roof. She pulled her phone from her pocket, her screen confirming the worst. Absolutely no public transportation was running.

​She let out a heavy, dramatic sigh.

"Fantastic."

​The silence that followed was thick. She braced herself, fully expecting a biting, sarcastic remark or for him to simply turn his back and ignore her existence entirely.

​But the biting remark never came. She looked up to find him watching her. He had stopped working, a heavy wrench resting loosely in that grease-smudged grip. His dark eyes locked onto hers, narrowing slightly as he weighed his options. A muscle feathered in his jaw, betraying a silent, frustrating argument with himself. Finally, he dropped the tool onto the workbench and let out a rough, chest-deep sigh of absolute defeat.

​"Fine." He muttered, his voice a low rumble barely carrying over the storm. "I'll take you."

She blinked. "What?"

"I said I'll take you."

She frowned. "How–"

His gaze shifted toward the center of the garage. Toward the matte-black motorcycle.

Oh.

Right.

​"Absolutely not." She blurted out, her voice pitching slightly higher than she intended. She took a quick step back, shaking her head. "Nope. There is zero chance I am getting on that death trap with you."

​He slowly turned his head back to her, an irritatingly calm expression settling over his features. "It’s a motorcycle, not a bomb."

​"It's a two-wheeled hazard and we are in the middle of a torrential downpour!" She argued, gesturing wildly toward the open bay doors where the storm was raging. "I am not riding that thing. I would rather walk the twenty-five minutes in the mud."

He didn't blink. He didn't argue. He just slowly raised a hand and gestured toward the open garage doors. "Be my guest."

​She stared at him, her jaw dropping slightly. He was actually going to let her walk. She spun on her heel stubbornly, marching toward the exit with every ounce of dignity she could muster. She made it exactly three steps before a deafening crack of thunder shook the concrete floor, followed immediately by a violent gust of wind that threw a sheet of freezing rain right into her face.

​She froze, the cold water instantly soaking the front of her shirt.

​Behind her, she heard the heavy, rhythmic thud of his shoes. He stopped right beside her, the heat radiating off his body a stark contrast to the freezing wind. Without a word, he shoved a heavy, matte-black helmet into her chest.

​She instinctively wrapped her arms around it, glaring up at him as water dripped from her eyelashes.

​"You're not walking in that and we both know it." He said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that cut straight through the noise of the storm. He reached past her, grabbing a heavy leather jacket off a hook and tossing it over her shivering shoulders. "Put the jacket on. Fasten the helmet. And if you want to live, you hold onto me and you don't let go. Understood?"

She swallowed hard, her previous bravado washing away completely with the freezing rain.

"Fine..." She muttered, the word barely audible over the howling wind.

She shoved her trembling arms into the sleeves of the leather jacket. It was absurdly large on her, the heavy material swallowing her frame and falling past her hips, but it was incredibly warm. The collar carried his scent, a heady, intoxicating mix of dark leather, motor oil and a faint, sharp note of cedar.

She pulled the helmet over her head, the thick padding instantly muffling the deafening roar of the storm. Her fingers, already stiff from the sudden blast of cold, fumbled clumsily with the strap under her jaw, failing to get the clasp to lock.

With a short, impatient exhale, he stepped closer, brushing her hands away. "Let me."

Even through the chill creeping over her skin, the drag of his rough knuckles against her throat sent a sudden, traitorous spike of heat straight into her chest. His long, calloused fingers worked the strap with effortless precision, grazing her jawline before he pulled away.

He didn't wait for her to recover her breath. Turning his back, he swung a long leg over the motorcycle and settled into the driver's seat. The heavy machine dipped under his weight, the suspension groaning slightly. He gripped the handlebars and instantly, the lean muscles in his forearms flexed. She watched those thick, heavy veins ridge against his skin all over again, highlighted perfectly by the harsh garage lights.

He kicked up the stand and looked over his shoulder, his dark eyes fixed on her through the open visor of his helmet. "Get on."

She took a steadying breath, stepping up to the bike and awkwardly swinging her leg over the back. The seat wasn't just small, it was angled in a way that practically guaranteed zero personal space. The moment her weight settled, gravity slid her forward until she bumped into a solid wall of muscle.

"Arms." He ordered, his voice vibrating deeply.

Hesitantly, she reached around his sides, pressing her palms flat against his stomach. He was rock-solid beneath his shirt, radiating a furnace-like heat that seeped straight through the oversized leather jacket she wore.

"I said hold on, not hover." He grunted.

Before she could adjust, he reached down, his large hands covering both of hers. He gripped her wrists tightly, forcefully pulling her arms all the way around his waist and locking them there. The movement dragged her forcefully forward, flattening her chest flush against his broad back. Her thighs aligned perfectly with the outside of his, eliminating every single fraction of an inch of space between them.

He released her hands, his long, oil-smudged fingers lingering on her wrists for just a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

"Don't let go."

With a sharp twist of his wrist, the motorcycle roared to life. The engine released a deafening, guttural growl that vibrated through the metal frame and straight into her bones. He shifted gears, the heavy boot of his left foot clicking into place and then they were shooting out into the torrential, blinding darkness, leaving her absolutely no choice but to cling to his heat exactly as she had been told.

Y/N had expected the ride to be terrifying.

Instead, it felt strangely peaceful. Every time they rounded a corner she instinctively held him a little tighter. And every time she did so, he noticed. He never commented. Not once.

The motel appeared far sooner than she wanted it to. Yunho parked beneath the small overhang outside reception, before switching off the engine.

The sudden silence was deafening, broken only by the heavy, relentless drum of rain against the plastic corrugated roof of the overhang. Without the guttural vibration of the engine beneath them, the world felt entirely too still.

In that quiet, Y/N became hyper-aware of everything: the steady, even rise and fall of his chest beneath her arms, the furnace-like heat radiating from his back and the undeniable fact that her hands were still firmly locked together over his stomach. She was clinging to him like a lifeline.

Slowly, reluctantly, she unclasped her hands.

Pulling her arms back felt like stepping into a freezer. The chill of the night air instantly bit at her damp clothes the moment she lost the protective shield of his body. She swung her leg over the back of the bike, her shoes hitting the wet concrete with a soft thud. Her legs felt completely unstable, whether from the vibrations of the ride, the freezing temperature or the adrenaline still humming through her veins, she wasn't entirely sure.

Yunho kicked the heavy metal kickstand down with his heel and shifted his weight, turning slightly in the seat to look at her.

She reached up to unfasten the helmet. This time, her numb, trembling fingers managed to pop the latch. She pulled it off, shaking out her flattened, damp hair and held the heavy matte-black helmet out to him.

He took it from her hands, his long fingers brushing against hers and set it effortlessly on the fuel tank. His dark, assessing gaze swept over her. She knew she had to look like a disaster, shivering, soaked and entirely swallowed up by a leather jacket that was at least three sizes too big for her, but his expression remained completely unreadable.

"Uhm... Thanks." She said, her voice sounding a little too breathy. She reached for the heavy zipper of his jacket, preparing to take it off. "For the ride. I really appreciate–"

Before she could tug the zipper down, his hand moved. His long, calloused fingers wrapped firmly around her wrist, stopping her mid-motion. The heat of his grip seeped instantly through the thick leather sleeve, halting her breath in her throat.

"Keep it." He said. His voice was low, a quiet rumble that barely competed with the rain.

Y/N blinked, looking from his large hand gripping her wrist up to his dark eyes. "What? No, it's freezing out here, you need–"

"I'll be fine." His thumb brushed absentmindedly over the seam of her sleeve, before he dropped his hand, letting her go. The ghost of his grip still burned where he had held her. He shifted his weight back toward the front of the bike, grabbing the handlebars. As his fingers locked around the grips, the lean muscles in his forearms flexed and those heavy, prominent veins ridged against the backs of his hands under the dim motel lights. "Take it inside. You can give it back to me tomorrow when you come to get your car."

She swallowed hard, pulling the collar of the jacket just a fraction tighter around her neck, trapping his scent against her skin.

"Ok." She murmured softly. "Thank you, Yunho."

He didn't smile, but the hard, defensive set of his shoulders seemed to ease just a fraction. He gave her a single, curt nod, flipping the ignition switch back on.

"Go inside." He grunted, the engine roaring back to life with a deafening growl beneath him. He kicked it into gear, looking straight ahead into the blinding rain. "Before you catch pneumonia and find another reason to complain."

She smiled, the first genuine, unforced smile she'd worn all day, despite the biting wind. "I wouldn't dream of it."

He didn't look back, but as the heavy motorcycle shot forward, tearing out from under the motel overhang and slicing back into the torrential downpour, she could have sworn the massive engine revved just a fraction louder than necessary.

She stood there for a long moment, watching him drive off. She tracked the red glow of his taillight as it blurred through the sheets of rain, waiting until it vanished completely into the pitch-black streets. The storm raged on, throwing cold mist over the sidewalk, but wrapped inside his oversized jacket, she couldn't feel the chill at all.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she hugged the heavy leather closer to her body. She buried her cold nose into the thick collar, breathing in that dark, heavy scent of cedar, rain and motor oil one last time, before finally turning toward the flickering neon sign of the motel lobby.

The storm from the night before had completely washed away, leaving the morning air crisp and the sky an obnoxiously bright blue. Walking back into Yunho’s garage, his heavy leather jacket neatly folded over her arm, Y/N felt an unfamiliar, nervous flutter of anticipation in her chest.

But the moment she stepped through the open bay doors, the temperature seemed to drop.

Yunho was already at work, leaning deep under the popped hood of her car. The rhythmic click-click-click of a socket wrench echoed sharply in the cavernous space.

"Morning." She called out, stepping into the dim light of the shop.

He didn't look up. "Morning."

The word was clipped, rough and entirely devoid of the quiet heat that had existed between them just hours ago.

She hesitated, her fingers digging instinctively into the soft, worn leather of his jacket. "Is it... is it almost done?"

He finally straightened up, pulling a filthy shop rag from his back pocket to wipe down his hands. Those hands, the same ones that had forcefully locked her arms around his waist last night, were completely rigid. The thick, prominent veins ridged sharply against his knuckles, heavy and pulsing with a suppressed, restless energy. But his dark eyes were shuttered, completely unreadable as they briefly flicked to her, before instantly looking away.

"Almost." He muttered, tossing the rag onto a nearby tool chest. He didn't acknowledge the jacket in her arms. He didn't really look at her at all. "It'll be ready by late afternoon."

Late afternoon.

The words landed between them with the crushing weight of an anvil.

Ready meant finished. Finished meant the engine would turn over, the tires would hit the asphalt and she would drive away. Having her car back meant she had absolutely no logical reason to stay in this town or in his garage for another minute.

The realization seemed to crash over them both at the exact same second. The charged, magnetic pull from last night was still there, humming beneath the surface, but it was suddenly suffocated by the glaring reality of her impending departure.

Yunho’s jaw tightened until the bone showed white. A muscle feathered visibly in his cheek before he deliberately turned his back to her, reaching for another tool with stiff, aggressive movements.

"You can wait at the motel if you want." He grunted, his broad shoulders tensing defensively beneath his dark t-shirt. The lean muscles in his forearms flexed hard as his long, grease-stained fingers locked around a heavy steel wrench. "It's gonna be a few hours. Keep clear of the bay, I need to focus."

He was shutting her out.

The shift was so sudden, so deliberate, that it felt like a physical blow. He wasn't just working, he was retreating. He was wrapping himself back in that abrasive, unapproachable armor he’d worn the day they met, forcefully carving out space between them so he wouldn't have to deal with the inevitable moment she left.

Y/N stood there for a long moment, the ghost of his scent rising from the jacket pressed against her stomach.

"Wait at the motel?" She frowned. "Why can't I wait here, as usual?"

He stopped moving. The wrench in his hand hovered just above the engine block, suspended by sheer, rigid tension, before he slowly lowered it.

"Because there's no point." He said, his back still to her. His voice was low, harsh and tight. "You're out of here in a few hours. Go pack your things."

"I'm already packed." She shot back, her voice shaking slightly with rising indignation. Instead of retreating, she stepped further into the garage, closing the distance between them. "I've sat on that same crappy metal stool for days, Yunho. Why is it suddenly a problem now?"

"Because it just is!" He snapped, finally spinning around to face her.

The sudden violence in his movement made her flinch, but she held her ground. He threw the heavy wrench onto the nearest metal workbench. The deafening clang echoed sharply off the concrete walls, ringing in the sudden silence.

"I need you out of my workspace." He ground out, stalking toward her with heavy, predatory strides. All the careful distance he had tried to keep evaporated in a matter of seconds. "I need to finish this damn car so you can get on the highway and go back to your life. That’s what you wanted, isn't it? To get the hell out of here?"

"Stop trying to push me away!" She yelled. Frustration bubbled over, hot and blinding. She dropped his heavy leather jacket onto a nearby chair and stepped squarely into his space, refusing to be intimidated by his size or his temper. "You're acting like yesterday didn't happen! Like last night meant absolutely nothing to you!"

"Like it meant nothing?" He repeated, his voice dropping into a lethal, vibrating growl. He leaned down, crowding her, his face mere inches from hers. His dark eyes were completely entirely unshielded now, blazing with a chaotic mix of fury, exhaustion and something utterly desperate. "Do you have any idea how much it takes for me to keep my hands off you right now? I am literally putting the engine back together that is going to take you away from me, Y/N."

"Then why are you the one shoving me out the door?" She demanded, her voice rising to match his intensity. She didn't back down an inch, even with his towering frame caging her in. "You're the one telling me to go to the motel! You're the one acting like I'm just some annoying distraction you can't wait to be rid of!"

"Because you are leaving!" He roared, the sound tearing out of his chest, echoing violently against the concrete walls. He threw his hands up, those long, grease-stained fingers gesturing wildly toward the open bay doors. "You have a life in a city three hundred miles from here, Y/N! A job. A schedule. You don't belong in a run-down garage in a town you couldn't even stand a few days ago!"

"Don't you dare tell me what I want or where I belong!" She fired back. Frustration made her reckless. She closed the last fraction of an inch between them, her chest brushing against the solid, immovable wall of his as she tilted her chin up defiantly. "You don't get to decide that for me. And you don't get to use my car as an excuse to play the martyr just because you're terrified of actually letting someone in!"

Yunho flinched as if she had struck him. His breath hitched, his chest heaving violently against hers. He stared down at her, his jaw locked so tight she thought the bone might shatter. His heavy, vein-ridged hands flexed at his sides, curling into tight, white-knuckled fists as if he was physically warring with his own instincts.

"I'm not playing the martyr." He rasped, his voice dropping an octave, turning rough and deadly quiet. "I am being realistic. Tomorrow morning, you're going to wake up, realize this was just some adrenaline-fueled mistake and drive away. I'm just saving us both the collateral damage."

"You're a coward." She breathed, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

His eyes darkened instantly, a dangerous, possessive heat flashing in his irises. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Her heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs, but she held his furious gaze, her voice dropping to an unsteady, challenging whisper. "You fix broken things all day long, but the second something gets complicated, you push it away. If you really want me gone so badly, Yunho... then tell me to leave right now. Look me in the eye and tell me you don't want me here."

Silence slammed down around them, thick and electric. Yunho stared at her, the air between them practically vibrating with unspoken words. The muscle in his jaw feathered wildly. He looked at her defiant eyes, down to her parted lips and back up again. The rigid control he had been clinging to all morning was visibly fracturing, cracking right down the middle under the weight of her challenge.

"Tell me to leave!" She pushed, her voice breaking slightly, eyes welling with unshed tears.

He said nothing.

The silence stretched between them, agonizing and absolute. Yunho just stood there, his jaw locked so tight a muscle jumped frantically beneath his skin. His broad chest rose and fell with harsh, shallow breaths, his dark eyes stormy and completely torn, but his lips remained stubbornly, agonizingly sealed.

He couldn't say the words. But he wouldn't ask her to stay, either.

The silence was an answer in itself.

A hot, humiliating tear spilled over her lashes, tracing a searing path down her cheek. The fiery indignation that had fueled her just seconds ago completely evaporated, leaving behind a hollow, aching chill that settled deep in her chest.

"Right." She whispered, her voice barely a thread. She let out a shaky, broken breath and nodded once. "Message received."

She broke his gaze, spinning on her heel. The heavy rubber of her boots scraped against the concrete as she turned her back on him, wrapping her arms around her own stomach. She closed her eyes, blinking away the stinging wetness and started walking toward the door. She was done fighting for a man who refused to fight for himself.

She made it exactly three steps.

She didn't hear his boots move. She didn't hear him cross the space between them. He was just suddenly there.

A large, rough hand clamped around her wrist. The grip was startlingly firm, the calloused pads of his fingers biting into her skin, heavy and undeniably possessive. Before she could even gasp, Yunho yanked her backward, spinning her around with a sheer, desperate force that threw her completely off balance.

She collided squarely with the solid wall of his chest and before she could even look up, his hands were in her hair, tilting her head back as his mouth crashed violently down onto hers.

It was an explosion. There was absolutely nothing gentle, nothing restrained about it. It was a punishing, desperate collision of lips and teeth, built on days of unbearable tension and the terrifying reality that he had almost let her walk out that door. The impact knocked the breath straight out of her lungs and he took immediate, ruthless advantage, parting her lips and kissing her with a raw, demanding heat that sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to her core.

Y/N gasped against his mouth, her hands flying up instinctively. Her fingers grabbed fistfuls of his dark, grease-smudged t-shirt to keep her knees from buckling.

Yunho kissed her like he was starving. His hands were everywhere, frantic and heavy. One hand wrapped around the back of her neck, his thick, vein-ridged fingers tangling deep into her hair to hold her exactly where he wanted her. The other hand dropped to her waist, his long fingers gripping her hip hard enough to bruise as he backed her forcefully against the nearest metal pillar.

He pressed his massive frame flush against hers, crushing her between the cold steel and the furnace of his body, effectively sealing off any chance of escape. He tasted like dark coffee, mint and pure, unfiltered desperation, completely obliterating her tears and proving exactly what his stubborn silence couldn't say.

For a split second, shock held her completely frozen. But the sheer, overwhelming force of his kiss, the desperate, undeniable way his mouth moved against hers, shattered whatever was left of her resolve.

She kissed him back.

The moment she yielded, sliding her hands up from his chest to wrap tightly around his neck, Yunho completely lost his mind. A low, guttural groan tore from his throat, vibrating intensely against her lips. His arm tightened like a vice around her waist, lifting her up onto her toes until she was molded entirely against him, erasing every single fraction of an inch he had spent the whole morning trying to build.

His hands were relentless. The thick, calloused fingers that had been so precise and controlled with his tools just moments ago were now frantic. They mapped the curve of her spine, pulling her closer, as if he physically couldn't get enough of her. She tangled her fingers into the thick, dark hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him deeper, matching his chaotic desperation beat for beat.

With a violent, sweeping motion of his free hand, Yunho cleared the nearest heavy metal workbench. Wrenches, bolts and a metal tray went crashing to the concrete floor in a deafening clatter, but neither of them flinched. The noise was instantly swallowed by the heavy, ragged sound of their breathing as he lifted her effortlessly, setting her down onto the cold steel edge.

He stepped right between her thighs, crowding her, his massive frame caging her against the bench. The cold metal at her back was a shocking contrast to the furnace of his body pressing flush against hers.

His hands, those rough, impossibly capable hands that had been the focal point of her distraction all week, were frantic now, gripping the hem of her shirt. He pulled it over her head and tossed it blindly into the shadows of the garage. The cool air hit her skin for only a fraction of a second before his mouth replaced the chill, tracing a searing, open-mouthed path down her jaw, her neck and over her collarbone.

Y/N gasped, her hands completely abandoning his hair to grip his broad shoulders, her nails digging into the heavy, lean muscles flexing under his dark t-shirt. "Yunho..."

"I'm not letting you go." He rasped against her skin, his voice a dark, vibrating rumble that sent a tremor straight down her spine. "Not today. Not tomorrow."

A soft cry escaped her mouth as he wrapped his lips around one of her hardened nipples, suckling gently. Her hands moved to the back of his neck, tugging gently at the hair of his nape as she arched into his touch.

He groaned softly, pulling back just long enough to grip the hem of his own shirt, tearing it over his head and throwing it to the floor. The sight of his bare chest, sculpted by years of raw, physical labor, marked by faint scars and a light sheen of sweat, completely stole the breath from her lungs. His chest was heaving, his dark eyes entirely unshielded and blazing with a chaotic mix of possessiveness and absolute surrender. The abrasive, walled-off mechanic was gone, replaced by a man completely undone by his own need.

Unable to resist the magnetic pull of him, she slowly reached out. Her trembling fingers brushed against the furnace of his skin, trailing upward over the hard, rigid muscles of his stomach to the broad expanse of his chest. She mapped the faint scars with a feather-light touch, mesmerized by the sheer, radiating heat of him.

When her palm finally flattened directly over his heart, she could feel the violent, erratic hammering of his pulse echoing against her hand. A harsh, ragged shudder ripped through his massive frame the second her fingertips lightly traced the sweat-slicked skin over his collarbone. His eyes darkened impossibly further, the last remaining thread of his control splintering completely under her touch.

He reached for the button of her jeans, his thick, calloused fingers working with a desperate efficiency. He popped the metal closure, dragging the heavy denim and lace down her legs until they pooled completely on the concrete floor.

​He didn't pull her flush against his chest this time. Instead, Yunho’s hands, rough, large and unbearably hot, slid up the backs of her thighs. He gripped her firmly, dragging her right to the edge of the cold steel workbench, making her gasp. He pushed her legs wider apart, settling himself firmly between her knees, his gaze burning into hers with a predatory intensity.

​"Yunho..."

​He didn't give her a chance to finish the thought, lowering his head. The moment his warm, wet tongue first made contact with her swollen center, Y/N let out a sharp, strangled cry, her fingers digging painfully into his shoulders.

He didn't hesitate, burying his face against her drenched folds, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her arousal before his tongue began its relentless assault. He lapped at her with long, slow strokes, savoring the sweet, musky taste of her nectar. Every flick of his tongue was deliberate, teasing the most sensitive parts of her anatomy until Y/N felt like she was coming undone.

"Oh, god... Yunho..." She gasped, her head tossing back as her spine arched sharply. Her hands flew from his shoulders to his hair, her fingers tangling in those platinum strands, not to push him away, but to pull him even deeper against her.

A deep, guttural groan vibrated from Yunho’s chest, muffled against her damp skin. "Fuck." He rasped, his breath hot and ragged against her inner thigh. "You taste so fucking good... so sweet, so perfect."

The praise only served to ignite the fire already raging inside her. She let out a broken moan, her hips bucking instinctively against his face, seeking more of that devastating sensation.

He growled, sealing his lips around her clit, suckling gently, causing her eyes to roll in the back of her head.

Reluctantly, almost painfully, Yunho pulled his face away from her soaking wet core. A thin, glistening thread of saliva connected them for a fleeting second, before he broke free. He looked down at her, his eyes hooded and dark with a feral kind of hunger, his jaw tight as he fought to catch his breath.

Y/N let out a frustrated, needy whine, her legs trembling uncontrollably from the sudden absence of his touch. She reached down, her fingers shaking as she fumbled with the waistband of his jeans, needing to feel him, needing to bridge the agonizing gap between them.

With a desperate tug, she managed to slide his denim down his powerful thighs, releasing his cock from its confinement. As it sprang free, it pulsed with a life of its own, heavy and imposing. She gasped softly, her eyes widening as she took in the sheer size of him. It was thick, impressively long and mapped with prominent, throbbing veins that spoke of the blood rushing through him in his state of extreme arousal.

Y/N's breath came in shallow, uneven pants as she stared, mesmerized by the sight of him. He was beautiful in a raw, intimidating way, a testament to the hunger he held for her.

"Mmm, so big and and hard for me." She purred, wrapping one hand around him, stroking lazily.

The sound of her voice, that honeyed, possessive purr, seemed to strike a chord deep within him. Yunho let out a choked sound, halfway between a growl and a gasp, as her small, delicate hand closed around his length. Even her lazy, languid strokes felt electric, sending waves of white-hot pleasure straight to his brain.

He groaned, his head falling back for a moment as he braced his hands on the metal workbench behind her, his knuckles turning white. He watched her through heavy lids, his pupils blown wide, watching the way her fingers curled around him, the contrast of her pale skin against his flushed, tensed muscle.

She bit her lip as she locked eyes with him through her dark lashes. Her gaze was heavy, hooded with her own mounting lust. Slowly, deliberately, she dragged her thumb across the weeping, sensitive tip of his cock, catching the bead of pre-cum and smearing it over the smooth skin.

Yunho’s entire body jerked at the touch, a harsh, broken sound tearing from his throat. Seeing her look at him like that, so hungry yet so composed, was driving him to the brink of madness. He reached down, his large hand covering hers, pressing her palm tighter against his pulsing shaft, guiding her stroke with a desperate urgency.

"Don't stop." He rasped, his voice a gravelly wreck. "Fuck, please don't stop."

Y/N smirked, a flash of dominance crossing her features as she increased the pace, her thumb continuing to swirl around his crown, collecting more of his slickness.

The sound of his breathy voice sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between her thighs. She loved the way he crumbled under her touch, the way this powerful, commanding man was reduced to begging by her fingertips. She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his chest as she brought her face close to his, her breath hitching.

"Do you want it, Yunho?" She whispered, her voice a silken trap. "Do you want me to take all of this?"

Before he could answer, she shifted her grip, her fingers tightening around the base of his cock as she guided the broad, blunt head toward her entrance. She was already slick, her own juices coating her folds, making the transition seamless.

Instead of taking him inside, Y/N slowed her movements, choosing instead to tease him with maddening precision. She pressed the broad, weeping head of his cock directly against her swollen slit, dragging it slowly upward. The friction of his velvety skin against her hypersensitive folds made her whole body tremble, a low, needy whimper escaping her lips.

She didn't stop there. With a wicked little smile, she tilted her hips, grinding the pulsating tip directly over her clit. She rubbed him against that tiny, engorged nub, circling him in slow, torturous motions that left him gasping for air.

The teasing was too much. The sight of her rubbing his aching length against her dripping heat, mocking his need, snapped something inside him. A low, dangerous growl ripped from his chest, a sound of pure, unbridled possession.

In one swift, fluid motion, his hand shot up, his long, veiny fingers curling around the delicate column of her throat. He didn't squeeze to hurt, but the pressure was firm, authoritative, pinning her head back against the workbench and forcing her to meet his blazing, predatory stare.

"Enough playing, princess." He rasped, his voice vibrating with a terrifying level of lust.

The sudden weight of his hand around her neck sent a shockwave of pure electricity through Y/N's spine. It wasn't fear that raced through her, but a wild, dizzying rush of submission. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and glazed with arousal, chest heaving as she struggled to draw air around his firm grip.

Yunho didn't give her a moment to adjust. He used his other hand to grab her thigh, hiking it high over his shoulder to expose her completely to him.

With her leg hooked over his shoulder, Y/N was completely vulnerable, her soaked folds bared to the cool air of the workshop and his burning gaze. The position forced her hips forward, presenting herself to him like an offering.

Yunho gripped the base of his cock, the veins standing out in stark relief against his skin and lined the weeping head up with her entrance. He paused for a heartbeat, staring down at where they met, enjoying the way her small, tight opening twitched in anticipation of him.

"Look at me." He commanded, his thumb pressing slightly harder against the side of her neck, a reminder of who was in control.

Y/N obeyed instantly, her eyes locking onto his, dilated and swimming with a mixture of reverence and raw, animalistic need. She saw the absolute claim in his expression, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered and the only thing he wanted to break.

Slowly, with agonizing deliberation, Yunho began to push. He sank into her, the broad head of his cock stretching her tight, slick walls as he breached her. Y/N let out a loud, broken sob, her fingers clawing at the metal workbench behind her as she felt herself being filled, stretched and claimed.

"Mmph... Yunho."

As he buried himself deep within her, bottoming out with a dull, satisfying thud against her cervix, Yunho didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned down, his face inches from hers, his breath ghosting over her lips as he watched her expression shatter under the pleasure.

"That's it, baby... take it all." He murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the roughness of his earlier command. His hand on her neck softened, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw with unexpected tenderness. "You're doing so well for me. So fucking perfect. Look how tight you are around me... you were made for this."

The praise acted like fuel to the fire already consuming her. Y/N let out a series of short, breathless moans, her head lolling back as she surrendered to the overwhelming sensation of him filling her so completely. Each time he withdrew, she felt a hollow ache, only for it to be replaced by a burst of searing pleasure as he plunged back in, hitting that sweet spot deep inside her again and again.

"More... please, Yunho, more." She pleaded, her voice cracking with desperation. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down, wanting to feel the crushing weight of his body against hers.

He obliged, his thrusts becoming faster, harder, more primal.

"Kiss me..." She panted, her voice a broken, desperate plea. "Please, kiss me."

Yunho didn't make her wait another second. He crashed his lips against hers, the kiss tasting of salt, sweat and pure, unadulterated lust. It wasn't gentle. It was a collision, his tongue invading her mouth just as aggressively as his cock invaded her body.

Between the frantic, bruising kisses, he kept murmuring against her lips, his words a continuous stream of worship.

"Taking me so good, sweetheart." He growled into her mouth, his breath hot and ragged. "My good girl... such a fucking good girl for me."

At his words, a wave of pure, liquid heat flooded Y/N's senses. The affirmation, paired with the punishing rhythm of his hips, pushed her closer to the edge than she had ever been. She melted into him, her body molding to his every curve and angle, her mind spinning in a haze of bliss.

"Yes..." She breathed against his lips, the words barely a whisper, yet carrying the weight of her total devotion. "Your good girl... Yours."

The admission seemed to snap the last thread of his restraint. Yunho's thrusts became frantic, almost violent, driven by a need to lose himself entirely within her.

His teeth grazed her lower lip, a sharp sting that only fueled the fire, before he pulled back just enough to stare directly into her soul. His eyes were no longer just dark, they were abyssal, swallowing her whole.

"Mine." He growled, the word vibrating against her skin, heavy and undeniable. "Every inch of you. Every moan, every drop of your sweetness... it all belongs to me."

He punctuated the declaration by slamming his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as if he were physically branding her.

The sheer intensity of his possession, combined with the relentless, deep pounding of his cock, finally shattered her. Y/N's vision blurred, the edges of the garage dissolving into a kaleidoscope of white light. A strangled, high-pitched cry tore from her throat as her internal muscles clamped down on him in a series of violent, rhythmic spasms.

"Ah... Oh god, Yunho!" She gasped, her back arching off the workbench as the orgasm ripped through her like a tidal wave. Her entire body convulsed, her legs shaking uncontrollably around his waist as she drowned in the pleasure, her release flooding him with her incredible heat.

Feeling her walls tighten around him in those desperate, milking contractions, Yunho lost all semblance of control. The sensation of her clenching around his pulsing length was the final trigger. He stiffened, his muscles locking tight and a loud, tortured roar escaped his throat as he drove himself into her one last time, burying himself as deep as possible.

He came with a violence that shook his entire frame, his seed erupting deep inside her, hot and plentiful. He pumped into her repeatedly, his body jerking with each powerful spasm, filling her so completely that she could feel the warmth spreading within her.

For a long minute, the only sound in the cavernous garage was the ragged, echoing cadence of their breathing. It was a harsh, broken rhythm that slowly began to sync as the adrenaline bled out of them. She could feel the violent, erratic thud of his heart hammering directly against her own, slowing fraction by fraction with every deep exhale that expanded his broad chest. His large hands, usually so restless and aggressive, were perfectly still where they rested on her bare skin, his thumbs absentmindedly tracing the curve of her waist. The air in the shop was thick, practically vibrating with the unspoken weight of what they had just done.

​"Don't." He whispered roughly. The word was jagged, completely stripped of his usual abrasive armor. He slowly opened his dark eyes, the raw vulnerability in them pinning her right to the spot. He shifted his right hand, bringing it up to cup her face. His thumb, rough and calloused, brushed softly over her cheekbone, wiping away the lingering trace of the tear she had shed just minutes ago. "Don't leave." He whispered, his voice dropping into a heavy, pleading rumble.

​Y/N swallowed hard, her heart threatening to beat straight through her ribs. She looked up at him, her fingers still resting against the warm skin at the back of his neck. "Yunho... my car..."

​"I'll take the whole damn engine apart again." He breathed, leaning in until his lips brushed against hers with every word. His grip tightened protectively on her waist. "I'll lose the parts. I'll throw the keys in the river. I don't care. Just... tell me you're staying."

Y/N stared up into his dark, desperate eyes, the sheer absurdity of his threat finally cutting through the heavy haze in her mind. A breathless, disbelieving laugh escaped her lips, the sound echoing softly in the quiet garage.

"You'd throw my keys in the river?" She murmured, her thumb gently tracing the tense line of his jaw. "The same keys you've spent days complaining about having to look at?"

"In a heartbeat." He answered without a fraction of a second of hesitation.

The raw, unfiltered sincerity in his voice made her chest tighten all over again. He rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as a shaky, uneven exhale left his lips.

"I'll do whatever it takes." He rasped, his thick fingers lightly flexing against her hips. "Just don't get in that car today. Nor tomorrow. Nor anytime soon."

She let her hands slide from his neck down to his bare, broad shoulders, her fingertips resting lightly against the heavy, sculpted muscles she had been admiring all morning. The city, her job, her meticulously planned schedule, all the things she had been so desperate to get back to, suddenly felt a million miles away. None of it mattered compared to the overwhelming, anchoring weight of his hands on her skin.

"You don't have to break my engine, Yunho." She whispered softly.

His eyes snapped open, a flash of pure panic tightening his features until she leaned up, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Just put the tools down." She finished, her voice steady and entirely certain. "I'm not going anywhere."

The absolute, visceral relief that crashed over him was instantaneous. A deep, ragged sigh tore from his chest as the remaining tension finally drained out of his massive frame. He didn't say a word. Instead, he simply crushed her to him, wrapping both arms securely around her back and burying his face in the crook of her neck, holding her tight as if she were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

When he finally pulled back, the abrasive, defensive mechanic was completely gone. In his place was a man looking at her with a quiet, burning intensity that made her breath hitch all over again. The ghost of a smirk finally tugged at the corner of his lips, the first real, genuine smile she had ever seen him wear.

"Good." He murmured. His calloused thumb brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He dropped a quick, hard kiss to her lips, then effortlessly lifted her off the cold metal workbench, letting her slide down his body until her feet hit the concrete floor.

He reached down, picking up his discarded t-shirt from the dust and pulling it over his head, the lean muscles in his back flexing sharply with the movement. Y/N grabbed his oversized leather jacket from the nearby chair, slipping it over her bare shoulders.

Yunho stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back flush against his chest. He rested his chin on the top of her head as they both looked out at the almost-repaired car sitting in front of them.

"So..." Y/N murmured, leaning back into his solid embrace, entirely content. "When do you think it'll be ready for good?"

She could feel the low, gravelly rumble of his laughter vibrating against her spine. His thick, prominent-veined hands linked securely over her stomach, locking her exactly where she belonged.

"Next week." He drawled, his voice thick with a lazy, possessive warmth. "Maybe next month. Or next year. Depends entirely on how distracting you are."

Last week at the office had been nothing short of hell, and at some point it had even seemed to you that it would never end. The amount of paperwork you had to deal with kept growing, piling up on your desk like dirty dishes in a sink, while deadlines loomed closer with every passing day. And as if that weren’t enough, the new intern had managed to ruin a couple of important documents, forcing you to spend extra hours writing explanatory letters and trying to salvage what could still be saved. All of this required more effort and patience than you had to give, liters of coffee, and what felt like almost a year’s supply of your nerve cells, which decided to leave the chat without explanation. On top of it all, the quarterly report hung over your head like an ominous storm cloud, refusing to be ignored no matter how many times you tried to shove it to the back of your mind.

Your working days gradually bled into long, tiring evenings spent staring at the cold glow of your computer screen in a dark, empty office. At the same time your body was desperately resisting such a  tough schedule, answering with a dull, persistent ache that had settled deep into your muscles and refused to ease, while your lower back had grown so stiff from hours of sitting motionless that even the simple act of straightening up felt like a small, hard-won victory.

By the time you finally made it home, you felt completely exhausted, moving through the apartment on autopilot — keys dropped onto the counter, shoes kicked off without care, the dull stiffness in your lower back flaring sharply with every step toward the bedroom. You barely had the energy to undress properly before slipping under the duvet, hoping that sleep would come quickly and mercifully. 

Yet even as your body began to loosen, sinking into the softness of the mattress, something else stirred beneath the fatigue. A restless, low-burning awareness of the long drought you had pushed aside for days had begun to make itself known again, rising slowly through your body as an unsatisfied heat that lingered low in your belly, warm and  insistent. The quick, hardly enjoyable release you allowed yourself all this time did almost nothing to quiet the restless heat of arousal, leaving you more frustrated than before. 

You woke each morning even more drained than the day before, still carrying both the bone-deep fatigue and that low, nagging ache that refused to leave you in peace no matter how you tried to push them down.

As the most frantic period finally begins to ease, your schedule gradually returns to something closer to normal. However, the damage had already been done. The deep fatigue and that low, nagging ache had settled into your body like something permanent, following you into every moment until you could no longer remember what it felt like to wake up without it.

It was during lunch one day, when the accumulated strain had finally caught up with you and the stiffness in your body had become impossible to ignore, that you told your close colleague how exhausted the last week had left you and how much your back was killing you. 

Gayoung listened to you intently, nodding her head quietly in sympathy when you mentioned your aching lower back and how your bum had literally gone numb from sitting for so long.

"You know, I think you should try a massage. Something deep and gentle that'll definitely help you relax," she said, leaning in a little closer. "There's this place I go to regularly when the pressure gets too much. It's nothing special, in fact, you've probably never even heard of it, but the therapists there are amazing." A small, meaningful smile played on her lips, as she added. “Ask for Yunho. He’s very good with his hands.” 

Jeong Yunho was not at all what you expected when you arrived for your scheduled massage at the spa Gayoung had recommended. He met you at the entrance — tall and broad-shouldered, with a head of tousled black hair that gleamed with quiet richness beneath the soft golden lighting of the lobby, looking more like a model than a mere masseur.

The moment he turned toward you, his face lit up with a bright, boyish smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. He radiated a warmth and light disarming charm that immediately put you at ease; yet beneath it all lay something else — a quiet but palpable air of dominance that made it unmistakably clear you were in the presence of a mature, self-assured man, not a boy. His dark eyes slowly glided over your body, lingering with quiet intent as though he could already see every taut muscle and hidden knot of tension crying out for relaxation. His assessment of you was neither hurried nor rushed, but rather calm and deliberate, sending a small, involuntary shiver through you even before he had spoken a single word.

His attentive gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he dipped his head in a small, polite bow. “Hi.” He said, voice warm and pleasantly soft, yet carrying an unexpected depth that felt almost seductive. “I’m Yunho, your therapist for today. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You managed only a mumbled reply, still slightly dazed by the unexpected beauty of his features. He noticed your reaction but didn’t comment, long accustomed to such things, though the corner of his lips lifted in a faint, knowing smirk. 

“This way.” Yunho stepped aside and with a small, graceful gesture, motioned down the softly lit corridor.

He noticed right away, slowed down without saying anything and looked back at you. When Yunho saw your condition, his expression softened into something quietly understanding.

“Long week?” His voice was soft and warm as he inquired.

"You have no idea." You murmured, your voice was quiet and laced with weariness.  'It was relentless, to put it mildly."

Yunho’s gaze stayed on you a moment longer, his eyes tracing the clear marks of severe fatigue and exhaustion on your face. He found himself thinking how out of place such weariness looked on someone as lovely as you. When he spoke, his voice was low and even, wrapping around you with a calm steadiness that felt almost intimate in the dim light of the empty corridor.

“Don’t worry.” With a gentle pressure, Yunho guided you forward, his large palm resting warmly against your lower back. With every step, his hand shifted slightly, the steady warmth of his palm sending a faint trail of goosebumps rising along your spine. The touch was innocent enough on the surface, yet impossible to ignore.“I’ll look after you tonight. Just relax and let me take care of everything.”

The private suite was peaceful and golden. Warm muted light that spilled from recessed coves along the ceiling and the upper edges of the textured walls bathed everything in a soft, honeyed glow that made the room feel smaller and far more intimate than a typical spa suite which you’ve been to before.

A large ceiling fan turned slowly overhead, its quiet blades stirring the air just enough to carry the rich scent of melting wax mingled with something darker and sweeter like sandalwood and amber.

.

On the low wooden side tables stood clusters of thick candles and smouldering incense, their flickering flames reflected in the glossy, dark surface of the heated massage table. Crystal bottles filled with fragrant oils and creams were arranged neatly beside them, their presence somehow making the space feel less clinical and more sensual. The linens on the table were deep charcoal, heavy and soft, the kind of fabric that seemed more fitting for tangled sheets and passionate caresses than for a simple massage. 

All in all, the entire space exuded a sense of quiet luxury — peaceful yet charged — as though it had been designed for deep, absolute relaxation in more ways than one.

“You can leave your things behind the screen,” Yunho said, offering you a small, gentle smile. “Then lie face down on the table and make yourself comfortable. I’ll return once you’re ready.” With a polite bow, he stepped out and quietly closed the door behind him, leaving you alone in the softly lit suite.

You undressed slowly, neatly folding each piece of clothing with care before placing it behind the screen and returning to the table. The heated surface of the table pleasantly warmed your bare skin as you settled onto your stomach, just as Yunho had instructed. Lying face down and completely naked beneath the sheet, you remained still for a moment, suddenly aware of how vulnerable you felt. 

The intimate atmosphere of the room only deepened the sensation. The soft weight of the linen against your bare skin, the faint scent of oil and melting wax lingering in the air, and the quiet knowledge that Yunho would soon return — all of it made you feel more exposed, more aware of your own nakedness beneath the thin sheet. 

The thought of his large hands moving over your body with nothing between you stirred something deeper, a slow, insistent warmth beginning to gather low in your stomach that had nothing to do with simple relaxation.

A few moments later, the soft click of the door opening reached your ears, followed by Yunho’s low voice.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.” You answered, your voice slightly muffled against the table. “You can come in.”

“Perfect.” He stepped inside and closed the door behind him with quiet care. 

You couldn’t see him, but you could hear the soft sounds of movement — the faint clink of glass bottles, the rustle of fabric, and the subtle shift of his presence as he prepared what he needed. After a moment, he spoke again, his voice calm and reassuring as he rested one warm hand lightly on your shoulder.

“I’ll begin now. Try to relax as much as you can. If anything feels uncomfortable or painful at any point, just tell me, alright? I want you to feel completely at ease while I’m working on you.”

“Yes,” you murmured. “I will.”

The soft click of the oil bottle was followed by the slow, viscous sound of warmed liquid being poured. A faint shiver ran through you as the first hot drops landed on your skin, before a thin, steady stream began to spill across your back and trail down the length of your spine. It gathered briefly in the small hollows of your lower back before continuing its slow descent, leaving a warm, glistening path in its wake. The rich, herbal scent of the oil rose to meet the deeper, earthier notes of sandalwood already lingering in the air, wrapping around you in a heady, sensual haze.

The sensation felt strangely intimate. The heated oil slid over your bare skin in a slow, deliberate caress, heightening every small sensation until every inch of you felt more sensitive, more responsive. It was as though the oil itself was coaxing you open — easing not only the tightness in your muscles, but the deeper, heavier tension you had been carrying for far too long.

Then his hands touched you. They were large and strong, the palms broad and the fingers long and slender, with prominent knuckles and veins that stood out beneath his pale skin. You couldn’t stop the thought from rising — how those same long, graceful fingers might feel if they moved lower, slipping between your legs and sinking deep inside you exactly where you needed them most. You tried to push the image away almost as quickly as it had appeared, reminding yourself that this was neither the time nor the place for such thoughts. Still, the idea lingered stubbornly at the edge of your mind, refusing to disappear completely.

Yunho’s hands moved over your back in slow, confident strokes, spreading the warmed oil across your skin until it glistened beneath his palms. The oil made everything slick and smooth, allowing him to glide effortlessly over your bare skin as he worked the liquid deep into your flesh with firm, steady pressure. He began at your shoulders, his thumbs sinking into the tight knots with deliberate care, and despite yourself, a soft, broken sound slipped from your parted lips as the sensation melted through you.

He paused for a moment, his hands coming to rest on your softly oiled skin. 

“Is this too much?”  Yunho asked in a low, gentle voice. 'I heard you make a sound just now...I want to make sure you're comfortable.”

“No, it’s fine.” You murmured, shook your head slightly against the table. “Everything’s alright, really.  It’s just… I knew my muscles were tense, but I didn’t realise it was this bad.”

'Mmm...' A quiet, understanding hum escaped him. “That happens more often than you’d think.” Yunho pointed out. “A lot of people don’t notice how tightly they’re holding themselves until someone else touches them.” 

Although his words sounded innocent enough, there was a quiet ambiguity beneath them, as though he wasn’t only speaking about the massage, but about another kind of touch entirely — one far more sexual. You turned a little red at the thought and quickly buried your face in the headrest again, trying not to dwell on it as Yunho returned to his work.

His hands began to move again, and this time they felt even hotter against your skin than before. Instead of the focused, targeted pressure from before, Yunho switched to long, sweeping strokes, using the full weight of his palms as they glided in slow, rhythmic waves from the base of your neck down to the middle of your back. The motion was deeper and more encompassing, as though he were trying to soothe your entire body at once rather than chasing individual knots.  Every glide was made effortless by the oil, with his skin sliding over yours in a way that felt almost hypnotic.

The relief came quickly, sinking deep into your muscles. You felt the week’s tension begin to dissolve beneath his magical touch, knots you hadn’t even realised were there slowly unravelling with each careful pass of his fingers. Every time Yunho found a particularly stubborn spot and pressed into it, your body gave a little more, surrendering another layer of stiffness you hadn’t known you were carrying.

The pleasant warmth of the heated table beneath you, the soft golden light filling the room, and the low, steady crackle of the candles all seemed to work in harmony with the slow motion of his elegant hands and his soothing presence, gently pulling you deeper into a state of heavy, luxurious relaxation. Your breathing slowed, your body growing heavier against the linen as the last remnants of tension melted away beneath his caressing touches.

Yunho continued working in silence for a while, letting the steady rhythm of his hands speak for him. At some point, his soft voice joined the quiet atmosphere of the room, pleasantly breaking the silence that had settled between you. He casually asked about your week, and when you offered a tired reply, he responded with a soft remark about how demanding office work could be — how it often left people carrying tension in places they didn’t even realise. The comment was light, but it carried the necessary understanding that made you feel seen. Whilst you were chatting, his long, strong fingers never ceased their movement, continuing their careful exploration as they traced the ridges of tension along your spine and the tight bands across your shoulder blades with focus.

Nevertheless, all the while, behind that professional and charming exterior, Yunho’s thoughts were far from innocent. 

He was enjoying this almost as much as you were — if not more. He couldn’t deny that, to him, you looked incredibly tempting like that, completely relaxed and defenceless beneath his touch. Your body was so soft and pliant in all the right places, warm and lightly glistening from the oil he had worked so thoroughly into your skin, and every quiet, sweet little moan that slipped from your lips whenever his fingers found a stubborn knot only deepened the heat simmering low in his stomach. 

Yunho knew he easily could draw even sweeter sounds from you, especially if his thick cock was buried deep inside that tight, plump pussy of yours. A pussy he suspected had been unfairly neglected, judging by the way you unconsciously clenched your thighs every time his hands slid lower, dangerously nearing to the edge of the sheet.

After a while, a low, almost unconscious hum began to rise from Yunho’s chest, a quiet sound of deep satisfaction that matched the unhurried rhythm of his strokes. The viscous consistency of the essential oil made everything slick and slippery; you could hear the wet, softly sloppy sound of his large palms gliding over your heated skin with every movement, the noise almost indecent in the soothing stillness of the room. 

The more he touched you, the more aware Yunho became of your body's response to him: the subtle shifts of your hips, your heavier breathing and your faint moans, which grew louder as you sank deeper into the haze of pleasure and the tension finally left you. It was becoming harder for him to keep his thoughts purely professional, and the low hum in his chest deepened slightly as his hands continued their slow, deliberate work.

As his hands travelled lower, smoothing the oil along your lower back, he eventually reached the edge of the sheet covering your buttocks and paused. 

“I’d like to work a little lower.” Yunho’s voice remained gentle and polite when he spoke, though there was a subtle shift in its tone — a barely perceptible hoarseness that hadn’t been there before. “Is it alright if I move the sheet down just a bit?” The tips of his long fingers resting lightly at the edge of the fabric. 

You made a small, drowsy sound of agreement, too relaxed to form proper words and too far gone in pleasure to fully grasp the weight of what you were allowing. You didn't think twice about what it might mean to let him see more of your body, because you simply wanted to let these magnificent, talented hands continue to touch you.

He slowly folded the sheet down, as if to give you time to change your mind, before exposing the plump upper curve of your buttocks to the warm air and his dark, hungry gaze. A fresh, generous stream of essential oil was poured over your skin, thick and glistening as it spilled across the roundness of your ass. His large hands followed at once, smearing the warm, viscous liquid over your flesh before sinking his fingers into the soft, supple curves with a pressure that was just a little firmer than necessary.

You hardly noticed the shift in intensity. The relief moved through you in slow, luxurious waves as he kneaded the firm muscle with focused dedication, his palms gliding and pressing in deep, rhythmic motions. Your body felt heavier now, more pliant, the last remnants of rigid tension melting away beneath Yunho’s touch as if by magic, leaving you soft and yielding under his hands.

As Yunho’s hands travelled lower, the conversation between you began to shift as well. His questions grew more personal, each one well-thought-out and laced with a certain undercurrent that made them feel heavier and  intimate than before. You answered them almost without thinking, offering him whatever he seemed to want while your mind remained soft and hazy, lulled by the steady rhythm of his touch and the slow, pleasant warmth spreading through your body.

When his fingers pressed especially deep into a particularly sensitive spot on your lower back, a low, helpless moan of pure pleasure slipped from your lips before you could stop it. A rush of unexpected heat bloomed through your body, and you felt a slow trickle of mucus spill from your little hole as your pussy clenched around nothing. It was so embarrassing, your  body was betraying you in the most undeniable way, and there was little you could do with it. Instinctively, you tried to press your thighs together in a futile attempt to ease the growing tension between your legs, but the movement only made the slickness between them more noticeable.  

Yunho noticed the changes in your condition right away. He repeated the movement with the same deliberate pressure, his thumbs sinking firmly into the small of your back just above the swell of your ass.

“Does it hurt here?” His voice was low and smooth as warm honey as he spoke, the sound wrapping around you while his oil-slick fingers parted slightly as they glided with unhurried precision over the soft, full curve of one cheek and then the next. “Or here?”

“No…” Your reply came as a soft, awkward murmur, as you slightly  shifted beneath his hands. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s just… a little more sensitive there, I think.” Your voice betrayed you by coming out softer and more uncertain than you had meant.

He didn’t respond right away. The corner of his mouth curved into a slow, knowing smile as he continued his unhurried kneading, his touch never faltering. He knew exactly what kind of sensitivity he was coaxing from your body, but for now, he allowed you the fragile excuse, his large hands moving over your skin with the same steady, patient care.

Yunho’s gentle hands continued their unhurried descent, his large, warm palms gliding over the backs of your thighs in slow, deliberate strokes. Without asking, he eased them apart a little wider so he could reach the tight muscles of your inner thigh, the movement quiet yet unmistakably intentional, as though he were testing the limits of what you would allow. 

A faint flicker of self-consciousness stirred within you as your body was opened beneath his hands with such ease, and though you tried to remain still, your muscles tensed involuntarily at the sudden vulnerability of the position.

Yunho noticed this subtle shift in you, but he didn’t stop. His touch lighter for a moment, giving you time to settle and get used to it, before he poured another generous amount of warm oil and continued. 

At some point the sheet had slipped away without you noticing, leaving you completely bare beneath his hands. Yunho’s gaze unabashedly lingered openly now, taking in the sight of your naked body and the soft, seductive curves of your figure. From where he stood, he could see the faint, glistening hint of your swollen pussy, already slick and shining with your arousal.

He poured more fragrant oil directly between your legs this time, letting the warm liquid spill thickly over your pretty pussy and coat your plump labia and delicate folds in a glistening layer. The sight of it made his jaw tighten and though he tried to keep his breathing even, you could hear a barely audible, raspy groan as his cock twitched visibly against the front of his trousers.

His hands continued their slow ascent along the backs of your thighs, each stroke gliding higher than the last. The oil made his touch impossibly smooth, and with every upward pass, you became more aware of your own body — of how deeply the relaxation had settled into you, leaving you sensitive in a way that felt almost unbearable. A deep, insistent warmth had begun to gather low in your belly, and with each brush of his fingers, your skin seemed to flush hotter,  sensitive.

Between your legs, a slick, liquid heat was steadily gathering, growing more insistent the closer his hands came. When his fingertips finally brushed the delicate fold where your inner thigh met the edge of your pussy — just the lightest, most deliberate graze through the warm oil — a soft, broken sound slipped from your throat before you could stop it.

One of Yunho’s hands came to rest on the back of your thigh, his long fingers tracing the same path once more, slower this time, as though deliberately testing the limits of your restraint. He could feel the way your body twitched beneath his touch, the heat radiating between your legs growing more pronounced with every passing second. Though his voice remained soft, still wrapped in that warm, boyish tone, something darker had begun to stir beneath it — a low, velvet hunger that made the air between you feel heavier, more charged.

“You’re holding so much tension here too.” He whispered, the calloused pad of his finger resting lightly against that sensitive place. “Right here.” His thumb stroked once, slow and deliberate, over the slick, swollen flesh between your legs. “Would you like me to go deeper?”

A part of you wondered, fleetingly, what the consequences of this moment might be — whether crossing this line would change something between you. But the thought was fleeting, pale in comparison to the raw, aching need that had been building inside you for far too long. Your pussy was so eager, so desperately empty after weeks without being properly filled, that any lingering doubts dissolved beneath the heat of your own desire.

When you didn’t pull away — when your only response was a shaky exhale and the helpless clench of your thighs — something in Yunho settled. The boyish smile faded into something darker, hungrier. His free hand came to rest between your shoulder blades, broad and heavy, pinning you gently but firmly to the table as though he had no intention of letting you escape what was coming.

“I know techniques that reach places most people never touch.” He said, his voice lower now, darker. “Inside. Where you’re really aching.” His thumb brushed over you again, slower this time, the pressure just firm enough to make your breath catch. “No pressure. But I think you need it tonight. I think you need someone to take care of this properly.”

Your hesitant, breathless “yes” was the only answer he needed.

The moment the word left your lips, something in Yunho shifted. The last traces of politeness and professionalism fell away like silk slipping from skin.

His hand pressed more firmly between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned exactly where he wanted you. With his other hand, Yunho poured a fresh, generous stream of warm, fragrant oil directly onto the curvaceous curve of your ass, letting the thick, glistening liquid spill slowly between your cheeks and over your cunt. 

It flowed in warm rivulets, coating your already slick folds and clinging to the peachy, soft halves of your cunt before dripping in slow, heavy drops onto the heated table beneath you. The sound was wet and completely shameless in the stillness of the room.

“Stay just like this for me, pretty.” He said, his voice lower now, rougher, the dominance no longer hidden. His large hand moved over your skin in slow, possessive strokes, spreading the oil as his fingers parted you without hesitation. “Let me take care of you the way you need.”

The sheet had long since been discarded on the floor, and you lay face-down on the heated table, completely naked, your legs parted just enough for Yunho to see everything. He stood behind you, tall and broad, devastatingly handsome in the golden light, his gaze dark with unrestrained hunger as he took in the sight now fully bared before him. Your body lay open and glistening, your delicate folds parted and slick with oil and arousal, the soft, flushed flesh of your pussy on full display in the most lewd and inviting way.

“You’re shaking already, princess.” Yunho dragging two long fingers slowly through your slick labia. “And I haven’t even started the real massage yet.”

His hand — large enough to cover your entire cunt— slid between your thighs from behind and pressing it possessively right against your soft little mound.. He didn’t move at first. Yunho simply held you there, his palm cupping your swollen pussy while his long fingers curled over your plump, soft labia, all smooth and slippery with oil, feeling how hot and wet you already were. 

Then he began to grope you in earnest. He squeezed gently at first, rolling your puffy outer lips between his elegant fingers, massaging them slowly, almost thoughtfully, as though he were learning the shape of your cunt. His palm ground in lazy circles against your clit while his fingers spread and squeezed your labia, tugging them lightly, feeling how soft and slick they were. Every so often he would deliver a light, wet slap to your crotch, the sound filthy and sharp, making your flesh jiggle and sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

The sight of your glistening folds, now even more swollen and slick from his touch, seemed to stir something rough in him. Yunho’s breathing grew heavier as he spread your ass cheeks apart with both hands, opening you completely for his gaze. 

“Look at these pretty little holes.” A low, appreciative sound rumbled in his chest. “So tiny and tight… it’s almost a shame they’ve been left empty for so long. But don’t worry, baby. I’m going to take such good care of both of them.” He spat directly onto your pussy, purring contentedly, seeing the warm saliva mixing with the oil and your own wetness, making everything even messier. 

His fingers returned at once, spreading the mess over your folds. You gasped, your back arching as he pressed them against your clit and stroking it with devastating precision.

“That’s it, good girl.” He praised, his voice low and filthy. “Spread those pretty legs a little more for me. Let me feel how badly this sweet little pussy needed to be fucked.”

You moaned helplessly, your hips twitching as you gave in to his touch, your body melting under the overwhelming sensation of being so thoroughly handled. 

“Fuck… this is exactly the kind of pussy I like.” Yunho groaned, his voice thick and low with unrestrained arousal. “So plump and swollen already… so fucking slippery. Look at how it’s dripping down my hand, baby. You’re making such a mess for me.” He kept you pinned beneath his hand, completely at his mercy, while his fingers worked over your cunt with slow, deliberate greed. 

Yunho squeezed and massaged your soft, puffy lips between his long fingers for some time longer, before spreading them open only to watch your empty hole flutter and clench around nothing. 

You couldn’t help but give in. A soft, broken moan slipped from your lips as your thighs parted a little wider of their own accord, your body surrendering to the filthy pleasure of his touch. Yunho noticed immediately. A dark, satisfied smile curved his lips as he slipped his hand beneath your hips and lifted them slightly, angling you higher, presenting your dripping cunt to him like a sweet offering.

The very next moment, two long, slender fingers pushed between your folds and sank deep into you in one smooth, merciless thrust. Yunho groaned at the way your walls gripped him so tightly, immediately curling his fingers hard against that sensitive spot inside you while his palm ground down against your swollen clit. 

He fucked you with expert precision — deep, steady thrusts that dragged along every sensitive inch of your walls, mixed with slow, grinding circles that made your breath hitch. Every time he pulled back, he spread his fingers just enough to stretch you open before sinking back in.

“You’re so fucking dirty for me already.” He rasped, his voice rough with lust. “Dripping all over my hand like a desperate little slut… and I like it even dirtier, baby. I want this pretty cunt messy and loud for me.”

He pulled his fingers out just long enough to spit directly onto your pretty, slutty pussy again, before he shoved three fingers back inside you. This time he fucked you harder, faster, his wrist twisting with every thrust so his knuckles dragged deliciously against your velvety walls. His thumb rubbed merciless, tight circles over your throbbing clit, and with his other hand he pressed firmly against your lower stomach, making sure you felt every deep, filthy stroke inside you.

Your moans grew louder, more desperate, your hips rolling back shamelessly to meet every thrust of his hand. The heat in your belly coiled tighter and tighter, your thighs beginning to tremble as your orgasm built with dizzying speed. 

Just as you were about to fall over the edge, Yunho suddenly pulled his fingers out of you.

“Oh, no… please…” You were weeping loudly at the sudden emptiness, but Yunho gave you no time to protest. His hands were already moving, flipping you onto your back with effortless strength. Before you could catch your breath, he caught your legs and pushed them up toward your chest, folding you nearly in half and spreading you wide open for him.

“There we go.” He breathed, his eyes dark and hungry as they dragged over your glistening, oiled pussy. “Now I can really see what I’m working with.” His fingers returned to you at once, sliding slowly over your fluttering folds, teasingly parting your labia with the tips of his fingers.

“This is much better, isn’t it?”  The touch was lighter now, almost lazy, but no less devastating in its precision. “Now I can reach so much deeper… and I can be far more thorough with you.” His voice low and rough with arousal as he looked down at you, with obvious pleasure watching as thick, sticky strands of your mucus, mixed with his saliva and essential oil, stretch from his fingers to your plump snatch as he pulls it away from you.

He proved it immediately.

His skilful fingers pushed back inside you, and from this new position — with your legs folded up and spread wide — the angle was devastatingly different. 

He curled them hard against your front thin wall from the very first thrust, dragging over that sensitive spot with deliberate, merciless precision. His palm stayed pressed firmly against your swollen clit, grinding in slow, heavy circles while his fingers fucked into you deep and steady. 

The new angle made everything feel unbearably intense, overwhelming in the most exquisite way. He could reach places he hadn’t been able to before, and he took full advantage of it — alternating between deep, punishing thrusts and slower, grinding movements that made your toes curl and your breath hitch. Your moans grew louder, more broken, your body trembling in his hold. 

Sometimes he would pull his fingers almost all the way out, caressing the soft, stretched rim of your tiny hole with his calloused fingertips, only to push them back in with a sharp, wet, slurping sound that made your face burn with shame and arousal all at once.

‘I'm close...’ You could feel your orgasm building again, faster this time, the heat coiling tighter and tighter in your belly. 

Your thighs began to tremble in his grip, your walls fluttering desperately around his fingers as you teetered on the edge.

This time, Yunho didn’t stop.

The orgasm crashed over you hard, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your vision blurred at the edges as wave after wave of pleasure tore through you like an avalanche, your body seizing and shaking beneath him. 

You barely registered the broken, sobbing moans spilling from your lips, too lost in the overwhelming rush. He fucked you straight through it — fingers pounding into you at a relentless pace, his thumb rubbing your clit in tight, merciless circles, dragging every last tremor of pleasure from your overstimulated body.

But even after your trembling began to subside, his fingers didn’t leave you.

 “It’s too much…” You whined, overstimulated and trembling, instinctively trying to squirm away from his hand. “Yunho, I...I can’t…” You gasped, your voice soft and shaky. 

Yunho only pressed his large, hot palm more firmly against your lower stomach, pinning you down with effortless strength, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“Still not.” Yunho growled, his voice dark and thick with hunger as he drove his fingers back into you at a wild, punishing pace.

You cried out, the pleasure bordering on unbearable, your body jerking helplessly beneath him. 

Another orgasm rose far too quickly, your walls clenching desperately around his fingers as the heat inside you coiled tighter and tighter. This time it hit differently — deeper, more violent. Your back arched sharply as you came again, and this time you squirted hard, a powerful rush of wetness spilling out around his fingers, soaking his hand and the table beneath you in a hot, shameless flood.

Yunho let out a guttural, drawn-out moan at the sight, the sound low and primal, as though it had been torn from deep within his chest.

“Here we go, baby. ” He rasped, pulling his fingers out only to rub them rapidly over your pulsing clit and sand overly sensitive folds, splashing liquid everywhere as you kept squirting. “Fuck, that’s it… look at you, making such a pretty mess for me.”

When your body finally stopped trembling, he slowly removed his fingers, glistening with your release. His dark eyes dragged over your wrecked form as he brought those same fingers up to your parted lips, brushing them teasingly across your mouth before sliding them inside, letting you taste yourself on his skin.

“We still have forty minutes left before the end of the session, darling.” His cock, rock-hard and straining against his trousers, pressed heavily against your cheek as he rocked his hips forward. “So… what do you want next?”

He pulled his fingers from your mouth, letting them trail down your throat before sliding them back between your legs, lazily pushing it inside your used cunt.

“Should we keep going right here?” He asked casually, fucking you with slow, shallow thrusts. “Or maybe… here?” Yunho withdrew his fingers again and pressed the slick tips against your delicate, unspoilt asshole instead, rubbing slow, deliberate circles around the tight ring of muscle. “I can be so gentle…” he murmured, voice dropping lower, “or I can finger this tight little ass so deep you’ll feel it for days.”

He brought his dripping fingers back up to your lips once more, pushing them into your mouth so you could clear up the mess you made, while at the same time rocking his hips forward, letting you feel the full, heavy length of his huge cock pressed against your cheek.

“Or maybe...” He continued, voice low and filthy/ “I should massage that pretty throat after all that moaning… help you relax it from the inside with something hot, thick, and much bigger than my fingers.”

You moaned around his fingers, overwhelmed and desperate, your thighs twitching as you instinctively tried to press them closer together. But there was only one answer that truly made your body ache.

“In my pussy.” You breathed when he pulled his fingers from your mouth, your voice hoarse and needy. “I want you in my pussy.”

“That’s a good girl.” Yunho praised, his voice low and rough with approval.

Yunho climbed onto the table with effortless grace, settling between your spread thighs. His hands moved to his waistband, and he pushed his pants down just far enough to free his hard cock and the sight of it made your breath catch in your throat.

He was thick, far thicker than you had expected — with a heavy, flushed shaft that curved slightly upward in a way that promised ruin. The broad head was flushed a deep, angry red, already glistening with precum that slowly gathered at the tip before dripping down the thick length. Prominent veins pulsed along his cock, standing out starkly against the flushed skin, and below hung a pair of full, heavy balls, drawn up tight with arousal. The sheer size of him made your stomach tighten with a dizzying mix of nerves and desperate, aching want.

Yunho wrapped one large hand around his cock and began stroking himself slowly, deliberately, spreading the precum along his length until it shone wetly in the golden light. His eyes stayed locked on your exposed pussy, dark with hunger, as though he was already imagining how perfectly it would stretch around him.

He leaned in closer and dragged the thick head of his cock through your slick folds — once, twice, then again and again. Each heavy slap against your plump flesh sent wet, filthy sounds echoing through the room. He teased you mercilessly, letting the fat head catch against your swollen and still extremely sensitive clit before slapping it down again, watching with dark satisfaction as your body jerked with every impact.

“Look at you.” His soft voice was thick with lust now.  “Twitching like a desperate little thing every time I slap this pretty pussy with my big cock. You want it that badly already, princess? Do you want to see how far I’ll stretch this tiny, tight fuckhole until it swallows me whole?”

He slid the head between your labia once more, this time holding it there, rocking it slowly against your clit without pushing inside. With his other hand, he used two fingers to squeeze your outer lips together, making them plumper so they licked the thick head lewdly with every movement. The sensation was obscene — your soft, slippery folds clinging to him with every slow, torturous drag, increasing stimulation.

Yunho kept teasing you like that, alternating between heavy slaps of his cock against your pussy and long, torturous strokes that never quite gave you what you needed. Your hips began to move on their own, chasing him, silently begging. You could feel how wet you were, how desperately your empty cunt fluttered around nothing, aching to be filled. 

"Please... I need this so much... I want your dick so bad..." A soft, broken moan slipped from your lips as you spread your legs a little wider, giving in to the need that had been burning inside you for far too long. "I'll be a good girl, I promise... You can use me however you want, just fuck me. Please..."

Only when your soft, desperate whimpers turned into broken pleas did Yunho finally give in.

He pressed the broad head of his cock against your entrance and began to push inside. Even after everything his fingers had done, the stretch was intense. A sharp sting accompanied the thick intrusion as your walls were forced to open around him, but the burn was quickly drowned beneath the overwhelming feeling of being filled. 

Yunho didn’t rush. He sank into you inch by inch, groaning low in his throat as your tight heat swallowed more of him. When he was finally buried to the hilt, he stayed there for a moment, letting you feel every thick, pulsing inch of him deep inside you. Its length was so huge, so thick, that the distinct outline of his massive cock was visible against your lower belly. 

Then he started to fuck you.

One of his large hands pressed firmly against your lower abdomen, holding you in place and pressing on the obvious bulge that appeared every time he entered you, while the other kneaded and squeezed your breast, fingers tugging at your sensitive nipple. 

He began with deep, rolling thrusts — long, deliberate strokes that made you feel every ridge and vein dragging along your walls. Gradually, he picked up the pace, his hips snapping forward harder, the wet sound of skin meeting skin filling the room as he fucked you with growing intensity.

Your moans grew louder, more desperate, your walls fluttering around his thick cock as another orgasm began to build fast. Just as you were about to tip over the edge, Yunho’s voice cut through the haze, low and commanding.

“Not yet.” He ordered, voice strained but firm. “Hold it. Don't you fucking dare cum without me.” Yunho kept fucking you through the agonizing edge, slowing his thrusts just enough to keep you trembling on the brink without letting you fall. His movements grew deeper, more punishing, his hand pressing firmly against your lower stomach so he could feel every thick inch of himself moving inside you. 

Only when your whole body was shaking and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes did he finally slide his hand down from your breast to your clit, rubbing you with merciless precision.

You came with a broken cry, your entire body seizing up as the orgasm crashed over you in violent, overwhelming waves. Your back arched sharply, your walls clamping down around him in rhythmic, desperate spasms as pleasure tore through you with almost brutal intensity. 

Yunho groaned deeply, the sound low and guttural, raw with pleasure as your cunt milked him through your climax. He kept thrusting, fucking you straight through it, and only moments later he followed — burying himself to the hilt with a low, drawn-out moan as he spilled inside you in thick, heavy pulses. 

You could feel every hot spurt of his cum flooding your insides, so much that it began to leak out around his cock even before he was finished.

When he finally pulled out with a totally obscene, loud slurping, you were left trembling and boneless, your body still twitching from the force of your release. A thick, creamy load of his cum slowly spilled from your used, fluttering hole, trickling down between your cheeks in warm, glistening rivulets.

Yunho watched the sight for a moment, dark eyes heavy with satisfaction, before dragging two fingers through the sticky, viscous mess. He gathered the mixture of your release and his own before bringing them to his mouth, licking them clean with a low, pleased hum.

'Now that...' He said in a husky voice thick with lingering pleasure '...is what I call a really good massage.'

At the reception desk, Yunho casually leaned against the counter with that same warm, boyish smile he had greeted you with earlier, though now there was a darker, more satisfied glint in his eyes as he looked at you.

“So…” He began, tilting his head slightly, causing a few silky strands falling onto his face, giving him a more hot look. “...was everything to your liking? Do you feel better now?”

You paused for a moment, taking stock of your body. To your surprise, there was no trace of the aching stiffness or tension that had plagued you for days. Instead, there was only a deep, pleasant soreness — the kind that lingered after being thoroughly and expertly used. 

“More than.” A shy little laugh escaped you as you reached out and lightly swatted his arm.

Yunho’s grin widened, turning more confident, more knowing. 

“I’m glad.” He said, his voice dropping just a fraction. “You know, we have other ways to help you unwind too, if you’re ever interested. The sauna is particularly good after a massage… very relaxing.” He gestured casually toward the rest of the spa. “Next time...”

But before he could finish, the door to one of the other private rooms opened. Another therapist stepped out, followed by his client, and your gaze drifted toward him almost instinctively — and lingered.

He was absolutely stunning.

Where Yunho carried a bright, approachable charm, this man radiated something sharper, more dark and magnetic. His dark hair fell slightly over his face, framing sharp, expressive features and intense, alluring eyes that held a devilish mischief even in stillness. His build was lean but powerful, and the easy confidence in the way he moved made it impossible not to look. There was something almost feline about him — graceful and sensual, yet laced with an underlying dominance that made your stomach flutter.

Yunho followed your gaze and let out a low, amused chuckle. He tapped the counter lightly with his fingers, drawing your attention back to him. When you looked at him again, he was wearing a knowing smirk, the tip of his tongue briefly brushing over his lower lip.

“So then…” He said, his voice dropped several octaves, sounding more sultry and seductive. “...next time, we can try a different kind of massage. One I usually do together with San."

Heat rushed to your face so quickly you were sure it was visible. Still, despite the blush, you found yourself nodding.

“I’d like that.” You said, quieter now. “Can you… sign me up for another session?”

“Of course.” Yunho replied, his smirk softening into something warmer, though the dark glint in his eyes remained hinting at something a bit more naughty . “I’ll make sure to set something up for you.”

You left the spa a short while later, your body feeling lighter than it had in weeks or perhaps even months. There was still that deep, satisfying ache between your legs and in your muscles, but it no longer felt like exhaustion. It felt like a promise.

And as you stepped out into the evening air, you were already thinking about when you’d be coming back for the next session.

❣ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ❣ Part I @tiny-apocalypse @captain-joongz @alicedawitchbish @woohwababes @wlv-asteria @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisprincesss @lavishloving @teagietots @spooo00oky @sousydive @hwapou @bunnliix @softwsan @mjyungi @fantasy2wonderland @noirsfantasy @cassies-cookies @renaholicss @luffypants @hyukssunflower @watermelon2319 @peachygiku @bunnyxoxodarling @stolasisyourparent @soranosnowbunny @certifiedmoa @sanglix @slvtiny @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @hecateslittlewitchling @xxawl @pastellbunno @starlletsblog @seonghwasstar @hwanring @vtyb23 @pearltinyy @minjaeum @chasevixx @bomi-ja @onedumbho3 @sanglix @cursedeastern @itza-meee @pinkies-things @atinism @mxnsxngie @nenefix-on @therealcuppicake @annafeebou @sharksandminhos @@lixies-pixieboy @@vampzity @0rangemilk @yellow-foxxing @claimmeyourprincess

❣ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ❣ Part II @unholywriters @hey-syia @hrts4nohee @vnessalau @mlink64 @tessakleine @fr34k4c1dr41n @313hwa @lilyuwon @tiziamattaga @un-knew @wiaxul @siyah-staryis @seonghwasbbgirl @mingisfavgf @bunnyluvr25 @roserperfume @lose-lose07 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @lelaleleb @bubblebisk @silverlight-h @ chloe-elise-2000 @cookiesandcreammy @mxnsxngie @ghostlovesworld @i-love-ateez @mingisprincesss @vampscan @peachygiku @vampqueen777 @miyaluvvsyou @stay-tiny-things @moondanse94 @thyvessel

y/n:

hey, it's san, you already know that. okay, you know i'm bad at this, so i'm sorry in advance. there might be a right way to write this and i don't think i know it, but for you i'll try. please don't judge the handwriting too much. or the wording, or how short or long it is. i rewrote the first part four times and it still feels bad. anyway, i'm sorry, here's the letter. i guess i should start from the beginning, no? is that stupid? i don't know. [scribbled] the first time i saw you was in that class we both didn’t want to be in. i don’t even remember what the professor was saying, but i remember you. you were leaning over the desk, hand on your cheek, resting your head. i remember thinking you looked easy to be around. i don’t know why, but it did. this is embarrassing but i think i knew i wanted to marry you way earlier than i probably should have. i didn’t say it, obviously, that would've been creepy. i just knew you looked so so pretty and now that i know you, you became so beautiful. not that you weren't beautiful before being with me, you always were, i'm just saying from my perspective just how mesmerized you had me from the start, you know? you are just so smart, so creative, so diligent. [scribbled] it's like when you balance numbers and they finally add up the way they’re supposed to, that's what it kind of felt like, but in the romantic way. i'm sorry i'm not good at expressing my feelings and all that, you know that better than anyone else. but i want you to know that choosing you has never felt like a decision i had to force myself into. i want this more than anything, with you. we have this apartment now. it’s small and the walls are kind of thin and the kitchen light flickers sometimes, but it’s ours. i keep thinking about how this is the place where everything will start. mornings, dinners, normal days, hard days, all of it. and i like knowing you’ll be here at the end of the day. i like knowing i get to come home to you. i promise i’ll take care of you. i promise i’ll work hard. [scribbled] i know i don’t always say what i’m thinking, but i feel things even when i don’t show them right. does that make sense? well, [scribbled] i’m really proud to be your husband. that still feels strange to write, but in a good way. i hope we grow old together. i hope we don’t stop choosing each other, even when life gets busy or complicated. i hope you always know that you’re my favorite person in the world, even if i forget to say it out loud sometimes. i’ll always try to try, even if i’m bad.

i love you.

san

tucked beneath the neatly folded cashmere sweaters, exactly where you left it. lace covered box, meant for letters he had promised to fill with, yet a year and a half later, only the first one stood alone. you weren't angry, not even sad. it actually made you chuckle a little. just a quiet grief for what had been started to root deep inside, for the vibrant colors that had softened into pastels, for the soft reverence in his eyes that had slowly faded into habit. you often found yourself staring at the box, a wry smile touching your lips.

the paper, once crisp, now yielded to countless revisits. you knew every word by heart, the rhythm of his awkward sincerity etched into your memory. you traced the faded ink. his handwriting, usually neat in ledgers, was a little clumsy here. each letter formed with an almost painful deliberation. it was short, a simple promise. a quiet declaration of his intent to build a life with you, to be your home. no extreme pronouncements of undying passion, but a solid foundation of devotion. san had never been one for grand gestures, at least not in words. his love manifested in the certainty of his presence, the steady rhythm of his life intertwined with yours. in fact, you had asked for the letter in the first place, at that diner right before receiving the keys to the apartment.

"a letter?" he'd shifted on his seat, a blush creeping up his neck. "i'm not... good with words, y/n."

you shook your head with an endeared smile. "you don't have to be shakespeare sannie, just you."

he seemed in thought for a moment, trying to resist looking at your puppy eyes asking pretty please before straightening his back, accepting the challenge. and he did. pen clutched tight, brows furrowed in concentration. you’d watched him, your heart swelling with a love so potent it felt like a physical ache. then when he finished, he slid it across the booth table, eyes avoiding yours with his shy offering.

now, the paper, soft as old linen, whispered between your fingertips. you didn't rush. each sentence, each carefully chosen word, you read them slowly, precious memory reexperiencie. tasting the hope, the fresh promise of that day when he later bought you the box, saying he'd get better at it and you'd have it spilling out with his loving written words. you ran your fingers over the intricate patterns of the lace, delicate threads contrasting the hollow space.

you folded the letter along it's original creases, the paper folding easily, and placed it back before checking your thight bun in the mirror, perfect posture, every single hair placed where it was meant to be. he still looked at you, of course, but the spark, the raw wonder, had dimmed. it wasn't his fault. life had a way of sanding down the sharp edges of infatuation, leaving behind the smooth, enduring stone of work life.

silence stretched, punctuated only by the distant city chorus. you tell yourself he just forgot. got busy, or thought one was enough. you're good at explaining things away. but when did trying turn into remembering? when did the promise of a future become the past?

the aroma of roasted chicken and rosemary filled the air, a comforting scent that tonight told a solitary performance. table was set, candles unlit, everything waiting for a moment that kept getting delayed. the antique clock sat on the mantelpiece. seven thirty, again. you waited for the familiar click of keys in the lock, the sound that usually signaled the end of day and the beginning of us.

when he comes in your head lifts before you even realize. smoothing your dress automatically, fingers brushing over fabric that was never wrinkled in the first place. a small smile already forming, reserved for him. san already halfway out of his shoes, shoulders slumped, a dark suit jacket draped over his arm. he didn’t glance at the table set for two, but knows everything looks exactly as it always does.

"hey," his voice tired, worn down. like business of the city still clung to him.

"hi," you answer, softer.

he leans in, presses a quick kiss to your temple. familiar, practiced.

"sorry i’m late," he adds, already loosening his tie as you walked towards the dining table. "we had to redo part of the quarterly report because... how do i put this- there was a discrepancy in one of the ledgers, and it threw off the whole reconciliation process. so we had to go back and..."

pulling out his chair. the heavy oak scraped across the polished floor. he loosened his tie, then unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. "had to redo a section. whole damn thing.” he ran a hand through his hair, already tousled from the day. “hours. just… hours.”

you watched him, spooning roasted vegetables onto his plate. you pushed his plate closer, then sat across from him. "must be frustrating," you offered, a soft murmur.

he picked up his fork, turning the chicken over. "frustrating doesn’t begin to cover it. the whole team, scrambling. for a single misplaced figure." he took a bite, chewed slowly. "it’s done now. mostly."

he keeps talking about work, deadlines, numbers, something about a client. you listen, always do. you don't understand every word, but you understand him in the way he talks when he’s tired. the slight edge in his voice, the way he explains things like he’s still in the middle of solving them. it’s easier for him to talk about numbers than about how his day actually felt.

nods at the right moments. hums of acknowledgement. small "and then?" once in a while, just to keep him going.

"…where did those come from?" he signals behind you at the counter. a faint lift of an eyebrow. a hint of a smile, almost.

you glance back, even though you know exactly what he’s looking at. the vase sits neatly by the sink, filled with fresh flowers. soft colors, carefully arranged.

"oh," you say, turning back to him, a warmth creeping up your neck. "mrs. jones gave them to me. i brought her some brownies earlier."

he paused, fork halfway to his mouth and exhales a small breath through his nose in genuine bewilderment.

"y/n," he says, setting his fork down for a second, "you need to stop baking so much."

you blink at him. "why?"

"i don't know, it's just..." he gestures vaguely, like the answer should be obvious. "it's every day. there's always something new. brownies, cookies, that cake from yesterday. the whole building must be swimming in your desserts." he didn’t sound angry, just... resigned.

"i like baking," your voice still gentle, picking at a loose thread on the tablecloth

"i know, i know," he says quickly. "i'm just saying… it's a lot, isn't it?"

a small pause settles and you shrug, barely lifting your shoulders. "it keeps me busy."

he reached across the table, covering your hand with his. his palm was warm, calloused. "tell you what. how about i book you a day at that salon you like? the one on fifth street. hair. nails. the works. i can tell my sister to join you."

"what? am i starting to look like a hag?" you managed a weak laugh.

his grip tightened slightly. his eyes, usually so guarded, held yours with an intensity that surprised you. "you know that’s not what i meant." his voice was firm, no trace of humor.

the small joke withered and you nodded, slowly. "okay." you swallowed. "okay, that sounds... nice."

the candle flickered, casting dancing shadows across his face. he picked up his fork again, the brief moment of connection already fading.

later, the apartment settled into it's nightly quiet. you lay in bed, the soft glow of your reading lamp illuminating the pages of a novel you couldn't quite focus on. normal people by sally rooney, but the words blurred. beside you, san lay on his back, eyes fixed on the small screen in his hands. the blue light painted his face in stark contrasts. his thumb scrolled, scrolled, scrolled. numbers, probably. reports. another discrepancy.

you watched the subtle movements of his jaw, the slight furrow in his brow. he was so focused, so far away. still, you reached out, tentative touch to his forearm. his skin was warm beneath your fingers.

he didn’t stir, didn’t look up. his thumb kept scrolling.

you moved your hand, gently, up his arm, over his shoulder, until your fingers brushed the nape of his neck, then threaded into his hair. soft, dark strands. you leaned closer, your breath stirring the air near his ear.

a soft sound escaped him and it almost seemed like he was leaning into it. a yawn. deep, stretching. he lowered the phone, placing it face down on the nightstand. his eyes, heavy lidded, met yours. fleeting moment, again.

"long day," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. he gave you a quick short peck on your cheek then turned onto his side, facing away from you, the duvet pulled higher. "good night."

lamp clicked off. darkness enveloped the room, thick and immediate. you lay there, listening to the soft, even rhythm of his breathing, soon turning into soft snores. beside him but alone in the quiet. the book lay open, unread. words still blurred.

୨୧

acetone and something floral, both sharp and comforting. hum of dryers and low chatter fills the space, blending into a steady background noise that makes everything feel easy. normal.

you sat in the middle chair, hands resting neatly on the small cushion in front of you, fingers relaxed but still. a sigh escaping your lips before you could stop it. the manicurist, a young woman with a bright, knowing smile, took your hand, her touch cool and precise. she filed your nails into neat, elegant ovals. you picked a soft, clean color without much thought. something simple, safe, that goes with everything.

across from you, two of your friends leaned into each other, their overlapping voices a stream of gossip. too loud and uncaring. the others chime in, voices overlapping. one of them threw her head back, a peal of laughter echoing, the other one nodded, eyes wide with feigned shock. they talked about a mutual acquaintance’s recent engagement, the scandalous details of a breakup, the endless parade of societal expectations.

"he actually said that?"

"no, stop-"

"i'm serious, i swear-"

to your left, rhythmic snip of scissors. noeul, san's older sister listened quietly, sat under a cloud of foil, her head tilted back as a stylist worked through her dark hair. but her attention drifts back to you more often than not. she owned a warm, reassuring glint. offering a small, conspiratorial smile whenever you caught her gaze in the mirror, silent acknowledgment of the shared escape.

a few chairs down, a woman with kind eyes spoke in hushed tones to her stylist. "she just graduated middle school with the highest scores," her voice, thick with a mother’s proudness, drifted over.

the stylist hums a singing note. "you must be so proud."

"oh, more than that" the woman exhales. "she's even already thinking about what she wants to study after high school."

she spoke of her daughter, a girl she’d poured her heart into.

your fingers still for a second on the cushion. the stylist murmurs something gentle back, and the conversation folds into the background. but it lingers.

your gaze drifted from the woman’s satisfied face to the neat row of polish bottles, then to your own hands, at the careful brush of polish gliding over your nails. you imagined those hands, smaller, softer, reaching for yours. a child. a son, perhaps, with san’s dimples and your own tendency to blush when surprised. or a daughter, with san’s quiet strength and your expressive eyes. the thought bloomed in your mind like a fragile hothouse flower.

you try to picture it. years stacked quietly on top of each other. a child in your apartment. toys where there are now empty surfaces. noise where there is now silence. san, coming home from work. would he pick them up? would he be too tired? would he talk to them the way he talks to you now, half there, half somewhere else? or would it be different? the thought catches you off guard. unfamiliar.

because you've never talked about it. not seriously. not beyond passing comments, vague things people say because they’re supposed to. someday. eventually. no timelines, no plans, no want or don’t want laid out clearly between you.

you don't even know if he wants kids. and for a second, that realization feels heavier than it should. there’s a whole future on a limbo sitting out of reach. not because it’s impossible, but because it’s never been named.

"y/n? you’re miles away!" the brightness of your friend's voice cut through your reverie.

the other leans forward slightly, "how’s married life treating you?"

you don't look up right away, only tilting your hand slightly when the nail tech asks you to. a practiced tug at the corner of your lips masked the tremor beneath.

"it's good, really good." you offered, voice light and airy.

"ugh," someone groans playfully. "of course it is. you guys were always like... perfect for each other."

you let out a soft laugh. "thank you, emma."

"it is," the friend grins. "seriously though, what have you guys been up to lately? anything fun?"

there’s a pause. you glance up for just a second, like you're checking your memory for something recent, something worth telling. "not really," tone still light. "just... normal stuff."

"that's adorable," another friend says, laced with genuine admiration. "no drama or chaos. must be so peaceful to marry an office guy."

"yeah," you nod, smile a little wider. "exactly."

the conversation shifts easily after that, flowing like a meandering river to other topics, someone starts talking about a coworker, someone else about a trip they want to take, and you listen, add comments here and there, smile when you're supposed to. their voices rising and falling in a comfortable rhythm. you watched them, their easy camaraderie, the way they finished each other’s sentences, and a familiar pang of loneliness pierced through the carefully erected wall around your heart.

noeul’s voice, soft but firm, cut through the din. she leaned closer, her perceptive eyes, meeting yours.

"how’s he been?” she asks.

you turn slightly. "san?"

a small nod. "yeah."

your smile didn’t falter. it felt glued on now, a permanent fixture. "he’s good," you say. "just busy with work, you know how he is." the words came out a little too quickly, a little too smooth. you avoided her gaze, focusing instead on the manicurist applying the top coat, making sure each nail was perfectly glossy.

noeul scoffs and tilts her head. "i do." a faint, wry smile touched her lips. "you know, i’ve known my brother a long time. longer than you, even." she paused, letting her words hang in the air. "i know how he gets. when things pile up and he forgets the rest of the world exists."

for a second, the façade threatened to crack. the truth, the bitter, stinging sensation, rose in your throat. you wanted to confess, to unburden yourself, to say, he’s not here, noeul. even when he’s here, he’s not here. i’m so lonely. i feel like i’m drowning in this calm. but the words remained trapped. fearful of conflict, ingrained habit of presenting things softly. you forced a small, reassuring nod. "yeah, it's nothing." the lie tasted like ash.

she watches you for a second longer, like she’s weighing something, then hums lightly and looks away, letting the moment dissolve back into the room. as the conversation drifts away again, your gaze lowers, unfocused.

the manicurist finished, buffing your nails to a high shine. she applied a cuticle oil, the scent of almond and rose a delicate perfume. your hands, now impeccably groomed, felt foreign.

"all done, dear." she announced, her smile bright.

you lift your hands slightly, turning them under the light. they’re perfect. smooth, even, untouched.

"thank you," you say, smiling.

for a moment, you imagine asking him. should be simple. do you ever think about kids? it doesn’t feel like a big question. it's not.

and yet, you can’t picture the moment clearly. when you'd ask, how he’d answer, whether it would feel natural or out of place, like introducing a topic that doesn’t belong in the quiet shape of their life. so you let the thought go.

you reach for your phone absentmindedly. no new messages. thumb hovers over the screen for a second, like you might type something, then you lock it instead and set it back down.

"do you guys want to grab something after this?" a girls asks. "coffee?"

"perfect! i’m craving that new lavender latte."

"oh, i can't," you say quickly, forcing another regretful smile. "i really should head home. dinner, you know." you gestured vaguely, as if the very concept of an empty fridge was an urgent, looming threat.

"alright, wifey," someone teases.

you simply smile again in a thin line as you stand, smoothing down your dress out of instinct and reach for your bag. giving everyone a small goodbye hug. as you pass behind noeul, there’s a brief brush of hands, intentional to pause you.

"hey, if it’s ever not nothing," she says quietly, a hint of concern still lacing her words. "you can tell me."

you hold her gaze for a second. then you smile. soft, reassuring, effortless. "i know." and you mean it, you just don't use it.

blur of city sounds and hurried footste. you stepped out, the cool afternoon air a sharp contrast to the salon’s warmth. rose scented oil on your nails, faint blush of pink, it felt like a disguise. you walked, footsteps echoing on the pavement, toward the quiet of the apartment, toward the silent kitchen, toward the dinner you had to make. the thought of it, a weight in your stomach, settled in with the dull ache of loneliness. the calm awaited.

୨୧

the last of the suds swirled down the drain, taking with them the faint scent of tonight’s braised short ribs. you wiped down the counter, movements precise, methodical. the clinking of ceramic plates against the drying rack was the only sound in the kitchen. you dried your hands on a towel, folding it neatly over the edge of the sink when you're finished. dishes done, kitchen clean again.

san's in the living room, laptop open, the soft glow of the screen lighting his face. he's not typing much. just staring, scrolling, thinking. you paused at the archway, shoulder pressing lightly against the cool plaster. the conversation from the salon, a snippet of motherhood, rang in your mind. it had all been a gentle nudge, a question mark in the back of your thoughts all afternoon. you hadn't realized how much space the idea of a child, of your child, could occupy until that moment.

the future, once a vibrant tapestry you and san wove together with eager hands, now a blank canvas. you’d painted the college days in bright, bold strokes, the wedding vows in shimmering gold. but the years beyond, the ones stretching into a quiet domesticity, remained unsketched. you found yourself wondering if san even saw that canvas anymore, if he still held a brush.

you watched the muscles in his forearms flex as he began typing, the subtle ripple beneath his shirt. his dark hair, a little longer than you usually liked, fell across his forehead. he didn’t look up, his focus absolute, a tunnel vision you’d come to recognize.

"still have a lot to do?" you asked, your voice softer than you intended, a whisper against the keyboard’s clatter.

his fingers stilled for a beat, then resumed their pace. "almost," he murmured, eyes still fixed on the screen. "just finishing up these projections for the morning."

a breath, deep and slow, air cool in your lungs. you watch him for a second. the way his brows pull together slightly, the way his attention narrows into whatever’s on the screen. focused. distant. the question, the real question, the one that had been brewing since you left the salon, fell heavy on your tongue. it wasn't just about kids. it was about us. about the unspoken, the unasked, the growing chasm of silence. you wanted to ask if he ever thought about them, about a future that wasn’t neatly tied to quarterly reports and spreadsheets. you wanted to ask if he still saw you, really saw you, beyond the perfectly made bed and the carefully planned dinners. maybe, just maybe, this question could be the key, a small crack. it could lead to an actual conversation, a real one, not just about work or groceries or the weather. your heart beat a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

"hey," you start.

he hummed, signaling acknowledgement without breaking concentration. his head tilted slightly, silent invitation to continue.

do you ever think about kids?

words once so clear in your mind, so simple in your head, at least, suddenly tangled. they became a knot in your throat, a lump of unspoken fears and resentments. the image of him, so engrossed, so far away, solidified the doubt. what if he says no? what if he doesn’t want them? what if he thinks it’s a silly question? the fear of that disappointment in his eyes, was a known, suffocating weight. you’d spent years perfecting the art of soft landings, of avoiding any ripple in the calm surface of your shared life. to shatter that now, to introduce a potential disagreement, felt like a betrayal of your own carefully constructed peace. the question of children, of your future, of his love, dissolved into a vague, unformed anxiety.

"do you…" you began, then faltered, sentence dying on your lips. "do you want some tea?"

he looked up then, slanted brown eyes meeting yours, a faint smile touching his lips. the blue light softened the edges of his face, highlighting the dimples that appeared only when he was genuinely pleased. "yeah," he nodded. "sounds nice."

and just like that, the moment passed. the opportunity vanished. you offered a small, tight smile in return, then turned and walked back into the quiet kitchen, already reaching for the kettle. behind you, the quiet settles back into place. the question dissolves somewhere between the sink and the stove, blending into the rhythm of water filling, mugs being set out, something warm being made and offered instead of something uncertain being asked. by the time the kettle starts to hum, you can’t even tell if it would’ve been the right moment or if there would ever be one.

୨୧

the supermarket was colder than you'd expected when the automatic doors whispered open, spitting out artificial chill. paused just past the entrance, adjusting your grip on the heavy cart as the air settled unwelcome against your skin. for a moment, you just stood there, letting the quiet hum of refrigerators and distant chatter fill the space around you. a shiver traced it's way down your spine, cold reminder that you had to move, and so you pushed the metal basket forward as it's wheels squeaked faintly.

there was no reason to rush. you followed the aisles in a pattern you didn’t have to think about anymore. chicken first, hand reaching for the familiar white tray. then the vegetable section. flour, again. sugar, constant drain on the pantry, always seemed to run out faster than it should. everything found it's place in the cart without hesitation, each item chosen with the same steady certainty. each line on your shopping list crossed off with a decisive stroke of the pen. at some point, you realized you had already walked down the same aisle twice.

nothing missing, nothing forgotten. the necessities secured, a small indulgence felt earned. you slowed, then stopped altogether at the snack aisle. eyes drifted over the shelves, lingering on things you didn’t need. brightly colored packaging, a mental tally forming: which ones you wouldn't you buy, which ones would san wrinkle his nose at? the familiar ritual offered a brief, quiet comfort. you imagined his polite imperceptible nod of approval when you presented his favourite chocolate covered crispy biscuits, or the slight, teasing lift of his brow if you dared bring home something too exotic.

"y/n?" the voice came from behind, uncertain but enough to make you turn, the cart creaking in protest. you couldn’t place him until the crooked smile appeared and recognition settled in.

seonghwa.

he stood a few feet away, a half basket hooked over his arm. the boy you remembered, all sharp angles and adolescent angst, had softened around the edges, but the core was undeniably him. the piercings that once studded his ears and lip were gone, leaving only ghost like indentations. but new ink snaked up his forearms, dark tendrils against his skin, a testament to a life lived beyond high school hallways. his wolf cut, a shaggy, artfully dishevelled frame around his face, was longer, wilder than you remembered. his round eyes, still piercing, held a glint of surprise, then something else, something assessing.

"oh...hi," you said, a small, surprised smile breaking through. "wait, hi."

"wow, it's really you." he smiled back, a little wider, like he’d been more sure of it than you were. "i almost didn't recognize you. you... look good, exactly the same," he added, almost as an afterthought.

you let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "that’s not true."

"it is," he said lightly. "just... older. in a good way."

you smiled again, more out of politeness this time, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as if to give your hands something to do.

"what are you doing around here?" he asked. "do you live nearby?"

"yeah," you nodded. "not too far. i just came to... groceries."

"right," he said, glancing at his own cart. "same."

there was a brief pause, the kind that should have felt awkward, but didn’t quite. not yet.

"so... are you still in touch with... what was her name? sarah? no- samantha?”

you smiled faintly. "no."

"right, yeah," he said quickly, waving it off with a small laugh. "i always mix those up."

you didn’t correct him. his gaze shifted then, catching on your left hand, lingering for a fraction on the thin band around your ring ringer. you followed his eyes, as if you hadn’t noticed it until that moment.

you offered a practiced smile, a smooth, well rehearsed performance. "oh, yeah. met him in college." the words came out light, airy, almost dismissive of the years of shared history, of the dreams whispered in dorm rooms, the silent promises.

"college, huh? that's nice," he said, and it sounded genuine.

"it is," you replied, too quickly. "his name is san, he's an accountant." the description felt flat, inadequate, a pale shadow of the man you loved.

"an accountant. fancy." he chuckled. "so, what have you been up to? still arguing about about freud versus jung for fun?"

"no, not really." you corrected gently. "i mean, i got a psychology degree but i'm… i'm a stay at home wife now." the phrase almost felt embarrassing on your tongue.

his eyebrow shot up. "huh... i always pictured you, like, running a therapy practice, saving the world from going insane."

you shrugged. "well, it’s nice, though. i get to... manage the house. bake. plan meals. save him from going insane, you know?" the words hollow, even to your own ears.

"i bet san’s a lucky man. always coming home to fresh cookies." he teased, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

small, tight knot formed in your stomach. you baked when you were anxious, yes. but san rarely came home early enough for the cookies to still be warm. and most of them, you gave away to the neighbours, offerings of surplus comfort. "something like that," you murmured, deflecting. "what about you? still making music?"

his face lit up, a genuine, unadulterated passion sparking in his eyes. the words lingered between you for a second before dissolving into something lighter. you talked after that. nothing important, nothing that would be remembered in detail later. work, vaguely. life, in broad strokes. the kind of conversation that filled space easily without asking too much of either of them. he asked questions and waited for the answers. reacted in the right places. kept things moving without letting them settle too long in any one place. you found yourself talking more than you expected to.

"a few of us get together sometimes," he said, almost casually. "nothing big. just... hanging out. you should come, we’re going to a friend's house next week. old times' sake."

you hesitated, not because you didn’t want to, but because you did. your mind immediately conjured a mental checklist: the laundry basket overflowing in the utility room, the dust motes dancing in the afternoon sun on the living room floor, the intricate dinner you had planned for san, a quiet attempt to reignite a spark that felt increasingly dim. the thought of all those small, domestic duties, waiting patiently for your attention, made a familiar pang of guilt twist in your gut.

"i don’t know," you said lightly, automatic refusal on your lips. "i might be busy."

"with what?" he asked curiously.

you searched for something immediate, something obvious.

"just… stuff," you said instead, smoothing it over with a small smile.

he nodded, accepting it without question.

"well," he added, "if you’re not, you’re welcome. it’d be nice to catch up properly. it’s good to break free sometimes and let loose, you know?"

a small yearning stirred within you. the idea of an afternoon free from chores, from the quiet hum of your own thoughts, from the subtle ache of loneliness, held an unexpected appeal. "okay," you said, the word simple.

"yeah?" his eyes amused.

"yeah."

you exchanged numbers. nothing ceremonious about it, a small addition, barely noticeable in the moment. "well, it was good running into you, y/n. don’t be a stranger." he offered a quick, easy smile, then turned, his basket still hooked over his arm, and disappeared down the aisle towards the dairy section.

that night, you work through the knots in your hair in front of the vanity mirror. each stroke of the brush pulls a small discomfort. the rush of water from the tap in the en suite bathroom ceases. the door creaks open and san emerged, a towel draped low around his waist. water still clings to the dark hairs on his chest, glistening under the low light. he moves with a quiet efficiency, his broad shoulders filling the doorway for a moment before he crosses to his side of the bed, carrying the clean scent of his soap. he doesn’t look at you, not directly, as he peels the towel away, letting it drop to the floor. your gaze, however, finds the smooth expanse of his back, the hard lines of his muscles shifting as he reaches for the pajama drawer. you note the way his bicep flexes, the familiar curve of his neck, the slight slump of his shoulders that wasn’t there when you first met him.

you continue brushing, rhythmic scrape of bristles against scalp filling the silence. your heart a persistent bird, flutters.

"i ran into someone today," you say, your voice almost lost in the rustle of san pulling on a shirt.

a low hum sound from inside the fabric, he pulls the shirt down, smoothing it over his chest. he turns then, his eyes, dark and heavy lidded, finally finding yours in the mirror. a flicker of something unreadable passes through them before settling into a tired affection.

"at the market?" he asks as he pulls back the duvet on his side of the bed.

you nod, watching his reflection as he settles onto the mattress, propping himself up against the headboard. "an old friend. from high school." you pause, the brush still in your hand, it's bristles splayed. "apparently some of them still hang out, and i was invited."

the bed dips as he adjusts the pillows. "that’s good. you should go." his voice is calm, even. he picks up his phone from the nightstand, it's screen glowing blue for a moment before he sets it back down.

you turn fully then, the brush forgotten on the vanity. your bare feet touch the cool wood floor. "really? you don’t mind?" you walk to your side of the bed.

he looks up, his brows furrowed slightly. "why would i mind? it’s good for you to see people. you’re always here." his gaze sweeps around the room, then back to you. "you should get out more."

the words, meant to be reassuring, land with a surprising weight. always here. a small, sharp ache begins in your chest. you climb into bed, pulling the duvet up to your chin. the sheets, cool against your skin, feel vast tonight.

"i mean," you start, choosing your words carefully, "i haven’t seen them in years. since graduation, probably." you watch his face, searching for something, a hint of curiosity, a flicker of concern.

he just nods, a small, almost imperceptible movement. "people change. that’s okay. it’ll be nice to reconnect." he reaches over, his hand finding yours under the duvet. his fingers, warm and strong, intertwine with yours, a familiar comfort. "you’ve been cooped up. it’s good to have plans."

his thumb strokes the back of your hand, it’s a connection, yes, but one that feels practiced, automatic. you want to tell him more, to say, it was seonghwa, the boy with the emo hair, the one who used to draw skulls in his notebook during history class, but the words catch in your throat. the moment feels too delicate, too easily broken.

"i guess so," you murmur, your voice barely a whisper. you squeeze his hand, a silent plea for more, for him to ask, who was it? what did you talk about?

soft exhalation that sounds like relief escapes him. he leans over, his head dipping. his lips, warm and soft, brush your forehead, then your temple, then your mouth. it’s a brief, chaste kiss, a familiar closing to the day. his lips taste faintly of mint. he pulls back, settling deeper into his pillow.

"good night, y/n," he says, his voice already thick with sleep.

eyes closing and breathing deepening almost immediately. the rhythm of his breath fills the room, steady and even. his hand, still holding yours, loosens it's grip. fingers, heavy with sleep, slide away.

darkness pressed in as you layed there, the silence amplifying the quiet hum of the city outside. your eyes trace the familiar contours of his face in the dim light. his eyelashes, thick and dark, rest against his cheekbones. faint smile, ghost of a dream, plays on his lips. he looks peaceful, untroubled.

he hadn’t asked. he hadn’t asked anything beyond the most superficial. he hadn't asked who. he hadn't asked if you wanted to go. he just assumed.

you turn onto your side, facing away from him, pulling the duvet tighter around you. the warmth of the blankets does little to chase away the chill that has settled deep within you. still, you tried to push the thought away. it’s not fair. san is tired. he works hard. he provides. this is what you agreed to. this is the life you built. you chose this, to be here. for him. but the loneliness curls around your heart. the perfection of the bed you made this morning, the carefully planned dinner, the unspoken anxieties baked into the pastries you gave away, all of it feels like a silent scream swallowed by the vast, quiet expanse of your days.

tears won’t come even if the knot in you throat screams for a cry. instead, your mind drifts to the closet, to the neat rows of clothes, the perfectly folded sweaters. tomorrow, you think, you’ll reorganize the winter section. it needs it. you need it. a small, manageable task to fill the endless hours.

y/n choi: hi, it's y/n from the store. i think i'm free that day if the invite still stands

seonghwa park: hey!

seonghwa park: yeah of course 😉

seonghwa park: glad ur coming, heres the address

seonghwa park: [location]

୨୧

the building wasn't what you expected. grimy canvas of faded brick and peeling paint that slightly unnerved you. you pulled your phone from your pocket a third time, checked the address, then glanced up at the entrance like it might correct itself if you stayed waiting long enough.

no, this was it.

bass vibrated through the pavement, pulse beneath your feet. for a second, you consider leaving, then you adjust your grip on the small container in your hands and step inside. the hallway swallowed you whole, narrow canyon that smell suspiciously of gasoline. when you reach the graffiti painted door, it was already slightly open. you knocked anyway.

there's a small shuffle inside before seonghwa emerges, his grin a flash of white teeth.

"y/n! thought you weren't gonna make it." he stepped aside, his arm sweeping an invitation.

you offered a small, polite smile, stepping into the room. the air hit you first, thick with a cloying sweetness you couldn't recognize and the acrid bite of stale cigarettes. the apartment was a controlled chaos. art adorned every available surface, canvases leaning against walls, sketches tacked to corkboards, a half finished sculpture draped in cloth in a corner. the room swam with bodies. girls, their midriffs bare, navel piercings glinting under the strung fairy lights. men, their arms drawn with ink, sprawled on beanbags or perched on the worn, leather couches. they moved with an easy, unhurried rhythm, as if the space molded itself around their presence. your modest linen shirt, a soft ecru, felt suddenly like a costume, an ill fitting disguise.

"hey everyone, this is y/n, from high school." seonghwa’s voice cut through the haze, a casual announcement.

a few heads turned, a couple of languid nods, but most remained immersed in their conversations, their laughter echoing off the high ceilings. your gaze swept across the room, searching for a familiar face, a flicker of recognition. nothing.

"it’s... nice to meet you all," you murmured, voice a little too soft, a little too formal for the raucous atmosphere. you clutched the clear container in your hands, the weight of it suddenly grounding.

a girl with a constellation of tiny tattoos climbing her neck, her hair a violent shade of fuchsia, pointed a perfectly manicured finger at your hands. "what’s that?"

you felt a blush creep up your neck. "oh. cookies. i made them." you held the container out, a silent offering.

a woman with striking, dark eyes and a generous smile detached herself from a group near the window. she wore spiked hair and her eyebrows seemed to be gone, but her presence offered a quiet anchor. "cookies! how cute. anna, by the way." she extended a hand, her grip firm and warm.

"y/n." you returned her shake, a surge of relief washing over you.

"i didn't know this was a bake sale," a gravelly voice grumbled from a corner, followed by a snort.

anna turned, her dark eyes narrowing playfully at the fat guy with a mohawk. "shut up, mark. you never bring anything." she gave his arm a quick, sharp shove. despite his joke, he came up as well.

a fresh wave of embarrassment hit you, cheeks burning as you began to stammer, "i just thought, you know, as a... a thank you for inviting me..."

anna waved your apology away. "no, it’s great! we love snacks. what kind?" she peered into the container, her eyes sparkling.

"chocolate chip. with sea salt." you offered, a small smile tentatively forming.

the lid popped open with a soft click. the aroma of warm chocolate and vanilla wafted through the air, momentarily cutting through the other scents. it was like a siren song. suddenly, a small crowd materialized around you, drawn by the scent. hands reached in, fingers deftly plucking cookies from their neat rows.

"someone brought cookies?"

"wait, i want cookies."

"no way, cookies?"

"save me one. i said save me one!"

the conversation dwindled, replaced by the soft sounds of chewing and contented murmurs. a lanky guy took the last cookie, giving you a between apologetic and grateful look and you laugh it off. within minutes, the container lay empty, a few crumbs clinging to it's clear sides. you felt a genuine smile spread across your face. the tension in your shoulders eased. "i’m glad you liked them."

for a moment everything was filled with overlapping conversations and easy movement, people drifting in and out without much structure. you sat at the couch with anna and mark. being spoken to, responded to, included without having to work for it. she asks you what else you like to bake. he asks where you live. the questions aren’t deep, but they come one after another and you answer, laugh and nod. the silence you've been carrying around doesn’t follow you in, it stays somewhere outside the door you walked through.

after a while, when the rhythm starts to feel harder to follow and topics shift quickly, you find your way back to seonghwa in the kitchen. he’s near the counter, talking to someone, but he glances over when you approach, like he’s been keeping track of where you are.

"hey," he says, turning slightly towards yo.

"hi," you answer before a small pause, then casually, "are any other people from our school coming?"

he doesn't hesitate. "nah," he says, shaking his head. "couldn't come."

"oh," you felt a pang of disappointment, small knot tightening in your stomach. you’d envisioned friendly faces, shared anecdotes, a comfortable bridge to this unfamiliar landscape. "okay."

"why?" he adds. "were you expecting someone?"

"no,no. i just thought maybe-" before trailing off, you shake your head lightly. "it's fine."

he watches you for a second, then nods once, like that’s enough.

"you’re good," he says. "don’t overthink it. come on, let’s get you a drink." seonghwa grinned, his hand briefly brushing your lower back as he steered you towards a cooler overflowing with ice and bottles.

you chose a sparkling water, the chill of the can a welcome sensation against your palm. you gravitated towards anna, who was now engaged in a lively discussion with mark about a band you’d never heard of. you hovered at the edge of their circle, listening, slowly piecing together fragments of their world. they spoke of gigs, of art installations, of obscure films, their words painting a vibrant, chaotic picture of lives lived on the fringes of convention.

as the evening continued it's slow, winding course, the hours passed by without warning, suddenly, it was later than you thought. through the subtle buzz in your veins and lightness you hadn't realized you were missing, the image of san already in bed, alone, stirred something in you. your small bag and empty container already in your hands.

"you can come in anytime, even if seonghwa isn't here." anna said before hugging you goodbye.

as you made your way towards the door, seonghwa intercepted you. "leaving already? come on, just one more drink." his voice was persuasive.

"i really should go. it’s getting late." you offered a polite, but firm smile.

he stepped closer, his hand briefly touching your arm. "you know, you’re really something, y/n. a real breath of fresh air." his eyes held yours, flicker of something unreadable in their depths.

"thank you, seonghwa. for inviting me." you pulled your arm away subtly.

"anytime. seriously. we should hang out again, just us two." his voice dropped, a low murmur intended only for your ears.

you felt a shiver, a faint unease prickling at your skin. "maybe," you said, voice noncommittal, then slipped out the door, back into the cool night air.

the street was quieter now, the bass from the building still a faint thrum in the distance. you walked and thought of the laughter, the music, the easy camaraderie, and a strange sense of longing settled in your chest. it was a world so different from your own, a world where boundaries seemed to blur, where emotions were worn on sleeves, where life felt raw and immediate.

stale cigarette smoke clung to your clothes, a new perfume you hadn't anticipated, but somehow, it felt less offensive than the lingering scent of dish soap from your day to day. your sensible sedan, parked a block away, seemed almost out of place among the battered vans and motorcycles. once you got in safely, you pulled out your phone, the screen illuminating your face with a single text from san from an hour ago: 'home. have a good time, night.' short, efficient, just like him. you stared at it and felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to talk to him, to tell him about the fuchsia hair, the tattooed arms, their reactions to your cookies, the melancholic music, anna’s kind eyes. but you tucked your phone back into your purse, the small, bright screen now dark.

you unlocked the apartment door, the click echoing in the silent space. the air inside was still, heavy with the scent of your carefully chosen strawberry cake diffuser. a half eaten bowl sat on the kitchen counter, remnants of the chicken stir fry you had prepared earlier, the pan still on the stove, a few grains of rice clinging to it's surface. a small sigh of relief escaped your lips. he had eaten. the simple act, a confirmation of your effort, brought a satisfaction to you. you moved through the kitchen, the soft clink of ceramic and metal as you rinsed the bowl, scrubbed the pan. it was a mindless task, your hands working on autopilot, while your mind drifted back to the vibrant chaos of anna's house.

the bedroom was a hushed darkness. san lay sprawled on his side of the bed, a rumbling snore escaping his lips, his face buried in the pillow. the sheet, pulled up to his waist, outlined the broad expanse of his back, the familiar curve of his spine. a sight you knew intimately, a tableau repeated almost every night. he worked hard, you reminded yourself, always.

you untangled your hair from the neat french twist, the pins scattering like tiny metallic insects onto the polished wood of your dresser. soft fingers massaged your scalp, releasing the tension that had gathered there throughout the day. you stripped off your clothes replacing them with silk pajama shorts and a matching camisole. teeth brushed and bathroom light off, the bed dipped slightly as you eased yourself in, careful not to disturb san. he remained a dark, unmoving mass beside you, his breathing deep and even.

sleep, usually a welcome embrace, felt elusive tonight. your mind buzzed, a kaleidoscope of new faces, loud music, and unfiltered laughter. the freedom of it all, the raw, unpolished authenticity, contrasted sharply with the quiet, ordered life you had carefully constructed.

shifting restless, silk rustling against the sheets. the image of the girl's fuchsia hair, defiant and vibrant, flashed in your mind. her confident stride, her easy smile. what did she worry about? did she ever feel this profound, aching quietness? you turned your head, watching the gentle rise and fall of san's back. the moonlight, filtering through the gap in the curtains, painted a silver line along his broad shoulder, the muscle defined even in repose. he was strong, reliable, your rock. yet lately, the rock was a mountain you couldn't climb.

a pang of something sharp, something akin to longing, twisted in your gut. you wanted to feel. you wanted to be seen. not just as the wife who kept the house, who cooked the meals, but as you, again. the you who had laughed tonight, unburdened. the one you knew san had fallen in love with.

your hand, almost without conscious thought, slipped beneath the silk of your pajama shorts. the fabric parted, your fingers, tentative at first, found the soft mound of your grown pubic hair, then the slick, warm folds beneath. a small gasp escaped your lips, swallowed by the quiet room. your core, already sensitive, pulsed beneath your touch. you stroked, slowly, deliberately, soft pressure building.

subtly, your hips began to tilt, involuntary movement, pressing into your palm. your fingers worked with a quiet urgency, tracing the delicate ridges, circling the peak of your clitoris. a moistness spread, warm, slick rush that dampened the silk shorts beneath your hand. the sensation intensified, a delicious ache blooming deep inside you, spreading through your belly. your breathing hitched, growing shallow, ragged.

wake up, i'm here.

you closed your eyes, a torrent of images flashing behind your eyelids. san, the warmth of his touch, a vague, undefined hunger. you pressed harder, your thumb finding a rhythm, a steady, insistent pressure. a low moan, barely audible, escaped your throat, a sound of pure pleasure. your whole body tensed, arching slightly into your hand. the climax a sudden, exquisite release, wave of heat that cascaded through your limbs, leaving you trembling, breathless.

୨୧

the shrill ring of the alarm ripped you from a dreamless sleep. your eyes fluttered open, the room still shrouded in pre dawn gloom. a glance at the clock sent a jolt of panic through you. 6:45 am. san left at 7:30. you had overslept.

you scrambled out of bed, the silk shorts clinging briefly before you shed them. the floor was cool beneath your bare feet.

"san, wake up," you whispered, nudging his shoulder. he grunted and slowly, reluctantly, stirred.

you moved with practiced efficiency, a whirlwind of motion in the quiet kitchen. the scent of brewing coffee began to fill the air, mingling with the sizzle of eggs in the pan. toast popped, butter melted, and the rhythmic thud of a knife chopping fruit filled the space. san emerged from the bedroom, showered and dressed, his black hair still damp, clinging to his forehead. he looked tired, his eyes still holding the remnants of sleep, but his movements were precise, methodical.

"morning," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. he poured himself a mug of coffee, the steam curling around his face.

"morning," you replied, already assembling his lunch. a neat stack of sandwiches, a small container of cut fruit, a handful of almonds. you wrapped it all meticulously, fitting it into his lunch bag.

"did you sleep okay?" he asked, taking a sip of his coffee. he leaned against the counter, watching you.

"yeah, eventually," you said, trying to keep your voice light. you packed a small thermos of tea. "i went to that thing last night, you know, the hangout thing?"

he nodded before picking up a slice of toast, spreading jam onto it. "how was it?"

"it was...different," you began, a small smile playing on your lips. you wanted to tell him everything, about the fuchsia hair, the tattoos, the unexpected warmth. "it was in this old building, kind of grungy, but everyone was so nice. there was this girl, sally, she had the most incredible hair, like, bright pink and her face was like a strainer, filled with piercings, it was so cool. and then i met anna, she had these dark intimidating eyes but she was actually really sweet. she’s a photographer for bands."

he turned to you with a slight frown. "y/n?"

"yeah?" you cleaned your hands with a kitchen towel.

"you're not... getting into anything dangerous, are you?"

you tilted your head, looking at him confused. "what? no, no. they were really nice people, they had this energy, like they just didn't care what anyone thought. it was kind of... inspiring."

"hmm..." he took a bite with a raised brow. "be careful y/n, you know how those types can be."

the warmth you’d felt, a flicker of shared experience, began to cool. "i am. but listen, there was also music, not like the music we usually listen to, more like a band sound," you continued, a little more emphatically, trying to inject some of the excitement you had felt into your words. "there was this guy, he had these huge arms filled with tattoos and he had a mohawk, i'd never seen one of those in real life."

he looked away again, finished his toast and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "just don’t get into anything foolish." he reached for his briefcase and lunchbox, already moving towards the door.

your shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly, there was so much you still wanted to tell him. but there was also no time, you knew. there never was. he was already halfway out the door, his hand on the knob.

"i'll make your favorite soup for dinner tonight," you offered, a last ditch effort to connect, to anchor him for just a moment longer.

he paused, turning his head slightly. a small, tired smile touched his lips, revealing the faint indentations of his dimples. "thanks, that sounds great, i'll try not to be too late. love you."

"love you," you mumbled as the door shut and he was gone, the click of the lock echoing in the now silent apartment. you stood in the kitchen, surrounded by the lingering scent of coffee and eggs.

y/n choi: hi, it's y/n, i had a really good time yesterday.

seonghwa park: hey, me too

seonghwa park: everyone loved u btw, they were all talking about how sweet you were when you left

y/n choi: really? that's so nice to hear

seonghwa park: ur coming next week, right?

y/n choi: again?

seonghwa park: yeah

seonghwa park: we hang out every weekend

seonghwa park: always at annas

seonghwa park: come ooon, ull have t come

seonghwa park: ur a part of the group now

the words, simple and direct, landed like a soft blanket on your exposed nerves. a part of the group now. the phrase resonated, a balm to the quiet ache san’s rushed departure had left behind. it wasn’t profound, not a declaration of affection, but it was an invitation, a recognition. it felt like a small hand reaching out in the growing expanse of your solitude.

y/n choi: i’d like that, thanks seonghwa.

the next week crawled by, each day a slow, methodical march of chores and quiet anticipation. the perfect bed, the planned dinners, the reorganizing of the linen closet. each task a meticulous attempt to fill the hours, to ward off the encroaching loneliness. but seonghwa’s words, hummed beneath the surface.

a part of the group now.

as saturday evening approached, nervous flutter stirred in your stomach. you pulled out a simple, soft cotton t-shirt, one you usually wore for lounging. then, a pair of well worn dark jeans. your fingers went to your hair, letting it fall, then found a simple black velvet hairband, pushing back the front strands.

the grungy building loomed, a concrete behemoth adorned with a tapestry of peeling posters and vibrant graffiti. the door stood ajar again, inviting light spilling onto the cracked pavement. but politeness, ingrained deep within you, compelled your knuckles to tap softly against it.

the door swung open further, revealing anna. her spiked hair, dark halo around her face, seemed to defy gravity. thicker eyeliner from the last time, you noticed. a cigarette dangled from her lips, thin wisp of smoke curling lazily into the air.

"well, look who it is," anna’s voice, raspy like gravel, held a surprising warmth. a slow smile spread across her face, revealing a glint of metal in her upper teeth. "you bring cookies this time, wifey?"

you laughed, unforced sound that surprised even yourself. "i didn’t, i’m afraid." faint blush touched your cheeks.

anna leaned against the doorframe, taking a drag from her cigarette. "shame. your hair looks good though, so i'll let you in." she winked, a playful glint in her dark eyes.

you stepped inside murmuring a small "thanks." she led you into the living room as seonghwa, who was meticulously cleaning something that looked like a round bottom flask, rose from the couch.

"hey, you. where's my hug?" he grinned, a flash of genuine pleasure in his expression. he offered a thight hug, quick squeeze that felt surprisingly comforting. "glad you came back."

"come on, i’ll show you my current obsession." anna, having stubbed out her cigarette in a makeshift ashtray, clapped you on the shoulder and led you to a corner of the living room, where a makeshift studio was set up. a flash unit sat on a tripod, and a black backdrop hung from a makeshift frame.

she showed you her new lighting techniques, her raspy voice softening as she spoke about her craft, explaining each of the series of prints tacked to the wall. the subjects, all punk, stared out with an intensity that pulled you in. low groan emanated from the other side of the room. mark, with his pants that perpetually threatened to slide off his ample frame, was getting another tattoo. the machine buzzing like an angry bee.

you watched, a strange mix of fascination and unease stirring within you. the raw intimacy of the moment, the deliberate pain, the permanent mark being etched into skin. it was so far removed from your carefully ordered world. visceral, unapologetic. you thought of san, of his disciplined body, his aversion to anything that might disrupt his carefully constructed order. a tattoo, to him, would be an act of reckless abandon, an unnecessary defacement.

anna exchanged a few words with the tattoo artist and you followed seonghwa and sally into the kitchen.

"tacos?" you asked, a sudden urge to ground yourself in something familiar, something productive.

"attempting to," seonghwa repeated, a wry smile playing on his lips. sally, armed with a knife, was making a valiant but clumsy effort to chop an onion. tears streamed down her heavily made up face.

"this is harder than it looks," she sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing eyeliner.

"i don’t even know if this is cooked enough. it still looks… pink."

you stepped forward with quiet confidence. this, you knew. this was your domain. "let me help," you offered, already reaching for the cutting board. you gently took the knife, demonstrating a quick, efficient chop that produced even dice.

you moved with an easy grace, hands finding their rhythm. chicken seasoned, a blend of spices from the overflowing spice rack that seemed to surprise even seonghwa. you showed sally how to properly dice tomatoes and shred lettuce, your voice soft but instructive. the kitchen, which had been a scene of mild culinary disaster, slowly began to transform into an efficient workspace.

"wow," sally beamed, her fuchsia hair bouncing. "seriously, my mom just nukes everything."

it was a simple thing, a small act of connection, of contribution. but you felt useful, appreciated. the feeling was a pleasant counterpoint to the quiet solitude of your own kitchen at home, where your culinary efforts often met with san’s polite, but often silent, approval.

the group gathered at the living room again, something being passed from hand to hand. you saw it before you recognized it, it wasn't tobacco.

the joint made it's rounds, anna took a long drag, her eyes closing in apparent contentment. seonghwa inhaled deeply, then exhaled a plume of smoke that dissolved into the dim light. sally giggled, her eyes a little brighter, her movements a little looser.

then, mark’s hand, big with his new tattoo, extended towards you, holding the burning joint. the tip glowed orange, small pulsating ember. a hush fell over the group, subtle, expectant. no one said anything, but their gazes, soft and encouraging, rested on you.

your breath hitched. your mind, usually so clear, swam with conflicting thoughts. weed. the word echoed in your head, sharp and disapproving. san’s voice, clear as day, cut through the hazy atmosphere.

disgusting. it’s not a gateway. it destroys lives.

his lectures, delivered with a quiet intensity, about the dangers of drugs, of anything that clouded judgment, that compromised control. he hated it. he hated all of it. smoking, drinking to excess, any form of escape that wasn’t productive, wasn’t measured.

your gaze flickered to mark’s hand, then to seonghwa, who offered a small, reassuring nod. a strange defiance, a tiny spark of rebellion, ignited within you. san, with his rigid rules and his unspoken expectations, felt miles away, a distant, fading echo. here, in this room, with these people, there was an unspoken permission, an acceptance of difference.

you thought of the quiet mornings, the unasked questions, the emotional chasm that had grown between you and san. you thought of the lingering loneliness, the slow, insidious fading of sparks. you thought of his hurried goodbye, his preoccupation, his casual dismissal of your small joys.

a small, almost imperceptible sigh escaped your lips. it wasn’t about wanting to get high. it was a quiet protest. a moment of reclaiming a sliver of yourself that felt lost, submerged under layers of wifely duty and unspoken disappointment. it was a fleeting, irrational thought, but it felt powerful in it's simplicity.

trembling fingers, usually so steady, reached for the joint. your eyes met seonghwa’s, then anna’s. they offered soft, almost imperceptible smiles.

the joint touched your lips. the paper felt rough against your skin. the smell, pungent and earthy, filled your nostrils. you hesitated for a fraction of a second, a silent battle raging within. then, you inhaled.

the smoke, harsh and acrid, scraped your throat. you coughed between involuntary gasps. tears sprang to your eyes. the group chuckled softly. your lungs burned, heat spread through your chest, then a dizzying lightness in your head. it wasn’t pleasant, not yet. but as the initial shock subsided, a curious sensation began to bloom. a loosening. a letting go.

the world around you, already vibrant, seemed to soften at the edges. the music, a low thrumming before, now seemed to pulse with a deeper rhythm. the faces around you, previously distinct, now blurred into a warm, accepting tableau.

you exhaled, a shaky, uneven breath. the smoke drifted upwards in a cloud, carrying with it a rebellious whisper.

the taco shell crumbled in your fingers, a warm, messy embrace of seasoned chicken and melted cheese. a laugh, sharp and high, tore from your throat. it wasn’t your laugh, not really, but it escaped anyway.

"y/n, these are..." sally kissed the tips of her fingertips at once. a piece of tomato, vibrant red, clung to her chin. you watched it, mesmerized, as it wobbled precariously. like a tiny significant event.

"no, for real. this is the best shit i've ever eaten," someone grunted as they took another bite, cheeks bulging. the sound of their chewing a symphonic rhythm, wet crunch that filled the room.

you smiled, you think, a wide, unbidden thing that stretched your face. your cheeks felt warm and tingly. the praise, usually a balm, now felt like a spotlight, too bright, too focused. you didn't need to respond. the air itself seemed to hum with approval.

seonghwa leaned in, his hair brushing your shoulder. the scent of his cologne filled your nostrils. it was a new smell, suddenly potent, a story in itself.

"you have to come over more often," he murmured. his words were slow, stretched out, like taffy. "we’d starve without you."

you nodded, or thought you did. the room swirled, a gentle eddy of color and sound. the soft glow of the fairy lights strung across anna’s living room became individual, shimmering points, each one a tiny sun.

anna, perched on the armrest of a worn armchair, watched you, her eyes unblinking. she held a half eaten taco, but she wasn’t eating. she was just watching. a flicker of concern crossed her face, or maybe it was just the way the light caught her smudged makeup.

you turned your head, the motion slow, deliberate, like moving through thick syrup. seonghwa’s face was inches from yours. his eyes liquid and half lidded. a tiny mole, small and innocent on his ear. you had never noticed it before.

"you know," he began, his voice dropping, a conspiratorial whisper meant only for you, "i actually lied to you."

the words themselves were like individual pearls, strung together on an invisible thread that made your breath hitch.

"about what?" you managed a reedy whisper. it sounded like someone else speaking.

he chuckled like it was obvious. "about keeping in touch with people from high school. i don't. not really. i just... wanted you to have a reason to come."

the confession ignited a fresh burst of laughter. bubbled up from deep inside, unrestrained, joyful. it felt like a new sensation, a freedom you hadn't known existed. the idea of him lying, out of all things, struck you as profoundly hilarious.

he smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips as his hand, warm and calloused, covered yours on the couch cushion. his thumb traced a slow, hypnotic circle on your skin. it wasn't unpleasant. it was just... there. a sensation.

"y/n, i know you’re unhappy."

unhappiness? that was a concept. right now, there was only the incredibly soft fabric of the couch, the taste of spices on your tongue, the intricate pattern on anna’s rug.

"you deserve so much more," he continued, voice thick and low, "than whatever you’re settling for."

you blinked. his face, so close, seemed to waver, like a reflection in water.

"i want you so bad," a whisper you didn't caught on the movements of his lips, his grip tightening on your hand. "i want to make you happy."

you don't know why he kept making sounds with his mouth. the words drifted past, like smoke. meaningless vibrations in the air. your mind, untethered, floated above them, observing.

then, the world tilted. a wave of warmth, heavy and comforting, washed over you. the trip slowed, the colors blending into a soft, indistinct haze. the universe faded into a gentle lullaby.

୨୧

rough wool blanket against your cheek, smelling faintly of incense and something vaguely sweet, covering you. your eyes fluttered open. the room was bathed in a dim, pre dawn light, a pale grey filtering through the blinds. you blinked, trying to orient yourself. the couch. anna’s couch.

a low snore rumbled from the floor. you peered over the armrest. mark, a lumpy silhouette, was sprawled on a pile of blankets, his mohawk flattened. sally was curled up near him, a splash of fuchsia against the muted tones. anna was nowhere in sight. seonghwa? you scanned the room. no.

dull throb resonated behind your eyes. your mouth felt like sandpaper. you pushed yourself up, the blanket slipping to your lap. the memories of the night were a jumbled mess, like a deck of san's numbers scattered on the floor. flashes of laughter, the taste of tacos, the feeling of warmth. but specific words, specific moments, they were gone, swallowed by the haze.

you fumbled for your purse, slung precariously over the back of the couch. chocolate. a small, dark bar, your emergency comfort. you tore off a piece, the rich, bitter sweetness a welcome shock to your tongue.

you pulled out your phone. three forty seven a.m.

your heart gave a sharp, painful lurch. san. you could almost hear the silence of your apartment, the empty space beside him in bed. a wave of guilt, cold and sharp, washed over you, chasing away the last vestiges of the warm fog.

as careful as you could be, you rose quietly to not disturb the sleeping figures. your movements quiet, deliberate.

the drive home was a blur of streetlights and silent roads. each turn of the wheel felt like a small act of atonement. the city was asleep, a vast, dark canvas. then you finally pulled into your parking spot, the apartment building quiet and imposing.

apartment dark, save for the faint glow from the digital clock on the microwave. you slipped off your shoes, the sink. a plate, crusted with dried sauce, sat precariously on the edge, a half empty mug beside it. san. he had eaten, gone to bed. done.

straight to the bathroom, you stepped under the spray, letting the hot water cascade over your skin. it wasn’t just the smell, but the night itself. the laughter, the forgotten words, the unsettling intimacy. you scrubbed, hard, as if you could scour away the memory, leaving your skin, and your mind, clean and blank once more. you wanted to emerge, refreshed, as if the night had never happened. as if you hadn’t tasted that strange, momentary freedom.

୨୧

the sound pulled at your teeth. tremor in the soles of your new sneakers, premonition of the chaos within. this weekend, anna's apartment building pulsed with an unholy rhythm. this wasn't the hazy, languid hum of last week. this was a beast unleashed.

seonghwa’s band, the ruptured veins or something like that, thrashed in the living room. how they’d squeezed a drum kit, a full amp stack, and three guitarists into the already cramped space remained a mystery. mark, sweat plastering his mohawk to his skull, pounded the drums with a primal ferocity that threatened to crack the plaster. sally contorted over her bass, each pluck a sharp jab to your eardrums. seonghwa, all flailing limbs and guttural shouts was at the center. the sound wasn’t music. it was a wall of noise, an excuse of distorted guitars and ear splitting percussion that clawed at your sanity.

bodies, too many bodies, swayed and thrashed in the dim light, a sea of black leather and ripped denim. you felt like an alien even if you tried dressing in your darkest clothes. a hand, sticky and warm, brushed your arm, offering a glass. you instinctively recoiled, the smell of cheap beer and something cloyingly sweet, making your stomach churn.

seonghwa’s eyes flashed you a grin across the room, a feral baring of teeth, and gave a thumbs up. you forced a weak smile back, the corners of your mouth feeling stiff and unnatural. the volume intensified, a new wave of sound washing over you, drowning out thought, drowning out everything.

a bong, you learned, it's glass bulb milky with smoke, appeared before your face. a girl with tangled dreadlocks and eyes that swam in their sockets pushed it closer.

"hit it, y/n!" she slurred a shout, her voice a gravelly whisper against the roar.

you shook your head, a small, almost imperceptible movement. "no, thanks!"

she shrugged, apathetic, and passed it to the next person. another, a lean guy with a spiderweb tattoo crawling up his neck, who had earlier complained about the brownies you brought not being the "fun ones."

the words felt like pebbles in your throat. you had enough, you needed quiet, needed to escape the relentless assault on your ears. you navigated the throng, each step a battle against jostling elbows and oblivious revelers. you reached the bathroom and pushed open the door for the now muffled sound to lower, then you saw her.

sprawled on the cracked linoleum, half hidden by a discarded shower curtain, lay a woman. her head rested at an awkward angle against the toilet bowl, a thin stream of saliva tracing a path down her chin. she looked older than the others, perhaps in her early thirties, though the lines etched on her face spoke of a life lived hard, not necessarily long. two distinct scars stood out against her skin. her face, even in repose, held a weary resignation, map of battles fought and lost. she wasn't breathing right. shallow, ragged gasps punctuated the silence, each one a struggle.

panic seized you. you knelt beside her, your fingers fumbling for her pulse, finding a weak, thready beat at her neck.

"hey," you whispered, shaking her shoulder gently. "hey, are you okay?"

no response. her eyes remained closed, her lips slightly parted. this wasn't a drunken nap. this was something else, something far more sinister.

your hand instinctively went for your phone, pulling it from your pocket. 911. ambulance. you needed to call an ambulance. your fingers, trembling, navigated the screen.

"i wouldn't do that if i were you."

a hand, heavy and surprisingly strong, clamped around your wrist. your breath hitched. you looked up, startled. a man stood over you. he was burly, with a shaved head and a face like hammered iron. his eyes, dark and flat, bore into yours.

"unless you wanna be trouble," his voice cut through the residual band noise. it wasn't a suggestion. it was a command, heavy with unspoken threat.

your heart hammered against your ribs. you tried to pull your wrist free, but his grip was unyielding, almost bruising. "she needs help," you managed barely a squeak. "she’s not breathing right."

mirthless chuckle rumbled in his chest. "she’s fine. just had a little too much fun." his gaze flickered to your phone. "you call anyone, you’ll regret it."

the warning hung thick and menacing. you met his stare, a shiver running down your spine. the flat emptiness in his eyes, the casual cruelty in his tone, left no room for doubt. he meant it.

slowly, reluctantly, you let your hand drop, your phone clattering softly against the tiles. his grip loosened, then released. you scrambled backward, away from him, away from the unconscious woman, from the suffocating threat. he watched you, unsettling smirk playing on his lips, then turned his attention back to the woman, nudging her with his foot.

you burst out of the bathroom, the music now a mocking roar. you needed anna. anna would know what to do. anna would understand. you pushed through the bodies, eyes scanning the faces, a frantic desperation clawing at your throat. "anna!" you shouted, the word swallowed by the sheer volume. "anna!"

no one heard you. no one even seemed to notice your distress. they just continued to push each other, lost in their own discordant revelry. you spotted a doorway, half hidden behind a towering speaker, and instinctively veered towards it, hoping to find a quieter space, a less crowded corner where anna might be.

it led to a short, narrow hallway, mercifully less populated. at the end, another door, slightly ajar, spilled a soft, yellow light onto the floor. you pushed it open, a desperate plea for help forming on your lips.

the room contrasted to the chaos outside. a single, bare bulb cast a warm glow over a small, unmade bed. and there, on the floor, surrounded by a haphazard collection of worn stuffed animals and bright plastic blocks, sat anna, but she wasn't alone. a small figure, no older than five, sat nestled against her side, a book with brightly colored illustrations open in it's lap. the child, a boy with a shock of dark hair and wide, innocent eyes, looked up as you entered.

"mommy, who’s that?" his voice, clear and sweet, pierced the lingering noise in your ears like a needle.

mommy.

the word echoed, reverberated, then shattered something fragile inside you. anna’s head snapped up, her eyes widening in surprise. a flicker of something, guilt? embarrassment? crossed her face before she quickly composed herself.

"y/n," she said, her voice lowered as she gently pushed the boy behind her. "everything alright?"

everything alright? the irony tasted heavy. now, a child. her child, in this suffocating place. the realization hit you with the force of a physical blow. this wasn’t just a party. this wasn't just a group of friends messing around. this was a life. a harsh, brutal, unforgiving life that you had no part in. the music, which had been an unpleasant background noise, now felt like a blaring siren, screaming the truth. you didn't belong here. not even close. this wasn't edgy. this wasn't rebellious. this was dangerous. this was real.

you shook your head, unable to speak, your throat tight with unshed tears. the image of the passed out woman, the man’s cold eyes, the innocent child, all swirled in a sickening vortex.

"i..." you started, then stopped, the words catching. you didn’t need to explain. anna, with her sudden shift in demeanor, her protective stance over the child, understood.

you turned, a silent retreat, your feet moving on their own accord. you didn't say goodbye. you didn't look back. the door clicked shut behind you, a soft thud against the relentless thrum of the bass.

you navigated the hallway, then the living room, a ghost moving through the throng. no one noticed your departure. the band still roared, seonghwa still shrieked into the mic as he kicked the audience in the face in a blur of motion. you pushed past the last lingering bodies near the door, the cool night air hitting your face like a lifeline.

the street was alive with a different kind of noise. the band’s sound, though fainter, still pulsed through the asphalt, relentless reminder of what you were leaving behind. a group of figures huddled under a flickering street lamp, their movements jerky, unnatural. as you approached, their eyes, glazed and vacant, fixed on you.

"hey, pretty thing, all alone?" one slurred, his voice hoarse, lewd grin spreading across his face.

"where you going in such a hurry?" another whistled, a long, drawn out sound that made your skin crawl.

you kept walking, pace quickening, eyes fixed straight ahead. don’t look. don’t engage. don’t acknowledge. your heart hammered a frantic drum against your ribs. you felt exposed, vulnerable, felt the harsh reality of the street.

your car door shut like a beacon of safety at the end of the block. you fumbled for your keys, fingers clumsy with fear, gripping the steering wheel with knuckles white the whole drive back home, breath coming in ragged gasps. not daring to glance in the rearview mirror once. you drove faster than necessary.

this was not your world. this was not where you belonged. you would never come back. you promised yourself that, a vow whispered into the empty, echoing space of your car, a promise etched in the raw, aching fear still thrumming beneath your skin.

the click of the lock echoed. inside, the air heavy with scent of instant noodles and something sweet, like canned peaches. a white plastic container sat on the kitchen counter, half-eaten, a pair of chopsticks resting beside it. san had takeout. a cold knot tightened in your stomach. you forgot to make him dinner earlier. another layer to the evening’s sour taste.

san, shirtless, was just shrugging out of his work trousers when you entered the room, his back to you. he paused, one leg still in the pant leg, turning his head at the sound of your entrance. his brown eyes, warm and steady, widened slightly.

"you’re back early," he said, the words a quiet murmur in the hushed room. a flicker of surprise crossed his face. he finished pulling off his pants, tossing them onto the laundry hamper with an easy flick of his wrist.

you managed a weak nod, the muscles in your face protesting the effort, too tired to feign a smile. your gaze slid past him, landing on the bathroom door. escape. you moved towards it.

"y/n." his voice stopped you mid stride. you looked over your shoulder, hand hovering over the cool brass doorknob.

"what’s that smell?"

you didn't turn around, the lie already forming on your tongue, bitter pill. "i... i fell into a puddle earlier."

a beat of silence stretched, taut and thin. you watched him, standing there, his brow furrowed, processing your words. you waited for the follow up, the gentle probing, the concern that used to laced his questions. but it didn’t come.

"oh," he said, the single syllable flat, devoid of inflection. he picked up his shirt from the bed, pulling it over his head, then pulled back the covers.

you finally turned, gaze fixed on his retreating back, already settling in. your eyes traced the strong line of his shoulder, the curve of his neck. he was there, and he wasn't. is that all you’re going to ask? the words hovered on your tongue, sharp and desperate. you wanted him to push, to see through your flimsy lie, to demand more. you wanted him to care enough to unravel the carefully constructed facade. almost, you wanted him to know. to know about the music, the drugs, the woman, the fear, the suffocating loneliness that had driven you there in the first place.

"is that all you’re going to ask?" you heard yourself say.

he paused, his hand reaching for the bedside lamp. "is there something else i should know?'

your heart hammered against your ribs. this was it. the open door. the invitation. a single word, a sigh, a broken sentence, and the truth would spill out. you needed to test the boundaries, to see how far he would go, how deep he would dig.

"no," you said, the lie tasting like ash. your gaze held his, searching for a flicker of doubt, a hint of suspicion, anything that would tell you he wasn’t buying it.

he held your gaze for a moment longer, then his lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile. "okay then." he reached for the lamp, plunging the room into near darkness. he shifted, settling deeper into the pillows.

a choked sound, a low groan of frustration, escaped your lips. he hadn’t pushed. he hadn’t questioned. he hadn’t cared enough to look beyond the surface. you turned abruptly, stalking towards the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind you with a satisfying thud. the sound echoed, a punctuation mark on your silent fury.

san lay in the sudden darkness, his eyes wide open. the faint aroma of something acrid you brought and he couldn't quite place, still lingered in the air. a puddle, he thought. she fell in a puddle. it sounded plausible enough. you were clumsy sometimes, always lost in your own thoughts. he trusted you. he trusted you completely. a small smile touched his lips. it was good you were out, seeing old friends. you needed that. a small part of him felt a pang of guilt for not being able to provide more excitement, more spontaneity in your life. but he was working for your future, for your stability, to provide for you. he believed that was love, that was care. he rolled onto his side, pulling the duvet up to his chin. he heard the shower running, the sound a soft, comforting hum. he closed his eyes, his mind already drifting to tomorrow's spreadsheets, the complex equations that made perfect sense in a world that often didn't. everything was fine. you were having fun. it was okay if you forgot dinner sometimes. you could always order takeout. he was happy. he assumed you were too.

the next morning, the apartment hummed with the usual rhythm of your routine. you woke before him, the first rays of dawn painting the bedroom walls a soft grey. you made the bed, pulling the sheets taut, plumping the pillows with practiced ease. the scent of freshly brewed coffee soon filled the air, followed by the sizzle of eggs in the pan.

san emerged from the bedroom, showered and dressed in his crisp white shirt and specifically tailored pants. he kissed your cheek, a soft brush of lips, and then sat at the kitchen island, scrolling through his phone.

it became a monotonous cycle of routine.

you'd have your small talk, watch him eat, his movements precise, efficient, and then he was out the door. then, you'd wander into the bedroom, the perfectly made bed an ironic symbol of your life. you'd pick up your phone, cold blinding glass, and scrolled through social media. endless stream of meaningless shorts of nothing. you'd sink yourself in bed and let the hours melt. youtube videos, a reality show you cared about for two hours, articles about celebrity gossip. anything to fill the void, to drown out the insistent whisper of your own thoughts.

you woke him, prepared his meals, vaguely cleaned what was obvious. but the moments in between stretched, vast and empty. you spent them in bed, phone in hand, the world outside shrinking to the confines of your screen. at night, you wouldn't sleep. every shadow twisted into a threat, every creak of the floorboards a reminder of unspoken dangers. san had simply mentioned you seemed a little tired. you’d blame it on a bad dream, a headache. anything but the truth. the vibrant, productive life you once shared with san, the shared dreams, the late night conversations, they felt like a distant memory, replaced by this quiet, isolated existence.

one evening, san’s footsteps echoed in the hallway, the familiar jingle of his keys preceding his entrance. he walked into the kitchen, his briefcase thudding softly onto the counter. he paused, his eyes scanning the immaculate space. the stovetop was clean, the counters clear. no scent of cooking, no simmering pots.

"i ordered pizza," you said, voice flat, emerging from the living room where you sat on the sofa, scrolling through your phone. the thought of cooking, of meticulously chopping vegetables and stirring pots, felt like an insurmountable task. the effort, the pretense of normalcy, was too much. you simply couldn’t.

"okay," his voice quiet. you couldn't decipher his tone, surprise? confusion? whatever.

for once, he didn't immediately take his laptop. he watched you, his expression unreadable. he picked up a slice, silence punctuated only by the soft chewing sounds.

"i spoke to noeul today," he said, cutting through the quiet.

you froze, a slice of pizza halfway to your mouth. "oh?" you asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but your voice came out a little too sharp.

"she was wondering why you stood her up for lunch," he continued, took another bite of pizza, his eyes still fixed on you.

"i... i wasn't feeling well," you swallowed, the pizza suddenly tasting like cardboard.

he paused, chewing slowing. his dark eyes, usually so placid, held a new depth, a subtle intensity. he studied your face, his gaze searching, probing.

"is everything okay, y/n?" he asked, the question soft, gentle, yet it hit you with the force of a blow. this was the first time in weeks, months even, that he had truly looked at you, truly asked.

you felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over you. relief that he was finally seeing, finally asking. fear that he would see too much. anger that it had taken him this long. a desperate, clinging hope that he might actually understand.

you opened your mouth, but what could you say? no, san. everything is not okay. i’m lonely. melancholic. i’m lost. i’ve been hanging out with people who smoke weed and threaten me. i lied to you. i don’t know who i am anymore. the truth felt too vast, too overwhelming, too ugly to articulate.

you closed your mouth, nodding slowly. "yes," you whispered, the lie a refuge. "everything’s fine."

he didn’t push further. he simply nodded, a slow thoughtful movement. he finished his pizza in silence, his eyes occasionally flicking towards you. he didn't know what to do. he thought he was doing everything right, providing stability, working hard. but he felt that something wasn't actually right. he could feel it. and for the first time, the thought that his stability might not be enough began to gnaw at him.

୨୧

"well, well, well," you couldn't see seonghwa's face through the phone but you just knew a smile stretched across his face, all teeth and charm. "look who finally decided to give signs of life."

you took a breath, "i’m sorry about that. i felt a little... overwhelmed."

"overwhelmed?" he chuckled a sound that grated. "we had a blast, though. sally was asking where you went."

a forced light laugh came out of you. "i'm sorry, it's just... don't take this the wrong way but, i don't think it's my scene."

the seconds of silence made you more nervous than you liked to admit. "oh? why’s that? did anna scare you off? she’s all bark, no bite, you know."

"it’s not anna." you walked to the window, staring out at the streets. "it’s just not... it’s not for me." you chose your words carefully.

"not for you, huh... too much for the perfect little housewife?"

you didn't know what to say, or even if you should reply. this is not the way you had wanted to come off.

"come on, y/n. " his tone shifted again, becoming almost playful, seductive. "you can’t just ditch us. we were just getting to know you. and you, me, we had a connection, didn’t we?"

you closed your eyes and sighed. "i appreciate the invitation, seonghwa. but i really don’t think it’s a good idea."

"wait, wait, wait." his voice was quick, slightly desperate. "don’t hang up. this saturday. it’ll be different. i promise."

"different how?"

"no loud music. no... overwhelming crowds." he mimicked your earlier word with annoyance. "it’ll be at my place. daylight. we’ll just chill. listen to some records. maybe sally will bring her new bass. anna her camera, snap some pictures. it’ll be... a real hangout. no pressure. just us."

a day hangout. at his place. no crowds. the thought of seeing anna, of making sure she was okay, flickered. and sally. you’d genuinely liked sally. you chewed on your lip, disappearing without a trace, even from people who were clearly not good for you, felt... rude. you were not rude. you prided yourself on your manners, on leaving things tidily. this would be your last clean exit. a proper goodbye.

"it'll be calm? no substances?" you asked with a small voice.

"yeah. we'll just chill."

you sighed, a long, slow release of air. "fine. but if it gets crazy, i’m leaving."

"deal!" his voice triumphant. "i’ll text you the address. saturday. two o’clock. don’t be late, y/n."

you hung up on him, the silence of the kitchen pressing in on you. a mistake? probably. but you had to make things right. you had to say goodbye. properly.

the next few days were a flurry of quiet preparations. you found a well loved cookbook at a second hand store, it's pages dog eared and stained with flour. sally had seemed genuinely interested in your chicken tacos, you remember her bouncing as she peered over your shoulder. a small childish bunny stuffed animal, soft and grey, caught your eye in a boutique window. anna’s son. he deserved a little softness in a world that seemed so hard. you wrapped the gifts carefully, a futile attempt to infuse them with the warmth you wished you could offer.

saturday afternoon, the sun bright in the sky. you drove, the directions seonghwa had texted leading you through unfamiliar streets, past industrial parks and forgotten warehouses. the address finally brought you to a hidden nook, tucked away behind a row of dilapidated auto shops. a trailer park. a small, unexpected community of metal boxes, each with it's own patch of scraggly grass and faded plastic lawn ornaments. you hadn’t known such a place existed in the heart of the city.

seonghwa’s trailer, a faded blue, stood at the end of a gravel path. your stomach twisted. you clutched the gifts tighter, the paper rustling. you knocked, a soft tap that felt too polite for the setting. the door creaked open, revealing him. his hair looking a little disheveled, as if he’d just woken up. a faint smell of something herbal, not entirely unpleasant, wafted from inside.

"oh, you actually came." he grinned as he rubbed the weariness out of his face.

"i said i would." you offered a small smile, trying to ignore the sudden awkwardness that settled between you. "i brought some things." you held up the wrapped gifts.

"oh, for me?" he reached for them, but you pulled back slightly.

"no. for sally and anna’s son."

his hand dropped, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "right. well, come on in. you’re the first one here."

the trailer was small, surprisingly neat but dim. a worn couch, covered in a faded floral sheet, dominated the living area. a small television flickered silently in the corner, displaying a nature documentary. a guitar leaned against the wall. it felt... lived in.

"make yourself at home," he gestured vaguely at the couch. "the others should be here any minute. mark’s always late. sally said she had to pick up some new strings. anna… well, anna’s anna." he laughed, a short, nervous sound.

you sat on the edge of the couch, placing the gifts carefully beside you. the cushions sagged beneath you, smell of old fabric rised to meet you. the silence, punctuated only by the chirping of unseen birds on the television, was deafening. you felt a sudden urge to fill it, to chatter, to ask about his band, about anything. but you couldn't.

"want something to drink?" he asked, already moving towards a small, cluttered kitchenette.

"just water, please." you watched him, his movements surprisingly graceful for someone so wiry. he pulled out two glasses, poured a clear liquid from a plastic bottle into one, and then, to another one that was already sitting on the counter. he didn’t seem to notice your gaze.

a tiny, insistent voice in the back of your mind, screamed. you took the glass, your fingers brushing his, skin rough. you brought the glass to your lips, pretending to take a sip, letting the rim touch your mouth, but not letting any liquid pass.

"so," he said, settling beside you on the couch, much closer than you would have preferred. "how’s... housewifing?"

you stiffened. "it’s good. i like it."

"yeah? seems a little... boring for someone like you." he leaned back, his arm brushing yours. the contact made your skin prickle.

"it’s not boring,”°"you said, maybe a little too quickly. "i like taking care of things. taking care of san."

"san." he said the name slowly, like tasting it. "busy guy, huh?"

"he works hard," you defended automatically. "he provides for us."

"yeah, i bet." he turned his body fully towards you, knee touching yours. his gaze dropping to your hands, clasped tightly in your lap. "but does he... pleasure you?"

you looked at him in shock, offended. your cheeks flushed crimson, a wave of heat rushing through you. shock, outrage, and a deep, mortifying embarrassment tangled together. you stared at him, mouth agape, unable to form a single word. the flickering television, the stale air, his proximity, it all coalesced into a suffocating pressure. "what did you just say?"

he didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. his eyes held yours, unwavering. "i mean, you’re bright, y/n. you’re smart. you’ve got this... spark. yet you spend your days fucking, polishing silverware and waiting for some suit to come home. does he ever even make you feel good?"

your heart hammered against your ribs. "i like polishing silverware. i like making a home."

"do you?" he reached out, his fingers tracing a pattern on your arm, just above your elbow. "or do you just tell yourself that because it’s what you think you’re supposed to do?"

you flinched, pulling your arm away. "i don’t appreciate that, seonghwa."

"just being honest. that’s what friends do, right?" he leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear.

the small, dusty clock on the wall pointed at four, you glanced at it, then at the door, wishing that your eyes could pierce a hole and reveal other people, anyone. yet no one else had arrived. the pit in your stomach deepened. "maybe i should call sally. or anna."

"nah, don’t bother." he waved a dismissive hand. "they probably won't even come. you know how it is." he paused, a predatory glint appeared in his round eyes. "guess it’ll be just us."

the words rang heavy and suffocating. it clicked. a cold, sickening realization washed over you. there was never "others." you had been tricked. the gifts, the polite goodbyes, all of it a naive delusion.

"oh." you stood up abruptly, the movement jarring. "i... i think i should go. maybe i should come back when the others arrive." your mind raced, scrambling for an excuse, anything to get out. you tried to infuse your voice with a calm you didn’t feel, to make it sound like a reasonable suggestion, not a desperate plea.

"don’t be stupid, y/n. you just got here." he stood and pulled you towards him. the close proximity of his body, the insufferable smell of weed making you almost gag. "you’re lonely, aren’t you? i see it in your eyes. the way you just exist and he doesn't even notice."

"i don’t know what you mean." your voice trembled.

"why? you don’t want to admit it?" he leaned closer, breath warm against your ear. his insidious words pricked at the spots. the truth of them, despite the venomous delivery, stung. but the way he was using them, twisting them, made your skin crawl.

you tried to push past him, a surge of adrenaline making you bold. “let me go.”

he grabbed your arm, his fingers tightening around your wrist. "no." he pulled you back, hard, sending you stumbling onto the couch. the gifts clattered to the floor. he pinned you there, his face inches from yours. "i know you don’t love him. you're goddamn pathetic with him and everyone sees it."

you felt a surge of adrenaline, a pumping desperate need to escape. “you don’t know anything about me. or san.” you pulled harder, twisting your body, trying to create distance.

he didn’t let go. instead, his other hand came up, resting on your arm, his thumb stroking your skin. "i know you don't love him. i know you’re unhappy." the accusation, so utterly false, ignited a furious spark within you. "why else would you keep coming back here?"

"you’re wrong!" sharp and venomous, your voice cut through the fear. "you’re completely wrong. i love san. i love him more than anything. and i would never, ever be unfaithful to him. especially not with... with someone like you!" the last words, raw and unfiltered, spilled from your lips. the thought of betraying san, of allowing this man to even suggest such a thing, filled you with a righteous anger.

a vein throbbed in his temple. for a terrifying moment, you thought he might strike you. his face contorted, a mask of rage. primal scream ripped through your mind, though no sound escaped your lips. a sudden, visceral revulsion surged through you, a raw, untamed force you hadn’t known you possessed. you didn’t think, you reacted. with a guttural cry that was more gasp than sound, you twisted your body, yanking your arm free from his grasp with a strength born of pure terror. you stumbled back, tripping over your own feet, but you caught yourself, your eyes wide, fixed on him.

"hey, y/n, calm down. let's talk-" his face a mask of something ugly. he took a step towards you, his hand still outstretched.

"don’t you touch me!" you shrieked, the words finally tearing free holding a fierce conviction.

with a desperate lunge, you pushed past him and found the doorknob, fingers clumsy with terror and heart pounding against your ribs. please, please be unlocked. the knob turned protesting a squeal. a small miracle. you yanked it open, the weak sunlight blinding you for a moment.

you didn’t look back. you ran. the gravel crunched under your shoes, the faded blue trailer shrinking behind you. you didn’t stop until you reached your car, fumbling with the keys, your hands shaking so violently you could barely push the button. you threw yourself inside, locking the doors, lungs burning. the engine roared to life, and you sped away, leaving the trailer park, the sickly rose bush, and the terrifying encounter in a cloud of dust. the gifts lay forgotten on the floor of the trailer, naive hope, now shattered.

୨୧

"i ran into someone today."

"at the market?"

"an old friend. from high school. apparently some of them still hang out and, i was invited."

"that's good, you should go."

"really? you don't mind?"

"why would i mind? it's good for you to see people, you're always here. you should get out more."

"i mean... i haven't seen them in years. since graduation, probably."

"people change, that's okay. it'll be nice to reconnect. you've been cooped up, it's good to have plans."

"i guess so."

knees drawn to your chest, the phone thrown to the cushion next to you. you had to call him, you really had to, and he did leave. cheeks damp, tiny ragged sobs caught in your throat, you barely registered when the door swung open. he stood at the doorway, crisp button down now slightly rumpled, his tie loosened. his eyes scanned the room, then landed on you. he didn't say anything, just kicked the door shut with his heel and moved towards you deliberately.

"san," you choked out a fragile whisper, "i'm so sorry. i'm so, so sorry i made you come home."

he didn't answer with words, simply sunk onto the couch beside you, the springs protesting faintly. his strong arms wrapped around your shaking shoulders, pulling you into his chest. the clean, subtle cedar scent of his cologne filled your senses, chasing away the lingering stench of smoke and fear. you buried your face in his shirt and let the dam break.

hot and stinging tears streamed down your face, soaking into his shirt. each sob tore through you, tearing sounds you hadn't realized you were holding back. his hand moved to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, holding you close. he didn't try to stop the tears, didn't offer empty platitudes. he just held you, a silent comforting presence.

"it’s okay," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear, "it's okay, y/n. i'm here."

fingers fisted in his shirt, the fabric stretching taut. the world outside the circle of his arms ceased to exist. there was only the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his body, the gentle rhythm of his breathing. time stretched and blurred. you cried until your throat ached, until your eyes felt swollen and raw, until the tremors in your body slowly began to subside.

when the sobs dwindled to quiet sniffles, you pulled back slightly, your head still resting against his shoulder, your gaze fixed on the intricate weave of his shirt. a deep, shuddering breath hitched in your chest.

"i… i need to tell you something," you whispered.

he squeezed your shoulder gently. "take your time."

the silence stretched, heavy with unspoken things. you needed to say it, all of it. the truth, ugly and raw, demanded to be set free.

"i haven’t been... i haven’t been doing well, san," you began, your voice still hoarse. "not really. i mean, i love being home. i love our apartment, i love cooking for you, taking care of everything. i really do. but" you carefully searched for the right words, the words that wouldn’t sound like an accusation. "it got... lonely. really lonely."

at his arm tightening around your waist, you glanced up at his face. his brow was furrowed, his eyes filled with a deep, quiet concern, but no judgment.

"i know you work hard," you continued, rushing the words out before you could lose your nerve. "i know you do it for us, for our future, and i appreciate it, san, i really do. sometimes, i just... i just want to talk. to someone. about anything. about my day, about a stupid show i watched, about a new recipe i found. just... to talk. and you're not there."

he didn’t interrupt, just listened, his gaze steady on your face.

"and then… i met seonghwa again."

the name plastered, foreign and sharp. san’s head tilted slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his features.

"seonghwa?" he repeated, the name unfamiliar on his tongue. "who is... i thought you said you were meeting anna? your old classmate?"

your heart sank at his innocence, at how you had let him assume with unclear conversations.

"no, anna is... seonghwa’s friend,” you explained, the words tumbling out. "she’s part of his group. he was my classmate in high school. not a close one, but... yeah. he’s the one i ran into at the supermarket."

san’s placid eyes held a hint of something unreadable. he still didn’t speak, just waited.

"i didn’t mean for any of it to happen," you confessed, your voice cracking again. "i just... i just wanted to be included. to feel like i was part of something. they seemed so... free. and easy. and i was so lonely." you paused, drawing a shaky breath, preparing for the hardest part. "at first it seemed harmless. they were just... different than me, something new. but then it escalated. the parties. the noise. the... the smoke.” you hesitated, then forced yourself to say it. "i... i smoked weed, san. once. i know, i know it was stupid. i’m so sorry."

tears welled up again and you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for his reaction. but he still didn’t say anything, just held you closer, so you continued and everything spilled. the memories flooding back, sharp and vivid. from the hazy afternoons to the girl, her unnatural stillness and anna's so, so young son yet already involved into such a chaotic world. your voice broke with the image behind eyelids. then today, at seonghwa's. reliving the terror, the helplessness, made you shiver with a torrent of fear and disgust and self reproach.

you dissolved into fresh sobs, the weight of the confession crushing you. you waited for anger, for disappointment, for the distance to grow between you even more. but instead, his arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer.

"y/n," he said, his voice deeper than usual, a quiet intensity in his tone. "look at me."

you reluctantly lifted your head, tear streaked face meeting his gaze. his eyes were now clouded with a raw pain that mirrored your own.

"you have nothing to be sorry for," he stated, his voice firm, unwavering. "not for feeling lonely. not for wanting connection. and not for trying to find it." he paused, his thumb stroking your cheek, wiping away a tear. "i’m the one who should be sorry. i let you feel that way. i let you feel so alone that you had to look for it somewhere else. i was so caught up in work, in making sure we had everything we needed, that i forgot to give you what you actually needed. me."

fresh tears pricking your eyes, you shook your head. "no, san. that’s not fair. you work so hard. you provide everything. i should have just told you. i should have talked to you. i just... i didn’t want to cause conflict. i didn’t want to seem ungrateful."

"conflict is part of a relationship, y/n," he countered softly. "it’s how we grow. and you are never ungrateful. i know you. i just... i wasn’t listening. i wasn’t seeing. i was so focused on building a future, i forgot to live in the present. with you." his gaze was intense, full of regret. "i saw you, every morning, making the bed perfectly. i saw the dinners you planned. i saw the baked goods you made, and gave away. i thought... i thought you were happy. i thought that was just you, being you. i didn’t realize it was... a symptom. i thought stability meant happiness. i thought if i provided for everything, you wouldn’t have to worry. i thought that was how i showed you i loved you. but i forgot to show you i loved you with my time. with my presence. with my words."

"but i should have said something," you insisted, your voice still thick with guilt. "i let it fester. i bottled it up. i smoked weed behind your back. that’s not okay, san. that’s not okay."

"and it’s not okay that i left you feeling so emotionally neglected that you felt like you had to," he countered, his voice gentle but firm. "we both made mistakes, y/n. mine was in being absent. yours was in not speaking up. but none of that changes how much i still love you."

he pulled you back into his embrace, holding you tightly, his chin resting on the top of your head. you could feel the steady beat of his heart against your ear. a comforting, familiar rhythm.

"i love you, y/n," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "more than anything. and i am so, so sorry that you went through all of that. that you were scared. that you were hurt. that you felt alone. i promise you, you will never feel that way again. not with me."

you clung to him, tears still flowing, but these were different. these were tears of relief, of release, of a profound love finally understood. you felt the tension that had been coiled in your chest for months slowly unwind, dissolving into the warmth of his embrace.

"i love you too, san," you sobbed, the words muffled against his shirt. "i love you so much."

held for a long time, the only sounds the quiet sniffles, the soft rustle of clothes, the steady rhythm of two hearts beating in unison. the city outside grew darker, the streetlights casting long, pale shadows through the window. but inside, in the circle of his arms, a fragile light had begun to glow. it wasn’t a solution, not yet. but it was a new beginning.

୨୧

morning rays painted stripes across the duvet. you stirred, the warmth beside you a comforting anchor. san’s arm, heavy and solid, rested across your waist. his breath, slow and even, feathered against your neck. you turned your head, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. the memory of yesterday, the raw vulnerability, the shared tears, a fragile precious thing.

quiet sigh escaping your lips, you stretched with a yawn. the bed felt different today, lighter, like a burden had lifted. you eased yourself from his embrace, careful not to wake him, and padded into the kitchen. the choreography of making coffee began. the gentle hum of the machine, the rich aroma blooming in the air. you poured two mugs, placing san’s on his bedside table before returning to your side of the bed, he still slept.

you traced the line of his jaw with your finger, the slight stubble rough beneath your touch. his eyelashes, thick and dark, rested against his skin. a small, almost imperceptible smile touched your lips.

"morning," his voice, deep and gravelly with sleep, startled you. his eyes slowly opened, finding yours.

"morning, sannie," you whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his temple.

he stretched, his big arms flexing, the muscles taut beneath his skin. he reached for you, pulling you closer until your head rested on his shoulder. "i’m not going to work today."

you blinked, pulling back slightly to look at him. "what?"

"i said, i’m not going to work today," he repeated, his thumb stroking the skin of your arm. "or tomorrow. i took the weekend off."

a small, disbelieving laugh bubbled out of you. "you did not. you never take the weekend off. you have that big report due monday."

he shifted, propping himself up on an elbow, his gaze steady. "i called lee at like 3 am. he’s covering. the report can wait. we can’t."

your heart gave a small, hopeful flutter. the words, simple and direct, resonated deep within you. you reached up, cupping his cheek. his skin felt warm against your palm.

"really?" you asked thin with emotion.

he nodded, a soft smile gracing his lips, revealing the faint indentations of his dimples. "really."

the weight that had pressed down on your chest for so long began to ease, replaced by a lightness you hadn’t felt in months. you leaned into him, burying your face in his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his skin, a mix of sleep and his subtle leftover cologne.

"what are we going to do?" you murmured, the question laced with a hesitant joy.

he held you tighter. "whatever you want. show me your world, y/n."

a lump formed in your throat. you pulled back, a small, genuine smile blooming on your face. "okay," you breathed. "okay."

the morning unfolded slowly for once, no rush to get ready, no frantic dash for him to find a parking spot. you made a more elaborate breakfast than usual, eggs scrambled with herbs, crisp bacon, and slices of avocado. he watched you, perched on a stool at the kitchen island, his phone conspicuously absent. he simply watched, gaze attentive, as you moved with a quiet efficiency.

he ate with a quiet appreciation, savoring each bite. the silence between you was no longer heavy with unspoken words, but comfortable, filled with the soft clink of forks against plates, the distant chirping of birds.

after breakfast, you led him to the bedroom and demonstrated your bed making routine, movements precise and practiced. he watched, his head tilted, an expression mixed with amusement and curiosity.

the hours melted into a gentle rhythm. you showed him your small rituals. the way you organized the pantry, grouping spices by frequency of use. the careful sorting of laundry, whites, colors, delicates. the methodical scrubbing of the bathroom, each surface gleaming. he followed you, your silent observer, occasionally offering a helping hand.

you found yourself talking more than you had in months, explaining the logic behind your choices, the small satisfactions you found in these mundane tasks. he listened, truly listened, his eyes never leaving your face. it was no longer how are you? but why do you do this that way?

lunch was a rather simple affair, sandwiches and fruit, eaten at the kitchen counter. you found yourself telling him about a new recipe you wanted to try, a complicated japanese stew you’d been researching. he listened, asking questions about the ingredients, the cooking process. it felt like a real conversation, not just a series of perfunctory exchanges.

as dusk began to settle, casting a soft, blue hue through the apartment, you found yourselves in the living room. you moved the large, plush couch, pushing it closer to the wide window that overlooked the street below. the city lights began to twinkle a distant murmur from the streets.

you sat side by side, the comfortable silence settling around you once more. he reached out, his hand slowly finding your arm. his fingers traced a gentle path from your wrist to your elbow, a soft reassuring touch. you leaned your head against his shoulder, inhaling his scent, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your ear.

the silence stretched, not empty, but full of unspoken emotions, of rediscovered intimacy. you watched the cars pass below, their headlights cutting through the growing darkness.

after a long while, he stirred. his hand tightened on your arm, then he slowly, gently, pulled you onto his lap. your legs tangled with his, your body molding against his hard frame. he shifted, adjusting you until you were nestled perfectly, your back against his chest. his lips found your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss, then moving to the delicate skin of your neck. a shiver ran through you, a small, involuntary gasp escaping your lips. he kissed the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, and a soft giggle bubbled up from your chest.

"you okay? is this okay?" he murmured.

you nodded, your head resting against his shoulder. "more than okay."

he pulled back slightly, turning you so you faced him, his hands resting on your hips. his brown eyes held a tenderness that made your breath catch.

"y/n," he began, his voice soft, almost hesitant. "do you... do you ever think about kids?"

୨୧

effortlessly, he laid you gently on the bed, following you down, his body a warm weight against yours. his lips found yours, soft at first, then deepening, hungry desperation underlying the tenderness. your mouth opened beneath his, inviting him in. his tongue tangled with yours, a slow, sensual dance, tasting of coffee and him.

"mine," he murmured against your mouth, pulling back just enough to whisper the word. "you’re mine, y/n. no one else’s."

his hands, large and strong, moved to the hem of your shirt, slowly, deliberately, pulling it up and over your head. the cool air brushed against your skin for a moment before his hands were there, warm and firm, stroking your sides, your ribs, the soft skin of your belly.

you arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your throat. you reached for his shirt, fingers trembling slightly. he helped, peeling the fabric from his broad shoulders, revealing the taut muscles of his chest before he reached around, touch gentle, unfastening the hook of your bra. the lace fell away, revealing your breasts, full and soft in the dim light. he stared, his gaze lingering and before you knew it, he leaned down, lips closing over one nipple, drawing it into his mouth. a jolt of pure pleasure shot through you. he sucked, softly at first, then harder, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak. your breath hitched, your fingers tangling in his dark hair, holding him closer. he moved to the other breast, suckling with equal fervor, his free hand stroking your side, making goosebumps rise on your skin.

"so beautiful," he breathed, pulling back to look at your flushed face. "so fucking beautiful."

rough with desire, igniting a fire deep within you. you reached for the button of his jeans, eager to shed the remaining barriers between you, pushing them down his hips, along with his boxers. his cock sprang free, already hard and engorged, glistening in the dim light. you reached for him, your fingers wrapping around his heat, stroking the soft skin. he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow.

"baby," he gasped, his voice strained. "god, y/n."

you continued to stroke him, feeling the pulse of his arousal against your palm. your own desire mounted, a burning ache between your legs. he reached for your shorts, pulling them down with your panties. the cool air kissed your bare skin, a fleeting sensation before his hand was there, warm and knowing, finding the wetness between your thighs.

his fingers parted your folds, gently, slowly, exploring the slickness, the delicate curves of your clit. you gasped, your hips arching instinctively. he dipped a finger inside you, then another, preparing you. you were already so wet, your body aching for him. a soft squelching sound accompanied his movements, a wet, intimate symphony.

"so wet," his voice husky, eyes never leaving yours. "for me."

he watched your face, gauging your reactions, thumb circling your clit, drawing out whimpers and soft cries from deep within your throat. you writhed beneath his touch, your body trembling, on the precipice of release.

"please," you pleaded, your voice hoarse. "san, please."

he shifted, kneeling between your legs. his heavy cock, slick with your wetness, brushed against your opening. you gasped, a desperate sound. he hesitated, looking into your eyes, a possessive fire burning in his gaze.

"say..." he whispered, slightly overwhelmed already. "say you’re mine."

"yours," you choked out, tears stinging your eyes, a heady mix of pleasure and raw emotion. "i’m yours, san. only yours."

he entered you then, slowly, pushing past the soft resistance, filling you completely. a deep groan rumbled in his chest as he buried himself within you. you cried out, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure. he paused, letting you adjust, letting your body stretch and encompass him. the feeling was overwhelming, profound sense of fullness, of belonging.

he began to move, slow, deliberate rhythm at first, his hips rocking against yours. the friction was exquisite, the sound of your bodies joining, a wet, rhythmic shlicking. he pulled back almost completely, then drove back in, deep and hard, a sigh escaping his lips. your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him deeper.

"mine," he repeated, each thrust punctuated by the word. "no one will ever... have you like this, only me."

the pace quickened, becoming more urgent, more primal. he pounded into you, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through your core. your nails dug into his back, leaving faint red marks on his tanned skin. your hips rose to meet his, matching his rhythm, your bodies a blur of motion in the dim light. the bed creaked beneath you, a testament to the intensity of your passion.

he leaned down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue plundering yours, tasting your desire, your cries muffled against his lips. your climax built, a tight coil in your belly, spreading outwards, consuming you. you bucked against him, your body convulsing around his cock. a guttural cry tore from your throat as you shattered, waves of pure bliss washing over you.

the thrusts got deeper, harder, his own climax building quickly on the heels of yours. groans and bodies tensing, hips slamming into yours one last time as he emptied himself deep inside you. his hot cum flooded you, warm thick rush that made you gasp.

collapsed and slick with sweat, your legs were still wrapped around him, intimately entwined. he buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

"mine," he whispered the promise again. "forever."

fingers tangling in his damp hair, you held him close. the noise outside, the loneliness, the fear, all faded away, replaced by the overwhelming presence of him, of this rediscovered connection. you felt utterly safe, utterly loved, utterly his.

he shifted, pulling back slightly, propping himself on his elbows, his eyes soft, heavy lidded. he kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, a tender exploration.

"i love you, y/n."

the words, so rarely spoken, so deeply felt, resonated through you. a fresh wave of tears pricked your eyes, but these were tears of joy, of relief, of a profound sense of peace.

"i love you too, san," you whispered back. "more than anything."

a new chapter had begun. a chapter filled with soft reassurances, intentional conversations, and a love that, though tested, had found it's way back home. the question of children lingered, a new seed planted in the fertile ground of your renewed intimacy, a promise of a future you could now, finally, envision together.

each day a thread re-stitched into the fabric of your life together. no longer a frayed edge, but a strengthening seam. the silence shedding it's heavy cloak of unspoken expectation. now, it held the hum of shared understanding, a quiet comfort that didn't demand filling. some days you still spent less time together than you'd wanted, yet, even then, the goodbye no longer felt like a hurried escape.

you learned to speak your needs, not with the tremor of a plea, but with the steady beat of a declaration. he listened, brow furrowing in concentration, his eyes soft with an empathy he’d struggled to articulate before. you saw the effort, the conscious wrestling with words that didn’t come easily to him. it was a language you were both learning, halting at first, then gaining fluency with each shared vulnerability. he’d ask about your day, not as a formality, but with genuine curiosity, sometimes even calling during his lunch break, a rare occurrence that made your heart do a little skip. love rediscovered, a future being built, one honest word, one tender touch, at a time.

your phone still buzzed with notifications from instagram. you scrolled past anna’s stories, a flurry of candid shots from her son’s fifth birthday party. a lopsided cake, sticky fingers, a wide, gap toothed grin. you tapped the little heart icon, then saw sally’s latest transformation, her hair now a vibrant neon green. she’d posted a picture of a sizzling pan, tagged with a question about your secret to perfectly crisp tofu. you sent back a detailed message, outlining marinades and pan temperatures, a smile touching your lips. you knew, and they knew, that the physical space between your worlds had widened, perhaps irrevocably. there was no expectation of meeting up, no casual invitations to late night gigs. seonghwa’s shadow still stretched too long, too dark, across that part of your memory. the thought of stepping back into that haze, even for a moment, made your stomach clench. you had found your way back to the light, and you were fiercely protective of it.

this morning, however, began with no alarms. skin to skin, a perfect fit. he had begged for five more minutes and how could you say no when his mouth was already moving in between your thighs? lazy swipes, you felt your muscles tense slightly, then relax, his hand finding your hip, drawing you closer, before moving your legs over his shoulders. his tongue stroked the soft skin of your pussy, a slow, hypnotic rhythm.

time dissolved. the soft rustle of sheets, the faint thumping of your heart against his. the world outside your bedroom, outside this intimate cocoon, ceased to exist. you were just two bodies, intertwined, rediscovering a forgotten language.

when your third orgasm of that morning alone hit, you pulled your head back, accidentally looking at the clock and freezing, a gasp escaping your lips. he pulled back slightly, his eyes still clouded with passion, then clearing with the dawning realization. a groan, this one of frustration, escaped him.

"shit, shit, shit," you cursed under your breath. "oh, san. you're going to be late."

a deep sigh, rueful sound laced with disappointment escaped him. you pushed yourself up, pulling the sheet with you, a sudden chill striking your skin. he ran a hand through his hair, dishevelled from sleep and your shared passion. "i know." he sat up, stretching, his muscles rippling, a sight that still made your breath catch. he threw his legs over the side of the bed, the sheet falling away, revealing the strong lines of his back, the curve of his shoulders and his half erect dick.

"go, go," you urged, though a part of you wanted to pull him back, to steal a few more precious minutes. you threw off the covers, padding naked to the closet, already mentally planning his lunch.

he glanced back, a wry smile on his face. "you’re not exactly helping." his eyes lingered on your retreating figure, a spark of lingering desire in them.

"i’m making your lunch. that’s helping." you laughed shyly, a clear sound before pulling out a crisp white shirt, a dark tie, laying them out on the bed for him.

when the sound of the shower starting grounded you, you moved with purpose, opening the fridge, pulling out containers. yesterday’s leftover bulgogi, a side of kimchi, some fresh fruit. you packed it all neatly into his bento box, arranging the colours, making it appealing.

now dressed in his dark suit trousers, he emerged from the bathroom, his shirt still unbuttoned, revealing a glimpse of his chest. his hair was damp, slicked back, making him look even more handsome, more put together. he came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you back against his solid frame. chin rested on your shoulder, breath warm against your ear.

"i love you," he murmured, the words no longer feeling forced, but a natural outflow.

you leaned into him, closing your eyes for a moment. "i love you too," you replied, your voice thick with emotion.

he squeezed you gently, then released you, picking up his jacket. you followed him to the doorframe, a familiar ritual, but one that now held a deeper significance. he turned, his eyes searching yours, then he leaned down, his lips finding yours in a deep, lingering kiss. it was a kiss that spoke of hurried passion, of regret for lost time, and of promises for the future. his hand found your butt, giving it an extra, firm squeeze, a playful, intimate gesture that made you giggle.

"sannie, you have to go." you laughed against his lips.

"i know, just let me-"

he pulled you back in, tongues dancing against each other as he opened the door.

"you gotta... go... leave..." despite your protests, you were leaning into the kisses as well.

finally, when he pulled back, a wide grin appeared on his face, those dimples on full display. "i left something for you on the counter." his eyes twinkled.

your eyebrows rose in surprise. "oh?"

he just winked, then stepped out into the hallway. "have a good day," he called over his shoulder, already halfway down the corridor.

"you too." you watched him go with a warmth spreading through you, chasing away the morning chill. your cheeks burned pleasant blush. you closed the door, leaning against it for a moment, the echo of his kiss still on your lips.

a curious smile played on your lips. you turned, walking back into the kitchen, your eyes scanning the clean, uncluttered surface. amidst the neatly stacked mail and the fruit bowl, an envelope lay, pristine white, tucked beside the coffee maker.

your heart gave a little flutter. you picked it up, fingers tracing the simple, elegant script of your name. you recognized his handwriting, though it was slightly more rushed than usual, a testament to his morning scramble. you glanced back at the lace box that sat on your dresser. finally, a new companion piece awaited. you carefully tore open the seal, your breath held in anticipation.

you pulled out a single sheet of paper, folded neatly. it wasn’t a thick expensive stationery, but a page torn from a small, spiral bound notebook, perhaps one he kept for jotting down notes at work. the paper felt thin, slightly rough urough under your fingertips. the words were penned in his familiar, slightly cramped hand, some of them a little smudged, as if he’d written it quickly, probably during a stolen moment on his break.

you began to read, a soft smile blooming on your face.

my y/n:

you know how i am with words, they get stuck somewhere between my heart and my mouth. it’s frustrating. for both of us, i know. i think about that first letter i wrote you. it was bad. really bad. i cringed just thinking about it. but i tried, i guess, even if it doesn’t look like it. these past few weeks... they’ve been good, better. i hope it's the same for you. seeing you smile again, truly smile, it’s like the sun coming out after a long winter. i never want that winter to come back. i never want you to feel that coldness again. i was so blind. so stupid. i thought providing was enough but i was wrong. you taught me that. you always teach me things, even when you don’t mean to. i want to be better. for us. for you. i want to learn how to say these things out loud, not just write them down when no one’s looking. i’m sorry for the pain i caused. i’m sorry i let you feel alone. i promise to keep trying. to keep learning. to keep loving you, in all the ways you deserve. you are my home, y/n, my everything, my wife, and i will never ever let another man think they got a mere chance with you, never again. you're mine and i'm yours.

you're stuck with me, always.

san.

୨୧

you carded your fingers through his hair — soft, obsidian strands that slipped through your digits like silk. each stroke earned a soft, contented sigh from yunho, a vibration you felt through the fabric of your sweatpants.

he'd been clingy all day, more so than usual. a lingering hand on your waist while you made coffee, his chin hooked over your shoulder as you scrolled on your phone, his large frame crowding you gently against the kitchen counter just to steal a kiss.

"you're quiet tonight," you murmured, your voice a low rumble in the quiet room.

yunho nuzzled deeper into your stomach, his breath warm through your shirt.

"just thinking," he mumbled, his voice husky with impending sleep.

"about?"

"you," the answer was immediate, as if it were the only thought that ever occupied his mind.

yunho tilted his head back, and in the dim light, you saw his eyes. they were his most disarming feature : large, doe-like, and the color of rich, dark honey.

right now, they were wide, earnest, and swimming with a devotion so profound it sometimes stole your breath.

"always about you."

you smiled, tracing the elegant line of his brow.

"what about me?"

"how you feel. how you smell. the little sound you make in the back of your throat when i kiss you right here—"

yunho shifted slightly, pressing his lips to the soft spot just below your navel, making you jolt. his arm tightened ever so around you.

"—how lucky i am."

his words, so raw and sincere, sent a familiar heat curling low in your belly.

you tugged gently on his hair, guiding his face up to yours. yunho came willingly, his body unfolding from yours until he was hovering over you, caging you against the sofa cushions. the size difference was never more apparent than in moments like this — he was a canopy, blocking out the rest of the world, his broad shoulders casting you in a private shadow.

"you're being pathetic," you whispered, the term of endearment falling easily from your lips.

it was your secret code for this — for when his love for you became so overwhelming it turned him into a desperate, clinging mess.

a slow, beautiful blush crept up his neck.

"i know," he breathed, his dark eyes flicking between yours and your lips. "you make me that way. you have no idea what you do to me."

yunho dipped his head, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was anything but pathetic — it was deep, and languid, and tasting of the shared red wine from dinner. his tongue swept into your mouth, not with aggression, but with a reverent curiosity, as if mapping a familiar territory he never tired of exploring.

one of his soft hands came up to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheekbone with a tenderness that contrasted the growing hardness you could feel pressing against your hip. when he broke the kiss, you were both breathless. a string of saliva connected your lips for a second before breaking.

his eyes were glazed, his lips swollen and wet.

"i need you," yunho whispered softly, the words a broken plea. "please. can i have you? i'II be so good for you. i'll make you feel so good."

the directness, the raw need in his voice, made your head spin. you nodded, your own voice failing you.

"yeah. yes, yunho."

that was all the permission he needed.

in one fluid, startlingly strong movement, your boyfriend scooped you up from the sofa, one arm under your knees and the other supporting your back. you yelped, clinging to his neck, burying your face in the column of his throat as he carried you effortlessly to the bedroom.

yunho smelled like clean linen, his own unique scent, and pure, absolute want.

he laid you down on the cool duvet as if you were something infinitely fragile and precious. the bedroom was dark, but the city lights from the window painted silver lines across his form.

yunho stood by the bed, just looking at you, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. his gaze was a physical caress, trailing from your flushed face, down your chest, to the obvious tent in your sweatpants.

"so beautiful," he murmured, almost to himself. "my beautiful boy."

he then joined you on the bed, not looming over you, but lying on his side, propped up on an elbow.

his free hand came up and began to undress you with a painstaking slowness that was its own form of torture. yunho peeled your shirt off, his knuckles slowly brushing against your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. when your chest was bare, yunho leaned down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your sternum, his tongue darting out to taste your skin.

"your heart is beating so fast," he whispered against your skin, his breath a cool contrast. "is that for me?"

"only for you," you gasped, arching into his touch.

yunho hummed in approval, his hands moving to the waistband of your sweatpants and underwear. he dragged them down your legs, his eyes darkening to near black as you were revealed to him, fully hard and already leaking against your stomach.

"look at you," he breathed, his voice thick with awe.

he wrapped a large, warm hand around your length, not yet moving, but just holding you. the sheer size of his hand, the way his fingers almost met his thumb, made you feel incredibly delicate.

"perfect. so perfect for me."

yunho began to stroke you, a slow, maddening rhythm. his eyes were locked on yours, watching every single micro-expression that flitted across your face.

his thumb swiped over your cockhead, smearing the precum, making the glide slick and effortless.

"you like that, baby?" he cooed, his voice a soft, hypnotic melody. "you like how my hand feels on you? tell me."

"y-yes," you moaned sweetly, your hips bucking into his fist. "yunho—please…"

"please what, my love? use your words for me."

his pace increased slightly, his grip firm and perfect.

"more... i need more."

yunho smiled, a soft, adoring thing.

"you'll have everything. i promise."

he released you, ignoring your whimper of protest, and quickly shed his own clothes.

the sight of him always stole the air from your lungs. yunho was all smooth, pale skin and elegant lines, and he was overwhelmingly, magnificently hard. his erection stood thick and heavy against his stomach, and a fresh wave of heat and anticipation pooled in your gut.

he didn't immediately cover you.

instead, he reached over to the nightstand, retrieving the lube. the click of the cap was obscenely loud in the quiet room. he poured a generous amount onto his fingers, warming it between them, his eyes never leaving yours.

"i'm going to open you up now, okay?" he said, his voice gentle but firm — it wasn't a question of if, but more a statement of care. "i'm going to make you ready for me. i want to feel every part of you."

you nodded, spreading your legs in a silent invitation.

yunho shifted down the bed, settling between your thighs. the first touch of his slick fingers against your entrance made you jolt. he shushed you gently, his other hand splaying across your lower belly, holding you down with a comforting weight.

"just relax, sweetheart. give it to me. you just need to let me take care of you."

he pressed one finger inside, slow and inexorable. the stretch was familiar, a welcome burn. he watched your face intently, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"there," he whispered, curling his finger just so, and you cried out, your back arching off the bed. "that's it. that's my boy. so responsive for me."

yunho began a slow, scissoring movement, working you open with a devotion that was almost religious. when he added a second finger in you, the stretch intensified, a delicious, full feeling that had you panting.

"you're taking me so well, baby," he praised, his voice husky. "so good. always so good for me."

he crooked his fingers again, brushing relentlessly against that bundle of nerves that made you see stars. your moans became higher pitched, your legs trembling around his body.

"yunho... i'm close—just from this," you moaned, your orgasm building alarmingly fast.

"not yet, baby," he cooed, immediately stilling his hand, letting you come down from the edge.

he was a master of your pleasure, knowing just how to push and when to pull back.

"you don't come until i'm inside you. until i'm filling you up. understand?"

the command, delivered in that soft, loving tone, was the most potent aphrodisiac.

you nodded frantically, desperate for him. yunho added a third finger, stretching you thoroughly, preparing you for the big main event. the sounds were wet and lewd, and his dark eyes were drunk on the sight of his fingers moving in and out of your body.

"i think you're ready," he finally said, his voice rough with his own need.

yunho withdrew his fingers, and you felt empty, bereft.

he moved over you, his body aligning with yours, the head of his cock nudging against your stretched, slick entrance. he braced himself on his forearms, his face inches from yours. his black hair fell into his eyes, and his lips were parted, his breath coming in ragged puffs.

"look at me," he pleaded softly.

you forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze. the love and raw hunger you saw there was staggering.

"i love you," he whispered, and as he spoke the words, he began to push inside.

the feeling of him entering you was an experience you could never, ever completely get used to, no matter how many times you did this. it was always a revelation — the initial, breathtaking stretch, the slow, burning fullness as he slowly sheathed himself inside you, millimeter by agonizing millimeter.

yunho moved with an excruciating slowness, his eyes locked on yours, watching for any sign of discomfort. a low, broken groan tore from the deep of his throat.

"oh, god... you feel—you're so tight. so perfect. you're hugging me so perfectly."

when he was fully inside you, hips flush against your ass, you both stilled, panting.

the feeling of being so completely filled, so utterly possessed by him, was overwhelming. you could feel every inch of him, the subtle throb of his pulse deep inside you. tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

"you okay?" yunho asked, his voice strained with the effort of holding still. he leaned down and kissed the tears away. "my sweet boy. you take me so well."

"i'm okay," you managed to choke out, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him even deeper. "move, yunho. please—move."

he needed no further encouragement.

he began to move, pulling out almost all the way before sliding back in with that same devastating slowness. it wasn't a frantic, pounding rhythm; it was a deep, rolling, sensual grind. every single thrust was a deliberate act of worship, designed to drag against every single nerve ending inside you.

the room filled with the sounds of your joined bodies : skin slapping softly against skin, your ragged moans, and his constant, breathless stream of praise.

"that's it," yunho moaned, his forehead dropping to yours. "take me, baby. just like that. you feel so good. you're my heaven—my everything."

his thrusts began to gain a little more force, a little more speed, but the underlying tenderness never faded. he was making love to you, with his entire body and soul.

yunho shifted his position slightly, and on the next thrust, he hit your prostate dead-on. a sharp, electric pleasure shot up your spine, and you screamed his name, your nails digging into his back.

"there?" he gasped, a wicked, loving smile gracing his lips. "you like it when i touch you right there?"

he adjusted his hips, ensuring that every subsequent thrust battered that same sweet little spot relentlessly, again and again. you were babbling, a mess of 'yes' and 'more' and 'please, yunho, don't stop'.

the pleasure was building to an unbearable peak, coiling tight in your gut.

"y-yunho, i'm gonna—i’m gonna cum," you sobbed, the overstimulation from his earlier fingering making you impossibly sensitive.

the orgasm was rushing towards you, inevitable and terrifying in its intensity.

"come for me, baby," he commanded, his voice guttural and raw. "come for me. let me see you. i want to feel you come all over yourself while i'm inside you."

yunho’s words, his touch, the feel of him filling you oh so completely — it was all too much. your world shattered into a supernova of pure, white-hot pleasure.

your back arched violently off the bed as you came, stripes of hot release painting your stomach and chest. your hole clenched and fluttered around yunho’s cock, milking him rhythmically through your climax. the sensations were so intense they bordered on painful, a relentless wave of ecstasy that seemed to have no end.

through the haze, you heard yunho's broken cry.

the feeling of you pulsing around him was his undoing. his thrusts became erratic, desperate.

"oh, fuck... i can feel you... i'm—!"

with a deep, guttural groan, yunho buried himself to the hilt and came. you felt the hot, pulsing rush of his release deep inside you, filling you up, marking you as his.

he then collapsed on top of you, his full weight a comforting, grounding pressure, his face buried in your neck as he rode out the last waves of his orgasm with soft, helpless whimpers.

for a long time, the only sound in the room was your shared, ragged breathing, slowly returning to normal. he was still inside you, softening, but he made no move to pull out. instead, he rolled you both onto your sides, keeping you locked in that intimate embrace, his arms wrapped around you like vines.

yunho nuzzled into your neck, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses against your damp skin.

"you.." he whispered, his voice deep and hoarse. "you are... incredible."

you could only hum in response, your body feeling boneless and utterly spent, humming with a deep, resonant satisfaction.

yunho finally, reluctantly, pulled out, a soft gasp escaping you at the sensation.

he immediately reached for a towel from the nightstand, and with a tenderness that made your heart ache, he cleaned you up. he wiped the cum from your stomach and the sticky evidence of your union from between your thighs. his touch was reverent and caring.

once you were clean, he pulled the duvet over you both and gathered you back into his arms, your back to his chest. yunho was the big spoon, his larger frame enveloping you completely — one arm was a tight band across your chest, his hand splayed over your heart. his lips were pressed to the back of your neck.

"i love you," he murmured into your skin, the words a familiar, sacred melody. "i love you so much it physically hurts sometimes."

you slowly placed your hand over his, lacing your fingers together. "i love you too, you pathetic mess."

you felt his smile against your neck. he held you tighter, if that was even possible.

"i mean it," he said, his voice soft but serious. "i'd do anything for you. anything. you own me, completely."

you knew he wasn't just talking about the sex. he was talking about his life, his heart, his soul.

and as you gradually drifted off to sleep, safe and cherished in the cage of yunho’s arms, you knew you felt exactly the same way.