Your body was still too hot where he’d been pressed against you, and it wasn’t until the door clicked shut behind him that you remembered you’d been crying. Or close enough to it that your lashes were damp, at least, so before Jake could look too close, you turned away, quick and careless like it meant nothing, swiping at your cheek, tugging your sleeve over your wrist as if you were only fixing your makeup, smoothing what wasn’t even visible. Your other hand moved on its own, fussing with the hem of your skirt once more, pulling it down like you could physically brush the fact that he’d been there mere seconds ago off of you and erase the place where his hand had been. It was stupid and pointless—you knew that. But still you kept smoothing, tugging, and flattening the fabric as if the motion alone could undo the way your skin still burned in the memory of his touch.

“…Y/N.” Jake’s voice was soft behind you.

You froze, hand still brushing your skirt, before you turned to face him. His eyes searched yours, careful, steady, the kind of steady that only made your chest lurch harder.

“What happened?” he asked, quieter this time, almost hesitant. “Is there something going on between you two?”

For a second you didn’t know what to say, the words snagging on the back of your tongue, panic clawing for a way out.

And maybe that was the worst part—that there was actually a second where you didn’t have an answer.

You pull in a shaky breath, let out a laugh that doesn’t sound like you at all. “Never in a million years,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “It’s not what it looked like. We just argued, that’s all.”

He pauses, studying you. “Did he… hurt you?”

“No,” you snap without meaning to, then force yourself to soften, trying again. “No, Jake. He didn’t.”

Jake’s shoulders eased a fraction, but his face didn’t match the relief his body feigned. His eyes stayed on you—warm, yes, always warm, but there was a crease in his brow that didn’t leave, a tension in his jaw that made it look like his thoughts had already wandered somewhere you couldn’t follow.

“Okay,” he murmured. It should’ve been reassuring, but it sounded like something else. Like he was thinking too hard about something he wasn’t going to say. “Did he say something to you?”

Something? You blinked at him, then tried to force a little laugh. “Define something.”

His brows furrowed, and he looked as though he was deep in thought, deep enough that it made your chest pull tight. But he didn’t answer.

You shifted where you stood, your entire mind snagged on the question of why Jake was being so… whatever the word was for the way he was acting. Is he mad? God, what if he is? Why would he be? Your stomach flips at the thought. You’re already embarrassed—of course you are; how else could you feel after he walked in on that? On the other hand, it shouldn’t matter. You and Jake aren’t—whatever this is—you don’t belong to each other. Maybe you were reading too much into this.

So you tilt your head and force a crooked smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “What’s with the face? Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

Jake’s expression shifts, softens, though not all the way. “Jealous?” he echoes, his voice low. “Hmm.” A beat passes. “Just trying to figure out what I walked in on.”

“I’m telling you it was nothing,” you said, unsure if you believed it yourself—though you tried to sound convincing. “I’d sooner die than let Park Sunghoon anywhere near me.”

Jake’s brow ticked up, the faintest curve at his mouth, like he didn’t quite believe you, and he didn’t have to say anything for you to hear the question anyway—then what was that?

“It was just—” you let out a breath, “In the heat of the moment. That’s all, Jake.”

The crease between his brows smoothed, his mouth pulled softer and easier, and he shook his head like he was batting whatever thoughts he had up there away before stepping closer. “Good,” he murmured, a smile finally catching. “Because I don’t like to share.”

The words punched a laugh out of you despite yourself. You nudged him playfully as he stepped even closer. “See? I knew you were jealous.”

“I‘m not jealous.” He shrugged, eyes still on you, steady and amused. “Just sayin’.”

You tilted your head, mouth curling. “You know better than anyone that the last person you’d ever ‘share’ me with is him.” You pointed a finger between the two of you, brows raised. “Also, big talk coming from you. We are not even together. You haven’t even k—” You stopped yourself, heat shooting to your cheeks before the word could leave your mouth.

“Oh?” His brows arched slowly, and the grin that spread across his face was the kind that had always been your undoing. “Haven’t even… what?”

“Nothing.” You shook your head too fast, eyes dropping, but it didn’t matter because he was already moving closer, steps easy but sure, like he’d made up his mind long before you opened your mouth.

“Mm, not nothing,” he teased, low and warm, tilting his head until he caught your gaze again. “You were gonna say something, pretty.” 

“I wasn’t—”

“What?” he cut in, softer now, closer now, until his chest was nearly brushing yours and his smile looked like he was savoring every bit of your fluster. “You think I don’t know what you were gonna say? Think I haven’t thought about it?”

His hand finally caught your waist, light at first, almost tentative, but firm enough that your breath stuttered. He dipped his head a little, nose brushing dangerously close to yours, and murmured, “You look beautiful tonight. This skirt—” his gaze flicked down, “—I don’t even have words.”

The words should have made you feel lighter. They should have been easy to absorb, soft and sweet, the way Jake always was. But instead, for one awful second, you heard another voice. His voice.

That’s why you wore that. Hoping he’ll finally buy the desperate act and dig up your skirt?

The pit that opened in your stomach was instant, like the floor had tilted where you stood. You hated that you thought of him now, of all times, with Jake this close, hand on your waist and lips brushing the edge of something you’d thought about too many times. You swallowed hard, trying to push it down, to fill the pit with the warmth in Jake’s smile, to focus on the way his fingers were curling so softly at your side.

Jake looks at you again and draws you out of your thoughts when he speaks. “A little unfair.”

Your voice was shaky, “Unfair?” It came out as a whisper.

“Mm.” His smile curved more softly now. “Yeah. Unfair. Distracting. You’re gonna drive me insane. Amongst other things… Cruel, don’t you think?”

Heat crawled up your neck, and you managed, breathless, “Maybe I like being cruel.”

His hand slid firmer against your waist, thumb brushing over the fabric, and he leaned in until the space between you felt impossibly small. “Silly,” he hummed, grinning. “So tell me, pretty—what were you going to say again? Hmm?”

You laughed, shaking your head fast, the sound bubbling out nervously and giddily. “Maybe you’ll just have to get it out of me.”

“Oh?” His grin sharpened, slow and easy all at once, like he was savoring it. “Tease.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.” His breath slid hot over your lips, his eyes flicking down once before meeting yours again, steady. “Guess I’ll just have to make you talk.”

“Jake—” 

And then he kissed you.

It was the kind of kiss that stole the ground from under your feet, firm and deliberate, like he’d been holding himself back all these years and finally let go. His mouth slanted against yours, hot and sure, the press of him coaxing your lips apart until you melted before you even thought about it. You could taste the faint sweetness of whatever drink he’d had earlier, could feel the heat of his breath slide into yours, and it made your chest go weightless, your stomach clench tight.

Your hands bunched in his shirt, knuckles white as you clung, and he growled low against your lips, answering by sucking your bottom one between his teeth. He bit just enough to sting, then soothed it with his tongue, lapping at the spot before plunging back inside, kissing you wet and obscene.

Every drag of his lips was greedy now, hungry, tongues tangling messily, like he was trying to memorize the shape of you, like he wanted to drink down every startled sound you made, saliva slicking your chin where he pressed harder, like he didn’t care about keeping it neat. His thumb circled your waist while his other hand slid up, dragging the thin fabric tight over your ribs until his fingers almost brushed the side of your breast.

A shaky, unintentional “mmph—” slipped out against his mouth, and he stuttered, hips jerking forward like he couldn’t help it. He tore his lips from yours just enough to pant, breath ragged, forehead pressed to yours.

“Fuck— can I?” His voice was rough, and his hand hovered right there, fingers twitching against the curve of your ribs. “Tell me I can touch you—please.”

You laughed into the kiss, breathless and dizzy, tugging him back down by the collar. “No shit, Jake.”

That was all he needed. His hand slid up, hot and sure, cupping your breast through the thin fabric, and the groan that rumbled out of him made your stomach flip. He swallowed the sound of your gasp with his mouth, like he couldn’t get enough, like he’d been starving for it.

But the sound of someone clearing their throat came loud from the doorway, enough to tear the two of you apart fast.

You gasped, half a breath stuck in your chest, Jake still close enough that you could feel the ghost of his mouth on yours. But your eyes were already darting over, already finding the tall frame in the doorway.

Of course.

Sunghoon leaned against the frame, hands in his pockets, eyes flicking between the two of you slowly. His tongue pressed against his cheek before a lazy grin that did not reach his eyes curved at his mouth.

Whatever thrill had been sparking in your veins a second ago drained out all at once. You didn’t even have time to process what he’d just walked in on—what had just happened—before the familiar pit started curling tight in your stomach again. If Jake said something, if he reacted at all, you didn’t catch it. The whole moment once again felt like it slipped out of your hands, like it wasn’t even yours anymore. 

Sunghoon didn’t speak right away. He pushed off the frame, unhurried, crossing the room with steady steps. He bent down without looking at either of you, reached across the couch, and plucked his phone from where it had fallen between the cushions.

Your eyes followed him the whole time. You couldn’t help it. The way his shoulders moved under his tight black shirt, the careless curl of his wrist as he plucked his phone out of the cushions like he had all the time in the world–like he hadn’t just walked in on the two of you making out. 

Finally, he straightened and turned, eyes finding yours. They lingered a second too long, sharp enough to make your skin prickle, before they flicked lazily to Jake.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he drawled, holding his phone up in a mock-apology. “Would hate to interrupt.”

You felt your nails dig into your palms before you even realized you’d curled your hands that tight, and you wanted to say something that would belittle him the same way he manages to belittle you every time, say anything—but then he walked out without waiting for either of you to reply.

Jake’s voice cut in and snapped you out of your thoughts, softly. “Hey. You okay?”

You dragged your gaze away from the door, scraped together something like a smile, and passed it to him. “Yeah,” you said. “I’m good.”

Except you weren’t. 

He was in your head now, lodged there like a splinter you couldn’t dig out. His stare clung to your skin, heavy even after he was gone, and somehow he’d said almost nothing but still managed to pick at you like a scab. 

Jake didn’t look convinced, not really, but he stepped closer anyway, tilting his head before leaning in to press the softest kiss to your nose. “Mmm. Where were we?” he teased, laughing under his breath. 

But even as his warm hand slid over your waist, even as you tried to anchor yourself to his grin, to the way his touch felt careful, as hard as you tried to sink into it, to finally let yourself have him, to let him be enough…

All you could think of was Sunghoon. 

“Just—” You shook your head, “Just a second. I’m sorry. I’ll be right back, I just…”

Jake’s brows lifted, confusion flickering, but he nodded all the same. You touched his wrist—a silent promise—and stepped around him, the pit still coiled tightly in your stomach as you slipped into the hall after him.

He was already gone, and for a second you thought maybe you’d imagined it, maybe he hadn’t been there at all. Perhaps you should just go back to Jake and forget about it. You didn’t need to get the last word every time, you thought.

But then the door across from you opened, and one of the guys—some upperclassman you half-recognized—stepped out with a lazy grin.

“Hey,” you snapped before he could say anything. “Which one is Park Sunghoon’s room?”

His grin stretched wider, eyes dragging over you in a way that made your stomach twist.  “Damn.” He gave a slow whistle, head tilting. “He’s a fucking lucky guy.”

“Ew. You’re disgusting.” The words tore out of you in a snarl. “Just tell me where the fuck it is.”

He chuckled, raising his hands like he was surrendering. “Alright, alright. Last room. End of the hall.”

Your feet carried you down the stretch of the hallway, each step heavy with the anger winding tight through your chest, and when you made it to his door, you didn’t bother knocking or hovering or whatever else before you shoved it open, your rage drowning out all reason with your hands curled tight at your sides.

Sunghoon was sitting on his bed like he’d been waiting for you. 

His gaze slid up slowly as you entered, unreadable, dark in a way that made your stomach tighten for the millionth time tonight. You wanted to kill him.

“You think this is funny?” You started, “Walking in like that, saying shit like that.. pushing me up against a wall—do you get off on it?”

“You came all the way down here just to ask me that?”

“Answer me!” Your jaw clenched, teeth grinding. “Is that it? You get your kicks by barging in and acting like a fucking asshole? By—by looking at me like—” 

“Like what?” he cut in, voice low, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Go on. Say it.”

“Don’t fucking interrupt me then, you dick!”

For a moment, he just looked at you without saying a word, and his silence and gaze were heavier than anything he could’ve said. Then he pressed his tongue against his cheek, and his head tilted with the kind of lazy cruelty that made your hands ball even tighter at your sides.

“Why are you here?” he asked, flat.

“Because you’re a stupid fucking piece of fucking shit and you don’t get to—“

He didn’t let you finish. “Mmm. Language. Try again.”

“Stop fucking interrupting me!” you yelled.

He pushed himself up from the bed slowly and deliberately. “Tell me why you’re here, Y/N,” he said, saying your name like he was tasting it on his tongue, taking another step forward. “You’ve got Jake waiting for you, even put on a skimpy little outfit for him—or what was it you said before? Hmm?”

You scoff. “God, you’re such a smug prick.” Your pulse was doing a sprint in your throat. “I should slap the living fucking shit out of you.”

He took another step closer. “Try it.”

Your heel edged back instinctively, and he followed, closer. Too close. Your laugh broke out of you then, humorless and jagged. “No—You know what? You’re right! This is one of the rare moments you’ve actually been right.” You shook your head. “This was a mistake—I don’t even know why I’m here when Jake is in the other room.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, mean. “Yeah. Go run back to him. Bet he’s dying to find out what you taste like after I’ve had my hands all over you.”

Your face burned with fury, and it was burning so hot it left absolutely no room for thought, so before you could stop yourself, your hand flew up to hit him—

He catches your wrist midair like it’s nothing and yanks you forward so hard your breath leaves you. Your chest slams his, close enough to feel the rise of his heartbeat beneath his shirt.

“Don’t you ever,” he said, voice low as he towered over you, “try that again.”

“Let go!” You twisted immediately and tried to pull free, nails digging into his hand.

He didn’t. 

“God, just fucking leave me alone,” you jerked your other hand up to shove at his chest.

“You’re the one who came into my room.”

“Then fucking let me go so I can leave!” you hissed.

“You don’t want me to leave you alone—”

You blew air out through your nose, “I want you six feet under.”

“—That’s why you’re here.” 

“You’re literally delusional—”

His grip only tightened, your wrist throbbing where his fingers pressed into your skin. “You’re the one storming into my room and running your filthy little mouth like you’re too good for me, all while you’re shaking in my fucking hand.” His gaze dropped to your mouth before sliding back up. “All while you didn’t push me off before.”

“I’m not shaking!” you spat, but your voice betrayed you when it came out weaker than you wanted. 

You didn’t have anything to say to the second part of what he said. 

His mouth curled. “Then why can I feel it?” His thumb shifted, brushing against the rapid jump of your pulse. “Pathetic.”

God, if he doesn’t—

You jerked your chin up and sneered, “Better pathetic than a soulless fucking puppet choking on daddy’s little leash.”

His breath came harder, hotter, and when he spoke, it was through his teeth. “Say that again.”

“You keep saying that like I won’t.” You laughed, though it wobbled in your throat. “You’re just like everything I’ve ever heard about your father—”

Something shifted. You saw it—couldn’t unsee it. A flicker across his face, gone in less than a breath. 

“Shut your fucking mouth.” You had never heard him sound like that. “You don’t know jackshit.”

And for a moment, you were sixteen again, elbows pressed to the cool marble of the kitchen island, watching the kettle hiss as you asked your mother why your father had been coming home so late and why he always wore that tight, carved look like worry had settled there for good. Don’t worry about your father. She had said softly, brushing her hand over yours, though you could never forget the look on her face as she said it. This isn’t the first time PGI’s tried to tighten its grip. They don’t fight fair—never have. Park Jaejoon, especially. That man would burn down an entire family name for the fun of it if it meant his own got a little brighter. Sweetheart, be smart around people like that. They don’t forgive or feel, and they certainly don’t have hearts.

The memory snapped back like a rubber hand, stinging your skin, but your mother’s voice still rang loud in your ears.

They certainly don’t have hearts.

“I know—” Your voice came out quieter than you wanted. “You don’t have a heart.”

His jaw ticked as he stepped in, dragging you closer until you felt his breath on your cheek again, and his eyes ran over your face once, down and then up again, something tightening at the edges before he let out the softest, cruelest, little humorless laugh. “Right.”

And then he let go, sudden and final, and the absence of his hand burned hotter than the weight of it ever had.

“Go back to him.”

Your stomach clenched. You wanted to—God, you wanted to—but the sheer arrogance of him telling you to, like it was his decision, snapped something sharp in your chest.

“I’m not some dog you can command,” you bit out. “I’ll go when I want.” 

What the fuck had gotten into you, really? You’d probably look back at this moment and pinpoint it as the exact moment you fumbled Jake, and you were sure your friends would never let you live this down. But you’d worry about that later.

He just looked at you, steady, unblinking. And then softer, lower, his words pressing into you like a bruise. “Why are you here?” He asked again.

Your mouth opened, and it closed again, and you weren’t sure whether it was because you were furious or because you didn’t have an answer. Or maybe it was just the most obvious answer in the world. “Don’t pin this on me or ask me like you don’t fucking know why,” you managed finally, finger jabbing uselessly in his direction. “You’re the fucking asshole who—who just—” You broke off, looking away and then back at him again, cheeks burning from the anger. “You’re the one who pinned me against the wall, you touched me, and—you looked like you were going to—” You stopped.

Sunghoon just stood there, and the longer he didn’t say anything, the more the frustration bubbled out of you.

“Say something,” you snapped.

Finally, his head tilted, the smallest shift, his eyes fixed heavily on you. “You didn’t stop me.”

Your chest tightened. “I—” you started, then stopped, glaring at him like that might fill the space your words couldn’t. “That’s not—don’t do that. Do not twist this like I wanted it. You’re actually deranged.”

“Am I?” His gaze dragged down and up again, slow, deliberate, “Because if I really wanted to touch you, you wouldn’t be standing here, in my room, still running your mouth.” 

You contemplated slapping him again. Or trying it at least.

His eyes flicked down to your hands, your fingers still balled tight into fists. “That temper of yours. You don’t get this worked up with him, do you?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Don’t point out the truth? Don’t make you admit what you’re really thinking about when you come running in here?”

You laughed under your breath. “What I’m really thinking about is the endless amount of ways in which I could kill you right now—Maybe with one of your stupid fucking trophies on your shelf? I think that’ll do me good. Or maybe I’ll jam it so far up your fucking ass you’ll never live to see another day from the damage it causes.”

He only hummed at that, low and thoughtful, like your insult amused him. “Violent little thing, aren’t you?” His voice was soft, mocking, and it slid under your skin far too easily. “See how far you get before I’ve got you pinned again.”

Your fists clenched tighter, nails biting into your palms. “I’ve had enough of this.”

“Then go,” he said simply.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” you hissed. “Yeah, you know what? Actually, I know why I came here. Because you contradict yourself too fucking much. Because I’m pissed. Because I never understood why one day you just woke up and decided to be a pompous fucking prick for the rest of your life—” You stopped for a second, waiting for him to interrupt, but he didn’t. His eyes just stayed on you, steady.

“—to the point of ripping our whole friend group apart.” Your breath caught, hot and fast. “I used to care about you. We grew up together, for fuck’s sake. I cared.” Your throat tightened, but you forced the words out anyway. “And you burned it all to the ground. And maybe once, Hell, maybe up until now, I wanted to know why; maybe I did give a shit about what made you flip like that, but God—I don’t even give a shit anymore. I’ve moved so far past wanting to understand you… But even as hard as I try not to think about you, you make it even fucking harder when you do these things!” 

He said nothing. Just watched.

“You don’t get to do that,” you snapped, louder now, chest heaving. “Not when you’ve spent the last three years being nothing but an asshole to me. You don’t have the right! You just stood there and said all that shit about my family the same fucking way your family used to, said you hated me, and then what? Suddenly, you can’t keep it in your fucking pants? You think bullying—tormenting me, or whatever this is—What is it? Huh? Is it your sick way of fucking flirting? Tell me, Sunghoon. What the fuck is it? Because I sure as hell can’t figure out what game you’re playing anymore.”

Something shifted in his face at that last part, gone before you could catch it.

A beat of silence passed.

You wanted to scream.

And then another beat.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “Are you done?” You blinked, the words hitting harder for how casually he said them. "Go to fucking hell—" He tsked. “Spoiled little brat. What exactly do you mean by what is this, huh? You think my pushing you up against a wall actually means something?” His mouth twisted. “Do you think it means I spend my free time scribbling our names together in a notebook like some naive little kid?”

Your stomach dropped, heat crawling up your neck because fuck—he knew. He remembered. That one stupid morning in high school when he’d caught sight of your childish scrawls, your name paired with Jake’s in messy circles of ink, and you’d wanted the earth to open and swallow you whole. You felt that same shame burning in your cheeks now, even though it had nothing to do with Jake anymore.

He let out a quiet laugh. “Christ, you really don’t get it, do you? I don’t want—” He shook his head, paused for a moment. “You’re just easy to rile up. If I wanted to use you to take the edge off, I wouldn’t lose sleep over it.” His eyes dragged down and back up, slow and deliberate. “That’s all you’d be. A way to blow off some steam. Nothing else.”

Use you to take the edge off.

Like you were something discardable. Like your anger was entertaining to him.

Part of you flinched at what he said, though you hated yourself for it—it was the part of you that remembered another Sunghoon, a boy so quiet he barely spoke above a whisper, cheeks flushed pink from the cold air of the rink when you’d go visit him. You remembered how sometimes you’d call his name from the edge of the rink, and how he’d look up, catch your gaze from where you sat, and always skate harder after that, faster, as if the sound of your voice was enough to push him forward. You remembered thinking, as a kid, that you had never seen anything more beautiful than the way he moved so carefully and gracefully under those white lights, eyes glancing back at you like you were his anchor.

That Sunghoon. The one who was too shy to look you in the eyes for too long, who let you weave stupid ribbons into his stupid skates when you were too young to know any better.

Back then, he was soft-spoken, awkward, and so achingly human.

Back then, his eyes weren’t so dark. 

And God, you hated yourself for still remembering him that way. Because that boy was gone. And you weren’t going to be one of those idiots who held onto ghosts, clinging to shit that wasn’t there anymore—you told yourself you didn’t care. You couldn’t care.

So why did you always end up back here?

“You’re fucking disgusting.” Your throat tightened, and when you finally spoke, your voice came out low, stripped of bite, like you didn’t even care to hide it anymore. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say? Your reason?”

For a second, he didn’t answer. His jaw ticked, cheek twitching like he was holding something back, chewing it down before it could slip out. “You and your fucking reasons,” he murmured, almost like he was hesitant—

And then his mouth twisted. “What, you expected me to say something else?” 

You didn’t answer. 

He tilted his head, eyes on you like he was peeling you apart. A scoff slipped out, then:  “Don’t tell me you were pathetic enough to actually think I’d ever say anything else.”

“This is the last time I’m wasting my time on you again.” You didn’t even know if you said it to him or to yourself.

“Keep telling yourself that.” 

A beat passed. You just looked at him.

“I don’t even recognize you anymore.” Your voice wavered, and you hated that it did. “Fuck— Actually, since you keep asking me, maybe another reason I came here is because, deep down, I thought the boy I once knew was still somewhere in there. That he’d reason with me and finally properly talk to me—even after what you just pulled. That maybe, just maybe, you’d prove me wrong even after all the shit you’ve said and done. But he’s not. He’s gone.”

He looked at you then, really looked, and you knew he saw it—saw the way you weren’t even trying to glare anymore. You let him see it all, the disgust, the hurt carved deep into your face. Something flickered across his expression at that, sharp enough to make your chest twist.

For a moment, he almost spoke. You saw it in the way his mouth opened, just barely, then closed again like the words caught in his throat. 

“You’re even worse than I thought.” His jaw flexed, his hands curling once at his sides before he shoved them deep into his pockets. “But that’s you, isn’t it? Always living in your little fairytales. Always had every fucking thing handed to you, everything lined up so neat and pretty—so wrapped up in your perfect little world you never even noticed what was right in front of you.”

You swallowed hard, hating the way your throat burned. “You’re the fucking poster boy for spoiled little rich boys, you know that? Like there’s a chip planted in your head telling you to fuck around, act out, and be cruel just because you can. You’ve had everything, Sunghoon. Everything. And you still do. And you stand here, feeding me this shit?” The last word came out rough, lower than you meant, and there was no hiding that you sounded more sad than angry. Which pissed you off even more.

He didn’t jump to answer, didn’t even smirk. Just stared at you. There was this flicker in his face, almost like confusion, like he was trying to figure out what the hell you were even talking about. It was gone before you could pin it down, smoothed over into that flat nothing he always pulled.

“Forget it.” He shrugged, too casual, like the words didn’t cost him anything. But his eyes lingered, just a second too long, like something had snagged there. “Maybe I just like seeing you angry.”

Of course. Of fucking course that was all he had. Why on earth had you ever thought you could reason with him? The heat in your throat pushed higher, stinging, angry tears threatening fast and hot—but no. Not this time. You swallowed hard once more until it burned. 

When you finally spoke again, your voice came out quieter than you wanted. “We don’t need to talk outside of class.” You shook your head once, like you were trying to shake him off with it. “Or even in class unless it’s necessary. That’s it.”

A pause.

“Fine,” he muttered after a beat. “Keep it that way, then.”

“Fine.”

He watched you like he always did, like he couldn’t help himself, like a million things were sitting on his tongue that he’d never let out. 

You turned before the sting in your eyes could turn into anything worse, moving steadily like if you just kept going, maybe the rest of you would hold together, and you didn’t look back, you couldn’t, you wouldn’t.

But you felt it in his eyes burning into your back, like he was waiting for you to give him something else, anything, even if it was just one last glare. And the sickest part was that deep down, some fucked-up part of you wanted it.

But you bit down on it and kept walking.

And when you got back to the study room, Jake was gone.

You hadn’t thought twice about calling Wonyoung the second you made it out of that goddamned putrid house, your hands still shaking as you hovered over her contact. She was the one person who always knew what to say, who felt your emotions better than you did, even when you couldn’t name them.

Please come over?

She had said okay before you could explain yourself, and showed up twenty minutes later with sleep-creased cheeks and messy hair, still in pajamas, eyes warm as she softly smiled at you. “I’m sleeping on the left side of the bed this time,” she said, and toed the door shut behind her.

Now you sat at the edge of the bed and told her all the facts as they came, out of order, the parts you could say out loud, and the parts you had to circle around. Wonyoung listened the way only she does—quiet, steady, not pushing, just there—fluffing your pillows with one hand, the room filling with the small sounds of fabric and breathing and the street noise outside your window. You kept picking at the skin around your thumbs as you spoke, harder and harder, because it was the only thing you could do to keep you grounded.

Wonyoung caught your hands gently, thumbs pressing over your knuckles. “I thought you stopped doing that.”

“Stupid fucking habit,” you muttered, dropping your gaze. A smear of red had already bloomed at your cuticle.

She brushed her thumb over it, softly. “I should just kill Sunghoon myself,” she said. 

“Trust me,” you said, a rough laugh scraping out. “I considered it.”

There was a beat where neither of you said anything. The only sound was the faint hum of your nightstand lamp, buzzing warm light over both of you.

“Did you talk to Jake?” she asked, softly.

You shook your head. “No. When I got back, he was—he was gone. And I know that’s my fault—”

“Not your fault.” She didn’t even let you finish.

You shook your head, bit at your thumb without thinking, and she caught your hand again, pressing it into the duvet. You sighed. “I mean I thought about going after him, but I didn’t even know what I’d say to him. Like—‘Hey, sorry I left you mid make-out, or rather, just after we made out for the first time to go scream at your best friend for 30 minutes, who, by the way, was borderline grinding into me 10 minutes before we made out. Oh, and you saw! Yeah!” You grimaced. “Fucking fantastic. Great conversation opener.”

Wonyoung’s mouth twitched. “I mean, first of all, points for honesty.”

“Shut up.” You pushed her knee with your foot. “I feel like an idiot.”

She just hummed. “Second, Sunghoon is—” she flicked her eyes at you, choosing the word, “—Sunghoon. You wanted answers. That doesn’t make you evil. You’re not wrong for wanting to understand why he keeps fucking with you. And third, again, none of this is on you.”

You flopped backward, hair spilling over the comforter. “Feels on me.”

“That’s because you have a knack for overthinking things.” She nudged your hip with her foot. “And because you like him.”

She let it hang there, then added, “Jake, I mean.”

You scowled at the ceiling. “Obviously Jake.”

“Good.” She pulled her legs up and sat cross-legged, facing you. “Then we start there. You like him. He likes you. You explain it. You two have been pinning after each other for too long now, I'm sure this is nothing.”

“Yeah, Wony, but explain what? Oh, I like you so much, I’ve liked you since I was fourteen, but a greater force keeps taking over and compelling me to fumble the bag every time I'm in your proximity?”

“That works.” She didn’t smile despite your humor. “Or ‘I panicked, and I’m sorry’. Not that you owe it to him to say sorry, but it does not have to be complicated, my love.”

“I probably gave him blue balls.” You groaned into your hand. Her face twisted playfully. “Gross. You keep that shit to yourself.” 

You stuck your tongue out at her. “Also… Sunghoon practically shoved me into that—” You clamped your mouth shut, swallowed, started again. “He—he cornered me. And then Jake walked in. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

“Give me your hands.” She took them again, smoothed your fingers open, wiped away the tiny line of blood with the corner of your sheet like a scandal. “You don’t owe Sunghoon a singular thought right now. You don’t owe anyone anything. But… you could text Jake, if you want. It might help you feel better.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “He probably thinks I’m insane.”

“He already knows you’re insane,” Wonyoung said, deadpan. “He likes it.”

That finally pulled a laugh out of you, small and crooked. “You’re not helping.”

“I am,” she said, and she was right. “Because I’m going to say this slowly so you can’t argue with it: you didn’t do anything wrong. You got pulled into something you didn’t ask for.”

You stared at the ceiling for another second, throat tight. “He was—” You gestured, helpless. “And I— It just… it was too much.”

“I know.” She squeezed your hands. “I know.”

You reached for your phone, then hesitated, thumb hovering. “What if I text him and he doesn’t answer?”

“Then he’s an idiot and I’ll break his kneecaps in,” she said calmly. “But he’ll answer. And then I’ll key Sunghoon’s car.”

“You don’t even know which one is his.”

She shrugged. “Then I’ll key all of them.”

You snorted, soft, thumb still hovering over your phone screen. And then—stupidly, against all logic—you shoved it aside.

You turned to Wonyoung and swallowed hard. “Would you kill me if I said I can’t stop thinking about him?”

“I mean, it’s not like I haven’t been hearing it for the past six years—” she started, a teasing lift at the corner of her mouth.

“I meant Sunghoon.”

Wonyoung blinked at you for a long second, then pressed the back of her hand dramatically to your forehead. “Do you have a fever?”

You laughed, swatting her hand away. “Stop,” you muttered, shoving at her wrist before burying your face in your hands with a groan. “Dear god, am I fucking stupid?”

“No,” she said immediately.

“You don’t have to lie.”

Her voice was firm when she answered. “I’d sooner feed myself to a pit of sharks before I ever call you stupid over men. Don’t joke.”

You peeked at her from between your fingers, groaning. “Wonyoung, I need you to slap me. Just once. Knock some sense into me.”

“I’m not slapping you.”

“Just a quick one.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.” 

“Wony—”

Her mouth twitched. “If I slap you, it’ll be because you won’t shut up about it.”

You groaned dramatically and shook her by the arm, playfully pleading, until she started laughing at you. Eventually, you both sank back into the pillows, and the soft glow of your bedside lamp washed her face in gold, and when you glanced over, she was still looking at you—her expression quieter now, softer, almost too thoughtful. You shifted, picking at a loose thread in your blanket, and when you finally spoke again, your voice was small, hesitant.

“Do you remember when we were, like, ten, and I’d drag you with me to Yunah’s house because I didn’t want to be alone? And Heeseung and Sunghoon were just in the other room?”

“How could I forget?” Wonyoung laughed. “God, I used to hate going over there. Yunah was insufferable—never let me touch the Barbie I actually wanted, bless her though. Heeseung was acting like he was some mysterious, cool older brother when he was literally eleven. And Sunghoon just hovered there like he’d been surgically grafted to Heeseung’s side. I think that’s when our homicidal tendencies started developing.”

You huffed out a laugh through your nose, pulling your knees up to your chest. “Do you remember how Sunghoon was back then?”

Her eyes softened. “Oh, I remember. I remember when we genuinely thought he didn’t speak at all. Like, we had whole conversations about whether something was wrong with him. And then the next time we went back, you’d literally looked up how to say hello in sign language and tried it on him.”

You slapped your hand over your face. “Oh my fucking god. Heeseung never let me live that down.”

Wonyoung laughed quietly, shaking her head. “To be fair, the shy little shit never spoke.” Then her expression shifted, slower, more thoughtful. “Well… not to anyone else. But he spoke to you.”

Your chest tightened, and you hated the way it did. 

And maybe Wonyoung was the only person you could ever talk about this with and not feel insane. Well — her and Sunoo, you thought.

“Feels like I made that kid up in my head. Like he doesn’t even exist anymore.” The memory of his voice rang sharp through your ears: Pathetic. You dug your nails into your palm. “God, I feel so fucking pathetic— No, not pathetic, I mean I just don’t feel like it’s fair that I’m even thinking about all this.”

“It’s not pathetic to remember,” Wonyoung said softly, raising her finger to make her point. “It’s human. The two of you haven’t properly spoken since we fell out. Hell, you haven't even spoken at all save for when he shits on you. No wonder this shit is resurfacing now that you have to spend time together— And it’s not your job to figure out whatever the fuck Sunghoon’s turned himself into. He’s a dick. He’s been a dick for years.”

You stared hard at the far wall, your throat dry. “He said I never noticed what was right in front of me. I don’t even know what the fuck that’s supposed to mean.”

“When did he say that?” 

“I— I don’t even remember what it was about. He just… said it after I brought up how we grew up together.”

“As in about the past?”

“I mean, I guess.”

“Hmm.”

You turned, narrowing your eyes. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Spit it out.”

“No, it’s genuinely nothing.”

You didn’t buy it. Your glare sharpened, and after a beat, Wonyoung let out a long sigh, her eyes flicking toward the ceiling like she was debating whether it was worth saying at all.

“…You know, Yunah had the biggest crush on him when we were kids. Hell, even up until we were sixteen. And when she finally confessed, he turned her down—” Wonyoung scoffed lightly. “Which, like, why the fuck were we even confessing to people at that age, right? We were practically still in diapers.” She paused then, her voice dropping a little. “But… anyway. He said he liked someone else. Said he'd liked them for quite some time and it wouldn't be fair.”

“So Yunah’s patient zero.” A sharp huff of air pushed through your nose, almost a laugh, but it fell flat.

Wonyoung didn’t respond. Just sat there, looking at you, her lips pressed together like she was biting something back.

Your stomach knotted. You knew that look. “Don’t you dare say it.”

“I wasn’t gonna!”

You shot her a glare. “Your face is saying it!”

“I can’t help it!” She threw her hands up in defense. 

You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “Trust me, I’d know if Sunghoon ever liked me. And I know he didn’t. His mom hated me too much—she’d always make backhanded comments about my parents, right to my face, every time I was at the rink.”

“Yeah? And who defended you?” Wonyoung shot back immediately, brows raising like she already knew the answer.

You shook your head hard, staring down at the blanket bunched in your lap. “No. It’s just… not possible. Not even worth thinking about.”

“Mm.” She stretched out on your bed, long hair spilling everywhere, then turned her head toward you with a sly smile. “How would you know? All you ever thought of was Jake, Jake, Jake. Oh—” her voice pitched up, teasing, “Future Mrs. Sim Jaeyun.” She made obnoxious kissy noises until you smacked her arm with your pillow.

“Shut up!” you groaned.

But… for a second, you let your mind go there. If there was some truth buried under all those years you’d spent swearing Sunghoon never saw you that way...

You hated yourself for even entertaining it. Because you were sure—no, you knew—he never liked you. Not when every time you went to the rink, there was some new little jab about your parents. Some sideways comment about your mom, like she wasn’t really one of them. The whole Park family walked around like they were untouchable, like somehow their branch of old money sat higher on the ladder than everyone else’s. Never mind the fact that you’d grown up with the same wealth, the same circles, and the same power. To them, it was still tainted because your dad had married your mom, and to their standards, that was unforgivable. His mom could barely even look at you, and when she did, it was with that tight smile that said more than if she’d just spat in your face. She never liked any of his friends anyway, but with you, it felt different. Like she hated you on principle. 

No boy in their right fucking mind would look at someone the way Wonyoung was implying when their own family was too busy ripping you apart.

And even if he had. Even if there was a split second where maybe, possibly, something in his chest had leaned toward you—how the fuck would that explain who he is now?

It wouldn’t.

It didn’t explain how he went from that quiet boy you used to coax out of his shell to this cruel, arrogant, putrid, cold, impossible version of him now.

You swallowed, the burn crawling up your throat, and when you finally dragged your eyes back to Wonyoung, the words came as a whisper. “I hate him.”

“I know.”

“I really fucking hate him.”

“I know,” she repeated, steady as a heartbeat. “But that doesn’t mean you have to hate yourself for still thinking about him.”

You sighed loud enough for the walls to hear you and shoved a pillow over your face, groaning into it like that would erase the last ten minutes. When you finally pulled it away, your hair was sticking up in all directions and Wonyoung was just watching you with that maddeningly patient face of hers.

You sat up and pointed the pillow at her. “What would I ever do without you?”

“Honestly?” She tilted her head like she was about to deliver grave news. “You’ve been saying some really insane things tonight. I think we should have you admitted.”

You smacked the pillow against her stomach. “And here I was so generously going to let you have the left side of the bed tonight. But since you’re calling me insane in my own home, you can sleep on the fucking floor actually.” You playfully pouted.

Her mouth twitched. “Wait. I never said that.”

“You literally just said that.”

“You’re hearing things.”

You shoved her by the shoulder and she smacked at your hand until you both gave up, giggling under your breath until the sound fizzled out and left the air heavy again.

There was a pause. You twisted your blanket between your fingers. “Wonyoung?”

She hummed, eyes still on the ceiling. “Yeah?”

You chewed on your lip. “I think I wanna text Jake.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” You nodded too fast, too eager, like saying it quicker would make it more true. “Yes. I just… I don’t wanna think about this for another second.”

She just reached over to where your phone was on the bed and dropped it into your lap. “Go for it then.”

You stared down at it like it weighed a hundred pounds. The screen was dark, your reflection warped in it, tired eyes, and bitten mouth. Jake was safe. Jake was easy. He was warm in a way Sunghoon never was, never would be. You’d only ever wanted Jake. 

Wonyoung bumped her shoulder gently against yours. “Don’t overthink it. Just text him.”

You swallowed, thumb hovering but not moving. Honest. Like that had ever actually worked out for you before. “I can’t do it. I’m fine. No it’s okay, actually I’ll just give up.”

She pinched you—the girl actually pinched you. “Just text him.”

You stared down at your phone like it was a loaded weapon. “What would I even say?”

“You already know what to say.”

“No, I don’t.” You thumbed something out on the screen, stared at it, then backspaced until it disappeared. Tried again, deleted it again. “See? I’m finished.”

Wonyoung let out a long-suffering groan. “Just tell him the same thing we talked about, genius.”

“But what?” you shot back, eyebrows pulling together like you were actually asking for her help and not to be annoying.

“Oh my god,” she said, dragging a pillow over her face and muffling her voice, “just text him!”

You gasped, clutching your phone to your chest. “Wow. So you hate me and you want me to die? That’s cool. Just say that.”

Before you even realized what was happening, Wonyoung sat up, snatched the phone right out of your hands, and started typing.

“Wonyoung—” you hissed, scrambling after her. “Hey, what are you—give it back—”

Her thumb hit send.

You froze. “What did you send?”

“I’m gonna be honest with you, I don't even know.”

“Wonyoung!” you shrieked.

Before you could wrestle the phone back, it buzzed loud in her hands. Both of you froze.

Her jaw dropped as she squinted at the screen. “Did this boy just reply in under two seconds? Oh my god. He still wants you.”

“Shit—” you snatched it out of her grip, heart already hammering.

𝓝 ⟢ 𝗁𝗂 𝗁𝗂𝗂 (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ 𝗂 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝗌𝖺𝗒 𝗂 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁… 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗅𝗒, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗍𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗋. 𝖼𝖺𝗇’𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝟤𝟢 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗂 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌?? 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍… 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈… 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗅𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗉!! 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍!! 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗅 𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖺 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗁 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 (while i was listening to your best american girl by mitski) (your mother wouldn’t approve of how my mother raised me!!!!) 𝗌𝗈 𝗂𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝗆𝗀. 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗎𝗒𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝖾!!!! (｡•́︿•̀｡)♡ 𝗉𝗅𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗍 𝗂𝗍 in my inbox in my comments wherever u want 𝗁𝖾𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗅𝗒!!

His nose was nearly close enough to touch yours, and then it did, just barely grazing against you. You couldn't help but glance down at his lips, a pretty pink temptation he was practically shoving in your face.

You couldn't.

Shouldn't.

He exhaled. Long and slow. His breath on your skin. Inhaling like he was taking a drag of you.

But he didn't kiss you either.

"Do you like me?" He murmured, and goosebumps trailed down your arms, shivering without so much as a breeze passing by.

"Yeah," You choked on the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to meet the intensity behind his eyes. "I do."

The corner of those teasing lips curled up, a crinkle beside his squint before he suddenly pulled away.

"Good."

Good?

You wanted to ask what he meant, what this was, but it seemed he rendered you stunned and speechless.

"Saturday night," He grunted when you didn't say anything.

"What?" You felt stupid. Like some dumb girl with her first crush, stuttering around him like you only had enough braincells to babble.

"Are you free?" He asked, cocking a slit brow up.

"Oh, um, yeah, I guess," You nervously rambled, already searching for excuses to make to yourself about why he was asking. "Did Yuki tell you to ask?"

Deep down, you knew that didn't really make sense. But it was easier to deal with than any of the other options.

Sukuna chuckled, and his shoulders relaxed.

"No," He answered. The sky was dark, the light from inside reflecting back through the amused glint in his eyes. "But if you want to party with them, we can stop by the club they go to."

You didn't miss the way he said stop by.

But the implication of where else he wanted to take you - what he might want to do - it felt too big.

"Okay," You agreed, holding your breath before realizing that wasn't exactly an answer "I mean, sure."

"Good," He said the word again - four little letters that left you feeling even funnier the second time around.

Half of you was thrilled. And the other half was terrified.

You didn't know how the fuck you were supposed to talk to Suguru after this. How to talk to anyone when your brain would be stuck on how broad Sukuna's back was when he turned to walk away, the hint of a tattoo peeking out under his sleeve that you started to think you might get a better glimpse at this weekend.

You had made up your mind before you had even snapped out of it enough to get back in your car dazed and practically drunk on the shallow intimacy of just a few seconds with Sukuna. Maybe you'd say you were studying and couldn't call Suguru back tonight. Push it off for a few days until you could figure out how you felt.

Around him, you couldn't control your emotions. Not very well, at least. Some twisted combination of anxiety, excitement, and anticipation that held you onto his every word, every touch.

For whatever weird reason, a hint of guilt had creeped in, like you were somehow cheating in a relationship that had never been real to begin with. On someone who only pitied you anyway.

If it was just about money like you suspected, you supposed you could just send him extra online for now. Another thank you for helping you make some friends since the girls that had been there had actually been texting you for the past few days instead of leaving you on read.

He wasn't your boyfriend. He was barely a friend.

Maybe wouldn't even call himself as much.

Suguru wouldn't care if you weren't around.

It was probably normal to miss your girlfriend. But what about a fake one?

Suguru had never really known what that was like.

Dated around some, sure, but had been on this end of things. Where he stared at the phone after every text you sent him, wondering how to change your mind or convince you to come study with him when you said you got home late from work, too busy with papers and exams.

Declining his call after work, sending a soft voice message apologizing for being too tired and out of it. One he probably listened to too many times.

You'd still walk with him to class the rest of the week, let him hold your hand and kiss your cheek, but you were pulling back. Putting distance there. Treating it like it was a transaction, giving him cash or sending it through your phone like he was some fucking cashier and you were the customer who felt bad for him.

Suguru didn't know how to tell you to stop. That he didn't want it anymore. Didn't need it to stick around.

And there you were, thanking him earnestly anyway, telling him you hoped he had a good day each time and meaning it.

He felt like shit hardly talking to you this week. Maybe ten minutes total, always stuck on the way you glanced over your shoulder at him before you disappeared through some door. The faint flash of hurt, the disappointment that would shine in your eyes when you thought he wasn't paying attention.

"Why are you so nervous?" Gojo laughed at him, glancing over at him from the passenger seat outside the tattoo shop Saturday afternoon. "Does it have something to do with-"

"I haven't talked to her about the catfish yet," Suguru grumbled. That's what it had to be. He didn't know how they got your photos, or what they had against you and him back then, but it was the only thing that made sense.

The you he'd gotten to know never would've said any of that shit to him.

"Why?" Gojo groaned, tapping the center console impatiently, itching to go inside despite the fact Suguru has dragged him there too early. He had to tell him the truth - not that it made an of it less humiliating to hear himself admit that he wasn't really dating you. That you'd paid him to pretend to be just to make some more friends.

"I don't want to make an even bigger ass out of myself," He muttered.

"So ask her on a date," Gojo rolled his eyes. "A real one."

It sounded easy when he said it.

But Suguru wasn't sure you'd say yes.

If you trusted him enough to give him a second chance.

But Gojo didn't give him the chance to even debate it before he had stolen his phone from the cupholder and unlocked it, calling your number before Suguru could stop him.

Shoving it back over the second you picked up, your pretty voice waiting for him on the other end. "Oh, um, hi?"

"Hey," Suguru exhaled, nervousness pricking at his skin.

"Do you need something?" You asked, uncertain. Unsure of what he was asking from you.

"No," He said it a little too bluntly, forcing himself to soften his voice as he cleared his throat. "I just wanted to know if you were busy this weekend."

"If I'm busy?" You echoed.

"Are you working?" Suguru added, loathing how stupid he sounded.

"Not today, but tomorrow," You answered, and before he could get his hopes up, you continued. "I'm going out with some coworkers tonight."

Suguru could tell you were anxious. Could hear it in the small quiver to your voice. You were probably sitting on your bed, cross-legged and chewing on the inside of your cheek. Picking at your nails or reapplying a fresh coat of polish like it'd hide how much you bit them. What color were your sheets?

You liked pink. But for some reason, in his head they were a pale shade of green, something soft. Or maybe it was warm, comforting.

"You'll be fine," He reassured, half of him wishing he was with you now instead, rubbing circles over the back of your hand with his thumb. "Have fun."

"Oh," You squeaked, a cute surprised sound escaping before you recovered. "Thanks, Suguru."

The way you said his name made his heart race.

"What time do you get off tomorrow?" He asked.

"Um, I dunno, it depends, why?" You hummed, and he hoped you were blushing.

"Let's grab dinner." Three words had never been so hard to say.

"It might be late," You warned, but Suguru was just glad it wasn't an automatic no.

"It'll be my treat," He insisted.

"Are you sure?" You tentatively posed the question, as if you were waiting for him to take it back.

He chuckled, "Positive."

And a couple hours later, with the tattoo gun piercing his skin, your voice was still ringing in his head over the dull drone of the machine and the heavy rock playing through the speakers. Sukuna barely spoke outside of grumbling instructions or telling him when to move. It was better that way.

He didn't want to deal with another fake conversation with someone who didn't really care.

Suguru's shoulder ached - but not quite as much as his heart did.

He wanted to see you so bad it was honestly embarrassing. Needed to clear the air in person, apologize for being so standoffish and explain what happened. Although, he didn't exactly have proof - the account he'd blocked didn't seem to even exist anymore.

All week he'd been asking around, and yet he hadn't found a single hint or clue to what happened.

The bell to the front door chimed, but Suguru didn't look over, studying the almost-finished tattoo in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall.

"Give me a minute," Sukuna grunted, wiping it down and peeling off his gloves with a huff before standing up.

That man might be an asshole who lacked customer service skills, but he certainly made up for it with sheer talent.

Suguru rolled his shoulder back, watched the way way the fine lines moved. Gojo hadn't said what he was getting, but he was a little surprised his friend hadn't finished yet, only overheating the occasional chatter from him and the other tattoo artist.

"Hi."

He almost missed it. Nearly chalked it up to a daydream, or a hallucination from how little he'd been sleeping. Your voice, lilting up happily.

It couldn't be you, not here, at least, not-

"You're early," Sukuna grunted.

"Thought you might be hungry, and well-"

"You look good."

Suguru turned - face frozen in a stunned scowl at the scene in front of him.

You, in a pretty little black dress, all dreamy and dolled up, smiling up at his tattoo artist and handing him a fucking sandwich. You didn't look good. You looked delicious.

And Sukuna was staring down at you like he wanted to devour you.

"Are you sure?" You tilted your head to the side, so sincere it made him want to scream, not even a sliver of being sly present in your face. Sukuna had taken the sandwich from you, opening the bag and taking an oversized bite while you started to ramble. "Yuki said I could wear anything, but I didn't know-"

He stuffed the sandwich between your lips to shut you up.

Your nose scrunched up as you grabbed it and tried to not make a mess chewing what was in your mouth. Hand covering your face while a smirk curled up on Sukuna's lips.

"I meant it," He muttered, leaning down and wiping away a crumb from your bottom lip while you swallowed your bite. You being flustered was nothing new, but fuck, seeing you flushed and fumbling for your words for someone else was.

Suguru had been jealous before.

But that was just a little taste. A bitter hint of it on his tongue. This festering feeling stirring in his stomach threatening to make the bile come up his throat was brand new.

"I'm a little scared" You admitted, laughing a little, holding your breath and basically beaming. "I don't think it's really going to be my scene."

Was this your job?

Had you been here all those fucking days you'd turned him down? Sitting pretty at the counter while Sukuna probably stared at your tits the way he was doing right now?

You didn't even seem to notice.

For someone who wanted so badly to be liked, you somehow completely fucking missed the fact you were wanted too.

"I'm not going to leave you." And yeah, it sounded sarcastic coming from Sukuna's lips, harsh and snappy, but it seemed to make you relax, your shoulders slumping a little as he pulled out the chair behind the counter for you to sit on.

Suguru could feel the warmth in your smile from here.

"Is Yuki here yet?" You asked, tilting your head up like some cute lost puppy dog waiting to be pet.

"Nah," Sukuna shrugged. "Wait here. I'm almost finished with my client."

You nodded almost obediently, putting your purse under the counter and Suguru saw it, the way your head tilted, about to turn back and look his direction.

Until Gojo spoke up.

"Small world, huh?" A loud laugh, and then there he was, a bandage over his bicep as he leaned across the counter to poke your cheek.

Surprise flickered across your face before you smiled sincerely at him, bright-eyed as you snagged a lollipop out of the jar and offered him one.

"I didn't know you had any tattoos," You said as he pulled the wrapper off and popped it in his mouth.

"Do now," He grinned, pointing at the bandage proudly. "Didn't know you worked here."

"Yeah," You awkwardly smiled. It wasn't forced, still friendly as you studied his face. Lips parting like you were about to add something before he interrupted.

"You know him?" Sukuna snarled, terse and tense, folding his arms across his chest.

"We go to the same school," You spoke quietly, all that chirpiness fading from your voice and getting replaced with stress.

Your answer only seemed to piss Sukuna off more. Who, Suguru noted, was doing a shitty fucking job of mitigating your apprehension, not even trying to soothe you before he snapped back, "Was he there when-"

"He was the one who gave me his clothes," You muttered under your breath, embarrassed. You told him what happened.

Shame slithered back in.

Because he could condemn Sukuna all he wanted, but Suguru knew it was still his fault for failing you at the first party. That if he hadn't fucked it up then - maybe you wouldn't be looking at Sukuna here the way you had looked at him that day in the library.

Scared and starstruck and hopeful for something Suguru wanted to be the one to give you.

Sukuna backed down at the knowledge Gojo had helped you out, his scowl replaced by begrudging acceptance.

"You can give him the discount," Sukuna grunted.

You glanced up at him, all appreciative and gentle, absentmindedly leaning a little closer to the broad man by your side just for his hand to drift around your waist and squeeze when he bent over and whispered something in your ear.

Suguru hated it. Hated Sukuna. Hated himself.

Hearing you giggle and seeing the glimmer in your eyes when you pulled away. Rolling your eyes at him and not meaning it when the rest of your face was still gentle.

The girl he used to think was spoiled and stuck up standing in front of him crushing on a college dropout with thirty tattoos and a nicotine addiction while he'd give anything for you to want him instead.

"I'm paying for mine and his," Gojo added, deliberately interrupting the thick tension as he pointed back at him. "Do I still get the discount?"

"Yeah, sure," Sukuna grunted, like he didn't care less what happened if you were smiling at him.

But then you turned around.

Saw him sitting there, ink settling into his sore skin and a serious scowl he couldn't help set in his features.

Your hand slowly raised up in a small wave, your breath hitching in your throat.

He felt like a goddamn moron waving back at you.

"Is he one of your other friends?" Sukuna asked, and Suguru couldn't decide who was more annoyed at the idea of that.

But you just nodded, even if it was stiff, your voice quiet when you spoke up, "Yeah."

Your eyes had shifted back to Suguru though, like you thought he might contradict you.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't want to.

Suguru wanted to insist that you were more, but that wasn't true. Wasn't real.

Sukuna didn't ask anything else, just walked back over to Suguru, prepping again to put the finishing touches on the tattoo like today hadn't left it tainted.

Permanently marked with the reminder you might be falling for someone else.

"How well do you know her?" Sukuna grumbled right as the needle pierced through his skin again.

"She doesn't say much about herself," Suguru muttered, if only to find out what he knew.

Sukuna chuckled, dark and dry. "Yeah."

"Didn't think she needed a job though," Suguru commented, keeping his voice low enough that you wouldn't hear.

"She's only at college on a scholarship," Sukuna informed him, more defensive of you than Suguru expected.

Suguru watched his reflection frown. Another sore spot of his pride being poked. Another reason he'd spent so long avoiding you. You'd managed to get the scholarship he was aiming for, not that you knew, forcing him to find another one to cover his costs at the last minute, although it wasn't quite the same amount. He'd had to get a shitty part time job in the meantime to help keep him afloat before.

"Her family's rich," Suguru replied.

"Yeah, but they didn't want her to go," Sukuna scoffed back at him, irritation creeping in.

Now that was new.

How much was there to you he didn't know? That he'd been blind to?

"That's shitty," Suguru exhaled under his breath, wincing at the next prick.

He pretended not to feel your stare on his back. Were you wondering what they were talking about? Did you think it was about you?

What he did know about you told him you'd probably be in denial about that too.

Gojo was busy chatting your ear off, inviting you to other parties and out for lunches next week, trying to set up study times (that he'd bail on and send Suguru as a replacement), a sneaky smirk on his face when you finally agreed to one.

"Done."

"Thanks," Suguru muttered like he didn't feel sick.

And when he glanced back, you were already watching. Your face flushing with embarrassment at him noticing you staring at the broad muscles of his back while Sukuna carefully put the bandage over it.

You turned away before your boss could catch you though.

Suguru pulled two twenties out of his wallet and tipped him anyway.

"I'll see you guys later," You murmured, not meeting his gaze even after he pulled his shirt back on and walked over.

Gojo had just left. A car he called waiting to pick him up inside, probably thinking Suguru would somehow end up leaving with you.

"Can I talk to you?" Suguru heard himself ask, ignoring the heated glare he didn't need to look to know he was receiving from the man who probably would never want to give him another tattoo if he knew that Suguru tasted you first.

"Do you need any help in here?" You still glanced over your shoulder to ask Sukuna first though.

"Nah, you're not on the clock anyway." Sukuna wasn't exactly happy when he said it though.

And Suguru couldn't shake the feeling that he'd do something stupid later to pull you back to him. Stake his claim on you. Stamp his mark.

"Sure, um, okay," You nodded hesitantly, and Suguru held out a hand to help you hop off the stool. You tentatively took it, eyeing him like you didn't understand why he offered it when if it was entirely up to him, he'd carry you outside and into the backseat of his car to show you how he'd been feeling.

But he didn't want to be the scummy guy who made you think weren't worth the world. That it was just about backseats and backrooms where no one else saw the two of you.

"What's up?" You asked.

"You look gorgeous," He answered honestly. Not what he meant to say, but he meant it anyway. "You usually do, but-"

You giggled, and some of the heaviness lifted.

"You don't have to say stuff like that when it's just us," You reminded him, and he recognized the hint of resignation you seemed to default to.

"I know," He breathed. "I'm saying it because it's true."

"Well, you shouldn't," You blushed. "You might make me believe you."

"I wish you would," Suguru soberly said, watching the way your brows knitted together and then fell flat.

"You don't like me," You pointed it out like you were stating a fact.

"I shouldn't have said that." His attempt to sound confident was falling apart within seconds, his throat closing up just from you frowning at him, lips pushed together in a pout that hurt him to see. "Look, I really do have something important to talk to you about."

There was actually a lot he wanted to talk to you about. A meal wouldn't be enough. He wanted your day, your week, your month, your year. However long it took to know all the stuff that he missed.

"Can it wait?" You asked, shuffling uncomfortably.

He stepped closer, but you backed up.

"Just hear me out," He started, only to stop when he realized how unsteady your breathing was.

"Is it about Sukuna?" You chewed on your lip, glancing up at him then looking away just as fast, as if even that second was too long.

"No," Suguru answered, but it sounded unconvincing even to him.

Any annoyance he had was traded for concern when he noticed your nails digging into your own palm, how fast your chest was rising and falling, like you were on the verge of a panic attack.

"Baby," He soothed, trying one more step forward, but you were retreating back. A skittish stray who wasn't sure whose hands were there to soothe and whose would hit.

"It's something bad though, right?" You swallowed hard, choking on whatever you were scared of.

He didn't know how to answer that one.

"I just want to have a good time tonight, okay?" Your voice was closer to a whisper, cracking on the last word. "Can we talk about it tomorrow? Please?"

How was he supposed to say no to you?

"Sure," Suguru reluctantly agreed, regretting it before he finished saying it. "Just be safe tonight. You know you can call me if-"

"You don't have to worry about me," You murmured, arms folded across your chest and studying your heels on the cracked pavement when you cut him off. "It's not like I'll be taking my clothes off this time."

Not if Sukuna had anything to say about it.

NEXT CHAPTER...

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