TripleDubu

Minji's POV

"Are you sure about this, Hanni?" I ask.

"Just try it on!" she says, her voice muffled behind the walls of the changing room.

"I don't know if this'll fit."

"Did you even try it on?"

"Uh…"

I stare at the mocha brown one piece dress Hanni and Hyein picked out—and all I can imagine is what Yuno will think about it. It's cute, but will he like it? Does brown clash with my skin tone? Will he think my arms look weird in it?

A knock comes from the other side of the door. "Haerin found more clothes for you," I hear Danielle say. "I tried to talk her down, but she's persistent."

With a sigh, I put on the dress. My reflection doesn't look half bad. Maybe my arms do feel a tad bit exposed, but it is getting warmer. I could try a jacket, or a cute cardigan, but will my glasses look good with—

Another flurry of knocks. "Minj, hurry up, we wanna see!" Hanni groans.

"Okay, just give me a sec!"

Tentatively, I smooth down the dress before pushing open the door. Four pairs of eyes look back at me in silent judgment. "Well?" I ask. "What's the verdict?"

"It's cute!" Hyein exclaims, clapping like a seal.

"Definitely a change from what you usually wear," Danielle adds. "A good change."

"You think so?" I glance down at the dress, watching how the fabric contorts to my body. "I feel like my arms look kinda awkward, and—augh!"

Haerin dumps a mountain of clothes into my arms, each one with some kind of crazy pattern or feathers where there definitely shouldn't be feathers or way too many metal adornments to be considered clothing.

"Try these on next," she utters flatly.

"M-maybe we can take a break? We've been at it for an hour, I feel like a barbie doll." I nearly collapse from the weight of the clothes. Haerin simply squints at me before walking off without another word, dragging Hyein along with her to no doubt find more clothes. I wonder if this is some weird prank she's pulling or she actually thinks these look good.

"See? I told you it would suit you," Hanni says, marveling at her pick. "And I bet your new boo thang would love it—"

"Hanni!" I clap my hand over her mouth, barely stifling her giggles.

"So, you two are official now?" Danielle asks.

Warmth spreads through my cheeks. "Kinda? We agreed to start things slow and not worry about any labels. Neither of us have any experience in, um, dating, but I'm optimistic."

I can't help but smile at the thought. Is this what those two sweethearts in the art club feel like every day? My heart feels like it's about to explode in the best way possible.

"Oh, to be young and in love," Hanni teases. "Seriously though, I'm happy for you, Minj."

"Me too." Danielle pats my shoulder, and I have to physically restrain myself from bursting into tears of joy.

Suddenly, Hyein comes running back with a panicked look on her face. "Uh, a coat rack fell on Haerin."

"Oh my god, is she okay?!" I exclaim.

"Well, she's not hurt, but she won't get up," she explains. "She said it's too comfy."

Danielle sighs, getting to her feet. "I got her. Lead the way."

The two of them go off to solve the Haerin-related predicament, giving me a break from playing dress up. Between home, school, and now this whole new relationship, it's been a while since I've gotten a moment to myself. Here, I get to feel like everyone else—just a normal girl, hanging out at the mall with her friends.

"You should wear that out," Hanni says, eyeing my dress.

"You think so? I feel kinda… exposed." I wrap my arms around myself, unused to the breeze on my arms.

"Nothing wrong with showing a little skin."

"Hanni."

She giggles. "Just saying, all you wear is jeans and sweaters, and the only time you ever dress up is for your parents' business stuff. Wouldn't it be nice to get all dolled up on your own terms?"

My gaze falls onto a nearby mirror, tracing my reflection. It is a cute dress. I shift in my seat, crossing my legs, brushing my hair over my shoulders—I'll admit it, I look good. Hot, even.

"Alright," I sigh. "I'll wear it out."

Hanni pumps her fist in the air. "Noice!"

I furrow my brow at her. "Since when did you start saying 'noice'?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. Just now. It felt right."

Danielle and Hyein come back, pushing along a smirking Haerin. "We have to leave," Danielle says with the air of a disappointed mother.

"Why? Are they kicking us out?" I ask.

"No, but I'm too embarrassed to show my face in here ever again," she sighs. Haerin's grin only grows wider at the sound.

"Alright, then…" Haerin as usual, I guess.

As we head towards the cash registers, I hear my phone buzz in my bag with a text from my father:

Father: How is the studying going? It's good to see you so focused on your academics.

I type up a quick response and shove my phone back into my bag, pushing down the gnawing feeling I get every time I lie.

Minji: It's going great! I'll be back home by dinner.

What they don't know won't hurt them.

The air in the plaza feels a little colder on my shoulders, but at least for a little while, they feel free of any burden. In this little bubble with my friends, I don't have to be the refined daughter of my parents, or the upstanding student council president—I get to be me without any other mask.

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Yuno's POV

"Sorry," I pinch the bridge of my nose, "explain this to me again?"

Yujin slumps his shoulders, somehow walking backwards without bumping into anyone in the crowded mall.

"Like I said, it's about this college professor that got bit by a radioactive grasshopper, so obviously he gets all the abilities of a grasshopper, like jumping really high and spitting out acid, and naturally, he becomes a superhero called 'The Hopper' and he uses his newfound abilities to fight crime and stop this one villain named 'Prime Ape' from turning the whole world into monkeys, and…"

I shoot a confused look at Winter, who's nodding like she understands everything he's saying. "But why does he want to turn the whole world into monkeys?" she asks. My mind melts into a thick goo as Yujin drones on about evil monkey man and how he thinks 'evolution was a mistake'. Whatever makes the kid happy, I guess.

We arrive at the comic book store, aptly named "Nerd Herd Comics", and the musk of paper and ink fills my nostrils. Rows and rows of comic books line each shelf like a maze of brightly colored drawings. Yujin skips ahead of us, leaving Winter and I to navigate this place by ourselves.

"Did you ever read any comic books, Yuno?" she asks.

I shrug. "Maybe when I was younger. You?"

She grabs a random comic book off the shelf and fingers through the pages. "I have an older cousin that's into superheroes. He'd show me his new collectibles he bought whenever I went to visit." Winter places the book back, a small grin on her face. "It was nice, seeing him so passionate about something. He's pretty quiet most of the time, but it's like his eyes lit up every time he got a chance to talk about his interests."

"Yeah, that does sound nice." I notice Yujin at the corner of the store, getting into a lively discussion with three other guys. At first glance, I wouldn't even think that they were all complete strangers until this point. Even if all this comic book stuff isn't my thing, I'm glad to see how happy he is here.

"Hey, I'm gonna look around for a bit, maybe find a gift for my cousin," Winter says. "Will you be okay by yourself?"

I nod. "I'll live."

As we part ways, I make a beeline straight to the front of the store. Almost immediately as we walked in, my eyes drifted towards it like a magnet—a key chain of a bear wearing headphones. Bears? Music? This practically screams Minji, how could I not get this for her?

"Um, excuse me?"

I feel a tap on my shoulder. "Yeah?" A tall guy built like a twig is eyeing the key chain in my hand. His hair is done up in a greasy ponytail, and the air around him smells violently of fast food.

"Do you know who that is?" he asks with an accusatory finger.

"Uh… The bear?" I turn the key chain over in my hand, wondering if this has sentimental value to him or something. "Uh, no, I don't know."

He scoffs at me, and I already know I'm going to hate this interaction. "Actually, that's DJ Grizz, he's from a niche yet beloved run of comics originating from Australia. Y'know, you should really read through the source material before carelessly buying merchandise of a franchise you know nothing about."

"Alright, dude, I—"

"I actually have the entire first print in mint condition, I would lend it to you, but I don't want to potentially have my collection touched by someone who so blatantly disrespects the work of—"

"Hey, Yuno!" Like an angel come to save me from this greasy Hell, Winter walks up to me, some books tucked under her arm. "Yujin s-said he'll be done soon."

The guy freezes at the sight of Winter and awkwardly wanders off, grumbling under his breath about "females".

"Thanks," I sigh in relief. "I couldn't stand another second of that."

She shoots me a confused look. "Was something going on?"

I shake my head. "Nothing." Better to bury that memory now before it festers.

"Aw, that's cute," she says, pointing at the bear key chain. "Are you going to buy it for Minji?"

"How'd you know?"

"A hunch." She smiles at me knowingly. "I think she'll love it."

"Yeah?" I gaze at the key chain in my palm; we're something now. This key chain will be the first thing I give her as a something.

Yujin reconvenes with us, cradling a large stack of comic books in arms. "I'm done! Those guys over there gave me some great recommendations!" he beams. "Ooh, is that a DJ Grizz key chain?"

I clap his shoulder, ushering him towards the cash registers. "Yeah, sure, can we leave now?" Hopefully, that stack lasts him a lifetime and I never have to step foot in here again.

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The mall food court is probably the closest thing I'll ever experience to an active war zone. Crying babies, a sea of hungry bodies, and barely enough breathing room to take two steps without brushing elbows with a stranger. Somehow, in the midst of the chaos, we manage to snag an empty table.

"I love the hot dogs here!" Yujin yells over the noise, setting down his plate of what looks more like a pile of condiments with a side of hot dogs.

"How can you even eat it like that?" I ask.

He's already mid-bite through his dog, hands and face painted a gross orange. "Ech lick wuh?" he says through a mouth full of food.

"I can grab some napkins," Winter offers, but I stop her.

"I got it. You might get lost in this crowd."

I descend into the sea of bodies once again, going in the vague direction of the napkin dispensers. There has to be rules about this or something, most of the people in my way aren't even in a food line. I swear I passed by that same guy from the comic book store openly discussing the "superior ship" in DJ Grizz with five other people, whatever the hell that means. Couldn't find anyone at Nerd Herd to talk to, so you had to do it in the most inconvenient spot ever?

Finally, I make it to the dispensers, taking a moment to catch my breath—and there, right in front of me, is Minji.

"O-oh. Hi," I mumble.

"Yuno." Her lips curl into a smile as our eyes meet. It feels good to be the reason for that. "Hi. I didn't know you would be here."

"Yujin wanted to check out the comic book store," I explain. "What about you?"

"Just shopping with my friends," she replies.

My eyes can't help but scan the brown dress adorning her body, simple yet elegant. I'm convinced she could wear a table cloth and still look better than most supermodels. I still can't believe that this girl likes me.

"I, um, I like you dress," I say with all the suave of a banana peel.

"Really?" Minji beams with delight, smoothing out the wrinkles in the fabric. "I actually just bought this today. Hanni said I should try dressing up on my own terms, so… that's what I'm doing."

"It suits you," I add, "Like the, um, shape and the color go really well with your, uh…" I gesture vaguely in some lame attempt at trying to sound like I know what I'm talking about.

Despite my poor attempt at flirting, she laughs, and that makes everything feel okay. "Thanks, I think I get what you mean."

My hand falls to my side and I feel a small bump in my pocket—the key chain. "Uh, actually, I have something for you."

"Oh?" Minji tilts her head, watching as I produce the DJ Grizz key chain from my pocket. "Aww, that's so cute!"

"I saw it at the comic book store and it reminded me of you. Cuz you like bears. And music." Our hands touch for a brief moment as I hand it to her, leaving little bolts of electricity in my fingertips.

"This was really sweet of you, Yuno. I love it." She holds my little gift to her chest, right on top of her heart. That awkward interaction with greasy ponytail guy suddenly seems worth it.

"Yeah? I'm glad," I utter, pretending as if my insides aren't shooting off a billion fireworks right now.

"It was nice seeing you here, Yuno." She sighs, her lips forming a cute pout. "I should probably head back to my—"

Suddenly, a screaming kid comes out of nowhere, shoving Minji forward. Before I can think, I step in, my arm looping around her waist to catch her. All at once, the noise of the mall dims to a low hum as I find myself a mere hair's width away from her face. I trace over Minji's familiar features—the soft plump of her lips, the almond shape of her eyes, the rounded point of her nose—mesmerized by how someone could look so perfect.

It wouldn't be too hard to kiss her like this. All I'd have to do is lean in and we'd be back to where we were at the banquet. A small moment of bliss before everything went to shit. But we could reclaim that moment, paint that moment over with something new, something beautiful; our first kiss as a something.

All I'd have to do is lean in.

"Huy, come back here!" An irate mother comes stomping after the child, and the moment is over in an instant. Minji backs away, blushing profusely. Her lips tremble like she's forgotten how to smile.

"I should, um, probably get back to my friends," she stutters, gripping the skirt of her dress.

"Y-yeah, go ahead, uh…" I hastily rip a handful of napkins from the dispenser. "I'll, uh, see you around then?"

"Um, maybe—er, yes! Definitely! I mean—" she shakes her head. "I will see you around. Um, bye!"

"B-bye, Minji."

We scamper off in separate directions. Fuck. I have the grace of a snail on a unicycle. All I had to do was talk like a normal person and I couldn't even do that much. Being a something is harder than I thought.

I toss the crumpled pile of napkins onto the table, a low sigh pushing out of my lungs.

"Are you okay?" Winter asks. "You were gone for a while."

"I, uh, got lost."

The two of them seem to buy my lie and leave it at that. Or, they do know something is up but decide not to push me further. Either way, I'm fine with replaying that little moment in my head again and again while they carry on with their own conversation.

Next time, I'm leaning in.

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Minji's POV

I take another lap around the food court to waste time, cradling the bear keychain in my hands while I replay that moment over and over again in my head—his lips were right there. If only there weren't so many people around, I would've dove into them like a thirsty woman into the ocean.

Jesus Minji, get a grip.

Eventually, I head back to my table, where my extended absence doesn't go unnoticed.

"Are you okay?" Danielle asks, eyeing my tomato red cheeks.

"Oh, uh, it's nothing, just a little warm I guess." I quickly hide the keychain in my bag and dig into my greasy plate of Americanized-Chinese food, hoping they don't prod anymore.

Even still, my heart won't stop pounding in my chest. Those "boy crazy" type characters in those old rom-coms always seemed so silly, but I think I get it now. Yuno has those strong arms and that bad boy thing going on, which I hate to admit is painfully attractive, but then he's also so adorably awkward and his hair gets a little fluffy when it's humid, and—

"Yo, Earth to Minji," Hanni says, waving a hand in front of my face. In my enamored stupor, I neglected to notice the four pairs of eyes staring back at me.

"W-what? Is something on my face?"

"Nothing bad," Hyein reassures, "Just a smile."

"A creepy one," Hanni adds.

I shrug. "The food is just, uh, extra tasty today—"

"She's lying," Haerin interjects. She puts a hand up, grabbing our attention, and sniffs the air for a couple moments. "Yuno is here."

"What?! How did you know—" I slap a hand over my mouth, but it's too late. The girls now see me for who I really am: just another "boy crazy" psychopath. Curse that cute face of his.

"Ha! I knew something was up!" Hanni exclaims with a giddy smile. "Dani, you owe me $20!"

"You were placing bets?"

"You were gone for a while," Danielle says, begrudgingly handing $20 to Hanni. "Hanni insisted that it had something to do with Yuno, and I thought she was crazy, but a broken clock is right twice a day I guess."

"This broken clock has 20 more dollars, fool," Hanni chuckles, flaunting her crisp bill.

"What a nice coincidence!" Hyein says. "What did you guys talk about?"

"Uh, y'know, just said hi and stuff." Among other things. "He's here with his friends so I didn't wanna take up too much of his time. Anyway, if we're done eating, shall we go to karaoke now?"

The mall has this one section dedicated to these Korean style karaoke rooms that look near identical to the ones I would go to with my cousins when I visited Korea. We go there so often that the old man who owns the place knows us by name and even gives us a free 40 minutes every time. The place is usually packed with people, but if we call ahead of time, he'll reserve a room for us without fail. It's practically a second home for me, where I can sing my heart out without worrying about what my parents think.

We barely make it five steps away from our table before Hanni elbows my side. "Look, it's your little boo thang," she says, pointing at the "nice coincidence" that's heading in our direction.

I bite back a grin. "He's here with his friends, I don't wanna bother—"

"Dani!" Yujin comes jumping towards Danielle, a paper bag of comic books swinging wildly in his hand. "I didn't know you would be here too!"

And so, our groups intermingle, and I find myself staring straight into Yuno's eyes again.

"Hello. Again," I utter, my face aching as a smile forms on my lips.

"Hey. Again."

The heat comes back to my cheeks tenfold, but I don't care. Hanni can poke fun at me all she wants; she doesn't have a something as exciting as this going on.

"Where are you guys headed to?" I ask.

"I don't know, I think we're just gonna look around. You?"

"We're going to the karaoke place nearby."

"Oh. Cool." His lips curl slightly, and I have to grip my skirt to keep from pulling him into a kiss. God, where's a mint when you need one? "I don't think I've ever heard you sing before."

"Well…" The thought of singing in front of him is both absolutely terrifying and sickeningly adorable. Is it bad that I've already mentally prepared a set list full of songs dedicated to him? Have I actually gone off the deep end?

"Minji!" Hyein calls out. "Can they come to karaoke with us?"

Yuno and I exchange glances. "I mean, I'd hate to butt into your time—"

"I don't wanna get in the way—"

"—Maybe some other time—"

"—I'm not much of a singer anyway—"

"We'd love to," Winter interjects, breaking us out of our endless cycle.

Yuno clears his throat. "I mean, yeah, it sounds like fun."

"Totally." I feel my heart burst from my chest and soar into the clouds above. Things have been going pretty okay lately. Maybe not the best, but I want to hold onto this little piece of happiness for as long as I can.

Yuno and I straggle behind the rest of the group as they head towards the karaoke place. An electric tension dances in the space between us and I'm not sure if I should move away or get closer.

"Minji," Yuno says. The way my name floats past his lips makes my stomach do a somersault.

"Yes?" His face turn the slightest hint of pink as I turn to look at him. So cute.

"Can I, um…" He reaches a shaky hand towards me, and without hesitating, I lace my fingers with his. The electricity in the air concentrates in between our palms, sending a current that runs back and forth between us. I've never felt this feeling before, but I wish it would last forever.

"Is this what you wanted?" I ask.

"Y-yeah, uh… Thanks," he mutters, not quite able to look at me. I can see his cheeks twitch as he tries and fails to suppress a smile and I can't help but laugh.

"You're very welcome," I say, giving his hand an experimental squeeze. I feel him squeeze back. I squeeze again. He squeezes a little harder. Haerin looks back at us with a blank expression. Oh well. Let her look. Let the whole world see how cute and cheesy I am with my something.

There's nothing that could ruin this perfect day.

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It's been a while, but the karaoke room is just as I remember it: a big TV playing old Kpop music videos, a disco ball overhead bathing the room in a rainbow of colors, a box of tambourines and silly hats in the corner, and a lush velvet couch to collapse on after singing your heart out.

With three new additions to our session, the couch is a little snug. I conveniently get squished up next to Yuno after Hanni makes up some lame excuse about wanting to "stretch first" before singing. Not that I necessarily mind—on the tier list of places I'd want to be, sitting right next to Yuno is pretty high on the list.

"Alright, chumps," Hanni says, grabbing the giant remote for the TV. "Who wants to go first?"

The room stays silent. Yuno, Winter, and Yujin exchange nervous glances, while the others flip through the thick book of songs, trying to decide which one to sing first. Right—they've never been to karaoke before. I suddenly feel bad for derailing their day and making them join us just because I wanted to be around Yuno.

Maybe I should go first and break the ice? But what would I even sing? Something popular that everyone knows? I don't even know what kind of music they like. Maybe Disney? No, that might be too cheesy. A ballad, so I can show off a little? But that might make them more nervous if I do too well. How about—

"Ugh, you guys are taking too long." Hanni types in the code for a song, and all of a sudden, a distorted synth starts blaring from the speakers. 'Bang Bang Bang' by Big Bang—a classic of the mid 2010's. Whether you know the song or not, it'll be stuck in your head for a good week after listening to it.

Hanni grabs the mic and jumps around, turning the small karaoke room into her own personal Coachella stage. The room immediately perks up, with everyone cheering her on and bouncing to the music. Even Yuno and his friends look a little more at ease thanks to her shenanigans.

With Hanni kicking things off, it's not long before we get a queue of songs going. Danielle kills it with Britney Spears, Hyein and Haerin do a cute duet to a Disney song, Yujin sings the opening of his favorite anime in near-perfect Japanese. Hanni even gets Winter to sing, and she surprisingly has a really nice voice. (Seriously, is there anything that girl can't do?)

During it all, I can't help but sneak peeks at Yuno, watching him laugh and smile with everyone else. He looks so happy. This boy that's been through so much, that everyone is afraid of based on rushed assumptions, gets to be really and truly happy for once.

I don't care what anyone else thinks. Yuno is my something and I will protect his happiness as if it were my own.

"Minji!" Hyein yells over the music, shoving the remote in my face. "What song do you wanna sing?"

Yuno glances over at me expectantly. This is it. I have to pick something good. A cheesy love song might be too much. Maybe a ballad, but that might kill the mood. Ugh, I don't know, I need to think about this first.

"I'll be right back," I say to Yuno, "I'm gonna get some water real quick."

Besides the muffled sounds of people singing in the other rooms, the hallways are quiet enough to give me a chance to think about my song choice. This is an important one—not only is this my first time singing in front of people outside of my immediate friend group, but this is the first time I'm singing in front of Yuno. It has to be perfect. I shudder at the thought of my voice cracking in front of him. We haven't even been a something for that long, what if he breaks up with me over my lack of vocal talent?

As I round the corner, I suddenly faceplant into someone's chest.

"Oop, sorry, I—"

"Minji?"

I look up—it's that slimeball again.

"Sunghoon," I grimace, "What are you doing here?"

"Just hanging out with some friends." His tone sounds all light and friendly, as if we weren't fighting just days earlier. "Are you here alone? You should come and join us."

"Actually, I'm with my friends, so—"

"Great!" Sunghoon steps in front of me, blocking my path back to my room. "They can come along too. One of my buddies told me he's been eyeing Hanni lately, maybe you can play cupid and introduce them?"

I can barely contain my disgust. "Ugh, no thank you." I try to leave, but he just gets in the way again. With only one exit, my options of escape are becoming very limited.

"C'mon, don't be like that," he says, flashing that greasy smile. "Are you still upset about what I said before? Look, I'm sorry, okay? I've been really stressed out recently, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you. Will you forgive me, please?"

Ugh. Everything about him is so fake, even down to his sorry excuse for an apology. Stress? What 'stress' could he possibly be going through right now? He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, his parents coddle him relentlessly and turn a blind eye to how much of a terror he is, and he actually wants to follow in his father's footsteps instead of secretly harboring a dream that would greatly disappoint his parents if they found out about it.

Sunghoon wouldn't know the meaning of stress even if it was written on the palm of his hand.

"Can you please just let me go?" I say.

He chuckles as if this is all just some big joke to him. "Just one song? I'd love to hear you sing—"

Yuno steps out into the hallways and immediately spots me and Sunghoon. The smile he had just moments ago drops as he clenches his fist by his sides.

"Oh. My. God." Sunghoon looks back and forth between us, a creepy grin growing on his face. "You're fucking kidding me."

Without a word, Yuno gets in between Sunghoon and I, pulling me behind him. Sunghoon chuckles in disbelief.

"Holy shit." His eye twitches like a madman. "I actually can't believe it. You two? Seriously? This is all just fucking hilarious, huh?"

I cling onto Yuno's arm, hoping to calm him down before he gets pushed too far.

"Tell me your secret, man." He jabs a finger against Yuno's shoulder. "How'd you bag that? C'mon. Man to man. I can keep a secret, just whisper it into my ear."

Sunghoon's entourage, noticing the commotion, starts pooling into the hallway, and all of a sudden, there's a whole audience here to bear witness Sunghoon's hysterical ramblings. I feel Yuno tense up. Don't. Please don't.

"Let her through," Yuno utters calmly.

"Why? Am I interrupting your little duet here?" Sunghoon laughs to himself. "How about this: why don't you sing us a little song and I'll let you through? That's fair, right? We're at karaoke after all." His entourage chuckles in agreement. Some of them have their phones out, recording this whole interaction as if it'll go viral or something. I'm sick of it. I want to go home.

Yuno tries to step past him, but Sunghoon just gets in the way. "Woah, hold on, we didn't get our song yet. Ah, my bad, maybe you just need a little encouragement!" He starts clapping and hollering, and the other boys follow along like their audience members to a show. People from other rooms begin to peak their heads out, wondering what all the noise is about.

I take Yuno's hand and squeeze it. "Just ignore him," I murmur. His expression doesn't change, but I feel him relax under my touch.

Sunghoon's face darkens at the sight of us holding hands. "You nervous, Yuno? You need someone to hold your fucking hand for you like a god damn fucking baby?" He laughs in his face and tries to push him, but Yuno doesn't budge.

"Move. Please," Yuno mutters.

"Aww, look at that! The gorilla has manners!" Sunghoon's entourage dissolves into a fit of obnoxious laughter. The noise is getting too much. All I wanna do is run away and forget this whole thing ever happened.

Yuno's eyes soften as he looks at me. He gives my hand a gentle squeeze before forcefully pushing past Sunghoon.

"Hey, don't be such a fucking buzzkill!" Sunghoon screams after us. "It's not like your fucking drunk of a father is dead yet!"

Both of us freeze in our tracks. Yuno shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. Maybe I could learn a thing or two from him about keeping my cool, because before I know it, I'm stomping towards Sunghoon with a vengeance.

"What is wrong with you?!" I push him with everything I have. He barely stumbles back, but that flicker of shock in his eyes is enough for me. "Why can't you just leave us alone, you jerk?!"

"Relax, I'm just messing around," he says, flashing that snide smirk of his. "Look at him, you think a couple words could hurt him? Stick and stones, am I right, Yuno?"

I don't believe violence ever being an answer, but I've never wanted to punch someone as much as I do now. "God, you're such—such an asshole!"

"Yo, chill out." One of his friends pushes me back. "Seriously, we're just—AUGH!"

In an instant, the boy crumples to the ground, clutching his now bloody nose. The hallway goes silent as if all the air had been ripped out, leaving nothing but the sound of Yuno's heavy breathing.

The look of death in his eyes makes my spine shiver. He's almost indiscernible to the guy that shyly gave me the bear keychain, or the guy that was smiling with his friends during karaoke.

"Yuno," I mutter, worry in my voice.

A wave of guilt suddenly washes over him as he looks at his hand, dotted red with blood, as if it isn't his own. "S-shit… I—"

"Hey, hey! No fighting!" The owner comes rushing in and grabs the back of Yuno's collar. "All of you, out! Or I call police!"

The audience starts to clamor for the exit, but Sunghoon lingers behind for a moment, relishing in his 'victory'. "I hope you had your fun, Minji. Don't say I didn't try to warn you." He chuckles to himself as he walks off.

"Minji?" Yujin and the others peek out of the room, watching with confusion as the owner drags Yuno away. "What's going on? Did something happen to Yuno?"

"I-I…" I stammer, my mind still reeling from everything that just happened. Right before Yuno gets tossed out, he turns back and mouths one last thing: I'm sorry. "I-I don't—"

"Minji, don't invite bad guy," the owner says, wiping his hands like he just threw out the trash. "Bad guy is bad for business. I don't want to see him again."

"B-but…" But he's not a bad guy. He was just protecting me. He made a mistake.

But the words die in my throat, along with the hope I had for a perfect day.

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Yujin and Winter left shortly after to check on Yuno. I know I should've went with them, but this ball of anxiety that's been festering in my stomach kept yelling at me to get home as soon as possible.

That whole thing was recorded. And knowing Sunghoon, it's only a matter of time before he sends it to my parents. Who knows what they'll do after that. I'm screwed.

Danielle drops me off, but I practically sprint towards the front door, praying for even the smallest chance that I still had time to fix this somehow.

But, it's too late. The grave look on my parents' faces as they wait for me in the living room is answer enough. I gulp and step inside.

"Um, I'm home," I mutter, trying to mask my nervousness.

"Sit down," Father commands. My legs turn to jelly as I sink onto the couch facing him. Mother's gaze stays on the floor, as if she's too disgusted to look at me.

"What is this?" He turns his phone towards me, showing me what I had feared most—the video of Yuno punching that boy in the face. Next to him is me, clear as day. There's no lying out of this one.

"Um…" I suck in a deep breath. "I can explain—"

"I specifically remember you telling us that you would be going to the library to study." His voice is still, but it's enough to make my skin crawl. "This doesn't look like the library, Minji."

"I-I know, I'm sorry, I…" It's impossible to get the words. They're clogged in the back of my throat, choking me slowly and painfully.

"We took pity on that boy, but that was not permission for you to go ahead and fool around with him, let alone lie to us about it!" Mother interjects. "Seriously, Minji, are you even thinking?! He could've seriously hurt Sunghoon, and then what?!"

I gulp. "I-It's not like that, Yuno was just trying to protect me—"

"How can we trust you?" Father's words are like knives to my chest. "You lied to us about where you were going, how do we know that you're not lying about this? How can we know for sure that what you say is the truth? Hm?"

I clam up. The walls start to close in, confining me to where I sit and making it harder to breathe. My heart batters against my ribcage like a prisoner begging to be set free, to be heard by its captors. It has so much to explain, the truth is desperate to be said.

But he's right—how can I be trusted anymore? All these little white lies have compounded up to this point like an Everest of my own hubris. After all this time, did I even need to lie? Would things have been better if I had just been honest from the start? Would my parents have listened if I tried?

"We're pulling you out of Evergreen for the remainder of the year," Father says.

"You—What?!" My whole high school career flashes before my eyes—my friends, my student council experiences, Yuno—all I can do is sit there, frozen, while it's ripped away from me.

"You will be here, in this house, everyday, working with the best tutors we can find," Father continues, his soulless eyes staring back at me. "If you succeed and if you can prove to us that you can be trustworthy, only then will we consider giving you back your privileges."

"But that's—!" That's not life, that's imprisonment! I'd be stuck in here against my will for God knows how long!

"No 'buts', Minji!" Mother all but yells. "You brought this upon yourself! At every turn, you've defied our instructions, and for what? That boy?"

The way she constantly skirts around his name makes my blood boil. His name is Yuno. He's sweet and kind and tries everyday to be better. Despite what life has given him, despite the mistakes he makes, despite what other people think of him, he still tries. And that's more than I can say about my parents.

"We're only doing what's best for you," Father says. "Now, hand over your phone."

"No." It comes out before I can even think to stop it.

Father creases his brow. "Minji."

"No!" This one comes out a little louder. It's too late to go back now. "I-I'm not doing this anymore."

"Minji! You're being childish!" Mother adds. I grip the skirt of my dress and take a deep breath. I need to be heard, even if it kills me.

"I admit it, I lied. I lied about a lot of things, like going to the library when I'm really hanging out with my friends." Their eyes widen and lips twitch like they're revving up to scold me again, but I continue on. "But how can I not lie when you two don't let me have a social life? My entire life has been nothing but academics and being told what I can and can't do. 'Take these classes', 'Don't talk to that person', 'Focus on your studies', it's suffocating."

"Minji," Father huffs as if he's holding back his anger, "A social life at your age is a distraction. How are you expected to be the best when—"

"I don't want to be the best!" It barely registers that I've shot up to my feet. The height is almost dizzying. "I've done anything and everything you two have ever asked of me! My transcript is perfect, I'm ranked first in the entire school, I won the vote for student council president in a landslide! And yet, the second I do something for myself, the second I try to live a normal life, you want to take that away from me?! Are you… insane?!"

I almost regret my choice of words as Mother suddenly towers over me, glaring straight into my soul. Despite my shaky breathing, I don't dare look away. "How dare you?! That is no way to speak to your parents!"

"And you think this is an acceptable way to treat your own daughter?" I bite back. If I'm going down, I'm going down swinging. "Taking away my phone and keeping my locked up in here every day is your idea of good parenting? Thank God you two didn't have a third child!"

A vein pops on my mother's forehead. I fear I may have taken it a little too far. "I-I didn't mean—"

"You…!" She jabs a finger at me, her nail like a blade against my chest. "You ungrateful little—!"

"Enough!" Father pulls her back, keeping her from doing whatever it is that she was going to do. "Minji, go to your room."

I stomp up the stairs and slam the door shut behind me. My body lingers by the door, unable to move towards the comforting safety of my mattress. All I can do is wait.

Wait until the fire leaves my lungs, until the sound of my own thoughts isn't so deafening. By then, the sun had set, clouding my room in shadows. I collapse to the floor and the tears start to fall like a sudden downpour. All the anger and emotions have drained from my body, and all that's left is the heavy weight of exhaustion.

I yelled at my parents. I said some things I shouldn't have. I've likely doomed myself to an even bleaker punishment to the one they already proposed. But at least it's all out of my system. Everything that I've kept bottled inside now stains the walls of this house, unavoidable and inescapable.

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Yuno's POV

"Oh, I know this one!" my dad exclaims, mouth full of the hospital's chocolate pudding. "It's coconut shrimp!"

One of the contestants on the TV buzzes in. "What is 'coconut shrimp'?" she answers. A nice 200 points is added to her score.

"I could totally win if I was on this show," Dad boasts as he shovels the last bits of pudding into his mouth. My cup stays uneaten. Pudding has never really looked that appetizing to me, let alone on today of all days.

"Something on your mind?" he asks.

"Uh… it's nothing." I quickly brush it off. "How're you feeling?"

He sets the empty cup down on his tray and pauses the TV. "Eh, ups and downs, but I'm feeling more up lately. Doctor says I should be good to go by tomorrow," he grins.

"That's good."

"I have to say, I will miss the hospital food. Three warm meals a day, and I don't have to move a muscle? I should get sick more often," he chuckles. "Sorry, bad joke."

I offer him a small chuckle and hand him my untouched pudding cup. "I can cook more at home. If you want."

He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. I like cooking, gives me something to do." Dad tears off the lid and brings a spoonful of pudding to his mouth, but stops. "I used to make lunches for your mom, way back when. She was always so busy with nursing school, and even busier when she first joined her residency program. I'd get all fancy with the recipes, and maybe they didn't always turn out great, but my favorite part was hearing all her notes of what she liked and didn't like."

His eyes turn glassy, but the smile on his face stops any tears from falling. "What did you do when she didn't like what you made?" I ask.

"I mean, it didn't feel great knowing that I made something she didn't end up enjoying," he explains, "but, to her, it wasn't the end result that mattered. She just appreciated the fact that I was putting in the effort to be better, that I truly listened to her notes. I'm no Michelin star chef, but I'd like to think I got the hang of it thanks to her."

The effort to be better. He makes it sound so simple—just do better. But how can I really be better if I keep making these same mistakes over and over again? How do I unlearn the habits I've survived with for years?

My dad gently squeezes my shoulder. "You alright, Yuno?" I meet his eyes, and all the tension I've been holding in leaves my body, dissipating into the air like smoke.

"I just… I feel like no matter how much effort I put into being better, I make one mistake and all that effort is wasted."

He takes a breath, letting my words seep in. "Yuno, I've made more mistakes in this lifetime than you can even imagine. And I can't take back those mistakes, no matter how much I want to," a flash of guilt passes his face, but he continues, "In spite of those mistakes, what keeps pushing me forward is the people around me, the people that I love and care about. I want to be better for them, and yeah, I'll make even more mistakes along the way, but I know that not a single ounce of my effort is being wasted if it's for the people I love."

Man—when did this guy become a philosopher? "Thanks, that's… wow."

My dad chuckles. "I know, right? Can you believe I thought of that just now?"

For once, I let myself laugh freely. There was a time not too long ago when I thought a conversation like this with my dad wouldn't be possible. Even after going through all the shit that fate has thrown at me, the highs like these make it all worth it.

I want to be better—a better son, a better friend, a better something. I'll undoubtedly trip and fall and make a huge mess of things, but if I get to live more days like this with the people I care about it, then I'll strive to be better even if it kills me.

Dad unpauses the TV and goes back to enjoying his pudding. "Y'know, I can change the channel if you want. The catalogue on this thing is endless."

I lay back in my seat, feeling as light as a feather. "It's okay. Things are fine the way they are."

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Minji's POV

I wake up to the afternoon sun poking at my eyelids. My limbs feel like cinderblocks as I try to pull my covers off me.

Unused to waking up so late, my whole body feels downright awful despite the extra hours of sleep. How do people function like this? Half the day is already gone by the time I produce my first coherent thought. After that whole shouting match with my parents, I'm not sure if I even want to do anything.

My phone is full of notifications, but only one catches my eye:

Mother: Your father and I will be out until later tonight.

I scoff audibly. The first time I vocalize my truth and they just want to avoid the consequences completely. I wouldn't be surprised if they all of a sudden have an "emergency business trip" they have to get to and leave me alone for another six months. Maybe I'd finally have some peace of mind that way.

Whatever. There's no use moping around. I leave my phone on my nightstand and grab a hoodie, aiming to wander outside for a couple hours until all my problems are magically solved.

Thankfully, unlike all those cliche movie scenes where it rains furiously after the main character has an already terrible day, the weather is actually pretty nice today. It's hard to be all mopey and depressed when you're underneath a cloudless blue sky and the sun is feeding you vitamin D straight into your skin.

Still, I can't help but linger back on last night's argument. Replaying scenes in my head, thinking up different rebuttals and assuming different responses. It's ultimately futile, but it does reinforce the fact that I finally let them know how I feel. Maybe I could've gone about it in a better way, but what's done is done. I just have to hope that they'll come around eventually.

It would be such a shame if I spent the entire school year stressing about prom, only to be pulled out and imprisoned in my house before I had the chance to enjoy it. I'm sure Hanni and the others would think of some elaborate plan to sneak me out, no doubt involving a body double and a fake pizza delivery. Knowing Hanni, she'd probably find a way to get Yuno to pick me up on horseback like some kind of old fairy tale. I smile at the thought. He would look good on a horse…

Ugh, I shouldn't have left my phone at home. With everything that happened, I haven't had a chance to text him. I need to let him know that none of this is his fault, that I hope he's okay, and—

A pang of hunger hits my stomach, making it rumble like a monster truck. Right—I haven't eaten all day. My need for food unfortunately trumps my need for Yuno as my feet lead me to the nearest convenience store.

As soon as I walk in, I'm greeted with Winter, sweeping the floors.

"Minji!" she says, her eyes lighting up for a moment before noticing my bedraggled state. "Um, are you okay?"

"Eh, I could be better." I wrap an arm around my stomach to keep it from rumbling again. "Starving, actually."

"I just restocked our egg sandwiches if you would like one," she offers. "They're… decent."

"I would love that, honestly." Anything sounds preferable to starvation. "And, uh, Winter?"

She pauses, looking back at me.

"If you have time, do you think we could talk for a bit?"

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Winter was right—these egg sandwiches are decent.

A breeze blows past us as I munch my breakfast/lunch/dinner, which she adamantly gave me for free despite my numerous attempts at paying for it. She doesn't look it, but she's surprisingly stubborn.

"Have you talked to Yuno since yesterday?" I ask.

"Yeah, he explained everything that happened with Sunghoon back at the karaoke place," she says. "I'm sorry we ended up ruining karaoke with your friends."

"No, no, it wasn't your fault at all." I tear a piece of the crust off and squeeze it between my thumb and index finger. "It was that stupid slimeball's fault. Ugh."

"Are you okay?"

"Uh… I think so." I toss the smushed piece of crust into my mouth. It tastes like bread. "I got into an argument with my parents last night."

"Oh, I'm so sorry that happened. It must've been hard," she offers.

"In hindsight, it's probably good that it happened. I finally let them know everything I've been keeping bottled up for years. Still not a great feeling, but I'm… lighter, I guess."

"I've never met your parents, so I can only go off what Yuno has told me. They sound very, uh… strict."

I almost laugh. "That's putting it lightly." I finish off my sandwich and wipe the crumbs off my hands. "After learning that I had lied about going to the library, they threatened to take me out of Evergreen and force me into homeschooling for the rest of the year."

"Oh my god!" she gasps. I forget that other people's parents aren't as comically deranged as mine.

"I don't think they're gonna go through with it now," I say. "They're probably gonna drown in their work as an excuse to distance themselves from me. Tsk. I'm like this because of them. Shouldn't they at least answer for it?"

Winter gives me solace in the form of a soft pat on the shoulder. It feels bad, trauma dumping on her out of the blue, but I'm a broken faucet at this point. I could fill buckets upon buckets worth of repressed childhood trauma and still have more leftover to spare.

"Sorry for throwing all of this on you, Winter," I say, rubbing my palms against my eyes.

"Hey, it's okay," she soothes. "I can't even begin to imagine what you're going through, but I'm more than willing to lend an ear if you need one."

I smile at her. "Thanks. That really means a lot." And to think, I used to be jealous of her. Shame on you, Minji. Shame.

"So, what are you gonna do now?"

"I… am not sure," I sigh, peeling a splinter off of the picnic table.

"How about, what do you want to do?" she asks.

I ponder for a long moment. Rarely do I ever get asked what I want to do. For my whole life, it's been 'do this, do that' without consideration for my own feelings.

"I want to hang out with my friends and have a social life without having to hide it. I want to pursue music without feeling like a disappointment to my parents. And I want to be with Yuno without people inserting their own opinions into our relationship." I face Winter. "Sounds pretty impossible, right?" I utter dryly.

"I think that sounds perfectly possible, Minji," she says with a smile. It's hard not to feel optimistic at that. I take a breath, letting the tension leave my body, and pull her into a hug.

"Thanks for listening, Winter," I murmur.

"Happy I could help."

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Monday comes around. I'm getting ready for school when I hear a knock on my door.

"Breakfast is ready," she says. It's the first thing she's said to me since our argument. I'm not naive enough to expect an apology from them, the utterance of three words like she's reading off a script is more off putting than her usual heat.

When I arrive downstairs, Father is busy taking a call in the living room while Mother tends to the dishes. Neither of them really acknowledge my presence aside from a vague gesture towards the Spanish omelette sitting on the dining table. Fine, be that way. If they don't want to talk, I won't force them.

I pick at my food in silence, unable to stomach my breakfast with all this tense silence. Part of me wants to come out the gate swinging, reigniting our whole shouting match, but I'm just so tired. I—We can't keep on living like this unless something changes.

Somehow, I finish my omelette and place my dishes in the sink. Before I can even attempt to clean them, my mother stops me. "Don't worry about it," she says, "Go, or you'll be late for school."

I take a breath. "Okay."

As I move through the living room towards the front door, I'm stopped again, this time by my father. "Would you like a ride to school? It looks like it might rain," he offers.

I glance outside—light gray clouds are loosely scattered across the sky with patches of pristine blue peaking through. "I think I'll be fine," I dismiss.

"Wait." He rummages through the coat closet and produces an umbrella. "Just in case," he says as he hands it to me.

"Oh. Thank you."

"Have a good day at school, Minji." I can see it written all over his face—remorse.

I nod. "Good bye, Father."

A breath I didn't know I was holding finally escapes my lungs as I step outside. The smell of last night's rain hits my nose. Is it too optimistic to say that it smells like new beginnings? I've known my parents my entire life, experiencing first-hand the rigidity of their ways. It would be foolish to think they can change overnight, maybe even at all. But if they truly cared about me, then they would at least try to be better. I'd like to think that this morning, as awkward as it was, was the first hint of them trying. It's not much, but it's a start.

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I always found it funny how Monday acts as a reset of sorts. Not in a bad way—just odd.

My life practically turned upside down over the weekend, and yet, I still find myself settling into familiar patterns as I walk through campus. Students and teachers greeting me as I walk past, student council members sending me updates, the lighthearted discussions of past weekend activities among friend groups. It's all very grounding—no matter what happens, the Earth will keep turning, so all I can do is make the most out of my time.

As I round the corner towards the student council room, I suddenly freeze—Sunghoon and his parents are heading in the direction of the Principal's office. That slimeball notices me looking and shoots me a smirk that makes me sick to my stomach.

I have to do something. But what? The Parks have never listened to me before when I told them about Sunghoon's wrongdoings, why would they suddenly believe me now? No doubt he's shown them that stupid video by now, conveniently leaving out all the horrible things he said to Yuno.

Dread fills my lungs like smoke, making it hard to breath. How am I supposed to help Yuno?

"Good morning, Minji," Danielle greets. As she notices my expression, her brows furrow with concern. "What happened?"

"Sunghoon and his parents are here," I explain. "I think they're going to get Yuno expelled for the video."

"What? But Yuno didn't even touch him, why would Sunghoon get involved?" she asks.

"Because he's hated Yuno from the start. Because he's hated me from the start." I pace back and forth in frustration, my mind racing for a solution. "Danielle, what do I do?"

"Just breathe, alright?" She ponders for a moment, forehead creased in deep concentration. Suddenly, she whips out her phone and frantically punches in a phone number. "The karaoke room should have security cameras, right?"

"I-I think so."

"If I can convince the owner to send us the footage from that day, we might have a chance keeping Yuno from getting expelled."

There it is—an inkling of hope. "You really think he'll just hand over the footage like that?"

She pats my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Don't worry about it. Just let me handle it, okay?"

I take a deep breath, waiting anxiously as the phone rings.

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Yuno's POV

I've witnessed and even gotten used to the iciness that Minji's parents often display towards me, all thinly veiled behind lifeless smiles and passive-aggressive comments. Sunghoon's parents, however, made them look like mere snowflakes next to a raging blizzard.

With back straight and eyes sharpened, the two of them glare at Geier as he watches and re-watches the incriminating video of me punching one of Sunghoon's lackeys. In all my fuckups, I have never seen Geier so speechless as he tries to conjure up some rationale that would keep me from being expelled.

"As you can see here," Mrs. Park speaks, "Yuno Lin blatantly assaulted one of our son's friends. All he wanted to do was enjoy a weekend at the karaoke rooms, and yet, he was attacked for no reason."

I try to defend myself. "It wasn't for no reason—"

"Pray tell, what could have our Sunghoon possibly done that would've warranted such violence?" Mrs. Park shoots back, glaring furiously.

A hint of a smirk catches on Sunghoon's face. I dig my fingernails into my palm to keep me from making another decision I'll regret. "That guy put his hands on Minji—"

"Minji? Sunghoon and Minji are friends, and they have been since they were children. Who are you to police their dynamic?"

Fucking hell. It's impossible to get a word in with this woman.

"Everyone, please," Geier says in a shaky attempt at a soothing tone. "I understand tensions are high, but we need to stay calm in order to keep this conversation productive, alright?"

Mr. Park ignores him, slapping a manila folder onto Geier's desk. "After the incident, we did some digging into Yuno's background and found a long history of school violence. And yet you, as principal of this school, have continued to enable him, thus putting your students in harm's way."

Geier opens his mouth, but no words come out. He doesn't even have to open the folder; he knows that he's right.

"Now, we can do this the hard way and I can sue you for criminal negligence of these students," Mr. Park threatens, "or you can do right by your students and expel Yuno Lin."

A sinking feeling in my stomach eats me up from the inside. All of my mistakes have finally caught up to me, and not even Geier can pull me out of this mess.

Sunghoon did it. He won.

"Wait!"

Minji barges into the room, panting heavily. "Yuno is innocent!"

Mr. and Mrs. Park look at her incredulously; Sunghoon gazes at her in panic.

"What is the meaning of this?" Mrs. Park asks.

"Yeah, Minji." Sunghoon rises up to meet her. "What are you doing here?"

I almost jump out of my seat, but Minji shoves him aside and gives her phone to his parents. "Look. See for yourself the kind of person that your son really is."

"W-wait—!"

On the phone, security camera footage from that day at the karaoke plays, revealing everything that led up to the altercation. Sunghoon stands frozen in shock as all the insults he hurled at me can be heard loud and clear—including the one he said about my dad.

"Sunghoon!" Mrs. Park gasps, unable to fully grasp that her 'pride and joy' could say such horrible things. I bite back a grin seeing Sunghoon stand there like a deer in headlights. They continue watching up until the point where I punched that guy.

"See?" Minji says. "Yuno only stepped in after that guy put his hands on me. I don't agree with what he did, but he was only trying to protect me." She meets my eyes, determination swelling within them.

Mr. and Mrs. Park are rendered speechless, still trying to come to terms to reality. Minji continues, "Sunghoon has been this awful since we were kids. He was nothing but a bully to me, always ripping up my drawings and making fun of me and harassing me to no end."

Minji glares at Sunghoon with that same iciness that her parents aim at me. "Not once has he acted like a real friend towards me."

My spine shivers the same way it did when I first met her parents. I guess it runs in the family.

"Minji dear, I am so sorry," Mrs. Park says, trying to diffuse the situation, "We had no idea—"

"If Sunghoon ever bothers me or my boyfriend—"Boyfriend?"—ever again, I will personally ensure that the partnership between our families falls through."

"No need to make such rash decisions." Mr. Park smiles apologetically before firmly grasping Sunghoon's shoulder. I swear he winces a bit. "We will have a very stern talk with Sunghoon about his behavior. I guarantee that he won't be a nuisance to you or your, um, boyfriend ever again. Now, apologize," he commands Sunghoon.

"I-I'm sorry, Minji," he mutters like a little boy getting scolded. God, I wish I was recording this right now.

Geier clears his throat, reminding everyone that the office is still his. "About Yuno's punishment, he will serve one—no, two months of after school detention where I will personally observe him and make sure that he harms no other student as long as he is in this school," he states.

Mr. and Mrs. Park share a glance at each other before nodding. "We can agree to those terms," Mr. Park says. "Please, excuse us." The two of them drag Sunghoon away, taking away the frigid tension that they had brought with them.

Minji and I look at each other, and smile. Sunghoon is gone. My name is cleared. I'm not expelled. Finally—we won.

"That was, uh… really something, Ms. Kim," Geier says, tossing the manila folder into the trash bin. "So, you two are…?"

"Yeah," Minji says without hesitation. "We are." If Geier wasn't here, I'd kiss her right now.

"That's great." He grins at us, which only makes me feel awkward at the fact that our principal of all people now knows about our relationship. "If you'll excuse us, Ms. Kim, I'd like to speak to Yuno alone for a bit."

"Of course." Minji leaves the room, not before giving me a cute little wave that makes my cheeks swell with a smile. Of course, the smile drops from my face as soon as I'm alone with Geier.

He sits back in his chair, letting out a long, exhausted sigh. I can't help but feel bad for the guy. He's had to deal with me for years and all of it nearly went to shit today. "Uh, I'm sorry about all of that. And for everything that I did before that. Probably wasn't easy dealing with my shi—uh, issues on top of being principal and everything," I utter.

Geier looks at me and snickers. "You've really turned over a new leaf, Yuno. I bet I have Minji to thank for that."

"Uh, yeah probably," I admit sheepishly.

"A woman willing to barge in here and defend you like that is a woman worth keeping around," he says. "Be good to her."

"I, uh, plan on it."

"Good. Now get out of here. I don't wanna see your face until graduation," he says, waving me off.

I start to gather my things, but pause. "What about detention—"

"Just go."

I skip out of his office, catching Minji waiting for me in the hallway. She approaches me, eyes wide with worry.

"What happened? What did he say to you?" she asks.

"Just, uh, y'know, principal things. Nothing bad," I assure her.

She breathes a sigh of relief, sliding down to the floor. "Thank God, I was worried he might've taken back his decision or something."

"He can't get rid of me that easily." I sit down next to her, our shoulders brushing together. "Thanks for saving me back there. You were really cool."

Minji giggles, her cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink. "You should thank Danielle. She's the one who convinced the owner of the karaoke place to send us the footage. She even got you unbanned."

"Danielle? Really?" My brow shoots up in confusion. "I thought she hated me or something."

"Maybe you're more likable than you think," she grins.

Meekly, I offer my hand to her and she takes it, filling in the gaps between my fingers with her own. I squeeze. She squeezes back. I squeeze a little harder. She tries to crush my hand with a smile on her face. This cheesy couple-y shit rules.

"Back there," I say, "you called me your boyfriend."

Minji gazes into my eyes with a softness I've never known. "Yeah, well, you are. Right?"

"Yeah. It just… felt nice to hear you say it." My ears grow warm at the thought. Our something isn't just a something anymore. I'm officially Minji's boyfriend. It's not just a simple change in title. To me, it means everything.

It means I really have to be better now.

"Look, I'm sorry for always dragging you into these messes and for making you worry so much," I murmur. "I promise that I'll do my best to be better. I know I've said it a thousand times already, but I—"

It passes by in just a flash, but the tingling feeling of electricity lingers on my cheek like a tattoo. She kissed my cheek.

"You can make it up to me," the most gorgeous smile dances across her lips, "by taking me out. On a date."

"Y-yeah?" I stutter, still barely processing the kiss. "Uh, w-what do you, um, what do you wanna do?"

"Surprise me," she giggles. "I have to get to class, but I'll talk to you later?"

"Y-yeah, definitely."

Minji skips away, and as soon as she leaves my vision, I collapse onto the ground like a lovestruck pile of goop.

“How the hell are you tying all these? I can barely get one done, and then I look over, and I see you tossing one after another.” Asa asked as she tried her best to tie the used condom she was holding onto. 

“So what you’re saying is, I’m better with my hands,” Rei replied, stifling a small chuckle. The older woman was referring to a conversation they had been having throughout the day. 

“Whoa, don’t get ahead of yourself. I never said that.” Asa said, still struggling to tie off the condoms. She was growing more frustrated every time she looked over and saw Rei toss another onto the bed. 

Asa had about ten sitting on her lap while Rei only had two left. The pair had been draining people all night long, and during their small break, they had decided to tie each condom they would use as part of their outfit, or lack thereof. After so many rounds, Asa and Rei had long since given up wearing their masseuse uniforms. Now they waited on the edge of the bed, their bodies slick and glistening from the oil they had used. The only part that remained on them was the thigh straps. Asa looked over once more to see Rei hard at work tying each condom around that strap. It was an erotic sight even for Asa. It showed off Rei’s prowess; each one was practically filled to the brim, and Asa had watched each one get filled up. 

It was only a matter of time before Rei finished decorating her thigh strap with her trophies and began helping Asa with hers. “How are you so good at this?”

“Tell me I’m better and I will.” 

Asa huffed; there was absolutely no way she was going to give Rei credit and tell the older woman she was better with her hands. Asa had too much pride in her work. Even if Rei was better, there was no way she would tell her that. 

Rei laughed as she continued working on Asa’s condoms. She loved annoying Asa and making her flustered. “You could just end this all and tell me what I want to hear.”

“Never,” Asa said adamantly. The pair broke into a laugh; they were tired after a long shift. They wanted nothing more than to finish up, shower, and then get some nice sleep in their beds. 

“There we go; now just tie them around the strap.” A familiar ring told the pair that their next customer was approaching.

“Shit,” Asa was trying her best to tie the used condoms around her thigh strap, but much like with tying them off, she was struggling. 

Rei couldn’t help but crack a smile. “I’ll start them off; you just take care of that…unless,”

“Not happening.” Rei giggled as she walked forward, shutting the sliding door in front of Asa. “Really? I’m only going to be like a minute.”

“We’ll see.” Rei brushed down her hair as she took a deep breath. “You just stay back there until you finish up.” 

The room Rei and Asa had chosen for their night of work was split into two sections; the first, where Rei currently stood, looked like a massage parlor. That had been their gimmick, one that at this point had fallen to the wayside as they got tired of dressing and undressing themselves. Rei made sure the massage table was dry and ready for the customer. A thought flashed through her mind, though. She could just plop herself on it and start fingering herself. When you walked in, she’d be caught, and then you could just move on to sex. Rei waved the thought away. She had a job to do, plus with Asa busy in the back, it would give her a chance to use her skills. The older Japanese woman smiled to herself. If she could get you to cum before Asa came out, it would drive the younger woman mad.

Rei had her plan now. She stood in front of the door, rubbing her slick thighs together as she waited for you to appear. “Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up,” she thought to herself. As soon as the door opened and she saw you standing on the other side, she pressed herself against you. “I’ve been waiting for you, mister.” She said, a slight teasing tone in her voice as she pulled you inside. “You really kept me waiting. The table is all set. I just need you to strip out of those clothes, and then we can get started.” You do as she commands, your eyes never leaving her body. You had expected her to be in some sort of uniform, but to see Rei in her birthday suit the moment you came in was something you weren’t going to complain about. You hadn’t even noticed that Asa was missing. You kept looking at Rei’s tits, the soft mounds looking even better considering they were covered in a light layer of oil and sweat. “Now up on the massage table while I get something.” 

You climbed up on the table as she asked, and watched Rei make her way to the nearby counter, your eyes sliding down her pale body until you reached the full round globes of her backside. Your cock twitched at the sight, your heartbeat quickening as Rei turned around, a wide grin on her face as she coated her hands in the massage oil. “You need to do your best to relax. Your whole body is so tense.” Rei giggles as she stands beside you. She places a hand on your arm. “Do you want me to start here?” Her hand moves along to your chest. “Or here?” Rei’s hand continues lower, down your stomach until she reaches the base of your cock. “Or do you want me to start here?” You twitch in her hand, drawing a giggle from the Japanese woman. “Oh, I guess this is where you want it. Well, don’t worry. I’ll take great care of you until my colleague gets here.” 

On the other side of the door, Asa was still struggling with the condoms. “Son of a bitch,” she mumbled to herself, fingers fumbling as she rushed her efforts. She knew exactly what Rei was doing. “No way, I’m going to let her do this,” Asa said. Now that she was in a rush, it seemed like Asa’s hands didn’t want to cooperate with her at all. “Fuck, son of a…” Asa’s struggles seemed to multiply the more she tried to do things quickly. It was giving Rei ample time to work you over. 

You were putty in her hands; Rei wasn’t even trying, but she had you moaning constantly. Her soft, gentle hands moved one over the other as she moved them down along your shaft. It was a constant stream. “That’s it; let all that stress melt away. You know I can’t do this to everyone.” Rei leans in, getting by your ear as she whispers, “I can only do this to guys with really big cocks. It’s turning me on. Do you mind if I give it a quick taste?”

“N-no, please,” you groan. 

Rei smiled and paused, her grip tightening around the base as she inched her lips closer to your slick cock. You watch as she takes a deep whiff, exhaling slowly before wrapping her lips around the tip. Rei’s skilled tongue circles you slowly; her hand begins to move along the remaining part of your shaft. You moan louder than before, the pleasure getting to you. Rei stops before you near your climax, however. She drags her tongue over the center of your cock once more before leaving you. “You go awfully close there,” she says sweetly. “ You saw these, right?” Rei flashes the used condoms tied around her thigh strap, the various colors swinging as she does so. “I want to save them all for a nice big drink at the end of the night. So I’m going to need to put one on you. You don’t mind, do you? A girl needs a nice drink at the end of the night, and I have a special way of putting it on.”

You shake your head quickly. “I-I don’t mind.”  You watch as Rei goes over to the table. She rips open one of the condoms and carefully places it between her lips. She hurries back, trying to hold her smile back as her hands grasp your cock again. The Japanese woman continues where she left off, hand over hand moving across your length. She can feel your cock throbbing, and Rei can’t hide her smile any longer. She leans down and swallows your cock, the condom stretching over it as she moves down your length. She holds the base in place, making sure it doesn’t move an inch. You hit the back of her throat eventually; the pleasure overwhelms you, and you cum. You feel Rei’s hand massaging your balls, her hand gently cupping them, giving them small squeezes as she keeps her lips sealed around your cock. When you finally come down from your high, Rei pulls you out of her mouth. Saliva drips from the corner of her lips.

Asa slides the door open, witnessing the finale of Rei’s act. “There we are.” Her hand moves across your shaft, milking you of the last remaining drops. “I hope you have more to give me; we still have a lot of condoms.” The younger woman’s head dropped for a moment; she was too late. “Ah, who do we have here? Finally ready to join us, Asa?” You turn your head to your other partner for the night. Asa had the same attire, or lack thereof, as Rei. You hungrily look her over; her perky tits glistened from the layers of oil she had used throughout the night. Your eyes move downward, noting her hairless cunt and puffy lips. Rei can feel your cock twitch in her hand. “Oh, looks like someone is excited to have another partner. Do you want to take this one, Asa?” 

The situation amused Rei. By the look in the younger woman’s eyes, she could see Asa needed to let out some of her frustrations. It made her feel giddy; she just loved when a plan came together. Annoying her juniors was something Rei took pride in. She watched as her coworker grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the massage table. “Follow me, now.” Rei did her best to stifle a chuckle; it was always funny to her how Asa handled her frustration. Rei leaned against the massage table, watching as Asa dragged you onto the bed and immediately straddled you. “Aren’t you going to use a condom?” She asked, knowing full well Asa was absolutely going to drain you dry and didn’t care about their little game anymore. 

Asa doesn’t say a word; she merely gets herself ready, rubbing your cock against her went cunt. She hums, enjoying the slight pleasure of it before she sinks onto your cock. Asa cranes her neck back, moaning softly as you fill her. “Oh, fuck,” she mutters under her breath. This was what she needed after being teased by Rei the entire night about who was better at handjobs. Asa places her hands on your chest; they nearly slip off. They were somewhat slick given she had just grabbed your cock. Asa doesn’t waste a second, bouncing on you quickly. You let out low, guttural moans as Asa bounces on your cock. Her tight cunt was squeezing the life out of you.

“C’mon play with my tits,” she mumbles, bringing your hands to her perky chest. You squeeze the soft mounds instinctively, your thumb crossing over her nipples. Asa grips your arms, holding them tightly as she slams herself on your cock. It wasn’t quite the experience you were expecting, but you had no complaints with a woman like Asa fucking herself on you. The only problem you had was the sensitivity. Asa hadn’t let you cool off, and as such you were already on the verge of cumming. “Do it, cum in this pussy.” She growled. The young Japanese woman impaled herself on your length, letting the head sit by her womb as she grinded on you. It felt like you were melting inside her core. It only took a moment before you exploded inside her. “That’s it, fill this little pussy up.” She groaned, continuing to grind on you. Asa could feel your hot cum coating every nook and cranny as it flooded her womb. 

She was far from done, though. As soon as Asa felt your climax come to an end, she lifted herself, leaving just the head inside before dropping back down and beginning to bounce again. The loud claps of her body against yours filled the room. You had completely forgotten Rei was in the room as well; you could only think about the young Japanese woman riding you like you were a toy. 

For her part, Rei was enjoying watching Asa ravage you. She had laid herself on the massage table and began touching herself, fingers dipping into her cunt with the same rhythm of Asa’s bounces. She knew at this point she wouldn’t get a turn with your cock, at least not a satisfying one. 

So, instead she decided to enjoy the show at least. When your second orgasm came, she giggled; your cock was thoroughly painted white now as your previous load leaked out of Asa. While her fingers did feel good, Rei knew she wouldn’t be able to cum like she wanted to. She took a deep breath, smiling at Asa as she straddled your face. “If you’re not going to fuck me, then at least eat me out.” She said softly. Rei firmly planted herself on your face. She knew how long a person could hold their breath on average. She would just give you a chance to breathe then. Your job was to eat her out now.

Rei pressed her soft thighs on either side of your head; they acted as perfect earmuffs. You struggled to do your job, though. Asa was giving you no breaks; you were moaning into Rei's cunt between licks. Your hands slipped down from Asa’s tits, and Rei took them, placing them on her thighs as she grinded her needy cunt against you. 

“Feeling better?” Rei asked, her hand reaching for Asa’s nipple. The older woman trapped the hard nub between her fingers, pulling on it as Asa rode you.

“Mmm, fuck…you,” Asa moaned. She was finally getting close to her climax, and now came along Rei ready to tease her some more. 

“I mean, I’ll let you,” Rei said, sticking her tongue out at her coworker. The older woman placed her other hand on Asa’s toned stomach. “Oh, I can feel him moving inside you. I bet it feels great, doesn’t it?”

“Y-yeah,” Rei twisted the younger woman’s nipple, making her cry out. From under her, you felt Asa’s walls clamping down on your cock. Another load of your cum flooded her cunt because of it. “It feels really good.”

“His cock or being cummed in so many times? You haven’t been able to get any creampies until right now.”

“Both, both feel fucking fantastic.” Asa could feel your cock softening inside her, but she continued to ride you. She reached back, grabbing your balls and giving them slight squeezes, hoping it would be enough to get you hard for one more orgasm. Rei smiled and leaned in, pressing her lips against Asa. The younger woman accepted it. She could feel Rei’s tongue tracing her lips, and she let her in. Rei explored the younger woman’s mouth, forgetting about you for a moment. She rose off your face, letting you catch your breath for a second before setting her ass back down on her seat. Rei could sense you trying your best, the way your tongue smashed against her walls because you were having a hard time controlling yourself due to the pleasure was rough, but she enjoyed it. She was getting close to cumming. 

Asa could feel Rei’s hands wandering around her body, touching and grabbing whatever she could. The younger woman broke the kiss, biting her lip as Rei gripped her ass. “Go on, bounce that pretty ass on that dick,” Rei told her. “I want to see you cum.” Asa wrapped her arms around the older woman, her moans turned into whines as she reached her climax. “Fucking cum on that cock.” Asa cried out as she came on you; her walls had you in a vice grip as they milked you for the last time. Every drop was drained from your body as her walls fluttered around you. You were all certain that if Asa weren’t on the pill, she definitely would’ve gotten pregnant from this. Asa leaned against Rei, her body struggling to support itself. “Such a good girl,” Rei whispered into her ear. 

You all take a moment to catch your breath. Rei was the first to climb off you, turning to see your chin absolutely drenched in her nectar. She leaned down, kissed you, and thanked you for your hard work. “You did great, sir. Did you like our service, too?” You were too weak and tired to say a word. Rei smiled and pinched your cheek. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The older woman turned to Asa, smiling at her coworker as she helped her off you. Your cum came pouring out of her cunt, what wasn’t escaping from her had already coated your lower half. “It looks like you really drained him. Proud of yourself?”

“S-shut it,” Asa stuttered. Rei let Asa rest on the bed before helping you to the shower. She let you relax in the tub, coming back to her tired coworker. 

“Such a greedy girl, draining our customer of all his cum. You didn’t even let me ride him.” Rei whines; the pout she has on her face quickly shifts to a smile as she stares at Asa, the younger woman’s spread out from fatigue. “Well, at the very least I can have a taste.” Rei straddled the younger woman’s face, holding Asa’s legs apart as she dove in, her tongue diving deep into Asa’s folds. Asa’s legs tensed in her hands as she pushed her tongue deeper into Asa’s cunt, tasting the salty semen she hadn’t gotten the chance to taste. Asa could do very little but lay there and take the tongue lashing. Having Rei’s slick cunt in front of her did have its perks, though. Asa stuck her tongue out and took small licks at it, tasting the older woman's nectar. The pair remained attached until they brought each other to their climax. By then you had finished your bath and left; they hadn’t even noticed your leaving, far too engaged in their current activities. 

When they did finally notice you were gone, the pair laughed. “I think that’s the last one for the day, and I have one more used condom than you do,” Rei said with a smile. Asa’s eyes went wide as she stared at the used condom in Rei’s hand.

“Fuck!”

Rei laughs. “I guess that means you pay for dinner tonight.”

“Noo! That’s not fair, you-you baited me into–”

“I asked you before you started riding him if you wanted to use a condom.” Rei counters, holding her smile, knowing that there was absolutely nothing Asa could do to argue. She had given the younger woman a chance to proceed, and she hadn’t taken it. “Now, there’s a pizza place I really want to go to. I hope you have enough saved up, because it’s really fancy.”

“I'm sorry, okay?” flashing her a sheepish smile hoping it would stop making her upset; well, pouting, still but you hope your smile had some effect. “It might look messy, but I’m almost done. Just a few more clothes left—and hey, now you get to choose what I wear for the whole trip. That’s a win, right?”

She rolls her eyes, circling your room like a judgmental fashion inspector. “Why would you volunteer for an extra shift the day before our trip?” she mutters, picking up a pair of jeans and holding them up to you. If she approves, she folds them and tosses them to your luggage. If she doesn’t, she hurls them at you like she’s feeding laundry to a dragon. You catch a flying shirt and quickly fold it, lips twitching as you try not to laugh.

“I just had to,” you admit.  “With me gone, Gyuri doesn't get along with the rest of the staff—” you fucked up, You shouldn’t have said her name. Especially not with that tone of concern, yet you've done it—done for.

You turn with every part of your body screaming for flight, afraid to face the raging bee behind you. Lotion bottle gripped in her hand. “How about this, when we get there no rides, lets just walk around the beach till sunset.” You appease, trying not to snap the winding catapult as you approach her slowly. “Look, we can leave now. I'm done packing, with a few extra hours to spare.”

“And the sunscreen?”

“Of course! For ease of access, in this pocket it's right here… It's—its—” it's not there. Ah shit.  You've accepted your going on this trip with a lotion bottle dent on your head.

But the bottle never came, instead you hear… giggling. Then laughter. You look up to find Jiheon clutching the sunscreen bottle, shaking with amusement. “Dummy,” she laughs, teasing you with it like it’s a trophy.

It was a prank. You’ve fallen for it. For her. Again.

“Come here!” you yell, lunging toward her as she squeals and scrambles away, still laughing. You chase her around the room, your luggage forgotten, your heart full.

A yelp echoes off the walls as you finally catch her, arms wrapping around her waist as the two of you tumble back—falling into the bed in a tangle of limbs and joy.

Laughter lingers like perfume in the air. Then, slowly, it fades. So do your movements.

On top of you now, her hands resting on your chest, breath warm against your neck.

That smile—so infectious even her eyes can’t help but mimic it—softens as she looks at you, the kind of look that says she’s happy just being here. With you.

You reach up, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“A few extra hours to spare?” she teases, voice low and playful. “Did I hear that right?”

Her hand comes up, gently covering your eyes. She leans in closer, breath ghosting over your lips. You can feel the warmth of her skin, the nearness of her—just inches now.

Your breath hitches.

You wait.

But the kiss never comes.

It never will.

Your eyes break open. So does the breath you'd been holding back. The welcome of your palms tins into a grip you can't let go of.

Gone is the laughter that made the room bright. Gone is the warmth that made it worth staying in. Gone is the sunlight that kept it clear.

Here, only you. Left alone. A desolate room.

You want to lash out, but your body won't move—afraid that even a twitch would shatter something already broken. You want to scream, but your voice is adamant to cry out for something already wrong. You want to wake from a nightmare that has clung to you long past where dreams should end.

Yet somewhere, your name is called.

By her. By someone else.

It calls again, holding you steady in your breathless state.

"Breathe."

An eerily soothing voice—one that makes you obey before you even register the request.

A caress, in contrast to your cold sweat.

"It's just a dream."

It was.

"It's okay."

It is.

She calls for you once again. Her voice is a lullaby by nature—comforting, yet it feels less like an ask and more like a command.

Before you can see past the silhouette that cares for you, she rests her hands over your eyes and slowly closes them for you.

"Sleep."

And you did.

Willingly so.

Willingly.

…

..

.

The day starts slowly. You wake up slow. Everything is—it just feels slow. Like the world asked for a rest, and it was granted.

Sunlight that normally creeps in by morning is already there when you open your eyes, yet it hasn't moved since then. The clock by the desk seems to have had its own lazy morning too; you blink twice—really open your eyes—leaving it to assumption that you'd need a splash of water before you'd see it move at all.

It doesn't feel wrong. Odd, maybe—or maybe not. It's calm. Everything is. And it makes you breathe not in a way you have to, but in a way you want to—slowly, deeply, with no hurry and no goal.

Then you feel it: the first movement in the room. The rustle of weight beside you, unnoticed at first as she'd been cozy beneath the blanket, but undeniable now as she chooses your arm as her pillow.

She's curled into you—weight and space both—yet the pressure feels more relieving than anything else. Lighter, even with her there.

"Chaeyoung…"

You call out, and it feels like everything exhales with it. Like everything now feels right. You faintly hear the sprinkle of rain greeting the grass. The busy road, the busy street, the busy day.

And her—you feel her breathe, and more, you feel her groan.

"You're still going to sleep?" You have to pause your smile to ask her the question. It comes with a hope that she says no, that she rise and greets you with her ever teasing laugh—though not ending this morning wouldn't be so bad either, given how comforting and relaxing it's been to just lie here.

You gave it a second, then nothing.

"Chae?" You asked again. This time with a touch of impatience.

There was enough rustling that the top of her head finally peeked out despite her being wrapped in the blankets.

Maybe it was a ruse to wake her up. Maybe just simple endearment. Last time this had happened, it was Chaeyoung who'd teased you awake—you consider this making it even.

A soft caress through her hair, a finger or two pressing gently against her scalp. A playful massage, fingers twirling through the strands.

There was movement you brushed off, but eventually she had to react—a head shake, more alive than the last, though still the bare minimum effort to shrug off your game.

"Are you really going to keep sleeping?"

This time you lean in close, make sure the whisper of her name lands right at her ear. She hitches, and the blanket hitches with her.

It was adorable, oddly so. For someone who'd been consistently sultry with her voice, who'd done nothing but trace fingertips over you—Chaeyoung the temptress—this morning she'd done nothing but tempt you back to sleep beside her.

So you did. Willingly. Partially.

You lay back down, tucked into the same blanket, joining her under its cover. It carried its own warmth—not from the blanket itself, but from the space between you.

Waking up with your arm as her pillow was close. But it's an entirely different kind of close when you're spooning her.

You feel her—every part of her pressed against you. Feel every breath she takes.

You move your other arm to wrap around her—meant to be instant, but her breath catches, and so does your arm, suspended just before it settles.

Then her breath slows, deepens, like she's resolved herself to something. You take the hint and pull her closer, the way you'd wanted to from the start. The space between you disappears as you fall into her rhythm, inhaling and releasing in time with her.

You stay like that for a second—it would've been longer if you'd let yourself drift back to sleep. But it's morning, and your fingers have other ideas. Too restless to stay idle.

They start tracing mindless shapes over her—blindly poking her nose, feeling the fuzz of her eyebrows, going a step further to press against her lips, feeling her exhale warm against your skin with every breath.

She doesn't complain. Doesn't even move. But you can feel—know—she's anticipating more. She's awake. You're sure of it, not after that head shake, and certainly not now that your fingers have gotten touchy.

Especially when you feel it by instinct—pull back just in time. A bite, or an attempt at one, too close to your fingers for comfort.

You give ground, just for that hand. A chuckle, your forehead pressing playfully to hers—though it might've been a distraction, since your other hand has already joined in.

It's its own kind of pesky, tracing her taut stomach, following every breath, playful and mindless all at once.

Until a spark of thought gives it a goal. An enticing one.

You pause, and the shift in the air is immediate. No longer innocent play. She notices.

"Chaeyoung," you say, a little shaky now, gone is the smirk from before.

She nods.

A hum of approval follows, making it clear—just for you.

Your hand, which had been tracing her stomach, moves lower. Past her pajamas. Past her underwear.

It's met with new warmth. New heat.

Her reaction comes first—her hand reaching to hold your arm, the one wrapped around her. Not to stop you. To feel you. What stops instead is her breath, just for a beat, before it shifts—from the deep, relaxed rhythm of before to something new. A breath of anticipation.

And you don't let her wait.

Already at her most intimate space, your hands pushed to be in between her legs. A touch, then a slip. A finger sliding through her folds, as it follows just along her entrance, her clit deliberately brushed against. Her whimper confirms what you already were feeling.

An exhale of hers felt so heated to your skin.

You don't let her wait, but it was patience you decided to toy with immediately after.

Slow—grudgingly slow—you move against her. As simple as it can be, as light as her breaths had been. There's no rush. It's savor that sets the pace.

Her cunt pressed by the stroke of your fingers, she tries to hold it in, but you can hear the tiny whimpers she fails to suppress. Your arm, the one her head rests on, feels her breath turn to heat. Her hand clings to your fingers—a frail attempt at control she doesn't really have.

You could point out how wet she is. But you both already know it. You don't need to be vulgar with words the way you were last night—it's the silence that does that work now, carrying its own kind of filth, making sure it's only her sound filling this space.

Then, finally, she gives in. A moan—immediate, and shyly muffled by her own hand.

The second one isn't suppressed at all. She's let go of herself, already past the point of holding back.

By the third, she's asking. Not in words—but it's clear what she needs.

More.

And she acts on it. Her hips hesitate, then decide almost immediately that they're too starved to wait any longer. They roll, chasing after the fingers that had given her rest, impatient for a new pace—one faster than the slow you'd given her.

The blanket had its new rustle.

It's no longer about you giving pleasure. It's her chasing after it. And with the new movement, she presses back against something you'd almost forgotten about.

Your arousal, hard on its own now, catches every roll of her hips, pressing you both a step further into indulgence. You can only groan as she clearly takes her own pleasure from how you were rubbing behind her.

The bed that had been set for her pleasure is now shared.

Her hand lets go of your busy arm and moves back, reaching for you. You feel her touch land on your pants, making her want clear. You comply—stopping for a second, pulling away from her heat just long enough to shove your pants down, guiding her hand to what's now exposed.

Every finger of hers wraps around your cock, deliberate, exploring. She gives herself a second, a gasp, just to feel you—before she gets to work. A clumsy stroke, done for the lust more so than anything else.

You bend to her touch, leaning closer almost to nuzzle into her. The ghost of your breath now brushes her flushed ear. Closer than before, it made you more aware of her mewls as she melts into you.

The pause that had freed your other hand doesn't stay idle for long. You use the moment to pull down her pants, hasty and rough, every second feeling wasted if it isn't spent touching her.

Her lower half exposed, you take a detour—following her shape, tracing her curves, feeling her softness. And you feel her as your tip traces the arch of her back—bare, raw and throbbing against her skin.

She huffs, not from pleasure this time, but impatience. She needs you back.

So you go back—though gentle strokes are no longer enough for her, not when she keeps asking for more, not when you can feel her own want in the hand that is working your girth. You touch her again, and this time you press a finger inside.

A moan, clearer than any before this morning, carries a different tone than you'd expected.

Your finger, welcomed like it had been waited for, slick and wet as before, pulls you deeper—warm, throbbing, and instantly enveloping. Restless, yet expectant.

You move. Press and drag along her walls, gentle where she needs it, adjusting to her satisfaction. She clenched to your pace and keened with every motion you were doing into her.

She calls your name—differently than Chaeyoung ever had. Surrendered. Full of plea. Asking for you. Asking for more.

So you give her more. Another finger, faster now, enough to make her wail. It drips, her cunt, with her juices that hadn't stopped since you started. She was coiling to the tension.

She tries to match your pace with the hand working you, even as her bare back presses harder into you.

You feel her tensing. Your name again, breaking apart as she starts to lose herself. She's close. You match her.

She cries out unchaste rambling, too undisciplined for words. 

And she comes—her grip tightening and stilling, moans cresting into a whisper against the hand where her head rests. The fingers that had clung to yours now hold you tight in her palm as she clings to herself, to the feeling.

She comes undone, and you feel it from the inside—tightening, spasming, holding your fingers in place until the very end, gushing warmth as her body fights through it. You follow right after, pressing your cock to her arching back, the canvass for your realease—spurts landing, sticking, dripping down her back.

The lazy morning has turned into a sweaty exchange of release. Sweat and spend soak the sheets. Warm, satisfied breaths fill the room.

A second of reprieve settles over the now-debauched bed.

After a beat of rest, and you gave her more. You reach for her again—yet she's still stubbornly wrapped in the blanket. This time you pull it away, an impulse you only just thought of. What surprises you is the resistance she gives to it—resistance that had been entirely absent when you touched her.

You've done a lot this morning. To the bed. To her. And yet, as if deliberately, you still haven't seen her face.

"Chaeyoung, we need to get up," you say, though it carries a tint of confusion, quietly asking for an answer.

She doesn't give you one.

"Chaeyoung?" Her name again, this time a question.

"You can wash up first." A clear voice, finally—too clear to be Chaeyoung's, whose voice even in its soft morning had always try to allure. What you heard was not that.

Something snaps in you. You move like a string pulled taut, one single thought cutting through everything that just happened.

This is not Chaeyoung.

"Who—" The thought leaks out before you can stop it. It needed to get out.

You pull again, and this time she lets it go—no longer hidden by a mere blanket.

It isn't the dark hair that spills like Chaeyoung's; hers ends too early, cropped short. Cotton pajamas instead of the lace you'd seen the night before. It isn't the confident posture you'd been looking for—instead, something timid, quiet, that greets you.

It really is not Chaeyoung.

"Seoyeon?"

Her eyes meet yours, only for a second, before she pulls away. Too flushed to hold your gaze.

"Wha…"

It's absurd, really—too much to even shape into a single question. Why she's here. Why she said nothing. Why she let it happen. And why, after all that, she's acting like this now.

This—the way she avoids your eyes, how withdrawn she looks, yet still frozen in place. How voiceless she is.

"Why?"

Too many questions, but that's the only one you manage.

"I'm sorry."

It's the way she stammers it, the way apologizing is her first instinct, that twists your gut. Something about this is wrong—but why does it feel like she's the one bracing to take the blame?

"No, Seoyeon, I didn't mean—not like that…"

You try to explain, only to stumble over the reasoning, just as lost as she seems.

"Why are you here?" You force yourself to ground the question, to get clarity before anything else. "Chaeyoung was here last night, so I assumed—I called you Chaeyoung. Why didn't you say anything?"

A question meant to explain the situation only ends up raising a new one.

"It wasn't last night."

Not the answer you expected. An answer that only opens another question.

"What?"

"You were asleep for more than a day." She faces you now, trying to sound calm. "Chaeyoung left yesterday. She told me to look after you."

"That still doesn't explain why you were in my arms."

"I was checking on you." At least now she's meeting your eyes, though you notice her fingers fidgeting with the blanket. "You had a nightmare—a bad one," she corrects herself. "You were having trouble breathing. You were about to lose yourself."

She pauses. Takes a breath. Finally gives you the reason.

"I helped you calm down. Helped you sleep. I had to use my… skill…" She hesitates, like she half-expects you not to believe her.

You stare at her. Your breathing has settled by now, most of the questions answered, your thoughts a little clearer. And in their place, a different thought surfaces—her. Still flushed from before, her pajamas damp with sweat, exposed now that the blanket is gone. Her hair a mess, a few strands still pressed near her mouth—the same mouth that had moaned and called your name. You start to wonder, if you could still taste her by your fingers, wonder on how her back looked like after—

"I fingered you and cummed on you." Crass, blunt—an accident, something you never meant to say out loud.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have deceived you."

Deceived.

That word stings. She apologizes like she's the one to blame.

"Stop—what are you saying, why are you—Seoyeon, it's not about that. God, I was into it, okay? I initiated it, I enjoyed it. But that's not the point. It's about you. You should've said something. I would've stopped immediately if you'd just told me—"

"I know." Her voice is so small you almost miss it—if not for what it implies, which is loud enough to fill the whole room.

It stuns you. Gets you thinking, for a second, about pulling the blanket back over both of you and picking up where you left off.

But.

You've already done enough for one morning.

"I just don't know anymore," you mutter, your eyes drifting elsewhere, looking for something to land on. "My head's a mess. I shouldn't be doing this right now—not when I'm supposed to be dealing with other things."

You could've sworn you heard a small protest, but your mind's already made up.

A shaky exhale. "Can I just… have the room to myself? I need to think." A request, not a demand.

Seoyeon holds back whatever she was going to say. She understands enough, and even that much makes you grateful. She gathers herself, steps off the bed, worry still written on her face—but she respects your need for space. She walks out as quietly as she can, opens the door, and closes it behind her.

You've done nothing, gone nowhere, for too long—too compliant, too willing to just follow along ever since you met the girls. To flow with their whims.

You need to move. Just as before. Without them.

“Everyone’s paired up,” you try. “Who are you swinging with, I guess is what I’m asking.”

“Oh, none of those people. No orgies for me, either.” She takes a swig of her water bottle and begins to stretch: long legs—as long as her small frame allows for—crew socks, and shoes that look like they have not touched pavement until today. Pink runners because she's got chasing a runner's aesthetic, a runner's physique; everyone here is advertising the stamina, apparently. 

“There’s orgies.” You echo.

“Like once a month.” Every other stretch, her large, branded tee raises enough to get a peek at the compression shorts halfway up her slender thighs.

“Sundays after church, or?”

“That’s when we do brunch,” she says. “There’s a mailing list.”

You scoff. “Fuck off.”

You both laugh and stare at the gathered crowd again. They’re stretching, talking, mingling. It’s a group bonding experience, at its most innocent—little to no subtlety, otherwise. Half of them sport rings, the kind that refer to legal status, yet they’re all a little too cordial with one another. You can spot abnormally comfortably touching and greetings and there’s this general familiarity with some groups of four that really does scream that they’re fucking each other’s spouse.

(Perhaps the brunette spilling all the details gave you a biased narrative, but yes, this is how you find out that the neighborhood running club is a front. When were they planning to outright tell you, exactly?)

“So,” you say, “you’re actually here for the running?”

“I told you, that’s the warmup.”

You realize she’s playing a game, that the answer to your previous question is no, and ask openly: “then, who’s going home with you?”

“Stray dogs like me.” The sunrise hits her face with a strong, orange glow. “Like you.”

~~

The coincidence of convenience isn’t lost on you. Her apartment’s on the way back from the jog and her name is Minjeong; she says it through hurried breaths and it has you realizing that it’s a preview for when she’s on your lap, under your figure—a preview for just about every position and preposition you’ll find yourselves trying later.

You take note of the perspiration on her brow, the light sheen, really. Minjeong doesn’t break a sweat all that much. She doesn’t try to. You remember what she kept insisting on earlier: that the whole running club is a front and that the workout’s just the fucking pregame. It’s not like she needs any extra cardio, either. There’s not forty-five kilos on the woman. You surmise that rather quickly as you carry her through the door. 

“Where?” You ask, coming off of her lips, out of breath.

“Living room's got a sofa," she says, like that works for her, a coffee table and an ottoman too. The rug will be as good a spot as any, comes the implication. 

She has her arms wrapped around you since before you unlocked the door, flipping stray, brown locks out of the way as you step in while looking over her shoulder. It’s a spacious place—makes you wonder about rent, because you always do in this economy, before finding yourself in front of her furniture. Kiss her a little longer before deciding: single seater or sectional? She’d look fucking great in either, wouldn’t she? Flipped over—bent over? Folded. Anything.

Minjeong’s thighs softly fill your palms with their pale and svelte figure; it all feels so tight, toned, yet so, so soft. So nice. You get a thought that she might need a warning label, a sticker of sorts, because it feels like you could break her if you drop her on the couch too suddenly. You’d place it just about anywhere, and it’d say handle with care, and you could see yourself pressing it with your thumb onto that smooth skin of hers to make sure it says there through all the fucking she’s about to go through—that it doesn’t flutter off when it gets fast, sweaty, and the thrusting gets a little unkind for a frame like hers.

You get so lost in the possibilities that she has to grip the back of your hair and rip you off of her lips.

"I know what I look like," she says into your mouth, hand at your nape and lips turning cherry-red. Lets the next kiss extend for a delightful too-long and her eyebrows do this really arch thing when she pulls away. “But I didn’t bring you all the way here just to, like, makeout.” 

Flip a figurative coin. Sectional it is.

~~

(You do have to get back to the group after your little detour, but that’s not the reason it’s all in record time. See: you slot in, and it’s heaven—but don’t take your word for it. 

Her eyes roll back like she hasn’t been stretched like that in months. Minjeong’s pretty vocal about it, too, which you’re certainly not getting over until at least next year. “Oh my fucking god,” she’s barely saying, mumbling, all winded. “Don’t stop.”

And you oblige, obey—can’t really tell in which direction authority’s being exercised. It’s tip-to-base. Lethal for both. She’s been placed on nearly every surface that’s remotely hip-height and convenient and you’ll both agree later that the kitchen island’s probably your favorite.)

~~

The club meets at least twice a week, barring any extracurricular activities, and you're already halfway through your first month. 

That’s four times—you’ve had sex with Kim Minjeong four times.

But you’ve met five, today being the latest. She reads an invite from the club’s mailing list and you’re telling her to not say it so damn loudly. You’re at a restaurant; you’re on a date. To be fair, the wording isn’t explicit, but you’re elbow to elbow with other parties—families, couples, the like—laughing at the event’s theme and all of the innuendos.

Over appetizers, she tells you of all the times other couples have attempted to bring her back to theirs, how hot of a commodity she is. The hotshot twenty-five year old in a sea of marriages averaging over a decade her age.

“You like the attention.” You accuse.

“I—ok.” She’s nonplussed. Sits back. “No?”

“It’s vain.”

Her elbow goes on the counter, chin on the heel of her palm. She puffs her right cheek during the internal debate and you figure it’s a habit; confirm it somewhere down the line after you see it enough times. A cute, pensive pout. “It is.”

“Look at me,” you intone, mocking. “Young, pretty, and so unattainable.” And, credit where credit’s due, she does dress gorgeous. It’s the first time you don’t see her in workout-chic. Has this layered button-down under a polo with the sleeves rolled neatly-not above her elbows. There’s not a single piece of jewelry on her and that’s actually quite lovely. The modish simplicity takes you by surprise. There’s no better way to say it: you’re down bad. The sole leather shoulder bag to accessorize makes it feel like you’re the one tied up on the tanning rack, bound—already dead.

“Mmm, no.” She takes a fry off your plate. “I’m very much attainable.”

“To a select few.”

“To a very lucky few.” She reminds you.

“Lucky me.”

“Glad you’re clued in.”

There’s an eventual turning point where the conversation turns mundane, normal. You’re talking about all the things you have tried before that didn’t quite stick: crossfit, pilates, spin—christ—yoga.

You don’t mention sex, for once: no jokes, no deflecting emotional vulnerability in favor of wry, sexual humor—you talk, and learn more about each other in fifteen minutes than you ever would have otherwise, because the routine of run, fuck, leave was admittedly somewhat impersonal. It’s strange, but it’s the good kind of strange—the usual linear trajectory of meet first, fuck later turned on its head. You’ll be back to fucking each other’s brains out soon enough, anyway. It’s not an unwelcome change of pace. 

“Feels like this is easier,” you’re eventually saying.

“Right,” she agrees. “Just show up and jog.”

“Just show up and jog.”

~~

So you made it back to her place, and you stayed over, and have been for a couple of days. She cleared a drawer for your things, your laptop has a permanent station at the dining table, and you have an inkling that the left side of her mattress already began molding to your shape. 

You’re in that indentation right now.

“Like the way that feels?” She asks.

An affirming nod is all you manage. You’re doing everything in your power—communing with god, with the devil—to not fucking cum.

Her cunt is warm, devastating, and she keeps your tip right at the entrance while her hips continue this slow, subtle motion, circling above ever so slightly.

Every now and then it slips out just enough and, yeah, it’s audible: her arousal, creaming, waiting, equally as needy as you, but still wholly in control. You’re letting her nails claw at your chest and her long, straight locks frame her devilish countenance when she arches forward to let the next few breaths land right on your face. “I’m going to go deeper, yeah?”

You exhale, desperate.

Sinking, enveloping, her hips dip lower, vice-tight and going straight for the kill after way too long of just her hands and mouth and all that damn spit. “I want every last inch.”

~~

“Theoretically, if we were to go to one,” you start.

“So you’re interested.”

You hum tentatively. “No, not like that.”

“Also, we?” Minjeong asks

“Well—”

“I’m your plus one to an orgy?”

You shrug. “Yeah.”

“Cool.” She nods. “Better be.”

“We wouldn’t really join, anyway. The group.” You pick your argument back up. “Think I’d stay on the sidelines.” 

“Voyeur. Kinky.”

“And an exhibitionist,” you add. “By extension.”

“Have you thought about this beforehand or did you just begin to list your kinks when you joined the depravity club?”

“Bit of both. Have to have my reasons now, you know, in case they asked.”

“And you’d be speaking for the both of us?” She starts to air quote. “Yeah, just the two of us. Yep, whoever wants to watch, I’ll be getting bounced on to death over in that corner.”

You think. Add on. “Would you rather show them your ass? While on top.” You’re speaking with your hands, pretend-holding her body towards an imagined crowd. “Or would you rather it be reverse, as in, spread towards them?”

Minjeong stays silent for a while longer than you would have expected; bursts into laughter. “I really don’t know.”

(She’s at the foot of the bed laying horizontal to you, who’s resting on the bed frame. Playfully, she hops over and on you, leg spread right over your crotch and leaning back with her hands by your legs.)

“What do you think will steal the spotlight more? This?” She takes a second, then flips over, putting her butt right on your cock. That underwear is tiny. “Or this?”

~~

Consider the follow-up scene and all of its details: you once heard how a picky eater should try something x amount of times in order to truly discern if they enjoy it or not. The variable tends to differ every time you hear the phrase, and the same concept probably doesn’t wholly apply to the current circumstance, but it's a tangential relation worth noting, nonetheless.

To start, her curtains are drawn wide open, hooked at either end. The glass goes floor-to-ceiling and you can’t deny that view—of the city, sure, but also of Minjeong, on her knees and laser-focused, hand pretty and veined and going blissfully fast over your throbbing length—this squelching fist that drips spit straight onto carpet. 

Okay, the x count goes to one.

(Exhibitionism, apparently. It’s in front of the whole city, so it counts, no? There’s other buildings that are perhaps in line with how high up her place is, and the afternoon sun is shining into the apartment.)

Right. There she goes with that little moan of encouragement. Minjeong looks up, expectant, and her tongue’s out for the sake of performance. Ok honey, ouch.

You cum, all over that.

A sunbeam goes straight into your eyeball and, simultaneously, another rope shuts her eyelash to a close. It’s not really pretty, objectively. Sexually, it’s very fucking hot. Read: context-appropriate kind of filthy. She’s getting deservedly hosed.

(The rest goes everywhere, by the way: on her hair, her left cheek; runs liquid down to her chin. It’s tough to make it out in the heat of the moment. Maybe you’re going blind. She spits shallow when the concluding sprays make their way onto her tongue because you keep going far beyond your usual volume.)

“That’s—” Minjeong is covered, glazed, and entirely dumbfounded. She spits again, and cups her palm under her messed-up face to minimize the damage on her rug. “Are you good right now? What the fuck.”

You crack up. Breathing’s still catching up and you could lose your footing from a light breeze. “Oh my god.”

Spot her index swiping whatever it can off her sealed eyelid. “You are ridiculous.”

“Sorry,” you respond, sarcastic. “Didn’t want to drop the ball with your little experiment.”

“This is literally the most,” she says while standing up. “You have ever cummed.”

Her face glistens; you feel like laughing some more. It truly is incomprehensible. 

“Gets turned on by showing off,” she sorta says to herself. “Cross that one off the list.”

Your rebuttal’s a quick and punctuated jab. “Sorry, honey.” You hand her a stray shirt for, you know, all that. “Will you be able to cum for a second time or do I have to finger you against the glass for it again?”

Yeah, that’s how it went, three fingers in and knuckle-deep. Her cunt stretched oh-so divine. 

Spot the eye roll Minjeong gives you once enough white is swiped off her gaze. Ah, there—it’s not faux annoyance or ridicule that she’s looking to counter you with. She ponders on it for, like, a second too long, and her lips purse to subdue that pretty little naughty smile but the fucking way her body rolls into you starting from the womb when she inhales has you considering just how long your cock can stay hard to give her pussy another go, another orgasm, another round of her cheek—this time, cum-stained—against a window pane that points at two p.m. traffic.

“Gotcha.” You place a hand on her cocked hip and half-spin her frame towards the city. She doesn’t meet your eyes or dare to acknowledge it. How coy. “Open.” You instruct, and her legs follow suit, spread wide and keep straight. 

It goes without saying but you cum for a second time in under two minutes and Minjeong catches up to you in even less than that.

~~

“I have rooftop access, pool and all,” she says some sleepless night later. 

There’s a blanket in the middle of her living room and too much takeaway for two. All you do is nod, mouth full, and offer a hand to help her stand.

It’s open twenty-four seven, which further clues you in to her elusive net worth—leisure of the wealthy and carefree.

“I’m never up here,” Minjeong remarks, windswept.

Below, a metropolis draped dark and neon all the same. It’s well past bedtime for the working class—the streets are just that much calmer, nicer. You’re able to see a decent chunk of your biweekly circuit from where you stand. 

Oh, important note: it’s not like you’ve been attending, as of late.

The small fee goes to waste when you pitch in for the usual group snacks and drinks and whatever else they decide to charge you for. You’ve been running the route with Minjeong, alone, enfolding further into that routine, or haphazardly falling for it: the scent in her sheets, of her shampoo; and, yeah, it’s been cute, but, it’s good to remember that you’ve also been keen on putting on a pseudo-anonymous show in front of her neighborhood and delighting yourselves in that newfound chemistry, however debased, demented. 

You speak before a gust of wind whisks the thought away: “I think I really fucking like you.”

Realize the sentiment lands warm because even her eyes are smiling out at the view. She then laughs, mostly inwards. “I called you a stray dog.”

“You can call me—” take hold of her hands and have them meet and wrap around your neck. “Whatever the fuck you want.”

And, yeah, you’ll continue finding that balance along the way: the cute-hot, love-lust. You’ll oscillate, sink into the whirlpool of fucked-out adoration and heartstring-wringing devotion. Her gaze is fucking devastating and your fingers get lost in their favorite part of her back. 

A personal rule of thumb; a code, if you will: keep the alcohol consumption to a minimum, two to three drinks at best. 

It’s been roughly over two and a half hours since you showed up and the gathering began, and the idea of going back to the bar for a fourth or fifth or sixth was becoming highly likely. Something easy to down - definitely not a Whiskey, but you’d wish - although there’s hardly a complaint with a draft beer. 

In a sober blessing, there’s a haven with an open bar present at university occasions. Granted, the Kim-Park estate would’ve splurged a little more in owning the whole place but everyone does like to indulge their drinks from time to time. 

Someone smacks your arm from behind, breaking the trance. “Hey- you’re not blanking out on me, are you?” Roh Yunah called your name a couple times but you obviously misheard; you missed the conversation that was clearly no interest in. Hence the circle of eyes are all zeroed in on you, eight pairs a piece. 

Yunah arches her brows with a smile, but there’s a forced aspect within her. Always trying to push the right buttons as your senior; plus knowing when and what to say in lightening the mood. Her veneers may feel casual, but it’s unnaturally terrifying. 

“Sorry,” you say, apologetic with the lift of the glass. “It’s been a long day for me, well- for all of us.” You’re lucky enough to have a few smiles returned soon after. One person sips into their red wine. 

“He means well,” Yunah says on your behalf, “This one is a little timid in stepping out of his comfort zone.” A turn to the group and they all laugh, a miracle action, but maybe an in-joke that you’re secluded from. She sighs, nodding somberly. “Moka loved attending these galas. Though, I can only say so much about missing her.” 

Yunah mentions it painfully slow; the tone eerie like trying to break the news to a broken child. 

Everyone around you has a sympathetic shine in their eyes, humming and shaking their heads. You can’t hold yourself back in looking at each individual, feel the heartbeat in your chest thrum louder, pounding your ears. Like hearing your name would send you ages back, turns the pit in your stomach into a full on black hole. 

None of these people have a single idea about Moka. 

You swallow the anger down; Moka despised these events, and you want to shove Yunah to a wall making her pay. 

But, you’ll take it with as much light as you can, force a smile into the next topic. The pain is still fresh despite being a little over a year - the wound still fresh at the mere mention of her name. It seeps, then stings, pooling blood over and over and over. Some days the pain is unbearable, a constant reminder of her presence enough to send the mind reeling; on other occasions, you’d wish she were still here and on separate paths. 

You think to yourself: one more drink wouldn’t hurt. 

It takes most of your body to sift through the crowd surrounding the bar; the heat too suffocating and the press of people enough to roll your eyes at the masks being worn currently. A quartet of guys block your pathing, oblivious. Drinking away laughs which should make you more pissed off. You try to make way with an arm, but get shoved from behind on accident. 

Unfortunately, the man swivels around on edge. These kinds of people are the opposite of your liking: in preen-upped suits and with wavy combovers. The tie is neat around his neck and there’s an obvious vein popping out meaning: definitely pissed off. A few men also notice the incident - some still laughing at another joke that’s clearly unrelated. 

Grad students and their prestige, on the bankroll of their parents and got a sizable trust fund in their backpocket to be set for life without the worries of student debt. Studying in degrees that probably won’t matter to them since it’ll be a nice mark of pride hung on the wall twenty to thirty years from now. 

He curses you out in front of his so-called friends. You scoff at that. 

“Just trying to pass through,” you’re saying, hand up in defense and clearly in the wrong. Had it been you from a year prior, a fist would probably be thrown already. Honestly, the glass in your hand needs another refill. 

The guy just mocks you and sizes up to your front. It’s awfully pathetic how people have to resort to actions like these. In turn, he bumps to a girl behind him, knocking out her drink with glass shattering to the floor. 

More heads look over and the guy is getting pulled by his colleagues. Servers rush in to fix the mess, picking up the shards and wiping the spilled wine. A cue for you to go on your way, getting another glass of whiskey from the bar. 

The short girl with fine, embered auburn hair is weaving through the crowd as well, alone. 

Like a lonely stick flowing down a winding stream. 

–

Out on the terrace; fresh air, granted once the locks click in place and you’re staring out to the distance with the wind passing through your ears. 

It’s quiet, and the feel of winter is still apparent in February. Most of the noise inside has been muffled into the glass, looking below from the balcony with your head to your hands. That is- until there’s a gentle clack of heels behind. 

It’s the same girl from earlier, in all its whiskey brown shade. Besides only seeing her back profile, the presentation is well worth the wait, and she’s beautiful - light pools of amber in her eyes and with a defined arc to her ears. Part of her hair is tied neatly but resting neatly along her shoulders. Her dress is also another: high-collared and revealing at the collar and waist - yet focused on a stain over her thigh. 

You should’ve kept your body against the concrete railing, but you move; met with knitted brows from the woman. 

“Oh- I thought I was-” she stutters, taken aback. “If you’ll excuse me,” clutching the dress a lot tighter in her hand, almost concealing. 

“No, I’m just here,” you say; a hand up in respect. “I was about to be on my way back inside.” 

She glances over rather than giving a response, keeping her attention to her dress. You’re taking a real long look at her before common sense sets in and finally decide to look away. 

Right before you were about to step away, a sigh slips out of her lips; there isn’t any offense to it, at all. 

“Look- would you mind if I can try to help?” You ask, walking over as she gazes up again. Clearly, she’s confused about what’s happening at the moment. 

“I appreciate it, but thank you. Really.” Her voice seems dismissive, but still bearing the casualness of it. Adding an uneasy chill down your spine. 

“To be clear, I was the one at fault,” you say. “A mistake trying to get by the poor lad.” She locks eyes with you again and cocks her head. You’re not showing it, but the move forces your heart to palpitate; in the way she studies you, sending spikes to your stomach. With a deadpan like that there’s a necessity of the silence she’d be happy to fulfill. 

“Most of the guys you taught way back then were usually like that, flying elbows and everything if they’re hit,” she tells you, and it’s a definite ‘oh shit’ moment that sobers you up.

It starts to click in your head piece by piece: “Wait, have we-” 

The lovely woman nods, drawing a light smirk. “I can see the gears turning in your head, sir.” 

“Well if you’re playing the stranger card so casually without ever mentioning my name, but that ‘sir’ wouldn’t be thrown around if it didn’t carry some substance of status, ma’am?” You say, smirking. She giggles at that. 

In a stupid move, you mention your name again; hand out in hope of her reaching for it. 

“I know who you are,” she replies, huffing a laugh out her nose, “Professor.” Dipping her head and flicking her fingers on her dress. Palm to palm, there’s a gentle sturdiness to it, all while being soft. You get caught spacing out - imagining how they’ll look wrapped around your- 

“I’m- I’m sorry. I don’t follow?” 

“You may not remember me, but I’m Park Minju. I had you for a class about five years ago.” Her words are precise, punctual. With a hint of elegance you can’t really seem to capture. 

Appearance-wise, it doesn’t add up. If anything, you’re thinking back to the prior calling of secondary school around that time. Plausible. Yet she’s reasonably old enough. 

“A class, yes. Maybe two. But here I am being subjected to a minor existential crisis thanks to you,” you tell her, sheepish. 

Minju chuckles; there’s that same palpitation like before. You want to have that same laugh ring your ears more and more. See that sweet grin with those beautifully arched cheekbones and ears. 

“If you want to get more- analytical, I suppose. Your lessons about certain philosophical topics were very, what’s the word? Enamoring.” 

Here's the answer. You were thinking close around that time and hoping the math was correct. Now, you’re thinking of throwing yourself off the balcony and forget about any form of hope with this girl: 

“Don’t get me wrong, I was invested in that curriculum,” you laugh, bracing a hand on the sculpted railing. “What killed it for me was the fact that most of the kids’ papers I was reviewing all had a common complaint of how much bullshit I was teaching was hidden between the lines. Can’t blame them, of course. Though it did hurt for a bit.” 

“Hmm, I think it looked like it was one of those other former students earlier tonight,” she looks at the windows inside. “Who knows, maybe they saw your face and threw a fit at the fact that you were still in their life in a different path now.” 

You wince. “Again, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-” 

“You should be,” Minju returns. 

Oh she knows how to rub the crevices in your brain. 

Following a clicked tongue: “What makes you say that?” 

Minju hums; quirks a smile soon after. You nick your head before huffing a laugh, before the ice breaks even more and you’re both laughing. She meets your eyes through her pretty, dark lashes; your heart is performing backflips at this point. 

You can’t get around the fact how she’s so easy on the eyes, that refined coy in the tone of her voice. It’s getting all the plots twisted in your head, and the proximity diminishes between the two of you.

All the more reason to rub your neck awkwardly; Minju looks the other way and clears her throat. 

“For one, you look dashing in that dress. It’s a shame that it got a little soaked,” you say. Ghosting a hand over the opening at her waist, just above the stain. Her arm is quick to hover yours, riddled with goosebumps. It’s cold (obviously), much to the point where the outlines of Minju’s nipples are peaking through the dress; squinting won’t help your case but you’re blinking. 

You sharply inhale, file the picture away from your head. 

In a natural instinct, you strip your blazer off and and straighten it out. “I realize it’s practically below freezing here,” you’re telling her, tongue-ticked. The fit rests on her narrow shoulders and you’re taking a decent step back. Watching her face look confused, pulling her lips inward and accepting the gesture. Oversized was the inevitable conclusion, but at least the warmth was a plus. 

“I didn’t mind, but-” Minju huffs, burying her mouth into the collar. You insist, and she accepts it, giving thanks. 

The gust of wind blows a little more forcefully for a moment, pricking into the skin. You’ve definitely hit your quota for drinks - which equates to being slightly tipsy; drunk, perhaps, or delusional; shit, you’re not even sure yourself. 

“Are you also here for family responsibilities, Miss Park? Or are you actually going to get some benefit in the classes you’re basically going for free?” You ask her. While it’s out of curiosity; you keep wanting to talk to her. The urge to know more grows by the second. 

Minju smirks and nods. “There’s a direction for me.” 

Ah, you acquiesce. She’s still an assignment you’re trying to grade. 

“Something tells me you’re residing in law,” you presume. 

“Actually-” she retorts with knitted brows, tongue to teeth, “-I’m more intrigued in the political science landscape.” 

“Really? I didn’t think my lesson plan back then had too much of a punch in the learning experience.” 

“Well it’s completely the opposite,” beams Minju, rolling her shoulders with pride. “If it weren’t that, I wouldn’t be talking about it with you.” 

“Most of the girls just gave me blank stares while the guys slept through most of the rambling I did,” you breezily say whilst shaking your head. 

“Talking too much was a minus, but there was a plus in other aspects,” she then says. 

“Like?” 

“A thorough outlook from someone that’s-” and her eyes are quick to level yours, with much more refined knowledge and with bare restraint in the attraction - enough to freeze you in place and think back to how she was giving the utmost attention sitting in your classroom, “-well, there’s no better word for it: persuasive.” 

Her voice is basically seeping at the corners, low and driven and all the signs toward dangerous. She’s not gonna stop; you should consider ending the conversation while you can. Though, you don’t and stomach the cluttered air riddled within your neck. 

“Well then,” you say. “I sure hope you’ve been up to par with your current works?” 

Minju bites her bottom lip; widens the opening of your jacket. “Articles, reading, theses, the whole nine yards.” 

“That's all you got? 

You’re seeing nothing but the dark hazel pooling her irises. 

Flaring your voice like that to an esteemed family member that isn’t Minju would probably get you fired, maybe. “Okay? What do you want to know?” 

“It’s an open ended question I don’t have the answer for.” 

She cocoons the blazer around her again, back to the concrete overlooking the estate. “The last thing I read while coming up with a case study was focused on a theory about specific decisions. Meaning how the factor of choice influences us, weighing those choices, even the impulsive ones on instinct. It’s everywhere, even on a much global scale, deliberating with other countries; the movement of products, weapons, transferring prisoners, any and every deal that’s under or hidden beneath the sun.” Minju looks at you with a hint of worry - much like the times she came during lunch break and rambled about the typical drama with her circle of friends and pressing topics that were flagged under the universal policy. 

“Go on,” you tell her. “We’re just up here alone.” 

“I”m conscious about what’s there to gain and lose, depending on the deal or the stake of it. Naturally, people hate to lose. There’s a basic rule left unspoken where it can be differentiated between cognitive thinking and instinct - and it’s seen in games and people with status or power, those who-” her mouth drops, cutting it off accidentally. 

“Interesting,” you say. 

“Besdies that, I think I’ve said too much already,” Minju replies, hiding her chin to the collar. 

You don’t think you’ve said enough. Everything about her is a losing game: from her intellect to her age, and millions of statuses above you to even stand a chance. Her theory is right, thinking about an instinct of wanting her that it’s irrational to think about anything else. 

“No, Minju,” you laugh, breathless, albeit impressed. “It’s amazing what you’ve done with the opportunities. I hope you tell me more down the line?” 

Minju’s eyes flare up, surprised. “Sir- I’m very flattered-

It’s impossible for you to discern whether her cheeks were already in a rosy blush from the cold or from what was said just now. Her cute button nose is also mirroring the same shade - gulping down the urge to kiss that spot. You stare at her bottom lip; she nods in agreement. You could kiss that, too. 

“I think I do get ahead of myself,” she then says, moving her head left and right to disregard the compliment. 

“Now who told you that?” You ask. 

Minju zones out, meets your gaze with a tilt. “Huh?” 

“If you think you’re getting ahead of yourself, then that belief is instilled from someone else,” you say, lips pressed with crossed arms. “Out of everyone, you’re the only one that’s talked about a topic with the most interest. Why let another person determine what you can or can not express; besides, they’re stupid.” 

Minju, again, shoots her eyes down to her toes, shielding her growing smirk. Suddenly, the space between you two is minimized, even when you try your best to keep the space open due to the cold, it’s definitely waking you up from the suffocating party indoors. You notice her hand skate across the concrete, resting on the balcony after a few twitches. 

There’s a literal pull happening here, slowly. Until the both of you are looking out to the vast garden shrouded in darkness ahead, shoulder to shoulder; that is, when Minju faces front and is within extreme closeness of your chest, burrowing like she belongs here, shedding away skin and letting the cold wash her over. Even when the cold is already unbearable, and even so- 

Past the thrums of your heartbeat ringing in your ears, you could hear Minju swallow. Sighing into your chest as if there was a hidden weight finally lifted after so long. 

You don’t stop here. In fact, you don’t even consider stopping yourself at all: leaning down with a slow drag of your eyes to meet hers, gazing down those pretty features. She glances when you treat a loose strand of her hair caught by the breeze, shelf it nicely past the cuff of her ear, grazing your fingernails down her neck. 

Minju tilts her head to open up the space, holding her breath from the sudden touch. 

Then there’s the fuck-up: she doesn’t want this, of course she doesn’t. You pull your hand from her shoulder, draft up the apology in your mind. 

“Wait. We can- just, not here.” She hushes, stepping back with a hand up, scanning through the doors because getting caught would be a shitload of trouble. The tone in her voice drastically switched from being easy and composed - to breathless and on edge. 

“Minju, look- I’m sorry-” you get out, because the wrong idea’s already been shown and there’s a small hope of being able to hide it. 

“No, I’m sorry. It’s not that- I’d just want-” she tries to reason it out, voice low and hesitant. She swallows the lump in her throat, breathes deep after. “We’d be better off away from people that know us, you know?” 

You have a hard time processing what’s happening - probably because most of the blood isn’t going to your head and rather someplace else where the head might be useful in; with your mouth dry and on a similar wavelength to Minju. You feel your pockets again and realize the metal ridges that are typically there are in the coat she’s wearing (and lending). 

“It’s dark, for one. But my car is parked in the lot behind the hall. I- I might’ve had a little too much to drink for another and- oh fuck-” you huff, shaking your head fervently. “Wait- sorry. Don’t you mean drinks? I’m afraid I’m not up to-” 

Minju stops you with a hand to your chest, laughing. 

“You’re not driving home, sir. That’s for sure. I mean if you had a room here at the hotel for the night?” 

You’ve been sucked back to your teens, desperate for a girl that hinders your brain capacity. The good thing is: you’re sober enough to drive the few blocks back to the hotel with the room a couple floors up and there’s also the option to take the woman and fuck her into the backseat of your car. 

It’s a definite psychiatric work up on your agenda. 

“Okay, okay. So you want to-” 

Minju grins, licking her teeth. “The number?” 

“325.” 

“325?” She repeats, eyes shimmering. “You head back there first. I’ll come in fifteen minutes.” 

She’s quick to give back your coat with turning heels, slipping effortlessly through the glass doors. You try to track her silhouette, but watch her fade into the crowd. With her light auburn hair as the fateful magnet you can’t escape from. 

–

Time seems to stretch for as long as it possibly could, dwindling your bits of hope for every second that comes to pass - waiting for someone who may not even matter to you. 

Yet the hints of her scent scattered on your coat, there would be enough confirmation that the whole thing was a measly dream. It’s all stupidity from you: pressing the crease of the covers, hiding a pair of underwear beneath the nightstand; as if the walls in the room were closing in to your deteriorating psychotic episode. Maybe the couch would’ve been better rather than the edge of the bed - you don’t even know anymore at this point. 

All of it could’ve been chalked up as a one-time thing - ostensibly, that would be the best possible outcome: instead of inviting a student who’s clearly years younger back into your room, not after the fact that she’s alluring in all her looks and the slip of addiction in the way she presents herself. 

Minju could be the end of you - in a lot of ways than just one. 

The stupid idea here you come up with: a duo of glasses set on the mini bar - your own concoction of vodka that won’t burn down the throat. Not for the reason to satiate the need of another beverage, but the thought counts. Or so you thought. You’re not in your own head in getting the girl drunk, right? There’s no pressure about it- 

Your neck snaps at the light tapping at the door, three times. Quick enough to pull the door open and see Minju waiting on the other end. Legs crossed and hand resting to her side, dress unchanged; a stupid observation considering how much time’s passed. She still has your coat from earlier. Smiles at you before scanning both ends of the hallway; of course she’d rather save the thought of being caught dead in your crosshairs (let alone- your own fucking hotel room) when there might be other peers nearby. 

Grinning as the short-lived greeting. “Hi,” she sighs, relieved. 

“Someone seems tense,” you say, returning the grin. 

Minju blinks, “So um,” the line of her shoulders loosen in a fast second. “Will you let me in?” 

“Yes, oh my god. Of course, please. Come in,” you nod without a single thought, hastily shuffling your feet across the carpet beneath. Extending an arm to hold the door as she walks in, meeting her nod as she breezes past your proximity. With the door closing behind and it’s just the two of you isolated again. 

She walks to the middle of the room, refined and poised. Like if the world stopped for her and the only thing you can do is to acknowledge her in that moment. Despite how dimly lit the room was, it made her even more strikingly beautiful. 

You think that God himself is urging you to not court her; simply because-

Someone like you doesn't deserve that luxury. 

“I made a simple drink,” you tell her, pointing to the mini bar in the corner before the lamp. “It’s vodka with some soda mixed in to ease the bitterness. Only what the hotel provided, anyway,” you stutter, as Minju notices with a few steps in that direction. To which, she takes the offering. Hiding a scowl after the sip with the glass gently set back to its original coaster. 

While being the idiot that you are, you’re fidgeting your fingers and trying to keep yourself busy in the compact room: requesting your coat back, taking her bag, insisting her to accept a glass of water as the late chaser. 

“Hey,” Minju’s voice cuts through your ears and it stills your heart. That steady timbre, draws your attention back to her, with every step of hers sending blood through your veins invigoratingly fast. One hand is to your shoulder, the other dancing along the tips of your fingers. “I thought you wanted to kiss me now.” 

Well, she’s got you there. 

Fingers intertwined and closing the distance, chest to chest. The mere want clouding your head is just enough to release the nerves and let the intrusive actions take its course. In those doe eyes filling yours; soft, pretty pink lips parted and waiting. She needs this just as much as you do. 

You cup her cheek, gently. She lets the light tilt of her face invoke the message - a final say to reconsider- 

And she doesn’t. 

Her pupils are foggy, blown. The endless abyss beneath them is a mere pool for you to sink into. You’ve got no reasons to meet her lips, but here you are: kissing so carefully, and it’s messing you up. 

That mouth is- so damming and incredibly soft; with a fucked up part of you imagining it just to your liking. Despite the size, they’re addicting to the mix of vodka and ginger ale. You start slow, keep it within the lips. She chases the sensation when you pull back, longing the press more as your nose slides on her cheek, her breasts smothering the cloth on your shirt. 

Yet the way she kisses you is a theory to study - teetering the borderline of needy, and feral. Minju’s not the perfect girl you’ve drawn her up to be. Actually- it’s a kiss with such urgency as she drops her jaw lower, slips her tongue through your lips. You oblige and let her have it, tugging on your bottom lip until she’s making you bleed. In fact: no one has ever kissed you like this since you were young. It’s all confusing, for one; though it’s making you hot and the clutch in your pants even tighter. 

She’s wrinkling your shirt in her fists, swaying her hips in your hands. A slip of the tongue into her mouth loosens her jaw, opens herself wider. You cup her cheek, bend the angle of her neck. The noises she’s seeping are heavenly, the mere sound of it going straight to your cock, albeit from your mouth first. 

Her chest is elevated, heaving. You’re seeing what lies beyond her collarbone, the delicate skin waiting to be defiled. She draws you closer to her neck as she sighs in relief. The pulse point and space behind her ear the only thing Minju can focus on at the moment. Breathing you in; there’s a hint of white sands, a calm sage, something frothy and warm. A sweet spring interlude to a warm summer. 

Minju’s knees surrender at the sudden graze of your teeth along her throat. Only to find solace in your mouth once more, pushing you to the edge of the bed. It prods the suggestion to bring her to your lap, hitch the dress up to her thigh, the fabric restricting just slightly. This is the window to stop (in which, you don’t want to); however, it’s a snap of common sense away from the addicting heat of her mouth. You swallow on air that isn’t thick with her taste. 

“Wait,” you pause. It's the lifeline of your salvation, “Remind me: how old are you again?” 

She stills, watches as you wipe your chin, huffing. It’s clearly one of the three questions you never ask in conversation, which explains the dirty look that’s given. 

“Minju-” 

“Twenty two. Not that I care, honestly.” 

Your eyes roll back. No need to do the math here. The girl’s got your hands before they could retreat off her body, only hiking up more and more of her dress. 

“Sir, please.” 

Desperation, you conclude. It’s in the way her tone shifts from calm to this. You philosophized that there is an existence of hell, and there’s a certainty that you’ll end up there. Especially with this deity leaning over and kissing you again. Pressing into your mouth sweetly. She meets your eyes, swiping a hair from your forehead. 

“Please,” and she’s saying this with lidded eyes. 

And that’s all the resolve snuffed out of you. 

You’re quick to cup her cheeks and kiss her harshly, with just enough desperation as her. Gasping and laughing when you flip her pretty little body on her back, crawling atop. Every bit of insanity gets worse than before when you part her thighs, push her arms over and around her head when she settles into the duvet. Tongues swiping in a duel with no victor. Your hand shoots for her waist, palm hooking her entire waist. A real live wire, unraveling; her body shivers at the brush of your knee to her thighs, flinching. Everything about her is raw and there’s nothing you can do to save yourself. 

Just as you’re ruining her, Minju’s ruining your attire. Pulling and undoing the buttons of your shirt, loosening the tie. You relax and let her work for it until she can’t, pulling off the shirt and the belt to follow. Soon after, she’s trying to undo herself along with the dress. 

“It’s okay,” you say, kissing a shoulder blade as she turns on her stomach. Watch her sweep the hair to reveal the nape of her neck as the zipper descends. You eventually get to the end where the metal stops above her ass. The fabric grants you more angles of her curves, where the skin is revealed even more with scattered beauty marks. Only for you to notice that she isn’t wearing a bra - but the lacy waistband that’s resting at the lowest point of her hips. “You’re beautiful,” you praise, kissing her spine as the dress gets pulled by your fingers. 

The trail of kisses continues with her . 

“You can tell me to stop,” you whisper. Smiling into another kiss. 

Minju shoves her head into the pillows, shaking. 

“I’m giving you permission to say ‘no’, baby. And I’ll listen.” 

“No.” 

She’s quivering from your weight. You don’t answer, nor can afford to. 

“You really want this?” You then ask. A kiss to a dimple on her lower back.

“Professor-” 

“Use your words, Minju.” Her back arches under you, trying to press her ass on your cock. “I need you to tell me.” 

“Yes,” she sighs, though it comes as a hiss. Exhausted. “I need it- need you.” 

This only makes you realize again, 

You’d never think twice with her. 

Minju sighs in kind when you roll her back up to see her face, clearly wrecked as you are: those puffy, pouted lips and glassy eyes; hair frazzled, and it’s not doing you any good the way she holds it up in a loose ponytail, giving that extra fringe. The strapless dress is falling at her tits, only to realize that she had nothing underneath - a fantasy that you’ve devised since meeting her outside, it’s a real fucking disservice. 

In your eyes, she’s incredibly more perfect than you can theorize: light and toned, porcelain smooth skin. Makes you forget the gap in other places- 

You should feel guilty about it. 

Despite that, she guides your hand to her breast and makes you grip roughly. You scoff at how eager she is and it soon gets buried in your throat how lithe the feel is in your own palm. Like she’s made for you. A quick graze of her nipple to your thumb and she flinches. You try again and it’s the same jolt in her body, inhaling and makes you hiss through the teeth. The responsiveness is more sudden than the alcohol. 

At this point your shirt’s off and Minju’s at your neck, nipping away and will be a real blemish to deal with the morning after. Not to worry - you wanted it. A form of physical proof that shows you let her touch the way she does, reminding you that no other girl in your life has made you feel like this. She squirms when you finally get to her collarbone, see the protrusions of bone along her skin and dance on them with your fingertips with the delicacy of a harp player. Placing a nipple between your lips which prompts her to dig into your scalp with her fingers. 

Your hand slips down to her thigh and rests there, amazed with how smooth the skin at her legs really was. While there were some stray hairs along the surface, as if she’d never shave below the knee, it’s a sickening feeling that’s only deepening with no thought of calming - to claim something you’ve got no rights to.  

And when your fingers stroke over the lace of her panties, they’re wet. Minju’s legs tense at the touch. 

“Good?” You ask, kissing her sternum and making the way down, rubbing circles to her outer thigh and licking her waist. 

“I’ll let you- y’know,” she rasps, gripping more of your hair when your hands rest at the grooves of her thigh. 

Your brows knit together, unimpressed. It’s too easy to have her like this - too easy for her to give herself in such a way and a little too much. She’s been addicting since the second you met her and you start to notice how open- how willing- let alone pliable she’s trying to be. She’s serious, and it’s there. You realize that she’ll take everything so well at anything you dish out at her. 

A subtle bite of her inner thigh, and she softly yelps. “Then let me ask: what do you want, Minju?” 

Her legs twitch again, hand guiding back to the center. 

“A lot of things,” she answers, “Really, like- oh jesus- everything, actually-” 

You nibble at the fabric and she loses it even more. “Is this something you want?” 

Minju does her best to keep cool, and then your nose grazes her core through the lace and you’re whispering these lovely sounds of nothingness. 

“Fuck- sir, yes.” 

You slide her panties off her unbelievable legs and place two fingers over her clit, which makes Minju wince at the first gentle swipe. Learning that it won’t take as much to have her whole body shuddering under you. Once you’ve got a small taste of her, you go back to the gushing heat and let her have it. 

Here, you don’t recall having such a feeling like this before or in past experiences. The fact that she’s unbearably hot, her tightness corralling your fingers, leaking into the bottom of your palm. She’s got her head on the pillow when you move, slowly pumping in pace in and out of her. And it’s in the broken silence of these four walls, the sounds of slick slipping from her cunt - Minju’s covering her pretty face into the rumpled duvet and whimpering. You’re panting into her neck while your fingers continue to work her over. Then her hands are searching for a hold; to your sides, to the sheets. Her waist naturally rocks over with the digits you have inside of her, making her chase with those bucking hips. 

The other remedy you give is a kiss to her pulse. 

Minju glances before she looks the other way, considering that the spot you’re stroking is making her brain mush. Aside from the fact that your wrist is straining between her thighs, you ignore it - the rhythm too good with the noises she’s spilling out from her lips. 

“Relax,” you croon, hand to her stomach and waiting at the hip. “Let me take care of the rest.” 

Minju rasps at the strokes at that sweet spot. While part of you wants to work it through and see how riled up she can actually get - yet it doesn’t seem like she’s the patient type, noticing how close she was within a short span of minutes. Your thumb brushes her clit in circles, and that gets her whimpering at the feeling alone. You long for a look at her face, pressed tightly to the sheets and pillow. She’s helplessly clenching around your fingers that the drag is taking a toll - her back arches, with legs shaking- 

Suddenly, it’s all snuffed out with a stilled gasp. You ignore the tension at your hand, push through the feeling and let the fingers press inside. Minju holds in a breath, knocking the top of her lungs - the contraction enough for you to finally see her expression: a twisted face with knitted eyes shut, bearing the impending wave of euphoria you were about to suck out of her. 

Just like that:

Bliss. 

Minju comes with a pitched shriek. Easing with a clutch to your shoulder and rolling her hips with the dress sifting with her body. Her thighs slam shut and her sensitive clit is light on your fingertip and responsive. 

You kiss her cheek and temple and stroke her jaw. When you finally relieve her of your fingers - sticky and left in her mess, the urge to taste her is all you think about. Sucking them clean and savoring the reward: ravishing, for one, and incredible. “God, darling. You-” 

Her lips press at the tent of your pants, enough to focus back on it. 

“Miss.” It’s the first time you’ve addressed her that way since the party. A little out of character but worth trying, despite her steeled determination and quick hands working down the button and zipper- fingers wrapped around your growing shaft when you realize it’s going to get a whole lot worse-

Your length gets freed from the elastic and it springs right up to her pretty face. It lands on her button nose and she can’t fathom you being nearly the size of her head.  Her tongue is quick to take a salivating lick underneath; swallowing on nothing (again, or- yet, at least). 

As if one hand wasn’t enough, her other joins the fray - guiding you to her parting lips, resting the underside against her tongue. Minju’s eyes watch you stare her down with all the naughty things seeping through your endless pools, sliding the head past her teeth and inhales as a test. The mere wickedness of such a simple action would’ve made you bust on the spot. She has another go and brings the length down her mouth to halfway, and you’re increasingly reluctant to pull out. Yes, her tongue is fucking amazing but if you yield to that single temptation alone, there won’t be enough for when you get inside her folds and it’ll be unforgivable. 

Minju tilts her head and those bedroom eyes are a true devil’s advocate, attempting to slip your tip past her scraping teeth. 

“God-” It only makes you snap and grab her face with both of your hands and push your cock into her throat for a taste. You groan and laugh while sliding out and help her sit up soon after. “You’re wonderful.” 

She lets her tongue flick a vein, a kiss soon after. “Hmm?” It’s an insufferable tease. 

“I would’ve came if you kept doing that.” You then say, cupping her jaw. 

Minju smirks back in satisfaction, and it’s all a jester’s ploy. She lets her face fall one side again with gleaming eyes - confident, arrogant. Like a brat. 

You play kindly and tilt down to kiss her. All of that gaudy assurance disappears when she’s reciprocating and moaning down your mouth. Tangling your fingers to her scalp, take that makeshift ponytail and have a hold for yourself and feel her locks spill over the digits. She’s quick to lay back while you discard your lower garments, Minju slipping out of her panties. Your knee presses her center, smearing. The feel of your cock to her inner thigh makes you leak slightly. 

Her smile goes lazy when your tip meets her folds, in a testy observance. 

“Shit,” you say, groaning. Minju’s barely listening and too fixated at her center. “Fucking christ.” 

“Yeah?” and those damn bedroom eyes of hers aren’t doing her any favors. 

“Left condoms.” You’re stupidly speaking because it’s something you didn’t consider for years. And it wasn’t like you did this often, anyway. 

Minju pouts her lips, still with trained eyes. “It’s okay,” she whispers. Her fucking hips are rolling her cunt on the head of your cock. 

“You sure? What about the pill, at least-” it’s a precaution, not much for her hand wrapped to your shaft and guiding you still. 

“Mhm,” she hums, eager. “I’ll be fine.” 

“I’m just- considerate.” You’re barely registering the fact about ruining her and the chance to fuck her with no safeguards. 

“It’s fine.” She says firmly. It comes off as on edge, annoyance- probably impatient. You take her word for it and go along the way. Kissing her forehead and temple; feel Minju’s breath hitch when the press is made - lining up with no issue and blanking out for a second. 

Minju, from your many conclusions, is: unbelievably-fucking-tight. You don’t see any reason to escape from it, how the slick heat surrounds your length, better than anything you’ve ever felt or experienced. It stills you for a moment, drawing these breaths which should be easy, cupping her head and holding her close. She’s sighing again, eyes shut. Might be a while for her as well. You drag an inch back and hear a shuddered exhale. Which prompts another inch retracted for good measure, and push back in - then another, slowly, this will make you insane. One more thrust siphons a noise from the bottom of her throat; something raw, and cardinally present. 

(She’s everything you’ve wanted - what you didn’t know was needed until you had her.) 

The both of you stay like that, rucking hips and zeroing on each other’s breaths. Until Minju’s dispelled to these semi-hearty sighs - uncrinkling her brows and slacked in pleasure. Her ankle digs to your thigh, a rescue rope of sorts, for you to focus all the way and bottom her out. 

Then her mouth forms an ‘oh’. She shakes. 

In the midst of the building pressure, you’re asking: “How’s that? Okay? Good?” Combing her hair to see her face better; another thrust passing through her and she leans to your palm. 

Minju’s nodding, maybe the only thing she can possibly do at the moment. Her parted lips take yours with arms around the neck, hooking. 

This is a snapshot in your life you want to take and keep forever, recall every sound she’s ringing in your ears, how her hair smells, the way her insides take your cock so well with passing time. Her hips meet yours in the middle, taking your pace deeper. There’s so much time to spend with her; you’d want to stay in her walls forever. 

She’s insisting for more, more. 

“Sir- sir. Please- fuck me-” 

“I got you,” and you do. 

For the first time since meeting her, you’re freely fucking into her with purpose. Every inch that’s buried in her lovely cunt makes her stifle a cry into the sheets, your shoulder, your lips, just anywhere where the noise doesn’t wake the nearby hotel guests. She’s so good on your cock it’s fucking hurting; on the up and down and the slide in and out - the mere forth and back and back and forth with much fervence. 

Minju isn’t there anymore; she’s completely gone. It makes sense for her case because she’s cursing and gasping at the teeth, failing at biting down her moans. Neither of you can help it - the pleasure is good to you both. 

Both of your bodies are flush, moving as one. Every tap of your cockhead inside her is like a gateway to her conscience, joining two heads together. It feels like it; all of your thoughts, claiming and devouring every corner of your brain. Minju’s pitch has raised an octave and it might let alone silence the heavens. 

Your hands are holding you upright, while hers is claiming purchase to your body - like two birds fighting in the air and falling, spiraling to the ground. You take her wrists over her head, push her into the mattress more. She doesn’t even try to return the kiss, all she gives back are more moans against your mouth. 

Those eyes, again. She’s looking at you like it should be terrifying. With those pools so wide and trusting, sucking you in that endless pit of lust and something more dark that would defile all followings of faith. An impossibility to bear, so you settle with her neck and just focus on how close she’s getting, banking she doesn’t even know it herself. As much as you want to keep pounding her for more than a couple seconds, you’re more desperate to watch her crumble beneath you. Rock your hips to hers and feel her clit rub the base - she’s clenching her teeth with eyes closed. 

You keep going with a few more thrusts, as much as you can give her. Her body is basically being pushed up against the mattress and only being yanked back to your cock, meeting her forehead as her orgasm sends tremors to her entire body. Her cunt clenches around you, locking her ankles to your legs. 

Checkmate. 

She’s holding you to the edge - cumming inside with no escape, leaving ropes to her cervix. The quiet room filled with loud gasps and huffs that will surely have noise complaints later, softening to whimpers. 

You collapse on top of Minju, with enough room for her to breathe. Catching your own while your vision comes to. Curse the vertigo, but what good would that bring if it weren’t for the release. She’s shivering to your chest, and every exhale is another shudder of a clattering teeth. You kiss her cheek, then stroke her hair, thumb her hips for a job well done - adoring, in reverence. The mere thought of guilt doesn’t creep in right away, but it will eventually. Right now, all you want is to be close to her. 

Minju hums to get your attention, something content or exhausted, massaging your hair and moving a few stray hairs on your forehead. Completely ignoring the fact that you’re still hard inside of her and she smiles with a bump to her button nose. You don’t acknowledge the lurch your heart gives from the look she’s exuberating, ridding the cobwebs and dust - beating proudly as if to say that “this soul still has some life here”. 

In reluctance, you eventually pull out of her - and the both of you wince at the loss. You move up the duvet to where you both are within the proximity of the sheet draping over. Her exhales are your inhales, and it’s the same the other way; to the point where the air is shared. Minju traces a finger to your face, thumbing wrinkles that would’ve faded at her touch alone - from your forehead, to the defined cheekbones, that jaw. It’s a gentle touch you’ve had in a long while. 

What feels abrupt to an eternity, Minju huffs and sits up slowly, buckling her elbow and coughing. You’re rubbing a shoulder and bridging an arm to hers. “Why not stay?” You ask, seeing her tilt her chin at the question. “I can order us something in the morning,” she listens as you add. “On me. Whatever you’re craving.” 

She smirks - it’s pretty, genuine. That flash of teeth is a sunrise of its own in the long night. Then it switches to something more solemn, not too regretful - you settle for wistful. 

“As much as I want to, I can’t. Really, I’d take up the offer,” Minju tells you. “I appreciate it.” 

While you could feel your heart sink for a second, you nod. The disappointment weighs heavy, and even more heavier as she stands up. Only for you to notice the crimson stain left on the sheets, clearly out of place and defiling the linen. 

“Min- wait. Your legs- or something. Are you okay?” You’re concerned, examining closely. She turns around once her dress is on, reaching for the ruined dress. 

“Huh? Oh. I- Ugh. I should’ve said something-” she stutters, scratching her forehead. 

“It’s fine. Are you- I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

Minju shakes her head in lieu of a ‘no’. 

“Is that normal? For you?” 

You see her jaw flex, shrugging. She’s pulling the dress up to her waist. “I mean, it just sort of happened-” 

Half right she is. It still leaves you confused, and then the notion hits you like a bullet. 

“Hang on-” your heart quivers, anxious. “You actually never-” 

No answer. 

“Really. You’re kidding me.” Both of you know what the conclusion is. “Are-” 

Her eyes roll and nostrils flare. “The answer is yes. Now is it going to be that big of a deal for you? Or can we move on?” She doesn’t flinch at your connecting dots. You’re staring down the smirking girl in a small shock regardless.  

(Here: you don’t actually say it, but the implication was there - she is, or, was, in fact, a little over an hour ago, but there’s no need to go over the details, again.) 

Instead your face is between your palms and the guilt could not have spilled over any quickly. Yeah. You’re definitely gonna live with that for the rest of your life, it seems. 

“Minju- you- I think a heads up would’ve been nice. At least tell me before-” you sigh and there’s no point in thinking what could’ve been done differently. Which begs the questions: would you have really stopped? What would you do if she had told you? Spare her a little more care? Not be as rough? Let alone the fact you went all the way- 

“Listen. Don’t make yourself the bad guy here,” relents Minju, sitting at the desk and beginning to straighten her hair and touch up her lipstick. Looking back over her shoulder, “I wanted it. And, it was good. Simple.” 

“Alright, but look if your first time is going to be somewhat memorable, it should’ve been different,” you sigh, buttoning up your shirt and cuffs before the necktie gets thrown around the collar. “Christ. Who am I even kidding? I was gonna have you in the back of my car if you hadn’t suggested-” and you’re rambling; everything about the plot is so fucked for you while she appears to be completely fine. 

She chuckles; almost in a mocking form. “Did I give any expression that said ‘i didn’t want you to fuck me?’” 

You’ve got your tongue in teeth. It’s unfair for her to be this cruel. 

“Well-” and there’s this quick exasperation of disbelief with a dropping hand, “No, you didn’t. That being said, I still-” 

You watch her walk over to the mattress and lean on your hip, not exactly straddling but still doing enough to keep you dumbstruck and keep your words stuck in the throat as she kisses you earnestly on the cheek, nodding in kind. “Be a dear and zip me back up.” She shifts her head and sweeps a few hairs, then taps your jaw a few times while she turns around. 

Naturally, she’s got all of her hair to the front which reveals her upper back, and you can’t help but wonder how good it’ll look riddled with bruises and bite marks. But that’s just the lust part of your brain doing that while the other is in figurative zombie mode and almost sleepwalker-like - not to mention the guilt and shame and possible court case looming when you finally lock it in place at the top. 

Observant as she loosens herself, patting down areas of her dress to ensure they’re comfortable. She still looks untouched - albeit her flushed cheeks still present and fading, her hair wavy and more weathered compared to her straight and clean picture from earlier. You’re watching the mask she bears finally take shape - so neat and prettily like a well-tailored doll. 

“Maybe a dinner would suffice,” you propose, a first suggestion to compensate for the mess you’ve gotten into. “Doesn’t have to be glamorous, even. I could just give you my number if you’d like.” The sands of time aren't playing kindly to your efforts, and the main crevice between the both of you is only getting larger. 

“Phone. Give.” She commands, extending a hand. You’re patting yourself down only to realize that it was left on the floor with your trousers. Minju watches you over, probably dumbfounded at how stupid you look, but that seems to be okay with her. 

You blink as she presses the screen and saves the contact after, handing it over. 

“Guess this is goodbye,” she softly says to you. As if she signed her life away and seeing you stay as she goes. You ball a fist and relax, settling the urge to pull her back. 

“Good night, Minju.” 

You’re holding the door open as she departs with a faint smirk. It hurts you to see her leave the room - even more when she doesn’t turn back whilst down the hallway - and the door has seen the air filled with a single soul riddled in vodka, santal, and remnants of sex. 

Once everything settles, you change out to a clean shirt, noticing an unfamiliar garment next to the pile of dirty clothes: a pair of lacy panties. You sigh; of course she left it here. Quick to put it away even before the thoughts creep back into your brain. 

–

(When you’re between the pillows filled with her scent, you open up the new contact: 

Minju P. 

Her phone number is quite elegant as her name and look. You smile at that. 

Which only curdles the boiling curiosity even more. A tab with ‘Minju Park Gala’ on the search bar: nothing. ‘Minju Park University event’ added with the date doesn't give you any answers either. Scrolling through a few esteemed articles where she’s credited for a few of them. It’s the same name, but there’s a referral to Minju K. P. There’s something fishy, a fact she left out (maybe on purpose but you don’t want to assume), switching out the P for a K, and vice versa. 

This kicker makes you sit up: ‘Minju K. Park’. A photo is seen in the images on the webpage. She’s younger - only by a few years - sat in front of a woman in the center of the photo. The woman behind has her hand resting to her shoulder; you could feel the weight of it from the aged film alone. 

You clock it from the face first before the info quote: 

Minju Kim pictured with her daughter Minju Park (front) at the opening ceremony of Gillit University. 

“Shit,” you exhale. 

Minju Park-Kim. Kim Minju’s direct successor of the most powerful institutions in leading education, given the article and a little more scrolling to the side. Her mother’s been playing a pivotal role as her main teacher, from the looks of it. 

You spot more photos and see her and the mother across multiple events, some from personal life and at work: she’s poised, a trailblazer in her own right. The catalog goes on for decades, Kim Minju’s personal trophy at the forefront of PR purposes. And her very daughter just lost her virginity in a ritzy hotel to a person who’s years ahead of her while the mother is playing headmaster a few miles away. 

It should make you feel way worse than before. Yet- 

You actually don’t care. 

And shoot a text to her soon after.) 

–

A week passes. You both settle at this dingy place that sells decent ice cream and smoothies - far away from any vicinity where your faces are a familiarity. 

(Yeah, she tells you, let’s go grab something cold while the weather is nipping at our skin. That’s a great idea. You don’t really care. The ideas were spread thin as it is.) 

You’ve had an initial thought of a proper dinner, one well put together with a reservation, a bottle of wine, and the bill going one way. She took her sweet time texting you back. It honestly makes you happy she’s here to go along with the date. 

Everything about it goes against your daily schedule: you’re treating Minju Park-Kim to a sweet treat on a random weekday evening. For any consolation from the last time you and her were together, this was the most mundane thing that should have been done in the first place. Unlike eating each other’s faces off and fucking in the hotel room. (For her first, as well.) 

Regardless of class or status, it would be kind for you to have some sort of sense to learn about the girl some more that doesn't involve railing her hips off with the legs up but- hey, she doesn’t know you found out the truth. 

You order the usual: a double scoop of cookies and cream. She, on the other hand, picks out a nice cherry sorbet. It rests well on her cup and leaves a bit of red on the spoon when she places it there while it melts. See the bottom of her lip curl outward before testing a lick for good measure. 

“Funny,” you breathe, smiling. “You told me that ice cream was your thing.” 

Minju stabs her scoop as an offense. “Accusing me of lying?” 

“Never claimed nor concluded that,” you laugh. “You just look like those workers who scrape gum underneath the lunch tables.” 

“Cookies and cream. Really!? Just go freeze some oreos and save the money.” 

You roll your eyes and snatch her spoon, scooping a nice chunk of yours to offer as a sample. “Have some.” 

Her brows furrow, with a few wrinkles at the top of her nose. 

“It’s not gonna hurt you,” you chuckle. Waving it closer to her adorable scowl, sighing. “For me.” 

She then closes her eyes, parting her lips as the scoop disappears into her mouth. You catch the quick glimpse of her tongue when she gets a bit off of her top lip, licks them soon after. Tongue in cheek, nodding in approval. 

“See?! What’d I say,” you drawl, taking a scoop for your own as a prize. 

“It isn’t that appealing,” replies Minju. While you lean back and drop your shoulders, she takes the spoon and gets another piece for herself. Quick to grab her wrist before the scoop ever got anywhere. 

“Hang on now. When did I say it’s okay to get another one from me?” Right then there’s this look on her face, with pulled lips as if she’s unimpressed while you make another scoop for her to lick of. Two mouthfuls were enough to suffice her, and you have no complaint spooning her bites across the booth. She then stops after the third, grinning with another lick of her lips. 

You’ve drawn up the observation of how pretty she is looking at you like this: the small crescents in her eyes when she smiles, the gentle quirk or twitch of her eyebrow when something is tasty; her light, toffee hair down and resting loosely at the shoulders. The parlor’s small, a quick stop by train on the way to campus - much easier on the eyes, lighter, her head falls like she’s got no worries. 

It’s your act of service to wipe your thumb first before leaning across to smear off the ice cream left beneath Minju’s lips. Her mouth drops before closing again where your fingertip rests on her chin, on the nice little space between. Her smirk forms as a tease and those doting eyes - too bright and inviting and blinking to snap you out of it when the second of staring lingers more than it should. 

She hums in satisfaction, cocking her head the opposite side. 

“I won’t be mad,” and it’s in this telling voice of assurance. “I don’t mind you touching me.” 

Your eyes dart to the window, guilty as charged. Yet you don’t smile or frown, but this mixed reaction of being conflicted. “It’s not that,” you say, placing your cup down followed by clasped hands, “it’s the fact that- maybe we shouldn’t.” 

Minju pauses, reading into the lines. The level of awareness for someone her age should already be developed, and props to her for noticing the cues. “Maybe,” she answers. “No, you’re right. We probably shouldn’t.” 

Facetious, you’ll give her that. 

Though you feel her foot on your ankle under the table and she’s just slowly moving it up and down your shin (mind you: her legs are bare, with that knee length skirt and not giving a shit about the cold weather - it should ring the alarm bells in your head but you choose to ignore it). “Actually, you’re a hundred percent right.” 

You level your heads and let it sit. 

On the other hand, she’s got her hand propping her chin, batting lashes with those wide eyes, with that innocent folly. The fact that Minju’s not doing anything is doing a number on you mentally - thinking that it would be easier this time being around her. There isn’t any alcohol or any bust up with the spoiled kids, nor any excuse to find an out for sleeping with a woman that’s waving all the red flags in your head. No. It’s way worse. Even with the grief and fog of alcohol not in your mind - how clear it’s become of the fact she’s gorgeous and clever; elegant and refined in the manner which she speaks, with those gentle hands and firm knees. Your thumb finds her lips again and remember the feeling of them. Plus, it’s already bad enough you’ve fantasized about her multiple times during the week, even with the missing pair of panties which she also doesn't know about. 

You actually don’t notice her mouth moving, the noise blocked out between your ears. The grin she gives is actually lecherous. 

“I’m sure you have a staring problem,” she tells you. A tease when she drops the ‘sir’ again to grab your attention, the syllables rolling nicely on her teeth. That same pit in your stomach forms once more and you’re clearing your throat. 

“Minju, easy.” It’s a plea, to her - to be the better person between you two. You sigh and wipe your eyelids. “Don’t push it.”

“Mmm? I’m not doing anything,” she relents. God help you. Even if he could, there’s no stopping her foot rubbing your pant leg. 

You look down and flinch at the screech of the chair skating across the floor. She’s startled as well, but blinks through it, indifferent to the smug she held just a second earlier. “Look, this- I don’t think it’s a good-” 

“Idea?” The question Minju asks; shelves a bob at your throat. Her eyes flicker, coldly. Unimpressed. “In all fairness, you asked me. After all.” 

It’s unfair - the feeling of it spilling into your mind all at once - to be so revolting at the actions you’ve committed to be in this position. You knew better (but you didn’t) and still went along with the bad idea, anyway. Playing the paradoxical confusion of not wanting to be close to her but needing her otherwise is daunting. Fearful of getting too close, too fast, dragged by her impending pull and there’s nothing more you’d want than to just submit - which, in a sense, is the right thing to do. 

“You’re right. I did. And-” you solicit for her reply: no answer. To that, you sigh, “I’m ready to take you home, if you’re willing.” Instead, what she does is not say anything, standing up from the table and looking at you from up high before heading for the exit. On the way out, you’re jumbling the set of keys in your hand, following her around to the passenger side to open the door. Too bad she gets there first, quickly pulling and setting herself down with the seatbelt on and knees together. You meet on the opposite end and close the door, too. 

It’s freezing, the gentle chatter of teeth is heard from her as the breaths are clouding the windows. Even with the overcoat, her legs are visible where the jacket parts. The heat gets turned up to the max, lukewarm air only making it colder. Her fingers curl over her thighs. 

“Minju,” you say, hesitant. Her eyes never leave the front windshield. 

Her lips part slightly, drawing a breath in. She holds it, exhaling soon after. Seems like some of the anger has grown on her, written all over her face and shown in the fist - like the color leaving from a shriveling petal. It’s oddly frightening how calm she is. 

She turns to face you and stare right back. “You remember how to get back to my place right?” A simple inquiry with raised brows, lips perched where it doesn’t flex her cheeks. A completely different persona unlike the coyness personality and teasing that you were used to. Yet it all makes sense - with the surname, the royalty it comes with. She’s able to compartmentalize and slip into a skin that doesn’t have an alias or character. 

–

(You find it infuriating, however. 

Not because of the difference in class- no, not that. But the pieces that were slowly picked apart from a world you have no business being affiliated with. A want that’s been simmering since the second you met her. 

The urge to open her up and engorge yourself of the pieces that make her raw, unadulterated. 

Infuriating enough that losing someone like that is worse than any imaginable gain altogether.) 

–

The car hums to life and you’re entranced by her easy eyes.

 In that instant where the silence is only filled with the gentle beats of your hearts, you make a choice. Because that’s what you can do. Because now that you’ve had her, nothing else really matters. If it wasn’t for her, there wouldn’t be anything for you. The choice is apparent when you cross the center console with just enough grace to not scare her. Minju sees this, albeit blatantly obvious, but her eyebrows lift faster than her lips before she could utter a single word. 

Her lips are the same as you remember them from that night. You kiss her gently, hear her softly hum into the touch. She doesn't flinch at your cold hands, cupping her cheek and get your fingers in her hair. Lips sweet as the ice cream you spoonfed minutes ago. The warmth of them makes you forget about the chilly car. It makes you forget about all of that - how deprived she’s been without you, scarfing down air in the gaps and less frantic than the first time. 

Her hands form fists to your coat and she pulls. You don’t fight her when she’s off the seat, moving with a purpose that’s so endearing. Her teeth clash with yours; it doesn’t hurt but you both laugh gently at the moment. She breaks with deep breaths, labored, bumping noses. Making her way to your lap and get her feet under. You pause, pinch her unbelievable waist. Minju forces you to look at her as you scan in an obvious spot: beneath the streetlight and still in a semi-full parking lot. 

You smile, and all she does is place a nice peck to your lips. “You really don’t want to do this here?” She asks, seeing your shaking head and sighing in defeat. Then stumbling back to her seat and shivering on the way down. “It’s not like they’re gonna interrogate us for being in the car.” 

“A lot more serious if it’s a person with a status with someone she shouldn’t be with.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” 

“You basically wanted to hop and get caught on my cock just now.” 

Minju bites her lip at that. It could be the cold or pent-up tension, or both in this matter. She isn’t doing herself a favor when her hand finds its way between her legs. 

 “I know, I know,” you say, chuckling. “Why don’t we find somewhere else more private, okay?” 

–

Neither of you say a word as you’re driving - think of it as some unspoken agreement that was arranged without saying anything. You’re just rolling along with no direction at all, hoping that the landmarks around the town will eventually lead you back to Minju’s estate. 

Minju has her legs spread just slightly, making space for you. Hand to her knee. She’s tracing your knuckles on your other hand that isn’t on the wheel. She’s fidgeting. You play along and slide your hand up and up; you don’t actually see it buried beneath the coat, but the softness grazes the fingertips and the breadth of your fingers take up her whole leg. 

One of her hands finds your wrist, clutching, urging you to move your hand higher. The grip on the steering wheel goes tight as she guides it to her upper thigh and the sensitive skin that resides. It’s a lot on your mind since she’s shaking at your touch. You turn at the road where it breaks into an empty parking lot, no lights hanging overhead. There’s a corner near the building and the only other car that’s in the lot seems untouched; perhaps abandoned for years, maybe. Your hand leaves her thigh and shift the car to park. 

A giggle could be heard from her, following a grin. “What?” 

“Really,” she breathes, sighing as your fingers splay her thigh. “A church?” 

You lift your brows and she mirrors the same expression. Her gaze goes to the window and you follow. 

‘Church of Latter-Day Saints’ is seen on a dimly lit sign, with a dove and cross next to the name. 

You shake your head and grin. ‘Didn’t notice that. Real nice.” 

“We could always look elsewhere-” 

Minju chortles. She lets her head lean to the seat with her eyes on you. 

“You’re inclined to take a little risk, you know. Live without rules?” 

You roll your eyes at that, letting the fact about sleeping with a former student in your car simmer in your head. There would be something said about this, but instead you tap her thigh twice and nod. “Yeah, I could.” 

“There’d be no saving you.” 

“No, there wouldn’t be.” 

She smirks at that, eyes flickering from yours to lips. And she leans in. You think she might kiss here, but she doesn’t. Her hand goes to your cheek and thumbs the skin, observing the structure so carefully before refocusing. 

You lean in to fill the space where she doesn’t and she’s shedding her overcoat, letting it fall to the floor of the seat. Watch as she climbs over the console to the backseat, see her ass in the rearview, skirt riding high up her thighs and the subtle outline of her profile in the darkness. Slotting through the seats easily and turning around to face you. 

Minju sees you follow after, putting your seat forward as much as possible without suffocating your chest to the wheel. You can’t move as nimbly compared to her and hell- even your bones are praying for mercy. 

Slight change of plans, you just open the door and move to the backseat from outside, right next to her. Minju bites down a grin. Her heels are also discarded to the front, knees underneath where she kneels, sensing your pull and taking that warmth. She gives the same look in her eyes as before, like she knows how much you want to kiss her. 

So you get your pair or lips on hers, give each other an easy chase. Opening up at the small increments; sighing, panting, gasping. The heat will make its way eventually, pulling and moving in the little space that you’ve got. You pull her to your lap without leaving her lips, finally having her thighs pressing her properly. It’s amazing how responsive she is, almost natural. For a girl like her to move up in the world with so much simplicity and no struggle - how lived in the unadulterated way she is when you’re together; weak, clumsy knees and smiling with all teeth. 

You believe that everything with her is real. 

Minju’s hissing down your mouth. “More, more, more-” she croons, her hips grinding hard and pulling your shirt. These nice, little hymns of want seeping at the corners. She’s got her skirt rucked around the waist. You slide a hand up her thigh, around to the curve of her ass, the other to her back and keep her from falling. Her lips break the kiss as she strips the baby blue cardigan and shirt in one clean motion - hitting her head on the ceiling but she’s laughing while you’re focusing on her sheer undershirt that barely covers her supple breasts. You could see the peaks of her nipples, leaning down to suck a nub through the clean fabric. 

“God-” she whines, wounding fingers deep into your hair. She hates how good you are at this, indecisive at what she wants; hunching over your head and resting her hips, reaching down to undo the belt between your bodies. “Can’t help yourself, hm?” 

You look up at her, leaving her tits wet and slimy with spit, clearly visible through the fabric. “Let me taste you.” 

She bites her lips at you, holding your face. “You have to ask more politely.” 

“I-” and she’s got a finger to your lips. 

“Ask. Nicely.” 

The gears in your head short circuit; shit. Your pride went away the second you met her on that terrace, and more of it when she walked in your hotel room. 

“May I,” you ask, voice horse and tilting to her tits, biting a nipple. Minju yelps and she can’t give an answer. “Taste you, please. Ma’am.” 

She takes a breath - a shaky one - gets her bottom lip to her teeth, and nods. You help her off your lap and lay her back along the backseat with the little space manageable. Her skirt gets slipped off, which left her in a pair of ruined bra and a soaked bra. She’s quick to take those off l, impatient. Your shirt is also quick to go and the clack of the belt buckle hits the floor, too. Beginning a trail of kisses down her front, each one making her shake more than the last. 

You pause, get lost in the vast sequin of fine skin laid barren that you’re about to ruin. No corner of her body is left untouched by your hands and lips, blessed by the dim light that’s peeking through the sunroof and windows. From the collarbone to her subtle formation of ribs; she’s bathed in this gentle luminescence in the blue darkness, dipping a tongue to her hipbone, and Minju’s breath hitches closer to her core. 

“Good? Okay?” you ask right above her clit.

“Yes,” nods Mnju. The answer itself is a hiss, a vice in her throat. When you look up to her eyes it’s a moment to genuflect: her pools spilling a darkness of want, her breasts heaving up and down. Covering her mouth with her hand and unable to look away. “Ruin me.” 

While there’s a fire lit under your knee, trying to make do with the pain, it wouldn’t matter to you. When she’s looking at you with those lidded eyes, desperate for something that she can’t even find the words to. You can’t help but be adorned in grace with what’s presented to you as a gift between her thighs. Her pussy lips; so pretty and pink and well flushed; suddenly you wished for another chance to take her somewhere else where the light from above can bless her angelic offering. 

You breathe against her, barely, hot and open, see the twitch at her abs. Fuck. She winces when you kiss right above her clit, well aware that she doesn’t need much. Tonge pressed flat in one, gentle swipe upward. Minju’s grip on your hair goes tight, burning your scalp. An encouragement. 

“My god, fuck-” she sighs, and the sounds are a mix of being strangled and relaxed. You keep on lapping her cunt, suck in her entrance and clit - keeping the contact minimal - since you also think it would be overwhelming for her case, contrary to her dripping and soaking the leather beneath her. The taste is already addicting, you have to hold yourself back from shoving your face into her and drink her chalice. Which would be the case had she not clamp her thighs around your head, tensing and untensing; both unbearable and all forgiving with her bucking hips. 

Her head is thrown back when your nose brushes her clit, biting down a finger. She’s cooing with your fingers teasing her entrance, with no resistance as you slip inside that slick. 

“You’re drenched, sweetheart,” you say. Minju is definitely not going to last. With her insides like silk and her walls clenching and unclenching around your finger, her heels are fighting to stay on the seat. She can’t stay still, eyes shut, jaw hanging open. Seething as your nose rubs her clit and you’re dragging a fingertip to one side and letting the pressure sever her legs - the reflex to them being tense through all the shudders and she could only hold for so long. 

“Yes, yes, yes, yes-” 

That doesn’t stop you from licking her clean, even with her hand tugging you off her cunt, shakily. You praise her by kissing her inner thighs and plant a mark before moving up to her stomach, rest your palms along her waist where it stops her stuttering breaths, trying to reset, recuperate. Get her seated before moving around and cradling her head, keep her comfortable and not where any craps would form - the best you could offer in such a cramped space. 

Both of your bodies are hot, and the leather is left with slick and sweat and Minju’s sweet wine, sticking to her skin. You wipe your chin with the butt of your palm and feel let the stubble capture the stray droplets. “Been wanting to do that since last time,” you tell her, placing a kiss on her forehead. “Should’ve just let me suffocate down there.” 

“Shut up,” Minju tells you, curling to your chest. She’s making you want to claim what’s yours, be possessive; let all of these devilish thoughts of her seeking for another person’s warmth or sighing into a mouth that isn’t yours, hear the sounds she makes with you. It’s eating you apart on the inside - only for a second, that is - but you have her here and nobody else does. 

“I could’ve gone easier,” you go on, smirking as your mouth is back on her, paying no attention to Minju’s hands fast to your waistband. Prodding you to be barren like her and if she had a little more strength from cumming so much, she might’ve ripped off your pants in that instant. 

Her determination is something you have to keep getting used to. 

“Minju, we don’t-” 

“I know,” is all she says, biting her lip at the sight of your length resting between her legs. “But I want to.”

You nod. “Okay.” 

Her blessing is all you need to take care of the rest, guiding her one hand to grasp in one place where you’re holding the other. She just smiles into your face and works you up even more as payback for a couple minutes earlier. 

“I can’t believe this cock fucked my mouth up last time,” whispers Minju, just twisting the shaft and making you lose brain cells by the second. Her clumsiness is pretty much out the window, and back in control. “You’re sure you don’t want to shove this thick dick all the way down my throat? Get me real messy for it?” 

“Don’t push your luck,” you groan. An idea to save for later. 

Yet you don’t expect Minju to turn over, pushing herself up with shaking arms; get her palms and knees on the leather, her ass pressed to your groin. Sighing with relief and flipping her hair from one side to the other and with a peek past the shoulder - hooded eyes and everything - like she’s showing you what you have done to deserve her. 

Where your palm splays and pushes her down, granting the arch. A presentation. An offering. Something that God himself had wished he let his good-hearted soul fall into temptation for at least once. It makes your eyesight dizzy: seeing her bent over in the backseat, pussy wet and wanting. But you can’t stop holding yourself back. 

“Min,” you simply say, “Is this okay?” 

She nods in reply, pushing her body back with a deliberate grind of her wet folds to the underside that makes her smile through the absolute fuck of it. 

“There’s nothing more that I want,” she rasps as you toy her with just your tip. “Than for you to fill me up-” 

“Christ.” 

“-and just put me in my place like the naughty little girl you’ve made me become.” 

“We don’t have any history,” you tell her. “Not even in the slightest.” 

“And still.” 

The head of your cock goes in - just that first inch or two - a teaser. You shake. 

“I’m not saying no and neither are you.” She mutters. “Fuck.” 

“Just tell me if it hurts,” you instruct, but she’s just staring at your hands having way too much fun with her hips, that waist. Your hands feel heavy; so is your cock, leaning back with her ass stuck to your thighs, dragging your length to her folds, preparing. You’re certain she could feel you throb between her legs. And once that press finally opens her up, the line of her back sinks forward. “Oh, Jesus.” 

It’s way better than you remembered. God. How excruciatingly tight she was - all velvet and still gripping you vice-tight. Even the audible ‘sclick’ when you drag out for good measure, see the sheen over the ridge and veins. Minju’s holding her breath - knuckles going white as she’s gripping the door handle. It’s slow, the grace period to adjust and find your pace. Nothing more gratifying than to just ravage her ass and chase the heat - like you’d rather die here than to hurt her. 

Minju lets it sit for a minute, all the way down to the base. Rolling her hips around. She moves on her own accord, bending her legs lower to take you deeper. You don’t see her face wince, but the sounds coming out of her mouth encourage you to double down the efforts. “Please- just, let me fucking- god, this fucking cock-” 

She’s sighing, and then she’s moaning; you’re left in awe at the ripples her ass exhibits beneath the noir-like light coming from above. The slide back and forth, seeing your cock disappear and reappear from inside. Her hand slips from the handle, barely holding up by the elbows. Yeah, she wasn’t gonna last long from this. 

Your part fills in the spots where she fails, meeting her moving hips by thrusting with a little force. Not hard. The concept of patience is so important here. Staying firm so that she can throw herself back to your groin. Her head then goes slack. 

“Fuck yourself into me,” you moan in her ear, bent over and letting her have it bit by bit. “You’re so good. Feel amazing- shit-” You want to keep praising her, let that being from within compel you to tell her the things you don’t want to admit. Minju’s mouth drops low again. 

“Yes, yes-” her head turns until the profile is within your vision, breath faltering. “I wanted this- 

“Yeah?” 

“-all fucking day. All fucking week.” 

Anything would be good to hear her keep talking cock-drunk. 

“Your cock- fuck. It’s so good. I just wanted you to ruin me, so badly.”

“How badly?” You kiss her mid-thrust.

She shoves down a ‘very’ right through your throat. 

“That’s my good girl,” you say against her hips. Keeping the pace.

Oh, you know she loves the praise. When the attention is on her. Like the world stops for a second and acknowledge someone like her - the name, the notoriety, the status she exudes - but away from all the glittering lights and from her grooming mother, she’s  riddled down to this: a wobbling head and jerking with every slide in her cunt that sends shockwaves to the rest of her body. You loop a hand to her waist, pull her up to your chest, head leaned back to your collarbone and she’s trying to find some sort of brace; ends up placing a palm on the foggy window. 

Her slick back is flush with yours, her moans rising in octaves. She’s rebounding on your cock and trying her best to not buck over - her walls clamping and unclamping all the same. You pull out and give her these steady strokes, hard and deep, rocking her up with every inch she can possibly take. Minju chokes out a cough, lips to your ear, her hair spilled behind your shoulder, spilling down your neck as well. You kiss the space below the ear - get some of her sweat on your nose. 

Nothing. Could be ever more gratifying than having her like this. All to yourself. 

She’s got her fingers spread over the forearm at her waist, scratching. Something for you to loo over once all of this is finished. Minju’s just whimpering a river of meaningless words and tongues you can’t decipher. “Please, sir. Fuck- my pussy” for one among the few and “god, i can’t believe you- and this cock-” 

“I know, I know,” you’re breathless as ever and her cunt just feels incredible. 

You notice the slack in her neck and she can barely put up with the rhythm at this rate. Her whole body is putty - like she could mold with yours - as if she were a missing piece you’ve been searching for so long, all within arms reach. 

It didn’t really matter about the difference in class, or what she does, who her family is, the last name - it’s just her. Her. 

Minju’s dripping all over your cock that it spreads to your thighs. Taking it well and feeling the full weight of you tearing her insides. “You are- so good, it’s insane-” 

You don’t relent; not now, not ever. Even as her body stills and she’s got an inhale clutched to the teeth. She’s really loose and all she can really do is take these long, deep thrusts until the balls of her eyes roll back. “Minju, this pussy.” 

One more push breaks the shaking on her back, and she lurches forward. There it is again: she’s coming so far down that she’s laid flat on the backseat, helpless as everything crashes down on top of her. Through every wave and twitch and high-pitched whine that leaks out you’re certain that someone might’ve heard in the building nearby. Let it be the residing Father to discover such a sight of defilement - have you and her confess the sins you’ve committed on God’s doorstep. Besides, you’re one step closer to hell while heaven’s still a whole staircase away.  

“Can’t ever get enough,” she coughs out, just barely. You keep on pounding her ass and the pressure’s getting to that point. Fighting every last bit to hold it in, till it becomes unbearable and you’re following her to that high, that sweet chase. 

“Never,” you sigh. “Minju-” 

You flush your hips with her ass, and cum inside her just like that. 

The deep feeling never goes away, as the two of you are left shaking, with limbs tangled and sprawled on the ruined leather when you pull out. Minju’s turned to her side below you, caged by your frame and her arms are to her face. You kiss a shoulder and rub her waist, soothe the bruises and red marks left by your grip, sweeping a few hairs on her back as it’s suffocating your nose. She’s breathing, humming. A delight. “There’s no restraint from you,” she says, in disbelief. “God, that might be worrisome. I can hardly fathom how rough-”

“I try not to hurt you, love. Seriously, you’re a piece of work.” You tell her, stroking her hair. “If I really wanted it, I would’ve finished on your face.”

“You believed me when I said I was on the pill?” 

“Are you not?” 

Minju smirks. You don’t bother asking and focus on being wrung out in a sweat-slicked mess, sated and with the scent of sex filling the car. She shuffles a bit at your front and you just watch her over like some silent protector. That is, what you think you are, maybe. 

“Well,” you breathe, kissing her hair once again. “Minju? Minju.” 

She’s already fast asleep. 

–

“Over here?” 

“Yeah,” Minju points to the right of her, the car rolling along the street. “You can actually just stop right at the front.” 

The car quietly grinds to a halt at the front of a decently looking apartment complex. Which is a bit peculiar; y’know, considering a girl with so much on her bankroll, not to mention the repeating details- 

“Quaint.” you deduce, admiring the bronze glow of the streetlights above. “Not far from campus as well, too.” 

“Yep,” beams Minju. “It’s a friend of mine’s so you shouldn’t have to worry.” 

“Why would I worry?” You laugh. “What you do doesn’t faze me anymore.” 

She just kisses you, taking in your features one last time. “You’re right. Though-” 

“We should be more careful next time.” 

“Yeah, that.” 

You nick your head in lieu of saying ‘get on going’ and she takes the hint. “I’ll see you around, then?” 

Minju dips her head from outside, blinking. “I’ll be in touch.” 

She closes the door and starts to walk up the foyer.

And you just wish to be with her for a little while longer. 

-

(But the question begs: how long? 

How long until you have the capacity to tell her what you (already) know? When would be the next time? When you have to help clean her up and redress, take her back to a place that should be home, though it can’t since that home is tied up with a family name and a mother she can’t fight to escape from. 

Despite that, you’ll rest on the fact that it was nice to play pretend. To let her pretend to be someone without status, to make bad choices, eat at a froyo spot and not tell people to sit where they sit and do what they do. To make you pretend that you’re not alone and you’ll do much better without drinking your sorrows away. 

You’re not sure whether the future lead with her will be enough. 

Yet the past week and a half or two, of crossing paths with Minju, you decide that- 

It’ll be just enough.) 

You’re pointing out the fact that Sakura just got home, not looking away from the monitor in front of you, fingers tapping away rapidly at your keyboard. “And I thought you were finishing up that hat?”

“I would’ve, but I didn’t get to run by the store for some yarn earlier,” she says, moving to sit down on the bed behind you. “Wanted to change up the last bit of it with a different color.”

“Want me to drive you?” You dying in game gets you the opportunity to pause it, spinning your chair around to face her. “We could stop by somewhere for dinner and–” You pause, breath taken away from what you’re witnessing. “Whoa.”

Sakura plays with a few strands of her hair. “You like?”

You’re blinking, a loss of words and idiotically staring dumbfounded at her. “Like?” you repeat, staring at her twirl pink in her fingers. “I love.” Ignore the fact that what she has on can be considered black lace bra on black lace top damage to your brain, pink hair has never suited her more. “I thought you weren’t gonna redye it?”

“I changed my mind. The color was lightening up–” she explains, leaning back and propping herself up with her hands. “And I think it suits me.” She does this cute head tilt, nerdy smirk combo that gets you internally swooning your heart off seeing it. “Don’t you think?”

“Think the color’s made for you, sweetheart.” The smirk softens to a shy smile.

“You don’t have to flatter me that hard, honey.” A hair tuck in between, eyes turning to crescents with that grin you love gracing her features.

“What, I can’t tell my sweet, adorable girlfriend is beautiful?” you tease, sliding your chair forward and closer towards her. You use the bed as a stopper, and you end up right next to Sakura, your arm reaching out to play with her hair yourself, caressing her locks before squeezing her cheek gently. “My cute, pookie bear of a girlfriend–”

“Stop!” She swats your hand away with a giggle, and yet she inches closer to you, the sweet citrus scent of her perfume invading your sense of smell, a furthering of causation for you to fall all the more deeper into her intoxicating allure. “You’re so–” She shakes her head, finger jabbing you in the rib with a faux sound of exasperation.

“Lovable?” You cup her cheeks with one hand and squish her face.

“Annoying.” She rolls her eyes at you, letting out a smile when you squeeze her cheeks like a cute little stress ball. “Go back to your game, you annoying little shit.”

“And here I thought you were bored,” you tease, raising an eyebrow with yet another squash of her cheeks.

“I am bored,” she answers. “But it’s not like I got anything better to do.”

“You sure?” 

“Yes, doofus.” She pushes you away, hard enough that it sends your chair sliding backward back to your desk. “Go play, I’ll be here.”

You glance back at Sakura, who decides to get comfortable at the bed. “You sure you can see that far?”

She answers with a wave, telling you that the monitor’s big enough for her to watch; cinematic moves, parrying, dying and all when she lets out a laugh after a few minutes of you fighting the boss and losing.

“It can’t be that hard, hun,” she says, the fight restarting from the beginning for the fifth (or was it sixth?) time. “Can’t you dodge instead?”

“Dodging is for pussies.” You take a breath, the screen turning to black as it loads the fight again. 

Sakura giggles, hearing her say that dodging is for the ‘smart people’ as she stares at another sequence of you trying to parry the boss play out. “We might need a tip jar for the amount of times that girl tells you to parry it.”

“I am parrying it, sweetheart.” Cue yet another death screen.

You click on restart. “Not well enough, honey.”

“You try playing it and see what happens,” you retort, doing what you’ve considered the optimal (it wasn’t, and that’s why you kept on dying when you found out) first turn to get the most damage on the boss.

You hear her shuffle around the bed. “I’m good.” Dull, quiet thumps of her feet hitting the carpet follow and Sakura appears right next to you, leaning against your chair to take a closer look at watching you fail to beat this stupidly shitty boss. “Keep going, it’s fun to see you rage.”

Let out a calming sigh, take another whiff of her perfume to recenter yourself, and you lean forward.

That’s the thing with Sakura. She doesn’t need to say or do anything to get you motivated. Her existence alone gets you feeling like you can climb Mount Everest without all the fancy gear from top to bottom in a day. Of course that’s delusion speaking, but man can do many things when the love of his life is cheering him on by his side.

Considerably easily too, when your eyes are being drawn away from the game and into the black hole of a chest that she has. Her fault, you reason, when she decides to do the ever so simple action of leaning into the monitor and having her tits almost shoved into the side of your face (not that you’re complaining, that’s heaven wrapped in lace and Sakura’s embrace) since she wanted a closer look.

More power to her, since you’re getting a closer look at her tits underneath all that black lace. (Have you mentioned how crazily obsessed you are with Sakura’s tits before?)

It throws you off your game completely, the soft, full pair of breasts enclosed under layers of dark fabric luring you in, your attention moving away from the game and onto her chest. Which, can you really blame yourself when it’s right there, a breath’s length away from your mouth.

Causes you to lose again, though the rage is gone, replaced with this hyperfixation on her. The deep pull that her tits are causing irreparable damage to the way you think, and you would love nothing more than to lean in and rest your face, let out a sigh and smile when the cushions of her chest pillow on your face.

Christ, you should start a religion dedicated to them.

That all goes out the window when Sakura asks you something about the game, and you’re stuttering out an answer. Random things about the boss come out of your lips, why you’re fighting it, what’s the whole reason with this party in particular to use against the boss, some other random bullshit fact about the game—and while she leans back against the desk and listens with the soft, lovable look on her face, she’s also seeing through all your words with a follow up:

“You do know I was asking about why you’re using the keyboard and not the controller, right?”

The blank look on your face once the fact that you missed her question entirely registers results in a teasing smile to form on her face, finger tapping your nose; fingers wrapping around your cheeks to squeeze softly. “Distracted again?”

“A girl rubs her tits on a guy’s face, anyone would be,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. Your reply makes her scoff, the smile turning into a grin as a finger hooks on the neckline of her top, giving it a tug.

“What, you wanna play with these again?” She makes an effort to pull it down, exposing the black lace underneath (trust yourself when you say that it’s a completely fucked up thing to do when you’re already so down bad for this woman) and you can’t help yourself from ogling.

Her chest has its own gravitational pull, you swear.

“If you’re offering,” you start, scooting yourself over with the chair to sit in front of her. “I’m not saying no.”

She hums, biting her lip to stop the excitement from bleeding through her features. It doesn’t work, of course, seeing her fingers play with the hem of her top. “What about your game?” She makes this innocent little glance back to your monitor, until her gaze turns back to you with this smoldering heat.

“Sweetheart, do you really want me to keep playing?” Your hands rest on the waistband of her pants.

“Well–” Sakura drags it out, straightening up from the desk. “I am bored.” She takes a few slow steps away from you, hands on her top. Swaying her hips as she plays with the fabric before she pulls them up, that defined line of her back showing bit by bit along with her unworldly waist that your hands are yearning to have a hold of.

Brings it to her chest, up her shoulders, off her body and onto the floor, where her hands come back to that snatched waist, feeling herself up; running them through her skin, going higher to the straps of her bra. Pulling them up, letting a strap fall down her shoulder, head turning to hit you with a look that screamed for you to take her—add to that her hips swinging around and for the love of everything unholy you are going to get on your knees just to beg for her to turn around.

And when she does—fuck, when she did you gained tunnel vision, fixated on the one final layer of lace that would ascend you to Elysium. You’re salivating, surely, at this point, and it’s only adding fuel to her flame, her finger letting the strap snap back in place.

Sakura’s asking you so much with so little done; lips curling into a smirk here, a brow raising there, her arm wrapping around her chest to give it a little push and her chest gets fucking bigger and all you can think of is your need to worship her lips, her skin, her tits—

The straps loosen on her collarbone, and the only thing that’s keeping it on her body is her forearm, and an idea; one that will get you on your knees.

“What do you say, hun?” She keeps a hand on the lace while she lets the straps come off her arms, and her teeth biting down her bottom lip does nothing to stop the exhilaration on her face.

“Come play with me?”

Walking backward, a finger on the strap replaces the hand keeping the lace up, baring her soft, large tits to you and your mind comes to the one rational thought that you can properly articulate:

God bless this woman.

You get up as soon as her feet hit the edge of the bed, and you’re on her just as the lace falls down to the ground. Her giggles as she gets tackled on the mattress is music to your ears, and you manage to say the words that will never stop being a fact.

“God, I love you.”

“I know, hun,” she says, hands cupping your cheeks. “You say it all the time.”

“And I’m never gonna stop saying it.” You’ve leaned forward, lips pressing against hers with all the devotion and desire you have for this woman, and she responds in kind. 

There isn’t a need for her to say those words back, not when you know in your heart that she feels the same. Her actions dictate them instead, hands on your shirt, tugging away at the cloth. 

You pull away only when the necessity arises—when the need to breathe comes, your shirt needing to come off, looking down to unbutton her pants. And when you sadly have to, your peppering kisses everywhere you can on her.

Peck her cheeks, mark her neck, nibble her earlobe. It’s a siren song of breathy moans and cute little whines sent straight into your ears, and you do everything in your power to hear more.

“Here–” Sakura grabs a hold of your hair, directing you to where she wants you to be. Your enthusiasm betrays you, the objects of your obsession served to you on a silver platter as you latch on to a tit, sucking eagerly. “That’s it, hun–”

You're biting down on her nub, eliciting a gasp from her, hands cradling you closer to her bosom; free hand continuing to pull down her pants, her legs helping you tug them down and off her, black silk the only thing left on her body, your fingertips running up her legs, thighs, waist, breast.

Give her other nub the same devotion—kissing it lovingly, play with the hard, pink pebble with your fingers and give it a pinch before coming down to kiss the pillowy flesh, revering them with muted groans that vibrate into her chest, and Sakura is enjoying every single second of it.

Hearing the cute whines that she makes, loving your mouth all over her body, her breathy pleadings of more, yes honey, please; that sweet, filthy version of her I love you’s when Sakura keeps you close to whisper them in your ear as you nibble on her teat.

It has you throbbing under your shorts as you grow messier, her breasts end up lathered in your spit, marks, and love when your mouth comes out to meet hers, the giggles that come out of her making you inch away with a smile. “What?”

“This isn’t what I had in mind when I asked to play,” she teases, resting her hands on your shoulders.

“And what did you have in mind?” Fingers come down to your chest.

“Oh, you know–” Gives you a push, and you’re giving way for her to straddle you, and Sakura is a marvel to gawk at—the smirk adorning her face along with the pink hair that fits her oh so perfectly, her tits red and raw from your efforts, waist that mold to your hands like it was made for you.

And she wonders why you keep reminding her of the fact that you’re head over heels for her.

“Was hoping we could do this instead.” She turns around, back facing you, jutting her ass wrapped in black panties, and as much as you are utterly addicted to her chest, her ass is a thing of beauty in of itself. “Might even get you to shut up.”

She’s shaking it inches away from your face, and you’re licking your lips (getting ready to eat her out and to hold yourself back, of course). “What, don’t want me to tell you that I love your ass?”

“I know you love it.” Her fingers make quick work of your shorts, and you're throbbing in her hands, leaking when she lazily pumps you. “Why do you think I’m asking you to eat it?”

“God.” That alone gets you pulsing around her hand, fingers inches to take her panties off already. You’re reaching up, running your hands over her ass, giving each cheek a squeeze. “What would I do without you, sweetheart?”

Her head turns around to face you, tongue sticking out teasingly. “Jerking it off by yourself?”

You let out a chuckle, playfully smacking her ass. “Ha, ha.” You rub the spot where your palm hit, leaning in to peck the red mark. “You’d be doing it by yourself if I wasn’t here either.”

“Guess I’m lucky I have you, don’t I?” Sakura giggles, blowing you a kiss before she heads back down. Feeling her hot breath on your length, your fingers hook into the lace and pull it aside, her pussy glistening and looking positively enticing to shove your face into.

“Think I’m the lucky one,” you mutter, thumb spreading her ass apart, admiring the way her folds open up. You take hold of her hips, pulling them back towards your face and your tongue gets its first delicious taste of her cunt just as her mouth envelops your cock. 

And she tastes as mind blowing as she looks, tongue enjoying every single second it’s in contact with her pussy. Fingers digging in her cheeks to spread them apart to savor all of her, and she’s pushing back against you, even as she bobs up and down your shaft.

It’s making you both groan, both so preoccupied with each other that the noise only adds to your enthusiasm. Sakura starts to hit all your weak spots, tongue lapping against your tip, taking it back in her mouth to swirl it around and getting your legs to twitch at the pleasure. Fingers stroke your length, and the little hum she makes around you starts to make you lose control.

You’re reigning it back in, wanting to stay in her ass as much as you could, so you increase your fervor; tongue pressing flat against her slit, licking upward until you press into her, pushing yourself in her wet cunt. 

There’s a long, drawn out moan that Sakura lets out when you do, getting her to pop off of you, a hand to stroke you replacing her mouth as she whimpers. “Hun–”

You don’t understand a single bit of what the hell she’s trying to tell you, your need to drink up more of her nectar. A hand comes underneath to press against her clit, and she’s cursing in the air when the gentlest of pressures start to meet that little nub.

“Oh, fuck–” Sakura’s back on you with a vigor that would’ve gotten you on your knees with how her lips are sealed tight around your cock, the pressure getting the hold you have on her hips to grow firmer.

It’s a competition, at this point, to see who can get each other off first. And you’re matching her tempo; frigging her clit, kneading that ass of hers in your fingers while you drink in all the drip that comes into contact with your tongue. 

She’s grinding her ass against your face, taking you deep in her mouth and staying there until she gags, pulling away to trace your length down while she pumps. “Close?”

You pull back. “Are you saying or asking?” She doesn’t need an answer, when it was already throbbing in her hands.

“Mostly asking.” She gives your tip a sloppy kiss, tongue teasing the slit and making you hiss. “Maybe a little bit of saying.”

You don’t believe it for a second, seeing as she’s leaking all over you, thumb playing with her folds. You hum your disapproval, squeezing an asscheek. “Doesn’t look like it to me over here.”

“Yeah?” Her fingers tease all over your dick, nails raking gently around your thighs, coming to cup your balls. “Better get back and finish the job, hun.” She wiggles her ass, and that’s all you need to see for your mouth to press back against her cunt, pushing a finger inside her, and she’s so wet it gets you adding another one to fuck her with.

Your head is dizzy from everything she has; the divine taste of her juices, the soft press of her ass against your cheeks, that damnable mouth of hers sloppily making out with your cock.

Holding it in no longer becomes an option, and you’re losing yourself in the fog of it, desire and need and Sakura the only thing that you can comprehend. Her name comes out of your mouth like a prayer, fingers pumping into her faster, tongue finding her clit as your thumb starts circling her tight, little hole.

“Oh my god–” You know it’s a weakness of Sakura’s, playing with her asshole, and her words turn into shrieks when you press inside her pucker, chanting swears as her thighs start to tremble and press against your head. “Fuck, hun, you–”

Her head lolls to the side, her pants tickling your cock as she starts to convulse, thighs suffocating you, her walls clenching around your fingers as she floods your mouth, lapping it all up as you keep going, prolonging that high as long as you can. 

Sakura gets you back, hands pumping away aggressively, forcing you to follow her, and all you can do is comply.

“Kkura, I’m–” 

It all comes exploding out of you, moaning into her sopping cunt as she takes the first shot of your load into her cheek, hips bucking against her hand. She takes your tip in, taking the rest of your spill into her mouth as you pulse into her warmth. 

Her fingers keep pumping away, milking you for everything you’re worth, Sakura’s throat never ceasing to swallow your cum. Bobbing her head leisurely, a content moan at each batch that she receives until you’re all spent.

You’re left leaving kisses all over her thighs as you feel the aftershocks begin to leave you, and when she releases you from her lips, she moves herself to the side, sprawled in the bed.

“That was cheating, you know,” she mutters, head looking up (or was it down?) at you. “Playing with my ass like that.”

“Like you didn’t enjoy it.” You manage, breathing deep, fingers caressing her thighs. 

Sakura lets out a chuckle, slapping your leg. “Shut up,” she giggles, her tongue darting out to lick at the rope of white staining her cheek. She moves, shakily managing to move towards you, your arm wrapping around her shoulder when she drapes herself over you.

Her lips meet your chest, her fingers drawing circles as she lets out a pleased sigh. “Love you,” she mumbles, nestling deeper in your hold. “Teach me how to play that game of yours later?”

“Sure, sweetheart.” A laugh seeps through you, letting out a grin and kissing her forehead. The soft smile that graces her features when you do gets your heart melting, her eyes closing shut as she settles in your hug.

-

The drive home is one you could probably do blindfolded, not that you'd ever try. Especially not tonight when it's snowy as fuck.

You've driven this route so many times that every turn, every traffic light, and every oddly placed convenience store feels permanently etched into your memory. And honestly, you need it etched into your brain especially during Winter: Your old van rumbles beneath flickering streetlights, tyres crunching over fresh snow while music from your phone fills the cabin just loudly enough to keep you awake. Otherwise, you would've fallen asleep, frozen, or drowning to the thought of Jiyeon's reaction to the dozens of small requests you've handled over the past few months. Then, somehow, your brain decides to remind you of the time you accompanied a client to Comic Con wearing a sailor uniform.

(Fucking worth it. Got a free figurine afterwards.)

You are roughly ten minutes from home, passing through the road with cherry blossom trees side by side, the heavy white caps bending branches under their weight to replace the flowers, when your phone rings through the speakers.

Sakura.

"Ohaiyo, Kkura." "PC Bang."

"…hello to you too, jackass." "PC Bang."

"Saku—" "PC Bang."

Twenty minutes later, you’re taking the PC spot next to her. She's right about being 'already inside' — she has already made herself comfortable at home, logged into a game. Not so much as a "thanks for making a U-turn on snow-covered roads." This ungrateful girl.

The PC bang glows with rows of monitors and neon lights, a far contrast to the freezing darkness behind the automatic sliding door. Keyboards clacking from every direction while the familiar smell of instant noodles, energy drinks, and poor life choices hangs permanently in the air. Screens flash with explosions, victory screens, and rapidly moving characters while conversations overlap from every corner of the room. Somewhere nearby, someone is arguing passionately with a teammate they've never met (it's the nicest you can say to a LoL game).

In other words, welcome to Sakura's abode.

"Are you calling me here to watch your KDA?" "No."

"Can you at least look at me when answering?" "Queue already, far out."

Three matches later, you wish you had ignored her call and enjoy your time mixing paints at home instead. Drinking tea. Sleeping. Literally anything else.

"How the fuck are you still alive?"

"Built different." "You say that to everything."

"It's called positioning." "More like you disappearing every team fight then magically showing up with four eliminations."

Six matches later, your shoulder pops, your eyes hurt, your wrists hurt, your back is finally suffering-free, mom's spaghetti. Far out, you're too old to play games this well, yet Sakura looks exactly the same as she did three games ago.

Well, maybe not, because she finally removes one earcup. And usually, this is how you know she wants something.

"Hey."

"Hm?"

"Can you be my friend?"

…Huh. You stare at her. Then at the monitor. Then back at her. Uh…

"Are you friendzoning me? Sorry, I don't see you th—"

Yeah, fair enough, you deserve that smack on your arm. Times ten. "Dumbass, I'm serious."

"I get it, sorry sorry." You chuckle. "So…what kind of friend request are we talking about?"

And you feel a buzz in your pocket. Glancing down at the phone screen, you immediately see a new message from Sakura, which would be completely normal if she wasn’t sitting less than a meter away from you. You slowly look over, only to find her staring intently at her monitor with the exaggerated focus of someone pretending they weren't responsible for whatever that just appeared on your phone.

Ok, let’s see what she sends you: A screenshot of the Client Form, with the Requester filled out as Sakura herself (hold up, what?), and the assigned Companion as you (hold up, what now?). The reason is…peculiar.

An event.

…A memorial service?

You stare at the image for several seconds, reading it twice just to make sure you're not misunderstanding something. Then you slowly turn your head toward Sakura again. She somehow manages to become even more interested in whatever is on her screen.

"…fuck no." "Why?"

Without hesitation, you reach over and lightly smack her head.

"That hurts!" "Good, because I still say no. Especially to a fucking funeral."

"Why?!" "You are not submitting that."

Sakura rubs the top of her head with a deeply offended expression. Pretty sure it doesn't hurt her, but you have to interrupt what she clearly believed was a perfectly reasonable solution to the situation (it's not).

"I'm just following the procedure." "No."

"I'm serious!" "No."

"Stop saying no!" "Sakura, we work at the same place."

She pauses for a moment as if she is carefully considering your argument, then points directly at the screen. "Exactly, dumbass."

…Oh. Oh…she's doing it again.

Miss Miyawaki Sakura here hates owing people. Hates with a hard T.

She's someone who buys coffee for a customer just because they bought her one six days ago. Someone who remembers a tiny favor from the delivery uncle who brought extra ingredients for the shop and she adds a bit extra to their bowls free of charge when it was nothing to them. If someone helps her move a box during delivery drop off, she'll somehow find a way to return the favor later. If someone covers for her once for a client, she'll spend weeks looking for an opportunity to balance the scales.

But…she's also exactly the kind of person who would rather create paperwork, contracts, and official procedures than openly admit she needs help from someone she trusts. You could say she is the definition of order.

"I'm still saying no." "Why not?"

"Because if you submit that form, then I'm obligated to say yes." "…ok, and?"

"That defeats the entire point."

Sakura might be upset right now, but sometimes, this girl needs to hear why it's fine to not have anything tied to a contract for once.

"If I only show up because there's a contract attached to it, then that's work," you explain, gesturing vaguely toward the screenshot still displayed on your phone. "That's literally just work. That's not you asking me for help. That's you assigning me a job."

“But…” "But if I show up because you asked me to, that's different."

“Bu—” “You know I’m right.”

She responds by pulling her hoodie slightly higher, as though hiding behind fabric somehow invalidates your observation.

"Look," you sigh, spinning slightly in your chair. "Let's have no forms, assignments, approvals, contracts. None of that shit. I'm happy to come with you, Kkura."

"But it's unfair, because I'm asking you to do something."

…Oh god this girl can be the best comedian if she wants to. You laugh so hard your belly starts to hurt.

"Kkura-ya, you have covered my shifts before. You've sat through three-hour client debriefs when I was sick. You helped me build my profile on the website—"

"They really need to update the site." "It works fine, no?"

"Bruh."

"My point is that you've literally been doing favors for me for months. Did you send me an invoice afterwards for each good deed?" Now that got her to shush. "Did you make me fill out a request form?"

Still silent. "Did you charge me?"

Your point probably has got to her head at this point, hopefully. "Well, there we go."

Sakura slowly sinks lower into her chair. Another thing about her is that…when she loses, she sulks like a kid. "I don't like it."

"I know."

You really do know. She's trying so hard to turn this into an official request, wants paperwork attached to it, and some clear guidelines. She’s not wrong — it's safe, secure, and if there's paperwork involved, then nobody owes anyone anything. Nobody has to feel bad.

"Still, you don't owe me a favour, never."

"But—" "Never."

-

Sigh.

You have thrown out every objection you raise, every explanation you patiently gave. Hell, this conversation could have been avoided if she simply clicks a different option. Yet the morning two days later, you wake up to three notifications. The first is the completed client form. The second is the approval notice, and the third is a receipt for seven d— wait, hold up, seven days? Didn't she say only for one event?

"Ya Sakura." You ring her immediately, and yes, not even a hello from you. "Fuck no."

"What?" "No."

"What are y—" "Why are you buying the seven days package?"

"Just because?" Oh this girl is playing the ignorance game, alright.

"Sakura, the service lasts only three hours."

"Well, approximately." "Then why?"

You hear rustling on the other end, probably her pulling her blanket over her face. "Well, that's the most basic one I can do. And you should be grateful, mister."

"…Why?" "I gave you a 5 stars review. And increased your rating."

Remember, violence is illegal, and Sakura knows where you live, so she will expose your IP address. "You are so irritating."

"I know. I have been told that a lot."

"By me." "Yep."

The contract officially starts two days later, and nothing practically changes. Sakura still calls you whenever she wants, sending you photos of the bowl of ramen she made, still sending you brain rot memes or recordings of her Overwatch matches. Basically, same old, but with paperwork involved this time.

Which is way, way worse. She keeps saying "You are contractually obligated to listen to this,"  "You're contractually obligated to answer," "You're contractually obligated to appreciate this meme." At this point, you're becoming contractually obligated to shove the paperwork into her mouth just to make her stop saying that phrase.

Sigh. Luckily you only landed mostly on clients like Gaeul and Suhyeon, because you really don't know how one truly navigates around a wild card like her.

Well…sort of. It only takes one sign at the time, and the first one comes three days before the memorial.

The two of you are eating dinner after work. The ramen shop is unusually quiet tonight and most of the dinner crowd has already left, leaving a few customers scattered around.  Suhyeon would've joined the two of you like usual; it’s a habit of hers to always join you two ever since you first introduced her to the ramen shop. Unfortunately, freezing temperatures and an upcoming recital don't exactly mix well for a ballerina. It is a shame, although the evening is more comfortable. And conversations come easier, maybe. Actually, that is a good word to emphasise, because Sakura has spent the last ten minutes staring into her bowl and swirling the noodles around with her chopsticks.

On the other side of the table, you slurp.

"Should I cry?"

Anyway, you nearly died. Fuck, a noodle went down the wrong pipe. The cough was so violent the noodle was probably going to escape from the eye socket instead.

"What?" "At the memorial."

"What about it?" "Should I cry?"

"What are you on about?"

Her brows furrow, seemingly genuinely confused. Like somehow you've failed to understand a perfectly obvious question. Doesn't help when she continues with "I'm asking because I don't know."…and damn, this is harder than guessing whether you win the 50/50 in gacha games, who knows if she's ragebaiting or is actually that oblivious to the concept of grieving.

"Sakura." You slowly lower your chopsticks. "You can't just schedule crying like your game livestream."

"But everyone else will cry, no? It's natural." "Then everyone else cries."

"What if I don't?" "Then you don't. Bro, wha—"

"What if they notice? What if they become judgmental?"

It's been a few years since you have become acquainted with Sakura and become good friends with her, but this is the first time she gets so worried about other people’s perception of her. Without the usual sarcasm in her tone, Sakura is figuring out what grief is supposed to look like…and apparently nobody ever taught her.

The questions continue as the days go by, and it's easy to be confused if she's studying for finals or not. And these questions were…something.

Kkura: Are flowers performative?

Let's just…put the phone down and walk around the studio. Ok, come back, and read it again. Fucking hell, what kind if question is this?

You: Stop searching how to grieve on Tiktok ffs.

Kkura: I have only scrolled for like 30 mins

You: Turn it off.

Kkura: One of them was played with Subway Surfer gameplay, too.

You: BRUH

-

The night before the memorial service, she drops by your place and stays far longer than usual. For backstory, she has a habit of appearing at your studio for ten minutes and tends to overstay her welcome for three hours.

At this point, it's nice to have a cat (aka, Sakura) in the house, especially when it is a freezing void beyond the windows. Thin sheets of ice cling to the panes, soft white breath fogging the glass whenever you get too close. Across the street, the convenience store is still brightly lit, one lonely cuboid of warmth in an otherwise dark neighbourhood. Most of the apartment buildings have already gone black.

The inside is far softer than the world outside. Comfortable and quiet. Sakura is curled up in the corner of your couch, hoodie pulled halfway over her hands. You're sitting in the armchair opposite her with a mug of coffee that's long since gone cold.

Neither of you is really doing anything. You're supposed to clean up the brushes before she barged in, but it seems like your company is greatly needed. The memorial service is tomorrow, and it is clear that it's still sitting in the back of her mind.

"So…" She keeps her eyes on the coffee table. "Does grieving hurt?"

"That's…a broad question." "I know."

"It depends." "On what?"

"The person you’re grieving for."

She nods slowly, seemingly accepting that answer for…around seven seconds. Then…

"Was that what happened when you broke up with your ex?"

…Ok. That is the last thing you actually expected her to ask. The confidence she’d somehow gathered lasts exactly half a second, and the colour drains from her face almost immediately. 

"Huh?" "What?"

"Why are you asking me that?" 

“I-I mean—” She sits uptight so quickly the blanket slips off her laps. "N-no, wait—that—that came out wrong." Both hands shoot out in front of her, waving frantically as if she can shove the question back into her own mouth. "I-I wasn't trying to—I mean, I wasn't asking because—ugh."

She squeezes her eyes shut. "Forget I asked that."

There’s something oddly heartbreaking about it, truly. She's trying so hard to understand this, you have to forgive this poor girl. Well, since the question is already being thrown out to the ring, how should you answer this, hm? An exhale through your nose and glance towards the ceiling later, you arrive at:

"…well, grief might be too strong of a word for my situation."

"...really? It sounds painful, no?"

You let out a short laugh. "Wow, thanks, Miyawaki." "I'm being serious."

"…I know."

And she’s right, the breakup hurts a fucking lot. More than you wanted to admit at the time the fading memories refuse to come back, when she nonchalantly broke up with you on a winter night. That scar is still there — the white breath escaped your pale lips, the shivering of your hands, and the crushing of your heart.

You glance down at your mug. "Grief is heavier. It…usually comes from losing someone you can't get back."

Sakura listens quietly.

"Death. Family. Friends. People who are gone." Your fingers tap lightly. "But a breakup…it's kinda weird."

"Weird?" "They're still there, you know?"

"Ah." Sakura nods.

"They still exist, still living their life. Like, I can call them and see them, theoretically. Unlike you and your friend. The person is still there, but…" You sigh. "...the relationship isn't."

Sakura nods. "It's…similar then?"

You stare out the window. "It's probably somewhere in the same neighbourhood. Close enough, I would say."

"Do you.." You glance over, and she is chewing lightly on the inside of her cheek, eyes drifting everywhere except you, clearly debating whether she should continue the question. And not going to lie, the hesitation makes you smile.

"Sometimes." The answer is annoying to you, but the honesty is surprising. "It's not like I want her back. Just…I wish it didn't end in such a shitty way."

There. That probably sounds more accurate. Maybe what truly hurts you the most was watching something beautiful slowly heading towards the bad ending. Maybe. The room falls silent again, like even inanimate objects are giving a moment of silence.

"So…if someone dies, and you miss them." She eventually speaks. "And if someone leaves, and you miss them too…" She frowns immediately. "Fucking hell, emotions are stupid."

This girl, far out. (Lmao) "You conclude with that?!"

"Yes." "After all that?"

"Yep". She pulls her hoodie further over her head, clearly sulking. As if that makes her argument more convincing (hell no).

"You're really trying to understand the concept of grief for tomorrow, huh?" "Yea. What are you gonna do about it?"

"Sakura."

She finally looks back.

Now, you can repeat your point. She doesn't need to solve grief. She doesn't need to understand every emotion, guidebook, article, random Tiktok feeds, or graphics. She just needs to show up and pay respect. She can leave when she wants to, cry if she wants to, be sad if she wants to, confused if she wants to. You can say all that again to drill it in her head.

Instead, you tell her: "Just…do what your heart tells you to."

She stares at you for several seconds, clearly stunned by such an abstract answer (You are too). But then, she lets out a long sigh and sinks deeper into the couch. "Okay."

"You’re accepting it too easily, what the hell."

'Well your answer is annoying, but you're also annoyingly right." A laugh escapes her before she can stop it. 

The anxiety doesn't disappear completely, sure. Tomorrow is still tomorrow, and nothing you say tonight is going to magically erase that.

But she looks less trapped inside her own thoughts. And for Sakura, that's probably the best outcome you could hope for.

-

Snow starts falling before sunrise.

Large, soft flakes drifting through the pale morning sky, blanketing the passing rooftops, tree branches, and parked cars until the entire city is one white plane.

You spend an extra thirty minutes clearing the windshield of your van and fixing up the chains onto the wheels. The heater takes forever to warm up, this damn junk.

By the time this same junk parks outside Sakura's place, the sun finally gets out of its white blanket. She climbs in wearing an oversized black coat, a charcoal scarf wrapped high around her neck, covering her mouth. Her hair is tied back far neater than usual, probably a result of spending a long time deciding how presentable she should be.

"…Morning." "Hey."

And neither of you say anything for about an hour.

The windshield wipers rhythmically push away melting snow while low volumed music trickles through the speakers. Outside, pedestrians move carefully along icy sidewalks, umbrellas collecting white flakes that refuse to stop falling.

Sakura is staring out the window.

Normally, she'd have found something to complain about by now. The weather that’s hindering the road, how slow you are at driving (please drive safely, unlike this girl who plays GTA like it owes her money), the sleep-inducing music, and the slow-ass heater.

Instead, "She hated winter."

"…hm?" "Her."

This is the first time her voice sounds…maybe it's not right to describe it.

"She'd complain about how cold the snow was. And wished it was warmer." "Ok that is not possible, the heck."

The smile disappears almost as quickly as it arrived, leaving the humming of the air-con filling the space. And eventually… "We met because we were dogshit. At streaming."

"Ah." "Three viewers, by the way. One was me, second was probably my laptop. The third might have been a bot."

"…pff." "Ya. I was serious, you little shit."

"Yeah, I figured, Miss Hustler." "She…was the same as well."

Sakura looks back out the window. "We'd finish streaming, then call each other until four in the morning since we were close with each other."

"Talking?" "Nah, mostly complaining. About no viewers and shenanigans we have to do to get more."

"Sounds…nice." "Shut it, Mr. Sarcasm."

A faint chuckle escapes her. "We kept saying we'd quit, but neither of us actually did. We kinda…grew up together, you can say that."

The snowfall thickens. The world outside the van turns pure white save for the occasional traffic lights glowing through the snow. You stay silent and let her continue.

"We learned everything together. Editing, streaming, sponsorships, trolling with hate comments, and how to say fuck off to creeps." She smiles at the memories. "Every little milestone — one hundred followers, one hundred pancakes. One thousand, we spent a thousand US dollars for stupid shit. Vlogs about our first joined collabs, sponsor, donation, all that stuff."

Her fingers absentmindedly trace circles on her thigh. "It was nice."

Another thing about Sakura: when she says something, she really means it.

"Then we fought."

You side-glance at her. "Over what?"

She isn't looking back. "Not even something worth fighting for."

"No?" "Not at all. Stupid, even."

"What happened?" "Internet controversies."

You frown. "...I'm gonna need more than that."

"We were both dead as fuck, streaming for like a week straight." She sighs. "Someone clipped something and was taken out of context. I thought she was badmouthing me, and she thought I was looking down on her."

…Huh. "Initially we were okay, but the exhaustion was not helping us stay rational. So…we argued constantly, had a fight that was blown out of proportion, and we both had too much pride to apologise."

The snow stops falling for a brief moment. "And we just stopped talking, I guess. And we won’t be able to talk for….ever."

The rest of the drive passes without another word.

-

The parking lot is already half full, black sedans and white SUVs slowly disappearing beneath fresh layers of snow. People move carefully across the icy pavement dressed almost entirely in black, umbrellas blooming open one after another as delicate flakes continue drifting from the grey sky above.

Neither you nor Sakura immediately move while the engine idles softly. Sakura sits beside you with both hands resting on her lap. Way too still for her character. She might have been rehearsing today in her head for countless nights. Probably since the night she asked you to accompany her. You can almost hear a checklist running through her mind, a mantra of stand, bow, offer condolences, don't leave too early, don't be too attached nor force herself to cry.

"Sakura."

"Hm?"

"Do what your heart tells you to."

"…you are so annoying." But her shoulders loosen slightly anyway.

Cold air immediate bites through your coat as you both step outside. The wind isn't particularly strong, but it's chilly enough to sting your face. Sakura is definitely smart, bringing that scarf to wrap half her face. (Her smug ass even shows off the hand warmers in her pocket, doesn't even offer you one. This damn troll.)  Snow crunches beneath your shoes as you begin walking toward the entrance.

The memorial hall is beautiful…and quiet.

Ok, it is supposed to be quiet, but in a sense, not chillingly quiet. Subdued…maybe.

Arrays of white chrysanthemums line the entrance beneath black ribbons, their bright petals standing out against the monochrome surroundings. Incense lingers gently in the winter air. People continue to arrive and leave in smaller groups, some embrace and bow, others stand together reminiscing through watery smiles.

As you two enter, a middle-aged woman notices Sakura first.

"Sakura?"

The mentioned girl straightens. "Oh…Ms. Huh." She bows politely. "It's been a long time."

"It has. Oh gosh, you look so thin, my dear." The woman smiles sadly. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

"I almost didn–" The words slip out before Sakura can stop them. "I-I mean…I-I…"

"It's ok, I understand. But thank you for coming." She finally glances at you who stands idly behind Sakura. "And you are…?"

"Good morning, ma'am." You bow. "I'm Sakura's…boyfriend."

Sakura freezes harder than the frozen pond outside. You swear even the blood in her veins stops circulating. The look she gives you is absolutely magnificent — pure disbelief and absolute betrayal. The face that says 'I will fucking end your life'.

You bite the inside of your cheek. That's what you get for the hand warmer, you fucking troll (lol).

"Oh my goodness!"  The mother clasps both hands together. "I didn't know you were seeing someone."

"...Neither did I," Sakura mutters under her breath.

"What was that, dear?" "N-Nothing!" She forces the brightest smile you've seen all week.

She looks between the two of you before letting out a relieved laugh. "I'm so happy she isn't alone today."

"Thank you very much ma'am." You nod. "Sorry for your loss."

The woman gives one final nod, "Thank you for coming, you two," before excusing herself to greet another arriving guest. As soon as she's out of earshot, Sakura turns toward you and smacks squarely against your arm.

"You fucking dumbass." "It’s funny!"

"It wasn't." "It absolutely was. That's what you get for not getting me an extra hand warmer."

She glares. "I almost…believed you."

"Wait, what?" "What?"

"Shush." "Pff."

At least now she’s not stuck inside her own head.

The portrait of her friend rests at the centre of the room as you two explore further, the altar surrounded by flowers, candles, handwritten letters, and probably some printed photos at different stages of her life. A smiling face frozen in time, young, bright and happy.

You notice Sakura's breathing for a second. Then she straightens her back almost instinctively…but not as stiff as before.

"She always hated that photo, by the way."

"…Looks pretty normal to me." "I know. This girl is just weird."

As the day goes, people gradually recognise her, most likely through the girl. Some approach, hesitate, and some simply wave or nod politely from across the hall. Every mutual friend seemed unsure of how to actually approach Sakura. Eventually, you drift further away to give enough space for Sakura to navigate the conversations herself. And that was when whispers appeared. Quiet, but you pick it up quite easily.

"...She's exactly the same." "I still can't tell what she's thinking." "She's barely reacted." "I haven't even seen her cry." "...She's always been cold." "...Guess some people never change."

There's no point saying back, especially here. You know well enough back then with Suhyeon. People build stories from what they can see above the frozen pond, and Sakura has always been exceptionally good at keeping everything below the water.  Of course, Sakura doesn't care either, typical of her.

Every time someone steps away from the memorial board, Sakura wanders over alone reading every message, sticky notes, thank you and apology. Slowly, like she's trying to engrave every word before leaving. One makes her lips move ever so slightly, reading silently. One makes her smile. One makes her press her lips together.

Later, someone announces that guests are welcome to spend time outside before the closing prayers begin. Sakur— wait, where did she go? Did she…where did she go?

Leaving first, you exhale and frantically run around the vast white to try to find this one girl, before you see her alone far away, under a single cherry blossom tree. The branches are completely bare, winter long claimed its blossoms months ago. But snow has settled across every branch with such softness that it almost looks like it’s blooming again. White petals, exactly how she'd described it during the ride. 

Just like what she said. Just like what her friend used to like. Just like what Sakura likes.

Everything here is quiet, the world behind you so distant. Muted voices, faint footsteps, life continuing on. Over here, there is only snow, and a Sakura beneath the tree that's still looking up. Snow gathers on her hair, her shoulders, her scarf, but she doesn't brush it off. Her posture holds for a while longer than it should.

"Sak—"

Then the posture breaks.

Her shoulders jerk once, then again. She turns her face immediately, burying it deeper into the scarf. She probably hopes that if she hides enough of herself, it won't count. Her breath breaks, small and fractured. She presses harder into the scarf, as if she can smother the sound of it. Her whole frame curls inward slightly, her pride refuses to be seen like this yet, it just keeps slipping through.

The snow keeps on falling.

And the first sob tears through the scarf. Both her hands clutch the fabric, pressing it against her face as another broken cry escapes. Then another, and another. The build ups of every thing left unsaid, and the memories left unshared, all come apart beneath that tree. Her wails echo across the empty grounds, with each one catches in her throat before breaking free again, harsher than the last.

You hear nothing. 

Not like there's anything to hear, but you just…stayed far enough away that you can't. Instead, you turn your gaze toward the lone white blossom above, miraculously and resiliently blooming on a branch untouched by snow.

It simply stays there as Sakura wails.

And like you, who refuses to leave her alone in this white, cold world.

-

You: Hey, are you almost here yet? We're going to this park near the memorial hall. Thank you for coming again, good friend.

-

It finishes just after sunset, purely because no one really wanted to be the first person to leave.

People linger. Conversations stretch a little longer, too. Old friends exchange (or re-exchange, for some) phone numbers and social media handles like they'll actually contact back. Come to think of it, it was your cue to advertise yourself and 'Rent-a-friend', opportunity was right there! A room full of emotionally vulnerable people, Incredible networking chances–no, no, don’t do it. You didn't bring your business card today (and also your conscience tells you otherwise). Shame.

The hall slowly empties.

Snow continues falling outside.

You wait by the entrance while Sakura (managed to) finishes speaking to another mutual friend. She bows politely, exchanges a few words, then walks over without saying anything.

"Ready…girlfriend?" "Oh, I will end you, alright."

Looks like she's okay now…sorta. Some of the tears had dried up on her face. The cold has hidden most of the red hue on her cheeks, but not all of it. Every now and then she sniffs quietly, pretending it's just the winter air. Thank fuck that you have your handkerchief in your pocket at least to wipe them off her.

"Shush." "I haven't even said one word, dumbass." And she still lets you wipe.

The two of you make it halfway across the parking lot before she pinches your arm sleeve.

"Can we…go somewhere quiet?"

You look around: parking lots, mourners, small farewell conversations, tired smiles.

"…got somewhere in mind?"

"Not really."

"Then I do."

Twenty minutes later, you arrive at the nearby town and pull into a small park tucked between rows of sleeping houses. No one is foolish enough to spend a winter evening here.. The playground sits abandoned beneath the snow. The swings sway ever so slightly in the breeze. A single park bench rests beneath an old tree whose branches have caught enough snow to keep the seat mostly dry. Lucky you.

You brush the snow away with your sleeve. Sakura sits, and you sit beside her.

Silence. The distant hum of the town beyond the tree. And snow. It always snows.

"Thanks…"

"Hm?"

"For coming with me."

"You asked. And pay me too, by the way." "Idiot."

Another minute passes. You don't speak, because you are aware that she wants to say something. Eventually…

"I was…honestly devastated."

You don't interrupt.

"I thought…I thought someone played a damn prank with me, you know? I reread the message six times." Her laugh dies almost immediately. "Then I checked everyone else's condolences posts, hoping one of them would say sike at any second."

Well, guess no one did.

"I sat there just…looking at one spot on the ceiling. And I just–-" She chokes. "I just…I hated myself, damn it. I kept telling myself to message her next month, after this event, after this sponsorship, after I hit another sub count, but I just fucking keep delaying it."

Silence again.

"I'll talk to her once I'm successful enough, less awkward, once enough time has passed. Well, turns out…"

You don't dare to answer. There isn't a right one in your mental notes to really tell her. You just let the wind fill the space, until Sakura suddenly tilts her head upward. You follow her gaze to find the clouds begin to clear up, tiny stars slowly emerge between patches of clouds.

"She loved stars." "Hm?"

"Every year." She smiles. "She'd literally come to my house. We used to live pretty close to each other, and tell me to touch grass once a year." Her voice becomes completely deadpan as she imitates her. "It prevents psychic damage, she says."

That's so dumb, what the fuck. "…Pff, bro, what?!"

"Yep, and we both stood outside anyway." She leans back against the bench. "We'd be in the middle of ranked. Saw a bunch of stars, and we went outside immediately, no buts."

It's the first time all day (or all week) hearing her talk about her friend without immediately cowering herself back behind a shield. And you can't help but just smile adoringly at her.

And the words leave her naturally. "I miss that idiot. So much."

You continue staring upward, and so does she. Minutes pass, the cold gradually settles into your clothes, but neither of you mind.

Eventually, she speaks. "I can't remember the last time I sat beside someone that is not you without putting on a face." She let out a big sigh. 'It's nice, just sitting like this."

"Well…make room in your heart then, won't you, my lovely and pretty supervisor?"

Sakura blinks and looks at you, in which you can only shake your head. Hm? Well, if it’s not you, then who is it? 

Both you and Sakura turn around to find a bundled-up figure walking towards them, carrying two canned coffees. She stops behind them, looking at Sakura, and then at you. Heh, she is here.

"…does this go under my pay check, good friend?"

You grin. "Took you long enough, Gaeul." 

"Hey, it's dark, and I suck at directions, remember?"

Sakura stares at the girl, completely confused. "Wait, why are yo— how did you get here?" Gaeul?"

Gaeul shrugs. "You looked like you needed someone besides him." Then she narrows her eyes at you. "And because he called me at 4am this morning since I couldn't answer his text."

"Ok, snitch."

She rolls her eyes before sitting down on Sakura's other side as naturally. For a few seconds, nobody says anything…because Sakura simply looks between the two of you. Well, look at Gaeul. She is glaring intensely at you, actually.

"You scheming motherfucker." "I'm putting that on my resume."

Gaeul, on the other hand, nudges the still warm canned coffee into the older girl's hand. "You looked sad."

"Thanks." "Someone should bother you to cheer you up."

"Someone did." Sakura side-eyes you. "Dude played the fake boyfriend act. For fucks sake."

Gaeul gasps. "You did? That is so mean! She deserves better."   

"Hold up, huh?"

The laughter comes easily after that. Small in a moment, loud in another. Comfortable, even. And then, Sakura's phone vibrates.

Jiyeon: I heard what happened. I'm really sorry. I will tag by every day now, who cares about diet? You don't even have to talk. I will just make hand sign for you. Just... don't disappear, please?

Sakura reads the message twice, three times. A tiny smile appears, then a wider one. She lowers her head slightly, hiding the expression behind the rim of the warm coffee can this time. A tear slips free anyway, presumedly happy years. "Looks like touching grass once a year wasn't enough."

You look at Gaeul, then back at Sakura. "Well, good thing you got us to drag you outside now."

"…Heh. I like the sound of that."

Since the memorial began, since the week she shows you the form, heck, since the first day you two met, this is the first time she doesn't argue with you. She simply looks back up at the stars.

And this time, she is not looking at them alone.

-

After the cold winter passes Until spring comes again Until the flowers bloom Stay here a little longer Stay here a bit more.

-

Painting white is surprisingly difficult.

Ok, it's supposed to be…white, simple, and empty. White can be the blue where shadows settle, the gold where sunlight kisses the petals, the pink where neighbouring branches reflect against one another, the gray beneath overlapping blossoms— ok at this point the complexity of this branch is overwhelming that you are rambling nonsense.

Which explains why you've spent nearly four hours staring at it.

Spring finally arrived.

Outside your apartment, the white cherry blossom tree has completely bloomed.

Unlike your utterly terrible description, the branches that had once carried only snow, now explode into clusters of pale white blossoms, every petal glowing softly beneath the sunlight. A gentle breeze stirs through the neighbourhood, carrying loose petals that dance lazily across the pavement before settling against parked cars and the studio windows.

And your studio window captures quite a perfect frame that you are trying to encapsulate in your canvas. But to be fair, working in a space that consists of scattered paint tubes, dried brushes, empty coffee cups, and enough sketchbooks lathering around, you have made a convincing argument for any reasonable person to tell you to clean it up.

Fortunately, you aren't one. You paint and get paid to be 'friends' for a living.

Anyway, you dab and streak another stroke onto the canvas.

"Too cold." You add another hint of yellow. "Ah fuck, too warm now."

Painting truly is arguing with yourself constantly until both sides are satisfied…or a third party interrupts. In this case, the constant vibration of your phone. You already ignored it before, but it keeps on buzzing. Again and again.

"…What now…" You don't even need to look at the screen to find out that Sakura is annoying you again.

Kkura: Wyd?

You: Painting.

Kkura: Ew. Working.

You: I will beat you up.

Kkura: Reported.

You snort.

You: For?

Kkura: Harassment. Pic?

You lift the unfinished canvas just enough to snap a quick photo before sending it. And immediately:

Kkura: Ugly.

This fucking b—

Kkura: Jk. It looks nice. Should've painted me.

You: Dafuq why?

Kkura: Idk, people can't tell the difference between me and the flower anyway.

You mutter the words aloud before bursting out laughing at her antics.

And yes, over the past few months, Sakura slowly returns back to herself again. Nobody truly ever goes back to who they were before grief, but it's close enough — the practical questions about understanding grief have disappeared, and late-night overthinking is less frequent. Instead, your phone gets flooded with messages about absolutely nothing. She'll call just to complain about a ranked teammate. Send you blurry photos of instant noodles. Start an argument over something she made up five seconds earlier. She basically finds new ways to mix with her old antics of being an annoying ass.

Which is comforting.

You'd honestly been worried after the memorial, thinking she would try to distract herself with extra work with Rent-a-friend, the ramen shop, and streaming in a span of multiple days. But no, she is recovering in an unexpected yet healthier way, which soothes your mind.

She finally accepts Gaeul's invites to lunch now instead of making excuses. Trying to talk about her feelings (not all of it, but she decides to be honest about herself) to late-night customers at the shop, whether they listen or not. You'd even caught her chatting with Suhyeon online (pretty sure it was a League of Legend lobby chat. Oh boy.)

Miracles do happen.

Kkura: By the way, I need you to tag with me next week. Gaeul is making another instance of shit curry again.

You: Go suffer yourself.

Kkura: Fuck you.

Sounds just like your usual conversation with her, indeed — Ok, enough procrastinating, time to set the phone face down, because the cherry blossoms aren't going to paint themselves. Another stroke, another adjustment. Oh hey, the painting is beginning to come together.

Knock knock.

Eh, probably a neighbour, or another package of paints that you may or may not have ordered and forgot that it's coming today.

"Door's open!"

The wooden door slowly swings inward, and you continue to paint without looking up.

"Just leave it by the table—"

You wish you didn't turn your head at all. The sentence dies halfway out of your mouth, and your grip tightens. Why? Why is she here? She shouldn't be here.

Standing just inside your studio, framed by the warm spring sunlight spilling through the open doorway, is someone you haven't seen in a very long time. The long dark hair, the same smiley eyes, the same habit of calmly looking around before speaking, as if making sure she isn't interrupting.

Neither of you says anything.

Outside, a breeze sends another wave of white petals drifting past the open window, and one lands between the two of you. The room suddenly feels much smaller, and your heartbeat is the loudest thing inside it.

And finally, you set the brush down.

"…What are you doing here, Baek Jiheon?"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note:

Sup. The final girl has been revealed.

This chapter has been in the back of my mind for a while. Genuinely, a very interesting topic to write, but I had such a hard time how to pull it off without making it so depressing. Bet you didn't expect a staff to request a fellow staff for the service heh. After all, we humans are social of social interaction, a friend won't hurt.

Special thank you to @valentinedrifter @toshyun @autumnyacorn for proofreading (Sakura, Jiyeon, and Gaeul are also idols i dont get to write often too lol.)

Well, now that Jiheon has been revealed. You have to wonder, why is she back? Time to wait kek.

It is what it is.

You are but a man, a living being: flesh, blood, pulse; an internet connection and access to hyper-zoomed photos and slow-motion fancams and excessive manifestos on Chou Tzuyu's legs and Chou Tzuyu’s waist and Chou Tzuyu’s perfect dimples and smile and the golden-ratio proportions; the S-curve, the hourglass of her; none of which get as straight to the point as these carefully curated comments:

notice me mommy

pleeease sit on my faaace

let me dieeeee between those thighs good looooooorrrrdddd

(Or, for the cinephiles: the quote-tweet of a poorly composited clip; one side—Tzuyu shaking ass, the other—a GIF from Mad Max: Fury Road of the guy jumping off a speeding truck yelling WITNESS MEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

But you know what?

Fuck yeah: witness you, indeed.)

Witness you now, camped out in her dressing room—your home for the past fifteen minutes—listening to the roar of tens of thousands of people bleed through concrete and steel while you wait with your VIP pass and your fast-fracturing patience and your cock heavy and in a far worse state than it was backstage at the Victoria’s Secret show; that had Tzuyu in a number that pushed her tits up so delightfully it crashed their whole website; shopping carts flooded by wishes for cleavage that could look half as glorious as hers.

And then she's there, or here, and you're drafting a manifesto of your own.

“Baby—” is how Tzuyu starts, and all it gets her is a hand around her waist, fingerprints pressed into sweat-slicked muscle, and she just goes with it—lets herself be reeled through the threshold and spun into you until the arrangement goes: 1) the door, 2) her body, 3) your cock, 4) you.

“Hell of a show,” you coo into her ear, pulling out the shiver she's kept coiled tight just for this moment—a pressure valve, a controlled detonation, released the second your thumb presses into the meat of her thigh.

“Baby—” again, and your girl is burning up: stage-lights hot, dimpled cheeks gone rosy red, flushed throat to sternum, wrapped up in what is just a feat of costume design and structural engineering and frankly the pinnacle of human craftsmanship: the leather corset cinched around her chest, doing theological work with her tits; the matching hot-pants sealed over her thighs (likely had to be poured on earlier, left to set, that's the only possibility); the knee-high boots she is absolutely not going to be able to walk out of here in.

She leans anyway—gracing you with more room to work in, rolling herself against you, because there's a countdown until you both have to clear the stadium and it's only hard and fast from here on out.

(Don't concern yourself with whatever wreckage survives into the aftermath, you're not going to see this room ever again, anyway.

Well. Until next tour.)

“Need a minute?” You're busy taking stock: the rapid shallow breaths, the copper-spun hair matted to skin, the sweat tracing her collarbone and running rivers to places you'll find the end of soon.

Tzuyu tilts her chin up, cocks an eyebrow. That stadium-filling smile. So ruthlessly, indiscriminately gorgeous. Real breath-taker, soul-stealer, habitual cock-hardener; your girlfriend (you lucky, lucky fucker). Another grind of her hips against you finds you stretching. “Could you even wait a minute?”

“No, but I thought I'd be polite and ask.” You shrug, bump your hips back, far less graceful and subtle than the little ditty she pulled off; through your denim, dragging across her abs, a point of punctuation on her body. “Consent and all.”

“Oh?” She laughs; small, private, non-transferable to anyone outside this room. Rises on her toes so the tip of your cock drags down to where she actually wants it, takes your face in both hands. “Is this something I'll need to consent to?”

“Just your standard offer for concert aftercare,” you deadpan. “Very exclusive. One provider.”

“That's funny. I don't remember subscribing.”

“Opt-out situation,” you tell her, lips finding the exact junction where salt and sweet meet on her neck. She sighs, end-to-end. “Really have to read the fine print.”

“You know how I am with that sort of stuff.” And it's really something; your Tzuyu underneath everyone else's Tzuyu—stage-beautiful but zero performance left in those to-die-for cheekbones; just her, released and free, origami in your hands, folding like she was always going to—a swan, some sort of songbird, or maybe simply a fucking lawn chair, if permitted. “You get your hands on me and I just can't help but say yes.”

Tzuyu: dressed like this and saying shit like that.

Yes, you both are embarrassingly, irretrievably, categorically gone over each other; and it's your problem, and hers, you've both long made peace with it, ready to be buried in clearly marked graves, side-by-side: here lies Chou Tzuyu and her secret boyfriend who fucked each other well and truly to death.

So, of course you're going to kiss her.

Lips on hers—same every time, new every time—her sighs feeding into your lungs, hands fisting in your shirt, hips translating heat into friction. Her tongue finding yours in ceremonial greeting; sparking up the sign outside, reading: occupied, all yours, always been yours, you just had to show up and smile.

And it's the release from her, all of it: everything that's been pulled taut since soundcheck, since this morning; each glance she's had to swallow, instinct suppressed by choreography and professionalism and forty thousand watching eyes.

The kiss compounds, stacks on stacks. Her leg lifts, hooks behind your shin, grinds the core of her against you—more, wanting more.

You stop yourself. Pull your lips free. The whimper that follows is pitchy and involuntary and criminally cute.

Her bottom lip wobbles, doing its intended and well-documented work on your heart.

“Why?” she asks—genuine, adorable, the whole bullshit shebang—how could you ever deprive an angel like this of such an innocent/filthy carnal desire?

You peel her hands from your neck, leaving them at her sides. Like a good girl, she waits.

Then you slide down to your knees.

The sound she makes could shatter something; it settles for the room's acoustics, forces it into submission, bends it over a knee.

“Ah,” she exhales. “That's why.”

Hotter down here. Always is: down-lights been baking her all night and it radiates off every inch, and at this distance—breathing her in, flooding your airways with the tangy-sugary-rock-salt-fucking-umami-scented compound of Tzuyu after three hours on a lit stage, the heat pooling thickest right at the deep crease where her legs meet. Coherent thought exits the building, it was never given a backstage pass, and the inside of her knee gets an open-mouth kiss—she nearly keels over completely, hands scrabbling for your hair.

“Oh God—” and you can hear the laugh underneath it, the perpetual disbelief at how fast she comes apart. “You have no idea how long I've been thinking about this.”

“I have some idea.”

“Your fault,” she says, and her voice fractures on it—”oh—standing at the barricade, staring at me the whole time; you have a problem you know—always looking at my—”

“Precisely.”

(And permit the detour: just to pontificate about Tzuyu's thighs because they warrant it.

Her thighs are strong. Belonging to both the Goddess and the statue depicting her—inspired by myths, carved out of marble—everyone gets to see the output; nobody gets to feel the mechanism but you. Thousands of hours of training and dancing condensed into lean muscle that locks on either side of your skull and could, if you don't hurry up and get on with it, end you.

But you're with the manifestos on this one—it'd be a perfect way to go. Heat coming off them in waves, obscene against your lips, all that tension gone soft and pliant the second your mouth's on her, flexing when she likes something, gripping when she likes it more—under your palms, against your jaw, clamping over your ears; two years deep and not one degree cooler about it.

Glory, glory, hallelujah.)

Your tongue drags higher. Slow. Taking stock along that honey-gold strip of skin. She tenses under your mouth—quads jumping—and her fingers in your scalp go from grip to claw.

She breathes, “You're unbelievable.”

“I've been told.”

“There's other places for your lips besides my legs you know—ah—”

The rest dissolves: you're busy running your tongue along the seam where leather draws a strict border against the plush of her thigh, finding the points where she's holding the most tension, that make her hips buck up, where the fabric is already warm and damp and about to get so much worse.

It earns you a warning: “You need to get these pants off me.”

“Give me a second.”

“You've had all night—”

“Shh.”

“Shh?”

“Let me appreciate you.”

“That’s what the concert was for, honey—”

“No, that was for everyone else,” you correct her, breathe it straight into the leather. “This—” You make a show of it, the séance you’re performing on your knees, spellbound by the tightest leather on the sweetest body. “These—are for me.”

She manages, barely, “Always.”

You nod, reverently. “So. Shorts. Stay on. For now.”

Tzuyu goes quiet. Breath hitches. Oh, she knows what it means, what you want. It moves through her, settles deep, has her relaxing against the door, parting her legs. “Fine.”

Hands hold her cheeks, digging in, the type of shit you revel in; putting your girl through this. Getting closer, deeper in that crevice, slowly, slowly, slow—until her thighs slap against your cheeks, a clapperboard calling action.

And then you put your mouth on leather. On her.

Sighs—turning into unhinged, sloppy sounds—eke through the gap between her thighs and your ears, knees drawing you in, lethal force, and this is one for the history books, something Darwinian, maybe that grave only has room for one; here lies you, suffocated with the biggest pussy-eating grin on your face, found choking on leather and your girlfriend's cum.

Zero complaints there, anyway.

“Oh fuck—”

“Quiet,” you say into her folds, even though experience tells you this word has had little success with Tzuyu; but, honestly, whatever fuels the kink.

“Trying—” she gasps, hips rolling against your face, proving your point. “But you've got a mouthful of my cunt and you're telling me to keep it down?”

“Mostly leather,” you hedge, but Tzuyu really is grinding hard—hard enough that the heat cuts sharp and precise. Press harder, force out more of these keens, ‘til she has to muffle herself with the back of her own hand.

Kneeling at her altar, getting where she's hottest—tongue dragging up and down the inside, lathering under the seams, working into the gap and getting torturously close; wetness already leaking through, running down; scoop it all up, suck it down, drink your holy communion and cherish every drop.

Exactly what she deserves (Tzuyu, the outfit, these thighs). So, so sensitive, it's so rude—a flicker of your tongue, a press of your lips, pure filth rumbled against her skin and she's gasping, writhing, the idol outline breaking, reconstructing into a shape a bit more pliable, dissolving into a soaked, sweat-drenched mess.

“It's always so easy for you isn't it? Hate how good it is—” and it comes out as a whimper, pleasant, tipsy slurring as Tzuyu's voice pitches higher, higher than please, for God's sake, keep it down this time; the very polite request Nayeon made that you fully intend to break.

Has you questioning the thickness of the door, reminiscing about Osaka, the last stop, when Tzuyu got so obscenely loud that Jeongyeon herself burst in to see if her group's dearly beloved youngest was being murdered—only to be yelled at: get the fuck out, he's killing me with his cock.

These thoughts get pocketed, to be added to later.

Nose pressing hard into the peak of her pussy—taking a long, selfish inhale; fingers holding firm against the muscle, lifting her ass off the door so she can sink further down your face.

“Please,” and she's getting desperate, fingers knotting in your hair, trying to hoist you in. “Take them off—I need your mouth on me, I need to feel you—”

“Not yet,” you tell her again, but she blathers on and on—how Tzuyu always gets—at her best and her worst; a bundle of needs arranged in a neat hierarchy, scratch that: it's just a fucked up ouroboros with your tongue at the beginning and the end and her thick thighs and her full-lipped cunt being looped through in the middle of it all.

With your mouth on her, it always is. Sucking bruises into her long legs, taking the skin between your teeth, marking the softest parts on her body, your declarations, her medals she gets to wear later—this is mine, this belongs to me; next concert she'll be forced into shorts cut far too high to hide them. The idea of it, the zoom on the lenses, the high-definition rendering; they'll see it and they'll figure it out: this goddess belongs to someone.

Her mantra confirms it: “Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-pleaaaase—”

You don't slow—not yet—not until she's writhing against the wall and her thighs are clenching and unclenching around your head in a rhythm to match the high and whorish sounds slipping from her mouth. You can hear her start to weep, but her cunt is sprouting tears far quicker; against your chin, down your neck, soaking into the collar of your shirt—you haven't even touched her properly yet.

You'll correct that.

You leave her with one final, deliberate, hard suck of your lips against your favourite bruise. Leave the skin red and glowing with your spit. One gratuitous slap against the curves spilling from the back of her shorts, just to see the ripple.

Then you stand.

Tzuyu blinks slow, can't quite land it. She'd glare if she could aim it—slumped against the doorway, fixing on your lips—shiny, wrecked from your project on her thighs—to drag herself level.

Two fingers under her chin, tilting her face until she's looking at you, meeting your eyes—all that dazed awe pointed straight at you. A nod at the vanity in the corner. “Get over there. Turn around. Bend over. Hands on the counter.”

Tzuyu doesn't say a word. Barely breathes.

Bites her lip, nods, and stumbles her way over.

You track her—flushed, a little disappointed that you left enough integrity in her knees to make the trip. The wobble in her limbs, the stripe of sweat running down her spine, the small of her back, disappearing beneath the leather.

Your girl, your performer, your one and only idol; the most out of this world, hand to God, strike you down where you stand, beautiful woman you've ever been in the vicinity of. The outfit on its way to ruin: tight leather still doing its heroic work against her sweaty tits, hot-pants finding darker shades; midnight stained vantablack from your mouth, from her leaking through; hair coming loose—hours to build, minutes to take apart.

She braces herself on the counter, falling forward until her hands land with a soft thump. The mirror stretches across the wall in front of her, fogged slightly at the edges from the heat churning through the room, and she spots you staring through the glass. Gives you a show, whether she means to or not.

You watch her watch you in the reflection—the instinctual arch of her back as you step closer, habit pushing her ass out to receive you. Hands find her hips, thumbs into the sublime belt of skin above the waistband.

A push here and she preens.

Lips back where they belong; dragging up her spine, her throat, up the columns of temples built by worship alone, feeling the foundations, the muscles tense and flex underneath.

Closer and closer, slurping the sticky-sweetness pooling at the crevasse of her neck and shoulder, setting up camp under her ear, before pitching lower to drag over her jaw, her lips slacking open by themselves and you're going to wedge inside—

“Hurry.”

You breathe into her mouth, “What do you need?”

“You,” she sighs, an exhale, a relief. A kiss atop her chin, the tightening of your grip. She knows it's not enough. “Your mouth. Your hands. Wherever. Everywhere.”

“Everywhere? I've only got the two.” Hands drift higher, up her sides, around her back, slowly, torturously slow, working the lacing loose. Not for need of effort—you've long since learned your way around bobby-pins and double-sided tape and enough knots to make you a certified sailor.

“Anywhere—my—”

The final string comes undone. A shrug has the straps off her shoulders and the corset falling, pasties dropping with it. Leaving her bare from the waist up, and you get indulgent with it, take your time. Look up, into the mirror, take it in. Only for a second.

Accounting for all the best decisions in your life, and every past life too; rewards for time spent in previous reincarnations possibly as some celibate monk achieving enlightenment; only to find in the next leap that true nirvana is actually between Tzuyu's legs.

This current incarnation has you discovering exactly how far down the flush goes, splitting the difference between her breasts; the same ones that fill your hands, splay through your fingers—and they rise and fall, shrill inhales making them heave, nipples pebbling at just a brush of your fingertips.

And Tzuyu, finding her words, the simple, single-syllable vocabulary she has for you: “There—more—yes.”

Toying with them, flicking the peaks, waiting for the right stiffness to pinch. Sharp enough to make her hiss, then ask: “Enough for you?”

“God no,”—loud, decisive, helpless. A demand underneath a laugh. “Your cock. My pussy is literally in tears right now.”

You laugh into her shoulder.

“Weeping. It's so tragic.”

“But does it deserve it?”

“I don't—” and she checks your reflection, honestly considering it. “I don't know. But I do know what I'll do to you if we don't shut it up with your cock in the next minute, and it'll be significantly worse than what you're planning.”

That's more than enough of an answer. You step back, admire the damage. “We'll see about that.”

And the gasp when you free yourself—the button, the zipper, the jeans—because she's been so lost in herself that she's only just realising how much of an entire situation it's been for you since the very start.

You catch it all: the drag of her tongue over her lips, the bite that follows. The shudder, the pupils flooding dark when she sees you.

You say, “You did this.”

“Are you ever not so—” She fumbles, forgetting her words when she watches you step closer, resting the length of you atop her ass with a definitive slap. “So full.”

You lift her, adjust her so she's as tall as she can be—the heels help but don't have her quite high enough for your nefarious ideas; you hold her whole weight in your hands.

She reads your mind, tilts her head back against your shoulder and says, “Go on. Take me.”

Reaching around, popping the button of her shorts, the shudder as you drag them down, her drenched panties with them—over the swell of her hips, down her thighs, force them over the boots until she can kick them off and land them somewhere behind you.

And then it's just her, Tzuyu in knee-high boots and nothing else, long limbs bare and red and littered with your branding; red highlighted against cream, glistening from the slick and the spit.

You step forward, position, aim, level yourself with her. Thumbs press into her ass, parting the valley of her cheeks, edging her knees slightly apart. Fingers firm around her waist, holding her in place, the squeeze of her thighs.

You slide right between them.

“Oh my God—” Her head lifts, eyes clenched shut, fingers scrambling at the counter, knocking over all the pieces that helped put her together hours before, sending them tumbling to the floor. “Always so thick between my thighs.”

You groan, grunt, can't help it—the first slide is unholy. You see it all, watch it through the mirror; the head of your cock emerging from between her locked legs, coming out the other side slick and dark, and it's heat and softness and smooth all around, her cunt lathering you as you push through.

Slowly, carefully, the friction easing with every pass; the schlick sound of it filling the entire room.

“It's going to ruin me,” Tzuyu realises, feeling the way you throb between her, engorged and fighting against the grip of her muscles. “When this gets inside me it's going to fuck me up, isn't it?”

You pass by the rhetorical, focused on setting a rhythm. Something slow, paced, plenty of room to drag achingly along her cunt, let your cockhead push against her clit and force a bit of pressure with each thrust. And Tzuyu responds in kind, finds the motion at once—rolling her hips when you press forward, polishing your thickness with her juices, your cock properly lacquered and stained in budding girlcum.

“Your thighs,” you breathe into her ear, pulling her back against you, catching in the glass two people with unflinching grins on their faces, utterly fucked out of their minds. “Always showing them off, stadium after stadium, leaving them on everyone's mind. You know how many people are probably choking themselves over you right now, yeah?”

“I only care about one,” Tzuyu murmurs back, eyes blinking closed and open again, as if to double-check, maybe it's a dream, maybe the wrecked visage reflected in front of her is too blissful to be true—some bizzaro-doppelganger that just happens to look like her except in her sluttiest, most honest form; tall and proud and tits on display, nipples like pendulums with every thrust, swinging up and down.

“And look at them now. So perfect around my cock,” you grit out, her thighs twitching around you as if they have a mind of their own, pressing you in from either side, God. “It's genuinely insane.”

And the sigh, the quiver, the shudder when you tell her:

“You're made for this, Tzuyu.”

“I know,” she says, words turning into mud; formless, less coherent the more you push. “I know—it's so right. Feels so—fuck—you feel so good. This is all I've been thinking about since—”

“All show.”

“Before then,” and she smiles, laughs, because she has a secret she's been holding. “I knew it. Knew when they showed me this outfit. This ridiculous corset. Those tiny, tight shorts. I told the stylist straight away—this outfit is perfect.”

The smile, pure innocence concentrated into a lie that you almost believe. She rolls her ass back against you, dips her hips into that dangerous vector; the one where her thighs clench and angle your cock higher, where the head of your cock brushes against where she's most swollen, most shamelessly soaked; drinks down the look in your eyes when she does it again and again and again.

“Perfect to be ruined. Perfect to get fucked in. Perfect to make my thighs look so good for you.” The noise you thrust out of her next—a grunt, a throat cleared—enough to get the next words out clean: “Now tell me it was enough to get you to fuck me properly.”

You answer with speed—with force—pushing your cock right through, forcing her clit to flicker roughly, a guttural 'Christ'—from someone's lips—hers, yours, you can't parse it—as your hips piston right into her ass.

“Faster—I'm—” she starts, but you know; because you're melding at this point, sharing one mind, one slick, urgent rhythm that makes the vanity, the mirror, the bottles, the whole stadium seem to rattle.

Knuckles turn white, she's meeting you thrust for thrust now, pushing back against you; each and every time—cock slides through the squelch-smack-sploosh of it, head bumping against her clit, an obscene little kiss with each pass, a call met with a response in the form of a jerk or a whine or just the squeeze of her around you to let you know that yeah, she gets the message.

“Holy—close,” she gasps, grabbing the word and holding onto it like a lifeline—through the thrusting, the trembling thighs and ragged breaths and the way she's so wet your cock is just dripping with it. “So close, so close, don't stop—please—”

Not in a million fucking years.

You reach around, fill a palm with her tits, squeeze, pinch, bring her closer and twist just right to have her body in fits; a seizure that makes her knees buckle together and your vision blur for an instant—but it's enough.

She lifts up—higher, goes to the tops of her toes, as tall as her heels would allow, coming off your cock, letting the tip drag down to land at the centre of her, across her folds—settling against the only place it really belongs.

“Oh-wait-God-fuck-I'm-not—”

You pull her down, push right through that blistering-hot cumhole and thrust hard all the way in, full-length, every thick inch fed to her greedy cunt, and Tzuyu screams.

“God-yes-fuck-you—” and the expletives that follow, something filthy and loud that can't be stopped by any number of walls—and the one thought in your mind that isn't some variation of holy-shit-Tzuyu's-ridiculously-wet-cunt-is-choking-my-cock knows Nayeon's going to have some words about this later.

But her pussy pulses, fights your cock thrashing against its walls; Tzuyu snapping shut around you so hard you can barely move, and she cums and cums and cums; her head thrown back, hair draping over your shoulder; wailing, moaning, cursing your name and your cock and your ancestors and the fact that this is only the first time you've made her cum today and you owe her so, so much more.

Squeezing and wrenching and desperately trying to milk you with every devastating method it has in its arsenal—but you don't fall with it, you don't finish it.

Yeah, God, of course you want to, you're right there, legs dangling off the cliff—but you're not done with her yet, not even close.

So you just hold her against you, let her shake, let her cunt flutter so heavenly around your shaft, her abs flex and quiver under one palm, her heart leaping out of her chest and through the lovely tit you've got a firm grip on. Let her drool onto your shoulder, tongue, mouth gone slack and eyes glassy, looking up at you because it is—reliably, catastrophically—and it bears repeating—every goddamn time.

You twist her, cock slipping out a few solid inches and she makes a sound of loss that would fit in a funeral dirge; but yeah, you just want to kiss her, something rough and claiming, to help her swallow the broken sobs she's still making.

And she kisses you back, desperate, like she wants to hurt you with her tongue and her lips, teeth catching your lower lip; hands, fingers, fingernails clawing at your skin and your hair and there really is only one thing left to say:

“Inside me,” she spits into your mouth; words of a woman who is owed a grand railing and is ready to call in the whole account, backdated to the day you met, “I need your cum inside me. Now.”

She reads the stupid smirk on your face. Bites your lip again.

Again: “Now.”

You step back, length completely sliding out of her; cunt-drool keeping you tethered to her pussy lips.

Tzuyu groans, nearly collapses against the mirror.

“Then earn it, Tzuyu.”

There's little room left for grace, you manage what you can; an awkward-four-legged crab walk because Tzuyu's still shaking and needs you to support her weight as you collapse onto the couch.

A thud and you're seated, Tzuyu falling into your lap; your flawless girl, tits level with your lips, thighs bracketing either side of yours, cunt juice streaming down the plane, and her hands on your shoulders, bracing for what's next.

“Needed this,” Tzuyu sighs; cradling your head closer to her chest, welcoming the tongue that snakes out, rolls around a nipple, the teeth grazing the sensitive slope of her tits.

You jerk your hips, drag your cock through her folds—not inside, not yet—and she grits out your name. “I know.”

“No—you don't,” she tells you, smile on her face, wistful and pretty and she's just melting into your hands on her hips. “You know how hard it was to not go looking for you? All day I thought about—fuck—thought about finding you. Getting on my knees,” she closes her eyes, bringing herself back to some half-remembered dream. “Wanted to take your cock deep and drink you dry and fill my belly full of your cum—but I had to stop. Do you want to know why?”

You don't need to respond; you know the real answer, can feel it thrumming through her.

Tzuyu nods, slow, languid. Leaning in, dipping her head, breath hot against your jaw like she's letting you in on a private confession, something she'd only admit through the longest, sweetest torture. “I wanted you desperate. Hard all day. Needed you thinking about nothing else but me and my mouth and my cunt and my thighs.”

Your cock's fighting your own willpower, levelling with her entrance, you can feel the pulse of her meeting your throb; beads of precum slitting out of your cockhead ready to make the leap into her cunt. It's a game of millimetres at this point—a slip of your hands, a twitch of her hips, a slight fucking breeze; all it would take to break her.

“So I think I deserve a reward—for being so good for you, don't I? Or maybe you're mad at me for not taking your cock sooner—you can tell me I've been bad, that I need to pay you back, that I owe you—” Tzuyu's lips skate across your chin, doing their wicked work, inhaling every wisp of desperation and pure insatiable need that's been simmering underneath your skin all day. “Please, go ahead and put me in my place.”

“Fine.”

A forced exhale—wind knocked out from her lungs and into yours; cunt parting around you hot and slick and Jesus Christ she's so fucking tight, but you drive through it, wrenching her down while forcing yourself up and by the time you're fully hilted there's just one high, continuous sound she's making—a choir of wails, sobs, cries; a blissful chorus.

Her hips tilt to draw you deeper, thighs locking around your waist and there's the whole of your interior life, mind returning to one reliable verdict—you can't help it—death, taxes, and the combination of both when you collect what you’ve been dying for from Tzuyu's tiny, pink pussy and fill her so completely she can launch a one-woman investigation into the existence of the afterlife herself.

And you know her, know your girl, she wants to be more eloquent about it, wants to find a better way to convey how good you're railing her right now—so easily, firm quick strokes gliding in and out of her blistering cunt; guided by your hands holding her waist steady, but all she can manage is the high-level shit, the words that don't really matter but the effort to make them is Herculean nevertheless: “There—God—there—fuck—please—fuck—fuck—fuck—”

You hold her, fuck into her, just watching her—this ideal idol, letting your thighs slap against hers, punishing the muscle; absorbing all the details, the classified information that never leaves your desk.

Her face when you bottom out; the squeeze of her eyes, the slacking of her jaw, this euphoric grin dancing across her lips. Her tits and their heft, the bounce with every stroke—putting a hand back on one, filling your palm whole; the thought there—did you mold them, or were they tailor-made for you—or really, who gives a fuck because a squeeze makes her squeal so delightfully and you know that if you roll it she'll clench, cunt will pulse once, twice, around you and her head will drop back and she'll tell you again—

“More—there—”

“Yeah?”

And mumbling, fumbling around the back of her pretty head, sorting through all the things that may have existed there before you started filling it with thoughts of your cock, diving deep for the words and somehow managing to string them together—”Both—please—your hands, mouth, whatever—touch me more—”

You return your teeth to the other and her volume pitches; whips its way around the room, like it's searching for the cracks, the little gaps under the doorway so it can sneak into the corridor, down the hall—reaching for someone, anyone who can acknowledge how thoroughly you satisfy Chou Tzuyu's cunt.

“Your cock is so damn good,” she breathes; and that's all there really is, plain and simple, the why of it all.

What you've always known—sure you're helplessly, embarrassingly, probably-going-to-ask-her-to-marry-you-eventually down bad for her, even though you both know that you really are.

It's this—pounding Tzuyu's insides and being thanked for it. Her grip, her heat; not just her tits, her whole body, glorious thighs and all; engineered with this application in mind; an absurdly deranged thought to conjure—a decade of discipline, of investment, liquidated against your cock; an endpoint to just bounce mercilessly.

You remind her of it too: “Forty thousand people,” you mark the record into the underside of her tits.

“Please—”

“Every single one of them.”

“I know—please—I know—don't stop—”

“Going home right now,” you drive into her, shattering her on the downstroke, coming back together when you pull her up, just to break her into pieces again when you impale her completely. “Dreaming about these thighs—this body—this tight cunt stretching around me so nice.”

She's just properly gushing now, unashamedly messy with it; from her cunt, down your cock, past the crevasses of her thighs slapping on top of yours and ruining the couch below, but so what, sell it online or something; a Tzuyu-fied cum-stained couch; the sweaty outlines of your fucked, formless bodies on the cushions, would make a great centrepiece in any international gallery.

But anyway, back to the obvious: “It's all fucking mine,” and before you even have to tack on the end of it the question, Tzuyu's already picking up what you're putting down—

“All of it,” she says, just holding herself by your shoulders now, digging herself in, fastening herself down for the storm, “Yours”—once, pounded out of her—“Yours”—again, but broken, shattered; losing its footing in her lexicon. “Only you—only for you.”

And the other thing, what's left when it all slips: the composed, picture-perfect idol facade vacated, checked out, no lens in the world able to catch what's underneath. Just her and her wanton needs—fucked raw, fucked hard, wrung dry and left boneless. If she can walk or make words, or remember her name after this you've fucked up, because this was always her scheme: she chose the outfit, laced herself up in straight-up mainlined sin knowing you'd tear it off, spent all those hours on that stage with this exact destination in mind; so, yeah, hurry the fuck up—pick up the pace.

The couch jostles, fights the wall behind it, the carpet underneath. Something crashes to the floor, rolls off a table, never even mattered. Tzuyu stops holding back, the words come out clean, no longer minced; it was only ever a matter of time, because she's finally getting what she needs and yeah, the whole room, all of backstage, her groupmates down the corridor; no doubt are all well fucking aware.

A problem for later, you suppose.

“They can't imagine,” she says, unique to just her when she's at the end, more coherent, not less. “My tiny pussy—filled so—fucking—deep,” breathlessly, urgently, getting off on saying it, getting off on knowing it's getting you off too, “Stretched—ruined—a big cock full of cum saved just for me.”

Using her in every way girls like her should never be, but pussies like hers are built for—fucktoy, fleshlight, cocksleeve on long legs—holy fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I deserve it—don't I? A nice load, deep inside,” whimpering, proper quiver in her lip, and a last beg for good measure; loading her ammo, cocking her gun, finger on the trigger, “Can't stop—like that—don't you dare—”

Like you could—”Not going anywhere,” you remind her, holding on to where she's flickering between hard and soft; Tzuyu, hot as fuck all over and even hotter when she cums and tells you—

“Harder—”

Trying to—

“Fuck me—”

You're there—

“Please—please—please—”

She only needs to ask once because her cunt is divine, wrapped around you and leaving you with nowhere to go but up and down, back and forth; fucking her with nothing but terrible, wonderful intention until your hand is under her hip, slapped across her ass, forcing her to change the angle so she goes completely rigid and oh—oh—oh fuck—

“So—gah—good—”

Running straight through it—keep the angle; drive harder. The arch of her spine, lifting herself up, abs peeling off your waist and there's a gap, the opportunity—thumb back on her clit and she's clenching around you in warning pulses.

Thighs locking around your waist, hairline fractures in your hipbones, her body winding up—she's—you can feel her everywhere.

A wet choke, a stunned gasp, cunt swallows, gushes, inks something with her cum down the veins of your cock and she says it in case you miss it—

“Fuck—how the fuck do you make me cum so—”

Hitting her, tearing her apart—long, so loud—like she never stopped, and maybe she hadn't; been on that frequency since you first pushed inside her, and it'd make sense—her pupils at that dreamy sheen, stars in her eyes, shot into the stratosphere on your cock—and yeah, you'll take it, die with it, leap off the truck and declare WITNESS MEEEEE for all to see.

But she's not done. Yeah, she's fucked open and out, but her pussy's got other ideas, and her mind's on the same wavelength.

“Yours,” she says, fierce, needy, petulant; the princess turned brat, a rare, precious occurrence. “Give me yours—all of it—now—please—inside—”

And she keeps demanding, the sounds getting worse and better simultaneously; run out of proper onomatopoeia for her cunt on your cock, inventing brand-new ones to make up for it; her moans are climbing back up to join the fray. Despite it all, despite that she's just cum, she's oversensitive, rattling with it, but still taking it anyway, pulling it from you—gorgeous in every way, every inch, every configuration—what you get when you take Tzuyu from the stage and fuck her this hard and for this long and she clearly does not give a fuck that she's literally crying for your cock and cum and cannot stop—

“I'm begging for you to—”

“I'm here,” and her pussy milks it out of you, twists, pulls, grips—long rolling quivers around you. You're sunken deep into her, can't move, can't do anything but twitch and you don't know when you started but you're kissing her hard, groaning into her throat and following her over.

In the midst of it, cock spasming inside her, detonation on either side of your timeline—was there a before, is there an after? Or is there just this, now; soul leaving your body and flooding this ludicrously tight, hot cunt and—where were you again, what's your fucking name even—do you even care to find out because this gorgeous, unbelievable, unreal girl has got you in the sweetest embrace, lips, arms, pussy and all; clearly working through her own aftershocks, draining every last drop and stray thought out of you, and it goes on and on, and her legs are holding you there and it goes on a little longer.

White—at the edges, her cunt, your vision, it's all the same at this point; just fucking it all into her, stuffing her full, bulging her tight belly with you whole; all of you, all of the future yous too and what do you have to say for yourself:

“Take my fucking cum, Tzu—”

And what does she have in response?

“So much—all mine—God, fill me, please—”

It comes back gradually.

Names, places, details colouring the edges.

Tzuyu—small, floating on air, hovering on your cock, eyes half-lidded, glazed, satisfied; something that leans narcotic. Faint tears tracking down her cheeks, somehow reaching your tongue, or it's her sweat, or yours; but it's just hot and salty and that just about sums up the both of you.

You feel her heartbeat coming down against yours; survey the damage, the mascara that survived an entire concert but couldn't make it past this, the hair that's been reset and tangled and still looks wonderfully her. The corset was left by the mirror. The shorts surrendered somewhere close by.

“Could you ever—” Tzuyu comes to life, first to speak, let you know that she's still with you in the land of the living. “Fuck me normally?”

You laugh. “What's that like?”

“Like, leave me with some dignity.” She shifts; the ooze of cum, the exaggerated pornographic audio that accompanies it as it seeps out around the seal of her perfect plump pussy-lips glued to your cock proves her point.

“Sounds boring.”

“It would leave us with a lot less explaining to do,” she says, and you're already on clean-up duty, thumb to her cheek, wiping away the stragglers there; piece-by-piece, reassembling this demolished dream of a girl.

“To who?”

Tzuyu gives you a look.

“I think we're well past that,” you say, rattling down your list; “Nayeon, definitely. Sana can't say shit after what she got up to in Paris.”

“I know, but—”

“Momo literally fist-bumped me in the hallway and said, See you in Valhalla, brother,” and that has Tzuyu snorting into your neck, adorable, winning, her; still all wet and shaking and in tears from how hard she came.

Another lazy squeeze of her walls around you, habitual milking at this point, and she sighs, repeating, “Valhalla, Christ.”

“Legitimately.”

And she tests her muscles around you again, intentionally this time, and you throb back, and you're steering the car back onto the road now, putting things back on the most obvious paths—”You're going to give me a reputation.”

“It'll look great alongside mine,” you muse, drag your palms up those thighs once more, thumbing the damage, the territory marked and yeah; the stylist, make-up artists, she's gonna get a real talking to. “We can compare notes.”

She adjusts, twists; obscene, and more of your load starts to run, messy, dripping down her folds and onto your lap, waiting to be fucked right back into her; it's an intersection of indecency—pretty, fucked-up, dangerous.

Tzuyu in a nutshell.

Noticing: “You're still hard.”

Noticing back: “You're still sitting on it.”

Rolling her hips once, experimental, having you both groaning, moaning in stereo. She reads your face and knows what's coming next.

“How long do you think before Jeongyeon comes knocking again?” And it's already published by the time you say it—posted, trending, bookmarked—out there to be read and thumbed through—she's giggling all girlish and cute, you're laughing dark and low; she's getting flipped onto her back, pressed into the couch cushions that once had bigger aspirations than this.

Those thighs—again; downright incredible things, run out of words to bless them, just holy fuck do they spread so nicely, automatically falling open, heels in the air, knees hooked high over your shoulders. Tzuyu, Tzuyu, Tzuyu—built to be handled exactly like this.

A look in her eyes, the adoration there, the only lovers left alive of it all, the I'll hold your hand and jump off the cliff with you if you'd just lead me, has you thinking all sorts of romantic shit: I love you, marry me, let's maybe finish up by doing something dumb to make this something permanent.

But the comments are in your head again, so:

“I'm going to die between those thighs.”

Tzuyu cocks an eyebrow, you're just reciting the obvious. “Good.”

“Yeah?”

“I'll sit on your face in the afterlife too.”

“Hell of a way to spend eternity,” and you're already moving, laughing, tongue wrestling her down but there's no need, she was, is, always has been; apparently forever will be even after you're bones and dust—yours.

Hand on her thigh, one last time for good measure, pressing your fingerprints into the give of it, stamping off on a job well fucked, and she has to say: “Baby, you are so, ridiculously—”

You don't answer, electing to focus on thrusting back into her.

Fuck being humble, you are giving her the works, pumping in and out of her at paces you've only dreamed of reaching.

Her back arches as you grab at her hips, keeping her still as she squirms.

Her cunt is so fucking wet on your cock, it's pure agony, Pleasure's incarnate as it draws you back in with every pump.

But you can't cum yet, not after all the times your girlfriend has milked your cock dry without her finishing. You can't go through fingering her again to completion as your spent cock flops lifelessly on your pelvis.

"I t-turned you into a good little fuck, didn't I?" she teases, but her face is anything but composed. Her chest, her perky little tits bounce with the huff and puffs of her chest.

It only eggs you on, you lean forward a bit so you're over top of her, ram her from a better angle.

Her hands jump to your back, grasping, clawing at it in pleasure. She's most definitely drawn blood with her scratches. Worth it. Especially with that look on her face, mouth hanging agape, eyes screwed up in pleasure.

You've fucked her enough to know that pace isn't the only thing that matters. There are other things to look for, and when her pussy clenches even tighter, you know to prop yourself up, opt for slower, deeper thrusts. You also know to take a thumb, reach it down to her sopping wet cunt, find that stiff little clit you and flick.

Her hands, now at her side find the bedsheets and clench, her body trembles and her pussy squeezes you so hard you almost pass out.

But you don't, you thrust triumphantly knowing this is the third time tonight you've made her cum on your cock.

She lets out a squeal, all high and hoarse as her whole body convulses.

You still adminster soft pumps until her pussy ceases its tension, then you fall back onto the bed.

She's laying there, still a little out of it, and to say your cock is throbbing would be a gross understatement. It's writhing, your balls are so full of cum the head is nearly leaking. But your stamina is waning.

"Shit, Yeji," you utter, still shocked at not only how damn hot she is, but how well you've performed tonight.

You should know better to count Yeji out.

Her cat-like eyes are back, looking at you with something that signals trouble.

She crawls over to you, body still trembling but still, she's as commanding as ever.

She crawls up between your legs, never breaking eye contact.

"Y-yeji," you moan as her mouth engulfs your tip. "Give me a minute," you say, despite the cum in your balls stirring, almost escaping as her lips suction you.

She lets it out with the softest little pop. "You've been such a good boy. Maybe I'll give you a reward."

Her spryness returns, and when she spins and positions herself, you almost cry of happiness.

She's on her knees, face planted into the sheets, eyes still turned back towards yours.

"Yej— are you serious?"

Her hands are stretching her ass cheeks to reveal her tight little asshole.

"Take my ass."

You get up shakily, still apprehensive, but when she smirks at you, bites her lip and says "take it," you oblige.

Your grab your cock, positioning it at entrance. Just feeling it on your tip is dizzying. Her body tenses as you rub it there. She nods lovingly towards you, and you push.

The tightness is overwhelming, you push past resistance until you slip in. If her cunt has the softnesss of clouds, her ass is a thunderstorm of pleasure. Every inch deeper sends a jolt of electricity, of pure pleasure right up your spine.

Your balls are nearly bursting, they urge you to go faster, but she's so damn tight that you might just break her if you do.

She's spreading her ass even further, her breath keeps catching in her mouth as she tenses.

"Ohh— oh my… god, babe!"

Hearing it doesn't help you focus. You barely bury yourself halfway before you have to slide out.

"Your asshole feels so fucking—"

"Fuck me," she huffs.

You chance going a little faster, a little deeper, and her hands leave her ass, one finding her pussy to rub again.

You must be in heaven, you must have God given strength to not have released swaths of semen into her tight little hole, and soon, through her wriggles, you bury yourself all the way into her.

It's ascending, the feeling, the pleasure. You've been sitting with it, unreleased for like, half an hour now, and you swear you can see clearer. You prop a leg up, and even that movement threatens your release, but it works to give traction to your thrusts.

She is positively ruined now, one arm limply at her side, other weakly rubbing her pussy as you rail her asshole.

Look, it's not like you're not ruined either. The ascension is gone, and you're almost blinded as you feel her cervix convulse through the walls of her ass.

You're thrusting with abandon now, revelling in your reward as with an almighty gasp she cums, knees giving out as her body goes limp.

You too give your final thrusts, leaning forward and burying yourself as deep as you can before pleasure ignites your every nerve on fire and with a deafening cry, you spurt into her ass.

It feels like it lasts a lifetime, you propped up, cock buried in her ass as it fills it with cum. It's too much, still being lodged inside of her, and when you pull out, you spurt more over her toned back. Your hands find her asscheeks, groping them as your final spurts paint them too.

You collapse beside her, gasping for air. She lazily crawls up, nesting herself in the nook of your arm.

"That was fucking, amazing Yeji."

She lets out a breath, kissing your chest in acknowledgement. The kisses climn up to your cheek, before that tone is back, not tired and spent but eager and wanting.

"Are you ready for your reward?"

"T-that wasn't the reward?"

"Oh honey," she settles right beside your ear, "that was just the start." With surprising strength she heaves the both of you up from the bed. "Put on something nice."

"Where are you taking me?" you ask as she stalks off to her wardrobe in a hurry.

She turns back wearing that picture perfect fucking smile. "Heaven."

---

When she said 'heaven', you didn't expect vice and sin.

The nightclub, 'Hell's Place', booms its music, shaking you to your core. Even louder, somehow, are the heaps of fans recognizing Yeji, screaming her name, pushing past each other just for a view.

But she ignors it all, dragging you further into the club until a locked door.

"Alright, Yeji?" a staff member asks, unlocking it.

A shabby little staircase leads up to: vice and sin.

Still dragging you by the arm, the upper floor isn't loud and disorienting, it's full of important looking people doing less than important things. Even then, it's luxurious, velvet couches, black marble table tops.

Powder lins the card topped tables where men with rings and slick backed hair shout obscenities and exchange money, girls walk around in lingerie, stealing attention while quietly slipping forgotten bills into their pantyhoses.

Yeji turns, sultrous look on her face. "Welcome to Club Heaven," she smiles, dragging you further in.

"Was that… was that Chaeyoung and Mina?"

"Ahh, they're here all the time. Wanna go say hi?"

"They look a little busy." Indeed they were, Chaeyoung lay nearly upside down, hips lifted into the air so that her only contact with the couch was with her neck, and Mina's tongue was jammed so far up her asshole you were almost jealous.

Almost, because Yeji nudges you again. "Good, and you will be too."

"W-what the hell is this reward, Yej?"

Further up you go. "Wanna take a guess? It's something you've wanted even before you met me."

"Something I've wanted? A treehouse?"

"Yeah, I brought you to the underground idols hub for a treehouse," Yeji rolls her eyes. "No, it's this."

Yeji pushes a door open, and inside isn't vice or sin, you decide; it's heaven. Chaeryeong lay woozy on the couch, naked, spent, cum droobling all over her tight little frame. and next to her, a man sits, head thrown back in pleasure as a woman kneel in front of him, head bobbing up and down.

There's no pretense, no room for congratulations in this reward. Yeji simply walks over to the girl, and like the leader she is, grasps her by the hair and pushes her to you.

"Go play with him," she orders, getting to her knees in front of the other. "He deserves it."

The sight of Yeji plunging her hot little mouth onto the others thick cock almost makes you mad, almost makes you storm him with your fists, but now Yuna is in front of you, crazed look in her eye like she needs to replace the cock that was ripped from her mouth.

She does, however, seem to recognize you.

She shows you this by pouncing. So much for wearing something nice, Yuna's hands rip the trousers off your body.

"Don't pay attention to my Unnie," she huffs, pushing you back onto the couch. Your pants are off and your cock is hard for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. "You've always wanted to fuck me right?"

She wastes no time, doesn't leave room for an answer before her mouth wraps around you. The pleasure is unimaginable, the way her mouth suctions onto your tip. She lets it out, slurping up every ounce of saliva she left there.

"Wasn't I your bias before you started dating Yeji?" she says it so matter-of-factly, so confidently as her tongue slides up the underside of your length. "Yejin tells me all the time whenever she goes down on me, that you're always watching my fancams."

She's not usually like this, you've been dating Yeji for 3 years now, and everytime you hang out with Yuna, she's normal. But, when in Heaven, you reason.

Your eyes don't know what to focus on, Yeji's hair grasped by Mr. Muscles over there as he bucks up into her throat, Chaeryeong, now conscious and fingering herself as she watches, or Yuna, now taking your cock down deeper.

Okay, you folded, the way Yuna's throat closes around your cock like the perfect little sleeve is mesmerizing, not to mention how she simply refuses to break eye contact with you.

Her face as she's suctioning your cock is otherworldy, hollowed out cheeks, mouth almost springing so it stays latched to your manhood.

"You taste like Yeji-unnie," she moans, as if that fact alone gives her physical pleasure. She sits up, turning around to show her wide, oh so sexy hips. "Let's change that, shall we?"

She climbs up on the couch, legs on either side of you before lowering herself onto your waiting member.

"Nngh, shit," she moans as she takes your throbbing tip. "Yo-you feel even better than him," she gestures lazily towards Yeji and Mr. Muscles.

The sight of Yeji, now taking him doggy style eggs you on. You grab Yuna by her thick meaty thighs, positioning her so her back is leaning on your chest, and fucking pump. You pump and pump and pump into her tight little pussy as she screams in pleasure.

If Yeji's cunt is perfect, a hole molded to your cock, Yuna's is a cave waiting to be conquered. It wraps around you, her walls fighting you in places which only makes you want to pound her harder.

"Y-you feel so fucking good, Yuna."

"N-nngh, is it like y-you've always imagined?" she groans. "Does it feel as good as you thought? Fucking my tight little pussy?"

"I-it's so fucking good!"

She's barely keeping it together, you can feel the sweat of her back rub against your chest before she turns her head towards you, tongue lolled out like it doesn't know what to do and you kiss her.

It's hot and it's passionate, but it's not love, not filled with emotion like your kisses with Yeji are, and you don't know if that makes it more or less hot.

You can hear every squelch, every slap of skin on skin while you pound her, and it's almost too much for your already spent cock to handle.

You pull, cock wet with both of your juices. You lift her off of you standing up and tossing her onto the bed. She wordlessly climbs onto her knees, arms rested on the backrest, wide, breedable hips and sopping wet cunt towards you. Fuck.

She her head. "How'd you manage? I've been wanting this for so long, but Yeji's so possessive over you."

You prop one leg up onto the couch beside you, and thrust back in. You grunt, and her breath hitches.

"Nngh, fuck Yuna— I fucked her in the ass," you pound proudly. "I made her cum with my cock in her ass!"

You feel Yuna's walls tighten at the information. The slap that echoes from you pounding into her like this is louder than the club downstairs.

"H-holy shit, keep going," she strains. "Did you really? S-she only lets us fuck her ass."

Hearing this is enough to push you over the edge. Your pounding harder, and Yuna can feel it. You can tell by the way she turns excitedly, those eyes still crazed as she pushes her hips harder into you.

"That turn you on? Oh, the amount of times Lia has strapped on for her, pounding her until she's screaming."

You pump and pump.

"Not to mention Ryujin," Yuna continues through her moans. "Ryujin likes to tie our leader to the bed, fuck her ass until she's it's red and raw— nngh, just like that, fuck."

"Fuck, Yuna, I'm cumming," you groan as you attempt to pull out.

Yuna backs her hips into you as you do, and you burst into her, spilling all your hot load you thought exclusive to Yeji into her. She continues backing into you, microthrusts as you pump load after load into her.

She slowly eases off of your cock, and with a squelch, heaps of your load spills from her cunt. She collapses back onto the couch.

She eyes you, body failing after your wild night, but a look of disappointment recaptures your attention. "We're not done yet, I still haven't finished." Her fingers plunge into her pussy, pushing your juices further into her.

"H-holy shit, Yuna."

Before you can make another move Yeji is back, hands on your shoulder, pulling you into a kiss.

Yuna crosses her arms sulkily.

"I'm back," she says. "How was Yuna?"

"Good," you grunted. "And how was Mr. Muscles over there?" you gesture to the guy, who now has Chaeryeong's pussy covering his face.

"Ohh, is someone jealous?" she kisses you again. "Since when were we exclusive? He tried to fuck my ass, and well, that's only for you and the girls."

You pull her close by the hips. "Damn right it is," you plant another kiss."

"Unnie, that's all well and great, but, we weren't finished here," Yuna pouts.

Yeji drops to her knees in front of Yuna. "I think I'll be taking my boyfriend back for tonight, but I'll take care of you."

Yuna bites her lip, cheeks going scarlet.

"Do you want your Unnie to take care of you?"

Yuna uncrosses her arms as Yeji saddles up on the floor, inches away from Yuna's cunt.

"Yuna, use your words. Do you want your leader to suck the cum of her boyfriend out of your naughty little cunt?"

Yuna's facade breaks. "Yes, Unnie," she moans.

Yeji wraps her arms around Yuna's thighs, plunging her face into Yuna's cum filled cunt. The salacious sounds of Yuna, moaning all high and bratty, and Yeji, positively slurping on her fill the room, invigorating your cock once again.

Yeji, as if she knows, pushes her hips out for you.

It's a different feeling, fucking Yeji here, while she slurps your seed out of Yuna's squirming body.

It's probably better. Her tightness is mid-dizzying, and you should've known better than to compare Yuna's pussy to hers. Yeji's was simply made for you. It's pleasure beyond physical, it ignites your soul.

Yun's head is rolled back, squirming, hands flying around like she doesn't know what to do with them, from squeezing her own tits to grasping Yeji's hair.

And you pound Yeji, every thrust shoving her tongue further into Yuna until her face is a mess of Yeji's slickness, her own saliva, and your cum.

You well up whatever stamina you have left, and pound into her.

The room is a mess of moans and slaps, before Yuna, all high and unfocused, screams. She cums into Yeji, covering her face with even more liquid, and you too are approaching your limit.

You feel the familiar tightening in your pelvis, before releasing whatever semen your body can scrounge up into Yeji again. The bodies in the room are slick with sweat and cum, and you fall, no collapse back onto the floor, muscles seizing up.

You faintly see Yeji climb up to Yuna, kissing, sloppily swapping the liquids still in her mouth, and you can't help but faintly wonder if your girlfriend could win a sex marathon. It's your last thought before exhaustion takes you.

It's short lived, though, you're shaken awake and you can still see Yuna and Yeji frenching. Chaeryeong climbs atop you.

"You're not finished yet, are you?"

It’s one thing to be playing strip blackjack with your roommate for the fun of it, bored out of your mind because the semester’s over and the both of you decided not to go back to your hometowns for reasons out of both your control. It’s another to be playing strip blackjack when you’re down to your boxers and she’s still somehow halfway to getting into her birthday suit.

You probably should’ve told her to take off her jacket and all the accessories she was wearing. Having each one as an individual piece of clothing is the most bullshit excuse you’ve ever heard, more so when you realized she has earrings and socks on.

“Oh come on,” she starts, throwing her hands up in the air. “Are you that scared of me seeing your dick? It’s not that small from what I remem–”

“Fuck you.” You send a middle finger her way. “I'm on eighteen and you’re on fifteen. You hit.”

Playing safe normally isn’t what you prefer doing, the need to throw down another card tempting you. But the odds of getting anything below a three is so goddamn miniscule, you’d be guaranteeing your loss.

And this is not how you thought having Sooin see you naked after God knows how long would go.

Sooin grabs the stack of cards, taking the first off the deck. She doesn’t flip yet, only placing it down next to her two fours and a seven. “I bet this is a six,” she says, tapping on the card.

“And I bet that it’s anything but a six,” you counter, and she graces you with a laugh.

“Willing to bet your boxers on that?” she asks, nodding to said clothing. Your last line of defense to your dignity, pride, ego. But if that saying about a good defense is a good offense applies here, then you might as well use it to your advantage.

“You willing to bet your entire top off for it?” you counter, leaning back on your chair. It’s a gamble, not one you’re sure she’ll bite on, yet you’re desperate. In dire need of a hail mary, and this—this is your one shot to getting it.

Besides, seeing her tits is a major plus.

“Bitch, I’ll bet everything I’m wearing it’s a six.” The way she sounds so confident about it makes you think she’s somehow rigged the deck when though you’ve been the one that’s been shuffling it since the beginning of this whole thing.

She does the job for you, when she slams the cards down on the table. Crossing her arms and smirks at you. 

“I’ll even bet something better for you,” Sooin starts, her legs crossing, and the smooth expanse of her skin starts to entice you, her shorts riding up and showing even more of those thighs. “If I don’t get a six, I’ll be free use for you for the entire week,” she states, the glee in her face dropping an offer that only the devil would ever give. “And we got all week.”

“Sooin, what the fuck–” You’ve known this woman for years, since she barged in your life as your roommate in the middle of your sophomore year and called the supposed guest room as hers. With the amount of shit the both of you have gotten up to with all that time—the rare sex with her included—this has got to be the most dangerous thing she’s ever done. “You don’t offer that up like it’s nothing–”

“Sure I can,” she says, rolling her eyes at you. “We’ve fucked before, what’s so difference about this?”

“We don’t have to be betting shit like that.” You dodge the question, your own legs cross to hide the growing erection in your pants. “We can stick to clothes–”

“Boring.” Her fingers twirl around the curls of her hair. “You need some spice in your life. Some flair. And I’m offering it to you.” Her head tilts. “‘Sides, when was the last time you got laid? Was it that Chaeyoung girl–”

“Chaewon,” you correct, shaking your head. Now she has you hooked on the deal being offered. Your entire wager flipped on you, and you can’t tell if she’s being serious or not. “And that’s pretty rich coming from you.”

“Whatever her name is–” She shrugs, avoiding your own question by picking up one of her cards and tapping it on the table. “I’m here offering you a once in a lifetime deal. And we’d both be happy at the end of it.” 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Anytime you want.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Anywhere you want.”

Taptaptaptap—

“Anything you want–”

“If you don’t get a six,” you enunciate, syllable by syllable. “You’ll just–what, do as I say?”

“If I don’t get a six,” Sooin repeats, hand pausing the drumming of the paper. “I’ll do whatever the fuck you want. No holds barred. No questions asked. You can have me on my knees right now if you win–”

“Jesus Christ, Swim.” Your palm meets your face, in complete disbelief of what she’s saying. You sigh, real fucking deep, gaze going up to the ceiling for a moment, trying to think about the whole thing. Yet your mind’s already made up, and all you can do is ask about the one thing that you’re sure will happen.

“And if you do pull a six?”

“Then you be free use instead.” The answer is instant, and that is where she gets you. When you think about it, it sounds like a win win situation. “Actually, let’s make this easier for the both of us.” So nice of her, you think.

“If you have a worse hand than mine, you lose.” That’s mildly easier, but still impossible. Besides, only the crazy ones would ever think of hitting on an eighteen. “And the same goes to me.” She points to the one face down on the table. “Shittier hand than yours, I lose.”

“This has to be bait.” The comment slips out, airing out the first thing that came to mind hearing the terms.

“It’s not.” The look of disbelief on your face makes her gape at you. “I’m not joking, it’s not.”

“Sure, and you didn’t rig the deck so you win again.”

“I didn’t rig jackshit, thank you very much. You need to believe in the heart of the cards.”

“Whatever you say, Yugi,” you chuckle. You glance at the deck, and that top card is begging you to take it. Get the whole thing over and done with, the result be damned. 

Though, there is an instance of—

“What happens if we both go over?”

“Easy.” She shrugs. “Then we both win.” 

Your head leans back in surprise. “How the hell does that even work?” 

“I get to fuck you whenever, you do the same. It’s not rocket science.” Another shrug. “Your other head would do the thinking.”

“And I’m starting to think you’re the one who needs to get laid,” you comment, and she graces you with a smirk.

“It’s a win win type of deal.” She ignores the dig, propping her chin up with her hand. “Just depends who wins more.” She gives you a pointed look. “So, you in or out?”

Sooin’s not wrong. It is a win win deal, and you’d be an idiot not to take it.

You sigh. 

“Fine.”

Your hand grabs the card, sliding it off the stack and placing it next to your two cards. “Who goes first?”

“Same time?” Sooin asks, fingers ready to flip the card on her side. 

You nod, hand prepped to do the same. “This is insane, you know,” you mutter, licking your lips. Foot tapping rapidly—in anticipation or nervousness, you don’t know—and shaking your head at her. “Absolutely fucking crazy.”

“You can always back out.” She takes her time with it, pushing the edges up slowly, her gaze focused on you rather than on the piece of paper in her hands. “Or are you really a pussy?”

Well, those are some fighting words. And you didn’t get raised like a bitch to back off.

“Just fucking do it already, Sooin.” 

She smirks, and with a flourish, she turns it over faster than you can. Your eyes land on her hand, and lo and be-fucking-hold, it’s a goddamn eight.

Everything rushes at you, all at once—relief, shock, joy, unease. It’s all there, because on one hand, you just won a bet against Sooin. On the other, the bet’s stipulations scare the utter life out of you.

“Would you look at that,” Sooin scoffs, grinning at you. “We both lost.”

You blink, and you look down to your own hand.

Twenty Eight.

Heart in the fucking cards your ass—

“No fucking way that just happened.” She huffs a laugh, staring at your hands. “Did we seriously both fucking lose?”

“You’re the one that said to believe in the heart of the cards,” you retort, shaking your head at how things have ended up.

“You know what?” She stands up, picking up the cards and fixing them up back into a single deck. “I’m going to hold up my end of the deal.” Doesn’t even let you soak it in, simply takes your hand away from you and places it back onto the set. “That better be the same for you too.”

“What the fuck does that mean–”

“It means,” Sooin cuts you off, placing the deck neatly on the center of the table. “I’m going to be riding the fuck out of you tomorrow. Or, you know–”

She gives you an innocent smile, as if her words are to become a common occurrence in your household for the week. She bends down, her lips so close to whisper temptations in your ear. Whatever you want, she says, your name rolling past her lips. “All week long.”

Leaves you with a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the shoulder as she heads to her bedroom. Doesn’t bother waiting for a response, instead settling for a—

“Goodnight!”

While you’re over here slumping on your chair, staring at her door and shaking your head at the absurdity of it all.

What the hell did you get yourself into?

—

Sleeping late came naturally to you.

The mental gymnastics you’ve done to convince yourself that everything Sooin said was some sick prank she’s pulling on you, that you’d be waking up to another normal day with her, lazing about and wasting another day doing nothing along with all the other reasons you tell yourself—made you lose your mind trying to instill all of that in your head.

Add to trying to understand why Sooin started that bet at all when she really didn’t have to, aside from the obvious one that your brain is telling you isn’t at all the reason, and you’re almost to a point where you need to admit yourself to a mental asylum trying to figure it out.

You’re almost glad that this didn’t happen during exam week, or else you would’ve been failing all of it left and right with the lack of sleep. Or stamina, if Sooin really was serious.

Which she wasn’t, of course.

You don’t know if you can stop yourself from taking advantage of the bet if she ever gave you any form of a go signal. And if she was, you know she would do the same.

Still, all those days trying to survive the term has made your body’s alarm clock ring, causing you to wake up in the early hours of the morning thinking that there’s some eight o’clock lecture you need to be up for. While you could always stay in, as there is nothing to wake up to this early for the next few weeks, your stomach rumbling tells you otherwise.

So here you are, dragging yourself to the kitchen to make some instant coffee that barely turns you into a functional human being, a bowl of cereal made while you wait for the kettle to heat the water. You would have loved to have some bacon and eggs but alas, someone forgot to do this week’s groceries.

Eventually, Sooin comes out of her room looking the complete opposite of you. It says a lot already, considering you look like a dead man walking and she slept like a baby last night. Arms stretching out as she walks towards you, slumping on the chair opposite of you. Greets you with such energy you’d think she isn't the Sooin you know.

And yet she is, staring at you eating your bowl miserably, a smile on her lips as she leans back on the chair. “You look like shit,” she muses, and she doesn’t need an answer from you to know why. 

“Didn’t get much sleep last night.” You play along with it, pretend that everything about last night doesn’t have you in a chokehold.

“I bet.” Her elbow rests on the top back of her chair. “Need a little pick me up?”

She’s dangling the entire thing in front of you, gauging to see just how far you’re willing to keep up with this charade. And if you weren’t so mentally exhausted you could have—should have—said no outright, trying to prevent the impending roller coaster that’s coming your way. And yet your brain decides to make things as ambiguous as possible.

“The coffee can do.” You nod to the kettle, where you are waiting for the stupid thing to finish heating up.

“You sure?” She raises an eyebrow, her eyes glances at the kettle herself. “I’m available to help out, if you want me to.”

The wording isn’t lost on you, making you smile as you raise a spoon full of cereal and milk. “Yeah, Swim. I’m sure.”

She grins, her mouth opening to speak until the kettle finally pings. The both of you take a glance at it, steam rising out of the opening. You move to handle it, but Sooin tells you that she’ll do it instead. Need a cup myself, she says as she passes by, leaving you to eat your cereal in peace.

You take the moment to take a few more spoonfuls as you think up ways of conveniently not run into Sooin for the week, but living with her makes that a daunting task. Being a shut in is always an option, but you’d go insane doing nothing in your room eventually. Or go out everyday until the week ends, check out the mall or go on a quick adventure out of town somewhere. 

You can feel your wallet begging you not to do it, making you wonder if you can find another part time for a week at some cafe or convenience store. Whatever to get you out and about and not being with Sooin twenty four seven.

Not that you weren’t against the whole thing. Hell, you want it. In the face of last night, anyone would be stupid not to accept it. Much like you are being an idiot about it.

It’s almost like a slap in the face, when you realize that you could’ve had her on her knees right about now.

The doubt slowly begins to leave your mind, when all the signs point towards Sooin taking it seriously come filling in. You’re being a complete dumbass—no, more than that for wasting a perfectly good night’s rest in exchange for losing your mind for something that really, really should not have been worth losing sleep over. 

You’ll be losing sleep over fucking Sooin instead.

The chair you’re sitting on gets pulled away from the table, and the soft, warm weight of Sooin straddles you. Her arms wrap around your neck as she takes a spot on your lap, not allowing you to leave.

“Sooin, what are you–”

“I won last night too, you know.” Her hips roll against yours, making you clench your teeth and tense up. A quick glance tells you that she’s taken her shorts off, leaving her in just her panties and a shirt tight enough to let you know she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath. “And since you won’t start, I figured I would.”

She pulls you in for a kiss, and everything you thought of—the denials, the doubt—fully goes out the window when you can finally have a taste of her lips once again. And she’s a force of nature, infecting your mind and body with an overwhelming sense of Sooin; how she smells, her grinding on your cock, her lips exploring yours for the first time.

“You taste like milk,” she says, a quiet chuckle coming out of her as your hands find her waist. She keeps her pace tortuously slow, your cock twitching and aching and wanting more.

“I did just have cereal.” Stating the obvious, obviously. “What else did you think I’d taste like?”

“I don’t know–” she teases, arms coming down to undo the tie of your shorts. “But I’d be happy to find out. We have all week, remember?”

You raise your hips, helping her fish your cock out from your clothing. “Right,” you sigh out, her hand caressing your length, lightly gripping it and giving you a few exploratory pumps. “All week.”

Sooin smiles, pecking your lips once more. “There he is.” She straightens up, her hand finding a rhythm in her strokes, and your cock hardens at her touch. “Guess a woman’s touch makes you fold quick, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up, Sooin,” you laugh, a hand coming down to squeeze her thigh. “I can feel you dripping through your panties, you know.”

“Blame a girl for finally being able to fuck her roommie again, why doncha.” Her words make you the last time you two fooled around. 

“I don’t remember that.” You do. Of course you do. It was a drunken affair on both your ends because of some party she was attending at her rich best friend’s house on the other side of town. You weren’t even supposed to be there, but someone apparently needed to pick her up. One thing led to another, and you’re waking up on her bed, tangled in her sheets. 

“That’s a shame.” She knows you’re lying. You both acted like strangers for a better part of a month, and the only thing that got things back to normal was yet another party.

Sooin pulls her panties to the side, lining herself up with your dick. Circling her wet folds around your tip, getting you slick with her juices as she slowly plunges down on you. “Here’s a reminder then.”

A deep moan rumbles out of you, head tilting back as her heat begins to wrap around your length. “Jesus, Sooin–” Your grip on her hips grow firmer, your eyes watching her face morph into an expression of such pleasure that the only thing you can do is stare and admire every small microexpression she makes.

“God, I’m going to enjoy this,” Sooin sighs, eyes fluttering shut for a moment when she nearly bottoms out on your shaft, her walls hugging you so fucking tightly. “Sit back and enjoy, yeah?”

She takes a minute to get used to you filling her, let you stretch her out and leave you simmering in her heat. Doing these little rolls of her hips that gets you twitching inside of her, moans coming out of the both of you. “Missed this filling me up so fucking well–”

“So you did just want to get laid,” you tease, taking your hands off her momentarily to push them underneath her shirt, wanting to feel her skin instead of fabric. “Could’ve just asked.”

A scoff escapes her, her fingers giving your scalp a quick tug. “Excuse me for not wanting to get in between you and that Chaewon chick–”

“Sooin, nothing happened.” Her questioning look makes you repeat your words.

“Uh huh.” She presses her weight down on you, bottoming out and taking your entire length. You let out a groan, eyes closing at the sheer pressure of her cunt taking you. Another tug of your hair gets you quickly opening them back up. “And I didn’t watch you mope around the day after.”

“What? No–” You shake your head, confused to where the hell she was trying to take this conversation. You would think she would prefer that you focus on her considering your balls deep in her cunt, and yet Sooin continues to surprise you. “She was just a fling, okay? Nothing else happened.”

And she was. You met her at a party, you two had sex, you went your separate ways. You moping around the day after was because even after getting laid, it didn’t change the fact that you flunked your exam before it. It’s a miracle you managed to tell her all of that while her pussy pulses around you, her grinding on your cock making you stutter your words.

Fingers tap on your neck, her gaze narrowing at your explanation. “So you don’t have feelings for her?” She slowly begins to bounce on your lap, and the insanity of what’s happening right now is starting to get to you. Interrogated about some girl while getting fucked by your—well, an important girl is something to cross off the list.

“Sooin, we fucked. That’s it.” You squeeze her hips, biting your lip at the sensation of Sooin clenching around you. “Can we pl–please go back to focusing on this?”

She doesn’t answer you. At least, not verbally. Her rhythm goes faster, harder, fucking herself on you like she’s chasing her own high. Her weight presses down on you, pulling herself close to your chest, her breath hot in your ear as her moans consume your senses. 

“You fucking focus,” she mutters, her hold on you tightening, ass dropping down on your lap. She’s insatiable, so much more different than the last time. Frantic in how she rides that you can barely hold on with your life. “Just–sit still, stay hard, and make me cum you son of a–”

It’s sending you to the edge fast, barely being able to hang on. Even when you’re trying to hold off and fight back against what your body is demanding you to do. Sooin's increasingly erratic movements; bouncing and grinding and fucking herself on your cock until all you can think of is filling her with your load.

“Don’t think I can, Swim.” It comes out shaky from you, amidst all Sooin’s moans and skin against skin hitting against each other. Arms wrap around her waist, pulling her in and saying her name. Sooin, Sooin, Sooin please—

“Go ahead.” Her words are a shot to the brain, an unraveling of your entire nervous system and turning a singular thought into reality.

“Cum inside me.”

It’s stupid how quickly you crumble at those words. Your mouth finds her neck, biting down gently as your cock unloads inside her. Each spurt comes with a content moan from Sooin, singing straight into your ears. Euphoria consumes your senses, nipping and marking her neck as your eyes threaten to roll back from the pleasure.

“That’s it,” she coos, her grip vice-like around you, each throb of your cock filling her cunt full of your load. She puts her entire weight on you, unable to leave her warm embrace as you try to fuck your load deeper into her. “Fucking needed this–”

Sooin bites her lip, savoring the entire thing, basking in the afterglow of it all. The grin on her face tells you exactly how much she’s enjoyed it, and you can only imagine what else you’ll be looking at for the rest of the week.

“So,” she starts, lips finding your cheek to leave a gentle little peck. “Coffee?”

You chuckle, licking the spot where you’ve left a red mark on her neck. “Sure, Sooin.” Watch her slowly pull away, your cock leaving her walls and letting the cum that you’ve dumped inside her to spill down to the floor.

Neither of you do anything to clean it up right now, considering—

“Coffee sounds great.”

—

You don’t see Sooin until the late afternoon, coming back to your apartment after a day of finally doing her turn to do the groceries. You would’ve tagged along if not for the fact that you had to do the laundry this week around, and pair it up with helping her stock the cupboard full of what she bought and you’re sinking down on the couch.

“I don’t think we needed that much for this week,” you complain, eyes staring up at the ceiling. Buying almost double of what you two normally get makes you wonder where the hell she got enough cash to buy that, but her reply gets you to scoff in disbelief.

“Supermarket had a sale,” she grunts, sliding down next to you, head on your lap as a makeshift pillow. “Thought it’d be smart to buy as much as I can.”

“Your wallet agree with that?”

“Nope.” She pops the syllable, taking out her phone, tapping away at the screen. “Not like my wallet can’t handle it. At least we won’t have to worry about things here for a while.”

A while is an understatement. She bought enough for you both to stop buying any essentials for a month. And while you know she can afford much more than that, you had to convince her that you're not going to freeload off her in your own place.

Because for all the oddest reasons, the fact that she has fuck you money to spend yet only splurges it on things she likes is such an odd combination. Exactly how she ended up taking your guest room instead of getting her own place.

You remember her words clear as day. Too expensive and high maintenance. Which is, again, a weird thing to say when she can pay people to handle it for her, but she says it's for her own good more than anything. Gotta learn to be independent some day, might as well be now, she said. 

“Look at you, being a responsible adult,” you tease, finger reaching down to poke her cheek. She immediately swats it away with a roll of her eyes.

“Fuck off,” she chuckles, eyes never straying from her phone. “We’ve been needing to stock up on all that stuff anyway.”

“I don’t think we needed that much instant ramen though.” Your gaze flicks to the stack of it by the counter. “Seriously, that might be a little too much.”

“To you, maybe,” she says, turning her phone horizontally. “I’ll be eating some too, you know.”

“You mean all of it?” The light jam of her elbow to your ribs gets you laughing.

The conversation ends there, and the only thing left to fill the empty silence are the shooting that comes from her phone and whatever it is that you’ve decided to watch on the TV. It stays like that for a while, and your boredom continues to grow at each passing second, each passing commercial, each movement of Sooin’s head on your lap—

The thought of asking her to, you don’t know, do something to her sounds inane. Breakfast’s events come flooding your memories, and as much as you want to do the same thing to her, you want to test the waters first.

Your arm comes to rest at her stomach, playing with the hem of her top. It gets her to flinch in surprise, gaze flickering up to you.

“What are you doing?” There’s a knowing glint in her eyes; one that tells you that an answer doesn’t need to be told, when she already has an idea of what you want. An eyebrow raises when you slowly drag your fingers upward.

“Nothing,” you say, resting your palm on one of her breasts, covered in layers of fabric. Your eyes are still watching the television—some old cartoon about a cat and mouse—while your fingers play around her chest. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Sooin lets out a scoff, biting her lip to stop the grin on her face as she comes back to her phone. “Do what you want.” 

Well, alright then.

Your hands wander; kneading her breasts with light squeezes, running your hands through the curves of her body. They eventually find themselves pushing under her top, wanting to feel the smooth expanse of her tummy up to her tits.

She doesn’t make a single complaint throughout, allowing all this to happen. When you run up and down her body, all she does is let out these hums. When your fingers pull her bra down so that you can play around with her nipples, her legs squirm and push together. 

And when you ask if you can use her mouth, she hits you back with another question:

“Are you asking or telling?”

A quick tug of your drawstrings, a little repositioning of Sooin’s head as you take your cock out, already at half mast, and pointing it to her mouth, tongue out and waiting. “I’ll be quick,” you say, a laughable lie as you know you’re going to be taking your sweet time with her.

She does fuck all about it, keeping on with her game as your hand rests on her hair as you thrust languidly into her wet mouth. Your shaft growing to full length the longer you stay inside her throat, and she shifts to get into a more comfortable position. As comfortable as she can get, having a cock in her mouth while her hands are busy playing.

Her cheek bulges, her throat takes you deep, her tongue flattens under your length. Yet her eyes never stray from her phone, hearing the sounds of combos being hit and encouraging cheers from her phone. She mutters words you barely understand, and as much as you want to pull out and ask, she hasn't told you to stop.

That only gets you to push it further, a firmer grasp on her head to drive your hips forward. Spit begins to accumulate around her mouth, dripping down to coat you; a sound akin to a whine vibrates around your shaft as her focus on the game breaks.

Her head fights back against your pushes for a moment, your grip relaxing to let her talk. “Let me finish this match first,” she mutters before her lips meet your tip, wrapping around you and keeping you in her mouth.

It’s absurd, how warm her mouth is. Managing to get you squirming without moving an inch, only the sliding of her tongue up and down the tip of your cock. Tongue swirling and cheeks hollowing gets your thighs flexing from the sheer pressure that she’s inflicting upon you. Your fingers come back resting on her hair, gripping her dark locks, wanting—needing to take back control.

So you do. Hands start to push and pull her around your cock, and she’s spluttering; fingers stumbling around her phone, causing it to fall down to the couch. They find your thighs, steadying herself as she manages to fall down to her knees, using her mouth for the sinful pleasure that she offers. Even with the spittle that starts to fall down her chin, the glare that her eyes are piercing you with, and the slight whine she makes as you so rudely interrupt her game, she makes no movement to stop you.

Hell, it feels like she’s leaning into it. Decency thrown out the window as more drool comes to coat your cock, bobbing her head faster than the pace you’ve set. The annoyance in her eyes fading away for this hunger that you’ve caused. 

And you relish in it. Your hips thrust up just as her head comes down, your moans and praises of her lips meshing with the dirty noises that she creates, pushing you further down to your end.

“Sooin–” Your head leans back, hissing in a breath when you make her take you deep, throat convulsing around you. The sheer suction makes you weak, your thighs shaking, the grip on her head loosening. Sooin takes it as a chance to pull away, and you’re already missing the warmth of her lips around you.

“Don’t tell me when,” she says, stroking you with both hands and all that spit on your length makes it feel all so much better than it should. “Just cum in my mouth whenever, alright?”

Sooin takes you back in, and it’s taking everything in your power not to cum right then and there. Her enthusiasm is starting to take control, shining in her eyes and in her actions when her pace grows feral. The squelching and sucking grows insistent, getting your legs to lock up and grow rigid around her frame.

Your hands can’t stop themselves from taking hold of her hair, your breath ragged as you thrust into her mouth. Wanting some semblance of dictating when you inevitably let your load flood her, you take the reins back from her and start to pound away at her tight, wet throat.

Stopping has left your mind; the only thing that needs to be done is feed her your cum, using her mouth as she wants you to—as much as you can for the whole thing. And that single realization gets you to emptying your seed straight into the back of Sooin’s throat.

Each single pump of your hips elicits a moan from you, her hums at every pulse of your cock vibrating around your length. She takes every shot of your cum without complaint, milking you for everything you’re worth. Swallowing it all, even when some manage to spill over, leaking down her lips as the remains of your load begin to tide over.

Sooin makes a slow journey upward, releasing you with a wet pop. “Someone was pent up,” she teases, swiping what she couldn’t swallow off her chin and thumbing it into her waiting mouth. “You made me lose my game, by the way.”

“Yeah, well,” you breathe out, watching her run her tongue across your length, cleaning up any spit and seed that’s coating your length. “Pretty sure you can win the rank back easy.”

Her eyes roll, shaking her head at you with a smile. “Sure, I can.” She taps your cock against her swollen lips, giving the head a chaste kiss. “Can I go back to playing, or do you still need me here?”

“You and your games, Sooin.” Nodding at her with a chuckle, she gives you a few taps on your thigh before she rises up from the floor. Walking away from you for the moment to wash her hands, she comes right back to lay her head on your lap, phone in her hand and continuing her game.

As if she’s ready for you to do the same thing all over again.

The next two games she played resulted in her getting a day ban from going idle too much on ranked games. You tell yourself it wasn’t your fault that it happened.

Not at all.

—

The kiddies gloves come off after that, and the both of you decided to take full advantage of the situation you’ve ended up in. Your reluctance to follow through with this whole free use bet slash arrangement’s faded, and now every waking hour or so is spent with your cock inside of Sooin in some way, shape, or form.

You were eating dinner when Sooin got on her knees to blow you under the table, making sustenance a forgotten necessity in favor of the carnal pleasures of bending her over the table and railing a load into cunt instead.

She’d be in the shower sometime after, and she’s trying to ignore the fact that you jumped in with her, wedging your cock in between her thighs. Lathering her hair up with shampoo as you thrust between the heavenly flesh that she’s blessed with. Painting the shower wall with your cum just as she starts to soap herself up, and you join her in taking a shower after.

Can’t say you two didn’t take an hour in there, considering she wanted a round getting pounded. You’re surprised that you still had hot water by the end of it.

Her bed’s been shared by the both of you by the time you two were heading to bed, Sooin making you remember just how good of a lay she was by wringing a load out of you, the view of her ass rippling as she rides you making her achieve her goal embarrassingly quickly.

And you get her back by waking her up that morning with gentle kisses planted across her neck, your hands roaming around her body and ending up between her legs, two fingers knuckle deep inside her. Getting the sheets wet and ruined by the end of it, and you two end up complaining about who’s gonna do the laundry for it (you will).

The second day was infinitely worse than the first one, when breakfast became brunch due to Sooin wanting you on your knees, eating her out as an alternative to the morning coffee you two normally make. It ends up with the two of you swapping places, using her throat and coating her face with your cum at the end of it.

In reality, it ended when she was fucking herself on your cock right next to where your coffee was brewing, back arched and bucking back against you. It left the both of you tired, and how brunch was the only thing that made the both of you pause.

Absolute fucking degenerates, and it’s only been day two out of seven.

Which was why you invited Sooin out to pay her back for everything she bought by taking her to the mall and—

“Anything I want?” She doesn’t believe you when those words come out of her mouth. Not with how ‘frugal’ you are, or however she puts it when all you actually do is build up your savings. 

Excuse you for being a responsible adult.

“Within reason,” you correct, hands on your hips, stern face and all. “I’m not as rich as you are, Miss Bottega Veneta.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She waves you off, already turning around and walking away from you. “Come on, I know just the place where I can mooch off you.”

“Please don’t tell me it actually is Bottega Veneta.” You can hear your bank account crying out in protest inside your wallet. Quickly catching up to her, you two walk to the elevator. “I literally can’t afford that type of thing.”

“Relax,” Sooin laughs, pressing the up button. Your eyes glance up to the top, where the arrow lights up. “We can check out the department store first. I can probably get something in your budget, you stingy fuck.”

The elevator dings open, conveniently empty. “I’m not stingy,” you refute, entering the elevator first, finger pressing the fourth floor while Sooin follows suit, leaning back against the wall. “I’m trying to budget things. You know, like any adult would?”

“Oh come on–” She’s rolling her eyes at you with a grin. “We’re in college. We can afford to not be adults sometimes.”

“You can,” you argue, hands in your pockets, turning to face her. “I’m on a scholarship and you’re rich enough to probably buy this mall.”

“Let’s not go that far.” Her tone makes you think otherwise, because for all you know she actually could right this second. Another ding rings out, and the elevator doors swing open to your floor. “Come on–” She’s hooking her arm around yours. “Let’s go, Mister Sugar Daddy.”

“What the fuck did you just call me–”

The next hour consisted of you following Sooin around, browsing through the numerous bits and bobbles, clothes and accessories, doodads and thingy-ma-jigs that get her attention. Started off with checking out a new set of tableware (which was maybe needed), to a new TV (definitely not needed), whatever new phone just released (“Sooin, you just bought a new one.”).

You end up by the mattresses, where Sooin jokingly said about buying a king size so that you two can actually fit in the bed and then some. As to which you replied by asking her how the fuck you’ll fit the damn bed into either of your rooms.

And when you start walking towards the clothing section, the oddest combination of dread and excitement settle in your body. Not because you were scared of what Sooin would choose to try out (seeing her in a bikini would be a dream come true for you) but of what she would try to pull with you knowing the bet.

Because you just know she’s going to pull some shit that might get the both of you kicked out the store and the mall. 

So when she picks out a few clothes and heads to the fitting room to try them out, it’s no surprise when you get pulled into one of the stalls when no one was watching. You almost let out a yelp but her hand covering your mouth muffles the noise.

Sooin shushes you, a finger on her lips, waiting for you to show some semblance of relaxing before pulling away to close the door behind her. Hanging up the clothes on the wall rack, you were about to ask her the most obvious question on the planet, yet she speaks before you do.

“You know why I pulled you in here,” she states, pulling her jacket off and adding it to the rest of the clothes that she might not ever try out.

“In public?” Because of course you have to ask the second most obvious question.

“We have a room that can be locked and it’s big enough for two,” she answers, pushing you down to the small little chair tucked away in the corner. “Private enough for me.” She’s on her knees, fingers making quick work of your belt buckle and your zipper. One quick tug and she has your cock in her hands, at half mast and lazily stroking you with a sensual smile and a raise of her brow. “Relax, I picked the furthest room for a reason.”

“Couldn’t wait for us to get home before we do this?” It’s not a complaint so much as it is an observation. Your hands are already moving to weave through her locks when she takes you in her mouth, cock slowly growing harder in her mouth. 

“We can do it quick,” she mutters, almost inaudible when her lips stay attached to you. “‘Sides, ever wanted to see ourselves fuck?”

Your eyes glance towards the wall, glass ordaining and reflecting you both; Sooin blowing you zealously, that smoky look she gives you through the mirror making you throb in her mouth. Scoffing and shaking your head, a grin begins forming in your features. “Fuck it.” You nod to the wall. “Up against the mirror, Swim.”

Sooin grins, standing up and turning around to face the mirror. Her hands rest on the wall, chest flush against it as she pushes her ass back against you, the shorts she has on pulled down to her ankles along with her underwear to show that beautiful, beautiful fit ass of hers that are paired with her toned legs that you’re wishing would be wrapped around your head again.

Oh, well. Much important matters at hand right now, such as rubbing your tip against her dripping folds. It gets her wiggling her ass back at you, Sooin’s heated gaze through the mirror telling you to hurry the fuck up and dick her down.

You’re pushing in, warm, wet heat enveloping your every inch and a soft moan escaping her lips. Letting yourself be taken away into the tight vice-lip grip she has on you until you bottom out against her the plush cushion of her ass. 

Allowing yourself to take your time with her, even for just a small moment, you pull back, taking inch by inch of your shaft out of her until the very last possible moment where you could ram back in, and gasps and grunts begin filling the small space.

She grows louder first, the dirty curses and quiet gasps that can no longer be contained make you thrust faster, pound her harder until the sounds of your skin hitting hers begin to join. And even with the danger of getting caught, her eyes continue to plead with you.

More.

Your grip on her waist tightens, and you’re hammering into her without a care in the world. The sounds no longer matter to you, nor do the dangers of someone unlocking that door and finding you both. 

The only thing that’s important to you is to have Sooin leaving this room satisfied and possibly unable to walk, and you’re damn well going to make sure that happens. 

You reach out, a palm moving to cover her mouth as your strokes become faster, angling yourself higher to deep that spot that gets Sooin to fall apart in your arms. And you feel the change happen; her moans become loud whines, arm gripping up to yours in an attempt to hold herself together.

Yet you don’t want that. What you want is for her to become undone and flooding your cock with her juices, so you lean in close. Hot breath tickling her ear as you whisper those wants of yours and making them into reality.

She’s quivering in your grip, her eyes shutting tight as your words start to dirty her already filthy mind. “Fuck–” Her voice comes out muffled in your palm as you continue to spout out for her to cum on your cock, to make her wet the floor with how much she’d be squirting all over you. 

It does a number on you too, when you feel her walls clench around you so fucking tight that every thrust is a battle of your willpower. She spurs you on, driving you forward into this animalistic urge to rut into her cunt until you spill your cum inside her.

And when her eyes snap open, you can see the need clouding them. The shrill scream that comes out of her is barely contained by your hand covering them, and she’s trembling in your arms, tightening up around your cock that the next thrust in sends you straight spiralling into your orgasm.

Each messy thrust you make spills more of your load inside her, her own dripping down her leg as you trap her between yourself and the wall. You’re leaving pecks on her neck as you fuck your cum inside her, taking your palm away from her mouth, her satisfied sighs music to your ears.

“That was–” You take a deep breath, inhaling her scent; the post-sex smell of her skin that’s bundled with the powdery notes of her perfume calming you down. “Fuck.”

“That’s what we did, yeah.” Her hand comes up to scratch the back of your head, massaging your scalp. “Still think that bet was a mistake?”

“I think we’re a little past that, Swim.” You gently remove yourself from her, and white starts to drip down her legs. “What you might want to ask yourself is if you still want to try those clothes.”

“Nah.” She pushes herself off the wall, fingers coming down to take a dollop of your cum. “Did you have to cum so much?” Even with her complaint, she’s taking it into her mouth for a taste. “Now my panties are gonna be ruined.”

You’re tucking yourself back into your trousers back up, shrugging at her. “Wonder who I have to blame for that,” you say, and that incites a chuckle out of Sooin.

“Right, my bad for wanting a quickie,” she replies, pulling her underwear and shorts back up. “I’ll be sure to tell you to cum down my throat next time so we don’t mess up more of my clothes.”

She gently shoves you away, shooing you off the stall first with a playful smirk. “Head back to the mattresses, I know what I want to get.”

“Sooin, we don’t have space for a bed.”

“Yeah, we do. We’ll just throw away our old ones.”

—

Depending on how you look at it, things either got better or worse the longer the week went on.

Nothing productive has happened inside your apartment the moment you two managed to fit a King size bed into your room, and if there was, it wasn’t for long once one of you got hold of the other.

Getting woken up every morning by her wet mouth enveloping your flaccid length, throating you until you blow a load straight down her stomach or being awake enough to pull her up and get her riding you in bed has become a daily occurrence.

Your breakfasts, lunches, and dinners all end up a messy affair, with her getting you to eat her out or you getting her on her knees after eating. Which oftentimes lead to someone getting bent over or fucked on the chair. 

And don’t even get started on when it happens before you two eat. That only gets you even hungrier for food, and even more starved to continue fucking after.

The risque and riskier kinks start happening, when she gets you to plow her right in front of the apartment window, not a care in the world whether anyone sees or not. And you get right back when you get her to suck you off in the apartment stairwell after grabbing dinner outside for once.

“You know that there’s a camera watching us, right?” she asks, not a hint of concern in her face as she follows you to the letter, knees hitting the floor and hands playing with the button of your pants.

“The same camera that we’ve been telling the landlord’s broken?” Your hands pull her hair into a makeshift ponytail. “Yeah, I know.” And you’re fucking her face until you paint her pretty face in streaks of white.

Sooin’s uncaring of it in the end, your cum dripping down her face as you walk back up the steps, onto your floor and into your apartment. The sight has you immensely fucked in the head, and that gets her fucked somewhere in the apartment again.

You two just do it anywhere, everywhere. Not a single place in your apartment is unsullied, a single area in your apartment building untouched. The rooftop, the parking lot, the fucking lobby—you’re not even sure how you managed to get away with that without getting caught.

You’re sure Sooin finds ways to, of course.

The pair of you keep on going and going and going, the days blurring by full of the filthiest sex you’ve ever had in your entire life. Your dick has never felt more thankful while simultaneously begging you to take a fucking break because really, when are you not fucking Sooin nowadays?

It’s second nature at this point. Wake up, fuck, eat, fuck, take a nap, fuck, do some chores, fuck, sleep—it’s a whole process that runs on either one of you telling the other how they want to get laid, where she wants your load, why you’re asking her how foldable she is or the like. 

There aren't even any sort of verbal cues anymore. Simply walk up to the other and do what sort of debauchery in mind, finish and go back to whatever it was you were doing.

That last part might need some work, considering neither of you can successfully do that.

Jerk off to her face while she’s playing another game on her phone and watch the cum splatter all over her cheek, stain her hair, have it drip down her phone and all she’ll get angry about is the last bit because she lost her game, that stress released by having her bouncing on top of you until she cums.

Sooin on the phone with one of her friends (you can’t be sure whether it’s Anna or Gawon) when she spots you walking out of your room one morning, gesturing for you to get between her legs and eat her out. You’re amazed at how composed she sounded all throughout, especially when you turn her legs into jelly at the end and the most she’s ever let out was a scream that she disguised by saying that there was a mosquito in the room.

Fucking her in an alleyway on the way home from having lunch at the local ramen shop, the sun in the air adding the high of getting caught up a notch. Getting her on her knees to swallow your load right before you two would’ve gotten caught by some random passerby.

Her getting back at you with the magical treat of her mouth, sucking you off while you drove home. Almost ended in a disaster if you hadn't pulled over in time, another batch of your cum sent straight into her gullet.

Can't go an hour go by without one of you getting handsy, and it's like an average day for you now. Part of your daily life, constantly having sex with her, being readily available to fuck and get fucked.

And to think you were against this whole thing at the start.

So when the last day comes by and you’ve fucked another load into her while she did the dishes, you’re left asking:

“What happens when we wake up tomorrow?”

Sooin pauses, blinks, shrugs. “Dunno,” she answers all casual-like. “What do you want to happen?”

It’s unfair how she leaves the ball in your court. Like she wants to hear your answer before she commits to hers, pretending to not care when she doesn’t bother to even look at you, her attention on the television playing some movie.

“Well,” you ponder, pursing your lips in thought. “We’re either gonna keep fucking or we go back to not fucking.”

“That’d be a shame.” She points the remote to the TV.

Your head turns toward her. “What would?”

“Not fucking.” The channel swaps. “We should keep it going.”

“What?” It’s the fact that she looks so unbothered that’s making you question how serious she is. You sit up straighter, entire chest tilting toward her now. “You’re serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Her knuckles rest on the side of her head. “We’d probably need to stop with the random quickies when the semester starts, and it’s not like we can’t go back to not fucking with the amount of sex we’ve had the entire week.”

Your jaw hangs low, unsure of what to say. Thanks Sooin, that’s such a good idea. Maybe we should also put a label on us too? Sounds like such an insane thing to pull, and you’ve grown quiet to the point that Sooin takes a glance at you.

“You don’t gotta say anything.” She nudges you with her elbow. “It’s a good thing we got going. Long as you’re good, I’m good.”

“And that makes us, what–” You shake your head. “Fuck buddies?”

She laughs. Says sure, it’s not like she’ll be looking for anyone else when she’s got you. Long as you don’t go looking for no Chaewon’s or Chaeyoung’s or whatever name they got she’ll be a-okay.

And you’re scoffing, smiling and agreeing to the whole thing with a kiss to her cheek; getting her to roll her eyes at you and give you another, harder nudge with her elbow.

“Okay, man,” she chuckles. “The kiss was a bit much.”

“Oh come on–” you let out a laugh. “You can take my cum on your face but you draw the line with a kiss on the cheek?”

“Well, when you put it like that–” Sooin lands her gaze on you, smile playing on her lips, mischief in her eyes. “It does sound a little stupid, doesn’t it?”

She closes the distance between you, pressing her lips against yours for a quick kiss. “Happy?”

“Yeah, Swim.” You tap your finger between your lips. “Maybe one more for good measure?”

A shove. “Don’t push it, asshole.” A beat passes. Her hands fumble around your sweatpants.

“We can do one more round for the road.”

—

When the morn comes around after a late night of getting Sooin to ruin the bedsheets again (you’ve discovered that she’s a squirter when you pound her ass up, face down), you wake up to a Sooin-less bed, and that alone gets you up and about. Spot her eating a sandwich with some strawberry jam filling, fighting to stay awake as she stares at her laptop.

Greet her a good morning and sit down next to her on the couch. “What’s got you up so early?”

“Gotta get my schedule sorted out,” she mumbles, taking another bite of her bread. “Why didn’t you tell me we already could?”

“I did.” You slide down the sofa, getting more comfortable. “Like two days ago.” You’re not about to tell her that you reminded her of it while she was getting fucked on top of the laundry machine, of course.

You know when your life is on the line.

She lets out a groan, complaining about her classes being so early, getting the shitty professors and the shitty schedule and all you can think about are her luscious thighs peeking underneath your shirt she has on.

Reaching out, fingers resting on the soft skin, caressing upwards to feel more; all to be stopped with a slap on the wrist.

“Not now, dude,” she says, her hand coming back to slide a finger across the touchpad. “I really want a decent schedule for next semester.”

You blink. Your brain catching up to what you’re body is doing and you remember:

Right. Bet’s over, no more fucking for the fun of it and all the shenanigans that it entails (shame, you’ll miss it immensely). It’ll be a smooth transition (it won’t, you’re already suffering withdrawals not being balls deep inside her right now) from not having sex all the time.)

“Alright, alright,” you relent, taking a glance at the kitchen counter. “Want some coffee?”

“Please,” she replies, making you groggily stand up to make two cups. She stops you with a glance and your name, making you turn back to her.

“Fuck me when I’m done with this?”

You chuckle, roll your eyes and wave a hand in the air.

I have still not decided if I should move or stay, or keep using both as I'm very inactive right now due to school shit. I can't promise I'll stick to a decision because there might be a time that I'll stick to finding employment and have no spare hours for writing. That is why I'm working really hard on my last commission; with the time they're overdue I felt the need to make the quality and length past $12. I want to finish it so I can focus on college, something I didn't have the resources to focus on due to unforeseen issues.

HOWEVER, whatever my decision will be, I hope it will be treated with respect as the decisions of other writers should have been. At the end of the day, it is up to readers if they will still read our stories or not. But it is important to remember that they, as writers, also have the choice to write and post on the platforms they want to, whether it is tumblr or fanprose.

That is the beauty of interacting with a community: unlike school, work and real life in general, you have the power to choose. You also have it in you to ultimately respect said decisions.

The community should always be founded in respect. We respect the idols writers like to post whether or not they are our biases. We respect the genres and kinks in these stories even if we might not be personally into them. We respect the writing style of each author although we have our own preferences.

Recently, we are losing that kind of respect that made me love this community so much. Please keep in mind that behind every blog is a human being who is capable of doing what they want with their own responsibilities. Smut writing and reading should be fun. You and I do not have authority over anyone.

Tumblr was great. The eight or so years or however the fuck long I've been on here. Going from literally nothing (I sure as hell didn't have two dozen known people reblogging my debut fics, not that I'm angry about it), to over 16k followers is a crazy number. It's actually unfathomable.

Building a following, getting that first ask, getting a second, a third, and then years later having an inbox stuffed with 50+ asks is wild. It's a weird feeling to be "popular", even if that popularity is just for writing smut.

It's great having a fanbase, having dedicated readers send you love, wonderful messages, praising your latest work, whatever it is. Even if you get the occasional weirdo or some smelly entitled fuckhead.

Until it isn't.

Until 16k stops feeling like 16k. Until all your hard work stops feeling rewarding, because you no longer get the modicum of feedback you wish for. Because your fics go literal days without a single person saying "hey, peach, I really liked this. Thanks for writing it."

Nothing. When the pendulum swings the other way, it makes you think. If you've put out bad content, if you're just washed up, if what you put out isn't enjoyable anymore.

Now you could say, hey peach, shut the fuck up, all of your fics get 1k notes. Stop whining.

Sure, most of them do. That wasn't always the case, either. But what exactly does that number even mean? That a small portion of those 16k people click a button (which is always appreciated), but besides that, not a whole lot. Watching the number go up is fun, but it doesn't do much.

A big number doesn't mean that a large portion enjoyed it. It doesn't even mean that a large portion even read it. The asks don't come in, even before. The comments don't either,

So once the frustrations start to boil up, we have the need to move elsewhere. But where? Wattpad? Hell no. AO3? Doesn't quite have the community. Asianfanfics is outdated, ugly, barely has a tag system, and suffers from many of the same problems. Where else?

That's where Fanprose comes in. Some of you are rolling your eyes already, and that's fine. I'm not here to shill because I feel like that's been done enough. But it offers a vastly superior experience. For both writers and readers. I can see in real time what people think of something I've posted. I get hundreds of comments on a single fic, whereas I'd be lucky to break double digits here.

It's hard to feel like its worth posting here anymore. Not that I write just to farm comments, but It's hard to feel any real motivation when it's the same thing over and over. Spend hundreds of hours writing, rewriting, editing, only to release something into the void. Where it felt like seemingly nobody gave a shit anymore.

Writing should always be for yourself first, but if you're posting for an audience of thousands, and nobody else has anything to say about it, what's the point?

So if the options are stay on tumblr, hate yourself, hate your writing, potentially hate your audience, give up on your hobby—and then the alternative is the exact opposite in every single way, why wouldn't you want to go there? And stay there. Not stay on a platform that isn't safe, that deletes accounts based off egregious false reports, and awful, awful UI changes, one that gets threatened by weirdos who try to gatekeep smut of all things. Along with a myriad of other problems that will never, ever be fixed, because this site is lucky it survives another year.

Fanprose has reignited that spark to write in a way I thought would never happen. The same way I felt during my rookie year, where I was putting out multiple fics a week, not one every few months. And I'll be eternally grateful for that.

If you've been here from the beginning, if you followed last year, last month, last Saturday—thank you. I'm sure most of this isn't news to anyone given my lack of anything, but I've made the decision to detach myself fully from this platform. Ningning will be my last posted fic, and I'm not even sure if enough people are left to read this post judging by the post count (not just me, on everyone.)

I appreciate and love you all, from the bottom of my heart, especially those that have been with me on this journey from day one. I hope to see you all on Fanprose if you aren't there already, and I'd strongly suggest giving it a shot if you haven't. I have a newly released annyeongz fic that I'm very proud of that I'd love for you to check out.

So goodbye tumblr. I'll miss you.

and to steal from one of the greats

Asa lowers her shoulders just a little, but it does so much more than a subtle movement should ever have the power to do. Now isn’t that the understatement that underpins it all. Fine details and mildly-reserved seduction cooked into the drop of a shoulder, the hike of a leg, the tilt of her hips. It’s Asa’s modus operandi, and you’re her favourite victim.

“Not like you ever cook.”

Avoiding the questions. Gaslighting. This woman has a game to play, and you’re part of it. If you were ever unwilling, you would be dragged, kicking and screaming, into it.

You are never unwilling.

"I baked you a cake."

"Yeah, well, I'm a little distracted here."

"What's distracting you?"

"Oh I don't know... Maybe my girlfriend? Up on the counter? Ass in the air and back arched, wearing some little black leather shorts?"

"Just eat the damn cake."

"I'm thinking about it."

"Yeah?" Asa shoots you a sly smile, biting on one of those long black nails in a way that communicates an opening into a mind you're all too familiar with. Devilish looks with a sinful mind - there's always something in there. "Well, I know you're a messy eater; hope you plan on cleaning up once you're finished. There's a lot of cream filling inside."

Yep, that’s something, alright.

She's doing that thing again - tugging on the little invisible string around your heart, forcing it to thump faster. You swallow thickly. You're walking closer, focusing on her lips as she speaks again.

"And, well, it is your birthday..."

Your birthday. You're too distracted by the fact she's pressing her chest to the counter, deepening the arch of her back even further and lying her face against the smooth surface. Her cute cheek squashed against the marble, dark eyelashes fluttering upwards as she looks at you through them. The way she's wiggling her hips slightly, back and forth, in those tight shorts...

"My birthday," you echo her words.

She's sliding her hand over her thigh now, fingertips pressing into the pale skin. She grips, and she squeezes and fuck -

"Mhm," she's smiling, "so you're allowed to have your...cake. Indulge a little. Eat it up."

Those catty eyes are trained on you as she presses her hand further down. You're standing at the counter now, chest heavy and struggling with each breath. A figurative growl from somewhere deep inside you as you catch her wrist, pulling it away from where it's getting dangerously close to her crotch.

"Let me." You tell her, taking in yet another shaky breath. "Let me...enjoy it how I want to."

Her eyes widen with excitement as she pushes her hips back and, fuck, that’s too hot. "That's the spirit, birthday boy. Do what you want."

"You're really the best girlfriend," you begin to tug the shorts from her hips, watching her skin rise with goosebumps as your fingertips brush over her - subtle things. "You know that?"

"Yeah, well." Asa bites her lower lip for a moment before letting it slip free. "I love spoiling you."

You pull the tight fabric over her ass and the soft flesh spills out, plump and fucking perfect.

"Your ass..." You can't help it. You have to grip it. You drag your fingertips across her skin. It's so perfectly smooth and inviting and...

Her throat rumbles with a laugh. "You act like you've never seen it before."

You dive in without thinking, lips immediately pressing to the skin, teeth grazing, tongue sneaking out to get a taste. Her little whimper makes you want more.

"I like it." You tell her against her flesh. You pepper kisses down to her thighs before pulling back. "Every time is like the first time."

"Cringe," she mocks.

"Hey, it's my birthday, remember? You can't be mean to me."

She lifts a brow. You duck your head down again, allowing your teeth to dig into the skin. Her breath hitches. You smile against her, pulling back, watching the way the spot turns a delicate pink colour. You take your time, letting your hands wander her ass, watching the way her flesh reacts. You slide your palm down her thigh, and she rolls her hips, trying to chase the touch.

"Please..." Asa's breathless, her voice filled with want, "just... eat the cake already." Her tone is playful, but there is something about the edge that makes you think she's really trying to hold back. That she wants you more than she's letting on.

"It looks so pretty." Your fingers move, sliding over her bare pussy, just peeking through the gap at the top of her thighs. You prod your fingertips inside, finding her wet already. Of course she is. Then there's the moan.

Asa's moans - you could wax lyrical about them. You could write sonnets and songs and poetry about them. You want to record them sometimes, just so you can listen back whenever you want, but then you remember just how easy it is to elicit new ones. There's always something so playful about them, even when they're low and gravelly. It's like she's laughing a little as she moans, like she's having so much damn fun.

You place a hand on each cheek. Your birthday cake, in all its glory, is laid out on the counter for you. You lean in, dragging your tongue up from her slit and resting your face between those pert little cheeks.

Fuck, she's sweet - sweeter than the cake you're ignoring, and she smells so good. Her whole body just has this way of making you want to bury your face into any part of her that you can and just melt away into her.

You're tasting her sinful little hole, ass pressed back against your face, and her moans are growing louder. You're swirling your tongue against her. Her fingers grip at the edge of the counter, and she's pushing back more and more.

Eating her ass is one of your favourite things in the world. In part because of her reaction, which is always perfect, and partly because of her taste. The way she wriggles and tries to control it and can't help but just give in to the pleasure of it all. You're rock hard already, and your cock is pressing against your pants.

You pull back, taking a moment to grip her cheeks and watch them spread, spitting on her hole, watching the way her body shivers. You press your thumb to it, and it succumbs to the pressure, swallowing it whole.

Her moans are endless, and she's trying to roll her hips, to fuck back against your finger. You work your thumb inside, and she reacts in all those dirty little ways you can never forget. Her whole body is shivering, and it's honestly the hottest thing you've ever seen in your life (and Asa has given you a whole catalogue to choose from).

"Oh my god," her voice is strained, "please, just... My ass... Oh..."

You have to bite back your laugh, simply because you can't help but find her so endearing. Her cheeks are flushed, and you know if you could see her face it would be bright red. Her hair is damp at the temples with sweat. You move your thumb in and out of her slowly.

"Please what, babe?" You ask.

She's burying her face into the marble; it’s a ridiculous thing to try, but this girl is so used to being face down in the bed that muscle memory kicks in when the brain goes to mush. "Don't make me say it."

You use your free hand to smack her ass, just once. She whimpers. "Say it."

"No!" She huffs. There's a moment of silence where you keep fucking her with your thumb. You hear her suck her teeth. Finally, she relents. "Eat my ass and make me cum. Please."

You let out a knowing laugh. "Good girl."

You're not sure what you enjoy more: making her cum or making her beg. You lean in again - another taste. Her back arches beautifully. Your cock is aching. You work your mouth against her over and over.

You press your middle finger against her cunt, sliding it inside with no resistance. She's gripping it as her wetness leaks down your hand. The moans are getting out of control, her body shuddering and jerking. You feel her tighten around your finger.

"Already?" you ask, and she does not like that.

Asa pushes her face up and off the counter, her whole body trembling. "You're just... fucking good."

That makes you grin. You press your finger deeper, curling it in her, and she's practically screeching now, and despite the description, it’s a blessing to hear. You keep your mouth buried against her asshole, fucking her with your finger, picking up speed. Your cock is straining in your pants, your balls aching. You can't wait to slide your dick into her, which is utterly relatable.

"Oh my god," she's panting hard, her fingers straining where she grips the counter, "oh my god, oh my god... Yes, right there, right fucking there! Don't stop, don't stop..."

It's when she starts cumming that you start lapping up all the cream, sucking her into your mouth. Her pussy is pulsing around your finger. You hear her hit the counter with a dull thud, and it's followed by her hitting her open palm against it repeatedly.

"So good," her voice is a breathy whine, "so, so good."

You keep moving your finger inside her until the fluttering stops, her whole body relaxing into the counter. You pull back and look at the mess you've made. A sheen of sweat on her skin. Her cheeks red from the way you've so roughly spread them.

"Happy birthday to me," you say, as you unbutton your pants.

There's a little chuckle from Asa. She turns her head, her eyes slightly glazed. "That good, huh?"

"You have no idea," you take your cock out, sighing with relief, "can't wait to sink into you."

She's smiling. "My favourite part."

The announcement came suddenly about two weeks ago; all programming was interrupted to give way for the President's public address. 15-20 meters in diameter, he said. Somewhere in the Korean Peninsula is where it'll land, scientists claimed. Blast radius, tsunami heights—the rest was scientific jargon you gave zero fucks or had any knowledge about. Most, if not all of Asia will be scourged. Casualties in the hundreds of millions, if not outright billions. Changes in climate lasting centuries. Effects on the world at large: significant.

They said it like you were just a statistic and not a living breathing human being. This was the extinction-level event the wealthy elite dreamed of. This is what Roland Emmerich was creaming his pants making movies about.

You followed the first few hours with piqued interest. Watched men in lab coats explain science and computer models on TV like you were in fifth grade again. Then came the politicians who said nothing, the religious figures—both the earnest ones and the charlatans alike—calling for prayer, for repentance, for something, anything, as if God was waiting for a sufficient number of people to say sorry before deciding to take His chosen up to heaven or redirect a six hundred meter rock out of Earth's orbit. 

Within 48 hours, the networks stopped bothering with experts. There was nothing left to explain, really; the maths were clear and concise. No amount of science can change the fact that a quarter of the world's population was gonna be vaporized, bare minimum, and a third of the earth was gonna be rendered uninhabitable. The only variable left was how those people would spend their final hours. 

This isn't a world where superheroes fall from the sky and save people, nor is it one where Mars is one readily accessible Elon Musk spaceship away. This is real life: cold and cruel, but it’s the world you live in. Sometimes the powers that be hear your prayers, but more often than not, it doesn’t respond. And regardless of what happens, whether you live or die, life goes on. In the future, you'll just be an afterthought lost to time. People will remember the meteor, but not you.

There's no point in fighting. No point in living for tomorrow.

—————

You walk out into the streets of Seoul like it's just another Tuesday.

72 hours till the meteor hits. Less than. With each second, it approaches ever closer. Slowly. Surely. An inevitability. 

The networks added a doomsday clock counting down the hours in real-time. Regular programming continues with the occasional meaningless update, but otherwise, life goes on like normal. At least as normal as it can possibly be during a situation like this.

If it weren't for a big rock shadowing high up in the clouds, you'd think there was some kind of political upheaval—a revolution. Except no; the government has all but given up. They're secure in some underground bunker somewhere, watching, saving their own asses, offering false pretenses to people that are left to their own devices. Most of them at least. They'll wake up to a world without their own blood, a culture mostly scorched by fire and ash, and they'll forget this nation ever existed.

To say that it's loud would be an understatement. Going to the subway station is akin to moving through war-torn trenches.

Smoke permeates through the streets, never fading and constantly unsavory smelling. Stores are either broken through or falling apart. Men in masks rob some poor guy's furniture store to take out a sofa from his shop and set it ablaze in the center. Society has ripped off the band-aid and torn up the social contract. Not to mention the relentless cries of religious men in the corners with their signs calling to repent. It makes the meteor seem like an afterthought.

"Repent!" The preacher yells out as you walk past him on the walkway. "The Kingdom of God is at hand! The Lord will judge the living and the dead!"

You wonder whether the meteor has given him permission to be like this, or he just hangs around here all the time. You can’t quite tell the difference.

Through all this, the subway remains operational. People still have places to go, somewhere to be, even if they are only the few sane ones left. 

The train cars are mostly empty, so much so you can pick whichever seat you want and there would be no objections. A young couple hold each other's hands till their knuckles turn pale white. An elderly woman lugs around a suitcase staring blankly at the floor like she's trying to memorize its pattern. You wonder if you've seen these people before; you wonder if they imagined this is how their lives would end. The thought lingers for only a moment before you put your headphones on and listen to music as the tunnels blur past.

It's amazing, really, how death makes time feel more invaluable. When you're alive and free and have nothing to worry other than overdue bills and expenses, it's easy to forget how quickly it can pass you by, how seasons change, because it's always there. And when it's suddenly cut short, when life expectancy goes from 65 all the way down to 25—you begin to realize how much of it you're wasting away on things that ultimately don't matter.

For one, you haven't called your family in months. They're still texting every now and then, asking how's the experience in Korea, but you haven't responded to any of them other than an emoji here and there. Then there's your friends you've met online; gaming sessions that once took you into the break of dawn hardly last longer than an hour now. And your circle is slowly breaking apart too; relationships, parenthood, career opportunities, war—

Growing up is realizing how lonely it gets in the world. How you're only surviving, not living. They always tell you to work hard, but now it feels pointless. A big rock is about to undo your entire existence—and like 70% of the world's history and culture.

Still, you soldier on. Because this is the only thing you know, and there's comfort in familiarity.

The building looks the same as it always is: gray and dull and in dire need of renovation. The security guard's still there, barely looking up to watch you swipe your badge and nodding.

"Still coming in today?" he asks absentmindedly, returning to his phone, watching some K-drama on his screen. Behind him is a small TV tuned to the news, doomsday clock counting down the time: 71 hours, 54 minutes, 12 seconds. Eleven. Ten.

"Someone has to," you say, which isn't really an answer.

"I guess," he replies, flippantly, shrugging. As you're about to enter the building, he then continues. "My wife wants me to come home. Says we should be together. For the end, you know."

You nod; there's nothing else you can say or do. You hardly talked to this man, other than 'Good morning' and 'See you, take care.' Never asked about his personal life—never knew he even had a wife until now—and it's too late to start. 

"So, will you be going home to her?"

"Probably. I don't know." He says it with a lackadaisical demeanor while watching the show, making you question why he randomly brought it up to begin with.

Nevertheless, you continue and walk to the elevator.

On the 17th floor, the office is almost deserted. A place housing 24 employees, there's only three today, you excluded. Your boss is at his desk by the window overlooking the Han River, answering phone calls like always. He catches you mid call, gestures with his hand, silently mouthing 'one minute' before finishing his conversation over the line and hanging up.

He then motions to the unoccupied chair in front of him. "Take a seat." So you oblige. 

His laptop has the doomsday ticker too: 71 hours, 49 minutes, 28 seconds now. 27. 26. End of the world aside, your boss looks tired. Not the topical acceptance that everything is meaningless and ash and rubble, but more ‘I haven't slept in three days and been making calls that won't change anything’ tired. His tie is loose around the collar; his hair looks grayer than usual. Maybe you haven't been paying this much attention to him.

"You're here," he remarks straight to the point.

"You say it like it's surprising," is your reply, knowing you haven't missed a day since Christmas. Never took a sick leave or paid time off so far in the year. Stayed several overtimes per week too. One of his strongest soldiers, as they would say.

"It is." He then switches tabs on his laptop, now flashing his GMail. "You're one of four people who showed up today. I had 52 employees. Now it's just" —he gestures at the empty desks— "this."

You don't blame anyone; none of this is important in the face of a giant rock headed towards your humble first world country.

"Life goes on," you tell him, shrugging, nonchalant.

"Does it?" he asks, but neither of you really know the answer to that. Nobody does.

He taps his fingers on the keyboard. Mutters something beneath his breath. A prayer, perhaps, followed by a deep, heavy sigh. Adjusting his glasses, he faces you again: "Thank you," he adds, and it sounds genuinely sincere. "for being here. For showing up. I don't know. It's more than what most people are doing."

"It's—just a job," you answer, because there's really no reason for this to be theatrical or melodramatic. Not like he promised you an overdue promotion a year ago or anything.

"It's not. Not anymore," he insists, shaking his head. "But thank you anyway."

After a pause, a moment of awkward silence where your gaze just wanders around, you ask if you can head to your desk, and he lets you go. 

There's still work to do. There's always work to do.

Your office is no larger than a closet, but it's yours. It's a lot bigger when the place feels more quiet than usual. Even tapping your feet seems to produce an echo off the thin walls. And speaking of, one half is plastered with sticky notes, of passwords you should have memorized, of memos and tasks you've completed ages ago. A graduation photo of you with your parents sits in the corner collecting dust, as well as a calendar on the other end you haven't bothered changing in two years.

Then there's the right side of your desk, your mini-shrine of sorts. It started out small and innocuous, like all other interests: a hit song that always played in the streets, a fancam that caught your eye during one of your breaks. Not long after, you fell down the rabbit hole. She was the it-girl of Korea; her face was inescapable no matter where you looked. Billboards, banners, posters—every brand she modeled for was like an endorsement from the heavens itself. Meanwhile her leader was a charismatic performer who had a fun side to her. 

It grew beyond those two. It became twelve. You learned they were groupmates with another dynamic pairing: one whose cute face had a duality of being both sweet and lethal. The other was the steady presence and industry veteran who had her moments of quirkiness. These two pairs became the backbone of their own respective groups. But once upon a time, they were sisters-in-arms. Members who grew under their own leader, their mother figure. 

Then came the rest: a pretty face who always tried her best even though she never wanted to be an idol. A ball of charm that can do anything and would light up the room with her energy. A dancer who pushed herself no matter how difficult it got. A gorgeous actress who knew this was her one and only group. A tiny pocket of sunshine who still kept close with the others every chance she got. A leader took a second chance in Korea when she could have thrived just as much in Japan. And finally, a soulful voice and actress whom the world cried for when she tragically met her demise and broke the hearts of millions.

Each of them became successful, no matter what path they took, but together, they were something magical. These days, they’re just a memory, kept in music, performances, fandom nostalgia, and on the photos plastered on your wall. They haven't released anything new in years. Quietly withdrew from the public eye once they reached 30, or in the case of some, 35. You hope they're fine, wherever they are. After all, the news did say select individuals were being evacuated outside of the President and high-ranking government officials. Culture and history has to be preserved, if that’ll even be a thing.

Death makes you think about a lot of things. Regret mostly. But there's one thing that will bother you the most: the fact that you never saw them together. Live. In-person. Everything else can come second place.

You can only sigh and touch one of the photos—one of their last shots taken as twelve—before turning to your computer and answering emails.

—————

Today's workload is heavier than yesterday's. Not surprising, given what should have been done by a team of around 52 is now being shared by just four people. No one complains, not even you; there's no use when this all is meaningless in two days, anyway.

You process invoices. Update spreadsheets. Spam follow-up emails to clients whose faces you never see and who will never read them. You answer phone calls from people with the exact same sound of surprise that someone actually picked up. 'Business as usual,' you'll say, even during the end of the world, then get to inquiring about orders that will never ship and deliveries that will never arrive.

Rinse and repeat. You've never been more aware of the time, but it truly flies when you're preoccupied with work.

During lunch, you watch a rerun of a film being aired on the TV in the break room. Armageddon because apparently SBS has a dark sense of humor. You're biting down on some dry bread on a tuna sandwich, shaking your head remembering that one bit of Ben Affleck commentary about how it's easier for oil-drillers to become astronauts than to teach astronauts how to drill. That and the movie itself is so bad it's a guilty pleasure. 

Here's the situation now: around 60 or so hours before the meteor hits. You're watching a movie about this exact situation play out, except death is instantaneous, there will be less explosions than what's on screen, and Bruce Willis isn’t going to save you. 

It's absurd. Life is fucking absurd.

—————

The rest of your shift goes by unceremoniously. Your boss leaves at four, shakes your hand and tells you to take care with a sound that's more resigned to the inevitable than actual reassurances. The other employees begin filing out too, quietly taking their belongings before exiting. 

Now you’re left alone again. You can't help but sigh.

Not the one that screams ‘fuck, the world is really ending’ and more akin to your body crying out in anguish after another day at work. The kind where you just want to lie down once you get home, stare at the ceiling, and think about where it all wrong. Probably the moment you wanted to go to Korea; you've come to this conclusion a long time ago.

And maybe that's the real absurdity: the world is ending and you're sighing like it's another Tuesday and you’re caught up during rush hour.

People are out in the streets, doing whatever the fuck they want because nothing will matter soon. Meanwhile you're still here behind these four walls, trying to cling to the last traces of normality because you don't know what life feels like without having to follow a pattern. In your eyes, life is about structure and control, not chaos and spontaneity. A meteor heading for earth is the complete opposite of that worldview.

Before leaving, you take one more glance at your makeshift shrine. Your collection of photocards pinned to the wall from different eras and groups. Your gaze snags on that one picture of them as twelve, and you look at them with a longing that feels too personal. Like they're within reach.

I hope you're okay. Wherever you are, you’re praying mentally. It's hard to find faith when everything around you is collapsing.

You grab your bag, and for whatever reason, you remove the photo from the wall, pocket it in your coat, and head off. Outside, the entrance is desolate; the guard's phone is plugged into the charger, but he's nowhere to be found. You shrug as you walk into the streets, putting on your headphones; it’s your only shield from the violence, noise, and anarchy of it all.

In the distance, the sun begins to set. It might be your last.

The train stops somewhere between Hongdae and Sinchon. Not gently, not a gradual slowing when the operator's being cautious, but rather a sudden lurch, one that almost makes the standing passengers tilt forward and crash onto the floor. 

Delays, when they happen, come few and far between. Usually a door that won't close, a person on the track, sometimes construction or renovation of railroads. These days, however, the conductor says the same thing:

"Attention passengers. Due to civil unrest and blockages on the tracks ahead, this train will proceed no further. All passengers are advised to exit the station and seek alternative transportation. Thank you and we apologize for the inconvenience."

Civil unrest sounds like an understatement for what's basically Korea's adaptation of The Purge. You've had stones and other random objects chucked on the train windows before. You've seen rioters overpower walls of riot shields and toppling police cars. It's only by divine intervention, you conclude, that you haven't been touched by any one of these maniacs. 

Still, no one complains. People simply grab their belongings and keep moving. 

Getting off the platform is its own chaos. The boring kind. Loud and all over the place, but no bodies are being thrown around, and no one is in serious danger. A reminder that you're not alone in this, that even on the cusp of death, life goes on as normal.

Outside the station is a big glaring reminder that some men just want to watch the world burn. Across the street, a convenience store has its windows shattered, groups of thieves running off with whatever food and other supplies they can carry, a fire hydrant with its covers exposed and water endlessly bursting, a car that's upside down and set ablaze because why the fuck not, and the garage wall of some building with the words B.B.S spray painted in what might as well be someone’s blood. Sirens are blasting loudly; you can't tell whether that's police or an ambulance.

You step over a broken umbrella and head the other way.

Your apartment is only 20 minutes from here, maybe less if you take the back alleys. You could walk home in time to catch the evening news. Maybe call up your parents and finally answer back when it's too late. There's also that bottle of wine you've been saving for a special occasion, and there's no better time to open it than now.

Instead, you stride over to the taxi stand, right as an elderly couple climbs into the cab while the cabbie packs their luggage inside the boot. Queuing is nonexistent and the turnaround is quick; the next car pulls up as soon as the last one drives off.

You've got nothing but a sling bag with you. Stepping into the backseat, you give the driver an address you haven't said out loud in years:

"HYBE building, Yongsan district."

Over the rearview mirror, the man's eyes furrow behind his glasses. His hair is thin and gray. His lips quirk; it's the look of a man who's seen some shit. Definitely in his sixties. 

"Are you sure? It's a long way from here. Traffic's bad. Everything is."

"I'm sure," you insist, looking out the window in time to see two masked men beating on some random guy just inches away from your cab. You should feel something—empathy, maybe—but instead, you lean back in your seat and yawn.

The driver shrugs. It's a gesture you're starting to recognize as the universal response to the end of the world. The car revs and pulls away from the curb.

En route to the destination, the streets are clogged with abandoned cars, people walking in the middle of the road, makeshift barricades, overturned trash cans, and piles of burning debris. Probably ran over plenty of dead things, too. Nevertheless, the driver maneuvers around them all with the efficiency and calmness of someone who has been through some shit, worthy of every 5-star review on Über while cursing beneath his breath every time someone jumps in front of the car.

On the right side of the road, a church can be seen with its lights on. A congregation of people assemble as far as outside the entrance doors, singing a worship hymn, their voices raised to the heavens above. They're singing something about being lost and then found. You can hear their collective praise even through the music playing in the car.

"Crazy times," the driver remarks, not directly to you, but to this: the chaos in the streets, the situation above, the world you're currently living in. "I've been driving this road for 15 years. Never seen anything like it."

"Me neither," you say, looking out the window, past the church and seeing a fresh thick layer of smoke rising in the distance. 

"Where are you from?" he then asks. "Originally, I mean."

You pause. Your eyes widen. Then you answer, "Seoul. Moved from Europe around three years ago. Been on a work visa."

"Ah," the driver nods, looking at you through the rearview mirror. "I was born and raised here. I bet your parents must be proud that you work here in Korea, then."

"I don't know about proud," you answer, shaking your head, chuckling, but there's a tinge of underlying bitterness in your tone. "They did help me get here, so I can't really say much."

"Right, right." He nods again, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel as the car stops at a red light. "You know my whole family's here. My wife, my two kids, my mother—she's 83, can you believe it? 83 years old, and this is how she's gonna go. Not in her sleep, not in a hospital. A big fucking rock from space."

He says it like he's still trying to make sense of the fact. Like if he repeats it enough times the absurdity will wear off and something else will take its place. Acceptance or peace, maybe. You're not sure whether those things exist anymore.

"Yeah, well" —you mutter, scratching the back of your ear, stifling a laugh because you can't really comprehend it either— "I didn't think I'd go out like this too. None of us did. But it really do be like that, sometimes."

"What it be?" he snorts, sarcastic, a bit peeved (an understatement). "That we're left to die on our own while our leaders are tucked away safe and sound?"

The mood inside the car changes instantly. The driver goes quiet as he weaves around an abandoned delivery truck occupying two lanes. Then he continues talking. "Those people—the ones who ran—they're the real cowards. The politicians, the CEOs, the celebrities with their private jets and personal escorts. They're no better than us; only richer."

The photo in your coat feels a little heavier now. 

"BTS left, you know that?" he continues, charged with an anger that's genuine, the kind that's been building for days: "They were on the list. Special transport, same as the president's cabinet. Within 48 hours of the announcement. Packed-up and gone. Jimin, Jungkook, all of them. Cowards."

"They're just people," you say, casual, understanding but seeing the world for what it is. "like everyone else."

"Famous people," he corrects. "They could have stayed. Could have—I don't know—said something." He shakes his head, clearly fuming at the idea. "But no. They're on a plane to go wait it out with the rest of the wealthy elite and would rather watch us all die. Meanwhile Son Heung-min—you know who Son is, right?"

Of course you do. Can't talk about football in this country without his name being among the first mentioned, if not outright. Even more than Mbappe or Lamal, hell, even Messi or Ronaldo.

"He was offered a spot. You know what he said? He said no. Said he'd rather die with his people." The driver's voice cracks slightly before returning to normal. "Now that's a man. That's someone who understands what it means to be a Korean."

And to be honest, you don't know how to react. You've accepted this for a long time, even without all the nutjob conspiracy theorists spazzing about it: the government and wealthy elite have a place of their own. Now they can rule the world without the guilt of having blood spilled by their own hands thanks to nature's call.

"So HYBE," he then says, while you're deep in thought. "Why there? You a fan of someone? My daughter's a big ILLIT fan."

You don’t answer; you don't know why exactly, either. There's a couple of groups you liked, and maybe you wanted to give them one final visit, maybe get some signatures that won't mean anything soon. That's if they're still even there, if the place is still functional. Given that company and BTS, with their connections to the government, it wouldn't surprise you if all their artists made it on the list for safe passage. But seeing as the lights are still on as the building is in sight—

"I don't know," is your eventual response. Even if you actually knew the reason, you would have said this anyway. "I just felt like going. Wanting to visit places before I go. I mean—we go."

The driver shrugs again. Doesn't press on any further. "Fair enough."

The cab pulls up to the front entrance of HYBE headquarters. Taller than you previously saw it, or maybe it's just reality warping itself the closer you get to the end. As expected, the front is empty and desolate; no security guards keeping watch, but the lights are on as night begins to fall. Peeking from outside, there's hardly any activity going on inside either. It's a miracle the rioters haven't burned this place to the ground yet.

"That'll be 22,000₩," the driver remarks, putting the car in park and looking over his shoulder. "On the house, though. Consider it a going away present."

You pay  the fare anyway. Add in a few thousand more as a tip, because Lord knows he's gonna need it should he miraculously live past tomorrow. 

Climbing out of the car, the streets here are calmer, peaceful. The air is cooler, less smog and fire. Most of the nearby stores are closed, and in the distance, the Namsan Tower still broadcasts its light show to an audience that's mostly stopped watching.

"You need me to wait?" the driver suddenly asks, drawing your attention. "Might be hard to find another cab out here."

A second scan beyond the glass doors shows you nothing. What once was a living hub for one of the biggest music labels now feels like a desolate paradise. The lights are on but nobody's home.

"No," you tell him. "Think I'll be here for a while."

He doesn't say another word. He quietly drives off, the screech of tires and hum of an engine echoing in your ears being the last thing you hear before the car disappears around the corner and you're left on your own again.

Stepping past the front doors, the entrance is completely unguarded. No security guards either, no sudden ambush out of nowhere. Cameras are everywhere—if they're still even functioning—but this place has seen stranger things walk through its walls. 

The lobby is no better, completely silent and spotless, like the building is holding its breath. No receptionist waits at the front desk; not a soul roaming the halls. Every step you take echoes, bounces off the walls like roaring thunder. If it weren't for an impeding rock, you'd think the rapture already happened and everyone was taken up. A large screen on the far wall plays a loop of music videos and performances from their artist roster; Le sserafim is currently on screen. All five, present and accounted for. It's a reminder of good old days, a time period that you now take for granted. 

For the first time in forever, you can't help but smile.

But watching them has you thinking, until curiosity gets the better of you. It's what led you here to begin with. Might as well capitalize on the opportunity. 

So you help yourself to one of the many unused ID cards behind the front desk and step into an elevator. 

Your first instinct is to go to the 12th floor. The dance studio looked so familiar you could sketch it out with your thoughts, the same room where they perfected their craft and shared laughs, tears, and everything in between. It used to be solely theirs, but you've seen your fair share of labelmates and even their juniors take up shop every now and then. Maybe this is the delusion talking, or simply nostalgia. Whatever it is, it's leading to doing things you've never thought about doing until now. 

Maybe this is just coping with the fact you're dying soon, and you've got a laundry list of things you want to do, but never found the time or opportunity to. After all, you lost your spirit and youth a long time ago and never really found it again. Part of it, you believe, is hiding in here somewhere.

But as you tread carefully upon the halls, you hear something faint. Music. Thumping. Beating, like a heart that keeps going after everything. You take note of this. Close your eyes and feel it through your ears, tracing its source. It's leading you to a narrow corridor, the bass growing louder and louder, until it retreats behind a door with a sheet of paper that simply says FIMMIES written in all capitals. 

The paper looks like it's seen everything too. Clearly worn around the edges, the ink looks faded. Behind the door, the music thumps past the walls and echoes. For a moment, you wonder what could have been: standing in the crowd, cheering, waving your lightstick, singing their songs out and repeating the fanchants—

That's never gonna happen now. Only in your wildest of dreams.

But the music keeps going. Perfect Night plays in the background, and as you reach for the knob, you hesitate. Probably staff or a janitor cleaning whatever's left. Doesn't matter; the world is fucking ending. You've come this far to turn back now.

So you slowly open the door. The echo of its creak goes unnoticed. You peek your head and your eyes widen in complete shock.

They're here. In casual clothes, still practicing, still giving it a hundred percent. But it doesn't feel the same as it was. You see it in the mirrors, the way their smiles look hollow and forced, the way Eunchae is a step behind the others. Even with an audience composed of just themselves, they're trying, because they know they won't ever perform to a crowd ever again. 

Yunjin breaks formation and pauses the song on the phone. She looks at her members with a soft, bittersweet smile. "Alright. We did great. Ten minutes."

Eunchae immediately falls to the ground playfully before sitting down. Kazuha reaches for her water bottle, drinking while stretching her leg like the graceful ballerina she is, posture perfect. There's hardly any makeup on their faces, if at all; just their natural, raw selves. It's not that far off from what you've seen of them on screen. 

Then Yunjin's gaze finds you and snags. You're still a stranger wandering around a building you have no business being in. But there's no fear behind her eyes; only a look of surprise and confusion.

"Hi," she says simply. The others turn around to face you as well. "Are you lost?"

Gulp your throat. Open your mouth, but nothing comes out. You cling to the door like a harness, tighter when the members approach you. They don't look scared at all. You expect them to call security, seize you and hold you hostage until they arrive. Kazuha especially; she looks like she can straight up beat the shit out of you.

None of that. They maintain a careful distance, even as you remain silent. Yunjin gestures with her hands. "Go on. We won't hurt you."

For a moment, you continue to stay quiet. Eventually, you manage to speak: "No, no. I'm in the right place." Your eyes wander around the room, at the lights, at the mirrors, at your reflection, "Front door was open, so—"

You flash the ID card that you took as proof. Kazuha tilts her head, assessing you and the item. She's wearing a simple grey top and some joggers, her hair tied in a ponytail. Seeing her up close, you can see how toned her arms are. That she can, in fact, beat the living shit out of you.

Eunchae laughs. It's a small sound, almost involuntary, like a hiccup. "Security's been gone for days. We're surprised the power's still on."

She says it like it's an everyday occurence. That people have come and gone here like it's part of their pilgrimage.

Your head is sticking out a bit wider now. Your grip on the door has loosened, but you're unsure whether you're allowed to step foot inside or not. The practice room is larger than what you've been allowed to see. Going from one point to the opposite side is about as long as an Olympic swimming pool. 

"Well come on in," Yunjin says. "We were just about to have dinner."

The next ten minutes or so is a quick round of catch-up. Seated in a small circle inside the practice room like friends reconnecting.

You bring them up to speed on how you got here. The details remain mostly the same (still the same day, after all) but you keep the intimate parts unspoken. You say you're a fan (like everyone else, but genuinely), that you felt like visiting because the world is ending, as you do during such a time. That seeing them live was on your list, but that's never happening anytime soon. 

You don't ask much about themselves; you've known their careers, their story, their legacy. Instead, you ask them why. Why are they here. Why are they spending their last days practicing together instead of being home with their families, maybe even finding a way to get to safety.

"We were supposed to go," Yunjin says. "Bang promised us safe passage. Not just us, as in" —she gestures to her members— "but all of HYBE. Said we were like family to him, and that we'd be taken care of."

"But—"

"He didn't," Kazuha sharply cuts in. She sounds flat and dour, like she's stopped fighting and has conceded to her fate. "He took himself and his family and BTS. That's it. The rest of us, we found out the day after. No warning, no explanation. Just—"

She shrugs. Her eyes glaze down to the floor. "Gone. Without a care."

Eunchae, who's been listening and quiet the entire time, adds: "We could have fought it. Gone to the media, made a scene. But what's the point? There's not enough room for everyone. Someone was always going to be left behind."

Your mind recalls what the cab driver said. That the wealthy elite will do anything to save themselves, even if it means throwing trusted confidants under the bus. Nothing new there, but it's nice to have some confirmation. At the end of the day, it's about survival. Nothing personal.

"Then that means," you then say. "the other groups—"

"Not part of that list," Yunjin finishes your sentence. "They all left to be with their families or together. We're the only ones still here, I think."

"In fact, this was supposed to be our last day together," Eunchae chimes in. "We just wanted to practice one more time before we parted ways for good to remember the good times."

"Yeah," Kazuha affirms. "Yunjin's supposed to be flying back to New York tomorrow morning. I'm going back to Amsterdam. And Eunchae's—"

"Gonna have a sleepover with Kyujin and Leeseo," Eunchae completes her member's sentence. She's smiling from ear to ear. You almost forget she's still relatively young compared to the rest.

If there's anything you'll give the end of the world for, it's bringing people together and reconciling. You can't imagine how it feels for these girls, having spent most of their youth and adulthood training, performing, bearing the brunt of needlessly cruel online hate without their loved ones close to them. They'd be lucky if their tours happen to have a stop close to home. But like all other things, none of that matters when everything is destroyed by fire and ash.

"What about you?" Yunjin then asks, turning the question back. "What are you doing?"

To be quite honest, you're not sure. You've resigned yourself to an unceremonious death a long time ago: all alone, no regrets. Mostly. You're not going home to your parents. You sure as hell aren’t hanging out with any of your co-workers, especially your boss. And you definitely aren't gonna make it to those underground bunkers either.

"I don't know.” You've got your hands in the pocket of your pants, unable to face them. "Probably drink. A lot. I've got a bottle of champagne at my place that I haven't opened, and now seems like the perfect time to whip it out."

No one says a word. They simply nod with an understanding that says yes, that's your life, and we're not gonna stop you.

As your hand touches the pocket of your coat, you remember something. When you watched their performances on the large screen downstairs, something felt off, and this was exactly why. The reason you actually came here. Somehow, it never crossed your mind until now. You fish the photocard out of your pocket and show it to them. They lean forward, squinting their eyes at the photo. All three women have a visceral reaction upon recognizing the faces on it. 

Yunjin gasps. "Wait. This is—" 

"Yeah." You're nodding. "I remember now. Why I came here. Because of them. Because of you."

"But—Chaewon and Kkura" —Eunchae interjects— "they're—"

"They're not that far." 

There's this newfound conviction propelling you. Maybe it's because of the people in your photo giving you the drive. Maybe it's just the late kick of adrenaline knowing your time is near, and you're not ready to fall just yet. 

"I'm a Fearnot, that's true," you continue. "But I loved them first. I learned to accept you because of them. And even when you're apart, no matter how far, you're still family. That's what they taught me."

The three girls exchange looks. They're really thinking this through. Hope—maybe. Insanity—definitely.

"Yeah, but" —Kazuha says now— "We don't know—this sounds crazy. Maybe they just want to be—"

"But they also want to see us too. I'm sure of it."

Eunchae shoots you a confused wide eyed stare, her head tilted and arms folded. "Where do we start though?"

You glance at her and remember what she said. Sleepover. The idea immediately bubbles to the surface.

"Starship," you blurt out before you even think about saying it.

"What?" 

"Starship. We should go to the Starship building. Maybe they're still there, having something similar to this. A swan song, if you will." You're smiling as you suggest the notion, because not even the end of the world can keep you from making stupid jokes.

It doesn't register at first. Not immediately. But with Eunchae, the implication clicks not long after:

"Leeseo. You're right.”

"Good idea," Kazuha adds. "I should say goodbye to Rei before I leave Korea. Maybe she'll leave too."

"Alright. Looks like everyone's decided," Yunjin says, having taken up de-facto leadership on behalf of the group. "We're going to the Starship building."

But right when you're about to head off—Kazuha's putting on her jacket, Yunjin unplugging her phone—you also remember you came here on a cab. And the driver that took you is long gone.

"Wait," you suddenly tell them as you're approaching the door. "I don't have a car."

"No worries," Yunjin immediately answers. "I can drive. Took the girls here too. We'll take my car. Surely the streets aren't this bad tonight."

Leaving the HYBE building is a quick, mechanical affair. Turns out people still look after the place; you find a janitor sweeping the floors as you make your way back to the elevator. Looking out the window it's clearly nighttime, with an hour having passed since you came in. Yunjin says they haven't seen a receptionist in three days, nor have they seen any security guard either. When you ask how they can defend themselves, they tap tiny pepper spray canisters latched to their pockets and joke about hiding behind Kazuha when push comes to shove. She scoffs at it, obviously, but the jabs are light and playful. As you reach the basement parking lot, they tell you that Yongsan was one of the more secure places when the riots and chaos happened after the initial announcement, which is why the building was left mostly untouched.

Emphasis on mostly because there's those three letters again etched with spray paint on the side of some abandoned Mercedes. B.B.S. Some kind of doomsday cult, you assume.

You walk past it and to something more conventional, a Hyundai crossover. Yunjin says she borrowed it from her grandmother, that she didn't expect her demise to be from a giant rock too. You take the backseat behind the driver, Kazuha in the passenger side, Eunchae right beside you, and Yunjin in the driver's seat herself.

"Parking's free for employees," she remarks as the engine roars to life. "But I doubt that matters. They smashed up the boom barrier."

That activates the neuron in your brain. It's reflecting on the smirk in the rearview mirror.

"Don't tell me you joined the riots too—"

"Nope. Of course not." You're shaking your head, eyes shut, trying so hard to stifle your laugh as the car sets off. Parking is expensive at your workplace, which prompted that reaction. It's good old-fashioned karma.

—————

Turns out Yunjin was right: the streets are pretty calm in Yongsan. 

Traffic is nonexistent. Hardly any sign of rampage or destruction. For the most part, the chaos was well-contained. You can chalk it up to Chairman Bang and his connections to the government, though, given the number of destroyed riot shields and batons sprawled all over the sidewalks and roads. You see it as one more act of defiance before they knew it was a losing battle and instead of surrendering, they chose to flee.

Can't blame him. If you were the head of a multi-billion dollar enterprise and in charge of the biggest boy group ever, you'd do the same.

But back to the here and now: Yunjin navigates the streets like a veteran, like she's traveled this road over and over. You're accustomed to seeing idols in the passenger seats, being escorted between schedules that driving should be the last thing on their mind. Sometimes you forget they can drive cars too, some even getting behind the wheel of supercars like any other A-lister.

"So," you start, breaking the silence inside the vehicle. No music, unlike in the practice room, and both Kazuha and Eunchae are staring out their sides of the window, deep in thought, tired to engage in conversation. "How'd you learn how to drive?"

You see it in the rearview mirror, the way her eyes suddenly glint, how she swallows her throat. The way she suddenly struggles to focus on the road. Yet she carries on.

"I learned because of Chaewon," she says, as the car blurs past an orange light turning red. "She would drive us during our days-off. She said she liked being in control. Said it made her feel safe."

Mid-conversation, you feel a tug on your hand. Eunchae's placing hers atop yours. You allow it.

"I promised myself I'd learn how to drive," Yunjin continues, her eyes now twinkling with unshed tears. "I wanted to drive her around too, so I could take care of her the same way she did for us. But when I finally got my license, it was too late." 

The city blurs past. It looks different now in the dark. Streetlamps blend in with the fires burning in the distance, while smoke camouflages perfectly in the night. A few cars here, some people on the sidewalk there, a handful of stores still open, the dying breaths of a city soon to be erased off the map. A woman walks her dog. A homeless man sits on a stoop, smoking. A couple kissing against a wall, bodies pressed together like they're trying to become one before the end.

"Chaewon would have fought to be here," she adds. She's openly crying now, tears falling down her face. "She would have—"

Yunjin stops. Swallows. You see her knuckles tighten on the steering wheel, turning pale white. Ultimately, she shakes her head and sighs.

"Sakura too. They would have stayed. They would have never left us behind."

You've seen how they cared for each other through thick and thin, in documentaries and in behind the scenes content. You see it in the faces of the girls too: Kazuha's stoic demeanor cracking slightly in the window's reflection, her lips quivering a tad. The way Eunchae holds your hand a little bit tighter. So you remain silent and quietly nod, because there's nothing left to say.

As the road ahead unspools, the drive has shifted into something tensely still. Yunjin's focused on navigating a place she isn't quite familiar with, and the others are too exhausted to speak. Here in Gangnam, the carnage is just as contained as in the Yongsan District, but the atmosphere is no less somber and melancholic. The clubs are closed. There's hardly any people out in the streets. No cause for celebration, no drinking and being merry for the end, not even for the most cynical or nihilistic.

Something catches your eye in the rearview mirror: not from outside, but a reflection that doesn't belong. There's two of you in the backseat—you and Eunchae—but the faces aren't either of yours. They're just the lower halves; no eyes, no noses, just features without an upper half to connect them. But they're so deeply ingrained into your head, you know who they belong to. 

Those plump, pouty lips. The bob cut. The hint of pointy ears. The traces of pink hair. They can't be any more obvious.

Your heart catches. You blink, wipe your eyes, and the next second, they're gone. It's only you, your tired face staring back in the mirror again. 

Eunchae notices. "You okay?" she asks. Her eyes widen with a concern that's almost childlike. For a second, you almost forget she's been there the entire time. That sometimes, she'd be the splitting image of her leader. 

"I'm fine," you say, brushing it off. Exhaustion, most likely. Your brain playing tricks, filling in the gaps you want to see, or don't want to see, you're not sure which, when in reality, you don't want to sound crazy claiming you're seeing ghosts. "Just tired."

She doesn't push on any further. Hardly matters when Yunjin announces that they've reached their destination.

It's still the same Starship building everyone jokes about. The one that resembles a jail cell more than a company headquarters. Despite the long overdue need to move or renovate, this is still their place. At least the paint still smells fresh, but the bar is in hell; that's the only thing they've bothered touching in the last 15 years.

Surprisingly, the entrance has a security guard standing by. He stops all four of you. Asks for names.

"Le sserafim," Yunjin answers on your behalf. "We're here to see IVE. Are they in?"

He studies her for a moment. Then turns to you, Kazuha, and Eunchae. You expect him to ask who you are (you'll lie, say you're just their manager), demand identification, and do his job the way he was trained to. Instead, after a quick, almost lackadaisical scan, he speaks over his radio. Asks if they're inside, and a brief confirmation later, he lets your group through.

"Sixth floor," he says. "They've been there all day."

Stepping inside, the difference between both companies is night and day. The lobby is teeming with life, with faces and names you've vaguely heard about, all probably spending their final day together before parting ways. Jiyu spots you while getting a drink from a vending machine and bows to you and the Fims, who reciprocate the gesture as industry seniors. Same goes for the others you happen to run into: Allen, Minhee, Hyungwon, and Joohoney. You spend five minutes bowing to each idol, letting the girls catch-up with their fellow peers. They all say the same thing: they're here because the CEO wanted all the artists to come in today so they could properly say goodbye. 

But just as you're about to reach the elevator, you hear someone calling from the lounge. Everyone turns around, and Yeonjung rises from a couch to greet the girls. They bow, exchange hugs, and she offers a formal handshake, which you accept. The formalities haven't finished completely when Dayoung comes in out of nowhere to say hello as well.

"Glad to see you're together," Dayoung says to Yunjin specifically, her beam still wide, her energy infectious even during these tumultuous times. "Same as the rest of us."

"Of course," she then replies, her smile small but sincere. "It's what—"

"I know, I know," Dayoung interjects. "It's what they would have wanted too. They would have come rushing down from the practice room if they found out you visited us."

Your hand involuntarily reaches for the photo in your coat. You don't show it, but even through the eyes of people you barely know, their presence is palpable. It makes your heart soar just hearing how loved they are.

"They should be on the sixth floor," Yeonjung chimes in with her sweet, maternal smile. Her stare lingers at you a moment longer than necessary as you finally reach the elevator. "Good luck."

Emerging onto the hallway is a refresher in deja vu. Quiet, hushed, silent. Not surprising; most of their artists are in the lobby. No music plays unlike in the HYBE building. But it's there: the group's designated practice room. The sign taped to the door is freshly written with a clear message: Do Not Disturb in Hangul. Yunjin ignores it and knocks twice. Someone echoes from inside, and she answers them back.

"It's us. We're coming in."

Yunjin pushes the door open.

Inside, four girls are huddled together on the opposite end of the room. Rei spots you and rushes toward Kazuha for a warm bear hug. Likewise, Eunchae and Leeseo meet halfway, walking to each other, exchanging hugs and kisses as well. Yunjin and Liz bow to one another before the junior idol embraces Yunjin too, sobbing on her shirt. 

Meanwhile, Gaeul steadily approaches you. Offers a handshake. You exchange bows.

"We were expecting you," she remarks. Her hair's short again, the one signature cut resembling a bob; it was long two weeks ago, right before the announcement that shook the entire world. "Didn't expect their manager to be—young."

You gulp your throat. She gives you a look that's saying I'm onto you. I'm smarter than you think. You can only smile, keep up the facade, if there even is any.

"Relax. I'm not gonna turn you in," she adds, as if reading your mind. "None of us are." 

Both of you look around and see your respective members falling apart. More than peers, they're also close friends. Bonded by adversity, heartbreak, and triumph, they've seen it all in the industry and came out of the fire unscathed. More than that, it's what their leaders, their veterans, with their wisdom and experience that helped them get this far and thrive.

Seeing them in one room makes you proud. Even though you're a nobody, something about seeing these girls together feels right. Like its destiny. 

Eventually, the tears run dry. Yunjin goes to Gaeul, as leaders and the eldest of their respective groups. They hug too. 

"They would have wanted this," Yunjin whispers against her ear. She's done her crying in the car and has been the emotional rock for the Fims. "They would be so happy we're here. It's just—"

"It's not the same, I know." Gaeul, the perceptive woman she is, captures what everyone's feeling with one simple sentence. "But we're here now. That's what matters."

In the midst of all the reconciliations, they forget that you exist. 

When all the formalities are done, Rei, Liz, and Leeseo all come to you, apologetically bowing and shaking your hand. 

"Sorry," Rei says, cheekily smiling, "Didn't realize they still had—"

"I'm not actually their manager," you casually admit, because there's no point in hiding anymore. It's the end of the world, for God's sake.

"Knew it," Gaeul mutters, to herself mostly. "I mean, we don't really have managers anymore. We said our goodbyes to them the other day."

"But it was his idea to bring us here," Eunchae blurts out, and all of a sudden, you're thrust into the center of their attention.

"That's cute," Leeseo remarks sweetly. "Honestly, it feels like a high school reunion, except" —her tone shifts to something somber— "it's a little bittersweet."

You know what she's alluding to. What all the girls have been repeating over and over for the past hour and more. Beat it over your skull at this point and have it ingrained in hot ink at this point. 

"They would have wanted this," you repeat, echoing the same drawn out sentiment because there's really no other way to put it. 

"So why, then," Liz suddenly speaks. "Why do all this? Why bring us together?"

You give the Fims a glance. Kazuha nods once. So does Yunjin. And then Eunchae. Sighing, you close your eyes, take a deep breath, then show them the photocard. Let the IVE girls see the reason and understand.

"I know I'm not anyone special," you say. "You guys sing, dance, write, make art. You make millions smile on stage and in front of the cameras. I push paper and answer emails and go home to watch your fancams. Rinse and repeat. But when the announcement came, when I knew the world was ending" —you pause, let go of a deep breath— "I thought about you. Not my family, not my future. You."

The room holds its breath. No one speaks. You can hear a pin drop in this stillness. Their heartbeats, even. It's the kind of calm that usually precedes an incoming storm, which feels apt given the immense gravity of the situation that brought you all together.

"I was ready to die, to be honest," you continue. "Already accepted my fate the moment it was announced. But earlier today, I took one last look at my office, saw this picture" —you hold it up for all to see— "and something changed. Maybe I'm not ready to go just yet. Maybe there's still one more thing I have to do. And that's this."

You flip the photo around, staring at the faces that paved the way. Your lips crack, and your expression shifts to something resembling yearning and regret. "I never saw them when they were together. Never saw you guys in the same room or take a photo either. And God, I know you're all friends, it's just—"

You pause. Shake your head. Sniffle. Shed a tear, maybe two. Find your way back. Continue.

"So here we are. I just wanted to see you guys together, even if it's for only an hour. Even if it ultimately doesn't mean anything tomorrow. Maybe I'm just wasting your time, but" —you wipe a stray tear from your eye— "thank you for everything."

They let your words sink in a few moments longer. Then Yunjin is the first to respond:

"You didn't waste our time," she says. She's looking at every person in the room, then you. "We wanted this, too. It's just—we were so caught up in our feelings to remember."

Gaeul nods in agreement. "We've been so focused on ourselves. On the what ifs, the could haves, the should haves. We were so lost on what to do, we forgot who and why we're doing this for."

Eunchae's eyes are twinkling. "We still mean something to people. Even after everything."

"But at least we're here now," Rei concludes. "Because of you. So we should be the ones thanking you."

And again, Kazuha repeats the same mantra, the universal belief that kept you all going: "They would have wanted this. Really."

For a moment, the air in the room shifts to something lighter. For once, there are smiles on faces. Even in this bleak and helpless situation, there's the one thing you cling to no matter how far gone you are: hope.

"So what now?" Leeseo then interjects. And frankly, you're amazed you've made it here without planning a single step. No one has a clue either. Two days might seem like plenty of time, but in the grand scheme of the world ending, it’s as precious as diamond, and it's quickly running out. Impulse can only take you so far.

"I live in Jeju," Liz suddenly remarks, clearing her throat. She'd been the most reserved one in the room, not having spoken even once up until this point. And even when she speaks, it’s low, naturally hushed, kept primarily for herself. "We could go there and watch the end of the world together. I can say goodbye to my family along the way."

Surprisingly, despite your four years in Korea, you've never visited once. Your work basically kept you prisoner in office, and your days off were spent at home overcompensating for your lack of sleep. It's a good idea; riding off to the literal and metaphorical sunset on this planet by the ocean. The scientists did say it was expected to land somewhere in the Korean peninsula, so your end is gonna be swift and painless. Imagine that: a body swallowed up by the sea. No better way to go out.

But then there's the others, as Yunjin points out: "Well, I'm supposed to fly out to New York tomorrow." You can see it in her eyes, the frown on her lips. The conflict, the way her heart wants to be there, but also remembering the family she has at home, the possibility of never seeing them one last time after being away for so long. 

"I'm on one of the last flights to Japan, then Amsterdam," Kazuha says regretfully. "I would love to go, but—"

"And I have family in Nagoya," Rei adds. "This was really supposed to be our last day together."

Hearing them talk about their families back at home has you reminiscing about your own too. You're here because of them, but not in a loving way. It had been a rough falling out, but they never stopped reaching out. The messages eventually became few and far between, but they always looked out for you. Even as simple as 'Hope you're okay' and going out of their way to send extra money when you've covered all your needs, they still loved you til the end. Their last update was about the meteor, obviously, but they kept wondering how you feel and whether or not you'd go home, knowing their last physical image of you was swearing you'd never come back—and you'll more than hold up that promise now.

"That's fine," you say, slightly nodding. You're already conceding in your mind that you'll die alone. This dream was simply that: a dream. It was never a guarantee. "I mean, I'd more than love to go, but I just wanted to see you guys at least once—"

"I'm going," Gaeul interjects. "Already said goodbyes to my family yesterday. I want to be with Jiwonnie. Make sure she's there with someone she loves."

Liz's eyes sparkle and her smile brightens. For a second, you see a glimpse of the old Liz, the performer she is on stage.

Leeseo is resolute. "I'll go too. Eunchae, you're coming right?"

Facing her, Eunchae's eyes widen in shock, completely taken by surprise. "Woah, woah. I haven't gone home yet. Also, what about our sleepover with Kyujin—"

"She can come if you want. I'll let her know about this."

Eunchae can't help but laugh. "Alright, fine. You win, I guess. I'll be there too."

Yunjin and Kazuha smile at their member, elated that their youngest won't be alone. "We're sorry we can't be there," Yunjin says, caressing Eunchae's head, brushing her brown locks. "but they would be so proud knowing you're taking care of each other til the end."

Rei's been on her phone through the conversation, which explains why she's keeping distance, facing the practice room wall. Only now do any of you realize. 

"Rei-chan!" Kazuha calls to her, and she turns around with that cheeky grin.

"Guess what," she says, and her smile is so goddamn infectious, she'd make you believe they found a way to stop the meteor from hitting just now. "Called my parents. They're gonna miss me a lot, but I knew I wasn't letting you all go without me."

Liz runs over to give her an emphatic hug. They've always been so close, so joined to the hip at points. You can imagine Rei playfully arguing over the phone begging to stay, that she wouldn't live without her and vice versa. "Took only seven minutes," she adds, as she lets Liz cry on her shoulder from joy.

So here's the score with all the commotion going on: the IVE girls are staying together, Leeseo has Eunchae tied down, while Yunjin and Kazuha are flying home to their respective countries tomorrow. It was fun while it lasted, these two or so hours. Even if the interactions were brief and emotionally charged, at least you got these two groups together one last time. 

"I guess it's the six of us at least," you remark, including yourself in that list of people heading off to Jeju to watch the sunset over your incoming demise. Deep down, you always wanted to go; you just needed a reason to stick together, no matter how many people would be present. "I can come along too, right?"

"Of course," Leeseo immediately answers, like no is not an option. "You brought us all here. You should be there."

"And we're sorry we might not be there," Yunjin adds, apologetic again. "But they're amazing company. Trust us."

"Rei will keep you up all night," Kazuha jokes, prompting Rei to shoot her a mischievous scowl. Liz randomly blushes. "And if you're ever missing us, just know we'll be there in spirit."

It's the kind of reassurance that harkens back to old days. When they would post on Weverse and on streams to fans needing strength to carry on through hard times. Because even in your final hours, you need a bridge to cross over to the other side safely. They still do, but you could tell the feeling isn't the same; they don't even believe it themselves. Until now. For a moment, they're idols again.

"That's everything settled," Gaeul remarks. The room turns its attention to her. "We'll meet here tomorrow morning or at the HYBE building, whichever feels more convenient—"

"HYBE building," Leeseo interrupts. "I like this place and all, but I don't think we can all fit in the lobby."

No one else speaks up. No one objects. After a moment to ruminate the options, Gaeul opens her mouth again. 

"Since Eunchae's the only Fim joining us, I feel comfortable if we all just met here."

"But—"

"It's okay, Seo." Eunchae cuts Leeseo off. "I know my way around. I can take care of myself."

Leeseo opens her mouth. No words come out, so she closes them again. Hard to believe they're grown now when they were babies not that long ago. You can still see flashes of that in her mannerisms and character.

"We'll meet here at dawn," Gaeul continues. "Tonight, we go home, pack all our belongings, say goodbye to our families if we can. Rest up. Tomorrow's gonna be the longest day ever."

Everyone nods in agreement. Then Yunjin and Kazuha give hugs to each and every single one in the room. Including you.

"Gonna miss you guys a lot," Yunjin would mutter to every person. She's always worn her heart on her sleeve, so you know genuine emotion is felt in every word, every tight embrace. You hardly know each other (you literally just met two hours ago), yet she hugs you like you've been best friends for a lifetime. Maybe in the next one.

On the other hand, Kazuha is calm and stoic. Doesn't show her true self much, with or without cameras. She smiles. Laughs. Reacts. She's never been one to let loose, always disciplined in her intuition. Nevertheless, the care is there, that maternal instinct kicking in when she hugs everyone, with you last.

"You've done us a great favor bringing us together," she whispers in your ear. "Now they won't be alone."

"Never been. They always had you."

"And we had them to guide us," she replies back. There's an ache in how she refers to them. The ones who would be proud and would make the initiative to gather them all. "I wish we thought of this sooner."

"Not late," you say. "It's not too late."

Minutes later, you all emerge from the practice room with a newfound confidence, one that feels rare given what's to come. The lobby is still packed, but you become the center of attention. The girls give their farewell bows and waves to the idols waiting, chatting it up in the lounge. Yeonjung stops Gaeul for a quick exchange while the rest of you go on ahead. No one asks where you're going or why. And as you pass by the desk, the receptionist is watching some variety show on her phone, but at the edge of the screen, the doomsday clock is still ticking, counting down, a slow inevitability.

Less than two days remain.

—————

Sleep never comes that night.

You've had your restless nights. It's been a habit as far back as college. Instead of research and work, however, you've been thinking about them. Those girls. The ones who made your life tolerable even in the smallest of ways: their music, personalities, performances, and everything in between. You may not have known them much, if at all, but their existence has defined you. And wonder what could have been. The fact you've gotten the seven of them together is a miracle in its own right, how much more the rest.

But that's for another lifetime. The inky blackness of night gives away for royal blue, the incoming sunrise. You haven't packed even a single thing since you got home. There's only less than 40 hours left, and the biggest day of your lives is looming ever closer.

No time to worry about that. You do your usual morning routine: shower, breakfast, then pack. A backpack with your essentials, three sets of clothing changes, grooming kit, and the bottle of unopened champagne is all you're bringing. The last time you remember carrying this much was when you first arrived in Korea. Now it's come full circle.

Before you leave, you do two more things: pocket the photo you took from the office in your jacket—the very reason for all this—and blow out the candle set in front of a second personal shrine, this time encompassing a whole shelf. You'll miss the albums, the photocards, the polaroids, the memories embedded in them. And despite letting them go, you don't regret a single purchase or a single cent.

With that, you take a deep breath and step out of your house for the last time.

By the time you reach the hill where the Starship building stands, the entrance is already packed.

They've been waiting a good 15 to 20 minutes, Gaeul says. The rest of the girls are there, as expected: Rei, Liz, Leeseo, and Eunchae. The plan is this: you'll take a ferry to Jeju, because all flights within and out of Korea have already been taken, and the world is shutting down tomorrow.

You greet one another warmly, with hugs and kisses than bows now. The first thing you notice is how much luggage each of them are carrying in comparison to your solitary backpack. Three to four bags for each person, like they're embarking on a world tour instead of watching the world end. 

The next is Rei and Liz wearing matching brown hoodies. "Christmas gift," Rei would comment, and she'd reveal they were shocked and laughed when they found out they gifted each other the exact same thing for their secret santa. It brought them even closer that day, and you can tell by how they’re glued to the hip.

Then you turn to Leeseo and Eunchae. Just the two of them instead of three like what they've been talking about the previous night. "Kyujin had a change of heart. She wanted to be with her members," Eunchae would answer, and you wonder if this was inspired by what happened yesterday. You can see the vision: a majority of these groups, bonded by hardship and success, spending their final day together like this.

Just then, you hear the rumble of an engine. Followed by another. Actually, there's three of them pulling up to the hill.

"Our ride's here," Gaeul remarks, standing up from the stairsteps. Three identical black vans await, enough to seat your group three times over. The passenger door to the first one opens, and everyone smiles from ear to ear. 

You can't help yourself either, because Yunjin steps forward with her arms wide open. 

"How's my favorite people in the world?" she asks energetically, and God, you missed that bubbly energy so bad. Not just on stage or in front of cameras, but in general.

"Yunjin, I thought you were—" 

"I couldn't help myself. I said my goodbyes over the phone last night," she cuts you off, putting a hand on your shoulder as she walks into a spree of hugs from the girls, especially Eunchae. "There was a lot of crying and pleading, especially with Rachel, but they were more than willing to let me go. So here we are."

"We?"

From the second van, Kazuha emerges quietly, waving hello at everyone, but with no less fanfare. The group, as you know it, is officially complete. 

"You can thank Yunjin for this," she simply says, laidback and composed as usual. "She crashed mid-call while I was bidding farewell to my family."

"No I didn't," Yunjin playfully denies. "You were 10 seconds away from hanging up."

"But you still crashed my call."

"Did not."

"Did."

They go back and forth a few times, while the rest of you can only laugh along. It's all in playful jest, but it still doesn't answer why there's three vans. You understand that two are needed to accommodate you all, separating you into your respective groups with your luggage, but a third seems unnecessary. 

So Yunjin explains it on the walk to the van, and it's rather simple: "All our camping stuff! Tents, foldable chairs, everything to make our last day on earth not as miserable." 

"I'm surprised you're not driving," Eunchae remarks to Yunjin as you head for the vans. The drivers come out from their seats to assist with the many, many bags. 

"I would have driven us into a ditch. Eventually," she quips back, drawing another round of laughs. 

—————

You get to the port faster than expected.

The chaos has all but completely died. It's like the remaining people that haven't fully accepted the inevitable are finally coming to terms with their fate. Fires are petering out, most if not all non-essential stores are closed, and the mood is just dour all around. It doesn't help that the weather feels like it wants to break your spirit: cloudy skies, roaring thunder, the occasional drizzle—this eerie atmosphere leaves shivers even on the most resolute of souls.

Nevertheless, you make it onboard the first ferry to Jeju. You slept through the drive there, so you're woken up by the sound of horns blaring and the waters crashing against the shore. One of the last normal places on earth, you reckon, there's this stillness keeping everything afloat. Even with all the shouting and noise, that serenity holds it all together. Because for every shout by a driver, there's a man reading his Bible. For every crying infant being comforted by their mother, there's a couple holding hands on the ship's deck. For every dog bark, there's the flap of seagull wings.

And then there's you: for every tired, drained soul is another smiling widely through their grief. People who've resigned to their fate and are making the most of their time left, like the diagnosis is terminal. Here, the rain has stopped. The skies remain gray, but patches of blue, hints of the sun, begin shining through.

Two hours, the captain said. Two hours before you reach Jeju, your final resting place. And from what you've seen, there's not a lot of better, greener places to die on.

While the girls catch up with one another downstairs, you find yourself leaning on the railing alone. The last 24 hours or so haven't felt real yet. You're really here, on a boat headed to Jeju alongside the idols you loved. You're doing things you never thought you'd have a chance to do, living beyond your mundane four walls and monotonous weekday routine. All it took was the end of the world for it to happen. 

You don't notice Liz creeping up beside you, breaking away from the pack. Her hair is being tossed around by the wind, almost concealing her face.

"Hey," she mumbles against you, almost muted by the waters. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you reply, keeping your tone low, tilting your head in her direction but averting your gaze. "So—you get to go home. Be with family. For the end."

She nods, then shakes her head. Lets out a pained chuckle. "Sure. But I'll be with you, and them. I won't stay, just passing by to say my goodbyes to everyone."

"Right, right."

You watch the waves down below. Trace the trail the ferry makes as it cruises forward. No animal surfaces from the waters; it’s just the sea streaming backward. Meanwhile, Liz keeps her gaze straight, at the vast ocean ahead. Endless cloudy skies, endless ocean. The mainland is long gone from view; none of you will ever step foot in it again.

"When you moved from Jeju, as a trainee," you then start, after a few minutes of quiet reflection, You're facing Liz now, and she meets you halfway. "What was it like? How was—adjusting to the city?"

She doesn't speak. Not right away. That's how she normally is: reserved and withdrawn, careful when to talk and with her choice of words. "It was rough. I wasn't familiar with, well—everything. I took a big risk going out there alone. I'd get lost to and from the building, my accent was rough, and I'd get weird looks from anyone because I wasn't so used to everything. It was—brutal. I thought if I wasn't gonna get cut for my looks, it was definitely because I showed up late especially during those first two months."

In a way, your first year isn't far off from her experience. You didn't speak the language and had to use a translator more often than not. You didn't know cars were right-hand drive. You broke so many traditional customs and rules that it was a miracle you weren’t put into prison. It took you a year to read and write in basic Korean, but you eventually adjusted.

"But," she continues, "the girls helped me out so much." Her gaze flicks to the stairs, pertaining to the girls on the lower deck. "They were so kind, so patient. They took me in as one of their own." She then looks up at the sky, stares for a while as the sun slowly parts through the clouds, then down at the ocean. "Especially Yujin and Wonyoung. They taught me everything as idols."

"Right," you say, and you think about how fast they must have grown up. They were the youngest back then, the ones cared for and coddled by everyone else, only to turn around a few months later to become those maternal figures for girls not that far off in age from them. Wonyoung especially, with how the media and spotlight has been far more critical towards every little thing she does. They must have carried wisdom beyond their years.

"The one thing I cherish the most was what they said to me before our last evaluation, right as we were getting ready to debut," she adds, and you can see her features crack up remembering in real time. "was that I should always be myself. No matter if people hated me or not. They said that true fans would see through everything and like me for who I am. It's been my mantra ever since."

Your gaze flicks to the vast ocean ahead. Jeju is beginning to rise above the horizon. Seeing this, Liz walks away, but you call to her before she reaches the stairs.

"Jiwon."

She turns around. Faces you eye to eye. Your heart races. You're nervous, but not out of love; this isn't a confession.

"I'm sure they're proud of you," you say. "Proud you stayed true to yourself."

She doesn't react. Doesn't say a word back. Rather, she continues walking and heads down the stairs, but as she disappears, you can see a trace of a smile forming on her lips. 

One step out of the ferry is enough to inform you that the difference between Jeju and the mainland is night and day. The air you breathe is fresher, the grass is greener, and the world is quieter, but in a peaceful, serene way. You can hardly tell the end of the world is happening if you lived here.

Liz finds you waiting outside. The vans are still inside the ferry, waiting to disembark. Some families are reuniting here, hugging those who have chosen to return home and spend their final hours with their loved ones. One look in her eyes says it all: she wishes she could have been back on a better day.

"I just wanted to say thank you," she says, and it's sincere enough to break through her reserved nature. "For saying that. For saying I'm still–me."

Your mouth opens instinctively, but only air comes out. You were never the best at listening or giving responses, but it's your connection to those girls that you can meet halfway and relate.

"O-of course," you manage, and your brain is glitching trying to find the right words to say. "But I'm just a guy who only knew you cause of them–"

"And you accepted us, too. Right?" Liz cuts you off gently. Hand on your shoulder, she knows where you're coming from.

You can only nod. Of course you did. Loved them the same way as those girls. They're an extension of their legacy, their lineage. 

She's walking away again. You hear the blare from one of the vans. Her smile is wider now, a glimpse of the old Liz. "Come on. Family's expecting a huge party. They've prepared lunch for us."

The road to Liz's house is long and winding. Remote, as with most of the places in Jeju, considering the rent's cheaper but there’s not a lot of people living here. Eventually, tarmac gives away to a mile long stretch of gravel, sandwiched by never-ending fields extending outward. Your driver remarks that essentials haven't been shipped here in almost a week, and for good reason. No point in trying to save lives when you're near the Earth's demolition zone, but given how abundant the harvest looks, they don't seem to have a problem at least.

As the convoy approaches a house nestled on a hill, a makeshift Welcome Home Jiwon banner hangs by the front door. Hero's welcome, Leeseo would say, and even though Liz laughs and it's in good nature, that bittersweet undertone lingers. You can't imagine being her: the last two homecomings being both under the worst circumstances. 

You step out first. Liz follows after you, then the rest of the IVE members. Yunjin emerges from the passenger seat of the second van. The other two stay in their respective vehicles for now. As the wind blows the bottom edges of the banner, no one is stepping out to greet your party.

As the girls turn to Liz, she calls out: "Mom. Dad. I'm home."

And for a few seconds, no one answers back. Then the front door swings open, and out comes her younger brother.

"Noona! You really came!" He comes rushing down the stairs screaming and runs hugging his sister. He doesn't seem to acknowledge your existence, or her friends and traveling companions for that matter. Nevertheless, everyone steps back and gives them their moment. "It's been a while!"

She smiles. "Only been two months," she corrects, met by a playful slap on her cheek in retaliation. 

"Two months too long," he says, and they share a laugh. Warm, pleasant, wholesome. And even though they've already said their goodbyes, you imagine these other girls would rather be with their own families than spending their last day here.

As the Kim siblings finish hugging, their mother steps out, her smile inviting. "Welcome home, Jiwonnie." Then her gaze flicks to the rest of you, finding you first. "And to you as well. Thank you for bringing her home to us."

You bow first, leading the rest. Your smile is small, your presence carefully contained. 

"Come on in," she then says, stepping back into the house with an inviting gesture of her hand. "We prepared lunch for everyone."

Inside, the house feels quite lived in. The paint on the walls looks fresh, the place already smelling of cooked meat and other food. Liz's brother has already run to the kitchen helping out Mr. Kim with the last of the meals. You hear the ping of an oven, something simmering on the pan. The girls carefully take their seats in the living room while you wander around aimlessly. 

Your gaze flicks on a table with framed memories of Liz throughout time: her as a preschooler, in third grade, a solo pic inside the Starship building when she was a trainee, and most recent of all, with her fellow members not that long ago (give or take a few years). They visited here at some point, probably a few times.

Yujin and Wonyoung are smiling widely in the picture, you observe. Their eyes look so bright, like they see their futures ahead of them. Can't help but smile too, even if it's not the real thing.

"That was not long after we all renewed our contracts," Gaeul suddenly mumbles, having stepped beside you while you were deep in thought. "I thought we had forever, but–" 

She shakes her head, her tone shifting to something somber. Her lips are moving, but nothing comes out, only air. The look on her face tells you everything you know: regret.

"I don't know why she went," she mutters, mainly to herself, but you can hear her. "I should have told her not to–"

"It wasn't your fault," you kindly say. Your hand on her shoulder, she's holding the photo now, a little too tight for comfort. "Was just–bad luck. They wouldn't have known. None of you did."

Her hands are trembling, soon followed by the rest of her body. She looks like she's ready to crumble anytime. Leeseo sees this and walks over to her to give her a hug, and Gaeul immediately lets go: she sobs on her shoulder and into her embrace. 

Liz, helping her family the entire time, is on your other side. "She's never been able to forgive herself for it," she remarks, sympathetic. "Come on. Lunch is ready."

The distribution is split into three rounds, since it can only seat ten. The family isn't used to such a large party, but there's more than enough food and drink to go around for even thirds. It's quite the last supper. 

Against your wishes, they invite you to take first, followed by the IVE members, then the Fimmies. Liz's family eats last; they sit around the table, while you scramble throughout the living room for lunch. Gaeul stays in front of the photo, while Leeseo and Rei hover close by her side. Yunjin's talking with someone over the phone, and Eunchae and Kazuha sit by you in the guest area, eating quietly.

"We were so surprised when it happened," Kazuha mumbles between chomps. "We all did. It was so sudden."

You definitely know. It was everywhere for a whole week. While you were busy maintaining your nine to five, the world was moving too fast to keep up. And while this incident brought most of Korea to their knees, you were still sleeping under that metaphorical rock.

Eunchae nods in agreement. "When Sakura and Chaewon heard of it, I never saw them cry this much and weep so loud."

Of course they did. They'd be the first people to throw themselves into the fire to keep the rest of the girls warm. The others too, but they'd all be fighting to see who'd keep them safe instead. When it happened, the rest would fall, and ultimately they did. Little did anyone know that was the beginning of a domino effect.

And all you can do is just eat quietly, reflecting on what could have been.

An hour and a half later, the party is ready to hit the road again. Liz got their blessing and approval to be with you for the end of the world, and though it pains the family, it's her heart's desire, and they're more than willing to let her go one last time.

The Kim family gives Liz one final hug. Mrs. Kim is crying. Mr. Kim is steady, but on the verge of falling apart too. Her younger brother is holding her tightly, refusing to let go.

"If somehow, we ever survive this," he mumbles against her hair, "Then I don't want you to leave us ever again. You understand me?"

Liz is crying too, but she softly laughs. "You bet."

You don't see any of this. Only hearing the commotion, as you're using the bathroom. Washing your slick face, you stare at your reflection. Blink a few times. They're sharing hearty laughs outside now, exchanging promises to see each other in the next life, but their voices gradually die down. Your ears start ringing. 

They're talking.

"I miss them too," someone says. The voice is distinctly feminine.

"They'll be alright," another answers. This one too, is also feminine. They're quite clear, in fact. Reverberating in your ears. Like they're in the room with you right now.

So you look around. Nothing. Just you. But you can still hear them clearly.

"So glad they're together," the first girl says. "Glad they didn't forget about each other. And us."

The other woman makes a satisfied hum. And then they fade out, like this was some kind of fatigue-induced dream.

You're still looking around, trying to find where they went. Nothing. 

"Hey!" Mr. Kim calls out from the living room, grounding you back to reality. "You have somewhere to be."

Your eyes glaze back at the bathroom door; your legs are so wobbly, you end up leaning. "I'll be out in a bit."

Here's what you'll do when you step out: you won't tell them what you were hearing. There's no feasible way to make it sound sense, even though your outrageous idea has brought you all together. And while they've heard crazier things at the end of the world, none of them hit quite as close to home as this. Some thoughts are best kept secret and left unspoken.

So the dust you were taken from, and so will you be dust when you return. That's a verse you remember when you were young and still had faith.

But right now, all you see is green. An endless land of green. 

Completely untouched by man, Jeju's cliffs rise up to the edge of the island. The seas are a lifetime below, its waves crashing violently along the rock formations and the bluff. Otherwise, it's the most serene place you've ever been in. If there was ever a final frontier on Earth, this was it: it's no Tower of Babel, but it's the closest you'll get to touching heaven.

After a moment to soak in the fresh air, you all get to unpacking. Unfurling tents, laying out food, spreading out jackets, unfolding chairs, taking photos, saving their final memories. Wood is as common as oxygen here, perfect for the fire you'll light up at night. Even out here, high up in the hills of Jeju, reception remains strong; someone has their phone on the news, keeping track of the doomsday clock. 28 hours left, the trackers say, and it's gonna time perfectly with the last sunset this world will ever see.

Hours pass. The bright blueness of day gives way to sunset’s orange, and you see the asteroid now: brighter than any other star, small but rapidly approaching. No one's brought a telescope, but you all will see up close and personal soon anyway. 

24 hours remain, the tracker reads on Google. You're standing alone on the edge of the cliffs, atop a small hill that makes you feel closer to God than ever before. Ahead the ocean stretches out endlessly, bleeding orange against the waters. Soon, it'll be red and black and melted away. As the sun sets on the horizon, sinking for its next rotation, the winds are becoming breezier and colder. 

This feeling of being closer to God–you feel them here too. You've got no evidence other than your gut, your instinct telling you this. The same intuition that made you look twice on your office wall, prompted you to take that photo, brought you to the HYBE building–it's all been building to this. Like it's a part of some divine scheme. 

Look to your right and the camp several levels below is all but completely finished. The bonfire is starting, the place is lit up by portable lanterns and the girls are specks of dust from your view. Someone's waving at you from that distance; no shit, you don't know who it is.

That's your signal to head back down and return. But before you do, there's one more thing:

The photo's been pocketed in your pants the entire time. You pull it out and hold it on the cliff. It was taken at a place similar to this: sunset background, their hands raised to the sky, with their final days looming around the corner too. The parallels couldn't be any more eerie. 

And a new thought comes up: how did they feel around that time. How they embraced their final days knowing it was about to end. Did they beg. Did they plead. Did they accept their fate. They definitely cried, though. How many times, you don't know.

That was a lifetime ago, yet with the meteor approaching, it feels like it was only yesterday.

—————

This group circle hearkens back to your last days in college. 

It was a spiritual retreat before graduation, a two day respite from your internship and other commitments to reflect on the past four years. The night ended like this too: each person coming forward to share their memories, their grievances, and everything in between. No stone was left unturned, no darkness left hidden in the light. You don't remember much other than being closed off from everyone else, that your only regret was not being more sociable, but in the time between that and now, hardly that part has changed. 

The fire's smoke reaches up to the inky night sky, crackling and spitting. All of you–eight to be exact–sit around the campfire. Some in folded chairs, others on the grass, and the rest on blankets or jackets. Coffee's being passed around as the evening chill settles comfortably throughout the area. Lanterns and portable lights make everyone's faces somewhat visible.

No one speaks. No one's taken up the presiding role. At least not yet.

22 hours, says the ticker, and it's being reported that only 5000 or so people have been granted passage to the top secret bunkers to live on after the meteor hits. World leaders, a handful of celebrities, and billionaires who bought their way in, obviously. But there's no point in protesting; it's tucked somewhere unknown, off radar, and they don't give two shits about what happens to everyone now.

"So," Yunjin starts, and she can hardly be heard, barely carried by the wind. "Since it's our last night together, I think, we should all share stories." Her gaze flicks left and right, by the members beside her and the friends made along the way. "Anyone wanna go first?"

She's met by silence. It’s neither awkward nor tense. The kind that's usually reserved for students when asked about a lecture they should be paying attention to, but instead drift off from. Good effort, though, you think to yourself. She's always been the social butterfly, the most outgoing of the bunch.

"Alright. Guess I'll have a go," she continues, almost muttering to herself, trying to laugh the cringe away. Doesn't quite reach it. Then she breathes. Hands clasped together, she stares at the fire for a moment, then tilts forward. 

"As you all know, me, Chaewon, and Nako go all the way back," Yunjin starts, her face lit by the fire. "You know how competitive it gets at times, especially when it’s on national television. I wanted to prove myself to the people, because I knew I could be great. Chaewon let me. Nako let me too, even though she was the one that was really meant for the part, and I can't thank her enough. There was no argument from anyone. But then–people thought I was greedy. Selfish for wanting to take the vocal role. But it was because of them I got to shine, even if I ultimately didn't make it onto the final lineup. Then, geez, as fate would have it, we'd end up in the same group together a few years later."

She laughs. Smiles at the thought. It's genuine, warm. "She was meant to be a leader. She sees the best in people and she makes them believe in themselves. I count myself so goddamn lucky to be Chaewon's teammate, but more importantly, as a friend." Looking to her members beside her, she nudges them closer. "We all are. So kind, so gracious, and so pure of heart." She sighs. Blinks. A pair of tears fall from her eyes. "Wherever you are Chaewon, just know we wish you were here with us. Because you would be."

Kazuha speaks up next. She sounds almost quiet, as if restraining herself. "When I first arrived in Korea, I didn't speak the language. I mean, I knew some of the basics–hello, goodbye, thank you, where is the bathroom–but I couldn't hold a conversation with anyone. I couldn't even order food without having to point at pictures. I felt helpless."

Her smile is just as small as Yunjin's, sad and bittersweet. "Then came the low point. I was scolded by the choreographer during training for not keeping up with the others, because I couldn't understand what she was saying."

She shifts in her seat, crossing her leg as she gazes into the fire. "I cried in my room that night. It was the worst I felt about myself since I began learning ballet. It had only been a month, but I thought about quitting already. Maybe this wasn't for me, I thought to myself. Then Sakura came into my room, knocking on my door. She sat by me and said, 'It's hard isn't it? Being somewhere new. Becoming someone new,' and I said yes. And you know the part that got me? She told me she did it three times. The first in Japan, then in Korea, and then—with me."

Her gaze flicks toward Yunjin and Eunchae. They're smiling wide, so she can't help but grin seeing them too. "With us. We hadn't debuted yet, not even close. But she spoke like it was happening the next day. Like we were already past the hardest part."

Kazuha holds her hands close to her heart. "She never got impatient. Never made me feel stupid. Between practices, she'd help me get accustomed to the language. She'd speak on my behalf whenever I wanted to express myself until I was ready to do it on my own. And even after I became fluent, I never stopped learning from her. If not for her, I wouldn't have become an idol. If not for her, I wouldn't be here with you guys. She's the reason I can speak here today, and be proud of how far I’ve come. I just wish I could tell her that. I had so many chances, but I never did. Not really. Not in a way that matters."

Eunchae's wiping a tear from her eye before she takes the floor. "They're all sisters and mother figures to me. Chaewon, Sakura, Yunjin, Zuha—you all took care of me. Protected me. Made sure I couldn't be swallowed by the system completely."

She pauses. Swallows her throat. 

"I was so young when I joined. Too young now that I think about it. I didn't really know what I was doing; I just followed my heart and wanted to dance. I didn't know who I was, but they did. They took me in and loved me, and because of them, I grew into someone I can be proud of."

Her voice cracks at the end of her last sentence. Leeseo instinctively reaches out and holds her hand. Yunjin puts a comforting hand on her back.

"I don't know what I'm going to do without them," she whispers. "I just hope we can be together, even in the next life."

Yunjin then pulls her into an impassioned hug. Kazuha reaches over to rest a hand on her knee. As close as Leeseo is to her, she lets them have their moment. The whole group does.

Gaeul speaks up next. Low and steady, it’s the kind of tone used to holding things together. "Yujin and I were the oldest, so naturally, the leadership role came down to the both of us. Then she ended up getting chosen, much to the shock of everyone else." She faces her members, who nod once in agreement. "You were there. I still remember that day. We just wrapped up the jacket shoot for our debut, and they announced it three days before our last evaluation."

"Wonyoung was especially sad," Liz quietly remarks. "She wasn't gonna be the maknae like before."

"Yeah, and that's exactly why we all were," she answers. "She essentially had to mature overnight. But that night, she came up to me and said, 'Unnie, I need you. I need someone older, someone wiser, someone who can hold me up when I crumble.' And to be honest, when I heard of it, I didn't think I was the right person for the job. She had more experience in the industry, and so did Wonyoung, so I felt that she was more qualified. But then it clicked: she was still young. She was still a teenager trying to figure things out, and she needed someone to reassure her she'd be okay. So I did. I became the person she can confide in, whenever she doubted herself, even when she worried about everyone else."

She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. "She would have wanted to be here. She would have loved to see us all together. I'm sorry I couldn't fulfill that promise to the end. I'm sorry I couldn't be by her side, and the one time I wasn't, I paid the ultimate price."

Rei mutters something to Kazuha. Her lips are concealed behind her hand. They're exchanging smiles. Some laughs, too. Then she puts her hand down.

"When I came to Korea the first time, I was lonely. Not homesick, exactly; I missed Japan, but I knew I wanted to be here. I knew this was where I belonged. But I didn't have anyone: no friends, no family, no one who understood what I was going through."

She turns to face Liz, and their hands find each other.

"Then these girls took me in. They didn't care that I was the first Japanese trainee the company recruited; in fact, they learned Japanese so they could communicate with me. They made me feel at home, even when I was so far away. They helped me get accustomed to Korea, and I couldn't thank them enough. For that, I have no regrets. None."

They lean on each other's heads. Rei smiles at Liz, and she blushes in response. She lets go of her hand to speak next:

"I grew up on this island. It's beautiful, but it's small. Isolated. I hardly had friends to play with or have lifelong bonds with. Seoul was mostly what I saw on the TV and in pictures, so it became my dream to see the bright lights and the big city. And when I got there, I was—terrified. People were hostile to my accent. I got lost so often. I didn't know anything except I was a girl from Jeju who was in over her head."

Her gaze flicks to Gaeul beside Rei, then Leeseo next to Eunchae. There's two spots where they should be seated in, but instead is an unoccupied void that can't be filled.

"They welcomed me. All of them. They loved me the way I am. It didn't matter that I wasn't polished or perfect, or that I was so clumsy and arrived late to practices; they helped me find my way. They made Seoul feel like a second home." Liz covers her mouth, nearly reaching up to her eyes. When she talks again, the words come out almost inaudible. "I don't know if I ever told them that. I don't know if they knew how much they meant to me, but I hope they did. I hope they knew."

Leeseo's been waiting for her turn patiently and quietly. When she takes the floor, she sounds smaller than the rest, but no less steady:

"My unnies were my mentors. They taught me everything: how to dance, sing, act in front of cameras. Being everything an idol should be, basically." She pauses. Grins. It's quite the contrast compared to the otherwise solemn atmosphere and previous melancholic testimonies of the others. "It helps when one of those members is Jang Wonyoung, and the other is An Yujin. They were so perfect for us—and each other."

Everyone smiles. Warm, genuine, bright. Some much needed levity in the space.

"But they also taught me how to be brave," she continues. Her energy is dimmed just slightly, but still sincere. "How to keep going even when I was scared. How to smile even when I wanted to cry."

She looks at the fire, then at Eunchae, before staring up at the sky.

"I'm still learning. I'm still scared. But I'm here. And I'm not alone. And it's because of them. I hope I can be that person for someone the same way they did for me."

The fire has burned low. The logs are crumbling at the edges. Its warmth feels softer now, more gentle. Everyone has told their stories, shared fond memories, poured out regrets, and everything in between.

"Now then," Yunjin says, presiding once again. Her gaze flicks to you, seated across the fire, and everyone else follows suit. She doesn't press on any further, letting you decide whether you want to take the floor. And after some thoughtful consideration, your lips curve in the shape of a smile.

Of course you pull the photo out. It's like your personal gun at this point. They can barely make out the figures even with the fire, but the faces on it are too familiar, too recognizable to matter. The implication is right there.

"I was there from the beginning. Way before that," you say, holding the photo, scanning it front and back. "Since Produce 48. So yeah, I saw your performance of Into the New World," you add, staring directly at Yunjin. "I watched the show every single week. I had my picks. Argued with strangers online about who deserve to make it. I had my favorites; everyone did. And when the final lineup was announced, it" -you swallow- "wasn't what I wanted."

Yunjin leans forward. Kazuha's face shifts. Everyone waits with bated breath. 

"Not gonna lie, some of my picks didn't make it," you continue, averting your gaze, looking down on the ground. "And those that took their place—I didn't understand. I was angry. Disappointed. I almost didn't follow the group at all."

You're holding the photo with both hands, staring into each member's eyes, remembering the qualities that captured your heart. "And when they debuted. I watched their debut stage, and" —the words die gradually on your tongue— "I don't know how to explain it. I just—fell in love. Not just with my picks, but all of them. The way they danced, the way their voices sounded, their music—it's like they've been brought together not by some committee or public vote, but through divine intervention. Like they were a team of destiny."

The fire crackles. You pause to catch your breath. Your glance shoots upward to the sky, at the smoke rising to the heavens. "Then the whole voting scandal came out, and everything fell apart. People wanted their heads. Said they shouldn't exist, that their legacy was a fraud. And maybe that's true, knowing what we know now, but those girls didn't deserve any of the hate. They didn't choose any of that. They simply—showed up and worked hard. Most important of all, they loved what they were doing, and they loved each other. They made something beautiful, even if the foundations were flawed from the start."

Somehow, through it all, you don't cry. You remains steadfast. Probably because you’ve done your weeping a long time ago. Or you lost your ability to feel. Maybe both. Around you, they're intently watching, crying, listening. You feel jealous for these girls; not only because they got to be closer to them than you could ever dream of, but for exactly that: the fact they have a living, breathing soul. 

Nevertheless, you carry on: "I supported them through everything. The highs, the lows, the record breaking pandemic year, the eventual disbandment. I waited for their solo debuts, their new groups, their new careers. I watched Yena transform into a three-dimensional entertainer, Yuri, Hyewon, and Minju become award-winning actresses, Eunbi turn into a festival legend, Chaeyeon competing in every dance show imaginable because her love for dancing is just that insatiable, Nako establishing herself in Japan while occasionally dipping in Korea every now and then—"

With each name, your smile grows marginally wider. With every acknowledgment of their legacy, your face becomes brighter. 

"And don't even get me started on you girls," you add. You're looking at them one by one: Yunjin, Kazuha, Eunchae, Gaeul, Rei, Liz, and Leeseo, and the rest who aren't there but present in spirit—the long-term impact they left on not just you, but on K-pop in general. "I don't really need to say much, because you're living proof of their influence on the industry."

Their responses are all over the place, but in a positive way. Liz covers her face with her hands. Rei smiles through her eyes. Eunchae's eyes glisten. Yunjin has this proud, affirming look on her lips. Kazuha nods once. Gaeul simply looks away. 

"But," you continue, looking at that photo again. "it's not the same, you know? Not the same without them. Without all of them. When they were together, they were—a constellation. A family. And I know; I know they've moved on. They have these new careers, new lives, new people to love and take care of. And I did too. I accepted you guys the same way they did. But some part of me kept waiting, kept hoping, kept wishing that somehow, someday, I'd get to see them reunited again, even just once. I.O.I did it; why can't they? And that opportunity never came."

You look up to the sky once more. The smoke is dying down. The fire is on the verge of burning out. The sky is clear, countless stars twinkling far above. Soak every second you have left to see the night.

"Then the world started ending. At first, I was just ready to die. Honestly, I prayed the meteor would come sooner than later. I didn't really see any reason in hoping or living any further. But, as I was about to clock out of work, I thought of them. I remembered this photo." You hold it up for all to see, even in the near dark. "And I thought, if I'm going to die, I want to do one more thing. Even if it was impossible, I wanted to see them one more time. So instead of going home, I went to HYBE, and then" —you gesture with your free hand— "here we are."

You take the deepest breath of your life. The fire pops. Someone's sniffling, another is sobbing. 

"They would have wanted this," Gaeul quietly remarks. "Yujin would have wanted us to be together. I know she would have done the same."

"They're here," Yunjin says. She looks around at the circle, something she'll never get tired of. "In a way. We're representing them by being here."

Kazuha reaches across the fire and takes your hand. Warm, but gentle. "Thank you. For remembering them. For remembering us."

"I think this was the best idea," Liz adds. "We're not alone when tomorrow comes, because we have each other."

The atmosphere in the circle shifts to something lighter. The fire has all but completely fizzled out, reduced to faint embers. Eunchae rips open a bag of marshmallows; Leeseo whines that she should have brought it out when the fire was still stronger. Her complaining becomes irrelevant when she has first dibs, then passes it around the group.

"Okay, now what about comfort songs," Yunjin asks. "What's the one song we're listening to at the end of the world?"

For a moment, everyone thinks about their answers carefully. A surprising struggle, like a pop quiz has been dropped. Eventually, they're given out one by one:

"One Last Time by Ariana Grande," says Liz. "That one also had a meteor apocalypse for the music video. Feels fitting for tomorrow."

"Rebel Heart," Rei follows. "They did say that song gives off disbandment vibes, and well—we are disbanding. Technically."

"Give me Just the Way You Are," Leeseo chimes in. "The Milky song. It always gets me in a good mood no matter how low or scared I'm feeling."

"I guess Bohemian Rhapsody's a good shout," Gaeul comments. "Six minutes, and it's got everything from sentimental to orchestral and even rock. No better last song to go out on."

"I'll do you one better," Yunjin suggests. "All Too Well. The full 10 minutes. At least we can say we were standing at the end of the world when it hits."

"You're only saying that because it's Taylor Swift," Kazuha chides. Yunjin rolls her eyes. 

"Then tell me what song would you listen to, Zuha," she chirps back, playfully elbowing her ribs.

Kazuha grimaces. "Sign of the Times," she answers calmly. "I was rewatching Project Hail Mary last night to cheer myself up after the call." She sighs. "I wish Ryan Gosling was real."

While Yunjin shoots her this conspicuous, disgusted glare, Eunchae casually cuts in: "I wanna say Hot. By, you know" —her eyes flick between her members, blushing— "The last thing I wanna think of when we go is us."

And that leaves only you. You could go for something humorous like It's the End of the World as We Know It, something epic like The Final Countdown (too on the nose), back to comedy like Closing Time, something overtly sentimental like Do You Realize, or downright nihilistic like Creep—

You end up going sentimental. The phone isn't halfway out of your pocket when you press play.

Have you ever seen anything?

Have you ever seen this color?

The smiles come naturally. Of course. Someone may have seen it coming a mile away, but no one cares. The more surprising bit is the song choice more than the artist itself; not any of their titles (especially Panorama), nor their slower ballads, but something happier and more upbeat, and from their debut as well. The reasoning is the same as Leeseo's: it's an instant shot of dopamine regardless of the situation, no matter how you feel at the moment. But one particular line resonates with you even now:

I will always be with you~

And sure, it's one of, if not the most common trope especially in K-pop songs. A promise about a lifetime, when really, it was for only two and a half years. But it doesn't change the lasting impact these girls had on your life, and that's the last thing you want to remember even in your dying moments.

You see Leeseo mouthing the lyrics like she knows this song from heart too. Everyone's bopping their head with the song. The fire's completely gone now, and the evening wind completely takes over. Someone yawns deeply; you don't know who. Suddenly, Kazuha rises from her seat and stretches her arms. 

"I'm clocking out," she groans out mid yawn, walking over to her tent. She doesn't look fazed at all; if anything, it's another day for her. Another notch on a schedule that's well and truly ending.

The others follow, retreating to their chosen tents. Of course you have your own, but you've given up on a proper rest a long time ago, way before a meteor decided it was your time. You exchange good nights with everyone knowing you'll hardly sleep through the night, and that's okay. It won't matter when you're dust and bones around this period tomorrow.

But even with all these thoughts running through your head, you close your eyes. As your consciousness fades to black, this is the last thing you remember:

18 hours remaining.

—————

Still, even as the end looms closer than ever, the world never stops. It's making its funeral bed.

The Pope presides over a country-wide prayer vigil at St Peter's Basilica. Analysts and reporters are crunching down the initial casualties (already in the billions), the long term effects on the planet, and whether or not life as we know it will continue existing in the years to come. Presidents are giving their farewell addresses; some choose to stay and die with their nation, others (global superpowers mainly) have taken quiet refuge somewhere only they know.

People take refuge in makeshift bunkers, whether in their homes or through subways, underground basements, or whatever place they can find. Some stupid billionaires are sending rockets to blow up the meteor without properly considering the new problems such an idea would bring. Either way, this planet is fucked. Nature or the forces above have marked you all for death.

All this chaos and commotion for something that will ultimately consume everything and everyone. Meanwhile, on the other side of the planet, it's as still as water. 

Less than 9 hours remaining, the doomsday ticker reads on the bottom of your phone, checking the news in real-time. Still lying in your tent, you wake up to your best night of sleep in years. Probably just the calm acceptance of your fate fully settling in your bones. 

Peeking out from your tent, you can hear the relentless waves crashing against land far below the hills where you're standing. Someone's simmering food over a portable cooker, based on the crackle of oil and meat. Another's playing music over their speakers. The skies are surprisingly clear. The breeze is perfectly chill. It feels right.

You finally step out into the warm embrace of the sun. Soak it all up because you'll never feel it again in a matter of hours.

Yunjin's the first person to greet you good morning, the one cooking breakfast—or brunch, as she would correct, as it’s close to noon. Nevertheless, she serves bacon on top of pancakes with a spread of maple syrup. The pork looks a little burnt, though. She says that you're the only one who hasn't eaten yet, since everyone else got up  earlier, with her in particular up the earliest to watch the last sunrise of her life.

"You look well rested," she remarks, flipping a few pieces of overcooked bacon over. "Doesn't seem like the world is ending today for you."

"I've made peace with that a long time ago," you reply, shrugging, poking a strip with your finger before she swats it away with her spatula. You wince, yelping as she smacks your hand.

"Hey. Clean your hands first," she scowls, pointing to a nearby well. You're reaching for your aching hand, annoyed as she laughs at your pain. But you acquiesce.

Meanwhile, the others are spending their final hours as you thought they would: Gaeul's by herself reading a book inside one of the vans' cargo area, Kazuha's in workout gear meditating under the open sun, and Leeseo and Eunchae are playing some video game on a shared Switch 2. Rei and Liz are nowhere to be found.

You ask them where they are; they mindlessly answer the hill without looking away from the screen even for a split second. Both girls are locked in, mashing buttons on their JoyCons competing like they're at Genesis. You forgo breakfast to look for the missing couple instead.

And sure enough, they're standing at the top of the hill, holding hands. Up here, the winds are twice as harsh, and the ocean ahead spreads out everywhere. You can see a commercial plane flying past; for what reason you don't know. 

"Gorgeous view," Liz mutters to Rei. She looks down at their interlaced fingers, with Rei's skin glistening under the light, almost resembling a ring. "I lived here my entire childhood and I didn't know this place existed."

"Your parents didn't take you? Even once?" Rei asks back, tilting her head.

"I probably forgot if they did."

Rei smiles. Brushes the blow locks blocking Liz's face. Then she cups her cheek. "Maybe one day, if somehow, we make it through this, then this would be the best place to propose to."

"Who? Me?" Liz's cheeks turn beet red. Flustered at the implication, she covers her face with her hands. "Hey—"

"No, no, not me, silly," Rei chuckles. She pulls Liz's hands away from her face and leans forward, flashing her trademark grin. "I mean, the person who'll eventually love you and give you the world and all that! I can never love my best friend; we would break up and that would be ugly."

Liz looks overwhelmed. This feels like a confession. Even though they've been close after so many years. They've hung out countless times, slept in each other's beds, shared clothes and items—but they could never meet halfway for the most important thing: commitment. And that's what's keeping them apart. Even now.

"Gosh, Rei—" She stops herself. Still hesitant, still unwilling to speak her truth. "I mean—"

"Relax. That's not gonna happen, anyway. We're all gonna die," Rei interjects, her energy sounding wrong in the face of imminent death.

As you approach them, they face you in unison, moving like its choreography. "Hey!" Rei chimes, waving. Liz, meanwhile, bows gently. Slightly leaning closer to her member, but without letting go. "What are you doing here?"

"Was about to ask the same thing," you counter.

"There was no beach to walk on," she answers, "so this hill was the next best thing. Great view. I can see why you like it up here."

It can be interpreted two different ways: how it's the closest you've been to God in years, or it's a straight plunge into the sea down below. Either way, you're seeing heaven real soon.

"Am I overstepping on something?" you ask, and Liz immediately huddles behind Rei, futilely hiding half her frame.

"Not at all," Rei answers. Her eyes glance briefly back at Liz, the reddest person in the vicinity. "Anyone looking for us?"

Turn to your side, down at the camp below. Their gazes follow. Nope. No one at all. Everyone's doing their own thing.

"No, I'll just—go down—"

As you're about to turn around, Rei suddenly grabs your hand, pulls. Gives you a hug.

"What—what's happening?" you force out, the words coming rough. She squeezes tightly as if sucking the air out of your lungs. 

"Nothing. Just wanted to give you a hug for no reason," she mutters, as Liz quietly sneaks off while you're trapped. You turn your head just enough to see her jog down the hill.

"What was that all about?"

"Beats me," she says. You want to believe her, but girls like Rei tend to hide secrets behind not so subtle smiles. This is no exception. 

—————

7 hours remaining, the doomsday tickers read. Programming is nothing but waiting for the end to arrive; TV is basically white noise. Sometimes you just want to turn it off, throw all the phones and devices away. Death feels more real when you just—feel it approaching, not watching some countdown. 

Everyone's gathered around the circle for lunch, sharing snacks, drinks, and conversations, cherishing the last traces of normal life before it all becomes dust. The final hours of peace anyone will get. 

Just then, you feel a slight disturbance. A tremor. A faint echo of engine noises, followed by a flock of birds flying off. SUVs and vans and cars of different kinds—around eight or nine of them—emerge from the forest serving as the gate between road and paradise. Some drive past your camp, others stopping several feet away. You eat away the newfound attention, pretending to act nonchalant, but after a night spent with these girls and soon to be former idols, it feels like an intimate secret being exposed to the world. 

But it doesn't take long to realize nobody cares. No one asks who you are and the people that you're with. You find that these people are here for one thing only: to see the end with their own eyes, up close and personal. Families, couples, friends. Doesn't matter the age, status, gender, race, or anything else, you're all nothing when the time comes. 

When they wave, it's less about the stars beside you and more 'came here for the meteor, huh?' acknowledgement. They have their own snacks and chairs and blankets for the occasion. It just so happens you went a day too early, it seems.

And wouldn't you know it, Liz's family is here too. 

Her brother runs headfirst into her for an immediate hug. Everyone bows and greets her parents. They brought the old family van, the one that's been in the garage and only driven like thrice a year, brought out a fourth 'for old times' sake.' They said if she couldn't be home, then they'd be the ones to go to her instead, and they're blessed to see their daughter come back one more time and just be close enough to reach. It's a bittersweet feeling, but at least they'd be together.

And as you turn around, a dozen or so women are emerging from the other side of the hill. Squint your eyes; can't really tell them apart. One of them seems to be looking for something or someone. A few moments later, they found it: you.

As they come down the hill, their faces become clearer. And so is the first voice. 

"Hey!" a blonde girl yells out, and her arms are stretched wide, seemingly going for a hug. You've never met this person, but you respect the gesture enough to reciprocate. 

She runs past you and towards Yunjin instead. That was never meant for you. The fact you don't know each other should have been a dead giveaway. 

Likewise, the other girls walk past and ignore you completely. Nine of them to be exact now, but one stops and actually recognizes you. Her eyes widen with genuine surprise—and delight. So do yours.

"Hey," you manage to call out as the woman caresses your cheek and pecks it. "Aren't you—"

"From the Starship building? Yes!" She sounds excited that you remember her from the other day. "Oh, I never really introduced myself to you. I'm Yeonjung, by the way. I'm their senior," she says, pertaining to the IVE girls greeting her members, proud at seeing her lineage come together.

"I know you," you reply, and your gaze flicks to Gaeul in particular. "You stopped Gaeul as we were leaving."

"Yep! I found out your plans from her, and after talking with Somi, we pitched this together super last minute." All eyes are on Somi, the most enthusiastic in the area, giving hugs and kisses like it's Christmas. "It's inspiring what you've done to these girls. And well, it's inspired us too."

"You guys are fortunate," you remark, mentally recounting each member for confirmation. Somi, Sohye, Sejeong, Chungha, Jung Chaeyeon, Nayoung, Doyeon, and Yoojung. Hell, even Mina and Jieqiong are present and accounted for. It's a goddamn miracle. "You guys get to be together. Them, on the other hand—"

"We almost didn't," Yeonjung gently cuts in. "Jieqiong almost didn't make the 5 a.m. flight to Korea today. They were no longer flying planes from China after 10."

"Still. You are all here, regardless,” you say. “Even if you're not together, you all could have said goodbye to each other through calls or some physical meeting. They can't."

She blinks. Stares at her girls, then at her juniors. Subtly, she shakes her head. "They deserved better, you know. All of them. I wish they were here too."

"They are," is your reply. "In a way, I can feel them. Somehow."

The I.O.I girls finish exchanging pleasantries, and you feel the attention being redirected toward you as Rei nudges Sejeong in your direction. They surround you completely, offering apologies in their own personality and pace for ignoring you. Everywhere you turn, there's a face saying 'sorry' and bowing. You can hear the girls laughing in the background, Yunjin and Rei especially, as they wish to be with your group for the grand finale. Of course you say yes; even when you're the only person who might say no—and you won't—the supermajority won't accept that.

Ultimately, there's about forty or fifty or so here on the cliffs on Jeju, with front row seats to Earth's grand finale. 

As the hours fly by, you watch the last of this world fall apart. Slowly. Surely.

First it was the networks. With less than 4 hours to go, all non-news related broadcasting said their goodbyes; each station played their last songs and aired their final programs. DJs bid their own farewells, each one no less emotionally charged and heavy:

"To all our listeners, we thank you. Thank you for tuning in, for staying with us, for keeping this job a joy even during our hardest days. We don't know what comes next. None of us do. But what we do know, is that we've shared something with you—something real, something human—and for that, we are grateful."

"If you're still listening, please. Call your mother. Call your father. Call the friend you haven't spoken to in years. Make amends. Forgive. We don't have much time left, but we have enough to leave without any regrets."

"This is KBS Radio 1. We are signing off. God bless you. God bless us all."

The services followed not long after. Telecommunications, electricity, the like–you all know because you've heard from acquaintances in the mainland and in other countries that everyone has been left to fend for themselves now. Most governments have gone into hiding, and the few that stayed are choosing to fall with their respective nations. This was a given. They'll have to live in a world that's certainly gonna be uninhabitable for millions of years.

That's their problem to deal with. For now, it's cosmic judgment given in the form of a giant rock. It's visible in the sky now as the skies turn from blue to orange, clearly seen through binoculars and telescopes, careening down at God knows what speed, because the time between impact and after is almost instantaneous. You wouldn't know what hit you. 

37 minutes left, Yeonjung's custom built ticker reads. You've lost access to the internet an hour ago, so it could land any time now. She says that Dayoung managed to put it together by connecting it to NASA's database, the hows and whys she has no clue. Of course she did; she does just about anything and it fucking works. This doohickey is also why you still have communication with everyone else. There's a lifetime of questions you want to ask, but it all feels irrelevant in the face of imminent death.

Through the radar, you hear NASA and other rogue teams are pulling off the sci-fi bullshit hail mary you've seen in films: they're sending astronauts to space by blowing up the meteor before it hits earth. The rockets are already en route to meet it, and the plan is just straight up ripped from Armageddon. Dig through the center and detonate everything from the core. It's fucking stupid in the movie, it's even dumber in real life.

"Did they ever name the asteroid?" Eunchae asks innocently. "I don't think they ever said it in the news, or maybe I forgot."

"Hmm," Yeonjung ruminates, "I think it was called Luminary for how bright it was on their satellites. They missed it by 2 days."

"Sounds stupid," Somi scoffs. "Should have called B.B.S for Big Bullshit."

Just the small banter between people, not just these girls in general, feels like a relic in this heightened atmosphere. To think you'll be beyond history—not lost in the record books, not something to be remembered more than a number, a statistic—should daunt you. It doesn't; it just makes these moments more special. 

Outside of you and a few others tracking the asteroid, everyone's waiting anxiously for the end. Couples, families, friends, fresh acquaintances all standing on a field looking up at the sky. Elsewhere, life goes on. The earth still spins. Nature continues its cycle with blissful innocence. It's hauntingly beautiful.

Repentance, regret—you'll save it for the afterlife when you knock on heaven's throne.

10 minutes remain. The asteroid is much clearer now; it's a gargantuan mass hurtling down in a wave of its own smoke with small crackles in the middle and around the sides. The hail mary must have failed, you assume, given there's no update since. Yeonjung ultimately decides to close the radar and join the others in facing the end. All of you do so as well. You make the short climb up the hill to meet it at the summit.

As you look around, there's this underlying dread behind each person's eyes. That maybe, just maybe, they're not ready to die just yet. They're all still in their 20s to 30s, with so much ahead of them, only for that opportunity to be prematurely taken away. Liz and Rei are holding hands. Eunchae and Leeseo are hugging each other. They're then cuddled by Kazuha and Gaeul, reassuring them that everything will be okay. Yunjin has her hands folded, feeling shivers down her spine. The wind is getting cooler; the evening breeze is approaching. The ocean bleeds orange on the horizon; the sun is sinking down.

"Do you have any regrets?" Yunjin asks suddenly, facing you as she rubs her hands on the sleeves of her shirt, uselessly keeping warmth. It's quiet, kept specifically for you.

Your brows furrow. "Regrets about what?"

"Anything. Life, love, career—anything you regret. Could be spending your last days with us."

"Definitely not," you answer calmly. "Being with you is the best thing I could have done. For a couple of days, I actually felt normal. Like I was in my youth again."

She smiles. Small, but heartfelt. That's all she needs to hear.

"And what about you?" you ask in turn.

"None," she says simply, like she's secure in herself. "I got to sing, dance, and be on stage with the people I love. That's more than what most people get."

"And Chaewon?"

"She's in my heart. That's all that matters."

Someone's playing a song on their phone. Not the choices you shared over marshmallows and around a campfire, but something different. Downpour, because today feels like a terrible day for rain.