This time when you pull away again, you catch the exact moment confusion shifts into realization. His eyes darken considerably, pupils blown wide as he stares at you. The hand on your back flexes, fingers pressing into your skin even through your shirt.

"Are you..." he starts, voice already rough and lower than usual. He swallows hard, and you watch his throat work. "Are you doing that on purpose?"

The barely restrained frustration in his tone sends heat pooling in your stomach. You try to look innocent, biting back a smile. "Doing what?"

Sungho’s jaw clenches, and you see his chest rise and fall with a deep breath, a familiar sign of him trying to steady himself. He doesn't say anything for a moment, just watches you with those intense dark eyes, and you can practically see him trying to maintain control.

Then slowly, deliberately, he leans back in. Both hands come up to frame your face, and the way he holds you is almost possessive. His thumb traces your bottom lip, and his eyes track the movement with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

"Don't," he murmurs, and his voice has dropped even lower. It's not a request—it's a warning. "Don't pull away again."

But of course, you do.

The sound he makes is devastating, somewhere between a groan and your name, rough and frustrated. In one smooth movement, his hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers tangling firmly in your hair. It's not painful, but definitely controlling. His other hand grips your hip hard enough that you feel the heat of his palm through the fabric.

"I'm trying," he breathes out, and you can hear how strained his voice is, "to be patient with you."

He pulls you closer—or maybe pushes himself closer, you're not sure—until there's no space between you at all. You can feel the heat radiating off him, feel his heart racing against your chest, feel the tension coiled tight in his muscles.

“But you keep—” He breaks himself off with a sharp breath, the words failing him. He leans in, resting his forehead against yours, eyes falling shut as if he needs the contact to steady himself, as if proximity is the only thing keeping him anchored. When he opens them again, the look on his face is raw, unguarded, almost desperate.  “Do you have any idea,” he asks quietly, voice strained, “what you’re doing to me?”

His hand in your hair tightens just slightly, angling your head back. The movement is controlled but barely, and you can see the exact moment his carefully maintained composure starts to crack.

"One more time," he warns, voice barely above a whisper but somehow more intense for it. His lips hover just barely above yours, so close you can feel his breath. "Pull away one more time and I won't be gentle anymore."

It should probably intimidate you, but instead it sends a thrill down your spine. You can feel him trembling slightly with the effort of restraint, can see the war between his natural control and his desire written plainly across his face.

"I'm serious," he continues, and now his lips brush against yours with every word. "I'm trying so hard to be good, to take my time, but you're making it impossible."

His hand slides from your hip to your lower back, then lower still, pulling you even more firmly against him. The kiss he gives you then is harder, more demanding, his tongue sliding against yours with clear intent. When his teeth catch your bottom lip, you gasp, and he takes full advantage, kissing you deeper until you're dizzy with it.

He pulls back just enough to speak, and his voice is absolutely wrecked. "So be good for me," he murmurs against your lips, and the please is unspoken but clear in his tone. "Stop teasing me, got it sweetheart?"

When he kisses you again, it's with single-minded focus, like kissing you is the only thing that matters in the world. His hand tightens in your hair, the other sliding under the hem of your shirt just enough that his fingers brush bare skin. The touch makes you shiver, and you feel him smile against your lips.

"That's better," he breathes, sounding almost relieved. "Much better."

This time, you don't even think about pulling away.

ˋ ⌞⋮ RIWOO .ᐟ⌝ ˎˊ˗

Riwoo kisses with complete focus and surprising intensity hidden beneath a gentle exterior. His hands are soft where they rest on your waist, his lips moving against yours with careful attention, like he's trying to get every detail just right.

You almost feel bad for what you're about to do.

Almost.

When he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, you pull back just slightly. His eyes flutter open immediately, wide and confused, lips still parted. "Did I... did I do something wrong?" he asks softly, concern evident in his voice.

"No," you assure him quickly, leaning back in. "You're perfect."

He relaxes at that, a shy smile crossing his face before you kiss him again. This time he's a little more confident, his fingers curling slightly into the fabric of your shirt. You feel him sigh contentedly against your lips, and that's when you pull away again.

"Oh," he breathes out, and you can see him trying to figure out what's happening. His eyebrows furrow adorably, head tilting like he's solving a puzzle. "Are you... do you need a break? We can—"

You cut him off with another kiss, and this time you feel the exact moment he realizes what you're doing. His sharp intake of breath, the way his fingers suddenly grip your waist a little tighter, the slight tremor that runs through him.

When you pull back the third time, his reaction is completely different.

“You’re teasing me,” he says, the words barely audible, more confession than accusation. His ears have gone pink, heat creeping up his neck, but his eyes give him away—there’s a new intensity there, a shadow beneath the softness you know so well. “You're doing this on purpose.”

Before you can respond, he's leaning back in, and this time his kiss is less careful. His hands slide from your waist to your back, pulling you closer with more force than you expected from him. When your lips meet, you can feel the desperation already building in the way he kisses you—deeper, more insistent, like he's trying to keep you from pulling away through sheer determination.

But you do it anyway.

"Please," he breathes out, and the sound goes straight through you. His voice is shaky, strained. "Please don't— I can't—"

He cuts himself off, pressing his forehead against yours. You can feel him trembling, feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest. When you look at him, his eyes are squeezed shut, jaw clenched like he's trying to compose himself.

"This is torture," he whispers, and there's a whine in his voice that makes your stomach flip. "You're torturing me."

His hands are restless now, one sliding up your back, fingers splaying across your shoulder blade, the other moving to your hip and squeezing. You've never seen him like this—usually so controlled, so precise in his movements, now barely holding himself together.

"Riwoo," you murmur, and his eyes snap open.

The look he gives you is devastating, pupils blown wide, lips swollen and red from all the kissing, cheeks warm with colour. It’s not just desire, but a soft, aching plea tangled with a frustration you’ve never seen on him before, unfamiliar and vulnerable, like he’s losing control that it both unsettles and exposes him.

"I need—" he starts, then stops, swallowing hard. His voice drops lower, rougher. "I need you to stop pulling away. I don't... I can't think when you do that."

To prove his point, he kisses you again, and this time there's nothing gentle about it. His hand comes up to cup the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he angles your face exactly how he wants it. His other hand slips under the hem of your shirt, and the feeling of his palm against your bare skin makes you gasp.

He takes advantage immediately, deepening the kiss, and you feel him shaking with the effort of maintaining some semblance of control. His thumb traces patterns on your skin that make you shiver, and he makes this small sound in the back of his throat that's pure need.

When you start to pull back again, his grip tightens instantly.

"No," he says firmly, and the command in his voice surprises both of you. His eyes widen slightly, like he can't believe he just said that, but he doesn't take it back. "Stay. Please stay."

The "please" softens it, but there's still an edge of desperation that makes your heart race. He's looking at you like the thought of you pulling away again might actually break him.

"I'm trying so hard to be good," he confesses, voice cracking slightly. His forehead drops to your shoulder, and you can feel his breath hot against your neck. "But you keep— every time you pull away, I—"

He doesn't finish the sentence. Instead, he presses a kiss to your neck, then another, and you feel his teeth graze your skin lightly. The hand in your hair tightens, and suddenly he's pulling your head back gently, exposing more of your neck to his lips.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice dropped so low it feels almost dangerous. “To see me lose control.”

His kisses trail up your neck, along your jaw, until his lips are hovering over yours again. He's breathing hard, chest heaving, and you can see the internal war playing out across his face—the Riwoo who’s always gentle, always careful, pressed up against a need that’s sharper, more urgent, tugging insistently at his restraint.

"Well, congratulations," he whispers, and then he's kissing you again with an intensity that steals your breath. "You won."

This time when his tongue slides against yours, when his hands grip you tighter, when he presses impossibly closer, you don't even think about pulling away. You couldn't if you wanted to, not with how he's holding you, kissing you like he's been starving for it.

"No more teasing," he breathes between kisses, and it's still soft, still Riwoo, but there's steel underneath it now. "I can't take any more. Please."

And the way he says please—broken, desperate and so, so honest—makes you want to give him everything he asks for.

ˋ ⌞⋮ JAEHYUN .ᐟ⌝ ˎˊ˗

Jaehyun kisses like he's enjoying every second of it—which, knowing him, he absolutely is. There's a smile on his lips even as they move against yours, his hands warm and secure on your waist, thumbs tracing idle patterns that make you want to melt into him.

His hair has gotten longer recently, falling into his face as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, and you can't resist reaching up to run your fingers through it. He makes a pleased sound at that, leaning into your touch.

That's when you pull away.

His eyes open slowly, still half-lidded and hazy, a confused smile playing on his lips. "Hm?" 

You just smile innocently and lean back in, kissing him again before he can question it. He responds immediately, enthusiastically, one hand sliding up your back. But just as he's really getting into it, you pull away again.

This time, his eyes sharpen with understanding.

“Oh,” he says, the confusion easing as his smile shifts into a knowing curve. “Oh—I get it now.”

Before you can say anything, he's laughing that bright, delighted laugh of his. "You're messing with me right now. You're actually messing with me."

"I don't know what you mean," you try, but he's already shaking his head.

"Okay, okay," he says, still grinning. "So we're playing games? I love games."

He leans back in, but this time when you try to pull away, his hand comes up to cup your jaw, holding you in place firmly enough that you can't escape. His kiss is deeper this time, more purposeful, and you feel him smile against your lips.

Then he pulls away first.

"How does it feel?" he asks, voice teasing. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip as he watches your reaction with obvious amusement. "Not so fun when it happens to you, right?"

Two can play this game, apparently.

He kisses you again, and just when you're sinking into it, he breaks away with a playful smirk. "Oops."

"Jaehyun—"

"What?" He's grinning fully now, eyes sparkling with mischief. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? To play around?"

His hair falls forward into his face as he leans closer, and you reach up to brush it back without thinking. His expression shifts slightly at the touch, eyes darkening just a fraction, but the smile remains.

"You keep touching my hair," he observes, voice a little lower now. "Do you like it longer?"

Before you can answer, he's kissing you again, and this time you can feel the teasing energy start to shift more intensely. His fingers tangle in your hair, mimicking your earlier action, and when you gasp softly, he makes a satisfied sound.

You pull away again—you can't help it, it's too fun—and this time his reaction is different.

"Okay," he says, and his voice has lost some of that playful edge. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face, and you watch his jaw clench slightly. "Okay, you need to stop doing that."

"Why?" you ask innocently, and his eyes flash.

"Because," he says, leaning in close enough that his lips brush against yours as he speaks, "I'm trying really hard to play along and be fun about this, but you're making it really difficult."

His hair falls forward again, tickling your face, and he makes a frustrated sound. In one smooth motion, he reaches back and gathers his hair, tying it up into a small ponytail with the hair tie he keeps on his wrist. The movement makes his arms flex, his jaw set in concentration, and you can't help but stare.

He notices, of course. The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Yeah,” he murmurs, gaze dropping to your lips. “You like that, don’t you, princess?”

He kisses you again, and with his hair out of the way, it's different—more intense, more focused. His hands grip your waist tighter, pulling you closer, and you can feel the shift in his energy. The playfulness hasn’t disappeared, but beneath it is a seriousness that wasn’t there before, an insistence that asks instead of teases, that wants instead of jokes.

When you try to pull away this time, he doesn't let you.

"Nuh-uh," he murmurs against your lips. "My turn now."

His hand slides to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he kisses you deeper. There's a confidence in the way he takes control, like he's done playing your game and has decided to start his own. His other hand slips under the hem of your shirt, palm hot against your skin, and you feel him smile when you shiver.

"See, the thing is," he says, pulling back just enough to speak, "I was having fun letting you tease me. It was cute." His thumb traces your jawline as his eyes lock onto yours. "But now I'm thinking about all the ways I could tease you back."

To prove his point, he kisses along your jaw, down to your neck, and you feel his teeth graze your skin lightly. Your hands come up to grip his shoulders, and one of them tangles in his ponytail without thinking, tugging slightly.

The sound he makes is somewhere between a groan and a laugh.

"Oh, so you can pull my hair but I can't—" He doesn't finish the sentence. Instead, his hand comes up to thread through your hair, gripping gently and tilting your head back. "That's not very fair, is it?"

His lips return to your neck, kissing and biting softly, and you can feel him smiling against your skin when you gasp. “There you go,” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin. “That’s the reaction I was looking for.”

When he pulls back to look at you, his eyes are darker than before, pupils blown wide. "No more pulling away," he says, and it's not quite a command but not quite a request either. His hand tightens slightly in your hair. "You had your fun. Now let me have mine."

He kisses you again, and this time there's no teasing, no games. Just intensity, heat and the feeling of his body pressed against yours. His hands are everywhere—your waist, your back, sliding up to cup your face, back down to grip your hips.

When you instinctively try to pull back just slightly, probably out of habit more than anything, his grip tightens immediately.

"What did I just say?" he asks, but he's smiling even as he says it. He presses his forehead against yours, breathing hard. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"

His hair tie has come slightly loose, a few strands falling free to frame his face, and without thinking you reach up to fix it. He catches your hand, bringing it to his lips instead.

"Or," he says, eyes glinting with mischief again, "you could just take it out. Since you seem so interested in my hair."

When you do, his hair falls forward, messy and perfect, and he shakes his head slightly to settle it. The movement is casual, but the way he's looking at you is anything but.

"There," he says, leaning in close again. His voice drops lower, more intimate. "Now you can touch it all you want."

And when he kisses you this time—deep, slow and purposeful, his fingers threading through your hair to mirror your touch in his—you forget all about teasing him.

You forget about everything except the way he's holding you, kissing you, like he plans to make up for every single time you pulled away.

"See?" he murmurs against your lips, and you can feel his smile. "Told you I'd be fun.”

ˋ ⌞⋮ TAESAN .ᐟ⌝ ˎˊ˗

Making out with Taesan is always intense. He doesn't do anything halfway. When he kisses you, it's with complete focus, like nothing else in the world exists. His hands are firm on your waist, his lips moving against yours with purpose and confidence that makes your head spin.

So really, you should've known better than to tease him.

But you do it anyway.

The first time you pull away, his eyes open slowly, dark and slightly unfocused. He doesn't say anything, just looks at you with a quiet question in his gaze. When you lean back in without explanation, he accepts it, one hand coming up to cup your jaw as he deepens the kiss.

The second time you pull away, you feel the change immediately.

His fingers tighten on your waist—not painfully, but noticeably. His eyes are sharper now when they meet yours, more alert. He's figured it out.

"What are you doing?" His voice is low, quiet, but there's an edge to it.

"Nothing," you say, but you can't quite hide your smile.

Taesan's jaw clenches. He doesn't move for a moment, just watches you with that intense gaze that always makes you feel like he can see right through you. Then, slowly, he leans back in. His hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, grip firm and possessive.

"Don't," he says simply, right before his lips meet yours.

This kiss is different, harder, more demanding. His tongue sweeps against yours with clear intent, his hand tightening in warning when he feels you start to pull back. But you do it anyway, breaking the kiss with a soft laugh.

The look he gives you could melt steel.

"You think this is a joke?" His voice is dangerously quiet, and the tone in his voice makes heat pool in your stomach. He's not smiling. Not even a little bit.

"Maybe a little," you admit.

Wrong answer.

In one fluid motion, Taesan shifts, and suddenly you're the one being pressed back against the couch. He's hovering over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other still gripping your hip. His hair falls forward slightly, shadowing his eyes, and the intensity of his gaze pins you in place.

"You want to play games with me?" he asks, voice still low, a controlled tone that somehow feels more threatening than if he were actually angry. "Okay. Let's play."

He leans down, but instead of kissing your lips, he goes for your neck. His mouth is hot against your skin, teeth grazing lightly before he soothes the spot with his tongue. When you gasp, you feel him smile against your throat.

"What's wrong?" he murmurs, lips brushing your skin as he speaks. "You can dish it out but can't take it?"

His hand slides under your shirt, palm flat against your stomach, and you feel him trace slow patterns on your skin. It's deliberate, teasing, and completely unfair. When you try to squirm, his grip on your hip tightens, holding you still.

"Stay," he commands softly, and the authority in his voice makes you obey without thinking.

He kisses up your neck, along your jaw, getting closer and closer to your lips but never quite getting there. When you turn your head to try to kiss him, he pulls back just enough to stay out of reach, and the smirk on his face is absolutely infuriating.

"Not so fun, is it?" he asks, voice laced with dark amusement. "Being teased?"

"Taesan—"

"What?" He tilts his head, looking at you with false innocence that doesn't match the heat in his eyes at all. "I'm just doing what you did to me. That's fair, right?"

His hand slides higher under your shirt, thumb brushing just below your ribs, and you arch into the touch without meaning to. He notices, of course. He notices everything.

"So sensitive," he observes, and there's satisfaction in his tone. His hand moves back down, tracing patterns that make you shiver. "I barely even touched you."

When he finally kisses you again, it's overwhelming. Deep and consuming, like he's trying to prove a point. His body presses close to yours, and you can feel the tension wound tight beneath his skin, the barely restrained control as he holds himself back.

You try to pull away—instinct, maybe, or maybe you just want to see what he'll do—and his reaction is immediate.

His hand flies up to grip your chin, firmly turning your face back to his. "Don't," he warns, and his voice has gone even lower, rough with frustration. "I'm not playing anymore."

There’s a dangerous edge in his gaze now, sharp enough to steal your breath. He’s always been intense, but this is different. This is Taesan with his patience worn down, his restraint fraying, control slipping just enough to show what he’s been holding back.

"You wanted my attention?" he asks, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip. "You have it. All of it. So stop running away."

He kisses you again, harder this time, almost punishing. His hand slips back into your hair, fingers curling with just enough force to steal a breath from you, and he doesn’t hesitate, using the moment to pull you closer, to deepen the kiss until the world tilts and everything feels hazy around the edges. His other hand grips your waist, thumb pressing into your hip bone hard enough that you know you'll feel it tomorrow.

"This is what you do to me," he breathes against your lips, and for the first time you hear how affected he actually is. His voice is ragged, strained. "You drive me crazy. You know that?"

His forehead drops to yours, and you can feel him trembling slightly with the effort of maintaining control. His breathing is heavy, chest heaving against yours.

"Every time you pulled away," he continues, voice barely above a whisper, "all I could think about was how to make you stay. How to make you want me so badly you couldn't even think about leaving."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, and the raw intensity in his gaze steals your breath. "So here's what's going to happen," he says, voice dropping into that commanding tone again. "You're going to stay right here. You're not going to pull away. And you're going to let me kiss you until I'm satisfied. Understood?"

It's not really a question.

When you nod, his expression softens slightly. "Good girl," he murmurs, and the praise sends warmth flooding through you.

This time when he kisses you, it's slower but no less intense. Thorough. Possessive. Like he's claiming you with every brush of his lips, every slide of his tongue. His hands roam your body with purpose, touching, gripping and holding like he's trying to memorize every inch of you.

When he finally pulls back—minutes or hours later, you've lost track—his lips are swollen and red, his eyes dark and satisfied.

"You're so pretty," he says, voice still rough. His thumb traces your jaw gently, a stark contrast to how tightly he was holding you moments ago. 

He settles beside you, pulling you against his chest, and you can still feel his heart racing. His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining, and he brings it to his lips.

"Next time you want to tease me," he says quietly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, "remember how this ended."

It's a warning and a promise all at once.

And the really dangerous part? You're already thinking about doing it again, just to see what happens.

ˋ ⌞⋮ LEEHAN .ᐟ⌝ ˎˊ˗

Leehan kisses the way he does everything else—with a calm, unhurried confidence that somehow makes your heart race more than any urgency could. His hands are gentle on your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones as his lips move against yours with patient precision.

There’s an almost meditative quality to it—how he takes his time, as if he has all day to learn the shape of your mouth. It’s the same focused attention he gives anything that holds his interest—steady, observant, fully present.

Which is exactly why you're curious to see what happens when you disrupt that carefully maintained composure.

When you pull away the first time, he doesn't react much. Just opens his eyes slowly, looking at you with that serene expression he always has, like nothing in the world could disturb his peace. He tilts his head slightly, a small questioning smile on his lips, but he doesn't say anything. Just waits.

You lean back in, and he accepts it without hesitation, picking up exactly where you left off. His kiss is deeper this time, more intentional, and you feel one of his hands slide to the back of your neck, fingers spreading through your hair.

Then you pull away again.

This time, you catch the faintest flicker in his eyes. Not confusion, not frustration, more like… focused interest. Like he’s watching an experiment unfold and quietly filing away observations.

"Interesting," he murmurs, voice still soft and even. His hand stays where it is in your hair, not gripping, just resting. "Are you testing something?"

The casual way he asks it makes you laugh. Leave it to Leehan to treat this like a curious phenomenon rather than actual teasing.

"Maybe," you admit.

He hums thoughtfully, eyes scanning your face with that focused attention he usually reserves for his fish tanks. "I see." Then, simply : "Continue."

It's such a Leehan response that you can't help but smile as you kiss him again. This time his hand tightens just slightly in your hair—barely noticeable, but you feel it. When you pull away for the third time, you're watching for his reaction.

His eyes open slowly, and there’s a shift you can’t ignore. The calm is still there, carefully maintained, but beneath it simmers a heat that hadn’t surfaced before. He looks at you for a long, deliberate moment without saying a word, and the silence feels heavy, charged, far more unsettling than anything he could have spoken.

"Three times," he observes quietly. His thumb traces your bottom lip with deliberate slowness. "You've pulled away three times now."

"Have I?" You try to sound innocent.

"Mm." His gaze drops to your lips, and you watch his jaw tighten almost imperceptibly. "You have."

He leans in again, but this time it's different. Slower. More purposeful. His eyes stay open, locked on yours until the last possible second, and when his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is deeper than before. Consuming. His hand in your hair shifts, fingers curling just enough to keep you in place without being forceful.

When you try to pull away this time, you realize you can't move far. His grip isn't painful, isn't even really tight, but it's firm. Decisive. And the message is clear : he's done letting you control this.

He breaks the kiss himself, but stays close enough that his lips brush yours when he speaks. “I’ve been patient with you,” he murmurs, voice low and even, controlled that it feels almost mesmerizing. There’s an undercurrent to it now, a quiet shift that makes your stomach tighten, that sends awareness sparking through you. His gaze stays locked on yours as he adds, just as softly, “But I think we’re past that.”

His free hand lifts to cradle your face, the touch gentle but unmistakably claiming, a quiet possessiveness threaded through the softness of the gesture. "Do you know what happens when you test someone's patience?" he asks, and it's clearly rhetorical because he continues without waiting for an answer. "You find out exactly how much control they actually have."

He kisses you again, and this time there's no mistaking the intensity behind it. It's still controlled, still measured, but you can feel the restraint it's taking. His tongue slides against yours with clear intent, and the hand on your face angles your head exactly where he wants it.

"I have a lot of patience," he murmurs against your lips. "But even I have limits."

When his hand slides down from your face to your throat, his thumb against your pulse point, you gasp softly. You feel him smile.

"Your heart is racing," he observes, voice still that same quiet, almost clinical tone. But his thumb traces circles on your neck that are anything but clinical. "Interesting. Are you nervous?"

You shake your head, and his smile grows slightly.

"No? Then what?" His eyes search yours with genuine curiosity, edged with a darker intent. "Excited? Anticipating what I'll do next?"

He’s analyzing you even now, reading every reaction—and somehow that makes it worse.

"Let me tell you what I think," he says, leaning in close enough that his breath fans across your lips. "I think you wanted to see what would happen if you pushed me. You wanted to know what I'd be like when I stop being patient."

His hand tightens just slightly around your throat—not restricting, just present, just enough to remind you it's there. "Would you like to see?"

Before you can answer, he's kissing you again, and it's completely overwhelming. Still controlled, still measured, but intense in a way that makes your head spin. His hand stays on your throat, feeling every gasp, every quickening of your pulse, while his other hand finally releases your hair to slide down your back.

When he pulls you closer, you can feel his heart beating against your chest, faster than usual but still steady.

"You're not pulling away now," he notes, pulling back just enough to speak. There's satisfaction in his tone, quiet but unmistakable. "Why is that?"

His hand slides under your shirt, palm flat against your lower back, and the skin-to-skin contact makes you shiver. He notices immediately, of course he does. He notices everything.

"Cold?" he asks, but there's a knowing look in his eyes that says he knows exactly why you shivered, and it has nothing to do with temperature.

"Leehan—" you start, but he cuts you off with another kiss, this one somehow even deeper than the last.

"Shh," he soothes between kisses, hand moving in slow circles on your back. "No more talking. No more pulling away. Just focus on this."

When his hand slides higher up your back, fingers tracing your spine, you arch into him without meaning to. His other hand tightens on your throat in response just for a second, just enough to make you gasp, before relaxing again.

"See?" he murmurs, and there's a smugness in his tone now. "You're much better when you stay still. When you let me do what I want."

He kisses along your jaw, down to your neck, and you feel his teeth graze your skin lightly. "I could do this for hours," he says conversationally, like he's commenting on the weather. "Just finding all the spots that make you react. Learning exactly what you like."

"But first," he says, pulling back to look at you again, "you're going to stay right here and let me kiss you properly. No more games. No more pulling away." His thumb brushes across your throat, feeling your pulse jump. "Can you do that for me?"

It's phrased as a question, but the look in his eyes makes it clear there's only one acceptable answer.

When you nod, his smile is small but genuinely pleased. "Good," he says softly, leaning in again. "That's very good."

And when he kisses you this time—slow, deep and absolutely devastating—you understand exactly what he meant about patience. Because Leehan doesn't rush anything. He takes his time, thorough and methodical, until you forget you ever wanted to pull away in the first place.

Until all you can think about is how to get him to never stop.

ˋ ⌞⋮ WOONHAK .ᐟ⌝ ˎˊ˗

Kissing Woonhak is sweet and a little clumsy in the most endearing way. He's still figuring things out, but he makes up for any lack of experience with sheer enthusiasm. His hands rest nervously on your waist, and you can feel how fast his heart is beating when you're this close.

So of course, you decide to make it worse for him.

The first time you pull away, his eyes fly open immediately, wide and startled like a deer in headlights. "Wait, what— did I mess up?" His voice pitches up slightly in panic. "Was that bad? I can do better, I promise, just—"

"You're fine," you assure him with a laugh, leaning back in before he can spiral further.

He relaxes instantly, shoulders dropping as he lets out a relieved breath. "Okay, okay good, because I've been practicing— I mean, not practicing, but like, thinking about— you know what, never mind." His ears are already bright red as he kisses you again, and you can feel him smiling against your lips.

That's when you pull away the second time.

"Okay, what—" He blinks at you, confused. Then his eyes narrow slightly in suspicion. "Wait. Are you doing that on purpose?"

You try to keep a straight face. "Doing what?"

"THAT!" He gestures wildly between you. "The pulling away! You're messing with me right now!"

When you don't deny it, his mouth drops open in betrayal. "Oh my god, you ARE! I can't believe— I was so worried I was doing something wrong!"

"You weren't," you say, grinning now.

"Then why—" He stops, processing, and then his expression shifts between embarrassment and indignation. "You're TEASING me? Seriously?"

He runs both hands through his hair, laughing in disbelief. "I'm already so nervous and you're just— wow. Okay. That's how we're playing this?"

Before you can respond, he's leaning back in with renewed determination. "Fine. You know what? I'm not gonna let it get to me. I'm just gonna— we're just gonna kiss and it's gonna be great and you're not gonna—"

You pull away again.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?" His voice cracks spectacularly, and he falls back against the couch dramatically, covering his face with his hands. "This is torture! Actual torture! I'm being tortured!"

You're laughing now, and he peeks at you through his fingers. "You think this is funny? My heart can't take this kind of stress! I'm too young!"

"You're so dramatic," you say, but you're smiling.

"I'M dramatic?" He sits back up, pointing at you accusingly. "You're the one playing mind games! Do you know how hard it is to focus when you keep— when you—" He gestures vaguely, too flustered to finish the sentence.

His whole face is red now, and he's fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "Every time you pull away, I think I did something wrong and my brain just goes—" He makes an explosion sound effect with his hands. "Like that. Complete malfunction."

"Want me to stop?" you ask, taking pity on him.

"YES! No! I don't know!" He groans, flopping against the couch again. "This is so confusing. You're so confusing. Why are you like this?"

After a moment of internal crisis, he sits back up with a determined look. "Okay. Okay, I'm gonna try one more time, and you have to promise not to pull away because I don't think my heart can handle it."

"I promise," you say, and he eyes you suspiciously.

"Really?"

"Really."

He studies your face for a long moment, clearly trying to determine if you're trustworthy. Finally, he nods. "Okay. But if you do it again, I'm— I don't know what I'll do, but it'll be something! A consequence! There will be consequences!"

The threat would be more effective if his voice wasn't shaking slightly and if he didn't look absolutely adorable while making it.

When he leans in this time, he's extra careful. His hand comes up to cup your face gently, and he pauses just before your lips meet. "You promised," he whispers, and for all the control in his posture, there’s a fragile note beneath it, almost pleading, almost vulnerable.

"I promised," you confirm.

This kiss is different—slower, more confident now that he's not worried about you disappearing. His other hand finds yours, fingers intertwining and squeezing like he's anchoring himself. When you don't pull away, you feel him relax completely, even smiling against your lips.

After a few moments, he pulls back himself, and the smile on his face is so bright and genuine it makes your heart squeeze. "See? We can do this! When you're not being evil, we're actually really good at this!"

"Evil is a strong word," you laugh.

"You literally tortured me for fun," he points out, but he's grinning now. "That's pretty evil. I'm dating a villain."

He's still holding your hand, thumb tracing patterns on your skin, and the simple affection of it is so Woonhak it makes you smile.

"Don't do that again though," he says quietly. "My heart rate still hasn't gone back to normal. I think you took years off my life."

"So dramatic," you repeat.

"So mean," he counters, but he's leaning in again anyway, bumping his nose against yours playfully. "You're lucky you're cute."

"You think I'm cute?"

"Don't fish for compliments, you already know you are," he mumbles, ears going red again. "Now can we please just kiss like normal people? No more games?"

And when you agree, his relieved sigh is so loud and exaggerated that you can't help but laugh against his lips.

Even as he kisses you again—sweet, enthusiastic and unmistakably Woonhak—he pulls back every few seconds just to check that you're still there, like he doesn't quite trust that you won't disappear again.

"Just making sure," he explains each time, and honestly? It's perfect.

@coriihanniee ᯓᡣ𐭩

˖➴ reblogs are appreciated! ty for reading! <3

You noticed her before Jaehyun did.

The way she kept smoothing her hair. The way she laughed a little too hard. The way she angled her body toward him. And most importantly—

The way she kept touching his arm.

You narrowed your eyes.

"Oh my God."

Jaehyun glanced up from his book.

"What?"

"Nothing."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"You only say 'nothing' when it's something."

"Read your book."

He looked unconvinced but returned to whatever behavioral science text had captured his attention.

The woman smiled.

"You're studying behavioral science?"

"Mm."

Jaehyun nodded.

"Something like that."

"Wow."

She laughed. You immediately disliked the laugh.

"It must be nice being so smart."

Jaehyun blinked.

"Sometimes."

You stared. Sometimes? That was his response?

The woman laughed again.

"I could never date someone smarter than me. I'd be intimidated."

You nearly dropped the book in your hands.

That wasn't subtle. That wasn't flirting. That was a billboard. Jaehyun, however, simply nodded thoughtfully.

"That's interesting."

Interesting?

Interesting?

The woman smiled brighter.

"Do people tell you you're handsome a lot?"

You closed your eyes. There it was. The most obvious line imaginable. A direct hit. A neon sign. A flashing emergency alert.

Jaehyun considered the question.

"Not particularly."

You physically turned away before you could commit a crime.

By the time you left the bookstore, you were walking three steps ahead of him.

Jaehyun noticed immediately. Of course he did. He noticed everything.

Except apparently women flirting with him.

"Are you upset?"

"No."

"You are."

"No."

"You've answered every question with one word for the last seven minutes."

"Okay."

"See?"

You kept walking. His footsteps quickened beside yours.

"What happened?"

You scoffed, "What happened?"

"Yes."

"You really don't know?"

"No."

His confusion looked genuine. Which somehow made it worse.

By the time you reached his apartment, you were still irritated. You kicked your shoes off. Jaehyun closed the door behind you. Then immediately crossed his arms.

"Explain."

You walked straight past him. "No."

"You're angry."

"No."

"You are."

"No."

"You keep saying no."

You dropped onto his couch dramatically. Jaehyun followed.

"Did I do something?"

"You always do this."

His eyebrows furrowed.

"I don't know what that means."

"Exactly."

"What does that mean?"

You groaned loudly and buried your face in a cushion.

A moment later the cushion disappeared. Jaehyun had stolen it.

You glared at him.

He stared back. Patient. Annoyingly patient.

Eventually you snapped.

"The girl."

"What girl?"

"The girl at the bookstore."

His face remained blank.

You nearly screamed.

"The one flirting with you."

Silence. Then—

"Oh."

You waited. And waited. And waited.

Nothing happened. No realization. No understanding. Just confusion.

"You thought she was flirting with me?"

Your jaw dropped.

"Thought?"

Jaehyun blinked.

"She was asking questions."

You stared at him.

"You study human behavior."

"Yes."

"You literally analyze social interactions."

"Yes."

"You can tell when someone is lying."

"Usually."

"You once correctly predicted that Woonhak was about to fail an exam based on his posture."

"That was obvious."

"And yet somehow you missed that?"

Jaehyun looked genuinely puzzled.

"She was being friendly."

You laughed. A dangerous laugh.

"Aha."

His eyes widened slightly. That was usually a warning sign.

A few minutes later you were sitting as far away from him as physically possible on the couch. Which wasn't very far. His couch wasn't that big.

Still.

The principle mattered.

You crossed your arms.

Jaehyun looked at you. Then looked at the empty space between you. Then looked back at you.

"You know I wasn't flirting back."

"That's not the point."

"I didn't even know it was happening."

"That's also not the point."

"Then what is the point?"

You opened your mouth. Then closed it. Because honestly? The point wasn't entirely rational.

You just didn't like it.

You didn't like another woman looking at him like that. And you especially didn't like that he seemed completely unaffected.

Jaehyun studied your expression carefully.

Then—

Very slowly—

A smile appeared.

You narrowed your eyes.

"Why are you smiling?"

His smile widened.

"You're jealous."

"I am not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm literally not."

His smile became unbearable.

"You were jealous."

You grabbed the nearest throw pillow and hit him with it.

He laughed. Actually laughed.

The traitor.

"You know what's funny?"

"Nothing you're about to say."

"She wasn't my type."

You rolled your eyes. "Congratulations."

"No, listen."

"I'm actively trying not to."

He shifted closer. You shifted away. He shifted closer again.

"You know why?"

"No."

"Because she wasn't you."

Your face immediately heated. You hated when he did that. The sudden sincerity. The way he delivered sweet things like simple facts. No buildup. No warning. Just emotional damage.

"You don't get points for that."

"I wasn't trying to."

"You should've noticed."

"Maybe."

"You definitely should've."

"Probably."

You crossed your arms tighter.

Jaehyun watched you for a second.

Then another.

Then suddenly moved.

Before you could react, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you across the couch.

You yelped.

"Jaehyun!"

"There," he settled back comfortably.

You were now trapped against his side.

"Much better."

"I was mad at you."

"I know."

"So why are you cuddling me?"

"Because you're cute when you're jealous."

You gasped. Actually gasped.

The audacity.

His shoulders started shaking. He was trying not to laugh.

Trying and failing.

You smacked his chest.

He finally gave up and laughed properly. The sound echoed through the apartment.

Warm.

Bright.

Impossible to stay angry at.

Which was unfair. Because he was supposed to be the one apologizing.

Instead you somehow ended up tucked against him while he kissed the top of your head.

"You know," he murmured.

"What."

"If another guy flirted with you, I'd probably be jealous too."

That made you pause.

"Really?"

"Mm."

"You?"

"Yes."

"The human lie detector?"

He sighed dramatically.

"I'm your boyfriend, not a monk."

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

Immediately, Jaehyun looked pleased with himself. Like he'd accomplished a difficult task.

"You smiled."

"Don't ruin it."

"You aren't mad anymore."

"I might be."

"No."

"No?"

"No."

His arms tightened slightly around your waist. "You were worried someone else wanted me."

You buried your face in his shoulder.

"Stop talking."

His chest vibrated with quiet laughter. Then he pressed another kiss into your hair. Gentler this time.

"You're still my favorite person."

The words were simple. Matter-of-fact. Completely sincere. And somehow that was what finally killed the rest of your irritation.

Unfortunately.

Because now you couldn't even pretend to be angry anymore. And judging by the smug look on Jaehyun's face, he knew it too.

© All rights reserved @gigisnextdoor 2026.

A businessman hurries past, checking his phone. An elderly woman feeds pigeons on a bench. A couple shares headphones, lost in their own world. All of it rendered in the familiar greyscale that has defined your vision since birth.

You adjust your position, crouching slightly to capture the interplay of light filtering through the canopy of trees above. The late afternoon sun creates dramatic shadows across the pavement, and you frame the shot carefully, waiting for the right moment, the right subject to complete the composition.

Suddenly, a tall man with an easy stride and hands tucked into his jacket pockets walks into frame. 

He moves with unconscious grace, completely unaware that he's about to become the center of your photograph. You track him through the viewfinder, adjusting focus as he approaches the perfect spot where the light hits just right.

Your finger hovers over the shutter button. He's almost there, almost in position. You hold your breath, waiting for that decisive moment that will make the photograph sing.

Click.

Through the viewfinder, a faint warmth stirs—spreading from your fingertips where they touch the camera, up through your arms, settling deep in your chest. Colour floods your vision and your heart stutters, then races as the transformation washes over you in waves.

The trees above burst into golds and oranges that have no name in your vocabulary, each leaf shimmering with newfound life. The sky blooms into a blue so vivid it makes your chest tight with longing you didn't know you carried. The stranger's jacket transforms into deep navy that makes your fingers itch to touch the fabric, his skin takes on warm undertones that seem to glow from within, and his hair catches highlights that make your breath hitch.

You gasp and stumble backwards from the camera, your whole body trembling. The colours don't disappear—if anything, they grow more intense, as your eyes adjust to this new reality. Heat spreads through your veins like honey. The world has been reborn in brilliant technicolour, and the beauty of it feels almost physical, settling in your bones and making your skin hypersensitive to every brush of air.

Your hands shake as you lower the camera, and you can barely breathe through the overwhelming richness of everything around you.

Meanwhile, the stranger has stopped dead in his tracks. His head whips around frantically, eyes wide with confusion and panic. The world has just burst into colour around him with no warning, no explanation. He spins in a slow circle, taking in the transformed landscape, his mouth slightly open in shock.

You watch him search desperately for answers, his gaze sweeping across the street, the buildings, the people walking past. When his eyes finally land on you, standing there with your camera still raised, staring at him in wonder, understanding dawns across his features.

He walks towards you, weaving through the crowd. Each step brings him closer, and you can see the emotions playing across his face : confusion giving way to realization, realization melting into hope.

"It was you," he says when he reaches you, his voice barely above a whisper. "You were taking a picture."

You nod, unable to find words. He's even more beautiful up close, his features sharp and kind in this new colourful world.

"I'm sorry," you manage finally. "I didn't know—I was just trying to capture the light, and you walked into the frame—"

"Don't apologize." His hand reaches out, hovering uncertainly in the space between you. "Can I...?"

You're not sure what he's asking, but you nod anyway. His fingers are gentle when they touch your face, tilting it up towards the light. You mirror the gesture without thinking, your hands coming up to cup his cheeks, needing to see him clearly, needing to understand this face that has changed everything.

His skin is warm under your palms, and this close, you can see every detail of his eyes—the way they seem to hold entire worlds you're only beginning to discover.

"The colours are incredible," he murmurs, but his gaze never leaves your face. "But not as incredible as you."

For a long moment, you both just stand there, hands gently framing each other's faces, marvelling at this new reality.

"What colour are my eyes?" he asks finally, his voice soft and vulnerable.

You study him intently, taking in every detail of these eyes that have somehow become the most important thing in your world. "They're gorgeous," you whisper, then feel heat flood your cheeks at your boldness. "Warm and deep, like..." You glance around for comparison, your gaze catching on the rich bark of an old oak tree where sunlight filters through, creating pools of amber. "Like sunlight through autumn leaves.”

"Brown." He tests the word carefully, like he's learning a new language. "I have brown eyes."

His thumbs brush across your cheekbones, and you lean into the touch. "And yours..." His voice catches. "I never imagined anything could be this beautiful. How did I live my whole life not knowing eyes could look like this?"

The compliment sends warmth spreading through your chest, made even sweeter by the knowledge that he's seeing you for the first time, just as you're seeing him.

“Tell me your name,” he murmurs, the words tender as though they’re meant only for you. His smile blooms, lighting up his entire face. “I’m Sungho.”

“Y/N.” Your name slips out softly, tasting new on your tongue, as if the world itself has shifted to make space for it.

He glances at your camera, then back at your face. "You're a photographer."

"Street photography, mostly. Black and white." You laugh, and it sounds breathless even to your own ears. "Well, it was black and white."

"Can I see it?" he asks. "The picture you took?"

Your hands shake slightly as you turn the camera around, navigating to the image you just captured. There he is on the small screen, frozen in that moment before the world changed, but now rendered in full colour. The photograph is beautiful, but it pales in comparison to seeing him here.

"This is impossible," you murmur, staring at the image. "I've been taking photographs for years, but I've never seen one like this."

"That's because you've never taken a photograph after meeting your soulmate," Sungho says gently. He's standing close enough now that you can catch the scent of his own cologne.

The word 'soulmate' hangs between you. This beautiful, kind-eyed stranger is your person. The one you've wondered about, hoped for, sometimes doubted existed.

“I can’t believe this,” you whisper.

Sungho’s grin softens, a hint of shyness in his eyes. “The colours?”

“Not just the colours.” You gesture between you. “You. The fact you walked right into my frame at the exact moment.”

He chuckles, low and warm. “Guess our timing’s better than we thought.” His eyes linger on you, a quiet certainty in his voice. “I believe it’s going to stay that way.”

The quiet promise makes you smile. As you take in the golden leaves shimmering above, the endless stretch of blue sky, and the boy who’s turned your world inside out, you think he’s probably right.

RIWOO ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

ᝰ.ᐟ yours truly : first words to your soulmate tattooed on your wrist

The words had been there for as long as you could remember, etched in delicate script along the inside of your left wrist : Jjangyi? Daebak?

What kind of person would have such unusual names? You'd spent countless hours wondering about your soulmate, imagining what they might look like, what their personality would be like. But mostly, you questioned their parents' naming choices. Were they particularly creative? Eccentric? Did the names have some deep significance you weren't aware of?

Your friends had grown tired of your theories over the years. "Maybe they're twins," your roommate had suggested once while you both studied in the library. "Or maybe your soulmate is really into unique baby names."

"But what if I mess up the pronunciation when we meet?" you'd worried aloud, tracing the script with your fingertip. "What if I say it wrong and ruin everything?"

"Trust me, you'll figure it out when the moment comes," she'd reassured you, though her attention had already drifted back to her textbook.

That was five months ago. Now, walking through the neighbourhood park, you'd nearly forgotten about the weight of destiny on your wrist. The weather was perfect. warm sunshine filtering through the trees, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of blooming flowers. Families picnicked on blankets while children played on swings nearby.

You were scrolling through your phone, deciding whether to grab coffee or head home, when something furry bumped against your legs.

Looking down, you found yourself face-to-face with two of the most adorable dogs you'd ever seen. Both had pristine white fur that seemed to glow in the sunlight, though one was noticeably fluffier with a softer, cloud-like coat, while the other's fur was neatly trimmed and well-groomed. They were roughly the same size, both panting happily with bright, intelligent eyes as they circled around your feet.

"Well, hello there," you said, crouching down to their level. The fluffier one immediately pressed closer, placing delicate paws on your knee while the more neatly groomed one nuzzled your free hand with what seemed like practiced charm.

You glanced around the park, searching for any sign of a frantic owner, but saw nothing. The dogs were clearly well-cared for. Their coats were immaculate, and they seemed healthy and friendly rather than scared or hungry. Still, they had no leashes, and their behaviour suggested they were used to human interaction.

"Are you lost, sweethearts?" you asked, running your fingers through the fluffier dog's soft coat. The response was an enthusiastic lick to your palm and even more vigorous tail wagging from both of them.

Minutes passed as you played with them, tossing a stick you'd found nearby and laughing as they bounded after it. The fluffier one seemed particularly athletic, leaping gracefully to catch the stick mid-air, while the neatly trimmed one preferred to wait until it landed before pouncing on it with adorable determination.

Other park visitors smiled as they passed, clearly charmed by the scene, but no one stopped to claim the dogs. You were starting to worry. They were obviously beloved pets, someone had to be looking for them.

That's when you remembered to check their collars.

The fluffier dog sat patiently as you gently turned her collar, searching for a name tag. When you found it, your breath caught in your throat.

Jjangyi.

Your heart began racing as you reached for the other dog's collar with trembling fingers. He seemed to sense your sudden tension, tilting his head curiously as you rotated his tag into view.

Daebak.

The words on your wrist seemed to burn as realization crashed over you. These weren't human names at all. They were dog names. For months, you'd been wondering about your soulmate's unusual name choices for their children, when in reality, you'd been looking at the names of their pets.

"Jjangyi? Daebak?" you whispered, the words feeling strange and wonderful on your tongue.

"How did you know their names?"

The voice came from behind you, breathless and filled with surprise. You turned, still crouched beside the dogs, to find a young man approaching. His face showed relief mixed with bewilderment as he looked between you and the dogs, who had immediately perked up at the sound of his voice.

Your eyes met his, and the world seemed to shift slightly on its axis.

Still seated on the ground, you slowly pushed up the sleeve of your jacket, revealing the script on your wrist. His eyes widened as he read the words, then he was rolling up his own sleeve with shaking hands.

How did you know their names?

"Oh my god," he breathed, sinking down to sit across from you on the grass. Jjangyi and Daebak, seemingly oblivious to the magnitude of the moment, took the opportunity to shower both of you with affectionate licks.

"I thought..." you started, then laughed despite the overwhelming emotions flooding through you. "I thought they were going to be your kids' names."

His laugh was warm and genuine, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Kids' names? I've been searching everywhere for these two troublemakers." He scratched behind Daebak's ears fondly. "They slipped out when my neighbour was visiting."

"So you're telling me," you said, gently stroking Jjangyi's fluffy coat as she settled between you both, "that I've been worried for years about my soulmate's kids having unusual names, when actually I was going to meet your dogs first?"

"I mean, they are basically my children," Sanghyeok said with a grin, and you noticed how his whole face lit up when he smiled. "Jjangyi here is the princess, she gets whatever she wants." As if proving his point, the fluffy dog nuzzled deeper into your lap. "And Daebak is the charmer. He thinks he can win anyone over with those eyes."

"It's definitely working alright," you admitted, laughing as Daebak placed his head on your free hand, gazing up at you with an expression of pure innocence.

“My name's Sanghyeok, by the way" he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of nervousness despite the smile.

"Nice to finally meet you, Sanghyeok," you replied, testing his name on your lips and finding it fit perfectly. "I'm sorry I kept your dogs hostage."

"Best thing they've ever done, honestly," he said, then seemed to realize how that sounded. A soft blush crept up his neck. "I mean, I was worried sick about them, but... finding you was worth it."

You felt warmth spread through your chest at his words. "So what do you do when you're not chasing runaway dogs through parks?"

As you talked, the afternoon sun shifted lower in the sky, casting longer shadows across the grass. Jjangyi had claimed your lap entirely, while Daebak had sprawled across both your legs and Sanghyeok's, creating a furry bridge between you. 

"Would you... maybe want to get coffee? I know a place nearby that lets dogs sit outside. I think these two have earned some treats for playing matchmaker." He smiled, reaching out tentatively to touch your hand.

As if they understood, both Jjangyi and Daebak opened their eyes, tails starting to wag again.

"I'd love that," you said, and you meant it completely. How could you not when these two mischievous dogs in front of you had such a talent for bringing soulmates together?

JAEHYUN ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

ᝰ.ᐟ yours truly : countdown timer to when you meet your soulmate

You'd spent months crafting this moment. Every detail mapped out like a military operation—from the soft pink lipstick that complemented your skin tone to the vintage bookstore where literary romance seemed inevitable. Your closet had been reorganized several times to ensure the perfect outfit hung ready : that flowing dress you'd been saving, delicate jewelry that caught light just right, shoes comfortable enough for nervous pacing but elegant enough for destiny.

The timer on your wrist read 00:45:23 when you left your apartment. Forty five minutes until everything changes.

You’d spent years watching other people’s countdowns, always wondering what your own would feel like. Friends told you different things—some felt a rush of electricity, others said it was this strange, perfect calm. Your mother once said it was like time itself slowed down. You liked to imagine yours would feel like stepping into a fairytale, orchestrated and beautiful.

The universe, apparently, had other plans.

First, the coffee shop where you'd planned to wait ran out of your usual order. Not catastrophic, but it threw off your carefully timed schedule. Your hands shook as you ordered an alternative, the unfamiliar taste sitting wrong on your tongue. Then the bookstore, your chosen meeting ground, was unexpectedly closed for renovations. The sign apologized for the inconvenience in cheerful yellow letters that felt like mockery.

00:23:17.

Panic crept up your throat. This couldn't be happening. You'd visualized this day countless times, planned for every variable except the ones that actually mattered. The backup location, the art museum with its grand marble steps and elegant columns, became your desperate lifeline.

By the time you reached it, dark clouds had gathered overhead like an ominous audience. You checked your reflection in your phone camera one final time. Makeup’s fine. Nothing smudged. You could work with this.

You got this.

Or so you thought.

The museum was closed too. A small placard by the entrance announced unexpected maintenance closure, and you stood there staring at the locked doors like they might open if you willed it hard enough.

00:14:39.

The first drops fell gently, and you convinced yourself it was just a light sprinkle. Romantic, even. Couples in movies kissed in the rain all the time. But gentle drops became steady rainfall, and steady rainfall became a torrential downpour that sent everyone else scurrying for cover.

You sank down onto the museum steps in defeat, the cold marble seeping through your dress. The elegant columns provided no real shelter, and you sat there paralyzed between running and staying. Running would ruin your hair, your dress, your entire vision. But staying meant watching your perfect appearance dissolve drop by drop.

00:08:15.

Your dress clung uncomfortably to your skin, the delicate fabric now heavy and cold. Hair that had taken an hour to style hung in limp strands around your face. Mascara traced dark paths down your cheeks like tears you refused to shed.

This was humiliating, pathetic. You'd spent so long believing you could choreograph fate, control destiny through sheer preparation and hope. Other people got beautiful meeting stories. You were going to get a disaster story.

00:04:52.

You wanted to run home, to hide until the timer reset itself, but you knew it didn't work like that. This was your one chance, and you were ruining it by sitting on cold museum steps in the rain like a fool, clinging to a plan that had crumbled completely.

Your phone buzzed with messages from friends wishing you luck, but you couldn't bear to look. How could you explain that all their excitement, all your preparation, had led to this soggy nightmare?

00:02:33.

The rain felt aimed at you, every drop determined to undo your day. In films, the heroine looked effortless even soaked through, the rain adding to the romance. But real rain was bitter and unkind, tearing through all the effort you’d put in. It didn’t care about your carefully planned soulmate meeting.

You were going to meet the love of your life, utterly unkempt, water dripping from your hair, like life had ripped you straight from the river’s edge.

00:01:07.

Tears finally came, mixing with the rain on your cheeks. Years of anticipation, months of planning, and this was what you had to offer. Your soulmate would take one look at you and wonder what cruel joke the universe was playing. You'd dreamed of being radiant, memorable, worthy of the connection you were about to share.

Instead, you felt small and defeated, shivering on the museum steps while your timer counted down to humiliation.

00:00:31.

You closed your eyes, accepting defeat. There was no fixing this now, no magical transformation waiting in the final seconds. Your soulmate would find you like this—broken down and disappointed, the furthest thing from the composed, radiant person you'd intended to be.

00:00:18.

Suddenly, warmth settled around your shoulders.

Your eyes flew open as soft fabric enveloped you. A jacket that smelled like vanilla and cedar, still warm from someone's body. The rain above you had stopped, though you could still hear it pattering against the museum's columns and the street nearby.

00:00:09.

"Hey," a voice said softly beside you. "You looked cold."

You turned, heart hammering against your ribs as the final seconds approached. He was soaked through just like you, dark hair plastered to his forehead, but holding a black umbrella steady above both of you now. His white shirt was nearly transparent from the rain, and he was shivering slightly.

00:00:00.

The timer stopped.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Rain drummed against the umbrella above your heads, creating a cocoon of sound that made the rest of the world feel distant. His jacket hung heavy and comforting on your shoulders, and you realized he must have been standing in the downpour, watching you, before deciding to approach.

“Hi,” he breathed, words barely leaving his lips.

"Hi," you whispered back, suddenly aware of how you must look—makeup streaked, hair ruined, dress clinging in all the wrong places.

But his gaze didn’t waver. It was steady, almost fond, as if none of the things you were troubled about changed what he saw.

"I'm Jaehyun," he said, shifting the umbrella handle to his other hand so he could extend his free one towards you. "I've been looking for you."

Your name fell from your lips, and when he said it back, the sound wrapped around you with unexpected tenderness. 

"You were looking for me?" you asked, taking his offered hand. His fingers were cold from the rain but steady, anchoring.

"For about twenty minutes now," he admitted with a sheepish smile. “I couldn't find you anywhere. I was starting to think I'd missed you completely."

The realization hit like sunlight breaking through clouds. While you'd been lamenting your ruined plans, he'd been out here searching, getting just as soaked, just as desperate to find you.

"I had this whole thing planned," you confessed, gesturing helplessly at your bedraggled state. "I was supposed to be perfect for this moment."

Jaehyun's expression softened further. He reached up with his free hand, thumb gently brushing a streak of mascara from your cheek.

"You are perfect," he said, and the sincerity in his voice made your breath catch. "You sat here in the middle of a storm waiting for someone you've never met. Because I mattered to you before you even knew me."

His words loosened the tight knot in your chest. You’d been so focused on crafting the perfect moment that you’d forgotten what this truly was—two souls finding each other, messy and vulnerable.

"I must look terrible," you said, but without the earlier despair. Somehow, under his gaze, terrible didn't feel so devastating.

"Absolutely not, you look beautiful," Jaehyun replied. "You look exactly like someone I'd want to spend my entire life with."

The jacket around your shoulders smelled like him, warm and safe. Rain continued falling around your umbrella sanctuary, but inside this small circle of protection, you could breathe again.

“So,” he said, eyes sparkling with warmth and mischief, “I know you had this whole perfect plan in mind. But since we’re both soaked and your timer just hit zero, how about we find somewhere warm and see where this goes?”

You looked down at your ruined dress, then back at his hopeful expression. Your perfect meeting had dissolved in the rain, but sitting here with him on the museum steps, you realized perfection had been overrated anyway.

"I'd love that.”

TAESAN ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

ᝰ.ᐟ yours truly : hearing songs your soulmate sings in your head

The voice in your head had been singing for as long as you could remember.

Beautiful melodies sung by someone with a warm, gentle tone that made your heart skip. Sometimes it happened during mundane moments : washing dishes, waiting for the bus, lying in bed before sleep. The voice would drift through your consciousness like a distant radio station, singing songs you'd never heard before.

You'd spent years trying to identify these mysterious tracks. Shazam yielded nothing. Music forums came up empty. Even that one time you'd nervously approached a record store employee, humming what you could remember, had resulted in nothing but sympathetic shrugs.

The songs existed nowhere except in your mind, sung by a voice you'd grown to love despite never knowing its owner.

Today, you sat in the library's quiet study section, surrounded by research materials for your paper. The afternoon light filtered through tall windows, casting everything in a golden hue that made even the most mundane textbooks seem magical. You’d chosen a spot near the back, where the shelves created a natural barrier from the busier areas.

At the table next to yours, a boy with sharp features worked intently on handwritten sheet music. His hair fell across his forehead as he scribbled notes in the margins, occasionally tapping out rhythms on the wooden surface. Every few minutes, he'd hum quietly under his breath—melodies that danced around the edge of your hearing but never quite registered.

Han Dongmin was deep in his own world, wrestling with a bridge section that had been eluding him for days. As a composition major, he spent most of his free time in this corner of the library, where the music students gathered and the ambient sound of turning pages mixed with whispered discussions of chord progressions. He'd been working on his senior portfolio, pouring his heart into pieces that felt more personal than anything he'd written before.

Like everyone else, he knew about the soulmate connection, how people could hear their other half singing across any distance. But Dongmin had always been cautious about getting his hopes up. He sang constantly while composing, pouring his emotions into melodies that felt too personal to share. Sometimes he wondered if his soulmate could hear him, if they understood the stories he wove into his music, but he'd never received any sign that his voice was reaching someone special.

The afternoon stretched on peacefully until Dongmin glanced at his phone and jolted upright.

"No, no, no," he muttered, checking the time again as if it might change. His professor's advanced orchestration seminar started in ten minutes, and it was a fifteen minute walk to the music building.

He began shoving papers into his bag with hurried movements, his usual careful organization abandoned in favor of speed. Sheet music crinkled as he stuffed it between textbooks, and his pencil case rattled against his laptop.

You looked up from your notes, mildly curious about the sudden commotion. The boy seemed genuinely distressed about being late, his movements becoming increasingly frantic as he tried to gather his belongings.

In his haste, Dongmin stood too quickly, and his chair rolled backwards. The movement caused his bag to slide off the table, and as he lunged to catch it, his headphone cord which had been draped over his chair, caught on your laptop charger.

The two cables twisted together in a stubborn knot, your laptop jerking slightly as the tension pulled at the port.

"I'm so sorry," Dongmin said, immediately crouching to examine the tangle. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he tried to work the knot loose with gentle fingers. "I'm usually not this clumsy."

"It's okay," you assured him, kneeling beside him to help. "These things happen when you're rushing."

Up close, you could see the genuine worry in his eyes, not just about being late, but about potentially damaging your equipment. His hands were careful despite his urgency, treating your charger with the same delicacy he'd shown his sheet music.

"I really need to get to class," he said apologetically, still working at the knot. "I’m already running late, and I can’t afford another mark against me this semester.”

The cables seemed determined to stay intertwined, and with each passing second, Dongmin's anxiety grew more visible.

"Just go," you said decisively. "I can untangle this. It's not going anywhere."

"But your charger—"

"It’ll be fine. I've dealt with worse knots than this."

Dongmin hesitated, torn between responsibility and necessity. He looked at you properly for the first time, taking in your patient expression and steady hands.

"You'd do that for a stranger?"

"You seem trustworthy enough," you replied with a small smile. "Besides, you'll be back, right? You mentioned this is your usual spot."

"Every afternoon," he confirmed, then made a decision. He pulled his student ID from his wallet and placed it next to your textbook. "Han Dongmin, composition major. Consider it collateral."

"Y/N," you offered in return.

"Thank you, Y/N," he said sincerely, already backing towards the stairwell. "I owe you one."

After he disappeared down the stairs, you returned your attention to the stubborn knot. It took several minutes of patient work, but eventually the cables separated. You coiled his headphone cord neatly, setting the headphones beside his ID card.

Curiosity tugged at you as you stared at the sleek black headphones. They looked expensive—professional grade, the kind serious musicians invested in. You glanced around the nearly empty floor, then at Dongmin's ID photo…

What kind of music did a composition major listen to?

Before you could second-guess yourself, you slipped the headphones over your ears and pressed play on whatever device they were connected to.

The first few notes stopped your heart.

It was the melody that had been visiting your dreams for weeks. But this version was complete, fully realized, with layers of harmony and instrumentation you'd sensed but never heard. Piano cascaded over subtle strings, and underneath it all, a voice sang the melody with heartbreaking tenderness.

The same voice that had been singing in your head for years.

Your hands flew to your mouth as the truth crashed over you like a wave. Every mysterious song, every beautiful melody that had appeared in your consciousness—they'd all come from him. Han Dongmin.

You ripped off the headphones and grabbed his ID, your chair scraping loudly as you stood. Several students looked up from their books, but you barely noticed. Your feet carried you towards the stairs, then broke into a run as panic set in.

What if you couldn't find him? What if he thought you were crazy? What if—

"Dongmin!" you called out as you burst through the library's front doors.

The quad was busy with late-afternoon foot traffic, students crossing between buildings as classes ended and began. You spotted him halfway to the music building, his distinctive brown jacket and unhurried pace making him easy to track.

"Dongmin, wait!"

He turned at the sound of his name, eyebrows rising in surprise as you approached with his headphones clutched to your chest.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, concern evident in his voice. "Did I break your charger?"

"No, nothing like that," you gasped, trying to catch your breath. "Your headphones—I listened to them."

His expression shifted to mild confusion. "Okay... was the volume too loud? I'm sorry if—"

"The song," you interrupted. "The one you're working on. I've been hearing it for several weeks."

Dongmin blinked slowly. "I'm not sure I understand."

"In my head," you continued, words tumbling over each other in your haste to explain. "I've been hearing someone sing that exact melody for the past few weeks, but I couldn't find it anywhere because it doesn't exist yet. And your voice—" Your breath caught. "Your voice is the one I've been hearing."

The colour drained from Dongmin's face as the implications sank in.

"That's impossible," he whispered.

"Is it now?" You pulled out your phone with trembling hands, scrolling to your voice memos. "I recorded myself trying to remember the melody. Look at the date."

You played the recording of your own voice carrying his tune, dated two weeks ago. Dongmin stared at your phone as if it held the secrets of the universe.

"We're soulmates…" he said, the words carrying weight and recognition.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Students continued their afternoon routines around you, but you existed in a bubble of shared revelation.

"All those songs," you said softly. "How many have there been?"

"About a hundred," Dongmin replied, his voice barely audible. "I sing when I compose, when I'm happy, when I'm working through emotions. You've heard all of it."

"Every single one was beautiful."

His eyes searched your face, looking for any sign that this was an elaborate joke. Instead, he found sincerity and recognition that went deeper than mere musical appreciation.

"Sing it for me," you requested quietly. "Please. I need to hear your voice outside of my head."

Dongmin glanced around the busy quad, then back at your expectant face. Slowly, he began to sing the melody he'd been perfecting, the same one you'd been carrying for weeks. His voice was exactly as you remembered it from your consciousness, warm, clear and utterly familiar.

When the last note faded, silence hung heavy between you. Dongmin’s usual composure cracked, his lips parting like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. The vulnerability in his eyes stole your breath—equal parts fear and wonder, like he’d just handed you his entire heart in the form of a song and was waiting to see what you would do with it.

When his voice trailed off, you were still caught in the echo of it, like the song had wrapped itself around your chest.

Dongmin let out a shaky laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve been singing all this time, not knowing you were really there.” His eyes softened, a quiet awe breaking through. “It feels like… I’ve been singing to you my whole life.”

Your throat tightened, but the words came easily. “And I’ll always be listening.”

LEEHAN ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

ᝰ.ᐟ yours truly : sharing emotions with your soulmate

The world had always been strange for you—feeling emotions that didn't quite belong to you, experiencing sudden shifts in mood that made no logical sense. Everyone lived with this peculiar reality that somewhere out there, your soulmate existed, and their feelings bled into yours like watercolours on wet paper. Most people described it as background noise, a gentle hum of foreign emotions that rarely disrupted their daily lives.

Yours felt different. Volcanic and intense.

Your friends complained about their soulmate bonds being too subtle, barely noticeable whispers of contentment or mild irritation. Meanwhile, you dealt with random surges of what felt like suppressed longing, quiet amusement that bubbled up at inappropriate times, and an inexplicable sense of calm that would wash over you during your most heated moments—like someone was gently smoothing down your ruffled feathers from the inside.

You'd learned to push through it, channelling your natural fire into academics and debates. Physics made sense—laws that governed the universe, equations that balanced perfectly, forces that could be measured and understood. Unlike the chaotic mess of shared emotions that painted your inner world in shades you couldn't name.

The chemistry lab buzzed with pre-class energy, but your focus remained on the thermodynamics problem your professor had written across the whiteboard. 

"Entropy increases in isolated systems," you murmured, pen flying across your notebook.

"Mmm, but that's assuming isolation." The voice beside you carried a hint of playful challenge. "Marine ecosystems prove that energy exchange changes everything."

Your head snapped up. Donghyun stood at the adjacent lab station, arranging glassware with methodical precision. That insufferable half-smile tugged at his lips, the one that made your pulse quicken and your argumentative instincts sharpen simultaneously.

"We're discussing fundamental physical laws, not your underwater obsession," you fired back, swivelling to face him fully.

A wave of gentle amusement crashed over you, warm and effervescent, though Donghyun's expression barely shifted. His eyes crinkled just slightly at the corners.

"Underwater obsession?" He set down a graduated cylinder with deliberate care. "Ocean currents move heat around the globe. The Gulf Stream carries more thermal energy than a hundred thousand power plants. That's not obsession, that's recognizing reality."

The familiar thrill of debate surged through your veins, but underneath it, you felt a deeper current of what could only be described as... fondness? The emotion felt too complex to be entirely your own, layered with patient affection and genuine interest.

"You're just describing heat transfer on a larger scale," you insisted, leaning forward on your elbows. "Basic thermodynamics. Physics drives everything, including your precious marine systems."

"Physics provides the framework," Donghyun conceded, moving closer to your station. "But biology creates the symphony. Coral reefs regulate pH through calcium carbonate chemistry. Phytoplankton convert carbon dioxide into oxygen through photosynthesis. These aren't just physical processes, they're living art."

His passion bled through his controlled exterior, and you felt it resonate in your chest : a deep admiration for beauty, wonder at natural processes, and an unmistakable pride in sharing it with you.

"Living art?" You couldn't help the laugh that escaped. "Now you're just being dramatic."

"Says the person who once called quantum mechanics 'the universe's poetry,'" he shot back, and that warm amusement intensified until you felt giddy with it.

Wait. How did he remember that? You'd made that comment weeks ago during a completely different class discussion.

Before you could question him, footsteps approached your station.

"Hey," called a cheerful voice. One of your classmates appeared beside you, lab manual in hand. "Mind if I grab your notes from last week? I totally spaced during the lecture on molecular structures."

"Sure, no problem." You reached for your folder, but as you did, the emotional atmosphere shifted dramatically.

A sharp and possessive coldness swept through you, utterly unlike your usual feelings. It felt like ice water in your veins, carrying with it an edge of something darker and territorial. The intensity caught you off-guard, making you pause with your folder halfway open.

"Actually," the classmate continued, leaning closer to read over your shoulder, "your handwriting is incredible. Super organized. You must be really dedicated to—"

The icy feeling intensified, now accompanied by what you could only describe as barely contained irritation. Your chest tightened, and you found yourself inexplicably uncomfortable with his proximity.

"Here." You thrust the notes towards him quickly, stepping back. "Just... return them tomorrow, okay?"

"Absolutely. Thanks so much." He beamed and walked away, completely oblivious to the weird tension that had settled over your lab station.

You glanced at Donghyun, who was carefully pipetting solution into a test tube. His movements remained steady, controlled, but his posture was rigid. When he looked up and caught your stare, his expression was perfectly neutral, except for a tiny muscle twitching in his jaw.

"Interesting reaction," he said quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"You practically threw those notes at him." Donghyun set down his pipette with precise movements. "Not very characteristic of your usual helpful nature."

Heat flooded your cheeks. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really?" His voice dropped lower, and those perceptive eyes seemed to see straight through you. "You didn't feel that cold, sharp feeling when he got close?"

Your breath caught. "How would you know what I felt?"

The question hung between you. Donghyun’s careful composure faltered just enough to show his vulnerability : hope mixed with terror, longing entwined with uncertainty.

"Lucky guess," he said finally, but his voice lacked conviction.

You stared at him, pieces clicking together with terrifying clarity. The emotional intensity whenever you were near him. The way foreign feelings seemed to spike during your interactions. The uncanny sense of familiarity in emotions that should have been completely alien.

"Oh my god," you whispered. "It's you."

Donghyun went completely still. For a moment, neither of you moved, the revelation settling between you.

"You're my soulmate," you continued, voice barely audible above the lab chatter around you.

"I was wondering when you'd figure it out," he admitted softly. Through the bond, you felt his relief, like he'd been holding his breath for months and could finally exhale.

"You knew?" Indignation flared, hot and immediate. "How long have you known?"

"I suspected for weeks. I confirmed it last month when you got excited about that thermodynamics proof and I felt like I could solve every physics problem in existence." His smile turned rueful. "Your joy is... intoxicating."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I wanted you to discover it naturally." He stepped closer, and you felt his nervous anticipation mixing with your own confusion. "I didn't want to influence how you felt about me based on the bond alone."

"So… you just watched me get all frustrated and confused?"

"I guess I fell in love with every feeling you shared with me—even the ones where you looked like you wanted to strangle me over scientific funding debates.” His voice grew softer, more earnest.

The honesty in his words, amplified by the direct feed of his emotions, hit you like a tsunami. You could feel everything, his months of quiet pining, his careful restraint during every interaction, his genuine respect for your intelligence mixed with an almost overwhelming tenderness.

"This is so weird," you breathed, pressing a hand to your chest where his feelings swirled with yours in an increasingly indistinguishable tangle.

"It explains so much though…” you continued honestly. “All this time, I've been feeling your emotions without realizing it. Your jealousy, your affection, your amusement when I get fired up about physics..."

"My pride when you demolish someone's argument in class," he added quietly. "My contentment when you're genuinely happy. My frustration when you're upset and I can't fix it."

"You feel all of that from me too?"

"All of it. Your curiosity when I talk about marine biology, even though you pretend to find it boring. Your fierce protectiveness of the people you care about." His eyes met yours directly. "Your growing affection, even though I don't think you'd admitted it to yourself yet."

Blood rushed to your face as you realized he was right. Somewhere between all the debates and shared glances, you'd developed feelings that went far beyond rivalry.

Donghyun’s lips curved into a grin. “Oh? You’re blushing?” He leaned a little closer, eyes shining with mischief. “Cute.” Before you could swat him away, his hand reached up to ruffle your hair, sending your heart tumbling into chaos.

“Don’t do that,” you protested weakly, trying to smooth your hair back down.

He only laughed, the sound rich and warm. “Can’t help it. You make it too easy.”

You rolled your eyes, but the connection humming between you made it impossible to hold on to any real annoyance. “I hate you.”

“Liar,” he said softly, his hand lingering for a moment at the crown of your head before dropping away, “you love me.”

The playfulness softened into a quiet gentleness, his emotions spilling over into yours, threaded with an affection that made your chest ache in the best way.

"So… do we just... act like a couple? Start dating? Navigate this weird emotional merger we've been living with?" You asked. 

"Well," Donghyun said thoughtfully, "we could start with studying together. Somewhere we can argue about science without disrupting other people's experiments."

"Only if you promise not to spend the entire time trying to convince me that marine biology is more important than physics."

"Deal. But only if you promise to at least pretend to be interested when I talk about bioluminescent organisms."

"Fine. But I'm bringing extra coffee to stay awake as compensation for having to hear about glowing fish."

"They're not fish, they're—" He caught himself, grinning. "You know what? I have the rest of our lives to educate you about proper marine taxonomy."

The casual mention of 'our lives' sent a thrill through both of you—shared anticipation and joy that sparkled in the air between you like electricity.

"This is still so weird," you said again, though a smile tugged at your lips.

"Weird, huh?" Donghyun smirked, tilting his head. "Guess that makes me the best weird thing that’s ever happened to you."

His playful confidence rippled through the bond, but underneath it, you could still feel the quiet truth—he meant every word.

WOONHAK ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

ᝰ.ᐟ yours truly : red string of fate

The morning alarm buzzes through your apartment, pulling you from restless sleep. Another day begins with the familiar ache of watching couples around campus, their red strings visible and intertwined, while your pinky remains bare. Years of waiting—sometimes you wonder if the universe simply forgot about you.

The soulmate system feels cruel. Everyone grows up knowing that someday, somewhere, a scarlet thread will materialize around their smallest finger, leading them towards their destined person. Some discover their match in childhood, others during university years. A fortunate few find theirs decades later. Yet here you stand, rushing through your morning routine while anxiety gnaws at your chest about potentially being one of those rare souls who never receive their thread at all.

Your backpack weighs heavy across your shoulders as you hurry towards the subway station. The presentation for your morning seminar isn't quite finished, and tardiness will only worsen your professor's already dim opinion of your work. Students flood the platform around you, their conversations mixing into unintelligible chatter beneath the rumble of approaching trains.

Miles away, Woonhak jolts awake in his dorm room. His phone screen glows with missed alarms and frantic messages from his study group. Panic shoots through him as reality sets in—the group project presentation starts in forty minutes, and he's the one carrying their final slides on his laptop.

He throws on yesterday's clothes, grabs his bag, and sprints towards the door. The soulmate thread has never been his primary concern, he figures he has plenty of time ahead of him. His friends tease him about his optimistic outlook, insisting that his soulmate will probably appear when he least expects it. Right now, though, his only focus involves reaching campus before his group members decide to murder him.

The subway platform teems with morning commuters when he arrives, breathless and sweating. He checks his phone again—thirty two minutes remaining. The next train should get him there with moments to spare, assuming no delays occur.

You stand elsewhere on the same platform, shifting nervously between your feet. The presentation notes feel inadequate in your hands, but there's no time for additional preparation now. You glance around at the sea of tired faces, wondering if your soulmate might be among them, living their own morning routine completely unaware of your existence.

The train pulls into the station with a mechanical screech, and suddenly—

A thin crimson thread materializes around your pinky finger.

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare down at the delicate string, so vivid against your skin it seems to pulse with its own light. After years of waiting, years of wondering, it's actually here. The thread extends forward, disappearing into the crowd of people boarding ahead of you.

Further down the platform, Woonhak experiences the same shock. He blinks rapidly at his hand, certain he's hallucinating from stress and lack of sleep. But the red string remains, stretching away from him through the mass of commuters. His heart hammers against his ribs as he follows its path with wide eyes.

Both of you step onto the train, pulled by invisible magnetism. The thread grows more taut with each movement, creating gentle resistance that draws you through separate cars. Other passengers remain oblivious to the magical connection forming between two strangers on an ordinary weekday morning.

You push through your crowded car, murmuring apologies as you squeeze past business suits and oversized backpacks. The string leads you steadily forward, growing more insistent with each step. An elderly woman tutts when you accidentally brush her shoulder, but you barely register the sound. Every fiber of your being focuses on following the scarlet guide that's waited your entire life to appear.

The thread pulls you towards the connecting doors, and your pulse quickens. Through the glass, you glimpse the next car packed with commuters, but somewhere among them waits the person you're meant to find.

Meanwhile, Woonhak navigates his own obstacles. A businessman blocks the aisle while scrolling his phone, forcing Woonhak to wait precious seconds before squeezing past. The string tugs impatiently at his finger, and he finds himself unconsciously flexing his hand, testing the strange sensation of being physically connected to someone he's never met.

He reaches his car's connecting doors just as you approach yours from the opposite side. The red thread stretches taut between the two glass barriers, and suddenly both of you freeze.

Your eyes meet through the windows.

Even with smudged glass and dim lighting between you, recognition hits like lightning. A boy with sleep-mussed hair and wide, startled eyes is staring back at you, wearing the same wonder and disbelief that must be painted across your own face

Woonhak's lips part slightly, and he raises his hand to press against the glass. You mirror the movement without thinking, your palms meeting through the barrier while the red string connects your other hands in perfect symmetry.

The train lurches slightly, reminding you both that you're still moving, still surrounded by oblivious commuters. But neither of you can look away.

You mouth "hi" through the glass, and his face breaks into the most radiant smile you've ever seen. He gestures towards the doors, eyebrows raised in question, and you nod eagerly.

The doors slide open with a soft hiss.

Suddenly you're standing face to face with no barriers between you. The red thread relaxes into a gentle curve, no longer pulling but simply connecting.

"Oh wow," he breathes, staring down at the string between you. "This is insane."

"I know, right? I thought I was going crazy for a second."

"Same! I was like, there's no way." He laughs, a little breathless. "I'm Woonhak, by the way.”

You tell him your name, and he grins. "That's really pretty. Sorry, is that weird to say?"

"No, it's not weird." You can't help smiling back, the warmth of his grin making something in your chest loosen.

"So, uh, this is probably terrible timing, but I'm supposed to be at school in like twenty minutes for this presentation." He runs a hand through his dishevelled hair.

"Wait, seriously? Me too."

His eyebrows shoot up. "No way."

"Way. My professor's going to kill me if I'm late again."

"Dude, my group members might actually murder me. I have all our slides." He pats his laptop bag.

The train begins slowing for the university stop, and you both glance towards the windows.

"Wait, are you going to the university too?" you ask.

"Yeah, are you?"

"You’re lying, I am too! This is mad."

"Right?"

As the train stops and doors open, the morning rush resumes around you. Students and faculty pour towards the exits, but you and Woonhak remain still for a moment longer.

"We should probably..." he gestures towards the platform.

"Yeah, definitely."

"Walk together?"

"I'd like that."

You step off the train side by side, the red string swaying gently between your hands. The morning air hits your face, crisp and somehow different than it was an hour ago.

"This is so weird," Woonhak says, flexing his pinky where the string sits.

"Tell me about it. I keep wanting to touch it to make sure it's real."

"Go ahead." He holds up his hand, wiggling his pinky. "I'm curious too."

You reach out tentatively and brush the string with your free hand. It feels warm, almost alive, and both of you shiver at the contact.

"Whoa," he breathes. "Did you feel that?"

"Yeah. That was..." You trail off, not sure how to describe the sensation.

"Electric," he finishes.

You both pause at the base of the station stairs as crowds flow around you. Woonhak checks his phone and his face scrunches up.

"Oh man, fifteen minutes. I'm so dead."

"What's your presentation on?"

"Modern dance influences in contemporary music videos. Yours?"

"Seriously? Mine's on music video cinematography."

Woonhak stops walking entirely. "You're kidding me."

"I'm not kidding you."

"That's..." He gestures helplessly with his free hand. "We're literally presenting on related topics and we just met through a magic string."

"The universe is showing off at this point," you say, and he bursts out laughing.

"Right? Okay, we get it, you’re clever." He glances down at the string again, eyes wide with wonder. "So… are we supposed to run to class now and pretend this isn’t the biggest thing that’s ever happened to us?"

The question lingers between you. Around you, students weave past with coffee cups and half-finished notes, too busy with their own mornings to notice the red thread glowing between your hands.

"I mean," you say carefully, "how often does someone actually meet their soulmate?"

"Once," he answers without hesitation. "Literally once in a lifetime."

"And how many presentations are we going to give over the years?"

"Way too many," he admits, his eyes lighting up as he catches on. "Wait… are you suggesting we skip class together?”

"I’m just saying… I don’t want to go solo on this one."

He tugs gently on the string, pulling you a step closer. "Well, that," he says with a grin, "is officially the best reason to be late I’ve ever heard.”

The thread catches the sunlight as you climb the stairs together, no longer strangers hurrying through different mornings, but soulmates stepping into the same one. Your pinky tingles where the string rests, warm and certain.

@coriihanniee ᯓᡣ𐭩

˖➴ reblogs are appreciated! ty for reading! <3

he's the newest addition to the rotation. so freaking shy the first time you met, but made up for it every time afterwards. constantly asking you if it feels good or if he's doing the right thing while the whole time he has his head buried in between your legs, teasing your entrance with his tongue. he has such pretty fingers too 😵‍💫😵‍💫 and they reach so deep into you and it makes you cum so easily it's almost embarrassing.

he's such a whimperer - when you suck on his dick his entire face explodes into red and he whines sooo much about how good it feels and begging you to not stop because he's sooo close. and when you swallow his cum he's all like it's so dirty! and he has to make it up to you by letting you ride him until you're satisfied and he's totally over stimulated, his cock twitching as you pull off him, hips jerking at the lack of friction and voice stuttering at the slightest touch.

he's a bit clumsy but he puts his 200% into it it's almost endearing. always end up sobbing with the overstim but he can't stop because it just feels too good ♡ he loves being buried in your hole, he's addicted, and you can't help but spoil your good puppy, before he starts misbehaving like the rest of the members...

wednesday's are riwoo's days.

he loves to start out with a heated makeout session, messy in the dim light of his apartment until you're dripping and rubbing up against his bulge through his jeans, gasping.

he's totally into body worship, leaving kisses and running his hands along your curves and teasing your sensitive parts. he's big into foreplay, having you cum on his tongue or fingers before his dick even sees the light of day, playing with your tits and squeezing them as your nipples perk up from the stimulation. loves when you tug onto his hair and arch your back off the bed, begging for him to just fuck you already. he doesn't listen, of course, just goads you to gush onto his tongue as his thumb draws circles on your hips.

you're trembling in his arms by the time he finally puts his dick in, his hips immediately setting a wild pace as he thrusts into you. at this point he's finally put his own pleasure first, chasing after his own orgasm as you sob through his rough thrusts and his dick brushing up against your walls. he loves when you make a mess, drooling into his silk sheets as he takes you and squirting over his dick when you can't take it anymore.

this freak is into filming, setting up his phone camera so that it can catch the way he pounds into you and your loud moans of his name as you cum all over him. he keeps it mostly to himself, but whenever he feels particularly cruel he'll send it into the groupchat with the message: 'fap material 🙄' because he knows damn well what the other guys will do when they see it.

leehan has claims over thursday.

you never know what exactly you'll get. sometimes he's all mommy's squirmy baby and a brat who needs to be punished, and sometimes he's tearing off your clothes the moment you step through his door and forcing you to take his cock down your throat.

he loves making you say he has the best cock, the one who makes you feel the best, the only one that can make you feel this way. it totally fuels his ego and he loves when you praise him. he'll make you say his name over and over and that he's the only cock that reaches that deep inside of you if you want to cum, and he's really strict about it too.

there's this unspoken rule about not cumming in you. always wrap it up and never raw inside. it's leehan who breaks that rule first. promising it's just the tip and that the others don't have to know, until he's pounding you into the mattress, your ass in the air as his dick is wrapped in your heat. he swears he can't go back once he feels you raw - it's too fucking good, and it's so fucking hot when his cum leaks out of your tight hole. the visual is so insane he just has to take a picture and send it to the groupchat, which everyone gets annoyed by because what happened to the rule?? but leehan doesn't care because what he wants he gets.

leehan's a total switch. he loves when you treat him like some dumb virgin, demanding him to stroke himself as he watches you take a dildo up your hole, unable to touch you.. feel you.. he'll let you use all sorts of toys on him because he loves the pain and he'll take anything his mommy tells him to ♡ he's not going to say no to anything! he loves when you let him suck on your tits, he can literally cum just from that. and when you punish him for cumming in you last week? he moans and cries and promises not to do it anymore - but obviously he will, because leehan always gets his way!!

friday is taesan's day.

after that stupid stunt leehan pulled, taesan has been breeding you ever since. of course, he's not as stupid as leehan, making it known to everyone that he's using you like a cumdump, but he needs you to know that he's the only one who gets to cum in you like this. he gets crazy thinking about you carrying his kid specifically, your breasts swollen with milk. the idea that his seed is the one that your body took makes him feel crazy. he breeds you til you're leaking with his cum, and plugging you to make sure nothing gets wasted. whoever gets you next is in for a nasty surprise when they pull down your panties and see a plug in your cute cunt, but taesan knows jaehyun's a total freak and it probably turns him on seeing his girl being used like that.

surprisingly sweet outside of that. calls you his perfect girl and always moaning and groaning about how this pussy was made for him and how fast he's gonna cum. but he's uber possessive about you, hates when you bring up the other guys, and if some of them leave marks on you? he's pissed and sucking new ones over them just to claim you as his. gets you a collar with his initials and demands you wear it with the other guys, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him ♡ he's also a little piece of shit who calls you on the other days when the other guys are fucking you. some of them pick up... and when they do, taesan just sits back and jerks himself off until his cum paints his phone screen, selectively ignore the guy and focusing on the way you moan and gasp.

loves to cuddle with you afterwards, his dick still in your walls and his hand carding through your hair. he's just a little cat please praise him and tell him how well he's done and he'll cum untouched into your pussy some more, flooding your hole with his seed ♡

jaehyun gets saturday - the only weekend - because he's the leader and technically your boyfriend.

he gets to monopolise your entire day and he'll never stop shoving that into the other's faces. sends pictures constantly throughout the day. whether it's a sneaky upskirt picture of you while you're on a date or a pic of you with his cum on your face, he's totally unashamed of reminding everyone he gets a whole day with you.

jaehyun's got a dirty mouth, moaning up and down about how your pussy is still so tight even after having so many dicks in you and how you're gorgeous and perfect and all he wants to do is breed you and pound you until you turn into putty in his hands and all you know is jaehyun and his pretty cock. he gets so turned on by your babbling about how deep and huge his cock is and how you're gonna cum and begging him to cum in you because you're his... he thinks about it at night and totally jerks off by humping your pillow and cumming all over it like some teenage boy.

he's not opposed to sharing, after all, he's the one who started this whole thing. everyone tries to be on their best behaviour around jaehyun because they might get an extra fuck in if he wants to!

jaehyun's another one that ignores the rules about not cumming in you... like fuck that he'll do what he wants he set the rules!! he loves the feeling of being bare inside you and it feels like heaven to him ♡ another guy who has an insane breeding kink, wants you full of his cum, even if that means eating out taesan's cum from the night before so that you're empty and ready to be filled with his cum now ♡ he'll do it even if you're overstimmed and sobbing for him to stop, because you're dirty with that stupid emo's cum and he's going to treat you right and worship you like the goddess you are, hmph!

˚ ⋆｡˚ riwoo 

𐙚₊˚ he's waiting for his churro order to be called while you secure a spot in the long ferris wheel line when a girl taps him on the arm

𐙚₊˚ at first, he thinks its you and that you just got bored of waiting, so he turns around with a big smile

𐙚₊˚ his smile drops so fast when it's a stranger, holding out her phone with an empty contact screen

𐙚₊˚ she'll be like "can i get your number?" with a smile and riwoo starts wishing you could teleport here to scare her off for him

𐙚₊˚ he immediately starts to internally freak out because this never usually happens to him so he's just blinking at her

𐙚₊˚ he's literally about to pass out, palms getting sweaty

𐙚₊˚ he hates confrontation so he just quietly bows a bit and goes "no sorry." before quickly grabbing his order, scurrying off with the churros in tow

𐙚₊˚ as soon as he makes it back to you, there's the biggest pout on his face... he literally saw his life flash before his eyes

𐙚₊˚ he confesses right away because it makes him feel even more anxious to not tell you, so he goes "someone tried to get my number" before pursing his lips

𐙚₊˚ you'll laugh a bit and be like "did you give it to them?" and he'd be like "no??? baby don't joke like that" ><

jaehyun ˚ ⋆｡˚ 

𐙚₊˚ mr. "LEAVE ME ALONE!!! I'M MARRIED!!!"

𐙚₊˚ one of his old friends from high school would approach him at some group hangout, heavily flirting and hitting on him

𐙚₊˚ at first, he would nervously laugh and look around at all his friends because he thinks she's just joking

𐙚₊˚ like he's genuinely so confused that someone would hit on him because he thought he was pretty vocal about being in a relationship

𐙚₊˚ when he realizes she's genuinely trying to get in his pants, he quickly backs away and puts his hands out in front of him

𐙚₊˚ he'd be like "i'm in a relationship" and if she persists, he gets pretty upset

𐙚₊˚ like does she really think he'd cheat on you, the most perfect person on this plant? hell no.

𐙚₊˚ "should i call my girlfriend and have her tell you herself?"

𐙚₊˚ and the girl would be like "yeah, go ahead and call your 'girlfriend'." and that would just piss jaehyun off so much, he's facetiming you right away

𐙚₊˚ smiles proudly when you cuss that girl out through the phone, successfully scaring her away

𐙚₊˚ would probably blow a bunch of kisses to the screen and say he'll be home soon so he can thank you <3

˚ ⋆｡˚ taesan

𐙚₊˚ if a girl approaches him while he's at the store, he'd literally just ignore her for as long as he can

𐙚₊˚ she'd be like "you're cute. can i have your instagram?" and he would pretend that his headphones are too loud and he can't hear anything

𐙚₊˚ (nothing's playing)

𐙚₊˚ side eyes her to keep watch like a cat, subtly trying to move further and further away from her to avoid confrontation

𐙚₊˚ in his short moment of peace, he'll text you and be like "this girl is trying to hit on me lol" and you'd be like "i told you i should've came with </3 i can't let my sexy boyfriend out in the wild by himself!!!"

𐙚₊˚ if she taps him on his shoulder, he puts on the meanest face (you guys know the one) and monotonously goes "i'm not interested."

𐙚₊˚ she'd go "well, how can i make you interested? ;)" and taesan would give her the most blank stare ever

𐙚₊˚ he'd say "fight to the death with my girlfriend and sees who wins." and then disappears down another isle before calling you

𐙚₊˚ "baby, i think i just sacrificed you on accident"

𐙚₊˚ "taesan what."

leehan ˚ ⋆｡˚ 

𐙚₊˚ a girl will approach him while he's at the mall buying you a gift, subtly trying to rizz him up by complimenting him

𐙚₊˚ leehan would take the compliments with grace, trying to hide his confusion as to why she's being so persistent

𐙚₊˚ finally, she'll pull out her phone and be like "can i have your number?" and that's when it'll finally click that she's hitting on him

𐙚₊˚ he just laughs a little and goes "my girlfriend wouldn't like that." and she'd go "well, your girlfriend doesn't have to know."

𐙚₊˚ his kind smile would drop so quick and he'd just look at her like ??? who the hell is this freak

𐙚₊˚ "i'm not interested. now, if you'll excuse me..." and then he's slipping past her, pulling out his phone to text you about what just happened

𐙚₊˚ smiles to himself fondly when you send a very verbal, very vulgar text cussing her out

𐙚₊˚ "read that out loud to her"

𐙚₊˚ "i'm not going to do that. i love you though."

𐙚₊˚ "i'll read it out loud myself. i'm omw."

˚ ⋆｡˚ woonhak

𐙚₊˚ when a random girl asks woonhak if he's free after school, he's immediately on edge because 1. he's never seen her before and 2. she is not you

𐙚₊˚ she'd shyly be like "i've had a crush on you for a long time and wanted to get to know you better..." and woonhak would just blink at her before shaking his head with a small smile, waving his hands

𐙚₊˚ "oh, i'm sorry, i'm already in a relationship," he'd tell her and instead of her getting sad, she'd get angry

𐙚₊˚ "i don't even know why you like her." and that would set woonhak off

𐙚₊˚ he'd sit up straight and look directly into that girl's eyes with the most fiery look before defending you for at least a minute straight

𐙚₊˚ "you will never be y/n, so keep her name out of your mouth. i love my girlfriend! how dare you even----" and he just goes on and on and on and on

𐙚₊˚ the girl would probably leave the room in tears, rushing past you as you enter the empty classroom to meet woonhak

𐙚₊˚ "what was that about?" you ask as woonhak comes over to hug you, resting his chin on top of your head with a small smile

𐙚₊˚ "no idea."

𐙚₊˚ "woonhak, what did you do?"

𐙚₊˚ "...i did what was necessary..."

reblogs are greatly appreciated! thank u...<3

masterlist

“you’re blushing,” he whispers, lips barely grazing your ear as you try to keep your face neutral. “are you falling for me already?”

cocky bastard.

jaehyun finds your reactions entertaining, but there’s a strange possessiveness in the way he glares at anyone who talks to you, or looks at you a bit too long. he nearly punches a guy trying to get your phone number, and when you call him out, he just shrugs, claiming that it “needs to be convincing.”

he takes you by surprise by remembering little things about you, how you take your coffee, your favourite snack. he brushes it off with a casual “a boyfriend would do this.” 

but the longer this goes on, the less it feels fake. you catch him staring when he thinks you’re not looking, his teasing flirty remarks losing its playfulness. 

“you know,” he says one day, his voice softer than usual. “i think I might've forgotten to pretend.”

park sungho

sungho hesitates when you first tell him your idea. you tell him it’s a great idea; fake dating so that you can get your ex boyfriend back, and he can get back his ex girlfriend. killing two birds with one stone, you say. sungho’s not too sure, but he gives in after some begging from your side.

sungho isn’t sure why, but the thought of pretending to be your boyfriend makes him unreasonably nervous. 

at first, he’s awkward–stuttering over pet names, clearing his throat when you hold his hand. but he still finds himself holding doors open for you, carrying your things without being asked, offering you his jacket when the weather gets chilly. the first time you kiss him, it’s on the cheek, and sungho practically freezes, ears tomato red as he tries his best to avoid your gaze. 

“we should practice more,” he says out of the blue one day. “it needs to be convincing.”

you’re quick to tell him that you’re already being convincing, that it’s him that’s the problem.

sungho’s careful with boundaries, always asking, ‘is this okay?” before touching you in any way. but then things start shifting, there’s no denying it. he texts you good morning without thinking, lingers a little too long after fixing your scarf, gets defensive when someone asks about your relationship. 

park sungho doesn’t realise he’s falling until it’s too late.

“i don’t want this to be fake anymore,” he says one night, standing outside your door whilst fidgeting with his sleeves. “forget about my ex, i want you.”

lee sanghyuk

riwoo finds the whole situation really fucking funny. 

“fake dating? how desperately do you want that asshole back? yeah, i’ll do it, it’s gonna be so fun.”

yeah well, it's fun. for him.

from the moment you two announce your “relationship”, he plays it up like you’re in some kind of terribly cliche, terribly cheesy romance movie, throwing dramatic love confessions at random.

“my love, i would walk through fire for you!” he declares loudly in the school hallway, before snickering as you try your best to do damage control to no avail. 

riwoo’s constantly teasing, winking at you in class and whispering stupid things like, “careful, you might actually fall for me.” just to see your face redden in embarrassment. but then there are moments when he tones it down, and it’s a bit too natural–the way he rests his head on your shoulder when he’s tired, or the way his hand absentmindedly finds yours.

“why’re you blushing?” he teases, but he’s blushing too. 

the problem is, he never knows himself when he’s joking and when he’s being serious. he tells himself it’s just an act, just a way for you to get back your dickhead boyfriend who looks like a two out of ten. but he finds his heart stuttering when you look at him just right. 

and soon, riwoo finds himself wishing the act would never end. 

one day he turns to you, his usual stupid grin plastered on his face, but there’s something softer behind it. 

“so, uh, what if we didn’t stop fake dating?”

han dongmin

when you ask han taesan to be your fake boyfriend to make you ex jealous, he barely reacts. barely even raises his head, murmuring, “sure,” as if you just asked him to pass the salt. 

annoying little bitch.

but beneath his cool, nonchalant exterior (that’s what he thinks), his mind is racing.

he’s not the person for over-the-type gestures, but he shows affection in the smallest ways–remembering your favourite drink order, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, pulling you closer when walking near traffic. you applaud his for being boyfriend material and make a point to very loudly wonder why he’s never had a girlfriend before remembering, aha, his personality is shit.

han taesan insists he doesn’t care about pda, but if someone questions your relationship, he’ll kiss your cheek without a second thought. 

“see? believable.” he says, ignoring the way his heart is pounding. he does it so naturally that even he forgets it’s fake sometimes. he texts you late at night to check if you’ve eaten and gets irritated when other guys get too close. but taesan’s stubborn, and he spends most of his time gaslighting himself that he doesn’t like you like that, brushing it off as just an act. 

then one day, he catches himself staring, thinking how you look a little bit too pretty, hands itching to reach for yours. 

“you said i’m boyfriend material, right?” he asks, catching you by surprise.

“yeah sure.”

“ok, well how about you give up on your shitty ex and we date for real? i’m like, hotter than him too.”

kim donghyun

leehan takes the whole fake dating thing very, very seriously. when you tell him about your ideas, he looks more determined than you, face serious as he says, “if we’re going to do this, we really have to sell it.” you end up having to ask him if he has an ex girlfriend he wants back, because there’s no way he should be this invested in the whole plan.

he makes you practice with him; holding hands, casual touches, so it looks natural. but the more you two practice, the more it starts feeling real. he’s always respectful, never crossing boundaries and always asking if you’re comfortable. but he’s a little too good at being a boyfriend. he ties your shoelaces when they come undone, carries your bag without you asking and smiles at you in a way that makes your heart ache. 

“why’re you looking at me like that?” you ask one day when you catch him staring at you in the restaurant on one of your fake dates. 

leehan just grins. “because you’re cute.”

it’s moments like these that make you forget this isn’t real. but then he starts getting flustered–hesitating before calling you pet names, looking away too quickly when you catch him staring. he’s the first to realise his feelings, but it takes him forever to act on them.

one evening, he exhales deeply before turning to you. “so… what if we kept dating?” he asks, nervous but hopeful. “for real this time?”

kim woonhak

woonhak is way too excited to date you. yeah, it’s fake, but he’s still technically dating you. he’s already planning out cute couple photos. 

woonhak fully commits, calling you cute nicknames, being your personal hype boy, and practically beaming with excitement when you’re around.

you think he’s kind of cute.

“this is my girlfriend,” woonhak announces to everyone, holding your hand. “she’s so pretty isn’t she? yeah, well she’s super smart as well, and-”

he’s affectionate without realising–holding your hand, fixing your hair, resting his chin on your shoulder. it’s all a joke to him at first, but then he starts feeling weird.

why does his heart race when you smile at him? why does he hate seeing other people flirt with you?

“i’m not jealous,” he insists, but his pout says otherwise. 

one day, you joke about breaking up just to see his reaction, and he gasps dramatically.

“if we ‘break up, i’m keeping the dog we don’t have.” 

but behind the playful tone, there’s real fear. he’s known for a while now, this isn’t fake to him anymore. one evening, as you’re walking home together, he suddenly blurts out, “wait, you didn’t know? i fell for you ages ago.”

and that would be perfectly fine. your anger would be understandable. valid? maybe not. but it would be accepted, considering the position you’re in relative to him. 

it would be fine if he weren’t the pride and joy, the superstar, the golden boy of your year. 

everyone tells you that his teasing is just in good fun, that it’s a valiant effort to get closer to you. 

you think that the people around you might actually be fucked in the head if they thought that unceasing pestering translated into acts of friendship.

you sigh, willing your shoulders to relax as you lift your head, returning your attention to your professor. he’s discussing something, you’re not entirely sure what. normally, you’d be all ears, wanting to get every syllable committed to memory so you can do your absolute best in this class, but there’s a huge, monumental weight sitting in your stomach.

your professor says something about a project. 

yes, a project. the project. the one he just brought up a few minutes ago. the one he started calling out partners for. kazuha and sungho. jaehyun and dongmin. donghyun and minju. 

woonhak and–

your eyes lock on the man sitting across the aisle from you. 

woonhak smiles, innocently enough that it just looks like he’s being polite. but you know your new, totally-not-rage-inducing partner is sniffing you out, trying to gauge what your reaction to your professor’s announcement is. 

well, woonhak can go fuck himself. 

your professor claps his hands and you flinch, your attention drawn away from the bane of your existence. 

“seeing as there’s only about fifteen minutes left in our class, i’ll allow this time for you to speak with your partners,” your professor declares. “remember, this is twenty percent of your grade, and it’s due in three weeks. better get to work!”

a collective grumble arises from your classmates, but you grit your teeth together, keeping your butt rooted to your seat. if the universe wants to mess with you, the least it can do is have woonhak come to you.

to his credit, you see through the corner of your eye the vague shape of him getting up from his seat. you keep your eyes downcast up until the very moment he stops next to your desk. you look up at him with the most neutral expression you can summon.

“hey, partner,” woonhak greets, one corner of his mouth turning up as if the whole thing was oh-so-amusing. 

“hey,” you respond curtly. you hear him snicker quietly to himself before pulling up an empty chair and plopping himself next to you.

you catch a whiff of his cologne, and you think, begrudgingly, that at least he smells good. it’s one of the few things you do like about him. he always cleaned up well, uniform worn perfectly pressed, his hair sitting at the juncture of ‘styled with effort’ and ‘i didn’t really try’. 

not that you paid much attention to his appearance. 

sometimes, he’d roll up the sleeves of his button-down, especially when the day was at its end. like right now. he sits on the chair backwards, his arms propped up on the back, his chin coming down to rest on them. 

you can just make out the faint outline of the veins that run along and beneath his skin.

you blink, shifting away from woonhak’s arms, your eyes instead snapping up to meet his. he smiles again, and your stomach jolts violently. he doesn’t even have to do much. your body reacts at the smallest trigger that has anything to do with him. 

“guess mr. choi wanted to see what would happen if he put his two best students together,” woonhak muses, tilting his head to the side. he’s still looking at you, pupils running over your features. or at least you think they are, and for a brief moment, he stops at your lips before licking his own. 

“oh wow, is that an actual compliment from you?” you sneer, narrowing your eyes at him. 

woonhak chuckles, reaching over to toy with your pen. you swat at his hand, but he returns the action, lightly shoving your own out of the way. he grabs your pen and twirls it between his fingers. 

you watch, already silently fuming. 

“my bad. let me rephrase,” woonhak says, bringing your pen up to his mouth. he catches it between his teeth, nibbling on it absentmindedly. 

his tongue pokes out for a moment, and your stomach flips again.

“i guess our professor wanted to see what would happen if he put the best in his class–that’s me–with the second rank, who can barely keep up. that’s you.”

your foot shoots out before you can stop it. it connects with woonhak’s shin and he yelps, straightening in his chair. he scowls at you, grabbing at his leg.

“why do you get so butthurt over jokes?” woonhak pouts.

“jokes are meant to be funny,” you retaliate immediately. 

“and i’m not laughing, kim woonhak. now, listen to me while i tell you what we’ll do for this project.”

-

of course, woonhak didn’t give you an easy time, because he never does. 

the class ended with your head pounding and a frown etched deeply on his face. he got up from the chair with a curt, ‘yeah, whatever,’ as you were reminding him of the internal deadlines you set. he walked away from you, gathering his things before storming out of the classroom. 

you didn’t think he’d be so pissed over you kicking him, but oh well.

you’re burrowed in your bed now, typing furiously on your laptop as you attempt to get a head start on this godforsaken project. you’d texted woonhak again some minutes ago, reminding him of the material he needed to research. he replied with a thumbs-up emoji that annoyed you for the rest of your dinner.

you pause, staring at the blinking text cursor on your open document. you were supposed to list down all the parts of your project, but the momentary shift of your thoughts to woonhak has derailed your focus. you sigh, attempting to type out the words, but you’re pulling up blanks. after typing, erasing, and typing in increasing frustration, you close your laptop, opting to rest your eyes for a while. 

it’s only 11 P.M., but you feel yourself getting drowsier by the second. you figure it’s just from the stress of the project, and perhaps a quick nap before resuming your work wouldn’t hurt anyone. 

you’ve only dozed off for a few minutes when you feel your phone vibrate violently under your cheek.

“what the fuck,” you mutter under your breath. you check the screen and see that someone is calling you. 

the caller ID registers as ‘kim woonhak’.

“what the fuck,” you repeat, jamming your thumb over the ‘answer’ button. 

“what do you want?” you bark into your phone. 

“hi, ______,” woonhak’s voice croons from the other end. you pause, taking in the cadence of his words, the way he says your name; a strange flutter erupts in your chest. 

“sorry, did i interrupt something?” woonhak asks after a moment. 

“my sleep,” you deadpan, throwing an arm over your eyes. you sigh, wanting nothing more than to fall back into the sweet embrace of slumber. 

“sorry about that,” woonhak says. there it is again, the low, almost enticing quality to his tone.

“woonhak, tell me what you need, or else i’m hanging up,” you threaten lightly, voice taking on a breathy quality. 

what is wrong with you? why is your heart rate suddenly picking up?

“i like it when you say my name,” woonhak declares. you can hear him smile as he says this. 

you’re speechless for a few moments, your arm flinging off your face and your eyes snapping wide open. if your heart was beating fast a moment ago, it’s definitely racing now. 

“can you say my name again?” woonhak implores, his voice lilting teasingly. 

“i don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, kim woonhak.” your voice shakes towards the end, and you cringe. but you can’t help it. the whole strange ordeal is putting you on edge. 

and, weirdly enough, your thighs clench together as you hear woonhak chuckle.

“why do you pretend like you don’t like it?” woonhak accuses. 

“like what?” you respond, putting as much bite as you can into your words. 

“the attention i give you.”

your stomach lurches as you try to process his words. 

you don’t. you don’t like the attention he gives you. you hate the teasing, the pushing of all your buttons, the constant reminders of how he’s so much better than you. you hate the way he speaks to you, so different from how he talks to everyone else. so unlike the way he approaches the other girls in your class, always so gentlemanly and charming. 

why can’t the same be afforded to you?

“_______? you still there?” woonhak calls out. 

say it again. fuck, say my name, woonhak.

your eyes fly open a second time, your heart pounding against your ribcage. your hand is empty, your phone buried under your pillow. you quickly check the call log and relief floods your senses when you see it void of woonhak’s name.

a dream. it was all a dream.

you swallow, trying to make sense of it. 

why would you dream of him?

you check the time and see that it’s past midnight now. your laptop lies forgotten at the foot of your bed, and you decide that it’s for the best. you deserve some rest and reprieve from the constant barrage of thoughts that involve your classmate and biggest rival. 

you turn your lamp off, burying yourself under your blanket once more, and praying for a dreamless sleep. 

-

“are you listening to me?”

you blink, eyes focusing back on the man in front of you. woonhak looks at you with a questioning raise of his eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tilting up as well. 

the library is still around the two of you, the only sounds coming from the drone of the large air conditioning units and the occasional scratches of pen against paper and soft typing on laptops. your own device is open in front of you, your project file pulled up, but the letters swim in front of your eyes. 

you’re supposed to be brainstorming ideas on how to present your work, but all the two of you have accomplished over the last hour is a ridiculous amount of bickering over whether canva or google slides is better. 

you’ve both mellowed out into an uneasy truce, agreeing to cross that bridge when you get there. 

“sorry,” you mumble, averting your gaze from woonhak’s scrutinizing eyes. “can you repeat that?”

woonhak settles his chin on his hand, leaning closer across the table towards you. you pretend not to notice, scrolling aimlessly through your screen. 

“i said, we have enough responses from our survey,” woonhak explains. he reaches over and fiddles with the ribbon bookmark on your planner. you shoot him a look, and his hand pauses as it winds the material around his pointer finger. 

“we can start organizing and encoding the data,” woonhak concludes. 

he moves on to grab your pen next, and you swiftly snatch it up before he does. 

“stop touching my stuff,” you warn, glaring at him.

woonhak grins, leaning back in his chair. you watch as the fabric of his uniform shirt shifts over his broad shoulders, rippling against his arms. you know he works out; you see it on his social media from time to time. not that you check his social media regularly. 

“should i touch you instead?”

your head snaps up at near breakneck speed as you stare daggers at woonhak. he seems to find your annoyance amusing, as he always does, because he’s breaking out into an even wider smile.

“i have half a mind to cancel our work session later so i don’t have to see your face any more than i have to,” you whisper in indignation. your face grows hot as woonhak seems unfazed by your scathing words.

“hey, if you want to do all the work, that’s fine by me,” woonhak says, throwing his hands up. “but i’d feel more comfortable if i can monitor our progress. i have to make sure you’re doing the work properly, you know.”

this does it for you. you snap your laptop shut, shoving it inside your bag before collecting your things. woonhak just watches you, expression still relaxed, oh-so-blasé about the whole thing.

“8 P.M. at my dorm. you know where my building is. don’t be late,” you rattle off through gritted teeth before stomping off and out of the library. 

-

at exactly 8 P.M., a soft knock emanates from your door. 

another one of the few things you like about kim woonhak is his ability to be punctual. you unlatch your door and cautiously peek through the small gap you’ve opened.

“have you eaten?” 

you pause, head tilting in confusion. as expected, woonhak is standing in your doorway, a hand behind his back. his bag is slung over one shoulder, and his sleeves are rolled up again. you try not to stare at the way his fingers fidget with the fabric of his pants. 

“uh, no,” comes your puzzled reply. 

“cool. i brought food,” woonhak reveals, brandishing a brown paper bag. immediately, you’re greeted with the smell of spices, and as if on cue, your stomach grumbles loudly. 

woonhak notices and grins. you flush, your bottom lip coming between your teeth.

“oh,” you say plainly. “i–um, thanks.”

you open the door wider and step aside, letting woonhak into your dorm room. you’re suddenly conscious of how everything looks. you hurry to clear space on your desk, shoving papers and trinkets aside. you can feel woonhak watching you, and you nearly drop a ceramic figurine in your haste.

you fight the urge to let out a biting remark, to ask why he’s being a decent human being all of a sudden. you hate the guy, but surely a good deed didn’t warrant a telling off. still, the twisting in your stomach tells you it’s not just the hunger. 

“you can put the food here,” you say, gesturing to the desk. woonhak walks over and does so, then turns to you while he unpacks the contents of the paper bag.

“i got you the spicy kind of kimbap,” woonhak begins. “that okay?”

you stare hard at woonhak, still trying to figure out his angle. your silence causes woonhak to pause, his expression turning inquisitive. 

“if it isn’t, i got tteokbokki too in case,” woonhak offers, gesturing to the tupperware in his hands. 

“why–”

you stop yourself, recalibrating your question. the absurdity of it all is messing with your head, hindering you from creating a cohesive thought, let alone a sentence. 

“you didn’t have to bring me food,” is what you settle for. 

woonhak snickers, pulling up your plush office chair for himself. a twinge of annoyance pokes at you almost instantly. 

“hey, i’m hungry, too,” woonhak says in defense. “i can’t work on an empty stomach, especially if i have to hear you talk for an hour straight.”

ah. there it is.

you roll your eyes, not having the energy to argue because, despite your pride, you are starving.

“thought i lost you there for a moment. good to see you’re still an asshole,” you grumble, clearing out the pile of clothes from the standard-issue desk chair from the university. you drag it across the room and seat yourself next to woonhak. 

your knees brush briefly, and both of you flinch away.

“why are you nice all of a sudden?” you ask, reaching over for one of the foil-wrapped kimbap rolls. 

woonhak looks at you like you grew a second head. 

“i like beating you in academics, but i’m not going to let you go hungry,” woonhak says, his signature pout settling on his lips. he takes a large bite of the kimbap, gesturing to your own unopened one.

“eat. don’t tell me you hate me that much that you’re willing to refuse perfectly good food?” woonhak’s voice warbles around his food, and while you’d usually sneer in disgust at his less-than-desirable manners, you can’t help the laugh that escapes you.

woonhak’s own expression softens and he laughs along. the tightness in your chest loosens as you finally allow yourself dinner. 

-

“i’m just saying, it would be better if we write our own sections, then go over the whole thing together so we can both have a say on its final form.”

you rub at your temple, the familiar need to get violent with woonhak bubbling up inside you once more. your short-lived peace was indeed that: brief, with fleeting conversations as the two of you finished your dinner. the containers have been diligently disposed of, and in their place sits your laptop on your desk, the file to your project staring back ominously at the two of you. 

“i think it would be better if we wrote each section, or at least its outline, while we’re together so that we can both pitch in where we can,” you counter as patiently as you’re able to. 

woonhak is leaning back on your office chair, his own laptop open on his lap. he looks even more relaxed and disheveled than when he came in some hours ago. his glasses sit at the tip of his nose and you fight the urge to push them back up yourself. 

“that would take too much time,” woonhak reasons. “it would be more efficient if we at least get some words on the document, then we can refine it later.”

you pause. you did see the validity of his argument. better to have something than agonize over a near-empty piece of work until inspiration strikes. you sigh, tilting your head back as you feel one of your eyelids twitch. no doubt a product of your exhaustion. 

“you know, you can just say you want to spend more time with me, ______.”

you turn your head and glare daggers at woonhak. once again, he seems unfazed by your frigid response to his antics. 

“what’s your problem?” you ask, righting yourself in your seat. “does torturing me make you that happy?”

“i’m just teasing, _______,” woonhak says defensively. he puts his laptop away, leaning forward so he can brace his elbows on his knees.

from where you sit, you’ll be able to reach over and touch woonhak. 

not that you want to.

don’t you, though? don’t you want to touch woonhak? run your fingers through his hair, leave imprints of your fingertips on his pristine glasses as you pull them off, drag your nails down his sturdy shoulders? 

“if being an asshole is teasing, yeah, sure,” you mutter, distracting yourself with a loose thread from your skirt. your uniform is rumpled, the first two buttons of your blouse undone. you hadn’t changed out of it, too embarrassed to slip into anything comfortable around woonhak. who knows what he has to say about your pajamas. 

“i don’t get why you have to say all that shit to me,” you complain, a bubble of emotion forming in your chest. 

“what shit?” woonhak asks.

you scoff. “don’t pretend you don’t know what i’m talking about.” 

“well, i don’t,” woonhak replies, almost petulant in his tone. 

“all that stuff about me being second best, about never being able to reach your level, what about that? huh, woonhak?” your arms cross tightly across your chest, expression stony as you watch him process your words. 

woonhak lets out a breath, scooting closer. the drag of the office chair’s wheels against the floor is loud, your body jolting as his chair bumps into yours. his knees press against the side of your thigh now, and your whole body nearly erupts in fire. 

“but you like it, don’t you?” woonhak interrogates, crowding into you.

your first instinct is to pull away, to strike him across the face, ask where he got the audacity from. but there it is again. the traitorous wash of his cologne over you. the mischievous glint in his eye that has you pausing, reassessing what it is you truly feel for kim woonhak. 

“or, at least, you like me enough to tolerate it,” woonhak concludes, raising an eyebrow as if asking you to confirm. 

“why would i like you?” you counter, turning your body so you can face him fully. 

woonhak’s eyes leave your face to watch as your knees slot perfectly between his, a slow, subtle smile creeping on his lips. 

“i ask myself the same thing, ______. especially when you’re blushing this hard.” woonhak pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. you watch, completely entranced, his words barely registering with you.

“why can’t you just tell me what it is you want to tell me?” you manage to get out despite the heat in your face. 

“obviously, you get off on my reactions. so you must like it, too. or like me enough to tolerate it.”

woonhak’s words are parroted back to him, and this is when his face splits into a grin. his teeth digs onto his bottom lip, his eyes sweeping down your body. 

“see, this is why i like having you as my so-called rival,” woonhak says lowly, hands coming down to rest on your thighs. 

you gasp, your own hand shooting out to grip woonhak’s wrist. he looks at you cautiously, waiting for you to refuse him, to tell him to back off. you stay perfectly still, your breathing growing more labored with each passing moment.

woonhak runs his palms down your skin, and you bite back a moan. his hands hook around the back of your knees, and he tugs you forward, sending you stumbling over his lap. your hand awkwardly grasps at woonhak’s arm as he adjusts both of you atop the chair. 

you’re sitting fully on woonhak’s lap, thighs flush against his, the heat between your legs dangerously close to where you can see a faint outline in his pants. you can hardly believe it. but the solid pressure of woonhak’s hands against your waist grounds you, telling you this is real and not another one of your dreams.

“so quick to figure things out,” woonhak whispers. “my brilliant _______.”

your mouth falls open as your body caves in at his words. his lips are on yours in the blink of an eye, both of you letting out long, drawn-out sounds as you finally let yourselves go. 

your fingers finally run through the strands of his hair, downy and pliant under your touch. woonhak’s hands wander lower, grabbing the flesh of your ass through your skirt. a shiver runs through your body.

“fuck, need you so bad,” woonhak grunts against your lips. 

“bed. now.” your voice is surprisingly steady as you scramble off his lap, woonhak automatically responding, following as you rise. his arms encircle you as you both fumble your way towards your bed. 

you fall into a heap, you on your back with woonhak catching himself above you. you continue to kiss fervently, your hands wandering everywhere and anywhere over woonhak’s body. you start frantically unbuttoning his shirt, and he does the same with your skirt, slipping the zip down. you kick it off impatiently once it’s loose enough, wriggling yourself out of your underwear soon after. 

“wanna eat you out,” woonhak says, voice rough. 

you pull away just enough to look at him. his eyes are wild, hardened as he takes you in. 

“but i wanna suck you off,” you admit, the ghost of a smile gracing your lips. 

woonhak mirrors your expression as he hurriedly undoes his pants. he throws them and his underwear onto the floor, where your own bottoms are, forgotten. 

“that can be arranged,” woonhak says, kissing you once more before securing an arm around your waist. 

he flips you two over so that you’re on top, the heat from his straining member oh-so-near to your leaking core. 

“well get to it, then.” woonhak nudges you and you huff, flipping yourself over his reclined form. you swing your leg over his face, drawing your cunt closer to his mouth while you bring your own lips closer to his hardened cock. 

he’s leaking precum and your mouth waters at the sight. woonhak hisses when you grab the base, his breath ghosting over your folds. you both moan in unison, quivering beneath each other’s touch.

“god, look at you,” woonhak moans before latching his mouth over your clit from below. you lurch forward in surprise, the drag of his tongue against you ripping a whine from you.

you steady your breathing enough to focus on the task at hand. you lick a stripe from his base to his tip and woonhak groans against you. you take his head into your mouth, suckling momentarily, swirling your tongue over his slit. you take more of him, sinking down further and further until you feel him hit the back of your throat. there’s still more of him, and this turns you on even more. 

he’s huge. and he’s all yours.

you draw back, then slide back down, setting up a steady rhythm. woonhak continues to emit noises from below you, sending delicious vibrations through your soaking pussy. in turn, you hum around his dick, and it’s like a feedback loop of you nudging each other closer and closer to your release. 

soon enough, you feel yourself right on the brink, and woonhak twitches in your mouth around the same time. you take in as much as you can of him, swallowing around his head once you feel him nudge your throat once more. woonhak cries out, his hips jerking up. you gag around him, but you don’t have any time to react as he spills himself in your mouth. 

you pull off him, jerking him off the rest of the way, your lips and chin covered in his cum. your hole begs for attention as it continues to leak your arousal. woonhak devours you once more, running his tongue frantically over your clit. you feel the pad of his thumb press over the puckered hole of your ass, and this is where you lose it. 

you cum hard over woonhak’s mouth, and a strangled noise escapes him, his hands planted firmly on your thighs as he keeps you in place. you grind down on his face as you ride out your high, your limbs suddenly weak.

you feel liquid running down your legs, and you realize what you’d just done.

“shit, i’m so sorry,” you apologize quickly, tumbling off woonhak. 

his face and mouth are drenched, and so is the collar of his uniform. he pushes himself up on his elbows, a lazy smile on his face.

“you’re good,” woonhak reassures. “that was hot, not gonna lie.”

you huff out a laugh, letting yourself plop down unceremoniously on your bed. woonhak shifts closer, using his sleeves to dry himself off. he spots the box of tissues you keep on your bedside table and goes to grab you a few, handing them to you with that same boyish smile you’ve come to crave over the months you’ve known him. you clean yourself up, letting the silence blanket both of you.

but, whether it’s post-nut clarity or something else, the reality of the situation suddenly comes crashing down. meeting woonhak’s eyes, your chest constricts, and you immediately spring up, climbing off the bed. 

“that was fun,” you concede. “but that was totally crossing a line.”

“a line i’m glad we crossed,” woonhak declares, tone challenging as if imploring you to agree with him.

“i think you should go,” you say instead. “we can finish up tomorrow after class.” 

woonhak gapes at you, opens his mouth like he wants to say something, then decides otherwise. he collects his clothes from the floor just as you’re pulling up a fresh set of sleep shorts you grabbed. you turn away, avoiding the sight of woonhak until he’s completely decent.

“thanks for the food,” you hurriedly say as he goes to collect his things. 

“and the other thing,” you add, your face heating up once more. 

woonhak turns to you, his mouth pressed into a thin line. 

“no problem. thank you, too. and see you tomorrow.”

-

the class seems to be dragging on for longer than it should, and your temples are starting to throb. your professor is droning on about the lesson, periodically calling on students to share their thoughts, in hopes of catching those who are slacking off. 

and just your luck, you watch as your professor’s eyes land right on you. you accept what’s coming next.

“ms. _______,” your professor addresses you. “what do you think of this aspect of this theory? does it hold enough validity for it to be proven true?”

you stand, presenting the very bare bones of your argument, not caring much at this point if you’re a little off on what your professor is looking for. you’re tired and stressed and still reeling from the events of last night. 

as if on cue, you turn your head just the slightest bit and catch woonhak’s eyes. he’s staring straight at your face, not even hiding the fact that he’s panning down to glance at your chest, then at your thighs, before running his gaze back up to your eyes. 

“ms. _______,” your professor cuts in gently. you blink, turning your attention back to the older man in front of you.

“you’re presenting your argument to me, not to mr. kim.”

you hear a couple of snickers and coughs around, and you make a point to stare pointedly at myung jaehyun, who is grinning uncontrollably at the whole ordeal, eyes flitting between you and woonhak. his face melts into neutrality once he sees you looking back. 

“actually, i think, while her argument is sound, it’s heading towards the wrong direction.”

you grit your teeth at the sound of woonhak’s voice, your fists clenching at your side.

“oh? kindly elaborate, woonhak,” your professor implores. 

woonhak stands up and faces you, only the center aisle separating the two of you. 

or is it the thickening tension that comes from knowing what sounds woonhak makes when you choke on his cock?

god, you hate him. 

you want him all the same.

woonhak begins to counter your points, and with every sentence, you realize he’s actually making a really good case for himself. which annoys you even further. and for the sake of being stubborn, you decide to argue back. 

“you’re being very tunnel-visioned about this,” you say with a scowl. “obviously this theory shouldn’t be looked at through just one lens, and yet you’re making very bold, very sure statements about its validity.”

woonhak’s eyebrows raise at this, but he quickly schools his expression into one of satisfaction. you’ve taken the bait once again. you both get what you’re here for. 

an argument. an excuse to throw jabs at each other, albeit only verbally. a chance for you to watch him eye you like you’re his next meal, and an opportunity for him to relish in the flush of your cheeks and the drag of your tongue across your lips. 

you debate for a couple of minutes more, the whole class seemingly entranced with the display of wits before them. your professor lets it go a little longer, just as amused. he decides to put a stop to it once he sees that you and woonhak have stepped out onto the aisle; a little bit more, and the two of you would be toe to toe. 

“i believe that the point has been made,” your professor cuts in. “there is no one way to view this theory, and it is why it remains exactly that. a theory.”

both you and woonhak pause, your heart beating wildly in your chest. you look at each other for a moment before you turn, depositing yourself back onto your seat. you realize that your hands are trembling, and you clench them even harder in an attempt to stop the movement.

you don’t look at woonhak for the rest of the class

-

“you reserved the study room, right?” 

you shoot woonhak a look, and he merely smiles innocently at you, eyebrows raised as if waiting for a response.

“do i look like someone who would forget?” you grumble, stomping up the library’s front steps. woonhak races ahead of you and holds the door open.

you ignore the way your stomach flutters as you enter, the cool library air soothing your warm skin. 

you’ve been tense all day after that debate in class. heck, you’ve been tense since last night when you and woonhak were moaning into each other’s mouths. but you made a promise that you would finish part of your report today, and you won’t let a little misplaced romp with your biggest academic rival derail that plan.

you and woonhak proceed to the front desk as you both turn in your school IDs for the use of one of the private study rooms. in retrospect, isolating yourself with woonhak in a secluded space probably isn’t the smartest idea after what happened last night, but it’s too late now. you’re directed towards the hallway to the side, and before you know it, you and woonhak are entering the small, soundproof space. 

“cozy,” woonhak comments, depositing his bag on the table. he pulls the blinds down over the small window and draws the curtain hanging over the see-through door. 

“don’t start,” you warn, already pulling your laptop out. 

“are you done organizing the data? do we need more respondents?” you ask, avoiding all eye contact with woonhak. you’ve positioned yourself across the round table from him, refusing to get within reaching distance of him.

“yes, i’m done, and no, we don’t,” woonhak answers. you feel him watching you, as he’s been known to do lately, and it’s taking everything in you not to get all up in his face and ask why he keeps doing this.

“good,” you say, finally seating yourself. “you can work on the introduction, background, and method and procedures. let’s work on the related literature together, then i can work on the analysis and summary. how does that sound?”

finally, you turn to woonhak and he’s looking at you with an impossibly wide grin. you feel your neck heat up, images of last night flashing through your eyes. 

“so we’re doing it my way, after all,” woonhak teases, leaning over the table and openly surveying you. 

“you were right. is that what you wanted to hear?” you taunted back. 

woonhak chuckles, shrugging. “personally, i want to hear something else from you.”

“don’t be disgusting,” you cut in, equal parts indignation and arousal swirling in your belly. 

how dare he? how dare he be so crass yet so attractive?

“i wasn’t so disgusting when you were making those noises last night.”

a silence befalls the room. you and woonhak observe each other, merely a couple of feet apart, and yet a valley of unspoken things lies between you two. your eyes glance at the corners of the room where the ceiling meets the wall. where cameras would usually be.

“there aren’t any behind you, either,” woonhak confirms what you’ve been trying to figure out. the casual nonchalance has you shifting in your seat.

“how long are we going to pretend, _______?” woonhak continues, rising from his chair. 

you follow, pushing your chair back as you stand. you refuse to allow a single moment where he can look down on you. you’re eye to eye now. if woonhak reaches out, he’d be able to pull you to him, do with you as he pleases. 

you worry that this is all you ever wanted. 

how ironic.

“come here.”

woonhak’s words are barely out of his mouth before his hand is circling your wrist, yanking you towards him. your bodies slam together violently, your mouths smashing against each other in a messy, breathy kiss. 

you’re glad woonhak concealed the room beforehand. anyone walking by would have seen you two devouring each other’s faces.

woonhak maneuvers you towards the table, and you hop up backwards, letting yourself settle on the hardwood. you pull woonhak flush against you, hooking your legs around his hips. you press yourself to the front of his pants and he groans, grinding into your already wet heat. 

“should have done this sooner,” woonhak mutters, reaching beneath your skirt to yank at your underwear. you whimper as you feel the fabric drag down your thighs. 

he discards it onto the floor and flips your skirt up and around your waist. 

“do you know how cute you get when you’re pretending my words aren’t getting to you?” woonhak asks, smirking as he presses two fingers against your aching core. 

you gasp, eyelids fluttering shut as he massages through your folds, quickly locating your clit. 

“i know they annoy you, but i also know it also turns you on,” woonhak continues, spreading your arousal around before plunging a finger inside of you. 

“fuck, woonhak,” you moan, your hand gripping the front of his shirt. he eases another finger in and starts pumping slowly, savoring the shifts in your expression.

“you like being called second best?” woonhak interrogates. “or do you just like it when i do it?”

you whimper, turning away in shame. 

because it’s true. in your deepest, sickest, most twisted fantasies, you let woonhak degrade you, demean you in ways you know only he can. and it looks like those fantasies are about to come true.

“don’t do that,” woonhak demands, his other hand grabbing your jaw. he turns you back to him, eyes set with something dark. 

“look at me when i talk to you.”

you nod your acquiescence, meeting his heated gaze. he’s moving his fingers faster inside you now, the table rocking gently with every slam of his fingers against your hole. 

“need you to repeat what you did last night,” woonhak says, curling his fingers against that one spot inside you. “need you to make a mess all over me.”

you clamp a hand over your mouth as an embarrassingly loud moan threatens to escape you. sure enough, woonhak is drawing you closer and closer to your release, the familiar pressure building low in your belly. 

“i c-can’t. not here,” you whisper shakily. “the m-mess–”

“yes, you can,” woonhak interrupts. “i’ll clean it up, don’t worry.”

a shiver runs through you as you feel yourself tumbling even closer to your orgasm. woonhak reaches as deep as he can, presses against your spongy walls.

“that’s it. let go for me, baby.”

your vision flashes white and you feel yourself clench around woonhak’s lithe fingers. he pulls them out just as you release all over him, drenching his shirt and the top of his pants. he rubs circles on your clit and you bite down hard on your lip to keep yourself from crying out. 

eventually, you’re reduced to a twitching, panting mess. half-undressed, uniform wrinkled, with evidence of your orgasm splashed all over the floor. 

“good girl,” woonhak praises, licking the remnants from his fingers. you watch in rapt fascination as he cleans himself of you.

“my turn.”

woonhak unbuckles his belt and undoes his pants, yanking his bottoms down just enough to let his cock free. instinctively, your legs widen once more as he steps between your thighs, carefully avoiding the drops of liquid on the floor.

“i’m clean, by the way,” woonhak says, as if an afterthought. 

you nod. “so am i. and i’m on the pill. hurry up before i change my mind.”

woonhak snickers, brushing his tip against your swollen folds. you moan softly, pulling him closer by his uniform tie. 

“please, need you to fuck me,” you whine, batting your lashes up at woonhak. 

he slides in, one fluid motion, until the base of his cock meets your pelvis. you both gasp in surprise, adjusting to each other. he stretches you out wider than what you’re used to, and woonhak is muttering about how tight you are. 

“oh, fuck.” woonhak’s voice breaks at the end as his hips snap up. you gasp, falling back onto your elbows. 

woonhak pulls back and slams in, pulls away, then back in. he repeats this, building up his pace as you let yourself go in the pleasure.

“yeah, that’s it,” woonhak breathes, grabbing your hips. “take it.” 

the table is creaking louder beneath you now, but you pay it no mind. not when woonhak is fucking you this good. 

“oh, god.” your voice comes out breathless. 

“woonhak, please,” you plead, pulling him down towards you. he braces himself on one arm, dipping his head so he can kiss you.

he slams his hips hard against yours, over and over again, masking your moans with his mouth. you can feel yourself getting close once more, and you know woonhak feels it, too. he’s breathing loudly in your ear, your name falling from his lips occasionally.

“gonna feel so good when i cum inside you,” woonhak grunts. “you’d let me, right? you’d let the guy who’s better than you cum inside?”

your body burns with shame as you gasp, clutching woonhak even closer. he takes his cue and fucks you even harder, his grip bruising at your hips. 

your second orgasm washes over you and you feel yourself clamping down on woonhak. he moans in your ear, hips stuttering. he stills, spilling himself deep in you. he thrusts the rest of his orgasm out, whimpers falling from your mouth as the oversensitivity sinks in.

finally, woonhak stops, pulling back just enough. he sees the hair plastered to your face and neck, and he reaches down to brush it away.

“you look a little tired, ______.” woonhak’s words come out teasing as he hauls you upright, still deep inside you.

he rocks his hips gently, and you groan, your forehead falling onto his shoulder. 

it had become a habit now, one of the small ways you kept him close despite the miles stretching between you.

your phone, propped up on the counter, lit up with a message.

woonhak: just got out of class. my professor hates me i swear

you smiled, wiping your hands on your apron before typing back.

you: it’s because you talk too much

almost immediately, your phone buzzed again.

woonhak: wow. so mean. do you want me to suffer??woonhak: actually, don’t answer that.

you laughed, shaking your head. this was your routine now—him texting you the second he was free, sending you blurry selfies of him looking exhausted, random pictures of his university, or even just ranting about how unfair life was. and in return, you’d do the same—long messages about customers who annoyed you, the exact number of items you restocked that day, or how the store’s cat had finally let you pet it.

no one had ever said the words out loud, but it was there. in the way he made sure to call you before bed, even when he was exhausted. in the way you caught yourself waiting for his messages. in the way you both existed in each other’s worlds despite the distance.

today was the first day of summer.

you sighed, stretching your arms before grabbing a rag to wipe down the tables. just as you reached the last one, the glass door chimed—a sound you’d heard a thousand times before.

“welcome in,” you called out automatically, too focused on scrubbing away a stubborn stain to look up.

then, a familiar voice.

“you missed a spot.”

you froze.

your heart stuttered in your chest, your grip tightening around the rag. for a moment, you thought you had imagined it. that maybe, just maybe, the distance was finally making you hear things.

but then you turned.

and there he was.

woonhak. standing in the doorway, grinning like an idiot, his arms spread wide like he was waiting for you to launch yourself at him.

and you did.

the rag dropped to the floor as you ran straight into him, arms wrapping around his waist, burying your face into his shoulder. he smelled familiar—like laundry detergent and the faintest trace of his cologne, like home.

woonhak laughed, the sound vibrating against your cheek as he hugged you even tighter, lifting you slightly off the ground.

“missed me?” he teased, voice warm.

you hit his shoulder lightly, but didn’t let go. “obviously, you idiot.”

he chuckled, rocking you slightly. “good. because i was starting to think you replaced me with the store cat.”

“the cat hates me.”

“fair. but you still like me, right?”

you pulled back just enough to look at him, and the way he was smiling at you made your heart ache in the best way.

you rolled your eyes. “unfortunately.”

woonhak laughed again, his forehead bumping against yours. “guess i’ll have to make it up to you then.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.” he grinned, eyes twinkling. “so, let’s go see the stars.”

you blinked. “what?”

“come on.” he grabbed your wrist, tugging you toward the door. “close up early. let’s go somewhere.”

“woonhak, i can’t just leave—”

“sure you can.” he shot you a look, mischievous and familiar. “you’ve been working too much. i’m back, it’s summer, and i’m kidnapping you for the night. no arguments.”

you stared at him, the warmth of his hand wrapped around yours, the way he looked at you like he had been waiting for this moment just as much as you had.

and then you smiled.

the laughter between you faded into something quieter, something softer. the weight of the moment settled in the air between you—unspoken, but undeniably there.

woonhak was still holding your wrist, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your skin. a touch so light, so fleeting, yet it sent warmth curling through your chest.

“let’s go,” he said again, gentler this time.

you hesitated, glancing toward the counter, the shelves, the quiet hum of the store that had become your second home. “but—”

“no buts.” he took a step closer, tilting his head slightly. “when was the last time you did something just because it made you happy?”

the question caught you off guard.

because the truth was, you couldn’t remember.

you sighed, half-exasperated, half-amused. “you’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

woonhak smirked. “nope.”

you rolled your eyes, but there was no real fight left in you. because the truth was, you wanted to go. you wanted to steal this night, to press pause on reality just for a little while.

“fine,” you mumbled, reaching behind the counter to grab your bag. “but if i get fired—”

“i’ll hire you at my dad’s store.”

you gave him a deadpan look. “woonhak, i already work at your dad’s store.”

he laughed, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the door. “then i’ll pay you in snacks.”

the two of you stepped out into the warm night air, the world stretching wide before you. woonhak’s car was parked just outside, and he opened the passenger door for you with a teasing bow. “your chariot awaits.”

you snorted, shoving him lightly before sliding in. he ran around to the driver’s side, and as soon as he started the car, the soft hum of music filled the space.

the city lights blurred past as he drove, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming lightly against his thigh. you watched him out of the corner of your eye—the way his hair fell slightly over his forehead, the way his lips curled at the edges whenever he focused.

“where are we even going?” you asked eventually.

woonhak grinned, eyes still on the road. “you’ll see.”

the drive stretched on, the city giving way to quieter roads, open fields, the sky stretching endlessly above. the stars were beginning to appear, scattered like freckles against the darkening blue.

after what felt like forever, woonhak pulled over onto a small hill, the kind of place you only knew about if you spent your childhood sneaking out at night. he turned off the engine, the sudden quiet wrapping around you like a blanket.

“come on,” he said, already climbing out.

you followed, stepping onto the cool grass, the scent of summer thick in the air.

woonhak flopped onto the ground, patting the space beside him. “best seats in the house.”

you huffed but sat down anyway, stretching your legs out in front of you.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. the sky above was endless, the stars flickering like tiny promises.

“i used to come here all the time,” woonhak said suddenly. “whenever things felt too big. too much.”

you turned to look at him. his gaze was fixed on the sky, something wistful in his expression.

“and now?” you asked.

he finally met your eyes, something unreadable flickering in his own. “now i think i’d rather be here with you.”

your breath caught.

the words were simple, unembellished, but they settled deep in your chest.

you swallowed, trying to ignore the way your heart was practically throwing itself against your ribs. “you’re so dramatic.”

woonhak laughed, nudging your shoulder. “maybe. but i mean it.”

silence stretched between you again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. it was warm, comforting.

then, he reached over, pinky brushing against yours. not quite holding your hand, but close enough to set your skin on fire.

you could have moved. could have pulled away, could have closed the space completely.

but you didn’t.

instead, you let your fingers curl just slightly, just enough for them to hook together.

and woonhak smiled.

and under the stars, with the summer air wrapping around you, you realized something—

this wasn’t just a fleeting moment.

the air smelled faintly of instant ramen and cheap coffee, the scent clinging to your uniform as you absentmindedly ran the rag over the counter for the third time. your thoughts drifted—mostly to woonhak, as they often did during these long, uneventful shifts.

woonhak was at the back of the store, stacking boxes near the stockroom. from where you stood, you could see the way his sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms as he effortlessly lifted each box like it weighed nothing. he made it look easy, just like he made everything look easy.

you bit the inside of your cheek, annoyed at yourself for staring. it wasn’t like he was going to notice anyway. he never did.

at first, you tried convincing yourself that he was just quiet, that maybe he was the type of person who kept his distance from coworkers. but that theory crumbled quickly when you watched him chat effortlessly with customers, throwing in the occasional charming smile or polite nod. even when his friends dropped by, he greeted them with a grin, his usual composed expression softening into something warmer.

but with you? nothing.

sure, he said hi when your shifts overlapped. he’d ask you to stock shelves if he was busy handling the register. but that was the extent of it. no small talk. no casual conversations about school or life outside the store. just simple, impersonal exchanges that made you feel more like background noise than an actual person.

it was frustrating, really. and the worst part? you still couldn’t stop thinking about him.

you sighed, leaning against the counter, when a voice suddenly cut through the silence.

“you missed a spot.”

you jolted, your grip on the rag tightening as you turned to see woonhak standing beside you, peering down at the counter with his usual unreadable expression.

you blinked, your brain short-circuiting for a second. “what?”

woonhak pointed to a barely visible smudge near the register, his tone as casual as ever. “right there.”

you quickly wiped over it, heat creeping up your neck. of course, the first real thing he says to you all shift has to be about cleaning. not school, not work, not even some throwaway comment about the weather—just that.

when you looked up again, he was already walking away, disappearing into the stockroom like the moment hadn’t even happened.

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, staring after him in disbelief.

was he really that oblivious? or was he doing this on purpose?

either way, it was driving you insane.

the more time you spent working at the store, the more you started noticing the little things about woonhak. not the obvious things—like the way customers always gravitated toward him or how effortlessly he balanced school and work—but the smaller details, the ones you weren’t sure anyone else even paid attention to.

for instance, the way he hummed under his breath when he thought no one was listening. it was always something soft, barely audible over the hum of the refrigerators. sometimes, it was an old song playing faintly through the store’s speakers; other times, it was just a melody with no real pattern. you caught yourself lingering near the aisles whenever it happened, pretending to fix the same row of snacks just to hear it a little longer.

he also had this habit of organizing snacks by color. at first, you thought it was just him being efficient, but then you realized he did it even when it wasn’t necessary. the chips, the candies, even the energy drinks—if he was stocking the shelves, they always ended up arranged in a neat, color-coordinated gradient.

“you know, no one really cares if the ramen cups go from red to yellow,” you teased one evening, watching as he rearranged a row of instant noodles.

woonhak didn’t even look up. “yeah, but it looks better like this.”

you tilted your head, studying his expression. he wasn’t doing it for the customers. he wasn’t even doing it because his dad expected the shelves to look nice. he just liked things a certain way. it was oddly endearing.

but the thing that really got to you? the way he sometimes looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

it started small. you’d glance up from the register and catch his eyes flickering away too quickly. or you’d be restocking the shelves and feel the weight of his gaze just before he turned back to whatever he was doing. at first, you thought you were imagining it, that maybe you just wanted him to look at you so badly that your mind was playing tricks on you.

but then it kept happening.

like that time you were leaning against the counter during a slow shift, absentmindedly fiddling with a snack wrapper, when you felt it—that unmistakable pull of someone’s stare. you turned your head just in time to see woonhak, standing by the fridge section, looking right at you.

his expression was unreadable, but his eyes held something unfamiliar, something you couldn’t quite name.

the second your eyes met, he looked away, pretending to check the labels on the bottled drinks.

your heartbeat stuttered.

maybe he wasn’t as oblivious as you thought.

—

the storm rolled in without warning. one moment, the sky outside the store was a deep navy, the streetlights flickering lazily against the pavement. the next, rain was hammering against the windows, wind howling through the cracks in the doors. then—darkness.

the hum of the refrigerators cut out, the overhead lights flickered once, then died. the only thing left was the soft, eerie glow of the emergency lights lining the walls.

“great,” you muttered, setting down the inventory clipboard you’d been pretending to work on.

behind the counter, woonhak sighed, pulling his phone out of his pocket. he tapped the screen. “no signal.”

of course. just your luck to be stuck in a blackout, in a convenience store, alone with woonhak.

you shifted awkwardly, glancing at him. “should we, uh… do something? or just wait it out?”

he looked around, eyes scanning the dimly lit store. “well, we can’t close up, and we can’t leave.” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “guess we’re stuck here for a while.”

with nothing else to do, the two of you sat down on the floor near the counter, backs against the shelves stocked with instant noodles. the emergency lights cast a faint, bluish glow over his face, making his features look softer, almost unreal.

for a while, neither of you spoke. the silence wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it was heavy, like something unspoken was lingering between you. then, out of nowhere, woonhak let out a small, breathy chuckle.

“this is kinda weird, huh?” he mused.

you turned to him. “what is?”

“being here like this. we’ve worked together for months, but this is probably the longest we’ve ever talked.”

you blinked, taken aback by his sudden honesty. “yeah. you’ve always been... kind of hard to talk to.”

he raised an eyebrow. “hard to talk to?”

“i mean, you’re quiet. you don’t really say much unless it’s about work,” you admitted, hugging your knees. “honestly, i wasn’t sure if you even liked me.”

woonhak tilted his head slightly, studying you. “i never disliked you,” he said after a pause. “i just… don’t always know what to say.”

you looked at him, waiting, sensing there was more.

he exhaled, leaning his head back against the shelves. “it’s kinda dumb, but… i feel like i don’t have time to just—talk. i’m always thinking about what i should be doing next. school, work, helping my dad. it’s a lot, you know?”

his voice was quieter now, the usual steadiness replaced with something more fragile.

“because you’re the eldest?” you asked softly.

he nodded, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “yeah. i don’t really have a choice. my dad relies on me, and i don’t want to let him down. sometimes, i think about what i actually want to do, but then i feel guilty, like i’m being selfish.”

for the first time, you saw him not as the woonhak that everyone admired—the perfect son, the dependable coworker—but as a boy who was just… tired.

hesitantly, you said, “i get it. maybe not in the exact same way, but… i understand what it’s like to feel like you have to be something for everyone else.”

he turned to you, intrigued. “yeah?”

you nodded, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. “i’ve always felt like i had to prove something. like if i don’t push myself hard enough, i’ll just… fade into the background. i guess that’s why i’ve always been so frustrated with you.”

he blinked. “with me?”

you let out a small laugh. “yeah. you make everything look so easy. it’s like you don’t even have to try, and meanwhile, i’m over here struggling to keep up.”

woonhak was quiet for a moment, then—to your surprise—he smiled. not his usual polite smile, but something softer, more real.

“i didn’t know you thought that,” he murmured. “if it makes you feel any better, i think you work harder than anyone else here.”

you felt your face warm, looking away. “you’re just saying that.”

“no,” he said simply. “i’m not.”

the air between you shifted, something settling into place. and for the first time since meeting him, you didn’t feel invisible.

—

the change was subtle at first, but once you noticed it, you couldn’t unsee it.

woonhak was everywhere.

he was always near, always teasing, always finding little excuses to talk to you. he stopped treating you like just another co-worker and started acting like… well, like someone who actually wanted to be around you.

one evening, after an unusually slow shift, you were restocking shelves when you accidentally knocked over a row of neatly stacked chip bags.

“careful,” woonhak drawled from behind you, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. “you break it, you buy it.”

you huffed, bending down to pick up the fallen bags. “do you ever actually help, or do you just stand there and make fun of me?”

“oh, i definitely just stand here and make fun of you,” he said, grinning.

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

and then there was the way he waited for you after shifts. at first, you thought it was a coincidence—maybe he just happened to finish work at the same time as you. but then it happened again. and again.

“why are you still here?” you asked one night, shoving your hands into your jacket pockets as you locked up the store.

woonhak stretched lazily, as if he hadn’t been waiting outside for you. “it’s dark out.”

“so?”

he gave you a pointed look. “might as well walk together.”

you narrowed your eyes. “but your house is—”

“doesn’t matter.” he started walking ahead, then glanced back at you, raising an eyebrow. “you coming, or what?”

you hated how easily he did this—how effortlessly he inserted himself into your routine, into your life, like he had always been there.

you groaned, but the truth was, you liked it. you liked how he matched his pace with yours, how he walked on the side closest to the street, how he never let the conversation die out even when you weren’t sure what to say.

and then there were the snacks.

at first, it was small. a bag of your favorite chips left near the register, a cold drink placed beside your bag without a word. when you asked about it, he’d just shrug.

“it’s nothing.”

but it wasn’t nothing.

one afternoon, after a particularly long shift, you found a neatly wrapped rice ball waiting for you in the breakroom.

you picked it up, turning it over in your hands. “did you—”

“you haven’t eaten, right?” woonhak interrupted, not looking at you as he busied himself with the stock list.

you blinked. “how did you know?”

“you always forget when you’re working.”

your heart stuttered at his words.

he noticed.

he was noticing you now. really noticing you.

you unwrapped the rice ball slowly, trying to ignore the way your hands felt unsteady. “thanks,” you muttered.

woonhak finally looked at you then, and for once, his usual teasing expression softened into something quieter. “don’t mention it.”

and that was how it was. little moments, little gestures, little things that all added up to something bigger.

you weren’t sure what it was, not yet. but you liked it.

and just as you started to believe that maybe, just maybe, this was turning into something more—

you overheard the conversation.

—

it was late, your shift nearly over, when you heard woonhak’s father speaking in hushed tones near the back of the store.

“it’s a big opportunity, woonhak. you’d be crazy to pass this up.”

you froze, your hand tightening around the stack of receipts you’d been organizing.

“i know,” woonhak replied, his voice lower than usual. hesitant.

you inched closer to the back of the store, staying just out of sight behind one of the shelves.

“then what’s the problem?” his father pressed. “you’ve worked hard for this. this isn’t just about the store—this is about your future.”

there was a pause. a long, heavy silence.

then, woonhak exhaled. “it’s just... sudden.”

“that’s how these things work. you don’t always get time to think. you have to act.” his father’s voice softened slightly. “listen, i know you worry about me, about the store, but i’ll be fine. this is your chance to do something more, something bigger than this place.”

your stomach twisted.

what was he talking about? what opportunity? where would it take him?

and why—why did it feel like something was slipping through your fingers before you even had the chance to hold it?

you heard woonhak sigh, the kind he let out when he was deep in thought, troubled.

“i just need time,” he murmured.

his father didn’t push him further, only replying, “just don’t take too long, son.”

you stood frozen behind the shelves long after the conversation ended, your heart pounding in your ears.

because you already knew.

whatever this was—whatever had been growing between you and woonhak, however slowly, however subtly—it wasn’t going to last.

the next few days felt different. not because anything had changed—woonhak still teased you, still left snacks by the register, still waited for you after your shifts like it was the most natural thing in the world. but now, there was something unspoken hanging in the air between you.

you weren’t sure if he knew you had overheard. part of you wanted to pretend you didn’t, to pretend things were the same. but you weren’t sure how long you could keep up the act when every moment with him suddenly felt like it had an expiration date.

then one night, as the store’s closing time approached, woonhak finally said it.

“can we talk?”

you turned to him, heart pounding. “yeah.”

he hesitated before pulling you outside, the cool night air wrapping around you both. the neon lights from the store’s sign buzzed softly above you, casting a faint glow over his face.

for a moment, he just looked at you, like he was trying to memorize something. then, he sighed.

“you heard, didn’t you?”

you swallowed. “yeah.”

woonhak let out a dry chuckle, looking down at his shoes. “figured. you’re not exactly subtle when you eavesdrop.”

“shut up,” you muttered, but there was no real bite to it.

he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “it’s a scholarship. a really good one. i’d be studying abroad for a year—maybe longer, if things go well.”

your chest tightened. “that’s… amazing.”

he scoffed. “you don’t sound like you mean that.”

“no, i do.” you forced a smile. “this is everything you’ve worked for, right?”

“yeah,” he said, but his voice was uncertain. he wasn’t looking at you anymore, staring out at the empty street instead. “but… i don’t want to leave you alone.”

you blinked, caught off guard by his honesty.

he turned back to you, his usual teasing expression replaced with something raw, something real. “i mean it. the thought of being somewhere new, somewhere exciting—it should make me happy, right? but all i can think about is how i won’t be here. with you.”

your throat felt tight. because a few months ago, you never would have imagined hearing those words from woonhak. back then, you weren’t even sure he noticed you. and now here he was, standing in front of you, telling you he didn’t want to leave you behind.

but you couldn’t let him stay just for you.

you reached out, poking his forehead lightly. “you’re an idiot.”

he blinked. “what—”

“you have to go, woonhak,” you said softly. “you’d regret it if you didn’t.”

he frowned. “but—”

“but nothing,” you cut him off, smiling a little. “you won’t lose me.”

he stared at you, and for once, he didn’t have a witty comeback.

you took a deep breath. “i’ll wait for you. no matter how long it takes.”

woonhak exhaled, shaking his head with a small, incredulous laugh. “you’re serious?”

“dead serious.” you tilted your head at him. “what, do you not trust me?”

“no, it’s not that,” he muttered. “it’s just… funny. the you from a few months ago didn’t even think i knew you existed, and now you’re out here promising to wait for me.”

you felt your face heat up. “shut up.”

but woonhak was grinning now, his usual self creeping back in. “you’re kind of romantic, you know that?”

“don’t push it.”

he laughed, then—to your surprise—reached out and ruffled your hair. “alright, fine. i’ll go. but only because you said you’d wait for me.”

you swatted his hand away, scowling. “like you weren’t gonna go anyway.”

“nope. i was seriously considering staying.” he gave you a lopsided smile, and something about it made your heart ache. “but i guess i have to make this count now. wouldn’t want to keep you waiting too long.”

you rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

and when he walked you home that night, he stayed a little longer by your door, hesitating like he had something more to say.

but instead of words, he reached out, carefully intertwining his pinky with yours.

a silent promise.

“wait for me,” he murmured.

you squeezed his hand, grinning. “i already said i would, didn’t i?”

and as woonhak laughed, shaking his head like you were the most ridiculous person in the world, you realized something.

for the first time, you weren’t afraid of losing him. because somehow, in his own way, woonhak was waiting for you too.

Everyone sees popular people as one specific stereotype, arrogant, rich, self assured, every negative adjective in the dictionary. You’re different though, nice, helpful, overall sunshine contained in a human being. You’re like-able, even if you fit into the typical popular lifestyle, you manage to keep a kind, genuine smile on your face and bring joy to those around you.

Which must be why Kim Woonhak caught your eye instantly, he’s the same person, only a little more reserved and less known. Not to mention he’s a huge geek, is into underground bands, sings, dances and raps in his free time, he’s also a genius song writer. His energy pulled you towards him like a magnet, and even made your heart skip a beat.

Due to his interesting and different tastes than others, he’s judged. People whispering under their breath, false rumors, things that bring him down for no apparent reason. Which turned around real quick when you started standing up for him. People either shut up or called you too sweet, you can only roll your eyes at their rude behavior.

You two got together quickly, nothing rushed, but you both knew it was time to establish something. Flirtatious whispers that sent shivers up Woonhak’s spine, the pink that constantly dusted across your cheeks when he sat a little too close, neither of you could pretend any longer.

Everyone around you could tell the second you both got together, suddenly you’re bringing him everywhere with you, dragging him by his hand while he follows after you with a dopey grin plastered on his face, you can tell just by glancing how in love you both are. Now you sit together in lectures you share, giggling softly while the professor rambles on about the same boring topic as always. You’re always at his dorm, even got acquainted with his friends quickly (you felt horrible that they knew your name but you didn’t recall any of theirs.)

It was a match nobody saw coming, yet it was disgustingly sweet. After a while people stopped pestering you about your love life with your boyfriend and left you two alone. Finally you could enjoy the quiet side of a relationship, and boy did it feel like a breath of fresh air to you.

“I’m not sure how to tie this verse together.”

Woonhak breaks you out of your train of thought, snapping you back to reality. You’re sat at his small desk with your laptop and stats text book opened to a page you don’t recall going over in class. Your boyfriend lays on his bed, singing under his breath while he pieces together a song, you hum and tilt your head, trying to glance at his notebook from where you sit.

“It just doesn’t feel right, ahh god maybe I am doomed to be a soundcloud rapper.”

You roll your eyes at his whining and rise from your chair to head over to your boyfriend. Your fingers tangle through his dark hair, and Woonhak instinctively leans into your touch. As you read the lines, you’re not sure where Woonhak is confused. You know little to nothing about music theory, or song writing in general, so you keep your mouth shut as your boyfriend continues rambling.

“It won’t fit with the rest of the lyrics OR the back track for the song. God taesan is going to have my neck.”

And he just kept going.. and going— and going. Of course you let him, but there’s a point where you can’t handle him dogging on himself (which is a bad habit he has.), As he continues with his word vomit you tilt his chin towards you and press your lips against his, affectively shutting him up. Woonhak melts into you instantaneously, and slowly inches off his bed to deepen the kiss. When he stands up his arms circle around your waist to pull you closer, wanting to feel you against his body.

You break the moment with a huge gasp for air, Woonhak’s giggles following shortly after.

“I can’t believe you kissed me to shut me up— y know if you hate when I complain you can just say s—“

Your lips connect with his again, and he can’t help but let out a sigh as you press him against his bed frame. He quickly understood the memo.

“I’m only sick of you complaining about yourself, you’re more talented than you give yourself credit for.”

A obvious pink hue spreads across your boyfriend’s face as he grins and looks away nervously, you know him too well, care about him too much, he feels like he doesn’t deserve this amount of love, but he recognizes that you’d wring his neck if he ever said that outloud.

“ahh, shut up.”

Woonhak whines before closing the gap between you once more, he’s lucky to have someone who looks out for him every waking moment.

drabble for the missing posts and smau updates on my blog 💔 I sorry

perm taglist — @beomtomie @sincerelysungho @ajjaehyun @leeknowramona @wensurr

bonedo taglist — @sincerelysungho @ajjaehyun @ivxae @chayuni400

taking out his hands from his pockets, he placed them on your thighs. there was silence, only the sound of water bubbling between you two. he opened your thighs and stood between your legs, scanning your face.

"can we talk?" he asked. the softness of his voice made your gut dip with guilt even deeper. you shouldn't have yelled at him. he was so kind after you did and still–

you felt his hand making its way to the back of your neck, guiding your head towards him. his forehead rested against yours, hair gently brushing your skin. you closed your eyes, feeling a lump creating in your throat already.

"are you still mad at me?" dongmin questioned, voice calm as gentle breeze on a sunday morning.

"no" you croaked out.

"good" he huffed and before you knew it, his hands guided you by the neck to meet his lips.

once again, you allowed him.

the kiss was slow, pouring wordless apology from both of you. your hands found themselves seeking for him desperately, which just resulted in clutching his black top. he didn't rush but his hands on your neck guided you to deepen the kiss, angling your head in a way that allowed your lips to align comfortably.

only when he felt your breathing getting rigged and salty droplets on his tongue, he pulled away. not too far, he didn't want to.

his features softened and his hands slid from the nape of your neck to cup your tear stained cheeks.

"i-i'm sorry" you choked out, lower lip quivering. "i shouldn't have yelled. i just had a bad day…"

he stroked your skin in a reassuring motion, swallowing hard.

"and then i just… was too guilty to say anything. i'm sorry, dongmin" you sobbed. "i feel awful"

"it's my fault too. i'm sorry." he replied gently, wiping the falling pearly tears with his thumb.

"let's not fight over stupid stuff again" you sniffed and grabbed his wrists tenderly, looking up at him teary-eyed.

"and let's not do silent treatment, hm? i hated every second of that" he teased, canines poking out in a cat-alike smirk.

you just huffed, turning your head away.

"hey, don't sulk or i'll have to kiss it away again"

you just let go of his wrists and pulled him closer by his shirt.

"don't mind if you do" you whispered shyly and dongmin's hands sneaked once again to the back of your head, this time leading the kiss more passionately. your teeth clanked and you giggled through the kiss, tears already drying out in the corners of your eyes.

masterlist<3

💬 : this was also inspired by finding an old digicam & while watching bonedo content 🙈 #lovethemsm

“how have i never done this before!” a whispered yell echoes into sungho’s ears, your sweet voice glimmering as you swipe yet another lipstick on his hand. there are way too many colors all over his skin, and at some point, you simply decided that instead of trying out what you want for yourself, you couldn’t resist painting him like your very own canvas.

in the few minutes you both have been perusing the makeup section of the store he drove you both to, as per your request (something about not having the right shade of concealer and running out of your favorite lip gloss?), your boyfriend has simply let you do as you please. he can’t deny you, especially not after allowing you to do it in the first place, but... he sort of regrets it now.

“ah… there’s no more space here,” you pout, putting down his hand that you both have been watching get makeup put upon. but before you could bring up the other, sungho’s resistance shone through.

“isn’t one enough… how am i gonna take it all off baby?”

at that, your lips pucker tighter, brows sewing together in defiance as you turn around, leaving him standing in his spot. a quick second after the words leave his mouth, he realizes he can’t take it back anymore as he follows you. it’s a busy store, and you both can barely talk because the only sounds that can be heard are the clatter of the plastics and glass—as if it was some sort of cosmetic library.

"i'm sor—" sungho has to swerve past an incoming cart before he could finish the sentence, trying his hardest to keep up behind you. it's not tough to find you, but man you walk fast when you're upset (you're not). he should've known that when he said what he did, even if he didn't mean it that way.

another couple steps closer to you, and right as he's about to apologize, you turn the other way to the hair section, not particularly interested in anything as your eyes scan the colorful bottles of hair spray up and down. he's practically running after you, holding onto the basket, careful not to bump it into any of the shelves he passes by during his pursuit.

you're waiting, letting him catch up behind you, before continuing to some other part of the store. it's not very big, dedicated to providing all sorts of beauty products that could ever be needed. so from hair, you go over to perfumes, at the very opposite side.

and sungho? he's still behind you. several pairs of eyes stare at him as he gets the employees and even other fellow customers to get annoyed by his incessant walk. it's obvious why to him among the gossiping chatter at a volume 1-2 (on a scale of 10; that's how he decided to categorize it right at this very moment)—"of course he would've said something to annoy her", "this isn't a gym to practice running in", "is he in his right mind?"—but sungho couldn't care less what others thought. his mind is on you.

after getting closer again, your boyfriend shouts (well, as loud as he could given the environment... maybe a volume level of 4?), "y/n!" you innocently turn around eyeing at him, keeping that same expression you had on when you started this cat-and-mouse chase. it turned funny for you by the time you decided to go to the hair section, but you couldn't show it right now.

"finally," sungho puts the basket down and traps you between his arms and the shelves lined with full size bottles of floral scents. startled, your eyes widen as you look at him, and from your peripheral, an employee making her way to you.

(at a volume 2) "i'm sorry, ok? i didn't mean that. you have full permission to use my hands and arms, and my shoulders and neck and body and every and any part of me as you wish, hm? i'll stay painted in your colors forever if that's what you want. so please, accept my apology?"

while biting your lower lip to stop yourself from smiling, you couldn't help but feel the butterflies dance within your body. you push him away slightly so you could get out of his grasp, not saying a word and taking his blank hand in yours. leading the way back to where the makeup was, you both escape from the one lady who was just about to break you both away.

and instead of telling him a yes or no, you grab the closest tester blush and drew a heart right below a knuckle in the hand you held.