you never really thought about the way jaehyun looked at you sometimes, so soft and so wondering, like he was trying to memorize your face. you never thought about how careful jaehyun was with you, how he always made sure you cum first, how he held you after even though you'd never asked him to. you never thought about the fact that jaehyun had stopped hooking up with anyone else entirely, even though you'd never discussed exclusivity.

you didn't really think about any of it, because thinking about it would mean acknowledging that something had shifted, and you weren't ready for that yet; you liked what you had, and you didn't want to lose it.

jaehyun felt the same way.

at least, that's what he told himself every single day.

because the truth was, jaehyun had been in love with you for months, maybe longer, maybe since that first day in psych when you'd handed him a pen and smiled at him like you'd known him forever. he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment it had happened, only that somewhere along the way, you'd stopped being just his friend and started being everything.

the friends with benefits thing had seemed like a good idea at the time; a way to be close to you, to touch you, to have you in a way that felt intimate without having to say the words he was terrified to speak. he'd thought it would satisfy something in him, this arrangement.

oh, he'd been so wrong.

it only made it worse — every single time jaehyun had you underneath him, every single time you moaned his name, every single time you looked at him with that hazy pleasure in your eyes, jaehyun fell a little deeper. and he couldn't say anything, because saying anything would ruin it. you'd made it clear from the start that this was casual. you'd said the words yourself, that night after the first time;

"i'm not looking for a relationship, jaehyun. i just want this. just us, like this."

so he'd nodded and said okay, and he'd locked his feelings away in a box and pretended they didn't exist.

but the box was getting full, and tonight, it was about to burst.

it was a friday night in late october, the kind of night where the air was crisp and the leaves were falling and everything felt a little bit electric.

you'd texted jaehyun around nine, a simple "you busy?" followed by the eggplant emoji simply because you were mature like that. jaehyun’s response came less than a minute later; "never for you. come over."

so here you were, standing outside his dorm room in a hoodie and sweatpants, your heart beating a little faster than it should. you knocked twice, the way you always did, and the door opened almost immediately.

jaehyun stood in the doorway, and god, he was so pretty it actually hurt; he was wearing gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a simple white t-shirt that stretched across his chest in a way that made your mouth water. his hair was dark and slightly damp, like he'd just showered, and his skin had that warm glow it always got after a shower.

his eyes found yours immediately, soft and familiar, and he smiled that small smile that made his dimples appear.

"hey," jaehyun said, stepping aside to let you in.

"hey," you said back, and you tried to ignore the way your stomach flipped when his hand brushed your lower back as you walked past him.

his dorm room was small and messy in the way all college dorms were messy; clothes draped over the desk chair, textbooks stacked on the floor, a half-empty cup of coffee on the nightstand. but it smelled like jaehyun — clean laundry and something woodsy, like strawberry or vanilla — and it felt safe in a way you couldn't explain.

jaehyun closed the door behind you and leaned against it, watching you with that quiet intensity he had.

he didn't say anything, just looked at you like he was trying to figure out what you were thinking. he always did that. it used to make you uncomfortable, but now you found it endearing.

"horrible week," you said by way of explanation, kicking off your shoes.

jaehyun nodded like he understood. he always understood.

"want to talk about it?"

you shook your head. "want to not think about it."

another nod, and then jaehyun pushed off the door and crossed the room toward you, and his hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. his touch was gentle, always gentle, like you were something so precious.

"okay," he said softly. "i can help with that."

and then jaehyun kissed you.

it started slow, the way it always did with jaehyun; his lips were so warm and so soft, moving against yours with a patience that drove you crazy. he never rushed, never pushed, he just kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

you let your hands find his waist, your fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt, and you pulled him closer. jaehyun made a small sound against your mouth, something between a sigh and a hum, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

when he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark and his lips were pink and he was looking at you like you'd hung the moon.

"bed," he said, and it wasn't a question.

you nodded, and jaehyun softly took your hand and led you across the room.

the dorm bed was pretty small, a standard twin xl that barely fit both of you, but you'd eventually made it work before and you'd make it work again.

jaehyun sat down first, pulling you into his lap so you were straddling his thighs. his hands settled on your hips, thumbs tracing small circles through the fabric of your sweatpants.

"you're so pretty," jaehyun murmured, tilting his head up to kiss your jaw, your neck, the spot behind your ear that made you shiver. "you know that? you're so fucking pretty."

you laughed, breathless, and tangled your fingers in jaehyun’s damp dark hair.

"you're biased."

"i'm not." jaehyun’s teeth grazed your collarbone, gentle but teasing. "i have eyes. i can see."

he kissed down your throat, his lips dragging over your skin in a way that made your toes curl. his hands slid under the hem of your hoodie, palms flat against your stomach, and his fingers were warm and calloused and perfect.

"off," he said against your chest, tugging at the fabric.

you rapidly pulled your hoodie over your head and tossed it somewhere on the floor, and then jaehyun was looking at you — deeply observing — and his breath caught in a way that made your chest feel tight.

"god," he whispered, almost to himself. "look at you."

jaehyun’s soft hands slowly traced up your sides, over your ribs, his thumbs brushing across your nipples in a way that made you gasp. he watched your face as he did it, cataloging every single reaction, and there was something so hungry in his eyes that made your skin heat.

"hyunie," you breathed, and his name in your pretty mouth made him shiver.

"i know," jaehyun said. "i've got you."

he flipped you over, a move that was easy for him because he was strong and you were pliant and willing; your back hit the mattress, and he was above you, caging you in with his arms, his body a warm weight that pressed you into the sheets.

jaehyun kissed you again, deeper this time, his warm tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that had you arching your back up into him. his hips rolled down against yours, and you could feel him — hard and thick through his sweatpants — and the friction made you moan into his mouth.

"fuck," jaehyun muttered, pulling back just enough to look at you. "want to take my time with you tonight. is that okay?"

you simply nodded, because your voice had apparently stopped working.

jaehyun smiled, that soft, pretty, dimpled smile that made your heart do such stupid things, and then he started kissing his way down your body.

he started at your jaw, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. jaehyun lingered at your pulse point, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin, and his teeth scraped gently over the spot before he sucked a mark there. it was not hard enough to bruise, just enough to feel, just enough to make you gasp.

"hyunie," you said, and your voice came out rough, broken.

"shh," he murmured against your collarbone. "let me."

jaehyun kissed across your chest, your sternum, your ribs. his lips found one of your nipples and he sucked it into his mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive peak, and your hands flew to his hair, holding him there.

he chuckled, the vibration shooting straight to your dick, and he gave the other side the same attention, biting down just enough to make you whine.

"awh, so responsive," jaehyun said, pulling back to admire his work. your chest was completely flushed, your nipples wet and peaked, and the look in his eyes was pure reverence. "you always react so well for me."

you wanted to say something clever, something casual, but all that came out was a breathless;

"please."

"please what?" he asked, and he was already moving lower, dragging his lips down your stomach, his tongue dipping into your belly button in a way that made you squirm.

"please touch me," you said. "i need—"

"i know what you need," jaehyun said, and his fingers hooked into the waistband of your sweatpants. "lift up."

you did, and he pulled your pants and boxers down in one smooth movement, tossing them aside. the cool air hit your skin and you shivered, your dick twitching against your stomach, already leaking precum onto your skin.

jaehyun made a sound, low and appreciative, and his hand wrapped around the base of your cock. his fingers didn't quite touch — he was big, but you were also bigger than average — and the sight of his hand around you made your head spin.

"so pretty," jaehyun said again, and he meant your dick, which was a weird thing to say but it made you blush anyway. "all of you. every part."

he leaned down and licked a stripe up the underside of your cock, from base to tip, and your hips jerked off the bed. his free hand pressed you back down, holding you in place, and he did it again, slower this time, his tongue flat and warm.

"jaehyun, please—"

"i said i want to take my time," he reminded you, and his breath was hot against your skin. "be patient."

he took the head of your cock into his mouth, just the head, and sucked gently. the sensation was electric, shooting up your spine and making your toes curl. his tongue swirled around the tip, cleaning up the precum, and he moaned like you were the best thing he'd ever tasted.

then jaehyun sank down.

your brain short-circuited; jaehyun's mouth was so hot and so wet and so perfect, and he knew exactly what he was doing. he took you deeper than you thought possible, his throat contracting around the head of your cock, and he looked up at you through his lashes with those big brown eyes and you almost came right there.

"oh f-fuck," you gasped, fisting the sheets. "fuckfuckfuck, hyunie, your mouth—"

he pulled off with a wet pop, lips swollen and shiny, and smiled up at you. "you like that?"

"you know i do."

jaehyun laughed, soft and fond, and then his mouth was on you again, bobbing up and down in a rhythm that made your vision blur. his hand worked what his mouth couldn't reach, twisting and pumping in time with his sucks, and he was moaning around you like he was the one getting pleasured.

it was too much. it was exactly enough.

"hyunie, i'm gonna—" you warned, but he didn't pull off.

jaehyun just took you deeper, his nose pressing against your pelvis, and swallowed around you.

you cum with a cry, your back arching off the bed, your hands flying to jaehyun’s hair to hold him in place. he took it all, swallowing every single drop, and he didn't stop until you were trembling and oversensitive, pushing at his shoulders.

jaehyun pulled off you slowly, licking his lips in such a hot way, and crawled back up your body. he kissed you, and you could taste yourself on his tongue, salty and bitter, and it should have been gross but it wasn't; it was jaehyun, and everything about him made you feel good.

"told you i wanted to take my time," jaehyun murmured against your lips. "we're not done yet."

you blinked up at him, still hazy from your orgasm.

"what?"

he smiled, that stupidly pretty smile, and rolled off the bed.

you watched as jaehyun dug through his nightstand drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom. he tossed them onto the bed and then stripped off his shirt, and you forgot how to breathe for a second.

jaehyun was so beautiful. you'd known that since the day you met him, but seeing him like this — chest bare, skin golden in the lamplight, muscles moving under his skin — it never got old. jaehyun’s shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, and there was a seductive light trail of hair leading from his navel down into his sweatpants.

he caught you staring and raised an eyebrow.

"what?"

"nothing," you said quickly. "you're just hot."

jaehyun’s cheeks flushed pink, which was ridiculous because he knew damn well he was hot. but jaehyun still ducked his head like he was shy, and the gesture made something warm bloom in your chest.

"shut up," he said, but he was smiling.

he stepped out of his sweatpants and boxers, and your mouth went dry. jaehyun's dick was big — long and thick, curving slightly upward, with a vein running along the side that you liked to trace with your tongue. it was already hard, flushed red at the tip, and it looked almost too big to fit inside you.

but it always fit, eventually.

jaehyun climbed back onto the bed, settling between your legs, and his hands naturally pushed your thighs apart. he looked at you — like he was memorizing every single inch of you for the first time — and his expression softened into something so tender it made your chest ache.

"you're sure?" jaehyun asked, because he always asked. "we don't have to—"

"jaehyun." you reached for him, pulling him down so his chest was pressed against yours. "i want this. i want you. okay?"

he nodded, his breath warm against your cheek.

"okay."

he kissed you again, softly and slowly, and you let yourself sink into it. jaehyun’s hands slid down your sides, over your hips, and one of them reached for the lube; you heard the click of the bottle opening, and then his long fingers were slick and cold against your inner thigh.

"warm it up first," you mumbled against jaehyun’s lips, and he softly laughed.

"bossy."

but he rubbed the lube between his fingers, warming it, and then his hand slipped between your legs.

jaehyun’s index finger circled your hole, teasing, not pushing in yet, but just getting you used to the sensation, the pressure. you breathed out slowly, relaxing into the mattress, and he pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

"good?" he asked.

"good."

he pushed in.

just one finger, slow and careful, and you clenched around him instinctively. jaehyun waited patiently, not moving, letting you adjust, and his free hand was on your hip, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

"breathe," he reminded you. "you're okay. i've got you."

you breathed. the tension in your body released, and he pushed deeper, his finger sliding all the way in. he crooked it, searching, and when he found your prostate you saw stars.

"there," you gasped. "right there."

jaehyun smiled and did it again, rubbing small circles against that sweet little spot, and your back arched off the bed again. he added a second finger, stretching you open, and the burn was good — so freaking good — and you couldn't stop the sounds falling from your lips.

"hyunie, please, i'm ready, i need—"

"mmh, not yet," jaehyun said, and his voice was strained, like he was holding himself back. "i want to make sure you're stretched enough."

he added a third finger, and you cried out, your hands gripping jaehyun’s shoulders. the stretch was intense, almost too much, but he worked you open with patience and precision, his fingers curling and scissoring and pressing against your prostate every few strokes.

"so tight," he muttered, almost to himself. "so good for me. taking my fingers so well."

"hyunie," you whined, and you were past the point of shame now. "please fuck me. i need your cock. please."

something in his expression shifted, darkened. jaehyun’s eyes went hooded, his jaw tightened, and he pulled his fingers out slowly, making you whimper at the loss.

"since you asked so nicely," jaehyun said, and he reached for the condom.

but you stopped him, your hand closing around his wrist. he looked at you, confused.

"no condom," you said. "i want to feel you."

jaehyun’s eyes widened.

"are you sure? we've never—"

"i'm sure." you pulled him down, wrapping your legs around his waist. "i trust you, hyunie. i want all of you."

he stared at you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across his face, then he nodded, slow and serious, and set the condom aside.

"okay," jaehyun said softly. "okay."

he slicked himself up with lube, his hand pumping his cock a few times, and then he positioned himself at your entrance. the head of his dick pressed against your hole, and you had to remind yourself to breathe.

"tell me if it's too much," jaehyun said, and his voice was rough. "tap my shoulder and i'll stop."

"i know. i trust you."

he pushed in.

just the tip at first, and even that was a lot.

jaehyun was big, and no matter how many times you did this, the first stretch was always intense. you gritted your teeth, focusing on breathing, on relaxing, on letting him in.

"you're doing so good," he murmured, his forehead pressed against yours. "so good for me. just a little more."

he pushed deeper, inch by inch, and your body opened up for him. the burn was there, sharp and sweet, but underneath it was pleasure, deep and overwhelming, and when he bottomed out you both let out a moan.

"f-fuck," jaehyun breathed, his eyes squeezed shut. "fuck, you feel—you're so—"

jaehyun couldn't finish the sentence, and you didn't need him to. you felt it too — the way he filled you completely, the way your bodies fit together like they were made for this, the way his heartbeat pounded against your chest.

"move," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "please move."

he pulled out slowly, almost all the way, and then pushed back in. the drag of his cock against your walls was exquisite, and you cried out, your nails digging into his back.

jaehyun found a rhythm, slow and deep, and every thrust hit your prostate dead on; you were already sensitive from your first orgasm, and the pleasure was building fast, too fast, threatening to swallow you whole.

"hyunie," you gasped, your legs tightening even more around his waist. "h-hyunie, right there, don't stop—"

"i won't," he said, and his voice was wrecked. "i won't stop. i'll give you everything. anything you want."

jaehyun’s pace increased, his hips snapping against yours, and the sound of skin on skin filled the room. he was sweating now, his hair sticking to his forehead, and he was beautiful — he was so beautiful — and you couldn't look away from him.

he changed the angle slightly, and suddenly the pleasure was blinding. your second orgasm hit you without warning, your cock spurting cum onto your stomach, and you screamed his name as your body convulsed around him.

"oh god," jaehyun groaned, and his rhythm stuttered. "you're—you just cum—"

"keep going," you said, even though you were oversensitive, even though every nerve was on fire. "don't stop, hyunie, i want you to cum inside me."

his eyes went dark, and he started moving again, faster now, chasing his own release. his thrusts were rougher, less controlled, and the overstimulation was a knife edge between pleasure and pain that made you see the stars.

"so good," he was mumbling, his voice broken and frantic. "so good, so good, you're so—i can't—"

jaehyun’s hips stuttered, and you knew he was close. you clenched around him intentionally, and he let out a sound that was almost a sob.

"fuck—i love you."

the words fell out of jaehyun like they'd been waiting for years to escape, and his eyes went wide the second he said them, and his hips stopped moving entirely.

the room went silent.

you stared at him, your chest heaving, your mind struggling to process what you'd just heard. jaehyun stared back, panic rising in his eyes, his face pale beneath the flush of arousal.

"i—" jaehyun started, and then stopped.

his jaw worked silently, like he was trying to find the words to take it back, to explain it away, but there was no taking it back now; the words hung in the air between you, heavy and real, and everything shifted.

jaehyun pulled out slowly, carefully, and the loss of him made you feel hollow in more ways than one. he sat back on his heels, still hard, still glistening with lube and your own release, and he wouldn't look at you.

"jaehyun," you said, and your voice came out raw.

"don't," he said, and his voice cracked. "please don't. i didn't mean—i mean, i did mean it, but i wasn't supposed to say it. i know we said no feelings, i know this was supposed to be casual, i know you don't—" jaehyun pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, and his shoulders shook. "fuck. i ruined it. i ruined everything."

you sat up slowly, your body aching and oversensitive, and you reached for him. your hand found jaehyun’s wrist, tugging his hands away from his face, and when he finally looked at you, his eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"hyunie," you said softly. "how long?"

he blinked. "what?"

"how long have you felt this way?"

jaehyun was quiet for a long moment, and then, so quietly you almost didn't hear him;

"months. maybe longer. i don't know. it just—it happened. and i tried to ignore it, i really did, but every time we—" he gestured vaguely at the bed, at your bodies, at everything. "it just made it worse. being with you, touching you, having you like this and knowing i couldn't have you the way i really wanted—"

his voice broke, and he looked away again.

"i'm sorry," jaehyun whispered, and his voice was trembling. "i know this isn't what you signed up for. i know you don't feel the same way. and i swear, i never meant to make things weird. i just—i couldn't help it. i love you. and i hate that i love you because it hurts, but i can't stop."

your chest felt like it was caving in.

because here was the thing; you'd told yourself this was casual, you'd told yourself you didn't have feelings, that you just wanted sex, that jaehyun was a friend and nothing more. but somewhere along the way, maybe the same way it had happened for him, the lines had blurred.

you loved the way he smiled at you, soft and private, like you were the only person in the world. you loved the way he said your name, the way it sounded in his deep voice. you loved the way he held you after sex, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, even though you'd never asked him to. you loved the way he remembered things — your coffee order, the name of your childhood pet, the fact that you were scared of thunder.

you loved him. you'd been loving him for a while, probably, and you'd been too scared to admit it.

"jaehyun," you said again, and this time your voice was steady.

he flinched, bracing himself.

you cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. his cheeks were wet now, tears spilling over despite his best efforts, and you wiped them away with your thumbs.

"i'm not mad," you said.

jaehyun froze. "what?"

"i'm not mad. i'm not weirded out. i'm not going anywhere."

his brow furrowed, confusion replacing the panic.

"but you said—we said—"

"i know what we said." you stroked his cheekbones, his jaw, the corners of his mouth. "and i meant it at the time. but things change, hyunie. people change. feelings change."

jaehyun’s breath caught. "are you saying—"

"i'm saying i love you too." the words felt terrifying and freeing all at once. "i don't know exactly when it happened, or how, but it did. and i was too scared to say anything because i didn't want to lose you either."

he stared at you, his eyes wide and disbelieving.

"you're not just saying that?"

"i'm not just saying that."

"you really—"

"yes, jaehyun. i really love you."

a sound escaped him, something between a laugh and a sob, and then he was kissing you.

it was desperate and messy and perfect, his arms wrapping around you so tightly you could barely breathe. you kissed him back just as fiercely, pouring everything you hadn't said into the press of your lips, the slide of your tongue.

when you finally broke apart, both of you were crying a little, and it was ridiculous and sappy and you didn't care.

"i love you," jaehyun said again, like he was testing the words out loud, letting them be real.

"i love you too," you said back, and it felt like coming home.

jaehyun laughed, wet and shaky, and pressed his forehead against yours. "so what now?"

you thought about it; you thought about the mess of cum on your stomach, the lube on the sheets, the fact that jaehyun was still hard and pressing against your thigh. you thought about the way your heart was pounding, the way his hands were trembling on your hips.

"now," you said slowly with a smile, "i think you should finish what you started."

jaehyun’s eyebrows shot up.

"you want to—after everything—"

"jaehyun." you kissed the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his neck. "i just told you i love you. and you're still hard. and i'm still kind of stretched open from before. and i really, really want to feel you cum inside me."

he groaned, his hips jerking against yours involuntarily.

"you're going to kill me."

"is that a yes?"

jaehyun kissed you hard, his tongue sliding against yours, and then he was pushing you back down onto the mattress.

this time was different; you could feel it in the way he touched you, slower and more deliberate, like he was savoring every second. jaehyun kissed down your body again, but this time he lingered, pressing his lips to your chest, your stomach, the inside of your thighs. he kissed the marks he'd left earlier, soothing them with his warm tongue, and a new one appeared below your navel — a gentle bite that made you gasp.

"i love you," he murmured against your skin, and the words sent shivers down your spine. "i love your shoulders. i love your collarbones. i love the way you smell, like soap and something sweet. i love the sounds you make when i touch you."

"hyunie," you breathed, and your voice was thick with emotion.

he looked up at you, his eyes soft and glowing, and smiled.

"let me worship you, baby. please. let me show you how much i love you."

you nodded, because, well… you couldn't speak, and jaehyun went back to work.

he took his time with your cock, licking and sucking and kissing until you were writhing and begging. he didn't let you cum, though — he pulled back every time you got close, leaving you teetering on the edge.

"not yet," jaehyun said, and his voice was rough. "want you to cum when i'm inside you."

he flipped you over, onto your stomach, and you heard him slick himself up again. his hands spread your cheeks apart, and you felt his breath hot against your hole, and before you could process what was happening, his tongue was inside you.

"oh f-fuck," you loudly gasped, your face pressing into the pillow. "jaehyun—"

he hummed against you, the vibration making your toes curl, and his tongue worked you open, licking and sucking and teasing. his nose pressed against your skin, and he moaned like he was the one being pleasured.

"taste so good," he mumbled, and the words were muffled but you heard them anyway. "could do this forever."

he rimmed you until you were a trembling mess, your legs shaking, your hands fisting the sheets, then he pulled back, and you heard him spit — gross, but so hot — and then the head of his cock was pressing against your hole again.

"ready?" jaehyun asked.

"yes, god, yes, please—"

jaehyun pushed in, and this time there was no burn, and no resistance. your body welcomed him warmly, opened up for him, and jaehyun slid in all the way in one smooth movement that made you both cry out.

"fuck," jaehyun groaned, his hands gripping your hips. "you feel—i can't—"

"move," you begged. "please move, i need you to move."

and he did.

slow at first, pulling out almost all the way before pushing back in, and the drag of his huge cock against your walls was exquisite. jaehyun was hitting your prostate with every single thrust, and the pleasure was building, a slow burn that threatened to consume you entirely.

"harder," you said, pushing back against him. "please, harder."

jaehyun obliged, his pace increasing, his hips slapping against your ass. the sound was obscene, wet and loud, and you didn't care. you wanted more. you wanted everything.

"jaehyun," you moaned, and his name was a prayer on your lips. "right there, don't stop, i'm gonna—"

he reached around and wrapped his hand around your cock, pumping in time with his thrusts, and the double stimulation was too much. you cum with a scream, your body convulsing around him, and he swore loudly.

"so tight," jaehyun gasped, and his hips stuttered. "you're squeezing me so tight, i can't—"

"inside," you managed, your voice wrecked. "cum inside me. please, hyunie, i want to feel it."

jaehyun thrust into you three more times, deep and desperate, and then he was coming. you felt it — the pulse of jaehyun’s cock, the heat of his release filling you up — and he groaned your name like a benediction, collapsing onto your back.

you lay there for a long moment, both of you panting, sweaty, tangled together. his weight was heavy on top of you, but you didn't mind. you liked it. you liked the way he pressed you into the mattress, the way his breath was hot against your neck, the way his heart pounded against your spine.

"i love you," jaehyun whispered into your skin, and you felt the words more than you heard them.

"i love you too," you whispered back.

he pulled out slowly, and you both winced at the loss.

jaehyun rolled off you, onto his back, and he stared at the white ceiling. you turned your head to look at him, and he was smiling — a real smile, so wide and so bright and so full of joy it made your chest ache.

"that was—" he started.

"yeah," you agreed. "it was."

jaehyun laughed, soft and breathless, and turned onto his side to face you. his hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, and his eyes traced your face like he was seeing it for the first time.

"i can't believe you love me back," he said quietly. "i thought—i was so sure you didn't. i was so scared of losing you."

"you're not going to lose me," you said, covering his hand with yours. "i'm not going anywhere."

his eyes glistened again, but this time the tears were happy. he leaned in and kissed you, soft and slow and full of promise.

a little moment after that, jaehyun disappeared into his dorm’s bathroom and came back with a warm washcloth. he cleaned you up carefully, wiping the cum from your stomach and the lube from between your legs. his touch was so gentle, almost reverent, and jaehyun pressed kisses to your hip, your thigh, your knee as he worked.

"you did so good," jaehyun murmured softly. "you always do so good for me."

you were too tired to respond, floating in a haze of endorphins and contentment. he tossed the washcloth aside and pulled you into his arms, arranging you so your head was on his chest and his arms were wrapped around you.

"stay," jaehyun said, and it wasn't really a question. "please. stay the night."

"wasn't planning on leaving," you mumbled against his skin.

he laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest, and his fingers started tracing patterns on your back. you closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the warmth of him, the steady beat of jaehyun’s heart.

"hey," he said after a while, his voice soft.

"hmm?"

"i meant it. everything i said."

you opened your eyes and tilted your head back to look at him. jaehyun’s face was fully open, vulnerable, all his walls down for the very first time.

"i know," you said. "me too."

he smiled, that small, dimpled smile that had made you fall for him in the first place, and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"go to sleep," he said. "we can talk more in the morning."

"promise?"

"promise."

you closed your eyes again, and the last thing you felt before sleep took you was jaehyun's lips on your hair, soft and warm, and the quiet whisper of his voice in the dark.

"i love you. i love you. i love you."

you woke up the next morning to sunlight streaming through the blinds and jaehyun's arm draped across your waist.

for a small moment, you didn't remember.

you simply felt warm and comfortable and so safe, and you didn't want to move at all. but then the events of last night came flooding back — the sex, the confession, the crying, the sex again — and your eyes snapped open.

jaehyun was watching you.

his head was propped on his hand, elbow sunk into the pillow, and he was looking at you with an expression you couldn't quite read. there was hope there, and fear, and something soft and tender that made your heart skip.

"good morning," jaehyun said quietly.

"morning," you said back, your voice rough with sleep.

he was quiet for a moment, his thumb stroking back and forth across your hip. then he said, carefully;

"do you remember what you said last night?"

you did. of course you did. you remembered every single word, every single look, every single touch.

"i love you," you said, and the words came easier this time. "i love you, jaehyun. i meant it."

his whole body relaxed, like he'd been holding his breath and had finally been allowed to exhale. a smile spread across his pretty face, bright and relieved, and he pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair.

"i love you too," jaehyun said, his voice muffled. "i love you so much it scares me sometimes."

"i know," you said, and you wrapped your arms around him, holding on tight. "me too."

you lay there for a long time, just holding each other, not talking. the morning light shifted across the room, and somewhere outside, someone was playing music too loud. it was ordinary and perfect and exactly what you needed.

finally, jaehyun pulled back just enough to look at you. his hair was a complete mess, sticking up in every direction, and there were pillow creases on his cheek, and he was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen in your entire life.

"sooo," jaehyun said, and there was a hint of his usual playfulness in his voice, "does this mean we're not friends with benefits anymore?"

you laughed, the sound surprising you.

"i think we graduated to something else, yeah."

"boyfriends?" he asked, and his eyes were hopeful.

"boyfriends," you agreed.

jaehyun kissed you, soft and sweet, and when he pulled back his smile was so wide it made his eyes crinkle.

"boyfriends," jaehyun said again, like he was trying it on for size. "yeah, i like that."

"me too."

he kissed you again, and then again, and then his hand started wandering south, and you raised an eyebrow at him.

"already?" you asked.

"i've been in love with you for months," jaehyun said, grinning against your neck. "i have a lot of time to make up for."

well, you couldn't argue with that.

By the time the creative team settled, the dorm already had that strained, in-between feeling it always got before something changed. Not quiet exactly — the refrigerator still hummed, someone’s charger still blinked beside the couch, a half-finished drink sat sweating onto the coffee table — but suspended. The kind of stillness that didn’t feel peaceful so much as expectant. The reality crew hadn’t set up anything dramatic for it. No heavy lighting, no slate, no loud countdown. Just one handheld camera drifting between faces and one fixed lens angled loosely from the corner of the living room to catch whatever happened naturally. A “reaction moment,” the producer had called it earlier. Something candid for the episode. The boys finding out the final debut concept in real time. The audience seeing their first impressions. Soft behind-the-scenes content, on paper. But nothing in the room felt soft.

The creative director came in first with her laptop tucked under one arm and a thick stack of reference printouts pressed to her chest. Behind her were the two people the managers had been whispering about all afternoon — the film director and his producer, both dressed too simply and too expensively, both carrying themselves with the kind of confidence that came from already being obeyed. They weren’t idol people. That was obvious immediately. They didn’t walk into the dorm looking around with polite curiosity or performative excitement. They looked at the space the way people look at a location they’re already trying to strip down in their heads. The reality cameraman shifted slightly, adjusting his grip so he could catch the boys’ faces as well as the newcomers, and the atmosphere tightened by another degree.

The creative director didn’t bother with any long preamble. She dropped the printouts across the coffee table and let some of them slide onto the floor, image over image, all of it building into one dense visual field before she even opened the laptop. The board wasn’t built from anything personal. No test shots. No old trainee photos. No mockups with their faces pasted in. It was all strangers. Anonymous bodies, anonymous nights, anonymous moments pulled from editorials, old camcorder stills, documentary fragments, low-resolution nightlife photography, fashion tears, surveillance-style screenshots, film references stripped down to color and texture and posture. And even before she started talking, the mood of it was immediate — hot, reckless, gaudy, humid in a way that made your skin feel sticky just looking at it. Motel balconies lit electric pink against a violet sky. Girls in bikinis and ski masks holding drinks and handguns like both were accessories. Boys with bleached hair and smeared glitter kneeling in a church pew under blue stained-glass light. Three teenagers in candy-colored balaclavas laughing in the backseat of a convertible with fistfuls of damp bills. A drained pool covered in graffiti, bodies sprawled at the bottom of it like they’d decided not to leave. Fluorescent convenience store aisles at 3 a.m., all the colors too bright and too dead at once. Wet pavement glowing under palm-tree shadows. Glitter mixed into sunburn. Cross necklaces resting against chlorine-slick skin. Gold grills. motel ice buckets. cheap champagne. fake innocence. real danger. Every image carried the same feeling — youth with too much freedom and no instinct for consequence, beauty made louder by bad decisions, criminality made seductive by heat and light.

The creative director opened the laptop and let a loop of silent reference clips play while she spoke — not polished footage, just fragments. Grainy phone video of girls dancing barefoot on a motel bed while someone off-screen counted cash. A strip mall parking lot filmed from inside a car, all sodium-orange light and liquor store neon. Four bodies waist-deep in a pool at night, faces blurred by bad focus, the water lit an impossible chemical blue. Someone in angel wings and a thong walking through a convenience store with a pink lighter and no expression. A prayer circle in a bathroom with glitter, smoke, and a pistol left on the sink beside a tube of lip gloss. It was tacky and gorgeous and vaguely criminal in the exact way it meant to be. The reality camera stayed on the boys as much as it stayed on the screen — catching whoever looked longest, whoever looked away first, whoever tried not to react and failed.

Then the creative director finally spoke, standing over the table with one hand braced on the edge of it, her voice calm in that unnerving way people get when they’re saying something they know has already been approved. “Okay,” she said. “So. What you’re reacting to right now is the final shape of the debut era. And before I get into what the visual language actually is, you need to understand where it came from.” She gestured slightly toward the man and woman behind her. “They came to the company. Not the other way around. They’d seen early material, heard the direction we were moving in, and what they wanted was very specific. They didn’t want a normal debut film. They didn’t want polished mythology, or a performance cut with pretty inserts, or a safe little cinematic intro that still behaves like idol content. They wanted to reproduce a feeling.”

She let that word sit there for a second before continuing, and when she did, she clicked to another board — this one even more saturated, more vulgar, more feverish. “Not reference it. Reproduce it. The sensation of one very particular kind of American excess. Youth in a place that feels fake and holy and rotten all at once. Tourist paradise turned criminal playground. Sunburnt skin, motel sheets, liquor-store neon, stolen money, pool water, strip-mall Christianity, petty violence, fake luxury, no sleep, too much heat. The feeling that everyone is too young for what they’re doing and too gone to care.” Another image flashed across the screen: a group of girls in white bikinis and pink ski masks pointing finger-guns at the camera while fireworks went off behind them. “The key isn’t nostalgia,” she said. “It’s intoxication. It’s delusion. It’s the seduction of bad choices when the whole world looks bright enough to forgive them.”

No one interrupted her. The fixed camera in the corner kept blinking red. The handheld one caught little things — someone’s jaw tightening, someone shifting in their seat, someone staring too hard at the board like maybe if they kept looking long enough it would become less real. The creative director continued anyway, talking over the quiet hum of the dorm the way people do when they’re used to being listened to. “The story structure is loose, but the emotional structure is not. It follows the logic of a spring-break fantasy mutating into something darker. Escape first. Then indulgence. Then reinvention. Then crime. Then devotion. Then collapse. It’s not linear in a clean way, but that arc is there under everything. The world starts out glittery and stupid and playful — all cheap paradise. Then it gets more feverish. More intimate. More dangerous. The party and the threat become the same thing. Freedom starts looking a lot like possession. The group stops reading like a team and starts reading like a closed system. A little cultish. A little doomed. Very watched.”

She crouched then, picking up one of the larger printouts from the floor and holding it up. It was a motel room washed in blue and pink neon, the kind of room that looked both filthy and cinematic, with cash scattered over the bedspread and someone’s tan legs hanging off the edge of the mattress. “This,” she said, “is the emotional baseline. Not literally this room. Not literally this styling. But this temperature. We want everything to feel humid, overlit, slightly unreal. Like you can smell chlorine and sugar and stale air-conditioning through the screen.” She reached for another — a church interior with girls in tiny pastel dresses and rhinestone cross necklaces standing under stained glass like they were about to either confess or commit a felony. “And this is the tension. Sacred and trashy at the same time. Seduction and innocence in the same frame. Sweetness with rot underneath it.” Then another — masked figures on scooters under boardwalk lights, carrying water guns and one real gun, the whole image so unserious it became threatening. “And this is the rhythm. Play acting sliding into something real.”

When she straightened, her tone sharpened just slightly, less descriptive now, more practical. “The director’s pitch to the company was that this group already contains the emotional material for this kind of world. Tension. Silence. Possessiveness. Performance. The feeling that everybody in the room wants something and no one is saying it directly. So instead of forcing a conventional concept onto you, we’re building a world that amplifies what’s already there.” She glanced at the filmmaker, then back at the group. “That’s why this isn’t being treated like a standard music video. It’s a visual album. A full visual narrative. The songs are chapters inside one long fever dream. We’re not centering clean choreography and then decorating around it. We’re centering atmosphere, fixation, and escalation.”

She clicked once more, and the board shifted into what looked more like structure than inspiration: annotated reference stills, color maps, fragments of wardrobe notes, texture studies, scribbled words in the margins — lacquered skin, fake tan, wet heat, boardwalk glitter, motel baptism, pink violence, devotional trash, Florida noir. “The opening section is all false freedom,” she said. “Sun, skin, money, reckless fun, this idea of youth as something endless and untouchable. The middle gets stranger — more saturated, more obsessive, more enclosed. Nights get longer. Rooms get smaller. The images get closer to the body. By the end, the world should feel almost hallucinatory. Like the fantasy got so intense it started eating itself.”

The producer behind her finally spoke then, but only briefly, her voice smoother, more pragmatic. “The company said yes because nobody else in your lane is doing this at debut. They don’t want safe. They don’t want expected. They want something that feels imported from another genre entirely and still commercially lethal.” She folded her arms. “So locations are being locked. Styling is being rebuilt. The shoot structure is being changed. And from this point on, every piece of behind-the-scenes content, every dorm beat, every practice clip, every reaction — all of it feeds this world.”

The creative director nodded and closed the laptop halfway, but didn’t shut it fully, as if the concept was still breathing on the screen between them. “That’s why the reality camera is here,” she said, glancing briefly toward the handheld operator, acknowledging the obvious without making it awkward. “This isn’t the official reveal film. This is your reaction material. The audience will eventually see pieces of this through you — how you take it in, how you respond to it, how the temperature in the room changes. That matters. Because the whole point is that this era doesn’t start on set. It starts here. In the dorm. Before the styling, before the locations, before the final choreography. It starts the second you understand what world you’re being asked to live in.”

She looked down at the spread of images one last time, then back up at them, and her next line came out quieter than the rest. “You’re not debuting into a fantasy of success,” she said. “You’re debuting into a fantasy of excess. There’s a difference. Success is clean. Excess is memorable.”

The dorm went still after that. Not silent exactly — the fixed camera still hummed softly, someone in the hallway shifted their weight, the air conditioner kicked on with a low mechanical breath — but still in the way a room gets when something irreversible has just been placed inside it. The moodboard remained scattered across the coffee table and floor like evidence from a future crime scene: hot pinks and chlorine blues and money and bodies and heat and religion and danger, all the colors of a paradise already starting to rot. And the reality camera kept recording, patient and unblinking, catching whatever happened next — not the concept itself, but the moment it settled into them.

The room held its breath for a beat too long after the creative director stopped speaking. The moodboard still glowed from the laptop screen, all that neon and chlorine and skin and sin bleeding color into the dim afternoon light of the dorm, and the printed references scattered across the coffee table and floor looked less like inspiration now and more like evidence — like someone had reached into a fever dream and pulled out handfuls of it and dropped them here, in the middle of their living room, between the half-finished drinks and the charger cables and the socks someone had kicked off near the couch. The silence wasn't empty. It was thick. Loaded. The kind of quiet that happens when people are processing something too large to respond to immediately and also very aware that they are being filmed while they do it.

Jay was the first to move, though move was generous — it was more of a shift, a slight straightening of his spine against the back of the couch, his jaw doing that thing it did when he was thinking hard and didn't want anyone to know what direction the thought was going. His eyes stayed on the screen for another second, tracking over the images still rotating in the slow loop the creative director had left playing: a girl in a white bikini and a pink ski mask laughing with her head thrown back in a convertible, cash fanned out in her lap like a bouquet; a boy with smeared eyeliner kneeling in a fluorescent-lit bathroom with a rosary wrapped around his knuckles and a cigarette burning between his fingers; a motel pool at night so saturated with chemical blue light that the water looked radioactive, bodies floating in it face-up like saints or corpses. Jay blinked once, slowly, and then he smiled — not a real smile, not the kind that touched anything behind his eyes, but the kind he wore when he was being watched and needed to look like he was handling something well. The camera caught it. The camera caught everything.

"Okay," Jay said, his voice measured, almost too even, the tone of someone choosing every word like it was a chess move. "So this is… bigger than I expected." He let out a breath that was almost a laugh, controlled, performative, the kind of exhale that said I'm impressed but also I'm not going to let you see how much this is affecting me. "I mean — when they said visual album, I thought, okay, maybe something more cinematic than usual, maybe some narrative elements, maybe a longer runtime. But this is — " He gestured loosely toward the coffee table, toward the spread of images still lying there in overlapping chaos: the angel wings dragging on wet concrete, the convenience store aisle lit like a crime scene, the church pews full of girls in rhinestone crosses and tiny dresses. "This is a whole world. This is a whole… thing." He nodded slowly, like he was convincing himself as much as the camera. "I respect it. I respect the ambition. It's not safe. It's not what anyone's going to expect from a debut. And that's — yeah. That's the point, I guess."

He didn't say more than that. He leaned back slightly, one arm draped over the back of the couch, his posture deliberately relaxed in a way that didn't quite match the tension still visible in the line of his shoulders. The creative director watched him with the neutral expression of someone cataloging a response rather than reacting to it. The handheld camera drifted slightly, adjusting its angle, and landed next on Jake.

Jake hadn't moved much since the presentation started. He was sitting on the floor near the edge of the coffee table, one knee drawn up, his back against the base of the couch, and his face had gone through something during the moodboard reveal — a series of micro-expressions too fast and too layered to fully read, cycling through surprise and confusion and something darker, something that looked almost like recognition. Like he had seen pieces of this world before, maybe in his own head, maybe in the parts of himself he didn't show on camera, and now it was being projected in front of him in glossy high-resolution fragments and he didn't know whether to feel validated or exposed. His eyes kept returning to one image in particular — a motel room shot from above, the bedspread a mess of tangled limbs and crumpled cash and cheap gold jewelry, the light coming from a neon sign outside the window and staining everything the color of a bruise. He stared at it like he was trying to memorize it. Or maybe like he was trying to figure out why it made him feel something he didn't want to name.

When he realized the camera had shifted to him, he blinked and looked up, and the expression that crossed his face was a quick, almost involuntary rearrangement — the mask sliding back into place, the performance rebooting. He smiled, but it was a strange smile, caught somewhere between genuine excitement and something more complicated. "This is insane," he said, and his voice came out a little breathier than usual, a little less controlled. "Like — in a good way. I think. I mean — " He laughed, short and sharp, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that looked almost nervous. "I've never seen a debut concept that looks like this. It's not pop. It's not — I don't know what it is. It's like a movie. It's like something you'd see at a film festival and then talk about for weeks because you couldn't figure out if it was genius or unhinged." He glanced toward the creative director, then back at the camera, his smile widening into something that was trying very hard to look confident. "I'm into it. I think. I mean — I'm definitely not going to forget it. That's for sure."

But there was something underneath the enthusiasm, something the camera might catch if the editor knew where to look. A flicker in his eyes when they passed over certain images — the bodies in the pool, the masks, the weapons styled like accessories. A tension in his jaw that didn't quite match the easy grin. Jake was good at performing comfort, but this had unsettled something in him, and it showed in the small places: the way his fingers kept tapping against his knee, the way his gaze kept drifting back to the moodboard like he couldn't help himself, the way his laugh came a half-second too late to be fully spontaneous. He was excited. But he was also something else. Something he wasn't going to say on camera.

Sunghoon hadn't spoken yet. He was sitting at the far end of the couch, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, his posture so controlled it looked almost architectural. His face was the hardest to read — not because he was hiding something, but because he had long ago perfected the art of showing exactly as much as he wanted to show and nothing more. The moodboard played across his features like light on water: present, visible, but impossible to hold onto. He watched the images cycle through the loop without reacting visibly, his eyes tracking from frame to frame with the detached precision of someone studying technique rather than absorbing content. The handheld camera moved to him eventually, and he let it sit there for a moment before he acknowledged it, his gaze shifting from the screen to the lens with a slowness that felt deliberate.

"It's cohesive," he said finally, his voice flat and measured, giving nothing away. "That's the first thing I noticed. It's not just random references thrown together — there's a language to it. A grammar. The colors talk to each other. The textures repeat. The mood stays consistent even when the content shifts." He tilted his head slightly, a gesture so subtle it almost didn't register, but it carried something — a flicker of genuine interest beneath the careful neutrality. "It's rare to see a concept this… committed. Most debuts hedge their bets. They try to appeal to everyone, so they end up feeling like nothing. This feels like something. Whether it works or not — " He paused, and for a fraction of a second, something almost like a smile ghosted across his mouth before disappearing. "That's a different question. But it's not boring. It's not safe. And I respect that."

He didn't elaborate. He didn't offer personal feelings or performative enthusiasm. He just stated his observations like facts and let them sit there, clinical and precise. But the creative director was watching him with something like satisfaction, and the producer beside her made a small note on her phone. Sunghoon's response was exactly what they wanted from him — controlled, intelligent, subtly appreciative without being sycophantic. He was playing his role perfectly. And he knew it.

The room shifted then, the attention redirecting itself naturally, inevitably, toward the one person who hadn't spoken yet. The handheld camera panned slowly, almost reluctantly, toward the other end of the couch, where Y/n had been sitting quietly through the entire presentation. He was folded into himself in that way he had — knees drawn up slightly, shoulders curved inward, hands tucked between his thighs like he was trying to take up as little space as possible. His oversized hoodie swallowed most of his frame, the sleeves pulled down over his fingers, the neckline slipping off one shoulder in a way that looked accidental but somehow still drew the eye. His face was half-turned toward the laptop screen, and the glow from the moodboard painted his features in shifting colors — pink, blue, gold, pink again — making him look less like a person and more like a projection of one. He hadn't reacted visibly during any of it. Not the motel rooms or the pool water or the masks or the weapons or the religious imagery or the bodies tangled in cash and cheap silk. He just watched, quiet and still, his expression so neutral it was almost impossible to tell if he was processing or dissociating.

When the camera settled on him, he didn't immediately notice. His eyes were still on the screen, tracking the slow loop of images with something that might have been focus or might have been distance — it was hard to tell with him. The creative director said his name, gently, the way you might say someone's name to pull them back from somewhere far away, and Y/n blinked once before turning his head toward her. The movement was slow, almost liquid, and when his eyes finally met the camera lens, there was a beat of stillness so complete it felt like the room had stopped breathing. Then he smiled.

It wasn't a big smile. It wasn't performative or exaggerated or trying to sell anything. It was small and soft and a little uncertain, the kind of smile someone gives when they're not sure what's expected of them but they want to cooperate anyway. "It's beautiful," he said, and his voice came out quieter than the others, almost gentle, like he was talking about something fragile instead of a concept built on neon violence and chlorinated sin. "The colors especially. And the — the way it moves. Like it's all connected, even when the images are different. Like it's telling one story underneath all the separate pieces."

He paused, and his gaze drifted back toward the moodboard, toward a still of a girl in angel wings walking barefoot through a convenience store at 4 a.m., her face lit by the refrigerator case glow, her expression so blank it could have meant anything. "I don't know if I understand all of it yet," Y/n continued, his voice still soft, still careful. "But it feels… honest. In a strange way. Like it's not pretending to be something clean when it's not. Like it knows what it is and it's okay with that." He looked back at the camera, and there was something in his eyes then — not sadness exactly, but something adjacent to it. Something that had been there before the moodboard and would be there after. "I think that's rare. To be honest about what you are. Even if what you are is a little… yeah."

The room went quiet again after that. The creative director didn't push for more. She just let the moment sit, let the camera linger on Y/n's face for a beat longer than necessary, catching the way the neon light from the screen painted shadows under his eyes and made his skin look almost translucent. There was something about the way he had responded — the softness of it, the vulnerability of it — that felt different from the others. Jay had been strategic. Jake had been enthusiastic but guarded. Sunghoon had been analytical. But Y/n had been something else entirely. He had looked at a world built on excess and decay and recklessness and called it honest. He had seen the rot and found something like beauty in it. And the camera had caught all of it — the quiet voice, the uncertain smile, the eyes that seemed to hold more than they let out. The editor would use that footage. The company would use it. The audience would see a boy who looked at darkness and didn't flinch. And they would want to know why. They would want to know what he had seen before. What he had survived. What he was hiding behind that gentle, damaged stillness. They would want to save him. Or ruin him. Or both.

The creative director finally closed the laptop fully, the click of it cutting through the quiet like a period at the end of a sentence. The moodboard vanished, leaving only the printed references scattered across the table and floor — all that heat and neon and skin now static, frozen, no longer moving but still radiating something. "Okay," she said, her voice shifting back into practical mode. "That's the direction. That's the world. From here, we start building." 

The moment the cameras powered down, the room exhaled.

It was a subtle shift at first — the handheld operator lowering his equipment with a soft grunt, the fixed lens in the corner finally going dark, the red blinking light that had been a constant presence for weeks now suddenly absent. The creative director exchanged a few murmured words with the film director and producer, their conversation too low to catch, and then the three of them gathered their materials with the efficient movements of people who had already gotten what they came for. The PA who had spread the printed references across the floor began collecting them in reverse, stacking the images of motel pools and neon churches and masked people back into a neat pile that somehow looked less dangerous when it wasn't sprawling across their living space. Within twenty minutes, the crew had filtered out through the front door in ones and twos — a camera case here, a lighting rig there, polite nods and vague promises to send tomorrow's schedule by midnight. The managers lingered longest, exchanging glances with each other that carried the weight of conversations they weren't having in front of the group, and then they too disappeared into the hallway, leaving behind only the faint smell of equipment and the heavier smell of something having changed.

The dorm felt strange with everyone gone. Not empty exactly — they were still there, the four of them, arranged in roughly the same positions they'd held during the presentation — but hollow in a way that made the silence feel louder than it should have been. The coffee table still held the ghost of the moodboard: a few stray printouts the PA had missed, a ring of condensation from someone's glass sitting right on top of a photograph of a girl in a white bikini pressing a pastel-pink gun to her own temple like she was checking her reflection in it. The laptop was gone. The camera was gone. The performance was over. And now they were just four people sitting in a room that didn't feel like theirs anymore, trying to figure out what to say to each other without an audience.

Jay was the first to move. He let out a breath — not a sigh exactly, but something heavier, something that had been held in for too long — and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands over his face like he was trying to wipe away the last hour. When his hands dropped, his expression was different than it had been on camera. Harder. More honest. The carefully measured enthusiasm was gone, replaced by something rawer, something that looked a lot like exhaustion mixed with irritation mixed with something else he probably couldn't name himself.

"So," he said, and his voice came out flat, stripped of the performance polish. "That was a lot."

No one responded immediately. The words just hung there, obvious and insufficient, filling the space without really addressing it. Jake shifted on the floor, drawing his other knee up so he was sitting cross-legged now, his back still against the base of the couch. Sunghoon remained perfectly still on his end of the sofa, one arm stretched along the back of it, his fingers drumming a slow, almost imperceptible rhythm against the fabric. Y/n hadn't moved at all since the cameras cut — still curled into himself, still half-swallowed by his hoodie, still looking at the space where the laptop had been like he could still see the images playing there.

Jake broke the silence next, and when he spoke, his voice sounded different too — less breathless, less enthusiastic, more like someone thinking out loud than someone trying to be quotable. "I don't know what I expected," he said slowly, his eyes fixed on the stray printout still sitting on the coffee table, the one with the girl and the pink gun. "But it wasn't that. It wasn't — " He gestured vaguely, a frustrated motion that didn't land on anything specific. "I thought visual album meant like, aesthetic. Pretty shots. Maybe some narrative stuff to connect the tracks. But that was — " He stopped, searching for the word, not finding it. "That was a whole ideology. That was a whole worldview. That was — I don't know. It felt like they were showing us a religion and asking if we wanted to convert."

Jay snorted, a humorless sound. "They're not asking," he said. "That's the thing. Did you hear how she talked? 'The company said yes.' Past tense. 'Locations are being locked.' Present tense. 'Everything from now on feeds this world.' This isn't a pitch. This isn't a discussion. This is already happening. They came here to show us what we're going to be, not to ask if we wanted it."

The words landed with a weight that pressed the silence even flatter. Sunghoon's fingers stopped their drumming. Jake's jaw tightened. Y/n's gaze flickered, just slightly, like something had shifted behind his eyes.

"Did you notice," Sunghoon said quietly, and his voice was strange — not angry, not upset, just very, very controlled in a way that meant he was working hard to keep it that way, "how much of it was about bodies? Not faces. Bodies. Skin. Sweat. Tan lines. That's what the whole board was. Flesh in different contexts. Flesh in pools. Flesh in motel rooms. Flesh in churches. It wasn't about music. It wasn't even really about performance. It was about — " He paused, and the pause was long enough to feel intentional. "Consumption. It was about making something people want to consume. And the something is us."

Jake looked at him sharply. "You think it's exploitative."

"I think it's honest about being exploitative," Sunghoon corrected, his tone still flat. "Which is different. And maybe worse, because it means they know exactly what they're doing and they've decided it's worth it."

Jay laughed, but it wasn't a real laugh. It was the sound of something uncomfortable being forced out through teeth. "Of course they think it's worth it. We're the ones they're selling, not the ones they're buying. Our comfort isn't a factor. Our opinions aren't a factor. The only factor is whether the product moves, and they've clearly decided this is the packaging that makes it move."

"But do you like it?" Jake asked suddenly, turning to look at Jay directly. "Forget whether it's happening or not. Forget the business side. Just — as a thing. As an idea. As a world. Do you like it?"

Jay held his gaze for a long moment, and something complicated moved across his face — something that wasn't quite anger and wasn't quite excitement and wasn't quite disgust. "I don't know," he admitted finally, and the honesty of it seemed to cost him something. "Parts of it, maybe. The ambition. The fact that it doesn't look like anything else. The fact that it's going to make people uncomfortable, which means it's going to make people pay attention." He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that looked almost vulnerable on him. "But I also feel like — like we're being fitted for costumes we didn't choose. Like someone else already decided what story we're telling and now we just have to figure out how to live inside it."

"Maybe that's always what this industry is," Jake said quietly. "Maybe we were always going to be wearing costumes we didn't choose. This is just a more honest costume. A more — obvious one."

"That doesn't make it better," Jay said.

"No," Jake agreed. "But it might make it easier. In a weird way. If you know what the game is, you can figure out how to play it."

Sunghoon made a soft sound, something between acknowledgment and disagreement. "Or you can figure out how to get played by it. Because the thing about a game this visible is that everyone can see you losing."

The conversation lapsed into another silence, this one heavier than the last. Outside, the light was starting to deepen toward evening, the gold going amber, the shadows in the dorm stretching longer. Someone should probably turn on a lamp. Someone should probably start thinking about dinner. Someone should probably say something normal to break the tension. But no one moved. They just sat there, four people in a room that didn't feel like home anymore, processing something too big to fit into small talk.

And then, very quietly, Y/n spoke.

He hadn't said anything since the cameras cut. He'd been so still and so silent that it would have been easy to forget he was there at all, folded into the corner of the couch like a piece of furniture that had always been there. But now his voice cut through the quiet, soft and certain in that strange way of his — not loud, not assertive, but somehow impossible to ignore.

"I like it."

The others turned to look at him. His eyes were still fixed on the coffee table, on the stray printout with the girl and the gun, but his expression wasn't blank anymore. There was something moving in it — something complicated and hard to read, like watching weather change through a window.

"I know that's not — I know it sounds strange," he continued, his voice still quiet, still careful, like he was picking his way through something fragile. "And I know it's about consumption. I know it's about making people want things. I know it's designed to be seductive in a way that's probably manipulative. But — " He paused, and his fingers curled tighter around the hem of his hoodie sleeve. "I don't think that makes it not beautiful. I think maybe that's what makes it beautiful. The honesty of it. The fact that it's not pretending to be innocent when it's not."

He looked up then, finally, and his eyes moved across the room — landing on Sunghoon first, then Jake, then Jay. His gaze was steady, but there was something underneath it that trembled very slightly, like a surface tension about to break.

"Everything in this industry is about consumption," he said. "Everything is about making people want things they can't have. About making them feel like they need something, and then selling it to them in pieces. This concept is just — more visible about it. More upfront. It's saying: this is what we are. This is what you're buying. And I think — " His voice wavered, just a little, before steadying again. "I think there's something almost kind about that. About not lying. About showing the machinery instead of hiding it."

Jake stared at him. "You think it's kind that they're going to dress us up like motel fantasies and film us like we're for sale?"

Y/n's mouth curved, just slightly — not quite a smile, but something in the family of one. "I think everything was always for sale," he said. "I think we were always the product. This is just — a more interesting packaging. A more honest one." He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice had dropped even quieter, almost like he was talking to himself. "And I think — I think I'd rather be consumed by something beautiful than something boring. If I have to be consumed at all."

The room went still again. But it was a different kind of stillness now — charged with something, heated by something. Jake was staring at Y/n with an expression that couldn't decide if it was fascination or concern. Sunghoon's carefully neutral mask had cracked slightly, something sharper showing through. And Jay — Jay was looking at Y/n like he was seeing him for the first time. Like all the irritation and resentment and complicated want that had been building for weeks had suddenly found a new shape, a new target, a new reason to exist.

Because Y/n wasn't just accepting the concept. He was welcoming it. He was opening the door to the fantasy and stepping inside willingly, and he was doing it with those soft, damaged eyes that made everything he said sound like a confession instead of a statement.

And for the first time since the creative director had opened her laptop, Jay understood exactly why the company had built this whole world around him.

Not because Y/n was the most talented.

Not because he was the most beautiful — though he was, in that strange, unsettling way of his.

But because Y/n already knew what it felt like to be consumed. He'd been living inside that knowledge since before any of them met him. And instead of fighting it, he'd learned to find it beautiful.

That was the product.

That was what they were selling.

Not the costumes or the concept or the chlorine-blue motel pools.

And the worst part — the part Jay couldn't stop thinking about even as the conversation drifted toward safer topics and someone finally got up to turn on a light and order food — was that Jay wanted to buy it too. The Los Angeles night didn’t so much fall as it did settle like a heavy, smoggy blanket over the dorm. Outside the windows, the sky was that bruised, cinematic purple unique to the city—a hazy cocktail of exhaust, ocean salt, and the neon glare of Sunset Boulevard bleeding into the clouds. Somewhere distant, the rhythmic thumping of a helicopter blade cut through the air, and the low, constant hum of the 405 freeway sounded like a long, drawn-out sigh.

Inside, the room was thick with the residue of the day. The creative director had left, the film crew had packed up their rigs, and the managers had retreated to their own phones in the hallway, leaving the four of them alone in the half-light. 

Jay had disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the shower hissing against the tiles like a demand for silence. Sunghoon had stood up minutes ago, his movements cold and architectural, not saying a word before he slipped into his room, his footsteps heavy with a frustration he wouldn't name. That left the two of them.

Y/n was still on the sofa, looking small against the cushions. He had his knees pulled up to his chest, the oversized hoodie he’d been wearing all day finally slipping down, revealing a shoulder that looked too pale, too smooth for the world he was about to enter. He wasn’t looking at the door or the cameras; he was just staring at a stray photo on the floor—a shot of a boy’s hands tied loosely with a silk ribbon.

He didn’t look upset by the concept. He didn't look like he wanted to fight the executives who had decided his "marketable sadness" was the perfect anchor for a visual album built on the aesthetics of a beautiful disaster. There was a terrifying, quiet compliance in the way he sat. He looked like something waiting to be picked up. Something waiting to be used.

"Y/n," Jake said, his voice sounding like it had been dragged through gravel. "You should probably go to bed. Early call tomorrow."

Y/n blinked, his long, heavy lashes fluttering slowly. He turned his head toward Jake, and for a second, Jake felt that familiar, sickening lurch in his chest. It was the look—that wide-eyed, dazed innocence that wasn't a choice, but a condition. It wasn't that Y/n was trying to be provocative; it was that he was so fundamentally soft that it made the air around him feel violent. He looked like he’d been born to be broken, a blank, pretty canvas that practically begged for someone to leave a mark.

"Okay," Y/n whispered. He stood up, his movements languid and dazed, as if he were perpetually waking up from a dream. The hem of his hoodie brushed the middle of his thighs, and as he walked past Jake toward their shared room, he didn't look away. He didn't offer anything. He just… was. A soft, breathing target.

Jake followed a minute later, his heart hammering a frantic, uneven rhythm against his ribs.

The bedroom was dark, save for the neon glow of the L.A. streetlights filtering through the cheap plastic blinds. The light cut across the room in sharp, horizontal slats, painting the bed in stripes of blue and shadow. Y/n was already there, sitting on the edge of the mattress, pulling the hoodie over his head.

He didn't rush. He didn't turn his back. He just lifted his arms, and the thin, white tank top underneath rode up, exposing the delicate, pale curve of his waist. When the hoodie dropped, he was just there—a vision of fragile bones and soft skin in the amber light. He looked like a secret. He looked like something you’d find in a motel room at 3:00 AM and never tell a soul about.

He crawled into the bed, his movements shy, tucking himself under the sheets with his back to Jake’s side. He didn't take up space. He didn't demand attention. He just settled into the mattress like he was waiting for the world to happen to him.

Jake stripped off his shirt, the air in the room feeling far too hot, far too small. He climbed into the other side, the springs creaking under his weight. The space between them was barely a foot, but it felt like a canyon filled with static. Jake could smell him—the laundry detergent provided by the company, a hint of something like vanilla, and the warmth of clean skin.

"Do you understand what they're going to do?" Jake asked, his voice low, vibrating in the narrow space between their pillows. He was staring at the back of Y/n’s head, at the dark, messy hair resting against the white linen. "The concept. The visual album. They're going to make you look.... They're going to make everyone want to touch you, Y/n."

Y/n shifted, turning slowly onto his side to face Jake. The amber light caught in the corner of his eye, making the perpetual glaze there look like unshed tears. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't smirking. He just looked up at Jake with that devastating, quiet honesty.

"I know," Y/n said. His voice was a soft, airy thing. "The creative director said I have a 'ruined' quality. She said people will want to save me."

Jake’s jaw tightened. "It’s not about saving you, Y/n. It’s about the look of it. It’s about making you a product. They want to sexualize that... that quiet thing you have. They want to turn your silence into an invitation."

Y/n didn't flinch. He didn't look offended or scared. He just lay there, his hands tucked under his cheek, looking at Jake with an innocence that was so profound it felt like a provocation. He didn't seem to understand that he should be angry. He didn't seem to have the instinct to protect himself.

"I don't mind," Y/n whispered, and the words felt like a physical blow to Jake’s chest. "If it helps the group. If it’s what I’m for... then it’s okay. 

Jake’s breath hitched. The heat in his stomach flared into something sharp and agonizing. It was the way Y/n said it—so calmly, so shyly, as if his own body were just a piece of equipment he was lending to the company. He wasn't "dirty." He wasn't offering himself like a pro. He was just a boy who had been told his value was in his fragility, and he had accepted it with a soft, heartbreaking "yes."

He was the ultimate prey. The kind of boy who would let you ruin him and then look at you with those same glassy eyes, wondering if he’d done a good job.

"You're too quiet," Jake breathed, his hand twitching under the covers. He wanted to reach out. He wanted to wrap his fingers around Y/n’s wrist and feel how small it was. He wanted to tell him to run, to fight, to scream—but he also wanted to be the one the camera was filming when Y/n finally broke.

"I'm just tired," Y/n murmured, his eyes beginning to flutter shut. He didn't pull the covers up to hide his collarbones. He didn't turn away. He just lay there in the low llight, a soft, beautiful sacrifice waiting for the morning to come and the cameras to start rolling.

Jake realized then that the company wasn't just building a concept. They were building a cage. And Y/n was already inside it, sitting quietly in the center, waiting for someone to turn the key.

Jake looked at Y/n’s parted lips, at the soft pulse in his neck, and felt a wave of possessive, dark hunger that made him sick. If the world was going to watch Y/n be ruined, Jake was going to make sure he was the one standing closest.

Outside, the L.A. night hummed on, indifferent to the slow, quiet breaking of the boys in the room. Jake stared at the ceiling until the amber light turned to grey, his hand resting inches away from Y/n’s skin, never quite touching, but never letting go.

The neon digits on the microwave flickered 3:12 AM, casting a sharp, radioactive green glow across the kitchen tiles.

Y/n couldn't stay in the bedroom. The air there was too thick, saturated with the heavy, rhythmic sound of Jake’s breathing and the lingering scent of heat and unsaid things. He’d slipped out from under the duvet like a ghost, his bare feet making no sound as he padded down the hallway. He was dressed only in a thin, ribbed white tank top and those soft jersey shorts that sat dangerously low on his hip bones, the fabric clinging to his skin in the humid Los Angeles night. He didn't turn on a single light. He didn't need to. The city outside provided enough of a sickly, cinematic glow—a mixture of orange streetlights and the blue-white hum of the billboard across the street—to turn the living room into a landscape of silver and deep, bruised shadows.

He rounded the corner, intending to just sit by the window and watch the helicopters circle the Hollywood Hills, but he froze.

The living room wasn't empty. Sunghoon was there, sprawled back on the leather sofa, but he wasn't sleeping. His head was thrown back against the cushions, his throat arched so sharply the tendons were straining like wire. His eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw clamped in a jagged line of pure, agonizing concentration. One hand was white-knuckled, gripping the armrest so hard the leather groaned, and the other was buried deep inside his unzipped sweatpants. He was moving with a frantic, rhythmic violence, his hips jerking up off the cushions in a desperate search for friction. The sound was the worst part—the wet, sliding friction of skin on skin and the hitching, broken gasps of a boy who had been pushed past his limit in the dark.

Y/n’s breath caught, a tiny, soft hitch that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.

Sunghoon’s eyes snapped open. They were dark, the pupils so blown they were almost entirely black, shimmering with a glazed, predatory intensity. He didn't stop. He didn't pull his hand away or scramble to cover himself. He just froze mid-stroke, his chest heaving, his cock thick and straining in his own grip, glistening with pre-cum in the dim city light. He stared at Y/n standing there—pale, soft-shouldered, and blinking with that dazed, ruined innocence that made Sunghoon’s stomach do a slow, sick flip. The amber light from the window caught the slope of Y/n’s waist where the tank top had ridden up, and the sight of that soft, vulnerable skin seemed to snap something inside Sunghoon’s head.

"Come here," Sunghoon rasped, his voice a jagged whisper that vibrated through the floorboards.

Y/n didn't move at first. He just stared at Sunghoon’s hand, at the way his fingers were curled around his own length, at the raw hunger in Sunghoon’s face. He felt that familiar, heavy compliance wash over him—that feeling that he was a thing meant to be used, a vessel meant to be filled. He padded across the floor, his knees feeling like water, until he was standing right at the edge of the couch, his bare thighs inches from Sunghoon’s spread legs.

"You've been walking around like this all night, haven't you?" Sunghoon whispered, his hand finally slowing, but not stopping. He reached out with his free hand and hooked a finger into the waistband of Y/n’s shorts, tugging him closer until Y/n’s stomach was brushing against Sunghoon’s hot, damp forehead. "Looking like this. Smelling like this. Driving us all fucking insane while you act like you don't even know what you're doing."

"I... I just couldn't sleep," Y/n whispered, his voice trembling as he looked down at Sunghoon.

Sunghoon let out a low, bitter sound that was half-laugh, half-groan. He let go of his own cock, his hand coming up to wrap around Y/n’s wrist, pulling his hand down. His skin was burning, slick with his own sweat. He guided Y/n’s hand into the opening of his sweatpants, forcing Y/n’s fingers to curl around the hot, pulsing weight of him. Y/n flinched at the contact—at the sheer size of him, the way the skin felt like velvet over iron—but he didn't pull away. He never pulled away.

"Help me," Sunghoon breathed, his eyes locking onto Y/n’s with a terrifying, possessive focus. "Finish it. You're the one who put me here. You're the one I've been picturing in the dark. Now do it."

Y/n’s fingers trembled as they closed around Sunghoon’s cock. He was so shy, his movements tentative and dazed, which only seemed to drive Sunghoon deeper into a frenzy. Sunghoon’s hand stayed over Y/n’s, guiding the rhythm, forcing him to squeeze tighter, to move faster. Sunghoon’s head fell back again, a long, broken moan escaping his lips as he felt Y/n’s soft, cool palm sliding over his heat.

"God, Y/n," Sunghoon choked out, his hips beginning to roll, thrusting up into Y/n’s hand. "You're so soft. You're so fucking soft. I want to ruin you. I want to mark every inch of you so the cameras can't see anything but me."

He reached up with his other hand, grabbing the back of Y/n’s neck and pulling him down until their faces were inches apart. He didn't kiss him; he just breathed Y/n’s air, his eyes searching Y/n’s dazed, glassy ones. He wanted to see the exact moment Y/n realized what he was doing. He wanted to see the corruption of that innocence in real-time.

"Faster," Sunghoon commanded, his voice a low growl of command.

Y/n obeyed, his hand moving in a frantic, sliding rhythm that made Sunghoon’s body go taut as a bowstring. The leather of the couch creaked under them, the only sound in the room besides their ragged breathing. Sunghoon’s grip on Y/n’s neck tightened, his thumb pressing into the soft skin of his throat as he felt the climax beginning to roar up through his spine.

"Don't look away," Sunghoon hissed, his eyes wide and dark. "Look at me, whore. Watch what you do to me."

With a final, violent thrust of his hips, Sunghoon’s body jerked, his entire frame shuddering as he came, thick and hot, over his own stomach and Y/n’s trembling hand. He let out a long, wrecked sound that was almost a sob, his forehead dropping onto Y/n’s shoulder as the aftershocks racked him. He stayed like that for a long time, his breath hot against Y/n’s skin, his hand still clamped firmly on the back of Y/n’s neck, refusing to let him move.

The city glowed outside, indifferent and bright, but inside the dark living room, the air was heavy with the scent of sex. Sunghoon didn't let go. He just pulled Y/n closer into the mess, his heart hammering against Y/n’s chest, silently claiming the softness he had just used to break himself.

The silence in the room was heavy, thick with the smell of sweat and the sharp, cloying scent of Sunghoon’s cum. Outside, a helicopter’s spotlight swept briefly across the ceiling, a pale blade of light that illuminated the mess on Sunghoon’s stomach and the way Y/n’s hand was still trembling, slick and glistening in the dark.

Sunghoon didn't move to clean himself. He stayed slumped back against the leather, his chest heaving as he fought to bring his breathing under control. His hand was still clamped firmly on the back of Y/n’s neck, his fingers buried in the dark, messy curls, keeping him close. The predatory glaze hadn't left Sunghoon’s eyes; if anything, the climax had only made him look more territorial, more consumed by the soft, dazed boy standing between his knees. He looked at Y/n—at the way he stood there, chest heaving, his mouth slightly parted in a silent, confused exhale—and felt a fresh wave of possessive heat.

“Look at it,” Sunghoon rasped, his voice low and jagged, barely a whisper meant for the space between them. He nudged Y/n’s hand, the one coated in the hot, sticky evidence of his climax. “Look at what you made me do.”

Y/n’s gaze dropped. He looked down at the mess on Sunghoon’s skin, then back up at Sunghoon’s face. He didn't look disgusted. He didn't look like he wanted to run. He just looked dazed, his eyes glassy and wide, that terrifying innocence making him look like he was waiting for the next instruction. He was so pliable, so ready to be whatever Sunghoon needed him to be in the dark.

Sunghoon’s grip on Y/n’s neck tightened, pulling him down an inch closer. “You’re so good at taking care of me, aren't you? So quiet. So shy.” Sunghoon’s thumb traced the line of Y/n’s jaw, his eyes dropping to Y/n’s mouth. A dark, cruel thought flickered behind his eyes—a need to see just how far this compliance went, to see if he could truly stain the purity that everyone else in the agency was so obsessed with.

“Don’t let it go to waste,” Sunghoon whispered, his voice vibrating with a dark, commanding edge. He leaned forward, his forehead nearly touching Y/n’s. “Be a good bitch… Lick it. Lick it all clean, Y/n. Every drop.”

Y/n’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He looked at the wetness on Sunghoon’s stomach, then back at those dark, demanding eyes. He felt the weight of Sunghoon’s hand on his neck, the silent pressure of the Los Angeles night pressing in on them. He was a boy born to be ruined, and Sunghoon was offering him the chance to start.

Slowly, Y/n sank to his knees between Sunghoon’s spread legs. His movements were hesitant, shy, his bare knees meeting the cool floor with a soft thud. He didn't look away from Sunghoon’s face as he leaned in. Sunghoon let out a low, shuddering breath, his fingers clenching in Y/n’s hair as he watched the boy’s head dip.

When Y/n’s tongue finally met Sunghoon’s skin, it was soft and tentative, but the effect was electric. Sunghoon’s eyes squeezed shut, a broken, guttural groan escaping his throat as he felt the warm, wet heat of Y/n’s mouth against his stomach. He tasted like salt and sweat and the raw, heavy reality of what they were doing in the dark while the others slept.

“That’s it,” Sunghoon choked out, his hand in Y/n’s hair guiding him, pushing him to be thorough. “Get all of it. Don't leave a trace.”

He watched with a sick, possessive fascination as Y/n obeyed, his head moving in the silver city light, his dazed innocence being consumed by the very act of cleaning Sunghoon’s filth. It was the most beautiful thing Sunghoon had ever seen—the corruption of a boy who didn't even know how to fight back.

By the time Y/n sat back on his heels, his lips were damp and his eyes were wider than ever, looking up at Sunghoon with a terrifyingly pure devotion. Sunghoon reached out, cupping Y/n’s face with both hands, his thumbs dragging over Y/n’s wet lips.

“Good boy,” Sunghoon whispered, his voice thick with a new kind of hunger. “You’re mine now. Do you hear me? Before the cameras, before the fans... you’re mine.”

Y/n just nodded, a soft, dazed movement, letting Sunghoon claim him in the dark living room, the sirens of Sunset Boulevard wailing in the distance like a choir for the ruined. The air in the living room was stagnant, smelling of salt and the heavy, humid residue of what had just happened. Y/n stayed on his knees for a long moment, his chest rising and falling in shallow, jagged hitches. The city light caught the dampness on his lower lip, making him look like something fragile that had been caught in a storm. He didn't move to wipe his mouth. He didn't pull away from the heat radiating off Sunghoon’s thighs. He just looked up, his eyes glassy and wide, searching Sunghoon’s face with a devastating, quiet sincerity.

"Are you satisfied?" Y/n whispered.

The question was so soft, so devoid of any edge or irony, that it made Sunghoon’s pulse jump. It wasn't the question of a lover; it was the question of a thing that had been used and wanted to know if it had performed its function. It was the purest form of the ruin Sunghoon was so obsessed with—the idea that Y/n could be completely debased and still look at him with that same dazed, angelic devotion.

Sunghoon’s hand, still tangled in the dark curls at the nape of Y/n’s neck, softened. He looked down at the boy at his feet—this soft, pale creature who had just licked him clean in the dark—and felt a wave of protectiveness so sharp it bordered on violent. He wanted to keep him here. He wanted to hide him from the cameras, from Jake, from the world that was about to try and take pieces of him.

He leaned forward, his shadow swallowing Y/n’s face. Instead of the rough command of before, Sunghoon reached out with his other hand and gently tilted Y/n’s chin up. He pressed a kiss to Y/n’s forehead, then shifted, his lips ghosting over Y/n’s closed eyelids before finally landing on his mouth.

It wasn't a deep kiss. It was short, soft, and tasted of salt, but it carried the weight of a brand. It was the kind of kiss you gave something you’d finally admitted you owned.

"Yes," Sunghoon murmured against Y/n’s lips, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "I'm satisfied."

He pulled back just enough to look into Y/n’s dazed eyes, his thumb tracing the soft line of his jaw. Sunghoon’s expression was no longer predatory, but it remained intensely possessive. He saw the way Y/n’s body was trembling, the way his bare shoulders looked cold in the artificial light of the L.A. skyline.

"Go back to bed," Sunghoon said, his voice dropping into a gentle but firm command. "Or stay here on the couch with me. Whatever you want. But you need to sleep."

Y/n blinked, his mind clearly still foggy, still caught in the orbit of Sunghoon’s gravity. He looked at the couch, then back toward the dark hallway leading to the room he shared with Jake. The thought of going back there—back to the heavy, silent heat of Jake’s presence—felt impossible.

"I'll stay," Y/n whispered.

Sunghoon didn't say a word. He simply shifted, making space on the leather cushions, and pulled Y/n up. He guided him until Y/n was tucked against his side, his head resting on Sunghoon’s chest, his small frame almost entirely hidden by the curve of Sunghoon’s arm. Sunghoon pulled a discarded throw blanket over them both, his hand resting on Y/n’s hip, his fingers idly tracing patterns on the thin fabric of Y/n’s shorts.

The city hummed outside, the helicopters circled the dark hills, and the neon signs of Sunset Boulevard flickered on. Inside the dorm, the silence returned, but it was different now. It was shared.

Y/n closed his eyes, his breathing finally evening out as he listened to the steady, powerful thud of Sunghoon’s heart beneath his ear. He felt safe, and he felt ruined, and in his dazed mind, those two things were starting to feel exactly the same. Sunghoon stayed awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling, his grip on Y/n never loosening, watching over the boy he had claimed in the dark.

The visual album would start tomorrow. The world would get its chance to look. But Sunghoon knew, as he felt Y/n drift off to sleep against him, that he had already won a piece of the only part of the fantasy that mattered.

author’s note: hey guys! did y'all miss me? i’m so, so sorry for being away for so long. i know i kind of disappeared, and i hate that i left you hanging. the truth is, i was going through some pretty heavy things in my personal life... it was a lot to handle, and i needed to step back to breathe for a bit. but even when i wasn't posting, i was always here in the background, watching how you guys kept appreciating my work, keeping the story alive. seriously... i can’t even explain how grateful i am. seeing your comments and reblogs pop up on my notifications while i was dealing with everything? it genuinely meant the world to me. thank you so much! i love each and every one of you. i’m not making any crazy promises because life is unpredictable, but i promise to give my best to be active from now on. i’ve missed this so much. and also... please forgive me if this chapter of world class sin feels a little off or rusty. i haven't written in a long time, and i feel like i might’ve lost my touch a little bit while i was away. i was actually really nervous to post this, so please be gentle with me >.< but i really hope you guys enjoy it regardless! it feels so good to be back writing for you all. thank you for sticking by me even when i was quiet. please take care of yourselves, okay? i love you! — luke

but you're already leaning into him, your hand finding his knee through the soft gray fabric of his sweatpants.

"i'm serious! think about it, babe."

your voice is that special kind of excited, the one soobin usually hears when you're explaining a new game you're completely obsessed with or suggesting a takeout place you've been dying to try.

"we've never done it like that. it's always, you know... we're both already hard, and it's kind of rushed and intense. but this..." you squeeze his knee, your thumb tracing a small circle. "this would be different. slower. we could just... be together. and feel everything."

soobin's heart is doing something erratic in his chest.

he's still holding his pen, still surrounded by highlighters and flashcards, and his ridiculously attractive boyfriend is sitting on his bed, talking about his dick like it's the most natural thing in the world. which, okay, it is, they've been together for eight months, they're past the awkward stage. but this is... new.

"you want to..." soobin swallows, his throat suddenly dry. he glances down at his own lap, then back at you, his cheeks impossibly pinker. "you want to sit on it? while it's... you know?"

"soft, yeah."

you nod enthusiastically, scooting closer, and your thigh presses against his.

"i just keep thinking about what it would feel like. the sensation of it... waking up inside me. getting harder because of me, because of us," your voice drops a little, losing some of its excited energy and gaining something warmer, something more intimate. "i think it would feel really good, babe. really close."

and that's the thing.

soobin has never been able to deny you anything when you look at him like that, when your voice goes soft and you say his name like it means something more than just letters strung together. he's completely, utterly gone for you, and you know it. you use that power sometimes, but never cruelly. always like this — to pull him closer, to bring him into a moment with you.

he sets his pen down carefully, marking his place in the textbook with a sticky note; a small, practical gesture that's so distinctly him that it makes your heart clench.

"you really want to?" soobin asks softly, his voice quieter now, a little shy.

"yeah, more than anything right now," you admit, and it's the truth.

the textbook, the phone, the outside world — it's all completely faded away. there is just soobin, in his ridiculously soft-looking oversized white t-shirt and those grey sweatpants that you've told him a hundred times should be illegal, his dark hair falling over his forehead, his glasses framing those warm, curious eyes that are currently fixed entirely on you.

soobin bites his lower lip, a telltale sign that he's thinking, he's considering. then, slowly, he shifts on the bed, putting his textbook on the nightstand. he leans back against the headboard, the wood creaking softly, and his long legs stretch out, then bend slightly, creating a space for you, an invitation.

"okay," he breathes out, the word carrying a mix of nervousness and genuine curiosity. "let's... let's try."

and oh, you don't need to be told twice.

you're moving immediately, crawling over the messy comforter to settle between your boyfriend’s legs. soobin watches you, his hands coming up to softly rest on your hips as you straddle him, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his thighs.

you're face to face now, close enough to see the tiny mole under his eye, the way his eyelashes flutter.

"hi," you whisper, a stupid, giddy smile spreading across your face.

a matching smile tugs at soobin's lips, despite his obvious embarrassment.

"hi," he whispers back. his hands are warm through the thin fabric of your pajama pants. "this is so weird."

"good weird or bad weird?"

"just... weird. different."

soobin ducks his head slightly, looking at where your bodies meet, at the tentatively interested bulge in his own pants that's nowhere near full attention.

"are you sure you're gonna be comfortable? what if—"

you cut him off with a kiss; it's soft, just a brush of lips, simply meant to soothe.

"we'll go slow. if it's weird or uncomfortable, we can just stop. okay?"

soobin nods against your mouth. "okay."

you kiss him again, deeper this time, and you feel his huge hands tighten on your hips. you rock forward experimentally, just a small shift of weight, and soobin makes a tiny sound against your lips.

you break the kiss to sit back slightly, your hands finding the hem of his oversized t-shirt. "can i?"

soobin lifts his arms without a word, and you pull the shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere behind you, and your breath catches, like it always does.

you've already seen him naked countless times, but the sight of his pretty bare chest, the smooth expanse of pale skin, the subtle definition of muscle from carrying heavy books and the occasional gym session with his friends — it never gets old. he's beautiful in a way that feels accidental, unassuming.

soobin doesn't seem to fully realize how hot he is, and that, somehow, makes him even hotter.

your fingers find the waistband of his sweatpants, and you look at him for permission. once again, soobin gives a small, shy nod. you tug them down, along with his boxers, just enough. his cock lies soft against his thigh, and you feel a fresh wave of heat pool in your stomach. it's still him, still soobin, still the part of him that makes you feel so incredibly full and complete.

it's just... resting.

you shimmy out of your own pajama pants and boxers quickly, not wanting to break the moment. when you settle back on his lap, it's skin-to-skin, his soft length pressed against the curve of your ass. soobin hisses in a breath, his fingers digging into your hips.

you position yourself carefully, one hand on soobin’s shoulder for balance, the other reaching down to guide him. your eyes meet his.

"ready?"

he looks terrified and thrilled in equal measure.

"ready."

you shift your weight, lowering yourself slowly. the head of soobin’s soft cock presses against your entrance, and for a moment, it just... sits there. it's an odd sensation, really — the familiar pressure, but without the familiar hardness. it feels almost impossibly soft, pliable.

you take a breath and push down gently.

the slide is different; way slower. there is no resistance in the same way, because he's soft, but your body still has to accommodate his size. even soft, Soobin is... well, considerable. you feel yourself stretching around him, taking him in inch by inch, and the sensation is so unique, so new, that a shaky moan escapes your lips.

soobin's eyes are wide.

"oh," he breathes. "oh, wow."

"you okay?" you manage to ask, pausing when you're about halfway seated.

soobin nods frantically, his hands softly stroking up and down your sides.

"y-yeah. it's just... it feels so warm, and so tight. but it's also different. it's like... i can feel everything. i can feel every part of you."

you lower yourself the rest of the way, and then you're fully seated, his soft cock buried completely inside you. you sit there for a moment, just breathing, just feeling; the weight of him, the fullness, the strange, intimate knowledge that he's inside you but not hard inside you.

it's like a secret, a moment stolen from time.

you're both still for a long, breathless moment. soobin's hands are splayed across your lower back, warm and grounding, and you can feel his heartbeat, or maybe it's yours — it's hard to tell anymore when you're this close.

"how does it feel?" you whisper, your forehead resting against his.

"warm," he repeats, his voice soft with wonder. "and... tight. but it's like..." he struggles for words, his brow furrowing adorably. "it's like i can feel you holding me. not like... fucking. just holding."

you smile, pressing a gentle kiss to soobin’s lips.

"yeah. that's what i wanted."

you start to move, but not in any real rhythm.

just small, subtle shifts of your hips. you were rocking, more than anything, simply testing the sensation. with each tiny movement, you feel him, soft and pliant, moving inside you, and it's incredibly intimate in a way you hadn't tully anticipated.

soobin's hands roam your back, your sides, his touch full of reverence. your boyfriend is looking at you like you're something so precious, something he can't quite believe is real. his cheeks are still flushed that pretty pink you love so much, his lips slightly parted.

"you're so beautiful," he murmurs, almost to himself.

you feel a flutter of warmth in your chest that has nothing to do with where you're connected.

"so are you."

you kiss him again, deeper this time. your tongue slides against his, slow and exploratory, and soobin’s hands come up to cup your face, holding you close. the kiss deepens, becomes more urgent, more hungry. you feel his hips twitch beneath you, a small, unconscious thrust.

and then, finally, you feel it — the slightest change; a thickening, a growing weight inside you. you gasp against his mouth at the very new sensation, pulling back just enough to look at him.

soobin’s eyes are hazy, his pupils blown wide.

"soobin," you breathe. "i can feel you."

he looks down, as if he could see through both your bodies to where they're joined.

"it's you," soobin whispers, his voice wrecked. "it's because of you. you feel so good."

another small, unconscious thrust. another surge of growth. soobin’s cock is filling out inside you, pressing against your walls in a way it couldn't when it was soft. the sensation is really overwhelming — the gradual stretch, the increasing fullness… you can feel every ridge, every vein as they become more pronounced.

you can feel soobin getting harder because of you, because of the way your body is wrapped around him, because of the kisses, because of the closeness.

"oh—my god," soobin pathetically whimpers, his head falling back against the headboard. his hands grip your hips tighter, his knuckles white. "oh my god, that feels... that feels so..."

"i know," you groan, and you start to move with more purpose now, rolling your hips in a slow circle. each movement seems to encourage him, to draw more blood, more hardness. "i can feel every second of it. you're getting so hard inside me, babe."

soobin makes a sound that's somewhere between a moan and a whine, high-pitched and desperate.

"d-don't stop. please don't stop."

you don't. you keep moving, keep kissing him, keep whispering praise against his lips.

"feel how good you feel. feel how perfectly you fit."

"i can't—" soobin cuts himself off with another whine, his hips starting to thrust up in small, jerky movements that meet your rolls. "it's too much. it feels too good."

"it's not too much," you assure him, your hand coming up to card through his soft hair, pushing it back from his forehead. "you're doing so well. just feel it. feel me."

soobin is fully hard now, thick and heavy inside you, and the transition from soft to hard has left you both breathless and shaking. you've never experienced anything like it — the gradual, inexorable filling, the knowledge that his arousal is a direct response to you, to this moment. it's really intoxicating.

"i wanna move," soobin begs, his voice cracking. "please, baby, please can i move? i need—i need to—"

you simply nod, unable to form words properly. you lift yourself slightly, and soobin thrusts up, a real thrust this time, deep and sure. you both moan, the sound mingling in the small space between you.

"y-yeah," you gasp. "like that. just like that—"

soobin sets a rhythm, slow at first, still overwhelmed by the newness of it all. his thrusts are deep, deliberate, each one punching a soft sound from your lips, and his hands are everywhere — your hips, your back, your face.

he can't stop touching you, can't stop looking at you.

"you're so perfect," soobin babbles, his words tumbling out between kisses and pretty moans. "so perfect for me. i love you so much. i love being inside you. i love—ah!—i love feeling you."

you capture his mouth with yours, swallowing his words, his every sounds. you simply love him like this — open, vulnerable, completely undone by you. the pretty nerd who annotates his textbooks and makes color-coded study guides, reduced to a whining, desperate mess because of how you feel around him.

you start to meet his thrusts, matching his rhythm, making it deeper and harder. the bed creaks beneath you, the sound joining the wet, obscene noises of your bodies coming together.

"i'm close," soobin warns, his voice tight.

he's gripping you so hard you know there will be bruises tomorrow, and you can't bring yourself to care.

"i'm so close, baby, where do you want—"

"inside," you moans. "stay inside—wanna feel you come inside me."

soobin’s eyes roll back slightly at your words, and his thrusts become erratic, losing their rhythm. he's chasing his release, but he's also watching you, making sure you're with him. your boyfriend’s hand snakes down between your bodies, finding your cock, stroking you in time with his thrusts.

it only takes a few more strokes; you come with a broken cry of his name, your body clenching around him, and that's all it takes to push soobin over the edge. he follows with a desperate, high-pitched moan, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you, hot and deep.

for a long moment, neither of you moves.

you're both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, sharing the same humid air. soobin's hands are still on you, but they've gone soft, just resting.

right now, you can feel him softening inside you, the reverse of the sensation from before, and it's just as incredible in its own way.

finally, you shift, wincing slightly at the oversensitivity, and soobin's hands immediately try to hold you still.

"wait," he murmurs. "just... wait a second. i'm not ready to not be inside you yet."

you smile, pressing a kiss to his nose.

"okay."

you simply stay like that for a long time, connected, breathing together. soobin’s thumbs trace absent patterns on your skin, and our fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

the room slowly cools around you, but you're both warm, wrapped up in each other.

"that was..." he trails off, searching for the right word.

"incredible?" you offer.

"yeah," soobin laughs softly, a little puff of air against your lips. "incredible. you always have the best ideas."

"i know," you tease, but you're smiling too.

eventually, you have to move.

the practicalities of cleanup, of bodily functions, of reality intruding on the perfect bubble you've created. but even as you disentangle yourselves, even as soobin disappears into his attached bathroom and returns with a warm, damp washcloth to clean you both with gentle, careful hands, the intimacy doesn't break.

when you finally settle back into bed, both of you having pulled on fresh boxers, soobin immediately pulls you against his chest. he's warm and solid, and you can feel his heartbeat, still slightly elevated, against your cheek.

"so," you mumble against his skin. "worth interrupting your study session?"

soobin laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest.

"my biology textbook can wait. this was..." he pauses, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. "this was the best kind of practical application."

you snort, elbowing him gently. "such a nerd."

the room falls into a comfortable silence, the kind that only comes after moments of profound intimacy.

outside, the city continues its endless hum.

inside, in soobin's small, cluttered bedroom, there's just the two of you, wrapped up in each other, sated and sleepy and utterly, completely in love.

Actually, that's not quite right. He's having the worst day of his life so far, which is saying something, because yesterday was pretty bad too. And the day before that. And the day before that too.

Jungwon is a band manager, which sounds cooler than it actually is. He represents ENHYPEN: Jay, Sunghoon, Heeseung, and Jake; four guys with genuine talent and absolutely zero luck in the industry. They've been trying to get a record deal for two years now, and every single opportunity has somehow slipped through their fingers at the last possible second. Like today, he was supposed to have a meeting with a major label. Supposed to, because Jungwon woke up to a dead phone battery (he'd definitely plugged it in), missed his alarm, and then got stuck in traffic caused by a water main break that, according to the news, had a "one in a million chance of happening there." By the time he arrived at the venue, drenched from the sudden downpour that started the second he left his apartment, the label executives were already gone. "They waited thirty minutes," the venue manager told him, not unkindly. "I'm sorry, man."

Now Jungwon sits in a coffee shop, dripping rainwater onto the floor and staring at his laptop screen. His email inbox is full of rejections. His coffee tastes burnt, the cafe's wifi keeps cutting out. And when his phone buzzes with a text from Jay: Howd it go? Jungwon doesn't have the heart to respond yet. He runs a hand through his wet hair and closes his eyes. Somewhere out there, he thinks, someone must be using up all the good luck in the world. Somewhere out there, someone has to be.

And as you arrive at the office, the elevator dings right as you approach it and doors slide open like it was waiting just for you. You step inside and you continue up to the fifth floor, where the marketing agency you work for occupies the entire level. The glass doors swing open and you're immediately hit with the chaos that comes with planning high profile events in the city. Your desk is right by the window, which you'd worried about when you first started because of the glare, but somehow the sun never hits your screen and you have a fire view of the city skylines.

You drop your bag on your chair and head to the break room for water. Sunoo is already there, fighting with the coffee machine. "This thing hates me," he says while smacking the side of it. "I swear it only works for you."

"Want me to try?"

"Please." You press the same buttons he was pressing and the machine immediately whirs to life, dispensing espresso into his cup. Sunoo stares at it. "I don't understand your life."

"Maybe you just have to ask nicely."

"I literally said please three times." He takes his coffee anyway shaking his head. "Did you see the email? We have a meeting with Director Kim in twenty minutes."

You hadn't seen it, but when you check your phone the notification is right there, sent ten minutes ago. Back at your desk, you pull up the project files you'd been working on yesterday. Yunjin rolls her chair over from the adjacent desk, holding out a glazed donut. "They were giving these out in the lobby. Grabbed you one."

"Thanks, Yunjin." You take it and it's still warm. "You're the best."

"I know." She grins. "So, any idea what the meeting's about?"

"No clue."

"I heard it's something big," Riki says, appearing behind you both. The intern is holding a stack of folders that looks about two seconds from toppling over. "Like, really big."

"Everything's big to you," Sunoo says. "You've been here for three weeks."

"Three weeks and two days," Riki corrects. "And I'm just saying, Director Kim only calls meetings like this when it's important."

He's not wrong. Director Kim usually communicates through email or quick desk drop bys. Formal meetings mean something significant is happening. So you make your way to the conference room, it has floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city. Director Kim is already there, sitting at the head of the table with her tablet and a cup of tea. "Good, you're all here," she says as you file in. "Sit down. We need to talk about HYBE." You exchange glances with Sunoo. HYBE is huge — one of the biggest music labels in the industry. Your agency has worked with them before, but only on smaller projects. Director Kim pulls up something on the screen at the front of the room. It's a preliminary event outline, and the budget number at the bottom makes your eyes widen.

"HYBE is launching a new initiative," she continues. "They're hosting a masquerade ball to introduce upcoming artists, network with industry professionals, and make a statement about their brand direction. They want it elegant, exclusive, and flawless. The event is in six weeks." Six weeks is tight for something this scale, but not impossible. "If we get this, it'll be the biggest project we have handled all year." Director Kim looks directly at you. "I want you to lead this."

The words hang in the air for a moment. "Me?" you ask.

"You." She sets down her tablet. "You've been here for two years, and every event you've touched has gone off without a single issue. I don't know how you do it, but clients love you, vendors love you, and somehow everything just works when you're in charge. Sunoo, you'll be second lead. Yunjin, you're on creative direction and vendor coordination. Riki, you'll support where needed and learn as much as possible. But this is her project. She makes the final calls."

You feel Yunjin nudge your foot under the table, a silent congratulations. "The masquerade theme is non negotiable," Director Kim continues, pulling up mood boards on the screen. "HYBE wants sophisticated, mysterious and high end. Think Venetian carnival meets modern luxury. There will be approximately three hundred guests, including artists, executives, press, and investors. The venue needs to be secured by end of this week," she says. "Catering, entertainment, decor, security, invitations — all of it has to be perfect. HYBE's reputation is on the line, which means ours is too." She looks at each of you in turn. "I'm not going to sugarcoat this. It's going to be intense. But if anyone can pull this off, it's this team." Her eyes land on you again. "Especially you. I've seen you make impossible things happen. So, what do you say?"

What do you say? This is the kind of opportunity people wait years for. The kind that could define your entire career. "I'm in," you say obviously.

Back at your desk, you open your email, and sure enough, there's already a message waiting from Director Kim with all the project files. You start scrolling through, taking in venue options and budget breakdowns. Sunoo grins next to you. "What do you think the odds are that everything goes smoothly?"

You laugh. "Pretty good, probably." And you mean it, because things always do. And that was the exact opposite of how things usually happened to Jungwon.

The cafe kicked him out after the wifi died for the third time — apparently, his presence was "disrupting the router," which doesn't even make sense but also sounds exactly like something that would happen to him. Now he's standing outside the 7 Eleven near his apartment, trying to figure out how to tell the guys that they've officially lost their best shot at a record deal. His phone rings and it's Jay. "Tell me something good," Jay says immediately.

"I'm alive?"

"Jungwon."

"They left before I got there." Jungwon pinches the bridge of his nose. "Water main break, traffic, rain — the use."

There's a long silence on the other end. Then: "The use? I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, and you're going to come to the bowling alley so we can all yell at you."

"I have a shift in an hour anyway."

"Perfect. Bring food. The vending machine ate Heeseung's money again." And the line goes dead.

Jungwon buys four bags of chips and a pack of energy drinks with the last cash in his wallet, and the cashier gives him the wrong change and he doesn't bother correcting her. At this point, it's expected. The bowling alley is not the worst place Jungwon's ever worked but it's close. The carpet is a geometric nightmare from the eighties, half the lanes have technical issues, and the sound system shorts out every other week. But the owner lets them use the back room for band practice as long as Jungwon keeps everything running, so he fixes bowling shoes, unjams pin setters, and pretends he knows what he's doing with electrical wiring. When he arrives, Jake is trying to kick open the storage room door. "It's stuck again," Jake announces, slamming his shoulder against it.

"Stop, you're going to break it." Jungwon drops the snacks on the front counter and heads over. He jiggles the handle, pulls instead of pushes and the door swings open easily.

Jake stares at him. "I tried that."

"Sure you did."

Inside, Sunghoon and Heeseung are setting up their equipment in the cramped space between old bowling balls and stacks of rental shoes. There's barely enough room for the drum kit, two guitars, and the microphone stand, but they make it work. "Oh good, you brought food," Heeseung says, immediately abandoning his guitar to grab a bag of chips. "The vending machine robbed me."

"So I've been told."

"Did he also tell you that Sunghoon broke a drumstick on the second song yesterday?"

"I didn't break it," Sunghoon protests from behind the kit. "It broke itself."

"Sticks don't just break themselves, Sunghoon," Jake says.

"This one did. It was defective."

"You hit the cymbal too hard."

"That's literally my job! I'm the drummer!"

Jungwon collapses into a folding chair that wobbles dangerously under his weight. Jay emerges from the tiny bathroom drying his hands on his jeans. "So," Jay says, sitting on an overturned bucket. "We're back to square one."

"Square zero," Jake corrects. "Square one implies we made progress at some point."

"We've made progress," Heeseung argues. "We're way better than we were a year ago."

"Cool. Still broke and unknown, though."

"Thanks for that, Sunghoon. Really motivating." Jungwon says.

Jake cracks open an energy drink. "What about that other label? The one Jungwon emailed last month?"

"Rejected us two weeks ago," Jungwon says flatly. "I didn't want to bring it up."

"How many is that now?" Sunghoon asks.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Not really, no."

Heeseung tears open his chip bag with too much force and half the contents spill onto the floor. "This is fine. Everything is fine."

"Nothing about this is fine," Jake says, but he's grinning. "We're a struggling band practicing in a bowling alley that smells like feet."

"It's character building," Jay offers.

"I have enough character. I want a record deal."

Jungwon leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. This is his life now. Working a dead end job at a bowling alley, managing a band that can't catch a break and somehow always being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Then his phone buzzes. He checks it, hoping for something good, literally anything good. It's an email from his landlord. Rent is going up next month. "You good?" Jay asks.

"Rent increase."

"Of course it is." Jay tosses him an energy drink. "Drink that. You look dead."

"I feel dead."

Sunghoon taps his drumsticks together. "Okay, pity party's over. We practicing or what?"

"What's the point?" Jake asks. "Not like anyone's going to hear us."

"The point," Heeseung says, picking up his guitar, "is that we're good, and eventually someone's going to notice. Right, Jungwon?"

Jungwon opens his eyes. All four of them are looking at him like he has answers. He doesn't. He really, really doesn't. "Right," he says anyway, because that's what managers do. "Someone's going to notice."

"There we go. Inspirational leadership." Jay picks up his bass. "Let's run through the new song. The one Heeseung wrote."

"It's not done yet," Heeseung protests.

"Then we'll workshop it."

They launch into the song, and it actually sounds good. For a few minutes, Jungwon lets himself believe that maybe, possibly, things could work out. Then the power cuts out. The music dies instantly. The lights flicker and stay off. "Are you kidding me right now?" Sunghoon's voice comes from the darkness.

Jungwon pulls out his phone flashlight and sighs. "I'll check the breaker."

"This place is cursed," Jake says.

"No," Jungwon mutters, heading toward the electrical panel in the hallway. "I'm cursed. The place is just old."

He finds the breaker box and flips the switches. Nothing happens. He tries again. Still nothing. From inside the storage room, he hears Heeseung say, "How much do you want to bet that Jungwon's phone dies right now?" On cue, Jungwon's phone screen goes black. He stands in the dark hallway of a broken down bowling alley, his phone dead in his hand, his band waiting for him to fix something he has no idea how to fix, and he thinks, not for the first time today, that whoever's hoarding all the good luck in the world needs to share. Just a little bit.

The cafe is packed on some Thursday afternoon which makes sense because it's the only decent coffee place within walking distance of your office. You and Sunoo have been coming here at least twice a week for the past six months. "I'm getting the lavender latte," Sunoo announces, studying the menu board like he doesn't get the same thing every time. "What about you?"

"Regular iced coffee. I need to be functional for the rest of the day."

"Boring." He steps aside to let you order first. You shake your head and approach the counter.

The barista smiles at you. "Hi, what can I get you?"

"Just an iced coffee, please. Medium."

She rings it up, and then her eyes widen slightly as she looks at the computer screen. "Oh, wait. Hold on." She turns to call over her shoulder. "Manager? Can you come here for a second?" A guy with a name tag reading "Mark" appears from the back. "What's up?"

"She's the one thousandth customer this month."

Mark breaks into a grin and looks at you. "Congratulations! You get your order for free today, plus a gift card for next time."

You blink. "Really?"

"Really. It's this thing corporate makes us do for customer appreciation." He's already pulling out a gift card from behind the register. "Here you go. Twenty dollars."

"Thank you," you say, taking it. This is objectively ridiculous, but you've learned to just accept these things when they happen. Sunoo appears at your elbow, looking betrayed. "Are you serious right now?"

"What?"

"Didn't you win this same thing last month?"

"That was two months ago."

"That doesn't make it better!" Sunoo turns to the barista. "She's literally the luckiest person alive. It's unfair."

The barista laughs. "Lucky day, I guess."

"Lucky life," Sunoo mutters, but he's smiling. "Okay, I'll have the lavender latte. Medium. Which I will be paying for, apparently."

You step to the side to wait for your drink and Sunoo moves up to the counter. Behind him, the line has grown longer. There's a guy standing there now, hands shoved in his jacket pockets and looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. He's cute, you notice. Dark hair, big cat looking but tired eyes, nice face, a really nice face. He's staring at the menu board with intensity.

The door to the cafe swings open, and a woman with a huge purse barrels in, not looking where she's going. Her bag clips the side of a display stand near the entrance, and everything happens in slow motion. The stand wobbles. Jungwon is standing right next to it, completely unaware. The stand tips forward, and bags of coffee beans slide off the shelves, tumbling directly toward him. He turns just in time to see them coming. "Oh, come on—"

Three bags hit the floor around his feet, one of them splitting open on impact. Coffee beans scatter everywhere, rolling across the tile like marbles. "I'm so sorry!" the woman with the purse says, horrified.

"It's fine," Jungwon says, but his voice suggests it is very much not fine. He crouches down and starts trying to gather the beans, but they keep rolling away from him. One escapes under a table and another somehow rolls behind the counter. Mark rushes over with a broom. "Don't worry about it, man. We've got it."

"I can help —"

"Seriously, it's okay. Happens all the time." Jungwon knows it doesn't.

He stands up, and there are coffee beans stuck to his jeans. He brushes them off, looking exhausted in a way that seems deeper than just this one incident. Your eyes meet for a second. He's definitely cute. Even covered in coffee beans and looking like the universe personally inconvenienced him, there's something about him. He looks at you for just a moment longer, and you think maybe he's about to smile, or say something, but then the barista calls out, "Iced coffee for Y/N?"

"That's me," you say, breaking eye contact. You grab your drink from the counter and Sunoo gets his latte a moment later, and you both move toward the table. Jungwon is still standing near the wreckage of the coffee bean display waiting for the line to move forward.

"So," Sunoo says as you find a small table near the window, "did you secure the venue for the HYBE event?"

"Yeah, that gallery space in Midtown."

"Oh, the fancy one. Very masquerade ball-ish."

"Exactly. And we finalized the catering this morning. The guest list is almost done. HYBE's sending over the final names tomorrow."

"How many people?"

"Three hundred and twelve, last count."

Sunoo whistles. "That's huge. When's the event again?"

"Two weeks from Saturday. It's tight, but everything's been going smoothly so far."

"Of course it has. Because you're involved."

You laugh. "I don't think it works like that."

Behind you, you hear the cute guy finally reach the counter. His voice carries slightly. "Just a black coffee. Small."

"That'll be three fifty."

There's a pause. Then: "Uh, the reader's not working."

"Oh, sorry, yeah — it does this sometimes. Try again?"

Another pause. "Still nothing."

"Hmm. Let me reboot it real quick."

You glance over your shoulder without meaning to. Jungwon is standing there, card in hand, looking like he expected this exact scenario. "Give it a sec. It should work now."

After a while, Jungwon takes his coffee, looking stunned, and heads toward the door. As he passes your table, you catch a fragment of his muttered words: "...fuck my stupid baka life..."

"Okay, that guy had the worst luck I've ever seen," Sunoo says, watching him go. "Like, the exact opposite of you."

"Maybe he's just having a bad day."

You smile and finish your coffee. Outside, Jungwon has finally walked away, disappearing around the corner. You wonder, briefly, if you'll ever see him again. And Jungwon walks six blocks before he realizes he's going the wrong direction. He turns around, coffee in hand and tries to retrace his steps. His shoe squelches with every step. The puddle outside the cafe had been deeper than it looked. But he's not thinking about his wet shoe, or the card reader, or the coffee beans. He's thinking about the conversation he overheard.

His brain is already working through possibilities. If HYBE is hosting an event to showcase new artists, that means they're looking. That means there's an opportunity. He just has to figure out how to get ENHYPEN in front of them. You had said something about a meeting with HYBE's events team, which means you're involved somehow, probably with the event planning company. Jungwon pulls out his phone and types out a text to the group chat.

[jungwon:] emergency practice tonight smth came up and i have an idea [jay:] Is it a good idea or a Jungwon idea? [jungwon:] does it matter baka [heeseung:] kinda but yeah [jake:] i'm in but if i lose 20 bucks again ur dead [jungwon:] dude i already told u ill pay u back damn [sunghoon:] Do I have a choice? [jungwon:] no [sunghoon:] Then I'm in I guess

He'd gone home that day and done what he does best: research. He found out everything he could about HYBE's event. The date, two weeks away now. The location — some gallery in Midtown with a name he couldn't pronounce. The purpose — networking and showcasing new talent. And most importantly, the person in charge of casting decisions: Yoon Jeonghan, HYBE's A&R director. So the plan is: Get a demo to Jeonghan, get ENHYPEN noticed. Simple. Except nothing in Jungwon's life is ever simple.

The band spent the last two weeks practicing like their lives depended on it because maybe they did. They ran through their setlist so many times that the bowling alley's owner asked if they were training for Coachella. Jungwon recorded sample tracks; three of their best songs, mixed and mastered as well as he could manage with the equipment they had. He burned them onto a CD, wrote "ENHYPEN" in his neatest handwriting on the disc, and put it in a case that didn't look too cheap.

Now he just needed to get it into Jeonghan's hands. The masquerade ball was invitation only. Black tie. Three hundred of the most important people in the music industry. Security would be tight and Jungwon needed a way in. His first thought was to show up in a suit and try to blend in with the guests, but that plan died when he pulled his only decent suit out of the closet and found a cigarette burn hole right on the lapel. He still doesn't know how that happened, he doesn't even smoke. So the suit was out.

Plan B: get in as staff. Catering companies always needed extra help for big events, and Jungwon had waited tables before. He found the company handling the HYBE event; some place called Élite Affairs and called asking about a day of work. They were desperate and they hired him over the phone. The mask was easier. He found a plain black one at a costume shop for fifteen dollars, it wasn't fancy but it would do. The catering uniform would cover most of him anyway. Everything was set: three days from now he'd walk into that gallery as a waiter, find Yoon Jeonghan, and hand him the CD. Maybe strike up a conversation, maybe get the guy to actually listen to ENHYPEN's music. It wasn't a great plan, but it was a plan. And right now, that was more than Jungwon usually had.

And for you, the last two weeks have been perfect. The invitations went out on time, HYBE's events team approved the design immediately with no revisions needed. The decor came together exactly as you had envisioned. The gallery place looked like something out of a drama, and Yunjin locked down the entertainment, a string quartet for the beginning of the night, a DJ for later and live performances from three of HYBE's upcoming artists. Riki organized the seating chart without a single complaint from any of the guests, which might be the the most impressive accomplishment of all. Sunoo coordinated with the catering company, and you did a tasting last week, needless to say everything was perfect. Director Kim stopped by your desk yesterday and said, "I don't know how you do it, but keep doing it." And you'd just smiled, because this was what you do. Things work out, they always have.

Saturday arrives with not a single cloud in the sky, which surprises absolutely no one who knows you. You were up at seven, even though the event doesn't start until seven pm. You make coffee, go over the timeline one more time and confirm with the team via group text that everyone's on schedule.

Your dress had been a last minute find, you'd gone shopping three days ago, fully expecting to spend hours searching and found it in the first store. Black, floor length with delicate beading along the neckline that catches the light when you move. It fits perfectly with no alterations needed. And the mask was even easier, you'd walked past a boutique on your way home from work yesterday and saw it in the window: black lace with gold accents and which matched your dress perfectly.

Meanwhile, Jungwon wakes up at noon in a cold sweat from a nightmare where he tripped and spilled an entire tray of champagne on Yoon Jeonghan. He lies there for a moment, staring at the water stain on his ceiling and thinks: Don't. Mess. This. Up. Please, for once in your life.

The catering uniform is hanging on the back of his door, they'd given it to him yesterday during the brief orientation, and it's slightly too big but he'd expected that. He tried on last night to make sure nothing was egregiously wrong. The shirt had a small stain on the cuff but he could scrub it out, probably. The mask sits on his dresser plain black and simple and forgettable, perfect for blending in. He showers and shaves and tries to make himself look presentable. His hair won't cooperate though, which is standard. He gives up after ten minutes and just runs his hands through it.

The CD is in a thin envelope on his desk. He'd checked it approximately fifty times to make sure it actually works and it does; all three tracks, clear audio, no skips. He slips it into the inside pocket of his vest. And by three pm, he's dressed and standing in front of his bathroom mirror, giving himself a pep talk. "You're going to walk in, do your job, find Jeonghan and give him the CD. Have a normal, pleasant and professional conversation with him. Don't spill anything, don't break anything. Don't. Mess. This. Up."

You arrive at four for the final walkthrough, and even though you've seen the space decorated before, it still takes your breath away. Sunoo walks over, adjusting his tie. "Catering's almost done setting up. They brought extra staff, so we're covered if it gets busy."

"Guest check in?"

"Ready. Riki's handling the mask distribution for anyone who forgets theirs."

You exhale. "Okay. Okay, we're ready."

Director Kim — Chaewon, she'd insisted last week ("We're friends, please, call me Chaewon") appears in a stunning black gown with her mask already in place. "This is beautiful," she says, surveying the room. "You've outdone yourself. Enjoy tonight. You've earned it."

Jungwon arrives at the gallery at 4:50 PM, which he considers a miracle. The catering manager briefs the staff in the gallery's kitchen. "This is a high profile event," she says, pacing in front of them. "HYBE's reputation is on the line, which means ours is too. You will be polite, efficient and invisible. If a guest needs something, you get it. If something goes wrong you find me. Do not — I repeat, do not — draw attention to yourselves." Jungwon nods along with everyone else. "Masks stay on at all times while you're in the event space. You'll be serving passed appetizers during the cocktail hour, then transitioning to table service for dinner. Questions?" No one has questions. "Good, masks on. Let's go."

They assign him to pass champagne during cocktail hour. Jungwon adjusts his mask and follows the group into the main gallery. And okay, he has to admit it looks incredible. By seven PM, the gallery is already full. You're standing near the entrance with Chaewon, greeting guests as they arrive. HYBE's executives arrived twenty minutes ago, you recognize a few faces from meetings, though the masks make it harder. Sunoo appears, grinning. "Okay, I have to show you something, come on." He leads you toward the back corner of the gallery, where a small booth has been set up. There's a sign: Madame Clarrisse - Fortune Teller. "HYBE requested this last minute," Sunoo explains. "Apparently one of their executives is really into this stuff. She's been reading palms for the last half hour."

You peer into the booth. A woman in an eleborate purple gown and a jeweled mask sits at a small table, holding a guest's hand. "You want to get your fortune read?"Sunoo asks.

"Why not? Could be fun."

"You already know your fortune, bitch. You're lucky as fuck." Sunoo says with a grin, teasing you, and you laugh along with him.

You wait until the current guest finishes, then slip into the chair across from Madame Clarisse. She's older, maybe sixties. "Give me your hand, dear," she says. You extend your right hand, and she takes it, turning it over, tracing the lines on your palm with one finger and her expression shift. "Interesting," she murmurs. "Your luck line is very strong, remarkably so." She pauses, studying it closer. "But there's a break here, right at the end."

"A break?"

"Yes. Your luck is about to run out."

You laugh through your nose. "Yeah, okay."

"I'm serious, dear. Whatever fortune you've had, it's ending. Soon." Sunoo, standing behind you, snorts. Madame Clarisse looks up, her eyes meeting yours. "Be careful tonight."

"Right. Thanks." You pull your hand back, still smiling.

You and Sunoo walk away, and he is still laughing. "That was the worst fortune telling I've ever seen. 'Your luck is ending.' What kind of scam is that? The fuck does she want you to do?"

"At least she committed to the bit."

"She's probably telling everyone the same thing, so you can come back or whatever and give her more money." You sip your champagne and scan the room. Everything is perfect — guests are mingling, the music is beautiful and the food is being served. Your luck isn't going anywhere.

Jungwon has been circling the gallery for forty minutes and he still hasn't found Jeonghan. He's served champagne to at least sixty people. He's narrowly avoided colliding with another waiter twice. He's successfully kept his tray balanced despite someone bumping into him. So far, nothing terrible has happened, which is almost suspicious.

He's starting to think Jeonghan isn't there when he finally spots him near the bar, talking to a girl in a black dress and lace mask and Jungwon's heart jumps. That's him, that's definitely him. Jungwon's seen enough photos to recognize him even with the mask. So he moves closer, trying to look casual, waiting for an opening. You laugh at something Jeonghan says, you're gesturing animatedly, clearly comfortable. Jungwon wonders if you're someone important or just a guest. After a few minutes, Jeonghan excuses himself and walks toward the restrooms. This is Jungwon's chance. But he needs a better approach than just ambushing the guy in a hallway. He needs context and information.

You're still standing by the bar, alone now, watching the room with the satisfied feeling of seeing everything go exactly according to plan. Then, Jungwon makes a decision. He walks over, tray balanced in one hand, and stops just close enough that you notice him. "Champagne?"

You turn, and there's something about the way he's looking at you, even through the mask. You can see his smiling, but not the polite server smile, almost a grin, more genuine, maybe. "Sure, thank you."

You take the glass and your fingers brush his for a second, and he should walk away now. That's what waiters do, right? Serve and move on. Instead, he stays. "You seem like you're having a good time."

There's a lightness to his voice, almost playful, and you find yourself smiling back. "I am. It's a beautiful event."

"Yeah, it really is." He glances around the room and then back at you. "Someone clearly knows what they're doing."

You smile at that. "Thank you," you say, taking a sip.

His eyebrows raise slightly behind the mask. "So you're the one running this whole thing?"

"Not alone, obviously. But I'm helping, yeah."

"That's impressive." He leans in just a little, enough that you catch a hint of cologne. "Must've been a lot of work."

"It was. But it's worth it when everything comes together like this." You tilt your head studying him. "What about you? You're not supposed to be chatting with guests, are you?"

He grins, and it's disarming. "Probably not. But you looked interesting."

"Interesting?"

"Friendly," he corrects quickly. "You looked friendly."

"Friendly. Right." You take a sip of champagne, hiding your smile. "That's one way to put it."

There's something easy about him. The way he stands there, relaxed but also attentive, like he's got nowhere else to be even though you both know he does. You're not sure why you're still talking to him, but you don't exactly want to stop. "So do you work for HYBE?" he asks, like he's genuinely curious.

"No. I'm with the event company. We're the ones who put all this together."

"Ah." He nods and you swear you see something shift in his expression — relief, maybe? Interest? "That explains the whole 'owning the place' vibe."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Definitely a compliment."

You laugh again, and he seems pleased by that. "What about you? Do you usually work at events like this or is this a one time thing?"

"Sometimes," he says a little too casually. "It's good money. Plus, you know, I get to see how the other half lives." He glances down at his tray and then back at you. "Though I have to say, this is probably the nicest one I've ever worked."

"Well, we tried."

"You succeeded."

There's a beat of silence, and you realize you've been looking at him for longer than it's probably normal. Even with the mask covering half of his face, there's something about him. The way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the easy confidence in the way he talks. He seems to realize it too because he straightens up slightly. "Well, I should probably get back to work before my boss notices I've been standing here flirting with a guest."

The word hangs in the air. Flirting. "Is that what you're doing?" you ask, smirking, and your voice comes out more playful than you intended.

He doesn't miss a beat. "Maybe. Was it working?"

You bite back a smile. "I don't know, were you trying?"

"Not at first," he admits. "But now I kind of am."

You heart does something stupid in your chest, and you take another nervous sip of champagne to cover it. "Well, you should probably go before you get in trouble."

"Probably." But he doesn't move. "Thanks for letting me talk your ear off."

"Anytime."

He takes a step back and then pauses. "What's your name?"

You hesitate. There's something fun about the anonymity of the masks, the idea that you're both strangers at a party. "Does it matter? We're all wearing masks."

He considers this and then grins. "Fair point — mystery makes it more interesting anyway."

"Exactly."

"So what do I call you then?"

"Hot and mysterious event planner?" you offer, smirking.

"I like it." He smirks back. "What about me?"

"Hmm…" You pretend to think about it. "Hot and mysterious waiter who's definitely breaking the rules right now?"

He laughs and it's genuine, the kind of laugh that makes you want to hear again. "That's a mouthful."

"You asked, though."

"I did." He's still smiling as he starts to back away. "Guess I'll see you around, hot and mysterious event planner."

"Maybe," you say. "If you're lucky."

Jungwon laughs at that. Well, he's never lucky, but maybe tonight's different. And then he's gone, slipping back into the crowd and you're left standing there with an empty champagne glass and the strangest feeling that you just met someone you weren't really supposed to. You don't even know his name, but you're smiling anyway.

An hour later, you've had three glasses of champagne, and the room has taken on a pleasantly soft glow. Everything is still going perfectly, the guests are happy, nobody's complained about anything. Chaewon even pulled you aside twenty minutes ago to tell you that HYBE's CEO personally complimented the event. You're riding high on success and champagne when Sunoo finds you near the dessert table. "Okay, so I've been thinking about that fortune teller," he says, already giggling. "What if your luck does run out tonight?"

"Then I guess I'll have to live like a normal person," you say, popping a chocolate covered strawberry into your mouth.

"Terrifying. Truly." He leans against the table, scanning the room. "Although, the way you're going, you'll probably find a sugar daddy at this party and never have to work again."

You snort. "Please. I want to be my own sugar daddy."

"Okay, boss. Independent woman. I respect it." He takes a sip of his drink. "But seriously, with your luck, you could probably kiss someone random tonight and they'd turn out to be the love of your life or something."

"Sunoo."

"I'm just saying! It's how your life works."

You roll your eyes. "You know me. I don't just go around kissing people."

"Maybe you should start. Live a little." He gestures broadly at the masked crowd. "Everyone's anonymous anyway. It's very romantic."

You're about to respond when you catch sight of Jungwon across the room. He's standing near one of the tall windows but he's not really working. He's just there, and the mask obscures most of his face but you'd recognize the way he stands anywhere. "Oh my god," you say. "You've seen that waiter? The one by the window."

Sunoo follows your gaze and nearly chokes on his drink. "Are you serious right now?"

"What?"

"You — of all the people at this party, all the rich executives and hot industry people — you're looking at a waiter?"

"He's cute!"

"He's working!"

"So? What's your point?" Sunoo stares at you like you've lost your mind. "My point is there are literal celebrities here, and you want to flirt with the helper," he says.

"Don't be snobby, Sunoo. It doesn't suit you."

"I'm not being snobby, I'm being logical." But he's grinning now. "Oh god. You have that look."

"What look?"

"The I'm about to do something impulsive look." Sunoo sets his glass down on the table. "Okay, this I have to see."

"See what?"

"You, flirting with a waiter at the most important event of your career."

You cross your arms. "I can flirt with whoever I want."

"I'm not saying you can't. I'm just saying it's very on brand for you to ignore everyone in favor of—"

"He seems nice and he's very charming."

"And you've talked to him for like, what? Five minutes?!"

"And?! So what! You've dated people you talked for less."

Sunoo gasps, hand over his chest. "Rude. But fair." He looks at the waiter again then back at you. " But you did say you don't just kiss random people."

"Maybe I'm feeling spontaneous tonight."

"Because of the fortune teller?"

"Because of the champagne."

Sunoo laughs. "Okay. Okay, I dare you to go over there and shoot your shot with the cute waiter, since you're so confident."

You look at him, then at the waiter, then back at Sunoo. "Fine."

"Wait, seriously?"

"You literally just dared me."

"I didn't think you'd actually—" But you're already walking away, and Sunoo's laughter follows you across the room. Meanwhile, Jungwon has given up on finding Yoon Jeonghan. Not permanently but just for the next ten minutes, because he's been nursing a cocktail he swiped from a tray, and the room is spinning just slightly, and honestly? He's tired of stressing. He's leaning against the window just watching the party, and somehow thinking about the girl in the black dress, you. He hasn't seen you in a while, which was probably for the best because he was supposed to be working and not flirting with guests who are way out of his league. And then, as if summoned by his thoughts, you appear in front of him. "Hi again."

Jungwon straightens up immediately. "Oh. Hey."

"You looked lonely over here."

"Did I?"

"A little." You're smiling, and there's something loser about you now, more relaxed. "What happened to working?"

"Taking a break," he says, and you notice the way his mouth curves, not quite a smirk but close.

"Good. Breaks are important."

You lean against the window next to him, close enough that your bare arm almost brushes his sleeve. Close enough to notice things you didn't before, like the way his dark hair falls just slightly into his eyes or the way his mask doesn't quite hide the sharp line of his jaw. "So. Hot and mysterious waiter."

"Hot and mysterious event planner," he counters, and now he's definitely smirking.

"Are you having fun?"

"More fun than I expected," he admits, and his eyes — god, his eyes are so focused on you it makes your stomach flip. "You?"

"It's been a good night." You tilt your head studying him openly now. "You know, I never got to ask — do you always flirt with guests, or am I special?"

He laughs, and it's lower than you expected. "Definitely not always. You're a special case."

"Special how?"

"I don't know yet." He shifts his weight, angling toward you. "Still figuring it out."

You bite your lip without thinking and you watch his gaze drop to your mouth for just a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes again. "Well, let me know when you do."

"I will."

The air between you feels different now, more charged. The masks aren't even hiding you from each other anymore, it's more like they're giving you permission. "Can I ask you something?" You ask.

"Sure."

"Why did you come over to talk to me earlier? Really."

He considers for a moment and you notice the way he runs his tongue briefly over his bottom lip, a tell that he's thinking. "Because you looked interesting. And I wanted an excuse to talk to you."

"That's it?"

"That's it." He shifts closer. "Is that okay?"

"It's more than okay." You're looking at him, really looking, trying to memorize the details the mask doesn't hide.

"You know what," his voice drops a little lower. "You don't seem like someone who spends all their time planning fancy parties."

"What do I seem like, then?"

He takes his time answering, and his eyes moving over your face like he's reading you. You notice things about him too like the way he's tall enough that you have to tilt your head slightly to hold his gaze or the way his shoulders are broader than you initially thought. "Like someone I'd want to know," he says finally. "If we weren't both wearing masks at a party where we were both supposed to be working."

Your smile widens, and your heart is doing something stupid in your chest. "That's a good answer."

"Thanks. I try."

"Do you, though?"

"Not usually, no." He grins and it's devastating. "Tonight's an exception."

You laugh, because there's something about him that makes you want to be bold, want to push boundaries you normally wouldn't. "Okay, you're trouble," you say, but it comes out almost affectionate.

"Me?" He raises an eyebrow. "You're the one who came over here, love."

The petname makes you shiver. "Fair point."

You're standing even closer now. You're not sure when that happened but there's barely any space left between you. You can feel your pulse in your throat and you're aware of everything — the warmth of his body, the way he's looking at you. You should step back, you should remember that you're at the most important event of your career, that he's working, and that you don't even know his name. But you don't want to. Instead, you say, "What if I told you," and you take a step closer, "that I'm not very good at making decisions?"

His lips curve into a smile. "Then I'd say that's hard to believe."

"Why?"

"Because you seem like someone who knows exactly what she wants."

Your heart skips. "Do I?"

"Yeah." He reaches up, and his fingers brush a strand of hair away from your face. "You do."

The contact sends a shiver through you. His hand lingers near your cheek and you can't tell if he's being deliberate or if he's just as caught up in this as you are. "And what if," you breathe, "what I want is a bad idea?"

"Then maybe," he says and his thumb grazing your jaw now, "you should stop thinking so much."

"Is that your professional advice?"

"Definitely not professional." His eyes are locked on yours. "Nothing about this is professional."

"No," you agree. "It's really not."

The space between you has narrowed to almost nothing. You can feel the heat radiating off him, see the way his chest rises and falls just a little faster than normal. His hand is still at your face, and yours has somehow found its way to his chest, your fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his vest. His eyes search yours for a long moment, and then, "Come here," he murmurs.

You close the distance. The kiss starts soft, like he's giving you a chance to change your mind. His lips are warm and gentle against yours, his hand cradling your face. But then you press closer, your hand sliding up to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair, and something shifts. He makes a sound low in his throat and the gentleness evaporates. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and his mouth moves against yours with an urgency that steals your breath.

And oh god, he can kiss. It's all consuming, like the way his tongue traces the seam of your mouth before slipping inside. He tastes like champagne, even though he probably shouldn't be drinking during work hours and that somehow makes him even hotter. His hand tightens at your waist while the other cups your jaw, tilting your head to deepen the kiss even further. You press closer, and he responds immediately, his fingers sliding into your hair, careful not to dislodge your mask but possessive. You feel something shift inside you — something fundamental and terrifying and exhilarating, like a lock clicking into place. It feels like the ground beneath your feet just tilted, and it feels significant in a way you can't explain. Like the before and after of your life just split into two distinct halves, and this moment, this kiss, this person is the dividing line.

When you finally break apart it's only because you need air. His forehead rests against yours, and you're both breathing hard, your fingers still tangled in his hair, his hands still holding tight. "Jesus," he breathes.

You laugh, breathless. "Yeah."

"That was—"

"I know."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, and even through the mask you can see the way his pupils are blown wide and his lips are slightly swollen from kissing you. He looks wrecked in the best way. His thumb traces your bottom lip. "We should probably—" You don't finish the sentence because you don't actually know what you should do. Stop? Keep going? Pretend this didn't feel like it just shifted something fundamental in your universe?

"Yeah," he agrees, even though neither of you moves.

You're still pressed against each other, his hand still in your hair, yours still on his chest. "This is crazy," you say. "I just kissed a waiter at my own event."

"I just kissed a guest when I'm supposed to be working." He grins. "Should we stop?"

You consider this for approximately half a second. "No."

"Good answer, love." He's leaning in again, his hand coming back up to cup your face, and you're already closing your eyes when you hear a loud crash. The kind of sound that makes an entire party go silent, and you both freeze. "What was that?" he asks.

You turn toward the main floor and your stomach drops. Director Kim, Chaewon, is standing in the middle of the dance floor, her mask askew, pointing an accusatory finger at a woman in a red dress. The woman is pointing right back and even from here you can tell they're both several drinks past professional. "Oh no," you breathe. "My boss. Oh my god."

Chaewon's voice carries across the gallery. "You have some NERVE showing up here!"

The woman in red gets right in her face. "I was INVITED!"

"By WHO?" Security is already moving toward them, and you're moving too, I mean you're already running or trying to, in heels and a floor length dress. You reach the stairs leading down to the main floor and you're halfway down when your heel catches on the hem of your dress. The snap is audible. Your shoe — your perfect, expensive, matched to the dress shoe — breaks clean off. You stumble, barely catching yourself on the railing, and hobble the rest of the way down with one heel and one bare foot.

By the time you reach the dance floor, Chaewon has grabbed a glass of champagne off a passing tray and looks like she's considering throwing it. "Chaewon," you say, breathless, trying to step between them. "Hey. Let's just—"

"She's sleeping with my husband!" the woman in red shrieks.

The entire gallery is watching now. All three hundred guests. HYBE executives. Press. Everyone. "I am NOT —" Chaewon starts.

"You absolutely ARE—"

A security guard finally reaches them, gently but firmly taking Chaewon by the arm. "Don't touch me!" She yanks her arm away and nearly loses her balance. Her mask falls off completely, and you try again. "Chaewon, please, let's just go outside and—"

"Where were you?" Chaewon whirls on you and her eyes are unfocused. "You're supposed to be MANAGING this event!"

"I was — I am—"

"Mrs. Choi was NOT supposed to be on the guest list!" She gestures wildly at the woman in red. "I specifically told you to make sure her name wasn't on there!"

Your blood runs cold. "What?"

"I sent you an email! Two weeks ago!"

You remember it now, an email buried in your inbox, unread, flagged as low priority by your email filter: Please remove Mrs. Choi from the final guest list. Personal reasons. "I didn't see it," you whisper.

"You DIDN'T SEE IT?" Chaewon's voice echoes. "This is YOUR job! This whole night was YOUR responsibility, and you —" Mrs. Choi interrupts, her voice icy. "My husband is Director Choi from HYBE. And I will be making sure he knows exactly how this event was run."

Your stomach plummets to your feet. The head of security appears. "I'm going to have to ask both of you to leave."

"This is ridiculous," Chaewon slurs but she's already being guided toward the door. You follow with one shoe on, one shoe off, your dress torn at the hem, your mask crooked, and your entire career presumably in ruins. He escorts you and Chaewon out through the main entrance and the cool night air hits you. "This is your fault," Chaewon says. "This whole thing is your fault."

"I didn't see the email —"

"That's not an excuse! You were supposed to be on top of everything!" She laughs bitterly. "God, I actually thought you were good at this. Director Han kept saying you were so lucky, so perfect, nothing ever goes wrong for you —"

"Chaewon—"

"Director Kim. Well, congratulations. Something finally went wrong." She flags down a taxi and stumbles into it, and disappears into the night without another word. You stand there on the sidewalk, your dress ruined, your career probably over, and you think about the fortune teller: Your luck is about to run out. Maybe she wasn't kidding after all.

Inside, Jungwon watches the whole thing unfold with a mixture of horror and disbelief. He should find you and make sure you're okay, do something. But then he sees Yoon Jeonghan, walking toward the exit with his phone pressed to his ear, looking slightly irritated. This is it. This is Jungwon's chance. He hesitates for only a second — thinking about you, about the kiss, about how wrong it feels to just let you leave like that — but then reality crashes back in. He came here for a reason. He has a band counting on him, he has a CD in his pocket that represents two years of work. He can find you later, maybe, somehow.

Jungwon follows Jeonghan, keeping enough distance to not look suspicious. Jeonghan stops at the curb still on his phone, waiting for his car. Jungwon's hand goes to his pocket, feeling for the CD. He takes a step forward and a car comes around the corner fast and Jeonghan, distracted by his phone call, steps off the curb without looking. Jungwon doesn't think, he just lunges forward, grabbing Jeonghan's arm and yanking him back onto the sidewalk. The car blares past, missing them by inches. Jeonghan drops his phone. "What the—"

"You almost got hit," Jungwon says, breathing hard.

Jeonghan stares at him, then at the street, then back at him. "I — you just—"

"You weren't looking."

"I wasn't—" Jeonghan runs a hand through his hair, visibly shaken. "Jesus. Thank you. That car would've—" They stand there for a moment, both processing what almost happened. Jeonghan bends down to pick up his phone, miraculously uncracked, and looks at Jungwon properly for the first time. "You work for the catering company?"

"Uh, yeah. Tonight, anyway."

"Well, you just saved my life, so." Jeonghan laughs shaky. "Thank you. Seriously."

"No problem."

Jeonghan's car pulls up and he opens the door, then pauses. "What's your name?"

"Jungwon. Yang Jungwon."

"Well, Jungwon. I owe you one." He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a business card. "If you ever need anything, just call me."

Jungwon takes the card and his heart is pounding. "Actually," he says, pulling the CD from his pocket before he can lose his nerve, "I have something. If you have a second."

Jeonghan looks at the CD then at Jungwon, curious. "What is it?"

"A demo. For my band. It's called ENHYPEN. I'm their manager, and they're — they're really good, and I know everyone says that, but they are. They've been trying to get signed for two years, and I just —" He takes a breath. "I just want someone to listen. That's all."

Jeonghan studies him for a long moment and then takes the CD. "You just saved my life," he says. "The least I can do is listen to your band."

"Really?"

"Really." Jeonghan slides into his car. "I'll call you next week. We'll talk." Jungwon stands on the sidewalk watching him leave, his business card in one hand, the ghost of the CD in the other, and he can't quite believe what just happened. He almost got Yoon Jeonghan killed. Then he saved Yoon Jeonghan's life. And now Yoon Jeonghan has his demo. He looks up at the night sky and thinks, for the first time in his entire life — maybe his luck is finally changing.

The week after the masquerade ball is, without exaggeration, the worst week of your life.

Monday morning, you're fired. Director Han doesn't even look at you when she says it. Just slides a severance packet across her desk and tells you that "given the circumstances," it's best if you "pursue other opportunities." The circumstances being: HYBE terminated their contract with the company. Effective immediately, no future projects, no referrals, nothing. All because Mrs. Choi told her husband what happened, and Director Choi told HYBE's CEO, and suddenly the company that organized the event where the director got publicly accused of having an affair is no longer a company HYBE wants to be associated with. Chaewon hasn't responded to any of your texts. You're pretty sure she's blocked your number.

Tuesday, you spill coffee all over yourself on the subway. Your white shirt is completely ruined, and you have a job interview in twenty minutes. You show up looking like a disaster. You don't get the job. Your landlord calls on wednesday. "I'm so sorry," He says, and he actually sounds sorry. "But the building's been sold. New owners want everyone out by the end of the week for renovations."

"End of the week? That's in two days!"

"I know. I'm really sorry. It's out of my hands."

You spend wednesday night frantically searching for apartments you can afford, which turns out to be zero apartments, because you no longer have a job and your savings are pathetic. Friday, you move into Sunoo's apartment with two suitcases and a dying plant you've somehow managed to keep alive for three years. "It's temporary," you tell him, setting your stuff down in his tiny living room.

"Stay as long as you need," Sunoo says. He's being incredibly nice about this, considering his apartment is barely big enough for one person. "The couch pulls out into a bed. Kind of."

You test it. It does not pull out into a bed, it pulls out into a medieval torture device. "It's perfect," you lie. Saturday, you go to three more job interviews and none of them go well. One of them ends with the interviewer asking if you're feeling okay because you "seem stressed." You are stressed. You're very stressed. Sunday, you're sitting on Sunoo's couch (your new bed) eating cereal and staring at nothing, when Sunoo comes out of his room. "Okay," he says. "I've been thinking. Remember the fortune teller? At the party?"

You look at him. "How could I forget."

"Yeah." Sunoo sits down next to you. "I think she was right."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"Like, everything went wrong in your life. Literally everything all at once in one week."

"I got it Sunoo. What's your point?"

"My point is what if she actually did something? Like what if it wasn't just a prediction? What if she cursed you or something?"

You stare at him. "Sunoo. She's a party entertainer, not a witch."

"You don't know that!"

"I'm pretty sure—"

"All I'm saying is, your entire life fell apart the night she touched your hand. That's suspicious."

You want to argue, but honestly? You're desperate enough to consider it. "Fine," you say. "I'll go find her and ask her to uncurse me. Happy?"

"Very." Sunoo grins. "See? This is why we're friends. You're willing to entertain my insane theories."

"I don't have a choice. My life is already upside down."

And across town, Jungwon is having the best week of his life. He finds twenty dollars in the pocket of a jacket on monday, a jacket he hasn't worn in months. Not life changing, but nice. Tuesday, he buys a lottery scratch off ticket on a whim and wins fifty bucks. The subway is delayed on wednesday, and he's annoyed until he realizes the delay meant he avoided a massive service outage on the line he would've transferred to. He would've been stuck underground for two hours but instead, he gets home early. Thursday, his landlord calls to say they're lowering rent for all tenants because of some tax credit thing Jungwon doesn't understand. Friday, his phone rings, an unknown number. "Hello?"

"Hi, is this Yang Jungwon?"

"Yeah. Who's this?"

"Yoon Jeonghan. From HYBE. We met last weekend."

Jungwon's heart stops. "Oh. Yeah, Jeonghan! Hi."

"Listen, I listened to your demo. And I have to say — I'm impressed. Your band is really good."

Jungwon sits down before his knees give out. "Thank you. That — thank you."

"I'd like to bring you and the guys in for a studio session. See how you sound live, meet the team. Would next week work?"

"Yes. Absolutely, yes."

"Great. I'll have my assistant send over the details. Looking forward to it, Jungwon."

The studio session is scheduled for the following Thursday. Jungwon spends the days leading up to it in a state of controlled panic and the guys practice until the bowling alley owner threatens to charge them extra. But Thursday arrives and nothing goes wrong. Actually, everything goes perfectly. They arrive at HYBE's building with twenty minutes to spare and the studio is incredible, huge, with equipment that probably costs more than Jungwon's entire life.

They play three songs, their best three songs and they're perfect. Heeseung's vocals are flawless, Jake's guitar work is clean and emotional, Jay's bass anchors everything, Sunghoon's drumming is powerful. When they finish, there's a moment of silence and then Jeonghan starts actually clapping. "That is exactly what we've been looking for." The other executives are nodding, talking amongst themselves. Jeonghan turns to Jungwon. "Can we talk in my office?" Jungwon follows him down a hallway. Jeonghan's office is sleek with a view of the city. He gestures for Jungwon to sit. "I'm going to be direct," Jeonghan says. "We want to sign ENHYPEN. Full contract. Album deal, marketing budget, tour support. Everything."

Jungwon's brain short circuits. "You — what?"

"We think you guys have something special. You guys have potential, it's all there. We want to invest in it."

"How much are we talking?"

Jeonghan slides a paper across the desk. Jungwon looks at the number and nearly passes out. "That's just the signing bonus," Jeonghan says. "The full contract is much more comprehensive. But I think this is a partnership that could really work."

Jungwon stares at the number. It's more money than he's ever seen in his life. More money than he thought was possible. They say yes, obviously they say yes. The contract is signed the following week and the signing bonus hits their accounts two days later. Suddenly, Jungwon can pay rent for a year in advance. Suddenly, the guys can quit their day jobs. Suddenly, they're not a struggling band anymore. They're HYBE artists.

On Saturday night, they celebrate at the bowling alley, the place where it all started. They're loud and drunk and happy in a way Jungwon hasn't felt in years. "I can't believe this is real," Jake says, staring at his phone like he's checking his bank account for the hundredth time. Jungwon leans back in his chair, looking at his best friends, his band, and thinks about how one decision — one stupid, desperate decision to sneak into a party — changed everything.

On next Monday, you and Sunoo stand outside a shop in a part of town you've never been to before. The sign above the door says Madame Clarisse - Spiritual Advisor in peeling gold letters. There's a neon palm reader sign in the window that flickers every few seconds. The whole place looks like it hasn't been updated since the 90s. "This is humiliating," you say.

Sunoo pushes the door open and a bell chimes overhead. The interior smells like incense and there are crystals everywhere and velvet tablecloths. It's definitely mystical. Madame Clarisse emerges from behind a curtain. She's not wearing her party costume anymore — just regular clothes, jeans and a sweater, but she's still got the jewelry. Rings on every finger, about six necklaces. She takes one look at you and smiles. "I was wondering when you'd show up."

"You were?" You ask, surprised.

"Of course. You're the girl from the party. The one whose luck ran out." She gestures to a chair. "Sit." You do and Sunoo hovers behind you like moral support. "So," She says, settling into the chair across from you. "What can I do for you?"

"You can uncurse me."

"Un— I'm sorry, uncurse you?"

"Yes. Whatever you did to me at that party, I need you to undo it."

She laughs. It's not a polite laugh, it's the kind of laugh that says she thinks you're an idiot. "Sweetheart, I didn't curse you."

"Then why did you say my luck was running out?"

"Because it was. I read palms. I see things." She leans back, arms crossed. "You think I have the power to just take away someone's luck? That's not how it works."

"Then how does it work?"

She tilts her head, studying you. "You kissed someone that night, didn't you?"

Your face goes hot. "That's none of your—"

"You did. I can tell." She's smiling now. "That's what did it. You transferred your luck to the person you kissed."

Sunoo leans forward. "She what?"

"It's rare, but it happens. When someone with an extraordinary amount of luck kisses someone with an extraordinary amount of bad luck —" She makes a gesture like she's balancing scales. "The universe likes balance."

You stare at her. "You're telling me I kissed someone and gave them my luck and they gave me bad luck?"

"More or less. The person you kissed needed it more than you did. The universe decided to redistribute."

"The universe can't just —"

"The universe does what it wants. You had more than your fair share of good luck for your entire life. Someone else was drowning in bad luck. You kissed them, and it balanced out. Simple. But this is just temporary."

"Temporary?"

"Well. Probably." She waves a hand. "Unless you want your luck back. Then you'd have to kiss them again."

You stand there, staring at this woman in her crystal covered shop, and your brain is trying to process what she just told you. That you kissed someone and that the kiss stole your luck. That the universe decided you'd had enough good fortune for one lifetime and redistributed it to some random person at a party. Your eye twitches. "So let me get this straight," you say slowly. "I have to find someone I kissed at a masquerade ball — where everyone was masked — and kiss them again."

"If you want your luck back."

"And if I don't find them?"

Madame Clarisse shrugs. "Then you live like a normal person. It's not the end of the world."

"My landlord kicked me out. I got fired. I—"

"Yes, yes, very tragic." She's still smiling. "But you're young, healthy, and you have a friend who clearly cares about you." She nods at Sunoo. "You'll survive."

You want to argue, but the words get stuck somewhere in your throat. Instead, you just stand there making a noise that's half laugh, half scream. Sunoo puts a hand on your shoulder. "Okay. We're leaving now. Thank you for your time."

"Anytime," Madame Clarisse calls after you as Sunoo guides you toward the door. "And really — good luck!"

The door slams behind you. Outside, rain is coming down in sheets, soaking through your clothes in seconds. You and Sunoo are standing under a tiny awning that's doing absolutely nothing to keep you dry. "I'm going to kill her," you say.

"She's a fortune teller. She probably saw that coming."

"Sunoo."

"Sorry." He's already scrolling through his phone, squinting at the screen. "Okay. Okay, I'm texting Riki right now. He can get us the staff list from the catering company."

You turn to look at him. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious."

"Sunoo, I am not — I'm not going to just —" You gesture wildly, and a car drives by too close to the curb, sending up a spray of water that drenches your legs. "Oh, come ON!" Sunoo jumps back just in time, completely dry. You stare down at your jeans, now soaked and clinging to your shins and something inside you snaps. "This is what I'm talking about!" you shout, throwing your hands up. "This is my life now! I get hit by puddles! My phone is in a storm drain! I'm living on a couch!"

"I know—"

"No, you don't know! You still have your job! Your apartment! Your normal, boring, non cursed life!"

"You're not cursed —"

"I kissed someone and lost my luck, Sunoo! That's a curse!"

He's quiet for a second, and then he says, very calmly, "So let's find him."

"Find him?"

"Yeah. The guy you kissed. We find him, you kiss him again, problem solved."

You laugh and it comes out a little unhinged. "Oh, sure. Let me just — let me just go through the entire city kissing every man who worked that event until one of them magically gives me my luck back. Great plan."

"Do you have a better one?"

"I—" You stop, open your mouth then close it because he's right and you hate it. Your life is a disaster, everything you touch breaks. You have no job, no apartment, no luck. And somewhere out there, some guy you kissed at a party is probably living his best life with your good fortune. "Fine," you say through gritted teeth. "Get the list."

He's already typing on his phone, texting Riki, pulling up something that looks like an event database. You stand there in the pouring rain soaked to the bone, watching him work, and you think about that guy. Like the way he smiled and the way he kissed you. You don't even know his name, but apparently, he has everything you used to have. And you're going to get it back.

And Jungwon was living like a king with the amount of luck you gave him. He moved out of his cramped studio apartment into a real place with two bedrooms and actual sunlight, a kitchen where he could fit more than one person at a time. The landlord had called him personally to offer a unit that just became available, said something about how Jungwon seemed like "good energy." He signed the lease the same day.

And now he has a driver, an actual driver who picks him up every morning and takes him to HYBE. Jungwon still isn't used to it, he sits in the back of the car and feels like he's playing pretend. The guys are living their dream, though. They're in a real studio now, not the bowling alley storage room, but an actual professional space with soundproofing and expensive equipment. Jake bought new guitars, plural. Heeseung got vocal coaching from someone who's worked with actual famous people. Sunghoon upgraded his drum kit and nearly cried when it was delivered. Jay keeps texting photos of expensive bass pedals to the group chat like a kid in a candy store. Everything is working out.

Jungwon knows it's the luck, he's not stupid. Things don't just fall into place like this. Not for him, not naturally. But he doesn't take it for granted. He remembers what it was like before, when every single thing was going wrong at the worst possible moment. He remembers being tired all the time, not from work, but from fighting against the universe. So yeah, he's grateful. He tips the driver well, he brings coffee for the studio staff. He says thank you for things people don't usually say thank you for. And he actually thinks about you sometimes. He wonders if you're okay. And, well, you are not okay.

The list Riki got from the catering company has forty three names on it. Forty three men who worked the HYBE event that night. You've been through twelve of them so far. The first guy you eliminated immediately because his Instagram showed he was engaged. The second one was eliminated because he posted a photo from that night and you could see his hands and they were different. You don't know how you remember his hands, but you do. The third guy you actually went on a date with. He seemed nice enough over text, and when you met him at a cafe, he was polite, average looking, completely fine. You kissed him in the parking lot after. Just went for it, quick and experimental. But, nothing. You pulled the scratch off lottery ticket from your purse — one of ten you bought specifically for this purpose — and scratched it right there under a streetlight while he watched confused. You obviously lost. "Thanks," you'd said, already walking away. "This was great."

"Wait, are we—"

"Nope!"

The eighth guy was easier to eliminate. He posted a photo of himself and the mask he wore that night was completely different. The eleventh guy also agreed to meet you for drinks. You kissed him outside the bar and then scratched a ticket, nothing again. By guy number twenty, Sunoo started coming with you for moral support. "This is the saddest thing I've ever witnessed," he said, watching you scratch another losing ticket outside a restaurant.

Forty three names. You went through all forty three names on that list. Not all of them required dates — some you could eliminate from their social media alone, others from a quick coffee meetup where you could tell within five minutes it wasn't him. But you were thorough. Methodical, even. You checked every single person who worked that event and cross referenced their schedules and their photos or the way they carried themselves. You kissed enough of them to feel ridiculous, scratched enough lottery tickets to fund someone's gambling addiction, and came up with absolutely nothing. None of them were him.

By the time you crossed off the last name, you were sitting on Sunoo's couch at two in the morning and staring at the list. Your phone was on three percent battery — you'd forgotten to charge it, naturally — and your back hurt from the terrible angle of the pull out bed that wasn't actually a bed. You'd checked everyone, like literally every single person who worked that party and the waiter you kissed wasn't on the list. Which meant either the catering company's records were incomplete, or he wasn't actually staff, or the universe was playing some kind of cosmic joke on you that you didn't have the energy to appreciate. Which, to be fair, it kind of was.

The next day, you end up at the cafe near your old office without really planning to. It's a Wednesday afternoon, and you're unemployed so technically you could go anywhere, but your feet just carried you here out of habit. The place where you used to grab coffee every morning before work, back when your life made sense. And well, getting there is its own disaster because the subway stopped between stations for fifteen minutes because of "signal problems," and when you finally got off, it started drizzling, not enough to justify an umbrella, just enough to make your hair frizz and your shirt stick to your skin. You stepped in a puddle that was deeper than it looked. A cyclist nearly hit you and yelled at you like it was your fault. By the time you push open the cafe door, you're already exhausted and it's only two PM. The place is busy and there's a line at the counter, and you join it, and you pull out your card and tap it against the reader. Declined. You stare at the screen. "That's weird. Can I try again?"

"Of course."

You try again. Declined again and your stomach sinks. You know you have money in your account, not a lot, but enough for a coffee. You checked this morning. "Um, hold on." You pull out your phone to check your bank app, but the wifi isn't connecting and your data is throttled because you haven't paid this month's phone bill yet. The barista is still smiling, but it's getting strained. There are people behind you in line. You can feel them staring.

"Do you have another card?" The barista asks gently.

"I — yeah, let me just—"

You're digging through your wallet which is a mess of receipts and lottery tickets just in case and old gift cards that probably don't have anything on them, when a voice behind you says, "I've got it."

You turn around. Jungwon is standing there, tall, dark hair pushed back from his face, wearing a nice jacket that looks expensive and he's smiling at you like this is the most normal thing in the world. "You don't have to—" you say.

"It's fine. Really." He's already holding out his card to the barista. "Just the coffee, right?"

"Yeah, but —"

"Consider it a good deed for the day." He taps his card and it goes through immediately, because of course it does.

The barista looks relieved. "Thanks. I'll have that right out."

You step aside to let him order and your face is burning. This is humiliating, because you used to be the person who got free coffee for being the thousandth customer. Now you're the person who can't afford a four dollar drink and needs a stranger to bail you out. He orders something and then moves to stand next to you while you both wait. "Thank you," you say, because you have to say something. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know. But you looked like you were having a rough day."

"Is it that obvious?" You smile, kind of embarrassed.

"Little bit." He's still smiling and it's such a cute apologetic smile. "I'm Jungwon, by the way."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Y/N."

There's a pause, and you should probably just take your coffee and leave when it's ready, but something about him makes you stay. Maybe it's the way he's looking at you — not like he's hitting on you but like he's actually seeing you. Or maybe it's just that he bought you coffee and it feels rude to run. "Do you come here a lot?" he asks.

"Yeah, erm — I used to. I worked nearby."

"Worked?"

"Past tense."

"Ah." He doesn't pry, which you appreciate. "Well, it's a good cafe. Best coffee in the area."

"Yeah, it is."

The barista calls out your order and you grab it, and this is the part where you should say thanks again and leave. But he's still standing there and there's something about the energy between you that feels familiar in a way you can't place. Like you've met before, but you know you haven't because you would remember. "Can I ask you something?" he says.

"Sure."

"Do I know you from somewhere?"

Your heart does a weird little skip. "I don't think so. Why?"

"I don't know. You just seem familiar." You study his face trying to figure out if this is a line or if he actually means it. His eyes are dark and focused, and there's a small mole on his neck that you notice because you're staring now, which is weird. The barista calls his order, and he grabs his latte, and you both stand there for another second, neither of you moving. "Well," he says finally. "I hope your day gets better."

"Thanks. And thanks for the coffee."

"Anytime." He heads toward the door and you watch him go, and there's something tugging at the back of your mind, something you can't quite name. You pull out your phone and check your bank account — finally connected to the cafe wifi — and you see the Spotify fee. Because apparently your card declined not because you didn't have money, but because the bank decided to process a charge from three days ago that you'd forgotten about, and it pushed you into the negative. You close your eyes and take a long sip of your coffee. Of course. Of course that's what happened.

That night, lying on Sunoo's terrible excuse for a pull out couch, you stare at the ceiling and think about him. There was something about him that felt familiar, like you'd seen him before or heard his voice somewhere, and your brain keeps trying to make connections that don't quite fit. For a second you wonder if he could've been the waiter from the party, but that doesn't make sense. The guy who bought you coffee today was wearing a jacket that probably cost more than your rent used to cost, and he had this air about him like someone who's doing well, someone whose credit card doesn't get declined at cafes. The waiter from the party was working a catering gig and picking up shifts for extra cash, they can't be the same person. It's just your brain trying to find patterns where there aren't any because you're desperate and tired and running out of options.

The next week is a special kind of terrible. You go to four job interviews, and each one is worse than the last. The first company looks at your resume amd sees that you were fired and the interview is over before it really starts. The second place seems promising until the hiring manager asks why you left your last position, and you have to lie and you watch their face change in real time from interested to we'll-call-you-but-we-won't. The third interview goes fine until you spill coffee on yourself in the waiting room and walk into the meeting with a massive brown stain on your white shirt. The fourth place doesn't even bother to reject you in person, just sends an automated email two hours later.

By Friday, you're done. You've applied to thirty two jobs in the past weeks and heard back from eleven and been interviewed by seven, received absolute zero offers. Your savings account is running on fumes and even though Sunoo has been amazing, but you can tell he's getting tired of you sleeping on his couch even if he won't say it. You leave another failed interview on friday afternoon — they said they would keep your resume on file which is corporate speak for never contact us again — and you're walking down the street trying to decide what to do next when the sky opens up. A full downpour drenches you in seconds, you pull out the umbrella you bought at a dollar store last week and pop it open, and immediately one of the spokes snaps and the whole thing inverts itself. You stand there holding your broke umbrella with the rain pouring down on you and you legitimately cannot remember the last time something went right in your life.

That's when a car pulls up next to the curb, a black expensive looking car, and the window rolls down. "Hey!" You look over, and it's him — Jungwon. "You need a ride?" he asks, and he's leaning over from the driver's seat, looking at you with a look that might be concern or amusement but you can't tell.

You should say no and tell him you're fine, that you don't need hhelp from a stranger, but you're really soaking wet and your umbrella is destroyed, you have absolutely nowhere else to go. So you don't even hesitate, you yank open the passenger door and collapse into the seat, pulling the door shut behind you. The interior of the car is warm and dry, unlike you. Jungwon is staring at you. "You just got in my car."

"You told me to get in your car."

"I know, but—" He laughs surprised. "You didn't even think about it. What if I was going to kidnap you or something?"

"Are you going to kidnap me?"

"No, but —" He's still staring at you like he can't quite figure you out, and then he shakes his head smiling. "You're either very trusting or having a really bad day."

"Definitely the second one."

"That bad, huh?"

"You have no idea." You wipe rain off your face with your sleeve which doesn't help because your sleeve is soaked too. "I got kicked out of my apartment — well, it's not my apartment, it's my friend's apartment, but he's out of town and I lost the spare key he gave me, so now I'm locked out. I tried calling him but he's not answering, probably because he's on a plane or something. I tried calling my mom but she's not picking up either. I had a job interview earlier that went terribly, and before that I applied to like six places and haven't heard back from any of them, and I'm starting to think I'm unemployable. And now it's pouring rain and my umbrella broke, obviously, because why wouldn't it, and I was just walking around trying to find a hotel that doesn't cost a hundred bucks a night because that's literally all I have left in my bank account." You take a breath. "So yeah. Bad day." Jungwon is quiet for a moment. His hand are still on the steering wheel and you realize you just unloaded your entire life story on a gay you've met once. "Sorry," you say. "That was a lot."

"No, it's—" He glances at you. "That's really rough. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. It's not your problem."

"Where were you headed?"

"I don't know. Nowhere. Anywhere. I was just walking."

He's quiet again and you can see him thinking, weighing something. "Okay, this is going to sound weird," he says finally. "But I have a guest room in my apartment. It's just sitting there, and you clearly need a place to stay, and —" He stops and runs a hand through his hair. "No pressure. Seriously. I know I'm basically a stranger. But the offer's there if you want it."

You turn to look at him properly. You can tell he is nervous because his grip on the steering wheel is a little too tight, and he's not quite meeting your eyes. "You're offering to let me stay at your apartment," you say slowly.

"Just for the night. Or however long you need. I don't know. I'm not trying to be creepy, I swear. It's just — you seem like you're having the worst day ever, and I have space, so." He shrugs. "If you want to find a hotel instead, that's totally fine. I can drop you off wherever."

You should say no. Every true crime documentary you've ever watched is screaming at you to say no. But there's something about the way he's looking at you, like a little genuine and a little awkward like if he is not sure he's overstepping it, and that makes you think he's not a serial killer at all. Or at least probably not. Either way, you don't have a better option. "Okay," you finally say.

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay. Thank you very much, I hope you really don’t mind."

He blinks surprised. "You're sure?"

"Well I don't have anything to lose at this point. My life is already a disaster so… if you murder me at least I won't have to deal with being unemployed anymore."

He laughs, startled. "Okay, that's dark." He puts the car in drive and pulls away from the curb. "For the record, I'm not going to murder you."

"Good to know."

"I'm a musician, by the way. I manage a band. And we just signed with a label so I've been real busy with that, and the apartment I'm in now is way too big for just me, so the guest room is just sitting there empty." He's talking fast now like he's trying to justify the offer to himself as much as to you. "It has its own bathroom and everything so you'd have privacy."

"Oh, you manage a band?"

"Yeah, they're called ENHYPEN and we just signed with HYBE actually, you know? The label?"

Your stomach drops. "HYBE?"

"Yeah. You know them?"

"I — yeah, kinda." You don't know what to say. I mean, what were you supposed to say? Yes I've worked for them before and I got fired and now I'm banned from HYBE events for life?

"Oh, that's cool. Small world." He says.

"Yeah," you say faintly. "Small world." You're staring at the windshield now and watching the rain while your brain is trying to process this. Okay, so he works with HYBE, which means he wasn't working at the party as a waiter — he would've been there as industry or maybe not there at all. So Jungwon is definitely not the guy you kissed, which is good. That would've been too complicated. But there's still that nagging feeling of familiarity, sort of, like you've seen him before. Like there's something you're missing.

He pulls into an underground parking garage and parks in a spot marked with his unit number, and you follow him to the elevator and up to his floor, and the whole time you're expecting this to be a terrible decision. But when he unlocks the door and lets you in, his apartment is just normal. Obviously very nice, but normal, it looks like someone actually lives here. There are shoes by the door and a jacket thrown over the back of a chair, and a coffee mug on the counter. "Guest room is this way," he says as he leads you down a short hallway. Jungwon opens a door to reveal a small bedroom with a double bed, a dresser and window overlooking the street. "Bathroom's through there, there should be towels and stuff. Help yourself to whatever you need."

"Thank you," you say and you mean it. "Seriously, this is — thank you."

"It's no problem, really." He lingers in the doorway for a second. "I'll be in the living room if you need anything, okay? And, uh, just so you know — I'm not going to like, bother you or anything. You can lock the door if you want."

"Okay."

"Okay." He smiles, a little awkward. "Well. Goodnight, I guess."

"Goodnight, Jungwon." You smile, fondly and grateful. He closes the door then, and you can hear his footsteps retreating down the hall. You stand there in the middle of the room, basically dripping water onto the floor, thinking about how bizarre your life has become. A month ago you were at the top of your game and running a high profile event and everything was going perfectly. Now? Now you're staying in a stranger's apartment because you literally have nowhere else to go. So you peel off your wet clothes, find a towel in the bathroom and take the hottest shower you've had in weeks. When you get out, wrapped in a towel, you realize you don't have any clothes to change into — everything you own is locked in Sunoo's apartment.

You hear a knock on the door. "I left some clothes outside the door," Jungwon's voice comes through. "In case you need them. They'll probably be big but I swear they're clean."

So you open the door a crack, and there's a folded t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants sitting on the floor. "Thank you!" you call out.

"No problem." He calls back.

You change into his clothes — he's right, they're huge on you — and you climb into the bed, which is the most comfortable thing you've laid on in a month. You just lie there for minutes staring at the ceiling and trying to sleep. But your stomach is growling because you haven't eaten since this morning, and that was just a granola bar. You can smell something cooking from the living room. You could just stay there and avoid being awkward and try to sleep on an empty stomach — or, you could actually go out there and face the guy who's letting you stay in his apartment for free. So you get up and go out there. Jungwon is standing at the stove stirring something in a pan. He's changed out of his nice jacket into a hoodie and sweatpants. He looks comfortable, at ease. He glances over when he hears you come in. "Hey. Can't sleep?"

"Yeah, not really."

"Come in, I'm making fried rice. There's plenty if you need some."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, of course. Sit." He gestures to the small table near the kitchen. "It'll be ready in like two minutes."

So you sit and watch him cook. He moves around the kitchen with the kind of ease that suggests he does this a lot. He is tossing vegetables and rice in the pan, and adding sauce, adjusting the heat, and it smells incredible. "You cook a lot?" you ask.

"When I have time, yeah. It's cheaper than ordering out and I got used to it when I was broke." He grins over his shoulder. "You know, old habits."

"You were broke? Really?"

"Very broke actually. Like living off instant ramen and hoping the subway fare didn't go up kind of broke."

"What changed?"

"Well, lots of things, honestly." He plates the food and brings two bowls over to the table, sitting across from you. "And a lot of work, but mostly — luck, I think."

The word hangs in the air. Luck. You stare at your bowl of rice, your fork halfway to your moth and something twists in your chest. He said his life turned around recently because of luck — good luck that came out of nowhere. And yours fell apart at the exact same way. It's a coincidence, it has to be. You take a bite of rice and try to focus on the fact that it's delicious and not on the strange timing of everything.

When you look up, he's watching you with this easy smile and his chin was resting of his hand. You notice details you didn't catch before: like how his eyes are bigger than you realized, round and expressive in a way that makes him look younger than he probably is, and they have this slight upward tilt at the corned that reminds of you a cat. When he smiles, dimples appear, and there's something about the combination of his sharp jawline and soft features that's unfairly attractive. And well, you can't stop staring. Maybe being homeless and unemployed has made you forget how to act normal around people.

"So," he says breaking the silence. "What's your deal? Like before everything went wrong, what were you doing?"

"Uh — I was doing event stuff, you know? Planning and coordinating events, managing logistics. It was good, I mean I was good at it." You don't elaborate because you don't wanna talk about HYBE or the masquerade ball or how spectacularly everything fell apart. "What about you? How'd you get into managing a band?"

"I've known the guys for years. We all went to the same college and they were just messing around at first like playing at parties and open mics. But they were really good, and no one was taking them seriously so I just figured I'd help them out, you know? Book some shows and handle the boring stuff so they could focus on the music." He shrugs but there's pride in his voice. "And then it turned into a real thing, and we've been grinding for two years, like terrible — real terrible gigs and empty venues and labels telling me they're not marketable enough. It was rough."

"Well, but it seems that it worked out, right?"

"Eventually, yeah." He leans back in his chair and there's something vulnerable in the way he's looking at you now. "For a long time though I thought maybe we were just unlucky. Everything that could go wrong did go wrong. Like — I'd book a showcase and the venue would double book us. Or we'd record a demo and the file would corrupt. One time Sunghoon, our drummer, broke his wrist the day before a big audition because he went night rafting. Can you believe this guy? Yeah, anyways, it was like the universe didn't want us to succeed."

"That sounds awful, I'm sorry," you said even though you were smiling at how resilient he was.

"It was, but it also made us tougher, I think. Made us appreciate it more when things finally started working, you know?" He grins and there's that cute dimple again. "Although I'm not gonna lie it's nice not having to worry about whether my card's gonna decline every time I buy coffee." You laugh, but it's hollow because that's your life right now. He must notice because his expression softens. "Sorry, huh, that was — insensitive."

"No, really, it's fine. I'm glad things are working our for you." You smile at him because you mean it.

"They will for you too. I mean it." He says it with so much conviction that you almost believe him. "You seem like someone who's got their shit together, you know? Or had it together — you'll figure it out. I know it."

"You don't know that." You laugh small through your nose.

"Well, I have a good feeling." There's a pause and he's looking at you with this intensity that makes your stomach so something weird. You're very aware of the fact that you're sitting in his apartment and wearing his clothes and eating his food — and he's being so nice about all of it that it feels almost suspicious. Except it doesn't feel suspicious at all, it just feels genuine instead. "Why'd you get in my car though? Like you didn't even hesitate." He was being serious but he was also smiling, playfully even.

You think about it. "Honestly? I don't even know, I'm not usually like that, like I don't trust people that easily, is what I'm saying. But you seemed —" You pause, trying to find the right word. "Safe? I don't know. You just did."

"Safe," he repeats, something amused in his tone. "Well that's not usually the vibe I fo for but I'll take it."

"Really? What vibe do you usually go for?"

"Mhm, I don't know. Cool and mysterious?" Jungwon's grinning now, clearly joking. "Dangerously charming?"

"Dangerously charming?" You grin back.

"Too much?" You nod, but still smiling. "Okay, okay. I'll dial it back." But he doesn't, not really. There's this playful energy to him that feels effortless, like he's not trying to impress you but somehow he is anyway. "So," he says leaning forward slightly. "Since you're staying here, we should probably establish some ground rules."

"Oh! Ground rules?"

"Yeah, like, you can use the kitchen whenever. Help yourself to anything in the fridge — the wifi password is on a sticky note there, by the way. And if you need space, just let me know, okay? I won't be weird about it."

"Yeah, okay." You smile and nod.

"And —" He pauses, his smile turning a little softer. "If you need to talk or vent or whatever, I'm around. No judgment."

You laugh at that, but it's fondly. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

He doesn't answer right away. He just looks at you and there's something in his expression you can't quite read. "Because I've been where you are right now and I remember how much it sucked. And I wish someone had helped me out back then. So…" He shrugs. "Now I'm helping you."

You don't know what to say to that, because you're not used to people being king without expecting something in return and it's throwing you off balance. "Thank you, Jungwon. Really. I don't know what I would've done tonight if you hadn't shown up."

"Probably found a terrible hotel." You smile and he smiles back, and for a moment you just sit there, and it feels like the first good thing that's happened to you in weeks.

After dinner, Jungwon suggests watching TV and you both end up on the couch with a random cooking competition show playing in the background. He's leaning into the corner of the couch with one leg tucket under him, while you're on the other side holding a bowl of ice cream he gave you, and it's ridiculously domestic in a way that makes you feel both comfortable and slightly off kilter. He makes commentary about the contestant like "there's no way that souffle is going to hold, look at it," and you find yourself laughing more than you have in weeks.

The exhaustion hits you slowly though, and before you realize it, your head is tilting sideways and your eyes are getting heavier with each blink. The last thing you're aware of is the warmth of his shoulder under your cheek and the sound of his voice, but quieter now, saying something you don't quite catch.

The next morning you wake up in the guest bed. For a second you're disoriented, staring at the ceiling and trying to piece together how you got here. You sit up and realize you're tucked under the blanket, your phone plugged in on the nightstand, the screen showing it's fully charged. He must have carried you in here or woken you up and guided you, and either way he covered you with the blanket and made sure your phone was charging. The thoughtfulness of it makes you chest feel tight.

The smell of coffee drifts in from the kitchen so you get up, still waring his oversized shirt and sweatpants, and pad down the hallway. Jungwon's at the stove, flipping pancakes, and he's already dressed for the day with dark jeans and a sweater that looks soft but expensive, his hair styled in a way that suggests he actually tried this morning. He glances over when he hears you. "Morning. Sleep okay?"

"Yeah, really well actually." You lean against the doorway. "Did you carry me to bed?"

He stiffens. "You fell asleep on the couch and I didn't want to wake you up. I hope that's not weird." He says while he flips another pancake onto a plate.

"No, it's not — thank you."

"No problem." He sets the plate on the table along with a mug of coffee that's already poured. "I made pancakes. Wasn't sure if you were a breakfast person but I figured it was better safe than sorry."

You sat down, and the coffee is perfect and the pancakes are fluffy and golden. "You didn't have to do all this, Jungwon."

"I know but I wanted to." He leans against the counter with his own mug in hand, and he's watching you with that easy smile again. "I have to head out in a bit but make yourself at home, seriously. There's food in the fridge and the Tv remote is on the coffee table. And maybe text your friends? Let them know where you are. I don't want anyone thinking I kidnapped you."

You laugh. "Okay, yeah, I'll do that."

He finishes his coffee and sets the mug in the sink, grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair. As he passes behind you on his way to the door, he pauses, and you feel his hand on your shoulder — just a brief respectful squeeze, reassuring. "Good luck today, okay?" He says, his voice soft. "I mean it." And then he's gone and you're left sitting at his kitchen table with a plate of pancakes me made and the lingering warmth of his hand on your shoulder.

You wander around the apartment eventually. It's not spooning exactly, but more like observing. There are photos on the shelves in the living room, candid shots of Jungwon with four other guys who you assume are the band. They're laughing in most of them, arms slung around each other, and they're clearly close. You study Jungwon's face in the photos and he looks genuinely happy, in a way that makes you smile without meaning to.

Your phone buzzes and it's Sunoo. "Hey!" you answer.

"Oh my god you're alive. I tried calling you last night and you didn't answer and I thought you died in a ditch somewhere."

"I'm fine, I just — It's a long story." So you tell him everything about the rain, the broken umbrella and Jungwon pulling up in his car and offering you to stay at his apartment and everything you talked about. Sunoo is silent for most of it, which is unusual for him, and when you finish, there's a long pause. "So let me get this straight," he starts slowly. "A hot stranger offered you a place to stay, made you dinner, let you sleep in his room and then made you pancakes this morning?"

"Yes."

"And you're sure he's not a serial killer?"

"Pretty sure."

"Okay. Okay, this is insane. But also — wait. What's his name again?"

"Jungwon."

"And he works with HYBE?"

"Yeah. He manages a band."

There's another pause, and then Sunoo says very carefully, "Do you think he could be the guy you kissed?"

Your stomach flips. "What? No. He's a band manager. He wasn't working the party as a waiter."

"Because think about it — he said his luck changed recently, right? Around the same time yours went to shit. And he's being weirdly nice to you. And you said there was something familiar about him."

"Sunoo, that's insane."

"Is it? Because from where I'm standing, the timing is very suspicious."

"No, he's not the waiter dude, he can't be. He has money and a nice apartment, he's managing a signed band. The waiter was working a catering gig, it doesn't even make any sense."

"Well, people can have two jobs."

You're quiet staring at the photos on the shelf. Jungwon smiling at the camera. Jungwon with his arm around one of his friends. Jungwon looking genuinely and effortlessly happy. "He's not the waiter," you say finally.

"Okay. If you say so."

"I do say so."

"Cool. But like —"

"Drop it Sunoo."

"Dropped." A pause. "Okay. But just so you know—" You hang up.

You meant to leave Jungwon's place that same day, you really did. The plan was simple: thank Jungwon for his hospitality and grab your things which was basically nothing, since everything you owned was locked in Sunoo's apartment, and find a hotel or a shelter, a bench, whatever. But then Jungwon came home that evening with takeout for two, and said "I figured you'd like it," in that casual way of his like it was obvious. So you stayed.

The next morning, he made coffee again and placed two cups without asking. You sat at his kitchen table in his clothes and it felt so easy that you almost forgot you were supposed to be leaving. Sunoo dropped your stuff on wednesday, what was left of it, anyway. And then you and Jungwon already had a routine by then. You'd wake up to the smell of coffee — he was always up before you and already dressed. You'd sit at the table scrolling through your phone while he ate standing up by the counter, checking messages, answering emails, muttering things like "Jake, please don't do that" into his phone without any context.

You felt guilty the first few days. You were literally a stranger living in his space and eating his food and taking up his bathroom. I mean, his guest bathroom, but still. But Jungwon didn't seem to mind at all, or if he did he just didn't care to say it. He just adjusted around you, making room for you, even. On Thursday, you tried bringing it up. "I should probably go back to Sunoo's," you said over dinner, he'd made pasta and it was somehow better than any pasta you'd ever had. "I don't want to impose."

He looked at you like you'd just said something genuinely confusing. "Why?"

"Because I'm living in your apartment? For free?"

"Yeah, and?"

"And that's weird and you don't really know me."

"Is it?" He twirled his fork. "I have an extra room. You needed a place, it's not that complicated."

"Jungwon —"

"Look, I get it. I'm saying I don't mind having a roommate. Specifically you." He pointed his fork at you. "You're quiet, you don't make a mess, and you actually watch good shows on TV. Those are the only three things I care about."

"Those are your criteria?"

"Yeah. High standards."

You laughed, he grinned, and that was the end of the conversation. So you stayed. But the bad luck didn't stop, obviously. Monday of the second week, you tried to cook breakfast while Jungwon was still in the shower. You burned the toast so badly that the smoke alarm went off, and it took you a few minutes trying to figure out how to turn it off, and by the time Jungwon came out of the bathroom, wrapped in nothing but a towel and dripping water down his chest. You were standing on a chair waving a fish towel at the ceiling, and nothing happened.

"What happened?" he asked, his hair sticking up, and droplet sliding from his collarbone straight over the defined lines of his abdomen — eight perfect ridges, still glistening from the shower. Not that you were staring, anyway. (You were definitely staring.)

"I'm having toast problems." And that was all you managed to say.

He stared at the blackened bread on the counter, lips curving. "That's… a way to say it."

"Please don't laugh."

"I'm not laughing." Jungwon was absolutely laughing, low. He stepped closer and took the dish towel from your hand and reached up from the floor — didn't even need the chair, he was tall enough — fanning the alarm until it stopped. The movement made the towel slip just a dangerous inch lower on his hips and your eyes betrayed you again, dropping straight to the deep V line that disappeared beneath the fabric before you snapped them back up to his face.

But it was too late, because he noticed. "There you go," he murmured, his voice softer now like almost a tease, his eyes locked on yours for a beat too long.

Your face was burning, and you couldn't decide if you wanted to jump off the chair or melt into the floor. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He tilted his head. "I'll make breakfast, okay?" He made breakfast every morning after that. You didn't ask him to, he just did it.

Wednesday night, you were on the couch with your laptop pretending to look at job listings but actually watching Jungwon play guitar in the corner of the living room. He didn't know you were watching — he had his eyes closed and his head tilted back slightly, fingers sliding over the strings with this slow precision that made your throat go dry. The soft melody he was picking out wasn't anything you recognized; it was just intimate and unfiltered.

His shirt was loose, the collar slipping just enough to show the sharp line of his collarbone and the faint shadow of definition along his chest every time he shifted. His long fingers moved with precision in a way that had your mind wandering to places it had no business going. You watched him for a while longer than you should have. Way longer, actually. Long enough that your pulse was thudding in your ears and you had to actually press your thighs together under the blanket, for some reason. When he opened his eyes, he caught you staring, but he didn't flinch or look away. He just held your gaze, and the corner of his mouth lifted in the tiniest knowing smile. He tilted his head a little, his hair falling into his eyes. "What?"

"Nothing." Your voice came out quieter than you meant, almost breathless. "That was nice." He smiled at that with the deep dimples, and went back to playing, but slower now, like he was performing just for you.

And oh boy — you were so screwed. Down bad and didn't even cover it. You were lying there pretending to scroll when you really were memorizing the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed of the soft exhale he let out between notes, or even the way his fingers looked wrapped around the neck of the guitar like they could wrap around anything else just as easily— Idiot. Absolute idiot.

The thing is: you knew you should leave. You knew it every single morning when you woke up in his guest bed. The luck wasn't coming back — you'd checked obsessively scratching lottery tickets and checking your horoscope and watching any sign that the universe was done punishing you. But nothing — you were still broke and still unlucky, but you stayed anyway. And it took you an embarrassingly amount of time to figure out why.

It wasn't the apartment, comfortable as it was, and it wasn't the food either, or the stability. It was actually Jungwon. It was the way he made you laugh without trying, or the way he remembered small things like that you didn't like your coffee too hot, or that you got cold at night, that you got anxious when you had too much free time. It was the shoulder squeeze and the good luck whishes every morning. It was the way he looked at you sometimes like you were the most interesting person in the room, even when the room was just the two of you eating takeout on his couch.

So yeah, you'd developed a crush on him. A bad one, really, the kind that made you hyper aware of every little interaction or the kind that made you smile at your phone for no reason after he texted you something stupid. The kind that kept you up at night staring at the ceiling replaying conversations in your head and analyzing his tone. It was pathetic, yeah, and you knew it. And you did absolutely nothing about it.

And it was a Thursday night when everything shifted. You were on the couch watching something neither of you was really paying attention to. Jungwon was on the other end scrolling through his phone. "How did you actually get the HYBE deal?" You asked kind out of nowhere, just curious about the situation in general.

He put his phone down and leaned back, thinking about it for a second. "Honestly? It was the most chaotic night of my life." He sat up straight and continued. "So we'd been trying for two years to get in front of anyone at a major label and nothing was working. We'd email or like, show up at showcases, leave demos with anyone who'd take them. And every single time, something would go wrong. Like that one time we got a showcase slot and I literally got hit by a bike on the way there. It was constant." He laughed, but it was the kind of laugh that meant it wasn't exactly that funny. "So I figured, okay, clearly doing things the normal way isn't going to work. So I said: I actually need to get creative."

"Creative how?" you asked.

"Well, I found out that HYBE was hosting this big event — a masquerade ball. And it was very exclusive, like invitation only, and all the big names in the industry were going to be there." He paused and you felt something cold start to settle in your chest. "So I got a job with the catering company."

Your own breathing suddenly felt very loud. You didn't move. "You got a job with the catering company," you repeated and your voice came out steadier than it should have.

"Yeah, a side gig really, I worked the event as a waiter." You couldn't believe his words and he kept going. "The whole time I was trying to find a guy named Yoon Jeonghan — he's HYBE's A&R director — so I could hand him our demo." Jungwon shook his head smiling at the memory.

You couldn't breathe properly. You were pretty sure you'd stopped breathing entirely at one point. "And did you find him?" you asked because you had to say something, and the silence could give you away.

"Not at first, actually. I spent most of the night just walking around trying to spot him, and then—" He stopped and laughed again. "Okay, this is going to sound insane. But I almost got him killed." He held a hand up before you could react. "Not on purpose! He just stepped off the curb without looking and a car was coming, and I just — I grabbed him and pulled him back. And after that, he was so grateful he actually took the CD was listening to it."

"That's—" you swallowed. "That's actually crazy."

"Right? The one night I needed everything to go right and get real lucky — I almost witnessed a hit and run." He laughed. "Yeah, but it worked out, he loved the demo and brought us in for a studio session, and the best is history."

You were staring at him. You knew you were staring at him and you couldn't stop because your brain was running through every single thing at once — the cafe, the way he felt familiar, the way he said I don't know, you just seem familiar — and it all made sense now. All of it. Jungwon was him. He was the waiter from the party. Jungwon was the guy you kissed. Jungwon was the reason your luck was gone. And you had been living with him for two weeks. And, accidentally-not-so-accidentally, falling for the guy. "Hey." Jungwon tilted his head, studying you. "You okay? You look kind of pale."

"Yeah I'm fine," you said too fast. "Just tired, I'm sorry."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I think I'm going to head to bed, actually."

"Okay." He didn't push, which was one of the things you liked about Jungwon, except right now you kind of wished he could because at least then you'd have an excuse to keep talking and to process this out loud, to said, wait, I have something to tell you. But you didn't say anything. You just stood up and walked down the hallway to the guest room, closed the door, leaned against it and immediately called Sunoo.

"I knew it, I knew it I fucking knew it!" He said. “So? What are you going to do? You're going to kiss him?"

You opened your mouth then closed it. Because the thing was — yes. You wanted to kiss Jungwon. You wanted to kiss him so badly it was ridiculous. But the reason you wanted to kiss him had nothing to do with getting your luck back, and that was the part that was making your chest feel like someone was sitting on it. "It's not that simple," you said instead.

"Why not? Kiss him and get your luck back, everybody wins."

"Yeah, everybody wins but Jungwon! I don't want to kiss him for the luck." Silence on the other end. "What do you mean?" Sunoo asked slower.

"I mean—" You slid down until you were sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to your chest. "I mean I want to kiss him because I want to kiss him because I like him, like embarrassingly much." You said that way too fast, and Sunoo kept silent. "Sunoo?"

"So you like him."

"Yes."

"The guy whose apartment you're living in."

"Yes."

"The guy you kissed at that party and took your luck away."

"Yes, Sunoo, that guy."

"Okay. Okay, that's —" He paused. "That's actually really cute."

"Fuck you mean cute?! It's a disaster, Sunoo! Because if I kiss him now, I don't know if it's because I actually want to or because I need my luck back, and he doesn't know any of this — he doesn't know about the fortune teller, he doesn't know I was the girl at the party, he doesn't know I've been living here partly because I'm trying to figure out how to get my luck back—"

"Okay, slow down. When did you start liking him? Like actually liking him?"

"I don't know. Gradually? I think it started when he made me fried rice the first night and then it just—" You made a vague gesture even though he couldn't see you. "Got worse."

"So you have a crush on him."

"I have more than a crush, dude, I think about him all the time and I memorize the way he laughs and I get excited when he comes home. Like yesterday he pushed my hair out of my face and I almost passed out, Sunoo! I almost passed out!"

"Okay so it's beyond a crush — it's a super crush."

"I know."

"Like, really down bad."

"I said I know, Sunoo!"

He was quiet for a moment, and you could practically hear him grinning through the phone. "So what's the problem, exactly? You like him and you need to kiss him. Seems like the universe is literally giving you an excuse to do the thing you already want to do."

"The problem is that it's not honest! I can't kiss him just because I want my luck back, that's using him."

"But you said you want to kiss him anyway."

"I do."

"So then it's not using him. It's just—multitasking."

"That's not —" You took a deep breath and laughed despite yourself. "That's not how that works. Plus, what if he doesn't feel the same way?"

"Well, you said he makes you breakfast, carries you to bed, he gets you groceries. I think he feels the same way." You leaned your head back against the door and stared at the ceiling. From somewhere in the living room, you could hear the faint sound of Jungwon's guitar again. You were quiet for a long time after that just listening to the guitar, thinking about his hands and his smile and the way he said good luck to you every morning like he actually meant it.

So, needless to say, the rest of the week was pure torture. Now that you knew that it was Jungwon who you had kissed at that party, you couldn't stop thinking about it — how his lips felt, and the memory lingered in your mind, and somehow the fact that he was the most charming and gentlest man you've ever met, made everything even more devastating. When he reached past your for the coffee mug in the morning, his arm brushed yours, and your skins burned for ten minutes after as if he'd dragged his fingers down your spine instead. Or when he stretched out on the couch and his shirt rode up just enough to show that tight strip of toned abdomen, the faint happy trail disappearing under his waistband, you had to physically look away before you did something stupid like trace it with your tongue. You tried to act normal you really did. But knowing what you knew now made everything feel different. Every interaction had this layer underneath it, like this secret weight that made your chest tight and your pulse throb whenever he got too close. And he kept getting close.

Like friday morning, he leaned over your shoulder to show you something on his phone, and his chest brushed your back, his breath hot against the shell of your ear, and you almost choked on your coffee. He patted your back laughing, and said "You okay?" and you said "fine, went down the wrong pipe," which was such a lie but he didn't question it, just let the hand rest there a beat too long, his thumb brushing the edge of your shoulder blade like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

He caught you staring at him on sunday, while he was playing the guitar again, and instead of looking away like a normal person, you just said "What?" and he smiled slowly, dimples carving deep, and said "Nothing, just glad you're here." His voice dropped on the last word, his eyes flicking down to your mouth for half a second before meeting yours again, and the air between you felt thick enough to taste.

And you almost said it right then, almost told him everything. But you didn't, because you were a coward, and because some part of you wasn't ready to lose this, whatever this was. On monday, he brought something up. "I have something to ask you. The showcase for ENHYPEN, it's this friday. I want you to come."

You blinked. "To the show?"

"Yeah, backstage, obviously. You'd be there with me the whole time." He said it casually like it was obvious, like there was no reason you wouldn't want to. "I think it'd be good to have you there."

"Me? Why?"

He shrugged but there was something in his eyes that said that he wasn't quite serious but wasn't entirely joking either. "Things have been going really well lately. And a lot of that started happening around the same time you showed up."

You laughed like you couldn't help it. "I'm not bringing you luck, Jungwon."

"Aren't you though?" He tilted his head, half smile pulling at his mouth. "Think about it. Before you, everything was falling apart."

You thought about it. You thought about it a lot, actually, because it wasn't much of a coincidence at all. It was literally your luck, living inside him, because you kissed him at a party and the universe decided to redistribute. "I seriously doubt I'm your good luck charm, Jungwon," you said, keeping your voice light.

"Well, I seriously doubt you're not." He pointed his fork at you. "So come, please? For me?" He was faking a pout now, and he was adorable.

"But what if I make everything worse?"

"You won't."

"You don't know that."

"I have a good feeling." He was smiling now, and it was devastating, and you hated how easy it was to say yes to him.

"Okay, fine. I'll come." You finally said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You smiled and took a sip of your coffee and didn't say that's because your good luck is literally my good luck that you stole when we kissed at that masquerade ball and you don't even know it. But you almost, almost did.

The venue was bigger than you expected — it wasn't a stadium or anything like that obviously, but it had real lightning and a real sound equipment and a proper stage. Jungwon walked you through the backstage area, nodding at crew member and checking in with the sound engineer, all while keeping one hand loosely on the small of your back in a way that was probably just him guiding you through the crowd but it felt like way more than that.

The dressing room was small and chaotic. When you walked in, all four of them were there: Jay was passing by the door, Sunghoon was sitting on a bench with his eyes closed, drumsticks tapping against his knee, Jake was lying on the floor, I mean literally on the floor, staring at the ceiling while Heeseung was looking at himself in the mirror, adjusting his jacket for what was clearly not the first time.

"Everyone," Jungwon said, gesturing to you. "This is—"

"Yeah, bro, we all know who she is," Jay interrupted without stopping his pacing. "Nice to meet you by the way, I'm Jay."

"It's not—"Jungwon ran a hand through his hair, while you nodded at Jay, smiling. Jungwon looked at Jake. "Jake? Why are you on the floor?"

"I'm focused," Jake said.

"You're lying down."

"Yeah, I focus better horizontally."

Heeseung turned from the mirror and looked at you properly for the first time, and he studied you for a second, smiling. "So you're the reason Jungwon's been in a good mood lately."

"I— What?" Jungwon says.

"You literally smile now, like, at things. It's weird."

"I smiled before," Jungwon said flatly.

You were grinning and you couldn't stop grinning. Jungwon caught your expression and shot you a look that was half embarrassed and half please help me, and you just shrugged enjoying this way too much. Jake finally got up from the floor and dusted himself off, walking over to you. "Nice to officially meet you. We've heard a lot."

"All good things," Jay added quickly, glancing at Jungwon.

"Mostly good things," Sunghoon corrected.

"Okay, everyone out," Jungwon said herding them toward the door. "Warm up. Sound check is in ten. Move."

They filled out one by one, Heeseung even winked at Jungwon in a way that made Jungwon pinch the bridge of his nose, and then it was just the two of you. The room was quieter than it had any right to be at this point, considering a few minutes ago it was full of chaos. Jungwon was leaning against the vanity counter with his arms crossed, and the tension in his shoulders had shifted from manager mode to something else. "So," he said. "They like you, apparently."

"They were just teasing you." You sat down in one of the chairs, calmly, still looking at him. "You okay? For tonight?"

"Nervous." He said it simply. "This is the biggest thing we've ever done, so if it does well… it could change everything for us. And if it doesn't—"

"It will."

He looked at you. "You don't know that."

"Well, I have a good feeling." You echoed his own words back at him, and he laughed, some of the tension in his jaw loosened. He pushed off the counter and walked toward you. You just stayed there watching him move easily and unhurried. He stopped right in front of your chair, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to look up at him.

"Thank you for being here, I mean it." He said, his voice was quieter now and his thighs were bracketing yours.

"Of course. I wouldn't miss it."

He held your gaze for a beat too long, and there was that thing, that charge that had been building between you for weeks. You could feel it in the air and in the way his eyes dropped just for a second to your mouth, lingering on your lips, before coming back up to meet your eyes again. You moved then. Not toward him, no, but away — because you were nervous. And then, of course, a disaster happened.

Your foot caught on the leg on the chair on your way up, the chair rolled backward and you stumbled, your arms pinwheeling, and you were about to hit the floor when his hands caught you; one at your waist, his fingers splaying wide over the curve of your hip, and the other one gripping your arm. Jungwon pulled you forward into him, hard enough that you slammed right into his chest, your breasts pressing flush against the hard planes of him.

Both of you froze. His hands were still on you, one at your waist digging in just enough to feel like a claim, and the other one on your arm was sliding up to your bicep, thumb stroking once and slow. Your palms were flat against his chest and you could feel his heartbeat under your fingers pounding like it wanted out. You looked up and his face was just inches from yours, his eyes were wide and his lips were slightly parted.

Neither of you moved, god, neither of you even breathed. And then, from somewhere outside the dressing room door, Jay's voice cut through the silence. "Jungwon! Sound check, let's go!" Jungwon closed his eyes, and you watched his jaw tighten, and he took a slow breath through his nose, like he was physically forcing himself to come back to reality, but he didn't even move his hands. "Jungwon," Jay called again. "Now man. We're running behind."

"Coming," Jungwon said, but his voice came out rougher than he probably intended, like the sound of a man on the edge, and he didn't take his eyes off you.

You should have stepped back or laughed it off, made some joke and let him do his job. But you kept your hands on his chest, fingers slightly curling into the fabric of his shirt, and his hands were still on you and you couldn't move. You couldn't do anything except stand there and look at him and want him so badly it physically hurt. He must have seen it on your face, the raw need, because something in his expression shifted like the restraint cracked just for a second — that's when he kissed you.

It was the kind of kiss that feels like something breaking open. His hand was sliding from your waist to the back of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair and gripping hard, pulling you in, his mouth hard against yours and certain, like he'd been thinking about doing this for weeks now. Because well, he kind of was. And you were shocked, genuinely shocked, your eyes going wide for a second before your brain caught up with your body, and you kissed him back.

You kissed him back like you'd been starving for it because you have. Your fingers curled into the front of his shirt pulling him closer until there was no space left. His other hand came up to your jaw, tilting your head exactly how he wanted, and the kiss deepened in a way that made your knees week. His tongue was sliding against yours slow and deep, claiming every inch, and the sound he made low in his throat was quiet enough that only you could hear it, but it vibrated through your chest and straight between your legs, making you ache for him.

And then when he finally pulled back, not all the way but just enough to breathe, his forehead rested against yours, his thumb still tracing along your jaw, then slowly dragging down the column of your throat. You could feel him breathing hard, his chest rising and failing against your hands. "Jungwon!" Jay's voice again, closer now, and you could hear the footsteps in the hallway.

Jungwon squeezed his eyes shut for a second like he was in actual pain. Then he let go of you and stepped back. "I have to go now, okay?" he said. His voice was wrecked, hoarse. He looked at you one time time, his eyes ranking over your swollen lips like he was trying to memorize you and burn the image into his brain for later. He turned then and walked toward the door.

"Wait," you said, but he was already gone. The door swung shut behind him and you just stood there with your lips still tingling, your heart hammering so hard you could actually hear it in your ears, and you pressed your fingers to you mouth.

You kissed Jungwon. Jungwon kissed you. And somewhere in the back of your mind, buried under everything in an almost insignificant thought flickered through: Did it work?

You were about to check like pulling out you phone or find a scratch off app, anything, when you heard noise. Commotion behind the door — security guys sprinting down the hallway outside the dressing room, someone yelling something you didn't catch it and the sound of walkie talkies crackling. You then opened the door and stepped out into the corridor and the first person you saw was Jake, running full speed.

"Jake!" He almost ran right past you but you grabbed his arm. "What's going on?"

He stopped out of breath and his eyes were wide. "Sunghoon's gone."

"What do you mean gone? Gone where?"

"Bro, we don't know. He was right there one second and someone said he fell into some kind of pit behind the stage and now nobody can find him and the show starts in ten minutes and we're literally missing our drummer."

You just didn't know how to react. "He fell into a pit?! Like a hole? How?"

"I don't know! He said he was looking for the bathroom!"

A security guard jogged past you both, and the whole backstage area had descended into this not so controlled panic with people moving fast and everyone looking at everyone else. You let go of Jake's arm. "Go, help them look, I'll find Jungwon."

So you turned the corner toward the main backstage corridor, and that's when you spotted Yoon Jeonghan. He was standing near the production booth with his phone pressed to his ear — he did not look happy at all. He hung up and started pacing, muttering something that you were pretty sure included several words you wouldn't repeat in polite company. Then he saw you, blinked and stopped pacing. "Y/N? What are you doing here?"

"I'm — it's complicated. I'm here with Jungwon."

He looked at you then and it looked like something was flickering across his face, maybe amusement, but he probably didn't have the time for it because he was already shaking his head. "Look, I found out what happened at the ball, and what they did to you, kicking you out like that, was completely unfair." He pointed at you. "If you want a job, I can make it happen. We have an events division and frankly you're way more qualified than half the people we have."

Your mouth opened and then closed. "You serious?"

"I'm dead serious, but right now—" he gestured at the chaos around both of you. "Well, right now I have a band that's supposed to go on stage in fifteen minutes and one of their members apparently fell into a hole. And I just signed theses guys last month."

"Okay, I can fix this."

Jeonghan stared at you. "Fix what?"

"This situation. Give me ten minutes."

He looked at you trying to figure it out what you meant. "Ten minutes."

"Yeah. Just — just trust me on this one."

He held up his hands. "I literally have no other option right now, so, cure. Ten minutes. Go."

And finding Jungwon in the chaos of that venue was harder than it should have been. You checked the production booth; not there. The main dressing room, also empty. The corridor near the stage entrance and even security, but no Jungwon. You checked the bathroom, the catering area, even poked your head into a storage closet just in case but nothing.

And then you finally spotted him near the loading dock at the back of the venue, sitting on a concrete step with his elbows on his knees, staring at the ground. His hair was a mess, his jacket was halfway off one shoulder, and he looked like someone who had just watched his entire life fall apart in real time. "Hey," you said as you approached him.

He looked up. "Hey." You sat down next to him, and for a second, neither of you said anything. "Everything is falling apart," he said and his voice was flat and tired. "Sunghoon fell into some kind of maintenance shaft and nobody can find him. The lighting rig almost came loose during the pre show check. Jay's mic has been cutting in and out for the last hour. And the sound engineer just told me there's a feedback issue he can't figure out." He laughed, but it was hollow. "It's like it all started again. All at once." He dropped his head into his hands. "I thought it was over, I thought the bad luck was done."

You looked at him and your chest ached. Because you knew, you knew exactly why this was happening. Everything that could go wrong was going wrong, right on schedule because apparently that's how it works when the universe decides to rebalance.

And it was your fault. So you grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and pulled him toward you and kissed him again. You grabbed him hard enough that he stumbled forward, one hand instinctively coming up to catch himself against the step, and your other hand was shaking, and your eyes were burning in a way that had nothing to do with the dusty air. His hand came up to the back of your neck pulling you closer, responding almost immediately.

When you pulled back, you were breathing hard, and he was looking at you with this expression that was equal parts confused and completely wrecked. "What was that ab—"

And then the music started. Not the pre show stuff but the opening notes of their first song and the crowd erupted. You both turned toward the stage entrance, and that's when you saw through the side door, visible from where you were sitting and there, climbing up onto the drum platform from a maintenance ladder behind the kit, covered in dust grinning like an idiot, Sunghoon. He'd been in the maintenance shaft the entire time. The shaft that connected directly to the raised platform behind the drum kit.

Jake was already at the mic, laughing. Heeseung was strapping on his guitar, shaking his head. Jay caught Sunghoon's eye from across the stage and just mouthed something that made Sunghoon flip him off. The show was starting, so Jungwon stood up slowly, still staring at the stage and then he turned back to you. "How did—" he started.

"Go," you said. "They need you."

He looked at you, at the stage and then back at you. "But I really want to kiss you again right now," he said.

"Later." You pushed him gently toward the stage door. "Go. Work. Be amazing."

He took a step backward still looking at you and that half smile pulling at his mouth. "You know we're not done talking about this right?"

"I know."

He turned and jogged toward the stage, and you watched him disappear through the side door and then you sat back down on the concrete step, alone, and pressed your hands to your face. And somewhere in your chest, something was cracking open. You stayed there for a minute, maybe two, trying to breathe normally, trying to think. Then you got up, wiped your face with the back of your hand, and walked back inside. You could see the stage from here but not all of it, just a sliver through the gap in the curtain. The crowd was already on their feet, phones up, and Jungwon was standing at the side of the stage with his headset on, watching them.

This was everything they'd been working toward, everything he'd been working toward. And it was happening because you kissed him, because you gave him back his luck. Your vision blurred and you blinked but it didn't help, so you just turned and walked away before anyone could see.

The apartment was too quiet when you got back and you stood in the doorway for a second, staring at the living room. Two coffee mugs sat on the table, one of them yours, the handle chipped from when you'd knocked it against the sink last week. The blanket you used at night was folded on the chair. It looked lived in, it looked like two people lived here. Because it did.

You went to the guest room and started packing and since you didn't have much it took maybe ten minutes. When you were done, you sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the far wall. The apartment was so quiet you could hear the refrigerator humming in the kitchen, so you thought about Jungwon coming home later, late probably, after one of his best nights ever and finding you gone.

You thought about the look on his face and your throat got tight. You found a notepad and you stared at the blank page for a long time before you picked up the pen.

jungwon, i'm sorry. i know that's not enough, but i don't know what else to say. i can't stay. i thought i could figure this out, but i can't. every time i'm around you, things get complicated, and i don't know how to fix it without making everything worse. you're going to do incredible things. tonight proved that. you and the guys are going to be huge, and you deserve all of it. you worked so hard for this. thank you for everything. for letting me stay. for the coffee and the terrible toast that one time. for being kind when i didn't deserve it. i hope you understand.

You stopped and stared at what you'd written and thought about adding more — something about the masquerade ball, the fortune teller, the kiss — but what would that even do? He'd think you were losing it and honestly maybe you were. You signed it with just your name and left it on the kitchen counter, then you grabbed your bag, took one last look around, and left.

Sunoo opened the door before you could knock. "I saw you coming up the street," then he looked at your bag and at your face. "Oh no."

"Can I come in?"

"Obviously, come in." Sunoo sat down next to you and didn't say anything. "I kissed him, everything fell apart and then I kissed him again at the venue, right before the show. And then everything started going right again. Because I gave him the luck back." You looked up and your eyes were burning. "And if I stay, if I keep doing this, I'm going to ruin his life because every time I kiss him, it switches. I can't do that to him."

"Did you tell him any of this?"

"No."

"So you just left."

"I left a note."

"Are you serious right now?"

"What was I supposed to do Sunoo?!"

"I don't know, maybe talk to him? Like an adult?"

"And say what? Hey, by the way, I'm the reason your life fell apart and then got better and if we keep kissing it's going to keep yo-yoing forever?"

"Yes. Exactly that."

You looked at him. "He'd think I'm insane."

"He probably already thinks you're a little insane. You've been living in his apartment for weeks." Sunoo leaned back, arms crossed. "He's going to come looking for you, you know."

"Then I won't answer."

"You're going to hide in my apartment forever?"

"If I have to," you said. Sunoo made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan. "You're the dumbest smart person I know. This is genuinely the worst decision you've ever made." Your phone buzzed then and it was Jungwon, and you and Sunoo looked at it.

jungwon: show was amazing. where are you? want to grab food?

Your chest hurt and flipped the phone face down on your lap. You didn't answer, you just sat there on the world's worst couch and tried not to think about the way Jungwon's hand had felt on the back of your neck. The way he'd looked at you before he ran to the stage. The way he'd said you know we're not done talking about this, right? And then your phone buzzed again.

jungwon: you okay?

You turned it off. And you were absolutely miserable for the next few days. You kept your phone completely off shoved in the bottom of your bag where you wouldn't be tempted to turn it back on just to see if he'd texted again. You barely left Sunoo's apartment, you sat on the couch with the blanket pulled up to your chin and stared at the TV without actually watching anything. Sunoo would leave for work in the morning and come back in the evening with takeout, and you'd eat because he was looking at you like he was worried you'd forget to, and then you'd go back to staring at nothing.

One day you finally turned your phone on just for a minute, just to see. Fifteen missed calls and twenty three texts, most of them from Jungwon. A few from numbers you didn't recognize — probably the guys, or Jeonghan. But you didn't read any of them, you turned the phone off again and handed it to Sunoo and told him to hide it somewhere you wouldn't find it.

Eventually you started to feel like a person again. Not a good person, not a functional person, but a person. You showered and you changed out of the clothes you'd been wearing for days straight. You sat at Sunoo's tiny kitchen table and drank coffee and stared out the window at the street below and thought about what you were going to do next. You couldn't stay here forever, Sunoo's apartment was barely big enough for him, and you were taking up his couch and his space and his emotional energy and it wasn't fair. You needed to figure out a plan so you called your mom and told her you were staying there for a while, and she obviously said yes.

You packed what little you had and tried not to think about the apartment you'd left behind, tried not to think about Jungwon. You tried not to think about the way he'd kissed you in the dressing room, or the way his hand had felt on your neck or the way he'd looked at you like you were something worth keeping. But you thought about it anyway, you thought about it all the time, actually. It sat in your chest like a weight you couldn't shift heavy and constant and aching in a way that made it hard to breathe sometimes.

So when the day came, you sat on a bench in the park across from your old building with your bag at your feet, an hour before your train to your hometown was supposed to leave. Sunoo had offered to come with you to the station but you'd told him no, that you wanted to do this part alone, and he'd hugged you at the door and told you to text him when you got to your mom's and you'd promised you would. Now you were just sitting, watching people walk by — couples holding hands, someone walking a dog. Just people living their normal luck-curse-free lives.

You thought about everything you'd had a month ago. The job, the apartment. the confidence that came from being someone who had their life together, someone people looked at and thought had it figured out. Thought about how you'd lost all of that in one night. But none of it — none of the job or the apartment or your carefully constructed life — hurt as much as this. Losing Jungwon hurt more than all of it combined.

You were standing there staring at the pavement and trying to convince yourself that leaving him was the right then to do, when you heard your name. Quiet and almost hesitant like the person saying it wasn't sure it was really you. You looked up and Jungwon was standing ten feet away and he looked wrecked. His hair was a mess and he had dark circles under his eyes, looking like he hadn't a good night of sleep in days.

He looked at you and his expression did something complicated — relief, anger, hurt, all of it at once. "I've been looking for you everywhere," he said.

You stood up. "Jungwon—"

"You left." His voice cracked a little on the word. "You just — you left a note and disappeared, and I've been calling you for a week, and Sunoo wouldn't tell me where you were, and I thought—" He stopped and took a breath. "I thought something happened to you."

"I'm fine."

"Are you though? Because you're sitting on a bench with a suitcase looking like you're about to get on a train and never come back." You didn't say anything because he was right, so he took a step closer. "Can we talk? Please. Just five minutes, that's all I'm asking."

"Jungwon, I can't—"

"Five minutes."

You looked at him, at the way his jaw was tight and at the way he was looking at you like if you said no he might actually break. "Okay, five minutes."

He sat down on the bench. You sat next to him leaving space between you, and for a long moment neither of you said anything. "Why did you leave?" He asked eventually.

You stared at your hands. "It's complicated."

"So explain it to me." His eyes were pleading.

So you took a breath and let it out slowly. "Do you remember the masquerade ball? The one you worked as a waiter?"

He blinked. "Yeah?"

You turned to look at him. "Do you remember kissing someone that night?"

He went very still. "I—" He stopped. "Yeah. I do."

"That was me."

The silence that followed was so thick. "You," he said slowly. "You were the girl—"

"Yeah."

You watched him try to piece it together, watched his brain work through it. "So that's why you seemed familiar. That's why—" He stopped again. "Wait. If you knew it was me, why didn't you say anything?"

"Because it's not just that." You were talking faster now, in a rush because if you stopped you'd lose your nerve. "There was a fortune teller at the party. She told me my luck was about to run out and I thought she was full of it, but then we kissed, and everything in my life fell apart. I lost my job, my apartment, everything. And at the same time, your life got better. The band got signed, you moved into a nicer place, everything started going right for you."

He was staring at you. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying the kiss transferred my luck to you, Jungwon. I know how that sounds, I know I sound insane and I know you probably think I'm completely insane right now, but I swear I'm telling the truth. The fortune teller said it happens sometimes — when someone with a lot of good luck kisses someone with a lot of bad luck, it balances out apparently. And that's what happened to us I think." Jungwon didn't say anything, looking at you like he was trying to figure out if you were serious. "And then, when I kissed you again at the venue, before the show — I gave you the luck back. That's why everything went right that night. That's why the show was perfect. But it also means I took it away from myself again, and if I stay, if we keep doing this, it's just going to keep switching back and forth, and I can't—" Your voice broke. "I can't keep doing that to you. I can't ruin your life every time I want to be near you."

The silence stretched out. A car drove by. Someone laughed on the other side of the park. The world kept moving and you sat there waiting for him to say something, anything. "So you left because you thought you were protecting me. By disappearing without explaining any of this."

"I didn't think you'd believe me."

"You didn't even give me the chance, Y/N!"

You stood up and you looked down at your hands. "I know."

"Do you?" He stood up with you and his voice was sharper. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you made a decision for both of us without asking what I wanted. You decided I was better off without you and just left."

"You are better off—"

"Don't." He cut you off. "Don't tell me what I want. Don't tell me what's better for me."

"Jungwon—"

"I don't care about the luck." He was looking right at you now and his eyes bright and intense. "I don't care if it switches every time we're together. I don't care if everything falls apart again. I just want you to stay."

Your throat closed up. "You don't know what you're saying—"

"I know exactly what I'm saying." He reached out and took your hand. "I'm saying I don't care about any of it. Not even the band or the contract because it doesn't mean anything if you're not there with me."

You were crying now. You didn't know when it started, but your face was wet and your vision was blurred and you couldn't stop. "I'm going to ruin everything for you," you said.

"Then ruin it," he said simply. "I don't care."

"Jungwon—"

"Stay." His voice broke on the word. "Please. Just stay."

You looked at him, at how you were completely in love with this guy and you thought about the train ticket in your pocket — the plan to start over, the clean break you wanted. And then you thought about his laugh, about the way he looked at you like you were the best part of his day. You were completely in love with Jungwon.

"I'm scared, Won," you whispered.

"I'm scared too, love. But we will make it work. I promise you." His eyes were glassy and he was looking at you with that look — that down bad look he gave you countless times before.

You were so tired of running. "Okay."

He blinked. "Okay?"

"Okay. I'll stay."

For a second he didn't move like he was afraid he'd heard you wrong, like if he reacted too fast you'd take it back. And then his face broke into this smile, the one that made your chest ache because it was so openly, devastatingly happy. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He pulled you toward him and you went, and then his arms were around you and his face was buried in your hair and you could feel him breathing, could feel the way his hands gripped the back of your jacket like he was holding on for dear life. "Don't do that again," he said into your shoulder. "Don't just leave."

"I won't."

"Promise."

"I promise." He pulled back just enough to look at you and his hands came up to your face, thumbs brushing away the tears you hadn't realized were still falling. His eyes were searching yours like he was checking to make sure you meant it. "I'm sorry," you said. "I should've told you. I should've—"

"Stop," he said gently. "Don't apologize."

"But—"

"We'll figure it out. The luck thing, all of it. I don't care how complicated it is. We'll figure it out together."

And then, finally, he kissed you carefully like he was giving you a chance to change your mind, but when you leaned into him he kissed you deeper. His hand slid to the back of your neck and his fingers threading into your hair, and the other stayed on your face. When he pulled back, it was only for a second. "Hi," he said, and there was that smile again.

"Hi," you giggled.

And then he kissed you again, this time with more confidence and more certainty, his mouth moving against yours like he was making up for lost time. You kissed him back just as hard, hands sliding up to his shoulders, then to his neck. He pulled back again with his forehead resting against yours. "One more," he murmured.

"You're keeping count?"

"No. Definitely not keeping count."

He kissed you again, and again, and again, and you didn't care that you were in public, that people were probably staring, that your train was leaving in forty minutes and you weren't going to be on it. When he finally pulled away, you were both breathing hard, and he was grinning like an idiot. "I have no idea who has the luck right now."

You laughed and it felt like something breaking open in your chest, something that had been wound too tight for too long. "Me neither."

"Good. Let's keep it that way." He kissed you one more time and when he pulled away he kept his forehead pressed to yours, eyes closed, just breathing with you. "So," he said after a minute. "What do we do about the train ticket?"

"I don't know. Refund?"

"I vote for that option."

His hand sliding down to lace with yours and he looked at you like he was still trying to convince himself you were real. "Come home," he said. "Please. Come back to the apartment."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I've been sure since the day you showed up soaking wet with a broken umbrella." He squeezed your hand. "I want you there. I want you to stay."

You looked at him and you thought about the place that slowly started feeling like yours too. "Okay, let's go home."

His smile was so bright it could've powered the entire city. He grabbed your bag off the ground and you walked next to him with your hand still in his, and he didn't let go the entire way back. Not when you crossed the street, not when you got to his building, not even when he had to dig his keys out of his pocket with his free hand. When you got to the apartment, he dropped your bag by the door and turned to you. "For the record," he said, "I'm never letting you leave again."

"Is that a threat?"

"Yeah, and I'm definitely kidnapping you this time."

You laughed and then he kissed you again right there in the doorway, and you kissed him back, and he didn't break the kiss right away. Instead he backed you up slowly step by step until your back met the door with a soft thud. His hands slid up to frame your face and he pulled back just enough to look at you. "God, baby," he murmured and he pressed a finger to your lips, then replaced it with his mouth with a quick teasing kiss. "I'm gonna kiss you so many times tonight the universe is gonna run out of bad luck and just start handing us infinite good fortune." He laughed softly against your mouth. "Starting right now."

Before you could answer he kissed you again deeper, his tongue sliding slow against yours. His hands moved, one sliding down to grip your hip and the other tangling in your hair, and he pressed his body flush against yours pinning you gently but firmly to the door. You made a small needy sound into his mouth and he groaned in response, pulling back just enough to whisper against your lips. "You're so perfect, fuck—"

Your knees went weak and he must have felt it because his arm wrapped around your waist steadying you, and then he scooped you up like you weighed nothing. You gasped as your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips and your arms looped around his neck. "Easy," he said grinning as he carried you toward the kitchen. "I've got you."

He set you down on the counter but he didn't step back. Instead he stepped between your legs with his hands sliding up your thighs to rest at your hips. He leaned in close and said "look at me," softly, his voice dipping into that gentle command. You did and his eyes were locked on yours, intense, adoring, a little hungry, and he tilted his head. "You're so fucking gorgeous," he murmured. "My pretty girl." His thumb dragged along your bottom lip parting it slightly. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to have you like this."

He kissed you again while one hand slid up under your shirt, his palm flat against the bare skin of your back pulling you closer. You moaned softly and he rewarded you with a low hum, breaking the kiss to trail his mouth along your jaw down the side of your neck. He nipped lightly at your collarbone then soothed it with his tongue. "Tell me if it's too much," he said.

You nodded breathless. "I want you, Won."

His smile turned downright sinful. Jungwon kissed you again more possessively, his hands roaming freely now, one sliding up to cup the back of your neck and the other slipping under your shirt to trace the curve of your spine. You tugged at his hair pulling him closer, and he groaned into your mouth, hips rocking forward once, letting you feel exactly how much he wanted you. He broke the kiss just enough to breathe. "Fuck," he whispered. "Are you okay? We can slow down. Or stop, whatever you need."

You shook your head quickly and your fingers tightening in his hair. "Don’t stop, please"

His eyes searched yours for a long second. "Okay." He kissed you once more then pulled back just enough to look down between you, at where your thighs were still wrapped loosely around his hips on the counter. His hands settled on the tops of your legs, his thumbs rubbing slow circles over the denim. "Can I touch you?" he asked quietly, voice almost shy despite everything. "Please?"

Your heart stuttered at the way he asked earnest and almost pleading. "Yeah," you whispered. "Yeah, you can."

His smile was instant. "Thank you, baby." He kissed you one more time grateful, then slid his hands down to the button of your jeans. He popped it open slowly and his fingers hooked into the waistband tugging gently. "Lift up for me?" he murmured.

You braced your hands behind you on the counter and lifted your hips just enough. He peeled the jeans down your thighs carefully so as not to rush, then he dropped to his knees between your legs right there on the kitchen floor and your breath caught hard. He looked up at you with eyes wide and reverent, hands resting on the outside of your thighs. "You’re so beautiful," he said simply. "Look at you. All pretty just for me."

He leaned in and pressed the softest kiss to the inside of your knee, just a brush of lips, and then another a little higher, teasing the sensitive skin with feather light kisses, occasionally letting his tongue flick out just enough to make you shiver. "Jungwon…" Your voice came out small and needy.

"I know baby," he murmured against your thigh. "Just relax for me okay? Let me take care of you." He kissed higher open mouthed now, sucking lightly just below where your thigh met your hip. His hands slid up to hook under your knees spreading your legs wider so he could fit himself closer. You felt exposed and vulnerable, but the way he looked at you made it feel safe instead of scary. He nuzzled the damp cotton of your underwear, nose brushing the most sensitive part of you through the fabric and you gasped. "Already so wet f'me," he said, voice low and awed. "Fuck, that's perfect. You're perfect."

He hooked two fingers into the side of your panties and tugged them down agonizingly slowly until they were off and tossed somewhere behind him. Then he looked up at you again, eyes dark with want but still so gentle. You nodded breathlessly and that seemed to unravel something in him. He leaned in and kissed you there, not diving in, not yet, just a closed mouth press right over your clit. Then another and another tiny reverent kisses. "You taste so good baby," he murmured between kisses. "Just from this. My good girl..." Finally he flattened his tongue and licked one long, slow stripe up your center. You moaned, head falling back, and he groaned in response. "That's it, let me hear you baby."

He did it again slower circling your clit with the softest pressure before pulling back to kiss like it was your mouth, and your hips bucked involuntarily. Jungwon felt the way your hips jerked up and just pressed his palm firmer against your thigh, keeping you right where he wanted you. The sounds were filthy in the quiet kitchen: wet, soft, the occasional quiet suck when he sealed his lips around your clit again. Your fingers tightened in his hair and he let out this low, pleased hum that vibrated straight through you. "Fuck," you breathed, hips twitching.

You were getting louder without meaning to and he didn't shush you or tell you to be quiet. He just groaned against you like the sounds were turning him on more. When your breathing hitched hard and your whole body tensed, he didn't speed up, he just stayed exactly where he was. Your back arched off the counter, a choked "Jungwon—" slipping out as you came, thighs squeezing around his head, fingers yanking his hair hard.

He didn't flinch, he just kept licking you soft and slow through the aftershocks until you were whimpering and pushing weakly at his forehead. "Fuck that was so hot," he murmured, finally pulling back. His lips were shiny and his chin wet, then he stood up slowly leaning over you to kiss you, letting you taste yourself. You were still catching your breath when he broke the kiss. "You good?" he asked.

"Yeah," you managed, voice wrecked. "That was… yeah."

He smirked and kissed the corner of your mouth. "Good." Then he hooked his arms under your thighs and lifted you off the counter and you wrapped your legs around him in reflex and he carried you down the hallway. He kicked his bedroom door shut with his heel and walked over to the bed, set you down in the middle, then he climbed over you shifting his weight, bracing on his forearms and looked down at your face for a second. "What do you want now, mhm?" he asked, then he leaned down and kissed the corner of your mouth. "I'm down for whatever you want, baby. Just tell me."

You reached up, fingers sliding into the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him closer to kiss him. He let you, melting into the kiss, and when you broke apart you were both breathing a little harder. "I want you, so much," you said simply. 

He exhaled through his nose a relieved sound, and kissed you again before trailing his lips down your jaw then your neck. He found the spot just under your ear and sucked lightly, humming when you shivered. "Me too, love. You're so fucking pretty, I can't get over it." Another kiss, lower, along your collarbone, then down to the center of your chest, right between your breasts, his lips brushing the fabric of your shirt. "This body… fuck, it's all mine tonight, yeah?"

You laughed softly and a little breathless, and he kept going, pushing your shirt up slowly, kissing every inch of skin he uncovered. Stomach, the dip of your waist, the curve under your ribs. "Gosh look at you," he breathed, lips grazing the underside of your breast. He kissed there, then higher, his tongue flicking over your nipple before he took it into his mouth while his hand cupped the other one. You arched a little, fingers tightening in his hair, and he groaned low against you. "Love the way you sound when I touch you," he said, switching sides, giving the same careful attention. "Makes me crazy."

He spent minutes like that and eventually he kissed his way back up, settling between your legs again, hard and obvious against you through his sweats. He rocked once slowly letting you feel him then dropped his forehead to yours. "Baby," he whispered. "I want to be inside you so bad."

You smiled and before he could say anything else you pushed at his shoulders until he rolled onto his back with a surprised little huff. Now you were the one hovering over him, straddling his hips with your hands braced on his chest. His eyes widened for a second, then softened while his lips curved intoa lazy smile. "Oh?" he said, voice teasing. "You taking over now?"

"Yeah," you murmured, leaning down to kiss him slowly and deep, letting your tongue slide against his until he groaned into your mouth. You pulled back just enough to speak against his lips. "My turn to make you feel good."

You kissed down his jaw, then his neck, mirroring what he'd done to you, smiling when his hips jerked up under you. "Fuck," he breathed, hands settling on your waist. "You're gonna kill me love."

You kept going down his chest, lips brushing over the cotton of his shirt first, and you could tell how much he liked it by the way his stomach flexed under every kiss. You slid your hands under the hem pushing the fabric up and exposing the smooth toned plane of his stomach. He had that subtle definition, just lean and strong, a faint happy trail started just below his navel leading down. You followed it with your tongue with a deliberate stripe right up the center of his abs and Jungwon sucked in a sharp breath, his abs jumping under your mouth. "Fuck…" he exhaled, voice wrecked. His hand found your hair again, fingers threading through gently.

You kissed lower, lips tracing the sharp cut of his hipbone then the other side and every time you got close to the waistband of his sweats you'd pull back just enough to kiss the skin right above it. "Baby," he murmured, half laugh and half plea. "You're killing me here."

You looked up at him through your lashes, smirking. "Good." He was breathing harder now, and you palmed him over the fabric with a slow drag of your hand from base to tip, feeling how thick and hard he already was. The outline was obscene and long enough that the head pushed against the waistband, thick enough that your fingers didn't quite meet when you wrapped around him. "So pretty," you said softly with your eyes locked on his. 

He let out a shaky laugh that turned into a groan when you squeezed just a little. "You have no fucking idea what you do to me," he rasped biting his bottom lip hard enough to leave a mark.

You tugged the waistband down finally letting the elastic catch on the head for a second before you pulled it past. He sprang free and heavy against his stomach, flushed dark at the tip, already glistening with precum that beaded at the slit and slid down the underside in a thin line. You wrapped your fingers around him then you stroked once, slow from root to tip, thumb swiping over the head to spread the precum. Jungwon's head fell back against the pillow with a thud. "Shit — fuck, baby…"

You did it again slowly and watched every reaction. "Feels good?" you asked teasingly.

"So fucking good," he groaned and his hips lifting into your hand before he caught himself. "Don't — don't tease too much, please. I'm already losing it." But you did tease just a little more. You leaned down and kissed the inside of his thigh then higher, right at the crease where leg met hip, letting your breath ghost over him without touching. He whined low and needy. "Baby, please…" His voice cracked on the word and his fingers in your hair tightened. "Please put your mouth on me. I need it. Need you." You smiled against his skin, then finally gave in and you licked a slow flat stripe from base to tip and his whole body jerked. "Oh god — fuck yes," he gasped and his voice breaking. "Just like that. Fuck, your tongue…"

You swirled around the head with slow circles, then flicked the underside and he cursed under his breath, hips stuttering up. "Baby — shit, you're so good at this, fuck I love your mouth." You took him in properly then, sucking his length while your tongue pressed flat against the slit. He moaned loud and unrestrained. "Yes — yes, fuck, suck it like that," he babbled, voice wrecked and so, so vocal. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

You bobbed down further until he hit the back of your throat and you hollowed your cheeks, sucking harder on the pull up, hand stroking what your mouth couldn't reach. His breathing turned ragged, moans spilling out nonstop. "Fuck baby, you're gonna make me come so fast," he groaned, fingers flexing in your hair. You hummed around him and he practically sobbed. "Baby fuck, do that again. Please. I'm —shit, I'm so close already."

You picked up the pace just enough and your hand twisting at the base while your tongue worked the head on every upstroke. His hips were jerking in helpless thrusts and his voice cracking on every word. "Gonna come baby, I'm gonna come," he warned, desperate. "Where — fuck, where do you want it?"

You pulled off just long enough to whisper, "In my mouth." Then you took him deep again sucking hard, and he broke. "Fuck yes— fuck baby—" His whole body locked up and his hips snapped forward once as he came with a loud moan, spilling hot and thick down your throat. You swallowed around him working him through every pulse until he was whimpering from overstimulation, hand gently tugging you off.

He collapsed back and his eyes were glassy as he looked down at you. "Holy shit," he breathed. "Come here." He pulled you up immediately with his strong arms wrapping around you, rolling so you were half on top of him. He kissed you messy and deep, tasting himself on your tongue then softer hands stroking your back like he was grounding himself. "You're insane," he murmured against your lips, still catching his breath. You laughed quietly, pressing your face into his neck. "Still want inside you," he added. "Soon as I can breathe again."

You laughed a breathless giggle and leaned in to kiss his face everywhere. Soft pecks on his forehead and his eyelids then the tip of his nose, his cheeks, the corner of his mouth. He closed his eyes, smiling lazily, letting you do whatever you wanted while his hands rubbed slow circles on your back. "The universe must be confused as hell right now with all the kisses we've been throwing around," he murmured, voice still a little rough, his eyes opening n to meet yours with that playful glint.

You grinned, pressing one more kiss to his jaw. "I have no idea who's got the luck right now."

"Well I don't know," he said, smirking, "but I'm feeling pretty damn lucky."

Before you could respond, he shifted and his arms wrapped around your waist as he rolled you onto your back in one smooth motion, settling over you. He caught your hands and lacing his fingers through yours and pinning them gently above your head. Then he kissed your face just like you'd done to him: forehead, cheeks, nose, eyelids. "I'm so crazy about you," he whispered against your temple. "Like stupid crazy."

He released your hands but kept his fingers tangled with yours on one side, using the free one to slide under your shirt again. He tugged it up slowly and kissing the skin as it appeared until he could pull it over your head and toss it aside. His mouth was everywhere then and he took his time sucking lightly on one nipple while his thumb brushed the other, humming low in his throat when you arched into him. "Fuck you're gorgeous," he murmured between kisses.

He settled between your legs again, hard against you, and rocked slowly with his tip teasing your clit with the blunt pressure then dipping just barely against your entrance. Back and forth, slow drags that made you gasp, hips lifting to chase more. "Feel that? How bad I want you?" But then he paused as a small self deprecating laugh escaping him. "Shit, wait. I don't wanna push my luck here. Need a condom before I... yeah."

You laughed too, nodding. "Yeah, good call."

He kissed you quick then rolled off to grab one from his nightstand drawer. He tore the wrapper with his teeth, rolling it on with quick, his yes flicking back to you the whole time like he couldn't look away. Then he was back over you settling between your thighs, one hand bracing beside your head while the other guided himself. He teased again with just the tip circling your entrance pressing in barely an inch before pulling back, watching your face. "Ready baby?" he asked.

You nodded. "Please, Won."

He pushed in slow stretching you inch by inch, the burn intense as your body adjusted to him. He was thick, filling you up so completely that you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. He groaned low against your neck, "Fuck," he rasped. "You feel... so good. So tight around me. You okay?"

"Yeah," you whispered, rolling your hips experimentally making you both moan. "Move. Please move."

He did, slowly pulled out then deep thrusting back in, building a rhythm that had the bed creaking quietly under you. He kept that slow, deep rhythm at first pulling almost all the way out just to slide back in with a deliberate grind. The stretch was perfect bordering on too much, his thickness filling you so completely that you could feel every ridge. Sweat slicked between your bodies, and you could hear the quiet creak of the bed mixed with the wet obscene sounds of him moving inside you.

"Fuck baby, you feel so good," Jungwon whined, voice high. His forehead pressed to yours, eyes squeezed shut for a second before they fluttered open, locking on you with this desperate look. "So tight... God, I can't— I can't. You're driving me insane."

You whimpered back, hands clawing at his back. "Jungwon — please, harder... need you deeper," you begged, hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. It felt so good it almost hurt, that sweet ache building low in your belly, but you wanted more, wanted him to ruin you.

He groaned loud, a shaky, obsessed sound, and picked up the pace with his thrusts turning sharper, hips snapping forward with a wet slap each time. "Like that? Fuck yes — tell me, baby." His mouth crashed against your neck, sucking hard enough to bruise. One hand slid down to grip your thigh, hitching it higher around his waist so he could angle deeper, hitting that spot that made you see white.

"Oh god — right there," you cried out. "You're so big..."

"Fuck I love this pussy..." He was babbling now completely unfiltered, hips stuttering as he chased the feeling, his free hand roaming everywhere, squeezing your breast, thumb flicking your nipple hard. You pulled him down for a messy kiss, both of you whining into each other's mouths. "Want on top, let me ride you — please, Won," you whined.

He let out a broken moan at that. "Yeah? Fuck — yes, baby." He rolled you both over and settled on his back with you straddling his hips, his cock still buried deep inside you and the new angle made you gasp. You braced your hands on his chest and started moving with slow rolls at first, grinding your clit against his pelvis. He looked up at you like you were a goddess, hands gripping your hips hard. "Holy shit — you look so hot like this," he whined with his hips bucking up weakly to meet you. "Bouncing on my cock... fuck, your tits — play with them for me? Please baby, wanna see."

You did, cupping your breasts and pinching your nipples, moaning whiny and loud as you picked up speed, lifting and dropping harder now. "Like this?"

He threw his head back, throat exposed and bobbing with a swallow, a needy whine escaping him. "Yes fuck, just like that." You leaned down sinking your teeth into his shoulder enough to make him hiss and buck wildly under you, his hands sliding to your ass to squeeze and guide your movements. "Fuck yes, like that, gonna come if you keep, shit, baby."

You tightened around him on purpose as you rode him. "Oh god baby, fuck, do it again," so you did and he gasped and his voice was cracking, hips jerking up hard enough to make you bounce. His hands flew to your ass, gripping tight and then on instinct, he lifted one palm and brought it down in a sharp smack right across your cheek. You moaned loud and shameless. Jungwon froze for half a second, eyes widening like he'd just discovered something dangerous, then he saw the way your back arched, the way you clenched even tighter around him, and his expression shifted. "You liked that yeah?" he rasped while his palm was rubbing over the warm spot he'd just hit. "Fuck… you really liked that huh?"

You nodded fast, biting your lip. "Yeah, fuck, do it again. Please."

He groaned like the word alone almost finished him off. Another smack harder this time and you cried out, grinding down harder on his cock. "Goddamn, love, such a good girl for me… taking it so well." He squeezed your ass possessively then delivered one more controlled slap. "Turn around," he said suddenly, voice firm. "On your hands and knees. Now."

You scrambled off him and got into position with your ass up and your back arched. You looked back over your shoulder, while Jungwon sat up behind you, hands roaming over your hips, your waist, your back like he couldn't decide where to touch first. "Fuck princess, you're dripping down your thighs. Fuck, I'm obsessed."

He lined himself up again with his tip nudging your entrance, teasing for just a second then he pushed in slowly at first, and you both moaned at the same time, filthy. "So deep," you whined, pushing back against him. "Jungwon — please… fuck me hard."

His grip tightened on your hips and he started thrusting fast, really fast, slapping against your ass with every stroke, the bedframe rattled against the wall. "Fuck fuck, baby, listen to that," he panted. "You love it rough, don't you? Love when I fuck you like this?"

"Yes yes, oh gosh yes," you cried, pushing back to meet every thrust, hands fisting the sheets. "Harder please, Jungwon, don't stop—"

He leaned over you with his chest pressing to your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you in place while the other slid between your legs. His fingers found your clit rubbing fast circles that matched the brutal rhythm of his hips. "Come for me again," he begged, voice whiny and commanding at the same time. "Please, baby milk me, I need it around my cock."

You were already close, the angle hitting that spot over and over and his fingers relentless while your moans turned into broken sobs. "Jungwon, I'm — fuck, I'm gonna—"

"Do it," he growled against your ear. "Be a good girl and come for me, yeah?" You shattered with your back arching hard, walls clamping down around him in fluttering pulses as you came with a wrecked cry of his name. Your whole body shook, vision blurring. He fucked you through it fast and sloppy now, chasing his own high. "Fuck baby, that's it, milk me, shit, I'm so close — gonna come —"

"Come for me, Won, please —" you whined, pushing back weakly.

That sent him over. He slammed in one last time deeply, his hips flush against your ass and came with a long, broken moan that sounded almost pained, his cock pulsing hard inside you as he spilled into the condom. His whole body shuddered, arms wrapping tight around you from behind, holding you close while he rode out the aftershocks.

He stayed buried inside you for a good minute after he came, bath of you breathing hard while his chest was plastered to you back and his arms locked around your middle. His face was tucked into the side of your neck and every few seconds he would press a lazy kiss there. Eventually he pulled out slowly and carefully, hissing a little through his teeth when the cool air hit him. "Fuck that was intense," he muttered as he rolled the condom off and tied it quick, chucking it toward the trash can by the desk.

You laughed, still face down on the mattress. "Yeah, it really was…"

He flopped down beside you, one arm slinging over your waist pulling you sideways so you were kind of snooping, as his fingers started tracing lazy patterns on your hip.  "You okay my love? I kinda went feral at the end there."

You turned your head enough to look at him. His hair was a disaster, sticking up everywhere and his cheeks were super flushed, but he was smiling and it was disarming. "More than okay. My legs are jelly, though. And my ass is gonna remind me of you tomorrow."

He grinned with that boyish grin. "That's good, a souvenir." Then he leaned in and kissed your shoulder right over one of the little red marks he'd left earlier. "Sorry if I got too carried away. You just… you really make me lose my mind, you know?"

"Same here," you admitted, reaching back to thread your fingers through his hair.

He hummed pleased and pulled you closer. "So," he said, as his thumb was circling sweet circles on your ribs. "Do you think we switched again?"

You laughed. "Honestly I have no idea. I wasn't exactly keeping track."

"Yeah, me neither." He nuzzled into your neck. "I was a little distracted."

"Just a little?"

"Okay, extremely. You're very distracting, baby."

You smiled, turning in his arms so you were facing him properly. His eyes were half closed and there was this softness to his expression that made your chest feel tight in the best way. "I don't think I care," you said quietly.

"About the luck?"

"Yeah, I mean I thought I did. I thought it was this whole big thing we had to figure out, but now I'm just like..." You trailed off not sure how to explain it.

"You're like what?" He was really looking at you now and his hand came down to reach yours and give a light hearted kiss on your palm.

"I don't know. I think maybe I had it backwards. I thought losing my luck was the worst thing that could happen to me, but then I met you and —" You stopped feeling your face heat up. "That sounds so cheesy."

"No, keep going. I wanna hear this." He was grinning now, that charming asshole grin.

"I'm not gonna keep going if you're gonna be smug about it."

"Smug? I'm not being smug," he smirked, teasing you.

"You're absolutely being smug."

"Okay, maybe a little." He kissed the tip of your nose. "But seriously. Keep going."

You sighed but you were smiling too. "I just mean... meeting you was lucky. Even if everything else fell apart. Meeting you made all of it worth it."

His expression did something vulnerable and a little overwhelmed like he wasn't expecting you to say that. His hand was on your face and his thumb was brushing over your cheek. "Yeah?" he said quietly.

"Yeah."

"You mean that?"

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

He was quiet for a second, just looking at you, and then he pulled you closer and kissed you. It was different from before, just sweet and slow. "I'm in love with you," he said when he pulled back. "Just so you know."

Your breath caught. "What?"

"I'm in love with you." He said it again. "I think I have been for a while. Since before the showcase, probably. Maybe since you showed up soaking wet with that broken umbrella and got in my car without even thinking about it. Hell I fell in love with you at that ball even though you were wearing a mask and I didn't know your name."

"Jungwon—"

"I know everything is messy," he continued talking faster now like he was worried you'd interrupt. "And I know everything's been kinda insane with the luck thing and you leaving and me being a mess about it, but I don't care. I'm in love with you. And I just, I wanted you to know that." You stared at him. Your heart was doing something cartwheels and your eyes were getting hot, and you didn't know what to say. "You don't have to say it back by the way," he added quickly. "I'm not — this isn't me trying to pressure you or anything. I just wanted to tell you because it's true."

"You're an idiot," you said and your voice was shaking.

He blinked. "That's not usually the response —"

"I'm in love with you too, you idiot."

His face broke into the biggest smile you'd ever seen. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Obviously. Why do you think I came back?"

"I don't know, I thought maybe you just really liked my pancakes." You laughed, and it came out wet because apparently you were crying now, and he kissed you again, still grinning against your mouth. "God, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he mumbled between kisses. "Luck or no luck, I don't care. You're it for me, you know that?"

"Stop, don't say that..."

"I'm serious, baby. You're it."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, you're it for me too." He made this sound like a laugh but still a sigh and pulled you on top of him so you were straddling his hips, his hands settling on your waist. You could feel him already starting to get hard again beneath you, which was honestly impressive considering you'd literally just finished. "Again?" you said, raising an eyebrow.

"What? You're naked and sitting on me and you just said you're in love with me. What did you expect?"

"Yeah, okay, fair." You giggled.

"Mhm. So what do you say, my love? Round two?"

"You're insatiable."

"Only for you, baby."

And, well, turns out the universe has a sense of humor after all.

The band blew up, like actually blew up. ENHYPEN's live album hit streaming platforms and within a month they were getting requests for festival appearances and opening slots for bigger acts. Jeonghan called it the fastest trajectory I've ever seen for a new signing which Jungwon pretended to be cool about but you caught him grinning at his phone for like twenty minutes after that call. They did a small tour but sold out every show. Sunghoon broke another drumstick on stage and the fan video went viral. Jake started getting recognized at coffee shops. Heeseung got approached about a solo EP. Jay bought a car, which he immediately regretted because parking in the city is a nightmare but he was too proud to admit it.

And Jungwon? Jungwon was in his element. Managing them and keeping them on schedule, negotiating with venues and doing all the behind the scenes stuff that nobody sees but makes everything actually work. He was really good at it and watching him do his thing, watching him be confident and competent and completely in control, was honestly kind of hot.  As for you, Jeonghan kept his word. He got you an interview with HYBE's events division and you walked in with a portfolio of every event you'd ever planned, including the disastrous masquerade ball, because fuck it, you organized that thing and it looked incredible even if it ended badly. They hired you on the spot with a decent salary and actual benefits. You were so back.

The apartment became both of yours pretty quickly. You'd officially moved in as a girlfriend about a month after and it was kind of seamless in a way that would've freaked you out before but now just felt right. Your plant claimed the windowsill in the living room and your books took over half the shelf. Your toothbrush lived next to his in the bathroom. He cleared out two drawers for you without asking and you bought matching Pokémon mugs as a joke except now you both used them every morning.

Sunoo came over at least twice a week usually to raid your fridge and complain about his dating life. He and the band got along great, which you should've predicted because Sunoo gets along with everyone. Sometimes you'd come home to find him and Sunghoon arguing about anything on the couch while Jungwon made dinner. It felt like family, the kind of family you choose.

But here's the weird part and you noticed it first, though Jungwon figured it out around the same time — the luck thing evened out completely. You weren't absurdly lucky anymore and he wasn't cosmically cursed. You were both just... average. The kind of normal where sometimes you'd find a twenty in your coat pocket and sometimes your card would decline at the grocery store for no reason. Sometimes Jungwon would hit every green light on the way to the studio and sometimes the subway would break down and make him late. One time you were running to catch the train and you tripped on the platform and Jungwon caught your arm at the exact same second. You both stopped and looked at each other and started laughing because what were the odds? Bad luck canceled out by good luck, or maybe good luck canceled out by bad luck, or maybe it was just two people in the same place at the same time and that was enough.

You were both at the amusement park on the edge of the city one saturday, those amusement parks with rides that were just rickety enough to be fun and overpriced carnival games that nobody ever wins. Jungwon showed up at noon with tickets already purchased and this grin on his face like he was about to surprise you with something amazing. And, well, it was a good day. You went on the ferris wheel first because he insisted, and at the top he kissed you with the whole city spread out below and it was corny as hell but you didn't care. You played one of those rigged basketball games and he missed every single shot and the guy running the booth felt so bad he gave you a stuffed bear anyway. You got soft pretzels that were too salty and lemonade that was too sweet and wandered around just talking about nothing, his hand in yours the whole time.

Later, when the sun was starting to set and the park lights were coming on, you were walking past the games and food stalls when you saw Madame Clarisse. She was set up at a small table near the back of the park with the same jeweled mask, same rings on every finger, same sign that said Palm Reading - $10. There was no line, though. She was just sitting there shuffling a deck of tarot cards and when you walked past she looked up and your eyes met. She smiled like she'd known all along how this would turn out.

You stopped walking and Jungwon noticed after a second and turned back. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you said, still looking at her. "I just — do you remember the fortune teller? From the ball?"

"The one who said your luck was running out?"

"Yeah. That's her."

He followed your gaze and when he saw her his eyebrows went up. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Madame Clarisse gave a little wave. You couldn't help it so you waved back. "Should we—" Jungwon started.

"No," you said already pulling him away. "I think we're good."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I don't need her to tell me anything. I already know."

"Know what?"

You looked at him, at his ridiculous windswept hair and his easy smile and the way he was looking at you like you were the best part of his entire day. "That I got lucky," you said.

He laughed. "That's terrible."

"I know."

"I love you, you know?"

"Yeah, I know that too."

He kissed you then, right there in the middle of the amusement park. "Come on," he said. "I want to win you something at one of these rigged games."

"You're going to lose all your money."

"Not if I get lucky."

You walked away hand in hand, and behind you Madame Clarisse went back to her cards still smiling. You thought about all of it: the ball, that first kiss, the broken umbrella, the month you spent convinced the universe hated you, the moment you almost got on a train and left everything behind. You thought about luck and cosmic balance and fortune tellers who saw things coming before you did. But mostly you just thought about the way Jungwon's hand felt in yours, the way he looked at you like you were the best thing that ever happened to him. The way you'd kissed a stranger in a mask and somehow ended up here, with him, exactly where you were supposed to be.

Maybe the universe had a sense of humor after all. Or maybe some things were always meant to happen, luck or no luck. Either way, you weren't complaining. Just my luck, you thought. Just my luck.

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