you knew it’d work. you’ve never let leehan purposefully leave marks on your skin, not because it didn’t feel good to have him kiss you, but simply because you’ve always found them tacky and a hassle to cover up. you’d wasted so much makeup in the past trying to do so, so whenever he’d come close to leaving purple patches, you’d tell him to stop. he’d even bargained with leaving them in places only he could see, but you still refused. especially if you couldn’t return the favor.

you knew this was an evil way to push his buttons, that you oh-so-desperately wanted to see pushed. it was selfish, really, however at this moment in time the plan was already set into action. you wanted to start a fight, just to see if he could.

he’s never gotten mad at you. he’s never yelled at you. he’s never dared put a hand on you. and that was a dream, but somewhere deep down, you knew it was also just as boring as it was desirable. you wanted him to yell at you — at least once — manhandle you — consensually, of course — you wanted so much, and maybe this wasn’t the right way to bring it up, but it didn’t matter anymore as his voice broke through the silenced air.

“what’s that?”

“what’s what?” you asked, acting obliviously as you scrolled through twitter and instagram in turns.

he shrugged, and you don’t know if it was the fact that he seemingly didn’t care, or if it was that maybe he just brushed it under the rug as anything else, that began to piss you off.

nonetheless, you decided you were in it for the long run. after all, you wanted to see if he’d start the fight.

and throughout the rest of the afternoon you’d catch leehan staring in your direction, shifting his gaze when you’d make eye-contact. he kept a calm demeanor, never asking again what the purple marks on your neck were. he’d even hugged you before he left for practice, getting all up close and personal with the artwork.

you were finding it hard to believe he hadn’t noticed.

maybe he was gathering his thoughts. maybe he was trying to decided why you didn’t smell like another man — why he knew you wouldn’t do that to him. maybe as much as his buttons were pushed, this was it for his stemmed anger. maybe dance practice was his way to relieve the stress you caused from time-to-time. maybe the cool, calm and collected leehan was the only version of your otherwise, smiley, boyfriend.

maybe you were beginning to feel bad because you had no idea the feelings he had towards this prank. did it upset him? you wouldn’t be none-the-wiser to it if it had. he was good at shielding emotions, and maybe that’s where you needed to draw the line. maybe that’s where your conversation should’ve began, instead of whatever the hell tiktok had inspired you to do.

you kept looking at the clock on your home screen, counting down the minutes until he’d come back to you. and just as you had decided to end the prank, opting for a civil — adult-ish — conversation, a text illuminated your dark screen.

it read: we need to talk.

yet you couldn’t decipher the hidden meaning. of course you knew what it was about, that’s the only thing that’s been wrong throughout the last few months between you two. what else could it be? and why, now that you were finally getting what you wanted, didn’t it feel good?

you didn’t answer him, partially because you didn’t know what to say; it was a prank. i just wanted to see if you’d get mad at me. i’m so bored of this. nothing seemed correct, or frankly, truthful.

you also knew that he wasn’t far. he wouldn’t have texted you otherwise, just to torcher you — though it would’ve been deserved. so, you waited by the door for your boyfriend to get back, the thought of washing away the eyeshadow long gone.

then, it finally opened with the pattern of your key code. the air became thick and you found it hard to swallow with a lump in your throat. were you sorry? yes. did you feel bad for being immature? yes. was a tiny part of you still curious to see how this would play out?

yes.

"y/n," was the first, and only, thing he muttered for a couple of excruciatingly long minutes. you watched as he put his bag down, eyed him as he took his shoes off, and almost burst when he ran a hand through his hair. maybe leehan was able to torcher you, even if unintended.

his eyes finally met yours, but then they drifted to your neck, and further to your collar bone. he knew. he's known since the first question left his lips hours and hours ago.

"what's that?" his arms snaked between each other, and you found it wrong to think it was hot, but you very much did.

almost like deja vu, the same feeling crept up from down within you. "what's what?" you reenacted. although this time, he didn't let it go. he approached you quickly, too fast to get away before you were sandwiched between the plaster and his body.

his hands were slow with movements. those oh-so-stupid-fucking-hands that had you, literally, at his fingertips. one forcing your head by your jaw to expose your neck, while the other brushed away the hair that disguised the marks from his view.

you fronted being indifferent, but truth be told, if he wasn't holding you up your knees would have buckled already, leaving you as a mess on the floor in front of him.

"you must think i don't know you," he voiced, holding eye-contact as he pushed his thumb between your lips, gathering just enough saliva to then press the digit to your neck and swipe. and it smudged with enough force, despite being labeled as waterproof. "tell me why you felt the need to paint these on. i couldn't think of one good reason all day, princess."

and the nickname he always called you — innocently and less than — had your heart in absolute shambles; the anticipation was just as good as if he'd raised his voice you thought. maybe your vanilla-scented boyfriend had finally gotten the hint that you wanted more, despite going about it in a less than thoughtful way. and maybe you realized that you didn't hate that he was always nice, no you loved that about him, but sometimes it was okay if he wanted to be a little bit meaner with you. after all, he could always say my ... anything he wanted, and that would still mean that he saw you as his forever only.

"i-i," you couldn't think straight when he attached his lips over the previously (fakely) marked spots. his breath was hot, lips gentle then firm as he sucked against the spots he knew you'd rarely let him have his way with. "i — uh, fuck. leehan,"

his voice was low against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and a whimper up your throat, "if you wanted something, you could've just asked me, baby. i'd give you anything."

the eyes that you've grown comfortable with always seemed to be there despite the firm placement he had you in. you knew he loved you more than anything, so you knew his words were true. and his demeanor broke when he kissed your lips, almost giving you whiplash.

his palms laid flat against your cheeks, thumbs rubbing sweetly, "if you wanted everyone to know that you're mine, let me do it myself."

"look at her," jeno says lowly, his stare focused on your spread legs, "she can barely take it."

"must be a desperate little slut to take your cock," haechan says. "does she beg for it?"

jaemin motions to mark's fingers with his head, "she won't be able to take him if he keeps that pace. a little faster, mark. don't wanna see her crying when you put your cock in her, do you?"

your heart skipped a beat, you had never agreed to that. you had never agreed to this, but mark was too strong and his words were demanding when he hissed in your ear. it was like he wanted his friends to think that you wanted it, that you liked being used to shamelessly.

haechan scoffs, "speak for yourself." jeno hums in agreement and you feel mark's chest rumble against your back.

"c'mon baby," mark's lips hover over your ear, his tone curt, "show them how you beg for me."

"mark..." the protest comes out as a whimper as your boyfriends fingers curl just right.

"hear that?" haechan gasps, "bet she sounds real pretty when you fuck her, huh? whimpering and crying as you pound her little hole."

“Do you want me to record him or you?” Yoonoh is just as excited. Funny thing is, Yoonoh has been her best friend ever since they were neighbors back when they were just children. He surpasses her in age the slightest, not too much to make a difference, so he tried to protect her on the playground near their homes as ‘the older one’. As of now, she has to protect her friends from dating Jung Yoonoh. He has an eye for a med student.

“Him.”

“This group of people we have right here…” The cardiologist, Mr. Yoon, says as he inspects the groups of people. She remembers telling them off on their lack of studying back when they were rotating with him, nonetheless, now he smiles at the crowd. “Are all winners. I don’t see a single person in this room that I am not proud to say is my colleague now.” Those words flutter her heart, making her cling onto her hat the slightest. She’d throw it in the air now if she could, and get on that stage to read off the notes that she had oh-so-diligently practiced in front of the mirror. “I meet plenty of people every day. That’s the perk of being a doctor. You meet everyone to an extent that is universally deep, even your students. You see their hardship, tears, their biggest errors, their questioning and their will to try again. You either see them lose themselves or grow because of you. Good diamonds are made under pressure, and…” He trails his voice, taking off his glasses and rubbing at one eye before putting them on again. “There is one person that was already such a bright diamond. I remember the first time I got an answer in a grand round from this person and I was…sure about the kind of doctor I would have in front of me one day.”

“Fuck.” Yoonoh mumbles, smiling in a way that presents the dimples on his cheeks, before it happens. Just as her best friend is grasping her hand that had been on his shoulder, Dr. Yoon announces what she thinks is the winner of this entire race that is medicine.

“Doctors, family, friends, may I present to you the graduate with the highest graduation score.” Dr. Yoon smiles, extending a hand towards the screen behind him before his lips part to say what she had once imagined to be a dream, but has now turned into her grandest nightmare. “Please, let’s call to the stage Dr. Mark Lee. Let’s give him a round of applause. Dr. Lee, I know you’re there.”

Her world freezes.

She doesn’t know the precise quantifications, but a university student—much more in med school—should read more than a million words in order to be, somewhat, knowledgeable in his career. She spent day and night, losing her eyesight, blurring her sclerotic while looking at a laptop, writing notes time and time again, repeating stories written about patients, stammering through words just to get the answer out. She had tried so hard, wished for it and hunted for a dream that never happened.

“Stop recording.” She tells Yoonoh, spreading a hand on top of the lens when she realizes that it’s pointed towards her. The deception of not getting the first spot spread right in the main screen of the video that she planned on playing to her family when she went back home.

“I—I can’t. I’m trying.” Yoonoh stutters, giving the camera a few smacks to no avail. Both their gazes turn to the stage when they hear the cheering that follows after one of the two hundred graduates in the med field in this event. His black hair is parted in a comma hairstyle, from what she can tell by the little strand that peeks from under his cap. The gown is a little too long on him, cheeks dipped in what would be a childish smile as he shakes Dr. Yoon’s hand. She had seen this guy around, never coinciding in a grand round or talking through night shifts, but the face was definitely familiar. His eyes are twinkling when he reaches the podium, grasping the edges until his knuckles turn white.

She’s ready to stand up from her spot and leave, adding: “I’m leaving.” In a whisper that could only be heard by Yoonoh, but her best friend clasps a hand onto her forearm, dragging her down.

“The fact that you didn’t get first spot doesn’t mean you don’t get to celebrate your graduation. Stop pestering your mind when you’ve already reached so much. It’s your best day.”

“It’s not how I wanted it to go.”

“You’re still a doctor.” Yoonoh tugs her closer by her shoulder, practically pressing her into spot, unwilling to let her move.

Whoever Mark Lee is as a person doesn’t interest her. As he stands in the podium, stammering and stuttering to let out words in between a bunch of ‘uh’ and ‘well…’, she thinks that he may be the antagonist that she never expected to have. Clearly, he hadn’t prepared, and would it be so bad for her to feel envious towards what he is having right now? Sure, she’s not a woman of attention, always ready to keep her circle closed and straight to the point with the people whom she talked to and believed in, but she wanted her last moment in between those crowd of people that competed one against the other to be memorable. For her to say, in between all odds, that she had won.

Anyone who saw her would think that the tears in her eyes are out of emotion because of the speech Mark is giving, however, she’s tired. Of trying and never succeeding, so when the crowd goes crazy for, now, Dr. Lee, she proclaims him her biggest enemy, even when he doesn’t know her.

Tangled fingers in threads of hair, elbows propped on the desk where the medical records she had been working on are written and set in a handwriting that leaves much to the imagination, she wonders why she always likes difficulty. After the big failure of not even remotely called out as good when she graduated, venturing into the world of the easiest and perhaps, the most tranquil specialization and residency should have been her first thought. However, after years of not shutting an eye properly, and getting used to it like a toxic relationship does at most occasions, she decided it would have been a great idea to, two years later, become a full-time resident in the gynecology and obstetrics department. Where, sometimes, a woman just decides to pop by with her fetus almost popping out of her, because seven kids later…and the contractions aren’t quite as strong as they were with the first baby.

The problem relies on the fact that sleep deprived and thriving off coffee is not her best conceptualization of herself. She has attended seven births in what has been just twenty-one hours and, as a matter of fact, she was an observer in three c-sections. The problem is that, as a first-year resident, she’s asked to do most of the work. Hand wringed around a pen, and fingertips gliding across the keyboard to finalize the paperwork is something that she’s used to. As the third-year resident and the night shift’s boss, as well as her coworker, Dr. Johnny Suh, had decided to take a nap now that the seashore had died down a little, waves subsided because of teamwork.

All of this just to say that she needs sleep, if she doesn’t want to drool on all the graphics that include important details of the procedures that had taken place.

She had been nice enough to ask the interns to go sleep, but now that she’s alone, she’s not even in the mood to listen to music. Could keep her awake, but at what cost? All she needs at this moment is a tight shower that lets her glide a sponge on the deep crevices of her hands and a fluffy pillow that a hospital bed cannot provide, but her mattress back at home invites her to try. Only a few more hours and she can, after she finishes her work, go back to her apartment. Hoping that her roommate doesn’t decide to be an absolute ass the rest of the morning.

The problem is that when a night shift is far too quiet, it can only mean trouble. Much to her distaste, the sound of the emergency doors sliding open with a stretcher-bearer not following far behind is the notice that makes her stand up from her desk and hate this night. Not her job. God, providing some kind of relief to her patients is the only thing that keeps her awake, but when she expects to see a woman in her thirties perhaps being a few centimeters into birth, she’s received by a woman in her seventies, very clearly in pain.

“Doctor, this woman got to the emergency room bleeding.” The stretcher-bearer adds, rubbing his hands together, ready to take the next step.

With a frown to her features and a quick inspection to check skin—not too pale to consider the bleeding to be chronic—, and definitely still with even breathing and signs of being hydrated, she believes this could be something that happened very soon. “Put her on the examination bed.” The bearer does as he’s told, and while she’s being moved around, she sighs deeply. “Night, Miss. I’m the doctor of the shift tonight. Do you mind telling me what happened?”

Cheeks tinged red, the old woman looks to the side and huffs. “I—I just started bleeding.”

“Alright,” Though she’s not convinced, she thanks the bearer with a nod of her head and then, hums. The nurses don’t seem to be anywhere around her, so she starts moving around the room, waiting for the man to leave—which is done fairly quickly—to start looking for her gloves and speculum. “Do you have a history of endometriosis, fibroids, abnormal bleeding?”

The patient shakes her head. “Not at all.”

“How many kids?”

“Four.”

“All vaginal births?”

“One c-section. The rest were birthed.”

“Did you hit yourself, per chance?” She asks, sparing a look at the woman after fixing the inspection light. “I know this could be a little invasive, so I ask for your permission to have your clothes taken off so I can inspect with a speculum and vaginal palpation to see where the bleeding comes from.”

The patient trembles when she sits up, slowly taking off her pants and speaking to her while she does so. “No.” She responds, though something shifts within her. Perhaps, the delicacy and seriousness of her tone had been enough to grant the patient some kind of relief, because the patient toys with her hands, looking up at the ceiling as she drags herself to the proper position to be examined in. “Doctor…I…I was having sex with my partner. The bleeding started after a special position—”

Bingo.

The problem relays after she gets to the diagnosis. A cervical tear that must be taken to the operating room as soon as possible. Johnny gets there in the matter of seconds, only for the nurses to still be gone. The patient needed attention provided by them, and she knows there are around four or five nurses only for the Gyn-Ob night shift willing—or pressed—to work. None in sight, leading her to having to lurk through the hospital, through chilling corridors in bone white that breathe out the scent of isopropyl alcohol and iodine.

Once she reaches the nurses’ office, she’s surprised to see them gathered. At this hour of the midnight, grabbing bites of pizza and speaking to none other than a man whom she knows fairly well. Not personally, but she’d recognize that face just about anywhere. Mark Lee has let his hair grow the slightest, the black strands peaking from under his surgery cap, eyes dotted in tiredness behind rounded glasses. There are bags under his eyes and he smells like he has used cautery pen, a little bit like burnt meat. He has one leg crossed over the other, surgical gown opened in the back, munching on a pepperoni slice with all the tranquility in the world as he laughs along with the other older-aged women.

She clears her throat, making them jump and slicing through the lively conversation that they had been having with the super smart asshole, as she calls him, in his first year as a neurosurgery resident. “Oh, what a blessing. We have all my nurses here with Dr. Lee instead of attending the emergency that just got here. I have a seventy-six-year-old woman waiting for an IV line and for her surgical gown so we can fix her cervix tear. And our specialist is about to wake up, so we need to do it fast.”

She may not be the sweetest of residents, but she’s efficient. The oldest nurse, Mrs. Kang, yawns as she tosses what was left of her pizza on a plate. “Doctor, don’t get angry with us. I know it’s late, but we hadn’t eaten and Dr. Lee also hadn’t grabbed a bite.”

Oh, she knows. He had been operating since two in the afternoon. Lucky him that gets pushed into the operating room in his first year, while she’s Johnny’s little assistant. She does it with glee, for…various reasons. “You can’t all leave the emergency room. I was alone.”

“You’ve always done well alone.” Another nurse says and she glares at them.

“I know, but I shouldn’t be doing your job.”

Mark coughs a bit in his hand, and he’s looking at everyone with tension in his eyes. Irises trembling, legs now unfolded, and looking a bit stiff. “It’s my fault.”

Mrs. Kang gasps. “Not a chance! We’re just weak for your pretty little face and we wanted to share with you.”

Of course, everyone wants to share with Mark Lee, but not with her. “Dr. Lee,” She tells him, for she had been waiting for the perfect moment to pierce through his pride like he did with hers. Her chin juts forward, staring through the bottom of her lashes before speaking up: “I would be very happy if you didn’t steal all my healthcare workers to share pizza slices with you. Everyone speaks about how smart and good-looking you are, but here, we need to be respectful. Above all.”

“I understand.” Though, Mark has an air of innocence to him. Everyone sees him like a cloud in a world of pebbles, soft and kind, and she almost ate it up when he grabbed a slice from the box just as he says: “Would you like a slice? I watched you as I got out of the surgery room and you looked like you hadn’t eaten the slightest.”

She hasn’t, but she won’t admit to fucking Mark Lee that she was starving and perhaps, just about to cry.

She wants to grab it, but ugh—that would be losing against him, isn’t it?

Mrs. Kang is, luckily, loud enough to awaken her from the glare she has casted upon Mark’s face. He has dimples that form even when he is just speaking, slim eyebrows and tall cheekbones, a fold on his bottom lip that creates a shadow inviting in this nice lighting. “Aw, c’mon, Doctor, how could you be mad at Dr. Lee?”

“Could we just please hurry up the work so we can stop that poor patient’s bleeding, please?” She asks, closing her eyes tightly, torn away from that hypnotization that Mark Lee somehow does so well.

“Alright, come with me.”

Thankfully, she turns around and doesn’t have to look Mark Lee in the eye again. That’s how he gets people, portraying that sweet and innocent face that probably gets too many opportunities just for that alone. The least she needs is to be like the nurses going crazy over him. She won’t fall for the whole persona Mark has constructed.

Her laptop is about to die. Or she is about to die. Whatever happens next. Who knows?

Johnny, on the other hand, has decided that it is appropriate to just sit on the desk of their shared office—just for residents—, more like lay on it, as she types away on the presentation she’s preparing, keeping it as developed and actualized as possible. However, the topic that she should be presenting on the congress that the hospital will be hosting in their fiftieth anniversary is still a bit loose. In the sense that it hasn’t been approved, and she’s not quite sure if being granted Johnny’s spot is any better.

Locks of black hair cascade on each side of his face and she can only get distracted from her job by one person only. It’s a bit stupid that she was once Johnny’s intern, as he was fresh in the residency, and now they are colleagues. Back then, she never thought she’d hold a crush on someone so…basically loved. Everyone could fall for Johnny, but now that she knows him, she envies and likes him at the same time. Never breaking a sweat, dangerously threading through portions of her heart that she deemed unvisited for many years.

“Why didn’t you want to do this presentation?”

“I am not a great public talker. Or well, I am, I just don’t like doing it.” Johnny sits up, clearing his throat in a way that has her scrunching her nose the slightest. Okay, that wasn’t really attractive. He sniffles soon after. “…And I may be catching a cold, so the first person I thought about was you. You’re, like, the smartest one of our residency and you’re just beginning.”

Maybe, that’s why she likes him so much. It has been a while since someone has truly told her something of that kind, and she’s starting to believe that intelligence is not really her most fitted dress. However, sweet words won’t take away the stress she feels. “More of a reason for me to doubt you. First year residents are torn to shreds in congresses. Could you have—?”

“Taken this choice just to ruin something special for you? Jesus, I’m an asshole, but I graduated as a doctor. I have to have a bit of human in me. Within me. Not like in me. I don’t have anyone in me.” Johnny speaks a little too much before dropping off from the desk. Just when he’s about to say something else, her laugh is cut off by someone knocking on the door and before Johnny could even invite whoever is there in, a head pops through the small slit that was caused by the door being opened.

Lord and heavens. What kind of karma is she paying? Did she step on a puppy a little too hard or did she steal someone’s boyfriend? Because none other than Dr. Mark Lee is standing by the door, sporting that coat that he always wears and is a little too big on his bodies. His ties are a tad shorter than what they should and alongside Johnny, he looks frankly small. In confidence and, also, in height.

Judging by how close they are as Johnny hugs him.

“Dude, I’m totally freaking out.” Mark speaks a little too quickly and Johnny clicks his tongue.

“You’ll do fine. What kind of neuroscience shit are they having you talk about?”

Oh, she’s not even going to pretend like she’s surprised. She expected Mark to be invited as a spokesperson in the event. Everyone adores him, and he has also been one of the leaders of the theorical science studying team in the hospital for the past year. Of course, she understands him being picked. Nonetheless, when he widens his eyes towards her, she knows something is wrong. As in, for her.

“Oh, actually, that’s why I came here.” Mark stumbles, turning to look at her and lifting two fingers in the air as a form of a greeting. She only gives him a curt nod. “…Dr. Hong told me early this morning that you should check your emails more constantly. I was informed that we are going to present a study on the use of antiepileptics in eclampsia.”

No. No fucking way.

She can work with him in the same hospital meters away, but the way her ego would be torn just by sharing a stage with Mark alone is not something she wants to go through. Words will mingle across the room; with people saying that he’s better than her and that he had once won over her. She knows how people adore Mark Lee, and how gray she is in a world filled with color.

“Anticonvulsants? With you?” She questions, standing up and spreading her hands across the desk. She feels a little tense thanks to the skirt she had pressured herself to wear instead of her usual scrubs, just because she wanted to feel pretty and professional. Mark’s eyes gravitate towards her legs and she swears she sees a blush flying to his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Dr. Lee, but I already have a presentation that I have talked about with Dr. Hong.” The owner of the hospital, mind her.

“Yes, about eclampsia, but considering I am going to talk about antiepileptics and people rarely know the proper and organized treatment and ladder of management for pregnancy, I think it could be amazing to present—”

“Us two?”

“Yes.” Mark stops, sparing a glance towards Johnny from the corner of his eye. Silence basks them for a second before he asks: “Is there a problem I should be aware of…or that I am missing out on?”

She sighs deeply. Okay, this is the moment she sits Mark on a chair the same way she had been planted on one when she had lost her biggest goal to him. She spares Johnny the benefit of gossiping about this. “Dr. Suh, could you please wait for us outside? I have some matters to talk about with Dr. Lee.”

She rounds the table by the time Johnny adds: “Shit, and just when things were about to get saucy.” Johnny does as she says, however, opening the door and disappearing with a swoosh of his lab coat. Mark just stands there, looking like a lost deer in the headlights, black hair still not pushed back with enough gel to make him look perfectly polished and professional.

“So…” Mark trails and she chuckles sarcastically at his words.

“Yes, I have a problem with you.” She tells. “I didn’t know about your existence before, Dr. Lee, with all due respect and you decided to show yourself up the one time you shouldn’t have. You’ve been granted everything in a silver-platter and while we had almost the same score when graduating, people just loved you more for speaking in front of everybody. ‘Cause you are sweet and like a boy-next-door, but that’s not what medicine is about. This is about hardships, still trying, and succeeding at the end. It’s about being strong enough to study and make people survive.”

Mark raises his eyebrows at that moment, gaping at her words before shaking his head. “Let me understand this well.” He internalizes her words before splaying a hand on his chest. “I am truly sorry you feel like that, but I also tried hard. The fact that I have not grown bitter over the career doesn’t mean I don’t care about it, or that I don’t have to study like a madman every single day.”

“I can’t even shine by my own because I have to be your little shadow.” She tosses, only to have Mark shrugging.

“You’ll shine! I’m not here to make you feel any less. Geez, you’ve created this competition out of nowhere.”

Of course, Mark is always eager to make himself look more caring and sweet. She understands that he may be so, but to her, Mark doesn’t care about her the slightest bit. He’s just overrated, over the top, a little too dull for her to feel fine with losing to him.

“Well, if we’re going to talk about anticonvulsants—”

“Antiepileptics.”

“Jesus, can you let me talk for once?!” She raises her voice, only to have Mark crossing his arms over his chest.

“If we’re going to work together, you have to understand something. You know more about pregnancy than I do. I know more about the human brain than you do. And that’s just factual of specialization. If not, they wouldn’t exist.” He tells her, and for a reason, whenever he is granting information regarding his career, Mark’s voice turns deeper and sulkier. Why is she even listening to him this closely? “I say antiepileptics because the term anticonvulsant is no longer user, or not proper to use. Eclampsia counts as a cause of epilepsy.”

She sighs through her nose, pressing two fingers to her temple. “Alright. Antiepileptics. If we’re going to do this together, you…have to understand that I’m not used to getting along with you and I haven’t…thought about getting along with you. So, we’ll do our best to make a great presentation, and we’ll listen to each other as closely as we can without constantly interrupting ourselves. Am I correct?”

“Never planned on doing anything different.” Mark whispers, frowning deeply when they hear a bang against the wooden door. “Someone’s there.”

“Johnny!” She screeches, only to heard another bang against the door.

“Sorry, I fell!”

“Why are you listening through the door?”

“Who said I was?!”

“You’re listening right now.”

Then, the conversation goes dead silent.

“Fine.” Mark says.

“Fine.” She repeats, only to watch him open the door and that alone has her relaxing all the muscles in her body.

This will be the most horrible set of three weeks ever.

Mark can’t work in hospital settings, so he says. Yet, when he invites her to a packed-up park, the least she expects him is to see seated on a picnic cloth, wearing an oversized tank-top and reading from a neurology textbook with frowned eyebrows and squinted eyes. Even when his glasses are supposed to better his eyesight, he still has a hard time reading, it seems. The paper he has under his thigh, not even propped anywhere to be kept in place, holds scribbles of notes that he probably will forget about sooner or later. However, she inspects him from afar as she holds onto her backpack. Mark’s cheekbones tinge pink at the mere touch of the sun, short eyelashes glammed-up by the caress of the sunrays that pass by the tree over him. He has prepared some meals, too, from what she can see.

Next to him are two containers with what she can judge is bibimbap, and she wants to do nothing more than run away. Men are easier to understand when they don’t care about being nice, or people as a whole, as a matter of fact. She has never known someone that has truly been nice without expecting anything in return, and while Mark is now aware that she is not entirely pleased by his presence, he still tries to be…human.

“I wonder, sometimes, if you know about the existence of a hairbrush.” She whispers, though she doesn’t say it in a condescending way. A palm of hers splays on top of his hair, not even pushed back by gel, but messed up by the wind that tangles it in small waves. Then, she takes off her cap and places it on top of her head, only to have Mark looking up, eyes squinted because of the sunrays that probably surround her like a halo.

“I’m too lazy to do anything to it.” He says, though he doesn’t take off the cap. Instead, he turns the book around. Who would have thought Mark was a little bit of a nerd? “Did you know that magnesium sulfate is the first treatment that pops up to our heads when thinking of eclampsia, but that it is not the first line if we consider the antiepileptic treatments that are out there?”

“I stand by magnesium sulfate, and you’re not going to steal that away from me, Dr. Lee.”

“Mark.” He corrects, putting the textbook down as she sits. She looks at the pink cap on top of his head and she almost wants to laugh. He looks…innocent. “And as an obstetrician, you do. But as a neurosurgeon, I have to tell you you’re wrong.”

“Mark…”

“What?”

“We said no correcting.”

“You never said that. You said no interrupting.”

“Okay, let me read that book.”

The afternoon relays on the beauty of summer, August coming with the pressure of success as midterms arise in their residencies. However, for a moment, they are just two people studying together. She was right, though Mark doesn’t do much introduction to the meals he brought other than he made them, and while the pieces of meat he added are a bit burnt, she still eats with glee. Reading off the textbook Mark had brought while he’s lurking in his laptop and fixing their presentation, she starts to learn more from what he knows. The insight he has in the new, always lurking to be the difference, igniting protocols, excelling in research, not following after what is told and older doctors expect them to repeat.

Of course, they have to follow after what they know is correct but Mark actually ponders why such treatments are used. At some point, as Mark reads off one of the pages, she’s typing down the information on a presentation and their shared Google Document, laying on the picnic cloth and wishing the hours didn’t pass by so quickly. Now, she’s hungry again, and that doesn’t help her concentration, mind fading as she looks at the way the strap of Mark’s shirt had fallen off one of his shoulders, back dusted in endless freckles. Too many not to be noticed.

Without noticing, or perhaps, without really meaning to, she extends a hand. The tip of her finger trails a constellation of freckles on his back, his voice haltering suddenly, turning around with a jump to his movements. When their eyes connect, she can only spurt out an apology, but Mark’s eyes are widened, pulling the strap up his shoulder and almost hiding his back.

“I—I didn’t mean to make you feel insecure. Sorry.” She tells him and she’s about to let it be, but the image pops inside her head once again. And for some reason, maybe medical curiousness, she wants to know more. “You have a lot of freckles.”

Mark laughs about it, flicking a page to the side. “I didn’t have that many. I got them throughout med school.”

Her heart hammers a bit against her chest, worrying. Sure, Mark is not her favorite person, but she still doesn’t wish for him to go through real pain. “Are they benign?”

“Oh, they are freckles. Nothing like nevus or anything of that kind.” Mark replies, sparing her a look before spreading his hand on the side of his face, casting another shadow other than the one on his bottom lip. “Where I studied before I got exchanged here was really hot, so I’d have to walk to university every single day. I got severely sunburnt, even when I wore layers and layers of clothes. The skin on my back just changed tones a bit, that’s all.”

He didn’t have it easy. Sure, she had her family that could take her to classes on the first few semesters, and then it was Yoonoh helping her. She never had to go through that, but she felt for him. “Oh…” She trails, sitting up and sighing. “That’s why you decided to exchange here?”

Mark hums. “…Not really. I just wanted something different. I like being here and there. No matter the hardships.” Though, he does push the brim of his glasses higher up his nose. “The library was just a plus in our university.”

“Nerd.”

“Have to be so to be successful, don’t I?” Mark stands up at that moment, cracking his back and closing his laptop, that she had put aside. “I think I’ll head home now. Need me to give you a ride back home?”

“No.” Though, for some reason, she wishes Mark would invite her dinner. She means…it’s not like she wants to spend more time with him, but if they were both hungry, they could take a trip to the next street, where she knows there is an excellent pizza place. “I brought my car. I’ll head back home if we’re not doing much else.”

“I’ll email you what I find.”

“Same.”

With that, they both go separate ways. As it should. As it has always been meant to be.

“Has it always been common notice to you that we share the same shift?”

She scrunches up her nose upon the arrival of Mark to her triage. Where she’s locked, like a tiger ridden of its will of roaring, while Johnny is out there operating and bringing babies into the world. Luckily for her, she had sorted out all the patients of the night and after making some quick work with the stories and checking in with the hospitalized patients, at two in the morning, she can finally sit down to grab a bite of…whatever her potato puree is now. A blob, most likely. Granted, this time of the night is also when Mark finalizes his operating sessions and while his eyebags are probably on the verge of falling to the floor to match the backpack he has left there, and it shouldn’t come as a surprise to her that she sees him…again.

It has been like that for the past month, and they have gotten to exchange a few words for the last two weeks, ever since they got paired in their presentation together. However, one of the interns is seated on the desk not too far away from them, with her cheek squished against the wooden surface and lulled into the perfect world of dreamland. Johnny would give her an earful for never making the interns do anything, but she’s certain of something—the sooner she gets to do her stuff, the earlier she’ll leave tomorrow.

“I substantially tried to avoid you the first few times I noticed you were around.” Mark pushes away the container that she had set on the desk, where she was hoping that the blob wasn’t going to make her throw up or even worse later on the…morning. Yes, it’s the morning now. Midnight. Whatever it is. “Hey, I was planning on eating that.”

“You were planning on eating what was probably rotten potato. I know we attend emergencies, but I’d rather avoid having you in gastroenterology later tonight.” He announces, dragging a seat towards her and making her shush him.

“The kid’s sleeping.”

“The kid was with me last semester. Carmen. You should probably make her do something.”

“Why?”

“She never does anything! She failed last semester and needs to do well in this one. Push her to be better—”

“Ah, I can’t change people.” Mark’s far too close, though he’s not making any effort on turning her uncomfortable. Instead, he props his glasses down on the table and now, she realizes it’s the first time she has seen him without those. His hair is a mess after taking his surgery cap off, eyes puffed out, eyebrows slim and yet, somehow messy because of his palms roaming over his features. She continues speaking, because somehow talking to the person she likes the least feels liberating. “As a student, I think your value comes from how hard you work, but it’s also highly subjective. I can’t push a student to do better if they don’t feel inspired by me, and that’s just what I think. It’s like women trying to change their husbands, for example. It’s never going to happen unless he feels the need to really change, you know?”

And talking about Carmen as if she wasn’t there is a bit rude, so she nudges his side with her elbow.

“What have you brought? I’m sure it’s just as rotten as my potatoes.”

“Nope. I ordered some sushi from a place nearby.” Mark tells, opening the bag and introducing two black plastic containers which lids he takes off. The scent of freshly cooked spices, vegetables and rice has her mouth salivating. God, when was the last time she had a proper meal today? “I think they forgot the wasabi. In your mind, that must mean they don’t want to put effort into their jobs so I shouldn’t call for them to bring me my wasabi or place a complaint.”

“Precisely. Don’t be a Karen, Mark.” She replies, earning a laugh from Mark that has her neck feeling heated. He doesn’t cover up the fact that he’s genuinely happy, baring all teeth, tossing his head back and letting out a high-pitched laugh. He doesn’t let the title of a doctor rid him of the happiness in which he lives his life in, and she envies that to the point she kind of feels relieved that not everyone goes through the same thing she does. “You bought some for me?”

Mark is already lost in the magic of eating late at night, munching on a slice of sushi and letting a sprinkle of rice end on the tip of his mouth. He doesn’t notice it and she battles the twitch of her fingers to flick that piece of food away. “Of course. You know, every time I go to the operation room, I see you here, trapped in this emergency room just making the shift work. You give it your all every second you can. I wouldn’t be surprised if you hadn’t eaten a thing.”

“Thank you.” She retaliates. God, the hospital had been so cold just mere seconds ago, but since the moment Mark arrived, it feels like summers has embarked inside its walls. “I’ll have you know a little fact. Doctors are the main patients that can get type two diabetes. We eat the worst, even when we recommend to our patients to do otherwise.”

Mark crinkles his nose. “I’ll have you know something.” He tilts his head to the side, and she tries to embark in her own food and not look at him. The lulling nature of his smile, and the softness that comes with the tone of his voice, all detonators of thoughts that shouldn’t pass her brain. They’ll present the information they have gathered in the hospital’s anniversary and that will be it for them. She promises it’s just that. “I hated intern medicine. Whenever I had to read the ADA articles, I felt like a part of me died a little. It’s just…it’s so…”

“Non-surgical.”

“Exactly.” She laughs at his words, to which he responds with a twinkle in his eyes that she wants to erase, like a towel on top of a stain, rubbing away until it’s gone. Not because she wants to take the spark that makes him be so bright, but because he is…dizzying and blinding to the point of no return sometimes.

“You’re also like that. Though, I don’t know why Johnny just…doesn’t let you operate with him. You’re amazing with birth-care, but there has to be more to it.” Mark insists and she tries not to think about it. Johnny just likes doing things his way, and that’s never been wrong. They work well together, though separated. “Don’t try to defend him.”

“What? I’m not talking.”

“I know you always protect him. Johnny has gotten in so much trouble around the hospital, for reasons that I won’t judge him for because he is my friend and I know he’s a good worker, no matter how lazy he can look,” Mark stops for a moment and without noticing, she’s staring at his lips again. That fucking rice should leave, shouldn’t it? “Uh, you’re like, kind of into him, aren’t you?”

Johnny? It’s a little complicated to tell these days. “He’s different from me.”

“And?”

“I like different.” Because she can’t truly live with someone who voices out what goes inside her brain. She needs brightness in what she considers a dulling ocean of midnight thoughts. “But not a chance, Mark. Not a chance.”

“Took you too long to deny.” Mark points out, before sighing. “I’m not saying he’s not into you, I don’t want to be the guy to—”

“But he isn’t.” She replies. She knows how Johnny Suh is. That doctor can have anyone within his pocket and he does so. She’s aware of how far this crush can go, and a relationship or even a hook-up is not it. “That doesn’t hurt me, Mark.”

“I’m not saying that.”

“Alright, I’m the one saying it.”

“Don’t be so rude to yourself.” Always positive, Mark stammers. “All I’m saying is that, as his pupil, he should invite you to the operation room more often. My higher-up resident invites me and that’s why—”

Without noticing, she’s flicking a thumb over his bottom lip, moving away the rice that had gathered there. Mark’s eyes widen, his hand spreading on top of her own and she recognizes then how close they are. She sees the twitch of his tongue as it gathers his bottom lip until he traps it in between his teeth and as the sweet mood-ruin person he is, he adds:

“Ah, I—Fuck, I was talking and I had something there all along? Shit. Fuck. Uh, hold on, I’m cussing, aren’t I?” Mark, without noticing, plops another slice of sushi inside his mouth and she tries not to snort out a laugh directly at his face. “You should’ve told me.”

“We were talking about other things.” The tips of his ears are tinged red, and maybe the internal summer she’s going through is also happening to Mark Lee. “You’re blushing.”

“Fuck no.”

“You never cuss. Do you curse when you’re nervous?”

“Who said I was nervous?”

“It doesn’t take being a rocket scientist to know.” She answers, though, she doesn’t want to mortify Mark any longer, picking at her own food before giving a bite. “Either way, don’t worry about that crush. I think it’s more…admiring what he is able to do without being as inside his head as I am in mine. It’s never going anywhere. I don’t want it to.”

Mark nods, and she thinks she broke him, because he doesn’t speak for the rest of their little dinner until she resurfaces the matter of their presentation and its preparation.  

“Some sponsors are here, so I only want Mark to…you know, do the talking.”

Everyone adores Dr. Hong. He’s a neurosurgeon, head and owner of the hospital, and he was so at the mere age of fifty-two. Rather young for everything he has achieved and the textbooks he has written, she looks up to him even when she’s from a whole different field to his. However, as she wore her most elegant set of pants, flowing against recently shaven legs, along with a turtleneck that she had paid a little too much for, her shoulders fall at the sound of his voice. He’s sipping from his glass of water as people gather on their seats in the auditorium, and he says it in front of everyday, just so she doesn’t explode right at that moment.

Of course, he knows more about Mark as a student because he’s his own pupil. Nonetheless, he could have some shame. She had prepared with all the will and hardships in the world, balancing studying for her midterms and the presentation, while also investigating deeply with Mark almost every day. It’s no wonder that even Mark is a little surprised, and in the past, she would have thought he was fully aware of this. He pushes his classes to the top of his head, gasping at what Dr. Hong has just said.

“B—But…I can’t do it without her.”

“You should’ve learned both parts for the presentation.” Dr. Hong scolds, his bottle-bottom glasses making his eyes look significantly smaller. He smiles to one of the invites that briefly drops a hand on his shoulders before he’s returning to his hushed whispers with them. For a place so brightly decorated in balloons and signs in bright orange and yellow, she feels…hollow and mellow. “It’s nothing against you, darling, but people know more about Mark and his studies, and he’s more of an open personality. He’s the kind of sweet we need for an opener. Like a cocktail, you know?”

No, she doesn’t know shit about this. Because Mark gets opportunities that she doesn’t. Mark is already opening his mouth, spurting out: “It’s not fair. She worked just as hard as I did—”

Though, something that she has never gotten the benefit of, like Mark did and continues to do, is not to be disciplined. She tries to push a smile up her lips, but she’s sure it looks more like a mock. “I’d have to thank you for the opportunity, Dr. Hong, but then, I won’t stay. I haven’t…gotten enough sleep, so I’d rather leave right now.”

Dr. Hong trails his brown eyes over her features before giving her a half-hug that feels a bit forced. “I’m sorry for not telling you earlier, but you wouldn’t have worked as hard if I had done so, right?”

“Exactly, Dr. Hong. That’s how it is.” She spits out softly, giving him a curt bow before she turns around. She feels the corner of her eyes bottling up with tears, and she looks up in order not to let them fall. Familiar faces scatter across the rows of seats that feel endless, and she wishes she had gotten the chance to prove what she was made of. Maybe, another time, or that’s what she promises herself each time.

When getting out of the hospital’s auditorium, she feels the sudden need to take off her lab coat and heels right at that moment and cry like a baby just born in the world. However, as she rushes down the halls, she hears the sound of steps following after her, and she wants to say they are slow and just trying to reach the same destination as her per chance, but the elevator is within reach when Mark appears in front of her, hands extended to stop her from moving any father.

“Mark, could you move?”

“I’m not presenting that without you. You’re also the core of this investigation, I—” He’s rushed in the way he is speaking, and it surprises her that he has the heart to do what he does next. His palms gather her own in between his, trapping her and enticing their gazes to connect. Mark has the prettiest set of brown eyes, and when they are worried, they almost seem to gleam like diamonds. “Why…Why is it like this for you?”

“I guess that’s how the world works. I’m a woman, first and foremost. I’m more strong-willed than you are. I stick out like a sore thumb and being opinionated has never helped me much.” Saying those words out loud has tears dropping against her cheeks. Fuck, her makeup is ruined now. Hiccups escape her lips when she looks around, hoping that no more doctors arrive through those elevator doors just to see her cry. Fore-front, too. “Say mean shit to me, that way I’ll stop crying. God, I can’t believe I’m being such a pussy.”

“Hey…” Mark’s voice is softened, like the thumb he lets roam the brim of her knuckles. “I wouldn’t say anything mean to you. You…You hate me, for fuck’s sake, and I still wouldn’t think of you as anything more than worthy of being there more than I am. You’ve never gotten your chance to shine.”

“And I want to believe I never will, because it’s easier. Living life while being bitter just feels…more common to me.” She tells him, pushing at his chest and sighing. “Say I don’t deserve it, Mark. Just say it!”

“You do!” Mark replies, voice just as loud. She wants to shut him up, press those lips together and just let him look as handsome as he does right now, with a few buttons of his blue button down undone, gray suit clashing against the whiteness of his coat. “So please, get back in that auditorium. Let’s do things our way.”

“I…I can’t.” She responds, extending her back until her shoulders become straight, as if poised and entranced. “My pride doesn’t let me, and sure, I will probably never reach half the things you will while being like this…but if someone doesn’t want me there, I just won’t do it.”

“I want you here.”

“And when your vote counts, I hope you still wish for me to do so.” Just when she’s about to press the elevator’s button to watch the doors open, they are caught off guard. The doors do open, but a set of doctors plan on passing through by them. Mark moves quicker than she does when a small curse leaves her lips, pushing her until she’s relying on the wall, his body used as coverage as he drops his head and shelters her from the eyes of others. He is probably seeing the trails of mascara and the runny lipstick, but he doesn’t show his discomfort. Perhaps, he doesn’t feel so.

“Don’t move.”

“Don’t let them see me.” She replies, looking up at his eyes. Mark nods, though she sees the fraction of second of distraction that passes by his features. She wants to run her fingers through his hair, fix that goddamned strand that he always lets out, but that breath of connection is broken by the clearance of his throat as he gives one step back.

“They’ve left. And you’re leaving with me.” Mark complies, only to have her shaking her head.

“Not a chance.”

“I’ll carry you there.”

“You’re too shy and non-assertive to do such a thing, so I’m not worried.” Rubbing a hand against her eye and perhaps, ruining her makeup even more, she says: “Just go steal the show, Mark, you’ve done it time and time again. Why not do it now?”

“I know how much this means to you now. I didn’t…I didn’t know when we graduated just how much you care about education.”

“Well, shit just happens.” Before Mark could say anything else, she pops inside the elevator, hearing him bang his fists against the doors when she closes them with rushed fingertips against the buttons. Soon after, she’s sighing when dropping herself against the wall, looking up at the bright lightbulb and feeling more tears gathering and dropping. One by one, like her worries, piling up until she doesn’t know what to do with them.

Somehow, she can’t hate Mark at this moment. Not this time around. Yoonoh would probably laugh at her for giving Mark excuses for always getting her chances, but it’s not like he doesn’t deserve it, either. He may be the kind of person people want posing on pictures and being their doctor, and that’s something she has to live with. Not being his shadow, but also, not shining on her own. One day, it will come—and she hates that she’s thinking like this, because she’s starting to sound like Mark.

A month later.

She uses the pendant as a joke.

Dr. Hong wanted to apologize in some way or another—or so she wants to believe. Isn’t there something along the line of bosses being very political and not wanting to look bad in front of their workers?—, so he decided to give his staff necklaces as a gift. Necklaces and keychains, she forgets about that sometimes, but she’s reminded when she feels the new weight of a pendant against the lines of her palms. But, that’s not what she decided to sport ironically today, as she’s wearing her favorite pair of gray scrubs and a braid that she learned how to do on a TikTok video. The point is…that Dr. Hong must have made a mistake, because when he gave her the box that was supposed to hold her necklace with her name as a pendant, she got Mark’s instead.

Today is Thursday, a month after they were paired together to work on that presentation that was, according to the attendees, the best one to date coming from residents of this hospital. However, she doesn’t want to ponder back and forth on what could have been. Instead, she’s knowledgeable of the fact that Mark should be consulting his post-operation patients today. Hence, she pops through the neurosurgery portion of the hospital, greeting a few familiar faces with a nod of her head—and a swing of her hand against someone’s shoulder, when the newest intern and last year student, Na Jaemin, decides to give her a hug a little too tight and call her by name instead of doctor—, and clinging to the necklace as if it is her pride and joy.

She waits for the last patient to leave, and she remembers Mark talking about this case. An astrocytoma that he had extracted and was scared of the neurological outcome of the patient. Luckily for him, the patient was not walking on two feet, but when he pushed his wheel-chair away from the consulting room, he was talking to his partner. She smiles, pushing the door open once again and not missing the way Mark perks up at that moment, always eager to welcome his patients.

“Oh, Mr. Jude, did you happen to forget something—?” Mark stops on his tracks when he turns around, seeing her with a shit-eating grin that must be weird for him to look at. Through the other wall of the consulting room, the specialist must be working and examining the patients that Mark presents to him, but for now, only the two of them are left in this room. “…You’re happy.”

“I can be.” Though, she sprints and jumps a bit on her step as she moves closer to him. Mark is already speaking, not paying too much attention to her, just because he had seen her in these scrubs before.

“Dr. Hong made a huge mistake. I have this necklace that was supposed to go to you. But either way, how are you doing?” Mark’s unaware of the way she fidgets with the necklace around her neck, leaning back on his desk and looking through a few of the papers his handwriting his scribbled on, when she shrugs her shoulders.

“It’s okay. I am supposed to go check how the patients are doing upstairs and then, head back to the emergency room to check on a patient I had with a vaginal infection. Well, she contacted me outside the hospital and wanted some help because it’s recurrent, but whatever.” Once again, she wiggles her eyebrows at him. “Mark, I need you to look at me.”

“Yeah,” Mark’s, once again, lost in his thoughts, before he’s frowning. “You need me to look at you? Do you have anything? Oh God, how’s the Glasgow? Are you having memory loss?”

“No, dumbass.” She rolls her eyes, swinging the necklace back and forth. “What’s different?”

“The hair?” Mark snaps his fingers, happiness trailing after his smile. “It looks lighter!”

“No wonder you wear glasses.” She gets closer to him, still holding onto her necklace, and perhaps, Mark does have that medical eye that everyone prides him on, because a motion of his gaze across her body that electrifies the utmost recondite portions of her muscles has him squinting his eyes at the necklace and then, she full on laughs at his realization. “I knew I got the wrong necklace, but I thought it would be funny. It kind of looks like one of those couple things, doesn’t it? Like that Taylor Swift song—”

Mark’s pupils dilate, eyes darkened. As a matter of fact, she expected him to be a stuttering, sweating mess at this point. She must not know all sides of Mark Lee, precisely. His digits trace the necklace with just the tip before he’s engulfing the pendant in his palm. She looks at him, watching the even breathing, rising and falling of his thorax, followed by the purse of his lips and the eccentricity of the simplest of movements from his eyebrows. He rotates the pendant, studies it with fervor, before he tugs her closer by it. The skin of her nape arises in goosebumps, throat contracting in a thick swallow when she finally realizes that Mark is just not a cute, quite obnoxious and oblivious, guy that she can play around with.

There is a man in there.

The broadness of his shoulders, barriers to the smallness of his waist, clashing worlds that come together with the scent of his perfume and…is that an aftershave? Mark uses an aftershave?

Maybe, she had been unable to see what really made him so attractive to the rest of the world.

His chin perches up, looking at the necklace from underneath his eyelashes. “Don’t take it off.” He musters, deep from within his chest, rumbling in a vibrato that has the curve of her back deepening and transcending towards him.

“What?” Now she’s the one stammering, and it’s incredible that Mark has this kind of power.

“It looks…great on you.” And the way he toys with the silver material, rotating it in the axis of his index finger, has her aware of how awfully close the digit is to her skin, as if the desire to have that finger trailing down the column of her throat and towards the expanse of her chest is…unbearable.

Summer. He has brought summer to her face again. It’s not a blush, she swears.

“It has your name.”

“So what? It still looks amazing on you.” Mark recites, pulling away to hoist her chin in between his index and thumb before he moves her face from side to side.

“Do you have a fascination with necks, Mark?”

“Not that I know of. Could be my debut as a neck-fascinator, y’know.” He jokes around, and she would laugh if it wasn’t for the tightened knot in the pit of her chest. When he lets go of her, she feels like she can finally breathe, and why is that something that comes out as poor in comparison to the way his touch feels on her? “As much as I would like to keep talking to you, I have more patients waiting for me outside and…” He moves over to the door, and she’s eager to have him opening it so she can cool off, but when his hand spreads on the doorknob, he adds, while looking at her: “Shit, don’t take it off, okay?”

She would have laughed at herself years ago if she heard herself saying, in a small tone: “I won’t, Mark.”

Four months later.

“Care to explain why Mark Lee’s drunken ass is in your birthday party? Because I’m all for change of pace, but this is a whole new story we’re talking about.”

She had missed Yoonoh, dearly, so when he had decided to tag along to her dinner birthday party with his new girlfriend, she thought it would be the greatest of ideas. She must have forgotten that in between all the mess that is being a resident, and also the fact that Mark’s position in her life is as much of a question mark—pun intended—as it is settled, she had not told Yoonoh about his existence as a…well, friend? Supposedly?

Yoonoh’s hair is shorter, bleached with the tips painted in a bright pink, and she has to adjust to the colors even when the restaurant is bathed in colors of purple and blue, the VIP section pushed into the agenda of her birthday thanks to Mark’s idea. He had been the one behind all this, but how does one say that to Yoonoh when he was there, listening to her complain about Mark’s existence, for whole months? She wouldn’t stop talking about him.

She tilts her head back, moistening her mouth with a daiquiri before shrugging. “Life happens. Mark had to work on a project with me and then, we just…I’m not going to say we’re friends.”

Yoonoh bares his teeth as a wolf would do before eating its prey alive. Yes, she’s the prey, but she’s just going to get shit-eating grins the entire night. “Oh, but you’re so friends. Tell me, what is it that has made you forgive him for putting you through the biggest turmoil of your life?”

Considering that he is now standing on a table, swinging hips from side to side in a comic way, with a few buttons of his shirt undone and almost popping a nipple, she’s thinking that he wasn’t that much of a threat to start with. “Just look at him. He’s singing Fifty-Fifty. A man that truly wants to ruin your entire life wouldn’t make hearts while karaoke-ing to ‘Cupid.’”

“I wouldn’t put it that way. Men are menaces, me being a man is enough for me to prove it.” And the way Yoonoh has slowly pulled away from his new girlfriend, letting her go get drinks on her own side as she’s now talking with a whole different group of women, lets her know that, maybe, just maybe, he’s not the best one to date. Johnny is somewhere around, too, speaking with a few other residents of the Gyn-Ob program. “Is he treating you well?”

“Don’t start with the brother talk.”

“I’m not giving you the brother talk.”

“Well, you’re asking me questions a brother would think about when his sister has a new boyfriend but hey, newsflash, I don’t—”

“I don’t like Mark Lee, she said, totally lying to herself. Come on, you’ve been eye-fucking him.”

“What do you know? You’re drunk.”

“Two of these?” He holds the two empty soju bottles he has around him. “Don’t bother me. Cupid boy over there, though? He’s on cloud nine and I think it’s about time we slice the cake and take him home.”

“You just want cake.”

Yoonoh quirks a perfectly trimmed eyebrow before chuckling. “Trust me, babe, I’m getting a good slice of cake tonight, but the sweet kind wouldn’t do me wrong, either.”

This memory could be one for the books, considering Yoonoh has one arm wrapped around Mark’s shoulder as they both drunkenly—or not so—sing into the camera Yoonoh is holding on one hand the goddamned birthday song. She’s clapping along, laughing when Mark dips a finger into the icing and tries to smear it on the tip of her nose but completely misses.

Okay, maybe he doesn’t handle soju just as well.

Yoonoh says his goodbyes and finally decides to return to his date, or girlfriend, or whatever it is that he calls women in his life these days. That’s the moment she wraps an arm around Mark’s shoulder, hoisting her hand until she’s clasping the two ends of his button down closed so he doesn’t show more of his chest. For his sake. Or hers.

“I didn’t ask for nudity tonight.” Mark’s cheeks tinge pink and he laughs at her words, shaking his head.

“Dude, I’m not naked.” Though, he does take a second glance, creating a double-chin when he looks down at his chest and then, it’s her turn to giggle. “See? I didn’t have to check or anything.”

“I’m taking you home.”

“But Johnny’s still here!”

“Don’t care. I’m taking you home. Enough celebrating. It’s four in the morning, not my birthday anymore.” She replies, tugging him along with her as she carries on her empty hand a bag with the half-eaten burger he had left on his plate on a container and the slices of cake respective to them. She waves the hand that she has on Mark’s chest as a goodbye to the rest of the group before they’re engulfed by the night. “Okay, Mark—”

He’s not in this world, or this night, because he’s singing slowly to himself: “I’m feeling lonely. Oh, I wish I could find a lover that could—”

“Mark.”

“Hold me.” He does a few runs with his voice at that moment, which is not unpleasant, but definitely uncalled for as she is trying to take them back home.

“I need you to do either one of two things. Reach into my purse and grab my car keys, or button your shirt so you don’t die of a cold.” He chooses the latter, popping his hand inside her purse and lurking around. His body rolls on the curve of her arm, a crease growing between his brows as he tries his best to find the key in this darkened night. From the closeness, she can smell the soju in his breath, mixed with the mustard that he reapplied on the burger that was served to him.

“I’m on it. Just give me…a second.”

“We don’t have many seconds.”

“Eh, eh, dude, no rushing.” Mark complains, dragging his voice. “A true surgeon doesn’t rush, you know?”

“I’m an obstetrician-to-be.”

“Babies take time, too, you know? To make them, pop them out…” Mark’s voice starts to face until he grabs the keys, grabbing them harshly in the palms of his hands before smiling. “Here they are! We can go…back…home…” His tone grows duller when he looks at her, faces inherently close, in positions that almost translate to being chest to chest, only separated by the purse in between them, and it doesn’t help that she has one arm wrapped around his waist. “Can you smell the mustard?”

“Mark—” She’s about to pull away, but Mark tugs her closer, perfecting the position she had put them in. He wraps both hands around her waist, molding and digging until all she feels is his skin, muscles and bones. His abdomen contracts against her own, insufferably tight and making her own stomach flip a bunch of times. The breeze plays with the hair he lets fall on his forehead and she swears she sees a hint of condensation in his glasses.

“I’m sorry. All I’ve done is ruin every opportunity I’ve had with you.” Mark whispers, almost like a drunken blues, before he licks his lips. His eyes divert to the necklace hanging in between her collarbones, his name still there, most of the time covered by her coat at work or her scrubs, but he wears her name around her neck, as well. She’s sure someone has figured out their little game by now. “…But you still wear the necklace.”

Freezing is the tip of his nose against her septum, trailing against the skin as his lips part. The shuddering breath he lets out speaks a thousand languages, each more confusing than the other. Those eyes of his remain closed, while she only looks at him. The crease of his brows, the trembling of his bottom lip and the palpable need to kiss her, only to be interrupted by his own insecurities:

"Just kiss me." She pleads, though she would have never imagined that her voice would let out such things. Mark was supposed to be the man she hated for the rest of her professional life, but somewhere in between, the lines had blurred.

"I can't." Mark announces and when he doesn’t let go of her waist, she knows that said words don’t mean that he doesn’t want to. “Because I don’t know if us wearing our names on each other’s neck means we are really good friends, or that you want to kiss me just as bad. And you may have a stronger heart than I do, taking disappointment after disappointment, accepting life to be unfair with you, but I am not quite as strong as you are.”

He breathes in deeply and she takes that as a cue of him not being over his speech.

“I’m afraid you’ll break me.”

“I would never.” She admits, trailing her nose to the skin of his cheeks, deepening the tip on the hollow where his dimples form, before breathing his scent deeply. “Mark, I’m tired of running from things just because I am bitter. I don’t want to be bitter anymore. If life is going to suck, then, at least I want to say I tried having a good thing, however way it turns out.”

When he dips his mouth to taste hers, he does it as if he can’t handle the tremor of his lips. He’s unused to her motions, growing impatient and then, falling back into rhythm. One can feel that he’s nervous, but that doesn’t stop him. He puts the effort to trace the outline of her mouth with a simple caress of his lips, puckering them up the slightest in a peck before he’s parting them to grant himself the benefit to learn the shape of her upper lip and her bottom one. She sighs against his mouth, finally pushing back that one hair that he never brushes back quite well, guiding his mouth deeper into her own. For him to finally scratch that source of curiousness that had built to be a warm feeling at the tip of her stomach, and the bottom of her heart.

She had once not known who Mark Lee was.

“Y/n~” he plays with your name, slik voice speaking is softly and surely, “don’t start” he warns lowly, his words causing a shiver to run down your spin but you enjoy them anyway, loving the way his voice speaks the words so delicately like music ringing in your ears. It sounds more like an invitation, like you’re being brought into a daydream, a wonderland. A smirk of satisfaction takes place on your lips as you lean in, finally allowing your plush lips to connect. Thought he seems teasingly hesitant he couldn’t help but be inexorably attracted to your lips, taking no more time to respond before kissing you back with urgency, allowing your lips to mold and melt into one, fitting together perfectly like pieces of a puzzle as his hand grasp your waist harshly causing a shaky whimper to bubble up your throat, escaping as your lips move in sync. He hushes you when you feel the wide, mischievous grin against your lips, his other hand making its way to cup the nape of your neck madly pushing you further into his embrace eager to taste all of you. You tilt your head, gaining more access, making the kiss more passionate as his tongue wetly glides into your mouth, fighting for dominance as the blood abandons your cheeks to awaken other, more sensitive parts of your body. You swallow back, desperately trying to silence the noises you want to make as he sinks his teeth on your lower lips burning away any sense of control you had left before pulling away just to watch you chase his lips, your eyes full of desire as you stare at his lips, itching to continue, just loving how worked up you get, eyes searching for yours. You both huff into each others mouth, feeling the warm air between you both before meeting his tempting gaze, a pout forming on your lips as his teasing settles in and hits you, but he does nothing but stare back with a cocky smirk on his lips, melting away any innocence there was left. The way his eyes pierce through yours makes your head spin and legs week, your being becoming liquid with just one look.

His eyes darken as his smirk tugs wider once again, enjoying your reaction a lot more then he expects as his lips pecks yours, giving you nothing else before moving down to your jaw, nibbling small love bites as his lips continues down. His lips quickly attach to your neck as he sucks against your soft skin, eyes still focused on you. Your head hangs back, mouth gaped open as the tingling sensation keeps building up in your stomach with every lazy kiss he gifts you with, claiming your body and marking you as his.

He mumbles sweet nothings against the skin of your collarbone as you lose yourself Into him all over again and though he doesn’t mean to, he feels his sense of control dropping as his kisses become rougher, biting purple butterflies on your delicate skin, not being able to handle the temptations of you. He doesn’t know if it’s the stress of his work or the way your body responds so needly with every touch, his usual self becomes blinded by you as he falls deeper, craving more than just a few sensual kisses, craving you entirely. He wants to feel his body against yours as you moan his name sweetly with every pleasure that floods your body. He wants to feel himself buried deeply inside you, hitting your spot over and over again as you grip his hair harshly, letting out the most lewd sounds, gasping and moaning, so whiny so needy, loving every thrust he pounds into you. Tears staining your cheeks as small hairs stick to your forehead, sweat glistening agains your sensitive skin. A sight only he gets to see, a sight he will get to see.

He allows his thoughts to take over his actions, with his hands wrapped around your hips he guides you, placing your back against the couch seats, moving your position so he is now hovered over you before his lips joins yours once again, muffling the gasp caught in your throat. His intoxicating kisses being taking over with such deprived lust as his hands roam your body like it’s the first time he’s ever touched you.

His hands finally rests at your neck as he finally forces himself to pull away, his warm breath hitting against your lips as he speaks breathlessly, “you deserve it best” the words rolling off his tongue right onto your lips as he speaks sternly,

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ mark lee

mark had spent the last few hours hunched over the soundboard, paper and pen clutched in hand as he racked his brain for something, anything that would make the verse he was writing not entirely dull. but it was so hard to think, to conjure a single logical or productive thought, when you were sat right beside him, doing what you were.

your fingertips are scratching at his scalp, right above the nape of his neck. meanwhile, your other hand busies itself on his thigh, nails tracing random shapes over the material his sweats. frustrated, tired, and in a haze of unorganized thoughts and ideas, mark rolls his head back into the palm of your hand with a low hiss.

“something about this verse doesn't sound right,"

"i think you've just been looking at it too long," you press your lips softly into his cheek and he sighs at the feeling.

"maybe," hums mark, "i just want to finish already,"

"what if,” you whisper, “you take a break for a few minutes, that way you can look at it with new eyes, find out what’s wrong with it.”

the feeling of your breath on the shell of his ear makes his hair stand on end. the bare minimum— that’s all you have to do and you have mark’s head spinning, analyzing whether or not your alleged ‘break’ really implied something else. immediately, he feels the blood rush to his-

what is he doing? he needs to keep working on the song.

he shakes his head. mark readjusts his pants, but the gesture doesn't go unnoticed by you. you're quick to catch the way he fixes himself and wipes the sweat off his palms. “babe,” he tries.

“yes?” your voice is sweet and airy, resembling a pant, with fingers lightly trailing his waistline.

“baby.” there’s an underlying warning to his tone this time; nevertheless, you can sense the bit of desperation he fails to hide.

with your thumb, you lift the waistband and slip your hand inside in one smooth motion. at the same time, your lips attach to his neck.

"i need to finish the song," his head tilts to make space for you, contradicting his words, and you smirk against his skin as you feel him gulp.

"you need a break, baby,"

"mmph," why did you have him so hooked, "no, i need to work-"

"then work," you place your hand on him over his underwear, "no one's stopping you,"

you're giving his bulge a squeeze, teeth grazing his neck, when mark mentally thanks the heavens that he's sitting. otherwise, he's sure his knees would've given out.

"yeah, but," he gasps, "i can't focus with your hand down my—oh, fuck."

ੈ♡˳

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ huang renjun

"jun,"

renjun hums in response, not looking up from the book on his chest. he's lying down, eyes scanning the text on the pages while his other hand rests on his stomach, fingers bouncing mindlessly.

with a pout settled on your bottom lip, you sit beside him on your knees, practically begging for any bit of his attention.

all of your attempts to divert his focus away from that damned book have been overlooked. you tried changing your shirt, toying with your bra, and nothing. he didn't even bother to try and sneak a glance when you pulled up your skirt, flashing your pink panties at him.

it was all getting rather annoying.

daringly, your place your hand over his, maneuvering it slowly down until you stop right over his crotch.

"tsk tsk," he moves his hand back up, "what are you doing?"

"junnie," you mewl, fingers tracing the outline of him.

he remains unmoving until you decide you've had enough. when your hand goes into his pants, his lips part slightly, sharply drawing in a breath, and his eyes finally break away from the page to look at you. they're wide open in shock.

"i've been trying to get your attention for the last 20 minutes,"

"well, you should've just asked." he laughs, sounding a little cocky. your eyes narrow at him when he speaks again, "i'll make it up to you, sweet baby," when he goes to close the book, you stop the motion of your wrist, a devilish idea coming to mind.

"no,"

"what?"

"i want you to keep reading," you say matter-of-factly. he's taken aback when your strokes get bolder and you feel him getting harder in your hand, "since you didn't want to pay any attention to me, you can keep reading."

"but i wanna make you feel good-"

"keep reading or i'll stop."

renjun picks up his book hurriedly and flips it open to where he left off. this time, when you pull your shirt off, his eyes are roaming your skin rather than the words of his novel, shallow breaths leaving his parted lips.

he's fully hard now, a flustered mess, uttering whispered pleas of your name.

"baby, that feels so-" he whines quietly.

"focus on your book."

"i can't focus with your hand down my—oh, fuck." his hips buck up into your hand, book falling to the side as he comes into your fist.

ੈ♡˳

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ lee jeno

about five minutes ago, you were cursing the day you ever let your boyfriend talk you into working out with him.

jeno is normally sweet, shy, affectionate, considerate, but for some reason, when he steps through the doors of the gym, he discovers each and every new way to push all of your buttons.

he’d try to… encourage you throughout your routine, which resulted in you guys bickering the whole way home because he “just couldn’t let you do it at your own pace.” that, or he’d all-together forget about you until he was done with his own work out, headphones plugged in and blasting for 2, sometimes even 3 hours.

tonight, he had dragged you to a small gym that he claimed had less people, for your comfort and his privacy as an idol, and while that was true, you couldn’t help but think to yourself, of course there’s going to be less people— no one is at the gym at two in the fucking morning.

now, however, you’re leaning against the wall, fully over even attempting to finish your work out, watching as jeno does his usual bicep curls in nothing but his tiny black shorts and a matching tank that is skin-tight.

his jaw is locked and tense, face twisting as he strains while pulling up the weights during the rep. sweat makes the ends of his hair stick to his forehead, and when he’s done, he huffs, chest heaving. even the way he grabs his water to gulp it down is messing with your head.

yeah… maybe you didn’t hate the gym that much.

you don’t know what’s different about today, but you’ve been rubbing your thighs together for the last 30 minutes, hoping he’d announce soon that he’s close to done. when that moment never comes, you take matters into your own hands.

“hi, jen,” you stride over to him, a sly smile playing at your lips.

“hey, pretty baby. i’m almost finished, i just have to do-“

blatantly disregarding what he was talking about, you lean in until your lips are kissing the corner of his, “i can’t watch you work out anymore,” you whine, “it’s driving me crazy,”

confused and oblivious as ever, jeno pulls his eyebrows together, “well, i’m sorry, i thought you liked coming here with me-“

“not that kind of crazy, love,” your hand grabs his, guiding it between your legs, “the kind where i want you to bend me over any piece of equipment in here.”

“w-wha-well, i uhm-“

he swallows thickly when you bring your other hand into his shorts, grabbing his dick and pumping it a few times. his hand stays between your legs, though he doesn’t move.

“baby, i promise,” he pants, “this is my last set and then i’m taking you home and we can-“

“why can’t we do it here?”

“are you insane? what if somebody comes in? i have-shit- i have one more set and- ohh, aah-“

“jeno?”

"i can't focus with your hand down my—oh, fuck."

jeno’s arm flies back to lean his weight against whatever machine is behind him, trying to stay upright. his fingers finally start moving, rubbing some much needed friction to the spot between your legs. his brain has become mush in less than 2 minutes, lost in the pleasure that you’re giving him. his work out is long forgotten as he groans out your name.

ੈ♡˳

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ lee donghyuck

"you can't sleep with your makeup on, doll," hyuck grumbles, "stop fighting me on this,"

he straddles your lap to keep you from wiggling around, hovering over you with a make-up removing wipe wrapped between his long fingers.

his cheeks are a delicious shade of red, shiny from the sheer layer of sweat that covers his pretty features. he looks boyish and unruly, hair falling messily over his glossed-over eyes as they stare into your own.

your face is surely mirroring his, flushed from all of the drinks in your system. what started as a date night with your boyfriend ended with you having close to a bottle and half of wine each, not that you’re complaining. his body is warm above yours, clouding your judgement more than the alcohol ever could. greedily, your hands wander up his thighs.

hyuck is rambling and slurring distractedly, using the scented wipe to gently swipe away the remnants of product from under your eyes, "it's not good for your skin if you leave your makeup on, you know that-" you can't even focus on what he's lecturing you on because his lips are stained red from the wine, and he seems to have been licking them, given how wet they are.

"hyuck, baby."

"-yes?"

you pucker up your lips, "give me a kiss."

he complies with a cheeky smile, mouth molding obediently against yours. he lets out a throaty moan at your affection.

your fingers fly to the button on his jeans, undoing them. hyuck quickly pulls back, “baby, let me take off your makeup first,”

“but i wanna feel you,” you mumble innocently, hands reaching for the hem of his underwear.

“oh, believe me,” as maliciously as ever, he tongues his cheek, eyebrows wiggling, “you will.”

working as fast and gently as possible, he continues to wipe your face, jaw tightening as you grope him, “hmm, y/n.”

“what’s wrong, baby?”

"i can't focus with your hand down my—oh, fuck." his head falls into the crook of your shoulder and he shudders at the feeling of your cool hands wrapping around his base. under your palm, you feel him twitch, but hyuck is determined to remain unfazed and not engage in your little game until he’s done.

he composes himself and sighs. another wipe is taken from the pack, softly cleaning your forehead and cheeks.

“shit–alright,” he seethes as you squeeze his tip. hyuck tosses the wipe aside, grunting. your boyfriend roughly grabs your face with one hand, making you stop your teasing, “all done.”

instantly, he leans in, letting his lips meet yours again. this kiss is more lustful than the last; it’s sloppy and needy, and when he pulls away for air, he stays so close that he practically breathes his next words into your mouth, “i should’ve left your makeup on so you could watch me ruin it.”

ੈ♡˳

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ na jaemin

it's unfortunate that you're a light sleeper, seeing as it makes it quite difficult for your boyfriend to do something nice for you.

this morning, jaemin had woken up an hour before you usually do with the intention to surprise you by making breakfast and delivering it to you in bed.

he had everything worked out: he set his alarm on his phone and kept it tucked under his pillow so he could rush to silence it once he woke up, hoping that you'd continue to sleep undisturbed. from there, he rolled out of bed as quietly as possible, tip-toeing out of your bedroom and into the kitchen to make you the best breakfast-in-bed ever.

everything was going according to plan, until now. he had just scooped the first bit of pancake batter into the pan when the padding of your feet alerts him of your presence. your arms wrap around his waist, nose nuzzling into his back.

like a child who didn’t get his way, jaemin whines out and stomps his feet a bit, "babe, you weren't supposed to be up yet.”

"i felt you get up, jaem," you laugh, "let me help you-"

"nope! you're not allowed to do anything. this was supposed to be a surprise,"

"alright, fine."

when you try to pull away to get ahead on the dishes, jaemin's hand drags you back in, right to where you were on his waist.

well, if he won't let you let you help in the kitchen, maybe you can help a different way.

mischievously, your teeth graze his back and shoulders, hands sliding under his shirt to feel the muscles on his stomach, which immediately tense at the contact of your cold fingers. when your actions elicit a reaction from him, a small knowing scoff that told you that he knew exactly what you were up to, you continue your efforts, trailing down to loosen the drawstrings of his joggers.

"oh, yeah," he hums when you touch him. no more than a second later, the free hand that isn’t busy flipping pancakes comes down to wrap over yours, guiding it up and down on his length, “you’re so naughty.”

"i just wanna repay you for getting up early to make me breakfast,"

"if you keep going," he whimpers, "i might end up wanting something else for breakfast," jaemin's chest is heaving at this point.

"the food's gonna burn," you half-heartedly warn, mercilessly continuing your pace.

"well, it just might 'cause i can't focus with your hand down my—oh, fuck."

there's a clattering noise when the pan is pushed back and off the heat, the spatula dropping onto the counter as jaemin pulls your hand and his from his pants.

he quickly flips off the stove and turns to you, hands wrapping around your thighs to pick you up, situating you on the empty kitchen island.

“breakfast can wait.” he mumbles, then captures your mouth in a kiss.

ੈ♡˳

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ zhong chenle

“chenle.”

“the game’s almost over,”

“chenle!”

“there’s 10 minutes left!”

“you’re watching highlights! you can literally watch those whenever!”

“now is also whenever!” he cleverly retorts.

okay, think. that’s the third video he’s watched in a row, the third time he’s fed you the same explanation and promised that this highlight video would be the last.

so, think: how can you get him off his stupid phone?

“you wanna watch your highlights? okay,” you shrug, sitting beside him on the couch.

“okay?” he asks, as if your previous statement is entirely foreign to him, and truthfully, it is. you had never given up so easily before. in fact, chenle had grown to love the banter. half of the time, the only reason he really insists on watching his highlight clips for so long is because he loves to watch you yearn for his attention.

“yep.”

“i’ll be done after this one,” he reminds you, watching closely for your reaction.

you nod nonchalantly, “right.” and give him a forced smile.

you give him a few seconds to get back into the video before you bring your hand over to his thigh. as expected, he doesn’t say anything, continuing his act in hopes that you’ll go back to urging him to shut the video off.

but this time, unlike the others, you remain just as stoic, sneakily inching closer and closer. it’s only a matter of time before he catches on, so you reach over in one motion and undo the button of his pants, putting your hand inside.

oh. so that’s your play?

you catch onto the way his eyes widen for a fleeting moment, but he’s quick to cover it up.

gently, you rub him, leaning in to leave kisses on his cheek, the kind that are so light and soft that they invite goosebumps to spread through his neck and arms.

he resists all urges to shudder or succumb to your touch; instead, he opts for taking his bottom lip between his teeth, a last measure to remain sane as you pleasure him. he can’t care less about the highlights anymore, but he’s stubborn and refuses to lose, so his eyes stay locked on the screen although his thoughts are entirely elsewhere.

you’re supposed to beg for him, not the other way around.

but that’s easier said than done, especially when you’re palming him, pre-cum leaking from his tip as his mind wanders off the game, clinging to everything that is you.

chenle squeezes his eyes shut for a second.

“what’s the matter?”

“nothing.” he says through gritted teeth.

you keep toying with him, bringing your other hand to the button of your own shorts. at this, chenle’s eyes snap over and he mentally curses, blowing air through his nostrils harshly.

his fingers are turning white from the way he’s gripping his phone with so much force. every stroke of your hand is wearing him down, bringing him closer to his climax, but he doesn’t want to finish yet, not before he’s been inside of you.

“chenle, baby, you’re not even watching-“

“yeah, i know, that’s because i can't focus with your hand down my—oh, fuck."

ੈ♡˳

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ park jisung

“and then, if you press these buttons, your attack upgrades and deals more damage…”

if you’re being honest, everything jisung has said about his new switch game, which he’s explaining to you with so much interest and passion, is going in one ear and out the other.

it’s not that you don’t care, you do! you’re more than happy to sit and listen to him go on about something he’s excited about, but you simply don’t know what’s gotten into you today.

all you can seem to focus on is him.

his lips are plump, looking softer and more kissable than ever, and you think you may pass out when his tongue darts out to wet them. now, they’re glossed over, just like his pretty brown eyes that reflect the video game screen from the console resting on his chest.

your leg lies across his body, unable to keep still with the ache starting to flourish at your core. you’re practically grinding on his thigh and he’s oblivious as ever.

the fingers that hug his waist have now developed a mind of their own: they dance over his stomach and travel south until they make their way under jisung’s waistband.

“what-“ he clears his throat to cover the way his voice cracks, “what are you doing?”

“what are you talking about?”

all of his muscles tense up, “with your, uhm, hand?”

“oh,” you feign surprise, batting your eyes with innocence as if there could be no another reason your hand was holding his crotch, “it’s warm, my fingers were getting cold,”

he nods rather awkwardly, mumbling something that implies he understands and tries to continue with his explanation.

key word: tries.

his speech is a mess and a nervous sweat has broken out on his forehead. he’s even begun to explain things about the game wrong, spewing out nervous laughs in between weak apologies.

as hard as he’s trying to keep his act together, there’s one thing that blatantly gives him away. under your hand, you can feel him getting hard, and he knew it, too.

the entire time he’s talking, he’s growing harder and harder in your palm and you just cant resist moving a bit.

“aah, that feels-“

“so, what does that character do, again?”

jisung blinks at you with wide eyes, an look of disbelief on his face. after a pause, he answers you quietly.

“they—mmh, they shoot these uhm-“

you nod teasingly, “uh-huh?”

“these fireballs that-“ defeated, he groans out, “baby…”

“woah, fireballs?!”

“baby, i’ll tell you about the game later. right now, i-“ he sets the switch aside and you pout in false disappointment.

“what? why?”

"because—i can't focus with your hand down my—oh, fuck."