đđšđ§âđ đ„đđđŻđ đđ đđąđ§. â heeseung lee oneshot.
summary. You spend your 20s exactly how you planned it to beâfun, fearless, and unattached. Until your mom introduces you to her old high school friendâs son, who looks exactly like the man you spent one reckless night in another city convincing yourself youâd never see again.
pairing. heeseung x fem!reader
content / warnings. one night stand (flashback, brief), producer!hee, unemployed!reader, the moms are in this, one mention of jungwon, maeumi, nicknames!, protected p in v, oral (fem rec.), fingering, riding, nipple play, lmk if i miss anything xx
w.c. 14k
JUNE 2025
âMy headâs throbbing.â
You mutter as you drive to your parents house. Your mom mentioned about inviting her old friend over, who lived across the country, in another city saying something about her staying over for a few days.
You sigh at the thought, blaming the pounding in your skull on last nightâs cocktails with your girl friends and the tiny hairs still sticking to your damp shirt from a morning shower. Youâre not ready for polite family small talk, questions about your job or relationshipâor the endless commentary about how âyou should really be settling down.â
You pull over your parentsâ street, already noticing a whole luggage outside the house.
âSeems like sheâs here.â You mutter to yourself, as you got out the car, quickly looking at the mirror to make yourself presentable, and totally not hangover.
Grabbing your bag, you try to summon your most convincing âIâm totally togetherâ expression. If your momâs friend was anything like she described, this was going to be a lot of chatter, a lot of smiles, and probably a few pointed questions about your love life that you werenât ready to answer.
You knock on the door. âIâm home!â you annouce, and almost immediately, you hear your momâs footsteps scampering over to open it. You chuckle at her cutenessâalways so excited to see you, even when you barely had your life together.
âFinally!â she exclaimes, practically dragging you inside. âYouâre just in timeâsheâs already here!â
You groan inwardly, bracing yourself for endless small talk and awkward introductions, but couldnât help smiling at your momâs enthusiasm.
When you came inside the house, in the living room, a middle-aged ladyâseemingly the same age as your momâsits on the couch, her posture polite but relaxed. She looks around with a warm smile that could make anyone feel immediately welcome, though your hungover brain mostly registered her as an interruption to your carefully curated morning recovery.
âShe must be Mrs. Lee,â you say, glancing at your mom, who was practically glowing with excitement. You couldnât help but grin despite yourselfâyour mom always had a way of lighting up a room, and apparently, it was contagious.
âOh, my, she had grown up to be such a fine young lady!â Mrs. Lee greets with a smile, hugging you warmly.
You return the hug with a polite squeeze, your head still pounding from last night and your brain screaming too early for this kind of energy. âThank you,â you mutter, secretly hoping your slightly messy hair and damp shirt werenât too obvious.
âIâve been telling her so much about you!â your mom chimes in, practically beaming. âAll good things, of course.â
You smile faintly, wondering exactly how much she had told her friend about your chaotic, fun-filled nights out with friendsâand mentally prepare yourself for a gentle roasting session disguised as small talk.
But Mrs. Lee just look at you softly, a motherly smile plastered on her face, as if she could see right through all the bravado you were trying to put on. It was the kind of smile that made you feel both warm and a little⊠exposed.
âWhat about your boy, Lee?â Your mom asks and Mrs. Lee claps her hands as if remembering a completely important detail.
âRight, right!â She laughs. âI told him to buy us some fruits at the supermarket! We canât stay here and come empty-handed.â She smiles, in which your mom joking hits her arm. âWhat a hassle! But, thank you anyway,â
Mrs. Lee looks over to you. âI feel like you and my son could be such good friends too!â She grins, in which you awkwardly smile.
Great.
Another one of your momâs friends trying to set you up with their good-for-nothing sons.
âHoney, help her get her luggage inside!â Your mom says, walking to the kitchen, already arms in arms with Mrs. Lee. You nod before walking towards the entrance.
Thatâs when you heard a car pull up outside.
The sound of tires against the pavement cut through the room, followed by the soft thud of a door closing. Your mom glanced toward the window almost instinctively, her face lighting up even more than before.
âOh, perfect timing,â you can hear Mrs. Leeâs voice from inside. âThat must be Heeseung!â
You decide to pay no mind to it, as you walked over to carry her luggage.
âShit, what does she pack in here?â
âClothes enough for two weeks.â A voice answers your little mutter to yourself.
A familiar oneâdeep, oh so soft, and far too recognizableâmaking your breath hitch as you stand straight.
âDo you feel good? Am I making you feel good?â
âLet go for me, baby.â
Your mind suddenly betrayed you, replaying the words spoken in that same voice two months agoâback when youâd been careless, impulsive, and not so smart.
Heat rushed to your face as the memory collided with this current moment. You turn to look and there he was, still wearing the soft eyes you had been so enchanted by that night.
Evan. Evan Lee. At least thatâs what he introduced himself as.
The same eyes that had studied you under dim hotel lights now widened, just barely, before masking it with something polite and unreadable.
Mrs. Lee came out before you could even say anything, her voice bright and proud as she introduced you. You barely registered the words, too focused on the way he straightened beside her.
He nodded, polite and distant, the kind of courtesy reserved for strangers. âNice to meet you,â he said smoothly, without a flicker of recognition in his eyes.
Then he smiledâeasy, effortlessâbefore turning to follow his mom into the house. He picked up her luggage, handling it with practiced care as he walked past you, close enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne.
He didnât even glance back.
So he didnât remember.
You had both been drunk that night, after all.
âŠ
Dinner is already laid out by the time everyone gathers around the dining table a few hours later. The familiar smell of your momâs cooking fills the roomâwarm, comforting, painfully normal for a moment that feels anything but.
You take a seat near the edge of the table, choosing distance over comfort. Across from you, Heeseung pulls out his chair and sits down smoothly, posture relaxed, expression polite. To anyone else, heâs just a guestâyour momâs friendâs son, well-mannered and quiet.
To you, heâs the man whose voice still lingers in the back of your mindâwhose hands had memorized you in the dark, whose lips had left impressions you were foolish enough to think time would erase.
Conversation flows easily between your mom and Mrs. Lee, laughter spilling over shared memories from high school, old teachers, stories youâve heard a hundred times before. You nod at the right moments, pushing food around your plate, forcing yourself to eat despite the tight knot in your stomach.
âSo, Heeseung,â your mom says brightly, turning to him, âAre you okay with the spare room? Her brother hasnât been home since his marriage, and she doesnât want to give her childhood room for guests,â Your mom turns to you and snickers.
âThatâs because I visit you and dad all the time, I still need a room here.â You groan softly, while Mrs. Lee laughs.
âYes, maâam. The room is just nice. Very well-kept.â Heeseung smiles at her.
âWell, thatâs good,â she continues. âBy the way, you two are around the same age. You should show him around a bit, donât you think? This isnât a city he always comes by.â
Your grip tightens around your utensils.
Before you can answer, Heeseung looks upâbriefly, carefullyâmeeting your eyes for the first time since earlier. Thereâs no recognition on his face. No spark. Just polite interest.
âIf sheâs free,â he says simply.
If youâre free.
You force a smile. âYeah. Maybe.â
The lie settles between you, heavy and unspoken.
Under the table, his foot shifts slightlyâclose enough to make your breath hitch, close enough to make you wonder if itâs accidental. He still doesnât look at you. Still doesnât acknowledge the past.
But your body remembers a different name.
And for the first time since he walked past you without a second glance, you realize something unsettling.
Heeseung might not remember you.
But Evan would have.
After dinner, the house settles into silence faster than you expect.
Laughter fades. Doors close softly. The hallway light dims until only a thin strip glows beneath bedroom doors. You lie awake longer than you should, staring at the ceiling youâve known your whole life, listening to the unfamiliar rhythm of another presence in the house.
You tell yourself itâs nothing.
Just an old insignificant memory overstaying its welcome.
Eventually, thirst wins.
You slip out of bed, careful not to let the floorboards creak, padding your way toward the kitchen. The house smells faintly of detergent and leftover dinner, comforting in a way that almost makes you forget why your chest feels tight.
Almost.
The kitchen light is already on.
You freeze in the doorway.
Heeseung stands by the counter, sleeves rolled up, a glass of water in his hand. His hair is slightly tousled now, stripped of the careful neatness he wore earlier. He looks⊠different. More real. More like the man you left sleeping behind hotel curtains two months ago.
He looks up when he hears you.
âOh,â he says quietly. âSorry. Didnât mean to wake anyone.â
âYou didnât,â you reply, voice steadier than you feel. âI justâcouldnât sleep.â
He nods, accepting that without question. No tension. No recognition. Or maybe too much control to show either.
You grab a glass from the cupboard, deliberately choosing the one farthest from him. The tap runs. Too loud in the silence. You focus on the sound, on anything but the awareness of him standing only a few feet away.
âYour momâs cooking was really good,â he says after a moment. âShe didnât exaggerate.â
You let out a small breath of a laugh. âShe always does that.â
A pause.
Then, softer, almost absent-minded: âYou mentioned earlier you donât live here?â
âNot anymore,â you answer. âI moved to my own apartment a year ago.â
âOh,â he says.
The word hangs between you.
You take a sip of water, finally glancing at him. He isnât looking at youâhis attention fixed on the counter, jaw relaxed, expression unreadable. If he remembers, he gives nothing away. If he doesnât, then this ease is genuine.
You hate that you canât tell which one hurts more.
âWell,â you murmur, setting the glass down. âGood night.â
He looks up then, meeting your eyes fully for the first time since dinner.
âGood night,â he says.
Still nothing. No crack in his voice. No hesitation. Just calm, polite distance.
You walk past him toward the hallway, careful not to brush his arm, careful not to slow your steps. Behind you, you hear him turn off the light.
In the darkness of your room, you lie awake againâheart louder now, thoughts sharper.
You were the one who left that morning.
You were the one who chose silence.
And yet somehow, standing in your parentâs kitchen, it feels like heâs the one holding all the control.
âŠ
Morning comes too soon.
Sunlight filters through the curtains, thin and pale, landing across your face like an accusation. For a moment, you forget where you areâuntil the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen reminds you that youâre back in your parentsâ house. And that you arenât alone.
You sit up slowly, rubbing at your temples. The night had offered no answers. Just silence, politeness, and the unbearable calm of not knowing.
By the time you make it to the kitchen, your mom is already bustling around, apron tied, hair pulled back. Mrs. Lee sits at the table, sipping tea, looking far too refreshed for someone who traveled across the country.
âMorning,â your mom chirps when she sees you. âPerfect timing.â
You hum in response, reaching for a glass of water.
âCould you help Mrs. Yang walk her dog later?â she continues casually. âYou rememberânext door. You used to do it all the time when you lived here. Besides, litte Jungwon is in Uni now, so no one is there to help her.â
You pause.
âMaeum? Yeah,â you say. âI can do that.â
Mrs. Leeâs face lights up. âWalking outside right now would be so refreshing,â she says warmly. Then, almost as an afterthought, she turns toward the hallway. âHeeseung!â
Your stomach tightens at the sound of his name.
He appears a moment later, sleeves rolled up again, hair still slightly damp like heâs just washed his face. He looks⊠awake. Calm. Completely unaffected. âHm?â
âYou should go with her,â Mrs. Lee says easily. âItâll be good for you to get some fresh air after traveling.â
Heeseung blinks once, then nods. âSure.â
Sure.
Your mom smiles, clearly pleased. âPerfect! Two birds with one stone.â You force a smile of your own, even as your pulse starts to pick up. âYeah. No problem.â
Heeseung glances at youânot searching, not curious. Just attentive.
âWhenever youâre ready,â he says.
As you step outside together a few minutes later, the morning air feels too crisp, too quiet. The street looks the same as it always has. Familiar. Safe.
And yet, walking side by side with him, youâre painfully aware of the space between youâand how little it would take to close it.
Youâre the one who left. Itâs a one-night stand.
You remind yourself of that as you head toward the neighborâs gate.
So why does it feel like this walk might be the first step toward something you canât walk away from again.
Heeseung kneels slightly as Maeum charges toward him, tail wagging like it could knock him over.
âHeâs⊠lively,â he says, keeping his voice casual as Maeum circles him, sniffing, then jumping up in excitement. A low chuckle escapes him, and you feel your chest tighten unexpectedly.
âYeah, Maeumâs a handful,â you reply, gripping the leash before he decides to chase a squirrel or something worse. âBut heâs harmless⊠mostly.â
Heeseung brushes a hand along Maeumâs back. âMostly is good.â
Maeum barks happily, spinning between the two of you. Thereâs a brief moment where the dog seems to notice the tension radiating off both of you, but of course, he canât name it.
âShall we get going?â you ask, starting toward the sidewalk.
Heeseung falls into step beside you, careful not to crowd, careful not to overstep. Close enough to notice the little things: the way you tense when Maeum yanks, the faint crease in your brow, the subtle sway of your hair in the morning sun.
The street is quiet. Early birds call from the trees. Leaves rustle under your shoes. Maeum dashes ahead, then back, sniffing everything in sight.
âSoâŠâ you begin, trying to sound casual, âlong drive yesterday?â
He shrugs. âEnough to make me remember why I prefer flights.â
You laugh softly. âFair enough. It is kind of chaos on the road here sometimes.â
Silence falls for a few steps, filled only with Maeumâs padding and your own heartbeat.
Then Maeum stops abruptly, sniffing at a patch of grass right between you and Heeseung. The leash jerks. You stumble forward slightly, and his hand reaches out before you can think, steadying you.
Fingertips brush.
A fleeting touchâbut itâs enough. Enough to spark memory, enough to make your stomach twist.
Heeseung doesnât flinch. He doesnât say a word. He takes Maeumâs leash and keeps walking.
And thatâs the worst part.
Because whether he remembersâor is pretendingâyou have no idea.
And it leaves the quiet hanging between you like a question that refuses to be answered.
Maeum slows near the corner, distracted by something only he seems to find interesting. You stop with him, shifting your weight as you wait.
Your fingers curl in on themselves without you noticing.
A slow fist.
Tight enough that your nails press into your palm.
Heeseungâs gaze drops.
Not immediately. Not obviously.
But it lingers just long enough.
âYou do that often,â he says.
You look up. âDo what?â
He nods toward your hand. âThat.â
You follow his eyes, startled, and force your fingers open. Faint crescent marks bloom red against your skin.
âOh,â you say lightly. âI guess I clench my hand when Iâm waiting.â
âOr when youâre holding back,â he replies, tone even. Too even.
The street feels quieter suddenly.
You laugh, trying to brush it off. âYouâre very observant.â He doesnât smile. Not quite.
âHard not to notice,â he says.
And just like thatâ
Your mind betrays you.
Dim light. Your back against unfamiliar sheets.
His voice low, close, asking something you canât quite remember the words toâonly the way your hand had curled then too, nails biting into your palm as you nodded instead of answering.
You remember looking down afterward.
The half-moon marks.
The way heâd gently pried your fingers open, thumb brushing over the indents like he was committing them to memory.
The leash tugs.
You blink, pulled back into the morning air, the quiet street, Maeum wagging his tail impatiently.
Heeseung is already looking ahead again, expression unreadable.
âYou good?â he asks, as if nothing had happened.
You nod, heart racing, and start walking again.
But your palm still tingles.
Both of you continue walking with Maeum tugging on his leash once in a while, before stopping infront of a convenient store near the park.
âIâll buy us drinks, anything you like?â He asks. You look at him as you shake your head. âAnythingâs fine.â
He nods, entering the store while you wait outside while Maeum settles at your feet. Through the glass, you watch him move with easy familiarityâ scanning the shelves without hesitation.
He came out a few minutes later with two drinks in his hand. Americano for him, and another for you.
Green Grape Ade.
âGreen Grape Ade?â His voice rings in the loud bar music, looking at you with precise judgement, while you mockingly glare at him.
âWhatâs wrong with it?â You ask, voice slightly loud trying to drown out the music at the bar. He smiles.
âYouâre original.â He clinks his glass againts yours, the ice chiming softly over the music.
âI just prefer sour drinks. Especially from the convenient store.â You drink as your gaze turn to him. Heâs already staring at you.
He hums. âThatâs why your face so sour?â He teases in which you gasp, mock-offense.
He laughs, before shaking his head. âThat was a lie. You might just be the sweetest girl Iâve ever met.â
The memory fades as quickly as it came.
Youâre back outside the convenience store, the morning air cool against your skin. The bottle in your hand is cold, condensation slick against your fingers.
Heeseung is already walking ahead with Maeum, Americano in hand, posture relaxed like he hasnât just reached into something you never gave him permission to keep.
You take a sip. It tastes exactly how you like it. How you were imagining it when you were admant on telling Heeseung or Evan it was your favourite at the bar.
And for the first time since you woke up that morning, you wonder if leaving first had really meant leaving anything behind at all.
You catch up to them, glancing at Heeseung. He has a questionable smug look on his face.
âWhat?â You ask. He shrugs before looking at you.
âI have a lot of things I remember about you.â
âŠ
A few hours pass.
The afternoon drifts by slowly, measured in the ticking of the clock and the occasional sound of movement elsewhere in the house. You spend most of it in your room, half-lying on your bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone without really reading anything.
Every so often, you hear his voice. Muted through the walls. Calm. Easy. Laughing lightly at something your mom says.
It shouldnât bother you, but it does.
When hunger finally wins over avoidance, the sun is already dipping lower in the sky. The house smells faintly of reheated food, warm and familiar. You take a breath before leaving your room, practicing a neutral expression in the mirror.
The kitchen is quieter now. Youâre just about to turn the corner toward the kitchen when you hear your mom speak.
ââŠSheâs been a little off today,â she says, voice gentle. âProbably tired. Or avoiding something.â
You pause without meaning to. Heeseung answers after a beat. âShe does that.â
Your chest tightens instantly.
Your mom chuckles softly. âDoes what?â
âPulls back,â he says, careful. âWhen she doesnât know how to react yet.â
Silence. Then the faint clink of a spoon against a bowl. âYou sound like you know her pretty well,â your mom says lightly.
Another pause. Short. Measured.
âI had an impression,â Heeseung replies. âA while ago.â
An impression.
Your fingers curl at your side.
âHuh,â your mom hums. âThatâs funny. She actually does leaves impressions on people,â
Thereâs a smile in Heeseungâs voice when he answers. âYeah. She does.â
Your mom moves on easily, talking about dinner, about how long Mrs. Lee plans to stay. The conversation drifts, harmless again.
But you donât move because impressions arenât made in passing. Theyâre made when someone sees you up close. When you let them.
You step back quietly, retreating before either of them can notice you there. Back in your room, you sit down slowly, heart still racing.
He didnât say youâd met.
He didnât say when.
But he didnât say you were strangers either. And somehow, that middle ground feels far more dangerous.
A soft knock echoes through your room a few minutes later.
âHey⊠you awake?â Heeseungâs voiceâcalm, controlled, but just close enough to make your heart stutter.
You freeze. Your chest tightens, your pulse spiking. Act normal. Just act like you werenât eavesdropping.
You smooth your hair with a trembling hand, blink rapidly, and open the door. âYeah⊠just woke up,â you say, voice a little too bright, trying to sound casual.
Heeseung steps into the doorway, just enough to glance around your room. His eyes flick over youânot accusatory, not teasingâjust aware. The way he looks at you makes the air between you feel suddenly heavy, like itâs charged with electricity you both canât ignore.
âYour momâs calling,â he says softly. âEverythingâs ready.â
You nod quickly, gripping the doorframe as if it can anchor you. âIâm⊠not that hungry,â you murmur.
Heeseung tilts his head, that faint, knowing curve of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. âUh-huh,â he replies, voice smooth, steady, and sharp enough to cut through your attempts at calm.
You step aside, but your foot catches on the edge of the rug. You curse under your breath, forcing a laugh. Too loud. Too sharp.
He doesnât comment. He doesnât need to. The silence itself feels deliberate, heavy. The space between you is so tight that you feel him even when he doesnât touch you.
âIâll be eating downstairs,â he finally says, straightening, eyes lingering just long enough to make your stomach clench.
âOkay⊠see you there,â you say, breath uneven, heart hammering.
He nods once, easily, and leaves, closing the door softly behind him.
The click echoes like a verdict.
You press your back against the door, sliding down slowly, hands trembling.
He knows I was listening.
He remembers⊠more than he should.
And he didnât say a word.
The thought alone makes your stomach twist.
You straighten abruptly, forcing yourself to move. Down the stairs. To the dining room. To the table.
Every step is a battle between calm and the chaos churning under your skin.
Because you know tonight, nothing is going to feel casual. Not with him. Not after this.
The whole time during dinner, you caught him staring at you. Shamelessly at that, gave you a sheepish smile when you eye him suspiciously. Heâd move his leg closer to yours, itâll bump a few times, but he doesnât pull away.
After dinner, you volunteer on doing the dishes. Your mom and Mrs. Leeâs voices fade into the living room, laughter and chatter blending together.
You take a steadying breath and move to the sink, rolling up your sleeves. Warm water runs over your hands, steam curling around your wrists. For a second, it almost feels normal. Almost.
Then you sense him before you hear him.
Heeseung steps beside you, quiet as a shadow. You tense instantly, shoulders stiff, fingers tightening around a plate.
âNeed some help?â he asks softly, tilting his head. Not teasing, not accusing. Just calm, measured.
âIâve got it,â you reply quickly, eyes trained on the suds, forcing the tone casual.
He doesnât insist. He simply picks up a stray plate, moving closer than necessary, letting his hands brush yours ever so slightly as he rinses it. You flinch, heart hammering, but he doesnât comment, doesnât linger. Just present.
The silence stretches, heavy, almost oppressive. Every splash of water, every clink of a dish, echoes too loudly.
You scrub a pan a little harder than needed, trying to focus on anything elseâthe warmth of the water, the smell of garlic, the mundane rhythm of washingâbut his quiet presence keeps threading through every thought.
He moves another plate, sets it down. Your hands brush again.
You feel your pulse spike, your chest tightening. Every subtle movement, every glance he doesnât makeâitâs all charged, all deliberate.
The kitchen is small. Empty. Safe. Except it isnât. Not with him here.
You swallow hard, scrubbing away your nerves as the quiet stretches on, aware that he notices everything, even the things you think he canât.
And somehow, that makes it impossible to breathe normally.
The sponge squeaks softly as you scrub, the rhythm steady but your thoughts anything but. Youâre just about to reach for another plate when he speaks again.
âYou know,â Heeseung says, evenly, like heâs commenting on the weather, âyouâre not very good at pretending.â
Your hand stills.
ââŠPretending what?â you ask, eyes fixed on the sink.
âThat you werenât listening earlier.â He sets a plate onto the rack, movements unhurried. âIn the hallway.â
Your chest tightens. You swallow. âI wasnâtââ
He cuts you off gently. âYou were.â Not accusing. Just factual. âYou always stop breathing when you do that, though your eyes give it away, that youâre pretending everythingâs fine.â
That makes your fingers curl instinctively around the sponge.
You let out a short laugh, more defensive than amused. âYou donât know what I âalwaysâ do.â
He glances at your hand, then back to the dish heâs drying. âI know because Iâve seen it before.â
You twist the dish towel in your hands, knuckles whitening. The quiet stretches too long, presses too hard against your ribs.
âAre we really doing this?â You snap, turning to look at him directly.
He raises his eyebrows, âDo what?â
You gesture vaguely between the two of you, before sighing. âImplying things happened, without really saying it?â
He watches you for a second, expression unreadableânot defensive, not amused. Just⊠attentive.
âIâm not implying,â he says evenly. âYou are.â
That only makes your chest tighten.
You scoff, turning back to the sink and reaching for another plate you definitely donât need to wash. âRight. Of course. Because Iâm the one who keeps bringing up impressions and ârememberingâ andâwhatever this is.â
He lets out a quiet breath, more tired than annoyed. âI brought it up once.â
âAnd youâve been hovering ever since,â you shoot back, voice sharp but not loud. âSo tell meâare we pretending we donât know each other, or are we circling around it until I crack?â The words hang between you.
He sets the towel down, slow, deliberate. âIâm not trying to crack you.â
âThen what do you want?â you ask, finally facing him again.
He meets your gaze, steady. No smile. No games. âI wanted to know if you leaving meant what I thought it did,â he says simply.
Your throat tightens. âAnd what did you think it meant, Evan?â
His breath hitches at the usage of his other name, âThat you didnât want to stay,â he replies. âNot just that morning. In general.â
You laugh softly, but itâs brittle. âItâs a one-night stand.â
He nods once. âIt is, but I clearly told you before we fell asleep, that Iâd prefer you staying.â
Silence settles again, thicker now. The kitchen light hums overhead. Somewhere in the living room, your mom and Mrs. Lee laugh at something on TV.
âI didnât leave because of you,â you say finally, quieter. âI left because staying wouldâve made it⊠complicated.â
His jaw tightens just a fraction. âAnd now?â
You hesitate. âNow it already is.â
He holds your gaze for a long moment, then exhales slowly. âYeah,â he says. âIt is.â
Neither of you move back to the dishes, he wipes the last plate before walking out of the kitchen.
APRIL 2025
The room is dim, lit only by the city glow slipping through the curtains. Everything feels slower, warmerâlike the night hasnât quite caught up with you yet.
Youâre tangled in the sheets, limbs heavy, head resting against the pillow. Your skin is still buzzing, your thoughts pleasantly loose around the edges. Somewhere nearby, Heeseung shifts, the mattress dipping slightly as he turns onto his side.
âYou okay?â he asks, voice low, a little rough around the edges.
You hum, half-laughing into the pillow. âI think so. Might need a minute to remember my name.â
He chuckles softly. âFair.â
The pause lingers, easy and unforced. The city light paints soft lines across the ceiling, and for a moment, neither of you moves.
Youâre the one who breaks it first.
âEvan,â you say, voice lazy, still warm with alcohol and comfort. âWhat do you actually do when youâre not⊠here?â
He exhales a quiet laugh, turning his head slightly toward you. âThatâs a loaded question.â
You smile into the pillow. âIâm serious. You feel like someone with a very normal answer and a very complicated explanation.â
He considers that. âI work in the music industry. Producing. It sounds fancier than it is.â
âEverything sounds fancier at night,â you mumble. âEspecially after drinks.â
âTrue,â he agrees. Then, after a beat, âWhat about you?â
You shrug, the sheets rustling. âStill figuring it out. I bounce around a lot, job-hunting.â
He smiles and run his hand on your hair, as if wanting to see your face clearly. âYouâre tense, like thereâs a lot going on here.â He softly taps on your temple.
You huff a quiet laugh, eyes fluttering shut at the gentle touch. âIs that your professional opinion?â you murmur. âBecause I didnât realize producers did mind-reading too.â
He chuckles, thumb brushing lightly through your hair, unhurried. âNot mind-reading. Just⊠paying attention.â
You turn your face toward him then, cheek sinking deeper into the pillow. âThereâs always a lot going on,â you admit. âI just donât like sitting still long enough to sort it out.â
âWhy not?â he asks, not pushingâjust curious.
You think about it for a moment, gaze drifting to the ceiling. âBecause if I do, I might realize Iâm not as put-together as I pretend to be.â
He hums softly, fingers still tracing slow, absent patterns. âThat doesnât sound like a bad thing.â
âEasy for you to say,â you mumble. âYou seem like youâve got things⊠handled.â
He smiles faintly. âIâm good at looking like I do.â
You glance back at him. âReally?â
âReally,â he says. âI just learned how to keep the chaos quiet.â
That earns a small smile from you. âGuess weâre not that different then.â
âGuess not,â he replies.
The room settles again, the air warm and slow. His hand stays in your hair, grounding, gentleâlike heâs in no rush to let the moment slip away.
Neither of you says it, but the thought hangs there between you, soft and dangerous all at once:
This feels easy.
Too easy.
He pulls you closer, lips pressing on your temple as he sighs.
âIâd love it if you stay.â
And you felt your heart breaks a little when you doze off.
âŠ
Three days.
Three days until he leaves.
And for the past two, he hasnât said a word to you.
You can feel it in every glance across the kitchen, every step in the hall, every time the front door opens and closes. Heâs there, moving around the house, calm and composed as ever, but the silence between you? Itâs deafening.
You try to keep yourself busyâlaundry, dishes, scrolling mindlessly through your phoneâbut the tension follows you everywhere. Even sitting in your room, pretending to read, you can hear him talking to your mom in the living room, laugh light and easy, and it makes your chest tighten.
Your mom insists on taking Mrs. Lee and Heeseung to the cityâs famous park for a âlittle sightseeing and fresh air,â and somehow, youâre drafted along.
âCome on,â your mom says, practically bouncing. âYouâll enjoy it! The weatherâs perfect, and itâs not a usual thing that we all went out together!â
So here you are, in Heeseungâs car with your moms at the back chatting mindlessly, pointing out shops, telling stories, laughing easily, while you sit in the passengerâs seat and him driving beside you.
He doesnât say much, just drives with that calm, effortless composure that makes your stomach twist in ways youâre not ready to name. Your mom and Mrs. Lee chatter nonstop behind you, oblivious to the tight coil of nerves in the seat beside him.
You glance at him occasionally, catching his profile in the sunlight, the way his hands rest lightly on the wheel, the faint line of concentration in his jaw. He doesnât meet your eyes, but you can feel the awareness there, quiet, unspoken, like a weight pressing just enough to make you swallow hard.
âI hope you like walking,â your mom says suddenly from the back, as if reading your tension, âthe parkâs beautiful this time of year. Lots of trees, fountainsâperfect for photos!â
âYeah,â you murmur, keeping your voice neutral, though your chest is still tight.
Heeseung hums softly, not answering but shifting slightly in his seat, just enough that you notice.
The car slows, pulling into the park lot. Sunlight streams through the windshield, glinting off the pavement and the scattered autumn leaves. Your mom practically leaps out first, Mrs. Lee following close behind, both chattering excitedly.
You take a deep breath, adjusting your bag, and slide out of the car. Heeseung steps out after you, calm and measured, slipping into the rhythm of the park like he belongs thereâyet you feel every step he takes, each one a quiet reminder that the past two days of silence havenât lessened the tension between you.
As the group moves along the tree-lined path, your mom and Mrs. Lee wander ahead, comparing flowers and pointing out fountains. Heeseung falls in step beside you, hands tucked into his pockets, walking slightly behind but close enough that you can feel the space between you shrinking.
âNice day,â he says finally, casual.
âYeah,â you reply, voice careful. âNot too crowded either.â
He hums softly, and you feel that subtle glance he throws your wayâquick, unobtrusive, but enough to make your stomach twist again.
The silence between words is heavy, but not hostile. Itâs loaded. Sharp. And as you continue along the winding paths of the park, you realize these three daysâand these stolen moments in the quietâmight be harder than anything you expected.
You barely get a chance to say more to him before your mom is already digging through her bag.
âPhoneâwhereâs my phone?â she mutters, then brightens. âOh! There it is.â
Mrs. Lee laughs beside her. âYouâre just as excited as ever.â
âOf course I am,â your mom says. âWhen do we ever get everyone together like this?â
Everyone.
You glance at Heeseung without meaning to. Heâs still looking around, taking the place in quietly, like heâs memorizing it. First time here. First time seeing your city like this.
âAlright,â your mom says, raising her phone. âGroup photo first.â
You shuffle closer, standing beside Mrs. Lee. Heeseung ends up at the edge, half a step apart from you, hands in his pockets.
âWait, no,â your mom frowns. âHeeseung, come closer. Youâre getting cut out.â
He obeys, stepping in just enough that his shoulder brushes yoursâbrief, accidental, but it sends a jolt through you anyway.
Click.
âAgain,â Mrs. Lee says. âThat one was blurry.â
You barely have time to reset before your mom adds, âOkay, now just you two.â
âWhat?â you and Heeseung say at the same time.
âItâs nice to have one of the younger generation,â your mom insists. âFor memories.â
You exchange a quick glance with himâtoo quick to mean anything, too loaded to be nothing.
âJust stand there and act normal!â your mom says.
Easier said than done.
You stand side by side this time, not touching, but close enough that youâre aware of his presenceâhis warmth, the way heâs careful not to move too suddenly.
âSmile,â your mom sings.
You do. Heeseung offers something polite, restrained.
Click.
âThatâs nice,â Mrs. Lee says warmly. âYou both look good.â
You almost laugh at that.
As your mom reviews the photos, muttering happily to herself, you step back without thinking. Heeseung does the same.
You donât make it five steps more into the park before your mom stops again.
âWaitâstand there,â she says, already lifting her phone. âThe trees look really nice from this angle.â
Mrs. Lee nods enthusiastically. âOh yes, the lighting is beautiful.â
You exchange a look with Heeseung. Not a lookâjust a flicker. A silent here we go.
Click.
You start walking again. Ten steps this time.
âOh!â your mom gasps. âThe fountainâHeeseung, youâll love this. You two, go stand near it.â
âWe just took one,â you say weakly. âThat was over there,â she replies, like it explains everything.
So you move again, standing side by side while people pass behind you. Heeseung keeps his hands in his pockets, posture relaxed, expression neutral. You keep your arms crossed, suddenly very aware of where youâre standing.
Click. Click.
Mrs. Lee laughs. âYou look very natural together.â
You almost choke on air.
The walk continues. The photos do too.
By the flower beds.
Near the bridge.
In front of the pond.
Each time, your mom adjusts angles, steps back, waves you closer, tells you to smile more, tilt your head, stand straighter.
âYou donât have to look so tense,â she tells you at one point.
You laugh, tight. âIâm fine.â
Heeseung glances at you then, quick and unreadable.
At some point, he murmurs quietly, just for you, âIf we keep this up, weâll have enough photos for a family album.â
You blink, surprised.
ââŠIâm sorry,â you mutter. âShe gets like this.â
He hums. âI noticed.â
Thereâs no edge in his voice. No teasing. Just observation.
Another photo.
Your shoulder brushes his this time, accidental. Neither of you move away immediately.
Click.
âPerfect!â your mom says.
You step away first.
The walk goes on, but your nerves donât settle. If anything, they tighten with every forced smile, every staged moment, every second youâre made to look like something youâre very much not.
And the worst part?
Heeseung never once complains.
He just keeps walking beside youâcalm, composedâletting the photos pile up like quiet evidence of something neither of you is ready to name.
You make it halfway up the stone path before it happens.
âWaitâwait, *here*,â your mom says suddenly, already lifting her phone again. âThis spot is perfect. The water, the rocksâvery scenic.â
You glance down at where sheâs pointing and feel a flicker of hesitation. The stones near the edge of the stream are uneven, damp from the spray of the fountain nearby. The drop isnât dramatic, but itâs enough to make you cautious.
âI donât think thatâsââ you start.
âOh, itâs fine,â Mrs. Lee says cheerfully. âJust be careful.â
Famous last words.
You step forward anyway, because of course you do. Because this is not the hill youâre dying on today.
Heeseung follows a step behind you, quiet as always.
âStand just there,â your mom says, framing the shot. âYes, yesâperfect.â
You shift your weight slightly to adjust your footing.
And then your shoe slips.
It happens fastâtoo fast for you to catch yourself. One second youâre steady, the next the ground tilts and your stomach drops, breath punching out of you as you instinctively reach for anything.
Strong hands grab your arm.
Another slides to your waist, firm and immediate, pulling you back before you can even gasp.
You stumbleânot forward, not downâbut straight into him.
Your back hits his chest, solid and warm, his grip tightening just enough to keep you upright. For half a second, youâre frozen there, heart racing, fingers clutching at his sleeve.
Heâs close. Too close.
You can feel his breath near your ear, feel the tension in his hold, the way his body adjusts automatically to steady yours.
âYou okay?â he asks quietly, voice lowâmeant only for you.
You nod, a little too fast. âYeah. Yeah, Iâthanks.â
He doesnât let go immediately.
Just long enough to make sure youâre steady.
Just long enough for the moment to stretch thin and dangerous.
âCareful,â he murmurs, almost instinctively.
Thenâclick.
âOh my goodness!â your mom exclaims. âThat was scary! Butâoh, wait. Hold on.â
You stiffen.
âThat one looked nice,â Mrs. Lee says, peering at the phone. âVery⊠natural.â
You finally step away, cheeks burning, suddenly very aware of how his hands had been on you, how easily heâd caught you, how familiar it felt in a way that made your chest ache.
Heeseung straightens too, composure snapping back into place like nothing happened. Hands back in his pockets. Expression calm.
But when you dare glance at him, his eyes linger on you just a second longer than necessary.
Your mom laughs. âSee? Good thing he was there. Youâd have fallen otherwise.â
âYeah,â you say, forcing a laugh. âGood thing.â
The walk continues, the photos continue, but something has shifted.
Your heart doesnât slow down.
And every time Heeseung walks just a little closer after that, you canât tell if itâs accidentalâ
âor if heâs making sure you wonât fall again.
âŠ
After dinner, you decide to hog the living room all by yourself, continue binge watching another C-drama you have postponed watching for the longest time.
Itâs almost midnight, the moms had already wished you goodnight. You smile to yourself at the very well-earned time to yourself.
Or not?
Heeseung appears at the bottom, slightly disheveled, hair tousled like heâs just run a hand through it one too many times. Heâs in simple grey sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt, the kind that clings just enough to show he didnât bother thinking about how he looked.
His eyes are still half-lidded with sleep as they settle on the TV screen, expression calm.
He looks at you, before taking a seat.
âI watched this one.â He says softly. Voice hoarse with sleep.
âNo spoilers, please.â You says, turning away to look at the TV. He laughs.
âNothing to extreme, itâs a rom-com. Nothing can be a spoiler.â You clutch your heart, dramatically looking at him.
He shrugs. âWhat? Itâs true. You know in the end they end up together.â
You sigh, leaning back. âWell, true that.â He lean back too, making your shoulders touch.
âWhy did you wake up?â I look at him. âItâs barely midnight.â
âCanât sleep. I mean, I kept waking up.â He replies, fingers tapping on his thigh. You nod, continue watching the romantic scenes on the TV.
âYou enjoy stuffs like these?â He asks, not looking at you.
âAnything feel-good is enjoyable.â
âSo the concept of romance, you like it?â He asks, carefully.
âWhere are you going with this?â You look at him, eyes narrowing. He meets your gaze, his expression looking more earnest.
âJust wondering, if youâd like it in real life too.â
You scoff. âYou and your nonstop bullââ
âIs it bullshit, really?â He asks, seriously this time. You felt your heart beating fast, you look away, just anywhere. Not sure where to look when heâs all up in your space like this.
âEvan.â You started,
âNo, let me tell you this.â He straighten up, body now fully facing you, as he look directlt into your eyes.
âIâm sorry if I ever come up as pushy, talking about you with your mom, hinting at our past to her, making you feel things you donât like, that wasnât my intention.â He winces.
âI justâŠI just wanted to get to know you, really look at you. No dim lights of the bar, no dark night sky as we walk back to some hotel, and certainly no dark hotel room where I spent the whole night feeling good with the woman I knew nothing about.â He sighs.
âItâs just a one night stand, I get it.â He scoffs, âbut what if I told you that I wanted more? That I regret waking up without your presence the next morning, how every sound you let out that night made me fantasize the sounds youâd make if it wasnât casual?â
At this point, you were looking at him speechless. Youâre not trusting your voice right now.
âEvanââ
âHeeseung.â He corrects. âEvan saw you first, but Heeseung fell for you.â
You fall silent again. Just staring at him like he didnât just pour his heart out while youâre watching some corny C-drama.
âSay something. Anything.â
The TV continues playing, characters confessing under scripted rain.
But this?
This isnât scripted.
And youâre not sure which feels scarier.
Your throat feels tight.
The dramaâs background music swells dramatically, the male lead on screen confessing under artificial rain, but it feels distantâlike white noise compared to the very real, very raw man sitting inches away from you.
You swallow.
âHeeseungâŠâ you finally manage.
He doesnât look away. Doesnât interrupt. Just waits.
âYouâre leaving in three days.â
Itâs not the response he expectedâbut itâs the only one that makes sense in your head.
His jaw tightens slightly. âI know.â
âSo what is this?â you ask, your voice quieter now. âYou confess, we⊠what? Start something? And then youâre on the road back home in another city?â
He exhales slowly, running a hand through his already messy hair. âYou think I havenât thought about that?â
âI think youâre being impulsive,â you snap, but thereâs no heat behind itâjust fear. âYouâre here. It feels intense. Nostalgic. But when you go backââ
âItâs not nostalgia,â he says firmly.
The way he says it makes you pause.
âIt wasnât just that night,â he continues. âIâve tried to brush it off. Iâve tried to tell myself it was just chemistry. But then I see you here. The way you argue. The way you laugh with your mom. The way you pretend youâre tougher than you are.â
You glare at him slightly. âI am tough.â
His lips twitch faintly. âI know.â
That softness again. Itâs worse than teasing.
âI donât expect you to promise me anything,â he says. âI just needed you to know that Iâm not playing around.â
Your fingers tighten around the blanket.
âYou donât get to say all that and then expect me to just⊠be calm,â you whisper.
âI donât want you calm,â he admits. âI want you honest.â
The word lands heavily.
Honest.
You look at him thenâreally look at him. Thereâs no arrogance. No flirtation. Just a quiet steadiness that makes your chest ache.
âYou think this is easy for me?â you ask softly. âSeeing you in my house. At dinner. At the park. Acting like we didnâtââ
Your voice falters.
âLike we didnât matter,â he finishes.
You nod.
Silence settles again, but itâs no longer suffocating. Itâs fragile. Balanced on something sharp.
âI didnât plan to fall for you,â he says quietly. âIt just happened.â
Your heart pounds harder at that word.
Fall.
âYou donât even know me that well,â you argue weakly.
âThen let me,â he replies immediately.
That catches you off guard.
âLet me know you properly,â he says. âNot just the version from one night. Not just the version that pushes me away when things feel too real.â
Your breath hitches.
âYouâre scared,â he says gently.
âOf course I am,â you admit, almost frustrated. âYouâre leaving. I donât do long distance. I donât do uncertainty, IâŠcertainly donât just date from one good sex.â
âAnd I donât do pretending I donât care,â he counters.
The drama on the TV ends its confession scene with applause-worthy music. You grab the remote and mute it.
The silence now is entirely yours.
âWhat are you asking from me?â you whisper.
He leans a little closerânot touching, just closing the space enough that you feel his presence fully.
âA chance,â he says. âNot a guarantee. Just⊠donât shut the door before we even try.â
Your pulse is loud in your ears.
Three days before he leaves.
Three days to either build somethingâor protect yourself from it.
You look at him, eyes searching, trying to find a reason to dismiss this as temporary emotion.
You donât find one.
And thatâs what terrifies you.
âSay something,â he murmurs again, softer now.
This time, you donât look away. You stare at him for one long, overwhelming second.
Your heart is racing too fast. Your thoughts are colliding into each other. Three days. Confessions. âA chance.â Itâs too much. Too sudden. Too real.
You stand up abruptly.
âIâI need time to think,â you say, words tumbling out before you can filter them.
Heeseung rises halfway from the couch instinctively. âHeyââ
But youâre already stepping back.
âI just⊠I canât answer you right now,â you add quickly. âItâs a lot.â
His expression tightens, but he nods once. âOkay.â
You donât wait for anything else.
You bolt down the hallway, heart pounding, shutting your bedroom door a little harder than necessary. You lean against it, breath uneven.
Why now?
Why three days before he leaves?
Why does it feel like if you answer wrong, youâll lose something you didnât even realize you were holding?
You slide down against the door and press your palms to your eyes. You needed time. You just didnât expect it to feel like this.
The next morning smells like butter and coffee.
You frown, your mom does not wake up early on weekends.
You shuffle out of your room, still half-asleep, hair messy, expecting silence. Instead, you hear the sound of a pan sizzling. You blink.
Heeseung is in the kitchen.
Sleeves slightly rolled, apron tied awkwardly around his waist (clearly borrowed), hair still soft and unruly from sleepâbut this time he looks very awake.
Focused.
Your mom and Mrs. Lee are seated at the table, watching him like heâs some kind of five-star chef.
âHe insisted,â your mom says the moment she sees you. âSaid we should let him cook.â
He glances up at you.
Not smug, not teasing. Just steady.
âMorning,â he says.
You clear your throat. âMorning.â
He turns back to the stove. âScrambled eggs or sunny side up?â
You blink. âWhat?â
âFor you,â he clarifies. âHow do you like your eggs?â
Your mom gasps softly. âHe even asked me what you usually eat.â
You shoot her a look.
He continues like this is completely normal. âI made toast too. And thereâs fruit.â
You step closer to the counter, still confused. âSince when do you cook?â
âSince always,â he replies casually. âYou just didnât stay long enough to see.â
Your ears burn, looking over to your moms if they notice it, they donât.
He plates the food carefullyâneatly, intentionallyâand sets it in front of you first before sitting down.
That alone makes your stomach flip.
He doesnât bring up last night.
Doesnât push.
Doesnât corner you.
Instead, he talks to your mom about the park photos. Asks his about souvenirs to bring home. Clears plates without being asked.
Too proactive.
Suspiciously proactive.
When your mom mentions needing to run errands later, he immediately says, âI can drive.â
When Mrs. Lee talks about wanting to visit a bakery nearby, he says, âLetâs go after breakfast.â
You watch him the entire time.
Heâs not performing.
Heâs consistent.
Intentional.
When your mom leaves the table to grab something from her room, and Mrs. Lee follows, youâre briefly alone in the kitchen.
He stands by the sink, rinsing dishes.
âYou donât have to⊠do all this,â you say quietly. He doesnât turn around immediately.
âI know,â he replies then glances at you over his shoulder.
âBut I want to.â Thereâs no pressure in his voice, just effort.
You swallow.
âYou said you needed time,â he continues calmly. âIâm giving it to you.â The water runs softly between you.
âBut Iâm not going to act like I didnât say what I said.â Your pulse stutters.
âI meant it,â he adds. âSo Iâll act like I meant it.â
You stare at him and he turns the tap off and dries his hands slowly.
âIâm leaving in three days,â he says. âI donât want to waste them pretending.â
And somehow, that hits harder than the confession itself.
âŠ
From the moment breakfast ends, he doesnât leave your side. Not in a suffocating way. Not hovering. Just⊠present.
When your mom asks you to help bring laundry out to dry, heâs already reaching for the basket before you can. When you struggle with the stubborn sliding door, he steps in quietly, fixing it without making a show of it.
âYou donât have to follow me everywhere,â you mutter at one point, adjusting the clothespins.
âIâm not following you,â he replies lightly. âIâm staying here temporarily too, remember?â
You glance at him. He looks almost amusedâbut thereâs intention behind it.
Later, when you head to the small grocery store nearby because your mom forgot coriander, he walks beside you without even asking if he should come.
The afternoon sun is warm. The air smells like pavement and fried snacks from a stall down the street.
âSo,â he says casually, hands in his pockets. âWhat did you want to be when you were younger?â
You blink. âWhat?â
âWhen you were eight. Ten. What was the dream?â You huff softly. âThatâs random.â
âItâs not,â he says. âIt tells me things.â
You narrow your eyes at him. âYou analyzing me now?â
âMaybe.â
You roll your eyesâbut you answer anyway.
âI wanted to be a novelist,â you admit. âI used to write stories. Cringey ones.â
His eyebrows lift slightly. âYou still write?â
You hesitate. ââŠRarely now, in my notebooks in my apartment, or my notes app.â
âWhyâd you stop wanting to be it?â
The question is gentle. Not invasive. Just curious. You shrug. âReality. Expectations. It didnât feel practical.â
He nods slowly, absorbing that like it matters.
âIt still matters,â he says after a moment.
You glance at him. âWhat does?â
âThe fact that you wanted to create something.â
Your chest tightens slightly.
He doesnât tease. Doesnât brush it off. Just lets it sit there like itâs important.
Back home, when your mom asks you to help reorganize some old boxes in the storage room, he follows again.
Itâs dusty. Warm. Dim.
You crouch down to open a box of old photo albums. He kneels beside you, shoulder nearly brushing yours.
âThatâs you?â he asks, picking up a picture of you at maybe twelve years old, hair shorter, smile wider.
You snatch it lightly. âDonât judge.â
âIâm not,â he says. And he isnât. He studies the photo like heâs memorizing it.
âYou looked happy.â
âI was a kid.â
âAnd now?â
You look at him sharply. âWhatâs with the interrogation?â
âI told you,â he reminds you quietly. âI want to know you.â
Thereâs no rush in his tone. No desperation.
Just steadiness.
The day continues like that.
When you wash dishes, he dries them.
He asks about your university. Your friends. What stresses you out. What makes you laugh. What kind of music you secretly listen to when youâre alone.
At one point, he says, âYou hum when youâre focused.â
You freeze. âI do not.â
âYou do,â he insists softly. âYou were doing it while cutting fruit earlier.â
You didnât even realize.
âThe thing you do with your hand? That too.â He points out, while taking your hand, opening it and see the crescent marks on your palm.
âYou notice too much,â you murmur.
He doesnât deny it.
âSomeone has to,â he replies.
The living room is dim, only the lamp by the window casting a warm glow across the space. The TV is on but forgotten, some late-night rerun playing to fill the silence.
Youâre curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked under you. Heeseung sits beside youânot too close, not too farâclose enough that youâre aware of him without feeling crowded.
Heâs been quieter tonight. Observing.
âCan I ask you something?â he says eventually.
You glance at him warily. âYouâve been doing that all day.â
A faint smile. âHumor me.â
You sigh. âFine.â Only because you canât resist his charming smile.
âThat night,â he says carefully, âwhy were you really there?â
You stiffen slightly. âAt the bar?â
âIn another city. On a random weekend.â
âIt wasnât random,â you reply automatically.
He waits.
You stare at the muted TV screen for a long moment before answering.
âI party a lot with my friends,â you say finally.
He doesnât react. Just listens. âMore than people expect,â you add.
âWhy?â he asks softly.
You let out a small breath through your nose. âBecause itâs loud.â
He tilts his head slightly.
âBecause when the musicâs blasting and the lights are flashing and everyoneâs moving,â you continue, âI canât hear my own thoughts.â
The honesty surprises even you.
He doesnât interrupt.
âYou know how exhausting job hunting is?â you ask quietly. âApplications. Tailoring your resume for every company. Writing cover letters that feel fake. Preparing for interviews. Smiling. Selling yourself.â
His expression shiftsâmore focused now.
âAnd then the emails,â you continue, voice flattening. ââWe regret to inform you.â âAfter careful consideration.â âWeâve decided to move forward with other candidates.ââ
You laugh softly, but thereâs no humor in it.
âSometimes they donât even reply.â
Silence stretches.
âIt gets to you,â you admit. âYou start wondering whatâs wrong with you. If youâre not good enough. If everyone else is moving ahead while youâre just⊠stuck.â
He doesnât look away.
âSo yeah,â you shrug lightly, though your chest feels tight. âI party.â
âTo forget?â he asks.
âTo breathe,â you correct.
You shift slightly, hugging your knees closer.
âWhen Iâm out with my friends, Iâm not the girl refreshing her email at 2 a.m. Iâm not the candidate who didnât make it to the final round. Iâm just⊠me.â
He studies you carefully.
âAnd thatâs why you were in another city.â
You nod.
âWeâd just gotten two rejections that week,â you admit. âBack-to-back. I felt so stupid for getting my hopes up.â
Your voice lowers.
âSo we booked a cheap place, took a train, and told ourselves we deserved one reckless weekend.â
âYou call it reckless,â he says quietly. âBut you sound calculated.â
You frown slightly. âWhat?â
âYou didnât go there to ruin yourself,â he says. âYou went there to survive.â
That makes you blink.
âI like dancing,â you add quickly, deflecting. âI like dressing up. I like feeling wanted without having to prove Iâm competent or impressive.â
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly at that word.
âWanted.â
âItâs simple,â you say. âNo resumes. No interviews. No expectations beyond having fun.â
âAnd me?â he asks gently.
You swallow.
âYou werenât part of the plan,â you admit.
His eyes donât leave yours.
âI wasnât looking for something serious,â you continue. âIt was easier that way. Temporary city. Temporary connection. No future to mess up.â
âYou think you mess things up?â he asks.
You give him a look. âDonât psychoanalyze me.â
âIâm not,â he says evenly. âIâm trying to understand.â
You hesitate.
âWhen you donât get chosen enough,â you say slowly, âyou stop expecting to be.â
The words hang in the air.
He goes very still.
âThat night,â you continue, quieter now, âI wasnât thinking about tomorrow. I just wanted to feel good. To not think about rejection emails. To not feel like I was behind in life.â
âAnd I was⊠what?â he asks softly.
âA distraction,â you answer honestly.
The word lands heavy.
But before he can retreat into it, you addâ
âA good one.â
His gaze sharpens slightly.
âYou were easy,â you explain. âNot in a bad way. You didnât interrogate me. You didnât act like you were doing me a favor. You just⊠were there.â
He exhales slowly.
âAnd when I woke up alone,â he says quietly, âit didnât feel temporary.â
You look at him.
âI didnât want to be just a distraction,â he continues. âI wanted to be something that stayed.â
Your heart stutters.
You look away first. âI donât know how to let things stay,â you admit.
âBecause youâre used to them leaving?â he asks.
The vulnerability in the room shifts everything.
He doesnât reach for you, doesnât crowd you. He just sits there, steady.
âYou party to break free,â he says after a moment. You nod.
âIâm not here to take that away from you.â
You glance at him cautiously.
âBut I donât want to be another escape,â he continues. âI want to be something you choose even when the music stops.â
Your chest tightens again.
Outside, the night is quiet. No music. No flashing lights. No crowd to drown out your thoughts.
Just him.
And the terrifying possibility that this time, you wonât be the one walking away before you can be rejected.
The room feels smaller after that.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
The lamp beside the couch casts a soft golden glow across his face, catching in his eyes. The TV is still muted, forgotten entirely now. Outside, the world is quietâno music, no city noise, no chaos to hide behind.
Just you.
And him.
âI donât know how to let things stay,â you admit again, softer this time. âNor how to stay.â
He doesnât rush to fill the silence. He doesnât try to fix you. He just watches you like your words matter.
âThen donât decide forever,â he says gently. âJust decide now.â
Your heart pounds.
âThatâs how it starts,â you whisper. âNow turns into later. Later turns into expectations.â
âAnd expectations scare you,â he says.
âThey fail,â you correct.
He studies you for a long moment. Then he shifts closerânot abruptly, not corneringâjust enough that the space between your knees and his disappears.
âIâm not an interview,â he says quietly. âYou donât have to impress me.â
Your throat tightens.
âI already like you,â he continues. âOn your stressed days. On your stubborn days. On the days you party too hard to feel free.â
You huff softly. âI donât party too hard, I still control myself.â
He almost smiles. âYou know what I mean.â
The tenderness in his voice makes your chest ache.
âYou donât have to earn staying,â he says.
The words hit somewhere deep.
You look at him, really look at him. His hair is still slightly messy from earlier. Heâs not styled, not composed like the first night you met. Heâs just⊠him.
And heâs looking at you like youâre not temporary.
Your voice comes out barely above a whisper. âYouâre leaving.â
âIn two days,â he says.
âAnd then?â
âThen we figure it out,â he replies. âOr we try. Or we fail. But at least we wonât be wondering.â
Your breathing feels uneven.
He lifts his hand slowly, like heâs giving you time to pull away.
When you donât, his fingers brush lightly against your cheek.
The touch is soft. Careful.
Nothing like that first night.
That night was heat and impulse and dim lights and stolen glances.
This is quiet.
Intentional.
His thumb traces gently along your jawline, barely there. You feel your pulse everywhere at once.
âYouâre shaking,â he murmurs.
âIâm not.â
âYou are.â
You swallow.
He doesnât laugh at you.
Doesnât tease.
His hand shifts slightly, cupping your cheek fully now. Warm. Steady.
âTell me to stop,â he says quietly.
You donât.
Instead, you lean in first.
Itâs small. Barely an inch, but it closes the distance.
His breath brushes your lips before they meet. Slow. Careful. Testing.
When he kisses you, it isnât rushed.
It isnât hungry.
Itâs soft.
Like heâs asking a question.
Your fingers clutch lightly at the fabric of his T-shirt without thinking. The kiss deepens just slightlyânot intense, not overwhelmingâjust enough to make your heart feel like it might burst.
He pulls back a fraction, forehead resting against yours.
His voice is low. Almost unsteady.
âThis isnât an escape,â he says.
You nod faintly, breath mingling with his.
âI know.â
He kisses you again.
This time with more certainty.
Not claiming. Not demanding.
Choosing.
Your hand slides up to the back of his neck, fingers threading lightly into his hair. He exhales softly against your lips, one hand moving to your waistâsecure, but not pulling you in without permission.
The world outside the living room feels nonexistent.
No rejection emails.
No interviews.
No expectations.
Just this moment.
When you finally pull back, your lips feel warm, your thoughts scattered.
âNow,â he murmurs softly, echoing his earlier words.
You let out a shaky breath.
âNow,â you repeat.
And for the first time, it doesnât feel like something youâre running from.
It feels like something youâre choosing.
The living room feels impossibly small after that kiss. Your pulse is racing, every nerve on fire, yet your mind is dizzy in a way that makes thinking impossible.
Heeseung pulls back just slightly, his forehead still resting against yours, and you can feel the warmth of him everywhere. For a heartbeat, neither of you moves, the air thick with unsaid words.
âIââ you start, but your voice falters.
âIâve got you,â he says suddenly, firm but gentle. His hands slide under your arms, and before you can protest, he lifts you effortlessly.
Your stomach flips. âHeeseung! Put me down!â you squeak, half-laughing, half-panicking, but you donât resist.
âI donât want to,â he murmurs, his lips brushing the side of your temple as he carries you toward your room. His voice is low, intimate, and the closeness makes your chest tighten even more.
Your room feels impossibly far and yet too close. The walls, the soft glow of your lamp, the familiar smell of your spaceâall of it is suddenly charged.
He sets you down gently on your bed, but the tension doesnât leave. His hands linger near your waist, fingers brushing against the soft fabric of your shirt. You feel the deliberate weight of his gaze on you, assessing, quiet, patient.
âAre you⊠okay with this?â he asks, voice husky but careful, and you canât tell if heâs asking about the kiss, being alone together, or everything.
You swallow hard, your pulse loud in your ears. âIâI think so,â you admit, your words trembling just enough to betray your certainty.
He shifts closer, sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand resting lightly on the mattress near yours. Youâre inches apart, every movement amplified. The air feels electric, charged with anticipation and heat.
His eyes trace your face slowly, almost like heâs memorizing every line, every shadow. âYouâre warm,â he murmurs, voice softer now, almost a whisper.
Your breath catches. The room is quiet except for the distant hum of the city outside. Your fingers twitch at the edge of the blanket, trying to ground yourself, but he leans in, closing the space further.
His hand moves to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, brushing against your jaw as he does. You feel your own hands rise, unconsciously resting on his forearm. The intimacy is subtle, teasingâevery touch deliberate, careful, yet charged with something unspoken.
âYouâve been on my mind,â he admits quietly, gaze locking with yours. âAll day. Since breakfast. Even when we were doing the dishes⊠I couldnât stop thinking.â
Your chest tightens. The honesty in his tone, combined with the nearness, makes your head spin. âMaybe you also have been lingering in my head all along for the past two months.â
âIââ you start, but he leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. Itâs slower, deliberate, exploratoryâbut thereâs a hunger there too, restrained yet unmistakable.
Your hands find his chest, fingers brushing against the fabric of his T-shirt, feeling the solid warmth underneath. The kiss deepens slightly, teasing, suggestive, daringâbut still measured.
He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, reading your reaction, searching for consent in your gaze. Your pulse is racing, your thoughts scattered, but the answer is clear in the flutter of your heartbeat.
His lips hover over yours again, close enough that you can feel the warmth and breath, and for a moment, nothing else exists: no hesitation, no past regrets, just the two of you, the quiet room, and the thrilling, dangerous pull of something more.
And then he whispers, low and husky, âDo you trust me?â
Your answer is a shiver, a nod, a soft, âYes,â barely audibleâbut itâs enough.
The air between you thickens, charged with a suggestion, a promise, a question that doesnât need wordsâbecause the way heâs looking at you, the way heâs close enough to touch, it says it all.
âŠ
Heeseungâs lips trail down your neck with a slow, teasing warmthâeach kiss featherlight at first, then lingering just enough to leave faint tingles in their wake. His breathing is uneven but controlled, clearly trying to balance the haze with focus.
âAlways smell so good.â He murmur between kisses. One hand rests tentatively against your shoulder while the other tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear before continuing his path lower.
Then he pauses abruptly near your collarbone as if remembering something, âI donât have condoms with me,â He looks at you.
You huff, turning to your handbag. Pulling out the small foil packet, he smiles at you. âFor your other one night stands?â You laugh.
âThat was the plan, but I stopped doing thise after you.â He doesnât question it, because he knows. You tug at his shirt, signalling you want it off.
Heeseung makes quick work of his shirt, tossing it aside before popping the button on his pants. His movements are fluidâconfident but not rushedâas he steps out of them and kicks them toward the floor.
âBetter?â He asks, voice low as he reaches for you again, now only in his boxers.
His fingers are gentle but eager as he helps you out of your own clothesâeach piece discarded with care until thereâs nothing left between you. His touch lingers on bare skin, like heâs relearning every curve after months of yearning.
"God⊠I love this,"he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. âSo beautiful.â
Heeseung trails kisses downwardâslow, deliberateâeach one hotter than the last. His hands follow, mapping your body like heâs memorizing it anew. When his lips finally reach the place you have been dying for him to touch, he glances up at you through his lashes, smirking.
âWant me to touch you here?â
You nod, he tsks. âNeed to hear you, baby.â As his breath brushes your open folds.
âYes.â You gasped, âYes, please.â
He smiles, Heeseung doesnât waste another secondâhis mouth sealing over you with practiced devotion. Every flick of his tongue, every hum against your skin is calculated to unravel you.
And it works.
His free hand grips your thigh, holding you steady as he focuses entirely on pleasuring and loving youâlike this is the only mission that matters tonight.
Heeseung zeroes in on your clit instantlyâhis tongue circling it with just the right amount of pressure before sucking lightly. His eyes stay locked on yours, gauging every twitch and gasp to adjust his technique.
"This okay?" he murmurs against you, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear you say it anyway.
You nod, he hums in approvalâtaking your nod as permission to double down. His tongue flicks faster now, alternating between broad strokes and precise little darts while his fingers slip inside you, curling just right.
You yelp at the sudden intrusion, Heeseung pauses immediatelyâpulling back just enough to check your expression. His brows furrow in concern, but he keeps his fingers still inside you.
"Too much?" he asks softly, ready to adjust at your slightest hint. You shake your head, âItâs good, sâgood..â
He exhales in reliefâhis tension melting into renewed focus. He resumes with even more care now, his movements deliberate and gentle as he coaxes you toward pleasure rather than overwhelming you.
"Thatâs it," he murmurs, lips brushing your inner thigh between words. "Just relax⊠Iâve got you."
âIâll make you feel better than that night.â
He adds a second fingerâstretching you gradually as his thumb replaces his tongue, rubbing slow circles over your clit instead. His eyes stay locked on your face, tracking every flutter of pleasure.
âTell me if anythingâs too much," he reminds, voice thick with concern beneath the desire.
Heeseung's touch remains gentle and attentive, his fingers moving in a steady rhythm that builds pleasure without rushing you. Every now and then, he glances up to make sure you're still comfortableâhis expression soft with care even as desire burns in his gaze.
âSo good for me, youâre so good for me.â He murmurs againts your skin, words warm and reverent.
He senses you're closeâyour breaths hitching, your body tensing around his fingers. He presses a final open-mouthed kiss to your clit before murmuring,
"Come for me, baby.â
His words are the last push you needâyour climax crashing over you in waves as Heeseung rides it out with his fingers, his touch never faltering. When your tremors subside, he presses a kiss to your inner thigh and slowly withdraws his hand.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, crawling up to claim your lips in a deep kissâletting you taste yourself on him.
âNeed you, now.â You breath againts his lips
Heeseung groans at your words, his body responding instantly. In one fluid motion, he flips onto his backâpulling you atop him, before rolling the condom on with practiced ease.
âRide me,â he rasps, before teasing his tip on your folds and guiding himself to your entrance. He hisses as you sink onto himâhis hands flying to your hips, gripping hard as he adjusts to the sudden tightness. His head falls back against the pillows, eyes squeezing shut for a second before he forces them open again, needing to see you.
"Fuck," he grits out, "You feelâŠ"
Words fail himâtoo overwhelmed by how perfectly you take him in.
His breath comes in ragged bursts as you start movingâhis hips instinctively bucking up to meet each of your descents. One hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck, pulling you down into a searing kiss while the other presses possessively against your back.
He loses himself in the rhythm you setâevery roll of your hips sending sparks through his veins. His hands roam your body, worshiping every curve as he murmurs praise against your skin.
âGonna kill me like this, baby.â He cups your breasts as he pinches one of your nipples, you moan.
His control starts to frayâhis thrusts becoming less measured, more desperate. He can feel his climax building rapidly, but he refuses to let go until you do first.
Heeseung flips you onto your back with surprising gentleness despite the urgency in his movements. The second heâs nestled between your thighs again, he surges into youâeach thrust deep and deliberate.
"Look at me," he demands softly, cradling your face as his pace turns relentless. "Want to see you when we finish."
His thrusts grow erraticâhis breath coming in sharp gasps as he chases his release. But even now, at the peak of pleasure, his focus stays on you, making sure youâre right there with him.
âSearched for you like crazy, kept..kept..asking around.â He went down to latch on your nipple, sucking softly and twirling his tongue making you whimper underneath him.
âNeed the girl that made me fall hopelessly from just one night.â
Heeseungâs eyes lock onto yours, the intensity in his gaze nearly overwhelming as he pushes you both toward release. His thrusts grow sharperâeach one hitting that perfect spot inside you while his thumb circles your clit with just enough pressure, making your moans slightly louder than before.
"Close?" he rasps, voice strained with restraint.
You nod frantically, your body coiling tight with impending pleasure. Heeseungâs answering grin is fierceâhe can feel it too.
"Then let go," he urges, his own rhythm faltering as he chases his own peak alongside you.
The moment your climax hitsâwaves of pleasure crashing over you in relentless successionâHeeseung follows with a broken groan. His thrusts stutter before he buries himself deep, shuddering through his release as he holds you close.
For several breathless seconds, all either of you can do is cling to each other, sweaty and spent but utterly satisfied.
âDonât go. Donât leave this time.â He says, pressing a lazy kiss on your shoulder.
âCanât run even if I tried,â you laugh, finally aware that you guys fucked in your childhood bedroom, in your parentsâ house. With his and your moms just a few doors away.
âŠ
Morning comes softly.
Not with alarms. Not with loud footsteps downstairs.
Just sunlight.
It slips through the thin gap in your curtains, warm and golden, stretching slowly across your walls, across your desk, across the edge of your bed.
You blink awake gradually, consciousness returning in pieces.
The warmth against your back registers first.
Then the weight around your waist.
Then the steady rise and fall of someone elseâs breathing.
Your heart stutters.
Heeseung.
His arm is draped securely around you, palm resting flat against your stomach like it belongs there. Your back is pressed lightly to his chest, his face buried somewhere near the back of your neck, breath warm against your skin.
For a second, you donât move, you just lie there and lets the reality settle.
Last night wasnât loud or reckless or fleeting. It wasnât dim bar lights and alcohol-blurred edges.
It was slow.
Intentional.
You remember how careful he was. How he kept checking in. How he looked at you like this wasnât just physical.
Your cheeks warm at the memory.
Behind you, he shifts slightly. His arm tightens instinctively when you move.
âMmm,â he hums, voice thick with sleep. âDonât go.â You freeze.
âIâm not,â you whisper, even though you hadnât actually planned to.
He exhales softly against your shoulder, clearly not fully awake yet. His fingers flex slightly against your waist, like heâs grounding himself.
The sunlight climbs higher.
You slowly turn your head just enough to glance at him.
His hair is a mess, falling into his eyes. His lips are slightly parted, expression relaxed in a way youâve never seen before. No guarded composure. No teasing edge.
Just him.
Peaceful.
He blinks awake a moment later, eyes adjusting slowly.
Thereâs a brief second of confusion.
Then recognition.
Then something softer.
âMorning,â he murmurs. Your heart flips.
âMorning.â
Neither of you moves away.
Neither of you makes it awkward.
He studies your face like heâs making sure youâre real. Like he half-expected to wake up alone again. âYouâre still here,â he says quietly.
You swallow. âSo are you.â A small smile touches his lips.
He lifts a hand, brushing his thumb gently along your cheekbone. Not suggestive. Not urgent. Just⊠tender.
âRegrets?â he asks carefully.
You consider it. The sunlight. The warmth. The quiet. His arm still wrapped around you.
âNo,â you answer honestly.
Relief flickers across his face so subtly you almost miss it.
âGood,â he murmurs.
Silence settles again, but itâs comfortable.
Youâre suddenly aware of the house. Of your mom downstairs. Of Mrs. Lee probably already awake.
Reality creeping back in.
âWe should probably get up,â you say softly. He groans lightly. âFive more minutes.â
You roll your eyes, but you donât move. His fingers trace lazy patterns against your waist absentmindedly.
âLast night,â he begins quietly, âwasnât just⊠heat.â
You turn slightly to face him more fully now, the blanket shifting around you.
âI know,â you reply. His eyes search yours.
âI meant what I said,â he continues. âAbout wanting more.â
The weight of it is still there. But this time, it doesnât feel suffocating. It feels steady.
You reach out, brushing a piece of hair away from his forehead. âIâm still scared,â you admit.
âThatâs okay,â he says immediately.
âBut I donât want to run,â you add.
Something shifts in his expressionâsomething hopeful. âWeâll figure it out,â he says quietly. âOne step at a time.â
He leaves tomorrow.
But right now, heâs here.
Warm. Real. Looking at you like youâre not temporary.
His hand slides into yours under the blanket, fingers intertwining slowly.
SEPTEMBER 2025
Three months later, your apartment feels both fuller and emptier at the same time.
Fuller â because his hoodie is draped over the back of your chair. Because thereâs a mug he likes that you bought âaccidentally.â Because your call logs are filled with his name. Because thereâs a toothbrush tucked into the corner of your sink like it belongs there.
Emptier â because right now, he isnât here.
Long distance wasnât glamorous.
It was: falling asleep on video call, propping your phone against your pillow just to see his face, texting âreach home safeâ every long rides he takes back home, syncing up dramas and pressing play at the same time,
It was him visiting every three weeks without fail. No excuses.
He comes by Friday night, spends the weekend before saying goodbye Sunday night. Sometimes with a small bouquet.
Sometimes with your favorite snacks.
Once with nothing but a tired smile and open arms.
And every time he left, the goodbye got quieter. Less dramatic. More heavy.
But you were trying. Both of you were.
Tonight, youâre expecting him again.
Youâd cleaned the apartment earlier, even though heâs seen it messy before. Thereâs a faint scent of citrus from the candle you lit. Your heart always beats a little faster on visit days.
When the knock finally comes, you donât pretend to be calm. You open the door.
Heeseung stands there with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder.
And that smile, the one that makes three weeks feel like three seconds.
You donât even greet him properlyâyou just step forward and hug him. He laughs softly, arms wrapping around you tightly, lifting you slightly off the ground for a brief second.
âI missed you too,â he murmurs into your hair. When you pull back, you notice something. He looks⊠different.
Not physically.
But thereâs a weight behind his eyes.
âWhat?â you ask immediately. He exhales lightly. âCan I come in first?â You narrow your eyes but step aside.
He drops his bag near the couch, looks around your apartment like he always doesâtaking it in, grounding himself.
You close the door.
âOkay,â you say, crossing your arms. âWhatâs going on?â
He runs a hand through his hairâa nervous habit youâve come to recognize.
âI have news,â he says. Your stomach drops slightly.
âGood news?â you ask cautiously.
He hesitates just enough to make your heart pound.
âIâm moving.â The word hangs in the air.
Your mind scrambles. âMoving?â you repeat. âWhere?â
He steps closer. âHere.â
You blink. ââŠWhat?â
âI got a transfer,â he continues, the words coming faster now. âThere was an opening in the branch here. I applied a month ago.â
âA month ago?â you echo.
âI didnât tell you because I didnât want to promise something that might not happen.â
Your heart is racing now. âI got it,â he says quietly. âItâs finalized.â Silence fills your apartment.
âYouâre⊠moving here?â you whisper.
He nods. âI donât want to do long distance anymore,â he says. âNot when I donât have to.â
Your brain is still catching up.
âBut your mom? Your place? Producing?â
âShe supports it,â he replies. âAnd my job is still my job. Just different location.â
You stare at him.
âYou did this⊠because of me?âHe steps closer until thereâs barely space between you.
âI did this because I want a life where I donât count down weeks just to see you,â he says. âBecause I donât want to miss small things. Your bad interview days. Your random 2 a.m. thoughts. Your victories.â
Your throat tightens. âI donât want to visit you,â he continues softly. âI want to be here.â Tears prick at the corner of your eyes before you can stop them.
âYouâre serious,â you whisper.
He cups your face gently, thumbs brushing just beneath your eyes.
âIâve never been more serious.â
Your laugh comes out shaky. âYouâre insane.â
âProbably,â he admits. âBut Iâm yours.â
note: freaking finally! i know i promised you guys this a month ago, and yes iâm alive. just wanted to wrap things up with my semester and have a small break after stressing out for finals, but alas! here we are! first work kinda nervous >< hope u guys love it!
taglist: @gardenwonn @vayuzzz @prettygirlthings-world @yenienha @enhypen437 @rayofsunshineeee @somuchdard



















