TRASH BLOG

You stood by your apartment, bags laying on the floor as you tried your best to not cry. Yunho been a trainee and the time for him to debut is now near. You had thought you'll stay by his side, but it seems Yunho had other ideas.

" it wouldn't look good babe." He tried to explain, placing his last bag by the door.

You looked away, your lip trembling as you tried to swallow the choke sob that threaten to leave.

Yunho sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair as he turned to face you. His expression was conflicted, but there was a firmness in his voice as he continued, “The company… they don’t want me to have distractions. It’s not that I don’t want you by my side, I just… I have to focus.”

You tried to breathe steadily, but the weight of his words made it harder. You had always known this moment might come, but now that it was here, the pain was sharper than you'd imagined. “So… I’m a distraction?” you whispered, your voice barely above a tremble.

“No, no, you’re not,” Yunho quickly interjected, stepping closer. “It’s not like that.” He paused, struggling to find the right words. “This is what I’ve been working for, for years. I need to give it everything. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

His words felt like a distant echo, hard to grasp in the swirl of emotions. You nodded weakly, not trusting yourself to speak as tears finally broke free.

Yunho’s chest tightened as he watched the tears stream down your face. He wanted nothing more than to reach out, to hold you close and tell you it would be okay. But the weight of the decision he had made—what was expected of him—kept him frozen in place.

He took a shaky breath, his hands balling into fists at his sides as he fought against his own urge to comfort you. "I don’t want this either," he admitted quietly, his voice filled with regret. "You’ve always been the reason I keep pushing forward. Every song, every dance… it's because of you."

He hesitated, his eyes flickering between you and the door. He knew if he touched you, if he held you now, he might not have the strength to leave. But the thought of walking away without saying a proper goodbye felt wrong.

“Maybe one day…” he started, but his voice trailed off. He wasn’t sure if he could promise anything right now, not when everything was so uncertain. Instead, he stepped forward, tentatively reaching out to brush his fingers against yours, a silent farewell that hurt more than words could express.

“I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I’m so sorry."

The moment the door clicked shut, the sob you had been holding back erupted from your chest, raw and uncontrollable. You sank to the floor, clutching your knees to your chest as your tears flowed freely. The pain you had tried so hard to hide now overwhelmed you, and you cried out for the future you thought you’d share, the love you were losing.

You don’t expect him to come back.

That’s the whole point of letting go, isn’t it?

You delete the chat. A quiet press and hold, a small confirmation box, a softer kind of ending than the one in your chest.

You don’t block him. You don’t need to.

You tell yourself it’s because you trust yourself not to go back.

It’s not. It’s because some part of you still wants a door to exist.

Even if you never open it.

Days pass. Then a week.

Then almost two.

And it starts to feel real.

Not easier—not really—but quieter. The ache dulls into something you can carry without it spilling everywhere. 

You go back to your routines. You stop checking your phone as much. You stop expecting his name to appear where it shouldn’t.

You almost believe you’re okay.

And then—

Your phone buzzes.

You don’t think anything of it at first. Just another notification, another message from someone else, another small interruption in a day that’s finally starting to feel steady again.

Until you look.

Unknown number.

Your heart stutters. You already know.

You shouldn’t.

You really, really shouldn’t—

But your fingers move anyway.

Unknown:hey… it’s me

Your chest tightens instantly.

Of course it is. Of course he didn’t disappear quietly. Of course he came back just when things started to settle.

You stare at the message for a long time.

Long enough that the screen dims. Long enough that your heartbeat becomes something loud and unsteady again.

You could ignore it. You should ignore it.

You know exactly where this leads.

But—

You type.

you:i know

Three dots appear.

Disappear. Reappear.

Unknown:you deleted my number, didn’t you

You exhale slowly. There’s no point denying it.

you:yeah

A pause.

Then—

unknown: …that hurt a little

Something in your chest twists. Because you never wanted to hurt him.

Even now. Especially now.

Your fingers hesitate.

you:i thought that was the point

The reply takes longer this time. Like he’s choosing his words carefully.

unknown:

no

i just thought you needed space

You let out a quiet breath.

“I did,” you whisper under it.

You still do.

But he’s here now.

The conversation doesn’t flow like it used to.

Not like before you ended it. Not like before things got too real.

There are pauses now.

Careful wording.

A tension that wasn’t there before.

unknown:can we talk?

You stare at the message.

Because you already know—

Talking is what got you here in the first place.

you:we are

A pause.

unknown:no, like… properly

Your chest tightens.

you:what’s there to say?

The typing bubble appears instantly this time. Like he’s been waiting for that question.

unknown:after we stopped talking i kept thinking about what you said

You swallow.

Your fingers hover, but you don’t reply.

So he continues.

unknown:about how i forgot you

Your heart skips.

and i know i said i can’t rememberand that’s still true

Something sinks in your chest.

Of course it is.

But then—

Another message.

unknown:but it’s weird

Your brows knit slightly.

you:what is?

The reply comes quickly.

unknown:you don’t feel like a stranger

Your breath catches.

Because he said that before. And it broke you then.

It shouldn’t mean anything now.

Him:like the way you talkthe things you saysometimes i feel like i already know what you’re gonna say before you say it

Your heart starts to beat faster.

Unsteady. Dangerous.

and it’s been bothering me

You sit up slightly. Your grip tightens around your phone.

you:why?

There’s a pause. Longer than before.

unknwon:because i don’t remember youbut something in me acts like i should

Your breath stutters.

And for a second—

A stupid, fragile hope flickers.

But you push it down immediately. Because hope is what ruined you the first time.

you:yunho

You type his name before you can stop yourself.

The moment you send it—

Your chest tightens. Because it feels too familiar. Too much like before.

There’s a pause on his end.

Then—

unknown:i think that’s what’s messing with me

Your chest tightens again.

unknown:so can i see you?

Your heart stops. Just for a second.

Because that question—

It changes everything. Seeing him again means risking everything you just started to rebuild. Risking the fragile distance you created to protect yourself.

Risking falling right back into something that already broke you once.

Your chest tightens painfully.

you:why?

The reply comes instantly.

Too quickly to be fully thought through.

unknown:because i don’t want to feel like this anymore

You close your eyes.

Tears slip down, slow and quiet.

Because that’s the difference between you.

He doesn’t want to feel it. You’ve been feeling it all along.

Alone.

Your fingers hover over the screen.

You should say no. You should end it here. You should protect yourself this time.

But instead—

You:just this once

Send.

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You almost cancel.

Three times, actually.

Once when you’re choosing what to wear and nothing feels right—too much like trying, too much like caring. 

Once when you’re halfway out the door and your chest tightens so suddenly you have to lean against the wall and remind yourself how to breathe.

And once when you’re already there. Because of course you are.

Early. 

You always used to be early.

The café is quieter than you expected. Late afternoon light spills through the windows, soft and golden, settling over empty tables and untouched cups. It feels like the kind of place you would’ve liked back then.

The kind of place he would’ve teased you for choosing.

You pick a table by the window. You don’t order anything.

Your hands stay wrapped around nothing, fingers laced together just to keep them still.

You tell yourself this is just a conversation.

Nothing more. Nothing less. The door opens.

You don’t look up immediately.

You don’t have to. You feel it.

That shift in the air, subtle but unmistakable, like your body recognizes him before your mind allows it.

Footsteps. Closer.

Then—

“Hey.”

You look up.

And there he is.

Yunho.

A little out of breath, like he rushed. His hair is slightly messy, like he ran his hands through it too many times. 

There’s something different about his expression today—still warm, still open, but quieter around the edges.

Less certain.

You nod.

“Hey.”

He sits across from you.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

It’s strange.

You’ve sat across from him before. Countless times. In classrooms, in cafeterias, on sidewalks with shared drinks between you.

But this—

This feels like something else entirely.

Like sitting across from a memory that doesn’t recognize you.

“So,” he says after a beat, letting out a small breath, “this is… kind of weird.”

You let out a faint, humorless huff.

“Yeah.”

He scratches the back of his neck.

“I wasn’t sure you’d actually come.”

“I almost didn’t.”

Honesty slips out easier now. Maybe because there’s nothing left to protect.

He nods slowly.

“…Yeah. That’s fair.”

Silence settles again.

Not awkward.

Just heavy.

Like there’s too much sitting between you for small talk to make sense.

He’s the one who breaks it.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” Yunho says.

You don’t respond. You just watch him.

Because you already know this isn’t going to be simple.

“I know I said I don’t remember you,” he continues, quieter now, his gaze dropping briefly to the table before flickering back up to you. “And I don’t. Not… properly.”

Something in your chest tightens.

You nod once.

“I know.”

“But—” he pauses, like he’s trying to find the right words, “it’s been… bothering me.”

You tilt your head slightly.

“How?”

He exhales, leaning back in his chair, one hand coming up to rub at the side of his neck.

“It’s stupid,” he mutters.

“It’s not.”

He glances at you.

Something flickers there—something almost familiar—but it’s gone before you can hold onto it.

“…It feels like I skipped something,” he says finally.

Your breath stills.

“Like—” he huffs out a quiet laugh, but there’s no humor in it, “like when you start a show halfway through and everyone already knows each other and you’re just… there, trying to catch up.”

Your fingers tighten slightly in your lap.

“That’s what this feels like,” he adds. “Like I walked into something I was already part of.”

The words land softly. But they echo.

Because he doesn’t know how close he is.

You swallow.

“You didn’t skip it,” you say quietly.

“You just left it.”

He goes still. Like something about that phrasing settles differently in his chest.

“…Yeah,” he murmurs after a second. “Maybe.”

A pause.

Then he leans forward slightly, elbows resting on the table.

“Can I ask you something?”

You nod.

“What was I like?” he asks.

Your heart stumbles.

Because that question—

It’s too big.

Too loaded. Too dangerous.

You let out a slow breath.

“You were…” your voice falters, and you have to steady it before continuing, “you were easy to be around.”

He smiles faintly.

“Yeah, that sounds like me.”

You almost smile too. Almost.

“You talked a lot,” you add.

“Hey—”

“And you laughed at your own jokes,” you continue, softer now.

“Okay, that’s accurate.”

There’s a small, fleeting warmth in the moment.

Something light. Something that almost feels normal.

But then—

You keep going.

“You remembered things,” you say.

His smile fades slightly.

“…What kind of things?”

“Small things,” you reply. “Stuff people usually forget.”

Your gaze drops to the table.

“You didn’t forget me back then.”

The silence that follows is different.

Heavier.

Yunho doesn’t respond right away.

When you look up again, he’s watching you.

Closely.

Like he’s trying to see something past what’s in front of him.

“…I would’ve, though,” he says eventually, quieter now. “Right? I mean—people don’t just forget someone important like that.”

The words hit harder than they should.

Because he doesn’t realize—

He did.

You shake your head slightly.

“I don’t know.”

He studies your face again. Longer this time.

And there’s something in his expression now. Something unsettled.

“Can I say something weird?” he asks.

You nod.

“I keep thinking about this feeling,” he says slowly, like he’s piecing it together as he speaks. “Like… something’s missing.”

Your chest tightens. You don’t interrupt.

“I didn’t notice it before,” he continues. “Not until you showed up again. And now it’s just—there.”

He lets out a quiet breath, gaze dropping to his hands.

“It’s not like I remember anything,” he says. “I don’t have, like, flashbacks or anything dramatic.”

A small, self-conscious laugh.

“But it’s like… I know I forgot something important.”

Your throat tightens. You don’t trust your voice.

So you stay quiet.

He looks up again. At you.

And this time—

He doesn’t look confused.

He looks… certain.

Not of the past. Not of memories.

But of something else.

“…It’s you, isn’t it?” he says softly.

Your breath catches. The world seems to still around you.

Not because he remembers. But because he doesn’t.

And he still came to that conclusion.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Because if you do—

It makes it real. It makes it something that exists outside of you.

His gaze doesn’t waver.

“I don’t remember what we were,” Yunho continues, voice low, steady in a way that almost feels unfamiliar. “Or what happened. Or why I forgot.”

A pause.

“But I know I did.”

Your vision blurs slightly.

“And I know it mattered,” he adds.

The words land gently. Carefully.

Like he’s trying not to break something he can’t see.

Your fingers curl into your sleeves.

“Yunho—”

“I’m not saying this to fix it,” he cuts in quickly, shaking his head. “I know I can’t. I know it’s not the same.”

He exhales.

“But I needed to say it.”

Silence stretches between you.

Because this—this is the closest you’re ever going to get.

Not memories. Not recognition.

But acknowledgment.

A quiet understanding of something he can’t fully grasp.

Your chest aches. But it’s different this time.

Not sharp. Not suffocating.

Just sad.

You look at him. Really look at him.

At the boy you loved.At the man sitting in front of you now.

And for the first time, you don’t try to bridge the gap.

You just let it exist.

“…Yeah,” you say softly.

“That was me.”

He nods. Slowly.

Like he already knew. Like he just needed to hear it out loud.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

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The silence lingers—but it doesn’t suffocate.

Not like before.

It sits between you, softer now. 

Not empty, not painful in the same sharp way. Just… there. Like something both of you are finally looking at instead of trying to fix.

Yunho leans back slightly, exhaling through his nose.

“…I don’t like it,” he admits.

You glance at him. “What?”

“This feeling,” he says, tapping lightly against his chest. “Like I dropped something important and didn’t even notice until now.”

Your lips press together.

“You didn’t notice,” you say gently. “That’s kind of the problem.”

“I know,” he murmurs.

He looks at you again—really looks this time. Not like he’s trying to recognize you, not like he’s searching for something lost.

Just… looking.

And somehow, that feels different.

“I think I’d remember you if I could,” he says after a moment.

You huff out a small breath. “That’s not exactly comforting.”

He winces slightly. “Yeah. That sounded better in my head.”

A quiet pause.

Then—

“But I don’t think remembering is the only way something can matter.”

Your brows knit faintly.

He shifts forward again, resting his arms on the table, closer this time.

“I don’t remember what we were,” Yunho says carefully. “But I know it wasn’t small. I can tell just from… you.”

Your heart stutters.

“And from this,” he adds, glancing down at his chest again like he’s trying to explain something he doesn’t fully understand. “Whatever this is—it’s not nothing.”

You don’t answer right away.

Because part of you wants to resist.

Want to say it’s not enough.

Wants to hold onto the idea that if he doesn’t remember, then it can’t be real anymore.

But another part of you—

Quieter. Tired.

Knows that this is the first time since you met again that he isn’t treating it lightly.

He isn’t laughing. He isn’t brushing it off.

He’s… choosing to take it seriously.

Even without the memories.

“…So what are you saying?” you ask softly.

He exhales.

“I’m saying I don’t want to walk away from this again,” Yunho replies.

Your chest tightens.

“I already did that once. Even if I don’t remember it—I still did.” His voice is quieter now, steadier. “And I don’t like the idea that I could just… lose you twice.”

The words settle deep.

Not dramatic. Not overwhelming.

Just sincere.

You look down at your hands.

Because this is the part where it gets dangerous again. 

Hope.

The thing you promised yourself you wouldn’t fall into.

“…It won’t be the same,” you say.

It’s not a warning. Just the truth.

“I know.”

“You won’t remember the things I do.”

“I know.”

You lift your gaze.

“Then why?”

There’s no hesitation this time.

“Because I still want to know you.”

Simple. Clear.

No past attached to it. No expectations he can’t meet.

You search his face.

For doubt. For uncertainty. For anything that feels temporary.

But Yunho has always been like this.

When he decides something, he leans into it fully. All heart.

“…You’re starting over,” you say.

He tilts his head slightly.

“Yeah.”

Your chest aches faintly.

“From nothing.”

He shakes his head.

“Not from nothing.”

A small pause.

Then, softer—

“From you.”

Your breath catches.

Because he doesn’t say from the past. He doesn’t pretend to understand something he doesn’t.

He just chooses what’s in front of him.

You.

The present version. The one he can actually hold onto.

And for the first time—

That doesn’t feel like a loss. It feels… possible.

You exhale slowly.

“…You’re really stubborn.”

He grins a little at that.

“There it is.”

“What?”

“That sounds like something I’d hear from someone who knows me,” he says, a hint of warmth slipping back into his voice.

You roll your eyes.

And that’s when you realize, this doesn’t feel as heavy anymore.

Not because the past disappeared. But because you’re not trying to drag it into the present anymore.

You’re just… here. With him.

“…Okay,” you say finally.

His expression stills.

“Okay?” he repeats.

You nod.

“Okay.”

Something shifts in his face then—something bright, relieved, almost boyish.

“Yeah?” he asks, like he needs to be sure.

“Yeah.”

A smile breaks across his face.

Wide. Warm.

Familiar in a way that doesn’t hurt this time.

“Then—” he sits up straighter, energy returning in that unmistakable way, “we should do this properly.”

You blink. “Do what properly?”

“Start over,” he says.

You huff softly. “You already said that.”

“No, I mean like—actually do it right this time,” Yunho continues, reaching for his phone before pausing. “Wait, no—I already have your number.”

You raise a brow. “Good job.”

“Hey, I’m improving,” he shoots back.

There’s a lightness now.

Something easy. Something that doesn’t feel like it’s built on something broken.

He looks at you again.

A little more careful this time.

“…Can I try something?”

You hesitate.

“…What?”

He leans forward slightly, resting his chin lightly against his hand, studying you.

“Tell me something about you,” he says.

You blink.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

You stare at him for a second.

And then—

You answer.

“I like quiet places.”

His smile softens.

“Yeah,” he says. “That makes sense.”

Your chest tightens faintly.

“Why?”

He shrugs lightly.

“I don’t know. It just… fits.”

You don’t say anything.

But something about that feels like the beginning of something.

Not the past. Not what you lost.

But something new. Something that doesn’t erase what happened but doesn’t live inside it either.

Yunho taps the table lightly.

“Okay, my turn,” he says. “I like loud places.”

You almost laugh.

“I know.”

He pauses, eyes flickering up.

“…You do?”

You catch yourself. Too late.

A small silence settles between you.

Then—

He smiles.

Not confused. Not questioning.

Just soft.

“Then I guess you’ll have to remind me,” he says.

And it doesn’t hurt. Because you’re not the only one holding on anymore.

He might not remember the past. But he’s choosing you now.

And maybe that’s enough.

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─────────

You leave the café together.

Not side by side at first. There’s still a small space between you.

Careful. New.

But not unfamiliar.

Halfway down the street, Yunho glances at you.

“Hey.”

You look up.

“Yeah?”

He hesitates. Just for a second.

Then he reaches out.

Not for your hand. Just your sleeve. 

A small, absent tug.

Like it’s instinct. Like it’s something his body remembers even if his mind doesn’t.

Your breath catches.

Because he used to do that. All the time.

“Walk this way,” he says casually. “It’s less crowded.”

You stare at his hand for a second longer than you should.

You follow.

And it doesn’t feel like you’re losing him again.

It feels like you’re meeting him for the first time.

And maybe for real this time.

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© lcvejjoong, 2026

You don’t expect it to be him.

Not here. Not like this.

Not in the middle of something as ordinary as a grocery store, where fluorescent lights hum softly overhead and someone nearby is arguing about which brand of instant noodles tastes better.

It’s stupid, really—how something life-altering happens in a place that smells faintly like detergent and overripe fruit.

You’re reaching for a carton of milk when you hear it.

A laugh.

Bright. Warm.

Familiar in a way that doesn’t make sense at first, because it doesn’t belong to your present—it belongs to something softer, something older, something you’ve spent years trying not to touch too much in case it breaks.

Your hand freezes midair.

No. It can’t be.

But your heart—

Your heart already knows.

You turn.

And there he is.

Jeong Yunho.

He hasn’t changed in the ways that matter.

He’s taller—maybe—he’s always been very tall. Broader shoulders. A little more defined, a little more grown into himself. 

But the essence of him is exactly the same. 

He stands like he always used to, relaxed and open, like the world has never given him a reason to close off. His smile stretches wide, all teeth and warmth and something unbearably kind.

A giant puppy.

That’s what everyone used to call him.

That’s what you used to think every time he looked at you like you were the best thing he’d ever seen.

And right now—

He’s looking at someone else like that.

You don’t realize you’ve stopped breathing until your chest starts to ache.

He’s standing by the snacks aisle, laughing at something his friend said, head tipping back slightly. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and it’s so him that it almost feels cruel.

Because nothing about him suggests that anything was ever lost.

Nothing about him suggests that he ever left you behind.

Your grip tightens around the milk carton.

You could leave. You should leave right now.

You could turn around right now, walk to the checkout, go home, pretend this never happened. Pretend that the boy you spent years loving isn’t standing ten steps away from you, alive and real and within reach for the first time in so long.

You should leave.

Instead—

You walk toward him.

It’s instinct. It’s muscle memory.

It’s the same pull that used to guide you through crowded hallways just to end up next to him without thinking.

Step. Step. Step.

Each one feels heavier than the last, like you’re walking straight into something you won’t survive.

He notices you before you’re ready.

Of course he does.

Yunho has always been like that—aware in the gentlest way, like he pays attention without making it obvious.

His laughter tapers off as you approach, his attention shifting.

And then—

He looks at you.

Really looks at you.

And your heart—

It stops.

Because for one fragile, stupid, desperate second, you think he knows.

You think something will flicker across his face—recognition, surprise, something that says oh, it’s you.

Something that says you weren’t the only one who remembered.

But instead—

His smile widens.

Friendly. Easy.

Completely unguarded.

“Hey,” he says.

The word lands softly.

Casually.

Like he says it to strangers all the time.

Like you are one.

You swallow.

Your throat feels too tight, like your body already understands something your mind is still trying to deny.

“Hi,” you reply.

Your voice sounds smaller than you expect.

He tilts his head slightly, studying you—not in recognition, but in curiosity.

You can see it happening.

That gentle, thoughtful expression he always had when he was trying to place someone.

Except—

He doesn’t.

He just smiles again.

Polite. Waiting.

Waiting for you to explain why you’re standing in front of him.

Your chest tightens.

“It’s me,” you say, and there’s a laugh in your voice that you don’t mean. “From high school?”

There’s a pause.

A beat.

And then—

He blinks.

Once. Twice.

And then he laughs.

Light. Bright.

Completely at ease.

“Oh—wait,” he says, grinning, like you’ve just told a joke. “You’re kidding, right?”

Something inside you cracks.

You don’t laugh.

But he does.

Because to him, this is funny.

“You almost got me,” Yunho continues, shaking his head, still smiling. “I was about to say I don’t remember, and that would’ve been really embarrassing.”

Your fingers curl slightly at your sides.

“I’m not joking,” you say.

It comes out quieter this time.

Softer.

But it doesn’t matter.

He’s still smiling.

Still amused. Still under the impression that this is some kind of playful bit.

“Wait, seriously?” he asks, eyes lighting up—not with recognition, but with curiosity. “Okay, okay—give me a hint.”

A hint.

Like you’re a game. Like you’re something he needs to solve.

Your heart starts to pound, uneven and wrong.

“We sat together,” you say. “English class. You used to—” your voice falters for half a second before you force it steady, “—you used to steal my pens because you said mine wrote better.”

He laughs again.

God.

“No way,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “That sounds like something I’d do, not gonna lie.”

Your chest aches.

“It is something you did.”

“Okay, okay,” he says, still smiling, like he’s entertained. “Wait—did we, like, talk a lot? Or—”

“We were best friends.”

The words slip out before you can stop them.

They land between you.

Heavy. Real.

And for the first time—

His smile falters.

Just a little.

Not because he remembers.

But because the tone of your voice doesn’t match the joke he thinks this is.

“…Oh,” he says.

There’s a pause.

You can see it now—the shift.

Confusion. Uncertainty.

And then—

Something softer. Something apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” Yunho says, the smile returning, but smaller this time. “I—uh—I have a really bad memory with this kind of stuff.”

Bad memory.

You almost laugh. Except you don’t.

Because this isn’t small.

This isn’t some stuff.

This is—

Everything.

“You really don’t remember?” you ask.

And there’s something in your voice now.

Something you can’t hide.

Because this was never supposed to happen like this.

He hesitates.

And then he shakes his head.

Slowly. 

Like he’s trying not to hurt you.

“I’m really sorry,” he says again.

And just like that—

It’s gone.

Every late-night conversation. Every shared secret.

Every moment where he looked at you like you were his favorite person in the world.

Gone. Erased so cleanly it’s like it never existed.

You nod.

Because what else can you do?

“It’s okay,” you say.

It isn’t. It isn’t even close to okay.

But Yunho smiles again.

Soft. Relieved.

Because to him, this is just an awkward interaction that’s almost over.

“That’s so embarrassing,” he laughs lightly. “I feel like I should remember you.”

You stare at him.

You should.

“I guess I wasn’t that memorable,” you say.

You mean it as a joke. You try to make it sound like one.

But it lands wrong.

You can tell immediately.

His expression shifts again—guilt this time.

“No, no—it’s not like that,” he says quickly. “I’m just really bad with—”

“It’s fine.”

You cut him off.

Because if he says one more thing—

You might break right here in the middle of aisle seven.

There’s a pause.

“Well,” he says, smiling again, softer this time, “we can just start over, right?”

Start over.

Like it’s that simple.

Like you didn’t spend nights wondering if he ever missed you the way you missed him. Like you didn’t carry him with you long after he forgot to stay.

You nod anyway.

“Yeah,” you say.

“Yeah, we can.”

Because it’s easier than telling him the truth.

Easier than saying—

I don’t want to start over. I wanted you to remember.

He brightens immediately.

“I’m Yunho, by the way,” he says, holding out his hand.

Like you don’t already know. Like you haven’t known for years.

You look at it.

At him.

At the boy who used to hold your hand without thinking—

And now has to introduce himself.

You take it anyway. Tell him your name. Watch him repeat it like it’s brand new.

His hand is warm.

It always was.

You remember that much—how he used to grab your wrist without thinking, tugging you along hallways, across streets, through crowds like the world would part for him as long as you were following.

Now his hand is just—

A stranger’s.

“Nice to meet you,” Yunho says, smiling.

Nice to meet you.

The words settle somewhere deep and sharp, like they don’t quite belong in a world where you already know the way his handwriting looks, the way he hums when he’s bored, the way he used to say your name like it was something soft and important.

You nod.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “You too.”

It’s a lie.

You’ve already met him. You’ve already known him.

You’ve already loved him.

He lets go of your hand too quickly.

Like there’s no reason to hold on.

And maybe there isn’t.

To him.

“So—wait,” Yunho says, tilting his head again, that familiar curiosity flickering in his eyes. “If we were best friends… how come I don’t remember you at all?”

The question is so innocent. So genuine.

It makes it worse.

You let out a small breath, something that almost resembles a laugh.

“I don’t know,” you answer.

But that’s not true.

You know exactly how.

You just don’t know how to say it without sounding like you’re accusing him of something he doesn’t even realize he did.

Because forgetting isn’t a crime.

It’s just—

Cruel.

Unintentionally. Effortlessly cruel.

He scratches the back of his neck, sheepish.

“That’s so bad,” he says, half-laughing. “I swear I’m not usually like this.”

You almost say, you are.

Because this version of him—the one standing in front of you, easygoing and warm and completely unburdened—

This is who he became after he left.

This is the version of Yunho that doesn’t carry you anymore.

But you don’t say it.

Instead, you shrug.

“It’s fine.”

He studies your face for a second longer than before.

Like he’s trying to read something there. Like he’s starting to realize this isn’t just a funny coincidence.

But then he smiles again.

Because that’s what Yunho does.

He fills silence with warmth.

“So,” he says, clapping his hands lightly together, “since I clearly messed up big time… let me make it up to you.”

Your brows knit slightly.

“…What?”

“Let’s be friends again,” he says easily.

Again.

The word hits differently this time.

Because he says it like it’s simple.

Like friendships are things you can pause and resume without consequence.

“Yunho—” you start.

But he cuts in, bright and earnest.

“Seriously! I mean, we were best friends, right? That has to count for something.”

It does.

Just not in the way he thinks.

Your chest tightens.

“It counted,” you say softly.

His smile doesn’t fade.

Because he doesn’t hear what you mean.

“Then it still counts now,” he insists, like it’s obvious. “We can just pick up where we left off.”

Pick up where we left off.

You almost laugh.

But it doesn’t come out right. Because where you left off—

Was you watching him walk away with a promise he didn’t keep.

Was you staring at your phone, waiting for messages that slowly stopped coming.

Was you realizing that you were holding onto something he had already let go of.

There is no “picking up.”

There’s only starting from nothing.

You look at him.

At the way his eyes shine with sincerity. At the way he genuinely believes this is something kind.

And maybe it is.

Just not for you.

“…You make it sound really easy,” you say.

He grins.

“It is easy.”

Of course it is.

For him.

“Come on,” Yunho continues, nudging your shoulder lightly like he’s known you forever. “Don’t tell me you don’t want to be friends with me again.”

Your breath catches.

Because the truth is—

You do.

God, you do.

You would take anything he offers.

Even if it’s smaller. Even if it’s different.

Even if it hurts.

But—

“I don’t know if I can,” you admit.

The words surprise both of you.

He blinks.

“Why not?”

Because I never stopped.

Because you forgot, and I didn’t. Because I don’t know how to pretend this is new when it feels like something unfinished.

But all you say is—

“It’s just… weird.”

He tilts his head.

“Because I forgot?”

You nod.

He frowns slightly, like he’s trying to understand.

“…I mean, yeah, that sucks,” he says gently. “And I’m really sorry. But it doesn’t have to be a big deal, right? Like—we can make new memories.”

New memories.

The phrase sits heavy in your chest.

Because you don’t want new ones.

You want the old ones back. You want him to look at you and know.

You want him to remember the way he used to save you a seat without asking.

The way he used to text you first.

The way he once said—

“If I ever move away, I’m still going to annoy you every day. You’re stuck with me.”

You remember it so clearly.

The classroom.

The late afternoon sunlight.

The way he smiled when he said it, like it was a promise.

You swallow.

“Yeah,” you say faintly. “New memories.”

He brightens again, relieved that you didn’t shut him down completely.

“Exactly!” he says. “See? It’s not so bad.”

Not so bad.

To lose nothing. To stand here and feel no absence. To look at someone who used to mean everything and feel… nothing at all.

Your fingers curl slightly.

“Hey,” Yunho says suddenly.

You look up.

He’s watching you closely now.

Closer than before.

“You’re not, like… actually upset, right?”

There’s concern in his voice. Real concern.

The kind he always had.

And that’s the worst part.

He’s still him.

Still kind. Still warm. Still the boy who cared too much.

Just not about you anymore.

You force a smile.

“No,” you say.

It comes out too quickly.

Too smooth.

He doesn’t believe you.

You can tell.

“…You are,” he says softly.

You shake your head.

“I’m not.”

A beat.

And then he laughs again.

Light. Careful this time.

“Okay, wait—this feels like I’m being pranked or something,” Yunho says, glancing around briefly like he expects cameras to pop out. “Are you sure we knew each other that well?”

The words hit harder than anything else so far.

Because he’s still not fully convinced.

Still thinks this might be exaggerated. Still think you might be joking.

Your chest tightens sharply.

“I wouldn’t lie about that,” you say.

Your voice is quieter now.

But there’s something in it.

Something that makes him stop. Really stop.

His smile fades.

Just a little.

“…Oh.”

Silence stretches between you.

Thicker this time.

He shifts his weight.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly. “I just—”

“I know.”

You don’t let him finish.

Because if he apologizes again—

It’ll only make this more real.

You glance down at the basket in your hand, suddenly aware of how long you’ve been standing here.

Of how out of place this entire moment feels.

“I should go,” you say.

His head lifts immediately.

“Oh—already?”

There’s something in his voice.

Something that almost sounds like disappointment.

It twists something fragile inside you.

“Yeah,” you say. “I was just grabbing a few things.”

He hesitates.

Like he wants to say something else. Like he’s not quite ready to let this end.

And for a second—

A dangerous, stupid second—

You wonder if maybe, somehow, something in him does feel familiar.

If maybe there’s a thread, thin and invisible, that still connects you.

But then he smiles again.

Soft. Casual.

“Can I at least get your number?” Yunho asks. “If we’re starting over, I mean.”

Starting over.

You look at him.

At the boy who once had your number memorized.

Who used to text you goodnight without fail. Who once stayed up until 3 a.m. just to keep you company.

And now—

He’s asking for it like it’s brand new.

Like you’ve never existed in his phone before.

Your heart aches.

But your hands move anyway.

You take his phone. Type your number in.

Hand it back.

“Text me so I have yours,” you say.

He grins.

“Got it.”

Your fingers brush for a second.

It lingers longer than it should.

At least—for you.

For him, it’s nothing.

“Okay,” he says, stepping back slightly. “I’ll text you.”

You nod.

“Okay.”

You turn.

Because if you stay any longer—

You might say something you can’t take back.

You walk away.

Step. Step. Step.

It feels just like earlier.

Heavy. Slow.

Like you’re leaving something behind.

But this time—

It’s different.

Because now you know.

He didn’t just forget the small things.

He forgot you. Completely.

Behind you, his voice calls out—

“Hey!”

You stop.

Just for a second.

You turn back.

He’s smiling.

“Don’t disappear this time, okay?” Yunho says, half-laughing. “Since we just found each other again.”

Your heart shatters quietly.

Because you didn’t disappear.

He did.

You nod anyway.

“Yeah,” you say.

“I won’t.”

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

He texts you before you even make it home.

Of course he does.

Your phone buzzes in your hand as you’re crossing the street, the notification lighting up your screen like something small and harmless—like it isn’t about to undo you in ways you didn’t prepare for.

Yunho:

hey!! it’s yunho from the grocery store 😄

You stop walking.

Because the message—

It’s so normal.

So easy. So new.

It’s Yunho from the grocery store.

Not Yunho from high school. Not Yunho who used to walk you home.

Not Yunho who once knew your favorite song, your worst fears, the way you take your coffee without asking.

Just—

A boy you met today.

Your chest tightens, something slow and aching spreading through it.

You type back anyway.

You:

i know

Three dots appear almost immediately.

Disappear. Reappear.

Yunho:

okay good 😭 i was worried you’d save me as “milk aisle guy” or something

You stare at the screen.

And despite everything—

A small, broken smile pulls at your lips.

Because that’s him. That’s so him.

The way he jokes. The way he tries to keep things light. The way he makes everything feel okay, even when it’s not.

You remember how he used to do this back then, too.

Whenever things got too quiet.

Too real.

He’d laugh. Say something stupid.

Make you forget, even if just for a moment.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard.

You:

i should

His reply comes instantly.

Yunho:

wow okay 😔 i see how it is

You exhale softly.

It almost feels normal.

Like nothing has changed. Like you didn’t just stand in front of him and realize you never existed in his memory.

But then—

That thought creeps back in.

And everything shifts again.

You put your phone down when you get home.

You tell yourself you won’t check it. You tell yourself you need space.

You tell yourself this is dangerous.

You last three minutes.

And when you pick it up again, there are already more messages.

Yunho:

soooo

since we’re “best friends” apparently (still can’t believe i forgot that btw, i feel terrible)

tell me something about you

Your stomach twists.

Something about you.

Where do you even start?

Do you tell him—

That he already knows everything? That there’s nothing new to give because he’s already had all of it once?

Your thumbs move slowly.

You:

i like quiet places

and i don’t really like crowded environments 

The reply comes quickly.

Yunho:

really?? i’m like the opposite LOL

but that’s okay, i can drag you out sometimes 😄

You close your eyes for a second.

Because he already did that.

He used to grab your wrist, pull you into chaos you never would’ve chosen yourself. Loud festivals, crowded cafeterias, last-minute plans that always ended with you laughing despite yourself.

You didn’t need to be “dragged.”

Not when it was him.

Yunho:

what else?

What else.

Everything else. Too much else.

You swallow.

You:

i like staying in

There’s a pause this time.

Longer.

Like he’s actually thinking.

Then—

Yunho:

that’s kinda cute actually

Cute.

The word hits differently now.

Back then, he used to say it under his breath, softer, like it meant something more than just a passing comment.

Now it’s just—

Casual.

You press your lips together.

The conversation continues.

Easily. Effortlessly.

Like you’re actually getting to know each other.

And that’s the worst part.

Because for him—

You are.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

Days pass.

And Yunho becomes a constant.

He texts you in the morning. Sends you random updates throughout the day.

Complains about small things, shares stupid jokes, tells you about people you’ve never met.

It’s so him. So familiar it hurts.

Except now, every interaction feels slightly off.

Like a song playing in the wrong key.

Because he treats you like something new.

“Wait, you like that?”

“No way, I didn’t expect that from you.”

“That’s so interesting, I’m learning so much about you.”

Learning.

Learning things he already knew.

For you, every message is layered.

There’s what he’s saying now—

And what he used to say then.

Sometimes, you find yourself staring at your phone, remembering.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

12 years ago

“You hate horror movies, right?” Yunho said, grinning.

“You literally screamed at a trailer.”

“I didn’t scream,” you argued.

“You did,” he laughed. “It was cute.”

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

Yunho:

we should watch a horror movie sometime LOL

You stare at the message.

Your fingers hesitate.

You:

i don’t like horror

Three dots.

Yunho:

really?? i wouldn’t have guessed

Something inside you twists.

Of course you wouldn’t have.

You forgot.

It builds slowly.

The ache. The exhaustion.

The quiet, constant grief of being known once—

And not at all now.

You try to keep up. You really do.

You respond.

You laugh when he jokes.

You let him “discover” things about you like they’re new.

But it starts to wear on you.

Because every time he says—

“I didn’t know that about you.”

You hear—

“I never knew you at all.”

And that’s not true.

He did.

He just—

Doesn’t anymore.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

It happens a week later.

You’re sitting on your bed, your room dim except for the soft glow of your phone screen.

Yunho had been texting you nonstop all evening.

Voice messages. Pictures.

A video of him laughing about something you don’t fully understand.

And then—

This.

Yunho:

you know what’s funny?

You hesitate before replying.

You:

what

There’s a short pause.

Then—

Yunho:

i feel like i’ve known you for a long time already

even though we just met

Your breath catches.

Your chest tightens so suddenly it almost hurts.

Because—

You have known him for a long time.

You’ve known him in ways he can’t even remember anymore.

And now he’s saying this like it’s some new, surprising feeling. Like it’s something that just started.

You stare at the message.

Your vision blurs slightly.

Your fingers hover over the screen.

And then—

Before you can stop yourself—

You type.

You:

we did know each other

you just forgot

Send.

The moment it goes through—

You regret it.

Because this—

This is the line you’ve been trying not to cross.

The shift from pretending—

To remind you.

The typing bubble appears.

Disappears.

Appears again.

And then—

Yunho:

hey…

are you still upset about that?

Your stomach drops.

It’s not what you meant.

But that’s how he takes it.

You sit up slightly, heart racing.

You:

it’s not about being upset

There’s a longer pause this time.

Long enough that your chest starts to feel tight again.

Then—

Yunho:

then what is it?

What is it?

Everything. It’s everything.

It’s the way he laughs like this is light when it’s heavy for you.

It’s the way he talks about “starting over” like there wasn’t something real before.

It’s the way he doesn’t realize that every message, every joke, every small interaction is sitting on top of something much deeper that only you can see.

Your hands tremble slightly.

And this time—

You don’t stop yourself.

You:

it’s just weird, yunho

you talk to me like i’m new

like i didn’t matter before

The message sends.

Your heart pounds.

Too fast. Too loud.

The typing bubble appears instantly.

Then disappears.

Then—

Nothing.

One minute.

Two. Five.

The silence stretches, thick and suffocating.

And suddenly—

You regret everything.

Because maybe you shouldn’t have said that.

Maybe it wasn’t fair.

Maybe—

Your phone buzzes.

You inhale sharply and look down.

Yunho:

that’s not what i meant

Relief flickers.

Briefly.

But then—

Another message comes through.

Yunho:

i just don’t remember, okay?

i can’t pretend i do

The words hit harder than anything else so far.

Because he’s right.

He can’t pretend.

And you—

You’ve been doing exactly that.

Pretending this is okay. Pretending this doesn’t hurt.

Pretending you can handle being someone new to him.

Your chest tightens.

Your fingers move slowly.

You:

i’m not asking you to pretend

A pause.

Then—

Yunho:

then what do you want me to do?

You stare at the screen.

At the question.

At the boy who once knew exactly what you needed without asking, now looking at you like you’re impossible to understand.

And that’s when it hits you.

The realization.

Slow. Heavy.

Unavoidable.

He can’t give you what you want.

Because what you want doesn’t exist anymore.

Your vision blurs. Your throat tightens.

And finally—

You type the truth.

You:

i wanted you to remember me

Send.

This time—

The silence that follows feels final.

The message sits there.

Read. Seen.

But unanswered.

You don’t move.

You don’t even breathe properly—just shallow inhales that never quite fill your lungs, like your body is waiting for something it’s not sure will come.

One minute.

Two. Five. Ten.

Your phone stays silent.

And somehow, that hurts more than anything he’s said so far.

Because at least before, he was trying.

Trying to joke. Trying to fix it.

Trying to make this something light.

But now—

There’s nothing.

And the absence feels… deliberate.

You drop your phone onto your bed and press your hands over your face, dragging them down slowly like you can physically wipe the feeling away.

This is why you didn’t want to say anything. This is why you tried to keep it easy.

Because the truth—

The truth is too heavy for something that only exists on one side.

Your chest aches, deep and quiet, like something caving in slowly rather than breaking all at once.

You don’t cry.

Not yet.

You just lie there, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything like you always do.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

10 years ago

“Don’t disappear, okay?” Yunho said, leaning back in his chair, balancing it on two legs like your teacher told him not to.

“I won’t,” you replied.

“You better not,” he grinned. “I’d be so bored without you.”

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

You let out a shaky breath.

“I didn’t disappear,” you whisper to no one.

Your phone buzzes.

You freeze.

For a second, you don’t reach for it.

Because you already know—

Whatever he says next—

It won’t be what you want. It can’t be.

But still—

You pick it up.

Yunho:

hey

Just that.

Your heart sinks.

Not your name. Not anything soft.

Just a hey.

You swallow.

Your fingers hover before you type.

You:

hey

The reply comes slower this time.

Measured. Careful.

Yunho:

i didn’t know it was that serious

There’s no malice in it.

No cruelty. Just honesty.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

Because he’s not trying to hurt you.

He just—

Doesn’t understand.

Your chest tightens.

You:

it was

Three dots appear.

Disappear.

Then—

Yunho:

i mean… we were in high school

that’s a long time ago

The words feel like a quiet dismissal.

Like something that mattered to you was just… temporary to him.

Just a phase.

Something small. Something forgettable.

Your throat burns.

You:

it wasn’t small to me

The reply takes longer this time.

When it comes—

It’s different.

Yunho:

i’m not saying it was

i just don’t remember it like you do

There it is again.

That wall. That gap between you.

You with your memories, vivid and alive and aching.

And him with nothing.

Your grip tightens around your phone.

You:

you don’t remember it at all

A pause.

Then—

Yunho:

no

It’s simple. Final.

And it lands like something heavy dropping straight through your chest.

You close your eyes.

Breathe in. Out.

Try to steady yourself.

But the words keep coming.

Yunho:

and i feel bad about that, okay?

i do

but i don’t know what you want from me

Your fingers tremble slightly.

Because you don’t know either.

Not anymore.

You thought you did. You thought if he just remembered—

Everything would fall back into place.

But now you see it.

Even if he tried, he can’t go back to being that person.

Because that version of him doesn’t exist anymore.

And neither does the version of you who stood beside him.

Your chest tightens painfully.

You:

i don’t know either

There’s a long pause.

Then—

Yunho:

i like talking to you

i really do

but it feels like i’m disappointing you just by being me

The message makes your breath hitch.

Because that’s not what you wanted.

You never wanted him to feel like that.

You stare at the words, your vision blurring again.

You:

you’re not

Another pause.

Then—

Yunho:

it feels like it

Your heart aches.

Deep. Sharp.

Because he’s right.

Not because he’s doing anything wrong—

But because the version of him standing here now will always fall short of the version you remember.

And that’s not fair.

Not to him. Not to you.

You sit up slowly, your back against the wall, phone still clutched in your hand like it’s the only thing anchoring you.

And for the first time—

You let yourself say it.

The thing you’ve been avoiding.

You:

i think i’m the problem

The reply is immediate.

Yunho:

don’t say that

Your lips press together.

But you keep going. Because you have to.

You:

no

listen

you’re trying

and i keep expecting something you can’t give me

There’s no response.

Not right away.

So you continue.

You:

you’re treating me like someone new

and i keep comparing you to someone you don’t even remember being

Your chest tightens with every word.

But you don’t stop.

You:

and it’s not fair to you

The silence stretches.

And for a second—

You wonder if he’s gone again.

But then—

Yunho:

it’s not fair to you either

That’s when it breaks.

Like something finally giving way after holding too much for too long.

Your vision blurs completely now. Your throat tightens, and this time—

You can’t hold it back.

Because he’s right.

It’s not fair.

None of this is.

Not the way you remember everything. Not the way he remembers nothing.

Not the way you’re both standing in the same place—

But living in completely different versions of the past.

Your fingers shake as you type.

You:

i think i need to stop

The typing bubble appears instantly.

Yunho:

stop what?

You inhale shakily.

This is it. The part that hurts the most.

Because this time—

You’re the one leaving.

You:

talking to you like this

pretending it doesn’t hurt

The reply comes fast.

Too fast.

Yunho:

wait

Your heart stutters.

Yunho:

we don’t have to stop

we can figure it out

Figure it out.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

Because you already know—

There’s nothing to figure out. There’s no solution to this.

No middle ground. No version of this where neither of you gets hurt.

You:

how?

The question sits there.

And for the first time—

He doesn’t have an answer.

The typing bubble appears.

Disappears.

Appears again.

And then nothing.

Because he doesn’t know either. Because there isn’t a way.

Tears slip down your cheeks quietly, one after another.

You wipe them away, but they keep coming.

Your chest feels tight.

Heavy.

Like something is pressing down on it, refusing to let go.

And finally—

You type the last thing you’ll say.

You:

you’re still the same yunho

just not mine anymore

Send.

The message goes through.

Delivered. Seen.

You don’t wait for a reply this time.

You can’t.

Because if you do—

You might stay. And staying would only make this worse.

Your finger hovers over his contact.

Just for a second.

Because this—

This is the last connection you have to him.

The only version of him that still exists in your present.

But it’s not the one you want.

It never will be.

So you close your eyes—

And let it go.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

You see him again.

A week later.

Of course you do. Because the world is small like that.

Cruel like that.

You’re walking past a café when you hear it again.

That laugh.

Bright. Warm. Familiar.

You don’t stop this time.

You don’t turn. You don’t look.

Because you already know what you’ll see.

Yunho, smiling.

Living.

And you—

Remembering enough for the both of you.

You keep walking.

Step. Step. Step.

It feels lighter this time.

Not because it doesn’t hurt—

But because you finally understand something you didn’t before.

Some people only exist in certain versions of your life.

And trying to bring them into the present—

Doesn’t always work.

Sometimes, they’re only meant to live in your memories.

Even if you still live in them.

Your chest aches.

Soft. Steady.

But you don’t stop.

Because for the first time, you’re not waiting for him to remember.

You’re choosing to move forward.

Even if it means carrying him with you.

Alone.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

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© lcvejjoong, 2026

part 2

You remember the way he’d winced as you cleaned the wound, his fingers gripping the edge of your desk. The mask lay crumpled on your floor like a dead animal, and you couldn’t stop staring at it, then at him, then back at the mask.

“So you’re telling me,” you’d said slowly, dabbing antiseptic on his arm with shaking hands, “that you’ve been swinging around New York in that tight little spandex number for the past three months?”

“It’s not spandex—it’s a special polymer—” he’d started, then caught your expression. “Okay, yes. It is spandex.”

The laugh that escaped you was half-hysterical. “And the ‘amazing’ part? The ‘friendly neighbourhood’ part?”

Yunho had looked at you with those big, earnest eyes that had been breaking hearts since middle school. “For the record, I did not come up with those names. They describe me pretty well, no?”

You’d bandaged his arm in silence after that, the TV still blaring in the background, some contestant crying dramatically over a burned soufflé while your entire understanding of reality shifted.

Your best friend was a goddamn superhero.

“You can’t tell anyone,” he’d winced when you’d finished wrapping the gauze. “Not your parents, not—”

“I know how secrets work, you dummy,” you teased, but your hands were gentle as you helped him into your desk chair. “I just... Why me? Why tonight?”

He’d looked down at his hands, blood still under his fingernails. “Because I nearly died tonight, and the only person I wanted to see was you.”

Your heart had done something complicated—something you’d been ignoring since that time he’d carried you piggyback through the rain because you’d worn the wrong shoes. Something you’d been pretending was just friendship for years.

“Okay, So what now?” you’d asked, sitting on your bed across from him.

Yunho had looked up, that familiar grin breaking through despite everything. “Now you become my guy in the chair.”

“Your what?”

“My guy—or in this case my girl—in the chair! You know, the person who helps from headquarters? Tells me where the bad guys are? Makes terrible jokes over the comms?” My girl landed somewhere it shouldn’t have, warm and unwelcome, before you registered that he’d said it the same way he said my homework or my lucky socks. You’d thrown a pillow at him, which he’d caught easily because of fucking course he had. “I’m not becoming your sidekick, Yunho.”

“Not a sidekick! More like... a partner in crime-fighting?” His eyes had lit up. “We could be a team! Like Iron Man and War Machine!”

“War Machine is literally the definition of a sidekick.”

“Okay, fine. Like... like uh Black Widow and Hawkeye!”

“Those are two different heroes who occasionally work together.”

Yunho had sighed dramatically, clutching his injured arm. “You’re being very difficult for someone who’s just been told their best friend is technically a superhero.”

“Fine,” you’d huffed, crossing your arms. “But I’m not calling myself anything embarrassing.”

His grin had been blinding. “Deal. But you have to at least help me come up with banger one-liners.”

══════════════════ 

Since that night, you became an expert at hiding things. You’d become a practiced liar. Obviously not to keep secrets from your best friend, but to keep his from the world. You’d learned to forge sick notes for his absences at work, to block calls from concerned managers when he vanished for days, to intercept the panicked messages from his aunt who was kept in the dark about all of this too. You kept a first aid kit under your bed, truthfully, you had bandages and gauze scattered throughout your apartment because of a certain somebody. You patched him up at least twice a week, maybe more. Sometimes with nothing more than aspirin and bandages, sometimes with trembling hands and whatever illicit painkillers you could barter from the night pharmacist.

At times, you wonder if he would purposefully get injured just as an excuse to come see you. Naturally, you set your wishful thinking aside, although you did feel some type of way seeing him scream and moan into your pillow when the antiseptic made contact with his open wound. Not even the FBI could get that information out of you—hopefully.

Then there was the pretending. Pretending not to notice the new bruises, the way he sometimes winced just from raising his arm to wave at you from across the street, the way he’d flinch every time sirens from downtown would go off. You’d become immune to the news reports: masked hero saves child from burning building, anonymous hero stops carjacking on Main. You’d scroll through the headlines with said hero asleep on your shoulder, trying to reconcile the two sides of him. The invulnerable icon that the world sees and the one you have the privilege of seeing almost daily, the boy who snored and always had his arm wrapped around your waist as you cuddled on the couch. Platonically, of course.

You’d always been the only one who knew. You’d never told a soul. Not even when you’d had to lie to your own mother’s face about why Yunho had to suddenly leave her birthday dinner, not even when you’d covered for him at his own surprise party by saying he had food poisoning, all while the TV in the corner was showing live helicopter footage of a chase downtown with streaks of red and blue going across the screen. You’d kept his secret for three years, and you’d never once wished for a normal life.

Not until tonight.

The city felt off, like someone had turned down the volume and dimmed all the lights. You’d spent most of the evening pacing the edges of your apartment, the kind of nervous energy that made your skin feel two sizes too small. Outside, the sirens were rare and far away, and every time the silence stretched too long you found yourself jumping at the smallest noise: the radiator knocking, the distant barking of a stray dog, the faint hum of the elevator in the hallway. You kept checking your phone, again and again, desperate to see if Yunho gave you any updates.

He’d called just after sunset, voice tight and urgent in a way that made your stomach twist. “Something’s up. They think one of the mutants that was in Detective De Wolff’s care escaped.”

You’d tried to protest, tried to remind him about the time he’d gone toe-to-toe with a “big threat” and ended up with an injury so severe that it made your med kit look like child’s play—sending him away to the nearest hospital to get proper medical care. That scared you more than you’d ever admit, but he’d just laughed it off, soft and gentle like he didn’t want to worry you.

“I promise I’ll be okay, bug. I’ll let you know when I’ve kicked their ass.”

That was 5 hours ago, and there was still no text. You sat on the edge of your bed, phone clenched so hard your knuckles ached, scrolling back and forth through his messages as if somehow, if you looked long enough, he’d reveal himself from the pixels on the screen. You tried to distract yourself the way you always did: catching up on missed emails, watering your already well hydrated plants, rewatching old anime episodes that you’d seen a thousand times. Nothing worked. You replayed every message he’d ever sent, even the stupid ones you scoffed at. That time he’d texted you eight times in a row to ask if pickles were technically fruits, the time he’d sent a selfie in the middle of a chase just to prove he wasn’t lying about being “airborne,” the time he’d admitted he started carrying a spare mask just because you told him the first one made his ears stick out too much. You wondered if these would be the last messages you’d ever get from him.

You tried to picture the fight, imagine him swinging between buildings with that impossible grace, dodging bullets and explosions and whatever else the city threw at him. You imagined him grinning beneath the mask, sticking the landing, making it look so easy. But then you remembered the other times when he’d come home with blood on his suit, with ribs barely holding together, with tears in his eyes. You remembered the way he’d clung to you, quietly, brokenly, just needing someone to tell him he was still a person and not just a symbol of hope and justice.

Midnight came and went. You tried to sleep, but every time you closed your eyes you saw him lying somewhere in some alley, hurt and alone. You gave up on sleep by 1:30, and by 2:00 you’d started pacing again, so wound up you thought your heart might shake itself right out of your ribs. And then you heard it, faint but unmistakable—the wet, sticky thwiiip of web fluid, just outside your window. You dropped your phone. Bolted to the window, hands shaking, and flung it open. There he was. Yunho, his mask dangling from his fingers, suit torn and bloodied, face streaked with sweat and something darker. He grinned, lopsided and exhausted, and you saw the relief in his eyes.

“You’re not going to believe the night I just had,” he murmured, and nearly toppled headfirst into your arms.

You caught him, barely, your knees buckling under the sudden weight of him as he half-collapsed against you. His body was hot through the torn suit, radiating heat like a furnace, and you could feel his heart hammering against your chest—too fast, too hard. You stumbled backward, dragging him with you, and managed to lower him onto the edge of your bed before your legs gave out entirely.

“Yunho—Hey, look at me.” Your hands were already moving, already doing the thing they’d been trained to do over three years of this. You cupped his face, tilting it toward the light, scanning for anything obvious, maybe a broken nose, split lip, the telltale glassy look of a concussion. His pupils were blown wide, dark and unfocused, and there was blood crusted along his hairline, but it looked like it had already stopped bleeding. You pulled your hands away, and they came back tacky with something that wasn’t blood—something iridescent and faintly pink, clinging to your fingertips like oil.

“Are you hurt? Where are you hurt?” Your voice came out sharper than you meant it to, the panic you’d been swallowing all night finally cracking through. You ran your palms down his arms, checking for fractures, for the signs of swelling that meant something was broken beneath the suit. His left shoulder was torn open, the suit shredded to ribbons, but the skin underneath was already knitting itself back together thanks to the accelerated healing you’d watched with horrified fascination so many times before. You pushed the fabric aside and saw the angry pink of new tissue forming, and you let out a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding.

“Talk to me, Yunho.”

He caught your wrist, his grip warm and unsteady. “I’m—I’m okay. I’m not hurt. Not like that.”

The words landed wrong, and you felt something cold settle in your stomach. You pulled back, sitting on your heels in front of him, and searched his face. His jaw was clenched tight, a muscle ticking in his cheek, and there was a flush creeping up his neck that had nothing to do with exertion. He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven bursts, and when he swallowed, you watched his Adam’s apple bob painfully.

“Not like what?” you pressed, your voice dropping to something quieter. “What does that mean?”

He let out a shaky laugh, the kind that had no humour in it. “The mutant. It was some kind of—I don’t even know what to call it. Reptile? Lizard-thing? It had scales and claws and a tail, and it was fast, bug, faster than anything I’ve ever—” He broke off, dragging a hand down his face. “We were fighting on the old construction site off Fifth, the one that’s been abandoned since—doesn’t matter. I had him pinned. I thought I had him. And then right at the end, right when I thought it was over, he—” Yunho’s voice cracked, and he pressed the heel of his palm against his eye. “He released something. Some kind of gas. It was pink.”

You stared at him. “Pink gas?”

“Pink. Gas.” He dropped his hand and looked at you, and there was something raw and almost embarrassed in his expression that you’d never seen before. “I got a faceful of it. Couldn’t avoid it. And now I feel—” He gestured vaguely at his own body, a helpless, floundering motion. “Funny. I feel funny.”

“Funny how?”

He didn’t answer. His gaze dropped to the floor, and you watched his throat work as he swallowed again, harder this time. The flush had spread to his ears now, bright and unmistakable, and you realised his hands were trembling where they rested on his knees. You let your eyes travel down, following the path of instinct, the same clinical assessment you’d done a hundred times. Your gaze snagged on something and your brain stuttered to a halt.

The suit was tight. You’d always known it was tight. You’d teased him about it mercilessly, called it his “second skin,” joked that whoever designed it had a vendetta against modesty. But the fabric between his thighs was stretched to its absolute limit, straining against something that was clearly not part of the standard Spiderman equipment. The bulge was obscene, unmistakable, jutting against the spandex with an urgency that made your face go hot.

You looked away so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash. Your eyes fixed on the wall, on the one piece poster you’d had since you were fourteen, on absolutely anything that wasn’t the very obvious, very prominent evidence of whatever that pink gas had done to him.

“Oh,” you muttered under your breath, very quietly.

“Yeah.” His voice was strangled. 

The silence that followed was the loudest thing you’d ever heard. You could hear the radiator knocking, the distant hum of the elevator, the sound of your own heartbeat hammering in your ears. You could hear Yunho breathing, ragged and uneven, and you could hear the faint creak of the bedsprings as he shifted his weight—trying, you realised, to adjust himself in a way that was probably physically impossible given the current circumstances.

“So,” you cleared your throat, still staring at the wall with the intensity of someone trying to burn a hole through drywall through sheer force of will. “The, uh, pink gas thing. The mutant you fought secreted it out or something?”

“I don’t even know what to call it. De Wolff’s notes again called it a ‘dispersal-type,’ whatever the hell that means. It could—it could secrete stuff. From these glands on its arms. Like a—like a skunk, but worse.” He confirmed miserably.

“So it’s a lizard-skunk hybrid mutant that so happens to exude this pink gas which makes you…hard?”

He made a frustrated sound, something between a groan and a laugh. “I don’t know what it is. Aphrodisiac? Maybe? I don’t know—” He cut himself off. “God, this is so embarrassing.”

You finally risked a glance back at him, and the look on his face. Tortured, mortified, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. This was Yunho. Your Yunho. The boy who’d once tripped over his own feet and face-planted into a birthday cake. The boy who’d cried during Up and tried to blame it on allergies.

“It’s not embarrassing,” you frowned, and your voice came out softer than you expected. “It’s not your fault.”

“It feels like my fault.”

“It’s not.” You reached out, hesitated, then placed your hand on his knee. The muscle beneath the suit jumped at your touch, and you felt him shudder. “How long do these effects last?”

“I don’t know.” He laughed, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. “The mutant didn’t exactly leave me a FAQ sheet.”

Something about the sheer absurdity of it, the fact that the city’s most beloved hero was sitting on your bed looking like a kicked puppy with a boner, hit you all at once, and a laugh bubbled up out of your chest before you could stop it. It started small, a snort that you tried to smother behind your hand, but then Yunho looked at you with that wounded expression and it cracked wide open. You doubled over, clutching your stomach, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Bug, It’s not funny…”

“It’s a little bit funny,” you giggled.

“It’s not—” But then he was laughing too, that helpless, breathless laugh that always came out when he was trying to be serious and failing spectacularly. His shoulders shook, and he pressed both palms over his eyes, and the two of you sat there at two in the morning laughing like idiots while the radiator clanked and the world outside kept spinning.

“I can’t believe this shit,” you repeated, wiping your eyes. “The mighty Spiderman, borderline pussywhipped by a horny gas. This is kind of hilarious you have to admit.”

“Oh come on, no it’s not.” But he was grinning now with a ridiculous grin that made his eyes crinkle at the corners, and for a moment it felt almost normal. Almost like any other night where he’d come through your window banged up, and you’d fixed him and joked about it until the sun came up.

The laughter died slowly, fading into something quieter, something that left the air between you feeling charged and strange. Yunho’s grin slipped, and the flush crept back up his neck, and you watched his jaw tighten as another wave of whatever was coursing through him hit. His fingers dug into his own knees, knuckles going white, and a sound escaped him—low, involuntary, almost a whimper.

You sobered fast. “You okay?”

He dragged in a breath through his nose, held it, let it out through his teeth. “It’s getting worse,” he whined, stripped of the humour from seconds ago. “I thought it might fade, but it’s not. It’s getting worse.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Okay. Okay, so—what do you need? What can I do?”

He looked at you then, the expression on his face made something low in your belly tighten. His eyes were dark, almost black, and there was something desperate in them that you’d never seen before.

“Can you help me?”

The question hung in the air between you. You blinked.

“Help you—” You gestured vaguely at the general direction of his predicament. “With that?”

He nodded, just once, and the embarrassment on his face was so acute it was almost painful to look at.

You opened your mouth, closed it, opened it again. “Yunho. Can’t you just…” You mimed the universal gesture for self-service, two quick pumps of your fist. “Rub one out? Go to the bathroom, take care of it, come back when you’re…you know. Less bricked?”

Something flashed across his face—amusement, exasperation, something raw underneath both. He let out a sound that was half laugh, half groan. “Trust me, I tried. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t try.”

You tried, like really tried not to imagine your best friend jerking off. Yunho, alone in some bathroom somewhere, hand wrapped around himself, trying and failing to find relief. Your brain supplied the details without your permission, the way his jaw would clench, the sound he’d make, the way his chest would heave. You squeezed your thighs together so hard you felt the muscles protest.

“I tried three times,” he continued, oblivious to the war you were waging against your own imagination. “On the way here. I swung by to my place, thought if I could just… you know…but nothing. It just made it worse, actually.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. If it’s an aphrodisiac, shouldn’t it go away after you jerk off?”

“That’s the thing.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and the movement shifted the fabric in a way that made your gaze skitter sideways. “I found more information about the mutant. After the fight, before I came here. The mutant’s file was in the wreckage of the aphrodisiac gas, it’s targeted.”

“Targeted how?”

He swallowed. You watched the bob of his throat, the way his Adam’s apple moved, and you had to physically force yourself to look at his face instead.

“The effects only go away when the person that’s affected—” He paused. Drew in a shaky breath. “When they seek pleasure from the person they desire.”

The words landed in the silence like a stone dropped into still water. You stared at him. He stared at the floor.

“The person that you desire?” You repeated, and your voice came out thin and strange. 

“Yeah.”

“Meaning—”

“Meaning it doesn’t matter how many times I—” He made that same helpless gesture. “It won’t stop. It won’t go away. Not until I…” He trailed off. The flush had reached the tips of his ears now, bright red against the dark of his hair.

Your mouth has gone dry. You could hear your own pulse in your ears, a steady, insistent thrum that seemed to be getting louder by the second. The room felt too small, the air too thick, and Yunho was right there, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that if you leaned forward just a few inches—

“So you’re saying,” you whispered, “that the only way this stops is if you fuck the person you love?”

“Yeah.”

“And you came here.”

The silence that followed was absolute. You watched his chest rise and fall, watched his fingers curl and uncurl against his knees, watched the way his gaze stayed fixed on the floor like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

“Yunho.” Your voice barely made it past your lips. “Why did you come here?”

He lifted his head. Looked at you. And the expression on his face, raw, terrified, wanting, told you everything before he even opened his mouth. “Because it’s you, You’re the one I desire. The one I love. It’s always been you.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the air clean out of your lungs. You sat there, frozen, your hand still on his knee, your mouth hanging open in a way that would have been embarrassing if you’d had any capacity left for embarrassment.

“Since we were kids,” he continued, and his voice was rushing now, tumbling over itself like he’d opened a floodgate and couldn’t find the lever to close it. “Since the third grade, when you punched that guy for stealing my lunch money and told him you’d do it again if he ever looked at me wrong. Since middle school, when you sat with me on the fire escape for three hours after my parents—after they—” His voice cracked, and he pressed on. “Since forever ago, basically.”

You made a strangled noise that was supposed to be a laugh but came out sounding more like you were being strangled.

“Every time I put on that mask, every time I swing out there and the city is screaming at me to be something bigger, something better—I think about coming back to you. All I do is think about you. You consume my every waking thought.” His hands were shaking, and he was staring at you with those dark, desperate eyes, and you felt like the floor had dropped out from under you. “I’ve tried to tell you so many times. I’ve had speeches planned, bug. I wrote one down once and then I set it on fire because I thought it sounded so fucking stupid.”

“Yunho—”

“I tried to tell you on your birthday last year. I had this whole thing planned. With flowers, the whole thing—and…and then the Vulture showed up at the docks and I had to go and by the time I got back you were asleep on the couch and you just looked so upset I just—I couldn’t. I chickened out.” He laughed, wet and broken. “Imagine that. Your friendly neighbourhood Spiderman chickens out of confessing his feelings to his best friend.”

The memory of that night hit harder than it needed to. Your birthday, the one he’d missed. The only birthday he missed. You’d planned it for weeks. You’d bought a very revealing dress, the one that made your parents raise an eyebrow and your friend from middle school whistle low under her breath. You’d practiced the words in the mirror until they sounded less like a confession and more like something you could actually say out loud without combusting. You’d even—god, this was embarrassing—you’d even written it down, just like he had, except yours was still tucked into the back of your sock drawer because you couldn’t bring yourself to throw it away.

You’d waited for him. You’d waited on that couch for hours, the candles burning down to stubs, the cake going stale on the coffee table, and you’d watched the news with your heart in your throat because there was a fire downtown and a chase on the bridge and every time the camera panned to that familiar streak of red and blue your stomach dropped through the floor. 

You’d called him, the endless loop of the unanswered call drove you crazy. You’d left messages that started out annoyed and ended up terrified, your voice cracking on the last one when the news anchor said something about casualties, and you couldn’t breathe for a full minute.

You’d fallen asleep clutching your phone, your makeup running down your face, and when you’d woken up at four in the morning to find him curled on the floor beside the couch with blood on his suit and that stupid, apologetic grin, you’d screamed at him. You’d screamed at him for an hour about responsibility and communication and how he’d nearly given you a heart attack. He'd taken every word without interrupting. His head had stayed bowed, hands clasped tightly between his knees, dried blood flaking from his knuckles as he let you rage through every ounce of fear you'd been carrying. By the time your voice gave out, the anger had collapsed into something far more fragile. The tears came without warning, hot and relentless, and suddenly you weren't yelling anymore.

He'd crossed the room before you could stop him.

Strong arms had wrapped around you, careful despite the bruises hidden beneath the suit, holding you together while everything inside you seemed to come apart. His chin rested against your hair as his hand moved slowly up and down your back, steady and reassuring, never asking you to stop crying. He simply let you. Let you bury your face against his chest. Let you shake with every breath you'd been holding since the news broadcast. Let you mourn the version of the night where he never made it home.

You shake your head at the memory. Your chest was aching. Your eyes were burning. You could feel something building behind your ribs, something huge and terrifying and bright, and you opened your mouth to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come.

“And then tonight, when that gas hit me, the only thing I could think about was you. And I know this is the worst possible way to tell you, I know it’s insane, I know you probably think I’m only saying this because of the aphrodisiac, but I swear to god, I swear on everything, on my parents, on my aunt, on my life—”

“Wait—”

“—I’ve been hiding it for so long, and I’m so tired of hiding it, and if this ruins everything, if you never want to see me again, I’ll understand I promise, I’ll—”

You kissed him.

You didn’t think about it. You didn’t plan it. Your body moved before your brain caught up, surging forward off your heels, one hand gripping the front of his ruined suit, the other cradling the back of his neck, and you pressed your mouth to his with enough force to knock the rest of his rambling clean off its axis. He made a sound against your lips—surprised, desperate, almost wounded—and for one terrible second he went completely still, rigid beneath your hands like he’d been electrocuted. You felt his breath stutter, felt the heat of his skin against your palm, and you were about to pull back, about to apologise to take it all back, but his hands came up and grabbed you. Not gently nor carefully. His fingers dug into your waist, and he hauled you forward, pulling you into his lap with a strength that would have been frightening if it had been anyone else. But is anyone else’s best friend spiderman with stupid levels of strength? The kiss broke for half a second, just long enough for you to gasp, and then he was kissing you back. Hard and hungry. His mouth slanting over yours with a desperation that made your head spin.

You felt the groan rumble through his chest before you heard it, a low, broken sound that vibrated against your sternum. His fingers tightened on your hips, and you could feel him shaking—not from fear, not from pain, but from the sheer effort of holding himself back. You knew that restraint. You’d seen it in a hundred of his fights that aired on TV, that split-second pause before he threw a punch, the way he always, always pulled back just enough to avoid doing real damage. You didn’t want him to pull back. You shifted in his lap, your knees bracketing his thighs, and the movement pressed you flush against him—against the hard, insistent heat of his dick straining behind the spandex. The sound he made was unlike anything you’ve heard before. A ragged, punched-out moan that he tried to swallow and failed, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as his whole body shuddered.

“You don’t have to hold back with me,” you breathed, and your voice was wrecked, barely recognisable. You curled your fingers into his hair, tugging his head back up so you could look at him. His eyes were blown black, his lips swollen and wet, and there was a flush spreading down his chest that you could see through the torn neckline of his suit. “I can handle it.”

His expression cracked open. Something raw and vulnerable spilled through, and then he was kissing you again, and this time there was nothing held back. His hands slid up your sides, dragging your shirt with them, and the feel of his warm and calloused palms against your bare skin sent electricity crackling down your spine. The kiss deepened, messy and urgent, all teeth and tongue and the wet, desperate sounds neither of you could seem to stop making. You rolled your hips, just once, just to see what would happen, and the noise Yunho made was enough to make your entire body clench.

“Fuck—” he gasped against your mouth, his hips jerking up involuntarily. “You can’t tease me like that, I won’t last.”

“Let me feel you,” you whispered, and you did.

His head fell back, exposing the long line of his throat, and you didn’t hesitate. You pressed your mouth to the pulse point hammering beneath his jaw and bit down, not hard, just enough. His hands flew to your ass, gripping and pulling you harder against him, and the friction through the thin layers of your clothes was maddening, not enough, not close enough.

“Off,” you managed, tugging at the torn neckline of his suit. “Please…”

He reached for the clasps at his sides without a word. You helped where you could, your fingers clumsy against the slick material, and together you peeled it down to his waist, where it stayed, bunched and forgotten. The top half of him was bare now. The body you had memorised against your will over three years of late-night patch jobs and careful, practiced indifference. Bruises in deep purples and sick yellows spread across his ribs, and you touched one without thinking—the long scar from last winter, the one that had kept you up for a week straight.

He caught your hand. Brought it to his mouth. Pressed a kiss to your palm that was so tender it made your eyes sting.

“I love you,” his voice was steady now, certain in a way it hadn’t been all night. “I’ve loved you since we were kids. I’m going to love you when we’re old and grey. This situation doesn’t change that. Nothing changes that.”

You looked at him. The boy who’d swung through your window three years ago and trusted you with the biggest secret in the world. The man whose lap you’re sitting in right now, looking at you like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

“I know,” you giggled as you nodded along with his sentiment. “You stupid idiot. I’ve loved you since the third grade too.”

The look on his face was priceless, his face painted with the look of surprise and disbelief, then something so bright and overwhelming it made your chest hurt. He laughed, breathless and disbelieving, and pulled you close, burying his face in your neck.

“Say it again,” he murmured against your skin.

“I love you, Yunho.”

“Again.”

“I love you.” You kissed the shell of his ear. “I love you, I love you, I—”

He gently grabbed your jaw and brought your lips to his again, kissing you with years and years of yearning. His mouth moved from yours to your jaw, slow and deliberate, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the line of it like he was mapping you, learning you. You tilted your head back without thinking, giving him access, and he took it—his lips dragging down to the soft spot beneath your ear, the corner of your jaw, the hinge where it met your neck. Each kiss sent a shiver cascading down your spine, pooling low in your stomach, and you could feel yourself melting into him, going pliant and boneless in his arms.

“You have no idea,” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and damp, “how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

You laughed, breathless and shaky. “We should’ve done this sooner, then.”

His teeth grazed your earlobe, and you gasped, your fingers tightening in his hair. He hummed, pleased, as he continued his path down the column of your throat. Kissing, nipping, sucking in a way that you were absolutely going to have to explain with a turtle-neck tomorrow. Not that you cared. Not that you could think about turtle-necks or tomorrows or anything that wasn’t the feel of Yunho’s mouth on your neck and his hands on your hips and the hard, aching heat of him pressed against you. He kissed the hollow of your throat, and you felt his tongue flick out, tasting your pulse, and the sound you made was embarrassing. He laughed against your skin, nothing like the bright, sunny laugh you were used to. This was something else entirely. Something that made your toes curl and your thighs clench.

“Yunho,” you managed, and his name came out as a whimper. To your ears you sounded pathetic. To him? It was the sounds from an angel gracing his ears with a sweet melody only you had the power of creating.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, and the expression on his face—flushed, hungry, pupils blown so wide there was barely any brown left—made something hot and desperate coil tight in your gut. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your bottom lip, and you turned your head to press a kiss to his palm without thinking.

“You’ll help me, won’t you, baby?” His voice was wrecked, rough and low, and the pet name hit you like a live wire. He’d never called you that before. This wasn’t a joke. This was Yunho looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him alive, his thumb still tracing your lip, his hips shifting restlessly beneath you. “You’ll kiss away my pains, hm? Make it all better?”

Your face went so hot you were surprised the room didn’t catch fire. You opened your mouth to say something sharp, something clever, something that would put him in his place—but all that came out was a strangled little whimper as his thumb pressed against your lip again.

“God, look at you,” he breathed, and there was wonder in his voice, genuine wonder, like he couldn’t believe you were real. “After all these years of you being the bravest person I know, you’re blushing because I called you baby. You’re so cute.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you mumbled, burying your burning face against his shoulder. “You can’t just say things like that and expect me to act all nonchalant.”

“It’s cute that you think you’re nonchalant,” His grin was wicked, lopsided, and so unbearably Yunho that your chest ached with it. He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Will you let me make you feel good? Let me repay you for all the nights you nursed me back to health.”

Your breath hitched. “Yunho—”

“Say yes,” he whispered. “Please say yes.”

You didn’t say yes. You didn’t need to. You kissed him instead—deep, slow, pouring everything you’d been holding back for years into it. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you closer, and you felt the groan build in his chest before it escaped, vibrating against your mouth. You rolled your hips, deliberate this time, and he broke the kiss with a gasp, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“Fuck—fuck, you’re going to kill me.”

“You’ll live,” you grinned, and the smugness in your own voice surprised you. You pressed your lips to his jaw, his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose—gentle, lingering kisses that made him tremble. “You’ve survived worse.”

“This is worse,” he groaned, but he was laughing, that breathless, broken laugh that made your heart do stupid things. “I don’t think any amount of training could have prepared me for this.”

You kissed the bruise forming along his collarbone—the one from tonight, the one that would be gone by morning thanks to his enhanced healing abilities. You kissed the scar from last winter, the one that had nearly killed him, pressing your lips to the raised tissue with a reverence that made his breath stutter. You kissed every bruise, every scrape, every mark that the city had left on him, and with each one he shuddered, his fingers tightening in your hair, his breathing going ragged and uneven.

“Baby,” he whispered, and his voice was shaking. “Mmh, if you keep doing that—”

“What are you gonna do about it?” You looked up at him through your lashes, and the expression on his face—wrecked, desperate, utterly gone for you—made something fierce and possessive bloom in your chest. “I hope you keep this attitude up by the time we’re finished,” his voice threaded with a confidence that made your stomach flip. 

His hands were on your waist before you registered the movement. One second you were straddling him at the edge of the bed, your thighs bracketing his, and the next the world tilted. He lifted you like you weighed nothing. Like you were made of air and starlight instead of bone and muscle and the stubborn, aching want that had been building in your chest for years. Your stomach swooped, that dizzying freefall sensation you'd only ever felt when he swung you through the city, and then your back hit the mattress with a soft bounce.

You blinked up at him. He was already moving, already shifting, his knees pressing into the mattress on either side of your hips as he settled over you. The half-removed suit bunched at his waist, the red and blue fabric creased and torn, and above it the bare expanse of his chest—all smooth skin and lean muscle and the constellation of bruises you'd just kissed—blocked out the ceiling light. He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow bursts, and the look on his face was something you'd never seen before. Something primal and possessive and so intensely focused on you that your breath caught in your throat.

"Better," he murmured, and the word came out rough, like gravel and honey.

His hands slid from your hair to your wrists, the stretch of your arms, the way it arched your back and pressed your chest up toward him, made a small, involuntary sound escape your lips. Before you could process what was happening, he’d lifted them—gently, so gently—and pressed them flat against the headboard. You felt the familiar wet thwip of web, and then your wrists were pinned, the sticky white strands wrapping around them with a precision that spoke of years of practice.

You tugged experimentally. The webs held firm.

“Wha—” Your voice came out breathier than you intended. “You did not just web me to my own headboard.”

“Shh.” He pressed a finger to your lips, and the casual authority in the gesture made your brain short-circuit. “Let’s just try it. If you don’t like it just tell me I’ll take them off of you.”

You stared at him, your wrists suspended above your head, your heart hammering so hard you were sure he could hear it.

“Three years,” he murmured, and his hands slid down your arms, slow and deliberate, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Three years of you patching me up. Three years of covering for me. Three years of you sitting by that window waiting for me to come back to you.” His fingers found the hem of your shirt and tugged it up, exposing your stomach, and you shivered as the cool air hit your skin. “You’ve never asked for anything. Not once. You just—you were just there for me. Every single time.”

“Of course I was, I’m your best friend. You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to.” He pulled your shirt off completely holding your bound hands together in his hand as he placed it back on your headboard. The webs regain their tract on the wood. You heard it hit the floor somewhere behind him. His gaze dropped to your chest, and the look on his face—reverent, hungry, almost pained—made your breath catch. “I want to. That’s the difference.”

He pressed a kiss to your sternum, right between your breasts, and you felt the vibration of his voice against your skin. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long. You have no idea.”

His mouth moved lower. Kissing your ribs, the dip of your waist, the soft plane of your stomach. Each press of his lips was deliberate, unhurried, and you squirmed against the webs holding your wrists, torn between wanting to pull him closer and wanting to cover your face because the look in his eyes was too much, too intense, it was everything you fantasised about late at night.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your sleep shorts and looked up at you from beneath his lashes. “May I?”

You nodded, because your voice had apparently decided to take the night off.

He pulled them down—your shorts, underwear, everything—in one smooth motion, and the cool air against your bare skin made you gasp. You were completely exposed, completely at his mercy, and the vulnerability of it should have been terrifying. The cool breeze of the night air kissed your wet and dripping core.

Yunho noticed. His enhanced senses meant he could probably smell it and the way his pupils blew even wider, the way his breath stuttered, confirmed it.

“Wow,” he breathed, and the curse sounded almost reverent. “You’re—”

“Don’t,” you warned as your cheeks turned rosy. “Whatever it was you were going to say, don’t say it.”

He grinned up at you and pressed a kiss to your inner thigh. “Don’t say what? That you’re beautiful? That you’re perfect? That I’ve spent approximately six hundred and forty-two nights lying awake thinking about exactly this?”

“Six hundred and forty-two? Pause, you counted?”

“My IQ is 250. Of course I’m good with numbers.” He kissed higher, his lips dragging along the sensitive skin of your thigh, and your hips jerked involuntarily. “Also I’m insane about you. That might have something to do with it.”

His breath ghosted over your pussy, and you whimpered, like something out of the trashy romance novels you’d deny reading until your dying breath. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider, and you felt the webs shift as you pulled against them, your back arching off the bed.

“Yunho, please—”

“Please what?” He was teasing you, the bastard, his lips barely brushing against you, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath but not close enough. “Use your words, baby.”

“You goddamn tease, if you don’t eat my—”

He laughed, and the sound vibrated against you in a way that made your toes curl, and then he was kissing her—soft, open-mouthed, achingly slow—and every thought in your head evaporated like smoke.

At first, it was just heat, raw, electric, searing up your spine and making your vision go white at the edges. The first flick of his tongue, slow and exploratory, made your thighs jerk open even wider, and you heard the sticky sounds of the webs as the force of it strained them. Your fingers curled uselessly against the webs, and you pulled hard, but the strands held firm—Yunho’s handiwork was nothing if not thorough. But the next lick, and the next, and the next, sent your body into panic. Panic and delight were the same now, a tangle of nerves burning up and reforming into something new each time he dragged his tongue across your clit, or sucked it into his mouth with a pressure that stole your breath.

“Feel good?” he murmured against you, and the casual confidence in his voice, the way he said it like he already knew the answer, made something primal and desperate claw at your insides.

“Yeah, s’good,” you managed, the words half gasp, half sob, all need. “Just like that.”

But Yunho didn’t just keep doing it. He did more. He locked his arms around your thighs, pinning them like you weighed nothing, and devoured you like a dying man at his last meal. His tongue was every bit as strong and agile as the rest of him—sometimes flat and broad, sometimes pointed and fast, always knowing exactly when to change rhythm or pressure, as if he was listening to the pulse in your wrists, reading every spasm of your hips as a line of code he’d written himself. And even that wasn’t enough for him.

And then you felt it. The bed shifting, a slow, rhythmic movement beneath you. You managed to crack your eyes open, to look down past the mess of your own hair and the flush of your chest, and what you saw made your breath stutter. He set his jaw and started grinding his cock into the mattress in slow rolls. It looked mechanical, desperate, the same instinct that made him clench his fists on the rooftop when he was trying not to scream at the world. The movement made the bed groan beneath you, made the headboard slam against the wall in a syncopated rhythm with your own breathless cries. You watched him through the haze of your own hair and the sweat running into your eyes, watched his face twist up, his brow furrowed, his lips wet and shining, his whole body tense as a tripwire. His eyes were closed and the sounds he was making were almost as devastating as what his mouth was doing to you.

He was getting off on this. On you. On every sound you made and every twitch of your hips and every trickle of slick that ran down your thighs. It was as if the taste of you was the antidote to every poison he’d ever soaked up from the city. He was doing it for you, because he wanted to, because the years of being patched up and lied for and loved unconditionally had built up into something so enormous that the only way he could express it was with his mouth between your thighs and his hips moving in helpless, desperate circles against your bed.

“Yunho—fuck, feels so good,” you mewled, and you fought the webbing, actually fought it, muscles flexing and tendons burning. You’d never felt so powerless, and that should have scared the shit out of you, but all it did was make you want more. “H-how are you so good at this?”

He looked up at you, eyes huge and shining and so dark you barely recognised him, and he grinned, wolfish and so full of pride that it broke your heart a little. “Well,” he purred, his breath hot against your skin. “Let’s just say that extensive research went into this, I want my baby to feel good.”

You wanted to snark back but the words got lost somewhere between the damp of his tongue and the fire in your gut. He didn’t give you time to recover. He dove back in, tongue working with a precision and speed that bordered on terrifying. You felt it—he was holding himself back, calculating every movement. He could probably make you come in ten seconds flat, but he wanted to drag it out, wanted to make you feel it, wanted to watch you lose it piece by piece.

His hands slid under your ass, lifting you up, tilting your hips so he could bury his face even deeper. The angle changed everything. It was deeper, more intense, the pleasure building so fast it made your vision blur at the edges. As he sucked your clit into his mouth, you jerked so hard your back arched off the bed, and the webs flexed, stretching but never breaking.

But it was the way he rutted against the bed, the way he ground his cock into the sheets as he ate you out, that turned your brain inside out. It was so greedy, so unguarded, and you realised he was just as desperate as you were. He was falling apart at the same rate you were, unravelling with every choked gasp you made, every drop of slick that hit his tongue. His breath hitched each time you clenched your thighs, and when you looked down you saw that his knuckles had gone white where he gripped your skin.

The sounds filling the room were lustful. The slick noises from between your legs, the creak of the bedsprings as Yunho desperately humped against the mattress, your own broken moans and half-formed pleas tumbling out of your mouth without your permission. You could hear him, the desperate little sounds he made each time he rolled his hips, the way his breath hitched when you clenched around nothing, and the combination of it—his pleasure feeding yours, as yours fed his—was creating a feedback loop that was rapidly destroying your ability to think.

He was losing it.

“Close,” you gasped, your thighs trembling in his grip. “I’m s-so close—”

He moaned into you, like an animal, and the vibration sent electricity shooting through every nerve ending. He didn’t let up. If anything, he doubled down, licking faster, sucking harder, hands bruising your thighs as he pulled you onto his mouth. Every muscle in your body tensed, every sense tunnelling down to where he sucked and lapped and wrecked you. He slipped a hand between your legs, the tip of one finger circling your entrance. He hesitated, just a second, like he needed your permission, and you yanked at the webs, desperate.

“Please,” you begged. “Ahh, shit. Need you. Please—just—”

He pushed in, one thick finger, and the stretch of it was so much, so perfect, you nearly saw god. He crooked it just right, hitting that spot inside you that made your vision go white. Your hips bucked, trapped between his unyielding arms and the mattress, and you whined, high and helpless, as the pleasure spiked.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled, his lips moving against you. “You’re so fucking tight, baby.”

The words dissolved into a groan as his hips stuttered against the mattress, and you realised he was close too. It was so sweet, so gentle. He was everything at once: the infuriating genius who’d built a drone out of your old shitty microwave last summer, the city’s golden boy, the one in the mask, the only one who’d ever been yours. And now he was here, worshipping you like you were the secret at the center of the universe. The grinding had grown erratic, even more desperate, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding himself together. 

The bed was shaking. The room was shaking. Something inside you was shaking, too, something you didn’t have a name for. Your body felt too small to contain all of it, and you begged him, the words falling out of you like sobs.

“Yunho, please, I can’t—I’m gonna cum—fuck, please, don’t stop!”

“That’s it,” Yunho moaned against your thigh, his voice thick and wrecked. “You look so beautiful like this. Cum for me.” 

He didn’t stop. He added a second finger, the stretch nearly painful, but he worked you open with such care it felt like a promise, like he’d never let anything hurt you that didn’t make you feel good too. He was so gentle it made you want to scream, and so rough you almost did. He curled his fingers, his tongue never letting up, and you shattered.

You came so hard you thought you might black out. The world went white, then red, then back to the ghostly blue of your bedroom, and you screamed, not caring who heard. You clamped your thighs around his head, crushing his ears, but he kept licking, kept fucking you with his fingers, pushing you higher and higher until the pleasure became pain and the pain became pleasure again. You lost track of time. Of breaths. Of words. You only knew the wild rush of his mouth, the slick heat of his fingers, the iron bands of his arms holding you down, keeping you safe, making you absolutely his.

You were still coming, the aftershocks wracking through you in waves, when he finally slowed, drawing it out, coaxing every last tremor from your body. He kissed you there, soft and sweet, and you whimpered, limp and boneless, your body spent.

"Yun—Yunho, shit! I can't, it's too much," you whined, your body convulsing in a mix of pain and pleasure.

But Yunho—he wasn’t done. He pulled back just enough to speak, his lips glistening, his chin soaked, his eyes blown so dark they were almost black. “You can take it,” he panted, and his voice was wrecked, raw, barely human. “You’re so strong, baby. You can take a little more for me, can’t you?”

Before you could answer, he added a third finger, and the stretch made you cry out, your hips bucking against his hand. He scissored them slowly, working you open, and the oversensitivity from your first orgasm was already fading, replaced by something deeper, something that coiled low in your belly and built with each thrust of his fingers.

"God, you taste—" He groaned, pressing his forehead against your inner thigh, his breath hot against your skin. "You taste better than I imagined, and I imagined it a lot. Like, an embarrassing amount."

"Shut up you cornball," you sobbed, half-laughing, half-moaning, because even now, even with his fingers buried inside you and your release still slick on his chin, You could’ve never imagined in a million years that it would be your best friend making you cum like this. 

He laughed against your thigh, and then he pulled back, sitting up just enough to free his mouth for a moment, his fingers still moving inside you. His free hand slid up your stomach and back down, his thumb settling against your clit, and the combination—fingers curling deep while his thumb worked slow, relentless circles—had you arching off the mattress, the second wave already building before you’d even finished shaking from the first.

“You’re doing so well f’me,” Yunho murmured, his words a hot whisper pressed right into you. The old mattress creaked beneath his driving hips, the steady grind of his cock into the sheets a relentless counterpoint to the maddening rhythm of his mouth and hands. He sounded almost pained now, like he could barely contain himself, but the greedy glint in his eyes said he wasn’t letting up until you’d given him everything. “Feel you getting close again. You’re so fucking responsive, it’s killing me.”

You were shaking so hard your teeth chattered, every nerve ending in your body humming with static. He had you stretched wide, back arched off the bed, the pulse in your throat pounded loud, loud enough that you swore he could hear it, and still he wouldn’t relent, wouldn’t break character for even a second. There was a wild pride in the way he looked at you, like he’d scaled your tallest building and was drinking in the view from the spire.

He slowed only when your breath hitched—a little whimper, raw and cracked. You thought maybe you’d snapped him out of it, but then you noticed: he was savouring it. Savouring you. Every tremor, every gasp, every desperate clench of your thighs around his head. It made your face burn. No one had ever made you feel this raw, this bare, this holy. No one had ever wanted you so openly, so shamelessly, like you were the only source of oxygen in a city choking on smog.

His hands were everywhere. One impossible grip holding your hips up, bruising your flesh in a way that made you want to weep with gratitude, the other hand mapping the trembling planes of your stomach, your ribs, the slick heat between your thighs. When he circled your clit with his thumb, you nearly levitated off the bed.

You tried to curse at him, tried to get a grip, but all that spilled from your mouth was a trembling, “Yunho—” and then nothing, just a long, stuttering moan that built in your chest and broke into a cry.

He pulled back just enough to glance up at you. His face was glazed with sweat, his lips and chin wet and shining, his pupils blown so wide his eyes looked inky. “Yeah?” he panted, the word more a growl than a question. “Tell me what you need, baby.”

You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Every question he asked you was a test, a challenge to see how much of yourself you’d give him. If you’d bare your throat to the wolf, or run. “I need—” Your voice cracked, and the webbing around your wrists flexed under the strain as you pulled against it. “Your mouth. I need your mouth on me again, please—”

He shot you a look, all teeth and hunger and adoration, and then went right back to work. He licked a broad stripe up your folds, slow and deliberate, before sealing his lips around your clit and sucking so hard your vision whited out. The sound you made was high and lewd, a noise you didn’t know you could make. His tongue flicked, relentless, and his free hand snaked between your thighs to rub circles that bordered on cruel, the slick from your cunt making it all glide and catch in the most maddening way.

He moaned into you, like he’d just taken a bite of the best thing on earth. It vibrated through your bones. He was fucking shameless, humping the mattress with the same manic energy he devoured you with, hips rutting in time with every lap and suck. The sight of it nearly broke you; the way his whole body quaked with restraint, the way his hands trembled against your skin, the desperate, reverent way he clung to you like if he let go for even a second, he’d die.

You felt it, hot and massive, rearing up inside you. The pressure was so consuming, so sharp, you almost wanted to escape it, but he wouldn’t let you. He held you open, tongue and fingers working in tandem to drag you to the brink, then shove you right over it.

“Cum for me,” he rasped, barely pulling his mouth away, the words muffled by your skin. “Let me have another taste of you.”

You screamed. There was no other word for it. You screamed as he sucked and licked and fucked you with his fingers, building you higher and higher until the pleasure flipped over and became terror, a feeling like you might shatter apart and leave nothing behind but the broken pieces of yourself and the taste of him. You clamped your thighs around his head, squeezing so tight you feared you’d crush him, but Yunho just groaned louder, like he loved it, like he craved being smothered by you.

He curled his fingers inside you, pressing hard against the spot that made you see god. Your whole body seized, your lungs refusing to work, every cell in your body focused on the place where his mouth and hands were ruining you. It hit—harder than before, a relentless, rolling orgasm that tore through you like a bomb going off in a vacuum. You sobbed, your body going rigid, your hands clawing at the webs until you almost tasted blood.

And then—

You squirted. A hot, wet gush that splattered against his face, his neck, the sheets beneath you. The way your cunt pulsed around his fingers as you came and came and came, and then you were crying, fat wad of tears streaming down your face, because it was too much—too raw, too big, too terrifying.

He didn’t stop. He licked you through it, drank up every drop, and only when your body jerked with oversensitivity and your voice broke with a final, shuddering sob did he finally, finally come up for air.

"Oh my god," you gasped, your face burning so hot. You wanted to die.

You didn’t even know your body could do that. Sure your sex life was average but no person you’ve ever been with ever made you squirt like that— hell you think this is the first time you’ve ever done that.

Your hands pulled uselessly against the webs as you tried to cover your face, to hide, to disappear into the mattress. "Oh god, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

You were babbling, your brain short-circuiting between the lingering pleasure and the mortification, but Yunho pulled back slowly, his lips swollen and glistening, his chin wet, and the look on his face stopped you mid-sentence.

He looked like he'd just witnessed a miracle.

His eyes were wide, dark, and his mouth hung open in something that wasn't shock but awe—pure, unadulterated awe. He sat back on his knees, his chest heaving, and he just stared at you for a moment, like he was trying to commit every detail to his enhanced memory.

"That," he groaned, wiping his mouth clean with the back of his hand, "was the hottest thing I have ever seen in my entire life."

"You're lying," you whispered, your arms still straining against the webs above your head. "You're just saying that because—"

“Why would I ever lie to you?" He crawled up your body, his movements fluid and predatory, and the wetness on his chin caught the moonlight streaming through your window. "I need to make you do that again for me. Next time, though."

Next time? You sure fucking hope so.

He hovered over you, his face inches from yours, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body, could smell yourself on his skin. His hands framed your face, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones, and the tenderness of the gesture contrasted so sharply with the raw hunger in his eyes that it made your chest ache.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, and then he was kissing you.

The kiss was filthy. His mouth tasted like you—salty, sweet, intoxicating—and you moaned into it, your tongue sliding against his as he deepened the kiss. He kissed you like he was trying to consume you, like he needed you closer, and you strained against the webs, wanting to wrap your arms around him but unable to. He pulled back from the kiss, his breath ragged, and looked up at your bound wrists. Something shifted in his expression, the dawning realisation that he’d been holding you captive for longer than he’d intended.

“Let me get you out of those.” He reached up, and with a careful tug, the webs dissolved, crumbling away from your wrists like spun sugar. Your arms dropped, aching and tingling, and you rubbed at your wrists as he helped you sit up, his hands gentle on your shoulders.

“Sorry,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to each of your wrists where the webs had left faint pink marks. “I got carried away.”

“Don’t apologise,” your voice came out hoarse, wrecked. “I liked it.”

He laughed, soft and breathless, and helped you lie back down, settling beside you on the bed. You turned on your side to face him, and he mirrored you, his arm pillowing his head, his eyes dark and warm in the low light. The sheets were ruined beneath you, soaked through. You never thought you’d end up in this situation. You let your gaze drift down, because you couldn’t help it. The suit was still bunched around his waist, and the bulge straining against the fabric hadn’t diminished at all. If anything, it looked worse than before. The spandex pulled so tight it looked painful, the outline of him hard and aching, making it impossible to ignore.

“Sorry,” he apologised, and this time he sounded genuinely pained. “I thought humping your bed would at least solve the issue temporarily.”

“I know.” You reached out, your fingers hovering just above the fabric. “Does it hurt?”

He let out a shaky laugh. “More than you know.”

You chewed your lip, your brain spinning through possibilities, and then an idea occurred to you. Something so ridiculous, so absurd, that you almost laughed out loud. Almost. But the more you thought about it, the more it took root, growing from a passing thought into something that made your thighs squeeze together in anticipation.

“So,” you hummed. “What else can you do with your webs?”

Yunho blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You know.” You traced a lazy circle on his chest, feeling the muscle jump beneath your fingertip. “I’ve seen all the people that you’ve webbed up, like on the walls and shit. Are your webs that strong?”

He stared at you for a beat, and you watched the gears turning behind his eyes. “I mean... yeah. The fluid is versatile. I can adjust the density, the tensile strength, the—wait, why are you asking?”

“Just curiouuus.” You propped yourself up on one elbow, looking down at him with what you hoped was your most innocent expression. “It seemed pretty strong when you tied me up but like, could you make a cocoon out of it? A little web hammock thing?”

“Probably?”

“Wouldn’t it be fun,” you whispered, letting your voice drop lower, “to have you fuck me on my ceiling?”

You watched it happen in real time. His eyes went wide. His breath stuttered. And between his legs, his cock twitched—a visible, unmistakable jerk against the spandex that made your mouth go dry.

“Baby,” he breathed, and his voice had gone rough, stripped of every ounce of composure. “You want to me to fuck you on your ceiling?”

You grinned, slow and wicked. “Did I stutter? Can you make that happen for me, my spiderman?”

The sound he made was almost feral. He sat up so fast the bed groaned in protest, and his eyes were blazing with something that made your entire body flush hot.

“Fuck, y-yeah I can make that happen.”

He was off the bed in a heartbeat, and you watched, transfixed, as he turned toward the ceiling. His hands pressed flat against the wall, and then—you’d seen him do it a hundred times on the news, but never this close, never in your bedroom—his fingers curled, and he began to climb. Not swing, not leap. Climb. His body moved with that impossible, liquid grace, each hand and foot finding purchase on surfaces that should have been smooth, and he scaled the wall like it was nothing, like gravity was a suggestion he’d chosen to ignore.

You sat up clutching the ruined sheet to your chest, and watched him crawl across your ceiling like something out of a nightmare or a very specific, very vivid fantasy you’d been harbouring for longer than you’d care to admit. He moved to the centre of the room, directly above your bed, and you could see the concentration on his face, the way his jaw clenched as he worked.

His wrists flicked, and the web fluid shot out—not in the thin, precise strands he used for swinging, but in thick, dense ropes that he wove together with practiced efficiency. You watched him build it, layer by layer, his hands moving in quick, fluid motions, and within minutes he’d constructed something that looked like a hammock. A dense, webbed platform suspended from the ceiling by dozens of anchor points, each one reinforced with extra layers of webbing. He dropped down from the ceiling, landing on the balls of his feet with that impossible Spiderman grace. Looking at you with a grin that was equal parts nervous and exhilarated.

“Okay,” he exhaled, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “It’s not perfect, but it should hold. I reinforced the anchor points, and the strength is strong enough to—”

“Yunho.”

“—adjusted for dynamic load, so even if we—”

“Babe.”

He stopped. Looked at you.

“Less engineering, more fucking, please?”

His grin widened, and he crossed the room in two strides. His hands found your waist, and he lifted you—effortlessly, like you weighed nothing—and pressed you against his chest. You wrapped your legs around his hips on instinct, and the hard line of him pressed against you through the spandex made you gasp.

“Hold on tight,” he murmured against your ear, and then he was climbing again.

The sensation was surreal. Being carried up a wall by your superhero best friend, his hands gripping your ass, your legs locked around his waist, the world tilting sideways as gravity became irrelevant. You buried your face in his neck, breathing in the scent of him. Sweat, musk and something faintly sweet that you now recognised as his web fluid and tried not to think about how high you were getting. He reached the cocoon and manoeuvred you into it with careful, deliberate movements. The webbing was soft beneath you, softer than you expected, with a strange give to it that cradled your body like a memory foam mattress. Yunho climbed in after you, and the cocoon swayed gently with the added weight, the anchor points creaking but holding firm. You looked up. The ceiling was right there, close enough to touch, and the perspective was dizzying—the room below you, your bed with its ruined sheets, the window still open to the night air. You were suspended in midair, cocooned in webbing, and Yunho was above you, his body blocking out the ceiling light, his eyes dark and hungry.

“This is insane,” you breathed.

“Good insane or bad insane?”

You reached up and pulled him down to you. “Good insane.”

He kissed you, deep and slow, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips before diving in, claiming every inch of your mouth like he had all the time in the world. His hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts before cupping them fully, fingers teasing your nipples through the thin lace of your bra. The sensation was electric, sending sparks straight to your core, and you arched into his touch with a whimper. He chuckled against your lips, low and knowing, before his fingers hooked into the lace and tugged it down, freeing you. His palms were warm and rough as they kneaded your flesh, thumbs circling your nipples until they hardened into aching peaks. You gasped into his mouth, your hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging in as he rolled and pinched, each touch sending a jolt of pleasure straight between your legs. 

Distantly, you registered the sound of fabric tearing as you helped him peel the ruined suit down past his hips, but your focus was on the way his hands worshipped your body, the way his breath hitched when you moaned. And then he was finally, finally free, and the sound that escaped you was half-laugh, half-sob at the sight of him. He was big—thick and heavy, flushed dark at the tip where a slow bead was forming, the veins along his shaft raised and visible in a way that made your breath catch somewhere between your lungs and your throat. The sight of him, fully hard and straining upward, made your pussy ache for him. 

“Condom?” he managed, his voice cracking.

You shook your head. “Okay for one, it’s a little hard to get condoms from up here. Also, I’m clean and on birth control.”

“Fair, and yeah I’m clean too.” He swallowed hard. “Are you sure?”

You answered by reaching down and wrapping your hand around him. The sound he made was devastating. A low, broken groan that echoed through the cocoon. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, and you felt the weight of him in your palm, hot and heavy and pulsing with each beat of his heart.

“Ah—shit, don’t do that, or I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” You stroked him, slow and deliberate, watching his face contort in pleasure. “You’ll cum before you even get inside me? The mighty spiderman, brought down by a hand job? Tsk, c’mon now.”

His eyes snapped open, and there was something dangerous in them—something that made your thighs clench. “You’re going to regret saying that.”

He grabbed your wrist, gently but firmly, and pulled your hand away. Then he was positioning himself, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and the sensation—the heat, the pressure, the sheer size of him—made your breath stutter.

“Ready?” he murmured, and his voice was so tender it made your eyes sting. You nodded. He pushed in. So agonisingly slow and the stretch was intense, bordering on painful, but your body was still wet and pliant from before, and he gave you time, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath coming in ragged bursts.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

“Y-yeah fuck,” you gasped. “You can move more, please Yunho.”

He sank deeper, and the sound you made was pornographic—a long, broken moan that echoed in the cocoon. You could feel him everywhere, filling you completely, and the new angle, being suspended and gravity pulling you down onto him was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. Every inch of him pressed against walls you didn’t know you had, and when he bottomed out, your hips flush against his, you both froze.

“Oh my fucking god,” you whimpered.

“Holy shit,” he groaned, and his whole body was trembling. “Fuck, you feel—I can’t—”

He pulled back and thrust forward, and the cocoon swayed with the force of it, the webbing creaking beneath you. The motion drove him deeper, and you cried out, your fingers scrabbling for purchase on his shoulders, his back, the webbing beneath you.

“That’s it,” he panted, setting a rhythm that was slow and deep and devastating. Each thrust pushed the air from your lungs, each withdrawal left you aching and empty, and the suspended position meant you felt every inch of him, every ridge and vein, in excruciating detail. “Feel so good around me. So tight. So perfect.”

You couldn’t form words. You could barely form thoughts. The pleasure was building in slow, rolling waves, each thrust sending sparks cascading through your nervous system, but then something shifted. You felt it before you saw it—the change in his rhythm. His thrusts grew faster, harder, the careful restraint he’d been holding onto fraying at the edges. His breathing went ragged, his jaw clenched, and his hands gripped your hips so hard you were certain there would be bruises—bruises that would be gone by morning, thanks to his stupid super strength.

“Baby—” he gasped, and his voice was wrecked, barely human. “You’re so warm…fuck, you’re pulling me in, I can’t—”

“Yunho,” you whined, but he wasn’t listening. Not anymore.

His enhanced senses were betraying him. You could see it in his face, in the way his eyes glazed over, pupils blown so wide they swallowed the brown entirely. Every nerve ending in his body was firing at once, and you—your warmth, your wetness, the way your body clenched around him with each thrust—were overwhelming him. The aphrodisiac had dialled his sensitivity to something inhuman, and the combination of the gas and your body was too much, too intense, too everything.

He snapped. One moment he was fucking you slow and deep, the next he was driving into you with a force that made the cocoon swing wildly, the anchor points groaning under the strain. His hips pistoned forward, each thrust punching the air from your lungs, and the sound that filled the cocoon was raw and animal—the wet slap of skin against skin, his broken groans, your shattered cries.

“Fuck baby—” you tried to cry out his name but nothing came out as a moan, and he swallowed it with a kiss that was more teeth than tongue.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, and his voice had gone rough, almost feral. “I—I can feel everything, every—thing—”

His hand slid down between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit with devastating accuracy, and the first brush of his calloused pad against the swollen bud made you scream. He circled it, rough and relentless, matching the punishing pace of his hips, and the dual sensation—his cock filling you completely, his thumb working your clit—had pleasure building so fast your vision went white at the edges.

“Right there,” he growled against your mouth. “Feel you getting tighter. Am I making you feel good, baby? ”

His free hand found your breast, fingers closing around the soft flesh, and he squeezed—not gently, not carefully, but with a grip that made you cry out. His thumb rolled over your nipple, pinching and pulling, and the sharp burst of pain-pleasure combined with everything else was too much, too much, your body seizing as the overstimulation pushed you toward a peak you weren’t sure you could survive.

“Yes holy shiiit,” you sobbed, your hands flying to his wrist. “O-only you can make me feel this good.”

But instead of pushing him away, your fingers wrapped around his wrist and pulled. You guided his hand up. Past your collarbone, past your jaw, until his palm settled against your throat. His fingers were warm and rough, and you felt his pulse hammering against your skin where his wrist pressed against your neck. Yunho went still. Completely, utterly still, his cock buried to the hilt inside you, his hand resting against your throat with the barest pressure. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and questioning, and you saw the fear there—the fear of hurting you, of going too far.

“Squeeze,” you whispered.

“Baby—”

“Please.” You tilted your chin up, pressing your throat more firmly into his palm. “I trust you.”

His fingers curled, just slightly, the pressure gentle but unmistakable, and the rush of oxygen being slightly restricted sent a dizzying wave of heat straight to your core. He began to move again. Slow at first, testing, his thumb tracing circles on your pulse point as his hips rolled forward. But the restraint lasted all of ten seconds before the pleasure took over again, and he was fucking you hard, his hand tightening fractionally with each thrust, the pressure ebbing and flowing in time with his movements.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, his voice wrecked, barely above a whisper and heavy with disbelief. “So fucking good f’me. Can feel your pussy getting wetter every time I squeeze.”

The words echoed through the cocoon, amplifying every flicker of tension in your body until it felt like you were vibrating along the gossamer threads. His thumb kept up its merciless pressure on your clit, ungodly accurate, never missing a beat—and with every roll, your limbs stiffened and your spine arced, suspended and helpless under the dual assault of pleasure and a touch of well-placed pain.

His palm remained steady at your throat, fingers spread wide and strong as they pressed against the hollow just below your jaw, neither choking nor letting go. You were acutely aware of each millimetre of pressure, the way your body yielded under his hand, how the tightness made your world shrink to a pinpoint: the lightning bolt of his cock inside you, the dizzying flow of blood at your pulse point, the white-hot friction of his thumb circling your swollen clit. The more he gripped, the more your head spun. Your toes curled and every muscle in your body tightened until you thought you might snap, the whole world narrowing to the slick, filthy grind of his hips and the endless, overwhelming pleasure.

You tried to form words, to beg or warn him but all you could manage was a strangled moan, guttural and desperate, that just made his eyes darken further. The overstimulation swallowed you whole. It wasn’t just the way he moved inside you or the insistent drag of his hand; it was the position, the surrender, the very air in your lungs. With every thrust, your vision flickered at the edges, bursts of color behind your eyelids, nerves on fire and ringing with sensation.

You could feel yourself getting close, the pressure gathering low in your belly, tighter and tighter, until you were sure you’d break open from the force of it. Then you did. You broke, just as his teeth grazed the shell of your ear and his hand squeezed, just a little more, on your throat. Your orgasm tore through you like a live wire, fire consuming every cell. Your body seized around his cock, walls pulsing in rhythm with the frantic beat of your heart, and you cried out—tried to, but the sound barely escaped around the cage of his fingers. The only evidence was the look on his face: eyes wide, slack-jawed, like he couldn’t believe the way you milked him, couldn’t believe the power of it.

He never stopped moving, not even for a second, but the tension in his body shifted, hips beginning to stutter, movements no longer perfectly controlled. You could feel it in the way his cock thickened, twitched, the way his hands trembled where they gripped you. He pressed his forehead to yours, both of you sweating and gasping, and the cocoon rocked with every erratic thrust as if the whole world was swaying in time with your bodies. His breath was hot and desperate against your mouth, his voice ragged with need.

“Ngh—fuck, I can feel you cumming, milking me dry.” His own rhythm faltered, hips jerking unevenly as you pulsed around him. “You’re so tight, baby, gonna make me—”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but you didn’t need him to. You could feel it coming, that raw edge, the frantic, unspooling tension as he lost himself in you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him closer, deeper, until he was all but fused to you. The feeling of him—so deep, so hot—clawed at something animalistic inside your chest, and you wanted him to let go, wanted to watch him fall apart the way you just had.

“Where—tell me where—” He was babbling, out of his mind, and even in the midst of your own aftershocks you fought to answer.

“Inside,” you gasped, the word nearly lost as your body convulsed again. “Cum inside me, please, I want it so bad.”

His hand left your throat, finally, dropping to the webbing behind your head as though he needed the anchor to keep from floating away. The sudden rush of oxygen made you lightheaded, the world spinning even more wildly, but then he was kissing you, messy, desperate, open-mouthed and biting. He poured himself into you with one final thrust, hips slamming flush against yours, his entire body snapping tight as he came. You felt every pulse of it, every ripple of pleasure as he emptied inside you, hot and thick and so much you could feel it spill out around the seal of his cock.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The world was nothing but the sway of the cocoon, the sticky-sweet heat between your bodies, and the thud of your matching heartbeats. His head dropped to your shoulder, lips pressed to the curve of your neck, and you felt his breath—fast and shallow but gradually slowing—as he tried to recover. His body was heavy on top of you, all the strength gone out of him, muscles trembling with effort and leftover adrenaline. You could feel the aftershocks still working through him, tiny spasms that made his cock twitch even as it softened, and the sensation kept you riding the edge of your own pleasure, unable to let go.

You ran your hands through his hair, damp and tangled from sweat, and felt him melt against you, weightless but somehow grounding you at the same time. His arms came up to cradle your ribcage, gentle and careful, as if you were something precious that he might break if he wasn’t careful. The sudden tenderness after so much ferocity made your chest ache, and you closed your eyes, content to float in the aftermath.

When he finally moved, it was only to shift a little, curling his body protectively around you as if to shield you from the open window and the night beyond. His breath tickled your collarbone, his nose nuzzling the space just beneath your jaw, and the sensation was so unexpectedly soft you almost laughed. You flexed your wrists against the webbing, experimentally. The sticky strands held fast, supporting your body in a hammock of silky white, but you were so boneless and spent that escape was the last thing on your mind. Instead, you let yourself relax completely, surrendering to the hold, to Yunho’s arms still braced around you, to the delicious, throbbing ache between your legs.

He drew lazy circles on your hipbone, fingers gentle now, and every so often he would press a kiss to your shoulder, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. You could feel him smiling against your skin, lips quirking with each affectionate touch. It was so at odds with the way he’d just ravaged you that you had to smile, too, the intimacy of it almost more overwhelming than the sex itself. You opened your eyes and found him staring at you, brown eyes half-lidded and warm, eyelashes stuck together from sweat and tears and god knows what else. He looked so soft like this, so open and unguarded, you could almost forget he was the same person who had just fucked you within an inch of your life.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi,” you whispered back.

He laughed and pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face flushed, and there was something so tender in his expression that it made your chest ache. “I think I just had the best orgasm of my life while suspended from your ceiling.”

You snorted, the sound wet and undignified. “Romance is dead, they said.”

“I’m being serious.” He pressed a kiss to your nose, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. “I don’t think anything will top this.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and the cocoon swayed with the movement. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you.” He nuzzled into your neck, and you felt his lips curve into a smile against your skin. “Also, I think we broke your ceiling.”

You craned your neck to look up. One of the anchor points had pulled slightly away from the plaster, leaving a hairline crack in the ceiling. You groaned.

“My landlord is going to kill me.”

“I’ll fix it.” He kissed your throat, right over the pulse point where his hand had been. “I’ll web it back together. She’ll never know.”

“Yunho, you cannot web my ceiling back together. That’s not how home repairs work.”

“Says who?” He pulled back, grinning that stupid, lopsided grin that had been making your heart do stupid things since you were fourteen. “I’m a superhero. I think I know a thing or two about structural integrity.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me.”

“I do.” You kissed him, slow and sweet, pouring every ounce of the years you’d spent hiding into it. “I really, really do.”

He hummed against your mouth, content and warm, and you lay there together in the suspended cocoon, swaying gently, the city humming below you. The aphrodisiac, the mutant, the fight—all of it felt distant now, like a dream you’d already started to forget. The only thing that was real was the weight of him on top of you, the feel of his heartbeat against your chest, the knowledge that after everything—after the secrets and the lies and the years of pretending—you were finally, finally here.

“Yunho?” you murmured against his lips.

“Mm?”

“Can we do this again tomorrow?”

His laugh was bright and warm and full of everything you’d ever wanted. “Baby, why wait until tomorrow?”

You grinned, feeling that familiar thrill shoot through you. The one that always came when Yunho looked at you like that, like you were the only person in the entire city that mattered to him. “Bet. One more round. But on my bed this time. Pretty pleaseee?”

The way his eyes darkened made your stomach flip.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he murmured, reaching up to cup your face with both hands. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. So soft and slow and achingly sweet. “Let me help you down.”

He made it look effortless, the way he always did. One arm hooked around your waist while the other shot a line of web to the ceiling, lowering the two of you down with a controlled swing that landed your feet on the carpet. You wobbled for half a second before his hand steadied you at the small of your back.

“Easy,” he whispered against your temple.

You watched him clear the web hammock with a flick of his wrist, the sticky strands dissolving into nothing against his palm. His fingers found the seam at his hips where the suit was still bunched, the last of it clinging to him like a second skin. He peeled it down over his thighs with a soft hiss of fabric, freeing himself completely. The crumpled heap of red and blue landed somewhere behind the nightstand, forgotten. Naked. Both of you. Standing in the dim amber glow of your bedside lamp, and you couldn’t stop staring. The definition of his chest, the lean muscle of his thighs, the way his cock was already half-hard again just from looking at you. Your body flushed hot all over.

“Bed,” you blurted out, it came out breathier than you intended. You took his hand and pushed him, guiding him until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. “Lie down.”

He obeyed with a smirk, settling against your pillows and folding his arms behind his head like he owned the place. Which, at this point, he kind of did. His eyes tracked you hungrily as you climbed onto the bed, and you could see the assumption written all over his face — the slight parting of his lips, the way his hips shifted expectantly. He expected you to sink down onto him, to ride out the last of your high with lazy circles against his cock, but you didn’t give him what he was waiting for. Instead, you shifted your weight and swung a leg over his chest, pinning his wrists to the mattress with your knees as you straddled his face. The look of shock that crossed his features was so raw, so unguarded, you nearly laughed out loud. Instead, you bent forward over the long plane of his body, bracing your palms against his thighs and arching your back, so your cunt hovered just above his mouth.

“Surprise,” you purred, and you shuddered at the answering heat in his eyes. He didn’t waste a second. His hands came up to your thighs, fingers digging into the flesh as if to mark you, and he jerked your hips down until your pussy met his hungry mouth. He licked into you with a filthy, greedy groan, tongue lapping at your folds with a single-minded focus that bordered on reverence. He mouthed at you like he was trying to eat you alive, and with every flick and suck, he made good on the threat. The first brush of his tongue sent a jolt straight through your body—a shockwave that left your vision shimmering at the edges. You steadied yourself with one hand pressed flat against his toned stomach, the other curling around his thigh, and savoured the solidity of him beneath you. He was so strong, so capable, so yours.

You looked down the length of his body. Sprawled beneath you, Yunho was pure muscle, the lines of his abs flexing with every movement of your hips. You watched his cock twitch and swell, flushed dark and glistening against his stomach, leaking in anticipation. You didn’t even think about it; your free hand wrapped around him, thumb circling the tip before stroking him in long, deliberate pulls. The dual sensations—the ferocious heat of his tongue inside you, the weight and pulse of him in your palm—made your head spin. Yunho moaned into you, the vibration of it traveling up your spine, and you rewarded him by squeezing him tighter, twisting your wrist at the top on the upstroke.

“God, you’re perfect,” he gasped into your skin, voice muffled by the press of your thighs, and the words made your knees shake.

You rolled your hips, chasing that perfect pressure, revelling in the messy sounds of him eating you out. He was all in, tongue and lips and nose buried in your cunt, and his hands were everywhere, kneading your ass, spreading you wider, holding you right where he wanted you. You could feel the wetness coating his chin, feel it glisten on your own thighs, and it only made you more desperate. You ground down harder, suffocating him on your pussy, and he groaned in approval, slapping your ass with one open palm.

“Don’t stop,” you hissed, and the sound of your own voice shot a thrill through you.

Who was Yunho to deny you of your wishes, of course he didn’t stop. Yunho was always hungry for you, but tonight he was ravenous. He devoured you with a focus that bordered on savage, lips latching onto your clit and sucking with just enough force to send you crashing toward the edge. The closer you got, the more he gave, tongue working you in tight, relentless circles, his hands pulling you down so you couldn’t squirm away. He wanted you to suffocate him, and you were happy to oblige.

But the hunger inside you was just as fierce. You wanted him in your mouth, wanted to feel the weight of him on your tongue, to taste him the way he was tasting you. You wanted to see how much self-control he really had. You shifted your weight again, angling your hips so you could bend forward over his body. The movement made your pussy drag across his lips, and he moaned into your folds as you bent down to nuzzle his cock.

You licked a stripe up the underside, savoring the salty-sweet taste, and then took the head into your mouth. The way Yunho bucked beneath you, almost lifting you off his face, told you exactly how much he liked it. You bobbed your head, taking him deeper, and the taste of him—salt and musk and something uniquely Yunho—made your eyes roll back. It was an endless loop of pleasure, a symphony of moans and gasps and frantic wet sounds that filled the room. The pleasure was building in tandem, feeding off each other, and you could feel it. The way your moans made him twitch against your tongue, the way his groans sent shockwaves through your core.

Yunho wasn’t quiet, not with you. He grunted and gasped and swore under his breath, the noises muffled by your pussy but still unmistakable. He ate you like a man starved, and every time you trembled, every time you gasped, he redoubled his efforts. It was a game of brinkmanship, seeing who could push the other over the edge first, and you were both playing to win. The wet sounds filling your bedroom were doing things to you. The way he was panting, the way his cock pulsed in your fist, the way his free hand had slid around to grip your ass and hold you in place.

“Oh baby, that feels so good,“ he managed between strokes of his tongue, and the curse was muffled against your skin, hot and wet and absolutely devastating.

You felt his cock twitch against your tongue, leaking even more, and you knew he was close. The tension in his thighs, the way his hips bucked up into your mouth, the frantic pace of his tongue, all of it pointed to one inevitable conclusion. But Yunho, even here, even with your thighs clamped around his ears and your lips choking his cock, was still Yunho. Still holding back. Still waiting for you.

He pulled his mouth away just long enough to suck in a breath. “W-want you to cum. C’mon baby give it to me,” he panted, and then dove right back in, tongue fucking you with a desperation that made you see stars.

You came with a shattered moan, the orgasm ripping through you so hard your arms gave out. Your entire body clenched, thighs trapping Yunho’s head in a vise grip as you rode out every last pulse. At the same time, you felt his cock jerk in your mouth. Your jaw went slack around him, and you felt him pulse against your tongue, feeling the exact moment he tipped over the edge because of it. His groan was guttural against your oversensitive clit as he came, and you swallowed. Every drop. The taste of him flooding your mouth, thick and warm, and you moaned through it, the sound vibrating around him, drawing out his orgasm until he was shaking beneath you.

Yunho’s hands found your hips again, steadying you as you both trembled through the aftershocks. He licked you gently now, soothing little kitten licks, and you whimpered at the oversensitivity. For a long, suspended moment, neither of you moved. Your mouth still around him, his lips still pressed to you, both of you trembling and spent and utterly ruined. Then you slowly pulled off him, letting his cock slip from your lips with one last, filthy pop before you climbed up next to him and collapsed onto the bed.  

Yunho turned his head to look at you. He reached for you, pulling you against his chest, and you went willingly, nestling into the space beneath his chin. His heartbeat was still hammering, fast and strong, and you pressed your ear to it, listening to the rhythm slow gradually back to something resembling normal. His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer, and you tilted your face up to look at him. His eyes were half-lidded, the adrenaline of the last few hours finally bleeding out of him, leaving behind something soft and sleepy and unbearably fond. You reached up, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingertips, feeling the stubble that had grown in over the course of the night. He turned his head, pressing a kiss to your palm, and then he was leaning down, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was nothing like the ones that had come before.

This one was slow. Painfully slow. His mouth moved against yours with a tenderness that made your chest ache, his lips soft and warm, and you felt the sound he made before you heard it. A low, contented hum that vibrated through your sternum. You kissed him back just as slowly, your hand sliding up to cup the back of his neck, your fingers threading through the damp strands of his hair.

And then you tasted it. The faint salt of yourself still lingering on his lips, the musk of him still coating your tongue, and the sound that escaped you was somewhere between a moan and a laugh. You felt him smile against your mouth, felt his breath hitch as he tasted the same thing, the mingled evidence of what you’d just done to each other, and the kiss deepened, not with urgency but with something quieter. Something that felt like coming home.

He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his breathing steady and warm against your face. “You taste like…you,” he murmured, and the wonder in his voice made you laugh.

“Wow! Funny how that works.” You giggled, shaking your head at his brutal honesty.

“If Ben and Jerry’s made a flavour of you, I’d eat it.”

You swatted his chest, but you were smiling so wide it hurt. He caught your hand, lacing his fingers through yours, and pressed another kiss to your lips—shorter this time, but just as sweet. You settled back against his chest, your head tucked beneath his chin, his heartbeat a steady drum beneath your ear. The sheets were ruined beneath you, the room smelled like sex and web fluid, and somewhere outside your window, the city was still spinning, still throwing its chaos at the world. But here, in your bed, with Yunho’s arm wrapped around you and his breath evening out against your hair, everything felt impossibly, perfectly still.

Your eyes grew heavy. The exhaustion of the night. The waiting, the worrying, the sheer physical exertion of everything that had followed was crashing down on you all at once, pulling you toward sleep like a tide. You fought it for a moment, wanting to stay awake, wanting to memorise the feeling of his skin against yours, but your body had other plans.

“Yunho?” you whispered, your voice slurring at the edges.

“Mm?”

“I’m glad you always find your way back to me.”

You felt him shift, felt his lips press against the crown of your head. His arm tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer, and when he spoke, his voice was so soft it was barely there.

“Of course I do,” he breathed, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re my home, you’ve always been.”

Something warm and liquid spilled through your chest, filling every crack and crevice that years of secrets and pretending had left behind. You turned your face into his neck, pressing a kiss to the pulse point there, and felt him shiver.

“I love you,” you mumbled, the words already half-lost to sleep.

“I love you too, more than you’ll ever know.”

His lips found your forehead—a kiss so gentle it felt like a promise. You felt his breathing slow, felt the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, and the last thing you registered before sleep pulled you under was the faint sound of his heartbeat, strong and sure, carrying you both into the dark. The city outside didn’t exist. There was just this. Just you and Yunho and the quiet hum of the world holding its breath, waiting for its hero to come back. And he would. He always did.

But for now, he was yours.

You met Taehyung when you were fifteen. You remembered it as clear as day. You were in a bad mood having received a low score on your math exam. You could never understand the subject, it never made sense to you. You just wanted to go home and lock yourself in your room while you drown in your own self-pity. The big tub of vanilla ice cream that stood in your freezer had your name all over it.

“Namjoon! My ice cream better still be in the freezer! I swear I am not in the mood to deal with you right now, my day is going badly as is!” you shouted as you walked inside your house, shoving off your shoes clumsily. Your cheeks were tinted pink from the frosty weather. The cold weather made your bad mood worse.

Despite winter being your favorite season, today was way too cold and your mood wasn't the brightest. Your fingers reached up to grasp the fabric of your scarf, and you started pulling at it aggressively. An annoyed huff left your lips as you tried to untangle the mess.

“Namjoon!” you shouted again, eyes focused only on removing your scarf, and you didn't notice that there were other people beside your brother in the house. “Did you hear me? I—”

Oh.

Six unfamiliar pairs of eyes stared at you in surprise.

“Uh, Joon?” you squeaked out. Your fingers froze, still tangled with your scarf.

Your brother pinched his nose in exasperation before he flashed his friends an awkward grin, “Sorry, guys. This is my little sister, Y/N. Don't mind her, she's a little crazy in the head sometimes.”

“Yah!” you snapped. A deep chuckle broke through the chaos and your eyes were quick to glance over at the source.

You swore you had never seen such a beautiful man in your life before. He was the embodiment of your type. His beauty made you completely forget about the ridiculous math formulas and the low exam score you received.

You watched as he confidently stood up from the couch and extended his hand, “Hi, I'm Taehyung.”

Hi, I think you're the love of my life. You thought to yourself as you gawked at him.

Your eyes trailed to his outstretched hand, as if it were a foreign thing to you. Namjoon could see Taehyung’s face slowly falling as he realized you weren't reaching out to return his gesture.

Namjoon coughed loudly, breaking you out of your trance. You hurriedly grasped Taehyung’s hand and your knees almost buckled. You've never thought a human hand could fit so perfectly with yours. Your heart thumped faster as a boxy smile appeared on Taehyung’s face.

“Hi.” you breathed out. Taehyung’s smile grew wider and he squeezed your hand before letting it go.

Namjoon raised an eyebrow at your interaction but shrugged it off, “This is Jin and Yoongi hyung, Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook too.” As he listed their names, your eyes trailed over to each boy who gave you a small bow of their head or a smile.

“Hi. Nice to meet you guys.” you awkwardly stated. You nervously shifted in place before sticking your thumb toward the direction of your room. “I'm gonna go—I, yeah.”

You were quick to spin around and scamper away. Your ears picked up the familiar deep chuckle which caused your heart to skip a beat.

That night, you wrote a letter for the first time.

Dear Taehyung,

I think you're an angel who fell from heaven to thaw my frozen heart.

A few years passed, and your crush on Taehyung grew stronger. Out of the boys that Namjoon befriended, you were closest with the youngest three; Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung. That doesn't mean you weren't close with the others. You were just closer in age to the three.

No one knew of your crush except for Jimin. He immediately figured it out when he noticed your eyes seemed to always shine around Taehyung’s presence.

“You like him.” Jimin muttered with wide eyes, his gaze flickering back and forth between you and Taehyung.

You tensed up and choked out a nervous laugh, “What nonsense are you going on about now?”

“Oh, please.” Jimin rolled his eyes. “You can’t put up an act around me. I see right through you.”

“Jimin.” you sighed.

Jimin softened, “Y/N.”

“He can’t know.” Was all you said.

Jimin was quiet for a moment before he spoke, “Can you handle it? Bottling your feelings inside?”

You didn’t answer. Jimin sighed and leaned down to place his head on your shoulder.

Jungkook, on the other hand, was dense and never picked up the small signs. He couldn't even tell if someone liked him or not. Taehyung was similar in that way but he knew enough to pick up the signs when a girl was crushing on him. Yet, when it came to you, he was completely oblivious.

“Hey, are you going to the grad party tonight?” You glanced up from your laptop at the sound of a soft knock on your door. Your roommate, Sunni, had a hopeful look on her face. You weren't exactly a party person and preferred to stay in rather than go out. Sunni could see the distaste on your face already and was quick to blurt out, “Taehyung will be there.”

You gave her a wary stare, but Sunni didn't budge. She raised an eyebrow, “And so will Jimin and Jungkook, y'know our friends, your best friends? Look, it's Jimin and Taehyung’s senior year before they go out in the real world. Are you really going to skip out on their last hurrah?”

Your face fell at that. It was their last year. You and Jungkook were only in your second year so you still had some time before you would graduate.

“Fine, but only because it’s for Jimin and Tae,” you grumbled, which caused Sunni to squeal.

“Come on! We need to find you an outfit!” Sunni was quick to walk to your closet and rummage through your rack of clothes.

“Seriously?” You whined. “I just organized my closet.”

“Relax.” Sunni scoffed, “You’re acting as if I will make a complete mess. I’m a clean freak, you know that, but that’s beside the point. We need to find something sexy but cute.”

“I’m not trying to impress anyone, Sunni.” you snickered as you continued to type out your assignment for your English class.

“You should! You're beautiful, sexy, and smart!” Sunni exclaimed with wide eyes. “Anyone would be lucky to date you!”

You laughed at her statement, “Thanks, Sunni.”

“Now, put your assignment aside for the night.” Sunni grabbed a white lace halter top and a light blue jean skirt. A huge grin appeared on her face, “Because tonight, we're gonna party.”

You sighed fondly, a grin plastered on your face as well.

You needed to let loose tonight.

By the time you and Sunni finished getting ready, the time for the party to start was approaching. The two of you took Sunni’s car and drove to the location of the party. From what Sunni told you on the way there, it was a senior’s house that they recently bought with a couple of other people.

Sunni squealed as the two of you walked toward the entrance, “I'm so excited! You'll have a lot of fun, I promise!”

You merely laughed. You could only hope. Parties and you never mesh well together.

You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket and reached back to grab it. A smile appeared on your face seeing that it was a text from Jimin. You didn't tell anyone that you were going as you wanted it to be a surprise.

Jimin: you're here???

You: surprise!! where are you??

Jimin: fuck

You: ???

Jimin: stay by the front door, ill come get you

You: jimin you're scaring me

Jimin left you on read and didn't answer which caused you to furrow your eyebrows anxiously. Your heart was beating rapidly and you glanced up to try to find Jimin. You felt a little calmer when you saw a familiar blonde coming your way.

“Jimin!” you shouted over the loud music, your eyes flickering around his face. “What’s wrong?”

Jimin gave you a pitying look, “If I had known you were coming, I would've warned you.”

“What?” you muttered with knitted brows.

“Lina is here. With Taehyung.”

Oh.

Lina was Taehyung’s first girlfriend. The two had an on-and-off relationship since their freshman year. They would get into arguments, break up, and then get back together in a couple of weeks. Jimin didn't like her nor did the rest of the guys. They all believed Taehyung deserved better and Lina knew the hold she had on him so she would always come back to him because he would too.

“They're back together?” Was all you could bring yourself to say.

Jimin rolled his eyes and took a big sip of alcohol from his cup, “Don't get me started. It's complicated, according to Taehyung. He and I got into a small argument about it and he's ignoring me right now.”

“Tae? Ignoring you?” You gaped at him. Jimin gave you a sad smile and shrugged.

“Maybe you can smack some sense into him, Y/N.” Jimin sighed and his eyes softened, “He just, I don't know, he seems to only listen to you somehow.”

“Don't say that.” you mumbled as you rubbed your forehead.

Jimin shrugged, “It’s true, but anyways, no more of this nonsense. Let's go drink and celebrate me finally graduating.” he grabbed your hand and paused, “And find Jungkook. God knows where that kid is.”

You snorted.

As Jimin guided you through the huge crowd, you subconsciously searched for Taehyung. You believed what Jimin told you but you just wanted to see it for yourself.

Maybe this is your sign to finally move on from him.

You loved him since you were fifteen.

You couldn't do this to yourself anymore.

Just as you were about to step into the kitchen, your eyes met a familiar pair of warm brown eyes. Your breath hitched. Taehyung’s eyes slightly widened upon registering that you were actually there. You noticed he slightly tensed up which caused Lina, who was sitting on his lap, to lean toward him and whisper something.

You gave him a small smile and looked away before he could return it.

“Find me a strong drink, Jimin.”

Jimin glanced back and smirked, “You don't have to tell me twice.”

You and Jimin ventured further into the kitchen and the two of you finally made it to the nearby table where all the drinks were. Coincidentally, you found Jungkook there.

“Y/N!” Jungkook gasped. His eyes lit up in complete joy and he rushed to embrace you, “I thought you said you weren't coming?”

“Yeah, but Sunni managed to convince me.” You smiled and paused, taking a glance around the area, “Who—I don't know where she went.”

“I saw her with her little boyfriend, Jaemin.” Jimin took a sip from his cup. “I think she'll be fine.”

You sighed in relief. You knew she was in good hands at least.

“I could treat her better but whatever.” Jungkook rolled his eyes. He had a slight crush on Sunni but you knew Sunni wasn't really that interested and Jungkook knew that but he liked to joke around about it.

You snorted, “Sure, pal.”

“Thanks, best friend.” Jungkook sarcastically muttered. He turned around and grabbed an unopened can of beer. “Oh! Here. I know you don't like super-strong alcohol.”

“Thanks, Kook.” You gave him a genuine smile, “But, uh, I think I'd be down to drink some of that strong alcohol today.”

Jungkook’s jaw lightly dropped, “Who are you and what have you done to my Y/N?” he paused and frowned, “Wait, who's dying tonight? Who are we killing?” Jimin snorted and you snickered.

Your heart warmed. Jungkook was truly your best friend. “No one, doofus. I just want to let loose tonight.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Jimin, who gave him a nod, “Hmmm. . . If you say so.” he passed you his cup, “Take mine. I'll grab a new one.”

“No—it's okay.” You shook your head but Jungkook didn't budge.

“Take the cup. I don't trust anyone here.”

“I agree.” Jimin clicked his tongue and pointed to the cup.

“You guys are too much.” You chuckled but they knew you didn't mean it.

“Yeah, love you too.” Jungkook grinned, “Okay, I'll be right back and we’ll party.”

“Are we going to get Tae?” you asked and Jungkook immediately rolled his eyes.

“Not if he's with her. I'm passing on that.”

Jimin slapped a hand on Jungkook’s shoulders, “It's nice having someone who understands.”

You sighed, “If she makes him happy, we should be happy for him.”

“Dude.” Jungkook deadpanned, “She’s literally the devil reincarnated. Taehyung experiences more sorrow than joy.”

Jimin cackled loudly at that. You opened your mouth to say something but found no words.

“Okay, be right back!” Jungkook turned and went to get a new drink.

“He needs to learn the hard way, Y/N.” Jimin told you once Jungkook was out of earshot.

You didn't answer, merely drowning some alcohol down.

You had a few drinks in you now and you knew you were most definitely buzzed. Your head pounded as you continued to dance with Jimin and Jungkook.

“Wait, guys.” You huffed and stopped in your tracks to hold your head. “I think I'm going to get some water. My head’s killing me.”

The two stopped and gave you a concerned look.

“I'll go with you.” Jimin didn't hesitate to offer but you shook your head and smiled.

“No, no. It's okay. I'll be back quickly.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, “You sure?”

“Yeah.” you nodded with a laugh. Jimin reluctantly let you go and you started to make your way through the crowd, muttering apologies as you passed by.

You finally reached the kitchen and grabbed a cold unopened water bottle from the cooler.

“Hey, you're Y/N, right?” You looked up to see a somewhat familiar guy. He looked decently handsome and you recognized him as one of your classmates.

“Oh, hey! Luke, right?”

Luke smiled, “Yeah! I didn't know you were a party type of person. You don't seem like one.”

“Ah.” you chuckled, “I know some of the seniors that this party is for and they're my best friends so I came out to celebrate with them.”

“That’s nice.” Luke grinned before his posture shifted into a more nervous stance, “Uh, this is really random and super out of the blue, but I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me? I think you're really cool.”

Oh wow. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. Luke was handsome but he wasn't really your type. He was quite far from it.

“Oh, I'm sorry.” You gave him a sympathetic smile, “I'm not really interested but you seem like a great guy.”

Almost immediately, Luke’s entire energy changed. His eyes grew dark and a snarky look appeared on his face.

“Whatever. You're not all that anyway.”

“What did you just say?” The two of you turned your heads to see Taehyung glaring harshly at Luke.

“Tae.” you were quick to say, standing up taller to hold him back from potentially throwing a punch.

“No.” Taehyung shook his head and stepped closer to you, his hand reached out to place his palm on your lower back. You tensed up at the touch and glanced up at him with wide eyes.

Taehyung’s eyes darkened as his glare remained on Luke, “I suggest you walk away before I do something I’ll regret.”

Luke scoffed. “What? Is she your girl or something?”

“Yeah.” Taehyung raised a stern brow, “So listen to what I said and walk the fuck away.” You froze.

What?

Luke rolled his eyes and scoffed again, mumbling incoherent phrases under his breath as he walked away.

You continued to stare at Taehyung in shock.

Taehyung quickly glanced down at you and his eyes softened. His brows furrowed in concern, “You okay? He didn't try anything right?”

“No,” you reassured him. “You—You didn't have to do that y'know.”

“I'll always protect you,” Taehyung stated with knitted eyebrows, confused as to why you would say such a thing. “You know that.”

“I know.” You closed your eyes for a brief moment, “I'm talking about me being your girl.”

Taehyung paused. His mouth opened and closed before a sigh left his lips, “It worked, didn't it?”

You pursed your lips, “Yeah, I guess.”

He noticed the water bottle in your hand and glanced back at your face, his eyes flickered around, “You drank a lot tonight, didn't you?” It wasn't really a question, but rather a statement because he knew the answer.

He knew you.

He always did.

“Want me to take you home?” Taehyung asked softly.

“What?” you muttered in disbelief.

“I'm kinda sick of the party already and you look tired. I can take you back to your apartment.” Taehyung shrugged.

You glanced over to the crowd of moving bodies and spotted Jimin and Jungkook who were a part of some dance train. Taehyung followed your stare and exhaled sharply.

“Go.” he nodded his head toward their direction, “Let them know. I can go start the car.” You gave him a hesitant look and he gave you a small smile, “I didn't drink tonight if that's what you're worried about. I wasn't in the mood.”

“Okay.” you sighed and Taehyung grinned. He tapped the tip of your nose before he left. Your heart raced. This was not good for you. So much for trying to move on.

You started to make your way back to Jimin and Jungkook. The two noticed you immediately and cheered.

“Hey!” Jungkook shouted, “What took so long?”

“Some guy hit on me.” you answered before trailing off, “And Taehyung rescued me.” Jimin and Jungkook shared a look.

“He's taking you home now, isn't he?” Jimin questioned and you only gave him a timid smile in response. Jimin sighed and pulled you into his arms, “Let me know when you're home then okay?”

Jungkook pouted and pulled you into a hug after Jimin released you, “Me too. If Taehyung does something, I don't care how long I've known him, I will fight him if something happens to you.”

You laughed. You did not doubt that Jungkook would actually do it.

“I will.” you smiled, “Bye.” The two shared their goodbyes, and you went to find Sunni to let her know you would be leaving too. You spotted her in one of the corners chatting with some people.

“Y/N!” Sunni squealed. She turned to her group, “Guys this is my cutie roommate, Y/N.” You gave her friends a small wave and smiled.

“I just wanted to let you know I'm leaving now,” you informed her, and she gave you a concerned look.

“You're taking an Uber?” Sunni asked.

“No, Tae’s taking me home.”

Sunni raised an eyebrow at that, “Hm. Okay, stay safe, I'll be home soon too.” You nodded and gave her a quick hug before leaving to find Taehyung.

You reached the entrance and grabbed your shoes, putting them on and exiting the party. You were quick to spot Taehyung who was leaning against his car and scrolling through his phone.

At the sound of your footsteps, he glanced up and gave you a grin, “Took you long enough. Did you say bye to everyone in that house? I didn't know you were so popular.”

You rolled your eyes and let out a mocking laugh, “Haha. So funny, but I did, so we can go now.”

Taehyung chuckled and opened the passenger door for you to get in. Your heart warmed at the stupid action. It's the bare minimum, Y/N. Snap out of it.

Once you were inside, Taehyung quickly made it over to the driver’s seat and began to drive out. You buckled your seatbelt as did he and you felt yourself slightly shiver.

“Cold?” Taehyung asked, reaching to adjust the air conditioner already.

“I'm okay, thanks,” you said. A few moments of silence passed before you decided to take a bold step, “So, I heard you're back with Lina?”

Taehyung sighed. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, “No. It's just—complicated.”

“Isn't it always?” you huffed softly which made him crack a smile.

“Well.” you decided to change the subject as it seemed like Taehyung didn't really want to talk about his situation with Lina, “You're graduating soon, what are you gonna do after?”

“I don't even know.” Taehyung laughed softly, “Maybe apply to work at some art museum. I've always loved art.”

“And you're also really good at creating art,” you interjected.

Taehyung glanced over at you and grinned. He turned back to the road and shook his head fondly. “You're too kind Y/N.”

“I’m serious!” you whined. “You should really sell your art. I know I would buy it!”

“You're just saying that because you already know me.”

“I would buy your art in a heartbeat even if you were a complete stranger to me.” you were quick to snap back. Taehyung peered back at you for a brief moment and smiled.

“What would I do without my biggest supporter, huh?”

“Probably not know how to survive in this chaotic world.” you joked.

Taehyung paused for a second before a soft smile grew on his face. He looked over at you and a breathy laugh left his lips, “Yeah. True. I wouldn't.”

You fell quiet. The sound that only you could hear was the thunderous pounding of your heart beating against your rib cage.

That night after Taehyung dropped you off at your apartment and made sure you had everything you needed. You wrote your sixth letter.

Dear Taehyung,

I told myself I would finally work on getting over you, but tonight, you just had to go and mess it all up for me. You set me back to square one. I'm scared.

Time flew by and now you were a senior. You still kept in contact with Jimin after he graduated but with Taehyung, you slowly lost contact with him. It hurt when it happened, but you realized maybe this was a blessing from the universe, it had given you a chance to finally move on.

“Hey! You ready?” The sound of Jungkook’s voice broke you from your thoughts. A huge smile grew on your face at the sight of him. His outfit mirrored yours, a red cap and gown, and his neck adorned with numerous medals and cords.

“Hey, fellow grad.” you laughed. Jungkook chuckled and rolled his eyes playfully. “Yeah, I'm ready. We're starting soon?”

“Yeah. So get your valedictorian ass up on that stage already.” Jungkook clicked his tongue, nodding his head toward the stage.

“Says you salutatorian.” You snorted and linked your arms with his.

Jungkook scoffed and nudged you, “Can't believe you beat my ass by one point.”

You stuck your tongue out at him which caused him to nudge you a little harder. You laughed loudly and the two of you made it onto the stage. You both took your seats as the president of your university walked up to the podium.

You glanced out in the crowd, taking in the faces of your fellow peers and friends. A smile appeared on your face when you spotted Sunni in the crowd. The girl gave you a wink that made you let out a quiet chuckle.

You hear the president introducing Jungkook as salutatorian which signaled that he would go up to present his speech.

“Wish me luck.” Jungkook whispered and you gave him a bright grin and two thumbs up.

“You got this. Make me proud, Kook.”

Jungkook chuckled and walked up to the podium. His speech almost made you cry but you held it in. You couldn't cry right before you would present your own speech.

“And finally, my greatest gratitude goes to my ride or die, Y/N L/N. Without her, I genuinely would've not survived these past four years. She's my confidant and best friend. She pushed me to be the best version of myself and I'm so thankful that I have someone like her in my life. So, Y/N, valedictorian of this wonderful class, it's your turn to be the tearjerker.” The crowd laughed loudly and you giggled as you stood up to walk to the podium.

You pulled Jungkook into a tight hug and Jungkook gripped you tighter. You rubbed his back and whispered, “Love you.”

“Love you more.” he whispered back before the two of you pulled apart. His eyes were glistening with tears and you cooed which made him scoff. You laughed before taking his spot at the podium.

You sighed deeply into the microphone before a smile appeared on your face, “Good morning, faculty and students. Today is the day. The day we all close our books and write a new one. It's definitely scary to step into a chaotic world without knowing what is actually waiting out there for us but I know how all of you are. You're strong, bright, and determined. You’re all hard workers and today is proof of that.”

Your eyes flickered around the crowd and you noticed your parents beaming with pride. Namjoon was right beside them, tears visible in his eyes and you almost wanted to burst out laughing. He swore he wouldn't cry and yet here he was, not keeping his word. You notice the boys standing with him too. Yoongi, Jin, Hobi, and Jimin. Your heart cracked at the sight of no Taehyung. Maybe he's late.

He promised he would come to your graduation.

“When you graduate, I'll make sure to be the loudest there.” Taehyung placed his pinky out in front of you.

“Really?” you snickered and raised an inquisitive brow.

Taehyung grinned widely, “Scout’s honor.”

You laughed and intertwined your pinky with his. Taehyung's smile grew wider and he tapped your nose with his pointer finger causing your heart to warm.

You cleared your throat and focused back on the crowd of students in front of you. You inhaled sharply before continuing your speech, “In life, there are things and people you must keep and let go of. To those who stood with you through thick and thin, never scared to go against the odds that were against you, keep them. People like them are very hard to come by.” The crowd laughed in agreement. You cracked a smile.

“And sometimes you have to let go of those who mattered most even when it's the complete opposite of what you want. I want you to know that it's okay. It's a part of the cycle. Continue on and bloom. You live only once and you must make the most of it. You can't be the reason or let anyone be the reason why you're held back from greatness. So when you leave today, choose yourself. Choose happiness, choose love, and choose to do what makes you happy. It's okay to be selfish so live for yourself.” The auditorium erupted in claps and cheers and you swore you could hear a loud sniffle behind you. You immediately knew it was Jungkook.

“And I want you to know that you’ll always have a friend in me. You call, I run. So my fellow graduates, today we cheer for us and for our beautiful futures. Congratulations, you finished the first half of your journey. Keep soaring.” You smiled brightly and everyone in the audience stood up and cheered deafeningly.

The top ten of your class were first to walk the stage which included you and Jungkook. Then one by one, every student walked across the stage with their degree. After the president of your university shared his farewells and thanks, the students dispersed to their respective families.

“My baby!” your mother cried out as she rushed toward you. You groaned affectionately when she reached up to cup your cheeks. “I'm so proud of you!”

“Thank you, Mom.” You laughed.

Your dad sniffed and wiped a tear that fell down his face. “I can't believe how grown you are now.”

“Yeah, can you go back to that kid who would always trail after me?” Namjoon walked up to you with a tearful smile and you scoffed. He pulled you into a tight hug which made you let out an ‘oof’ sound. “I'm serious. Can you go back?”

“Love you too, Joon.” You patted his back and he sniffled on your shoulders which caused you to snort. The two of you pulled away and Jin walked up to you with a proud smile.

“Congrats, Y/Nie!” Jin cheered and he pinched your cheeks.

“Jin!” You whined and rubbed your face. Jin snickered at your reaction.

“Congratulations, Y/N.” Yoongi smiled and you beamed.

“Thanks, Yoongi!”

“Congrats! I got you this flower lei!” Hobi sent you a heart-shaped smile. You gasped and bent your head down slightly so he could place the lei around your neck.

“It's so beautiful! Thanks, Hobi!”

“Where’s my lei at?” You hear Jungkook let out a scandalized gasp from behind you.

“Jungkookie! Congrats, sweetie!” your mom cheered as she gushed over him. Jungkook’s cheeks burned red and he grew bashful.

“Ah, thank you, Auntie.” Jungkook gave her a soft smile.

Your dad slapped a hand on his shoulders and gave him a grin, “Congrats, kid.” Jungkook beamed and thanked him as well. Everyone followed in congratulating him and you chuckled at the sight.

“There's my favorite girl.” You turned to see Jimin beaming at you happily. You squealed and rushed to hug him.

“I missed you so much,” you muttered into his shoulders. Jimin chuckled and squeezed you tightly.

“I missed you more.”

“Taehyung?” you whispered so that only you and Jimin could hear. He gave you a sad smile and shook his head.

Your face fell, “He’s really not here?”

“I’m sorry, Y/Nie.” Jimin mumbled sadly.

Your heart dropped to your stomach. You thought he was probably just late but to know that he just never attended broke you.

“It’s okay.” You gave him a light smile. “I’m just happy you were able to come. I know how busy you've been with work and traveling.”

Jimin blew out a breath and shook his head, “I love my job but it is so exhausting with the constant business meetings.” You laughed at that.

“So, Y/Nie.” Jin wrapped his arm around your shoulders and you turned to see that everyone was surrounding you and Jimin. “I heard you're moving abroad?”

Your dad grinned at that, pride was clear on his face, “Y/N here got a really big offer to manage this art museum in Paris. I think it's called the Louvre.”

“You're moving to Paris?” Jungkook gaped at you in shock and you winced, “And working at the Louvre?”

“Surprise?” you sheepishly said. Your mom slapped your dad on the arm which caused a guilty look to appear on his face. “I was going to reveal it at our celebration party but Dad here got too excited.”

“Hey! I'm a proud father, okay?” your dad defended himself. Everyone laughed.

“I know I don't say it a lot, but I'm really proud of you, Y/N.” Namjoon smiled, his dimples poking from his cheeks.

You pouted and you felt yourself tear up. “Don't say that, I'm going to cry now.”

Namjoon laughed loudly and pulled you into an embrace.

“Okay, let's go party now please!” Jungkook pleaded and you rolled your eyes with a snort.

“Yeah, let's go.”

You were all back at your family’s house and it was surrounded by family and friends. You spent a lot of time mingling but you needed a breather. So you were currently sitting on the balcony from your room.

“Y/N?” You turned to see Jimin at the entrance of your room. He smiled at you, “Thought I’d find you here. Can I come in?”

You gave him a small grin and nod. You turned back to stare out at the night sky and sighed. You felt Jimin taking a seat beside you. The sound of the breeze and the chittering of insects was heard through the peaceful silence.

“He tried to come.” Jimin muttered.

You swallowed, “What happened?”

“Lina.”

You scoffed.

“They're back together? Again?”

“I don't know.” Jimin breathed out.

You took a large sip from your cup and rubbed your eyes, “I’m tired, Jimin.”

“I know.” he whispered.

“I can't keep going on like this.”

“Then why do you?”

A shaky sigh left your lips, “Because somewhere inside of me, I believe that maybe there is a chance. Maybe everything he's done for me was because it was in his interest in me. Why would he pretend that I was his girl that one night? Why is he always the first one to my rescue when I need saving? Why, Jimin, why?”

“I don't know why,” Jimin answered softly. “But what I know is that a few months after our graduation, he stopped trying to stay in contact with you.”

You got quiet and you turned to face him, "How do you know that?”

He cracked a sad smile, “Because he always asks me how you are.” You froze. “And whenever I ask why can't he ask you himself, he gets quiet.”

Your breath hitched and you felt your eyes sting with tears. You were quick to glance away from Jimin and stare back out at the sky. The moon seemed to shine brighter all of a sudden.

“What happened to you two?” Jimin asked quietly.

A few moments of silence passed.

“We grew up,” you answered. “I grew up. I think I stopped trying.”

Jimin hummed. “I’m proud of you. Really.”

You cracked a smile at that.

“Will you ever give him your letters?” Jimin questioned faintly.

You were quiet for a while. Your letters were sacred to you. It contained every honest and raw feeling you had for Taehyung. Maybe this whole time you could never move on was because you still held on to those letters. Maybe the key was to let them go. If you give it to him, you'll finally move on.

You turned to Jimin, “I think I will.” Jimin gave you a surprise look, “I think I will finally be able to let go of him if I do it.”

“Besides, I won't have to face him any time soon.”

Jimin looked at you confused now.

You sighed, “I leave tomorrow. First thing in the morning.”

Jimin’s eyes widened, “Y/N.”

“I know.” you exhaled sharply. “But this is what I worked for my whole life. This is it.”

“Everyone knows?” Jimin asked.

“Only my parents and Joon right now. I plan to tell the others later when I go back down.” You replied.

The sound of Namjoon yelling Jimin’s name from downstairs was heard which caused the two of you to look toward your bedroom door.

“Someone’s being called.” you snickered.

Jimin sighed and chuckled lightly. He got up from his seat and gave you a reassuring smile. “I’m here for you through everything, okay?”

You smiled back and nodded, “Thanks.”

Jimin winked and turned to leave but stopped when you called out to him.

“Hey, Jimin?” He gave you a confused look. “Do you think you can give the letters to Tae?” his eyes softened and he nodded.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Thank you.” you breathed. Jimin gave you one last smile before leaving.

You felt your phone vibrate and you saw that it was a text from Taehyung. Your heart dropped. The two of you hadn’t texted in months.

Taehyung: i’m sorry i wasn’t at your graduation, i tried really hard to. congratulations y/n, i’m proud of you :)

A lump formed in your throat and you felt your eyes well up with tears. You decided to ignore his text and face the night sky again.

That night, you wrote your goodbye to Taehyung.

Taehyung,

I graduated today and you weren't there. I read your text and I chose to ignore it.. I think if I answered I would’ve lost all the progress I made. I think this is for the best anyway. I spent the better half of my teenage years in love with you and that journey taught me a lot. You taught me a lot. Even though we don't talk anymore, you're still one of the most important people in my life.

Goodbye Taehyung,

I'll always love you.

It was the next day, and you had to leave for your job now. Everyone was at the airport, teary-eyed but filled with happiness. You took in everyone’s faces and pouted.

“I'm going to miss you all so much.” you cried and rushed to try and hug everyone. Your mother cooed and caressed your hair as she tried to calm you down but it didn't really help. Your sobs were muffled against Namjoon's shoulders and you could hear that he was crying too. You pulled back, eyes brimming with tears.

“Okay, no more tears please.” Jungkook sniffled. He used the end of his sleeve to wipe any stray tears and gave you a sad frown, “I’m mad that you're leaving me but happy for you because you're achieving your dreams.”

You laughed tearfully and pulled the taller man into a hug. He was quick to squeeze you tightly.

One by one, you hugged everyone one last time. Namjoon sported a proud grin but his red eyes gave away his true emotions which made your heart break. He was your big brother and seeing your little sister leaving wasn't easy. Jin, and surprisingly, Yoongi looked about the same as Namjoon. Hobi was a complete mess, sniffling into his tissue every now and then. Jimin looked like he was about to break down but he held it in pretty well.

You hugged Jimin last and the blonde man made sure to hold you tighter and longer. When you pulled back, you handed him a stack of sealed letters that were tied with a red string. Jimin immediately recognized what they were and gave you a sad smile.

“Thank you.” Your voice cracked.

“Of course.” Jimin muttered back before hugging you again. You breathed out a shaky sigh and squeezed him.

The two of you broke apart and you gave everyone a small smile before slowly departing. Once your back was turned toward them, your heart grew heavier.

This will be good for you. This is what you need.

Jimin hasn't seen Taehyung in a while. The two of them were quite busy, Jimin with the numerous meetings with different businessmen and Taehyung being the head of managing a renowned art museum.

The two were still close but not as much as they were in college, especially now that Taehyung was back together with Lina. They rarely ever talk now.

For you though, Jimin had to break the silence. He had to. It was for your own well-being. You deserved better and he wanted to make sure you would.

Jimin was in front of Taehyung’s apartment door and with a sigh, he knocked. A few minutes went by before the door opened. Taehyung’s eyebrows rose in surprise at the sight of Jimin.

“Jimin.” Taehyung breathed out. “Hi! Uh—come in.” he stepped aside for the blonde to walk in and Jimin gave him a tight-lipped smile as he stepped inside.

“Lina’s not here is she?” Jimin cleared his throat.

Taehyung inhaled sharply and shook his head, “No. It’s over between us.”

“Really?” Jimin sarcastically laughed. His eyes were dark with anger, “You sure? Because I’ve heard that phrase a million times now.”

Taehyung sighed and clenched his jaw, “I’m serious. It’s over.”

“You missed her graduation.” Jimin snapped.

“I know.” Taehyung retorted harshly. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and rubbed his face, “I’ve been beating myself over it since last night, okay? Lina completely fucked me over and I couldn't get out of the plans she made because it was a done deal. I got even more pissed finding out that she purposely made the plans on Y/N and Jungkook’s graduation so I would miss it.”

Jimin’s lips parted in shock. His eyes softened and any fury in his body vanished.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Taehyung muttered tiredly, “We haven't talked in forever and I know it's awkward between us right now.”

“Y/N.” Jimin answered.

Taehyung froze.

“What about her?” Taehyung muttered softly. His voice dropped to that particular tone that he always spoke in whenever he talked about you.

Jimin didn't respond. He merely grabbed something from his back pocket and handed it to Taehyung.

Taehyung’s eyebrows furrowed together at the stack of letters in Jimin’s hands. He hesitantly reached out to grab it and his heart dropped at the familiar handwriting.

Taehyung. His name was written in a beautiful elegant cursive. He knew this was you.

“What is this?” Taehyung choked out.

“Just—” Jimin sighed, “Just read it.”

Taehyung swallowed harshly before he slowly opened the first letter on top of the stack. A neatly folded paper was in the envelope and he gradually unfolded it.

His eyes trailed over the words.

May 3rd, 2012.

That was the day you two met.

Dear Taehyung,

I think you're an angel who fell from heaven to thaw my frozen heart.

Taehyung’s breath hitched.

His eyes frantically read the words over and over again.

He moved to the next letter.

Dear Taehyung,

Is this love? I think it is. I always hear the birds singing louder whenever you're near. Maybe I'm just crazy, but maybe I'm not. Because I swear every time you smile at me, my heart jumps into the shape of your smile.

Taehyung’s eyes started to burn.

Dear Taehyung,

You're the only person who doesn't make me feel like I'm alone. I love Jimin and Jungkook but sometimes I don't think they understand me. Thank you for being that person for me. I don't know what I would do without you. I'm scared, Taehyung. I think I'm falling harder.

A shaky breath left Taehyung’s lips and he felt like his knees were about to buckle.

Dear Taehyung,

Today was the worst and best day ever for me. I hated going on the roller coasters but your encouragement pushed me not to be scared. You made today fun. You always knew how to make me feel better, and that still scares me. I don't think I can ever shake you out of my system.

Taehyung let out a choked cry as his knees started to quiver. Jimin started to tear up at the distraught sight of him.

Dear Taehyung,

You left for college today. I cried two times after you and Jimin said goodbye. I hope college treats you well. I know you will do amazing things and I can't wait to hear about them. Remember that I'll always be in your corner! Fighting!

Taehyung felt himself drop to the floor. A trembling whimper left him as he read the next letter.

Dear Taehyung,

I told myself I would finally work on getting over you, but tonight, you just had to go and mess it all up for me. You set me back to square one. I'm scared.

The hole in Taehyung’s chest grew. His vision started to get blurry as he continued to read.

Dear Taehyung,

I think I am completely and irrevocably in love with you. Every time you laugh, my heart turns into a mess. Every time you tap my nose, my heart decides it's only you. I'm really scared now. What should I do, Taehyung? You've wrecked me entirely.

A stifled sob escaped Taehyung. His head hurts now and his heart burns.

Dear Taehyung,

It's been a few months since you graduated now and I miss you. A lot. You're a big manager at your dream art museum now and I couldn't be more happier for you! I still think you should sell your art and I hope you do one day! Maybe, I'll work at the Louvre and your art will be displayed!

A few tears fell onto the next letter and Taehyung felt his heart drop at the first few words.

Dear Taehyung,

My graduation is coming up and I'm valedictorian. Jungkook is super salty over it but I hope you're proud of me! We haven't talked in months now and I tried keeping in contact but I guess our lives just got too busy. I miss when we were careless kids laughing over stupid things. I got a job offer at the Louvre too! Crazy, right?! It was a big surprise for me but I'm super happy! I hope to see you at my graduation and tell you all about it! Love you. Miss you.

Taehyung leaned back against his couch and let out a shaky breath. His hand came up to wipe away his tears.

Taehyung,

I graduated today and you weren't there. I read your text and I chose to ignore it.. I think if I answered I would’ve lost all the progress I made. I think this is for the best anyway. I spent the better half of my teenage years in love with you and that journey taught me a lot. You taught me a lot. Even though we don't talk anymore, you're still one of the most important people in my life.

Goodbye Taehyung,

I'll always love you.

This was the last letter and Taehyung knew this was it. He noticed there was no ‘Dear’. You had let him go. Taehyung grasped at his chest and cried. Jimin, who stood watching him, quietly sniffled, his heart clenching in pain for his friend.

“She kept looking for you at her graduation.” Jimin revealed gently.

That didn't help Taehyung at all, it only caused him to cry harder. He glanced up at Jimin with swollen eyes, “Where is she?”

Jimin was quiet.

Taehyung grew anxious. He felt his eyes sting, “Jimin. Where is she?”

“She’s gone, Tae.” Jimin quietly replied, “She left for Paris.”

Taehyung felt his whole world collapse.

You were right there in front of him this whole time and he was so blind.

You were gone.

That night, Seoul was at its coldest. Light rain had been falling since the afternoon, making the apartment air feel cool and cozy. You had already showered, wearing one of Yoongi’s oversized shirts that somehow had been staying in your closet more often than in his own lately. Your hair was still a little damp when you climbed onto the sofa carrying a thin blanket and a glass of iced americano with almost-melted ice.

The TV had actually been playing a drama for a while, but you weren’t really watching it. Your focus was only on mindlessly scrolling through TikTok. Your FYP that night was completely random—people reviewing spicy food, Jungkook gym edits, videos of angry cats getting bathed.

Until suddenly…

A concert video.

The lights were insanely bright. Fans screaming loud enough to burst your ears even through your phone speaker.

And in the middle of the screen—

Yoongi.

You automatically stopped scrolling.

His hair was soaked with sweat, his breathing still visibly heavy after performing. He was wearing a thin white tank top underneath and a black outer jacket that had already fallen halfway open. His face was red from the heat and exhaustion, but he still looked absurdly handsome in the most annoying way possible.

The caption said:

“HE ACCIDENTALLY TOOK OFF EVERYTHING 😭”

Your eyebrow instantly lifted.

“Hah?”

The video kept playing.

Yoongi was seen pulling off his jacket from behind his neck, probably because he was hot. But somehow, the inner shirt got dragged up with it.

And a split second later—

The entire venue literally exploded.

“KYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAA—”

The fans’ screams cracked from how loud they were. The camera recording immediately shook violently. Someone dropped their phone downward. Someone else only recorded the venue ceiling because they got too hysterical.

Meanwhile Yoongi…

His expression was priceless.

He instantly stopped moving, blankly staring for one second like his brain was buffering, then quickly pulled his shirt back down while laughing shyly.

You immediately covered your mouth. Then burst out laughing alone in the living room.

“OH MY GOD.”

Replay. Replay again.

And the more you replayed it, the funnier it got because he genuinely looked like it was completely accidental. Even the member next to him turned around with a shocked-but-laughing expression.

The next TikTok appeared from another angle.

One zoomed in on Yoongi’s face. One was in slow motion. One used dramatic Titanic music. Another one had the caption:

“Mexico survived earthquakes but not this.”

You practically collapsed against the sofa laughing.

“Poor him…”

But you still replayed it again.

Honestly, it wasn’t just funny. Yoongi looked way too good there.

That white tank top clung to him because of the sweat. His arms were full of veins after performing. His black hair fell slightly onto his forehead. And his embarrassed, panicked expression somehow made everyone lose their minds even more.

Your phone even started constantly buzzing. The BTS group chat instantly became chaotic.

Jimin: hyung trending 😭😭😭

Hoseok: I TOLD YOU NOT TO TAKE OFF YOUR JACKET ON STAGE

Jungkook: Mexico will never move on

Namjoon: internet is gone

You laughed again while screenshotting several videos. Then without thinking, you opened Yoongi’s chat.

For a few seconds you were still smiling to yourself before finally typing.

You: [5 screenshots] Congratulations

Typing…

Typing stopped.

Typing again.

Yoongi: I want to disappear

You immediately laughed again.

You: No seriously 😭 This is so funny

Yoongi: I just wanted to take off my jacket

You: And accidentally took off your dignity too

Read.

No reply for a few seconds.

Then—

Yoongi: You’re enjoying this way too much huh

You: Very much

Yoongi: Mean

You: An entire stadium screamed like they got jumpscared

Yoongi: I was shocked too

You: Your face was so funny 😭😭😭

You replayed the video again while grinning to yourself.

Especially the part where Yoongi immediately pulled his shirt back down with an expression like “what the hell just happened?”

You even zoomed in on a certain screenshot.

Oh.

Oh no.

His arms were insane though. Without realizing it, you took another screenshot.

You: Btw are your arms even legal?

Yoongi took longer to reply this time.

Maybe he was showering. Maybe eating. Or maybe regretting his life because the entire internet was now filled with fancams of him.

Finally the chat bubble appeared again.

Yoongi: Are you thirst tweeting now too?

You: I’m a victim of the timeline

Yoongi: Delete TikTok

You: Can’t The entertainment tonight is too good

Yoongi: I’m tired

You: But handsome

Read.

No reply for about a minute. Then suddenly your phone screen showed an incoming video call. You instantly laughed before answering.

The moment it connected, Yoongi’s face immediately filled the screen.

His hair was still slightly wet after showering. He was now wearing a loose black shirt with the collar hanging lower on one side. His skin was still slightly flushed from the concert and hot shower. He sat leaning against the hotel sofa while staring at you with a tired face.

“Just keep laughing.”

The second you heard his raspy post-performance voice, you laughed even harder.

“Sorry—really sorry but this is genuinely funny…”

Yoongi closed his eyes briefly while letting out a long sigh.

“I opened my phone and it was pure chaos.”

“Well that’s your fault.”

“It wasn’t intentional.”

“You know people are saying Mexico lost their minds tonight?”

“I want to uninstall the internet.”

You were still smiling widely while staring at the screen. And damn it, the more you looked at him now, the more you kept thinking about him earlier on stage.

Sweaty. Heavy breathing. Tense arms.

God.

Yoongi watched your face for a few seconds. Then the corner of his lips lifted slightly.

“Oh.”

“What oh.”

“So you were freaking out too apparently.”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“I was just surprised.”

“How many times did you replay it?”

You instantly went silent.

Yoongi narrowed his eyes slightly. “Exactly.”

“…a few.”

“How many is a few?”

“Well… several.”

“You took screenshots too.”

Your eyes widened immediately.

“How do you know?!”

“I can tell from your face.”

“What’s wrong with my face?”

“You look guilty.”

You let out a small huff while leaning back against the sofa again.

Yoongi watched you with a faint smile. Even exhausted like that, he still had energy to tease you.

“You seriously…” you muttered quietly.

“What?”

“You made an entire country hysterical.”

“One country is exaggerating.”

“No it’s not. Their screaming was terrifying.”

Yoongi just laughed softly.

And oh my god, that soft laugh. You hated how easily he made your heart feel weird just from his voice alone.

“You need to see the edits now,” you said while reopening TikTok. “Someone already made a slow motion version.”

“Don’t show me.”

“Too late.”

You played one video.

The second the hysterical fan screams blasted from your phone, Yoongi immediately covered his face with one hand.

“OH MY GOD.”

You burst out laughing again.

“Your expression is so funny!”

“I’m genuinely embarrassed.”

“It’s rare seeing you this embarrassed.”

“Because it wasn’t intentional.”

“You literally buffered on stage.”

“I panicked.”

“It showed.”

Yoongi sighed deeply while sinking further into the hotel sofa. His shirt shifted slightly higher around the sleeves. And you… unconsciously glanced again.

Yoongi noticed. Very noticed.

“What are you doing?”

“Hm?”

“You keep staring.”

“I’m not.”

“You think I don’t know?”

You instantly got flustered.

“Fine, maybe a little.”

“You said it was funny.”

“It is funny.”

“So what is it now?”

You bit your lip briefly before quietly answering,

“…handsome too.”

Yoongi went silent for a few seconds. Then he smiled very slightly. A thin smile. The kind that made your heart melt because he genuinely looked happy hearing it.

“You make me feel confident so easily.”

“Hey don’t get too confident.”

“Why?”

“Or you’ll intentionally take your shirt off at concerts.”

He immediately laughed.

“I’m not that bad.”

“You sure?”

“You’ve already seen it plenty of times too.”

And like someone pressed pause—

You instantly froze. “…what?”

Yoongi casually leaned back while looking at you.

“Why are you pretending to be shocked now?”

“MIN YOONGI.”

“What?”

“That’s a different context.”

“What’s the difference?”

“AN ENTIRE STADIUM SAW THIS.”

“But who sees it the most often?”

Your cheeks instantly heated up.

“That’s not the point—”

“You literally sleep hugging me every night.”

“STOP.”

“And now you’re embarrassed?”

You immediately covered your face with a sofa pillow while groaning in embarrassment.

Yoongi just laughed victoriously from the other side.

“Finally embarrassed too.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“You started it earlier.”

“But now you’re doing it on purpose!”

“Hm.”

“What do you mean hm.”

“It’s cute seeing you flustered.”

You peeked from behind the pillow.

Yoongi was still smiling faintly while watching you. His face looked far more relaxed now compared to the beginning of the call.

And strangely enough, you really loved being the reason he relaxed after a long concert like this.

“You’re really tired huh?” you finally asked, your voice softer.

Yoongi nodded slightly.

“A little.”

“Did you eat?”

“Yeah.”

“Drink water?”

“Yes, mom.”

“Yoongi.”

He laughed softly again.

“I drank.”

You watched his face for a few seconds.

His eyes were slightly red from exhaustion. His voice sounded heavier too. But he still called you just because you teased him about that stupid wardrobe malfunction earlier.

Your chest warmed on its own.

“You should sleep later,” you said quietly.

“Later.”

“Don’t keep saying later.”

He looked at you for a moment.

Then quietly said,

“I miss you.”

Your expression instantly softened.

“…it’s only been a week.”

“Long.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“Yeah.”

You smiled faintly.

And for a few seconds, you just stared at each other through the screen, both exhausted but comfortable.

Until Yoongi finally spoke again casually,

“But seriously.”

“Hm?”

“You were more excited than the Mexico fans.”

You instantly glared.

“Because that’s my boyfriend.”

“Oh so you were jealous?”

“A little.”

“Aigoo…”

“What do you mean aigoo.”

“You’re cute.”

“Not cute.”

“You’re jealous over an accidental shirt slip.”

“It sounds stupid when you say it like that.”

“Because it is funny.”

You huffed in embarrassment.

And Yoongi, who had looked half-dead exhausted this whole time, just smiled even softer while quietly saying,

“The one who sees the most is still you anyway.”

You immediately collapsed backward onto the sofa while covering your face.

“OH MY GOD MIN YOONGI.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

You were still lying flat on the sofa with your face covered by a pillow, while Yoongi’s soft laughter kept coming from your phone speaker.

Satisfied laughter. The kind of laughter from someone who realized he had successfully made his girlfriend malfunction.

“Get up.”

“No.”

“Why are you so embarrassed?”

“Because you said it like that!”

“But it’s true.”

You lowered the pillow slightly, glaring at the screen.

“Yoongi.”

“Hm?”

“Don’t flirt when your face still looks like this after a concert.”

He raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Why?”

“Dangerous.”

That smile immediately appeared again. Small, crooked, annoying.

“I’m literally just sitting here.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem.”

Yoongi laughed softly while resting his head against the hotel sofa. The dim room lighting made the lines of his face look even sharper. His black hair was still slightly damp and falling over his forehead in a way that looked way too good for someone claiming to be exhausted.

And the thing making your heart race the most— He looked so comfortable right now. Relaxed. Soft. But his eyes hadn’t left you this entire time.

“You seriously…” you muttered quietly while avoiding his gaze, “you just caused internet chaos and still have time to tease me.”

“Because I miss you.”

His answer came too fast. Too honest. Your heart instantly skipped weirdly.

“You usually get clingy when you’re tired,” you said, trying to sound casual.

“And?”

“And right now I can’t hug you.”

Yoongi went quiet for a moment.

His expression immediately softened a little more.

“I know.”

The atmosphere suddenly became calmer.

You were already used to tour schedules. Used to video calls from different countries. Used to falling asleep on call until one of you passed out first. But somehow this time felt different.

Maybe because Yoongi’s schedule was too packed. Maybe because you had gotten too used to being close before he left. Or maybe because right now he was looking at you like that while seeming like he really wanted to come home.

“You know,” he suddenly said, his voice low and raspy, “right after the concert, the first thing I did was check my phone for your message.”

You instantly looked back at the screen.

“Seriously?”

“Hm.”

“Why?”

“I already knew you’d make fun of me.”

You laughed softly.

“And you still looked for it.”

“Because I missed you.”

God. You genuinely couldn’t handle it when he suddenly got soft like this. Especially when he followed it up with a tiny smile while secretly staring at you.

“Yoongi…”

“Hm?”

“You make it hard to sleep.”

“I haven’t even started yet.”

You instantly froze.

“What do you mean you haven’t started?”

He casually shrugged a little.

“You said I was flirting earlier.”

“And?”

“But I was just acting normal.”

Your cheeks instantly heated up again.

“Okay then don’t start.”

“What if I do?”

“MIN YOONGI.”

He laughed softly again. Not loudly, but low enough to make your stomach feel weird. Then he moved slightly closer to the camera. And god. That was a terrible mistake. Because now his face completely filled your phone screen.

“You know what the funniest part earlier was?” he asked quietly.

“What?”

“You got possessive immediately.”

“I was not possessive.”

“You literally said ‘that’s my boyfriend.’”

“Well he is.”

“And then you got jealous.”

“A little.”

“You really like me huh.”

You instantly glared in embarrassment.

“Overconfident.”

“But it's true.”

You let out a long sigh while covering half your face with the blanket. Yoongi watched you with a faint smile.

“Cute.”

“Don’t call me cute.”

“Why?”

“It just makes me more annoyed.”

“But you’re smiling.”

You reflexively touched your lips.

Damn it.

He was right.

Yoongi instantly looked satisfied.

“I know your expressions by heart.”

“You don’t need to know them by heart.”

“Too late.”

A few seconds later the atmosphere became quiet again. You could hear the hotel AC from his side. Occasionally there were distant sounds from the hallway, but other than that there was only the sound of your breathing.

Yoongi looked really exhausted now. His eyes were half-lidded. His loose black shirt slipped slightly off his shoulder when he moved. And unfortunately it made you remember the earlier video again.

Yoongi noticed again. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re spacing out.”

“I just remembered earlier.”

“Which earlier?”

“You know which one.”

He smiled faintly.

“Oh. The Mexico incident.”

“Don’t call it an incident like it’s a scandal.”

“It felt like one.”

“The internet literally lost its mind.”

“You did too.”

You sighed softly.

“Well how was I supposed to react…”

“Hm?”

“You earlier were…”

You stopped yourself. Yoongi waited. And somehow that was worse than if he pushed you. Because he just quietly stared at you, making you even more nervous.

“What?” he asked again softly.

“…hot.”

Yoongi immediately tried to hold back a smile.

“Oh?”

“Don’t get too confident yet.”

“But you called me hot.”

“You are hot.”

He finally let out a small laugh.

“Wow.”

“You’re not fair.”

“Why?”

“You know exactly what your post-concert face does to people.”

“What does it do?”

“Yoongi.”

“Answer first.”

You covered your face again.

Which only amused him more.

“Aigoo…”

“Stop laughing.”

“You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.”

“And you’re so evil when you miss me.”

Yoongi went quiet for a moment.

Then with a lower, softer voice—

“I really do miss you badly right now.”

Your heart instantly dropped. The way he said things like that was always dangerous. Not excessive. Not dramatic. But because his tone stayed calm, it somehow felt more real.

“When are you coming home?” you asked softly.

“Still a few more weeks.”

You instantly pouted.

“That’s too long.”

“Hm.”

“I hate long distance.”

“Me too.”

Yoongi slowly rubbed his face before looking at you again.

“That’s why when I get home later, don’t complain.”

“Why do I suddenly feel nervous?”

“You’re the one who called me hot earlier.”

“I REGRET SAYING THAT.”

He laughed again.

“You can’t take it back.”

“Yes I can.”

“No you can’t.”

“You’re annoying.”

“But you miss me.”

You stayed quiet. Because he was right. And Yoongi knew you too well to the point where he could already see the answer before you even said it.

He leaned back again while staring at the screen for a few seconds. Then casually said,

“After the tour, I probably won’t let go of you.”

Your heart dropped.

“Yoongi…”

“Hm?”

“Don’t say things like that while looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“LIKE THAT.”

He laughed softly.

“I’m just saying I miss you.”

“The way you say it is the problem.”

“What if I was at the apartment right now?”

You instantly went completely silent. Yoongi saw your reaction and his smile became even thinner.

“Hmm.”

“Don’t hmm.”

“I’m just imagining it.”

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

“A little.”

“Yoongi…”

“I’d probably pull you onto the sofa already.”

Your breath instantly caught.

“And then you’d say you’re tired.”

“I am tired.”

“But you’d still come over to me.”

You genuinely couldn’t handle him once he started talking in that low voice. Especially now that his face already looked sleepy and soft. The deadliest combination.

“And then?” you asked quietly without realizing it.

Yoongi’s eyes immediately lifted slightly.

“Oh, so you want to keep listening.”

“Actually, never mind.”

“No. You asked.”

You bit your lip slightly. And Yoongi saw it. Of course he saw it.

“So dangerous,” he muttered softly.

“What?”

“The way you look when you’re embarrassed.”

You instantly turned your face away. Which only made him smile even more fondly.

“Come home soon okay,” you finally said quietly.

Yoongi’s expression instantly softened again.

“Hm.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you more.”

“Overconfident.”

“I’ll prove it later.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The time difference started becoming more and more annoying once BTS began touring in America.

In Seoul it was already evening while the sun there had only just risen. Sometimes you had just finished work while Yoongi was still at rehearsal. Sometimes you woke up in the morning to dozens of random texts from him sent at three in the morning local time because he couldn’t sleep again.

And the longer the tour went on, the more the longing started to settle in too.

Not the dramatic kind of longing that makes you cry every night. But the kind that appears in small things.

Like when you automatically took out two glasses from the cabinet before realizing you were living alone in the apartment right now. Or when you found Yoongi’s black hoodie still hanging over the living room chair and instinctively hugged it for a second because it still carried traces of his familiar perfume and laundry scent.

Or when you came home exhausted from work and realized there was no Yoongi sprawled across the sofa pretending to sleep just so you would approach him first.

That night you were sitting at the apartment work desk while staring at packaging design files that hadn’t gotten anywhere for hours. The desk lamp glowed brightly while the rest of the apartment stayed dim and quiet. Light rain fell outside the window, making the atmosphere feel calmer and lonelier at the same time.

You had just changed the song on Spotify when your phone vibrated.

Incoming video call: Yoongi.

A smile instantly appeared on your face without realizing it.

You hadn’t even pressed accept yet, but half your exhaustion was already gone.

The moment the call connected, the screen immediately showed a shaky camera moving everywhere. At first there was only a bright sky and the sound of people passing by. Then a few seconds later Yoongi’s face appeared.

And seriously.

He looked way too relaxed for someone who was supposed to be world famous.

A black cap pulled low. An oversized gray hoodie. His mask was hanging under his chin because he was probably too lazy to talk with it covering his face. Black hair sticking out slightly from under the cap and moving with the wind.

He walked slowly while holding his phone low, like he was genuinely just some ordinary person wandering around an evening market.

Even though he was Min Yoongi.

That was exactly what stressed you out.

“You’re outside?” you asked while automatically sitting up straighter.

“Hm.”

Yoongi’s answers were always short when he was relaxed. His voice sounded heavier from tour exhaustion, but there was a lighter tone that rarely appeared whenever he was genuinely enjoying himself.

The camera shifted slightly, showing small stores around him. Everything was full of color. Neon hanging fabrics, hand-painted ceramics, tiny lights, and faint street music in the distance.

You immediately understood why he liked that place. Because it felt alive. And because it was exactly the kind of place that would make you stop at every shop just to stare at random cute things.

“You went out alone?” you asked again.

“Hoseok and Jungkook are eating. I got bored at the hotel.”

His answer sounded so casual that you had to stop yourself from sighing loudly.

Yoongi was always like this.

Sometimes he still forgot who he was now.

Not because he was arrogant or intentionally dismissing his own popularity. Actually the opposite. Sometimes he genuinely still thought he could casually walk around without attracting too much attention, especially outside Korea.

Even now?

Even people who didn’t follow BTS would probably still recognize his face.

And you knew perfectly well the other members often said the same thing—Yoongi was sometimes way too relaxed about himself.

“Are you even being careful?” you asked while lowering your laptop volume.

“I’m wearing a cap.”

You stared at the screen flatly.

“That’s not a disguise.”

“I’m also wearing a hoodie.”

“Wow. Incredible.”

Yoongi chuckled softly.

His laugh mixed faintly with footsteps and market noise, but it was still enough to make the corner of your lips lift too.

Even so, you kept paying attention to the surroundings behind the camera. People passed by without caring, but there was still a small nervous feeling sitting in your chest.

Not because you didn’t trust him to take care of himself.

But because you knew what the world was like now. One person realizes that’s Min Yoongi from BTS, and five minutes later there could already be a crowd.

And the funny thing was, Yoongi himself still looked genuinely confused whenever that happened.

“You seriously…” you muttered while leaning back in your chair, “still think you guys are nobodies sometimes huh?”

Yoongi stayed quiet for a second before finally smiling faintly.

“Sometimes I forget.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m just taking a short walk.”

“You say ‘just taking a short walk’ like you’re some guy running the neighborhood photocopy shop.”

He laughed more clearly this time.

And honestly, you liked hearing him laugh like that.

Lately the tour schedule has been too exhausting. His face often looked tired. So every time Yoongi sounded genuinely relaxed and comfortable, you felt relieved too.

The camera moved again, showing rows of tiny colorful stores. Neon-painted Mexico skulls, brightly embroidered fabrics, flower mugs, and strange ornaments that somehow still looked artistic.

“You’d love places like this,” he suddenly said.

And he was right.

Your eyes were instantly drawn to all the colors.

You have always loved bright things. Random tiny objects that were cute and overly crowded-looking. Even your apartment had colorful decorations. Yoongi often mocked for having “too many colors.”

“I bought something for you,” he added casually, as if that sentence alone didn’t instantly warm your heart.

You automatically turned quickly toward the screen.

“Hah?”

Yoongi looked satisfied seeing your reaction.

He was always like that. Sometimes purposely saying things suddenly just to watch your shocked expression.

“I kept seeing it and thinking about you.”

And god.

No matter how simple the sentence was, it still always made your chest soften.

Because Yoongi wasn’t the type to openly act romantic. Which was exactly why small things like “I saw this and thought of you” felt far more special.

You immediately started guessing excitedly.

Maybe a cute plate.

Maybe embroidered fabric.

Maybe a long brightly-colored dress Yoongi himself would never touch but would still choose because “this is so you.”

The more you imagined it, the more curious you became.

Especially because the way Yoongi kept holding back his smile clearly showed he was enjoying this.

“Come on, show me,” you whined.

“No.”

“Yoongi.”

“You’ll laugh.”

“It’s fine.”

He finally stopped walking in front of one of the stores. The camera lowered slightly toward shelves full of colorful ornaments.

Then he picked something up.

At first you didn’t realize what it was.

Until he lifted it closer to the camera.

“…is that a skull?”

Yoongi instantly grinned faintly.

“Yeah.”

You stared at the screen for several seconds with a blank expression.

Out of everything in Mexico… Your boyfriend chose a skull. But of course it wasn’t just any skull. It was a brightly painted Día de los Muertos ceramic skull. Pink flowers, blue lines, neon yellow, tiny bright green details. It looked more cute than scary.

Still—

“Why a skull…”

“But the colors are cute.”

“You’re seriously weird.”

Yoongi actually looked proud of his choice.

He slowly rotated the skull toward the camera like he was showing off expensive artwork.

And the longer you looked at it, the more it really did feel… very you.

Crowded colors.

Weird.

Slightly chaotic.

“You like it, right?”

You tried holding back your smile. Because honestly, this really was Min Yoongi-style romance.

Not flowers.

Not stuffed dolls.

Not expensive jewelry.

But a random colorful skull he saw at a market and immediately thought of you.

And somehow that made your heart ache from affection.

“You know normal people buy flowers for their girlfriends.”

“I’m different.”

“Clearly.”

“You don’t like it?”

You finally laughed softly while leaning your head back against the chair.

“I do…”

“Exactly.”

“But you’re still weird.”

Yoongi laughed in satisfaction again.

Behind him, the shop lights had started turning on because evening was approaching there. The bright colors around him looked warmer now. And in the middle of that crowded market, Yoongi stood there holding his ugly-cute little skull proudly.

Strangely enough… That sight only made you miss him more. Because you could clearly imagine him casually walking from store to store, then stopping the second he saw that thing and thinking:

“This would definitely be something Y/N likes.”

And now you really wished you were there with him.

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That love-at-first-sight was not a thing that would happen for him. No meet-cutes, no accidentally stumbling into lives. No ringing of bells echoing in his ears. Like you often see in those romantic movies.

No, it seemed that Hyunjin was doomed for another kind of love entirely. To fall for someone he already knew very well. Known for over half a decade now.

Too bad he had already shot himself in the foot. The realization of harboring new, sudden, feelings for someone he already rejected once settled over him instantly, weighing a ton over his chest.

Fuck.

It wasn’t as if he purposefully broke her heart back then. You can’t blame him for how he felt three years ago. He was a totally different person. And though they still remained good friends, surely not as close as they had once been growing up, there weren’t any hard feelings about it at all…right?

At least that’s what he had believed for the longest time.

It’s now, after falling in love, that he notices the small things. Another realization settling over his conscience.

That things have changed from the moment he rejected her yet now felt new to him. Unnoticed, unknown. Like the way she never sought him out first, no longer hung out with him alone anymore. The presence of another friend, of Jisung and his humor, or Felix and his adventurous nature keeping them entertained. Keeping him from realizing that she no longer asked for late night trips to satiate the random cravings, just the two of them. 

That she no longer dropped by unannounced to pull him out of his studious streak at the library, his dorm room, for a well-needed break to eat, coffee, a good session of her kicking his ass in Mario Kart. Granted, they were no longer in university, and Hyunjin hasn’t opened a text book in the three and so years that passed. 

It’s a lie though, a voice deep within himself reminded him. He did notice, a brief flicker of confusion, one that didn’t last long enough. He’d noticed that she didn’t go out of her way to seek him out, that the late night runs died out and someone else became her first choice. And though he did miss it all, he chalked it up to growing up. To the long distance between them that one year after graduation when his new job took him a town over. The routines they created led to the changes in the dynamics. 

And it wasn’t as if he only missed her. He missed all his friends. Jisung and his overtly exaggerated shenanigans, Felix and his need to be in the know of everything. Damn he even missed the chaos that often gave him migraines. 

Now though…

It seemed like he had entered some other dimension. That he had mistakenly put on rose-colored glasses—no, blinders. Thrown on in such a rush that he couldn’t take off. His eyes, only searching for Y/N and no one else seemed to matter. A race-horse with tunnel vision on the finish line. Though, the said line seemed to be nowhere in sight and he was walking-in blind trying to figure out the predicament he landed himself in. He was blindsided by his own damn heart. How humorous.

Seeing your friend in a new light is a weird experience. A snap of fingers and you blink awake as if hypnotized, as if waking up from a stupor you knew nothing about and you couldn’t exactly remember a time without such feelings.

Fascinating, adoration. Confusion, regret.

And it wasn’t as if she had done anything grand either. No, nothing of that sort had happened. She hadn’t gone out of her way to garner his favor, hadn’t done something eye-catching, out of the ordinary. It was so fucking minuscule. So simple, it had his breath hitch.

It was a random Thursday. Though not like other Thursdays, seeing that Hyunjin had planned to host a small get-together for his friends at his new place. Sure it was a workday, but the next one had been a national holiday so they didn't have to prioritize work in the morning. 

It was supposed to be casual, a fun gathering with drinks and probably a film, only if Felix had gathered the courage to finally watch that one horror movie he kept putting off seeing unless with a group. 

But of course, the storm that the forecast kept teasing about all week decided it wanted to choose the one day Hyunjin was looking forward to, to finally break through.

It came down hard, thunder, harsh winds, pouring rain. 

Jisung canceled unsurprisingly, though he promised to drop by the following day to “chillax”. Felix said he would wait the weather out, being on the other side of the city and all. But they all knew that the rain was coming down relentlessly, no sign of stopping anytime soon.

Hyunjin grumbled, annoyance written all over his face as he stared out the glass of his balcony doors. He assumed Y/N was also canceling, though she hadn’t responded in the group chat yet. The last she texted was that she had some last minute errands to run before she headed over. It’d been almost two hours since and he wondered if she managed to get home before the downpour. And just as he was about to text her asking so, his doorbell rang.

He wasn’t as surprised to see Y/N at his doorstep, she lived closer to him than the other guys. And she did say she would head over soon. What he didn’t expect was to see her drenched from head to toe, droplets dripping off of her in resonating plops.

“I got caught in the rain.” She muttered, a tinge of irritation crossing her wet face.

The taller man couldn’t help the cackle he let out, though he was quick to take her equally wet belongings from her as he widened the door open. She nudged him out the way and waited in the foyer for him to get her a towel. 

“You’re soaked.” He chuckled, rubbing the towel over her face and hair while she groaned under the thick material.

“Thanks. I didn’t notice.” Her voice came muffled, only making him laugh a little louder.

Yet as he’s toweling her hair, the teasing glint in his gaze instantly morphs into concern. The kind that flashes over his entire expression as he hears her teeth clatter underneath his towel-ruffling hands. Hyunjin’s leading her into his bedroom, house tour forgotten, straight to his en-suite bathroom for her to warm up with a quick shower. There isn’t much to think about. Yet, still…

It was all so stupid. 

So dumb of him to find his breath hitch, blinking too many times in a second as he watched her come out dressed in his clothes. The hoodie and sweats that he gave her to change into, shouldn’t have had that effect on him. Shouldn’t have looked so good on her.

He found himself swallowing thickly, eyes tearing away as if he had seen something he wasn’t supposed to.

She seemed oblivious of his sudden turmoil. And he pretended he wasn’t ogling. 

“Damn, I’m starving.” She complained, almost gliding around his kitchen as if she knew her way around it. 

She’s never been to his place before, that day was supposed to be his housewarming, and she even had a gift for him that she managed to keep dry somehow, though the box did take some damage. It was a mini-blender, the one he swore he needed for his smoothies that one time. He’s surprised she remembered.

Y/N’s never been there, but she opened his fridge and found what she’s looking for with ease. The side dishes his mother packed and container-sealed, stuffed to a side. The produce in the drawer. Reaching in and picking things as if it were a normal occurrence.

“Should we make something or do you want to order?” Her question brought him out of his thoughts, the ones about how well she fit into his home, how easily he could see himself enjoying such a sight on a daily basis. 

How hard the smell of his shampoo on her hit his nose. How good she looked in his clothes.

Fuck.

They didn’t end up ordering. Didn’t want someone out there in the storm trying to bring them their food. She made some hearty stew, paired well with his mother’s side-dishes. He wasn’t too sure about the meal entirely, his mind had been too busy wracking about the thoughts of such domesticity. Something he’s never had before, or didn’t feel before. Not with his girlfriends, not with the women he brought home.

When she silently picked out the gross veggies out of his bowl—something she had done often before, he tried to remind himself, shouldn’t have struck him straight in the chest, yet still it did. As if he had been enlightened anew, a commonality suddenly seemed to radiate in the middle of his dining room. The storm within him, louder than the one that thundered outside.

And his mind continued wracking. As long as the downpour continued to rain down outside. Overnight, when they got flood-alerts and she grimaced thinking about the journey back home and Hyunjin found himself suggesting for her to stay the night. The guest room wasn’t as ready as he would have liked, but it had the essentials. And if she needed, he could give her more blankets. 

Maybe even another change of clothes? 

Fuck. The thought of her in his pajamas, another sudden haunting scenario of her cuddling up into him for warmth, almost made his mind reel. So he kept that suggestion to himself. The hoodie and sweats seemed to be comfortable enough, though the sight of her in them did not minimize the flurry of emotions within him.

It’s not easy to pull yourself back from new discoveries. From treading lines that suddenly seemed to blur. Like the sight of her in his clothes, hair damp, prancing around his apartment as if she belonged here. A sight that seemed to burn itself into his memories and would not leave no matter how hard he tried to chide himself. 

She’s your friend, you creep. He tried to tell himself.

Only for another part of his brain to refute with something that left him speechless. Another discovery that had him staring into nothingness.

Why can’t she be something more?

“—Cause you fucking rejected her, that’s why.” Jisung was not the kind to soften his words. 

Unlike Felix, who approached such topics with more of a friendlier tone, the hamster-faced-man needed to voice his opinions as he saw it.

It’s hard to hide the worry and daze of newfound emotions, Hyunjin realized. Especially for a self-proclaimed helpless romantic like himself. Another discovery about himself that his friends made him aware of. 

He apparently didn’t hide the intense stares and love-sick eyes as well as he thought he did, getting caught by his two differently-alike friends with such ease he’s surprised Y/N hadn’t first. 

Or maybe she did, but kept it to herself in fear of embarrassing him. The thought of that made him want to hurl.

It had been a week. 

A long week into the discovery of unknown emotions and already he imagined a life with her. Already he had dreamt of her. Conjured scenarios in his head like some love-struck teenager. Woke up like one too—but of course, he’ll be keeping that to himself.

And for a hopeless romantic like Hyunjin, who was in fact suddenly love-struck, the sight of him stood out to these two doofuses like a sore thumb.

Hyunjin wanted to argue that he didn’t remember ever rejecting her. But that would be a lie. He remembered it clearly. It was a month or so before graduation, Y/N had been very evasive in the weeks leading up to it. 

She had confessed so casually, so easily, yet still took him by surprise.

The taller man hadn’t known how to respond, his heart dropping at the sight of her, painfully aware that he didn’t feel the same. He had always seen her as a friend, as an exception that didn’t flounder around him because of his good-looks like everyone else had growing up. A girl who treated him as she did Felix and Jisung, and he had been so grateful that she wasn’t like other girls.

Yet, when Y/N confessed, he felt disappointed. 

She had chuckled it off when he voiced his rejection. Albeit a little forced, but she was really understanding about it. Nudging at him with that sweet smile of hers, though it didn’t reach her eyes, Hyunjin knew better to not say anything of it. 

She told him nothing would change, that she just needed to get it out before they started the next chapter of their lives. He believed her. 

How easily had she lied. That so much had changed, and it took one rain storm and an evening locked-in together for him to notice. 

And he kept noticing for the weeks following. Everything that had changed. How she didn’t linger any longer than she needed to whenever they all hung out together. That she never messaged him as much as she blew up their group chat, when once-upon-a-time their private messages stretched daily. 

He noticed how she would happily beam at him for bringing her coffee, but introduce him to her coworkers as a good friend. Not even best friend, that spot had been taken by fucking Felix, but whatever, Hyunjin wasn’t mad about it. He wasn’t even aiming for that title anyway.

And he continued to notice things, ears perking up at things Y/N mentioned she wanted in the passing. Eyes flickering over to the door of the restaurant, of the bar, whatever establishment the friends decided to gather in for the evening, in anticipation for her arrival.

He would text her “good morning”, “goodnight. A new habit that had her send eye emojis in response to the first day, yet easily fell into a new routine of doing so. He brought her lunch often, insisted he pick her up whenever she needed to stay out late nights. 

Like that evening he had yet again arrived to pick her up after she had gotten drinks with her team following a strenuous workday. Her coworkers giggled into her ear every time, and she would swat them away, every time. Shaking her head at them as she left their side to approach him standing by his car.

He wasn’t clueless, vaguely aware of what they probably teased her about, and her denying it only made his throat feel dry. That bitterness in his mouth thicken. And it was all his fault. 

Because he said he would never see her as anything more than a friend, yet did things like this. Thought things a friend shouldn’t think. Bought her those fucking expensive heels because she gushed to Felix about it one time and he lied about having a friend who got brand discounts. It wasn’t even her birthday, and even if she quirked a brow at the present, confusion and surprise flickering in her gaze, she hugged him gratefully. The kind of embrace he wanted to melt into, itching to pull her closer, letting his arms wrap around her tightly until there was no space left for even air to flow between them.

Hyunjin didn’t think he’d get this pathetic. Didn’t think that his heart would hammer at the sight of her, his lips would curl into the biggest smiles when she lit up with excitement. Didn’t think he would be giddy when she texted him and only him, more messages for his eyes only and not shared between the chaos that was their group chat.

Didn’t think he would think of their little outing as dates. One-sidedly.

Fucking pathetic. 

Yet, how does he even go about changing it all? To take back the harsh words he had spoken so confidently. To take away the pain that flashed in her expression before she brushed it all off? Was this how she had felt back then? The anxiety, the fear. The thought that she would be petty enough to rub it in his face about her rejection, prickled at him, even if he knew she wasn’t such a person. That she wasn’t the kind for petty revenge, for holding grudges, not with the matters of the heart.

Maybe she will notice the change. The sudden newness of his altered behavior will dawn on her like his feelings did for him. It was the only hope he had right now.

“—So what, you’re gonna continue to shower her in one-sided affection and hope it all works out?” Jisung crossed his arms over his chest.

His tall, fool of a friend had been smiling stupidly to himself as he texted Y/N, yet his expression fell when his obvious feelings were mentioned. 

Rather, the tough spot Hyunjin found himself stuck in, prickled the shorter man in the chest.

“We…we go on…dates.” He murmured, the words sounding as pathetic spoken aloud as it did in his head..

“Does she know that?” Jisung refuted.

“Why wouldn’t she? Isn’t it obvious?” He frowned, a hint confused, a twinge irritated.

Though perhaps, deep down he knew he was speaking nonsense. The likelihood of her noticing was the same as him having fallen for her. Low chances, but not impossible. He was ready to gamble on that likelihood if it would avoid his worst fears coming true.

“Oh I don’t know, maybe because of the fact that you clearly told her that you ‘would never see her as anything more than a friend’?” Sarcasm dripped from his tone, and Hyunjin wanted to do nothing but punch him in the face.

But he was too busy feeling the guilt of what he had once stupidly said, rise up. Bitter in his mouth. The happenings of something already done and passed, came back to bite him so hard in the ass he was scared it’ll leave a scar.

Hyunjin shuts down, refusing to continue the conversation Jisung started, the resounding silence only making him feel even more pathetic than he seemingly was before the other man sighed aloud, changing the subject.

The battle with his feelings, with his past-self and the romanticization of a future he created in his mind leaves the poor man stressed for what feels like forever. Not to mention his constant need of Y/N’s attention, which seemingly becomes the only thing that keeps him sane.

Unhealthy, he knows. But it seemed that he was making up for the three years he lost, the three years he had written off from having because he had never even considered seeing Y/N in that light. What a pathetic regret. The what-ifs surging down over him mockingly.

Y/N doesn’t notice. Of course she doesn’t.

So again, when much more time has passed, he finds himself surrounded by his friends, his emotions still unconcealable from the sharp gazes of the guys who've known him for such a long time. And from the way he looked, it seemed that holding back was not boding well.

“Bro, you have to tell her.” Felix pressed, having watched his tall friend stare with eyes glued at the restaurant entrance, waiting for Y/N to come through them.

Even though she had already texted that she was running late some minutes ago, yet this goner friend of his awaited her arrival like some puppy waiting for his owner. 

“It’s been months. She would have noticed by now. Your plan was good, but it failed.” The blonde-haired man added, his lips pressed into a thin, pitiful smile.

Felix was sweet. Hyunjin’s plan was fucking stupid. 

How in the world would she suddenly realize that the guy she had once confessed to, the one who had let her down, now reciprocated those same feelings some years later? What are the chances of that ever happening? Pretty fucking low if you ask Hyunjin, and it was glaringly obvious that Y/N was not banking on those rare chances either.

“Yeah, what if she doesn’t even feel the same for you anymore?” Jisung chuckled, mouth full of garlic-bread, stuffed-cheeks and all.

This guy on the other hand, Hyunjin wanted to throttle. This new idea of her no longer liking him as she did three years ago, hadn’t even crossed his mind. He’d been too busy trying to deal with the situation he found himself in. Trying to woo her in subtle ways, in hopes she notices something amiss and sees his feelings. 

Yet now with Jisung’s words, it settles. The thought festering in his chest, making his breath catch, eyes widening and staring into nothing in particular. Which has been happening a lot too.

What if she no longer loved him? The emotions she spoke of, mustering up so much courage to express it back then. The ones that made Hyunjin’s heart drop at the time, the slight anticipation in her gaze making him uncomfortable. The memories that surface at the thought, don’t help at all. Not when paired with the hypothetics of something that might actually be truer than he believed.

“Great. You broke him.” Felix grumbled, shooting the brunette across them a glare.

The blonde grasped his arm, tugging at him to bring him out of his mind. Hyunjin’s big eyes meet his, a tinge of pain flickering in them. They gleam under the bright lights, giving way to whatever fears churned within him.

“I’m an idiot right?” He muttered. “Why’d I do that? I’m so stup—”

“It’s not your fault Hyunjin.” The stern tone of Jisung’s was not who Hyunjin had expected to cut him off, his expression serious as he leaned into the table to speak.

“You didn’t feel the same for her back then. It’s simple. You can’t fault yourself for being human. It’s just unfortunate timing, that’s all.” He pressed.

Felix seemed to also be surprised by such wise words spoken from a man who always seemed to clown around, but was quick to collect himself, nodding along.

“He’s right. People change, feelings change. You like things you once didn’t. Other people included.”

Hyunjin knew his friends were being soft on him, feeding into his delusions. The ones he cradled for three months now, and he wondered how she held onto her emotions back then. 

What did she say back then? That she had been secretly in love with him since freshman year? That she didn’t want to ever tell him because she was scared, scared it would change their friendship. 

It did change. Though Hyunjin didn’t notice at the time. A man who claims to be in tune with his friends’ emotions, their moods, had missed such a thing. He was a liar then, knowing nothing about reading feelings. 

─────────────────────────

Y/N’s not sure what had changed exactly, but something was happening. 

It started with the daily texts.

The “good morning”s followed by an all-too-happy-face. The “good night” that came some hours later, all-too-warm. The sudden visits to her work during her breaks, with excuses of coffee, treats. A meal. 

Excuses like “I had a coupon deal”, “you know my firm is close by”, “I was in the area…”

Vague and shifty. All clearly lies.

The Hyunjin that looked at her with such glee was not the kind she was used to. Not that he had looked at her negatively at all either, just that…the glint in his gaze was unfamiliar, burning.

Hyunjin had once looked at her with a pitiful gaze, the coldness in his tone far from what he usually spoke with when he told her that he never saw her as anything more than a friend. That he’ll never see her as nothing but his best friend, sometimes still crossed her mind. Though Y/N had expected it, for her confession to end with a sharp rejection. Still, it didn't mean it hadn’t hurt.

Yet the soft stares, the fondness with his grins, the lingering touches that she found herself on the receiving end of now, were far from how a friend would behave with another friend. 

Surely she must’ve misunderstood something. Surely his gifts don’t mean anything, that he was always generous, a romantic who bought presents on whims when something reminded him of his closest friends.

Like when he got Felix those sunglasses during a visit to his parents. Or when he bought Jisung concert tickets because he remembered the man gushing about the artist once.

Surely she’s reading too much into it, his unwavering attention, that unreadable glint in his gaze. 

The image of her from three years ago staring back at her, as if she stood before a mirror.

She’s delusional. Hyunjin would never go back on such a thing. He was a romantic who wanted fairy tale love, cupid’s magic. Not an anxiety-ridden confession already stained with defeat at the end of finals week. They had been in the middle of campus too. She was just a close friend, that's all. His best friend who had disappointed him when she spoke of unrequited feelings. 

The much too many months afterwards were spent trying to rid herself of those feelings, grueling. Though the distance that his new job at the time had put between them had helped. And now all she calls that moment was an embarrassing memory.

Y/N had to be imagining things, the teasing remarks of her coworkers who yet again broke into hushed giggles when Hyunjin began the new routine of picking her up after work, those late-nights when getting home was a bigger hassle than anything else. He said it was on his way home anyway. Right, his marketing firm did fall in this direction. But surely those days he worked-from-home must have had him go out of his way to show up outside of her job either way. Another lie.

Her team leader raised a curious brow when he loitered outside the lobby during certain days. When the weather was nice and he felt even nicer to treat her to lunch. Texting her of his arrival, though now it didn’t seem as sudden as it did four months ago.

“It’s nothing. It’s just lunch.” She would wave off.

Yet, his wind-swept back hair, crisp-ironed shirts creasing just the slightest from his own productive morning, the way he pushed back his glasses, hands tucking into his pockets, kicking over the pavement as he waited for her to come out, were sights that made her falter. Eyes tracing the subtly pacing man outside the glass doors of her work place, had her falter, her breath hitch.

“—It doesn’t mean anything…right?”

Felix blinked at her, his silence making her heart rate quicken.

“Do you want it to mean something?” The blonde man countered.

Y/N found herself inhaling sharply. “I…”

Instantly her brows furrowed, the thought of giving into her delusions and returning back to that place of pining after Hwang Hyunjin, angered her.

“It doesn’t matter.” She muttered, hardening her expression instead, turning to the wardrobe that she was standing before.

They had been in the midst of rummaging through her clothes. Felix lounged over her bed as he tried to help pick out a dinner-appropriate outfit, when the sudden thoughts of Hyunjin acting off had spilled through her lips, trying to dissect it from another perspective.

“It doesn’t matter. I have a date anyway.” She repeated louder this time, the furrow of her brows only creasing deeper.

She could hear Felix sigh behind her, it was obvious he disagreed, but didn't say anything against.

“Did you tell Hyunjin about your date?” He retorts instead.

This only angered her further, spinning on her heels and staring into her best friend who looked at her apprehensively.

“Why do I have to tell him? I don’t need his permission to meet people.” There’s a sour taste in her mouth, one that only deepens when Felix gives her a pointed look.

As if telling her that she didn’t hide her emotions well.

Even the coworker who had set her up, had done-so warily, unsure if she was open to meeting someone when she already had an “almost-boyfriend pacing around her daily”. Though the words had flustered her, it also made her feel bitter. 

Hyunjin was just a friend.

And even if right now, Felix right could argue about the fact that she told everyone but Hyunjin, he doesn’t. Instead he humors her and picks through her dress options, eyes flickering over to her frowning form.

“I don’t know.” He finally shrugged, though there was a weariness in his eyes. “Maybe just mention it casually?” He suggested.

“If it comes up.” She huffs.

She was not going to go out of her way to tell him. 

Y/N does, in fact, do exactly that.

The following day, a couple hours before her date, she finds herself standing outside of Hyunjin’s apartment. 

She came up with excuses, kind of like the ones that Hyunjin would often blurt out when he showed up unannounced. And she wonders if the surprise that he wore on his face when he opened his door, looked like the expressions she too wore.

Hyunjin blinked, the hand that gripped loose over the handle of his door slowly fell limp at his side as a breathy, entirely surprised “Y/N?” escaped him.

She attempted to smile, raising the bag of baked goods between them as an offering. An answer to her unexpected presence. An excuse.

Though it was a good one, seeing as the night before Felix and her had made way too many cookies for the both of them and promised in the group chat that they’d share with the other two guys that seemed to drool through the screen.

“Felix said you might be busy today.” Hyunjin hummed, already pulling out the container from the paper bag, the sound of it crinkles loudly amidst his ministrations.

Y/N had settled on the high chair on the other side of the counter, suddenly feeling as if she over-thought everything. As if her doubts and suspicions of Hyunjin’s actions were indeed delusions and she showed up here for no reason at all. Doing nothing but opening old wounds.

She had pointedly told Felix that she wasn’t going to go out of her way to tell Hyunjin about her date. Told him that if the opportunity arises then, sure. Yet here she was, purposefully creating the situation where she would tell him.

Perhaps it was what she needed to do. To finally close that smell crack in that corner of her heart that the soft spot for Hwang Hyunjin hid behind. Perhaps seeing him smile, hearing him encouraging her to meet someone good, someone else, was what she needed to hear. 

Y/N licked her lips, casually picking at the stuff he had splayed over the marble counter. She settled on the bowl full of odd clutter. Loose change, keys, and weirdly a creased passport photo of Jisung. Things that clattered against the ceramic as she picked through it to distract herself.

“Yeah…later though.” Y/N confirmed before adding a low  “I have a date.” She refused to meet his face as she spoke.

For a moment silence settled, her own hand subconsciously stilling over the bowl as well. Hyunjin didn’t speak, neither did Y/N who’s eyes finally flicked up to watch his expression.

His eyes stared down at the plastic box of desserts. Hands gripping at the edges of the unclasped lid. His brows were pinched, expression unreadable. Yet it only lasted for just a moment. Just a blink and Hyunjin inhaled deeply. Turning around towards the microwave as he spoke.

“Date...?” His tone was raspy, strained.

Though, it doesn’t seem as if Y/N noticed, too busy fighting her own nerves.

“Yeah. With my coworker’s cousin, it’s a blind date though so don’t ask me about him.” She attempted to laugh, to lighten up the suddenly tense atmosphere.

Hyunjin didn’t respond, didn’t laugh along. The microwave door closed, the machine humming low as it warmed the cookies.

“I didn’t know you were looking to start a relationship. Didn’t you say you were focusing on work?” He turned with a clear of his throat, leaning back against the counter edge behind him, arms crossed over his chest.

Y/N shrugged, her eyes finally meeting him. Though the look that she met only made her heart beat faster.

It’s all in her head. She convinced herself.

“It’s about time, don’t you think? I mean,...we’re not getting any younger.” She smiled softly. 

“Besides, I also want someone who looks at me like I’m the center of their world. Someone who loves me wholeheartedly. Maybe he’s the one?” 

The words tasted wrong to her, sounded wrong. A small part of her mourning something that never would be. 

Hyunjin once again, fell silent. His hands tightening over himself as he let her words settle. As he imagined her with another. 

She’s slipping away. He’s too late. He ruined it all. It’s all his fault. 

“—Don’t go.” The words had slipped out without him realizing.

Still, they pierce straight into her chest. For a moment they stared at one another, Hyunjin’s gaze wide, yet he didn’t move to clarify. Didn’t say he wasn’t talking about her date, that she wasn’t misunderstanding. No, his stare bore into hers, inhaling deeply as he stepped forward. The unreadable gaze suddenly cleared and she could see what she thought she had only imagined.

“Y/N, I—“

The microwave’s beep-beep-beep tune interrupted his shaky voice. Maybe he was going to justify himself, maybe he was going to come up with more excuses. The fury from the night before reemerged in her mind, in her expression as her brows narrowed, chair screeching over the tiles as she stood.

She needed to leave. This was a bad idea after all. She needed to get out of here before he said something that would make her truly misunderstand.

Y/N tries. To gather her things and bolt out of Hyunjin’s place, yet doesn’t even make it five steps past the threshold of the kitchen before he’s grasping at her arms.

“Wait! Please, Y/N, listen to me.” His tone is frantic, eyes big as he’s holding her in place, letting her settle to a stand before him.

Her eyes shine with tears she didn’t realize had welled up. Her stupid one-sided emotions that she thought she had smothered, surging forward.

“What?” She hisses, angered.

Brushing off his grip over her she takes a step back, through her eyes are burning glares over him.

“You’re so confusing Hyunjin. You’re driving me insane and I can’t even—“ She’s not even sure what she should say, if she could even explain that he stirred her up without even knowing. 

Like he had done all those years ago before he shot her down for falling for his natural charms. And she’s watched Hyunjin flirt with others, hell, even befriended the one or two girlfriends he dated. It hurt, still does. Though it angers her more now that she thinks about it. Yet here he was, telling her to…

“You can’t tell me not to go on this date. It’s not your place. I deserve to be happy too.” Her voice is clipped, yet tinged with hurt, the kind that makes Hyunjin’s own expression pinch with sorrow.

“I know. I’m-I’m sorry. I just—” He bites his lips, eyes darting between hers as if the right words he was looking for were written in them.

They weren’t of course, and this silence, his poor-attempt of explaining was grating on her nerves. Was stabbing her in the heart.

“It’s cruel.” She finally muttered. “To dangle the possibility of something in front of me. To blur the lines of friendship and doing things that would make me misunderstand, when you don’t mean it, is cruel.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widen, voice heightening as he speaks “I’m not!—I…I would never. Not when it comes to this, your heart.” 

Y/N’s tears don’t hide well, burning at her water-lines.

“Then why are you doing this? Why are you doing things that you haven’t before?”

“You know why. I…” Hyunjin swallows thickly, mouth parting to finally confess his feeling, but only stiffens when she sniffles, shaking her head at a memory he suddenly wanted to erase.

“You said-you said, you’ll never—” 

“I was an idiot. I regret ever saying it.” He cuts her off, taking a step forward, hands reaching to grasp at her but faltering just between them when she looks at him with that hurt expression that pains him.

“You told Jisung that I made you uncomfortable. That I ruined our friendship.” She shook her head in disagreement, eyes welling with tears.

He did. When he had rejected her, and she had laughingly brushed it off, leaving him to wallow in the aftermath, Jisung had found him after, coming from taking his last final. Hyunjin had spilled the beans, frowning and disappointed at what had occurred. Though he never expected the other man to tell her about it. But the other man had always been a little loose-lipped, especially after getting drunk. Which doesn’t really surprise Hyunjin. 

Still, he had no excuse because he did say that, did feel that. And even though he was sure she didn’t blame him for feeling like so, he found his head dropping, eyes falling over the ground. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t want an apology.” Y/N immediately responded, watching his eyes flicker over her now-hardened gaze. 

“I just—“ She inhaled a shuddering breath. 

“I-I need to hear it Hyunjin—And I swear if one more person says ‘actions speak louder than words’ I will commit a crime.” Her voice is suddenly laced with frustration, the glare back in her gaze.

And if Hyunjin wasn’t in the midst of almost panicking, he would’ve laughed, but unfortunately he didn’t. Instead he takes small step forward, desperation gleaming in his gaze.

“I’m in love with you Y/N.” 

His confession isn’t wrapped with pretty words. Not the kind of confession one would expect from Hwang Hyunjin, yet still, it’s heart clenching enough. 

Enough to have her breath hitch, eyes growing wide. Oddly still surprised he finally said it. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to come around—not that I was hoping that you waited for me. That would be cruel. But fuck, Y/N…” He almost hissed, his voice cracking just the slightest.

“I’ve fallen so hard for you that I can’t even function anymore. I keep imagining, keep dreaming that you’re mine and I’m going to lose my fucking mind if I let you slip away. Again.” His voice is raspy, eyes gleaming with desperation, fear.

Y/N doesn’t realize that she had been holding her breath until she’s exhaling shakily, a loud breath as her eyelids flutter open and close, his words settling over her chest. She thought she had left that place of pining after Hyunjin. Done yearning for the man who was a little sensitive, a little mischievous. The one who gave his all for those that he cared for. 

Of course she would never be able to smother her feelings for a man like that, who did she think she was? 

Hyunjin had always talked about the spark. Like the kind you hear about in perfect love stories, in fairy tales. In his daydreams. He swears he can feel it when he swears he met “the one”, yet it fizzles just as quick, the stars-not aligned.

Another thought that makes Y/N feel a pang of sadness as it surfaces in her head, as if some side of her was still convinced that she was seeing it all wrong. That he was the one misunderstanding his care for love.

“Since when?” She found herself asking, voice quivering in the air.

“Since that day you showed up drenched at my doorstep.” Hyunjin doesn’t hold back his words to himself anymore, not when he confessed his feelings out in the open. For her to take and do whatever she wanted with them.

“When I felt this need to make you feel better, comfortable. When you were frolicking around my living room and I wanted to do nothing but kiss you madly—Fuck I hated seeing you leave the morning after.” He takes a step forward, warily but slow, his eyes boring into hers.

Both his words and close presence makes her stiffen, eyes widening, heart pounding, threatening to explode.

“I’ve dreamt of you and haven’t stopped dreaming ever since. I love you, Y/N.” He emphasized. His voice a low murmur.

Her teary eyes flicker between his, expression softening. Letting his confession break through her guarded walls. Though she can’t help but let ask—

“Y-you’re not lying…right?” The way her voice is a whisper, insecure, is enough for Hyunjin to let the caution go.

To take a determined step forward, hand cupping her cheek and kissing her hard.

He will spend a lifetime to prove to her that he had been an idiot back then. To show her that she was all that he could think about. Although, he’s hopeful that she understands it a teeny-tiny bit. With the way his hands tug her into his body, as if he let go he would wake up and it would have all been just another dream. 

It’s not though, the sting of her tugging at his hairs as she kisses him back, equally fervent, is enough of a reminder.

─────────────────────────

BONUS: A Jisung POV

The group chat comes alive some time really late into the night. The kind of ping that echoes in Jisung’s bedroom. Enough to rouse him awake. A surprising feat for a man who sleeps so deeply you’d think he was dead. 

For a moment he is dazed, foundering hands reaching for the device by his head. 

Right, he had fallen asleep watching funny anime moments compilations.

For a moment he’s unsure of what he’s seeing on his screen, bleary eyes laced with sleep, squinting over the brightness.

He stares at the typing bubbles. Could see Felix’s name pop up, though he expected the blonde to be active at this hour, given his crazy sleep-schedule.

Then it registers that the image was sent by Y/N, which again, not out of the ordinary, except for the fact that the picture was of Hyunjin. Hwang Hyunjin lounging back over his bed, sheets all-too plaid, light all-too bright, reaching out to the bedside table for something.

Jisung sat up in bed, brows pinched into a frown as his fingers typed into the chat.

It’s a candid photo. An off-guard snap. The kind that shows that the man in it wasn’t aware that it was being taken. And it wouldn't have been anything special either if not for the fact that—

It was at Chan’s birthday party—loud music, too many people crammed into a too-small rooftop, fairy lights strung like afterthoughts. You’d spotted him leaning against the railing, long hair tucked behind one ear, black silk shirt unbuttoned just enough to look careless on purpose. He was laughing at something Felix said, head thrown back, and the sound hit you somewhere behind your ribs.

You walked over with the confidence only two soju shots and a mutual friend’s encouragement could give.

“Hi,” you said, offering your brightest smile. “I’m—”

“I know who you are,” he cut in gently, but not kindly. His eyes flicked over you once—assessing, uninterested—then returned to Felix. “Chan’s friend, right?”

The dismissal was so smooth you almost didn’t register it as rejection. Almost.

“Yeah,” you answered anyway, smile faltering only a little. “I just wanted to say your last painting—the one with the burning chandelier? I saw it in your recent post. It… stayed with me.”

He gave a small, polite nod. “Thanks.”

And that was it.

He turned back to Felix, conversation closed like a door you hadn’t even been allowed to knock on.

You stood there for three more awkward seconds before Minho appeared out of nowhere, slinging an arm around your shoulders and steering you away with an exaggerated “Come on, let’s not traumatize the pretty boy tonight.”

You laughed it off. You always laughed it off.

But something about the way Hyunjin hadn’t even pretended to be curious lodged itself under your skin like a splinter.

So you kept showing up.

Not in a creepy way—just… persistently.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

A week later you “happened” to be at the same café he always went to after morning dance practice (thanks, Seungmin, for the accidental intel). You slid into the seat across from him before he could protest.

“You’re stalking me now?” he asked, not looking up from his sketchbook.

“Coincidence,” you said brightly, stealing a sip of his iced Americano. “Great taste, by the way.”

He finally lifted his gaze. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

A tiny muscle in his jaw ticked. “Look… you’re nice. Really. But I’m not looking for anything right now.”

You leaned your chin on your hand. “I’m not asking you to look. I’m just sitting here. Breathing the same air. Very platonic.”

He exhaled through his nose, the sound almost a laugh—but not quite. Then he went back to drawing.

You stayed for twenty minutes anyway. He didn’t ask you to leave.

The next time was a mutual friend’s karaoke night.

You picked “Leave” by Stray Kids (of course) and sang it directly at him.

Halfway through the second chorus he finally looked up—really looked—and for one stupid, heart-stopping second you thought maybe the lyrics had reached him.

Then he stood up, muttered something about needing air, and walked out.

Chan found you later in the hallway, arms crossed. “You okay?”

You forced a grin. “Never better.”

“You’re bleeding,” he said, nodding at your palm.

You hadn’t even noticed you’d dug your nails in hard enough to break skin.

Still, you didn’t stop.

There was the time you “lost” a bet to Jisung and had to deliver homemade cookies to every dorm room. Hyunjin’s was last.

He opened the door in nothing but sweatpants and a towel around his neck, hair damp from the shower. For a second neither of you spoke.

Then he sighed. “You’re relentless.”

“They’re still warm,” you said, holding out the tin like a peace offering.

He stared at it for a long moment before taking it. His fingers brushed yours—barely—and you felt it like static.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” he said quietly.

You swallowed. “I don’t want anything you’re not willing to give.”

He looked at you then—really looked—and something flickered behind his eyes. Not warmth. Not yet. But… curiosity, maybe. Or pity.

“Then why do you keep doing this?” he asked.

You gave him the only honest answer you had left.

“Because every time I walk away, it feels worse than staying.”

He didn’t reply.

He just closed the door.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Then came the night everything finally broke open.

It was late—after a long practice and an even longer after-party at the dorm. Most people had gone home. You were helping clean up empty bottles when you found him on the balcony, alone, staring at the city lights like they owed him something.

You should’ve left him there.

Instead you stepped outside.

He didn’t turn around. “You’re still here.”

“Someone has to make sure you don’t fall off,” you said lightly.

Silence stretched so long you thought he wouldn’t answer.

Then he spoke, voice low and razor-sharp. “Just stop. Please. For once in your life, stop.”

You froze. “Hyunjin—”

“No.” He whipped around, eyes blazing, chest heaving. “You think this is cute? You think you can just keep showing up, keep smiling, keep acting like my walls are something you can charm your way through? I’ve told you. I’ve pushed you away. And you still come back. Why? What the hell do you actually want from me?”

Your throat closed. “I just—”

“You just what?” he snapped, stepping closer. “You just like the chase? The idea of me? Because that’s all anyone ever wants. The face. The name. The access. The photos they can post to prove they got close to Hwang Hyunjin. Every time I let someone in, they take something and leave. So stop pretending you’re different. Stop making me feel like maybe you could be. Because I can’t do it again. I can’t.”

The words hit like glass.

You finally understood.

It wasn’t that he didn’t see you.

It was that he was terrified of what would happen if he did.

Your eyes stung, but you didn’t let the tears fall. Not in front of him. Not like this.

“Okay,” you whispered.

He blinked. “What?”

“Okay.” You took a step back. “I’ll stop.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Something flickered across his face—confusion, maybe regret—but he didn’t say anything else.

You turned and walked back inside.

You didn’t look back.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

For the next week, you disappeared from his orbit completely.

No texts. No group hangouts. No “accidental” run-ins. You even told Chan and Minho you needed space, that you were tired, that you’d be back when you were ready.

The boys noticed.

Hyunjin noticed more.

At first he told himself it was relief. Finally. Peace.

But the dorm felt quieter. Group chats were missing your memes. Practice breaks were missing your laugh echoing down the hall. He caught himself glancing at the door during movie nights, waiting for you to walk in with snacks and that stupid, stubborn smile.

He hated it.

One day, Felix cornered him in the kitchen.

“You’re sulking,” Felix said flatly.

“I’m not.”

“You are. And it’s pathetic.”

Hyunjin glared. “She’s the one who—”

“She’s the one who finally listened when you told her to leave you alone,” Felix cut in. “Congrats. You won. Why do you look like you lost?”

Hyunjin didn’t answer.

Changbin found him later, sprawled on the couch staring at nothing.

“You miss her,” Changbin said. Not a question.

Hyunjin rubbed his face. “I don’t know what I feel.”

“You’re scared,” Changbin said gently. “That’s fine. But you’re also being an idiot. She wasn’t after your fame. She was after you. The grumpy, closed-off, paints-at-3-a.m. version of you. And you basically screamed at her to fuck off because you’re too afraid to try.”

Hyunjin’s throat worked. “What if she’s gone for good?”

“Then you’ll deserve it,” Changbin said. “But I don’t think she is. Not yet.”

Minho was blunter the next night.

“You look like shit,” he said, tossing Hyunjin a water bottle. “Go fix it before she actually moves on. Because someone else will chase her. And they won’t be as patient.”

Hyunjin stared at the bottle for a long time.

Exactly a week since he last saw you, he showed up at your apartment.

It was raining. His hoodie was soaked through, hair plastered to his forehead. He looked smaller than you’d ever seen him.

You opened the door and just… stared.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, breathing hard, like he’d run the whole way.

Then, quietly, brokenly:

“I lied.”

You frowned. “About what?”

“When I said I wanted you to stop.” His voice cracked. “I didn’t. I don’t. I hated every second of this week without you. I hated how quiet it was. How empty. I kept waiting for you to text something stupid, or show up with cookies, or just… exist near me. And when you didn’t, I realized—” He swallowed hard. “I realized I’ve been running from the wrong thing.”

Your heart hammered. “What thing?”

“The chance that maybe you actually see me. Not the idol. Just… me. The mess. The scared part. And you still stayed. Until I made you leave.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks this time. You didn’t wipe them away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For pushing you. For assuming you were like the others. For being too afraid to let you prove you weren’t.”

You stepped aside, opening the door wider.

He hesitated.

Then he walked in.

And when the door closed behind him, he stayed close.

He just stood there, dripping rainwater onto your floor, looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him upright.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said softly.

You gave him the smallest, saddest smile.

“Then we’ll figure it out. Slowly.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for years.

And when he finally reached for your hand—tentative, trembling—you let him take it.