᭝ ᨳଓ ՟

Heeseung has never been late or missed a performance of yours. Until today. There are 10 minutes left before you go on stage, and you still haven’t seen him in the audience. Worse, you haven't heard from him in over a week. The frustration coils tight in your chest, tangled with confusion, adding to your nerves. Of all days, he chooses this one to be absent? Tonight, you're performing your solo at the Varna International Ballet Competition, one of the most selective ballet competitions in the world, inviting only the top companies to participate. To be chosen to represent your company at such a prestigious, career-defining competition is an honor few ever receive. 

Maybe it’s childish to rely on Heeseung’s presence for reassurance, but if he can show up for every other performance, why on earth wouldn't he be here for this one? With all this added pressure from your teachers and teammates, you need his support more than ever. 

As you begin to walk on stage, you scan the audience for him, but you only recognize your family and friends. Before the song plays, doubt creeps in. Then your eyes land on your parents and your mother’s best friend, Sooah, who also happens to be Heeseung’s mother. They're all perched at the edge of their seats, pride written all over their faces as they wait for your performance to begin. Your mother and Sooah wink at you, while your father gives you two enthusiastic thumbs up. The smiles on their faces immediately puts you at ease. God, you love them so much.

Then you spot your friends. Yunjin is fiercely cheering you on, howling your name repeatedly as heads turn toward her in disbelief. You can’t blame the people who are baffled by her behavior. Ballet is meant to be graceful and refined, her behavior anything but. You shove down your laugh. Beside her sits Sunoo. As a model and actor, he always looks impossibly polished, yet he looks so exhausted today, but you know why. He spent the entire week trying to track down Heeseung, making sure he’d show up today. Before your stomach can twist further at the thought of Heeseung, you notice Sunoo smacking Niki’s arm as he makes the most ridiculous, borderline grotesque expressions imaginable. Niki is a year younger than than the rest of you and definitely acts like it. He’s silly and never spares a moment to be unserious, but you know he’s doing it to make you smile, to distract you from the pressure and Heeseung’s bizarre absence. Then you notice Jungwon recording you. It's touching, especially when he’s too busy with his side projects to leave his house as an optimistic fourteen year old kid with a freak brain. The fact that he's here feels like a miracle. Still, when it comes to you four, Jungwon always shows up.  

Despite the anger and betrayal simmering and ready to burst, you remind yourself that you can't allow Heeseung to affect your performance, not when so many people believe in you. After all, you're one of the few dancers who were selected by your ballet company to represent them here. With that surge of confidence, you execute your routine flawlessly. And yes, you did point your feet exactly the way your teacher wanted. Cheers erupt as you hold your last pose, your gaze immediately seeking out your family and friends. Still, even after dancing so well, you can’t stop thinking about Heeseung, about how he's usually first to stand, the loudest to cheer. You try to push these thoughts aside and exit the stage with practiced elegance. Once you're fully covered by the curtains backstage, you collapse into your teacher's and teammates’ arms.

When you meet up with your parents, Sooah, and your friends, they immediately surround you, showering you with praises. After handing you your favourite flowers, pink tulips, Sooah's expression softens with something unmistakably sad. “You did amazing, kiddo. Uncle Minsuk’s busy with work and couldn't make it… but I'm so sorry about Heeseung. I know how much you wanted him here, but he’s been so down lately—shutting everyone out, even his father and me. I know this doesn’t make it any less disappointing, but please don’t take it personally. You know how much he loves you.” You nod quickly, fighting the tears threatening to spill.

“God, he’s such a dick—oh. No offense, Mrs. Lee,” Yunjin blurts. Your parents facepalm. Sunoo shoots her the nastiest side eye imaginable. Jungwon shakes his head, and Niki starts cackling so loudly, drawing attention from others nearby. You shoot Yunjin a pointed look before nudging her, warning her to apologize to Sooah. Sooah just laughs. “Don’t apologize, Yunjin! I totally agree. Teenage boys can be a nightmare.”

After catching up with everyone, you head back to the stage as the award ceremony is about to begin. As you’re walking away, you hear your mother’s concerned voice. “Sooah…what’s going on with Heeseung? He’s never been like this.” 

“I don’t know what to do, Jiwon. He hasn’t left his room all week,” Sooah replies, completely tired and defeated.

—

You've never competed against this many high-caliber dancers before. Even though your confident in your dancing, the competition is brutal with talent everywhere you look. You're dedicated and disciplined, but not entirely certain you even want to become a professional ballerina. So, when it comes to placing, you don't let yourself hope too much. As the judges begin announcing the top five solo performances, you start to drift off into your thoughts when your teacher nudges you. Third place. You won third place!

Your family and friend are already on their feet, cheering. Applause fills the auditorium before the shock even registers. You stand, blinking as you walk up to accept your award. Still, your heart aches as you think about how Heeseung should’ve been here. He should've been the first one standing, the first one clapping—pink tulips in hand, smiling at you with that soft expression he only ever wore for you. Before hurt and resentment can twist your face, you force a smile and pose for photos with the judges. 

—

Later, at home, exhaustion crashes over you. Your feet are filthy, coated in brown residue from hours of practicing backstage barefoot. Your hair is stiff with gel and hairspray. You’re aching all over, and you can barely keep your eyes open. You know you should shower and collapse into bed before you can get any more delirious. But instead, you walk to your window. After both graduating from Harvard, your mother and Sooah bought houses right next to each other with Heeseung's bedroom window across from yours.

Heeseung's window is closed with the blinds drawn, just like it's been for the past week. Although you two live next door and see each other everyday, you and Heeseung made this makeshift telephone a couple years ago, connecting from your window to his with string and paper cups on each end because “you both wanted to stay connected even when you couldn’t be right beside each other”. You lift your mouth to the paper cup, but before you can say anything, your mouth quivers. You're about to cry again, except this time, you finally let the tears fall. You clear your throat to try to hide the fact that you’re practically sobbing at this point and call out to him softly. 

No answer. You try one more time. No answer. 

You remember the late night confessions, him telling you he loves you, and that he’ll always be there for you. You remember believing him. It makes you so resentful that you chuck your paper cup outside the window, leaving the telephone hanging entirely from Heeseung’s window now.  You don’t understand why he’s doing this to you. A week ago, when summer break started, Heeseung dragged you out of your house to show you the new dual bike his parents gifted him. He’d been wanting it forever for the sole purpose of riding it with you. Now, he won’t even leave his house, answer his door, or respond to any calls or messages from your friends. 

—

It’s been three weeks since the dance competition. You’ve spent everyday rotting in bed, replaying the same thoughts and memories. Today is no different as you lie in bed, flipping through the yearbook.  Then you see it, a picture of you and Heeseung, both of you were smiling with his arm wrapped around you. You were voted “Best Duo” for the tenth year in a row. You and Heeseung have always won that title since you started at Evercore as kindergartners. 

Tears begin to well in your eyes when someone starts pounding on your door non-stop. A sassy voice cuts through the noise. “Stop it Yunjin. We’re here for her, which means we wait until she’s ready,” followed by a loud yelp from Yunjin, which you assume is from Sunoo smacking her. Niki fails to stifle his cackles, and Jungwon sighs before his soft, concerned voice follows. “Y/N, are you okay? We’re really worried about you.”

But you stay quiet, unable to utter a word. So Yunjin pleads, “Y/N, please let us in! You can’t spend your last summer before high school curled up in bed when we need a huge makeover and new wardrobes. Plus, Niki made himself useful for once and brought pad thai from your favourite Thai place.” Before Niki can start bickering with Yunjin, you open the door. “Holy shit—you look and smell like—OUCH,” Niki shrieks after Yunjin kicked his leg and Sunoo smacked his head. Niki rubs the aching spot while handing you the food. “Sorry, you know I’m joking, Y/N. Eat first, then talk if you want to.” 

While you eat, they try to cheer you up. Yunjin and Sunoo offer to give you a manicure and a pedicure, Jungwon asks if you want him to grab anything else, and Niki recounts a disgusting story he thinks is hilarious, making you lose your apetite.  You all end up laughing and gagging until you remember how Heeseung should be here too, sitting right beside you like he always does. Your laughter fades, and your friends immediately notice.“I don’t understand. We never fought… unless I did something wrong, and I just don’t realize,” you whisper. 

Yunjin scoffs, “You did nothing wrong, Y/N. He’s the asshole who left to go to football camp and hang with those pompous idiots, Ja—.” “Yunjin!” the boys yell in unison. Your head jerks up so fast it spins, and your mouth goes dry. “Go on,” you say, eerily calm. Yunjin’s eyes widen. “Oh shit—I’m sorry Y/N," she says, looking down to her lap. "Maybe you’re not ready to hear this, but you deserve to know that Sunoo went to check on Heeseung last week… and saw him walking home with Jake, Sunghoon, and Jay, in football gear,” she says gently, squeezing your hand. 

Something in your chest sinks. Disappointment floods in, with hurt following. You can’t bring yourself to speak. You just sit there, frozen, as the betrayal slowly eats you alive.

—

It’s the first day back at school, and the first day without Heeseung by your side. You take extra long ironing your uniform so you have an excuse to leave a little later and avoid running into him. When you arrive and make your way towards your friends, you can see the worry on their faces. Before they can say anything, you force an enthusiastic tone. “Please don't look at me like that. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” 

As you head to your first class, you almost manage to forget about Heeseung—until you reach the same Evercore staircase where you once bandaged his scraped knees after a rough game of tag, where he used to let you rest on his shoulder when you were too tired to play at recess. You're lost in those memories when loud, obnoxious laughter cuts through them. You look up, and the color drains from your face. Your body goes numb, and your heart aches all over again.

Heeseung is laughing with Jake, Sunghoon, and Jay. You see him, but you don’t recognize the boy you fell in love with. Heeseung traded his glasses for contacts. His left ear is pierced, and his hair has grown into a curtain mullet. You remember how he used to keep it short and simple so it wouldn't distract him or tickle his face. The once quiet, sensitive boy who only ever laughed around you like it was meant for your ears only, like you owned his laughter,

now laughs in a way that didn’t belong to you anymore.

But that isn’t what makes your breakfast threaten to make a messy reappearance. It’s the way his newly muscular arm is wrapped around Giselle, the girl you absolutely despise, who’s everything you’re not. Heeseung has been slipping away for months, but it doesn't fully hit until now, when he walks past you without sparing a single glance. No hesitation, and no flicker of recognition. Your vision blurs. Your ears ring, and heat floods your face.

—

You don’t even wait for the school bell to ring before bolting out of your class, sprinting home as fast as you can so no one can see you crying. You’re grateful your parents aren’t home to witness you choking on sobs and slamming your bedroom door so violently that one of the family portraits slips and hangs crooked from the impact. 

All you feel is fury and disgust from Heeseung’s hypocrisy. He used to hate Jake Sim as much as you did. You joked about it, rolled your eyes together whenever Jake opened his entitled mouth. And now Heeseung’s hanging out with him? Jake Sim. The devil spawn. The most popular boy in school and an entitled aristocrat. He believes he owns Evercore since his great grandfather’s name is etched into the plaque in the main corridor as one of the founding fathers. He never misses a chance to point out when someone is wearing a luxury brand under his family’s conglomerate. You'll admit his family dominates most of the luxury market, but you go out of your way to avoid their brands. So Dior is your safe haven. Thank god the Sim family hasn’t gotten their greedy hands on it.

Then there’s Giselle, the female version of Jake, except without the intellect. Jake is infuriatingly smart, which makes him worst. But Giselle? She's just as cruel, but an airhead.

They’re exactly the kind of people Heeseung used to mock. Looking back, it makes you wonder if his disdain was ever real. Maybe it was jealousy, a desire to be a part their clique. 

Although Evercore is one of the world's most elite private schools, with students coming from some of the wealthiest families in the world, cliques and hierarchies still exist. Old money, new money, political influence, and corporate power each carry a different weight at Evercore, and everyone knows where they stand on the hierarchy. Scholarship students are at the bottom of the food chain, at least to your snobby classmates. Not to you. Scholarships are given to the most exceptional applicants, but to Jake, Giselle, and their circle, they're an insult to Evercore’s prestige. They never miss a chance to make them feel small. 

You still remember when you were six and Jake tried to make fun of Sunoo for appearing in the same popular kid shows all of them watched. Before anyone could react, Yunjin kicked him somewhere she definitely shouldn’t have known to kick, and he ran off crying for his mom. After that, Jake never bothered your friends again. Serves that bastard right.

So seeing Heeseung with them makes your stomach turn. You bite your lip hard enough to taste blood. You tear your room apart, removing any trace of him. Every photo is torn up, every note is shredded, and every birthday gift is tossed onto the growing pile of memories.  When you reach his hoodies, your hands freeze. His scent still lingers, warm, familiar, and devastating. Even after everything he’s done to you, you still love him. You still want him. Your heart still aches for him, and it makes you feel pathetic. It doesn’t matter because your relationship is like the telephone you threw out the window. Once a precious lifeline between you two, now just trash lying on the pavement.

—

Three Years Ago 

"I got my hands up, they're playin' my song. I know I'm gonna be okay. Yeah, it's a party in the U.S.A,” you and Yunjin half-sing, half-shout. “Miley Cyrus was such a bad bitch. Girl went from Disney to rocking a pixie cut and sticking up her middle finger every chance she got,” Yunjin says in awe. 

You nod in agreement. “She really was ahead of her time.” 

You apply one last coat of mascara, smooth out your skirt, and give yourself a final once-over in the mirror. “Are you ready for our last first day of high school, Yunnie?” Yunjin rolls her eyes so hard you thought they’d get stuck. “Let’s just get this over with,” she groans. 

You grab your bags and head downstairs to eat something before leaving, but when you reach the dining room, you find your parents already seated at the table with Heeseung’s parents. “Good morning, mom, dad. Oh—good morning Auntie Sooah and Uncle Minsuk. I didn’t know you were over." 

“Ah, good morning, Auntie Jiwon, Uncle Sungmin. Good morning, Mrs. Lee and Mr. Lee,” Yunjin greets. 

“Good morning my gorgeous girls,” Sooah beams. Yunjin, I already told you to call us Auntie Sooah and Uncle Minsuk. No more of that Mrs and Mr. Lee nonsense,” Sooah scolds.

“Sorry, Auntie Sooah. I’m still getting used to it,” Yunjin laughs. 

“You girls look beautiful,” your mother says, setting down her fork. “Are you ready for your senior year? It’s a very important one.” 

“I think so. I still can’t believe it’s our last year of high school, but it’s one step closer to being at Harvard… well, if I even get in,” you say solemnly.

“And I can’t wait to go home and sleep,” Yunjin mutters, earning a round of laughter.

“You will get into Harvard, honey. I’ve never been more certain. We’re so proud of you two,” your dad assures, smiling softly. 

“I remember when Jiwon and I were at Evercore, stressing about our future just like you two,” Sooah adds, smiling at your mother. “When we found out we were going to spend the next four years together at Harvard, we broke down crying so hard in each other’s arms. It was one of the happiest moments of my life,” her voice hoarse as she tears up. 

“I think the neighbours thought someone had been murdered with the way we were screaming and crying. It was one of the happiest moments of my life too,” your mother laughs softly, reaching across the table to squeeze Sooah’s hand.  

Sooah wipes her eyes. “Sorry girls… I didn’t mean to get so emotional this early in the morning.” 

Your father and Minsuk chuckle. “Moving on… ” your father chirps, then turns to Yunjin.  “Aunt Sooah and I got you something.”

“You didn’t have to—now I feel bad,” Yunjin says, already unwrapping it anyway. “A Tiffany Notebook with a matching pen?” Yunjin screams. "Oh my god, thank you so much! I love you guys!"

You snort. Now she’s finally awake. 

“We love you too, Yunjin. We know you're running out of pages in your old notebook. Now, you finally have more space to document your art,” your mother says as Yunjin embraces her and your father, cheeks turning pink. She always pretends her passion for art is just for fun, but everyone knows she’s a complete nerd for it. She’s quietly working towards Harvard’s Art History and Architecture program like her mother. Her parents are rarely home as their work moves them from city to city so your parents stepped in. Somewhere along the way, Yunjin has her own bedroom in your house, her toothbrush found its place beside yours, and her shoes lined are up by the door. She isn’t just your best friend. She’s family. 

Warmth spreads through your chest—until your mother suddenly asks, "How is Heeseung, by the way? We haven't seen him in so long. Is he ready for the first day?" The table stills. Sooah’s smile falters. Minsuk clears his throat and gives Sooah a look. You swallow hard, looking away. Even after four years, his name still feels like a dagger to your heart. You’d be lying if you said you were over what happened. 

“H-he’s been staying at Jake’s house for the past couple of weeks,” Sooah mumbles, eyes lowered to her lap. “He didn’t answer my call this morning, but I think he said he was ready a few days ago,” Sooah adds disappointingly through her clenched teeth. 

Your mother glances at you apologetically. She doesn’t have to explain. You know she asked out of politeness. Your family avoids mentioning Heeseung because they understand the scar is still fresh.

Your father clears his throat, attempting to change the suffocating atmosphere. “You girls should head to school before you’re late. Chef Kim made some breakfast burritos. Here—eat them on your way to school.” He hands one to you and Yunjin. Yunjin accepts with an awkward smile.“Thanks, Uncle Sungmin.” You nod a quiet thank you as your mother stands to smooth your collar the same way she has done since you were little. “Have a good first day, sweetie. Keep doing your best."

Your father notices how sad you look so he grabs one of his many car keys and hands it to Yunjin. "Take my Porsche 991 today You'd better not dent it."

“What? Really?" Yunjin squeals. "I swear I will not fuck this up. I will drive like a senior citizen. A very respectful one."

“Language, Yunjin,” your mother giggles, kissing her cheek. 

“Let’s go, Y/nnie,” Yunjin cheers, linking  her arm through yours as she drags you out the door before you can respond. Somehow, she gets you to school in one piece without damaging your dad’s car. You meet up with the boys before class, and as you head toward your classroom, your principal walks straight towards you. “Hi, Y/N. It’s good to see you! How are you doing?”

You blink, confused. “Hello, Mrs. Brown. I’m doing well. How can I help you?” 

“I have wonderful news regarding Harvard that I think you'll be very happy to hear. Let’s go to my office and talk more about it,” she exclaims, gesturing for you to follow her.

When you walk out of Mrs. Brown’s office, the world doesn't feel real as you're completely and utterly dazed. You’ve been invited to an exclusive coffee chat with Harvard’s dean?

"Congratulations, Miss Y/N! Although it’s not an official decision, an invitation like this indicates a high chance of acceptance, provided your conversation goes well." Your heartbeat accelerates as you replay the words, a mix of excitement and anxiety clouding your head. Then suddenly—you crash into a firm body.

“Watch where you’re fucking going,” a familiar voice grunts, making you freeze. 

You look up instinctively, locking eyes with Heeseung's bloodshot ones. Then it hits you—the heavy stench of weed. Bile rises from your throat, partly from the nauseating smell and partly from a pang in your chest you refuse to acknowledge. 

When Heeseung realizes it’s you, he backs away so fast, he practically trips over nothing. “Watch where you’re going next time,” he mutters, already walking away like he can’t stand your presence. 

“Well maybe you shouldn’t get high before coming to school late and knocking people over,” you laugh bitterly, the words slipping out before you can stop. 

Heeseung’s steps come to a halt. He turns his head just enough for you to see his jaw tighten before whipping back around. You almost miss it, but he shakes his head slightly and keeps walking, as if you’re not worth it. 

Every time you see Heeseung, it makes your heart crack in ways you wish it didn’t. Seeing him high. Seeing him stumble into class late when he actually bothers to show up. Seeing his arms around different girls after every football game. Seeing girls boast about finally getting to spend a night with him. It's like a stranger wearing Heeseung’s face. You start to wonder if the long, buried memories were ever real at all. But what hurts the most is watching him drown while catching glimpses of the kid he used to be, the kid you can’t seem to forget no matter how hard you try. The worst part is, he won’t let you swim close enough to try and save him.

As you stand there frozen, the good news you heard a few minutes ago is replaced by a wave of humiliation and anger.  

Prom

“Can you pass me the hair pins, Yunnie,” you ask, combing through your hair for what feels like the hundredth time. 

“Here—oh my god, your makeup and hair looks so good! You’re gonna be the hottest bitch at prom,” Yunjin squeals. 

“No way! We’re gonna be the hottest bitches at prom,” you giggle, bumping shoulders with your best friend.

“You’re not wrong,” she smirks, just as there's a knock at your bedroom door. 

“Hello, my dears. Do you mind if we come in?” your mother asks. 

“Yes, come in!” you call out. 

“We have a gift for you, sweetheart. Here—open it,” your father says as your mother hands you a ribbon tied box. 

You carefully unknot the bow and lift the lid, your breath catches instantly. “No… this isn’t what I think it is.”

“It is, honey,” your mother gushes.

“I—is this the custom pink Dior Venus gown I sketched when I was like ten?” you whisper in disbelief. “W—what? How did you guys know? And when did you guys even have this made?”

“We remember taking you to the de Young Museum. You kept circling back to the Venus gown. We practically had to drag you out of there to get home!” your mother laughs softly. “A week later, I went into your room and saw your your sketches. Oh—and let’s just say someone at Dior owes me big a favor,” your mother winks. “They started making this dress last year.”

“You remembered something like this from eight years ago?” you blink, stunned, though it shouldn’t surprise you. Your parents have always been impossibly astute, quietly taking notes of the things you love even when you forget them yourself.

“This must've been so hard to make. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you guys—ugh—I’m gonna cry,” you say, throwing your arms around them.

“You're welcome, dear, and don’t ruin your lovely makeup,” your dad murmurs.

“Wait—what do I do with my Jimmy Choo Atelier dress?” you ask, suddenly remembering your original prom dress.

“Wear it to the charity gala next month” your mother replies as if it’s obvious. 

“Two couture dresses? This is why I always raid your closet,” Yunjin whispers, leaning closer to inspect the dress. “No, but this is seriously insane. You're going to look like a princess. Go put it on!” 

After changing, your parents take far too many photos, sending them to Yunjin's parents as well. “You girls look so beautiful… and all grown up,” your mother says, voice wavering. “Please don’t cry, Auntie, or we’re gonna cry too,” Yunjin pouts. You pull them into a tight hug. “I love you guys so much.” 

“We love you too,” they say in unison. 

Suddenly—a loud honk cuts through the moment from outside. “It’s probably Sunoo and Jungwon. Go have fun, but not too much fun,” your father says, directing the last part mostly at Yunjin.

You and Yunjin step outside to a ridiculously long limousine.  The driver opens the door, and the moment you climb in—“I'm gagged. You look like a literal princess, Y/N! Is that a custom Dior gown?” Sunoo gasps. 

“Yes! It's a custom Venus gown,” you laugh.

“Girl, how—oh, and you cleaned up decently, Yunjin,” Sunoo teases. She flips him off. “I’m kidding! You look really really hot!"

“You guys look very pretty,” Jungwon says genuinely. 

“Of course we do. We always do!” Yunjin shoots back. 

“And you boys look amazing too!” you smile, glancing around the limousine “Isn’t this limo a little too big for just four people? Maybe we should’ve joined the others?” 

“I like when it’s just us. I wish Niki could’ve come though,” Sunoo frowns. 

“It is a shame. Niki really wanted to give the seniors a proper sendoff to college by letting them see his ‘sexy figure’ in a fitted suit,” you snort. “He’s probably sulking at home right now." You FaceTime him immediately. After showing him all of your outfits, you bid him a dramatic farewell as the limousine rolls to a stop. The venue looks like a fairytale with a castle-like exterior, cherry blossom trees scattered across the front garden, lush flowers lining the bushes, and fountains framing either side of the grand entrance. Students who haven’t gone in yet are draped in designer gowns and tailored suits. 

Sunoo’s jaw drops. “Okay, but why does this look like the Met Gala? Who on earth has taste this exquisite?” 

“PTA moms trying to outdo last year,” Yunjin mutters, reapplying her lip gloss.

The chauffeur opens the door, and Sunoo jumps out first. “Presenting Sunoo in Prada!” he announces with his hands on his hips. “Oh—Keeho. Be a peach and take some pictures for us, will you?” Sunoo says, shoving the camera into Keeho's hand.

Jungwon sighs, smoothing the front of his perfectly tailored black Armani suit. “I don’t do pictures,” he insists, but poses anyway when Sunoo shoots him a deathly glare. 

You lace your fingers with Yunjin’s and join them. Yunjin looks unbelievably sexy in the iconic Spring/Summer 2005 gold Versace dress that Daria Werbowy wore on the runway.

Sunoo claps dramatically. “You two are totally shutting this whole place down. These bitches are not ready.”

Inside, the music fades as heads turn when you walk in. You immediately hear the whispers. 

“Is that vintage Dior? Y/N looks insane! That gown is unreal." The crystal light catches every curve of your gown—the silver detailing on the petals scatters soft reflections across the marble floor as you continue walking into the venue. Your fellow classmates pause mid-sentence just to stare. 

Sunoo leans in and whispers, “Told you. You’re shutting the whole place down.” 

You’re adjusting the hem when suddenly—you collide with a solid body. You gasp, stumbling forward until a hand shoots out, catching your waist before you can fall. The cologne hits you first, familiar and painfully nostalgic—Heeseung. When you look up, he’s already staring. His eyes drag over you slowly, from the neckline to your face. “Watch where you’re going,” he says, but his voice isn’t annoyed like last time. It’s strained.

“Seriously?” Giselle cuts in, heels clicking. “You just got here, and you're already causing problems.” Her eyes skim your gown with a tight smile, trying to be discreet, but failing miserably. 

Yunjin mutters under her breath, “She’s fuming. I love it.” 

Despite his date’s fuss, Heeseung doesn’t look at Giselle. Not once. You pull away from his arm, breaking his hold. “Sorry,” you say softly. Heeseung’s lips part like he wants to say something, but Giselle steps closer, tugging at his sleeve. “Come on, we’re leaving.” He hesitates for a second, long enough to make your chest tighten, then he drops his gaze and follows Giselle, jaw tight and shoulders stiff. 

Before you turn towards your friends, you catch Giselle shooting one last glare your way. “If envy was a person, Giselle would be the human form,” Sunoo says, trying to stifle his laugh as Jungwon nods, agreeing. “And did you see Heeseung? He was totally in awe,” Yunjin adds, linking arms with you. But you can’t say anything. All you can think about is the way Heeseung looked at you—like the memories were never buried at all. 

You continue dancing for the next three hours, screaming along to songs while Yunjin drags you around to take pictures with different circles. Your feet feel like they’re being stabbed through your heels. You lean in and whisper into Yunjin’s ear, “My feet are going to fall off if I keep dancing. Can we please go home?” Yunjin nods and waves Sunoo and Jungwon over. 

As the two boys approach, Sunoo suddenly lights up. ‘Let’s have an after-party sleepover at someone’s place. I volunteer Y/N because her house is the closest.” 

“Fine—but we have to leave now then,” you demand. 

“I’ll tell Niki to come,” Jungwon adds. 

Yunjin links her arm through yours as you head toward the exit. “Our sleepover is going to be way better than prom, but please tell me you finally have access to your parents’ alcohol cabinet."

“Yunjin, I literally saw you taking way too many swigs from Lara’s ‘secret’ flask—but yes, I do,” you laugh softly, glancing over your shoulder. You take one last look at prom, the night everyone swears is unforgettable. But you don’t see him. Not Heeseung. Not her. Not his rowdy football team that's usually hard to miss. 

Yunjin nudges you gently. “Come on. Niki’s already on his way.”

You take one last look at where he caught you before turning around and following your friends into the cool night, leaving prom and whatever Heeseung was thinking behind.

When you get home, you immediately change into comfy pajamas and wash your makeup off while your friends argue downstairs about whether to watch She’s the Man or The Notebook. Before you head down to join them, something makes you pause. A stupid, instinctive pull.  You walk to your window and glance across the yard toward the house you’ve avoided looking at for far too long. Heeseung’s room is dim, lit only by the warm glow of his lamp. Your breath catches—his blinds facing directly toward your window are open for the first time in years.  You don’t even know what you expect to see. Maybe nothing. Maybe him hunched over this desk. Maybe him still in the suit that made your stomach twist at prom. But when your eyes shift slightly to the left—the sight knocks the air right out of you. Giselle’s hands are tangled in his hair. Their bodies are pressed together. His mouth is on hers, the kiss is hungry, messy, and careless.

You freeze, heart dropping into your stomach. You can't stop staring at the scene that's unfolding right before you—and then he meets your gaze. His expression is cold and indifferent again, a cruel contrast to the way he looked at you at prom. Strangely, his eyes flick downward, toward your cheeks. You lift your fingers, only to realize they're wet. You're crying. Mortified, you turn away immediately, wiping your face with trembling hands. You force a deep breath, to steady your heart, to pretend it didn't just split open all over again. 

When you look back, Giselle is gone. Heeseung stands alone, buttoning up his shirt. What you don't see is how abruptly he pulled away from her, making her jerk back startled. How his hands dropped from her like they burned him. How their kiss ended without any hesitation. How she stormed off, furious and humiliated. But you were too busy trying to control your breathing. Too busy blinking away tears. You reach out to shut your blinds, but before you do, you see him drag a hand through his hair, his other fist clenched so tightly his knuckles turn white.

—

Graduation

“Yunjin Huh will be attending Harvard, studying Art History and Architecture. Elizabeth Irvine will be attending Yale, studying English Language and Literature. Sunoo Kim will be attending Harvard, studying Theatre, Dance, and Media. Sebastian Miller will be attending Oxford, studying Biomedical Sciences. Lara Raj will be attending NYU, studying Vocal Performance. Jungwon Yang will be attending MIT, studying Electrical Engineering and Computer Science.” As your Principal continues down the list, the crowd claps politely during each name. 

“Finally, our Valedictorian, Y/N L/N.” Mrs. Brown pauses, allowing the audience to applaud. “Y/N is our Class President, among various other extracurricular activities. She graduates with the highest academic standing among the Class of 2023 and will be attending Harvard, studying Economics.” Cheers erupt even louder than before. “I will now turn it over to Y/N for her valedictorian speech.” You rise from your chair and walk across the podium towards Mrs. Brown. Mrs. Brown shakes your hand firmly before handing you the microphone. “Congratulations, Y/N” she whispers, smiling warmly. “Thank you, Mrs. Brown.”

As you begin your speech, your other hand hidden behind the lectern is balled into a tight fist. Your nails dig into your palm, carving crescent moons into your skin. Because what the audience doesn’t know is that one of the names called before yours nearly knocked the air from your lungs. “Heeseung Lee will be attending Harvard University, studying History.”  You had to clap along with everyone else. Professional. Poised. Unbothered. 

When you deliver your final line, the auditorium explodes with cheers, whistles, and applause. Mrs. Brown dismisses Evercore’s Class of 2023 for the last time. Caps go flying and navy tassels spin through the air like confetti. The sound is deafening with laughter, screams, and the scrape of chairs fill the room. 

You step down from the stage, immediately jumping into your friends’ arms. All around you are the classmates you’ve known since you were four. The same kids who once sat cross-legged together in Mrs. Jones's class, sounding out the alphabet. Now they cling to one another, crying, laughing, and taking final photos. Hugs linger longer than they used to. Goodbyes sound heavier. This is the last time most of you will ever be in the same room together. A chapter ends right here and a new one begins, pushing all of you towards futures that seem thrilling and terrifying at the same time.

 And out of all the things you imagined about that future, you never once pictured that Heeseung would be coming with you. 

—

Present 

It’s the first day of your Corporate Finance class, a notorious course at Harvard for aspiring business students. Not because the professor has a 1.0 on Rate My Professors. Not because the class is impossible to pass. But because of the final project, a case analysis for Goldman Sachs, where students are grouped into pairs. The professor selects the student with the better grade from the highest-scoring pair for a summer internship at Goldman. One spot. One career-defining opportunity. It’s brutal. Students show up twenty minutes early to claim a front-row seat as if it’s a battlefield. Goldman is nearly impossible to break into, and every student in this room would sell their soul for this internship.

After introductions, the professor is about to go over the syllabus when the door opens. You glance back without thinking like you always do when someone walks in late. Jake Sim walks in first and right behind him is—Heeseung. What? He shouldn’t be here. Jake is practically in all of your classes as he's also an Econ student (unfortunately), but Heeseung is a history major. This class has absolutely nothing to do with his track. For the first two years of college, you’ve managed to avoid Heeseung surprisingly well. Although it’s a relatively small school, your paths didn’t intertwine as much as you feared it would. Your schedules only overlapped once in a mandatory first-year economics course that both Econ and History students had to take. That lecture was massive, and you could barely find your own friends, let alone Heeseung. Assignments were all individual, so avoiding him was effortless. Occasionally, you’d catch glimpses of him around campus, usually with Jay, Jake, Sunghoon, or the Harvard Football team. You'd see him at crowded study spaces, popular hangouts spots, and even at parties, but you never spoke, and you were perfectly fine with that. 

Your shoulders stiffen and your breath catches as you hear Heeseung trudging down the steps with a faint jingle of his backpack. His footsteps slow, then stop. You don't need to look, you can feel him behind you. You don't dare to move as he settles into the seat directly behind, creaking as he pulls the desk out. The air around you shifts. Every sound is sharper and your pulse is suddenly too loud in your ears. Why did he choose to sit right behind you? You glance around the lecture hall to check for empty seats, but of course, this class is packed with every row nearly filled. It means nothing. Once again, you feel pathetic at how you heart lurches at the smallest proximity, overthinking every situation you two end up in together while he's probably not thinking about you at all. You grip your pen a little too tightly as you remind yourself that it's been years and you're no longer fazed when your professor proceeds with explaining the syllabus after the brief interruption.

"As you may already know, the case makes up a significant portion of your grade. 60% of your final mark comes from your case project and the remaining 40% is from your midterm grade. I'm aware that most of you are here for the internship opportunity, so I won't waste time on anything unnecessary. You'll be working in pairs for the case and each team will have to submit a written report detailing your analysis and proposed solution. You'll also deliver a 10 minute presentation followed by a 10 minute Q&A session. Two representatives from Goldman and I will evaluate your cases. From the highest scoring pair, we will select the student with the higher midterm grade for the internship. I recommend all of you begin early. With that said, I'll be announcing the pairs."

This is your chance. The one opportunity to prove you got here on your own. You refuse to follow in your parents' footsteps, refuse to have your last name dismissed as nothing more than a spoiled, nepo baby who only got in because of her daddy. You're walking a path that's entirely yours. As your professor moves down the list, you silently hope for Sophia, your roommate who should be sitting right next to you, but isn't back from summer vacation yet. She's smart, reliable, and professional, which is exactly what you need for this project.

"Y/N L/N and Heeseung Lee." The words hit you before you can even process them. Behind you, you hear his breath hitch, quiet, but unmistakable. Your heart is stuck in your throat as you're rooted in you're seat. You just stare straight ahead, refusing to turn around and give him even a slightest bit of reaction. How is this even fair? You know almost everyone in this class, countless people you'd rather be paired with, and yet the moment Heeseung walks in, you get partnered with him? You're fuming at how the universe has a proven track record of torturing you with the one person that had your whole heart and crushed it.

"I'll let everyone exchange contact information with their partners. You're dismissed early today," your professor says.

You don't move an inch until you hear Heeseung clear his throat behind you. "Hey," he hesitates before continuing, "What's your number… or has it changed after all these years?" You scoff. "No, let's just communicate with our school emails." But the question lands harder than it should. Has it changed after all these years? A simple, practical question that needed to be asked, and yet it feels like a reminder. A reminder that maybe you're still the same girl you were seven years ago. The girl who still searched for him in the hallways when he was skipping school to hookup with other girls. The girl who cried too easily when he was involved. The girl who never mattered to him as much as he mattered to you.

"You want us to communicate through email? No one checks their email as often as their messages," Heeseung says, already annoyed, clicking his tongue. "Look, I'm going to be late for football practice. Let's not make this any harder than it has to be, Y/N," he sighs as he reaches for his phone. Your nostrils flare at his tone. It's condescending as if he's explaining something to a toddler. "How dare I waste the star quarterback's time," your sneer, voice dripping with sarcasm. Heeseung clicks his tongue once again, and you swear you almost lunged forward to rip his obnoxious tongue out. "Yeah, okay… real funny," he says, bored.

The urge to strangle him is so strong, but you force yourself to take a deep breath. You're better than this. You're not fourteen anymore, waiting for him at your recital with pink tulips in his hands. You're not seventeen anymore, waiting for him to come back to you, hoping he'd finally choose you over all those girls and the partying. You're not that girl anymore and once this project is over, your life will go back to normal. Back to the version of yourself you've been rebuilding all these years, one that doesn't flinch at the sight of him around campus. "Fine. It's the same number." you mutter, meeting his eyes for a second before lowering your gaze to the floor. Before he can say anything else, you turn around and head towards the exit.

You're almost at the door when Jake's obnoxiously loud voice cuts in. "Bro, what's her problem? She's hot though—if she wasn't so annoying, I'd probably—" Before you can turn back around and strangle the shit out of him, his words are cut off abruptly, but you don't turn around. You don't want to know if it was Heeseung who stopped him. You don't want to get your hopes up. Not again. Not like that night at prom. Because Heeseung doesn't care about you. He never did.

—

As you open the door to your apartment, you find Yunjin and Manon sprawled on the couch, watching The Summer I Turned Pretty. "Did she seriously just accept his proposal after finding out he cheated?" Yunjin gasps. "He could've at least gotten her a ring with a rock that wasn't as nonexistent as my love life." "Ugh, I'm so done with this show, Yun. Please stop making me watch this shit with you," Manon groans, horrified at the scene on the TV.

Sophia is on the floor beside the couch, unpacking her luggage. Her eyes go wide when she sees you. "Oh my god, Y/N. I missed you so much!" she squeals, attempting to launch herself in your arms for a hug, but you dodge it. "You traitorous hoe… I thought you were supposed to be back yesterday," you sulk, sporting an exaggerated pout. "I'm sorry, love. I was so jet lagged after my flight, so I ended up staying the night at home," she laughs softly, mirroring your pout. "Will you forgive me if I told you I got you a bunch of gifts," Sophia says with a sly smirk, knowing you too well. "Fine, but don't ever leave me alone in class again," you mutter. "I want someone to hit my head really hard so I can forget about what happened today," you groan.

Yunjin and Manon wander over after Manon aggressively shuts off the TV, completely over the show. "Whoa—what happened?" Yunjin asks, raising her brows. "How do you already look so annoyed this early in the morning," she chuckles. "Oh please, you're one to talk," Manon cuts in. "This is you literally everyday." Yunjin gasps as she smacks Manon's arm, offended. "Hey! I'm a ray of sunshine."

Yunjin, Sophia, and Manon are your roommates. You met Sophia in first year when you realized you both had the same classes as Econ majors. You two instantly clicked over your shared love for overpriced matcha lattes, complaining about your 8 AM tutorials, and absolutely crushing the arrogant guys in class discussions. She's outspoken, witty, and impossible not to love. You and Yunjin met Manon in a Psych elective. She boldly walked up to the two of you, dropped her backpack onto the desk, and asked, "So when are we meeting?" "For the group project," she clarified, unfazed when the two of you stared at her like she was crazy. "It's a group of five, and I'm guessing your group isn't full yet." Manon is laid back and effortlessly confident until there are flashing lights, booming music, and drinks involved. Then she becomes completely unhinged, the kind of chaotic energy and passion for partying that is frighteningly similar to Yunjin.

Somehow, the four of you have settled into each other's lives without even noticing. You know each other's habits, late night cravings, and academic breaking points. You know who shuts down during exam season, who stress-eats (Yunjin), who stress-cleans (Sophia), who stress-smokes (Manon), and who stress-bakes (you).

They also know about your history with Heeseung. You were completely blindsided when you found out he was also attending Harvard. You never thought he would even end up here with you. Not with how often he skipped school. But being born into an elite family with a Harvard-educated mother has its perks. He was practically guaranteed an acceptance. And it certainly didn't hurt that he was one of the best high school football players in the country, recruited to play for Harvard's team.

During your freshman year, the entire campus scrambled to get tickets for the first football game of the year. Most of the excitement centered around the new players, Heeseung, Jake, and Sunghoon. During orientation, girls were already following them on Instagram, memorizing their practice schedules, and every dining hall sighting turned into gossip. Sophia and Manon were no exception. Although they weren't nearly as obsessed as the other girls, they were still drawn to the trio's so-called charm. "I want to ride Sunghoon's abs," Manon smirked, scrolling through a photo of him at practice. "I wish I were the ball," Sophia sighed dramatically. You practically had to pinch Yunjin to stop her from shouting obscenities every time the two of them thirsted over the boys.

They tried numerous times to drag you to the ticket booth, but Manon and Sophia grew confused by your unwavering protests. You eventually told them the truth and they immediately understood why watching Harvard's newest star quarterback wasn't exactly on your bucket list. Their excitement dimmed, replaced with protective looks. "We're definitely not going then, babe," Manon said gently, squeezing you hand. "He's not even hot anyway." "And we're so sorry for talking about him in front of you this whole time. I swear I'll throw my matcha latte at him the next time I see him," Sophia added, her face morphed into disgust. "I'm totally on board with that!" Yunjin cheered. "It's about time you guys realized how fucking ugly those assholes are." She gagged so dramatically you'd think she was more furious than you. But then again, Yunjin always has your back.

"No no no… there's no need for that, but I love you guys to death for being so understanding," you chuckle, waving your hand dismissively. "And seriously, go to the football game if you want. I don't want to stop you guys just because of our history. Plus—I really don't mind." "What do you take us for?" Sophia gasped dramatically, hand flying to her chest like you just insulted her. "We want nothing to do with Heesuck now. You come first before all these boys."

The memory fades when you realize the three of them are staring at you impatiently like hungry kittens waiting to be fed."I got paired with… him for the case project," you swallow harshly, dropping your gaze to the floor. "I've been looking forward to this since forever ago, and now it feels like everything is crashing down. Am I dramatic for letting this get to me? I mean, I thought I moved on from everything that happened, but it's feels like—" You cut yourself off because if you continue your words, saying it will make your feelings real.

Manon's jaw drops first. "You're kidding, right?" she breathes. "Harvard has like thousands of business student—hell, half the student body is practically in business, and they still paired you with Heesuck, a random History major? Why is he even in this class? That's actually criminal." Sophia slams her hands against the kitchen counter. "I knew Dr. Schmidt was evil all along. Nobody should trust a man who wears loafers without socks. Nobody," she emphasizes for the second time. Yunjin's eyes are already blazing by this point. "Dramatic? You? No. If anything, you're being too calm about this. I would've packed my bags and dropped the class immediately after catching wind of his face," She huffs. "Actually, give me like five minutes, and I'll write the drop-out email." Their protective reactions almost make you laugh, but the tightness in your chest doesn't subside, and they notice.

Sophia immediately softens, pulling you to the couch. "Hey," she murmurs, nudging your shoulder gently. "You don't have to pretend this doesn't hurt." Manon nods vigorously. "Yeah, this isn't typical boy drama. It's much deeper than that, and you have every right to feel this way." Yunjin immediately melts into your side, wrapping her arm around you. "Exactly. Besides, I was joking about dropping the class. You've worked so hard for this, and you're genuinely the smartest person I know. Don't give up just because of him. He doesn't deserve the satisfaction of ruining something you've wanted for years." She squeezes your shoulders, her voice soft but firm. "He's just an inconvenience, but if you put everything aside, you'll get the internship for sure. Without a doubt." Yunjin reassures.

"Hey! What about me?" Sophia feigns hurt with an exaggerated pout, clearly just trying to cheer you up. "You'd better watch out, Sophia because I'm not holding back," you stick out your tongue, finally laughing. "Thank you. I mean it. I'm not sure what I'd do without you guys," your mouth quivers, and you lean your head on Yunjin's shoulder. The weight of everything easing a little. "I think I'm going to take a nap before dinner with the boys," you say, tired from waking up at the crack of dawn and your unexpected reunion with Heeseung.

"Sure, babe," Yunjin nods gently, giving you a soft smile. "Do you guys want to come? Jay's making steak to celebrate him and Jungwon landing venture capital for their startup," Yunjin asks, turning to Sophia and Manon. "Nah, it's a special moment you should enjoy alone. Besides, I convinced Sophia to come with me to a frat party at Northeastern tonight," Manon smirks, proud of herself for convincing Sophia to come, who absolutely hates frat bros with every fiber of her being. "I swear to god, if any frat bro tries to press up against me like last time, I'm fucking knocking his teeth out," Sophia threatens, already regretting her decision. You shake your head and laugh at how Sophia will probably end up punching one anyway with her short-temper before heading into your room.

As you try to fall asleep, your mind constantly drifts back to Heeseung, wondering what you should do. The last thing you want is it be stuck in a tiny room with him for the entire semester, pretending the past doesn't exist while you work on a project that decides your future. You toss and turn in your bed at the unpleasant memories you haven't thought about in years until your eyes finally grow heavy.

—

You and Yunjin arrive at the boys' doorstep, each of you holding warm, freshly made side dishes even though Jay told you not to bother. Compared to your cozy, homey, brownstone, Sunoo, Jungwon, and Niki live in a sleek modern condo with floor-to-ceiling windows. They live about a ten minute walk from your place, making sure you all live in close proximity to each other. It's not hard considering you all go to school in Cambridge with Sunoo and Niki both attending Harvard for Theatre, Dance, and Media. Jungwon is effortlessly brilliant, accepted to MIT's Electrical Engineering and Computer Science program. Since MIT is practically next door to Harvard, it only made sense for him to live with the boys.

Jay also goes to Harvard for Computer Science but lives with Heeseung, Jake, and Sunghoon. Technically, anyway because he's basically living with Jungwon since they're always holed up working on their growing startup, Pathify. The two of them became close due to their shared passion for tech and eventually started Pathify together. Jay is like the older brother you've always wished for. Thankfully, he's completely different from Jake and Sunghoon. He doesn't go around acting like a pompous asshole who's still clinging to his high school ways—constantly partying and sleeping around as if it's some kind of extracurricular activity. When Jay's not too busy with Pathify, he spends his days cooking, experimenting with new recipes, taking photos of literally anything that catches his eye, and talking endlessly about Max Verstappen, the Dutch F1 Driver who he's obsessed with.

Yunjin has interrogated him countless times about why he still hangs out with them. But he always gives the same answer. "Our fathers were best friends growing up, so naturally we are too. You know how it works with people like us. You grow up together your whole lives, tolerate their flaws, and make excuses for them." As much as you hate to admit it, you know Jay's right. People like you didn't always choose your childhood friends. You inherited them. You grew up side by side, learned to overlook their worst qualities, and convinced yourself it wasn't worth the drama to question any of it. So you stick by these people because they're the only ones who truly understand your world or because parents insists these connections are good for business. Thankfully, your parents never cared about any of that.

The door swings open, and you're greeted by Jay , still wearing his apron and a pair of cooking gloves. Yunjin snorts. "Wow, look at you. Gordon Ramsay would be shaking in his boots." Jay rolls his eyes but steps aside to let you both in. "Oh please, Ramsay wishes he had my knife skills." Yunjin leans in and whispers loudly, "I've seen toddlers with Play-Doh who chop straighter." "Alright, cut it out, Yunjin," you chuckle, nudging her shoulder. "Thank you for having us and making dinner, Jay! Congratulations on the venture capital! Pathify is going to be huge." Jay's expression softens immediately with pride. "Thank you, Y/N. I'll give you access to unlimited pro features," he winks. "And I told you guys not to bring anything. You should be more like the guys who contributed absolutely nothing," Jay snickers, taking the mashed potatoes from you and the bread from Yunjin as you both slip off your shoes.

"Hey! You're using our kitchen by the way," Niki heckles from the dining room. You shake your head at the chaos. "You know we could never show up empty handed." You all settle into the dining room as Jay finishes plating the food."Enjoy, everyone," Jay announces as he sets the final dish in the center of the table. The aroma alone makes you feel more at ease compared to this morning.

"Wait!" Sunoo interjects. "We need to make a toast to Jungwon and Jay for their success with Pathify! To Pathify," He beams proudly as he raises his glass of wine. "To Pathify!" you all repeat in unison. "Thank you, guys," Jungwon and Jay say, exchanging proud glances before lifting their own glasses.

As everyone digs into the Michelin Star level food, you all update each other on recent events—Yunjin recounting how someone tried to plagiarize her artwork. Sunoo complaining that his skin has been breaking out ever since he got back to Cambridge. Niki ranting about how stinky his dance partner smells after rehearsal. Jungwon explaining what happened during their latest investor meeting, and Jay interrupting every few minutes to ask if the seasoning is good. It feels warm and familiar, enough to make you forget about the stress sitting at the back of your mind—until you're asked about your classes. "Oh—Y/N, how's that finance class going? Are you ready for the case?" Sunoo asks suddenly, looking at you with innocent curiosity as he pops a roasted carrot into his mouth. The question makes you freeze mid-bite, your fork hovering halfway to your mouth as the piece of steak feels heavy in your hand. "I—I don't know. I'm not sure if it'll go well with… my partner," you say quietly.

Yunjin clears her throat, trying to change the topic. "Maybe we should talk about something else." "Why? Who is it?" Niki asks as everyone looks at you curiously, waiting for an answer. "Uh… it's H—Heeseung," you mutter, chest tightening at the reminder. Everyone's eyes and mouth drop at the same time. Sunoo's fork drops against the table, Niki looks offended on your behalf, Jungwon's brows knit in concern, and Jay chokes on his whine. "Whoa, are you okay, Y/N? He's a History major… what is he even doing in your class. Have you tried switching partners?" These questions are thrown at you all at once, overlapping so fast you can't even tell who's speaking. "It's whatever… I don't really care," you lie, shrugging like it's nothing. "But, I'd prefer not to talk about it if that's alright. You know… because we shouldn't be talking too much about school during this celebration," you say, setting down your fork.

The table goes unusually quiet. Yunjin's hand immediately finds your knee under the table and gives it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "Of course," Jungwon says gently, breaking the awkward silence. "Let's not talk about school when we're here to celebrate."Everyone nods in agreement. Just like that, the conversation shifts and everyone steers away from the topic."It's been a while since we've all taken a group photo. Shall we take one?" you ask, trying not to spoil the dinner any further. "Yes, of course," Sunoo immediately agrees, practically squealing. Afterward, you flop back into your seats, posting the pictures on Instagram. There are chaotic pictures with Yunjin flipping off the camera, Niki blinking, and Sunoo looking beyond annoyed at the two. Jay, quite the minimalist, posts a clean group photo (without Yunjin's middle finger of course).

At their shared apartment, Heeseung sees the notification while sprawled lazily on the couch after practice. He taps it without much interest, expecting another Pathify update. But instead, he sees you. Right there in the center, smiling with your friends who used to be his too. Heeseung holds his thumb against the Instagram story, stopping it from skipping ahead. He just stares at the photo… at you. Something prickles under his skin. It's unsettling, almost irritating because he shouldn't be looking. He tells himself it's just because he's exhausted from practice and that seeing you again up close after all these years probably just threw him off. And yet he doesn't move an inch. Not for a minute. Not for two.

He's still staring blankly at the photo with a weird feeling gnawing at his chest when the front door bursts open. "BROOO, WE'RE HOOOME," Jake shouts, tripping over his own feet as Sunghoon stumbles in right behind, equally wasted. "HEEESEUNGGG—YOU SHOULD'VE COME, YOU FUCKING PUSSYYY," Sunghoon yells, clutching his stomach like he's about to projectile vomit all over the expensive rug. They're too loud. An absolute disaster at their big grown age. Heeseung clears his throat, finally locking his phone before tossing it onto the cushion beside him like it was suddenly too heavy. Whatever that moment was, whatever he felt, he shuts it down before it even forms because he's not allowed to.

—

The next morning, your alarm goes off far too early for someone who stayed up drinking with their friends until 2 a.m. You groan into your pillow, smashing the snooze button before finally dragging yourself out of your soft, warm bed. Your head is foggy, not from drinking, just from thinking. Specifically, about how you're going to start working on the case with the person you refused to talk about at dinner. You rub your eyes and glance at your phone. Of course your friends are blowing up your phone in the group chat.

yunjin's hoes:

yunnie: someone pls send the photos of Niki drooling on the couch, passed out with his ass up in the air sunsun: [image sent] #flat #wedontjudge #itsasafeplace niki minaj: FLAT??? be serious bro my ass is THICCC AND PLUMPPP wonnie: Disgusting. You're cleaning up your drool stains, Niki. verstappen's bf: LOL also pls remember to heat up the leftovers on the stove or in the oven… NOT THE MICROWAVE sunsun: why do u sound like a dad rn verstappen's bf: because last time niki microwaved it for 10 minutes and it came out looking like my shit after eating taco bell… niki minaj: OK I WAS DRUNK yunnie: nah you're just an idiot LOL niki minaj: Y/N pls get in here and defend m you: NAUR… you drool on shared couches and can't even reheat food at the big age of 20…

After replying to the group chat, which always seems to end with everyone targeting Niki (lovingly and jokingly of course), you move on to your morning routine. You pull on the softest, warmest sweater you own now that the weather's getting colder and make yourself a warm cup of coffee. With no classes today, you decide to stay in, settle at your desk, and finally start working on the case. If you're going to be stuck working with Heeseung, you're at least determined to do most of the work without relying on him. You reread the entire case brief, highlight key points, and start building an outline. You dive into research, pulling academic journals, financial data, and comparable models. The document is filled with bullet points and research notes. You've been typing away in the document for two hour—until your phone vibrates beside your laptop. It's a text from an unknown number.

Unknown Number: hey we need to talk about the case. it's heeseung btw

Your fingers tighten slightly around your phone. You never asked for his number. Then it hits you—his number changed. You know this not because you memorized his stupid number, but because the area code is different. His number has a Cambridge area code rather than one from back home. Wait—you only told him your number was the same. You never actually gave it to him. You didn't text it to him. You didn't read it to him. You didn't write it for him. Which could only mean one thing—did he really memorize your number after all these years? Even through high school and college. Even through a new carrier and a new phone. Even after everything that happened. Your pulse quickens and your stomach twists at the thought of it. No. You refuse to believe that. You refuse to let yourself entertain the idea that he might care, that Lee Heeseung, of all people, would hold onto something as small and insignificant as your phone number. You won't allow yourself to go there. Not after everything.You scoff and shake your head, forcing yourself back into reality and reply to his texts.

You: what's your school email?

He replies instantly.

Unknown Number: [email protected] You: i'll send an outline with everything i have so far. Unknown Number: alright i'll work on it right now You: no need to. you can just work on the presentation once i'm done with the research and proposal.

You've already decided you want to avoid Heeseung as much possible until the presentation, so you'll do most of the work. It's safer that way. Besides, he'll only hinder your chances of getting the internship. He's probably more focused on football and girls rather than his GPA anyway.

Your phone buzzes again.

Unknown Number: ??? Unknown Number: the report is the hardest part… we're in pairs for a reason

The typing bubble appears again, disappears, then reappears like he's trying to figure what he should and shouldn't say. You exhale sharply, irritation rising in your chest. Fine.

You: look, let's not make this any harder than it has to be.

The exact same line he threw at you in class. A beat of silence follows. Then the typing bubble appears.

Unknown Number: don't. i'm trying to make this easier, not harder. you're the one fighting me on everything

He's unmistakeably annoyed and for some reason that only irritates you more. You should be the only one annoyed and furious. The audacity of it makes your jaw clench so tightly aches. You want to slap him across the face because he has no right, no right at all to sound frustrated with you when you're the one who was wronged. Not him.

Unknown Number: just meet me at the library please, Y/N

Your breath hitches. Of course he's fine with meeting. Of course he thinks this is nothing but a normal discussion between classmates. Of course it doesn't affect him the way it affects you—sitting alone with him, pretending nothing ever happened between you two.

You: 6:00. don't be late.

You agree anyway. You tell yourself it's only for the project, and you're mature enough to speak to him without slapping the shit out of him. You tell yourself it's fine and that you can treat him like any other classmate. You tell yourself a lot things, but none of them feel true.

You're supposed to meet at 6, which means you have to leave your place by 5:50 to get there on time, but it's 5:55, and you just got out of bed. You've finally accepted the plan that you've been thinking of doing for the last hour. You're making him wait for you. Not too long, just enough to feel like you have even the slightest bit of control in this damning situation. It's petty, immature, and exactly the kind of thing you swore you wouldn't do. You snort to yourself as you slip on your shoes. "Sure. Mature. Very adult of me."

It's 6:00 when you grab your bag. You take one deep breath, and walk out the door. You arrive at the library at 6:10, feeling the tiniest spark of satisfaction curling in your chest. Ten minutes late—it's not enough to be rude, but just enough to make him wait. And he did. Heeseung is already there, leaning against his chair on the second floor where he told you he found a table. His head is tilted slightly like he's been scanning the crowd for you. Good. Let him wait, you think, with a victorious gleam in your eye—until you see her. A really pretty girl walks up to Heeseung. Like really pretty. The kind of pretty that looks like she just stepped off the Victoria's Secret runway. She's effortlessly stunning with silky, perfectly blown-out hair, and legs for days. She laughs at something he says, her hand landing on his chest like there's no personal space between the two of them. Her touch lingers there, softly gripping the fabric of his hoodie.

And he lets her. He just sits there, letting her giggle at whatever bland joke he made, letting her invade his space. Of course this jerk is flirting with a ridiculously hot girl at the library he practically begged you to meet him at. Absolutely typical. You scowl, agitated by him once again. You straighten your shoulder, smooth your sweater, and walk toward the table with your chin up, expression dry, and stride calm and collected. Once you reach the table, you clear your throat loud enough to cut through her laughter. "I have to go in an hour. Can we get this over with?" you lie. You actually have no where else to be after this. The girl's laughter dies instantly, and she drops her hand from his chest, stepping back slightly as she gives you a once over with a piercing glare.

Heeseung straightens in his chair, expression flickering with surprise and something else that you can't exactly place. Weird… you expected him to look more annoyed. "Yeah," he says a little too quickly. "I'll see you later, Emily." The girl squeezes his arm lightly. "Text me later?" she asks, sending him a smile sweet enough to rot his teeth. You roll your eyes and drop into the chair across from him, your bag hitting the table harder than intended. The truth is, Heeseung saw you before she even walked over. He'd been waiting for you nervously, feet bouncing against the floor, his eyes flicking toward the entrance every time he heard footsteps. He noticed you the moment you stepped onto the second floor, ten minutes late, eyes scanning the tables with the guarded look you always wear when you're bracing for something. God, he still knows everything about you.

He noticed Emily hovering too, the girl who's practically been stalking him since freshman year. He could've ignored her or shut the conversation down before it even started like he usually does, but he didn't this time. Heeseung let her talk, laugh at some meaningless comment, and touch his chest with her bony fingers pricking through his hoodie. And he did it because he knew you were watching. Heeseung wasn't interested, flirting, or even listening. He was waiting for you to walk up, waiting to see if you'd react, waiting to confirm something he shouldn't want to know. The moment he saw your face tighten, something ugly settled in his chest. Satisfaction. It lasted half a second before the guilt slammed into him. What the hell is he doing? Hasn't he hurt you enough?

By the time you sit down, he's already running a hand over his jaw, regret coiling inside his stomach. God, he is such an ass. You don't give him time to speak. "Let's go over what I've found," you say flatly, opening your laptop. You explain your outline without looking at him once, but you can feel his eyes on you, heat crawling up the back of your neck. Why is he looking at you like that? He should be looking at the screen, not you. You swallow hard, trying to keep your eyes on the outline. "I'll keep researching until I have enough to build a solid recommendation with supporting evidences," you murmur. "This case needs a defensible analysis. Dr. Schmidt is going to tear our work apart if my research isn't thorough enough. No wonder they gave us the whole semester."

"You're still planning on doing all of this by yourself?" His voice is low, with an edge to it.

"Yes." You don't even look up. "We'll only need to meet to prepare for the presentation."

There's a long pause before he finally lets out a sigh. "I know you wish you were paired with literally anyone else, but we don't have a choice," he says quietly.

Your fingers freeze above the keyboard. You hate that your body always seems to react before your mind does when it comes to him. You hate that your heart always fucking hurts because of him. Because hate isn't entirely it. It was never that simple, and he has no idea. If you just hated him, this would be easier. You could face him without your heart cracking every time he looks at you. But there's too much history wrapped up in him. Too many things left unsaid. Too many versions of him layered over each other in your memory for it to be easy for you.

He continues, jaw tightening. "This is my grade too." You finally lift your eyes, meeting his stare. He's right. He is supposed to do this with you, and you know that. But it doesn't stop the irritation you feel at his sudden insistence on being involved, such a sharp contrast to how he was in high school. It makes you almost scoff out loud. "I'm not hurting your grade," you say through gritted teeth. "I'm putting my all into this because I want the internship more than anything, and I'm not letting anyone, especially you, ruin it for me."

You have to set these boundaries. As stupid as it is, you still can't trust yourself around him even after all these years. "I'll handle the analysis and report. You can take the presentation." Heeseung watches you for a moment longer like he wants to argue, like there's something on the tip of his tongue, but the look on your face makes him stop. "Okay," he says finally, resigned.

But he doesn't listen. Heeseung works on the case over the next couple of weeks despite your wish. Instead of letting the boys drag him to frat parties and bars, Heeseung shows up to the library alone, usually late at night after football practice, still sweaty, hair damp, and body aching, which he tries to ignore. Throughout college, this being his third year, Heeseung has never spent as much time in the library as he has over these past few weeks. It's honestly diabolical. He rereads the case brief until it finally clicks, highlighting key information, and jotting down notes. He pulls financial statements, industry reports, academic journals, and forms valuations, seeing if his research can support your proposed solution and running the numbers to see if they line up with yours.

Truthfully, Heeseung has been struggling. Struggling would be an understatement, but it's not because he's stupid. This class just has nothing to do with his major. He ends up asking Jake for help, a decision he almost regrets when Jake never lets him hear the end of it, but Heeseung takes it. All of it. Because he knows how much this means to you. How hard you've been working for it. He refuses to be careless when your future depends on it. Eventually, Heeseung opens the shared document. He's careful about not daring to touch your work, but he adds his beneath it. He leaves comments, resources, clarifying questions that Dr. Schmidt might ask, and notes in the margin, pointing out potential risks and strengthening the argument. When Heeseung's done for the night, he saves the document and closes his laptop, rubbing a hand over his face, thinking about what you might say.

You refuse to work with him or even be in the same vicinity as him, so Heeseung keeps showing up in the only way he can—quietly, carefully, and without asking for permission. You immediately notice his work the moment you open the document the next morning. New text beneath yours, comments in the margins, and timestamps that stretch late into the night. Your jaw tightens. Of course he didn't listen. Your phone is already in your hand before you even finish scrolling, fingers practically flying as you type a sharp, angry text about him doing exactly what you told him not to do, but then you pause and actually read it. You skim through at first, quick and irritated, looking for anything to justify snapping at him. Maybe a wrong assumption, a sloppy calculation, or a comment that oversteps. Instead, you find citations you hadn't come across yet as well as evidences and risks you mentioned briefly that he expanded on with thoughtful insights. You scroll slower. Heeseung's work isn't half-assed or contradicting. They actually support and strengthen your analysis and proposal. He fixed the weak spots in your work that have been causing you so much stress.

Your drafted text sits unsent as you lean back in your chair, exhaling through your nose. This isn't what you wanted or asked for, but it's also good. Very good. You lock your phone without sending the explosive message, eyes drifting back to the document. For the first time since being paired with Heeseung, you feel something other than angry. You feel relieved and grateful. Your mind eases for the first time in weeks with Heeseung's help that you so stubbornly refused at first. Embarrassment trickles in along with a faint of guilt at how immature you've been, so determined to shut him out even when he was only trying to help.

You don't like admitting it, even to yourself, but you were wrong to doubt Heeseung. He actually made this lighter and manageable in a way it hadn't been before. Maybe you owe Heeseung an apology or at least a thank you, but before you can spiral over that too, you finally decide to take a break from this grueling case you've been buried in. You end up at one of the dance studios on campus. You haven't been here for far too long.

Although you quit ballet midway through high school to focus on your studies, you always find yourself back in the studio every once in a while. You truly love ballet, and you've never really stopped dancing. It's the one thing that still helps quiet your mind. The studio is empty and quiet, sunlight spilling in through the windows, and mirrors lining the walls. You change into your leotard, tights, and point shoes, stepping onto the floor as Swan Lake begins to play. Your body remembers before your mind does. And for the first time in weeks, you're not thinking about the case, the internship, or Heeseung. Just the quiet comfort of returning to something no one can take away from you.

Heeseung is on his way to class when the music nearby stops him. He freezes. Swan Lake. The sound leaks through the studio door. It's unmistakable. It's the same song you used to practice to over and over again when he'd be sitting off to the side, watching you intently with a brownie stuffed in his pocket, saving it for you. It's the one song you always went back to because you said it helped you focus and it made everything else disappear. His chest tightens. For a moment, he just stands there, staring at the closed studio door like it might disappear if he looks away. He hasn't heard this song in years, not since before everything fell apart.

Heeseung swallows, hesitating before taking a careful step closer. Through the narrow window in the door, he sees you. You're moving with such an angelic grace that steals the air from his lungs. It's familiar and effortless, like your body never forgot even if life forced you to step away. Each movement is precise, controlled, and achingly beautiful. He forces himself not to breathe too loudly, afraid that even the smallest sound might shatter what's unfolding in front of him. So he just watches, rooted in place, heart heavy with a realization he doesn't know how to carry. You never stopped being this person. But somewhere along the way, he became something so ugly. Maybe he always has been. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be near you. He would only taint you, ruin you like he was told. And they were right. But Heeseung lets himself be selfish one last time because seeing you like this, alone, focused, untouched by everything between you, feels like stumbling upon something sacred, precious. Something you once shared with him.

But the guilt tears him apart when he remembers the morning he was supposed to go the Varna Ballet Competition. The one you wouldn't stop talking about for months. The one that actually mattered. You told him it was the most important recital of your life, the kind dancers trained years for. You didn't even have to make him promise he'd be there because he always was. Until he wasn't.

He had been pacing in his room that morning, fingers fumbling with the top button of his dress shirt, heart pounding as the promises he made twisted tighter and tighter in his chest when Sooah knocked on his door. She didn't yell or scold, but she was tired, confused, and disappointed. Disappointed by the sudden distance he'd put between himself and you, the girl who was like a daughter to her. The girl who used to be the only person capable of pulling a smile out of her son when no one else could. "Come with me, honey." she pleaded, voice strained. "She needs you there."

But he hesitated too long. By the time he stepped into the hallway, Sooah was already heading for the door. When he reached it, she was pulling out of the driveway, the red glow of her taillights disappearing into the dark. Panic had hit him all at once. "Wait—" he shouted as tears spilled out of his eyes, throwing the door open and bolting outside with his mismatch shoes stomping against the pavement.

But he didn't make it past the porch. Minsuk latched onto his arm firmly, pulling him back inside. "You can't go," he said quietly. "I'm sorry, son." Heeseung fought him. Well at least he tried to. Thrashing in his father's arms and yelling as if he could still catch up to his mother. Like he could still make it in time if he just ran fast enough. But he couldn't. The driveway was empty, the house was quiet, and the bouquet of pink tulips he was supposed to give you sat abandoned on his desk, slowly wilting beneath the weight of one of the promises he couldn't keep.

He let you believe he simply didn't care enough to show up. Now, standing in the hallway outside the studio as Swan Lake fills the air again, the same helplessness crashes into him. The same regret. The same sick understanding that maybe he did have a choice after all. And for the first time in a long time, he's close enough to see it. Close enough to know exactly what he lost. Break it. That's what he should've done.

You hold your last pose, arms extended, chin lifted, and body perfectly still during the final notes of Swan Lake. You don't rush it. You never do, but this time, you really want to. Heeseung watches through the narrow window, breath shallow, afraid that if he moves, the moment will break. But you already know he's there. You caught his reflection in the mirror mid-pirouette, a figure at the door that didn't belong to the empty studio you thought you had to yourself.

The music fades. You remain frozen for a beat longer than necessary, muscles burning, heart racing, not just from the dance, but from the weight of Heeseung watching you. Slowly, you lower your arms and exhale, the room settling into silence. You straighten your shoulders, gaze fixed on your reflection in the mirror, and force your voice to stay calm. "I know you've been standing there… so just come in," you say, unsure of your invitation. You should've just ignored him. Fuck.

Heeseung hesitates before pulling the door open. His face is flushed, embarrassed now that he knows you caught him watching. He steps inside carefully, unsure if he's even allowed to exist in this space with you at all. He looks dazed like he hasn't fully caught up to what's happening. "I didn't mean to—" he starts, then stops. "I heard the music on my way to class."

You wipe the sweat from your neck before turning to face him, your expression unreadable. "It's Swan Lake," you say simply. "But you already know that." His jaw tightens at that. He nods, eyes dropping to the floor. "I remember," he says quietly. After a pause, he adds, "You were amazing by the way—the dance I mean." His face turns even redder like he regrets saying anything at all now.

The air between you shifts, growing heavier. "Thanks… and for helping with the research," you mutter. "Nah," Heeseung says quickly. "I couldn't let you carry it all alone." Silence stretches between you. Thick and uncomfortable until you're fed up again. What the hell is his problem? He's been showing up, helping, watching you dance like it means something, and acting like he cares after all this time. He doesn't get to do that. You clench your fists, frustration boiling over too fast before you can stop it. "Why are you doing this?" you snap. He looks up, startled. "All of it," you continue, voice tight. "The help. The concern. The pretending like none of this is fucking weird." You're so angry and exhausted. After all these years, he still won't tell you why he left. But you've decided it makes no sense. There has to be a reason. A bigger one. Because he's been looking at you the way he looked at you during prom, like someone who wants you, but is restraining themselves. Not someone who doesn't care. Not someone who moved on.

Heeseung swallows hard, bracing himself before taking a small step closer, afraid you might vanish if he doesn't. "I'm sorry," he says, rough and unfinished. "For the project. For before. For everything. I know apologies won't fix what I did, but I need you to know I never meant to hurt you." You let out a humorless laugh as you cross your arms. He's seven years too late. "Why?" you press. The single word stops him cold. "Why did you do all of it?" your voice trembles as tears blur your vision. Your cries hit him like a punch to the gut.

His chest tightens painfully, breath catching as he watches your face crumble in front of him. Every instinct in him screams for him to close the distance, to reach out and wipe your tears away the way he used to, to hold you until the shaking stops, but he doesn't move. He knows he doesn't deserve that kind of closeness anymore. Not after everything he's done. Not when he's the reason you're crying in the first place. So he stays rooted where he is, hands clenched at his sides, forcing himself to watch as the only girl he's ever loved breaks apart because of him, again.

"Why show up now? Why help when I told you not to? Why pretend you care after years of abandoning me?" He looks up at you again, and for a split second, you think he's finally going to say it. Whatever truth that's been sitting between you all this time. "I disappeared," he says instead, voice shaking despite his effort to keep it steady. "I stopped showing up. I stopped being there when you needed me, and I hate myself for that. You deserved better than that."

"That's not an answer," you say flatly.

"I know. I was stupid, alright?" he starts, shaking his head in frustration. "I thought you were too good for me. No, you are too good for me." He's not lying, but he's not telling you the entire truth. "You were doing everything right," he continues, shoulders shaking as he cries. "You were disciplined, focused, and talented. You were going somewhere, and I would've only dragged you down."

"That's such bullshit," you scream.

He flinches.

"You don't get to use self-pity as an excuse," you say, tears spilling freely now. "You didn't disappear because I was 'too good' for you. You disappeared because you were a coward." His lips part, but nothing comes out. You let out a bitter laugh. "You think I can't make decisions for myself? It's wasn't your place to decide for me. You don't get to shut me out and call it noble instead of being honest." His eyes flicker with panic, shame, and guilt all tangled together. "You think I wouldn't have stayed?" you ask, voice breaking. "You think I wouldn't have fought for you if you'd just told me the truth?"

He doesn't answer because he can't, and you see it. That's what hurts the most. All the lies. "You're apologizing," you say quietly "but you're still hiding." You grab your bag, hands shaking. "I don't need excuses," you say. "I need the truth, and you still won't give it to me. I can't do this again." He steps forward instinctively. "Please—" "Don't," you snap, wiping your tears. "Don't apologize if you're still going to lie to my face." You turn and walk out of the studio, the door slamming shut behind you, the echo louder than the music.

Heeseung stays rooted to the floor because the truth is sitting heavy in his chest, suffocating, unspeakable. Because he promised he would never tell you. Because telling you would destroy everything. Because he'll do anything to protect you, even if it means keeping you far away. Even if you hate him for it.

—

Over the next couple of weeks, you lock yourself in your room with the excuse of studying for midterm exams. You tell yourself you focus better there, but the truth is, you don't want to run into Heeseung. You skip the library, avoid popular cafes around campus, order in food, and keep your door shut. You study late into the night, flashcards and notes spread across your desk, forcing your mind to stay busy so it doesn't drift back to the studio, to his face, to the way he cried.

It works… mostly, but every time your phone lights up, your chest tightens anyway because some part of you is still bracing for him even when you're doing everything you can to avoid him.

The girls notice. They always do. You start turning down plans. You stop showing up to group study sessions, late-night food runs, and anything that requires you to leave your room. You tell them it's because of midterms, and you're exhausted. That you just want to be alone. They don't push at first, but then midterms end. The campus breathes a sigh of relief and suddenly, Thanksgiving break is looming with everyone counting down the days until they can go home. That's when they intervene.

You're rotting in your bed, mindlessly scrolling through TikTok when there's a gentle knock at your door. "You're going out with us tonight," Sophia declares, already halfway through your door before you even get the chance to respond. "No excuses this time," Manon adds, raising an eyebrow. "We're dragging you to the club if we have to." Yunjin lingers by the doorframe, watching you carefully with concern softening her expression. You feel a pang of guilt for worrying her so much. Normally, she would've already barged in and set you straight without hesitation. "You've been holed up here for weeks, Y/N. You need a break," she says gently. You hesitate. The thought of loud music and swarms of drunken, sweaty bodies feels overwhelming, but maybe this is good for you. Maybe it'll distract you. Numb the pain you've been carrying inside.

They girls have already planned your outfit, hyping you up like it's a done deal. "It's almost Thanksgiving break," Manon continues. "We have to hangout before everyone goes back home." "One night won't kill you, and if it sucks, we'll leave early," Sophia reassures. "Come on, please!" Yunjin adds as the three of them get down on their knees and beg dramatically. You glance at your desk, the finished notes, and you realize there's nothing left to hide behind. You've finished your exams. Maybe one night out will help you forget everything, even if it's just for a few hours. "Fine," you sigh. "But I'm not getting wasted."

They cheer like you've just won the Nobel Prize, immediately ushering you towards the bathroom. It's honestly embarrassing how you barely remember the last time you showered properly. You're not allowing yourself to rot away in bed over Heeseung any longer. No, you absolutely refuse. For the first time in weeks, you let yourself be pulled out of your room, away from your thoughts, away from the silence, and into the night meant to distract you from him.

—

You arrive to the bar in a black lace corset that snatches your waist, squeezes your breasts too tightly as they're practically spilling out of the neck line, and it's sheer in all the right places. You pair it with tiny black leather shorts, sitting dangerously low on your hips. It's risque and bold, making you reluctant to leave the house in, but the girls insisted on you wearing it since they spent 'so much time' picking it out. You look unapologetic, untouchable, and that's exactly what you need for tonight.

You start the night at the bar. "Gin and tonic please," you tell the bartender. You don't want to get drunk. Just enough to take the edge off. Enough to quiet the noises in your head. The glass is cool in your hand when it's set down. You take a small sip, barely tasting it when Sophia interjects. "Okay, now let's get on the dance floor." "Come on," Manon whines, already bouncing to the beat. "We didn't get dressed like this to stand around."

You shake your head. "You guys go first. I'll join in a bit." Yunjin frowns, tilting her head. "Are you sure? We can just wait for you then." "No way!" you insist, forcing a smile. "Go. I promise I'll come join you in a minute." They hesitate, exchanging looks like they're unsure about leaving you alone. "We'll stay near the bar then," Sophia says gently through the booming music, knowing you need some time alone. Manon nods in agreement, squeezing your hand. "Join us soon, okay?" Yunjin lingers the longest, searching your face before nodding. "Text us immediately if anything happens." "I will," you promise.

Reluctantly, they disappear into the crowd, swallowed by flashing lights, mingling bodies, and booming music. You exhale once they're gone, shoulders dropping just slightly. That's when James slides into the empty space beside you. "Hey," he says, smiling down at you in that familiar way, warm and tender, like he's genuinely happy to see you. It's not new, the way James looks at you. It started back in freshman year in ways that made it clear he actually cared, not just passing interest. He always chooses a seat near you when there are plenty of others. He lingers after lectures just to keep talking even when his friends are already halfway down the hall. Conversations with him are thoughtful, unhurried like he never minds being late if it means hearing you finish a thought.

He flirts, yes, but softly with sincerity. You've always been aware you're pretty, People have a way of making it obvious, but James never made it feel like it was the only thing worthwhile about you. He's like a golden retriever, kind without trying, the type of guy who checks in, remembers details, and never makes you feel like you owe him anything. Still, he's undeniably handsome. Broad shoulders, dark hair that falls naturally out of place, a face that softens the moment he smiles. Nothing forced. Nothing arrogant. Just easy, natural charm.

But despite all of that, you're not interested in him beyond being friends. Not because he's lacking, but because your heart has been tied up elsewhere for far too long even when you don't realize it. Still bruised. Still loyal to something that you haven't fully let go. And that's just not fair to James. He's too good for that.

"Hey," you respond, returning a small, genuine smile. "You look really beautiful tonight," James says, shyly. "I mean, you always do. But tonight? Yeah, I had to say something." There's no hunger. No lust. Just pure admiration. "And you don't look too bad yourself, James," you grin, flashing him a wink. And for the first time tonight, you feel more relaxed.

James' ears immediately turn red at that before continuing, "Thank you, but I have to say, you're the last person I'd expect to see here." He's not wrong. You attend the occasional house parties, but the club? It's not really your thing. More like it's not your thing at all. You'd rather spend the night tucked in your warm couch, a glass of wine in hand while the girls talk over one another with soft melodies playing in the background.

"My friends dragged me here. What about you?"

"Same with me," he says, tilting his head towards his familiar friends. For a moment, neither of you speaks as you take slow sips of your drink, the bass vibrating through the counter, the lights washing over the glass in flickers of red and blue. It isn't awkward, just quiet. James glances at you from the corner of his eye. "Hey," he says gently. "I can tell you've got a lot on your mind tonight." He hesitates, then adds, "If you want to be left alone, I can go." You melt at how sweet he is and slightly panic at his polite offer. "No," you say quickly before softening your tone. "Please stay." You really want James to stay. His presence has been comforting. His smile returns immediately, relieved. "Of course."

You fully turn towards him now, ready to say something else to keep the moment steady, and then—you see him. Near the edge of the dance floor, Heeseung stands beneath the strobe lights. But next to him is—Giselle. Your body shakes, your nostrils flare, and your fingers curl into your palms so tightly it stings, threatening to draw blood. After everything, after the apology, the quiet voice, the look in his eyes when he begged you to stay, this is where he is, with her. The anger rushes straight to your chest. You're not just upset, you're livid. So livid your vision blurs, so livid you could cross the room and punch him in the face. Maybe her too. For all the times she was a raging bitch. They're standing too close. Not touching, but close enough to make your skin crawl.

Before you can look away, James follows your line of sight, brows furrowed at your deathly glare. "Oh—that's Heeseung right?" he says, not really asking . He already knows. Everyone does. "Dude's a football legend. He could go pro, but my friend told me he wants to be a lawyer. They're in an LSAT study group with him and—"

Your brows furrow. A lawyer? The word hits you harder than the bass vibrating through the floor. The club blurs for a second, the strobe lights melting into something distant as memories immediately rush in uninvited. You're twelve again, sitting cross-legged on Sooah's home office floor, papers scattered everywhere. Court documents. Contracts. Things you were explicitly told not to touch. Heeseung grins like he always did when talking about his mother, eyes bright and earnest as he rifled through them anyway. "My mom is the best lawyer ever," he declared with pride. "I'm gonna be a lawyer like her one day." You remember how serious he sounded even back then. Your throat tightens.

James is still talking, oblivious. "I heard he always does well on the practice tests too. He lowkey carries the whole group." You let out a quiet, laugh that doesn't quite reach your eyes. You didn't know Heeseung was still chasing that dream, but you don't know anything about him. Not anymore.

"James, will you dance with me?"

Across the club, Heeseung stands there with his jaw locked, eyes dull with pure irritation as Giselle keeps inching closer. Her shoulder brushes his arm, her hip bumping his leg every time she laughs, fingers grazing his sleeves. He tried shifting away—multiple times, but Giselle closes the gap right back up each time. Her tacky perfume hits his nose with every inhale, sharp and nauseating, and it makes his skin crawl.

Why am I even here, he thinks. Jake. Fucking Jake. He insisted on Heeseung coming out with the boys, telling him he "needed a night off," promising it would be low-key. and then, without asking, he invites Giselle. If he knew Giselle would be here, he wouldn't have come. Hell, he would've lock his door and turned off his phone, knowing Giselle came to track him down. "Can you not?" Heeseung finally snaps, stepping sideways to put space between them. But she just laughs and leans in again, brushing against him, and Heeseung swears his jaw is going to break with how hard he's clenching it to avoid snapping even further. "I'm serious, Giselle," he says, voice low and sharp, turning fully toward her now. "Back the hell off." She scoffs, clearly offended, but he's already done with her. His attention drifts across the room despite Giselle's annoying complaints, then—he sees you.

His stomach drops as he feels something ugly and possessive tighten in his chest. Jealousy. You're not alone. You're with some guy, way too close, way too relaxed. Jack. James. Jacob. Whatever the hell his name is. It doesn't matter right now because the only thing that does is the way you're looking at the guy. You're smiling up at him, fingers laced with his as he gently pulls you toward the dance floor. You're so close to him, hands around his neck, his hands on your bare waist. Heeseung almost lunges forward, hands balled into fists, jaw tight, but he stops himself before he can reach you. "Don't," he tells himself. He has no right to feel this way. No right to watch you like that. No right to interfere with your date, your choices. He told himself he'd stay out of it. He told himself he'd keep his distance.

As you dance, you rest your head against his shoulder, comfortable, unguarded. He leans down, mouth close to your ear, and whispers something you nod at. He's leans in and kisses you, and that's when Heeseung finally snaps. His chest feels tight, breath shallow, vision narrowing until all he can see is you pressed against someone else. Someone who's not him. That's it. Heeseung doesn't think. He doesn't weigh the consequences. He just moves. He cuts through the crowd, ignoring the heads swiveling towards him, the way Giselle calls his name from behind. His hand closes around your wrist.

"What—?" you start, stumbling slightly as he drags you toward his chest. "We're leaving," he says, voice rough, already hauling you toward the exit."Heeseung, let go—" But he doesn't stop. Doesn't slow. Doesn't look back because if he sees you with him again, he knows he'll lose control completely whether it's his place or not.

Outside, the music is muffled. Distant. The streetlights hum overhead. You rip your arm back. "Are you fucking insane?" Your cheeks burn with embarrassment, your eyes blazing as you glare at him. He hasn't looked away once since dragging you out of the club. His eyes are dark, chest heaving. "What are you doing with him?" You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "It's not of your business," you snap. "You don't get to drag me out like that."

"You need to be fucking careful," he fires back, taking a step closer. "You don't know his intentions." The audacity of it. After seeing him cozying up to Giselle not even two minutes ago, something in you snaps. Before you can stop yourself, your hand connects with his face. "Clearly you're fucking deranged because I feel way safer with James than I'd ever feel around you," you scream. Heeseung's eyes flash with hurt. For a moment, neither of you speaks as you're both reeling from the fact that you just slapped him. The tension between you is electric, dangerous, and unresolved in every possible way. "You don't get to do this," you say again, quieter now. "Not when you're inside with Giselle on your arm." He looks surprised for a second before his gaze softens. "It's not—"

Then—"Hey!" James voices cuts through the tension. He jogs out of the club, eyes immediately scanning you, concern written all over his face. "What's going on? Why did he just pull you out like that?" Out of the corner of your eye, you see Heeseung stiffen, jaw locking as fury creeps back in. "This doesn't involve you," he snaps. "So leave us the fuck alone." James steps closer anyway, placing himself in front of you, shielding you from Heeseung. "Actually, it does. You think I'm going to stand around after you dragged her out like that." "I'm fine," you say quickly, though your heart is still racing. James studies Heeseung for a moment before turning back to you. "Are you sure, Y/N?" he asks gently. "I can take you home." Before you can even answer, Heeseung lets out a bitter laugh. "Like hell you are." James stiffens. "Excuse me?"

"She's coming with me," Heeseung says, voice dangerously calm like he's not giving James any room to argue. "It's your choice, Y/N, but I don't like the way he grabbed you," James says before adding, "Just because you're the reigning football champion doesn't mean you get to put your hands on girls however you—" That's it. Heeseung's restraint finally snaps. The punch lands with a sharp crack, his fist connecting with James's jaw, sending him stumbling back. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" you shout, horror slicing through the anger as you rush towards James. "Oh my god—James, are you okay?" you cup his face without thinking, fingers gentle as you check his jaw. 'I'm so sorry, I didn't know he'd—"

"I'm okay," James says quickly, steadying you. He winces a little then gives you a reassuring nod. "I'm fine. Really. You don't need to apologize." Heeseung stands there frozen, chest rising and falling, knuckles already red and split. His are eyes wild—half disbelief at what he's done, half something uglier as he watches the way your hands linger on James's face. The way you're close. The softness in your voice. His jaw tightens, jealousy flashing hot and ugly across his face even now. Everything else fades, the club, Giselle. The realization settles heavy in your chest. This has gone too far.

Then—you hear sirens. Faint at first. Distant but unmistakable. You don't know if they're for something else or if someone saw the fight and called the police, but you don't wait to find out. "We have to leave. Now," you say urgently. "I'm not leaving without you, Y/N," Heeseung says immediately. You consider screaming at him, telling him to fuck off, but the last thing you want is to draw even more attention. "I'm so sorry, James," you say, guilt flooding your chest. "We have to go before the police get here."

James nods, understanding. "I'll be okay with him," you add quickly. "Please just head home. I'll text you later, okay?" Heeseung grunts at that. James hesitates, then says quietly, "Understood, but contact me if anything happens." He shoots Heeseung one last warning look before climbing into a taxi.

You quickly text the girls in the group chat to let them know you're going home first and to not worry before grabbing Heeseung by the sleeve. "Come on," you snap. "We're leaving. Now." He lets you pull him down the sidewalk, away from the club, away from the mess he created. Once you're far enough where there's no one else around, you stop abruptly and unleash your frustration on him. "What the hell is wrong with you?" you explode. "Do you have any idea how that could've ended? You punched him. In public. Over nothing, you freak!" "It wasn't nothing," he fires back. "Oh my god, are you serious right now?" your laugh is sharp. "You have no right to act like that."

He runs a hand through his hair, pacing once before stopping in front of you. "I don't like seeing him that close to you." Your eyes narrow. Is this asshole serious? "First off, it's none of your concern who I'm with. Second, you think that gives you the right to lose control and hurt him?"

"I know, but I couldn't help it, okay?" he says, voice strained. "He had his hands on you. You were laughing—"

"And you were inside with Giselle," you cut in immediately. "So don't even start. Don't you dare act jealous when you were doing the exact same thing." His mouth opens, then shuts. He exhales hard. "I wasn't with her because I wanted to be." "You were literally standing with her," you snap. "After everything you said to me. After you begged in the studio."

He flinches, but pushes on. "No one told me she was coming. Jake called her and didn't even ask me. If I knew she was going to come, I wouldn't have come." You don't say anything for a second, so he seizes it. "I told her to back off multiple times, but she wouldn't listen." You fold your arms, still furious. "And your solution was to stand there and let her?" "I wasn't trying to make a scene," he says softly.

You scoff. "Yet you made a scene with James and I?"

"Giselle's not worth it," he says, inching closer to you. "I lost it, and I'm sorry," he admits finally, quieter now. "Seeing him touch you. Seeing you look at him like that. It messed with my head." You shake your head, voice firm. "Your jealousy doesn't excuse what you did."

"I know," he says immediately. "I know. I fucked up." The adrenaline drains, leaving behind something more complicated than anger—hurt, exhaustion, and disappointment. "You don't get to decide who stands next to me," you say. "Not after everything. Not after I gave you my heart, and you just left me without a word." He meets your eyes, no defensiveness left this time. Just regret and fear. "I still love—"

You feel like throwing up. "No," you cut him off. "Not like this. Not now. Not ever." You raise your hand, flag down a cab, and climb inside without looking back. As the car pulls away, you finally let yourself breathe as Heeseung's figures gets smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror until he disappears completely. Truthfully, you're not sure what to believe anymore, but you know one thing for certain. Staying would've broken you all over again, and choosing yourself hurts less than letting him do it again.

—

The next day feels strangely quiet. Too quiet. You don't tell anyone what happened—not even Yunjin. When the girls interrogate you over breakfast, asking you why you left early, you shrug it off with something vague. Headache. Tired. Overstimulated. They exchange looks, clearly unconvinced, but they let it go. You keep it all to yourself—the fight, the punch, the way you walked away after he almost said those three words, eight letters.

And Heeseung. You don't know what to do with him. You don't answer any of his eight missed calls or the twenty messages. Everything feels unfinished and raw like when you were fourteen. Maybe it's always been that way.

But you focus on the one thing you do know you need to do. James. The guilt sits heavy in your chest. You've been replaying the night over and over—how you asked him to dance, how you let him kiss you. A part of you hates yourself for it. Not because James did anything wrong—he didn't—but because you know why you did all of that. You needed a distraction. You didn't mean to use him or lead him on, but you also weren't honest with yourself about why you asked him to dance. And that realization stings.

So you text him.

You: hey, are you feeling better?

He responds almost immediately.

James: yeah, don't worry :) You: no, I owe you a big apology! are you free to grab coffee? James: i'm free. you don't owe me anything though, but coffee sounds great

The cafe is warm and quiet, sunlight filtering through the windows in a way that feels undeserved considering what you've done. You made sure to arrive early and bought him a drink. It's the least you can do. James looks the same as he did last night—gentle, sweet, but there's a faint bruise along his jaw that makes your stomach twist.

"I'm really sorry," you say before he even sits down. "About everything."

He shakes his head. "You don't need to apologize for his actions."

"Still, I feel responsible," you admit quietly as you look down to your lap shamefully. "I dragged you into something messy."

James studies you for a moment before he raises your chin with his hand. "You didn't ask for that to happen," he says softly.

You nod, fingers curling around your cup. You consider telling him everything, how part of you asked him to dance because you wanted Heeseung to see, how desperately you wanted to feel seen by someone who didn't hurt you before. The truth sits right on the tip of your tongue. But it's like James can read your mind. "I'm guessing you and Heeseung have history," he says, raising one brow. "Is that why you seemed so… down last night? And maybe why you asked me to dance?"

Your heart shutters. You close your eyes for a brief moment, inhaling slowly, choosing your words carefully. "Yes," you admit, opening your eyes again. "But not entirely." James waits. He doesn't rush you. "We grew up together," you continue, voice steady but quiet. "Our mothers are best friends. So naturally we were best friends… until we weren't." Something soft crosses his expression. Understanding. Not judgment. You take a breath, then push on, choosing honesty even though it stings. "The least I could do is be honest," you say. "So yes, part of me wanted him to see. But mostly, I needed a distraction. I needed something that felt safe." Your fingers tighten slightly around the cup before you meet James's eyes again. "And you're that for me."

The words hang between you, vulnerable and unpolished, but true. You swallow, then add quickly, "And I understand that it's wrong. If you're upset or uncomfortable, you have every right to walk out or be mad at me." You brace yourself, eyes dropping to the table for a second, ready for disappointment or distance.

"I'm not mad, Y/N," he says gently. "Really."

You look up, surprised.

"If you need me as a distraction, if you need someone to lean on, use me," he continues. He meets your eyes, honest and calm. "I think you probably realize that I like you. I guess I'm not exactly subtle." Your chest tightens. "But you don't owe me anything," he adds quickly. "If right now I'm just a friend you can use or sit with when things get messy… I'm okay with that. We're nothing more than friends if that makes you feel comfortable," he reassures, smiling softly.

The tension you were holding onto finally loosens. "Thank you, James," you say, giving him the biggest, most genuine smile. "For being so understanding."

"Anytime," he nods. There's a beat of quiet before you speak again. "Do you want to come to my place for Thanksgiving?" James blinks, caught off guard. "Thanksgiving?"

"Yeah," you say, quickly adding, "Only if you want to. No pressure. It's just my mom makes the best turkey and—" You stop and exhale. "I'd like you there.

He considers it for a moment, then smiles again. Warmer this time. "I'd love to."

"Awesome," you grin, then notice something else. "Your bandage is falling off, by the way. Here—let me fix it." You lean in, carefully adjusting the bandage on his jaw. He watches you with amused eyes before flashing a crooked smile and winking.

"I still look handsome, even after getting beaten to a pulp." You laugh the loudest you've laughed in weeks. "Yes, James. You still look very dashing."

—

The drive from Cambridge to your house is long, exactly five hours long, but somehow, it doesn't feel daunting. You and James both prepare like it's a mission, both bringing a ridiculous amount of snacks with pillows and blankets stuffed into the backseat. James insists on driving, nudging you toward the passenger seat when you try to grab your keys. "Get some rest," he says easily. "If I feel tired, we can switch." You both know he won't ask you to switch, but you don't argue. You curl up instead, tucking a pillow against the door, watching the campus fade in the rearview mirror as you drive away.

A couple minutes in, you start talking. "This is the first Thanksgiving without Yunjin," you say quietly, staring out the window. "She's in France with her parents."

James glances over briefly. "That must feel weird. You two are practically attached by the hip." You chuckle at that because that's what everyone says. "Yeah," you admit. "We've never spent it apart, but I'm glad you're coming!" He laughs softly. "I am too."

You trade playlists after that. James reveals that his music taste is all over the place. He loves rap, r&b, and the occasional country music, which you never would've guessed. You end up teasing him for it. You also tell him how you only listen to r&b. You find out PND is both of your favorite artist, and you bond over that for half an hour.

At some point, you start playing I Spy. It lasts exactly ten minutes. "You can't say 'gray' when literally everything on the highway is gray," you accuse. "You can't accuse me of cheating just because you're losing," he shoots back, wiggling his brows. "You're impossible." "And you're dangerously competitive, he says." You both laugh and agree to stop before James swerves out of spite. The road stretches on, quieter now, but still comfortable.

After a while, James asks causally, "So… who's going to be there?"

"Some family and friends, you say. "Oh—and Heeseung's parents."

James nods. "Don't worry," you add quickly. "He never celebrates with us anymore. He usually stays at Jake's place." You glance at him, gauging his reaction.

James hums thoughtfully. "Jake and…?" "Sunghoon," you supply. "The golden football trio." You sigh, already annoyed. "That's not why I invited you, by the way." He finally looks over, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I know."

"You do?"

"I trust you," he says simply. Your heart feels content at that. Eventually, you drift off to the peaceful, comfortable silence.

—

The car barely comes to a full stop before your front door swings open. "Y/N!" Your mom squeal, pulling you into a hug so tight it knocks the breath out of you. She smells like home—a mix of her sweet Coco Mademoiselle perfume, laundry detergent, and whatever she's cooking. "You look so skinny, honey," she declares immediately, hands on your shoulders, scanning you from head to toe. "Have you been eating properly? Come inside, I made food already."

"Hi, mom," you laugh, already being dragged towards the kitchen. Your father follows, smiling as he pulls you into a long hug. Then his gaze shifts—sharp, assessing as he sees James. "And you must be…?" he asks.

"Hello, Mr. L/N. My name is James," he says, stepping forward and offering a firm handshake. "Thank you for having me."

"Honey, I already told you Y/N invited a friend," your mother scolds. "Hello, dear. You must be very hungry after such a long drive. Come sit down." Your mother peers at James like she's inspecting a purchase she's already decided she likes. Her eyes light up. "He's a very handsome friend, Y/N."

You groan. "Mom."

James laughs, his ears turning red. "It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. L/N! I've heard amazing things about your famous turkey."

"Well, I take my cooking very seriously when it comes to Thanksgiving," your mother laughs. "I'll cut you a piece right now!"

Your dad clears his throat. "Just so we're clear, you'll be sleeping in the guest room at the end of the hall. Very far away. On the opposite side of the house from Y/N." Everyone laughs. "Dad!" you protest. "Just establishing boundaries," he says, deadpan.

Sooah appears from the kitchen, already grinning. "You must be James." She looks between you and him, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Do you know my son Heeseung? He also goes to Harvard." You and James glance at each other, both stifling a laugh. "Yes," James says easily, nodding. "I do, ma'am.

Sooah's grin widens. "Great! This is the first Thanksgiving he's joining in years. You all can catch up!" The words land like broken shards of glass. You freeze.

"I didn't know Heeseung was coming?" your father asks. Weird. He never cares about who comes.

"He is, and Jay is joining us as well!" Sooah clarifies.

Minsuk clears his throat. "Let's go help Jiwoo plate the food and set the table." One by one, everyone drifts toward the dining room, footsteps echoing down the hall, leaving you and James alone in the entryway.

He turns to you immediately. "Are you okay, Y/N?" he asks, concerned etched all over his face.

You force a breath, your fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater. "Yeah," you lie, the word coming out a little too quickly. You swallow. "I swear I didn't know he was coming."

"Don't worry. I know," he reassures. "I'm right by your side." You meet his eyes and despite everything twisting in your chest, you manage a small smile. "Yeah," you say quietly. "Thank you, James."

As you follow him toward the dining room, you brace yourself because now, there's no avoiding what you thought you left behind. Right when you and James take your seats, the doorbell rings, and your heart skips a beat. "Oh—it must be Heeseung and Jay! I'll get the door," Sooah exclaims, already halfway to the door. You barely have time to brace yourself before you hear the front door open. Jay walks in first, smiling, carrying a bottle of wine, and already greeting your parents. And then—Heeseung. The moment he steps inside, his eyes search the room for you. When you meet his eyes, your breath hitches. For a second, everything else seems to fade away, then he sees James… sitting next to you. That should be his seat, but it's not anymore, and it hasn't been for a long time. His jaw tightens. You notice even as you pretend not to.

"Y/N!" Jay beams when he spots you. "It's been forever." You hug him immediately, holding on just a second longer than necessary.

"I missed you," you say honestly.

"Same," he grins, ruffling your hair before pulling away. "You look good." When you sit back down, Jay takes the other seat beside you, and Heeseung ends up at the end of the table. Relief washes through you as you're not sitting beside him. Your eyes flick toward Heeseung's for a moment. He gives you an small, awkward nod. You return it. Nothing more.

Jay, blissfully unaware, launches into small talk with James about school. James answers easily, relaxed, smiling in that effortless way that makes him likeable without trying.

Eventually, plates are passed and food is served, but you barely eat. You push your food around more than you actually take bites, nodding along when spoken to, smiling when expected. The smell of everything, turkey, stuffing, and gravy, feels too heavy right now. Every time you lift your fork, your appetite disappears.

Your mom and Sooah stand, gathering plates. "Let's get dessert ready," your mother says brightly. "Y/N, would you like to help us?"

"Sure… I'll be there in a minute," you nod. As they head off, James leans in. "Are you okay? You haven't been eating much."

"Yeah, I'm probably not that hungry after all the snacks we had in the car," you force a laugh.

He chuckles softly. "That'll do it."

"I'm going to help my mom," you say, pushing your chair back. "I'll be right back." Before you head to the kitchen, you take a detour to the bathroom, needing a moment to breathe. When you reach the bathroom, you hear voices coming from inside. It's Jay. "Bro, you have to tell her the truth," Jay says urgently. "You can't let her keep resenting you for something you had no control over." Your breath catches, feet planted into the floor in front of the bathroom.

"I'm serious," Jay continues. "She thinks—"

"Jay, drop it," Heeseung cuts in, hushed and firm.

"She doesn't need you protecting her anymore if you're going to lie," Jay presses. "She deserves the truth."

"Enough," Heeseung snaps under his breath. "Not here."

Your hands are trembling. You run to the nearest room before they come out. Your mind races as you latch onto fragments of their conversation—something you had no control over. Resenting you. The truth. Your chest feels tight, your heart is pounding too loudly in your ears. Whatever it is they're talking about, you know one thing with chilling certainty—you've been lied to for seven years, and you're going to find out what it is.

After you help your mom and Sooah plate the dessert, you finally excuse yourself again. This time, you're not looking for a moment to breathe. You're looking for answers. You see Jay near the staircase, phone pressed to his ear as he seems to be answering a work call. He turns around when the call ends, and his eyes land on you. Before he can say a word, you grab his wrist. "Hey—" he starts.

"Come with me and be quiet," you say sternly, already pulling him up the stairs.

"Y/N, wait—"

You don't. You drag him down the hallway and into your bedroom, closing the door behind you. Only then do you turn to face him, arms crossed, heart pounding. "What is he hiding from me?" you demand.

Jay blinks. Then he finally laughs lightly like he's confused, feigning innocence. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't," you say sharply. "I heard you. Downstairs. You told him he had to tell me the truth. That I'm resenting him for something he had no choice over."

Jay exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "You must've misheard. We were talking about how people shouldn't judge the age gap between Max Verstappen and his girlfriend," he laughs awkwardly. "Like come on! It's 2026."

"Jay," you warn. "I swear I'm going to call Yunjin, and she's going to drop everything, fly back, and kick your ass. Do you want to be beaten up on Thanksgiving?"

His smile falters. He studies your face for a long moment, like he's weighing his options. Then he sighs, shoulder slumping, the act finally dropping. "Okay," he admits. "There is something."

Your heart pounds even louder. "What is it?"

He shakes his head immediately. "I can't tell you."

"Why not?" you groan. "Because it's not for me to tell. You deserve to hear it from him, not me," he says firmly, though his voice softens. "And because there's things he needs to say that I can't. It'll hurt you more coming from me."

You laugh bitterly. "You think this doesn't already hurt?"

Jay winces. "I know, but you need to hear it from him… you know I just want you to both be happy again."

"I don't know if that's possible," you say quietly, tears threatening to spill. Jay doesn't argue. He just looks at you for a moment, eyes heavy with something like regret before handing you a tissue. "Maybe not right away," he says. "But whatever happens, you should know it's been eating him alive for years. And it's been hurting you without you even knowing why."

Your throat tightens. "Then why does he keep hurting me?"

"Because sometimes," Jay says carefully, "people think they have to shoulder everything quietly to protect the person they love, even when it does the opposite." The room feels too small. Too cold. Jay continues, "I'm not trying to tell you how you should feel, but he's terrified that telling you will be the thing that finally makes him lose you for good."

That hits harder than you expect. Your heart aches at the thought of him being scared. Because no matter how badly Heeseung has hurt you, no matter how many times you've told yourself you're done with him, you know the truth you've never been able to say out loud. Truthfully, he could never lose you for good. Not completely. Not really. And that's what makes all of this unbearable.

Jay steps back toward the door. "I'm going to drag his ass up here, even by the ear if I have to." You nod as he slips out, leaving you alone in your childhood bedroom, surrounded by memories that suddenly feel too painful.

You barely have time to wipe your face before footsteps pound up the stairs. Your door bursts opens as Heeseung rushes in, breathless, like he just dropped everything and ran up here as fast as he could. His eyes are frantic as he sees your red-rimmed eyes. "Jay said you were crying," he says immediately. "What happened?"

You get straight to the point because you're just tired. Tired of all the lies and deception. "I heard you," you say, voice raw. "I heard Jay say I'm resenting you for something you had no control over. So stop lying to my face and tell me the truth." He freezes. For a long moment, he just stares at you like this is the moment he's been dreading for seven years. And you realize how tired and scared he looks.

He exhales, slowly and shaky, and closes the door behind him. "You should sit down first," he says quietly, but you don't. He swallows roughly. "Seven years ago," he begins, voice barely louder than a whisper, "the summer before high school started, my dad did something unforgivable."

Your stomach twists.

"He embezzled money from his clients," Heeseung reveals. "Millions, and he hid them in offshore accounts. Someone found out," he continues. "They blackmailed my dad and threatened to expose everything unless my dad paid them fifty million dollars."

"That's—" you choke on your words. How did you not know? "That's impossible."

"I wish it was…" he mutters. "He barely had any liquid assets, and he couldn't move the stolen funds without alarming the banks. They would've flagged it immediately."

Your knees feel weak, so you finally take a seat.

"But he was desperate, and my mom panicked. She didn't know what to do. So she went to your mom. My mom didn't know the full story and neither did your mom," he adds quickly. "They thought my dad's company was struggling financially. Your mom just knew my mom needed help, so she went to your father," his voice cracks. "He agreed to pay it."

Your hands curl into fists. "Why didn't I know?"

"Because he had two conditions," Heeseung says, tears flowing freely down his face.

You're not ready to hear this, but you have to. You need the truth.

"One, I had to stay away from you completely," he chokes out. "Your dad was worried the scandal would resurface, that I'd ruin your reputation. And two, we could never tell you. Not you. Not your mom. Not my mom. Ever." He breaks. Heeseung collapses on his knees, hands gripping the fabric of his jeans like it's the only thing keeping him upright. His shoulders shake violently, sobs tearing out of him in a way you've never seen before. Not once in all the years you've known him.

You thought you could handle whatever he did, but your father? The betrayal slams into you so hard it steals the air from your lungs. The man who raised you. Protected you. The man you trusted with your whole life. How could he do this to you? The ache in your heart is so overwhelming that you just can't take it anymore, so you let yourself cry. The kind that wracks your whole body. You cry harder than the time you hurled your paper telephone out the window when Heeseung didn't answered you. Harder than prom night, when you stood frozen in your room, watching him and Giselle together. This hurts worse than everything combined.

"You didn't think to tell me?" you gasp through your sobs, clutching your bed like it might keep your heart from splitting open.

"I thought about it every day," he says hoarsely. "Every single day."

"Then why didn't you?" you cry.

He squeezes his eyes shut. "Because I believed your dad," he says. "I believed him when he said I'd ruin you. That being with me would destroy your future, everything you were going to become, and I could never do that to you." His voice shakes harder now, words spilling out like he's been holding them in for years. "So I did the only thing I thought would protect you," he continues. "I kept the promise and distanced myself. I surrounded myself with people you hated, who would destroy the old image of me."

You clutch your chest, shaking your head repeatedly, refusing to accept this. The lies. The stupid promise.

"I knew if I told you, you wouldn't have cared," he whispers. "You would've stayed. You would've fought, and I couldn't let you do that." He lifts his head to look at you. "So I had to make you hate me because I'd rather live with you hating me than hold on to you selfishly. I love you too much to let my father's selfishness tarnish you."

This time, you allow him to tell you he loves you. Because you believe him, and that's what hurts the most. Because believing him means accepting that for seven years, he let you think he was cruel. That he was careless. That he chose the girls, the partying over you. He let your anger rot inside of you, let resentment consume you, let you mourn something that apparently never stopped existing for him. He lied to protect you, but it only destroyed you as well.

You sink down in front of him, knees brushing his, breath shaking violently. And then you just lose it. Your fists slam into his chest. Once. Twice. Again. Each hit is messy, desperate, and powerless. "I could've dealt with it!" you scream, tears blinding you. "I could've dealt with my dad, dealt with the blackmailer, dealt with all of it!" You hit him again, harder. He doesn't stop you. Doesn't raise his hands. He just takes it, choking on sobs. "You don't get to decide that for me!" you cry. Your fists keep pounding. "I would've fought! I would've chosen you! You should've broken it—" Your voice cracks completely as you scream.

"Break it!" Another punch. "Break the fucking promise!" Another punch. "You let me believe you were the villain!" you sob. "You let me rot in hatred while you stood there loving me in silence like that was noble." Your hands fall uselessly against his chest, your strength finally gone. He grabs your wrist gently, not to stop you, but to hold you, grounding you, forehead pressing into yours as your tears mix together. "I know… I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Y/N," he pleads.

"I think you should go, Heeseung," you whisper. "I just… I can't right now." He freezes. For a moment, it looks like he might argue. Like he might beg, but he nods, slowly, painfully.

"Okay," he whispers. "I understand." He stands, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve, not trusting himself to look at you for too long. When he reaches the door, his hand lingers on the handle. "I"ll wait," he says quietly. "I'll for whenever you're ready."

You don't answer. The door closes softly behind him. And you're left alone in your childhood bedroom, surrounded by memories that you begin to question.

—

After everyone leaves, the house goes quiet. You're curled on your bed when your phone buzzes. It's James. Shit, you forgot about him.

James: jay said you weren't feeling well. are you okay?

You stare at the screen longer than necessary before you reply.

You: omg i'm so sorry james!!! my stomach hurts, so I'm trying to sleep it off

You lie.

James: again, don't apologize! get some rest, and text me if you need anything! goodnight Y/N You: thank you, james! good night<3

You set your phone down, and wait a little longer for him to fall asleep before you confront your father. The kitchen lights are still on. Your father is wiping down the counter, and your mother is stacking the dishes.

"Dad," you say. They both look up. "I know about the money, about the blackmailer, and about the conditions you forced Heeseung follow," you say, trying to steady your voice.

The room stills. Your father's face goes pale. Your mom frowns, confused. "What are you talking about, honey?"

"Dad paid fifty million dollars to the people who were blackmailing Minsuk," you say, eyes never leaving your father. "And in return, he forced Heeseung to cut contact with me and never tell you, Sooah, or me.

" Your mother's hand flies to her mouth. "Sungmin…?"

Your father sighs. "I did what I had to do, Y/N," he says, defensive. "What if the blackmailers decide they want more money one day? You would get dragged into their family's mess," your dad shakes his head. "No, I'm not taking any chances."

"You don't get to decide that for me," you cry.

"Yes I do!" your father says, raising his voice, but not loud enough for James to hear. "You're my only child, and I'll do whatever it takes to protect you even if you're not happy with my choices."

Your mother sinks into a chair, shaking. "You never told me," she whispers. "You let me believe—"

"I didn't want to burden you," he says.

"You wouldn't have," she says, tears spilling freely. "You betrayed her. You betrayed me!"

She looks at you then, heartbreak written all over her face. "I swear I didn't know, honey. I wouldn't have allowed your father to do that if I did." You nod, tears slipping silently down your cheeks. "I know mom."

Your dad steps toward you. "Y/N—"

"Don't," you say firmly. "It's seven years too late for you to tell me the truth or to apologize." Before your parents can say anything else, you run away to your room and lock the door quickly.

—

It's barely six in the morning when you knock softly on James's door. The house is still asleep—no voices, no movement, just the low hum of the heater and the faint light creeping in through the windows. James opens the door, hair messy, eyes still heavy with sleep. "Y/N?" he murmurs, blinking at the time on his phone. "Is everything—?"

"We have to leave," you whisper. "Now and quietly." That wakes him up. He straightens immediately, concerning shaping his features. "Okay," he says without hesitation. "What do you need?"

"Just grab your things," you say as quietly as possible so your parents don't wake up. "I'll explain later." He doesn't ask questions. Doesn't push. He nods and disappears back into the room, moving quickly, deliberately. You wait in the hallway, heart pounding, listening for any sound coming from your parents' bedroom. A few minutes later, he's back, backpack slung over one shoulder. "Ready," he whispers. You lead the way, careful with each step. The front door opens with a soft click, and the cold morning air hits your face.

Once you're outside, James finally speaks. "Where are we going?"

You exhale shakily. "Back. I just can't be around my parents right now."

He studies you for a second, then nods. "Alright."

You barely make it ten minutes onto the highway before exhaustion finally catches up to you after staying up all night, unable to sleep from all the thoughts and truth consuming your mind. When you wake up, the car is slowing as you recognize the familiar campus. Your eyes sting immediately, throat tight as you sit up, disoriented and embarrassed all at once. "I know i've been saying this a lot lately, but I'm sorry," you whisper. "For everything."

James glances at you, then back at the road. "I've been saying this a lot lately, but you don't need to keep apologizing," he laughs softly, flashing you a genuine smile.

"I do," you insist. "I ruined your Thanksgiving break, and I dragged you into my mess. I—"

"Y/N," he says gently, cutting you off. "I could see the tears on your pillow while I was driving."

Oh god… that's so embarrassing. You just want to jump out the car at this point.

"The last thing you should be worrying about right now is my feelings," he reassures, gently ruffling your hair.

The car comes to a stop. You barely make it out of the car before tears spill as you lean into James. He lets you cry against his shoulder, your sobs soft and exhausted as he rubs your back. He doesn't say anything. He just steadies you with his warm hand on your back. "I'll walk you up," he says quietly.

You nod. The morning air is cold and pale as he walks you to your door, neither of you rushing. When you stop, he pulls your keys from his pockets and places them gently in your hand. "Thank you for driving," you murmur.

"No problem. We would've crashed if you drove," he laughs, trying to cheer you up. You swat his arm gently. "Hey! I'll have you know I'm an awesome driver!" When the laughter fades, you pull him into a tight hug. "Thank you," you say, voice small but sincere. "For everything."

He just smiles. "That's what friends are for, aren't they?" You nod against his shoulder. " Yeah," you say softly. "It is."

—

Over the next few days, your phone becomes unbearable, a word you never thought you'd use to describe it. Your dad calls. Again and again. Missed calls pile up until the notification feels permanent. Voicemails follows, each one getting longer than the last, but you don't listen to any of them. Your mom texts too. You answer hers. Short replies at first, then slightly longer ones. She tells you she's staying with Sooah for now. She tells you she's sorry, and she loves you. You tell her you love her back. That's all you can manage right now. But you know it's not her fault. Sooah knows because her messages come late one night, careful and heavy, apologizing for not knowing. For not being a better mother. For letting you and Heeseung drift apart. You also tell her it's not her fault. Uncle Minsuk apologizes as well for how selfish he's been. For ruining Heeseung's life. For letting you down. but you don't respond to him.

The girls' group chat has been exploding the second Thanksgiving break started. Messages pile in faster than you can open them. Airport selfies. Outfit debates. Complaints about family dinners and relatives. Hometown gossip. Yunjin sends videos of all the designer gifts her parents got her in Paris. Sophia sends a blurry, shaky video of her dog stealing food off the table, and Manon sends incoherent drunk messages about family drama. In another group chat, Sunoo sends behind the scene snippets of his photo shoots. Niki sends a bunch of random memes to which Yunjin complains about it not being funny. Jungwon sends updates on Pathify, and Jay complains about how he has to do all the cooking for Thanksgiving dinner. You're present. You respond. Just less.

And then—Heeseung. He floods your phone non-stop with calls. Voicemails. Long messages. Emails. Your screen becomes a wall of notifications from him, apology after apology stacking on top of each other until it feels like you can't breathe. You just stare at his name until your heart can't take it anymore, so you block him. Eventually, a message comes in from Jay, but it's Heeseung. You type out a quick apology to Jay before blocking his number. Then Sunghoon. Blocked. Then Jake. You block his number too, which you have no problem doing.

You're curled up on the couch in your shared apartment, surrounded by endless McDonald's takeout. Half-melted ice cream on the coffee table. Buldak noodles getting cold in the bowl you forgot about half an hour ago. Yeah… you've hit rock bottom. You barely register the sound of the door opening. "Okay," Yunjin says, voice echoing through the apartment. "Why does it smell like Niki's fart in here?"

You look up. She's standing there, suitcase abandoned by the door behind her, coat still on, eyes already scanning you. The second she sees you, her expression softens. "You flew back," you say weakly. "Early…"

"Obviously," she replies, kicking the door shut. "You didn't send the turkey video."

You blink. "The what?"

"The video," she says like it's sacred. "Every Thanksgiving? Your mom's turkey. The slow pan. The aggressive zoom. You didn't send it."

You swallow. Of course Yunjin remembers.

"And," she continues, quieter now, "this is the first Thanksgiving we've ever spent apart. I hated it."

You laugh weakly. "I'm sorry I made you come back."

She drops her bag and crosses the room in three strides. "You didn't make me do anything. I wanted to. Besides my parents were acting like lovesick seventeen year olds, and I was losing my mind," she gags. She sits beside you, flicking a fry off your leg. "So what happened?" she says gently.

You try to answer, but nothing comes out. Your throat tightens. Your vision blurs. The weight of everything crashes down all at once. Yunjin doesn't ask again. She doesn't press. She just pulls you into her arms, holding you while you fall apart against her shoulder.

"I know," she whispers, rocking you slightly. "It's him." For the first time in days, you don't have to pretend you're okay.

—

Ever since Yunjin got back, she refuses to let you rot inside the apartment. She drags you out of bed in the mornings, opens the curtains even when you groan, and insists on at least one reason a day to step outside. Today, that reason is your favourite bagel place. You complain the entire walk there, even though your mouth is already watering at the thought of a smoked salmon bagel overloaded with cream cheese. You tell yourself you're only going because Yunjin insisted, not because you've been craving a bagel, and the shop doesn't offer delivery.

The bell above the door jingles as you step inside. And then—you freeze. Your parents are sitting at one of the tables by the window. Your heart drops, and you immediately turn to Yunjin, eyes wide. "You didn't—" She shakes her head quickly. "I swear, I didn't agree at first," she says desperately. "But your dad insisted on meeting here."

You swallow hard. Yunjin softens, squeezing your hand. "Look, we can make a run for it if that's what you want, but I know you need this," she adds quietly. "You've never gone a day without calling them. Not even once." You stand there frozen for a second longer, torn between walking right out and giving your father a chance. The smell of toasted bagels fill the air, warm and familiar, pulling you forward even as your chest tightens because no matter how angry you are, no matter how hurt you are, he's still your father. The man who has always done right by you up until now.

Yunjin squeezes your hand once again before stepping back. "I'll wait outside," she says quietly. You nod, then turn to sit down. Your mom doesn't even give you a chance to speak as she instantly pulls you into a hug so tight it almost knocks the air right from your lungs. Her arms shake as she holds you, her face buried in your hair.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," she whispers, over and over. "I'm so sorry. I should've known. I should've protected you."

"Mom," you murmur, gently pulling back. "It's okay. It's not your fault." She wipes her eyes, nodding, though she clearly doesn't believe that.

When you finally turn to your father, your hear breaks. He looks smaller. His eyes are puffy and red, dark circles etched below his eyes. His beard has grown out unevenly like you've never seen before. Your father has always upheld a polished appearance until now. Still, he hasn't looked at you yet as he keeps his head down. "I had no right," he says finally, voice rough. "None. I took something from you that wasn't mine to take."

You hands ball into a tight fist. "Why didn't you trust me?"

He looks up then, startled. "I do," he says immediately. "Of course I do. This was never about not trusting you."

"Then what was it?"

He exhales, hands clasped tightly on the table. "The public. The world. The cruel people who don't forgive, who don't forget. I was terrified they'd tear you apart for being with him if Minsuk's scandal ever got out."

Your anger subsides, replaced with guilt. Guilt for not trying to understand him just a little.

"I apologized to your mother," he continues. "To Sooah. I know sorry doesn't fix anything, but I needed you and them to hear it."

You nod slowly.

"And I want to apologize to Heeseung too," he says, eyes shining. "When the time is right. When you allow him to be near you again. I owe him that. I ruined him too. I ruined both of you."

Silence settles between you. You stare down at your hands, then back up at him. "You hurt me," you say honestly. "Really badly."

"I know," he whispers.

"But I also know you did it because you love me," you add quietly. "And because you were trying to protecting me."

Tears spill down his face. "I forgive you," you say.

He breaks completely, shoulders sagging in relief and grief all at once. Your mom reaches for his hand and squeezes it tightly. You sniff, grabbing a napkin. "Also," you add, "if your plan was to eat the best bagels in Massachusetts, there were easier ways to do it than staging an emotion breakdown in public." Thankfully, most students haven't returned from Thanksgiving break otherwise this shop would've been packed with people watching you and your parents crying like babies.

Your mom lets out a laugh. Your dad exhales shakily, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Order whatever you want," he says hoarsely. "My treat."

You glance at the menu. "Good," you say. "Because I'm getting extra salmon." As your bagel arrives and the tension eases, it feels like things are finally back on track.

—

Thanksgiving break ends, and students flood back into the city with over packed suitcases and complaints about early lectures. Campus is lively again and school resumes its usual pace, indifferent to whatever fell apart over the holidays. You're on your way to class when you stop short at your front door—there's a bouquet sitting there. Not just a bouquet, a ridiculously huge one. Pink tulips spilling everywhere, petals layered and lush, wrapped so carefully it feels like Valentines day. You have to put your bag down just to lift it.

"This is… for me?" you mutter. A small card is tucked into the ribbon. You hesitate before opening it. It's from Heeseung. Your chest tightens, but you don't throw it away either.

From that day on, there's always a bouquet waiting at your front door, and each day, it gets bigger. More tulips. More space taken up in your entryway until it feels impossible to ignore. Soon, there are gifts placed beside them. Very extravagant gifts. A Birkin bag. Bulgari diamond tennis bracelet. But what makes your stomach flutter just a little (a lot) are the same brownies he used to save for you after dance practice, overflowing in a a basket in between the bouquet and gifts.

The girls tell you not to fall for it. They say it firmly, but you still catch them whispering about the gifts when they think you can't hear. Fingers brushing over the petals. Eyes widening at the insanely expensive gifts. Awe slipping into their voices despite their advice.

Yunjin, though? She's furious. After you've already left for class, she catches him. Heeseung is crouched in front of the door, adjusting another bouquet, and setting a basket of brownies and a huge box beside it carefully like he's afraid it might be crooked.

Yunjin yanks the door open. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Yunjin snaps. Before he can even react, she yanks him by the ear and drags him toward the alley beside the apartment building.

"Ouch—Yunjin—w—wait!"

She releases him only to immediately square up, fists raised, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. "I swear to god, if you think you can buy your way back into her life—"

"Wait," he blurts again. "Please. Let me explain."

"I don't want to hear it," she fires back. "Do you have any idea how much you've hurt her? When are you going to leave her the hell alone?"

Heeseung swallows hard. "There are things you don't know," he says desperately. "Please. Just let me explain."

Yunjin hesitates, fists still clenched, jaw tight. She looks like she wants to hit him anyway. "Make it fast," she snaps.

As Heeseung stumbles through explanations, words tripping over each other, Yunjin freezes. Her expression shifts from fury to disbelief. "What?" she says slowly. He keeps talking, a little slower now. She holds up a hand. "Stop." She studies him for a long moment, then asks gently, "Are you… okay?"

He blinks, clearly not expecting that. "I—yeah. No. I don't know."

She exhales, hard, then reaches out, and pats his back awkwardly and reluctantly. "I missed you," she mutters. "You were my friend too, idiot."

Relief flickers across his face before grinning.

She immediately smacks the back of his head. "Don't get cocky."

"Ow," he mutters, rubbing it. "I've missed you and the boys as well."

"You better have, bitch," Yunjin mutters.

The two burst into laughter before Heeseung reaches into his bag and pulls out two paper cups attached by a string. "Can you help me with something?" he asks, offering a sheepish smile.

She stares at him for a long moment, then groans. "You are so unbelievable, dork face." But she doesn't walk away.

—

You get home from class, completely drained and exhausted. You don't even bother closing your door all the way. You drop your bag, and collapse face-first onto your bed. For a few quiet seconds, you stay like that before shifting on your side. Your eyes are about to close when they shoot open. You notice a paper cup dangling into your window. "What the hell…" you murmur, pushing yourself up. You move closer, fingers grazing the cup. It's real. You weren't hallucinating. There's a red string attached, disappearing past the edge of your window. Confused, you lean out. The string runs down to the window directly below yours. Yunjin's room. Before you can make sense of it, a voice vibrates through the cup, soft and hesitant. "Hey, Y/N."

Your heart lurches violently.

"Hello?" Heeseung tries again. "Y/N? I know you're there."

You stare at the cup, frozen in shock. You slowly lift it to your mouth. "Hello?" you say, unsure if your voice is even working.

There's a pause. A breath. "It worked," he says quietly. "Okay. Good."

You don't respond right away.

"I've been thinking about that day you came back from the Varna Competition," he continues, carefully. "The day you called me through this thing."

Your grip tightens around the cup.

"I heard you," he admits. "I was holding the cup, but I just… couldn't answer."

Your chest aches.

"I stood in my room staring at the blinds, listening to you try again," he says. "Listening to your voice shake, and when you threw it out… I deserved that, but it hurt so much."

You don't say anything.

"I was too scared to break the promise," he adds softly. "I should've answered. I'm sorry, Y/N. I'm so sorry."

You turn away from the cup for a brief moment, trying to blink away the tears.

"I know it's too late, but I won't be a coward anymore," he says firmly. "I promise."

Your hands are shaking now. Without saying another word, you drop the cup and turn for the door. Yunjin's door is already open when you reach it. Heeseung is standing there, awkward and unsure as if he's afraid one wrong move will send you running. You don't yell. You don't hit. You just step forward and pull him into a hug so sudden it leaves you both holding your breaths. "I hated you," you say quietly into his shoulder. "For so long."

"I know," he whispers.

"But I still love you," you add, voice cracking.

His arms tighten around you, no longer afraid you'll run. "I never stopped loving you," he says.

"Don't disappear again," you say.

"I won't," he promises. "Never again until the day I die."

Heeseung leans in to kiss you. It's soft at first, but it quickly turns frantic and hungry in that aching way that comes from wanting something for far too long.

You pull back. "Wait. Not here." You two barely make it to your room before your lips connect again. Heeseung presses you against the wall, hand up your shirt, grazing the small of your back. His soft lips make your head spin, your hand lacing into his other hand for support.

You both pull back breathless, foreheads press together. "Please don't stop," you whine.

"Are you sure?" Heeseung asks, afraid of pushing the relationship faster than you're ready for.

"Yes, Hee. Please!" The nickname leaves your lips, breathless and warm against his mouth. Something in him snaps at the nickname only you ever called him. Heeseung barely lifts you to the bed before smashing his lips into yours. The kiss is messy and sloppy with spit running down both of your chins, but it only turns you on even more. You clench your thighs, seeking some friction. Heeseung smirks into your lips before pulling away, a string of spit connecting your lips. “Be patient, baby,” he teases, putting his knee between your thighs.

This time, his lips move to your neck, somehow finding your sweet spot immediately. Freak. At this rate, none of your tops can hide the blooming purple mark on your neck. “Ah, Heeseung, you’re going to leave a mark.”

“That's the point, baby,” he mutters, groaning into your neck. “Everyone needs to know you’re mine.” 

You roll your eyes. “Ha, seriously-“ but you’re cut off when Heeseung practically rips your shirt off. “No bra, huh?” he growls, spitting on both of your nipples before lathering it into your breasts. You’ve never felt so exposed around anyone before, so you can’t help but cover your face, embarrassed. But Heeseung gently pries your hands away. “You look so beautiful,” he says tenderly. “Don’t hide from me.” 

You gasp when he latches his mouth onto one of your breasts while massaging the other. Heeseung can’t help but unleash a string of desperate sounds at how soft your breasts are, which barely fits in his mouth and hand. The pleasure is so intense, you feel like you can cum just from this, but you can feel how hard his cock is against your clothed mound. “Hee, let me-“ Before you can reach his zipper, he blocks your hand. “No, I want to make you feel good.” You want to protest, but suddenly—Heeseung pulls down your pants and panties in one motion. The cold air hits your wet cunt, sending shivers down your spine. "I've barely done anything, and you're already dripping," he hisses in satisfaction.

He trails hot, wet kisses down your stomach and stops right above your cunt before quickly stripping himself bare. You gasp at how big he is—so big you're not sure if he'll even fit. His tip is angry, red, and leaking with precum. He gives it a brief rub before smearing his precum on your slick folds. You moan at how lewd it is, grinding desperately against his hand. "Please, Hee" you cry out.

"I already told you to be patient, baby," Heeseung chuckles, slapping your cunt. Soon, he replaces his hand with his mouth, tongue lapping over your sweet folds, then your clit, causing you to yelp in pleasure. As Heeseung sucks on your clit, he pushes two fingers deep inside you. The sensation becomes so overwhelming you feel like you're going to cum, but he removes his fingers.

"Fuck, why'd you stop—" Before you can finish your desperate plea, he teases your entrance with his cock. He must know what you're thinking because he reassures you. "Don't worry. I'll go slow, love," he says, kissing you sweetly before pushing in slowly. Tears well in your eyes as you try to adjust to his size, even though less than half of his cock is inside you. Heeseung immediately stops, afraid that he'll hurt you. "We can stop right now if it hurts."

"No!" you say quickly. "Please keep going."

Heeseung hesitates before pushing his cock in further, bottoming out. He doesn't move, letting you adjust to his size. You can feel every vein and ridge on his cock, making you clench desperately around him. "You can move now. Please." Heeseung thrust slowly, but his thrusts quickly become deep and fast. "Fuck, baby. You're so fucking tight," he moans. "Feel how deep I am?"

"Oh god… yes! Don't stop!" you pant, both of you moans filling the room.

Heeseung kisses you sloppily as his movements become more frantic and desperate. "I'm gonna fill you full of my cum."

A scream rips from your throat as you feel a knot in your stomach forming. "I'm gonna cum, Hee!"

"Cum for me baby! Please," he begs. You clench even tighter around him as you cum, making Heeseung cum right after. "Fuck, yes!" he moans, cum shooting deep inside you, painting your walls.

Heeseung kisses you on your forehead before running downstairs. "Hee?" you call out, confused.

"I'm here baby! I just need to grab some things," Heeseung shouts back from downstairs before quickly returning with a glass of water and a warm towel.

"Are you okay, baby?" Heeseung asks worriedly as he hands you the glass of water. "Was I too rough?"

"No! It was perfect, Hee," you say shyly. "But you made quite a mess," you laugh, wiggling your eyes as you point to your thigh.

"Sorry," he says with a boyish grin. "Let me clean that up for you." He gently wipes your thigh with the towel before collapsing into bed with you. You two lie there in each others, engulfed in the peaceful silence as Heeseung rubs your back. "I love you, Y/N. I love you so much," he says earnestly.

"I love you too, Hee."

"By the way, you're my first," he says shyly.

You raise an eyebrow, clearly not believing him. "Yeah, right! The girls in high school would brag whenever they got to sleep with you," you grunt, slapping his arm.

"Ouch!" Heeseung pouts. "It was all a lie, baby! They were competing to see who could sleep with me first. You have to believe me," he whines like a child.

"Fine! Stop whining," you huff. "Wait—what about that night after prom?" you seethe.

"We were playing seven minutes in heaven," he frowns, fake gagging. "I was going to use the washroom when she slammed me against the wall…scariest moment of my life!"

You can't help but laugh. Now that you think about it, Giselle really did have crazy obsessive behaviour. She literally ran a kid out of Evercore. He transferred before grade nine.

"Oh—what about James—ouch!" he yelps. "Stop slapping me, baby!"

"You need to apologize to James," you scold, slapping him again despite the smile you're trying to hide.

"Fine," he mutters, rubbing his arm where you slapped him for the second time.

Then his eyes narrow. "Wait… did you at least like the gifts?"

You shrug, pretending to inspect your nails. "I guess."

"You guess?" Heeseung looks around your room. "Where are they?"

You hesitate. "I might've… given them to the girls."

He stares at you, horrified. "All of them?"

"Don't worry! I'll get them back," you chime.

"I spent my entire trust fund on all those gifts," he groans.

You climb into his lap, laughing. "You still won."

His pout disappears instantly. "Yeah," he says softly. "I did."

—

Epilogue

"I can't believe McCain got traded, son," your dad says, shaking his head at the TV like someone personally betrayed him.

"I know," Heeseung sighs beside him on the couch, just as invested. "But at least he went to a better team that knows how to utilize his skills."

You stop in the doorway, holding two glasses of water, watching them discuss basketball trades like it's been their routine for years. "Dad," you try. "I'm home too?"

"Not now, sweetie," he waves you off without looking. "Poor Heeseung hasn't been able to watch basketball because of finals."

You gasp. "Wow. You like him than me now?"

Heeseung tries to hide his smug smile, but fails miserably. Your mom walks in, and grabs your father by the sleeve. "Come help me in the kitchen and leave the kids alone."

"Wait—honey! It's the fourth quarter—" your father complains as he's being dragged to the kitchen.

The living room finally quiets. You sit beside Heeseung, shoulder brushing his. "Your stealing my dad."

"Your heard him! He called me son," he says proudly. "Sorry, but he loves me more."

You huff, but the smile tugging at your lips gives you away. After a moment, you add, "Can I ask you something?"

He turns toward you immediately. "Always."

"Why did you join my class?" you ask. "Corporate Finance has nothing to do with your major.

For a second, he just looks at you, something tender and a little shy flickering across his face. "I heard about the internship opportunity from Jake," he admits. "Not that you needed my help or anything, but I knew you'd take the course, so I enrolled to see you win. He pauses. "Admit it, though… I helped a lot didn't I?" he smirks.

Warmth floods your chest, but before you can respond, both of your phones buzz. It's an email from your professor. You open it—and freeze. "We won," you whisper. Then louder, "Heeseung—we won the case comp. And—"

Your voice breaks. "I got the internship."

He's on his feet in a second, pulling you into a hug so tight you start laughing.

From the kitchen your dad yells, "What happened?"

"We won the case comp, and I got the internship!"

"That's my daughter," he shouts back. A beat. "And my future son-in-law!"

"DAD!"

You're surrounded by the noise of your family and the steady beat of his heart against yours.