zoe

you were paired together for your intellect, compassion, and dedication to the subject. who would not pair the two top students together? you worked your way up and eventually started dating. people whispered, hoping for a “perfect” relationship like yours. but that was before everything went south. after that, people whispered, wondering why you were together in the first place– many wishing you would end it for their own selfish desires, some wanting to steal the two of you away from each other, and some simply for the drama.

it had become a common sight to see the two of you fighting in the hallways and in the classes you shared– constant bickering under the excuse of “correcting” and “drawing attention to” each other's mistakes and/or the details they missed. of course, the both of you would speak like diplomats when the teacher was present, but the looks the two of you shot each other were filled with venom. it was the definition of “if looks could kill, you would be dead.” nothing but pure hatred was filled your eyes. 

at first, seeing the cold indifference and rudeness from him– your hoon, the same man who used to be your comfort– broke your heart. but it hadn’t taken you long to close your heart off as well. you learnt to move on, slowly. it took you a while to stop yourself from punching haeun, park sunghoon’s new girlfriend, or him for thatm atter, but nights out with your friends, internships, and the sheer urge and determination to ensure you did not let that motherfucker beat you in any of the the exams or test ranking you both had to take, helped you move on. when you graduated, you were thriving– moved on, but your heart was still unforgiving.

2025, november 22nd, saturday. [the present]

you drove to the office after being called in for an emergency meeting by none other than your boss and friend, lee heeseung. of course, he would not call you in for an unimportant case, so you knew it was serious. it had been a few years since you graduated, and you had worked your way up the ranks within your company. you landed an excellent opportunity to work for korea’s largest private firm and rose through the ranks quite quickly. you had also been given the chance to help solve a couple of cases for other countries as well.

you had become something of a sensation, also came to be known as a popular bachelorette whose instagram following had grown significantly, despite not being an influencer, thanks to your sleek, modern, and aesthetic content accessible to the general public on your account. your lifestyle and dedication made you quite the role model for the younger generation aspiring to pursue careers in challenging fields filled with crime and often gruesome scenes.

upon arriving, you settled into your usual seat in the meeting room. you nodded in greeting towards heeseung, who flashed a quick smile in response before turning to the room, which was beginning to fill. “thank you for coming. i know today was supposed to be a day off, but urgent matters must be brought to attention. we shall begin shortly; i am waiting for—” he stopped as he heard the meeting room door push open.

the man who entered was none other than park sunghoon. although only 25, sunghoon had already gained a reputation as arguably being korea's finest detective– a cold professional whose personal life remains the country's greatest enigma. it wasn’t uncommon to see comments such as “the modelling industry is lucky he chose a different path” or “korea’s finest man and we don’t even know if he’s off the market” under any post on his instagram, in articles about him, or in related news related to his latest case.

the knowledge of your mutual hatred wasn’t a secret, but it wasn’t public knowledge either. only those who had witnessed it personally, or heard of it through others or yourself, knew about it. he did not acknowledge you in any way and neither did you.

“sorry, traffic was bad,” was the only explanation he gave before sitting down on the empty chair opposite to you. you had to restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. you shot heeseung a look, and he gave you a helpless, tight lipped smile. “okay, since everybody is here, let us begin. as you can see, mr park has joined us today,” he paused before continuing to introduce your team– those who filled the meeting room. “and of course, ms kang,” he fniished.

“the reason we have called you here is because of a case the korean authorities themselves have placed upon us,” he began as he walked towards his laptop. he gestured towards the slides displayed on the screen. there were pictures of five well respected socialites who are a part of korea’s elite. everyone in the room recognised the individuals.

“four of these five socialites– jang harin, choi eunwoo, yoon taeyang and kim donghyun– have been found dead in the last seven months, and the fifth– cho dasom– has been reported missing by her 29 year old son, cho doyun. she has been missing since attending the gala in gangnam-gu on thursday, 20th november, which was two days ago. now, the government is unable to solve the case. they have identified possible suspects but have made no progress without any proof or viable leads. we have received a case file, including detailed descriptions and photographs of the scenes, which we will examine later.” heeseung paused.

“the entire case has been given to us by the authorities. and the pattern involves victims going missing from events they were attending, bouquets being left at their doors exactly a week prior, and each victim receiving calls from an unknown number in the nights before their disappearance. the number of calls from the unknown number coincided with the order in which they were murdered. in addition, the manner in which they were killed– no bloodshed, tactfully and cleanly done– suggests a particular method. the styles seem similar yet different. of course, we may be wrong, but it is a possibility we cannot rule out.”

“mr park, as for why you are here, the authorities have decided it is appropriate for you to work with miss kang. they believe this is a case best solved by the most capable. you have one of the highest clearance rates, and so does she. you will have everything you need; meeting rooms and studies will be provided. you can work in either of your private studies– miss kang’s is in this building. but remember, you are in this together.” heeseung spoke, placing a subtle emphasis on the “work together,” warning you to maintain civility.

“that is all for today’s meeting. mr park and miss kang, you are welcome to stay. my office is on the top floor, room 18. If you require anything, call me. miss kang the case files have been placed in your study; you are welcome to go there. mr park, the rough details have been emailed to you.” if you would like a copy of the case there is a printer opposite to miss kang’s study in the conference room.” he said before grabbing his files and laptop and walking out. 

the room was quiet, an underlying tension began to fill the room. “miss kang, long time no see,” he spoke, voice calm, but a hint of venom laced his voice. “like-wise mr park.” you said, shooting him a glare.

 “let’s not make this difficult shall we? i don’t have time for your bullshit. let’s get this straight, we need to work on this case, mr park. It’s dragging korea’s reputation down. don’t make everything harder than it needs to.”

he smirks, “of course not. i’ll be on my best behavior” his voice dripping with sarcasm. “well darling, lead the way. we’ve got a case on our hands. time is ticking.” he says, gesturing towards the door. you scoffed and couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the nickname and walk towards the door. “keep up park, the case doesn’t wait for anyone.” 

his smirk didn’t fade, only grew as he matched your stride, “oh i intend to, make sure you don’t give me a reason to slow down.” his voice low, amused but hint of something sharper threaded through it. 

“the case isn’t just about you darling,” a beat passed. “my reputation’s on the line and possibly the lives of the remaining elites. “and i’m not letting anyone ruin what i worked to build, hm?” he said as he entered the lift alongside you.

jay shrugs, loosening his tie and leaning back against the wall. “what for? neither of us knew they’d be there. besides, dinner was my idea.”

you hum your concession, toying with the hem of your nightgown. “i suppose. still, it’s not much to fun to hear them go off on you like that.”

he scoffs, something like a bitter laugh escaping him. “please. i think they’re more concerned about their company projections than your safety. their studio would be down the drain without their leading lady. they couldn’t care less what state you show up in as long as this picture comes out.”

you watch him, the curve of his strong eyebrows where they’re furrowed with low-burning anger he’s probably not even aware of. it brings the faintest trace of a smile to your face. 

jay notices. of course he does. “what?”

“nothing,” you reply, that same smile still tugging at the corners of your lips. “just didn’t know you cared so much.”

he stares, deadpan. “it’s my job to care.”

you shrug, letting the topic drop (but not your smile). 

you and jay are officially on lockdown. 

after the lecture, richie had been by to go over the plan. you two were not to leave the apartment under any circumstances barring another near-death-experience. 

the majority of the footage had already been shot, so there was no need for you to come into the studio any longer, at least for the time being. you were given lines to practice for the next project to keep you busy. you weren’t even allowed to go out for your own food — richie was having his assistant deliver your groceries for the foreseeable future. every tuesday, she’d bring half-squashed bread, decent produce, and whatever gossip she’d overheard at the studio. it was the only way you were staying in the loop. 

so, here you are again, with jay, locked up in your modest los angeles apartment. for good this time. 

you try to find ways to pass the time. it involves a lot of staring out the window and practicing your new lines. a nervous energy clouds the place the first few days, filled with jay’s pacing and your stillness. both of you jump every time the doorbell rings or a car passes by. 

but once the new routine begins to settle, there are some…peaceful moments. a quiet afternoon spent in the living area, you on the couch listen to your favorite billie holiday record and jay on the armchair reading the paper. a game of cards that turns into a heated battle, complete with name-calling and raucous laughter. a half-burnt meal shared with laughter after you’d gotten distracted and left it on the stove too long. they’re the first few things (besides the dinner-that-wasn’t) that feel normal between you and jay. 

like you’re friends. not leading lady and mysterious bodyguard. not two people under fire from the most dangerous mob in the city. like you both have a say in the situation, like you’re choosing each other and not comrades held captive. 

it’s a nice feeling. it lasts a few days, but the illusion shatters well into next week one evening with the incessant pacing of jay’s spotless shoes on your hardwood floors. 

it’s his energy that bothers you more than the noise. restlessness is coming off him in waves, and not the simple kind that comes from being locked up too long. this is different…he’s thinking about something. it gives you a bad feeling. 

“you’re going to put a hole in my floor if you keep going in circles like that,” you finally say, putting your book down when you can’t take it anymore. 

jay stops at your voice and looks up like he hadn’t realized he’d been doing it. “sorry…”

but he doesn’t sound sorry. he sounds preoccupied. 

“what’s got your tie in a twist?” you demand, unsettled. 

for once, jay’s not looking at you. his dark eyes are laser-focused on the phone sitting plainly on the table beside you. you follow his gaze, but nothing seems amiss. everything is exactly as you’ve left it the past few days. 

“what?” you ask again.

“how did they know we’d be there?”

you squint at him irritatedly. “what are you talking about?”

“at the chaconne. i’d been inside five minutes when that thug came out shooting at you. there’s no way it was coincidence, he had to have known exactly when we’d arrive.”

dread creeps up your spine as the weight of his words seeps in. “…but how did they know we’d be there?”

your feet drop to the floor, shoulders bunching up as your body curls into itself. the apartment seems too small suddenly, like you’re not safe even in the confines of your own home. 

“jay,” you say again, more forcefully. “how did they know we’d be there?”

you follow his line of sight once more to the telephone. his eyebrows are creased, a frightening scowl set deep into his face. 

you recoil in the slightest when he marches over to the phone, deftly popping the porcelain skeleton and prying the rotary wheel off. his scowl deepens, that same low-burning fury in his eyes when his fingers yank a pale wire from the mess of circuitry inside. he holds up the displaced cable for you to see before he throws it to the ground and crushes it under his heel. 

“they tapped your phone,” he mutters through gritted teeth. he’s pacing again, steps quicker, path tighter. your stomach drops when the realization hits. 

they’ve been in your house. it’s like all the blood in your body goes cold. your neck is rigid with tension when you look up at jay. 

“b-but you said…”

jay picks up the phone, exposed wires and all, and punches in the number to your studio into the uncovered rotary. you can see the manic look in his eye, the panic that sets in when the line rings and rings without answer. he dials frantically another few times to no avail. you flinch when he slams the phone down, a frustrated growl escaping him as he runs a hand through his hair. 

he inhales quietly through his nose, steeling himself quickly before he turns to you and asks in a measured voice. “studio’s not picking up. do you have richie’s personal number?”

your heart falters for a second time when you realize that you don’t. 

“i-i…he…” it wasn’t rare to do business afterhours, not in your career. not when pictures had to be done on a strict schedule, starlet wellbeing be damned. you’d spent countless nights up until ungodly hours on the phone with richie and all your other executives hounding you on the line, calling you this way and that and projecting schedules for the next days and telling you to meet them here or there for a late shoot or a drink with a client. but it was never your doing. 

“he always called me,” you whisper helplessly, more to yourself than jay at this point. never once had you ever had more access to richie than he did to you. you had always been the star of the show, the luminary face of noxstar…hadn’t you? you were the reason they rose to fame, the reason they’re able to stay that way. you were the one calling the shots. or at least, that was what you had thought up until now. 

you were wrong. they own you. 

jay must see the horrified look on your face, the weight of all these realizations. his scowl lessens, and in your worry you miss the way his eyes almost soften when he kneels to meet your gaze, which at the moment, is intently fixed on the floor. his hands are warm and solid on your knees. 

“hey,” he says, his voice gentle but firm, same as his touch. you meet his eyes, the constricting feeling in your chest easing for just a moment. “i’m going to fix this.”

“they know where i live,” you whisper back helplessly, body trembling and fists clenched on the velvet sofa. 

jay stands with a final squeeze of your knee, smoothing his hair down and moving with brisk efficiency as he makes his way to the door and grabs his coat. 

you get to your feet immediately, a surge of panic returning when you see him reach for the door. “what are you doing?!”

“i’m going to the studio. there’s got to be someone around i can find, get me to someone that help. i’ll fix this.”

you rush over to stop him before he opens it, nails digging into his arm with how hard you’re holding on to him. “don’t go!”

he looks down at you, surprised. his free arm loosens around the doorknob, shoulders dropping slightly as some of the tension leaves his body. 

“don’t leave me here,” you whisper, mortified when your eyes begin to glass over with tears. “please.”

that does it. jay releases the doorknob, letting you pull him back from the entryway. you both stay there for a moment, too afraid to break the fragile silence, to disrupt the tension, to make everything that just happened real. 

your arm stays clutched around his, breathing shallowly, and his free hand comes to rest on your shoulder until it evens out. you should be off-put by his proximity, by the tingling feeling under your skin where he’s touching you. but you’re not. it’s the only thing that feels…safe, right now. 

you’re not sure how long you stay like that, frozen like a statue, petrified, until jay gently squeezes your shoulder as if to wake you from a trance. “you’re alright, starlight.” the rhyme almost makes you want to laugh, if you didn’t feel so awful. it rings in your ear like a children’s nursery tale. it’s charming the way he says it. like it really will be okay.

you let go of him with shaky arms once you can finally get a full breath in. your legs tremble when you back up a pace, arms wrapped around yourself as you look to jay as if to say what next?

he takes the jacket he’d been holding when he had meant to leave, draping it gently over your shoulders. your cheeks flush with embarrassment, but you let him because it feels comfortable and safe, like him. 

“you should rest.” the words are familiar on his lips, but this time you let the warmth behind it wash over you. it’s sincere this time, and not exasperated like usual. 

“how can i sleep knowing some triad scumbag was in here, tampering with my things?” you whisper, not missing the way his arms linger around you as he holds onto the lapels of the jacket. “what if they get in again?”

the crease returns to jay’s brow for a brief moment, a shadow passing quickly over his face before he composes himself. “they won’t. if we don’t make any calls it’ll take them a while to figure out i got the tap out. they’re playing a long game, but they’re not going to win. i’ll make sure of it.”

his words give you some assurance, but your stomach still turns uneasily. you glance to the window, but it’s pure darkness except for the faint lights in the distance you catch through the drapes. 

jay nudges your chin with a feather-light touch, just enough to get you to look back at him. “i’ll stay up all night if i have to. no one’s getting in. we’ll go to the studio first thing tomorrow and talk to somebody about this. i’ll fix it. alright, starlight?”

the faintest trace of a smile ghosts your lips at the nickname, at the rhyme from before. alright, starlight. 

you sleep with the bedroom door open that night, counting jay’s footsteps as he paces your living area until a fitful sleep finds you. 

© mytwinsung ♥︎ do not copy, translate, repost, feed to ai, etc. — comments + reblogs always appreciated!

a/n: just so you know, i don't write smut. i might make narration a little suggestive but nothing more than that. i'd love if we could respect that, thank u!

❗ this is a work of mere fiction, the characters attitudes do not reflect at all the artist's personality here mentioned. © kazutteoks 2026

ᯓ★ ! taglist ;

You downshifted with a vicious grin, the engine roaring back to life as you slingshotted out of the tunnel’s mouth and into the open night. The Pacific stretched dark and endless to your right, waves crashing against the cliffs below. One wrong twitch and you’d join them. Perfect. The finish line was a flickering set of headlights two miles out, guarded by a crowd of shadows and cash. Underground racing didn’t do checkered flags. It did blood money, broken bones, and reputations carved in burnt rubber.

You were the Ghost. Undefeated. The woman who turned junkyard dreams into monsters that ate supercars for breakfast. Owner of the hidden garage buried under an old shipyard, where the real magic happened. Twin-turbo swaps in the middle of the night, custom ECUs that laughed at factory limits, nitro systems that could make a Prius feel like a demon. The underground scene whispered your name like a curse and a prayer. You modded for kings and crushed them on the same night.

Tonight’s race was supposed to be easy money. Some rich kid with more ego than skill. But the Lambo was no toy. It was fighting dirty, and you loved it. You flicked the nitrous. The world punched forward. Your Supra lunged like it wanted to tear the road in half. The Lambo’s driver panicked, overcorrected, and you slipped past on the inside, kissing his bumper with just enough love to send him spinning toward the guardrail.

Metal screamed. Glass shattered. Cheers erupted from the distant crowd. You crossed the line doing 210, engine howling victory as you slammed the brakes and drifted to a smoky stop. Heart hammering. Blood singing. That was the high no drug could touch.

The crowd surged, warehouse rats, tunnel runners, shady bookies with wads of cash thick enough to choke on. Abandoned highways like this one, old industrial tunnels, flickering warehouse meets where bets started at five figures and ended in broken jaws. This was your kingdom. No sponsors. No rules. Just speed, money, and survival.

You killed the engine and stepped out, black racing suit hugging every curve, hair wild from the helmet you tossed onto the hood. The Ghost didn’t pose for cameras. She collected.

“Pay up,” you called, voice cutting through the chaos. A nervous kid with a duffel bag approached, eyes wide. You took the cash without counting, trust was earned by fear, not receipts.

But the night wasn’t done with you. Three cars rolled up slow from the opposite end of the lot, engines purring like predators who’d already eaten. A matte-black Nissan GT-R, a slammed Porsche 911 with custom widebody aggression, and a wickedly low Mitsubishi Evo that looked like it was built for war. They stopped in a perfect line, headlights pinning you like spotlights on a stage.

The doors opened. First out was the one with the sharp gaze and quiet command, Jungwon. Lean, calculated, the kind of guy who mapped every race three moves ahead. Dark hair, sharper jawline, black jacket slung over his shoulders like he owned the wind itself. Strategic leader. The brain who turned their trio into something unstoppable.

Next, Sunoo. Pretty in a way that could disarm you right before he ruined your life. A sly little smile playing on his lips, golden hair catching the distant lights, moving like he was dancing even when standing still. The pretty-boy driver who could charm a cop out of a ticket or slide through traffic like smoke.

And then Riki, tall, feral, all sharp edges and barely contained chaos. The speed demon. the one who looked like he’d race the devil and win on principle, his dark eyes were locked on you with pure, hungry delight.

The crowd quieted. Everyone knew these three, they didn’t just race, they hunted, no public faces, no socials, just ghosts in their own right, fast cars, dirty money, and a reputation for winning at any cost. They’d cleared half the circuit in the last six months. Now they were here.

Jungwon stepped forward first, hands in his pockets, calm as still water. “Ghost,” he said, voice smooth but edged. “Heard you don’t lose.”

You leaned back against your Supra, arms crossed, cocky smirk already in place. “Heard right. You three here to watch or waste my time?”

Sunoo chuckled, low and sweet, circling your car with appreciative eyes. “Pretty thing like you, running alone? Dangerous. Someone might steal your crown.”

“Try it,” you shot back, eyes gleaming. “I bite harder than I look.”

Riki grinned wide, all teeth, already bouncing on his heels like the engine in his Evo was revving inside his chest. “I like her. Let’s race. Right now. Winner takes the loser’s ride.”

The crowd murmured. High stakes. These boys didn’t play small. Jungwon tilted his head, studying you like a chessboard. “Three against one’s not fair. But you don’t seem like the type who needs fair. Tunnel run. Full circuit. Abandoned stretch past the old docks. First to the warehouse district wins. Loser owes the winner… whatever they want.”

Your pulse kicked up again, that delicious pressure building. Cocky energy rolled off you in waves. “Whatever I want?” You pushed off the car, stepping right into their space, close enough to smell engine oil and adrenaline. “Careful, pretty boys. I might take all three of your cars and leave you walking.”

Sunoo’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Bold. I like bold. But we don’t lose either, Ghost.”

Riki cracked his knuckles. “She talks big. Let’s see if she drives bigger.”

You laughed, sharp and genuine, the sound cutting through the night. “Get in your cars, boys. I’ll give you a head start. Wouldn’t want you crying about a slow warm-up.”

Jungwon’s lips curved, just a fraction. Respect mixed with challenge. “No head start. We race clean.”

Engines fired up around you. The GT-R’s twin turbos spooled with menace. The Porsche’s flat-six screamed. Riki’s Evo growled like a caged animal ready to break free. You slid back into your Supra, fingers wrapping around the wheel like an old lover. The hidden garage waited back home, your sanctuary of half-built beasts and secrets. But right now? This was the real church. Rubber on road. Heart in throat.

The flag dropped. Tires exploded smoke. Four cars launched into the darkness, the night swallowing them whole. Your Supra surged forward, glued to the asphalt, chasing the taillights ahead like prey that didn’t know it was already dead. Jungwon was smart, positioning early, blocking lines. Sunoo was slippery, using every gap like he was born in them. Riki? Pure chaos, diving into corners that should’ve ended him, laughing through the radio static that crackled between racers. You were the Ghost. And ghosts didn’t just win. They haunted. The tunnel loomed again, black mouth open wide. You downshifted, grinning like a devil. “Try to keep up, boys.”

The real race had just begun. Riki’s Evo launched beside you, feral and vicious, its aggressive stance clawing at the asphalt as he tried to muscle you into the wall on the first straight. Jungwon and Sunoo hung back, watching, but this opening heat was yours and the speed demon’s, raw, brutal, no mercy.

You didn’t give him an inch. The abandoned coastal highway twisted ahead like a black serpent, salt wind whipping through the open windows, carrying the metallic tang of burnt rubber and ocean spray. You shifted with surgical brutality, the gear lever slamming home as the Supra surged, pinning you back into the seat. Your thighs clenched around the vibrating bucket, anticipation bubbling in your belly from the thrill of racing three of the most notorious racers.

Riki was good, fucking terrifyingly good. He dove into the first sweeping curve like a predator waiting for this opportunity, apexing so tight his tires screamed in protest, trying to slingshot ahead. But you were the Ghost. You knew every crack in this forsaken road, every deceptive camber, every place where the asphalt buckled just enough to punish the reckless.

You feinted left, forcing him to commit, then cut inside with merciless precision. Your Supra kissed the inside line, suspension compressing hard enough to make your tits bounce against the harness. Riki’s Evo fought for traction, rear stepping out for half a second, enough. You blasted past in a blur of smoke and taillight fury, leaving him choking on your exhaust.

“Eat it, pretty boy,” you growled under your breath, a wicked grin splitting your face.

The tunnel swallowed you both. Darkness absolute, broken only by the strobe of emergency lights and the hellfire glow of your instruments. You flicked the nitrous again, and the car lunged, a violent surge of acceleration that made your heartbeat flutter against your skin from pure adrenaline and mechanical concentration. 200. 215. The Supra felt alive, like it wanted to fuck the road raw and leave it dripping.

Riki tried everything. He rammed your bumper once, twice, desperate and snarling. Metal kissed metal in sparks that lit the tunnel like fireworks. You laughed, loud, sharp, cocky, then braked late into the next chicane, forcing him to swerve wide or die kissing the concrete barrier. He chose life. Barely.

You smoked him by four full car lengths at the warehouse district marker.

You drifted to a smoky, arrogant stop in the middle of the cracked lot, engine ticking hot as it cooled. Stepping out, your racing suit clung to your sweat-slick skin, zipper pulled just low enough to tease the swell of your breasts. Your hair was a wild mess, cheeks flushed, lips parted as you caught your breath. The Ghost, victorious again.

Riki’s Evo screeched in seconds later, slamming to a halt beside you. He killed the engine and exploded out of the car like a storm breaking. He was fuming with rage and something far darker.

Towering, lean-muscled, sweat making his dark hair stick to his forehead, black tank stretched tight over a chest that rose and fell with barely leashed violence. His eyes, sharp, predatory, burning, locked onto you like he wanted to devour you alive. Jungwon and Sunoo hung back, watching with dark amusement.

Riki stalked forward, boots crunching gravel, until he had you backed against the warm hood of your Supra. His hands slammed down on either side of you, caging you in, close enough that you could smell engine grease, clean sweat, and raw, furious lust rolling off him in waves.

“Fucking bitch,” he hissed, voice low and gravel-rough, lips inches from yours. His gaze dragged down your body like a physical touch, slow, filthy, devouring the way your nipples had hardened against the thin fabric of your suit, the flush creeping down your neck, the way your thighs pressed together just slightly. “You think you can humiliate me like that and just walk away?”

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you tilted your chin up, cocky smirk dripping with venom and invitation. Your hands came up, not to push him away, but to fist the front of his tank, yanking him even closer until your bodies were flush, heat against heat, fury against fury.

“Humiliate?” you purred, voice husky, lips brushing his with every word. “Baby, I destroyed you. Left you choking on my smoke like a desperate little slut. And you loved every second of it, didn’t you? I can see how hard you are right now.”

Riki’s breath hitched, a dangerous growl rumbling in his chest. One of his hands slid down to grip your hip hard enough to bruise, fingers digging in with bruising possession as he pressed his very obvious, very thick erection against your thigh. The friction sent a bolt of pure filthy heat straight to your core. You were soaked, and the way he ground against you made it worse. Better.

His face hovered so close you could taste his anger. Dark eyes bored into yours, eye-fucking you with such raw intensity it felt like he was already buried balls-deep inside you, splitting you open on that cock you could feel throbbing against your leg.

“You’re so fucking cocky,” he breathed, lips ghosting over yours, not quite kissing, just teasing the promise of violence and filthy sex. “Walking around like you own the night. Like no one could bend you over this hood and fuck that attitude right out of you.”

Your pulse hammered. Your cunt clenched around nothing, aching, dripping. You rolled your hips once, deliberately, dragging yourself along the hard line of his dick and watching his jaw clench so tight it looked painful.

“Try it,” you whispered, lips brushing his, breath mingling hot and wet. “I dare you, Riki. Pin me down. Fuck me stupid. See if you can make the Ghost scream for you.”

The almost-kiss was torture, lips barely touching, breaths ragged, both of you trembling with the effort not to close that last millimeter. Furious. Horny beyond reason. The air between you crackled, thick with the promise of hate-fucking so raw it would leave marks for days.

Riki’s fingers tightened on your hip, the other hand sliding up to grip your jaw, thumb pressing hard against your lower lip, parting it like he owned it. “You’re going to regret this,” he snarled softly, eyes black with lust.

You smiled against his thumb, slow and filthy. “Make me.” The night pulsed around you, engines still ticking, crowd watching from a distance, but all that mattered was the brutal, delicious tension threatening to snap and consume you both.

The air between you crackled like live wire in the salt-laced night air, thick enough to choke on. Riki’s body pressed against yours with bruising insistence, his cock a hard, insistent ridge grinding against your thigh, his breath hot and ragged against your mouth, thumb still claiming your lower lip like a brand. For one suspended heartbeat, the filthy promise hung there: the hood of your Supra, your legs spread wide, his hips slamming into you until the only sound louder than your screams was the wet slap of skin and the roar of distant engines.

But you were the Ghost.

With a slow, predatory smile curling your lips, you planted both palms flat against the hard plane of his chest and shoved. The push was deliberate, powerful, born from core strength honed by years of wrestling modified beasts and throwing your weight into every reckless maneuver. Riki staggered back a step, surprise flashing across those sharp, feral features before it melted into something darker, pure, seething hunger laced with frustration.

“Enough foreplay,” you murmured, voice low and velvet-rough, dripping with mockery and invitation. “You want me? Earn it properly next time, pretty boy. I don’t fuck losers who can’t even keep up on the straight.”

You turned away from him with languid arrogance, the zipper of your racing suit still teasingly low, the fabric clinging to the curve of your spine and the generous swell of your ass. The cool night wind kissed your heated skin as you bent slightly to retrieve your helmet from where it rested on the hood. The movement was unhurried, deliberate, arching your back just enough to let the dim warehouse lights paint sinful shadows across your body, knowing full well his eyes were devouring every inch.

The helmet felt cool and familiar in your grip, a talisman of speed and dominance. You tucked it under one arm, running a hand through your tousled hair, letting the strands fall messily around your flushed face. Your thighs still trembled faintly from the adrenaline and the aching emptiness he’d left between them, your cunt slick and throbbing, panties ruined beneath the thin racing suit, but you didn’t falter. Not for a second.

The crowd parted instinctively as you began to walk away, boots crunching over gravel and shattered glass with measured, confident strides. Every step radiated unchallenged power: hips swaying with natural, dangerous grace, shoulders back, chin lifted in quiet supremacy. The distant crash of waves against the cliffs below mingled with the low murmur of engines cooling and the hushed whispers of onlookers who had just witnessed the speed demon get thoroughly humbled, and then denied.

Behind you, Riki remained rooted in place, chest heaving, fists clenched at his sides. You could feel the weight of his stare like a physical caress, dark, scorching, heavy with barely-leashed violence and raw, animalistic lust. It dragged down the length of your body, lingering on the sway of your ass, the way the suit hugged the dip of your waist, the glistening sheen of sweat along your collarbone. His jaw was locked tight, lips parted, breath still coming in short, furious bursts. The bulge in his pants hadn’t subsided; if anything, your rejection had only made him harder, more viciously aroused. He looked like a man who wanted to chase you down, slam you against the nearest wall, and fuck you until your voice broke and your legs gave out. Like he wanted to ruin you and be ruined in return. The fury in his eyes promised retribution, filthy, prolonged, and exquisitely cruel.

You didn’t glance back. Not once. Instead, you tossed a final cocky line over your shoulder, voice carrying clear and taunting through the night. “Keep staring like that and you might just cum in your pants before you even get another shot at me, Riki.”

A low, dangerous chuckle rumbled from his chest, half growl, half laugh, but he didn’t move. Not yet. Jungwon and Sunoo watched from beside their cars, expressions a mix of amusement and sharpened interest, but they stayed silent, letting the moment simmer.

You reached your Supra’s driver side, sliding in with fluid grace. The engine purred to life beneath you once more, a deep, throaty vibration that resonated straight through your still-sensitive core. As you pulled away from the lot in a controlled, smoky drift, the rearview mirror caught one last glimpse: Riki standing exactly where you’d left him, eyes locked on your taillights with the kind of dark, obsessive intensity that promised this was far from over.

The night swallowed you, but the heat of his gaze lingered on your skin like a brand, filthy, promising, and dangerously addictive. The taillights of your Supra faded into the black throat of the night, leaving behind nothing but the low rumble of distant waves and the faint scent of burnt rubber hanging in the air like expensive perfume mixed with sin.

Riki stood frozen for a long second, chest still heaving, cock straining painfully against the front of his pants like it had a personal vendetta against the zipper. Then, with a guttural curse, he dragged both hands through his damp hair, tugging hard at the roots as if the sting could ground him. “Fuck,” he growled, the word raw and dripping with frustration. “That fucking tease. She pushes me off like I’m some amateur and just walks away like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.”

Sunoo leaned against the hood of his Porsche, arms crossed, a sly, amused smirk playing on his pretty lips. His eyes glittered with dark delight as he watched Riki pace like a caged animal. “She does know. Did you see the way she looked at you? Like she wanted you to bend her over right there but decided you hadn’t earned it yet.”

Jungwon stood a few feet away, calm as ever, but his gaze lingered on the empty stretch of road where you’d disappeared. He exhaled slowly, a rare, low chuckle escaping him. “She’s a fucking challenge, beggin for us to break her open,” he said, voice smooth and measured, carrying that quiet authority that made the rest of them listen. “She’s lethal. That body in that suit? The way she moves, like she was built for sin and speed, the way she shoved you… Christ, Riki. You should shoot your shot.”

Riki let out a frustrated laugh, still gripping his hair before dropping his hands. His palms flexed at his sides like he could still feel the heat of your waist under them. “I wanted to fuck her right there on the hood. Pin her down, rip that suit open and bury myself so deep she forgets her own name. She was soaked for it—I could tell. The way her thighs kept pressing together, that little flush on her neck.”

Sunoo’s smirk deepened, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. “Imagine how tight she is. All that attitude and fire? She’d fight you the whole time, clawing your back, cursing you, then moaning like a whore when you hit that spot just right. Bet she gets loud. Wet. Drips down your balls while you’re pounding her senseless, yeah?”

“God, yeah,” Riki groaned, adjusting himself blatantly, no shame left in him. His eyes were still fixed on the road, dark and obsessive. “I wanted to drop to my knees and taste her right there in front of everyone. See if the Ghost tastes as filthy as she talks. Then flip her around, bend her over that Supra, and fuck her until her legs shake and she’s begging me to fill her up. She acts untouchable, but I bet once you get inside her, she milks you like she never wants you to pull out.”

Jungwon’s expression stayed composed, but the heat in his eyes betrayed him. He tilted his head, watching Riki with calculated interest. “She’d be exquisite. Tight, hot, dripping. Strong thighs locking around your waist, back arching, those perfect tits bouncing while you rail her. She’s got stamina too, racing does that. She wouldn’t tap out easy. You’d have to earn every filthy sound she makes.”

Riki exhaled sharply, a predatory grin finally breaking through the frustration. “Next time I catch her, I’m not letting her walk away. I’ll have her spread open, screaming my name while I ruin that pretty pussy. Make her admit she wants it just as bad.”

Sunoo laughed softly, low and wicked. “We all might want a taste by the end of this. But you saw her first, Riki. Go hunt her down. Just make sure when you finally fuck her, you do it right. Make it dirty. Make it hurt so good she comes back for more.”

The three of them stood in the flickering lot, engines still ticking cool, the air thick with the residue of your presence, arrogant, intoxicating, and dangerously addictive. Riki’s jaw tightened with fresh resolve, the fire in his veins burning hotter than any race. This wasn’t over.

The garage smelled of motor oil, ozone from the welding torch, and the faint metallic bite of coolant. Deep in the bowels of the abandoned shipyard, your hidden sanctuary hummed under flickering industrial lights that cast long, dramatic shadows across half-built chassis and gleaming engine blocks. It was well past 2 a.m., the kind of hour where the underground world felt most alive. You were bent over the exposed engine bay of your Supra, back arched, the zipper of your racing suit pulled down to the valley between your breasts because the night was thick and humid, sweat tracing slick paths down your sternum and between your tits.

Tools clinked in your grease-streaked hands as you tightened a stubborn turbo fitting, muscles flexing under the thin fabric that clung like a second skin. The suit gaped open invitingly, revealing the inner swell of your breasts and the flat, toned plane of your stomach. You didn’t hear him at first, too focused, too deep in the mechanical rhythm that always calmed the storm in your blood.

But Riki had found you.

The heavy roll-up door rattled open with a metallic groan. You straightened slowly, wiping your hands on a rag, turning to face the intruder with that signature cocky tilt to your chin. He stood silhouetted in the doorway like a predator who’d finally run down its prey, tall, wired, dark hair messy from the ride over, eyes burning with hours of pent-up fury and raw, unrelenting lust.

“You really thought you could leave me like that?” His voice was low, dangerous, echoing off the concrete walls as he stalked inside. The door slammed shut behind him, sealing the two of you in. “Walking away with that smug little smirk while my dick was so hard it fucking hurt?”

You tossed the rag aside, leaning back against the Supra’s fender, arms crossing under your chest in a way that deliberately pushed your breasts higher, the zipper slipping another dangerous inch. A slow, taunting smile curved your lips. “Poor baby. Couldn’t handle getting smoked and then denied? Go cry about it somewhere else, Riki. I’m busy.”

He was on you in three strides.

The confrontation ignited like spilled fuel meeting flame. Riki’s hand shot out, fingers tangling brutally in your hair as he yanked your head back, exposing the elegant line of your throat. His mouth crashed against yours in a violent, devouring kiss, teeth clashing, tongues fighting for dominance, no tenderness, only raw hunger. You bit his lower lip hard enough to draw a growl from deep in his chest, then kissed him back just as viciously, hands fisting his shirt and dragging him closer.

“Cocky little bitch,” he snarled against your mouth, biting your lip in retaliation before sucking on it. His free hand shoved the zipper the rest of the way down, exposing your bare skin to the cool garage air. He palmed one breast roughly, thumb flicking over your already-hard nipple, pinching until you gasped into the kiss.

You shoved him back just enough to breathe, eyes blazing. “Then do something about it, speed demon. Or are you only good at talking shit?”

That snapped the last thread of restraint. Riki spun you around and bent you over the hood for a moment, grinding his massive erection against your ass while his hand snaked around to squeeze your throat, not cutting off air completely, but enough to make your pulse thunder under his fingers. “You’re mine tonight,” he growled, lips brushing your ear. “Gonna fuck that attitude right out of this pretty cunt.”

He hauled you upright, kissing you again, filthy, wet, spit-slick, before dragging you toward the Supra’s rear door. The backseat was spacious, leather pristine and waiting. He shoved you inside first, following immediately, the door slamming shut and trapping you both in the intimate, gasoline-scented confines of your own car.

Clothes were torn off in a frenzy. Your suit was peeled down your body like shedding skin, his shirt ripped over his head to reveal a lean, sculpted torso marked with faint scars from past wrecks. You barely had time to admire it before he was on you again, pushing you onto your back across the backseat, one knee forcing your thighs apart.

Riki’s hand returned to your throat, squeezing with perfect pressure as he leaned down and spit directly into your open mouth. “Swallow,” he ordered, voice gravel-rough. You did, eyes locked on his, defiant even as heat flooded your core and your pussy clenched with shameful need.

He grinned, feral and beautiful. “Good girl. My new fuckhole.”

His fingers found you soaked, embarrassingly, shamefully drenched. Two thick digits shoved inside without warning, curling cruelly against that spongy spot that made your back arch off the leather. You moaned, loud and unfiltered, hips bucking into his hand. He finger-fucked you mercilessly, thumb grinding against your swollen clit while his other hand kept your throat pinned.

“Look at you,” he taunted, voice dripping with dark satisfaction. “So fucking wet for the guy you humiliated. This greedy little cunt is dripping all over my fingers.”

You reached up, nails raking down his chest hard enough to leave red trails. “Then fuck me already, you bastard. Or I’ll find someone who can.”

Riki’s eyes flashed with pure animalistic rage and lust. He withdrew his fingers, shoved his pants down just enough to free his cock, long, thick, flushed dark and leaking at the tip. He stroked himself once, twice, then hooked your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half as he lined up and thrust into the hilt in one brutal stroke.

The stretch burned deliciously. You cried out, walls fluttering around the sudden invasion as he bottomed out, balls pressed tight against you. He didn’t give you time to adjust, pulling back and slamming in again, setting a punishing rhythm that rocked the entire car on its suspension.

“Fuck— so tight,” he groaned, hips snapping forward with savage force. The wet, obscene sounds of your pussy taking him filled the confined space. He reached up, yanked the sun visor down, flipping open the mirror so it angled perfectly. “Watch. Watch yourself get ruined, Ghost.”

You turned your head. The sight was obscene: your face flushed, lips swollen, eyes glassy with pleasure; your tits bouncing with every violent thrust; Riki’s powerful body driving into you, muscles flexing, sweat gleaming. His hand returned to your throat, choking you lightly as he fucked you deeper, harder.

“Little bitch,” he panted, punctuating each word with a punishing thrust. “Acting untouchable. Now you’re just my fuckhole. Taking this cock like you were made for it.”

Your moans turned into broken sobs of pleasure. One hand braced against the roof, the other clawing at his back. He leaned down, biting your neck, sucking marks into your skin while his hips rolled relentlessly. The angle hit everything, deep, brutal, perfect. Your orgasm crashed over you without warning, pussy spasming around him so hard your vision whited out. You screamed his name, thighs shaking.

Riki didn’t stop. He fucked you through it, then flipped you onto your knees, face pressed against the cool leather, ass up. He re-entered you from behind, one hand fisting your hair, yanking your head back so you could still see yourself in the mirror, mascara smudged, lips parted in a constant moan, tits swaying as he railed you.

He spit into your mouth again when you turned your head, making you swallow while he pounded you senseless. “Again. Cum on my cock again, you filthy slut.”

You did, shuddering, gushing around him, the leather beneath you slick with your release. Riki’s pace grew erratic, thrusts losing rhythm as he chased his own end. His grip on your hips turned bruising.

“Gonna fill this pussy up,” he growled. “Mark my new fuckhole.”

With a guttural roar, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your insides, pulse after pulse until it was too much. When he finally pulled out, a messy creampie leaked from your wrecked hole, dripping in thick white strands onto the black leather seats.

You collapsed, chest heaving, body trembling with aftershocks. Riki leaned over you, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to your shoulder before the feral edge returned.

He whispered against your ear, voice dark and possessive, “This isn’t over. Not even close.” The Supra’s windows were fogged. The garage was silent except for your ragged breathing.

Outside, the night waited, full of more races, more tension, more delicious destruction.

The next night found the trio back at their usual haunt, a dimly lit warehouse on the outskirts where the air hung heavy with cigarette smoke, cheap whiskey, and the low thrum of bass from hidden speakers. Riki couldn’t sit still. He paced the concrete floor like a man possessed, energy crackling off him in waves, a fresh bruise on his neck peeking from beneath his collar like a trophy.

“You should’ve seen her,” he said, voice rough with lingering hunger. He ran a hand through his hair, eyes dark and distant, replaying every filthy second. “She was so fucking tempting, so fucking hot.”

Jungwon leaned back against a stack of tires, one eyebrow raised, a slow, intrigued smile tugging at his lips. “Damn. Sounds like the Ghost finally met her match.”

Riki let out a low, satisfied laugh. “Match? Nah. I broke her. She was soaked before I even got inside her. Fought me the whole time but her pussy was gripping me like it never wanted me to leave. I’m telling you, that woman is addictive. Dangerous. Best fuck I’ve ever had.”

Sunoo sat on the hood of his car, legs dangling, pretty face deceptively calm. But beneath the surface, something shifted. He listened to every graphic detail, every filthy recounting, and felt a slow, insidious heat curl low in his stomach. At first it was mere curiosity, the way Riki, usually so feral and quick to move on, couldn’t shut up about her. But the more Riki talked, the more Sunoo found himself studying the mental image: your arched back, the cocky smirk even while getting railed, the way you must’ve taken control even when pinned down.

Interesting, Sunoo thought, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. She’s under his skin. Maybe I need to see what all the hype is about.

From that moment, Sunoo began watching you differently. Whenever your name came up in underground circles, or when your Supra tore through a tunnel run, his eyes narrowed with calculated interest. He catalogued your movements from afar, the confident sway of your hips when you walked away from a win, the precise way your hands worked under a hood, the sharp intelligence behind every taunting word. You weren’t just another racer. You were a puzzle wrapped in sin, and Sunoo had always loved solving things the hard way.

Two nights later, he showed up at your garage unannounced.

The roll-up door was partially open, golden light spilling out into the shipyard darkness. Sunoo killed the engine of his matte Porsche and stepped out, dressed in a loose black shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the sharp line of his collarbones, sleeves rolled up to reveal toned forearms. He moved with that signature graceful slyness, like a fox slipping into a henhouse.

You were inside again, this time crouched beside a workbench, tools spread out like surgical instruments. You were wearing a simple tank top and had thrown on a pair of pants that didn’t mind getting dirty with grease, the fabric clinging to your sweat-damp skin. Sunoo let his gaze linger openly, appreciative, unhurried, drinking in the sight.

“Well, well,” he drawled, voice smooth as silk and twice as deceptive. “The infamous Ghost in her natural habitat. Mind if I interrupt your little mechanical worship?”

You straightened, wiping grease from your hands, eyes narrowing with immediate suspicion and a spark of amusement. “Sunoo. To what do I owe the displeasure? Come to beg for racing tips after your boy got his ass handed to him?”

He chuckled softly, stepping deeper into the garage, circling you slowly like he was appraising a prized engine. “Actually, I need some mods. My Porsche has been… misbehaving. Needs a firmer hand. Someone who knows how to make it scream just right.” His eyes dropped deliberately to the exposed curve of your breasts, then back up to your face, the implication dripping like honeyed venom.

You crossed your arms, pushing your chest up further, meeting his gaze with pure cocky defiance. “Flirting already? Riki must’ve run his mouth. What’d he tell you, that I’m an easy conquest now?”

Sunoo stopped in front of you, close enough that you caught the clean scent of his cologne mixed with engine oil. He tilted his head, studying you with those sharp, pretty eyes that seemed to peel back layers. “Oh, he hasn’t shut up about you. Every detail. How tight you are. How you moaned his name while he fucked you stupid in your own backseat. How you took his cum like you were starving for it.” 

He reached out, bold as brass, and lightly traced a finger along the edge of the hem of your tank, not quite touching skin but close enough to make the air between you crackle. “I have to admit… I’m intrigued. You don’t seem like the type to let anyone ruin you. Yet here Riki is, walking around like he conquered the unconquerable. Makes a man wonder what it would take to make you fall apart for him too.”

Your pulse quickened despite yourself. Sunoo’s approach was completely different from Riki’s feral onslaught, this was psychological, teasing, a slow seduction wrapped in mind games. He was peeling you open with words, watching every micro-expression, every shift in your breathing.

“Careful,” you warned, voice low and dangerous, stepping closer until your bodies nearly brushed. “You might bite off more than you can chew, pretty boy.”

Sunoo’s lips curved into a wicked, angelic smile. “I’m counting on it. I like things that fight back. Makes the eventual surrender so much sweeter.” His voice dropped to a velvet murmur. “Tell me, Ghost… when he had you bent over, choking on his cock with your own reflection staring back at you, did you think about the rest of us watching? Wondering how we’d feel stretching this legendary..?” he ghosted his finger tip over the waistband of your pants.

He let the silence stretch, eyes locked on yours, the tension thickening like smoke. Then he pulled back slightly, all business again, though the heat in his gaze remained.

“So. About those mods. I’ll pay whatever you want. Cash. Favors.” His smirk deepened. “Or we could work out a more… creative arrangement. I’m very good at negotiating.”

You felt the pull, that dangerous, addictive magnetism. Sunoo wasn’t rushing in like Riki. He was circling, probing, planting seeds. And damn if it wasn’t working. The garage suddenly felt smaller, hotter, charged with a new kind of filthy promise.

This trio was becoming far more than just competition on the road.  And Sunoo had every intention of getting under your skin, and eventually, deep inside you, to see exactly what made the Ghost unravel.

The garage was quiet, save for the low metallic ticking of cooling engines and the distant murmur of the sea beyond the shipyard. You were alone, dressed down after a long night of work, tiny black athletic shorts that barely covered the curve of your ass, and an oversized, worn-out tee that hung off one shoulder, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide the fact you weren’t wearing a bra. Your nipples pressed against the cotton, sensitive from the cool night air drifting through the half-open roll-up door. Grease streaked your thighs and forearms as you tinkered with a half-finished chassis perched on jack stands in the center of the space, a sleek, bare-boned beast waiting for its soul.

You were bent over the hood when the door rattled open without warning.

Sunoo slipped inside like he belonged there, dressed in a black button-up half-undone and dark pants that hugged his lean frame. His hair fell softly over his forehead, and that angelic, dangerous smile was already curving his lips as he took in the sight of you, bare legs, messy hair, the way the oversized tee rode up to expose the underside of your ass when you straightened.

“Jesus, Ghost,” he drawled, voice silky and amused. “Did I catch you at a bad time? Or is this how you always greet your favorite customer?”

You wiped your hands on the rag, shooting him an irritated glare. “Sunoo. Ever heard of knocking? Or calling? It’s four in the fucking morning. I’m not in the mood for your mind games tonight.”

He ignored the warning, strolling closer with that infuriating grace, eyes dragging slowly over your bare thighs, the hard points of your nipples visible through the thin shirt, the way your shorts clung to your hips. “You look… edible. All soft and rumpled. Makes a man forget why he came here in the first place.”

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the car, deliberately bending deeper over the hood just to test him. “If you’re here for mods, talk price and leave. If you’re here to run your mouth about how Riki can’t stop bragging, save it. I’m busy.”

Sunoo chuckled softly and closed the distance. Instead of touching you, he leaned against the half-finished car right beside you, close enough that his warmth bled into your side. “Busy looking fuckable enough to distract a saint. You always this mouthy when you’re barely dressed?”

The annoyance built slowly, deliciously. He kept talking, teasing, poking, complimenting in the most backhanded, psychological way possible. Every time you snapped at him, he’d smile wider, stepping just a little closer, brushing “accidentally” against your arm, your hip, the side of your breast when you reached for a tool.

An hour passed like that. Banter growing sharper. Tension thickening. Eventually, he had you backed against the hood of the unfinished car, your ass pressed to the cool metal. The garage lights cast a low, golden glow over your skin.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” he murmured, finally placing his hands on either side of you, caging you without quite touching. “Pretending you don’t feel it. But I see the way your thighs press together every time I mention racing you. Every time I talk about pinning you down like Riki did.”

Your breath hitched despite yourself. Sunoo noticed, of course he did.

He stepped between your legs, hands finally sliding onto your thighs, thumbs stroking maddeningly slow circles along the sensitive inner skin. “Tell me, baby… does your pretty cunt get wet when you race against us? When you know three dangerous men are hunting you on the road?”

You tried to push him away, but there was no real force behind it. He caught your wrists gently, pinning them to the hood above your head with one hand while the other traced higher, slipping under the hem of your shorts.

“Answer me,” he whispered against your ear, lips brushing the shell. “Be honest, or I’ll stop.”

“…Yes,” you finally hissed, cheeks burning. “It makes me wet. Happy?”

Sunoo’s smile turned wickedly sweet. “Good girl.”

The seduction unraveled slowly, torturously. For hours. He stripped you of the tee with reverent fingers, exposing your tits to the cool air, then spent what felt like forever worshipping them, sucking, biting, licking, while his thigh pressed firmly between your legs. You rode his thigh like a desperate slut, grinding your soaked pussy against the hard muscle through your shorts, leaving a dark wet patch on his pants. Every time you got close, he pulled back, laughing softly at your frustrated growl.

“Uh-uh. Not yet. I want you dripping. Begging. Confessing.”

He peeled your shorts down your legs, leaving you completely bare on the hood of the half-finished car. The metal was cold against your overheated skin. Sunoo dropped to his knees, pretty face inches from your glistening cunt, and simply breathed on it. Teased. Edged you with nothing but words and feather-light touches for what felt like eternity.

“Look at this greedy little pussy,” he cooed, voice dripping with pretty degradation. “Soaking for a man who hasn’t even fucked you yet. Riki really wasn’t exaggerating. You’re pathetic for it, aren’t you? The big bad Ghost, reduced to humping my thigh and dripping all over my tongue like a needy whore.”

When he finally gave in, it was devastating.

His tongue, hot, skilled, relentless, devoured you. Long, slow licks followed by vicious sucks on your clit. Two elegant fingers curled deep inside you, stroking that perfect spot while he edged you mercilessly, bringing you right to the brink again and again before pulling away to kiss your trembling thighs and whisper filth.

“Say it again. Tell me how racing us makes this slutty cunt throb.”

“I get so fucking wet,” you gasped, hips bucking against his face, hands fisted in his soft hair. “Every time… every time I see your cars, I get soaked. I hate it. I fucking love it—”

Sunoo moaned against your pussy, the vibration sending you spiraling. “That’s my girl. So honest when you’re desperate.”

He finally let you cum, fingers pumping faster, tongue flicking perfectly over your swollen clit while he looked up at you with those sharp, angelic eyes. The orgasm tore through you like a nitrous blast, violent and shattering. Your back arched off the hood, thighs clamping around his head as you gushed on his tongue and fingers, moaning brokenly, vision whiting out.

He worked you through every pulse, licking up every drop like it was ambrosia, murmuring pretty degradations between licks. “Such a messy little cumslut. Look at you creaming all over my face. So fucking beautiful when you fall apart.”

When the last aftershock faded, he rose to his feet, lips shiny with your release. He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, then stepped back with a satisfied, almost cruel little smile.

You reached for him, aching for his cock, for more, but he caught your wrist and gently pinned it back down. “Not tonight, Ghost,” he whispered, voice velvet-soft and devastating. “I want you desperate. Next time I come back, you’re going to beg me to fuck you properly.”

He straightened his clothes, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and gave you one last long, appreciative look, naked, trembling, cum-smeared on the hood of your own car in the dead of the night. “Sweet dreams, baby.” Then he was gone, leaving the garage door rattling shut behind him. You stayed there, legs spread, chest heaving, pussy still fluttering and aching for something he deliberately denied you. The pretty bastard. And the worst part? You already knew you’d be waiting for his next visit.

The safehouse they shared, a converted warehouse loft overlooking the old docks, was dark with bits of unfiltered light and the low hum of the city bleeding through the reinforced windows. It was nearly dawn when the lock clicked. Sunoo stepped inside, still carrying the scent of your garage on his skin: motor oil, sex, and the faint sweetness of your release. His lips were still slightly swollen, hair tousled from your fingers, and the taste of you lingered on his tongue like the finest sin.

Jungwon was waiting. The moment Sunoo closed the door, Jungwon moved like a shadow unleashed. He slammed Sunoo back against the concrete wall with surprising force, one hand fisting the front of his half-open shirt, collar gripped tight enough to wrinkle the fabric. Their faces were inches apart. Jungwon’s eyes burned, dark, stormy, barely contained, his usually calm, strategic mask completely shattered.

“Did you fuck her?” Jungwon growled, voice low and dangerous, breath hot against Sunoo’s cheek. His other fist was clenched at his side, knuckles white. “Answer me, Sunoo. Did you fuck Y/N tonight?”

Sunoo didn’t flinch. Instead, a slow, wicked smirk spread across his pretty face, eyes sparkling with satisfaction and mischief. He tilted his head slightly, even while pinned, utterly unbothered by the aggression.

“Oh, I didn’t fuck her,” he purred, voice velvet-soft and dripping with filthy delight. “Not yet. But I made her fall apart so beautifully, Won. Had her spread open on the hood of that half-finished car at 4 a.m., wearing nothing but those tiny shorts and that pathetic little tee. God… Riki wasn’t kidding. She is so fucking fine.”

Sunoo’s tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, savoring the memory.

“Her pussy was dripping before I even touched it properly. Soaking my thigh while she rode it like a desperate little slut, whimpering every time I mentioned racing us. I ate her out for hours, edged that greedy cunt until she was begging, shaking, confessing how wet she gets just thinking about us on the road. Then I finally let her cum on my tongue and fingers. She gushed, Won. Screamed. Looked so fucking perfect when she broke.”

Jungwon’s breathing grew ragged. His eyes flickered wildly, from Sunoo’s swollen lips, to the faint red marks on his neck, down to the unmistakable scent still clinging to him. His grip on Sunoo’s collar tightened, jaw locked so hard it looked painful. A storm of jealousy, lust, and frustration rolled across his sharp features.

Then, bang. Jungwon’s fist slammed into the wall right beside Sunoo’s head, hard enough to crack the surface and send a small shower of dust drifting down. He was panting now, chest heaving, strands of dark hair falling messily into his eyes. The composed leader was gone. In his place was a man unraveling at the seams, burning alive with possessive need.

Sunoo only smirked wider, utterly unfazed. He leaned forward as much as the grip on his collar allowed, lips brushing the shell of Jungwon’s ear, voice dropping into a low, teasing whisper.

“You know, Won… you can have her too,” he murmured, sweet and poisonous. “I know you want her. Badly. No need to be so jealous that Riki and I got to taste her first. She’s addictive, isn’t she? That cocky mouth. That perfect body. The way she fights and then melts when you hit the right spot…”

He let the words hang, watching the way Jungwon’s pupils blew wide, the way his breath hitched.

Sunoo’s hand came up slowly, fingers lightly tracing the tense line of Jungwon’s clenched jaw. “She’d look so good under you. Or between us. Imagine bending her over together… making her admit she belongs to all three of us now.”

Jungwon didn’t pull away. His forehead dropped against Sunoo’s shoulder, breaths mingling in the charged silence. The air between them was thick with violence, envy, and something darker,  shared hunger.

“Next time,” Jungwon finally rasped, voice rough as gravel, “you don’t go alone.”

Sunoo’s soft laugh echoed in the loft, low and victorious. “That’s my man.” The night had already claimed you in pieces. And the trio was only growing more ravenous.

The garage felt too quiet after Sunoo left you wrecked on that hood.

You sat there for a long time afterward, legs still spread, cum-slick thighs trembling, chest heaving as you stared at the ceiling and tried to piece together what the hell was happening to you.

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

Riki had claimed you like a beast, brutal, raw, no mercy. He’d fucked you stupid in your own backseat, choked you, spat in your mouth, turned you into his personal fuckhole while you watched yourself shatter in the mirror. And you’d loved it. The violence. The filth. The way he made your body sing with hate and pleasure so intertwined you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

Then Sunoo. God, Sunoo. That pretty, psychological menace had spent hours edging you into madness with nothing but his voice, his thigh, his wicked tongue and elegant fingers. He’d made you confess how wet racing against them made you, how your pussy throbbed at the mere thought of their cars in your rearview. He’d degraded you so sweetly it felt like worship, then left you dripping and desperate, aching for a cock he deliberately denied you.

And now Jungwon, the calm, strategic one, was clearly unraveling too. You could feel it in the air, in the way the trio watched you during meets. Three dangerous, beautiful men circling you like wolves who’d tasted blood and wanted the whole feast.

Part of you was furious at how easily they were getting under your skin. You were supposed to be the one in control. The one who left them choking on your exhaust and their own lust. Yet here you were, touching the fresh marks on your neck, your thighs still sore, your clit still sensitive, wondering when the leader would finally snap and take his turn.

You hated how much you craved it. You needed it. The thought made you wet again even now, hours later. Three men. Three completely different kinds of ruin. And you, the Ghost, were starting to wonder if you’d finally met your match, not on the road, but in the delicious, filthy chaos they brought into your nights.

Two nights later, Jungwon found you alone at a smaller underground meet near the old industrial tunnels. He approached while you were leaning against your Supra, arms crossed, watching the lesser races with bored detachment. No Riki. No Sunoo. Just him, sharp jaw, darker-than-usual eyes, black jacket slung over his shoulders like armor. He moved with that quiet command that made people instinctively clear a path.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low and steady, but you caught the undercurrent of something sharper. “Race me. Tonight. Just you and me. No audience. No backup. Full circuit, the long tunnel route past the cliffs. Winner takes whatever they want from the loser.”

You raised an eyebrow, a cocky smirk tugging at your lips. “Bold. Your boys know you’re sneaking off to play with me alone?”

Jungwon’s gaze darkened. “They don’t need to know everything.”

The challenge hung between you, thick and electric. You accepted. The meeting point was a forgotten stretch of coastal highway at the edge of the cliffs, far from the usual crowds. Moonlight painted the asphalt silver, waves crashing violently below. Only two cars: your Supra and his matte-black GT-R, engines purring like predators sizing each other up.

You stepped out, wearing your racing suit zipped low again, hair loose and wild. Jungwon was already waiting. The moment you closed your door, he moved. No warning. He closed the distance in three strides, one hand gripping the back of your neck, the other sliding possessively around your waist as he yanked you against him. His mouth crashed into yours, deep, demanding, hungry. Not the chaotic violence of Riki or the teasing seduction of Sunoo. This was controlled fire. Jungwon kissed like he was staking a claim, tongue sliding against yours with deliberate dominance, teeth grazing your lip hard enough to sting. You tasted frustration. Jealousy. Weeks of watching his friends touch you before he could.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, fingers fisting his shirt, biting his tongue when he tried to take full control. A low growl rumbled in his chest. When he finally pulled back, just enough to speak, his forehead rested against yours, breath ragged. His hand stayed locked on the back of your neck, thumb stroking your pulse point.

“It’s my turn now,” he whispered against your swollen lips, voice rough and dark. “You’ve had them. Riki fucked you raw in your own car. Sunoo made you cum on his tongue like a desperate little slut. But tonight? You’re mine. All mine. I don’t like sharing what I want, Ghost. And I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you smoke that idiot in the tunnel.”

His grip tightened, possessive, almost bruising. Those sharp eyes bored into yours, burning with barely-leashed intensity. “I’m not them. I’m not going to rush in and ruin you in five minutes. I’m going to take my time breaking you apart. Slowly. Thoroughly. Until the only name you remember is mine. Until this cocky, untouchable Ghost admits she’s dripping for the man who actually knows how to own her.”

You laughed breathlessly, defiant even as heat flooded your core and your thighs clenched. “Big words, Jungwon. Think you can back them up? Or are you just pissed your boys got to taste me first?”

His lips brushed yours again, slower this time, filthy and promising. “Race me. Beat me if you can. But when I win… I’m dragging you somewhere private and fucking you until you can’t walk straight. No sharing. No mercy. Just you, me, and hours of making up for lost time.”

The air between you crackled, thick with tension and raw, mutual hunger. Engines idled. The sea roared below. The night waited. Jungwon stepped back reluctantly, but not before stealing one last bruising kiss, biting your lower lip hard enough to leave a mark.

“Get in your car, baby,” he murmured, eyes black with promise. “Let’s see if the Ghost can handle what happens when the leader finally stops watching from the sidelines.” You slid back into the Supra, heart hammering, already aching with fresh, traitorous need. This wasn’t just a race anymore. It was foreplay. And Jungwon looked ready to win everything.

The race was brutal, beautiful, and completely rigged from the start.

Jungwon drove like a demon with a plan. He pushed you hard through the twisting coastal tunnels, his GT-R a black shadow in your mirrors, kissing your bumper on the straights and forcing aggressive lines through the corners. But at the final chicane before the cliffs, the one that decided everything, he hesitated just a fraction. A perfectly calculated mistake. You sliced through the gap like a blade, your Supra howling victory as you crossed the invisible finish line two car lengths ahead.

You killed the engine and stepped out into the moonlight, chest heaving, a savage, cocky grin splitting your face. The sea wind whipped your hair as you slammed the door and spread your arms wide.

“Looks like the great leader just got smoked,” you called out, voice dripping with arrogance. “What happened, Jungwon? All that big talk and you couldn’t even keep up? Pathetic.”

He climbed out of the GT-R slowly, eyes locked on you with terrifying intensity. On the surface, he was calm. But you could see it, the possessive jealousy simmering beneath that composed mask, boiling hotter with every cocky word out of your mouth. Riki had fucked you first. Sunoo had tasted you second. And now here you were, strutting like you’d conquered him too.

Perfect. He wanted you exactly like this, riding high on victory, mouthy, untouchable. Because when he finally broke you, the fall would be devastating. Before you could taunt him again, Jungwon crossed the distance in a blur. His hand clamped around your wrist like a vice and he yanked you toward his car, ignoring your sharp protest.

“Get in.”

“Jungwon—”

“I said get the fuck in.” He didn’t take you back to the garage. He drove in dark, furious silence to an abandoned underground parking structure deep in the industrial district, a concrete tomb of flickering fluorescent lights and echoing emptiness. The moment the GT-R rolled to a stop in the deepest level, he killed the engine, dragged you out by the waist, and slammed you against the trunk of his car.

His mouth crashed into yours with weeks of pent-up jealousy and hunger. The kiss was punishing, teeth and tongue and pure ownership. He bit your lip hard enough to draw a gasp, then soothed it with his tongue before devouring you again. “You think winning that race means shit?” he growled against your mouth, hands already ripping the zipper of your racing suit down to your navel. “I let you win, baby. I wanted you cocky. I wanted you dripping with that arrogant attitude when I finally ruin you.”

He shoved the suit off your shoulders, letting it pool at your waist, exposing your bare breasts to the cold underground air. His hands were everywhere, mauling your tits, pinching your nipples until you arched into him, then sliding down to shove the rest of the suit off your legs along with your panties in one aggressive motion.

You were naked in seconds. He was still fully dressed.

Jungwon spun you around and bent you over the trunk of his GT-R, your tits pressed against the cool, glossy black paint. He kicked your legs apart, one hand fisting your hair to yank your head back while the other freed his cock, thick, hard, and already leaking.

“You belong to us now,” he snarled, rubbing the fat head of his cock along your soaked slit. “Not just Riki. Not just Sunoo. All three of us. Say it.”

When you only moaned defiantly, he slammed into you in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The stretch was devastating. You cried out, walls fluttering wildly around his girth as he bottomed out against your cervix. “Fuck— Jungwon—”

“Say it,” he repeated, pulling out almost completely before slamming back in, setting a punishing rhythm that made the car rock beneath you. His hips snapped against your ass with wet, obscene slaps that echoed through the empty garage. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to while I breed it.”

He fucked you like he was punishing you for every second he’d had to wait. Manhandling you with terrifying strength, yanking your hips back to meet every thrust, slapping your ass hard enough to leave marks, fisting your hair so you stayed arched perfectly for him.

“Yours— fuck, it’s yours— all three of you—” you gasped, the words torn from your throat as he railed you senseless.

“That’s right,” he growled, leaning over you, chest pressed to your back, teeth sinking into your shoulder. “My cocky little Ghost. Gonna fill this pussy until you’re leaking my cum on every starting line. Every time you slide into that Supra, you’ll feel me dripping out of you. Breeding you so deep you’ll be carrying my mark for days.”

His pace grew feral. Words poured out of him in a torrent of filthy promises between brutal thrusts. “Gonna pump you so full tonight you’ll be swollen with it. Riki and Sunoo can have their turns later, but right now this cunt is mine to ruin.”

He pulled out suddenly, spun you around, and lifted you onto the trunk like you weighed nothing. Your back hit the cool metal as he hooked your legs over his elbows, folding you in half and driving back inside with a guttural groan. The new angle let him hit impossibly deeper, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every savage stroke.

You came hard the first time, screaming, nails raking down his back through his shirt, pussy gushing around him as your walls milked his cock. Jungwon didn’t stop. He fucked you through it, then kept going, chasing a second orgasm from your overstimulated body while his own release built. “Look at me,” he demanded, one hand wrapping around your throat. His eyes were wild, hair falling into them, sweat glistening on his sharp features. “Tell me again. Who do you belong to?”

“All of you,” you sobbed, voice breaking as another orgasm ripped through you. “Riki— Sunoo— fuck— Jungwon— I belong to all three of you—”

“Good girl.” With a deep, animalistic groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your pussy, pulse after pulse as he ground deep, making sure it took. He stayed inside you, breathing hard, until the last drop was spent. Then he pulled out, watched his cum leak from your wrecked hole for a moment… and flipped you over again. The second round was even rougher.

He fucked you on the trunk until your legs shook uncontrollably, filling you with a second creampie that pushed the first one out in messy white rivulets down your thighs and onto the glossy paint of his car.  By the end, you were a trembling, cock-drunk mess, covered in sweat, cum leaking steadily from your abused pussy, voice hoarse from screaming his name. Jungwon finally pulled you against his chest, still buried deep inside you, pressing soft, possessive kisses along your marked neck while his hand gently stroked your stomach.

“Mine,” he whispered, the word heavy with dark satisfaction. “Ours.” The underground garage was silent except for your ragged breathing and the distant drip of cum onto concrete. And the undefeated Ghost had never felt more thoroughly, beautifully claimed.

The underground parking garage was still echoing with the ghost of your screams when Jungwon finally let you go. He had dressed you himself with surprising gentleness, sliding the racing suit back up your trembling body, zipping it slowly as if sealing his claim. His cum was still leaking down your thighs, soaking into the fabric, a warm, filthy reminder with every small movement. You were wrecked: legs shaky, voice hoarse, throat marked with his bites, hips and ass bruised from his brutal grip. Yet when he pulled you against his chest for one last kiss, it was slower, deeper, almost reverent.

He drove you back to your hidden garage in silence, one hand possessively resting on your thigh the entire way, thumb stroking the fresh marks he’d left. When you arrived, he killed the engine and turned to you, eyes dark and unreadable. “Get some rest, baby,” he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips against your ear. “You’re going to need it.” Then he was gone, leaving you standing in the cool night air, body aching in the most exquisite way.

The next day dragged in a haze of delicious pain.

You woke up in your loft above the garage well past noon, every muscle protesting as you shifted. Your pussy was sore, swollen, tender, still faintly leaking Jungwon’s cum even after a long shower. Bruises bloomed across your hips like fingerprints, bite marks decorated your breasts and inner thighs, and your throat felt raw from how many times you’d screamed for him. Walking hurt. Sitting hurt. Even the brush of soft fabric against your skin sent little sparks of overstimulation through your core.

You felt used. Thoroughly, perfectly ruined. And you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Lying on your bed in nothing but an oversized shirt, you stared at the ceiling, replaying every filthy second. Riki in the backseat. Sunoo teasing you, torturous tongue on the hood. Jungwon’s jealousy in that empty garage, the way he’d folded you in half and pumped you full again and again while making you admit you belonged to all three of them.

Three of them. The thought should’ve pissed you off. You didn’t belong to anyone. Yet your body betrayed you, a fresh wave of heat pooling between your sore thighs at the memory. You were getting addicted. To their different brands of dominance. To the way they looked at you like prey they wanted to devour slowly. To the dangerous thrill of wondering what they’d do to you next.

By late afternoon, your phone started blowing up. Texts from various underground contacts flooded in, race offers, challenges, high-stakes tunnel runs. You declined every single one.

Not tonight. Body’s fucked.

You typed the same message over and over, a little smirk on your lips despite the ache. Some sent concerned replies, others tried to tempt you with bigger purses. You ignored them all. For the first time in years, the Ghost was sitting out. Not because you were scared, but because you were smart. Your body needed recovery if you were going to survive whatever storm the trio was brewing.

You spent the rest of the day in the garage anyway, moving slowly. Cleaning tools. Tuning the Supra with careful, deliberate hands. Every bend, every stretch reminded you of how hard Jungwon had manhandled you. How deep he’d fucked you. How he’d growled about claiming you until you were dripping.

By nightfall, the anticipation had become its own kind of drug. You showered again, letting hot water soothe your sore muscles, then dressed simply, black shorts that hugged your ass and a loose tank top that did nothing to hide the marks on your neck and chest. You left your hair down, wild and messy. No racing suit tonight. You weren’t racing.

You were waiting. Pacing the garage slowly, you felt the nervous-excited energy crackling under your skin. Part of you, the strong part, wanted to greet them with your usual arrogance, to act like last night hadn’t shaken you. Another part, quieter and darker, wondered what it would feel like if all three of them came for you at once. If they stopped playing these separate games and finally shared their new favorite toy.

You touched the bruise on your hip, pressing until it stung. Let them come. The roll-up door was half-open, warm light spilling out into the shipyard darkness like an invitation. Engines rumbled faintly in the distance, or maybe it was just your imagination. Either way, the night felt heavy. Charged. Like the calm before something beautifully filthy broke.

You leaned against your Supra, arms crossed under your chest, a slow, dangerous smile curving your lips despite the lingering soreness between your legs.

The garage smelled like oil, metal, and the faint trace of your own anticipation when the three of them arrived together.

You were leaning against the workbench in the center of the space. The bruises from Jungwon still decorated your skin like dark medals, fingerprints on your hips, bite marks on your inner thighs, faint hickeys along your collarbone. Every shift of your body reminded you how sore you still were, yet the ache only made you wetter.

The roll-up door groaned open. Riki first, towering, Sunoo gliding in behind him with that angelic smile that said, we’re about to ruin you, and Jungwon bringing up the rear like the calm center of a gathering storm. They didn’t speak at first. They simply walked in and surrounded you, three predators locking onto their favorite prey. “Well, well,” you said, voice low and cocky, crossing your arms under your chest so the tank rode higher. “The whole pack decided to show up. Miss me already?”

Riki’s dark eyes dragged over your body like he wanted to eat you alive. “You’ve been dodging races, Y/N. Hiding that pretty, used-up pussy from us?”

Sunoo chuckled softly, stepping close enough that you could smell his cologne. “Smart girl. After what Jungwon did to you the other night… I’d be sore too.”

Jungwon didn’t smile. He simply watched you with those sharp, possessive eyes, the memory of pumping you full still burning between you. You lifted your chin, refusing to shrink under their combined gaze. “If you’re here to drag me out for another round, you’re going to have to do better than that. I’m not your toy to pass around whenever you get hard.”

That’s when Jungwon spoke, voice smooth but edged with command. “We’re not here to pass you around,” he said, stepping forward until he could brush a thumb over the bruise on your jaw. “We’re here to offer you something better. A pact. The four of us, a crew. You keep modding our cars, tuning them into monsters. We race as one unit. You ride with us as our good luck charm. In the garage… and everywhere else.”

Riki grinned, hungry. “We dominate the circuits together. No more solo bullshit. You get protection, money, power. And we get you.”

Sunoo’s fingers traced the hem of your tank top, teasing. “Whenever we want, however we want. But only if you say yes.”

You let the silence stretch, heart hammering, cunt already throbbing at the thought. Three of them. All at once. The idea should’ve terrified you. Instead, it made you feel dangerously alive. “I’m in,” you said finally, voice husky. “But on my terms. If we’re doing this, we do it right, no holding back. I want all of you.”

Riki’s eyes flashed with pure lust. “That’s our girl.” They didn’t waste another second. Jungwon lifted you onto the wide metal workbench like you weighed nothing, the cold surface biting into the backs of your thighs. Tools clattered to the floor as they stripped you bare in seconds, tank top ripped over your head, shorts yanked down your legs. You sat there completely naked under the harsh garage lights, legs spread, pussy glistening with fresh arousal.

“Fuck, look at her,” Riki groaned, palming his massive bulge. “Still leaking from the other night and already dripping for more. Greedy little cumslut.”

Sunoo moved first, stepping between your spread thighs and claiming your mouth in a deep, filthy kiss while his fingers slid through your folds, circling your swollen clit. “Such a pretty pussy. Already soaked just from us walking in. You were waiting for this, weren’t you, baby?”

You moaned into his mouth as two of his elegant fingers pushed inside you, curling perfectly against that sensitive spot. Jungwon appeared at your side, gripping your jaw and turning your head so he could kiss you next, possessive, dominant, tongue fucking your mouth while Sunoo finger-fucked you slow and deep. Riki didn’t wait. He climbed onto the workbench, kneeling beside your head, thick cock already out and heavy in his fist. “Open up, Y/N. Time to taste what you’ve been missing.”

You turned eagerly, lips parting as Riki fed you his cock. He was huge, stretching your mouth wide, the salty taste of him flooding your tongue as he pushed to the back of your throat. You gagged prettily, eyes watering, but sucked him harder, hollowing your cheeks.

“Shit— that’s it,” Riki hissed, fisting your hair. “Look at our little mechanic taking dick like a pro. Gonna turn this sharp mouth into our fucktoy.”

They rotated you between them like that for long, delicious minutes, passing your mouth from one cock to another while fingers and tongues worked your dripping cunt. Sunoo ate you out with obscene skill, pretty face buried between your thighs, moaning against your clit while Jungwon and Riki took turns fucking your throat.

Then the real fun began. Jungwon laid you back fully on the workbench, your head hanging off the edge. Riki stepped up and slid his thick cock back into your mouth, fucking your throat in shallow, controlled thrusts. At the same time, Jungwon gripped your hips, lined up, and slammed into your pussy in one brutal stroke.

You screamed around Riki’s cock, the sound muffled and wet. “Fuck yes,” Jungwon growled, hips snapping forward, pounding you with deep, possessive strokes. “This cunt is ours now. All three of us. Gonna stretch every hole until you can’t remember what it felt like to be empty.”

Sunoo climbed onto the bench beside you, stroking his pretty cock as he watched you get fucked. “Look at her. Taking two cocks at once like she was born for it. Our perfect little cumslut. You love this, don’t you, Y/N? Being used by all of us.”

You could only moan desperately, body rocking between them. The workbench creaked under the force of Jungwon’s thrusts. Riki’s balls slapped against your forehead as he used your throat. Pleasure bordered on overwhelming. They switched positions fluidly, never leaving you empty for long. Riki took your pussy next, feral and rough, folding your legs back as he railed you mercilessly. “This is what you get for making me wait, baby. This tight little hole is gonna be dripping our cum for days.”

Jungwon fed you his cock while Sunoo sucked marks into your tits, pinching your nipples until you whimpered. Then Sunoo slid into your mouth, fucking your face with controlled thrusts while praising you in that sweet, degrading voice. “That’s our good girl. Taking three cocks like a champion. Gonna fill you up until you’re leaking on every tool bench in this garage.” The dirty talk never stopped, vulgar, possessive, addictive.

“Gonna pass this pussy around every night after we win.”

“Turn the undefeated Ghost into our personal breeding whore.”

“Swallow my cock deeper, Y/N. Show us how much you love belonging to all three of us.”

You came hard the first time with Riki’s cock buried in your cunt and Jungwon’s down your throat, body convulsing, squirting around him as they held you through it. They didn’t let you rest. Jungwon pulled you up, him behind you, pounding your pussy with deep, breeding strokes while Sunoo fucked your mouth from the front. Riki stood beside you, feeding you his cock in turns, stroking himself when he wasn’t in your mouth, occasionally spitting on your tits for good measure.

“Say it,” Jungwon demanded, slapping your ass hard. “Tell us who you belong to while we fuck you stupid.”

You pulled off Sunoo’s cock long enough to gasp, voice broken and filthy, “All of you— fuck— I belong to all three of you. Your cumslut. Your holes. Use me—”

Riki groaned and came first, painting your tits and tongue with thick ropes of cum. Sunoo followed, pulling out at the last second to shoot across your pretty, flushed face. Jungwon was last, slamming deep and unloading inside you with a guttural moan, flooding your pussy until it overflowed and dripped down your thighs onto the workbench. You collapsed against the cool metal, covered in sweat and cum, body trembling with aftershocks, pussy clenching around nothing as their release leaked out of you.

The three of them stood around you, breathing hard, eyes dark with satisfaction and fresh hunger. Jungwon leaned down, brushing cum from your lip with his thumb and pushing it back into your mouth. “Welcome to the crew, baby.” Riki smirked. Sunoo pressed a surprisingly soft kiss to your forehead, then whispered against your skin, “Our perfect little good luck charm.”

You smiled through the mess, sore, claimed, and more alive than you’d ever been. The pact was sealed. And the night was still young.

The days blurred into a feverish, grease-stained haze of preparation. Your hidden garage had transformed into a war room. The air was thick with the scent of fresh welds, burning rubber from test tires, high-octane fuel, and the constant undercurrent of sweat and barely-contained lust. Three matte-black monsters now occupied the central bays alongside your Supra: Riki’s aggressive Evo, Sunoo’s widebody Porsche, and Jungwon’s GT-R. They looked like weapons forged for war.

You worked like a woman possessed.

From dawn until the early hours, you lived under the cars. Sleeves rolled up, tank top clinging to your sweat-slicked skin, shorts riding high as you bent over engine bays or crawled beneath chassis on a creeper. Sparks flew from your welder as you reinforced roll cages, upgraded turbo manifolds, and installed new ECU tunes that would push these machines well beyond factory limits. You added aggressive anti-lag systems, upgraded intercoolers, stiffer coilovers, and massive brake kits that could stop a bullet train. Custom limited-slip differentials. Bespoke exhausts that howled like demons when unleashed. Riki watched you the most hungrily. He’d hover nearby, shirtless, muscles flexing as he handed you tools, his eyes locked on the way your ass moved while you worked under the Evo.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he muttered one night, voice rough as he crouched beside you. “Seeing you like this, covered in grease, making my car meaner, gets me so fucking hard. You sure we don’t have time for a quick break on the hood?”

You slid out from under the car, face smudged with oil, and smirked up at him. “Focus, speed demon. You want to survive this hell race? Then stop thinking with your dick and help me torque these bolts.” But even as you said it, you let your hand brush deliberately over the growing bulge in his pants. Sunoo was more subtle, but no less dangerous. He’d sit on a nearby workbench, legs swinging, watching every precise movement of your hands with those sharp, pretty eyes. Sometimes he’d read out specs aloud, his voice like velvet, teasing you with double meanings.

“These new injectors are going to make her squirt power when you hit the nitrous,” he’d murmur, lips curved. “Just like you do when I have my tongue buried in that greedy little cunt.”

You’d throw a rag at his head, laughing, but your thighs would press together at the memory. Jungwon was the strategist. He coordinated everything, mapping the race route, studying rival crews, timing practice runs. But even he couldn’t keep his hands off you completely. Late at night, when the others were resting, he’d press you against the tool chest, kissing you slow and deep while his fingers slipped under your shorts to find you soaked.

“You’re the heart of this crew now,” he’d whisper against your lips, possessive as ever. “Our mechanic. Our good luck charm. Our filthy little secret. Don’t wear yourself out too much, baby. We need you strong for what’s coming.” The upcoming race was legendary, and lethal. A no-holds-barred, multi-stage inferno through the abandoned industrial district, old tunnels, and cliffside highways. Twenty of the most ruthless crews in the underground scene. Massive bets. Dirty tactics encouraged. Crashes were expected. Deaths had happened in past years. This wasn’t just racing. It was survival with engines.

So you pushed them harder. During the day, you ran them through brutal practice drills. They practiced reflexes on a makeshift course you’d set up using traffic cones, old tires, and sudden obstacles. You’d stand on the sidelines with a stopwatch and a megaphone, barking orders like a drill sergeant while dressed in nothing but oil-stained shorts and a cropped top.

“Again!” you’d shout as Riki drifted too wide. “You hesitate like that in the tunnels and you’re dead, Riki!”

“Sunoo, tighter apex! Stop showing off and drive like you want to win, not just look pretty!”

“Jungwon, you’re overthinking the line. Trust the car. Trust me.”

At night, the real filth returned. After long hours of wrenching, they’d reward you, and themselves, on the same workbench where they’d first claimed you as a crew. Sometimes it was quick and dirty: Riki bending you over the Supra’s hood while you were still holding a wrench. Sometimes it was slower, all three of them taking turns worshipping and ruining your sore, eager body until you were shaking and covered in their cum.

But the work never stopped. You barely slept. Your hands were raw, your back ached, but the fire in your blood burned hotter than ever. These weren’t just their cars anymore. They were extensions of the four of you, lethal, perfectly tuned weapons built by your hands and fueled by the raw chemistry between all of you.

One particularly long night, close to 3 a.m., you stood back and wiped sweat from your brow as the final mods were completed. All three cars gleamed under the lights, lowered, aggressive, and monstrous. Your Supra sat beside them like the queen of the pack.

The boys gathered around you, exhausted but wired, bodies glistening with sweat. Riki pulled you against his chest, strong arms wrapping around your waist. “You’re a fucking genius, Y/N.”

Sunoo stepped in from the side, pressing a kiss to your grease-streaked neck. “Our perfect little mechanic.”

Jungwon cupped your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his intense gaze. “This race is going to be hell. But with you… we’re going to burn the whole circuit down.”

You smiled, cocky and exhausted and exhilarated all at once, leaning into their combined heat.

“Then let’s make them regret ever thinking they could compete with us,” you said, voice low and dangerous.  The garage fell into a charged silence, broken only by the occasional tick of cooling engines and the distant crash of waves. Tomorrow night, the real war began. But tonight, the four of you stood together, bonded by speed, sin, and something far more addictive than just racing.

The Ghost had finally found her pack. And together, you were going to be fucking legendary.

The night of the big race arrived like a storm breaking over the underground. The industrial district had turned into a pulsing arena of headlights, roaring engines, and thousands in cash changing hands under flickering sodium lamps. Twenty crews. Brutal multi-stage course through abandoned tunnels, elevated highways, and the treacherous cliffside runs. Dirty moves were expected. The crowd was feral, betting heavy, eyes hungry for blood and glory.

Your crew showed up like kings. Four cars in perfect formation, your Supra leading, flanked by Riki’s Evo, Sunoo’s Porsche, and Jungwon’s GT-R. All of them snarling with the mods you’d bled for. You’d tuned them to perfection, and the boys drove like men possessed, trusting every upgrade your hands had built.

The race was hell. They fought tooth and nail, Riki diving into impossible gaps with feral precision, Sunoo slipping through traffic like smoke, Jungwon calling moves over the radio with ice-cold strategy. You held your own at the front, Ghost reborn as part of something bigger, blocking rivals and opening lines for your men. Crashes echoed behind you. Sirens wailed in the distance. One car went over the barrier in the final tunnel run. But you four crossed the finish line together, first, second, third, and fourth in a dominating sweep that left the entire scene stunned into silence for three full seconds before the explosion of cheers and curses.

The win hit like nitrous straight to the veins. Adrenaline surged through all of you, thick and intoxicating. Hearts pounding, bodies buzzing, cocks already hard from the sheer thrill of victory and dominance. The moment the cars rolled to a smoky stop in the victory lot, surrounded by rival crews packing up, bookies paying out, and onlookers still buzzing, the tension snapped.

Riki was on you first. He dragged you out of your Supra and slammed you against the warm hood of his Evo, right there in the open lot where at least thirty people were still milling around within viewing distance. The risk made it filthier. “Fuck, Y/N,” he growled against your neck, yanking the zipper of your racing suit down in one violent tug. “We just owned that entire circuit because of you. Now we’re claiming our prize.”

You barely had time to gasp before Sunoo was in front of you, pretty face flushed with victory, fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you into a deep, messy kiss. Jungwon moved behind you, pressing his hard body against your back, hands sliding inside your open suit to grope your tits roughly.

People were watching. Some turned away. Others stared openly. A few rival racers lingered by their cars, eyes wide at the bold display. The danger only made you wetter. They bent you over the hood of Riki’s Evo without ceremony. Your chest pressed against the warm, glossy metal, ass up, legs spread. Riki stood to the side, stroking his thick cock openly while Sunoo fed you his pretty dick right there under the flickering lights. “Open that cocky mouth, baby,” Sunoo murmured, voice sweet and filthy as he pushed past your lips. “Let them see how good our good luck charm takes dick after a win.”

You moaned around him, sucking eagerly as Jungwon shoved your suit down to your thighs, exposing your bare ass and dripping pussy to the night air. No panties. He’d made sure of that before the race.

“Look at this greedy cunt,” Jungwon growled, loud enough for nearby ears to catch. He rubbed his thick cock along your soaked folds, teasing. “Still sore from the other night and yet dripping like a whore for all three of us in public.”

He thrust in hard, burying himself to the hilt in one stroke. The force rocked you forward onto Sunoo’s cock, making you gag prettily. Jungwon set a brutal pace immediately, hips slamming against your ass with wet, obscene sounds that carried in the night air. His hand fisted your hair, keeping your head in place as Sunoo fucked your mouth in perfect rhythm.

Riki watched with dark, hungry eyes, occasionally reaching over to slap your ass or pinch your swinging tits while he stroked himself. “Fuck, she looks so good like this,” Riki groaned. “Bent over my hood, getting railed where everyone can see. Our perfect little team slut. This is what winning feels like.”

Jungwon fucked you like he was still racing, deep, aggressive, possessive. Every thrust pushed you further onto Sunoo’s cock, spit and precum dripping down your chin onto the hood. The risk of getting caught, of rival crews seeing the undefeated Ghost turned into a messy fucktoy for her team, sent you spiraling.

You came hard around Jungwon’s cock, moaning loudly around Sunoo, pussy clenching and gushing down your thighs. They didn’t stop. Sunoo pulled out of your mouth only to let Riki take a turn fucking your throat while Jungwon kept pounding your cunt. They rotated like that, switching between your mouth and pussy, using you right there against the car while distant voices and engine revs reminded you how exposed you were.

“Gonna fill you up again,” Jungwon panted, slamming deep. He came first, flooding your insides with thick, hot ropes. Riki followed, pulling out of your mouth to paint your tongue and tits. Sunoo took Jungwon’s place behind you and fucked you through the mess, adding his own load deep inside until it was leaking out around his cock in creamy rivulets.

By the end, you were a trembling, cum-covered wreck. They quickly zipped you back into your racing suit, but it was useless. Their combined cum was already dripping down your inner thighs, soaking the fabric from the inside. A visible wet patch started forming at the crotch as they helped you into your Supra. Riki smirked, kissing you hard. “Drive careful, baby. Wouldn’t want you making a mess all over your seat.”

Sunoo licked a stray drop of cum from your lip. “Our filthy good luck charm.” Jungwon gripped your jaw one last time, eyes burning. “We’re just getting started. This crew owns the night now.” Engines roared to life around you. You pulled out behind them, legs shaky, pussy still fluttering and leaking their cum steadily down your thighs inside the tight racing suit. The sensation was obscene, warm, sticky, constant, a filthy reminder with every shift of the pedals as you drove off into the night, victorious and utterly claimed. 

—

The roar of the crowd vibrated through the stands as Riki lined up for his solo race, a high-stakes tunnel sprint against some of the scene’s nastiest drivers. You sat wedged between Sunoo and Jungwon in the shadowed upper level, their bodies pressed close on either side of you, hands casually possessive on your thighs. Riki was off from the start. His Evo launched aggressively, but his lines were sloppy. He missed apexes he usually nailed blindfolded. In the final tunnel, he hesitated on a daring inside pass and got boxed out, finishing a humiliating third. The moment he crossed the line, you knew why.

His eyes found you in the crowd immediately, dark, burning, furious at himself. He’d been distracted. Thinking about you bent over his hood after the last win. About your mouth. About how your pussy clenched when you screamed their names. It cost him the race.

Back at the garage, the air was thick with tension the second the door slammed shut. Riki stormed in first, jaw clenched, still in his racing suit. “You,” he growled, pointing at you. “This is your fucking fault, Y/N. Couldn’t stop thinking about that tight little cunt the entire race.” Sunoo smirked, locking the roll-up door. “Then she needs to be punished, doesn’t she?”

Jungwon’s voice was calm but dripping with dark promise. “Strip her.” They didn’t give you time to protest, not that you wanted to. Your clothes were torn off in seconds. They bent you over the wide metal workbench again, wrists cuffed above your head to a hook they’d installed specifically for this. Your ass was presented perfectly, legs spread, pussy already glistening with traitorous arousal. Riki started. He brought his hand down hard on your ass, heavy, stinging spanks that echoed through the garage. Each slap made you jolt, the pain blooming into liquid heat between your thighs.

“Count them, baby,” he snarled, spanking you harder. “This is what happens when you distract me.” By the time he reached twenty, your ass was glowing red and you were dripping down your thighs. Sunoo stepped in next, elegant fingers tracing the heated skin before he slid a thick vibrating dildo deep into your soaked cunt. He turned it on high and held it there while Jungwon wrapped a hand lightly around your throat from the side, squeezing just enough to make your head spin.

“Such a greedy little distraction,” Sunoo cooed sweetly, fucking the toy in and out with cruel precision. “Look at you. Already clenching like a whore. How many times did you cum thinking about us while we were supposed to be focusing?” They rotated.

Jungwon took the toy from Sunoo and fucked you mercilessly with it, his free hand spanking your already bruised ass while Riki choked you lightly, whispering filthy praise and degradation into your ear. “You love this, don’t you? Being our little fucktoy we punish when you misbehave.” The first orgasm hit you fast and brutal. You squirted around the toy, soaking the workbench and your own thighs, crying out sharply.

They didn’t stop. Sunoo switched to a smaller, curved vibrator pressed hard against your clit while Jungwon kept the thick dildo pounding into you. Riki stood in front, feeding you his cock to muffle your screams. They competed openly. “Who can make her scream loudest?” Jungwon challenged, voice rough as he angled the toy to destroy your G-spot.

Sunoo smiled angelically, increasing the vibrations on your clit. “My turn to make our pretty mechanic cry.”

Riki fucked your throat deeper. “Scream for me, Y/N. Let the whole shipyard hear what a messy little cumslut you are.”

Orgasm after orgasm tore through you. They made you squirt again and again, messy, humiliating gushes that left puddles on the floor. Your legs shook violently. Tears streamed down your face from the overwhelming overstimulation, mascara running, lips swollen around whichever cock was using your mouth. By the fourth orgasm, you were sobbing, body convulsing uncontrollably. “Please— fuck— I can’t— too much—”

“You can,” Jungwon growled, spanking you hard while he drove the toy deeper. “You will. This is what you get for making Riki lose.” Riki took his final turn, replacing the toy with his thick cock and railing you from behind while Sunoo held the vibrator mercilessly against your clit. Jungwon choked you lightly, kissing you through the tears as you shattered again, squirting violently around Riki’s cock, screaming loud enough that it echoed off the walls.

Riki came deep inside you with a feral groan, pumping you full. Sunoo followed, painting your tits and face while you trembled. Jungwon finished last, making you ride his cock reverse cowgirl on the workbench, forcing one final, devastating orgasm out of your ruined body while he filled you too. You collapsed forward, covered in sweat, tears, and cum, ass cherry red, pussy swollen and leaking their loads in thick rivulets down your thighs.

Riki crouched beside you, brushing damp hair from your tear-streaked face with surprising tenderness. “Next time I race solo,” he murmured, voice dark but satisfied, “you better be in my fucking passenger seat where you belong.” Sunoo pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. “Our perfect little distraction.” Jungwon smiled against your neck. “Good girl.”

You lay there spent, broken in the most exquisite way, already knowing you’d distract them again. Because this kind of punishment? You were already addicted to it.

The morning after they’d wrecked you with toys and overstimulation, you woke up sore, marked, and pissed in the best possible way. Your ass still burned from the heavy spanking. Your pussy was swollen and tender, thighs covered in faint bruises. But instead of curling up and submitting, the old Ghost re-emerged, cocky, vicious, and out for revenge.

They wanted to play punishment games? Fine. You’d play it better. You started slow. You walked into the garage wearing the tiniest pair of black shorts that barely covered the curve of your ass and a cropped tank top that clung to your tits, no bra. Your hair was messy, lips still slightly swollen from the night before, and the bruises they’d left on your body were proudly on display.

The three of them were already there, working on the cars. The moment they saw you, their eyes darkened with fresh hunger. But you didn’t give them what they wanted. All day long, you teased. First, Riki. He cornered you near his Evo while you were pretending to check the tire pressure, pressing his hard body against your back, thick bulge grinding against your ass.

“You’re still dripping my cum from last night, aren’t you?” he growled, hands gripping your hips. You spun around, pushed him back against the side of the car, and straddled one of his thick thighs. Slowly, deliberately, you rolled your hips, grinding your barely-covered pussy along the hard ridge of his cock through his pants. You made sure to press your tits against his chest, lips brushing his ear. “Mmm… feels like someone’s desperate,” you purred, voice dripping with arrogance. “Too bad you don’t get to fuck me today, baby. Not after the way you three treated me last night.”

You rocked harder, letting your wetness soak through the thin fabric of your shorts onto his thigh, then suddenly pulled away right when his hands tightened and his breathing turned ragged. Riki groaned, head falling back. “Y/N… you fucking tease—” You smirked, cocky and untouchable. “Should’ve thought about that before.”

With Sunoo, you were crueler. He was sitting on the workbench reviewing race data when you sauntered over and climbed straight into his lap, facing him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and started grinding down on his already rock-hard cock, rolling your hips in filthy, slow circles. Sunoo’s hands flew to your waist, breath hitching. “Fuck, baby… just let me slip it in. I’ll be gentle—”

You laughed softly against his mouth, biting his lower lip before pulling back. “Gentle? No chance, pretty boy.” You kept grinding, pressing your soaked core right against the throbbing length of him, letting him feel how wet you were through both your clothes. Every time his hips started bucking up desperately, you slowed down or stopped completely, edging him mercilessly while whispering in his ear. Sunoo’s usually sweet, teasing expression twisted into pure tortured lust. His fingers dug into your ass hard enough to bruise, but you only smiled and climbed off, leaving him panting and painfully hard.

Jungwon tried to play it strategic. He waited until you were bent over the hood of your Supra, then came up behind you, pressing his thick erection against your ass while his hand slid around to cup your throat lightly. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/N,” he murmured, voice low and commanding.

You pushed back against him, grinding your ass along his cock in long, deliberate strokes, arching your back like a cat in heat. “Am I?” you asked sweetly, looking over your shoulder with that signature cocky smirk. “Or are you just mad I’m finally the one in control?”

You kept rolling your hips, letting the head of his cock nudge right against your clothed entrance again and again, teasing him with the promise of sinking inside. Every time he tried to pull your shorts aside, you slapped his hand away and ground harder, faster, until his breathing turned ragged and his grip on your throat tightened with frustration. Then you stepped away completely, leaving him cursing under his breath, cock straining obscenely against his pants.

All day it went on like that. You’d brush against them “accidentally,” press your tits against their arms while handing them tools, whisper filthy reminders of how good their cocks felt while deliberately denying them. You’d grind on Riki while he was under a car, ride Sunoo’s thigh while pretending to check specs on a laptop, and edge Jungwon against every available surface. By late evening, they were feral. Riki was pacing like a caged animal, constantly adjusting his painfully hard cock. Sunoo’s pretty face was flushed, eyes dark with restrained violence. Even Jungwon, usually the most composed, had a dangerous glint in his eyes, jaw clenched so tight it looked painful.

You stood in the middle of the garage, arms crossed under your chest, pushing your tits up on purpose, looking every inch the untouchable Ghost again. “Something wrong, boys?” you asked innocently, though your voice dripped with smug satisfaction. “You all look… frustrated.” Riki stepped forward first, voice rough. “Y/N. You’re pushing it.”

You tilted your head, smiling sweetly. “Good.” The power felt delicious. 

The same night crackled with a different kind of danger. After an entire day of your merciless edging, the boys were driven insane, bodies wound tight, cocks still aching, minds half on the track and half buried between your thighs. The frustration only made them sharper. Hungrier. Meaner. Word had spread fast through the underground: a once-in-a-decade race. Three rival crews versus your trio. The prize pot was absolutely out of a fever dream, eight stolen luxury cars plus over two million in dirty cash stacked in black duffels. Winner takes all. Losers walk away with nothing… or worse. You were not on the track tonight. You’d made that clear with a cocky little smirk as they suited up.

“You three can suffer a little longer,” you’d purred, leaning against the Supra in tiny shorts, arms crossed under your chest. “Win this race and maybe, I’ll let you fuck the attitude out of me.”That promise had lit a fire under them.

The starting line stretched across an abandoned freight yard that fed straight into the old industrial tunnels. Hundreds of spectators lined the barriers. Neon lights flickered. Bookies screamed odds. The air reeked of gasoline, weed, and raw testosterone. Your three cars sat at the front like predators: Riki’s slammed Evo, Sunoo’s aggressive Porsche, and Jungwon’s matte-black GT-R. Engines idling with menacing rumbles. Riki’s hands flexed on the wheel, jaw tight. “I’m still so fucking hard it hurts,” he muttered over the radio.

Sunoo’s soft laugh crackled back. “Blame our pretty little brat.”

Jungwon’s voice cut through, calm but edged with steel. “Focus. We win this, then we go home and ruin her until she can’t walk.” The flag dropped. Chaos exploded instantly. The first straight was pure war. Rivals tried to box them in, bumping aggressively. Riki dove into a gap so tight his mirrors scraped concrete, snarling as he forced a rival into the wall with a sickening crunch of metal. Sparks flew like fireworks.

Sunoo was a white swan in motion, slipping through traffic like liquid, using every dirty trick you’d taught him. He feinted left, then cut right, sending another car spinning into a barrier. His Porsche danced on the edge of control, widebody kissing the tunnel walls. Jungwon played the long game, hanging back just enough to read the chaos before striking. He was the anchor, calling moves with ice-cold precision while his GT-R devoured straights like a demon.

The course turned hellish. They blasted into the long abandoned subway tunnels, pitch black except for headlights and emergency strobes. One rival tried to run Sunoo into a pillar. Sunoo countered by tapping his rear bumper at 140 mph, sending the car into a violent spin that took out two others in a chain-reaction crash. The explosion of metal and glass lit up the tunnel behind them. “Clear,” Sunoo reported, breathing hard.

Riki was losing his mind with adrenaline and sexual frustration. On a sweeping elevated highway section, drifting through a corner so aggressively his Evo nearly rolled. He clipped a rival’s bumper on purpose, sending them flying over the guardrail and into the dark ravine below. The final leg was the cliffside death run, narrow roads hugging jagged drops, wind howling off the ocean. Here, the remaining rivals threw everything at them: side-swipes, brake checks, even throwing glass bottles onto the road.

Jungwon took a brutal hit to his rear quarter, the GT-R fishtailing dangerously close to the edge. For one terrifying second, two wheels hung over nothing but black sea and rocks. “Won—!” you screamed into the radio from the observation point above, heart in your throat. He recovered with terrifying skill, counter-steering perfectly. “Still here, baby.” That near-miss only fueled them.

In the last mile, the three of them formed a perfect arrow, Riki leading, Sunoo and Jungwon guarding his flanks. They crossed the finish line almost simultaneously, sweeping the podium in a dominant, brutal display that left the crowd roaring and the rival crews stunned into silence. They’d won. The stolen cars and duffels of cash were theirs. But the real prize was waiting back at the garage.

The drive back was torture. All three cars pulled into the shipyard in formation, engines screaming victory. The moment they killed the ignitions, the boys exploded out of their cars, eyes wild, bodies still vibrating with race adrenaline and a full day of your cruel teasing. You were waiting in the center of the garage, arms crossed, that signature cocky smirk on your lips. “Congratulations, boys. Looks like you—” Riki didn’t let you finish. He stormed forward, grabbed you by the throat, and slammed you against the side of his still-ticking Evo. His mouth crashed into yours in a violent, starving kiss. “You think you can edge us for twelve fucking hours and then stand there looking smug?” he snarled against your lips.

Sunoo appeared on your other side, pretty face dark with promise. “We’re going to make you regret every single thing, baby.” Jungwon stepped in last, gripping your jaw and forcing you to look at him. “Time’s up, Y/N.”

Hands tore at your tiny shorts and crop top until the fabric was in shreds on the concrete floor. “You’ve been a fucking brat all day,” Riki snarled against your lips, biting down hard on your lower lip until you tasted blood. “Grinding on our cocks like a cocktease and thinking you could walk away?”

They carried you to the wide central workbench and threw you down on your back. Within seconds you were completely naked, legs spread obscenely wide. Jungwon gripped your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision spark as he leaned over you. “Open that pretty mouth.”

Sunoo was already there, pretty cock hard and leaking as he fed it straight down your throat in one smooth thrust. You gagged loudly, eyes watering instantly as he started fucking your face with deep, controlled strokes. “Fuck… that throat feels even better when you’ve been teasing us all day,” Sunoo groaned, voice sweet and filthy. He held your head in place, hips snapping forward until your nose pressed against his pelvis.

At the same time, Riki and Jungwon positioned themselves between your spread thighs. Riki spat directly onto your already soaked pussy, rubbing the thick head of his massive cock against your entrance while Jungwon did the same, pressing right beside him. “You’re gonna take both of us in this greedy cunt tonight,” Jungwon said, voice low and commanding. 

They pushed in together. The stretch was brutal, burning, overwhelming. You screamed around Sunoo’s cock as both thick cocks forced their way inside you at once, inch by inch, stretching you to your absolute limit. The obscene pressure made your eyes roll back, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Fuuuuck— so goddamn tight,” Riki growled, eyes locked on where both you holes were stretched around both of their cocks. “Look at her taking two dicks like a champ. This is what you get for edging us, baby.”

They started moving, alternating thrusts at first, then finding a devastating rhythm together. The workbench creaked violently beneath you as they fucked you stupid, pounding deep into your cunt while Sunoo continued throat-fucking you without mercy. The wet sounds skin smacking and and gagging throat filled the entire garage. You came hard within minutes, violently, squirting around their cocks as your body convulsed. They didn’t slow down. “Again,” Jungwon demanded, spanking your clit hard while they railed you. “Cum on our cocks like the messy little whore you are.”

Sunoo knelt in front of you, gripping your hair and forcing his cock back down your throat. The three of them used you mercilessly. Riki and Jungwon fucked you in perfect sync, stretching you beyond reason, their balls slapping wetly against you. Jungwon reached around to rub your swollen clit while Riki sucked marks into your bouncing tits. Sunoo fucked your throat until drool and precum ran down your chin in thick strings, dripping onto your tits.

Riki panted, voice wrecked. “Gonna fill this slutty cunt until it’s overflowing.” The orgasms kept coming. You came again, soaking Riki’s abs and the workbench. Your screams were muffled around Sunoo’s cock as wave after wave of devastating pleasure tore through your overstimulated body. They started rotating. Sunoo pulled out of your throat only to let Riki take your mouth while Jungwon kept destroying your pussy. Then Jungwon switched to your throat, feeding you his cock covered in your own juices while Riki and Sunoo double-penetrated you again. The taste of yourself mixed with their precum made you moan like a broken whore. 

Riki came first, pulling out of your pussy and painting your face with thick ropes of cum. Sunoo followed, pulling out of your mouth and adding to the mess, covering your flushed cheeks, lips, and tongue. Jungwon kept fucking you through it, then finally buried himself deep and unloaded straight into your womb. They didn’t stop.

By the end, you were a complete wreck. Lying on the workbench, covered head to toe in sweat and semen. Thick loads dripped from your swollen pussy onto the floor. Your face was painted white, cum leaking from the corners of your mouth. Your tits were marked with handprints and bite marks. Your voice was hoarse from screaming. Riki crouched beside you, gently brushing cum-soaked hair from your face while Jungwon pressed soft kisses to your trembling thighs.

Sunoo smiled that angelic, wicked smile and leaned down to kiss your cum-stained lips. “Look at our strong, cocky Ghost,” he whispered. You could barely move, body twitching with aftershocks, pussy still clenching around nothing as more cum slowly leaked out of you. But even through the exhaustion, a weak, satisfied smirk tugged at your swollen lips. “Worth it,” you rasped. 

The tension in the garage had been simmering for days. You were bent over the hood of a sleek, silver Mercedes-AMG GT that belonged to Kai, a quiet but skilled solo racer who’d paid you a small fortune for emergency mods before the next big tunnel run. Your hands were deep in the engine bay, tightening a new intercooler setup, when the roll-up door slammed open hard enough to rattle the walls.

All three of them walked in. Riki first, eyes immediately narrowing at the sight of you working intimately on another man’s car. Sunoo followed, his usual angelic smirk gone flat. Jungwon brought up the rear, jaw locked so tight the muscle ticked. Kai, smart man that he was, muttered a quick thanks and disappeared the second he felt the shift in the air.

You straightened up, wiping grease on your shorts, and raised an eyebrow. “Problem?”

Riki was on you in three strides. He spun you around, pressing your back against the Mercedes’ hood, and crashed his mouth onto yours in a deep, possessive kiss that stole the air from your lungs. His hands gripped your waist hard, fingers digging in like he could brand you through skin and bone.

“You let him bring his car here?” he growled against your lips before kissing you again, harder, tongue sliding against yours like he was trying to erase any trace of another man’s presence. “You had your hands all over his engine while we were waiting for you?”

Sunoo stepped in beside you, turning your face toward him the second Riki pulled back for air. His kiss was slower but no less intense, deep, claiming, one hand cupping your jaw while the other fisted the front of your tank top.

“You’re ours, Y/N,” Sunoo whispered hotly against your mouth, voice uncharacteristically rough. “Not some hired wrench for every pretty boy with money. I can’t fucking stand seeing you bent over another man’s car like that.”

Jungwon was last. He pulled you away from the Mercedes entirely, backing you up against the tool chest instead. His kiss was raw, almost angry, full of weeks of building emotion. When he finally broke away, forehead pressed to yours, his voice cracked with something real.

“I hate it,” he admitted, breathing hard. “I hate seeing you give even a second of your time to someone else. We’ve been trying to keep this casual, but… I can’t anymore. The thought of you with anyone who isn’t us makes me want to burn this entire shipyard down.”

The confession hung heavy in the air. You looked between them, Riki pacing like a caged animal, Sunoo watching you with dark, vulnerable eyes, Jungwon’s usual composure completely shattered. “I’m not going anywhere,” you said quietly, reaching up to touch Jungwon’s cheek. “But you three don’t own every second of my life.”

“That’s the problem,” Riki muttered, stepping close again. He kissed you once more, softer this time but still desperate. “I don’t want to share you with the rest of this fucking world, Y/N. Not even for money. Not even for an hour.” Sunoo pressed in from the other side, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the sensitive spot under your ear. “You’re more than our mechanic now. More than our good luck charm. You’re… ours. And it’s starting to feel like something I can’t lose.”

The moment stretched, thick with new, terrifying tenderness beneath all the possessiveness. Later that night, the feelings boiled over on the road. It was supposed to be a standard tunnel run, your crew running escort for a big payout. But the cops had been tipped off. Halfway through the long industrial tunnel, blue and red lights exploded behind you, sirens screaming.

“Scatter!” Jungwon barked over the radio.

The chase was vicious. Riki drifted through a narrow gap between concrete pillars at terrifying speed, barely missing a patrol car trying to cut him off. Sunoo used his Porsche’s agility to slip through an exit ramp at the last second. You stayed glued to Jungwon’s GT-R, pushing your Supra to its absolute limit as two cruisers closed in. A near-miss nearly ended everything.

One cop car tried to PIT you on a sharp curve. Jungwon swerved at the last second, forcing you to brake hard and slide between them in a hail of sparks and screaming metal. Your heart hammered so violently you thought it might burst. For one sickening second, you saw the headlines, the Ghost finally crashing out. You all made it out. Barely. Back at the garage, the adrenaline crash hit hard.

The second the doors were down, Jungwon yanked you out of your Supra and pinned you against it, kissing you like he’d almost lost you forever. Riki and Sunoo joined immediately, surrounding you in a tangle of desperate mouths and gripping hands.

“I can’t do this,” Jungwon rasped between kisses, voice raw with emotion. “I can’t keep pretending this is just racing and fucking. When I saw that cop almost take you out tonight… I’ve never been that scared in my life.”

Riki’s hand slid into your hair, tilting your head so he could kiss you deeply, almost angrily. “You’re under our skin, Y/N. All the way. I lose focus every time you’re not right there with me. And seeing you mod that asshole’s car earlier? I wanted to drag you away and remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Sunoo kissed you slower, but his hands trembled slightly against your waist. “We’re falling for you. All three of us. And it’s making us stupid. Jealous as hell. But I don’t want to stop.”

You stood there between them, heart racing for an entirely different reason now. The Ghost, undefeated, untouchable, felt her walls cracking under the weight of three pairs of eyes that looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered in their chaotic world. “I’m scared too,” you admitted quietly, voice thick. “This stopped being just fun a long time ago.” Jungwon rested his forehead against yours, breathing you in. Riki pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to your temple. Sunoo nuzzled into your neck, arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

The morning after the confessions came slow and golden.

Sunlight filtered weakly through the high warehouse windows of the loft above the garage, painting long, dusty beams across the wide bed you all shared. The air still carried the faint scent of engine oil, sea salt, and last night’s adrenaline. You woke up tangled between them, Riki’s heavy arm slung possessively over your waist, Sunoo curled against your back with his face buried in your neck, and Jungwon lying on his side in front of you, watching you with quiet, unguarded eyes.

For once, there was no rush. No race looming in the next few hours. No engines screaming. Just the four of you, breathing in the same quiet rhythm. Jungwon reached out first, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw with a gentleness that still surprised you from the usually composed leader. His thumb brushed your lower lip, eyes soft in the morning light.

“Morning, baby,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep but warm like melted honey. He leaned in and kissed you, slow, lingering, no heat of possession this time, just pure, aching affection. The kind of kiss that said he’d been lying awake thinking about you for hours. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. “You scared the hell out of me yesterday. I keep seeing that cop car trying to take you out… and all I could think was I can’t lose you.”

You smiled softly, your hand coming up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “I’m right here, Won. Not going anywhere.” Behind you, Sunoo stirred, pressing a trail of lazy, open-mouthed kisses along your bare shoulder. His arm tightened around your middle, pulling you back flush against his warm chest.

“Mmm… my favorite way to wake up,” he whispered, voice still drowsy and sweet. “Our pretty girl between us.” He nuzzled into your hair, inhaling deeply like he needed your scent to ground him. “You make everything feel… right. Even when the world outside is trying to burn us down.”

Riki, ever the restless one, tightened his grip on your waist and buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing the sensitive skin there with surprising tenderness. His usual feral energy was quiet this morning, replaced by something deeper, almost vulnerable.

“You know I’m shit at this soft stuff,” he mumbled against your skin, voice low and rough. “But fuck, Y/N… waking up and knowing you’re ours? That you chose us? It messes me up in the best way.” He pressed another slow kiss right below your ear, then another on your jaw, taking his time like he wanted to memorize every inch of you. “I don’t care about the cars or the money anymore. I just want you here. Safe. With us.”

You let yourself sink into them, surrounded by their warmth, their scents, their quiet love. For the first time in years, the undefeated Ghost didn’t feel like she had to run or fight. She just… existed. Cherished. The morning unfolded lazily. Jungwon eventually slipped out of bed and returned with coffee, black for you, exactly how you liked it, and a plate of fruit he’d cut up himself. He fed you bites of sweet mango between soft kisses, his free hand gently massaging the tension from your shoulders.

Sunoo pulled you into the shower with him later, but there was nothing rushed about it. He washed your hair with careful fingers, massaging your scalp until you were nearly purring. He kissed every bruise and mark they’d left on your body, not with hunger, but with quiet reverence, whispering against your wet skin how beautiful you were, how strong, how irreplaceable.

Riki was the most surprising. He cooked, or at least tried to, burning the edges of the eggs but plating them with a proud little grin when you laughed at the mess. He kept pulling you onto his lap while you all ate together at the small table in the loft, one big hand rubbing slow circles on your thigh, the other feeding you bites from his own plate.

“I like you here,” he said quietly, eyes locked on yours. “Just… us.” By late afternoon, the four of you ended up back in bed, a tangled pile of limbs and quiet affection. You lay on your back with your head in Jungwon’s lap while he played with your hair. Sunoo rested his head on your stomach, tracing lazy patterns on your skin. Riki had his face pressed against your ribs, one arm thrown over your thighs. None of you spoke for a long time. The silence was comfortable, heavy with new emotions that felt too big for words.

“I never thought I’d have this,” you admitted eventually, voice barely above a whisper. “I was always alone. But with you three… I don’t feel alone anymore. I feel seen. Wanted. Loved, even when you’re being jealous assholes about it.” Jungwon’s fingers paused in your hair. He leaned down and kissed your forehead, lingering there. “You are loved, Y/N. More than you know. I’m not good at saying it, but… you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to us. To me.”

Sunoo lifted his head, eyes sparkling with rare vulnerability as he kissed the center of your chest, right over your heart. “You make me want to be better. Softer. Even when I want to keep you locked away from the rest of the world.”

Riki pushed himself up slightly, cupping your face with one big hand. His thumb stroked your cheek as he looked at you with raw intensity. “I’d burn every rival car, every cop, every fucking thing that tries to take you from us. But I’d also give it all up if you asked me to. That’s how much you mean to me now.” You felt your eyes sting with unexpected tears. Not from sadness, from the overwhelming warmth of being so completely, fiercely cherished. You pulled them closer, one by one, kissing each of them slowly and deeply, pouring every unspoken feeling into the press of your lips. They held you tighter, their hands gentle, their breaths mingling with yours in the quiet loft.

The underground world outside kept spinning, races, danger, dirty money, and rivals. But up here, in this stolen moment, there was only love. Messy, jealous, protective, all-consuming love. You were sinking into it, slow and deep, letting yourself be utterly, beautifully wrapped up in the three men who had claimed far more than just your body. They had your heart now too.

—

Six months later, the shipyard garage had changed.

What was once just a hidden den of midnight mods and stolen moments had slowly become something closer to a home. The loft upstairs now held four toothbrushes in the bathroom, your racing suits hanging beside theirs in the reinforced closet, and a bigger bed they’d dragged in after too many nights of tangled limbs and not enough space. There were plants Sunoo insisted on keeping alive on the windowsill, a ridiculous number of Riki’s protein shakes in the fridge, and Jungwon’s carefully organized race notebooks stacked on the desk.

You stood on the upper catwalk overlooking the garage floor, watching them.

Riki was under his Evo again, tools clanging as he fine-tuned the suspension you’d redesigned last week. Grease streaked his arms and cheek. Sunoo leaned against the Porsche, laughing at something Riki said while polishing the widebody with slow, elegant strokes. Jungwon stood a little apart, arms crossed, reviewing the new route maps you’d marked up together the night before.

They looked like home. But the underground never let you forget what it was. Tonight was another high-stakes run, bigger money, dirtier players, the kind of race where people still disappeared. The danger hadn’t vanished. If anything, it had grown sharper now that the four of you were something real. The jealousy still flared hot and sudden. The possessiveness still left bruises and desperate kisses against cold metal. The sex was still filthy, raw, and frequent, sometimes sweet and slow in the early mornings, sometimes all three of them wrecking you until you cried and begged on the same workbench where it all began.

Nothing had been sanitized. You were still the Ghost. They were still the ruthless trio that made the night circuits tremble. You still modded cars for cash when the mood struck. They still raced like devils and fucked you like they were terrified of losing you. But something deeper had taken root.

Jungwon looked up first, sensing your gaze. His sharp eyes softened the moment they found you. He climbed the metal stairs two at a time and pulled you into his arms without a word, burying his face in your hair. “You’re thinking too loud again,” he murmured against your temple. You smiled, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Just wondering how the hell we got here. From fucking in my backseat to… this.”

Riki and Sunoo joined you moments later, surrounding you in that familiar wall of warmth and muscle. Riki pressed against your back, arms locking around your middle. Sunoo slipped in beside Jungwon, catching your hand and pressing a slow kiss to your knuckles.

“We’re building something real,” Sunoo said quietly, his usual teasing tone replaced by something gentler, almost reverent. “Doesn’t mean we’re leaving the life behind. I don’t think any of us could. But we’re doing it together now. No more running solo. No more pretending this is temporary.”

Riki’s grip tightened, his voice low and rough against your ear. “I still get jealous as fuck when you work on other cars. Still want to drag you away and remind you who you belong to every single day. But I also want to wake up next to you every morning. Want to keep you safe. Want… a future. With you in it.”

Jungwon pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing your cheek. “We’re talking about buying the whole shipyard. Making it legitimate on paper, a real performance garage. We keep racing underground because it’s in our blood. We keep loving you the way we do because we don’t know how to do it softly. But we’re also building something that lasts. Something that’s ours.”

You felt your throat tighten with emotion. The Ghost who once thrived on solitude and speed now found herself completely, helplessly in love with three dangerous, complicated men who had cracked her open and decided to stay.

“I’m terrified,” you whispered, honest and raw. “I’ve never had anything real before. But I want it. With all of you. The filth. The danger. The quiet mornings. All of it.”

Riki kissed the side of your neck, slow and tender. Sunoo leaned in to capture your lips in a deep, lingering kiss that tasted like promise. Jungwon waited his turn, then kissed you like he was sealing a vow. The four of you stood there on the catwalk for a long time, wrapped around each other as the sun dipped lower and the garage lights flickered on one by one. Outside, the underground waited, screaming engines, dirty money, rival threats, and the ever-present risk of everything burning down.

Inside, something beautiful and messy and real was taking shape. You were still the Ghost. But now you had a pack. And together, no matter how dark or filthy or dangerous the road ahead became, you would face it as one. The night called. You answered, four hearts beating in sync, four shadows merging into something unbreakable. And for the first time, the future didn’t feel like something to outrun. It felt like something worth racing toward.

reposts & comments are appreciated o(｀ω´ )o

+ comment to be added to second taglist !!

nai notes : …im sorry for not posting regularly but here’s a part 10! will most definitely post more now ~~ now that schools out of the way updates won’t be around slow. For those who are still actively reading thank you so much. It means a lot especially it’s my first ever smau😽😽 also y/n and sunghoon era cmg ?? jungwon’s lowk a villain LMAOO he knows y/n weaknesses and uses it against her….

playboy shit smau taglist : @jakeycakeys @undeselle @lalipop143 @fan-of-a-lot-things @dina-10s-blog @kookoorokoo @miyeonprincessu @satorus-slut @tinyhrry @hyunjinsslut12 @sunnysidesins @lyzoor @antonxoul @justpassingdontworry @megamatt43 @jazzygirlengene @halheema @b1scuitwxngss @madheeeee @miemiem9 @glizzab3ll @coupsarchive @kociluvsatoru @yashiehehehe @shaiimuraaa @enhapagluuuuu @mandydxndy @won1eluvr @seyeolbae @wonniiz @scarredbytheworld @isa942572 @boundlesselixirflux @xoheedeung @nyfwyeonjun @luv444erin @jayhoonvroom @rikiizzzzz @letwiiparkjay @btsv2110 @jong-caprio @iheartwonnieee @riiseiis @spiderwitcj @sacrificemuraa @yoshidoshida @naviastime @iiunique @dreamyevilcomet @zoe1love (50/50)

a/n: this chapter takes place over the course of a month!.. so! again, a penny for ur thoughts?🤲🏻

❗ this is a work of mere fiction, the characters attitudes do not reflect at all the artist's personality here mentioned. © kazutteoks 2026

ᯓ★ ! taglist ;

sunghoon crouched down in front of shai, brushing a loose curl from her face. “you be good, yeah?” he said softly.

“i be!” she promised, gripping his cheeks and giving him a wet kiss right on the nose. “dada, go wid mama now.”

the boys all snorted behind them, but sunghoon just grinned and stood, brushing his hand down her back one last time before walking over to yn.

they lingered at the door for a moment, uncertain.

“you two—go!” sunoo said, gently pushing them toward the hallway. “please go on a date or take a bubble bath or whatever y’all do.”

“seriously,” heeseung added. “you two used to be all over each other. now it’s like… everytime you kiss it’s an indirect one through shai.”

the house was unusually quiet that evening. no toys scattered around the floor, no lullabies playing softly in the background, no tiny voice calling out for water or her bunny or just one more kiss. it was just them.

yn stood in the center of the living room, soaking in the stillness. “it’s weird not hearing her.”

“it’s peaceful,” sunghoon said, wrapping his arms around her from behind. “but weird, yeah.”

he kissed her shoulder, then her neck. she leaned back into him with a sigh.

“want to order in?” he murmured. “or should i cook for you?”

“you’re gonna cook?”

he pulled away to smirk. “what, you don’t trust me?”

“i trust you,” she said. “i just… don’t want burnt rice.”

he playfully shoved her shoulder. “wow. okay. i’ll order.”

they curled up on the couch a while later, noodles and dumplings between them, her legs draped across his lap. there was some romcom playing on the tv but neither of them really paid attention—they were too caught up in talking. about random things. about how preschool had changed shai. about how yn’s new manager was a little too obsessed with sticky notes. about how sunghoon saw a tiktok of someone saying he was a “dilf” and he didn’t know how to feel about it.

the laughter came easily. so did the kisses. and when she curled into his chest later that night, the moon casting soft light across their bedroom, yn felt something she hadn’t had in weeks — ease. comfort.

she looked up at him, tracing the curve of his nose with her finger. “thank you.”

“for what?”

“for loving me so much that even on days we don’t talk much, i still feel it.”

he leaned down to kiss her, long and soft. “i always will.”

that night, with no tiny feet kicking them in sleep and no bedtime routine to rush through, they simply held each other. the kind of closeness that says: we’ve been through hell, but we’re still here.

and in the other part of town, shai was snuggled between heeseung and sunoo in a fort made of couch cushions and bedsheets, fast asleep after demanding three bedtime stories and teaching them her new "sorry" speech word for word.

all was well.

contains NSFW content below !!!! mdni 

sunghoon stirred to the feel of soft lips brushing against his cheek, then his jaw, trailing with quiet purpose down to the curve of his neck. a familiar warmth bloomed in his chest and even with his eyes still closed, his lips curled into a sleepy smile.

his hands found her waist instinctively, sliding beneath the hem of the oversized shirt she’d stolen from his side of the closet—her favorite one, worn and soft. his fingers traced circles there, slow and familiar. she took it as permission, shifting to straddle him gently, the shirt slightly slipping off her shoulder.

his eyes finally opened, warm brown meeting hers, a little dazed but entirely smitten. “right now?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep but laced with amusement and affection.

she nodded, brushing his fringe away from his forehead as she leaned down to press a trail of kisses on the side of his face. “missed you,” she whispered into his skin.

his hands traveled up to her back, groaning softly when her teeth sunk gently into his earlobe. “missed you more,” he breathed, pulling her down for a kiss that was slow, unhurried—like they had all the time in the world.

he chuckled softly against her lips as he rolled them over, his hands cradling her face, kissing her deeper—like he was trying to memorize her all over again. his body hovered above hers, hips slotting in between hers.

the second he opened his mouth to probably tease her, she tutted him, tone only slightly desperate when she asked, “hoon, no teasing baby, please. i really need you right now, okay?”

and who was sunghoon if not a man who worshiped his beautiful wife, the mother of his precious daughter. the corner of his lip rose as he leaned to kiss the base of her neck, moving lower as he felt her relax under him.

he made her cum once on his tongue—moaning at the way she gushed all over his mouth and down his chin—before sliding into her, while she still jolted from her aftershock. the grumble about him overstimulating her barely left her lips before she moaned instead.

sunghoon knew what his wife liked—knew how she liked being praised, how she liked when he caressed all of her when he was inside, how she enjoyed being looked at by him—and he gave her exactly what she wanted.

he looked down at where they were connected when her whines raised an octave and the sight of the sticky white ring at the base of his dick made him groan, coming immediately after.

he collapsed beside her, chests heaving in sync as yn blinked up at the ceiling, cheeks flushed. “maybe,” she murmured between slow exhales, “we should’ve… used protection this time.”

sunghoon laughed, eyes crinkling. “maybe,” he echoed.

but when she turned her head to glance at him, lips twitching into a half-shrug, he could already see she wasn’t too bothered.

she reached for his hand and intertwined their fingers, her voice barely a whisper, “oh well.”

and he just smiled, because yeah—oh well.

the front door creaked open with a bang that echoed through the house, followed by shai’s unmistakable voice yelling, “allo!!”

jay stood there, all tall and smug with shai perched confidently in his arms like a little boss. she had on an oversized pair of black sunglasses that practically swallowed her tiny face, but she wore them with the kind of flair only a toddler could muster.

“i look like dada,” she declared, adjusting them dramatically with her tiny fingers.

jungwon and riki shuffled in behind them, both carrying shai’s tiny overnight backpack and a bag of snacks, looking equally amused and exhausted. shai had clearly run them into the ground.

sunghoon, who was standing in front of the kitchen counter flipping kimchi pancakes with one hand and stirring soup with the other, turned his head at the sound of the door and smiled wide.

“she’s back!” he grinned.

yn had been half–asleep on the dining table, surrounded by paperwork and half a dozen work reports when she jolted upright at the sound. she quickly scrambled to her feet, brushing her hair to one side and nearly tripping over her laptop charger as she dashed to the door. “my baby!”

shai immediately reached for her, dramatically climbing out of jay’s arms to dive into yn’s, sunglasses slipping down the bridge of her nose as she squealed “mamaaaa!” yn kissed her all over, checking her for bumps and bruises (just her mom instincts kicking in) before letting her scamper off to play with the plushies by the tv.

jay plopped down on the couch like a man who had survived war. “she made me play dress-up at 2 am,” he announced, eyes half–lidded. “and then when i paired polka dots with pastel, she told me i was a ‘bad dog’ and needed time-out.”

“she said that?” yn blinked.

riki nodded solemnly, before shaking his head at jay. “to be fair, it was a crime pairing sage green with neon pink.”

“oh! and,” jay added, ignoring riki completely. “she also made jungwon eat plastic cake, twice.”

“delicious,” jungwon said dryly, flopping beside him.

sunghoon wiped his hands and came over, grinning as he leaned against the wall and looked far too pleased with himself. “that’s good. i needed you guys to be completely occupied. we had… a productive evening.”

“productive?” jay squinted.

sunghoon grinned wider. “we had sex. like… a lot.”

jungwon choked on the water he was drinking.

yn, who had just settled beside shai and handed her a juice box, peeked over her shoulder with a completely unapologetic smile. her hair was tied up messily and her glasses were halfway down her nose, but she looked radiant and smug. “i mean, did you see him yesterday? muscles.”

riki narrowed his eyes and whispered, “whore,” not unkindly—more in a “you go girl” kind of way.

yn stuck her tongue out at him with a grin. “still got it.”

jay leaned forward, elbows on knees. “you guys have literally one night alone and you act like you were stuck on a desert island for three years.”

“we kind of were,” sunghoon said thoughtfully. “i forgot how hot she looks in her glasses. they don’t even correct anything! they’re just there. being hot.”

“it’s not my fault you have a glasses kink,” yn muttered, rolling her eyes playfully.

“it’s not my fault my shirt kept falling off your shoulder,” he shot back, crossing his arms and giving her a look that made riki gag.

“please,” jungwon groaned. “we’re children.”

“not my problem,” sunghoon shrugged.

jay stretched, standing up to grab a drink from the fridge. “well, if this night results in another baby, just so you know, we are NOT babysitting for free this time.”

“yeah,” riki said, looking at shai, who was now making one of her barbie eat a hot wheel. “your kid’s cute, but i’m starting to think she’s a little evil.”

“she gets it from me,” yn winked.

“exactly our point,” jungwon said.

sunghoon just chuckled, walking over to kiss the top of shai’s head before returning to the stove. “it’s fine. next baby can hang out with heeseung.”

jay muttered, “heeseung’s gonna teach it how to scam.”

“better than being dramatic like you,” yn smirked.

riki stared directly into the fridge like he was contemplating walking into it and never coming back. “i’m moving out.”

shai giggled as she crawled up onto the couch again, holding her sunglasses up to jungwon’s face and squinting at him. “look like dada too,” she declared.

jungwon blinked at her, speechless, then slowly accepted the sunglasses like it was a solemn rite of passage.

in the corner, yn picked up her planner and opened it to the next month.

she drew a tiny heart and next to it, wrote: “maybe a new chapter?”

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Light filters through your half-drawn curtains. It’s brighter now. You’re not sure exactly what time it is, but you’re guessing somewhere just before noon, if the long shadows across the linoleum are anything to go by. 

It would be quiet, peaceful even, if it weren’t for the pair of eyes staring at you from the foot of your bed. 

“How are you feeling?” Sunoo asks again. It must be nearing the hundredth time this morning alone. 

His voice is gentle, but it hits your ears like an accusation. 

 Put your guilt aside for a second, Jay told you that night in his car, and let people that love you take care of you when you need it.

Avoiding eye contact with your little brother now, it’s still easier said than done. All you can think about is how difficult this must be for him.

If your aversion to hospitals was enough to make your pulse spike at the thought of seeing a doctor, you can’t imagine what he must be feeling now. 

But Sunoo isn’t a child anymore. Even since you began university, he’s changed. The years have hollowed out his cheeks, sharpened his gaze. When he looks at you now, it’s with the discernment of an adult. 

And with age comes perception. It’s like he can see the gears turning in your mind. 

“You don’t have to worry about me, you know.”

“What?” You’re quick to mask the flicker of shock that crosses your features. 

It would seem that Sunoo has also become more direct as he’s gotten older. “I can tell that you’re thinking about me. Worrying about me. I don’t think I really need to point out how ridiculous that is.” 

He does his best not to let his gaze flicker to the array of IV bags currently attached to the vein in the crook of your elbow, but the implication is obvious enough. 

“I’m not worried about you,” you sigh. You are, of course, but he doesn’t need to know that. “I just—”

“Care,” he finishes for you. “Yeah, I know.” 

At the end of your bed, Sunoo sighs. He arrived earlier this morning, along with your mother who’s currently speaking to Hana in the hallway outside your room. You’re not sure exactly what kind of conversation they’re having, but the tight, teary smile she offered on her way out five minutes ago wasn’t exactly reassuring. 

Since their arrival, it’s been a kaleidoscope of emotions. You kept your promise to Jay. Only two nights passed before yesterday evening, when you finally found the courage to press on your mother’s contact information in your phone’s list of favorites. Your fingers were shaking, but you didn’t back out. 

Partly because you knew it would only be worse the longer you put it off. And partly because Jay had been watching you the entire time, brow raised in a silent reminder of the deal you metaphorically signed your name to. At least he’d had the decency to leave the room once your mother picked up. 

With a voice that only trembled slightly, you told her everything. Well, most of it. 

Your diagnosis, your hospital information, every bit of news the doctor gave you, you divulged to her. 

A certain deal struck in a passenger seat, however, remains a secret between you and Jay.

It had taken a fair bit of convincing for your mother not to hop in her car immediately, but once Sunoo and your father had also been filled in, you persuaded them to wait until the morning. 

And now, here they are. A mirror image, a sickening sense of warped déjà vu from a scene ten years ago.

Only this time, you’re the one with ruin taking hold in your body and Sunoo’s the one putting on a brave face at the foot of your hospital bed. 

Again, your little brother traces the path between IV fluids and your veins with his eyes. You’re not sure if the pain you see reflected is born of memory or the reality in front of him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whisper, but there’s no real command behind it. Partly because you know it’s an impossible request and partly because your energy levels are nearing non-existent. “I’m okay, really.”

For a moment, Sunoo just looks at you. His eyes are glassy. You avoid them, mostly because you’re afraid of finding your own reflection.

“What are you talking about?” he finally asks. “No one… we don’t expect you to be okay. I know you have this idea in your head that admitting you’re in pain or things are difficult will be a burden to us, but you’re my family. My sister. Watching you lie through your teeth because you think you’re sparing my feelings is worse than the truth could ever be.”

The weight of his words settles around you, heavy in the air. For a moment, you almost don’t recognize your little brother.

For the last ten years, it’s as if he’s been frozen in your mind. Warped by trauma and the pain of nearly losing someone so important to you, it’s like you’ve still seen that version of him, young and frail and sick, every time you look at him. 

But Sunoo is in front of you now. He sits tall. His skin is so radiant it’s nearly glowing. There are dark shadows under his eyes yes, but the hollowness, the emptiness, is gone. 

All at once, you wonder just how heavy a burden the weight of your lingering concern has been all these years. It always came from love, of course, but that never made it any less suffocating. 

Even if only subconsciously, you’ve treated Sunoo like glass all these years. As if the wind could blow right through him. As if your protection was the only thing keeping his feet tethered to the earth. 

But the Sunoo that looks back at you now isn’t in need of saving. His resilience has outlasted things far more severe than just heavy wind. Along with his baby features, he’s lost his fragility. 

He’ll always be your baby brother. That will never change. But when you look at him now, really look, you see the beginnings of a man.  

Someone with autonomy and agency and the ability to apply them as he sees fit. 

So, after a small, shaky breath, you admit to him quietly, “It hurts.”

Something in his gaze fractures, but it doesn’t break.

You continue, “It’s not a sharp pain, really, but it’s there. My body feels different. Wrong. Weaker. It’s like, I can still do things, I think, but they need more effort.”

You haven’t tested that theory. Haven’t really done anything but lay here for the last two days. Time is broken up by the nurses and doctors that visit. And on more than one occasion, Jay.

He’s not here now. He’s kept himself scarce since the arrival of your family, but until now, he’s been a near constant fixture in your hospital room. 

Surprisingly, he doesn’t always have much to say. The man you used to spend entire lectures arguing back and forth with is often uncharacteristically mute when he sits in the chair opposite your bed. 

Usually, he just asks how you’re doing, if there’s anything he can do for you, if you need him to tell Hana anything for you. 

You never do. You probably wouldn't tell him even if you did. But he comes anyway. 

After your standard exchange, Jay’s mouth will always part like he has something else to say. He doesn’t commit to it, though. Just sits quietly, a steady presence. 

Now, Sunoo is the one to receive your words, to take them in stride. 

“Yeah,” he nods. There’s sorrow in his eyes, but there’s strength there too. He can handle this. The truth isn’t too heavy for him. He won’t crumble under the weight of shared pain. “It’s like simple tasks are suddenly difficult. I know what you mean.”

He does. Of all the people in the world, Sunoo probably understands how you feel the most intimately. 

Deciding you’ve had enough doom and gloom, you shift the topic to the one shred of good news you’ve recently gotten. “They have to monitor me a bit longer before they decide for sure,” you tell him, “but I’ll probably still be able to attend some classes. A few times a week, maybe.” 

“You want to do that?” Sunoo asks. He’s not judging, not demanding. Just asking. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I think… I think some normalcy will be good.” Will make it all a bit more bearable. 

Sunoo’s quiet for a moment. And then he says, “If there’s ever a time when it’s not… If you ever want to come home, you have to know there’s a place for you there. Always.”

The sudden sincerity, his earnestness, make the tears that threaten your lashline feel all the more imminent. 

“Yeah,” you nod. Even if it’s an offer you both know you’ll never take him up on. “I know.”

Your eyes flicker to the bouquet sitting on your bedside table, the flowers Sunoo brought you. They’re bright, colorful. 

Just like him, you think. 

Sunoo takes the lapse in conversation as an opportunity to ask you more questions you give him half-true answers to. He asks about your classes, your hobbies, your nonexistent friends. 

When he breaches the topic of romance, you roll your eyes. At least this time, you can be honest in your answer. 

“I don’t have time for a boyfriend,” you explain. It’s true. You don’t. 

Until now, you haven’t had time for anything that wasn’t studying or working or dedicating yourself to seeing his dreams comes true, but you can’t exactly tell him that now. 

Luckily, he seems satisfied enough with your answer, even if it does make him frown a bit. 

You’re saved from his line of questioning by your mother who reenters the room moments later. Her eyes are swollen and bloodshot, but all three of you do an excellent job of pretending they’re not. 

Here in your hospital room, it’s not exactly the family reunion you’d envision for yourself, but you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t something deeply comforting about having Sunoo and your mother close again. 

Something settles uncomfortably in your gut when you remember that the reason they’re here, the only reason any of this was possible, was because of Jay. 

Even now, smiling at your family feels a little bit too much like incurring an unpayable debt. 

Still, you do your best to shake the discomfort and to just appreciate the fact that they could be here at all. Your body might be broken, immune system attacking you from the inside out, but when your mother stands to hug you, when Sunoo takes your hand in his, something in you steels its resolve. 

You’re not sure where it comes from exactly — this sudden desire to fight, but it gets stronger with every passing second you spend with your family. 

Debts aside, you have something to focus on now. Here, with them at your side, it’s more undeniable than ever. 

You want to live. 

Whether it’s for you or for them or something else entirely, you can’t quite be sure. But your life suddenly feels like something worth fighting for. 

So you don’t complain when Hana brings you a meal that tastes more like mush than food. The flavor hardly matters. If you want to live, you need your strength. 

You don’t argue when Doctor Kim explains the next treatment phase, along with its extensive list of side effects. 

You just nod. You agree. You try. 

For you, for them, for whatever forces are on your side, you’ve made up your mind. You’ll do what it takes, one day at a time. You’ll do what it takes to live. 

…..

Between treatment cycles and the near constant vigil your family keeps at your beside, nearly a week passes before you see Jay again. 

He’s back to his usual ensemble when he steps through the door of your hospital room after three sharp, distinct knocks one Tuesday morning. 

Stepping into the light, you can’t help but give him a once-over. The jeans and sweater he wears aren’t anything flashy, but he manages to make them look good. Expensive. 

You sigh. It’s him, after all. Not for the first time, the unfailing unfairness of life seems to manifest in front of you and slap you straight across the face. Here you are, fighting for something as innate as your own life, and he has the gall to step through the door looking like he just wrapped a magazine photoshoot. 

Unaware of your inner turmoil, Jay lingers near the entrance. 

For a moment, he just looks at you. A barrage of emotions flickers over his features, but he shutters them all before you can put a name to any of them. 

“Hi,” he finally says, eyes still scrutinizing. 

“Hi,” you return, a bit guarded.

He opens his mouth. Closes it again. A furrow passes through his brow, like he can’t quite decide how to start. 

You prepare yourself for the inevitable questions you’ve already grown weary of answering from just your family. How are you? How do you feel? How’s your energy? Does it hurt?

You know they’re all well-meaning, but something in you withers a little further every time you have to answer one of them. Mostly because guilt makes you feel like you’re expected to lie through your teeth. 

How are you? Terrible. You’re dying. Your own cells are ripping each other to shreds, tearing apart the remnant of your immune system from the inside out. 

How do you feel? Like shit. 

How’s your energy? So low it’s laughable. Whatever this disease hasn’t taken from you yet, the IV fluids being pumped into your arm day and night are more than happy to steal.

Does it hurt? That one’s probably the most ridiculous of all. Of course it fucking hurts. 

So you sigh, already avoiding eye contact as you prepare to answer whichever line of questioning Jay decides to start with. 

But he surprises you.

“I brought you something,” he finally says. It’s not a question. 

Slowly, like you’re a skittish kitten, he approaches your bed. Careful not to disturb the flowers, he pulls a sizable stack of papers out from his bag before setting them gently on the table next to you. 

“What’s that?” You frown. 

“Class notes,” he explains. “The ones from Professor Jung’s and all the other classes we share are from me.” He nods to the pile. “I didn’t know you were also taking statistics and marketing comm this semester. I got those from a couple of your classmates.”

“I…” you trail off, momentarily stunned. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs, as if the gesture is nothing. As if his effort is meaningless. “I knew you wouldn’t want to be behind when you do come back to class. Speaking of which, Hana told me that you’re doing well. She mentioned that you might be able to try coming to a couple of lectures next week.”

“Yeah,” you nod. The news had come much to your relief. The nurses, of course, haven’t been exactly pleased with your incessant pestering. You’ve made such a habit of asking when you can return to school that they hardly even admonish you anymore. Just answer with resigned sighs that they’re still monitoring your condition and they’ll know more soon.

Doctor Kim had been the one to finally break the news, actually. He was sure to emphasize that he strongly advised against it and would continue to encourage you to rest as much as possible, but if you really wanted to attend a few of your weekly lectures, he wouldn’t be the one to stop you.

You’ll have to adjust, of course. You’ve already reached out to several of your professors. Keeping the details as vague as possible, you’ve made arrangements to complete the majority of your assignments online. 

They all said nearly the same thing: because your grades and performance have been so impressive this semester, they’ll allow you to finish your work remotely, as long as you’re still willing to sit your final exams in person. 

The only professor who seemed a bit hesitant was Professor Jung. Of course, you know she’d make far more lenient concessions if you told her your true reasons for not coming to class so often anymore, but then she’d probably also give you the same treatment as Doctor Kim. As everyone else who knows your secret. 

She’d insist that you forget about your schoolwork and focus only on your recovery. Give up all the effort you’ve already put in and just concentrate on getting better. 

You can’t do that. You won’t. 

You’re staying true to your word, your promise sworn in the passenger seat of Jay’s car, but you refuse to sacrifice more than you have to. 

If there is some form of happy ending on the other side of all this, you still need your degree. You still have your goals, your one-sided promise to Sunoo. 

As long as you physically can, you’ll keep up with your studies to the best of your ability. 

Jay, to his credit, seems to understand all of this without you having to say a single word. It’s why you suspect he’s shown up in your hospital room with a stack of notes instead of a barrage of questions. 

Looking at him now, you consider your other promises forged with his hands on the steering wheel. 

If he’s bringing you his personal notes, he must really be convinced of your virtue. Your agreement to let him finish first in your class. Then again, you suppose he could have forged a couple of answers, skipped a couple of key points. 

You doubt it, though. Sabotage doesn’t seem to be his style.

Then, you think of the rest of your bargain. The list you made. The things you want to do before you die. 

With the charity gala behind you, only three things remain. 

Go on a beach vacation

Ride in a convertible 

Kiss a stranger

There are the northern lights, too, of course, but you gave up on that dream nearly within the same breath you wrote it with. It’s just too impossible. 

So you’re left with three things. Three tasks you promised him you’d see through. 

Now, though, you really have no idea how you’ll make it happen. 

A beach vacation? You’re already worried about mustering the strength to attend occasional lectures. Much less afford the necessary transportation costs. 

Sighing, you suppose it would be better to bring up your hesitation sooner rather than later. Explain to Jay that it just isn’t feasible for you to actively try checking off your bucket list with everything else going on. 

Besides, what’s he going to do? Retract his end of your deal? You don’t think he has it in him.

“Speaking of returning to classes,” you venture, “I wanted to talk to you about the whole bucket list thing. Look, Jay,” you sigh, “I know I agreed to complete it, but it really was just a random list of things I wrote right after I got the diagnosis. They’re not—it’s not a real bucket list. Besides, I’ve already done most of the things on it, so—”

“No.” In your hospital room, the word rings loud and clear. 

“What?”

“Nice try.” He shakes his head. Smiles privately to himself, like he expected this. “You’re not getting out of it. You think deals are broken that easily? I’d be more than happy to go find your brother and tell him what’s really going on. He was here earlier, wasn’t he? I bet if I just stick around long enough, then—”

Your eyes flash dangerously, narrowed into slits. “You wouldn't dare.”

“You want to test that?”

Your silence is answer enough. 

“That’s what I thought,” Jay nods. “And I’m glad you brought it up. We’re going somewhere this afternoon.”

“Excuse me,” you argue. “What happened to asking? Besides, I’m not allowed to leave right now.”

“You are, actually,” Jay counters. “I already cleared everything with Hana. As long as I keep a, and I quote, careful eye on you, we’re good to go. For a maximum of two hours, but I think you’ll find that’s plenty of time.”

“I don’t want to go.” You sound like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. You hardly care. 

“You don’t even know where we’re going.”

“I know it can’t be anywhere good.”

“It will probably beat a hospital room, though,” Jay points out. “I’d bet on those odds.”

“My family—” You try to protest. 

“Drove back home this morning,” he cuts you off. “They won’t be back until the weekend.”

You flounder for a moment, mouth opening. “If you knew that, then why did you threaten to tell Sunoo earlier?”

Jay shrugs. “I’m patient. I didn't mean I would tell him today. Although,” he considers, “I probably could. I bet I could get one of these nurses to pass along his phone number.”

“That’s confidential, you idiot.” 

“I don’t know,” he muses. “They’ve been pretty accommodating to my requests so far.”

You scowl. You bet they have. You’re sure he waltzes in here looking like that, and they’re falling over themselves to fulfill his requests. 

“Whatever,” you scoff. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“You don’t have a choice.” His smile is entirely too smug for your liking. “This is part of our deal.”

“I don’t remember ‘bending to your every beck and whim’ being part of our deal,” you point out. 

“It’s not,” he shakes his head, “but this is.”

“How could it be?” you ask. “It’s not like we could possibly go to the beach right now.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and your eyes widen in shock. 

“Jay,” you panic, “There’s no way we could—”

“Relax,” he interrupts. “We’re not going to the beach.” He pauses for a moment, then, as an afterthought, adds, “Yet.”

“Then what—”

“Just come,” he pleads, a bit of begging coloring his tone. “Please,” he adds for good measure. 

So you do, grumbling under your breath the entire way to his ridiculously sleek car that he insists on pulling around front so you don’t have to walk any further than necessary. 

Sliding into his passenger seat, you scramble to guess where he could possibly be taking you, options becoming more limited the longer he drives. 

By the time he pulls off the freeway, you half suspect that he was just trying to get you out of the hospital for a bit. 

What you don’t expect, however, is for him to expertly navigate his car into a parking spot in front of the local mall. 

“What the hell?” you ask when he slides the gear into park. “What, are you taking me for a pretzel dog at Auntie Anne’s or something? I think I’d prefer the hospital food, to be honest.”

Jay just rolls his eyes. 

You continue, “And why did you park so far away? You’re really gonna make a sick girl walk all the way to the entrance from here? The least you could do is drop me off at the front—”

Deciding he’s had enough of your assumptions, Jay cuts you off. “We’re not going to the mall.”

“We’re not?” Surprise crosses your features. “Then why are we here?”

“Because,” he intones, tilting his chin to cast a significant look somewhere behind your shoulders, “we’re going there.”

Turning back, you squint. It’s a bit difficult to see with how dark his tinted windows are, but you make out the outline of the luxury department store. Adjacent to the mall, every shop inside is far out of your price range. You’ve never stepped foot inside. Hell, you forgot it was even there.

“Don’t tell me you dragged me out of the hospital because you’re low on Chanel,” you groan. “Seriously, what am I supposed to do in there?”

For a moment, Jay just looks at you, an open mix of disbelief and mild exasperation spread across his features. 

“Oh, ___,” he sighs, entirely too patronizing for your liking. “Always so close to the point, and then it just…” he trails off, raising his hand up and drawing an arc over your head, “misses you entirely.”

“Yeah,” you goad, “I’m so dumb and oblivious you had to beg me to let you outrank me in our class.”

“I didn’t beg,” he argues, a sudden defensive edge in his tone. “Although, now that you point it out, it is kind of ridiculous. How are you so damn smart yet so incredibly—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

“Okay,” Jay surrenders, putting his hands up, palms splayed. “Okay,” he concedes, exhaling. “Let’s just go.”

You don’t budge. “Didn’t you hear me? I don’t want to help you pick out another Prada tie.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” he argues back, voice an octave too high like he’s imitating you. “That’s not what we’re doing.”

You open your mouth to hurl another round of questions his way, but Jay won’t let you get one out sideways. 

“Just come,” he says, a bit of pleading coloring his voice as it falls back to its usual pitch. “I’ll beg if I have to.”

You’re silent for a moment longer. 

“Please,” he adds, and it has the last of your resolve withering in on itself. 

Pushing yourself up from your seat takes a fair deal of exertion. More than you care to admit. Wincing, you mask the expression as soon as it comes. The last thing you need is Jay picking up on your discomfort. Your weakness.

But he’s always been too perceptive for his own good. Especially where you’re concerned.

Rushing around from the driver’s side, he stops right in front of you, just slightly too close. 

“You alright?” His hands are half outstretched, like he can’t decide if he should reach for you or not. 

“I’m fine.” Your words are a thin, frayed thing. Stretched almost as thin as your patience. “Let’s just go.”

Jay still looks like he wants to protest. He checks your expression and thinks better of it. 

Still, once you fall into step next to him, he leaves his hands like that. Flexed, ready. Half outstretched like he’s prepared to catch you if you stumble. 

You can’t quite decide if his concern makes you want to roll your eyes or let the walls you’ve built with him fall just a fraction of an inch further. 

Jay leads you. Steadily, quietly into the entrance of the luxury department store. Immediately, you feel out of depth. 

For starters, even the air here seems to be different from your local mall. There are no screaming kids, middle-aged women deep into a gossip session, or twenty-something-year-old part timers trying to shove perfume samples under your nose in front of a Macy’s. 

The people here are too… refined for that. They carry themselves differently, like the price tag on their clothes is something worth respecting with good posture and perfect hair.

Even the employees seem in on it. There are no gaudy, ill fitted vests or neon polo shirts with questionable stains. No, the people behind the registers here are wearing suits.

And it’s not just the clothes. It’s their aura. They look expensive, important, worth knowing. 

They look like Jay. 

And you… well, you’ve seen better days. Your treatment regimen has at least allowed you to keep up with regular showers these past few days, but a hairbrush hasn’t exactly been at the top of your to-do list. 

Your jeans are fine, if not a bit faded. It’s not like your simple long-sleeved t-shirt has any stains, but the collar doesn’t lay quite as nicely as it did before the million rounds of laundry you’ve put it through since buying it. 

You feel out of place. Like an unwelcome guest. 

You think back to Jay’s earlier rebuttal — “It will probably beat a hospital room, though,” — and suddenly, you’re not sure if he was right. 

From your periphery, you see a woman take a second glance at you over the top of her wide framed sunglasses – indoors, really? –and begin to wish the spotlessly clean floor would just open you up and swallow you whole. 

Jay, at least, seems unbothered by all the sidelong looks. True to his word, he leads you straight past the doors to Prada and Chanel without even sparing them a second glance. 

Instead, he walks ahead, you in his wake, down a hallway leading out from the center of the building. It’s quieter, down here at least. Less stares.

Jay doesn’t stop until you’re stood in front of the store at the very end, although you don’t think you imagined the sidelong glances he was passing you the entire way here. 

Looking up at the sign, you frown. “How do you even pronounce that?” The brand name looks French, or maybe Italian. Languages were never your strong suit.

For Jay however, it rolls off the tongue easily.

“I’ve never heard of it.” You shake your head.

“It’s a small brand,” he explains. “It’s my friend’s, actually.”

You give him a flat look. “Your friend has a fashion brand.”

Jay shrugs. “He’s building it.”

Glancing in at the stock you can see, your confusion starts to shift. Begins to build deep in your gut with large, uneasy waves that make your footing feel unsteady. Until it looks a lot more like dread.

Because Jay’s friend apparently has quite the eye for evening gowns. 

You let the realization settle, understanding beginning to dawn. 

“Jay, what—”

“It’s our first step to checking off your bucket list,” he interrupts. “You said you wanted to buy a really expensive dress.”

“Yeah,” you nod, mouth still ajar, “and I did. That dress I wore to the charity gala—”

“Was lovely, so please don’t misunderstand,” Jay placates you with the calm, even tone of someone used to convincing difficult clients. “But I’m not sure it fits the criteria of really expensive.”

“Cost is relative,” you point out, even as some of your pride dies with the admission. 

“Naturally,” he agrees. “But this is a bucket list. Once-in-a-lifetime kind of things. Besides,” he nods to the store, “my friend is pretty good. Annoying as hell,” he adds after a moment of consideration, “but he has an eye for evening wear.”

“Jay,” your brows pinch together. “Look, I… appreciate the gesture, but even once-in-a-lifetime things have to be somewhat realistic. And it’s not like getting my card declined during check-out is exactly one of my biggest dreams.”

“Good thing your card won’t be involved during check-out, then.”

“Jay—”

“You promised me,” he cuts you off, gaze suddenly serious. You looked me in the eye that night in my car and you promised me you would try.”

“I am trying—”

“You’re making excuses. You’re coming up with all of these reasons to avoid letting people do things for you. You think I dragged you out of the hospital just for the hell of it? That I haven’t seen the way just walking from here to the car had you breathing heavier than usual? I had to stop myself from offering you a hand over a dozen times today alone, because I know how you’d react.”

“Then just take me back to the hospital, since I’m clearly such a burden to you.”

“You’re not. That’s exactly what I’m saying. You think that every gesture is some kind of transaction. Some kind of score you’ll be expected to settle.”

“Because it is. Shouldn’t you know that better than anyone? Look at what we study day in, day out. Supply and demand. Profit margins. Liabilities. Even this,” you gesture between the two of you, “whatever the hell it is, was a deal. I don’t want to owe you more than I have to.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” His frustration is apparent now, too. In the line of his shoulders, the flex in his jaw. It’s visible, even as he tries to keep his patience steady. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for the last three days.”

“Yeah, well, this isn’t fucking Make-A-Wish either.” Your words are angrier now, chest heaving a bit with the effort. “I’m not some sick doll you can dress up because it eases your conscience and makes you feel good about helping the less fortunate. Go donate to an actual charity if you’re feeling so terribly generous.”

For a moment, Jay goes still. Lips pressed together, eyes trained directly on your face. A furrow appears between his brow. 

When he finally speaks again, his voice is low. “Is that how you think I see you?”

You sigh, fighting the urge to let an open palm splay across your forehead. Here, in the quiet corner of an ending hallway, your frustration feels a bit misplaced. “Jay, you dragged me out here to play dress up. How else am I supposed to—”

“For the last three years since I met you, I’ve watched you work yourself to death. Every class. Every assignment. Every test. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a scowl on your face and tension in your shoulders. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take a break for so much as a fucking minute.”

“Don’t exaggerate.” You scowl. “It’s not like you actually remember me as anything besides an annoying voice that argues against your points.”

Jay doesn’t budge. “Intro to communication.”

“What?”

“Freshman year. Room 112. The lecture hall with the creaky seats and the lightbulb in the back corner that was always out.”

“Jay, what—”

“It was the first class we had together. And we’ve had at least two every semester since. I don’t know where you got this idea that no one ever paid any attention to you. That you got to look and scrutinize and judge and no one would ever glance back at you. People know who you are, ____. They recognize you. They respect you. I’m not deluded enough to think that we were ever friends. Mostly because you’ve always bitten my head off every time I’ve tried to talk to you. But you don’t get to stand there and resent me for things I never did. You don’t get to hate me for whatever kind of person you’ve decided I am all on your own.”

“Jay—”

“I know you’ve made up your mind that life is easier when you do everything all by yourself. I get that this is uncomfortable for you. That letting people help you and do things for you and take care of you fuels that sense of shame you’re always trying to bury beneath bravado. But we’re not here because I think you’re a charity case. And you don’t get to decide what I think about you.”

“And you think you know me? It’s a bit hypocritical, don’t you think? Standing there and telling me who I am and what I think. You don’t know the first thing about me, either.”

“Fine.” His eyes are alive now, sparking with something you don’t know what to do with. “You’re right. Then tell me.”

“What?” You shake your head. “That’s not—”

But he’s not done begging. “Let me get to know you.”

“What’s the point?” It’s so easy to think of rebuttals, to argue against his failed logic. “Even if this does pan out, we’ll be graduating soon.”

“Haven’t you heard? There’s nothing as valuable in the business world as connections. Besides, everyone needs a friend.”

For a moment, you just look at him. Mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Then, “You want to be my friend?”

Jay’s sigh comes from somewhere deep. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do this entire time?”

“Why?” You still don’t understand. “I’m not even nice to you.”

“Nice people are overrated,” he shrugs. “They usually just want something from you.”

“Jay,” you fight the urge to rub your temple. It’s terrible logic, given that your entire relationship is quite literally hinging on a deal. On wanting something from each other.  

“C’mon,” Jay urges, unwilling to back down because of your inner turmoil. “My friend is expecting us. And I told the nurse I’d have you back in a couple of hours.” He checks his watch. A Rolex because of course it is. “That leaves us just enough time,” he concludes.

Staring at the shop entrance, you remain motionless for a moment longer. It would be easy to keep arguing. Easier than anything else, probably. Besides, if you really refused, what could he do? It’s not like Jay would actually drag you in kicking and screaming. Well, not in front of witnesses.

But then you hear it again. That voice in your head. That version of you, younger, more naive, less hardened to the realities of the world.

She, of course, thinks it would be a fantastic idea to go try on dresses for the next hour. To twirl in front of the mirror like a teenager at prom. 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Of course she does. 

Then, there’s another voice. It’s not hers. It’s not Jay’s. It’s just… yours. You, as you are now. And she, you begin to realize, even if only reluctantly, wants this too. 

You could still refuse, of course. You’ve had plenty of practice burying your desires. Shoving them beneath contempt and shame and the sham you call selflessness. Jay was right about several of the accusations he just hurled your way, but one sticks out to you now. 

It is uncomfortable to let people do things for you. Jay is much easier to handle when he’s at arm’s length. When he’s nothing but an amalgamation of how unfair the universe is when it doles out fortune and wealth and luck. 

But your family’s financial situation isn’t his fault. Your diagnosis and dedication to your degree have nothing to do with him. 

When he looks at you now, it’s not with expectation. No matter how long you search his open gaze, all you find is hope. Not that you’ll give him something he wants. Not that you’ll prove useful to him in some way. 

Just that, for once in your life, you’ll look at the offer he extends without refusing. Without bargaining. Without trying to flip it on its head so that you have the upper hand. 

And it’s hard. It tastes like lost pride and stings like guilt. But it also looks a lot like something you’ve been missing in your life for as long as you can remember. 

Friendship. 

Is this what it’s like? You wonder. Constantly toeing the boundary of what’s acceptable and what’s off limits? Trying, over and over, no matter how many walls you try to plant between you?

It sounds exhausting, you realize. No wonder you haven’t had time for any of it before.

But it also sounds… not comfortable, exactly. But reassuring, maybe. Steady in the way that summer nights are. Movies that you watch again even though you know how they end, because maybe this time, you’ll notice something you didn’t before. 

It was never just a dress, you realize. And Jay was never offering you just money. You can’t decide if that makes things easier or a million times harder. 

You’re still afraid to owe him things. And something as novel as friendship suddenly feels like a big debt to pay. 

Your internal struggle must play out plain as day across your features. Jay speaks before you have your mind made up. 

“We don’t have to,” he says quietly. “You can say no. You can always say no.” He pauses for a moment, sighing heavy on his exhale. “But I really hope you don’t.”

Hope. A flighty, fragile thing. It’s made so many of your losses more bitter than they had to be, so much of your effort feel more wasted than it had any right to. But hope has also gotten you here. Has led you through hell and back with a raised chin and shoulders squared.

So, you finally tell him, “Okay,” even if your voice is so low he nearly misses it.

“Okay?” Jay echoes, eyebrows raised.

You look up at him, something vulnerable in your gaze. “Please don’t make me say it again.”

It’s the only request all afternoon that hasn’t been shrouded in sarcasm and your biting attempts at a defense mechanism. 

Jay’s eyes widen for a moment. And then he nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Let’s go.”

…..

The inside of the store is even more impressive than the front display, and that was nothing to scoff at. 

You hate to admit it, but Jay was right. This blows the Macy’s sale rack you’d picked up your gala dress at right out of the water. 

Jay’s friend appears to have a flair for the subtly dramatic. Each gown has a quiet sense of luxury. The designs are beautiful. Feminine in a way that feels like they were made to flatter. But they’re not simple. Each one has something unique to it, an embellishment of beadwork, an unexpected silhouette, a subtle sheen that nearly glows when the light reflects just right. 

They feel like artwork, the kind that hangs in museums. Your instincts are practically begging you to look but not touch. You hardly know where to start. 

Beside you, Jay is quiet. He trails at a respectable distance, eyes flickering over your profile intermittently. 

“Let me know if you see something you like,” he instructs. “You can try on anything you want.” He must mistake your silence for disinterest, because he’s quick to add, “Or if there’s nothing you like here, we could try somewhere else. I think—”

“Jay,” you interrupt this time. “They’re beautiful. Stunning, actually. I don’t…” You glance around the store again, your overwhelm only growing. “I don’t know where to start.”

He hesitates for a moment, weighing his words on his tongue. Then, finally, “I could help, if you want. I saw a couple that I think would suit you well.”

It’s strangely intimate – the thought of Jay looking at dresses with you in mind. The idea of him imagining the way they’d sit against your skin tone, the way they’d curve around your body. 

“I – sure.” You look away, then, if only to hide the way heat starts to spread on your cheekbones. 

Jay takes his time. With the same careful attention you’ve assumed was reserved for lectures and particularly difficult economics problem sets, he takes a slow lap around the perimeter of the store. Breezes right past some gowns. Stops for long moments in front of others. 

Occasionally, he calls over a store attendant, exchanging opinions in hushed tones. 

You watch for a minute longer, content to play the role of the observer, before a voice startles you out of your reverie. 

“He might take a little while,” the stranger advises, a small smile in his voice and on his lips. “You’re welcome to sit.” He gestures towards the middle of the store, where a large, open area is bordered by several luxurious looking loveseats. 

“Thanks,” you nod. Heeding his advice, you take the few steps necessary to reach the closest one. Sliding down into it, you’re almost surprised to see him follow. Quietly, he sits down into the seat opposite yours. 

For a moment, the two of you just face each other silently. He’s handsome, in a classic sort of way. Has the same refined, elegant look that you’ve come to recognize so easily on Jay. Mixed with a distinct, boyish charm, you guess his age is similar to yours. Which begs the question—

“Are you Jay’s friend?”

He nods. “Sunghoon.” Extending a hand, he shakes yours with a firm grip. “It’s nice to meet you.”

You give him your name in return. 

Sunghoon just grins, eyebrow arching slightly. “Oh, I know.”

That gives you pause. You can’t imagine why Jay would be mentioning you to his friends. Mentally, you dismiss it. Maybe it was an offhand comment on a day your classroom rebuttals were particularly annoying to him. 

Pressing into other topics, you look around the store once again. 

And its owner. Sunghoon, much like Jay, looks like he’s been around money long enough to be comfortable with it, to get used to the way expensive things feel against his skin. If you had to guess, he’s around your age. 

The thought almost makes you want to scoff. A university-aged boy with a fashion brand. Jesus christ, the world really is unfair. 

 But his age makes the space around you more impressive, too. Even if you’d been born to wealth, you doubt you’d be able to replicate any of it.

Deciding you have nothing to lose, you venture into a conversation. 

“You…” you trail off, not sure what the most tactful way of asking would be. Deciding you don’t have enough time to be so concerned with mincing words, you ask, rather straightforwardly, “This is your store?”

Sunghoon nods. Honest from the get-go, he tells you, “You could say that. It’s not exactly a store, though. My mother is the chief merchandiser for a rather reputable fashion house. I grew up in the industry. Discovered I had a passion for the design side of things when I was in middle school. Everything here is just display, mostly. Some of it was made for runway and some are editorial pieces. I haven’t actually produced anything for mass distribution yet, but I’m hoping to start soon. Once I finish school. For now, this is mostly used as a show room. Somewhere to bring people who might be interested in capsule collections or model fittings.” He glances at you, considering, “But it’s always nice to see new faces, too.” He pauses, glances at you again. “And any friend of Jay is welcome here.”

You’re still not sure if the title fits or not, but you aren’t here to discuss the nature of your relationship. Instead, you ask about theirs. 

“And you two are friends?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon nods. “Have been since we were kids. Families run in the same circles and all that.”

You already suspected as much. Biting back any hint of sarcasm, you settle on the most neutral response you can muster. “That’s nice.”

“Most of the time,” Sunghoon agrees. “Although the kid drives me crazy sometimes. I suppose it’s only natural, though.” He smiles, as if reminiscing. “My sister and I never argue, so the universe had to give me someone else to fight with.”

That makes you grin, too. Leaning in like you’re sharing a secret, you whisper, “He can be a little ridiculous, can’t he?”

“Oh,” Sunghoon mimics your posture, “the absolute worst. And so goddamn stubborn.” 

“Right?” You incline your head, hands on your knees to support your weight. “You should see him in class. He’s always—”

“I can hear you two, you know.” 

Startled at the sudden voice, you turn to look over your shoulder. Jay stands directly behind you, eyes already trained on you, lips pulled into a thin line. 

He takes in your wide-eyed gaze for a moment. Some of the annoyance softens from his expression. In a tone decidedly less flat, he tells you, “They’re ready for you.”

A fresh bout of nerves flitters through your stomach. Still, when you remember your conversation outside, you’re sure the worst part of the day is behind you. You can do this. 

You’re up against death, after all. What are a few dresses in the grand scheme of things?

Leaving Jay and Sunghoon behind, you find the small fitting room tucked away in the opposite corner. The attendant from earlier smiles at you, tells you to let her know if you need anything. 

And then it’s just you, the four walls of the fitting room, and the three dresses Jay deemed most worthy of your attention. 

Despite yourself, the sudden lump in your throat is difficult to swallow. You’re not sure how he manages to do it every time, see you right down to your bones. 

The three dresses he chose, even amongst the endless options of silk and color and fabric, are really, truly perfect. 

They’re understated. Simple in a way that makes them feel tangible instead of out of reach. Even though you’ve never worn anything like them in your life, there are elements of your own style you see reflected. Colors you wear to class because you’ve been told they suit you. Silhouettes that you’ve always gravitated towards. 

The first one slips over your head easily, although the back proves more difficult to zip and fasten on your own. Even securing it with your hands pressed to your chest, you can tell it suits you even more than you hoped on the hanger. 

It’s beautiful. Truly. Makes even the sallow tinge to your skin and hair mussed from days in a hospital look intentional. Like things worth noticing instead of trying to hide behind.

Pushing the door open slowly, you catch the attendant’s eye. She’s quick to come, helps you fasten the back and dishes out compliments all the while. 

Even her attention makes you feel shy. But not in a way that makes you want to run and hide. It’s almost like that night at the charity gala. You feel noticed. Seen, but not in an uncomfortable way. Just… more visible than usual.

Once the last of the buttons are finished, she catches your eye in the mirror. “Shall we?”

You frown. “Shall we what?”

“Show them,” she adds, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

A sudden flare of heat builds deep in your chest, flies all the way to your cheeks. You imagine stepping out into that open space where Jay and Sunghoon are sitting, their attention, his attention on you. 

Even the thought is enough to have your knees feeling dangerously wobbly. 

“Oh,” you try to dismiss the idea, voice hushed as you work to evade detection. “That's okay. I don’t think—”

It’s as if he can read your thoughts. Your sudden hesitation. 

“____,” you hear him call your name. “Are you coming?”

It’s more than a little uncomfortable as you force your feet to move you from the safety of the dressing room to the central, open part of the store. The space that Jay and Sunghoon are waiting for you in. 

There’s no actual spotlight, but the overhead lights suddenly feel blinding, have you feeling a bit like a sample under a microscope. Something to poke and prod at. Something to scrutinize for any visible flaws. 

The dress is gorgeous. Sunghoon’s talent is undeniable. It wasn’t made for you, but the way fabric seems to flow with your body instead of just over it makes it feel like it was. 

The color is perfect, too. Does something for your complexion, even though it’s been made sallow from illness. Brings color back to your features in a way that makes you want to stare at your reflection a little longer instead of hiding from it. 

It’s a bit ridiculous. You feel silly for even thinking it, but you feel… pretty. 

This was the entire reason you included an expensive dress on your bucket list. For the simple pleasure you’ve been denying yourself ever since you decided that your money and your time and your decisions never fully belonged to you. 

You can count on one hand the amount of times you remember doing something for you. Putting something on your body just because you liked the way it made your reflection look. 

It feels personal, like a moment just for you. The thought of parading such an intimate part of your psyche in front of others, in front of Jay, is enough to have your mind spinning. 

But your feet are already moving and before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re there. Facing a fear in the middle of the room.

For a moment, it’s quiet.

Sunghoon is the one to speak first. He nods, smile small and genuine. “It suits you. I like it.”

Next to him, Jay remains mute. You watch as his throat works around a swallow, his eyes slightly wide as if he’s suddenly the one on display. 

“It’s…” he finally starts. “Yeah. It’s beautiful.” Meeting your eye then, his words are only somewhat strained when he adds, “You look beautiful.”

Cheeks warm, you look down, brushing away at invisible dust along the top of the skirt.

“Do you like it?” Jay thinks to ask after another beat. “Did you want to try on the others?”

You shake your head. He has good taste, and all three of the gowns he had sent to your dressing room are stunning, but something about this one is uniquely you. 

You feel like you already know, can already stand by your decision, without trying on the others. 

Jay nods like he understands too. He waits until you’re back in the dressing room to settle things with Sunghoon, as if you'll forget the depth of his generosity as long as you don’t have to watch it up close. 

Leaving the store with a matte black shopping bag with gold embossed branding hanging from Jay’s arm feels a bit like resignation. Like giving into everything you’ve been fighting against 

A million arguments still sit persistent in your throat. It was too much, too expensive. Money that could have been better spent elsewhere. You don’t even have a place to wear it to. 

But for the first time in a long time, you don’t really feel like arguing. 

Instead, you give Sunghoon one final reminder of your gratitude with a quiet, “Thank you.”

He brushes you off, insists that any time you need a break from the man at your side, you’re more than welcome back. 

Jay rolls his eyes at that, but there’s no real malice. And when he hears the way it makes you giggle, he can’t help but smile himself. 

It’s a small moment of happiness, a bubble inside the catastrophe your life has become. 

But, you think, looking out the window as you drive back to the hospital, soft rock filtering through Jay’s speaker as he hums along quietly, whether you have three weeks or three months or all the time in the world, an afternoon spent dress shopping with a friend will be one you remember with fondness. 

…..

Staring at your phone screen, the message thread materializing in front of you is almost too ridiculous for you to believe it’s anything more than a figment of your imagination. A side effect of all the medication you’re on, maybe.

But everything else about the hospital cafeteria, right down to the barely edible food, seems real enough. 

Jongseong: When does your family leave?

That was the message that interrupted your meal nearly five minutes ago. 

You: In three days

You: Why?

Between bites of barely identifiable mush, he responded. 

Jongseong: I’m booking a guesthouse.

You: ??

Jongseong: At the beach

At that, you nearly choke on what the menu claimed was supposed to be mashed potatoes. 

Luckily, you manage to keep them down, but it is enough to catch the attention of your younger brother. 

“Who are you texting?” Sunoo asks, a glimmer in his eyes that you know wasn’t there before. 

“No one.” Your response is too immediate. Too defensive. Shit. It only makes his eyebrows raise further. 

“You sure?” he presses. “You seem pretty… engrossed.”

“It’s just school,” you lie, forcing yourself to turn off the screen. 

But not before one more message comes through.

Jongseong: Booking confirmed. I’ll pick you up the afternoon after they leave. 

It’s like he somehow knows Sunoo has a watchful eye on you right now. Like he can sense that you’re unable to protest the way you usually would. 

But whatever. You’ll deal with Jay later. Right now, Sunoo’s curious expression spells a more immediate issue.

“Right,” Sunoo nods, but you can tell he doesn’t quite believe you. Deciding to let it rest for now, he asks instead, “How is school?” 

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing in particular,” he shrugs. “I just feel like every time I ask you about it, you brush it off or change the subject.”

He’s right. You do tend to get cagey whenever the topic of university is approached. Mostly because school is almost always a struggle. And your struggles are something you decided a long time ago not to share with your little brother. 

Suddenly, the topic feels a little heavy for the hospital cafeteria. Surrounded mostly by elderly patients, you can at least rest easy knowing that most of them don’t have hearing good enough to eavesdrop. It at least gives you the illusion of a bit of privacy. 

“It’s fine,” you shrug noncommittally. “Busy sometimes, but manageable.”

“Fine?” he echoes. “C’mon, there has to be something. No crazy professors or annoying classmates or embarrassing drunken mishaps?”

You shake your head. “It’s not like the movies. My professors are only crazy about citations and formatting, and I don’t really drink much.”

You don’t even bother to acknowledge the annoying classmates comment. Mostly because there’s no way you could breach it without mentioning someone you’re deliberately steering far clear of mentioning.

Hoping to pivot the conversation away from you, you ask, “What about the restaurant? How are things coming?”

“See,” he points out, eyebrows raised in accusation. “That’s what I mean. You’re always changing the subject.”

“I’m not trying to,” you lie. “I’m just curious.”

“Yeah,” Sunoo nods. “Just like I’m curious about you. We barely get any updates. You know, Mom had to find out that you made Dean’s list by checking the university website. She was so proud she printed it out and hung it next to the register in the restaurant. She still talks anyone’s ear off that will listen to hear about it.”

Your heart gives a sudden lurch. It’s true that you haven’t kept up as much as you should. That when you do, you always ask for updates more than you give them. 

It’s not like you meant to hide things like your honor roll achievement. It’s just that you always assumed your family was busy enough with their own lives. You didn’t want them to feel burdened by constant updates from you. 

But across from you now, Sunoo doesn’t look burdened. He just looks… hurt. Upset at the idea of not being kept in the loop of your life. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him quietly. “I just knew that you were all so busy and I–”

Sunoo shakes his head, cutting you off. “We’re never too busy for you.” He looks at you a moment longer. “We miss you, you know. And it’s not just us. Everybody asks about how you’re doing, here in the big city. Our old teachers, people you graduated with, even Mr. Tim from that ice shop we used to go to as kids.”

“The one with the waffle cones?”

“Yeah,” his eyes soften. “His hip gave out last year, so he hasn’t been at the shop as much. But he comes to the restaurant sometimes, and he always asks about you. Remembers how you always used to order extra sprinkles.”

Something about it makes you emotional. The idea of taking up space in other people’s lives. Of being remembered, of being known. Of being seen and thought of and cherished. 

You think of Jay’s words from your last argument.  

“I don’t know where you got this idea that no one ever paid any attention to you. That you got to look and scrutinize and judge and no one would ever glance back at you.”

All at once, you wonder if his assessment might apply a bit more broadly than you thought. 

“I didn’t know he still remembered me,” is all you say.

“Of course he does.” Your brother’s words are eager, infused with a sincerity you want to shy away from. “Everyone does. We all do. You know,” he adds, more serious now, “That night you called us, I don’t think I’ve ever been more terrified in my life.”

The admission sends a fresh stab of pain, a searing, agonizing, wave of guilt, careening right through you.

It’s everything you wanted to avoid, after all. Making your family worry. Causing them pain. Adding to their burden, to their grief. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice nearly breaking on the last syllable. 

“You’re sorry?” Sunoo balks. “Why would you ever be sorry? I’m sorry. All I could think about was that you were alone. How scared you must have been.”

“I…” You trail off, suddenly lost for words. It’s all too much, especially for your current setting. Your throat is beginning to feel dangerously clogged. “I’m fine–”

“You’re always fine.” Sunoo frowns. “You always say you’re fine, and then…” he stops himself, trying not to let his frustration, his sorrow, turn to anger.  Softer now, he continues, “And then you’re here. Very much not fine.”

For a moment, you’re quiet. Suddenly forced to see things from his perspective, any argument you could make dies on your lips. 

He’s right. If the roles were reversed, you’d feel that complicated mix of frustration and worry, too. If you had to beg and plead for fragments of the truth from someone you cared about, it wouldn’t feel like relief. It would make you worried sick. 

“Sometimes,” you admit, voice quiet, “it’s easier to just say I’m fine. To not admit that it’s hard or that I’m struggling. I wanted to make it easier for you. I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

“I know,” Sunoo says. When you look at him, you think he must be telling the truth. There’s no hint of surprise on his features. Just a sad sort of acceptance. “I’m glad you told us. That we could be here. I’m sorry we can’t be here more.”

You shake your head. “It’s already more than enough. I know how hard it is to be away from home and the restaurant.”

Sunoo opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but your mother interrupts, sliding down into the chair next to you. Wrapping an arm around you, she pulls you close into a hug, squeezing gently at your shoulder.  

The thought of her combing through your school’s Dean’s list, wondering why you hadn’t bothered to share the achievement with her yourself, sends a fresh wave of guilt tumbling through you.

“How are my babies doing?” she asks. Turning to you she adds, “Is your appetite okay? Do you want me to see if they can bring something else–”

“I’m okay, Mom,” you assure her. “Thanks.”

“Okay,” she concedes, even if she still looks a bit unsure. “If you’re sure. Doctor Kim wants to see in a few minutes. But if you’re not done, I can ask him–”

“I’m done,” you cut her off again, trying to settle her worries with a small smile. Even though the thought of sitting in his office makes you want to crawl out of your skin, you say, “Let’s go.”

The sooner you see him, the sooner it will be over with, after all. 

So you go, you and your small band of support, following your mother and Sunoo to the elevator and pressing the button for the sixth floor. 

Doctor Kim’s office is still sterile, still lifeless. His awards and accolades hang on the wall like trophies, like terrible, bruising reminders of everything that’s wrong with you. But this time, with the chairs on either side of you occupied by your family, it feels a bit more bearable. 

Especially when your mother reaches over to envelop one of your hands in hers. When Sunoo notices the action and mirrors it.

Doctor Kim doesn’t waste your time. 

After glancing down at his notes for a moment, he turns to you and says, “You’re responding well.”

A knot unfurls in your chest. You release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Next to you, your mother’s grip slackens slightly on your fingers as some of her tension melts away too. 

Doctor Kim continues, “Of course, as we’ve discussed previously, treatment is comprehensive. We still have a journey ahead of us. I don’t want to give false hope or misconstrue the severity of your illness, but the preliminary signs are good. Your vitals are strong, and the cells are responding. Today will be your last day in this treatment round. You’ll recover for approximately one week before beginning the next.”

“And in that time?” you ask. 

“I advise rest,” he nods, like he expected the question. “As much as possible. I know we spoke previously about potentially resuming classes. It is my duty as your treatment provider to tell you that I must advise against this.”

“But why?” you ask, panic suddenly clawing at your throat. You feel like you’ve been duped, had false hope dangled right in front of your nose only to be snatched away at the last minute. “You said I’m responding well.”

“You are,” he agrees. “Remarkably well. But that doesn’t mean you should be placing your body or mind under any more stress than strictly necessary. After the first round is completed today, it’s likely that you’ll experience severe fatigue during your rest period. This is a natural and expected response, but it will make attending classes far too strenuous for an ideal recovery.” He looks at you, sympathy in his eyes. “I’m more than happy to provide a statement of medical leave for your university. I know it’s not easy, but these are, of course, extenuating circumstances.”

You shake your head, a bit more vigorously than necessary. “I don’t want—”

“We’ll take that statement, doctor,” your mother cuts you off. “Thank you.”

“Mom,” you turn to her, eyes wide. “I can’t just—”

“Of course you can.” She shakes her head. “School will still be there when you’re ready.”

You know it will be. But will your scholarship still stand? Will you still be able to find a tolerable roommate with rent you can afford? Can you live with the guilt of Sunoo needing to wait that much longer to finally see his dream come true?

It’s not just school you’re worried about. It’s everything else, the weight of everything you’ve been pouring your effort into for the last ten years. The culmination of the promise you made to yourself when yours and Sunoo’s roles were reversed. 

Letting those things go, even if only temporarily, is more difficult that you can put words to. 

Your mom, however, seems to possess the same talent that all mothers do. She silences you with a look. 

Fine, you think inwardly, already starting to think of ways you’ll be able to evade her wishes later. For now, at least, you’ll let it rest. 

Doctor Kim nods. “I’ll write it immediately.” Looking at your mother, he adds, “If you pass along the Dean of Students contact information, I’ll send it before the end of the day.”

You bristle in your seat but remain silent. As if he can sense your inner turmoil, Sunoo gives your hand a gentle squeeze. When you turn to him, he offers you a reassuring smile. There’s sympathy in his eyes, like he understands how much this means to you, how hard it is for you to let go. 

“I know Hana and I have been checking in regularly,” Doctor Kim turns to you now. “But is there anything that’s developed since the first treatment round? Any new pain? Symptoms? Discomfort?”

With Sunoo’s hand still on yours, you shake your head. You tell him you have nothing new to report. 

You don’t mention the migraine that’s been beating at your brain since last night, the way it seems to come and go with every new IV bag that’s attached to your vein. 

You tell yourself it’s because you don’t want to worry your mother. You don’t want to watch Sunoo’s expression fall in concern.

You don’t want to lose what little ground you’ve gained. 

If it gets worse, you promise yourself, even if you know you’re lying, if it doesn’t go away soon, then you’ll tell him. 

For now, you figure no one needs to know. 

…..

Jay’s car looks even sleeker today. You have half a mind to ask him if he just had it run through the car wash before coming. But then again, the shininess of the paint job isn’t really the most pressing of your concerns. 

As you draw closer, your brow furrows. It’s not just the shine that looks different. 

“Did you get your car painted or something?” you ask.

“What?” is all Jay says.  

“Your car,” you jerk your chin towards it. “It looks different.”

Jay’s feet falter. He turns to stare at you like you’ve just said something asinine. And it turns out you have. Because the next thing he says is, “It’s a different car.”

“It is?” You frown in consideration. 

Jay’s mouth goes a little slack. “How did you not— It’s an entirely different brand.”

“Sorry,” you shrug. “I don’t know a lot about cars.”

“Clearly.” He still looks affronted. “I mean, seriously.” More to himself than you, he mutters, “This is a 1962 Ferrari 250 GT California Spyder and you can’t even tell the difference.”

Your stare is blank. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

Jay sighs. “No,” he resigns. “You can just worry about looking pretty in the passenger seat.”

At that, you feel the beginning of a flush rising on your cheeks. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Park Jongseong was flirting. 

Suddenly desperate to steer the conversation back to neutral territory, you ask, “Why are we taking a different car? Did you just want to rent one for the drive?”

You really don’t know anything about cars. Maybe he has some aversion to putting more mileage on his own car. 

Jay shakes his head again. “This one’s mine, too.”

You shouldn’t be surprised at this point, but your brows raise slightly anyway. “It is?”

“Mhm,” he hums. “I just save it, usually.” A bit quieter, he adds, “For special occasions.”

“This is a special occasion?”

He nods. “Of course it is. Besides, I chose this car in particular for a specific reason.” He’s grinning at you now. “You’ll see.”

“This particular car?” you echo. “What? You have an entire fleet at home or something?”

Jay shrugs, but the smirk that tugs at his lips is unmistakable. “I have my hobbies.”

“And they include car collecting? You know what I used to collect when I was a kid? Rocks.”

“And I’m sure you found some very pretty ones.” Jay opens the passenger door for you before sliding your overnight bag — the one he didn’t let you carry for more than five feet before sliding it wordlessly off your shoulder onto his — into the back seat. 

He joins you in the car a moment later, sliding into the driver’s seat. Immediately, he leans over, reaching right into your space as his face comes dangerous close to yours. 

The heat on your cheeks is unmistakable this time. Shocked, you nearly trip over your words. “What are you—”

“Glove box,” he explains as his fingers undo the latch. Hands hovering just above your lap, he reaches into it for a dark, sleek case. Opening it, he pulls out a pair of sunglasses. He slides them onto his face, concealing his eyes before putting the case back where it belongs. 

He doesn’t close the compartment, though. Instead, he turns his concealed gaze to you. It feels awfully unfair to have his face so close to yours, able to read every single expression that flickers across your features when his own are hidden from sight. 

Ignoring the way you fidget under his stare, he tells you, “There’s another pair, if you want them.” He nods towards the glove box. “The sun visors in here aren’t great.”

“Okay.” It’s more of a mumble than an affirmation. Needing to break the intensity of his attention, you turn towards the glove box and pull out the second pair of sunglasses. Only pausing briefly at the embossed Prada logo, you slide them over your eyes. 

You try to ignore the fact that these are probably the most expensive thing you’ve ever put on your body. Remembering your recent dress shopping, you amend, well, second most expensive. 

Immediately, you’re grateful for them. For starters, you’re on more even footing now. He can’t read you so easily either. 

And they do serve their intended purpose well. Despite the chill in the air, it’s one of those rare late fall days where the sun seems to shine with extra ferocity. 

As he pulls out of the parking lot, reversing with one hand against the back of your seat, you ask, “How long is the drive?”

“About five hours. A little more if we hit traffic.”

“Mm,” you consider. “That’s long.”

“Don’t worry,” Jay says in a tone that immediately makes you do the opposite. “I have things for us to do.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” you try to dissuade him. “You can just put on some music or something and—”

“Nice try,” he interrupts. “No music this time. I’m asking you questions.”

It’s a nightmare come to life. A confined space you can’t escape as you're subjected to something as horribly incessant as his curiosity.

Your lips pull flat, heartbeat picking up in panic. “You’re not spending five hours asking me questions.” 

“It’s fair,” he insists. “Every time I ask you a question, you get to ask me one, too.”

“What is this, a drinking game?” You roll your eyes. “Are we at a dorm party?”

Jay just sighs. “I wish I could give you a glass of wine.”

You balk. “You want me drunk?”

“I want you honest,” he corrects. Glancing at you, he adds, “Something you’ve proven very reluctant to be.”

“Forgive me for not wanting to spill my guts to you.”

“I told you,” he says, suddenly serious. “I want to get to know you.”

“So you waited until you had me in a place I can’t escape.”

He smiles at that. “You’re catching on.”

“Fine,” you sigh. He can’t give you wine, after all. If you don’t like a question, you can always lie. Or just refuse to answer. Besides, there are things he’s said over the course of your strange agreement that pull at your curiosity, too. Things about him that you wonder. Maybe this will be a chance to finally have some answers of your own. “Do your worst.”

Entering the highway, the road stretches out long ahead of you. 

Jay starts off easy. Or at least, he tries to. “Why did you choose business as your major?”

For most people, it would be an easy question with a simple answer. For you, it lands right on a subject you’ve been avoiding at all costs. 

“It seemed interesting.” You shrug. 

“That’s bullshit,” he immediately returns. 

“What?”

“You’re the most organized, meticulous, goal-oriented person I’ve ever met. I don’t believe for even a second that you chose your major because it seemed interesting.” His eyes are still on the road. He picks apart your lies with as much effort as it takes to swat at a fly. He tells you, “Give me a real answer.”

Wheels spinning in your mind, you scramble to decide which parts of the truth to give him. Finally, you say, “My family has a restaurant. It hasn’t…. It hasn’t always done so well. I thought that if I learned more about the management and logistical side of things, I could help it get back on its feet.”

“That’s what you want to do?” There’s no judgement in his voice, but his tone is colored heavy by surprise. “Help run your family’s restaurant?”

You shake your head. “Isn’t it my turn?”

He nods, but you can tell he hasn’t let it go. “Alright. Go ahead.”

Suddenly, you’re not sure where to start. There are things you want to ask about his family, about his motives, but they feel too heavy. Too direct. 

Instead, you turn his question back to him. “Why did you choose business?"

Jay sighs, and you wonder if the question eats at him somewhere deeper, too. “Family expectation,” he tells you, voice tighter than it was before. “It wasn’t really a choice I made as much as a path I was expected to take. I have grown a genuine appreciation for the field, or at least a deep respect for it. But I wouldn’t say it was my choices that brought me here.”

Right from the get go, he’s more forthcoming that you expected. He’s already divulged more than you thought he might. Either Jay is keeping good on his promise to let you ask just as much as you answer, or he doesn’t keep his secrets quite as close to the chest as you thought. 

You don’t respond, just nod in acknowledgment. 

Besides, it’s his turn now. 

He asks exactly what you expected him to. “Why did you choose to help run your family’s restaurant?”

You bite at the inside of your lip. Something about the road ahead of you has you feeling more honest than wine ever could. 

And suddenly, something aches in your chest at the thought of sharing your true feelings. The innermost parts of you that you’ve never told anyone. 

“My family’s been through hell and back,” you tell him. “The restaurant did really well, actually, when I was young. But…” you trail off, taking a deep, steadying breath. You have the feeling that if you divulge this particular bit of information to him, there really will be no going back. 

Jay sits quietly in the driver’s seat. Waits patiently for your answer. 

“But,” you continue, “my brother Sunoo got sick when we were kids.”

“Sick,” Jay repeats, the word heavy with insinuation. “Do you mean—“

It’s not his turn, technically, but you'll excuse it. 

“Yeah,” you nod, a rueful smile on your lips. “Ironic, isn't it? Doctor Kim told me when I was diagnosed. It’s genetic, apparently.”

The truth still makes you feel a bit helpless. Jay’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing.

You continue, “My family put everything they had into making him better. Of course they did. We’d do it again, if we had to, no question about it. But it made finances tough. And the restaurant never really went back to normal, even after everything.”

Next to you, Jay is quiet. Anxiety stirs in your stomach as you imagine the gears in his brain turning. As he puts more pieces of your puzzles together, begins to understand even more of the truths you were so determined to keep hidden. 

After another long moment of silence, his throat works around a swallow. “I think it’s your turn.”

You breathe. Deciding that this is no time to pull punches, you ask, “You mentioned that your father has certain… conditions for initiating you as a shareholder in the company. Is he always like that?”

“An unsentimental hardass?” Jay clarifies with a scoff.

“That’s one way to put it.” 

“Yeah,” Jay nods. “That’s pretty much what he’s like. You know that connections are what keep the business world spinning, and it’s not like he has some moral opposition to nepotism. But it’s been made very clear since day one that I am expected to prove myself. To fulfill any expectations and rise to whatever standards he decides are… necessary.”

“You’d never know. You’re a menace in the classroom.”

The corner of his lips tugs upward. Combined with the sunglasses still sitting on his nose, the sight is devastating.

“That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you brush him off. “Don’t let it get to your head. Besides, you know you’re persuasive. I’m here, going to the beach with you right now, aren’t I?”

“I didn’t have to try that hard.”

“I will literally jump into traffic.”

“Fine. You’re so stubborn you make mules look agreeable. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Not exactly, but I’ll take it.” You‘re not sure when it happened, but suddenly you’re smiling too. 

After a moment, he asks, “What did you want to be when you were a kid?”

For the first time in a while, you imagine that younger version of yourself again. The one with big dreams and the determination to realize them all. This time, the thought makes you smile.

The nostalgia feels like fondness instead of regret.

“Too many things to count,” you tell him truthfully. 

Jay just smiles. “I have time.”

The two of you pass the time like that, his questions veering towards a different kind of invasive the more miles you cover.

When he asks if you’ve ever thought about getting married, you have half a mind to reach across the center console and smack him.

“Why?” You ask instead, infusing your voice with as much indignation as possible. “What is this, a blind date?”

Jay just shrugs. “I’m curious.” He hesitates for a moment. Then he bites. “Besides, if anything, this is our third date.”

Cheeks aflame, you don’t press the subject further. 

Thankfully, his questions leave you with less reasons to blush after that. 

He learns about your favorite color and you laugh when he tells you about how he fell into the pool fully clothed on his family’s second trip to Italy. 

He asks about your summers and you ask about his hobbies. Well, the ones other than sports car collecting. 

You’re surprised to learn that he plays the guitar, and rather well you suspect, if the way he gets slightly evasive when you ask if he’s any good is anything to go by.

Time sharpens and then blurs as the road ahead of you does the same.

There are traces of Jay that stay true to your preconceptions. Threads of him that you picked up long ago in lecture halls and still ring true in the passenger seat of his car. 

But then he tells you about volunteering at the young learner’s summer camp your university hosts every July. 

It makes you smile, thinking of him mustering all of his fraying patience as he explains supply and demand to a group of half interested seventh graders for the third time. 

And then it makes you frown, thinking of all the ways you got him wrong. 

Because he might be uncovering your secrets, but you're putting together pieces of him, too. 

And Jay… cares. 

Sometimes quietly, like when he slid your bag off your shoulder and carried it for you without ever saying a word.

Sometimes loudly, like when he scolded you for not pacing yourself on the champagne at the charity gala. When he all but begged you that night in his car to treat your life like something precious instead of disposable. 

Loudly, quietly. Whatever it is, it’s always sincere. 

Even when you mention a gelato shop you visited once as a kid and he launches into a three minute explanation of all the ways in which gelato differs from regular ice cream. He rambles on about genuine ingredients and slower melting with the same tone he uses to analyze spreadsheets. As if this deserves the same amount of rapt attention.

You just smile. Few things escape his notice. And as it would seem, even fewer escape his care. 

You can’t quite decide if being on the receiving end of that makes you feel lucky or indebted beyond reprieve. 

Either way, time passes easily.

For long minutes, it’s easy to forget about the diagnosis sitting heavy in your chest. 

Until you finally work up the courage to ask the question that’s been weighing heavy on your mind for days. 

“Jay?” You try, interrupting his latest rant, this one on the topic of the perfect temperature to sear steak at. 

He picks up on your change in tone, the sudden mix of nerves and seriousness. The words die on his lips.

“Yeah?” 

You take a deep breath, gathering the last of your bravery. “Why did you make that deal with me?”

For a long moment, he’s quiet. Long enough for your rapid heartbeat to pound a steady rhythm against your eardrums, inside your rib cage. 

You almost regret asking. You’re suddenly terrified of his answer. 

You brave a glance over at him. In your periphery, you watch his throat work around a swallow, the line of his jaw tighter than it was before.

There’s something raw in his voice when he finally tells you, “I didn’t—I don’t want you to die.”

His eyes are still on the road and yours are still tracing his side profile. You each hold a bit more of the other in your minds.

And Park Jongseong doesn’t want you to die. Whatever reasons he has, whatever lengths he’s willing to go to, the truth sits between you like a fragile thing. 

If it weren’t for your borrowed sunglasses, you’d have to squint. 

You turn your eyes back to the road, watching the way license plates blur and clouds streak overhead as you continue onwards. 

The car settles into silence for the first time since you left the hospital parking lot. Despite his earlier refusal, Jay reaches for the volume knob on his stereo now, lets the quiet, soft hum of his now familiar classic rock playlist fill the silence. 

Minutes stretch, and the silence starts to lose its weight. It settles around the both of you in a comfortable way, all the way until you get your first real glimpse of the ocean.

You can’t quite help yourself then. “Oh my god.” Your nose is practically pressed against his window, but decorum is the last thing on your mind. 

“It’s pretty, right?” Jay agrees. 

The next exit is yours, and soon the highway slows to a narrow, winding street. The trees that line it are dense at first until eventually they thin. 

Your glimpse from the highway pales in comparison. 

The ocean is… breathtaking. Even from a distance, the crashing waves are fascinating. The way they build and fall, flowing into each other in a perfect, messy, hypnotizing rhythm. 

“We’re close,” Jays says, double checking the map. He glances in the rearview mirror before adding, “This street isn’t too busy. Want to know what I meant when I said this car is for special occasions?”

Reluctantly, you peel your eyes from the ocean and look towards him. “Should I be scared? It’s not going to start flying is it?”

Jay tilts his chin, a small smile spreading on his lips like your ridiculous guess isn’t actually that far off. 

“You’ll see,” is all he says.

Then suddenly, the roof above you starts to open. Wind plays with your hair, rougher than you expect despite the slow speed. It washes over your face, a fresh, cool breeze with unmistakable traces of salt. 

You look up, the late afternoon sunlight nearly blinding despite your sunglasses. The wind is cold, almost bitingly so, as the rest of the roof falls aways. You hardly care. 

You laugh, a bright, airy sound that catches Jay so off guard he nearly swerves. 

But you can’t help it, the sudden, intense sense of elation. 

Jay brought you to the beach in a fucking convertible. 

“You like it?” he asks, grin stretching wider as he shouts to be heard over the wind.

You turn to him, eyes wide as you nod furiously. You don’t use words, but you don’t need them. He can see the way excitement lights up your entire face. 

He leaves the top down, stealing sidelong glances at you every so often for the rest of the drive. 

You lift your hand to the sky, spreading your fingers just to feel the way the wind weaves between them. A peal of laughter bursts from your throat again. 

For the first time in weeks, you’re not thinking about your headaches or your diagnosis or the fact that you could very well still be a ticking time bomb. 

Right now, it’s just you, Jay, and the wind. A combination of things that make you feel alive in the most riveting, pulse-pounding way. It’s like you’re drunk on it. The wind feels like freedom, like the promise of a future you never dared to dream of. 

All at once, you feel like crying. Not because you’re sad, but because you can’t remember the last time you felt this much life flowing through your veins.

You want a million more moments like this, a thousand more memories to look back on with fondness as you age. You aren’t ready to let it go. The thought of it feels like a dagger to the heart. Piercing, gutting, devastating. 

Jay is quiet next to you. His eyes still flicker between the road and you. He watches as emotions play out across your features. Hope, joy, and grief, all mixed into one. 

His jaw flexes, this time in determination. You wanted beach vacation, and he’s made up his mind that this will be the best fucking one anyone has ever had. 

Eventually, the rushing wind slows to a gentle breeze as Jay turns onto a private road, the speed limit decreasing sharply. 

Another minute passes before the beach house comes into view, but when it does…

“Wow.” You don’t mean to say it out loud, but the word falls through your parted lips anyway. 

Nestled between trees and a perfectly landscaped garden, the house blends right into the beachfront. Two stories tall and a sandy shade of beige, it looks like it was built to belong to the place where it stands. 

Looking past it, you see the endless stretch of sand, melting into quiet waves where it meet the ocean. It’s stunning.

Jay slows the car further before shifting into park. 

Without the wind from earlier and the hum of the engine, the air around you feels quiet. Still. 

And, you realize with a sudden flush, incredibly private. It strikes you, slaps you across the face really, that you’re about to spend two nights with Jay in a secluded beach house with what appears to be no neighbors for miles. 

Just you and Jay.

Alone. 

“I thought…” you trail off, suddenly desperate for something to fill the silence. “We’re not staying in a hotel?” Even that feels scandalous, but at least there would be other people around to ease the sudden tension. 

Jay shakes his head. “It’s off season,” he explains. “Most hotels are already closed for the winter. Besides,” he adds, “this will be more spacious. And the private beachfront is a bonus, too.”

You swallow. “Private?” you echo. “As in…”

“Just us,” he nods, either oblivious to your sudden spiraling or intentionally ignoring it. “If you go half a mile in either direction, the beach is public land, but this little spot right here,” he jerks his chin towards the stretch of beach you can see from the car, “that’s just for us.”

“Oh,” is all you can really manage. 

Jay picks up the slack. “C’mon,” he urges. “Let’s go check it out.”

Wordlessly, he takes both of your bags from the back seat. 

The walk from the car to the front door is short, but it’s enough to make your breath feel shallow in your chest. 

Doctor Kim had warned you that this week would be full of fatigue, but the effort it takes just to walk a few steps is nothing short of frustrating. 

The beauty of the beach house is almost enough to make you forget it, though. Almost. 

The garden is stunning, even as fall gives way to winter. Less lush than it surely is in the summer months, but the golden brown leaves and shrubbery are still arranged in a way that makes it enchanting.

And the house itself seems to have been given the same attention to detail. Trailing behind Jay through the front door, the space that opens before you is quaint. 

Not overly large, the decorations are sparse but intentional. As if the owner knew nothing would ever be able to overshadow the view. 

The far wall is hardly a wall at all. Nearly from floor to ceiling, its windows. With a crystal clear view of the beach that belongs to you for the next two days and the ocean it bleeds into. 

From here, it’s even more stunning. You feel like you could spend hours here, motionless, just watching as the waves fall into each other, over each other. Battering against the shoreline with an even, flowing rhythm. 

It’s captivating. So much so that the sound of Jay’s voice nearly startles you out of your skin when he says near the foot of the staircase, “The bedrooms are upstairs.”

You turn to him, and he motions for you to follow.

Bedrooms, he said. You exhale a sigh of relief. At least you can retain some of your privacy while you’re here. 

The second story has the same cozy, lived-in feel as the first. An open central area splits off into two bedrooms on opposite sides of the house. In the center of it all is a balcony.

“Which side?” Jay asks, capturing your attention again. “Garden or forest?”

“I’ll take the garden,” you nod toward the bedroom on the left.

Jay nods, leading the way. 

You enter the bedroom behind him, glancing around as he flips the light switch and sets your bag on the ground.

It’s a beautiful room. Simple, full of light, airy colors and textures that remind you of the ocean below. The last of the day’s natural light bleeds through the windows, both the ones on the opposite wall that overlook the garden and the far wall that provides a perfect view of the ocean. 

To your left, a door leads to an en-suite bathroom. 

And in the middle of the room, pressed close to the seaside window, is a full sized bed with too many pillows to count. White bedsheets are tucked in neatly at the corners, far fluffier than any duvet you’ve ever had.

“I hope it’s alright,” Jay says from behind you. You swear you hear a hint of trepidation in his voice. “Options can be a bit limited in the off season, but I thought—“

“Jay,” you interrupt, eyes still caught on the rolling waves outside the window. Your window. “It’s perfect.”

“Oh,” he returns, voice colored with pleasant surprise. “Good.”

You can still feel his presence behind you, hesitating like he’s not quite ready to leave. 

After a moment, Jay continues, “I’ll let you get settled in for a minute. I’ll start dinner soon.”

“Dinner?” You turn to him now, eyebrow arched. “What’s our menu for tonight? Ramen?”

Jay just smiles, a small thing. “Something like that.”

But in true Jay fashion, something like that turns out to be nowhere close to your expectations. 

The convenience store dinner you anticipated is all but forgotten by the time you make it back downstairs a handful of minutes later, only to find Jay already hard at work. 

Half bent over the stove top, an apron covers his torso as he hums quietly to himself. The smell that fills the kitchen is already divine. So much so that you can’t help but ask—

“What are you making?”

Jay grins at you over his shoulder. The sight is far more devastating than it has any right to be. Coy as ever, all he says is, “You’ll see.”

And you do. Thirty minutes later when he sets the most perfectly cooked meal you’ve ever seen down in front of you on the dining room table. 

He pours a can of sparkling water into a wine glass and slides it to you with a wink. “Not the real thing, but I thought it might add to the ambience.”

It’s a joke, more lighthearted than anything, but the consideration hits you somewhere deep.

In an effort to distract yourself, you take a bite of the meat Jay’s just finished grilling. Granted, you have been living off hospital food for the past two weeks but—

“Jay.” Your voice rings out across the table, tone laden with something serious.

He turns to you, eyes wide. “What? Is something wrong? Did I undercook—”

You shake your head. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

He flushes. A pretty shade that extends all the way from the tops of his cheekbones to the base of his neck. You have the sudden desire to see if it extends any further, beneath the collar of his well fitted shirt.

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I most certainly am not.” You take a second bite for good measure. It’s just as mouthwatering. “Seriously. How did you do that?”

He shrugs, shy under your praise. “My mom taught me.”

“Your mom,” you echo. It strikes you then that all of your conversations about his family have been quite limited. The sparse details you’ve gotten have only really been about the strained relationship he has with his father. “What’s she like?”

“She’s the best.” Jay’s smile is small but genuine. “Honestly, I think her relationship with my father was based more on family status than a real romantic connection, but she loves her family. She always wanted— wants,” he corrects, “me to be good. Not just good at school or business or running the company, but a good person in general.”

The thought makes you smile. There’s something adorable about imagining a tiny version of him, a ten-year-old Jay learning manners from his mother. It makes sense to you. The lessons seemed to stick. 

You suspect it’s why he always insists on opening doors for you and carrying your bags and letting you relax while he cooked dinner despite the fact that he just finished driving five hours. You reconsider your assumption that  his small kindnesses have been due solely to your illness. Maybe, you think, he really is just a gentleman in every sense of the word. 

Dinner is a rather quiet affair, at least outwardly. Both of you already laid out your most pressing questions on the drive over, and the meal really is delicious enough to keep you silent. 

But all the stillness gives your mind space to wander. And wander it does. 

Sat directly across from Jay, your eyes keep flickering towards him, falling quickly back to the table whenever he catches your stare. 

It’s not like you mean to gawk at him. But there are suddenly things about him that are very difficult to look away from. 

Has his jawline always been that sharp? Has his hair always fallen that perfectly over his forehead, just barely brushing the long eyelashes that frame his dark, intelligent eyes?

You’ve known what Jay looks like for years. But it’s always been the back of his head that you’ve stared at. You’ve always assumed you were one step behind him, a few rungs beneath him on the ladder of social standing. 

Here, across from the small dining room table, you feel more like equals. Everything about him that used to feel so painfully out of reach suddenly seems like it could fall right into your hands if you worked up the nerve to outstretch them. 

And that thought feels… dangerous. 

Jay is far safer as an enigma, you’re sure. Someone best kept at an arm’s distance. If you ever dared to let your fingers get too close to him, you’re terrified at just how solid he might feel beneath them. 

It’s best, you decide, to keep that space between you, even if it’s only an illusion. 

Once again, it strikes you just how alone the two of you are. You have an entire house, an entire beach to yourself. Suddenly, maintaining distance feels like a difficult task. 

The shadows outside the living room windows are beginning to extend once the two of you are done eating. Pastel tones paint the sky as the sun dips towards the horizon. 

Wordlessly, Jay takes both his plate and your to the kitchen sink. And then you hear his voice behind you. 

“Should we go for a walk? We’ll catch the sunset if we go now.”

Turning to him, your nod comes easily. You might still be warring with the proximity, but you didn’t put a beach trip on your bucket list with the intention to stay inside the whole time.

Quietly, you pull your jacket over your shoulders, brushing your hair out of the way. And then you follow him out of the front door. 

The sand is cool between your toes when he convinces you to remove your shoes. 

“It’s the best part of the beach,” he insisted, but his smile was what truly had you agreeing.

Ever attuned to your needs, Jay notices when your breath starts to become shallower, the repeated motion of stepping over sand becoming more difficult. Then, he suggests that the two of you sit. But not before laying out the blanket he carried down with him. 

Half of it rests beneath the two of you, a barrier between the sand and your bodies. The rest of it drapes over your shoulders, a makeshift shelter from the cool evening breeze. 

The sun falls closer to the sea with every passing breath. Out here, it’s even more stunning. The vibrant pink and orange hues that streak through the sky, the gentle rhythm of waves against the shore, the salt-filled breeze that plays with your hair even as you sit half-hidden beneath the blanket. 

There’s something so peaceful about it all, so beautifully serene. It’s a reminder of just how big, how vast, how endless the world is. And how, even still, it finds a way to distill itself into pockets of perfection just like this. 

There are no shooting stars to wish on, no magical genies that offer to grant your deepest desires, but it still feels a bit like a peace offering from the universe. Life was never going to be fair, and for you, maybe never even truly kind. But there is still beauty to be found, still contentment to be had. Moments like this that will eventually fade to memories that you’ll treasure forever. 

At your side, Jay looks at the horizon too. Watches as the bottom of the sun kisses the waves. You’re not touching, but you can feel the warmth from his body against your side. 

“You can lean on me,” he offers, “if you want.” His voice is quiet but sure. Not small enough to be swallowed by the sea.

“I’m okay,” you assure him. 

A moment passes. The sun dips a bit lower. Time seems to move faster now. 

“I know,” he returns. “But you can anyway.”

Your first instinct is to protest. To insist that you’re okay, that you don’t need his support. 

You sneak a glance at him out of your periphery. Watch as his jaw tightens, as his throat works through a swallow. 

He’s nervous, you realize. And he used a bit of his bravery to make his offer. 

So instead, you let your head fall gently against his shoulder. It’s a bit uncomfortable at first. The angle isn’t quite right. 

Your temple presses against bone and your head wants to loll back to a position that you’re sure will make your neck ache. 

It takes Jay only the span of a few heartbeats to adjust. He sinks a bit further into the sand, his hand coming to rest against the outside of your head as he adjusts your angle slightly.

He leaves it there, even as you settle into your new position. Tucked closer into his neck, it’s far more comfortable. You can smell faint hints of his cologne with every inhale.

After a few moments, the hand against your hair begins to move. Gently, Jay tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

Your eyes are still on the sun. It’s almost entirely vanished now, light fading as it settles into the sea. Jay’s thumb begins to rub gentle strokes against your temple. 

The air is cool, but Jay is warm. So impossibly warm and you can’t help but lean a little further into him, into his touch. 

Jay sighs, and it scatters across the top of your head. 

The sun finally kisses the day goodbye, dipping entirely below the horizon. Neither of you move, eyes still turned towards the sea even as daylight begins to fade. 

Jay wraps the blanket a bit tighter around your shoulders before resuming his light touches against your temple. .

The two of you stay like that for a long time, neither of you willing to move, to break the careful peace that’s settled so comfortably around you. 

But time presses onwards and by the time a fourth, obnoxiously large yawn escapes you, Jay makes the executive decision to call it a night. You don’t protest as he stands, extending a hand to help you up to your feet. You don’t comment on the way he keeps your hand wrapped in his just a bit longer than necessary, as if he isn’t quite ready to let you go. 

The walk back to the house is quiet, nothing but the sound of your breath and the waves behind you to fill the silence. 

Jay offers you a hand again, this time for balance as you brush sand from your feet before putting your shoes back on. 

Once you reach the house, you trail behind him up to the second floor. At the top of the staircase, he pauses, then turns towards you. You’re halfway to your bedroom when he calls your name. 

At the sound, you turn to look at him. For a moment, he just stares at you, fingers clenching at his sides. Then, he makes his decision. You see it in the set of his jaw, the sudden determination in his eyes. 

He takes three deliberate strides forward, all the way until he’s close enough to touch. You take half a step back in surprise and he follows, crowding into your space. 

“Jay, wh—”

His fingers wrap around your wrist, effectively silencing you as he pulls you into him, arms wrapping around your shoulders in a tight embrace. 

For a brief moment, you’re too stunned to do anything. And then, regaining your senses, you bring your own hands tentatively to his shoulder blades, let your face fall a little closer into his chest until your lips are brushing over the fabric of his shirt. 

Eyes wide in the moonlight, you take a deep breath in, letting his warmth envelop you. 

Jay pulls back, just slightly. He still has his arms around you, but there’s a sliver of space now, just enough room for you to look up at him. 

You regret it almost immediately. He’s already looking down at you, something indecipherable in his gaze. 

It frightens you. It sends a deep, aching thrill shivering down the length of your spine. 

Jay leans closer, and your eyelids flutter shut. For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. 

You feel his lips against your forehead instead. Gentle, unmoving, just there. 

A handful of seconds pass. Or maybe a minute. Wrapped in his arms, time feels like a malleable thing. It’s impossible to be sure.  

Whatever it is, it’s long enough for something to pass between the two of you, for something to shift. 

Jay pulls back, but he doesn't let you go. Not yet. 

“Goodnight,” he whispers, breath fanning over your skin. 

Your mind is spinning, suddenly full of desires and thoughts and possibilities that you never stopped to consider before. 

“Goodnight, Jay,” you manage to return, breathless and more than a little flustered.

At that, he does pull back. Reluctantly, you disentangle yourself from him, still caught somewhere between possibilities and reality. 

Jay doesn’t move, hardly dares to breathe, until you turn, until the door to your bedroom clicks shut. 

Once it does, you lean back against it, hand flying to your chest. Your heart pounds in your throat, and your breath is suddenly a rather difficult thing to catch. 

You go through the motions of preparing for bed mechanically.

Washing your face, changing into the pajamas you packed, climbing into the ridiculously cozy bed in the middle of the room.

All the while, you imagine it, replay it. Jay looking down at you with intention in his gaze. His arms around you, his lips on your forehead. 

You’re exhausted. It’s late. But the thought of Jay, just across the hall from you, so close it’s almost painful, keeps pulling you back to consciousness. Sleep takes a long while to find you.

Once it finally does, it’s deep and dreamless. 

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Jake has mentioned a sister. Sunghoon has been Jake’s best friend for eight months, which in university time is a significant relationship, and in those eight months Jake has mentioned a sister the way you mention a fact about yourself — not often, not with weight, just part of the architecture. My sister would hate this song. My sister does that too. My sister—

He had formed a vague impression. He had not formed this.

He crosses the room without planning to. This is not something Sunghoon usually does — he is not a man who moves without intention, who lets rooms make decisions for him. But she is standing at the window not trying to be noticed and he is across the room noticing her and his feet have made a decision his brain is still catching up to.

He stops beside her. Looks out the window at the same piece of city.

“Jake’s friend,” she says, without looking at him.

“You know who I am.”

“Jake talks about you.” A pause. “Park Sunghoon. Pre-law. From Gangnam, which Jake finds funny for reasons he hasn’t explained.”

“My father went to school with his father. Jake finds inherited friendships amusing.”

“He finds most things amusing.” She finally looks at him. Her eyes are dark and direct and she looks at him the way very few people do — not at the surface, not at what the surface implies, but slightly past it, like she is checking whether there is more. “He also said you’re the best-looking person he knows, which coming from Jake is either a compliment or an insult.”

“How do you take it?”

She looks at him for a moment. The city behind her. The party around them. “I haven’t decided yet,” she says. And almost smiles. The almost is more interesting than the thing itself would have been.

“Park Sunghoon,” he says, extending his hand. Formal, slightly ridiculous given the setting, but it makes her actually smile.

“I know,” she says. But she takes his hand.

They talk for two hours.

He knows that she is at Yonsei, that she has read three of the same books he has and disagreed with all of them in ways he finds himself arguing against even when she is right, that she smokes occasionally and not apologetically, that she has a relationship with her father she describes as complicated in the specific way of things that are actually simple but neither party wants to say so. He knows that she laughs quietly, that she is sharp in a way she has learned to manage, that she looked at him three times like she was checking something and each time found what she was looking for.

At two in the morning Jake materialises at his shoulder drunk and delighted and says oh good, you found each other in the tone of someone who has arranged something and is pleased with the result.

She looks at Jake with the fond exasperation of a sibling who has catalogued every single one of his moves. “Go to bed,” she says.

“I’m fine—”

“Go,” she says, and Jake goes, which tells Sunghoon something about the actual balance of power between them that Jake’s performance of chaos usually obscures.

She watches him leave. Looks at Sunghoon sideways. “He arranged this.”

“Probably.”

“Does that bother you?”

He looks at her. At the dark eyes and the almost-smile. “No,” he says. “Does it bother you?”

A pause. “Not yet,” she says.

—

It happens three weeks later.

Not at a party. The Shim house, a Sunday afternoon, Jake asleep on the sofa, Sunghoon in the kitchen making coffee because he knows where everything is now. She comes in from outside with her hair down and her coat on and looks at him at the counter and he looks at her and the three weeks of thinking about her that he has been managing become, in that moment, completely unmanageable.

She takes her coat off. Hangs it over the chair. “Jake’s asleep.”

“I know.”

“He’ll be out for two hours.”

“I know that too.”

She crosses to the counter and stands in front of him and looks at him with those eyes that always check past the surface. “This is a bad idea,” she says.

“Probably.”

“Jake—”

“I know.”

She looks at him one more second. Then takes his face in both hands and kisses him and he lets her and kisses back and the coffee machine finishes and neither of them notices.

He worships her that first night.

He doesn’t plan to. It is not a word he has ever applied to himself. But she is on his bed in the low light looking at him with those checking eyes and something about being actually looked at — really looked at, past everything he usually presents — makes him slow down in a way he almost never slows down.

He takes his time. Every part of her. His mouth learning the shape of her shoulder, the inside of her wrist, the curve of her waist. She lets him for longer than he expects — she is not a patient person, he can already tell, she takes what she wants when she wants it — but she lies there and lets him and watches him do it with an expression he cannot classify yet.

He finds the scars on her thighs.

Stops. Looks at her face. She is braced — jaw set, the tension of someone waiting for a reaction. He does not give her one. He lowers his mouth to them the way he has been going about everything tonight, slowly, without ceremony, and feels her exhale like she has been holding it.

He moves back up her body. “Okay?”

She looks at him with the expression he will spend years trying to fully read. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “Yeah.”

He kisses her and she pulls him in and the patience ends for both of them

—

THREE YEARS LATER

The club is in Gangnam and it is exactly what it is without apology — dark, expensive, loud enough that the music is physical, built for powerful men spending money in ways that require no justification. Sunghoon has been here enough times to stop counting.

The private section is separated from the main floor by velvet and low lighting and the understanding that what happens here stays here, which is the function of private sections everywhere. He is in the corner booth with Jake and two other men from their circle and there are women moving through the space with the practiced ease of people who are good at their jobs.

One of them stops at their table and leans toward Jake with the specific attention of someone who has already decided he is the most interesting thing in the room, which is usually true. She is topless, dark hair, the easy confidence of someone comfortable in her body and her work. Jake looks up at her with the full wattage of his smile and says something Sunghoon can’t hear over the music and she laughs and slides into the booth beside him.

Sunghoon watches Jake’s hand find her waist and move up without hurry, familiar and unhesitating, and she arches into it with a soft sound as his fingers close over her breast. Jake is looking at her the way Jake looks at things he likes — completely, with genuine appreciation, no performance. His thumb moves across her nipple and she tips her head back and he watches her reaction with the attentiveness of someone who is thoroughly enjoying himself.

“You’re doing the face again,” Jake says, without looking at him. His hand still on her, lazy and proprietary, toying with her nipple while she makes small sounds against his shoulder.

“I don’t have a face,” Sunghoon says.

“You have seventeen faces. That one’s the thinking-too-hard one.” Jake finally looks at him. “Stop.”

A woman settles into Sunghoon’s lap before he can respond. She is warm and she smells good and she presses her mouth to his neck and he tips his head back and lets her. He lights two cigarettes from the pack on the table and passes one to Jake over her shoulder and Jake takes it without interrupting what his hands are doing and they smoke in the loud dark of the private section like they have been doing variations of this since university.

The woman in his lap shifts, rolls her hips against him slowly, and he puts one hand on her waist and exhales smoke at the ceiling and feels exactly as present as he usually feels in these places, which is partially.

Jake’s woman is whispering something in his ear now and Jake listens and then he looks at Sunghoon with the grin that means he has made a decision. “Back in twenty,” he says.

“Jake—”

“The Hannam situation isn’t until later,” Jake says, already standing, her hand in his. “Relax.”

He disappears toward the back rooms with the easy confidence of a man who has never once talked himself out of something he wanted.

Sunghoon watches him go. The woman in his lap kisses his jaw, his neck, the corner of his mouth. He turns into it and kisses her properly and she makes a pleased sound and he closes his eyes and thinks about dark hair and checking eyes and a robe and come over tonight and stops kissing her.

“I have to go,” he says.

She pulls back and looks at him. “You just got here.”

“I know,” he says. “Sorry.”

He leaves her money on the table for the inconvenience. Sends Jake a text: leaving, call me if the Hannam thing happens. Gets his jacket and walks out into the Gangnam night and gets in his car and drives.

He is at her building at one forty-seven.

She buzzes him in without asking who it is.

The elevator is mirrored. He looks at himself going up — the jacket, the shirt, the face he has been wearing all evening — and looks away. He knows what he looks like. He has always known what he looks like. With her it has never felt like the point and he has spent three years not examining what that means.

She opens the door in her robe, hair down, and looks at him the way she always looks at him when he arrives at this hour — taking him in, assessing, the dark eyes doing their checking.

“You smell like someone else’s perfume,” she says.

“Club,” he says.

“I know.” She steps back. Lets him in. “Jake?”

“Back room with a topless brunette last I saw.”

Something in her expression does the fond-exasperated thing. She steps back and lets him in and he takes his jacket off and hangs it on the chair by the door, the chair she keeps there for exactly this purpose, and she is already moving toward the bedroom and he follows because he always follows.

She drops the robe.

Black lingerie, the lamp behind her, and she looks at him the way she looks at him when they are in this room — different from every other version of her, the composed face still present but thinner, the edges of the real one visible underneath. She sits on the edge of the bed and crooks one finger and he crosses the room because he has never once not crossed the room.

She pulls him down by the front of his shirt and kisses him with the easy fluency of years — no discovery left, just the deep familiarity of two mouths that have learned each other completely and found something better than novelty on the other side of it. He kisses back and his hand finds her jaw and she makes a small sound into his mouth that does what it always does, lands in the base of his spine and stays there.

He pulls back. Looks at her. “Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” she says. Quieter than usual. Something in her eyes doing the checking thing, the thing he has learned to recognise as her actually being present rather than performing presence.

He reaches for her and she stops him. Both hands flat on his chest. “Lie back,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“Lie back, Sunghoon.”

He holds her gaze for a moment. Then lies back.

She takes her time about straddling him. Sits up above him and looks down at him with her hair falling forward and the lamp behind her and he looks up at her and just — looks. He is allowed to look. This is one of the things she permits in this room that she permits nowhere else, the full attention of him, and he uses it completely. The line of her throat, her collarbone, the way the lingerie sits against her skin. He reaches up and she lets his hands move over her, up her sides, her ribs, and when his thumbs brush the underwire of her bra she unclasps it herself and drops it and he exhales.

“You’re staring,” she says.

“I know,” he says. Does not stop. He is allowed to look. This is one of the things she permits here that she permits nowhere else — his full attention, uninterrupted, unapologetic — and he uses it completely. The line of her throat. The dip of her collarbone. The way the lingerie cups her tits, pushing them up just enough to make his mouth go dry.

Something moves in her expression. She leans down and kisses him and he kisses back hard, his hands coming up to her waist, and she grinds her hips down against him and he groans into her mouth — genuine, unmanaged — and she swallows it and does it again and he feels himself go from wanting to desperate in the space of one breath.

His hands move higher now, cupping her properly, thumbs dragging slowly over her nipples like he needs to confirm they’re real, like he needs to feel the way her body reacts under his hands. She inhales softly. That’s enough to undo him further.

She sits back up. Looks at him. Reaches down and wraps her hand around his cock through the fabric and squeezes once and he breathes out sharply through his nose and his hips push up without permission.

“Off,” she says, pulling at his waistband.

He lifts his hips and she gets rid of everything efficiently and sits back and looks at him — fully bare, fully wanting, completely at her mercy. His cock rests against his stomach, flushed and heavy, already leaking slightly — with focus, with intent, like she’s deciding what to do with it and wraps her hand around his cock properly and strokes him once, slow, base to tip, and watches his face do whatever his face does.

“Fuck,” he says. Under his breath. “Please—”

“Please what.” Not a question. She already knows. She strokes him again, the same pace, and his jaw tightens and his hand moves toward her wrist and she gives him a look and he puts it back on the sheets.

“You,” he says. “I want — please—”

She takes her underwear off. He watches and his cock twitches in her hand and she notices and the almost-smile appears. She positions herself over him and he looks up at her and feels the specific undoing of this — of her above him, in control, looking at him like he is something she has decided she wants — and thinks about how this is the only place in his entire life where he doesn’t mind being at a disadvantage.

She sinks down onto him slowly.

The sound he makes is not dignified. The head of his cock presses into her cunt and the sound he makes is immediate — low, full, completely unguarded, her name caught in it somewhere as she sinks down inch by inch. She takes him full and genuine and her name is in it and she takes him all the way and stills and looks down at him with dark eyes and he is gripping the sheets with both hands and his whole body is fighting the instruction to stay still.

“Okay?” she says. With the smallest edge of amusement.

“No,” he says honestly. “Move. Please move—”

She moves.

Slowly. Deliberately. Her hips rolling in a rhythm that is designed to undo him and is working, is absolutely working, his thighs tense under her and his head tips back and he says her name again in the broken way he never says anything.

“Look at me,” she says.

He looks at her. He holds her gaze while she rides him slowly, and he feels everything — the heat of her cunt wrapped around his cock, the way she grips him, the drag of every movement, the control in her pace, the way she watches him fall apart like it matters.

“You feel—” he starts.

“Don’t,” she says softly. “Just feel it.”

He feels it. He is feeling all of it, every second of it, cataloguing it the way he catalogues everything about her — with the desperate attention of someone who understands on some level that he is storing things he may not always have access to.

She leans forward and puts her hands on his chest and changes the angle and he makes a sound that comes from somewhere low and involuntary and she does it again. “There,” she says quietly. Not for him. To herself. Like she is confirming something.

“Please,” he says again. “Faster — I need—”

She speeds up. The rhythm shifts into something more urgent and his hands find her hips finally because he cannot keep them off her any longer and she lets him, lets him grip her and pull her down onto him and meet her hips with his and the sounds she makes shift too — lower, less controlled, the sounds that belong to this room and only this room.

“Sunghoon—” His name in her mouth the way she says it here, softer, the management stripped back.

“I know,” he says. “I know, I’ve got you—”

“Don’t—”

“I’ve got you,” he says anyway, and sits up with her in his lap and gets his arms around her and holds her against him and drives up into her and she gasps sharp and genuine against his neck and grabs his shoulders and holds on.

He moves with her. The rhythm is theirs — built over years, adjusted, refined, something instinctive now. Her cunt takes him deep and he gives her everything back, every thrust deliberate even as his control slips.She’s making sounds into his neck that feel like the most honest thing about either of them. He memorises every one.

“Sunghoon— god—”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, I know—”

She comes with her nails in his shoulders and his name in pieces against his skin, her cunt clenching hard around his cock, pulsing, pulling him with her. He holds her through it. Every second.

And then he follows. Buries himself deep and comes with his face pressed into her hair, his voice low and broken, something that almost forms into words, almost her name, almost something else he still doesn’t say. He lies back with her still against him. Both of them breathing. Her pulse fast against his chest. And his hands still on her like he hasn’t decided to let go.

It should end there. It doesn’t, it never does.

She’s still sitting on him when he shifts. Subtle at first — just his hands tightening on her hips — but then something steadies in him, something reorganises. His breathing evens out just enough to make room for something else.

He lifts his head and looks at her. Different now. Less undone and more focused. His hands slide from her back to her hips and grip, firm and claiming. “Turn around,” he says.

Her breath catches, but she moves. She always does. She lifts off him slowly and he exhales sharply at the loss, his cock still hard, still sensitive, still slick with her. He watches the way it slips free of her, the way her cunt clenches around nothing for a second after. “Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself.

He doesn’t give her time to settle. His hand presses between her shoulders, guiding her down onto her hands and knees, shaping her into position with quiet certainty. “Like that,” he says. “Stay.”

She stays.

He takes a second. Just one. To look. Her back arched, her ass lifted, her cunt still wet, still open, still visibly affected by everything he’s already done to her. The sight of it lands somewhere low and heavy in him. “Jesus,” he breathes.

His hand comes down to her ass and spreads her open slowly, fingers pressing into her skin, holding her there. His thumb drags through her, slick and warm, and she shivers hard at the contact.

“Still dripping,” he says quietly. More to himself than to her.

“Sunghoon—”

The first slap lands before she can finish.

Sharp. Clean. Loud in the room. She gasps. His hand settles over the spot immediately after, pressing, feeling the heat rise under his palm like he wants to register it.

“Stay still,” he says low and controlled nothing like how he was five minutes ago.

Another slap lands but this time harder. Her whole body jolts forward.

“Fuck—”

“You like that?” he asks. She doesn’t answer fast enough. His hand tightens on her hip. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” she breathes. “Yes—”

“Good.”

He smooths his hand over her again, slower now, dragging his palm across her ass, thumb pressing into the place he just hit before sliding back down between her thighs.

He looks again. Her cunt still open, still wet, still inviting. “Look at you,” he murmurs. “Still like this.”

He lines himself up behind her. Then presses in. Slow at first — just the head — and she exhales sharply, her back arching deeper, her body reacting immediately. Then he pushes all the way in. One deep, smooth thrust. “Fuck—”

He doesn’t give her time to adjust. He starts moving right away, setting a pace that is already harder than before — deep, controlled thrusts that snap into her with intent, his hands gripping her hips tight enough to keep her exactly where he wants her.

“Sunghoon—”

“Yeah,” he says, breath rough. “Take it.”

He pulls out almost fully and drives back in harder. Her body jolts forward. “Fuck—”

“That’s it,” he says. “Stay right there.”

Another slap lands across her ass, the sound sharp, her reaction immediate.

“Shit—”

“You’re going to take it like this,” he says. “Yeah?”

“Yes—”

He keeps going. Harder now. Faster. The rhythm loses its restraint, becomes something more driven, more physical. The sound fills the room — skin, breath, the wet, unmistakable sound of him fucking into her. “You feel so fucking good,” he says, voice rough. “You have any idea?”

She shakes her head slightly, breath uneven. His hand slides around her body, between her thighs, finding her clit again.

He presses hard and circles tight to be in time with his thrusts. “Sunghoon— please—”

“Please what,” he says, but there’s a rough edge to it now, like he already knows.

“I’m— I’m close—”

“I know,” he says. “I can feel you.”

He thrusts deeper but keeps his hand exactly where it needs to be on her clit. “Come on,” he murmurs. “Do it.”

She does. Hard.

Her whole body tightening, her cunt clenching around him, her breath breaking into something sharp and uncontrollable. “Fuck—”

He watches it happen. Feels it. And it destroys whatever control he had left. His rhythm stutters, then turns rough, chasing it. He drives into her harder, deeper, and then he’s there — coming with a low, unfiltered groan, buried deep inside her, his grip tightening hard on her hips as his whole body locks.

He stays there. Inside her. Then he pulls out slowly. His hand immediately comes back to her hip, holding her in place. “Stay,” he says.

She does. He watches as his come starts to leak out of her, slow at first, then more, slipping down, mixing with everything else, catching the light. “Fuck,” he murmurs. His fingers drag through it, spreading it, watching the way it clings, the way her body still reacts under his touch. “Look at that,” he says quietly.

Then his hand comes down again. A sharp, deliberate slap. Like a claim. He crawls back up and wraps his arms around her sweaty body. Her pulse is fast against his chest. And his hands stay on her like he doesn’t decided to let go.

She untangles herself eventually. Always after when it feels so close to soemthing they both don’t want to name. He watches her reach for her phone on the nightstand, unlock it, type something. The screen faces him for one second before she turns it.

Heeseung.

He looks at the ceiling.

She puts the phone face-down. Gets up. Stretches. Her voice back to its normal register. “Shower. You coming?”

He looks at her. The dark hair, the checking eyes, the mark above her collarbone that he did not put there. He files it in the place where he files everything about her that he is not ready to look at directly.

“Yeah,” he says.

He follows her.

The shower is hot and she stands under it with her eyes closed and he washes her hair the way he always does, slow and thorough, and she lets him the way she always does, and he looks at her in the steam and thinks you’re my favourite in the specific private way of something that has been true for three years and has never once been said out loud.

He washes her hair.

He does not say it.

He never says it.

A/N: first of all, i’m so sorry for making you all wait for this chapter… life looked at me and said “absolutely not” and ending up giving me FOUR exam in one week. secondly… how are we feeling??? because i personally think these two need to be studied in a laboratory. as always, thank you for reading, liking, reblogging and threatening me (lovingly) to get writing

“You’re just jealous because I’m the hottest in here.” He flipped his non-existent long hair, making you giggle. Jake glanced at you with a wide smile, giving you a quick peck on your left cheek. “We’re so winning best costume.” 

“If we don’t—“ you started.

“—it’s rigged.” You and Jake said simultaneously.

Jay blinked at the both of you, nodding along. “Yeah, you’re so going to win the best sexy costume.” He snorted a laugh.

“Seriously, man.” Jake slid his hands all over his covered body, letting a small “kachow” sound as he slapped his own butt. “This is so sexy.”

“It so is.” You played along, earning a smile from the boy. When he looked away, you turned to Jay and shook your head, mouthing “it’s not”, earning a laugh from him.

“You look good.” He complimented you.

You smiled at him, “you too. Robin Hood?”

He nodded.

“I heard Heeseung was dressing up as Captain Hook.” You told the guys, making them nod. Jake snuck an arm around your waist and under your cape, smiling down at you.

“We should get something to drink.” He whispered down to your ear, making you nod but turn to Jay.

“Are you here with anyone else?”

He shook his head. “You and the other guys.”

“Let’s go for a drink then.” You smiled kindly. He nodded, tagging along behind you and Jake.

You rarely went to parties. It wasn’t your scene, never was. When you became friends with Donghyuck and Shotaro, that changed in the smallest bit. You and Yizhou had become part of the frat in a way, always involved in planning parties, forming opinions on stuff like, “do you guys think this theme will work” and others, so you were always invited to said frat events. Jake was never jealous or suspicious of anything, in fact, he was very excited to see that his girlfriend was getting invited to events like this, so he could attend as well.

So to say he was excited, was an understatement.

“How many cups did you drink, dude?” 

Asked Yizhou when she saw your boyfriend bump into the wall. You grabbed him with a groan as his heavy weight shifted on you.

“Too many.” You mumbled as you signaled her to help you.

“Did you even drink?” You shook your head, “so he’s a party pooper.”

“He’s not a party pooper, Yi. He simply had too much fun. I think Hyuck gave him his deathly drink or something.” You muttered.

“Excuse me? It’s Hyuck's drink, not deathly drink, get it right.” Donghyuck said, stepping outside with you and Yizhou, Jay by his side. “Meet Jay, by the way. He’s cool as fuck.” He grinned drunkenly.

“We already know Jay.” You and Yizhou said at the same time.

Donghyuck frowned, glancing at Jay who quickly stepped into the scene to help you two. “Here, I can take him.”

“Thanks.” You both said.

As Jay wrapped Jake’s arm around his shoulder and placed his own on his waist, he turned to you. “I’ll take him to our apartment. Do you girls need a ride?”

“Yes, please.” Three voices said.

You all turned to Donghyuck who suddenly fell onto you, causing you to stumble into Jay. “Okay, let’s go, you.” You grabbed him by the arm.

“Ouch!”

The ride back to the dorms wasn’t awkward at all. Yizhou, Jake, and Donghyuck had fallen asleep or at least that’s what it seemed like whilst you were in the front seat chatting with Jay.

“My money’s on Verstappen.”

“That’s so unfair!” You scoffed with a laugh, making the guy smile. “He always wins.”

“I know my guys, Y/nnie.” You frowned, “And I’m playing it safe, last time I lost like a hundred bucks for betting on Perez.”

“Wow, out of all drivers?”

He glared at you, making you giggle.

“You guys are so loud.” Jake mumbled from the seat behind you.

“Shh, sweetie, go to sleep.” You whispered, glancing back at him. The Australian boy mumbled something incoherent under his breath, making you and Jay chuckle.

After a few minutes, Jay pulled over to his and Jake’s shared apartment, taking Yizhou in his arms respectfully while basically dragging Donghyuck by the shirt. You, on the other hand, had Jake with one arm around his waist whilst he was hugging you tightly, basically making you incapable of moving.

“Dude, you need to move.” You shifted into laughter as he mumbled incoherent things into your neck.

“Need any help?” Asked Jay, already inside the building.

You shook your head, poking Jake on the side of his waist to wake him up, making him giggle drunkenly. You smiled at his state, he was a lot more shy when he was drunk, more touchy and more in love.

“You’re so cute.” Jake complimented you quietly as he hugged his pillow whilst watching you take his shoes to his closet.

After a very complicated ten minutes, you and Jay had managed to get everyone into the apartment. Jay had suggested for you to stay over, you could sleep in Jake’s bed since you two were together, Yizhou could take Jay’s bed, and Donghyuck and him could sleep in the living room. You had of course accepted, you had slept over countless times at their apartment. Hell, you even had a pair of pajamas in Jake’s drawers just in case. But today, you lend them to Yizhou whilst you wore one of Jake’s very oversized t-shirts (which is technically yours) so your best friend could sleep comfortably.

“I’m going for some Advil. Don’t fall asleep yet.” You pointed at him.

He nodded, giving you that sweet smile of his that made you want to crawl on him and squeeze his cheeks like a little baby.

“Oh, hey.” Jay smiled awkwardly when you entered the kitchen.

You waved at him, already too tired. “Do you have Advil?” He nodded, opening a drawer to hand you the whole container. “Thanks. Did Yizhou fall asleep?” He nodded again, stirring the bag of tea in a cup.

“Yeah, her and Donghyuck are dead asleep in my bed.” You snorted a laugh.

“I am so sorry about that.” You covered your face in embarrassment.

Jay shook his head with a soft chuckle, “It’s fine. As long as they’re comfortable, I’m okay. The couch’s comfortable anyways.”

You chuckled, looking down for a second before pointing at the container in your hand. “I’m going to go…you know,”

He smiled with a nod.

“Okay.” You nodded, walking back to your boyfriend’s bedroom.

When you heard his snoring, you smiled to yourself, planting your hand on his shoulder to shake him. “Jake. Jakeyyy.” He hummed at the nickname, making you giggle. “Take this and then you can sleep.”

Jake threw his hand back almost instantly, squeezing his own hand. You grabbed the back of his hand and placed the Advil in his hand, guiding it to his mouth. He opened his mouth and threw the pill inside, making you smile. “Water.”

He nodded with a pout.

With closed eyes, he took the water from you with a small “thank you” escaping his lips. When he swallowed the pill, he hugged his pillow.

“You’re the best, Y/nnie. I love you.” He said under his breath.

Your heart ached at his words, making you lean closer to kiss the corner of his mouth. You smiled at it, “I love you, Jaeyun.”

He smiled subconsciously at your words, completely missing out how you walked out of the bedroom.

On the way out, you quickly stepped into Jay’s room where your friends were basically spread out, lying all over the bed. You snorted, taking your phone out to snap a picture before putting one Advil for each on each side of the bed before stepping out of the bedroom to head back to the kitchen.

“Tired yet?” Jay asked when he saw your shadow come into first.

You chuckled, shaking your head a tad bit.

“Here.” 

He slid a cup of tea your way. You smiled at him, “Thanks. Exactly what I needed.”

“I guess I just know you well.” You chuckled. “Jake okay?”

You nodded. “Sleeping like a baby.”

Both of you sipped your tea, a smile creeping on your lips as a thought appeared in your brain. Jay noticed you almost immediately, your smile infecting him. “What?”

“Nothing.” You giggled, shaking your head. “I feel like an old lady drinking tea this late.”

He put his cup down, crossing his arms around his upper waist. “Guess we’re already mentally old.”

He joked, making you laugh. “Hey! We’re nineteen, that’s like–not old at all.”

“Nineteen turning twenty. We’re basically eighty.”

With your free hand, you playfully slapped his arm, making him dramatically fall back on to the counter.

“You have wounded me, L/n Y/n.” He grunted, holding his heart, eyes shut.

You fell back, laughter filling the room. “You’re so dramatic, oh my God.”

Jay opened one eye, looking at you with offense. “I am everything but, lady.” He scoffed dramatically.

You smiled at him, covering your mouth to stop yourself from laughing at the sudden accent he had done. At your reaction, Jay couldn’t help but laugh as well, taking his tea and turning around to not look at you.

For a few minutes, you and Jay shared a few laughs, jokes, and talked about basically everything. To the point you had fallen asleep on the couch beside him, but of course, like the good friend he was—to you, he carried you back to Jake’s bed, knowing you’d want to wake up next to him, and probably be more comfortable in a bed rather than in a couch.

For a second—a second he considered more than enough, Jay looked at you. You lied next to Jake, wrapped in his sheets, looking peaceful as ever. And Jay could never be this happier.

“I told you, I didn’t need a gift.”

Jake said, still, his smile said exactly the opposite. You knew him too well, obviously he didn’t need a gift, but he was always good at receiving.

Your favorite time of the year was Jake’s birthday. November fifteenth. At least since you two started going out. Where he was good at receiving, you were good at giving. You loved making gifts, for your friends, family, boyfriend. He was one of your favorite people in the world, so of course you went all out with his gift.

“You are enough.” Jake teased, putting the box to the side to grab your waist and pull you closer, placing soft and short kisses all over your face.

You giggled, trying to push him away. “Move, I have makeup on, you idiot.” He shushed you by placing his lips on yours, swallowing your giggles.

He hummed in your lips, making you smile at the kiss before you pulled away, your arms now wrapped around his shoulders, caressing the back of his neck softly. “So you don’t want to see your gift?” You tilted your head playfully, already knowing the answer.

“Well, of course I do!” He smiled widely, his hands unwrapping themselves from your waist to grab the gift sitting beside you. “Is it a puppy? You know I can’t betray Layla like that.” He said, unwrapping the box as he sat down on the couch.

“Yeah, because I would put a puppy in a box, Jake.”

He shrugged casually, handing you the wrapping paper as he struggled to open the box. “I’ve seen videos about it.” He mumbled under his breath, making you laugh.

“Don’t get your expectations too high.” You said, a little shy now that he was opening the box. “Be careful with the box.”

Jake glanced at you and chuckled at your expression. “You’re so cute when you’re nervous, baby.” He pinched your right cheek, making you scrunch your nose.

“Just open it.”

Jake giggled, finally opening the box and peeking inside like a bird. His eyes widened, turning to you with a big smile. “You’re amazing!” He tackled you in a hug, making you groan as you both laid back on the couch. “You know I love jellies!” He started planting little kisses all over your face, making you laugh.

“You’re this excited for jellies? Jake, that’s not even the actual gift.” You giggled, your cheeks heating up from his touch. Jake pulled away and frowned.

“It’s not?”

“A part of it, yeah. But the actual gift is something else.” He glanced back down at your lips, then to your eyes, and smiled.

He pulled away from you as quickly as possible, grabbing the wrapped box inside the box with a huge smile. He slightly shook it, making your smile drop. “Is it a Lego?” He giggled.

“You always ruin it!” You groaned, hitting his shoulder.

Jake laughed, taking off the wrapping paper. He gasped, turning to you with widened eyes. “No way! Jack Sparrow’s ship!?” He exclaimed, raising the Lego box so you could also see it.

At his reaction, your smile reappeared. Jake turned the Lego box around and smiled at you. “I really wanted this one. You’re like a genie, how did you know?” He smiled, mixing his words up. “Seriously, you’re the best girlfriend ever!” He threw the box on the couch and tackled you again.

“It’s just a Lego, but I’m glad you like it.”

You giggled as he pressed his lips on your lips, then your chin, trailing his lips softly around your face. “Like it? It’s my favorite movie, I love it. But I love you more.” He pressed his lips on yours. You held the back of his neck, holding him close to you as you smiled into the kiss. Jake couldn’t help but do the same. “Thank you, beautiful.”

“There’s a few other things in the box, but they’re small.” You mumbled against his lips.

Jake dramatically fell on top of you, making you gasp for air as a laugh escaped you. 

“You’re heavy.”

He let his lips touch your collarbone, pressing little kisses. “Am not.” He mumbled, sneaking his arms around your waist to switch positions. Now, you were lying on him, legs on each side of his waist. With a smile, Jake tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear. “You’re beautiful.”

“You are.” You complimented back, poking his beautiful nose, that action and that shy smile of yours winning Jake over as he closed his eyes and laughed. “What?” You laughed at his random reaction.

He moved his hands down to your waist, holding you close to him. “You’re the best gift I’ve ever received.” You chuckled, making him tilt his head upwards to chase your lips. “Really. You’re my greatest gift.” He mumbled against your lips.

“Shut up.” You smiled, pulling away to grab the box. “You can open the rest later.”

He frowned, “why not now?”

“Because I wrote some letters and I’m going to be embarrassed if you read them out loud.” You played with the hem of his shirt.

“You wrote me letters? Plural?” You nodded, making him take his hand off you to touch his heart. “My heart. Stop being so perfect or I might die.” He cried.

You laughed, getting off of him and taking the box with you. “Never mind. You’re not getting these letters ever.”

Jake gasped, quickly sitting up to grab you and pull you on his lap. “I need to read them or I’ll die.” His lips brushed the skin under the shell of your ear.

You shift your head to the side with a smile. “Too bad.”

He scoffed, his fingers starting to tickle you, making you gasp and fall back on the couch.

“That’s cheating!”

“Let me read them! Let me read them!” He teased as he continued to tickle you, tears forming in your ears from laughing and trying to push him off. “Let me read them! Let me—“

“—okay!” You managed to say in between gasps.

Jake stopped, his hands still in your waist with a teasing smile. “For real?”

“Only if you give me a kiss.” You teased back, pouting your lips.

“My goddess.” He smiled cheekily as he leaned down for a sweet, tasting, and passionate kiss on your lips. You giggled as his soft hands squeezed your waist.

“You’re so cringey.” You said as his lips moved down to your neck.

He gently bit you, making you gasp and hit the back of his head. He chuckled, planting a long-lasting kiss in the same spot.

“Only for you, baby.”

You rolled your eyes at his words. Yet you smiled. Because you were so in love with this man.

“Is this why you have a bump in the head?”

Jake’s family bursted into laughter at your question, making you frown at your boyfriend.

“That is so mean!” Jake gasped, dramatically rolling his eyes. He crossed his arms around his waist and lied back on the chair.

“Dude, that is exactly why you have a bump in the head.” His older brother snorted. “Actually, I need to touch it. Come here.” He teased. Jake pushed him off, making you giggle.

“I feel slightly offended you never showed me this video.” You said as you handed the phone back to the older woman.

“Oh, we wanted to. But Jaeyun basically blackmailed us. Didn’t want his girlfriend to see how bad of a skater he was.” She commented, giving a cheeky smile to his youngest son.

“Mom!”

Everyone at the table continued laughing, making Jake completely lose it. Your hand subconsciously moved to the guy’s thigh, making him sigh.

“Is this hate on jake day?” He complained.

“That’s everyday, bro.” His brother answered, making you snort.

Your boyfriend turned to you with betrayal in his eyes. “Not you switching sides. Traitor.”

He looked away, making you laugh, your cheeks heating up and starting to hurt from how hard you were laughing.

“Don’t talk to Y/nnie like that, Jaeyun!” His father spoke up, making you both look at him. “You should be thanking her for even being here with a lazy boy like you.”

You and his brother covered your own mouths to stop yourselves from laughing at how Jake’s jaw dropped. “I–I’m not lazy.” He stuttered.

“He’s actually very productive, sir.” You decided to speak up.

“Oh is he?” His father asked, making you nod.

Without you really noticing, Jake stared at you, that little smile reappearing when he heard you speak up. He knew his family was just joking around, he knew you knew that as well, but he always loved how you were there to defend him, even if it was something little like calling him lazy.

“You remember how I got a bad test grade in physics?” They all nodded, “Jaeyun helped me study and I ended up getting a ninety-five in all of the tests he helped me study with.”

“Really?” Mr. Sim turned to his son, a small proud look on his face.

Jake looked down, a little more shy now.

“I ended up being top three in the class. Your son’s really smart. Really good tutor.” You commented with a casual demeanor, stuffing your mouth with food.

“I’m glad to hear that, Y/n.” The man smiled.

Jake’s ears warmed up, his hand grabbing yours under the table for support. You glanced at him and smiled shyly.

“Yo, I have another video of Jake falling!” His brother clapped with a laugh.

You let go of your boyfriend’s hand and giggled, “Let me see!”

You said as you scooted closer to his mother and brother. Jake stared at you, a smile appearing on his lips as he watched you completely lose it over the video his brother had shown you.

“Did you really just do a backflip just because you didn’t want to say “I love you” back?”

Jake stared at you in complete shock, watching you casually stand back up in his bed.

“That I just did.” You answered.

He scoffed, “where did you even learn how to do a backflip?”

“I was in gymnastics?”

“No, you weren’t.”

“I could’ve been.”

He tilted his head to the side, knowing you too well. “Did you learn from a tiktok?” You stared at him then smiled innocently, “Y/n, you’re seriously going to get hurt one of these days.” He said worriedly, jumping on the bed and pulling you down with him.

“You’re so cute when you get worried.” You smiled playfully as he wrapped an arm around your waist, lying his head on your chest.

“Sorry for not wanting my girlfriend to die for doing a backflip.” He mumbled, the vibration of his voice sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re literally a silly goose.” You joked.

He raised his head to look at you in utter shock. “You did not just call me a silly goose.”

“That’s what you are.”

“That’s so cringey!” He snorted.

You pushed his face back where it was, making him giggle. You placed your fingers on his head and ran them through his hair, making him hum.

“Thanks for today. It was a great day.” You said, feeling Jake smile on your chest. You smiled too, caressing his head. “I’m so happy you’re my boyfriend.” You mumbled, eyes closing.

Jake opened his, raising his head just a bit to look at you. “Really?”

You nodded, opening an eye to smile at him. He shyly smiled, scooting closer so his lips could touch yours. He was positioned between your legs, very comfortably as his arms were on each side of your waist.

“And I’m–” He paused to leave a soft kiss. “–I’m the luckiest man on the planet for having you.”

You giggled, your hands leaving his hair to grab his cheeks instead. “Yeah, you are.”

He stuck his tongue out for a second before pressing his lips on yours again, melting with your touch as you smiled into the kiss.

“If we ever break up, just know someone did voodoo shit on me.” Jake said after pulling away from you.

“What if I was the one that did voodoo stuff on you?” You asked, raising your eyebrows.

Jake pretended to think, biting his bottom slip with a grin. “That’s hot.”

You pushed him off with a laugh, making him rest on his arm with a smile on his face as he watched you.

“You’re such a weirdo!”

“But I’m your weirdo.” He winked playfully, already knowing you’d be on the floor laughing at him.

“My baby!”

You had exclaimed as Jake appeared out of the trees with his puppy on a leash. With a smile, he approached you, “hi, baby!” He said back.

You glanced at him and scoffed. “I was talking to Layla, you dummy.”

“You always know how to break my heart.” He touched his heart dramatically, making you laugh as you kneeled down for Layla.

“Oh you cute little puppy.” You said in a baby voice, making Jake smile down at both of you as you kept caressing Layla. “I missed you too, cutie.” You pouted as you kissed the puppy.

Jake simply stood there, staring at both of his favorite humans with a sour look in his eyes that screamed “I’m third-wheeling”. When you kept playing with Layla and ignoring your boyfriend, he let out a huge sigh, getting both of you and Layla’s attention.

“Something wrong?” You asked him, completely clueless as you kept babying Layla.

“Uh, yeah? You haven’t said anything to me? Your boyfriend?” He crossed his arms around his waist, the leash still being held by him.

You chuckled, giving Layla one last kiss before standing up to look at Jake, blowing a kiss in the air to which he tried to grab with his hand like the joker he was. “I just gave a bunch of kisses to Layla, dude.”

“I don’t care. I want to kiss my beautiful girl.” He tilted his head to the side, pouting and blinking dramatically, looking exactly like Layla.

You giggled, placing a quick kiss on his lips. Jake instantly melted at your touch, whining when you pulled away and took the leash from him to walk Layla. “It’s been a while since I saw my daughter.” You spoke to the air, Jake basically chased after you. “You missed me, Layla?” You pouted as you walked in synchronization.

“Yes, but I love daddy more!” Jake said in a baby voice, making you gasp.

“She doesn’t even sound like that.”

He shrugged, walking all stiff, stomping on the way. “That’s what she told me.”

You hummed, glancing his way before you smiled. “You’re so cute like this.”

“Like what?”

You turned to him, nudging his shoulder with yours. “You want me to kiss you the same way or–”

“–yes.”

You froze, stared at him, blinked. “You want to be my puppy?” 

You pursed your lips to keep yourself from laughing.

“Not like that! Hey, don’t–don’t laugh like that.” He pointed at you with widened eyes. “You gave her a bunch of kisses whereas I didn’t get any.” He frowned, looking away.

You smiled at your boyfriend, signaling Layla to sit. When she did, you placed a hand on Jake’s head, patting it. “Who’s my good boy?” You said in the same tone you use for Layla, making Jake scoff, throwing his head back causing your hand to fall on his chest.

“You’re so annoying.” He mumbled under his breath but still, his eyes glistened when your eyes locked with his.

“Am I? So you don’t want me to kiss you anymore?” You pouted playfully, the hand on his chest moving upwards to his cheek, your thumb lingering on his bottom lip.

His lips twitched into a small grin, “I’m so annoyingly in love with you. Of course I do.” 

His hand moved to your waist, pulling you close to him to let his lips move an inch closer to yours.

“No–”

“–No PDA, I know.” He finished your sentence with a chuckle, making you look down awkwardly to Layla. Jake grabbed your chin and tilted it upward just so he could look directly into your eyes with that smile of his. “Just a kiss.” He pouted his lips, mimicking a kiss.

You rolled your eyes, leaning close enough that your lips touched before completely locking them together. Jake, like always, melted in your touch, letting you take control before you quickly pulled away, making him whine right when Layla barked.

“Look, like owner, like puppy.” You joked, kneeling down to pet Layla before walking away.

Jake mimicked you before hugging you tightly from behind, keeping you from walking freely.

“Get off me!”

“Never!”

As you two continued to bicker, Layla kept barking and jumping around, making you both laugh.

“Ew, who’s Kim Nari and why is she commenting on Jake’s posts and tweets. Obsessed much?” Yizhou commented.

“Let me see!” She passed her phone to Yunjin.

You looked up from your Ipad, oblivious to the conversation.

“You know her?” Yunjin asked as she passed the phone to you. You shrugged as you scrolled down her profile on Instagram, then shook your head, handing back the phone to your best friend.”

“No idea. Probably a girl from his class or something.”

“Is that not weirder?” Yizhou asked.

You chuckled at her comment and expression. Yizhou was the jealous type, same with Yunjin, maybe even possessive. You, on the other hand, weren’t jealous at all.

Jake and you had a healthy relationship, a few misunderstandings there and then but nothing that wasn’t fixable with a simple conversation. Jealousy from your end didn’t exist. You trusted Jake, he had never given you a reason to make you jealous. He was friendly, sure, your friends always made comments about it, “too friendly” “she’ll misunderstand” “if a boy did that to me…”, but you knew Jake, he would never do such a thing.

After the small conversation where the girls discussed how they were the jealous type, you said your goodbyes and parted ways out of the cafeteria. You were supposed to meet up with Jake because of a stupid physics exam you needed to study for. 

You had forgotten your glasses and were too lazy for contacts today, so you were basically walking blind through campus, trying to find your boyfriend. 

You would think that when you find your boyfriend with a girl holding his arm for dear life, would make you jealous. And it did—just a little bit, but you pushed the thought away and smiled when you approached your partner.

“Hi!” You smiled politely at the girl.

She ignored you, in a way. She did give you a complete sour look, making your smile fade away. You turned to your boyfriend, who had a similar expression to the girl next to him.

“Hey.” He smiled. Though you noticed quickly how his smile didn’t reach his eyes, making you tilt your head.

“You okay?” He nodded, leaning down for a small kiss. You smiled and turned to the girl next to him, “I’m Y/n. Jake’s girlfriend.”

You didn’t try to sound rude, it hadn’t even crossed your mind to act that way. You just wanted to say hi to Jake’s friends, that was all.

“Obviously I know that?” She scoffed before turning to Jake, brushing her hand on his arm. “See you later?” Jake nodded before waving hehe goodbye.

You looked between the two, a small frown finding itself crawling up your lips.

“You’re going out?” You furrowed your eyes in confusion.

“What? I mean, yeah, but it’s a group thing.” He explained.

“Oh..okay.” You smiled.

Jake grabbed your chin, “You okay?”

You nodded, “Yeah, I just thought you were helping me study later today but it’s fine. I can study by myself today.”

He smiled, giving you a kiss on the cheek. “You’re the best. It’s a last-minute thing. Nari’s birthday.” He mentioned, making you nod.

“Nari.” You repeated, he nodded. You nodded back and smiled. “Right, yeah, cool, cool. Cool.”

Just friendly. That’s what he was. He would never do something like that to you. He loved you.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

Jake didn’t bother looking up from his laptop. He was pretending to be busy just so he wouldn’t have to look at you. He couldn’t. Not now. Not for a while.

“Uh, is it important?” He asked you, sounding uninterested from the start.

You sat up, your back glued to the frame of the bed. You were wearing nothing but your underwear and an oversized t-shirt you had stolen from Jake’s closet just a second ago.

“Uh, I was just going to ask if you were okay. You were acting strange earlier.” You said, the way you stood and the way Jake wasn’t paying attention to you at all, made you feel smaller. You hugged your knees, covering yourself.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He answered, his voice sounding shallow, no emotions.

You nodded, forgetting he wasn’t paying attention to you.

“Okay.” You said after a second.

It wasn’t normally like this. After being intimate, Jake would still be cuddled up with you, legs and arms all wrapped around you. It made you feel safe. Wanted. He had been your first time, he had been the only person you’ve ever been with and was even the one you wanted to be with for the rest of your life. This time? It was awkward. It was almost forced. You had always been communicative about everything, but it was different today. He had been less intimate, more quiet. And that made you feel unsafe. You loved him, you really do, but it almost felt like you had had sex with a stranger, not your boyfriend.

Instead of bringing you water without you having to ask, instead of holding you. He left you. He kissed you, said nothing, grabbed himself a water, and started doing whatever he was doing now.

You felt used and thrown away like a rag doll.

“I’ll see you later.” You said, your voice coming out shakier than intended.

Jake took his AirPod out, watching as you moved around to grab your stuff as quickly as possible. “You’re not sleeping over?” He asked.

You wiped the tears that were beginning to form around the corner of your eyes, before looking at him, a smile appearing in your lips. “Uh, I have homework to do.” You lied.

He nodded, going back to his laptop.

You bit your bottom lip to keep yourself from crying and nodded. The usual routine was him trying to convince you to drive you back to your dorm and you complaining that you’d just take an uber, bickering back and forth. It was different. Distant. You walked to him and gave him a quick kiss on the head.

“I love you.” You mumbled against it.

When you heard no response, you nodded and walked away, completely heartbroken.

You never had problems like this before. Relationship fights? Never. You and Jake were the textbook high school sweethearts. The role models to a lot of people. The couple that everyone looked up because of how healthy and communicative you guys were. Communication was never a problem. Seeing him now, being closed off, was breaking you.

You understood needing time alone, that was never a problem for you. You were the type of girl that needed her own time. He understood that. But you always communicated that

So for once, you left it alone. If he needed some time alone, you were okay with that. You could always talk about it the next day.

Right?

Today was a good day. It had been a few days since you spoke to Jake about the intimacy situation. He agreed with you, saying he was just busy and tired. You understood that easily, you even told him to tell you when you needed time alone.

He became busier these days, but still made time for you to see each other for a little bit. You guys were okay.

The reason why it’s such a good day was because your English professor had made an announcement where he called up two of his best students and gave them a letter of recommendation for the internships they had spoken about earlier in the semester. You were one of them, next to Park Jongseong—also known as Jay— a high school friend of yours who you had grown distant with, and one of Jake’s best friends. You started the day with the right foot.

And you were excited to tell Jake. Invite him to eat something. Your treat.

When you started walking around campus, you  found him near a bench next to a few of his friends and Kim Nari. The same girl that had spawned out of nowhere and made your friends–hell, even you–overthink about everything.

“Hey, Nari.” You waved as politely as you could.

She looked you up and down, making you do the same–at yourself, and smiled awkwardly.

“Yikes.” She chuckled dryly, tapping Jake on the shoulder, who was busy speaking to Heeseung and Sunghoon.

“Oh, hey.” He spoke dryly.

You frowned at how Jake received you, a small chuckle escaping your lips. “You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He asked.

Your mouth opened to speak, but no words came out. You scratched the back of your neck awkwardly, “Well, you know the internship I was planning on doing this summer? Mr. Suh gave me and Jay a letter of recommendation and I’m pretty sure I’ll be having a permanent job at the company!” You squealed, clearly excited.

“No way, congratulations, Y/nnie!” Sunghoon smiled, throwing a high-five in the air for you to catch.

You laughed and thanked him, turning to your boyfriend. Confused at his reaction, you waved your hand in front of him, “Earth to Sim Jaeyun?” You joked.

He stared down at you, a look in his eyes that you didn’t recognize. 

“I was thinking maybe we could go eat something? My treat, of course.” You smiled proudly. “Seeing as I’ll be employed.”

“Have I ever told you how annoying you are?”

He spoke after a few seconds.

You chuckled, thinking it was a joke. “Plenty of times, actually.”

You smiled, not understanding. From Jake’s side, Nari snickered, making you frown.

“Did calling you annoying make you want to sleep with other people?”

You pursed your lips then caught yourself laughing. “What now?”

“You think I wouldn’t find out?” He scoffed a laugh.

“Find out what?” You asked.

“That you’re being passed around and acting like a slut.” He spat. You stared at Jake in utter shock, stepping back at his sudden and very brutal words. “You said all about trust and communication and you’re over there cheating on me? Calling me names and shit?” He raised his voice, gaining attention from the crowd walking.

Your eyes started to move around, “I-I’m so confused right now.” You looked back at his friend before looking at your boyfriend. “You’re the only person I’ve ever been with?” You said in a smaller voice. It wasn’t a question, it was a fact.

“You’re a liar.” He laughed.

“Jake, where is this all coming from?” You shook your head, starting to feel light-headed. “I’ve never done anything to make you feel this way, have I?”

“Well, how the hell would I know? You’ve been keeping it a secret from me.”

You tilted your head, your lips trembling as you tried to keep yourself composed and not cry in public. “Can you please be specific? Who told you all this? I don’t even hang out with anyone other than your friends and my friends. Why would I be doing sexual stuff with anyone other than you?” You asked.

Sunghoon kissed his teeth, making a noise that distracted you. He apologized and looked away.

“It doesn’t matter who told me. What matters is that you’re a fucking slut.”

A single tear shed from your eyes, making you wipe it quickly. “It does matter who told you all of this because it’s a complete lie. Why would you believe someone else over me?” You asked, scrunching your nose. “Was it Sunghoon? Heeseung?” He stared at you blankly. “Was it Nari?”

“Don’t involve me in this.” The girl scoffed.

Still, she stood behind Jake. And it made your heart ache because that was usually you in that spot.

You turned to Jake and smiled sadly, still trying not to cry. “Let’s talk about this later. I-I can’t do this right now.” You said softly. “Not in public, please.”

“Y/n, I don’t want to fucking talk later. Just admit it.”

“I’m not admitting something that I’m not.” You responded back with that same voice you always used on him, not being used to being harsh on Jake. “You really think I’d do something like that to you?” Your vision blurred as you spoke.

“I don’t know anymore.”

“Well that’s insane, Jake. We’ve been what—almost four years together and you chose to believe her words before mine?” You cried, not letting him speak. “Do you know how stupid that is? Is this why you were acting off? Because ever since you started hanging out with her, you’ve been off.”

“Right, now you want to talk about it.” He scoffed.

“I always want to talk about it, Jake! You’re the one that always brushes off the topic. We’re adults, for God’s sake, if you want to be with someone else, you can just break up with me.” You cried in front of him. “You don’t need to call me by names that you know don’t even make sense to use!”

“I didn’t cheat on you.”

“Neither did I.” You bit your lip.

“Why does it cost you so much to admit it? You’re a fucking whore, Y/n. You’re a gold-digger, and a fucking slut. Admit it.” You furrowed your eyebrows in complete heartbreak.

“A g—a gold digger?” You repeated, taking a fist of your hair to keep yourself from falling apart. “Jake, I never ask you to buy me stuff. What the actual fuck is wrong with you? The only thing we spend money on is freaking ramyeon. I come here with the news that I’m being fucking employed in a few months and this is what you say to me?” You laughed, running your fingers through your hair in frustration.

With nothing else, instead of listening to him again, you quickly took off your necklace—the one that Jake gave you on your first anniversary—grabbed his hand and placed it. “Here. Give it to her since you want her so badly you accuse me of things you know I’d never—in my life—do to you.” You gave him a saddened smile.

You glanced at Nari for a second, almost losing it over how her face completely turned upside down—a smile, eyes shining bright—you almost lost it.

You wiped your tears and ignored Jake, walking away from the scene, ignoring the people around you.

Behind you, had been standing Jay, watching the scene unfold with a pain in his heart. He watched as you walked away, his legs moving almost on his own as he ran to catch up to you.

“Y/n.” He called after you.

You continued to wipe your tears, ignoring whoever was calling. For a second, you almost collapsed on the floor as soon as you realized you were nowhere to be seen by the others. But you didn’t, because the moment you opened your eyes, he was there.

“Shh, you’re okay.” Jay held you, backpack thrown just next to you as one arm held you close to him, covering you so you could let it all out, whilst the other was running through your hair. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. Just let it all out.”

You cried even harder at his words.

It was stupid how much an accusation from the person you trusted the most could do to you.

Jay kissed the top of your head, lifting your face enough so he could see you. “I can take you to Yizhou or someone. You want me to do that?” You nodded, “okay, let me call them, yeah? Stay here.” You nodded again as you watched him stand up and take his phone out.

You wiped your face, but the tears kept coming. You managed to stand up, Jay quickly turning his attention to you. He put his phone down and gently took you in his arms again.

“I’m so sorry about Jake—“

“—don’t apologize for him, Jay.” You managed to laugh between the sobs. “It’s not your fault.” You hiccuped.

“Neither is yours.” He whispered gently.

That made you break. Completely. Jay had felt it all. And he hated Jake for it. He hated himself for letting his best friend treat the way he just did.

mars yap long ahh chapter but I know you guys wanted this specific one so...had to deliver, even after many editing, I probably made mistakes so if something sounds confusing and incomplete, PLEASE I BEG correct me I don't gaf.

I low-key cried and got so emotional writing this bc there were good parts like omg JAKE X Y/N cuties but then the end happened erm...key mijo...

honestly, I wrote Y/n this way because something similar happened to me but instead of confronting him I simply broke whatever we had and yeah, #stronggirlsreunite Y/n is strong AF tho like I would've crashed out, she's too mature we love her

anywhooo I feel slightly weird because next chapter is going to be pure crack but it will be needed okrrrr love u guys hope you enjoyed also I can't wait for heeseung's songs can they come out I knew they would be similar to Chase Atlantic because he obviously knows I'm a huge fan okay bye.

he never left your side. he opened every door, he checked inside before letting you in, he always stepped out first. you’d never even seen him sleep. he always stayed up later than you, and woke up earlier. always on his guard, always your safety first. 

it was strange to have someone look after you like that, especially after you’d gotten so used to the solitude, the isolation it took to make it in your field. no friends, no lover, nothing but you and your iron-grip controlling company against the brutal tide of the hollywood film industry. 

it was cold, but it was familiar. this? this was different. and you hadn’t quite decided what to make of it just yet…

it’s been eerily quiet. you and your team at noxstar had been monitoring the papers headlines for any moves by the triad. every time you left the house you looked both ways. you hadn’t even risked going anywhere except the studio, and still, nothing. part of you was relieved, but the other is just waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

so for now? this was it. the routine goes like this: you wake up sometime before dawn to the smell of coffee (jay’s doing, of course), make yourself presentable before you unlock your bedroom door and step out, jay offers you toast (in your own home, can you even imagine?) which of course you always decline. then he drives you to the studio as the sun rises over hollywood, where you spend anywhere between twelve and sixteen hours being maneuvered and manipulated like a puppet. however, in the midst of the chaos of egomaniacal leads, crowing directors, and your frantic styling team comes some of your best work. for all the slander and rumors about being so high maintenance, you were the leading lady of noxstar productions for a reason. after all, they were only famous because of you. 

while you’re at the studio, jay gives you space. he hangs around, close enough that if you needed him he could be at your side in five seconds, but far back enough to let you work in peace. when you look back at him between takes, though, his eyes never leave you. he always watches you with that same intensity, those same dark eyes. you’re no stranger to being watched, of course you aren’t, but this…this is different. 

after your grueling days at the studio, jay drives you home. he always stops at the bodega for a sandwich, and always brings you a grilled cheese that you never eat. at least, not until you’re safely locked in your bedroom, which is exactly what you do practically the second you come home every night. the half-cold grilled cheese gives you just enough energy to wash up, bolt your window, draw your curtains, study your lines for a few minutes, and fall into exhausted sleep. you dream about mafiosos gunning you down, running through the streets in bloodied silk dresses, and then wake up and do it all over again. 

it’s sunday. you’re irritated this morning. 

it’s been just over one week of this terrible whirlwind of a schedule and the one morning a week you get to sleep in had been interrupted by another one of those horrible dreams. 

you don’t bother to pretty yourself up this time when you venture out of your bedroom. jay is sitting at the kitchen table, large hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. there’s a newspaper in front of him, but he’s not reading it — he’s watching you. 

he stands when you approach, but you beat him to the coffee pot and serve yourself before he can do it for you. 

jay doesn’t say anything about your messy hair tucked hastily into a silk scarf. he doesn’t say anything about your lack of makeup, about the dark circles under your eyes. he just slides a plate of toast across the counter to you without a word like he does every morning. 

you barely spare it a glance, pushing it back towards him with a flick of your hand. he watches you, like always, but this time his gaze falls to the sliver of skin that’s exposed on your arm when your satin robe rides up. at the vaguely-hand-shaped deep purple marks decorating your wrist, faded some but still apparent. 

you tug your sleeve down, skin prickling under his watchful eyes, but his gaze remains steady even after you’ve covered it up. 

“that should’ve healed by now.”

jay hardly speaks, but when he does, the deep cadence gives you goosebumps. his words hang heavy in the silence of your kitchen. 

you don’t answer him, taking a slow, deliberate sip of your coffee. 

the tension eases some when jay finally leans back, dropping the plate with the toast into the empty sink. he returns to the table, though remains standing when he grabs for the newspaper. 

“you know,” he says quietly, slowly, “malnutrition can slow your immune system. keep things like that from healing. contribute to…discoloration and the like.” he’s looking at your face now, at the matching purple circles under your eyes. 

“i’m not malnourished.” your grip is so tight on your coffee mug that your knuckles are paling. 

“your studio keep you on a tight leash?” 

anger flares inside you at his casual tone, at the suggestion he’s imposing. “i’m not a dog.”

“i know that,” he replies steadily, gaze returning the paper. “don’t know if they do.”

your nostrils flare. how dare he stand in your own kitchen and tell you off about your life like you have a say in it. what does he know about you? 

you huff aggressively, snatching the toast from the untouched plate and taking a showy, spiteful bite as you try to storm past him. he moves to block your path, just enough to stop you from storming into your room, but not enough that you can’t push past him if you really had a mind to. your hissy-fit has seemingly had no effect on him. 

“what do you think about dinner?”

“spectacular concept,” you snap, staring up at him angrily. “not for me, though.”

“you don’t have any groceries. you can’t just starve all night.”

“watch me.” 

he holds your gaze, and you hate that he almost seems amused. you can’t stand to face off with him any longer, but instead of running to your bedroom and slamming the door, you stomp over to the fainting couch and sit down, arms crossed. i’m not going to hide in my own house, you think to yourself stubbornly as you pull your legs up and wrap your robe around yourself tighter. 

jay calls your name and you look over with cutting eyes. “will you do me the honor of joining me for dinner tonight?”

his tone is teasing but his eyes are serious. you turn back to the window when you reply. “even if i didn’t loathe the concept of eating with you right now, richie said no more little outings.”

you hear the small puff of air that jay exhales, the ghost of a chuckle. “i didn’t know you held richie’s word so highly.”

“i don’t.”

“perfect. so let’s get dinner.”

“i also don’t particularly savor the idea of the triad cornering us and having my insides served up on a platter in the back booth of some banquet hall.”

jay picks up the phone that sits on your end table and shakes it at you teasingly. “ah, and thus the beauty of this wonderful invention called takeout dining.”

“you’ll just leave me here alone and defenseless while you go get it?” you scoff, more petulant and irritated by his goading than genuinely concerned for your safety. 

“i’d take you with me, obviously.”

“obviously,” you echo sarcastically, rolling your eyes. jay only smirks at your reaction, clearly taking some pleasure in your annoyance. 

he holds the phone up, ready to dial at the rotary. “i’ll call it in. what’s your establishment of choice?” 

“have you ever tried ‘not on your life’?” you reply, which gets a sarcastic laugh out of him. “close second to ‘bite me’.”

“seriously,” he says, leaning against the table. “where do you like to go? a night out after a premiere, or where you’d make richie take you on official business?”

you give a dry laugh. “i’m lucky if richie brings me coffee. i wouldn’t be caught dead in public with him.”

“well, where would you be caught dead then?” he asks, phone still in hand. he’s watching you, like always, but the intensity that had become teasing that had become prying has now simmered down into something else. intrigue, maybe. or something more, if you had let yourself believe it. 

your gaze returns to the window. you’re quiet when you speak this time.

“chaconne’s.” even the name sounds soft on your tongue, softer than the beautiful lights on the chandeliers you can instantly picture inside the restaurant. the candles, the silk tablecloths and fresh flowers and gorgeous upholstery and sleek leather booths. it was the very picture of luxury, an intimate place at the top of the boulevard near the hills. fancy, but not snobbish. beautiful, but not over-the-top. you’d only been a handful of times, but it was like heaven every visit. you wanted to live there, it was like a dream. 

“it’s this little—”

“this little place up on the hills,” jay finishes, phone dangling from his hand. “up at the end of the boulevard. chandeliers and red candles.”

you look up, surprised. “you’ve been there?”

he smiles, the ghost of a grin dancing on his lips. “i don’t look like the kind of guy who’s been there?”

“i didn’t say that.” 

he snorts. “you sounded like it.”

you turn away once more, running your fingers along the embroidery of your couch. “just call it in already. they’ll take time to prepare it.”

jay hums, the rotary clicking as it spins when he dials. he places his order, repeats yours when you whisper it to him, then thanks the staff and tells them what time he’ll be by. then he takes the newspaper back up, sits on the armchair across from you, and you both sit in what is finally bearable silence. 

you’d spent the majority of the day lounging.

some hours reciting lines, some spent on more petty arguments with jay, and then another getting ready before your venture to pick up dinner. it would be criminal to leave the house looking as wrecked as you did this morning. what if there were cameras?

jay jingles his keys at you when it’s time to leave, which makes you roll your eyes, but the hunger burning low in your stomach and the idea of real food has you hurrying after him to the car. 

the drive is peaceful, quiet. the windows are rolled down a sliver, jazz playing idly on the radio as jay taps his fingers on the wheel to the beat. the sun is hanging low over the hollywood skyline, illuminating everything like gold. you close your eyes and breathe in the fresh air. perhaps cabin fever is real after all…

jay pulls to a stop in front of chaconne’s, the noir awnings trimmed with gold tipping the place away despite its well-tucked-away nature. 

“stay in the car,” jay says, locking the doors as he climbs out. “i’ll be right back.”

you duck low into your seat, pulling your scarf up over your head in the hopes of obscuring your face from outside view. you watch as he steps into the restaurant and then your gaze flits away. 

jay doesn’t take long. you’re in the middle of tuning the radio in the hopes of hearing something more upbeat when he steps out, holding two large paper bags. 

the setting sun reflects off the metallic trim of the restaurant door when he opens it, blinding you temporarily in a flash of gold. that’s why you don’t see the gunman step out of the alley just then. you just hear the shot as it goes off. 

the bullet ricochets off the side of the car with a horrible metallic CLINK! that startles you enough to raise your head. you catch a glimpse of jay dropping the bags and lean forward to scream at him, trying in vain to alert him of the shadowed figure in the alleyway before the windshield shatters from another shot. 

you drop immediately, covering your head as best you can and praying for something, any higher power in the universe to save you. the commotion outside — screams from passersby, glass shattering, gunfire — rings in your ears. you squeeze your eyes shut and pray it stops. 

WHAM! 

you scream again when something slams into the side of the car, but you look up to find jay pounding at the window. your heart races as you lunge over to unlock the door and he throws himself into the car, peeling out of the street with a violent screech of burning rubber. 

you watch, transfixed for just a second at the state of him. chest heaving, clothes disheveled, fringe falling in his face with that intense look he always had dialed up to a manic degree. 

“get down!” he barks, the command of it reaching through to your bones. even if he hand hadn’t come up to push your head down, you would’ve folded like a wet piece of paper anyway. another few shots ring out in the distance, barely audible over the roar of the engine and the screech of the tires. you stay down until jay’s breathing finally evens out. 

jay is certain they don’t know where you live. 

if he wasn’t, he’d promised, he wouldn’t have brought you back. you’d driven just out of the city and made your way back around, just to be sure that nobody was tailing you. jay had thoroughly checked the place after walking you up, telling you to stay in the foyer until he was positive it was safe. apparently it was, and now here you both sit where, after a thorough interrogation to make sure you were not injured, you’d both sunk into the kitchen chairs, utterly and completely exhausted. 

the table is empty. there’s nothing in the kitchen but an empty fruit bowl and the plate of toast in the sink laden with crumbs. 

“so much for dinner,” you murmur with a fragile laugh, trying to play off how shaken up you felt after the ordeal. 

the tension still hasn’t left jay’s shoulders, the tightness of his jaw. but he looks up when you speak, like your voice has snapped him out of it, turning to rummage in the pocket of his coat discarded on the back of the chair behind him. you watch curiously as he takes out a crumpled-looking paper box with the chaconne’s seal on it and slides it across the table to you without a word. 

you open it to find a smushed but no less delicious slice of cheesecake, the choice dessert of the restaurant. people came from all over california to try it. 

you look back up at jay with wide eyes, who only stares back solemnly. 

“you have it,” he says quietly when you don’t move another few moments. “i already ate.”

“i’ve been with you all day,” you reply softly. “i know you haven’t.”

“you need it more than i do.”

his stubborn streak should irritate you, but you don’t have it in you to be angry after today. “i told you i’m not a dog, and i don’t have a problem. share, at least.” you nudge it halfway back across the table. “i can’t have my bodyguard dying of starvation. might get in the way of you saving my life or whatever i keep you around for.”

that gets a smile out of him. not a teasing smirk or a shit-eating grin, but a real, genuine smile, small as it may be. he sets out two forks, and even though neither of you had eaten all day and were thoroughly starved and exhausted from all the commotion, you eat it slowly enough to savor it. not just the taste, but the moment. you never knew anything could taste so good. 

this one got longer than i expected but im happy with how it turned out!! excited to keep the series going <33 feedback always encouraged mwah

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𝜗𝜚 i don't know where this one was going, creative juices ran out midway! X♡X♡, romi ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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