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hoonsluvr · 4 months ago

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surprise!! shades of blue is out early 🩵

it's officially been one month since cherry released so i thought i would push to release this today. sorry if it's a bit rushed as I wrote almost 3000 words of it today itself >_<

really poured my heart into this one and i hope you all love it as much as i do

lots of love, isla ♡

SHADES OF BLUE

박성훈 ꒰ park sunghoon ꒱ — genre; childhood friends to (?), forced proximity, smut, angst, reader has synesthesia ୨ৎ cw; daddy issues, emotional abuse, mental health issues (anxiety and depression mentioned), pill addiction, overdose in detail, p in v, dom hoon, unprotected sex, public sex, oral f.rec, choking, temperature play MDNI. ⟡ synopsis; it had been years since you left the world of ice skating behind. four years to be exact. and now? you’re a miserable fucking mess, numb to your feelings and the outside world. so what happens when a certain boy from your past manages to find his way into your life again? ୨ৎ wc; 10.7k — library ⭑.ᐟ inspired by; cinnamon girl - lana del rey

isla yaps; hi lovelies!! this fic contains some heavy and potentially triggering themes so please make sure to READ THE WARNINGS CAREFULLY. if you decide not to continue reading this i truly understand and i’m definitely working on some lighter fics for the future. for those of you who do read, as always, feedback is appreciated :)

You had always seen him in streaks of color. Violet, blue, green, red. He was a spectrum of hues, splattered perfectly across a blank white canvas. You usually only associated things with one particular color or shape, but Sunghoon Park was far too complex to fit in that box.

Growing up, you never had to look to know he was there. The cold bit into your fingers and nose as you stepped onto the ice, but you barely noticed, already used to it. Sunghoon grinned at you from across the rink, mischief flickered in his eyes, his hair tousled.

You made a face at him, one you had made a thousand times before — a silent dare, a challenge — which he gladly accepted with a low exaggerated bow, almost slipping on the ice to make you laugh. You pressed your lips together, pretending to be unimpressed but the giggle still escaped you, curling into the cold air like smoke.

You pushed off, racing towards him, the thrum of the world narrowed to the single endless circle of the rink. Just you and him. Always you and him. He waited until the last second before darting forward to meet you, your movements synced immediately. It’s an old dance by now, older than the competitions, the medals, the pressure. It belonged only to you two.

He caught you and swung you into a wide air spiral, the force of it pulling laughter from your chest. The walls blurred, the high vault of the rink’s ceiling spun dizzyingly above and for a few precious seconds, there was no ground beneath your feet, only the electric hum of trust and flight. You hit the ground, and he almost didn’t reach you in time.

“You’re getting slow,” you teased, breathlessly as he reeled you back in.

He rolled his eyes playfully, feigning offense. “You’re getting heavy.” You gasped, scandalised as you punched him lightly in the arm. His laughter — low, warm, familiar — echoed off the empty bleachers and filled the air.

You two skated side by side for a while, laps and laps in comfortable silence, the kind of silence that only existed between people who knew each other so well, awkwardness didn’t seem possible anymore. He would push you sometimes, his hands resting at the small of your back to make you speed up and you would retaliate by sticking your tongue out at him. These were some of the unspoken laws of your universe, established over the twelve years you knew each other, sacred and unchanging.

“Come on,” he said, grinning, “we need to practice the lift.” You groaned dramatically and he shot you a look. “We’ve practiced it like a hundred times already.”

“And we’ll do it a hundred more if we have to,” he said, the stubborn set of his jaw making you smile. “Coach said we need to stick it before regionals.” Regionals. The word hung in the air between you, weighing heavier each day that it got closer. You were both getting older and expectations were stacking up around you like walls, higher every year. Not just from your coach and the public, but also from your father.

Still, you trusted Sunghoon. You always had. You nodded and he took your hands in his. His voice dropped, playful but serious underneath. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

You took a breath, centred your weight and skated backward, gathering speed. At the critical moment, you felt his hands close around your waist, felt the surge of adrenaline as he lifted you, almost effortlessly. For a heartbeat, you hovered above him, weightless, turning in a slow arc that made the lights blur into constellations. When he set you down, it was too fast, too soon. You stumbled, crashing into him and he grabbed your elbows to steady you.

“At least it’s better than last time?” You giggled.

He sighed playfully. “We’ll get there.”

Later, when you sat in the stands, peeling off your skates, he lounged beside you, eating a candy bar he had unearthed from the depths of his jacket. He offered you a bite without looking at you, a thoughtless gesture, born of long habit, and you took it without hesitation, wrinkling your nose at the too-sweet taste.

“You know,” he said, mouth half-full, “one day, when we’re, like, old and famous, they’ll make a movie about us.”

You laughed, leaning your head back against the cold metal of the seat. “They’ll make a movie about how you almost dropped me on my face?”

He nudged your knee with his. “Nah. About how awesome we were. You’ll see.”

You turned your head to look at him. His cheeks were still flushed, his hair sticking up in every direction, his smile crooked and stupid and perfect. There was not a single doubt in his eyes. Not about you, not about him, not about the two of you together. For one fleeting moment, you let yourself believe it too. That you would skate forever, that nothing would change, that this — the endless ice, the laughter, the quiet spaces filled only by understanding — would be enough to outlast the world.

And you loved him for it, in a way you didn’t have words for yet. In a way that lived in your chest like a second heartbeat, steady and sure. You would never tell him, of course. That wasn’t how things worked between you. It didn’t need to be said.

You laced up your shoes slowly, savoring the last minutes before the real world called you back. Beside you, he stretched his arms over his head and yawned dramatically.

“Wanna race to the car?” he challenged.

“You’ll lose,” you said, already hopping to your feet.

He shot you a wicked grin. “Only if you cheat.”

You laughed, and ran.

And he chased you, as he always would.

The blade of your skate caught for a fraction of a second, and the ice sent a shudder up your leg. You recovered without falling, but you felt your father's eyes burning holes into your back from the stands, sharp and dissecting. A cold flush of adrenaline surged through you, as if your body already knew, even before the mistakes happened, that he would find them.

The rink smelled faintly of iron and old popcorn from the vending machines, and the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, making the whites of the ice almost too bright to look at directly. You forced your arms higher in your routine, elbows pointed with mechanical precision, every breath a silent apology for not being perfect.

At the edge of the rink, Sunghoon watched you with a casual slouch, skate guards dangling from one hand. He grinned when you finished your spin combination, throwing a lazy thumbs-up your way, as if to say Relax. You’re fine. It’s just practice.

Your dad, however, was already on his feet. A sharp whistle pierced the air, summoning you over like a disobedient pet. You skated toward him, already dreading what's to come as the gloomy black aura hovered over his head.

“Again,” he said the moment you're within earshot. “The entrance to the triple was sloppy. You're dropping your left shoulder. It’s lazy.” You nodded mutely. Apologizing would only prolong it. “And get your damn knees over your toes when you land. How many times do I have to say it?”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, voice swallowed by the cavernous rink.

Sunghoon caught your eye from across the boards, brows knitting together for just a moment before he looked away. You finished the next run-through stiffly, mechanically, your body moving without soul. You were careful — so careful — but when you finally skated off the ice twenty minutes later, your muscles buzzed with exhaustion, you knew it still wouldn't be enough.

“Hey.” Sunghoon bumped his shoulder into yours, a conspiratorial glint in his eyes. “You want to ditch for a bit?”

You blinked at him, surprised. “Ditch practice?”

He leaned closer, dropping his voice like it was a state secret. “Not all of it. Just, like... ten minutes. Before he starts giving you another checklist.” Despite yourself, a laugh bubbled up. It's quick, half-choked by nerves, but real. You glanced over your shoulder — your father was buried in conversation with your coach, gesturing sharply at a clipboard.

You nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

Without waiting for second thoughts to anchor you down, Sunghoon tugged your sleeve and led you through the side doors, out into the cold winter air. Your skates clacked noisily on the concrete until you reached the deserted staff parking lot behind the rink, where you both collapsed against the graffitied brick wall, breathless from the small act of rebellion.

Sunghoon hooked his hands behind his head and grinned up at the sky that was turning a pretty shade of pink. “See? Already worth it.” You tilted your head back too, letting yourself smile — a real one this time, loose and crooked. “Yeah. It is.” You glanced at him and so many colours were jumping out from within him, curling up to him in a comforting aura. For a few moments, you just sat there, breathing in the silence, feeling normal. Not an athlete. Not a disappointment. Just a girl, fourteen years old, alive under a wide pink sky.

But the peace doesn't last. The gnawing guilt curled up from your stomach, reminding you that this tiny moment of freedom has a price you’ll pay later. It always does. Sunghoon caught the flicker of worry across your face, because he turned toward you, concern softening the lines around his mouth. “Hey. You okay?”

You picked at a loose thread on your sleeve. “He's been... worse lately,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Sunghoon didn’t pretend not to understand who you mean.

“You know it’s not your fault, right?” he said quietly, exhaling a slow breath, visible in the cold air. “You’re the best skater I’ve ever met, and you don’t deserve to feel bad every time you step on the ice because of him.”

The words stung more than they soothed, because part of you thought they were lies, sweet and useless. But another part — a tiny, desperate part — folded them away carefully, like a note you’re not ready to read yet. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the cold sink deep into your bones. The wind hums against the empty lot. Somewhere inside the rink, the muffled sound of a whistle cuts through the air, calling practice back into order.

“We should go.” You breathed.

“Race you?” He grinned, attempting to try and get some of your cheerful demeanour back. It worked.

“Oh, you’re on.”

The memory of that stolen afternoon clings to you days later, like frost on a windowpane. You carry it into the competition weekend like a secret talisman tucked beneath your skin as if it was proof that you can still feel lightness, even as the weight of expectation coils tighter around your spine. You thought of it during warm-ups, when the rink smells like hairspray and nerves, and coaches bark corrections from the sidelines like drill sergeants. You thought of it when you tie your skates, hands trembling just a little. You thought of it when you step onto the ice, lights blinding, the crowd a faceless blur beyond the boards.

Race you. You're on.

You whispered the memory to yourself like a prayer.

But it isn't enough.

The routine blurred past you in flashes, the rush of Sunghoon throwing you into the opening spiral, the brief moment your blade slipped on the double axel landing — not a fall, but enough, enough for his eyes to narrow in the stands. Your body moved on instinct, muscle memory overriding the terror climbing your throat. Smile. Sell it. Pretend you can't feel the mistake trailing you like a shadow.

“Seriously, that was pretty good, right?” Sunghoon smiled at you once you were done.

You offered him a tight smile, too brittle to hold. You don't say what gnaws at you — It wasn't good enough. He saw it. He always sees it.

You knew it was coming even before the scores overhead stopped flashing.

Third place.

The bronze medal from the award ceremony later hung around your neck like a noose, the ribbon itching against your skin. You clutched the little bouquet they handed you, hands numb from the cold, and smiled for the photos even though your mouth tasted like blood.

You caught your father’s face in the crowd — stone-eyed, unsmiling — and felt your stomach drop all the way to your skates.

The fight started the moment the front door slammed behind you.

“What the hell was that?” His voice cracked across the room like a whip, and you flinched even though you told yourself you wouldn't. You mumbled something — something useless — about doing your best, about nerves, about how everyone slips up sometimes. The words scattered like dry leaves.

He wasn't listening.

“You humiliated yourself,” he said, low and dangerous. “You humiliated me.”

You opened your mouth, and then closed it again. You didn't know how to tell him that it wasn’t humiliation you felt on the ice — it was fear. A fear that had settled in your chest like a living thing ever since he started screaming at you in the car rides home, ever since every routine became another battlefield you had to survive.

Your mother stepped in then, tentative, trying to cool the air. “She’s still young. Third is— it’s still—”

“Third isn’t first,” your father snapped, cutting her off like a blade. “Third place is nothing. Third place is a waste of time.”

You pressed your fists into your sides to keep from shaking. He’s wrong, you wanted to scream. You tried. You tried so hard that your body felt hollow, your knees bruised and raw under your tights. But the shame already curdled inside you, thick and black and impossible to swallow.

“Maybe if you trained the way you’re supposed to—” He pointed a finger at you, jabbing the air like you’re an object that’s failed him. “You’ve been lazy. You’ve been soft. Crying after practice like some little—”

"That's enough," your mother said sharply, stepping between you before he could spit the rest of it out.

Her voice shook. He ignored her.

“You’re never going to make it like this,” he hissed. “You think talent's enough? You think people are gonna hand you a damn thing because you cry pretty?”

You hadn’t even realized you were crying until you tasted the salt at the corners of your mouth. Hot, helpless tears spilled over, blurring everything.

“I did my best,” you whispered. “I did— I tried—”

“Your best isn’t good enough!” The shout cracked the room wide open. You shrunk back instinctively, heart thundering against your ribs. Your mother grabbed your arm, gentle but firm. “I think you need to get a hotel room for tonight,” she said to him, her voice barely above a whisper. A recurring solution to the problems that plagued your household for the past couple of months.

He laughed. An ugly, hollow sound that echoed against the empty walls.

“Gladly.”

He didn’t pack a bag. He didn’t even look at you.

He wrenched open the door, cold air flooding the hallway, and for one stupid, desperate second you thought he would turn back — that he'd say something, anything. But he just stepped out into the night. The door slammed shut behind him, and the house fell into a silence so deep it felt like a scream turned inside out. You stood there, frozen, the bronze medal heavy against your chest, the flowers wilting in your clenched hand. Your mother rubbed your back, murmuring something soft you couldn’t hear. You couldn’t hear anything.

You woke up the next morning, expecting him to be sitting at the coffee table, to give you that same look of anger he usually did. Instead, you woke up to a house that felt hollowed out, the walls too thin to contain the silence. Your mother's voice was a brittle thread from the kitchen — muttering into the phone about how he came in the morning to take all his belongings before leaving for good.

You curled deeper under the covers, pressing your face into the pillow until the world blurred. Your skates sat by the dresser, laces tangled in lazy knots. Your practice bag still leaned against the door, half-packed from yesterday.

Everything looked the same. Everything felt unrecognizable.

The first time you skipped practice, you told yourself it was just one day. You wrapped yourself tighter in your blankets and pretended you couldn’t hear the notifications buzz from your phone. You pictured Sunghoon’s face — confused at first, then worried — and your stomach twisted violently.

You told yourself you'll explain later. You just needed a little time.

Days bled into each other, sluggish and indistinct. You didn't skate. You didn’t answer your texts. You slept through the mornings and wandered the house in the afternoons, a shadow wrapped in oversized sweatshirts and old music.

Your mother pretended not to notice. But you heard her voice sometimes, low and strained, slipping through the walls like smoke. Talking to friends. Talking to no one. The word “depression” floated by once, sharp and terrifying, but you shoved it down deep where you wouldn't have to face it.

You kept meaning to reach out. To Sunghoon. To anyone.

You never planned for it to go on forever.

You told yourself you’d go back someday.

When it hurt less.

When you were stronger.

But years passed faster than promises.

And silence is a hard thing to come back from.

You didn’t cry. You didn't scream. You didn't rip the medals off the walls or tear up old routines. You simply turned your face away from it all — the skates, the trophies, the hollow place where your father’s shadow used to fall — and decided, with a clarity that terrified you, that you were done.

No announcement. No ceremony. No goodbye.

Just absence.

You didn't tell Sunghoon.

You couldn't.

How could you explain it? That something inside you had snapped, clean and silent like a bone under too much pressure? That the ice, once your sanctuary, now stretched out before you like a punishment? You didn't have the words. You barely had thoughts. Just this thick, unbreathable feeling in your chest.

You knew, in some cruel part of yourself, that he’d think he had done something wrong. That he would shoulder the blame for your absence the way he had always tried to shield you from everything else. You hated yourself for that. But you still couldn’t bring yourself to go back.

It was easier this way.

Cleaner.

Like cauterizing a wound you didn’t have the strength to let heal.

At first, it slipped away so quietly, you almost didn’t notice.

The colors that used to flood your senses — bright bursts of honeyed yellow for laughter, deep indigo whenever your loved ones called your name — began to thin, fading like ink left too long in the sun.

You caught it one afternoon, standing at the kitchen sink, when your mother hummed an old song under her breath. Once, the sound would have painted the room a soft blue, curling in the corners like mist. Now, it barely stirred the air. No blue, no warmth.

Just the hollow weight of silence pressed into a melody.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing it back. The colors, the shapes, the brightness that used to crackle just beneath your skin, but nothing came. The world had dulled around you, muted and flat, as if someone had turned down the saturation without asking.

You slowly became a version of yourself you couldn’t recognize — or worse, could recognize and grieve. And all the while, your skates gathered dust by the door, silent witnesses to everything that you had lost.

You’re shaking, violently. Fuck, not this crap again. You try what your therapist told you to do, one deep breath in, two deep breaths out. And again. And again. And again — this isn’t fucking helping. Instinct kicks in and you reach out for the coveted orange cylinder, shakily unscrewing the cap and letting it fall to the floor with a hollow clunk, shoving a white pill down your throat. There’s instant relief as the shaking stops.

The time shows 6:26AM, the breakdowns had been starting earlier and earlier each day. You lie in bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling, trying to muster up some strength. A grunt escapes as you heave yourself up unsteadily — the world already spinning. Too early for this shit.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand — one short vibration. A message? No. Nobody messaged you these days. A reminder. Group therapy session at 8AM. God this was the last thing you needed today. You should just skip it, an endless hour of overlapping voices doing nothing for you except making the dull ringing in your skull worse. But promises to your therapist harshly pound through your head. Promises to try and get your life together, start socialising again and make an effort.

Your movements are sluggish as you make your way across the room, pulling on yesterday’s unwashed hoodie, barely brushing your teeth before skipping a shower and heading down for the same mundane everyday breakfast of cheerios. You can hear your mother’s voice, she’s speaking to you as you toy with the cereal in your bowl, pushing it around. The sound, though, isn’t exactly in focus, it plays at the back of your head, watered down, the words slushing and melting together as her tone gargles. Until you force yourself to focus.

“Are you even listening to me? I hope you’re going to therapy today?” She raises an eyebrow at you.

A sigh. “Yes, I am. Can you drive me?”

Your mother is so relieved that you’re going, she complies with your request immediately, even though she knows it’ll make her late for work. You know she just wants the best for you but you don’t have the heart to tell her that the sessions were utterly useless. That she was wasting the money your family was already running short on, just for your pill problems to be worse than ever.

Nonetheless, you find yourself taking a seat in the dull basement of the hospital for the third time this week — apparently the only place they could accommodate for the group therapy. Each day, the attendants around the round gray table changed, all except for you. Guess they couldn’t handle it. Glancing around the table for this conclave leaves you with a quick realisation — you are not making any new friends today. The only other people around are a middle-aged man in a bowler hat who appears to be mute and a sniffling grandmother with a handkerchief who weakly tells you her name is Marge when you enter.

Your therapist, Barbara — a young woman in her 20s with glasses that make her look bug-eyed — flashes you a smile. You think she’s nice enough, only if she was more useful. Then again, you aren’t sure if she’s being paid enough to actually care that much.

“Welcome everyone” she gestures, “today, the intentions I had while putting this group together is to focus on anxiety, considering you all have been recently diagnosed with it. Would anyone like to share a recent experience they’ve faced with anxiety?”

Marge raises her hand and starts talking. “Yesterday I was knitting when—” You’re already drowning out her voice. Your eyes glaze over. Only one more hour. The click of the door after a rather long 15 minutes of Marge’s story makes you whip your head around, desperate for some form of entertainment.

By now, you should have realised that it’s best if you don’t wish for some things too easily because your judgement is unfortunately, usually ill-informed. The boy who walks in is definitely entertainment, but he’s also the last person you would ever want to see. Sunghoon Park.

Your stomach twists, jerking horribly. The world freezes. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of all the colors and sounds around you. The ticking of the clock becomes louder along with the soft buzz of the air conditioner while the colors sharpen into focus.

His eyes meet yours, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. A flicker of blue sparks around him before disappearing so fast, you think you might have imagined it. He looks at you for a moment, almost as if he’s trying to make sure you’re real. Still not breaking eye contact, he takes tentative steps around the table, finally settling opposite you and looking away with a hardened expression.

“Sunghoon!” Barbara’s shrill voice pierces through the air, pulling you out of your trance. “I’m so glad you could join us! I was starting to think you wouldn’t come.”

He shrugs, a nonchalant motion, as though he’s used to being in control. But you can feel it, too — that hesitation.

Not exactly the response she seemed to be hoping for to her enthusiastic greeting but she adapts to the situation fairly quickly, gesturing to you as she quickly introduces you two, not that you needed it.

“You two actually have similar backgrounds! Both ice skaters! Well at least one used to be.” She awkwardly glances at you before plastering on a smile again. “Doesn’t that open up an interesting conversation?”

Sunghoon's lips curve up in a shallow smile. “It does, you’re right.” A pause. “Funny you mention ice skating because that’s exactly what I wanted to talk about today.”

Barbara perks up, glad that at least one of you were taking interest in the session. “Go on!” She smiles encouragingly.

Sunghoon leans back slightly, running a hand through his hair. He clears his throat, his voice steady but edged with something. “Well recently, I've been under a lot of pressure. My schedules are crazy, my coach is a control freak and I barely have time to do anything else I enjoy anymore. So naturally, the panic attacks are getting worse.” His words are flat but if you listen closely, you can hear the slight break in it.

“I’m sorry to hear that, so are there any ways you’re dealing with that?”

“I’m pushing through, I have no choice. Because I'd never quit without getting what I want. Quitters,” his voice becomes low as he pauses, “they’re fucking losers, arent they?”

He’s talking about you. Fuck he’s talking about you.

Barbara fumbles with her papers, oblivious to the tension. “That’s an interesting point, Sunghoon. But don’t you think that's a bit of a toxic mindset to have?” She looks at him expectantly. He knows that though, he doesn’t need to be told. The only reason he even said that was to get your reaction, wasn’t it?

Sunghoon doesn’t answer immediately, because he’s looking at you. You can feel his eyes burning into you but you look down at the table, refusing to meet his gaze. The familiar feeling of haziness creeps into your mind and you can feel it turning to mush again.

The realisation is hitting you like a truck. The boy you loved your entire childhood — the one you adored the most, your best friend — hates you now. Can you even blame him? It’s true, you left without a word, leaving him all alone. And even though you’ve thought about him day and night for the past four years, that didn’t erase the damage he must have had to face — losing his best friend without warning, having to start his skating career all over again as a soloist.

You are the villain in his story.

The session lasted long. Too long. Longer than you remember them usually being. Your head is throbbing and your fingers are beginning to shake. You desperately need your pills.

“And I guess that means we’re done for the day! Good job everyone.”

You aggressively push your chair back, rushing to leave the room before the walls close in on you. Not before Barbara’s voice calls your name. Muttering a silent string of curses, you turn to face her with a small smile, trying to keep your cool as the others walk past you, Sunghoon not even sparing you a glance.

“Yes?”

She clears her throat. “I noticed that you weren’t too interested in today’s session. Something on your mind?”

Yes. A million things were on your mind. None of which you wanted to share with her. So instead you settle for a quick shake of your head, accompanied with a sweet smile, growing more and more forced the longer you hold it. She purses her lips, clearly not buying the act but sighs and lets you go anyway. You shove open the door, which leads into a parking lot.

You had never really liked the basement of the hospital. It was rather creepy, having all the signs of a cheesy horror film set location complete with flickering lights, ominous graffiti and abandoned cars. So you quickly make your way towards the exit, eager to go home. Except, he's standing there, blocking the door with the clearly marked exit sign hanging above it. Of course he’s standing there. He must’ve been waiting for you.

He says your name and the sound makes you lurch. It sounds foreign on his tongue. There’s a distance between the both of you that you most definitely were not going to be the one to close. A long pause and the weight of his gaze hangs heavy on you.

“I didn’t think I would ever see you again. It’s been four years.”

“Yeah, neither did I…” You trail off, afraid for what’s to come.

“Please– just–” He looks away. “Tell me why you did it.”

Your breath hitches. You want to answer him, you don’t want to leave him guessing again but your body betrays you. Not a single sound comes out of your throat when you open your mouth, as if you’ve forgotten how to speak.

He speaks up again and his tone is more emotional. “Don’t you think I deserve to know? After everything that's happened. After everything I've been through, you still can’t give me an answer. Why did you leave?” His voice is full of hurt. His expression even more so. But you can’t bring yourself to answer him.

He waits, expectantly. But when he realises you aren’t going to answer, the hurt in his eyes changes into something more like quiet anger. “I thought so, I guess I’ll see you around then.” Without another word, he turns. And it’s almost a sort of twisted irony but this time, you’re the one left alone.

And you just wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

You spend the next few days dreading the upcoming session. But there is no avoiding it. Barbara had already contacted your mom and told her how you’d been distracted the last session so she was firm in maintaining that you needed to be focused for the next one.

And so your mother drives you early for the next session, while you hope — rather foolishly — that he won’t show.

When you enter, the chairs are arranged in the same imperfect circle as before. You sit near the edge, twisting the sleeves of your sweater in your fists, trying to still the restless tremor in your hands. The door opens and your heart stutters painfully.

He’s there, tall and too familiar, his expression is carefully blank. He doesn’t look at you, not directly, but you feel his presence like a blade pressed against your skin. You glance down, pretending to study the frayed edges of the rug like you don’t care, but it’s pretty much obvious to anyone that you’re freaking out on the inside.

The session drags. Words float through the room and you say almost nothing, sparing the occasional nod and words of agreement so Barbara would buy your act. You can feel him across the circle, the bitter undercurrent of everything unsaid thickening the air between you.

At one point, you chance a glance at him.

He’s already looking at you.

The look he gives you is not sharp this time. It’s fractured. Like he’s seeing you for the first time and doesn’t know what to do with it. You look away quickly, shame burning hot beneath your skin. You don’t know how you get through the rest of it. When the session finally ends, you gather your things with fumbling hands and head toward the door without looking back.

But his voice stops you. Low. Rough. Were these after-therapy conversations becoming a common occurrence?

“Wait.”

You freeze.

You can just pretend you didn’t hear. You can just keep walking.

But something roots you to the spot.

You turn slowly.

He stands a few feet away, jacket slung over one shoulder, tension radiating off him like heat. His mouth is set in a grim line, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “I…” He trails off, exhales hard, as if the words physically hurt. “I’m sorry.”

You blink at him, startled.

“I’m sorry for—” He gestures helplessly, his voice hoarse. “For the last session. What I said— I shouldn’t have— ” He sighs, struggling to find words. “I’m sure you had your reasons for doing what you did.” You wrap your arms around yourself, not sure how to respond, not sure you can.

“I was angry,” he continues. “I am angry. But not just at you.” He swallows. “At myself, too. For not being there for you. For not— being someone you could tell when you were clearly going through something.”

Your throat closes up painfully. You want to tell him that it isn’t his fault. That you didn’t know how to ask for help, how to explain the way your world had crumbled beneath your skates. But yet again, the words won’t come. Instead, you nod. Small. Tentative. Something in him seems to unclench at that.

“Can I…?” he says, voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Can I show you something?”

You hesitate. Every instinct screams at you to say no — to avoid whatever this is before it pulls you under. But then you see the look on his face — the raw, earnest hope. And against all your better judgment, you find yourself nodding again.“Okay.”

The drive is silent. You sit rigidly in the passenger seat, your fingers twisting the strap of your bag until the leather creaks. He doesn’t try to fill the quiet. He just drives. When he pulls into the parking lot, your stomach drops. The old rink where you used to practice looms ahead, the brick building battered by time and weather, its neon sign flickering stubbornly against the dusk. You can’t move. He cuts the engine but makes no move to get out.

“I thought you should come back,” he says, voice low, not looking at you. “Not to skate. Not unless you want to. Just to see it. To remember that it’s not… poisoned. It’s still here.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you whisper.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he says. “Just come inside.”

You stare at the building, the memories crashing over you so violently you can barely breathe.

Laughter, sharp and bright against the ice.

The sharp crack of a fall.

The warmth of a hand pulling you up again.

The last time you were here, you had been a different person. Lighter. Brighter. A person who believed skating could save her.

But he is waiting. And something deep inside you — something tired of running — stirs.

Slowly, you push open the door and step out into the cold with him in pursuit. He holds the door of the building open for you to step in first.

The smell hits you immediately — sharp, clean ice, old popcorn, worn leather. Just the way it used to be. You pause just inside the entrance, heart pounding painfully against your ribs. The rink is nearly empty. Only a few kids wobble across the ice under the bored gaze of a parent.

It should feel safe, even silly. Instead, it feels like standing on the edge of a cliff. He stands beside you, close but not touching, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He watches you, patient, unflinching.

You take a breath.

Step forward.

The sound of your boots on the concrete echoes unnaturally loud.

The boards gleam under the fluorescent lights.

The ice stretches out before you — vast, merciless, beautiful.

You walk to the edge of the rink, resting your fingertips lightly against the cool surface of the barrier.

Your reflection stares back at you in the ice — blurred, broken, whole. Without thinking, you press your palm against the glass. Tears sting your eyes, blurring the rink into a shimmer of silver and white.

It hurts.

You let out a shaky breath as you slowly turn around, towards the stands, unable to look at the rink any longer. You almost crash onto the bench as you try to sit down, the world already feeling heavier. The air tastes like frost and regret, and somewhere, distantly, you realize your hands are shaking — not from the cold, but from something deeper, something unthawed and fragile. You can’t look at him. Not yet. Not when the flickering blue aura around him threatens to pull you into reality. All of this was really happening.

“I didn’t quit because I wanted to,” you whisper, the words jagged and raw, the kind of words that bleed as you speak them. “I left because he left.”

An eyebrow quirks up, he's puzzled. But he says nothing and you feel him drawing closer, in a magnetic pull that you cannot fight. Your palms find the cold steel of the bench as you desperately try to ground yourself.

“My father…” You exhale sharply, a half-laugh, half-sob. “You know how much he meant to me. You know how much he killed me inside with every cruel thing he said.” The confession tastes like rust on your tongue. You have never said it aloud before. “Every fall, every misstep, every time I missed a jump by half a second, he made me feel like I was less. Like I was wasting his time. Like I was wasting his name.”

And there you sit, pouring your heart out. You are broken. Shards of your feelings and thoughts lay on the ground, shattered. And even still, you still refuse to look at him. You can’t bear to see pity in his eyes, especially not after everything you’ve done to him. “He left Sunghoon,” you continue, softer now, “he left the day we got third place in regionals and that day, he told me I was useless. That without him, I'd be nothing. No coach would want me. No partner could trust me. And I... I believed him.” Your throat closes, but you force the next words through it anyway. “I still do, sometimes.”

The silence is heavy. Thick. Dense. Then you hear it – the scrape of his shoes on the ground, the low rustle of his jacket as he sits beside you. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t try to fix it, doesn’t tell you you're wrong. Instead, he does the only thing you didn’t realize you needed — he stays. He stays the way you didn’t. And a part of you feels like you don’t deserve it but the warm feeling in your stomach erupts anyway.

You dare a glance at him. His eyes, when they meet yours, are not full of pity. Instead, they’re full of something else, a kind of grief, maybe, a kind of furious tenderness. And in that moment, the air between you stops tasting like regret. It tastes like rain on parched earth, like the beginning of something new.

For the first time in four years, you do not feel alone.

His hand finds yours. He threads his fingers through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like your hands were always meant to fit together, even after years of silence and bruised memories. His palm is warm, grounding. Steady. You forget how to breathe for a moment.

“God I didn’t know. I’m— so sorry. You never had to be perfect though,” he says, voice rough-edged and low, like it’s scraping its way out of somewhere deep. “Not for him. Not for anyone. Not even for me.”

You don’t mean to, but you flinch, just slightly, as if the softness hurts more than the cruelty ever did.

He notices. Of course he notices. But he doesn’t pull away.

“You were enough before you ever landed a jump,” he says. “You were enough the first time you stepped on the ice and fell on your ass and laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe.”

You close your eyes. You can almost remember it — the taste of laughter, the swirl of light spilling gold and blue across the rink, the boy with the crooked smile skating circles around you until you shoved him in mock fury and he fell too. You hadn’t been afraid then. You hadn’t known yet how cold the world could get.

“I miss her,” he says quietly. “I miss you.”

You close your eyes for a moment and when you open them, he’s watching you — not pushing, not demanding — just there. The pain is still raw and real though and you’re still not ready to face it

“I dont– I can’t– ,” you say, voice raw.

Confusion flickers on his features. “You can’t what?”

“Sunghoon–” your voice breaks, “I– can you take me home?” He seems disappointed but he doesn’t fight it. A nod.

The drive home is as silent as the previous one and the same tension brews in the air of unspoken words. The car pulls up into your driveway as you realise with a jolt that you hadn’t given him any directions — he still remembers the way.

He gets out of the car and you follow. Your hands fumble with the keys as you rush to open the front door, trying to escape the unbearable silence. A click. You step inside, turning around to look at him.

“Uh– I guess… I’ll see you soon?” You let out timidly.

He doesn’t say anything, just nods. You blink, startled. Shades of blue, tendril-like, start to coil out from within him, desperately reaching for you, trying to break through the bubble you had surrounded yourself with. They were no longer flickering, no longer touching the boundaries between fantasy and reality. They were there. Clear as day. The first time it had happened, since all those years ago. You’re too scared to face it.

You shut the door.

It hadn’t left your mind. The rink. The ice. All the memories that came flooding back to you when you walked in. The colors that exploded out of him. You needed to go back. It’s late — but if your memory serves you right, they didn’t close the rink until 12AM.

You hesitantly open your cupboard and rummage until you reach the very back. There they were, just as you left them — your skates — and hanging just above them, a sheer blue dress, covered in diamonds. This is crazy. But you can’t stop yourself as you reach out for the skates. The second you make contact with them, the feeling of the plush leather touching your skin ignites a spark and you know you’ve made up your mind.

The walk to the rink almost feels like a walk of shame. The tight dress pressing against your skin with your skates dangling from your hands as you take quick strides on the sidewalk. The walk, under other circumstances would have been an easy way for second thoughts to weigh you down and make you question your decisions. But tonight, the moon shone a little too brightly and nothing could make you stop as you pushed open the doors of the brick building you had seen only the other day.

Thankfully it’s empty. The sweeping ice invites you with open arms. You can hear the wind caress its cold expanse, creating soft whispers that send shivers down your spine. If you listen hard enough, you can hear it talking to you. The ice beckons you. And you accept.

You look tragically beautiful in this light.

The warm blue fog envelopes your frame, diamonds on your dress shimmering. You’re still for a moment, hands crossed above your head in a starting position as the music begins to play. The soft piano notes of Cinnamon Girl echo through the rink and you gracefully start to slide across the ice. A twirl. A lutz. An axel. Even after all this time, you were perfect.

But if you hold me without hurting me, you’ll be the first who ever did

You falter as you realise he's standing there, leaning against the railing. Your eyes meet his and his expression is full of pain. And in that moment, it’s as if you could point out all the fucked up shit he had ever done. You look away but his gaze is still on you as you continue your routine. A painstakingly melancholic three more minutes of watching as you dance across the ice.

Sunghoon’s breath hitches as you throw your body back for the finale, gliding low against the ice in raw elegance. The atmosphere pulses with tension and he could feel his heart in his throat as the cadence of the music starts to slow, accompanying your softening movements. The blades of your skates dig into the ice, eliciting a sharp clink as you come to a halt.

“What are you doing here Sunghoon?” Your throat feels raw and your voice barely comes out above a whisper.

There’s a pause.

“Came to watch you dance. I’ve been coming here every single night since I showed you this place.”

“How did you–”

“I knew.” His voice is low now. “I knew you’d come.”

“You were perfect. Even after all this time. You always were. You still are.”

“Hoon—” The nickname naturally slips out and you notice the way his jaw tightens at the mention.

And maybe it's reckless. Maybe it’s foolish or maybe it’s the way he’s staring at you as if you put the stars in the sky. But you’re looking at his face and you can’t stand it. You can’t stand the way he’s the most beautiful human being you’ve ever met. Your hands meet his cheeks as you cup them in your palm. You wait for him to pull back as you test the waters but he doesn’t. So you pull him in instead. And when your lips meet, it’s as if nothing else around you exists.

A moment of ecstasy passes and you pull back to look at him. He speaks up first. “God you have no idea how long I've waited for you. How long I’ve wanted you.”

He glances at your lips and you notice immediately, pulling him in for another kiss. It’s gentle.

“Sunghoon. I want you.” You breathe into the kiss.

“You want me?” His voice is imperceptibly soft, almost as if he’s coaxing you.

A nod from you is all it takes as he leads you onto the bench nearby. You lay down, setting your head back, resting it against the cold metal — a sensation that sends quivers against your skin. He unties your laces, tugging off your skates gently and throwing them to the side. The situation becomes real in this moment.

“Shit Hoon— shouldn’t we go home? Anyone can walk in.”

He’s pressing kisses against your ankle now. “Weren’t you the one who started this by whining about how badly you want me?” Your face burns. He laughs. “Don’t worry about it. No one will, baby.” His voice is glazed with honey and your brain is already shutting off as you nod mindlessly at everything he says.

His gentle hands roam across your body as he peppers light kisses onto your hips.

“So pretty baby. All for me.”

You groan softly, prompting him to toy with the zipper of your dress, teasingly pulling it down. You slip off your dress and you’re left in nothing but a pair of panties in front of him while he’s still fully dressed. He murmurs something unintelligible at the sight of you, brushing his thumb over your nipples, making them immediately harden.

He spreads your legs apart, revealing a wet spot on your panties which he lightly runs a finger over. You gasp immediately and his eyes dart to yours, a small smirk forming on the corner of his mouth. “So sensitive already, hm?” His fingers are now rubbing more harshly and you can feel your body heat up. He slips his hand into your panties and pulls them off with ease, leaving you bare. “My beautiful girl, so pretty.” He praises and you whimper.

“Please Hoonie—”

“Shh, I’m gonna make you feel good, okay?” You nod pathetically, watching as he brings his head down. He starts slow, tongue licking gently at your folds. Your hands fly to his hair immediately, tangling your fingers between his waves. He moves faster, tongue slipping inside your pussy. You cry out as his nose presses into your clit, breathing becoming faster.

You’re chanting his name like a prayer, already close to your high. It only takes a harsh suck on your clit for you to come completely undone, your hips bucking upwards as you squirt all over his face, screaming his name.

“Holy fuck angel, that was so hot.” He grins at you.

You whimper in response. “N- need you more.”

He chuckles. “Patience baby. You’re so worked up for me aren’t you?”

Sunghoon flips you around with ease and presses your tits down against the cold metal of the bench, sending shockwaves through your body that makes you jerk desperately as the freezing material makes contact with your nipples.

“Yeah, you like that?” He presses them down harder and you almost shriek, ass up in the air now. You’re getting a faceful of the bench and the sensation is unbearably cold but it just feels so good and your pussy clenches around nothing. You feel his finger move to your clit and he presses down harshly making you gasp. You look over your shoulder as he undoes his zipper with his free hand. The outline of his erection is visible through the fabric of his boxers which he tugs down by the waistband, and his cock springs up, painfully hard. He presses the tip of his cock against your wet folds, teasing.

“S– stop being a tease.” You gasp.

“As you say, angel.” He pushes his cock in without warning and the stretch is excruciating. Your vision is already blurring, eyes rimming with tears. His thrusts start slow but even that is too much.

“Hoon— S’ too much please.”

“You can handle it can’t you? My perfect girl, I’m sure you can.”

It burns but you’re desperate to please him. “Yes! I— I can!” A strangled moan escapes you. None of you were even bothering to be quiet.

He lays his face against the curve of your back and you can feel his breath fanning against your skin as he thrusts in and out. “Mine, mine, mine.” He groans loudly and you clench around him desperately, fingers gripping the bench harder. He’s all the way in deep now and you can feel his balls slapping against your ass.

“Everything about you— fuck! Want to— Want to ruin you.” He rambles on, hands closing in from behind on your neck. He squeezes lightly, experimentally. And your body reacts immediately as you jerk your head up. He squeezes harder, constricting your throat and strings of moans leave your mouth.

“Thats it— let me hear you.”

The lewd noises from your mouth become louder and you’re drooling all over your tits now. The tears start to slip down your face from the sheer amount of pleasure and your hips buck backwards repeatedly, fucking him harder into you. “God— angel that’s perfect. You’re taking me so well. Gripping me so tight—”

“I can’t!” You cry out, feeling that familiar knot in your stomach build up. “Hoon– I’m gonna–”

“Come for me.”

That’s all it takes for your second orgasm to wash over you. You scream into the bench, eyes rolling to the back of your head as waves of euphoria crash over you. Nothing comes out. It’s dry. But you’re completely fucked out nonetheless. He’s still thrusting into you, chasing his high as well which comes soon after. His hot seed fills you deep, dripping down your thighs and onto the floor.

You almost collapse face first from exhaustion. He catches your body just in time. His fingers shove into your cunt, pushing his own cum deeper into your aching hole, eliciting a strangled raw sound from your throat. You’re panting now and he pulls you up.

“You did so good for me— you’re perfect. My gorgeous angel—”

Your face burns from the praise and he pulls you in for a kiss, which you immediately reciprocate even though you’re confused — confused about your feelings for him. Confused about everything. Burning with something — something you can’t quite place — from this moment. But you don’t want to ruin it.

The second you reach your bed, you collapse into the mattress. The silence is deafening. You try to cry quietly at first, teeth clenched, chest heaving against your pillow, but it builds too fast, too violently. Within seconds, you’re sobbing — raw and loud and gasping for air.

It isn’t about him and what just happened. It’s about everything. It’s just — too much. You aren’t used to this. All these emotions are hitting you like a wave, crashing over you again and again, mercilessly. It’s more than you had ever felt all at once — the weight of the past four years pushing you down. Everything is happening so fast and you’ve never been more confused. The return to the ice. All your feelings for Sunghoon. The dull thrill of the experience you just shared. It claws at you, overwhelming you with so many decisions to make.

Your thoughts are spiraling, too fast for your body to keep up. You sit up and wipe your face with the back of your hand, but your fingers are shaking. You don’t plan it. Not really.

But your fingers reach for the little orange box of antidepressants to run away from it all. Because after all, old habits don’t die so fast.

One pill.

Two pills.

Three pills.

Four pills.

Five pills.

You’re on a roll now. You can’t stop.

You swallow each one dry, throat burning. It scratches going down, bitter and chalky, like punishment.

First, nothing. But then your skin starts to get feverish. A layer of warmth erupts right beneath the surface and it feels as if your insides are clawing at your skin, desperately trying to escape. You blink. The colours around you start to blur together. The lights streak. You’re suddenly out of breath and you grip the bedframe for support, swallowing harder, trying to make up for the lost oxygen.

You stand and the world tilts on its axis. You’re trying — trying and failing — to ground yourself. Tremors run down your spine and through your arms. Your heart is thumping out of your chest and the tears are falling, thick and fast now as you clutch your chest, trying desperately, to remind yourself that your heart is still beating. It’s still beating. As long as it’s still beating you’re okay. An ache blooms in your chest — dull at first — but growing steadily like someone’s pressing a hand into your sternum, harder, harder.

Strings of rapid breaths are leaving your mouth. You try to count. Try to breathe like the therapist taught you. Four in, seven out. But the numbers are smudged in your mind and your lungs won’t cooperate.

You’re afraid.

You call for him first.

“Sunghoon—” you croak out, but your voice is so weak, so pathetic, it barely breaks the air. He’s not here. He wouldn’t hear you even if he was.

Your mother. “Mom—” You gasp out. Just one syllable, broken and desperate, torn from your throat like a last resort.

But she doesn’t come.

Your eyes are fluttering shut now, limbs heavy. The ache in your chest is excruciatingly painful. You lie down, or maybe you fall. You’re not sure anymore.

A jolt of terror racks through you as you feel your body slowing down. I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die. Please—

Numbness creeps in, fingers first, then your mouth. You can’t feel your lips. You try to open them, to call out again — but you can’t. The room, and your mind, are engulfed in darkness.

Darkness so deep and black that it consumes your entire being.

The rhythmic beeping of monitors is what stirs you from your state of unconsciousness. It plays repeatedly near your ear, annoying you enough for you to finally open your eyes. Bad decision— the harsh fluorescent lights above are too bright, too white, it burns. You blink, trying to take in your surroundings.

You turn your head just slightly. There’s a tray near you, filled to the brim with syringes, IV bottles, gloves, masks and medication. The air smells sterile — like rubbing alcohol, latex gloves, and something sharp you can’t name. A white curtain surrounds the metal bed you’re laying on, half-pulled for privacy. Clear tubes snake from the tray to your arm and a cannula is taped tightly to the back of your hand. You notice your own fingers — red and trembling — and the faint stickiness of a pulse oximeter clipped onto your index finger. A high pitched voice pulls you out of your trance.

“You’re awake! Oh thank God. I’ll let the family know.”

A nurse, maybe in her thirties, tired eyes behind bright lipstick — gives you a quick once-over before disappearing behind the curtain. Her perfume trails after her, cloying and floral. You stare blankly at the place where she was, unsure how to react. Your heart thuds dully beneath your ribs. You feel floaty. Disconnected.

Then you hear it — the rushed footsteps, uneven and panicked. Your mother’s voice, quivering, enters the room before she does.

“She’s awake? Please— where is she—?”

The curtain is drawn back too fast. And there she is.

Hair thrown into a messy bun, cardigan slipping from her shoulders, face bare and worn and flushed. Her eyes are red — not from makeup, but from crying. She stops at the foot of the bed like she doesn’t know whether she’s allowed to come closer. You can’t look at her. But she looks at you like she’s seeing a miracle. And a heartbreak. All at once.

“Oh, sweetheart…” she whispers, taking a trembling step forward. Her hands reach for you, then retreat, unsure. “You’re… okay. You’re really okay.”

You don’t say anything. The words dissolve on your tongue. What are you even supposed to say? “I’m so sorry,” she says, suddenly choking on a sob. “I didn’t know— I didn’t know it was this bad. You didn’t tell me it was this bad.”

You flinch. Not at her volume, but at the truth. Because it was that bad. And you didn’t tell her. And now you’re here — a bed, machines, IV lines, and guilt. Especially knowing, you couldn’t really afford any of this right now. Her hand finds yours, squeezing it. Your fingers are limp in hers.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” she says, her voice cracking. “They didn’t know if you’d… if you’d wake up. You stopped breathing for almost a minute. The ambulance barely made it in time.”

You close your eyes. Tears begin to slide down your temples and into your hair. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “I just… I didn’t know what else to do.”

She shakes her head, trying to wipe your tears and her own at the same time. “You don’t have to do anything alone. Not ever. I’m your mother.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” you say, and the shame in your chest is unbearable now. “I already have. I already do.”

“Never,” she says fiercely, leaning closer. “Never say that. I don’t care about any of it. The money or the skating. I care about you. I need you. You’re my daughter. I love you. Don’t you understand?”

You don’t. Or maybe you do, but it doesn’t erase the guilt. The way her hand is shaking in yours. The way her voice is thinner now. You can’t stop imagining the phone call she must have gotten. The ride over. The waiting. The not knowing.

You should’ve said something. Months ago. Years ago. But you didn’t. You swallowed it down, like you always do. And this is where that gets you. Her lips press to your forehead. “I’ll give you a few minutes,” she says, stroking your hair back gently. “Someone else has been… waiting to see you.”

Your stomach flips. You know exactly who she means.

She gives your hand one last squeeze before stepping away, walking toward the curtain. Then there’s the quiet rustle of movement behind the thin white sheet, and a shadow cast through it. Tall. Still. Hesitant. And then the curtain peels back again.

It’s him.

Sunghoon.

You glance at him from the hospital bed, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything.

Sunghoon sits down beside you gently, carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he moves too fast. His hands tremble slightly as he folds them in his lap.

“You’re really here,” he says finally, voice quiet. “I thought—”

You nod, your throat tight. “I know.”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. You’re both thinking it. He thought you were going to die.

“You scared the hell out of me.” His voice breaks a little. “I walked out that night and I was still thinking about you. And then I got the call and—” He shakes his head. “It felt like the world stopped.” You don’t know what to say. Instead you study his face, the way his brows are furrowed, the slight shine in his eyes, the flush of his cheeks. He speaks up again. “Can I ask you something?”

You nod. His grip tightens slightly. He’s bracing himself.

“Was it because of… that night?”

Oh.

“No,” you say quickly. Then again, firmer. “No. It wasn’t.”

His eyes lift to yours. Searching.

You squeeze his hand. “It wasn’t your fault. It had nothing to do with you. I promise.”

He breathes out, like he’s been holding it in for days. Maybe he has.

“I just… I’ve been going over it in my head a thousand times. You left so fast, and I—I didn’t know if I pushed too far or if I scared you—”

“You didn’t.” You shake your head. “That night was real. All of it.”

His gaze falls. Shoulders drop. He looks so tired.

Your hands find his and you trace the edge of his fingers with your thumb, grounding him like he’s done for you so many times.

“Sunghoon, I love you.”

His eyes grow a little wide but he swallows. “I— I love you too.”

There's silence. You’re wondering if you should say what’s clawing at you right now. If this is the right moment.

“Hoon— I need to get better,” you say after a beat. “Not just survive. Not just go about my life or pretend like I’m okay because people need me to be. I need to actually get better.”

“I want that for you.”

You smile, sad and soft. “I don’t know if I can be with anyone right now. I don’t want to hurt you. Or myself.”

He swallows hard. “I figured you might say that.”

“And I do love you,” you add quickly. “I really do. You’ve been the only person who’s really seen me since… since everything. And that means more than you know.”

He nods. “I know.”

There’s a long pause. The beeping monitors around you continue their soft, rhythmic song. Somewhere in the hallway, a nurse laughs faintly.

“Would it be okay if we… just stay like this?” you ask. “For a little while?”

His hand closes around yours and soft blue smoke curls out from where your fingers meet. And it says everything.

It’s enough for you.

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hoonsluvr · 4 months ago

Text

SHADES OF BLUE

“You’re getting slow,” you teased, breathlessly as he reeled you back in.

“Come on,” he said, grinning, “we need to practice the lift.” You groaned dramatically and he shot you a look. “We’ve practiced it like a hundred times already.”

Still, you trusted Sunghoon. You always had. You nodded and he took your hands in his. His voice dropped, playful but serious underneath. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

“At least it’s better than last time?” You giggled.

He sighed playfully. “We’ll get there.”

“You know,” he said, mouth half-full, “one day, when we’re, like, old and famous, they’ll make a movie about us.”

You laughed, leaning your head back against the cold metal of the seat. “They’ll make a movie about how you almost dropped me on my face?”

He nudged your knee with his. “Nah. About how awesome we were. You’ll see.”

You laced up your shoes slowly, savoring the last minutes before the real world called you back. Beside you, he stretched his arms over his head and yawned dramatically.

“Wanna race to the car?” he challenged.

“You’ll lose,” you said, already hopping to your feet.

He shot you a wicked grin. “Only if you cheat.”

You laughed, and ran.

And he chased you, as he always would.

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, voice swallowed by the cavernous rink.

“Hey.” Sunghoon bumped his shoulder into yours, a conspiratorial glint in his eyes. “You want to ditch for a bit?”

You blinked at him, surprised. “Ditch practice?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

You picked at a loose thread on your sleeve. “He's been... worse lately,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Sunghoon didn’t pretend not to understand who you mean.

“We should go.” You breathed.

“Race you?” He grinned, attempting to try and get some of your cheerful demeanour back. It worked.

“Oh, you’re on.”

Race you. You're on.

You whispered the memory to yourself like a prayer.

But it isn't enough.

“Seriously, that was pretty good, right?” Sunghoon smiled at you once you were done.

You offered him a tight smile, too brittle to hold. You don't say what gnaws at you — It wasn't good enough. He saw it. He always sees it.

You knew it was coming even before the scores overhead stopped flashing.

Third place.

You caught your father’s face in the crowd — stone-eyed, unsmiling — and felt your stomach drop all the way to your skates.

The fight started the moment the front door slammed behind you.

He wasn't listening.

“You humiliated yourself,” he said, low and dangerous. “You humiliated me.”

Your mother stepped in then, tentative, trying to cool the air. “She’s still young. Third is— it’s still—”

“Third isn’t first,” your father snapped, cutting her off like a blade. “Third place is nothing. Third place is a waste of time.”

"That's enough," your mother said sharply, stepping between you before he could spit the rest of it out.

Her voice shook. He ignored her.

“You’re never going to make it like this,” he hissed. “You think talent's enough? You think people are gonna hand you a damn thing because you cry pretty?”

You hadn’t even realized you were crying until you tasted the salt at the corners of your mouth. Hot, helpless tears spilled over, blurring everything.

“I did my best,” you whispered. “I did— I tried—”

He laughed. An ugly, hollow sound that echoed against the empty walls.

“Gladly.”

He didn’t pack a bag. He didn’t even look at you.

Everything looked the same. Everything felt unrecognizable.

You told yourself you'll explain later. You just needed a little time.

You kept meaning to reach out. To Sunghoon. To anyone.

You never planned for it to go on forever.

You told yourself you’d go back someday.

When it hurt less.

When you were stronger.

But years passed faster than promises.

And silence is a hard thing to come back from.

No announcement. No ceremony. No goodbye.

Just absence.

You didn't tell Sunghoon.

You couldn't.

It was easier this way.

Cleaner.

Like cauterizing a wound you didn’t have the strength to let heal.

At first, it slipped away so quietly, you almost didn’t notice.

Just the hollow weight of silence pressed into a melody.

“Are you even listening to me? I hope you’re going to therapy today?” She raises an eyebrow at you.

A sigh. “Yes, I am. Can you drive me?”

“Sunghoon!” Barbara’s shrill voice pierces through the air, pulling you out of your trance. “I’m so glad you could join us! I was starting to think you wouldn’t come.”

He shrugs, a nonchalant motion, as though he’s used to being in control. But you can feel it, too — that hesitation.

Sunghoon's lips curve up in a shallow smile. “It does, you’re right.” A pause. “Funny you mention ice skating because that’s exactly what I wanted to talk about today.”

Barbara perks up, glad that at least one of you were taking interest in the session. “Go on!” She smiles encouragingly.

“I’m sorry to hear that, so are there any ways you’re dealing with that?”

“I’m pushing through, I have no choice. Because I'd never quit without getting what I want. Quitters,” his voice becomes low as he pauses, “they’re fucking losers, arent they?”

He’s talking about you. Fuck he’s talking about you.

You are the villain in his story.

The session lasted long. Too long. Longer than you remember them usually being. Your head is throbbing and your fingers are beginning to shake. You desperately need your pills.

“And I guess that means we’re done for the day! Good job everyone.”

“Yes?”

She clears her throat. “I noticed that you weren’t too interested in today’s session. Something on your mind?”

“I didn’t think I would ever see you again. It’s been four years.”

“Yeah, neither did I…” You trail off, afraid for what’s to come.

“Please– just–” He looks away. “Tell me why you did it.”

And you just wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

And so your mother drives you early for the next session, while you hope — rather foolishly — that he won’t show.

At one point, you chance a glance at him.

He’s already looking at you.

But his voice stops you. Low. Rough. Were these after-therapy conversations becoming a common occurrence?

“Wait.”

You freeze.

You can just pretend you didn’t hear. You can just keep walking.

But something roots you to the spot.

You turn slowly.

You blink at him, startled.

“Can I…?” he says, voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Can I show you something?”

“I thought you should come back,” he says, voice low, not looking at you. “Not to skate. Not unless you want to. Just to see it. To remember that it’s not… poisoned. It’s still here.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you whisper.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he says. “Just come inside.”

You stare at the building, the memories crashing over you so violently you can barely breathe.

Laughter, sharp and bright against the ice.

The sharp crack of a fall.

The warmth of a hand pulling you up again.

The last time you were here, you had been a different person. Lighter. Brighter. A person who believed skating could save her.

But he is waiting. And something deep inside you — something tired of running — stirs.

Slowly, you push open the door and step out into the cold with him in pursuit. He holds the door of the building open for you to step in first.

You take a breath.

Step forward.

The sound of your boots on the concrete echoes unnaturally loud.

The boards gleam under the fluorescent lights.

The ice stretches out before you — vast, merciless, beautiful.

You walk to the edge of the rink, resting your fingertips lightly against the cool surface of the barrier.

It hurts.

“I didn’t quit because I wanted to,” you whisper, the words jagged and raw, the kind of words that bleed as you speak them. “I left because he left.”

For the first time in four years, you do not feel alone.

You don’t mean to, but you flinch, just slightly, as if the softness hurts more than the cruelty ever did.

He notices. Of course he notices. But he doesn’t pull away.

“You were enough before you ever landed a jump,” he says. “You were enough the first time you stepped on the ice and fell on your ass and laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe.”

“I miss her,” he says quietly. “I miss you.”

“I dont– I can’t– ,” you say, voice raw.

Confusion flickers on his features. “You can’t what?”

“Sunghoon–” your voice breaks, “I– can you take me home?” He seems disappointed but he doesn’t fight it. A nod.

“Uh– I guess… I’ll see you soon?” You let out timidly.

You shut the door.

You look tragically beautiful in this light.

But if you hold me without hurting me, you’ll be the first who ever did

“What are you doing here Sunghoon?” Your throat feels raw and your voice barely comes out above a whisper.

There’s a pause.

“Came to watch you dance. I’ve been coming here every single night since I showed you this place.”

“How did you–”

“I knew.” His voice is low now. “I knew you’d come.”

“You were perfect. Even after all this time. You always were. You still are.”

“Hoon—” The nickname naturally slips out and you notice the way his jaw tightens at the mention.

A moment of ecstasy passes and you pull back to look at him. He speaks up first. “God you have no idea how long I've waited for you. How long I’ve wanted you.”

He glances at your lips and you notice immediately, pulling him in for another kiss. It’s gentle.

“Sunghoon. I want you.” You breathe into the kiss.

“You want me?” His voice is imperceptibly soft, almost as if he’s coaxing you.

“Shit Hoon— shouldn’t we go home? Anyone can walk in.”

His gentle hands roam across your body as he peppers light kisses onto your hips.

“So pretty baby. All for me.”

“Please Hoonie—”

“Holy fuck angel, that was so hot.” He grins at you.

You whimper in response. “N- need you more.”

He chuckles. “Patience baby. You’re so worked up for me aren’t you?”

“S– stop being a tease.” You gasp.

“Hoon— S’ too much please.”

“You can handle it can’t you? My perfect girl, I’m sure you can.”

It burns but you’re desperate to please him. “Yes! I— I can!” A strangled moan escapes you. None of you were even bothering to be quiet.

“Thats it— let me hear you.”

“I can’t!” You cry out, feeling that familiar knot in your stomach build up. “Hoon– I’m gonna–”

“Come for me.”

“You did so good for me— you’re perfect. My gorgeous angel—”

Your thoughts are spiraling, too fast for your body to keep up. You sit up and wipe your face with the back of your hand, but your fingers are shaking. You don’t plan it. Not really.

But your fingers reach for the little orange box of antidepressants to run away from it all. Because after all, old habits don’t die so fast.

One pill.

Two pills.

Three pills.

Four pills.

Five pills.

You’re on a roll now. You can’t stop.

You swallow each one dry, throat burning. It scratches going down, bitter and chalky, like punishment.

You’re afraid.

You call for him first.

“Sunghoon—” you croak out, but your voice is so weak, so pathetic, it barely breaks the air. He’s not here. He wouldn’t hear you even if he was.

Your mother. “Mom—” You gasp out. Just one syllable, broken and desperate, torn from your throat like a last resort.

But she doesn’t come.

Your eyes are fluttering shut now, limbs heavy. The ache in your chest is excruciatingly painful. You lie down, or maybe you fall. You’re not sure anymore.

A jolt of terror racks through you as you feel your body slowing down. I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die. Please—

Numbness creeps in, fingers first, then your mouth. You can’t feel your lips. You try to open them, to call out again — but you can’t. The room, and your mind, are engulfed in darkness.

Darkness so deep and black that it consumes your entire being.

“You’re awake! Oh thank God. I’ll let the family know.”

Then you hear it — the rushed footsteps, uneven and panicked. Your mother’s voice, quivering, enters the room before she does.

“She’s awake? Please— where is she—?”

The curtain is drawn back too fast. And there she is.

“Oh, sweetheart…” she whispers, taking a trembling step forward. Her hands reach for you, then retreat, unsure. “You’re… okay. You’re really okay.”

You close your eyes. Tears begin to slide down your temples and into your hair. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “I just… I didn’t know what else to do.”

She shakes her head, trying to wipe your tears and her own at the same time. “You don’t have to do anything alone. Not ever. I’m your mother.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” you say, and the shame in your chest is unbearable now. “I already have. I already do.”

Your stomach flips. You know exactly who she means.

It’s him.

Sunghoon.

You glance at him from the hospital bed, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything.

Sunghoon sits down beside you gently, carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he moves too fast. His hands tremble slightly as he folds them in his lap.

“You’re really here,” he says finally, voice quiet. “I thought—”

You nod, your throat tight. “I know.”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. You’re both thinking it. He thought you were going to die.

You nod. His grip tightens slightly. He’s bracing himself.

“Was it because of… that night?”

Oh.

“No,” you say quickly. Then again, firmer. “No. It wasn’t.”

His eyes lift to yours. Searching.

You squeeze his hand. “It wasn’t your fault. It had nothing to do with you. I promise.”

He breathes out, like he’s been holding it in for days. Maybe he has.

“I just… I’ve been going over it in my head a thousand times. You left so fast, and I—I didn’t know if I pushed too far or if I scared you—”

“You didn’t.” You shake your head. “That night was real. All of it.”

His gaze falls. Shoulders drop. He looks so tired.

Your hands find his and you trace the edge of his fingers with your thumb, grounding him like he’s done for you so many times.

“Sunghoon, I love you.”

His eyes grow a little wide but he swallows. “I— I love you too.”

There's silence. You’re wondering if you should say what’s clawing at you right now. If this is the right moment.

“Hoon— I need to get better,” you say after a beat. “Not just survive. Not just go about my life or pretend like I’m okay because people need me to be. I need to actually get better.”

“I want that for you.”

You smile, sad and soft. “I don’t know if I can be with anyone right now. I don’t want to hurt you. Or myself.”

He swallows hard. “I figured you might say that.”

“And I do love you,” you add quickly. “I really do. You’ve been the only person who’s really seen me since… since everything. And that means more than you know.”

He nods. “I know.”

There’s a long pause. The beeping monitors around you continue their soft, rhythmic song. Somewhere in the hallway, a nurse laughs faintly.

“Would it be okay if we… just stay like this?” you ask. “For a little while?”

His hand closes around yours and soft blue smoke curls out from where your fingers meet. And it says everything.

It’s enough for you.

taglist; @kiikiisblog @jemstone01 @kristynaaah @s1rawb3rry @kookiemonster2001 @chuuyaobsessed @m1kkso @vixialuvs @dearestdreamies @soona-huh @goldendwann @bussolares @immelissaaa @wintereals

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hoonsluvr · 4 months ago

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heeseung has been SO fine lately what is going on 💔💔

#જ⁀➴ isla yaps #enhypen #heeseung

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hoonsluvr · 4 months ago

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the urge to over curate and be perfect at everything — even the most tiny minuscule irrelevant thing — is so so exhausting. i just deleted 90% of my blog because it didn't look 'good enough' and i already regret it. but i just can't stop and it's almost weird in a way? because who cares this much about how a tumblr blog is arranged? me apparently

#જ⁀➴ isla yaps #hell is a teenage girl #girlblogging #actually help me bc wtf #actually ocd

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hoonsluvr · 4 months ago

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(TEASER) SHADES OF BLUE

박성훈 ꒰ park sunghoon ꒱ — genre; childhood friends to (?), forced proximity, smut, angst, reader has synesthesia ୨ৎ cw; daddy issues, emotional abuse, mental health issues (anxiety and depression mentioned), pill addiction, overdose, nsfw as well MDNI. ⟡ synopsis; it had been years since you left the world of ice skating behind. four years to be exact. and now? you’re a miserable fucking mess, numb to your feelings and the outside world. so what happens when a certain boy from your past manages to find his way into your life again? ୨ৎ estimated wc; 10k — library ⭑.ᐟ

inspired by; cinnamon girl - lana del rey

coming out may 24th(ish), stay tuned!!

You look tragically beautiful in this light.

But if you hold me without hurting me, you’ll be the first who ever did

You falter as you realise he’s standing there, leaning against the railing. Your eyes meet his and his expression is full of pain. And in that moment, it’s as if you could point out all the fucked up shit he had ever done. You look away but his gaze is still on you as you continue your routine. A painstakingly melancholic three more minutes of watching as you dance on the ice.

Sunghoon’s breath hitches as you throw your body back for the finale, gliding low against the floor in raw elegance. The atmosphere pulses with tension and he can feel his heart in his throat as the cadence of the music starts to slow, accompanying your softening movements. The blades of your skates dig into the ice, eliciting a sharp clink as you come to a halt.

“What are you doing here Sunghoon?” Your throat feels raw and your voice barely comes out above a whisper.

There’s a pause.

“Came to watch you dance. I’ve been coming here every single night since I showed you this place.”

“How did you–”

“I knew.” His voice is low now. “I knew you’d come.”

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hoonsluvr · 5 months ago

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ISLA'S TAGLIST

@kiikiisblog @jemstone01 @kristynaaah @s1rawb3rry @kookiemonster2001 @soona-huh

feel free to message me if you want be removed, no hard feelings!! ♡

#જ⁀➴ isla's taglist

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hoonsluvr · 5 months ago

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CHERRY

박성훈 ꒰ park sunghoon ꒱ — genre; summer au, best friend’s older brother, forbidden romance, smut, a bit of fluff, angst ୨ৎ cw; p in v, unprotected sex, spit, choking, gagging, oral f.rec, mating press, edging MDNI. ⟡ synopsis; you never thought that an unexpected obsession formed during your trip to southern italy would teach you one life’s cruelest lessons — never fuck your bestfriend’s brother ୨ৎ wc; 4.8k — library ⭑.ᐟ

inspired by; cherry - lana del rey

isla yaps; hii, this is my first work so i’m a bit nervous!! lmk what you think of the layout and feedback in general is appreciated! :)

Was it wrong that you felt happy when your parents announced they wanted to take a vacation alone this year?

You sit opposite them at the dining table, your mom explaining herself for the hundredth time over. Clearly she felt guilty about it but you didn't mind. “You know its our anniversary during that time darling and I hope you understand that we love having you with us, of course we do, but 50th anniversaries are rather special and we’re booking a honeymoon resort.”

You feign a look of sadness to act like you’re listening but your mind is already elsewhere. It wasn’t that you didn’t like spending time with your parents, that wasn’t the problem at all, but now that a family vacation was out of the picture, joining Stella’s family in Italy was back in the conversation.

Soojin, or Stella as she liked to be called was your best friend, your ride or die. Years ago, when you moved to a new town, the Park family were your next door neighbours and you and Stella quickly became close, bonding over your hatred for the town and its people. You two had always felt suffocated in its environment, the way everyone knew everyone’s drama, everyone’s problems, everyone’s secrets. You promised each other that one day you would escape and explore the world together for that very reason.

You were over at her house so much that you were basically a part of the family. You had your thumbprint on their security system, the password to the garage door, and even your own designated chair at the dining table. Her mom used to jokingly call you two sisters, but honestly, that didn’t feel far off. You and Stella had grown up together, seen all of each other’s phases too. The cringe phase, the boy-obsessed phase, oh god- the emo phase, and yet your friendship was still going strong. From weekend sleepovers where you giggled and gossiped all night long to crying on each other’s shoulders after not feeling accepted in school, to smoking your first blunt together, you two had been through every whirlwind experience together. After all these years, you still struggled to express just how much admiration you held for her.

And now, it had come. This was the last summer you had left with her. In 3 months you were going to head North to New York City, to pursue a degree in arts while Stella would remain in your hometown. When you broke the news, you expected her to be angry at you because of the promise you made to travel together forever, but she simply smiled and told you she was proud of you and that she always knew you would make it far.

You felt a pit in your stomach thinking about being apart, you had never really imagined life without her, so imagine your relief and excitement when she proposed that you join her family on their vacation to Italy this summer. One last chance to have the time of your life with your best friend while you were both still young? No one could catch you dead saying no.

“Mom, please.” You beg, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from frustration. You sit across from her on the kitchen island, sipping on a mango smoothie as she prepped dinner for tonight. At this point, the conversation had been going on for far too long and both of you were running thin on patience. “I just don’t understand why you won’t let me go.” You huffed, used to getting your way.

Your mother sighs. “Sweetie, I’ve explained this to you. The Parks have done so much for you, your entire life! I just don’t want you to be a burden on them when they’re trying to have a family vacation. They're extremely sweet for offering but it’s a tough situation.”

“Ugh!” You exclaim and your mother shoots you a don’t-be-so-dramatic look. “They offered to have me! And besides, with you and daddy going to Mexico and Stella going to Italy, I’m going to be alone this summer. My last summer before college is going to be spent wasting away. It’ll be years before I see Stella again!” You pout, your eyes sparkling with hope as you see her expression soften, triumphant that you clearly struck a soft spot.

“We’ll see about it darling.” She sighs.

Even with her weary expression, all the tell-tale signs were there. She had been convinced. You stand up, satisfied as you go to text Stella the news.

And that’s how you find yourself going to the South of Italy for three weeks with the Parks: Stella, her mother and father, and her older brother Sunghoon.

Sunghoon had always been a little shy and introverted making him hard to talk to, your four year age gap not doing much to help create a relationship either. Despite that, Sunghoon had always tried being sweet to you. After many attempts of trying to talk to him over the years, you finally managed to break his shell the one time he rescued your prized possession, a teddy bear plush named Ben, from a tree branch. You still remember the warm hug he gave you when you cried over Ben’s stitching being torn and ever since that day, although you wouldn’t call yourself friends, the relationship shifted. It changed from nods of acknowledgement to smiles, from waves of greeting to hugs.

During your last years of middle school, you even developed a small crush on him but you never once told Stella, knowing she would have killed you. Once you turned fourteen, Sunghoon left to go for college and you hadn’t seen him since then. You had no idea what he was like now, his personality, his likes and dislikes, his interests. Honestly, the thought worried you a little. You just decided you would try sticking to Stella on the trip, hoping that things wouldn’t be awkward.

Only if you knew. Only if you knew what was about to happen, you never would’ve chosen to go on that godforsaken trip.

The last minute nature of your decision to join the vacation meant that tickets weren’t available on the same flight as the Parks, so you booked one for a flight that arrived in Italy just two days later. You didn’t mind however, you were just excited to spend time with Stella.

And so you arrive in the quaint beach town of Taormina, located on the shorelines of the island of Sicily. The drive from the airport to your location spans over rugged hills overlooking the Loian sea. You maintain small talk with the barely english speaking driver, chatting about what to do in town and what beaches to visit. A gasp leaves your mouth as the taxi comes to a halt outside a stunning Italian villa style Airbnb. You know the Parks aren’t exactly middle class, neither were you, but you weren’t expecting this much grandeur.

Cobblestone bricks line the pathway to the house, leaning up against the ivy covered walls. Heaps of colorful potted flowers are placed at the entrance and a wooden gazebo in the corner catches your eye. Stella is sitting in the gazebo, sipping tea. When she sees you, she jumps up in excitement and rushes over.

“You’re here!” She squeals and twirls you around as you both laugh excitedly. You hear claps of joy from the back as Shin-ah, Stella’s mom steps out of the front door, her husband, Ji-hun in close pursuit. You quickly wish the driver goodbye and thank him before hugging them both fondly.

“Gosh, we only just saw you a month ago and you’ve already become prettier!” Shin-ah exclaims, making you blush and immediately resort to your usual ‘humble’ deflections that you recited out like a poem whenever she complimented you.

You lean to the side, getting up onto your tip-toes to get a glimpse of the dark haired boy who just stepped out of the door. Sunghoon. His short black hair was now grown out into a mullet and he no longer held the smiley expression that his face once always used to carry. You glance at his arms, his thin tank top showing off his muscles, a striking difference to his previously scrawny build. He looks so different. He’s grown now and more confident, no longer the sweet, shy boy you used to crush on. Theres no doubt, Sunghoon Park has matured. He’s a man now. A fucking gorgeous man, that too.

Sunghoon murmurs a half-hearted greeting towards you, reminiscent of the way he used to speak to you before you two became comfortable. You’re not surprised-it had been years since you’d seen him. Traces of your previous dynamics were long gone by now. You return the soft greeting as Shin-ah ushers you into the house, Stella following behind, wheeling your luggage in.

“You must be hungry, come, we’ve already set the table.” And sure enough, the intricately carved wooden dining table was all set up with dishes, cutlery and a large pizza in the centre. Dinner with the Parks is comfortable as you go back and forth with them, discussing the trip’s itinerary, recent stories and more.

Shin-ah glances at Sunghoon before turning back to you. “So, you and Sunghoon haven’t seen each other in a while. He’s been asking what you’ve been up to.” It was horribly obvious that Sunghoon couldn’t care less about what you’d been up to. His mouth opens in annoyance at his mother’s words. “What? No I—" But he’s cut off by a sharp nudge from his father who scowls at him. Embarrassment pools inside of you and you laugh awkwardly before Shin-ah nods encouragingly for you to continue.

“Well uh— I’m going to NYU after this summer. I’m going to be studying art history and I’m hoping to get an internship with a local gallery this summer, after the trip of course. But yeah…” You trail off awkwardly as Sunghoon pretends to be interested. An awkward atmosphere settles over the table and you finish in silence.

After dinner, you head up to your room that you’ll be sharing with Stella. You’re sitting on the floor, unpacking your suitcase while she removes her makeup.

“Hey,” she turns to you, “I’m sorry about what happened with Hoon earlier. I don’t know why he’s acting like that.”

You wave it off. “No, don’t worry about it at all, it’s all good. I’m sure it’ll settle down in a while.”

She nods comfortingly but deep down you feel a little hurt. You knew that it wasn’t going to be the same but you didn’t expect him to be so cold.

After a few chaotic days of what felt like never-ending sightseeing and cold shoulders from Sunghoon, you finally collapse onto a picnic blanket out in the back-garden, your white sundress pooling around your knees. You roll over onto your stomach, kicking your legs into the air as you grab your book, the pages soft between your hands as you slowly flip through, trying to find where you left off. Pop. The sound of plastic popping as you open the box of glowing red cherries next to you. Your favorite.

You're a few pages in when a soft voice calls from behind you. “Hey.” You glance behind to see him standing there in a loose white shirt and khaki shorts, holding a book. He laughs softly as you scramble to straighten yourself. “No need for that, you can sit however you want.”

“No, no it's okay,” you shake your head, sitting up straight now, confused at his cheerful demeanour “what do you need?”

“I was wondering if I could join you,” he tilted his head, “you seem to be having fun.”

You squeeze internally. Something about Sunghoon was making you nervous right now but you plaster on a sweet smile nonetheless, “of course.”

You’re hyperaware of his every movement as he approaches and sits down next to you on the blanket. He holds up the book he had and it takes you a second to realise that both of you had gotten the same book to read, ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’. You smile at him, “that’s funny.”

“It is, isn’t it?” He hums. “How’s Ben doing?”

You laugh, the anxious feeling in your stomach fading a little. There’s no need to be nervous in the first place, it’s just Sunghoon. “He’s doing okay. No more accidents since the last.”

The two of you fall into silence. He coughs. "Listen... I uh— I didn't mean to act that way when you first came."

You nod almost immediately. "You don't have to explain yourself, I get it, it's fine."

"No, I was acting like a jerk for no reason. I mean- you know how I am with people at first and I hadn't seen you in a while, it just took me a while to get used to. That's not an excuse for how I acted though, I'm sorry."

You peer at him. "I get it, I figured that's the reason you were acting distant. It's okay. I'm glad we can be pause normal again." You both look at each other and for a second you feel him glance at your lips but his eyes move away so fast, it's impossible to tell. He smiles softly at you.

Your legs are crossed as you lounge lazily on a chair on the balcony, taking in the view of the salty sea, waves lapping against the rocks. Once again, a box of perfectly round Italian cherries lay on the table behind you. You couldn't seem to get enough of them.

“You must really like these.” Sunghoon murmurs from behind you, pointing at the box of the sweet fruit. You smile lazily at him, not surprised by his interruption. Somehow, he had been finding you in all sorts of odd places recently, almost as if he was looking for you from the second you disappeared from view. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Sunghoon thought you were pretty. You realised fairly quickly from the way his eyes flicked up and down whenever he saw you, resting on your tits for just a second more.

“They’re my favorite.” You nod, grabbing one and popping it into your mouth as he watches. Maybe it's the way he’s staring at you hungrily but a newfound confidence takes over you. You reach for another cherry but this time, you make sure to hold eye contact with him, looking up with big bambi eyes as your tongue swirls around the sweet fruit. You bite into it and the red juice dribbles down your chin, your eyes glinting. His finger instinctively reaches down, a millimetre away from your chin before you nod to give him permission.

He swipes at the juice on your chin, before pulling his finger back, licking it slowly. Your throat suddenly feels like it’s constricting. You should not be doing this— holy shit you should not be doing this. You stand abruptly, coughing slightly. He doesn’t react much but a slight smirk plays on his face. Pause. “I should go,” you stutter as you rush into the house, heart hammering in your chest.

You try your best to ignore him for the next few days because you had no idea what possessed you to do that. Your mind constantly replayed the moment. The way he stared at you. The way he touched you. The way he licked his finger. God you were so fucked. Every time you saw Stella, you couldn’t help but feel guilty but then you tried comforting yourself. It wasn’t like you had done anything wrong, nothing actually happened.

You didn’t even notice what you were doing at first, your actions seemingly innocent in your mind. You just wanted to make the most of the summer clothes you owned and the heat in Taormina was intense, right? But your skirts were growing shorter and shorter by the day, your bikinis became skimpier and skimpier. That, accompanied by the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when he came around, batted your eyelashes at him, knowing it made him crazy-you hadn’t even realised but that little incident between the two of you had made you develop a little obsession with Sunghoon Park, just like the one you had all those years ago. And you were desperate for his attention now.

Right from your shiny olive skin that glistened in the Italian sun to your long hair that swayed as you walked, Sunghoon Park knew you were gorgeous, even more so now that you were making it painfully obvious. He knew. He knew you were doing all of this entirely on purpose but that didn’t mask his staring as you lather on sunscreen, resting beside him in the sand in a floral pink bikini.

You know you have him.

"Hey can you help me with this?" You ask softly, holding out the bottle of sunscreen towards him. His jaw ticks but he takes the bottle from your hand.

"Actually," you smile sweetly, "on second thought, I think I'm done, what do you think?"

If looks could kill, you would strike dead at this very moment from the way he was looking at you. “What’s your game?”

You stare at him, not expecting him to say those words so soon. “What do you mean?” You pout, pretending to be oblivious, a little upset that you didn't get to have that much fun with him before he called you out.

He scoffs. “You know exactly what I mean. Don’t play dumb. You like teasing me and then pulling away at the last moment, don’t you?” When you don’t respond, his expression hardens. “You’re trying to win a game you don’t even know how to play.”

Before you get the chance to respond, the two of you are interrupted as Stella runs to you, laughing.

“Hey are you having fun?” Stella smiles down at you.

“I’m having a great time, thanks.”

She nods as she moves to sit down on the sand, between you and Sunghoon.

Theres a moment of silence before you speak. “Hey Stells, thank you for letting me come. I appreciate it a lot. I would’ve had a terrible summer without you and I’m just really glad we get to spend time together before … you know …”

She smiles at you again. A genuine smile. “I’m gonna miss you. A lot. And I know you’re worried but i’m not, because I know we’ll always be friends. We’ve been through everything together and stupid New York isn’t going to change that.” As she pulls you in for a hug, you feel a pang in your heart. You love your friend and the last thing you want is for her older brother to come between you. But you just can’t help yourself.

You glance up at Sunghoon who's watching you two hug with an emotion in his eyes that you can't quite place. He meets your eyes and you shut yours, unable to look at him any longer. You hold onto Stella tighter, suddenly feeling disgusted with yourself. You're sickening. Sickening and selfish.

Your phone screen shows 4:36AM and sleep wasn’t coming. You sit up, rubbing your eyes as you glance at Stella snoring beside you. You get out of bed slowly, the wood creaking beneath you. You desperately needed a walk to clear your mind. Stepping into your fuzzy slippers, you leave the room, entering the narrow corridor outside. Sunghoon’s door stands tall in front of your face, which you would have normally ignored, except today, streaks of light peek out of the crack at the bottom. Why is he awake?

You know you shouldn’t. You know you really shouldn’t but you do it anyways. You knock softly. A few moments pass and you think he might not come. Right as you’re about to leave, the door clicks open and he stands there in grey sweats, shirtless. You choke a little but he doesn’t notice, neither does he seem surprised to see you.

He looks you up and down and you realise what you’re wearing—a tiny pink lace-trim nightgown, barely covering anything. He’s smirking now. “Come in.”

“Uh I—“ You start to say as you begin to regret your decision but you’re cut off by his harsh tone, his smirk now faded, replaced with a hardened expression.

“That wasn't a question. Come. In.”

You swallow nervously as you follow him into the room and shut the door behind you. Sunghoon sits on the edge of the bed, motioning for you to stand in front of him. You do as he asks and now you're staring down at his face, your silky hair hanging loosely, brushing against his cheeks. He starts to grab harshly at your waist and you gasp slightly.

"You think this is funny huh? Playing all these games? Do you have any idea what you're doing at all?" When you don't respond he starts again. “What? Cat got your tongue? Are you all nervous now? Don't be, you started this after all."

You breathe out shakily, hands finding his neck. "Please—"

"Please what?" His smirk is back, he likes that he's finally the one in control. "Say you want me."

"God I want you, I do." You whine pathetically. And whatever little power you may have had over him was gone, he had claimed it back. His dark eyes glint sinisterly as he stands, picking you up by the waist and placing you down onto the bed. Your legs are raised, being held up by his hands as he presses kisses on your left ankle. He slowly makes his way down, nuzzling his nose into your inner thighs. His teeth lock onto your panties and you gasp as he drags them off, discarding them on the floor, leaving you exposed.

"Fuck you're beautiful."

He dives in again, his nose pressing against your clit as he laps harshly at your folds. You throw your head back, a jerk reaction to the sudden sensitivity. You cry out and feel him immediately stop what he was doing. You whine softly in annoyance. "Wow baby, it seems like you really want my sister to know I'm fucking you right now." You swallow harshly as his eyes shoot daggers at you. "Keep. Quiet."

He's looking at your pussy now. You wait, burning to see what he would do. And he spits on it. You gasp, biting your lip to stop the moan. He spits right on your pussy, using his fingers to spread his saliva around your messy area. He begins to lick up your folds again, pressing his tongue down on your clit.

You can't handle it. It's pathetic but you already feel a knot building up in your stomach. "Hoon— I'm going to—"

"Not yet," he spits out, coming up.

You moan weakly in protest but he doesn't seem to care. "You don't deserve to cum yet. You've not been a very good girl have you?" You shake your head.

His hands reach for his pants now, pulling them down in one quick move and you could see how painfully hard he is. Your eyes widen as he pulls out his cock. It was big. Too big. Bigger than you'd ever had before and you didn't know if you would be able to handle it. He laughs, looking at your expression. "Don't worry baby, we'll make it fit."

He pushes your legs up all the way and you were practically bent in half in front of him, your knees blurrily shifting in and out of your peripheral vision. He lines his cock up with your entrance and rubs the tip across your wet folds, groaning softly as his eyes shut. Without warning, he pushes it in and you shriek in surprise, causing him to shove his fingers into your throat. You're choking around his fingers now as he thrusts into you, quickening the pace. Tears stream down your face as you gag, you're close again, you can feel it, but so can he. Just as you're about to reach your high, he stops his motion again and you lean back into the bed, panting hard. You're desperate for release now but as you stare up at his fucked out face through your lashes, smirking down at you, you know he's not going to give you that release anytime soon.

So you go four more rounds. Four more rounds of chasing that desperate high that he pulls away from you at the last moment. You're fucked up now, sweating and panting, your hair splayed across your face as you cried and cried, begging him. The sun had risen now and it pooled in through the window, enveloping you in a warm glow, making your tan skin look golden.

"God baby, you look so fucking sexy right now." Sunghoon reaches an arm towards the desk nearby, where a small pile of digital cameras lay. Stella's digital cameras. The one's she had excitedly bought for the trip, wanting to capture every memory. He points the lens of one of them at you and you don't even have enough energy to protest. Click. And just like that, a picture of you in one of your most fucked up moments was captured forever. He tosses the camera aside, turning his attention back to you.

"You up for one more?"

Strings of gibberish come out from your mouth and he chuckles as he pushes into you once again. He thrusts in and out and you're moaning loudly this time but neither of you cared anymore. You're so sensitive at this point that it doesn't take long for that familiar feeling to arise again. This time, Sunghoon lets you have it. You let out a strangled moan as you feel your orgasm wash over you. Pure fucking euphoria. He collapses on top of you after cumming as well. You reach out, your hands tangling in his hair, stroking his face gently.

You realise you haven't kissed yet. You lean down, placing a gentle kiss on his pink lips. He kisses you back immediately but there is no lust behind it. "You're a goddess, you know that?" He speaks, muffled against your arm. You laugh this time, reaching for the camera next to you. Click. Another picture. But this one is much cuter, the two of you staring into the camera, laughing as your arms are wrapped around him. Click. And another. He's kissing you and you just want to stay in this moment forever.

The remainder of the vacation is spent stealing glances and kisses with Sunghoon as you two sneak away at random times together. You visited his room every night, sometimes it was sex and sometimes you just wanted to cuddle.

If there was one thing you were sure of by the end of the vacation, it's that you were madly, madly in love with him. And he was in love with you too.

1 month later

You step into your room, flopping onto the bed, exhausted from your shift at the gallery. You pull out your phone to texts from both Stella and Sunghoon. Sunghoon's reads 'see you tomorrow :)' while Stella had texted to cancel your bar plans for the night, wanting to hang out at home instead. You almost feel relieved, too tired to even think of going to the bar. Instead, you quickly change your clothes and head over to the house next door. Shin-ah opens the door and she's delighted to see you as ever.

After exchanging some small talk, you head upstairs to Stella's room, briefly glancing at Sunghoon's door.

"Hey Ste—“ You stop. She isn't there.

You look around, confused for a moment before realising she's sitting outside on the balcony.

"Hey, what's up?" You smile at her as you take the seat beside her.

She doesn't respond, staring straight ahead into the pink sky. She's holding an envelope, nothing too special, just a plain white envelope.

"Do you know what this is?" She speaks for the first time, holding the envelope up, still refusing to look at you.

Your eyebrows furrow. "No?"

She breathes out, finally turning to meet your eyes. You recoil slightly when you see the wild anger looking straight at you. She opens the envelope slowly, almost teasingly. "You know..." She trails, "I recently sent in the film from the trip to be developed."

Your stomach drops.

She knows.

The envelope is finally open and she pulls out three photos. The first one of you laid down on the bed, fucked out with his cock still inside you, then you and Sunghoon are hugging naked, then you're kissing.

You're going to throw up.

"Look at me." She speaks softly, gently, but her voice is full of venom.

You look up to meet her eyes but you just can't do it. Your world is spinning.

"I want you to go to New York," her voice drops to a whisper, "and never come back. I never want to see you again. I never want you to see my brother ever again. Do you understand?"

You're nodding now, pleading silently, tears streaming down your face but you know it's not going to do anything.

She takes your nod as a yes. "Good, then we're clear."

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