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sierrale8ne · 3 months ago

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celibacy / paige bueckers x fem!reader PART OF THE $$$4U COLLECTION ‘ it’s been four months and two weeks and 36 hours and eight minutes since you been pleased ’

summary after finding out you ended your sexual arrangement with paige for work purposes, she takes it upon herself to show you how much she’s been missing you and how badly she’s been needing you. warnings paige is a hornball that can’t comprehend why you’d want to obtain from having sex, sexual content, packing, strap-on sex, strap-sucking, spitting, literal cum eating like… p is a freak. from lena i felt like bringing back some old pairings so this is p x that reporter i wrote about a minute ago ( in my main masterlist titled easy access ) this is nasty, i’m ovulating so there’s that.

Paige had been accustomed to the life that came with being a star athlete: wake up, practice, treatment, class, nap, lift, and if all of that was completed, the occasional media interview.

Today was one of those days.

Her practice jersey is damp against her body, the navy blue compression shirt underneath clinging to her arms as she answers question after question. Tournament seeding, last year, the draft next month. All of it is the same, just enough for her to know exactly what to say and when to say it.

She stands patiently, arms crossed over her chest as she waits for the next question. And then it comes.

“Paige, is there any advice you’ve given your teammates— specifically Sarah and Jana— about how to handle the tournament now that they’re in it?”

Paige freezes.

It’s your voice, she’s known it well enough to be able to point it out in a crowd full of all other reporters. A voice she’s heard so many times that it became burnt into her brain— every tone, every shift.

You dig your way through to the front, and when Paige sees you— like really sees you for the first time in months— it’s the first time all day that her demeanor shifted. She’s always loved your work attire and how you prided yourself in looking your best. But today you’ve dressed down and she still thinks you look perfect. Low rise washed denim, New Balance sneakers on your feet, and a white shirt with some writing on the left shoulder that she can’t quite make out.

“I’m sorry, can you ask that again? I zoned out for a minute.” Paige clears her throat. The other reporters laugh but you stay focused, it your first media availability with Paige. You knew better than to crack, especially now. So you repeat the question, poised as ever and honestly Paige is a little shocked. She thought if anything you’d be just as off your game as she was. But you weren’t.

She stutters, and it’s so small that you almost miss it, but she answers anyways. “Just to embrace the moment. Pressure is a privilege, and they came here to preform on the biggest stage—” Her eyes bore into your own, blue like large pools of cerulean. The same eyes that once made you give up everything, toss away your morals, and submit to her. “— and we all got total confidence in them. Hopefully that translates to them having total confidence in themselves.”

You nod, thinking about how generic her answer was and how your boss would probably have something to say back at the office. It seemed like she always did, but that’s what came with being an intern, you’ve learned.

Media availability ends, and you are very glad that Paige was the last to be interviewed because you can’t wait to get away from her fucking gaze. You cut the recording on your phone, shoving it in the back pocket of your jeans, followed by sticking your notepad and pen in your purse.

You follow suit with everyone else, turning towards the practice facility’s exit doors to head back to the office. Until your stopped, a hand to your lower back that send a rush to your core.

You’re reminded of the first time. The way you danced against her at Ted’s her hand on your back, bending you over as you twerked her jeans, the feeling of the zipper against your ass. How she took you home, made your legs shake and your toes curl, just to become even more vulnerable with you in bed hours later. You learned a lot about Paige that night.

You learned even more about yourself.

That no matter what, as long as she was around you’d never be able to resist her.

It’s exactly why you turn towards face her right now, you hands cautiously gripping your purse and the other raking through your hair.

“Look who finally came to see me.” Paige’s nails rake along your skin, dangerously drawing you closer and closer to her.

You feel your knees getting weak already. She smells surprisingly good considering she just got out of practice, she looks even better. But you can’t. “Stop.” You groan, reaching back to brush her hand off.

“I’m just checkin’ on you, you good? It’s been a while.” Paige says, her voice sultry and a bit cheeky. She’s priding herself on the fact that she still has you like this.

“Paige, we’re not doing this here. I’m at work.” It reminds you of what you said the last time you had her. MSG in New York, another day you were supposed to be focused on work that ended up with Paige’s hand in your pants.

She nods, pretending to understand but the look on her face lets you know she’s thinking about anything but. “Okay, then come over later.”

The blonde had a way of making you go speechless every time you saw her, but right now you were literally at a loss for words. You made it clear when you cut her off— Paige was a distraction— so for her to stand here, so hellbent on getting you alone, in a way she once had you, was ridiculous.

You scoff, looking around at the now filing out hallway. You drag her off, fingers digging into the bicep that’s so fucking big you nearly are taken aback by it. “I’m not having sex with you, P. It’s done, you know that.”

“You’re tellin’ me whoever else you’re sleeping with makes it feel as good as me? Y’know that’s bullshit, ma.” She goes on, and you take a step back for your own sanity. A response bats around in your brain, you shouldn’t tell her the truth, she would get too confident. Too cocky. You didn’t need that.

It came out anyway, like word vomit. “I’m fucking celibate, Paige, there isn’t anyone else.” You grit through your teeth.

Paige’s eyes nearly glow and her mouth curls up into his God awful smirk that you’d want to slap off if she wasn’t so damn sexy. “You? You’re playin’.”

“I’m not. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to finish.” You mutter, walking across the hallway to the elevators plans sweating as you do what you know best. Work.

Your night ends with a much needed bath, soaking in the hot tub to soothe yourself of all the stress piled up throughout the day.

And the tension that only Paige Bueckers could give you.

She was good, you had to give her that. And what made it worse was that it was effortless. Paige didn’t have to say too much, or even touch you. All she needed was one moment, one instance where your demeanor shifts and your strength cracks and all of a sudden you’re her’s again.

You couldn’t shake your mind of her even if you tried.

And it made your core fucking throb.

When you finally do exit the bath— legs a bit sore from the attention you had given yourself between your legs— you cater to yourself. Legs smooth, and body smelling of sweet vanilla cashmere. You throw on some cute pajamas, matching silk with a top that fits you loosely. The plan is to get in bed, until you hear a knock at the door.

You trail to the door, manicured feet padding against the hardwood.

And then you open it.

And there she is.

At first, it’s like your mind is playing tricks on you. Because it’s been forever, and no one in their right mind would show up to their old fuck buddy’s apartment at this hour. Paige seems to be the exception.

She wears these dark grey Essentials sweatpants, slightly dirty and scuffed on the hems. They sag just enough for you to see a small edge of her Nike Pro’s when she lifts her arm over her head and her fingers run through her hair. Her hoodie matches, and that makes your knees buckle. The dark fabric makes her skin and hair look even brighter.

“Why are you here?” You sigh before she even gets a chance to speak. Being mean about it seems to be the only way you can think of to get her out. It’s for your own sanity anyway. You’ve never been able to rid her off for as long as you and Paige have known each other.

Obviously, you don’t know Paige.

Because she finds that so fucking attractive.

Paige bites her lip, trailing her eyes to your shoulder where the strap of your shirt has fallen. “I’m still on this celibacy thing. Like, are you sure? And why the hell would you want to do that?”

You have to laugh, because it’s hysterical that your vow to stay away from sex had UConn’s star player unable to think straight.

“Paige, I—”

“Seriously, we’re not having sex anymore because of what? Did I do something wrong? Am not doin’ it right, you gotta tell me.” Paige is babbling, and it makes you so embarrassed that you tug her inside the apartment before your neighbors can hear about it.

It’s unfathomable to you. “I didn’t think it was that hard for you to find someone else to sleep with, Paige.”

“It’s not! But you cut me off, and the first time I see you again you’re talkin’ bout some celibate. So, naturally I’m curious.” Paige attempts to explain, hands moving freely in the air as she talks and you stare at them the entire time. Her knuckles slightly red from the cold, veins adorning the back of her hand, and her long ass fingers. It was a taunt. As soon as you made it clear that you weren’t going, here she was. Testing you.

You take a step back, as if the distance would give you a clear head. “You’re a distraction.”

“What?”

“A distraction.” You speak up. “I can’t do my job with you texting me and telling me all the ways you want me in bed. I literally couldn’t focus.” You explain, and now that it’s said out loud you feel ridiculous.

Paige Bueckers was so good at fucking you, that it made it hard for you to do your job.

The blonde lets out a sigh of relief, dropping her arms down on your counter and leaning against it.

“You happy now?” You respond, sighing loudly.

“Ma—”

“No.” You cut her off quick. This is exactly how it went last time. And this time you had half a mind to know better.

“Let me get you there, baby. No distractions this time, I swear.” She murmurs, voice low and almost strained— hours of practice for the tournament to blame. “No way you don’t want it, ma, just please.”

Paige is walking towards you now, hands reaching for your hips and you let her. You actually don’t even think about moving. You can smell her cologne, warm and woodsy, sticking to the fabric of her clothes. Her hands trail off you to the hem of her hoodie, pulling it up and over her head.

Your eyes trail to the ground it falls on almost immediately, because Paige’s choice of a thin tank top and no bra leaves very little to your imagination.

“What do you want, ma?”

A whimper flies from your lips as her hand grips your chin, fixing you to look at her. Your hand grips her shirt for leverage, clinging to what’s left of your morals.

That’s when she knows she has you exactly where she wants you.

“Hmm? What do you want?” Paige repeats, dragging your hand down her abdomen until it rests at her sweatpants. And you feel it. Her sweats were baggy enough to conceal it, but as soon as you feel the length in your palm it’s clear that Paige was thinking about you the same way you were thinking about her in the bath. “You want it? ‘Cause y’know I’m always ready to give it to you.”

“I want it.” You whine, snaking a hand up to her neck, tugging her close to you.

Her breath fans your lips, a smile gracing her face that doesn’t even try to hide. “Yeah? Break this li’l streak you got goin on?” Her hand tugs your shirt strap lower down your arm, and the second it’s reached the furthest it could go you’re slotting your lips with hers.

She tastes like everything you’ve remembered her to be, minty but still sweet. Her lips are soft, vaseline smeared on them and transferring to your chin. You continue palming the strap through her sweats, and Paige groans like it’s an extension of herself.

“Want you.” You moan.

“I know. I got it, baby. I gotchu.”

Paige’s strap sits on your tongue as you greet it with tiny kitten licks. You should’ve known that Paige would’ve made your work for it after leaving her to dry for months. Which truly wasn’t your intention. Paige was attractive, women wanted her, and you expected her to get it elsewhere.

Obviously not.

Her back is flush to your couch, shirt hiked up to give you a view of her hardened nipples and perfect fucking abs. You grip the base, spit trailing down the length that you take into your mouth.

“Mhmm, put that fuckin’ mouth to work, baby. Lookin’ so sexy f’me.” She hums, pushing your still slightly damp hair out of your face.

You plant your hands to her thighs, taking the strap deeper just to prove that you can. A part of you thinks you enjoy showing out for Paige like this again, doing what she wanted when she wanted.

Her eyes flutter shut like she can feel your mouth, the warmth of your tongue running on the underside of her cock— and if she closes her eyes hard enough, she probably could. But the vibration is good enough.

“Four months. Four and a half fuckin’ months.” Paige says to herself between breaths.

You pull back to breathe, saliva connecting your lip to the tip. You’re completely mesmerized by her, you vulnerable she looks even when you’re the one on your knees with her cock in your mouth. You spit on it again, sucking it back into your mouth before taking the strap in again. You’re sure that Paige’s eyes roll into her head.

“You’re fuckin’ crazy.” She grunts, hips moving forward further towards you. “Gonna paint your face, I swear.”

Paige’s words send a throb to your cunt. You can almost picture it— her groans and slack jaw as she comes. You draw your hand between your legs, rubbing your clit that’s still covered by your pj’s. The stimulation makes you whine.

“That shit turns you on, ma? Just know you’re so fuckin’ wet.” Paige hums to herself. She decides to reach for your hair, tugging you up and off of her strap until you’re hovering over her.

Saliva dangles from your lip, and in her obvious lust, Paige sticks her tongue out. You’re left speechless. Paige was a freak, you knew that much, but she’s chasing after your fucking spit like she’s thirsty for it. Like she was dying in the desert and you were the only one to solve her thirst.

She almost slurps it up, the noise so vulgar that you moan in her face. Paige chases after your mouth, locking lips with you in a deep kiss. Your hips grind against the strap, paying no mind to the mess it’s going to create on your shorts.

“Need it inside me, P.” You plead.

“Celibate my fucking ass.” She groans against you, using her strength to push you to the other end of the couch. Her hands dig into your hips, clawing at your shorts so hard that you’re sure she’s going to rip them off of you.

You’ve never seen Paige like this, this needy, this horny. She dragged your mouth onto her cock with a fervor that was animalistic. Then now, her teeth nipping at your own lips so hard she might draw blood.

It’s hot.

It makes you upset that you held out on her for this long.

Paige’s hands slip to your shoulders, pushing the other strap down your arm and putting your tits on display for her. She breaks the kiss, lips trailing down your jaw, neck, and chest before finally reaching your nipple.

“Paige!” You moan, head thrown back in ecstasy as she pulls your shorts off next.

“No crotchless this time?” She jokes, making you think back to the last time she fucked you stupid. It gets her off, watching how desperate you are for her to make you come.

“I need you to fuck me,” You whine desperately, hand fisting a handful of Paige’s perfect blonde hair. “Please,” you beg. Your hips grind against the unbelievably long strap, almost as if they had a mind of their own.

“I like it when you beg.”

“I know.” You tug your black panties to the side. Paige smirks at how soaked you are, the way your slick drips through your folds. “Want your cock, P. Please.”

With your help in spreading your legs Paige is tapping the tip against you. The wetness of your pussy filling her ears like the sound of music. Your mouth falls agape at the sudden pressure. and she takes the opportunity to fill your mouth with her own spit. A fat glob falling on your tongue and you swallow it almost immediately.

“Tell me you want it again.”

You sob, body aching in need. “I want it, I want it, Paige.”

Without hesitation, the athlete thrusts forward, burying all eight inches balls deep inside you. It’s so foreign, months of being away from her to blame. A collective gasp escapes both of your mouths. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head while her mouth formed the perfect ‘O’. Paige eyes you like a piece of meat before connecting your lips again in a heated frenzy. Your back arched into Paige’s as she gripped your hips and began roughly pounding into your cunt.

“You hear her? Just screamin’ for this dick, baby.” Paige hums, her words sending a rush of more arousal out of you. A mixture of pleasure and ecstasy spread across your features as Paige established a fast and relentless pace. “You’re so fuckin’ easy.”

“Baby—”

She breaks the kiss. “Imma distraction, but you can’t get off without me. Can’t make this pussy cum the way I do.” The couch practically groans in protest, its durability tested as Paige’s grunts reverberated against your lips. The room filled with the intoxicating sound of your bodies colliding, skin slapping together in a sensual symphony that echoed off the walls.

You watch Paige tuck her shirt in her mouth, giving her a perfect view of not only where she digs you out, but your tits that bounce in her face.

She’s fucking the shit out of you. And that alone is enough to draw her close to that climax.

“Y-you— Paige, baby. You’re fuckin’ deep, fuckkkk!” Your eyes were tightly shut, face contorted in pure bliss as you cling to the blonde with every fiber of your being. Your legs wrapped around Paige’s thighs, ensuring that she couldn’t escape your embrace. “F-fuck! P!” You cry out.

“Fuck you stupid, yeah? Put yo’ ass to sleep. Make it feel so fucking good, huh?” She roughly pushed the fabric of your shirt over your head. The fabric slipped away, leaving you fully exposed. “Cover me in it, cum on me, ma.”

You want her closer, deeper, anything. So you wrap your arms around her neck, tugging the blonde so close that your forehead touches hers. She keeps thrusting, seemingly noticing that you needed more.

“I know you’re close.” You murmur, trying your hardest to keep your eyes focused on her. “Paige, oh my Goddddd—”

“Y—shit.” Paige’s legs tremble, and you notice the slight falter in her rhythm. “Fuck, you first.” She lets out a groan, followed by a chase of your lips. It’s soft, way softer than how she fucks you.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming— I’m gonna cum, baby.” You babble over and over, your resolve fleeting your body as your orgasm creeps up on you. Paige lets out a high pitched gasp, her face flushed with overwhelming pleasure.

She tried to hold back, to maintain her composure, but failed miserably. A moan of pure bliss escaped her lips as she thrusts once more, practically balls deep into you as she comes. You let out a moan yourself as you feel the warmth taking over your body.

Paige doesn’t pull out, only pulling back enough to swipe her fingers over the ring of come that you’ve left behind. She brings her fingertips to her mouth, riding them out your taste.

“You left me out to fucking dry for four damn months?” Paige asks, her breathing labored from the exertion. She brings her hand down to your cunt, clit completely swollen. Almost desperate. “Left me without this shit for too long, ma.” She mumbles around her hand yet again.

She’s cleaning you up with her fingers, every bit of your release finding her tongue in almost desperate sweeps. You whine at the sensitivity, but let her.

Because it’s Paige, and you can’t fucking resist.

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luigilore · 3 months ago

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lovefool- l.m

info: luigi mangione x (fem) reader, NSFW, toxic ex situationship, reader is a ballerina, 5.6k wc

(a/n: this is entirely, entirely fiction! nothing i write reflects anyone irl. this should be obvious but i want to make that explicitly clear. if this upsets you, please do not read! you can also block me!)

Today was a bad day. That’s your excuse.

You were harshly critiqued during a private practice with your ballet master; tired and nervous and falling out of your turns that you know you should be executing perfectly. The upcoming performance of Coppélia is your first role in the main cast after five years with the company– after years of competing with the other dancers to get ahead. It’s your first chance to truly impress and cement yourself as an integral and regular part of the cast; so you stay too late at the studio, continuing to sacrifice after years of dedication, for a flickering chance of success that was never quite guaranteed.

You hate thinking, hate admitting that the added rehearsals and endless criticism was getting to you. It was unnerving knowing your teachers were watching to see if you could deliver the perfection that was undoubtedly expected of you. You're trying, but lately, for the first time in a very long time, you’re not sure if you can truly handle the pressure.

Your calf hurts, it’s constantly throbbing and hot, and you’ve already spent too much time with the physical therapy team this week. Your feet are blistered and hurting– even more than usual, and you’re sick of the almost daily ice baths and the uncomfortable compression sleeves you have to wear to bed.

Every night you dream of being on stage, in front of a full crowd and the hot, blinding lights. You dream of faltering, of forgetting choreography as a pressure in your chest builds and you wake up suddenly; sweaty, scared, and alone. It only motivates you to stay longer at the studio, falling into the routine of neglecting everything except dance, of neglecting yourself and your friends, trying not to think about all of the accumulated unanswered texts.

It’s past ten by the time you leave the studio tonight, pouring rain and you realize he forgot an umbrella. You are tired, hungry, and admittedly, unashamedly, want Luigi. You want Luigi’s nice, warm apartment, his strong arms and sweet words, and the hot food he would make, always insisting you eat after practice.

When you were dating, you always felt like Luigi was almost too good to you. He would come to your shows with ridiculously big bouquets of flowers and deep kisses that would always embarrass you, trying to pin you against the wall of the empty dressing room just because he could. Luigi was devoted and intentional and kind; aware and always touching you, smiling at you, hugging you, fucking you. He would always ask you to stay afterward too, would always let you roll around in his big king-sized bed.

Luigi was good for you in a lot of ways; he would massage your legs and arms when you were sore and he would cook for you after you came back from a long four-hour rehearsal; when usually before you would just eat half of a protein bar and crawl into bed. He would whisper constant reassurances and praise because Luigi knew ballet has always been important to you and self criticism has always been too easy for you.

Ballet has always been the center of your life. You had spent your entire childhood working towards a future career in dance; worked hard for years, for so long, for hours every day in practice rooms, in competitions; sacrificing so much. All for ballet.

For a long time, New York City Ballet seemed like a ridiculous pipe dream with a slim chance of becoming reality. You stayed in crowded and uncomfortable New York apartments for two years before you were offered an apprenticeship and then finally became a part of the corps de ballet two years ago.

You yourself orbit around your career in ballet; your only friends are fellow dancers in the company and you're at the studio almost everyday. You have class six days a week and rehearsals on top of that for the seasonal ballet that’s performed four times a week.

In ballet, in that perfect and beautiful world, you have so much. You have accomplished a lot for your age, even if you didn’t like to acknowledge your impressive list of achievements and talents. You are dancing for one of the most prestigious companies in the world and have been praised by your ballet master, by your peers, and teachers for your talent and dedication.

In ballet, you are seasoned and you are assured and strong. You know who you are on stage and who you are meant to be. But outside of ballet, in the other, crueler world that you don't understand, you aren’t totally sure who you are, what or who you were for.

In real life, off stage, when you left the studio after practice, you really didn’t feel that strong. Sometimes you don’t feel that strong at all. And a lot of the time, You just want to love.

You want to love and trust like the cheesy dramas you watched with your grandmother as a child. The dramas with the woman that always got the strong and sweet man at the end, after all of the pain and pining, eventually the world would solve itself and it would always end in easy and simple love.

You have always wanted to be in love. Through ballet, You learned how to feel and express love, romance, and a range of emotions, and portray all of them silently. Because of that, because of the love you have for ballet and because of the love you routinely express, you have always thought that you would be good at loving someone else.

You wanted it so badly, so much that it hurt; so much that you would lie awake at night in your small twin bed, against your scratchy, cheap sheets and would imagine stronger arms around you so you could finally relax and trust. You just wanted the warmth of someone else. It always got so cold– alone in your room, in your shitty apartment where you couldn't afford heat. Where you stayed before you woke up and went back to ballet, to your world.

Luigi was immediately easy to love because Luigi was made to love. You met him through his college friend, another dancer. Luigi came to a matinee when both she and you were performing. Afterwards, she proudly introduced Luigi to you and his eyes stared into your own, bright and kind. He smiled widely and shook your hand. When you first met Luigi, you immediately wanted to love him. You just knew it would be so easy.

When Luigi asked you out only a few days later, showing up with the guise of picking her up from rehearsal; he was shy, like he had never done this before. You liked that, you wanted to be the only one Luigi could even consider loving. He took you to a fancy restaurant that week, one that you had never been to, and from then on, it was too easy.

“It’s because Luigi is loaded,” your friend had said once– and that wasn’t true. Luigi was comfortable but that wasn’t why you loved him. Luigi was everything you thought you would never really have because it was too good, it was almost too much love.

Luigi would massage your aching legs and shoulders and praise you quietly, with small smiles and gentle reassurances. Because without you confiding in him, he knew what you needed and he wanted you to feel loved, to feel like you deserved to be loved. You were so used to critique, to being judged in all aspects of your life. It was nice and you chased it and Luigi loved giving it.

It was barely a year of being together before you excitedly moved into his apartment; it was an easy decision to leave your apartment with four other people that was always cramped and dramatic.

Luigi told you that you made him believe in love. You felt like that too, when you really thought about it. You liked being called pretty, liked being taken care of sometimes, of being held like you were precious. You didn't need it, but you liked it. You liked how Luigi fucked you slowly, how he would suck deep dark marks into your chest, and hold your head carefully to fuck his cock into your mouth, before pulling out and having you gasping for breath.

But you eventually realized loving was hard sometimes. It was time-consuming. It was encompassing and overwhelming. Sometimes it would be all you could think about, you would fall out of turns because you were thinking of the ghosting movements of Luigi’s arms and hands. It was all explosive and made you feel out of control and out of reach from reality. You could never decide if you loved it or absolutely hated it. Because you would be bubbling over with emotion, with needs and love that Luigi induced; coaxing it out of you so carefully. But then he would always eventually pull away— shut down and retreat, and it felt devastating.

It was intense. It was huge fights and then tearful, passionate making up, unfulfilled promises, and silent days when he would shut you out and then there were overwhelming, beautiful ones. Luigi told you it was hard for him, that he was trying really hard and you always felt guilty for coming home so late, for being too tired for the dates he wanted so badly to go on.

Luigi was just possessive and determined, stubborn and passive. But he made you feel safe, like you could afford to miss practice because he felt more important than ballet and that terrified you– the thought that anything could ever come before ballet. You didn’t think that love should be scary.

It was like you forgot how to live without Luigi. You truly couldn’t remember what New York was like without him. Sometimes you didn’t have time for much else, not even ballet. You didn’t love dancing like you used to, you loved him, loved the idea of freedom instead of being in love with something that was so taxing and draining. Sometimes you couldn’t believe how backwards your entire life had been before meeting him.

But when your ballet master pulled you aside one day and told you looked sloppy and distracted and that you needed to get it together or else there was a chance you would be out of the winter performance of the Nutcracker, You broke up with Luigi that night.

He only looked confused and asked if ballet meant more to you than he did. And in a mix of confusion and pure adrenaline, you obviously said yes.

Luigi just stared at you, he didn’t look upset. Just empty. “You know I love you,” he said, voice flat and eyes looking at you with such silent intensity, eyes so harsh that you were almost intimidated.

“I do,” He said, saying it so easily and it hurt for some awful reason. Luigi stared at you like he couldn’t possibly understand why you felt paralyzed and powerless.

“I do,” he repeated coldly and then Luigi left his own apartment without looking back at you.

It felt too sudden and easy and you selfishly and wrongly wanted Luigi to stay; to fight, to convince you, to do anything but actually leave.

The next few days, you moved out of his apartment, quickly shoving your things in boxes while Luigi watched silently.

But breaking up didn’t really help at all. It didn’t help that consuming love and persistent ache you felt. It was harder. Harder to concentrate during practice, harder to sleep, harder to make your own decisions, and hard to stop yourself from instinctively texting or calling Luigi.

You really try but Luigi is hard to resist. He would text you, saying he was sorry and asking you to come over and you would be at his door in thirty minutes. You would block his number in fit of determination to move on and then he would email you that he loved you and that he wanted things to go back to the way things were. He was sorry for loving you, for loving him too much. Luigi said sorry for whatever he did wrong, for getting in the way and that real and true love sometimes does that– but that he still understands. He was always so sorry.

You’re sorry too. And bored. You miss Luigi so much. You last thirteen days after the breakup before you’re at his apartment and your roommate checks his location and sends you a knowing ‘:(‘ while you were busy getting fucked against his stupidly nice granite kitchen countertop.

You still try really hard to move on but you feel lost like you were now wondering about some impossibly changed world. It had been almost two years with Luigi now dramatically, you didn’t know how to go about not having him. You can only think of his good traits and you start to wonder why you even broke up with him; spiraling and laying on your bed with your calf hurting wishing he was there. Wishing it was easy. Thinking that it could be easy again.

So you text him. And he responds immediately— like it always is.

Hi baby

are you busy rn?

Waiting for Luigi to respond should give you time to think through this. To stop. You know you shouldn’t be doing this. You should be– used to be, better than this. Luigi was bad for you. Because it was too consuming, it was too much good.

When he responds, You can’t help but smile. You hate the way you smile instinctively, you hate the way you love Luigi in such a consuming and uncomfortable way.

I’m free for you.

Always.

Without him, you might be more productive, more efficient, and less emotional but there was a hole missing carved out and splintering in your heart. It felt stupid and poetic and dramatic, but without him, you just didn’t feel the same. Luigi was love and everything you wanted. It’s just complicated. It’s just sweet kisses, warm bodies, and the sweetest words.

You still know the code to his apartment complex, Luigi never changed it. As you knock now, you manage to feel a little ashamed.

He opens the door in a black shirt and gray sweatpants, hidden away from people who worked long days and nights, from the ballet studio where your limbs ached and where you were never good enough.

It was just Luigi and his soft clothes and sweet-smelling fabric softener. You still love him so much that it hurts; you love that Luigi loves you, loves that he thinks you’re enough— more than enough. You like how secure you feel, and all the nice things Luigi says, and how pretty his life seems. You want a pretty life too, want beauty— and he is really beautiful.

“Hi,” You say quietly, toying with the hem of your sweatshirt.

“Hello,” Luigi says with a small, knowing, but sweet smile, crossing his arms. “Why are you here,” he asks, like you’re a complete stranger.

You look down at the floor as you finally make yourself look into Luigi’s eyes, patient and waiting. “Don't make me say it,” you murmur, a quiet plea.

Luigi leans against the door frame and purses his lips together and frowns, like you’re just not understanding each other, like you just don't get it.

“I want you to, though. I want to hear you say it.” Luigi stands up straighter and looks at you directly, voice serious and almost cold, “I need to hear you say it.”

You shift and bite your lip; it was just one of his things. One of those things to feel in control, to feel like you needed him more. Because Luigi would always get caught up in these little things. It doesn’t mean anything.

You look up at Luigi through his lashes and press your lips together in an obvious, exaggerated, stupid expression. “I missed you. I missed you a lot, Lu.”

Luigi’s expression softens immediately like it always does. “Oh baby,” He murmurs, “Baby, baby.”

He draws you into his arms gently, like you’re incredibly fragile and breakable and you think you might be. You shouldn’t like that, shouldn’t like being treated like you were so breakable and wounded but you liked it sometimes, very secretly. Maybe too much.

“C’mere,” Luigi murmurs, leading you to the sofa. He runs a hand over your face carefully and he smells like his stupid expensive cologne that you still can’t totally wash out of your own clothes. “Bad day?” He asks quietly even though it’s incredibly obvious that it is.

“Yeah,” You say with a rush of sudden self awareness and shame. “I probably shouldn’t–” You look down at his fingers twisted in your lap. “I shouldn't be here.”

Luigi comically frowns at that and knits his eyebrows like he doesn’t understand, “Why not?”

You look up at him and try to look exasperated but you just sound tired and sad. “Because we’re not together.”

He looks at you like he doesn’t like you stating the obvious. He just tilts his head and smiles, obvious and kind of patronizing, hand coming to rub across your thigh. Warm and heavy. Because you go through this every time, you pretend or try to not want this and Luigi just smiles and sees right through it.

“I still support you though, you know that.” He says, still with a smile.

“Yeah,” you sniff and don't try to say anything else.

“Yeah,” Luigi agrees softly and it makes you smile, staring down at your own lap. His hand comes to cup your cheek, hand fitting perfectly holding your jaw, thumbing across your cheekbone carefully, it feels familiar and warm and comforting.

“I just want to help you,” Luigi whispers. You aren't sure if you believe him but you want to so incredibly badly. You don't want help. You don't need help. But sometimes it’s nice to pretend.

You look at Luigi, his pretty dark hair and long lashes. His sweet eyes that watch you carefully. It’s silent for a few moments, comfortable and familiar. In Luigi’s big and warm apartment.

“Can I take care of you,” Luigi finally asks, looking at you patiently, sweet and quiet, and you nod quickly.

“Yeah,” you whisper like it’s a secret- he makes you feel like nothing else matters except the two of you. It doesn’t matter that you aren’t together, that you could never truly work. Nothing matters at all.

Luigi tugs you into his lap easily and his arms loop around you, warm and big. His hand cups your jaw and pulls you closer, tilting his own head to kiss your lips, soft and slow and bothered because he always has time. His hand fits in the curve of your waist and the other thumbs over your ear gently and it makes you shudder. His tongue in your mouth feels hot and heavy, barely pulling away to let you breathe but you still let your eyes shut and try to relax, trying to melt into his touch.

It’s easy, Luigi smells like his usual Tom Ford cologne and you feel surrounded by it. His hand on your back thumbs over your skin under your shirt gently when he pulls away to look at you, face still so close to your own.

“Do you want to,” he trails off and waits because he knows what you will say. Because you only want him, still. Even when he said he slept with other people, even when he went out of his way to tell you that. When he knew it hurt your feelings, when he knew your friends hated him. Luigi never cared, but he did care about you.

It’s easy to nod. It’s easy to say yes and end up in his big bed with his nice sheets; comfortable and soft, on top of some ridiculously expensive therapeutic mattress.

Luigi rolls on top of you, pushing his thigh against your sweatpants, surrounded totally by him as he braces his arms on each side of you, trapping you in a beautiful and comforting way. Your hand reaches up, running his fingers carefully through Luigi’s curls for some sense of stability.

Your head is spinning and you feel desperate to belong to Luigi again. You lean up, rocking your hips and lick in Luigi’s mouth, sloppy and eager as he groans from your movement.

You whine softly when he pulls away, still so close to his face, smiling and looking at you like you’re beautiful; you can feel it without him saying anything. He never has to say anything.

Luigi rolls off of you, stripping off his hoodie and it feels unfair. After you broke up, he only started going to the gym more than he used to, using it as stress relief and enjoying the way he knew it drove you crazy. His shoulders are broad, muscular, defined and skin still soft and smooth; in just his boxers now, his broad shoulders, large biceps, and toned back. You feel almost sick with a horribly familiar and comforting love.

Your hand runs down Luigi’s chest, trailing down his pec. He looks down, watching your fingers graze his tanned skin before grabbing your hand to pull him closer and back onto his lips.

Luigi’s hand slides from your waist to tug at the waistband of your sweatpants, watching you carefully, like he’s waiting for you to realize that this is wrong; that this only makes it harder, that you shouldn’t be doing this.

But you don't say anything as you pull them off of you, revealing your cotton underwear that you know Luigi likes. You sit up slightly so it’s easier for him but you grimace at the sudden pain in your left leg. Luigi stops when he sees your discomfort. “What, baby?”

“I’m just— I’m sore,” You mumble, blinking as Luigi frowns almost comically wide.

“Is it your calf again? I told you you need a second opinion besides the company PT. They’re bullshit.” He nags, reminding you of all the nights he would run a bath for you and insist you soak in the tub with his luxury bath salts after rehearsal. You smile at the memory and at Luigi’s furrowed brows.

“I’m working on it,” You say and he looks unconvinced, like he’s about to lovingly lecture you but you don't want to think about your calf pain now— or about ballet at all.

You instead lean up, hand resting on Luigi’s back and pull him down. He obliges easily and leans back over you, careful to prop himself up with one of his forearms, the other slides down your thigh, massaging and kneading the skin carefully.

He continues silently, looking at you intently like just your presence is enough. You love feeling like enough. “I just love you so much, baby,” He murmurs, “Dunno what to do about it.” He nudges your nose with his own and kisses you gently as you circle your arms around his shoulders.

“Just love me,” You whisper when you part, immediately hating how vulnerable you sound.

“Okay,” Luigi smiles easilyand kisses you again, tongue hot and wet in your mouth, sucking and licking. He only pulls away to kiss your neck, sucking deep marks into your skin as evidence of the two of you, as a sad noise escapes from the back of your throat at the loss of his touch and warmth. He always loved proof of the night before on you, of marks you know you’ll have to put concealer over the next day.

Your sweater comes off easily and Luigi coos, wrapping his arms around you, warm hands roaming over your body; one hand holding your waist and the other undoing your bra easily, both of his large hands coming to grope your tits. It feels nice, the attention, the want. “God,” he mumbles, almost to himself, staring at your body. But you never feel exposed under Luigi’s wandering gaze, it feels too loving and too real.

“Hurry,” You jut out your bottom lip and Luigi laughs.

“So cute,” He presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Patience, baby.”

He tugs your underwear off easily and you’re flooded with a sudden rush of excitement and familiarity. You wish that you could exist in this moment forever, when you don’t have to worry about anything else, when you can just exist because he thinks you’re perfect the way you are. You aren't sure if you deserve that but you want it forever.

He spreads your thighs gently, bringing you back to your present reality and watching your reactions, his long, warm fingers rubbing your inner thigh soothingly. He inserts one finger inside of you first carefully and you sigh, reminding once again how much you’ve missed this, him. You grip his bicep as one finger rubs at your clit and others curl inside of you. You feel a bit dazed, letting your body just feel. Luigi is always so concentrated, lip bit and eyes dark, focusing on his rehearsed routine; his firm body pressed so closely against your own, surrounding and encompassing.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, maybe more to himself and it makes you feel shy. “Luigi,” you laugh but it turns into a sound of surprise when you feel his cock rub against your entrance, wet and heavy.

He glances down at you and is obviously affected as he lines himself up and finally pushes in wordlessly, no particular warning and no condom, like always. You like that it still feels the same between you two, like nothing ever changed. You gasp; even though you’ve taken him so many times, Luigi is big and it’s always an adjustment, but a good one.

Luigi sighs like it’s something he’s addicted to, like it’s something he desperately needs. It’s unfair really. You love the way he looks, his hair has gotten longer even if the couple of weeks you had successfully refined from contacting him and he doesn’t shave as often now either, ever since you broke up. You love his parted lips, his obvious pleasure because of you.

“Made to take me, made for me,” he mutters as you feel yourself nodding, he thrusts in an easy rhythm, gentle and slow. Luigi is never rough with you. “Let me know how good I make you feel,” he mutters, looking down at you, one hand coming to intertwine with one of your own.

“Lu, it feels, you feel, so good,” you say, looking up at Luigi through your lashes. But he’s quiet and you hate it.

“Say anything, please Luigi, please.” You look up at him with a horse whisper, “Please.”

“I love you,” He looks down at you and you know that he means it, he always has. Any internal anxiety that built up inside of you dispates and is replaced by something so good, something you always feels when he fucks you, when he’s is close to you, when he’s holding you firmly and carefully; when he is totally devoted to and concentrated on you. You love how much Luigi loves you.

“It’s only you,” you say, like it's a secret but it’s really not, not to either of you. You say it because you know what it does to him. You watch Luigi's lips part slightly in realization before they curl up into a big grin.

“Always?” He asks and you hesitate but you can’t say no, because when you think about it, it might be true.

“Maybe,” you smile but when you really think about it, Luigi is right. He smiles too, knowingly, like he knows he’s right too.

Moments like this make you wonder why you ever broke up with him. Luigi is the only one that you let fuck you and you come over regularly and you still love each other. You feel like you don't understand anything at all.

You groan as Luigi thrusts faster and one of his hands comes to palm at your tits, thumbing across one of your nipples and making you squirm under his touch. The sensation makes you arch your back in sensitivity, only further into him.

Luigi stares down at you like he’s done something beautiful and you subconsciously clench at the pleasure. “Fuck,” he grunts, forehead shining with sweat and abs tightening as he fucks in and out of you, the other hand’s grip tightening on your waist.

“You’re still mine aren’t you,” he asks, thrusting roughly and you know his body enough to know that he’s close to coming from the way his eyes flutter shut and his cock throbs inside of you.

You open his mouth to answer but Luigi takes his hand and instead presses two of his fingers into your mouth. You gargle around them, spit immediately running out— you feel so safe and loved. You will say anything when Luigi asks like that, with that much conviction, when you’re this far gone.

“Yes,” you breathe out when Luigi eventually removes his fingers. “Yes,” you repeat, reaching up to grab at his chest, tight and firm from years of exercise. You can feel his quickened heartbeat underneath your palm and you love that you’re the one making him feel good; it’s only you. It’s only each other.

Luigi laughs, folding himself over your body to press his face close to yours, angling his hips in a way that he knows drives you crazy, making you squeeze your eyes shut in pleasure“So cute and beautiful. So sweet,” he softly whispers into your ear.

“And so strong,” Luigi continues and you like hearing that. You want to be strong so badly. You have always wanted to be strong. “My baby, You deserve everything,” he continues, “You deserve everything in the entire world.”

You think about the upcoming audition and the role you desperately want, the critiques he got from his last performance.

“Everything?” You whisper and his hand comes to wipe at a small tear threatening to spill down your cheek that you didn’t realize was there.

Luigi looks at you with such sweet eyes and smiles like he’s endeared, “Of course.” The praise makes you feel loved, as he thrusts deeper and faster into you. He’s usually so controlled and precise with his movements and you notice he’s a bit desperate now, groaning unashamedly. It all makes you feel full and content and overwhelmed as you’re pushed over the edge.

Your orgasm, the way you clench around him and throw your head back in pleasure all push Luigi over the edge, hands coming to grip your hips harshly as he holds you and fucks you, mouth open trying to remain in control when he’s obviously floundering, overwhelmed by you. You can see Luigi’s pleasure through your blurry vision.

“Baby I’m going to, fuck—” Luigi groans, eyes squeezing shut and jaw clenching as he comes.

You sniff and bite your lip when you feel his cum fill you.”Fuck,” You mutter, throwing your head back against the silk pillowcase. You stare up at Luigi, watching his chest rise up and down rapidly.

“Baby, you’re so cute, always make me feel so good,” he whispers tenderly.

“Don’t pull out, just, just—” You can barely talk, so overwhelmed and sensitive, “Stay.”

Luigi nods, bending over to press a kiss against your ear. “Of course.”

You smile weakly, trying not to feel gross at the cum that you can already feel beginning to leak out of you.

You feel exhausted and depleted, drained and satisfied. Luigi is all around you, thick arms moving to eventually hold you, laying over you but not crushing you, only pressing your bare bodies against each other. You don’t say much after and you eventually fall asleep to Luigi’s humming and his gentle massaging of your left calf.

You wake up feeling sore and exhausted, hit with the immediate realization that you have an eight am rehearsal today and it’s already 6:43 am. You roll out of Luigi’s arms carefully and silently, digging around for your discarded clothes and phone.

Luigi wakes up at some point, sitting up in bed with his messy hair and rubbing his bleary eyes. He watches you with a pronounced frown, “You’re not going to stay?”

“I have rehearsal,” You say simply, preoccupied. You’re quiet for the next few minutes and Luigi is too, content with just watching you move around his room. But you’re already hit with the stress of getting dressed, catching the train, and rushing to practice to avoid being called out for being late, and the general dread of the long day of practice.

“I do love you, baby, I wish you would believe that,” Luigi says suddenly, looking at you.

“I do believe you,” You whisper, tired and hurting.

It’s silent, Luigi almost looks small and susceptible in bed, sheets pooled around his toned and tan waist. Messy hair and sad eyes that stare at you. He tilts his head slightly, “You’ll text though right?”

You don't want to have this conversation now, maybe never. Especially afterwards, the day after, because it all seems pointless now, repeating the same things you both always say– that don’t mean much anymore. You just want to leave and go to rehearsal, and dance for hours until your legs feel numb and the exhaustion overrides any sense of want.

You just smile weakly, “Probably.”

#luigi mangione x reader #luigi thoughts #luigi mangione fanfic #luigi mangione smut #luigi mangione imagine #i hope you guys like it :'))

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jedisupernova · 8 days ago

Text

compress, repress (part iii) — kwon jiyong & choi seunghyun

summary betrayal is irreversible. secrets, in theory, can be kept. but not when cowardice gets in the way.

notes minors dni contains challengers au (for my girls who know: the churro scene, inclusion of 'i told ya' shirt,) fem reader, unabashedly plus size reader as i am myself but anyone can read, takes place in the mid 2000s (hence mentions of certain music, technology, media, etc.), everyone is a college senior, tennisplayer!jiyong and tennisplayer!seunghyun; reader is head of debate team, smut (oral f receiving, p in v, whimpering, sub!seunghyun, pathetic behavior, nipple play, squirting,) angst (all three are at times depicted as not the greatest of people, infidelity, inferiority complex, keeping secrets, severed friendships, deception, greed, lying, yearning, arguments and fights, accidental injury, seunghyun is a shit-stirrer, selfishness, possessiveness, insecurity; this is just messy as fuck,) i don't know anything about professional sports so pls don't laugh at me, if you went to stanford and are reading this no you're not, and inevitable typos though some are intentional.

author's note welcome to part iii of my challengers au!!!! shit is about go Down fr. a brief disclaimer: these are only characters; in no way do i claim either would act this way in real life. please read the previous parts (linked below) or else you will very confused! this is about the same length as part ii (long as fuck) so get comfy. please lmk what you think!! my ask box is always open :) see you next friday for the fourth and final part 🎾

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

were you an overthinker? sure. well . . . it is your most viable asset on the debate stage. sifting through someone’s argument as it actively deflates their lungs, plugging it through various filters and equations in your head—the result being a reliably succinct, a-through-z rebuttal in a matter of a minute. but when alone, and on the train home no less? it's like a parasite, gnawing away at your last bits of logic. you didn’t necessarily regret what you did, but the question of what do i do now? stuck out like a sore thumb, distracting you from scenic views of the distant beaches, houses you’ll never be able to afford, and expansive forests. upon arriving home, you figured you would use winter break as time to not only decompress, but figure things out. piece by piece, day by day—in the solace of your bedroom, in the mundaneness of doing laundry and unpredictable preparing for the holidays—away from stanford. you answered jiyong’s texts with no issues, skirting around your complex feelings with a quick I miss you too ji baby and Gtg shop 4 xmas dinner. calls were trickier, though. it would cause suspicion if you weren’t available to talk whatsoever, so you took one for the team from time to time. the fact you thought of it that way told you everything you needed to know.

much to his fortune, seunghyun figured it out, too. “how’s the missus?” he asked jiyong, eyes casted on perfecting his spoonful of macaroni and cheese, bringing it to his mouth afterward. his tone was casual and unassuming—perfect for christmas dinner at the kwon household, but also amongst two friends just checking in on one another. seunghyun turned his head, hearing their parents banter in the kitchen. jiyong got comfortable next to him on the couch, fingers tugging at the bunched-up hem of his sweater, other hand holding his water. “everything good with you two?” seunghyun’s word choice was diabolical, considering he was nose deep in your pussy a week and same change ago, and he tugged his dick to the memory of it just as santa claus descended down his chimney. “yeah, we’re good.” said jiyong, “we haven’t talked that much lately, though. she’s been busy with, y'know, her family.” seunghyun nodded, listening. ghosts of a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, thinking of how you and him were on the phone just before he got there, and every night since exams ended, too. “makes sense.” said seunghyun. “it is the holiday season, after all.”

“how was dinner, hm?” you asked, lifting your shoulder to keep the house phone to your ear, folding your outfit away from your family dinner. it was around an hour after either of you returned home. seunghyun laid comfortably in his bed, “really good.” he ran his fingers through his hair, arm relaxing behind his head. “food was fuckin’ amazing. how about you, baby?” “mine was good, too.” you closed your closet door, able to hold the phone with your hand now. you sat on the edge of your bed, a sigh escaping your lips, “a little chaotic, but you know how that goes.” he chuckled, nodding. “i do. jiyong told me something real curious, though.” “he did?” “mhm,” seunghyun cleared his throat. “he said you guys haven’t talked in, like, three days? i thought you went to your aunt’s for christmas.” your face warmed, “i mean, i did go there.” “well,” seunghyun’s tone was smooth and playful, smile heard through the phone. “i’m obviously missing a piece of the story, baby. because we’ve been talking for three days straight. what’d you tell him?” “i told him she lives across state lines, meaning a multiple-day road trip with choppy cell service.” “right.” “well, he probably thinks i’m still on the road.” “does your aunt live far?” “she lives four blocks down. walking distance if i’m up for it.”

you heard him snicker. “am i the worst person in the world?” “not worse than me.” he countered, adjusting his grip on his blackberry. “i mean . . . i was the one that asked him about you. i called you 'the missus’ and everything.” an amused scoff left your lips, pinching the bridge of your nose, hiding your smile behind your hand. “we’re horrible people.” “once you accept that, it sets you free.” he told you, a hearty laugh ringing from his chest. he heard your bed creak, your soft and satisfied hmph after settling your head into your pillow molding his lips into an upside down grin. “i miss you, y'know.” he spoke gently. “i can’t wait to see you again.” you smiled sheepishly to yourself, grateful he wasn’t able to see you at that moment. “i miss you too, seunghyun.” “y'know,” his voice brought you back to him. “it was hard for me to keep quiet last night—” “—we are not doing this on my parents’ landline.” you cut him off with a brisk laugh, though your toes curled around nothing atop your duvet.

seunghyun took his phone away from his ear. he rolled the trackball, lighting his screen, seeing it was half past midnight. “it's late enough. they’re probably asleep.” he said, turning onto his side. “plus, it's not my fault you don’t have enough minutes to talk on your cell.” “and it's not my fault you wanna be all whiny about it.” you countered, chuckling. “its serves you right to be told 'no,’ too.” “i like it when it's you.” “i know you do.” something in you knew seunghyun was still in his mood. with how he was getting you there, too, you checked to see if the small screen on the house phone read Conf.—indicating someone was listening to the call. you let out a small breath of relief, reading Talk with the duration of the call underneath—the coast was clear. “y'know,” here he goes, your inner monologue said. “it's a shame we’re apart for so long 'cause i’m forgetting how you taste. might need to go in a second time. or a third. or a fourth. maybe a fifth.” “maybe? just maybe?” you asked, voice smooth. “you were really greedy in your car.” he kissed his teeth, fingers toying with the drawstrings of his sweatpants. “nah, baby.” he kissed his teeth. “i wasn’t greedy enough.”

you let out a sweet laugh, turning to lay on your back. “noted.” you said. “i’ll clear my schedule.” “you better.” he smiled. “i gotta a lot of time to make up for.” comfortable silence washed over the line, landing you somewhere you knew you would get to eventually. “i’m breaking up with jiyong when we get back from break.” you told seunghyun, hearing his hum of acknowledgment. “do you think he’ll take it well?” “yeah.” he answered earnestly, nodding though you couldn’t see him. “maybe not initially. but he’ll be okay.” “what was his last break-up like? if you remember.” “i do.” said seunghyun. “he took it out on the court and didn’t talk about it again. i can’t blame him. things don’t really work out in his favor sometimes.” your chest sunk, hiding your face behind your palm in shame. “this is going to suck so bad.” “its better than stringing him along and fucking his best friend on the side.” “i know but i already—” you cut yourself off with a sharp tsk. cheated on him, your inner monologue finished for you. you couldn’t bring yourself to say it, though seunghyun felt it nonetheless.

“whatever. forget it,” you brushed it off. “what does this mean for us then, hm? don’t make me feel stupid for asking this.” “i would never.” seunghyun shook his head, honest. a smile brightened his features, “i mean . . .” his voice trailed sheepishly, “i thought you already knew.” “i don’t feel like solving one of your riddles right now, seunghyun.” he was quick to clarify, smiling real damn hard now: “like you said in the car, i have a really big crush on you. i hope you have one on me, too.” “we’re seriously doing confessions after you fucked the shit out of me?” “we did it before!” he exclaimed louder than he intended to, face warm and cheeks hurting from his smile. “b-before we—” “—i know, i know.” you chuckled. “i’m just messing with you.”

“do you have a crush on me, though?” “to think,” you tutted playfully. “you’re the same person who talked to me like he takes his third leg on daily walks when we first met.” seunghyun buried his face into his pillow, “just answer the question, baby.” “of course i do. who wouldn’t?” you said. “it means more coming from you.” your heart warmed, “i know it does.” you continued, “you know we can’t tell him, right? at least not yet.” seunghyun’s eyebrows fluttered in and out of a furrow, “so we have to sneak around? in case mommy and daddy catch us?” “i mean, do you want to tell him?” you challenged, met with anticipated silence. “i thought so. let me figure it out.” “okay, okay.” he couldn’t fight his yawn—how long he’d been up for the holiday catching up to him. “i trust you, baby. i’d take it to my grave if you told me to. i feel you reconfiguring my moral compass as we speak.” “i guess that’s just what good pussy does.” “you said it, not me. but you’re more than that, though.” “oh, i forgot—you’re a card-carrying feminist.” “proudly.”

jiyong’s smile didn’t make it easier. he was over the moon to see your beautiful self again, walking into your dorm. his kiss made it all the more apparent: “hey baby,” his tone was so doting it stirred guilt-induced nausea in your chest, feeling his fingers find yours. he pulled you into him, you inhaled sharply through your nostrils, sudden surprise hidden well by his lips molding against yours—remembering right, that’s how boyfriends greet their girlfriends. you tried to distract yourself, kissing him back in a way that earned his hands rubbing your lower back soothingly, humming in satisfaction once his arms made residence around your waist. “how’ve you been, hm?” he asked. “i’ve been good.” “yeah? c'mere.” jiyong re-connected the kiss slowly, nudging his nose against yours sweetly, savoring the moment. your hands traveled up his chest, his head tilting to the left once your palms found either side of his neck, kissing you deeper. despite the bitter voice in his head telling him he was inadequate in other places, nothing held the power to deny him that he knew what the fuck to do with that mouth of his.

he gently parted his lips from yours, doting on your cheek next. you had to stop yourself from leaning back in, compensating by wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, pulling one another into a warm embrace. “i missed you so much. i wish we could’ve spent new year’s together, at least.” “i know, jiyongie.” your fingers combed through his hair, “i missed you too.” “how was the train back?” he asked, pressing a kiss to your soft jawline. “i feel like i haven’t seen you in forever.” “since last year.” you joked, feeling the vibrations of his chuckle against your neck. “since last year.” jiyong affirmed. though it was only the first week of the spring semester—and both yours and jiyong’s final one at stanford—it didn’t mean either of your schedules let up. though coursework hadn’t intensified yet; senior theses were due in a few months time, the collegiate tennis season was kicking into high gear in the coming weeks, and prep for the national debate tournament before spring break was in full-force. not to mention, both you and jiyong had respective practices tonight, too. it never ends.

“the train was okay.” you told him, feeling him hum against you, a sweet kiss left in his path. “long, though. but nice. how about your flight? any turbulence like last time?” “thankfully, no.” jiyong lifted his head, lips pressing a chaste kiss to the side of your nose, eyes meeting yours. “well, i mean—seunghyun and i just slept the entire time. so if it happened, i’d have no idea.” you hated how the mere mention of his name made you panic. “really?” your eyebrows raised as if jiyong’s anecdote was an earth-shattering revelation. “it's tough for me to sleep on transit like that. you’re lucky.” jiyong shrugged his shoulders, oblivious. “i guess growing up traveling for games helped out.” jiyong spent the latter part of your shared afternoon like it was any other day: running his thumb over the back of your hand, telling you what he did over break, and peppering sweet kisses on your temple when you were talking. you, on the other hand, were working against an invisible timer. everything you practiced to say, everything you thought of faded closer to your periphery every time his eyes twinkled in your direction—the same way they’ve always done since you first met. it didn��t feel good, knowing how he’d leave your dorm differently than when he came . . . but it’d be worse if it was way farther down the line, your inner monologue reasoned, it's the least i can do for him. i’ve done enough, already.

jiyong’s face fell. “wh—what?” his voice went quiet. “i-i thought . . . i thought things were going good between us?” “it's just that—i just don’t think i see myself being in a relationship right now. like, i’m just not in the headspace for it.” “is there anything i can do to help?” he rested his hand atop yours, a ghost of a grip on your fingers. “i—i can back off,” he nodded, hoping this was the answer. “give you space.” “i don’t think that’s going to work, jiyong.” your tone was apologetic, sincere—only for him to hear. your hand left his, fingers fixing his hair before your palm settled onto his cheek, thumb tracing his cheekbone dotingly. “i’m sorry.” you whispered. his shuddered breath of defeat wasn’t for the weak. he turned to your touch, trying to hide his face. “it wouldn’t be right to string you along.” you told him, voice gentle. “not with all the love you have to give.” he sniffled, holding his tears in. perhaps he wasn’t thinking clearly, or this was the clearest his brain has ever been—he leaned in, but you didn’t lean away. jiyong kissed you as softly as his unspoken plea. what was he asking for? he didn’t know. forgiveness? if so, then for what? not knowing you didn’t want to be in a relationship when you smiled in a way that made him want to topple empires for you? pity? perhaps it was that, considering how he didn’t hesitate to prod your tongue with his once your hand found the back of his neck—jiyong deepening the kiss.

“please.” he whispered meekly against your lips. “i’ll do anything.” once you felt his hand on your thigh, you took your lips away—pulling out the hard stops, reminding yourself why you invited him over in the first place. “that’s enough.” you spoke definitively. jiyong’s forehead fell against your temple. you kept your composure, “its over, jiyong.” you couldn’t give him another way in, turning your body to face forward, leaving him contactless next to you. you shouldn't have reached to fix his hair, but you and jiyong were over and done with now for sure—especially if you were the one cementing it into place. jiyong was beside himself, “what do i keep doing wrong?” he thought aloud. “i can’t speak for the other people you’ve dated.” you said. “the one’ll find you. its just not me.” jiyong scoffed, albeit weakly: “that’s what you think,” he said. “you haven’t even asked me when i think.” you took him up on his point, looking at him. “okay, then. what do you think?” “that i’m a nice guy who doesn’t deserve shit not working out.” he grumbled bitterly, eyes casted on your duvet. an angry tear fell through the cracks, his fingers hastily wiping it away. there it is. one of the nails in the coffin, you thought to yourself. “and i told you i love you.” “over text.” you clarified, hoping he would see your point. he didn’t: “yeah, but i told you.”

you kept your stance, not in the mood for any additional whining: “you need to be a lot more secure in yourself, jiyong. you have so much going for you, don’t waste your time making yourself the enemy.” you said. “it’ll work out one day. it just happened to not be with me.” he fell silent. you saw his eyes become glossier than before, “we can stay friends if you want.” your apologetic tone returned, though you meant your words. “i do, if it makes you feel any better. we should stay friends.” you corrected yourself. jiyong lifted his head, looking into your eyes. his hurt was palpable, “i don’t think i can stay just friends with you.” he said. your expression faltered slightly. a sympathetic grin graced your features, looking at him in a way that felt like he was the only man in the world. “you need to try.” you told him. “for me.” it took jiyong a moment, but he put his pride aside. he nodded, inhaling through his nostrils, blinking away his stubborn tears. “i will.” he spoke with conviction. “you know i’d do anything for you, right?” “i do,” you looked into his eyes. “that’s the best thing about you, jiyong.” one look at his best friend and seunghyun knew you’d done it. since the universe had a crude sense of humor, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, too: Debate ends at nine. Come over after? he wrote back quickly, putting his phone away after jiyong set his duffle bag down: yeds.

jiyong was quiet. he mumbled something under his breath whilst doing his stretches, inhaling sharply through his nostrils after retrieving his racket from its case. tuning out their teammates dispersed throughout the athletic center’s indoor courts, seunghyun performed his service motion—thwwacckk!—effectively starting jiyong’s round of drills, as they have historically always started with him. the first set focused on his back and forehand swings, hitting the ball back to seunghyun without issue throughout those twenty shots. his recovery step was steady as he ran side to side, zeroed in like he was trying to distract himself from something—which he was. for seunghyun’s turn, jiyong served the ball with such unexpected strength that he had to skirt off to the side, dodging it. he gave jiyong a look: “dude?” “my bad.” jiyong muttered, going to grab another ball without a second thought. “if you’re gonna kill me, might as well tell me why.” seunghyun joked, hoping to lighten the mood. he walked up to the net, beckoning jiyong over with a subtle wave of his hand.

“y'know you can talk to me, ji.” “i know i can, seunghyun.” “it’ll be a waste of practice if you’re pent up like that.” “i know!” jiyong snapped. “okay? i know that. you don’t need to remind me like i’m someone’s dumbass kid.” seunghyun didn’t flinch. he gave jiyong space to breath, to pace around with his hands on his hips—a parallel to their routine bickering growing up; a testament to their respective knowledge of one another’s ticks. though seunghyun knew why jiyong was upset, he had to ask. after all, it was the brotherly thing to do. “talk to me, ji.” jiyong came to a halt, looking up. “we broke up. okay? that’s what happened.” seunghyun’s eyebrows furrowed—in another life, i’d make a good actor—“what? why? i thought things were going okay with you guys?” “that’s what i said.” jiyong shook his head. “but i guess not.” “what’d she say?” seunghyun kept his tone casual. “y'know, when she—” “—she said she couldn’t see herself in a relationship right now.”

seunghyun’s face warmed, “oh.” he nodded. he quickly ran his hand over his face, effectively stifling his amused grin. she and i really aren’t much different after all—“whatever that means. right?” “no, it makes sense.” jiyong countered. “even if i don’t agree with it, i’ve got no choice but to respect it.” “you’ll find someone better, anyway.” “i don’t know about that, man.” with that, jiyong returned to his side of the court without saying another word—his serve much less intense this time, but still holding a hefty bite. he didn’t mention it again, giving seunghyun a polite nod of thanks before heading to the showers after practice ended. the sight of his best friend looking in his eyes flashed before him prior to you opening your door, but it wasn’t strong enough to stop seunghyun from walking inside, and with a smile no less.

he slipped the condom on, tossing the wrapper into the small trash bin lodged beside your desk. you laid on your stomach in your bed—so naturally pretty, but more importantly comfortable—ass over the edge of your bed, feet on the floor; arms crossed on the duvet, your temple resting on your wrists. a long exhale of satisfaction left your nostrils, feeling seunghyun knead either of your beautiful—fucking gorgeous globes. his bottom lip was caught between his teeth, relishing over how his hands—as big as they already were—just barely were able to hold them. he tapped your right one lightly, a sound of approval leaving through his teeth at how your skin recoiled. you weren’t having it: “i know you can do better than that.” he smacked harder, hearing your gasp. you failed to bite back your pleased smile, “that’s more like it.” you giggled sweetly. his hands pushed your shirt up, palms dotingly rubbing your lower back, tenderly cascading over your rolls—carefully watching his fingers run over your stretch marks. he took his sweet time. he hasn’t seen your entire body yet, but he felt lucky from the proximity alone. to think that sculpting was invented to immortalize bodies like hers, he wasn’t sure if he remembered that fact from the art history gen-ed he took his freshman year correctly. but as far as he was concerned, it was the whole truth and nothing but. shit, i’d go to war for and build temples for her, too . . .

“i can still smell ji’s cologne in here, yknow.” “yeah?” “yeah,” seunghyun leaned down. he nudged his nose against your temple, wordlessly asking for you to turn your head towards him; another silent plea in his chaste kiss. you obliged, feeling his lips linger before kissing yours. his breath was warm against your pores, “needed me that badly, huh?” “don’t get too proud.” you said casually. you backed up an inch, hearing his breath hitch, your ass pushing against him. “f-fuck…” he sputtered, tightening his grip on your hips. “you forget how to spell words when you get all excited.” you referred to his typo from earlier. you felt and heard seunghyun chuckle into the back of your neck, coinciding with your sweet laughter. “i think i still have his hat.” you thought aloud. “for real?” said seunghyun. “mhm.” you hummed. “in the closet, maybe. on the top shelf?” seunghyun walked to the other side of your dorm, pulling the doors of your closet open. he peered up at the top shelf, smirking upon spotting the stanford tennis baseball cap lodged on top of a folded sweater.

you heard him walk back, though you didn’t feel him return behind you. you looked over your shoulder, “where did you—oh.” seunghyun was stood in front of the mirror mounted above your dresser, adjusting the cap to sit backwards on his head. “you’re horrible.” “you’re not telling me to take it off, though.” he pointed out coolly. you were stubborn, “you’re still horrible.” “you are, too.” he countered. his body warmth returned behind you, palms fondling either side of your lush waist. he leaned down to your ear, “'cause you don’t want me to talk it off, right?” it was quiet, but he heard your breath shake. “you’ve made me an honest man, so i’ll tell you that i don’t wanna take it off. is that okay with you? yeah, baby?” “yes.” you swallowed, eyes fluttering closed, mindlessly pushing your temple against his mouth. seunghyun obliged, pressing a kiss. “better fuck me like you deserve it, though.” you told him lowly. seunghyun smacked your left globe hard and unabashed, earning a hum of approval from you. “i will.” he said. he held the base of his cock, pushing his tip between your puffy lips. “you better tell me if something’s wrong.” “you’re always so self-referential.” you giggled—quickly humbled by his slow, yet delectable stretching of you out.

you spread your feet apart, allotting additional room for him, but also for you to settle in more comfortably. seunghyun caught on, “that—that better for you?” he asked, licking his lips, trying to keep his senses tangible through your gummy walls gradually swallowing him. he heard you hum in response, “push my back down. just a little,” he listened diligently, palm pressing your lower back. “maybe he can get you deeper—a-ah!” you gasped sharply. seunghyun was entirely inside, and in fact, deeper. he was completely still, trying to catch his own breath. your moan wasn’t helping. “o-oh fuck!” you whimpered in utmost satisfaction. your muscles relaxed yet you couldn't—your unsolicited wriggling sending fragmented words to his throat, resulting in a wince turned cough. “this is j-just what i—fuck!—this is just what i fucking needed, holy shit.” you bit your bottom lip, sitting up on your elbows. you turned your head, eyes peering at him in your periphery. “this alone would’ve made you a m-mom if it weren’t for the c-condom—sh-shit. . .” his licked his lips, eyebrows furrowed whilst his throat deflated into an impaired, withering whimper. “can i move? fuck, h-how are you so—” “y-yeah—yes.”

seunghyun was fighting for his life. his grip on your hips and sound of his pelvis clapping against your ass would argue otherwise—but the look on his face? with every thrust, his mouth fell more stupidly; head cocked back, visor of the baseball cap rubbing against his neck. his rhythm was consistent—purposefully egged on by your cries of pleasure and breathy encouragements, albeit fragmented from just how fucking good he was fucking you. “this is—this is j-just what i needed, s-seunghyun—ngh!” you never thought in a million years your voice could reach the pitch it just did. but with seunghyun in the picture, it felt as if anything was possible at this point. you bit your lip, taking whatever he gave you with warm welcome, not complaining whatsoever over being spoiled rotten—like you fucking deserve. “o-oh fuck!” was all he was able to conjure, slowly looking down at the scene before him. his eyebrows furrowed, breathing through his mouth, face contorting into one of pathetic sin.

his hips were relentless and strong; the athleticism on full display—watching and feeling your cheeks bounce like water in his palms. “oh fuck!” he prolonged his syllables, voice cracking. “oh f-fuck, baby—” he stopped to re-adjust himself, widening his stance to swiftly lean down to your temple, resuming his intoxicating pace soon after. you gasped, hand instinctively going into his hair, knocking the hat off his head and onto the duvet, keeping him close to you. he kissed the end of your cheekbone, lips staying there whilst he fucked you in the way you liked. “y-you’re so fucking deep,” you told him. your lips parted, eyebrows furrowed deeply and eyes squeezed shut, “feels so fucking g-good.” “oh yeah? am i?” his voice was low. the shakiness in his tone was telling, “do you—o-oh fuck yeah!” he cried out vulnerably, hips stuttering when you clenched around him. he thrusted back in hard, gifting him your relaxed posture and shaky hum of approval—melting into your libido. seunghyun leaned forward some more, hoping his next move wouldn’t strain your neck. “come here,” he pleaded. his hand came to your cheek, turning your head, meeting his lips with ease. he kept your lips together as he pounded into you again, internalizing the sound of your voice breaking against his. at some point, you couldn’t retain focus anymore: “oh f-fuck!” you cried out. “just like that seunghyunnie, just like that—” your wall-shattering gasp startled your hallmate walking past your door, laundry basket in hand, sheepishly scurrying away upon realizing you weren’t in danger whatsoever.

january and february went by faster than expected. it was the rhythmic hustle: wake up, go to class, bury your head in either your laptop screen and lined notebook paper, sleep—repeat. your senior thesis was coming along well, preparation for the national debate tournament in san francisco was steady, and you and seunghyun were practically undetectable. on days where your respective schedules aligned, he set up shop on the carpet beside your bed, solving equations and whatever the fuck for his coursework with nothing but grid notebook paper and his mechanical pencil like it was nobody’s business. perhaps it was adaptability on the tennis court manifesting in other areas of his life, because he was able to study coherently just about anywhere. the only non-negotiable was his ipod nano his parents got him for christmas—wired headphones playing either frank sinatra or wu-tang clan; there never was an in-between, mostly. he got up after a few hours, stretching his arms generously over his head. he took the two strides to your desk, gently ushering you out of your concentrative bubble with a hand on your shoulder, dotingly rubbing down your back when you turned to him with a quiet “hm?” “m'getting panera for dinner.” he said. he leaned down, lips finding your temple before your cheek. “what do you want, hm? you need to take a break.”

when you were over at seunghyun’s apartment, he cleared his desk for you in his bedroom. if he didn’t have a roommate, he would’ve made a key for you to come and go as you please. you lodged there for however long you needed: writing your senior thesis, tweaking outlines of affirmative and negative arguments written by your teammates, answering emails—anything. seunghyun learned the pacing of your schedule relatively quickly, often manifesting in keeping track of the time for you. you were twelve pages deep in an assigned reading, keen on starting its accompanying assignment after the debate meeting this evening. seunghyun returned from the kitchen, knocking on his open bedroom door, “baby?” you looked up from your highlighter. “it’s 6:45. you’ll be late if we don’t leave now.” “shit, really? okay, give me a minute.” you stood from his desk chair, packing your laptop and other materials up. when you slung the left backpack strap over your shoulder, you froze. “oh my god.” seunghyun’s face dropped a little, seeing the look on your face. he walked over, taking your backpack from you, carrying it himself. “what? is everything okay?” “i almost forgot.” you looked at him. “we start drills this weekend.” “drills?” “we—we sort ourselves into pairs,” you walked out of his bedroom, him following closely behind. “and we’re randomly assigned either the affirmative or negative for a case, and we debate each other.” you explained, pushing your feet into your shoes. “there's—there’s logistics involved. i was supposed to plan it today.”

seunghyun was quick to reassure: “it’s okay,” he unlocked the front door, ushering you to lead the way to the elevator. “you have time to do it tomorrow— even with your presentation for democratic theory.” he said before you could counter. “you can do it. i know you.” he opened the passenger’s door for you, safely tucking your backpack away in the backseat. he put his key into the ignition, backing out of his usual parking spot at his apartment complex, “the world doesn’t have shit on you, y'know.” as time went by, seunghyun wasn’t necessarily worried about your anticipated telling of jiyong. he wholeheartedly meant it when he said he trusted you completely—if i’m lucky to enough to be loved by the divine feminine herself, then i’m more than fortunate enough to trust her—and he’d rather pull his hair out one by one than be the one to tell him. on top of that, you didn’t give off the vibe of playing in his face. your stress-induced under eye bags from your workload said enough. after all, who was he to take initiative after the job’s already been taken? to his fortune, anyway, he was too busy being in love to give it much thought. he was willing to take your shared secrecy to the grave. call it delusion or devotion—he was serious. all he needed was your voice of reason to bicker with and your pussy to eat, and he’ll die a happy man.

though it was an impending eventuality, the messier side of seunghyun couldn’t help the question: does jiyong need to know? like, does he need to know that when he waved to jiyong as he did his warm-ups before practice, the reason why seunghyun was blinking so hard was because you sucked his dick so good he was trying to clear his vision even a half hour later? does jiyong need to know why seunghyun’s developed a habit of tugging at the hem of his shirt, because he so often fixes yours when the fabric bunches between the bottom of your back and top of your ass? or when he’s nervous—like before his singles game against ucla—he’s started pacing in the locker room, mentally reviewing his planned plays whilst mindlessly rubbing the tip of his ear, because that’s how you’ve lulled him to sleep before? and does he really need to know that when he invited jiyong over for dinner to catch up after a hectic start-of-the-semester apart, you were in the same chair as jiyong a couple nights ago, offering to settle a petty dispute over who got the last can of coca-cola through rock-paper-scissors? or how about twenty feet away in seunghyun’s bedroom, where he fingered your stress away that same night, telling you he loves you whilst you bless his hand with splashes of your divineness? nah, jiyong didn’t need to know shit . . .

much to your delightful surprise, you and jiyong remained friends. or were at least friendly. you saw him after picking up your bagel and iced coffee up at coho’s, unable to properly say hello as you woke up late that morning, allotting less than ten minutes to head to your democratic theory lecture a couple blocks down, but traded polite grins from across the café nonetheless. you ran into one another on your walk back to your residential building—a care package sent by your parents in your hands, having picked it up at your commons. the expected “how’ve you been?” was exchanged. the conversation was admittedly light, but when you felt the time pass, there was a bit more speed in your step after your amicable “have a good weekend,” because unbeknownst to jiyong, you were ten minutes late for meeting with seunghyun in his car to go out for dinner off campus. you quickly dropped the package off in your dorm, settling into the passenger’s seat with a huff, “sorry i’m late.” “you’re good.” said seunghyun, waving the remainder of cigarette smoke out of his open window. he reached down, spinning the crank to put the window up. “still have some time before our reservation, anyway. hey,” he beckoned. “c'mere.” you looked at him, realizing what he meant. “oh, right. sorry.” your hands held either side of his face. “hi.” you said, leaning in. “hi.” he repeated, an amused grin tugging at the corners of his lips. you closed the gap. seunghyun re-connected the kiss. from the breath of relief leaving your nostrils, he could tell it was needed.

“busy day?” “oh god—i don’t even wanna talk about it.” you shook your head. “to think, nationals in a month and a half.” you thought aloud. “and all the shit i have to do in-between and afterward.” “you’ll do it. i know you can.” “i will. but barely.” you countered. “but how about you? how was your day? did your thesis meeting with your professor go okay?” “way better than i expected. there’s not a whole bunch of edits to make, finally. for once, y'know?” said seunghyun, putting his car into drive. “really?” you put on your seatbelt. “thats wonderful, baby. i’m proud of you.” “thank you. m'proud of you, too.” he looked into the rearview mirror, spotting himself whilst backing out of the parking spot. once done, he glanced at you. “but you already knew that.” he smiled. “i know.” you grinned. “y'know i just saw jiyong? he was walking around here.” “really?” seunghyun merged into traffic, “what’s he around here for?” you shrugged your shoulders, “i don’t know. i mean, what’re you around here for?” you quipped, upside-down grin molding your lips at his playfully annoyed expression. “that’s different.” he said. “i know, i know.” you chuckled. you relaxed into your seat, looking out the windshield. “he looks like he’s doing okay.” you said. “can you attest to that?”

seunghyun nodded, his eyes on the road. “yeah.” he answered. “it doesn’t seem to, y'know, completely consume him anymore. then again, i don’t live with his brain. but still. he’s better than he was.” you hummed in acknowledgement, reading the license plates of the cars driving in front of you. “that’s good. i told him about nationals before spring break. he invited me to your match on sunday with ucla.” the car came to gradual halt, stopping at the red traffic light. “i’m guessing you said yes?” “i said i’d think about it.” you clarified, seunghyun nodding in your periphery. “but it's basically a yes.” he couldn’t help his smile, leaning his head against his seat. “you gonna wear his hat like last time?” you gave him a look, unable to hide your amusement. “look at you, stirring the pot. and what if i did?” “then i’ll have to gear up to be the best man at your guys’ wedding.” seunghyun laughed. he laughed harder when you kissed your teeth disapprovingly, “oh hell no. fuck that.” you ran your hand over your face, feeling the car move again. “but i’m coming. at two, right?” “mhm.” seunghyun confirmed. “it's about time you see your boyfriend play, anyway.” “my two boyfriends.” you muttered, grinning sweetly hearing his laughter. “yeah,” seunghyun smiled grandly, playing into the joke. “your two proud boyfriends.”

the world split into two in march 2006—one being you, lodged in a hotel room in san francisco for the weekend, going back and forth between your teammates’ rooms to review arguments and strategies before heading to the convention center where nationals were held; the other housing seunghyun and jiyong in an almost empty snack bar on campus, cheeks flushed after an intense doubles match against uc irvine. though it wasn’t unfamiliar, either of their bodies felt the weight of their intensified regiment—both seunghyun and jiyong having played grueling singles matches earlier in the week, with another scheduled right before spring break. seunghyun sat in front of the windows in the snack bar, staring at his phone in his lap: Good luck today baby I love you so much he read his text for the nth time, but not as much as your response: I love you too!! good luck w irvine:) Call u tonight muah. jiyong came over with churros in both hands, seeing seunghyun on his phone. he put it away casually before anything could be seen, though what jiyong asked gave him a slight heart attack: “meet someone new?” he handed seunghyun a churro, sitting down in the stool next to him. seunghyun accepted, turning around and placing his elbows on the table behind them. “what? oh. nah.” he shook his head. he took a bite of his churro, other hand wiping the sugar grains from the corner of his mouth. “just something about my study group this weekend.” “oh, yeah. you did mention your midterm earlier.” jiyong thought aloud, nodding.

they talked as they usually did. jiyong turned around, resting his elbows like seunghyun. it was when he reached up to scratch an itch on his eyebrow did his expression suddenly sour. “shit,” he cursed under his breath—a slight stinging sensation on his temple. “you good?” seunghyun asked. “yeah, i think—i think i got sunburned.” jiyong’s fingers gingerly felt his forehead. his skin was irritated, confirming his suspicions. seunghyun took a bite of his churro before leaning in to get a better look, “doesn’t look too red.” he observed. “did you put on enough sunblock?” “i did, but i guess the humidity fucked me over today.” said jiyong, hearing seunghyun hum in acknowledgement. “doesn’t feel too bad, though.” jiyong muttered. “aloe vera’ll fix it up. i need my hat back.” “back?” seunghyun knew damn well, but he would be remiss to not keep himself in the safe zone—though the memory of your cheeks clapping made him adjust his posture in his seat. “did you lose it? that shit was glued to your head, man.” he chuckled. jiyong finished his churro, dusting his hands off underneath the table. “i left it with her.” he spoke in-between chewing. “you think i could get it back?” “sure.” seunghyun nodded, a grin tugging at his mouth. “if you ask nicely, of course.”

jiyong tried to give seunghyun a look, but his smile betrayed him. “very funny. ha-ha.” he chuckled. jiyong felt leftover sugar on his hand, shoving seunghyun’s face with his palm. seunghyun let out a hearty laugh, carefully wiping his cheek after finishing his churro. “y'know,” jiyong started. “i’ve been thinking.” “uh-oh.” seunghyun quipped, smiling at jiyong’s tsk of annoyance. “shut up,” said jiyong. “but for real. y'know how we have our—our end of season banquet, right?” “right.” jiyong fell silent, suddenly overcome with sheepishness. “you’re gonna have to spit it out at some point, ji.” “i know, i know.” jiyong shook his head, trying to level himself. “its just that—” he sighed. “maybe this is just pathetic of me to say. but i was thinking of inviting her.” seunghyun didn’t question it. he wanted to know more. “like as a plus one?” “yeah. i think the registry’s still open.” jiyong responded so quickly it was as if he cut seunghyun off. he looked at him, worried. his next question cemented it: “that's weird, right?” “was it weird when she came to our game against ucla?” seunghyun asked. jiyong shook his head, “no.” he answered earnestly. “but i did spent the entire time wishing we were still together, though.” seunghyun smiled proudly, putting his arm around jiyong’s shoulders. “you fucking snake.” he said. “i didn’t know you had it in you.” this’ll be fun, his inner monologue voiced. jiyong was visibly confused, yet his half-smile contradicted himself. “what? have what in me?”

“it's exciting seeing you this way, ji.” said seunghyun. “and no, i don’t think its weird, personally.” “i’m not—” jiyong went to say something, but seunghyun talked over him—committed to the bit. “its what’s been missing from your tennis.” “what?” seunghyun’s arm returned to his side, “it's nice to see you lit-up about something. even if that something’s your ex-girlfriend. you said she wanted to be friends when you broke up, right?” after he shoved his tongue down his throat, she did seunghyun’s inner monologue reminded him, remembering your play-by-play of what went down. jiyong nodded, “yeah, she did. but i don’t know if this is too forward or something.” “nah, not at all.” seunghyun shook his head. he jutted his bottom lip—perhaps too animated—but with how jiyong looked genuinely concerned, he flew right under the radar. “you don’t think i’m crazy?” jiyong asked, vulnerable. seunghyun’s face dropped a little, recognizing the look in his best friend’s eyes. the lingering hurt—the yearning. jiyong wasn’t over you. it didn’t look like he would be anytime soon. seunghyun could only say so much, having to hold himself back from the protective jealousy stirring in his chest, choosing his words carefully: “it's not considered crazy to be in love, ji.” unbeknownst to jiyong, seunghyun speaking for himself: “it's not crazy to want someone, either.”

the tournament wasn’t a sweep though stanford placed highly nonetheless. you celebrated with dinner and drinks at the end of that long weekend—delightfully surprised after your teammates prepared a graduation gift for their president, along with sentimental speeches that might’ve (just might’ve) made your eyes misty with gratitude. you hid it well behind your margarita, anyway. you walked into your hotel room at half past eleven that sunday night. packing would be rushed in the morning before boarding the bus back to stanford—for now, you just needed the quiet. you kicked your loafers off, set your gift bag down by the television, sitting on the edge of your unmade hotel bed. you leaned to your right, raising your left thigh, fishing your sidekick out of the back pocket of your black dress trousers—too tired to change out of your debate garb just yet. it's not too late, you thought to yourself. seunghyun’s definitely still awake. you scrolled through your notifications, seeing a few texts here and there, eyebrows furrowing seeing a missed call from jiyong a couple hours ago. “huh?” there was a voicemail from him, too. you pressed play, bringing your phone to your ear.

you heard a bicycle bell, followed by the skid of his sneakers against the sidewalk. “hi! this is—uh, this is jiyong,” his pause told you he didn’t know why he said his name. “i hope you've—i hope you’ve been doing good. i wanted to call to wish you good luck at your debate comp. i saw a flyer about it at coho’s, but i wasn’t sure of the time. i hope i didn’t call you when you were on stage or something. that would be really bad,” he chuckled nervously. “a-anyway,” he cleared his throat. “i’m calling ‘cause there’s this—there’s this thing we have in tennis. at the end of the season. well, a lot of if not all the athletic departments do it—but it's a seasonal banquet. there’s, like, food and awards and shit but i was wondering if . . . if—uh, if you’d want to come? it's on june 3rd—the sunday before graduation. totally no pressure. there’s lots of room for plus ones, so don’t worry about that if you want to come. people do it all the time. my parents won’t be able to come out here until graduation, so it’d be nice to have someone i know there. besides seunghyun. we'd—we’d go as friends, of course. i—i get it if you think its weird,” he descended into a characteristic ramble. “i mean, i would too. maybe. but i asked seunghyun about it,” your eyebrows raised. “and he didn't—he didn’t think it was odd. but of course what matters most is what you want. so, let me know? if you—if you want? yeah. you have—you have my number. i hope your comp went well.”

well that was something, you thought to yourself. it seemed relatively harmless, though you just knew seunghyun had something to do with this. he was mentioned twice, you recalled, what a fucking deviant. you didn’t think about your decision too much. you listened to your gut, noticing how there wasn’t a tug towards desired safety, nor the toxic nip of curiosity to just see what happens. your logic perhaps voiced the concern of this not being one of your best decisions … but if anything, the greedy part of your brain took to the frontlines: who wouldn’t want free food and two fine ass men feigning over you in silence? you turned your sidekick horizontally, lifting the screen to reveal the tactile keyboard. jiyong’s nokia vibrated in his pocket, showing seunghyun his screen with glee. “she said yes!” he exclaimed. if he didn’t know any better, seunghyun would’ve thought jiyong proposed. “for real?” he leaned forward, reading Hi! I got your voicemail. I’d love to go :) Send me details. he smirked, “you asked her over voicemail?” jiyong was quick to defend himself, “she didn’t answer her phone.” seunghyun chuckled, swiftly pulling his phone out. you received a slew of texts, one after the other: At jis do pnot call; i will call u latyer; How ur day; I lov youp. you smirked at your screen. seunghyun’s phone buzzed in his hand a minute later, having to control his warming face whilst jiyong ordered the pizza: You’re not slick. I love you more

the closer it got to graduation, the closer you came to the brink. those deadlines were horrendous, making you choose between completing coursework or up-keeping personal hygiene on particularly rough days. debate and graduation prep on your end were done. all that was left was perfecting and submitting your senior thesis, finishing those last few assignments that just happened to be dense as fuck, and preparing for finals. it took a toll on you. after the third day of falling off the face of the earth after the usual Good morning text, seunghyun had enough, too. there was enough on his plate already as a collegiate athlete: consistent games, demanding physical regiment, initiating the transition to go pro—coupled with his own academic pursuits. but if he’s learned anything these last five months, it's that there’s always room for you. no matter what. your phone dinged! at the library, startling you and eliciting disapproving looks from others deep in their studies. you turned your ringer off, reading the text from seunghyun. you had only just realized it was well past midnight, Baby u still at the library? Yes, you wrote back, A lot to do. your phone vibrated a minute later, Youve been there way too much. Its worrying me. you smirked at your screen, Didnt know u were so charitable. only for him to respond, Im being serious.

when twenty minutes went by with no answer, seunghyun called you. it didn’t take him long to pick up his keys after being sent to voicemail, taking the elevator down to his apartment building’s parking lot. an hour and some change later, at around half past one, the head librarian on your floor came on the sound system, announcing the library would be closing in a half hour. you checked the time on your phone, seeing a text from seunghyun: Librarys closing soon. you typed back, I know. Heading home now. seunghyun spotted you walking out of the front entrance. thank god she chose that one, his inner monologue muttered. he left his seat on the bench, “baby?” he called out, jogging over to you. you weren’t sure if it was the sleep deprivation playing a trick on you, slowly turning around and seeing the voice certainly matched who you thought it belonged to. your eyebrows furrowed: “what?” you muttered in a bit of disbelief. “what—what’re you doing here? it's almost two am.” “i could say the same to you.” he said. his hand came up to your cheek, bending down to kiss the other. “where’re you going?” “my dorm?” you said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “but you need to relax.” “i can relax in my dorm.” seunghyun loved your stubbornness as it often complemented his, but in times like these, he felt like he played the role of a husband: “nah, nah.” he tutted, shaking his head through your disapproving tsk. “look at me, baby. c'mere.” he leaned down, softly pressing his lips against yours—satisfied in feeling you kiss him back, even more so when your hands came up to hold his face in your palms.

seunghyun ended the kiss just as gently as he started it, resting his forehead against yours. “it's been a week since i last saw you.” he spoke lowly. “i miss you real bad, baby.” he didn’t need you to tell him you missed him, too. he felt it in how you aligned your nose to nuzzle next to his—in how your breath from your parted lips breathed life back into him, your touch behind his neck so poetically familiar. “fine.” you told him definitively. “but you better have something to eat. i haven’t had dinner yet.” and he did. well, as far as kraft mac and cheese and reheated ready-made garlic bread can go. he gave you a pair of his briefs (“don’t look at me like that—they’re freshly washed. probably still warm from the dryer. plus, you’ve had my dick inside you. so it's not that much different.”) and a loose-fitting tee as makeshift pajamas. the shirt was too snug of a fit to your liking to sleep in, so you opted just to stay in your cami. not that seunghyun was complaining whatsoever—there was a sweet grin on his face as he tucked himself into bed next to, over-the-moon to knock the fuck out next to you after a long ass day.

you weren’t sure if it was the white noise of the air-conditioning, the darkness of seunghyun’s bedroom, your head hitting the pillow next to his, or how tenderly he wrapped his arms around you underneath his duvet, dotingly loving you with his warmth—but you were brought to tears; overwhelmed by how much had been on your shoulders these past few months, this week being the absolute worst without question. it felt now that your mind finally had a moment in the quiet, it took the opportunity to remind you where you are. it didn’t feel good. it felt malicious. enough to turn your face and sink into your pillow in shame, body trembling whilst you cried. seunghyun sprung into action: lifting his head up from his pillow, making out your silhouette in the dark. “hey,” he called softly, afraid to speak above a whisper. “baby—hey. hey,” his lips found the back of your shoulder. he heard your muffled cries, “oh no.” he tutted gently, sympathetic. “oh no, my baby. c'mere. at least let me hold you.” you slowly turned into his chest, grateful he couldn’t see your face in the dark. his palm found the back of your head, bringing your forehead to his lips. “what's going on, hm?” how tender his voice was just made you cry harder. you tried to get yourself together. “tell me, baby. i’ve never seen you like this before. it hurts.” “i’m fine.” you cleared your throat, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand. “i guess—i guess once i, like, settled down or whatever,” you sniffled. “my brain just . . . i don’t know . . . reminded me of how crazy everything’s been.”

seunghyun hummed in understanding. “i just don’t know how—” you cut yourself off, trying to abstain from crying again. you failed, feeling your sinus loosen and bottom lip quiver, “i just don’t know how i’m gonna do it all, seunghyun.” he held you tighter to him, feeling your muffled sob into his shirt. “you will.” he assured, lips kissing your temple. “you’ve made it this far. there’s no reason for you to not go farther. you’re the smartest person i’ve fucking ever met, you know that? hm?” his hand rubbed soothingly up and down your back, leaning down to press kisses onto your shoulder. “you talk your shit in circles around me daily.” he chuckled. you felt him smile into the supple, plush skin of your arm. you took a few deep inhales, trying to steady your heartbeat. “i’m not usually like this.” you muttered. “doesn’t matter if you cry everyday or not at all.” he said. “however you feel is human.” “i’ve never seen you cry.” “not yet.” countered seunghyun, lips returning to your forehead. his fingers swept your cheeks, collecting remnants of your fallen tears. “if i think about it long enough,” he whispered to you. “you crying’ll make me cry.” his words struck a chord in you, loosening your sinuses for a different reason. you reached for his temple, fingers combing through his hair, pulling him to your lips. “i love you.” your voice quivered in its whisper. “tenderly.” “i love you tenderly too, baby.” he reconnected your lips, “my baby. my beautiful baby.”

seunghyun’s senses awoke to his bladder intruding his rem cycle. his haphazard glance into the kitchen, eyeing the time on the stove, let him know it was half past seven in the morning. returning to his bedroom, he was met with an unwelcome surprise. you were up and out of bed, already dressed in your clothes from the night before, packing your backpack at his desk. “what’re you doing?” he mumbled, voice riddled with lingering sleep. “it's so early.” “the library opens soon—” you cut yourself off with a yawn, putting your laptop in its sleeve. “i have to go.” “you were just crying about being there, like, five hours ago, baby.” “crying doesn’t make it disappear, now does it?” you responded without looking up, sifting through the other pockets of your backpack to ensure you had everything you needed—mentally writing a to-do list for the day. seunghyun walked up behind you, fixing your shirt before sneaking his hand underneath the hem, warm palm settling onto your hip. “c'mon, baby. just stay for a little while.” “seunghyun, i have a—” “—an hour or two won’t hurt, y'know.” he said. he leaned down—pressing slow, purposeful kisses on your neck. satisfied chills ran down your spine. you actively tried to fight your fluttering eyes, or how your knees buckled slightly. but then seunghyun’s hand traveled past your stomach, gingerly kneading your breast through your cami. he knows every fucking thing about me, your inner monologue tsked.

your hand reached for his hair, feeling him hum against your supple skin in approval. “that’s right.” he encouraged. “feel me here with you—just like that.” he ushered you to his bed, telling you to “get comfortable f'me. it's gonna be a while, baby.” seunghyun unbuttoned your jeans, tugged your underwear off too, tossing both onto his carpeted floor. you spread your legs like muscle memory, watching him kiss down your inner thigh—taking his sweet, dedicated time with his favorite part of your plushness. his lips were slow on that soft pouch, cheeks relishing in how warm you felt against him. “so fucking beautiful, baby,” he whispered, inching closer to where you needed him the most, and where he wanted to be. “pussy’s fucking divine.” he ate you out like never before, rendering you speechless. his tongue did all the work, mouth latching onto those sweet, puffy lips of yours. his ministrations were slow and deliberate, making sure you felt every flick of his tongue against your clit, every swipe when he flattened it against you, every lap when he got greedy—or most importantly, his muffled whines whenever you tugged his hair. “f-fuck,” he sputtered into you, trying to re-focus on sucking your clit. “f-fuck, baby”. at some point, you were frozen—legs cemented in a spread, helpless to how good you felt. your eyes were closed, mouth hung open, so caught up in the pleasure you forgot to arch your back. it was as if your body didn’t know what to do, only able to speak in a language of light whimpers and broken whispers of your boyfriend’s name—one hand curled around nothing, the other now lifeless in his hair.

seunghyun slurped and suckled in content, ready to do this all fucking day if need-be. he took his sweet time, relishing in your sweet whimpers, humming in satisfaction the wetter you became, making sure you heard him swallow whenever he came up for a breath. it felt good to know his baby felt good and that he was the one doing it. he missed the feeling of your thick thighs clenching around his head, though. even so, he deduced you felt so good you couldn’t move. i know thats fucking right, his inner monologue commended. “i don’t take this for granted.” he said between lapping your clit. “i know how lucky i am. m’gonna start praying to this pussy if that’s what it takes.” your breath hitched suddenly and loudly. your toes curled into his duvet, hips bucking up unexpectedly, unintentionally making him latch off. before you could rush a hazy apology, he beat you to it: “its okay, its okay.” his voice was quiet—tender. you let out a prolonged whimper, effectively wordless—just needing him. you can’t remember the last time you felt so loved, so cared for, doted on in such a vulnerable state. “i got you.” his palms rubbed your thighs, the divots and crevices of your divine cellulite making love to his fingers. he felt up your bare stomach, sneaking underneath your cami, fingers etching over stretch marks—cascading down your supple rolls before returning to your thighs. “seunghyun’s got you, baby. relax for me.” he kissed your inner thigh. “relax f'me. lemme make love to you.”

you regained consciousness when you came, back arching into damn near oblivion. “fuck!” your voice broke. you let out an airy cry, unable to conjure something more guttural—too enraptured in your dream-like state. you felt a dip in the bed, grounded by a kiss to your cheek. seunghyun hovered above you, hands propping him up. “i love you, baby.” he told you sweetly, a second kiss inching closer to your mouth. “i love you, too.” your voice was almost non-existent, staying in a whisper, as if your subconscious was afraid that if you spoke too loudly, your sanctuary would be disturbed. your hand slipped up the side of his neck, bringing his lips to yours. “you bring me back to life . . .” you said breathily, inhaling through your nostrils. seunghyun’s open mouth hovered above yours hungrily, whimpering into the kiss at your words. he was annoyingly hard in his boxers, but stayed kissing you ever so slowly—at your pace. you could’ve sworn you felt the warmth of the sun when his tongue prodded yours, kissing him with increased fervor—your strength returning. “you’ve changed my life for the better.” he muttered against your lips. you whimpered, seunghyun tilting his head to deepen the kiss in return. “the least i can do is take care of you. right? yeah?” “mhm.” you hummed, keeping him tethered to you. “good.” he gradually separated your lips, satisfied in your shallow, yet quiet breath. he leaned into your touch, nuzzling his nose into your palm, kissing your warmth. “then let seunghyunnie take care of you, hm?”

he pushed your shirt up for the hem to rest under your neck. he laid between your legs, stomach aligning with yours, propping himself up with his elbow, palm against his temple. his right hand snuck underneath your cami, watching himself caress your right breast—able to feel it, but not see it entirely. you sucked in a breath, eyes on his hand underneath the fabric, watching a small peak form in the shape of your hardened nipple in real time. your areola was lodged between his pointer and middle finger, a gasp inflating your lungs as seunghyun leaned down, running his tongue repeatedly over your clothed nipple. after a few more, he took a look. “yeah.” he confirmed quietly to himself— working you up. his hand slipped from underneath your cami, tugging it down enough to let your breast breath. he didn’t waste any time in making only the top of his head visible, capturing your nipple between his lips and making love to it with his tongue. he hummed in content, encouraged by your hand in his hair, enraptured by your moans. “o-oh my god!” you whispered. you were stuck on an inhale, breathing when he popped off. “let me hear you.” was all he said when he went to your left breast, angling his head so you could see what he was doing. you watched his tongue nurture your areola, mouth hung up as he kissed your stretch marks before diving back in. “f-fuck…” your voice trailed. “thats so fucking good.” his dick twitched in his boxers, “y-yeah?” it is, baby?“ his syllables were half-finished as he spoke in the midst of his ministrations, but the eye contact with lethal. he got the message when your fingers carded through his hair, sucking like the good boy he is—spoiling you like you deserve.

the birds chirped as he reached for a condom, shutting the drawer of his nightside table. he made love to you the only way he knew how: with purpose. you kissed one another like lost souls reunited after centuries apart. his thrusts were intentionally slow, hardening upon feeling the ball of your foot rest on his lower back, fueling either his and your pathetic whimpers into each other’s mouths. his speed didn’t falter—wanting to not only take his time, but also speak to you without talking. he meant it when he said you’ve changed him for the better; the sun shines brighter and he suddenly believes he was put on this earth to love you and only you. but when he looks at you, his words get lost between his brain and throat. he’s better at expressing those more sentimental thoughts in writing—like the paragraphs he wrote in the card with fresh roses and daisies before you left for nationals—or in things considered mundane to the passerby but are quintessential in your shared lives: remembering when your meetings are, knowing whether to play lenny kravitz or mazzy star in his car depending on your mood, reminding him to take his supplements before going to morning practices, and introducing him to the world of skincare—even if he thought you were fancy for just using a moisturizer—or just filling you up.

you broke the kiss, mouth hovering his. "oh fuck,” you whined, biting your bottom lip. he hit all the places you needed—that were begging for it—the swivel of his hips telling you he knew what the fuck he was doing; he was the only one who knew you this well. “that feel good?” his breath shook. “yeah?” “yeah,” you nodded, looking at him with heavy eyelids. “so good, s-seunghyunnie.” your hands felt past either side of his neck, mindlessly pawing his back before messily carding through his hair. seunghyun kissed you deeply and with more fervor, soon translating that to his hips. he put more weight on his knees, thrusting faster than before, encouraged by your breathy moan. his bed made noise with every dip of his knees. not that he was moving crazily, but just the right amount to keep your mind deeply intertwined with your delectable libido, stretching you out in a way that feels it should be written in scripture—or just plain common sense, really. his bed frame was also aged and couldn’t withstand much motion without letting everyone else in the apartment know, like his roommate who just woke up down the hall.

“my beautiful baby, so f-fucking stressed out,” seunghyun murmured, hearing and feeling his balls intermittently slap against you. “so overworked, so—hngh!—t-tired f-fuck—” your gummy walls clenched around him, dizzying his senses. he took a deep breath, making the bed creak again. “it's unfair.” he panted, shaking his head. “the least you can let me do is take care of you. that's—t-thats the least i can fuckin’ do, baby—oh my f-fucking god,” he looked down, watching the way your thick thighs jiggled with every thrust. your puffy lips swallowed him deliciously, blessing him with a newfound sixth sense—a peek into the divine feminine herself. he looked at you, eyelids heavier than before. you looked beautiful. hair a mess, a light coat of sweat shining on your forehead, mouth agape, but most importantly relaxed. at ease. spoiled fucking rotten. i’ll do anything to keep her this way, he thought to himself. “w-why don’t you let me, huh? why won’t you let your seunghyunnie m-make you f-feel good? make you forget everything? huh?” he pleaded. he was completely at your helm, evident in the quiver in his voice, and how his lips hovered on your temple. your hand came up to the back of his head, keeping him there. “if—if you w-won’t use me—f-fuck—then i’ll give myself to you.” your eyes rolled to the back of your head, feeling him fuck you deeper as your back arched—your chest smushing against his. “h-how’s that sound, baby? huh? h-how's—how’s that—” “oh, fuck!” you cried out, eyebrows contorted sinfully. his mouth fell open at the sight, bed creaking louder. “fuck me, j-just like that—ngh!”

he tucked his arms underneath your knees, lifting your legs up a few inches. he came to a sudden halt following his first thrust in the new position—one reason being your wall-shattering gasp, the other the need to bring himself back down to earth; uncross his eyes with a handful of harsh blinks. “i’ve never—” you swallowed, mouth dry. your chest heaved, “i’ve n-never felt that b-before—fuck!” you gasped. the feeling was indescribable—arguably too strong. “stop! stop—don’t move!” “sorry!” seunghyun blurted out, panicking slightly. he tried his best not to fidget. “sorry, baby. my bad. do you—oh, f-fuck—do you w-want to stay like this? we could go back to—back to missionary.” “i—i don’t know,” you thought aloud. “i-it feels . . . good. just really fucking intense.” “i get that.” seunghyun nodded. “holy shit, do i get that.” “try a few thrusts.” “a-are you sure?” you nodded, “wanna see how it f-feels.” seunghyun listened. you thought bitches were making shit up, but your ass saw stars. black spots littered your vision. you went mute. seunghyun’s arms were shaking, looking like he needed an oxygen tank. “do you—” he sounded perishable. “d-d-do you—you want me to keep—” “your ass better move.”

neither of you lasted long. that condom was begging to be freed, so creamy and wet, its usage as a protective barrier felt useless. but with those reports of an upcoming recession? no way in hell were you planning on having a baby anytime soon. not that seunghyun didn’t fuck you like he was ready to become a father tomorrow, though. “oh fuck!” he cried aloud, face scrunched up in one of delectable sin, “oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck! yeah! y-yeah! oh fuck yeah!” he babbled dumbly, drooling leaking out of the corner of his mouth, fucking your tight pussy at what felt before like an unimaginable angle. “f-feel me? feel that, baby? o—oh my god!” he whimpered, drawing out his syllables. you were silent—everything you needed to say etched in your furrowed eyebrows and hung mouth. he was hitting places that felt dangerous. you ascended into something otherworldly, crying out his name like he’s never heard before. “s-seunghyun! o-oh my god—seunghyun!” you were wholly aware of your body, feeling your toes curl in the air and your back arch into oblivion, but lost in your illustriously carnal haze. seunghyun felt something wet. his vision blurred, seeing your squirt splashing onto his bed, pussy squelching with his thrusts. his stomach caved inward, “i’m gonna fucking marry you.” he whimpered pathetically. “i’m gonna fucking marry—o-oh fuck me!”

come june, you were born anew. senior thesis submitted, no more assignments, and final exams completed. all that was left was the end-of-season banquet, moving out, and graduation. it wasn’t much in comparison to the hustle you were used to, but with the sudden copious amount of free time you had, it felt like it couldn’t come soon enough. you couldn’t do much in terms of clearing out your dorm until your parents were set to arrive a couple days before graduation later in the week—seunghyun has hidden his amused smirk overhearing your bickering regarding travel and dinner plans whilst on the phone with them—so you filled your time by making your boyfriend take you to the mall, dodging his sneaky kisses whilst an associate tried their best to help you pick an outfit for your ceremony. “i almost forgot you can’t take me tonight.” you said to seunghyun over the phone sunday morning. “i was about to ask what time you’d pick me up.” “s'become natural instinct, i guess.” he said. his shoulder kept his blackberry to his ear, hands sorting through his hangers. he pulled his long sleeve black button-up from his closet, making a mental note to iron it for this evening. “you think romeo and juliet felt like this?” you raised an eyebrow though he couldn’t see you, “like the shakespearean couple?” “is there another one i don’t know about?” he retorted smartly, chuckling. “i think their dynamic was a bit more complicated than ours.” you said. “like, there’s was do-or-die. and they died.” “i’d die for you.” “now will that be before or after we graduate?”

seunghyun let out a hearty laugh, making you smile. you felt your phone vibrate in your hand, “hold on, baby. think i got a text.” you flipped your screen to reveal the keyboard. you did get a message, and it was from jiyong: Hi :) Do u have a ride tn? I can drive u if no. you grinned, thumbs already working: Works for me. 6:30? you flipped your screen down, returning your phone to your ear. “guess who’s hitching a ride with her ex.” seunghyun raised his eyebrows, “for real? ji texted you?” “mhm.” “he wants you back, y'know.” “i know.” you said, mind sifting through his recollection of their conversation when you were in san francisco. “you told me.” there was a brief pause on his end of the line, “are you gonna tell him about us on the ride there?” you made a face, “and have him crash the car and kill us both?” seunghyun ran his hand over his face, “you’re right.” “i’m going to tell him before graduation.” you said earnestly, hearing seunghyun hum in acknowledgement. “college of liberal arts is on thursday, anyway. so i still have time. it’ll be too brash—too much if i tell him tonight.” “you’re right, you’re right.” seunghyun nodded. “i sometimes forgot you’re the logical one of us both.” “then i must not be that effective if you forget.” you quipped, hearing him chuckle. “sorry, i just—” he huffed. “i just get greedy, baby.” “you’ve been greedy.” you corrected him. “can you blame me?” he asked. you looked up, seeing your reflection in the mirror mounted above your dresser. “no.” you said, a sheepish grin tugging at the corner of your lips. “i can’t.”

“but listen.” you continued. “i need you to promise me something.” “anything.” seunghyun said without hesitation. “just say the word.” “if jiyong tries anything tonight, you need to not act afool.” “what do you mean?” you huffed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “you know exactly what i’m talking about, seunghyun. like, if he has a look in his eyes. or tries to kiss to me or—” “—he’s gonna try to kiss you? since when?” “you said he wanted me back.” you made your argument. “do the math. especially since we both know how he can be.” “okay,” seunghyun went into his argument. “but what’s this about him kissing you?” “i’m just saying that if—” “—he won’t do that shit with me there.” seunghyun shook his head, kissing his teeth. “listen to me.” you said sternly. “hence the use of and my emphasis on the word if. i’m not going to let it get that far,” you said. “but if—and i mean if—there’s even a hint of an iota of a semblance of that behavior from him—even a fucking suggestive twinkle in his eye—you need to keep it together.” you heard him take a long breath, stubborn in his silence. “there is not going to be a scene at your banquet tonight. not on my watch, anyway.” you said. “do you hear me?” you were met with silence. “own up to it.” his posture stiffened. “i’m going tonight because of you. don’t sulk now.” “i’ll try my best.” he said, only to hear you tut disapprovingly. “no. i need a yes. absolute and nothing but.” “yes,” he answered. “i’ll behave.” you let out a breath of relief, “thank you. i love you.” “i love you. too much. at the same time it doesn’t feel like enough.” “it does. it will always be enough.”

jiyong arrived at your residential building right on time, waiting for you whilst stood outside his car. he was clad in a dark gray suit with matching trousers, seeing you in your go-to debate ensemble—a matching black blazer and trouser set—freshened up with accented jewelry. he greeted you with a hug. you returned the polite embrace, feeling bad in having to hold your laughter back, thinking of how if seunghyun were here, steam might’ve been coming out of his ears. you caught a glimpse of the backseat as you settled into the passenger’s, swift flashes of what went down just months ago flurrying your mind. “you look really nice.” jiyong told you with a smile, putting his key into the ignition. “thank you.” you nodded. “you look handsome, too.” “thanks.” he said. “thanks for coming with me tonight, too. i know this is probably not what you wanna do right after finals.” he let out a nervous chuckle, merging onto the street. you shook your head in assurance, “its fine, jiyong. it doesn’t have to be awkward if we don’t make it be.” “that’s true.” he nodded. you made friendly small talk during the fifteen minute car ride, pulling into the hotel housing the ballroom hosting the banquet.

conversation continued after jiyong put his car in park, trading chuckles and half-baked jokes. it was the brightest and widest he’d smiled in what felt like forever. “i’m really happy you came.” he spoke honestly, tone sincere. he met your eyes, “i missed you.” the words could have meant nothing—a friend platonically doting on the other. but with eyes like jiyong’s, there was no such thing as speaking plainly. complicated sentiment was the only option. his gaze softened, unabashedly keeping you tethered to him. his expression didn’t hold the insatiable weight of pleading, but it was just sad. perhaps a bit of relief? you thought to yourself, noticing the small breath parting his lips; how his posture molded with the driver’s seat. a moment lasting seconds felt akin to hours—stuck in time. there it was, that look in his eyes. “i—” a car honked. you and jiyong looked out the windshield at the same time. seunghyun waved to the both of you from his car, cigarette hanging between his lips. jiyong chuckled, waving back. you didn’t flinch, turning away from the window when seunghyun pulled into the spot next to jiyong’s car. he tossed his cigarette onto the asphalt, putting it out with his foot. he looked up, amused at the sight of you and jiyong stepping out of the land rover. “did i miss the memo or what?” “hm?” jiyong’s eyebrows furrowed. seunghyun gestured between you two with his pointer finger, “you two back together?”

you refrained from closing your eyes in frustration. seunghyun relished in it, smile widening. “oh—” jiyong cut himself off, growing sheepish. he glanced at you as if with the hope you would say yes. “n-no. just friends.” he shook his head, looking at his best friend. seunghyun nodded, “my bad.” on the walk to the hotel’s front entrance, jiyong was called over by a group of friends who had just arrived then, too. once he was a good distance away, seunghyun walked next to you. “you can speak when in my presence, y'know.” he quipped discreetly, glancing at his surroundings. you did the same, keeping your eyes ahead, “i know.” he turned his head to the left, looking down at you, “you look really beautiful tonight.” “i know i do.” you said swiftly, hearing him chuckle. “that’s my girl, alright.” he muttered to himself. “go talk to him,” you told seunghyun. “alright, alright.” he kissed his teeth playfully, clearly enjoying this. “i love you.” he blurted, loud enough for only you to hear. you held yourself back from telling him off, seeing him quickly turn around, sticking his tongue out before catching up to jiyong.

the universe had a cruel sense of humor. you could feel god herself giggling down at you, clinking glasses of chardonnay with her fellow deities as you sat between jiyong and seunghyun—in the same order as the night at the hotel, no less; jiyong on your right, seunghyun to your left. there were three athletes sitting across the table from you—a layout mimicked all throughout the ballroom. the banquet began with speeches from coaches and department heads, allotting time for dinner before awards were to be handed out. in the middle of someone’s speech, your phone vibrated in your pocket—a text from your mom, asking if you had eaten dinner yet. you responded, changing to a different conversation. seunghyun’s blackberry vibrated in his pocket. he hesitated to check, glancing at jiyong, whom was listening intently to whoever was speaking. seunghyun then looked at you, seeing your phone was away, your attention undeterred as well. I love you too btw he read, upside down grin on his face at your reference to earlier. Youre on the same side like at the hotel. his face warmed, putting his phone away. a few moments later, you felt something graze the side of your thigh. it was seunghyun—discreetly gesturing to let him fix the back of your blazer. you leaned forward in your seat just enough to let his hand through. he swiftly tugged at the bottom hem, flattening the fabric neatly to mold with your curves. his palm gingerly cascaded down your thigh afterward, settling back into his own lap.

there were a few times during the opening program where jiyong turned to you, smiling as he said something seunghyun couldn’t hear. it was usually followed by a chuckle from your end, or you gesturing jiyong to come closer to say something seunghyun also couldn’t hear. it looked and was friendly—but could you blame him for how he needed to force himself to look away, inhaling sharply through his nostrils, and clenching his jaw in muted frustration? seunghyun understood that to jiyong, you and him weren’t friendly like that, so it makes sense as to why you wouldn’t talk. but not even a spare glance? his thoughts wallowed. or a polite grin? he knew you meant business. in fact, thats the quality he loves utmost about you. you set him straight when he needs it, talk your shit in a way he’s never heard before, and made him into a more honest man. there’s no getting any bullshit passed you—not that he would dare, anyway. so he sat there, quiet. unassuming. on good behavior, like you told him to. he would reap his rewards any way he could. if it meant receiving a waft of your perfume every time you fixed your hair—he’d take it.

when the banquet broke for dinner, you and jiyong went to one side of the catering whereas seunghyun went to the other, luckily distracted by a few athletes he was friendly with at the bar. he really was trying, and you felt it. jiyong introduced you to his friends whenever they came up to him to say hello—each “no, we’re not dating,” more awkward than before. you returned to your table some time later equipped with a plate full of food. jiyong was pulled off to one of his friends’ tables, promising he would meet back with you soon. to your delight, seunghyun was the only one at your table, downing the last sip of his rum and coke. “i see you’ve made the most of your drink vouchers.” you grinned, twirling your spaghetti with your fork. you took a bite, hearing him chuckle sweetly. “you’re finally talking to me.” his syllables slurred a little. you wiped sauce off your lip with a napkin, “how’re you already tipsy?” you thought aloud. “you haven’t eaten much, have you.” seunghyun shook his head, jutting out his bottom lip, “saw some friends at the bar.” he said. “here, have mine.” you pushed your plate to him. you rose from your seat, “line’s not long and there’s plenty of food left.”

seunghyun’s eyes grew twice in size. “why’re you looking at me like that? we like the same shit.” “because i don’t want you to leave.” you tsked, unable to hide your smile, feeling your face warm. “grow up, you big baby.” as you turned to walk away, seunghyun looked across the room, seeing the back of jiyong’s head. he reached over, patting your ass. you looked back at him in a panic. you unintentionally mimicked his movement, seeing jiyong deep in conversation with a friend. “get a good one in.” seunghyun listened diligently, groping your left globe. you left with a satisfied huff. seunghyun watched you walk away, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he looked down at his lap. “thats my fuckin’ girl.” he muttered to himself, eating a few bites of what became his food. you returned not too long after with a new plate and a margarita, letting out a sweet laugh upon realizing seunghyun was now drinking a vodka cran. “you better eat.” you said, eating a spoonful of macaroni and cheese. you saw jiyong walk over, other hand stirring your drink with the small straw it came with, “and drink water.” “i will.”

“hold up,” seunghyun called to you and jiyong. “gotta piss. hold this for me?” he handed jiyong his best sportsmanship certificate, carried in an elegant stanford-cardinal red folder. jiyong took it with a nod, holding it with his. seunghyun walked down the hall, turning the corner to where the restrooms were, following the directory on the wall. you stood in amicable silence with jiyong. your hand ran along the back of a luxurious lounge chair—one of many scattered throughout the main lobby—eyes drifting to the chandelier hanging above the front desk. “i forgot to check if seunghyun has his keys.” you turned to jiyong at the sound of his voice. something about his tone told you he was trying to fill the air. “do you think he does? so he can get his car tomorrow.” it was an obvious question with an obvious answer: of course the person who drove would still have their keys on them, even if they’re too tipsy for comfort to drive themselves home afterward. he’s smart enough to know. with the way jiyong’s eyes stayed on you, waiting for your answer, it was evident he wanted an excuse to talk to you. “i’m sure he does, jiyong.” you said. “you can check when he comes back.” “right,” jiyong nodded, sincere. “you’re right.”

the fleeting moments of silence that followed, something stirred inside jiyong’s chest. he tried to thwart it—distracting himself with the groups of fellow athletes filing in and out of the hotel, or the couple going back and forth with the concierge about a mistake made in their reservation. but he couldn’t help it. there was only so much one person could stifle for so long. you knew something was afoot, feeling him lay his hand atop yours. you didn’t waste an iota of time: “jiyong.” you warned him, voice leveled. “we can’t. you know this.” he looked at you, but you wouldn’t look at him. “i miss you so fucking badly.” he sounded broken—the world zeroed in on either of you, cancelling everyone else out. “you have no idea what i’ve gone through. how lonely i’ve felt these past five months without you.” his tone wasn’t spiteful. like his expression in the car, he just sounded sad. wounded. delicate. he took a step closer to you. you still weren’t looking at him. he leaned closer to your face, trying to get those beautiful eyes of yours, “i r-respect your choice, of course i do.” his voice quivered. “but i—i can’t live without you.” he shook his head, breath shallow. in your periphery, he looked perishable—eyebrows furrowed, mouth in a pitiful frown. “you don't—” he inhaled through his nostrils. “you don’t miss me?” your eyes fell closed, posture straightening at his question. he was so pathetically hopeful—anyone with a beating heart would feel sympathy. but you drew those lines already. you weren’t going to suddenly back-track now.

“not even a little bit?” jiyong added. you finally looked at him. you could’ve sworn you heard the tiniest whimper stir from his throat. “jiyong,” your tone remained firm. “of course i feel bad that—” “—then take me back.” he cut you off. you sighed—i can’t get anywhere with him, your inner monologue voiced. “jiyong…” “please.” he pleaded. “i’ll do anything. i’ll do anything for you.” before you knew it, his mouth hovered above yours. you breathed each other in, his hand still on yours. you were aware of your surroundings, not intending on closing the gap whatsoever, yet the sudden proximity couldn’t help but catch you off guard. jiyong knew this was wrong—he knew he was directly contradicting himself. but he couldn’t stop the tip of his nose nudging against yours, or his fingers sliding up to your wrist—his gentle touch pampering your smooth skin. seunghyun was watching from the corner—since jiyong had taken a step closer to you. he was frozen in place. his jaw was clenched so tightly, he wouldn’t be surprised if he shattered his teeth in the process. seunghyun never once doubted your loyalty to your relationship nor him as your partner. but to see your logical prediction play out in real time, coupled with the sheer balls on jiyong?? he needs to get a fucking grip on himself, seunghyun’s inner monologue grumbled bitterly. he was fortunate to have preserved a morsel of self-control in his inebriated state, running his hand over his face, inhaling sharply through his nostrils.

you took a breath, “we can’t.” you said definitively. a tangible whimper escaped his diaphragm—somewhere between a groan and a prayer—shoulders sinking feeling your hand leave his, “and we won’t.” jiyong hit a new low, unable to show his face. his forehead landed on your shoulder, stiffening your posture. you heard footsteps, seeing an irate seunghyun. you made searing eye contact—expression reading don’t do anything crazy. he tried to bite back, face reading how could i not? one cold stare from you and he listened, much to your relief: “am i interrupting something, or—” jiyong shot up, walking away wordlessly. either yours and seunghyun’s respective gazes followed him out the front entrance, turning to each other once he was out of sight. “what the fuck was that?” seunghyun thought aloud in disbelief. you let out a long exhale, running your hands over your face. “did he—did he try anything on you, baby?” you looked up, irrationally scanning for jiyong at the sound of seunghyun’s pet name. “he did.” you confirmed honestly. “but it got nowhere. like i said it wouldn’t.” seunghyun kissed his teeth, half in admiration, half in frustration. he dusted your shoulder off, bringing you back down to earth. “keep it moving.” you gestured with your head out the front entrance. “we need to get home. you better keep it together.” “i—i,” seunghyun hiccuped, trying to swallow the tipsiness away. “i will.”

the car ride was silent. seunghyun was in the backseat of the land rover, safely tucked away behind his seatbelt, twiddling his thumbs. your eyes were out the passenger’s seat window, counting the passing cars. jiyong’s stare was vacant, boring out the windshield. his fingers were tightly wound around the steering wheel, but not enough to paint his knuckles white—mind elsewhere, reeling with what he’s done but currently trying to forget for the sake of his sanity. he pulled into the lot outside of your residential building, putting his car in park. you unbuckled your seatbelt, “thank you for the ride home,” you said to jiyong. “and for tonight.” his meek nod pained you with second-hand embarrassment. seunghyun watched his every move. “mhm.” jiyong hummed, turning his head, but barely sparing you a glance—his shame heavy in the air. “it was nice seeing you again,” seunghyun said, tone polite. “for what it's worth.” you turned your head, meeting his eyes. either of your respective gazes softened—a language only you two understand. “you too.” you said simply. “goodnight.” you addressed both jiyong and seunghyun, turning to leave. “night.” jiyong murmured. “night, baby.”

you froze. seunghyun’s blood ran cold. jiyong’s eyebrows furrowed, confused. he looked in the rearview mirror at seunghyun. his best friend quickly looked away, down at his lap—confirming that his ears didn’t deceive him. “what did you just call her?” jiyong stared at seunghyun through the glass, voice eerily leveled. your heart thumped in your chest—we were so fucking close … your inner monologue said bitterly. seunghyun raised his head, trying to get his lick back—establish his characteristic confidence. “i didn’t call her nothing, ji.” jiyong looked to you. you hadn’t moved. you could have, but you were physically stuck in place in shock. to think, this was the way jiyong was going to find out? so brashly, so—so inconceivably? and who had to pick up the pieces now? you did. it was always you. seunghyun’s eyes closed in defeat, head sinking in shame after jiyong slammed the driver’s seat door shut. nothing would kill seunghyun more than to see the disappointment he just knows is plastered on your face right now. he dared to look up at the rearview mirror, seeing the sight of jiyong pacing back and forth behind the car, but your eyes in the corner—piercing. he shook his head, becoming a blubbering fool in a matter of seconds: “i’m sorry—” “—get the fuck out of this car and own up to it.” you cut him off. “now.” “y-yes ma'am.” he nodded, unbuckling his seatbelt, stepping out of the car.

your door slammed closed after his. seunghyun saw you fix your blazer in his periphery. you two rounded the corner of the car, side-by-side, standing across from a distressed jiyong. “ji,” started seunghyun. “just listen to me for a second, man.” “like the fuck i will.” jiyong kissed his teeth, shaking his head. he paced four steps back-and-forth, hands on his hips, sorting through his quick-fire fragmented thoughts knitting his eyebrows together. “we were—” you corrected yourself swiftly. “i was going to tell you.” jiyong stopped in place, looking at you. his expression was sharp, targeted. “we?” his pointer finger gestured between you and seunghyun, condescending in nature. “so you two are a—are a thing?” you nodded, keeping your calm. “yes. we’re together.” seunghyun mimicked, nodding his head. “for how long?” jiyong asked, “huh?” seunghyun looked at you. his expression wasn’t accusatory whatsoever, but rather encouraging—dependent. “since—” you sighed. though you knew you owed jiyong the truth, some part of you remained afraid how he would react. so, in true debate fashion, you skirted around it delicately. “since the wintertime.” seunghyun picked up on your vague word choice, seeing the cogs turn in jiyong’s brain. clouded by the shock of it all. poor guy, his inner monologue voiced. “since the—since winter?” jiyong thought aloud, shaking his head—in the midst of connecting the pieces.

“since december.” seunghyun clarified, getting some of his lick back. “we’ve been together since december.” “but we broke up in january.” jiyong said to you. you took a breath—this is the worst fucking part. just get through this and it’ll be over—“yes, i know we did, jiyong—” “—is that why you broke up with me?” jiyong made his own connections, taking a few steps closer to you. his expression bordered on wild, eyes pained with hurt, tone teetering into accusatory. “because you wanted to fuck my best friend?” seunghyun’s expression darkened. he didn’t appreciate jiyong’s tone, nor how quickly he got comfortable with disrespecting you. your eyes narrowed, standing your ground: “that would fit perfectly into your little narrative, wouldn’t it?” you asked, eye contact unrelenting. with each condescending nod of yours, jiyong felt himself shrink. “would keep your streak going, too.” you continued, crossing your arms over your chest. “since you wanna swing your dick around, saying you got to fuck me, when in reality you nearly perished at a mere fucking tug. so go ahead,” you nodded, challenging jiyong. “say that shit again.”

jiyong swallowed, clearing his throat. “how did you know i said that?” “how the fuck else?” you spoke with conviction. “you wanna talk like you know everything? go ahead. don’t stop now and make me spoon-feed it to you.” jiyong took a step closer to you, trying to bite back. seunghyun’s jaw clenched. “i’m not inept.” jiyong said sharply to you. “you’re not.” you shook your head curtly. “but you’re fucking insecure.” jiyong fucking hated how quickly his sinuses loosened. he inhaled sharply through his nostrils, trying not to let your harsh reality impede on his back talk—but the truth fucking hurts. he was stuck in an unforgiving cycle: think you’ve got it, then you don’t. was it really repeated misfortune, or is he really just that intolerable? had he really found the one, or did he scare her away—into his best friend’s fucking arms, out of all fucking people? “shit.” he cursed between his teeth, feeling his eyes water. jiyong turned around, pacing a few steps forward, his hands on his head in muted agony. both you and seunghyun watched jiyong in silence, unsure of what to do next. jiyong’s face trembled, nearly succumbing to his tears. why does seunghyun always gets what he wants? his inner monologue quivered, reminiscent of a young child’s, what about me? he felt juvenile for thinking of a serious situation in such a silly manner. he knew there was more nuance to this than his stubbornness was willing him to believe, but how else could he word it? there it was, the other pattern defining—no, bleeding his life dry since he could remember. since that fucking neighborhood block party as a kid.

jiyong ran a hand over his face, getting himself together. he turned around, facing the two of you—subconsciously recognizing you as one unit; a collective, impenetrable moving force. “is that what this is?” he voiced meekly. dissatisfied with himself, he poked his cheek with his tongue, gesturing between you and seunghyun with his finger. “you cheated on me with seunghyun to get back at me for lying about fucking you?” you scoff eviscerated his last shred of dignity. you shrugged your shoulders, “you’re a lost cause.” you told jiyong, shaking your head. the same time you turned your back and walked a few paces away—appalled by his sheer audacity—seunghyun walked up to jiyong. “hey,” he said sternly, pointing at jiyong’s chest. “you don’t get to fucking speak to her like that.” “the fuck does it matter to you! you didn’t give a fuck about her! i was the only one who did!” jiyong yelled, smacking seunghyun’s hand away. his throat felt raw, “you always get whatever the fuck you want!” his voice echoed throughout the empty parking lot. you ran your hands over your face, wanting to be anywhere else but here. “it's not fair!” jiyong yelled. seunghyun didn’t back down from the challenge, looking at his brother since sentience in the eye with undiluted defiance. “how did—how did you even—” jiyong stumbled on his words, awkwardly gesturing to nothing at his side, trying to form a sentence. he shook his head, looking for stability in his thoughts. “how did you even get together, seunghyun?” he looked at his best friend, utterly helpless. “how could you do this to me? she was mine first!”

seunghyun kissed his teeth dismissively. “nah, man. i’ve paid my fucking dues. i’ve learned from my mistakes and how bad i fumbled.” he told jiyong. “but what i’m not gonna let you do is forget that she saw me first. so fuck off with your cuck-ass bullshit.” your face sunk into your hands, “you have got to be fucking kidding me.” you muttered to yourself, they really talk like they’re not a day passed seven. jiyong thought he was going crazy, “what the fuck are you talking about!?” he yelled at seunghyun, throat dry, nearly descending into a coughing fit. he swallowed hard, fingers pounding on his temples dramatically, “what the actual—what the actual fuck are you talking about, seunghyun? do you not hear yourself when you talk!? you told me to bring her tonight, knowing what you two are dating!” he took a deep breath. “what's—what’s wrong with you, man? all of our lives you’ve gotten everything—everything you’ve wanted. and—and now—” jiyong scoffed pitifully, the words caught in his throat. “the—the one fucking time i have someone, you just—you just took her away. like it was nothing. like she’s nothing,” jiyong gestured to your back. seunghyun’s jaw clenched, eye contact with jiyong unrelenting. “she’s not nothing.” murmured seunghyun. jiyong shook his head in disbelief, “why couldn’t i just have this one—this one thing?” his chest felt hollow, head nauseated with shame and inexplicable betrayal. “you couldn’t leave her alone? just this once? out of the girlfriends i’ve had, she’s the one you just so happened to want?” tears clouded his vision. jiyong blinked harshly, “huh? why, seunghyun? fucking why!”

seunghyun shook his head defiantly, getting up in jiyong’s face. jiyong pushed his shoulders, but seunghyun came right back. “i didn’t take bullshit away, ji.” he taunted. “it's not my fault she answered and didn’t hang up. it's not my fault that we went out to dinner and she didn’t wanna leave.” he watched his best friend crumble with every syllable—every breath. “what is my fault is—is that—” seunghyun cleared his throat, zeroing himself back in. “is that i was stupid for not realizing what i wanted before it could hurt you.” “fuck you, man.” jiyong spat, but his pitiful expression said otherwise. “everything’s always been so easy for you.” said jiyong bitterly, “you don’t get to talk.” “nah,” seunghyun stared down at him. “'cause you don’t get to talk either, ji.” he shook his head menacingly, “you think it was easy hearing you talk about someone every fucking day, when you had no idea what to do with all that? what to do with all of her?” he tutted. “you think it was fucking easy to see the look on her face when you didn’t tell her you loved her? and then you went and told her over fucking text? really, ji? have you ever been fucking serious a goddamn day in your fucking life?” your stomach dropped. your eyes widened, body going on auto-pilot. you walked up to seunghyun, “that’s enough.” you spoke with conviction, though he wasn’t budging. you saw how all the color drained from jiyong’s face. it petrified you, wondering how the brash mention of such a sensitive topic would play out. you didn’t want to stick around to find out: “i said that’s fucking enough.”

you weren’t particularly religious—though meeting jiyong’s eyes ushered you into judgment day. his pupils twinkled devastatingly underneath the glow of the street lamp, erasing any surrounding white noise. the world fell silent. it always did with those eyes of his, “you told him?” it was a natural instinct to want to reach out and comfort him. however, it wasn’t attributed to your past relationship, nor basic human empathy. he was born to be comforted—made to feel worthy, re-assured with love. any palm could be molded to fit his cheek—any kiss can rejuvenate his senses. in another life, he was an artist’s muse: elegantly immortalized on canvas, vividly celebrated in marble. his emotions were never misguided, but rather guideposts of the human experience. in this life, unfortunately, he’s been banished to the unforgiving gallows of insatiable want with no means of a tangible end. stuck in a cycle—looking at the love of his vulnerable yet beautiful soul hold the arm of the one who’s tightened that suffocating rope his entire life. “you told him everything?” jiyong’s voice was meek, utterly devastated. you held onto seunghyun’s arm tighter, fighting the urge to comfort his sad soul: “i—” “—you’re talking to me.” seunghyun took a step forward, effectively out of your grip. “not her. me.” he pointed to himself, looking at jiyong. “you’re not gonna get another chance to disrespect her.”

jiyong looked offended. “disrespect her? i’m nicer than you’ll ever fucking be, seunghyun.” he said sharply. “you toss people out like garbage. like you did to her before you—before you decided to j-just randomly change your mind. like you’re doing to me right fucking now.” seunghyun took a deep breath, actively deterring the need to yell—he was historically the more level-headed energy in their arguments. “i didn’t randomly change my mind.” he said calmly. “yeah? well, it fucking feels like you did. just—just swooped in when no one was looking.” jiyong tsked. silence brewed in the tension-filled air. jiyong was at his wit’s end, “that’s the—she’s the love of my life, man.” “mine too.” said seunghyun. “i’m an honest man because of her.” if the unspoken words displayed on jiyong’s face were audible, he would be indicted on federal-level charges. “like you ever were to begin with.” he muttered bitterly. “you didn’t give a fuck. you never give a fuck about people in a normal way.”

seunghyun couldn’t take it anymore: “i always did!” he yelled, voice booming down the lot. “i always cared! do you not fucking hear yourself, ji? huh!?” seunghyun threw jiyong’s words back at him, rapidly tapping his own temple, eyes widening in frustration. “y'know, when we first came here, i wanted you to have a life of your own. because i saw how much it killed you to—to constantly be associated with me at the academy,” said seunghyun. “i’m not fucking stupid, ji.” he shook his head, not giving jiyong the chance to breath with his seething eye contact. “you may think i am, but i’m a lot smarter than you wanna fucking admit. you want people to know you’re the older one. you don’t want to be known for tennis since you got wrapped into it 'cause of me. you fucking hated and i mean hated!” he yelled. “when we both got into stanford, because there’s another thing that’ll tie us together furrr-ever.” seunghyun listed on his fingers, pumped-adrenaline from the roll he was on temporarily compromising his pronunciation. he talked like you’ve never heard him speak before. he became straight up bitter the angrier he got, “you wanna last in people’s memories for longer than five fucking seconds. great. great! go ahead! no one’s stopping you!” seunghyun let out a condescending laugh, throwing his hands in the air.

he looked over his shoulder, arm gesturing at you behind him, his attention returning to jiyong. “you don’t want the love of your life slipping through your fingers.” you covered your mouth. you couldn’t deter your eyes though jiyong and seunghyun were only a few feet in front of you, akin to a car crash. “i get that, ji. okay? i understand.” seunghyun nodded. “but what you need to understand is that you were a placeholder.” jiyong’s knuckles went white, fists at his sides, jaw clenching. seunghyun licked his lips, “i don’t know why it was her and not someone else. i don’t.” he shook his head, earnest. “but i know—i know this is different. i’m not letting her go. no matter what the fuck you say. or do.” jiyong’s voice quivered, “i can’t ever forgive you for this.” seunghyun’s shoulders didn’t slump, nor did his posture falter. “i know.” he leaned forward, staring into jiyong’s mutilated soul. “how’d my dick taste in your mouth, though?”

it all happened so quickly: jiyong swung, seunghyun dodged; popped jiyong on the jaw, nearly sending him toppling onto the asphalt. you gasped sharply, not knowing what to do, moving forward on nothing but instinct. seunghyun grunted, breathing temporarily stalled after jiyong punched him square on the chest, swinging back—completely undeterred by your yanking of his suit; in his own world, hellbent on his own objectives. you grabbed as much as you could, pulling hard. “are you fucking crazy!?” you exclaimed, bottom of your loafers skidding against the pavement. “have you lost your damn—” you yelped, letting go immediately. you registered an intense stinging sensation on your right hand—half of your pinky nail was gone; snapped off after chipping against a loose thread, combined with the force of your pulls. “shit!” you cursed aloud, eyes watering. it was unbearable, almost paralyzing. applying pressure to the wound was useless—it only caused you to wince louder, unable to stop your tears in your immediate reaction. seunghyun turned around, horrified: “look what you fucking did ji—” the wind was knocked out of him again, jiyong punching his chest and pushing hard against his shoulders afterward, sending seunghyun stumbling backwards, and unintentionally into you. you fell onto the pavement. no further physical injury, thankfully, but in the sudden intensity of it all, a moment of weakness slipped through the cracks: a sob ringing from your diaphragm.

seunghyun panicked, scurrying over to you. “h—hey,” he was on all fours, having not gotten up yet, the adrenaline currently fogging his logic. “you okay, baby? a-are—are you hurt? hey—” “—i’m fine.” you wiped the tears off your face harshly, pissed at everything and every-fucking one. seunghyun grabbed your wrist, eyes widening, “oh my god—what happened to your hand? h-holy shit.” “i-it was when i—” your tears had subsided, yet the stability in your voice had yet to return. “w-when you—” “—look what the fuck you did, jiyong!” seunghyun yelled. he got to his feet, “she's—she’s fucking bleeding, man!” jiyong’s face fell, “w-what? i didn’t . . . i didn’t mean to—” “that’s what happens when you do the stupid shit you do,” spat seunghyun, “people get hurt.” “you’ve hurt me my entire fucking life! made me—made me feel weak!” jiyong yelled. he pointed at seunghyun, feeling his bottom lip pulsate. “that’s all you know how to do, seunghyun!” seunghyun stepped forward, about to retaliate. “if only you—” “shut the fuck up!” you yelled, drawing out the last syllable in desperation—or until your breath gave out. jiyong and seunghyun were stunned into silence. finally, some fucking peace—"the both of you are so fucking annoying—god!“ you ended in a frustrated exclaim, pinching the bridge of your nose.

after a moment, you took a breath. you laid your left palm on the pavement in an effort to boost yourself onto your feet. "here, let me—” “you’ve done enough.” you said curtly to seunghyun, who backed off immediately, hands behind his back. you got up, pain searing on your pinky. “fuck,” you winced, wrist limp. on his instinct, seunghyun’s body was close to yours. you lifted your head, looking at jiyong. “we’re done.” you said, plain and simple. “fuck off. forever and always.” you turned your head, glancing at seunghyun. “i don’t care what the fuck you do,” you said. “i just want to go to bed.” with that, you walked away, towards the front entrance of your residential building. seunghyun took a steps forward in your direction, but found himself stalling. he turned to jiyong, their exchange wordless. there it was—their special language, harnessed and utilized since birth, spoken for what feels like the last time. they stared at each other underneath the warmth of the aged streetlight—jiyong’s bottom lip swollen; seunghyun’s left eyebrow scuffed and chest most definitely bruised—in complete silence to the passerby, but a cacophony of madness blasting their brains.

it was a last goodbye. jiyong’s face was unreadable, too tired to show emotion anymore. with how his fingers curled into his palm, however, tugging at the sleeve of his suit, communicated unease. like he wasn’t ready for what this was going to mean with the only person he’s ever trusted in his life. seunghyun’s eyes glistened, not sure where exactly his emotions were coming from, since there were so many avenues: having just fought with jiyong; the love of his life is currently hurting both emotionally and physically; the mess he’s going to repair once he walks inside your dorm; the realization that he’s already made his decision, and once he puts one foot in front of the other, his best friend will become a stranger. seunghyun’s lips parted, taking a breath. he walked away and didn’t look back.

you two stood in silence in the communal kitchen. seunghyun sifted through the first aid kit, collecting a few alcohol wipes, a sterile gauze sponge, and band aids. he tended to your broken pinky nail, cleaning and securely bandaging it up. “i know.” he whispered whenever you couldn’t hold in your wince, feeling it throb. “i know, baby.” he brought your hand to his lips, kissing the back of it. he sat in a chair, you stood between his knees as you tended to the scuff on his eyebrow. you cleaned the cut with an alcohol wipe, protecting it with a smaller-sized bandaid.

seunghyun helped you undress in your dorm, sliding your blazer off your arms before unbuttoning the back of your blouse. he hung his suit on the back of your desk chair, leaving his button-up with it, too. he sat on the edge of your bed after taking his matching trousers off, feeling the mattress dip next to him. “hm?” he hummed. he looked up, seeing you point to his bare chest, a few bruises littering his pecks. you brought out your vanilla-scented body oil, usually used to moisturize your body after a shower, but massaged it into his skin nonetheless. though the oil held no healing properties, the tenderness of your gesture and touch was enough to start healing him. seunghyun’s posture relaxed, head falling back whilst his eyes closed, breathing steadying as your left palm wrote a love letter on his chest—each firm rub an affirmation, each encircled trace of a bruise a vow.

you massaged whatever oil was left into either of his shoulders. your hand found the back of his neck, bringing seunghyun in for a long-needed kiss. it was slow—breathing each other in through your nostrils. the kiss gently broke, the tips of your noses brushing together. you broke long-standing, yet amicable silence: “that was really stupid.” you alleviated the messy tension. seunghyun chuckled, breath warm against your cheek. “it wasn’t a little bit hot?” he quipped in a murmur, making you smile. “maybe.” you giggled sweetly, “a little bit.” your hand combed through his hair, fingers gingerly fixing stray strands laying in disarray on his forehead. “did you think i was gonna follow you?” he asked, voice low. though you took a moment, you answered in earnest. you shook your head, looking into his eyes, “no.” it was plausible: so much history between him and jiyong, it would make more than enough sense to stick by his side, even after nearly bashing each other’s faces in. but as you looked into the love of your life’s eyes, watching his twinkling pupils scatter around your features; mouth parted in unspoken hope, latching on your every word—you couldn’t help but be happy that the one you upended your life for did the exactly same thing for you. this love story is tragic, your inner monologue voiced, but those are always the best ones, right?

“but i’m glad you did.” you told seunghyun. a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. he leaned in, kissing you firmly. you kissed him back, hand with your injury pinky gently riding up his bare chest, settling comfortably onto the side of his neck. seunghyun kissed you again before breaking apart, resting his forehead against yours. you two settled into bed soon afterward, seunghyun reaching over you to turn your lamp off before settling onto your chest. your fingers lovingly carded through his hair, bandaged pinky held in the air to avoid any discomfort on your end. perhaps it was the white noise of your air conditioning unit, the fact that seunghyun was in a dark and quiet room and nestled into your chest, that the emotional gravitas of the evening finally began to weigh on him. this was not to say you went unscathed—you were exhausted to the point of muscular weakness. seunghyun felt his sinuses tingle, loosening expeditiously. he sucked in his bottom lip, trying to keep it from trembling. his shuddering shoulders gave him away. “seunghyun?” you were alert. “hey,” your fingers raked through his hair, trying to get his attention. you heard muffled cries, a part of your shirt dampening. there was a moment he seemed to have leveled. until he couldn’t bear it anymore, breaking out into broken sobs. you held him as tightly as you could, feeling his hands aimlessly paw at your waist. he didn’t say a word. your vision blurred, clamping your eyes shut.

the next few days were for recalibrating. seunghyun called a taxi to the hotel, trying to ward off his hangover with a cigarette. he rubbed his face at a traffic light, skin feeling heavier than usual. he sucked in a breath, pressing gently down on his sore sinuses—evident remnants of how hard he cried just hours before. he pulled into a pharmacy, walking through the aisles for antiseptic, fresh gauze and bandages for your pinky. his phone buzzed in his pocket whilst standing in line for checkout: Im more awake now, you texted. lmk when youre back. ofc baby, he typed with his left hand, right holding the full shopping basket. it was then that he saw the time, 10:37 AM. it's only hitting me now that it's monday, he thought to himself. he looked up, seeing a free cashier gesturing for him to come to their counter, last week ji and i made plans to help each other move out. wonder how he’s gonna do it on his own. jiyong woke up with a blistering headache. he stumbled into the bathroom, squinting at his reflection after hastily turning the light on. his bottom lip was swollen and bruised—not enough to warrant a visit to the nearby urgent care, but enough to begrudgingly put ice on it as his eggo waffles toasted; scarfing them down before throwing back two advils for the pain. just when his brain started to catch up with his body, senses permeated by the memories of the evening previous, his phone rang—ringtone piercing.

“hello? mom?” he mumbled, trying to decipher her words. his headache worsened, “you’re at the airport? how long’ve you and dad been there?” he had forgotten his parents were flying in today for graduation later in the week. to his relief, he hadn’t inadvertently stranded them at san jose international airport, but by his mother’s tone, she was growing impatient. “i’ll leave soon—traffic isn’t bad in the morning. okay. i love you, too. yes—yes, mom. i’ll drive carefully.” his parents were mortified to see their son’s injured mouth. hundreds if not thousands of questions were hurled at him. jiyong couldn’t stomach looking into their eyes, closing the trunk with a huff after putting their luggage inside. “seunghyun and i got into a fight.” jiyong muttered, putting his car in drive. “that badly?” he looked into the rearview mirror, seeing his father point to his lip. jiyong tsked, keeping his eyes on the road. “what could’ve possibly made you two that upset?” his mother disapproved, shaking her head. “this is so unlike you.” jiyong grimaced, tight-lipped as his bitterness clouded his senses. more like who it was, his inner monologue grumbled, merging into traffic.

word travels fast. seunghyun dug into his egg’s benedict as you cut into your breakfast platter—either of your styrofoam take-out boxes squeaking against the table in the communal kitchen—his phone rang. “hello?” his voice was muffled, trying to chew through his bite, wiping his mouth with a crumpled napkin. his father didn’t waste time with pleasantries: “what’s this i hear about you and jiyong getting into a fight?” seunghyun glanced in your direction. with how you looked at him, it was as if you understood his mother language. seunghyun cleared his throat, expression darkening a bit. his chin sunk, “we’re not talking right now, dad.” he spoke into the phone, “i'll—i’ll tell you and mom when you come tomorrow. it's a lot to explain over the phone. the least i can do is tell you face-to-face.” it surprised you when he called the next afternoon, asking if you were free for dinner.

“talk about a novel way to meet your boyfriend’s parents.” you quipped, holding your phone to your ear with your shoulder. your hands were occupied with folding your clothes and putting them into your luggage—the task you worked through today to slowly pack your dorm up for move-out. “after … y'know.” “i know.” said seunghyun. he overheard his parents in the kitchen, trying to differentiate his tupperware from his roommate’s, “would you be ready in a couple hours? around seven, let's say? my parents have a rental, so they’ll meet us there from their hotel. alleviate some of the—” he cut himself off, unsure of what word to use, “y'know.” you took a moment before responding, “they wanna see if i was worth it, don’t they?” seunghyun was quick to reassure, “you leave that to me.” he said. “you’re more than worth it. you need to know that.” you turned to retrieve the last few sweaters from your dresser, catching your reflection in the mirror. “i know.”

the world moves fast, but you and seunghyun move faster. the following day—wednesday evening, the night before your graduation—seunghyun’s for the school of humanities and science was friday morning—he met your parents over dinner. his eyebrow scuff had healed enough to ward off worry of you dating a heathen. he was a smooth and confident talker, getting to know your parents as much as they got to know him. he offered an easy smile before answering questions about his studies, or how tennis became such an important pillar of his life since a young age. he mentioned jiyong, but not by name: “a family friend and i have done it since we were kids.” he said, quickly taking a sip of his water, “its stuck since then.” though his characteristic confidence spoke for itself, he sought a comforting grip of your hand underneath the table whenever possible—adding a gentle swipe with his thumb after you explained your bandaged pinky away, “i was packing. i didn’t have a good grip on a storage box.” you said to your parents. “it hurts a lot less now, though. but i can’t do much heavy lifting. that’s where he comes in.” you gestured to seunghyun. he grinned, glancing down at his lap, feeling his face warm through his mounting sheepishness.

jiyong saw you in the crowd at graduation. he heard your name being called, but looked away before you walked across the stage to accept your degree. seunghyun and jiyong were tight-lipped in photos and spoke minimally to one another in their shared graduation dinner come friday night—much to either of their parents’ dismay. not that you were planning on it, but you didn’t attend—spending your evening with your parents, finishing packing your dorm to load the mover’s van the next morning. on the way to meet his parents at their hotel, jiyong drove by your residential building. though it was a simple start to the early afternoon on this partly cloudy saturday, the universe still had some distasteful jokes up her sleeve.

he came to a gradual stop at the traffic light, reaching down to recline his seat a centimeter or two. he stuck his elbow out the window, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. his ears caught the sound of rickety carts, turning his head to his left. he was able to make out the open trunk of a uhaul van—seeing you turn the corner, seunghyun behind you wheeling a steele moving cart filled with your belongings. he saw two people standing by the other side of the van in conversation—presumably your parents. his heart sunk bitterly, but for a fleeting second, he forgot the reason why: i didn’t know hyun was gonna be here, his inner monologue voiced, he didn’t tell—

he kissed his teeth, looking away. why would he? he wondered pitifully. resent brewed between his temples, percolating at the back of his neck. his eyebrows furrowed in muted frustration, not like we’d tell each other anything anyway. sharing their immediate thoughts, phoning the other whenever they were just an iota unsure about something, and being one another’s second nature felt long gone—all in a matter of days. a shared life, disqualified with a swing of a fist. not erased, though. at least not to me … jiyong couldn’t stop himself from looking again. he watched seunghyun and your father lift a heavy storage bin into the van—your mother and you talking to the side. once finished, seunghyun checked to see if your parents weren’t looking, sneaking a kiss to your temple. a silent thank you manifested in your hand rubbing his lower back, bandaged pinky running along the fabric of his shirt.

that was also when jiyong saw your shirt: I TOLD YA, in bold letters. the words were stacked vertically, staring jiyong right in the eye. he had never seen you wear it before, let alone in your closet. though the look of the relaxed gray fabric was somewhat familiar, he was too busy jumping to irrational conclusions. it felt like a subliminal message—something out to get him; taunt him. that he would never be happy, everything he will want would eventually be taken away, and vindication wasn’t part of his fate: i told you so. whilst you and seunghyun were clueless—ushered over by your parents to make plans for lunch—jiyong sped off, tight-lipped; vein engorged on his temple . . .

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