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hoonstrology · 7 days ago

Text

♯┆ after the cameras flash. ─── 김선우

"meet me at my door while it's still open."

꒰ pairing ꒱⠀⠀kim sunoo x fem!reader.

꒰ synopsis ꒱⠀⠀the glitter and glamour of modeling has always been sunoo's life. he dreamt of it, and he finally got it. but when the runway starts becoming too much like his home, you take it upon yourself to give him what he needs. but he realizes that the trade off isn't worth it— not when it's a life without you.

꒰ word count ꒱⠀⠀9.1k words.

꒰ genres ꒱⠀⠀model!sunoo. smut. lovers to exes, exes to lovers, break up, angst, fluff and comfort at the end. ꒰ warning! ꒱⠀⠀this is fucking filthy. meandom!sunoo, sub!reader. model!sunoo. verbal fighting, a little manhandling. unprotected p in v (zon't zo it.), angry sex, rough sex. dirty talking, impact play, dumbification, degradation, implied oral (f. receiving.), swearing, pet names. not proofread. lmk if i missed anything!

꒰ from ! 🐰 yan ꒱⠀⠀first time writing smut and i went insane. blame kim sunoo. huge shoutout to @zerocoded for helping me out and giving me tips. 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 if you have drabble/fic requests for other members, send them to my ask!

𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨 & 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘺 .ᐟ

KIM SUNOO ALWAYS KNEW HE WAS BUILT FOR THE LIFE OF MONEY AND FAME. he loved each flash of the camera, relished in the attention of the press, and happily posed when a fan asks for a photo in the streets.

shouting stylists, barely-paid interns running around, 14-hour trips overseas— what was considered chaos for an average person was peace to him. home, even. from photoshoots to the runway, he loved every single moment under the limelight.

but none of that ever mattered to you, his greatest supporter.

he was just a young adult with plans far too complex for him to fully commit to, but you understood him, nodded at his passion, fueled him to think bigger, grow brighter.

you, who always adored him, who never failed to remind him what he was capable of.

he credits you for the success he has now– you were to the one to kickstart it, after all. armed with the camera app and a dream, the both of you made it work.

you had the eye for his best angles, and you were adamant on directing how he should pose– what would make his legs look longer, what background would emphasize the texture of his jacket. you talked him through it and sunoo would retort that his 700 instagram followers wouldn't care if there was a hair out of place, but he'd fix it and follow your advice anyway.

through a balance of luck and hard work, one post blew up.

normal consumers and fashion connoisseurs alike recognized the talent, the visual your boyfriend had to offer. before he knew it, he managed to get a commercial modeling offer— just a small clothing brand, but it was the start of something big.

over the course of three years, offers from independent clothing brands turned into offers from fashion houses whose names you can't pronounce– not even with sunoo patiently teaching you. the 700 instagram followers grew past a few million. the online ootd videos he once filmed with you became commercials, his face and body littered across billboards and social media ads.

you were with him every step of the way. arms always open for a warm hug when he came home tired, lending a helping hand when he's going through a slump, even offering to help him relax during nights where he'd be needy for your body but too exhausted to move.

from big milestones of buying the penthouse unit he's always dreamt of, to quiet losses when he got turned down in a casting call, you spent every single with him, letting him know that you're always gonna be proud of him, and stand with him, no matter what.

at the time, he was so happy— and he thought you were too.

you've always been the quieter one in your relationship, and maybe that's why the relationship worked so well. people around you claimed you two were perfect for each other. he brought the excitement you thought you didn't need in your life, and you mellowed out his bright and dramatic energy by providing him a safe space to rest and come home to.

"provided." sunoo corrected his inner thoughts out loud in the middle of stirring his coffee, suddenly remembering that he wasn't the person who you got to indulge in your warmth. not anymore.

in relationships, the first fight is just that— the first. it's a normal thing that relationships go through with some people even encouraging it because it marks the true beginning of a meaningful connection to one's partner, but that's a lie to sunoo.

a fucking paradox.

it's can't be the first and last— that doesn't make sense.

he gave you everything he could, but maybe everything wasn't what you needed. maybe the bright flashes of the camera blinded his eyes to the way you would frown when he picked up a call in the middle of the night, leaving you to finish the k-drama by yourself.

maybe the tight clothes they gave him numbed his skin from your needy touch and squeezes, brushing your kisses off with a sweet but tired 'good night' due his tiresome day, leaving you feeling neglected and lonely in the bed you shared.

maybe the confidence he had in his looks lead him to ignore the talks about yours when people found out that the kim sunoo has a girlfriend; one that was undeserving, plain looking, and far too normal for a rising model like him.

no matter how much he denied the break up, his brain will always manage to give him an HD photo of how it was before and how it is now, like it already knew you were slipping away before his heart caught on.

the bubbles in his lukewarm coffee settled around the rim and his reflection stared back at him from the liquid abyss— mocking him and making him recall how it all started boiling over.

you were sat on the couch, arms crossed over your chest when he came home from a twelve-hour long shoot day. he wanted nothing more than to curl up next to you and bask in your presence, so when you flinched away from his touch, he raised a brow.

"what's your deal?" he asked, irritated from being denied.

"sun... i waited all night." you sighed, palms rubbing on your arms up and down while trying to contain the disappointment in your voice.

"and?"

you stared at your boyfriend of three years, still in the heels and prada dress he gifted you for the same occasion he evidently forgot planning. you were in disbelief, especially more irritated by the nonchalance in his tone.

your stilettos made a sharp noise against the tiled as you stomped up, trying to control the distraught you felt while you took off your jewelry, trying your best to hold in the tears prickling at your eyes.

"darling.. what are you doing?" he sighs, voice laced with contempt before holding on your hand. you shook it off with a grunt, turning your back to him to forcefully wipe the stray tear that managed to roll down your cheek and throwing the earrings down the glass table with a shrill clank.

"i prepared so much.. fucking took my time and got pretty for you..." you sniffed, turning to him with glassy orbs, eyes rimmed red from holding back your tears. "only to be stood up and get talked to like this? when you're the one who forgot?" you whisper, index finger harshly pressing on his chest.

"i got so much work today, it must have passed my mind. i'm sorry, darling. i'll make it up to you." he hummed, holding both wrists and pulling you to him to cage you in his arms, still wearing that calm smile which heightened the sadness settling in your heart.

"sun, tonight was supposed to be the night you make it up to me. for all the times you messed up before." you sighed, shoulders deflated in defeat as you stayed still against him.

his scent, his body's heat, the mere aura that radiated him calmed your anger in ways inexplicable by logic— he just had that effect on you, and you detested yourself for giving in to him so quickly.

sunoo, not having it with the lack of warmth, guided your hands around his torso, pressing a kiss on the soft curve of your jaw. "i know, sweetheart. i'm sorry. work was just so crazy. forgive me, mm?" he whispers softly this time, plump lips pressing down the column of your neck, now bare from the string of expensive pearls.

"i'll still make it up to you tonight, and tomorrow too. i'll clear my schedule for you." he muttered the words in between wet sounds of his lips smacking against your skin, licking the faint redness starting to form under the precise nips of his teeth.

you let out a gasp, mewling his name out as your palms found purchase on his waist, trying to fight the instinctive urge to tilt your neck, but you do so anyway and sunoo smirked, licking a stripe across your pulse point before trailing the kisses back up to the shell of your ear. "be a good girl for me and jump."

you already knew what that meant.

his hands rested behind your upper thighs and you jumped, legs wrapping around his hips, the same plump lips nipping at your neck earlier now finding comfort tangled up against your own in a wet, messy kiss while he walked to the bedroom.

your expensive dress was discarded to a corner of the room, his shirt was somewhere along there too, and he couldn't care for the painful strain in his pants because tonight he was going to make sure you forgot all his shortcomings, determined to have nothing else but his name leaving your lips.

a month later, it came.

quiet and peaceful.

unexpected.

it was supposed to be okay. things have become relatively normal since that night. no fights before and no fights since. sunoo made sure to stay on top of the promises he made, declined certain projects, or informed you beforehand if it was too big for him to cancel.

it was progress, but there's only so much that can happen in a month.

and if shame allowed you to admit it out loud, you started to believe the nameless, faceless nobodies online— maybe you were too plain for sunoo. he deserved someone who can accept his success, not someone who dulled out his shine.

so you made your decision.

you called for sunoo in the middle of an online briefing about the next season's runway show somewhere in europe, and he couldn't be happier to have a valid reason to ditch it.

he tapped on his thigh, gesturing you to sit on his lap like you always did, but you chose to sit on the bed beside him, making him raise an eyebrow. "is something wrong, love?"

you took a deep breath before pursing your lips. "i just.. can't do this, sun." you started, your hands pressing on your knees in discomfort.

sunoo paused, the words not quite registering to him yet.

"what do you mean?"

"this. i can't do this anymore." you mumbled, hands vaguely gesturing to the space between your bodies.

"darling... are you— are you breaking up with me?" he asked, voice low and trembling, moving to kneel in front of you, frantically looking into your eyes like he thinks you're lying and can somehow find the truth behind it if you looked at him too.

your relationship has always been serene. yes, you've had arguments but they've always been done in good faith. the only actual fight you've had, if you could even call it a fight, was a month ago and it got resolved just as quickly as it came.

neither of you ever have ever brought up the damning words. no offers of a break up, not even threats of it, so to say he was taken aback was an understatement.

he thought you were happy. he thought he made you happy. so why are you leaving? it had to be a badly done joke, but it didn't prevent tears from leaving his eyes nonetheless.

"my sun, don't cry..." the steady stream of tears rolling down his cheeks make your heart want to collapse in on itself, and the affectionate nickname you reserved for him only made sunoo's tears roll out faster.

you turned away. you had to. because you knew looking at his tearful face would have you giving in to the soft and quiet appeals.

"y/n... my darling. please. please don't do this." he pleaded. "please? what do you need? i-i'll cancel anything the next month. i'll make it up to you, sweetheart. please, just.. don't—" he breathes out, voice cracking at the last word. "—don't leave me."

his forehead rested against your knee and you took a deep breath, running your fingers gently through the back of his tresses. "no, sunoo. you worked hard for this.. you can't throw it away for me."

"but i want to!" he cried as he looked up, eyes glossy from tears.

"well don't." you replied with finality, jaws clenched as you stared back with an blank expression. "this is for the best."

you tried to say something about how you couldn't handle secondhand fame, and how you weren't built to accompany a star as bright as him, a stray tear leaving your eyes in the middle of speaking, but everything else had already been a fog.

you left without looking back and for the first time in years, sunoo experienced what it's like to be in your shoes: to sleep with the other side of the bed cold, still open, still waiting for the other's presence.

he tried to go to work at first, ignoring the questions of nosy makeup artists and stylists about how his eyelids looked so puffy and how he looked like he hasn't been taking care of himself. but the longer he did it, the more burn-out he got. nothing really changed, but somehow everything did too.

you took that time to move out of the shared space, special trinkets thrown into a bag, clothes roughly discarded and thrown into your luggage, grabbing whatever you can during the hours he was away.

leaving so coldly was unlike you, but you knew better than to have another conversation with sunoo. you knew you didn't have the self-control for it with every fiber in your being telling you that you're only yourself when you're with him, so you had to be.

when you turned around one last time to see the space you're gonna be leaving behind, guilt began wrapping around your heart like an expensive, but suffocating silk scarf.

you'd be lying if you said that the relationship wasn't eating away at you. but it would be an even bigger lie to say you didn't have doubts of second thoughts about wanting to leave sunoo. so you walked to the kitchen, pouring your heart into the final note and sticking it on the fridge.

"take care of yourself, my sun. i'll always be watching, and i will always be proud of you. i love you— forever."

"stop it, sunoo. regretting it won't make her come back." he chuckled bitterly to himself as he read the note for the seventh day in a row, the undrinken coffee cup getting discarded in the sink as he trudged towards the bathroom.

he splashed his face with cold water and sighed softly at what greeted him in the mirror— he looked like shit, that much was true. then, his eyes caught the sorry sight of a single toothbrush in the cup. he stared at it like if he looked hard enough, maybe your baby pink brush would appear beside it.

maybe you would appear beside him.

but no such thing happened, and he shook his head, laughing hollowly for starting to grow delusional.

but how could he not? everywhere he went, he was reminded of your absence.

there were no socks stuck in between the cushions of the couch when he watched tv. his bed didn't feel warm when he tried taking a nap. the kitchen cupboards were missing the ugly coffee mugs, and the dining room table was missing the fake succulents you were insistent on adding because 'it brings life back to the place'.

the pain that kept him in a slump for the past week was morphing into restlessness, and it didn't help that every step he took in his home evoked your memory in vivid images.

so in his mission of forgetting you and 'taking care of himself', he decided that today would be the day he goes out. he slid the door of his closet open and in it, he was reminded, yet again, of how much he truly lost. half of the wardrobe was empty, much like the rest of this cursed apartment.

it stared at him like your abandonment— a physical representation of how empty he felt with his other half gone.

ignoring the pang in his chest, he listened to the metal hooks of the velvet-lined hangers scrape against the pole as he pushed through them fervently to find a sweater until his eyes caught something of yours that made his hands freeze mid-air.

a white shirt. the same one you loved to use when you made breakfast after a night of love making. the same one he'd fuck you in again on top of the kitchen counter. the memories, lewd, heartwarming, or both, came to him with each piece of your clothes he came across.

in a blink of an eye, he had a pile of the clothes you left on the floor. still smelling half like you, and half like his perfume that you 'borrowed' so often.

he knows he shouldn't break no-contact

you haven't contacted him since you left, and he hasn't found the courage to be the first to reach out. but he didn't want the clothes to go to waste. these had sentimental value to you, and some of this would surely be important.

at least, that's how he convinced himself as he typed away at his phone.

to: sweetheart. — hey. can you come pick up your clothes? i'll leave them by the main door.

not even a minute in, and your reply came like you were waiting for a message. like you were waiting for his message.

from: sweetheart. — on my way.

the doors creaked open just a few hours later. sunoo heard it from the safety of his room, and he knew you were here. "sun?" you called out, one foot through the threshold like you're unsure. like your body didn't know whether this space was still yours.

the text was so cold and detached. it was only proper that you come here as soon as you can to finally rid him of whatever traces you left behind that he obviously didn't want.

"come in." his voice echoed from what used to be your shared bedroom. you stepped through and locked the door behind you, eyes scanning the living area to see no clothes in sight— so you headed to the source of his voice and there, you found sunoo sat on the bed.

looking small, tired, yet still folding your clothes with carefulness because it was the last thing tying this place—him—to you.

you leaned against the door's frame, faking a smile while crossing your arms over your chest. "haven't seen you do that since junior year."

"how could i when you never let me touch the laundry." he whispered, voice balmy as he laid the cream white polo on the box, the corner of his lips tugging up as the memory of you and a compression wrap around his sprained ankle flashed in his mind. "told me you'd kill me before i die slipping on laundry detergent again."

"that'd be a stupid way to die." you replied with a shrug and a more genuine smile, walking closer to him. not quite touching, but enough to feel the little warmth that radiated from his body. "and you're folding it wrong, sun. the sleeves go inside before anything els—"

"let me do this for you." he says, reaching for your arm and returning it to your side. he stubbornly resumed but kept your tip in mind, flattening the fabric with his palm before carefully folding it over itself while pursing his lip, nibbling on the lower one.

"can.. can you call me that again?"

"sun?"

"no. the other one. my favorite. in the way you said it.. before."

"my sun?" you whispered, his body doing a light bounce as you scoot closer, taking the folded clothes and keeping it safe in the beige box. he smiled at the sound, taking the last piece of cloth in his hands, the genuine curve in his lips turning into an unreadable melancholic expression in an instant.

you couldn't quite tell whether it was made in longing for what you once had, or in sorrow for how it ended. possibly in mourning— because he knows that the last jean has been folded, and once it's settled in the box, his days moving forward will be exact replicas of the past week he spent without your presence.

he apprehensively put the final piece down with into the box and you stood to pick it up, feet quickly carrying you up and away as if it knew how heavy the hair was getting inside.

behind you, sunoo followed in quiet but seemingly sure footsteps.

he stood tall, proud, body tilted to one side as he leaned on the wall with a shoulder, hands deep in his pocket. his eyes drop from your face to your hand, and he feels his chest clenching tighter with each step you took closer to the door. his fear is coming true.

stop it, sunoo. do something. anything.

"are you that desperate to leave me?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper yet still somehow booming in your ears— somehow still managing to carry through the decorated navy blue walls, reaching you, and managing to rattle your bones and wrap around your muscles like an audible paralyzing agent.

your hand felt clammy around the cool metal, the other straining from the weak hold you had on the heavy box but you tightened your fingers around the flimsy container.

you're here to pick up your clothes, that's it.

your heart knew as much as your mind did that staying here would only stir the pot, and when sunoo took a step forward, they practically rung like loud sirens inside you, telling you to pick up your feet and run— but your body stood in place, only tensing up again when his voice broke the deafening silence.

"answer me, sweetheart. please." sunoo came out as a desperate croak, now merely inches behind you. his fingers wrapped around your wrist, firm, possessive, yet gentle in tugging at it in hopes that the tugs he gave would be enough to let you know he didn't want this—you, leaving—but your grip on the knob was unyielding, and sunoo found answer in that.

you weren't just desperate to leave, you were determined.

his fingers only tightened around you, the pain enough to have you letting go. "sunoo." you called, voice soft and measured, trying to shake him off but he turns you around in one smooth flip, leaning down to come face to face with you.

the thud of the box echoed against the tall glass windows of the penthouse as its contents pooled around both your feet, but you couldn't care for it. not when sunoo's persistent on cracking your resolve, chipping away at it each time you inhaled his infuriatingly familiar scent of floral and musk.

your body moved itself, neck craning as you turn your head to the side but his hands snap forward, reaching for your jaw to turn your head to him. the movement was so brash it made you whimper.

the fluff of his freshly dyed jet black hair fell over his face yet you still felt the intensity of the eyes hiding behind them. "if you don't want me anymore, say it to my face." the words rolled off his tongue like a thinly veiled threat while his eyes looked into yours, carefully studying.

you willed to stay poker-faced because a deep part of yourself knew that a single misstep, a single misspoken word, even a single crack in your voice would be detected and correctly read as a lie. "sunoo, it's.. not—"

"then what is it?" he asked, brows drawn together as his fingers press deeper against the softness of your cheeks like it would somehow guide the words he wanted to hear out of you, but kept mum, brows downturned when you finally gained the courage to return his gaze.

sunoo prides himself in being able to read you well—too well—and the look you gave him, tired and empty, just fueled the quiet storm that's been brewing inside since your absence.

"don't act like this isn't hard for me too." you sighed, prying the hold he has on your face, though that did nothing more than make the situation worse. he opted to lock you between the door and his taller frame, palms pressed against the wood with both arms square on the side of your head, fox-like eyes growing darker when you refused to indulge him with an answer.

"then. what. is. it." sunoo enunciates each word, voice low, face inching closer to yours after every pause. you pursed your lips, back firmly pressed against the wooden door but he only kept coming closer and closer, invading your space like it's his— like it's still his. your hands pressed on his firm chest, putting an arm's length of much needed distance between your bodies.

sunoo took a few more steps back with arms held up, jaws clenched and lips quirked up in sarcasm as he sauntered to the loveseat, half-sitting on its armrest before running his fingers through his dark hair, a gruff noise leaving his lips that sounded like something between a laugh and a scoff as he's left to deal with the pain of your physical rejection.

"it's too much. too much. like i told you, everything got overwhelming for me." you started, bringing a hand up to press on your temples. "your schedule, y-your lifestyle— god, they were calling me a plain jane, sun." you let out a grunt in exasperation, eyes picking up from the floor to stare at the slouched figure across the room.

plain jane? his woman? his y/n? he has never heard of such nonsense.

"who's they?" he asked with quiet intensity, eyebrows contorted together in irritation.

"your fans, sunoo. people. i don't know— i don't care anymore." you were tired. so tired, and weary, and exhausted of having to justify your decision because it started to feel like you were also convincing yourself that it was enough of a reason to leave him.

"they're strangers to me, to us, sweetheart." sunoo sighed from his spot, holding himself back from rolling his eyes at the lame excuse.

"i know, but the words don't hurt any less!"

when your voice came out, it was sharper, piecing, laced with poison and the undeniable fear of having your feelings out and bare, all vulnerable in front of your ever-adored ex boyfriend— and it made the two of you freeze.

the clock ticked and the city, floors below the large apartment, thrummed in ignorance of the tension that hung between former lovers— one tired and wanting to escape, the other still desperately holding on.

"three years. three fucking years, and all it took were stupid trolls on the internet to ruin this relationship i took so much care of." he scoffed in disbelief, standing up straight to look to you.

sunoo's snarky tone only furthered your temper, raising an eyebrow at your ex boyfriend. "took so much care of? sunoo, do you hear yourself?" you chuckled in disbelief. "don't blame them. you were also a part of this! you neglected me. not the people i don't care for, but you."

your fingers pointed at him in accusation and sunoo shot you a glare entirely different from the ones he used to give when you took the last piece of pastry or bit on his arm too hard— no, this one was genuine in its irritation.

"me? darling—" his slender fingers ran through his hair, tongue poking against his inner cheek with a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips. "i give you everything you want, even things you feel too shy to ask for. the clothes, the jewelry, the fancy k—"

"and what about dates, huh?" you cut him off, looked at him in defiance and sunoo struggled to keep still, now pacing back and forth across the living room like he didn't know whether being closer to you calmed him down or whether it furthered the pain clawing at his insides.

seeing the arrogant smirk get wiped from his face only emboldens you to continue, a sick part of the pride you tucked away so deep finally coming out with each rhetorical question, even counting your fingers just to prove your point.

"what about all the times you forgot about your promises, hm? or when you constantly broke our no-phone rule? or when you'd refuse to touch me because posing for the cameras is more important than your damn girlfriend?"

you paused for a moment, chest rising and falling as you tried to control yourself but the more you thought about it, the angrier you got, and the words escaped your lips before you could even contain the venom mixed in them.

"those trolls, no matter how annoying they are, are correct. you need someone who could keep up with the glitz and glamour of your life, and maybe i need someone who could keep up with the calm of mine." you spat out out the last words, face blank but inwardly proud that your voice didn't shake.

letting everything out was supposed to calm you down, but unease began settling in your bones like the quiet gracing the space. no one spoke. only your heavy breathing and soft buzz of the elevator down the hall. you expected him to snap back, to retort something equally as smart or as sharp— but the silence persisted, and you began to want him to say something, anything in return.

instead, sunoo looked at you, stood up straight with the type of composure that asked, no, commanded your full attention. his face was blank for the most part, only the mild spasm on the muscle of his forearm while he stared.

despite his silence, you sensed it. you physically felt it. this was not defeat, nor was this resignation. it's just the calm before the storm.

in the rational part of his mind, he knows you only said what you did in overwhelm. that those were just words weaponized against him to fling pain, the same hurt you've been quietly enduring while he focused on his career— but rationality left him the same day you did, and the remaining sense he had to feel empathy for you died the moment you implied needing another man.

the mere thought of having another replacing his spot in your life irked him like nothing else. he earned that spot, he fought for it, he bared himself to you so you'd know he's deserving of it, and yet you had the audacity to think that he won't devote himself into becoming what you need?

the internal dialogue drowned him, pushing his body forward and springing him into action— three big strides across the living room, big hands pinning your shoulders to the door. his jaw was tightly clenched and his voice came out thin and raspy.

"say that again, sweetheart. i fucking dare you."

your lips parted, but nothing came out. not when you felt like your heart was pounding in your throat, eyes wide and afeared as they stayed glued to sunoo's. his orbs flickered with something wild, something ravenous but patient enough to lie low in anticipation of your next mistake.

he didn't move— not yet. neither did you.

his breathing was loud. labored. his nostrils were flaring with each intake of air like it was the only fuel to his strength. the muscles of his jaw were clenched tight with his lips pursed into a straight line, urging it to remain shut because he knows only a pathetic pleading for you to stay will ensue if dares part it.

his grip on you is tight, too. just a small press away from bruising. but his eyes—his gaze—though barely visibly from the thick lashes, was the thing that truly kept you from moving. you couldn't do anything but witness how his eyes dropped to your lips, up to the evident flush in your cheeks, the irregular rise of your chest when your breath hitched after he leaned just a hair's width towards you.

the gulps you made weren't muffled by the silence either, and sunoo found delight in knowing that no matter how many you took, it wouldn't help hydrate your throat. it wouldn't let you bark back.

still, you stubbornly tried to talk your way out— to tell him that you didn't mean it. that you weren't thinking when you talked, but it all came out as a whimper when his fingers dragged lazy shaped on your collarbone.

the air is starting to change, or maybe it already had. you can't tell whether it suffocated or exhilarated you, but somehow, along the way, your thighs started rubbing together and your skin was starting to thrum with a wave of warmth each time your heart beat.

you're a fool to think that you could walk away, to think that he wouldn't notice but sunoo did. he always does. your whimper had his lips curling into a sick, satisfied grin, drunk in power as he got the confirmation he needed from the pathetic sound you made.

you could reject him, hurt him with your words, or torture him with your lack of it— but your body said enough.

in a flash, you're in his arms, legs wrapped tightly around his waist while his supported you from your ass, squeezing the soft flesh, nails digging so deep you can feel it even through your shorts.

"s-sun.." you whimpered again, palms pressing against his nape to keep you from falling. "shut up." he spat, landing a quick slap on the clothed behind before letting you fall to the couch with a soft 'hmpf', slotting himself between your legs to keep it spread.

"this what it's about? my sweetheart being touch deprived?" he leaned down until your foreheads touched, his palm finding rest on your waist and giving it a gentle squeeze contrasting to the darkness behind his laughter. "if you wanted to have a better fuck, you could've just asked me."

"n-no, i meant—" his palm began traveling further down to your covered heat, fingers toying across the stitches of your shorts right above your heat, which had you biting down on your lower lip to muffle your moan.

"what did you mean, mm?" he raised an eyebrow, speaking in a mocking voice as he rubbed your clothed cunt using two fingers, a deep laugh leaving his lips when thin strings of wetness follow his fingers as he pulls them away. "because your body is telling me something else. you're fucking soaked through your shorts, dirty girl." in one swift movement, he tugged them down, leaving your lower half barely covered.

just like the clothes you abandoned, he folded you in half, but this time, it wasn't done in gentleness— his palms were rough and gripping as they pushed your knees towards your shoulder.

"keep 'em there." he ordered, and you couldn't find it in you to disobey.

contrary to what everyone thought, your boyfriend isn't the passive man he's pictured to be. yes, people found him cute and he was soft-spoken, but he knew what he liked— and what he liked, he made sure he got.

that translated into your sex life too. he's a domineering man in bed, but a soft one. always asking if you liked what he was doing, always reveling in pleasuring you, and always made sure to put your needs above his, intent on listening to your body's every whim and need.

but this man... this isn't sunoo.

you were watching the sweet, soft boy you've loved devolve into something else entirely— consumed by fury, hurt, and jealousy of a hypothetical man threatening to take his place in his sweetheart's life.

if the angry bulge visible from his grey sweatpants were anything to go by, he's consumed by the physical need to claim you as his, too. again, and again, and again.

this time, he was getting what he wanted. by hook or by crook.

his middle finger dragged up and down your slit, spreading your arousal inside and making a dark stain of a stripe appear on the thin fabric. his smile grew wicked as he ghosted his fingers on the translucent cloth right above your clit and proceeded to drag small circles around it, not quite putting pressure where you needed him the most.

you gripped on the back of your knees, his name dying in your throat and getting replaced by a sharp gasp when his palm struck down your barely clothed core, and your reaction to it was all the confirmation he needed to enact his cruelty, validated in letting out his pent up frustration on your body.

"fuck, needy baby left my hand all messy and we aren't even starting yet." he whistled as he looked at the dull shine on his hand, opting to dry it out by smacking them along your inner thighs repeatedly, earning loud whines from you.

without any warning, sunoo's finger hooked on the center of your ruined underwear and pulled it aside, pushing two past your fluttering hole. "see— fuck, you can take my cock now." he grunted, the veins on his forearm prominent as he curled his fingers. "but i'm being so nice for prepping you, right?"

you could only nod and sunoo clicked his tongue in disapproval, pulling his hand out to land another punishing slap on your cunt, the wet sound of skin getting smacked filling the room. "you answer me when i ask you, sweetheart."

"mhh— yes! yes, fuck, so nice." you whined, legs trembling once he pushes his fingers back in and he relished in the squelching sounds it made, heart full of pride as he sees your eyes half lidded and already glazed over.

"that's right. i'm so nice to you, see?" he purred, thumb rubbing quick circles around your swollen clit as his free hand moved to cup your breast through your top, giving it a quick slap before soothing it with a squeeze, jaw tensing when he feels you clench around his fingers.

"dirty fuckin' whore. can't believe you like this." he impatiently pushed his own undergarments down with one hand, the fabric pooling around his knees he ripped the flimsy underwear from your legs.

your hands resumed its hold on the back of your knees while sunoo stroked his cock with one hand, the tip of it red and angry while leaking precum, dropping down on your already messy cunt. he spread your puffy lips apart with two fingers, biting his lip at the visual.

"look, baby. your poor hole is crying without me in it." he mocked, a dark chuckle rumbling from his chest to see your cheeks flush, empty hole pulsing around nothing. "and you have the fucking nerve to leave me here? by myself?" he asked, landing a hard smack straight between your thighs.

"sunoo.. sun, please!" you cried out pleading, sinking further into the couch.

"please what?"

"touch... m-me." you whispered, voice trailing off. his eyebrow rose for a moment, deep in thought before lifting you up to make you switch places. he sat on the couch, manspread with a fist still around his leaking hardness while he made you stand before him, knees wobbly with arousal dripping down your inner thigh.

"take everything off." he said, leaning back against the plush cushion as he watched you throw your shirt and bra off.

you feel so exposed, so used, and your skin is starting to feel far too sticky and warm under his hawk-like gaze, but you can't care for it when your body is fueled by the depravity of watching him stroke his cock— slow and measured like he was relishing your humiliation.

"sunoo, enough of this— please. i want you."

he tapped on his thigh and you immediately moved to straddle him but before you can even reach for his length, his palm met the skin of your exposed chest and the impact had you keening.

"no touching." he sternly spoke before offering you two fingers. "if you want me so bad, you'll take what you can get."

the same hand moved in between his thigh and you bite your lip at the ridiculousness of the implication but your brain is too fuzzy, too driven by the need to be filled so you sink yourself down on his fingers while the thing that you need gets stroked by his own hands.

sunoo smirks at the pathetic sight in front of him— you, desperately bouncing on two fingers while letting out soft mewls about how it's not enough.

"is it not? like how i'm not enough?" he spoke with venom, angling his fingers inside you that pitched your moans higher. "n-no.. you are— just... nnh– i need you! need your cock, baby, please!"

"hmm. i don't know about that, darling. something about needing someone else.. what was that? you needed someone to match your calm?" sarcastic, hurt feigned by his sadism, he let go of his cock to land more blows on the side of your jiggling mounds, the pain making you bounce faster.

"but you're fucking yourself on my fingers like a pathetic bitch in heat— all without apology." he venomously spat, running a tongue over his lower lip.

"'m sorry! 'm sorry, baby.. p-please." you babbled, thighs burning yet his degrading words only urged you ride faster. his fingers, though good, was not nearly enough compared to the fill you know you'll get with the real thing. "ah! need your cock.. mmh— 'm sorry. please—"

he pulled his fingers away, holding his length up before tipping his chin towards it. "show me how sorry you are, sweetheart." you moved with quickness to straddle him properly, hands resting on his broad shoulders before you sink yourself down, mouth making a small 'o' as his cock stretches you out inch by inch.

you can't do anything but babble thanks yous and sorries as you move up and down on his length, nails digging down on sunoo's fair skin. "don't need your apologies. i said show me, slut." he hissed, pushing the same sticky fingers still coated in your arousal past your lips yet you continue to muffle your words and whimpers against them.

the room is filled with the sound of your wet slobbering against the digits pressing down on your tongue, wet skin slapping slapping and sunoo's breathy sighs. "just like that.. my good girl." he holds one hand on your waist, head thrown against the backrest of the couch as your tightness clamp down on him.

it isn't long before the familiar heat in the pit of your stomach starts feeling like it's too hot, walls pulsing repeatedly against sunoo's length. "c..cuh—" you choked against his fingers and he chuckles, taking the fingers wet with your saliva to your clit to rub on it harshly.

"what's that? is my sweet girl cumming so soon?" the thrill of the threat hiding behind his sweet voice has you screaming his name out loud, your upper body falling on top of his as you rode your high, hips bucking forward.

he rubbed your back soothingly, flashing you a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "can't have that, can we? i haven't had my fill yet." he pouts, large hands gripping on your ass before smacking it again.

your body was still trembling from the previous orgasm when he manhandled you until you're face down on the couch, settling behind you. "sun.. mmh— w-wait—"

"are you that selfish, sweetheart? for three years, i've been so good at taking care of you." he hisses as he stroked his wet cock, running the head up and down your wetness, purposefully pressing it on the swell of your clit. "putting you first," a smack on your plump ass to emphasize his words, caressing the red handprint beginning to form. "and you can't even wait for me to finish." and another one on the neglected cheek.

he's slapping at your ass, the back of your thighs, even at your spent cunt until you're crying his name and it does nothing but make his eyes grow darker, anger still clouding his head to think properly. "gonna take what's mine. what's always been mine." he muttered, grabbing his length by the base before slipping back inside your gummy walls.

he gripped on your hips, thrusts punishing and frantic as he chased his high while peppering wet kisses along your shoulder blade. "you hear that, love?" he pants. "poor cunt's sucking me in, ha— all f'me.. like your body knows you need me." you give him a breathless nod, tears leaving your eyes from overstimulation.

"shit— can't let anybody have this." the fingers digging down on your skin is sure to leave bruises tomorrow, along with the blooming marks he left along your nape and shoulder. "tell me, love. whose hole is this, hm?"

your voice came out raw and pinched as you whimpered his name and sunoo grabbed your at your chest, giving your perky bud a gentle pinch. "louder. let me know who's making you feel good." he pulled out just until the head is left inside before pounding his hips into you again, desperate to hear more of your broken moans.

"s-sunoo!" you cried as loud as you can, frail body getting knocked forward with each powerful thrust. "damn fucking right." he growled. "think anyone else can have you like this? all fucked out and dumb?" he grabbed at your hair roughly, tugging on it as he whispered even more depravities against the shell of your ear.

"mmh— sun, i'm—" your fingers clawed at the linen couch as you feel another high approaching hard and fast, the knot in your stomach feeling too tight and painful to bear but sunoo's uncompromising, still merciless and insistent on chasing after his own.

"don't, hnn.. fuck— be a good girl, sweetheart. be a good for me, y-yeah?" he let go of your hair and replaced it with just as tight of a hold on your hips, pulling you back to meet his thrusts.

your cheek pressed against the couch, eyes rolled to the back of your head while you whimpered and babbled nonsense, even more tears slipping down your sweat-ridden skin as you let go screaming his name.

your trembling figure triggered sunoo's own orgasm, hips pressed into your ass as he buried himself to the hilt, letting out an airy groan of your name and shuddering as he painted your walls white. sunoo quickly pulled out of your spent hole, lips twitched up in satisfaction as he watched your mixed juices leak out of you.

the pride soon turned into a sense of responsibility as you hoarsely called out for him again and he pressed a kiss on the base of your nape. "wait a bit, my darling." your body gave out without his hold, upper body propped up on the sofa for support, letting out a quiet whine when sunoo's warm body pulled away from yours.

he came back to carefully wipe you down with a wet towel, his other hand brushing your hair off of your skin that glimmered with sweat under the dim lighting. "i'm sorry, love. i think i went a little too much on you. i'll set up a bath for us, okay?" he frowned, pressing apologetic kisses all over your back.

you managed to giggle even in your broken state, holding out a hand. "no.. wan' bed." you croaked out and he just gave you a smile, easily picking you up princess style and carrying you to the bedroom while pressing even more kisses across your face.

somewhere along the travel, your body gave in to drowsiness and sunoo just laid you on your side of the bed, slipping his shirt on your body before covering you with the thick duvet.

he laid beside you with his arms securely around your waist, a smile—genuine and wide—pasted on his lips as he watched you sleep.

the sunlight peeked through the curtains that were barely drawn shut, leaving warmth on sunoo's skin that made him smile in his subconscious. his arms sleepily reached forward but when it fell on nothing but the cotton satin of the sheets, his eyes shot wide open.

your side of the bed was barely warm and when he looked around, there were no signs of you.

was he was mistaken? was last night not a testimony of the fact that you two still loved each other? or was it just your bodies speaking before your mind could think? did you wake up and decide that it was just purely sex and not a physical confession of how much he needed you back?

sunoo rubbed the sleep off his face, brows knitted as he pushed himself off of the bed to face yet another painful day. as soon as the bedroom door opened, the smell of freshly brewed coffee invaded his nostrils.

his heart spiked, almost tripping on his own feet as he ran down the hallway to see you sat in the living room, legs crossed with nothing but his shirt on, quietly sipping on coffee from a white mug.

"sweetheart." he whispered, breathless, with an arm pressed against the wall for support.

"hey, sun. had some of your coffee, hope you don't mind." you muttered shyly.

"like i give a fuck about the damn coffee." he muttered, quickly stepping towards you and kneeling down on the rug on both knees, hugging your legs and resting his head atop your thighs. you just chuckled solemnly, running your fingers through his bedhead.

"don't you have some shoot to go to today, mister?"

"are we really going to do that movie cliche of exes ignoring the elephant in the room after they fuck?" he huffed from below you, moving to sit beside you on the couch, taking the mug and laying it on the glass table.

you had to bite back a chuckle, rolling your eyes at him. "i don't know what you want me to say. last night was good, if that's what you're truly asking."

"yeah like i didn't already know that by how fucked out you were." he snorted, rolling his eyes at you in mock before pulling you on his lap, hands slipping under the shirt to caress your bare skin. "i just want to talk about us, sweetheart."

you stared at him for a moment, lower lip caught between your teeth, pondering whether it would be okay to bare yourself, your heart, to him again.

"i guess i just want to say i'm sorry. in hindsight, what i did was brash but.. i don't know. i got really overwhelmed. so i left, but i realized that i should have just asked for space instead." you smiled, small and just a little bit forced.

"my sweetheart." he frowned, raising a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "no space, and especially no break-up. you could've talked to me about those lame internet trolls. if i knew everything was eating up at you from the inside then i would've—"

"you would've left your dream behind. and i don't want that." you finished his sentence, poking at his soft cheeks. "the runway, the shoots... that's you, sunoo. i knew it even when i was just your friend. i can't take being a star away from you."

"take a look around, y/n. take a look at me." he sighed in exasperation, fingers jabbing at his own chest. "i look miserable without you. you're the reason why i shine. the reason why i do so well! it's only because i have an amazing woman i come home to." he whispered, pulling you down to press a soft kiss on your coffee tinted lips.

the sounds that escaped your lips was sinful and sunoo licked your lower lip before pulling away. "i don't give a fuck about what people say, i'll even post you on my socials if you finally allow it." he grinned, trailing his lips down to your neck.

you pursed your lips and leaned back to restrain both him and yourself before he can leave even more bruises on your skin. you gave him a stern look, arms protectively crossed over your chest. "sun, i'm serious."

sunoo's face dropped, clicking his tongue as he rubbed on his forehead. "darling, i am too. i've had enough of this, i'll retire early— hell, i'll burn all the contracts i have right now, sweetheart. just don't spend another day away from me, hm?"

you can't find the strength to deny him when he looks up at you with the ends of his brow pointed down, hands even pressed together as he pleads. when you roll your eyes and sit on him with your full weight, the brightness returned to sunoo's smile.

"sweetheart?" he whispered, pressing a kiss on your temple. you hummed as a reply and sunoo shifted a little underneath you, voice shy and a little strained. "did you mean it?"

"mean what?"

"that you liked what happened last night?" you froze in your spot, the beats of your heart pricking up at the reminder of what happened right on top of the very couch you're sat on.

"it was... a welcomed change." you reply softly, suddenly becoming shy. you hide your face in his neck and sunoo's giggle reverberates, hands trailing down to pat on your still tender asscheeks.

"that's noted, then. i can fuck you like that whenever you want, and you don't need to break up with me beforehand." he teased and you smacked him across the chest, flushed face sinking further in between his neck and shoulders.

"i kid, sweetheart. but can you promise not to do that again?" he leaned back against the plush material, enough to see your face again. his hands lovingly caressed your cheek and you nod. "i promise."

he kissed your lips briefly and returned your face where it once was, his fingers running up and down your back to soothe you. no cheesy lines, no 'i love you's, no distinct confirmation that you're back together, but you're both settled, knowing what the promise meant.

it's oddly comforting how the two of you can easily go back into your old routines, how the pain of spending a week apart could easily be forgotten once you're held in his arms and spoiled with multiple kisses.

you suppose that's the charm of finding your person. you can withstand having to share parts of him to the cameras and to the rest of to the world, because you know that in it, he brings with himself a part of you— the only part he refuses to let go in the name of love.

꒰ from ! 🐰 yan ꒱⠀⠀ haha so i think i kinda went insane on the smut scene. idk why i thought i could tackle make up sex for my first time writing smut but it's definitely a fun exercise! ALSO meandom!sunoo lovers rise and show yourselves. i need girls who see The Vision on my side. LOL.

⌗ taglist — @mariegibeau @kristynaaah @ikeukiss

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momnjam · 4 days ago

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When Enhypen Gives You a Flower

Pairing: ot7 Enhypen x reader Themes: established relationship, fluff, quiet affection, flower symbolism Type: imagines Disclaimer: All stories are fictional. Any resemblance to real places or events is coincidental. The characters, their thoughts, and actions are products of imagination and do not represent real individuals. If inspired by other works, proper credit is given. Spelling or grammar errors may appear—thank you for your understanding. Word count: 2.3k

Heeseung

Heeseung gives you tulips.

No occasion, no special reason, no fancy words. Just because. Because he wanted to. Because he was passing by a flower shop and suddenly thought of you. Maybe it was the moment he saw their delicate colours, or the scent that reminded him of something quiet and peaceful. He didn't think twice, he just bought them, as if his intuition told him it would be a nice gesture.

The tulips he gives you are pastel, soft shades of peach, pink, cream, maybe with a slight touch of yellow. They are not loud or exaggerated, because that's not what Heeseung is like. These are flowers that don't have to fight for attention, yet they catch the eye with their charm. Just like him, he doesn't have to shine to be noticed.

Sometimes he may appear with a small bouquet wrapped in brown paper, with a gentle smile and a quiet ‘for you’. Tulips from Heeseung are not just a gift. They are his way of saying things he cannot say. When he is silent, the tulip says, ‘I've been thinking about you all day’. When he is shy, the tulip says, ‘I want you to know that I care about you.’ It is his quiet ‘I am here’ in a world full of noise.

The door to your apartment closed quietly behind you, and exhaustion enveloped you like a soft, heavy blanket. The day had dragged on endlessly, each event leaving its mark, and all you wanted was a moment of peace and quiet.

You sat on the sofa, trying to gather your thoughts, when suddenly you heard a soft knock on the door.

You opened it, and there stood Heeseung with a bouquet of tulips in his hands, as if he had come from a completely different world, straight to yours.

‘What are you doing here?’ you whispered, hardly believing it was really him.

‘I was just walking past a flower shop and thought tulips were the perfect reason to show up,’ he said, gently lifting the flowers. Or at least a little excuse. I couldn't just show up without them, it would have been too ordinary.’

You smiled tiredly, gently accepting the bouquet.

‘Even if it's just an excuse, I'm glad you're here. I really needed this.’

Heeseung came in, and in that moment, you felt the world suddenly become a little brighter and the weight of the day a little lighter.

Jay

Jay gives you roses.

With the confidence that comes naturally to him. Because roses are no accident. They are something that suits him perfectly: classic, expressive, yet with a hidden meaning.

The roses you receive have a deep, intense colour, one that immediately attracts attention, but at the same time does not scream to the whole world. They are like him, strong, but not overwhelming. They symbolise what Jay wants to tell you without words: that you are important to him, that you are worth fighting for.

Sometimes he shows up with a single rose, delicately presented, sometimes with a large bouquet that fills your entire view. But even then, he doesn't make a show of it — always with class and a smile that says, ‘This is for you, because you deserve the best.’ When he gives you flowers, he doesn't seek applause or grand words. He's just there. Present, focused on you, giving you something that needs no explanation.

The evening on the restaurant terrace was quiet, and the soft light of the lanterns created a gentle, almost magical atmosphere. The city spread out beneath your feet, and the subtle scent of roses filled the air. Jay handed you a bouquet of red roses. He placed them in front of you with a slight smile and looked into your eyes.

‘You deserve more than just words,’ he said calmly. ‘Something that reminds you how important you are. That's why these roses. For you.’

There was no exaggeration in it, only sincerity and warmth that did not need big gestures. It was his way of saying, ‘I see you. I appreciate you.’ At that moment, with the roses right next to you, you felt that you really deserved the best and that someone remembered that.

Jake

Jake gives you sunflowers.

He doesn't plan it, he doesn't prepare it, he's a little flustered, a little surprised at himself for picking them. Because sunflowers? It's a little random, but it's totally his thing.

These flowers are large, bright, shouting ‘hey, I'm here!’, a little chaotic, but that's what makes them charming. Like Jake, always full of energy, with a huge heart that shines brighter than the biggest sun.

He doesn't hand them over formally, but rather throws them at you, smiling as if to say, ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ Or he shows up with a single sunflower that he found somewhere along the way and immediately thought of you. After all, who else would brighten his day if not you? The only thing you hear when he hands you the flowers is: ‘Look, I found something that is like you. Beautiful, bright and impossible to miss. I don’t know if it makes sense, but I think it should be with you.’ And you feel that it's not just the sunflowers that have brightened your mood.

You rush up to the roof, a little angry because he told you to come immediately. You think something has happened. And there's Jake, standing with a flower pot. Yes, a flower pot. Filled with huge sunflowers that look like they have lives of their own.

‘What is this?’ you ask, incredulous.

‘Your bouquet,’ he says proudly. ‘Only... the hardcore version.’ You raise an eyebrow. He just shrugs, as if it’s obvious.

‘Because you're not the type for three roses in a wrapped paper. You're a sunflower in a pot on the roof. Chaotic, impossible to ignore, you live by your own rules. And... you deserve something that lasts longer.’ he says the last words a little more quietly, as if shyness has swallowed his words.

You remain silent, and he hands you a pot in your favourite colour.

‘Besides... It looked lonely in the shop. Like you on Mondays.

Sunghoon

Sunghoon gives you white camellias.

The white camellia he brings you doesn't make much of an impression at first glance. It doesn't smell strong. It doesn't shine. But the longer you look at it, the more you see in it. It's purity, admiration, respect. It's his way of saying, ‘Just you being you is enough’.

He doesn't bring you bouquets. Rather, a single flower, simple, wrapped in light-coloured paper. And perhaps given without a word, just a slight nod of the head. But behind this one gesture is everything. His calmness, his emotions, which are not always spoken, but always present.

When he hands you a camellia, he doesn't look at your reaction with uncertainty. He already knows it. Because it's not a flower ‘just in case’. It's his choice. His care. His way of saying that you are someone worth caring for. Even if he doesn't say it out loud.

You found them only after a while.

They were lying on the doormat, as if waiting patiently. A white camellia, wrapped in plain, matte wrapping paper, tied with a thin white ribbon. No card. No signature. Just a flower.

But you didn't need to read it to know who it was from. You picked up the flower gently, as if afraid of breaking something precious. For a moment, you just looked at it, at the bright petals, so perfectly even, almost unnaturally perfect. And you thought they were just like Sunghoon.

Less than a minute later, your phone buzzed in your hand.

‘I didn't want to bother you. But today you looked like you needed something nice. And peaceful.’

You smiled to yourself, shaking your head, and placed the camellia on the windowsill in a simple glass vase. You looked at it for a long while, because it was exactly what you needed.

Sunoo

Sunoo brings you pink peonies.

Not always right away. Sometimes he just disappears from your day for a moment, and then comes back with a bouquet that looks like spring in its purest form. Pink peonies, softly spreading, smelling like something that reminds you of home or a pleasant memory.

Because for him, beauty is not an exaggeration. It is mindfulness. It is the awareness that you don't have to wait for an anniversary or a special occasion to show someone that they are important. Peonies are like him. They are vivid, warm, and always sincere. Their colours say ‘I'm glad you're here’, and their scent stays with you long after they disappear from the vase.

When he hands you a bouquet, he does so with a smile so wide that everything else fades away. Maybe he'll throw in a joke, maybe he'll stretch out comfortably on your sofa and start telling you how long it took him to choose the prettiest shade of pink. But you know that these flowers are not about colour. They are about him and you.

Sunoo appeared unexpectedly, with a big smile and a bouquet of pink peonies in his hand, like it was the easiest and sweetest way to cheer you up.

‘Hey, here’s something for you!’ he exclaimed enthusiastically.

The peonies were a little ruffled, as if someone had shaken them at the entrance, but they had a softness and freshness that only he could find.

‘I knew these flowers would suit you,’ he replied, hiding the blush on his cheeks behind the petals.

You smiled broadly, because Sunoo always managed to brighten even the gloomiest day. And those peonies? They didn’t have to be perfect to mean more than a thousand words.

Jungwon

Jungwon gives you a dandelion.

It is not a flower that is easy to hold. It is light, delicate, fleeting, like the moment between sleep and reality. The dandelion he gives you carries more than just the charm of nature. It is a promise of hope, dreams and freedom. As if to say, ‘Don't be afraid to let go of what is heavy.’

You won't find any flashy colours or heavy scents in it. It is white, soft, almost transparent, yet powerful in its simple beauty. Jungwon hands it to you gently, as if he doesn't want to disturb its balance.

It's his quiet way of saying that he believes in you. And that sometimes you have to believe in the invisible.

You sat together on the soft grass, and the night sky stretched above you like a huge, sparkling canvas. The stars were shining brightly, but it wasn't them that caught your attention, it was the boy sitting next to you.

Jungwon reached gently into the grass and picked a dandelion. In his hand, the flower looked so light, as if it were about to fly away. He looked up at you, and that characteristic smile appeared on his lips, revealing a dimple on his cheek, a small detail that suddenly made everything seem more real.

‘Blow,’ he said softly, handing you the dandelion.

You took it in your hands and felt the delicate seeds brush against your fingers. You looked at it, then blew out through your mouth.

The white, fluffy parts of the dandelion rose slightly into the air and slowly began to drift away into the night. You watched together as they flew away — free, without fear, carried into the darkness.

Ni-ki

Ni-ki gives you a sakura flower.

He is shy, as you can see from the slight blush on his cheeks and how quickly he looks away when he hands you the delicate branch. He tries to remain calm, pretending that it is just a normal thing, not something that really moves his heart.

The flower in his hand is like him. Full of life, yet delicate, fleeting, and easily hurt. He doesn't say much. He doesn't need to. This one simple gesture, slowly extending his hand with the flower, says more than the words he cannot utter. It's a sign that he trusts you, that he wants to be close, even though he doesn't say so directly.

When you take the flower, you notice that his lips curve into a slight, proud smile, which says that he is happy because he has managed to make you smile. It is a brief moment, full of warmth and unspoken joy, which is difficult to forget.

You walk together under a sky lit up with pink petals — the cherry trees are in full bloom, creating a delicate, almost magical atmosphere. The air is cool but not piercing, and the wind gently stirs the soft petals, which dance around you like confetti. Ni-ki stops for a moment and gently reaches for one of the branches and picks a single sakura flower.

He hands you the flower, and you feel your heart beat a little faster. Your eyes widen in surprise, and Ni-ki quickly looks away. His face betrays his efforts to maintain a cool appearance, but you can see that this small gesture means a lot to him.

Without waiting for a response, he gently takes your hand and, with a smile that is both shy and warm, places the flower behind your ear.

‘Well, you should be quicker, shouldn't you?’ He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, waiting for your reaction.

Your smile lights up his face, and a spark of joy appears in his eyes.

Notes: Thanks a for reading! Writing these little flower moments was such a nice escape. When I was working on Jungwon’s part, So Let’s Go See the Stars by BND was playing on repeat and it really set the mood. I hope you enjoyed this quiet, simple story as much as I enjoyed creating it.

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mssishipi · 15 hours ago

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SHI WRITES ฅ ฅ ── mssishipi wip.

💌 wanna be in the taglist? just make sure you’ve read the rules before asking to be added! and if you can, pls have your age or age range somewhere on your blog—it helps me keep things safe for everyone. thanks for understanding!! ദ്ദി/ᐠ｡‸｡ᐟ\

ONE OF THE GIRLS — ksn

Kim Sunoo has always been one of the girls: soft-spoken, pretty, utterly devoted to the allure of men, men and more men. Women were never his thing, not really—especially not you. You, with your cigarette-drenched, red fucking lips, that wicked mouth always spitting nonsense. He loathed your strut, your cruel tongue, those perfect, infuriating tits that made his cock twitch no matter how hard he tried to look away. And he hated the thought that maybe — he’s starting to think that he swings both ways after all.

content tags/warnings: pansexual!sunoo x bisexual! reader, one sided enemies to fubu to lovers, a lot of misandry comments, slut-shaming, angst, reader is a heavy smoker, reader is like a women magnet, jealousy, mentions of cheating (past rs). explicit content (smut): blowjob, mentions of rimming and anal sex, tits fucking, pussy eating, unprotected sex: public sex, multiple sex positions and places lmao, sunoo have a big dick. (more will be added)

note! this is a work of fiction and is not intended to offend anyone in the lgbt community or to fetishize any identities. the themes and characters are purely imaginative and should not be taken as a reflection of real people or experiences. and if you don't like it? don't read it. :)

✒ CURRENT WORD COUNT: 3K | EST. 15K

STATUS: ON PROGRESS

DOG DAYS ARE OVER! — sjy

In a near-future world where science has redefined the boundaries of biology, you’re assigned to study Jake—a human-canine hybrid who seems more animal than a man at first glance. But the longer you observe him, the more unsettling behavior begin to surface. His behavior is unpredictable yet intelligent, and his attachment to you is deeper than expected.

content tags and warnings: sci-fi, slow burn, angst, action, hybrid! jake, medtech! reader, ft: dr & genetic engr! kim taehyung and dr! park jongseong. biology alteration, forced evolution & biological manipulation, animalistic behavior in a human-hybrid, power dynamics & control. loss of bodily autonomy, mention of death, animal cruelty, isolation & captivity, explicit content (smut): cunilingus, unprotected sex, knotting, more will be added

✒ CURRENT WORD COUNT: 21.3K | EST. 30-40K

STATUS: UNDER REVISION.

#mssishipi wip #mssishipi perm taglist!#enhypen #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #sunoo x reader #sunoo smut #jake x reader #jake smut

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si3rren · 1 day ago

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Real Talk.

some fans really out here leaking flights, showing up at hotels, calling idols during their own weverse lives (AND MORE DISGUSTING STUFF) like it’s a side quest. enhypen are living in a psychological thriller and y’all are the jump scare.

this is not “just being a fan” — it’s obsessive, invasive, and straight-up dangerous. showing up uninvited isn’t love. leaking private info isn’t support. it’s a violation, and it needs to stop.

funny how the loudest ones preaching “we care about them so much!! 🥺” are the same ones putting them in unsafe situations just to feel closer. that’s not love. that’s entitlement with a parasocial bow on top.

and no, this isn’t about “all fans.” this is about that specific type of toxic behavior that crosses boundaries and then cries when called out. if the shoe fits, hope it gives blisters.

enhypen aren’t public property. they’re people. this constant harassment isn’t stan culture — it’s stalking. and it’s exhausting.

ive been seeing so many tweets about this and honestly wtf is hybe even doing at this point.

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hoondrop · 3 days ago

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SUNGHOON'S PART COMING TOMORROW!!!

Synopsis: There are intimacies that exist in the spaces between. No declarations, no final acts—only friction, breath, and the unbearable closeness of almost. Each encounter begins with restraint: a length pressed along soaked heat, slow movements that ask for nothing but steal everything. Different men, different tropes, yet each one drawn to the same quiet hunger: to feel you without fully having you. aka Enhypen Pussy Job Mini Series

taglist: [open]

Disclaimer: All my works contain smut as does this series. These are mini series and by mini series I mean each part consisting of 1900-2500 words

LEE HEESEUNG

(brother's best friend heeseung x f!reader)

You should’ve locked the door but temptation always slips in, quiet and sure, wearing a familiar face. Neither speaks of it in daylight, but the silence between is soaked ,and in the dark, he always leaves his mark.

Status: Posted

PARK JONGSEONG

(arranged marriage husband jay x virgin f!reader)

He doesn’t take you that night but he takes something. Every slow grind, every reverent kiss leaves you trembling, undone. It feels sacred, almost holy yet something darker lingers beneath his touch. You’re not his yet… but he’s already claimed you.

Status: [coming soon]

SIM JAEYUN

(virgin jake x experienced!reader)

You never let him in but he still came harder than he ever has. All it took was your slick heat, your voice in his ear, and a lesson he’ll never forget. No one has to know what you did to him. Except him… and the mess he left all over your thighs.

Status: [coming soon]

PARK SUNGHOON

(bestfriend's boyfriend sunghoon x f!reader)

It’s not supposed to mean anything. Not when he never pushes in. But every stolen night chips away at the lie you keep telling yourselves. The guilt never outweighs the need. You say it isn’t cheating—he says it, too—but your body already knows the truth.

Status: [coming soon]

KIM SUNOO

(bffs2l virgin sunoo x f!reader)

You don’t know what you’re doing, neither of you do, but that’s what makes it unforgettable. Whatever this is, it feels like the beginning of everything.

Status: [coming soon]

YANG JUNGWON

(bestfriend's younger brother jungwon x noona!reader)

You know it’s wrong, but your body doesn’t care. But tonight, he stops looking and starts taking. He’s all heat and hunger, grinding against you like he’s waited years—and maybe he has. You should stop this… but part of you never wanted to.

Status: Posted

©hoondrop | 2025

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tyunni · 2 months ago

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𝗠𝗘𝗗𝗜𝗖𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡, 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗟𝗜𝗣𝗦! (𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐟)

/ᐠ. .ᐟ\ฅ ❛❛ 𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇’𝗍 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖽𝖺𝗒. ❜❜

⭐️ 。 ──── boyfriend!enhypen + f!reader. genre fluff & crack. ★

©tyunni please don't copy, translate or repost any of my work!

💌 : sorry for posting so many smaus hhhh its just really easy and fun to make them!

taglist: @junityy @uygmoeb @sunghun @eternallyhyucks @pshjae @marknaeroni @feyregels @neo127 @koishua @echo-of-a-writer @w3bqrl @duolingofanaccount @goldenhypen @sungniverse @hittoki @acciomylove @soobin-chois @anik-4 @yjwfav @ja4hyvn @ddeonubaby @deafeningballoonnacho @squiishymeow @odxrilove @iyeonjuni @nyaforniki @kittyeji @pinkyyyujin @addictedtothesummernights @love-4-keum @luveill @enhastolemyheart @kpop-kitkat @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @str4b3rizz @solvgume @nishislcve @aileeeeeeeeeeeee @letmein2urheart @hyunjinsheartu @chaerryeongzz @heeseungismymanz @nxzz_skz @kanaakane @tokkette (bold means i can’t mention you, if you want to be a part of my taglist fill this out!!)

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liuhsng · 3 days ago

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✩ˎˊ˗ ride with caution ( lhs ! ) — part 1

✩ˎˊ˗ part of the xo, with you series | enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — heeseung x fem!reader

⤷ part 1 | part 2 ⤷ word count — 14.4k ⤷ taglist for the series — open !

⤷ warnings — college au, biker!heeseung, english major!heeseung, fashion major!reader, college!heeseung, college!reader, college!enhypen, strangers to lovers, slow burn, tension-filled interactions, mutual pining, rich!reader, casual jealousy, subtle possessiveness, emotional repression, foul language, kinda fuckboy!heeseung, soft!heeseung deep down, mentions of ive’s wonyoung and yujin, reader is cold but not heartless, fluff, angst

✩ˎˊ˗ summary — lee heeseung has always been the kind of boy you were told to stay away from—reckless, with a trail of rumors that follow wherever he goes. they say he fights for fun, kisses without meaning, and never sticks around long enough to fall. you, on the other hand, have never had time for distractions. being one of decelis university’s most promising fashion majors, the spotlight’s already on you—you were supposed to avoid him. and you did. until a quiet offer of help changed everything. or, where the boy you never planned to look twice at ends up being the only one who sees right through you.

The room was silent except for the faint hum of the projector and the occasional shuffle of papers.

You stood tall at the front of the hall, posture straight as if you’d been sculpted for moments like this.

Your fingers smoothed the hem of your pleated skirt, tugging once at your cropped white blazer to ensure it sat perfectly on your shoulders.

The faint gold pin of your major’s crest glinted under the overhead lights as you adjusted it ever so slightly, a habit born of nerves you’d never admit to.

Behind you, your designs illuminated the screen—five mid-length coats, each distinct yet cohesive in their color palette and silhouettes.

“For this final piece,” you began, voice calm and steady, “I wanted to marry modern minimalism with delicate detailing. The bodice is structured with a cinched waist for shape, while the lace sleeves soften the silhouette.”

You paused, the faintest crease forming between your brows.

“However, during construction, I noticed an issue with the stitching at the lace sleeve ends—it wasn’t holding cleanly against the lining.”

A murmur ran through a few students in the audience, but you pressed on.

“To solve this, I reinforced the edges with an under-stitch and switched to a finer thread gauge for more flexibility, which allowed the lace to sit flush without compromising durability.”

You stepped back slightly, hands folding neatly in front of you as you gave a small nod. “That concludes my presentation. Thank you.”

For a beat, the room stayed quiet. Then applause swelled, echoing through the hall like a rolling wave.

Your lips curved into the faintest smile—not too wide, never smug—just enough to mask the tightness in your chest finally easing.

One of the panelists, Professor Kim, leaned forward with a warm expression. “As expected of Choi (Y/N). Our top student.”

A few soft laughs broke out across the room, and your smile grew a fraction.

“You have an exceptional eye,” He continued, “but more importantly, you have the presence of mind to identify and resolve issues independently. That’s a skill even seasoned designers struggle with.”

You inclined your head politely. “Thank you, professor.”

Behind you, the murmurs grew louder, sprinkled with approving comments from your peers.

As you made your way back to your seat, Yujin and Wonyoung were already grinning like proud parents.

“I told you,” Yujin whispered as you sat down, elbowing you lightly. “You were overthinking it. You killed it.”

You let out a small laugh, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Maybe.”

“Not maybe.” Wonyoung smiled, eyes crinkling as she rested her chin in her hand. “You really said, ‘save the best for last,’ huh?”

You shook your head with a quiet chuckle, trying to ignore the faint heat rising in your cheeks.

“Good job, everyone,” Professor Kim’s voice cut through the fading applause, drawing the attention of the room back to the front.

“You all passed the midterm project. Well done.”

Cheers and relieved sighs erupted from the students, the tension breaking like a dam. Hands clapped, a few chairs scraped back with excitement, and Yujin even did a little fist pump beside you.

But then Professor Min spoke up, her tone calm yet edged with finality. “However—”

The cheers instantly died down, replaced by a chorus of groans and murmurs.

“There’s still the final project,” she continued, clasping her hands in front of her. “It accounts for forty percent of your grade.”

You straightened slightly in your seat, fighting the urge to sigh. Forty percent. Of course.

Professor Min’s expression softened just a little at the collective despair in the room.

“The materials and requirements have been uploaded to the portal. You’ll have until the end of the month to submit. I suggest you start early.”

With that, the panelists gathered their notes and began exiting the hall.

“Good luck, everyone,” Professor Kim added with a small smile. “You’ll need it.”

As the door clicked shut behind them, the buzz of conversation returned—quieter now, tinged with nervous energy.

You exhaled slowly, relief loosening the knot in your chest.

“Shall we?” Wonyoung asked, slinging her sleek tote bag over her shoulder. She tilted her head toward the door with her usual elegance, though the teasing glint in her eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

“Yeah,” you murmured, gathering your tablet and sketchbook. Yujin hummed in agreement, already stuffing her charger into her bag as she grinned.

“You two seriously need to chill,” Yujin said playfully. “Midterms done. Let’s get celebratory coffee. My treat.”

But before you could reply, a familiar, cheerful voice called your name from the doorway.

“(Y/N)!”

You glanced up, surprise flickering across your face before a smile broke out.

Leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed and blonde hair catching the light, was none other than Kim Sunoo.

His grin was bright enough to rival the afternoon sun. “There you are! I thought I’d missed you.”

“Oh right!” you exclaimed, the realization hitting you as you snapped your fingers. “I completely forgot—I promised I’d help you with the costume samples for your performance.”

Wonyoung and Yujin exchanged knowing looks as they stood.

“It’s totally fine,” Wonyoung said smoothly, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “You can just meet us at our usual table later.”

“Yeah, go be a good Samaritan,” Yujin added with a wink, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

You laughed softly, rolling your eyes. “I’m not a good Samaritan.”

“Sure you’re not,” Wonyoung teased as the two of them strolled away down the hall.

Turning back to Sunoo, you noticed his slightly sheepish expression as he scratched the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” he said with a small laugh. “Were you busy?”

“Not at all,” you replied warmly, shaking your head. “Come on, let’s finish the samples in the cafeteria. What do you say?”

His entire face lit up at your suggestion. “Yes! Thank you. Seriously, I’m really glad you’re my friend, you know that?”

You let out a soft laugh, nudging his shoulder as the two of you began walking side by side.

“Nonsense. I’m glad you’re mine too,” you said genuinely. “I’m always happy to help you, Sunoo.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that made it impossible not to smile back, and for a moment, the weight of final projects and deadlines felt just a little lighter.

As the two of you walked through the halls, the sound of your heels tapping against the floor mixed with Sunoo’s occasional hums.

It was warm outside the design building, but the faint hum of conversation and laughter spilling from the cafeteria ahead felt heavier—too packed, too loud for your liking.

When you finally stepped inside, you sighed softly, scanning the chaotic sea of students.

Every table was occupied—people hunched over assignments, groups laughing a little too loudly, trays clattering as someone almost tripped over a chair.

“Yeah…” Sunoo rubbed the back of his neck, scanning the tables with a hopeful glint in his eye.

“Well…” His eyes suddenly lit up. “Oh! I see someone I know.”

You raised a brow, watching his hand lift as he pointed toward the far side of the cafeteria. “Is it okay with you if we join him?”

You sighed, adjusting the strap of your bag. “As long as this person doesn’t annoy me.”

Sunoo laughed brightly. “Don’t worry. He doesn’t really speak that much around strangers.”

That made you pause.

Strangers? You weren’t sure if that label comforted you or not.

But you nodded anyway, following Sunoo as he weaved between crowded tables until you reached a corner tucked away from most of the noise.

There, sitting with his head bent low over a laptop, was a boy with cherry red-dyed hair, one hand lazily scrolling through the touchpad as a small pile of chocolate milk cartons sat stacked beside his things.

“Hey! Heeseung!” Sunoo chirped, grinning as he reached the table.

The boy’s head lifted slowly, dark eyes meeting Sunoo’s before a faint smile tugged at his lips. “Sunoo.”

Sunoo offered him a fist bump, which Heeseung returned without looking away from his screen.

“Mind if we sit?” Sunoo asked brightly.

Heeseung leaned back slightly, his gaze flicking to you just for a second—long enough to make your stomach tighten.

Then he nodded lazily. “Go ahead.”

Sunoo grinned, turning to you as if urging you to sit before you changed your mind. You reluctantly slid into the seat across from Heeseung, setting your tablet down with practiced precision.

“Look at this.” Sunoo gestured to the pile of chocolate milk with an incredulous laugh. “What’s with the stockpile?”

Heeseung’s lips curved faintly. “Go crazy. Don’t even like chocolate milk that much.”

“Seriously?” Sunoo chuckled, grabbing one. He held another out toward you. “Want one, (Y/N)?”

You shook your head politely. “I prefer banana milk.”

At that, Heeseung’s eyes flicked up from his laptop, a small, amused smile playing on his lips.

“Exactly,” he murmured, voice low but smooth like he’d just won a silent argument.

Sunoo blinked between the two of you before laughing. “Oh right! Lee Heeseung, Choi (Y/N). Choi (Y/N), Lee Heeseung.”

Heeseung offered his hand across the table, his long fingers loose and easy like he wasn’t trying at all. “Nice to meet you.”

You glanced at his hand but didn’t take it. Instead, you gave a polite nod.

He hummed, retracting his hand without missing a beat. “No to physical touch. Got it.”

Sunoo chuckled awkwardly. “We’re gonna be working here for a while. Hope that’s okay.”

“Don’t mind me.” Heeseung shook his head, already looking back down at his laptop. “I’m busy.”

And he meant it. His fingers tapped lazily at the keyboard, the glow of the screen highlighting his sharp features.

Cherry red strands fell slightly into his eyes, and you hated how effortlessly striking he looked even when he wasn’t paying attention to anything but his work.

You tore your gaze away, opening your tablet with a soft sigh.

“Sunoo,” you murmured, sliding the design mock-up toward him, “we need to modify the cargo pants.”

Sunoo leaned closer, nodding eagerly. “Right! The ones for the backup dancers? What do you think—less pocket bulk?”

“Yes,” you replied, your eyes flicking briefly to Heeseung before focusing fully on Sunoo again. “And we need a lighter fabric. It’ll move better during the performance.”

Sunoo hummed, nodding eagerly as his fingers drummed against the table.

He reached over to grab another chocolate milk from the small pile beside Heeseung’s laptop, twisting the carton in his hands as his lips curled mischievously.

“You know…” Sunoo began, eyeing the absurd stash with a teasing grin, “why do you even have so many of these anyway?”

Heeseung, still hunched lazily over his laptop, spared him a glance. The faintest curve of amusement played on his lips as he opened his mouth to answer—but he didn’t get the chance.

A chorus of soft giggles floated toward your table, and you instinctively looked up.

Three girls from your Apparel Development class—each perfectly dolled up in their own statement pieces—were making their way over.

Their steps were hesitant yet excited, clutching cartons of chocolate milk in their manicured hands as they approached.

You watched silently as Heeseung leaned back slightly in his chair, his cherry red hair catching the warm cafeteria light.

He let out a quiet sigh, though his expression melted into a smooth, practiced smile.

“Yes?” His tone was light, teasing even, but not unkind.

One of the girls stepped forward nervously, placing three more cartons onto the growing pile beside him.

“We, um—thought you might want more,” she said, her voice pitched slightly higher than usual.

Heeseung chuckled, the sound low and effortless. “Thank you, ladies. I’ll be sure to drink them, yeah?”

They giggled again—one even tucking her hair behind her ear as she muttered a shy “bye, Heeseung.”

“Bye,” he replied with an easy grin, watching them walk away before turning back to his laptop like nothing had happened.

Sunoo nearly choked on his sip of chocolate milk, laughter spilling out as he wiped the corner of his mouth. “Oh my god. That’s why.”

Heeseung didn’t look up, fingers tapping away at his keys. “Hm?”

“The chocolate milk. You don’t even like it that much—you’re just hoarding offerings from your little fanclub.”

A faint smirk tugged at Heeseung’s lips, but he didn’t deny it. “What can I say? People like to give.”

Sunoo shook his head, grinning as he glanced at you. “Isn’t he ridiculous?”

But you weren’t smiling. You raised a brow, glancing between the newly stacked cartons and the cherry red-haired boy across from you.

The dots connected almost instantly in your head.

Of course.

Just another pretty face with the personality to match. Charming. Effortless. Probably used to people falling over themselves to get a sliver of his attention.

You shook your head lightly, muttering under your breath, “Figures.”

Heeseung’s eyes flicked up at you then—quick, sharp, like he’d caught the faint trace of judgment in your tone.

But you didn’t meet his gaze.

Instead, you tapped your tablet screen with a neatly manicured finger, saying to Sunoo, “We need to adjust the stitching pattern on the waistband too. It’s pulling oddly at the seams in the mock-up.”

Sunoo nodded, already distracted as he jotted notes. “Got it. You’re a lifesaver, (Y/N).”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Heeseung’s lips twitch—not quite a smirk, not quite a smile—as he turned his attention back to his glowing screen.

“Interesting,” he murmured under his breath, so quiet it was nearly swallowed by the soft hum of the cafeteria.

His gaze trailed briefly—taking in the elegant way you held your stylus, the faint crease in your brow as you pointed out flaws in Sunoo’s design, and the way your gold wristwatch caught the light when you reached for your tablet.

You didn’t notice him watching, too focused on your work. Or maybe you did, and you were just very good at pretending you didn’t care.

Heeseung’s lips curved faintly again, this time in a softer way, like a private joke only he understood.

His fingers resumed their lazy tapping on the keyboard, but his eyes flicked up one last time—just for a second—as if filing the image of you away for later.

Then, with a low hum to himself, he muttered almost inaudibly, “This could be fun.”

The soft hum of chatter and clinking mugs filled the café, the faint aroma of espresso and warm pastries wrapping around you like a blanket.

It was the next morning, and though the sun had barely broken through the hazy clouds outside, Decelis students already filled the small coffee shop—hunched over laptops, sketchbooks, and steaming mugs.

You sat tucked into a corner booth, tablet balanced delicately against the pile of papers sprawled in front of you.

Wonyoung sat next to you, her long hair falling over her shoulders as she scrolled through fabric swatches on her phone.

“I’m telling you, chiffon could work,” Wonyoung mused, tilting her screen toward you. “It’s breezy, light, and drapes beautifully for movement.”

Sunoo leaned in from across you, popping the straw of his iced Americano between his lips.

“It’s good, but it needs a stronger base. Otherwise, it’ll just float awkwardly when they dance. Maybe a cotton blend? Something breathable.”

You hummed thoughtfully, tapping notes onto your screen.

“We could layer chiffon over a structured lining. That way, it keeps the form but still flows with the movement.”

Wonyoung’s eyes lit up. “Genius.”

The conversation continued like that—light, technical, and productive—until the quiet jingle of the café door’s bell rang.

Out of habit, your eyes flicked up, barely paying attention.

It was none other than Lee Heeseung.

Cherry red hair falling just slightly into his eyes, a simple gray sweatshirt hanging loose on his frame paired with ripped denim. Silver rings and a thin chain glinted faintly under the café’s warm lighting.

He carried nothing but his phone and earbuds, looking entirely too comfortable as his gaze scanned the room—until it landed on you.

For a second, your eyes met. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, the same kind that had gotten under your skin yesterday without him even trying.

You quickly broke the eye contact, lowering your head to your tablet as if the stack of fabric specs was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

Sunoo didn’t miss the way your shoulders stiffened. He turned slightly, following your line of sight just as Heeseung approached their booth.

“Hey, Sunoo,” Heeseung greeted casually, lifting his hand for a high five.

Sunoo grinned, reciprocating with an easy slap of palms. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Didn’t know you guys would be here either.” Heeseung’s voice was smooth and low, his eyes flicking briefly—almost lazily—to where you sat, before returning to Sunoo.

“Yeah,” Sunoo laughed, oblivious to the faint tightness in your jaw.

Heeseung hummed lightly, then gestured over his shoulder. “I’ll be right there.” He nodded toward an empty table at the back of the café.

“Great. Are you busy later?” Sunoo asked brightly.

Heeseung thought for a moment, tilting his head slightly as his fingers toyed with the silver chain at his neck. “Besides helping out at the tryouts? No, not really. Why?”

“Can I come and watch?” Sunoo asked, his grin widening.

“Sure. Anytime.” Heeseung’s smile was easy, effortless—as if he hadn’t just left a quiet ripple in the air around your booth.

He offered Sunoo a brief nod before walking away, slipping into the corner seat with the same quiet confidence that had annoyed you yesterday.

You didn’t look up until you were sure he wasn’t paying attention. Then your eyes finally flicked back to Sunoo.

“Tryouts?” you asked, arching a perfectly-shaped brow. “For what?”

Sunoo’s grin widened knowingly. “So you were listening.”

Wonyoung didn’t even try to hide her smirk as she sipped her lavender latte. “Didn’t know you were into bad boys, (Y/N).”

You scoffed, sitting straighter as your fingers swiped across your tablet screen. “Please. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Wonyoung’s grin only grew as she leaned forward conspiratorially. “I don’t know… I don’t think your brother would be thrilled about Lee Heeseung of all people.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the faint heat threatening to creep up your neck. “What’s with him, anyway? How do you even know him?”

Wonyoung’s voice lilted with playful mischief. “Everyone knows him, (Y/N.) He’s the captain of the basketball team. Smart. Ridiculously talented. And—”

Sunoo chimed in with a laugh. “—Decelis’ golden boy. Oh, and notorious playboy. Don’t forget that.”

Wonyoung giggled, nodding. “Seriously. He’s everywhere—sports, academics, even social events. You could ask anyone, and they’d have at least one story about Lee Heeseung.”

She tilted her head, her earrings swaying slightly as her lips curved in playful mischief. “What? Don’t tell me you’ve never heard the rumors?”

You didn’t even look up from your tablet as your stylus glided against the screen with practiced precision. “I don’t listen to baseless rumors.”

Sunoo snorted softly from across the table, stirring his drink with his straw. “Oh, these aren’t baseless. Trust me, there’s a lot.”

You raised a brow, reluctantly glancing up at him. “Like?”

Sunoo held up his fingers, ticking them off one by one.

“He made another senior cry after they broke up—though technically she wasn’t even his girlfriend. He punched Jake in the face once for accidentally popping one of their basketballs.”

“That’s…” You blinked, surprised despite yourself. “A little extreme.”

“It’s true!” Sunoo laughed, shaking his head.

“And he’s really famous for… you know, not really rejecting girls outright but not accepting their confessions either. He doesn’t lead them on, but he also doesn’t stop them from trying.”

You let out a small sigh, tucking a loose strand of hair neatly behind your ear as your eyes flicked back down to your sketches.

“Why are you even friends with him? He’s like the total opposite of you, Sunoo.”

Sunoo smiled faintly, the kind of soft grin that said he wasn’t bothered in the slightest. “He’s a good friend. I’ve known him since high school.”

“Has he always been like that?” you asked, almost without thinking, fingers still idly tapping at your tablet screen.

“Kinda,” Sunoo admitted with a quiet laugh. “But he’s also the type who shows up when it matters. People don’t see that part of him.”

You hummed, not fully convinced as you flicked through the color palettes on your screen. “Sounds like a headache to me.”

Sunoo and Wonyoung exchanged a knowing glance, the corners of Wonyoung’s lips twitching as though she wanted to say more but decided against it.

After a moment, you glanced back up at Sunoo. “Tryouts—for what?”

“Basketball,” Sunoo replied simply, popping a piece of pastry into his mouth. “The team needs some fresh faces. I don’t know… diversity or whatever.”

You hummed again, resting your chin lightly on your hand as you returned your focus to your work. “Figures. Someone like him would need all eyes on him.”

Wonyoung smirked, sipping her latte. “Sounds like you do listen to rumors after all.”

You shot her a flat look, lips pressed into a thin line. “No. I just observe.”

And with that, you let their teasing voices fade into the background, your fingers resuming their steady rhythm on the tablet screen.

You drowned out the clinking mugs, the hum of Decelis students laughing at nearby tables, even the faint thrum of music from the café speakers.

The only thing you refused to acknowledge was the burning stare you swore you felt at the back of your head.

You didn’t look back—you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

It was five in the afternoon when you found yourself being dragged—quite literally—across the campus courtyard by an overly eager Sunoo.

He clutched your bag like it was ransom, his blonde hair glowing under the late afternoon sun as he half-pleaded, half-whined.

“Please, (Y/N), come on. Jungwon and Ni-ki bailed, and I can’t watch alone or I’ll look like a weirdo.”

You sighed, tugging lightly on your bag. “Sunoo, you know I don’t do… whatever this is. Basketball? Gymnasium air? Questionable bleachers?”

“Questionable?” He gasped dramatically, hugging your bag tighter. “You wound me. Also, I’ll buy you dinner after.”

“I don’t need—”

“Or,” Sunoo cut in with a grin, “you can buy me dinner instead. Your choice.”

You paused, glaring faintly at the boy who you’d grown to treat like your own younger brother—thanks to your lack of one.

He was giving you the puppy eyes again, all wide and glinting in the light, knowing exactly how to push your walls down.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Fine.”

“Yes!” Sunoo’s entire face lit up as he looped his arm around yours with a triumphant grin. “You’re the best. Like, actually my favorite person alive.”

“Uh-huh. We’ll see if I’m still your favorite after I get mosquito bites,” you mumbled, letting him steer you toward the back gates of the main building.

The walk was quiet, the sound of your shoes tapping against the concrete blending with the faint buzz of cicadas.

Streetlights flickered to life one by one as Sunoo guided you toward the closed gymnasium near the music department’s building.

“Oh, come on. It isn’t that bad,” Sunoo chirped, practically bouncing on his heels.

You gave him a skeptical look, lips pressing into a thin line. “Mhmm. Getting eaten alive by mosquitoes isn’t bad at all.”

He laughed, a soft melodic sound, as you both approached the double doors.

He peeked through the small glass window before pushing one open and gesturing dramatically. “After you, milady.”

The first thing to hit you was the scent of disinfectant and polished wood.

Then came the faint squeak of sneakers against the glossy court floor and the rhythmic thuds of basketballs being dribbled in quick succession.

The gym was fuller than you’d expected—students scattered in groups, some running casual drills, others sitting along the sides chatting.

“Here, let’s sit,” Sunoo whispered, tugging you toward the far bleachers. You allowed him to guide you, your eyes scanning the room out of pure habit.

And then they zeroed in on him—01, Lee.

His back was to you, cherry red hair slightly tousled, the number on his jersey stretching across his broad shoulders as he stood talking to a group of guys you recognized from campus.

His gray sweatpants clung loose around his long legs, but there was nothing casual about the way he carried himself—confident, relaxed, like the court belonged to him.

You raised a brow as you settled on the bench beside Sunoo, crossing your legs neatly. “Captain, you say?”

Sunoo followed your gaze, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. That’s Heeseung.”

You hummed softly, leaning your elbow on your knee as you rested your chin against your palm. “Figures. He looks like the type who needs a whole room watching him.”

Sunoo snickered. “You say that like you’re not watching him right now.”

You shot him a pointed glare. “I’m observing.”

“Sure.” Sunoo grinned, leaning back on his palms.

“That’s what everyone says before they end up showing up to every game.”

You scoffed lightly, eyes flitting back to your tablet screen as you pulled it out of your bag. “Relax. I won’t even be here long.”

“Uh-huh.”

Before you could even unlock the screen, Sunoo snatched the device from your hands with alarming speed, holding it out of your reach as his eyes narrowed at you playfully.

“No work.” He gave you a pointed look, wagging a finger. “We’ll finish that later.”

“Sunoo—” You let out a sharp sigh, already knowing arguing was useless when he had that determined gleam in his eyes.

With a dramatic huff, you crossed your legs and folded your arms, leaning back against the cold bleacher seat.

“Fine. But if I get behind because of this, it’s on you.”

“Uh-huh. Sure, Ms. Perfectionist.” Sunoo smirked, tucking your tablet into his tote bag for safekeeping.

You rolled your eyes, dragging your gaze reluctantly back to the court.

Heeseung’s voice echoed through the gym, bouncing off the walls with a quiet authority that demanded attention without trying.

“Alright, split into two groups,” he called out, his tone smooth yet commanding.

“One with me, one with Jeno. Let’s run a few trial games. Five minutes each—show us what you’ve got.”

You watched as he gestured toward the vice-captain—a sharp-eyed boy with black hair—tossing him a spare ball. He caught it easily, already motioning for half the group to join him.

Heeseung, meanwhile, walked leisurely toward the sideline, spinning his own ball absentmindedly in one hand.

The loose white sleeveless jersey showed just enough of his toned arms to make the girls a few seats away from you and Sunoo start whispering excitedly.

“Heeseung!” one of them called out with a nervous giggle.

He turned his head slightly, offering them an easy wave and the kind of lopsided grin that probably lived rent-free in their daydreams.

You huffed under your breath, ignoring their flustered whispers and giggles.

But then his gaze moved—and for the second time in two days, Lee Heeseung’s eyes found yours.

His lips quirked into a small smile, one eyebrow raised as if amused by the fact that you were even here. You held his gaze steadily, tilting your chin up ever so slightly—refusing to be the first one to look away.

Even seated on the bleachers, you stood out like a flame in a room of shadows.

The pastel blue blazer draped flawlessly over your frame—a tailored Chanel piece he recognized instantly—paired with a crisp white skirt that skimmed mid-thigh and delicate heels that clicked against the wood earlier when you walked in.

Your hair fell in soft waves, not a strand out of place, your expression calm and poised like you belonged anywhere but in a stuffy gymnasium.

Heeseung’s smile widened faintly before he let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

He passed the ball in his hands to Jeno with a casual toss and clapped his hands together. “Alright! Let’s see what you can do.”

“Who’s that?” you murmured, nodding slightly at Jeno as he barked instructions at his group.

“Jeno. Vice-captain,” Sunoo answered easily, eyes still on the court. “Really solid player. Heeseung trusts him with running drills.”

You nodded, your attention unintentionally drifting back to Heeseung as he leaned casually against the scorer’s table, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

Even from here, it was impossible not to notice how tall he was—how he seemed to take up space without even trying.

“He’s tall,” you muttered before you could stop yourself.

Sunoo’s lips curled into a knowing grin. “Yeah. He’d make a good model, huh?”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Only if he wasn’t such a notorious playboy.”

Sunoo grinned knowingly but didn’t comment, his attention shifting back to the court just as Heeseung stepped forward again.

The cherry red-haired captain barked out quick, decisive orders—his voice cutting through the gym’s chatter with practiced ease.

“Jeno, you’re on point. Seungmin, cover left. I’ll take it from here. Let’s go.”

The ball was in his hands again before the words even finished leaving his mouth.

His movements were clean, precise, almost lazy in their ease as he dribbled past two freshman defenders, pivoting with a sharp twist of his heel.

The sound of sneakers squeaking against polished wood filled the air as Heeseung stepped back—just outside the three-point line—and with one smooth motion, he sent the ball flying.

It arced high, almost tauntingly slow, before it sank cleanly through the hoop.

The gym erupted in cheers, a few players even clapping as Heeseung gave a small shrug like it was no big deal. His gaze, however, flicked toward the bleachers—directly at you.

For a brief moment, his eyes locked with yours.

And then his lips curved into that maddeningly faint smirk before he turned back to the game, calling out more instructions like he hadn’t just made the air between you sizzle.

“Show-off,” you muttered under your breath, straightening in your seat.

Unfortunately, the group of girls sitting nearby noticed the fleeting interaction. You caught them glancing at you from the corner of your eye, whispering behind manicured hands.

You raised a perfectly sculpted brow at them. “What are you looking at?”

One of them scoffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Spoiled brat.”

You tilted your head, lips curling into a cold smile. “Because I have the money to do as I please?”

The girl faltered slightly, and you rolled your eyes with a sharp laugh. “Relax. Lee Heeseung’s all yours. I promise I’m not interested.”

They looked away quickly after that, muttering under their breaths as you exhaled a slow sigh, focusing your gaze back on the court.

By the time the game wrapped up, the freshmen on the sidelines were red-faced and panting, while the regular players clapped a few of them on the back.

Heeseung had a towel draped around his neck and a bottle of water in one hand as he jogged over to where you and Sunoo sat.

“Well?” he asked, his voice light with amusement as his eyes flicked between you and Sunoo. “How’d I do?”

Sunoo grinned as he slung his bag over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t the freshmen be the ones asking that?”

They both laughed, an easy, familiar sound that made you feel like an outsider for just a second.

Heeseung’s gaze then settled on you, his smile softening as he tilted his head. “And you? What’s the verdict?”

You blinked, caught off guard for a moment before biting the inside of your cheek. “I… don’t know anything about basketball.”

His grin widened into a chuckle, head tipping back slightly. “Not even one thing?”

You shook your head, expression calm and unimpressed. “No.”

“Guess I’ll have to teach you, then,” he teased, reaching for his towel to wipe his forehead.

You only raised a brow, saying nothing as Sunoo stood and reached for your bag.

“Is everybody in the team already?” Sunoo asked as he handed you your things.

Heeseung shrugged. “Most of them. Still deciding on a few spots.”

His eyes flicked back to you briefly—searching, almost curious—as you stood next to Sunoo, fixing the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

“You two are still here?” Heeseung asked, his voice casual but his gaze lingering a beat longer on you. “It’s getting late.”

Sunoo smiled brightly, reaching to loop an arm through yours. “Yeah, I wanted to watch. Anyways, we’re heading out now. Bye, Heeseung.”

“Bye, Sunoo.” Heeseung’s eyes shifted to you, his tone softening slightly. “Bye, (Y/N).”

You gave him a small nod, offering no more than a polite smile as Sunoo gently tugged you toward the doors.

Heeseung watched you leave, his once playful expression slipping into something unreadable—neutral, contemplative.

As the gym doors closed behind you, he let out a quiet sigh, rubbing at the back of his neck before turning back to his teammates.

“Alright, let’s wrap it up.”

The only sound that filled the old-school charm of the library was the faint rustle of turning pages and soft whispers exchanged between tables.

You sat alone, the large mahogany desk in front of you covered with sketchbooks, swatches, and expensive pens your mother insisted you use.

Your eyes narrowed down at the blank figure on the page, the silhouette barely formed—no color, no lines, no personality. Nothing was coming to you.

Finals weren’t even near, but you never slacked.

Not when your mother was Korea’s most sought-after designer, nor when your older brother—Decelis alumni—was already making headlines with his own shoe firm by twenty-two.

You weren’t just expected to be great. You were expected to be better.

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you let your thoughts swallow you whole.

Maybe you weren’t born to design. Maybe you were just the family’s pretty face—the one good at being polite, presentable, and perfect in public.

You sighed and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, frustration starting to bubble in your chest when a soft knock on the wood of your desk made you jolt upright.

You blinked.

Silver rings. Long fingers. Knuckles lightly bruised like he’d just come from a game or a fight—maybe both.

You slowly looked up and met the warmliquid brown gaze of Lee Heeseung. Eyes shaped like a doe’s—soft but unreadable. Almost too pretty for someone with a reputation as cold as his.

Cherry red strands framed his face, a bit tousled like he didn’t bother fixing it after practice, and he wore the Decelis black varsity jacket unzipped, revealing a white shirt that clung to his torso.

His expression wasn’t cocky—just curious. And quiet. Like he was trying to figure you out.

You tilted your head slightly, lips parting as you let your gaze fall down and then back up.

“Yes, Lee?” you asked, voice smooth with a hint of challenge.

Heeseung just smiled, the corners of his lips tugging up with ease as he motioned to the empty chair across from you. “Can I sit here?”

You raised a brow at him but gave a small shrug, nodding. “Sure. Not like it’s reserved.”

“Thanks,” he said, still grinning as he slid into the wooden seat, the chair giving a quiet creak beneath him.

He set his laptop down with a soft thud, glancing up to find you already trying to focus again, fingers twirling a pencil between them, eyes narrowed at your untouched sketchpad.

“Where’s Sunoo?” he asked casually, like it was just a passing thought.

“He had something to do,” you replied, tone clipped but not exactly cold. You didn’t owe him more than that, and he didn’t seem to expect it either.

Heeseung chuckled at the lack of detail, nodding slightly as he opened his laptop. “So just you, then.”

“Just me,” you echoed, eyes still on the page, not even sparing him a glance.

There was a short silence between you, not heavy, but not exactly comfortable either. Then, you felt his eyes flicker to your side. “You major in fashion, right?”

You looked at him finally, one brow arching with a sarcastic twist. “What gave it away?”

To your surprise, he didn’t falter. He simply pointed at the maroon Prada bag neatly tucked beside your sketchbook. “Everything, honestly. But mostly that.”

You hummed, fingers tracing idle lines on the page, trying to sketch something—anything—that didn’t look like an uninspired blob. The pencil scratched lightly, but your mind was blank.

“You’re quiet,” Heeseung said suddenly, gaze still focused on his screen. “That means you’re thinking. Or stuck.”

You let out a small sigh. “Maybe a bit of both.”

“What’s the problem?”

“I’m out of ideas,” you mumbled, flipping the page and starting fresh.

Heeseung nodded knowingly. “Writer’s block, designer’s block… same thing. When my brain gets stuck, I get up. Cafés and walks help a lot.”

You tilted your head, genuinely curious despite yourself. “Why’s that?”

He turned toward you slightly, resting his chin on his palm. “They give me something to look at. Different people, different conversations, smells, sounds—it’s like mini inspiration packets for free.”

You eyed him for a moment. “And you’re a…?”

“English major,” he answered with a small shrug, the glint in his eyes unmistakable.

Heeseung liked talking about this—liked the way his words could shape things, the way ideas came to life on the page.

You studied him for a second.

His laptop was already open to a document, full of scattered dialogue and poetic lines you couldn't read but looked lived-in, like he actually used his mind more than people assumed.

Heeseung caught your gaze and smirked. “What? Surprised I can read?”

You blinked, before nodding slowly, voice laced with dry humor. “You don’t exactly seem like the literary type.”

That made him chuckle under his breath, a soft, low sound that felt too genuine to be mocking. His shoulders relaxed a little as he leaned back, fingers tapping lazily at the edge of his laptop.

“Fair,” he replied, still smiling. “You’re not the first to say that.”

There was something oddly refreshing about the way he said it—no irritation, no defense. Just amusement.

You glanced at him again, catching the faintest glint in his eyes, as if he truly enjoyed talking about himself… not in a narcissistic way, but like it was rare for someone to ask without already assuming the answers.

And it was rare.

You didn’t know anything about Lee Heeseung—aside from the constant buzz of whispers and stolen glances he seemed to drag with him wherever he went.

But none of that existed here, not in this quiet corner of the library. Here, he was just some guy sitting across from you, trying to strike up a conversation.

Heeseung turned back to his laptop, the screen lighting up his face in soft white-blue hues as he said, “I’m sure you’ll find inspiration later.”

You frowned slightly. “How do you know that?”

“I just do,” he answered easily, not looking away from his screen, fingers now scrolling through something.

“It comes in waves. You’re just in the middle of a dry one.”

You hummed quietly, eyes drifting back to your sketchpad, still blank except for a few frustrated pencil lines.

The silence returned, but this time, it wasn’t heavy. It was comfortable.

Across from you, Heeseung adjusted his seat, resting his ankle on his opposite knee, posture relaxed but still sharp around the edges—like a blade that’s learned how to rest without dulling.

You glanced at him again, then at the Prada bag he’d pointed out earlier, and finally at your own page.

Maybe he wasn’t that bad. Maybe—just maybe—Sunoo was right. There was something a little more layered beneath the sharp jaw, the smug grins, and the nonchalant aura.

Something softer. Something that didn’t mind sitting in silence with someone else.

You tapped your pencil lightly against the edge of your sketchpad, and for the first time in hours, an idea started to form.

Heeseung, without looking up, said quietly, “Told you so.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Are you always this cocky?”

“Only when I’m right,” he replied, finally glancing up at you, that smirk tugging at his lips again. “Which, by the way, is most of the time.”

The cafeteria was unusually quiet for midday, its usual crowd reduced to only a handful of scattered students.

The sunlight slanted lazily through the tall windows, casting golden patterns on the floor as the distant clinking of trays and soft hum of background music made for a comforting lull.

You were curled up on one of the corner benches, legs folded beneath you as your tablet rested on your lap, stylus gliding across the screen with practiced ease.

Next to you sat a growing army of empty banana milk cartons—two stacked, one half-full, and another freshly punctured by a straw you were sipping through absentmindedly.

It was peaceful. Just the way you liked it.

Until a low cough disrupted your focus.

You frowned, not even bothering to look up as your hand stilled mid-sketch. “There’s literally empty tables everywhere.”

“I know,” a familiar voice said, laced with amusement.

You glanced up, half-annoyed, only to meet the cherry red-haired male from the library—Lee Heeseung.

He was holding a tray, a banana milk sitting innocently on it.

You blinked. “What are you doing here?”

Heeseung smiled, not answering as he casually slid into the seat across from you. “Can I sit?”

You sighed. “You already are.”

He laughed at that, cracking the lid off his banana milk and poking a straw in.

You stared. “You do realize that stuff’s basically sugar water, right? You’ll be running to the bathroom in like—ten minutes.”

Heeseung raised a brow, amused. “So you do care.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks heating faintly. “I don’t. You’re just weird.”

His gaze drifted to the side of your tray, where the banana milk cartons were lined like little trophies. “Really? That’s rich coming from the person who drank four.”

“I haven’t eaten yet,” you huffed. “Leave me alone.”

You turned back to your tablet, trying to sink back into the rhythm you’d found earlier. But before you could draw another line, something soft slid across the table.

You paused. A neatly wrapped milk bread bun sat next to your tablet now, its plastic crinkling faintly under your wrist.

You turned your head slowly, eyes narrowing.

Heeseung was scrolling through his phone, earbuds in, gaze pointedly not meeting yours.

You blinked, lips parting slightly. “…What’s this?”

He didn’t answer, simply popped a piece of chicken into his mouth and leaned back in his seat.

You stared at the bread for a moment before mumbling under your breath, “…Thanks.”

Heeseung looked up at you, a faint smile ghosting his lips as he gave a small nod. “No problem.”

His voice was quiet, like he didn’t want to break whatever quiet bubble the two of you had found yourselves in.

He nudged the banana milk closer to him, took a slow sip, then leaned an elbow on the table, his eyes scanning your face with something curious.

“Where’s Sunoo?”

Your fingers paused over the bread wrapper. The question was innocent—lighthearted, even—but something about it made your chest tighten.

A smile crept onto your lips, small and automatic, the kind of smile that used to come so easily at the mention of your friend.

But this time, it faded just as fast.

You didn’t meet Heeseung’s eyes as you replied flatly, “He’s busy.”

You tugged the plastic open with a quiet crinkle, carefully peeling back the corners like it gave you something to focus on.

Heeseung let out a soft breath—maybe a laugh, maybe just amusement. “Of course.”

There was no malice in his voice, only a kind of warmth wrapped in sarcasm.

He glanced at you again, eyes soft as he asked, “So, it’s just you?”

The repeated question made your chest tighten for some reason you didn’t want to name. “Just me,” you murmured, tone even, like yesterday hadn’t happened at all.

Heeseung nodded, smile tugging lazily at the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t press further. “Okay.”

He seemed almost used to your dry tone, like he didn’t expect anything more but still somehow found your cold honesty a little funny.

You didn’t respond.

Instead, you took a small bite of the milk bread, your eyes flicking back to the tablet in your lap as if hoping it would magically distract you from everything else.

If you had looked up just a second longer, you might’ve caught the fleeting smile playing on Heeseung’s lips—something real, something soft.

He stared at you for a beat longer, then shook his head with a barely-there smirk as he stabbed a fork into his food.

He didn’t speak again.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—but it was heavy.

Comfortable in a way that shouldn’t have made sense, not with someone you barely knew. But you weren’t scrambling to fill the quiet, and neither was he.

You continued nibbling on the bread slowly, the sketch on your tablet long forgotten. Your stylus sat limp in your hand as you simply… let yourself sit there, with him.

A minute later, Heeseung fixed one of his earbuds on his ear, properly slipping it in as he opened his playlist.

The screen glowed against his skin, and he tapped the play button once.

Music spilled from his other earbud faintly—mellow guitar strums and lo-fi drums—just loud enough that you could hear it if you really tried.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

You walked down the hallway with your usual expressionless stride, ignoring the not-so-quiet whispers echoing off the walls around you.

“She’s so full of herself.”

“No, she’s just a genius, didn’t you hear about her last collection?”

“I bet she thinks she’s better than everyone.”

Same voices. Different day.

You barely blinked as they passed by, used to the reputation that clung to you like the scent of luxury perfume.

You were either the fashion department’s ‘prodigy’ or the ‘cold, stuck-up brat’—there was no in-between. But it didn’t matter. You didn’t have time for their noise.

You adjusted the strap of your on your shoulder, fingers brushing the buttery leather as you continued walking toward the exit.

Sunoo had texted a few minutes ago, asking to meet at your favorite café just outside campus. A small escape—one you were honestly looking forward to.

But the second you turned the final hallway out of the fashion building, your steps slowed.

There, leaning casually against the wall by the exit, stood Heeseung.

Black joggers. Worn basketball shoes. His university jersey still on, hanging loosely over his figure. A white zip-up jacket draped open over it. His dark hair was damp at the edges, like he’d just come from practice.

His gaze was scanning the students spilling out of the building—bored, like he didn’t even know what he was looking for. Until his eyes landed on you.

And then, as if you were in some cliché drama, he lifted a hand and waved. At you.

You blinked.

Glanced behind you.

No one.

You raised a brow and sighed under your breath, the slightest drop of dread forming in your gut as you adjusted your bag and walked forward, your heels clicking with every step on the polished floor.

You met halfway, and as always, he was already grinning like he found your frown amusing.

You narrowed your eyes. “What do you want, Lee?”

He pushed off the wall with lazy ease, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as he fell in step beside you. “Are you always this harsh?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Are you always this annoying?”

He laughed—head tilting back slightly like he actually enjoyed the way you spoke to him. “Damn, you really don’t hold back, huh?”

You didn’t answer. Just kept walking. If you acknowledged the slight way your heart tripped at his laugh, you’d never forgive yourself.

He matched your pace effortlessly, his longer legs keeping up with your brisk stride as you both exited the building into the soft breeze outside.

“I’m actually here on behalf of Sunoo,” he said, finally explaining his presence.

You turned your head slightly, eyes narrowing. “What? Why?”

Heeseung shrugged a little too casually, “He told me he’d be running late. Some last-minute project he needed to finish up. Said he probably wouldn’t make it in time—so he sent me as his substitute.”

You blinked. “Substitute?”

“Mhm.” He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen with ease before turning it toward you. Sure enough, there it was—a message labeled ‘Sunoo’ with the text:

sunoo [4:53 P.M.]: i owe u big time heeseung pls just go w her to the cafe she’ll kill me if she waits alone

sunoo [4:53 P.M.]: I’ll try to come later!!

You stared at the screen, deadpan, then sighed, muttering, “Kim Sunoo, I swear to God.”

Heeseung chuckled beside you, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Oh come on, I’m not that bad. I thought we were getting close.”

You gave him a flat look, raising a single brow. “Is three days enough to determine a person’s personality?”

Heeseung tilted his head slightly, as if considering your question way too seriously. “Well… kind of,” he mused, “I mean, you wouldn’t stab me in public just because I’m here instead of Sunoo… right?”

You didn't respond immediately—just kept walking as you muttered, “Tempting.”

Heeseung laughed, the sound light and easy, like he wasn’t bothered at all by your dry jab. “So, where’s this mysterious café of yours?”

“Just one near the gate by the arts building,” you replied, voice even as you tucked your hands into the sleeves of your cardigan.

He nodded, gaze forward as he adjusted the strap of his backpack. “Huh. Never been. Lead the way then.

Silence soon wrapped around the both of you—not uncomfortable, but filled with something you couldn’t quite name. The air between you felt heavier the longer you walked side by side, heels tapping in sync against the stone path.

Still, he didn’t speak again, and somehow, that unnerved you more than his usual cocky remarks.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, observing the way his cherry-red hair caught the dying gold of the afternoon light.

He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t fidgeting, wasn’t trying to get under your skin. He just walked. Quiet. Calm. Collected.

And that was what unsettled you the most.

It was strange—seeing him like this. The same Heeseung who made it to the top of your ‘Most Annoying People Alive’ list without even trying, the one who always had a smirk ready and a comment lined up to rile you.

But now? He was unreadable. Still. Focused.

Was this how he always was when Sunoo wasn’t around to stir him up? Or was this his default?

You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure why it bothered you so much. Maybe it was the way he carried himself—with a strange sort of quiet confidence that made you question your own.

Or maybe it was the way his presence didn’t demand attention, but somehow pulled yours in anyway.

He turned to you suddenly, catching your stare. “You okay?”

You blinked. “Yeah. Fine.”

Heeseung smiled faintly, a knowing sort of curve to his lips. “You were staring.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You were definitely staring,” he teased, nudging your elbow with his.

You scoffed. “Your hair’s just blinding.”

Heeseung let out a breathy laugh, the sound bouncing lightly between the two of you.

“What, you don’t like dark red?” he teased, running a hand through his vibrant cherry-dyed hair with a smirk that made you roll your eyes.

You didn’t bother replying—just kept walking, eyes forward. But he caught the way the corners of your lips twitched ever so slightly.

Heeseung’s grin only widened at the lack of protest. “Okay then,” he hummed, clearly entertained by your silence.

The next thing you knew, the two of you were already inside the café.

A warm hum of espresso beans and jazz music swirled around the quiet corners of the glass-walled space. The table you chose—one of the corner booths nestled near the tall windows—was bathed in a soft afternoon glow.

Your matcha cold brew sat on the table in front of you, condensation sliding lazily down the cup. Heeseung’s java chip frappé, on the other hand, was already half-melted, neglected entirely as his focus stayed glued to you.

“I still don’t get how you manage to multitask so much,” he said, chin propped on his hand as he leaned slightly forward, eyes scanning your tablet while you spoke.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, letting out a short, amused breath. “I don’t know either. Now stop staring and focus,” you mumbled, turning the device toward him.

He blinked before shifting a little closer, his knee brushing against yours under the table. “Alright, alright,” he murmured with a small grin.

“Okay,” you started, eyes scanning your notes, “I made some modifications on the pants—fixed the trim to something more tapered, but I haven’t stitched it yet. I’m stuck on what thread to use so it doesn’t tear the fabric, especially since Sunoo moves so much onstage.”

Heeseung tapped his chin thoughtfully, his brows pulling in. “Have you tried bonded nylon? It’s tough. Won’t tear easily.”

You looked up slowly, brows raised. “Where the hell did you learn that?”

He smiled and shrugged. “I had a close friend who was a fashion major. He graduated last year.”

You nodded, clearly impressed. “You remember at least one thing he said, huh?”

“I remember the important stuff,” he said casually, eyes dropping to your tablet again.

“Tell Sunoo you’re done finalizing the fabric for the top, and you just need to settle on accessories. You said you were leaning toward gold last time, right?”

You blinked. “Yeah… I was.”

Heeseung looked proud of himself. “See? I listen. Not just a pretty face, y’know.”

A small smile escaped you before you could stop it. You quickly looked down to hide it, pretending to scroll through your files.

He caught it anyway.

“I told you,” he said, voice light, teasing. “I’m not that bad, (Y/N).”

You shook your head, lips quirking. “We’ll see.”

Heeseung let out a quiet chuckle, eyes flickering to the condensation dripping down his forgotten drink. “I still don’t get how you haven’t burned out.”

“I have,” you said honestly, tone softer now. “I just don’t show it.”

Heeseung smiled, not the teasing kind he usually wore, but something smaller—gentler.

He ran a hand through his hair, the strands falling right back into place as he leaned one elbow on the table, eyes not leaving yours.

“So it’s just you, huh?” he repeated, voice quieter.

You let out a breath of a laugh, nodding slowly. “Yeah. Just me.”

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly like something about that amused or maybe even impressed him. The sound made you smile in return—an unintentional reaction that slipped through your usually guarded expression.

Then he leaned forward, squinting at your nearly empty cup and the crumbs on your plate. “So, are you hungry?”

You blinked, furrowing your brows. “I had a muffin earlier. And the matcha’s still half full, so… not really?”

He gave you a flat look, raising a brow. “Real food, (Y/N).”

You snorted. “I can’t. I still have another project to finish after this.”

“When’s that due?” he asked, already knowing what your answer would be.

You sighed, “Next week.”

He let out a laugh and leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest as he pointed out, “Exactly. Come on, I’ll treat you to dinner.”

“There’s no need, Lee, I can handle—”

“I told Sunoo I’d be with you.” He clicked his tongue and cut you off, tilting his head as if that settled the matter.

You stared at him. He stared back. His arms still crossed in defiance, making the letters of the Decelis University jersey stretch across his chest.

“That’s not a valid excuse,” you muttered.

“It’s a perfectly valid excuse,” he grinned. “Now get up. I’m not leaving you here to starve.”

“I’m not starving!”

“You had a muffin.”

You huffed and gave him a look, grabbing your tablet and neatly tucking it into your bag. “You’re so annoying.”

“I know,” he said, voice light, as he stood up beside you.

He waited, watching you pack the rest of your things. And when you finally zipped your bag and rose from your seat, he held the café door open with the cockiest little smirk like he’d just won a war.

“Cocky much?” you muttered as you stepped out, brushing past him.

He grinned, letting the door shut behind him as he fell in step beside you. “What? Can’t a gentleman walk a pretty girl back to campus?”

You rolled your eyes. “You? A gentleman?”

“I opened the door,” he said with faux offense. “Twice, might I add. That’s two gentleman points.”

You shook your head, letting out a small laugh as the two of you strolled down the sidewalk. The sky was soft now—pale blue melting into gold—and the warm breeze carried the faint scent of the bakery down the block.

Your shoulders brushed every now and then, but neither of you pulled away.

You furrowed your brows, eyes fixed on the sidewalk ahead.

Whatever this thing was—this connection, this pull—you didn’t know what to call it.

He wasn’t just some passing face anymore. Not after how easily he made you laugh. Not after how naturally he took up space beside you like he belonged there.

And that scared you.

Heeseung glanced at you, catching the wrinkle in your brow. “You okay?”

You blinked, trying to play it off. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

You sat on the cold bleachers beside Sunoo, the hum of rubber soles squeaking against the polished wood floor echoing across the gym. It was early afternoon, and despite the crowd being modest, the cheers from a few enthusiastic bleacher rows away made your eye twitch.

You glanced down at your hand, inspecting your nails with a soft frown, lips pursed.

“Ugh,” you sighed under your breath, squinting. “Why is it that the gel always grows out at the worst possible time?”

Sunoo, beside you in his cream cardigan and blue jeans, let out a soft laugh. “You really can’t even pretend to be interested, can you?”

You raised a brow without looking at him, eyes flickering back to the court where the Decelis team moved in sharp formations. “Why are we here again?”

He turned to you, blonde hair bouncing a little with the movement, smiling brightly. “To show support for our friend.”

You snorted. “Your friend. Not mine.”

Sunoo blinked dramatically at you. “He took you out to dinner two nights ago.”

You rolled your eyes. “A night you bailed on me for, by the way.”

“I already apologized for that!” Sunoo defended with a soft whine, poking your shoulder. “Besides, that’s not the point. You went. You let him pay.”

“That was nothing,” you said, arms crossing over your chest. “He was just being friendly.”

Sunoo side-eyed you, trying and failing to hide a smug grin. “That’s what they all say.”

You groaned. “Oh my god, Sunoo—”

Before you could say more, the buzzer rang loudly through the gym, and the crowd stirred with energy as the timeout was called.

The players headed toward their benches, water bottles being passed around. You scanned the group lazily until your eyes landed on Heeseung.

Cherry red hair damp with sweat, jersey clinging to his tall frame, the number on his back glinting slightly under the lights. He wiped his face with the edge of his shirt, flashing a sliver of toned abs that made the girls a few rows down absolutely lose it.

You scowled, muttering under your breath, “They act like they’ve never seen abs before.”

Sunoo leaned over slightly, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “Like you have?”

You turned your head slowly, one brow arching as your lips parted to retort—but he beat you to it.

“Yes, smartass, I know,” he drawled dramatically, flipping his blonde bangs out of his eyes. “You help your mom and brother with their modeling gigs.”

You gave a victorious little smile, proud and smug as you leaned back against the bleacher, eyes flicking lazily back toward the court—only to meet a pair of familiar brown ones already staring.

Heeseung was standing near the team’s bench, one hand on his waist, towel draped over his neck. He wasn’t even pretending not to look.

His lips curled into a knowing little smile as he caught your gaze, and you blinked in surprise before offering him the most nonchalant wave you could muster.

He dipped his head slightly, amused, then turned back to his teammates who were crowding around the coach. But not before you saw that stupid cocky grin again.

Sunoo hummed beside you like he was watching a soap opera unravel. “Yeah. Totally not friends.”

You didn’t even have to look to know he was smirking.

He continued, voice laced with mock sincerity, “Because, you know, friends totally look like they wanna suck each other’s faces off.”

Your head whipped toward him, scandal written all over your expression. “Kim Sunoo—!”

He just laughed, loudly and unashamed, clapping once at your reaction. “God, I love toying with you and your high-class grammar. You make it so easy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, swatting at his arm. “You’re so annoying.”

He grinned. “Admit it, you’d be bored without me.”

“Painfully.”

You both fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, watching as the players began lining up again. You sighed, arms crossing over your chest as you slumped back into the metal bleachers.

“When’s this game going to be over?” you asked, voice bordering on a whine.

Sunoo glanced at his phone. “We don’t have classes until two.”

You groaned. “So, never.”

Sunoo snorted, nudging your shoulder with his. “Patience.”

The two of you slumped a little lower in your seats, your chin resting against your palm while your eyes drifted over the court. It had gotten a little more intense, more aggressive.

You watched as Heeseung weaved in between two defenders with ease, chest heaving, face damp with sweat, and you couldn’t lie—it was kind of attractive.

Just kind of.

Not that you were going to admit that out loud.

The game dragged on, minutes stretching as the buzzer rang again and again, signaling quarters, subs, and timeouts. You and Sunoo chatted aimlessly in between, and despite yourself, you kept glancing back at Heeseung.

He played like he had something to prove. His movements were clean, controlled—every pass, every shot, every quick dodge through players was done with ease and confidence.

And as much as you wanted to pretend it didn’t faze you, your heart skipped when he made that final three-pointer, right at the buzzer.

The sound echoed through the gym, followed by the shriek of the final buzzer.

Cheers erupted from his teammates. The teams called out a chorus of “Good game!” and “Thanks for the match!” as they lined up to slap hands.

People began trickling out of the bleachers, footsteps echoing in waves.

You and Sunoo stood, heading down the short steps as chatter filled the air, gym bags unzipping, laughter bouncing off the walls.

And then, right at the base of the stairs, Heeseung appeared.

Sweat still clung to his neck and jaw, his shirt damp against his toned chest. He grinned—wide, boyish, and proud—as he jogged up and stood in front of you both.

He tilted his head, cocky. “Well? How’d I do?”

You blinked. “I still don’t know a thing about basketball, Lee.”

He blinked, lips parting slightly like he was almost offended—until you added, “But I guess that last three-pointer was impressive.”

His eyes widened. “Wait. Wait, did you just—? Did you actually call it a three-pointer?”

He turned to Sunoo, dramatic. “Did you teach her that?”

Sunoo raised his hands smugly. “I did. Took me two weeks, but I finally got through her designer brain.”

You smiled, shaking your head as Heeseung chuckled.

“Well, thank you. Both of you—for coming.”

Sunoo shrugged. “It’s nothing. Not like we have classes until two.”

Heeseung nodded in understanding, grabbing the edge of the towel draped around his shoulders to wipe his forehead. “Still. Means a lot. Even if it’s just a practice game.”

Sunoo arched a brow. “For a practice game?”

The two boys exchanged a look.

Sunoo laughed first. “You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re annoying,” Heeseung muttered fondly, nudging Sunoo’s arm with his elbow.

Sunoo pointed toward the gym doors. “Well. Shall we?”

You gave a little nod and turned to follow Sunoo, your steps soft on the polished floor. But behind you, Heeseung’s voice called out.

“Good luck on your classes, (Y/N)!”

You glanced back. “Thanks, Lee.”

He smiled at you, sweat-slick hair falling slightly over his eyes.

But before you could respond again, Sunoo was already a few steps ahead, tapping his phone and humming some song under his breath.

You quickened your pace to match him, only to glance one last time over your shoulder.

Heeseung was no longer looking at you, now surrounded by a bunch of girls from some other department. They laughed at something he said, one of them reaching to push his shoulder playfully.

He didn’t look at them the same way he looked at you, but still—your brows furrowed.

You looked away and stepped outside with Sunoo, the gym doors closing behind you with a soft thud.

But you couldn't help it.

Your feet slowed slightly as your eyes flicked back over your shoulder, catching a glimpse through the tall glass panes on the door.

For a second—just a second—his eyes drifted back toward the door like he knew. Like he knew you’d turn around. And when they did, your gaze clashed with his across the glass. He didn’t say anything. Just smiled.

That stupid, lopsided, boyish smile that made your stomach do something annoying.

You quickly turned your head, heat rising to your cheeks, only to see Sunoo already watching you like a hawk, hands stuffed into the pockets of his cream hoodie, lips twitching with barely concealed smugness.

“I know that look,” he said in a sing-song tone, starting to walk again.

You glared at him, falling in step beside him. “No, you do not.”

He shrugged. “Come on. I mean, it's your first time liking someone, I don’t blame you.”

You nearly choked. “Sunoo—!”

“What?” he laughed, throwing his hands up playfully. “You don’t have to say it out loud for me to see it all over your face. You get this weird thing going on with your mouth when you’re trying not to smile.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t even know him fully. Sunoo, please. You’re making it sound like I’m… infatuated.”

He hummed. “Aren’t you?”

You smacked his arm lightly, earning another laugh from him as the two of you walked past the familiar brick path that led back to your department’s main building. But the truth lingered in your throat.

You didn’t know what you felt for Heeseung. And you really didn’t know why the sight of him laughing so easily with other girls made something sour coil in your chest.

It wasn’t like you were anything to him. Just a stranger from a different building who happened to have a loud friend and a schedule that aligned, somehow.

You exhaled quietly, pushing the doors open to the Fashion Department and stepping into the cool air-conditioned hallway.

The hallways of the main building were as chaotic as ever, buzzing with voices, shoes clicking against polished floors, and the occasional laughter echoing off the walls.

You walked through it all like you were floating—head held high, confidence cloaked around you like one of your mother’s luxury silk scarves. Your tote swung against your hip with every graceful step, your expression unreadable.

“She looks so intimidating, oh my God…”

“Wait, is that Choi (Y/N)?”

“Damn… she’s even prettier up close.”

You heard it all. You always did. But like usual, you didn’t flinch—let alone acknowledge it.

You were headed to the administration office, needing to track down one of the professors under the Fashion Merchandising elective to confirm your final consultation date for your Market Behavior in Modern Fashion project.

One of your designs had been shortlisted for a collab pitch, and there were requirements to meet.

You clutched the folder of reference papers closer to your chest, turning the corner toward the long hallway where the admin office sat, only to pause ever so slightly at what you saw.

Heeseung.

Walking right toward your direction with two boys at his side. You’d seen them around before—thanks to Sunoo.

The sharper-eyed one with the feline expression was Yang Jungwon, a student org vice president, while the one with the striking pale features and deep-set eyes could only be Park Sunghoon. No Sunoo in sight.

They were laughing at something. Shoulders bumping. Casual and easy in that boyish way. And then, as if gravity had its own plans, Heeseung’s eyes flicked up from whatever Jungwon was saying—and met yours.

It was brief.

A single moment.

But it lingered.

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t smile. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t let it show.

You simply looked away and kept walking past them like nothing.

Heeseung's head tilted the slightest bit as his gaze followed you. His smile from earlier dimmed just slightly—his brows knitting together.

“Hey,” Jungwon nudged him with a chuckle, glancing between Heeseung and your retreating form. “What, another new girl?”

Heeseung frowned. “She’s not—she’s my friend. If you can even call it that.”

Sunghoon snorted. “Come on. Me and Jungwon aren’t blind. You do this whole… googly-eye thing when you’re interested.”

“What googly-eye thing?” Heeseung snapped, glaring mildly at Sunghoon as the other boy held in a laugh.

“That one,” Sunghoon pointed at his face dramatically. “Right there. You look like you’re trying not to smile every time you look at her.”

Jungwon grinned. “Exactly. Like, is she different? ‘Cause I think she might be different.”

“Shut up,” Heeseung groaned as he ran a hand through his hair, stealing another glance down the hall you just disappeared into.

“She’s not like that. I mean—she’s not one of them.”

“Them being…?”

“My admirers,” Heeseung said flatly, the word tasting sour. “They obsess over me. It’s weird.”

“Okay, Mr. Humble,” Jungwon said with a shrug. “So then, what’s she to you?”

Heeseung slowed his steps for just a second. Thought about the glare you gave him during your first encounter.

The annoyed roll of your eyes when he teased you. The quiet softness in your expression when you forgot to be guarded.

Heeseung exhaled, “…I don’t know,” he muttered.

Sunghoon raised a brow. “You sure?”

He didn’t respond.

He was still staring at the hallway you disappeared into, wondering why your silence this time left him with a strange, unshakable emptiness in his chest.

Meanwhile, just around the corner, your steps finally slowed.

You turned into the quieter hallway leading to the Administration Office, letting the sound of chatter and heels against tile fade behind you.

The second you were alone, you exhaled sharply.

You stopped in front of the frosted glass door, fingers tightening around the strap of your shoulder bag as your eyes dropped to the polished floor.

“Get a grip,” you muttered under your breath, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face.

“You’re here for the product catalog inquiry. Not to unravel over some guy who probably flirts with anything that breathes.”

You shook your head as if it would shake the thoughts away too. “He’s confusing. That’s all,” you whispered, steadying yourself with a deep breath.

“You don’t even know what this is. And you’re not about to let it get in the way.”

And with that, you reached for the door handle, pushing it open with a blank expression painted on your face—composed and unreadable, no matter what war brewed underneath.

The sun was merciless, beating down on your shoulders like it had something to prove.

You shifted the paper bag in your arms, muttering under your breath, “It’s so hot, I feel like I’m about to melt into the pavement.”

Your blouse clung uncomfortably to your back, and you sighed as you approached the wide pathway near the gym—one of the only shaded spots on the walk to the art building.

You stepped gratefully into the shadow cast by the structure, a small sigh of relief slipping past your lips as you used your free hand to fan yourself.

But your eyes shifted toward the open gym doors, curiosity betraying you.

The first thing that caught your attention was the dark cherry-red of his hair, glinting slightly under the gym lights. Then the white fabric of his jersey, the navy-blue ‘LEE’ stitched across the back in bold letters, slightly wrinkled as he moved.

Heeseung was tossing a basketball to one of his teammates, laughing with a kind of ease that felt both annoying and magnetic.

You didn’t mean to stare—but your feet stopped moving.

He turned, almost like he felt your gaze.

And the second his eyes found you, his entire expression lit up. Heeseung raised a hand in your direction, a wide smile forming on his face like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

But you blinked. Once. Twice.

And then you turned your head and walked away.

Didn’t wave. Didn’t smile. Didn’t acknowledge him at all.

The smile on his face faltered. His hand dropped slowly, confusion flickering across his features as he stood frozen for a moment, the echoes of bouncing basketballs and sneakers squeaking on hardwood suddenly too loud.

“What the hell…” he mumbled, brows drawing together.

“Yo, Heeseung! You good?” one of his teammates called out.

Heeseung didn’t answer. He ran a hand through his damp hair, trying to shake off the sudden heaviness in his chest.

Things were going well. You laughed at his jokes, talked back without flinching, sat with him at cafés like you didn’t mind his presence.

But now, you looked at him like he was a stranger again. Like he didn’t exist. Like he wasn’t the same guy who once grinned when you called him a show-off.

Heeseung exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. “You confuse me, Choi (Y/N),” he muttered under his breath, fingers curling into fists as he forced himself to look away.

He was many things. Top of his class. Basketball team captain. Future latin honors. The kind of student teachers raved about and underclassmen admired.

But with you? None of it seemed to matter.

Because you didn’t fall for the rumors or polished charm. You didn’t give a damn about titles. You saw through all of it—and that scared him. Excited him. Frustrated him.

And now you were cold again. Distant. Untouchable.

He looked down at his hands, fingers twitching like they wanted to crush something. Then he turned back toward the court with a scowl pulling at his lips.

“You still with us, captain?” one of his teammates called, dribbling toward him.

Heeseung forced a smirk, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Peachy.”

He jogged back toward the rest of the team, sneakers squeaking against the polished gym floor as the sound of bouncing balls and barking coaches faded into background noise.

But his thoughts were louder. Clingier. Like your silence had clawed its way into his brain and was now echoing on repeat.

You wanted space.

Fine. He could give you that. Hell, he wasn’t the type to chase someone who clearly didn’t want to be chased. Not anymore.

As he stopped at the three-point line and waited for the pass, he ran a hand through his hair and shook his head slightly, like he could physically knock your face out of his thoughts.

He caught the ball with a heavy thud and muttered under his breath, “Get it together.”

Because yeah, maybe he had a reputation—a little rough around the edges, the guy who showed up with bruised knuckles and a cocky grin.

Maybe he pissed off teachers with his smart mouth and turned in papers two minutes before deadlines.

But even with all of that… he had respect.

He never forced himself into anyone’s space. Especially not yours.

So if you needed distance, then distance you’d get.

He drove the ball forward and sank it cleanly into the net. The gym echoed with the satisfying swish, and someone clapped him on the back.

“Damn, someone’s pissed,” one of the boys joked. “Girl trouble again?”

Heeseung scoffed, spinning the ball once in his hands before tossing it back toward center court. “Aren’t you late for your third rejection this week?”

Laughter broke out, but his smirk was tight.

Because no one knew.

No one knew just how bad it messed with him—

To finally feel like he was getting through to you, only for you to shut him out all over again.

The warm scent of garlic butter and fried chicken wafted through the air as you, Wonyoung, and Yujin strolled down the path to the main building cafeteria, heels clacking lightly against the pavement.

Your tote hung low on your shoulder, sketchpad sticking out awkwardly between fabric swatches, and your fingers were still smudged with yesterday’s dried graphite.

“Well, I think my proposal’s going really well,” you began optimistically, gaze flicking to the sky like you were asking the universe for some grace.

Wonyoung snorted, not even trying to hide her smile. “You mean your color palette and those three empty pages labeled ‘concept sketches’?”

“Okay, rude,” you muttered, letting your weight lean into her side as she tugged you by the arm into the forming lunch line.

“I still don’t have a muse. Or any real inspiration. I can’t even visualize the silhouette yet—this project’s gonna be the death of me. I’m never gonna make it to third year.”

“You’re such a big baby, (Y/N),” Wonyoung teased, gently bumping your hip. “You’ve literally pulled magic out of nothing before. You just like to panic first, design later.”

Yujin laughed, reaching forward to grab a tray. “We already think you’re getting the highest grade this semester. You’re gonna be fine.”

You sighed, your voice dropping into a more fragile tone. “I hope so.”

And as if the universe had been listening and decided to spite you—because of course—it chose that exact moment to test your nerves.

Heeseung stepped into the cafeteria.

Wearing all black. Looking irritatingly flawless. Laughing at something stupid Sunoo had just said.

Your body tensed instantly, lips pressing together as you stared at your tray a second too long.

You hadn’t seen him in almost a week—okay, avoided was the better word—but it didn’t stop the flicker of heat crawling up your neck.

You quickly looked away, but not fast enough.

Because he saw you.

Heeseung’s smile dropped the moment your eyes met.

You rolled your eyes and pointedly turned your head toward the drinks fridge, pretending to be deeply fascinated by orange juice.

Heeseung slowed his pace. Just barely. His brow furrowed.

Sunoo, still mid-laugh, blinked and followed his friend’s gaze. “Wait… was that (Y/N)?”

Heeseung kept walking but the crease between his brows stayed, jaw ticking slightly. “Yeah.”

Sunoo tilted his head, clearly confused. “She didn’t even say hi. Or look like she wanted to say hi. What was that about?”

Heeseung shrugged, his voice casual but tight. “No idea.”

Sunoo narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I said I don’t know, Sunoo,” Heeseung muttered, glancing over his shoulder at your turned back, the way Wonyoung had a protective hand on the small of your back while you muttered something under your breath.

“You really didn’t do anything?”

“I swear, I didn’t,” he said, almost too quickly. Then quieter, “It’s like she suddenly hates me.”

Sunoo blinked, lips pursing in thought. “Well… she did hate you at first.”

“What?” Heeseung furrowed his brows, pausing mid-step. “What do you mean?”

Sunoo gave him a sheepish little laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay—don’t get mad—but I might’ve mentioned your… you know. Reputation.”

Heeseung stared at him, deadpan. “My what reputation, Sunoo?”

Sunoo held both his hands up like he was surrendering. “Just! Just that you had kind of a… colorful dating history. Nothing huge! I just hinted at it. Lightly. Casually.”

Heeseung narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t mention my ex, did you?”

Sunoo’s wince was answer enough.

“I hinted at her,” he muttered, shrinking under Heeseung’s glare. “Barely. Like, ‘He’s had some messy flings but he’s really sweet when he wants to be,’ type of thing.”

Heeseung groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Sunoo…”

“I’m sorry, okay?!” Sunoo whined. “I didn’t think she’d take it to heart! I thought she’d just keep teasing you like usual!”

“It’s not a big deal,” Heeseung muttered, trying to shake it off. “Don’t worry about it.”

But Sunoo didn’t let up. “It is a big deal. You’re not fooling around this time, are you? You’re not toying with her.”

Heeseung didn’t say anything. He just stared at the floor, jaw tight.

Sunoo let out a soft sigh and continued, voice gentler this time. “Usually… all your admirers do the chasing. And never you. But with (Y/N)?” He smiled faintly. “I think it’s a good thing that she’s not one of them.”

Heeseung swallowed hard, staring at the back of your head across the cafeteria as you laughed at something Wonyoung said—so far away, so different now.

“I know,” he mumbled. “That’s what makes it worse.”

The hallways of the fashion department building were quiet—eerily so, save for the faint ticking of the old wall clock and the distant hum of a sewing machine from one of the advanced design rooms.

Most students were glued inside their classrooms, immersed in last-minute cramming or sketching, which left the corridors empty and still.

You grunted softly under your breath, adjusting the obnoxiously heavy stack of fabric folders in your arms.

“Stupid Soobin,” you muttered, struggling to keep the folders balanced as you reached the corner near the stairwell.

“What kind of big brother dumps ten pounds of swatches on me and says, ‘Here, maybe you’ll get inspired’?”

You scoffed, still remembering how smug he looked when he handed it to you this morning. Just because you swung by his company for coffee didn’t mean he could load you like a pack mule.

With a soft huff, you rounded the turn toward the stairwell—only to freeze mid-step.

There, standing by the window near the first landing, was him.

Heeseung.

Clad in his usual all-black hoodie and pants, his signature basketball sneakers tapping lightly against the tile as he leaned on the railing, clearly waiting for someone.

Your breath hitched, eyes wide as you instinctively stepped back into the shadow of the wall, hugging the folders close.

What the hell is he doing here? He had no business in the fashion department.

You were just about to turn around and walk the other way when—

“So,” Heeseung suddenly said, his deep voice echoing slightly in the empty stairwell. “You wanted to meet me here?”

You froze.

Your brows furrowed.

“Yeah,” a female voice replied, nervous and a little too soft. “I—I hope it’s okay. I just… I didn’t know how else to say this.”

Your curiosity got the better of you. You leaned just enough to peek around the corner, eyes narrowing slightly.

It was some girl—probably a junior, based on the ID badge clipped to her chest. She was twisting the hem of her sleeve, cheeks flushed pink.

“I just think you’re… really talented,” she said shyly. “And hot. And like, you’re probably way out of my league, but I couldn’t not say something, you know?”

You blinked.

Heeseung sighed, the sound laced with a tired kind of patience. “Look, I’m sure you’re a nice girl. And I appreciate the guts it took to say that, really. But…”

“But?” the girl asked softly.

“I’m already interested in someone else,” he said, voice steady.

Your heart stopped.

The girl sounded crushed. “Oh. Um, who?”

Heeseung hesitated. Then, without an ounce of embarrassment, he said—“Choi Y/n.”

Your stomach dropped.

The folders in your arms nearly slipped from your grip as you jerked in shock, barely managing to catch them before they hit the floor. The rustle was loud—loud enough to echo.

Heeseung’s head snapped up toward the sound. He squinted but saw nothing.

You pressed your back hard against the cold wall, heartbeat thudding in your ears.

“She’s such a cold bitch, though,” the girl whispered sharply, and your eyes narrowed instinctively. “She never even talks to people. Why would you like someone like that?”

Heeseung didn’t even flinch.

“Look,” he said calmly. “(Y/N) doesn’t waste her time. She has standards. And yeah, maybe she’s not handing out smiles and small talk like candy, but she’s honest. And she doesn’t pretend to be someone she’s not just to be liked.”

You stood frozen, lips slightly parted, stunned speechless.

Heeseung was still speaking, but the pounding in your head made it impossible to catch the rest. You didn’t want to. Your legs were already moving.

He didn’t mean it. There was no way.

He was just trying to get out of that confession with minimal damage. That’s all.

It had to be.

Your heels clicked sharply against the tiled floor as you turned and walked away, folders pressed tight against your chest. You didn’t dare look back.

And yet, down the stairs, Heeseung’s voice trailed off when he caught the sound of footsteps fading in the hallway above.

His brows furrowed.

He turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he scanned the upper steps and corridor, but all he saw was the empty hallway.

A breath escaped his lips, laced with something that felt a lot like disappointment.

Down in front of him, the girl shifted awkwardly. She hadn’t moved since his confession.

“…I’m sure you’ll find someone else, yeah?” Heeseung said, his tone gentler now. “Someone who’s gonna feel the same.”

She gave a small nod, clearly dejected, mumbling a quiet, “Thanks,” before turning on her heel and walking away.

But Heeseung didn’t watch her leave.

Instead, he glanced back up again.

His jaw clenched as he slipped his hands into his hoodie pocket, the weight of your name still heavy on his tongue.

⤷ part 1 | part 2

⤷ permanent taglist — @m1kkso @ilovhoonie @jiyeons-closet @manobillie @yjmylove @in-somnias-world @cripplinghooman @yeossified @ateez-atiny380 @chemiru @eleftheriance @deluluscenarios @simp4simlee @baedreamverse @lala-loopsydoll ⤷ series taglist — @seungsoftly @aloveminsalade @merakicafee @isagistar @heeknow @blooqz @k1ttyjwon @dearestdreamies @sourkiki @mixxie2203 @wonuzu @12e45 @fancypeacepersona @omlhyck @starfallia @koizekomi @hommyy-tommy @laylasbunbunny @aggarwaldrishti @bestboileeknow @meeghangryfun @liliawritesss @starfire21 @seokjinthescientist

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tttabii · 1 day ago

Text

— 엔하이픈 killin' it girl ; enhypen “oh, I wanna get with you in the worst way.”

pairing 𝜗ৎ enhypen ot7 x reader , genre: fluff, suggestive, downbad enha. idol and non-idol au for different members. word count: 4867 words

HEESEUNG 𝜗ৎ

You were so unnaturally attractive—not hard to miss, you were so reserved, elegant and effortlessly put together. You were the kind of girl that didn't need to try and contended powerful presence.

Of course, that made you dangerous. Even within your little group of gorgeous girls, you were the one they wanted to keep them a distance from you—whispering about "her," because you have it all, or she has the total package, brains, beauty, and probably a last name associated with old-money too. Everyone had their eye on you. Every dude wanted you.

But Heeseung?

He wasn't admiring you away. He observed you.

And he wanted more than just another "someone's girl" title—he wanted to be deserving of you.That is how he ended up in the fucking infirmary.

Beaten and bruised with split lips from a fight he may or may not have started after overhearing a group of idiots talking reckless about you. Sure, it feels great to get bruised up over.

They weren't even worth the bruises he took but the bunch of guys who taunted you with his name? The fire burning in his gut? He couldn't let it slide.

So here he was, sitting on a cold cot in the infirmary, smelling like sweat, blood, and smoke with his white shirt stained pink near the collar—his red-dyed hair stuck to his forehead.

What he didn't expect was for you to walk in.

"You're the nurse on duty?" he asked you, blinking up at you like you weren't real.

You hesitated. "I'm not a nurse," you said bluntly. "I'm in a program. I assist. It's my rotation today."

Heeseung was grinning. "Well, lucky me."

You didn't indulge in his flirting. At least, not yet. Your fingers were soft but firm as you dabbed a cloth along the cut on his cheek. His eyes followed the subtle furrow of your brow, how you nibbled on the inside of your cheek when you focused. The room smelled of antiseptic and your perfume—sweet, airy, far too expensive for a university campus.

"What happened?" you asked finally, wiping gently under his jaw.

He shrugged and bit back a hiss as your fingers ran over a particularly tender spot. "Just needed to put someone in their place."

"With violence?" you raised a brow. "Seriously?"

"Only for a good reason." His eyes found yours. "Some guys were talking shit about a girl I know. Figured I would handle it."

You stilled. "...A girl?"

He gave you that signature smirk again—slow, confident, cocky as hell. "Yeah. Girl like you doesn't deserve to have her name in the mouth of other people's mouths."

You blinked and for a split second, Heeseung was sure he saw the cool ignited, calm mask slip. Just a flicker. That's all he needed.

"Shirt up," you said quietly, reaching for the roll of bandages.

He didn't hesitate a fraction of a second. He tugged the hem upwards and over his head, tossing it to the side. His torso was lean, sculpted—defined in all the places that made it difficult for you to look at him in the eye. You coughed, clearing your throat and shifting back into doctor mode.

"I heard you're cold," he said lightly, watching you apply the gauze to his ribs. "Pretty hard to believe that now."

"They don't know me," you stated, zoning in on the bandage. "I just keep my circle small."

"Mmm," he hummed, his voice deep, teasing. "Guess I'll have to earn my way in then."

You tried not to smile. Failed slightly. "What makes you think I would even consider?"

He leaned slightly closer; his tone deepened just enough to rattle your pulse.

"Cause baby, I let you touch me before anyone else did."

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the heat on your cheeks.

Heeseung was trouble. But you didn't mind.

JAY ⭒

The first thing Jay saw was not the designer dress molding to your body nor the way your heels lightly clicked against the ballroom's marble floor.

It was how you maneuvered through crowds like you owed no one anything.

Not your time.

Not your money.

Not even your smile.

And God, that alone was dangerous.

He had heard of you already, many times actually. His mom had brought up your name at dinner, your brother had named dropped him while playing a round of golf, and your best friend Ni-ki wouldn't stop talking about how unbelievable your design portfolio was.

Jay even had a tour of your house more than once, always seeing your framed photos from when you were a kid while he waited for your brother, intrigued by the girl in the photos who was always too busy to be home.

Now he understood.

You were too busy building your name to waste your time at parties like these. But here you were tonight—gala-ready and glowing, the edge of your lip gloss shining under the chandelier light, wine glass in hand like a damn Monet painting brought to life.

Jay was familiar with what people thought when they saw him: the rich heir with the polished suit, coded to be a husband to a fault. Cook, clean, has a driver. He could probably iron a blouse better than most maids, and he didn't mind playing house, if it meant being with someone who was earning their right to a seat at the table.

Someone who didn't need him, but might want him anyway.

Someone like you.

His eyes flicked over the girls around him—names he couldn't place, perfume too overpowering, engagement more stale than champagne left out too long. He was polite, he always was, but he was not focused on them.

He was already moving across the room, tracking your figure as you strolled out of the powder room, brows unknotted, gaze somewhere else entirely, the aura of "unbothered" radiating off of you even from this far off. Until you looked up.

"Hi," Jay said, slipping away from the group smoothly, as if it were the most normal thing to do.

Your eyes landed on him, mildly curious. "Ah, hi. How can I help you?"

Polite. Warm but guarded.

You weren't new to this dance.

Jay offered a small smile, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other holding his drink. "I figured now was a good time to introduce myself. I've heard your name so many time it felt rude not to say hello in person."

You blinked. "Let me guess. My brother."

"Your brother. My mother. Ni-ki." He chuckled softly. "You"ve got fans in every generation."

A soft huff left your nose, almost a laugh. "That sounds like exaggeration."

"No, that sounds like someone who's killing it quietly," he said, voice low and smooth, "while everyone else is too loud trying to keep up."

You blinked again. Okay. That wasn't corny.

That was... impressive.

Still, you tilted your head slightly, with your lips curved in the smallest of amused smirks. "So, is that your opening line? Flatter me 'til I fold?"

"I don't need you to fold." His gaze remained steady. "I just want to talk to you. Even if it's just about fashion."

That made your brow raise. "Ni-ki told you?"

Jay nodded. "And also, I once saw your sketches. At your house. I couldn't stop staring."

You took a sip of your wine, masking the brief flicker of surprise in your eyes. "Oh. You hang out with my brother."

"I hang out with a lot of people," he said, taking a half-step closer, enough for you to catch a whiff of his cologne, which smelled warm, clean, and a little like cedar and citrus. "But I talk to very few. And I flirt with even fewer."

"And I'm supposed to feel honored?"

"You're supposed to tell me if I should stop."

Your silence was answer enough.

Jay smirked, subtly confident. He didn't press any more than that. Instead, he lifted his glass a little bit.

"To your success," he said simply. "Not the type of success haggled an amount. The type of success earned."

Your lip twitched, an almost-whole smile threatening to curl the corners. For a moment, you hated how flustered that made you feel.

But you hid it well.

And Jay noticed.

He also noticed that this would not be a one-night impression.

He was not going to fumble this.

Not with a girl like you.

Not with a girl like you, killing it without even trying.

JAKE ꕤ

From the first step onto the set, Jake could tell he was screwed.

He'd seen you perform before, of course—how could he not? You were everywhere. Your name was always trending for whatever reason: whether it was a new R&B track being released, a Vogue photoshoot, or just because someone had a half-hearted attempt to drag you online, and it was shut down with receipts and fan edits that could make gods cry.

You weren't an idol.

You were the idol.

A soloist who could be in a group of others and get along with everyone effortlessly, would never back down from a challenge, and had a smile that was just pretty, professional, and mysterious enough to keep people intrigued.

You weren't marketed the same, while your company lets you be you, and it shows.

And maybe that's why other idols were envious, because even in group of 10, you somehow seemed to shine a little brighter.

Jake had always been a fan of you. He didn't say it out loud too often—only Jay knew, and that was because he caught Jake watching one of your live performances backstage during their comeback prep.

He didn't even play it cool, just nodded and muttered, "Yeah... she's crazy talented," before getting flamed by Sunghoon for zoning out again.

But now? Now you were here. In the flesh. Sitting beside him in a slick black dress that was classy, classy-looking and fit you way too good. Your make-up looked cuter than you usually do—something sweeter, younger. He didn't realize how much that would mess with his heart till you sat beside him and he nearly hand dropped his water bottle.

You weren't even trying.

And you were absolutely killing it.

"Are your hands shaking?" the host said suddenly, with an amused look at Jake.

He laughed, faking calmness. "No, no. Not nervous."

You chuckled quietly, voice like sugar and silk, tilting your head into him. "I am," you said, brushing a hand through your hair. "I rarely get nervous on set."

He didn't do anything.

He didn't respond immediately—he was too distracted by how you delivered that with such sincere charm.

You were perhaps the most unbothered person he'd seen on a screen, but this right here, with your fingers fiddling and your eyes flitting to the floor every couple of seconds, would tell him this wasn't an act. This was you.

And, god, it made you even more beautiful.

The segment began not long after. The host clapped his hands and beamed at the two of you. "Alright, you're going to cook something together—and we'll get the judges to taste it at the end. Let's see if the visuals can cook too."

You wore your apron wrong, had the strings knotted like a pretzel, and your first confession on camera was, "I'm kinda terrible at cooking."

Jake laughed. "Then we're doomed."

There was a sense that you were now just fully here, and flesh-and-blood rather than screens.He helped to fix your apron, and then he took the bowl as you chopped vegetables—at least attempted to. Jake flinched on instinct at how you were holding that knife.

"Wait-" He stepped in closer, hands softly altering the hold your fingers had on the knife. "Like this. Your thumb here. You're gonna cut yourself that way."

Your eyes flitted to his, and something about the way you looked away too soon made his heart skip again. You mumbled a soft thank you and resumed cutting, a little more slowly and a little more carefully.

It was easy after that.

The laughter came effortlessly. You teased him when he spilled something, and he joked about your improper carrot slices.

You learned about Layla—his golden retriever—and how he genuinely thought Layla could tell who was pretty based on who she barked at. You told him about how your mom is allergic to dogs so you were never able to have one, and he promised to send you Layla pictures.

"Maybe Layla can come visit your company," he said with a grin. "She loves soloists in black dresses."

You tried not to laugh. You failed.

The dish actually turned out pretty good, surprisingly good according to the host. Jake was shocked. You high-fived, your hands not wanting to separate after holding for a beat too long.

Even after the segment ended, you had a hard time not sneaking glances at him. You didn't think the cameras caught it, but they probably did. Jake had the eyes of a hawk—and you took note when you thought he missed how your fingers trembled a bit whenever he leaned too close or laughed too loud.

He wouldn't sit here and deny that you weren't his type. Not only because you were breathtaking, or because your voice gave him chills. It was how you brushed off hate with a tired smile, how you corrected rumors by just being real, and how—even with a powerful name behind you—you worked twice as hard just to prove you could stand on your own.

Sure, he had seen all kinds of idols come and go in this industry.

But nothing like you.

Jake wasn't a guy who flirted with everyone. But you?

He was halfway there already.

And now that he had finally met you, heard your laugh, listened to you sing alongside him, it was no longer admiration.

It was deeper and he wasn't letting it go ever.

SUNGHOON ꪆৎ

The first thing Sunghoon noticed wasn't your skating.

It was the song blaring through the speakers at the ice rink—PartyNextDoor at 9 a.m. It was like the playlist didn't know figure skating was supposed to be all waltzes, pretty violins, and orchestral swells. But here you were skating like silk over ice, gliding while a sultry beat bounced off the walls.

You skated like you owned the rink.

Like you invented the sport.

Maybe you did.

Every guy you'd ever paired with seemed to fall hard for you—on and off the rink. Sunghoon had seen the viral videos. One guy looked like he was about to propose mid-interview the way he watched you giggle and casually praise his technique like it didn't just melt his brain.

Now, it was his turn.

When his coach told him he'd be doing a duet routine with you, he hadn't slept the entire night. You weren't just the It-Girl of Figure Skating. You were dangerous. Pretty, polite, scarily dedicated, and all said to break hearts without even trying.

You never dated your partners, but you definitely had left an impression.

And now that he was watching you warm up, skating to a heavy bassline in nothing but leggings, a zip-up hoodie, and a tiny pair of pearl earrings, he suddenly understood every guy who fumbled after working with you.

You weren't even trying, and he was already choking.

You had spotted him at the entrance after a quick spin, the music still vibrating softly around you as you halted gracefully and grabbed your bottle. The playlist switched mid-song, and you winced slightly.

"Ah... didn't think anyone would hear that," you said, your cheeks were rosy by the time you stepped off the ice and hit pause on your phone. "Should have gone with my 'main character' playlist instead."

Sunghoon made an awkward laugh, he couldn't help it. "It's no problem, that song kind of goes hard."

You raised a brow with curiosity. "Oh? Didn't peg you as the type."

"Didn't peg you as the type either," he admitted.

You smiled brightly. "Guess we're full of surprises then."

You casually extended your hand, the vapor from your hot thermal bottle still slinking between you.

"You must be... Sunghoon?"

"Y-yeah," he nodded as he grabbed at your hand, ignoring how soft your fingers felt against his calloused palm.

"Don't be nervous. I promise working with me is really relaxing."

He wanted to laugh at the statement. Relaxing? his heart was racing like he had just completed five fast laps.

But you were right.

The next few hours proved just that. You moved with him like you'd been skating together for months. Your hand in his was steady. When you had to grip his shoulders for the lifts, there was zero hesitation.

Like you trusted him already. And for someone like Sunghoon—who was used to cold partnerships and mechanical routines—you were like sunlight filtering into a snow globe.

You didn't act as if you were superior to him, even if you technically were. He had seen your medals. So had the whole rink.

You were just... real. Confident with no effort. Joking between breaks. Always checking your setlist. Always moving.

And when you leaned over, hair tied into a lazy bun, taking a sip of your lukewarm tea, Sunghoon simply could not look away.

"I saw those interviews, you know?" he said during a water break. He tapped the bottle in his hand. "With your old partners."

You looked at him, amusement in your expression. "Let me guess. You think I'm secretly evil."

He flushed. "No-! I just—They all looked like they were in love with you."

You shrugged, little indicating it mattered. "I can't help it if I'm good at chemistry."

"You mean skating chemistry?"

"Mm," you smirked. "Both."

Oh, damn.

Sunghoon was pretty certain the air cooled. Or turned hot. Essentially he had no idea. All he did know was you just smiled at him like you hadn' realized he was barely holding it together.

And when you slid to fit closer together during practice, your hand coming to rest on his ribs, breathless from the last spin, you looked up at him, slightly pink from the cold—

"You're not bad at this Park Sunghoon," you said, smiling. "I might keep you."

You weren't even flirting.

That was the problem.

You were just being you. Effortlessly that girl—looking fine with no makeup, in your bag, with a goal and no distractions. And still, somehow, he was the one getting distracted.

Sunghoon might've come to Chongqing for gold.

But now he had a real problem:

He wanted you, too.

Bad.

SUNOO .☘︎ ݁

You've worked with a lot of idols—a lot of them. Some were bold enough to flirt between foundation pats and eyebrow trims, offering you drinks, late-night convenience store snacks, and even designer lip glosses "you should try for yourself."

But you weren't stupid. You liked your job, your career, your freedom.

You weren't going to jeopardize all that just because a famous person winked at you and told you your eyeliner technique was "sexy."

You always kept it professional.

Until Kim Sunoo.

When you first met him, it was a quick schedule—nothing fancy, just a light press event, a soft base look with healthy blush and gradient lips. You had seen his face online but in real life?

That fox-like smile could melt empires.

He greeted you with that sunshine-in-human-form smile, huge sparkly eyes and a gentle "Hi, thank you for taking care of me," and he meant it.

It wasn't idol politeness. He said it like he had waited all morning to meet you.

"We're gonna make you glow," you said as you clicked open your cushion compact.

"You're already glowing though," he replied instantly, then tilted his head like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You paused, brush in hand.

"Don't hit on your makeup artist," you muttered under your breath.

"I'm just being honest," he smiled, eyes steady on yours in the mirror.

Professional. You're being professional. You told yourself all of this as you blended his base with the lightest of taps, trying to concentrate on his angular cheekbones, not the way he watched you like you were painting a masterpiece, not just putting skin tint on his pretty face.

At some point mid-makeup session, he reached into the snack pouch next to him and pulled out a small mochi.

You didn't think anything of it—until he suddenly held it up to your lips.

"Open," he said in a tone that led you to believe you were a puppy and he was asking you to sit.

"What the hell are you doing?" you blinked.

"Feeding my artist," he grinned. "You haven't eaten, have you?"

You were staring at the mochi. Then back at him. Then back at it.

"...Just one bite," you mumbled, quickly taking it in before anyone passed by the open makeup room door.

It was warm. Chewy. Strawberry.

"I knew you'd love strawberry," he whispered, like he had been researching your preferences for years.

From that day onward, Sunoo found a way into your schedule every time. "Coincidence," he would say innocently, "I guess we're destined."

He brought food for you. Brought bubble tea with your name scrawled on the cup in black sharpie. Knew your favorite blush. Noticed when your hair was different.

"You make all the idols look irresistible," he said once you were dusting highlighter on his nose bridge while he tilted his chin up and threw you a look. "But I bet I'm your favorite canvas."

"Don't get cocky."

"But I am, right?" he laughed, looking amiss in the mirror with his eyes half-lidded. "You give me extra attention every time."

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you.

This was definitely not like the others.

And when your hands brushed a little longer against his jaw, or when he caught your reflection smiling at something he said—

You were starting to think you might be in trouble.

The kind of trouble that came with strawberry mochi, stolen glances, and Kim Sunoo.

JUNGWON ʚɞ

Jungwon had a huge celebrity crush on you.

Everyone knew this. His members, his fans, and the staff. There were hundreds of clips of him on the internet giggling at the scenes from your popular K-drama—the one with the unspeakable romance that made his ears turn red every time he watched it—and leaning over to quietly mumble "She's just so talented" or "She did that scene so well," like no one would suspect what he was really thinking about in those moments, particularly how your eyes sparkled over the screen.

So when the host mentioned "a surprise guest Jungwon has been a fan of for a while," he just laughed awkwardly about it.

No way it was you.

Right?

That thought lasted five seconds, because when you walked through the studio curtain wearing a cute blouse and fitted pleated skirt, smiling like you'd just stepped out of one of those soft lighting K-drama dream scenes—

Jungwon froze.

Like froze.

"W-What?" he said while getting up so fast his mic pack almost came off. He stumbled back a little, a nervous chuckle sitting high in his throat, while running a hand through his hair. "No way—what??"

You giggled softly, and you bowed politely but tightly, "Nice to finally meet my biggest fan."

His mouth opened, then shut. Then opened again. You could see him fighting for composure like a cat being sprayed with water. Absolutely cornered.

The show set had hanging swings on each side (some fake picnic theme, super cute), so when you sat beside him, swaying slightly, you leaned over just a little and whispered, "You're even cuter in person, Jungwon."

He dropped dead.

He blinked at the camera with his eyes wide open, trying to avoid combustion.

The host laughed and felt brave enough to ask you both to do a quick game, but half the time Jungwon was side-eyeing you like you were a dream come true. Which, to be fair, you kinda were.

"Y'know, I heard a lot about you." you said midway into a question segment, you tucked your hair behind your ear. "They say you're super hardworking and polite and cat-like, and I see the cat part now."

Jungwon, in his black dress shirt rolled to the sleeves, instinctively pulled at the fabric when he noticed your eyes on his arms. "You're staring," he mumbled, smiling shyly.

"Can you blame me?" you said, voice innocent but your smile was saying something completely different.

He chuckled under his breath while his ears turned pink. "Aren't you younger than me?" he said teasingly.

You tilted your head to the side. "And? You want me to call you oppa?"

He waved that away so quickly. "No! No, talk comfortably. Just- talk casually."

God, he thought, this is such chaos.

But, it's also the best day of his life.Then the host dropped the question of the day: "If you had a chance to film a drama together, what kind of story would you want?"

Jungwon blinked at you, stunned again.You, being the professional flirter you were, leaned toward the mic and said, "Well maybe... a friends-to-lovers story? You know, slow burn. I would love to act beside Jungwon."

Jungwon's jaw dropped. Literally.

"Don't tease me like this," he whispered while shaking his head.

You giggled, "I'm not! You're really my type. I like a guy that's sweet and awkward at first but gets bold later."

He turned his face completely away to mask the grin that was plastered across it.

The fans? They were going to LOSE it when this aired. The comments, the edits, the "they lookso good together" compilations? Unstoppable.

But Jungwon didn't care about any of it right now. Because this was the first time he had seen you—not through a screen. Not in some scene with your lines and movements directed.

This was you, head back on the swing, smiling, your eyes on him like he was the main character this time.

"Still can't believe you're here," he mumbled later on during a quick break.

You nudged his foot with yours under the table. "Well, believe it. And if you could keep me in mind for your next drama I would love a kissing scene."

He choked on his water.

NI-KI 𐙚

Ni-ki had seen it all. The giggles, the not-so-subtle hair flips, the fake emergencies to get his attention. It didn't matter if it was right after practice, drenched in sweat, or if he was just dribbling a basketball across campus, girls trailed behind him like he was the last AirPod in a music class.

He didn't blame them. He knew he looked good. He was tall, with sharp eyes and confidence radiating off of him. His chains were sparkling under the sun, his chrome hearts dangling from his belt, and his hair wild but in a not-caring-but-caring way.

He carried a reputation: Dance prodigy. Trouble. Girls' favorite problem.

But you?

You weren't even affected.

The first time he saw you, you walked past the courtyard with a chef's knife sticking out of your tote bag and your signature cat pin on your apron. He remembered every detail because it was seared into his memory. Your hair fell perfectly with curled ends that swung with every step, and your perfume hung in the air like you owned it.

And god, did he stare. Maybe a little too long.

You walked right past him—expression unreadable, lip gloss perfectly in place—like he was just another dude. No slow turn, no fluttering lashes. Just a quick glance at your phone and a soft "Tch" when someone got in your way.

That "Tch" rang in his brain for hours. Just like a slap to his ego.

The next time he saw you was in the hallway by the culinary wing, bent over your table, frosting something that looked dangerously good. He leaned against the wall, observing your hands and your concentration and your nails painted somewhat only so far that they screamed expensive.

You bit down on your bottom lip in concentration, not even knowing he was there—until the teacher walked by and greeted him a bit too loud.

You looked up, even just for a second.

Then you basically went back to piping cream on the pastry like the hottest boy in school wasn't literally right there.

He scoffed to himself and ran his fingers through his hair.

"What the hell is wrong with her?"

He started walking past your class more. Not on purpose. (Okay, a little on purpose.) Sometimes shirtless in a tank after dance practice, allowing his chains to jingle with every step. Other times when he saw you walking with that, bossy, energy of yours he'd "accidentally" cut into your path just to see you glare.

That day near the basketball court?

Yeah. He still dreams about it.

He bumped into you, sweat still fresh on his neck, basketball in hand. You flinched, letting out an annoyed huff.

"Watch it," you muttered, brushing past him like he was a nuisance.

He turned his head slowly, eyes following you like a curse.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself.

After that, he made it his mission to mess with you.

Always blocking your path.

Always calling out your name in a fake-sweet voice.

Always flashing that smirk he knew melted girls in seconds.

You didn't let him.

"Fuck off, Ni-ki."