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alienbreadtooru · 13 days ago

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Going Down Polythageorean: H.Hj & H.J Hwang Hyunjin x fem!reader x Han Jisung (College AU)

WC: 15.07K

CWs: Pre-Established relationship between reader & Jisung, Sexual Identity Crisis, Polyamory & Non-Traditional Relationships, Mild Public Embarrassment & Secondhand Embarrassment

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

When you step into the Alpha Phi frat house, your senses are immediately assaulted by the comforting, savoury scent of garlic, gochujang, and simmering chicken. You adjust your tote bag over your shoulder and shut the front door behind you with your foot.

Your white Converse squeak slightly on the hardwood floors, your long green maxi skirt brushing lightly around your ankles with every step you take. Your cropped tank top clings lightly to your skin in the heat, and the green ribbon tying your hair back is already starting to slide, probably from how many times you've yanked it up during the walk over.

The house is loud, and you hear the familiar dull slam of a cupboard door in the kitchen. You can smell the rice frying too, which means Jisung's doing a full meal and not just making instant ramen for the third time this week.

You shoulder open the kitchen door and grin at the sight of your boyfriend standing at the stove, brows furrowed in concentration as he stirs the stew simmering in a heavy pot. His hair is fluffed to hell, and there's a tiny smear of red sauce on his cheek.

"Holy shit," you say, dropping your tote bag onto the counter with a dramatic thud. "Are you trying to seduce me with Dakbokkeumtang?"

Jisung turns toward you with a giant, goofy grin that makes your chest feel like it's expanding ten sizes.

"Jagiya!" he beams, immediately abandoning the spoon and taking your face in his hands, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, and finally your lips. "Are you carrying boulders in that fucking bag?"

"No! I'm learning about the epidemiology of cholera in Victorian London! I'm trying to find a historical epidemic for my timeline project due in, like, four months! Right now I'm leaning toward cholera as a focus but honestly there are just so many fucked-up plagues in history I'm kinda overwhelmed."

Jisung leans back against the counter. "Oh yeah? Tell me all about it."

You beam, instantly taking the invitation and hoisting yourself up onto the edge of the counter. "Okay, okay, so cholera was this bacterial infection that spreads through contaminated water, right? And in the 19th century, London had like absolutely dogshit sanitation. We're talking raw sewage in the fucking Thames. People were just dumping actual shit into the river and then drinking it like 'yum, totally safe!' And then everyone acted surprised when people started dying by the thousands."

Jisung snorts and turns back to stir the stew, but he's still listening to every word. "Jesus Christ, that's fucking disgusting. Was it like a fast thing? Like you drink some nasty shit and then boom, dead?"

"Pretty much, yeah. I mean, some people died in like twelve hours. Diarrhoea, vomiting, muscle cramps, the works. Just water pouring out of every hole."

"Every hole, huh? Kinky."

You laugh, swatting your hand in his direction even though you're out of reach. "Ew, you sick fuck. No, like, people were dying in droves, and doctors had no clue what was causing it. Miasma theory was the big thing then, like they thought diseases came from 'bad air.' Which, I mean, the air probably did stink, but that wasn't the point."

"So how did they figure it out?" he asks, grabbing the rice pan now and tossing the kimchi and vegetables with practised flicks of the wrist. His movements are smooth now, confident. You remember when he could barely boil water without crying, and Minho had to stand next to him, barking insults like a deranged Gordon Ramsay.

"Well," you continue, legs swinging slightly, "there was this guy, Dr. John Snow, who made this gorgeous, data-driven map, and he proved that almost all the cholera deaths were clustered around a water pump on Broad Street. He took the handle off, and the outbreak stopped."

Jisung whistles low. "Damn. That's kind of badass."

"It is! And it's like, he revolutionised epidemiology, right? Like, that was one of the first real applications of data analysis to disease tracking. It laid the groundwork for everything we do now. Contact tracing, case mapping, infection control, it all kinda started with him and his sexy-ass water pump map."

Jisung turns off the burners and starts plating up, still watching you out of the corner of his eye with the most tender look. "I love when you talk nerdy to me."

You snort. "I'm not even sorry. That man makes me wanna make out with a bar graph."

Jisung walks over with two plates, one for you and one for him, and sets them down on the counter next to you. You jump off and immediately plop yourself into his lap as he drops into one of the kitchen chairs. He wraps one arm around your waist like it's second nature and grabs his chopsticks with the other.

"I made it less spicy, by the way," he says, kissing the side of your head. "Didn't want your face melting off."

You melt a little yourself at that. "You're the best."

"I know," he grins.

You both start eating, and you groan as the flavours hit your tongue. The kimchi fried rice is crispy in the best way, with caramelised bits that crunch at the edges and that deep, fermented tang from the kimchi. Jisung might have been a fucking disaster in the kitchen ten months ago, but now he's a competent, emotional wreck with surprisingly good knife skills.

"So," you say, halfway through your plate, "how was your day?"

Jisung sighs, a long, tired noise from deep in his chest.

"Ji?"

"Hyunjin started another fucking argument today at practice."

You blink. "Again? What happened this time?"

He shrugs, clearly frustrated. "I don't even know. I was just running drills, doing my thing, and he started snapping at me for 'not keeping up.' Like, what the fuck?."

You press a soft kiss to his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt warm against your lips. "I just wish I knew why he hated me," Jisung mutters.

"He'll tell you eventually," you murmur, running a hand through his hair. "Feelings eventually bubble out. Usually with screaming and crying. Sometimes fire."

He huffs a little laugh and tilts his head to kiss your cheek. "Let's talk about something else."

"Okay! Let me tell you why the young Once-ler from The Lorax is the peak animated man I would absolutely fuck."

Jisung immediately starts laughing, his eyes lighting up as he puts his chopsticks down. "Oh my God, what?"

"No, hear me out! Specifically, the suit version. Not the lanky beanpole one. The one with the guitar, singing 'How Bad Can I Be.' That man could treat me like shit and I'd thank him. He could say I was the reason the entire forest burned down, and I'd be like, 'Yes, sir, may I have another?'"

Jisung is wheezing, eyes crinkling at the corners. "What the fuck, jagiya."

"I'm serious! He's like chaotic neutral with capitalist villain swag. He knows he's doing something awful and still does it with style and a musical number. It's sexy! I can't explain it. It's like he's a dick but in a way where I think I could change him."

"He's animated!"

"So? My standards are fluid."

He laughs again and pulls you closer. "You're so fucking weird. I love it."

You smirk and nudge his nose with yours. "You're lucky you do. Otherwise, this would be a whole lot of red flags."

"Nah," he says, brushing your hair back behind your ear. "This is my favourite part of the day. I swear, you look fucking stunning when you talk about dumb niche stuff with stars in your eyes. You light up."

"Shut up, you sap."

"Never,"

Hyunjin lies face-down on his bed, the sheets twisted beneath him like the tangled thoughts in his head. His hair fans across his pillow, and his whole body feels like it's stuck between a cringe and a scream. The kind of scream you'd let out into a pillow at three a.m. when your brain won't shut the fuck up and keeps circling back to the exact thing you're trying to pretend doesn't exist. That exact thing? The fact that he, Hwang Hyunjin, art history major with a dance minor, owner of three very nice leather jackets, is in a fucking mess of feelings. Feelings about Han Jisung and Han Jisung's girlfriend.

He groans into the mattress, fists clenching around his blanket. The walls of the Alpha Phi frat house are stupidly thin. And right now, through the paper-thin wall separating his room from Jisung's, he can hear everything.

"You'd let a white man fuck you?!"

"If it's Ben Willbond, yes! No hesitation. Kitchen counter. Shower. Bed. Floor. Anywhere, everywhere, any position!"

Jisung howls, that wheezy, gasping kind of laughter that makes Hyunjin's stomach twist. It's affectionate, stupid and domestic in that sickening way where two people are so into each other that it makes you want to throw yourself into traffic just to get a break from how fucking soft they are.

"God fucking dammit."

He can't even be mad at Jisung, and that's the worst part. He wants to be mad. It would make things simpler. But Jisung hasn't done anything wrong. He's sweet and funny and kind, and he listens to you like every word out of your mouth is the gospel truth. He makes you food and rubs your shoulders when you're studying and picks up your favourite juice without being asked. He's soft and boyish and endearing. And hot. Annoyingly hot. With that stupid tousled hair and those dumb dimples that show up when he smiles, especially when you're around.

And you. You're you. Kind. Funny. Ridiculously smart. Like, terrifyingly smart. With your tote bag always filled with disease textbooks and your ADHD-fueled rants that Hyunjin secretly listens to through the wall every time you're here. You're too good. You have no business being so fucking sweet to everyone, including Hyunjin himself, even when he's being a passive-aggressive bitch to your boyfriend. Which he is. All the time. And you still smile at him like he hung the stars and offer him snacks, and ask how his day was. It's torture.

It doesn't help that he knows exactly what goes down when the lights are off. He's heard it all. Heard you whimpering his name, Jisung's low groans, the muttered filthy shit that should have his ears burning but instead just fucks him up.

He hates it. Hates that he's like this. That he feels like he's unravelling every time Jisung smiles. That he stares a little too long each time you tuck your hair behind your ear when you laugh. That he's an asshole to Jisung for no fucking reason except that he wants to kiss him. And also kiss you. And he doesn't know which want is worse.

The door creaks open, and he doesn't even move.

"Hyunjin,"

"Go away."

Chan ignores him completely, walks in and grabs Hyunjin's desk chair. The scrape of it across the hardwood is unnecessarily loud. Chan plops down in it backwards, arms folded across the backrest, chin resting on top like some sitcom dad about to give The Talk.

"Can I help you?"

"Look at my face," Chan says dryly. "You made me pull out my disappointed Appa Chan face."

"Me?! I'm just lying here! I didn't do shit today! Jeongin's the one who blew up the microwave. Go be disappointed in him!"

Chan exhales through his nose. "He's next on my shit list. But first, why are you being a shitstain? You're being an asshole to Jisung."

"That's so fucking cruel," Hyunjin whines, rolling onto his side and burying half his face in his pillow.

"You want a permanent spot on Disappointed Appa Chan's shit list?"

Hyunjin pouts. "No."

"Then talk to me. What the fuck is going on? Are you trying to steal Y/N from him? Because I swear to God, if that's your plan, I will beat you with my slipper."

"No!" Hyunjin yelps, sitting up so fast his hair whips into his eyes. "Oh my God, no! That's not what this is!"

Chan softens slightly, one brow arching. "Jin, did you like her first? It's okay if you did. That happens sometimes."

"No!"

"Then why are you being a little cunt?"

"Chan! You hate using that word!"

"Look what you made me do!"

Hyunjin groans again, dragging both hands down his face. "Fuck. Okay. Fuck. Fine. You want to know? You really wanna know?"

"Desperately."

"It's both of them," Hyunjin blurts, the words spilling out like he's been holding them back for years. "It's both of them, okay? I wanna kiss Jisung and I wanna kiss Y/N and I don't know what the fuck that means! I've never liked a guy before. Like, yeah, I've fucked guys and I've been fucked by guys but that's just been sex. You know? Labels? I don't do that. I've never needed to. I've always just gone with what felt good, and now I'm just feeling things, Chan. Things. With fucking capital letters. Like, Jisung smiles and my stomach does weird shit. Like it's trying to turn itself inside out. And Y/N laughs, and it's like someone shoved an entire bouquet down my throat. I can't breathe. I can't think. And it's not even like I want to pick one! I want both of them. But that's not allowed, right? That's selfish. That's not how this shit works!"

He's panting by the end of it, chest heaving, hands in his lap clenched so tight they're turning white.

Chan stares at him, eyes a little wide. "Okay. First off. Wow. That was like verbal diarrhoea with a thesis."

"Shut the fuck up."

"No, seriously, I felt like I was being hit with a truck of feelings." Chan leans forward, mouth twitching with a smile he's trying to suppress. "Also, you can tick the box that says 'not straight,' you know. Taking it up the ass or giving it to a dude excludes you from the 'straight' club."

Hyunjin flips him off. "Thanks, Captain Obvious."

Chan shrugs. "Just helping. So you like Jisung and Y/N?"

Hyunjin groans again, flopping back on the bed. "Yes. Fuck. Yes."

"I knew it! Now. How are you gonna woo both of them?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, obviously you need a plan."

"A plan for what?"

"Polyamory, dumbass."

Hyunjin blinks. "A plan to what?"

"Polyamory."

"...Is that a spell from Harry Potter?"

Chan drags a hand down his face. "Oh my fucking God."

"No, like seriously, what the fuck is that?"

Chan stands dramatically, pacing like a professor. "Okay. Imagine you love two different kinds of bingsu."

"What?"

"Stay with me. One is the classic patbingsu. Red bean. Milk. Shaved ice. The other is mango. Bright. Tropical. Completely different vibe."

"This is already fucking stupid."

"Shut up. Now, monogamy would be you choosing one bingsu forever. Polyamory is you saying, 'Fuck it, I want both bingsu. At the same time.' And everyone's cool with it. Everyone knows. Everyone agrees. And they all eat bingsu together and it's happy and consensual and no one's crying."

"Are you suggesting I eat Jisung and Y/N like bingsu?"

"You made it weird."

"You started it!"

"No. I was giving you a metaphor."

"You're a menace."

"And you're in love with your best friend and his sexy-ass girlfriend who talks about cholera and fucking animated men."

Hyunjin covers his face with his hands. "I'm gonna die."

Chan grins. "Not before figuring this shit out, you're not."

"You didn't help at all."

"I tried. The bingsu metaphor was solid."

"It was not."

Chan pats his shoulder. "Alright, drama queen. I gotta go yell at Jeongin before he microwaves another fork. But figure your shit out, okay?"

"Can't wait to not understand polyamory for the next year."

Chan opens the door. "Google exists, you know."

"Not for me. I refuse."

Chan disappears with a muttered, "Fucking idiot," and leaves Hyunjin sprawled on the bed, staring up at the ceiling like it holds the answers to his horny, confused, bingsu-fuelled crisis.

The late afternoon sun beats down on the Miroh College football field, and you're sitting on the bench near the sidelines with your textbook cracked open in your lap. You're dressed for comfort but accidentally hot, if the lingering glances from passing undergrads are anything to go by.

Your blue maxi skirt flutters around your ankles when you shift, your white long-sleeve tie-front crop top tied snug over your chest. Your Converse are scuffed at the toes, and your hair's been hastily piled into a messy bun, with a pen jabbed through it, and your sunglasses shield your eyes from the relentless sun as you read about the spread of bubonic plague in medieval Europe.

"Yersinia pestis," you mutter under your breath, highlighting a section. "You sneaky little bacterial bastard."

You're halfway through a paragraph about the mortality rates in Florence when the loudest, most violent thud cuts through the field. Your head jerks up, sunglasses sliding down your nose, and you see two bodies tangled in the grass near the goalpost.

"Oh shit," you say, slamming your book shut.

It's Jisung and Hyunjin. Of course, it's Jisung and Hyunjin.

Chan is already pinching the bridge of his nose like he's developing stress-induced wrinkles in real time. He looks like he aged twenty years in the five seconds since the collision happened.

Jisung sits up first, brushing grass off his arms. He looks perfectly fine, maybe a little dazed but otherwise unbothered. Meanwhile, Hyunjin's still flat on his back, scowling at the sky like it personally offended him. His brows are drawn tight, shoulders tense, and his jaw is clenched so hard you can practically hear his molars grinding.

"Are you both okay?"

Jisung turns toward you immediately, eyes softening. "I'm okay, jagiya."

He smiles, and your heart does that stupid fluttery thing it always does when he looks at you like that. You touch his arm gently, scanning him for bruises or scrapes. He's fine.

Then you look at Hyunjin. He blinks a few times, still half-lying on the grass, and you watch it happen, his hackles slowly lower. The tension in his shoulders uncoils a little, his expression flickers, and for one heartbeat, he just stares at you like he forgot how to be mad. Then Jisung's voice cuts through the silence again.

"You alright, Hyunjin?"

Hyunjin jolts like he was shocked. "Yeah. Fine," He gets up fast, brushes off his shorts, and walks away toward the benches without another word.

Chan immediately follows him, looking like someone just handed him a toddler with a grenade. The rest of the team hangs back, awkward and silent for a second.

"See what I mean?" Jisung says, voice dry and tired. "I breathe near him and he looks like he's gonna throw hands."

"Maybe it's a second puberty," you suggest cheerfully.

"You might be onto something. His mood swings have mood swings."

You guide him back toward the bench where you were sitting, brushing off some leftover grass from his shirt as you walk. "I was reading about the real villains of the 14th century, by the way."

He snorts. "You mean nobles? The Catholic Church?"

"No, no, no," you say, dropping down onto the bench, flipping your textbook open. "Rats, Jisung. Rats were the true supervillains of 14th-century Europe."

He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Oh?"

"Yes!" you say, adjusting your sunglasses. "Rats carried the plague fleas, Xenopsylla cheopis, to be precise and those little fuckers spread Yersinia pestis everywhere. The Black Death wiped out up to sixty percent of Europe's population. Sixty. Fucking. Percent."

"Jesus," Changbin mutters nearby, suddenly invested. He plops down on the grass at your feet, eyes wide.

"It gets better," you continue, glowing under the attention like a sunflower in daylight. "The fleas would bite the rats, pick up the bacteria, then jump to humans and bam, mass death. It hit the trade routes and spread like wildfire. Bodies in the streets. Total apocalyptic vibes. You know how now we wear masks and argue about vaccines? Back then, they were bleeding people and praying to saints. Super effective, obviously."

Minho wanders over and plops down next to Changbin. "Wait, wasn't that the time they thought cats were evil and started killing them too?"

"Yes!" you say, jabbing your finger in his direction. "Which was extra stupid because cats eat rats. So by killing the cats, they made the rat population worse. They literally helped the plague spread faster. Congrats, medieval Europe. You played yourself."

Felix drifts over last, flopping down on the bench beside you with a bright grin. "You're saying rats are to blame for wiping out half of Europe?"

"Not just rats," you clarify, tilting the book so they can all see it. "Fleas. But rats were the Uber drivers of death. And medieval cities? Disgusting. No plumbing. No sanitation. People threw shit out the window. Rats thrived in that. Perfect storm."

Seungmin appears like a judgmental ghost, arms crossed. "So people died because they were nasty and stupid?"

You smile sweetly. "Basically."

Jisung twirls a lock of your hair between two fingers. "You're so fucking smart," he says.

"I contain multitudes," you say, striking a ridiculous pose. "Beauty. Brains. Useless historical knowledge. You're welcome."

Felix claps slowly. "This is why I listen to everything you say, I take this shit and use it as pickup lines."

"Felix!" Seungmin groans.

"No, no, listen, last week I told someone at that bar near campus about the dancing plague of 1518, and they were so into it. I said, 'wanna dance till we die?' and boom. Got their number."

You snort. "Jesus Christ, I'm accidentally enabling slutty behaviour."

Felix grins like the devil himself. "And I'm thriving. You're a blessing, babe."

Jisung glares at him playfully. "Back off. She's mine."

Across the field, Hyunjin shifts awkwardly on his feet, arms folded tight across his chest as he stands next to Chan. He keeps glancing sideways at the group across the pitch, where you, Jisung, and the rest of the Alpha Phi guys are.

"What the fuck are they even talking about now?" Hyunjin mutters, squinting.

Chan doesn't even glance up. "You," he says, "should worry more about what we're talking about."

But it's too late. Hyunjin's attention is sucked across the field again, and your voice carries like it was born to be projected across battlefields and lecture halls.

"Okay, fine! But I would definitely survive the plague! I'd be the one investigating it, you know? Trying to track the spread, isolate the bacteria, and invent contact tracing way before its time. I'd be the weird genius who figured shit out."

Changbin immediately snorts so hard it sounds painful. "You'd be patient zero, the superspreader. You'd be like, 'Oh wow, is this flea bite infected?' and then boom, entire village gone."

"I second that," Felix says, throwing a hand up like he's in court. "She'd get infected and keep studying it."

"I'd give you like, five days," Seungmin adds helpfully.

Jeongin hums. "She'd get burned at the stake. They'd think she was a witch."

You gasp, eyes wide. "What the fuck?!"

Minho nods solemnly. "You'd be accused of causing the plague. You'd get drowned or burned or hung, depending on the region."

"Unbelievable! You're all supposed to love me!"

"We do!" Jisung chimes in brightly. "That's why we're being honest. I'd cry at your burning."

Felix pats your head. "We'd avenge you, babe."

"I'm not dead!"

"You would be," Seungmin says, deadpan. "In any medieval European setting, you'd be gone in the first week."

"I'm taking this disrespect personally."

"You should," Jeongin says cheerfully, and they all fucking laugh like they haven't just collectively sentenced you to death via witch trial.

Hyunjin's mouth quirks involuntarily at the sound of your voice, all dramatic indignation and wild hand gestures. You've somehow roped half the football team into a historical survival debate, and he kind of wants to scream at the sky because you're so fucking you. And the way Jisung looks at you, still glowing from your plague lecture and now practically vibrating from laughter, makes Hyunjin's stomach do another weird flip-flop like he's on a diet of nothing but emotions and chaos.

"Okay," Chan says suddenly, breaking Hyunjin's spiralling thoughts. "So. Remember what I said about polyamory?"

Hyunjin groans. "Vaguely. There was bingsu involved."

Chan sighs. "Right. So, let's pick that thread up again, because clearly, you're still operating like you're five and pulling someone's hair on the playground to show you like them."

"I'm not-"

"You are," Chan cuts him off with the tiredness of someone who has dealt with far too many crises to have patience left for bullshit. "Every time Jisung breathes near you, you act like he just pissed in your cereal. I'm half expecting you to start crying about cooties."

Hyunjin blinks, deadpan. "Cooties are very serious."

"Hyun,"

"I know! I know, okay? I'm having a romantic crisis and a sexual identity crisis. At the same fucking time. It's a lot."

From behind them, Minho's voice chimes in like a well-timed sitcom entrance. "I smell queer panic."

Hyunjin wheels around, pointing immediately. "It's Chan! He's having the crisis!"

Chan just nods gravely, expression dry. "Yes. Me. I am so very confused. Do I like dick? Do I like pussy? Do I like everything? I am but a lost and terrified man in a sea of desire."

Minho snorts. "Chan. You came out as pansexual like a year ago. I baked you a fucking cake. Blue, pink, and yellow frosting. The pan flag. Remember?"

"It was delicious," Chan says wistfully.

Minho claps a hand on Hyunjin's shoulder. "So it's you who's the confused baby queer. Got it."

Hyunjin hunches down instantly and hides behind Chan's shoulder, which is ridiculous because he's taller. It looks like a giraffe trying to hide behind a potted plant. Chan doesn't even flinch, just adjusts his stance so Hyunjin can use him as a human shield.

"Aw, poor baby. Do you have big feelings for a man?"

Hyunjin nods behind Chan's head, expression pouty and tragic.

"Oh no," Minho gasps. "Poor thing. Is it confusing?"

Another sad little nod.

"And do you also like said man's girlfriend?"

Yet another nod, lower lip now actively pushed out like a kicked puppy.

Minho holds his arms open. "Come here. Come to me, I will be your guiding queer."

Hyunjin snuggles into Minho's shoulder with an embarrassed groan, and Minho pets his head. "There, there. You're not broken. You're just a bisexual mess with feelings. It happens to the best of us."

"I'm not bisexual," Hyunjin mumbles.

Chan squints. "Then what are you?"

"I don't fucking know," Hyunjin huffs.

Minho raises an eyebrow. "So are you a top with men?"

Hyunjin shrugs. "Both."

Minho hums thoughtfully, rocking him slightly. "And with women?"

"Top."

"We can work with that. I'm seeing a dynamic. Yes. You, Jisung, and Y/N will live in throuple bliss before the year is out."

Hyunjin groans into his shoulder. "Can you explain this polythagorus thing to me again?"

Minho blinks. "You mean polyamory?"

Chan whistles low. "Jesus fucking Christ."

Minho pats his back. "Okay. So, Polyamory means you can love more than one person. At the same time. And it's okay, as long as everyone involved knows about it and agrees to it. No secrets. No cheating. It's about communication and consent. Think of it like, okay, picture a cake."

Chan lifts a finger. "A cake metaphor?"

"Shut up, I like it," Minho snaps. "Picture a cake. You're hungry. One slice? That's monogamy. You love that slice, it's a great slice. But maybe you want another slice, a different flavour. Doesn't mean you don't like the first one. You want chocolate and vanilla."

Chan chimes in. "As long as both slices are okay with being eaten together-"

"Chan,"

"You started it!"

"Anyway," Minho continues, ignoring Chan, "you just have to make sure all the slices are happy. If one slice doesn't want to be shared, then the cake collapses. And no one gets dessert."

Hyunjin stares between them. "That made sense. In a fucked-up way."

Chan nods seriously. "We're here for you."

Minho brushes Hyunjin's bangs back gently. "I'm your eomma now. Chan is your appa."

"I accept this," Hyunjin says solemnly. "Guide me."

And they do. They sit there in a weird triangle of chaos, drawing emotional maps in the dirt and giving metaphorical cake lectures until Hyunjin starts to feel a little less like his heart is on fire and a little more like maybe he can figure this shit out.

The Alpha Phi house is fucking vibrating. Bass thuds so hard through the floorboards that it feels like the whole house is breathing in time with the music. The lights are low, multicoloured LEDs crisscrossing through the air. The theme for tonight is pirates, which means the house is a chaos of leather and ruffles, cheap plastic swords and dramatic eyeliner, sweaty bodies pressed together and grinding.

Hyunjin's drunk. His vest hangs open, exposing the mesh shirt clinging to his chest, black and burgundy fabric fluttering slightly every time he moves. His crisp white cargo pants catch the colored lights like they're a spotlight, and the heavy lace-up boots he's wearing stomp perfectly in time with the beat. The red headband tied around his forehead has slipped slightly, a few strands of blonde hair sticking to his temples with sweat. He's dancing between a girl in a corset and a guy in an open shirt and eye patch, both of them pressed in close, hips rocking with his in perfect rhythm.

It's hot. It's good. He's in his element. The world is spinning in the best possible way, music loud enough to drown out his thoughts, people grinding up on him, alcohol warming every inch of his body. He closes his eyes and lets himself go with the beat, breath shallow, sweat beading at the back of his neck.

But then he hears you. Your laugh. That bright, unfiltered giggle that's impossible to miss, even in a room like this.

You step out of the kitchen with Jisung, both of you flushed and tipsy, drinks still in hand, and Hyunjin's brain short-circuits. You're both glowing under the string lights, skin radiant and eyes sparkling.

Your pirate costume is nothing short of criminal. The off-the-shoulder blouse leaves your collarbones and shoulders bare, the flared sleeves dramatic as hell, and the black brocade corset hugging your waist like it was made to be touched. The burgundy mini skirt ruffles at your thighs, dangerously short, showing just enough to send Hyunjin into a full spiral. The sash draped around your hips shimmers every time you move, the same hue as your headscarf, and the knee-high boots you're wearing look like they were fucking designed to stomp on hearts.

And Jisung is a fever dream in red. His coat swirls behind him like a fucking cape, the white ruffled shirt underneath open at the chest just enough to be illegal. His black pants hug his waist perfectly, tucked into combat boots that gleam under the lights. The fake belt of weapons does nothing to distract from the real weapon: him.

Hyunjin freezes mid-step, half in a body roll with the guy behind him, and just stares.

Jisung twirls you, grinning from ear to ear as you spin, your skirt fanning out dramatically before you land against his chest, giggling, faces inches apart. Then Jisung cups your jaw and kisses you full on the mouth, hot and messy and eager. You melt into him like you're made of fucking sunshine and rum.

Hyunjin feels like someone just kicked him in the chest.

And then you pull Jisung onto the dance floor as It Wasn't Me blasts through the speakers. Hyunjin watches as the two of you fall into rhythm instantly. Jisung's hands grip your waist, and you toss your head back, laughing again as you grind against him.

Your leg wraps around his waist without hesitation, boot hooked behind his back, and he catches you easily, holding you up by the thigh like it's muscle memory.

It's obscene.

You're dancing front to front, bodies locked together, sweat-slick and perfectly in sync. Jisung guides your movements like it's choreographed, his hands roaming your waist, your thigh, one trailing up to the small of your back. The two of you are looking at each other like the rest of the room doesn't exist.

But everyone else sees. Everyone is watching. The dance floor shifts to create a circle around you both. You're like a succubus and an incubus dancing together, too hot, too coordinated, too much for anyone else to compete with. People cheer, whistle, someone yells "Get a room!" and someone else immediately yells "No, don't!"

Hyunjin can't breathe. He wants to join you. Wants to be pressed between you and Jisung, wants to feel your nails in his skin and Jisung's breath on his neck. Wants to be dizzy with your perfume and Jisung's cologne. He wants everything, all of it, every fucking impossible, burning piece of it.

But he just stands there, frozen, watching. Then a hand touches his shoulder, and Chan leans in, voice raised over the music. "Come on, Jinnie. Let's get you a drink, hmm?"

Hyunjin just nods. He doesn't trust himself to speak. Chan pulls him gently but firmly through the crowd, towards the makeshift bar where Minho is working his black-gloved magic with a bottle of rum.

Minho's pirate outfit is dramatic even by his standards. A white ruffled shirt, sleek black vest, vertical striped pants that make his legs look miles long, and lace-up boots. His layered necklaces clink when he moves, and the wide-brimmed hat he's wearing somehow doesn't fall off even as he dramatically shakes a cocktail mixer.

He spots Hyunjin immediately, eyes lighting up in mock sympathy. "Oh my child. Look at you. All confused and sad and drunk."

Hyunjin just nods sadly, face flushed from both the alcohol and the emotional whiplash of seeing his dream throuple making out in the middle of the party.

Minho opens his arms wide. "Come to eomma Minho, my sweet, sad, single child who wants a boyfriend and a girlfriend."

Hyunjin doesn't even hesitate. He mopes over and slumps into Minho's side like a sad sack of limbs and heartbreak, and Minho wraps one arm around his shoulders, gently stroking his hair.

Chan raises an eyebrow and gestures with his chin toward the dance floor. Minho follows his gaze, peering over Hyunjin's head, and then he sees you and Jisung, still dancing like sex demons, and his mouth parts in silent understanding.

"Ah," he says softly. "I see."

"I wanna dance with them."

"I know, baby."

"I wanna sandwich Y/N between me and Jisung."

Minho hums. "Mmm-hmm."

"Or I wanna be the sandwich meat."

Minho coos, petting his hair again. "Of course you do, sweetheart."

Hyunjin has to hunch down to nuzzle properly into Minho's shoulder, face burning.

Chan sips the drink Minho hands him, shaking his head with a smirk. "We're gonna need to get this boy laid and cuddled before he combusts."

"We'll make it happen."

Two hours later, the Alpha Phi house has devolved into a swirling, drunken fever dream. The living room is packed. Someone's swinging a plastic sword, someone else is doing shots off a windowsill, and someone just fell down the stairs and screamed "YO-HO-HO!" on the way down.

You're tucked into Jisung's lap on the couch, flushed and giggling, comfortably squished between him and the armrest while chaos unfolds around you. He's slightly damp with sweat, curls sticking to his forehead.

"I want to fuck you on this couch," Jisung murmurs into your ear. "Right now. Just rip that little skirt off and bend you over the armrest while everyone watches."

You choke on your drink, giggling, slapping a hand to his chest. "Jesus, Ji-"

"I bet you'd like it," he continues, tone filthy and unbothered. "Bet you'd whimper all soft and pretty, make that fucking face you make when you're desperate. Let me ruin you in front of everyone."

You squeal, curling into him to hide your face as your ears burn, and Jisung just laughs, teeth scraping your earlobe as he whispers, "You're so easy to fluster, I love it."

Changbin climbs onto the coffee table in front of you like he's summoning a crowd, red pirate jacket flaring behind him like a cape. He slams his beer can against his thigh and yells, "TRUTH OR DARE, YOU SCURVY LANDLUBBERS!"

The room erupts into cheers. Empty cans rain onto the floor. Someone falls off the loveseat in excitement.

"Only if it ends in an orgy!"

"That's every Friday, shut up, Lix!" Changbin cackles, waving him off. "Circle up, sluts!"

You and Jisung end up still tangled together on the couch, your legs slung across his lap, his arms caging you in. Someone throws down cushions, and people start gathering, giggling and drunk, with drinks in hand. The bottle starts spinning, some off-brand soju bottle that probably cost a grand total of 3,000 won but is about to wreck lives.

The dares are chaotic. Jeongin has to propose to a stranger. Someone's dared to do a lap dance for Seungmin, which he tolerates for exactly three seconds before shoving the guy off with an eye roll. Felix is dared to switch outfits with a girl, which he does in record time. There's a lot of yelling, a lot of laughing, and entirely too much glitter.

Then it lands on you and Jisung.

Changbin grins, evil. "Couples dare! You two, mime sex."

The room goes fucking feral. Screams. Laughter. Chants of "DO IT! DO IT!"

Jisung raises his eyebrows at you, biting back a grin. "What do you think, Jagiya? Wanna give them a show?"

You snort, already slipping out of his lap. "If we're doing this, we're committing."

"Oh we're fucking committing," he grins, grabbing your hand and pulling you up with him.

You plant your feet, bend forward slightly, hands on your thighs, and Jisung whoops behind you, immediately sliding in close, one hand on your waist, the other miming an obscene thrust as he grinds behind you in time with the beat.

The crowd loses it. Whistles. Screaming. Someone throws a cushion at the wall. Jeongin covers his face, half-horrified, half-laughing. Chan yells, "PLEASE USE PROTECTION!" and someone else yells, "TOO LATE!"

Jisung leans down and murmurs loud enough for you to hear, "This is exactly how I want to bend you over tonight."

You shriek with laughter, breaking the pose, spinning around to smack his chest. He catches your wrist and kisses your palm like the dramatic bastard he is.

You collapse back onto the couch, breathless, and Jisung immediately pulls you into his lap again, grinning so wide it hurts.

Then the bottle spins and lands on Minho.

"Truth or dare?" Changbin asks.

"Dare," Minho says, completely unfazed.

"Kiss the person you last jerked off thinking about."

Minho doesn't even blink. He turns, calmly grabs Chan by the collar of his pirate shirt, and yanks him forward. Chan doesn't resist. Their mouths crash together, all teeth and heat, Chan's hand sliding into Minho's hair. It's aggressive, filthy, passionate. Minho makes a low noise in his throat, and Chan presses him back against the wall with a grunt.

Jeongin screams. Seungmin screams. Changbin throws his hands in the air and yells, "CALLED IT!"

"Fucking finally!"

"Was it really me?" Chan breathes into Minho's mouth when they finally part.

Minho smirks. "You had your hands on my hips during warm-up. I'm only human."

The game continues. Things get wilder. More kissing. More stripping. Someone's dared to streak around the backyard. Someone else tries to juggle beer cans and fails spectacularly. People are drunk enough to be unhinged, but not so drunk they don't know what's happening.

Then it lands on Hyunjin. He's cross-legged on the floor, cheeks flushed, red headband crooked. He's been quiet since the game started, nursing the same drink and looking too closely at you and Jisung every time you laugh.

"Truth," he says, voice slightly slurred.

A girl across the circle leans forward, eyes gleaming. "Tell us something you'd never say sober."

"Well," Hyunjin starts, pushing his hair back, "let me fucking tell you something."

Chan's eyes widen. "Uh, Jinnie-"

"No, Christopher! Now is my moment of truth, so to speak!"

Minho sits up straighter, mouth parting. "Hyun, honey, maybe-"

"No! This is truth, right? I have to be honest!"

You glance at Jisung. He's tense now, brows pinched.

Chan drags a hand down his face. "Fuck."

Minho covers his eyes, then peeks through his fingers. "God, it's happening."

Hyunjin stands, wobbling slightly, and points straight at you and Jisung.

"You two!" he announces. "Oh yes! With your perfect little relationship! Happy! So happy! And here's me! Standing on the outside looking in!"

People glance at each other. Jeongin's mouth is open. Changbin's eyes are huge. Seungmin is already cracking up.

"Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend somewhere along- wait. That's a song." Hyunjin blinks. "Uh, basically, I like you both. Like super like you both. And I want to bang you both. Big fucking time. And I've jerked off to you two too many times. Like, a disgusting amount. Like borderline shameful."

You and Jisung freeze.

"What the fuck," Jisung breathes.

Hyunjin hiccups. "Everyone wants Hyunjin! But not the people he wants to want him! No siree! I'm stuck watching you two be happy, wanting to be happy with you!"

He throws his hands out like a Shakespearean actor on a crumbling stage. "There's a fire starting in my heart, reaching a fever pitch- Fuck, another song, sorry! I need to stop that!"

He wobbles forward. "What I meant to say is-"

Minho is up in a flash, grabbing one arm. "Okay! That's enough truth for one night"

Chan's already on the other side. "Let's take a walk, yeah?"

"Noooooo, I wasn't done! I had a metaphor about sandwiches and me being the meat!"

They vanish down the hall with Hyunjin still whining.

You and Jisung stare at each other, stunned silent.

Changbin opens and closes his mouth. Jeongin looks like he just got slapped.

Seungmin wheezes, laughing uncontrollably. "He fucking quoted Adele. And The Fray. In the same monologue."

Felix pulls away from the two people he was making out with on the stairs. "What the fuck did I just miss?!"

Hyunjin wakes up to the distinct feeling of breath tickling the side of his neck. The air is warm, and there's a heavy weight across his torso, and something scratchy and suspiciously Minho-scented pressed to his back. His mouth tastes like someone funnelled battery acid and a hint of lime down his throat. The ceiling above him is unfamiliar, and when he blinks through the pounding behind his eyes, he registers immediately that this is not his room.

He's in Chan's.

He's very much not alone, either. One arm is curled around his waist, definitely Minho's, judging by the sleek black nail polish and the quiet grumbles of sleep still leaving his mouth. Another arm is draped over his chest like a fucking weighted blanket, heavy and protective, and attached to Chan, who is very much awake and staring directly down at him with that wide-eyed, silently screaming dad expression.

Hyunjin makes a noise that can only be described as a startled kitten with a hangover and shifts to look up at them both, hair a mess of blonde tangles and dried glitter. His voice comes out scratchy. "Why am I not in my room?"

Minho cracks one eye open, sighs, and closes it again. Chan's expression doesn't shift.

"Oh boy," Chan mutters under his breath.

Hyunjin tenses. "What. What happened. Why the fuck are you making that face, Christopher."

"Well," he says slowly, "how much do you remember?"

Hyunjin groans, rubbing his face. "I remember dancing. And rum. And-" He pauses. His face twitches. "Oh God. Did I- did I try to twerk on Felix or was that a dream?"

"That part was real," Minho says flatly, not opening his eyes. "And it was mutual."

Chan hesitates and Hyunjin's stomach drops. "Chan."

"You may have... said some things," Chan starts carefully. "During Truth or Dare."

"What things?" Hyunjin asks, already trying to sit up. Minho groans in protest and rolls away.

Chan winces. "You kind of confessed. To, uh, some feelings."

Hyunjin blinks. "I what."

"You stood up in front of everyone," Minho chimes in helpfully from where his face is now buried in a pillow. "Quoted Adele. And The Fray. Told Jisung and Y/N that you wanted to fuck them. Said you've jerked off to them too many times."

Hyunjin stares at them, pale.

"Like, full monologue," Chan adds. "Standing ovation level. Theatrical. Lots of hand gestures."

"No."

Chan just gives him a soft, pained smile.

Minho's face is still in the pillow. "Yup."

"No!" Hyunjin bolts upright and grabs the nearest object, Chan's resistance bands, which are looped over a chair next to the bed. "I'm ending it! I'm done! Goodbye, cruel fucking world-"

Chan yelps and lunges forward, grabbing the bands before Hyunjin can loop them dramatically around his neck.

"Jesus, calm the fuck down, Romeo!"

"Let me die!"

"You're not dying in my fucking room!"

Minho sits up finally, eyes still sleepy. "If you're gonna die, can you do it in the basement? We already have horror-movie energy down there."

Hyunjin throws the bands at Chan's head, scrambles off the bed, and dives for the floor.

"Oh my God, don't-"

But it's too late. Hyunjin slides dramatically under the bed, curling up in the dark, clutching a throw pillow to his chest. His voice comes out muffled from under the frame.

"I'm never coming out. I live here now. This is my home."

Minho throws another pillow down at him. Then a blanket. Then another. Then a third. "There. Nest, achieved."

Hyunjin grabs them all and makes a pathetic little burrow. "Perfect. Leave me to rot."

"It's actually very clean under here," he adds after a moment. "Like, disturbingly clean. Not a single spec of dust. Chan, you serial killer."

"It's called cleaning, you dramatic bastard," Chan says, dropping to his knees to peer under the bed. "Welcome to adulthood."

Hyunjin sighs deeply, curling into his fortress of shame. "Okay. Now I wallow. Forever."

"You can't wallow forever."

"I can. And I will."

Chan groans, flopping onto the floor dramatically beside him. Minho joins him a second later, lying on his stomach and peering under the bed like it's an animal enclosure at the zoo.

Chan props his chin on his hand. "So what's your long-term plan?"

"Live under here," Hyunjin says. "Eat crumbs. Survive off despair and humidity."

Minho tosses a sock at his face. "You're such a fucking mess."

"A hot mess," Hyunjin replies. "A hot mess of regret and sexual frustration."

"Do you want to know what happened after we dragged you away?" Minho asks.

"No," Hyunjin says. "But yes."

"Y/N and Jisung sat there stunned like they'd just been hit by a bus made of horny confessions," Minho says. "Jeongin looked like he saw a ghost. Felix was mid-threesome and had to ask what he missed. Seungmin laughed so hard he choked on a beer."

Hyunjin groans, pressing his face to the floor.

"You are now known as the horny bard of Alpha Phi," Minho adds, grinning.

"I'm dying," Hyunjin whimpers. "This is my coffin."

Chan sighs again. "Look. It could've been worse."

"How?!"

"You could've pissed yourself."

"...Fair."

Chan nudges his foot. "You know we love you, right?"

"Not as much as I love Jisung and Y/N."

Minho smirks. "Well, they know now."

"I was gonna ease into it! Not confess mid-orgy-truth-or-dare!"

Chan grins. "You've never eased into anything in your life."

Minho shrugs. "Could be worse. You could've confessed sober."

"At least now I can blame the rum."

Chan lies back on the floor. "You know we'll help you figure this shit out."

"Even if I live under this bed forever?"

"Even then."

Hyunjin burrows deeper under the blankets. "Fine. But I'm not coming out until everyone forgets I quoted Adele."

The kitchen smells like hangover salvation. Jisung stands at the stove with a ladle in hand, hair still a mess of curls from sleep, eyes glassy from the fallout of last night's disaster. His boxers ride low on his hips as he stirs the haejangguk like he's willing it to erase the emotional carnage and the pounding in his skull.

You're perched on the counter nearby, legs swinging slightly, one of his oversized black t-shirts hanging off your frame and a pair of lace boyshorts barely visible beneath the hem. There's a textbook open in your lap, it's about the dancing plague of 1518. Normally, you'd be narrating it aloud, voice animated as you dissected historical absurdity, but you're silent.

Both of you are.

There's no teasing. No giggling. No whispered filth from Jisung. He's not pulling your legs apart with his foot under the table or leaning over to bite your shoulder like an affectionate menace. And you're not talking either, not about plague bacteria or weird 16th-century shit or the fact that you are both very clearly avoiding the thing you're both thinking about.

Neither of you has said a single fucking word about what Hyunjin yelled last night, about how he poured his heart and libido all over the floor and left you both sitting in stunned silence. You didn't talk when you stumbled back into Jisung's room, didn't talk when you stripped, didn't talk when you fell asleep curled around each other with tension heavy enough to drown in.

Neither of you notices the blur of movement at the edge of the hallway. A flash of blonde hair. A whisper of indecision.

Hyunjin, wrapped in one of Chan's hoodies and two layers of guilt, peeks into the kitchen. He sees you sitting there, beautiful and quiet and unreadable. Jisung at the stove, solemn, stirring without rhythm. It's like a still from a film, a tragic indie one, probably with subtitles and a heartbreaking soundtrack.

He freezes.

You're not laughing. The two of you are not even talking.

His stomach drops to his knees, and his hands curl around the sleeves of the hoodie like he's trying to become smaller. Without a sound, he steps back and scuttles up the stairs like a startled raccoon.

He bursts into Chan's room, still breathless, eyes wide, and flings himself back onto the floor where he'd made his dramatic little blanket cave under the bed earlier.

Chan looks up from where he's sitting cross-legged on the rug, phone in one hand. Minho is lounging on Chan's bed, flipping through a fashion magazine that he only pretends to hate.

Hyunjin throws himself onto the floor like a martyr. "I broke them!"

Chan blinks. "Broke what?"

"Them!" Hyunjin flails his arms like a conductor leading a symphony of doom. "Y/N and Jisung! They're not talking! I went to get coffee, I swear, but I saw them in the kitchen, and they were just existing. In silence. You know how fucked that is?!"

Minho sits up, startled. "Wait, what?!"

Hyunjin scrambles upright. "They're being quiet! Both of them!"

Chan's brow furrows. "Okay, but like, did you get coffee though?"

Hyunjin throws his arms up. "No! I forgot the coffee because they were being weird! Bigger problems!"

Minho stares. "They're not talking to each other?!"

Hyunjin nods furiously. "Not a word! Just cooking and staring at a fucking textbook. In silence!"

Both Chan and Minho freeze like someone told them Santa Claus isn't real. Chan stands slowly, hand to his chest. "None of us has coffee. And they're quiet?"

"Yes! Y/N and Jisung are SILENT!"

Chan looks like he's aged five years in five seconds. "Oh no."

Minho covers his mouth with one hand. "It's worse than we thought."

Chan immediately grabs his slipper off the floor and starts smacking Hyunjin with it.

"THIS," slap "IS WHAT," slap "HAPPENS," slap "WHEN YOU GET DRUNK," slap "AND CONFESS MID-PARTY LIKE A MUSICAL THEATER STUDENT ON A BENDER!"

Hyunjin doesn't resist. He just bows his head, taking each slap with solemn dignity.

Minho watches, arms crossed. "Are you done?"

"No. Just one more hit."

Smack.

Hyunjin blinks up at them, defeated. "This is your fault."

Chan and Minho exchange a glance.

Hyunjin sits up. "You two. With your polythagorous bullshit. I was fine just being a pining, repressed disaster. But noooo, you had to talk about cake slices and now look!"

Minho blinks. "He's got a point."

Chan nods slowly. "We did awaken the beast."

Hyunjin stands, suddenly empowered. "I demand retribution!"

Chan sighs and hands him the slipper.

Minho nods once and stands up beside Chan. "Go on. Do what must be done."

They both bend over. Hyunjin doesn't hesitate. He swats them both across the ass, one after the other, dramatic and righteous.

"BAD PARENTS!" Whack.

"YOU DID THIS!" Whack.

"I WAS FINE JUST MASTURBATING IN SECRET!" Whack.

Minho straightens up and nods, rubbing his ass. "We deserved that."

Chan groans, standing. "Honestly, yeah."

The living room is soaked in late afternoon light, soft and warm through the open windows, catching the dust motes drifting lazily through the air. The television is playing Horrible Histories, your favourite show to throw on during low-brain-cell days, and you and Jisung are planted firmly on the couch like a pair of content mushrooms.

You're curled up on one end, feet in his lap, your white midi dress with delicate blue flowers spilling around you. Jisung looks equally at peace, sprawled out in soft, worn lounge clothes, a grey oversized hoodie and matching sweatpants.

On screen, the William Wallace parody begins, the absurdly catchy Scottish Rebel song, complete with fake beards and bad accents. You perk up immediately, your entire body alert like a meerkat who heard the snack bag rustle.

"Look at Ben Willbond," you say, pointing as the camera zooms in on him in a kilt and messy wig. "As William Wallace! Look at that cheekbone structure. Revolutionary."

"You and Ben Willbond, I swear..."

"Tell me he doesn't look like he'd dirty talk in iambic pentameter."

Jisung snorts. "You know what? I would fuck him too. Or be fucked by him. Especially Mike Peabody"

You sit bolt upright. "VINDICATION!"

He grins, pulling you closer into his side as you collapse against him in victory. "Can't believe you've been trying to convert me into a Willbond slut for this long and all it took was a newsreader character and a Scottish rebellion."

"Some of us are visionaries,"

Jisung kisses your forehead, fingers still moving through your hair. "Some of us are thirsty for niche British actors."

You giggle, nuzzling into his chest. "Don't pretend you're not"

"I invoke my right to silence,"

You both lapse into easy silence again, comfort so thick you could drape it over yourselves like a blanket. You haven't talked about Hyunjin. Neither of you has brought it up. But something about the way you lean into each other now, like maybe you're both waiting for the same storm to pass, speaks volumes.

The door creaks open behind you, and neither of you pays much attention. Alpha Phi is a revolving door of shirtless men and discarded laundry. But then a voice pipes up, half-distracted, from behind the couch.

"So, Chan, I was researching polyamory and-"

Hyunjin stops dead. He's still looking at his phone, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, brows furrowed like he's deep in a Wikipedia hole. But then his eyes finally lift, and he freezes in place as he registers that Chan is not in the room.

You are. And so is Jisung. Both of you are staring at him like deer in headlights. Matching, slack-jawed expressions of pure, disbelieving what the fuck.

Hyunjin's entire soul leaves his body. He stands there, frozen for maybe a second, then clears his throat and says with the dry finality of a man accepting execution,

"So. I'm off to kill myself. Nice knowing you two. Sorry about the party thing."

He spins on his heel to leave, but Jisung sits up fast. "Hyunjin, wait!"

Hyunjin pauses, then slowly drops to a crouch behind the loveseat and disappears. A second later, his eyes peek over the top of it. Just his eyes.

"I'm ready,"

You and Jisung stare at him, unsure whether to laugh or start crying.

Jisung rubs a hand down his face. "Do you like both of us?"

Hyunjin doesn't move. Just nods slowly, forehead barely visible above the couch now.

Jisung exhales. "Why didn't you just tell us?"

Hyunjin groans. "Because I didn't think I'd ever like-like a guy outside of sex, let alone liking a guy and his girlfriend at the same time! I've been having a sexual identity crisis, and a romantic crisis, and then Chan and Minho gave me a dumb polyamory talk with a cake metaphor, and I got even more confused, and then I confessed during Truth or Dare, and now you're both in a relationship, and I'm a walking disaster! It's been a lot!"

Jisung blinks. "Is that why you've been such a little shit?"

Hyunjin nods again.

You snort before you can stop it. A loud, abrupt laugh that you try to smother with a pillow but fail to contain. Your whole body shakes as you press the pillow to your face, and Jisung starts laughing too, trying to hold it in but fucking losing it the second he sees you crying with giggles.

"It's not funny!"

You pull the pillow away from your face just long enough to wheeze out, "I'm sorry! You were doing the equivalent of pulling Jisung's pigtails this whole time!"

Hyunjin lets out a long, pained sound and ducks fully behind the couch again. "I hate it here. This is bullying!"

You and Jisung are gasping with laughter now, doubled over, eyes watering. Jisung wipes a tear from his cheek and says, "Okay, okay, sorry. For real."

Hyunjin pops his head up again, cheeks flushed. "Now that it's all out in the open, are you two open to polythagorousness?"

You both freeze.

"To what?" you ask slowly.

Hyunjin sighs and makes a triangle with his hands. "You know. Like polythagory"

Jisung leans back, rubbing his temples. "Oh my god. You mean polyamory."

Hyunjin nods quickly. "That one."

Jisung glances at you. You nod at him. Then Jisung turns back to Hyunjin. "We've talked about it before. We've established we'd be open to it."

Hyunjin's eyes bulge. "Why wouldn't you tell me that?!"

Jisung throws his hands up. "Why would we tell you we had that conversation?!"

"DO YOU KNOW THE COMPLICATIONS I HAVE BEEN HAVING?! THE PERSONAL JOURNEY I HAVE BEEN ON?!" Hyunjin slaps a hand to his forehead. "I am taking you two on a date. A real date. That I will plan. And pay for. And you two will fall madly in love with me and we will be polythageorean!"

"Polyamorous," Jisung corrects gently.

"WHATEVER!" Hyunjin yells and storms dramatically out of the room.

You and Jisung stare after him, silent for a long beat, and then Jisung turns to you.

"Well," he says, voice hoarse from laughing, "we're gonna die, huh?"

You lean into him, grinning. "If we're going down, at least we're going down polythageorean."

The morning sun slices through the blinds in stripes, golden beams dancing lazily across the messy floor of Jisung's room. You and Jisung are both fresh from the shower. Jisung's standing in the middle of the room, towel wrapped low around his hips, aggressively scrubbing at his hair with another towel like it personally offended him.

You're perched on the edge of his desk chair in nothing but a towel, your legs crossed as you lean toward the standing desk mirror he bought for you. Your makeup bag is splayed open across the surface. You're carefully sweeping a soft pastel green eyeshadow across your lids with a flat brush, tongue poking out in concentration. Underneath your eyes, a shimmer of silver catches the light with every blink, sparkling like tiny constellations on your skin.

Jisung drops his towel and heads to the dresser. He digs around for a second before pulling on a pair of snug black boxer briefs. You glance up just in time to catch the stretch of his back, the curve of his shoulders, and the way his abs flex when he exhales.

"Can you not be hot while I'm trying to focus?" you ask, not bothering to hide the grin curling your lips.

Jisung turns, already slipping on a fitted black long-sleeve top that clings to every inch of his torso like it was fucking painted on. "Me? Hot? Never."

You raise an eyebrow. "You look like the lead vocalist in a post-apocalyptic K-pop group."

"Thank you," he says seriously, then grabs his tailored black cargo pants and slides them on, adjusting the waistband before cinching it with a bold gold Versace belt. He throws on a chunky gold chain with a thick cross pendant, and then turns to check himself out in the mirror. "Should I do the earrings?"

"You always should do the earrings."

Jisung laughs, reaching into the little dish on his dresser for the pair of small hoops. "God, I'm fucking nervous."

You scoff. "You? You're nervous?"

"Uh, yeah? Jagiya, Hyunjin is taking us on a date. That he planned. This man has taste. He's got Pinterest boards. He coordinates his outfits to the mood of the day."

"You coordinated your belt to your chain,"

"Yeah, but that was for you. If it were for Hyunjin, there'd be a fog machine involved."

You laugh, setting your brush down and reaching for your moisturiser. "Fair point."

You swipe a generous amount over your skin, massaging it in as you let the eye makeup set, then stand, and move to the closet. You pull on a white strapless bra and a pair of lacy white boyshorts before stepping into your outfit.

The off-the-shoulder crop top hugs you snugly, the puffed sleeves bouncing slightly as you tug it into place. The fabric is soft, delicate, edged with small ruffles that flutter when you move. You pull on the pastel green floral midi skirt next, adjusting the high waist and smoothing it down, letting the slit rest comfortably on your thigh. Finally, you bend to lace up your white high-top Converse, hopping slightly to get the tongue aligned just right.

You slide your star earrings in and clip on your silver necklace, then move back to the mirror to start taking the curlers out of your hair one by one, letting the soft curls bounce down, framing your face perfectly. Then you pull the top half back, securing it loosely with a white ribbon, two strands left loose in the front to frame your face. You glance at Jisung through the mirror.

"You're staring,"

"You're a fucking fairy," he says, completely deadpan. "I feel like you should float around asking villagers riddles and luring men into a dance circle."

You turn to him, hands on your hips. "And you look like you seduce tourists in European nightclubs and steal their wallets. Together, we are unstoppable."

There's a knock at the door. "Hyunjin's waiting outside," Minho calls through it. "Stop being weird and get down there."

You grab your small white shoulder bag and sling it over your shoulder, holding it open as Jisung drops his phone and wallet into it. You toss in your phone and your little coin purse, zip it closed, and then both of you reach for your sunglasses, Jisung's are round and slightly tinted, yours oversized and square with silver rims.

You take a moment at the door, both of you checking each other one last time.

"You good?" Jisung asks.

"As I'll ever be," you say, breath catching just slightly.

You head downstairs, sneakers thumping against the steps, and step out into the bright afternoon sun.

And then you see him.

Hyunjin's leaning against the side of his convertible like it's a goddamn magazine shoot. He's dressed in a deep plum-toned corduroy set, jacket oversized, sleeves pushed up slightly to reveal his wrists adorned with silver bracelets, pants wide-legged and pooling just perfectly over chunky black sneakers. A black Versace tank top is visible beneath the jacket, clinging to his torso like a second skin. His belt has a massive silver buckle that gleams in the sun, and he's wearing oversized black sunglasses that hide most of his face. His hair is half pulled back, the rest cascading in soft waves around his face.

Jisung stumbles slightly and mutters under his breath, "Lord, have mercy."

You nod slowly, eyes wide, and both of you slide your sunglasses down your noses for a better look. Hyunjin catches it and smirks.

"Subtle," he says, his voice amused as he straightens and strides over to the passenger door, opening it with a dramatic flourish.

He doesn't say anything else, just gestures with a bow and a cocky tilt of his head.

You and Jisung glance at each other. You both shrug. And then you climb in, Jisung right behind you.

Hyunjin closes the door, rounds the car, and slides into the driver's seat like he owns the world.

As the engine roars to life, Jisung leans over to you and whispers, "If we don't fuck him by the end of this date, it's only because we're dead or he's very chivalrous."

You nod solemnly. "Agreed."

Hyunjin pulls the car to a smooth stop at the curb of a sleek building tucked between a row of quirky cafés and speciality bookstores, the kind of unassuming exterior that practically dares you to underestimate it. He kills the engine and leans an elbow casually over the steering wheel, turning to face you and Jisung in the backseat.

"Okay," he says, voice tinged with mischievous glee. "Keep your eyes down until I say so. I'm serious. No peeking."

You and Jisung exchange a look and obey without question, ducking your heads like kids being told to wait before opening a birthday present.

"You better not be taking us into a butcher shop," Jisung mutters, lips twitching.

You snort. "If you are, I swear to god, I will cry."

"I promise it's not a butcher," Hyunjin says, grin audible in his voice. "Trust me. You're gonna love it."

He slides out of the car and circles around to open the back door again with a little bow. You keep your head down as you step out, letting him take your hand to help you out of the low seat. Jisung follows, doing a dramatic little stumble like he's disoriented, mumbling "where the fuck am I?" under his breath. Hyunjin's chuckle vibrates through the air.

He guides you both to the front of the building with a firm but gentle hand on your lower backs, navigating the entrance like he's been here before. The moment the door opens, a blast of cool air hits your face.

You hear Hyunjin speak to someone at the ticket counter. "Three, please."

There's a pause, the beep of a scanner, and the gentle crinkle of printed paper. Hyunjin takes the tickets and turns toward you both.

"Okay," he says, excitement bubbling under the surface, "you can look now."

You and Jisung lift your heads. The massive banner overhead reads: The History of Medicine: From Leeches to Lasers – A Special Pop-Up Exhibit.

Your jaw drops. Jisung lets out a sharp laugh of disbelief, eyes wide as he stares at the life-sized, grotesque medieval surgery diorama posed right at the entrance.

"Welcome," Hyunjin says, grinning like the little shit he is, "to your wet dream."

You're beaming before you can stop it. "You planned this?"

"Hell yeah, I did," Hyunjin says proudly. "Minho helped me find it and proofread the directions. Chan double-checked the route for traffic and told me to bring mints in case we kiss later."

Jisung's already ten steps ahead, pointing at a display case of antique amputation saws. "Oh my god, is that a 17th-century bone saw?!"

You grab Hyunjin's hand on instinct, dragging him forward. "This is fucking amazing, I can't believe you found this. I didn't even know there was a pop-up museum like this."

"I did research," Hyunjin says smugly as he lets you tug him forward. "Which, by the way, included scrolling through Reddit forums at 3 a.m. about obscure travelling medical exhibits. You're welcome."

Jisung turns around and walks backwards so he can talk to both of you while staring at the plague doctor mannequin in the corner. "Did you know they used to think bad smells caused disease? Like they believed if it smelled bad, it was bad. That's why plague doctors wore those masks, they stuffed them with herbs to filter the air."

"Miasma theory," you add, beaming. "They thought bad air spread sickness. It wasn't until the mid-1800s that germ theory started getting traction. Like, people were bathing in rivers of shit and wondering why they were dying."

Hyunjin makes a face. "Okay, that's fucking disgusting."

You giggle and lean into his side. "We haven't even gotten to the part where they drilled holes in people's skulls to release demons."

Jisung points dramatically to the map displayed near the entrance, colour-coded and massive. "Wait. Hold on. This covers everything. This is like prehistoric to modern era. Look, there's a section on Mesopotamia, Egypt, Greece, Rome, medieval Europe, colonial medicine, Victorian shit, early vaccinations, oh my god. This is hours of stuff."

Hyunjin glances over, eyes landing on the map, and his face falters slightly. The museum stretches in a winding, labyrinthine path with over twenty separate rooms, each covering a different era or theme. It ends in modern-day robotics and virtual surgical tools.

He looks back at you and Jisung, who are both practically vibrating with excitement, and sighs silently. "Okay," he mutters. "Strap in, I guess."

You don't notice his internal breakdown. You're already pulling him toward the first exhibit: a collection of Neolithic skulls showing evidence of trepanation. You start rattling off facts almost immediately.

"So this hole here? That's trepanation. It's the oldest surgical procedure we know of. They drilled into people's skulls to relieve pressure or drive out evil spirits."

Jisung leans in. "What the fuck. That looks like it was done with a rock."

"Because it was done with a rock. Sometimes, flint blades. And what's even more fucked is that some people survived it with no anaesthesia, just adrenaline and eventual unconsciousness."

Hyunjin's eye twitches. "That's fucking cursed."

You keep going, dragging him from one exhibit to the next. You explain ancient Egyptian embalming methods while standing in front of a mummified hand. You talk about humoral theory and how ancient doctors believed your health depended on the balance of blood, phlegm, black bile, and yellow bile. You describe how the Black Death was blamed on planetary alignments and Jews, how urine charts were used for diagnosis, and how people drank mercury because they thought it would purify them.

Jisung adds in facts, too, sometimes absurd, sometimes niche. He explains how battlefield medics in World War I used iodine to sterilise wounds and how American doctors did lobotomies by hammering ice picks through the eye socket. You and he go back and forth, building off each other, voices rising with excitement, eyes bright.

Hyunjin trails behind, looking mildly traumatised but weirdly endeared. He keeps asking questions, even when he clearly regrets the answers.

"Wait, leeches? Like actual leeches?"

"Yes!" you say, turning around with a big grin. "They were used to balance the humours. Bloodletting was huge. They'd literally attach a leech to your skin to suck out the 'excess' blood."

Hyunjin shudders. "I'm gonna throw up."

"Do you know leech saliva has anticoagulants?" Jisung adds helpfully. "So it keeps the blood flowing. Relieves pressure and improves circulation."

Hyunjin gags. "I take back everything. This date was a mistake. I want to go home."

But he doesn't leave. He sticks close, even when he cringes, even when he physically recoils from a wax figure of a man having a limb amputated with no anaesthetic while screaming. You grab his hand every so often without thinking, fingers tangling with his, and Jisung occasionally bumps his hip, playful and warm.

Hyunjin sits on a bench between two displays and mutters, "How the fuck are you two so into this? It's all blood and pus and disease."

You flop down beside him, crossing your legs neatly, and grin. "Because it's fascinating! It's the root of everything we know now. Modern medicine exists because people did horrible, stupid, often batshit insane shit. Like giving syphilis patients mercury or treating tuberculosis with sunshine and good vibes."

Jisung drops into the seat on Hyunjin's other side. "It's like watching humanity fail forward in slow motion."

Hyunjin groans. "You guys are nerds."

You lean your head on his shoulder. "And you're stuck with us."

He pauses, then lets his head rest lightly on top of yours.

"I did this to myself," he mumbles.

"Yes, you did," Jisung agrees, stretching his legs out. "And you paid for it."

Hyunjin closes his eyes and exhales through his nose.

"You're lucky I like you both," he mutters. "Because this is the grossest date I've ever been on."

You smile, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

"Just wait," you say sweetly. "It gets way worse."

Three hours later, the three of you stumble out of the pop-up museum. You and Jisung are still talking animatedly about the final exhibit, robotic surgical assistance and experimental gene therapy, while Hyunjin trails behind, looking like he aged three years somewhere between the syphilis display and the iron lung.

"That was intense," Hyunjin mutters, stretching his arms over his head as he tries to shake off the existential dread of medieval surgical practices and the evolution of birthing instruments.

"You survived," you tease, bumping his arm with your shoulder.

"Barely," he mutters. "I need something beautiful and rich and not covered in leeches."

"Wow," Jisung says, slinging an arm casually around your waist as you all walk down the street. "Good thing you're taking us to a fancy restaurant next, huh?"

Hyunjin straightens like he forgot he still had another part of the date to host. He suddenly looks more alert, posture adjusting, like he's about to go on stage. "Right. Yes. This way. I've got it all sorted."

He leads you through a quieter part of the city, the pace slowing as you near a minimalist building with sleek black windows and gold lettering across the door: Mingle. A host greets him just inside the entrance, and Hyunjin calmly gives the name for the reservation.

"Hwang. Table for three."

The host gives a polite bow and smiles. "Of course, right this way."

You and Jisung follow him through the softly lit restaurant, the air rich with the scent of grilled seafood and earthy sauces. It's cosy but upscale, the kind of place where even the water has a complex flavour profile. The lighting is low and warm, casting everyone in a flattering golden hue, and the walls are adorned with soft, neutral textures that make the entire place feel like a secret oasis in the middle of the city.

You slip into your seat across from Hyunjin, Jisung beside you. He gives your hand a little squeeze under the table.

"Holy shit," Jisung whispers, eyes scanning the interior. "This is fancy."

Hyunjin beams, obviously proud but trying not to look too smug about it. "Chan and Minho had to call in favours for this one."

Jisung raises an eyebrow. "Wait, Chan and Minho?"

Hyunjin winces slightly. "I might have cried a little."

You snort. "You cried?"

"I was emotionally compromised, okay?" Hyunjin huffs, adjusting his sunglasses, now resting on top of his head. "I just wanted the perfect date. I had a whole meltdown on the living room floor. Minho had to bribe me with yoghurt to stop sobbing."

The waiter arrives with menus, bowing slightly and placing the elegant black booklets in front of each of you. You open yours slowly, letting your fingers run over the textured paper.

"This has been really great," Jisung says quietly, his voice soft with genuine warmth.

Hyunjin looks up fast. "Really?"

You and Jisung both nod. "Yes," you say. "Absolutely."

Hyunjin exhales hard, slumping in relief. "Thank fuck. I was genuinely ready to sob into the risotto if you told me this sucked and I wasn't throuple material. I was rehearsing a tragic speech and everything."

"You're doing great," you say sweetly, reaching across the table to squeeze his wrist.

Jisung flips through the menu with a grin. "You're like a hot mess with anxiety and accessories. It's our type."

The three of you decide to go with a full spread, choosing a selection of starters, mains, and desserts so you can share everything. The waiter returns with his notepad ready.

"For starters," you say, "we'll have the chestnut rice cake, the Korean beef jamon, and the fried red mullet with gamtae roll."

Hyunjin glances at you, grinning. "Also, the hanwoo beef tartare with smoked eel. I'm being brave."

You all settle back into the plush seats, the murmur of the restaurant around you a quiet hum of conversation and clinking glasses.

"So," Hyunjin says, swirling his water like it's wine. "Tell me more about Horrible Histories."

You gasp dramatically. "Okay, so Horrible Histories is this British historical sketch comedy show, and it's for kids technically, but it's so good. It's got songs, sketches, and recurring characters. And most of it's historically accurate!"

"It teaches kids that people in history were also just messy little shits," Jisung adds.

"There's this one character," you continue, "Mike Peabody, who's a news anchor from the past, and he reports like he's on a modern news show, but about ancient Rome or medieval London. And he's so over it all the time. Ben Willbond plays him. He's a fucking legend."

"Do not," Jisung warns seriously, "watch after season five. They changed the cast, and it went downhill so fast."

You blow a raspberry. "They replaced the original team with theatre kids. The energy was off."

Hyunjin tilts his head. "That's... weirdly passionate."

You unlock your phone, scrolling to your saved album, and spin it around to show him a photo of Ben Willbond as Alexander the Great, tunic, cape, wig, the works.

Hyunjin stares. "Damn."

"Right?!" you exclaim, delighted.

Jisung reaches for his phone. "Okay, wait, you have to see the Dick Turpin song. This is, like, peak horny horse thief energy."

He pulls up the clip and places his phone between the three of you. Hyunjin leans in, eyes narrowing.

"Oh my god," Hyunjin whispers halfway through. "They gave him eyeliner and a leather trench coat. Why is this working?"

"You're being seduced by a BBC production," you say.

"Join the club," Jisung adds.

Then you're all leaning over your screens, showing Hyunjin clips of Mike Peabody reporting from the Bastille, the Four Georges singing a boy band ballad, and Bob Hale delivering an exhausting yet iconic summary of the War of the Roses. Hyunjin is laughing so hard he has to wipe his eyes with the cloth napkin.

"This is fucking chaos," he says between laughs.

"That's the point!" you say, beaming. "It makes history fun. Also, Bob Hale is me during exams. Just panicked, over-caffeinated, and rambling facts until someone stops me."

"I can't believe I've never seen this," Hyunjin says, still chuckling as he sets his phone down. "You guys are gonna ruin my YouTube algorithm."

Jisung leans into him slightly, shoulder pressing against his. "You'll thank us later when you're humming Stupid Deaths to yourself at 3 a.m."

The first round of dishes arrives, artfully plated and aromatic. The fried red mullet is golden and crisp, the gamtae roll earthy and savoury. The beef jamon practically melts on the tongue. You take turns tasting everything, sharing bites and swapping plates like you've done this a thousand times.

You watch Jisung roll his eyes back theatrically as he chews the smoked eel. "Jesus fucking Christ, that's insane."

Hyunjin hums through a mouthful of tartare. "I feel like I should be feeding this to someone on a fur rug."

"I am wearing floral," you say, offering him a bite of rice cake. "Does that count?"

He accepts it with a grin, chewing thoughtfully before offering you a bite of his eel in return.

The night goes on, full of soft laughter and easy conversation, the kind of warmth that settles deep in your chest and makes you forget how nervous you were this morning. The main dishes are even better, silky fish mandu, perfectly cooked abalone, sweet and rich Jeju fish, puffed rice that crackles delightfully between your teeth, and a sticky rice risotto that nearly makes Hyunjin cry with joy. The king crab is tender and buttery, and all three of you go silent for a minute as you savour it.

Dessert is absurd. The bibimbap is reinvented with sweet flavours, and the rice ice cream and pudding are so good that Jisung licks the bowl when he thinks no one's watching, only to look up and catch both you and Hyunjin staring with smug grins.

"I have no shame. Zero shame."

"We know,"

The sky has long slipped into that velvety indigo that wraps the world in hush, the stars flickering faint behind a city glow too stubborn to fade entirely. The drive back to the Alpha Phi house is quiet in a way that feels full. The hum of the engine and the low city sounds do enough talking for now.

Hyunjin parks just a little crooked in the frat house's gravel-strewn driveway, the tires crunching to a halt under the porch light glow. He sits back in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel, the other bracing on the gearstick, and looks at you both.

"So... okay," he says, trying to sound casual but failing because his voice does that thing where it climbs an octave when he's trying to hide that he's a little flustered. "To do this properly, we have to pretend I don't live here. Temporarily. Right now. I'm dropping you two off like a respectable date. I'll wait five minutes, then I'll go inside. Cool?"

You and Jisung nod in tandem, amused but not arguing.

"Cool," Hyunjin repeats, nodding to himself. "Method acting. I love that for me."

You all climb out of the car, and it's suddenly very quiet in the driveway. And then Jisung steps forward and grabs the lapels of Hyunjin's jacket, tugging him in so quickly it makes Hyunjin stumble slightly.

"Wha- oh my fuck-"

And then Jisung kisses Hyunjin with full force, mouth warm and hungry, one hand still twisted in the corduroy lapel like he's making sure Hyunjin doesn't try to back away even though he absolutely isn't. Hyunjin makes a sound between a gasp and a strangled moan, and his hands come up, frozen for half a second before they curl into the fabric at Jisung's sides. Jisung is all sure movements, tilting his head, coaxing Hyunjin's mouth open, tongue teasing against Hyunjin's lower lip until the other man chokes on a whimper and gives in completely.

When Jisung finally pulls back, Hyunjin's lips are parted, glossy, and he's just standing there with his brain visibly buffering.

You step in. Soft where Jisung was firm, gentle where he was urgent. You reach up, fingers brushing the curve of Hyunjin's jaw, and kiss him, letting him lead this time. You don't push, just press your mouth to his and wait, and he does. He tilts into you, his hands finally moving with intention. One settles at your waist, the other slides up your back, pulling you in as his mouth opens against yours. He kisses like he's trying to memorise it, slow and deep and aching, tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that makes your knees weak. His teeth catch your bottom lip, and he groans into your mouth like it surprises him.

When he finally breaks away, he leans in, lips still ghosting against yours as he breathes you in.

"Shit," he whispers.

Jisung slides his arm around your waist and pulls you against him, planting a kiss on your temple. Hyunjin just stares, lips swollen, eyes wide, like he can't quite believe what just happened.

You and Jisung head inside together, your steps light and giddy.

Hyunjin doesn't move for a solid thirty seconds. Then he exhales, dazed, and brings his fingers to his lips. He leans back against his car like it's the only thing keeping him upright, head tilted to the sky, a grin slowly stretching across his face as he whispers, "What the actual fuck."

Five minutes later, Hyunjin quietly slips through the front door of the house. The lights in the kitchen are low, the overhead bulb above the stove casting a soft glow across the countertops. Chan and Minho are waiting, of course.

Minho is in a deep blue silk robe, wine glass in hand, bare legs crossed at the ankle as he leans against the counter like a smug sitcom wife. Chan is perched on the island, a bowl of strawberries in front of him and his phone in one hand.

Hyunjin walks in like a man floating above his body.

"Well?" Minho says without preamble.

Hyunjin sighs dreamily. "Fucking incredible."

Minho raises his glass. "As expected."

Hyunjin doesn't sit at the table or take a chair. He drops straight to the floor with a boneless sigh and rests his head in Minho's lap like a content cat. Minho chuckles softly and strokes his hair with the hand not holding wine.

"You smell like Chan's cologne," Hyunjin mumbles, eyes closed.

Minho clears his throat, suddenly very interested in his wine. Chan smirks over his bowl.

"No," Hyunjin gasps, eyes flying open as he props himself up on one elbow to stare up at Minho in horror. "No."

Chan's grin widens. "Yes."

"No."

Minho smiles sweetly. "Oh yes."

"You two are fucking?!"

Minho nods.

Chan shrugs. "It's new-ish."

"EW!" Hyunjin claps both hands over his ears. "It's like finding out my real eomma and appa have sex!"

Chan doesn't miss a beat. "Hyunjin, how do you think you exist? Your actual parents had sex, probably more than once, and bam, here you are."

Hyunjin lets out another strangled scream, rolling dramatically across the kitchen floor like he's trying to escape the imagery.

"So," Minho says casually, "did you ask Jisung and Y/N to be your boyfriend and girlfriend? In polyamorous bliss? You know, the entire point of tonight?"

Hyunjin freezes. "I knew I forgot something!"

Minho groans, loud and pained. "Aish!"

Chan pinches the bridge of his nose and mutters, "We raised a clown."

"I got distracted by the kissing!" Hyunjin defends. "There was tongue! I panicked!"

Minho smacks the back of his head lightly. "You idiot! You planned a five-star date, emotionally wrecked yourself, spent months having an identity crisis, and then forgot the fucking question?!"

"I'll ask them tomorrow," Hyunjin says quickly. "I swear. I'll be chill. Romantic. Like an emotionally competent adult."

Minho looks down at him, exasperated but fond. "You are lucky we love you."

Hyunjin leans against his knee again, dramatically sighing. "And I love you two, even though now I am going to have nightmares"

"You're welcome," Chan says, and shoves a strawberry into his mouth.

The morning spills into the kitchen like warm syrup, soft light stretching across the counter and casting golden stripes over the mismatched cereal boxes, abandoned textbooks, and Jisung's half-written grocery list scrawled on the whiteboard in chaotic handwriting.

You're curled up by the sink in your favourite fluffy light blue slippers, a white silk slip nightie barely visible beneath your long matching robe. The sleeves droop around your wrists as you stir the honeycomb mixture in the tiny saucepan, the air around you already heavy with the scent of caramelised sugar. You smile to yourself, spooning the gooey sweetness into two large mugs, your own with Sophie from Howl's Moving Castle, and the one with Howl for Jisung.

Jisung is swaying side to side at the stove, hair an utter mess, wearing nothing but an ancient baggy t-shirt that once belonged to you. The words IDK HOW MUCH LONGER I CAN SLAY FOR are stamped across the chest, right under a deranged image of a capybara on a jetski, wearing sunglasses. His boxers are crooked, his legs bare, and he's humming the instrumental theme to Spirited Away like it's a love song.

"Smells like sugar and a crime scene."

You blow gently across the steaming surface of your coffee. "It's my special Dalgona coffee, how dare you?"

"I love your special coffee," he replies, still dreamy. "It's better than sex. Almost."

You slide his mug over and lean against the counter. "That shirt's clinging to you like it regrets being born."

Jisung looks down at himself. "It's iconic. And you love this stupid thing."

You smile around your mug. "I do. But the capybara has more stability than you do right now."

"That's why he's my role model."

He turns back to the stove, stirring the Hobakjuk carefully, checking the texture every few seconds. The pumpkin porridge simmers peacefully, thick and velvety, the orange-gold surface flecked with tiny dots of cinnamon, nutmeg, and just enough maple syrup to make it a dessert instead of breakfast.

"Made it sweet like you like,"

You step forward and press a kiss to his cheek. "You're my favourite domestic menace."

Before he can answer, the door swings open.

Hyunjin enters like he's on a stage, arms full of fresh flowers, dramatic coat sweeping the floor like he's just walked in from a musical number. He's holding three full bouquets, one bursting with wildflowers, one structured with tulips and orchids, and one somehow featuring baby's breath arranged into a fucking heart.

You and Jisung both freeze, eyes wide as he drops the bouquets onto the counter like he's throwing down the gauntlet.

"I... have written no speech," Hyunjin begins, chest heaving as if he's already run a marathon. "But I have feelings. Deep, intense, multi-dimensional, polyangular feelings-"

Jisung chokes on his coffee, and you have to raise your mug to hide your smile, eyes watering with the effort not to laugh.

Hyunjin points to the ceiling like he's summoning divine inspiration. "For too long, I have pined. I have suffered. I have hidden in closets, under beds, in plain sight. But no more. Today, I stand before you, emotionally naked, though physically clothed in this stunning outfit, and I say: I desire throuplehood. I wish for trinity. For polynautical partnership."

You almost drop your cup as Hyunjin continues, unbothered.

"I have tried to learn the correct terminology. I have Googled. I have interrogated Minho and Chan. I still do not know the word. I refuse to know the word."

"Don't ever learn it," Jisung whispers into his cup.

"I have found the word in my heart," Hyunjin says proudly. "And it is polyangular. For we are angles, and love is geometry. And what is a triangle but the strongest, most stable shape? And so I ask, will the two of you, my radiant Sophie and my chaotic jetski capybara Howl, be my partners in polyangular bliss?"

You and Jisung nod in unison, lips pressed together in the only thing keeping full-bodied laughter from exploding out of you.

"Yes," you manage, barely.

"Definitely," Jisung says, voice warbling.

Hyunjin beams so hard he glows. He skips forward, kissing Jisung first, quick and adoring, then you, soft and warm. You both press your lips to his, still shaking with barely contained giggles.

He leans back, brows pinching. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," you both say at the same time.

Jisung, eyes gleaming, tips his head. "Would you like to join us for a polynautical breakfast?"

You snort so violently that coffee nearly shoots from your nose.

"That sounds amazing," Hyunjin says, completely sincere.

Jisung reaches over and pinches his cheek. "Our pretty little pabo."

Hyunjin preens like it's the highest praise he's ever received, resting his chin on Jisung's shoulder as Jisung stirs the porridge again.

"You're warm,"

"You're heavy," Jisung replies, not even pushing him off.

You sip your coffee and lean your hip against the counter. You watch the two of them, Hyunjin now latched onto Jisung's back like a barnacle, Jisung cooking like he's been hosting breakfast buffets his entire life.

Then they both tug you closer. Jisung hooks an arm around your waist, and Hyunjin slides a hand down to your fingers, lacing them together.

Peering through the back garden window, Chan and Minho are crouched behind the large potted fern like nosy neighbours. Minho's thermos of stolen wine is halfway gone. Chan has his chin on Minho's shoulder, arm draped around his waist as they watch in silence, Minho recording on his phone with the kind of smug pride only a parent or a very involved roommate can possess.

"They're so fucking cute," Minho murmurs.

"Told you it'd work," Chan replies.

"You also said letting Hyunjin improvise would be 'character building.'"

"Yeah," Chan says, sipping wine. "And look at the character he built."

Minho smirks. "Polynautical."

"Polyangular."

"God help them."

Chan kisses the side of Minho's head. "They'll be fine."

Inside, the three of you sit on the floor with mismatched bowls in your laps, the Hobakjuk warm and sweet and a little too thick in texture, but no one complains. Hyunjin's stretched out across both your legs, one of Jisung's arms slung lazily over your shoulder, your head resting on his shoulder.

There's no music playing. No background noise. Just spoons clinking gently against ceramic and the occasional burst of quiet laughter.

None of you see the flash of Minho's phone capturing the moment through the window.

And that's okay. Because in here, with porridge and coffee and love and terrible terminology, you have everything.

Everything. And it's enough.

Han Jisung Taglist: @puppymsworld

Hwang Hyunjin Taglist: @jchotch726

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx @velvetmoonlght @annafee_bou @mlink64 @intoanothermind @furfoxsake22 @daaaph-lol @tirena1 @yu-winchester @cristy-101 @strayk1ds143 @skzlover24 @bussdownflockiana @wickedbutlovely @bbokarismeow @Matchacha65

Proofread by the fabulous @hwangjoanna <3

#oh hwang hyunjin my little idiot #please never learn the proper terminology and never stop being dramatic #this was such a joy to read

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alienbreadtooru · 15 days ago

Text

Bambi

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: Suggestive 18+ MDNI

Genre: idiots to lovers, frat boy au, fluffy, suggestive

Summary: Something has you stuck in Hyunjin's glare list, and you don't even know what. Felix and Jisung, your mututal friends, are here to stir the pot, and everything unfolds in the most dramatic way during a party.

a/n: It's crazyy. But yeah. It is what it is. Please let me know if you see any errors. I swear I had a moment where my hand slipped and I wasn't where I was supposed to type. Anyway, I'm too sick to do another round of editing rn. But I will get to it soon! Hope you enjoy this!

You really didn’t know what you did to piss off Hwang Hyunjin, but God, the man hated you.

Hated. Like full-on, glares-like-you-kicked-his-dog and flinches-when-you-speak kind of hate. And it wasn’t even subtle.

No, Hyunjin had made it his full-time side hustle to make you stutter and stumble. And it did you no good because you were just a soft, shy lit major who wore your cardigans a little too big and had a heart so soft, it fluttered like it was malfunctioning when he was around.

It wasn't especially convenient when you spent way too much time at the frat house, because Felix was your closest friend, and you two bonded over baking - almost every day.

---

Now, you stood in the kitchen of the Sigma Kappa frat house, hair tied up in a scrunchie that matched your baby blue skirt, piping bag in hand, and Felix bopping next to you to some song. You were here, helping Felix set up the snacks for some achievement party at the frat house.

“More sugar,” Felix said, dipping a finger into the frosting and licking it with a satisfied hum.

“It's way too sweet already, Lix,” you mumbled, but added a spoonful more into the bowl anyway.

“You’re sweet,” Felix grinned, poking your cheek. “Too sweet. Which is why some people are going feral every time you breathe.”

Your spine stiffened. You knew exactly who Felix meant, and the thought alone made your brain glitch. You remembered the way he’d glared at you as you walked in with Felix merely thirty minutes ago - like you had burned down his mother’s garden. And it made your stomach turn like a haunted carousel.

You licked some frosting off your fingers absent-mindedly, glaring at Felix, who was now chucking.

“Ohmygodstop,” you hissed. “He doesn’t.”

“Babe.” Felix winked. “You don't know half of it.”

And speak of the devil.

Hyunjin was trying not to hover outside the kitchen like a creep. He was trying so hard. But you were in there with Felix. In that damn skirt. And he'd just seen Jisung step out of the shower, which meant he was going to sniff out the fact that you were here.

Jisung was a leech. According to Hyunjin at least. A cross between a horny golden retriever and a leech if there could ever be something like that. Because the moment Jisung spotted you anywhere in the vicinity, he was on you. Like on you. And it drove Hyunjin up the wall.

Now why should it bother him, when he didn't even like you? Well, the entire world, except for you knew that he was crazy for you. Hyunjin- the gorgeous broody artist - a little emotionally constipated, yes, but totally gone for you.

His friends were sick of watching him silently eye fucking you and growling at anyone who even looked your way. Yeah, the entire frat house was sick of it. But he thought you were too good for him. Too nice. Too delicate. He didn't want to ruin you. He thought you deserved better.

Hyunjin heard Jisung's loud obnoxious singing - moving down the stairs now. And his body was working on autopilot.

---

“Can you not lick your fingers like that in public?” Hyunjin snapped from the doorway, shirt half-tucked, and a scowl carved deep into his face.

You shrank back, holding the piping bag like it was a weapon.

“I wasn’t…I didn’t -”

“Relax, oh my God,” he muttered, brushing past you, the heat of his body grazing yours in a way that had your entire frontal lobe short-circuit.

“You okay, Bambi?” Jisung appeared right on cue.

He threw his arm around your shoulders and leaned into you with a smile. Jisung, bless him, loved the drama, and he adored you, maybe a little too much. But he also knew that Hyunjin needed a little nudge in the right direction to get things moving.

“Don’t mind Mr. Tall-and-Twitchy. He’s just mad it's me and not him.” He whispered, his hand sliding suspiciously low.

You elbowed him, whisper-yelling, “Ji!!”

Felix cackled, but Hyunjin wasn't laughing. In fact, he was glaring so hard at Jisung's hand resting way too close to the curve of your ass, it was a miracle that a storm cloud didn't magically pop up over his head.

Unfortunately for him, Jisung didn’t miss it. “What, you want a turn?”

You expected him to swear at Jisung and storm off - the usual. But then, he stalked over to you, grabbed your wrist (still holding the piping bag), and dragged you out of the kitchen. Just like that.

You blinked up at him as he speed walked with you down the hallway, completely confused and struggling to keep up. But he stopped just as abruptly and you stared up at him.

“What the hell was that?” he hissed, crowding you against the wall with the intensity of someone about to commit a crime.

Your eyes went wide. “What do you mean??”

“You let him -” His hands clenched and jaw flexed. “He was all over you like - like you’re some kind of chew toy.”

You continued to stare at him, utterly confused.

“Jisung's like that with everyone-”

“So? You'd just let him paw at you -”

“Why do you even care?”

That seemed to stun him. His mouth opened and closed, and his eye twitched. He seemed like he was having an existential crisis.

“I don’t care,” he snapped finally, stepping back. “It’s just - it’s gross. He’s gross. This whole thing is gross.”

You looked down at the piping bag, and then down at Hyunjin’s shoe, which was now spotted with rogue dots of frosting.

“So you dragged me out of the kitchen,” you said slowly, “while I was frosting cupcakes… for your party… because you’re grossed out?”

Hyunjin glared, but his ears were red. “Shut up.”

“I’m literally so confused right now, Hyunjin.”

He looked like he wanted to throw himself out the window. Or maybe throw you on the counter. Either way, your heart did wild somersaults as he held your gaze.

“Go back in there,” he said. “And tell Jisung if he touches you like that again, I’ll kill him.”

Your brows lifted, as you tried to hide your amusement. “Should I tell him you said that because you don’t care?”

He didn’t answer. He just turned and walked away, muttering curses under his breath while you stared after him, pink-faced.

Felix poked his head out of the kitchen with a grin and asked, “So… did he confess his love, orrr…?”

You threw the piping bag at him and he ducked, laughing.

The party was in full swing.

The boys were socializing. Chan looked stressed as he watched the cups plates pile up beside the snack table (even though he did leave a bin next to it, yeah, it was ignored).

You, on the other hand, were stuck between Jisung and the snack table.

“Bambiiii,” Jisung purred into your ear, arms slung around your waist. “You smell like cupcakes, and it's doing things to me.”

“You’re doing things to yourself, Ji” you murmured, not even turning around as you reach for a cookie. “Stop pressing your boner on my ass.”

He groaned, half in pain, half in pleasure. “Don’t say boner in that voice, are you insane -”

You elbowed him hard. He doubled over dramatically, clutching his stomach with a low whimper that was way too breathy to be appropriate.

“That’s another bruise,” he groaned. “Do you hate me or do you want me to die with a hard-on? Just tell me.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You like it.”

You rolled your eyes. But you didn’t move away - he was warm, and you were a little tipsy, and honestly - maybe it was petty, maybe a little spiteful. But you had caught Hyunjin watching again, over the rim of his cup, eyes narrowed like he was five seconds from coming over.

He was seething. Not saying a word. Just standing there, jaw clenched, eyes locked on Jisung’s hand on your waist. He didn’t even blink when you looked at him.

Like he was imagining what you’d feel like against him instead.

You blinked and turned away, cheeks flaming.

“Ji,” you murmured under your breath, “If you grind on me, I will cut your dick off with a butter knife.”

Jisung gasped and said, “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You reached around and pinched his side, right above his waistband. He moaned into your neck, enjoying this way too much.

“I hate you,” you sighed.

“I love you,”

"I love you too,"

"I know," Jisung grinned.

“You’re an idiot.”

“You let me do it.”

God help you. He was right.

Felix appeared out of nowhere, leaning into your side.

“You two are about three seconds from getting kicked out. Or murdered.”

Jisung smirked. “I'd die happy.”

Felix giggled and flicked Jisung’s forehead.

“He’s gonna explode.”

“Why is he always so mad?” you asked, exasperated. “Like, what did I do?”

“Oh, Bambi.” Felix gave you a look. “He’s not mad at you. He’s mad at his boner.”

You blinked. “What -”

Too late. Because Hyunjin had moved. One second you were talking. The next, he was behind Jisung, grabbing him by the collar of his sweatshirt and yanking him off you like he’s swatting away a mosquito.

“What the f- Hyunjin!” Jisung yelped, flailing as Hyunjin threw him a full foot back. “I was talking to her!”

“You were humping her,” Hyunjin growled, standing between you and Jisung now, tall and tense and radiating murder.

You blinked up at him. He didn’t even look at you, his eyes were still on Jisung.

“Back. Off.” he bit out.

“Bro, seriously -”

“I swear to God,” Hyunjin’s voice was low, furious. “Touch her again and I’ll break your fucking fingers.”

You inhaled sharply, taking a step back. Jisung stared, wide-eyed for a moment. A very fleeting moment, because the next, he was grinning. "Someone's cracking."

And he had the audacity to take a step forward. And so did Hyunjin. Jisung took another, and Hyunjin’s hand shot out, landing on Jisung’s chest, making him stumble back a little. Jisung, with zero self-preservation instincts, just laughed, brushing himself off like he didn’t almost get decked.

“Whoa, Hyunjinnie, save the foreplay for Bambi!” he teased, dodging as Hyunjin lunged, fist raised, eyes blazing.

“Call her that one more time, and I’ll end you,” Hyunjin growled, his voice low and dangerous, but the way his hands were shaking betrayed how close he was to cracking. Jisung’s grin only widened, because of course it does - he’s been playing this game all night, winding Hyunjin up like a toy car and loving every second of the chaos.

Before Hyunjin could make a move, Chan’s voice boomed across the room like a foghorn.

“EMERGENCY FAMILY MEETING! KITCHEN! RIGHT FUCKING NOW!”

Ah. There it is. The Chan Voice™.

The partygoers barely blinked, fights and drama were absolutely normal at a frat bash - but the boys knew better than to ignore Chan’s summons.

Hyunjin's eyes met yours, and you huffed at him before storming off towards the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

You gripped the sink, staring at your flushed reflection in the mirror. Your pastel cardigan was slightly askew, your cheeks pink, and your heart was doing cartwheels.

“You’re fine,” you muttered to your reflection. “He’s just… intense. And hot. And confusing. And…oh my god, stop it, you’re not helping!”

You splashed cold water on your face, hoping it’ll douse the fire in your chest, but it was of no use. Hyunjin has got you spinning, and Jisung’s relentless flirting wasn’t helping.

---

Jisung sauntered toward the kitchen, followed by Hyunjin, who was still vibrating with barely contained rage. Felix slung an arm around Hyunjin’s shoulders, steering him toward the kitchen.

“C’mon, loverboy, let’s not murder Ji in front of the guests. Bad for the vibe.”

Hyunjin muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “I’ll kill him later,” but he let Felix drag him along.

Chan was at the head of the kitchen island, looking like he was about to give a lecture on responsibility, but the glint in his eyes said something else entirely. Felix patted Hyunjin on the back and perched on the counter, swinging his legs, while Jisung leaned against the fridge, munching on a cookie like he wasn't the catalyst for this chaos.

Hyunjin was pacing like a caged tiger, his hoodie sleeves pushed up, his jaw so tight.

“Alright,” Chan started, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. “What the hell is going on? Hyunjin, we never raise our hands at each other. So spill.”

Hyunjin glared at Jisung, who was licking cookie crumbs off his fingers with exaggerated slowness, smirking like the gremlin he was.

“He’s been all over Y/N all night,” Hyunjin snapped, his voice dripping with venom. “Grinding on her, calling her Bambi, acting like he’s got some claim -”

“Claim?” Jisung interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, Hyunjinnie, I’m just giving Bambi the attention she deserves. Unlike some people who just glare at her like she stole their favorite paintbrush.”

Hyunjin took a step toward him, fists clenched, but Felix hopped off the counter, blocking his path with a grin and a sly, “Down, boy.”

Chan raised an eyebrow and said, “Hyunjin, you’ve been acting like a caveman all night. Care to explain why you’re so obsessed with Bambi?”

Hyunjin froze, his eyes darting around like he has been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“I’m not…obsessed,” he stammered, but his flushed cheeks and the way he was gripping the edge of the counter said otherwise. “She’s just... always flitting around in those stupid skirts, smiling at everyone, letting Jisung -”

He cut himself off, dragging a hand through his hair, and the room went quiet for a split second.

Jisung, of course, cackled.

“Oh, please. You’re so gone for her it’s pathetic.”

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, but it’s loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Bet you’ve been jerking off to the thought of her in that skirt, haven’t you?”

“JISUNG!” Chan barked, but he was fighting a laugh.

Felix was trying so hard not to laugh, because he wanted to support Hyunjin - while Hyunjin looked like he was going to spontaneously combust.

“You’re dead,” Hyunjin growled, lunging again, but Chan stepped in, grabbing his shoulder.

“Enough!” Chan said, though his lips were twitching. “Jisung, stop antagonizing him. Hyunjin, use your words like a big boy and tell us what’s got you so twisted.”

Hyunjin’s mouth opened, then closed, the gears grinding in his head. He was trapped, cornered by his own feelings and the relentless teasing of his frat brothers.

“She’s just… she’s too much,” he finally managed, his voice low, almost defeated. “She’s so soft and sweet and…fuck, I can’t think straight when she’s around, okay? And then Jisung’s all over her like some horny octopus, and I -”

“Horny octopus?!” Jisung choked, clutching his stomach as he laughed. “Oh, that’s rich. Bambi loves my tentacles, ok?”

“Hyun, you’re not fooling anyone. You’ve been crushing on her since she showed up with that first batch of cookies. Its like what? Two years now? Just admit you want her so bad it’s making you stupid.” Felix laughed, and Hyunjin looked absolutely embarrassed.

“I do not -” Hyunjin started, but Chan cut him off with a raised hand.

“Nope, you’re done lying to yourself,” Chan said, his tone firm but teasing. “You’re jealous as hell, and it’s obvious to everyone except maybe her. So either man up and tell her how you feel, or Jisung’s gonna keep doing this just to see how long it takes you to snap.”

Jisung grinned, completely unfazed.

“I mean, I’m having fun either way. Bambi’s got those little pinches that sting so good…think I’m bruised to hell under this shirt.” He lifted his shirt, showing off a scattering of red marks on his stomach, and Felix howled with laughter.

“You’re a freak,” Chan said, shaking his head, but he’s grinning now. “Hyunjin, for the love of god, just talk to her.”

Hyunjin’s face was a mix of fury and mortification, but there was something else there too. Something raw and desperate. He was cracking, and everyone in the room knew it.

---

Back in the Bathroom:

“You can do this,” you whispered, smoothing your skirt. “Hyunjin’s just… intense. And Jisung’s just Jisung. And you’re not gonna melt into a puddle just because Hyunjin looked at you like he wanted to eat you alive. Nope. Not at all.”

But as you step out of the bathroom, you had no idea you were about to walk into a firestorm.

You were sulking. Still no clue why you were the walking target of all his emotional instability and/or wet dreams.

The kitchen door has been shut for Chan’s “emergency family meeting,” and you were stewing in a mix of confusion, irritation, and Hyunjin-induced heart palpitations. You could hear Jisung’s cackle and Hyunjin’s low growl through the door, and it was driving you nuts.

You were back by the snack table. Alone. With your thoughts. And a tray of brownies you absolutely didn’t remember seeing earlier.

They looked rich. Fudgy. Gooey.

You stared. You definitely didn't bring that. You knew they weren't Felix's. But they looked so good.

You shrugged, because stress eating is a coping mechanism. Right? Not your best one, but it’s better than crying in the pantry again.

So you grabbed one, and took a bite. Ohhh, that was good. You had another. And then another. Because you had no self-control and those things tasted like sin.

But halfway through the fourth one - your skin tingled. Not in a “this is tasty” kind of way. In a “why do I suddenly want to make out with the refrigerator” kind of way. Your head felt floaty. Your heart beating louder. And your thighs? They were squirming.

“Oh my god,” you whispered in horror. “These are sex brownies.”

The kitchen door creaked. You looked up, eyes blurry, mouth half-full of brownie, pulling at the neckline of your cardigan.

Felix stepped out first, smiling when he saw you.

“Hey, babe...” He faltered, seeing the way you were fanning yourself dramatically with a paper plate.

“Bambi, you okay?” he asks, eyeing you with suspicion.

He glanced at the chocolate on your fingers. And then cocked his head to look behind you on the snack table.

“Babe, what did you eat?” Felix rushed over, smelling your fingers without hesitation, and then picking up the tray of brownies off the table and smelling them.

He swore under his breath, before turning to glance behind him. Because there he was - Hyunjin, looking angry and brooding and violently hot for you.

Your eyes meet again, and your skin buzzed. Your nipples were embarrassingly hard. Ah oh, you were aware.

His walked towards you, eyes locked onto you, but instead of the usual glare, there was a flicker of concern - probably because you were swaying like a palm tree in a hurricane.

“You okay?” he said gruffly, eyes darting over your flushed face.

“You,” you slurred, jabbing a finger in his direction, your cardigan half-off one shoulder. “You and your stupid… stupid face!”

You were trying to sound fierce, but the brownies made it sound more like a squeak. “Always glaring at me, snapping at me, acting like I’m some… some problem! And then you’re all up in my space, looking like you wanna -” You paused, eyes going blank for a second. “ Like, like -”

Felix snorted, leaning against the snack table, clearly enjoying the show. Jisung was peeking out from the kitchen, grinning.

Hyunjin’s jaw dropped, and he stepped closer, his voice low and strained.

“You think I’m glaring because I hate you?” he said, his eyes blazing with something that was definitely not hate. “You’re out here, being…you…, and I -”

He stopped, dragging a hand through his hair, looking like he was about to implode. “You drive me fucking insane, okay? I can’t think, I can’t sleep, I can’t -”

You were barely listening, because goddamn, it was hot in here. Your cardigan was strangling you, and in a fit of brownie-induced madness, you started yanking it off. Except it got stuck over your head, trapping your arms in a tangle.

“Ugh, why is this so tight?!” you whined, flailing like a pastel-colored T-Rex. The room was spinning, your skin was tingling, and you were pretty sure you were dying.

Hyunjin froze (again), his rant cut off as he stared at you, half-trapped in your cardigan, your hair a mess, your cheeks flushed.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, stepping forward to help. With a sigh of exasperation and resignation, he gently tugged the cardigan over your head, freeing you. Your hair was now a static-charged halo, and you were panting, fanning yourself with both hands.

“It’s so hot,” you complained, your voice whiny as you start tugging at the hem of your cami top, ready to strip that off too. The brownies had obliterated your inhibitions, and you’re about two seconds from flashing the entire party.

“Nope, nope, nope,” Hyunjin said, his voice panicked as he grabbed your wrists, stopping you before you could yank the top over your head. His hands were warm, his grip firm but careful, and you swore you felt a spark where his fingers touch your skin. “You are not stripping in the middle of the living room.”

“Why not?” you pouted, swaying closer to him, your high brain deciding he’s the most fascinating thing in the room. “You’re mean, but you’re sooooooooo pretty. Like… really pretty. Why’re you so pretty?”

You reached up, trying to poke his cheek, but he dodged, his face turning an alarming shade of red.

Felix lost it, doubled over laughing, while Jisung called from the kitchen, “Bambi, you’re my hero! Keep roasting him!”

Chan facepalmed so hard, you (high as a kite) could hear it from the living room.

Hyunjin had had enough.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice a mix of frustration and something softer, almost protective. “You’re going back to your dorm. Now.”

Before you could protest, he was scooping you up - bridal style - because of course he is, and marching toward the door. Your head was spinning, and you were giggling uncontrollably, your hands flopping against his chest.

“You’re so strong,” you slurred, patting his pecs.

“Please stop talking,” Hyunjin muttered, but his cheeks were flaming, and he was holding you a little tighter than necessary as he stepped out the back door.

Felix trailed behind, still snickering, while Jisung shouted, “Take care of my wife, Hyunjinnie!”

---

You stumbled into your room, collapsing onto your bed with a dramatic groan.

“It’s so hot,” you whined again, kicking off your shoes and flopping around like a fish out of water. Hyunjin stood in the doorway, looking like he was struggling to hold himself together.

“Stay put,” he said, his voice gruff but laced with concern. He grabbed a bottle of water from your desk, shoving it into your hands. “Drink this. And don’t eat random brownies ever again.”

You sipped the water, pouting up at him.

“You’re so bossy. But… kinda hot when you’re bossy.” You giggled, then hiccupped, and Hyunjin pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing.

You were out like a light not long after, curling up in a ball, whimpering softly in your sleep about “stupid pretty boy” and “sex brownies.” Hyunjin pulled your blanket over you, his fingers lingering as he tucked it around your shoulders. For a moment, he just watched you, his expression softening, the hard edges of his usual scowl melting away. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch so gentle.

But as he walked back to the frat house, he couldn’t shake the image of you - high and feisty, tugging at your clothes, calling him pretty - and he knew he was in deeper than he could ever admit.

You were still recovering from last night’s brownie-induced chaos, your head slightly foggy but your pride fully intact. You were perched at your usual desk in the lecture hall, your notebook open, trying to focus but mostly replaying last night's events. You were equal parts mortified and furious - furious at Hyunjin for being such a confusing jerk, and mortified at yourself for the whole brownie thing.

You were determined to play it cool today, but “cool” wasn’t exactly your brand. You were more…chaos.

Jisung was already sprawled in the seat to your right, his legs kicked up on the desk, grinning like he’s got a PhD in stirring shit.

“Morning, Bambi,” he drawled, leaning close enough that you could smell his cologne “You look cute when you’re hungover on mystery brownies. You sure you're ok?”

You shot him a look that was supposed to be withering but probably just makes you look like a disgruntled kitten.

“Shut up, Ji,” you muttered, scribbling nonsense in your notebook to avoid his eyes.

He was chuckling, when the lecture hall door swung open, and Hyunjin strode in. He was all dark jeans and fitted black sweater, his gaze zeroing in on you immediately.

He didn’t say a word, just stalked over and dropped into the seat on your left, his long legs sprawling under the desk, his arm brushing against yours. The contact sent a jolt through you, and you stiffened, refusing to look at him. You can feel his eyes on you, though, burning into the side of your face.

Jisung was practically vibrating with glee, his grin so wide it was a miracle his face didn't split. You, on the other hand, were giving Hyunjin the meanest side-eye you could muster. Your lips pursed, your brows furrowed, and clutching your pen like a weapon. Hyunjin didn’t flinch, but his jaw tightened, and you saw his fingers twitch on the desk.

The lecture was a blur. You were hyper-aware of Hyunjin’s presence, the way his knee kept bumping yours, the way he was tapping his pen like he was trying to keep his hands busy. Jisung had his unhinged commentary running the whole time - “Bet he’s imagining you in that skirt, Bambi, all bent over his easel” - and you were torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to yeet him out a window.

When the professor finally dismissed the class, you were ready to bolt, but Hyunjin was faster. He was on his feet, grabbing your wrist before you could escape.

“We’re talking,” he said, his voice firm, and before you could protest, he dragged you out of the lecture hall, Jisung’s laughter echoing behind you.

“Get it, Hyunjinnie!” he calls, and you heard Felix’s cackle join in from somewhere in the crowd. Traitors, both of them.

---

Hyunjin didn’t stop until he’d pulled you into a quiet corner of the campus courtyard, a secluded spot tucked behind a cluster of trees, the brick wall cool against your back as he crowded you against it. He was close - too close - his hands braced on either side of your head.

“What is your problem?” you snapped, crossing your arms, though the effect was ruined by how your voice shook. “You can’t just drag me around like some caveman every time you’re pissed!”

“My problem?” Hyunjin fired back, his voice rough, like he has been holding it together by a thread. “You’re out there, letting Jisung drape himself all over you, calling you Bambi, acting like you don’t even notice how it’s driving me fucking insane -”

“Driving you insane?” you interrupted, poking his chest. “You’ve been a jerk to me for months! Glaring, snapping, acting like I’m some annoying little bug you can’t stand! And now you’re mad because Jisung draped himself over me? Make it make sense, Hyunjin!”

He stared at you, his chest heaving, and you could see the moment he broke.

“You think I hate you?” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You think I can’t stand you? Fuck, you’re so -”

He raked a hand through his hair, stepping closer, and you feel the wall press against your back. “ I don't hate you. I can’t stop thinking about you. Every time you’re around, with your stupid soft smile, and your cupcakes, I lose my fucking mind, okay?”

Your breath caught, and you’re about to say something - probably something dumb - but then he was closer, and you were closer, and suddenly you were kissing. You didn’t know who moved first, and you didn’t care. It was messy, rough, all teeth and tongue and pent-up frustration, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you closer. You were tugging at his sweater, pulling him closer, and it was like the world had narrowed down to just this - his lips, his heat, the way he groaned against your mouth like he’s starving.

You broke apart, gasping, and his forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “The frat house. It’s closest.”

You nodded so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash, your brain too scrambled to overthink it.

“Yeah, okay,” you breathed, and before you could say anything else, he was kissing you again, his hands sliding under your shirt, fingers grazing your skin.

You giggled into the kiss, because it was ridiculous, it was perfect…and more than anything, it was Hyunjin, and you were so gone for him it wasn't even funny.

Outside the lecture hall...

The hallway was silent. Felix sighed and turned to Jisung, who was biting into a protein bar.

“So,” Felix said slowly.

“So?”

“Ji.”

“What?” Jisung said, chewing dramatically, starting to walk.

“Don’t start your clueless act. Not with me.” Felix said, giving him a flat look.

Jisung fell quiet, and shrugged.

“They’re happy,” he said after a beat. “Jinnie’s wanted this for so long. He’s happy. That’s all that matters.”

Felix didn’t speak right away. He just sighed.

“I told you this would blow up in your face,” he said gently.

“Yeah, yeah.” Jisung smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Felix huffed out an exasperated laugh, “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m fine,” Jisung said, too quickly. “I really am.”

Felix stopped walking, grabbed Jisung’s arm and turned him around.

“Stop doing that,” he said, seriously. “I know the minute I step away, you’re gonna cry in a janitor’s closet.”

“Am not,” Jisung muttered, offended.

“Ji.”

“Ok, maybe a little.”

Felix’s hand slipped into his, fingers warm and grounding.

“She’s so sweet,” Felix whispered. “I won’t blame you...”

He chuckled under his breath, and Jisung joined him, head tilted back.

“They deserve each other,” he said finally, voice low, but sincere. “I mean, have you seen the way she looks at him? Like he’s made of stars and Greek yogurt.”

Felix raised a brow. “Greek yogurt?”

“Shut up.”

They both laughed, and then fell into silence again.

“I need a drink,” Felix said finally.

“Yeah, me too.”

Divider: @saradika-graphics

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