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namedinwinter · 1 month ago

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just one summer

wc: 17.4k | pairing: eunseok x fem!reader | genre: slow burn, summer love, mutual pining, gentle intimacy, introverted love, soft angst with comfort, emotional vulnerability

content warnings: mild angst, verbal argument / lovers' quarrels, crying / emotional scenes, smut MDNI!!!, first time, mentions of insecurity / fear of abandonment (in depth smut warnings below the cut)

author's note! hello lovelies <333 my second full fic! i've had the plot / idea for this fic in my head for a few months now. i had a first copy of it that i initially wrote, but this is my remastered version :) that being said, i've spent a lot of time on this couple and on this relationship!! it's a super gentle love story for my introverts out there, and perhaps i've fallen in love with this version of eunseok that i have created... i hope you guys enjoy and love them as much as i do. i have an epilogue for it, but i think it'll sit in my drafts until the right season comes around <3 & thx as always to my test reader bestie @karebearyu

🔖: @jaellymint @lovsickie @namedinwinter @miutonz @alwayswonbinning @kkunyangz @wonnina

[smut warnings: consensual virginity loss, love making / emotional sex, groping, nipple play / sucking, yn kisses eunseok's tip.., marking, unprotected sex (yn is on birth control), fingering, handjob]

you had already been here for a week.

the town moved slowly, and so did you. you’d slipped into a rhythm without realizing—waking around eight, making yourself tea or something simple to eat, then finding a corner of the house or garden where you could sit and read while the world stayed quiet. by late morning, you’d wander into town, where time felt like it had forgotten to hurry.

your afternoons changed depending on your mood. some days, you sat on the beach with your book, letting the wind flip the pages for you. other days, you floated aimlessly in the pool behind the house, watching the clouds drift by.

on your walks, you’d sometimes stop at the small market for fruit, or at the café where the same old men played chess out front. the town belonged to them—the lifelong locals, the retirees, the ones who spoke softly and carried the sea salt in their skin.

that’s why he stood out.

the first time, it was just a glimpse. he passed by on a bike, the breeze pushing through his dark hair, the sleeves of his white linen shirt rolled to his elbows. you watched him until he turned the corner, wondering where someone like him was going in a place like this.

the second time, it was the market. he was holding a basket, quietly choosing peaches like it was something sacred. you didn’t even realize you’d stopped walking until he’d disappeared down another row of stalls.

by the third day without seeing him, you started to wonder if you’d made him up. maybe your mind conjured him—this beautiful boy with the quiet eyes—to fill the empty corners of your summer.

the sun had been gone for half an hour when you finally climbed out of the sea.

you hadn’t meant to stay so long. but the water had been warm, the sky soft and heavy with clouds, and the hush of the waves had felt like something you didn’t want to leave. you’d floated on your back for what felt like forever, watching the light drain from the sky, letting your thoughts drift like the tide.

now the breeze bit a little cooler. you walked slowly along the wet sand, water dripping from your fingertips, feet sinking with each step. you stopped for a moment to wring out your hair, then tugged your sweatshirt over your damp swimsuit, the fabric sticking slightly to your skin.

and that’s when you saw him.

he was sitting in the sand not far ahead—alone, quiet, legs stretched out in front of him, a blanket beneath him like he’d been there for a while. his head turned just as you noticed him. his gaze met yours, steady, soft, and somehow familiar.

you froze. because all this time, you thought you’d been the one watching him. you never imagined he might have been watching you, too. for a long, still moment, neither of you spoke. then, his voice—low, gentle, like the night itself.

“nice night.”

you hesitated, glancing up at the thick clouds, the darkening sea.

“it’s a bit gloomy,” you said quietly.

a smile ghosted at the corner of his mouth. “that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

you shook your head, heart beating a little too fast now. “no. no, not at all. i just—” you looked down, scuffed your foot in the sand. “i guess it just got a little nicer.”

the blush on your cheeks felt warm despite the chill in the air. when you dared to glance up again, you found him blushing too, eyes shining faintly in the last of the light.

without a word, he shifted to the side, patting the empty space on his blanket.

you hesitated, then you crossed the sand and sank down beside him. close enough to feel his warmth, but not quite touching. the kind of closeness that made you aware of your every breath.

the two of you sat like that, listening to the waves, the sky deepening from slate to black.

“i’m eunseok,” he said after a long while, voice almost lost beneath the sound of the water. you told him your name, softly, like a secret. and that was enough. when the clouds finally broke and a few stars blinked through, he stood and offered his hand. “can i walk you home?”

you nodded.

you barely spoke on the walk back. just your names exchanged, and the quiet understanding that he now knew where you lived, so he could find you again. and you hoped with everything in you that he would.

you thought maybe the sea air would’ve made you tired—but all night, it was him you kept thinking about. how he sat there so quietly, as if he belonged to the night. how his voice was soft but certain. how he looked at you like he’d seen you, when no one else ever had.

you turned over a hundred what-ifs: what if he hadn’t been there? what if you hadn’t stayed out so long? what if you hadn’t dared sit beside him?

what if you’d dreamed the whole thing?

but morning came, soft and gray, the clouds still hanging low, and you felt the pull of the outside. you weren’t sure where you meant to go—just that you needed air. you slipped on your shoes, pushed open the front door, and stepped into the quiet of the garden.

that’s when you saw him.

outside your gate, leaning on his bike, head tilted like he wasn’t sure if he should knock or wait, eyes lighting up the moment he saw you. you froze for just a second. then smiled, heart fluttering.

he straightened, hands resting on the handlebars. “hi.”

“hi.” your voice was soft, breathless without meaning to be.

he hesitated, then asked, “do you have time?”

you didn’t even have to think. “always,” you said, the word slipping out easier than you expected. and it made him smile—the kind of smile that felt like a secret between you. he pushed the gate open gently, nodding for you to follow.

you didn’t ask where you were going. you liked the quiet between you. liked the way it felt to just walk beside him, matching his pace, your hands brushing once or twice and both of you pretending not to notice. he led you down a narrow path, one you hadn’t explored yet—between wild grass and low trees, where the world felt small and yours alone.

after a while, you came to a hidden overlook. the sea spread out below, the town small and still behind you. gulls drifted slow in the sky. everything smelled like salt and pine.

“i come here when i don’t want to think,” he said quietly, sitting on a rock and patting the spot next to him. “or when i want to think too much.”

you sat beside him, legs drawn up, head tilted to watch the sea. “what do you think about?”

he glanced at you, shy but honest. “right now? you.”

your breath caught. the sea murmured below, steady and low. the breeze lifted strands of your hair, cool against your cheek. you didn’t know what to say—not right away—so you let the quiet settle again, warm between you.

he glanced sideways at you, half-shy, half-curious. “have you always been this quiet?”

you smiled, tucking your knees closer. “maybe. the same could go for you.”

he let out a soft laugh, low and almost self-conscious, and gave a little shrug that somehow felt like a whole story. i guess so.

another stretch of silence, but it wasn’t empty. the kind that made you aware of your heartbeat, of the way the air seemed softer here, of how close his shoulder was to yours. finally, you spoke, your voice quiet as the breeze. “i thought i imagined you. when i saw you before. on the bike… at the market. i wasn’t sure you were real.”

his eyes found yours, gentle and a little surprised. his voice was lower now, like it was just for you. “i thought the same,” he said. “except once i saw you once… it was like i saw you everywhere.”

that made your chest ache a little, in the best way. you looked down at your hands, smoothing your thumb over your knuckle. “where did you come from, anyways?” he asked.

“just house-sitting,” you said. “for my aunt and uncle. they’re out of the country for the summer, and i was available.”

you realized, too late, that you hadn’t asked him in return—but he didn’t seem to mind. “i’m here for the summer, too,” he offered anyway. “helping my grandparents run the bookstore in town.”

you smiled at that. “the one with the green awning?”

he grinned. “that’s the one.”

you fell into easy conversation after that—small things, simple truths. how he’d come here for a week or two in the past, but never the whole summer. how you liked your tea. what book was in your bag right now. little pieces of yourselves offered up without thinking too much about it.

as the sun climbed, the clouds thinned, and the world brightened just enough to remind you of the time, your stomach grumbled softly, making you both laugh.

“come on,” he said, standing and offering you a hand. again, you took it and followed him without asking the destination. he led you to a street food vendor, and he paid before you could pull out your own wallet.

you ate standing up, leaning against a low stone wall, watching the slow stirrings of the town. the food was warm in your hands, the kind of simple that tasted perfect because of the company. when you finished, he walked you home again, slower this time. like neither of you wanted to reach the gate.

at the top of your steps, he stopped, rubbing the back of his neck like he didn’t want to leave. “come by the bookstore tomorrow,” he said. “if you want. it’s… quiet there. but i think you’d like it.”

you smiled, heart warm. “i’d like that.”

“good.” he lingered for just a beat longer, like there was more he wanted to say. then he gave a small nod and stepped back.

and you watched him go, already wishing it was tomorrow.

the next morning came soft and gray, clouds still heavy in the sky. you found yourself watching the clock, willing the time to pass faster. when you couldn’t take it anymore, you slipped out the door, following the path down into town like your feet already knew the way.

the bookstore was easy to find—the one with the green awning, tucked between the café and an antiques shop, its windows lined with plants and old editions that looked like they’d been sitting there for years. you hesitated on the step, heart beating quick with anticipation.

you saw him through the window, behind the counter, flipping through a hardcover. as if he belonged to this quiet place, as if he was part of its bones. he looked up, like he felt you there. and his face lit up in that soft, crooked way that made your stomach flip.

he met you at the door, holding it open. “you came.”

“of course i came.”

he stepped aside to let you in, the little bell above the door chiming softly. “welcome to my kingdom,” he teased, gesturing to the narrow aisles, the stacks of books that filled every corner. you laughed under your breath. “it suits you.”

the shop smelled like old paper and wood polish, warm and comforting. the kind of place where you wanted to lose track of time. “sit with me?” he asked, nodding behind the counter. you slipped around and sank onto the little stool beside his. your knees bumped—just barely—and neither of you moved.

for a while, you watched him work. he checked inventory, stacked a few books, helped a quiet customer find something. every so often, he’d glance at you, and you’d both smile like you didn’t mean to. when it slowed again, he nudged your shoulder gently with his. “come on. let’s pick something out.”

“for who?”

he tilted his head, grinning. “for each other.”

you wandered together between the shelves, pointing things out, quietly debating, teasing a little, learning what the other liked. his fingers brushed yours once when you both reached for the same spine, and neither of you pulled away right away.

finally, he handed you a slim volume of poetry. “this feels like you,” he said simply.

you gave him a novel, soft from many readings, with a girl on the cover who looked like she carried secrets. “and this feels like you.”

you returned to the counter, books in hand, and settled close again.

“what do you do? when you’re not house-sitting in small towns?” he asked, voice low like he didn’t want to break the quiet of the shop.

“i’m in school,” you said. “pharmacy major. not very poetic, i guess.”

“i don’t know,” he mused. “you’re helping people. that sounds poetic to me.”

you looked at him, caught off guard by how genuine he was. “what about you?”

“literature arts,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, almost sheepish. “i want to go into publishing. or maybe editing. or maybe i’ll just end up living in a bookstore.”

“that wouldn’t be so bad.”

he smiled at you, softer now. “no. not if you came to visit.”

your heart flipped again.

you stayed like that for hours. reading bits of the books to each other. sharing little things about your lives at school, your families, your favorite places to escape to when things felt too loud. your knees kept bumping beneath the counter. you didn’t move them.

when it was time to go, he walked you to the door, reluctant. “same time tomorrow?” he asked, hopeful but trying not to sound like it.

“same time tomorrow,” you promised. and when you stepped out into the cloudy afternoon, the world felt a little warmer.

the next day bloomed soft and hazy, the kind of morning where the air smelled faintly of sea spray and wildflowers. when you reached the shop, you found him waiting outside, leaning on his bike, a second one propped beside him.

he straightened when he saw you, that familiar soft grin lighting up his face. “ready?”

“for what?” you teased, though you were already smiling, already eager.

“trust me.” and you did.

the ride was slow, easy. the narrow road followed the curve of the coast, the sea glinting silver-blue to your left, fields and wild grass stretching to your right. the breeze tugged at your hair, cool against your skin, and the quiet between you felt comfortable now. not empty—just full of everything you weren’t saying.

every so often, you glanced sideways at him. his profile in the morning light, the way the wind played with his hair, the soft focus in his eyes. beautiful. unreal.

when he stopped near a stretch of empty beach, you swung off your bike, brushing the hair from your face. “i never thought i’d be riding a bike with you,” you said, almost to yourself. “the imaginary boy who looked so beautiful and windswept.”

he shot you a look, half amused, half shy. “you flatter me.”

you laughed, nudging his arm lightly. “you like it.”

“maybe.”

the sand was cool beneath your feet as you stepped out of your shoes. the sky was soft gray, the water calm and endless. you pulled your sweatshirt over your head, suddenly aware of the way the air moved against your skin. he didn’t stare, but you noticed his eyes flick toward you for just a second longer than necessary.

you felt his gaze, steady, quiet.

“what?” you asked, teasing.

he blinked. “nothing. just… you look nice.”

“you’re bad at compliments.”

“you’re bad at accepting them.”

before you could reply, he tugged his shirt over his head, revealing lean shoulders, smooth skin kissed faintly by the sun. you tried not to stare, but your mouth betrayed you. “not too bad yourself, song eunseok.”

this time, both of you blushed, the kind of warmth that settled deep and made your chest feel light. the water was cool but welcoming as you waded in together. soon you were far enough to tread water, the world narrowing to just the two of you and the endless sea.

you floated near each other, quiet, sharing soft smiles, letting the waves rock you gently. your fingers brushed underwater once, and you didn’t pull away. for a while, it felt like nothing else existed. just salt on your lips, the steady sound of your breaths, the space between you shrinking without meaning to.

when you finally made your way back to shore, you found a dry patch of sand and sat side by side, letting the sun and breeze do the work. your hair dripped onto your shoulders; his fell into his eyes until he pushed it back with one hand. neither of you hurried.

when it was time, you walked your bikes together, the ride slower this time, like you wanted the moment to last. he walked you all the way to your gate. you could feel your heart beating faster—not just from the day, but from what you wanted to say.

you stopped, turning to him, courage building in your chest. “so when are you going to take me on a real date?” you asked, laughing softly, trying to sound casual but feeling anything but.

he blinked, caught off guard. the tips of his ears turned pink. “a real date?” he echoed, like he needed a second to process it.

you nodded, watching him, waiting.

he rubbed the back of his neck, that shy grin tugging at his mouth again. “i mean… yeah. i want to. i just didn’t want to—rush you. or mess it up.”

your heart ached, in the best way. “you’re not messing anything up. i don’t think you could.”

he met your gaze then, steadier, braver. “tomorrow night,” he said. “a real date. i promise.”

“i’ll hold you to it,” you teased, but your smile was soft, full.

he lingered another moment, like he didn’t want to go. “you make it hard to leave, you know that?” and then he was gone, walking backwards a few steps before turning, glancing back at you once more.

you watched him until he disappeared down the path, your heart full of the day, and the promise of what came next.

you stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the soft white fabric down over your hips. the dress felt like air, like the sea breeze had woven it just for tonight. the delicate straps framed your shoulders, the bodice fitting you just right, and the skirt floated lightly when you shifted your weight. your cardigan hung loose over your arms—you wouldn’t need it yet, but something told you the night would carry you past sunset.

you looked at yourself and thought, this doesn’t feel real. he doesn’t feel real. but the way your heart raced at the thought of seeing him again—that felt real. too real.

he was waiting at your gate, leaning against it, looking up at the sky like he was trying to steady himself. when his gaze dropped and found you, he went still for a second, like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“wow,” he said, softly, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud. his eyes traced the lines of you, from the soft white of your dress to the way the breeze played with your hair. “you look…”

you raised a brow, biting back a smile. “what?”

“beautiful.” it left him in a rush, like he couldn’t hold it in.

your cheeks warmed. “you clean up pretty well yourself.”

and he did. a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled just so, loose slacks, his hair a little messier than usual from running a hand through it. he offered his hand without a word, and you took it without hesitation.

he led you down winding paths that opened up to the beach—the world stained gold and rose by the sinking sun. a blanket was spread out, a basket waiting beside it, a lantern flickering softly as the light faded.

“you planned this?” your voice came out smaller than you meant it to.

he rubbed the back of his neck, a little shy. “i tried.”

you both sat, close but not quite touching, and he unpacked the basket—fresh bread, fruit, a little jar of honey, pastries from the bakery. sparkling water that caught the light like stars in a bottle. simple. thoughtful. perfect.

you talked in soft voices, sharing quiet smiles, as the sun bled into the horizon. and after a while, as if he’d been working up to it all evening, he pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

“i wrote you something. it’s not much. i mean, i haven’t known you that long, but—i wanted to.”

your heart beat louder. you unfolded it carefully, the paper warm from being in his hand.

i haven’t known you long enough to write something grand. but long enough to know you feel like quiet mornings and books i never want to finish.

you feel like a sunset that makes me want to stay a little longer.

you told me to read that book— “she had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, as if she wanted to cry and laugh at the same time.” that’s how you make me feel.

your throat tightened. you didn’t know what to say, so you folded it gently and held it close. “you make me feel that way too,” you managed. he smiled, soft and sure, like he’d waited his whole life to hear you say that.

the stars came out slowly, one by one. you slipped on your cardigan as the breeze cooled, and he shifted just enough to close the space between you, resting his hand where yours lay on the blanket. it wasn’t intentional—or maybe it was. either way, neither of you moved.

the night wrapped around you, salt in the air, the hush of the waves, the warmth of his skin against yours. when you turned to look at him, he was already watching you, his gaze so full of unspoken things that it made your breath catch.

he kissed you—slow, soft, sure. like he’d been waiting for this moment since the first time he saw you. your hand found his jaw, your thumb brushing the line of it, and he leaned into your touch like he couldn’t help himself.

when you smiled against his lips, he kissed you again, slower this time, like he never wanted the night to end. like he wanted to memorize the taste of you, the warmth of you, the quiet wonder of sitting under the stars with you.

you stayed like that for a long time—hearts racing, hands intertwined, heads tipped together as you whispered about nothing and everything. and when he walked you home, he didn’t let go of your hand until he had to. “thank you for tonight,” he said, voice low, full of meaning.

“i should be the one thanking you,” you whispered back, heart too full for anything else. and he left you there at your gate, the night stretching out behind him, the promise of tomorrow already blooming between you.

you replayed every moment of that night.

the way he looked at you like you hung the stars yourself. the way his hand found yours so easily, so naturally. the way his kiss felt like a promise you hadn’t dared to hope for.

but after that? nothing.

no quiet messages. no visits. no soft smiles from across the street.

the bookstore sat closed the two times you’d passed it. your heart sank each time, but you told yourself he’s busy. there’s a reason. there has to be.

but the days kept passing, and the silence stretched too long.

you tried not to spiral. you tried to focus on your books, the sea, the breeze that always felt lonelier without him. but you found yourself wondering—did he ghost me? was that all it was to him?

your mind whispered through every detail, overanalyzing. we had one date. maybe it was just that to him. maybe i imagined the rest.

the storm came hard and fast on the seventh night. wind rattled the windows, rain lashed the world outside, thunder rolled low and unending. you sat curled on the couch, cardigan wrapped tight, watching the storm like it might give you an answer.

you didn’t expect the knock, but there it was—frantic, loud, desperate.

you ran to the door, heart in your throat, and swung it open.

there he was. soaked through, hair dripping, chest rising and falling like he’d run the whole way. eyes wild, searching for you.

“eunseok?” your voice cracked.

“i’m sorry,” he gasped out, breathless. “i’m so sorry. i should’ve—i didn’t mean to—”

you grabbed his wrist and tugged him inside before the rain could drown him. “are you crazy? you’re going to get sick!”

he stood there, water pooling at his feet, and still all he could say was, “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to disappear. my grandpa—he had to go to the hospital in the city and it all happened so fast and i should’ve called, i should’ve found a way to tell you but—”

your emotions rushed out before he could say more. “you didn’t mean to disappear? eunseok, it’s been a week.” your voice shook, but you couldn’t stop. “i’ve been here, wondering if i imagined it all—if you even liked me, if that date meant anything to you.”

his mouth opened, but you went on, the words spilling like the rain outside. “do you know what it felt like? waiting? checking my phone, thinking maybe you’d come by the house, or the bookstore, or something. i went to your shop—you weren’t there, no note, nothing. not a word. nothing.”

he looked stricken, eyes wide, tears mixing with the rain on his face. “yn, i—please—i didn’t want to hurt you. i didn’t want you to think—”

but your voice rose, hurt and angry and breaking all at once. “what was i supposed to think? did i do something wrong? was it all just in my head? i felt so stupid for hoping—”

“yn, no—god, no—”

he tried to step closer, but you instinctively took a small step back, overwhelmed. your voice dropped, trembling. “i waited for you. i wanted to see you. and you were just gone.”

he shook his head, rain dripping from his hair, hands clenched at his sides. “it happened so fast. i’ve been with him, helping my family, i didn’t know how to reach you. i didn’t want you to think i didn’t care—”

his words tumbled over each other, panicked and desperate, his breath ragged. “i thought about you every day. every second. i couldn’t stop thinking about how it must’ve looked, how you must’ve felt—i hated myself for not—”

“eunseok.”

but he kept going, voice breaking. “—finding a way to tell you, for leaving you in the dark, for—”

“eunseok.”

his eyes flicked up, wild, like he hadn’t truly seen you until now. you stepped forward, voice soft, tears blurring your vision. “eunseok!” he stopped, finally meeting your eyes. you didn’t realize you were both crying until you felt the tears slide warm down your cheeks.

“you’re here now,” you said, voice trembling. “that’s what matters.”

but his guilt kept pouring out faster than the rain outside. “i should’ve—”

you kissed him. you kissed him to shut him up, to quiet the storm inside him, to quiet the storm inside you. his hands rose, unsure at first, then desperate, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip away. when you pulled back, you both gasped for air, foreheads pressed together, tears mixing with rain.

the house was dark, only the soft flicker of candlelight illuminating his soaked form, the way his eyes searched yours like he was still afraid this was a dream.

“come here,” you whispered. “come hold me.”

“i’m soaked,” he said, shaking his head, but his voice cracked.

“i don’t care. i’ve been so cold.”

he let you pull him onto the couch. neither of you spoke. the storm outside spoke for you—the soft drum of rain on the roof, the occasional low rumble of thunder, the sigh of wind against the windows. his body was cold and damp against yours, but it didn’t matter. you pressed into him, curling your arms around his middle, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest.

his arms came around you, tentative at first, then tighter—like he was learning you, like he was memorizing how you fit against him. and for a while, that was all it was. the two of you breathing together, hearts slowly calming in sync.

you felt his heartbeat beneath your cheek—quick, nervous, real. you wanted him closer. you needed him closer. your hands slipped beneath his wet shirt, fingertips brushing the warm skin of his back. he shivered at the contact, but didn’t pull away. he only held you tighter, like you’d anchored him to the earth.

your palms flattened against him, pressing him impossibly nearer, as if you could close the space that had hurt so much the past week. as if you could keep him with you, right here, right now.

the fear hit you, sharp and soft at once. what are we? what if i fall and he leaves? what if this hurts later?

you swallowed hard, blinking fast, but the tears came anyway. he felt it—the way your breath hitched, the way your shoulders trembled just slightly against him. without a word, his hand rose, smoothing gently over your damp hair, as if to soothe both of you.

he pressed his lips to the top of your head. a soft, steadying kiss. one that said i’m here.

you closed your eyes, breathed him in. felt the shape of him, the warmth beneath the cold. and for a moment, the storm wasn’t so loud.

the power was still out. the only light between you came from the flickering flame of a single candle you’d set on the coffee table. its glow made everything feel softer—the room, the storm, even him.

finally, after the quiet had stretched long and fragile, you spoke. your voice tried to come out teasing, but it wavered, cracked just slightly at the edges. “so… did you really think about me every day?”

his gaze flicked to yours, and you saw it—how the question hit him right in the heart. he gave a soft, breathy laugh, almost disbelieving. “yeah,” he said, simply, truthfully. “every single day. probably more than was healthy.”

you wanted to smile. you tried. but your chest ached with everything you’d felt this past week. you lowered your eyes for a second, gathering your courage, then looked back up at him.

“i like you,” you whispered. the words felt big. you forced yourself to keep going. “i like you a lot. and i hated feeling so stupid for hoping… for wanting this to be something real.”

he didn’t hesitate—not for a breath. “it is real. yn, it’s so real it scared me.”

your heart clenched at the softness in his voice. he reached out, his fingers brushing yours, tentative but sure. “i’ve never felt like this before. not this fast. not this deep. i’m sorry i hurt you. i swear i didn’t mean to.”

the power flickered back on then, bathing the room in sudden warm light. neither of you moved. you just stared at each other, memorizing, breathing, feeling. you lifted your hand, fingertips ghosting over his cheek, thumb resting beneath his eye. his skin was cool, but his gaze burned into yours.

“you don’t look real,” you said softly. “you don’t feel real.”

he leaned into your touch, eyes closing for just a second. “i’m real,” he said. “i’m right here.”

the moment hung there, weightless and full of meaning. you smiled, small and shy. “do you want to shower here?”

he hesitated, glancing down at his soaked clothes. “tempting, but… what’s the point? my clothes are still wet. might as well go home.”

then his eyes lifted back to yours, vulnerable, open. “i don’t want to leave. not yet.”

you didn’t want him to leave either. but you nodded, standing. “okay… let me make us something before you go. you need to warm up more.”

he watched you disappear into the kitchen, busying yourself with tea, with small snacks, with anything that kept your hands moving so your heart didn’t burst.

while you weren’t looking, he reached into his bag, pulled out a scrap of paper, and wrote. wrote the things he hadn’t said out loud.

the letter:

yn,

i don’t know how to say all this when you’re looking at me, so i’m writing it down.you scare me, in the best way. how fast you’ve taken up space in my heart. how much i want to be near you.i’m sorry for hurting you. i never want to do that again.i want to know you. i want to make this count. i want you to know i see you, and you’re not something i imagined either.

i hope you’ll let me show you how much i mean this.

(and because i don’t want to risk losing you again—)here’s everything:my number, my email, my instagram, my everything.

no more disappearing. not when it comes to you.

—eunseok

when you returned, he tucked it into your book on the coffee table, where he knew you’d find it once he left.

he didn’t say much more before finally dragging himself up, murmuring, “thank you. for tonight. for not shutting me out.” and as he stepped out into the night—his hand lingering a little too long on yours—you felt, somehow, like you’d just found something worth holding onto.

you found his letter before bed, folded delicately and tucked between the pages of your book. he must’ve slipped it there without you noticing.

you recognized his handwriting immediately. neat but a little rushed, like he had too much to say and not enough space to say it. you read it once, then again, each sentence blooming in your chest like sunlight after rain. you sat in silence for a while afterward, hands in your lap, the note still open beside you. your heart felt too full to speak, to even think clearly. and before you could second-guess yourself, you grabbed your phone.

[you] when are you free?

[eunseok] tomorrow, anytime for you

[you] come over to swim? and a movie

[eunseok] do i get to hold your hand this time?

[you] maybe if you behave

[eunseok] i’ll be there early

you spent all afternoon getting everything ready. the outdoor couch was fluffed with soft pillows and layered blankets. you strung fairy lights from the fence to the trees, letting them fall just low enough to cast a gentle golden hue across the yard. the projector was already set, the screen draped against the siding of the house.

he arrived just before sunset, a hoodie pulled over his head, his usual canvas bag slung over his shoulder.

“hey,” you greeted softly, heart skipping at the sight of him.

“hey,” he echoed, his voice low and warm as ever. your eyes met, and the quiet stretched—comfortable, close, familiar.

“come on,” you said, breaking into a smile. “you promised to behave.”

“i didn’t promise anything,” he murmured, brushing past you with the smallest, shyest smirk. “you just assumed.”

the water was cool on your skin as you floated beside him, your shoulders just barely touching now and then as you drifted closer and then apart again. you giggled when he splashed you gently, and in return, you cupped your hands and sent a soft wave of water in his direction. it was nothing wild or dramatic, just gentle. playful. like the two of you were figuring each other out without needing to say much at all.

at one point, he caught you by the waist—carefully, like you might disappear—and lifted you slightly before letting you slip back into the water with a laugh.

you turned toward him, face flushed and eyes bright. his expression softened when he saw you smiling.

“you’re beautiful,” he said so quietly you almost didn’t hear it.

your breath caught. “what?”

“nothing,” he murmured quickly, cheeks tinged with pink. “just… you look happy.”

you bit your bottom lip, eyes lingering on his. “i am.”

and he smiled back, small and real.

you changed before the movie—slipping into your softest loungewear: a delicate knit tank and matching shorts, barely-there fabric that felt like a second skin. you didn’t think much of it until you came outside and caught the way he looked at you. his eyes widened slightly, his breath audibly caught in his throat before he averted his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck. “sorry,” he mumbled.

“for what?” you asked, trying not to smile.

“you just—” he swallowed. “look pretty.”

your cheeks warmed. “thank you. i was just getting comfortable.”

he nodded, eyes still downcast. “comfortable’s good.”

you sat beside him on the outdoor couch, pulling the blanket over both of you. his thigh brushed against yours. he didn’t move.

neither did you.

you played Spirited Away on the projector, both of you curled under the blankets, limbs slowly drawn together over the course of the film. you rested your head against his shoulder, and he quietly pressed his cheek to the top of your head.

you could’ve stayed there forever. but partway through the movie, the first drops of rain tapped gently at the fabric of the couch.

you froze, then sat up. “no—no, it wasn’t supposed to rain.”

eunseok blinked slowly, watching you.

“i had more planned,” you said, a little too fast. “a playlist, dessert, i was gonna—ugh.”

he just smiled.

“you’re not upset?” you asked, frustrated at yourself for being visibly sulky.

“no,” he said. “i like the rain.”

you stared at him.

he reached for your hand, squeezing lightly. “it reminds me of you.”

your heart jumped.

“that first night out on the beach. it was cloudy and gray, and i kept thinking how soft the world felt around you.”

you looked at him, stunned.

“i’m not here for the plans,” he said gently. “i’m here for you. that’s what makes it perfect.”

your throat tightened, and you didn’t know what to say. so you nodded and let him lead you inside.

you restarted the movie from the couch, this time with your legs draped over his lap again and your body pulled close. your mood was still quiet, uncertain—but he reached for you anyway, gently guiding your head against his shoulder.

“you okay?” he whispered.

you nodded. but when he rested his hand over yours, you turned it over and kissed the back of it—soft and slow, like a thank you.

he looked at you, gaze flickering between your lips and your eyes. then kissed you, once. then again.

your hand slipped to the nape of his neck, and you kissed him like you had something to prove. your lips parted slightly, moving with more certainty this time, and he exhaled through his nose, tilting his head to deepen it.

he kissed you slowly, fully, his hand resting just beneath your tank top at your waist. he didn’t rush. didn’t take more than you offered. he just held you and kissed you and made you feel like nothing else existed.

it wasn’t a grand declaration or a sudden shift in the air. it was the way the days began to melt into one another, soft and golden, each one strung to the next by shared laughter, quiet glances, and fingers brushing in passing.

like a slow tide pulling you both in.

sometimes, you just listened to each other breathe. there were more beach days.

he’d tug your hand as you walked barefoot through the warm sand, guiding you toward the shoreline without saying a word. you’d splash each other, laugh until your stomach ached, and then float side by side in the water, arms and legs outstretched, letting the waves rock you gently.

you didn’t need to talk. not really. everything you felt shimmered in the silence between you.

you rode bikes again, this time with no real destination—just two bodies in motion, chasing the ocean breeze. he taught you how to ride hands-free, and when you failed, he reached out and steadied you by the waist, his laugh warm in your ear.

he started cooking at your place. the first time, he wore one of your aunt’s old aprons—white with tiny cherries on it—and looked absolutely unbothered. “don’t laugh,” he warned, eyes narrowed playfully.

“i’m not,” you smiled, biting your lip. “you just look… committed.”

he taught you how to make a dish, gently guiding your hands and correcting your knife technique with the softest patience. “you don’t have to be good,” he murmured. “you just have to try.”

you set the table while he finished plating, and he kissed your cheek just before you sat down to eat. you blushed so hard you forgot how to hold your spoon.

you visited the bookstore more regularly, sometimes just to sit behind the counter with him and do nothing at all. he always saved you a spot—tucked behind the desk, cross-legged on a cushion, with a small stack of books he thought you might like.

you shared music through one earbud each, working in silence, his knee occasionally bumping yours under the table. once, you fell asleep with your head on his shoulder, and he let you rest there for a full hour.

every night, when he walked you home, you found yourselves lingering outside your gate. you never wanted to say goodbye first. you always waited until he kissed you gently, like he was promising to see you again the next morning. and he always did.

you didn’t need to say it aloud. you were both falling.

slowly. surely. like the quiet descent of the moon into the sea. and you wondered, privately, what the end of this would look like.

because every day, you were beginning to feel like this wasn’t just summer. this was something real. something you’d carry with you—no matter how far you had to go.

he only sent one message.

[eunseok] wear your big girl clothes tonight.

you stared at your phone for longer than you should’ve, reading the message over and over again until your heart fluttered like it had somewhere to be.

your big girl clothes.

you opened your suitcase and pulled out the black mini dress you hadn’t dared wear yet—a fitted House of CB number with soft, ruched fabric and a sweetheart neckline that framed your chest a little too perfectly. it cinched right at your waist, and you found yourself adjusting it in the mirror longer than necessary, cheeks warm.

you sprayed your perfume just once—right at the dip between your collarbones, letting it settle there like a secret you wanted him to find. your hands shook slightly as you touched up your lips. why were you so nervous?

because it was eunseok. because you liked him. because you were falling. and tonight, something felt different.

he was waiting for you outside your gate, leaning back slightly against the stone wall, dressed in head-to-toe black.

he looked unfairly good. his shirt clung to his frame just right, sleeves cuffed at the wrists, collar open at the neck. his black trousers sat high on his waist, legs long and clean, and his hair—his hair was styled back, revealing that sharp forehead and the soft slope of his brows.

he looked up the moment he heard the gate click open. and when he saw you, his entire face softened.

you saw his eyes drop just slightly—just long enough to notice the dress, the way it hugged you, the shape of you framed by the faint light from the porch. he blinked once, then again.

"hi," you said, suddenly shy.

he didn’t speak for a second.

“you smell like you,” he finally said, voice quieter than usual. “but more dangerous.”

you bit back a smile. “that’s the perfume.”

his eyes lingered on your chest for a half-second too long before he looked away quickly, ears red. “i noticed.”

he led you through the town by hand, wordless but warm. the evening air was thick with salt and music—distant chatter from diners and the sound of the tide shifting just beyond the hill.

when you reached the tucked-away bar, it felt like entering another world.

the space was dim and intimate, with warm amber lights strung across wooden beams. soft jazz floated from a small stage near the back, where a band played with easy, practiced rhythm. the bar sat right at the edge of a cliff, windows open to the ocean breeze, the waves crashing gently below.

eunseok pulled out your chair. you couldn’t stop looking at him. “what is this place?” you asked, heart full already.

“my secret spot,” he said, leaning forward. “thought it deserved someone special tonight.”

you smiled so hard your cheeks hurt.

dinner was slow and lovely, every bite punctuated with teasing glances and quiet laughter. he refilled your wine glass each time it got low, brushed his fingers against yours when he passed you the bread.

he complimented you halfway through the meal, unprompted.

“you look unreal tonight,” he said suddenly, eyes on your lips. “like a painting. but—like, if the painting could kill a man.”

you blushed so hard you had to hide behind your water glass.

he just watched you, pleased.

after dinner, as the band began to play something slower, he stood and offered his hand.

“dance with me?”

you took it without a second thought.

the two of you moved together quietly—bodies swaying in slow rhythm. he held you like he didn’t want to let go, hand steady at your waist, the other wrapped in yours.

your head rested against his chest, the smell of his cologne, faint and clean, filling your nose. he was warm. solid. real.

“i wish this night would last longer,” you whispered, barely above the music.

he dipped his head so his lips brushed your ear. “me too.”

he walked you home under a full moon, fingers interlaced, your feet aching in your heels as you walked through the sleepy streets. it was quiet. still. like the whole world had gone still just for you two.

he stopped in front of your gate and looked at you.

his hair had fallen slightly, a few strands brushing his forehead. his shirt was wrinkled from dancing. his lips were slightly pink from wine. and he was smiling at you like you were something precious.

you didn’t want to say goodbye.

“stay,” you said, heart in your throat.

his smile faltered. “what?”

“just… stay tonight.” you stepped closer, suddenly shy. “i don’t want this to end.”

he studied you for a beat, then nodded slowly.

“okay,” he said, voice soft. “okay.”

you reached for his hand, guiding him inside with a quiet thrill fluttering in your chest.

tonight, you weren’t just infatuated. you were in love.

when you step inside, the hush of the night follows you.

neither of you say anything as the door closes behind. it’s like words would only break whatever magic you’re caught in.

eunseok drops the keys gently on the counter. you slip off your shoes. the wine from dinner still buzzes softly in your veins, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling of him beside you.

he reaches for your hand. you let him pull you toward the couch, where you both collapse in a quiet heap—your limbs tangled, his chest against your back at first, then you roll until you’re face to face, curled together. your nose bumps his shoulder. his breath warms your temple. you’re not even sure how long you lay like that—just holding, breathing, hearts thudding softly in sync.

“drunk?” you murmur.

“off the wine?” he hums.

you laugh into his shirt. “no. off me.”

he pulls back enough to look at you, one brow raised.

“because i am,” you admit, your voice gentle. “on you.”

his eyes soften. “same.”

your fingers drift down to his hand, playing with his knuckles, tracing his lifeline. you twist his pinky gently, make it wave. he watches you quietly, like he’s committing the image to memory.

you glance up and find him looking at you differently tonight. not like he wants something from you. just like he wants you.

“what are you thinking about?” you ask, pushing his hair back. it falls right back into his eyes. you try again, brushing your thumb along his temple, and then down, softly tracing his cheekbone. he closes his eyes.

“you,” he whispers.

you still.

his lashes flutter open. “i’ve been thinking about you since the day we met. maybe even before that, when i just saw you. glimpses. it’s like you existed in the quietest parts of my brain. and then suddenly, there you were. floating in the water. looking so sad and calm and beautiful all at once.”

you don’t say anything. just keep watching him. his voice lowers. “i didn’t know i could feel something this real. something so quiet and sure. but with you, it’s not just wanting. it’s needing. and hoping. and—” he pauses to breathe. “and i love you.”

your heart slips sideways in your chest. he looks like he means it with his whole body. like he’s terrified and relieved and everything in between.

“i love you,” he says again, barely a breath. “i had to say it tonight or i’d regret it.”

you lean in, pressing your forehead to his. your voice is fragile, but steady. “i love you too. i think… i think i’ve been waiting for something like this. not even realizing it. just always hoping love would feel like this. quiet. but full.”

he kisses you then. it’s soft at first—like he’s asking for permission with every movement. your hands slide up his neck, into his hair, anchoring him to you.

you melt into him, breath hitching when he shifts closer, when his hand slips under the strap of your dress. the world shrinks to this moment—his lips, his warmth, the soft sighs shared between you.

your heart races but not from nerves. from the knowing. this isn’t just infatuation. not just a fling. this is falling. and when he kisses you again, deeper this time, like he wants to feel every inch of your soul—there’s no more doubt. you let yourself get lost in him. in his hands. in his whisper of your name between kisses.

when he pulls away to look at you, you’re breathless. you took his hand, fingers lacing through his, and brought it to your lips for a small kiss before rising to your feet.

neither of you said a word.

just the sound of your breathing, your heart loud in your ears as you gently wrapped your fingers around his wrist. you felt the steady beat under your touch—his pulse, strong and quick, just like yours. his eyes searched yours, wide and filled with wonder as you quietly led him down the hallway toward your room, the pads of your bare feet pressing into the cool floor.

the door clicked softly shut behind you.

still holding his wrist, you turned to face him, bringing his hand up toward the thin straps of your dress. he followed your lead without speaking, fingertips ghosting over your shoulder. you exhaled, guiding his touch to slide the straps down slowly.

your skin prickled in the silence. then, without looking back, you reached for your hair and gathered it up, exposing the curve of your neck and spine to him.

“can you…?” you asked softly, nodding toward the zipper at the back.

his fingers hesitated against the fabric. “are you sure?”

you nodded, still holding your hair up. “i love you. and i want to do this—with you. for you.”

he pressed a kiss to your shoulder first, reverent and sweet, before moving to the zipper. he was so slow—like he didn’t want to rush, like he wanted to feel every breath of this moment with you. the sound of it lowering felt louder than it should’ve. each inch he unzipped was followed by the soft graze of his fingers over your back.

when the fabric finally slipped down to the floor, a hush settled in the room.

you stepped out of the dress, standing before him in only your panties—lace ones you hadn’t worn before, ones you’d saved for someone you loved. his eyes traced every part of you, his jaw slack with awe. you brought his hand to your chest, letting him cup you fully.

“you can touch me,” you whispered, guiding him. “i want you to.”

his hands were warm and gentle, cupping your breasts like he was trying to memorize the weight of them. you tilted your head up and kissed him again, slow and open-mouthed, letting your tongue slide against his.

your kiss was soft at first—then deeper, laced with urgency, emotion. you gasped into it when his other hand found your waist, fingers digging into your skin like he couldn’t bear not to be touching you.

he gasped softly when you started working at the buttons of his shirt, palms moving over his chest as it opened. you let it fall from his shoulders, fingers slipping over his collarbones, down his stomach. he was firm and lean beneath your hands, skin flushed pink.

his hands came up to your cheeks, cradling you with such tenderness it almost made you cry. when you found his belt and unfastened it, his breath stuttered. pants hit the floor, leaving him in his boxers—already tented, his thighs tense.

you leaned forward, kissed him again—this time hungrier. he lifted you with a breathless sound, carrying you the rest of the way to the bed.

you let out a soft, surprised laugh as your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist. his hold was secure, strong. he carried you to the bed as if you weighed nothing and gently laid you back onto the sheets, your hair fanning across the pillow.

he leaned over you, forehead resting gently against yours, one hand braced beside your head and the other holding your waist like you might float away.

“you’re so soft,” he whispered, almost to himself. “so lovely.”

you pulled him down with you, into a kiss that grew hungrier the longer your lips stayed connected—tongues tangling, breaths stolen, soft gasps exchanged like promises.

his hand returned to your chest, cupping you again, but this time rougher, more confident. his thumb brushed over your nipple and you whimpered into his mouth. he broke the kiss to trail his lips down your jawline, down your neck, nipping and licking, sucking softly.

“you’re so perfect,” he whispered, breath hot against your skin.

your fingers found his hair and tugged, and he moaned as he pressed his mouth to your chest, pulling one nipple between his lips. your back arched as he teased it with his tongue, then moved to the other, squeezing the breast in his hand. when he grazed your nipple with his teeth, your breath hitched. he soothed the spot with his mouth again and you tugged him back up, crashing your lips together once more.

your kisses moved this time—your lips on his cheeks, his temples, his neck. every small peck felt like a whispered secret, a vow you hadn’t said aloud yet.

when you found the hollow of his collarbone, you sucked a mark into the skin, mumbling, “all mine,” before kissing down his chest. your hand slid between your bodies, pressing against the hardness straining his boxers.

“fuck—yn,” he breathed, hips twitching under your palm.

you looked up at him through your lashes. “can i take these off?”

he nodded quickly, voice shaky. “yeah… yeah, of course.”

he lifted his hips to help, and when he was bare before you, you wrapped your hand around him gently—soft but deliberate. his breath caught. your strokes were slow at first, admiring the weight of him, the warmth. then your grip tightened and your pace picked up, and he groaned, falling forward to press his forehead to yours.

you kissed him again, drinking in every moan he gave you, and his hands gripped at the sheets like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“yn, i’m—” he gasped, “i’m close—”

you pulled your hand away.

his eyes fluttered open in shock. “wh—?”

“sorry,” you whispered, grinning against his lips. “i’m greedy.”

before he could ask what you meant, you kissed him again, then slowly trailed your way back down. and when you finally planted a single wet kiss on his tip, his whole body jolted.

“shit—yn,” he choked out, his voice airy, wrecked.

“couldn’t help myself,” you said, breathless, crawling back up his body.

he cupped your face again, like he always did. “don’t apologize.”

you kissed his palm. then you brought his hand between your legs, tucking his fingers under the band of your panties.

“feel me, seok,” you murmured. “i need you.”

you both gasped when his fingers touched your clit—his thumb circling the swollen bud so gently it made your thighs twitch.

“fuck,” he whispered. “you’re so warm… so wet.”

you whimpered. “inside. please.”

he didn’t rush. his fingers slipped lower, exploring, learning. and when he finally pressed one inside of you, you clenched hard around him. he moaned at the feeling.

“you feel so fucking good,” he said, eyes wide and dark.

he added a second finger, then a third, pumping them slowly as he pressed his lips to yours again. the stretch made your breath catch, but it also made your body come alive.

your forehead pressed to his, your breathing stuttering. “eunseok—i love you,” you whispered.

he kissed you again, over and over. “i love you too, yn. i love you so much.”

his fingers curled, and you cried out as heat bloomed deep in your belly. his thumb returned to your clit and rubbed small circles, coaxing you over the edge.

you came undone with a moan of his name, hips stuttering as your climax hit hard and fast.

he held you through it, kissing your temple, his fingers slowing but not leaving you yet. your body trembled.

when the aftershocks faded, he kissed your forehead. “are you okay for one more?”

you opened your eyes and smiled sleepily. “song eunseok, if you aren't inside of me soon, i might cry.”

he laughed softly at your words, eyes crinkling as he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your cheek.

“you’re cute,” he teased under his breath, but his gaze was full of reverence.

his lips found yours again, slower this time, mouths moving in sync like you had all the time in the world. one of his hands caressed your waist while the other moved to stroke your thigh, kneading the flesh before hooking it around his hip. he paused with his tip nudging at your entrance, eyes locked with yours.

you nodded silently, both hands pressed to the sides of his face. “you can… i want this. i want you.”

he kissed you softly, his voice low. “if i asked you to come closer, would you?”

you smiled. “i’d never leave.”

and then he pushed in, inch by inch, letting you feel every stretch, every shift.

you gasped, arms tightening around his back, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

“you’re doing so good, baby,” he whispered, kissing the tears before they could fall. “i’ll stop if you need me to. you just have to say.”

“don’t stop,” you breathed, holding his face. “you’re just… really big.”

he groaned, burying his face in your neck as he sank in deeper. “fuck—don’t say that, yn… i’ll lose my mind.”

your legs wrapped around his waist as he bottomed out, and for a moment, you both just breathed—chests rising and falling, bodies finally one.

he pulled back slightly, and your lips met again. slow.

“move,” you whispered into his mouth.

and he did.

each thrust was slow and deep, angled just right. his hips rolled into yours, and with each stroke, your breath hitched. he moved like he was memorizing you—how you gasped, how you clenched, how your fingers dug into his back when it got too good.

“you’re so perfect,” he groaned, “i don’t know how i lived without this.”

you kissed him again, needy now, whispering, “i’m gonna get addicted to you.”

“good,” he said, his thrusts picking up. “because i’m already obsessed.”

his words made your walls flutter and he gasped, losing rhythm for a second.

“fuck—yn… you were made for me. and i was made for you.”

you whimpered. “i feel so full. like i was made to hold you.”

he moaned, hips stuttering.

“where do you want me?” he asked breathlessly. “baby, tell me—”

“inside,” you cried out. “please. i’m on the pill, just—just don’t pull out.”

“god, yn,” he said through clenched teeth, kissing your lips again. “i love you.”

your hands found his cheeks, cradling his face as he chased his high. you watched the way his eyes fluttered shut, the way he gasped when he felt you pulse around him again.

your climax came first—hot and powerful—your mouth falling open as you clenched tightly around him. you dragged your nails down his back as you sobbed his name, and that was all it took.

he followed you with a strangled moan, warmth flooding inside of you in long, slow waves. he didn’t stop moving right away, letting you ride it out together—breathless, messy, completely consumed.

you held him to you when his weight collapsed against yours, both of you panting, your chests sticky with sweat.

“you’re the only one who’s seen me this way,” you whispered into his ear.

his head lifted, eyes blown and soft. “i was your first?”

you nod.

he didn’t say anything at first.

just looked at you.

his brows slightly pulled together, lips parted like he couldn’t find the right words—not because he was shocked, but because he didn’t want to say the wrong thing. the pads of his fingers brushed over your cheek as his eyes searched yours, wide and unreadable.

“you should’ve told me,” he said quietly, voice fragile like the hush of waves through the open window.

you smiled faintly, eyes glassy from the emotions swirling inside you. “would it have changed anything?”

his thumb ghosted across your lips. “no,” he admitted. “just… i would’ve gone even slower. held you longer. memorized every sound you made.”

your throat tightened at that. “you did all of that anyway.”

a pause. “you gave me something no one else ever will. not just your body, but… your trust. your love. all of you.” his voice cracked slightly at the end, and his gaze dropped for a moment. “i just—i want you to know that i don’t take any of it lightly. not even a little.”

you could see the earnestness in his face, in the furrow of his brow and the way he pressed his lips to your forehead like a quiet promise.

“it was never just about the sex,” he whispered. “i love you, yn. you’re it for me.”

your breath hitched, something warm blooming behind your ribs. you nudged your nose against his. “you’re it for me, too.”

he kissed you again, this time slower—less like he needed you and more like he had you, and that was enough. he pulled out carefully, brushing his lips over your shoulder as he whispered, “let me clean you up.”

you nodded, still blinking back tears.

he returned a minute later with a warm towel, and the gentleness in his touch made you feel everything all over again. you watched him in silence as he cleaned you up like it was second nature to him—tender, patient, reverent.

“come here,” you whispered when he was done, reaching for him with outstretched arms.

he slid back under the covers and gathered you into his chest, your cheek resting over his heartbeat. his hand rubbed slow circles into your back, his other arm curled around your waist.

“do you feel okay?” he murmured after a moment, kissing the top of your head.

“better than okay.”

he smiled into your hair. “you’re incredible. you know that, right?”

you shook your head, and he kissed your temple again like he was trying to convince you.

moonlight spilled softly through the windows, casting faint silver streaks across the floor and the tangled sheets wrapped loosely around your legs. the only sound was the slow rise and fall of your breath as you curled into his chest, your fingertips absentmindedly tracing the curve of his collarbone.

eunseok had gone quiet.

not in the way that meant he had nothing to say—but in the way where everything he wanted to say was in the way his hand moved slowly over your back, the way his lips rested against the crown of your head.

you tilted your head up just slightly. the moonlight hit his features just right—dark lashes, soft eyes, slightly flushed cheeks, lips still kiss-bitten and warm. and for a moment, all you could do was look. you didn’t say it right away. it sat on your tongue like the taste of something sweet you didn’t want to swallow too soon.

“eunseok?” you whispered.

his hand stilled, then resumed its slow rhythm. “mm?”

you reached up, brushing his hair gently from his eyes. your fingers lingered along the curve of his cheekbone, and he leaned into your touch without hesitation.

“you’re like the moon to me,” you said quietly.

his brow furrowed just slightly in confusion, a small tilt to his head. “the moon?”

you nodded, heart hammering.

“you don’t chase like the sun,” you explained, your voice steady but low. “you wait. you watch. you light up the dark without trying to outshine anything else.”

you took a breath, eyes locked on his. “you’re soft and constant. the kind of quiet that makes everything feel okay.” he blinked, and his hand tightened just a little at your waist.

“and even when you’re not right beside me… i feel you. like you’re always there. always watching. always waiting.”

a silence stretched between you. not uncomfortable—just heavy with emotion. he looked at you like he didn’t know how he’d go this long without hearing those words before.

“yn…” he whispered, voice catching on the swell of his feelings.

you smiled, a bit shy, heart open and beating wildly in your chest. “i mean it.”

he brought a hand up to your face, cradling it like you were something sacred. his thumb brushed the edge of your jaw, then your cheek. “you have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured. “you’re… i don’t even have words.”

you leaned forward and kissed him, soft and slow. when you pulled back, he was smiling—wide and dazed and just a little glassy-eyed. “you’re the only person who’s ever said something like that to me.”

you pressed your forehead to his. “i’m glad i got to be the first.”

the silence returned, but it felt different now—like something warm and golden had settled between you. and even though your eyes were starting to slip closed, your hand found his beneath the blanket, fingers lacing together.

he kissed the back of your knuckles. “i love you,” he said quietly. you smiled into the crook of his neck. “i love you, too. more than words could ever explain.”

and in that soft, moonlit quiet, your heart was the fullest it had ever been.

you loved waking up in his arms.

even before your eyes opened, you could feel him—his steady heartbeat beneath your cheek, his bare chest warm against your skin, his breath slow and even near the crown of your head. the weight of his arm around your waist was grounding, fingers twitching ever so slightly against your spine, like he was dreaming of you.

your lashes fluttered, and in the pale morning light that spilled through your curtains, you looked up at him—sleep-soft and beautiful. his lips were parted slightly, hair tousled and falling into his brows. you reached up, brushing your fingertips against his mouth, then his cheekbones, then the bridge of his nose.

you smiled to yourself, cheeks already warm.

your thighs ached when you shifted slightly beneath the covers, but the ache was sweet—a quiet reminder of what the two of you had shared under the stars just hours ago. a reminder of how loved you felt.

you snuggled impossibly closer, nose tucked against the hollow beneath his jaw.

he stirred at the movement, a sleepy hum leaving his throat as his arm tightened around you. his lashes lifted slowly, and the second his eyes landed on you, his whole face lit up. it wasn’t fair, you thought—not when his smile could melt every part of you.

“morning,” he murmured, voice still hoarse with sleep. his thumb brushed your hip lazily, like he couldn’t stop touching you even if he tried. “how are you feeling, baby?”

you hummed into his chest, pressing a kiss just above his heart. “a little sore,” you admitted, lifting your gaze shyly. “but… really happy.”

he chuckled softly, a low sound that vibrated through his chest. “i figured. i wasn’t exactly gentle, was i?”

you swatted his side lightly, and he grinned.

“i’ll help you shower,” he offered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “if you want.”

your face heated instantly. “you’re just trying to see me naked again.”

“i’ve already seen you naked,” he pointed out, smirking slightly.

you buried your face in his shoulder. “eunseok!”

his laugh was everything you wanted to hear first thing in the morning. he kissed the side of your head and whispered, “i love you.”

you peeked up at him again, biting back a smile. “i love you too.”

his eyes softened as he cradled your jaw and kissed you properly this time—slow and sleepy and full of meaning. and then, without another word, he gently pulled the blanket off your body and lifted you from the bed as if you weighed nothing.

“you really don’t have to carry me—”

“shh. my girl’s sore. i’m taking care of her.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you whispered, arms around his neck.

“and hopelessly in love,” he replied, nudging your nose with his.

you let yourself be held, let yourself fall in love even more with the way he held you—like you were everything. and as he carried you into the bathroom, whispering soft, flirty nothings and promises of a warm shower and warmer kisses, you knew that waking up like this—heart full, limbs tangled, love heavy in the air—was something you’d never forget.

eunseok didn’t officially move in, but he might as well have.

he still technically stayed at his grandparents’ place in town—but most nights, he ended up here. he’d bring extra clothes, his toothbrush, his half-read books. he never meant to take up space, and yet somehow, every corner of your little beachside house now had traces of him.

but the most noticeable thing was him, always beside you.

sometimes, you’d be reading on the couch while he cooked dinner. other days, he’d be drawing or writing something by hand while you scribbled in your journal across the table. you didn’t always talk. you didn’t always touch. but you didn’t need to. just knowing he was there—existing quietly in your space, filling the room with his slow breath and thoughtful presence—was enough to settle something in your heart.

you hadn’t realized how much of yourself craved that until he gave it to you. a love so gentle, it never needed to speak loudly to be heard.

some afternoons, you still made it down to the beach. the water was warmer now. the sun hung lower. everything had a golden tint. you’d run along the sand, racing him and laughing when he cheated with long strides. sometimes he tackled you, both of you collapsing into a heap of giggles and flushed cheeks.

“you’re such a menace,” you’d groan, brushing the sand out of your hair.

“you love it,” he’d grin, rolling off you just enough to press a kiss to your cheek.

he kissed you constantly now—when you woke up. when you walked past. when you handed him a cup of tea. when you laughed at one of his dumb puns. and he always said it, too. “i love you.” like it was the easiest truth in the world. you said it back, always.

you meant it more each time.

he took you back to the overlook one evening. the same one from weeks ago, where you sat close but didn’t touch, where he said all he thought about was you. now, the space between you didn’t exist. your head rested on his shoulder, his arm around your back, your legs stretched out and tangled slightly.

“pretty sky,” you whispered.

he looked at you instead. “yeah.”

his fingers laced with yours, thumb brushing the inside of your wrist like he was trying to memorize the beat of your pulse. like the rhythm of your heart had become his favorite song.

you stayed until the sky turned lilac and the first stars blinked into existence. neither of you moved. not even when the night breeze kicked up.

you just stayed, like you could stay forever.

back at home, you danced.

there was an old jazz record spinning on your aunt’s dusty player—something warm and slow, all saxophone and crooning vocals—and the living room lights were off. only the soft glow of the kitchen light lit your silhouettes, casting shadows that swayed across the walls.

your arms looped around his neck. his hands settled naturally on your waist. you rested your cheek against his chest and let yourself be held.

“you’re good at this,” you mumbled against him.

he laughed, breath warm in your hair. “at what?”

“being here.”

“with you?” he asked softly. “it’s the easiest thing i’ve ever done.”

you lifted your head, just to see the look on his face. it was full of something you didn’t have words for—just love. the kind that simmered low and quiet, never showy, but endless.

you kissed him slowly, the music spilling through the open windows like a lullaby.

one night, you were curled up in bed, cross-legged with your guitar in your lap. the strings felt worn under your fingers, the wood smooth against your palms. you didn’t know what made you start humming. something about the quiet. or the fact that he was just lying there—on his stomach, chin resting on his arms, watching you with that look.

his whole body was still, like any movement would break the moment. his eyes were soft, full of something unspoken.

you looked up from your guitar and caught his gaze. “what?”

he didn’t blink. “nothing,” he said. “just… i think i’ll remember this forever.”

you bit the inside of your cheek, cheeks warm. “you’re just saying that.”

“i’m not,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “i mean it. the way you look right now. the way you sound. the way this feels… it’s something i don’t want to forget.”

your breath caught in your throat. you didn’t know how to respond.

so instead, you kept strumming—quiet and clumsy—and let the weight of his words settle into your heart, where they’d stay. where he’d stay.

somehow, he became your home.

there wasn’t a clear moment you could point to—no dramatic turning point, no flash of realization. it just happened gradually, like the way light fills a room in the morning. quiet. natural. complete.

you’d wake up with his arm around your waist, your cheek tucked against the curve of his chest, the soft inhale and exhale of his breath lulling you in and out of sleep. sometimes he’d murmur something you couldn’t fully hear, not yet awake enough to process. other times, he’d just hold you tighter, like he’d been waiting all night to feel you again.

mornings were slow now. you didn’t rush anything.

eunseok made coffee the way you liked it—too sweet, too milky. you’d perch on the counter while he moved around the kitchen barefoot and soft-eyed, hair messy from sleep. he always kissed you on the cheek first, then the nose, then the lips. you pretended to be annoyed, but your heart bloomed every time.

you both did your own things during the day. sometimes he’d read on the couch while you tried to teach yourself a new recipe. you didn’t need to fill the silence. it never felt empty.

the days blurred together full of soft edges, quiet joys.

you swam again—often. sometimes at sunset, your skin glimmering gold as he chased you through the waves. other times in the middle of the night, when the world was still and moonlit, and he whispered your name like it was sacred as he held your hand beneath the water.

he cooked dinner often. you’d sit on the counter and kick your feet while he stirred sauces and diced vegetables, humming to whatever vinyl you put on. sometimes he made you try things with your eyes closed. you always trusted him.

there were days when you’d walk to the bookstore just to be near him while he helped customers. he’d give you that little smile from across the room—just enough to make your stomach flip—and pass you folded notes when no one was looking.

miss you already. meet me behind the shop later?do you know how pretty you look when you read?thinking about kissing you for the rest of the day.

he always smelled like warm paper and clean soap. you were always a little dizzy around him.

some nights, you danced again.

not for long. just a song or two. his hands always found your waist. yours always found his chest. you moved slowly, letting the music fill the space between your bodies until there was no space left.

you told him you loved him every night. he always said it first. and it never sounded routine. never lost its magic. it always sounded like a promise.

one afternoon, you asked if he wanted to see your favorite secret place—a hidden spot beyond the dunes, near a crumbling old dock. he followed without question, carrying a blanket and a bag of snacks. you sat cross-legged, toes buried in the sand, watching the tide roll in.

he laid beside you, one hand tucked under his head, the other reaching for yours. you traced shapes on his palm. he closed his eyes.

“what are you thinking?” you whispered.

he was quiet for a long time.

“…that i wish time would slow down.”

you didn’t answer. you didn’t know how.

you just scooted closer and tucked your head beneath his chin, and stayed there. still. quiet. warm.

the first time you realized how used to him you’d become, you were brushing your teeth and found yourself reaching for a second toothbrush to hand to him. he wasn’t even in the room.

another time, you caught yourself reaching for your phone, your fingers already typing his name without thinking, like he was the default person for everything now.

every plan you made included him.

every thought bent toward him.

every part of your day felt shaped around his presence—even the quiet ones, even the ones where you didn’t speak much at all.

you weren’t sure what it meant, what it would become. but it felt real. and it felt like forever, even if you didn’t say it aloud.

one evening, the sun dipped below the horizon in a pool of peach and pink. you’d been outside watching the sky fade when he appeared behind you, arms wrapping around your waist.

“pretty,” you murmured.

“you’re blocking the view,” he teased.

you rolled your eyes. “i’m taller than the sun?”

he didn’t answer, just pressed a kiss to the back of your shoulder. “you’re all i can see.”

and you swore, in that moment, that even if you forgot everything else about this summer—the names of flowers, the taste of peaches, the sound of ocean wind—you would remember this. his arms around you. the quiet sky. the way he said it like he meant it.

the storm rolled in slow, but the air was heavy all day.

you felt it before the first drop of rain even hit—something restless in your chest, tight and aching. it wasn’t just the weather. it was the creeping sense that something was shifting. like summer itself was slipping through your fingers, and with it, everything you’d come to know and love about your days here… about him.

eunseok’s bag was by the door. his shoes lined up beside yours. his toothbrush next to yours. he belonged here. but lately, everything had felt a little off-kilter. your silences had grown longer. your thoughts had gotten heavier. he didn’t say anything about it at first. he just gave you your space. let you drift and recenter the way he always did.

but space only gave you more time to spiral.

you were lying on the couch while he cooked dinner, curled under a blanket, eyes unfocused on the ceiling. rain pattered softly at the windows, not yet a storm, but enough to paint the world gray. he called your name from the kitchen once. twice.

“yn?”

“what?”

he paused. “…nothing. just checking.”

you heard the hesitation in his voice. the quiet concern. the way he always softened when he spoke to you—but tonight it scraped against your nerves.

later, at dinner, you barely touched your food. you were pushing pasta around on your plate, nodding absently as he told you something about the bookstore. the town. a neighbor's dog. you weren’t even pretending to listen, not really. your mind was a million miles away.

“hey,” he said gently, finally putting his fork down. “what’s going on?”

you looked up too quickly. “what?”

“you’ve been somewhere else all day,” he said. “all week, actually. you keep disappearing.”

“i’m right here.”

“no, you’re not.”

you exhaled sharply. “i just have a lot on my mind.”

“then talk to me,” he said. “you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

“you wouldn’t get it.”

his brows furrowed. “try me.”

you stood, suddenly needing to move, to get away from the heat rising in your throat. “you’re always acting like you understand everything about me, eunseok, but you don’t.”

that stopped him cold. “what?”

“you think you know me,” you said, pacing now. “you think because we’ve spent weeks together in this little bubble that you understand everything i’m feeling? you don’t. you can’t.”

“so tell me,” he said, his voice growing sharper. “stop assuming i wouldn’t understand. stop deciding for me.”

“you don’t want to understand,” you snapped. “you just want me to smile and be quiet and read next to you and not say anything when it all starts falling apart.”

he stood now too, jaw clenched. “that’s not fair.”

“it is fair,” you said, breath catching. “because i’m the only one here thinking about what happens after this. you’ve just been floating. pretending this isn’t temporary.”

he looked like you’d slapped him. “you think i haven’t thought about the end?”

you turned away, arms crossed. “i think you’re just fine pretending like we’re in a fairytale, and when it’s over, you’ll just… go.”

“go?” his voice cracked. “yn, do you honestly think i could just go?”

you didn’t answer. your silence said enough.

“god,” he whispered, pushing a hand through his hair. “i love you, and you still don’t believe me.”

you flinched. the words shouldn’t have hurt. but they did.

“don’t say that right now,” you said tightly.

“why? because you’re angry? because you want to push me away before i can leave you first?”

your chest rose and fell with the effort to hold back tears. “maybe because you saying that doesn’t fix everything.”

“i’m not trying to fix everything,” he said, stepping closer. “i’m trying to get through to you. i don’t want this to end either. do you think it’s been easy for me to love someone this much, this fast?”

you shook your head, but he kept going.

“i think about you all the time. i wake up thinking about you. i fall asleep next to you and i still miss you when you roll over. i’m terrified, yn.”

your eyes met his, wide and wet.

“then why didn’t you say any of this before?” you asked, voice trembling. “i’ve been walking around like i’m the only one who’s scared to lose this.”

“because i didn’t want to make it worse,” he said. “because i thought if we just held onto each other a little tighter, it wouldn’t feel like slipping.”

a long silence followed.

the rain had gotten heavier, now hammering against the windows like it was trying to break in.

you were both breathing hard, chest to chest, heat between you still crackling with the remnants of the fight.

and then you stepped into him. buried your face in his neck. his hands came up instantly, pulling you into him like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered.

“i know,” he murmured. “i’m sorry too.”

the storm had slowed to a whisper, nothing more than soft streaks of rain sliding down the windows now. everything inside the house was hushed, the air thick with apology and the fragile tenderness that always followed a breaking point.

you sat together on the floor, backs against the kitchen cabinets, legs stretched out in front of you. the dishes were still on the table, untouched. his hand was loosely holding yours, thumb brushing slow arcs against your skin like he was trying to memorize it again.

you were both quiet. not because you didn’t have anything to say—but because you were still finding your way back to each other. and neither of you wanted to rush it.

eunseok was the first to break the silence.

“can we…” his voice was quiet, unsure. “can we not fight again?”

you looked over at him, and your heart softened at the slight tremble in his brows. he looked so young like this—like a boy trying to figure out how to love someone with his whole chest.

“ever?” you asked, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the sting still in your chest.

he mirrored it. “ever,” he repeated. “or, at least… not like that again. not the kind where we forget we’re on the same team.”

you leaned your head against his shoulder, and he rested his cheek on the crown of yours.

“i didn’t mean it,” you whispered. “what i said earlier.”

“i know,” he murmured.

“i just got scared,” you said. “i started thinking about the end before we were even close to it.”

“me too,” he admitted. “just… in a different way.”

you pulled back slightly to look at him.

“i started imagining what it would be like to not have you near me every day. and it made me—i don’t know. defensive, i guess. it’s dumb.”

“it’s not dumb,” you said quietly. “it means you care.”

he reached for your hands, fingers lacing with yours.

“i do,” he said, looking at you with that calm, steady expression he always wore when he meant something. “i care about you more than i’ve ever cared about anything.”

your throat tightened. his grip didn’t loosen.

“and yeah… sometimes i think it’ll hurt. but that just means it matters.”

you nodded slowly, his words sinking into your chest like rain into soil.

“so,” he said gently, “let’s not fight like that again. and let’s not run from it when it gets hard.”

“what do we do, then?” you whispered.

he smiled, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand. “we keep choosing each other. that’s it. we figure out the rest along the way.”

you felt your breath catch. a tear slipped out before you could stop it, and he reached up to wipe it away with the softest touch.

“even long distance?” you asked, barely audible.

“especially long distance,” he said. “we’ll make it work.”

you leaned in, pressing your forehead to his.

“no rules? no timelines?”

“no rules,” he promised. “just us.”

and when he kissed you, it felt like sealing something sacred—like promising to keep your hearts stitched together, even from miles apart.

you woke with your face pressed against his chest, his arms still around you—heavy and sure, like he hadn’t moved all night. like maybe he was scared to, in case you disappeared.

you shifted a little, just enough to look up at him.

his lashes fluttered, and then his eyes cracked open, already smiling before his mouth caught up. he looked at you like there was nowhere else he’d rather be. like nothing else existed outside of the bed you shared.

“good morning,” he murmured, voice low and still soaked in sleep.

you swallowed. your chest ached, but not the painful kind. it was soft. a slow swell. full of something that had grown too large to carry in silence any longer.

“i love you,” you whispered, voice barely a breath. “i really love you.”

he blinked slowly, like your words had wrapped around his entire body. then he kissed your forehead, once, twice, three times.

“i love you, yn,” he said gently. “so much.”

his hands rubbed slow circles into your back and you nuzzled closer, pressing yourself against him like you needed to fuse into him to stay alive. you felt him shift a little beneath you and glanced up with a small pout. “don’t go,” you whispered.

“i wasn’t,” he said, voice warm. “just moving. you’re glued to me, remember?”

“you’re my air,” you mumbled into his chest.

he laughed softly, rubbing your back. “okay. okay, i’m not going anywhere.”

you stayed like that for a long while, until the morning light was fully spilling into the room, the storm outside gone, the sky calm.

eventually, you got up—reluctantly, lazily, moving around each other like a dance as you brushed your teeth and tied your hair. he offered you his hoodie even though the sun was out again, just because he knew you liked to feel wrapped up in him.

you made a simple breakfast—toast, eggs, fruit—and sat close enough to share a plate. your feet brushed under the table. neither of you said much, but every glance, every quiet smile felt like its own sentence.

afterward, you took a trip into town for groceries, fingers laced as you strolled the aisles of the little local market.

it wasn’t busy. soft instrumental music floated overhead and there were only a few other shoppers. everything felt slow, gentle.

you read labels aloud to each other. picked out your favorite fruit. bickered over which pasta shape was superior.

“this one,” you said, holding up penne.

“wrong,” eunseok replied, grabbing the farfalle. “but okay.”

you rolled your eyes and he leaned in to bump his shoulder into yours.

he let you push the cart after that, walking with his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, stealing glances at you every few minutes like he couldn’t quite believe you were really here, still choosing to stay.

and you couldn’t stop watching him either.

how he picked up a bag of flour with too much care. how he smiled at a little kid who waved at him by the cereal aisle. how he always circled back to you like you were home base.

you wanted to freeze the moment and live in it forever.

on the walk back, the air was cool again, clouds thin and silver overhead. you shared an umbrella even though it wasn’t raining. your heads leaned into each other, and you walked like that the whole way back.

when you got home, he helped you unload everything, setting things gently in the cabinets like he’d done it a hundred times. like this was his place, too. and maybe it was now.

you glanced at him as he placed a bunch of bananas on the counter. you’d fought yesterday, but you were still healing today.

the summer wasn’t slipping away all at once—it was unraveling slowly, in golden threads. and you held on to each one. the days had softened into something quieter. less urgent, but no less intense. you and eunseok had become impossibly close—entangled in routine, in memory, in rhythm.

on monday, he brought you iced tea in a mason jar with lemon slices floating in it. you were lying on your stomach in the backyard, sketching half-baked drawings into your journal, when he plopped down beside you, stretching out like a cat in the sun.

“what’re you drawing?”

you rolled over to show him. “nothing, really.”

he looked anyway. “i like your nothings.”

he stayed like that for hours. didn’t speak much. didn’t need to. he read next to you while you traced shapes into the grass with your fingers, your ankles touching, warm and comfortable. it felt like forever, even though it was just a monday afternoon.

the next day, you rode bikes into town. you wore his sweater even though it was hot—it still smelled like the skin behind his ear.

he led the way down the slope of the hill, glancing back to check on you every few seconds, like he couldn’t help himself. when you caught him smiling at you, you grinned so hard your cheeks hurt.

“you’re gonna get us both hurt looking at me like that,” you teased.

he stopped at the corner and let his bike fall over in the grass. “can’t help it. my girl looks pretty on a bike.”

you tried to roll your eyes but blushed instead.

you stopped by the bookstore, where he let you sit behind the counter while he tidied up some returns. you curled your legs under you and read aloud from a poetry book, your voice soft enough that he had to keep leaning in to hear you better. when you got to a line about the ache of loving someone quietly, you paused.

you both looked up at the same time. you smiled, your heart full and fragile.

“read it again?” he said, eyes too tender to look at directly.

afterward, you wandered into the cafe and split a flaky pastry dusted with powdered sugar. you didn’t talk much—just held hands under the table and looked at each other like the world was made just for this. just for now. he wiped sugar from your cheek with his thumb, so gentle it made you want to cry.

later in the week, you found yourselves on the beach again. it was cloudy, the kind of sky that made the ocean look steel-blue, endless.

you rolled around in the sand like kids, play-fighting and giggling until your limbs were sore. he pinned you once, his hands on either side of your head, and you blinked up at him with a breathless smile.

“say you surrender,” he murmured, nose brushing yours.

“never,” you whispered.

he kissed you like a sigh. like you were something soft he couldn’t stop reaching for.

that night, you lay tangled on a blanket by the dunes, tucked away in your own world. the moon hung heavy above the water, casting light across his face like a painting.

“you’re staring,” he said, not looking away.

“i’m allowed.”

“how come?”

“because i love you,” you said easily.

he blinked. smiled, slow. “well. when you say it like that.”

he kissed you again. soft, gentle. like he meant to memorize the way your mouth tasted under moonlight and you let him.

you barely made it through the front door.

his hand was wrapped around yours, fingers laced, like letting go wasn’t an option anymore. you giggled softly as he backed you against the door, kissing you between breaths like he was trying to tell you something he didn’t know how to say with words.

you brought your hands to his face, holding him close as your mouths moved in rhythm, slow and searching. his lashes fluttered when you whispered his name.

“come with me,” you said, tugging gently at his hand.

the lights inside were dim, shadows curling in the corners of the room, the only real glow coming from the moonlight spilling through the windows. you led him up the stairs, barefoot and quiet, hearts thudding a little too fast.

by the time you reached your bedroom, his touch had turned reverent—fingertips brushing your wrist, his thumb rubbing soft circles into the back of your hand.

you turned to face him, walking backward until your knees hit the bed. “you always look at me like that.”

“like what?”

“like i’m the only thing you want,” you whispered, barely above a breath.

he stepped closer, the moonlight outlining his jaw, his throat, the soft part of his chest where your hands always found home. “you are.”

you smiled and sat back onto the mattress, pulling him toward you. he climbed on with you, kneeling between your legs, kissing your shoulder as you wrapped your arms around his neck. your bodies moved slow, like you both knew you didn’t have forever—but you had this.

he leaned in to kiss you again, and this time it was deeper, more lingering, more patient. your hands trailed down his back, under the hem of his shirt. you felt his breath catch when your fingertips grazed his spine.

“take this off for me?” you asked gently, tugging at the fabric.

he nodded, and you watched him lift his shirt, slow and shy. your hands followed, smoothing up his torso as you memorized every inch of skin revealed. once it was off, you pressed a kiss to the center of his chest.

“your turn,” he murmured.

you leaned back slightly, letting your arms slip from the sleeves of your oversized top. the cotton fell to your waist, and his hands moved up your sides, warm and careful.

“you’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

you kissed him before he could say more, your lips soft and certain. his touch grew bolder, mapping you gently, his hands cupping your breasts again, but this time slower, as if learning them all over again. your thighs bracketed his hips, bodies slotting together naturally, and it felt like something that had always been meant to happen.

the two of you moved in sync, undressing each other like a slow dance—pausing between every shift to kiss, to touch, to look. when you lay back and opened your arms to him, he came to you easily, resting on his forearms, his face hovering just over yours.

“you okay?” he asked softly, searching your eyes.

you nodded, breath shaky but steady. “i want this. i want you.”

his lips brushed your forehead, then your nose, then your mouth. “you have me,” he said.

the way he entered you was slow, careful, his eyes on yours the entire time. you both gasped when your hips met fully, your fingers digging into his shoulders, his mouth slack with emotion.

you held him close. not just physically, but emotionally. like the summer might slip away if you didn’t.

he moved slowly at first, tender, each roll of his hips punctuated by kisses to your cheek, your jaw, your temple. you whispered each other’s names like prayers, your bodies speaking the words your hearts couldn’t contain.

when it built—when the heat curled low and unbearable—he moved deeper, a little faster, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

“you feel like home,” you whispered in his ear, trembling.

“so do you,” he said. “you’re everything.”

you kissed as you came undone, together—him whispering how much he loved you, how he’d never stop, your tears slipping between your lips as your limbs trembled. he stayed inside you even after, holding you like the moment could last forever.

and in the quiet after, your breathing eventually matched. the world outside was still cloudy and gray, but it felt beautiful again.

because you were with him, and he was with you.

the morning came slow.

filtered through gauzy curtains, light bled across tangled sheets and soft skin, casting a golden sheen over your bare shoulder. eunseok lay beside you, one arm tucked beneath your head, the other resting heavy over your waist, fingers twitching like they couldn’t bear not to be touching you.

you blinked awake to the sound of his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

you didn’t move. didn’t speak. you just breathed with him, letting each slow inhale keep time with your own, like it had all summer.

you tilted your head slightly to look up at him. his lips were parted, lashes casting small shadows under his eyes, hair sticking up at odd angles from the pillow. your hand found his chest, tracing the dip of his collarbone, then up the bridge of his nose, the bow of his lips.

he stirred. eyes fluttering open, his smile bloomed the second he saw you.

“hi,” he whispered, voice hoarse with sleep.

you leaned up to kiss his cheek. “hi.”

his arms tightened around you instinctively, like he’d forgotten for a moment that things were changing. but then the weight returned to both your chests—the knowledge that this was the last morning.

“how are you feeling?” he asked gently, brushing a thumb beneath your eye.

“sore,” you admitted with a smile. “but happy.”

he laughed softly, kissed your forehead. “wanna shower?”

you hesitated, burying your face in his neck. “not yet. just… a little longer.”

he didn’t argue. didn’t move. just held you tighter, like you were something too precious to rush.

you stayed that way until the sun was high, and you had to start moving, packing, letting go--piece by piece.

he helped you, of course. folding clothes, zipping your suitcase, slipping small notes into jacket pockets when he thought you weren’t looking. neither of you said much. there wasn’t anything left to say that hadn’t already been whispered between lips, pressed into skin.

when the time came, you kissed him goodbye not at the airport, not at the door, but right there—amidst the rumpled sheets and shared silence.

you cried a little. so did he. but there was no desperation in it. no begging or unraveling. because you both knew this wasn’t the end.

your bedroom at home smelled like detergent and dust.

you stood in the doorway for a long moment, blinking in the unfamiliar quiet, the ache in your chest deepening at the absence of him. you unpacked slowly, letting the familiar sounds of your house anchor you. and then, folded into the sweatshirt he had let you keep, you found the letter.

his handwriting was careful. not perfect, but soft in its own way—just like him.

yn,

i wanted to give you something that didn’t need a signal or battery. something that couldn’t glitch or lag.

i love you. you know that by now. but what you might not know is how deeply. how every part of you—your laugh, your frown, the way you kick your feet when you read, the way you can’t take a compliment—has found a place inside me.

this summer changed me. you changed me.

i’ll be counting the days until i see you again.

always, eunseok

you sank down onto your bed, holding the letter to your chest, the weight of his words settling over you like a blanket.

and for the first time since you left, you smiled without crying. because he was still yours. and this love—it was just beginning.

#eunseok loml #i actually think he does love very hard irl too #imsosohee you’re amazing

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namedinwinter · 2 months ago

Text

copycat

clone!anton x reader | 6.4k words

i’m backkkkk. and with a filthier fic than ever. i’m sorry if this doesn’t suit anyones fancy but this has been on my mind since i watched mickey-17 all those months ago. i needed to write something absolutely insane as my comeback. i hope you guys enjoy and my requestz are open!

contains: two clones and threesome. nasty nasty nasty fic but no other warnings!

Anton never knew at what point he gained consciousness during the copying process. Every type of waste from the ship was incinerated and melded into his human flesh. It was some point between his brutal demise and when he’d make it to the end of the greasy rollers. There was the time the laboratory lost power right in the middle of him being fabricated. He was only finished to his torso, the bottom half of him still inside of the machine. There was also the time the scientists forgot to put the conveyor belt up to the fabricator, making Anton fall naked to the ground with a disgusting thud.

Everything seemed to go right this time though. Anton’s fabricated clammy body slid on the greased rollers, starting from his short black hair all the way to his feet. He woke up when the final cell of his toe was stitched together, and he woke up simply by opening his eyes. Usually he’d wake up with a gasp, something he believed was caused by the terrible way he died in his previous life. But this time it felt like all he did was blink to see halogen lights.

“Do you remember how you died this time?”

Anton turned to his right. There was the lab assistant. He had been in and out of this place to know who he was. Eunseok had a bobblehead of some character or celebrity back on Earth. He was the same time of awkward Anton was in his previous life, the type that alienated him from the rest of his colleagues. He was the one on his team that volunteered to stay for each fabrication. He always ate lunch alone, his desk was cluttered, and also wore glasses with a prescription so severe the lenses doubled the size of his already unnerving eyes.

Eunseok was also too intrigued with the cloning process, always scribbling away in his little journal, asking Anton questions that did not matter. He asked the question by looking at the computer, probably checking things that also did not matter.

Sometimes Anton would find Eunseoks interest in his death and how he was feeling sweet. In some weird way it showed that he cared, more than anyone else in the lab did and more than anyone else other than you. Sometimes Anton wouldn’t know how to feel about it at all. Because there is no reason why someone should care so much about expendables. But as Anton lays naked on the greased rollers after this machine turned human waste into matter he just feels annoyed. He knew he’d be dying again soon, so it didn’t matter if he had an arrhythmia or a missing finger. Anton is annoyed because he knows death does not discriminate, and no one on this ship seems to understand that.

So Anton just continued to stare at the scientist, until his question hung in the air for too long and he turned to face him.

“Do you remember how you died?” The scientist got close to Anton, wheeling closer on his chair. Anton grimaced when the scientist reached his gloved hands towards his face. “Do you remember where you were last?”

There were snatches of where Anton was last. He went to New Earth, walking around the the barren tundra looking for something he didn’t have clearance to know about. He had been sent on several missions that lead to him dying without anything being discovered. He naturally assumed that was the case. He had died so many times they started to merge together but he doesn’t think he’s never forgotten how. His past life he just remembers the cold, what he was going to eat for dinner, and then the lights in the hospital.

Instead of waiting for a pointless diagnostic test, Anton sat up from the rollers and swung his legs over the edge of the conveyor belt. He watched Eunseok’s eyes flicker down to his crotch before clearing his throat. Eunseok’s eyes go to the plainclothes folded neatly next to Anton’s body. More often than not he’d reach for the plainclothes quickly, red in the face and muttering about how sorry he was for being indecent. But this Anton spreads his legs apart further, looking at the blush come across Eunseok’s cheeks.

The two of them are silent, Anton looking at Eunseok with a smile across his face and Eunseok looking everywhere but at him.

“You should probably put your clothes on.” Eunseok gestures vaguely towards the clothes. “It’s pretty late. I think you’ve already missed dinner,” he says.

“Like I would want to eat that shitty food.” Anton’s tone is flat and his words cause Eunseok to raise a shocked eyebrow. “Do you eat what we eat?” He shuffles a little closer to the edge of the conveyor belt. Eunseok’s silence should’ve answered the question, but he likes pressing it further. Eunseok is the highest ranking individual he can make uncomfortable without it coming to bite him in the future. “They had me test a mutated chicken breast that gave me such a bad stomach ache I literally died,” he says.

Eunseok nods. That was how Anton died last week. He should be able to answer how he died today, but all he can remember are the fluorescent lights of the lab and how annoyed he was with his circumstances.

Just as Anton starts getting more angry with Eunseok’s stunned silence the scientists’ eyes dart over his shoulder. Relief crosses his face in an instant and Anton watches his tense shoulders lower.

“Sorry I’m late,” you say. Anton turns to you but you’re looking away, focusing on closing the curtained door behind you. Anton looks back at Eunseok. He’s smiling at the situation the three of you are suddenly in. Eunseok gets so rest, the sterile room and his white lab coat only makes his flushed face more stark. Anton spreads his legs further just for dramatic effect, but he clasps his hands in front of his crotch. “there was a domestic dispute on the third level I had to deescalate.” You continue on, rambling about that toxic couple that lives down the hall from your pod. The man was sneaking around with someone in the engineering department. You ended up settling the dispute by creating a polycule between the three of them.

You always struggled with closing the door. Something about the code always changing and sometimes the curtain gets stuck to. Having stuff in your hands only makes you move slower, messing up more than you usually would. “But I was able to steal some food because I assumed you’d still be getting fabricated and I also brought some clothes from your room for you—“

When you finally get the door shut and you turn you freeze. You look between Anton’s naked body and Eunseok’s red face. Eunseok makes a noise too, but it’s covered up by your shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor over to him. “Baby, why are you still naked?” You move a little faster, settling Anton’s clothes and the stolen food on the nearest counter. You come close to him, touching his face and his bare body as if you’re the doctor. “Is there something wrong?” you ask, inspecting him.

Anton says nothing, looking at your concerned face and embraces each touch. You go to his shoulders first, prodding the area he said ached on his last body. He was missing a ligament or a cartilage or something like that. You go lower, adding force behind every touch on his arm. This body for some reason is slimmer than his last, more toned. There had always been variations between his bodies because the original patent for the fabrication machine didn’t belong to the same people who made this ship. So Anton was still Anton, just a different version of him. That’s probably also why he was so much angrier than his previous self.

“Does here hurt?” Your hands go from his toned biceps to his chest. He can feel your hand right over his heart. You’re not qualified to do any of this. He knows you’re just touching him in a panic, a desperate attempt to try and figure out what’s wrong with him. Anton just wants to go back to your room with you now. Still though he moves his hands away completely to let you finish your examination, smiling at the furrow in your eyebrow as you work your hands back up his body.

When you pull at his lip to inspect his teeth, Anton looks at Eunseok behind him. Anton watches Eunseok pretend that he’s not there, looking from the ceiling to papers on his desk to the computer before repeating it over and over. They make eye contact for a split second. Eunseok’s eyes widen behind his lenses and Anton winks at him.

“Everything seems to be okay.” Eunseok pushes his glasses up his nose and you make eye contact with Anton. He instantly looks up to you helplessly, and you continue to touch and prod at his body. “He just needs rest,” Eunseok says. “you’ll get your assignment for tomorrow in the morning.”

Even though Eunseok talks to you both, you two stay looking at eachother. Anton is looking up at you like a puppy and you rub his chin before pinching his cheek. He pouts just to play it up, slouching his body so his head is completely in your hands. It isn’t until Eunseok clears his throat again that Anton grabs the clothes you got for him.

After a moment you leave the conveyor belt and go to Eunseok. You turn around first, then Eunseok follows your lead and turns around in his wheeled chair.

Anton stands from the conveyor belt, his feet flat against the cold tile floor. He pulls his shirt over his head first, and he looks at your backside. It’s terrible that there are parts of your body that you can’t see. Even if there was a full length mirror on this ship there’s no way you could see yourself from this angle with your own two eyes. You’re the Lara Croft of this ship with your utility belt tight around your waist and the sheath for your knife strapped to your thigh. Anton doesn’t know how you hate your uniform, not a single one of his lives did he understand that. You came in such a hurry that you still have all of your equipment.

“Hurry up and get dressed,” you say. “gotta get you to your room so you can rest.”

Anton is staring at your panty line underneath your tight pants. He nods instead of verbally answering because he feels like his mouth is watering too much to speak clearly.

The way your hand is on your hip and it’s cocked to the side makes it look like you’re reprimanding someone. He hasn’t seen you in uniform since his life before last. That fabrication you came in a rush too, and that night you made use of your handcuffs. Anton’s temperament is a little different this time around. If your handcuffs were used tonight he thinks the roles would be switched. But you were just as stubborn as he was, and you’ve been like that your entire life. You were more playful too, looking over your shoulder and biting your lip while Eunseok continued on about charts about the variations between the different Antons.

“Are you dressed yet?” You looked at Anton’s bare thighs. His briefs hugged close to his body, the fabric strained against his muscles. Your eyes traveled up until you were looking directly at his clothed dick. Anton preemptively pulled his waistband over his tip as a means to conceal himself. The thin fabric of his plainclothes would’ve revealed his bulge in an instant. He was already semi-hard just thinking about doing something to you in your uniform, and you really did come in such hurry to see him.

He put on his dull gray pants up next while you still stared at him. Eunseok was talking about something else now too, looking at some more graphs and explaining it to you like you were looking at them too.

Anton was pulling down his shirt by the time you and Eunseok turned around. Eunseok went right back to avoiding eye contact with Anton, looking at his graphs and his charts and the Venn diagrams of each Anton personality.

Anton came and pulled you close by a hand on your shoulder.

“I’ve been hard ever since you walked in wearing your uniform,” he whispered directly into your ear. You laughed and covered your mouth, playfully putting your other hand on his chest. Eunseok had retired somewhere else, or he was standing right next to you guys, looking back and forth. You had turned around and grabbed the sandwich off of the desk next to the door. “let’s go back to your room.”

Anton opened the door quickly, pulling you even closer as you two walked through the empty hallways of the ship. You heard the occasional scampering feet against metal, the Human Waste Department transporting material to the incinerators. You and Anton were on a different path, suffering from constant detours when there was a dark enough corner or a blindspot from the cameras that he could push you into. Currently you were on detour number three, pushed underneath the stairs going up to level five while Anton kissed you. He had a hand on your chest, feeling you up over your uniform. He had moved one of your hands to his dick, and you held him over his plainclothes and massaged. It was a simple move, but it made Anton pant into your mouth and grip your chest a little tighter.

“Lets get to your room,” he said quickly. He pulled you out from the hidden spot, patting over his clothes as if that would hide the tent in his pants. You ran a quick hand over your face to gather the mess Anton left on your face and straightened your uniform that rode up. “we’re almost there.”

You faced another delay right in front of your door. While you tried getting the handle he came up right behind you. Like you weren’t in the middle of the hallway Anton’s hand went to your waist, pulling you flush against his front. You could feel him still hard against the curve of your ass, and his hand went over yours as you tried the latch of your door.

“We could do it right here, you know.” Steam blowing from the pipes suspended from the walls is almost louder than his voice. It goes off next to you, interrupting the empty halls. It’s gotten to the point past curfew that no one is out. His lips are right next to your ear, his breath fanning the shell as his nose touches your skin. “It’s just you and me.”

“Patrol will be coming by any minute.” You have to pretend like you’re sure while your fingers still fail to get the sliding door open. Anton presses further, one hand going beside your head to press against the door as he grinds his dick against your ass. “I think your friend actually might be coming by.”

Anton is caught off guard just enough for you to focus and get the door open. The lever on your door was always jammed, but getting to Anton’s room was a little bit more of a hassle. His room was mostly abandoned anyways, he always ended up in your room by the end of the day. His things were here, you were here. His room was collecting webs, waiting to be used for the next poor bastard that was going to become expendable.

When you slide the door open something didn’t feel right. Through the darkness it looked like there was something. laying in your bed. You could see the lump in your covers on Anton’s designated side, but Anton was already here pushing his hands underneath your uniform. You’re still looking at the Anton-sized bump on your bed when he guides you to the table next to your door. He pulls his hand from your shirt only for a second to put you on the table completely, slotting his body between your opened legs. Things on your table rattle and fall over, and Anton’s hands is pulling down the zipper of your tight uniform. He can’t be bothered when it’s more than halfway down, going straight to your exposed chest. Anton’s hands go into your bra, fondling your soft skin.

“I missed you today,” Anton says it helplessly, almost whining to you. “I think I was thinking about you even while I was getting fabricated.”

“Anton,” you gasp.

Your sound is caused partially caused by Anton sucking on the sensitive skin at the base of your neck and the lump of covers on your bed moving. For a second you think you are in the wrong room completely, in your Anton-induced haste you broke into someone else’s quarters. But this was your room because the tiny trinkets were the same, and it smelled like Anton in here. Not an overwhelming amount—because you could never get enough of him—but there was just more of him.

You can’t even tell Anton about the movement on your bed because he is fully enveloped in your chest. When he pulls you out from your bra just to suck on your tit you whimper, words caught in your throat. You’re looking at the back of a familiar head now, and watch a familiar hand go to a familiar neck to rub out tension. Then the person turns around.

“Anton.”

You say it bewildered enough to get Anton to pull away from you. Then he’s looking at the other version of himself, frozen beside your bed.

Anton beside your bed is flushed red like he’s looking at something he wasn’t supposed to see. Can this be intruding when this is also him? You look at the Anton that still has his hands on your chest to make sure it’s really him. His face is slimmer but it’s still him. You’re back to staring at Anton by the bed.

“Anton,” you sputter. You’re still perched on the table by the door, still between other Anton’s legs. His other hand is on your neck, his thumb mindlessly rubbing the skin on your chin. Anton by the bed has the same habit. “you’re alive?”

“Well I got a little hurt. But I managed to find a way back to camp,” Anton is stammering and stumbling through his sentence. His eyes are wide, mainly focusing on the one who is running his hands along your body. “what’s going on?” he asks.

Marriage wasn’t really a thing on this ship. Because the whole purpose of this journey was to abandon the old world, the rules went with it. Because there was a dictator in charge of the ship, what he wanted was law. So you could kind of have a harem, because he kind of had one. So there was definitely potential for atleast a throuple (or a full blown harem; at this point you weren’t sure how Antons were running around).

“You know what’s going on.” The Anton between your legs sounds, almost annoyed.

You looked at him shocked, and like nothing happened the Anton between your legs goes back to touching your chest like nothing happened. Your eyes are wide open, looking at the Anton by your bed who is still frozen. Anton between your legs turns your head fully to face him, and then he’s sticking his tongue in your mouth. He’s warm and pulls you closer, and then your hands are holding onto his arms for some stability.

Because of your relationship with someone who was expendable you had to get used to him dying. Because you were in love with Anton you didn’t want him to know that you were effected by him dying. So you had to fit the grieving of your boyfriend’s previous life into your graveyard shift. There were countless times this had happened so you were used to it. Only when Anton pulled away did the gravity of your current situation sink in. The smirk he gave you after pressing a wet kiss to the corner of your lips reminded you that something was wrong.

You looked to Anton by the bed again, and you were amazed at how flushed his face was. Because he was so timid you spent what little time you had together trying to fuel his ego. His need to please was the only thing that was stronger than his shame. The Anton you brought home from the lab already seemed to have a surplus of whatever made him kiss you like he wasn’t watching. You found yourself pulling your hands away from Anton and beckoning towards the one that was standing next to your bed.

Now, a dead man was kissing your hair and a copy of him was feeling up your body. You were kissing a dead man while the alive one watched.

“Have you always been a bad kisser?” New Anton asked. There was a quip in there about them being the same person—because technically they were—but they also were not. Because you loved every version of Anton you saw the difference in each one. The common factor between most of them were the nerves, different types of anxiety that made them meek. It was strange because the new Anton was the boldest by far, while the Anton that stopped kissing you was the most skittish.

In between old Anton’s slow and timid kisses and new Anton’s fast and deep ones there was a problem. One of the few laws enforced by the pseudo-government is that multiple duplicates living at the same time is illegal and calls for immediate execution of both copies. So both new Anton and old Anton were technically enemies of the state. You three should be devising a plan that involves one Anton being out while the other stays in. The two of them could make up a schedule of who goes out on what days. Instead new Anton starts pulling your utility belt off your waist and old Anton puts his hands on your face to make you turn completely towards him.

“Should we put handcuffs on him?” New Anton whispers while watching you two kiss. “make him watch like you two are making me watch?”

You pull away from Anton’s soft lips. His are still puckered, his eyes are still closed when you smile and face new Anton. He has that same smirk, and your hands go to both of their faces. You pull back, then with a full view you push the two Antons closer and closer together. You don’t stop until their cheeks smush together. Old Anton looks bewildered, lips still glossy from spit and new Anton smiles like he knows how you’re feeling.

“You’re both,” you pinch old Antons’ cheeks and he winces. “so cute.”

You spent thirty minutes examining the both of them until you ended up on the edge of your bed with the both of them kneeling in front of you. It’s easy to tell the difference, old Anton has a glint in his eye while old Anton has been red in the face since you both came inside the room. With your hands holding both of their chins you experimentally turn them to face eachother. New Anton looks willing—he looks at you and bites his lip—only putting up a fight against your hand so you’ll use more force. Old Anton, he’s red all the way to the tips of his ears. You can tell he wants to stop, he parts his lips like he wants to protest but he lets you continue. Just when they’re face to face you stop, letting the both of them stare at eachother for a moment. Old Anton immediately uses the chance to look away. New Anton continues to stare at the side of his face, smirking and looking him up and down.

Both Anton’s reach for your thighs at the same time. Your pants were taken off at some point between your door and the bed, discarded on the floor with your utility belt resting on top. You were left in your underwear and your bra, with both Anton’s only left in their boxer briefs. You could see that both of them were enjoying it, visual proof was right in front of your eyes. The only difference was that old Anton tried hiding it, the hand that didn’t touch you was covering his crotch.

“Anton,” new Anton looked at you, and you watched Anton’s eyes widen when he looked up to you. “can you touch yourself for me?” you asked.

Anton looked to new Anton and hesitated. New Anton was looking at you but nudged old Anton with his shoulder, already feeling responsible for how both of them should behave. Then, you watched Anton’s hand that was covering himself up instead add pressure to himself, until you could see him twitch underneath his tight underwear. You reward him instantly, dragging his hand that rested on your knee up until it was resting over your panties. He let his hand cup your heat, and then you were rubbing his face gently.

“Feels good,” you sigh contently. New Anton comes closer until his dick is pressed against your leg. He grinds against you slowly, an arm wrapping around your calf to keep you in place. “does that feel good?” you ask.

Here, you have two Antons nodding and telling you yes at the same time. You didn’t know you could feel so greedy, but having both of them nod to you makes it feel like you’ve won. You didn’t know you could feel anything besides dread since being on this ship but right now you feel something more. It’s almost too much, and you feel like you’re heart is being ripped out when you think about the one of the only laws that’s enforced here. If anyone on the ship were to discover two Antons they’d both be executed. Something about abusing the power of the duplicates, or the face that there could be an evil one going around murdering people.

You are seemingly the only one that’s being weighed down by the thought of this. Both Antons are fully enveloped in this, in you. It only makes you feel more greed, because you think about the chance of someone coming between this. You remember that Bahiyyih lost her girlfriend a couple months ago and she always found Antons’ quiet demeanor charming.

“There’s no way I could ever share you two,” you say absentmindedly. New Anton pushes his hand up your leg until he is touching your underwear. Unlike old Anton he presses a finger right into your clothed clit, adding more and more pressure until the smallest sound comes out of your lips. “there’s no way.” you repeat.

“I don’t want to be shared.” Anton who touches himself says it first. He had at some point worked his waistband down to his mid-thigh, pumping his length slowly. His other hand was over your ass with your underwear clinging close to it.

“Me neither.” Anton echoed.

Both Anton’s helped you out of your underwear. Old Anton balled up your underwear and tried to take it for his own, then new Anton snatched it from his hand and kept it at his side. Before old Anton could hide how upset he was new Anton flicked his head upwards, and he stood up.

You were looking at old Anton standing above you. It felt like you were the one on the greasy rollers in the laboratory, naked and exposed just waiting. You felt just as mischievous as Anton was when you came to get him. The thought of anyone else having this view makes bile raise in the back of your throat.

Antons’ hands are clammy when they go to the back of your bra. You let him lay you down at the same time, and new Anton pulls away from your leg so you can back up to the middle of the bed. Whatever warmth was lost from Anton grinding on your leg is gone quickly, because after he takes off his boxer briefs he’s right back on the bed, covering your body the same way he did before. The second time is even better, because Anton is cradling your leg to drag his unclothed dick against you. He’s so much bigger than you, looking down at you before parting his lips.

“I don’t really want to share you either,” Anton says before dragging his dick against your thigh. “I think it’s unfair.” he says.

“Don’t be greedy,” you sigh. You beckon towards Anton who has your bra clutched in his hand. He comes onto the bed by his knees, causing dips in the sofa “there’s enough of me for the both of you.”

Old Antons boxer briefs are still pulled down to his mid-thigh when he crawls on his knees closer to you. His dick is hard, and you can see precum bead at his tip. You make sure you’re looking up at him when you reach your hand up and wrap it around his base. When you squeeze Anton put his hands on his hips to keep himself steady.

You slowly start stroking Anton’s dick and you start feeling the sticky mess that’s being made on your thigh. He continues pushing against your leg and you whimper out. You keep jerking Anton off, picking up the speed when his precum makes your hand wet enough to go faster. You bring your free hand to your mouth, touching your bottom lip lightly. You drag your finger against your lip harder and you squirm underneath Antons’ weight.

“Put your dick in her mouth,” Anton says it so clearly it causes both of you to look. He’s looking at the other version of himself like he’s not grinding against your leg. When he takes too long Anton flicks his head towards your mouth. “what are you waiting for?” he asks.

Anton looks down at your first, and you wordlessly open your mouth. Anton lowers himself to the bed, further and further until he has to put his hands on the mattress to keep himself upright.

His hands are on either side of your head by the time you took his dick into your mouth. He’s so big he pokes the inside of your cheek, and you gag when you take too much of it. Anton instantly freezes above you you can hear him let out a strangled sound. The Anton that was grinding on your leg stops, and when you whine it only vibrates the dick in your mouth. Anton moans fully, and you can feel his arms shake beside your head.

“Does it feel that good?” Anton is mocking himself at the same time he puts his hands to the back of your thighs. You both nod and Anton fucks your mouth again.

“Feels really good.” Anton says.

You have to relax your throat when you feel his dick slide back into your mouth. There’s already drool seeping from the corners of your mouth when you feel Antons’ hands push at your thighs until your knees are almost pressing your chest. You reach your hands forward to grab for anything and both of them reach back. You don’t know who’s holding your hand until Anton pulls out of your mouth, letting his wet dick rub against your face.

He’s sitting back on his haunches when you feel Anton settle in between your legs. He moves your legs around just to see how malleable you are, he grips your skin a little harder because he likes how soft you are.

“I want to feel good too,” Anton chides himself, and when you turn your head you see him scratch the back of his head. He’s embarrassed because he wants to stake some sort of claim over you like he wouldn’t be arguing with himself, and you’re also someone who doesn’t belong to either of them. They are secretly waiting for the you to give them orders, if not there will be an endless bickering between them both. “are you the only one who deserves to feel good, Channie?” he asks.

The nickname is ironic, because he hates it and of course he knows that. He presses old Antons buttons just for the Hell of it, and won’t even look at him while he does it. New Anton is focused on your core and your core alone. He sees how wet you are already, how you’re pulsing around nothing. Anton lets the tip of his dick nudge you, and he looks to your face just to see your anticipation.

He really hates sharing you. He would’ve never thought seeing himself would be such a bummer, but he can’t help but scowl to himself. The previous version of himself is just so docile, so meek. He has all of his memories and his experiences, he doesn’t know why it made him this way and the old version of himself that way. But he has other things on his mind. You’re still holding his hand tight and wiggling your body down the bed to get closer to his dick.

“I want you to feel good, Channie,” you whimper. Both Antons smile the exact same way. “Let me make you feel good, and then I can make him feel good too.”

Anton doesn’t wait any longer. First he just lets the tip go in to feel the warmth and the tightness and to hear you draw in a quick breath. Then he goes in the rest of the way and lets out a deep breath, gathering your legs until your calves rest on his shoulders. You hold his hand tight and try to pull him towards you. He stays stubbornly still, only moving to pull his hips away from you. When he’s all the way out he looks down and spits, landing it right on his tip. It’s excessive, you’re wet enough and he’s been leaking precum since the laboratory. He does it just because it pulls a reaction from you, you wiggle your hips and whimper lightly.

He pushes inside of you again, all the way in until his hips touch yours. He stays like that, inside of you just to feel you pulse around him. Like it’s his first life and first time fucking you he’s liable to cum here and now. He has to look to himself to bring himself down, but when he sees himself jerking off to the sight of you two it has the opposite effect.

How taboo this is only turns Anton on more. He looks at how one of your hands is holding his and the other is holding the other version of himself. But technically it’s still him, you’re still just his even if there’s another one of him.

Anton lets your arms fall from his shoulders so he can get closer to you on the mattress. His arms are propped on either side of your head and he’s kissing you because it’s just you and him in this room.

“You feel so good,” Anton moans. He says it loud enough because the other version of himself is surely going to get jealous. But when he looks to the side he only sees himself moving his hand faster on his dick.

The sound of Antons’ hand is almost louder than the ones you two make together. Quiet moans and whimpers, slick and wet sounds and subtle bed creaking. You’re pulling Anton closer and reaching your other hand so you can grab his flexing thigh. He’s close, both version of him are. He doesn’t know how he knows and he’s not sure how you do either, because you wrap your legs around Antons to keep him in place. He’s rutting into you now, and Anton bites your shoulder to quiet himself. The tension is still there, because once he pulls away from your shoulder he’s moaning right into your ear.

“I’m close,” Anton’s voice is weak, his voice cracks while he speaks to you. “Both of us are.” he adds.

“I know.” Your voice is also cracking, and it takes you a moment to come to your senses. This is no place to raise a child and you also have no clue what a baby to a clone would look like. So you unlock your legs from behind Anton’s ass and let him pull your legs into the bend of his arm. “I’m close too.”

Anton was already bad enough at pulling out. No matter what version of himself it was he always had a tendency to stay in as long as possible, even when he felt like he was about to explode. There was also something inside of him that wanted you to end up with his kid. It was selfish and it was ridiculous, but he couldn’t help it. Anton was red in the face with sweat making his his hair stick to his forehead by the time he was really close. The other version of himself was already close to unloading on you. He was near tears looking to you, his muscles flexing underneath his skin as he jerked himself off.

“Can I cum?” Anton asked desperately, his hand only speeding up. “Please, can I?”

“Yes Channie.” You were barely done with your sentence by the time Anton was walking on your knees further down your body. He came on your chest, landing it on your nipple and then it traveled down the valley. Then it was Anton pulling out of you, jerking himself off until it landed on your lower stomach.

Both of them were equally out of breath. They were both flushed, both of them using their clothes to clean the cum stains off your body. Then they were pulling at you to get you to sit up from the bed. You were still in a daze, but both Anton’s were more than strong enough to pull you up.

“You’re not done yet, right?” You forgot which Anton asked. You just remember that feeling in the pit of your stomach build up again at the thought of technically being two orgasms behind Anton.

#youre kidding #feasting tn #this is so crazy guysguysguyssss

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namedinwinter · 2 months ago

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afk (away for kisses) - l.sh

wc: 1.6k | pairing: gamer bf!sohee x gf!reader | genre: fluff | warnings: reader is needy & kisses his neck, sohee is a simp, they're both very clingy and lovey dovey

a/n! i'm so sad 😭 i love sohee so much guys :P wrote this for myself (who's surprised) but pleasee tell me you guys get clingy pouty sohee... reader is obsessed with sohee because i would be too

sohee loved gaming. it wasn’t just a hobby— his setup reflected it. sleek, expensive, tailored exactly the way he liked. dual monitors, custom keyboard, headset that rarely left his desk. his room always had that low hum of his pc, the soft glow of rgb lights casting color across his walls.

when you started dating him, you thought it would be cute to join him in that little world of his. so you showed up one weekend with your own monitor—smaller, lighter, something easy for you to bring over and leave beside his. you had even picked out a case for your pc that matched his color scheme, just because you knew it’d make him smile.

sohee had laughed when you set it up. not in a mean way, but in that soft way he always did when you surprised him with how sweet you could be. he watched you plug in cables and arrange your things with a focused little pout on your lips. “you’re cute,” he’d said, shaking his head, like he couldn’t believe you’d done that just to be close to him.

you weren’t nearly as into it as he was. you were good—better than most at shooters, quick reflexes and sharp aim—but it wasn’t the same kind of love. you played because it made him happy. because you liked hearing him praise you when you pulled off a good shot. because sometimes his hand would find yours between rounds, fingers brushing yours as if to say thanks for playing with me.

you had played a few rounds with him earlier, your smaller monitor glowing beside his, the two of you side by side, shoulders brushing. but after a while, you gave up, slipping onto his bed, watching him with heavy-lidded eyes as he stayed locked in, focused on the game.

hours passed. at first, you just lay there, sprawled out on your stomach, cheek pressed against his pillow. you watched his back, the curve of it in his hoodie, the way his fingers moved over his keyboard, quick and practiced. sometimes he’d curse under his breath. sometimes he’d smirk, muttering something to his teammates.

“sohee…” you whined softly, drawing out his name. he didn’t look over, only raised his hand for a quick second to ruffle his hair before going right back to clicking away.

you huffed, sitting up. your legs swung off the bed as you padded over to him. the soft hum of his pc filled the room, mixed with the chatter from his headset.

you leaned down, arms wrapping around his neck from behind, your cheek pressing into the side of his head. “baby,” you murmured, lips brushing his temple.

he smirked—you felt it. but he didn’t glance your way. “hmm?”

you kissed his cheek, warm and insistent. “come cuddle.”

“almost done,” he said, voice teasing, like you both knew he wouldn’t be.

you pouted against his skin, tightening your hold around him, your hands sliding down to his chest. your fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, slipping just underneath to feel the warmth of him.

he shifted a little in his chair but didn’t push you away. “yn…” he warned lightly, but you heard the smile in it.

you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, nose brushing his skin, breathing him in. you kissed him behind his ear, slow and soft.

“sohee,” you whispered, voice turning sweet, too sweet. “don’t you want to?”

he grinned, eyes still glued to the screen, but his ears were turning pink.

“you’re distracting me,” he said, though he didn’t sound mad at all.

you only hummed, lips trailing down to his jaw, content to keep clinging to him until he finally gave in. with a quiet hum, he lifted one side of his headset, tilting his head just enough so you could speak.

“just wanna feel you,” you whispered, breath brushing his ear, voice small and pleading.

sohee went still for a second, like he was debating between the game and you—but there was no real choice.

he leaned back in his chair, head tipping up so the sharp line of his jaw caught the soft light of the room. his legs spread just slightly, enough to make space for you, and his hand lifted, fingers curling in a subtle gesture, inviting you closer.

“come here then,” he said, voice low, amused, fond—like he’d been waiting for you to break first.

you settled onto his lap, back to his monitor, legs tucked on either side of him. your arms wrapped around his waist, pulling yourself close, your face buried in the warm crook of his neck. he smelled so good—like his shampoo, faint cologne, and something sohee that you could never name but always recognized.

he kept playing, fingers moving fast over his keys, clicking frantically as the action on the screen picked up. you felt him tense slightly, the way he inhaled sharply when he or someone on his team took a hit, jaw clenching in concentration.

but you didn’t care about the game anymore.

your lips brushed his neck, soft at first, just small kisses pressed to his skin. you breathed him in, murmured against him, “you smell so good,” voice muffled and sweet.

but even then, he was still focused, fingers dancing over his keys, the sounds of his teammates filling the headset. your lips lingered near his neck, and you stayed there a moment, before slowly pulling back just enough to look up at him with big, watery eyes.

“sohee,” you said, your bottom lip jutting out, voice small. “is the game more important than me?”

his hands froze on the keyboard.

“i miss you,” you added, barely above a whisper, brows furrowing in the saddest little pout you could manage.

and that was all it took. his heart squeezed painfully in his chest, like you’d just reached in and grabbed it with both hands. “baby…” he breathed, already reaching up to take off his headset, not even bothering to exit the game. seunghan’s voice shouted something through the speakers, followed by soobin’s laugh, but he didn’t hear any of it—not really. all he could see was your face, pouty and hurt and too precious to ignore.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispered, cupping your cheeks with both hands. “my baby—i didn’t mean to ignore you. i’ll make it up to you, i promise.”

he started covering your face in soft, apologetic kisses—your nose, the corners of your mouth, the furrow between your brows. “this pout,” he murmured between pecks, “you’re gonna get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that.” he kissed the spot again, smiling as you tried to keep up your sulky expression.

you rolled your eyes, a tiny laugh breaking through your pout.

he pulled back just slightly, eyes shining. “there she is.”

you stood up with a soft sigh, but before you could say anything, he gently grabbed your wrist, his fingers curling around it just enough to feel the beat of your pulse. his thumb brushed against your skin absentmindedly, and he pulled you toward the bed.

“come here,” he said softly. “you’re mine for the rest of the night.”

you let him pull you into his arms, and the moment you were close, he hugged you tight, arms wrapping fully around your waist as he buried his face into your shoulder.

and then the kisses started again—not frantic this time, just sweet, endless. your jaw, your ear, the side of your nose. your giggles bubbled up with every one, especially when he peppered your cheeks with exaggerated little mwah sounds.

“sohee—!” you squirmed, laughing now, eyes squeezed shut.

“what?” he said innocently, already sliding his hands to your sides and starting to tickle you. “you missed me, didn’t you?”

you tried to escape, but he pulled you right back in, both of you laughing, tangled together on his bed, the game already long forgotten.

you were still breathless from giggling, curled against him, your cheeks warm and your heart full from the way he’d smothered you in kisses. sohee had finally stopped tickling you, his chin now resting on your shoulder, arms looped loosely around your waist like he was afraid you’d get up and leave if he let go.

he nuzzled closer, humming. “can i have a kiss now?” he asked, voice soft, hopeful, almost boyish.

you blinked at him, lifting your chin slightly with an air of pretend defiance. “no,” you said, all pouty and stern. “you ignored me for hours. you don’t get a kiss.”

he gasped—full offense taken. “baby. i said i was sorry.”

you just looked at him. unmoved. “hmm.”

he pouted. actually pouted. “you’re being so mean to me right now.”

you turned away, nose in the air, biting back your grin. “good.”

he let out a dramatic sigh, flopping onto his back with his arms still wrapped around you, dragging you down with him. “you’re gonna break my heart,” he whined, hugging you even tighter. “just one kiss. please? just a little one. on the cheek. or the nose. or—no, i want a real one. a real kiss.”

“no,” you said again, but your voice cracked, because you were already melting. his voice was too soft. his pout was too cute. and he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the whole world that mattered.

“you’re so mean,” he whispered again, grinning now because he could feel you caving. “and i’m so in love with you. even though you’re evil.”

you burst into laughter, turning your face toward him, and his eyes lit up like he knew he’d won. and yeah—he had.

you leaned in, cupping his cheeks, kissing him full and warm and long like you’d never said no in the first place.

when you finally pulled back, he chased after your lips with a lazy smile. “see?” he whispered, eyes fluttering shut. “wasn’t that better than the game?”

you grinned. “infinitely.”

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namedinwinter · 2 months ago

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౨ৎ literally me <3

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namedinwinter · 2 months ago

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nettles ᰔᩚ l.sh

warnings. smut, best friend!sohee, childhood best friends to lovers, drug mentions, and police stuff . i think that's it but if i missed something please let me know! enjoy <3

wc. 12.7k

summary. the only escape from this deadbeat town is your best friend, lee sohee.

part one || part two || part three

You’re sprawled out on Sohee’s bed, foot kicking against the wall, the sound of cicadas a dull roar outside the open window. The little clock on his desk says 9:53 but it feels like 2 a.m. You’re both still riding that post-gas-station high, a weird mix of elation and anxiety, the taste of him still laced through your tongue like a dare. In the half-light of his bedroom, everything looks washed-out and gentle, the world’s rough edges blurred by humidity and late summer.

Sohee’s lying on his stomach right next to you, chin propped up on a battered paperback, but you know he’s not reading a damn word. He’s got his glasses on, but his eyes keep drifting to you, then away, then back again, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to look. The room smells like lemon detergent and sweat and the faint, chemical tang of grape gum. You roll onto your side to face him, pushing your hair out of your face, staring him down until he finally cracks a sheepish grin.

“You really weren’t worried someone would come in?” he says, voice pitched low like it’s a secret. He’s been replaying that scene all night, you can tell, the way his cheeks go a little pink every time you catch him staring at your mouth.

“Would’ve made it more exciting,” you fire back, and he nearly chokes on a laugh, hiding his face against the crook of his arm. You can’t help but reach over and poke the soft spot behind his ear, just to see him squirm when he does, the edge of his glasses nudges your hand and you catch a glimpse of the smooth skin at his nape. You want to bite it. You want to bite all of him, really, but you settle for ruffling his hair instead. He bats your hand away, but not like he means it.

“I’m just saying,” Sohee ventures, voice muffled, “that’s the first time I’ve…” He trails off, face burning. He’s not shy, not really, but he gets sentimental out of nowhere and sometimes you don’t know what to do with it except laugh at him. You flip onto your back and stare at the ceiling, counting the cracks that spiderweb from the light fixture to the corner.

“First time you’ve what?” you prompt, voice syrupy. You can feel him looking at you, embarrassed but proud.

“First time I did anything in public. Like that,” he mumbles, then clears his throat. “With anyone.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, smug and mean, but you squeeze his calf through the blanket to let him know you mean it sweet.

He hums, and you both settle into a silence that’s easy and full. You listen to the way the house creaks in the wind, the way the cicadas rise and fall, the way Sohee’s breathing evens out once he’s finished being a dork. You could stay like this forever, in the loose, lazy summer heat, the little clock ticking away, the world outside forgotten.

He’s the first to drift off, forehead smushed into the back of your hand, breathing so steady you want to crawl inside his ribcage and live there like a hermit crab. At some point you pull his glasses off, fold them up, and set them on the milk crate that serves as his nightstand. He stirs and blinks at you, the kind of lazy, unguarded gaze that makes your pulse skip.

“You’re still here,” he says, voice thick and low, like he’s dreaming you up. He’s not even teasing, he just says it like a fact, like it’s the best thing he’s ever discovered.

“Where else would I be?” you whisper, suddenly shy, even though you’ve spent the last hour recounting in excruciating detail the precise angle he looked at you from beneath the counter at work. He closes his eyes again and makes an incoherent happy noise, burrowing his face into your wrist. You stroke his hair, soft and a little bit greasy, and wish you could bottle this moment for the bad ones that come after.

The noise of the house changes when it gets late; pipes clank, the fridge groans, sometimes the distant hush of his mom’s TV through the wall. But tonight it’s empty, just the two of you, no one to trip over in the bathroom or ask when you’re coming home. You want to ask Sohee if it’s always this lonely when his mom’s on third shift, but you don’t want to kill the mood, so you just squeeze his shoulder and let the question die.

“Sohee?” you whisper, hearing him grunt softly to acknowledge you. “You ever think about the future?” The words slip out of you before you can stop them, so featherlight it almost doesn’t count. It hangs in the warm air, drifting over Sohee’s head, invisible but suddenly heavy.

He shifts, stretches, yawns like a cat, and then rolls his face to look at you. “Not usually,” he says. Then, “Sometimes. Lately.” He bites his lip, a nervous habit, and you feel a bloom of affection so sudden you want to punch it away. “What about it?”

You dig your toes under the edge of his blanket, wedge them against his shins because you need to be tethered to him for this. “I dunno. Just… what’s gonna happen. Like, with us.” A chunk of you wants to snatch the words out of the air before he can hear, but they’re already out. You force yourself to keep the gaze steady, the way he does when asking about your day as if the answer matters more than anything.

He blinks, slow. “With you going to Colorado?”

“Yeah.” Your mouth tastes like the inside of a soda can, metallic and sharp. “It’s, like, a million miles from here.”

Sohee shrugs, but you know it’s not a real shrug. “I think you’ll kill it out there. You’ll be the best vet tech in the world and probably end up running the place before Christmas.” He’s trying to make it sound like a joke, but his voice trips over the word ‘vet’ like it’s a loose step on the porch.

You turn on your side, propping your chin in your hand so you’re nose-to-nose with him, the air heavy with all the things you want to say. “You know I’m coming back after, right? Like, I’m not just gonna vanish into the Rockies and get eaten by a bear.”

Sohee smiles, the kind of smile that’s all crumpled, like he forgot how to hold his face together. “You might,” he says, “but I’d probably just follow the bear and annoy it until it gave up and let you go.” You both laugh, but it’s the kind that edges into sadness at the corners. He tugs your hand into his and threads your fingers, the two of you making a zipper of knuckles and skin. “I just… I’m happy for you,” he says, voice barely above a hum. “For real. Like, who else is gonna get out of here and actually do the thing they want?”

You want to tell him he could, too, but you know better. Everyone in this town has a radius, the invisible leash that jerks you backwards if you try to stray too far, and Sohee’s is shorter than most. He says he doesn’t mind, and maybe that’s true, but you can’t help wanting to drag him with you, just to see what the world looks like with him standing next to you.

“I’ll send you postcards,” you promise, and he lights up, nodding like a child. “Like, every week. I’ll find the ugliest ones and write really gross things on the back so the mailman has to read them first. Make the mailman’s day.”

He snorts, still holding your hand, tracing slow circles around the bones in your wrist. “You’ll forget about me,” he says, and you both know it’s not really a joke.

You want to argue, to tell him that no one could replace him, but the words get stuck in your throat. He’s not making it easy, not when his hair falls over his eyes like that, not when he looks at you so raw and bare. You squeeze his hand twice, the secret code for “I’m here,” and hope it’s enough.

Sohee’s eyes get glossy, the weird, glassy way they do when he’s about to cry but holding it back with the sheer force of being a human boy in the South. If you blink, you’ll lose it too, so you keep your gaze steady, breathing through the ache in your chest.

“You’ll be better off,” he tries, but it comes out like a question.

“Don’t say that,” you whisper, and your voice cracks in the middle, betraying the hurricane in your ribcage. “You’re, like, my favorite person in the whole world. You know that, right?”

He doesn’t answer, just pulls you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin. You let him. You let him breathe you in and squeeze the air out of your lungs until you’re both just one shuddering, blurry mass of skin and hope. You don’t say it, but you both know what you mean.

The silence between you is thick with all the things you want to aren’t ready to say yet, and for a while you just let it be.

But then you’re kissing him, because it’s easier than talking, and because it feels like home in a way nothing else ever has. He tastes like sleep and grape gum and the spent electricity in the air after a thunderstorm. He’s the first to deepen the kiss, but you’re the first to open your mouth, greedy for him, tongue darting out to catch the edge of his lip. His hand comes up to your jaw, cradling it like he’s found something fragile and rare, and you melt into the touch so fast you nearly forget yourself.

You want to say it, I love you, but the words stick, so you tip his chin and kiss him rougher, harder, until you’re both gasping for breath. You roll on top of him and straddle his hips, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his thighs. It’s a power move, but also a plea, and he must hear the “don’t leave me” in the way you grind down, because his hands slide up your back and anchor there, holding you in place.

“I want you,” he breathes, voice hoarse and ragged, and the sound of it undoes you completely.

There’s no patience this time. You tug his t-shirt over his head, raking your hands down the smooth slope of his chest, kissing every inch of skin you expose. Sohee arches up into your touch, his whole body electric and trembling, calloused fingers kneading your hips. He’s always blushed easy, but now he’s basically a space heater, all radiance and nerve ends, his skin pink and shivery under your palms. He’s not used to being wanted like this; you can see it in the way he trembles at your touch, the way his throat works around the words he never says out loud. You want to make him say them, want to draw them out syllable by syllable until they’re imprinted in the air above your heads.

You pin his wrists above his head. He lets you, grinning like an idiot, his chest rising and falling in these quick, hungry bursts. You want to devour him. You want to carve your initials on the inside of his bones. You lower your head and sink your teeth into the hollow of his collarbone, biting just hard enough to make him gasp and arch off the bed, then soothe the mark with your tongue.

He’s already hard again, straining against his boxers, and you rub your thigh against him just to feel the heat and pressure. His eyelashes flutter and his lips part, and for a second you think about saying it—I love you—right here, right now, where it’s just the two of you and the whole dumb universe can go screw. But the words catch, so instead you kiss him, deep and bruising, a little bit mean because you know he likes it.

His hands are useless under yours, pinned above his head, but he’s not fighting it. He just moans into your mouth, shivering every time you suck at his lower lip. You let him go, just for a second, to peel your tank top over your head and fling it to the side, then you’re back on him, not wasting a second. You want him so badly your hands shake, the edges of emotion so raw and sharp you can’t even look at him without your eyes getting hot. You bury your face in his neck instead, mouth pressed to his pulse, and you whisper his name, over and over, like a prayer.

He flips you onto your back with a sudden burst of strength, the two of you laughing through the shock, but there’s a fever to it now. He’s kissing down your throat, your collarbone, the place on your shoulder where he’s left a constellation of little marks. It’s a little greedy, how his hands roam everywhere at once, but you don’t mind. You want him to be greedy. You want to be his favorite thing to want.

He pulls your shorts down in one practiced motion, mouth never leaving your skin, and you gasp at the feeling of air on your thighs, the way his fingers knead the softest parts of you like he’s trying to memorize every inch. You moan his name, louder than you mean to, but you don’t care if the neighbors hear. Let them listen.

He’s between your legs now, hands splaying you open, his mouth following the curve of your hipbone until he’s right where you want him. He looks up, checks your face, and it’s so unbearably sweet you almost lose it right there. He wants to see if you really want this, if you’re really here with him, and the answer is so blindingly obvious you can’t say yes, yes, yes. You croon the word in your head, in your blood, in the way your thighs open for him and your spine curls into the mess of sheets. You see him kneel down, all devotion and nervous hunger, and you can’t help but reach for his hair, the brown strands soft under your fingers as you guide him in. It’s not like you have to, he’s looking up at you the whole time anyway, gentle and a little bit scared, but so, so eager.

He kisses up the inside of your thigh, breath warm and shaky against your skin. You want to make him a little less scared, a little more greedy. Your hand traces his jaw, thumb brushing the mole at his cheekbone. “Please,” you murmur, and you mean it with your whole body.

His first lick is tentative, a question more than an answer, but you arch up and cry out, the sound too loud for this tiny house but you don’t care. You want him to know he’s got it right; you want to tell him he’s perfect, but all that comes out for a while are these embarrassing, needy little whimpers as his mouth finds your clit and works it slow.

He looks up at you, eyes huge behind the fringe of his hair, and you can see he’s never done this before, not really, but he’s trying so hard it makes your heart ache. He sucks at you, tongue making little circles that build into a pressure so intense you have to grab the headboard with your other hand just to keep from floating away. He’s a quick study with his mouth. Within a minute you’re shaking, both hands forming fists in Sohee’s hair as his tongue circles and laps and sucks, faster where you’re most sensitive, then backing off, teasing, making you whimper and grind against his face.

Your thighs threaten to clamp around his head but he holds them apart, strong and sure, a new confidence burning off whatever nervousness he had at the start. Every time your hips jolt, he tightens his grip and hums low in his throat, the vibration making your vision pop with white.

He reaches blindly for your hand and you give it to him, both of you clutching tight. The gesture undoes you. He wants to be tethered, wants you with him even now, under your skin and inside your bones. You squeeze his fingers, desperate, and when he feels it he looks up at you, slick-mouthed and wrecked and so pretty it hurts.

You want to tell him he’s a good boy, your good boy, but your voice shivers out of you as a ragged gasp: “Sohee—oh fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop, please—” and his lips curl with pride before he doubles down, tongue flicking against your clit as one finger, then a second, slips inside you with a wet, careful pressure. It’s too much and not enough and you arch your back, sobbing out his name, the surge of pleasure building and building until you’re right at the edge, ready to go over.

He holds your hand the whole time, thumb stroking the back of it, and when you finally feel your body begin to shake apart, your mind blanking out in a white-hot rush. Every part of you is being touched, held, tasted, cherished and all at once you realize you would never get tired of this, of him, of the way your names sound as they break in half on his tongue. You lock eyes with Sohee and let the orgasm rip through you, shuddering, crying out, barely holding on to his hand as you come so hard your body curls up like a busted match.

He stays with you the whole time, licking gently, then just softly kissing until the aftershocks die down and you’re left boneless on the mattress, spiraling through some weird, holy afterglow. You try to catch your breath, staring at the ceiling like you’re waiting for the cracks to rearrange themselves into a message from God.

He crawls up next to you, wiping his mouth on the back of his wrist, and for a second you think he’s going to make a joke about it. Instead, he just cups your cheek, thumb tracing the line of your jaw, and kisses your forehead. There’s something unbearably sweet about it, the way he gathers you up in his arms, his own breathing ragged, and just holds you like this is the most precious thing that’s ever happened to him.

You cling back, not quite ready to let go, your heart pounding so loud you’re sure he can feel it through your ribs. You want to tell him he’s perfect, that he’s a good boy, that he’s yours, but it comes out a choked whisper: “Oh my god.”

He laughs, warm and dizzy, and buries his face in the crook of your neck. “You’re so fucking hot,” he mumbles, voice muffled and thick with awe. You’re still trying to reboot your nervous system when you feel his cock twitch against your thigh, stiff and urgent, leaving no uncertainty about how much he enjoyed himself. The thought sends a bolt of excitement down your spine, makes your toes curl into the sheets. For a second you just lay there, the two of you tangled up in sweat and limbs and the sugar-high hum of mutual adoration.

Sohee’s the first to move, propping himself up on one elbow and looking at you with a dazed, slightly crazed grin. His hair is stuck to his forehead, and there’s a smear of your slick on his cheekbone that he doesn’t even bother to wipe off. You want to lick it yourself, but he beats you to it, swiping it with his thumb and sticking it in his mouth, eyes never leaving yours.

“God, you’re a menace,” you moan, rolling your head to the side so you’re looking at him straight on. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days, I swear.”

He grins, bashful but bold, and then,without warning, buries his face against your throat, teeth grazing skin. You yelp, wriggling under him. “You like it,” he accuses, a little out of breath, and you can’t help but laugh, your whole body shaking under his hand.

There’s a moment of perfect, fidgety stillness, like the hush before a thunderstorm. You shift onto your side, knees curled up and arms tucked close, your half-naked body pressed against his. He’s propped up on his elbow, hips slotted against yours, the smooth heat of his cock nudging between your thighs. You can feel his heart pounding through his chest, so frantic and alive it makes your own pulse skip a step.

He kisses you again, lazy and half-lidded, hand smoothing over the curve of your hip. You don’t want it to end; you could lie here and let him touch you forever. Then, Sohee’s hand trails down, fingers skimming the line between your thighs, and he breathes into your mouth: “Can I fuck you?”

You bark out a laugh, startled and delighted, and the sound makes him blush harder than you’ve ever seen, his ears practically neon. He buries his face in your neck, mortified, but you can feel him smiling against your skin.

“Was that…dumb to ask?” he mumbles, voice muffled by your shoulder, and you have to fight the urge to roll him onto his back and kiss him until he’s boneless.

“No, idiot,” you say, twisting to look him in the eye, “it was cute.” You reach back and grip his thigh, grinding your ass against his cock. He shivers, his hands tightening on your hips, and you’re both laughing and breathless and so stupidly in love it aches.

“Good,” Sohee says, voice gone serious all of a sudden. His hand is still between your legs already pushing back into the heat of your cunt, cock slick and begging. He leans his forehead against the back of your neck, like maybe if he hides there he won’t die from embarrassment.

“Yeah,” you whisper, just to see him squirm. “You can fuck me, Sohee. Want you to.” You barely finish the sentence before his hand is between your legs, thumb circling your clit, and he’s guiding himself into you with a greedy, shuddering gasp. He pushes in slow, all the way, every inch stretching you open until you’re so full it’s almost too much.

You choke out his name, and Sohee’s hips stutter, like he’s fighting back the impulse to come already. He holds himself there, cock pulsing inside you, breath ragged and needy against your skin. The sensation is so fierce and sudden that you can’t help but arch your back, your ass grinding into his lap, and he whines, high and desperate, before he starts to move.

He fucks you slow at first, careful and deliberate, each stroke a study in restraint and hunger. His hands roam everywhere, all over your waist, your tits, your belly, as if he’s trying to imprint the shape of you onto his fingers. His lips latch onto your shoulder, biting down just enough to make you gasp, just enough for it to hurt in the best way possible.

“So good,” he mumbles, words slurred and sticky with pleasure. “You feel so good, baby, fuck—”

You can only moan and squeeze his hand so hard your knuckles ache. It’s all you can do to keep from sobbing, the friction inside you so sharp and perfect you think you might combust.

You hadn't expected him to be good at this, but Sohee’s a fucking savant, learning every inch of your body with each roll of his hips, finding the exact spot that makes you shudder and then abusing it mercilessly. He holds you from behind, arm slung under your chest, palm flat over your heart as if he can steady it with just his touch. The heat of him is everywhere, pressed to your back, his lips at your ear, his cock dragging in and out with an aching, careful rhythm that has you digging your nails into the bedsheet.

He’s talking, too, a steady stream of nonsense and worship, half dirty, half sweet, all of it meant for you and only you. “God, you’re tight. ‘S perfect, is this okay? You want more?” The questions spill out of him, desperate, like he’s terrified of losing you with every thrust. You can only nod, jaw gone slack, every nerve strung out on pleasure.

He shifts, angling your legs just so, and suddenly he’s hitting a new spot, one that makes you see stars. You gasp, the sound torn from your throat, and behind you Sohee lets out a high, broken laugh like he can’t believe he’s the one doing this to you.

The pressure builds, slow and gorgeous, every rock of his hips driving you closer to the edge. You whimper his name, over and over, his name like a prayer, the syllables breaking as you clench and flutter around him. Your legs start to shake. The sheets are twisted in your fists, your breath caught on the cliff-edge between begging him to slow down and daring him to go faster, harder, anything he wants just as long as he never stops.

Then Sohee makes a sound, something between a whimper and a sob, and goes very still. You feel his chest press tight against your back, his heart jackhammering against your spine. There’s a beat where you think he’s about to come, and then—

“Can I—” His voice is so shaky you barely hear it, “—can I see your face?”

It guts you, the question. You give a frantic nod, unable to speak, and he pulls out just long enough to flip you onto your back, his hands cradling your body like you’re made of glass. He’s above you now, shaking, sweat beading on his brow, and you can see everything: the wild hope in his eyes, the way his lips tremble, the bruises blooming along his throat and collar from where you bit him. He looks like something half-feral, but he kisses you so sweetly it makes your eyes smart.

You hook your legs around his waist and pull him back in, the stretch so good you shudder. He bottoms out with a gasp, forehead pressed to yours, and you lock eyes and ride the wave together, all teeth and sweat and tangled hands.

Sohee’s hand finds your cheek, thumb sweeping over the flush at your jaw, and he doesn’t hesitate now. He fucks into you deep, hips colliding with your thighs in a rhythm that makes the headboard rattle, and every breathless moan from him is a message just for you. He wants you to see it all: how he falls apart, how his eyes burn when you squeeze around him, how the muscles in his neck go taut when you claw at his shoulders and beg for more. He says your name over and over, threaded through with awe and disbelief, like he can’t quite believe you’re real, that this is real.

You’re helpless under him, pinned open and exposed, and the thought of it should embarrass you but it doesn’t. It makes you wild. You rake your nails down his back, leaving half-moons in his skin, and when you bite his shoulder you taste salt and desperation. You want to keep him here forever, want to swallow his noises and make a home in the soft, needy part of his chest.

He slows for a second, just to watch you squirm, to see your lips part in a silent scream when he pushes in hard and stays, grinding his hips in a way that makes your vision blur. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he chokes out, forehead pressed to yours, and the words hit you like a fist to the ribs. You want to say it back, want to tell him how he lights you up from the inside out, but you can only whimper, can only clutch him closer.

He brings your hands above your head, trapping your wrists against the pillow, and you nearly sob at how much you love it, the slick slide of his palm around your wrists, the wet heat of his mouth against your jaw, how he’s looking at you like you’re the one miracle he’ll ever get. The pace is relentless now, every thrust sending little ripples through your body, your legs hooked tight around his waist as if you could fuse the two of you together if you just held hard enough.

“Sohee,” you gasp, the word lost in the hot air between your mouths. “Don’t stop, please, please—” You’re babbling, begging, and you don’t care how desperate you sound. You want him to ruin you, to hollow you out and fill you up with nothing but the way he says your name, the way he smells like clean sweat and cheap detergent and the faintest echo of your body clinging to him.

He lets go of your wrists only to cradle your cheeks, his hands trembling as his thumb traces your lips and his gaze locks on yours. “I wanna see you,” he says, voice cracked and thick with longing, like each word is an act of worship. “I wanna see your face when you cum for me.”

The confession strips you bare. You let him look, let him see every flicker of pleasure and fear and need that crosses your face, and you see it reflected back a thousandfold in the way he looks at you, how his eyes go soft and wide and shining. You’re crying a little, you realize, your lashes are sticky, the world blurring at the edges, but you’re too far gone to care. You can feel your whole body locking up, every muscle tight as a wire, the pleasure cresting so violently you can’t do anything except stare up at Sohee, at the way his eyes shimmer in the low light, at the messy fringe of hair dripping sweat into his lashes, at the pure, unfiltered want etched in every line of his face. He’s so beautiful it hurts, and the way he fucks you, so slow, so deep, so deliberate, makes you feel like he’s chiseling your name into the softest part of his heart.

He fucks you through it, the whole way, never looking away, never letting you look anywhere but right at him. Your vision whites out, and for a second, the world narrows to just his hands and his mouth and the thick, steady pulse of him inside you. You feel yourself come apart, the orgasm tearing out of you so hard your back arches off the bed and your mouth opens around a soundless scream. Sohee holds you there, forehead pressed to yours, fingers tangled in your hai,r and his whole body shaking with the effort to keep you both tethered to this moment.

You think you black out for a second, but when you come back to yourself, Sohee is still moving, a little more ragged now, sweat dripping down his temple. He’s so close, you can tell by the way his hips stutter, the way his eyes go glassy and wild, the way his teeth sink into his bottom lip as if he’s trying to keep from falling apart before you’re ready to catch him.

He loses it, hips jerking, cock throbbing inside you as he buries his face in your neck and holds on for dear life. You feel every tremor wrack his body, every desperate little whimper, every breathless chant of your name until he’s emptied himself, spent and shaking and still not letting you go.

After, the world softens into static. Your thighs tremble where you’re still wrapped around him. Sticky-sweet sweat slicks your skin, glues you together at every possible point of contact. Your heart’s beating so hard you can hear it, and if you listen close, you can hear Sohee’s matching yours, in time, like you’re two halves of a single heart.

The room stinks of sex and summer and the cheap detergent his mom buys from the Family Dollar. You’re dizzy, floating, a little bit dead, but in the best way possible. It’s perfect.

Sohee drops all his weight onto you, and you groan, but not because you want him off. He’s heavy and solid and exactly where you want him to be. He pants against your collarbone for a long minute, maybe more, until his breathing comes back to something like normal. He’s still inside you, softening but refusing to pull away, and you’re not complaining.

“I can’t feel my legs,” he says, voice muffled by the crook of your neck. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

You giggle, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, fingers tracing the sweat-damp curls at his nape.

He lies on you for a full minute, winding down, not even trying to be polite about the weight of him or the fact that he’s sticky and gross. You like it, actually. The aftermath. This is the best part, always. You’re still wide open, both inside and out, and for a second you think you could tell him anything, even the embarrassing stuff, like how you always thought he was the prettiest boy in your class or how you used to doodle his name in the margins of your biology notes and erase it so your mom wouldn’t see. He kisses your collarbone, a lazy, absent thing, and then props himself up to look at you, eyes still so soft it makes you want to cry.

“So, uh,” he says, words slurring together with sleep and sex, “wanna take a shower with me?”

You snort. “You trying to be romantic or just pissed about the sheets?”

“Can’t it be both?” he asks, rolling off and giving your thigh a slap. It’s not hard, but it leaves a little sting. You let out a yelp and kick at his calf with your bare foot. He’s already up, hands on his hips, and you watch the way his body moves as he heads to the bathroom, admiring the deep red marks you left on his skin. You can’t help but grin at your handiwork.

“Don’t use up all the hot water!” you call, stretching out on the bed, basking in the afterglow, smiling so wide your cheeks burn. You can feel his gaze even after he’s out of the room, like heat residue clinging to your skin. You take your time finding the energy to move, savoring the ache in your limbs, the soreness between your legs, the way your chest still flutters when you think about the way Sohee looked at you—like you weren’t even a real person, just a fever dream he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch.

Eventually, you peel yourself off the mattress, padding across the creaky floor with nothing but a borrowed pair of his boxers and a tank top. You hear the bathroom door shut, the rattle of old pipes as he turns the water on. The sound is comforting, domestic, the kind of white noise you imagine you’ll miss in sterile dorm rooms and city apartments a thousand miles from here.

You grab your phone from the nightstand, thumb through the notifications out of habit, but nothing catches your eye except a half-sent text to Sohee from earlier: <3. You think about finishing the thought, but it feels silly now, considering you just spent the last hour with your mouth on every part of him, so you lock the screen and flop back onto the tangled sheets.

You’re lazily scrolling through his playlist when you hear a muffled voice through the bathroom door. At first, you think he’s singing—he does that sometimes, badly, when he thinks you can’t hear—but the cadence is wrong. Too sharp, too soft in the wrong places. It takes a second to place the sound: he’s talking to someone, voice low and tense, but you can’t make out the words over the old radiator rattling in the hallway. You hesitate, not wanting to be obvious, but some paranoid part of you wonders if he’s talking to Sungchan, or worse, about you. You press your ear to the door, heart thumping in your chest, but the words are muffled, ending with a sharp “I got it. Don’t worry about it,” before the water drowns everything out.

You push open the door anyway, pretend you didn’t hear a thing. Sohee’s already in the shower, back to you, steam crawling up the cracked tile and fogging the mirror. You hover in the doorway, watching the way the water beads on his shoulders, the light catching the curve of his spine. You wonder if he knows you’re there. He turns, glancing over his shoulder, and grins.

“Finally,” he says, voice playful but strained, like he’s working too hard at lightness. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

You step in, peel your shirt off, let it puddle on the floor. “You’d miss me too much,” you shoot back, but your words are softer than you mean. He gestures for you to join him, pulling back the curtain and holding it wide as if he’s ushering you onto a stage. You climb in and the water hits you, hot and sharp, stinging your skin where he’s left marks. The air smells like cherry soap and mildew.

He wraps his arms around your waist, palms splayed flat against your back against your skin, and for a second you just stand there, letting the water pound your shoulders and the heat liquefy your bones. He’s smiling, but it’s thin—too careful. His hands trace down your sides, fingers grazing your ribs, and you shudder even though it’s a thousand degrees in here.

“You okay?” you ask, searching his face. There’s a flicker behind his eyes, but he splashes water in your face before you can pin it down.

“Better now,” he says, then hooks an arm around your waist and drags you under the spray. The water stings your scalp, but his hands are gentle, lathering up the cheap soap and working it into your hair with an almost reverent focus. He does your hairline, your ears, even scrubs behind them like he’s afraid you’re going to vanish if he lets go. You close your eyes and tip your head back, let him rinse you clean, the suds sliding off your shoulders and pooling at your feet.

He kisses you, slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that tries to erase everything except this moment; just you and him and the water and the way your bodies fit together. You let yourself be kissed, because it’s easier than asking about Sungchan, easier than wondering what that phone call was about or why Sohee’s jaw gets so tight whenever the world tries to muscle in on your little night.

You rinse him off in return, working your thumbs into the knots at his shoulders, tracing the constellation of moles on his cheek with a faint smile. You stare at his face for a moment longer than you should, feeling the words burn the tip of your tongue but nothing comes out. He watches you stare at him, giving a small yet fond smile as he rests a a hand on your cheek as well, full lips parted slightly.

“My girl,” He whispers as he draws you closer, and it’s almost instinct, the way your arms wind around his slick, soap-slicked shoulders and squeeze, hard.

You don’t even hesitate. You kiss him, open and grateful, with the taste of cherry shampoo and tap water on both your tongues. You’re not shy about making it filthy, either — you love the way his lips part, the way his breath hiccups when you run your tongue slow against his. You love the shivery-soft sound he makes as you press him up against the cold tile and pin his hips with yours.

He looks at you, blinking rain out of his big brown eyes. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?” His voice is husky and sopping with affection. You nod, grinning, teeth pressed to your bottom lip, and let your hand drift lower, tracing the length of his thigh.

“I like you alive, actually,” you tell him, and he laughs. It’s a real laugh this time, not the tight, nervous bark he’s been doing all evening. The kind that vibrates all the way through you. You press your ear to his chest, listening to the way his heart races. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re not worth it,” you say, voice muffled by wet skin. “Don’t let anyone ruin your good days, not Sungchan, not anyone.” You glance up at him, expecting him to roll his eyes, but his face has gone strange and slack, like he’s trying not to cry.

He draws circles on your lower back, and you both close your eyes.

Sohee’s old Civic, the one with the duct-taped mirror and the air freshener that lost its scent a year ago, lurches to a stop at the edge of the grass parking lot. You can already hear the muffled throb of music from the festival grounds, some country band with too much optimism, and you’re about to grab for your purse when Sohee’s hand lands on your thigh. His palm is damp, trembling just enough for you to notice. You look over, expecting a joke or a kiss or one of his dorky faces, but his eyes are fixed on the rearview like he’s looking for ghosts.

“You good?” you ask, pinching his knee through the ripped denim. He flinches, then smiles too wide, the way he does when he’s lying. You want to press, but excitement’s got you by the throat, so you just squeeze his hand and say, “Let’s go, dork.” He leans over and steals a kiss, lips sour from the energy drink he crushed in the last five minutes of the drive.

You feel seven years old again, dizzy and sugar-hungry, and it’s so much better with Sohee next to you. He’s got his hands stuffed in his pockets, chin up, eyes catching the security guard walking up with a German Shepard on a leash next to her.

A routine check, but the dogs are new. You don’t pay it much mind, but Sohee’s grip on you tightens. You try not to look suspicious, but the second the K9 cop stops at Sohee’s window, you’re sweating buckets. The dog, a mean-looking, brindled thing, barks twice and yanks the lead so hard the officer nearly drops it. You freeze. Next to you Sohee straightens up and gives his best aw-shucks grin. It’s the one that used to get him out of trouble in high school but, let’s be honest, never worked on adults.

“Y’all here for the festival?” the guard says, looking from Sohee to you and back with a skeptical, sunburned squint.

“Gold passes, actually!” Sohee says, brandishing the wristbands like proof of citizenship. “Did the online thing. Not sure where to go for parking though.”

She’s not buying it. The dog’s nose is pressed to the window, hot breath fogging the ancient glass. It paws desperately, whining, then sits abruptly and gives the guard a look like, Get my damn treat. You know enough from crime shows to realize that’s a problem.

“Pop your trunk,” the guard says, voice flat. Sohee’s hands shake as he hits the button. You feel the color drain from your face because the trunk is clean—but the backseat is not.

The cop says, “Step out, please,” and you do, knees knocking, hands shaking so bad you almost drop your phone. The sun is so bright it stings your eyes. Sohee’s out next to you, already sweating through his shirt.

The second the car’s open, the dog launches itself onto the back of the seat, nearly tearing the fabric as it goes nuts, nose jammed between the headrest and the seatback. The officer gives Sohee a withering look, then yanks open the back door and lets the dog climb in. You watch, numb, as the shepherd snuffles around the floor mats, paws the seat, then like something out of a shitty PSA, starts furiously scratching at the place where the seat cushion meets the upholstery.

“Is there a reason your dog’s so focused on my car?” Sohee tries, and you wince at the edge in his voice. The cop ignores him, already fishing a gloved hand into the crack in the seat. Three seconds later she comes up with a crumpled plastic baggie, cloudy but unmistakable.

“Is this yours?” she asks, holding it up between two fingers. You stare at the bag, then at Sohee. Your mouth opens, then closes, a tiny, venomous oyster.

“No,” you say, “that’s not—” but Sohee’s face has already gone gray. He’s doing a thing with his hands, squeezing them together, over and over, like he’s trying to keep his bones from flying apart. He doesn’t look at you. Not even a glance.

The guard’s backup pulls up in a golf cart, radio squelching, and within seconds you’re both standing with your palms on the Civic’s hood, the dog planted between you, tail wagging with the satisfaction of a job well done.

“We’re gonna need to search your bags,” the new guy says, and you watch numbly as your backpack is emptied onto the hood. Chapstick, three dollar bills, a plastic comb, your student ID, two tampons. The officer pokes through them with the tip of her pen, barely glancing at you, all her focus on Sohee.

He’s trying to play it cool, you can see it in the way he leans back on his heels, but his hands won’t stop fidgeting. The dog’s planted by his knees, tail wagging, the way it sometimes does when it corners a squirrel. The guard with the dog steps between you and Sohee, her stance casual but blocking any chance of side-eye communication. You’re suddenly so, so thirsty.

She turns the baggie in her hand. “Want to explain this?” she says, a little less bored now, a little more interested in the way the sunlight bleaches the color from Sohee’s face. You expect him to laugh it off, say it’s not his, say someone must’ve planted it in the car, but he just shrugs and stares at his shoes.

You wait for the universe to reverse itself, for the joke to clarify, for someone to jump out and say it’s all a set up. Instead, Sohee says, “I’m sorry,” barely a whisper, and you feel your vision tunnel so far you can’t even see your own feet.

“Whose is it?” the guard prompts. You want to speak, to defend him, but your voice has jammed somewhere in your throat. You literally cannot believe this is happening. You think back to the phonecall you barely caught last night. The glue in your throat only grows thicker, making tears grow in your eyes, covering your eyes with a shake of your head, a sob tumbling out from your lips.

You’re aware dimly, through the panic haze that Sohee’s looking at you, begging you to do something, say something, but all you can do is dig your nails into the hood of his car and try not to sob so loud the whole parking lot hears. The tears burn, hot and mean, and your knees nearly buckle under you. Of course it’s not yours, but it’s not the first time you’ve been in trouble for someone else’s shit, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re screaming at yourself for not seeing this coming. For not noticing every time Sohee’s hands shook, every time he asked if you wanted him to drive, every time he got quiet during Sungchan’s dumb threats.

The cops don’t even say anything to you. They just read Sohee his rights while another one, clipboard in hand, writes down your name like you’re being added to a class roster. There’s a moment tiny, a flicker where you see Sohee turn, eyes rimmed red, and he tries to reach for your hand, but you wrench away. You’re not even mad at him, you’re mad at everything. Mad at the whole dumb town that raised you to believe good things were waiting somewhere out past the city limit sign, if you just hung on long enough.

Your hands are cuffed. You stare at them, metal biting your wrists, and for a second you just want to lie down in the grass and disappear. You see your reflection in the Civic’s window eyes swollen, face blotchy, mascara bleeding down your cheeks. A real winner.

The two officers don’t even bother being rough with you; they just guide you into the back of a cop car like you’re a lost little girl who needs to be ferried across the street. The window is caged and the seat is sticky, and as the door slams shut, you see Sohee’s face through the glass. He’s crying, openly, ugly, the way boys do when they’ve run out of options and can’t punch their way free. You want to scream, but all you can do is stare at your own knees, the dried patches of grass stuck to your socks, and think about how you already miss him.

The station is smaller than you expect, beige-painted cement blocks and a vending machine that’s been out of order since the Bush administration. You’re herded into a side room by a nice-enough lady cop who offers you a foam cup of tap water and a pack of peanut butter crackers. You take the water and ignore the crackers, because you’re afraid if you eat you’ll puke all over the linoleum. The clock on the wall ticks so loud it drowns out your thoughts.

They don’t separate you for long; you see Sohee through the thin window in the door, slumped in a metal chair, eyes puffy, wrists red where the cuffs cut too tight. He doesn’t look up when they lead you past. Another cop, younger, with chipmunk cheeks and a gut that strains the buttons on his shirt, tries to make you laugh by saying, “Don’t worry, you’ll be outta here soon enough.” You want to believe him, but your hands won’t stop shaking in your lap. The vending machine hums like it’s laughing at you.

You’re not sure how much time passes. Someone brings you a cell phone in a ziplock and tells you to memorize a phone number in case “you get a call.” You try to think of your mother’s number, but your mind’s whited out, replaced by memories of Sohee’s sad face through the glass.

When they finally bring you into the interrogation room, it’s nothing like Law and Order. The table is Formica, the walls are sweating fluorescent light, and the “bad cop” is a guy with drowsy eyes and a stain on his tie. The nameplate says LEE, A. in a chipped black font.

He folds his hands and studies you for a long time, his stare so flat you want to start screaming before he even opens his mouth.

“Know why you’re here?” he asks. His voice is almost gentle, but you can tell he’s the kind of gentle that suffocates cats with a pillow.

You nod, then shake your head, then nod again. “I guess,” you say, and he scribbles something in a notebook that looks more like a prop than a real cop tool.

He lets you sit in the silence for a full minute. You count the tiles on the ceiling, try to keep from crying again, but it’s harder now that the adrenaline’s gone. You’re left with the raw, gummy core of panic.

He sets the pen down and leans forward, elbows on the table. “So. Here’s the deal. You’re smart, we know that. Top five percent, full ride waiting if you keep your nose clean.” He flips a page, never looking up from the notebook. “But distribution charge? Even a misdemeanor, that’s a wrap on your vet career. Won’t get a state license anywhere in the country. You’ll be lucky to run the cash register at Petco.”

A cold sweat prickles under your arms; the air in the room feels suddenly thick, viscous, like honey left in a hot car. You want to cry again, but the tears just sit there, boiling against your eyelids.

Anton Lee finally looks up at you. His eyes are the flat, empty blue of an old TV left on a dead channel. “Tell me about Sohee,” he says, spinning the pen once between his fingers. “Tell me about Sungchan. And I’ll make this go away.”

It’s not even a threat, really. It’s a simple, brutal fact, as bland as the coffee stains on the Formica.

You cross your arms over your stomach. “He’s my friend.”

Lee gives you a look like he’s heard that a hundred times and every single time, it means the exact opposite. He doesn’t sigh, but his face folds in on itself a little, like he’s disappointed you didn’t even try to lie.

He shifts tactics, drops the hardass act, gives you his best I’m a regular guy smile. “You ever read Lord of the Flies?” he asks.

“What?”

He leans back, chair creaking, hands folded back in his chair with a sigh, like your ignorance is either the most disappointing or the most promising thing he’s encountered all week. “High school kids. Stranded on an island. No rules, no adults. You know what happens?”

You look at your shoes, the black scuff mark where you kicked the cop car door, and mutter, “They go crazy. Start killing each other.” You read it sophomore year, hated every page, could never figure out why the teachers thought it was such a big deal.

“Exactly,” Lee says, nodding with this weird, predatory satisfaction. “You put the pressure on, you see who’s really in charge. First they protect each other. But when it’s life or death? Somebody always flips.” He shrugs, like this is just basic science, like gravity or inertia.

He slides a photo across the table, face-down, like he’s dealing blackjack instead of ruining your future. When you flip it over, it’s a grainy shot of Sohee and Sungchan, arms slung around each other’s necks, grinning wild and reckless outside the gas station. You’re in the background, blurry, laughing at something off-camera. The timestamp is from three weeks ago.

“We know who the big fish is,” Lee says softly, tapping Sungchan’s face with the end of his pen. “But the only way we get him is if someone on the inside tells us how it works.” He makes a steeple of his fingers, gaze never leaving yours. “Here’s what I’m offering. You put it on the record. Tell the truth. You don’t even have to come in for court. We close it, you get a clean record, and you still make it out to Colorado.”

You stare at the photo until the faces blur, until it looks like the kind of image they show on the news after something bad happens. You want to laugh, or maybe throw up. Every part of your body is vibrating, pure animal panic, the knowledge that nothing you say will save you from this room, from this moment.

Lee flips to a new page, the scratch of pen against paper so loud it’s like he’s carving your confession into concrete. “Look, I’m gonna be real with you. If you don’t talk, you get charged. No wiggle. No second chances. It’s over. They’ve been watching you guys for months, waiting for someone to mess up. Now they have you. And you have one shot to get out clean.”

You think of Sohee’s hands, trembling under the table at the Waffle House, the way he always bought you coffee even when he couldn’t afford the gas to get home. You think about Sungchan’s grin, sharp and mean, and the way he looked at you like prey. You think about your mother, how she’d cry if the news ever made it to her, how she’d probably never visit you, even if you were close enough to drive.

Lee’s eyes are hungry. He leans in, so close you can smell the burnt coffee and the faintest ghost of aftershave on his neck. Every sense feels sharpened, like the strip-lit room is a dissecting tray and you are the frog. “I know you’re scared,” he says, voice pitched exactly right, just a shade above a whisper. “But you get one shot at this. Tell me what happened, who made you do it, and you walk out of here. No record. Nothing ever follows you.” He leans back, waiting for you to blink first.

You look at your own hands, pale and useless in the washed-out light. You don’t want to lose everything. You don’t want to be the kid who never leaves this town, who gets stuck washing dogs for cash and can’t get into a single vet school in the country. You don’t want to be the reason Sohee gets ruined, either. Or maybe you do, just a little, because he’s the one who didn’t tell you. Or maybe you’re just too tired to care which way the knife cuts.

You say nothing for so long that Lee sighs, stands, and starts packing up his little black notebook and dollar store ballpoint like you’re not even a challenge. “I’ll leave you for a minute,” he says, and moves to the door, his hand lingering on the knob. “Think about it. But not too long.”

The door seals behind him with a sound that is so final it feels like your fate snapping shut. You stare at the photo, the blurry, happy triangle of you, Sohee, and Sungchan, and you want to scream at the frozen faces for the answers you never quite have.

When Anton comes back, you’re already crying. Not pretty, dignified tears, more like hiccuping, snotty, full-body sobs that make your ribs ache. It doesn’t matter. You barely care anymore. He sits down, pushes the water cup closer, and says nothing. Just waits.

You start talking. At first, it comes out in little slivers, fragmented and cracked, like you’re reading your own obituary through a tin can. You tell him about the gas station. About how Sohee never wanted to do it, not really, but Sungchan made it sound easy, like a favor, like everyone does it. About how you hated Sungchan from the start.

Anton scribbles notes, but mostly he just sits there, eyelids heavy, letting you ruin yourself in your own words. You keep going, even when your voice goes hoarse, even when it feels like your lungs are burning up from the inside. You tell him about the time you watched Sungchan roll up behind the store, headlights off, and how Sohee’s hands shook so bad you had to take the envelope and shove it in the register yourself. About how you never touched any of the drugs. You were never involved until today. Sohee kept that from you, protected you the best he could.

You expect him to call you a liar, or at least look at you with that cop-smirk that says he’s already written the ending and you’re just a bad actor caught mid-audition. Instead, his gaze softens and for a second he’s just another tired man in an ugly tie, leaning over a cold cup of gas station coffee, looking at you like maybe, just maybe, you’ll get out of this okay.

When you finish, the world feels scraped out and hollow. Anton slides a box of tissues across the table, lets you take three, and doesn’t even watch when you wipe the snot from your face. His pen taps on the tabletop, slow and thoughtful.

“You did good,” he says, voice all sand and velvet. “You did real good.”

You want to believe him, but your insides are a slurry of guilt and relief, equal parts traitor and survivor, and you can’t tell which one is louder. You choke out a laugh, and it sounds like you’re gargling glass.

“What happens now?” you ask, folding the tissues into a tiny, desperate ball.

He stands, not even looking at you, just turns for the door. “Now you wait,” he says, almost kindly. “We’ll give you a call when it’s over. You’ll walk out today.”

You watch him go, the hush after his exit so thick it feels like a second skin. You clutch your stomach, doubled around the ache, and cry until you don’t have any tears left to shed.

They keep you in the holding cell for forty-seven minutes. You count every second, because your phone is still in the evidence bag and there’s nothing else in this room except a steel bench and two empty water cups. You want to call Sohee. You want to tell him you’re sorry, or that you love him, or that you wish you both could turn the car around and go back to the day at the flea market when all that mattered was stealing dumb keychains from the rotary rack and daring each other to eat the weirdest food at the county fair.

When Anton comes back, it’s with a paper bag from the front desk—a couple of your things, cell phone, the gum you left in your jacket. He sits you down on the bench and looks you in the eye, the way grown-ups do when they expect you to break.

“You’re not gonna see Sohee,” he says, not unkind but with the finality of a cracked gavel. “He’s being processed. Bail isn’t likely until after the hearing. But you did your part. You did right by yourself. By your future.” He says this like it’s a kindness, but it feels like a tattoo needle, each word leaving

You stare blankly at Anton at the news, looking away from him then at the ceiling. There’s hot tears in your eyes, your bottom lip trembling. You feel Anton’s hand on your shoulder to comfort you, making your face pinch. It’s all so overwhelming, so suffocating, you can’t stand it.

“I don’t have a ride,” You get out through a tight throat, feeling like something snapped inside you at that. You don’t have a car, your mom is at work, and Sohee is in jail. Sohee is in jail. A sob tumbles out of your lips, covering your eyes as tears spill out of them. “I don’t have a car.”

Anton’s hand doesn’t leave your shoulder, not even when you shake with the force of the next sob. He just sits there, thumb awkwardly stroking the edge of your t-shirt, a gesture so gentle it makes everything worse. Finally, when it’s clear you’re not going to say anything else, he leans into the intercom by the door and calls for the front desk girl to bring a tissue box.

You want to crawl out of your skin. You want to be alone, outside, away from the beige linoleum and the stink of cheap coffee and Anton’s careful, adult eyes. Instead you blow your nose, hard, and stare off into the cinderblock wall until it becomes a blank, vibrating screen.

Later, when Anton leads you out to the parking lot, the sky is already streaked with bruised purple and the air is thick with the hum of cicadas. He walks you to his car an ancient, battered Sonata with a cracked windshield and a backseat full of file folders and fast food wrappers. He opens the passenger door, not like a date or anything, but with the weird, overpolite energy of someone who’s never shuttled a crying girl home before.

You buckle yourself in, then immediately press your forehead to the glass, hoping the chill will siphon off the ache behind your eyes. Anton says nothing for the first few blocks, just drives in silence, his hands white-knuckling the wheel at ten and two, like they told him in police academy.

“You ever see a fox in the city?” he asks, out of nowhere, voice low and careful. “They’re everywhere,” Anton says. “They come out at dusk, when it’s quiet and there aren’t so many people. Saw one last week, running between the dumpsters behind the courthouse.”

You blink at him, not sure if it’s a metaphor or if he’s just really into urban wildlife. He glances over, catches your blank stare, and lets out a breathy laugh. “Sorry. I meant—sometimes things end up where they shouldn’t. But they get by anyway.” His hands loosen on the wheel, knuckles fading from bone-white to pink, and you hate how much you want to believe him.

There’s a patch of road where the streetlights are dead, and you drive through a tunnel of hot, humming dark. For a second, it feels like maybe you’re not even here—maybe you’re just a row of numbers rolling past on a dashboard, or a voice that never leaves the inside of your own skull. You could be anyone, or no one at all.

“Are you hungry?” Anton asks, voice tentative. “We could… stop, if you want. Get a burger or something. There’s a place still open near the old rec center.” You almost laugh—like you could eat anything right now. Like food could fill the black hole chewing away at your stomach. But you say yes anyway, because the idea of being alone in your house with all the lights off makes your skin crawl.

The burger place is nearly empty, just a pair of old men in camo hats nursing black coffee and a couple in the corner feeding fries to a toddler in a faded Batman t-shirt. The lights are low and the air smells like fried onions and bleach. You order a small vanilla milkshake, the kind that comes in a paper cup so thin it starts to melt on contact with your palm. Anton gets coffee, black, and sits across from you in the sticky booth, arms folded tight across his chest.

For a while, neither of you say anything. You sip your milkshake, not because you want to, but because it gives your hands something to do. Anton drums his fingertips on the Formica, watching the tired cashier wipe down the soda machine with a rag that was probably white once. The silence is thick and frayed at the edges, like an old towel, heavy with words neither of you want to say out loud.

You glance up, expecting the cop look, but he’s just staring at his coffee, tracing the rim of the mug with his thumb. “You did the right thing,” he says quietly, not looking at you. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you did.” The words are meant to be comforting, but they land like a punch in the gut.

“I love him,” You finally say aloud, sighing up at the ceiling as tears fill your eyes again. You’re shocked you have any left in you. “Not as a friend, not as a brother, I wanted to be his wife, but I was…So scared to say it. Now, he’s going to prison,” You stare at Anton like he could fix this, knowing he can’t do anything for you or Sohee. You wipe at the corner of your eyes, shaking your head with a sniffle.

“Now, it’s done. It’s all just done.”

Anton drives you home. He doesn’t ask about the tears or the way you keep rubbing your wrists, the indentations still hot and stinging. He drops you off at the curb, and as you get out, he hesitates like he might say something more, then just gives you a nod, eyes fixed on the windshield, and pulls away.

You stand in the driveway for a long minute, staring at the front door, at the crumbling steps, at the battered recycling bin that hasn’t been taken out in two weeks. You’re not ready to go inside, but you do, anyway, because what else is there to do except keep moving until you’re too tired to feel anything about any of this?

Your mom’s car isn’t in the drive. She works nights now, or at least that’s what she tells you. You wonder if she’ll notice the missed calls from the police station, but maybe she’ll just assume you were out with Sohee and let it pass. You hope she does. You don’t want to explain any of this, not to her, not to anyone.

In your room, you stare at the blank, unmade bed, the pile of dirty clothes, the suitcase your mom got you from Goodwill propped open in the corner. You start throwing things in, jeans and underwear and every t-shirt you ever stole from Sohee’s dresser. You pack his hoodie at the bottom and bury it under everything else, as if you can smother the memory of him by force.

You pack all night. At some point you start crying and just don’t stop. It’s not a sobbing kind of cry, not even a wail, just a leaking faucet that never quite turns off. You wonder if Sohee is still crying, or if he’s just given up, or if he’s already figured out how to survive inside those walls the way he always did out here. Maybe he hates you. Maybe he’s grateful. Maybe he’s both.

It’s around two weeks later when you find the letter in the mailbox, written in his left-handed scrawl, the only handwriting in the world you’d recognize even if it was burned into your brain. The envelope is stamped three times, covered in ink like someone was trying to erase it by overloading it with attention. There’s no return address, but you know.

You don’t open it that night. You let it sit under your pillow, weighing down the ache, until the morning burns through the blackout shades and you wake up, hollow and a little afraid. Then you slit the envelope with your thumbnail and read, breathless, like you’re waiting for the end of a bad dream.

It’s three pages, front and back, all written in blue ballpoint. He starts with “Hey,” because he’s never really known how to say hello, and he ends with “I don’t know if this will even get to you,” and it reads less like a real letter and more like a string of confessions he’s been saving up since the second he left your sight.

He tells you about the first night in county. He describes the walls, the bugs in the light fixtures, the way the guards call him “son,” which is both a joke and a threat. He says, “I’m not writing to make you feel bad, I just miss you,” and then draws a sad face next to it, like you’ll forget to read the sentence if he doesn’t illustrate it.

The second page is just stories, little memories you’d both already lived but he wanted to pin down before they vanished. “Remember when we hid out in the rec center after dark and you dared me to break into the pool?” he writes, and you can see his grin, wide and soft, right there in the slant of the words. “Remember the gas station nachos? You said they’d poison us but I ate them anyway because you dared me. You win every dare, always. Even this one.” The ink is darker now, maybe he pushed the pen in too hard, maybe he just needed to make sure you’d see it.

On the third page, he writes, “I’m not mad at you. Never was, not even for a second. Don’t let anyone tell you that you did wrong. You got out. That’s what I always wanted, even if I never said it.” The sentence is underlined, and there’s a little arrow, pointing to a margin note:

“P.S.,” the letter says, right before it runs out of room at the very bottom. “You don’t have to write me back. But if you want to, I’m here for as long as it takes. When I get out, I’ll find you. Even if it’s Colorado. Or Mars.”

You hold the pages in your lap for a long time, reading and re-reading, letting the words rot new holes in your ribs. He doesn’t hate you. He’s not even mad. It’s worse, almost, because it means he meant it every time he said you were his favorite person, his north star, the reason he didn’t just disappear into the cut-rate stories of everyone who came before him.

You sit on the porch steps, knees pulled to your chest, letter clutched like a life raft. You want to write him back so bad your hands ache, but you don’t know what to say. What could you possibly say to make any of this less awful, less lonely, less like you broke the only person who ever really saw you?

You watch the neighbor kids ride bikes in a lazy loop around the cul-de-sac, the sound of their laughter a sharp, foreign noise in the thick, humid air. You wonder if any of them will ever get out, or if they’re all just waiting for their turn inside the station, their own version of Lee, A., waiting to pin their lives down to a single bad choice.

Inside, your mom’s watching TV, the volume up so high it rattles the windows. You think about telling her what happened, how it all went down, but you know it’ll just end in a quiet sigh.

You read Sohee’s letter one last time before sunrise, then fold it into the smallest square you can manage and tuck it in the front pocket of your suitcase, right next to your Colorado acceptance packet. You zip the bag, grab your keys, and walk out the door. The air is thinner than yesterday, more empty, the sky the off-white of a sleepless morning.

The post office opens at 8 a.m. sharp. You stand outside with a line of retirees and a woman in pink pajama bottoms, breathing in the scent of wet pavement and stale cigarettes while the automatic doors jitter awake. When you’re inside, you fill out the envelope with the return address of Sohee’s house, hands trembling so badly you almost write the zip code backwards. You seal your letter inside, not a reply, exactly, but all that you wanted to say in three front to back pages, and drop it in the slot marked “LOCAL DELIVERY.” You watch it vanish into the bin, feel nothing, feel everything.

Back in the car, you wait for the numbness to turn into sadness, but it doesn’t. It just sits in you, heavy and cold, a space where something used to live. You start the engine and point the nose of your mom’s borrowed beater toward the interstate, not even bothering to look in the rearview.

The road smells like rain, and if you squint, the sunrise looks almost pink around the edges instead of rotten gray. You drive with the windows down, letting the sticky summer air sting your face, and for a while you try not to think about anything at all. Just the white lines blurring under your tires, the way the trees flatten and fall behind you in the rearview. You don’t look back. Not at the empty house, not at the post office, not at the street where Sohee once waited for you with a warm Coke and a note scribbled in the margins of your biology homework.

The mountains are farther than they ever looked on the calendar, but every mile between you and the town feels like a bruise healing over, dull and tender but less dangerous than it was the day before. You want to believe you’re starting clean. You want to believe that the world will let you.

#cried rivers #f you sungchan #broke my heart this is so tragic but i love the whole story so bad #i will be rereading 10 times i love this #my heart started beating so so hard at one point

207 notes · View notes

namedinwinter · 2 months ago

Text

dust bowl ᰔᩚ l.sh

warnings. smut, best friend!sohee, childhood best friends to lovers, oral (male receiving), making out, drug use and dealing mentioned. i think that's it but if i missed something please let me know! enjoy <3

part one || part two || part three

wc. 4.2k

summary. the only escape from this deadbeat town is your best friend, lee sohee.

Your bare feet pound against the wooden floor as you run to the door. You heard the unceremonious thump of the mail being shoved through the mail slot and hitting the ground, taking your attention from whatever you might have been doing beforehand.

“It’s here!”

“Hey!” Sohee calls after you with a laugh, jogging behind you as he holds up his unbuttoned jeans with one hand while the other reaches out for you as you drop to pick up the envelopes from the floor. Your excitement can’t be contained. You’re smiling so hard your cheeks are hurting, and you don’t even know if the letter is actually there or not.

You feel an arm wrap around your waist when you stand up, his full lips pressing to your shoulder as he peers over it, watching you shuffle through the various bills and credit cards you apparently qualify for. Sohee’s eyes glance at you, then at the letters, pressing another kiss to the back of your shoulder.

“Is it in there?” He asks against your skin, pressing another kiss there before pushing your hair over your other shoulder to continue his kisses up the junction between your neck and shoulder. You’re too distracted to care or bat him off, dropping the letters that don’t mean anything to you on the floor for whoever checks the mail next to pick up. Your silence tells Sohee nothing, making him glance at the letters before sloppily kissing your neck, hoping to distract you, but it barely. It just reminds you of a pesky dog that won't stop licking you even after you shove it off.

You don’t shove him off, though. You only squirm in his grasp with an annoyed whine that doesn’t deter him.

“I think you’re the smartest girl in the world-”

“Sohee, hush.” You drop another overdue credit card bill of your mother’s, taking a deep breath through your nose when you realize only two letters are left in your hand. You start to rationalize with yourself that if it isn’t here today, it’ll be here next week or maybe even tomorrow. It not being here today isn’t the end of the world, right?

“You’re just sooo smart, baby. Those fancy vets in Colorado don’t know anything,” Sohee muses against your skin, lifting his face up to kiss your cheek. You smile at that, leaning away from him with a giggle as you slowly drop the last water bill to the floor.

“Oh my god!” You screech at the mere sight of the white envelope with a mailing address from Colorado. Sohee jumps to attention, letting you out of his grasp when you pull away to be in front of him, shoving the letter towards him with a shake of your head.

“I can’t open it. You have to do it for me.” He looks at you in slight shock at first before slowly taking the envelope from your hand, a slow-growing grin on his full lips. It’s only then that you take in y’alls appearance. He’s shirtless, jeans unbuttoned and barely holding up on his hips, his chocolate hair a tousled mess, and there are blossoming hickeys on his neck. You look no less disheveled. Strappy tank top being held up by a single strap, no bra, your athletic shorts crooked, and your hair looks like you just woke up.

It’s the perfect attire to see if you got into the school of your dreams.

“I feel so honored,” Sohee teases, putting a hand over his heart before aggressively ripping open the seal on the letter, making you gasp and cover your mouth with your fingertips. He smiles at you again, looking like God himself gave him a ticket to heaven when he looks at you. It’s clear he loves you just by the looks he gives you. You love him, too. You’ve never said it. He hasn’t either, at least not since you guys started fooling around. He’s still your best friend at the end of the day. He knows you love him.

Sohee pulls out the letter, sucking his cheeks in as he gives the piece of paper a serious look, his eyes scanning the lines of words. You watch with bated breath, too anxious to even laugh at his attempt at a joke, bouncing on the tips of your toes.

Suddenly, his face drops, and you feel your heart drop to your ass, eyes widening and getting hot at the same time. Sohee looks up at you, disappointed, and does not say anything. You raise your brows at him, silently asking for him to say it so you can accept it.

“What’s it say?” You mumble in the tiniest voice you can muster, prepping yourself for the disappointment you prayed never to feel. You should’ve studied harder. You bet it was that test you failed in sixth grade. Sohee tilts his head at you sympathetically, then slowly shakes his head.

You feel like dropping dead right there.

Then, you see him smile. Your brows shoot up, gasping as he flips the letter around.

“You’re going to Colorado, baby!” He cheers as an excited scream leaves your throat. You can’t stop yourself from jumping excitedly, the house shaking slightly as you do so. It’s an old house. It makes a noise when someone sneezes. You pay it no mind. Your arms wrap around Sohee, squeezing him tightly as he lifts you up just a few centimeters off the ground with a hearty laugh.

“I knew you’d get it,” Sohee hums, dipping down to kiss your forehead with an obnoxiously loud smack. You take the letter from him with a beaming smile, reading over the words “Congratulations! You have been accepted…” Over and over again, leaning into Sohee’s bare chest with a squeal, bouncing on your toes as his arms wrap lazily around you, looking down at the letter as he presses another mindless kiss to the side of your head.

“When does it start?” Sohee wonders quietly, face still pressed in your hair as he rubs at your waist. You could barely even process how far Colorado was from the small southern town you were desperate to get out of. You knew that when applying, but when you applied, Sohee was just your friend, your best friend, but nothing more than a friend. Now, he’s…it’s different now. He’s not your boyfriend, but he’s not just your buddy anymore. He eats you out like he gets paid and fucks you even more desperately. Despite his inexperience, he’s the best sex you’ve ever had.

You’d dare to say you love him but aren’t brave enough to say it out loud. Maybe if he said it first, but he hasn’t, your mouth stays shut, and the words stay locked in your brain.

You look up at him, smile fondly, and then take a deep breath and look back at the letter.

“August 19th.”

“Two months,” Sohee concludes, giving you a look that reads of worry, but he smiles. He doesn’t want to ruin this moment for you. “That’s so soon.”

You nod, a smile still on your lips, but you can feel your heart aching. Sohee notices how your smile wavers, smacking his lips together and forcing his smile back on, squeezing your hip.

“We have to celebrate! My girl is going to vet school!” He pulls his jeans up again, beginning to redo them as he rushed back to your room to redress himself. You watch him with the letter in your hand, smiling fondly as a sharp pain fills your chest.Your brows knit, looking down at your ticket out of here.

“I’ll take you to Papa’s and we’ll get some ice cream,” Sohee tells you as he walks back into living room, shirt on and rebuckling his belt with the same smile on his lips. You smile when he steps into the room, nodding with a hum. He looks at you with such pride but a sadness in his eyes he thinks you can’t see. He leans in suddenly to kiss the side of your head then patting your back dramatically, pushing you towards your room.

“Hurry up and get dressed!” He chuckles, beaming at you as you look over your shoulder with a giggle. He still smiles at you like you’re the only person to ever make him smile, even when you turn your back, he’s still smiling.

The gas station Sohee works at is so gross.

It’s old and dirty. The windows are either cracked or tinted yellow because they’re that old. The tile floor is stained and dotted with mysterious black spots that can’t be scrubbed away. It’s dusty, and the lights are fucked to the point the place has a blue hue to it. As disgusting as it is, you don’t mind it. You like sitting behind the counter with Sohee as he works.

Arguably, there isn’t that much work to be done. Not many people come inside unless they want a Snickers bar or ask Sohee to break up a twenty. It’s usually empty besides Sohee and the decades-old security cameras.

“Got us tickets to the Pecan Festival,” Sohee tells you as he stands behind the counter, looking over where you sat in a creaky old chair. You look up from your magazine, smiling at him with a raise of your brows and a sound of interest.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, got us the gold passes.” He nods proudly at that, especially when your jaw drops. A gold pass is crazy, you think, especially two of them. One runs you about $250 the last time you checked, but you get all day access for the entire two weeks it’s open and unlimited access to the rides. You think it comes with some kind of food voucher too but you don’t really remember. Your mom never had enough money to get a gold pass for you two so you lost interest in the idea years ago.

“Two of them?” You ask, magazine dropping into your lap. Sohee puffs out his lips and nods proudly again. You stand from your chair, rushing over to give him an excited hug, throwing your arms over his shoulders and squeezing tightly as you jump cutely. Sohee laughs and places his hand over yours, looking over at you as your head pressed against the side of his.

“Thank you! We’re going to have so much fun!” You squeal, now shaking him with the same excitement. Sohee lifts his head to kiss your forehead. You hang off him, kissing his cheek repeatedly with obnoxious smacks even when the bell rings, signaling a customer was coming in. Neither of you bother to look up, too wrapped up in each other to care about the person wondering the store until a loud smack on the counter makes the both of you look up.

“Asshole,” Sohee grumbles when he sees Sungchan’s smirking face. Your arms stay wrapped around Sohee’s waist even as Sungchan laughs at the two of you, a sucker in the side of his mouth, making him resemble a chipmunk. You smile warmly at Sungchan when he makes eye contact with you. You watch him look you over with a cool smirk before looking back at Sohee, nodding at him.

“Did you get my text?” Sungchan asks vaguely, piquing your interest. You look between him and Sungchan, watching Sohee roll his eyes but nod.

“Yeah. I got it.”

“Why didn’t you answer?” There’s an edge in Sungchan’s tone you don’t like, making you only eye Sohee now, brows knitted and arms losing around his waist to stand up a bit straighter. You feel like you shouldn’t be here but you can’t bring yourself to pull away from Sohee. You don’t want to leave him alone.

“I got busy,” Sohee answers shortly. That makes Sungchan eye you again, but this time, it’s harsher and colder. It makes you uneasy, but you keep staring at him with an unwavering gaze. Sungchan now nods towards you.

“With her?”

Sohee smacks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, giving Sungchan an unamused look.

“Don’t bring her into this, man.”

Sungchan smirks at Sohee’s reaction, knowing he struck a nerve then his gaze is on you as you sat there, watching the two of them like a Friday night soap opera.

“What’s your name?” Sungchan asks, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the counter. Sohee sighs through his nose, clearly annoyed by the other man’s antics. You glance at Sohee and then back at Sungchan, telling him your name with a polite smile. Maybe if you’re nice, he’ll leave. Sungchan hums, looking you up and down before looking back at Sohee.

“I see why you’re so distracted.” Sohee’s jaw ticks, and your cheeks flush. You glance at Sohee to see if he can say something, but he doesn’t say anything. You didn’t expect his silence. In fact, the silence felt like a cold knife in your chest. Then it clicked. You know who Sungchan is, and it makes you tilt your head at Sohee and then at Sungchan, nodding.

“You’re his dealer,” You accuse, and Sungchan gives you a taunting raise of his brows, popping out his spit-slicked cherry lollipop and pointing it at you.

“Ah, she’s got the brains out of you two, huh?” You roll your eyes at the jab, scoffing with a shake of your head. Sohee is still silent, but his eyes are on the ground now. Sungchan sticks his sucker back in his mouth with a grunt.

“I’m more like his kingpin–”

“Dude,” Sohee sighs, “You sound so corny when you say that. We told you that.”

You blink at Sohee and then at Sungchan, a look of disdain and annoyance written clearly on your features. You try to keep your face neutral, but Sungchan is watching you too close for you to think he’s fooled. He’s got the kind of smile that means trouble, all teeth and no soul behind the eyes, and he’s rearranging things inside your head just by looking at you.

“So, what’s it like dating a criminal?” he asks, voice syrupy. “Or is it all just a big, sexy, Bonnie-and-Clyde thing?” His eyes flick up and down your body slow, like he’s taking inventory, before cutting a glance back at Sohee, who is literally vibrating with the effort of not punching the guy in the teeth.

You stare Sungchan down, let him see you don’t care about his games, but you can’t help the way your stomach twists. He’s Sohee’s friend, if you can call a guy who gets your boyfriend into felonies a friend, but something about him makes your skin crawl. He’s too tall, too sharp.

“I’m not dating anyone,” you say, even though you and Sohee had definitely made out for half an hour behind the counter last Friday, and he’d texted you every single morning since. You say it because it sounds mean, and you want to see if Sungchan flinches.

He doesn’t. He just shrugs, tongue running over the cherry sucker in his mouth. “That’s what she says now,” he tells Sohee. “Wait till she finds out you’re broke again and have to work for minimum wage at this shithole forever.”

“Sungchan, shut your mouth,” Sohee mutters, voice low and dangerous, but there’s something apologetic in the way he glances at you, like he wants to will the world into treating you better than it treats him.

Sungchan’s grin widens. “Relax, it’s a compliment, princess. Means you’re too hot for this town.” He winks at you, slow, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll blush or tell him to fuck off.

You settle for rolling your eyes and flipping the magazine open again, but you can’t quite focus on the perfume ad you’re staring at. Everything about Sungchan is a little bit too loud for this place, from his long brown hair to the way he slouches like gravity only half-applies. “You always hang out here?” he asks, pretending not to notice how you’re avoiding his eye.

You don't respond, and for a long minute, the only sound is the buzzing of a dying fly against the fluorescent light and the rhythmic thud-thud of Sungchan drumming his knuckles on the counter. Finally, he leans in, voice dropping low. “You still owe me from last week, Sohee.”

Sohee’s jaw sets, the muscles working under the skin. “I told you, I’ll take care of it.”

“You said that before,” Sungchan says, and suddenly there’s none of the lazy friendliness from before, just a cold, pinched intensity. “You said that last time. Now you’re behind.” Sungchan’s eyes flick to yours, then back at Sohee, his voice quieter but twice as sharp.

“We’re not running a charity, man. Tomorrow. Bring it to the place.”

Something in the way he says “the place” makes the hair on your arms stand up. You pretend to be absorbed in the smell of new magazine ink but you’re not that dumb. Sohee’s hands, still on the counter, curl into fists, knuckles going white. You wish he would look at you, just for a second. Maybe then you’d know if he was scared or just pissed.

Sungchan straightens, finally pulling the lollipop from his mouth and setting it down on the counter with a soft, sticky click. “Don’t flake. Or she finds out what you actually do for me.” He grins at you, all wolf, no sheep. “See you around, princess.”

You don’t say anything. The bell above the door screams when he shoves it open, then he’s gone, the waspish energy lingering like the taste of fake cherry and cigarette smoke.

You realize you’re holding your breath. When it finally leaves you, it feels like a prayer no one heard.

Sohee sags behind the register, head hanging low, hands braced on the edge like he might snap it in two. The store is so silent, you can hear the blood pulsing in your own ears. You want to say something brave and comforting; you want to tell him you don’t care about what he owes or who he owes it to but all that comes out is, “Why do you let someone like him talk to you like that?”

Sohee’s head jerks up, and for a second his face is unreadable. Then it folds in on itself, like you’d just peeled away a layer he’d worked really hard to glue down. “Because if I don’t, I’m sleeping in the park.” His voice cracks at the end, so quick and small you almost miss it. “He covers our rent sometimes. He covers my mom’s scripts. I can’t piss him off.” The words hang there, thick and ugly, and you don’t know whether to punch Sungchan or yourself for not seeing it sooner.

You want to say something about how he shouldn’t have to run dope for assholes just to keep the lights on, but you know how things go for people like you in this town. The last time a kid at your high school stood up to one of the real dealers, he ended up flipped over the hood of his mom’s car with a broken jaw and his shoes stolen. Besides, you think, Sohee’s always been the type to make things okay for everyone else, even if it means he gets chewed up in the process.

You reach for Sohee’s wrist and he flinches, just a tiny bit, but you squeeze his hand and he lets out a ragged breath, meeting your eyes like he’s drowning and you’re the only thing that floats. You kiss him before you can think, hard and fierce, the way you always swore you wouldn’t do in public but it’s only the two of you, and the security camera overhead is decades old and held together with optimism and dust. Sohee melts into it, his hands frantic and hungry, clinging to you like he’s afraid you’ll leave if he lets go for even a second.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you whisper into his mouth, your arms winding tight around his waist. “You’re okay.” You’re not, but you are. His lips taste like the off-brand grape gum they sell at this dump and insecurity, and you want to bite Sungchan’s head off for making your boy feel like this. So you do the next best thing. You push Sohee gently until the back of his knees hit the battered milk-crate stool, then you’re lowering yourself down in front of him, all heat and bad intentions.

He’s surprised but doesn’t stop you, not even when you slide his zipper down and palm him through his underwear. He’s already half-hard, the warmth of him familiar and sweet and a little desperate. You smile up at him, he’s got scared eyes, but his hands are steady as he cups your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone like he can’t believe you’re real.

You pull him out and let the tip of his cock brush your lower lip, drag your tongue up the length of him, feel the heat radiate into your face as you take as much as you can into your mouth. Sohee’s breath stutters out; his hands fist in the hem of his shirt, the other twisted in your hair, gentle but needy. There’s something so achingly sweet about how he can’t keep eye contact, like the sight of you on your knees is too much and too good for him at the same time.

You make a show of it, spit slicking your lips as you bob your head. The taste of him is so familiar now, and you love that it’s only yours. His thighs tremble against your palms, and you can’t help but giggle around him, the vibration making him whimper your name. It feels like power, and you know he’d give you all of it if you asked.

But you don’t ask. You just suck him deeper, let your nose nudge his stomach, and feel him twitch in your mouth. His fingers tighten painfully in your hair and it makes something primal and greedy surge inside you. You want to imprint on him, leave a mark so deep he’ll never forget. You want him to think of you every time he breathes, every time he closes his eyes.

There’s a splintered second where you think about all the ways you love him: the way he tells you things he’s never told anyone, the way he always saves the yellow Sour Patch Kids for you, the way he looks when he sees you first thing in the morning and the way he always tells you you’re the only reason he hasn’t run away from this town already. You think about how you want to tell him you love him, right here in this gas station with the dusty, humming lights and the suspiciously sticky floor, but you know if you say it now, he’ll break.

So instead you just hum around him and let your eyes flick up to catch the way he looks at you like a miracle and a curse, all at once.

He’s not going to last. You know it in the way he rocks his hips forward, in the stuttered little moans that get caught in his throat. He’s trying so hard to hold back, but you want to wreck him, want to make it so good he forgets about every shitty thing waiting for him outside the sliding glass doors.

When he finally comes, it’s frantic and messy and so, so sweet. He pulls your face away last minute, but you don’t let go, not until he’s shuddered through all of it, not until you’re sure there’s nothing left for him to give. Only then do you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and look up at him, smug but soft, a little bit of pride in the way you let your tongue linger on your bottom lip. He’s flushed and wrecked and his hands are shaking, but there’s something like peace in the way he looks at you now.

You stand, smooth your hands down your skirt and straighten your top, the taste of him still in your mouth, and laugh at the wild, dizzy look on Sohee’s face. He’s panting, bent almost double, one hand braced on the counter and the other dragging you in for a hungry, grateful kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and want. The register beeps when his ass bumps it, the digital display flashing SALE COMPLETE, and you have to bury your face in the crook of his neck to keep from howling.

You don’t want to leave this moment, but your break is almost over and you know Sohee has to clean up before his shift ends. You swipe your thumb over his mouth to smear away the evidence, then lick it clean. He watches, incredulous, then hugs you so tight you feel your ribs creak. “God, I’m gonna miss you when you go,” he says into your hair, voice muffled but raw.

You want to tell him you’re not leaving yet, not tonight, not while there’s still the whole summer between you and the rest of your life, but what comes out is a choked, “You’re such a dork.” He laughs, lets you go, and you spring back into the world with the most ferocious kind of hope.

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