paintstainedpages

[paintstainedpages]

Unravel

Pairing: Art Major!Hyunjin x fem!OC

Genre: College AU, Slowburn Romance, Angst, Smut, Toxic Romance

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, suggestive themes, mild language

Chapter 11: How It Begins

>Chapter 10

10:00 pm

The music spilled out of the house like it was trying to escape—bass vibrating through the front steps, laughter ricocheting off the garden walls, neon lights flickering through the windows like a warning sign.

Daphne stood at the edge of the frathouse porch, just outside the blur of noise and smoke, her arms folded across her chest like a shield she forgot she’d built.

Noa stood beside her, looking painfully unimpressed in her black cropped blazer and combat boots, already texting Felix with the deadly precision of someone who wasn’t here for socializing—just surveillance.

Ethan and Maya had already darted through the door, swallowed whole by the crowd inside. Maya’s ankle brace peeked beneath her skirt, but that hadn’t stopped her from reapplying her lipstick three times in the Uber. Ethan, on the other hand, was dressed like chaos incarnate in glitter eyeliner and a shirt that screamed “I have regrets, and I welcome more.”

Liv wasn’t with them tonight—claimed she was sick. Daphne hadn’t asked questions. Liv’s silences were always personal.

But Daphne? She was here. God knew why.

A party. A birthday party. For Han—Jisung—who she’d heard of through the grapevine as “the one who rapped on a table and then fell off of it.”

The cold night air kissed her arms. The door hung open, laughter louder now. Noa sighed.

“You ready for hell part two?” she muttered, not looking up from her phone.

Daphne rolled her shoulders. “It’s just a party.”

Noa gave her a look. “That’s what you said last time.”

Daphne didn’t answer. Because yeah—last time, she walked into this house and walked out with Hyunjin in her head like a song stuck on repeat.

And tonight, she’d told herself, was not about him.

She inhaled once, deep and sharp. Then crossed the threshold.

The warmth of the house wrapped around her like static—loud, charged, relentless. Bodies pressed against walls, voices overlapping like waves. The floor pulsed faintly beneath her boots, bass vibrating through the bones.

Daphne followed Noa in, weaving toward the corner where Ethan was already holding court—spinning some wild story to a group of strangers who were eating it up like gospel. Maya stood beside him with a cup in one hand and an eyebrow arched, clearly judging but too entertained to leave.

Noa slipped into the scene with practiced ease, sliding into Felix’s side with an expression that said you owe me three weeks of foot rubs for this.

Daphne lingered just behind, her gaze drifting past the crowd, scanning.

She spotted Jeongin first—leaning against the kitchen counter with a soda in hand, laughing at something Seungmin said. They looked harmless. Human. Comfortable in their skin. Jeongin nodded politely when their eyes met, and Daphne gave a small smile back.

She hadn’t talked to him much, not really. Just a brief exchange during that first party. And Seungmin—he had been one of the few names Noa didn’t roll her eyes at. Maybe even said he was “tolerable.” That counted for something.

Then there was Changbin, near the back door, looking like he’d just lost a bet or won a fight—Daphne couldn’t quite tell. Their only interaction had been the half-hungover exchange when she came looking for Hyunjin. He hadn’t been rude, just… loud. A bit like a cartoon character who hadn’t figured out the fourth wall existed.

None of them seemed particularly threatening, despite Noa’s warnings. But then again, Daphne reminded herself, she didn’t know them. Not truly.

Surface-level kindness wasn’t the same thing as trust. She’d learned that lesson before.

She reached for a drink—cherry soda, nothing more—and took a cautious sip.

The party felt different this time.

Maybe it was because she wasn’t completely on the outside anymore.

Maybe it was because somewhere in this house, Hyunjin existed—and her body already knew it.

Daphne slipped her phone from her pocket, thumb hovering for a second before she typed out a quick:

[Daphne]: “You good? Need anything?”

She stared at Liv’s name on the screen for a second longer than necessary. No response.

The message sat there, unread.

She sighed quietly and pocketed the phone again, shaking off the small weight of worry pressing behind her ribs. Liv was probably curled up in her apartment with bad TV and better tea, ignoring the world in her own Liv-way. Still. It lingered.

She made her way toward Noa, who stood now with Felix near the kitchen, both half-talking and half-people-watching like it was their shared sport.

Felix smiled the moment he saw her. “Hey, Daphne.”

“Hey.” She returned the smile, feeling oddly grounded in his presence. He had that kind of energy—solid, kind, reliable. Like if you told him your entire apartment caught on fire, he’d show up with a fire extinguisher and snacks.

Noa rolled her eyes affectionately. “He’s been trying to convince me to take up a joint elective with him. Law and architecture, can you imagine?”

Felix laughed. “I said it’d be fun.”

“It sounds like an academic death wish,” Noa said dryly, but her hand stayed curled around his elbow.

Before Daphne could respond, a blur of motion slammed into Felix’s side—arms thrown around him with dramatic flair.

“My favorite couple and my new favorite face,” came the unmistakably slurred voice of Jisung, or Han, depending on who was talking about him. His hair was slightly damp, his cheeks flushed, and he smelled like tequila and sugar.

“Happy birthday,” Noa said flatly as he crushed her into a side-hug.

“Thank you, thank you,” Jisung grinned, swaying a little. “Daphne, right?”

She blinked. “Uh. Yeah. Hi.”

“Thanks for coming,” he said with an exaggerated bow that nearly toppled him forward. “I’ve seen you before. At the other party. You have good vibes. Reserved. Brooding. Very Jane Austen with secrets.”

“…Thanks?”

Felix reached out, steadying him. “Where’s Chris?”

Jisung groaned dramatically, throwing his head back like it physically pained him to think. “I don’t know! He was supposed to help me set up the drinking table and then he disappeared. He probably wandered off with one of his devil groupies. Or got lost in a mirror again. I don’t know. I don’t manage that man.”

Noa snorted. “Tragic.”

Daphne watched the exchange quietly, the chaos unfolding in slow motion around her. Something about Jisung was chaotic in a charming way—messy, but not cruel. His drama felt honest. Unfiltered.

Still, as the name Chris hung in the air, something tightened in the space between them.

“Let me know if you see him,” Jisung said, already turning to shout at someone else across the room. “Also, drink something that could kill you, not that innocent juice!”

And just like that, he was gone.

Noa muttered, “I give him thirty minutes before he climbs something he shouldn’t.”

Felix sighed. “Fifteen.”

Daphne smiled faintly, but her gaze drifted again toward the deeper corners of the house.

She hadn’t seen him yet.

But she could feel him coming.

••••••••••

An hour—or maybe two��had slipped past, and to her mild surprise, Daphne was actually enjoying herself.

The music thumped in the background, a constant heartbeat to the party, but their corner of the house had carved out its own kind of rhythm. She sat cross-legged on the worn couch beside Noa, who was dramatically critiquing the drink selection as if it were a Michelin-star tasting menu. Maya sulked next to them, arms folded and expression bitter, still wounded by the fact that Christopher was nowhere to be found.

Ethan had disappeared entirely—last seen disappearing down the hall with a very tall, very handsome guy in a denim jacket. Daphne could only hope he was alive and hydrated.

Felix, to everyone’s astonishment, hadn’t been pulled away by frat duties or rowdy roommates. He remained planted by Noa’s side, their knees brushing, the kind of quiet closeness that didn’t demand attention but made you feel it anyway. It was comforting, in a way—watching someone be loved right, without conditions.

Jeongin was in the middle of a wild retelling of how he ended up in computer engineering. Something about accidentally enrolling in the wrong orientation, getting free pizza, and thinking that was a sign from the universe. Seungmin, seated nearby with a beer in hand, kept chiming in with sarcastic commentary, his dry humor landing so perfectly it had them all laughing until their stomachs hurt.

The conversation drifted effortlessly, and for a moment, the party outside of this small bubble felt like distant noise. It was chaotic everywhere else—dancers spilling drinks, some guy freestyling terribly in the kitchen, someone else trying to light a cigarette with a candle—but here? It was light. Easy.

Daphne leaned back against the couch cushion, a rare, relaxed smile tugging at her lips. Maybe this hadn’t been a terrible idea after all.

But even as she laughed at Jeongin’s ridiculous impressions and nodded along to Seungmin’s quiet commentary, her mind betrayed her.

A flicker. A thought.

Hyunjin.

It slipped in like a shadow through a cracked window—uninvited, unwelcome. She tried to shake it off, reaching for her cup, sipping what was left of her cherry juice like it could wash the thought away. But it lingered. Because wasn’t he the one who had practically coaxed her into coming? With all his smug charm and lazy half-promises?

And yet, nowhere to be found.

Her fingers curled around the plastic cup tighter. Where was his grand sense of hospitality now? For someone who prided himself on playing host and performer in his frat kingdom, he was certainly late to his own script.

She was annoyed. Not because she wanted to see him—God, no—but because she had been fine before he wriggled into her evening plans. Before his suggestion—Come to the party. It’ll be worth your while. Like this was some movie and he was the surprise twist.

She exhaled sharply through her nose.

You’re having a good time, she reminded herself. You’re with your friends. You don’t need him here.

But still… she found her eyes drifting toward the front door.

Jeongin leaned forward, his cheeks already tinged pink from the alcohol, voice light. “We’re about to bring out the surprise cake. But—where the hell are Hyunjin and Chris?”

At that, Seungmin chuckled into his drink, the kind of laugh that carried years of knowing. “Probably already resigned to their rooms,” he said dryly, “having the party hookup of their lives, as always.”

The table broke into amused murmurs, but Daphne… didn’t laugh.

Something inside her dropped—an unfamiliar, unwelcome weight settling low in her stomach. She blinked once, twice, pretending to sip from her cup even though her throat suddenly felt tight. Of course. Of course they were. What else did she expect?

Noa, ever the resident cynic, rolled her eyes and muttered, “Great friends, really. Can’t even stick around for Han’s cake.”

It was said with that same sarcastic tone she always wore, but Daphne could hear the undercurrent of truth. The disappointment. The quiet judgment.

Daphne forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She didn’t even know why she cared. She shouldn’t. She wasn’t looking for Hyunjin. She wasn’t waiting for him to show up, or watching the stairs like some idiot hoping he’d emerge from one of the rooms, all casual and smug and—

God.

She hated this.

She looked down at the table, her fingers tightening slightly around her cup. The laughter around her faded for a moment, muffled under the sound of her own heartbeat. She didn’t want to think about who he was with or what he was doing or why it bothered her at all. But still, the image clawed at her.

She hated that too.

Daphne mumbled something about needing the bathroom and slipped away from the living room, the noise of the party fading behind her. She didn’t really need the bathroom. She just needed a minute—somewhere quiet, somewhere without loud voices and drunk laughter and people talking about Hyunjin like he wasn’t someone who’d been wedging himself into her thoughts all week like a splinter.

She leaned against the hallway wall, arms crossed, head tilted back like maybe staring at the ceiling long enough would empty her head.

She didn’t expect Noa to find her so fast.

“Please don’t tell me,” Noa said, stepping into the hall like she owned it, “you’re actually pouting because Hwang Hyunjin is being, well… Hyunjin.”

Daphne blinked. “What? No.”

Noa just raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Right. You’re just sulking in the hallway for fun.”

“I’m not sulking. I just needed a break.”

“From what? Jeongin’s story about accidentally submitting a meme in his homework?”

Daphne sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Noa.”

“Daphne.”

They stood like that for a second—Noa, waiting; Daphne, fuming at a feeling she couldn’t name.

“It’s not about him,” she muttered eventually.

Noa didn’t say anything, just crossed her arms and waited.

“I barely know him, Noa,” Daphne said, a little louder. “I’ve spent—what? A total of a few hours around the guy? It’s not like I have some crush or fantasy about him. I’m not that girl.”

Noa’s mouth twitched. “Didn’t say you were.”

“I just… I don’t know. He was the one who told me to come here. Suggested it. And now he’s probably off screwing someone in a closet like the world doesn’t even exist.”

“That’s because to him, it doesn’t.”

Daphne flinched slightly at the flatness of Noa’s voice.

“I’m not mad at him,” she said quickly. “I’m mad at myself. For even expecting something. I don’t even know what I expected.”

Noa leaned against the opposite wall. “That’s the thing with Hyunjin. He doesn’t promise anything, but he still leaves you expecting something. And you don’t notice until it’s too late.”

“I don’t even like him.”

“Didn’t say you did,” Noa said gently. “But you’re thinking about him. And that’s more than enough.”

Daphne looked away. “I don’t even get why. He’s not… he’s not that interesting.”

“Mm. Just mysterious, confident, mildly infuriating, emotionally complex, and hot.”

Daphne made a sound of protest. “Okay, can we not?”

Noa shrugged, fighting a smile. “I’m just saying. Curiosity is a slippery slope.”

“I’m not curious about him,” Daphne said. “I’m curious about why I’m reacting this way.”

Noa tilted her head, thoughtful. “That’s fair.”

A silence settled between them. Not uncomfortable. Just real.

“I’m not going to fall into anything,” Daphne added. “I don’t do that.”

“I know,” Noa said softly. “But even solid girls slip.”

Daphne looked at her, then down the hallway.

“Come back?” Noa asked. “Before Jeongin starts rating professors based on who has the worst villain monologue.”

Daphne cracked a smile. “Fine. But if he ranks Dr. Simms above Professor Carter, I’m walking out.”

“Fair.”

They walked back together, the music rising again with each step—like nothing had happened. Like the storm in her chest hadn’t just been witnessed by the one person who’d always known how to read the weather inside her.

••••••••••

There were still thirty minutes left until the cake, or so Seungmin had said with a glance at his phone and a dramatic stretch like he was preparing for a marathon instead of a sugar rush. The crowd was loud but not unbearable, the lights dim but not obnoxious. Daphne had somehow ended up on the edge of the makeshift dance floor, awkwardly swaying with Maya to a beat she didn’t recognize.

Well—Maya was swaying. Daphne was standing there like a girl at her first middle school dance, clutching a red plastic cup of cherry soda and nodding just enough to seem involved.

Maya let out an exaggerated sigh, eyes scanning the crowd for the hundredth time. “Ugh. Still no sign of Chris. What the hell kind of birthday party is this if the human embodiment of chaos doesn’t even show up?”

Daphne, mid-sip of her cherry soda, arched a brow. “Maybe you should redirect your focus to someone who’s actually worth it. Like… I don’t know, Seungmin? He’s smart, normal, and doesn’t walk around like brooding is a full-time job. Unlike Chris, he actually seems like he likes women.”

Maya whipped her head around dramatically. “Seungmin? Babe, I don’t want a man who does my taxes and reminds me to stretch.”

Daphne blinked. “That’s not what I said.”

“I don’t want nice,” Maya declared. “I want someone who’d break the bed… then ask if I’m okay.”

Daphne nearly choked. “You’re deranged.”

Maya shrugged, unfazed. “I’m honest.”

“Dangerously so.”

They stood there a beat, music pulsing around them, the scent of beer and perfume clinging to the air like fog.

“You need therapy,” Daphne muttered.

“I need Chris to get over whatever he’s doing and fuck me like the world’s ending.”

“…Yeah, okay. Definitely therapy.”

“Careful,” a voice came from behind her—smooth, unhurried, and far too familiar.

Daphne froze for a second before turning.

Hyunjin stood there, one hand in his pocket, the other lazily holding a half-empty drink. His hair was a little tousled, lips curved in that infuriating half-smile. “Say more things like that and I might start thinking you’ve developed a taste for good guys.”

His eyes flicked briefly to Maya, then landed back on Daphne, sharp and amused.

“Which would be… disappointing.”

Daphne turned, startled. She hadn’t heard him approach—not over the bass vibrating through the floor or Maya’s half-drunken rant. But there he was, leaning just slightly into her space, that maddeningly unreadable expression carved into his face like he’d been sculpted from smugness itself.

“You scared the hell out of me,” she muttered, clutching her soda like it was a weapon.

Hyunjin only tilted his head. “You’ll live.”

Maya glanced between them, eyes narrowing slightly as if she was witnessing something she hadn’t been invited to. Then, with a shrug and a smirk, “I’m gonna go pretend I know how to dance,” she said. “Try not to kill each other.”

Without waiting for a reply, she swayed her way across the room, weaving toward Noa and Felix, who stood off to the side, watching the dance floor like bored chaperones.

Left alone, Daphne and Hyunjin stood in the thick blur of music and low lights—too close to ignore, too far from simple.

Hyunjin took the cup from her hand without so much as a glance, lifting it to his lips like he’d been doing it for years.

Daphne blinked. “Excuse you?”

He sipped, paused mid-swallow, then squinted at the cup. “Wait… is this cherry soda?”

“What gave it away? The bright red color or the fact that it tastes like childhood?” she deadpanned.

He looked genuinely amused. “You might be the only person in this entire frat house not drinking.”

She shrugged, lifting a brow. “Yeah. I’m so special. Someone call the campus radio.”

Hyunjin smirked, swirling the soda lazily in the cup. “Any particular reason? You pregnant or something?”

Daphne rolled her eyes with expert precision. “Yeah. And it’s yours.”

Hyunjin tilted his head, the smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Mine? Damn, didn’t know we were that close already.”

He took another slow sip, eyes never leaving hers.

“Should’ve brought flowers if we’re skipping the whole getting-to-know-you part and heading straight to shared offspring.”

Daphne’s fingers tightened around her cup as if it might ground her—like the sugary fizz of cherry soda could somehow silence the rising chaos in her chest.

Hyunjin’s presence was always a lot. Not in volume, not in gestures—he didn’t need those. It was the weight of him. The way he looked at her like she was already halfway unraveled and he was just waiting for the rest to slip.

She wasn’t in the mood to be unraveled tonight.

“I’m gonna get a refill,” she said, stepping back like it wasn’t an escape route. “Have fun.”

Hyunjin tilted his head, clearly amused. “You’re escaping.”

“Refilling,” she corrected, already turning on her heel.

“Same thing,” he muttered—but then she heard his footsteps behind her.

Of course he was following.

Of course.

She glanced over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“I suddenly remembered I’m thirsty,” Hyunjin said smoothly. “Besides, what if the drink table gets mobbed while you’re gone? I’d hate to see you trampled under a wave of cheap vodka and poor decisions.”

“You’re so considerate,” Daphne muttered dryly.

Hyunjin shrugged. “I try.”

And he kept walking beside her, just close enough to feel. Just close enough to make her want to run again.

They reached the drink table just as someone practically launched himself into Hyunjin’s side.

“Thank god!” Jisung slurred, arms flinging out like he was conducting a drunken orchestra.

Before Daphne could step away or say anything, Jisung’s other arm swooped around her shoulder with the grace of a wrecking ball. She stumbled slightly.

“Hyunjin, this is Daphne,” Jisung announced as if Hyunjin didn’t already know. “Daphne, this is Hyunjin. But, like, I think you know that. Obviously. Who doesn’t?”

Hyunjin raised a brow, lips twitching into that half-smile that meant trouble. “Pleasure to meet you, Daphne.”

Daphne sighed. “We’ve met.”

“Right, right.” Jisung nodded dramatically. “But I wasn’t there. So now it’s official. Cosmic introduction.”

Daphne shot Hyunjin a look that said please get him off me.

Hyunjin, of course, only smirked deeper.

“Jisung,” Hyunjin drawled, “how many drinks have you had?”

“Enough to feel emotions,” Jisung replied gravely, then grinned. “Too many to pretend I don’t love you.”

Then he kissed Hyunjin’s cheek, turned, blinked at Daphne with an exaggerated gasp, and said, “Wait. Are you the girl from the hallway blowjob story?!”

Daphne nearly choked on air.

Hyunjin started laughing. Loudly.

She was never coming to one of these parties again.

Daphne narrowed her eyes and hissed under her breath, leaning closer to Hyunjin as Jisung stumbled away in search of more guests to latch onto.

“What the hell have you been telling people?” she asked, voice low, sharp.

Hyunjin blinked at her, slow and amused. “Me?”

She gave him a pointed look.

He shrugged, casual as always, sipping from his drink. “Nothing. Just that you’re a hot librarian with boundary issues and a fondness for cherry soda.”

Daphne scoffed, nearly choked. “I what?”

Hyunjin tilted his head. “Relax. I didn’t say librarian. But you’ve got that look, you know. All buttoned-up and fire underneath. People fill in the blanks.”

She blinked at him, baffled by the audacity—and the weirdly specific poetic insult.

“You’re unbelievable,” she muttered, turning toward the drink table to pour herself another cup of soda.

“I’ve been told,” he said, leaning beside her, elbows on the table like they were just casually catching up at a coffee shop.

She didn’t look at him, choosing instead to focus very hard on the exact angle of the soda stream.

“And for the record,” he added, voice lower now, just for her, “I haven’t told anyone anything about you. Not yet, anyway.”

Daphne slowly glanced up. “Yet?”

He smiled, that infuriating, barely-there thing that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Depends on what you give me to work with.”

And just like that, she regretted every decision that had led her here.

Even if a small, quiet part of her didn’t.

••••••••••

The lights dimmed—well, someone accidentally elbowed the switch, but it worked—and out came the cake, covered in slightly lopsided candles, flickering like they were fighting for their lives.

A drunken cheer erupted across the room as the cake made its way to the center, where Jisung stood, arms draped dramatically over both Changbin and Seungmin like he was the glue holding the universe together. His smile stretched wide, wild, eyes glassy with the kind of joy only vodka and unconditional male friendship could create.

The crowd broke into song—off-key, off-rhythm, loud. Daphne cringed as one guy tried to harmonize and failed spectacularly. Maya yelled the lyrics like it was a battle cry. Even Noa half-heartedly mumbled along, arms crossed, her expression flat but her voice present.

Daphne stood between them, cherry soda in hand, watching the chaos unfold. The boys—Felix, Jeongin, Seungmin, Changbin, even Hyunjin—were gathered around like some sort of mythic inner circle, all shining with their own specific brand of boyish arrogance. They laughed like they had nothing to prove, and maybe they didn’t. They owned the moment, the space, the attention.

And in the middle, Jisung closed his eyes, face flushed, a candle waxed smile lighting up his face.

“Make a wish, you clown,” someone yelled.

Jisung raised his arms like Moses parting the sea. “I wish—” he paused, swaying, “—for all of you bastards to still be here next year. Especially you—” He pointed at someone Daphne didn’t recognize. “—because you brought tequila.”

Laughter erupted. The candles were blown out. A cheer followed.

Daphne took a sip of her soda, letting the sugar burn across her tongue.

“Was that,” Noa said dryly beside her, “a birthday toast or the beginning of a cult?”

Maya grinned. “Honestly? I’d join his cult. But only if it involves free shots and mandatory karaoke.”

Daphne didn’t answer. Her gaze flicked toward Hyunjin—only for a second. He hadn’t looked her way once during the chaos. But something about the way he stood, slightly apart yet still very much a part of it all, tugged at her. Like he existed in the room and outside of it at the same time.

She looked away just as he laughed at something Felix said, head thrown back, fingers raking through his hair.

The moment was golden, candle wax still soft, laughter still echoing—and then, like a devil dropped from the ceiling of a frat house mythology—

Chris appeared.

Out of nowhere. Like he’d been summoned by the sheer volume of alcohol in the room.

“Happy fucking birthday, Han!” he bellowed.

And before Jisung could process a single neuron of that sentence, Chris slammed his hand down on the back of Jisung’s head, shoving his entire face into the cake with the force of a brotherly betrayal.

Gasps. Screams. Roaring laughter.

“He came!!!” Maya whisper-yelled into Daphne’s ear, clutching her arm like she’d just seen the Second Coming.

Daphne winced, soda sloshing in her cup, as whipped cream exploded across the table like a sugary crime scene.

Jisung emerged a second later, frosting in his eyelashes, mouth open like he was tasting betrayal. “You absolute menace—”

Chris just grinned and pulled him into a hug like nothing had happened. “Now it’s a party.”

“Now it’s a lawsuit,” Seungmin muttered.

Noa didn’t even flinch. “This is the most on-brand thing I’ve ever seen.”

Daphne wiped a stray drop of icing off her wrist, turning slightly—only to catch Hyunjin watching the scene with a glint of amusement in his eye.

He didn’t laugh.

But his smirk said everything.

And then, with the quietest flick of his gaze—he looked at her.

Just once.

Like he’d heard her heartbeat through the chaos.

And just like that, she forgot about the cake.

••••••••••

Most of the crowd began to thin out after the cake—a slow exodus of glitter, sweat, and slurred “byeeee”s spilling into the night air. Shoes were abandoned by the door. Someone’s heels dangled from a doorknob like a forgotten trophy.

Daphne blinked at the scene morphing before her. The bass still thumped, but it was no longer a full-blown party—just scattered clusters of the boys, a few girls who hadn’t melted down yet, and the scent of something vaguely herbal floating in from the kitchen.

Noa nudged her side. “Welcome to the real event. This is the part they don’t post on social media.”

Daphne raised a brow. “There’s an after-party to the party?”

“Classified intel,” Felix grinned from beside Noa, who looked mildly irritated he was enjoying this.

Daphne crossed her arms, staring at the half-empty beer pong table. “Do these people not get tired? Like… ever?”

As if summoned from the mouth of chaos itself, Jisung reappeared—his cheeks flushed and hair disheveled like he’d been through a small storm system. He was balancing a plastic cup and yelling to no one in particular.

“I WANNA GO BACK TO HIGH SCHOOL!”

Several voices groaned. A few laughed. Jeongin ducked like he was about to be drafted into war.

Then—

“TRUTH OR DARE!” Jisung shouted.

“Oh god,” Noa muttered.

“YES!” Maya yelled, equally drunk, lifting her arms like she had just seen God.

Daphne took a very slow sip of her cherry soda. “No. Nope. This is how people lose eyebrows.”

From somewhere behind her, Seungmin shouted, “Or dignity.”

“You’re just mad I won last time!” Jisung jabbed a finger at him.

“You ended up shirtless on a stranger’s lawn, Han.”

“Still won!”

Daphne turned to Noa, whispering, “Can I file for witness protection?”

Noa smirked. “Too late. You stayed past cake.”

Then, suddenly, someone called out:

“Hyunjin!”

And Daphne’s heart didn’t drop, exactly—but it definitely moved.

Because when she turned, there he was.

Still in black. Still walking like the floor didn’t deserve him. A half-lazy smile tugged at his lips. And he looked way too sober for someone who just strolled into the aftermath of chaos.

He caught her eyes—briefly.

Then walked past her without a word.

The name—Hyunjin—wasn’t shouted with casual friendliness. It was called with intent.

Daphne didn’t need to look to know who it came from.

She turned just enough to catch the flash of blonde across the room—the girl. That girl. The bathroom girl. Apparently, still around.

Hyunjin walked toward her, expression unreadable, body language relaxed in that way only people with zero regard for consequences ever seemed to master. He didn’t speed up, didn’t flinch—just moved, as if the party shifted around him and not the other way around.

Daphne snapped her head forward before their eyes could meet.

Nope. Not doing that. Not watching that scene unfold.

Not letting her stomach twist over someone who wasn’t hers to care about.

Before she could recalibrate or even roll her eyes at herself for the petty, ridiculous reaction, Maya grabbed her wrist like it was a life mission.

“Come on!” Maya hissed, excitement glittering in her still-kind-of-drunk eyes. “We’re being initiated into the inner circle.”

Daphne blinked. “What?”

“Truth or dare, babe. Get your ass in the circle.”

“I’d rather walk into traffic.”

Maya tugged harder. “Too late. We’re part of the after-party now. This is a rite of passage.”

And just like that, Daphne was dragged away from the memory she was trying not to let solidify—the sight of Hyunjin leaning down, whispering something to the girl who once existed on her knees, and the familiar simmer in Daphne’s chest that had absolutely nothing to do with jealousy and everything to do with why the hell do I feel anything at all?

She let Maya pull her into the ring of mismatched bodies on the living room floor—legs crossed, cups in hand, flushed faces grinning under hazy lights. A bottle sat at the center, half-spun already. The room smelled like coconut rum, weed, and something spicy someone had definitely spilled on the rug.

Daphne settled on the floor, gaze low, heart annoyingly high in her throat.

Because across the circle—still finishing his quiet conversation—Hyunjin met her eyes for a breathless second before he walked over and dropped down into the seat directly across from her.

The blonde girl—bathroom girl, as Daphne had dubbed her for the sake of mental clarity—sat far too close to Hyunjin. Practically fused to his side. Her laughter was high-pitched, syrupy sweet, clearly designed to catch attention that wasn’t exactly hers to claim.

Hyunjin, ever relaxed, didn’t move away. He didn’t lean into her either. He simply existed—calm, unreadable, as if proximity meant nothing and ownership was a myth.

Daphne tried not to look.

She really did.

But peripheral vision was a cruel invention, and Maya’s relentless commentary didn’t help either.

“I swear, if she does that giggle again, I’m going to pour something on her extensions,” Maya muttered.

“Maya,” Daphne warned under her breath.

“I didn’t say what I’d pour.”

Before either of them could spiral further, Jisung clumsily rose to his feet with his cup raised, his smile wide and unhinged. “As the birthday boy, I demand the first spin!”

A round of drunken cheers broke out like he’d just solved world peace.

“Let the spirits of fate choose your destiny,” Jeongin added with mock solemnity, holding the bottle toward him like it was some sacred relic.

Jisung spun it with the enthusiasm of a child on a sugar high—hands slightly shaking, eyes already watery from alcohol or emotion or both.

It whirled, clinked against the floorboard, then slowed.

Slower. Slower still.

Until it landed—stopped, pointed like an accusatory finger at…

“Changbin!” someone yelled.

The other end of the bottle? A girl with bubblegum-pink hair and killer eyeliner.

Daphne remembered her name—Yeji, she thought. She’d seen her around campus. Film major. Always seemed effortlessly cool. The kind of girl who could wear combat boots with a sundress and make it fashion.

Jisung, bless his birthday-drunk soul, raised both arms in the air like a referee. “Changbin and Yeji! Let chaos begin!”

Changbin groaned, dragging a palm down his face, but the sly grin tugging at his mouth betrayed him. He turned to Yeji with full dramatic flair, the kind reserved for someone who treated truth or dare like a sacred sport.

He leaned in, eyes narrowing with mock calculation. “Alright, Miss Sundance Film Festival. Dare.”

Yeji didn’t flinch. She sipped from her cup slowly, letting the moment simmer. “You’re awfully confident for someone who once cried during a Pixar short.”

“It was ‘Bao’, and it was emotional growth, thank you very much.” Changbin threw his hand to his heart.

A dangerous smile curved her lips. “Alright. I dare you… to go stand in the middle of the living room and give a full Oscar-worthy acceptance speech.”

Changbin blinked. “That’s it?”

Yeji held up a finger. “You have to thank each one of us personally. And you have to pretend the award is for something truly unhinged. Like… best performance faking a relationship to get free food.”

Changbin looked half-offended, half-thrilled. “So slander is on the table?”

“Always,” Yeji said, sipping from her cup like royalty.

Jisung was already pushing him toward the living room. “You heard the pink menace. Go, Best Actor.”

Changbin stumbled to his mark in the middle of the room, clearing his throat like a seasoned thespian. He grabbed a random scented candle from the coffee table and held it above his head like it was solid gold.

“I just… I never thought pretending to love someone for chicken nuggets would bring me here.”

Laughter roared from the circle.

He pointed at Seungmin. “To my best friend and enabler—who told me I could pull it off if I just smiled more. You were right. It was the dimples.”

“To Yeji,” he continued, dramatically wiping an invisible tear. “For reminding me that fake love may be temporary, but free fries are forever.”

Then, spinning slowly, he locked eyes with Jisung. “And to our birthday boy. You believed in me. Even when everyone else said, ‘Maybe don’t fake-date someone for snacks.’”

Jisung saluted from the floor. “Always, bro.”

As Changbin bowed deeply to thunderous applause, Daphne caught herself laughing harder than she had all night. It was stupid. Ridiculous.

But it was exactly the kind of chaos that made everything feel a little less heavy.

Changbin, now basking in the glory of his ridiculous acceptance speech, grinned as he spun the bottle with a dramatic flair.

“Let fate decide,” he declared like some drunk oracle.

The bottle twirled, clinked against the rim of an abandoned solo cup, and slowed… slowed… until it landed on Felix and Maya.

“Oh no,” Maya groaned, hiding her face in her hands for dramatic effect. “Why is the universe punishing me like this?”

Felix’s brows lifted with innocent amusement, his dimple threatening to betray how sweet he looked even when mischief lit his eyes. “Alright, Maya. Truth or dare?”

Maya rolled her eyes. “Let’s not pretend I’d survive a dare in this house. Truth.”

Felix leaned forward, elbows on his knees, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Alright, Maya.”

She raised a brow. “Hit me.”

Felix grinned. “If you had to be stuck in a two-week road trip with one person in this circle… who would you pick? And who would you absolutely refuse to share a car with?”

A collective ooooh rippled through the group like wildfire.

Maya narrowed her eyes, scanning the room slowly. “You’re evil, you know that?”

“Just curious,” Felix said sweetly, already knowing the chaos he’d created.

“Okay, fine.” She pointed at Jeongin. “I’d pick Jeongin.”

Jeongin blinked. “Wait, really?”

“You have a calming presence,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “Like a therapy lizard. You’d probably make playlists. Bring road snacks. Know how to change a tire. Plus, you’re too polite to complain when I inevitably lose the map and start crying on a gas station floor.”

Jeongin flushed but looked a little pleased.

“And the person you wouldn’t ride with?” Seungmin asked, grinning like a shark.

Maya took a long, theatrical sip of her drink.

Then pointed at Changbin.

“No hesitation,” she said. “This man would take one wrong exit and convince himself it’s a shortcut. Next thing you know we’re in Arkansas with no gas and a flat tire, and he’s beatboxing to keep the mood up while I spiral into a panic attack.”

The group howled.

Daphne just shook her head, smiling behind the rim of her cup—feeling the buzz of the room, the warmth of being part of it. But she didn’t miss the way Hyunjin’s gaze lingered on her from across the fire-lit space.

Still watching.

Always watching.

And this game wasn’t close to over.

Maya spun the bottle with a flourish, the glass neck wobbling clumsily as it spun across the floor in wide, dizzy circles. The group leaned in like predators scenting blood.

And then—

It stopped.

Daphne followed the tip with a sinking feeling.

It was pointing directly between her and—

Chris.

Oh no.

No, no, no.

Maya’s eyes widened in cartoonish panic. “Oh shit.”

Daphne didn’t even have time to blink before Chris leaned forward, his grin lazy, predatory. “Well, well, well. This should be interesting.”

There was a pause. The group rippled with a mix of anticipation and dread. Even Seungmin muttered under his breath, “Yikes.”

Chris grinned like a predator. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Daphne said quickly, firmly.

A chorus of groans and teasing boo’s echoed around the circle. Lame, someone muttered. Jisung made a fart noise.

But Hyunjin didn’t say anything.

He just watched.

Chris tapped a finger against his chin, the act cartoonish and deliberate. “Alright then, Miss Journalism…”

Daphne steeled herself.

Chris leaned in slightly, smirking.

“You’ve been sipping cherry coke all night. So tell us—why don’t you drink?”

The question hit the room like a quiet slap. Small. Simple. But not harmless.

Daphne’s throat tightened before she could catch it.

There were a hundred ways to answer that. A thousand lines she could throw, sarcastic and sharp. But in that moment, nothing came out.

Because suddenly, she was twelve again. Standing in the kitchen. Her father passed out on the couch with a bottle still rolling beneath his fingertips. Her mother silent in the next room. Her own voice caught in her throat.

A dull weight pressed against her chest.

Noa, sitting cross-legged nearby, instantly straightened. “Ask another question. That’s dumb.”

Chris smirked, leaning back on his hands. “It’s a truth game, babe. She’s gotta answer.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

The words came from Hyunjin.

His voice was calm. But the air shifted.

Chris turned. “What, are you her lawyer now?”

Hyunjin didn’t flinch.

“Just saying—kind of a lame question, don’t you think?” he said, his voice lazy, lips curving into a smirk as he leaned back on his palms. “If we’re asking the real old school stuff, might as well go for something classic. Like—what’s her favorite position?”

A few of the boys hooted, someone laughed too loudly, and Chris rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed at being derailed. But Daphne—

She didn’t miss it.

The way Hyunjin’s tone stayed light, teasing, perfectly in character—while his gaze barely left her face. It was a performance, a calculated deflection. He was shifting the spotlight before it could burn.

For a moment, she almost wanted to thank him.

Almost.

Daphne lifted her chin, forcing a steady tone.

“Okay, fine. Missionary.”

It earned a chorus of groans and exaggerated laughter.

Chris barked a laugh. “Knew you were a fucking vanilla.”

“Classic,” Changbin added with a grin, nudging Seungmin who just shook his head.

Daphne rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “Sorry for liking eye contact, you emotionally stunted reptiles.”

A few chuckles broke out—Han muttering something about respect—and the bottle was already being spun again, attention drifting elsewhere.

But Daphne was already standing.

She didn’t say anything. Just slipped away while everyone was too busy laughing, the air suddenly too thick to breathe. The bass from the speakers thudded under her skin, but outside, the air would be cold. Quiet. She needed quiet.

She pushed open the balcony door, the rush of cold air greeting her like an overdue exhale. The quiet was immediate—only a distant thrum of bass echoing through the house now, muffled and irrelevant.

She gripped the railing, letting the chill settle into her skin, cool her cheeks, quiet the flush still creeping up her neck. God, what the hell was she doing? Why had she said that? Why had she played along?

The door creaked behind her.

She didn’t turn. She didn’t have to.

“I’m surprised,” Hyunjin’s voice came, calm and deliberate. “I pegged you for a dominatrix.”

Daphne groaned, dropping her head against the railing. “For the love of God…”

Hyunjin leaned beside her, his shoulder barely brushing hers. “I mean, the confidence. The glare. The whole ‘I’ll ruin your life with a single sentence’ vibe.”

She finally glanced at him, brow raised. “You spend a lot of time fantasizing about people’s bedroom personas?”

“Only when I’m bored,” he said, smirking. “Which I was. Until that little performance downstairs.”

“And for the record,” he said, softer this time, “vanilla’s underrated. Clean design. Classic lines. Sometimes simplicity leaves the strongest impression.”

Daphne turned her head slightly. “Is that your attempt at comfort?”

“No,” he said, smile flickering. “It’s just the truth.”

Hyunjin leaned against the railing beside her, a light breeze tugging at the hem of his shirt. The music inside pulsed faintly through the walls, but out here, it was quieter. Softer.

Daphne exhaled again, then glanced at him, her voice low. “Thanks.”

He didn’t look at her right away. “For what?”

She folded her arms, eyes fixed on the empty yard below. “The stunt back there.”

Hyunjin tilted his head, feigning oblivion with the kind of casual elegance only he could pull off. “Oh, that?” he said. “I really did find the question boring. I mean, who the hell cares if you drink or not?”

Daphne side-eyed him. Yeah, she wasn’t buying it. But she didn’t say that.

Instead, she just hummed. “Right.”

Let him pretend. Let him keep the act.

Because the truth sat too quietly between them anyway—unspoken but understood.

Daphne stood still for a moment, the silence between them stretching. The words formed in her throat before she could stop them. Maybe it was the night, maybe it was the fact that he had, in his own strange way, protected her—but something cracked open.

“My dad’s an alcoholic,” she said quietly, her eyes still on the dark lawn, not on him. “He’s been in and out of rehab since I was twelve. First time I saw him passed out in the kitchen, I thought he was dead. So, yeah. That’s why I don’t drink.”

She didn’t expect an answer. She didn’t even really want one.

But Hyunjin didn’t fill the silence with sarcasm. He didn’t smirk or laugh or make a joke to make her feel lighter.

He just nodded once. Almost imperceptibly. Like he got it.

And then—he spoke.

“I switched majors after my cousin died.”

Daphne turned, surprised by the softness in his tone.

“She was the only person in my family who actually got me. She danced, too. We used to send each other videos. Critique. Improve. She was a year older. And then one day, she just… wasn’t around anymore.”

He paused, jaw tightening for the first time all night.

“I went to one of my morning dance classes after the funeral. We were doing these warm-up drills, just the usual—lines, rhythm, technique. And I remember staring at the mirror, everyone so in sync, so alive, and all I could think about was her. About how she’d never get to do this again. How she used to hype me up before competitions, send me playlists, sketch costumes on napkins.”

He paused, jaw tight.

“She was the reason I even started dancing. And suddenly I was there, moving like nothing happened, like I deserved to still be doing it when she never got the chance. I didn’t feel joy anymore. Just guilt. Like every step I took was selfish.”

Hyunjin exhaled slowly, gaze flicking toward the stars like he wasn’t sure why he even said that. “That’s why I switched. Not for the vibe. Not because I’m some tortured soul.”

They both stood there, two silhouettes on a balcony, quiet in a way that felt heavier than noise.

No quips. No performances. Just the truth.

In the quiet that followed, Daphne didn’t think—she just reached out, fingers brushing against his hand, tentative at first, then firmer. She didn’t look at him, didn’t speak, just… held.

Hyunjin stilled.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he laced his fingers through hers.

The warmth of his palm against hers was grounding—too grounding. He turned to her, gaze low and unreadable, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it.

“You always do that?”

Daphne blinked. “What?”

He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth tugging into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“Reach out before you run away.”

Daphne turned to him slowly, her voice low but steady.

“You’re the one with a reputation,” she said. “You tell me.”

Hyunjin didn’t answer. Not with words.

His eyes flickered between hers for a moment—searching, maybe, or deciding. And then, without warning, without hesitation, he leaned in.

His mouth found hers in a kiss that wasn’t soft or slow—it was deliberate. Confident. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for permission, just took space like it was always meant to be his. And for a breath, just one, Daphne let it happen.

Because she didn’t know what the hell she was doing.

But she knew it didn’t feel wrong.

So, Daphne kissed him back.

It wasn’t careful.

It wasn’t experimental.

It was something else entirely. Like some part of her, long dormant and starved, had finally decided to reach forward and take what it wanted. Her hand gripped the collar of his shirt. His fingers tightened at her waist. The balcony, the house, the noise inside—it all fell away.

She had kissed people before.

She had been excited about it before, maybe.

But never—not even with Tyler—had she felt like this.

The want. The thrill. The spark between her skin and his. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t soft. It was something raw. Like something inside her had cracked open and let the chaos spill out.

And maybe that was the scariest part.

Because she didn’t know where this was going. She didn’t even know if she liked him. But she felt something, and that something had pulled her in before she could think it through.

When they broke apart, both breathless, neither of them said anything for a moment.

Hyunjin’s lips hovered near hers, and for a second, she thought he might say something arrogant, something smug, something so him.

But he didn’t.

He just looked at her like he’d been waiting for this moment since the second she walked into his orbit.

And Daphne—

Daphne turned her face slightly, chest rising and falling too fast, already regretting how much she’d wanted it.

Already wondering what the hell she’d just started.

—————

[paintstainedpages]

Off Balance

Prologue

Six Weeks Later

There were exactly three things you weren’t supposed to do during a performance:

1. Break character.

2. Miss your cue.

3. Kiss your dance partner unless it was choreographed.

You broke all three.

The spotlight was too warm, the stage too quiet, and the audience too vast to notice the way your breath hitched when his hands gripped your waist. But you felt it. Every shiver of adrenaline, every unspoken word, every second of silence that said more than the music ever could.

And then his mouth was on yours.

Not planned. Not rehearsed.

Just… instinct. Or madness. Or both.

Your hands trembled as they cupped his jaw. He tasted like mint and recklessness. Somewhere backstage, someone probably screamed.

But Hyunjin?

Hyunjin just smiled into the kiss like he’d known this would happen all along.

Like he’d been waiting.

When the music stopped, neither of you moved. You stayed there, breathless and flushed, forehead pressed to his, heart in freefall.

It was supposed to be fake.

It wasn’t anymore.

[paintstainedpages]

Unravel

Pairing: Art Major!Hyunjin x fem!OC

Genre: College AU, Slowburn Romance, Angst, Smut, Toxic Romance

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, suggestive themes, mild language

Chapter 10: Cracks In The Frame

>Chapter 9

——————————————————————————

9:20 am

Daphne woke up wrong.

Not in the dramatic, earth-splitting kind of way—just… off.

A slow drag in her chest. A dull throb at the base of her skull. That peculiar weight of something unfinished, pressing like fog behind her eyes.

It took a moment before memory settled in.

Hyunjin.

His words. His smirk.

That look he gave her—calm, deliberate, like he knew exactly how much space he was taking up in her mind.

She clenched her jaw, kicked the blankets away, as though she could shake him off like static clinging to her skin.

God, she hated this.

Hated that he was still there, lingering in the back of her thoughts, occupying corners of her head he had no right to enter.

It wasn’t attraction. It wasn’t interest.

It was irritation. Sharp-edged. Clean-cut. Undiluted.

The way he had wasted her time, dragged out the interview like a performance. Sat there, smug, while Camille turned the air between them into something insufferable. And then, as if that weren’t enough, he had ended it all with a shrug—leaving her with half-filled pages and an even hollower conclusion.

That was it.

That was all this was.

A slow exhale.

A sharper inhale.

A stretch, a roll of the neck, a grounding whisper in her head:

He’s not in your head, Daphne.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood.

Noa was still bundled beneath her blankets, the soft flicker of her phone screen casting a muted glow across her face.

Daphne nearly convinced herself she could go about her morning—brush her teeth, drink her coffee, get to class, and pretend like nothing had ever happened. Pretend like she was fine. Like she didn’t still feel his gaze clinging to her spine.

But then—

“Okay, spill.”

Daphne blinked. “What?”

Noa finally turned her head, eyes sharp, tone flat—unimpressed and all-knowing.

“Whatever it is,” she muttered. “You’re thinking too loud. I can hear it.”

Daphne opened her mouth—then shut it.

Because of course Noa knew.

Of course she could sense it. Noa had always been unnervingly perceptive, like she could hear the thoughts Daphne hadn’t spoken yet.

Daphne sighed, pressing two fingers to the bridge of her nose. “It’s nothing.”

Noa scoffed from under her blankets. “Right. And I’m the Pope.”

Daphne groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “I just—”

“No, no. You just what?”

She could lie.

She could shove it down, dismiss it, pretend it didn’t matter.

But it did. And Noa would extract it anyway—with or without permission.

So she told her.

From the moment she stepped into the tattoo shop, to the unbearable wait, to Camille’s territorial passive-aggression and Hyunjin’s infuriating detachment—Daphne laid it bare, every uncomfortable beat of it. Her voice stayed steady, but the sting of it still clung to her skin.

When she finished, Noa was silent, staring.

Then—

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Daphne let out a heavy breath. “See? This is exactly why I didn’t want to say anything.”

Noa threw the covers off like she was physically repelled by the story. She sat up straight, fully awake now. “No, no. We’re rewinding. Back it up. Did you seriously sit through an entire tattoo session in the same room as that girl—what was her name? Camille? Who, by the way, I already want to fight—and that asshole made you wait?”

Daphne buried her face in her hands. “Yes.”

Noa flailed dramatically. “God, he’s such a dick.”

Daphne laughed, startled by her own amusement.

Because yeah.

He was.

And somehow, saying it aloud made everything feel a little lighter. Like finally letting the pressure valve hiss.

Noa shook her head, muttering like a woman who had seen too much.

Because, in truth, she had.

This wasn’t their first conversation about Hyunjin.

Back at the party, Noa had called him out with ease—“one of them,” she’d said. Part of the mess Felix insisted wasn’t so bad. But now, for the first time, Daphne was hearing the full scope.

“He’s always like that,” Noa said, her tone stripped of humor.

Daphne tilted her head. “Like what?”

Noa sighed, fingers massaging her temple like the subject physically pained her. “Like the world is a chessboard and he’s the only one allowed to play. Everything with him is orchestrated. Calculated. Nothing just happens.”

She met Daphne’s gaze then, and there was no sarcasm in her eyes—just quiet warning. “And I’ve watched what that does to people.”

Daphne didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

Noa leaned back against the wall, stretching her arms overhead. “Felix has known him since they were teens. Australia, back when Chris still had a soul. They were all close—before the frat house, before the chaos.”

Daphne nodded. She knew the basics. Felix and Chris, their shared history, the way Hyunjin had somehow ended up tangled in it too.

But this was different.

This was insight.

“Hyunjin doesn’t manipulate in the obvious ways,” Noa went on. “He’s not just some smooth-talking flirt. He makes people think it’s their choice. Like they’re walking straight into something they wanted. Like they’re in control.”

She paused. Then added, softly:

“But they’re not. Not really. He just lets them feel like they are.”

Daphne swallowed, the words settling into her chest like stones.

She thought back to the tattoo shop.

The way he had shifted the entire pace of the interview without lifting his voice.

The way he had distracted her, spun the room in slow spirals until she couldn’t tell what was hers and what was his anymore.

She hadn’t noticed it then.

Not fully.

But now—

Now it was beginning to click.

It was the way he’d dragged the interview like taffy, the way he’d let Camille corner her—turn the air between them into something unspoken, almost ritualistic. The way he’d watched Daphne walk away, eyes unreadable, like he’d been waiting for that exact moment, like her reaction was the final piece of a carefully placed pattern.

Noa sighed, voice quieter now, but firm. “I’ve seen too many girls think they’re the exception.”

Daphne’s posture stiffened. “And you think I’m one of them?”

Noa didn’t answer right away. Instead, she observed her the way only someone who knew her well could—slowly, thoughtfully, with something like restraint.

“No,” she said at last. “You’re too smart for that.”

That caught Daphne off guard. Her gaze lifted, eyebrows raised.

“But,” Noa added, gently, “smart girls get curious. And sometimes… curiosity is all it takes.”

The words settled like dust in the space between them. Daphne looked away, jaw tight, rolling her shoulders in a futile attempt to shrug off the weight of implication. Of truth.

She didn’t need this lecture. She didn’t need the warning.

Because deep down, she already knew.

She wasn’t naive. She had no delusions about being the one to “fix” him, no soft fantasies of being the exception in some warped, red-flagged fairytale.

And yet—

That sketch.

The one he’d been drawing the day she found him at the art building, sunlight dripping through the window, silence like a shield around him. It hadn’t been performative. It hadn’t been a lure or some twisted game piece.

That had felt real.

Daphne exhaled, her voice quieter than before. “I’m not trying to figure him out.”

Noa gave her a look that didn’t need words. It held irony, patience, and a sliver of concern. “Aren’t you?”

Daphne didn’t reply.

Because somewhere—beneath the logic and irritation, beneath the caution she swore she’d stick to—she knew.

She knew Hyunjin had already figured that out.

Maybe long before she had.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

11:07 am

Daphne sat stiffly in her seat, pen in hand, notes half-formed on the open page before her. The lecture droned on, something about media accountability and cross-referencing sources, but her mind kept drifting—then snapping back, then drifting again.

Beside her, Maya was slumped in her chair like a felled tree, head tipped back, mouth slightly parted. Dead to the world. As usual.

Ethan? Absent. God only knew where he was—probably making questionable choices for brunch.

Liv, though. Liv being absent was… odd. Daphne had sent a quick text to the groupchat earlier, a casual “You alive?” followed by a joking “Should I call campus security?”

No response. From anyone.

She chewed the inside of her cheek, tapping her pen against the corner of her notebook. Her handwriting had gone crooked halfway down the page. So much for focus.

And then—

Her phone buzzed in her lap.

A single message.

From Hyunjin.

[H.]: you storming out like that really broke my heart. i was going to offer you a cookie afterwards too.

She stared at it.

A breath caught in her throat. Not because of what he said—but because of how casually he said it. As if her frustration had been cute. As if her time, her work, her entire unraveling the day before had been… amusing.

She typed.

Paused.

Deleted.

Typed again.

Deleted.

The professor called out a reminder about the reading due next week, and Daphne barely heard him. All she could hear was the echo of Hyunjin’s voice in her head, that lazy drawl, the smug twist of his words.

She looked down at the message again.

And fought the urge to throw her phone across the room.

After a long, silent exhale, Daphne’s thumbs moved.

[Daphne]: Busy being in a lecture.

She tucked her phone halfway under her notebook, determined not to look at it again. Two minutes passed. Maybe three. Just enough time for the professor to mention something about sourcing interviews from conflicting perspectives.

Then—another buzz.

[H.]: boring.

Daphne blinked at the screen, scoffed under her breath.

She tapped out a reply.

[Daphne]: Some of us care about our future.

A beat. Another buzz.

[H.]: ah, yes. the noble pursuit of deadlines, cold coffee, and unpaid internships. how could i forget.

She rolled her eyes so hard it could’ve been audible.

[Daphne]: At least I won’t be giving tattoos to drunk freshmen at 30.

The reply came quickly. Too quickly.

[H.]: and yet you still came crawling to the guy who might.

Daphne bit her cheek. Okay, maybe biting back wasn’t the best tactic.

She typed.

[Daphne]: Because I needed an interview subject, not a philosopher with a superiority complex and unresolved issues.

She didn’t hit send.

Instead, she deleted it.

And wrote:

[Daphne]: Enjoy your cookies. I’m learning how not to turn out like you.

Then she deleted that too.

Instead, she powered off the screen, flipped her phone upside down, and forced her eyes to the professor.

But still—

Her heart was annoyingly awake.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Class ended with a final clatter of chairs and the hum of exhausted students packing up. Daphne closed her notebook with a satisfying snap, and Maya jolted beside her, rubbing her eyes like she’d just come back from another dimension.

“I seriously need to stop taking morning classes,” she mumbled, stretching her arms like she hadn’t been asleep for the past hour.

“You say that every week.”

“And I mean it every week.”

Daphne didn’t reply. She was too busy scanning her phone—still no texts from Liv or Ethan—and silently trying to convince herself not to check if he had sent anything else.

They stepped out into the hallway, the noise of campus life seeping in like background static.

And then—

She saw him.

Leaning casually against the wall outside their building, as if he belonged there, as if this was some romantic comedy and he was the aloof love interest showing up for no reason other than to complicate the plot.

Hyunjin.

Black hoodie, headphones slung around his neck, arms crossed, his expression somewhere between amused and unreadable.

Daphne froze. “What the—”

Maya, now very much awake, let out a gasp. “Oh my God.”

Hyunjin gave a lazy wave. “Ladies.”

Maya blinked at Daphne, then back at him. “I—have to go do… anything else.”

“Maya—”

But she was already walking backwards with a guilty smile. “Nope, this is your scene. I am not built for unexpected drama before lunch.”

She disappeared down the hallway.

Daphne turned back to Hyunjin, arms folding across her chest. “What are you doing here?”

“Finishing what we started,” he said simply, straightening off the wall. “The interview. I figured I’d be generous and let you pick the place this time. Even bring my best behavior.”

Daphne raised a brow. “And you’re sure we won’t get interrupted by one of your deranged fangirls this time?”

Hyunjin tilted his head, eyes lighting with mock offense. “Oof. Someone’s burning with jealousy.”

She laughed—sharp and dry. “Yeah, that’s it. I’m devastated.”

“You wound me,” he said, hand to his chest in theatrical pain. “But I’ll recover. Just as long as your chosen location has real coffee and no creepy lighting.”

Daphne narrowed her eyes. “I haven’t said yes.”

Hyunjin grinned. “Didn’t say you had to. You’re already walking with me.”

She looked down—and cursed internally.

Damn it. She was walking.

Daphne stopped in her tracks, pulling her arms tighter across her chest.

“For the record,” she said, eyes narrowing, “you did waste my time at the shop. You made me wait through an entire session like I was your assistant. Or worse, your audience.”

Hyunjin turned to face her, unbothered. “You were the audience. And you did great, by the way.”

“I’m not flattered.”

“Wasn’t trying to flatter you,” he said with a shrug, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Just stating facts.”

Daphne exhaled through her nose and resumed walking, this time with a deliberate drag to her steps. She didn’t owe him this. Any of it. But she still moved alongside him like gravity had been rigged.

Hyunjin, of course, took it as a green light. He slid his hands into his pockets and began speaking again, as if the tension between them had already been burned off like morning fog.

“You know,” he said, tone light, “I used to think journalism majors were all scary. Like, the kind of people who corner you at parties and say ‘So what are your thoughts on the global economy?’”

Daphne scoffed. “You’re thinking of debate club.”

“Same difference.”

“Actually—”

“See? You’re already proving my point.”

Against her better judgment, Daphne huffed a laugh. Just a breath of it. But it betrayed her—he heard it, and she saw the smirk form on his lips like a secret blooming.

“I don’t get you,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“Good,” Hyunjin replied, glancing sideways at her. “That means I’m interesting.”

Daphne rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything. The breeze caught a strand of her hair and she tucked it behind her ear, refusing to meet his gaze.

Their footsteps synced as they passed the art courtyard, quiet now in the lull between morning classes and afternoon foot traffic. She told herself she wasn’t enjoying this—not really. That this was just the afterglow of adrenaline. That a part of her still wanted to punch him.

But somehow, the way he moved through conversation—teasing, careless, yet sharp enough to dodge dullness—had started to unravel the edge of her irritation.

She wasn’t smiling.

She wasn’t.

Except… she was.

And when she caught herself doing it, she muttered under her breath, “I hate this.”

Hyunjin grinned. “Hate what?”

“Nothing.”

They walked a few more steps in silence. The breeze tugged at the hem of her jacket. She watched the sunlight flicker between the trees lining the path, sharp and dappled like it couldn’t decide whether to be warm or distant.

But then, out of nowhere—

“I talked to Camille.”

Hyunjin’s stride didn’t falter. Not even a twitch. “Yeah?”

Daphne watched him, waiting for… something. A hint of guilt. A reaction. Anything. But his face remained unreadable, jawline relaxed, eyes focused ahead.

“She said she wasn’t a desperate slut,” Daphne added, voice low but measured. “Just so you know. That was her wording.”

Hyunjin hummed, as if the conversation had been about the weather. “Sounds like her.”

“She also said she came to the shop for something other than the tattoo.”

At that, he slowed just slightly. A flicker. Barely there. Then he turned his head toward her, expression unreadable but no longer soft around the edges. “And you believed her?”

“I didn’t say that,” Daphne replied, tone cool. “But it was interesting. Hearing the… expectations she had.”

Hyunjin tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “Did it bother you?”

She stopped walking.

That question sat between them, sharper than it had any right to be.

Daphne studied him. The way he stood so still, one eyebrow slightly raised like he already knew the answer but wanted to watch her squirm trying to say it. Like he got off on that internal tug-of-war.

“No,” she said evenly. “What bothers me is how calculated you are. How you let people step into situations without ever stopping them. You knew exactly what she wanted, didn’t you?”

Hyunjin didn’t blink. “Camille is a grown woman. She wanted something. I didn’t promise anything. That’s not on me.”

“Right,” Daphne said, sarcasm bleeding into her voice. “Because passivity makes it clean. It’s not manipulation if you never say the words out loud.”

There it was. A shadow behind his eyes. Not anger—just acknowledgment. Like she’d peeled back something inconvenient.

“You think I manipulate people?”

Daphne stared at him. “The way you push? The way you steer everything without ever taking responsibility? It’s subtle, but it’s there.”

For a second, she thought she saw him smile.

Not smug this time.

Just… interested.

“Journalist instincts,” he murmured. “Sharp.”

“Don’t flatter me.”

“Wasn’t trying to.”

They stood in that weird, charged quiet for a moment longer. Then Hyunjin gestured ahead.

“So? Where are we going? You’re the boss today, remember?”

Daphne exhaled, steadying herself.

Maybe she was the one choosing the location.

But it didn’t feel like control anymore.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Daphne didn’t say another word as she turned left down a narrow street, ignoring Hyunjin’s sideways glances. The café came into view quickly—Thistle & Brew—tucked between a vintage bookstore and a plant shop that always smelled faintly of eucalyptus. Its sign hung crooked above the door like it couldn’t be bothered to fix itself, and the little porch out front had ivy climbing up its iron rail.

Hyunjin glanced at it once, then at her. “Huh. Of course you’d pick the cozy witch café.”

“Don’t ruin it,” Daphne muttered, pushing open the door.

The familiar scent hit her immediately—dark roast, cinnamon, and something floral she could never quite name. The soft clink of mugs, the occasional hiss of the espresso machine, and indie jazz playing just low enough to feel like ambiance.

It was warm. Safe. Hers.

And of course, behind the counter, Josh was there.

His face lit up the second he saw her.

“Daphne!” he said, voice a little too enthusiastic for 2 p.m. “You’re back. Haven’t seen you in days.”

Hyunjin, beside her, looked… amused.

Daphne managed a smile. “Yeah, been busy.”

Josh leaned forward over the counter a little. “The usual?”

But before she could answer, Hyunjin turned to her, pulling out his wallet like he had all the time in the world. “What do you want?”

Daphne blinked. “I can order for myself.”

Hyunjin raised a brow, already stepping forward. “You’re the boss today, remember? Thought I’d treat my intimidating interviewer.”

Josh’s expression shifted, just slightly. His eyes flicked from Daphne to Hyunjin and back again. He straightened, his previous warmth folding into something colder.

“I’ll have a black coffee,” Hyunjin said, still not looking at Josh. “She’ll have…” He turned his head toward Daphne expectantly.

Daphne hesitated. “Cardamom latte.”

Hyunjin nodded. “Cardamom latte for her.”

Josh tapped the order into the screen with a little more force than necessary. “Sure. Coming up.”

He moved toward the espresso machine, posture stiff.

Hyunjin slid a bill onto the counter and turned to Daphne with the same lazy smirk he’d worn earlier. “Lead the way, angel.”

He said it just loud enough for Josh to hear.

Daphne didn’t respond. She grabbed her drink when it was ready and walked toward the back corner of the café, where the lighting was soft and the walls were lined with mismatched art prints. Hyunjin followed, every step somehow louder in her head than the music overhead.

She chose the seat by the window.

He took the one across from her, spreading out like he’d always belonged in this place.

He didn’t.

That much was obvious.

And yet—he sat there like the room bent to him.

Daphne took a long sip of her latte, refusing to speak first.

Hyunjin leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, fingers wrapped around his coffee cup.

“So,” he said casually, “your little barista’s got a crush on you, huh?”

Daphne blinked. “Josh?”

Hyunjin tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Josh. Right. He said your name like he wanted to embroider it on a pillow.”

Daphne rolled her eyes, fingers tightening slightly around her cup. “He’s just nice.”

“Oh, definitely,” Hyunjin replied, tone deceptively light. “Nice guys always glare at strangers like they’re about to commit murder.”

She didn’t answer, letting the steam from her latte fog the air between them.

But Hyunjin wasn’t done.

“I mean, hey,” he added, tapping his fingers against his cup, “you didn’t tell him who I was. So he probably thinks I’m some handsome date or your mysterious hookup.” He grinned.

Daphne gave him a flat look. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” he mused, leaning in just enough to blur the space between playful and pointed. His voice dipped, low and easy. “’Cause I really don’t care, you know. Who’s got a thing for you. What your little café boyfriend thinks he is.” A pause, that grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s just entertaining. Watching people think they have a chance.”

Daphne blinked. “A chance?”

Hyunjin’s eyes flicked up, amusement gleaming like the glint of a blade.

She leaned back, folding her arms. “Why wouldn’t they have a chance?”

Hyunjin leaned back, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek like he was debating how honest he felt like being.

Then, with infuriating ease:

“He looks at you like you’re a prize he wouldn’t know what to do with if he actually got it.”

Daphne blinked. “That’s—wow. Rude.”

Hyunjin shrugged. “Not his fault. He’s just… not in your league.”

She narrowed her eyes, voice dry. “And who is in my league, then? You?”

He met her gaze without flinching, his smirk softening—almost.

“No,” he said. “Someone who sees you. Actually sees you. Not just your face or your voice or the way you walk into a room… but the undercurrent. The bite behind the quiet.”

A beat.

Daphne’s stomach tightened—annoyed by the sudden clench of it, by how easily he delivered lines like that without blinking.

“You really think you’re deep, huh?” she muttered, half to herself.

Hyunjin only raised his brows, like she was the one who’d said something interesting.

Hyunjin lifted his shoulders in a half-shrug, that smile still ghosting his lips. “I was making conversation.”

Daphne exhaled slowly, setting her cup down with careful precision. “Then maybe we should talk about the actual interview.”

He leaned back, eyes still on hers, smug and unreadable all at once.

“Sure,” he said. “Whatever you want.”

But the air still carried the weight of his words—I don’t care—

And the echo that followed, quieter but heavier:

So why did he look like he did?

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

An hour had passed—somehow.

Surprisingly, Hyunjin had been… decent. Articulate. Even thoughtful, when he wasn’t being a menace. The questions rolled out one by one, and to her absolute dismay, he answered them like someone who actually cared about the craft—his voice softening whenever he spoke about technique, or the need for discipline beneath chaos.

And now, they were on their third coffee.

The afternoon light had mellowed into gold, slanting through the windows and painting half of his face in warmth. His rings caught the sun whenever he gestured, which he did often—animated without trying to be.

Daphne didn’t realize she was leaning in until she caught herself doing it.

She straightened, clearing her throat, pen tapping lightly against her notebook. “Well. This is unexpectedly productive.”

Hyunjin glanced at her, amused. “You sound so shocked.”

“I am,” she said flatly.

He laughed into his cup.

And then he paused mid-sip, eyes flicking up to her.

The light had shifted again—draping itself over Daphne like it had chosen her. It lit the edges of her hair, caught on her cheekbone, turned the gold in her earrings into soft flame. Her lips were slightly parted in thought, her pen stilled between her fingers. Something about her looked suspended—unaware, untouched. Real.

And without meaning to, without planning it like he did most things, Hyunjin spoke.

“I want to draw you in a sunset sometime.”

Daphne blinked, lifting her eyes to meet his.

He didn’t say it like a line. Not like a flirtation. It sounded more like a fact he’d just realized—and was simply offering it to the room.

She didn’t answer right away. Just studied him.

“You say things like that and act like they’re normal,” she muttered, almost under her breath.

Hyunjin’s lips curved, but not into his usual smirk. “Maybe they are. You just don’t hear them from people who mean them.”

Daphne blinked once. Twice.

Then she arched a brow, the corner of her mouth lifting. “You say that like I’ve got time to sit around being mused at.”

Hyunjin tilted his head, eyes still on her. “You don’t strike me as the sit-still type anyway.”

She clicked her pen closed. “Exactly. So maybe leave the sketchbook fantasies for someone who wants to be drawn.”

Hyunjin smirked, undeterred. “Fair. Still gave you a damn good interview, though. Do you know how many girls are going to buy the next campus paper when they see my name in it?”

Daphne gave him a flat look. “Oh great. Journalism becomes a PR platform for pretty frat boys.”

He sipped his coffee, totally unbothered. “You’re welcome.”

Hyunjin leaned back, slinging an arm over the back of his chair with that maddening ease of his.

“Or,” he said slowly, eyes flicking toward her with lazy interest, “you could repay my good deed by coming to another party.”

Daphne didn’t even look up from her notes. “Pass.”

He clicked his tongue, as if she’d disappointed him in some mild but forgivable way. “This one’ll be different. I promise it’ll be worth your while.”

She raised a brow. “Ethan said that last time. I ended up alone, dodging vomit, and watching a blowjob.”

“And yet,” Hyunjin murmured, his voice dropping just enough to skim beneath her skin, “you stayed longer than you meant to. Didn’t you?”

Her pen stilled.

He caught the flicker of hesitation in her face—just a flash—and pressed on.

“Come on, Daphne,” he said, her name somehow sounding sharper and softer at once. “You write about people for a living, don’t you? You observe. You dig. Isn’t that what you’re always after? The real stories?”

A beat. “Let’s not pretend I’m not one.”

She hated how he said that. Not because it was arrogant. But because it was true.

He leaned forward now, elbows on the table, meeting her gaze directly. “Think of it as research. Field work. I’ll even behave.”

Daphne gave him a look—the kind that said she’d heard enough. “I’m not going to another one of your frat boy carnivals just because you think your bone structure deserves a Pulitzer.”

Hyunjin didn’t flinch. If anything, his grin deepened like she’d just complimented him. “You’re dramatic.”

“I’m realistic.”

“You’re curious.”

She scoffed, folding her arms. “You seriously think one moody sketch and a half-decent conversation means I want to spend more time in your orbit?”

“No,” Hyunjin said, shrugging. “But I think you will.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

He didn’t answer right away—just reached for his coffee and took a long sip, watching her over the rim of the cup. When he set it down, his voice was easy. Too easy.

“You gonna leave Noa alone there?”

That made her pause. “What?”

Hyunjin leaned forward, tilting his head like it was nothing. “It’s Han’s birthday this time. You know Felix will want her there. And if she goes, well… would you really let her walk into a house full of guys she hates without backup?”

Daphne frowned. “She mostly hates you and Chris.”

Hyunjin didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, but she tolerates us for Felix. And she’ll go for him. Which means she’ll need her best friend. Moral support, right?”

A beat. Then, as if it were nothing: “Be a good friend to her.”

Then his eyes flicked back to Daphne—sharp, unreadable.

“And maybe to me.”

Daphne blinked. “We’re not friends.”

Hyunjin smiled at that. Not like she’d insulted him—but like she’d said something funny. Something endearing.

“I know. That’s why it’s fun.”

That did it—her stomach gave a small, traitorous twist. Not from affection. No, she told herself. Not that.

Hyunjin leaned back again, arms crossed, like he was done trying. Like her answer didn’t matter.

But then he tilted his head slightly, voice lower now, thoughtful.

“You ever wonder,” he said, “what version of yourself shows up when you stop playing it safe?”

Daphne frowned.

He shrugged. “Just saying. You live in a bubble. Cafés, notes, carefully chosen routines. Always so composed. Always so certain. But the second you’re thrown off balance, you come alive.”

She hated how that made something flicker in her chest.

“I don’t want anything from you,” he added, eyes on hers. “I’m just curious what happens if you stop holding so tightly to the version of you that’s always in control.”

A pause.

“Come to the party. Don’t come for me. Come to see what happens if—for once—you don’t overthink it.”

His words hung in the air like smoke—soft, but impossible to wave away.

You come alive when you’re thrown off balance.

Daphne looked at him, then past him—at the soft clink of cups behind the counter, the way the golden light poured through the window and turned everything a little more cinematic than it had any right to be.

She hated how something about what he said landed.

Maybe it was the way he said it so casually, like he didn’t need her to agree—just wanted to plant the seed and walk away.

Maybe it was because she had heard echoes of it before.

From her mother, in harsher ways: “Control is the only thing that keeps you from becoming a mess.”

From her father, in subtler ones: “You don’t always have to be so perfect, Daph. You’re allowed to be young.”

But she had ignored both, for different reasons. Her mother out of resistance. Her father out of guilt.

And now here was Hyunjin—with his lazy charm and reckless, maddening presence—telling her something that sounded dangerously like truth.

She thought of Noa. Of Maya’s chaos. Of Liv’s quiet freedom. Of Ethan’s unapologetic joy. All of them living more in life than she ever had. And her?

She had journalism. A dream. A carefully arranged identity.

But something inside her—it stirred. Restless.

Maybe she was tired of being the observer. The one always writing about other people’s lives instead of feeling something in her own.

Her fingers gripped the edge of her notebook.

She didn’t say yes.

But she didn’t say no, either.

And that alone felt like a crack in the wall.

——————————————————————————

[paintstainedpages]

Unravel

Pairing: Art Major!Hyunjin x fem!OC

Genre: College AU, Slowburn Romance, Angst, Smut, Toxic Romance

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, suggestive themes, mild language

Chapter 9: Unfinished Work

>Chapter 8

——————————————————————————

8:42 AM

The morning unfolded in quiet routines and half-hearted focus.

Daphne was at her usual spot by the window, stirring the coffee she had barely taken a sip of, watching the slow drift of students passing below. The air outside was crisp, filled with the sound of hurried footsteps, the occasional shout of someone calling after a friend. Campus was waking up.

And yet, she felt detached from it all.

Two days had passed since that conversation in the library.

Two days since she had somehow—somehow—agreed to interview Hwang Hyunjin.

It had lingered in the back of her mind ever since, like an unfinished sentence, a decision that didn’t fully belong to her.

She was supposed to be focusing on other things.

Like her other assignments. Like her friends. Like the fact that Ethan had spent an entire five minutes this morning laying on their dorm floor complaining about an upcoming quiz while Noa told him to “just accept failure already and move on.”

And yet, this was where her mind kept returning.

To him.

To the interview.

Daphne tapped her pen against her notebook, exhaling.

She had done what any good journalist would—she had prepared.

Structure was key.

A solid set of questions, an objective approach.

Control the conversation, control yourself.

Simple.

She had gone through the routine so many times before that it should have felt second nature.

And yet—

Her eyes trailed down to the first question on the page.

1. Why did you switch majors from dance to art?

She hesitated.

Because she remembered.

The first time she met him.

How she had asked—just casually, just a passing question—and how he had brushed it aside like it was nothing.

She had noticed the way his expression had shifted, just barely, just enough to be a fracture in the easy confidence he carried.

And then he had moved on, seamlessly, effortlessly, like it had never even been asked.

That had been a choice.

Which meant, it mattered.

Daphne exhaled, tapping the pen a little harder.

Would he answer it this time?

Or would he avoid it again?

She wasn’t sure.

And that bothered her.

She added a note beside the question: (Gauge response—don’t push if deflected.)

She wasn’t here to pry.

Just to observe.

2. What does art mean to you?

It was a safe starting point. Something neutral, impersonal, an easy way in.

3. What influences your artistic style?

4. Do you plan to continue in the fine arts world after graduation? (Well, she knew the answer to this one.)

5. What would you say is the biggest misconception people have about you?

Her pen hovered over the page.

That last one was a risk.

Because she wasn’t sure if he would answer it seriously or turn it into a game.

She tapped the pen against her notebook, frowning slightly.

She could already see it now—the way he’d tilt his head, the way his lips would curl at the edges like he was amused by something only he understood.

He’d find a way to twist the question back on her.

Maybe something like, What do you think people misunderstand about me, Daphne?

She exhaled sharply.

No.

She refused to let him dictate the pace of this.

He already had too much control over the way their interactions played out.

This time, she would be the one in control.

Daphne rolled her shoulders back, setting her pen down.

The questions were solid. Objective. Clear.

If Hyunjin wanted to play games, she wouldn’t entertain them.

This wasn’t about him.

It was about her assignment.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

2:34 PM

Daphne had spent the better part of the afternoon tucked away in a quiet café, finishing up another round of readings, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her coffee cup as she reviewed her notes.

By now, her questions were set, her structure was solid.

She was ready.

And so, in the most professional, detached, and matter-of-fact way possible, she texted Hyunjin.

[Daphne]: I’ve prepped for the interview. Let me know when you’re available.

She barely had time to set her phone down before a response came in.

[H.]: I’m available now. Lemme come.

Daphne sighed, pushing her coffee aside.

Because of course he was.

She had half a mind to reschedule, just to make a point, but she wasn’t about to start playing games with him—not when she was already mentally exhausted from just preparing.

So she texted back.

[Daphne]: Alright.

And then she waited.

Fifteen minutes later, she heard the chair across from her drag against the floor.

Hyunjin had arrived.

Daphne barely glanced up, already setting her phone aside, flipping to the first page of her notebook.

“Alright, let’s—”

“Yeah, no.”

Daphne frowned. “…What?”

Hyunjin gestured vaguely at their surroundings—the warm café, the soft jazz playing in the background, the dim lighting.

“This place won’t do.”

Daphne blinked. “Excuse me?”

Hyunjin exhaled like this was obvious. “It’s not my element.”

Daphne scoffed, crossing her arms. “You’re just answering some questions. You don’t need an ‘element.’”

Hyunjin tilted his head slightly, a smirk tugging at the edges of his lips.

“No?”

Something about the way he said it—calm, amused, like he was humoring her instead of actually disagreeing—made her instinctively defensive.

Daphne narrowed her eyes. “No.”

Hyunjin hummed, tapping his fingers against the table.

“Tell me something.” His voice was easy, unbothered, effortlessly smooth. “Have you ever interviewed someone in a place that doesn’t suit them?”

Daphne hesitated.

“Have you ever sat a painter in a sterile, white office and asked them to talk about color?”

She pressed her lips together, not responding.

Hyunjin smiled like he already had his answer.

“Thought so.”

Daphne exhaled, closing her notebook. “Hyunjin—”

“Come on,” he said, already rising from his seat.

And the worst part?

She followed.

Without thinking, without arguing the way she normally would.

It wasn’t until they were already outside, walking through campus, crossing a few streets, the sounds of the city humming around them, that she fully realized—

She had never agreed to this.

And yet—

Here she was.

Walking beside him.

Letting him lead.

She didn’t like that.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

It wasn’t until they reached their destination—a narrow, neon-lit tattoo shop tucked between two brick buildings—that she fully understood where they were.

Daphne stopped in her tracks. “…You work here?”

Hyunjin smirked, pushing the door open.

“You wanted to know about me, didn’t you?”

And just like that—he had set the stage.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Daphne wasn’t sure what she expected when Hyunjin led her through the narrow alleyway and toward a dark, unassuming entrance.

But this?

This was not it.

The tattoo shop was nothing like the sterile, white-lit spaces she had imagined.

It was warmer, darker, sharper.

A neon sign flickered low and red above the counter, casting hazy reflections across polished black floors. The walls were lined with sketches, designs, unfinished ideas pinned beside framed pieces of completed work. It smelled faintly of leather, ink, and something deeper—something old, something lived-in.

And the kicker?

It was also a pub.

A bar lined the far left side of the space, stocked with half-full bottles of whiskey and gin, glasses stacked carelessly beside them. The sound of low conversation, the quiet hum of a rock song playing from overhead speakers, filled the space in a way that made it feel underground—hidden, but not in an exclusive way.

It was just… different.

And for some reason, Daphne liked it.

She exhaled, eyes trailing over the space, absorbing the details.

It wasn’t crowded—not in the afternoon. A few people were scattered across the shop, some sketching, others flipping through design books.

But Hyunjin walked through the space like he had been born there.

Not smug, not in a way that demanded attention.

Just completely at ease.

Daphne watched as a tattooed guy with sleeves of intricate black ink lifted his head from his sketchbook, nodding toward him.

“Yo. You’re early.”

Hyunjin, casual. “I tend to be.”

Another guy, leaning against the counter, snorted. “Bullshit.”

Hyunjin only smirked, clearly unfazed.

Daphne stayed quiet, observing.

Because if she hadn’t known better, she would have thought this was his place.

The way he moved, the way people greeted him, the way he knew exactly where he was going.

Hyunjin led her through the main floor, past the bar, and toward a dimly lit hallway in the back.

And for the first time, Daphne realized just how little she actually knew about him.

Because here, in this space—he was someone else.

Someone who belonged outside of college, outside of frat parties, outside of anything she had assumed about him.

And she had the distinct, sinking feeling—

That was exactly what he wanted her to see.

When they reached the final door, Hyunjin pushed it open without hesitation.

A small, private room. A desk covered in scattered designs, tattoo equipment neatly arranged on a black rolling cart. The faint scent of disinfectant, ink, and something like faint musk settled in the air.

Hyunjin walked in without looking back, pulling out a chair and spinning it toward her.

Then, with that lazy ease, that ridiculous, unreadable smirk—

He nodded to the seat.

“Alright, journalist.” He leaned back against the desk. “Do your worst.”

Daphne stared at him.

Then, slowly, she sat.

Daphne pulled out her notebook, flipping to the first page.

Across from her, Hyunjin stretched lazily, rolling his neck, completely at ease in his space.

The soft hum of music from the main room filtered through the door, faint but steady. The air smelled of ink, leather, and something faintly metallic—not unpleasant, just different.

She cleared her throat. “Alright, let’s start with the basics.”

Hyunjin glanced at her, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“The basics?”

“Your name, age, where you’re from.”

He exhaled, tilting his head. “That’s hardly interesting.”

Daphne raised a brow.

Hyunjin huffed a small laugh, but didn’t argue.

“Hwang Hyunjin. Twenty-two. Born in Seoul, moved to Las Vegas when I was ten.”

Daphne scribbled it down, even though she already knew most of it.

Across the room, Hyunjin stood, stretching again before moving toward a mini fridge tucked beside his desk.

Daphne expected him to pull out a beer or something equally fitting of the setting.

But instead—

He grabbed two cans of soda.

He tossed one toward her.

Daphne, caught off guard, barely managed to catch it in time. “What—”

Hyunjin cracked open his own can. “You looked thirsty.”

Daphne squinted at him, then down at the soda in her hands.

Of all the things she had assumed about him, drinking soft drinks in a tattoo shop was not one of them.

Still, she set it aside, deciding not to overthink it.

Instead, she glanced at her list of questions.

Her pen hovered over the first real one.

Why did you switch majors?

She hesitated.

Something told her now wasn’t the time.

She skipped over it, moving to the next.

“What does art mean to you?”

She asked it without thinking too much about it—expecting a textbook answer, something pretentious or simple, something that could be summarized in a neat little sentence.

She was wrong.

Hyunjin leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the armrest.

For the first time since she started this interview, he actually looked like he was thinking.

He leaned back in his chair, his fingers idly rolling the cold can between his hands, and exhaled.

“It’s proof that I exist.”

Daphne’s pen stilled over her notebook.

Her gaze flickered up, searching his face, but he wasn’t looking at her.

His eyes were somewhere else—on the sketches taped to the walls, on the fading ink stains smudged against his fingers, on the chaos he had left in his own space.

She hadn’t expected that.

She wasn’t sure what to say.

But before she could press further, before she could even properly register the shift in his expression, he tilted his head toward her, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Think about it,” he continued, voice lighter now, like he was just making an offhand observation. “Everything disappears eventually. People forget things. But a painting? A tattoo? A sketch?” He shrugged. “That stays.”

His thumb tapped once against the can.

“It lingers.”

There was something unsettlingly honest in the way he said it.

A quiet, undeniable truth.

And Daphne—against all better judgment, against everything she had told herself about not letting him get under her skin—felt it.

She felt it too much.

She cleared her throat, shifting slightly in her seat, forcing herself back into the rhythm of the interview.

“So, what?” She tapped her pen against the notebook. “Art is just… self-preservation to you?”

Hyunjin glanced at her then, a flicker of amusement dancing behind his eyes.

“Art is also a seduction.”

Daphne stared, deadpan.

“…Right.”

Hyunjin laughed softly, tilting his head. “I’m serious.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying art is about seducing people?”

“Good art?” He grinned. “Yeah.”

Daphne scoffed, jotting something down in her notes. “That’s the most pretentious thing I’ve ever heard.”

Hyunjin only smirked, unbothered. “You’re missing the point.”

She rolled her eyes, gesturing vaguely for him to elaborate.

Hyunjin leaned forward slightly, resting his forearm against the desk between them.

Daphne stilled slightly.

“You take something messy—something raw, something untouchable—and you give it form. You make it beautiful.” He lifted a hand, gesturing loosely. “You make people feel something, even if they don’t want to. That’s all seduction is—getting inside someone’s head and staying there.”

Daphne exhaled sharply through her nose, half annoyed, half intrigued.

Because the worst part?

He was actually making sense.

She glanced back down at her notes, the structured, precise list she had made, and realized—his answer didn’t fit into any of her neatly prepared boxes.

Hyunjin smirked as he watched her process it.

“You think you understand people, don’t you?”

Daphne’s eyes snapped back up to him.

“What?”

“You’re a journalist,” he mused, tapping his fingers against the can again. “You ask questions like you already know what I’m going to say. Like you’ve already decided who I am in your head.”

Daphne narrowed her eyes. “That’s not true.”

Hyunjin tilted his head. “No?”

She clenched her jaw, refusing to take the bait.

Hyunjin was good at this.

Not just answering questions, but turning them into something else.

She had asked him what art meant to him, and now suddenly, she was the one feeling interrogated.

Like she had walked into a conversation he had been prepared for all along.

She cleared her throat. “What influences your artistic style?”

Hyunjin exhaled, leaning back in his chair, gaze flickering toward the ceiling for a moment—not like he was thinking, but like he already had an answer and was just deciding how much of it he wanted to give her.

And then, slowly—too slowly—he smirked.

“Hunger.”

Daphne blinked.

“…Hunger?”

Hyunjin hummed, dragging his tongue across the front of his teeth. “Yeah.”

Daphne narrowed her eyes. “Explain.”

Hyunjin tilted his head slightly, tapping his fingers against the side of his can, letting the silence stretch just long enough before speaking.

“You ever wanted something so bad it made you sick?”

Daphne frowned. “What kind of something?”

Hyunjin shrugged, like the answer should be obvious. “Doesn’t matter. Whatever makes you feel like you’ll explode if you don’t have it.”

His fingers traced an invisible shape on the desk. “That kind of want. The kind that keeps you up at night. The kind that makes your hands shake. The kind that turns into something bigger than you.”

His gaze flickered to hers.

“That’s what makes art good.”

Daphne felt something tense in her stomach.

Because—what the hell kind of answer was that?

She had expected technique. A process. A structured, logical response.

Instead—this.

Raw. Unfiltered. Unapologetic.

And—god help her—something about it felt dangerous.

She forced herself to scoff, leaning back slightly. “You only create when you’re starving for something?”

Hyunjin tilted his head, considering her.

“Everyone does.”

Daphne hesitated. “…That’s not true.”

Hyunjin leaned forward slightly, arms resting against the desk. “Isn’t it?”

His voice was smooth, low—like he was testing something.

“When do you write best, Daphne?”

Her breath hitched.

Because that was an entirely different question.

And she hated that she knew exactly what he meant.

The answer was simple.

She wrote best when she was unsettled. Restless. When she felt like something was pressing against her ribs, clawing to get out.

She wrote best when she was hungry.

Daphne swallowed.

Hyunjin watched her closely—not smirking now, not teasing, just observing.

And the worst part?

She had the sinking feeling that he already knew her answer.

Because this was his game.

He gave just enough—just enough to pull her in, to make her lean forward, to make her think she was getting something real—

And then he turned it right back on her.

Daphne cleared her throat, re-centering herself.

“Not everyone creates from hunger,” she said, voice more controlled now. “Some people create for joy.”

Hyunjin exhaled softly through his nose, shaking his head.

“No.”

Daphne raised a brow. “No?”

Hyunjin’s gaze was steady. “No one creates from joy. Joy is fleeting. It disappears too fast.”

He tapped his fingers once against the desk. “People create because something inside them refuses to stay there.”

Daphne clenched her jaw.

Because for all his bullshit, for all his mind games and calculated deflections—

He sounded like he believed that.

And somehow—that unsettled her more than anything.

She needed to move on.

She glanced back at her notes.

Her fingers hovered over her next question—the one she had skipped earlier, the one she wasn’t sure he would answer.

But now—now she needed him to be the one caught off guard.

Daphne took a slow breath.

And then—without hesitation—she asked the one thing she knew he had avoided before.

“Why did you switch majors?”

She saw it immediately.

The way his fingers—previously tapping, tracing, moving without care—stilled completely against the side of his can.

The way his shoulders—always lazy, always loose—tensed, just slightly.

The way his eyes flickered just once—not enough for most people to notice, but Daphne wasn’t most people.

She noticed.

And then, just as quickly—like a flickering light switching back on—his expression smoothed, and the smirk returned.

“That’s the one you were avoiding, wasn’t it?”

Daphne stilled.

Hyunjin’s lips curled, tilting his head like he had just uncovered some grand secret.

“You skipped over it earlier,” he continued, voice slow, measured. “Thought I wouldn’t notice?”

Daphne clenched her jaw. “I was picking my moment.”

Hyunjin exhaled a soft laugh, tapping the rim of his can. “And you think this is the right one?”

Daphne didn’t blink. “I guess we’ll find out.”

Silence.

It stretched longer than before.

And for the first time since she sat down in this shop—since she let herself step into his world, let him dictate the space, the pace, the game—

She realized she might have actually struck something real.

Hyunjin glanced at the sketches pinned haphazardly to the walls—old designs, abandoned pieces, things that had meant something once and then didn’t.

And then, finally, he spoke.

But his tone was different now.

Lighter. Detached.

“You ever wake up one day and realize you’re not who you thought you were?”

Daphne frowned slightly, not expecting that. “What do you mean?”

Hyunjin exhaled through his nose, stretching his arms above his head before cracking his neck—like he was shaking something off.

“I mean, you spend years chasing something. Pour your whole life into it. Think it’s the only thing you’re supposed to be.”

His fingers tapped against his knee—not restless, just methodical.

“And then one day… it’s just gone.”

Daphne stayed quiet. Waiting.

Hyunjin tilted his head, watching her now, gaze unreadable.

“Tell me, journalist—what do you do when the thing that made you feel alive doesn’t work anymore?”

Daphne’s breath hitched.

Because—he had done it again.

Taken a question meant for him and turned it back on her.

And worse?

It wasn’t rhetorical.

He was actually waiting for an answer.

She swallowed, choosing her words carefully.

“You find something else.”

Hyunjin’s lips parted slightly, and for the briefest moment, she thought she saw something there—something like recognition.

Then, just as quickly—he smirked.

“Sounds easy when you say it like that.”

Daphne didn’t flinch. “Was it not?”

Hyunjin let the silence sit.

And then, just when she thought he was going to actually answer—

He leaned forward, resting his elbow against the desk, gaze locking onto hers.

“Would you still be you if you couldn’t write?”

Daphne felt her stomach drop.

Because—

That was the wrong answer.

Or maybe—

Maybe it was the right one.

And for the first time since she met him, she wasn’t sure who had just won this round.

Daphne felt it.

That familiar, electric thrill curling in her stomach—the sharp edge of a challenge, the kind that made her spine straighten and her pulse quicken.

Because he was right.

Back in the library, he had called it.

She liked this.

The push and pull, the tension of being questioned in a way that made her think. She liked the way he didn’t just give her answers—he made her earn them.

And God help her, she wanted to dig deeper.

She wanted to crack him open, pick apart the words he left unsaid, figure out what exactly lay beneath the smirks and the lazy confidence and the moments where his mask slipped—just for a second—before he slammed it back into place.

Her grip tightened around her pen. “So—”

But before she could push further—

A knock at the door.

Daphne snapped her head toward the interruption, startled.

One of the tattoo artists from earlier—the guy who had called Hyunjin out for “bullshitting” about being early—leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“Yo, Hwang.”

Hyunjin barely glanced over. “Busy.”

The guy scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, with your little interview. But there’s a walk-in asking for one of your designs. You taking them or not?”

Daphne blinked. “Walk-in?”

The guy looked at her, then at Hyunjin. “She new?”

Hyunjin smirked. “She’s learning.”

Daphne resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

The tattooist sighed. “Look, if you don’t want it, I’ll pass it to—”

“Nah.”Hyunjin pushed himself up from his chair, stretching his arms over his head before glancing back at Daphne with slow, deliberate amusement.

“I think my journalist can wait.”

Daphne stared.

His journalist? Can wait?

“Wait?”

He was doing this on purpose.

He was dragging this out.

Keeping her here. In his world, on his time.

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow, like he was daring her to argue.

She wanted to push back, demand that they finish this now, refuse to let him play this game.

But if she did—he would win.

Because that was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

To see if she’d break first.

Daphne exhaled sharply through her nose, crossing her arms.

“Fine.”

Hyunjin’s smirk deepened, like he had already expected that answer.

“Good girl.”

And just like that, he walked out—leaving Daphne sitting there, in his space, stewing in the realization that this interview wasn’t over.

She exhaled, rolling her pen between her fingers.

She was supposed to be the one leading the conversation, controlling the interview. But instead, he had flipped the entire dynamic around—dragging things out, dictating the pace, forcing her to wait.

And now she was here.

In his space.

And the more she sat in it, the more she realized—this wasn’t just a workroom.

The shelves weren’t filled with generic supplies. The sketches on the walls weren’t designs meant for customers.

This was his.

His space, his work, his mind scattered across the walls in ink and unfinished ideas.

For someone like Hyunjin—who she knew didn’t let people see more than what he wanted them to—this was something real.

And he had left her in it.

Daphne tapped her fingers against the table, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

What was that supposed to mean?

Before she could get any further into that thought, the door swung open.

Hyunjin stepped back in—but he wasn’t alone.

Daphne stiffened.

Because following behind him, with that same perfectly polished, slightly-too-sweet smile—

Was her.

The ginger.

The girl from the shuttle station. What was her name again? Camille?

Daphne blinked, stomach flipping in recognition.

Oh, you have got to be kidding me.

The girl’s gaze flickered over to her, pausing for only a second before she smiled—too bright, too fake.

“Oh! We meet again.”

Daphne deadpanned.

“Yeah. Lucky me.”

Hyunjin, still unbothered, ran a hand through his hair stretching his arms out lazily.

“Well,” he exhaled, nodding toward the girl. “Looks like you’ll get to see the process firsthand, journalist.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Daphne wasn’t sure what she expected, but the moment Camille stepped into the room, she understood one thing immediately.

This wasn’t just about the tattoo.

This was a performance.

Camille took her time.

She stepped forward with that same carefully practiced confidence, the kind that wasn’t really confidence at all, but something more curated—something performed so often that it had almost become natural.

Almost.

Hyunjin, on the other hand, did not care.

Daphne could see it in his posture—the sheer lack of interest. He didn’t even acknowledge Camille at first, already moving toward his workstation, flipping through his designs, his attention completely elsewhere.

But Camille was committed to the role.

“You must be Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin didn’t look up. “Must be.”

Daphne pressed her lips together, biting back a laugh.

Camille hesitated—just briefly—but recovered fast.

She tucked a strand of perfectly curled hair behind her ear and took another step closer, lowering her voice just slightly.

“I’ve seen your work.”

Hyunjin let out a soft hum, still not looking at her. “Have you?”

Camille smiled. “I was hoping to get one of your designs today.”

She lifted a neatly manicured hand, motioning vaguely toward her body before—and Daphne could swear she did this on purpose—her fingers trailed lightly over her ribs.

“Here.”

Daphne blinked.

Oh.

So that’s where this was going.

Camille tilted her head, eyes flickering up at him through her lashes, her tone carefully crafted into something soft, something teasing.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

Hyunjin finally glanced up.

For a moment, Daphne wasn’t sure what he was going to do.

Would he entertain it? Play into it? React at all?

But then—with zero hesitation, zero expression—he simply nodded.

“Yeah. That works.”

And that was it.

No flirtation. No smirk. No reaction at all.

Camille faltered.

Just barely.

Daphne caught it because she was looking for it.

And maybe she shouldn’t have felt so smug about that, but she did.

Hyunjin moved past them both, pulling open a drawer and grabbing a clean pair of gloves. Completely unfazed.

“You pick a design yet?”

Camille blinked, like she needed to adjust to not being the center of attention.

She smiled, pulling out her phone and scrolling through her gallery. “I have a few ideas, but I really liked the one you posted last week.”

Hyunjin nodded, already prepping the stencil paper, his focus now entirely on his work.

Daphne, meanwhile, sat in the corner like a fucking potato.

What was she even supposed to do here?

She had a notebook in her lap, but what was she going to do? Take notes on this poor girl’s attempt at seduction?

She crossed her arms, sinking into the chair.

Hyunjin, now arranging his workstation, glanced at her just briefly.

And Daphne knew.

Knew he was doing this on purpose.

Hyunjin placed the stencil paper down and finally, finally, turned back to Camille.

“Alright.” He nodded toward the tattoo chair, his voice flat, professional. “Shirt off.”

Daphne blinked.

Camille, however, lit up like he had just told her she won a prize.

Daphne barely had time to register Camille’s shift in energy before she turned to her, flashing that perfectly sweet, perfectly fake smile.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Camille said, her voice dipped in saccharine warmth—the kind of tone people used when they were absolutely trying to be rude. “But would you mind stepping out? I’m not really comfortable with an audience.”

Daphne blinked.

Oh. We’re doing this.

She had been expecting something, but not this exact move.

Not so blunt.

Not so poorly disguised.

She didn’t miss the subtext—hell, Camille wasn’t even trying to hide it. This wasn’t about comfort.

This was about removing her.

It was an attempt at power, thinly veiled under the excuse of privacy, and she probably expected Hyunjin to go along with it.

Daphne opened her mouth, half a second away from just getting up to leave—because truly, she had no intention of watching this girl strip down for a tattoo session.

But before she could move—

Hyunjin spoke first.

“She stays.”

Daphne froze.

Camille, for the first time since she walked in, visibly tensed.

Her expression barely faltered—just a flicker, just a second—but Daphne caught it.

Camille turned to Hyunjin, tilting her head slightly, still playing the role of the soft-spoken, agreeable girl. “I just meant—”

“I heard you.”

Hyunjin’s tone was steady, neutral—not irritated, not playful. Just final.

“She’s staying.”

Camille hesitated.

Daphne could see the wheels turning in her head.

She knew what Camille wanted—to corner him into agreeing, to subtly force his hand into doing what she wanted.

But the thing was—

Hyunjin wasn’t an idiot.

And unlike most guys Camille had probably tried this on—

He saw right through it.

Daphne noticed something then—something small but important.

Hyunjin wasn’t disrespecting her boundaries.

If Camille had genuinely been uncomfortable—if this wasn’t just some manufactured attempt at control—Daphne was sure he would have handled it differently.

But that wasn’t what this was.

This was an act.

And Hyunjin?

He wasn’t entertaining it.

Camille’s lips parted slightly, probably to argue, to push a little further—but then Hyunjin finally looked up, locking eyes with her.

And, flatly—without a smirk, without a trace of amusement—he simply said:

“Shirt.”

Camille immediately shut up.

Daphne exhaled through her nose, pressing her lips together.

Because this entire situation was ridiculous.

And yet, for some reason—

She was still sitting here.

She could leave. She should leave.

She didn’t.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Daphne flipped through her notebook, pretending to be deeply immersed in her notes.

Because what the hell else was she supposed to do?

Camille was half-naked in the middle of the room, lying back in the tattoo chair with nothing but her bra on, her arms stretched above her head, chest rising and falling just enough to make it clear she was putting on a show.

And Hyunjin?

Completely unaffected.

Daphne hadn’t realized how much she had expected him to play along—to smirk, to flirt, to throw out some easy, effortless comment to keep the game going.

But he didn’t.

He barely acknowledged Camille beyond what was necessary.

Instead, he was already slipping on gloves, checking the placement of the stencil on her ribcage with total neutrality.

Daphne almost frowned.

Camille, however, was not expecting this either.

Daphne could tell.

The first hint came in the form of her exaggerated exhale, like she was trying to remind him that she was laying there, waiting.

The second came when she shifted slightly, stretching just a little more, drawing attention to the curve of her body in a way that was meant to be subtle but was not subtle at all.

Still, Hyunjin didn’t react.

And Camille?

She was starting to notice.

So, she tried again.

“So…” she started, her voice soft, teasing, curling at the edges in a way that was meant to sound inviting. “How long have you been tattooing?”

Daphne, despite herself, paused mid-scribble.

She had never actually heard Hyunjin answer that question.

But he didn’t even glance up.

“Couple years.” His tone was detached, uninterested, purely factual. He adjusted the placement of the stencil on her ribs. “Breathe in for me.”

Camille did. Slow. Deliberate.

“And out.”

She exhaled.

Hyunjin pressed the stencil against her skin, peeling it away with steady, practiced hands.

Camille, still clearly determined, tried again.

“I bet you get a lot of interesting customers.”

Daphne didn’t miss the way she angled her voice—like she was leading him somewhere, waiting for him to pick up the thread.

Hyunjin barely paused.

“I guess.”

That was it.

Camille’s smile tightened.

She had expected something different.

And Daphne could tell.

Because Camille wouldn’t have come here if she didn’t think she had a chance.

She wouldn’t have picked this exact excuse, this exact method, if she didn’t believe Hyunjin had done this before.

Which meant… he had.

Daphne didn’t know why that bothered her.

It shouldn’t.

But suddenly, this whole interaction made a lot more sense.

Camille was playing a script.

One she had heard from someone else.

And now?

Now, the scene wasn’t going as expected.

Daphne had never been the kind of person who hated another girl over a guy.

It just wasn’t her style.

She had seen it happen—watched it unfold in high school hallways and college dorms, seen friendships disintegrate over people who were never worth it in the first place.

And she wasn’t about to be one of those people.

She had no reason to be hostile toward Camille.

But God, did Camille make it difficult.

Maybe if she hadn’t been so immediately passive-aggressive, if she hadn’t tried to subtly shove Daphne out of the room, Daphne could’ve almost felt sorry for her.

Because she got it.

She wasn’t blind.

In her mind, Daphne was in the way.

Not in an active, intentional way.

Not because Daphne was competing—because she wasn’t.

But because right now, in this room, Daphne felt like an obstacle.

And so did Camille.

She could tell by the tightness in Camille’s smile, the way her fingers curled slightly against the chair, the way she kept sneaking glances at Daphne, as if trying to figure out what the hell she was still doing here.

Daphne wasn’t sure what Camille thought was going to happen today.

But clearly, this wasn’t it.

Daphne thought, for a second, that she had given up.

But then—

“So…” Camille’s voice was casual, light. Too light.

“Are you and Daphne good friends?”

The question hung in the air.

Daphne froze.

Not because it was a weird question.

But because Camille made it weird.

She had dropped it in too carefully, the kind of question that was meant to sound innocent but was waiting to be something else.

Like a hook, waiting for a bite.

Daphne’s gaze flickered to Hyunjin, expecting some kind of reaction.

But he didn’t even look up.

He was still working, his hand steady, his focus on the tattoo—like the conversation wasn’t even happening.

Daphne turned back to Camille, schooling her expression into something neutral.

Because this was a test.

And she refused to fail it.

“No,” Hyunjin answered. Flat. Immediate.

Camille raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. “Oh?”

Daphne almost felt offended by how fast he answered.

She wasn’t expecting him to say yes, but still—a two-second delay wouldn’t have killed him.

She clears her throat. “I’m interviewing him for an assignment.”

Oh, great. Now she looked desperate.

Camille let out a soft, mock thoughtful hum. “Guess you must find him really interesting, then.”

Daphne clenched her jaw. Yeah, she definitely wasn’t passing this test.

Before she could respond, Hyunjin exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head like he had finally had enough of this back-and-forth.

And then, without missing a beat—

“Nah.”

Camille frowned. “What?”

Hyunjin finally looked up, gaze flickering toward Daphne for a fraction of a second before returning to his work.

“She doesn’t find me interesting.”

Daphne stared.

Because—was that a statement or a challenge?

Camille shifted slightly in the chair, eyes flickering between them, her lips pressing together like she was trying to read something that wasn’t fully written yet.

Daphne exhaled through her nose, forcing herself to relax.

She was not playing this game.

“No, I don’t,” she said smoothly, flipping a page in her notebook for no reason at all. “I was just challenged.”

Hyunjin smirked. Like he had already won something.

Camille smiled too, but hers was tighter.

The conversation had shifted, and she knew it.

Daphne could feel it, too.

Something had changed.

Something had been left behind in this room.

And she had a feeling she wasn’t the only one who felt it.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

4:45 PM

The session was over.

Hyunjin wiped his hands on a clean cloth, stripped off his gloves, and stood, not sparing either of them a second glance.

“I’ll be back,” he muttered, pushing open the door and stepping out into the shop, presumably to let the others know and handle the aftercare process.

The door swung shut behind him.

And just like that, Daphne and Camille were alone.

Daphne exhaled, rubbing her temple. Finally.

But before she could gather her things and make a swift exit, Camille—still adjusting her shirt, still fixing her hair—turned to her.

And what she said next made Daphne pause mid-movement.

“Look, I know how this looks.”

Daphne blinked.

Excuse me?

Camille inhaled, tilting her head slightly. “But I’m not a desperate slut.”

Daphne froze.

Her first instinct was to roll her eyes, because why was this being directed at her?

But then—she saw it.

The tension in Camille’s shoulders. The subtle frustration in the way she was pressing her lips together.

This wasn’t a defensive move.

This was something else.

Daphne narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms. “I… didn’t say you were?”

Camille let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. “You didn’t have to.”

She sighed, pressing a hand to her ribs, where the fresh ink sat beneath her top.

And then—very bluntly, with zero hesitation—she said, “I had an agenda coming here.”

Daphne’s stomach tensed.

Because that? That was new.

Camille had spent the last half-hour dancing around it.

But now, she was saying it outright.

Daphne stayed silent. Waiting.

Camille lifted a shoulder, exhaling through her nose. “And usually? Hyunjin delivers.”

Daphne’s grip tightened around her notebook.

Because she knew what that meant.

She had suspected it.

Had figured as much from the way Camille carried herself when she walked in—the confidence, the expectation, the script she had followed like it had worked before.

But hearing it out loud—having Camille outright confirm it—

That was something else entirely.

Daphne didn’t respond.

And for some reason, Camille laughed.

Shaking her head, she muttered, “But not today, huh?”

Then, with one last glance toward the door Hyunjin had walked out of, she grabbed her bag and left.

Leaving Daphne alone with a thousand unspoken questions.

And no answers.

The door swung open again.

Hyunjin stepped back in, his presence filling the room like he hadn’t just left Daphne alone with Camille’s words still lingering in the air.

And just like that—the shift was immediate.

The Hyunjin who had been here before—the one who had worked in silence, sharp and precise, detached in a way that almost made him seem like an entirely different person—was gone.

In his place was this version—the one she had met at the party. The one who dripped nonchalance like it was stitched into his very being.

He rolled his shoulders, stretching his arms above his head, and then just like clockwork, his signature smirk slid back into place.

Daphne hated how easily he did that.

Like none of it mattered.

Like nothing ever touched him.

“Alright,” he exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair before leaning lazily against the desk. “I’m tired. Let’s finish this some other time.”

Daphne stared.

She was waiting—waiting for him to realize how absolutely ridiculous that was.

After everything?

After making her sit through that entire session, endure Camille’s little games, waste nearly an hour of her life watching some girl undress just for him to act like he couldn’t care less—

And now he wanted to just stop?

Daphne felt something hot crawl up her spine.

Something sharp. Something furious.

Because of course.

Of course he was like this.

She clenched her jaw, breathing slowly through her nose.

“No,” she said, voice tight. “One more question.”

Hyunjin raised a brow, amused. “Oh?”

Daphne straightened, holding his gaze, forcing herself to stand her ground.

And then—before she could second-guess herself, before she could stop the words from leaving her mouth—

She said it.

“Do you have sex with every girl who come here for a special tattoo?”

The air shifted.

Hyunjin’s smirk froze.

For a second—just a second—Daphne saw something flicker in his eyes.

Something sharp.

Something real.

And then, just as quickly—like a flickering light switching back on—he recovered.

The smirk returned. Wider now. Sharper.

Daphne gritted her teeth.

He was playing with her.

And she hated how good he was at it.

Hyunjin tilted his head, watching her closely. “Why?”

His voice was low, slow, deliberate.

“You jealous?”

Daphne let out a sharp breath. A laugh that wasn’t really a laugh.

“No. I’m just wondering if that’s what art is to you.”

Hyunjin blinked.

His amusement flickered—just for a fraction of a second.

Daphne wasn’t sure why that reaction pleased her.

She didn’t stop.

She lifted her chin slightly, voice steady, controlled. “Do you mix ink with foreplay, or is that just a side effect?”

Hyunjin exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head with a knowing smirk.

“Careful, journalist.”

Daphne’s stomach tensed.

Because that wasn’t a warning.

It was a dare.

Something inside her itched—a feeling she couldn’t name, a pull she refused to acknowledge.

And she hated that he knew that.

She shoved her notebook into her bag, moving fast, her frustration coiling too tightly beneath her skin.

“We’re done.”

And before he could say anything else, before she could let him get under her skin even more than he already had—

She grabbed her things, turned on her heel, and walked out.

But as she stepped back into the afternoon air—heart pounding, breath uneven, hands clenched—

She realized something.

Yes, she was angry.

Yes, she felt like she had just been toyed with for the past hour.

But beneath all of that—

There was something else.

Something twisting, curling, igniting inside her.

A thrill.

A spark.

Something she shouldn’t have liked.

But she did.

——————————————————————————

Taglist: @stayjinnie 🖤

[paintstainedpages]

Unravel

Pairing: Art Major!Hyunjin x fem!OC

Genre: College AU, Slowburn Romance, Angst, Smut, Toxic Romance

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, suggestive themes, mild language

Chapter 8: Echoes of Conviction

>Chapter 7

———————————————————

Daphne, 1:15 pm

Daphne was trying.

Trying to go back to her normal life, her structured existence, her predictable, Hyunjin-free reality.

But the problem?

She couldn’t.

Because he lingered.

Not in the romantic way—oh, God, no. There were no butterflies or dreamy sighs. Just annoyance. Confusion. A frustrating, nagging feeling that he had slipped into her head like a virus.

And now, no amount of rationalizing could erase the fact that she kept replaying moments from their interactions.

How he lied about class so smoothly, as if reality bent to his words.

How he added himself to her contacts with no hesitation, as if that was just a normal thing to do.

How he sketched something so deeply melancholic, only to brush it off like it was nothing.

She didn’t like it.

But she also didn’t know how to ignore it.

She spent the afternoon distracting herself with assignments, caffeine, and the comforting delusion that she was totally fine.

And now, as she walked into class, she fully intended to keep up the act.

But then she saw her friends.

And realized they looked like absolute shit.

She slid into her seat, dropping her bag beside her, and glanced at the war zone that was Maya and Ethan.

Maya, her ankle bandaged from the Christopher Incident™, was sprawled across her desk like she had just been through combat.

Ethan, on the other hand, looked like a Victorian child recovering from consumption.

Dark circles. Pale complexion. A haunted stare directed at nothing.

Liv, the only other functioning human here, sighed deeply. “Don’t ask.”

Daphne didn’t need to.

She already knew.

“You look like you lost a battle.” She glanced at Maya. “And you look like you lost a war.” She turned to Ethan.

Ethan didn’t respond. He just slowly turned his head, blinking at her like a man who had seen things.

“I was in an emergency room, Daphne.”

Daphne, deadpan: “Yeah. Because of your own choices.”

Ethan inhaled sharply, then dropped his head onto the desk, dramatic and near death.

Maya grumbled, shifting slightly. “It wasn’t my fault.”

“Oh, really?” Daphne arched a brow. “Because I remember you loudly declaring your mission to seduce Christopher Bang.”

“Pursue,” Ethan muttered weakly into his sleeve. “She said pursue. Like a goddamn Shakespearean character.”

Maya groaned. “Please. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Daphne held up her hands. “Fine. But I just want to say that your decision-making skills were questionable at best.”

Liv chimed in, tone exhausted. “Thank you. Someone had to say it.”

Maya pouted, rolling her eyes. “You all are so unsupportive.”

Daphne just shook her head, exhaling.

These were her friends. Absolute disasters. But hers.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••��•••••••••••••••••••••

Daphne, 1:30 pm

The professor’s voice droned on, weaving through the classroom like background music in a film Daphne wasn’t paying attention to.

She should have been listening.

She should have been taking notes, absorbing whatever knowledge was being handed to her, nodding along like an engaged, responsible student.

Instead—she was staring at her blank page.

And the problem was not the class.

It was her own damn brain.

Because somewhere between the professor’s breakdown of media ethics and the soft scratching of pens against paper, her mind had done something completely unnecessary—

It had wandered.

To him.

Hyunjin.

She frowned.

It wasn’t intentional. She didn’t want to think about him. She had far better things to do than replay past conversations with a guy who lived off of arrogance and artistic melancholy.

And yet—

His voice was there. The way he smirked like he knew something she didn’t. The way his fingers moved across the page, sketching something raw and chaotic while acting like it meant nothing at all.

Daphne exhaled sharply through her nose and forced herself to focus.

Her professor was talking about journalistic integrity. This was important. This was her future.

Not some random, detached art student with a talent for making people feel unsettled in their own skin.

Daphne gripped her pen tighter and scribbled something onto the page.

She needed to get a grip.

It wasn’t Hyunjin.

It was her.

That had to be it.

Her life had been on autopilot for years—structured, responsible, predictable. And then suddenly, there was a shift—a disturbance in the force, if she wanted to be dramatic about it.

A single moment that made her aware of the monotony she’d been living in.

Hyunjin wasn’t the problem.

The lack of action in her life was.

That must be it.

She tapped her pen against her notebook, trying to convince herself she was right.

But the fact that she was still thinking about it?

Yeah.

She wasn’t entirely convinced.

The universe had a cruel sense of humor.

It waited until Daphne was thoroughly immersed in her own thoughts—thoughts she should not be having, thoughts she was actively trying to bury—to strike.

One moment, she was somewhere else.

The next—

“Daphne.”

She froze.

The professor’s voice cut through the air like a knife, and suddenly, thirty pairs of eyes were on her.

Daphne blinked.

Slowly.

Like her brain was buffering.

The silence stretched.

Then—

“Would you like to elaborate on that point?”

Elaborate.

On what point?

What had they been talking about? Media ethics? News bias? The moral compass of investigative reporting?

Her mind, currently orbiting the memory of Hyunjin’s smirk, had zero clue.

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

She cleared her throat. “Uh—”

Nothing.

Her brain was a deserted wasteland of information.

She could feel the judgment radiating from the professor. Could hear Maya, still slumped beside her, muttering something about waking her up when life stopped being painful.

And then—

A miracle.

From her right, Ethan—her personal, barely-surviving guardian angel—whispered something under his breath.

The answer.

A direct lifeline.

Daphne, not missing a beat, repeated it word for word, keeping her expression cool and composed.

The professor nodded, satisfied.

Daphne exhaled discreetly.

She was safe.

She was fine.

Her pride was only mildly bruised.

Ethan, however, leaned over, grinning through his misery.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” His voice was hoarse, exhausted. “You can repay me by making sure I don’t die after this class.”

Daphne didn’t even register the comment.

Because she was too busy being irrationally pissed off at herself.

What the hell is wrong with me?

She wasn’t like this.

She was sharp. Focused. Always present.

She did not get called out in class like some freshman zoning out for the first time.

And yet, here she was.

Losing her grip, piece by piece.

And all because of him.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Daphne, 2:20 pm

The moment class ended, Daphne barely had time to grab her bag before it happened.

A presence. Three, actually. Closing in. Fast.

Ethan on one side, leaning against her desk like he had all the time in the world.

Maya, injured ankle and all, propping herself up like a woman on a mission.

Liv, arms crossed, silent but dangerous.

Daphne blinked. “Uh.”

Ethan sighed dramatically. “Alright. Talk.”

Daphne blinked again. “…Talk?”

Maya rolled her eyes. “You know exactly what we mean.”

Liv simply raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Daphne inhaled. This was fine. She could handle this.

“I went home.” She shrugged, feigning casual indifference. “Like a responsible human being.”

Silence.

Then—

Ethan snorted.

Maya narrowed her eyes. “You mean Hyunjin took you home.”

Daphne froze for half a second too long.

Ethan, despite looking seconds away from passing out, immediately perked up. “Ohhh. So something did happen.”

Daphne exhaled sharply. “Nothing happened.”

Maya, unimpressed. “And yet, you’re being weird about it.”

Liv, finally speaking, “You haven’t looked any of us in the eye since class ended.”

Daphne cursed internally.

She should have known they’d pick up on that.

Ethan smirked. “Okay, so walk us through it. How exactly did you end up in his car?”

Daphne hesitated. Bad move.

Maya’s face lit up like a damn Christmas tree. “Wait. Hold on. Are we sensing a pattern?”

Ethan gasped theatrically, “Did you, our dear Daphne, have a moment with the infamous Hwang Hyunjin?”

Daphne, deadpan. “You’re all deeply annoying.”

Liv just watched her, expression unreadable.

Daphne sighed, running a hand through her hair. She could feel the walls closing in.

She gave up.

There was no escaping this.

No strategic dodging, no dismissive brush-offs that would satisfy the absolute menaces that were her friends.

She sighed, crossing her arms. “Fine.”

Ethan and Maya leaned in, eager.

Liv simply tilted her head, unimpressed but intrigued.

Daphne spoke carefully, as if choosing her words wisely would somehow make this less ridiculous.

“Felix called me through Noa’s phone.”

Ethan nodded, waiting. “Right.”

“But then Hyunjin intervened.”

Maya’s eyebrows shot up. “Intervened how?”

Daphne rubbed her temples. “He said he could take me to the dorm instead of Felix coming.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

Ethan raised a single finger. “Okay. But that still doesn’t explain—”

“—how the hell you ended up in the same hallway as Hyunjin in the first place.” Maya finished, arms crossed.

Daphne inhaled. This was the moment.

She had two options:

1. Lie. (Risk getting caught because, let’s be honest, Maya had the instincts of an FBI agent when it came to gossip.)

2. Tell the truth and suffer the consequences.

She exhaled. Fuck it.

“I may or may not have burst into the bathroom while some girl was giving Hyunjin a blowjob.”

A horrified pause.

Then—

“I—” Ethan looked physically winded. Like that information alone had just shaved five years off his life expectancy.

Maya’s mouth fell open. She looked like she wanted to scream but couldn’t find the words.

Liv, for once, actually reacted. Her eyebrows shot up, and she blinked, processing.

Daphne, completely deadpan. “Yeah.”

Ethan raised his hands. “Okay. Hold on. Hold on.”

Maya finally found her voice. “You walked in on Hwang Hyunjin getting head?”

Daphne sighed. “Unfortunately.”

Liv, still staring. “And you’re just… saying that casually?”

Ethan let out a choked laugh. “This is my favorite thing that has ever happened to you.”

Maya grabbed Daphne’s arm, dramatic as ever. “Are you cursed? Did the universe assign you a tragic fate? What the actual fuck, Daphne?”

Daphne pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can we not make this a thing?”

Maya snapped her head around. “Oh, it’s a thing.”

Ethan clutched his chest like he had just witnessed a divine act. “This is legendary.”

Daphne held up a hand.

“Enough.”

Ethan, grinning like an absolute menace, did not look like he planned to be done anytime soon.

Maya still looked personally betrayed by the fact that Daphne had somehow lived through an event of this magnitude and hadn’t told her sooner.

Liv, ever the composed one, was now staring at her like she had sprouted a second head.

But Daphne wasn’t about to let them spiral further into The Incident.

“Look,” she said, trying to regain control. “I took his ride because I didn’t want Felix to come all the way, and I didn’t want to walk through a street full of drunk idiots.”

Liv nodded, considering. “That’s reasonable.”

Maya, narrowing her eyes. “Okay… but what happened in that car?”

Daphne, with practiced ease, ignored the question entirely.

The diner? Didn’t exist.

The milkshake? Never happened.

The conversation? Erased from memory.

She was almost in the clear.

Until her phone lit up.

And everything came to a full stop.

A message.

From a contact that shouldn’t have existed.

But there it was. Saved.

H.

She stared.

Her breath hitched—just barely—but enough for her friends to notice.

And then it happened.

Chaos.

Maya, the first to react, lunged. “Who. The. Fuck. Is that?”

Ethan, leaning in with newfound energy. “Oh, no. No way. This is him, isn’t it?”

Liv, calm but terrifying, arched a brow. “Daphne.”

Daphne, clutching her phone like her life depended on it. “Nobody panic.”

Ethan: “I’M PANICKING.”

Maya: “SHOW US.”

Daphne: “ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

Liv: “What does it say?”

Daphne, hesitant, finally glanced at the screen.

H: Didn’t take you for the type to disappear without a word. Thought journalists liked a proper closing statement?

Daphne scoffed aloud.

Of course. Of course, he’d say something like that.

But she didn’t have time to process because Maya was actively trying to wrestle the phone from her hands.

Ethan, gasping in betrayal: “I cannot believe you’re gatekeeping this moment from us.”

Maya, clutching her bandaged ankle in frustration: “I’m injured, you absolute traitor. Have some compassion.”

Daphne, holding her phone above her head, refusing to engage. “It’s not a big deal!”

Liv, deadpan. “That’s exactly what someone would say if it was a big deal.”

Daphne exhaled, locking her phone and shoving it deep into her bag, as if that would somehow bury the situation along with it.

Then, without another word, she turned on her heel and started walking toward the exit.

Her friends—predictably relentless—immediately followed.

Ethan, matching her pace effortlessly. “You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden.”

Maya, limping dramatically but still very much on the hunt for answers. “Suspiciously quiet.”

Liv, unamused. “Daphne.”

Daphne sighed. “I have an interview assignment to work on.”

Maya narrowed her eyes. “That sounds fake.”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “It’s literally not. I need to prep questions, check sources, and maybe, just maybe, focus on my actual degree instead of whatever unhinged conspiracy theory you guys are building.”

Ethan, tilting his head. “Sounds a lot like a deflection.”

Daphne stopped walking just long enough to turn to them.

She placed both hands on Maya’s shoulders, ignoring her exaggerated wince for dramatic effect. Then, she turned to Ethan and Liv.

“I love you all, truly. But I need you to go be menaces somewhere else for a bit.”

Maya, offended. “I’m injured.”

Ethan, clutching his chest. “Betrayal. Pain. Suffering.”

Liv, smirking slightly but relenting. “Fine. But this conversation isn’t over.”

Daphne let out a breath of relief. “It never is.”

And with that, she finally escaped, heading toward the library.

Because if there was one place Hyunjin Hwang wouldn’t show up,

It was definitely there.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Daphne, 4:05 pm

The library was quiet, and for once, so was Daphne’s mind.

She had spent the past hour and a half completely focused, pouring her energy into structuring interview questions, organizing key points, and solidifying the framework for her next project.

She needed to interview someone outside of her major, and with this assignment cleared, she could finally move forward with her plan—interviewing Noa about architecture.

For the first time all day, she was in control.

Then, just as she was about to move onto her final notes—

A breath.

Too close.

And a voice—low, smooth, unmistakably smug.

“So that’s why you ghosted me.”

Daphne’s fingers froze on her notebook.

“You were busy being a hot nerd.”

Her stomach dropped.

Slowly, too slowly, she turned her head—

And there he was.

Hwang Hyunjin.

Leaning against the table like he had been there forever, like this was his space instead of hers, watching her with that expression. The one that suggested he had found something very entertaining in her reaction.

Slowly, she exhaled, forcing her voice to remain even.

“Are you stalking me?”

Hyunjin didn’t look remotely offended. If anything, he looked amused.

With effortless ease, he lifted the art book in his hands, flipping it open like a casual alibi.

“I’m a student too, remember?”

Daphne’s brows furrowed slightly.

It was logical, reasonable, an answer that could hold its own in any argument—except for the way he delivered it.

The slow smirk. The knowing edge in his tone. The way he watched her, like he was waiting for her to catch up to something he already understood.

Then, before she could speak, he shrugged.

“Besides,” he added smoothly, his voice slipping into something quieter, edged with mischief.

He tilted his head slightly, gaze never leaving hers.

“You snuck up on me in my major’s building first.”

Daphne’s mouth parted—only to close again.

Because, unfortunately—she had no rebuttal.

And she had definitely not invited him to sit down.

And yet, with perfect ease, Hyunjin slid into the chair beside her like he belonged there.

He stretched out lazily, setting his book on the table with a satisfied sigh, before tilting his head toward her with mock sincerity.

“Perfect. I needed a study buddy.”

Daphne blinked at him. Once. Twice.

Then—

“You have like a thousand friends.” She gestured vaguely. “Go bother one of them.”

Hyunjin, undeterred, turned to her fully. Relaxed, smirking. Like she had just said something adorable.

“All of my friends are useless in an academic sense.”

His voice was unbothered, smooth, like a truth he had simply accepted long ago.

Then, leaning in slightly, he added—

“You, on the other hand—you’re perfect for me.”

Daphne stared.

Because the way he said it—not like a compliment, but a fact—was, frankly, unacceptable.

She scoffed, shaking her head. “Not happening.”

Hyunjin just smiled.

Because, as always—he wasn’t asking.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Daphne, 4:45 pm

She had spent twenty-two years of her life without Hwang Hyunjin in it.

And yet, somehow, in the span of just one day, she had managed to endure him twice.

At this point, it was starting to feel like overexposure.

Like a chemical spill in a lab—something she hadn’t planned for, something unregulated, toxic in large doses, but oddly fascinating to observe.

Because there she was.

Sitting in the library.

With him.

Not by choice.

And definitely not because she wanted to.

No, of course not.

She was just too exhausted to argue. That was it.

That was the only explanation.

So there they sat. Side by side.

Studying.

Or, at least—she was trying to.

On the surface, she looked normal enough. Focused, unaffected, absorbed in her notes.

But inside?

Inside, her brain was staging a full-scale rebellion.

Because, apparently, it had nothing better to do than hyper-fixate on the fact that Hyunjin smelled entirely too good.

Daphne clenched her jaw, irritated with herself.

Why the hell does he smell like that?

Like clean laundry and something faintly expensive.

Like a boy who probably didn’t even try to smell good—he just did.

It was annoying.

Deeply, profoundly, annoying.

Her pen dragged over the page with slightly too much pressure, but Hyunjin didn’t seem to notice.

Or if he did, he didn’t care.

He sat next to her like he belonged there, effortlessly flipping through the pages of his art book, completely unbothered.

Like he wasn’t aware of the fact that his presence alone had the power to shift the entire gravity of a room.

Daphne exhaled sharply, staring at the same line in her notebook for the third time.

For someone who had sworn up and down that he followed a strict ‘friend protocol,’ who had been so confident that he didn’t “mingle” with those who shared social circles—he was being awfully involved.

What was his angle?

Did he actually, genuinely, want a platonic female friend for the first time in his life and just randomly decide—

Yeah. That journalist nerd seems like a suitable candidate.

Daphne’s fingers curled around her pen.

Somehow, that idea was even more unsettling.

Because if Hyunjin had deliberately chosen to occupy her space, to be here, to wedge himself into her world when he had no reason to—

What did that mean?

What did he want?

The thought sent a strange unease prickling at the back of her neck, like she was walking into a game she hadn’t even realized was being played.

And then—

She caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

Her breath hitched.

He was reading her notes.

Daphne’s head snapped toward him, pulling her notebook closer like it was some classified document.

“Are you—” She pulled her notebook closer to her chest. “—reading my notes?”

Hyunjin, unfazed, barely spared her a glance.

“You need to interview someone?” He exhaled, thoughtful, like he had just stumbled upon something vaguely interesting.

Then, with an air of effortless amusement, he stretched lazily, draping his arm over the back of the chair like he had nowhere better to be.

And with a slow, smug smirk—

“Interview me.”

Daphne blinked.

Once. Twice.

Her mind buffered.

There were many things she expected him to say. Some cocky remark, maybe. A teasing insult, definitely.

But this?

This was unexpected.

She studied him, waiting for the punchline, for some indication that he was merely entertaining himself.

It never came.

Instead, he just watched her, waiting.

And that? That was worse.

Daphne clicked her pen, tilting her head. “You.”

Hyunjin’s smirk deepened. “Me.”

She huffed, deadpan. “That’s adorable.”

Hyunjin pressed a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “Adorable? That’s insulting.”

“Not really.” She gave him a once-over, unimpressed. “More like factual.”

He laughed, soft and amused, before nodding toward her notes. “You need someone outside your major, don’t you?”

Daphne stilled.

He wasn’t wrong.

But still—he was Hyunjin.

And Hyunjin was… well.

She sighed, tapping her pen against her notebook. “I already have someone in mind.”

Hyunjin leaned forward, resting his chin against his hand, studying her. “Noa.”

She hadn’t mentioned that.

She hadn’t mentioned anything.

And yet—he knew.

She blinked, processing. “…How did you—”

Hyunjin smirked. “I pay attention.”

Daphne scoffed, shaking her head. “That’s unsettling.”

Hyunjin’s smirk only grew.

“And yet, you’re intrigued.”

Daphne’s breath hitched, just slightly.

It was ridiculous. The way he spoke, the way he moved, the way he inserted himself into situations like he had been invited there all along.

She looked back at her notes, willing herself to stay focused. “You’d be a terrible interview subject.”

Hyunjin sighed dramatically, like she had just gravely offended him. “Why?”

Daphne deadpanned. “Because you lie.”

Hyunjin grinned. “Correction—I tell good stories.”

Daphne exhaled sharply. “Same thing.”

He watched her for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze.

Then, with his voice dropping just slightly, he murmured—

“You don’t trust me, do you?”

Daphne’s stomach tightened.

She looked at him then, really looked at him.

Because no, she didn’t.

And yet, somehow, she was sitting here. Letting him occupy space in her world.

She sighed, shaking her head. “Not even a little.”

Hyunjin smiled, slow and knowing. “Smart girl.”

Daphne had made one mistake.

One single mistake.

She had hesitated.

And Hyunjin, ever sharp, ever calculating, had seized the opportunity before she could even process what was happening.

Because suddenly, she was no longer in control of this conversation.

Suddenly, the air between them had shifted—tilting, unraveling, bending around him like he had been pulling the strings all along.

Hyunjin tapped a finger against the table, his gaze still on her notebook. “You’re set on interviewing Noa, huh?”

Daphne, still skeptical. “Obviously.”

Hyunjin hummed, flipping the edge of a page between his fingers. “Makes sense. It’s the safe choice.”

Something about the way he said it—offhanded, dismissive, like a quiet assessment rather than an opinion—made her narrow her eyes.

“Safe?”

Hyunjin tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Yeah. You already know her. You know what she’ll say. There’s no challenge in that.”

Daphne frowned. “It’s a structured interview. It’s not supposed to be a challenge.”

Hyunjin’s lips curled, slow and knowing. “Isn’t it?”

Daphne paused.

Because that sounded like a trap.

And yet, she had already stepped into it.

Hyunjin leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand. “You’re a journalist, aren’t you?”

Daphne sighed, bracing herself. “That’s the goal, yes.”

Hyunjin hummed. “So, tell me—what makes a good journalist?”

Daphne hesitated, shifting slightly. “A lot of things.”

“Give me one.”

She exhaled. “Unbiased reporting.”

Hyunjin nodded slowly. “Interesting.”

Daphne frowned. “Why?”

Hyunjin smiled. That slow, infuriating kind of smile that told her he was already winning something.

“Because you already have a bias.”

Daphne blinked.

Hyunjin gestured toward her notebook. “Noa. She’s your best friend. You already know her story. You already like her.”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “What kind of journalist only asks questions they already know the answers to?”

Daphne stilled.

Hyunjin wasn’t arguing.

He wasn’t convincing.

He was guiding.

Daphne exhaled, crossing her arms. “So what, you think I should interview you for the sake of journalistic integrity?”

Hyunjin shrugged, casual. “I think it would make for a more interesting story.”

Daphne narrowed her eyes. “What makes you so sure of that?”

Hyunjin leaned in slightly, voice dipping into something quieter, something that slotted too easily into the cracks of her composure.

“Because you don’t know me.”

Daphne swallowed.

She hated that her body reacted before her brain could catch up.

Because he was right.

And she hated even more that he knew that.

Hyunjin studied her, his gaze slipping over her expression, searching.

And then, just when she thought the moment would settle, just when she thought she had some kind of grip on herself again—

Hyunjin sat back and smirked.

“But if you’d rather take the easy way out, go ahead.”

Daphne inhaled sharply.

There it was.

The push.

The challenge, perfectly veiled as a dismissal.

She clenched her jaw, staring at him.

Because she knew what he was doing.

She knew.

And yet—

“Fine.”

The word slipped out before she could stop it.

Hyunjin’s smirk widened, his fingers tapping lightly against the table.

“Good girl.”

Daphne’s stomach flipped.

And that was the moment she realized—

She had already lost.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Daphne, 6:30 pm

Daphne stepped into the dorm and shut the door behind her, the click of the lock too final, too deliberate.

She stood there for a second, just breathing.

The air inside was warm, carrying the faint scent of Noa’s lavender candle—a grounding smell, something steady, something safe. But nothing about her thoughts felt steady right now.

Because somehow—somehow—she had agreed to interview Hwang fucking Hyunjin for her own assignment.

She exhaled sharply, dropping her bag onto her desk.

What the hell had just happened?

Her body still felt wired, like her mind was trying to catch up to itself. Her skin still buzzed with the residual feeling of his words—not their meaning, necessarily, but the way they sat in her head like they belonged there.

Because that was the worst part.

She couldn’t even tell if it had been her idea or if she had been pushed into it.

And that realization, more than anything, unsettled her.

Since when did she let other people’s words dictate her choices?

Since when did she bend to a challenge?

Daphne prided herself on knowing herself, on being self-aware, on choosing things because she wanted them, because they made sense.

And yet, in the span of a single conversation, Hyunjin had made her question herself.

The simple, undeniable truth was this:

If Hyunjin hadn’t said anything—if he hadn’t planted that doubt, framed it as a test, made her question her own journalistic integrity—

She would still be interviewing Noa.

Her grip on the desk tightened.

It wasn’t just the decision itself that bothered her. It was the fact that she hadn’t made it alone.

And maybe, just maybe—

She hated that he had been right.

Her thoughts were cut short by movement from the corner of the room.

Noa was on her bed, one hand scrolling through her phone, the other casually stirring her tea. She hadn’t looked up yet, but Daphne could feel the moment she noticed something was off.

Because Noa’s fingers paused mid-scroll.

Then, without even glancing at her, she muttered—“What’s wrong with you?”

Daphne blinked. “Excuse me?”

Now Noa did look up, raising an eyebrow. “You walked in here like you just made a deal with the devil.”

Daphne opened her mouth. Closed it. Then scoffed. “I think I just did.”

Noa noticed immediately.

She narrowed her eyes. “No.”

Daphne blinked. “What?”

Noa sat up, pointing her mug at her like she had just cracked a case. “Don’t tell me this is actually about him.”

Daphne groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “It’s not—”

Noa gasped, mock horror. “Daphne.”

“It’s nothing—”

“Daphne.”

Daphne exhaled sharply, defeated.

“I just… I might’ve agreed to interview him.”

Silence.

A long, horrified silence.

Noa, staring. Processing. Calculating.

Then—

“What the actual fuck.”

Daphne braced herself.

“It’s not that deep,” she said quickly. “It’s just an assignment—”

“IT IS THAT DEEP.” Noa placed her mug down so hard it nearly spilled. “Do you have any idea how much that man talks out of his ass?”

Daphne sighed. “I do.”

Noa pointed at her. “Then why the hell did you choose him?”

Daphne paused.

Because, in all honesty, she wasn’t sure.

Or rather—she was sure, but she didn’t like the answer.

She didn’t like that Hyunjin had led her there so easily, so seamlessly, like it had been her idea all along.

She didn’t like that it still didn’t feel like a bad idea.

And she hated, absolutely hated, that his words still lingered.

“Because you don’t know me.”

Daphne swallowed.

She looked at Noa, at the way she was waiting for an explanation.

And she hated that, for the first time in a long time—

She didn’t have one.

——————————————————————————

[paintstainedpages]

The Night We Almost Had It

pairing: Hyunjin x fem!reader

genre: friends to lovers, angst

synopsis: You and Hyunjin were always something—never just friends, never quite lovers. A fragile in-between, laced with stolen glances and laughter that lingered too long, with hands that almost touched and words that never left your lips.

——————————————————————————

The air between you and Hyunjin had always been laced with something unspoken. A fragile thread, stretched between fleeting glances and laughter that lingered too long. A touch that lasted just a second more than necessary. It was there, woven into the fabric of your friendship, subtle but undeniable.

You had known him for years—known the way his voice softened when he was about to say something serious, known the way his hands moved when he painted, the way his forehead creased when he was lost in thought. You knew him. And you thought, maybe, he knew you too.

Maybe that’s why you convinced yourself that he must have known how you felt. That when you finally told him, it wouldn’t be a confession, but a confirmation.

So when he called you one night, voice warm and easy, asking to meet at your usual spot—a quiet café tucked away in a hidden alley—you said yes, heart thrumming in your chest.

This was it.

You weren’t the kind of person who made impulsive choices, but tonight, you would. You had practiced the words in your head a thousand times. I love you. I think I always have.

You arrived first, sitting at the wooden table by the window, fingers curled around your coffee cup. The rain had started minutes ago, misting the glass in a soft blur, making the world outside look almost like a painting. Your reflection stared back at you, a quiet kind of anticipation in your eyes.

And then, he walked in.

Hyunjin, with his rain-damp hair and his ever-effortless grace. He smiled when he saw you, the kind of smile that always made your ribs ache, because it felt like something that wasn’t yours to keep.

He sat across from you, shaking off his jacket, and let out a small breathless laugh. “God, it’s pouring out there.”

And then, before you could say a word—before you could pull the courage from your lungs and finally tell him—he spoke first.

“I need to tell you something.” His voice was light, but there was an excitement in it. “I—there’s this girl.”

Your heart stumbled.

He didn’t notice.

“She’s amazing, honestly,” he went on, fingers idly tracing the rim of his cup. “I wasn’t even looking for anything, you know? But it just… happened.”

You swallowed against the lump forming in your throat, gripping your coffee tighter, willing yourself to keep breathing.

He didn’t know.

Of course, he didn’t.

You had waited too long.

And now, it was too late.

It was always almost with you and Hyunjin. Almost something. Almost more. Almost everything.

But tonight, it was nothing.

And you had to sit there, nodding, smiling, pretending that your heart wasn’t breaking inside your chest.

You force a smile, swallowing your pain. You convince yourself it’s too late.

It has to be.

Because if it’s not—if there’s still some fragment of a chance left—then you’ll have to face the unbearable weight of knowing you lost something that was meant to be yours.

So you nod, taking a slow sip of your coffee, hoping it will wash down the bitter ache rising in your throat. “That’s… that’s great, Hyunjin.” You hate how natural your voice sounds, how effortless the lie slips past your lips. “I’m happy for you.”

And the worst part? He believes you.

Hyunjin grins, that wide, unguarded smile that once made you feel like the most important person in the world. Now, it just feels like a knife twisting in your ribs. “I knew you’d get it. You’re always so supportive, you know that?”

You wish you didn’t.

He starts talking—about her, about how they met, how she makes him laugh, how she’s different. Every word feels like a slow unraveling, like he’s peeling away something you hadn’t even realized you were holding onto so tightly.

You nod in the right places, let out small hums of acknowledgment, but you can’t hear him anymore. All you hear is the deafening echo of what could have been. The confession you never made. The moments you misread, the silences you mistook for something deeper.

Outside, the rain hits the window in soft, rhythmic taps. The café is warm, filled with the scent of cinnamon and coffee beans, and across from you sits the person you love, talking about someone else.

You wonder if this is how tragedies are written—not in grand, dramatic gestures, but in the quiet devastation of a moment too late.

You glance at your watch, pretending to check the time. “I should probably get going soon,” you say, voice steady.

Hyunjin’s brows furrow slightly. “Already? But we just got here.”

You force a small laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, but I have an early morning.” Another lie. You just need to leave before you break apart entirely.

He pouts playfully. “Fine, but next time, I’m picking the place. And you owe me a full update on your life. You’ve been so busy lately.”

You almost laugh at the irony. He thinks you’ve been busy. He doesn’t realize you’ve just been avoiding him.

You stand, gathering your things, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your hands shake. “Yeah. Next time.”

You don’t know if there will be a next time.

Not when you feel like a stranger in your own story.

Not when you know that, no matter what, you will never be the girl he talks about with that light in his eyes.

Not when you were always almost—never quite.

But as you step outside into the rain, letting the cold wash over you, a part of you whispers something else.

The door chimes softly behind you as you step out of the café, the warmth of the air inside swallowed instantly by the cold bite of rain. It’s relentless, falling in heavy sheets, drenching the pavement, pooling into little rivers along the curb.

You don’t have an umbrella. You don’t even bother to pull your coat tighter. The cold is nothing compared to the ache in your chest.

You walk.

The city blurs into a watercolor of neon signs and hazy streetlights, their reflections rippling in the puddles beneath your feet. The sound of raindrops fills the silence he left behind, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t fight the sadness creeping in.

You let it consume you.

It’s funny, in a cruel way. This should have been a night of possibility, of something new blooming between you and Hyunjin. You should have been walking home with flushed cheeks, giddy and breathless, replaying the way he looked at you when you finally told him.

Instead, your heart is a dead weight in your chest, dragging you down with every step.

You pass by familiar places—the bookstore you both used to wander into aimlessly, the ramen shop where he once made you laugh so hard you almost choked, the crosswalk where he grabbed your wrist just to twirl you under the streetlight, like a scene from a movie.

God, you were so stupid.

Stupid for believing that unspoken feelings were enough. Stupid for thinking that just because you understood each other in a way no one else did, it meant he felt it too.

You should have said something sooner. Should have made a move instead of waiting for him to read between the lines you never had the courage to write.

Now, some other girl gets to hear his late-night musings. Some other girl gets to be on the receiving end of his soft gaze, his fleeting touches, his whispered confessions.

You wonder if she knows how lucky she is. If she realizes she has the one thing you would have given everything for.

The thought makes your throat tighten, and before you can stop yourself, your vision blurs—not from the rain, but from the tears that finally, finally spill over.

It doesn’t matter. The rain swallows them before they can even fall properly.

You press your lips together, a sharp exhale escaping you as you keep walking, faster now, like you can outrun the feeling, the heartbreak, the reality. But it clings to you, wraps around you like the dampness in your clothes, seeping into your skin, making a home in your bones.

You want to scream. You want to call him, tell him everything, shake him by the shoulders and demand to know why—why didn’t he see you? Why did he never look at you the way you looked at him?

But you don’t. You won’t.

Instead, you let the city take you, let the rain soak through your hair, your clothes, your heart.

Somewhere in the distance, a car honks, the sound distant, muted. A love song plays from a passing café, its melody lost in the storm. A couple rushes past you, giggling, sharing an umbrella, their fingers intertwined like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

You pretend it doesn’t hurt.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

4 months later

Months pass, and you learn how to disappear without leaving.

You stop answering his late-night texts right away. The ones that used to make your heart race—Are you up? I just saw something that reminded me of you.—become unread notifications that you force yourself to ignore.

You make excuses when he asks to meet, suddenly “too busy” with classes, with work, with anything that keeps you from seeing the way he looks at you like nothing has changed. Like he doesn’t realize that everything has.

But the hardest part isn’t avoiding him.

The hardest part is watching him be happy without you.

You see the photos, the tagged posts, the stolen moments of him with her. His hand on the small of her back, his lips brushing her temple, his laughter—still the same, still familiar, but no longer yours to claim.

So, you do the only thing you can.

You move on. Or at least, you pretend to.

It starts small—a friend of a friend, someone easy to be around, someone safe. He asks for your number, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you say yes.

You let him take you out. You let him kiss you. You let him fill the empty spaces Hyunjin left behind, even though it feels like trying to rewrite a story that’s already been told.

And for a while, it works.

Until Hyunjin notices.

At first, he doesn’t say anything. Just watches, his smile slipping a little when he sees you walking across campus with someone else. When he catches you whispering to your new boyfriend in the way you used to whisper to him.

But then, one afternoon, he corners you after class.

“You’re avoiding me.” His voice is calm, but his eyes—those deep, searching eyes—are filled with something close to frustration.

You shake your head. “I’ve been busy.”

“Bullshit.”

The word hangs between you, thick with something unspoken. You blink, caught off guard by the sharpness in his tone.

“I don’t get it,” he exhales, raking a hand through his hair. “What did I do?”

You swallow hard. This is the moment, the chance to tell him everything. To let the dam break and drown him in the truth.

But then you think of her.

You think of all the ways she gets to have him, the way he chose her without even realizing he had another option.

So instead, you force a smile—the same practiced, perfect smile you’ve been wearing for months.

“Nothing, Hyunjin,” you say softly. “You didn’t do anything.”

Hyunjin doesn’t let it go.

His jaw tightens, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “Don’t do that,” he says, voice quieter now but no less intense. “Don’t act like nothing’s wrong when we both know it is.”

You exhale sharply, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder. “Hyunjin, I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want you to tell me why you’re pulling away.”

The weight of his gaze is unbearable, like he’s trying to peel you open, expose every carefully buried thought.

You hold firm. “I told you. I’m just busy.”

His lips press into a thin line. “Busy doing what? Ignoring me?”

You flinch. He sees it.

There’s a beat of silence, the kind that feels like a knife hovering in the air, waiting to drop.

“I don’t get it,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “We were fine. And then—suddenly, you just… disappeared.” He looks at you then, eyes searching. “Is it because of her?”

The question hits like a slap. Your breath catches, but you recover quickly, forcing yourself to keep your expression blank.

“No,” you lie. “It’s not about her.”

Hyunjin scoffs, a bitter laugh escaping him. “Right. Just a coincidence, then. You start acting different right when—” He cuts himself off, exhaling through his nose. “You know what? Fine. You don’t want to talk? I won’t make you.”

Good. That’s what you wanted. Isn’t it?

But then he steps closer, and your resolve wavers.

His voice drops, quieter now, raw. “But I miss you.”

God. You hate him for saying that.

Hate him for making it harder, for making you want something you already lost.

Before you can reply—before you can let yourself break—another voice cuts in.

“Hey, babe!”

You turn, and there he is.

Your boyfriend.

Clueless, sweet, utterly oblivious. He jogs up to you with that easy smile, the one that doesn’t hold the weight of history, of heartbreak. He wraps an arm around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world, pressing a quick kiss to your temple.

Hyunjin goes completely still.

“Sorry I’m late,” your boyfriend continues, grinning. “Ready to go?”

Every muscle in your body is tense. You don’t dare to look at Hyunjin, but you can feel him. Feel the shift in the air.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Let’s go.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say a word.

Your boyfriend—kind, unknowing, untouched by the storm raging between you and Hyunjin—smiles as he turns to him. There’s something easy about the way he carries himself, completely unaware of the tension thickening the air like an impending storm.

“You must be Hyunjin,” he says, extending a hand with the open warmth of someone who has no idea what he’s stepping into. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

The words are casual, polite. There’s no malice, no hidden meaning. But to Hyunjin, they land like a knife between the ribs.

Because what does that mean?

I’ve heard so much about you.

From who? From you? Did you say his name in passing, the way people mention old acquaintances? Did you tell your boyfriend about the late nights on rooftops, about the laughter shared over shitty gas station snacks, about the way you once let Hyunjin trace invisible paintings onto your skin just because he said he liked the way you felt under his hands?

Or did you not mention him at all?

Hyunjin stares at the offered hand, his expression unreadable. The silence stretches a second too long, thick and suffocating, before he finally, reluctantly takes it.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin says, his voice cool, distant. The warmth that once belonged to you—exclusively, effortlessly—is gone. “That’s me.”

Your boyfriend, still oblivious, laughs a little. “It’s great to finally meet you, man.”

Hyunjin doesn’t smile. Doesn’t soften.

He just looks at him.

Really looks at him.

And it’s infuriating how easy it is for Hyunjin to see the appeal.

He’s everything Hyunjin isn’t. Effortlessly kind, steady in the way that doesn’t waver, doesn’t come with complications or unfinished confessions hanging in the air. He’s someone who can give you a love that doesn’t come with unanswered questions, with heartbreak disguised as friendship.

Maybe that’s why you chose him.

Or maybe—Hyunjin thinks, a bitterness creeping up his throat like bile—maybe you didn’t choose at all. Maybe you just decided not to wait anymore.

His jaw ticks. He lets go of your boyfriend’s hand first, shoving his own into the pockets of his jacket. His gaze flickers to you—just for a second—but you don’t meet his eyes.

That stings more than it should.

Your boyfriend, still trying to smooth the moment over, gestures toward the street. “We were just heading to get dinner. You should join us sometime.”

Hyunjin huffs a small, humorless laugh. The audacity.

“No, thanks,” he says flatly, voice like ice.

The easy atmosphere your boyfriend brought with him flickers—just a little. Even he can sense it now, the silent tension thrumming between you and Hyunjin like a song just about to break.

There was a time when Hyunjin would have been invited to that dinner without hesitation. A time when he was the first person you called after a long day, when your voice softened just for him, when your eyes held something unspoken that neither of you dared to name.

Now? He’s just a shadow lingering at the edge of your new life, watching as someone else takes the place that almost—almost—could have been his.

He swallows the bitterness down.

“Well,” your boyfriend says after a beat, his voice still warm but a little less certain. “It was nice meeting you, man.”

Hyunjin nods once, sharp. His gaze drifts to you again, one last time, as if waiting for you to say something. Anything.

But you don’t.

And so, without another word, he turns on his heel and walks away.

And maybe—just maybe—he hopes you’ll stop him.

The past has a cruel way of lingering. Of slipping through the cracks of the present, whispering remember when? when you least expect it.

And as Hyunjin walks away from you now, hands stuffed into his pockets, the cold settling into his bones, it happens. The ghosts of all the moments you almost had come rushing back, clinging to him like a second skin.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

A year ago

It had been late—too late for visitors, too late for anything but the kind of silence that wrapped the world in stillness. But then there was a knock at your door.

Sharp, insistent, hurried.

At first, you thought something was wrong, that maybe there was an emergency, but when you swung the door open, all you saw was Hyunjin.

Eyes bright. Breathless. A mess of oversized scarves and damp hair from the snow melting against his skin.

“It’s here,” he said, chest rising and falling like he had just sprinted to get to you.

You blinked, still standing in the warm glow of your apartment, half-asleep. “What’s here?”

“The first snow.”

You stared at him. Then at the open space behind him, where flurries of white spun under the golden haze of the streetlights, settling like whispers upon the pavement.

“So?” you murmured, still caught in the fog of sleep.

Hyunjin scoffed, reaching forward and wrapping his fingers around your wrist, tugging you gently. “So, you can’t just sit inside for the first snow. Come on.”

“Hyun, it’s freezing.”

“Exactly! That’s the magic.” He was grinning, his whole body vibrating with a childlike excitement, eyes shining in a way you couldn’t resist. “We have to make a wish. It’s a rule.”

You sighed, exasperated—but you were already reaching for your coat.

Within minutes, you were outside, wrapped in wool and laughter, breath curling into the winter air. The world was quiet in a way that only happened when snow fell, muffling the city into something softer, more intimate.

And Hyunjin—Hyunjin was everywhere.

His laughter echoed as he kicked up snow, his hands reached for yours to twirl you dramatically like you were in some kind of winter fairytale, his face split into a smile so big, so utterly him, that it made something deep in your chest ache.

Then, from somewhere in the distance, music began to play.

A neighbor’s window, perhaps. A radio left on. A song drifting through the crisp night air, slow and warm, a stark contrast to the cold surrounding you.

Hyunjin froze mid-spin, eyes wide. “Oh.”

You raised an eyebrow, shivering. “Oh?”

He turned to you with a grin—dangerous, mischievous, the kind that always meant trouble.

“This is a sign,” he announced.

“A sign for what?”

“We must dance.”

You groaned, stepping back. “Nope. Absolutely not.”

Hyunjin was already reaching for you, relentless. “Come on. It’s fate.”

“Hyunjin.”

He clasped both of your hands in his, stepping close enough that you could feel his warmth through the layers of fabric between you. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“You know I can’t dance.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “That’s why I’m teaching you.”

“I’ll step on your feet.”

“I’ll survive.”

You sighed, but there was no winning against Hyunjin when he had that look in his eyes—like he had already decided, like the world would bend to whatever whim he set upon it.

“Fine,” you muttered. “But if I break your toes, that’s on you.”

Hyunjin grinned, triumphant.

His hands settled lightly on your waist, guiding you into place, his touch careful, almost hesitant. Your own fingers curled against his coat, gripping the fabric to ground yourself.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Just follow me.”

The music swelled around you, gentle and sweet. He moved slowly, stepping forward, then back, rocking you into the rhythm with an effortless grace you could never dream of having.

You, on the other hand, were an absolute disaster.

“Wrong foot,” he murmured, laughing when you stumbled.

“I told you.”

“Relax,” he said, voice low and amused. “You’re too stiff. Just—” He let go of your waist for a moment, tapping the middle of your forehead lightly. “Turn that off.”

You huffed, trying again, letting yourself fall into the movement, into him.

The snow fell around you in slow motion, catching in his dark hair, melting against his flushed cheeks. His hands were firm but gentle, guiding you effortlessly, never letting you slip too far.

And then—somewhere between your awkward stumbling and his endless patience—something shifted.

The laughter softened.

The world felt smaller.

His fingers tightened against your waist, just slightly. His breath was warm against the cold. Your heart was pounding—not from the dance, not from the cold, but from something else entirely.

His eyes met yours.

And for a second, for just a second, it felt like something was about to break open.

Like if either of you dared—if either of you just reached—this would turn into something else entirely.

But then—

“Shit,” you gasped, losing your footing completely.

Hyunjin barely had time to react before you tumbled into him, knocking you both to the snow-covered pavement in a mess of tangled limbs and startled laughter.

For a moment, there was nothing but breathless silence.

Then—Hyunjin laughed.

Loud and beautiful and so full of life that you couldn’t help but join in, the sound bubbling out of you uncontrollably.

He was still holding onto you, even as you lay half-sprawled on top of him. His arms had wrapped around you instinctively, keeping you from hitting the ground too hard, his chest rising and falling beneath you.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, shaking your head.

“And yet,” he teased, grinning up at you, “you love me anyway.”

Your breath hitched.

There it was again.

That unspoken thing. The moment that could have been something more.

You could have said it. You could have leaned down, could have pressed your forehead against his, could have let the words slip into the space between you.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you rolled off him, laughing as you lay side by side in the snow, staring up at the endless, endless sky.

And just like that—

The moment passed.

You would spend years pretending it never existed.

And Hyunjin—

Hyunjin would never know that it was the first time you almost loved him out loud.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Present

Hyunjin sits across from her, stirring his coffee absentmindedly, his gaze unfocused. The café is warm, the scent of roasted beans and cinnamon thick in the air, the world outside draped in winter’s gray hush. It’s the kind of place they might have gone together—you and him.

But you’re not here.

And yet, you are everywhere.

His girlfriend watches him carefully, fingers curled around her own cup. She doesn’t say anything at first, just observes, the way she always has. She’s been watching him for months, piecing together the parts of him that don’t quite fit with her, with them.

At first, she thought it was hesitation. That maybe he was just taking time to settle into their relationship, to let the weight of something new sink into his bones.

She was wrong.

Because now, as he stares out the window, his mind leagues away, she knows.

She’s known for a while now, hasn’t she?

It’s in the way he holds her—not too tight, not too loose, as if he’s still searching for something that isn’t there. It’s in the way he kisses her—sweet, tender, but never earth-shattering. Never like he’s drowning in her.

Most of all, it’s in the way he says her name.

Like it’s an afterthought. Like it will never feel quite right in his mouth.

She swallows hard, setting her cup down with a soft clink. “Hyun.”

He blinks, as if startled out of a dream. “Hm?”

She tilts her head slightly, studying him. “You’re quiet.”

He offers a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just tired.”

A lie.

She nods, letting the silence settle between them. Letting it speak the words neither of them have the courage to say.

Because the truth is, she was never blind.

She saw it in the way he froze the first time he saw you after months of distance.

She saw it in the way his fingers twitched, as if they ached to reach for you but knew they had lost that right.

She saw it in the way his voice softened when he said your name.

And tonight, she sees it in the sadness weighing in his eyes—the kind of sadness that doesn’t belong to her, that never did.

She doesn’t even have to ask.

She already knows where his mind has wandered.

She could call him out on it. Demand an answer to a question they both already know the answer to. But she doesn’t.

Instead, she exhales softly, tracing the rim of her cup. “Tell me about her.”

Hyunjin stills.

His fingers freeze around the handle of his mug, the air between them suddenly thick, heavy.

He doesn’t ask who. He doesn’t pretend to be confused.

He knows exactly who she’s talking about.

And that’s all the confirmation she needs.

He swallows, eyes dropping to the table. He could deny it. Could force a smile and say, There’s nothing to tell. Could lie to her—to both of them.

But he doesn’t.

He just exhales, long and slow, like someone carrying a weight he’s no longer strong enough to hold.

“She’s…” He stops, shaking his head with a small, breathless laugh, as if he can’t believe he even has to explain you.

How does he describe something that has always just been?

“She’s my best friend,” he says at last, though the words taste strange in his mouth now. Not quite right. Not quite enough.

His girlfriend watches him, searching his face, his eyes. He doesn’t meet her gaze.

“That’s all?” she asks quietly.

Hyunjin hesitates.

And in that hesitation, she has her answer.

It’s not all.

It was never all.

Her chest tightens, but she doesn’t let it show. She only nods, lips pressing together.

She had walked into this knowing, hadn’t she?

Somewhere deep down, she had always suspected there was someone else—not in the obvious way, not in the way that would have made her walk away sooner.

No, it wasn’t in the way he acted around her. It was in the way he didn’t act.

The way he never quite looked at her like she was the only person in the room.

The way his touches never lingered too long, never burned the way they should.

The way his heart always seemed to be waiting for something.

Or someone.

And tonight, as she watches him, she knows for certain—Hyunjin has never been fully hers.

And he never will be.

She lets out a quiet sigh, glancing down at the coffee gone cold in front of her. Then, with a small, sad smile, she lifts her gaze back to him.

“You love her,” she says, not as a question, but as a statement.

This time, Hyunjin looks at her.

And for the first time in months, he doesn’t lie.

He doesn’t even try.

“…Yeah,” he whispers.

It is the softest, most painful confession she has ever heard.

And it is not for her.

She nods once, as if she expected it, as if she knew this would happen all along. Maybe she did. Maybe she just wanted to be proven wrong.

But the truth is undeniable now.

So, she smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and leans back in her chair.

“Well,” she murmurs, “I suppose that means we’re done here.”

Hyunjin flinches, guilt flashing across his face. “I didn’t—”

“I know.” She waves a hand, cutting him off gently. “You didn’t mean for it to happen like this.”

She lets out a soft, bitter chuckle, looking out the window, where the snow has started falling again, covering the city in a new beginning.

“I just wish you had realized it before I did.”

Hyunjin has no response to that.

Because she’s right.

She picks up her bag, standing gracefully, adjusting her coat as she glances down at him one last time.

For a moment, she looks at him like she might say something else.

But then she simply exhales, gives him one last, quiet smile, and walks away.

And Hyunjin—Hyunjin lets her go.

Because even as she leaves, his heart isn’t breaking for the girl walking away from him.

It’s breaking for the one he already lost.

For you.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

It starts with the snow.

It always does.

At first, it’s just a flicker in the corner of your eye, a gentle drift past the windowpane, a few soft specks against the glow of the streetlights. But then it grows. It thickens. Soon, the world beyond your apartment is wrapped in white, swirling, endless.

You are curled on the couch, wrapped in the warmth of a thick knitted blanket, your boyfriend beside you, flipping through the channels absentmindedly. The movie playing is something you’ve seen before, something comforting, something easy. He’s relaxed, completely at ease in the quiet of the evening, in the safety of a night spent indoors.

But you are not.

Because as you watch the snow fall, something shifts inside you.

A craving. A pull.

You don’t even realize you’ve moved until your fingers are pressing against the glass of the window, your breath fogging up the pane. You exhale slowly, watching as the snowflakes dance, as the world outside becomes softer, dreamlike.

You want to be out there.

The thought comes so suddenly, so instinctively, that it takes you by surprise.

You want to step into the cold, feel the sting of the wind against your cheeks, tilt your head back and let the sky melt against your skin. You want to hear the way the world hushes when it snows, that particular kind of quiet that belongs only to winter nights.

You want to—

“Looks like it’s gonna be a storm,” your boyfriend murmurs from behind you, his voice warm, familiar. “Good thing we’re inside.”

You turn, blinking at him.

“You don’t want to go out?” you ask softly.

He snorts. “Into that?” He gestures toward the window with a chuckle. “Babe, it’s freezing.”

You hesitate. “But… it’s the first snow.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So?”

You open your mouth, then close it again.

Somewhere deep in your chest, something cracks.

It’s small at first, like the hairline fracture in porcelain, barely visible but undeniably there.

It’s not his fault. He’s right—most people wouldn’t want to go out into the cold when they have the warmth of home wrapped around them. It’s practical. Sensible.

But you are not practical.

And once, neither was Hyunjin.

Once, he would have been knocking at your door before the first flakes had even touched the ground, dragging you outside with laughter in his eyes, declaring that nights like these weren’t meant to be wasted.

Once, he would have twirled you in the middle of the street, saying something ridiculous about fate, about signs, about how the universe was trying to tell you something.

Once.

You swallow, turning back toward the snow, pressing your palm against the cold glass, watching the way the frost forms beneath your fingertips.

And then, you know.

You know before you even turn around.

You know before you even sit down in front of him, your legs folding beneath you on the floor, your hands curling into your lap, your heart beating too fast for what you are about to say.

Your boyfriend looks down at you, confused. “What’s up?”

It’s not fair.

Not to him. Not to you. Not to the space between you that you’ve spent months trying to fill with something that was never yours to begin with.

So you take a breath. A deep, steadying breath. And you tell him.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

His face shifts. “What?”

Your throat feels tight, but you push forward. “I… I need to be honest with you. And it’s not fair, because I should have done this sooner, but I kept trying to—” You break off, shaking your head. “I kept trying to pretend I was okay. That this was okay.”

His brows furrow. He sits forward, his voice gentle. “Hey, slow down. What are you talking about?”

You meet his eyes, and for the first time in months, you let yourself feel it.

“I wanted to love you,” you whisper. “I really, really did.”

His lips part slightly, his hands still on his lap, like he’s afraid to reach for you. “You don’t?”

Tears sting at the back of your eyes. “I tried,” you say again, voice breaking. “Because you’re good. You’re kind. You deserve someone who looks at you and sees everything. But that’s not me.”

Silence.

And then, softer, more fragile: “Because of him?”

Your breath shudders.

You don’t answer.

But your silence is enough.

His expression crumples just a little, but not in anger. Not in resentment. Just… sadness. A quiet kind of understanding.

He exhales through his nose, looking away for a moment, like he’s processing, like he’s seeing the cracks in the foundation that had been there all along.

“I think I knew,” he finally says, voice quiet. “I just… I didn’t want to believe it.”

You nod, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

He shakes his head, lets out a breathy, bitter chuckle. “No, you’re not.”

You wince. “I am.”

He studies you for a long moment. And then he sighs, running a hand through his hair, before leaning back against the couch.

“Well,” he murmurs, looking up at the ceiling. “I guess that’s it, then.”

You swallow. “I never meant to hurt you.”

He tilts his head, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “I know.”

You sit there for a while, in the space of what could have been.

The snow falls harder outside, swirling against the night, and something inside you shifts. Lighter. Freer.

Eventually, he stands, rubbing his face before offering a short nod. “I’ll… I’ll get my stuff tomorrow.”

You nod, unable to say anything past the lump in your throat.

And then, just like that, it’s over.

He leaves without another word.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

The night is cold, the streets dusted with the remnants of last night’s snowfall, the air sharp enough to bite. Hyunjin tucks his hands into his pockets, walking briskly through the city, trying to chase away the restlessness settling in his bones.

It’s been hours since he left the café, since the conversation that ended something that had never truly begun.

He should feel lighter. Should feel relieved.

Instead, all he feels is raw. Exposed.

The truth is an ugly thing when it sits in the open, when there’s no more pretending, no more excuses. He has spent months trying to move on, trying to convince himself that what he had with you—the years, the friendship, the weight of everything left unsaid—could be rewritten, replaced.

But love doesn’t work like that.

You can’t rip one person out of your heart and stitch another in their place.

You can’t make someone a home when your soul already belongs elsewhere.

Hyunjin exhales, watching as his breath curls into the night. He needs to clear his head. Needs to—

And then, just like some cruel joke from the universe, he sees him.

Hyunjin doesn’t expect to see him.

Not here. Not now.

Not after months of trying to erase the image of him from his mind—the way his arm had wrapped so easily around your waist that afternoon, the way he kissed your temple like it was his right, like you were his to hold.

But here he is.

Your boyfriend.

No— something inside Hyunjin corrects before he can even process the thought. Not anymore.

He sees it instantly. In the way the guy carries himself—shoulders slightly hunched, steps slow and aimless, hands stuffed deep into his pockets like they’re holding something heavy. It’s the way someone looks when they’ve lost something.

Hyunjin knows that feeling all too well.

He doesn’t mean to stop walking. Doesn’t mean to let his gaze linger.

But before he can look away, the guy notices him.

Their eyes meet.

For a moment, there’s only silence. The air between them is thick with something unspoken, something tangled in months of misunderstanding, of distance, of things neither of them had the right to claim.

Then—

“Hyunjin.”

It’s not a question.

Hyunjin doesn’t move. He already knew that he knew. That afternoon—when Hyunjin had confronted you about pulling away, when he had stood there, helpless, watching as your boyfriend kissed you right in front of him—there had been a flicker of recognition in the guy’s eyes. He had known.

But this time, something is different.

There’s no easy smile. No casual attempt at friendliness.

There’s just… understanding.

Hyunjin exhales, forcing himself to stay still. “Yeah.”

Another beat of silence.

Then, the guy tilts his head slightly, studying him. “You don’t know, do you?”

Hyunjin frowns. “Know what?”

The guy lets out a quiet, humorless chuckle. “She broke up with me.”

The words hit harder than they should.

Hyunjin clenches his jaw before he can stop himself, a sharp inhale lodging itself in his throat. No. That can’t be right.

If you had—

If you weren’t with him anymore—

Then why didn’t you tell Hyunjin?

Why didn’t you say something?

Hyunjin swallows, his pulse hammering in his ears. “Why?”

The guy exhales slowly, looking away for a moment, as if debating whether or not to answer. Then, finally, he lifts his gaze again.

And what he says next unravels everything.

“You.”

Hyunjin stops breathing.

The guy lets out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “I mean, she never said it, not exactly. But I knew.” He shrugs, his voice quieter now. “I think I always knew.”

Hyunjin sways slightly where he stands, like the ground beneath him has shifted, like something in his ribs has cracked open wide.

“You don’t get it, do you?” The guy watches him, almost pitying now. “It was never about me. I could have been anyone.” His lips twitch slightly, something bitter flickering across his expression. “And that would have been the problem either way.”

Hyunjin stays silent, hands curling into fists in his pockets.

The guy lets out another soft laugh—more to himself than anything. “I thought maybe if I waited long enough, if I gave her time, she’d let me have all of her. Not just the parts that weren’t already taken.”

Hyunjin feels sick.

“She tried,” the guy admits, voice distant. “She really did.” He looks up then, meeting Hyunjin’s gaze, and there’s something so tired in his eyes that it makes Hyunjin’s chest ache. “But you can’t love someone when your heart is somewhere else.”

He tilts his head slightly, considering him. Then, after a beat, he exhales.

“And hers?” He nods toward Hyunjin, as if to make sure he understands. “Was always with you.”

Hyunjin doesn’t move.

Can’t.

Because something inside him has snapped.

Your laughter in the snow.

The way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

The way you pulled away.

The way you let someone else hold you when it should have been him.

And now, the truth.

The truth that you had tried to love someone else.

That you had tried to forget him.

That you had left—not because you wanted to, but because you thought you had to.

The guy gives him one last look, then shakes his head. “I hope you know what to do with that.”

Hyunjin’s breath shudders out of him.

And then, before he can say anything—before he can stop him—the guy walks away, disappearing into the cold, into the falling snow.

Hyunjin stays frozen in place, feeling the weight of everything he has been too blind to see settling onto his chest.

He should be thinking. He should be planning what to do next.

But he isn’t.

Because there is only one thing left.

And this time, he won’t be too late.

So he turns—

And he runs to you.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

It starts with a knock.

Soft at first. Hesitant. As if the person on the other side isn’t sure they should be here, isn’t sure they have the right.

Then, louder. More certain. More desperate.

You freeze.

You know who it is before you even move.

You know before you hear the sharp inhale of breath on the other side of the door, before the silence stretches thick and trembling between you, before the weight of the past months—all the distance, all the missed chances, all the things left unsaid—settles like dust in the air.

You don’t open it right away.

Because you’re not ready.

Because you don’t know if you ever will be.

But then, Hyunjin speaks.

“Please,” he murmurs, voice barely more than a breath. “Please open the door.”

And you do.

Not because you’re ready. Not because you have the answers.

But because it’s him.

Because it has always been him.

When the door swings open, Hyunjin is standing there, breathless, snow caught in his lashes, his hair damp from the cold. He’s not wearing enough layers—he never does—but his cheeks are flushed, his lips slightly parted, like he’s been running, like he’s spent the entire night chasing something he only just realized he was about to lose.

And maybe he has.

You don’t say anything at first. Neither does he.

Because the moment he sees you, something shifts.

His breath hitches, his fingers twitch at his sides, and his eyes—those deep, dark eyes that have always known you better than you know yourself—search yours like they’re looking for something.

Like he’s afraid he won’t find it anymore.

But you don’t make it easy for him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say softly, gripping the edge of the door, willing yourself to be steady, to be indifferent, to be anything but the girl who once dreamed of him knocking on her door like this.

Hyunjin swallows. “I know.”

And yet, he stays.

The silence stretches.

Then, finally—finally—he exhales.

“I know everything,” he whispers.

Your heart stops.

Hyunjin sees it, the way your fingers tighten around the doorframe, the way your throat bobs when you swallow. He sees it, and for the first time in months, he doesn’t let you pull away.

“You left him,” he says. “You never told me.”

You blink once. Twice. And then, quietly—“Why would I?”

Hyunjin flinches.

You regret it the moment it leaves your mouth, but you can’t take it back. You can’t make it softer.

Because it hurts.

Because this is what you’ve been trying to survive.

The months of forcing yourself to love someone else. The weeks of pushing Hyunjin away because he had already moved on, because you were too late, because you refused to let yourself hope for something that was never yours to begin with.

“You were with her,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “You were happy.”

Hyunjin exhales sharply. “I wasn’t.”

“You said you were,” you say, the words almost accusatory. “You said she was different. That it just happened.”

Hyunjin sways slightly where he stands, his face crumbling. He drags a hand through his damp hair, exhales shakily, and then—he laughs. Not out of amusement, but in disbelief.

“I was trying to convince myself,” he murmurs, voice raw. “Because it was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to feel right. I thought—” He stops, shaking his head, his hand lifting, fingers curling into a fist at his side like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t know if he’s allowed to anymore. “I thought that if I said it enough times, it would become true.”

Something in your chest tightens, squeezing around your ribs.

He lets out a slow, shaky breath. “But it never did.”

You swallow, watching him.

“I kept waiting for the moment when I’d forget,” he continues, softer now. “When I’d look at her and not think of you. When I’d hear a song and not wonder if you’d like it. When I’d come home from a good day and not instinctively want to text you first.” He lets out a breathy laugh, but it’s laced with self-loathing. “It never happened. I kept looking for you everywhere. And the worst part? She knew. She always knew.”

A lump forms in your throat.

The words crash over you like a tidal wave, sweeping away every carefully constructed wall, every reason you told yourself to let go.

Hyunjin steps closer. Not enough to touch, but enough for you to feel him, to breathe him in, to know that whatever happens next—this matters.

“You were right there,” he murmurs, voice breaking. “And I was a coward. I let you slip away because I was too afraid of what it meant. Too afraid of losing you.”

Tears sting at the backs of your eyes.

“You did lose me.”

The words are soft, but they strike like lightning.

Hyunjin sways slightly, like you’ve physically hit him.

You could stop there. You could let that be the end of it, let him feel the weight of everything he broke, let the door close between you and leave it at that.

But you can’t.

Because the truth is—

He was never the only one afraid.

“I loved you,” you whisper. “I was afraid too.” You shake your head, letting out a shaky breath. “I waited. I thought maybe—maybe you felt it too. But then you moved on, and I had to—” Your voice wavers, and you hate how easily he can still undo you. “I had to move on too.”

Hyunjin’s eyes are burning now, with regret, with something deeper, something aching.

“But you didn’t,” he says.

It’s not a question.

You close your eyes. “Neither did you.”

The silence that follows is heavy.

And then—

“Tell me to leave.”

Your eyes snap open.

Hyunjin is looking at you like the answer to everything he has ever needed is right here, in this moment.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he says, voice unsteady. “Tell me there’s nothing left. That you don’t love me anymore. Tell me, and I swear, I’ll walk away.”

The words sit on your tongue, waiting.

Tell him.

Tell him, and he will leave.

Tell him, and you will be free.

But you can’t.

Because when you look at him, standing there in the doorway, heart laid bare, asking for one more chance—

You know the truth.

You always have.

So instead—

You step forward.

And you kiss him.

It’s not soft. It’s not careful.

It’s years of unsaid words, of aching silence, of almosts and not-quites and missed chances.

Hyunjin makes a broken sound against your lips, like relief and regret all at once, like something inside him has just snapped and he’s never going to let you go again.

His hands find your waist, pulling you closer, pressing into you like he’s making up for lost time, like he’s trying to rewrite the past with his fingertips.

And you let him.

Because some things are meant to be lost and found again.

And this?

This was always going to be one of them.

•~The End~•

[paintstainedpages]

Masterlist 📖

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🎨Unravel | Art Major!Hyunjin x fem!OC

Genre: College AU, Slowburn Romance, Angst, Smut, Toxic Romance

Summary: Daphne doesn’t chase distractions. She has a plan, a future, a perfectly stable life.

Hyunjin doesn’t chase anything. Things come to him—attention, trouble, people who should know better.

They were never supposed to cross paths. But they did.

And now, she’s caught in the push and pull of someone who doesn’t play fair. A slow unraveling, a quiet shift—so gradual she almost doesn’t notice.

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, suggestive themes, mild language

Chapters

>Chapter 1: Life Before Him

>Chapter 2: The Psychology of Influence

>Chapter 3: The First Thread

>Chapter 4: The Calm Before The Chaos

>Chapter 5: Into The Lion’s Den

>Chapter 6: The Devil’s Detour

>Chapter 7: Sleep Deprivation & Consequences

>Chapter 8: Echoes of Conviction

>Chapter 9: Unfinished Work

>Chapter 10: Cracks In The Frame

[paintstainedpages]

Unravel

Pairing: Art Major!Hyunjin x Journalism Major!OC (Daphne)

Content: College AU, Slow Burn, Toxic Relationship, Psychological Themes, Parties, Alcohol, Casual Flirtation, Emotional Manipulation, Subtle Power Play

Warnings: Mild language, suggestive themes, tension-filled dynamics.

Chapter 7: Sleep Deprivation & Consequences

>Chapter 6

Daphne, 9:00 am

Daphne wakes up feeling like she just got hit by a truck.

Not the fun metaphorical kind where she can shake it off and dramatically complain about it to Noa. No—this is the actual, body-feels-heavy, brain-malfunctions-on-startup, existence-is-a-scam kind of exhaustion.

And it’s all because of last night.

She groans, burying her face into her pillow, regretting every life choice that led to this moment.

She needs nine hours of sleep to function like a normal human being.

She got maybe four.

And what did she gain from it?

• A hangover without alcohol.

• An overstimulated brain.

• And the joy of knowing she left her damn phone in Hyunjin’s car.

She already knows her phone isn’t here. The absence is loud. But that’s not the immediate issue.

Daphne inhales sharply, pressing her hands to her temples.

Okay. Okay. No big deal.

She has a plan. She can just text Felix from Noa’s phone and tell him to grab it for her. Quick, efficient, no unnecessary conversations with the demon spawn himself.

She throws off her blanket, stumbles out of bed, and marches toward the kitchenette—

Only to find Noa’s empty coffee mug sitting on the counter.

The dorm? Silent.

…Noa’s not here.

Oh, for the love of—

Noa has class.

Of course she does.

And stupid, sleep-deprived Daphne forgot.

Her one lifeline to escaping this situation without dealing with Hyunjin has just left the building.

She lets out a long, exhausted groan, throwing her head back.

This is not how she wanted to start her morning.

And the worst part?

She could’ve prevented it.

She could’ve told Noa last night. She could’ve sucked it up, admitted she lost her phone, and asked for a wake-up call.

But no.

Her pride won.

And now she’s here.

Phone-less. Sleep-deprived. And at the mercy of a man who probably doesn’t even wake up before noon.

Daphne curses under her breath, rubbing her face with both hands.

Her morning is already off to a tragic start, and she hasn’t even left the dorm yet.

She grabs her notebook off the desk, flipping it open to her schedule—just to make sure she isn’t forgetting anything important.

Her afternoon class?

Media Ethics & Investigative Reporting.

Great. A class that requires actual brain function.

She snaps the notebook shut, tossing it onto her bed before heading toward the closet.

She’s too tired to put effort into her outfit today.

So, she grabs the first comfortable pair of jeans she sees, throws on a simple black fitted tee, and—of course—reaches for her gold accessories.

Because no matter how much of a disaster her life currently is, she is not about to walk around campus looking completely unpolished.

As she fastens her bracelet, her gaze flickers to the mirror.

Her hair?

A mess.

She groans, dragging her fingers through it, debating for a solid five seconds whether she should just wash it now and start fresh.

Then she remembers she’s too lazy for that.

So, instead, she pulls it into an effortless updo, a few strands loose just enough to look like she tried (even though she very much did not).

Satisfied—or as satisfied as she can be with the circumstances—she steps away from the mirror and stands in the middle of the dorm.

And now comes the real issue.

She needs to figure out how to get her phone back before class.

Fast.

The last thing she wants is to go through an entire day without it.

Her arms cross, her foot taps against the floor.

She runs through the options in her head, mentally preparing for the least painful way to fix this disaster.

And unfortunately, every single one of them involves Hyunjin.

Just fantastic.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Daphne, 10:02 am

Daphne stares up at the frat house, her stomach twisting into knots.

This is not where she wants to be right now.

Actually, this is the last place on Earth she wants to be right now.

Yet, here she is—standing outside a house full of eight guys, about to walk in and explain that their biggest fuckboy has her phone because she forgot it there last night.

She already knows what that sounds like.

She knows exactly what they’ll assume.

And the worst part?

She cares.

She cares too much about what people think of her, even though she knows she shouldn’t.

But this?

This is a very specific brand of public humiliation.

Her fingers tighten around the strap of her bag, her foot tapping anxiously against the pavement.

Maybe she should just turn around.

Maybe she should just text him later and pretend she wasn’t desperate enough to come here in person.

…Except she doesn’t have a phone to text him with.

Daphne lets out a long, suffering exhale.

Then, before she can overthink any further, she knocks on the door.

Silence.

She waits.

Nothing.

She knocks again—louder.

Still, no response.

Her fingers twitch before she gives up and rings the doorbell.

That does it.

From inside, there’s an immediate reaction—a sharp thud, a few curse words, and the unmistakable sound of something falling over.

Then, finally, after what feels like a lifetime, the door swings open.

Standing there, looking like he fought God and lost, is a very disheveled Changbin.

…At least, she thinks it’s Changbin.

She doesn’t actually know him, but she vaguely remembers his name being that.

And judging by the absolute misery on his face, he is very, very hungover.

He blinks at her like she’s the physical embodiment of his headache.

Then, with zero enthusiasm, he mutters—“What do you want at this hour?”

Daphne blinks.

It is 10 AM.

Not six. Not seven. Not a cruel, ungodly hour.

Just 10 AM.

She is so tired of frat boy time zones.

“I’m looking for Hyunjin,” she says, not in the mood to be nice.

Changbin lets out a low groan, rubbing his face before yelling back into the house—

“WHERE THE HELL IS HYUNJIN?”

A few grumbled voices respond from inside, most of them incomprehensible.

Then, finally—Seungmin’s voice cuts through.

“He’s at the art building doing some stuff.”

Daphne closes her eyes for a brief second.

Great.

She thanks Changbin (who barely acknowledges it before shutting the door in defeat) and turns on her heel.

Daphne walks away from the frat house, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets as she heads toward the shuttle station.

She’s tired, annoyed, and increasingly aware of one horrifying fact:

She feels naked without her phone.

Like—actually exposed. Vulnerable. Practically prehistoric.

How did people survive like this? Just existing? With no way to scroll? No way to check the time without awkwardly turning to a stranger and saying, “Hey, do you know what century we’re in?”

She huffs, rocking on her heels as she waits for the shuttle, her arms crossing.

She is too self-aware to be having a full-blown existential crisis over this.

But also, yeah—she definitely needs to sort out her attachment issues.

Daphne stares off into space, her brain idling in boredom as she waits for the shuttle.

No wonder people in history had so many thoughts. They were just sitting here doing nothing.

Her mind is spiraling into increasingly absurd conclusions when suddenly—

A voice cuts through her thoughts.

“Hey, you were at the party last night, right?”

Daphne blinks and turns her head.

A girl stands beside her—one she has never seen before in her life.

She’s put-together in a way that feels intentional, like she woke up and decided to curate her entire vibe for the day.

Dyed ginger hair, sleek and styled. A chic outfit, maybe too polished for Daphne’s taste.

She smiles, but Daphne knows enough about social interaction to recognize that it’s not just a friendly smile.

There’s something else behind it.

Daphne returns a neutral expression, tilting her head slightly. “Yeah?”

The girl hums, still smiling.

“I saw you there. Thought you were pretty cool. What’s your name?”

…Daphne squints.

Cool?

She was literally just existing.

Standing around. Drinking cherry juice. Having a near-existential crisis before trying to lock herself in a bathroom and accidentally witnessing something scarring.

She doesn’t buy the backhanded compliment for a second.

But she answers anyway. “Daphne.”

The girl nods, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m Camille.”

Daphne waits.

And just like she suspected—the topic shifts.

“I also saw you leaving with Hyunjin.” Camille’s tone is light, but pointed. “Are you guys good friends?”

Daphne doesn’t react immediately, but internally?

She sighs.

Here we go.

Daphne knows exactly where this is going.

Because she’s heard the rumors.

About Hwang Hyunjin’s “fans.”

And yeah—she cringes just thinking about it. But that doesn’t make it any less true.

Some of his admirers are so blindly obsessed with the idea that they could score him, they turn into raging bitches the moment another girl even breathes in his direction.

And the worst part?

They act like he’s some rare artifact, like he belongs to the streets—but only their streets.

Noa once said, “If they could, they’d piss on him to mark their claim.”

Daphne had laughed at the time.

Now?

She’s starting to believe it.

And as Camille stands there, her polished demeanor just a little too controlled, Daphne knows—

She’s dealing with one of them.

Daphne doesn’t know why she even answers.

Maybe it’s habit. Maybe it’s the lingering nerves from standing in front of the frat house like an idiot earlier.

Or maybe—just maybe—it’s because Camille’s stare is annoyingly expectant, like she’s already drawn a conclusion and is just waiting for confirmation.

Either way, the words leave her mouth before she can stop them.

“My best friend is dating one of his friends, and there was an emergency last night, so—”

She stops.

Why the fuck is she explaining herself?

She clears her throat, forcing herself to cut the explanation short.

“I don’t know him that well. And I’m not with him, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Camille lets out a soft, fake laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Then, with a layer of saccharine kindness, she tilts her head.

“Oh, I know he’s not with you.”

Daphne stares.

There it is.

The exact brand of passive-aggressive bullshit she was expecting.

Camille just smiles again, unfazed. “I was just curious. My friend likes him.”

Daphne doesn’t get a chance to respond.

Because at that exact moment, the shuttle finally arrives.

The one heading to West Zone. The one that will take her to the art building.

She doesn’t hesitate.

Without another word, she steps onto the shuttle, letting the doors close behind her—effectively saving herself from whatever conversation Camille was trying to lead her into.

Thank. God.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Daphne, 10:36 am

Daphne steps off the shuttle and into the art major building.

And immediately, she realizes—

This place is different.

Not in the way business buildings feel uptight or STEM departments feel like a battlefield—but in a way that makes it feel like she’s just stepped into a parallel universe.

It’s… messy, but purposeful.

The air smells like paint, wood shavings, and ink. The floors are stained with years of creative chaos—footprints of color marking paths students have taken a hundred times before.

A girl is sitting cross-legged on the floor, charcoal-streaked fingers moving rapidly over a large sketchpad. Two guys near the entrance are arguing intensely over color palettes, one of them holding up a canvas while the other gestures wildly, as if the fate of humanity depends on whether the shade is midnight blue or deep navy.

Further inside, sculptures sit half-finished, like their creators simply walked away and will return whenever inspiration drags them back.

The entire building feels like organized madness.

But she likes it.

It’s like she’s walked into a utopia and a free therapy session at the same time.

Something about the pure expression of it all makes her chest feel lighter—like she could sit down, pick up a brush, and for a second, nothing else would matter.

She actually forgets why she’s here.

Until, of course—reality catches up with her.

Hyunjin.

Her damn phone.

She sighs, rolling her shoulders back.

Alright. Time to find the devil.

Daphne walks the halls, half-expecting Hyunjin to magically appear in front of her.

But after five minutes of wandering aimlessly, she realizes—this building is massive.

And she’s wasting her time.

She stops in front of a large board, scanning the schedules, classroom assignments, and whatever other information art students apparently need.

None of it makes sense.

Half the courses sound like pretentious poetry.

“The Art of Conceptualizing Thought”

“Reimagining Form Through Chaos”

“Emotional Brutalism in Abstract Expressionism”

…What the hell does any of that mean?

She sighs, rubbing her temple.

Should she ask someone?

But—ask what, exactly?

“Excuse me, do you happen to know where the campus fuckboy is currently brooding over his next masterpiece?”

Yeah. No.

She’s about to give up and start roaming again, when—

A conversation catches her attention.

Two girls walk past, dressed in full artsy aesthetic—cool, eclectic, the kind of people who always look like they’re about to be featured in an indie magazine.

And as they pass, one of them whispers—

“God, Hyunjin looks so sexy when he’s sketching.”

Daphne’s detective mode activates.

She follows their movement, tracking where they just came from.

The right hall.

Which means—Hyunjin must be somewhere there.

Bingo.

Daphne turns into the right hall, walking with purpose—but not too much purpose, because she doesn’t want to look like she’s actually searching for someone.

That would be weird.

So, instead, she moves discreetly, casually glancing at the glass doors of each classroom as she passes.

Not peering. Not lurking. Just…investigating.

(Totally normal behavior.)

Most of the rooms are occupied, students scattered around tables, deep in their own artistic worlds. But then—

She spots a door with a sign.

“Free Room.”

Daphne pauses.

It’s open workspace territory, which means anyone could be in there.

And if Hyunjin is sketching, it makes sense that he’d be in an empty, quiet space.

She takes her chance and steps inside.

The first thing she notices is the soft sound of graphite against paper.

And then—she sees him.

Hyunjin is sitting in the far corner, near the window, completely absorbed in whatever he’s sketching.

His back is turned to her, his posture relaxed yet focused, headphones on, blocking out the world.

Daphne stays still for a moment, unintentionally watching.

Her eyes flicker—from the movement of his hands to the curve of his arms, the faint flex of muscle when he presses harder against the paper.

His t-shirt is paint-stained, a soft gray fabric that clings in just the right way.

His hair—messy but intentional—is tied up loosely, a few strands falling over his face.

Daphne gulps.

Okay.

Yeah.

She gets it now.

He was indeed sexy while sketching.

Daphne clears her throat, shifting her weight slightly.

Okay, time to get this over with.

She opens her mouth—but nothing happens.

Because Hyunjin doesn’t hear her.

He’s still fully immersed in his sketch, headphones blocking out everything except whatever world he’s in.

Daphne hesitates.

Then she tries again, slightly louder.

Still, nothing.

She stares.

So now what?

She just…stands here? Like a total creep?

Apparently, yes.

Because that’s exactly what she ends up doing.

Awkwardly waiting behind him, shifting slightly, feeling like an idiot while he continues sketching, completely unaware of her existence.

A solid twenty seconds pass.

Then—she’s had enough.

With a resigned sigh, she reaches forward and taps his shoulder—softly, but firmly enough to pull him out of whatever artistic trance he’s in.

Hyunjin pauses mid-stroke, head tilting slightly.

Then—very slowly—he turns.

His expression is already slightly annoyed—like someone who doesn’t appreciate being interrupted.

But then, the moment his eyes land on her—

His expression shifts.

His lips curl into a smirk, a familiar glint sparking in his gaze.

“Missed me already?”

Daphne inhales deeply.

She is still not used to this level of smugness, this complete disregard for normal social behavior.

So she doesn’t waste time.

“I forgot my phone in your car.”

Straight. To the point. No room for bullshit.

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly.

“You did?”

Daphne stares.

She is smart enough to know that his reaction is completely fake.

He isn’t even trying to seem sincere.

The slight smirk, the deliberate pause—he knows damn well she left her phone in his car.

Daphne resists the urge to roll her eyes.

Instead, she crosses her arms. “Well? Can you give it back? I need it for the day.”

Hyunjin sighs dramatically—like she just asked him to donate a kidney—and turns back to his sketch, completely unbothered.

“You know,” he muses, dragging his pencil across the page, “this generation’s addiction to technology is what’s going to bring humanity to doom.”

Daphne blinks.

Then, flatly—“Okay, Socrates, can I just have my phone back?”

Hyunjin drops his arms and laughs.

Not just a small chuckle. No—he actually laughs, squinting his eyes, head tilting back slightly, his whole body loosening up for a second.

And the worst part?

Daphne finds it cute.

She immediately hates herself for it.

Hyunjin turns back to her, still grinning.

“My car’s near the building,” he says, “but I have to finish this first.”

Daphne crosses her arms. “I have a class.”

Hyunjin shrugs, completely unbothered. “Yeah, me too. That’s why I have to finish this while I’m in the mood.”

Daphne huffs, glancing around the room.

She doesn’t want to wait.

But she also knows there’s no forcing Hyunjin to do anything when he doesn’t want to.

Hyunjin, seeing her hesitation, gestures lazily to the desk next to him.

“You can draw something while waiting.”

Daphne blinks.

“Sir, am I a five-year-old for you to distract?”

Hyunjin doesn’t even look up as he responds.

“It’ll take me ten minutes max, smartass.”

Daphne huffs, crossing her arms. “Who are you calling that?”

She still sits down anyway, resting her elbow on the desk beside him, watching him work.

For a moment, there’s only silence—just the sound of his pencil gliding across paper.

Then, her curiosity wins.

“How are you even sketching with me sitting right here?” She raises a brow. “Doesn’t art take, like… feeling? Solitude? Inspiration?”

Hyunjin finally looks up.

His gaze trails from her face, down to her crossed arms, her posture, then back up again.

Then, with a lazy smirk, he mutters—

“Somehow, I feel very inspired right now. More than before you walked in.”

Daphne stares.

And she absolutely refuses to acknowledge the way her face heats up just a little.

Daphne clears her throat, shifting her focus away from him, away from whatever the hell that last comment was supposed to mean.

She looks around, taking in the atmosphere again.

“This building is far better than mine.”

Hyunjin doesn’t even pause his sketch.

“You can always take the entrance exam and switch,” he says smoothly. “Like I did.”

Daphne snorts. “Yeah, sure. I have the artistic talent of a poorly drawn stick figure.”

Hyunjin shrugs, unfazed. “Journalism suits you anyway.”

Daphne leans back slightly, nodding. “Yeah. I like it.”

For a moment, it’s quiet, just the sound of pencil strokes against paper.

Then—out of nowhere—

“What do you plan to do after graduation?”

Hyunjin doesn’t even look up.

“Dunno. Probably open exhibitions here and there.”

Then, just as casually—“But my main goal is to open a tattoo shop.”

Daphne blinks.

“A tattoo shop?”

Hyunjin finally glances at her, amused. “Why do you sound surprised?”

Daphne tilts her head. “I mean… didn’t you already make a name for yourself? You could open one now if you wanted to. Why go through an entire major for it?”

Hyunjin leans back slightly, tapping his pencil against the desk.

“Because I like doing things the right way. By technique.”

Then, after a beat—“Plus, I’m studying my passion. Thought that was the whole point of college.”

Daphne raises an eyebrow.

Okay… that was actually surprisingly reasonable.

Hyunjin presses his thumb against the paper, smudging something lightly with practiced ease.

Daphne watches, slightly curious.

She can’t see the sketch clearly from this angle, and she’s not about to lean in like some intrigued art enthusiast—but still, she wonders.

What the hell is he even drawing?

Before she can ask, Hyunjin mumbles absently, still focused on his work.

“You’re aiming to be a news writer, huh?”

Daphne blinks.

She wasn’t expecting that.

Because, well… he’s right.

She’s always imagined herself in investigative journalism—uncovering stories, breaking through narratives, diving into real-world issues.

She tilts her head, watching him carefully. “How’d you guess?”

Hyunjin shrugs, still sketching.

“You’re quiet, but you’ve got that sharp, fierce energy. The analyzing type.” He smudges another part of the drawing, voice still casual.

“You also have an interesting way with words.”

Then, without missing a beat—“Perfect match for a keyboard warrior of Earth.”

Daphne deadpans.

“A what?”

Hyunjin smirks, finally looking up. “A journalist.”

Daphne rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t argue.

Hyunjin exhales, stretching his arms above his head, the movement slow and fluid.

Then, with a smooth motion, he turns the sketchpad toward her.

“Okay, ordinary non-artistic person. Give me your feedback. I trust your words.”

Daphne blinks, caught off guard by the sudden request.

Her gaze drops to the paper.

And instantly—she’s drawn in.

The sketch is a silhouette of a man, curled into himself, hugging his own body.

Dark lines coil around him like a storm, chaotic, heavy, but there’s a strange sense of clarity in the chaos.

It isn’t just a drawing.

It’s a feeling.

And the feeling hits her deep.

Daphne stares longer than she means to.

When she finally speaks, her voice is quieter than before. “It’s… different.”

She tilts her head slightly, searching for the right words. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s unique.”

Hyunjin is watching her now—but not in his usual cocky, amused way.

There’s something else in his gaze.

Something searching.

“What do you feel?” he asks, voice low.

Daphne hesitates.

Then—she looks him in the eye.

And tells the truth.

“I feel alone.”

The moment stretches.

Hyunjin holds her stare, the weight of it pressing down like a moment neither of them expected.

Then—just as smoothly as before—he snaps back into himself.

His lips curve into that familiar smirk, and he leans back in his chair.

“Alright. Time to give your phone back.”

Just like that—the moment is gone.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Daphne, 11:01 am

Daphne walks beside Hyunjin, following him through the halls of the art building, feeling like a lost tourist in a foreign land.

She’s out of place here.

The walls are covered in unfinished murals, student sketches taped up like trophies, sculptures standing in random corners like forgotten relics.

It’s chaotic, expressive, alive.

And Daphne?

She just feels like an observer.

People greet Hyunjin as they pass—both guys and girls, but mostly girls.

Some just flash him a quick smile, others muster up a soft, shy “Hey, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin barely reacts.

Just a nod, a glance—nothing more.

Daphne discreetly watches his attitude.

He isn’t particularly kind to people. He isn’t cold, either. Just… detached. Unaffected. Like he doesn’t feel the need to fill in silence or return energy he doesn’t care for.

And it hits her.

She overthinks everything.

If she waved at someone the wrong way, she’d think about it for a week straight. If someone greeted her, she’d feel like she had to match their enthusiasm perfectly.

Meanwhile, Hyunjin?

He just exists.

And people still gravitate toward him.

Daphne doesn’t know if she likes that about him.

But she does know she kind of envies it.

They step out into the parking lot, heading toward his car.

Hyunjin unlocks it with a click, pulling open the back door and reaching inside.

Daphne watches as he grabs her phone from the backseat.

And that’s when it clicks.

She remembers distinctly leaving it in the front seat.

Which means—he realized she left it behind.

And instead of calling Noa, or doing something normal—he just moved it to the backseat and waited.

The realization settles in her mind.

She doesn’t say anything.

She just takes her phone from his hand.

“Thanks.”

Hyunjin leans casually against the car, watching her with that same relaxed posture.

“I can drop you off,” he says. “North Zone’s far from here.”

Daphne tightens her grip on her phone, debating.

She doesn’t want to spend more time with him.

Not because she hates him.

Not because she’s uncomfortable.

She just… doesn’t know why.

“No need,” she says, shaking her head. “Didn’t you have a class, anyway?”

Hyunjin smirks. “Not for two hours.”

Daphne stares.

“But you told me—”

She stops, inhales, then sighs.

“Forget it.”

There’s no point.

“Thanks for the phone.”

A pause.

“Thanks for the ride last night. And for the milkshake.”

Another pause.

“I’m just gonna go.”

Hyunjin doesn’t respond, just watches her as she steps back.

She’s about to leave when—the thought hits her.

“Oh, by the way.” She hesitates. “Do you know a ginger? Camille?”

Hyunjin blinks.

Then—flatly, “Who?”

Daphne snorts. “Well, she likes you. Just so you know.”

Hyunjin stares at her.

Not in shock.

Not in curiosity.

Just… bored, like she just told him the sky is blue.

Like this is the most ordinary, unsurprising thing in the world.

Daphne watches his complete lack of reaction, then shakes her head.

“Yeah, okay. Gonna go now.”

She spins on her heel and leaves.

Because honestly?

She’s had enough of Hwang Hyunjin’s world for one day.

But just as she steps forward—

“Oh, by the way.”

His voice rings out behind her, dripping with amusement.

She pauses mid-step, her shoulders stiffening.

“I added myself to your contacts,” he calls out smugly. “For emergencies.”

Daphne slowly turns around, her expression a mix of confusion and disbelief.

“What?”

Hyunjin leans casually against his car, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

“You know. In case you’re ever deserted at a party again. Or lost. Or—” He tilts his head. “Just in need of… assistance.”

Daphne blinks at him.

Then—deadpan—

“I probably won’t be doing parties again in the future.”

Hyunjin’s smirk doesn’t waver.

Instead, he shrugs, looking at her like he already knows something she doesn’t.

Then, with that infuriating, lazy confidence, he says—

“You say that now.”

And the way he says it?

The way his voice dips, the way his gaze lingers—

It makes her stomach flip.

Daphne doesn’t say anything.

She just turns on her heel again, walking away like she isn’t affected.

Like his words weren’t sitting somewhere in the back of her mind, replaying on a loop.

God.

She was so close to becoming a tragic cliché.

One of those girls who get swept up in the charm of the guy they swore wouldn’t affect them.

Because now—fuck.

She gets the hype.

And she hates it.

[paintstainedpages]

Unravel

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin × Daphne (OC)

Genre: Psychological, Dark Romance, College AU

Themes: Toxic relationships, manipulation, emotional unraveling, self-identity loss, power dynamics

Chapter 6: The Devil’s Detour

>Chapter 5

Daphne, 3:30 pm

Daphne follows Hyunjin reluctantly, arms crossed as she trails a few steps behind him.

She doesn’t trust him—but she also doesn’t think she’ll get murdered tonight.

Hyunjin was a player, a flirt, a reckless asshole, sure. But she hadn’t heard anything about him being a perv or a creep.

So, if nothing else, she could at least assume she’d survive this ride.

With that barely comforting thought, she slides into the passenger seat.

The first thing she notices?

The car is expensive.

Leather seats, sleek dashboard, the kind of vehicle that tells her, without question, that he didn’t buy this with his own money.

He must come from a rich family. That’s for sure.

But despite its luxury, the inside is… messy.

The backseat has sketchbooks strewn across it, a few pages flipped open, exposing messy graphite lines and half-finished figures.

Scattered between them?

Empty energy drink cans, some half-crushed like they’d been thrown there without a second thought.

It doesn’t fit his flawless, effortless image.

And that—for some reason—annoys her.

Hyunjin slides into the driver’s seat, completely unbothered, fingers automatically reaching for the keys.

The engine purrs to life.

So does the playlist.

Soft R&B filters through the speakers, low bass, smooth beats, something almost too intimate for a setting like this.

Daphne raises an eyebrow. Didn’t expect that.

Hyunjin leans back, completely at ease, one hand on the wheel, the other lazily tapping against his thigh in time with the music.

Hyunjin drives like he owns the road, like nothing—not even time itself—can rush him.

Then, casually, he speaks—“So, what’s your deal?”

Daphne raises an eyebrow. “My deal?”

Hyunjin doesn’t glance at her, but his smirk is obvious even from the side.

“Yeah.” He tilts his head slightly. “I’ve never seen you at one of these before. And trust me, I would’ve remembered.”

Daphne exhales, feigning deep thought before answering with mock seriousness.

“Well, you see, I was far too busy missing out on the core college experiences while being a nerd. But don’t worry—I had a change of heart.”

Her voice drips with sarcasm, but the reality?

She had been dragged here.

Forced into this scene by circumstance, by her friends, by the ridiculous notion that she had to prove she could have fun.

Hyunjin hums, clearly entertained.

Finally, he turns his head toward her, slow and deliberate.

And then—he smiles.

The kind of smile that feels like a warning wrapped in something deceptively inviting.

The road ahead is empty, the streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement.

Daphne leans slightly against the window, watching the familiar route toward campus.

Until—Hyunjin turns.

A street she doesn’t recognize. A direction that is definitely not leading to her dorm.

Her brows furrow immediately. “This isn’t the way.”

Hyunjin, still completely relaxed, doesn’t even look at her.

“Relax.” He drums his fingers against the steering wheel, eyes on the road. “Ever had a midnight snack that isn’t shitty campus McDonald’s?”

Daphne blinks.

Excuse me?

He says it so normally, so casually, like this is a completely logical next step after everything.

Daphne stares at him, baffled. “Are you seriously taking a detour right now?”

Hyunjin shrugs. “I’m hungry.”

“Then go eat.”

“I don’t like eating alone.”

Daphne lets out a slow, incredulous exhale.

The audacity.

She half-laughs, half-scoffs, still trying to process this entire situation.

“Maybe I have things to do back at my dorm.”

Hyunjin finally turns his head toward her, an eyebrow raised.

“Do you?”

Daphne opens her mouth, then closes it.

…She doesn’t.

But that’s not the point.

She crosses her arms, still half-annoyed, half-unsure. “You could’ve just dropped me off first.”

Hyunjin smirks, already turning down another road. “It’s fifteen minutes max. Just a detour.”

Daphne exhales, pressing her fingers against her temple.

What the hell is even happening right now?

The city lights start to fade as the car moves further from campus, the roads becoming quieter, emptier.

Hyunjin, completely unbothered, taps his fingers against the wheel in rhythm with the smooth R&B track still playing.

Every now and then, he mumbles the lyrics under his breath, his voice low, effortless, like this is just another night for him.

Daphne, on the other hand?

She’s starting to reevaluate her earlier confidence about not getting murdered tonight.

And then—she realizes something.

Her brows furrow. “…This isn’t going toward the city.”

Hyunjin hums absentmindedly. “Nope.”

Daphne shifts slightly in her seat, arms crossing over her chest.

“Just checking—you’re not taking the road toward the woods, right? Because I’m very close to thinking you’re a serial killer and I’m your stupid victim.”

Finally, Hyunjin turns his head, amusement flickering in his dark eyes.

Then—he grins.

“What gave it away?”

Daphne stares.

Hyunjin chuckles, shaking his head, one hand casually adjusting the gear shift.

“Relax, journalist. I’d be a way better liar if I were a serial killer.”

Daphne doesn’t breathe a word.

Because, honestly?

That’s not comforting at all.

Daphne mumbles something under her breath, something about questionable life choices and how she really should’ve just gone home.

Hyunjin, still completely relaxed, flicks on the turn signal, the glow of the streetlights catching against his sharp profile.

“Relax,” he drawls, half-amused, half-lazy. “I’m just driving to a diner.”

Daphne raises an eyebrow.

“At midnight?”

Hyunjin nods, unbothered.

“They make the best kind of burgers.”

Daphne exhales slowly, pressing her fingers against her temple.

Great. So she’s not getting murdered. Just being force-fed a burger at an ungodly hour by a guy she barely knows.

The car rolls into a parking lot, the hum of the engine fading as bright neon lights reflect off the windshield.

Daphne blinks, caught off guard.

The diner sits in the middle of nowhere, tucked just before the tree line, its retro aesthetic glowing under the night sky—checkered floors visible through the windows, a flickering “24-Hour Diner” sign buzzing against the silence of the woods.

She’s never seen this place before.

And she loves themed places.

But instead of showing interest, she crosses her arms and stays seated.

“I’ll wait in the car.”

Hyunjin glances at her, then back at the diner, before turning toward her fully—mischief flickering behind his expression.

“I like to sit and eat.”

Daphne gives him a look. “You told me you’d get a drive-in.”

Hyunjin smirks. “I never said that.”

Daphne exhales sharply, shaking her head. “You insinuated it.”

Hyunjin tilts his head slightly, smirk deepening. “You can’t possibly know that.”

Daphne clenches her jaw, doesn’t move.

She stays seated, arms crossed, refusing to give him the satisfaction of following along with whatever stupid idea this is.

But Hyunjin?

He’s already out of the car.

And before she can react, he swings her door open—

—and bows.

An actual, dramatic, Regency-era gentleman bow.

One hand behind his back, the other gesturing toward the diner, as if escorting her to a ballroom instead of a roadside burger joint.

Daphne stares.

Then she scoffs, laughing before she can stop herself.

But immediately after, she smooths her expression into a poker face, clearing her throat.

“You said fifteen minutes.”

Hyunjin straightens, completely unfazed.

His smirk is back. “I’m a fast eater.”

Daphne rolls her eyes, but she gets out of the car.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The diner is nearly empty at this hour—just a couple of late-night stragglers and the distant hum of an old jukebox playing something soft, something from another time.

Daphne sits across from Hyunjin in a red vinyl booth, arms folded as she slowly sips her milkshake, pretending she isn’t secretly enjoying it.

Hyunjin, on the other hand, is completely at ease.

He takes a bite of his burger, washes it down with a sip of Coke, and then lazily glances at her.

“You’re a real social one.”

Daphne raises an eyebrow over the rim of her cup. “I don’t know you that well.”

Hyunjin smirks. “Well, you’re in the middle of the woods, sitting in a diner with me.”

Daphne shrugs. “Because of your schemes.”

Hyunjin laughs, tapping his fingers against his Coke glass.

“I like the way you use words.”

Daphne doesn’t reply.

She just sips her milkshake.

Because that felt like a compliment.

Hyunjin takes another bite of his burger, chewing slowly, eyes flicking up to her with something knowing.

Then, after swallowing, he leans back slightly, tapping his fingers against his Coke glass.

“Okay, I know what you’re thinking.”

Daphne doesn’t even hesitate.

“Enlighten me, please.”

Hyunjin smirks, not missing a beat.

“You think I’ll try and get into your pants.”

Daphne stops sipping her milkshake.

She just looks at him, processing his words for a long, steady moment.

Then, she sets the cup down, exhales, and deadpans—

“Yeah. You’re right. I do think that.”

Hyunjin’s grin stretches wider, like he’s genuinely enjoying this.

He nods once, as if in approval. “Appreciate the honesty.”

Then, casually, he adds—

“But you’re wrong.”

Daphne raises an eyebrow.

Hyunjin lifts his drink, takes a slow sip, and says—

“I never mingle with those I share friends with. Classic amateur move.”

Daphne tilts her head slightly, narrowing her eyes. “Felix and I are not exactly friends.”

Hyunjin smirks, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on the table.

“Oh, so you want to fuck me.”

Daphne nearly chokes on her milkshake.

“What? No! I just—”

Hyunjin lifts a hand, cutting her off effortlessly.

“Hey. Just teasing.” His smirk doesn’t waver. “But you know what I mean. You’re Noa’s friend, and Noa is Felix’s girl. Which means whatever I do, Noa will spank Felix’s ass, and in return, Felix will spank mine.”

Daphne stares at him.

Then, slowly, she sets her cup down.

“A very… weird way to put it.”

Hyunjin grins, taking another sip of his Coke. “I like to keep things visual.”

Daphne stares at her milkshake, stirring the straw absentmindedly.

“Yeah, okay. I get it. Thanks, I guess?”

Hyunjin hums, completely unfazed.

“But you are hot.”

Daphne blinks.

He takes another sip of his Coke, smirking over the rim. “Don’t think I don’t think that. I’m just following protocol.”

Daphne presses her lips together.

Then, deadpan—“How refreshing.”

Hyunjin chuckles, stretching out slightly, fingers tapping against the table.

There’s a brief pause, something lighter settling between them for a moment.

Then—he tilts his head slightly, eyes flicking to her with something vaguely curious.

“So… why journalism?”

Daphne exhales, leaning back slightly, fingers still absently stirring her milkshake.

“I’ve wanted it since I was a kid,” she says, her tone matter-of-fact but not overly personal. “I like words. I like stories. And, I guess, I like knowing things other people don’t.”

Hyunjin watches her, expression unreadable.

She shrugs. “There’s something about capturing the truth, you know? Making people care about things they wouldn’t otherwise. Journalism does that.”

Hyunjin hums, considering that. Then, with a lazy tilt of his head, he asks—

“And do you always care about the truth?”

Daphne raises an eyebrow. “What kind of question is that?”

Hyunjin smirks, grabbing another fry. “A good one.”

Daphne huffs. “Yeah. I care about the truth.”

Hyunjin chews thoughtfully, then shrugs. “I don’t.”

Daphne blinks. “That’s… alarming.”

Hyunjin grins, sipping his Coke. “Not really. People think truth is some grand thing, but it’s just perspective. Whoever controls the story controls the truth.”

Daphne frowns. “That’s called manipulation.”

Hyunjin shrugs. “Or just understanding the game.”

Daphne just stares at him.

Hyunjin takes another bite of his burger, completely unbothered.

Daphne feels the need to pivot.

The whole “truth is just perspective” conversation is already grating her nerves, and she has no interest in debating philosophy.

So, instead, her gaze drifts—down his arms, to the ink that snakes across his skin.

“Your tattoos are interesting,” she says, tilting her head slightly. “Did you design them?”

Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate. “All of them.”

Daphne raises an eyebrow. She hadn’t expected that.

“Seriously?”

He smirks, flexing his fingers slightly, letting the light catch the edges of his designs.

“Seriously.”

Daphne leans in slightly, eyes scanning the ink, her curiosity outweighing her reluctance to keep the conversation going.

He lifts his arm slightly, tapping the inside of his wrist.

“Time isn’t real.”

Daphne snorts. “Oh, great. You’re one of those.”

Hyunjin laughs, shaking his head. “No. I just think it’s funny how everyone’s so obsessed with it. Time moves differently depending on what you’re doing, who you’re with. So, in a way, it’s flexible. But we pretend it’s not.”

Daphne exhales, unimpressed. “Sounds like a convoluted way of saying you’re bad with deadlines.”

Hyunjin grins. “That too.”

He shifts his arm, showing her another one. A pair of wings, one broken.

“This one’s about movement. Or maybe freedom.”

Daphne frowns. “Why is one broken?”

Hyunjin shrugs. “Because not everyone gets to fly.”

Daphne stares at him for a moment, unsure if he’s joking.

And then, he turns slightly, showing her the side of his ribcage, just under the hem of his shirt. A crescent moon with an unfinished eye in the center.

Daphne tilts her head. “That one’s weird.”

Hyunjin smirks. “Good.”

Daphne waits. “Are you gonna explain it?”

He just shrugs. “Some things don’t need explanations.”

Daphne exhales, leaning back. “That’s such an art major answer.”

Hyunjin grins. “Gotta stay on brand.”

Daphne doesn’t say it out loud, but she didn’t expect to be interested.

Hyunjin finishes the last bite of his burger, wipes his fingers off on a napkin with zero urgency, then stands up—checking his phone as if confirming something.

Then, with a smirk, he mutters—

“Fifteen minutes.”

Daphne lets out a slow, exhausted exhale, already rolling her eyes.

“Except for waiting, the burger, paying…”

Hyunjin shrugs, completely unbothered.

“Time is flexible, remember?”

Daphne glares. “That was about perception, not an excuse to lie.”

Hyunjin grins.

“Same thing.”

Daphne huffs, pushing herself up.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The ride back is quieter, the hum of the car filling the space between them.

Daphne is exhausted, arms folded as she watches the familiar streets pass by.

Finally, Hyunjin slows down, the dorm buildings coming into view.

He exhales, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “Been a while since I came around these areas.”

Daphne scoffs, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Welcome to the peasant land of college girls.”

Hyunjin smirks, gaze flicking to her for a brief second.

“My favorite kind of land.”

Daphne exhales, shaking her head as she unbuckles her seatbelt. “You are such an asshole.”

Hyunjin smirks, tapping his fingers against the wheel. “What happened to the ‘I don’t know you well’?”

Daphne scoffs. “Asshole is a superficial impression. Doesn’t take much depth to detect one.”

Hyunjin tilts his head slightly, mock-offended. “Harsh. You sure you’re not a philosophy major?”

Daphne hums, pretending to think. “If I were, I’d say something deep like ‘asshole is a construct’—but no. You’re just a regular one.”

Hyunjin grins. “Thank you. I take my craft seriously.”

Daphne rolls her eyes and reaches for the door handle, but before she pushes it open, Hyunjin adds—“See you around, journalist.”

Daphne pauses.

Then, with a pointed look, she corrects, “Daphne.”

Hyunjin leans back, still smirking. “I know.”

Daphne doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a response.

She just gets out of the car, shuts the door, and walks away—without looking back.

Daphne doesn’t turn around, but she knows he’s still there.

She can feel it—the weight of his car idling behind her, the unspoken presence lingering like a shadow as she enters the code to her dorm building.

She steps inside, letting the door swing shut behind her, the lock clicking into place.

But still… she waits a beat longer than necessary before moving.

Because despite the easy smirks, the lazy confidence, the way he played nice when he wanted to—

She knew there wasn’t a gentleman buried underneath it all.

(She didn’t need a reminder—not after the bathroom incident.)

And the whole “friend protocol” speech?

Yeah. She wasn’t buying it.

But still—the part that unsettled her most wasn’t him.

It was the fact that—despite everything—she didn’t hate the time she spent.

Daphne finally pulls herself away from the entrance, shaking off the last remnants of whatever that night had been.

She walks through the hallway, the soft hum of dorm life still lingering—low voices behind doors, the faint sound of a shower running, a late-night playlist playing from someone’s speaker.

She reaches her flat, punches in the keycode, and steps inside—

Only to be met with a very distressed Noa.

Her eyes widen the moment Daphne steps in. Then, with dramatic relief, she throws up her hands.

“Thank God! I thought you were seduced by the devil!”

Daphne blinks, confused. “Devil?”

Noa glares. “Hwang Hyunjin!”

Daphne hesitates for half a second.

Then, keeping her face as neutral as possible, she shrugs. “Oh. Yeah, no. He just dropped me off.”

(Leaving out the whole midnight diner, forced burger detour situation entirely.)

Noa squints, suspicious but temporarily satisfied.

Then, in full scolding-mother mode, she points at Daphne. “Why did you ignore my texts after the call?! I thought that fucker drove the car to a hill.”

Daphne rolls her eyes, dismissing the concern. “I’m not that late—”

Her voice trails off as she instinctively reaches for her phone.

Her hand hits nothing.

Her pockets are empty.

Her bag? No phone.

Then it hits her.

She left her phone in Hyunjin’s car.

Daphne stiffens.

Noa notices immediately. “What?”

Daphne exhales slowly.

“…Nothing.”

Noa sighs deeply, running a hand over her face as she turns toward her bed.

“This party was a disastrous mistake.”

She grabs her blanket, already mentally checking out of the night. But just as she’s about to lay down, something flickers in her expression.

She turns back, suspicious.

“Did Hyunjin try to hit on you?”

Daphne barely has time to react before Noa scoffs to herself.

“Of course he did. Who am I kidding?”

Daphne exhales, arms crossed. “He didn’t.”

Noa narrows her eyes, clearly not buying it. But she’s too exhausted to argue, so she just huffs and gets into bed.

Within minutes, her breathing evens out.

Daphne, however?

She stays exactly where she is.

Still standing.

Still thinking.

Because despite everything—despite knowing exactly what kind of guy he is—

She still doesn’t know what to make of tonight.

And that?

That’s what keeps her awake.

[paintstainedpages]

Unravel

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin × Daphne (OC)

Genre: Psychological, Dark Romance, College AU

Themes: Toxic relationships, manipulation, emotional unraveling, self-identity loss, power dynamics

Chapter 5: Into The Lion’s Den

>Chapter 4

Daphne, 11:00 pm

The air outside is crisp, laced with autumn’s edge, but it barely matters. The heat of the party spills out onto the front lawn, where clusters of people drink, smoke, and laugh too loudly, their conversations morphing into the pulse of the night.

The frat house looms ahead, its old, towering structure standing half-lit and alive, the deep bass of music vibrating through the walls.

As Daphne and the others pass through the garden, she takes in the scene—strands of dim fairy lights draped lazily across the hedges, cigarette smoke curling in the air, someone playing beer pong on a makeshift table near the porch. It’s lively, yes, but not in the way she expected.

It isn’t chaotic.

It’s intentional—reckless, but in control.

Felix leads the way, Noa by his side, their fingers brushing but not quite laced together. Ethan and Maya disappear almost instantly, drawn to the energy like they were made for it.

Daphne exhales, adjusting the strap of her bag.

She can handle this.

Then—Liv tenses beside her.

Daphne barely has time to turn before Liv grabs onto her arm, holding tight.

“What—?”

“Ex.”

One word. Flat. Unbothered, but not really.

Daphne follows her gaze across the garden and spots him—Liv’s ex-boyfriend, his hands roaming over some girl against a tree, their lips locked like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

Ah.

Liv’s face doesn’t change. She doesn’t say anything.

She just sticks close to Daphne.

Daphne doesn’t push.

They step into the house, passing through the wide-open doors into something warmer, denser, fuller.

Inside, the air thickens—not just from the body heat and the alcohol but from the weight of presence.

Laughter and conversation spill from every room, but there’s a certain hierarchy to it. The house, as wild as it is, still has an order, and the people who move through it know exactly where they belong.

Daphne is still taking it in when Han crashes into them.

Not literally—but almost.

Wild, drunk, and grinning like he’s made of electricity, Han slings an arm around Felix’s shoulder, already pulling.

“There he is!” Han yells, slurring just slightly. “Dude, we need you—like, right now.”

Felix doesn’t budge.

“No, you don’t,” he says, glancing at Noa, like he’s already halfway into an apology.

Han groans, exaggerated and dramatic. “Come on, man. It’s an emergency.”

Felix exhales. He knows Han. He knows this house. He knows once they pull you into something, you’re stuck until it’s over.

His grip on Noa’s waist tightens.

“I can stay—”

Noa rolls her eyes, already cutting him off.

“Felix,” she says, exasperated. “Go. Handle it.”

He hesitates, looking between her and Han.

Noa tilts her head. “I’ll be fine. I have the girls. Go babysit your idiot friends.”

Felix grits his teeth, but he lets go.

Before disappearing into the house, he leans in, lowers his voice so only Noa hears.

“I’ll find you later.”

She nods, already pulling out her phone, disinterested. “Yeah, yeah.”

And just like that—Felix is gone, swallowed into the energy of the house.

Daphne, Noa, and Liv are left standing at the edge of the room, watching everything unfold.

Liv takes a slow breath, shaking off whatever was clinging to her from earlier. “Well.”

Noa folds her arms, surveying the party like she’s already done with it.

Daphne?

She expected worse.

She expected gross, sticky floors and loud, obnoxious guys and overwhelming, suffocating energy.

But this?

It’s not bad.

Not her scene, but not unbearable.

There’s something almost… intriguing about it.

She just doesn’t know why yet.

The kitchen offers a slight reprieve from the madness, though the music still thrums faintly through the walls, a reminder that the chaos is just outside.

Daphne leans against the counter, sipping on her cherry juice, while Noa and Liv fix their drinks. The conversation is easy, warm—the kind that makes her forget, just for a moment, that they’re standing in the middle of the frat house, surrounded by people who thrive on recklessness.

Then—

“Noa?”

They turn.

Jeongin.

He stands just a few feet away, drink in hand, looking surprised but not unwelcome. His eyes, still sharp despite the alcohol, flicker over the group before landing on Noa with an amused tilt to his lips.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Noa, who has always treated Jeongin like a younger brother, gives him a small, easy smile.

“Yeah, well. We wanted a scenery change.”

Jeongin huffs a quiet laugh, nodding like that makes sense.

He glances at Daphne and Liv, taking them in with mild curiosity but nothing more.

“Liv, Daphne.” Noa gestures between them. “Jeongin.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jeongin says simply.

Daphne just nods, taking in his presence. There’s something about him that feels different from the others—less sharp, less edged, as if he’s still figuring out his place here.

Maybe that’s why Noa doesn’t mind him.

But the moment is cut short.

Because just as Jeongin shifts to take another sip of his drink—

A hand grabs the back of his neck.

Daphne barely processes it before Jeongin’s head jerks forward, then back, as an arm hooks lazily around him.

Christopher Bang.

His grip is easy but firm, his smirk casual but laced with something else.

“What’s this?” Chris muses, his gaze flicking to Noa with slow amusement. “Didn’t think you liked our house, sweetheart.”

She exhales sharply through her nose, rolling her eyes before answering, voice dry and unimpressed.

“Yeah, well. I had a weak moment. Thought maybe the misogyny levels dropped since last time.”

Chris grins, releasing Jeongin with a small shove. “Ouch.”

Jeongin, unbothered, simply readjusts his shirt before reaching for his drink again.

Chris, however, doesn’t let the moment die.

He turns his attention—slowly, deliberately—to Daphne and Liv, letting his gaze drag over them like he’s assessing something far more interesting.

“And you two?” His voice dips, something lazy and knowing slipping into it. “Just here for the view?”

Liv, unfazed, takes a sip of her drink. “Obviously.”

Daphne raises an eyebrow. “Should we have brought popcorn?”

Chris laughs, a low, approving sound.

“Depends,” he muses, leaning slightly against the counter, his presence too casual, too at home in this space. “Would you have enjoyed the show?”

Daphne doesn’t look away.

Liv does nothing but smirk.

Noa, beside them, just sighs. “God, you’re unbearable.”

Chris’s grin widens. “And yet.”

And just like that—like an alarm going off—

Maya and Ethan reappear.

Ethan, half-dancing, half-spilling his drink, flops against Daphne’s side with zero warning.

“I live!” he declares, dramatically draping himself over her shoulder.

Daphne stumbles slightly, steadying him with familiar ease. “Jesus, Ethan.”

But she barely gets the words out before—

Maya locks eyes with Chris.

Her expression shifts instantly—sharp, focused, predatory.

She’s been waiting for this.

Maya’s demeanor shifts instantly—her usual chaotic energy turning into something more deliberate, more calculated.

She takes a small step forward, angling herself just enough so that Chris’s attention lands squarely on her.

“So,” she hums, tilting her head, “you always this charming, or is it just the alcohol?”

Chris’s smirk doesn’t falter—if anything, it deepens.

He leans slightly closer, amusement flickering across his expression. “You tell me.”

Daphne watches the exchange, feeling the shift in energy, the unspoken pull of the game unfolding in front of her.

And then—Liv sees it.

She had been fine with Maya’s reckless scheming before—found it funny, even.

But seeing it in real time?

Watching Maya deliberately step into something she absolutely shouldn’t?

Yeah, this is a bad idea.

A very bad idea.

Without missing a beat, Liv straightens, grabbing Maya’s arm.

“I need to pee.”

Maya barely blinks. “Go, then.”

Liv tightens her grip. “No. You have to come with me.”

Maya squints at her. “Why—”

Liv doesn’t give her the chance to argue.

She yanks her away.

Maya yelps, stumbling slightly, but Liv doesn’t stop, dragging her toward the hallway with all the urgency of someone trying to escape a crime scene.

Chris, still lounging against the counter, lifts an eyebrow, watching them go.

“Wait—where are you going?”

He pushes off the counter, following them with mild curiosity, his smirk lingering.

The moment Chris, Maya, and Liv disappear, the energy shifts.

What was once a room buzzing with tension and amusement is now just… silent.

Daphne, Noa, Ethan, and Jeongin stand there, the absence of conversation suddenly very loud.

Then—

“I’m gonna throw up.”

Ethan’s announcement drops like a bomb, shattering the silence in an instant.

Daphne’s instincts kick in immediately—her eyes darting around the room, scanning for the closest exit.

They need to get him out before this turns into a disaster.

But—of course—Noa has a much better idea.

A devilish smirk curls onto her lips. She doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t even pretend to consider another option.

“Oh, we’re taking him to Chris’ room bathroom.”

Jeongin’s eyes widen in horror.

“No. No, no, no, absolutely not—”

Noa grabs Ethan by the arm and starts moving.

Jeongin stumbles after them, panicked.

“Noa, I’m serious, this is a bad idea—”

Noa doesn’t even look back.

She glances at Daphne instead, expression casual, unaffected.

“Stay here. We’ll be back.”

And just like that—she’s gone, pulling Ethan with her.

Jeongin, still pleading, still horrified, has no choice but to follow.

Daphne watches them disappear into the crowd.

And for the first time all night—

She is completely alone.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Thirty minutes.

That’s how long it’s been since Noa disappeared with Ethan, since Maya ran off with Liv (and Chris), since Felix got dragged away.

That’s how long Daphne has been alone in a house full of people, wandering through a place she doesn’t belong in, pretending she has somewhere to be when, really, she’s just drinking her cherry juice and trying not to look as miserable as she feels.

She could leave.

The thought has been nagging at the back of her mind for the last fifteen minutes. Just go. Text Noa. Make up an excuse.

But she doesn’t.

Because she doesn’t want to be that person—the one who kills the night early, the one who ruins the fun for everyone else.

So she stays.

She moves through the rooms like a ghost, sipping at her drink, nodding at strangers like she knows what she’s doing.

And when that gets exhausting, she gives up.

Screw it.

She’ll hide in a bathroom until one of her friends calls her to leave.

(It’s pathetic, but at least she won’t have to force conversation with anyone.)

The upstairs hallway is quieter, away from the worst of the party.

She walks past a few closed doors, scanning for a bathroom, until finally, she finds one near the end of the hall.

She knocks three times.

No answer.

She exhales, grateful to finally disappear for a while.

She twists the knob.

She pushes the door open.

And—

She freezes.

Because inside—

Against the counter—

A girl, blonde, knees on the tiled floor.

A guy, leaning back against the sink, head tipped slightly downward, watching her through lidded eyes, bored and unaffected.

Daphne recognizes him instantly.

Hwang Hyunjin.

The same guy plastered all over social media, the same one with a reputation that precedes him like a warning label.

And he doesn’t even look surprised.

His gaze drags up to her lazily, unreadable, like he expected her to walk in.

The girl?

Barely notices.

Daphne should slam the door shut.

She should run.

But for some reason—

She doesn’t move.

Daphne’s breath catches in her throat.

Her brain short-circuits for a second, refusing to fully process what she just walked into.

Then—

She moves.

“M—my bad,” she mutters, voice barely above a whisper, before she shuts the door so fast she nearly slams it.

Her heart is pounding as she turns away, heat creeping up her neck—not from embarrassment, but from annoyance.

Because, seriously?

Who the hell leaves the door unlocked during something like that?

She walks down the hall, faster than necessary, shaking it off, trying to pretend she didn’t just witness that.

But then—

Footsteps.

Behind her.

A slow, unhurried pace, like someone who isn’t in a rush to catch up, just closing the distance at his own leisure.

She doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is.

Hyunjin.

She hears the quiet slide of a belt being pulled through its loops, the soft click of a buckle snapping into place.

Daphne keeps walking.

But—so does he.

Daphne keeps walking, determined to ignore the footsteps trailing behind her.

But then—

A voice. Low, lazy, amused.

“Thanks for the save.”

She scoffs, stopping in her tracks as irritation flares up in her chest.

She turns to him, brows furrowed. “What?”

Hyunjin meets her gaze with ease, still fastening his belt, his expression unbothered, detached—like this is just another casual interaction in his night.

Like she’s just another passing moment.

Daphne narrows her eyes, still trying to process the audacity of this entire situation.

Hyunjin watches her, completely at ease, his posture loose, belt now fastened, hands sliding into his pockets like this is the most casual thing in the world.

Then, with a slight smirk, he says—

“You’re Noa’s roommate, right? Saw you on her Insta.”

Daphne nods, offering nothing more.

But as Hyunjin stands there, so completely unfazed, she takes a moment to study him.

His style is distinct—all blacks and silvers, layered chains resting against smooth skin, artistic tattoos peeking from beneath his sleeves, each one deliberate, intricate, saying something even if she doesn’t know what.

She gets it now.

Why people talk about him, why girls gravitate toward him like he’s some magnetic force.

But the thing is…

All she feels is tension.

Not attraction, not intrigue—just an unnamed pressure in the back of her mind, like a warning.

Like her instincts are telling her to run.

She doesn’t want to linger in his orbit for too long.

So, instead, she clears her throat. “Have you seen Noa?”

Hyunjin tilts his head slightly, considering the question before replying, voice light, casual—like he isn’t even thinking about it.

“Probably making out with Felix in a corner somewhere. Like lovebirds.”

Daphne exhales, shaking her head. “Figures.”

Daphne exhales, deciding that this conversation has run its course.

She doesn’t want to be here.

Doesn’t want to stand in this hallway, trading words with someone who makes her feel like she’s stepping too close to something she shouldn’t.

So she straightens, nods once, and says, “Anyways. Nice meeting you. Gotta go.”

She turns.

But before she can take a step, his voice reaches her again—low, amused, edged with something unreadable.

“But we didn’t meet. Not exactly.”

Daphne pauses.

Hyunjin smirks, tilting his head slightly. “You didn’t ask my name.”

Daphne raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Well… I know your name. Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin’s smirk lingers, but it softens into something closer to amusement.

“Great,” he muses, shifting his weight. “We got the basics. What’s your major?”

She hesitates for a fraction of a second—not because it’s a secret, just because she hadn’t expected the conversation to continue.

Still, she answers.

“Journalism.”

Hyunjin hums, as if considering that. “Figures. You’ve got that whole sharp, calculating thing going on.”

Not waiting for her to ask, he adds, “Art major.”

She tilts her head slightly, something tugging at the back of her memory. Art?

She could’ve sworn she’d heard his name in a different context before.

Then it clicks.

“Didn’t you win one of those dance competitions? Like, the big intercollegiate one?”

Hyunjin’s expression doesn’t shift much, but something flickers across his gaze—brief, unreadable.

“Switched majors,” he says easily. “Got bored.”

Daphne watches him.

There’s more to it.

But she doesn’t ask.

And he doesn’t offer.

Daphne nods once, not offering anything more.

Her gaze flickers around the hall, subtly signaling her imminent exit.

But, of course—Hyunjin doesn’t let her leave that easily.

“You know…” his voice is slow, easy, tinged with that same cocky amusement as before.

Daphne pauses.

“I get the feeling you don’t like me that much,” he muses, watching her reaction. “Which is weird, considering this is the first time I’m talking to you. But hey—what do I know?”

A smirk ghosts the corner of his lips, as if he finds her indifference more intriguing than anything else.

Daphne blinks once.

Then—she exhales through her nose.

Daphne doesn’t flinch.

She tilts her head slightly, expression unreadable, before saying, “Well, my first impression was seeing you in a bathroom getting a blowjob from a girl, then thanking me for interrupting. Not a very comfortable interaction.”

The words land bluntly, unforgiving, cutting through the playful tension like a blade.

Hyunjin stares at her.

For a second, just a second, there’s a flicker of something— surprise, amusement, something darker she can’t quite name.

Then—

His smirk widens.

“Huh.”

A short, amused exhale.

“Fair enough.”

Daphne feels the vibration against her palm and finally looks down at her phone.

She glances down, eyes flicking over the group chat—a flood of messages arriving all at once. Stupid connection.

[NOA]: Took Ethan back to his dorm. He fucking fainted. Felix helped.

[LIV]: Maya twisted her ankle while throwing herself at Chris. Taking her to the ER.

[NOA]: I’m assuming Daphne found you guys?

[LIV]: Wait, what? She’s with you, right??

[NOA]: …Oh, fuck.

Daphne stares at the screen.

The connection had delayed everything.

Noa must have assumed Daphne had found Maya and Liv at the party, completely unaware they had left for the ER.

Liv, on the other hand, assumed Daphne was with Noa, Ethan and Felix.

No one realized they had left her behind.

Daphne exhales slowly, pressing her fingers against her temple.

Before she can even start typing, another notification flashes on the screen.

Incoming Call: Noa.

She picks up, already moving toward the exit. “Noa, I’m—”

Except—it’s not Noa.

“Daphne?”

Felix’s voice comes through instead, slightly breathless. “You good? I can swing back and drop you off.”

“No, actually—”

Before she can even finish—

Hyunjin snatches the phone from her hand.

It happens so fast, so smoothly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Daphne freezes.

Hyunjin brings the phone to his ear, his expression unreadable, his posture unbothered, like he owns the moment.

Then, in a voice calm, slow, and deeply suspicious, he says—

“Yo, Lix.”

Daphne stares at him.

Felix, on the other end, clearly confused, responds—

“…Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin exhales like this is all so exhausting, before saying, “Yeah, yeah. Listen—I’ll drop her off.”

Daphne’s jaw tightens. “Excuse me?”

From the other end of the line, Noa’s voice suddenly cuts in.

“No, the hell you won’t.”

Daphne nods aggressively to the phone, agreeing. “Exactly. There is no need.”

Hyunjin, completely ignoring her, smirks slightly before saying into the receiver—

“Assure your girlfriend that I am sober as—” he pauses for effect, like he’s genuinely considering a comparison, “—as fuck, and will not do dirty business.”

Noa immediately protests something incoherent.

But Hyunjin?

He hangs up.

Daphne stares at him, stunned.

He just tosses her phone back, his head tilting slightly as he says—

“Come on.”

Daphne catches her phone, grip tightening. “There is no need.”

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his dark eyes.

“I won’t bite.”

Daphne exhales sharply.

She doesn’t trust him.

And yet—he’s waiting.

Hyunjin watches her, amusement flickering in his gaze. Then, to her absolute disbelief, he laughs.

A genuine, lighthearted laugh, like this is all so amusing to him.

Then, he shakes his head, sighing dramatically.

“Look,” he says, “the way to the dorm is probably packed with drunken idiots.” He tilts his head slightly, eyes gleaming. “And as a gentleman, I’m not exactly comfortable letting a lady go alone.”

The irony.

Daphne stares at him.

Flat. Unimpressed.

But the thing is—he’s not wrong.

She’s never gone back to the dorm this late. And the idea of walking through campus alone, surrounded by drunk strangers?

Not great.

She exhales, considering it.

And Hyunjin knows.

He sees the hesitation—that tiny moment of doubt.

And just like that, he knows he’s won.

He doesn’t wait for an answer.

He’s already on the move.

[paintstainedpages]

Unravel

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin × fem!OC (Daphne)

Genre: Psychological, Dark Romance, College AU

Themes: Toxic relationships, manipulation, emotional unraveling

Chapter 4: The Calm Before The Chaos

>Chapter 3

Daphne, 9:12 am

Daphne stares at her phone, thumb hovering over the screen before she finally exhales and hits call.

The line rings twice before a voice—clipped, even-toned—answers.

“Daphne.”

She shifts her weight, balancing her phone between her shoulder and ear as she rummages through her closet. “Hey, Mom.”

“I’m about to go into surgery, but let’s talk for ten minutes.”

Straight to the point. No greetings, no warmth.

Daphne pulls out a sweater, then second-guesses herself, shoving it back onto the rack. “Just wanted to check in. It’s been a while.”

Another pause. “Yes, I suppose it has.” A faint rustling, like papers being shuffled. “How are classes?”

Not how are you? Not how’s school? Just straight into academics.

Daphne exhales, already anticipating where this will go. “They’re good. I had my big presentation yesterday.”

“Oh?” Her mother’s voice doesn’t rise in excitement or pride—just mild interest, like a doctor reading through a patient’s chart. “And?”

“It went well,” Daphne says, pushing down the strange tightness in her chest. “Langley was impressed.”

Her mother hums, unimpressed herself. “Well, you should be at the top of your class.” A beat. “If you insist on a major like journalism, at the very least, you need to be the best.”

Daphne clenches her jaw, pushing past the sting in her chest. It’s always the same—her mother’s veiled disapproval, the constant reminder that journalism isn’t real like medicine, that words will never hold as much weight as a scalpel.

“You should send me your slides. I’d like to see them.”

Daphne hesitates, but only for a second. “Sure.”

Her mother has no real interest in journalism, but she’ll skim through it anyway, likely picking apart minor details—Why didn’t you use a stronger headline? This graph is slightly off-center. The third point is redundant.

Daphne has long accepted that approval was never something her mother knew how to give.

She flicks through her hangers, pulling out a simple fitted top and jeans.

Her style has always been clean, effortless, neutral tones—nothing too loud, nothing too revealing. Maybe a touch of gold jewelry, an oversized blazer on days when she wants to look more polished.

Her mother always told her presentation matters.

And even though Daphne has spent years trying not to care, she still hears that voice in the back of her head whenever she gets dressed.

“Are you eating well?” her mother asks.

“Yes, Mom.”

“You sound tired.”

Daphne exhales, tossing her chosen outfit onto the bed. “I’m fine. Just busy.”

Her mother makes a sound of approval, brief and distant. “And your friends? The same ones?”

Daphne suppresses a sigh. “Yeah.”

“I see.”

That’s it. No comment, no direct insult—just a clipped, deliberate silence that says everything.

Her mother has never liked them.

Daphne stopped trying to change her mind a long time ago.

Then, her mother shifts gears. “And your love life?”

Daphne stills for half a second. She should’ve seen it coming.

She exhales. “I’m not dating anyone.”

Daphne swallows down the irritation creeping up her throat. “I just got out of a relationship.”

“Good.” Her mother barely misses a beat. “You don’t need distractions.”

Daphne bites the inside of her cheek. “Mom—”

“You’re at a critical point in your life, Daphne.” Her mother’s voice is cool, clinical. “This is when most people start making stupid decisions. Getting attached. Falling behind.”

“I’m not—”

“Look at me,” her mother cuts in. “I didn’t let pointless attachments slow me down. That’s why I’m here and not wasting my time on people who only take more than they give.”

The words land heavy, sharp enough to sting.

Daphne knows exactly who she’s talking about.

Knows that, even now, even after all these years, her mother still sees love as a burden, as a weight that only ever drags people under.

Knows that her father’s name will never be spoken, only implied in the pauses between her words.

Daphne exhales slowly, steadying her voice.

“I have to go,” Daphne lies, forcing her voice to stay light. “Studio day for Noa, so I have the dorm to myself. Might get some work done.”

“Alright,” her mother says, unbothered. “Send me the slides when you have time.”

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t say goodbye, and neither does her mother. The call ends with a quiet click.

Daphne exhales, dropping her phone onto the bed.

It was a normal conversation. Nothing dramatic, nothing cruel.

But it lingers anyway, like an old bruise pressed too hard.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Daphne, 1.32 pm

Daphne pushes open the door to Levin’s, the small jazz café tucked between two bookstores, its existence practically a secret to the rest of the campus.

The moment she steps inside, the world shifts—trading the bustling city noise for the soft hum of saxophones and the faint clink of porcelain cups. The scent of fresh coffee and vanilla lingers in the air, blending with the deep, mellow notes playing from the old speakers.

It’s her place. Her favorite escape.

She settles into a corner booth, pulling out her laptop. The café isn’t crowded at this hour—just a few regulars, some tucked behind newspapers, others lost in their own screens. It’s the perfect environment to be productive, to finally work on her essay without distractions.

Or so she thinks.

Her phone buzzes beside her, screen lighting up with a message from the group chat.

[Noa]: Felix got us on the list. We’re good to go.

Daphne barely has time to process that before Ethan jumps in.

[Ethan]: OUTFIT TIME. I need at least 3 opinions.

[Maya]: Lmaoo chill we still have 10 hrs

[Liv]: Pre-game at your place?

Daphne exhales through her nose, already knowing where this is going.

[Noa]: God. Why did I say yes to this.

[Liv]: Because you love us

[Noa]: Because I have accepted my fate as Felix’s long-suffering girlfriend.

[Daphne]: You guys can come over.

She adds the message before she can overthink it.

She doesn’t drink, but that doesn’t mean she can’t host. It’s just Liv and Maya and Ethan—her people. And honestly, if she’s about to step into unfamiliar territory, maybe having them there beforehand will make it feel less unfamiliar.

Her phone buzzes again.

[Maya]: Btw. Hoping to get some time with Christopher ;)

Daphne arches a brow. Christopher?

[Liv]: Ohhh. Bold of you.

[Ethan]: Girl. He’s the definition of a bad idea. I love this for you.

Daphne shakes her head, half-smiling, but before she can even think of responding, Noa is already sulking in the chat.

[Noa]: Ugh. I see them on a daily basis. I should be given financial compensation for this.

Daphne smirks, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

[Daphne]: We’ll buy you a drink instead.

Noa’s reply is instant.

[Noa]: Make it a double.

Daphne laughs quietly to herself, setting her phone down and finally turning back to her essay.

The plan is set.

Tonight, she’s stepping into their world.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Daphne, 8:24 pm

Daphne tosses a pack of plastic cups onto the kitchen counter, watching as Noa methodically lines up the liquor bottles Ethan brought earlier.

“I feel like you’re taking this too seriously,” Daphne says, raising an eyebrow as Noa adjusts them by height like they’re part of an architectural blueprint.

Noa scoffs. “If I have to suffer through a frat party, I’m at least going to make sure it’s structured.”

Daphne smirks, but she doesn’t argue.

Their dorm is prepped and ready—music playing at just the right volume, drinks set, snacks within reach. Ethan, Maya, and Liv will be here soon, and then, it begins.

Daphne exhales, leaning against the counter, twisting the ring on her finger. This isn’t usually her scene.

She isn’t scared. She isn’t dreading it. But there’s something about stepping into that house, into that world, that makes her pause for just a second.

It’s fine. It’s one night.

She shakes the thought away and turns back to Noa, who is now standing with her hands on her hips, nodding to herself like she just solved world hunger.

“Alright,” Noa declares. “Here’s the plan.”

Daphne hides a smile. “Oh, there’s a plan?”

“There’s always a plan.” Noa turns to her, eyes sharp. “We get in. We mingle. We dance—just enough to convince Ethan this was a good idea. Then, we snatch Felix and leave.”

Daphne tilts her head. “Leave…?”

“To the McDonald’s near campus,” Noa says like it’s obvious. “Midnight snack. Fries, nuggets, Coke Zero. It’ll be perfect.”

Daphne stares at her for a second. Then, she grins.

“You’ve really thought this through.”

“Of course,” Noa says. “Because the key to surviving a frat party is knowing when to exit.”

Daphne hums, considering that.

A clean, structured night. No mess, no chaos.

Perfect.

Daphne leans against the counter, sipping from a can of sparkling water while Noa meticulously rearranges the cups—again.

“You know,” Daphne muses, “there has to be at least one guy in Felix’s friend group that you don’t hate.”

Noa makes a face. “Statistically, yes. Realistically, no.”

Daphne raises an eyebrow. “Not even one?”

Noa exhales, crossing her arms. “Maybe Jeongin. But only because he’s young, and there’s still a chance he might escape.”

Daphne smirks. “Might?”

“Yeah,” Noa mutters. “Chris and Hyunjin are poisoning him. He’s already halfway down the drain. Give it a few months, and he’ll be just as bad.”

Daphne hums, filing that away. She doesn’t really know these guys—only their reputations, which aren’t exactly glowing.

“How did Felix even meet them?” she asks.

Noa sighs dramatically, like this is a story she’s told too many times. “Chris. They were childhood buddies back in Australia. Back when Chris wasn’t, you know… the devil himself.”

Daphne snorts. “That bad?”

“That worse.” Noa shakes her head. “Felix is the most loyal person on the planet. And instead of doing the normal thing and cutting Chris off when he turned into a raging asshole, he just… stayed.”

“So now he’s stuck?”

“Because of Chris, yes. Otherwise, Felix wouldn’t be caught dead in that house.”

Daphne tilts her head, considering that. “I mean… he’s lived with them for two years. There has to be some friendship there. No one tolerates people that long out of obligation.”

Noa groans. “Felix insists they’re ‘not that bad.’”

Daphne lifts a brow. “And you?”

Noa looks at her dead in the eye. “Most of them are misogynistic sons of bitches.”

Daphne exhales a quiet laugh. “I’ll take that as a no, then.”

Noa huffs, muttering something under her breath before returning to the very serious task of straightening the liquor bottles.

Daphne watches her, amusement flickering in her chest.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Daphne, 9:02 pm

Daphne gives herself a final once-over in the mirror, adjusting her gold earrings as the dim glow of the dorm’s lamp catches on them.

Light blue jeans. Dark red fitted crop top. Gold accessories.

Her hair falls naturally around her shoulders, wavy and effortless. A touch of mascara and blush, just enough to make her look awake, but nothing overdone. The usual.

She’s not insecure about her appearance, never really has been. Confidence, for her, has always been simple—not loud, not forced, just there. She looks good, and she knows it. That’s enough.

The sound of footsteps and muffled laughter echoes from the hallway before—

BAM.

The dorm door flies open.

Ethan, Maya, and Liv barge in, already buzzing with energy.

“Party people!” Ethan sing-songs, immediately flopping onto Daphne’s bed. “Okay, important update: I look hot as hell, and I’m officially ready to cause problems.”

Maya twirls dramatically. “How do I look?”

“Gorgeous,” Liv deadpans, scrolling through her phone. “Now, can we drink?”

Noa sighs, already reaching for the liquor cabinet. “You people are so high-maintenance.”

Daphne watches them, something warm blooming in her chest.

She had been hesitant about tonight. But now, with the laughter, the excitement, the absolute chaos unfolding in their tiny dorm, something shifts.

She feels it—the familiar weight lifting from her shoulders.

She feels free.

And beside her, even Noa—who had been sulking all day—seems to loosen up, rolling her eyes but smiling as she hands Liv a cup.

Daphne exhales, shaking off whatever lingering thoughts had been holding her back.

Daphne pops another gummy worm into her mouth, swaying lightly to the music as the room fills with the familiar buzz of alcohol and laughter.

The others have already moved on to their drinks, cups in hand, their moods tipping from excitement to reckless energy. She doesn’t mind being the only sober one—never has. This is enough for her. The music, the warmth, the way everything feels light and easy for once.

Noa, sprawled lazily on the couch, lifts her cup. “Honestly? We can just party in here.”

Liv hums, considering it. “Not the worst idea.”

Maya, on the other hand, is already past the point of reasoning. She throws her hands up, eyes slightly unfocused, her words slurred just enough to give her away.

“I will succeed in pursuing Christopher tonight.”

Ethan, who has been dramatically lying across Daphne’s bed like a Roman emperor, snorts so hard he nearly chokes on his drink.

“Pursue?” He lifts his head, scandalized. “What century are you in, woman?”

Maya glares at him, unbothered. “Shut up, you know what I mean.”

Ethan takes a long sip, shaking his head. “I really don’t.”

Daphne hides a smile behind another gummy worm as Maya continues to argue with Ethan, their banter dissolving into drunken nonsense.

Noa leans toward her, voice low. “This is getting dangerous levels of unhinged.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Daphne, 10:42 pm

An hour has passed.

The dorm is a mess of empty cups and abandoned shoes, the air thick with the scent of liquor and laughter.

Ethan and Maya are wasted—giggling at absolutely nothing, draped over the furniture like they’ve physically fused with it. Liv is tipsy but functioning, scrolling through her phone with a lazy smirk. Noa, despite drinking, remains solid, unshaken, the only one aside from Daphne who isn’t swaying when she stands.

Then, Noa claps her hands once—loud, commanding, final.

“Alright, idiots. Felix is here.”

Daphne barely has time to process before Ethan throws himself onto her, looping an arm around her shoulders with exaggerated dramatic flair.

“My sober rock,” he sighs, leaning heavily against her. “I would be nothing without you.”

Daphne grunts under his weight but lets him cling to her. “You are so lucky I like you.”

Noa rolls her eyes. “Come on, before someone vomits.”

Liv stands up, adjusting her top. Maya, however, is still sprawled across the couch.

Noa stares at her. “Maya.”

Maya doesn’t move.

Noa nudges her foot. “Maya.”

Maya groans. “I can’t. I live here now.”

Noa grabs a pillow and smacks her. “Get up. Felix is literally waiting outside.”

Maya groans again but finally stirs, staggering to her feet.

Daphne, still half-carrying Ethan, follows Noa out of the dorm, the night air cool against her skin as they step outside.

Felix’s car is parked at the curb, engine running.

The frat house isn’t far—a ten-minute walk at best. But Noa, being Noa, knew better than to let them walk anywhere with a drunk Ethan and Maya acting like medieval jesters.

Felix leans out of the driver’s side window, grinning as they approach. “Wow. You guys look… alive.”

Noa slides into the passenger seat. “Barely.”

Daphne and Liv help Ethan and Maya into the back before squeezing in themselves.

As the car pulls away, Daphne exhales slowly, watching the campus lights blur past the window.

The car hums softly as it moves through the quiet streets, the streetlights casting fleeting shadows across the dashboard.

Daphne watches from the backseat, head resting lightly against the window, as Noa and Felix talk—their conversation easy, full of quiet laughter, the kind that only exists between people who truly understand each other.

She’s happy for her. Really.

Noa’s had her fair share of bad relationships—toxic, messy, exhausting things that drained her more than they ever fulfilled her. And now, for once, she has someone good. Someone who doesn’t make her doubt herself, doesn’t twist her words into things they aren’t.

Felix is steady, and Noa deserves steady.

Daphne lets her eyes drift down to her hands, fingers absentmindedly tracing the silver rings resting against her skin.

And her?

She’s had one relationship.

Tyler.

Econ major, sweet, stable, someone who did everything right—and yet, she had never really felt it.

She liked him, sure. He was kind, respectful, never the kind of guy to play games. But she had never ached for him, never longed for him the way people always described love to be.

And he wanted more.

More passion, more devotion, more feeling than she could ever give.

And that was unfair.

Maybe it was her. Maybe she was defective—incapable of the kind of love people wrote poetry about.

Maybe she was aromantic.

Or maybe she just hadn’t met the right person.

Either way, she had long accepted one truth:

She would never force life upon herself.

She would never force herself to love just because it was expected.

She sighs, shaking off the thought, tuning back into Noa and Felix’s conversation.

They’re almost at the frat house now.

She straightens up, rolling her shoulders, bracing herself for whatever the night holds.

The car slows to a stop in front of frat house, the bass from inside thudding through the pavement, the energy of the party spilling out onto the front lawn where groups of people linger, already drunk, already alive.

Felix shifts in his seat, turning slightly toward the back. “You guys okay?” His voice is warm, sincere, like he actually cares about the answer.

Before Daphne can even think of responding, Maya and Ethan scream in unison.

“NO.”

Felix bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay. That’s what I thought.”

Daphne can’t help but laugh, too, the sheer ridiculousness of it shaking off whatever was left of her hesitation.

Felix unlocks the doors, and they spill out onto the street, the cold night air hitting them instantly.

The party is loud, reckless, alive.

Daphne exhales, glancing up at the house, feeling something settle, then shift.

This is it.

She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s about to step into the beginning of something irreversible.

[paintstainedpages]

Unravel

Chapter 3: The First Thread

>Chapter 2

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin × OC (Her)

Genre: Psychological, Dark Romance, College AU

⚠ Content Warnings – substance use, casual sex (implied), mild language

Hwang Hyunjin, 12:46 pm

Hyunjin wakes up to the weight of two bodies pressed against him, the sheets tangled between bare limbs.

Sunlight slices through the half-broken blinds, too bright, too sharp, but he doesn’t care enough to move. The room reeks of sex, alcohol, and expensive perfume that isn’t his.

He shifts slightly, stretching out against the mattress, the slow drag of consciousness settling in. One of the girls stirs, her hand sliding lazily across his stomach.

He clicks his tongue. No.

With a sigh, he sits up, peeling himself away from the mess of limbs and silk sheets. The other girl groans, rolling over with a sleepy murmur.

Hyunjin doesn’t bother looking at either of them.

Instead, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and rubs the back of his neck. The dull ache in his head isn’t quite a hangover—he’s built too much tolerance for that—but it’s enough to be an inconvenience.

He glances over his shoulder, eyes sweeping over the two girls still curled up in his bed. He doesn’t remember their names. He barely remembers the night before, except for the vague memory of whispered promises and bodies pressing against him, eager, desperate to be chosen.

Pathetic.

But it’s not his problem anymore.

With zero hesitation, he claps his hands together once—loud, sharp, cutting through the thick silence.

“Alright, time to go.”

The girl closest to him startles awake, blinking blearily at him. “What—”

“You heard me.” His voice is flat, unimpressed. “Clothes. Door. Now.”

The second girl groans into the pillow. “Seriously?”

Hyunjin exhales, running a hand through his hair. He’s already getting bored. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

The first girl scowls, sitting up with an indignant huff. “Wow. You’re an asshole.”

He smirks. “And you’re still here.”

That shuts her up.

The second girl mutters something under her breath but finally pushes herself out of bed, reaching for the dress crumpled on the floor. The other follows, both of them shooting him looks ranging from annoyance to embarrassment as they fumble for their shoes.

Hyunjin doesn’t care.

By the time they’re halfway dressed, he’s already on his feet, heading toward the bathroom without a second glance.

“Door locks behind you,” he calls over his shoulder, pushing it shut behind him.

The moment the water hits his skin, he exhales slowly, rolling his shoulders.

Another night. Another body. Another forgettable ending.

And still, nothing feels different.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Daphne B., 12:46 pm

The café hums with the low murmur of conversation, the clinking of cutlery, the occasional burst of laughter from a table nearby. Sunlight spills through the windows, casting warm streaks across the wooden floors.

Daphne sits in a booth near the window, her half-finished iced coffee sweating against the table. She’s still riding the high from her presentation—relief, satisfaction, the faint buzz of adrenaline that hasn’t quite worn off yet.

“Okay,” Maya says, dramatically setting down her fork. “We need to talk about how you just bodied that entire class.”

Daphne huffs a laugh, picking at the edge of her napkin. “I did not.”

“Uh, you did.” Ethan gestures wildly with his spoon. “The way you handled that debate? Chef’s kiss. You made those econ majors look like they forgot how to use words.”

“I mean,” Liv chimes in, smirking, “you did kind of shut down that one guy so hard he looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.”

Daphne shakes her head, but there’s amusement tugging at her lips. “It wasn’t that serious.”

“Oh, it was.” Maya leans in, voice lowering like she’s about to share a secret. “Langley was impressed.”

That catches Daphne off guard.

Professor Langley was known for being tough, for barely reacting to anything. If he was impressed…

That meant something.

Maya must see the flicker of realization on her face because she grins. “You’re kind of a legend now.”

Daphne rolls her eyes but smiles, taking another sip of her drink.

The conversation shifts, flowing easily from their classwork to upcoming deadlines to which professor is the absolute worst. It’s light, easy. This is what she loves—being here, surrounded by people who get her, who share the same ambitions, the same drive.

Ethan stirs his iced latte with the kind of enthusiasm that only means trouble. “So,” he starts, dragging out the word dramatically.

Maya sighs. “Here we go.”

“Party at Stray Kids tomorrow night,” Ethan continues, eyebrows wiggling.

Daphne raises an eyebrow. “And?”

“And,” Ethan huffs, “I want to go. With my girls.”

Liv leans back in her chair, unimpressed. “Ethan, we’ve been there.”

Maya nods. “Yeah, it’s not exactly a once-in-a-lifetime event. They throw a party, like, every other night.”

“Okay, but this time, I want to go as a unit,” Ethan insists, pointing between them. “Besides, you two have never taken Daphne.”

Daphne shifts in her seat. “That’s because I don’t do frat parties.”

Maya shrugs. “They’re not that bad. Just drunk guys, overpriced beer, and people making out in dark corners.”

Liv smirks. “Speaking of which, one of my friends did hook up with Hwang Hyunjin once.”

Daphne furrows her brows. The name is vaguely familiar—probably someone she’s passed by on campus without much thought. “And?”

“And,” Liv says, dragging out the word for effect, “apparently he’s, like, inhumanly hot. Kind of an asshole, but, you know, in a sexy way.”

Maya snorts. “So, a walking red flag?”

“Basically.”

Ethan leans in. “That entire house is a red flag. But beautifully so.”

Daphne shakes her head. “Sounds like a headache.”

“Oh, it is,” Liv confirms. “But it’s a fun headache.”

Ethan clasps his hands together. “So? We’re doing this?”

Daphne sighs, drumming her fingers against her cup. “I don’t know…”

Maya tilts her head. “Wait, doesn’t Noa’s boyfriend live there?”

Ethan’s eyes widen. “Oh my god, you’re right.”

Liv grins. “Perfect. Felix can get us in.”

Daphne exhales sharply, realizing she walked straight into that one. “I didn’t say I was going.”

“Yet.” Ethan flashes her his best puppy-dog eyes. “Come on, Daph. You just conquered that presentation. Let’s celebrate. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Daphne sighs, already feeling herself caving.

“Fine,” she mutters. “But if it sucks, I’m leaving early.”

Ethan grins, lifting his glass. “To questionable life choices.”

They clink their drinks together, laughter spilling over the table.

Just a party.

Nothing special.

That’s what Daphne thinks, anyway.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Daphne, 4.17 pm

Daphne tucks her phone between her ear and shoulder as she unlocks the door to her dorm, kicking off her shoes with a sigh.

The line rings twice before Noa picks up, her voice breathless. “If this isn’t urgent, I’m going to be very annoyed.”

Daphne raises an eyebrow, tossing her bag onto her bed. “What’s got you so cranky?”

“I missed my morning class, and now I’m stuck doing extra studio work because my professor is a sadist.” Noa groans, followed by the distinct sound of something clattering in the background. “I swear this model is going to be the death of me.”

Daphne smirks. “So, this is a bad time to tell you about a party?”

Noa sighs heavily. “Daph, you know I hate those.”

“I know, but Ethan’s excited, and Maya and Liv are going, and somehow I got roped in, and—”

“Wait,” Noa interrupts. “Stray Kids?”

Daphne hesitates. “…Yes?”

Noa lets out a dry laugh. “Yeah, absolutely not.”

“To be fair, you’re dating one of them.”

“Felix doesn’t count,” Noa argues. “He’s a good person trapped in a morally questionable institution.”

Daphne snorts. “Well, lucky for us, he’s also our in.”

Noa exhales sharply. “Why are you even going? You hate frat parties.”

“I don’t hate them,” Daphne says, picking at a loose thread on her sweater. “I just… never go. And I figured—why not?”

Noa is quiet for a moment, and when she speaks again, there’s a shift in her tone. “Daph, those guys aren’t—”

“I know,” Daphne cuts in. “I’m not going alone.”

Another pause. Then, begrudgingly: “I’ll tell Felix.”

Daphne blinks. “That was… easy?”

“Because I’m coming with you.”

Daphne sits up. “Wait, what?”

“I don’t trust those guys,” Noa says simply. “And I don’t trust you to call me if something shady happens.”

Daphne scoffs. “I would.”

Noa hums like she doesn’t believe her. “Anyway, now you don’t have to. I’ll be there.”

Daphne grins. “You’re the best.”

“I know,” Noa sighs. “Alright, I gotta go before I set this model on fire. I’ll talk to Felix.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Good luck surviving tomorrow,” Noa mutters before hanging up.

Daphne drops her phone onto her bed, staring at the ceiling.

Tomorrow.

Just another party.

That’s all it is.

…Right?

[paintstainedpages]

Unravel

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin × OC (Her)

Genre: Psychological, Dark Romance, College AU

Chapter 2: The Psychology of Influence

>Chapter 1

The shrill beep of her alarm cuts through the silence, dragging her out of sleep. She groans, reaching for her phone with half-closed eyes, blindly swiping at the screen until the noise stops.

For a few seconds, she just lays there, staring at the ceiling, reality slowly settling in.

Presentation day.

The thought jolts her fully awake. She sits up, rubbing the sleep from her face. Two months of research, late nights, endless revisions—all leading up to this. She’s ready. At least, she hopes she is.

Across the room, her roommate Noa lets out a muffled groan, rolling over and shoving a pillow over her head. “No,” she mumbles into the fabric. “Too early for life.”

“You have class in an hour,” she reminds her, swinging her legs over the bed.

“I have a class, Daphne. Doesn’t mean I’m going.” Noa’s voice is thick with sleep, but there’s still an edge of dry sarcasm to it.

Daphne snorts, already used to this routine. “I thought architects were supposed to be disciplined.”

“We are. That’s why I spent the last 48 hours in the studio, and now I’m embracing my right to be a human disaster for the next twelve hours.” Noa peeks at her through sleep-mussed hair. “Wait. Shit. Isn’t today your big presentation?”

“Yep.”

Noa blinks, then gives her a slow, approving nod. “Well. Good luck with that.”

“Wow. Incredible support.”

“Hey, if you crash and burn, I’ll be the first to tell you how aesthetically tragic it was.”

She rolls her eyes, heading to the mirror and tying her hair into a low ponytail. “At least you’re honest.”

“Honesty is my only redeeming quality,” Noa says, flopping onto her back. Then, like an afterthought, she adds, “Oh, by the way, I went to Felix’s frat house last Friday.”

That gets her attention. She turns. “Why?”

“Because I enjoy suffering.”

Daphne smirks. “And?”

“And Felix was perfect, as always,” Noa sighs dreamily, then immediately scowls. “His friends, on the other hand? Assholes. As always.”

She snorts. “What did they do now?”

“Chris,” Noa says, tone flat, “spent twenty minutes explaining to Felix why ‘monogamy is a scam’ and ‘men aren’t meant to settle down before thirty-five.’”

She winces. “Felix didn’t agree, right?”

“No, of course not. He literally just sat there looking like he wanted to evaporate.” Noa sighs dramatically, draping an arm over her eyes. “I don’t get it. How can someone as golden retriever-coded as my boyfriend willingly associate with feral sewer rats?”

She shakes her head, suppressing a laugh. “Maybe he’s trying to be the good influence.”

“Felix is one person. It’s like tossing a flower into a dumpster fire and hoping it’ll purify the air.”

Daphne hums in response, but Noa’s words linger.

Felix is a good guy. Probably the best guy Noa could have ended up with. But the world he exists in—the late-night parties, the beer-soaked couches, the guys who think loyalty is a punchline—it’s a world that doesn’t fit him.

And yet, he stays.

Just like Noa stays. Just like people stay in places they don’t belong, hoping that, somehow, they won’t get burned.

The thought sticks with her as she grabs her laptop, slipping it into her bag. She doesn’t have time to analyze it. Right now, she has a presentation to give.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Daphne walks fast, flipping through her notes with one hand, her bag slung over her shoulder. The morning air is crisp, cutting through her sweater, but she barely notices—her mind is too busy cycling through the key points of her presentation.

Social influence is often invisible. People don’t realize when they’re being manipulated. It’s in the way language is framed, in the way someone can bend reality without ever lying. It’s why entire crowds can believe a fabricated truth if it’s repeated enough.

She mumbles parts of her speech under her breath, dodging clusters of students on the sidewalk. She’s got this. She’s practiced. But still, the nervous energy coils tight in her chest.

Coffee. She needs coffee.

She crosses the street to Thistle & Brew, the small coffee shop tucked near campus. It’s quiet this time of morning, just a few students tucked into booths, nursing their first caffeine fix of the day. The warm scent of espresso and vanilla fills the air, a welcome comfort.

And of course, Josh is behind the counter.

“Morning, superstar.” He grins the moment he sees her, already reaching for a cup. “The usual?”

Daphne huffs a laugh, setting her notebook on the counter. “Is this what we’re doing now? Nicknames before caffeine?”

“Hey, you look like you’re about to deliver the most important speech of your life,” he teases, scribbling her name on the cup. “Figured I’d set the tone.”

“More like a two-month-long descent into stress,” she mutters, rubbing her temple.

Josh leans on the counter, pretending to inspect her. “You know, I think you might need a celebratory coffee instead. Something sweeter. More exciting. Maybe even…” He gasps dramatically. “A caramel drizzle.”

Daphne shakes her head, smiling despite herself. “I think I’ll survive with my usual.”

He clicks his tongue in mock disappointment but starts making her drink. It’s been like this for weeks—his casual flirting, the easy way he throws in a joke, how he remembers the smallest things about her.

She notices. Of course, she notices.

But she doesn’t entertain it, doesn’t encourage or reject it outright. It’s not that she doesn’t like Josh—he’s sweet, charming in a way that isn’t overbearing. It’s just that she spent years being someone’s girlfriend. A part of something. And right now, she wants to exist on her own, to figure out who she is outside of being a half of a whole.

Josh doesn’t push. He never does. Maybe that’s why she still comes here every morning.

“Alright, serious journalist,” he says, sliding her cup across the counter. “This one’s on the house. Good luck.”

Daphne blinks. “Josh—”

“Don’t fight me on this,” he grins. “Just make sure your speech includes a dramatic mic drop.”

She exhales a laugh, shaking her head as she takes the cup. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, here you are, starting your mornings with me. Almost like fate.”

She lifts the cup in a mock toast. “Or just caffeine dependency.”

Josh smirks but says nothing as she turns to leave.

As she steps back onto the sidewalk, the warmth of the cup seeps into her hands, grounding her. The nerves are still there, but now, there’s something else too.

Something steady.

She takes a deep breath, refocuses.

Time to show them what she’s been working for.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Daphne stands at the front of the lecture hall, the weight of a hundred eyes on her. She can feel the hum of the projector behind her, the faint buzz of fluorescent lights overhead. Her heart is steady, but her fingers grip the edge of the podium a little tighter than necessary.

This is what she’s been preparing for. Two months of research, hours spent refining every argument, making sure each point lands exactly as it should.

She exhales, steadying herself.

“The Psychology of Influence: How We Are Manipulated Without Realizing It.”

She clicks to the first slide. A simple image—an old black-and-white propaganda poster. The kind designed to convince, to shape perception.

“Influence is rarely obvious.” She lets the words settle in the air for a moment before continuing.

“Most people think manipulation is loud. Aggressive. That it looks like deception or coercion. But the most effective kind is subtle. It doesn’t force you to believe something—it makes you think you came to that conclusion on your own.”

She shifts to the next slide: a side-by-side comparison of news headlines, the same event framed in two entirely different ways.

“We see it everywhere—politics, advertising, social media, even personal relationships. Influence isn’t just about what’s being said—it’s about what isn’t. It’s about framing, omission, repetition. You don’t have to lie to manipulate. You just have to tell a story in the right way.”

She glances up, scanning the room. A few heads nod. Others are taking notes. Good.

She flips to the next slide. The Milgram Experiment. A case study in authority, obedience, and how easily people can be led to do things they never imagined themselves capable of.

She’s in her element now. The nerves fade, replaced by something sharper. She knows this topic.

But then—

A hand raises in the back.

Professor Langley nods. “Go ahead.”

A guy leans back in his chair, smirking slightly. “But don’t people want to be influenced?” he asks. “I mean, we let it happen all the time. We like when things make sense, when someone tells us what to think. Isn’t that just how humans work?”

Daphne tilts her head slightly. “You’re right,” she says, pacing a little. “We’re wired to want certainty. It’s uncomfortable not knowing. But does that mean we should stop questioning?”

He shrugs. “If it works, does it really matter?”

She exhales through her nose, tapping a finger against her notes. “It matters when people stop recognizing it for what it is. When influence isn’t about information, but control. When it stops being about truth and starts being about power.”

A girl a few rows down speaks up next. “Okay, but what about relationships? Aren’t we all influencing each other to some degree? Persuading people, shifting perspectives—what’s the difference between influence and manipulation?”

Daphne smiles slightly. She was waiting for someone to ask that.

She moves to the next slide. Gaslighting: The Fine Line Between Influence and Control.

“The difference,” she says, voice calm but firm, “is intent. Influence can be neutral—even positive. But manipulation is about power. It’s about making someone doubt their own reality. Making them think they made a choice when really, that choice was never theirs to begin with.”

The room quiets for a second.

Langley steps in. “So, would you say true manipulation isn’t just about what is said—but what is left unsaid?”

Daphne nods. “Exactly.”

Langley hums approvingly. “Alright. Let’s continue the discussion.”

She exhales slowly as she steps back from the podium, letting the conversation unfold around her.

The hard part is over.

She should feel relieved.

But for some reason, the conversation lingers in her mind longer than it should.

The choice was never theirs to begin with.

It sticks to her like something she’ll need later, like something waiting to become real.

She just doesn’t know it yet.

[paintstainedpages]

Unravel

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin × OC (Her)

Genre: Psychological, Dark Romance, College AU

⚠️ This story contains themes that may be triggering to some readers, including: Toxic relationships & emotional manipulation,Unhealthy obsession & possessiveness

Chapter 1: Life Before Him

She wakes up to the sound of her alarm, its steady chime pulling her from a dream she won’t remember. The sky outside is still a shade of deep blue, the city barely stirring, but she’s already moving—reaching for her phone, silencing the noise, slipping out of bed.

Routine. It keeps her steady.

The dorm is quiet, her roommate still curled up beneath her blankets, undisturbed by the early morning. She dresses in the dim light, tying her hair into a low ponytail, throwing on her usual hoodie and sneakers. The air outside is crisp when she steps out, the campus still wrapped in the slow hush of dawn.

There’s something sacred about mornings like this. The world is hers before anyone else gets to it. She walks with her headphones in, music low, the sound blending with the quiet hum of the city waking up around her. The journalism building isn’t far, and by the time she gets there, the coffee shop across the street is just beginning to open.

She orders the same thing she always does. The barista knows her by now, greets her with a nod, already reaching for the cup before she speaks. She likes that—being known in small ways. It makes the world feel less lonely.

She lingers for a moment, fingers wrapped around the warmth of her drink, watching the city stretch itself awake. People move like shadows against the pale morning light, some rushing, others drifting, wrapped in their own lives, their own stories. She wonders about them sometimes. Where they’re going. Who they love. If they ever feel like time is slipping through their fingers faster than they can hold it.

By the time she settles into her usual spot in the library, the sun has begun to rise properly, flooding the space with soft gold. Dust particles float lazily in the air, caught in the quiet glow. The shelves around her smell like ink and old pages, like stories waiting to be touched.

She flips open her notebook, the spine creaking faintly in the silence. Last night’s scribbled thoughts greet her in uneven handwriting, half-formed sentences tumbling over each other.

“The Ethics of Truth in Journalism.”

“Why We Romanticize the ‘Tortured Artist’ Trope.”

“What Makes a Story Worth Telling?”

A mix of assignments and personal projects, the lines between them always blurred.

She taps her pen against the page, tracing the curve of the words, thinking about how strange it is—the way a single sentence can shift the world beneath someone’s feet. The way the right arrangement of words can make something burn inside you, something that lingers long after you’ve closed the book.

She remembers being a kid, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a newspaper spread out in front of her while her mother moved around the house, too busy to notice her reading. She remembers the way words used to feel like magic, the way she would imagine herself one day telling stories that mattered.

Her mother never really understood it. Journalism wasn’t a real career, not like medicine. Her mother had wanted her to follow in her footsteps, to be precise and practical and methodical. But she had never been drawn to scalpels and sterile rooms. She wanted to see people. To understand them.

Her father, though—he had encouraged it. At least in the brief summers she spent with him, before he got worse. Before the alcohol took up more space in his life than she did.

She shakes the thought away. There’s no point in thinking about it now.

Her day falls into place like it always does. She spends the morning in class, taking notes, half-listening to a professor who drones on about objectivity in media. She meets her friends for lunch—laughing at inside jokes, teasing each other, talking about plans for the weekend. There’s a warmth in their presence, a familiarity that reminds her she’s okay. That her life, as it is now, is good.

She isn’t reckless. She isn’t the kind of girl who gets lost easily.

When the afternoon fades into evening, she makes her way to the student paper’s office, surrounded by others who love words as much as she does. They argue over deadlines, over phrasing, over the perfect headline. It’s chaotic, but it makes her feel alive. She writes. Edits. Feels the satisfaction of seeing something take shape beneath her hands.

By the time she heads back to her dorm, the night is cool, the campus alive with students heading out—parties, bars, fleeting escapes from reality. She never joins. Not because she doesn’t want to, but because it never feels like something she belongs to.

She isn’t lonely. Not really.

She has her friends, her writing, her ambitions. Her life is full.

And she doesn’t know it yet, but this is the last time it will ever be like this.

Before him. Before everything changes.

Before Hwang Hyunjin.