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[petrichxxr]

game of night | prologue

Characters: fem reader, kim younghoon, kim sunwoo (main), the boyz (supporting)

A/N: so the tbz music video for drink it gave me an idea and thus, here we are... (this is just the prologue-teaser thing, btw!)

Word Count: 1,274

Genre: vampire!au, vampire!tbz, supernatural elements, implied romantic attractions but not the main focus

Warnings: reader (fem) x kim sunwoo implied pairing, mature/suggestive themes, language, blood

Summary: You and Younghoon have been best friends since childhood. The two of you have always been practically inseparable, until this past summer. When family troubles pull you away from your hometown and Younghoon for the summer, despite a promise to stick by his side through his own family issues—you’re surprised to return two months later to Younghoon mysteriously missing. But he and his presence linger, and you’re the only one who believes he’s still around and didn’t simply “run away from home” like everyone is telling you. And you can’t help but think your newfound friend, Sunwoo, knows more about Younghoon than he lets on… or that you might know too much about Younghoon. But by all means, you’re determined to bring Younghoon home.

Every inch of Younghoon’s body felt as though it were on fire—at least, that’s the best way that he could describe it.

  The sensation that coursed through the entire length of his body was scorching hot . It was like the worst possible fever sickness gone absolutely wrong. Just beneath his skin, a pain so blatantly present yet unreachable, throbbed —he ached in a way he had never experienced before. Try as he might, he couldn’t will it to go away—to settle down. The cold sweat breaking out on his forehead did nothing to remedy the heat blossoming from every inch of his body. Younghoon ground his teeth together against the pain, jaw tightening as it clenched. Even that minor movement hurt.

  But what hurt worse was the way he let out a groan, and the eruption of what felt like fire exploding from the cavity of his chest followed.

  He wanted so badly to disappear back into the blackness that he’d been swallowed in not too long ago. He wanted to drown for an eternity in the depths of that nothingness he’d so rudely been woken from—forced to consciousness by the pain that had suddenly taken over with such a force it’d made him self-aware. Younghoon was conscious enough to feel everything, but his body felt so heavy and weighed down that he couldn’t bring himself fully to. It was too much effort.

  So, instead, he lies there and wishes he could simply, somehow, knock himself back into unconsciousness. Being swallowed back into the depths of the pitch black nothingness meant the hurt would stop.

  It hurts, so much, the thought invades his mind as though it’s not quite his own anymore—he feels completely detached from his body. Like someone with his voice is saying it to him, the way it echoes in his head seemingly so far removed. The wave of pain that overtakes him is so strong that it pushes at him, giving him that last bit of force needed to fully awaken him. When his body moves, he feels like a marionette—choppily guided by strings attached to limbs that don’t quite feel as though they belong to him—Younghoon pushes himself onto his side, finally fully conscious, letting out a breathless gasp as he does so. The gasp turns into a dry retch, and the fire in his chest is so strong he’s almost certain he’ll start breathing it out, but nothing comes.

  Throat parched, the gasp having grated uncomfortably against it, Younghoon tries to steady his breathing as he glances around at his surroundings. That’s right, the old school—TBZ’s school, the hangout. Younghoon glances around, wondering where the rest of the guys of TBZ—his friends—went, and why they left him when he feels this shitty.  

  Just as that crosses his mind, Younghoon’s head throbs—like someone has taken a hammer straight to his skull. Straight down his head, he feels as though a crack is forming and breaking open. Pieces of memories begin to flood back into his mind— Black smoke. Flashes of red. Golden eyes. Dark hallways and nights. Crimson capsules. Juyeon. Blood—

  “Juyeon,” the name falls from Younghoon’s lips with another groan, and though his body protests the movement—he lifts a hand with the intention to clutch his throbbing forehead before pausing mid-movement.

  Transfixed, Younghoon stares at the bandage on his hand, having completely forgotten about it. The red splotch of his blood sets a stark contrast against the white of the bandage. Tightening his jaw, he forgets the fire in his body and his now-throbbing skull and pushes himself into a sitting position. As he does so, he pulls at the bandage with his other hand—tearing it away from his palm.

  And revealing nothing.

  Younghoon frowns at his palm. It seems like a distant memory, but he clearly can remember the gash on his hand from glass. Before Younghoon can consider it too much, another eruption of pain passes through him and he’s letting out yet another groan, curling in on himself and clutching at his head. No—stop—I don’t want to know—I don’t want to remember, he tries to urge his mind to close everything out, but he can’t control the memories flooding in. With his eyes closed so hard Younghoon can hear rumbling in his ears, he attempts to force the memories away. But they play like a movie on the back of his eyelids, almost as clear as day to him.

      As clear as day to him as the sharp pain coursing through his body like a fire is the memory of Juyeon—the cause of all this. If Younghoon hadn’t been so curious, perhaps this wouldn’t have happened.

  Juyeon had been levitating some sort of crimson spheres, sitting on the old couch in one of the rooms of the school building. The building was old and weather-worn. Abandoned. Younghoon knew something odd had been happening around the school, around his new group of friends. There was something a little bit off. And he’d been a little bit too curious, snooping around when given the chance. This time, he’d been peeking through one of the holes in the wall. Younghoon hadn’t even had a chance to register what it was that Juyeon was doing before the other’s dark gaze had snapped upward—straight at him—and then suddenly Juyeon had apparated right in front of him, just beyond the other side of the wall.

  Younghoon had startled, falling back in surprise. The pain was instantaneous—the burst of white-hot fire flashing across his palm, a shock startling up every single nerve-ending through his arm. He remembers the way he had lifted his palm, surprised by that pain—transfixed by the sight of blood on his palm. At the edge of his vision, just beyond his upturned hand, sat shards of glass scattered along the floors of the old school.

  And then Juyeon was there, also intrigued by the blood on Younghoon’s palm. And he remembers the way Juyeon had reached out as if to help him up from the floor, only to smear the blood seeping from his palm across both of their hands—before he’d lifted it, hovering over Younghoon’s face. He’d only had a moment to realize what was happening, shutting his eyes as Juyeon’s fingers had trailed a line of blood— his blood—across his eyelids. The sensation was disconcerting; the blood warm and fresh, but the trail it left behind was cool against his skin and the air.

    It was when Younghoon had closed his eyes in the replay of his mind that he felt himself slipping away again, his stomach churning at the memory and the ghostly sensation he was experiencing all over again. Or maybe the massive amount of pain was finally claiming him, he couldn’t be certain. Younghoon didn’t need to open his eyes—in real life or in the memory—to recollect what had happened next; to remember the way Juyeon had lifted his bloodied hand up and smeared Younghoon’s blood across his lower lip the same way he had across Younghoon’s face.

  Now, even with his eyes closed, Younghoon felt as though blackness was creeping in at the edges to overtake him, the black behind his eyelids becoming even darker, before he felt everything go limp. A part of him—detached—recognized his body slumping, connecting with the impact of the floor as he fainted back into unconsciousness.

  From far away, voices seeped into his mind. They sounded muffled, his brain foggy, before it went completely dark.

  “Do you think he’ll survive?”

  “I’m sure he will. Even if he doesn’t.” That sounded eerily like Juyeon, with his emotionless and serious tone. “As long as the night doesn’t disappear, our game will continue.”

[petrichxxr]

fateful coincidence [2] | l.jh

A/N: here I am yet again wondering if people still read the things I write... I started this series a year ago (I think) and finally have gotten around to updating it...

Word Count: 12,552

Genre: chaebol/heir!au, supernatural elements/deal with the devil, slice of life, romance (slow burn/soulmates)

Warnings: reader (fem) x lee jooheon (monsta x) pairing, mature/suggestive themes, language

Summary: Lee Jooheon is a well-known heir to a global hotel conglomerate, and is next in line to take over the family business. You’re a journalist, aspiring for more, but barely managing to pay your own bills at the end of the month. The two of you are from entirely different worlds, yet fate somehow tangles your threads, and Jooheon seems to know an intriguing amount more about you than he lets on.

You’re forgetting things.

  Like pockets of memory, it starts off small. Miniscule things throughout the day that slowly progress into more important issues. There are holes, you reach in and grasp for something that you know should be there, but nothing comes out. It’s an irritating feeling—to know that something is misplaced, forgotten, but to be unable to identify what it is. It feels as if it’s only gotten worse since the night of the hotel opening, but a part of you is suddenly aware that it’s been going on for much longer than that.

  It’s only after the event, waking up the next day with the taste of alcohol lingering, that you wonder how serious your memory displacement might be—because you realize, waking up, that it’s not even the alcohol that’s making you forget. Yet despite that, you still push everything down. You lock it and the dashing Lee Jooheon away in the depths of your mind, forcefully making yourself forget this one thing. You didn’t have the time to keep constantly turning his words over in your head, attempting to sort through the shrouded mystery that they presented. Not just that, but he was from a completely separate world—even if you allowed yourself time to do just that, he was still untouchable.

  Plus, you didn’t want to relive every single detail as you described the event to Kihyun. There were some important factors that could be conveniently left out—he had refused to talk to you for almost three days, annoyed you’d hung up on him and given him the cold shoulder that day. Despite having a job to do. But you were just as irritated in his behavior and lack of thoughtfulness the day of the event when you’d called out of work. He hadn’t bothered to check on you at all, and you had needed to get to your job. It was as simple as that, but he’d taken it out of proportion and was being childish.

  His childish behavior had dropped after the three days—after he seemed satisfied he’d gotten whatever point he was attempting to make (there was none) across, and after you got some decent recognition from Minhyuk due to the article you’d written. You tried not to consider the fact that it could have been some of Jooheon’s doing that the piece was performing so well, another thought you pushed out of your mind and locked away.

  After the hype of everything between the event and article died down, your daily routine fell back into place. Kihyun was back to his normal blunt best friend act, Minhyuk was as bossy as ever and overworked you, and your daily headaches returned.

  The daily headaches. You wonder if it has anything to do with your missing pockets of memory.

  “Are you forgetting anything?” Kihyun’s voice suddenly breaks through the slight throbbing just beyond your skull, silencing the thoughts that were just about to make everything worse.

  You glance up from your suitcase to see him entering your room, eyes scanning over the piece of paper you’d typed up. A gray cloud of fluff, fondly known to be your cat Silas, expertly weaves his way through Kihyun’s feet. Whenever he did that to you, you’d trip and fall—yet for some reason, he and Kihyun had it down to an art. No matter how much Kihyun multitasked, he was always used to the feline being just underfoot.

  Silas breaks apart from Kihyun and trots across your bedroom to you. “Hey, bub.” Smiling, you reach out and give the cat a few chin scratches. Looking up to Kihyun, you add, “I don’t think so. You’ve taken care of him before though, so it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

  Kihyun frowns. “Not for this extended length of time, though. Does he get separation anxiety?”

  “With how much I work and am away from home, anyway? Doubtful. But who knows, he may miss my presence. Just sleep over here. I have food that’ll go bad and you still have a roommate.”

  “True. Hyungwon just sleeps, anyway. It’s not like he’ll really notice I’m gone.” Kihyun lowers the paper of instructions for caring for the flat and Silas while you’re gone on your trip, eyeing you. “Are you going to get that checked out, by the way?”

  You practically scramble to lower your hands from your neck, realizing Kihyun had spotted you attempting to massage away some of the pain throbbing at the base of your nape. He was always so watchful, it was almost annoying. You understood the headaches were something to be concerned over, but he didn’t have to nitpick so much.

  “It’s not really a work trip, nor a leisure trip. I’ll see if I have time.”

  “Still, you’ll be visiting home while you’re there. You may as well fit in a doctor’s appointment,” Kihyun pointed out, giving the paper in his hand a small wave. “Plus, you’re there a little over a week. Family matters to take care of or not, you’ll have plenty of time. Make sure to get some rest, too. Maybe you just need some decent sleep.”

  You sigh. “Yes, mother, I’ll try to.”

  The sound of Kihyun’s scoff immediately follows, along with his footsteps. Silas, who had been sprawled out on the floor this entire time, scurries away at the sudden weight reverberating across the floor that startles him out of his catnap.

  “Anyway, did you forget anything?” Kihyun asks once more, eyeing your open suitcase in front of you.

  You glance back at your suitcase, a little haphazard with the contents but sorted and all together nonetheless—you just had to figure out how to make everything fit between your checked and carry on baggage—and shake your head. “No, I think I’m good. If I do forget anything, at least I’m going home. There’s usually spare stuff available, or I can just buy it if it’s something small.”

  Kihyun frowns. “You were literally just complaining a few weeks ago about having to spend money on a dress, and now you’re saying you can just buy what you need.”

  “Well, I figure if I forget anything, it’ll be something cheap like shampoo,” you cut him a look, rolling your eyes. Not a gown, you want to say. “Anyway, let’s get some sleep. Flight leaves at two in the morning, and I’m sure that’s going to be a lovely time waking up for the both of us.”

  If possible, Kihyun’s frown deepens. As quickly as you possibly can without making any mistakes, you finish organizing your belongings between the luggage and close everything up, creating a pile to easily collect upon your departure. Kihyun bids a soft goodnight and makes his way back to the makeshift bed he’d created in your living room. You were already dreading the sixteen hour time difference and having to reset your internal clock for your visit to the States. At least all Kihyun had to do was wake up at an almost-unholy hour of the night to drop you off at the airport, then return to home and bed. You hoped sleep would come easily to you on the plane—because as the lights in your apartment are shut off and you close your eyes, the pounding of your headache seems to increase and rear its ugly head in full force—making sleep almost impossible for the five or six hours ahead of you.

—

Sleep comes, at some point—though not easily. But as long as it took to come, it ends in an even shorter amount of time. When you finally do fall asleep, it feels as though only a few moments pass before your alarm begins to go off. You groan, your head still pounding, and roll over to bury yourself further under your covers. The blaring song of your alarm does nothing to ease the throbbing within your skull, and you wonder how you’re supposed to get into an airplane and make the trip. Will the climb in altitude make your head hurt worse?

  It’s Kihyun’s groaning from the other room, followed by his annoyed stomps—that finally wakes you. He silences your phone alarm before abruptly pulling your covers off you, making you groan again.

  “Wake up,” Kihyun orders, and you feel your shoulder shoved at. “You don’t want to be late.”

  “I don’t want to be at all…” Comes your sleepily mumbled reply.

  “We are not having an existential crisis at twelve in the morning. Get up. I will not hesitate to drag you out of bed,” Kihyun warns. “And your apartment floors are wood.”

  Letting out a sigh, you push yourself into a sitting position. Giving your eyes a rub, applying a slight pressure in hopes to ward away the throbbing headache, you drop your hands then blink a few times and allow your sight to adjust to the darkness of your bedroom.

  “You still have a headache?” You see Kihyun frown in the dark.

  “Why are you surprised? It’s a constant thing nowadays,” you sigh once more, pushing yourself to the edge of the bed. “Plus, it took forever to fall asleep. I’ll just sleep on the plane, though. Do you mind packing the car and I’ll get ready?”

  You don’t really wait for Kihyun to answer, knowing he’ll do so anyway without you having asked, moving around to collect the clothes you’d set out the evening before and heading to the bathroom. One of Kihyun’s pet peeves was being tardy, and while you lived close enough to the airport that it wasn’t a huge deal to leave a little later—it had been Kihyun’s idea to at least get there an hour and a half earlier than your flight. Which honestly made sense on any normal occasion, but the airport was sure to be a bit on the dead side considering the time of night.

  It doesn’t take you long to get ready. Your warm morning shower does nothing to ease the tension in your head—a last ditch effort you had hoped might work. By the time you’ve finished a very shortened version of your morning routine brushing your teeth, drying your hair, and applying your facial care—Kihyun already has the car packed and is pouring some food into Silas’ bowl, before pulling a hoodie on and getting ready himself. You gather the last of your toiletry items that need to be packed, and when the two of you head downstairs and you bid your farewell to your beloved feline, you stuff your toiletry bag into the top zipper of your luggage.

  Kihyun was right to urge you to leave earlier rather than later. Despite the distance to the airport, there’s a decent amount of midnight traffic due to it being a weekend. You close your eyes as he drives, the blinding city and street lights glaring against the glass window of the car and burning your pupils and head. Kihyun’s smooth operation of the vehicle makes it easy to doze off a couple of times before you arrive. While the traffic may have been on the heavier side, you still make it early, and with plenty of time to spare.

  “Make sure to tell me when you land,” Kihyun orders as he helps pull your bags out of the trunk of the car.

  “I will.” You’d be sure not to have a repeat of the hotel opening night, where he hadn’t checked in on you when you’d called out, and out of spite you hadn’t bothered to reach out to him. “Make sure you send me plenty of photos of Silas while I’m gone.”

  “He’ll be fine, he’s a cat.”

  You jut out your bottom lip into a pout. “That’s not what I said.”

  Kihyun scoffs, but reaches up to pat your head gently. “I’ll send you photos. Please try to see if you can get into a doctor while you’re there.”

  “You’re going to keep pushing that, aren’t you?”

  “As much as I possibly can,” Kihyun lowers his hand to give you a one-armed hug. “I’m going to miss pestering you. I don’t think we’ve been separated for a week since we met in college.”

  “You could just say you’re going to miss me like a normal person would.”

  “There’s no fun in that though.” Kihyun grins down at you, before nodding towards the entrance to your gate.

  Giving a small wave, you gather your luggage and head inside. In total, it takes about thirty minutes to get your bag checked, get yourself checked in for your flight, and to go through security. Just as you’d suspected, the airport is practically dead at this hour and the lines are nonexistent. However, the traffic had been enough to make a dent in the time, and you thankfully don’t have long to wait before they start calling for your gate to board. There’s exactly enough time to grab a quick pastry from a nearby coffee shop that happened to be open before making your way onto the plane when your seat section is called.

  You board the plane, stow your carryon in the overhead compartment, and then claim your seat and fasten your seatbelt. Having flown before, you stick your earbuds in your ears—figuring you’ll listen to the flight attendants’ usual spiel when the time came—but more eager to make yourself comfortable and attempt some more sleep as quickly and as soon as possible. Especially since you’d been lucky enough to snag an unclaimed window seat. This meant you were tucked away in your own little back corner, hopefully left alone for the sixteen hours ahead by whoever decided to take up being your seat partner.

  Hopefully left alone was too much along the lines of wishful thinking.

  As you stare out the window, watching workers move about below in the dark as they load and prep the plane for takeoff—you suddenly feel an uncomfortable tug on the cord of your earbud, before it’s pulled straight from your ear. You can’t help but grimace, feeling the bud tug at one of your many piercings.

  “What the hell—”

  Just as you speak up, a voice that’s all too familiar asks, simultaneously, “What are you listening to?”

  You blanch as you turn in your seat, coming face to face with none other than Lee Jooheon. He quirks a brow at you, tilting his head to the side as he inserts your stolen earbud into his own ear. You can just barely make out the dimple impressions on his cheeks, his mouth pressed into something along the lines of a smile suppressing an amused smirk.

  “How—” The word falls from your lips, empty and confused. How, what? You wonder. How did he get here? How was he on the same flight as you? How did he recognize you? Not that you’d chosen to sit too far towards the back, honestly—anyone walking into the plane after just boarding could easily recognize a familiar face with an empty seat next to them. You liked sitting toward the front-middle of planes when traveling; apparently, in this case, that was your downfall.

  “Business trip,” Jooheon just shrugs, replying simply. “Why didn’t you ever text me that night?”

  You turn away from him, pursing your lips. Text him? You briefly remembered him handing you a business card, though couldn’t remember where it had slipped off to—too many drinks made it difficult to keep track of something that small. He’d only asked for you to notify him you got home safe, anyway, so what was the big deal? His bodyguard that had escorted you home surely passed that bit of info along to him.

  Had he—a possible multimillion dollar heir—really expected you to text him, unannounced? And why would he expect such a thing?

  Copying his shrug, you glance away from him. “I lost your business card.”

  It wasn’t a lie. As much as you wanted to admit, it was easy to forget the business card and it’s whereabouts. It was easy to forget the possibility of texting him as he’d asked. With the alcohol that had coursed through you, it was easy to forget that entire night. That was something that would probably irk him if you did choose to admit it. However, what wasn’t easy to forget were his words that randomly popped into your mind and turned over in your head, playing like a broken record—Do you really not remember me?

  That, on the contrary, was something that irked you.

  What was there to remember? Had you really forgotten something? It was a question that burned into your mind, day and night, even when you attempted to suppress all thoughts of him. You tried not to allow yourself to think of the events of that day, or him. While the former was fairly easy, there was something about Jooheon himself that made the latter next to impossible. There was no way for you to fight off the burning curiosity he’d created, as much as you tried. You could forget everything but him and his mysterious words.

  “Well, we can fix that,” Jooheon’s reply doesn’t miss a beat. Before you even have a chance to react to his words, you feel your unlocked phone slip through your fingers and out of your grasp.

  “H-Hey—”

  But Jooheon is paying no mind to your protest, and you watch as he swipes out of the Spotify app on your phone to open the dialing screen. His fingers glide across your screen as he inputs his number. He even goes a step further as to open your messages and start a new text to himself—ensuring he also had your number.

  As he hands your phone back to you, you frown, feeling your jaw tense. You glance down at the screen briefly, which he’d returned to your playlist, before looking back up at him. What would he do if you blatantly deleted his phone number? A part of you felt spiteful enough to do so just for the mere fact that he had taken your phone without asking and entered his number. It’s fine, I’ll just delete his number after the flight, you decide. Even if he has my number, I can just block him.

  Whatever kind of coincidence this was—it was just that. A coincidence. Nothing more would amount after this. It was rather unlucky you were stuck here for sixteen hours with the given circumstances, but you reminded yourself that this wouldn’t be happening again, and to just suffer through it for now. But there was a small part of you that wasn’t quite convinced it was merely just a coincidence, like you hoped… his words from the hotel opening night, like a broken record, continued to replay in your mind. You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something missing. Something you really had forgotten.

  “I like this song,” Jooheon comments off-hand, and you only hum in response, finally turning away. It would be an understatement to say you weren’t really in the mood to engage him. Maybe he’d only spoken up and said that because you’d been staring for so long, taking your gaze the wrong way. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to be completely lacking in common sense. Jooheon doesn’t push for more of a reply out of you, allowing the two of you to sit in silence as the rest of the flight occupants take their seats.

  It’s almost more unnerving to sit next to Jooheon without saying anything. During the hotel night, before things had gotten weird with what he’d muttered, you two had been able to freely talk without much difficulty. There was something about his energy that made it almost comfortable, yet invigorating, to be in his presence at that time. But now the invigoration has twisted and warped into an unnerving feeling. For the most part, you feel on edge—yet there’s still a high energy, a curiosity, that sparks between you. While the flight attendants review the usual plane and flying regulations, you find yourself glancing at Jooheon. The music still plays between the two of you, having not reclaimed your earbud and he having not offered to return it.

  Despite your better judgement, you’re aware of the way that the wire of the headphones rests against his shoulders, and how in normal, casual clothes—he’s actually quite broad. It’s something you feel like you should have noticed when he was dressed to the nines in a suit, yet so many suit jackets have padding you weren’t actually sure you would have trusted it. But in the simple hoodie he was wearing, you can see the breadth of his shoulders, and you’re positive it’s not because it’s oversized. He looks so simple, the outfit rounded together with some black sweatpants and a white shirt peeking out from underneath the hooded sweatshirt. So simple, and so unlike an heir or someone of his financial status. You try to ignore the fact that your brain keeps yelling at you that he looks good. It’s not important right now—or right ever, actually. Why did your mind feel the need to supply such an observation?

  You’re about to pull your gaze away from your attention on Jooheon, when you notice something as you do so—where his hand lays on the armrest, his finger taps incessantly. The tapping seems to pick up speed, even becoming more sporadic, as you feel the plane beneath you pick up speed with the takeoff. For a moment, you lose yourself in the background noise of his tapping—the tiny sound overtaking your senses and demanding your focus, a rhythmic and hypnotic thing. Don’t worry about him, you tell yourself. But there’s a part of your mind that is just too curious.

  “Are you okay?” You suddenly ask, dragging your eyes away from his fingers. The action seems to feel as though it takes slower than it should. 

  “Huh?” Jooheon blinks at you in surprise, having not expected you to acknowledge him for the rest of the flight. It’s then that he realizes what he’s doing, and he stills his hand. “Yeah, fine.”

  But when you glance down, you notice the way he grips the armrest instead—forcing his muscles to be still. You think he might start vibrating with the anxiety.

  “Are you sure?”

  Jooheon nods, though the action is terse. “I just don’t like flying.”

  “Don’t you have to do it a lot, though?” You ask, surprised. He was the heir to an international hotel chain. Wasn’t he meant to do a lot of flying? Plus, he could be considered a businessman… the idea of him not liking flying and being used to planes confuses you.

  “I—” Jooheon starts, though his words are immediately cut off as the plane picks up, pulling itself off the ground as it officially takes off. Jooheon intakes his breath sharply, the takeoff pushing both of you back against your seats. It’s not a rough takeoff, per se, but you’d definitely had smoother.

  Despite that, Jooheon isn’t handling it well. Something within you pulls toward him—an innate need to protect that you can't quite explain. It’s like a little tiny flame, you feel it stir within you and you can’t help but want to feed it. The combination of his intake of breath, and the way his jaw clenches when he closes his eyes, causes you to reach out without thinking—practically prying his hand off the armrest to take hold of it.

  You wrap your hand around his, giving a reassuring squeeze.

  Jooheon is surprised by the contact—enough so he stills for a moment, opening his eyes to peer down at your hands in curiosity—before he’s caught by surprise by something else. It’s in that moment that your hand folds around his, skin touching skin and your warmth flooding into his system through shared palms—entwining itself around every nerve—that everything stills. The sensation of everything within him simply quieting—the black, reverberating anxiety that shook at his core like a thunderous stormcloud, and the way his stomach twisted with nausea at every jerky movement the plane made. But it wasn’t just that, it was everything from that to standard stresses, a whirlwind of things that needed to be done for work, and the tormenting voices he often had to deal with within his own mind—they all just silence at your touch.

  He finds his gaze locked on your hands, confused and curious all at the same time. He’d never had this happen before. Was this something that was supposed to happen? Even if he wanted to, Jooheon feels as though he’s unable to pull away from the warmth there. Like your palms are magnetized, connected, and something he shouldn’t pull apart. There was a warmth just beneath his hand, where his skin met your skin, that he could feel building like a little fire. But instead of overtaking everything in the way that a wildfire might, Jooheon finds the warmth to be soothing. Comforting, like a warm drink that fills you up—or perhaps closer to the sensation of sinking into the warm water of a bathtub. The silence within him is a welcome sensation that he’d personally like to drown himself in, if only to escape reality for just a little bit and stay suspended where he was in that strange sensation of lulled time.

  For you, the skin to skin contact with Jooheon is scalding. You immediately feel that electricity you’d felt the night of the hotel opening shoot across every nerve in your body like a cosmos, the tiny flame you’d been curious about flare up with a vengeance. The heat that floods through your system at his contact in places you’d never even imagined—the pit of your stomach, the cavity of your chest, the back of your throat, is parching and suffocating and entirely overwhelming. It overtakes you in such a way that you feel your chest seize up, like you can’t breathe. But for some reason, you hang on to him. You wonder if you’ll start shaking from the sudden pressure that feels as though it’s been placed on your body, hyper-aware of the contact of him.

  Yet, for some reason you don’t have the answer to, nor the mind or focus to think about—despite the way his skin contact is scalding, the nerves in your body ignited and burning from his touch—you still find yourself reaching out to him during the flight. It’s almost like it’s instinctual, though you aren’t quite sure how that would even be possible. Every time you notice Jooheon tense or become physically uncomfortable, the incessant tapping of his fingertips against the arm of the seat picking back up—you reach out to him. Your touch stills the anxiety from pouring out of his body in a physical form. It always happens when there’s turbulence, Jooheon seemingly seizing up every time the plane acts up in any way. You find it an odd fear or worry to have, considering he should be someone accustomed to flying so much, but you suppose people don’t get to pick and choose what it is that they’re afraid of.

  For a good majority of the flight, Jooheon opts to leave you alone. As much as he has questions and curiosities, and a need to hear your voice, he doesn’t want to push his luck. Every time your hand finds his whenever the turbulence of the plane gets to be too much for him—everything within him stills after a shock of electricity passes through his system from your touch. It’s like that single strike flashes through his system, piercing through every bit of thick, smoky anxiety in its wake. But beyond that touch,  Jooheon doesn’t ask or prompt for much more. And as the turbulence settles the longer the sixteen-hour flight drags on, the less Jooheon feels your touch that acts as a solid comfort to him. Instead, he relies more on the music the two of you listen to together. You never ask for the earbud back, and the cord of the shared headphones acts as the main thing linking you together the more time passes.

  Jooheon only pushes his luck a little bit every time food or snacks come around. He takes these moments to chat with the stewardess, asking some questions, and pulling you into the conversation with ease. It’s then that you find yourself stuck in small chats with him as he passes you snacks, drinks, or your meal. Luckily, it’s easy conversation that—for the most part—doesn’t push any boundaries, and always has something to do with the food being passed around. Questions like, How does that taste? What’s your favorite food? And barters to trade snacks. They’re interactions that don’t require much of a thought process otherwise, just meaningless words to fill the silence and help pass the time. While most of your interactions with him up until that point had been begrudging, to put kindly, Jooheon couldn’t help but be surprised at how receptive you could actually be.

  In between conversation, you spend the flight trying to get some shut-eye in, as you had originally planned—to no avail. You aren’t sure if it’s the presence of Jooheon being so close to you, his flying anxiety, or the sensation and sounds that came with flying that make it difficult to find sleep. From the corner of his eyes, you’re unaware of Jooheon watching you nod off every now and again, unable to ignore the way your head starts to bob or fall back against the seat suddenly. At these times, you barely manage to catch just a few fleeting moments of rest, something you couldn’t quite place your finger on always stirring you back awake. 

  It’s during one of these brief moments when you stir back awake that you notice Jooheon working on a tablet. At first, you think nothing of it, wanting to go back to sleep—even though you’re almost certain it’s impossible at this point—but, then it dawns on you that Jooheon is focused and quiet, and most importantly: Working, and not bothering you. As much as you hated to admit it, you’d become accustomed to Jooheon pestering you every time you moved even an inch. His silence almost disturbed you.

  You blink a few times, blearily at first, refocusing your gaze and quietly straightening in your seat to peek a glance at the tablet. It sits in Jooheon’s lap, propped against one of his knees that he has raised and crossed over the other leg, where he drags the stylus against the screen, moving a specific item back and forth across the piece he’s working on. You can’t tell if he’s being erratic or indecisive. For a moment, though, you stare—studying what you assume to be some sort of pamphlet being put together for a hotel—before a yawn overtakes you.

  When the yawn subsides, you shift in your seat, leaning closer to Jooheon. You give his elbow a nudge on the arm rest as you peer further over his shoulder at the tablet. “There’s too much white space.”

  You bite your lip to keep from laughing when Jooheon startles in surprise at your sudden intrusion into his space—having thought you were asleep still—letting a curse in Korean slip from his mouth under his breath. Cute, you can’t help but think, offering up a sheepish smile as if to apologize when Jooheon turns his head to stare you down, his eyes screaming offense. Jooheon lets out a small sigh, turning away and lifting a hand up to pat his chest and clear his throat—attempting to settle a heart that had almost tried to jump out of his chest.

  “I can’t get this layout to work,” Jooheon says as he returns his attention to the tablet in front of him.

  You reach over the armrest, and over his arm which holds the tablet, pointing at the screen as you speak. “You should resize these things, and then move this font here, and this image here. You could also do an overlay with a neutral color to offset the layers of this.”

  As you point to what you’re talking about, careful not to touch the tablet and accidentally move something, Jooheon watchings your index finger carefully. You don’t notice the way his brows knit in focus, hanging on every word you say and carefully listening to you. You also don’t notice the way that, as you speak, he’ll find himself losing focus for just a split second to allow his eyes to flicker to your face—so close to his as you lean over the armrest—taking a fleeting moment to admire the way you seem so serious and concentrated, your eyes alight with determined focus. Jooheon glances away from you, and back down to the tablet as you speak, feeling the corners of his lips twitch with amusement. This is what you liked doing. It was the part of your job that you liked, and he could tell. A stark contrast to the night of the hotel opening, which just seemed stressful and forced on you.

  It’s Jooheon’s turn to shift in his seat, leaning closer to you as he pulls his arm back and puts the tablet on the armrest between the two of you. You feel yourself freeze slightly at the proximity, having been so focused on what you were telling him. He lifts his hand, holding out the stylus to you. You blink, glancing at him and meeting his gaze—brief enough that it makes your chest clench—before glancing at the stylus.

  “What?”

  “I’m not going to retain any of what you just said. I got a bit of it. You take over.”

  “You… want me?” You blink in surprise, glancing at the screen of the tablet, and at him again. “This seems important though. It’s for your work, I could mess it up—”

  Jooheon scoffs. “Please, if anything—I’m the one that’ll mess it up. You’re the journalism major here, I’d say you’re much more qualified.”

  “Then why are you doing this?” You ask, relenting and taking the stylus from Jooheon.

  “We acquired a hotel in Los Angeles a few months back that’s been undergoing renovation—for the line of hotels I introduced at the grand opening the other night. The one in Seoul was built from the ground up, but we’ve slowly been expanding and we took a historic hotel and made it our own,” Jooheon explains, watching as you finally touch the stylus tip to the tablet and begin to work. “Anyway, long explanation shorter—the opening for that and the reintroduction of the new management is soon, but we recently lost our marketing manager. We haven’t been able to find someone else to hire, and we’ve got deadlines to reach. I’ve been trying to help out by taking over half of the job duties from the general manager.”

  “That’s very… responsible of you.”

  “Well, this whole chain is my responsibility,” Jooheon muses. “So, yeah. But also my best friend is the GM and his ass is getting kicked. Neither of us are any good at this, we’re just good at the business portion of it.”

  The conversation falls off there, Jooheon realizing you’re focusing. Hearing he and his general manager were struggling made you feel more pressure, and you can’t help but mentally chastise yourself for stepping in and helping, despite how clearly he had been struggling. Luckily, Jooheon stays close to you as he watches you work, leaning against the armrest. You try not to focus too much on the way your shoulders touch, or the way his scent flows into your space as he delegates a little, giving you technical hotel terminology to include and add in as the pamphlet comes to life on the tablet screen and the white space that had been taking up the majority of the screen before slowly melts away. When he challenges something you do, he allows for you to explain your reasoning behind it and listens carefully as you do so. You find yourself surprised at how well he listens, and how easily it is to compromise with him on certain things.

  You two spend a couple of hours working away at the project together before determining it’s finished, Jooheon and yourself both pleased with the outcome. Jooheon is smiling with enough force that his dimples show on his cheeks, and you can’t help but find yourself smiling along with him—his happiness infectious; you’re happy he’s happy, and you’re happy to have helped. Yet even with the happiness, you find your eyes stinging because of staring at a bright screen for so long, and are acutely aware of your beloved ever-present migraine rearing its ugly head even more than it had at the start of the flight. Jooheon takes note of the way you lift a hand to pinch your nose, attempting to suppress the pain throbbing from your skull.

  “Get some sleep. I won’t bother you anymore,” Jooheon comments, lifting the tablet up briefly to give it a small wave. “Thanks for your help though.”

  “No problem,” you mumble, suppressing yawn. His thank you catches you off-guard, enough so that you lower your hand from the bridge of your nose to blink at him a couple of times. But he’s not paying attention, turning away from you to put the tablet back into a carry-on he’d had stowed underneath the seat ahead of him. You shift in your seat—away from the position which had you closer to him—attempting to make yourself comfortable again as you close your eyes.

  Sleep seems like a fever dream to you. Something you’re aware that you’re receiving, but never feeling quite satisfied from it. As if it’s there, but simultaneously not; all a figment of your imagination. You begin to doze almost immediately after closing your eyes, the migraine practically pushing you to do so, because keeping your eyes open hurt too much. The intensity of the migraine doesn’t relent, though, which has you dozing and waking just as you had before you’d begun helping Jooheon with his work. Just as before, you find yourself going in and out of consciousness, nodding off and startling awake when your head begins to bob or tip too far. You sleep in increments—none of it restful.

  Jooheon is aware of your restlessness next to him, but he’d promised not to bother you—and he has to remind himself of that. But the way your head tips and bobs makes him feel anxious for you. Especially because he could briefly recall a mention of a constant headache the night of the hotel opening, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the reason sleep wasn’t coming to you easily was because of that. Had you been serious about it? You had a dry sense of humor, which he found quite amusing, but it had him often wondering if what you said was the truth or not at certain times—and did a decent job to keep him on his toes as he attempted to figure out whether you were being serious at times.

  He gives in to listening to himself constantly telling himself that he had said he wouldn't bother you, though, after too much time passes watching your head nod as sleep attempts to overtake you. That has got to be uncomfortable on the neck… he thinks to himself, completely giving in when he watches your head fall forward a bit too far. Jooheon reaches out to catch your head, guiding it gently toward his shoulder. As he does so, he sinks lower in his seat just a bit, so your head can rest more comfortably against him. He’s a little disappointed to find that the instant calm and quiet that had overtaken him earlier during the turbulence from your touch doesn’t envelop him warmly again—he is, however, surprised to find that after a few moments pass, you shift in your seat closer to him. When Jooheon glances at you after feeling the movement, he finds you still asleep—thankfully—slumping to the side to lean towards him more comfortably, snuggling against his shoulder.

  The way you nuzzle against him has him tensing in surprise—a heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. The action from you and the heat he feels overtake him with a sudden ferocity are familiar. Too familiar. A type of hunger he’d rather not put a name to.

  No, Lee Jooheon. Not right now. He clenches his jaw, glancing away from you and swallowing roughly, feeling parched suddenly. It was strange how different actions elicited different reactions, his body responding in such stark contrast to each. As Jooheon turns away, he carefully lifts his hood up and over his head, closing his eyes.

  He should sleep, too. There was still quite a bit of flight left.

—

You’re met with silence when you finally wake.

  The plane is bustling and alive, a quiet hum of sound that reverberates through the cabin as people speak in hushed tones and get ready for their landing. These sounds all come to you, slowly seeping into your consciousness. Before your body fully wakes—before you begin to tense your muscles and stretch, and a yawn overtakes you while your eyes crack open—your mind wakes first. And you notice something that seems a little off.

  Everything is silent.

  Your headache is completely gone.

  You stay still for a moment, reveling in the odd silence, though your mind is reeling as to why the migraines which had been plaguing you for months were just suddenly gone. The cavity of your skull where your mind rests feels empty, but in an oddly good way. What had changed? What had happened? Was it the ascension in the plane to a higher altitude? Was that even something that could stop chronic migraines?

  It almost felt too good to be true, considering your migraines also came hand-in-hand with your pockets of disappearing memory. For all that to just suddenly stop felt too good to be true.

  Furrowing your brows, you squeeze your eyes closed tighter. You want to stay here—suspended in silence and the darkness behind your eyelids—forever. There was no ache just beyond your temple that caused nausea; the pain so bad sometimes you felt like you might pass out. There was no ache behind your eyes that typically brought about the stinging sensation of tears, and made the glaring brightness of any sort of light hurt. There was nothing. There was just silence. No thoughts, no suffocating pressure, no pain.

  “Are you awake now?” Abruptly, Jooheon’s not-so-welcome, yet familiar, voice breaks through your silence.

  Begrudgingly, you open your eyes, blinking a few times to readjust to the light. And then, you blink again, realizing the tilted angle at which you’re resting.

  “Sleep well?” The hint of amusement in Jooheon’s voice has you jolting upright—and off his shoulder, where you’d been resting your head. You take a moment to stare ahead, refusing to meet Jooheon’s curious gaze that you can feel burning into you. Silently, you swallow down your nervousness and glance to your side, avoiding his gaze for a moment to stare at his shoulder—your makeshift pillow for who knows how long—then you lift your eyes to meet his.

  Without prompting vocally again, Jooheon simply raises an eyebrow.

  You almost hate to admit you did sleep well, considering the push and pull you kept experiencing towards Jooheon. There were too many unanswered questions about him, too many things that made you curious and worried at the same time. He was too mysterious. Admitting something like this to him almost felt like you were placing a playing card right in his hand. There was a small part of you that wondered if his presence had anything to do with it, but you immediately pushed that thought out of your mind, writing it off as absolutely absurd. You barely knew him, how would he have any sort of effect on you such as that?

  Letting out a sigh, you nod finally in answer.

  Jooheon takes the silent answer with a small nod of his own, turning away to gather his belongings which had been at his feet to begin putting in the backpack he had, before pushing it back under the seat before him. “That’s good, you looked like you needed some decent rest.”

  “Apparently so. My headache—or rather, migraine—is gone.”

  When Jooheon straightens in his seat, he turns to look at you again. “You mentioned once you had a constant headache. Was it that bad?”

  You nod. “It would vary. Sometimes it was a headache, sometimes a migraine. Anywhere from manageable to incapacitating, but always constant. It’s been going on for almost three months now, I think?”

  “That long?” Jooheon’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and the corners of his lips immediately follow in the opposite direction, pulling down into a frown. “You mentioned during our first meeting you were stressed, but that sounds like something more than just stress. Have you been to a doctor?”

  “Please, finding the time is too difficult. Don’t start nagging me like Kihyun.” Out of habit, the borderline pushiness of his words has you reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose. There’s no headache there to attempt to subside—which has your hand just as quickly falling down from your face. You frown at your palm, studying it. The habit had been built on stress, and as stressful as Jooheon’s miniscule attempt to nag had been, there was no physical representation of that stress like usual.

  Maybe Kihyun is the problem, you muse to yourself. He did have a tendency to nag to the extreme. Almost like a mother.

  “I’m starting to think Kihyun might be on to something,” Jooheon grumbles from next to you, causing you to lift your gaze from your hand. “You seem to be stubborn, you need someone to nag you, it seems like. You should find the time. Three months almost certainly implies there’s some sort of underlying health concern.”

  “My headache is still gone, don’t ruin the moment. If you keep it up, it’s almost certainly going to come back.”

With a scoff, you look away from him and nestle back into your seat. As you do so, an announcement over the intercom notifies everyone aboard the plane of the oncoming landing. Instructions to start preparing for landing by putting away and stowing all belongings follows, and the stewardess over the speaker ends the announcement by asking everyone to return to their seats and begin buckling up.

  “Fine. I won’t ruin this moment. But I can’t promise for any future moments,” Jooheon declares. When you glance at him in surprise, he looks over at you with a small dimpled smirk. You end up rolling your eyes—rolling your gaze away from him. How the heck was he so annoying, yet somehow charming?

  As if someone hears the word charming cross through your mind—the plane hits a bit of turbulence just before it begins to tip to the side, turning to make a circle to land. It’s a very slight maneuver, almost unnoticeable. In fact, you were so accustomed to flying that you really wouldn’t have noticed it yourself, if not for the fact that Jooheon, next to you, was visibly tensing as he had earlier. His hand, lying on the armrest between you, grips the edge so hard the skin pulls taught and translucent over his knuckles.

  Even Jooheon’s unusual fear and his reaction to it, something you had become accustomed to during the flight, was somehow charming.

  Wordlessly, you reach out, pushing your hand beneath his where it grips the armrest. It takes a bit of urging before he feels your fingertips pushing against the base of his palm near his wrist, attempting to push your way underneath. When Jooheon does, he glances at you in surprise, lifting his hand just enough for you to slip yours beneath to take hold of him as you had before.

  When your palms connect, fingers wrapping around his and him returning the gesture, that scalding feeling from before returns. You knew you’d be burned, touching him—yet for some reason, as you had so many times through the flight already—it was a risk you were willing to take. That same electricity that you’d felt before, and felt from the night of the hotel opening, shoots up your arm from where your palms connect and shoots across every nerve in your body again. This time, though, it feels so much stronger—and now you wonder if the clarity of your migraine being gone is a good thing, or a bad thing. Without the heavy, leaden fog that rests over your mind with the migraine, you’re suddenly aware and feel everything. So much so that the contact this time and the reaction your body has to him makes you flinch in surprise, though very subtly.

  Jooheon, of course, takes silent note—his eyes never not watching you curiously.

  That electric fire that swarms through you happens in such a brief amount of time that it takes you a few moments of staring at your hand, connected with Jooheon’s, to realize that it at some point quiets down to something more akin to a simmer. Warm, and somehow pleasant. Something like sitting in a window, where sun filters through, your eyes closed against the sunlight that warms the glass and warms you.

  You really had to be going crazy, you think. Jooheon was handsome but there was no way you were attracted to him—right?

  Meanwhile, the same warmth floods through Jooheon, euphoric and soothing. He draws his eyes away from you, clenching his jaw and trying not to physically react to the fuzzy feeling that overtakes him, filling him up  yet again. The welcome silence of everything stopping within him returns. If he isn’t careful, he’s sure he might let out a sigh of contentment that would give everything away. And so, he clenches his jaw a little tighter, pursing his lips.

  “You’re going to break the poor armrest,” you say, past a knot that forms in your throat. Your throat feels dry, seizing up again. You feel awkward just holding his hand—especially as you try to make sense of the sudden fire that had built up just as it had before, before slowly dying down into something more manageable. This time, it wasn’t as suffocating. Yet you still felt somehow nervous and small next to him, that unnerving edginess he causes settling over you again. Your body was starting to feel as though it was experiencing whiplash.

  A little over sixteen hours spent in his presence was starting to confuse you. Were you still irked by him, yet somehow intrigued? Or were you actually starting to soften up to him? You had to admit that his mysterious riddled words and overly generous actions had made you immediately throw up a wall… but he hadn’t been that bad during this flight. He’d been much more normal, still as charming, but besides taking your phone for himself—he hadn’t pushed any boundaries or said anything weird.

  “You’d rather I break your hand, then?” Jooheon retorts good-naturedly, which has you suddenly snorting out a small laugh.

  “Please don’t actually break it. I need to return to work after this trip.”

  “What are you on this trip for, anyway?” Jooheon wonders, and when you look at him with a frown, he shrugs. “I told you what I’m going to LA for.”

  “Family reasons.”

  “A vacation, then?”

  You shake your head, grimacing at the thought of what awaits you when you land. Although Jooheon has made the flight a little more bearable, despite everything you thought about him prior, a small part of you wishes you hadn’t even boarded the plane back in Seoul. Knowing what you were walking into when the plane landed—you wished for everything that, somehow, you wouldn’t have to. If only you hadn’t been pressured into taking this trip. You wanted to stay suspended here, with your migraine gone and a bit of peace from everything in life and just spend some time not thinking. Not thinking about work, not thinking about family, and not thinking about how much pain you were constantly in. Kihyun had told you to get your migraine checked out while you were near your family doctor, but you wondered when you’d have time for that—wondered how long this peace from the head pain would last. Which is why you wanted to keep it, for as long as possible. It was so nice to have some silence and a break from it all. Soon, you’d be walking back into more pain. Unwillingly so, but that was the outcome, nonetheless.

  “It’s not going to feel like a vacation.” Comes your answer, just as the plane lands. It’s at that moment that Jooheon squeezes your hand, the impact of the plane hitting the runway jostling everyone inside just a bit. But there’s something in the way that he gives the squeeze—almost reassuring instead of to comfort himself—that has you staring at your hands, yet again, in silent curiosity.

  Jooheon keeps holding your hand up until the plane reaches a complete stop once it pulls up to the jetway. It’s only then that he relinquishes his hold, and the both of you silently gather up the belongings which you’d brought as carry on items onto the plane. Other passengers begin to do the same, standing in their rows and slowly beginning to exit the plane. Jooheon, once he has everything in his backpack he’d brought with him, soon stands in the row you share, turning to glance over his shoulder. As you finish gathering your things into the backpack you’d brought on the plane with you after claiming it from the overhead bin, you look up at him—noticing him searching.

  You peek over the top edge of your seat just as Jooheon appears to have found who he was looking for, giving a curt nod of acknowledgement. “I’ll meet you outside,” he says, nodding over his shoulder to signal when they exit the plane. You squint, studying the people, before your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, instantly recognizing the larger built man a few aisles back from you who seems to nod a reply to Jooheon.

  “He was here too?” You blurt out,  without thinking, memories immediately flashing back to the night you’d been drunk and that man had taken you home. You grimace, sinking down in your seat a bit and hoping he doesn’t see you.

  Your outburst causes Jooheon to glance down at you in surprise, lips twitching in amusement at your reaction and the way you attempt to hide yourself. “Of course. Hoseok’s my bodyguard. And kind of an assistant, since he keeps track of all my schedules.”

  “Why’d you sit with me instead of the person you came on this trip with?”

  Jooheon shrugs. “You’re much more interesting. Plus, I see him every day.”

  You frown, but before you can reply, Jooheon reaches down behind you where you sit, backpack on, and gives the hook strap on your bag a tug, urging you to your feet. The two aisles ahead of you move to make their exit, marking it as your turn next. Jooheon turns away as you stand, stepping out of the aisle—and his next action catches you by surprise. He steps out enough to block others from cutting out and ahead, nodding for you to go first. Blinking in surprise, you almost trip as you rush out of the aisle so as to not hold up the line, feeling Jooheon keep close behind you as he follows.

  You don’t realize until you’re off the plane that Jooheon has an ulterior motive by letting you exit first. As soon as you’ve cleared the bridge connecting the plane to the terminal gate, and have stepped out into the waiting area, Jooheon steps forward from behind you and slips his hand into your own. He takes a firm hold, tugging you along as he leads you off. 

  “Hey!” Surprised, you stumble after him, having not even had a chance to figure out what your next step after arrival would be—you’d traveled back in time, and it was almost nine o’clock at night on a Friday in Los Angeles. You needed to figure out a form of transportation home, first and foremost, before things started to close down. “J-Jooheon!”

  The sound of his name slows his pace down, and Jooheon glances over his shoulder at you with a quirked brow—but he doesn’t stop walking. “That’s the second time you’ve said my name.”

  You frown, staring at him. Had he been counting such a thing? You hadn’t really been aware you’d said his name so little… but you had been avidly avoiding the use of it. You didn’t want to give him too much power by using his name. It was better, you thought, to just keep him as a stranger. That’s what you’d thought the night of the opening ceremony and the nights following where he’d constantly tormented the gaping hole in your memory. Unfortunately, he’d pushed past that boundary line already—something you were well aware of. Lee Jooheon was more like an acquaintance now, and as much as you hated it—it was too late to turn back.

  “We’re going to go get food,” he announces when you don’t say anything to his statement, turning away from you to keep leading you on.

  You give your hand a tug, attempting to pull it back to yourself. “We don’t need to, though—”

  “Nonsense, I’m starving. The plane meals weren't that filling.” Jooheon glances over his shoulder at you again. “And like I said, you’re much more interesting to spend time with. I’m not done doing so yet—as soon as you leave this airport, who knows when I’ll see you again, or if you’ll even use that phone number I put in your cell? LA’s a much bigger city than Seoul, we might not cross paths at all while we’re here.”

  “Why does that matter?” You grumble. You wanted to keep things at the acquaintance level.

  Jooheon shrugs. “Matters to me. But please, just indulge me for a bit. I’m stuck here for at least a week having to do work. I might not get to see anything outside of a hotel for the entire time.”

  You sigh, but give up trying to pull your hand back to you. Jooheon doesn’t free you of his grasp until you’re being seated. As you stop outside the restaurant he’s chosen, you can’t help but stare up at the sign on the wall for the Mexican food eatery, grimacing. Jooheon catches the face you make as you sit across from him—and when your eyes meet as you take your seat, and you realize he’d seen you make the face, you let out another sigh.

  “Did we really have to eat here? Airport food is so expensive.”

  “It’s quick and convenient. Plus, I’m paying.”

  “What?” You shake your head. You already owed him, you didn’t want more added on. “No, definitely not.”

  “You’re indulging me, so I’ll be the one to handle the bill.” Jooheon reaches across the table, tapping the menu that had been set down in front of you by the waiter before they had disappeared. After doing so, Jooheon pulls his phone out of his pocket and busies himself with it.

  You purse your lips, scanning the limited menu options. The downside to airport food, besides the price, was how little there was to choose from. That being said, it made making a final decision a lot easier and faster. When the waiter comes back around—the two of you being among the very few people sitting to eat at that time of night—you both place your order with ease.

  Just as the waiter leaves, Jooheon’s phone rings. He glances at the phone face to see who’s calling, before answering in Korean. While the voice on the other end of the line speaks, you decide to pull your own phone out of your bag that you’d brought with you. Having been dragged away by Jooheon, you hadn’t had a chance to turn your phone off airplane mode. You do so, and then wait for the onslaught of messages to pour through.

  “Hey,” Jooheon says from across the table. You glance up from your phone to look at him, just as your finger pushes the little slider to turn airplane mode off. “What does your luggage look like?”

  For a moment, you just stare at Jooheon, confused.

  “It’s Hoseok, he’s at baggage claim.”

  “Oh.” The word falls from your lips slowly as his words settle into your mind, realization dawning on you. That’s right—you’d been dragged away so fast you’d also forgotten about your checked luggage that you had to pick up. “Uh, it’s a larger black suitcase. I have a yellow ribbon tied to it.”

  Jooheon nods, repeating the information to Hoseok. As he does so, you overhear him follow up by telling his bodyguard-assistant that the two of you are eating, and apologizing profusely for running off. It’s clear from the tone the conversation takes that Jooheon isn’t going to be let off easy, despite being the boss. You zone out, then, instead returning your focus back to your own phone. But the screen contents are empty when you tap the screen to wake the phone from sleep, unlocking it.

  The lack of any sort of notification causes you to frown. Of course, it was past nine now, so you doubted anyone here that was waiting for you to arrive actually cared about you arriving. This entire trip had been a guilt trip, and was an inconvenience for you. You were sure drama would start as soon as you arrived home. It was likely no one had even stayed up to greet you, so why would anyone bother to check and see if your flight had gone well? There had been minimal communication leading up to your departure, anyway.

  Doing the math in your head, you count back, figure that it’s a little after one in the afternoon back in Korea. The fact that there was no message from Kihyun, either, was a little deterring—considering it was a weekend in the middle of the afternoon. But then you remembered he had asked you to call him when you landed. Mentally chastising yourself, you open your text messages and send him a quick text, letting him know you’ve landed and were grabbing some food, and would call him a little later.

  “You okay?” Jooheon asks, now off the phone. He’d been sitting there quietly for a few moments, watching your expression turn increasingly sour.

  Hearing his voice, you startle in surprise—having not even realized he’d gone silent. You fumble with your phone, locking it quickly—slightly guiltily—and pull your gaze back up to him. Not long ago, you’d been trying to get out of eating with him and slip away as fast as you possibly could. But, now you realize it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t like you had anywhere to go.

   “Yeah, fine,” you mumble sheepishly.

  Jooheon clicks his tongue, reaching for the glass of water the waiter had set on the table when seating the two of you. “That’s a lie,” he says, before taking a drink. “But I won’t press.”

  Before you can react to that, wondering how Jooheon would know such a thing was a lie, your waiter returns with your food. The way you can feel your expression instantly lighten on your face, your stomach growling in response to the delectable scent—you realize that’s how Jooheon had known you were lying. Thinking about what you were returning home too had dampened your mood enough that it was visible on your face. But the smell of the expensive, yet delicious-looking, airport food had lightened it back up.

  Jooheon smiles softly, watching you, amused at how easily food motivated you seemed to be. He gives a quiet thanks to the waiter before joining you, taking a bite of the tacos that had been ordered. The two of you eat in silence, for the most part. The only questions Jooheon asks are if you like the food, just as he had done on the plane, and how long you’ll be in Los Angeles for. Neither answer illicit much of a further reaction from him, or push him to speak more—and so you finish your shared meal together quite quickly—and thankfully before things get awkward with the staff as the restaurant nears closing time.

  You wait by the entrance while Jooheon finishes up paying. As he turns away from the counter, he sticks the receipt he was given in his wallet, before shoving that into the pocket of his sweatpants, walking over to meet you. You offer up a smile as he stops next to you.

  “Thanks for the food.” “Thank you for eating with me,” Jooheon replies, returning your smile. He can’t help but take note of how soft, and slightly shy, the way your lips appear to be turned up on your face. It’s cute. Before much more can be said, his phone goes off in his pocket.

  The sound makes you a bit jealous, and you watch as Jooheon pulls the device out and studies the name on the screen. He lets out a very long sigh before he answers the phone—and you’re almost surprised it’s in Korean, again.

  “I just finished eating,” you hear Jooheon say, and you turn away as he speaks on the phone.

  As you do so, you blink, catching sight of something—or rather, someone—peculiar.

  “Daniel?” The name falls from your lips with confusion, but with a raised-enough voice that the owner of the name—the person walking towards you—lifts their head in answer, confirming your suspicion.

  Jooheon, standing behind you, hears your voice not only against his ears—but he also hears it echo within his phone receiver, as well. Blinking in confusion, he pulls his cell phone away from his ear just enough to stare at it, surprised and confused, before turning around slowly. Jooheon looks at you, first, then lifts his gaze up to see what you’re staring at with such a surprised expression.

  “Changkyun.”

  You glance over your shoulder at Jooheon, hearing a name fall from his lips that isn’t a question—but rather, a statement. Seeing where Jooheon is staring, you look back.

  Daniel—or Changkyun—stops dead in his tracks where he’s walking, the cell phone he’s holding to his ear frozen there. He stares, dumbfounded, looking between you and Jooheon. After a few moments, your name falls from his lips in surprise—out of breath and nostalgic, the familiarity of it hits you like a wave. And then, his next word that follows has you blanching in surprise, looking once again back over your shoulder at Jooheon.

  “Uh, hi, Boss.”

  Jooheon purses his lips, lowering his phone from his ear and hanging up the call. He shoves the device back into his pocket. “You’re late.”

  “S-sorry, you know how LA traffic is.”

  “You two know each other?” You blurt, suddenly, just as Daniel nears the two of you, slowly coming to a stop.

  “I want to ask the same thing.” As he speaks, Jooheon quirks a brow at you.

  “Actually,” Changkyun clears his throat. “Same.”

  “This is the best friend-general manager that I was telling you about on the flight, for our LA location,” Jooheon explains, before nodding in your direction. “And she’s my favorite small-time journalist in Seoul.”

  Favorite small-time journalist. The words ring in your head, and you’re suddenly propelled back to weeks ago when you had found yourself wondering if Jooheon had a hand in how well your article had been doing. You purse your lips, but decide not to say anything.

  It’s Changkyun’s turn to quirk a brow, but you’re too busy turning the rest of Jooheon’s words over in your head to react. It takes a moment before your eyes suddenly widen. Your head snaps up in the direction of Daniel, eyebrows shooting up in surprise and mouth falling open. “You?! A general manager?!”

  “Wow, the lack of faith in your incredulous reaction is a testament to your faith in me,” Changkyun mutters, tone dripping with sarcasm. All you do is shake your head, still in disbelief, before looking back at Jooheon.

  “We went to high school together,” you reply simply. “And middle school, actually. We’ve been friends since then.”

  “Speaking of, why are you back? Are you here for—” Before Changkyun can finish his sentence, you loudly cut him off.

  “Oh! Look! Hoseok has the luggage!” And before waiting for either of the men next to you to react, you push past Daniel in a rush, heading towards Jooheon’s bodyguard. Changkyun blinks, surprised, meeting Jooheon’s eyes before looking over his shoulder at you. Jooheon simply shrugs, following after you a little more slowly.

  “How are you getting home?” Jooheon asks as he catches back up to you, watching as Hoseok relinquishes your luggage back to your own possession.

  You give Hoseok a small thanks, turning back. “I’m just going to call an Uber or Lyft.”

  Jooheon frowns, before looking at Changkyun. “How close are you two?”

  “Uh… close, I guess? Our families know each other, and we keep in touch, albeit inconsistently because of work.”

  “Perfect. Let her borrow your car.”

  In unison, you and Changkyun both blurt out, “What?”

  “It’s late, and it’s safer. We can just get the Uber. This way you can just head home,” Jooheon explains, matter-of-factly. “And if you two went to  school together and your families are familiar with each other, I’m sure you know where to pick your car up.”

  “Hey,” you mutter, scowling at Jooheon. “That’s not really for you to decide—”

  Changkyun sighs, waving you off. “It’s fine, it’s not a big deal. He has the right idea. You live like twenty minutes away from here, anyway.” 

  You frown, wanting to argue further—but you feel Jooheon’s intense gaze on you and figure it probably won’t get you very far. But to just make that decision on his own, without asking… you cut Jooheon a look of annoyance before turning your attention back to Changkyun as he fishes his car keys out of his pocket, pulling the car key off and taking the remaining keys on the ring. He hands it over to you, briefly explaining he’d left the car in the loading port after convincing the attendant outside that he’d only be a short amount of time, urging you should likely go soon so as to not result in his car being towed. You nod, thanking him and giving him a quick hug, before turning to Jooheon.

  Lifting Changkyun’s car key menacingly, you glare. “Don’t you dare use this as an excuse to see me and come with him and pick the car up, got it? I appreciate your concern and I’ll accept it this time—but I’m not happy about it.”

  And before he can answer, you gather your things and turn on your heel, heading away. You hear Jooheon let out an audible laugh as he watches your retreating figure. He smiles, watching you leave, and waits until you’re out of earshot before turning to Changkyun.

  “High school friends, huh? What a coincidence.”

  “That’s the girl you’ve been bugging me about?” Changkyun crosses his arms, frowning. “If so, I don’t think coincidence even begins to cover it.”

  Jooheon tilts his head to the side, curious.

  “She’s the one, right? The failed contract you mentioned?” Changkyun prompts, before letting out a bitter chuckle as Jooheon nods. He shakes his head, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Ha… I can’t even be surprised, with the divorce and all…”

  “Divorce?” Jooheon echoes.

  Changkyun frowns. “My statement that she dodged earlier. Why she’s back here… her parents are getting a divorce. Long time coming, honestly, and she probably got dragged back into it. There’s… a lot in that household that’s worth escaping, to be honest. Which makes sense why she sought you out.”

  “If it makes so much sense, then why’d the contract fail?”

  “Do you really not know?” Changkyun wonders, quirking an eyebrow as he levels his gaze with Jooheon’s.

  “I’m not here to play guessing games, Changkyun,” Jooheon mutters. “It just happened to be convenient that you showed up to see who I was referring to, and coincidence that you know her and we were on the same flight. But I’ve been venting all this to you for the past few months because I’m at an utter loss as to why the contract would have failed. I’m not all-knowing, despite what people may think. Now that you’ve seen her, I’m assuming you have an answer. So, spill.”

  Changkyun smirks, stepping forward to place a hand on Jooheon’s shoulder. “My Lordship… that girl is your soulmate.”

  Soulmate.

  Before the word even processes, Jooheon is scoffing, to which Changkyun tsks.

  “You were human at one point, too. We all have one. Even you, the King of Hell,” Changkyun chastises. “I’m guessing you probably can’t see it, or you would’ve caught on much sooner—but her aura, it reads totally differently when she’s next to you in comparison to when she was walking away. It’s quite interesting to see this in person, I’ve only ever heard of it happening a few times through sources.”

  Jooheon frowns, studying Changkyun’s face for any sign of a lie. Soulmate. Another person with which one had a natural affinity and deeper connection toward. The connection was often instantaneous and natural—and strong enough that one would feel themselves drawn to that other person in every single way while simultaneously bringing about a sense of peace and calm. Jooheon wanted to scoff again. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in them. He’d seen the magic at work for others. But, for himself?

  And yet, so many things made sense. His anxiety eased when near you. The entire plane trip, everything had been calm. A sort of calm he’d never experienced before. Just as much as things had been calm, though, every touch had set ablaze his nerve endings. He hadn’t experienced such a nervousness in someone else’s presence in years.

  What an ironic twist of fate this had to be—the universe was definitely playing games with him, now. He was well aware he’d pissed off many higher powers over the years… but to do this to him? Send him his own soulmate, on a silver platter, begging to make a contract with the Devil? Begging for release? Begging to forget?

  To forget…

  Jooheon blinks, realization dawning on him—the migraines you’d mentioned. He lets out an audible groan, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Of course that would be a side effect. While he had never had a contract fail in the past, unless a soul really wasn’t set on release—a broken contract could amount to many side effects, some more serious than others. In most cases, Jooheon had witnessed the failed cases simply go insane. But since your request had been so definite and simple, it made sense that it would backfire with a physical manifestation like this.

  That’s why she doesn’t remember me.

  “Changkyun, I need a drink,” Jooheon mutters, brushing past both him and Hoseok. The two share a look, and Changkyun stares after Jooheon in confusion, before trailing after in a hurry.

[petrichxxr]

fateful coincidence [1] | l.jh

A/N: does anyone even read my stuff anymore…? anyway, I jokingly told rani (who I can’t even tag anymore or don’t know what blog to tag-) that I should just write my jooheon dreams as fanfics, because then I would at least be writing something instead of being on hiatus. and she took it seriously and said yes. so here we are.

Word Count: 7148

Genre: chaebol/heir!au, slice of life, soft angst, humor? (am I even funny?), romance (slow burn)

Pairing: reader (fem) x lee jooheon (monsta x)

Warnings: mature themes/suggestive, language, there will be… sugar daddy themes… later… but not like sexually idk if this is a warning???

Summary: Lee Jooheon is a well-known heir to a global hotel conglomerate, and is next in line to take over the family business. You’re a journalist aspiring for more, but barely managing to pay your own bills at the end of the month. The two of you are from entirely different worlds, yet fate somehow tangles your threads, and Jooheon seems to know an intriguing amount more about you than he lets on.

“You mean to tell me they just dropped out? Randomly at the last minute like that?”

The voices of your coworkers had been floating around overhead for many minutes longer than you would’ve liked, by now. Why they couldn’t gossip over their coffee delivery somewhere else was beyond you. Why they had to do it at all was further unfathomable. Attempting to push their voices out of your head and concentrate on your work, you rub your temple, squinting at the computer screen in front of you.

“Apparently the journalist got sick and they had no one else to cover from that company. So they called us,” your friend and coworker, Yoo Kihyun, answers the other speaking in his usual matter-of-fact tone.

“It’s tomorrow, though!” The original speaker complains, pressing forward further, “And we’re such a small publication! How can they expect us to take place for the other last minute like this?”

You’re not sure which is louder in your mind, at this point: The complaining of your coworkers—specifically the female senior whose name you’d forgotten—or your typing. With each passing word they utter of annoyance or disbelief, mixed with Kihyun’s logical explanations, the clacking of your fingers against the keyboard beneath your hands quickens, intensifying, before you finally let out a harsh sigh and push yourself away from your desk in frustration. There’s no way for you to concentrate if they’re all going to stand around and gossip like high schoolers.

“Isn’t this good for us, though?” You speak up suddenly, causing the small group to glance over at you in surprise. Typically, you weren’t one to bother with their idle chit-chat breaks. The fact that you were doing so now took them by surprise. Even Kihyun quirks a curious brow at you.

Before you speak up again, you roll your shoulders and give a small stretch. Between their nonsensical worried rambling and your own pile of work, you could physically feel the stress building up in your body. “That they invited us, I mean? As such a small publication?”

In your mind, it made more sense to be excited over being a small publication, taking a larger publication’s place, to any event. Even if it was simply as a fill-in due to a last minute call out—and even if it was a lone instance that may never happen again.

Keep reading

[petrichxxr]

anyway hello everyone who is still lingering around here if there is anyone:

joosexual >> petrichxxr

I wanted a general name because I’ve decided to move all my writings onto this blog and try and write more this year!

[petrichxxr]

can we talk again | l.hj

A/N: this is a veeeeery belated birthday gift for @letteredwings​, happy birthday bub! I love you a lot!

Word Count: 15,304

Genre: mutual pining, light fluff, romance, and angst 

Pairing: fem!reader x lee hyunjae (the boyz)

Warnings: lots of mutual pining and me rambling trying to get it right. also please keep in mind this is a work of fiction and the way certain members of tbz are depicted are simply that: fictional, and do not reflect my views of them.

Summary: After the sudden break-up of a three year relationship that leads you back home to your family and friends, Hyunjae vows that he’ll give you the time and space you need to heal without letting his own feelings get in the way. But what he doesn’t know is that you, too, share similar feelings—and now that you’re back in each other’s presences, it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to keep emotions at bay.

Certain feelings just couldn’t be described in words, no matter how hard one tried. Or, in the very least—they could not be described to the extent that they were felt. Every word in every language could be used, with as many descriptors and synonyms as possible, to convey the emotions. The notion of what was being conveyed, ultimately, was understood. Sometimes, though, even those words never truly matched up to that exact feeling, even when described down to the finest detail, as accurately as possible. It would only ever be accurate to that specific person. No single person would ever feel the same thing—the exact same way—even if the emotion was universal.

 To Hyunjae, you were something akin to the universe. To the night sky and the way the stars were littered about the darkest places of the earth, yet shining so brightly and beautifully. Something akin to a supernova and the way light scattered, breaking, igniting in the sky. Vast, with depths that couldn’t be touched no matter how far you might reach. The way you smiled and the way you laughed filled Hyunjae with that sort of emotion—but that wasn’t something he could so easily convey. It wasn’t something that, even when he put it into words—even if he described it as exactly that—made sense. It didn’t quite feel right falling from the tip of his tongue, almost foreign; it didn’t correctly describe the way his chest clenched or the way his breath would catch within said cavity of that chest. It barely even glossed on the fact that his heart would lurch into his throat and he’d feel an ache he couldn’t soothe.

 You were always just a fingertip’s length away from him. So far, yet so close.

For the longest time, describing such emotions had come so awkwardly to Hyunjae. He’d bit his tongue and suppressed them. Because you weren’t his, it felt as though his emotions weren’t rightfully his own to describe. Despite belonging to him, he couldn’t understand why he felt so confused—why it almost felt like he were robbing someone. Hyunjae had always felt if he were to put his emotions into words, if he were to make them tangible, then it might break the facade he’d put up; a marble, impenetrable wall. If that broke, he could only imagine the way that bright and beautiful universe might also fall apart.

 “If you don’t stop sighing, I’m going to think it’s you who just went through a breakup and not her.” Chanhee’s voice cuts through Hyunjae’s thoughts like a knife, breaking the silence he’d been drowning himself in for who knows how long.

 Almost immediately, he’s dragged back to reality and out of his trance. The sounds of the restaurant around them come flooding back into his senses—too fast, too loud. Almost overwhelming, having forgotten where he was at.

 “Why are you the one sighing, anyway? Shouldn’t you be happy about this?” Younghoon pipes up, where he sits next to Hyunjae. He nods at the unlocked phone on the table, the screen contents visible to everyone. It’s like a slap in the face to Hyunjae, seeing her name, and her photo—and her recently changed relationship status. “Anyway, who even updates their Facebook relationship status anymore? That’s a thing?”

 “Are you saying he should be a rebound guy?” Kevin blurts, without thinking. He’s not even looking up from his food as he mixes dishes together. Younghoon snorts at his words and Chanhee, sitting next to him, gives him an elbow to the rib. Kevin’s only reaction is to grunt, but he continues mixing.

 “He’s sighing because he hasn’t spoken to her in three years,” Chanhee is the one who replies, before Hyunjae can even fathom how to form a coherent thought and turn it into a comprehensible sentence. “And she changed her status as an announcement that she’s moving back from America.”

 “What?” Before Hyunjae can further consider how to form thoughts into any sort of verbal communication, that single word slips past his lips, like a rubber band snapping.

 Kevin pauses his stirring to look up in surprise, and Younghoon startles next to Hyunjae.

 Chanhee quirks a brow in surprise. “You didn’t know?”

 “You literally just explained that I haven’t spoken to her in three years. How the hell would I know?” Hyunjae purses his lips. “The most we’ve done is check in on each other. Casual chat, ‘hello’s’ and ‘how are you’s’ and conversations that drop dead after just a few replies.”

 How had it ended up that way? Hyunjae wonders, allowing his eyes to trail down from those sitting at the table around him to his food. He stills his hand, which had been mindlessly stirring chopsticks through ramen broth for who knows how long, now. How could he so easily have these feelings that were much larger and greater than anything he’d known in existence, yet so easily fall out of touch with you? How could he harbor these feelings for so long, despite the distance?

 Hyunjae couldn’t really place when things started to slip through his fingers—little bits and pieces of you and him and your memories together, grains of sand filtering through and scattering away in the wind. It had happened just like that. Unknowingly and quietly, too easily. How naturally it had come about, with neither of you expecting it or resisting the change, was almost concerning. Relationships were fickle things. They came and went in waves. Some were permanent, some fleeting, and some just happened to stick around longer than others. But how could a relationship of almost ten years just slowly dissipate like it did? How had childhood friends turned into almost strangers?

 “What are you going to do, then?” Chanhee asks.

 How could that question even be asked? Hyunjae frowns down at his food. It took two to keep a relationship going. As confused as he was about all that had happened—or rather, not happened—he himself was just as guilty for not holding up his end of the relationship through the years. As soon as you’d started dating him, things had just slowly fallen away. What was he meant to do? He was at fault, too. He shouldn’t have let your dating life get in the way. Who was he to just barge back in again?

 Hyunjae simply shrugs, fiddling with his chopsticks until he’s collected a portion of ramen to eat. “Nothing. It’s not really my place to do anything.”

—

That, of course, Hyunjae realized—was easier said than done. Two weeks later, with you standing in the same room as him, it was like he could feel the presence of your energy vibrating. He hadn’t interacted with you at all, choosing to distract himself with whatever was nearest to him any time you glanced his way. There were a few fleeting moments in which your eyes had locked, and Hyunjae felt as if everything in his chest was about to combust. It was as though all the emotions he’d thought he’d successfully suppressed had been reignited; though with the way they were slowly seeping out and making themself more known to him as the night went on, he’d describe it to something akin to a small leak in a dam.

 You, too, were hyper-aware of just how near Hyunjae was. Yet he felt so far away, as well, and you weren’t sure how to fix that. There was some sort of imaginary wall between you. There had been for years now, a tension slowly building up that you weren’t sure how to break through or knock down. You’d made a few attempts but pulled back, and had felt him doing the same—maybe it was mutual. But now, here you were back in Korea, standing at a welcoming party among all your closest friends and your childhood best friend, and he felt like a stranger. It was a wretched feeling. What was worse was the feeling of uncertainty, and not being sure how to fix it.

 Maybe it was just the alcohol in your system, but you were almost certain whenever you sought Hyunjae out in the crowd, you found him staring. You were almost certain that every time he’d catch you turning his way, or the few fleeting moments you’d made eye contact, Hyunjae would quickly glance away; would quickly bury himself in the crowd among friends and familiar faces. Had the two of you merely lost touch? Or was there more to it? Had you made some sort of mistake you hadn’t been aware of? You let out a sigh… you weren’t sure how to fix something broken with cracks you couldn’t see; and you weren’t sure what to apologize for if you weren’t aware of what was wrong.

 A sudden outburst from Chanhee, standing next to you, makes you startle in surprise and straight out of your thoughts. “I swear I’m going to prematurely age with all the sighing I’ve been hearing these last two weeks! And now you’re sighing too?!” He lets out a sigh of his own, paired with the pursing of his lips. “I swear if I get wrinkles—”

 You turn to look at Chanhee in surprise. “Two weeks of sighing? Who—?”

 “Who do you think?” Chanhee retorts, nodding in the direction that you’d most recently seen Hyunjae in. “Just go talk to him already. You know how he is, he’s not going to talk to you.”

 “But there’s no way that I can either. How in the world do you just go talk to someone you haven’t talked to in three years? If our conversations go anything like they did online…”

 “You’re overthinking.” The bluntness that Chanhee delivers this statement with surprises you, and then immediately has you on the defensive.

 “If I’m overthinking, then what is he doing?”

 “Also overthinking,” Chanhee replies, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It makes you scowl at him, which he reciprocates by pursing his lips again. “Look, you both have your own ways of overthinking things and you’ll just have to accept that. You sit here brooding and wondering, and he plays the avoidance game. But you’re both overthinking this entire thing. Are the two of you not childhood friends? It’s as easy and natural as that. You’ll be fine.”

 Avidly, you give your head a firm shake and look away from Chanhee. “I can’t. No way—”

 Just as you turn away, Chanhee grabs your wrist and pulls it towards him. He replaces the drink you’d had in your hand with a small shot glass. You stare at it a moment, bewildered, then glance up at him in surprise.

 “Just take a shot and go talk to him,” Chanhee gives you a smile. It’s a smile you’re familiar with, so used to seeing back in college. That fake I’m done with your shit smile that you’d never been on the receiving end of—until today.

 “The good news is,” Chanhee continues, giving your hand—now occupied with a shot glass—a little nudge. “You often turn to the consumption of alcohol when overthinking. Hyunjae doesn’t at all, so this will at least be easy for one of you. The better news is, he doesn’t turn to alcohol because he knows you do so his instincts to take care of you will immediately kick in if he sees you’re intoxicated, even a little.”

 “What kind of nonsense are you blabbering, Chanhee—”

 Of course, as much as you might describe it as nonsense, Chanhee wasn’t wrong. He’d been friends with the both of you for a long time, often stuck in the middle, and he knew exactly what he was talking about. You hated to admit it, but he had described both of your personalities—especially that negative portion, when it came to managing stress, worries, or an overactive brain that had a tendency to overthink—right on the head. Both of you had always been that way, equally hating confrontation. So you turned to drinking and brooding, until it bubbled over into a rant to get it all out. Hyunjae, meanwhile, liked to mope and avoid despite how much his thoughts might yell at him about all of the anxieties he had.

 He was definitely moping and avoiding right now, which made you further wonder what you’d done wrong, if anything. You wanted your best friend back; and though you might never word this part aloud to a single soul—you wanted your first crush back. The boy who’d claimed your heart with his honesty, tenderness, and kindness. The boy who was always there as a shoulder to lean on, the one who could always make you laugh without trying, the one who would come running to pick you up at three in the morning if you’d had too much to drink, and the one who when he smiled had the corners of his eyes crinkle with visible happiness.

 The boy who you were too scared to lose as a friend, so you’d driven a wedge between your heart and him, and never quite gave him the entirety of it. He’d always held it in such gentle hands, even as a friend. You were afraid to find out what might happen if he were to accidentally hurt it.

 But maybe the wedge is what you’d done wrong. Maybe he felt it. And when physical distance had been put between the two of you, maybe that’s how that wall had been built up. 

 “Just drink,” he urges again, giving your hand another little nudge, pushing it higher. “This is my party that I put together, the least you can do is listen to your friend’s request.”

 You frown at him. “You put this party together for me. To welcome me home.”

 “Yeah, well, I still put effort in. And my wish for repayment after all this hard work is for you to talk to Hyunjae again. You can either do that sober—limitedly, since you’ve already had drinks tonight—or you can do it after taking a fresh shot. Or I drag you across the room kicking and make you talk to him.”

 If possible, you feel your frown deepen. Muscles on your face you’d never put to use stretch further than they have before. But, without dwelling much further on the choices he’s given, you choose to down the contents of the shot glass in a quick go. You may as well get this over with while you still had a fresh dose of liquid courage. As you set the glass aside and step forward to push yourself through the crowd, you miss Chanhee’s smirk as he watches you go.

 Even with Hyunjae doing his absolute best to avoid you, you’re still able to easily find him among the crowd. Chanhee’s penthouse is small enough, and there aren’t many places that Hyunjae can go to hide, despite how well he may think he’s doing. You aren’t sure what exactly to do when you fully approach him—the idea of talking to him seemed awkward, especially after three years and some terrible instant message conversations and texts that barely kept the relationship held together. But by the time you’re just a few feet away from him, you realize you have to make an instant decision—and decide to allow your instincts to make it for you.

 Which leads to you stepping up to him, wrapping your arms around his torso in a hug. When you rest your head against his chest, you’re not entirely certain if it’s your heart you hear beating so loudly, or his.

 Hyunjae, of all things, hadn’t expected you to do that. There’d been nowhere for him to go when he saw you crossing the room. The two of you had already been making fleeing eye contact, and while he’d been wondering if you’d just pass the night and not reach out to him at all—since he wasn’t going to make any move to do so on his end—it was inevitable that you’d cross paths, at some point. Even if neither of you wanted to. A part of him hadn’t expected you to seek him out. Another part of him had been hopeful you would. However, Hyunjae hadn’t anticipated this sort of instance happening. He’d also had no time to mentally prepare. As soon as he’d seen you break apart from your comfort zone next to Chanhee’s side, crossing the room with your sights set on him—his mind had gone blank. He’s certain up until the point where you’d crashed against his chest, he’d looked like a deer in headlights.

 The amount of time it takes Hyunjae to react to your hug makes you wonder if you’d made a mistake. But just as you tense, ready to pull away in embarrassment, you feel his arms wrap around you to reciprocate the hug.

 He gives your back a small pat. “H-Hi…” It’s clear in the tone of his voice he’s not entirely sure of what to say.

 “Hi,” you mumble against the material of his sweater, also unsure of what to say. You’d made it to this point, but you weren’t certain what came next, nor did you think you were ready for it. You were afraid to lift your head and look at him. What if this wasn’t the right choice? What if you should have just let things wither out?

 You feel Hyunjae shift, and you know it’d be overstepping boundaries to keep latched on to him despite how much you want to. So, you break apart from the hug, lifting a hand to rub at the back of your neck sheepishly. Hyunjae clears his throat, glancing away from you, though you refuse to lift your gaze up from your shoes.

 “You’re home,” he finally says after a moment of silence suspended between the two of you hangs there for a little too long. You nod, glancing up finally just as he brings his gaze back to you from where it had wandered all about the room, at the same exact time. For a moment, you feel yourself freeze—and you see Hyunjae freeze, too.

 “I am,” you breathe out, surprised by how much he hasn’t changed even in three years. That’s not much time for many things to change, but it feels so odd seeing him here and in person.

 Hyunjae is tangible, and in front of you, and photos do him absolutely no justice—he’s still as handsome as he’s always been, his soft brown eyes offset by the sharper edges of all his other features, like his jawline and the shape of his nose. You’re surprised you can still pick out the little freckle that sits alone on his nose with such ease, as if you’d expected something about him to be different and unfamiliar. He’s smiling softly, tentatively—yet his lip curl is still so visible. The only thing that seems like it may be different is that he’s lost some weight in his cheeks, them being not quite as full as you remember. But every inch of his features are familiar and beautiful and his honey brown hair falling to the sides of his forehead make him seem golden. Untouchable. You feel out of place, even as his best friend, just as you had during middle and high school. He’d always been handsome and gorgeous simultaneously, and so many girls had liked him back then. He’d always turned every single one down, something you’d never quite understood. Not with how perfect he was—a clever mind with a ridiculous and dorky sense of humor, all packaged in a pretty face.

 “Welcome back,” Hyunjae mumbles, after another pause.

 “Thanks.” You glance away briefly, taking in the people around you all chatting and enjoying themselves.

 Chanhee’s wish for you to talk to Hyunjae again… did he just mean to greet each other like this? It felt strange to attempt to return to normal when there was so obviously a large elephant in the room between the two of you. There’d been a reason he’d given you the shot to down before sending you on your way. Liquid courage… you remind yourself. You hadn’t just needed it to even approach Hyunjae. You needed it for what came next, too. Setting your jaw, you turn back to him. “Hyunjae—”

 Hyunjae immediately feels the shift in the atmosphere between the two of you, immediately catches the terse resolve in your voice. And, just as instantly, he can feel his own self—his entire being—tense up in defense. Maybe it was a natural instinct from knowing you for so long that he knew what was coming next.

 “No, let’s not do this right now—” Hyunjae’s tone was almost pleading. “You should just enjoy the party, this can be done later.”

 You purse your lips. “Will it be done later, though? Or are we both going to avoid it?” There was an unsaid, like we have for the past three years, added to the end of your last question.

 Hyunjae mimics you, also pursing his lips. But before he can think of an excuse—or anything to distract you in order to push this off for just a bit longer—you’re stepping forward and grabbing his arm, pulling him along as you move through the crowd toward the rooftop balcony. Even if there were people out there, being outside was less likely to draw too much attention. Hyunjae has no choice but to stumble in surprise after you, glancing over his shoulder to attempt to find Chanhee and shoot him a withering look.

 The cold hits you like a splash of water to the face as soon as you step outside into the winter night air. To your surprise, there were actually people using the rooftop pool Chanhee’s luxurious penthouse came with, despite the chill outside. Even if the pool was heated, you didn’t think you’d ever catch yourself dead in it in the midst of January. A shiver passes down your spine, and you remind yourself that the cold is likely to wash away the effects of the alcohol if you don’t do something soon. Before you can, though, Hyunjae speaks up.

 “Let’s go sit by the firepit.” He gives a nod in the opposite direction of the pool and its occupants, turning and heading in that direction to claim the seats next to the fire just as the lone two people sitting next to it stand up and leave.

 Reluctantly, you follow. The cold might wash away your resolve—but being too warm next to a cozy fire might make you too tired to follow through with this.

 What were you even following through with? You weren’t even sure what you wanted to talk about with him. How the hell were you supposed to bring up the weird imaginary wall between the two of you. Was it simply that, even—just something of your imagination? Were you actually reading into it this entire time, and there was nothing on Hyunjae’s end to even be concerned about…? No… no, you knew there was something off, and you needed to find out what it was. You needed to be able to repair this relationship. Now that you were back home, there was no way you could continue on like this. The distance made it difficult to notice when things had gone awry between the two of you, but it also made it more difficult to approach and mend. There was no way you’d be able to survive like this, when the two of you shared too many common friends.

 Swallowing past the knot that had been forming in your throat, you follow Hyunjae and take the second open seat next to him by the fire. He’s not looking at you as you sit down, gaze fixated on the orange and yellow flames in front of him. For a moment, you too study the fire as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world, before you lift your gaze to look at him—studying the way the light of the fire falls against the sharp features of his face, accentuating them yet also softening them. He looks warm. He looks like home.

 “Hyunjae… are you mad at me?” You blurt out suddenly, biting your lip as soon as the words fall from your mouth. Maybe that hadn’t been the right way to start this conversation.

 Hyunjae glances up in surprise. “Why would I be mad at you?”

 “Just… because?” You offer up, unhelpfully so.

 “I’m not mad at you,” Hyunjae sighs out.

 “Then what—?”

 Hyunjae sighs once more. It’s a half truth—that’s all he can give, a half truth. You deserve a whole truth, especially after all this time; especially after how long he’s harbored these feelings for. But how can he just explain that to you so easily? How can he just pour his heart and feelings out to you so easily? It wasn’t fair to you, who was going through the aftermath of a breakup. Hyunjae had honestly thought he’d have more time to figure out a decent way to tell you the truth. But in two weeks, he hadn’t been able to come up with anything—and here you were, being headstrong and going after that which you needed answers to. So much more determined and confident than him.

 “I couldn’t be friends with you while you were dating Sangyeon.”

 “What?” You blurt out in surprise. Had there been something going on between them that you hadn’t known about? Surely Hyunjae would have said something, as your best friend…? You weren’t too certain about Sangyeon—not anymore, at least. That was an entirely different thing that had ultimately led to your breakup, but he’d hidden so many things for so long, you couldn’t have been sure if he’d even tell you the truth.

 “I can’t exactly say it’s his fault, or mine. I was ultimately the one who made the decision to pull away—even though I had a right not to as your best friend,” Hyunjae purses his lips. “I kept telling myself if I was in his shoes, I’d feel the same. Feel that it’s too hard to have a girlfriend whose closest friend since childhood, who knows all their secrets and otherwise—is a male. But I didn’t see it that way. We didn’t see eye to eye. We didn’t get along, and there was an underlying animosity. And I wasn't willing to sacrifice your happiness.”

 That was half of the truth. The other half, you didn’t need to know right now—or maybe ever. But that was why Hyunjae had always felt as though he were robbing someone. Your now ex-boyfriend had been very easily jealous. It had made Hyunjae feel both uncomfortable and guilty being your friend, but it had made him feel worse knowing he had his own feelings for you. 

 “I wish you would have sacrificed it…” You murmur, voice coming out smaller than you’d intended. And maybe I could have ended things before they got too far… 

 It’s Hyunjae’s turn to glance up in surprise. “You were in love, though… I didn’t want to lose your friendship entirely because me and your boyfriend—ex—didn’t get along. It wouldn’t have been fair to make you choose.”

 You scoff, words falling out before you can second guess or regret them thanks to the alcohol, “Well, apparently love meant different things to each of us.” 

 Hyunjae quirks a brow, and your eyes widen in surprise at what you’d said. You look away from him, grateful that he doesn’t press for more when you offer nothing. You know he has to be curious, after all this time. He had always been such an unwaveringly loyal friend to you through the years, and hearing that he hadn’t been willing to sacrifice your happiness touched you, despite everything. But the wound is still too fresh, not quite yet scabbed over, and you can’t bring yourself to explain. He deserves to know the truth, you remind yourself—and decide that, in time, he will.

 Love meant different things to each of us. If only you had realized sooner what your definition of love was, in comparison to Sangyeon’s. You bite down on your lip, afraid to turn back to your best friend as a stinging sensation builds up at the back of your eyes. You don’t even need to blink for the tears to start spilling over silently, and you can’t help but wonder if you’re crying because you still haven’t healed, or if you’re relieved things would slowly, hopefully, return to normal with Hyunjae.

 You flinch in surprise when you suddenly feel Hyunjae’s hand fall down on your shoulder, having been unaware it was that obvious you were crying. You’d tried to stay silent, but there was nothing you could do to suppress the way your shoulders shook with the quiet tears. Hyunjae gives your shoulder a small squeeze, before lightly patting your back soothingly. Instead of turning to face him, you drop your face into your hands with your elbows resting on your lap. The small action makes the tears flow faster.

 “It’s okay,” Hyunjae murmurs softly. “You’re home now.”

 Home. A place filled with love.

—

The amount of force with which you do not want to get out of bed almost three whole mornings later, after having spent those days recuperating from secondhand embarrassment at the party, is at its peak when consciousness finally begins to creep in on you. Sadly, you’re no longer hungover—though you wish you were. You hadn’t even been hungover the next morning, which is what prompted you to stay in bed and sleep everything away further—on top of some lingering jetlag. It would, however, be easier to focus on lingering alcohol effects than memories from that night. However, only a portion of that night had even been alcohol-fueled, and it hadn’t even been fueled by enough. Which meant that as soon as you’d begun to wake up the next day, your brain had immediately decided to remind you of Hyunjae’s explanation to why the two of you had drifted apart, your recent break up, and breaking down in front of your best friend after three years of pent up emotions. Despite having been through thick and thin with Hyunjae, you were embarrassed to have cried so easily in front of him—let alone after having not seen him in so long.

 And for three days, that’s what your brain decided to repeatedly replay. Much to your own horror.

 When you finally crack swollen eyes open on the third day, you briefly flinch at the morning light that greets you a little too abruptly. Then, you lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Had you been blind the whole time? Had Hyunjae and Sangyeon really not had a good relationship? You remember clearly how quickly Sangyeon was to react whenever you mentioned any sort of plans with Hyunjae, or how you were texting him. He used to almost visibly bristle. There were times, even, when he would get pouty and sulky until you’d inevitably give in and spend time with him, instead. When you’d first started dating him, you’d been so distracted by the softer and tender moments with him—the kind thoughts and actions and how he’d remember the little things, and that damn eye smile—that you’d thought his jealousy had been a bit endearing.

 But now, looking back, it only gave you a sour taste in the back of your mouth. He’d had an underlying streak of controllingness and was very good at gaslighting. Had Hyunjae seen all those traits behind the pretty mask Sangyeon had worn? Did he know? You let out a long sigh, unable to believe that you’d been so blinded by your feelings to miss such a thing festering between the two of them. Unable to believe you would ever miss such a thing that directly affected your longest standing friend. Yet, clearly, you had—you had no reason to feel guilty after this long, but you still did.

 I wish you would have sacrificed it…

 Your mind briefly drifts back again to the night of the party. Seeing Hyunjae again for the first time, up close, and being able to admire him after so long had felt surreal. Being able to study, in person, how naturally handsome he was; his sharp features were soft and boyish around the edges. You feel your heart skip—a little jump of liveliness that it barely managed anymore, not with the leaden heaviness in your chest lately weighing you down. Maybe your thought—your words—had been selfish. You’d always wondered why Hyunjae had turned down so many confessions during middle and high school. You’d always imagined putting yourself in that same situation and wondered if he’d treat you the same. He was your best friend, and that was a sacrifice you had never been willing to make… to step over that threshold and risk it all.

 But he was your best friend, and hearing his words that night had sparked a small inkling of hope. Your words were selfish, you knew that. Was it too much to want your best friend of so many years, who knew the worst and best parts of you, to have feelings for you? To return the feelings you’d been smothering like a kindled fire? It wasn’t fair to him to hear you say that, it wasn’t fair to him for you to think that maybe if he’d fought for you a little more, if he had risked your happiness back then… maybe you wouldn’t be here now. Maybe neither of you would have drifted apart. Maybe you’d be something more.

 At the very least, you’d have been mad at him if he’d put up a fight against Sangyeon back then. You’d had feelings, after all, that was undeniable. Sangyeon was your boyfriend at the time. Hyunjae your best friend. No one would want the two to go head-to-head. If Hyunjae had ruined it—you would’ve written it off as jealousy, been upset about things falling through, and then possibly gotten the crazy idea that Hyunjae had feelings for you. But that last one was a bit of an overstretch. You could wish it, and fantasize about it, though. And you could keep him as your best friend, without any rifts in your interactions and close to you, unseparated by a body of expansive water, a whole continent away.

 “Ugh, shut up brain!” You groan aloud—suddenly blinking yourself out of your ceiling-staring trance to slap your pillow over your face, burying yourself. There was no need to get ridiculous ideas in your head. You just wanted things to be normal again. No matter what, you needed them to be normal.

 Plus, you had work to do today. There was no way you could spend another day withering away in bed losing yourself in your thoughts, as nice as that honestly sounded—and as nice as it had been for the previous few days.

 When you get up to start gathering clothes to get ready, peeking out the window to see what the weather is like—you decide that the gloomy skies outside had you even less inclined, along with the remnants of that night, to even leave the comfort of your home. But, having returned to Korea left for a lot to be done. You needed, first and foremost, a way to pay rent. While you were glad your social life hadn’t seemed to suddenly disappear upon your return, not that it ever would with friends like Chanhee, you’d pretty much dropped everything and left three years ago. There weren’t any pieces of anything to pick up… you had to start completely from scratch.

 The easiest places to start were cafes, considering the fact that you hadn’t really had a moment to touch up your resume to your liking. So, you spend the majority of the day focused on stopping in cafes in your immediate neighborhood and just surrounding, also popping into a few restaurants in hopes of an easier serving job. Anything within walking or biking distance that you spot, you stop in to, inquiring about jobs. You don’t have the opportunity to be picky, unfortunately. The process is repetitive. You stop in, introduce yourself and ask some questions, fill out an application and attach your resume to leave with them—then move on. Somehow, you keep at this for hours. By the end of the process—or what you rightfully decide is the end—your feet ache. You’re more than happy to finally choose a cafe a bit closer to home you’d come across on your way back around as a resting point, ordering a drink for yourself as you fill out what you decide will be the last application of the day.

 “Oh?”

 At first, you don't recognize that the word someone says is aimed at you. At least, not until the words that soon follow.

 “You’re back.”

 The you’re back makes you second guess the original soft exclamation, which had initially just drowned into the sounds of your cafe surroundings. But the following addition has your pen pausing against the paper as you focus to remember your unpracticed written Korean. Your grip tightens on your pen, bracing yourself as you lift your gaze to the owner of the voice—Ji Changmin. Just beyond him stands Lee Juyeon.

 Personally you’d always felt like Changmin had been trouble, from the first moment you’d met him in college. On the other hand, his current companion Juyeon wasn’t so bad. You weren’t entirely sure how they managed to be friends, but that was never really your concern. The two of them, however, were friends with Sangyeon—because of this, they were both people you didn’t entirely want to associate with at the current moment. Yet, here they were having stumbled upon you at random. Just your luck.

 As soon as you make eye contact, Changmin’s mouth is falling open into the shape of an “O” to express his surprise. “Wow, I wasn’t actually sure if it was you, but it is. So you are back.”

 “Hey,” Juyeon mumbles next to him, under his breath, bumping Changmin’s own shoulder with his own. “Don’t cause trouble.”

 Trouble. The original sentiment of not wanting to associate with either of these two people returns, and you can’t help but wonder what exactly Changmin had in mind by approaching you as though he were surprised by your return. There was enough of a hint of sarcasm lacing his voice that you were doubtful he was unaware of current events that had transpired. Which made you wonder if it was him—the one you’d always felt was trouble—that was up to something, or if someone had put him up to it.

 You tense up just as Changmin shrugs Juyeon away, turning back to you to open his mouth to speak—but before you have a chance to find out who it is that’s actually trouble, and what Changmin wants to say, you’re abruptly interrupted—your tense muscles startle in surprise as a Hyunjae appears, practically barrelling up to the table. He bumps into Changmin’s shoulder and jostles the other, who startles in surprise as well. Whatever words he’d been about to say are forgotten.

 “Hey, where have you been?” Hyunjae, slightly out of breath, leans forward and braces a hand on the table you sit at. “Chanhee and I have been trying to call you for an hour now—”

 “What—” Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and you turn to start fumbling through your bag. As you do so, you hear Changmin speak up.

 “Excuse you, are you not even going to apologize? After we haven’t even seen each other in so long?”

 You’re barely paying attention as Hyunjae straightens up, even missing the sideways glare that he cuts Changmin.

 “Sorry, in a bit of a hurry—there’s an emergency. I need to grab her and go.”

 Just as you’re about to pull your phone out of your bag, you feel Hyunjae’s fingers wrap around your wrist. With that hand, he pulls you out of the cafe chair and to your feet, causing you to blink in surprise. You’re confused at how fast everything is happening—watching with a bit of disconnect as Hyunjae, with his free hand, grabs the bag you’d just pulled your phone from off the table. He turns after he does so, brushing past Changmin who voices a protest, and pulls you along with him. Hyunjae pays Changmin no mind, and doesn’t stop walking and doesn’t let go of you until you’re both outside the cafe standing under the awning of the entrance.

 Luckily, you suppose, you’d finished most of your coffee. Too bad you hadn’t finished the job application.

 You blink, recollecting yourself. Remembering your cell phone, you turn your hand upward and glance down as you do so, studying the screen. Empty.

 “You and Chanhee didn’t call me,” you suddenly say, looking up from your phone to find Hyunjae frowning out past the awning of the cafe. Confused, you follow his gaze—suddenly taking in the weather change that had been almost as abrupt as Hyunjae’s appearance.

 The gloomy, overcast skies had decided to finally let all their own pent up emotions out. It was raining. Winter rain. You shiver, aware of the sudden chill that was settling in with the wet weather. You hated winter rain, because it meant that it was attempting to snow. The worst part was that it turned any leftover snow on the ground already to slush and ice, making things slippery.

 “Are you okay?” Hyunjae suddenly asks, breaking the weird suspended silence between the two of you. Personally, you were still trying to process everything that had just happened in such a short amount of time, so you hadn’t really been bothered by the silence. It wasn’t noticeable until you refocused, aware of the way the sound of the rain was filling your surroundings and the space between the two of you.

 “Yeah, fine. But you and Chanhee haven’t been calling me—”

 “I know,” Hyunjae says, suddenly turning to look at you. As he does so, he holds out your bag to return. “I happened to be passing by and saw you—and them—and you looked uncomfortable. So I barged in without thinking.”

 Like a knight. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. Hyunjae always seemed to show up whenever you had needed him. He’d always been there, whether it was saving you from tripping in the hall, saving you by slipping his assignment in class to you when you’d forgotten yours, saving you by showing up with an umbrella on a rainy day like this one when you’d forgotten yours, or saving you at three in the morning post-breakup stranded after a party. Hyunjae had always been there.

 Hyunjae himself didn’t know why he’d done it—suddenly barging in like that. It was true he’d simply been passing by. Since your return, and since the night of the party, he’d been trying his best to avoid you. Not completely, per se. He was glad to have you back, glad to have your friendship back—although it might start out awkward and rocky. But he personally wanted to figure out how to suppress his feelings. Every moment he spent thinking of you, every moment he spent knowing you were single again, and every chance he had to remember not making a move or making his feelings known years ago—he was filled with regret. He kept wondering why he hadn’t done so sooner, why he hadn’t just crossed the threshold and tried to step into your heart. He was scared, he knew that much, valuing your friendship the most. But now it was like the emotions were a constant alarm going off in his head that he couldn’t figure out how to get rid of, and taking the batteries out wouldn’t make them shut up.

 But going after someone just out of a breakup was off limits. It wasn’t right. It didn’t feel right. Despite having caught wind of the words you’d uttered that night—I wish you would have sacrificed it—and the utter confusion they caused by sending his heart and mind into further turmoil, Hyunjae couldn’t bring himself to approach you in that manner now. Despite Chanhee’s urging to do so, he couldn’t bring himself to.

 Yet seeing you—whether you’d looked uncomfortable through the cafe window or not—had stirred up a need and want to just be near you. Growing up, he’d always found himself being protective of you. You knew how to handle your own and take care of yourself, not afraid to tell someone off as needed, but he had always found himself hovering nearby in case worse came to worst and you’d need an extra hand to step in. Even if the situation you’d been in hadn’t been the one he’d come upon, Hyunjae was sure that seeing you through that cafe window, gravity would have taken over and pulled him toward you, anyway. Ever since you were kids, he’d always been drawn toward you.

 You scoff, reaching out to take your bag. “You expect me to believe you still have that special talent for coming to save me?”

 He smiles softly. “You have a special talent for getting into all kinds of trouble, of varying degrees. It’s become a natural instinct at this point, rather than a talent.”

 “Well, thanks. They weren’t exactly people I wanted to see right now, actually.”

 “We should leave, then, before they come back out,” Hyunjae says, glancing away briefly to stare out at the rain.

 You nod, then pause. Wait—we? Why, we? He hadn’t come all this way just to find you, right? There was absolutely no way he knew you were specifically here, at this cafe. You glance back  at Hyunjae in surprise. “You don’t have to walk me home.”

 Hyunjae shrugs. “I was only going to the corner store to get some ramen. Ran out at home and was craving it with the gloomy weather. But now I don’t want to go all that way and back in the rain.”

 You nod slowly. “Oh, got it… did you want to come over for ramen, then?”

 “Here,” Hyunjae says suddenly, causing you to refocus. You blink in surprise when you notice he’s shrugged out of his bomber jacket to remove his hoodie, holding it out to you, while he’s got half an arm back in the jacket itself.

 “W-what’s this for?” You ask, forgetting your offer briefly.

 “It has a hood on it. Your jacket doesn’t. Put that on so you don’t get sick.”

 “What about you?”

 Hyunjae shrugs. “We’re eating ramen, right? It’s warm, and I have shorter hair than you do. Just put it on and pull the hood up so you don’t get too wet from the rain.”

 Still surprised, you stare at the outstretched hoodie, then up at Hyunjae—dumbfounded. Had he actually agreed to come over and eat lunch with you? Although at this point in the afternoon, it was more like an early dinner. The idea made your stomach do a flip. You’d eaten together many times before, and he’d been to your house and your parents house growing up many times before, as well. But this was the first since returning—and since your theoretical make-up. It’s just as friends, you remind yourself, you’re just friends.

 You can tell by the way Hyunjae waits and stares expectantly that he isn’t going to take an argument against his offer. If the situation had been a bit better, maybe you would have stood here and argued against him, but you decided better of it—wanting to get away from the cafe and its occupants as soon as possible. You hold your bag back out to Hyunjae, then your own peacoat after shrugging out of it, trading both items for the gray hoodie he’d offered. Almost immediately after pulling the hoodie over your head—before you even pull your head through—you’re enveloped with the warm scent of Hyunjae. It’s almost a mix of cinnamon, spices, and cream. Like a light caffe latte, freshly made. It smells so familiar, but also foreign, to you. If you had the chance, you’d like to stand there and snuggle further into it, breathe in his scent a bit more until you were more familiar with it and could memorize it—but your head abruptly freeing itself out the top brings you back to reality.

 Hyunjae hands you your peacoat back first, which you shrug back into for the extra added warmth against the winter chill mixed with the rain. Immediately after you’re settled, Hyunjae gives you your bag back while simultaneously reaching for the hood of his sweater, pulling it up and over your head.

 Miffed, you let out a disgruntled noise from the back of your throat. “Hey!”

 Hyunjae just smiles, amused at your reaction, before giving a nod in the opposite direction as he shrugs back into his bomber jacket, signaling, Let’s go. His own jacket is lightweight, and you find yourself worrying if it will even keep him warm enough. Hyunjae won’t say otherwise, but despite his bluff—he too is worried if it will keep him warm and dry enough. The way the rain is coming down makes it a fine mist, likely to soak through the thinnest materials with ease.

 The distance to home is short, but it’s enough that he himself is at risk of getting sick. Before he steps out into the rain, Hyunjae unfolds the turtleneck of the sweater beneath his jacket, pulling it up further against his chin. But he doesn’t give you much of a moment to worry, immediately stepping out into the rain. You have no choice but to scramble after him as quickly as possible. Luckily, thanks to the cold, and now wet, weather, it’s quite easy to match the brisk pace of his longer legs with the cold pushing you forward.

 The walk back to your place isn’t that long, but definitely takes longer than usual with the angle the rain is coming down at. Even with Hyunjae’s hooded jacket pulled as far down over your forehead as possible, you have to keep your head ducked down as you walk. The rain comes down at such an angle that as soon as you look up, you’re immediately hit in the face by it. It’s worse for Hyunjae, who has no way to protect himself at all. He has an arm hovering up over his eyes in a feeble attempt to shield himself.

 When you make it home, you immediately discard wet shoes in the entry of your apartment along with your bag, shredding your coat off first and running further into the apartment. Hyunjae follows suit at less of a rush, kicking his wet shoes off and shrugging out of his bomber jacket.

 “I don’t think I have anything for you to change into,” you call from your bedroom down the hall, shuffling through your closet and dresser drawers—in search of sweatpants or anything warm that might fit him. There are too many things thrown haphazardly into a place to put them, simply to just get them out of the boxes and luggage they’d previously been in. You still hadn’t finished unpacking completely.

 “It’s fine,” Hyunjae says, hovering in the entry as you rush out of your room and into the bathroom, grabbing some clean towels off the rack instead. “I don’t get sick easily, you know this.”

 Despite his words, you still frown as you hand the towels to him. “I’m going to throw your hoodie in the dryer.”

 He just nods, and you move away to do exactly that, pulling the jacket over your head as you blindly move back down the hall to the bathroom. At the very least, Hyunjae can go home in something warm. A part of you hopes, however, that he’ll instead choose to wait out the rain. You toss the gray jacket into the dryer, setting a low heat cycle, and move back out to head to the kitchen to start cooking—though you practically freeze in your tracks as soon as you step out of the bathroom.

 Again, you find yourself forgetting just how handsome Hyunjae is. You’d also conveniently forgotten that he was also standing in your entryway not just handsome but soaking wet, too. When you briefly glance his way after stepping back into the hall to head to the kitchen, you’re taken aback by the timing of which you do so. Hyunjae has just uncovered his face after wiping the towel over and up, sliding his hair back off his forehead. The exposure of his forehead as he rubs the towel at his hair reveals his chiseled features more easily to you, and the dampness of his skin glistens in a way that highlights every single one of those features from his sharp jawline and eyebrows and straight nose.

 Your stomach does a little flip as the towel falls away from his head to his shoulder, revealing his damp and now-ruffled hair. It softens the sharp features of his face, giving him a boyish look that catches your heart off guard—reminding you of the duality of his physical appearance. He can always look so sharp yet soft at the same time, so boyish but mature, so cute but handsome. Hyunjae glances up at you as he rubs the towel along the hair at the nape of his neck.

 “You good?”

 Hyunjae notices you staring, though he tries to make it out to be nothing. He has to mentally remind himself too that it is nothing. You’d just recently broken up with Sangyeon. This was not the time or place for these thoughts—he couldn’t allow himself to wonder where your eyes were lingering, and what they were curiously taking in of him. The idea made his stomach twist warmly.

 “Huh?” You blink away from your distracted thoughts, before nodding—maybe a little too fast, giving yourself away. “Yeah, fine. Was just wondering if that’s going to be enough.”

 “I’ll be fine,” he assures you, with a bit more insistence this time. As he lets one of the towels rest as his neck, he nods you toward the kitchen, grabbing the other towel you’d handed him at the same time to unfold and begin patting at his damp clothes. “Go make something warm for the both of us, though, instead of just standing there. Warm food will help.”

 “Right.” You suddenly remember you’d invited Hyunjae over for some ramen on a whim—and that he’d agreed very nonchalantly. You give yourself a small shake as you make your way to the kitchen to prepare food, reminding yourself that this was normal and you were friends. Hyunjae had been over for meals plenty of times before. He’d been over for meals to both your apartment after you’d moved out, your dorm when you’d been in college, and even your family’s house for regular dinner nights and holidays. So why did it feel different now?

 You could kick yourself for suddenly becoming that much more hyper-aware of your feelings since the night of your welcome back party. How you’d managed most of your life ignoring them was suddenly beyond you. Ever since he’d admitted to why he had pulled away from you, your feelings had begun to rear their head even more blatantly, telling you to give them and yourself a chance. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep them at bay. If you’d felt this strongly for him the entire time, which you knew you had—him being your best friend making the feelings that much stronger since the connection you had with him was that much more deeper—you wondered why your emotions hadn’t chosen to act like this in the past. You suddenly felt like a hormonal teenager, and it was years too late for that.

 The buzz from the dryer going off pulls you back to reality. You glance up toward the hall the bathroom is nestled away in, then back down at the two pots of ramen on the stovetop you’ve been absentmindedly stirring the entire time. You realize, then, that the food is basically done.

 “I’ll go grab that,” Hyunjae declares, setting the towel he’d been using to pat himself down aside.

 “We can eat after,” you state, wondering if he’ll even catch your words—he’s already disappeared down the hall. You move away from the stove to grab some potholders to place atop the counter in front of a seat each, moving both of the pots off the stove after doing so, before turning back into the kitchen to grab chopsticks, spoons, and drinks. When you turn around, Hyunjae is pulling his hoodie over his head and onto his torso, slipping into one of the two empty seats at the counter.

 He lets out a content sigh as his head pops through the hoodie. “This is the best, it’s nice and warm.”

 You set everything in your hands down on the counter, pushing a set of chopsticks and a drink towards him. As you step around the counter, you find yourself smiling fondly. “Just don’t become lethargic and fall asleep from a warm sweater and warm food. There’s still boxes all around this place to be unpacked, it wouldn’t be comfortable to nap here.”

 “Did you need any help unpacking?” Hyunjae asks, picking up his chopsticks to stir the ramen in front of him.

 “No, I’m good. Thanks, though, but it keeps me distracted.”

 “Distra—” Hyunjae doesn’t even finish the word, or question, immediately cutting himself off. “Oh. Sorry.”

 You shrug at his apology. After all, what did he have to apologize for? He wasn’t at fault for the situation at hand. There was no real way to get over everything that had happened, either. Everyone heals differently, and you found the best method so far had been to just keep yourself and your mind busy with other things for every waking moment possible. You felt detached from the breakup, anyway, considering. But the less you had to think about it, the better.

 The two of you fall into an awkward silence, both picking at and eating your food. Just the sound of chopsticks against the aluminum pots, the slurping of the broth and noodles, and the pattering of rain outside fill the apartment. It feels like an eternity before anything is said—before you work up the courage to bring up the topic in a more secluded, personal, and safer space than you had been before. You hadn’t been sure you were ready to truly dump your heart out to Hyunjae, which is why you’d only allowed yourself to cry that night. But after getting what was left of the last of the tears out of your system, you felt a lot safer revealing your thoughts and feelings.

 “Hyunjae?”

 “Hm?” He glances up mid-bite, slurping some of the noodles into his mouth and chewing.

 “What did you mean when you said you couldn’t be my friend while dating Sangyeon? Was it really just because the two of you didn’t get along… or… was there more?”

 Hyunjae finishes chewing, then swallows. He stares at you for a moment—reading you, reading the room. Reading the quaver in your voice that you’d thought you’d done your best to suppress after working up the nerve to even ask those words aloud. Yet, here you were—nervous, still.

 Instead of answering, Hyunjae asks, “Are you sure you want to talk about this right now?”

 You glance at him in surprise—having almost immediately expected an answer, rather than a question in return. Hyunjae had always been direct in the past. Sometimes, even, to the point of bluntness. You’d never been offended by it as some people had. While he was good at penting up his emotions and sometimes beating around the bush to the point that he started to feel guilty, he was also reliable when you needed him to tell it straight. And that’s what you had been expecting. But maybe it was a bit too easy to hear the hesitation in your voice.

 “Well, it’s a better time than any. I’ve been thinking about what you said since that night… I just… am curious about some things, and trying to piece together signs still.”

 You’re not paying attention, so you miss Hyunjae clench his jaw—an attempt to mentally piece together his own thoughts. He hadn’t really expected you to outright ask about his words like this. The discreet statement was meant to be that: Discreet, and enough to subside any curiosities. Explaining anything more would require him to divulge his own personal feelings and emotions on the matter and what had truly prompted him to pull away as he had.

 Sangyeon was only the match that lit the flame. It was true that he never saw eye-to-eye with your ex-boyfriend, and it was also true that he gotten a bad vibe from him whenever you two had been with each other. There was a subtle, underlying animosity that rolled off Sangyeon in waves, and glares that could hardly go unnoticed—as though he were someone protecting his territory. Hyunjae had written it off as just being a jealous boyfriend, despite the intensity at which it had grown as time had passed. He really had tried to convince himself that if he were in Sangyeon’s shoes, he’d have acted the same. But the truth of the matter was, despite all of that, Hyunjae still had his own feelings to work around and out.

 And he had been jealous himself—of what Sangyeon had. It hadn’t been healthy for him to continue surrounding himself with you, burning with his own jealousy just beneath his skin. Hyunjae had been afraid he’d ruin something—your happiness, or his friendship with you.

 Hyunjae sighs. “Look, I don’t know what happened—”

 “He cheated,” you blurt out suddenly. “He cheated, and he was gaslighting me about it the entire time. He made me feel like things were my fault.”

 The sudden resolve to just get the words out surprises you—but it was something you couldn’t hold in any longer. Like a venom rotting away at the deepest parts of your heart, it just kept gnawing away. You weren’t sure getting it out would help anything. Chanhee was the only one who currently knew the situation. But it still felt like something you had to forcefully eject, or it would just keep causing the same damage internally that it had been this entire time.

 You let out a sigh, staring at your bowl of food intently. Your grip on your chopsticks tightens, to the point that your knuckles turn white as the skin pulls taught over the bones beneath. The sensation of Hyunjae’s hand softly folding over yours causes you to flinch in surprise, pulling yourself out of the negative energy suddenly engulfing you. Glancing up, you meet Hyunjae’s gaze—caught off guard by his features being blurred in your line of sight by tears.

 “You don’t have to talk about it, it’s still fresh,” Hyunjae murmurs, but you’re instantly shaking your head at his words. You reach up to rub the tears away from your eyes.

 “No, I have to. I think I have to. If I don’t say it, I don’t think I’ll ever come to terms with it. There were so many warning signs the entire time, and I feel so dumb and blind.”

 Hyunjae gives your hand a squeeze. “You aren’t dumb, or blind. When you’re in love with someone, you place the entirety of your trust in them. You don’t expect to have to look for those types of things. If he broke your trust that’s on him, not on you for not realizing it—and if he was doing those things to you, that’s not your fault. People like that are good at what they do, and sometimes if you’re in that situation, it’s hard to realize it until you’ve removed yourself.”

 You frown, not entirely sure that you believe him. It felt strange to be on the receiving end of relationship advice. You’d always thought, seeing others in relationships that weren’t exactly healthy for them, you’d be able to pick out if yours was or not immediately. But instead, you had found yourself twisted up in the same situation as others you’d known. A situation you swore would never happen to you—one you vowed you’d never let happen to you. You felt foolish and naive for believing you could prevent it so easily, and wondered if they had too. And you also found yourself wondering how it was so easy to make that same mistake, over and over, falling for that person time and time again.

 Hyunjae gives your hand another reassuring squeeze. He isn’t sure what to say from there, but it almost looks like you’re about to cry again. Within his chest, he can feel his heart clenching uncomfortably—squeeze, painfully, at seeing you in pain. He doesn’t like seeing you like this. The tears had come so fast the night of the party, he hadn’t been sure how to react or what to say. But seeing them there again from the pain, lingering, on the verge of overflowing—he hurts seeing you hurt.

 He has so many questions suddenly spring into his mind—wondering if there had been more to the relationship that had hurt you. If there was more that had cut you so deep like a knife, or if you had simply been that attached and hopeful in the relationship that it had made you blind to the negatives. It was quite possible that was the case, but with the way Hyunjae’s heart twists in his chest—he can’t help but worry and wonder if there had been more. Had the relationship been bad, or had it just gone south without notice? Had he been bad to you? But even as your best friend, he’s not sure it’s his place to ask these types of questions.

 Hyunjae is surprised when he feels your hand twist in his grip, suddenly turning over to link your fingers with his—you give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

 He glances at you in surprise—had you sensed the turn his own thoughts had been taking?—caught off guard when he meets your gaze. Your eyes are no longer filled with tears, something that brings him relief, but now his heart is clenching in his chest in a different way. It’s a way he’s not unfamiliar with, but one he wished wouldn’t happen now, of all times. Yet the longer he holds your gaze, the further he thinks he’ll fall. He thinks that maybe he can allow himself to drown in your eyes—to simply give in and allow the feelings to flow over him, either washing over him or drowning him completely.

 He wouldn’t mind, one way or another.

 You feel yourself frozen, too—like you’re suspended in time. Of all the times you’ve looked at him, you wondered if you’ve truly ever seen him. You’d always thought he was handsome, and physically attractive, with a personality to tie it all together. But sitting here, staring at Hyunjae and slowly losing yourself in his eyes—it feels like forever and as though it’s not quite long enough. His gaze, filled with surprise and a bit of confusion, is filled with warmth and tenderness.

 It’s filled with a look that Sangyeon had never given you.

 But before you can discern what the look means, or have a chance to even think about it, Hyunjae is pulling his hand from your grasp sheepishly. He clenches that hand into a fist, immediately shoving it under the table. As he does so, he falters a moment, before glancing around—looking anywhere but at you—and settling his gaze on the ceiling.

 “Oh, I think the rain stopped,” he murmurs, as if looking for something to fill the void he’d just caused. Hyunjae pulls his gaze down from the ceiling, looking at you again—trying to keep his expression neutral. “I’m supposed to meet Chanhee later. I should go home and get changed.”

 You nod slowly, trying to wrap your head around the sudden turn things had taken. Dammit, I shouldn’t have done that. But in the moment, holding Hyunjae’s hand had seemed so right and needed. It seemed like he had needed it, just as much as you. While he hadn’t given you a straight answer about Sangyeon, you weren’t sure you entirely needed it—clearly, something had happened. You suspected it had to do with the jealousy that he’d outright shown to you so many times, guilting you about hanging out with Hyunjae over him so much. If it had happened to you, it had likely happened to Hyunjae, as well. And since it was a man to man emotion-fest at that point, it was likely to a stronger degree.

 Still, why had you allowed your body to react without thinking things through? You wanted to groan outwardly; inwardly, you were beating yourself up.

 “Also.” Hyunjae’s voice makes you blink in surprise—the way he’d pulled back so suddenly, you had almost been certain you’d ruined things so soon after fixing them, and that he was about to bolt out of your apartment. But instead, when you look up at him, he has a smile on his face as he looks down at you, having stood up from his seat. “Everyone heals at a different pace, but if you ever need to vent I’m always here. I don’t need to know every detail of what happened, but I want you to stop beating yourself up for not noticing the so-called signs. It wasn’t your fault, and you’re allowed to be upset about it for as long as you need—just don’t blame yourself. Okay?”

 As Hyunjae bids a goodbye, gathering his still-damp bomber jacket and slipping his shoes back on—you’re almost certain you’ll start crying. Yet, when the door closes behind him to signal his exit, you’re surprised to find you don’t.

 You’d been right about one thing, at the very least: You needed to get the venom out and the words out of the cavity of your chest to start the healing process fully. Doing so with Hyunjae had been the best choice.

 Hyunjae’s words linger, filling the apartment with a warmth you hadn’t felt in a while. It felt safe here. Your feelings felt safe with him.

—

The next day, your heart feels much lighter. It’s as though you’ve lifted an entire weight off yourself. There was a significant difference between telling your family and Chanhee, in comparison to telling Hyunjae. A part of you wondered, again, if you were selfish for revealing what had happened to Hyunjae. There was a small voice in the back of your mind torturing you with the idea that you’d only done it to keep him close and ensure you wouldn’t lose him again. At least, not so soon. Perhaps that’s why you had taken hold of his hand so suddenly yesterday, as well. You didn’t want to lose him again. You didn’t want to see him slowly back away from you as he had done before.

 Perhaps it really was selfish of you to do this to him, and to indulge in your feelings for him. But when everything always felt safe and right with Hyunjae—you couldn’t help but think that you should allow yourself, this once, to be selfish and take that risk. If it messed things up, it would hurt like hell. But something was telling you to do it, anyway. That this was right and that things would be okay. You wanted to allow yourself something good, for once. Hyunjae was that good.

 After so long of holding feelings for him in and suppressing them, you weren’t sure you could do the same any longer. Not after being splashed in the face with the reality of the relationship you’d just gotten out of. It was like a wake up call to what was right in front of you this entire time.

 “You seem like you’re in a good mood today,” Chanhee notes from beside you. You glance at him briefly, watching his fingers glide across his phone screen as he types out a text. Despite absentmindedly paying attention to the electronic in his hand, he’s quite keen.

 You exhale, letting out a deep breath. Not quite a sigh. It felt nice to be able to breathe lighter with that weight off your chest.

 “I told Hyunjae about the breakup, and what happened.”

 Chanhee glances up from his phone, eyebrows raising up past the curtain of hair falling across his forehead. “Oh? I thought you weren’t going to?”

 “I didn’t want to, originally. I didn’t want him to worry about what had happened while we weren’t in contact. But I think he would’ve figured it out anyway. Just… from the vibe I got, it seems like Sangyeon was a jealous jerk to Hyunjae, too.”

 “Oh, he definitely was.” The nonchalance with which Chanhee replies has your head snapping towards him in surprise. Chanhee simply shrugs, turning back to his phone.

 “What?!” You’d already guess as much yesterday, but hearing it confirmed was a whole different story. “Why didn’t you say anything?!”

 Chanhee shrugs. “Wasn’t my place to say it. Hyunjae didn’t want you worrying, either.”

 You let out a groan. There was too much he was worried, she was worried, going around—that had been going around for three years, apparently. You couldn’t believe the way you and Hyunjae kept operating on the same wavelength, trying to keep the other worry-free and safe. You also couldn’t believe how neutral Chanhee had managed to stay in all of this the entire time.

 “Hey!”

 Before you can chastise Chanhee for keeping this bit of information from you, the sound of Kevin’s voice alerts you and Chanhee both at the same time. You simultaneously look over your shoulder while turning in the direction of the voice, and Chanehee pushes himself away from the wall he’d been leaning against.

 “Oh?” The single word falls from your lips quietly, disheartened, as you take in the scene before you. As planned for your lunch today, Kevin and Younghoon—two of your closest friends shared with both Chanhee and Hyunjae—walk towards you. But someone is missing.

 “Where’s Hyunjae?” Chanhee asks when Kevin and Younghoon are near enough. You stumble in surprise when Kevin immediately wraps you in a hug in greeting, practically nuzzling his face against yours.

 Younghoon shrugs. “Dunno. He wasn’t answering his phone.”

 “Or his door,” Kevin pipes up, pulling away from you.

 Not answering his phone or his door? You glance between the two of them, who both seem a bit unconcerned about it. Chanhee purses his lips, pulling his phone that he’d tucked away into his jacket back out. He taps around a bit on the screen, before lifting the device to his ear, and you assume he’s calling Hyunjae to test if what the others said is true or not.

 You’re aware of Kevin starting to chatter mindlessly in your ear, talking about things he’d done yesterday and his walk to meet you for lunch—but your mind is elsewhere, not in the present. You wonder if Hyunjae not answering his phone or his door has anything to do with what happened yesterday? Meeting for lunch today had been planned since the night of the party—something you’re sure that, at the time, Hyunjae had reluctantly agreed to in the first place. Had your actions the afternoon before mistakenly reset all the progress you had made? Was he having second thoughts?

 “He’s not answering,” Chanhee confirmed after a bit, frowning at his phone before shoving it back into his jacket again.

 Without thinking, an urge to just go takes over you. If Hyunjae was having second thoughts—you wanted to halt them right in their tracks, right then and there. You couldn’t stand the thought of everything reverting again. Of possibly seeing him drift away again.

 “Crap—I just remembered I forgot my wallet at home,” you blurt out, and without waiting for a reply, turn on your heel and dart off—back in the direction of home.

 “What the hell?!” Chanhee blurts after you. “You couldn’t remember that ten minutes ago?!”

 “We can just pay for you though?!” Kevin’s voice cries over Chanhee.

 “But my ID!” You yell over your shoulder. “We can’t drink like we planned to, just go ahead and I’ll catch up!”

 Despite your words, you actually had no intentions of catching up. While the ideal situation would be to return to lunch with all your friends, dragging Hyunjae along with you, there was no guarantee that would actually happen. If you’d overstepped boundaries yesterday, you fully expected to have to fix those boundaries. You also fully intended to do just that if it came to it.

 The cold air burns in your lungs as you run in the direction back toward your and Hyunjae’s respective apartments, but you refuse to slow down or waste any time. Even when you reach the stairs, trudging up as quickly as you can, you still refuse to break pace. By the time you reach the floor that his apartment is on, your lungs and the back of your throat feel as though they’re on fire. Despite your wishes, you have to crouch down to catch your breath, clutching the sides of your ribs and wishing that maybe you hadn’t run that fast.

 Steeling yourself, you rub your side one last time and push yourself to your feet, heading down the hall to Hyunjae’s apartment. You wonder what the heck you’re going to say, as you near his door, worried about how to make this right. There’s a turmoil inside of you. You don’t want to lose Hyunjae as a friend, yet you also want to be selfish for once. Why did this have to happen just as you’d finally gathered up the courage to make a decision?

 Lifting a hand, you knock on the door. A few minutes pass, and no answer. So you knock again, but louder. You know the time that passes is short, yet it feels like an eternity.

 “Hyunjae?” You call, cupping your hand by your mouth as you lean closer to the door, knocking again. “It’s me!”

 Still no answer. Frowning, you reach into your bag, pulling your phone out. You know Chanhee had said he hadn’t answered, but it was worth a try.

 It’s then, as you’re pulling your phone out of your bag, that you notice a plastic bag sitting by the door. Delivery food, left outside for whoever had ordered it. You’d been so focused on your inner turmoil that you hadn’t seen it at first. You glance up from the bag, then at the door, then back down. Why had Hyunjae ordered food, when he knew he was meeting everyone for lunch today?

 Crouching down, you grab the handles of the bag, peering inside. There’s a couple of to-go cartons, and right at the top sits the receipt for the entire order taped to one of the cartons. With yesterday evening’s date.

 Hyunjae had ordered the food and then never claimed it.

 Suddenly—like a waterfall of realization—the events from yesterday flood back over you. Rushing home in the rain together, his soaked clothing and wet hair and the cold winter weather, towels to dry himself and ramen to try and warm his insides, and the barely-dry hoodie to slip over his still damp clothes as he’d left your apartment. God, you felt so stupid.

 I don’t get sick easily. Hyunjae had practically boasted. Maybe so, but he was still human with a human immune system. Anyone could get sick with how fine of a soaking mist that rain had been yesterday, paired with the gloomy overcast skies and winter temperatures.

 You immediately jump to your feet, pulling the bag of to-go food with you. You were sure at this point it was probably spoiled, but there was no sense in leaving it outside. Rather than knocking again, you lift your hand to the number pad at Hyunjae’s apartment door, fingers hovering over the buttons. Had he changed the passcode? Would it still be the same after three years? You feel your jaw clench with tension.

 “Sorry, Hyunjae. Don’t report me for breaking and entering,” you mutter, typing in the passcode. The ding that immediately resounds, followed by the sound of the door gears unlocking for you, has you standing there for a moment in shock.

 Realizing the door might engage the lock again, you give yourself a shake and push into the entryway of Hyunjae’s place, tentatively peering in before you allow yourself fully inside. You set the bag of delivery food down by your shoes as you slip out of them, discarding your bag soon after. The apartment is dark inside the curtains in the living room pulled closed, and smells a bit musty. Like someone is sick, you think, recognizing the stuffiness almost immediately.

 “Hyunjae?” You call out, allowing yourself further inside. Your eyes immediately scan the kitchen to your right, peering around the corner of the counter to make sure he wasn’t just passed out somewhere, before your head rubber bands to the left, eyes scanning the living room. Just as they do, a mound of fluffy blanket on the couch shifts and you let out an eep of surprise, stumbling backward.

 You lift a hand to your chest, giving it a slight pat and reminding yourself that he doesn’t have any roommates—and that you’re the only burglar in the area at the current time—before moving forward. “Hyunjae?”

 This time, a groan answers you, and a hooded head very sluggishly peeks itself out from the blanket. It’s Hyunaje, alright, and he looks pale and clammy. You frown at the sight. Definitely sick, you confirm visually.

 Hyunjae blinks a few times, eyes heavily lidded and gaze completely unfocused.

 “Whrye d’ng here?” His words are as sloppy and sluggish as his appearance, but you’re relieved to see he has at least some coherency to recognize that it’s you.

 “I came because you didn’t show up for our lunch plans with everyone,” you reply, not even sure that he’ll understand, with how far gone he seems. You lean over him, resting the back of your hand against his forehead—it almost immediately snaps back to yourself, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. He’s scalding to the touch. “Holy hell, Hyunjae, you’re burning up!”

 “Mhm,” is the only confirmation he gives.

 “You should’ve called someone as soon as you started to feel off,” you scold, the frown on your face deepening. Before setting to work, you lift the blankets off his form—relieved to see he’d managed to change, at least, into dry clothes when he’d gotten home. Instead of letting the blanket fall back over him, you pull it halfway down.

 “No—” A whine sounds from Hyunjae, and he meekly lifts himself to try and grab the blanket back. You swat his hand away, scowling.

 “You need to lessen your body temperature, not make it worse. I know you feel like you’re freezing right now but you actually aren’t. Just trust me.”

 Hyunjae blearily frowns at you, sinking back into the couch with a pout. You wait a moment, watching to see if he’ll go against your words. When he doesn’t, you give him a smile of encouragement, and a nod. With that at least settled, you shrug out of your jacket and move away from the couch to set to work, discarding your jacket on the back of a chair as you head towards the bathroom.

 His apartment hasn’t changed much, something to which you’re grateful for. It makes navigating the place for things you need that much easier. You waste no time in finding some ibuprofen and water for Hyunjae, who protests when you help him sit up straight on the couch so he can take the medication with some fluids. Getting him to eat was probably out of the question, considering he had clearly been hungry but hadn’t even moved from the couch to get his food. A part of you wondered if he’d possibly passed out. Maybe the fever had been more intense than this before.

 As you pat Hyunjae’s forehead with a damp, lukewarm washcloth, you’re relieved that it was simply just that he was sick and not avoiding you. You want to tell that selfish part of you to shut up—this wasn’t the time to be relieved over something like that, for goodness’ sake, considering the state he was in. But you just couldn’t help it. You knew you should have known better than to think he would be avoiding you, considering his parting words before he’d left your apartment yesterday. It wouldn’t have been like him to randomly shut you out like that. But after everything that had happened within the last few years, there was just an innate fear you were being left behind or shut out—or wouldn't notice something when it was going awry.

 Deciding to settle in, you make yourself comfortable on the floor next to the couch. While you’d already decided—for other reasons, originally—that you likely wouldn’t be rejoining the lunch plans as you’d darted away so quickly, you still feel guilty for ditching so suddenly. It had been a week now that you’d all agreed to meet, and you knew Chanhee hated last minute cancellations. He wasn’t going to let you live this down, even with an apology. Still, you end up texting Chanhee apologizing, and telling him what was wrong with Hyunjae, to ensure that he wouldn’t worry about you not coming back. While he’d likely not let you live it down, at least he’d be more forgiving.

 For the next few hours, when they appear, you wipe away beads of sweat from Hyunjae’s forehead. You hadn’t come here prepared, so you end up attempting to keep yourself busy while also monitoring Hyunjae’s condition. It feels strange to have free reign of his apartment, just as you had when you were younger. It had been so long that you almost felt like a stranger intruding. But the stuffiness of the place wasn’t doing his fever any good, and you couldn’t allow him to stay sick because of a sacrifice he’d made on your behalf. You cycle through some light cleaning to help with the atmosphere of the place, wiping down and disinfecting surfaces while also cleaning up stray laundry and trash floating about, and doing the dishes. All this while tending to Hyunjae and keeping watch of his temperature.

 There comes a point where you think you’ve done too much, and you return to Hyunjae’s side, settling back on the pillow on the floor you’d set down for yourself earlier. You’re relieved to see Hyunjae’s labored breathing has eased up, and his brow is no longer furrowed against the pain he’d likely been in at the peak of the fever. Reaching up, you brush away a strand of hair from his forehead, dabbing the washcloth against his skin once more. For the upteenth time, you find yourself admiring his sharp yet soft features. This time, you can’t help but take note of the way his long eyelashes rest against his skin, and how soft his eyelids look with his eyes closed and how peaceful he looks with his lips slightly parted, lower lip slightly jutting out in a pout. You’re amazed that even while sick and pallid, he still looks this handsome.

 “Hyunjae,” you murmur, patting the cloth against his forehead one more time before setting it aside. You rest your arm on the side of the couch, then your chin on top of it. You feel a drowsiness overtaking you, having not realized you’d actually done quite a bit of tasks around his apartment. “You should’ve told me you were getting sick. I want you to get better soon.”

 This doesn’t count as the courage you’d finally mustered up—and you know you’ll have to do this all over again to be satisfied with yourself—but you reach up, pushing a bit more hair off his forehead. “Please don’t be sick, Hyunjae. I like you a lot, so you have to get better. I don’t like seeing you like this.”

 As you pull your hand away from Hyunjae’s forehead, you’re surprised when your wrist is caught suddenly—immediately recognizing the long, lithe fingers that are wrapped around it as Hyunjae’s. You blink, startled, lowering your gaze from his forehead to his face. Hyunjae’s brown eyes blink at you, bleary, but not quite as unfocused as they had been before.

 “Am I dreaming?” He mumbles, much more coherent than before.

 “H-Hyunjae—?” You hadn’t expected him to be awake. Had he heard what you’d just said?

 “Is this a dream?” He repeats, staring at you, before glancing to the side at your wrist he has hold of. Hyunjae shifts his hand, sliding his palm up your wrist against your own palm, engulfing your hand with his own as he entwines his fingers with yours. You stare at your hands, surprised. Just yesterday you’d done this and he’d acted as though he’d been burned.

 A part of you wants to tell him he is. Maybe he’s still feverish enough that he won’t know any better. But the selfish voice at the back of your head tells you not to risk saying it—to not risk the moment.

 “N-no… it’s not a dream.”

 “Good,” Hyunjae mumbles. You feel him shift on the couch, giving your hand a squeeze as he does so. The movement causes you to turn your head, looking at him again—his sudden proximity catching you off guard. What catches you even more off guard is the way he leans in, softly pressing his lips against your own.

 You blink a few times, before allowing your eyelids to flutter closed. Hyunjae’s lips meld with yours—softly, tenderly; shyly. You can feel his uncertainty as he kisses you, but just beyond that there’s also a needy hunger. There needs to be more but there’s no energy for that. Yet Hyunjae pours his everything into the kiss, as softly yet surely as he can. Years of emotions and love and yearning flow out against your lips and you can feel it in the slight intensity and the way he tastes on you.

 If he weren’t sick, you’d allow yourself to suffocate against his lips—for him to steal every last breath from you. You can’t describe the giddiness that suddenly flows into your chest and stomach in words, but it feels so right. It felt nothing like the love you’d thought you’d had before.

 When Hyunjae breaks apart, a small sound of complaint that you have no control over slips from the back of your throat. You wished that kiss would continue for an eternity.

 Hyunjae chuckles. “I know,” he mumbles, giving your hand a squeeze again. “But I’m going to get you sick.”

 “It’s okay, I don’t get sick easily.”

 “I deserve that one,” Hyunjae mutters with a scoff, smiling sleepily. He pulls his hand from your grasp and rests it at the back of your head, pulling your head down with him as he lays back on the couch again. You rest your head against the cushions where you sit on the floor, and Hyunjae immediately snuggles a bit closer, breathing in your scent. You feel his thumb rub in a circle at the back of your head.

 “I like you a lot, too. And I always have, for such a long time. So please don’t let this be a dream when I’m better and wake up,” he whispers into your hair, pressing a soft peck to the crown of your head.

 You reach behind you, taking his hand from the top of your head to link your fingers again, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand.

 “It won’t be. I promise.”

[petrichxxr]

I loved loved loved loved Middle of the night!

ahhhh thank you!! I’m so glad you did 💛💛💛

[petrichxxr]

You’re such an amazing writer. I can’t wait for more of your content.

cries omg thank you for thinking so 🥺🥺🥺

there will definitely be more soon! I hope you stick around and thank you!

[petrichxxr]

Will you be posting more?

Yes I will!!! I’m sorting through old stuff I’ve written and proofreading and I’ve got some other stuff in the works, I’m just trying to figure out a layout for the blog that I like and how I want to go about this 😅

I was going to post more today but I just got busy in real life kaljsdfk but there will be more!

[petrichxxr]

Holy cow middle of the night was sooooooo good!

ahhhh thank you!!! I’m glad you liked it!! 💛

[petrichxxr]

middle of the night | y.kh

A/N: I can’t write shit without there being a plot that’s all I gotta say...

Word Count: 4360

Genre: smut, romance, angst

Pairing: fem!reader x yoo kihyun (monsta x)

Warnings: multiple mentions of infidelity, oral (receiving), unprotected sex (with consent)

Summary: Kihyun is the one you turn to in the middle of the night whenever things in your relationship with your acclaimed fiance go wrong. This time, though, has become one too many. You tell yourself you shouldn’t, but you find yourself seeking solace in his company one last time...

You can’t keep doing this.

Staring down at your phone, gripped between loose fingers, you sigh. The numbness makes it hard to keep your grip, light of the phone glaring up at you against the low light of the room and irritating your eyes. The numbness made it hard, even, to type the message that you had out before hitting send. And, as soon as you had done so, you’d had to tell yourself that you shouldn’t have.

You couldn’t keep doing this.

With that thought, your phone slips through weak fingers and clatters to the carpet floor below. You stare, unmoving.

How many times has this been done? How many times have you called him here to you in the dead of night—to some random hotel in the middle of the city, with the grandest view and the most luxurious room service; maxing out your fiance’s credit limit out of spite because you’d be damned if you were paying for the torment he’d caused you. Or calling him out to some random motel off the state route, where all you wanted to do was disappear into the night and the barren, dull landscape that surrounded it? Wishing to be forgotten on the side of the road and passed by idly?

This time, it hurt enough that you’d chosen the motel. You didn’t want to spite anyone. You just wanted to forget.

You sit there, seething in silence and festering in your own pain. By now, this has happened so many times you’d figure you’d at least be accustomed to the hurt. Yet each time it hits you, it’s new and fresh—tearing open those wounds you’d so sloppily sewn back together with all you determination, even if it wasn’t the best handiwork. And each time, the betrayal and hurt would rip it straight out and sting all over again; an ache you just never seemed to get used to nor expect, despite the repetitive pattern of it all.

You aren’t sure how long you sit there, staring down at your phone, zoned out by the dull ache that’s settled over your body—but the sound of a knock at your motel door causes you to slowly lift your head. For a moment, you stare blankly, having forgotten your own surroundings. It takes effort on your part, but you push yourself up from the edge of the bed and step over your discarded phone to open the door.

With the movement of the door parting open, the scent of his cologne hits you first. You can almost feel the tension in your shoulders melt away. Lifting your gaze, you meet Kihyun’s eyes.

He knows why he’s been called. It’s always for the same reason, after stumbling upon you that fateful night almost a year ago. It had been for the exact same reason you’d created a mess of yourself, Kihyun had just happened to be there to pick up the pieces as a complete stranger. Somehow, the second and third time following so soon after, he’d been around by chance. From there, it had created an addictively sweet habit—one that wasn’t fair to him; one you kept reminding yourself you had to stop, you couldn’t keep doing this—yet you couldn’t bring yourself to cut ties. Some habits were hard to kill.

Despite knowing, Kihyun stares at you for a moment longer than necessary, taking in your disheveled state. If you didn’t look so visibly upset, he’d say the little black dress adorning your figure was pretty, as were you. But he’d seen you in much prettier states before, in dresses that were much more expensive and much more gorgeous and had slipped off your skin with such ease.

His eyes burn into yours, and a different type of pain twinges within the cavity of your chest. Letting out a small sigh, Kihyun steps into the motel room and closes the door quietly behind him. When he turns back to you, you’re almost immediately collapsing into his arms, between a mix of relief at seeing him and not being able to hold yourself up any longer.

Kihyun catches you, arms wrapping around you with a strength that feels like it might meld all the broken pieces of you back together. If only, you think.

“Hey,” he murmurs, head turning slightly to kiss your temple. “I’m here. What happened?”

You let out a shaky breath, a lump forming in your throat. But you have no tears left to cry, not anymore. It hurts so much, yet you can’t get it out. You bury your face against Kihyun’s chest, breathing in his scent past the knot in your throat. “He did it again. That damn bastard. He just… tonight… it was the night of the party—”

You curl your fingers into fists against the material of Kihyun’s shirt, unable to continue. But Kihyun knows you well enough by now to piece the missing parts of the puzzle together. He glances down at the feeling of your hands curled into fists against his chest.

The engagement ring that typically adorns your left ring finger is missing.

Kihyun unwinds his arms from around you, lifting his hands to cup your face and lift your gaze to him.

“I can’t keep this up, Kihyun,” you laugh, though it’s bitter and there’s a lack of emotion as it escapes past your lips. “He’s good for you, they said. I don’t care if he’s got everything. I don’t care if it’s what everyone wants of me—what everyone expects of me—I just can’t do it anymore.”

Why had you ever agreed to an arranged marriage… not that you had much of a choice in the matter. For the family name. For the business. It was all just politics, and it had rubbed you the wrong way from the beginning. But things hadn’t been so bad at the start. Things had almost seemed too perfect to be true at the start, with the way your fiance treated you. You hadn’t had feelings from him at the start, they’d slowly blossomed. You’d believe the same for him, too.

But now it was as if someone had taken the delicate petals of the flower head in their palm—ripping them from the stem and crushing them.

There were a countless number of things, as time had worn on, that he’d done to lose your trust. Cheating, not just the type where the evidence was found scattered throughout the apartment or in his text message and phone call history, in the way he’d be late coming home from work or casually skip over questions relating to work and where he’d been. But the kind of blatant cheating, done so right in front of your eyes—secretaries and colleagues he’d bring along to dinner parties and being forced to sit next to him, them on his other side, lewd noises hitting your ears as his hand slipped under their skirt underneath the table; his free hand always holding yours in a display of the union for those watchful eyes of family and business partners at the table.

The sensation scalded every single time.

Then there was the sneaking off at separate times or excusing themselves due to work related matters, and the fake conversation that would follow as if nothing happened and nothing suspicious was going on. The smile that you’d have to plaster on your face through the sickening churn of your stomach as you lied to those at the dinner table about how great things were. Later on, he’d touch you with those same hands he’d touched her with...

“Just tell me what you need me to do,” Kihyun’s voice wraps around you like honey, sweet and soothing. You lift your gaze to look back up at him, unaware of the way your eyes glisten with tears that refuse to fall; unaware of the way it wrenches his heart.

“Make me forget—” The words barely fall off your lips before Kihyun is leaning down, swallowing them and claiming your lips. There’s no alcohol fueling the kiss like so many times before, yet there's fervor in the way his lips move against yours, almost as if rather than swallowing just the words you’d spoken, he was swallowing you in your entirety.

Kihyun’s hands, cupping your face, slowly move down your body. One arm winds around your waist, pulling you closer to his body, while the other moves to the back of your neck. He threads his fingers through your hair, giving a tug and tilting your head back just as his teeth snag your lower lip. A gasp escapes you as your lower lip rolls through his teeth, before your head is tilted back fully and neck exposed, and your lip is released.

“Where did he touch you?” Kihyun murmurs, lips grazing the exposed skin of your neck. He kisses your neck gently, and you feel your breath hitch in your throat. The touch of his lips is so soft and plush. Such a contrast.

“E-Everywhere…” The word is a choked whisper that leaves you, forcing its way out of you, as you try to wipe the memory clean from your mind of all the places he had.

Kihyun’s lips hover over your neck, his breath hot. You feel him pause, before he’s tilting his head back towards you. His nose brushes yours as he rests his forehead against yours, brown eyes burning into your own.

“Did you tell him no?” Kihyun’s tone is much more serious than you’re used to—than all the other times you’d sought solace in him.

“No…”

Kihyun narrows his eyes, and you see something flash in the depths of them. “Do you love him?”

“I thought… I did…” You bite down on your lip, sighing, glancing away. “I don’t know anymore. I really did at first, the feelings grew. I thought I still did—so I said yes, and then tonight happened. But you don’t just stop loving someone.”

“Look at me,” Kihyun commands. There’s such a different type of palpable authority in his tone that it forces you to look back at him. “I want to make love to you, in ways that he never did and never could, in ways you’ve probably never imagined because he could never provide that—in ways that I’ve never filled you before. May I?”

You study him silently, searching for that something about him that’s shifted, that you can’t quite place. There’s a part of you that wonders what, exactly, has changed about him—but there’s also a specific reason you called Kihyun here.

“Yes.”

A small smile passes over his face, and he presses his lips to yours in a gentle but chaste kiss. Kihyun drops his hand from the back of your neck, slowly sliding it down your back as he leans out of the kiss. Nimble fingers work at the zipper at the back of your dress. Like so many times before, he guides the clothing off your frame, the dress pooling at your feet. Your bra quickly follows, dropping to the floor, and Kihyun himself follows as he begins kissing down your frame—lips soft and peppering down your chest, over your breasts, down your stomach—until he’s on his knees and his hands are on either of your hips.

He buries his face into your clothed heat, breathing in deeply, and you let out a surprised gasp. Firm hands keep you in place as you attempt to take a step back, and you bite down on your lip, watching him carefully. The action makes you ache, a dull throbbing following as Kihyun kisses the lace covering your center, before teeth latch on, underwear slowly sliding down your thighs. As your panties fall to the floor around your ankles, Kihyun works kisses back up your leg, along your inner thighs, and the sensation of his teeth and lips sucking and pulling at the sensitive skin causes you to gasp, shuddering beneath him as he paints your inner thighs hues of purples and blues.

His hands pull you closer to him by your hips, and suddenly you’re shuddering at the sensation of Kihyun’s lips latching onto your core, suckling at your clit. You whimper when his teeth graze the sensitive nub, causing a shock of pleasure to pass through your system in a wave. You let out a gasp, doubling forward to brace yourself against his shoulders as his tongue buries itself into you. Kihyun’s tongue laps at your folds, slipping in and out, before moving back within your core. He swirls his tongue around within you, and a whine slips past your lips as you meet the sensation of pleasure, rolling your hips in a circle along with his tongue. The pleasure hits you in a wave so strong you can feel your legs quivering underneath you.

Inadvertently, you dig your nails into the back of Kihyun’s shoulders, raking them over as you attempt to get a better grip at holding yourself up. The moan that escapes from the back of Kihyun’s throat reverberates through your body from your core, and you moan as the burning pleasure in the pit of your stomach spreads. Trying to satisfy the unreachable sensation, you rock your hips slowly against Kihyun’s mouth, matching the pace of his tongue as it begins to pump in and out of you faster. Occasionally, he’ll suck at your clit and you’ll toss your head back, a moan escaping, hips bucking into him, his tongue pumping into you deeper.

The pace and his tongue swirling, lips sucking, at your sensitive clit and his tongue pushing deep within you is enough to send you to the edge. Your orgasm comes suddenly, in a strong wave that has you gasping as you buckle forward again. One rock of your hips against Kihyun’s face and you’re coming on his tongue. Again, your nails dig into into his his shoulders and you whimper out, “Kihyun,” in frustration, tightening around him as he groans against your core.

Your legs are practically shaking in full when he pulls away from your center, a satisfied sigh escaping him. His lips and chin are shining with your juices, and a small whimper escapes past you, feeling yourself clench at the sight, core throbbing. Languidly, Kihyun rises to his feet, fingers digging into your hips roughly as he pulls you closer to him.

“You taste delicious,” Kihyun murmurs softly, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “Did he ever eat you out like that? Kneeling at your feet as though you were a queen? Has he ever been this dirty with you?”

Before you can ask what he means, Kihyun is pressing his lips against yours again—harder this time, and as you gasp in surprise against his lips, he pushes the same tongue that had been buried in your cunt deep into your mouth. You moan in surprise, eyes fluttering closed as you allow yourself to drown in him, almost immediately winding your arms around his neck, tasting yourself on him. He deepens the kiss, and you’re drunk on the taste of your juices mixed with him. The scent of his expensive cologne dizzies your mind, and you’re almost certain your legs will give out underneath you.

Kihyun’s hands trail down your thighs. You’re immediately aware of the pressure of his fingers lifting from the plush skin of your hips and find yourself idly wondering if the pressure will leave bruises. Before you can dwell on the thought longer, though, Kihyun is hooking his hands beneath your thighs and hoisting you up. You let out a gasp against his lips, eyes shooting open as you break the kiss. Kihyun smirks in amusement up at you.

“I bet the thought of eating you out never crossed his mind, hm? Let alone kissing you like that. How did you taste?”

“Sweet. But not as good as you.” You lick your lips at the thought of having taken his length down your throat in the past, surprised at the lingering sweetness of yourself on your own lips now.

“What a lie,” Kihyun murmurs, leaning up to kiss you again. This time, it’s a much softer kiss, still ignited with an undercurrent of intensity. It makes your head even dizzier than before, the way his lips move against yours so slowly, sensually, as if they were made to fit against your own mouth. You’re aware of the two of you moving, Kihyun carrying you backwards slowly as you kiss.

When he breaks the kiss, he’s lowering you slowly onto the bed. Kihyun traces kisses from your mouth down your cheek, jawline and neck, where he buries his face for a moment and breathes you in.

“You’re the most expensive bottle of top shelf chardonnay. He’s got all that money but won’t even use it on the best,” he murmurs, lips trailing down your shoulder, collarbone, and chest. You arch your back as he kisses  top of your breast, lips latching around the nipple. As he sucks, his tongue swirls around the bud. You moan, pressing yourself up into him, arms around his neck sliding up to his head, hands burying deep in his hair. As his teeth graze your nipple, which his mouth has made sensitive, you tug at his hair and earn a moan from him. Kihyun lifts his head from your breast, tongue lapping over the nipple one last time—before he moves to your other breast, mouth adorning it with the same attention.

You’re squirming beneath him by the time he’s finished, satisfied. As he leans back, he cups both breasts, softly massaging. Your back arches up into his palms as he fondles, toying with your nipples and making you let out an uneasy breath.

“Please, Kihyun,” you sigh, body tingling in the most sensitive of places. The heat that had been building at the base of your stomach since being eaten out had only spread like wildfire, making every part of you ache for him. Your heat throbbed worse with every movement of his mouth against your skin or every lingering touch as his fingertips worked against your skin delicately, driving you mad.

Kihyun lifts himself up from over you, and the absence of his hands against your body make you whimper needily, wanting to follow after him. Perhaps you would have, if not for the fact that Kihyun begins undressing himself. You take your lower lip between your teeth as you admire him, shoulders rolling as he shrugs off his suit jacket, nimble fingers remove the watch at his left wrist, before unbuttoning the dress shirt adorning his torso. His shoulders roll once more, the muscles of his chest tightening as he allows the shirt to fall to the floor. He smirks, fully aware of you watching him, fingers dancing at his waistband teasingly.

“Kihyun,” you hiss, pushing yourself up from the bed. You catch him by surprise when you shove his hands aside from his pants, leaning up to kiss him while your fingers greedily fumble at his waistband, unbuttoning his pants and shoving them down his hips. He chuckles against your lips, before the two of you drown in the kiss together, not daring to break apart even once he’s fully undressed and you’re lowering yourself back onto the bed with Kihyun hovering over you.

When the kiss is finally broken, the both of you are breathing heavily, oxygen filling your lungs. Kihyun stares down at you for a moment.

“You’re absolutely beautiful,” Kihyun murmurs, after a long moment of his eyes drinking you in. The way his eyes lazily raked over your naked form beneath him had you squirming, a heat filling not only your center but flushing across your cheeks, as well. The sight was enough to make him smile softly. “I bet he never told you that. I can assure you he’s never made love, or fucked you, like I’m about to.”

Kihyun leans forward over you, and the action is almost threatening. Within the cavity of your chest, your heart pounds. His hot breath fans against your ear as he whispers. “When you scream tonight, scream my name so loud you don’t even remember how to pronounce his.”

The venom in Kihyun’s voice for your fiance is enough to make you quiver with anticipation. Before you can react, Kihyun is roughly grabbing hold of your thighs, pulling you down and hoisting your legs up. You let out a gasp, immediately followed by a scream—just as he had promised—when his length abruptly pushes past your folds and he thrusts into you hard. 

“Beautiful,” Kihyun breathes out, his voice rough and thick with his lust.

Just as quickly as he’d entered, Kihyun pulls out fully, before pushing himself back in. Just as he promised, you scream out, his name falling off your lips as you arch your back up into him. The thrust is deep—and hits you at just the right spot, your vision going white at the edges and eyes rolling back as he settles into a quick pace.

“So damn beautiful. Even more so when it’s my name you’re screaming.” His words fall upon your body; the most holy of compliments you’d ever received. You let out a deep moan, his words turning you on even further—a moan that Kihyun echoes as you tighten around him, the sensation causing his rapid thrusts to become a bit erratic as the pure ecstasy of his pleasure overtakes him. “He’s never fucked you so good you screamed, has he?”

The motel room is filled with the sound of your cunt making lewd squelching noises as his length pumps within you with each thrust, skin slapping against skin. The sensation of how he fills you, so deep, seemingly reaching further than any other time you’d had sex with him, begging him to make you forget, sends sparks of pleasure all throughout your body. The pleasure that overtakes you practically drowns you, so intense you can’t do much else than revel in it.

There’s a slight disconnect from your body as you take his length, the pleasure white-hot and wiping your mind clear—you meet each of his thrusts with your own, the sensation causing Kihyun to moan out low and deep each time it hit just right or he felt you tighten around him. You feel a pressure building within your gut, though you don’t notice it completely until Kihyun leans back a bit, adjusting the angle at which he was thrusting. Within you, his tip brushes across that one exact bundle of nerves.

Kihyun. Again, you’re screaming out his name, legs and core trembling around him and stars littering across your vision. Kihyun lets out a gasp of surprise, eyes widening and his mouth dropping open at the wave of pleasure that overtakes him.

“R-Right there—oh my god.” Beneath him, you become a whimpering, blubbering and trembling mess. The sensation becomes too much, and within moments you’re incoherent and all that you can manage is to whimper out his name.

“Shit,” Kihyun hissed out, suddenly hovering over you, hands braced on either side of your head on the bed. He thrusts into you, hard, two more times before he fills you—juices mixing together as you yourself come undone, unraveling beneath him at the seams. One last high pitched whine of his name falls off your lips.

Both of you tremble, before going limp. Kihyun, panting, studies you beneath him. If you weren’t so exhausted, muscles sore in places you hadn’t realized they’d be and nothing but jelly, unable to properly order them to move the way you wanted, you’d be surprised at the way Kihyun brushed hair away from your face, kissing your forehead.

“Ethereal,” he murmurs quietly, before pulling himself off of you with the last of his strength. Immediately, he falls down onto the bed beside you.

The word is enough to pull the corners of your mouth up into a smile. Mustering up enough energy, you roll onto your side to face him. As you do so, Kihyun leans his face down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips once more. Then, he winds his arms around you, pulling you closer to him.

You revel in the last moments engulfed in his frame, carefully cradled in his arms so tenderly, knowing that just like every time before, it won’t be the last time but once sunlight comes, it will be something akin to a dream.

As you fall asleep, your breathing slowing to match Kihyun’s, you wonder if this is what making love is supposed to feel like, in comparison to every other experience you had.

—

When you wake in the morning, blinding sunlight seeping through cheap motel curtains that do nothing to block out it out, you practically startle out of your skin—jumping back in surprise when you realize that Kihyun is still in the bed next to you, covers of the bed pooling around your naked forms at your waists.

A small sound escapes sleepily from the back of Kihyun’s throat, and you stare in surprise, sitting up abruptly in the bed. Just to make sure everything you’d thought had happened actually had, your eyes dart around the motel room. Typically, as was common every other time before, Kihyun would disappear before daybreak. This had never been a permanent thing. You were engaged, and he was—well, now that you thought about it, you didn’t know, exactly, what Yoo Kihyun was, besides rich beyond belief and unafraid of late night indulgences.

“Is there a problem?” Kihyun’s voice, thick with sleep, breaks through the confused fog of your brain, and you glance over your shoulder down at him in surprise.

“W-What…”

One of his eyebrows quirks up, waiting for you to gather your thoughts, but keen enough to figure out the question himself.

“Why are you… here… still…?”

“When you opened the door to me last night, I decided I wouldn’t be leaving this time,” Kihyun replied, matter-of-factly. “And you decided you wouldn’t be returning, either, considering you took your engagement ring to that bastard off.”

Startled, you lift your barren left hand up to your chest, covering it with your right hand.

He’d noticed.

Your jaw tightens, trying to hold back a smile.

You’d hoped he would.