seungjiseyo

[seungjiseyo]

Heeseung loves you in the way storms love the shore. Hard, repeating and certain you’ll never change. You’ve tried to break free, but the leash is still there—in your thoughts, in your breath, in your silence when he calls. He never had to trap you because you always stayed.

nsfw warnings: SMUT, dub-con undertones, toxic relationship dynamics, obsessive behavior, emotional manipulation, possessiveness, jealousy, manipulation via gift-giving, gaslighting, trauma bonding, stalking, break-in scene, makeup sex, coercion-adjacent power play, rough sex, breeding kink, creampie, manhandling, somnophilic implications, non-physical abuse, emotional aftermath, unhealthy coping mechanisms, crying, power imbalance, dark romantic themes, blurred consent, light degradation, isolation from friends, psychological control.

3.7k

It's past midnight when the knock comes. Not a frantic one. Just steady, like Heeseung knows you're awake. Like he knows you're standing on the other side, hand hovering over the doorknob, breath caught in your throat.

You don't move. You tell yourself not to. But then you hear him. "Come on, baby." His voice is low, sweet, and mocking all at once. "Open up. I miss you."

You squeeze your eyes shut when you hear him chuckle. "I can feel you hesitating. Don't make me wait, angel."

And god help you—you open the door. Heeseung stands there like a ghost from your worst mistake. Hoodie on, hood up, eyes glinting like he already knows he's won. "There's my girl," he murmurs, stepping in without invitation. His hand catches your chin as he walks past you, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "Took you long enough."

You met Heeseung at the café you worked at, it was nothing glamorous. Just a corner spot near the financial district, where you were usually stuck behind the counter wiping tables or pouring coffee with aching wrists. He walked in one Friday morning in a suit that fit too well and a gaze that settled on you like he already knew he'd ruin you.

He was polite, charming even. Called you pretty the second time he came in. By the fifth visit, he wasn't ordering coffee anymore—just sitting at the back table, watching you with quiet interest, leaving hundred-dollar tips like he was paying for your attention.

You didn't stand a chance.

He asked for your number in that soft, coaxing voice. Took you out that weekend. Took you shopping the one after. Bought you things you never asked for, always with that same sweet grin. "You work so hard," he'd say, sliding a bag across the table. "Let me spoil you a little."

And when the sweetness soured, when the manipulation began, subtle and sharp, you barely even noticed. Not at first, at least.

The first time he made you cry, he showed up the next day with flowers and a new phone.

When he snapped at you for texting someone he didn't like, he replaced your entire wardrobe the following week.

When he went too far, when his jealousy turned cruel, when his anger turned cold, he always begged for forgiveness with expensive perfume and new jewelry. Whispered "I love you" like it was a bandage.

Money became his language of apology. Control wrapped in tissue paper and designer bags.

By the time you realized what he'd done to you, how he'd cut you off from your friends, how you flinched when your phone buzzed, how you stopped smiling when you walked into work, it was already too late.

He had his claws in.

There was one night, months before you finally left, when he accused you of flirting with one of his friends.

Heeseung had taken you to dinner with a few of his friends—casual, nothing special. You barely spoke unless someone addressed you directly, always cautious, always polite. But one of the guys made a joke, lighthearted and harmless. You smiled, maybe even laughed a little.

That was enough for Heeseung.

Later that night, the car ride home was tense. You knew the silence too well by then, you knew it meant something was festering.

The second you stepped inside his apartment, he closed the door too softly. That kind of soft that screams danger louder than a slam.

"You looked real happy talking to him tonight," he said, voice level but hollow.

You froze at the sink. "What are you talking about?"

"You think I didn't see it?" Heeseung stepped closer. "The way you smiled at him. Like I wasn't sitting right there."

Your heart started pounding. "I was being polite, Hee. That's it."

"Polite?" He laughed, humorless. "You really think I don't see what you're doing?"

He raised his hand to run his fingers through his hair. It wasn't even fast but it was in rising anger and you flinched.

It was instinctive, immediate—your whole body recoiling like it had happened before. It hadn't. Not physically. Heeseung had never hit you.

But something about the way he could had already been planted deep inside you. Like you expected it now, like your body was just bracing for impact.

The silence that followed was worse than the shouting. Worse than anything.

You watched his expression collapse in real time—shock first, then guilt, then something fragile and crumbling that almost looked like heartbreak.

"No—fuck, baby, no. I wasn't gonna—" His voice cracked. "You really think I'd hit you?"

You didn't answer. You didn't even know how. Tears welled up in his eyes before yours did. He sank onto his knees with a devastated expression, dragging his hands through his hair.

"I'm not a monster," he whispered. "Jesus. I'd never...I wouldn't even think of that. Baby, do you really think I'm like that?"

You remember kneeling beside him, his arms wrapping around you like a trap made of silk, him repeating I'm sorry over and over until you almost believed him.

The next few days after that, he went overboard. Showed up at your work with a designer bag. The same brand your friend always carried—except this one was a higher tier, newer collection, rarer color.

He handed it to you with a smile and a kiss. "I saw hers the other day and thought—why shouldn't you have the better version of what she's flaunting?"

You didn't even question it. Not then.

He told you she was jealous of you. That she always had been. That she only kept you around because she wanted to compete. That you were prettier. Smarter. That you didn't need friends who secretly wanted to be you.

The bag glimmered in the light, expensive and perfect. Looking almost like a bribe, like an apology that cost too much to question, like something shiny to distract you from everything he was quietly taking away.

And the worst part? It absolutely worked.

The breakup hadn't been loud. It wasn't a screaming match or a shattered wine glass or slammed doors.

It was quiet. You told him you couldn't do it anymore, couldn't keep shrinking just to keep the peace, couldn't keep doubting yourself every time you made eye contact with another man, couldn't keep apologizing for things you never even did.

He hadn't expected it.

He stood there in your doorway, stunned like he didn't understand the language you were speaking. His voice cracked when he asked, "So that's it? After everything I've done for you?"

But you didn't change your mind. Not even when he showed up every day after that. Not even when there were flowers at your door. Expensive gifts you never asked for. Apologies in the form of designer jewelry, handwritten notes, voice messages at 3AM. A slow descent from devotion to desperation.

And when none of that worked, when you didn't answer his texts or let him in, his begging soured into something else.

Frustration. Entitlement. A low simmering anger beneath the surface of every "I miss you" that started sounding more like a threat than a plea.

You thought ignoring him would be enough. It really wasn't.

You woke up one night with the eerie sensation that something was wrong. Your room was still dark, but your body stiffened when you realized you weren't alone in the bed.

Heeseung.

Pressed to your side like he belonged there. Arm slung over your waist. Face buried in your hair like he hadn't let himself in while you were sleeping.

Your heart slammed in your chest. You jerked away with a sharp gasp. "What the fuck—Heeseung?!"

He blinked slowly like he'd just woken up. "Hey," he murmured, voice heavy with sleep. "You left your door open."

You hadn't.

"You can't be here," you choked out, panic rising. "Get out. Get the fuck out."

But he didn't. He reached for you immediately. You tried to push him away, but that only seemed to make him more determined and that's when he kissed you.

Desperate and deep. As though kissing was a language he could use to convince you instead. You'd resisted at first, trembling, trying to pull back, but it was him, it was Heeseung, and your body remembered the way he used to hold you when things were good, the way his voice would crack when he whispered he loved you.

And like always...he knew exactly which pieces of you to press until you broke for him completely.

His hand slid down, thumb dragging between your legs until your whimper betrayed you. Until the betrayal was yours too.

He pushed into you like he never left, groaning in your ear, clinging to your hips like you were being reunited instead of undone.

"You still feel like mine," he whispered against your neck, breath ragged. "You can't tell me you don't miss this."

You didn't answer.

He kissed your cheek, your jaw, your throat. "I'll be better. For you," he swore, fucking you harder like the rhythm itself could convince you. "I swear. I'll stop being so jealous. You don't have to be scared of me anymore. Just—just come back to me. Please."

You'd cried under him.

Not just from the overwhelming heat, not just from the way he made your body submit, but from the way you hated yourself for giving in, hated that a part of you still ached for the version of him you fell in love with.

But that version was dead. It'd died long ago. And whatever had crawled into your bed now didn't care.

Because he still finished inside you, still moaned about how perfect you were, how you belonged to him. How this meant you weren't really over him.

He kissed your trembling fingers as you lay there numb, still shaking, still silent. "I know you don't mean it," he whispered. "All that stuff you said. You still love me. Right?"

You still couldn't answer and Heeseung took your silence as a yes.

You deleted every trace of him after that night—photos, texts, blocked his number, even told your friends to stop you if you ever mentioned his name again.

But it didn't matter.

Because Heeseung never truly left.

He still shows up like nothing happened. Still finds his way into your apartment, into your bed, into your head. And every time you tell yourself it's the last time, he tilts your chin up, smirks like he owns you, and says, "Did you miss me, baby?"

The worst part? Your body answers before your mouth can.

He ruined you for anyone else. No one touches you like he does. No one talks to you like he does. He calls you his pretty little toy, pulls your hair when you disobey, whispers filth into your ear until your legs are shaking and your mind goes blank. You cry and beg and tremble for a man you swore you'd never let touch you again.

And now he's standing here in your apartment again calling you his girl.

"I'm not your girl." you try, voice fragile, but he's already stepping inside. You walk away without looking back, already halfway to the bedroom when you ask,

"What do you want, Heeseung?" A stupid question. You already know. The second the lock clicked and he stepped over the threshold, the air shifted. He was always going to follow. You knew it in your bones, in the silence that thickened behind you with each step. You should've kept the door shut. Should've kept your mouth shut. But now he's here, moving through your space the way he always does—uninvited, inevitable.

He kisses you.

And for one blessed second, you don't move. You keep your hands at your sides. You clench your jaw, trying to pretend you don't feel that familiar ache, the one he planted in your bones months ago and never let die.

But he's gentle, almost mocking in the way he presses his lips to yours, dragging it out like a dare. "You miss me?" he breathes against your mouth.

You turn your head. "No."

He hums, tilts your chin with two fingers. "Liar."

Then he kisses you again—deeper this time, thumb stroking your jaw as his tongue slips into your mouth, and that's when you feel your whole body trembling with need. Your knees give first, followed by your resolve.

You grab onto his hoodie like it'll steady you, gasping into him, letting him press you back into the wall.

You should tell him to stop, push him away, tell him you're done for real this time, that this isn't healthy, that you're not the same girl he broke. But your mouth betrays you, just like your body already has.

Because you're already letting him slip your shorts down. Already lifting one leg for him so he can settle between your thighs as he slides down to his knees.

"Fuck," he exhales, almost devout as he stares at your cunt, wet and wanting and all his again. "Look at you. Always so ready for me."

You swallow hard, your fingers curling into his hair as he kisses the inside of your thigh, slow and open-mouthed, breathing hot against your skin.

He looks up at you from between your legs, pupils blown and lips wet, you feel it again—that pathetic ache, that invisible leash he still keeps around your throat.

It should feel like power, like you have the upper hand, spread open above him, his mouth on you, his body lower than yours.

But it doesn't. Not with Heeseung.

Because even here—especially here—he's still in control. The way he touches you, slow and certain, mapping out the places he knows you'll break. Like he's reminding you this is his. The grip he has on your hips, the heat of his mouth, the way he knows exactly how to fuck you open with his tongue until you're gasping and grinding and begging for more.

Your hands fly to his hair and you try to take something back, try to make him yours, but he just lets you. Smirking into you like it's cute that you think you have any power here.

You're dripping down his chin, thighs shaking, spine arched off the wall, shaking by the time he pulls away from you, lips wet, chin glistening. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks up at you like he just tasted something sweet and owned it.

"Turn over," he says.

You hesitate. Just long enough for your eyes to meet his—dark, commanding, utterly unbothered—and you're already moving. Already crawling up the bed on shaky limbs, already letting him manhandle you onto your stomach like it was never a question.

Heeseung climbs over you slowly. Methodically. Like a predator getting comfortable in its favorite hunting ground.

His hand slides between your shoulder blades, flattening you against the mattress, his cock heavy and hard grinding against your ass. You whimper, already wrecked and dizzy from his mouth—but he hasn't even started.

And when he finally pushes his cock in, it's like your lungs collapse. You're soaked for him. Way too ready. Too familiar. Your body remembers him, opens up like it never stopped craving this. And he sinks in all the way, one slow, devastating thrust that has you clawing at the sheets.

"Fuck," he breathes, burying himself deep. "Missed this pussy."

You try to protest, you really do. Try to find the breath to tell him this doesn't mean anything, that this isn't you two again.

But then he starts moving. Hard and deep. Almost as if he's punishing you for ever walking away into the first place. Your legs are shaking, moans muffled into the pillow, his name spilling out of your mouth over and over, helpless and needy.

"You know we're back together now, right?" he murmurs in your ear, hips snapping against your ass, cock dragging along your walls and hitting that spot he knows makes you keen. "You letting me fuck you like this? It's done, baby. You're mine again."

You gasp, the words barely registering under the pressure of his thrusts. "We’re back together," he says again, gritting his teeth. "Say it."

You shake your head, a whimper catching in your throat.

"I said say it."

"W—We’re b—back together—!," you breathe, barely audible.

He groans cause you know that's all he needed. That's his reward. He drags you up by the waist, forcing you to arch for him, pounding into you deeper now, every thrust sending you higher, closer, ruined.

"You think I'd let you go just like that?" he growls. "After all the shit we've been through?"

Your head lolls back against his shoulder, and you nod. Not because you believe it—but because you're too far gone to argue, whimpering when he pushes you back into the sheets.

You're shaking, face buried in the sheets, body arching helplessly with each brutal thrust. Heeseung's pace is relentless and sharp, punishing even, as if he's trying to fuck the memory of him back into you.

It's too much.

You reach back blindly, hand fumbling against his hip, fingers curling in a weak attempt to push him away, to slow him down, to just breathe.

But he catches your wrist with one hand and slams into you harder. "Don't," he snaps, voice low and dangerous in your ear. "Don't fucking run now."

He pins your hand to the small of your back, holding you there, twisted beneath him and completely at his mercy. You whimper, legs trembling, mouth open in a silent cry as he drives into you again and again, each thrust deeper, meaner.

"Should've known better," he grits out, "than to think I'd let you go."

Your walls pulse around him, overwhelmed, overstimulated, ruined. And all you can do is take it—take him—while he reminds your body exactly who it belongs to.

His breath is hot against your neck, lips brushing your skin like a taunt.

Your whole body's gone pliant under him, muscles trembling, cries muffled into the sheets. His thrusts keep getting more and more brutal—sharp, full-bodied, relentless—every snap of his hips punching the breath out of you.

He lets out a broken groan, right in your ear. "Shit—Baby—I'm so fucking close."

You panic.

Your hand scrambles back again, weaker this time, just resting over his wrist on your hip. You're already too far gone to stop him—but you try. And your voice is a breathless whimper, high and thin.

"Hee—pull out. I'm not—I'm not on the pill anymore."

He halts his thrusting but only for a second.

And then you feel him smirk against your shoulder, his breath catching in a dark little laugh. He pushes in deeper, slower this time, grinding his cock into you like he owns your womb.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, all faux innocence. "Why, angel? You don't wanna have my baby?"

You whimper again, shaking your head, but he doesn't stop. Heeseung just fucks you harder.

"Thought you were mine," he says, low and taunting. "Letting me fuck you raw, crying all sweet—now you're scared? Hm?"

His hand slides under you and over your stomach, palm flat like he's already claiming what's inside.

"You think I wouldn't put a baby in you just to make sure you never fucking leave again?"

You cry out, overwhelmed, overstimulated, trembling so hard it borders on pain, but it doesn't matter. Not to him.

Because he's so close. And now he's chasing it.

"You gonna take it?" he breathes. "Let me fill you up like you're supposed to?"

You're gasping, moaning, sobbing something that's probably "please"—but even you don't know if it's for it or against it.

And he finishes with a growl, burying himself to the hilt, cock pulsing deep as he spills into you, holding your hips down like he's planting it there, it triggers your own orgasm that hits you harder than a tidal wave. “Oh my god! Heeseung! Please—!”

He continues to fuck you through it, pushing his cum deeper into you, making you whimper from the sharp overstimulation.

Your body goes limp beneath him, skin flushed and slick, the sheets tangled and ruined around your legs. You're still panting, breath caught somewhere between a sob and a moan, the inside of your thighs sticky with his cum.

Heeseung doesn't move right away.

He stays buried in you for a beat longer than necessary, trying to seal something in, his hand splayed over your stomach, claiming it.

And then, slowly—so fucking gently—he pulls out.

You flinch, legs twitching, whimpering from the sudden emptiness.

"Shh," he soothes, brushing your hair back with a tenderness that shouldn't belong to someone like him. "You did so good."

Your throat feels so dry, your limbs are nearly boneless and your mind is fogged over with everything he just took from you.

And then he reaches for something you hadn’t even notice him place on the nightstand. You hear it before you see it—the tiny click of a velvet box opening.

And your blood immediately runs cold.

"Heeseung," you croak, voice thin and hoarse.

But he's already slipping the ring onto your finger.

It's simple, delicate, beautiful even, but so so wrong.

"Looks good on you," he murmurs. Like it's just another part of your body he's claimed. “Don’t you think?”

You try to pull your hand back—too slow, too weak—and he catches it in his. "You'd marry me, right?" he says, not even asking. Just stating it, like it's already done. "You're gonna marry me."

You're shaking your head, tears starting to burn, but he just kisses your knuckles like a man in love.

"Doesn't matter what your friends think. Doesn't matter what you think either," he adds, voice dropping dark and low. "You're mine."

His hand returns to your stomach, palm flat, firm.

"You're probably already pregnant anyway."

You choke on a breath.

"We'll move away," he says, almost dreamily. "Somewhere quiet. You won't need anything but me."

And you know he means it. Every word. Every plan he's made without you. Every delusion he's turning into your very reality.

You're still half-naked. Still wet with him. Still caught in that foggy, ruined daze.

And now you're engaged.

Whether you even said yes or not.

• a/n: i hope this satisfies all the toxic heeseung fic reqs i got (there were a lot) i think one shots are my new thing, also GUYS MY FIC REQS ARE CLOSED

[seungjiseyo]

NOTHING SAFE IS WORTH THE DRIVE - L.HS

pairing: playboy!heeseung x inexperienced!reader

summary: lee heeseung was an asshole. you had decided that. having to work with him on a group project made things a hundred times worse. but when a heart longing to experience love for the first time meets someone more than willing to give it, the line between irritation and something deeper starts to blur.

wc: 37.9k (i’m sorry)

warnings: reader is completely inexperienced, angst, miscommunication, reader falls too quickly and gets flustered very easily, kinda slow burn but not really, heeseung plays basketball but it’s barely mentioned, heeseung calls reader “princess” a lot, kissing, making out, features wonyoung (ive), yunjin (le sserafim), beomgyu (txt), sieun (stayc), reader cries a lot

smut warnings: dry humping, oral (f rec.), unprotected sex, virginity loss

🎵: playlist

notes: it’s here!! i'm SO sorry this took so long, i was having issues with tumblr :( this was originally only supposed to be 20k words… idk what happened. but it’s a rollercoaster and i love it!!! have fun reading! <3

you had heard of him before you ever saw him. everyone knew his name- whispered in dorm hallways, watched at games, the life of the party. a reputation built on charm, late-night hookups, and the kind of confidence that made girls fall to his feet with every word he said. you never cared to pay him any mind. but today, you walked into class and found him sitting in your seat. lee heeseung. just your luck. you hesitated for half a second before walking up to him. he was hunched over his phone, tapping out a message, looking about as invested in being here as a teenager at their grandma’s bingo game. "that’s my seat." his eyes flicked up at you, slow and lazy, like you’d interrupted something important. he gave you a once-over- casual, unreadable- and then, just as plainly, looked back at his phone. "doesn’t have your name on it." you exhaled sharply. of course. "i’ve been sitting here all semester." "congrats." he didn’t even look at you this time. "find another spot." and just like that, every rumor, every complaint you’d heard about him settled into place. arrogant. entitled. exactly the kind of guy you had no patience for. fine. whatever. you weren’t about to argue with someone who clearly wasn’t worth the energy. wordlessy, you drop into the seat beside him, pull out your notebook, and act like he doesn’t exist. he didn’t pay you any mind after that, instead shifting so he was leaned back against the seat, his feet kicked out in front of him. you wondered what made heeseung so popular with the ladies. sure, he was attractive. that much was undeniable. sadly. but you had barely had a ten second interaction with him, and he had already managed to piss you off. you bit the inside of your cheek, holding back a sigh as you waited for the professor to show up. the universe had to have been out for you today. you woke up late, you’re out of your go-to breakfast bars, and you’re sitting next to lee heeseung in class. you were silently praying nothing worse could happen. you hadn’t signed up for this. you were just trying to get through this class and move on with your day. but here you were, next to the campus playboy himself, the guy who never seemed to take anything seriously, the guy who had a different girl on his arm every weekend. you tried not to look over at him. you really did. but he practically radiated attention. his messy hair fell perfectly in place, and his broad shoulders took up way too much space for someone who was so annoying. heeseung wasn’t talking to you, but you could feel his presence next to you, and it was somehow more distracting than if he had been talking to you. the way his fingers tapped on the desk, the faint cologne smell that wafted over to you, even the way his shoes shifted against the floor- it was like he was intentionally making everything around him more noticeable. you hated how easily he commanded the room. you hated that even now, you were aware of him more than anyone else. and of course, the universe had to pick today to make you sit right next to him. of course, it had to be this class, the one you hated the most. the one you dreaded attending every single day. you were so deep in thought that you barely noticed when your professor- dr. kim- walked in, snapping you out of your spiral. he glanced up from his notes, then scanned the room with a smile. “alright, everyone,” dr. kim began, “i’ve got the group project assignments here. please try to work well with your partners, and don't hesitate to reach out if you have any questions.” your eyes widened slightly at his words, gulping as your eyes flickered down to your notebook. group project? there had been no mention of this before. or maybe there was, and you just forgot.

  there was one thing about you. you hated group projects. they were the bane of your existence. you preferred to work alone, at your own pace, and not having to be stressed out by a freeloader or have awkward study sessions that consisted of deafening silence. "and for the final pair…" dr. kim’s voice broke through your haze, "y/n and heeseung." fuck. of course, the universe was never on your side. your eyes shot to him automatically, your stomach doing a flip that had nothing to do with excitement. his eyes flickered to meet yours, his expression unreadable. and then, a quirk of his lips and a tilt of his head. like he was observing you. you groaned internally, wishing for nothing more than for the floor to swallow you whole, turning your gaze back to your notebook. the professor was still talking, but all you could focus on was how you'd somehow ended up in this mess. you barely met this guy, he was an ass, and now you had to work on a project with him. “guess we better get used to each other, huh?” heeseung’s voice was low and casual, breaking the silence between you two. you forced a smile, nodding at him, “i guess.” you were already dreading the next few weeks. you sat in silence for the rest of the class. he didn’t speak to you, and you didn’t speak to him. you wondered if things would’ve gone differently if your morning had gone better, or if heeseung hadn’t been such an asshole. you couldn’t wait to tell wonyoung and yunjin about how shitty your day was already. as dr. kim wrapped up, you sat there, wondering just how you were going to survive this. there was no way to escape the fact that you were going to have to work with heeseung. you only hoped you’d survive it with your sanity intact. he had already proved just how arrogant he could be. the moment dr. kim dismisses class, you’re up out of your seat, dying to get out of this hell-sent class and to the comfort of your go-to café with your friends. you’re so close to the door when you hear his voice- smooth and casual, like he owns the place. “hey, y/n,” heeseung calls, and you freeze, your hand still on the strap of your bag. you turn to face him, trying to hide the frustration written all over your face. “yeah?” you reply, fighting to keep your tone neutral, but he can hear the hint of annoyance in it anyway. he flashes that signature smirk of his, leaning casually against the desk like he owns the whole room. “we’re gonna need to exchange numbers for the project,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “so we can work around my basketball stuff, y’know? i can’t really be falling behind.” you feel your eye twitch. of course anything other than class would be more important to him. the star player of the basketball team is unable to commit to a school project. you push the annoyance aside, instead reaching into your back pocket and pulling out your phone. “sure,” you mutter, handing it to him after opening the phone app. you can’t help but notice how his fingers brush against yours, the touch sending a small chill through you. he taps a few things into your phone before handing it back. “i’ll text you later,” he says, his smile a little too knowing. you can already feel the heat rising in your cheeks, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of letting him see it. you nod curtly and turn on your heels, heading straight out the door.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

“and then i woke up late! nothing is working out today!” you whisper-shout, dramatically letting your head fall into your hands as wonyoung watches you with a smile, yunjin scrolling on her phone and only halfway listening to your angry rant. “so, how’s that class going?” wonyoung asks, her tone casual as she stirs her drink. “you still surviving?” you had told them how much you hated your history class, practically having a complaint about something every time you attended it. “barely,” you mumble, finally lifting your head from your hands. “we got assigned group projects today.” wonyoung puffs out a breath of air, squinting her eyes. “brutal. who’d you get paired with?” you glance at her, your face blank, silently hoping she can see the despair in your eyes as you groan, throwing your head back in annoyance before mumbling, “lee heeseung.” you hear yunjin gasp slightly, looking back to see her finally staring at you with wide eyes before slamming her phone down on the table. “wait… heeseung?” she asks, a disbelieving scoff slipping past her lips. “as in the heeseung who’s like… the playboy basketball player?” you nod slowly, suddenly feeling way more nervous than you’d like to admit, “yep. that heeseung.” wonyoung laughs softly, pushing your shoulder with her arm. “no way. the universe really hates you, doesn’t it?” you glare at her, flipping her off with an eye roll, “it’s not funny. i’m gonna slam my head into the nearest wall.” “let’s not do that,” yunjin shakes her head, placing her chin on her palm as she tilts her head at you, “what’s the big deal, anyway? he’s just a player.” you sigh, playing with the rim of your cup while shaking your head, “he was an absolute ass this morning. it was like… the worst first impression of anyone i’ve ever had. i actually can’t deal with that for a whole project on top of the class already being a shithole.” wonyoung leans back in her chair slightly, looking at you with an amused smile. “he can’t be that bad. maybe you’re just having a bad day and he happened to rub you the wrong way.” you roll your eyes, but her words don’t make you feel any better. “yeah, sure.” “plus,” yunjin adds, leaning forward with a smirk, “maybe you can have some fun. i mean, make the most of it. you’re working with lee heeseung. most girls would kill to be in your spot.” you stare at them both, you lips parted in slight disbelief.  “yeah, well they can have him.” the two girls smile at you, clearly more entertained by your suffering and how overdramatic you were. you bring up another topic, eager to get the attention off of you and your project from hell, instead shifting the focus to yunjin’s project in music theory.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

wonyoung was wrong. horribly wrong. heeseung was that bad. you check your phone for the fifth time in the last ten minutes, the glowing screen mocking you with the time. heeseung was supposed to be here half an hour ago. thirty whole minutes. you sigh, your fingers tightening around your phone. you had already texted him- a simple, are you still coming?- but it was staring back at you with “delivered” right under it. your fingers tap against the table impatiently as you stare down at the open laptop in front of you. the library is quieter than usual, the hum of low voices and the occasional rustle of pages filling the space. you consider packing up and leaving, your hands beginning to collect the pencils and highlighters you had set out around you. “you’re pretty dedicated to this, aren’t you?” you don’t even need to look up to know who it is. finally. slowly, you lift your gaze, leveling heeseung with an unimpressed stare. he’s standing there, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, looking completely unbothered. like he hasn’t just left you waiting for half an hour. “you’re half an hour late,” you deadpan. heeseung grins, like he finds your irritation amusing. “technicalities.” you scoff, shaking your head. “you said we’d meet at six.” “yeah, and i meant it,” he says, smirking at the way you roll your eyes. “it’s just that… time is a social construct.” is he fucking serious. you gape at him, your eyebrows furrowed. “are you seriously trying to use philosophy as an excuse?” “would you rather me lie?” he asks, finally sitting, slinging his backpack onto the table. “i’d prefer you actually care about this project. it’s a huge part of our grade, heeseung.” he waves a dismissive hand, pulling his laptop out of his backpack. “relax, princess. i’m here now, aren’t i?” you gulp at the nickname, turning your head back to your laptop to open up the assignment. “barely,” you mumble. heeseung chuckles, enjoying your annoyance. “fine. i had practice, it ran later than expected.” “that’s all you had to say,” you reply, your eyes flickering up to meet his, “and a text would’ve been nice.”

“can’t really text when i’m on the court, princess.” he shoots back, tilting his head with a smile. you exhale sharply, already regretting ever agreeing to meet with him. “can we just start? we’re already behind schedule.” luckily, he agrees, his eyes drifting to his own laptop. you sigh, your own attention drifting back to your laptop. all you can do is hope that things begin to go smoother than this at some point. because right now, you’re considering slamming your head into your laptop or the table. you try to focus, you really do. but it’s hard when every few minutes, heeseung is moving. drumming his fingers against the table, shifting in his seat, clicking his pen as he reads articles on his computer. finally, you snap, your eyes looking up at him from your screen. “are you always this restless, or do you just have an allergy to being productive?” heeseung blinks at you, lips quirking up like he finds your irritation entertaining. “nah, i’m just bored. this class is stupid.” “why are you like this?” you roll your eyes, glaring at him. “even if this class is stupid, it’s still an important project.” “like what?” he tilts his head, all faux innocence, completely ignoring your second statement. “charming? fun to be around?” you scoff. “you were late. plus you were a dick this morning.” heeseung chuckles, shaking his head lightly. “c’mon, princess. loosen up a bit. you’re making a big deal over nothing.” “look, i had a shitty day. you’re not making it any better,” you mutter, scoffing again. a voice in the back of your head wonders if you’ve broken the world record for scoffing this much in five minutes. heeseung leans forward, resting his chin on one hand. “i’m sorry. you know… i’m pretty good at relieving stress.” your jaw drops. “excuse me?” you clear your throat, trying to ignore the way his words have a blush creeping up your cheeks, instead turning your attention back to your laptop. “just focus on your work, heeseung. we need to plan out who’s gonna do what part.” you don’t miss how he tilts his head, a knowing smile on his lips as he clicks his tongue, nodding. “alright. just remember we have to work around my schedule.” you let out a groan, your head rolling back as you look back towards him. “heeseung!” he only laughs in response, shaking his head at how you get embarrassed when other students give you dirty glares. “sorry,” you mumble softly, your eyes glaring at him. “focus.” an hour later, you guys had made relatively good progress. you had divided tasks, and heeseung had done his work, for the most part. he still found every opportunity to get on your nerves, but at least he did so while being productive. you both pack up in silence, swinging your bag over your shoulder. you spare him a glance, mumbling out a small, “bye, heeseung.”

just as you step outside, you hear the unmistakable sound of sneakers scuffing against the pavement behind you, “where you headed?” you turn your head slightly to see heeseung strolling up beside you, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie as he looks down at you. “my dorm,” you reply, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder, “it’s late.” he nods, shrugging as he continues to walk next to you, “i’ll walk you.” you stop in your tracks, turning to face him with narrowed eyes. “why?” he tilts his head, raising his eyebrows slightly. “why not? i have nothing else to do.” “because…” you search for a logical reason, but there really seems to be none. you blurt out the only excuse that comes to mind. “it’s late.” he furrows his brows, falling in place beside you as you begin to walk again. “it’s 7:30.” you glance at him, shrugging. “that’s considered late for some people.” he smirks, tilting his head at you, an amused look on his face. “what if i just enjoy your company, princess?” your face heats at the nickname, and you roll your eyes, quickening your pace. “we barely know each other.” “well, i’d like to change that.” he keeps up effortlessly, long strides matching yours with ease. you scoff, trying to ignore the affect his words have on you. “i think you like to get on my nerves, heeseung.” he grins, nudging your shoulder lightly. “that too.” you sigh, glancing at him before looking straight ahead. but you don’t tell him to leave. maybe a part of you deep down enjoys the company. maybe you could allow for a part of yourself to feel wanted if the campus playboy was walking you back to your dorm. and if your heart stumbles a little when he walks just close enough for your arms to brush, you choose to ignore it. 

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

the door clicks shut behind you, sealing you off from the rest of the world. you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, pressing your back against the door as if that alone could ground you. it doesn’t. your mind is still running, replaying the moments heeseung’s arms brushed against yours, or the cocky smirks he sent your way, or the remarks he would make to get under your skin. with a frustrated groan, you push off the door and drop your bag onto your desk chair. you smush your cheeks with your hands, sighing, as if that will stop the warmth from creeping up your cheeks again. heeseung is nothing but trouble. you know that. everyone knows that. a playboy who knows how to charm his way into girls hearts with cocky words and athletic skills that has anyone swooning. and yet… your stomach twists. you shouldn’t like his attention. you shouldn’t feel special. heeseung flirts with everyone. that’s just how he was. so why was your stomach in knots? why was your mind replaying every interaction with him- no matter how insufferable he was? you collapse onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. you don’t know how to handle this. it’s not like you have experience. no boyfriend, no first kiss, hell, you haven’t even held hands with a guy romantically. the concept of flirting- especially with someone like heeseung, who’s it’s practically second nature to- is foreign to you. you don’t know whether you’re looking too deeply into things, or if there’s actually something there. you turn onto your side, hugging your pillow. reading too many romance novels had truly skewed your perception of love. this wasn’t a movie. the playboy wasn’t going to fall for the girl in class. this was reality, and things didn’t work like that. sadly. you’re overthinking it. reading too deeply into his words, his touches, his actions. but why does your heart speed up at the thought of him? you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut and hoping to turn off your overactive brain. but instead, you feel that same flutter in your chest every time you think about him. the sound of the door opening catches your attention, glancing behind you to see yunjin entering the dorm. her presence relives you slightly, knowing you’ll have a distraction from the storm of confusion in your brain right now. she sends a smile your way, kicking off her shoes and walking towards you.

"what’s going on?" she asks, raising an eyebrow as she surveys you curled up on your bed. "you look like you’re seconds away from ripping all your hair out.” you laugh breathlessly, flopping on your back so you can look at her without straining your neck. “i’m fine.” you watch as she smiles slightly, shaking her head and making her way to the edge of your bed, sitting down. “don’t lie. what is it?” you hesitate, knowing full well what’s bothering you. but you can’t exactly tell yunjin, can you? she knew you better than anyone, knew how insecure you were about having no experience. she would tell you to wake up, and not to fall for his playboy antics. so you shrug, pursing your lips before you speak. “it’s just school. stuff is piling up, and i’m behind on a few assignments. i’m just overwhelmed.” yunjin studies your face, not saying much. you can tell she doesn’t buy it, and for a second anxiety bubbles inside you at the thought that she knows, or that she’ll keep pushing. but she doesn’t. instead, she nods. “i get it. school’s been ass lately. you’re smart, though. you’ll figure it out.” you nod, appreciating the way she doesn’t pry. pushing yourself on your elbows so you’re sitting up, leaning against the headboard, you smile. “well, we’ll see if i actually make it through the semester this time.” she giggles, gesturing for you to move over as she cuddles up beside you. “if you don’t wanna talk about it, what about we watch tv? it could get your mind off of things. we could continue rewatching business proposal?” you smile, your eyes lighting up at the mention of the show. “please, i can’t live without my daily dose of hari and taemoo.” she laughs, turning on the tv and going to netflix. you feel a pang of guilt for lying to her, and her knowing that’s she’s lying. but yunjin is your closest friend, she won’t pressure you for answers, and knows when to stop digging. you shake your head slightly, pushing your anxieties to the back of your head. right now, you just need netflix and yunjin’s presence. everything else can come later.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

you tap your pen against the edge of your notebook, staring at the notes that made you want to rip your hair out. why you had to sit here and listen to your professor talk about smallpox for over an hour was unbeknownst to you. plus, you hadn’t slept well last night. you and yunjin were up until 2 a.m., and when you finally decided to sleep, you couldn’t. your mind kept racing, your bed felt too uncomfortable, the room felt too hot. you didn’t feel like yourself. and then he walked in. hands in his pockets, his backpack slung over one shoulder. he was late, of course he was. it should be annoying- it is annoying, he’s annoying- but for some reason, something in your chest tightens. your fingers curl around your pen, forcing your eyes back to your notebook. this was not happening. you’re just irritated. that’s all. he’s been an ass, he was late yesterday, he’s late today, and he walked in like he owns the place. while you’ve been sitting here for the past twenty minutes, writing down notes that are definitely going to be important for the project. but then he slides into the seat next to you, the smell of his cologne wafting your way as he clears his throat. “what’d i miss?” you turn, narrowing your eyes. “twenty minutes of lecture.” “no shit, sherlock.” he replies, pulling a notebook out of his bag. “mind sending me those notes later?” you shake your head with an eye roll, turning back to the front of the classroom. “this is why you need to show up on time.” “c‘mon, princess,” he mumbles, a hand reaching out to tug at the one of the legs of your chair, “help a guy out.” you gasp at the unexpected tug, turning to glare at him. “what the fuck? stop that.” he only tilts his head, shrugging with that same stupid smirk. your stomach flips again, but this time, you focus on the irritation bubbling inside you. this is exactly why you would never fall for heeseung. because he’s insufferable. he’s rude. he’s never on time. he uses flirting as an excuse to get out of everything, to get girls to bow at his feet. he chuckles, moving his hand away. “you’re annoyed.” “of course i am, heeseung. leave me alone.” you mutter, scoffing as he only shakes his head playfully. “y/n. heeseung.” dr kim. speaks, your body tensing as you turn towards the front of the classroom, meeting your professor’s expectant eyes. “is this something important you would like to share with the class? or would you like to keep bothering everyone with your banter?” your cheeks immediately flush, your body running cold as all the heads in the classroom towards you two. you’ve never wanted the floor to swallow more than you did right now. you shake your head, your voice coming out quiet. “no sir, sorry about that.” heeseung says nothing, simply nodding his head. you were going to kill him. “alright, then. anyway, as i was saying…” dr. kim speaks, continuing on with the lesson like nothing happened as you sit there in humiliation.

“so…” he begins. “shut up.” you mumble back, your voice quiet as your eyes stay trained on your notebook, picking up your pen to continue writing down whatever nonsense your professor spills. you were pissed off now, all thoughts of entertaining the annoying boy sat next to you gone. you didn’t know if he had realized how embarrassed you actually were, but he didn’t push. you watched him shift in his seat so he was facing the front of the classroom out of your peripheral vision, also beginning to jot down notes. the rest of class drags on unbearably slow. you try to keep your focus on the lecture, but your mind buzzes with embarrassment, replaying the way dr. kim had called you both out in front of everyone. when class finally ends, you don’t waste a second in shoving your notebook into your bag, slinging it over your shoulder, and making a beeline for the door. of course, you’re never quite quick enough. heeseung appears next to you, falling in step beside you once again. “you’re really gonna ignore me after that?” you scoff, refusing to look at him as you keep your gaze trained ahead. “that’s exactly what i’m gonna do.” you hear him laugh, one that shows he clearly finds you entertaining. “it wasn’t that bad.” you finally glance at him, an annoyed expression on your face. “we got called out in front of the entire class for arguing like little kids, heeseung.” “and?” he grins, nudging your arm. “it was kinda cute. no big deal.” you inhale sharply, turning away before he can catch the way your face heats up. “you are insufferable. not everyone is as popular as you, alright? i don’t appreciate that many eyes on me.” he hums, tilting his head, as if he’s acknowledging your words. “where are you headed, anyway?” “lunch,” you say automatically, before realizing your mistake. a smirk creeps into his lips, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. “perfect. i’m hungry, too.” “no.” you blurt out, your eyes snapping to his. he feigns innocence. “no?” “you are not coming with me, heeseung. i’ve dealt with you enough today.” you clarify, trying to make your expression as serious as you can, looking to your front again. “why not?” he grins, clearly enjoying getting a rise out of you. “we’re partners, aren’t we? we need to work on our… chemistry.” you groan, rubbing your temples. maybe if you ignore him, he’ll take the hint. he does not take the hint. he continues to walk next to you, ignoring the stares of other girls wondering why heeseung is walking around with you.

so now, much to your dismay, you find yourself exiting the building with heeseung beside you, practically- no, literally- inviting himself to lunch. and as much as you hate to admit it to yourself, your stomach is in knots at the thought of spending more time with him. the walk is awfully quiet. heeseung doesn’t say a lot- much to your dismay. you wouldn’t say it’s peaceful, it was far from it. while heeseung may have been relaxed, just enjoying the walk, you on the other hand were losing it inside. caught between being annoyed at him or acknowledging whatever feeling was in your chest every time he was near. it wasn’t like you couldn’t pretend what the feeling was. you knew what a crush felt like. but you didn’t want to pay it any mind. how could you have a crush on lee heeseung? how could you fall for someone this quickly? you had to have set a new record for yourself. you decided it was just the fact that you were yearning for any kind of romantic attention, and heeseung was providing that… kinda. calling you ‘princess’ wasn’t exactly flirting. but you had never had this before, were you just expected to not be flustered? this feeling was treacherous, and you knew it. falling for the playboy was the last thing you wanted to do. you fidgeted with your hands, worries swirling around inside your head as you try to come up with an excuse that doesn’t make you seem like a touch-deprived college student. lost in your thoughts, you don’t notice the incoming cyclist until it’s too late. before you can process what’s happening, a firm grip wraps around your wrist, yanking you backward just in time. your breath stutters, a small squeak leaving you as you crash into something- someone. the scent of his cologne is suddenly overwhelming, your hands instinctively grabbing onto his hoodie to ground yourself. his arm is still around you, his body warm against yours, his grip on your wrist loosening, but not completely letting go. your heart pounds in your chest, and you don’t know if it’s from almost getting run over or him. you can feel his breath fanning lightly against your temple, his chest moving as he breathes in. was he always this built? you knew heeseung was strong, but you had never touched him. “careful, princess,” he murmurs, voice lower than usual. “you trying to get yourself killed?” you blink up at him, your lips parting, but no words come out. not when he’s this close, not when his arm is splayed across your back, his hand still holding onto your wrist lightly. and that’s when it hits you. this is a crush. you like lee heeseung. you pull away quickly, trying to ignore the warmth lingering on your skin as you clear your throat. “i- i wasn’t paying attention.” you stutter out, refusing to meet his gaze. heeseung lets out a soft chuckle, shoving his hands into his pockets as he watches you, nodding lightly. “yeah, i noticed.” you scowl, turning on your heel and stomping toward the café, hoping he doesn’t see the way your ears burn. he keeps up with you, and you can hear the smirk in his voice even when you don’t look at him. “so i don’t get a thank you?” you roll your eyes, trying to fight the blush climbing up your cheeks as you turn your head to the side, never realizing how interesting the road was. “thank you,” you mutter, your voice too quiet he almost didn’t hear. but he hums, and that’s enough for you to know he won’t push further… hopefully.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

it’s been a week. a week of trying to push away the way your heart speeds up whenever heeseung so much as looks at you. a week of acting like the casual touches and the teasing remarks don’t make your stomach flip. a week of trying to convince yourself you don’t like heeseung. a week of failing. now at lunch, you’re sat with wonyoung and yunjin, the conversation flowing easily between them- an annoying professor, a party next weekend, overdue homework- but the words barely process. your eyes are trained on heeseung across the cafeteria. the same place he always sits, with his team and friends, but now you can’t stop looking. he’s leaned back in his chair, laughing at something one of his friends said. he looks beautiful. you can admire his sharp jawline, or the way his adam’s apple moves when he throws his head back, laughing at a joke. and for some stupid, down bad reason, you can’t tear your eyes away. you’re not even aware you’ve been staring until yunjin’s voice snaps you out of it. “you can’t be serious.” your head snaps towards her, blinking in confusion. “what happened?” she doesn’t say anything. instead she pursues her lips, tilting her chin slightly in heeseung direction with a quirk of her brow. “heeseung.” your stomach drops, your mouth opening and closing as she waits for an answer. “it’s not like that,” you blurt, suddenly finding your untouched lunch very interesting. yunjin doesn’t buy it. she crosses her arms, watching you closely. “then why are you staring at him like that? is this why you’ve been so out of it lately?” silence. the air feels too thick, your face burning hotter by the second. you have no good excuse. no answer to her question, because that means you would have to admit it out loud. and you weren’t ready to do that. you hated how obvious you were being, how you were acting like every other girl he’s wrapped around his finger before now. finally, wonyoung- who has been watching this exchange like it’s the most entertaining thing she’s seen all day- chimes in, "i wouldn’t blame you.” you turn to her, your eyebrows raising. “what?” she shrugs, stealing one of your fries before tossing it in her mouth. "i’m just saying, he’s hot. everyone knows that. you’ve been spending a lot of time with him because of your project. i mean… would it be the worst thing if something happened?” your eyes widen more- if that’s even possible. but before you can get any words out, yunjin is speaking. she looks at her like she’s lost her mind, shaking her head quickly. "are you insane? don’t encourage this.” "i’m just saying!" wonyoung laughs, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “you never know.” yunjin scoffs, rolling her eyes dramatically. “no, we do know. heeseung is heeseung. an asshole.” she turns back to you, her expression softening slightly. "you just need to be careful.” it’s the same thing she always says. it’s everything that you’ve been telling yourself. you just nod, too embarrassed that they found out to even speak.

silence lingers between the three of you. you look on the food in front of you, the other students walking by, the ground. but you can feel their eyes on you, like they’re waiting for you to acknowledge their words- to say anything. wonyoung breaks the silence, picking at her nails, “i mean, it’s not like you have much experience- let me rephrase- you have no experience with this stuff.” your head snaps towards her, your jaw dropped. “what the fuck?” she smiles at you, shrugging. “i’m just pointing out the facts’ y/n. you get flustered by everything. you’re gonna fall too fast, especially with someone like him. that’s the reality for a romance virgin.” as if this moment wasn’t already embarrassing enough. your face burns, glaring at her. “a romance virgin? what the fuck does that even mean?” you go quiet, realizing you don’t have a comeback to her words, because as much as you hate it, she’s telling the truth. so you resort to sighing, grabbing a fry and plopping it in your mouth. “you guys are so annoying.” yunjin laughs, also stealing a fry from your plate. “we’re being realistic. and looking out for you.” “i don’t even like him,” you mumble, your mouth filled with a bite of food, wonyoung wincing at the sight. you only flip her off in response. she laughs, raising her eyebrows, “right. that’s why you were making heart eyes at him across the cafeteria. i’m surprised you didn’t raise up and start floating towards him.” you gape at her, scoffing as you shove her shoulder. “fuck off! i was not!” she doesn’t respond, but her and yunjin share a knowing look, smiles on their faces as they look back at you. you groan, pressing your hands against your face, “you guys suck. why are you torturing me?” yunjin speaks, her smile already telling you she’s about to make things worse, “just saying, do you really want heeseung to be your first everything?” you reach your hand over the table to smack her arm, practically glaring daggers at her as all she does is laugh. “yunjin! shut up!” she just shrugs, fighting back more laughs as you sulk in your chair, arms crossed against your chest. "what? i’m looking out for you. i mean, at least he’ll be good, he knows what he’s doing.” you decide to ignore her words, your cheeks burning as you look off to the side, sighing at how wonyoung laughs at her words. “i hate you,” you mumble, shaking your head. they only laugh more, wonyoung leaning over to give you a hug. you reciprocate, begrudgingly. you just want the floor to swallow you right now.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

you were late. to be fair, you weren’t that worried. heeseung was never on time to your study sessions. and, if anything, you were only going to be 5 minutes late. pushing open the door of the library, you’re greeted with the smell of books, the quiet sounds of footsteps, and fingers tapping keys quietly. time seems to slow in here, somehow. you like it. it’s so peaceful, everyone minding their own business. you stroll quietly, making your way to the study rooms on the side of the library. you had reserved one of the rooms, sending heeseung a text earlier in the day of which one to meet you at. you walk up to the door, the frosted glass frame with a big blue “5” staring back at you, before pushing it open. you’ll be able to set everything up, maybe get ahead a bit before you have to deal with him, go over things- but he’s already there. your brain short circuits, like all the thoughts you had disappeared. sitting in one of the chairs, leaned back with one leg stretched out and the other one bent. his hair is damp, which you assume is from practice, hanging in his eyes. a white wifebeater clings to his skin, leaving little to the imagination. his shoulders, his biceps, his chest, his torso. you swear you’re going insane. your eyes flicker to the way his forearm flexes when he scrolls on his phone, your fingers tightening around the strap on your bag. it’s only then that you realize you’ve been staring. his eyes flicker up from his phone as his gaze locks on yours, the corner of his lip rising. “like what you see?” you swallow, shaking your head as you step further into the room, letting the door shut behind you. “i’m just surprised you’re actually here on time.” he only nods, completely seeing through your little act. he leans back more, raising his arms above his head. he groans, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the way his muscles flex, or the way his shirt lifts- just slightly, but enough for you to see a sliver of his skin, his abs highlighted by the fluorescent lights shining down on you two. you feel insane. your body heats up, taking a deep breath as you (reluctantly) tear your eyes away from him. you busy yourself with pulling everything you need out, trying to ignore heeseung’s gaze on you. the space suddenly feels too small, and you regret reserving a room. you can’t look at anyone else, can’t find a distraction outside of this room. you’re stuck. heeseung pulls out his own laptop, opening it and speaking, like it’s the most casual thing. “you were staring.” your breath hitches, but you play it off, glaring at him. “i told you, i was surprised you were here on time.” his brows lift in amusement. “that’s all?” you nod, eyes turning back to your screen as you pull up the project. “that’s all.” “alright,” he hums, but the smile doesn’t drop from his face. your face burns, trying to push all thoughts of how good he looked away as you try desperately to lock in, typing out anything that seems of significance. this was going to be a long study session.

that it was. you were nearing the hour and a half mark, your brain starting to jumble all the words you read, taking in too much information at once. if you had to read one more article about the impact of diseases and medicine on our society you were sure you were going to start slamming your head against the table. for once, heeseung wasn’t being a pain. no remarks or teasing. he was silent, actually doing his work. you were grateful for the change, considering how earlier had gone. luckily the tensions had died down, and you two hadn’t talked since you walked in. then, without warning, he leans in. your body tenses, his arm reaching past you to grab a pen that had rolled over to your side. the scent of his cologne filled your nose, along with his breath lightly fanning against your cheek. you swallowed, trying to keep your eyes trained on your laptop like nothing was wrong. but he notices. of course he does. his fingers hover over the pen, but he doesn’t grab it. his gaze flickers to you, the corner of his lip lifting up. “you good?” his voice is lower, the teasing lilt evident in his voice already. you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as you continue typing, trying to ignore how fast your heart is beating, “yeah, i’m fine.” he tilts his head, just watching you. then he moves a bit closer, your breath hitching. “are you sure?” he asks again, smiling slightly. you nod again, too scared to even look his way as you feel your cheeks burning up. “you’re too close. that’s all.” he grins, unable to hide how amusing this is to him, “too close?” you nod, confirming his words with a quiet, “yeah.” he doesn’t back away, instead slowly dragging the pen towards himself as he continues. “what, never had a guy this close before?” you open your mouth to respond- but no words come out. it’s like you glitched, the words refusing to leave your lips as you try to come up with an excuse, an insult, anything to get the attention off of you right now. fuck. he picks up on it immediately. his grin falters slightly, his eyes flickering over your face to gauge your reaction. “you haven’t?” you feel stupid. your chest tightens, embarrassment flooding you. you turn your head quickly- too quickly. not realizing how close the two of you were, your nose brushes against his as you stutter out words. “that’s not- no- i mean-“ “oh my god.” he mumbles, leaning back in his chair. “heeseung.” you speak, your eyes pleading with him. he blinks, the smirk gone off his face and replaced with curiosity. “you’ve never been kissed before? actually?”

“heeseung-” you mumble, no other word leaving your lips as your ears heat up, your stomach twisting as he stares at you. his grin returns, just slightly, a small laugh leaving him as he shakes his head. “that’s.. wow.” he doesn’t sound judgmental, more so surprised, but the damage was already done. “just drop it,” you mutter, suddenly feeling the need to get out of the room, closing your laptop and beginning to pack up. “that’s interesting,” he continues, slowly shutting his laptop as he continues to watch you, “you’re leaving?” you nod, trying to ignore the mortification you feel as you shove things into your backpack carelessly. “it’s already been an hour and a half.” you go to shove a pencil inside, but with how shaky your hands are, it slips through your fingers, landing on the table. “fuck,” you whisper, so quiet he almost doesn’t hear. he reaches for the pen, his fingers moving faster than yours as he twirls it in between his fingers, watching you. “you good?” you nod, holding out your hand for the pen, refusing to meet his eyes, “i’m fine. just- can i have it?” he hesitates, before slowly placing it in your palm. he doesn’t say anything, instead simply watching as you move your hand quickly, shoving the pen into your backpack, before quickly zipping it up and slinging it over your shoulder. you can feel his gaze on you, turning on your heel and making a beeline for the door. “i’ll see you in class,” you mutter, the door shutting behind you as you walk out as quickly as your legs will take you, trying to hold back the flood of emotions and embarrassment swirling inside you.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

it felt like everything hit you the second you stepped through the door. the silence only heightened the sound of your pounding heartbeat in your ears. you kick off your shoes, your hands shaky as you let your backpack fall to the floor. your mind can’t stop replaying every interaction with heeseung earlier that day. but it felt like so much more than that. it was about the way you slipped up, your own body betraying you and the truth slipping out. it wasn’t like being inexperienced was a bad thing- you knew that. but you hated how everyone around you was able to talk about it so casually. while you fell behind and lived vicariously through romance novels and cheesy romcoms. for once, you wanted to know what it was like. and for all people that could’ve found out- heeseung had to know. the boy who had a new girl on his arm every week, who was no stranger to romance. it felt mocking. embarrassing. like the universe was making a joke of you, pointing at you and laughing. your breath catches in your throat, tears spilling down your cheeks before you can process it. you don’t stop them, you don’t react. you simply stand there, small sobs leaving you as the defeated feeling takes over. you’d tried to hard to not let this take over. to be okay with the fact that you hadn’t experienced love yet, it was no big deal. but it somehow hurt more knowing the one you liked was probably the most unattainable person on campus. you shuffle towards your bed, your feet barely leaving the ground until you reach the foot of your bed, letting yourself fall forward, straight into a pillow. your tears soak the fabric, your mind swirling with insecurities and thoughts of yearning. to know. to feel. to be loved. it feels so impossible at this point. like love- true love- will never find you. it felt like everything was boiling over, your body curling up as your tears grow more intense, louder sobs slipping from your lips as your hands grip the pillow. you didn’t even know how long you had been crying for. you cried until no more tears came out, the sobs transforming into quiet sniffles and labored breaths, until exhaustion took over your body and lulled your body into a peaceful sleep, safe from all the worries of the outside world.

but the peace didn’t last. the sound of the door opening stirs you awake, yunjin’s voice filling the apartment. your body feels too heavy, a dull pounding in your head and a lump in your throat still remain as you turn over slowly. you rub your eyes, trying your best to remove the evidence of your breakdown through your sleepy confusion. “-and he was so fucking hot, y/n. ugh, i wish i would’ve gone over to his place. and he told me he had a good time, and he wants to see me again!” she spills, kicking off her shoes and throwing her purse somewhere near the door, flailing her hands as she recounts all the details. she pauses as she turns to you, finally taking in the state you’re in. “were you asleep? sorry. i didn’t mean to wake you up,” she laughs quietly, lowering her voice. you simply shake your head, still coming back to reality as you push yourself up. you speak, your voice scratchy and slurred from lingering exhaustion, “it’s fine. i shouldn’t have fallen asleep that early, anyway.” she walks over, sitting at the edge of your bed and looking at you, a smile on her lips before she takes in your puffy eyes. “you doing alright?” you swallow, pushing down the emotions that threaten to resurface. you nod, forcing a smile. “i’m good. just tired… i’ve had a lot of work lately.” she watches you, her head tilting like she doesn’t believe you. finally, a smile breaks out on her face as she lets herself fall back against your bed, turning her head to face you. “he was so perfect. like, usually i don’t like pisces men, but beomgyu? he was just.. fuck, y/n, i’m losing my mind.” you smile slightly at her lovesick rant, her words filled with a giddy happiness that only love can bring to you. you nod along to her words, her eyes lighting up when she recounts the best details. “are you going out again?” you ask quietly, playing with the hem of your blanket when she stops talking, simply staring at your ceiling with a lovesick smile. that question breaks her out of the trance, turning to you with a grin. “fuck yeah! he asked me to go to his place next? you know what that means,” she trails off, wriggling her eyebrows before kicking her feet, covering her face with her hands as she squeals. you laugh, although deep down, you wish you could know what it feels like. the feeling of being desired, of being wanted. and as yunjin continues to ramble, expressive hands and wide eyes, you can’t push down the feeling that creeps up and surrounds you, making you feel like you’re locked inside a dark room that has no key, no door. like you’re falling behind while everyone races ahead.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

“no.” the word leaves your lips before yunjin can finish her sentence, already knowing where it was going when she started with, “so, i was thinking…” you don’t look up from your laptop, hoping that if you don’t acknowledge them, they’ll drop it. they never do. wonyoung groans, flopping backwards onto your bed before she rolls over on her stomach, resting her chin on her hands as she stares at you. “y/n, please. you literally never go out.” you finally spare her a glance, before looking back at your computer. “i’m busy.” yunjin crosses her arms, a huff of air leaving her. “you fucking liar. all you do is rot in bed. then you wonder why you get no action.” you glare at her, choosing to ignore her jab at your love- or lack thereof- life. “i enjoy the tranquility.” “god, you’re hopeless.” she sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed beside wonyoung’s sprawled out figure. “you need to have some fun for once.” “i do have fun,” you reply, finally shutting your laptop, “a party is not my idea of fun. it’s sweaty bodies, and drunk people, and people making out against walls.” “you’re so dramatic,” wonyoung laughs, her hands tugging lightly at your calves. “it’s one night. maybe something will happen.” you shake your head, ignoring the puppy dog eyes she sends you. “no, nothing will. i’ll go and hate it, want to kill myself, and wish i could be back in bed watching reruns of gossip girl.” yunjin groans, tossing her head back at your resilience. “i’m gonna kill you. you’re coming to this party. you need some action. that’s probably why you’ve been so… whatever you’ve been, lately.” you freeze, shaking your head lightly. “i don’t need action.” wonyoung giggles, turning her head to smile at yunjin. “you know, y/n, she has a point. don’t you think it’s time to put yourself out there?” you roll your eyes, biting the inside of your cheek. “shut up.” but your stomach twists uncomfortably. they don’t mean it in a harmful way- to them it’s just teasing. they don’t know how much you hate having nothing, the fear of putting yourself out there. and after your breakdown a few nights ago, the topic felt heavier. more anxiety fills you as another thought creeps in. impossible to shake, growing larger the more you try to ignore it. if it’s a party, heeseung will be there. he always is. the thought of running into him after your last interaction makes your chest feel tight, your eyes flickering around the room. “i just don’t wanna go,” you mumble, trying your luck again. of course, they don’t listen. yunjin sends you a look, standing up and grabbing your arms, tugging you forward. you gasp, catching your balance before you tumble off your bed. “didn’t i already tell you you’re coming to this party? get up, loser.” you huff, reluctantly listening to her just this once. you toss your feet over the side of the bed, letting yunjin pull you to your feet. “you’re so lucky i love you guys,” you mutter, glaring at both of them. wonyoung squeals, practically flying off of your bed as she wraps you in a hug, jumping up and down. “finally! i’ve been waiting for this day forever!”

you only shake your head, trying to bite back a smile at her excitement. yunjin, on the other hand, has already made her way to your dresser, pulling random clothes out and tossing them over her shoulder. “okay,” she speaks, tossing a pair of shorts that are too short beside her, “we wanna make you look hot. but also not like you’re trying too hard, a good balance. heeseung’s gonna be there, right?” wonyoung laughs, making her way over to yunjin to look at the clothes she’s already picked out, holding them up to your body before nodding or shaking her head. your stomach, however, twists at the mention of his name. “i’m not trying to impress anyone,” you blurt, shaking your head as yunjin pulls out a tiny red dress, “i’m only going because you guys are forcing me.” she gives you a look, raising her eyebrows. “you realize we can see right through you, right? you act like we’re not your best friends. you want the guy, admit it.” you go silent, opting to roll your eyes at her words instead. she only laughs, tossing the red dress at you. “try that on.” “i’m not wearing this,” you mutter, holding it out in front of you.wonyoung whines, shaking your shoulders. “it’s a house party, girl. other people are going to be wearing so much worse. just try it.” you groan, reluctantly trying the dress on. it’s too tight, too short, showing off your body in ways you’re not used to. you look up, gauging the two girls’ reactions. yunjin tilts her head, analyzing you, before finally shaking her head. “no, i don’t think that’s very you,” she says, turning back to your closet. “you wanna look slutty, but like, fashion.” you furrow your eyebrows, almost wanting to laugh at how seriously they were taking this. “great explanation.”

wonyoung gasps, stopping both of you in your tracks. “yunjin, give me that shirt,” she exclaims, pointing to a black lace tube top yunjin is holding up. the lace wraps around itself, one edge falling to create an asymmetrical look. once yunjin hands it over, she grabs a black denim skirt off the floor, holding the items to your body as best she can. “yes. this is it,” she smiles, yunjin nodding beside her. “put this on. you’re gonna look so hot.” you can’t deny wonyoung’s words once you have the outfit on. it looks good, the pieces accentuating your body while not showing off too much. yunjin’s jaw drops slightly, nodding as you spin slowly. “i’m so in love with you.” you smile, shaking your head at her. wonyoung grabs a pair of black heeled-boots, the leather tight around your calves, with a platform that makes you at least 5 inches taller. yunjin nods, looking at wonyoung, “add a leather jacket.” once the whole outfit is assembled, you can’t deny it. you feel hot. you look hot. “you look amazing, y/n. heeseung’s one lucky guy.” wonyoung smiles, stepping up to you to adjust the top. you glare at her, an exasperated breath leaving you. “stop bringing him up. nothing has happened between us.” “yet,” yunjin says, a teasing smile on her lips. “oh, fuck off,” you laugh, flipping her off. you couldn’t help the feeling that settled in your stomach. was it anxiety? excitement? you couldn’t tell, but you knew this was going to be a long night. and maybe, deep down, a part of you wanted heeseung to see you in this outfit.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

you regretted coming the second you stepped through the door. music was blasting through the speakers, the volume combined with all the conversations happening almost unbearable. the smell of weed and alcohol invaded your senses almost immediately. people were everywhere you looked, crowded together. drinking, smoking, dancing, talking, making out. your feet slowed down, suddenly wanting to turn around and go back home. yunjin tugged your arm, forcing your feet to move again as she dragged you along, weaving through the mass of bodies, trying to avoid bumping into anyone. wonyoung was right. people were wearing much worse. you still felt out of place though. like people knew you didn’t normally dress like this. like people knew you were trying to look good just for this party. once the three of you stopped moving, wonyoung looked at you, immediately sensing your discomfort. “you’re fine. no one’s judging you, okay? everyone’s too caught up in their own thing here.” you only nodded in response, glancing around at everyone. “there’s… a lot of people here.” wonyoung laughs, finding your reactions cute. “yeah, that’s usually what it’s like at house parties.” the idea of willingly putting yourself in this environment weekly sent a chill down your spine. things like this weren’t your speed. though, sometimes, you wonder what it would be like to be an extrovert, to enjoy talking to others, spending your days socializing. wonyoung explains something to you, but you’re only halfway listening. your eyes are drifting around the party. looking for something, or someone. hoping to see his black hair in the crowd of people. a bit hard, when half the people here had black hair. “oh- there he is!” yunjin gasps, her words pulling you out of your trance as you look at her, raising your eyebrows. you follow her line of vision, nerves bubbling in you at the thought of actually seeing him- “beomgyu!” she smiles, turning to you and wonyoung with a cheesy grin. “i’m gonna go say hi. i’ll catch you guys in a bit?” “go get your man,” you smile, watching as she heads off, a pep in her step as gets closer to him. you turn back to wonyoung, unsure of what to do now that you were here.

“so, like, what do we do?” you ask, once again glancing around at the people around you. “talk to people. get a drink. find someone hot.” she nudges you at the last option, sending a teasing smile your way. “no.” your reply is immediate, shaking your head. “i’m not having any of my firsts at a random house party.” she sighs, throwing her head back before looking back at you. “you read too many romance novels.” you gape at her, your lips forming into a pout. “a girl can dream. let me wait for the one.” “well, looking like you do tonight,” she pauses, her eyes flickering up and down your figure, “i’m gonna be surprised if no one hits on you.” her sentence sends a hint of excitement through you, but you quickly shake your head, dismissing the feeling. “i’d rather someone not. that would just be awkward. i can’t talk to people.” she laughs, but she’s shaking her head. “this is exactly why you need to go out more. put yourself out there.” you don’t respond, your eyes flickering around the crowd of people once again, watching people's body language, and how they interact with one another. everyone looks so relaxed, simply enjoying the environment. “anyway,” wonyoung speaks, breaking the silence that settled between you two, “i’m gonna go get a drink. do you wanna come?” you shake your head, not feeling like navigating through the crowd of people once again, choosing to wait for wonyoung to get back. “no. it’s fine. i’ll wait.” “alright, do you want anything?” she continues, watching as you shake your head again, denying her offer. “i’ll be right back, then.” you watch as she walks off, weaving through the crowd and heading towards the kitchen. you lean back against the wall, fidgeting with your fingers as you wait calmly for wonyoung to return. she doesn’t. two minutes turn to five, which turns to ten, which turns to fifteen. people were starting to send you looks, wondering why you were standing around alone, with no drink. you felt out of place. no, you were out of place. you glance around, the nerves of everything becoming too overstimulating. you needed to get away from the crowds. slowly, you push through the crowd, making your way to the hallway. you slip past the people having conversations, and the couple making out against the wall. one door is cracked open, which you can only assume means it’s safe to enter. you wait outside for a bit, listening for if there’s any noises. it’s silent. you hesitate for a second, before finally pushing the door open. the room was empty, the quiet away from the loud voices instantly calming your nerves. you shut the door behind you, the noise of the party becoming even more muffled, feeling like a breath of fresh air.

you glanced around the room, your heart nearly stopping. heeseung was leaned against the wall, scrolling on his phone. could this night get any worse? he hadn’t noticed you yet, too busy scrolling on his phone. you gulped, feeling your face flush. you could turn around, you could leave the room. you should do that. but for some reason, your feet wouldn’t move. it was like they were planted into the ground. he lifted his gaze from his phone, locking eyes with you. you felt like a deer caught in headlights. his expression was unreadable, but he tilted his head slightly. a brief moment of silence passed between the two of you, your heart thudding loudly in your chest as he watched you. “y/n?” he asked, his voice sounding a bit surprised. “sorry,” you finally forced out, fidgeting with your fingers as your gaze drifts away from his, focusing on the wall instead. “i thought this room was empty.” he simply shrugged, a small smile on his lips. “too loud out there?” you nod, awkwardly shifting your weight from one foot to the other. this somehow felt more suffocating than the party did. “i didn’t mean to… bother you.” you mumble, turning around to head for the door. “you don’t have to leave,” he said, his voice quiet, your stomach fluttering at the sound, “i’m not doing anything. stay if you need a break. if you want.” you stand still, both choices seeming wrong. staying in the room with him felt like a mistake, but walking back out to the chaos of the party felt slightly worse. slowly, you nodded, turning around and stepping further into the room. “okay. uh, thanks.” you both stood there, not saying anything for a moment. you shifted your gaze around the room, your nerves palpable. and heeseung, of course, picked up on it. “this isn’t exactly your scene, is it, princess?” he asked, voice filled with that familiar teasing tone. you tried to ignore how the nickname had your heart doing somersaults, or how your face heated up. everything felt so much more elevated in the room. you swallowed, trying to push your nerves aside as you looked back at him. “uh, no, it’s not,” you mumble, almost wanting to laugh at how awkward you sounded. he hums, pushing himself off the wall and walking towards the bed, sitting on the edge. he looks at you expectantly, only laughing slightly when you raise your brows in response. “are you just gonna stand there the whole time?” your face flushes, suddenly feeling too embarrassed. your body moves before you realize it, getting closer to him. you can feel your heartbeat speeding up, his eyes watching you as you sit down next to him. you’re not an awkward distance away, but you made sure to put some space between the two of you. the room was quiet, except for the noise of your nervous breaths, your fingers fidgeting with each other.

“so,” he began, breaking the silence, “what’re you doing here, anyway?” you look at him, shrugging. “my friends dragged me along.” he hummed, tilting his head, “so then why are you in here?” this was humiliating. “one is talking to her date and another went to get drinks and didn’t come back,” you mumbled, trying to ignore the smile that crept up on his face. “damn, princess,” he huffed out a laugh, shaking his head lightly, “they ditched you?” “i mean, they’re more used to this environment. i wouldn’t wanna, like, hold them back from having fun,” you shrug, glancing down at your hands. “if you say so,” he responds, going quiet for a few seconds before speaking again. “i just still don’t see why you would even come, considering, y’know..” your stomach drops. your eyes flicker up to his, raising your eyebrows slightly. “considering… what?” he tilts his head, a slight smirk playing on his lips. “you’ve never kissed anyone. you weren’t lying about that, right?” heat rises on your cheeks, the embarrassment that hits you suddenly making you feel sick, once again stuck in a room with heeseung and talking about this. “heeseung. i don’t wanna talk about that.” “why? it’s nothing to be ashamed about,” he replies with a shrug, leaning back against the pillows and playing with the hem of his shirt. “you ever had a boyfriend?” “heeseung.” you say, but his expression tells you he’s not letting this go anytime soon. you sigh, your voice quiet, the word coming out as a hushed whisper, “no.” he was quiet, and the more the silence dragged on, the more you felt like you wanted the floor to swallow you. the same humiliating feeling from before was slowly making its way back, the room feeling like it was closing in on you. and then, heeseung spoke. “you ever wonder what it’s like? to kiss someone?” he asks, and you almost want to laugh. “that’s a stupid question,” you blurt before you can stop it, listening to the way he laughs quietly. “sorry. had to make sure,” he replies, and this, for some reason, doesn’t feel as bad as last time did. it doesn’t feel like he’s judging you. more so, just asking questions. “of course i do. it’s kinda hard not to when all everyone talks about is their love lives,” you reply, finally opening up a bit. you don’t know why you’re telling him this much. you could’ve diverted the conversation, made him talk about something else, but you were opening up. you were trying to ignore the anxiety bubbling in your chest. from being in a room alone with heeseung, to discussing your desolate love life with him. it felt unnatural- it was unnatural. you were never one to open up to people easily, but it felt like he did it without trying (well, besides when he wouldn’t like a topic go).

“i could teach you,” he speaks, and your head snaps up to his so fast you’re surprised your neck didn’t break in the process. it felt like time stopped. you couldn’t hear the music outside, or the muffled voices. all you could hear was your heartbeat in your ears and the way your breathing picked up. heeseung continued to stare at you, his eyebrows raised slightly as he waited for an answer. “w-what?” you stutter out, trying to convince yourself you heard his words wrong, that you made it up, some kind of excuse. “i said i could teach you. you heard me,” he repeats his words, the corner of his lip lifting up again. your breath hitched. the silence was too loud, the two of you just staring at each other as you tried your hardest to process his words. “you’re joking, right?” you finally ask, your voice quiet, unsure. but he didn’t laugh. he only watched you, his voice dropping just a bit lower. “it’s not hard. if you want, i could teach you.” you sat, frozen. blinking out of whatever daze you were in since he spoke, your eyes flickering the the ground. heeseung- the playboy heeseung, the heeseung you liked- offering to be your first kiss. it didn’t feel right. it felt like the universe was trying to play a sick joke on you. like this would turn out to be too good to be true. you heard him laugh softly, and your eyes drifted back up to him. he seemed to be enjoying how flustered you were, how your brain was quite literally short circuiting. “we don’t have to if you don’t want to. it’s just an offer. but, if you want to, i’m right here.” you felt your heart speed up more at his words. your mind felt like it couldn’t process what was going on. what was the right choice here? one side of you felt like you should laugh it off, change the subject and act like the conversation never happened. continue to save your first kiss for something special. but on the other hand, this did feel special. you were curious. hell, you’ve been curious for the last 22 years. you were caught between forcing down your desires and enlightening them, finally understanding what you’ve been wondering about your whole life. finally being able to understand the conversations, the movie scenes, the books. your mouth opened, a protest about to leave your lips, but no words came out. your words got stuck, your true feelings not letting them leave. heeseung noticed your hesitation, pushing himself to sit up. he watched you, his voice getting softer, quieter. “come here,” he mumbled, his words making your stomach do flips. god, you wanted to slam your head against the wall. your heartbeat sped up, but you moved closer to him anyway, sitting so close your knees were pressed together. you didn’t know what you were doing, but you knew you didn’t wanna turn around and leave. not at this point. heeseung watched you, not reaching out until you had stopped moving. his hand reached up slowly, cautiously, gently cupping your jaw. his thumb brushed over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. his gaze flickered between your eyes and lips, the reality of what was happening sinking it. “you’re nervous,” he whispered, the words spoken like they were a secret just between the two of you. his breath fans across your face, further solidifying the reality of the distance between you two. you nodded, your breath shallow, unsure. you let your own eyes flicker to his lips before moving back to his eyes. you whispered, your voice shaky, “what if i’m bad?” he smiled, his thumb tracing your jaw as he shook his head. “don’t worry about that. just follow my lead.”

you nod, everything feeling like a haze. he leans in slowly, and before you can think too much about it, his lips are on yours. it felt like everything around you stopped. your eyes fluttered shut, your breath stuttering. his lips are soft, and you try to follow his movements as best you can. his touch is gentle, guiding you, taking a first experience from you. the outside world seems quiet, likes it’s just you and heeseung in this moment. he presses his lips a bit harder against yours, tilting your head just slightly. the feeling is all-consuming. overwhelming. you want more and want to get away all at the same time. but it feels nice. it feels like everything you’ve dreamed of. what the lead in a romance movie feels, what the books describe, how your friend’s eyes light up when they tell you about their first kiss with a new guy. he pulls away slowly, his hand still remaining on your jaw. your eyes flutter open, blinking a little, like you’re trying to ground yourself. his face was still so close to yours, your breaths mixing together. his expression was unreadable, and your heart sped up at the reality. “was that okay?” you ask, your voice quiet, barely above a whisper. heeseung stared at you for a moment, not saying anything. his eyes searched yours, his breath soft against your skin, his touch still so light. “yeah,” he mumbled, his eyes still flickering around your face, his thumb tracing your jaw again. “not bad, princess.” you nod, your mind in too much of a haze to mumble out exact words. you eyes flickered to his lips again, fighting the urge to lean in again, to feel the warmth of his lips against yours. but before you could think about it too much, your phone buzzed loudly against your lap, the ringing snapping you back to reality. you blink, still dazed, as you look down on at your phone, shaky hands turning it over, the name staring back at you. wonyoung. shit. you hesitated for a second, before answering the call, pressing the phone to your ear. “hello?” “where are you?” wonyoung’s voice came through, a bit hard to hear over the pounding music. “i came back to the spot you were at. i got caught up with some friends, i’m sorry.” you swallowed, your mind still in a haze. your gaze flickered to heeseung. he was already watching you, having had leaned back against the headboard. “it’s fine,” you mumble, words trailing off. your heartbeat still felt too loud, and your thoughts were jumbled and all over the place. “it’s- i’m just..” heeseung raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. he tilted his head, clearly amused by your inability to form a sentence right now. “hello?” wonyoung’s voice spoke again, pulling your attention back to her. “are you there?” “yeah! yeah, sorry,” you mumble, pursing your lips. “i’ll be right there.” “okay. i’ll see you soon.” she replied, the line going dead.

the room went silent, filled with nothing but the awkwardness swirling around the two of you. you were too afraid to meet his gaze, so you stare at your hands, before standing up slowly, placing your phone in your pocket. “um… i should go. i’ll see you around?” heeseung didn’t say anything, and you took that as your cue to just leave. you walked towards the door, trying to form a coherent thought as you reached for the doorknob. his voice finally cut through the quiet, making you stop in your tracks. “you know,” he began, his voice teasing, with a hint of something else you couldn’t quite pinpoint, “you look nice tonight.” the words sent butterflies swirling in your stomach, closing your eyes as you tried to ground yourself. what was wrong with you? you didn’t turn around, too scared to meet his eyes. you couldn’t. so you only nodded, your voice shaky, “thank you.” you opened the door, stepping out and back into the party. it felt like you were snapped back to reality the second the loud music hit your ears, met with the sight of a swarm of people again as you pushed through the crowd. you tried to ignore the way your lips still tingled, or the way your cheeks heated up when you thought about his hand on your face, his breath so close to you, his lips against yours. you almost bumped into someone, muttering out a pathetic “sorry” as you corrected your path, finally catching a glimpse of yunjin and wonyoung standing together, talking about some random topic. wonyoung noticed you first, smiling and waving as she noticed you walking over. you wave back, forcing a smile as you join up with them. all you know is that you’re going crazy. you kissed heeseung. your first kiss. was it a mistake? did you make too irrational of a decision while being caught in the moment? your thoughts are interrupted by yunjin’s loud voice, pulling you back to the current moment, “you missed everything, y/n. i had so much to talk about. where were you, anyway?” you open your mouth, your eyes flickering between the two girls watching you with expectant stares. you should lie, make some kind of excuse to avert the attention from you, ask what yunjin had to talk about. but the thought of hiding your feelings from them more than you already are makes a sick feeling appear in your stomach. “i kissed heeseung.” the words are out before you even realize you said that. they stand there, unmoving before yunjin speaks, “you what?”

wonyoung only covers her mouth with her hand, a loud gasp leaving her lips as she looks between you and yunjin. you stare sheepishly at the two, no more words leaving your lips as you open and close your mouth, wonyoung finally forcing some words out. “bitch, are you serious?” the reality of everything feels like it’s hitting you all over again, a shaky breath leaving your lips as you look up, trying to form a sentence in your mind before you speak out loud. “i kissed heeseung. or, he kissed me. we kissed each other? i don’t know…” you cover your eyes with one of your hands, clenching your eyes shut. everything feels too surreal right now. yunjin blinks, shaking her head as she tries to make sense of the situation. “hold on, start from the beginning, please. what the fuck happened?” you laugh shakily, shrugging as words come spilling out, “i just- i needed a break from the party, so i went into what i thought was an empty room, but he was in there. he told me i could stay, and we started talking, and he brought up the fact that i’d never kissed anyone-“ wonyoung cuts you off, raising an eyebrow. “how did he know that?” you gulp, averting your eyes. “that’s a story for another time.” the two share a look, but don’t interrupt you again, letting you continue. “anyway, he said he could teach me… and, yeah,” you mumble, words getting quieter as you finish the story, finally looking back at the two. yunjin’s jaw is dropped, and she turns to wonyoung with a glare. “you left her alone for ten minutes and she kissed heeseung?” “i wanted a drink!” wonyoung defends herself, pointing at you, “i didn’t know she was gonna sneak off and make out with someone while i was gone.” your cheeks heat up, shaking your head quickly. “it wasn’t like that. it was just one kiss.” yunjin only laughs, giving you a hug. “well, congratulations. my baby is all grown up.” “oh, fuck off,” you mutter, but your arms wrap around her, fighting back a smile. “was it good?” wonyoung asks, your eyes widening. “like… is he really that good of a kisser like everyone says?”

your breath hitches at the question. your mind flickers back to how his lips felt on yours, how softly he held you, his breath soft against your lips, how his voice dropped, quiet and gentle. the way everything made you felt. your heart speeds up again at the thought, and you swallow, hesitating slightly before answering, trying to disguise the true thoughts you have. “i don’t know, wonyoung. it was my first kiss. how am i supposed to know what good means?” you reply, huffing out a laugh. she groans, unsatisfied with your answer, but she doesn’t push further. yunjin pulls back from the hug, but her hands remain on your shoulders. “you kissed lee heeseung. the lee heeseung. and he offered to teach you. girl, you’re in so deep.” you shake your head, feeling your cheeks heat up even more, if that’s possible. wonyoung chimes in, tugging your arm. “okay. back to your dorm, right now. tell us everything. leave absolutely nothing out.” you only laugh, but let wonyoung drag you along, yunjin following closely behind. the comfort the two provide for you makes things feel not as stressful, trying your best to push the anxieties and self-doubt about the turn the night took away.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

your stomach was a mess of nerves as you stepped through the classroom door. it wasn’t that you didn’t expect to see heeseung- you knew he was going to be here. but you didn’t know if you were ready. you had spent the past two days replaying every moment, every detail of that night, too caught up in your own thoughts. you tried to convince yourself it wasn’t a big deal, that it was just a kiss, but your true feelings betrayed you. you spotted him in what had become his usual seat- which was previously yours- scrolling on his phone, leaned back in the chair. you swallowed, getting closer to the seat as you put on a front, acting as nonchalant and unaffected as you could.  you slid into the chair next to him, pulling out your notebook and letting your bag hit the floor with a soft thud. you busied yourself with opening to an empty page, dragging your pencil along the page to make random, pointless drawings. anything to try and ease your nerves at the moment. “hey, princess,” heeseung spoke, his voice carrying that signature teasing lilt. his tone was so casual, like nothing had happened. you tried to ignore the way your heartbeat sped up at the sounds of his voice, or the nickname that used to make you grind your teeth. “i didn’t see you after you left the room. i thought you disappeared.” you finally glanced at him, your eyes meeting his. “i’m still here. sadly.” his lip twitched, that signature smirk forming on his lips. “good to know.”

his tone was so casual, so normal. but yet, things felt different. maybe it was the way he was watching you- his gaze lingering for just a second too long before looking away. or how he wasn’t teasing you as much, you two having a normal conversation for once. you were reading too much into it. this was the last thing you wanted to do. you kissed him because he offered to teach you. there was no meaning, no feelings behind it- on his end. you cleared your throat, turning back to your notebook. “did you look over the project? i added some notes to the shared document. there’s an article that seems like it could be helpful.” he shook his head, leaning forward so his elbows were on the desk. “nah. i’ve been busy with practice.” you roll your eyes, but the usual irritation didn’t come. you continued to doodle on your notebook, trying to focus on the small flower you were creating. but you couldn’t ignore the way you could feel his gaze on you, making heat rise to your cheeks. “you’re staring,” you mumble, eyes still trained on the flower, adding small blades of grass at the bottom, adding another small flower next to it. “am i?” he asked, and you could see the way he tilted his head in your peripheral vision. “i didn’t notice.” you huffed out a breath, forcing yourself not to react. if you gave him an inch, he’d take a mile, pointing out every little flustered reaction you have. it was the last thing you needed. dr. kim entered the room, greeting the class, indirectly saving you from having to reply. you tried to focus, jotting down whatever he mentioned, but your focus was somewhere else entirely. every time heeseung moved, shifting in his seat, tapping his pen against your notebook, your attention would be drawn to him. you couldn’t stop it. as much as you tried to focus, trying to ignore him, your mind wouldn’t let you. you felt like a middle schooler with a pathetic crush all over again. it was stupid. he was acting normal. you were (trying to) act normal. so why did nothing feel normal? slowly, your head turned just slightly, looking towards him. but he was already looking at you. he didn’t look away, your eyes meeting for a fleeting second. your breath caught in your throat, and you turned back to your notebook quickly, shifting in your seat. you were screwed. your heart lurched, your pulse quickening. a small part of your mind tells you that you’re not imagining things- that something has shifted. something is different. but you can’t place your finger on it. you feel like you’re making yourself go crazy, overanalyzing every little detail. every little glance, every sentence, hell, you payed attention to the tone of his voice. all you know is that you’re fucked. you’re officially down bad for lee heeseung.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

your day had been horrible. you wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep, forgetting that this shitshow of a day ever happened. you woke up late, the shrill sound of your alarm shocking you awake, the time on the clock practically mocking you as you realized you were going to be late to class. you rushed your morning, not even having enough time to get breakfast, leaving your stomach growling as you rushed to class. you looked like you had just rolled out of bed- which was the truth- as you walked into the classroom, sending an apologetic smile as your professor glared at you. the lecture was a blur, and to make matters worse, you absolutely failed your test. you knew you weren’t confident with the material, but to have a low c staring back at you made you feel too incompetent. your professor didn’t even hide her disappointment, shaking her head as she placed the paper on your desk, your ears turning red with embarrassment. now, your heavy feet were carrying you to your favorite café, your comfort away from the hectic world, the one place that brought you peace after a bad day. about halfway there, it had started sprinkling, small droplets landing on you as you walked. it truly felt like you had a rain cloud above only you, making fun of how bad your day had gone so far. you pushed open the door to the café, the comforting smell filling your senses, and you felt the tension in your body ease just slightly. you tried to ignore the looks of other patrons, wondering why you had no umbrella, your hair and clothes damp as you stepped inside. all that was on your mind was a hot chocolate, topped with whipped cream. you’d been dreaming about it since you walked into class earlier, making a promise to yourself you would pick one up after class to hopefully raise your dejected feelings. of course, the universe had other plans. the cup looked fine, the white paper concealing what was inside. but when you took a sip, the sharp taste hit your tastebuds, completely wrong. bitter coffee covered your tongue, making your face scrunch up. you blinked in confusion, slowly popping the lid off the cup. they had given you straight black coffee. you stared at the coffee, your pitiful stare reflecting off the dark liquid. you sighed, frustration bubbling up inside you. you weren’t going to make a scene, you were too exhausted for that. it wasn’t what you did. but you also knew if you didn’t have your hot chocolate you were going to go insane. was it pathetic that a drink could help make your day that much better? maybe.

you walked back up to the counter, politely pointing the mistake out to the barista, even pulling out your crumpled up receipt from your pocket to solidify your point. she didn’t seem to care, staring at you blankly before taking the cup with a sigh, muttering out a half-assed apology. you wanted to say something, your inner dialogue filled with very creative language as you watched her roll her eyes when she turned around. you felt like a burden, the comfort this place usually provided suddenly turning into a unpleasant experience. they finally handed you the right drink, about five minutes later. it should’ve made things better, but it didn’t. you thanked her with the biggest smile you could muster, apologizing for the inconvenience and turning around. you were starting to walk to your favorite seat, a table in the corner that gave you a perfect view of the scenery outside, a perfect place to put in your headphones and daydream. and that’s when it happened. too focused on the previous interaction, too distracted with everything that had gone wrong today. you ran into someone- hard. your shoulders slammed into each other, the force making you stumble backwards, your drink almost spilling. some splashed out the small opening, the hot liquid splashing against your hand, causing a small curse to leave your mouth as you winced. you steadied yourself, looking up at the stranger. an apology was on the tip of your tongue, ready to admit that you weren’t paying attention, but that’s when you saw his expression. cold. angry. he looked you up and down, like you were a piece of garbage. as if you were an inconvenience. like you had ruined his whole day, his eyes full of judgement. he didn’t bother to say anything, let alone hear whatever you had to say as he scoffed and continued on his way. it felt like a slap in the face. your mouth opened, almost ready to sputter out insults, but no words came out. suddenly, it felt like the weight of everything that had happened today was crashing down on you. your rushed morning, your failed test, your disappointed professor, the rain, the wrong order, the barista, this stranger- his glare, like you meant nothing. it all felt like too much. hot tears brimmed your eyes before you could get your emotions in check. you turned around, pushing open the café doors, taking deep breaths to calm yourself. the soft rain from earlier had begun to fall in fat, harsh drops, pouring down on everything. the weather felt like an accurate representation of your emotions in the moment, cold, sad, chaotic. you pressed a hand to your forehead, trying, and failing to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. a lump formed in your throat, and you leaned back against the wall of the café. you pulled your phone out from your pocket, trying to ignore how pathetic your reflection looked as you unlocked it, a tear slipping down your cheek as you opened your contacts, your fingers immediately finding yunjin’s name as you pressed the call button. it was like once one tear fell, the floodgates opened. you couldn’t control them anymore, tears spilling down your cheeks as you wiped at your eyes pathetically. the only noise being the quiet ringing of your phone, the rain falling, and your quiet sniffles.

it went to voicemail, yunjin’s happy voice breaking the sad silence. you tried again. still no answer. more tears fell, moving onto wonyoung next. it repeated the same process, ringing. and ringing. and ringing. and then- voicemail. you tried once again to be sure, clinging onto any ounce of hope. same result. you could feel your heart shattering more and more. you felt alone. your sniffles turned into quiet sobs, clutching your phone as you tried to catch your breath. everything felt too overwhelming, too out of your control, too messed up. you were stuck here. you couldn’t walk home, the rain was too strong. you couldn’t go back inside, not looking like this. everything was slowly unraveling. your closest friends weren’t even picking up, and you couldn’t get mad at them for it. they had lives too, not always able to drop everything for you. but the betrayal still stung, everything feeling like a personal attack at this point. you forced yourself to breathe, slowly unlocking your phone once again. you scrolled through your contacts, blurry, tear-filled vision making it harder. you just needed someone, anyone who you could call. anyone who could come get you. your eyes stopped on one person, your heart beating faster at the thought. you clicked on his contact, you finger hovering over the call button, before finally, you pressed it. it rang once. twice. three times. you were losing hope, more tears spilling down your cheeks as the reality of your situation set in. and then- “hello?” your breath catches. you hadn’t expected someone to actually pick up. everything felt so hopeless, the sound of someone’s voice sending a shock through you. you sniffle quietly, trying to get a word out, but it’s like they’re all caught in your throat. “hello?” heeseung repeats again, his voice more clear this time. “are you there?” you take a deep breath, forcing your tears and shaky breaths to calm down. you feel like if you speak a new wave of tears will just spill down your cheeks. “i-“ you start, before your voice breaks. you swallow, trying again. “i need a ride… it’s raining. no one else was picking up.” there’s a long pause, silence stretching between the two of you. you begin to feel stupid for calling, for being such an inconvenience to another person, more than you’ve already been today. you hear a small laugh on the other end, your eyebrows furrowing slightly at the sound. “can’t handle a little rain, princess?”

frustration builds inside of you, but you hold your feelings down. this, however, makes the dam in your eyes break again, more tears spilling down your cheeks. “heeseung, please,” you sniffle, sucking in a shaky breath as you try to get your emotions in check again. the teasing tone of his voice is gone almost immediately, replaced by confusion as he speaks again. “y/n? are you okay?” your breath catches at his change in tone. you didn’t want to be a burden to anyone, didn’t want to push your emotions onto someone else, all because you couldn’t handle a bad day. but everything was too much right now. “yeah,” your speak, you words quieter than you expected, a shaky tone to your voice. “just… tired.” he’s silent for a bit, before he speaks again, and you can hear shuffling on the other end, the jingling of car keys sending a small hope through you. “where are you?” “the café near campus. the one we went to that one time,” you force out, trying your hardest to sound normal. and not like there’s tears slipping down your cheeks. you think you must look insane. standing under the awning of a café in the pouring rain, tears streaming down your cheeks as you hold a hot chocolate and a phone. it must be a laughable sight. heeseung’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts, calm and serious, a vast difference from the usual teasing, smug tone he has. “i’ll be there soon. when i get there just walk to my car, alright? i’ll pull up next to the curb.” you nod, forgetting he can’t see you. when you finally speak, your voice is barely above a whisper, defeated, shaky. “okay.” the call ends, leaving you in silence again. a shaky sigh leaves your lips as your hand wipes your tears, trying your best to collect yourself. you take a sip of your hot chocolate, the warm liquid providing a small sense of comfort in whatever whirlwind your day has turned into. nerves fill you again, the thought that you could be a burden creeping into your mind. your hands shake as you rub at your eyes, trying to push the thoughts away. god, you don’t wanna be a total mess when heeseung gets here, but you can’t stop crying. you force yourself to focus on something different. business proposal, hot chocolate, your favorite salad, cats. anything that makes you happy. and slowly but surely, your tears turn into small sniffles. you watch cars drive by, but there’s not a lot. most classes are out by now and students don’t wanna be parading in this rain. the rain doesn’t let up- if anything, it’s gotten heavier, wind whipping around you at this point. after a few minutes, you finally see a car pulling up. the sight is so reassuring, but you can’t stop the way your pulse speeds up, or the nerves that run through you. your feet don’t move at first, still too caught in your emotions to move. you take a small step, slow, cautious, before the rain showers you, pelting, hard. you speed up quickly, ignoring the chill of the water as you cling to your hot chocolate, as if that will do anything to warm you up in this weather. it’s lukewarm by now, anyway. when you reach the car, heeseung’s eyes are on you, the window rolling down as you get closer. “get in,” he says, voice low, but not unkind, “you’re shaking.” you can only nod, pulling open the door and slipping inside. the warmth of the car immediately envelops you, feeling like a warm hug. you try your best to ignore the way your clothes, now wet, feel against your body. neither of you says anything, but you can feel his eyes on you. you finally turn, meeting his eyes. he looks… concerned.

he raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to speak. you don’t. so he finally does, his voice softer than it was before. “you wanna talk about it?” you shake your head, a new wave of emotions hitting you at his question. you blink back the hot tears brimming your eyes again, snapping your head towards the window as a shaky breath leaves you. “thank you,” you sniffle, your voice quiet. defeated. he hums, his voice reassuring, whether he means it or not. it feels like it’s grounding you in the chaotic mess of your emotions. “don’t worry about it.” without another word, he pulls away from the curb. heading towards the dorms. he doesn’t tease you, doesn’t ask any more questions. the only noise is the soft radio, the car’s engine, and the rain pattering outside. you bite your lip, trying to hold back a new wave of tears as you rest your head against the window. it doesn’t work. tears spill down your cheeks, your breathing irregular, labored, as you try to stay quiet, wiping at your eyes as inconspicuously as you can. heeseung notices, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. he doesn’t push, simply turning up the volume of the radio, masking the sounds of your tears behind the music. it’s such a small action, but it makes your stomach flip, taking a small sip of your hot chocolate to ground yourself. as you get closer to the dorms, your thoughts swirl, uncontrollable, chaotic. you close your eyes, taking deep breaths. you need to forget about today. pretend it never happened, pretend it was all just a nightmare that you’re going to wake up from tomorrow morning. but as you sit there, dried tears on your face as you look over at heeseung, your heart speeds up a bit. maybe you needed a distraction. maybe you just needed… something to take your mind off of the day. he turns to you, meeting your eyes, and you glance down at your hands quickly. god, you must look like shit right now. would it be weird if you asked for another kiss? would that actually take your mind off of how bad today was? thoughts swirl in your mind, half of yourself telling you to just go for it, be bold, ask for what you want. the other side battles it, scenarios of him giving you a dirty look, like the stranger did, filling your mind. you sigh, shaking your head. there’s too much going on in your mind right now for you to also be dealing with this. the car slows as heeseung pulls up outside your dorm. the low hum of the radio filling the tense silence between the two of you. you should leave. unbuckle your seatbelt, thank him for the ride, open the door, and go back to your dorm. but you don’t. you sit there. your fingers tighten around the cup in your lap, feeling the paper mold to your grip. you can feel his gaze flickering to you. waiting. you keep your eyes fixed on the window, watching the rain droplets race each other down the glass. your heartbeat sped up in your chest, the pounding in your ears drowning out the noise of anything else. you should just go. but you can’t move. you inhale shakily, focusing on every ounce of courage you have. “heeseung,” you begin, but the moment you turn your head, his attention on you, the words get caught in your throat. refusing to leave. he hums, waiting for you to continue. you swallow, nerves building. this is stupid. this is so stupid. what if he says no? what if laughs in your face? the weight of today is already pressing down on you, heavy, suffocating. if he rejects you, if he looks at you with even a fraction of the disdain the stranger at the café did, you might just end it. you should forget it. push your thoughts aside and leave the car. just curl up in bed and go to sleep. your thoughts aren’t correct right now. your mind is jumbled, your emotions are out of whack- but then he shifts slightly. placing his elbow on the center console as he faces you. his full, undivided attention on you. he’s waiting.

your breath stutters, heat climbing up your neck. “at the party,” you begin, your voice quiet, barely above a whisper. “when we-“ you stop, shutting your eyes for a second. it’s too late to back out now, you’re already speaking. “when we kissed.” he doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, simply waiting for you to continue. your breath is shaky, your next words unsure. “did that mean anything to you?” you regret the words the moment they leave your lips. you sound desperate. pathetic. needy. you shake your head quickly, shutting your eyes. “forget it,” you mumble, as if you can take back the words you just said. “i’m a mess right-“ “i wouldn’t have done it if it didn’t,” heeseung speaks, cutting you off. his voice is quieter than usual. softer, but still firm. “that was your first kiss.” your pulse stutters, a breath catching in your throat. you finally turn to look at him, your stomach twisting at the intensity of his gaze. you should stop talking. end this before you do something you’ll regret. but you keep talking, your voice so quiet, you’re unsure if he hears it over the sound of the radio. “can you… can you do it again?” his eyes widen a bit, but the moment is brief. a flicker. and then that unreadable look is back. you want to take your words back immediately, erase this moment from existence entirely. “you don’t have to,” you add, words tumbling out before you can stop them. “it’s just- fuck. today has been horrible, and i can’t stop thinking about that kiss, and i thought that maybe-“ “are you sure?” heeseung asks, cutting your rambling off again. his voice is softer now, almost as quiet as yours. like these words are only meant to heard by the two of you, hidden from the rest of the world. you swallow, setting your cup in his cup holder. you don’t trust your voice right now- can't trust it- so you nod instead. for a second, he only watches you, his expression unreadable. it sends a chill through you, anxiety seeping in. then he slowly reaches up, tucking a strand of damp hair behind your ear. his touch is soft, barely there, but it’s everything you need right now. his gaze flickers over yours- searching for any signs of hesitation. like he’s waiting for you to pull away. but you don’t. you lean in slightly, a silent confirmation. and that’s all it takes. “okay,” he murmurs. and then his lips are on yours again. his lips brush against yours, soft, careful, like he’s still making sure this is what you want. he doesn’t press hard, his hand holding your jaw, his lips barely there. you shudder at his touch, at the feeling of him. and then you kiss him back. it's hesitant- unsure. you still don’t know how to do this, how to match someone’s rhythm, someone who knows what they’re doing. but heeseung doesn’t rush you. it’s not overwhelming. he just guides you, and you let him. he tilts his head slightly, molding his lips against yours, coaxing you to follow his lead. and you do. you follow the way his lips move, melting more into the kiss by the second. you can feel his other hand moving, his fingers ghosting over the side of your neck. you shiver at his touch, the warmth, the position of his touch sending a wave of heat rushing through you. his fingers rest on the back of your neck, just below your hairline. his touch is gentle, guiding you closer to him, and you let him, instinctively moving closer to him. the kiss deepens just slightly, his hand pulling you even closer. you should pull away. stop here. this should be enough. but you want more. a flicker of something unfamiliar and new buzzes in your chest, and you’re moving before you can think too much about it. your hands reach out, finding the front of his hoodie as your hands grip the fabric, pulling him even closer.

that changed everything. heeseung exhales sharply against your lips, and then he’s kissing you harder, deeper. your brain short circuits, the added intensity unfamiliar, but so welcomed. his grip on the back of your neck loosens, his fingers tangling in your hair. a small noise escapes you, desperate, wanting. it’s barely audible over the noise of the radio and the rain against the windshield. but he hears it. you know he does. you feel the way his fingers tighten in your hair, tilting your head as he deepens the kiss, a quiet hum vibrating in his throat. your head is spinning. it’s only your second kiss ever, you’re still fumbling to keep up, still clumsy in your movements. but the way he’s holding you, guiding you through it like he knows exactly what he’s doing- he does- you don’t have to think too much. you just follow his movements. your body melts into his touch, the nerves leading your body as you focus on his kisses and nothing else. your fingers loosen their grip on his hoodie, threading into his hair, your fingers tightening slightly. his breath hitches for a second, a noise leaving his lips. it sends a shiver down your spine. his lips slow, his kisses growing softer again, like he’s trying to ground himself. the thought makes your stomach flip, so many different feelings swirling inside you. new feelings. foreign feelings. but you love them. neither of you speak when you finally pull away, your foreheads resting against each other. you’re both breathless, lips parted and swollen as you catch your breath. your hands stay tangled in each other’s hair, like neither of you want to let go just yet. the air is thick with something unspoken, like a line was crossed tonight. you don’t care right now. you don’t want to think about that. part of your mind knows you should pull away, create some distance before this goes further than it already has. but you don’t want to. so you don’t. your fingers that are tangled in his hair tighten slightly, and before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning in again. pressing your lips against his, not soft, not gentle. you want more. heeseung exhales softly, and it’s like his resolve snaps. like everything he was holding back breaks at your movements. his hands drop to your waist, tugging slightly. you pull away from his lips, your breath heavy as your brows furrow. “what-“ you begin, blinking in confusion. he cuts you off with a quiet laugh, his voice almost teasing, but with a hint of warmness that’s not usually there. “trust me.” and you do. you let his hands lift you, the space between you becoming increasingly smaller. the awkwardness of the car’s cramped interior makes your movements more careful. you let him guide you over the center console, your body bending slightly as it digs into your legs. and then you’re in his lap. his hands remain on your waist, just holding you, watching you. your hands rest on his shoulders, steadying yourself. the new proximity makes your pulse stutter, so close to him it feels dizzying. his eyes search over your face, before his hands find your back, and he’s pulling you into him. his lips are on yours again, and every thought you had vanishes. this kiss is different than the other two.

it's hungrier, more desperate. like he was holding back, waiting for permission to let go. and you gave him that. his hands are everywhere- your back, trailing up your sides, your thighs, your hips, his touch desperate. like he’s trying to commit you to his memory. it's dizzying. intoxicating. your hands tangle in his hoodie again, trying to ground yourself as a small noise slips past your lips. everywhere he touches feels like it leaves fire in his wake. and then his lips leave yours. your breath catches as his lips move lower. he kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw. the sensation is foreign. it’s overwhelming. you can feel his breath against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as a sigh leaves your lips. his hand on your thigh tightens at the noise, a noise coming from deep in his throat as his kisses become messier. his kisses trail along your neck, sucking, kissing, his breath ghosting over your skin. you felt hot. your fingers tighten in his hoodie, a sharp exhale leaving your lips. your heart is racing, your breathing picking up. your body is reacting to sensations you’ve never experienced before. your head falls back slightly, his lips exploring more area. it’s intoxicating. dizzying. but it’s a lot. it’s too much all at once, as much as you want more. the moment you shift slightly, heeseung notices. his kisses stop, but he doesn’t pull away. his breath is warm against your neck before, slowly, he lifts his head, his gaze searching yours. his grip on your body loosens slightly, just resting there now. “you okay?” his voice is low, laced with something that makes your head spin. “too much?” you swallow, grounding yourself. you want this. you want his touch, his kisses, his attention on you. but it feels like it’s moving too fast, caught between the two emotions. you nod, before quickly shaking your head. “i-“ you stutter, your voice quiet, breathy and shaky. “i don’t know. it’s a lot. but i want it.” his brows draw together slightly. he doesn’t look angry, he looks concerned. his voice is quiet, comforting. his hands slide to rest on your waist, simply holding you. “we’ll stop for now. i don’t want to rush you.” his voice is steady, but his breathing is uneven. there’s an emotion in his eyes you can’t place. they’re darker, flickering over your face. your heart lurches at the mention of ‘for now.’ he wants more as well. you exhale, your breath shaky as you nod. “okay.” you want to feel something more. you don’t want to move, don’t want to leave the moment. so you lean in, your cheek resting against his shoulder as you breathe out, the warmth of his body grounding you. his hands hover slightly over your waist, before they trail up your back, hands splaying out as he tugs you closer to him. it’s intimate. too intimate. you’re crossing a line, and you know it. his chest rises and falls beneath you, his steady breathing calming your erratic heartbeat. the warmth of his body feels like a blanket, everything quiet. you let the silence wash over you. it’s not awkward. it’s comfortable. the only sound that surrounds you is the rain, and the soft radio, “delicate” by taylor swift playing quietly.

his thumbs rub against your back, the small action causing a quiet hum to leave you as you shift against him, getting more comfortable. you hear a quiet laugh leave him, so soft it almost just sounds like a breath. his voice is soft, but it has the familiar teasing tone you’re used to. “you good, princess?” the nickname feels different this time- not used to tease anymore. like an unspoken acknowledgement that something has shifted, the layers of tension being peeled back slowly, your desires coming to fruition more every time you see him. it’s something neither of you want to say out loud, but you both feel it. you smile softly, nodding your head against his shoulder. “yeah. i’m good,” you whisper, your voice soft. he hums, tilting his head slightly so his lips brush against your ear as he speaks again, his voice so soft. “you sure? i know that was… a lot.” and you know it was. you’re feeling so much. so many feelings swirling in your chest. but you only nod, not wanting to break the moment. “yeah.” you press closer into him, snuggling up against his warmth. his arms tighten just slightly around you, locking you in his embrace, like you would ever want to leave. “i’m not going anywhere,” he laughs softly, feeling your hands grip his hoodie just a bit tighter. his voice has a warmth you’ve never heard before, the tone making your stomach flip, and you only hum in response, snuggling your head further against his shoulder. you know you’re down bad, you know you’re falling. hell, you’ve already fallen. part of you knows it’s a bad idea. while the other part just wants to live. wants to experience this moment. the serenity, the soft sound of the radio, and the warmth of lee heeseung. and for the first time today, it doesn’t feel like everything is falling apart.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

“i don’t know!” you cry out, throwing your hands up as you stare at the two girls sat in front of you with their jaws dropped. "i don’t even know what happened! it’s all a mess!” yunjin stands up, immediately pacing the room as she looks at you, shaking her head in disbelief. “wait, let me get this straight? you made out with him. in a car. in the rain? y/n, what the fuck?” wonyoung, still sitting, crosses her arms. “and you didn’t think to- what, call us? text us? i don’t know, anything.” you roll your eyes, staring back at her. “i did call you guys. yunjin was too busy getting her back blown out by beomgyu, and god knows what you were doing. he was the last person i could call, and i wasn’t about to walk home sobbing in that rain!” yunjin stops pacing, turning to you with her jaw dropped. “that’s a valid reason to not pick up the phone!” wonyoung’s face scrunches up in confusion, her head tilting. “you called me? i was watching youtube, i swear my phone didn’t ring.” you throw your hands up in frustration. “i don’t care! it’s in the past, i’m just- fuck, i’m losing my mind. i don’t know what i’m supposed to feel.” yunjin looks at wonyoung, the two sharing a look of disbelief. “okay. you asked him to kiss you, so obviously part of you knows what you’re feeling.” “i don’t-“ you groan, dropping your head in your hands. “i’ve never done this before, yunjin! it’s all new to me. it’s terrifying.” wonyoung smirks, clearly enjoying your misery. “you’re down bad, girl. just admit it.” you sigh, falling back onto the couch. “i know i’m down bad, wonyoung. i blush just thinking about the guy.” yunjin sucks in a breath, sitting down next to you. “brutal. so, like, what happened after? you made out, then what?” you pause, mind still spinning as you recount the memories of everything. you turn away from her, your voice quiet as you speak. “he like… pulled me into his lap. and he was kissing my neck…”

there’s a long silence. no one saying anything. you look back to see yunjin and wonyoung both staring at you with wide eyes. “what the fuck?” wonyoung yells, standing up. you press a finger over your mouth, begging her to shut up. she shakes her head, continuing to ramble. “y/n! oh my god, this is insane!” you place your hands over your face, heat crawling up your cheeks. “i know! i don’t know what i’m doing, guys! then we kinda hugged? and just sat there for like ten minutes. we only stopped because my legs were falling asleep and i made up some excuse to go inside.” yunjin only sighs, leaning her head back against the couch. “you’re so oblivious. he wants you.” you raise an eyebrow at her, slowly uncovering your face. “you don’t know that. why would he want me when he has a ton of other girls that know so much more than i do? i feel like a burden, like he has to teach me everything. i chickened out from a few seconds of him kissing my fucking neck!” wonyoung laughs, shaking her head. “i don’t know, y/n. why do guys do half of the stuff that they do?” she stretches, raising her arms above her head as she continues. “plus, not every guys mind is filed with sex. maybe he’s okay with taking it slow with you. i still can’t believe you bagged heeseung of all people, though. he’s known for his hook-ups.” “that’s exactly what i mean,” you mumble, your voice growing more defeated by the second. “maybe this isn’t a good idea. i feel like an idiot.” yunjin sits up, smacking your stomach before rising to her feet. “stop doubting yourself. you’re hot, okay? you’re looking into it too much, i promise.” you only glance at her, a pout on your lips. she sighs, grabbing your arms and pulling you to sit up. “i’m not saying to rush into anything, alright? don’t forget his reputation. but if he was willing to just hold you for ten minutes like that? there’s obviously something more there.” you give her a half-smile, considering her words. they hit deep, considering that his reputation had been the one thing lingering in the back of your mind when you got butterflies thinking about something that he did. what if you were just a game? just something to entertain him until the next girl came along?

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

the last few days had been brutal. you had forgetting what having a crush- an actual crush- felt like. on top of the… physical aspect of it, you were losing your mind. searching for heeseung around campus, daydreaming in class, your body heating up at the memory of his hands on you. you felt like a teenage boy with raging hormones. it didn’t help that you barely ever had the form to yourself, so being able to act on your desires was rare. now, it’s 10pm. you’re sitting in your room, finishing up some last minute assignments. yunjin is in her bed, scrolling on her phone, tiktoks playing quietly in the background. you submit your last assignment, your phone buzzing next to you. you glance at it, expecting a random notification, but it’s a text from heeseung. your heart speeds up just slightly. heeseung [10:20 pm]: u busy?you squint at the message. your stomach twists slightly, the two simple words sending a rush of adrenaline through you. you pick it up, anyway, typing out a quick response. you tell yourself to act normal. he can’t tell if you’re flustered over text. you [10:21 pm] why?it’s read immediately. and almost just as quickly, three dots appear. heeseung [10:21 pm]: wanna watch a movieoh, for fuck’s sake. this could only mean one thing. you felt your pulse speed up slightly, your fingers hovering over the keyboard before you send your response. you [10:22 pm]: watch it yourselfheeseung [10:22 pm]: don’t want toyou sigh, reading his message over and over. you couldn’t fall for a trap this easily, but yet, you wanted to. you [10:22 pm]: ask jake or somethingheeseung [10:23 pm]: he doesn’t look as good as uyour breath catches. oh. your whole body felt like it was heating up, betraying you quicker than your mind was. you should ignore him. put down the phone, pretend this conversation didn’t happen. save your sanity. heeseung [10:24 pm]: u gonna respond?fuck it. you [10:24 pm]: i hate u. be there in 10.you push yourself off the bed, yunjin sending you a look when you grab your jacket, pulling it over your arms. “are you going somewhere?” she asks, tilting her head. you jump slightly at her voice. you had forgotten she was here. fuck. “uh, yeah.” she raises an eyebrow, a tiktok playing on loop as she watches you. “at 10:30 pm?” fuck. think of an excuse. anything. “yeah, i need to-“ you glance around, your eyes landing on your backpack. “i need to print something!” she just stares at you, her expression full of amusement. “print something.” you want the floor to swallow you. “yeah.” "...at 10:30?”

"yep!” you reply, trying your hardest to seem believable. she blinks. “what do you need a printer for?” “class!” you reply quickly. too quickly. “what else would i need it for? that’s why, i’m going to the library.” her eyes narrow, her eyebrows furrowing. “the library closes at nine.” fuck. you’re horrible at this. “wonyoung has a printer! in her dorm! so i’m going. to print. my paper. because class is important.” no response. silence envelops the two of you. finally, she tilts her head. “you don’t have class tomorrow.” you’re going to slam your head into the wall. “fine!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up. “i’m going to walmart for snacks! is that better?”yunjin holds back a laugh, her eyes flickering with amusement. “snack run. got it.” “yeah, i had to lie or else… or else you would ask me to buy you something. and i don’t have a lot of money.” you reply. she only smirks. she knows you’re full of shit. you know she knows. “okay,” she shrugs, looking back at her phone. you let out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding, walking towards the door. just as your hand touches the doorknob, she speaks again. “use protection.” you freeze, your stomach dropping. you turn to look at her, slowly. “what?” she keeps her eyes trained on her phone, but there’s a shit-eating grin on her face. “you heard me.” you gasp incredulously, glancing around the room. “i told you i’m going to walmart.” she snorts, finally glancing up at you, “yeah, and i’m going to paris next weekend.” you glare at her, flipping her off. “it was the best i could come up with! you put me on the spot!” “it was horrible,” she sighs, shaking her head in disappointment before continuing, “i don’t care what you’re do, but at least lie better. and i’m a bit offended you didn’t just tell me the truth.” you shake your head, embarrassment rushing through you. “nothing’s happening!” “no.” she replies, a smirk on her lips as she turns off her phone, placing it next to her. “you’re getting dicked down by lee heeseung. that’s what’s happening.” your jaw drops, and you yank the door open, your face burning red. “i am not! shut up!” “goodnight, y/n,” she muses, a teasing smile on her lips. you slam the door shut behind you, stomping down the hall. fuck. that was humiliating. you’re never living that down. she’s probably texting wonyoung at this exact moment, telling her everything that just happened. you groan out loud, your head falling back as you wait outside the elevator, sending heeseung a text. you [10:27 pm]: i’m going to kill u.you don’t wait for his response, stepping into the elevator as it opens. your stomach is twisting in anticipation, for… whatever is going to happen tonight. your body is betraying you. your mind is betraying you. thoughts flickering through your mind, making you feel dizzy as you walk to his dorm. it’s a short enough walk, simply enjoying the scenery of campus as you make your way to his dorm. it’s quiet at this hour, and it almost feels like you’re the only one here, besides the student you pass every few minutes. every step feels heavier, like you’re getting closer to what you know is a like you haven’t crossed before. as if you haven’t crossed more in the last week than you ever thought you would.

when you finally make it to his dorm, following the directions he gave you, your heart pounds in your chest as you stand outside his door. you hesitate, before raising your hand and knocking once. twice. you hear footplates approaching the door, before it swings open and- oh. your mouth almost waters at the sight. heeseung is standing there, a white wifebeater clinging to his skin, grey sweatpants low on his hips. his hair is messy and disheveled, making him look even more irresistible. his arms are crossed against his chest, muscles flexing every time he moves slightly. your brain stops working, your eyes raking over his figure before you realize what you’re doing. they snap back up to his face, but it’s too late. he already has the smug look on his face, and you’re praying he doesn’t say anything. luckily, by the grace of god, he doesn’t. he leans against the doorframe, raising his eyebrows slightly. “took you long enough.” you sigh, your lips pursing as you glare at him. “shut up. i’m here, aren’t i?” “yeah.” he says, voice dropping with teasing tone as he tilts his head. “i was starting to miss you, pretty girl.” your eyes widen a bit at the new nickname, and you swear your heart skips a few beats. you want to slam your head into the nearest wall repeatedly. you want him to- no. you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to get a grip. “move,” you finally say, pushing past him and entering his dorm. it looks like a typical college athlete dorm room. he was lucky enough to get a whole dorm to himself, basketball posters littering the walls, a pc set up where the other bed usually goes, and a small couch and tv off to the other side of the room. it was cozy, and not too cluttered. he lets you push him, and you try not to focus on how his muscles feel so much more defined through his tank top than they did through his hoodie. “damn, princess. you’re killing me.” you roll your eyes, walking over to his couch and plopping down on it. you watch as he shuts the door, stepping closer to you. his smirk stays on his lips, his eyes full of something you can’t read, but it sends a shiver down your spine. “so,” you begin, trying to keep your emotions in check. “what movie are we watching?” he doesn’t say anything, simply sitting next to you on the couch and turning the tv on. the movie of choice is waiting to be played, and your eyes squint slightly. “10 things i hate about you?” your voice comes out more surprised than you meant, and heeseung looks at you, tilting his head. you hadn’t expected this choice. you were expecting him to pick a marvel movie, or mad max, something that guys watch, you didn’t know. his smile is smug, glancing at the tv and back at you. “yeah,” he shrugs, not seeing the big deal. “do you not like it?” you blink, thrown off. a rom-com? it’s not something you had expected heeseung- or any college boy in general- to enjoy. you feel like you’re uncovering a new side of him, one that you haven’t seen before. you shake your head quickly, “no, it’s one of my favorites. just didn’t think you would watch something like this.” he raises an eyebrow in response, leaning back against the couch as he presses play. “i’m a man of depth, y/n.” his voice is teasing, his eyes flickering from yours to the tv. your stomach flips, but you don’t say anything else. you settle back into the couch, unsure of how much distance to put between the two of you. about halfway through the movie, patrick and kat finally kiss. lying down after the paintball game, against the hay. it’s like you can feel the tension snapping between them, your eyes staring longingly at the screen.

you can’t look away. it’s something you’ve always wanted. the kind of love you’ve always wanted to experience (well, besides the fact it all started as a bet). your mind flickers to you and heeseung and whatever… this is. without thinking, the words spill out, wistful, longing. “i’ve always wanted a love like theirs. this movie is perfect.” silence. the reality of who you just spoke those words in front of settles in. you blink, wanting the ground to swallow you. you glance over at heeseung, praying to every god that he somehow didn’t hear you. he definitely did. his eyes flicker towards yours, the corner of his mouth lifting into that signature smirk. he doesn’t say anything at first, just watching you, the way you shift in your seat, obviously regretting your choice of words. “yeah?” he finally asks, his voice low and teasing. it sends a chill through your body, and he leans just a bit closer. “i guess they are pretty nice together, aren’t they? reminds me of us.” his words make your eyes widen just slightly, your pulse speeding up at his comment. you swallow, hard. your mouth opens, but no words leave your lips. his gaze stays on yours, intense, waiting. but you can’t speak. the room feels like it’s shrinking, the air suddenly too think to breathe. he tilts his head, the stupid smirk still on his lips. “cat got your tongue?” his voice is still low, but there’s something else to it now. you bite your lip, nerves crackling between the both of you. the movie continues to play, but it’s just background noise now, only sound filling the heated silence between you. he shifts, his body facing yours completely now, making him feel so much closer. the smirk on his face drops slightly, an unreadable expression taking over his features. your breath stutters, and you force words to leave your lips. “well… i mean-“ he leans in closer, so close you can feel his warm breath against your skin. your heartbeat quickens, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the moment. you try to ignore your nerves, your erratic heartbeat, your shaky breath, the way your lips part slightly. but it’s impossible. he raises a hand to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. “tell me,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with something you can’t quite place. he drags your bottom lip down with his thumb, before letting it fall back into place. “you ever think about that with someone like me?” you swear your heartbeat stops. because you have. god, of course you have. but the words are stuck in your throat, the moment too tense for you to force any words out. you can’t even think straight. you feel surrounded by him. the look in his eyes, the proximity, his touch. you inhale sharply, your eyes closing for just a second as you try to ground yourself. it’s useless. you’re too far gone, the moment is too tense. his gaze flickers to your lips, a soft breath leaving his lips, and something inside you snaps.

your lips crash against his, your hands threading into his hair to pull him closer. he reciprocates immediately, groaning against your lips, like he had been waiting all night for this. his hand on your jaw tilts your head, deepening the kiss. it’s frantic, messy, and desperate. charged with emotion and the tension that had been building all night. all the unsaid words pouring themselves into the way your lips move against each other. his free hand finds your waist, pulling you closer. slowly, he shifts his hand to your back, fingers splaying out as he secures you, slowly guiding you down until you’re lying back on the couch, your bodies pressed together, his legs between yours. his weight settles over you, caging you in, but it feels like more than that. something you can’t quite place. your fingers leave his hair, trailing down to his chest, your breath stuttering as you feel the way his muscles move beneath his tank top, desire shooting through you. his tongue prods at your bottom lip, asking for more, your mouth opening instinctively to let him in. your breath catches as his tongue brushes against yours. it’s a foreign feeling, and you don’t know what to do. your inexperience is painfully obvious, insecurity filling you. but heeseung doesn’t rush you. his hand on your jaw tilts your head slightly, coaxing you to follow his movements. his kisses are slower now, letting you adjust. it’s messy and uncertain, but he exhales against your lips, hot and heavy, and you realize that he doesn’t care. your inexperience doesn’t matter to him. he wants this. you want this. you let yourself relax, your lips moving more confidently against his. something inside you clicks, your resolve shattering as your mind is clouded with the desire. the want for more. more of his lips, his touch, everything. your body feels like it’s on fire, need spreading throughout you. you pull back, gasping for air, both of your chests rising and falling as you catch your breath. your mind is hazy from the intensity of the kiss, of the feelings swirling through you. heeseung’s gaze softens slightly, like he’s about to say something, but before he can speak, you interrupt him. your voice is shaky, but firm. “i want more.” he stares at you for a second, processing your words. then, his eyes darken, and it’s like you can feel the shift in the room. a deep, guttural groan leaves his lips, and before you can process it, his lips are back on yours. his kisses are deeper, more urgent, desperate, like you just shattered his last ounce of restraint he had. you feel dizzy, his kisses intoxicating. his touch grows more fervent, one tangling in your hair to tilt your head. you sigh against his lips, everything feeling like too much and not enough at the same time as your hands grip his biceps, grounding yourself to something. his tongue slides against yours in a way that makes your head spin, the intensity of his kisses sending your mind reeling.

and then he shifts. just slightly, but his hips press against yours. it’s subtle, unintentional, but it sends a shock through your body, a familiar spark burning in your core. you gasp against his lips, your fingers tightening around his biceps as the pleasure spreads. he notices. fuck, of course he notices. hears the small, shaky sound that leaves you. he pulls back just slightly, his breath warm against your lips. his voice is low, dripping with amusement. “that feel good, princess?” you tighten around nothing, your thighs attempting to close, squeeze together, ease some of the tension you’re feeling. but you can’t, not with heeseung in between your legs. his lips curve into a smirk, picking up on every detail about your body. he presses his lips against yours again. rolling his hips again, this time deliberately. your breath stutters. the feeling is overwhelming, too much with all the emotions you’re already feeling, but you want it. your fingers dig into his biceps, using your grip as an anchor for your sanity, but he doesn’t stop. his lips trail along your jaw, down your neck, his voice tickling your skin. “you like that, don’t you?” you can’t answer, can barely breathe. you try to speak, but he rolls his hips just right, pressing right against your clit, and a whimper slips past your lips. he hears it. loves it. but when you don’t answer, he slows his hips, the loss of friction making your fingers tighten. you go to protest, but he speaks before you. “c’mon princess”, he murmurs, hand sliding down to grip your waist. “i asked you a question.” he shifts slightly- just enough for you to feel it. but it’s not enough. your core clenches at the fleeting pressure. “don’t get all shy on me now,” he hums, angling your hips just right before rolling his agan. slower, more controlled. your nails dig into his arms, head tipping back slightly. it’s not enough. and he knows. he’s waiting. waiting for you to break. and finally, you do. you gasp, voice breathless and desperate as it leaves your lips. “yes.” he huffs out a laugh against your ear, a shiver running down your spine. “that’s my girl.” his lips crash against yours, grinding against you harder, pulling gasps and whimpers from you. “fuck,” he exhales, forehead resting against yours. his breath is ragged, fingers tightening on your waist, like he’s trying to hold back. but you need more. your hips push up, chasing the dizzying pleasure. his grip tightens, his hips rocking harder, faster. “shit- princess…” he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck. then you feel it. the solid press of him through his sweats. fuck, he’s huge. your stomach clenches, an involuntary moan leaving you. he’s hard, because of you. he’s enjoying this. you shift again, your underwear sticking uncomfortably to yourself, voice shaky and broken. “heeseung-“ his hand slides beneath your shirt, fingers splaying across your waist. his lips hover against yours, voice quiet, strained. “i’ve got you.”

it's too much. every roll of his hips, every kiss, every touch. your head rolls back, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure rushes through you. you can feel the knot in your stomach tightening, so close to tipping over the edge. heeseung watches, his breath hitching. his eyes are dark, lidded, filled with lust. his hands tighten on your waist, hips pressing harder. “you close, princess?” you nod, your hips trying to push up against him, but he holds you down, forcing you to take it. a groan leaves his lips, his voice strained as he grits his teeth. “fuck… you’re gonna make me blow a load in my pants.” his words make you shiver, barely processing words at this point. and then his hips move just right- and you break. your entire body tenses, your back arching off the couch as a broken cry leaves you, white-hot pleasure crashing over you. heeseung’s brows are furrowed, his jaw slack, watching as you tremble beneath him. and that’s all it takes for him. his fingers grip your waist tighter, his hips stuttering against yours as a choked gasp spills past his lips. “ah, fuck-“ he groans out, finally finishing in his pants. his body shakes against yours, the feeling only heightening your pleasure. it’s silent for a bit, the only sounds being the movie playing quietly in the background and your heaving breaths. you can still feel the aftershocks, your mind foggy, having felt as if it's flown somewhere far away. and then, a quiet, breathless laugh leaves heeseung’s lips. “damn, princess.” your lips part, but nothing but a soft exhale leaves your lips. your heartbeat is pounding in your ears, everything feeling too heavy. heeseung’s expression shifts, his amusement turning into something softer, his fingers brushing against your cheek. his touch sends a shiver down your spine, still hypersensitive. “you good?” your eyes finally flutter open, blinking softly. you manage a small nod, slowly coming back to reality. a small laugh leaves his lips, but his tone remains soft. “you sure? you look like you’re on another planet.” you nod again, and then reality sinks in. you just came in your pants because of lee heeseung. you basically had indirect sex with lee heeseung. your eyes widen slightly, a hand covering your eyes as you groan quietly. “i can’t believe we just did that.” he leans down just slightly, his lips brushing against yours ever so softly. “believe it, baby.” you let out an exasperated laugh, rolling your eyes as you shove at his chest. “literally shut up.” he only laughs, pushing himself so he’s hovering above you. he just watches you for a moment, silence enveloping you as you both process everything. and then. “not gonna lie, i’ve never came in my pants before.” your eyes widen, just looking at him. “oh.” you blink, averting your gaze. but then, something clicks. you did that. you were a first for him, too. it causes something proud to bloom in your chest, holding back a smile. “why do you-“ heeseung squints at you, an amused scoff leaving his lips. “are you proud of yourself right now?” you avert your gaze, poorly biting back a smile. “no.” “oh my god,” he groans, his head dropping to rest against your chest. “you so are.” you giggle, trying to ignore how his touch affects you. “i mean, i think that’s kinda an accomplishment. don’t you?” he lifts his head, an amused expression on his face. he laughs softly, shaking his head. “you’re unreal.” “i guess you’re rubbing off on me,” you shrug, pushing some hair out of his face. due to his positioning, though, it falls back right away.

“and, uh…” you hand runs down his face, fingers grazing down his chest as your eyes remain on his. “i’ve never done that with anyone before.” he lets out a quiet curse, and you can feel his muscles tensing under your fingers. he finally snaps out of it, glancing down at where you’re still connected. “this is just uncomfortable now.” you shift your hips, trying to ease some of the uncomfortable stickiness. it backfires, heeseung’s hand gripping your hip as he sucks a breath in through his teeth. “don’t move.” it sends a jolt of electricity through you, your lips parting slightly. fuck, this was such new territory for you. before you can speak, heseung is pushing himself off of you, standing up with a groan. “i’m gonna go get us some pants.” you push yourself up on your elbows, your stomach doing a little flip. the word leaves your lips before you can think about it. “us?” he tilts his head, a soft smile on his lips. “yes, us. i’m not letting you sleep over in ruined pants.” sleep over. you’re sleeping over. you’re spending the night at a guys dorm- heeseung’s dorm. “don’t look so surprised, princess. i’m not letting you walk home this late,” he speaks again, watching your surprised expression. and when he reaches out his hand, pulling you up to your feet, you let him. you let him get you a change of pants. you let him pull you closer in bed. you let yourself fall asleep in lee heeseung’s arms, even though your heart is beating out of your chest the whole time.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

it’s been two weeks. two weeks of this… thing with heeseung. and you’re happy. you’ve never felt this way about anyone before. you’re not dating. neither of you would call it that. no one has. not yunjin, not wonyoung, not his friends- but they all have that look in their eyes when they see you together. they know. because you’re together. kind of. you go to his games occasionally, dragging either yunjin or wonyoung along. because he asked you to come. he wanted you to be there.he’s on time for study sessions, even picking you up from your dorm sometimes. half the time is spent actually getting work done, and the other half is spent talking about everything and nothing at the same time. you go out together now. you take heeseung with you to your favorite café after class. you remember the first time you walked in with him after everything. a few of the workers just stared at you. you always came in alone, but here you were with lee heeseung, standing so close to each other, whispering like your words were only meant for you two. he takes you to a lookout about a twenty-minute drive from campus. it’s always quiet, peaceful. nothing’s said, but everything is understood. he always takes you late at night, the lights far away creating one of the most beautiful nights. the city feels so close, but so far away. just like everything feels with him. and then there’s the other moments. the ones that make you question whatever this is. when he brings your favorite drink to class- because he knows it now. when he watches the shows you recommended, listens to the music you play. when he always makes sure you get home safe, walking you all the way to your door before sending you off. when you catch him looking at you, his eyes softer, something that you can’t quite place. when he can always tell when you’re cold, not even saying anything before he drapes his sweater over your shoulders, going back to whatever he was doing like it was no big deal.it's not obvious you’re together, but it’s obvious that there’s something there. and that’s enough. you’re happy. you’re happy. right? the walk to your dorm is quiet. it’s not awkward- it’s never awkward. it’s just quiet. filled with words that neither of you want to say, caught in your swirling minds. the night is cold, but you can’t feel it. not with heeseung’s hoodie enveloping you, sheltering you from the nipping night air. his shoulder continues to brush against yours, the proximity making you feel safe. but something feels different tonight. the whole day, something felt off. like all the unspoken words were going to come to fruition. he had acted different tonight. softer. closer.

tonight, he had pulled the hood of your (his) hoodie up when the wind picked up, his fingers lingering for just a second too long. his fingers brushed against yours while you walked together, and for a second, you thought he was going to intertwine your fingers. tonight, he had just watched you when you were speaking. really watched you. like he was memorizing every detail of your face. and now, you’re here at your dorm. and you don’t want to go inside. you don’t want the night to end. you shift your weight from one foot to the other, looking up at heeseung as he stands in front of you. “thanks for walking me back,” you mumble, shoving your hands in the pocket of his hoodie. heeseung nods, his lips parting. your eyes light up the slightest bit. it looks like he’s going to do something, say something. finally, finally cross that line. maybe a kiss. not a kiss filled with tension, or a makeout session. a kiss just because. a soft, fleeting goodnight kiss. but then, he just exhales through his nose, his lips curling into a soft smile. his hands lift, your heart speeding up. it’s happening. and then, he tugs your hood down. his touch is so soft, it’s comforting. he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, your breath hitching at the action. his eyes flicker over your face, filled with unsaid words, and you can almost see the way he’s fighting his thoughts.his voice is so quiet when he speaks, filled with something you can’t place. “goodnight, princess.” you swallow, something akin to disappointment filling you. but you brush it off, simply nodding as you take a step back. “goodnight, heeseung.”his lips part again, but he closes them quickly, simply returning the nod. you try not to let your emotions show, just turning around and entering your dorm, the ghost of whatever moment should’ve just happened disappearing into the air. the door clicks shut behind you, and now it’s just you. alone. it’s quiet. too quiet. you’re half-expecting yunjin’s voice to fill the room, teasing you, asking you to spill all the details- but it doesn’t. she’s spending the night at beomgyu’s. it’s become routine for her. part of you wishes that was routine for you and heeseung as well. you sigh, running a hand through your hair before finally making your way to your bed, sliding under the covers. heeseung’s hoodie smells like him. that somehow makes everything worse. everything should be fine. this shouldn’t be a big deal. but you can’t stop thinking about it. the way he looked at you tonight- hell, the way he’s been looking at you every day lately. how close he got tonight, how his touch lingered. and the look in his eyes. like there was so much he wanted to say. but he didn’t. he never does. you stare at the ceiling, unsure of whether your feelings are valid or not. this isn’t how you expected your first romance to go. not that this is even a romance. or a relationship. or a situationship. whatever it is. you always thought love would be easier to understand, to navigate. that you would see someone, and everything would just click. you wouldn’t have to wonder, you wouldn’t be anxious. love at first sight, they call it. maybe you read too many books, watched too many movies. maybe you just had an unrealistic expectation of love. you push the doubt away, along with the lingering thoughts of confusion. they’re not fair. not to heeseung, and definitely not to you. you’re happy. or, you’re supposed to be happy. so why does it feel like you’re waiting for something that’s never going to come? something just out of reach, like a mirage? no matter how close you get, it continues to get further away.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

the sun is out, trees rustling slightly with the breeze. you and wonyoung walk side by side, her rambling about how some guy in her economics class- anton- keeps trying to flirt with her. it’s funny. sometimes you wonder if wonyoung truly understands how beautiful she is. you can’t blame the guy. “girl, i don’t know why you’re surprised,” you roll your eyes, a small laugh leaving your lips, “you’re stunning.” she smiles, her mouth opening as she goes to respond, but the words die on her lips as both your ears pick up on the conversation happening next to you. “heeseung? oh yeah, he said they were just messing around.” something said in passing by a guy talking to his friend. something not meant for your ears, but you heard it. and it hurt. made your stomach twist, a disgusting feeling settling in your gut. there was a party yesterday. heeseung went. he told you he was going. your mind swirled with endless possibilities. did something happen there? was something said? why are other people talking about you? you don’t react- at least, not outwardly. but the words feel like a punch to your gut. a bucket of ice water being poured over your head. wonyoung hears it, too. you know she did. you watch as she turns to you, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. “heeseung?” she asks, tilting her head slightly. “did something happen?” it only makes the ugly feeling inside you worse. you shake your head, trying to keep your voice as normal as possible. “no. but rumors are just rumors. besides, he’s really popular. people are bound to talk.” you try to convince yourself you mean what you’re saying out loud. like everything’s fine. like it doesn’t hurt. she hesitates a bit, studying your face. she opens her mouth, but ultimately nods along to your words slowly, letting it go. she continues to talk, the conversation between you two easily flowing again. you reply, trying to seem invested. trying to stop the uneasiness forming inside you more and more by the second. but it’s hard. you know heeseung. you know his reputation.

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the café was busy this time of day. conversation and the sound of drinks being made filled the small building, the smell of coffee heavy in the air. you’re sat at your favorite seat in the corner, heeseung sitting across from you. the conversation was flowing easily, the two of you talking about anything that came to your minds. you didn’t mention what you heard earlier, even though the doubts burned in the back of your mind. as much as you tried to push the thoughts away, they stayed. taunting you. the bell jingles, alerting that a new customer is walking in. you turn your head, your stomach dropping the second your eyes land on her. sieun. she makes direct eye contact with you, a slow smirk forming on her face as she walks over. your guard goes up immediately, heeseung having yet to notice her. you knew about their history. everyone did. an on-and-off fling that lasted for months. they ended things for good just a couple months ago, right before you met heeseung. “well,” she says, her voice dripping with false sweetness, a fake smile on her lips as she places her hands on the table. “you move on quick, don’t you? i’ve heard a lot about you two.” your body feels like it goes cold. you glance at heeseung, waiting for him to do something. say anything. but he doesn’t. his smile falters, his eyes flickering towards her. you watch as he rubs the back of his neck, simply shaking his head before turning back to his cup. it sends a chill through you, that same ugly feeling forming in the pit of your stomach. sieun doesn’t even acknowledge you. her eyes stay trained on heeseung, her smile darkening, lips curling into something sadistic. “don’t have anything to say? i heard you were just messing around with this one,” she continues. she can’t even use your name. ‘this one’ stings like a burning rod being pressed to your skin. but her words stick out the most. messing around. the same words you hear earlier. the same words that had been swirling in your head this whole day, making anxiety pound through you. it felt like every fear you had was being confirmed. every rumor, coming to fruition. you watch heeseung, your eyes pleading with him to say something. to say she’s wrong, that there is something between you two. that she heard wrong, and things are different this time. anything to make this right. but instead, he just shakes his head again a small, breathless laugh leaves his lips like he can’t believe this is happening. it makes your stomach twist, frustration bubbling up inside you. the man who always had something to say was now sitting wordlessly in front of you, avoiding eye contact with the both of you.

sieun finally turns to look at you, her smile turning sympathetic, taunting. “you’re cute,” she muses, fake sadness dripping from her voice. “i hope you’re not expecting anything serious.” it hurts. it feels like a stab wound to the heart, pain rushing through your whole body. your mouth opens and closes, but no words leave you. your gaze flickers back too heeseung, waiting for something, anything. that something never comes. sieun simply laughs under her breath and shakes her head, leaving as quickly as she came. leaving you two surrounded by a crushing silence. your hands curl into fists underneath the table, frustration turning to anger and hurt as you stare at the tabletop. heeseung still hasn’t said anything. he sits there, silent, and you can feel his gaze on you. it hurts too much. your heart feels like it’s shattering more by the second, and you can’t take it anymore. you’re pushing yourself up from your seat before you can think twice about it, grabbing your bag, and walking. you don’t look back. you don’t listen to his voice, or the stares from others as you make a beeline for the door. it swings open, the cold outside air whipping around you immediately, only adding to the storm of emotions in your head. you can’t think straight, every thought in your mind jumbled. you don’t hear him behind you, not until you feel the faintest pull on your wrist do you stop, your breath catching in your throat. you hear his breath, ragged, quick. and finally, after everything, he speaks. “y/n,” he says softly, cautiously, almost hesitant. his grip tightens just slightly, tugging just slightly more. “you could’ve said something,” you mumble, the words barely escaping your lips. “anything. and you didn’t.” there’s a pause. silence. deafening silence. and suddenly, it’s like the rose-tinted glasses were ripped off, leaving you standing with the reality of your actions. tears brim your eyes as everything hits you all at once. you fell for the playboy. you were stupid enough to just be another one of his girls. your throat tightens, and the words spill out before you can stop them. “i gave you so much,” you choke out, your voice trembling as you turn around to face him. “i- i actually trusted you. i had hope.” his expression falters just slightly, his grip loosening, just barely, but you notice it. his mouth opens, but you cut him off before he can speak, all the frustrated feelings you’ve bottled up leaving you. “you knew how new this was for me,” you continue, your voice rising. you ignore the stares of other students, or the tears that begin to spill from your eyes. “how new all of this is. why would you- why would you take that from me? i don’t know what i’m doing half the time we’re together, but i still try. and you- you just… you don’t try! you give me nothing in return!”

a bitter laugh leaves your lips, full of disbelief. your free hand comes up to rest on your forehead, trying to ground yourself somehow. but it’s no use. your tears keep falling, anger and heartbreak mixing to form the worst rush of emotions you’ve ever had. “you don’t even kiss me goodnight, heeseung,” you mumble, your voice breaking as more tears spill from your eyes, blurring your vision. “you can’t even do that. the only time we kiss is when you want to fucking make out.” his eyes widen slightly, and you can see the way guilt floods his features. but you can’t stop. it’s like you’re running on autopilot at this point. you laugh again, the sound borderline hysterical. your body is shaking with a mix of your cries and the emotion running through you, the adrenaline, the heartbreak. “you can’t even call me by my actual name,” you whisper, the words tasting bitter as they leave your mouth. part of you can’t believe you’re saying these things out loud. “just ‘princess’. always just princess.” the laugh in your throat dies, simply replaced by silence aside from your sniffles. his face- the guilt on his face- burns into you the more you look at him, your heart shattering at the sight. but whatever this is hurts more. you can’t take it anymore. can’t keep sacrificing your happiness, and having doubts about if lingering touches are true or not. “you don’t know how much that hurts,” you whisper, the anger you felt finally fading into nothing but heartbreak and hurt. “to give you everything, and only feel like a game. you know, i used to dream about my first kiss. every first i could ever have. and you- you took so many of them from me.” you finally stop speaking, letting the words sink in for the both of you. it’s quiet, tears slipping down your cheeks, but your face is blank. and heeseung stands there, motionless. confusion and guilt filling his expression, but you can’t wait around for a baseless apology. so you don’t. you pull your wrist from his grip, and he doesn’t hold you back. he doesn’t say anything. he just watches. and that somehow hurts more than hearing him say anything. you shut your eyes, biting your bottom lip to contain a sob as you turn on your heel, walking away. through your blurry vision, you don’t look back, keeping your vision forward as you walk away so fast it’s borderline running, your heart shattering more with every shaky step.

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your footsteps were heavy, dragging. the walk back to your dorm had been torturous, dried tears on your face, little sniffles escaping you as you ignored the stares of other students. you could acknowledge that you probably looked like shit. the door clicked quietly as you shut it behind you, locking you in silence. the familiar space that always provided comfort, seemed to do absolutely nothing for you now. your bag slid off your shoulder, falling to the floor with a quiet thud, but you didn’t even hear it. you felt numb, everything far away. but here, in the silence, it felt like everything replayed. every word, every emotion, him. your chest tightened, tears brimming in your eyes once again. they started to fall, soft at first, but they soon became uncontrollable. you tried to hold them back, to calm yourself down, but it was no use. your back hit the door, your legs giving out as you slid down, hitting the floor. you tried desperately to catch your breath, your sobs wracking through you as your hands gripped at your chest, trying to grasp at any sense of control over the situation. nothing was working. everything hurt. you were left feeling stupid and gullible. just another one of lee heeseung’s girls. and then, you saw it. on your desk chair, his hoodie was draped over the back. the sight sending a new wave of emotions through you. it was like you could feel it from where you sat on the floor, smell the familiar scent of him the hoodie carried. and it was all too much. a sob broke from your chest, loud, audible, everything crashing down at once. your chest burned. your head hurt. everything felt wrong. you were trying to pull yourself together, but it only got worse. the reality of everything kept tumbling down on you, forcing you to replay the memories of the day over and over. finally, you heard a door open, your eyes flickering over to the bathroom door only to see wonyoung and yunjin rushing to your side. their expressions filled with concern and confusion. it only made everything hurt more. your sobs were bordering being painful, your body shaking with each and every heaving breath you sucked in. wonyoung was next to you first, wrapping her arms around you as you continued to cry. you couldn't do anything, your hands shaking in your lap as the tears flowed freely. “what’d he do?” she asked bluntly, remembering the conversation from earlier. her hands rubbed your head, trying to calm you down as best she could. “what happened?” your lip trembled as you tried to get words out, but all that left was a strangled sob, your eyes clenching shut. your hands came up to your face, as if you were attempting to block out the pain. but nothing worked. you felt the ache deep inside you, burning, stinging. “what do you mean ‘what’d he do’?” you heard yunjin ask, her hand rubbing your knee comfortingly. you couldn’t reply, couldn’t even get a single word out. but you heard wonyoung filling her in on the conversation you overheard earlier, only adding to the pain you felt. you tried to speak, tried to fill them in on what had just happened, but it felt like the words were stuck in your throat, like bile threatening to come up. all that left you was gasps for air. and then, you sucked in a breath, and it all spilled out.

“she…  sieun came up to us. said.. he moved on quickly. that i was a game.” you choked out between sobs, shutting your eyes to ground yourself. “he didn’t- he didn’t say anything. nothing. he was just silent.” “so… fuck. i left.” your chest heaved, squeezing your eyes shut as you spoke the words that felt too real. “he tried to stop me- but i told him everything. everything i’ve been feeling… ands he still didn’t say a single fucking word.” it felt like saying them out loud meant that it actually happened. that it was real. that you didn’t imagine it, it wasn’t a bad dream. wonyoung’s arms tightened around you, pulling your head against her chest as you continued to sob, everything feeling too real. you had never felt this before. this all consuming pain that enveloped your whole body. a pain you couldn’t pinpoint, not a physical pain, but an emotional pain. resting somewhere deep inside you. yunjin’s eyes softened, her hands continuing to rub soft circles on your knee as you shook. “you deserve so much better than that asshole, y/n.” you swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. “i don’t know what i was expecting, but i-“ you choked on your words, closing your eyes before continuing. “i thought it was real.” wonyoung rubbed your arm with the hand she had wrapped around you, the touch grounding you, comforting you. “don’t say that,” she whispered, her lips brushing against the top of your head, “this isn’t your fault.” you shook your head, finally lifting it as you wiped your tears, a bitter, disbelieving laugh slipping past your lips. “but it is,” you mumble, your voice shaky, “i let him in. i knew what i was getting into. lee heeseung, campus playboy. and i’m so, so fucking stupid for falling.” the two girls stared at you, pity etched across their faces as they watched you break down on the floor, the happiness you had been feeling being ripped away from you all too soon, leaving you empty and heartbroken.

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the world kept moving. the days stretched on, long and unbearable. it felt like each one bled into the other. it was strange. how time could feel so, so agonizingly slow. it had only been a few days, but it felt like weeks. but a part of you felt like you were still there. standing, waiting, begging for anything, and getting nothing but silence in return. you went to class because you had to. because you couldn’t let your grades slip. you sat in your usual seat with your notebook open, but the words blurred together. you busied yourself by doodling on your paper, words entering one ear and leaving the other. you couldn’t focus on anything, when your mind would drift back to him. every time someone leaned back in their chair, or tapped their pen on their notebook, you felt like you could see him. it made something in your stomach twist violently. you couldn’t tell if it was nausea or longing. but you knew it hurt. “y/n?” you blinked, snapping back to reality at the sound of your name. you looked up, only to be met with the eyes of your professor, staring at you expectantly. fuck. you swallow, gripping your pen just a bit tighter. “uh…” your eyes scanned the board for something, anything, but nothing made sense. you had no idea what was being discussed, or what question had been asked. you felt embarrassment flood you, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth as you sighed. “i’m sorry, i wasn’t paying attention. it’s been a long day.”your professor shook her head, eyes full of disappointment. “you need to pay attention, you’re usually better than this.” it hurt. her look of disappointment, her words. if only she knew how you felt right now, the thoughts running through your head. but you only nodded, sinking in your seat as she moved on, another student raising their hand enthusiastically to answer the one you head clearly missed. you forced yourself to sit through the rest of the lecture, trying to pay attention as best as you could. it didn’t work. eventually, you went back to doodling, your mind running wild with thoughts of regret again.

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eventually, yunjin and wonyoung forced you to go out. they thought it might help, and you believed them. maybe you just needed a night out, surrounded by people. that was bound to get your mind off of everything. so, you did your hair, your makeup, put on an outfit you felt good in. forced yourself to smile, taking a deep breath as you told yourself over and over that this would help. it was a good idea. but the second you stepped inside the bustling restaurant, laughter and voices echoing around you, you realized just how wrong you were. he was everywhere. in the boy at the next table, who wore his hoodie half zipped, his elbows rested on the table as he talked to his friends. in the smell of the cup of coffee a waiter walked by you, your mind drifting back to the café that had become your go-to. you haven’t gone since. in the laugh from someone a few tables down- a different voice, a different person, but it still made your stomach twist. the worst part was the basketball game playing on the tv mounted above the bar. you couldn’t help the way your eyes kept drifting to it, scanning the screen over and over again like you would see him. it wasn’t even your schools team, but you couldn’t stop. it just reminded you of him. the way he moved, controlling the court, making everyone root for him. you remembered the way his eyes would look for yours in the crowd after he scored a point. it made your breath hitch. you weren’t sure how long you stared, hyper focused on the tv, until yunjin’s hand tapped your lightly, your eyes reluctantly pulling away from the tv and back to hers. “you alright? you haven’t said much,” she murmured, beat voice soft, cautious. you shook your head, forcing a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “i’m fine,” you lied, forcing yourself to engage in the conversation that was happening. neither of them look convinced. and your eyes kept flickering back to the tv.

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you barely ate. you weren’t even doing it on purpose- didn’t realize how long you would go without eating. you just had no appetite, no desire to fuel your body. you would go the whole day, not even realizing you hadn’t eaten until it was 9pm and yunjin was shoving a cup of ramen in your face with a firm “eat.” it reminded you of how much he loved ramen. the thought only made you want to eat it less, your stomach churning at the thought. sleep wasn’t much better. nights were the absolute worst. at least during the day, you could fake it. pretend you were fine, put on a fake smile and laugh at unfunny jokes people made. busy yourself with small talk, classwork, and meaningless conversations to pull your mind away from the storm inside you, even if only for a bit. but at night, there was nothing to distract you. you had yunjin, of course, but you were tired of dragging her into your heartbreak fueled rants and crying sessions. so it was just you lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, yunjin’s soft breaths the only noise filling the room. you felt like you were drowning in your emotions. the loss. the regret. the ache in your chest that hadn’t gone away since that day. it was like you could feel it physically. like a weight pressing down on you, constantly following you around throughout the whole day, but it was the worst at night. you were tired. all you wanted to do was sleep. but you couldn’t. your mind was running at a million miles a minute, everything coming back to you. when you finally fell asleep, it wasn’t any better. in your dreams, you were back there- standing in front of him with a broken heart and crushed dreams. you always woke up before he could answer. and you felt stupid. because this is exactly what you had been afraid of. this is why you had been so hesitant. because you knew how it would end- you knew what he was like. and still, you let yourself fall. you didn’t even try to catch yourself, willingly stepping off the edge and enjoying the freefall until you hit the ground. hard. this was why you had stuck to romance novels for so long. why you had lived vicariously through kat stratford, rose bukater, lara jean covey… the list could go on and on. because, as much as you longed to experience romance, you were scared. scared that real life wouldn’t be like the book and movies. it wouldn’t be like the songs, or the cheesy love-at-first-sight stories old couples would tell you. and it wasn’t. it was painful, and things weren’t always destined to work out. even your playlists had shifted. whereas a week ago, your most played song was ‘bewitched’ by laufey, a lovesick smile on your face as you laid in bed, singing along to the lyrics, you found yourself repeating ‘right where you left me’ by taylor swift lately. you felt like the song described your situation too perfectly. you couldn’t decide if that was better or worse for coping. eventually you settled on the latter, because you would cry every time it came on, your breath hitching the second you heard the ‘friends break up, friends get married.” you just wanted everything to go back to normal. you wanted to go back to the day you met heeseung, walking to a different seat instead of sitting down next to him. you wanted to beg the professor to assign you with someone else. you wanted to never step foot in that fateful party that changed everything.

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it’s quiet aside from the video playing from your phone. you’re curled up in bed, a bowl of pretzels in your lap as you watch a video essay on youtube about fourth wall breaks. you had nothing else to do. yunjin was spending the night at beomgyu’s. again. wonyoung had to study for an exam coming up. you were left alone, your phone being your only entertainment. sure, you could’ve gone out. but it’s 11pm. you just needed something to keep your mind occupied. it usually doesn’t work. but tonight, things are different. you’re happier tonight. things are easier. your mind doesn’t keep drifting back to him. you stretch, rolling your neck as the voice talks about deadpool’s fourth wall breaks. it’s weirdly interesting. you forgot how entertaining youtube essays could be. the peace is shattered by a knock on your door. the sound is sharp and unexpected, making you jump slightly as you look towards the door. you freeze for a second, before checking the time on your phone. 11:15pm. who would be here this late? part of you thinks yunjin came back. but she has a key, so why wouldn’t she just unlock the door? you stand, slowly walking towards the door, yawning slightly as you near it. maybe it’s wonyoung. she could’ve finished studying and wanted to hang out. but when you finally pull open the door, your breath catches in your throat. there, standing on the other side, is heeseung. you feel your stomach churn. he looks different. there’s bags under his eyes, and his hair is messy, like he’s been running his hands through it. there’s a look in his eyes that you can quite place, something you’re grown accustomed to. you can never truly tell what he’s thinking. you stare at him, but you can’t get any words out. his eyes are staring back into yours, and it feels like time stops. you’re frozen, unable to move. he’s here. standing in front of you. you finally find your voice, forcing the words to leave your parted lips. “what are you doing here?” your tone is sharper than intended, and part of you wishes you could take them back. but it’s too late. they’re out there. heeseung stands still, his body tense. his eyes flicker around, like he’s lost deep in thought. it’s overwhelming. he hasn’t even said anything and you feel like he’s already said too much. you take a deep breath, your hand on the door as you get ready to close it. but heeseung’s fast. he reaches out, his fingers splaying across the door and halting your movements. “wait. wait,” he pleads, his voice quiet, breathy. “just let me explain, please. just- just let me in. i need to, fuck… i need to say something.” you hesitate, your eyes searching his. your mind is telling you to shut the door in his face, crawl back in bed, and pretend this conversation never happened. but you don’t. you can’t. something about his expression, the way he’s standing there, eyes pleading with you to listen for once- it stops you. so you open the door wider, letting him step inside. your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest, averting your gaze from his as you step to the side. he steps inside, and it’s like you can feel the shift in the room. you shut the door behind him, turning around to face him, and it’s like something cracks within him. he doesn’t wait a second longer. he just starts talking, words spilling out of him like a dam, like he’s been holding them back for some time. “i don’t- i don’t do relationships. i don’t know how to do them. i don’t know how to feel this way. wasn’t supposed to feel this way,” he pauses for a moment, running a shaky hand through his hair. “i was fine before you. but now, everything has changed. i’m so fucking confused.” you stand there, frozen, your stomach twisting at his words. it feels like you’ve been hit by a truck. you don’t know what to do, what to say, how to react. his voice rises slightly, and for the first time, you see his true feelings. “you- fuck, you ruined me.”

his words are softer than you expect. they lack the usual teasing. they’re not sharp or mocking. they’re just a quiet emission of something he’s been dealing with, something he doesn’t know how to navigate. the pure emotion in his voice cuts through like a knife, hitting somewhere deep inside where all the sadness had piled up inside you. “you make me want things i don’t even know how to want,” he continues, his voice quiet now, barely above a whisper. “i tried to deny it. i tried to push every feeling i had away. i couldn’t admit it to myself- i was scared.” he stops talking, sucking in a breath as he stares at you. his eyes search yours, like he’s trying to gauge your emotions. you’re not sure. you don’t even know what you’re feeling right now. you’re finally able to force a word out, your voice shaky and quiet, like you’re not even sure you want him to hear. “heeseung…” but he doesn’t respond. he just stands there, his chest rising and falling with every shaky breath he takes. his eyes stay locked on yours, and his mouth parts like he’s going to say something, start speaking again. but instead, he runs a hand through his hair, letting out an incredulous laugh. it’s not a happy laugh. it’s disbelieving, tinged with frustration and sadness, like he can’t even comprehend the fact that he’s in this position right now, pouring his heart out to someone he hurt. “fuck,” he mutters, shaking his head, his voice wavering. “i can’t even focus at practice. coach keeps yelling at me, reprimanding me, but-“ he pauses, his eyes landing on yours again. “i can’t stop thinking about you. it’s screwing me up.” you blink, the weight of his admission sinking in, making your eyes sting and a lump form in your throat. his voice is so raw, his words hitting you like a punch to the gut every time. his hand is shaky as he runs it over his face, shaking his head like he’s fighting something inside himself. “i don’t know what’s happening to me,” he continues, his voice breathy and laced with emotion. “i can’t stop wanting you. i don’t know what to do with that. i’ve never felt this for someone before.” he steps forward slightly, and you can feel yourself tense up. there’s an intensity in his eyes, raw and unfiltered. like he’s determined. it’s the most honest you’ve ever seen him be, the first time you’ve been able to tell what he’s feeling by looking at him. it almost knocks the breath out of you. “i want… i want you to be mine, y/n,” he confesses, his voice full of sincerity. “i want to hold your hand, not just have our fingers brush. i want to kiss you, for no reason at all, but because i can’t help it. i want you to be able to tell people i’m yours. i just, i want to be close to you all the time. i’ve never experienced this before, and it scares the hell out of me. but losing you is worse. i can’t keep pushing my feelings- and you- away when you’re all that i think about.” you freeze, your breath hitching as his words sink in more and more. he wants you. he wants this. your heart is racing, and your breathing picks up just a bit. heeseung takes another step closer, his voice barely above a whisper now as if he’s scared to say the words out loud. “i’m so fucking scared, y/n. this is all new to me. i don’t know how to do this. but i want to make this right. i want to be able to tell you what i’m feeling and what i want, just- please, don’t walk away again.”

the desperation in his voice tears at you, and before you can stop yourself, your vision blurs. the pressure in your chest builds, and a shaky breath leaves you as you feel the dam break. tears spill from your eyes, hot and fast, all the emotions you’ve been bottling up crashing down from the weight of his words. heeseung’s eyes widen the second he sees your face shift, and in an instant, he’s there. his hands gently cup your face, his thumb softly wiping away every tear that falls. your breath hitches at his touch, a quiet sob leaving your lips. “hey, hey, look at me,” he says softly, his hands guiding your face up carefully, like he’s afraid you might break. “i didn’t mean to- fuck. don’t cry, baby.” you can’t stop it. the tears are falling down faster that you can hold them back. heeseung’s thumbs continue to brush against your cheeks, trying to calm down the rush of emotions you’re experiencing. but it’s too much- the words, the emotions, the tenderness. it’s all so new, so different from what you’ve been experiencing these past few days. your chest tightens, a mix of pain and relief swirling inside you, and before you can stop yourself, you press your head against his chest, your fingers gripping tightly onto his hoodie in a desperate attempt to steady yourself. heeseung tenses up at the contact, his hands still cradling your face, albeit a bit awkward in this new positioning. but he doesn’t pull away. he lets you lean against him, tears spilling from your eyes as both of you breath shakily, like you’re afraid this moment could disappear at any second. for a few seconds, neither of you moves. the room is thick with tension, and the sounds of your sniffles and his uneven breathing. then slowly, cautiously, his hands finally slip down to rest at your back, gently- his touch so light you almost don’t feel it- pulling you a bit closer to him. his movements are tentative, like he’s not sure if he even has the right to hold you, but he’s too afraid to let you go. then, slowly, you pull away. but not far. just enough so you can tilt your head up, your eyes locking with his. and for a moment, it feels like the world stops. all his emotions are laid bare- his sincerity, his longing, his fear. and every emotion he’s feeling is mirrored in your gaze. you’re both scared, but you’re no longer hiding those feelings from each other. this is something new for both of you, but you know you’re ready to navigate it together.

before you can think too much about it, or second guess your thought process, you’re leaning in, pressing your lips against his. softly, tentatively at first. it’s different from every other kiss you shared. it’s not the rushed, messy kisses born from confusion and curiosity. no. it’s different. it’s slow, tender, filled with every unspoken word, every quiet confession that’s stayed locked deep inside until now. all the feelings of longing that have finally surfaced. it’s everything you both wanted but were too scared to ask for. his lips move against yours slowly, and the gentleness of the kiss contrasts everything that came before it. the rush of emotions is still there, but it's calm now, dissipating softly like the rain slowing down after a thunderstorm. it’s just the two of you, finally letting go, spilling your emotions out. heeseung’s hand moves to the back of your neck, his touch gentle but firm, pulling you closer. you can feel the warmth of his breath against your lips, the soft press of his body against yours. it’s not like before. it’s real. and it’s yours. when he finally pulls back, there’s a moment of silence. neither of you say anything, but you don’t have to. the air is thick with meaning. there’s no need for words anymore. there’s a silent understanding between the two of you. a small, hesitant smile tugs at his lips, his hand moving from the back of your neck to cup your face. “i mean it,” he whispers softly, as though he’s trying to reassure both of you. his thumb brushes against your bottom lip, his eyes flickering to them before back up to your eyes. “i’m not going anywhere.” you nod, a shaky breath leaving your lips as your eyes search his. “i know,” you whisper back, the words a promise exchanged between the two of you. you lean back in, connecting your lips for the second time that night. the second they meet again, it’s different. the hesitation, the sadness, it all melts away, being replaced by something different. something neither of you can hold back anymore. your fingers dig deeper into the fabric of his hoodie, desperate for something to ground you in this moment. you feel heeseung’s hand move around to the back of your head again, fingers tangling slightly in your hair. you pull away, just slightly. your lips are still hovering over his, and you whisper, so quiet you’re not even sure if he heard. “heeseung…” you don’t even know what you’re asking for. you don’t know why you’re saying his name. his breath hitches, but he doesn’t pull away. you can feel the hand on your back tighten slightly, and he exhales softly, voice low. “i know.” and then he’s kissing you again, more sure this time, more determined. he guides you backward, each step slow, until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. he doesn’t rush you. he just holds you there, lips moving against yours, as if he’s waiting for you to stop him. you don’t.

he slowly eases you down on the bed, his hand on your back supporting you until your back collides with the bed. he follows you, until his body is hovering over yours. he finally pulls back, his weight braced on his forearm. his gaze flickers over your face, as if he’s memorizing every piece of you, trying to read your mind in this exact moment. it’s a look you’ve never seen in his eyes before, and it makes your stomach do flips. he raises one of his hands, his thumb brushing against your cheek. the softness of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help the way you push your head into his touch. and then, he speaks quietly, almost like a vow. “let me prove it to you.”your breath hitches. your eyes widen slightly, and you feel like you can’t move. you can’t speak. you feel like these past two weeks heeseung has spilt you open, making you feel things no one else has ever done before, and now he’s in front of you, offering to do the same. and for the first time, it feels real. heeseung doesn’t push. he just waits. because for the first time in a long time, this isn’t a game to him. it’s not about winning, or getting the girl. it’s about you. silence lingers between you, his words sinking into your mind. let me prove it to you. your heart pounds against your ribs, and part of you is sure he can hear it. his thumb continues to trace slow, soothing circles against your cheek, and the gentleness of it, the want, the need you feel pushes you. your fingers tighten in the fabric of his hoodie, exhaling a slow deep breath. you can feel the nerves pulsing through your body, but the warmth of his body above you, the emotions in his eyes, the softness of his touch, it’s enough. you tilt your chin up, pulling him down into another kiss. he reacts immediately, his lips moving against yours in slow, careful kisses. he still doesn’t rush you. his hand slips from your cheek to trail down your arm, fingertips skimming across your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. slowly, the kiss deepens, bit by bit. his tongue swipes across your bottom lip, and just like last time, you let him in. it’s still clumsy, but you let yourself relax under his touch, sighing against his lips. his hand finds your waist, his fingers tightening slightly like he’s trying to hold himself back, and slowly, his lips trail lowers. to the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the soft curve of your neck. your breath hitches. his lips are moving slowly, his kisses soft and fleeting, like he’s testing the waters, lingering, waiting for any sign that this is too much. but you don’t stop him. instead, you let your head roll back slightly against the pillow, granting him more access to your neck. his kisses grow more intense at that, sucking a piece of your skin and pulling a gasp out of you. his fingers brush under the hem of your shirt, just barely slipping beneath the fabric, his fingertips pressing slightly on your stomach. it sends a shiver down your spine, and instinctively, your body tenses. not out of fear- but because it’s new.

this isn’t like the last time this happened. it’s more full of emotion, more sure, like you’re dedicating yourself to him. like this time, you’re truly crossing a line that can never be undone. heeseung notices immediately. he stills, his lips hovering over your skin, his warm breath against your neck sending a shiver through you. he stops moving his hand up, simply opting to run slow, lazy circles on your torso with his thumb. he pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes searching your face, as if he’s trying to understand what you want. what you need.you swallow, his gaze making something churn inside you. your chest is rising and falling in quick, timid breaths, nerves rushing through you. the hesitation is there. the fear. but so is the anticipation. the want. the need to experience something new, to finally give in to what your body and heart have been desiring. so you don’t pull away. you don’t stop him. instead, you push yourself up slightly, your lips hovering against his, and you whisper, “it’s okay.” something in his gaze darkens, something unreadable passing through his expression. he holds your gaze for a second longer, like he’s giving you one last chance to change your mind. like he’s trying to make sure that you’re sure. but when you don’t- when you reach up and curl your fingers around the back of his neck, pulling his lips fully against yours- his restraint snaps.his kisses are hungry, taking more and more from you. and you love it. his hand under your shirt moves again, fingers splaying across your ribs as he holds you there, his lips moving against yours. for the first time, neither of you are trying to hold back. you arch slightly, pushing your chest into his hand, assuring him he can go further. and just like that his hand moves up more, cupping your breast over your bra and eliciting a gasp from your lips. your fingers curl in his hair, your chest rising and falling at the new sensation. heeseung can feel his restraint slipping more and more by the second. the need to be all over you, to make you feel sensations you’ve never felt before. but even through the haze, he’s careful. because this is you. and he knows this is a lot. his lips place sloppy kisses against your neck, his fingers groping and massaging your breast, ripping gasps and sighs from your lips. it’s like each kiss, each touch is a silent question, waiting, asking for permission without saying the words. and you give it to him. in the way your back arches, the way your hands tug at the strands of his hair, the gasps that leave your pretty lips as he explores places of you no one ever has before. he exhales a shaky breath against your skin, and he pauses, resting his head against your shoulder. his hand pulls at the cup of your bra, teasing you- and himself. tempting both of you with what’s about to happen. his body is tense, his breathing heavy, like he’s trying to control himself.

and then he lifts his head, his eyes dark and dazed as he looks at you. god, the way he looks at you. it makes your heart stutter, your stomach flip, it sends a rush of desire through you, your thighs attempting to close, rub together, ease any of the tension you’re feeling. but of course, like last time, you can’t. not with heeseung resting between your legs. his lips part slightly, like he wants to say something. but instead, he swallows hard, his eyes roaming across your frame. and before you can even process it, before you can allow yourself to feel self-conscious under his gaze- he moves. his finger slides out from under your shirt, and his hands curl around the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head with one smooth motion. a gasp leaves your lips, and he tosses it aside, not caring where it lands. and then he’s back on you. his lips are pressing urgent, feverish kisses across your newly exposed skin. his hands are everywhere, his lips are everywhere. he kisses you like he needs it. it leaves your head spinning, and your body feeling like it’s on fire. “heeseung-“ his name leaves your lips in a breathless plea, barely more than a whisper, feeling everything all at once. you feel him shudder against you, his lips pausing against your breast. then, slowly, his hand slips behind your back, his fingers resting on your bra clasp. it sends a shiver through you, your heart stuttering at the feeling. his voice is low, filled with lust, and he raises his head just slightly, his eyes meeting yours. “can i?” and you nod. you don’t think twice, simply pushing your back off the bed to give him easier access. and slowly, he pulls your bra off of you, leaving your top half completely exposed to him, showing him more than anyone else has ever seen. “you’re fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, before his lips are back on you, his lips immediately latching onto one of your nipples, his tongue flicking, his lips sucking lightly, sending pleasure coursing through your veins. his hand comes up to massage the other one, pulling a choked moan from your lips. the feeling is so new, so foreign, and you didn’t know it could feel this good. you can’t help the way you squirm under his touch, your head falling back as breathless sighs leave your lips. your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging hard. and heeseung groans against your skin. a low, deep sound that vibrates through you, making your stomach clench and your thighs twitch, desperate to alleviate the need growing within you. and slowly, he sits up, his eyes locked on yours. your chest rises and falls rapidly as you watch him, already missing the feeling of his mouth on you. but then. his fingers grab his hoodie, pulling it over his head.

something deep pools inside you at the sight of him. something that has you attempting to clench your thighs. your eyes take over his figure. the toned muscles, the sharp lines, his v-line, the way his sweatpants hang just a little too low on his hips. it makes your mouth water. but you don’t get to stare long. because his lips are back on you immediately. trailing over your chest before moving down slowly. his hands rub down your sides, mapping out every curve. his lips trail between your breasts, then down the center of your stomach. his kisses are slow and unhurried, making you feel dizzy. you body is so sensitive to every little thing he does. your breath catches as he gets lower, and lower, and lower- until he stops. his lips rest right above the waistband of your sweatpants, his hot breath against your skin making you shudder. he looks up at you, his eyes dark, filled with lust, and you can feel yourself clench around nothing. his fingers toy with the waistband of your sweats, simply watching you. as if he’s asking for permission without saying a word. and you give it to him. you push your hips off the bed slightly, slow and needy, your eyes full of desire as you stare at him, a shaky exhale leaving your lips. “fuck,” heeseung whispers against your skin, a shiver running through you. you feel the way his grip on your waistband tightens, his mouth so tantalizingly close to where you need him. and then his lips part, a soft breath leaving his lips as he finally speaks, his voice low and dark. “are you sure?” you nod, a soft whimper leaving your lips as you wriggle your hips, your eyes pleading with him. he only breathes a laugh against your skin, the sound quiet and breathless, his lips pressing a soft kiss against your skin, a shaky breath leaving your lips as the feeling sends a shiver down your spine. “words, baby,” he whispers out, his voice low and teasing, but there’s an edge to it that makes your stomach twist and your core clench around nothing. you don’t even know if you can speak. everything is so overwhelming in the best way possible, your eyes flickering all over his face as he just watches you with a smirk. you push your hips up again, your breath coming out desperate and breathy as you whisper. “heeseung, please.” that’s all it takes for him. he smiles, pressing another kiss to your skin before his fingers dip under your waistband, tugging your sweats and underwear down in one go. his fingers tug slowly, revealing more and more by the second. you feel more exposed, suddenly aware of how you’re now completely naked in front of heeseung. but you trust him. his eyes stay on yours the entire time, until he finally gets your pants off your legs completely, tossing them somewhere in the room. only then, does his gaze drop down, and you can see the way his eyes darken as he zeroes in on you. you go to close your legs, suddenly self aware, but he grips your thighs before you get the chance, a soft gasp leaving your lips as he looks back up at you. “keep these open for me, hm?” his thumbs rub slow, absentminded circles against your skin as he just watches you. like he’s committing the sight of you laid out bare beneath him to his memory. but it’s torturous for you.a whimper catches in your throat as your hands grip at the sheets, your hips attempting to move. “heeseung-“ he pushes your hips down, keeping you in place as he shakes his head. “you’re so needy, baby.” slowly, his fingers trail up your inner thighs, so close to where you need him, but never quite touching you, never giving you what you so desperately need. you whine, shifting your hips up, trying to feel something, but he just pushes your thighs down again. “patience,” he murmurs, the corner of his lips quirking up. “let me take my time with you.” and slowly, so slowly, he runs a finger along your slick folds, the sensation making a gasp slip from your lips. your thighs twitch, and he moves his finger up, pressing down on your clit and pulling a soft moan from you.

“oh- heeseung,” you gasp out, your eyes closing and opening again as your chest rises and falls rapidly, growing accustomed to the feeling of someone else controlling your pleasure. he hums, before moving his finger back down, finally inserting a finger inside you. a moan slips past your lips, your walls fluttering around him. “shit, baby,” he exhales, a breathy laugh leaving him as he looks up at your face before back down at your cunt. “you’re so tight.” he curls his finger, stretching you open as you gasp and whine, your hands tightening in the sheets as he pushes another finger inside your dripping cunt. you let out a shaky breath, your head rolling back against the pillow. and then his mouth is on you. a choked moan rips from your throat as his mouth sucks on your clit, the new feeling making your eyes shoot open as your hands fly from the sheets to his hair. “heeseung- fuck-“ you gasp out, your hips attempting to move, but he uses his free hand to press down on your stomach, forcing you to stay still. to take it. it’s too much too fast. you can feel the knot in your stomach tightening, every suck and press pushing you closer to the edge. your fingers tighten in his hair, and heeseung groans against you, sending a delicious vibration through you. your thighs shake as you gasp, teetering right on the edge. “heeseung,” you moan out, your voice shaky and strained, “gonna- i-“ you can barely get the words out before his lips curve into a smirk against your skin. he hums, the feeling making you squirm before he mutters, “already?” and then his mouth is back on you. his fingers are moving faster, his mouth sucking harder, his tongue working over your clit in slow circles. it's too much. your body tenses up and finally, the coil snaps. a broken moan spills from your throat as your back arches off the bed, your body trembling as you come undone. you can feel his arm press down harder, holding your bottom half still as you gasp, unable to do anything but take it. he doesn’t stop. at least, not immediately. he works you through it, his tongue lapping up every drop of your release, his fingers still moving and drawing out your pleasure. only when it’s too much, a whine slipping past your lips as your hands tug at his hair, does he stop. he pulls back, the bottom half of his face glistening with your slick, his eyes dark as he meets yours- and somehow, you want more all over again. “still with me, princess?” his voice is teasing, and he pushes himself up until he’s hovering over you. “or did i fuck you dumb already?” you can barely answer, the aftershocks of your orgasm still coursing through you. his lips hover above yours, a small smile on his lips before he presses them against yours. you can taste yourself against his lips, slightly bitter. your hips attempt to close, but he’s already settled himself between your legs, and you can feel him smirk against your lips as he grinds his hips just enough for you to feel him. it makes you gasp against his lips, desire coursing through you again. you can feel how hard he is, the outline of his cock pressing against your inner thigh through his sweats. “you want this just as much as i do, don’t you?” he mumbles against your lips, his voice a low rasp. you can only nod, your breath catching in your throat as he rolls his hips again. “think you can take me, baby?” he smirks, one of his hands sliding down your body to pull your legs open further, pressing his clothed cock right against your core and grinding down, forcing a quiet moan from you. “please,” you whine out, your eyes fluttering shut as your mouth falls open in a silent gasp. “yeah? want me inside you? stretching you out, filling you up for the first time?” he whispers against your lips, pressing his hips harder against yours as he lets out a strained breath. your breath hitches at the lewd words leaving his lips, but your cunt clenches around nothing. you finally crack, words spilling from your lips. “yes- please… want you,” you murmur, your eyes pleading with him, full of desire.

his smirk deepens, and he presses a final kiss to your lips before pushing himself up. his fingers dig into the waistband of his sweats, and in one fluid motion, he pulls them down along with his boxers. his cock slaps against his stomach, his tip angry and leaking, and your eyes widen at the sight. how the fuck was that going to fit inside you? he stroked himself a few times, huffing out a laugh at your surprised expression. “see something you like?” he asks, a teasing tone to his voice. you roll your eyes with a small smile, but you can’t hide the desire in your expression. the way your cunt clenches around nothing as your eyes flicker back down to where his cock strands. he leans down, hovering over you as he pulls one of your legs open, exposing you to himself further. his cock brushes against your inner thigh, his tip leaking against your skin and causing you to shudder. “is it… gonna hurt?” you ask quietly, almost feeling stupid for asking such a question. but he doesn’t judge you. his expression shifts from one of amusement to something more soft, his hand on your thigh rubbing gentle circles as he smiles at you. “it might sting a little bit,” he whispers back, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “but just relax for me, alright? i’ll take care of you.” you nod, your voice breathless as you reply. “okay.” your pulse races as his cock brushes against your folds, the reality of everything setting in. you’re about to lose your virginity. it makes a mix of anxiety and adrenaline rush through you, a mewl leaving you at the feeling. “that’s my girl,” he whispers, his hand leaving your thigh to grab his cock, rubbing himself up and down your folds, coating himself in your juices and drawing quiet moans from your lips, your hips pushing up just slightly, chasing the sensation. finally, he positions himself at your entrance, his hips pushing forward as he enters you. the stretch makes your breath catch in your throat. it stings. it’s overwhelming. it’s such a new feeling, sending a shiver down your spine as your cunt clenches around him, drawing a groan from his lips. “fuck,” you breathe out, your voice shaky and quiet, fading into a moan as your eyes clench shut. he pauses for a moment, letting you adjust to the stretch as he presses a kiss to the corner of your lips. “you’re doing so good for me, baby,” he murmurs, his hand sliding to your cunt, rubbing soft circles on your clit and ripping a gasp from you. “just breathe for me.” it distracts you from the burning stretch, dulling the pain the slightest bit as your cunt clenches around him, his hips starting to move again. a soft, shaky breath leaves your lips, your hands coming up to grip his shoulders as he fills you completely. “feel good, princess?” he murmurs against your lips, his voice soft as his thumb continues to rub circles against your clit, a little faster now. you nod, words caught in your throat as the pleasure begins to mix with the pain, giving way to a sensation- a fullness- you’ve never felt before. finally, he bottoms out. you can fill every ridge and vein, your cunt pulsing around him as it struggles to accommodate the stretch. his thumb never stops circling your clit, easing you into full pleasure. he doesn’t move, simply resting inside you and letting you adjust to the new feeling. and slowly, the pain fades. replaced by pleasure, a want- a need- for more. your hips move slightly, a gasped moan slipping past your lips at the pleasure that rushes through you. “please,” you whimper, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your eyes flutter open, meeting his. “move…”

slowly, carefully, he pulls out slightly, dragging out of you before pushing back in, pulling a soft moan from your lips. every roll of his hips presses him further inside you, making your mind hazy as you adjust to the fullness. “hee,” you whimper out, your head rolling back as the feeling grows more pleasurable, sending your head spiraling with every thrust. his thumb still circles your clit, drinking in every reaction you give him. “yeah, baby?” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, making you focus on him for a second. “still doing good?” you nod, your breath getting caught in your throat as he hits a particularly deep spot. it feels good. it feels so good. but you want more. you need more. “yeah,” you whisper. “feels good, but-“ you hesitate, but you don’t need to finish. you catch the way heeseung’s eyes darken immediately, his movements stilling for just a second, like he’s processing your words, before he’s moving again. “you want more, princess?” his voice is lower now, darker. hungrier. it makes you clench around him, a hiss leaving his lips, the corner of his lips quirking up. you nod frantically, your fingers gripping his shoulders as his hand leaves your clit to find purchase on your waist. “please,” you gasp out. “i need-“ you don’t get to finish. a moan spills from your throat as he pulls out, only to slam back in. his careful, slow, pace is gone in an instant, replaced by something deeper. something intoxicating. your fingers claw at his shoulders, his arms, his back, anything you can to ground yourself as his thrusts speed up. “fuck,” he grits out, his head dropping to your shoulder as his hips snap forward again, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. “knew you’d take me so well, baby.” it’s too much. the pleasure builds, your moans getting louder. you can’t even control the noises leaving your mouth, too lost in the pleasure. you don’t even register how loud you’re getting until his hand clamps over your mouth. your eyes fly open, seeing him hovering over you now, his gaze half-lidded and dark. his lips are parted, uneven breaths leaving him as his hips continue to ram into you.“shh, princess,” he rasps, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he hits a particularly deep spot, making you moan out against his mouth. “only i get to hear those pretty sounds, yeah?” a muffled whimper leaves your mouth, your walls fluttering around him as you process his words. his pace never slows, pushing your limits, testing just how much you can really take. and you love it. “bet you’d sound so pretty if you could really let go,” he murmurs, his dark eyes staring into yours. his free hand trails down, resting on your stomach. your eyebrows furrow slightly, just before he presses down. your eyes roll back, a loud moan escaping your mouth and being concealed by his palm. it makes you feel him, all of him. stretching you. filling you completely. “you feel that, baby?” his fingers press harder, drawing another strangled moan from your lips as your eyes clench shut. “so fucking deep inside you. you take me so well, fuck-“ your body responds before you know what you’re doing. your hips roll up to meet his, desperate for more of the pleasure you’re experiencing. and heeseung loses it. “can you be quiet for me, princess?” he whispers. and you nod, hazy, dazed. he smirks, pressing harder on your stomach and pulling a broken moan from your lips as your body jolts beneath him. he slowly removes his hand from your mouth, sliding it down your body to grab your thigh, spreading you wider for him. a choked whimper leaves your lips, your mouth clenched shut as you try your hardest to hold your sounds in. but it feels too good. tears gather in your lashes, your body arching into his.

his cock twitches inside you, a dark grin on his face as he tilts his head at you. “what’s wrong, baby?” his voice is mocking, teasing, cruel. and it only drives you crazier. a tear slips down your cheek, your cunt clenching around him. you don’t trust your voice- hell, you don’t even know if you can speak right now.“too much?” he asks, but he doesn’t stop. if anything, he pushes deeper. you shake your head frantically, a broken sob leaving your lips as more tears spill down your cheeks. he sits back on his heels, the new angle pushing him deeper as a choked moan slips past your lips, your own hand coming up to cover your mouth. he only chuckles, his voice dripping with amusement- and something darker- as he watches you unravel beneath him. “feels good, doesn’t it?” it’s too much. it’s all too much. the coil in your stomach is winding tight, threatening to pull you over the edge at any second. and heeseung notices. he notices how your thighs began to shake, your moans turning into breathy, desperate whimpers, the way you clench around him. “close?” is all he asks, his eyes dark and lidded as he watches you. your hand slides from the sheet to his arm, desperate to find something to ground yourself as you teeter on the edge. “hee-“ you manage to gasp out, your voice breaking off into a moan as tears slide down your cheeks. he groans at the way you clench around him, his hand finding your clit again, rubbing tight, merciless circles, forcing you closer to the edge. and it’s too much. it builds so fast it makes your head spin. hell, you don’t even feel like you’re real at this point.“come for me, princess,” he groans out, thrusting particularly deep inside you. “let go.”your orgasm rips through you, your back arching off the bed as you cry out, a loud, broken moan barely muffled by your hand. your vision goes white, your body locking up as the strongest orgasm you’ve ever had takes over your body. but he doesn’t stop. his pace doesn’t falter for a second, fucking you through your high, testing your limits as the pleasure shifts into something more intense. your body can barely keep up. you’re sobbing, gasping, your body stuck between pushing him away and pulling him closer. “just a bit longer, baby,” he groans, his hand moving from your clit to your waist, holding you still as his thrusts turn erratic. your eyes roll back, your poor body unable to keep up with the pleasure you’re feeling. and then, a low guttural moan escapes heeseung’s lips, his hips pressing as hard as they can against yours as he finally spills inside you. the sensation of being filled has you gasping, clenching around him as his body trembles with his orgasm. slowly, he lowers himself down, pressing soft kisses to your lips to ease you back to reality, your dazed eyes meeting his as ragged breaths escape your lips. you’re wrecked. “you did so good for me, princess,” he murmurs, his voice breathless as his lips trail soft kisses down your jaw, his warm hands soothing over your trembling thighs, slowly pulling you back down to earth. you can’t even find the words to speak. you only nod, your hand slowly lifting to tangle in his hair, just resting there. he chuckles, leaning up to look at you. a soft smile forms on his lips, his thumbs brushing the tears off of your cheeks. “you okay?” you nod again, your voice wrecked, barely more than a whisper. “yeah.”

he doesn’t say anything, simply watching you. his gaze is so soft, his touch featherlight against your skin. his hips pull back slowly, making you gasp at the sensitivity it sends through you. and then he’s pulling out, his hands moving down to your hips as he sits back on his heels. your hips shift, adjusting to the empty feeling, a shiver running through you when you feel his cum dripping out of you. heeseung pauses, his eyes fixed on the sight, hands gripping your hips tighter as he breathes out, “fuck…” your face heats up, self-consciousness taking over when it finally sets in that you’re completely exposed in front of him. your legs attempt to close, a whine leaving your lips- but heeseung’s faster. his hands grip your thighs, keeping you held open as a smile forms on his lips. “don’t get all shy on me now, baby,” his voice is quiet, his eyes flickering up to yours as you avert your gaze. your hips shift, another soft, embarrassed noise leaving you, but he simply laughs under his breath. “you were just moaning for me a few minutes ago.” “heeseung,” you mumble, dragging out his name as you continue to move beneath him, trying to pull your thighs out of his grasp. your hands attempt to bat his away halfheartedly, but you’re too exhausted to actually push him, watching the way he pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth with a smile while watching your struggle. he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your stomach that has your breath catching, your hands halting their movements. “you were so good for me. look at you,” he mumbles, his eyes dragging over your body slowly, “all fucked out and pretty.” you let out a noise of protest, slapping at his shoulder before your hands come up to cover your face, groaning against your hands. “okay,” he laughs, finally letting go of your legs. “i’ll stop. don’t want you crying again.” you huff, turning your head to hide your face in the pillow, but a smile tugs at your lips. “you’re the worst.” he only laughs again, slipping off the bed, and you hear his footsteps moving away from the bed. “mhm. didn’t hear you complaining earlier.” you let out a dramatic groan, completely turning your body away from him, choosing not to answer this time.

when he finally returns, he sits down on the bed, one hand gently pulling your leg up, exposing you to him again. “heeseung,” you whine, lifting your head to look at him. his eyes flicker up to yours, before looking down again, the wet rag making contact with your legs and making you gasp, everything still so sensitive. “relax,” he whispers, his touch gentle, moving ever so carefully over the parts that make you flinch, your legs shifting with every pass. you nod into the pillow, finally letting your body relax again as your eyes flutter shut, exhaustion slowly taking over your body. “there we go,” he murmurs, tossing the rag aside and settling in bed besides you, pulling the covers over the both of you. his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer to him, your body instantly relaxing into his. his fingers rake through your hair, slow and comforting, making you let out a soft sigh, curling further into him. “you good?” he whispers again, like he always have to make sure you’re alright. “yeah,” you you yawn, shifting and closing your eyes. “tired.” you hear a soft, breathy laugh leaving his lips, before he presses a kiss to the top of your head, his fingers resuming their movements in your hair. “go to sleep, y/n.” you nod, letting the beating of heeseung’s heart in your ear guide you into a slumber as sleep lulls you away.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

“one iced coffee, please,” you smile, holding out a ten-dollar bill to the cashier in front of you. she gives you a look, but smiles back, taking the cash anyway. “no hot chocolate today?” you wave your hand dismissively, biting back a giddy smile. “oh, it’s not for me.” she raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push, simply nodding and punching in your order. “alright, then. we’ll have that out soon.” you rock back and forth on your feet, wonyoung and yunjin waiting at a table behind you. once your order is out, you’re walking back to the girls with a bit more pep in your step, holding the cup up to signal you’re ready to leave. you begin to walk out the door, a giddy smile on your lips as you look down at the coffee, before back up- completely oblivious to the look wonyoung and yunjin share. “so, why’d you get an iced coffee?” yunjin asks, tilting her head as she looks at the drink in your hand. “oh, just for someone,” you smile, shrugging lightly as you continue to walk. “you look too happy,” wonyoung teases you, poking your cheek as she watches the smile on your face grow larger, “what happened?” “nothing, guys!” you laugh, pushing wonyoung’s hand away. you continue to walk, making a beeline for the gym. you don’t miss the confused looks they send you as you speed up slightly. “okay, seriously, where are we going?” wonyoung asks, speeding up slightly as she picks up on the direction you’re headed. “the gym? the basketball team is in there right now,” yunjin adds, scrunching her eyebrows. “y/n. y/n? that means heeseung is in there! hello?” you don’t even hesitate when you open the gym doors, the two girls trailing behind you, clearly confused. “y/n. why are we in here?” wonyoung hisses, grabbing your arm as the sound of squeaking shoes and a basketball hitting the floor fills the air.

and then, all the noises slow. the guys spare a glance at you, before doing a double take once they recognize you. because heeseung has talked about you. and they’ve seen you with him. but the moment heeseung sees you, his focused expression shifts. his sharp gaze softens, a smile forming on his face as his feet slow to a stop. he starts moving, jogging over slowly. his shirt is slightly damp, his breathing slightly heavy. “hi, pretty girl,” he smiles, his gaze warmer. wonyoung’s grip on your arm loosens, and you can see her jaw drop from the corner of your eye. “hi,” you reply, holding out the coffee, “i brought you coffee.” he grins, taking the cup and tilting his head. “really? i thought you hated iced coffee.” you bite back a laugh, shaking your head lightly before shrugging. “you don’t.” you watch as his smile shifts into something else. something in his eyes that you can’t process, but he’s looking at you like you placed the stars in the sky. it makes your stomach flip, a blush forming on your cheeks. his hand slips around your waist, tugging you closer as he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. your hand instinctively grabs onto his jersey, tugging him slightly closer, your lips forming into a smile against his. “hello?” you hear yunjin ask, a few guys behind you laughing. “what?” you ask, pulling back from heeseung’s lips, tilting your head with a small smile. “am i not allowed to come say hi to my boyfriend?” silence. until wonyoung squeals, practically yanking yunjin towards her. “i called it!” even heeseung himself seems a bit thrown off guard, his eyes widening a bit before he pulls himself together, a smug grin pulling at the corner of his lips. “oh?” he murmurs, leaning in just enough for you to hear. “say that again?” “damn, y/n,” jake laughs, stepping up besides the two of you and clapping heeseung on the back. “you managed to lock the playboy down.” “so,” jake continues, nodding at the drink in your hand with a shit-eating grin, “care to bring me one of those next time?” you don’t even get to open your mouth before heeseung is speaking. “no.” jake blinks. “i was talking to-“ “still no.” he throws his hands up, turning on his heel and walking away, grumbling out, “forget i asked.” you roll your eyes, suppressing a smile as you look back at heeseung, who simply shrugs at you. he’s insufferable. and he’s yours. 

AFTER FIGHTING FOR THREE DAYS... I GOT IT TO WORK. sorry about the weird formatting at some points, it's the only way i was able to fit this whole fic into one post ^^! also,, did not realize how much i wrote "and then" until i was editing this god damn girl stop sing those words for one second... hope you guys enjoyed !!!!

taglist: @bussolares @w3willris3 @nithxhoon @elairah @fancypeacepersona @talesofthegreatest @jaehoonii @onlyticket-home @cutehoons02 @isagistar @immelissaaa @seongiewon @llearlert @rosepetals09 @cloud-lyy @enhaheart8 @millisvlog @rayofsunshineeee @littlesweettea-aine @evorlaah @kittycatwonie @somuchdard @miraeluv @heewenos @katarinamae @h4niyahcar @aejakeslvr @girlwholovekpop @dearestdreamies

^i tried to tag everyone, but some ppl weren’t coming up so if urs doesn’t work i’m sorry abt that😭

border creds: @uzmacchiato

[seungjiseyo]

ղᥱvᥱɾ oᴜɾs ˖⁺— 2.

highschool bsf!hee × f!reader

unrequited maybe later requited love, smut | angst | comfort,what not. friends with benefits, happy ending maybe, maybe a little toxic idk.

synopsis : he only knocks when he’s broken. and every time, you let him in. even when he’s never been yours to begin with. but maybe this time, when he returns, it won’t be to borrow your love. maybe it will be because he finally knows that it's always been you.

1.

wc: 954

₊˚ʚ ᓚᘏᗢ 𖹭 🦌 ˚˖⁺

funny. he doesn't even remember leaving his sweater here. and now it clings to his shoulders like an old piece of him that he's getting back after a long while. a piece you could never throw away.

he walks around, looking at things that feel familiar, too familiar.

like the frame of your highschool graduation that lays cold on a shelf nearby. graduation, the day he decided to let go and find another home. in someone else. someone who wasn't you.

he ends up finding his way to your kitchen. leaning against the doorway with hands in his pockets, a used towel hangs around his shoulders, damp hair letting drops of water trail down the back of the old sweater he’d left here months ago. ten, maybe.

the fabric smells slightly musty, with echoes of known memories.

his eyes fall on you, you're standing at the counter with your back to him. you quietly cook, shrugging off the weight of his faraway gaze on your shoulders.

it's too careful, too distant. he doesn't see you.

always from afar as it always has been, he's busy searching for something else in your presence, never allowing himself too close.

your shoulders stay stiff, afraid that if you turn, you'll be met with eyes that don't really look at you.

he wants to move closer. wrap his arms around your waist, feel the warmth of your skin, the rise and fall of your breath. but he doesn’t.

instead, he walks to you—near you and settles at half an arm’s length away. he rests lightly against the counter, you don't notice him as his gaze flicks to the stove.

“ramyeon?” he asks, voice soft enough to come out as a whisper.

you startle, sighing once you catch sight of him beside you. “hm? yeah...”

a low chuckle escapes him. “that’s my favourite.”

and you're thrown off for a moment. right, it's his favourite, you remember as you glance at the pot infront of you. you didn't even realise.

“oh... i just... i had it in the fridge,” you murmur, words stinging your throat as you avoid his eyes. it’s been so long. do you still know each other like you used to?

you steal a glance at him, quick and nearly hesitant. he looks different now. a little broader at the shoulders, arms slightly bulkier, but he's still the same in all the ways that hurt.

the way the corners of his eyes still crease when he smiles. the way his voice softens and his head dips lower whenever he speaks to you.

does he know that you see it all? see him all? but none of that belongs to you anymore, and it hasn't for a long time.

you're afraid to reach out, even when he’s right here. he's not yours to hold, you know it. his heart belongs to her.

.

you eat in silence. the air around warm, but nothing less than stifling to you. you smile once or twice when your eyes meet. small, forced smiles that make your chest hurt more the longer he sits there.

for him though, sitting down across from you at the small table, rain pouring outside, hot bowl of food infront of him, it feels like home. a place he's longed to be at before he even left. you're being so kind, but he’s not sure he deserves it.

his mind races with things he wants to say as he erratically shakes his leg under the table. he's got questions to ask, things to clarify, although you haven't asked for anything, not what happened, why it happened, how it happened, but his words are barricaded by something he can’t name.

you glance at your phone buzzing on the table, then at him. "excuse me."

the formality. he notices it sharp and biting. none of you had ever been used to talking this way with each other.

his fingers curl, fist tightening. then again, what right does he even have...to feel this way anymore?

he heaves out a shaky breath.

he hears you mumble sweet endearments to the caller. he wants to ask. who was that?

but the question knots in his throat. and before he can prepare himself to speak, you set the phone back down.

“my niece,” you tell him, light and offhand.

he exhales, relaxing. of course. how could he forget the little kid whose advice could've saved him years of what he believes to be an unreciprocated heartbreak?

.

later, as he helps you clear the table, his hand brushes against yours. unintentional but the brief heat of his skin against yours only makes your heart thump louder. you both pull back, quick in action.

.

and when the time comes to say goodnight, he stands infront of you in the hallway, gulping like a toddler afraid of getting yelled at for not finishing his homework.

"good night." he mumbles, arms cautious before he wraps it around your shoulders.

your arms stay still at your sides, you can barely hug him back. “goodnight.” the feigned smile on your lips somehow aches straight through your ribs.

his hold tightens, just a bit too tight, and lingers just a second too long. with his breath warm on your temple, you would assume he's hesitating to let go. as if he never really wanted to. but you know better than anyone else to ever let yourself do that again.

he lets you go at last.

his fingers trail away from your arms slower than they should. gaze unreadable but there's a flicker, of guilt—hesitation—yearning in the way his hands hover midair before falling to his sides.

with a sigh, he watches you leave to your room. keeping himself company in the dark for a while with agony huge enough to devour you both, before he settles himself in your guestroom.

chap 3 unlocks after 50 reblogs

📎masterlist

taglist :

@hseungie , @snowprincehoon , @keehoes , @nodoubtily

question of the day :

do you know what he's searching for? does he? in your presence, your embrace, your silence?

..

incase you did not consent to being added to my taglist well—

:P

[seungjiseyo]

COLLIDE l.hs

synopsis ⤑ Hockey boys were nothing but egoistic man boys who threw each other around, chasing a puck for a living. They lacked sustenance, they lived their lives like barbarians and you hated them, and everything they stand for. So being tasked to tutor the worst one of them all? An impossible task. Lee Heeseung was the poster child for a frat boy disaster and you wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole. Or so you thought. Damnit. 

pairings ⤑ hockey player!heeseung x fem!reade rword count ⤑ 19k

warnings ⤑ smut, loss of virginity, fingering, angst, a little bit of back and forth, frat boy activities, hockey, drinking, parties, tutoring trope, heeseung is a fuck boy and he’s kind of a dick, the reader is up tight, Ft. Yunjin (le sserafim), Soobin (txt), fictional relationships between real life idols, etc

You hated hockey. It was grueling and animalistic. Almost barbaric. It was not a hot sport and watching big hunks of men throwing each other around a big ice box was so not how you imagined your friday night would be going. But here you were, in the middle of the packed crowd of your college’s home hockey stadium. The arena is a frozen tundra of noise and chaos, packed with fans draped in red and white jerseys, faces painted and voices hoarse from shouting.

Yunjin bounces beside you, practically vibrating with excitement as she elbows your side for the tenth time in five minutes. Her eyes are fixed on the ice, where players crash into each other like it’s a battle to the death. She lives for the thrill of it. Loves coming to most of the games, i think her super hot boyfriend Choi Soobin being on the team really catapults her love for the grueling sport. And as her roommate and best friend you allow her to drag you along, sometimes. 

“You’re gonna love this, I swear,” she insists, clutching her cup of overpriced soda with both hands. “Just wait until Heeseung scores. He’s, like, magic on skates.” You force a smile, but the sound of bodies slamming into the plexiglass makes your fingers tighten around the edge of your seat. The air smells like popcorn and sweat, and the fans behind you won’t stop shrieking obscenities at the referees. You don’t get it—any of it. The violent crashes, the speed, the way grown men bark and snarl at each other over a puck. Sure, Lee Heeseung was considered a star hockey player, one of the best your school has ever seen, they say. But you were impressed, what was so hard about chasing a puck and shoving each other. The announcer’s voice crackles to life, nearly drowned out by the roar of the crowd. “Goal scored by number seventeen, Lee Heeseung!”

Yunjin screams, leaping to her feet. The arena erupts, deafening, and you flinch as a pack of players smother Heeseung in a mess of helmets and gloves. They slap his back, crush him into the boards, grinning like wolves. You can barely see his face, but his name glows in bold white letters across the screen overhead, followed by a replay of the goal—a blur of motion and ice spray. It was disgusting, and you hated every second of it. You grimace, sinking lower in your seat. “Do they always act like that?” Yunjin was used to your need to abominate hockey and all it was so your question doesn't really phase her much. Yunjin laughs, eyes bright. “It’s called celebrating.” 

“It’s called animalistic,” you mutter, but she doesn’t hear you, too busy cheering with the rest of the lunatics. The game drags on, seconds bleeding into minutes, periods crawling by in a blur of shouts and whistles and obnoxious goal horns. Every time a player crashes into another, you wince. The fights are even worse, gloves dropped and fists flying, the refs standing back like it’s some kind of gladiator match. Your butt is numb from the hard plastic seat, your ears ache, and you’ve never hated anything more. By the time the buzzer finally sounds, you’re half convinced you’ll go deaf before you escape. Yunjin beams at you, cheeks flushed and hair wild from excitement. “See? Wasn’t that amazing?” she gushes, grabbing your arm. “Heeseung was insane! I told you he’s the best.” 

You manage a weak smile. “Uh-huh. Amazing.” Your sarcasm goes basically unnoticed by Yunjin, as she’s too busy celebrating the big win. The crowd around you turn to each other cheering loudly. You have to stop yourself from covering your ears with your palms to drown out the sounds. Finally, mercifully, the game is over. You shuffle out of the bleachers with Yunjin at your side, ears still ringing from the blaring horns and the relentless chants. College kids swarm the exits, jerseys half-zipped and voices hoarse, stumbling over each other as they yell about some after-party to celebrate the big win. You scuff to yourself because of course there is a party. A party you won't be going to. Instead you'll go back to the dorm and relax with a good book and a cup of tea. Lord knows you need it after spending hours in this ice box. 

The hallway is a crush of bodies and echoes, and you’re too busy trying not to get trampled to notice the way Yunjin keeps sneaking glances at you—eyes wide and hopeful, lower lip caught between her teeth. It was painfully obvious she wanted to ask you something and even more obvious that you wouldn't like her question. You sigh. “Whatever it is, no.” shutting down any ideas she had before she could utter a single word. Her face falls. “But you don’t even—” 

“No.” You adjust your bag higher on your shoulder, weaving through a trio of guys who reek of beer and cheap cologne. “I did my time. I sat through three hours of hockey without complaining—much. Can we please just go home?” You craved that night in to yourself. Yunjin grabs your arm, nearly making you stumble. “Okay, but hear me out. There’s a party at the frat house. The whole team’s gonna be there! Come on, it’s not even that far from campus. We can just—”

You cut her off again, rolling your eyes and saying “Absolutely not.” She pouts, eyes big and tragically betrayed. “Please?” begging you. She was begging you. And you couldn't give in. “Nope.” 

“I’ll clean the dorm for a month,” she blurts, and you stop dead in the middle of the hallway. A guy with a blue foam finger scowls as he swerves around you, muttering something rude, but you barely notice. She puts up a tough bargain. Yunjin’s watching you like she’s just offered up her firstborn, palms pressed together in a silent plea. “I’m serious,” she says quickly, sensing you might actually be considering it. “Trash, laundry, dishes—everything. I’ll even organize your bookshelf!” Damn. She was good, she knew how to get you. Your eyes narrow. “Two months.” but you couldn't give up that easily. You had to fight at least a little bit. 

“One,” she shoots back, biting back a grin. “And I’ll buy you coffee for a week.” You groan, already regretting this. “Fine,” you grumble, and Yunjin squeals, throwing her arms around you so suddenly you almost topple over. “You’re the best!” she cries, squeezing tight. “I promise it’ll be fun, I swear! Maybe you’ll even get to talk to Heeseung!” 

​​You snort. “Not interested,” you laugh, prying her off with an eye roll. But your gaze flicks, unbidden, to the ice behind you—where number seventeen is still skating slow laps, head ducked as he talks to a teammate. His laugh is bright enough to catch even from this distance, mouth curved and eyes crinkling at the edges. You turn away with a scuff, no way you’d involve yourself with a man who plays hockey. 

-

The party is already in full swing by the time you and Yunjin squeeze through the front door of the frat house. Music thrums through the walls, loud enough to feel in your chest, and the living room is packed shoulder-to-shoulder with sweaty college kids and empty red cups. Someone’s yelling something unintelligible from the kitchen, and a girl in a sparkly top rushes past, giggling as her friend tries to pull her back by the arm. It was like a playground. You had to stop yourself from cringy as you and Yunjin continued to push through the crowds of people. Your head spinning with irritation at the pure senselessness in the entire house. It was like no one here had half a brain. Yunjin, of course, lights up like a kid in a candy store. Within seconds, she’s weaving her way through the chaos, dragging you along by the wrist. You stumble after her, dodging spilled drinks and people making out against walls, and wonder for the hundredth time how you let her talk you into this. 

Yunjin chats with everyone—absolutely everyone—with a pulse. She flits from one group to another like it’s the easiest thing in the world, tossing compliments and laughter around like confetti. You trail behind her awkwardly, fingers curled around a cup of something you’re too afraid to taste, smiling and nodding when you’re supposed to. Soobin must have not arrived yet so she was filling the gap with randoms until he got here. 

You’re not sure how much time passes—long enough for your feet to start aching and for Yunjin to introduce you to at least fifteen people whose names you instantly forget—when she suddenly gasps, eyes going wide. “Oh my god, Jake!” she squeals, abandoning your arm to dart across the room. “Jay! You guys killed it out there!” You blink, half a step behind as you follow her gaze. Sure enough, Jake and Jay—both still in their team jackets, damp hair pushed back—are leaning against the staircase, laughing about something. Jake grins at Yunjin’s enthusiasm, eyes bright, while Jay salutes her with his drink. 

“Yunjin!” Jake laughs, opening his arms for a hug. “You actually made it! Didn’t think hockey was your roommate’s scene.” His eyes flick to you, warm and teasing. 

“It’s not.” You admit dryly. Jake chuckled, taking a big swig of drink before smirking at you both. “Well still, I bet you enjoyed Heeseung’s killer goal that won us the game. Pretty cool, right?” 

“Sure.” Your answers were deadpan and you could tell you were making them both moderately uncomfortable but you didn't care. You’d much rather be literally anywhere else but here. 

“Aren’t you having fun?” Jay asks, he was more nonchalant than Jake, less outgoing. He leaned against the sink with a lazy look on his face. It almost looked like he’d rather be anywhere else as well. 

“I’m suffering.” Your candor had to have been appreciated because the look Jay sent you was one that screamed ‘i agree’. He definitely wasn’t the party type either. Which was almost unheard of when it came to team captains.  Yunjin rolls her eyes fondly, but she’s already turning back to Jake, leaning in to ask about one of the plays from the game. You’re left to awkwardly clutch your drink, glancing around at the sea of strangers and trying to look less like a lost puppy and more like someone who actually belongs here. After a while of watching Yunjin converse with half the party you had to pee. Finding a bathroom in this massive house would be hard. And asking someone was out of the question, you've had enough socializing for one night. You right yourself preparing to walk among the sea of people in the way of the grand staircase. You clutched your drink in your hand weaving through the crush of bodies. 

Reaching the staircase was no easy task, people were mushed together like a mosh pit. The hallway is somehow even more crowded, people pressed shoulder-to-shoulder and stumbling over each other in varying levels of drunkenness. You mutter apologies, clutching your drink to your chest and scanning the doors for a bathroom sign. There’s a line, of course, stretching halfway down the hall. You bite back a groan and resign yourself to waiting, tapping your foot impatiently and trying to ignore the obnoxious couple behind you sucking face like they might suffocate if they pull apart. You’re glancing at your phone when it happens. One second, you’re minding your own business—the next, someone slams into your side, and your drink splashes straight down your front, soaking your shirt in sticky warmth. 

You freeze, disbelief flaring into white-hot irritation as you look up, ready to rip into whoever’s responsible— only to find Lee Heeseung drunkenly staring back at you with a tight lipped fake apologetic look on his face. It angered you, damn near enraged you. His hair’s mussed, dark eyes hazy and amused, and he’s laughing—actually laughing, low and unbothered—like he didn’t just body-check you into the wall. A girl no taller than you stood beside him hung onto his arm like her life depended on it. Her lipstick slightly smudged and hair ruffled, she looked like a hot mess. 

You blink, rage sharpening like broken glass. “Are you—are you serious right now?” you snap, shoving your empty cup against his chest. “What the hell? Watch where you’re going!” Heeseung just glances down at the cup, brows raising slowly. The girl at his side huffs impatiently, tugging at his arm, but he doesn’t move—just smirks, dark eyes drifting over you in a way that makes your blood boil. “You’re kidding,” you scoff. “Is this funny to you?” 

He tilts his head, grin widening. “Kinda,” he admits, and your jaw drops at his audacity. Where does he get off thinking he's the king of the world? What just because he won himself a game tonight means he’s the hottest thing around? Fuck that. “Oh, screw you,” you snap, swiping futilely at your soaked shirt. “God, just because you’re some hotshot hockey player doesn’t mean the world revolves around you, you know?” 

Heeseung chuckles, a warm, lazy sound that makes you want to punch him right in his stupidly perfect mouth. “Actually,” he drawls, dark eyes glinting, “yeah, it does.” The audacity. Your hands clench, words stuttering uselessly on your tongue, but he’s already turning away—barely even sparing you a second glance as the girl tugs him down the hall, giggling and clinging to his arm. You stare after them, heart hammering with fury, cheeks hot and sticky drink dripping from your clothes. You hate him. You’ve never hated anyone more. 

What seemed like forever soaked in sticky gold liquid, the line to the bathroom started dwindling down until you were the last one to reach it. You storm into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you harder than necessary. The mirror reflects the full horror of your situation—your shirt is soaked, sticky, and clinging to your skin in the most uncomfortable way possible. The scent of whatever cheap drink was in your cup lingers in the air, and no matter how many paper towels you use, the mess refuses to come off. 

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, aggressively scrubbing at the fabric of your clothing. Your mind replays the scene over and over, fueling your irritation. The smug tilt of Heeseung’s grin, the way he had the nerve to laugh in your face, to dismiss you like you were nothing. Yeah, it does. You grit your teeth so hard your jaw aches. Frustration crackles in your veins as you give up on your shirt and push out of the bathroom. The party is still going strong—music blasting, people shouting over one another, the air thick with sweat and spilled alcohol. You need to find Yunjin, tell her you’re leaving, drag her out of here if you have to. 

But as you weave through the crowd, she’s nowhere to be found. Your irritation shifts into mild concern as you make your way toward the last place you saw her—near the staircase where she’d been laughing with Jake and Jay. Jay’s still there, leaning against the railing, casually sipping his drink as he chats with someone. You march up to him, crossing your arms. “Where’s Yunjin?” 

Jay blinks, glancing over at you. His gaze flicks to your ruined shirt, and his lips twitch like he wants to ask, but wisely, he doesn’t. “Uh, last I saw, she went upstairs with Soobin.” 

Your stomach sinks. “What?” 

He shrugs. “Yeah, like ten minutes ago. Looked pretty cozy.” You inhale sharply, your irritation skyrocketing to full-blown fury. So Yunjin dragged you to this stupid party, bribed you into coming, abandoned you in a sea of sweaty hockey fans, and now she was upstairs with her boyfriend, completely forgetting you existed? Perfect. Just perfect. 

“I’m leaving,” you mutter, spinning on your heel before Jay can respond. You shove your phone out of your pocket, pulling up the Uber app as you push your way through the crowd, biting down the urge to scream. By the time you make it outside, the cold air is a welcome slap to your overheated skin. You stand on the curb, shivering slightly, arms crossed tight over your chest as you wait for your ride. Tonight was supposed to be chill instead, you’re suffering through a hockey game, putting up with Yunjin’s antics, dealing with a party full of people you didn’t know. But somehow, he had to make it worse. Lee Heeseung. You scowl at the thought of him, jaw clenching. If the universe had any mercy, you’d never have to see him again. 

-

Turns out the universe had no mercy at all. Not even an ounce. The next day, you’re still in a sour mood. You spent all night scrubbing your shirt, trying to get rid of the sticky residue and the memory of Lee Heeseung’s stupid smirk. Even after showering twice, you swear you can still smell the drink on your skin. But at least you’re back in your element now—your history class, where you TA. The classroom is empty except for Professor Kim, who looks up as you walk in, giving you a polite smile. 

“Ah, good, you’re here,” he says, flipping through some papers on his desk. “I have a favor to ask. I know you tutor in your free time, and we have a student who’s in desperate need of help.” 

You nod automatically. “Of course. You know I don’t mind tutoring.” 

“That’s great to hear,” he says, looking relieved. “Because this student is failing, and if he doesn’t get his grade up, he’ll be ineligible to play.” You barely register his words, still waiting for a name. Then he glances down at his notes and says it. 

“Lee Heeseung.” Your stomach plummets. No. No way. The universe had no mercy. “Wait—what?” You blink at him, hoping you misheard. 

Professor Kim sighs. “Heeseung’s been struggling all semester. I gave him a warning last week, but his last exam was a disaster. If he doesn’t pass the next one, he’s off the team.” You open your mouth to protest, to say literally anyone else but him, but before you can get a word out, the door swings open, and in comes the bane of your existence. 

Lee Heeseung strolls in like he owns the place, pushing his hair back as he yawns. His hoodie is wrinkled, his backpack is barely slung over one shoulder, and he looks every bit like someone who definitely did not wake up in time for his morning classes. “Sorry, sorry,” he drawls, not sounding sorry at all. “Rough night.” 

You scoff before you can stop yourself. “I’m sure it was.” At the sound of your voice, Heeseung’s gaze slides lazily to you, and then—his lips curl. A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his face, and you immediately hate it. 

Wait.” He tilts his head. “You’re my tutor?” He says in a mocking way, he’s making fun of you. 

You cross your arms. “Unfortunately.” Heeseung clicks his tongue, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Damn. Lucky me.” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes straight into another dimension. “Not so lucky for me,” you mutter. Professor Kim clears his throat. “So, you’ll meet twice a week until the next exam. I’ll leave the schedule up to you both, but I strongly recommend you start immediately.” You glare at Heeseung, who doesn’t seem remotely concerned about the fact that his academic career is hanging by a thread. Instead, he leans against the desk, watching you with amusement. 

“Well, tutor,” he says, voice dripping with mock politeness. “When do you want me?” You open your mouth, then shut it. Heeseung’s smirk deepens, clearly enjoying the way you bristle. “Tomorrow at five,” you grit out. 

“Perfect.” He pushes off the desk, stretching before making his way toward the door. Just as he reaches it, he glances over his shoulder, that irritating smirk still in place. “Try not to miss me too much until then,” he says, and then he’s gone. You stare after him, absolutely floored by his audacity. “Oh, I’m going to kill him,” you mutter under your breath. 

By the time you make it back to your dorm, you’re fuming. Your entire walk across campus had been spent replaying your conversation with Heeseung, each smug smirk and cocky remark igniting your anger all over again. Of all people, why did it have to be him? You shove open the door, throwing your bag to the floor with a little more force than necessary. "Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable," you mutter, running a hand through your hair in frustration.

Yunjin and Soobin are sprawled out on the futon, a half-empty bag of chips between them as some random drama plays on the screen. It’s the first time you’ve seen Yunjin since she abandoned you at the party, and the second she looks up at you, she must sense the storm brewing in your expression. “Uh…” She blinks. “What’s wrong?” 

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at her. “Oh, I don’t know, Yunjin—maybe the fact that you ditched me last night?” 

Yunjin’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh my God.” She sits up, looking genuinely guilty. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I just—Soobin showed up, and—” 

“Yeah, I know,” you snap, glaring at Soobin, who at least has the decency to look sheepish. “Jay told me you ran off with him ten minutes after we got there. You know, after I suffered through a hockey game for you.” Yunjin groans, dragging her hands down her face. “You’re right. That was a shitty best friend move. I swear, I’ll make it up to you.” 

You roll your eyes, collapsing onto your desk chair. “Yeah, yeah.” You wave her off, still annoyed but too exhausted to keep the argument going. “That’s not even the worst part.” 

She tilts her head. “What do you mean?” You exhale sharply, rubbing your temples. “I have to tutor Lee Heeseung.” 

Yunjin’s jaw drops. Soobin raises an eyebrow. “What?” she asks, sitting up straighter. 

“Yeah. Apparently, he’s failing history, and if he doesn’t pass his next exam, he’s off the team,” you huff. “Professor Kim roped me into tutoring him before I even knew who it was.” 

Yunjin snorts, clearly fighting a laugh. “Oh, that’s hilarious.” 

“It’s not!” You glare at her. “You don’t understand—he’s a dick. He’s entitled, arrogant, and walks around like the whole world revolves around him.” Soobin hums, popping a chip into his mouth. “Heeseung’s not that bad.” 

You whip your head toward him. “Are you serious?” Who asked him? He shrugs. “I mean, yeah, he can be cocky, but he’s actually pretty chill once you get to know him.” 

Yunjin nods in agreement. “Yeah, he’s nice. I’ve talked to him a few times. He’s always been cool.” 

Your mouth drops open. “Okay, no. You guys don’t get it. You didn’t see him at the party last night.”

Soobin raises an eyebrow. “What happened?” You launch into a full-blown rant, recounting every infuriating detail. “I was minding my business, just trying to use the bathroom, when he and some random girl bumped into me. I spilled my drink all over myself because they were too busy making out to notice other human beings existed. And when I called him out on it, do you know what he did?” Yunjin and Soobin both stare, waiting. 

“He laughed. He laughed in my face and said, ‘Yes, it does,’ when I told him the world doesn’t revolve around him!” You threw your hands in the air in exasperation. Yunjin lets out a low whistle. “Oof.” 

“Right?” You throw your hands up. “And now I have to spend actual time with him, tutoring him like he’s some helpless little idiot who can’t read a history book!” Soobin chuckles, shaking his head. “Sounds like he got under your skin.” 

You scoff. “No. He’s just the most infuriating person I’ve ever met.” Yunjin exchanges a look with Soobin before turning back to you with an all-too-knowing smirk. You narrow your eyes. “What?” 

“Nothing,” she singsongs. “I just think this tutoring thing is gonna be very interesting.” 

The next day, you show up at the library exactly at five. You even get there a few minutes early because, unlike some people, you actually value punctuality. You find a table in the back, away from the louder study groups, and start setting up—pulling out your notes, opening your laptop, lining up your highlighters like the responsible student you are. Then, you sit back and wait for Lee Heeseung to show up. 

And wait.

And wait.

You check the time. 5:15. You exhale sharply through your nose, forcing yourself to stay calm. Maybe he’s just running late. Maybe he got held up. Maybe— 5:30. Okay, seriously? You shoot him a quick text, nothing too aggressive. Just a simple: “Hey, you coming?” Nothing. Not a single response. 

5:45. Your patience is wearing paper-thin. You stare at your phone screen, resisting the urge to type out something way more aggressive. Maybe something like: “If you were planning on wasting my time, you could have at least had the decency to tell me instead of making me sit here like an idiot.” Or better yet: “Fuck you.” 

By now, you’re fuming. Your fingers drum aggressively against the table as you glare at the empty seat across from you, debating whether you should just leave. Clearly, he has no intention of showing up. 6:30. That’s it. You’re done. You shove your notebook into your bag, ready to storm out and text Professor Kim that you refuse to tutor an insufferable jackass, when— a voice behind you mutters a simple “Hey.” 

You slowly turn around, already brimming with rage, and there he is—Lee Heeseung, strolling in like he doesn’t have a single care in the world. He drops into the seat across from you, stretching his arms behind his head with the kind of casual arrogance that makes you want to throw something at him. "Sorry I’m late," he says. Not actually sounding sorry at all. 

You slam your laptop shut with way too much force. "You’re an hour and a half late." 

Heeseung just shrugs. "Yeah, my bad. I had practice. Then I had to change. And, y’know, eat. Then I ran into some people…" Your eye twitches at his nonchalant attitude “And at no point did it occur to you to let me know?” 

Heeseung raises an eyebrow like he doesn’t understand why you’re so worked up. "Didn’t think it was that big of a deal." You inhale so sharply your lungs burn. "Not that big of a—" You cut yourself off, pressing your hands against the table to ground yourself because if you don’t, you might actually throw your water bottle at his stupid, smug face.

Heeseung just watches you with lazy amusement, clearly not taking this seriously. “Don’t be so uptight,” he says, flipping open his empty notebook like he actually plans on doing anything. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” 

Oh. oh something inside of you snaps. You can’t help the next words that leave your mouth and to be quite honest you don’t know if you care much anyway. “Oh, fuck off Heeseung.” 

Heeseung pauses, blinks, then smirks. “What?” 

"You heard me." You stand up, grabbing your bag. "I don’t have time for your arrogant, self-important bullshit. If you actually cared about passing this class, you’d take it seriously instead of acting like you’re doing me a favor by showing up." His smirk doesn’t even falter. If anything, it deepens. “Damn,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Didn’t know you were this feisty.” 

You glare. “And I didn’t know you were this much of a dick. But here we are.” 

Heeseung chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re kinda cute when you’re mad.” oh. That’s it. You’re officially done. 

You shove your notebook into your bag so aggressively you nearly rip the zipper, and without another word, you storm out of the library. You can hear him laughing behind you. Actually Laughing. And you swear—you swear—you’ve never wanted to strangle someone more in your entire life. 

The next day, you’re back at the library, sitting across from Kim Sunoo, a bright-eyed freshman who actually wants to learn. Unlike some people. You tap your highlighter against the open textbook, explaining a key point about the causes of the Industrial Revolution. Sunoo nods eagerly, his face lighting up in understanding. “Ohhh, that makes so much sense now! I swear, I was staring at this for hours last night and none of it clicked.” 

You smile despite yourself. “It’s easier when someone explains it out loud, huh?” 

Sunoo grins. “Way easier. You’re really good at this, noona.” 

You chuckle. “It’s literally just history.” 

“Yeah, but you make it less boring,” he says, scribbling notes as fast as he can. “I actually feel like I might pass this exam now.” Before you can respond, a shadow falls over your table. And suddenly, the lightheartedness of the moment is gone. You don’t need to look up to know who it is. The air shifts, tension creeping in like a slow-moving storm. 

Sunoo notices before you do. His eyes flick upward, widening slightly. “Uh—” 

“Hey” 

You sigh. The last thing you need right now is him. Slowly, you look up. Lee Heeseung stands there, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, looking at you with something that is not his usual cocky amusement. His posture is relaxed, but there’s an awkwardness to it—like he’s not used to whatever he’s about to do. 

You cross your arms over your chest. “What do you want?” 

“I want to talk.” His gaze flickers to Sunoo. “Alone.” Sunoo, to his credit, looks between the two of you and seems to decide that this is not his business. He hurriedly starts shoving his books into his bag. “Oh! Yeah, of course, I—” You shoot Heeseung an annoyed look. “We’re in the middle of something.” 

Sunoo waves a hand. “No, no, it’s fine! I was about to go anyway.” He flashes you a grateful smile. “Thanks for the help! I’ll see you next week?” You nod, still frowning as you watch him scurry off like he just escaped something dangerous. Which, honestly? Fair. Then, you turn back to Heeseung. You lean back in your chair, arms crossed, waiting. “Well?” 

Heeseung exhales, looking almost uncomfortable. He shifts his weight, raking a hand through his hair before finally meeting your eyes. "Look… about last night…" 

Your eyebrows lift. “You mean the hour and a half I spent waiting for you? Or the part where you acted like a complete asshole?” He winces, lowering his eyes to the floor. “Yeah. That.” You don’t say anything. You let the silence stretch between you, let him sit in it. And for the first time since meeting him, Heeseung actually looks nervous. 

He exhales sharply, dropping into the seat across from you. “I was a dick,” he admits. “I know that. And I’m sorry.” You blink. Lee Heeseung, apologizing? Willingly? You half expect the ceiling to cave in. You narrow your eyes, skeptical. “Are you actually?” 

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. I am.” He leans forward slightly, his voice lower now. Sincere even. “Look, I need this. I need to pass. If I don’t, I can’t play.” Something flickers across his face when he says it—something restrained. You get the feeling he’s hating admitting this to you, like asking for help isn’t something he’s ever had to do before. You study him, watching the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers tap against the table like he’s restless. For once, there’s no arrogance in his expression. No teasing smirk. Just… Lee Heeseung, stripped of his usual bullshit.

You hate that it actually works. That a small part of you softens. But still, you’re not letting him off that easy. “I’ll be on time,” he says, his voice firmer now. “I’ll take it seriously. Just… give me another chance.” 

You tilt your head, considering. “And if you don’t?” He exhales through his nose. “Then you can tell Professor Kim to find me another tutor. You’ll never have to deal with me again.” You hesitate, watching him. You want to say no. Want to tell him to find someone else, that you don’t owe him anything. But at the same time… you do love tutoring. And despite everything, you’d hate to see someone fail because of their own stupid pride. Even if that someone is Lee Heeseung. 

So, against your better judgment, you sigh. “Fine,” you say, and immediately he brightens. But you hold up a finger. “But if you pull that shit again, I’m done. No second chances.”

He nods immediately. “Got it.” 

You squint. “I mean it, Heeseung. One more time, and I’m out.” 

“I know, I know,” he says, lips curling up into something that almost looks like a real smile. “I won’t be late.” You purse your lips, still doubtful. “We’ll see.” Heeseung stands up, stretching. “Five sharp, yeah?” 

“Five sharp.” 

A slow smirk spreads across his face. “Yes, ma’am.” 

You roll your eyes and start gathering your things. “See, this is exactly what I mean.” 

He chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. No teasing. I’ll be good.” Somehow, you highly doubt that. As he walks away, hands stuffed in his pockets, you watch him go, feeling a mixture of irritation and reluctant curiosity. Because for all his bullshit, for all his cocky, self-important assholery… A small, tiny part of you is curious to see if he’ll actually change. And you hate that. So much. 

That night, you and Yunjin fall into your usual routine—Chinese takeout, pajama shorts, and an unnecessary rewatch of Grey’s Anatomy. The apartment is warm, dimly lit by the soft glow of your laptop screen. The air smells like sweet and sour chicken, and your chopsticks lazily poke at your carton of lo mein as Yunjin lies sprawled across the couch beside you. “I still can’t believe you’re actually tutoring Heeseung,” she says around a mouthful of fried rice. 

You groan, letting your head fall back against the couch. “Don’t remind me.” 

“You hate him.” Yunjin continues. 

“Exactly! Which is why this is actual hell for me.” You huff, setting your carton down on the coffee table. “He’s such a dick. He thinks the world revolves around him just because he’s good at hockey.” 

Yunjin hums, twirling a noodle around her chopstick. “Soobin says he’s not actually that bad.” You scoff. “Oh, of course Soobin would say that. Heeseung’s his teammate.” 

Yunjin shrugs. “Yeah, but like… he really meant it. Heeseung’s just—” She pauses, pursing her lips like she’s debating whether or not to say something. You narrow your eyes. “What?” 

Yunjin sighs, setting her food down. “Soobin told me something about him. A story, actually.” You blink. “About Heeseung?” 

She nods, sitting up a little.  “Do you wanna hear it?” You hesitate, rolling your eyes. “Do I need to?” 

Yunjin grins. “Oh, absolutely.” 

You groan, but you can’t deny that you’re a little curious. You grab your drink, leaning back against the couch. “Fine. Spill.” 

Yunjin sits up even more, tucking her legs beneath her. “Soobin told me that back in high school, Heeseung wasn’t—like—this.” She gestures vaguely. “He wasn’t popular. Or cocky. Or even a star player.” 

​​You raise an eyebrow in disbelief. “What do you mean? He’s insanely good.” 

“I know,” she says, eyes widening. “But apparently, his coach barely let him play. He wasn’t one of the ‘favorites,’ you know? So he rode the bench most of the time.” That… does surprise you. The Lee Heeseung you know is the player everyone talks about, the guy who steals the spotlight like it was made for him. The idea of him sitting on the sidelines, ignored, is hard to imagine. 

“One day,” Yunjin continues, “one of the team’s star players got hurt before a big game. They had to put Heeseung in, and—” she snaps her fingers “—just like that, he destroyed everyone.” You blink. Surprised, this was not what you were expecting at all. 

“He played so well that the entire crowd went nuts. Coaches were watching. He basically stole the game, and after that? He got a full-ride scholarship. Just like that.” Your brows knit together, trying to picture it. “But after that game,” Yunjin says, tilting her head, “he changed. Like, overnight.” 

You frown. “What do you mean?” She exhales, leaning against the couch. “I mean he stopped being the quiet kid. He got stronger, started training harder. And when he got to college? Boom. Whole new personality. He’s loud, cocky, untouchable.” You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, that part tracks.” 

Yunjin gives you a look. “But don’t you get it? He had to change. He was treated like nothing for years, and the second he proved himself, he made sure no one would ever look down on him again.” You chew on your lip, staring at the flickering light of the laptop screen. You don’t know what to do with that information. Because it’s easier to hate Heeseung when he’s just an arrogant, self-absorbed jock. When he’s just some guy who gets on your nerves. But now there’s a reason behind it. And you hate that it makes you see him differently. 

The next day, when you step into the library, you expect to wait. You expect to sit down, go through your notes, tap your fingers against the table while checking the time, wondering how long you should stay before giving up. But Heeseung is already there And it throws you off.

He’s slouched in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, head tilted down as he stares at his phone. His brows are furrowed, lips pressed together, his thumb hovering over the screen but never quite moving. It’s an expression you’re not used to seeing on him. Tense. Quiet. Serious. It doesn’t suit him. 

You shake it off, forcing yourself to walk over. You pull out your chair with a sharp scrape against the floor and drop your books onto the table. Loudly. Nothing. You fight the urge to roll your eyes and sit down. “Alright, we’re starting with Henry the Eighth today.” 

No reaction. You tilt your head. “You know, the king who had six wives? England’s most dramatic ruler?” Still, nothing. Your patience thins. “What’s more important than not failing?” At that, he finally looks up, but instead of the usual lazy amusement or mild irritation, his expression is sharp. 

“Mind your own business,” he snaps. It hits you like a slap. Of all the things you expected, that wasn’t one of them. 

You straighten, gripping the edge of the table, surprised by the coldness in his voice. Heeseung has been many things since you met him—cocky, arrogant, insufferable—but he’s never been cruel. You inhale sharply, already pushing back your chair. “Okay. If you don’t wanna be here, I’m not wasting my time—” 

“Wait.” The word is rushed, almost desperate, and before you can leave, Heeseung finally puts his phone down. He drags a hand through his hair, exhaling roughly through his nose. “It’s just my dad,” he mutters, like that should be enough of an explanation. You hesitate, watching the way his jaw ticks, the way his fingers tap restlessly against the table. 

“What about him?” you ask, voice softer than before. Heeseung doesn’t look at you. “He was just asking how the season’s going. That’s it.” You study him for a moment, something itching at the back of your mind. This is the first time Heeseung has ever looked like this. Quiet. Withdrawn. Like his thoughts are somewhere else entirely. And last night, you learned something about him—something you never would’ve guessed on your own. 

You shift in your seat, glancing at your open notebook before closing it. “You know…” You trail off, choosing your words carefully. “I heard a story about you.” Heeseung blinks, his gaze flicking to yours. “What?” 

“I heard that back in high school, you weren’t allowed to play much,” you say. “And that when you finally got your shot, you proved everyone wrong.” His entire body stiffens. For a second, you think he’s going to let you keep talking, but then his expression hardens. His lips press together, his fingers stop tapping, and suddenly, the coldness is back. 

“Don’t,” he says flatly. You frown. “I just—” 

He cuts you off with his stern voice. A terrify you didn't want to wander “I said don’t.” It’s sharp, cutting, final. The look in his eyes makes it clear that whatever conversation you were hoping to have? It’s not happening. Your stomach twists, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat, unsure if you should apologize or pretend like you never said anything at all. For a moment, the silence is heavy. Unbearable. 

Then Heeseung sighs, running a hand over his face. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “Just… drop it.” You swallow hard, nodding slowly. “Right,” you murmur, flipping open your book again. “Henry the Eighth.” For a second, you think he won’t even pretend to pay attention. But then he leans forward, picking up a pencil and tapping it against the table. And this time, when you start talking, he actually listens. 

Over the next few weeks you and Heesseung began to find some kind of rhythm that worked for the both of you. And after no time Heeseung was back to usual self. Being extremely and unavoidably annoying. But it was clear to you that all your tutoring sessions were starting to pay off, he was actually learning the material and he..seemed to like it. 

The moment stretches—just a second too long. Your hand lingers against his, warmth seeping through the space between your fingers. It’s stupid. It’s just a high-five. Something you’ve done a thousand times with other people. But when you pull away, you can still feel the ghost of his touch, like it left an imprint. Heeseung’s smirk flickers, something unreadable flashing across his face. But then, just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by his usual cocky grin. 

“See? I told you I was a genius,” he says, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. You roll your eyes, forcing yourself to focus. “That was one right answer out of ten, relax.” 

“An improvement, though.” He points at you like he’s proving a point. “You should be proud. I might actually be learning something.” You scoff, gathering your notes, but your stomach twists in a way you don’t quite understand. Something is different.And you’re not sure what to do about it. One Part of you is scared, another part is excited. And that fear continues to grow the more time you spend with Heeseung. 

The study room is too small. Or maybe it just feels that way because Heeseung takes up too much space—not physically, but in the way he leans back in his chair like he owns the place, the way his presence seems to stretch and fill every available inch. The air is thick with the scent of his cologne—something clean, sharp, a little woodsy—and you hate that you notice it. 

It doesn’t help that you’re sitting way too close. Your knees bump under the table every time one of you shifts. His arm brushes yours when he reaches for his pencil. The tiny room makes every movement magnified, every accidental touch unavoidable. 

You try to focus. You clear your throat and point to your notes. “Okay, so if you actually want to pass this test, you need to remember the causes of the French Revolution.” Heeseung hums, leaning forward. “Right. The people were pissed.” You deadpan. “And why were they pissed?” 

“Uh…” He chews the end of his pencil, eyes flicking to the page in front of you. “Something about taxes?” You exhale. “Something about taxes,” you echo, circling the words in your notes. “Yes. Specifically, the Third Estate—” Before you can finish, Heeseung shifts, leaning over your shoulder to get a better look at your writing. And that’s when it happens. His arm presses against yours. His face is too close. And suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of everything—the warmth of his skin, the scent of his cologne, the way his breath fans lightly over your shoulder.

You force yourself to stay still, to not react. “You have really messy handwriting,” Heeseung murmurs, completely oblivious to the absolute chaos in your brain. You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the fact that his voice is lower, softer in the quiet of the study room. “Maybe if you actually wrote your own notes, you wouldn’t have to suffer through mine.” 

“I like yours better,” he says, smirking. You scuff, shoving your notebook toward him. “Then read them yourself, genius.” 

He laughs, finally leaning back, and you exhale—only now realizing you were holding your breath. It was nothing. Just an accidental touch. And yet your heart is pounding out of your chest. You shake it off, clearing your throat. “Okay. Back to the revolution.” Heeseung smirks like he knows something you don’t. But he doesn’t say a word. And somehow that’s worse. 

The party is loud—too loud, too chaotic, too much. You don't even know whose house this is. The bass is thumping through the floor, the air is thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and way too much cologne. Yunjin, as always, is in her element, talking to literally anyone with a pulse, dragging you around as she bounces between groups of people. You don’t even know why she drags you along to these things if she’s not even going to stay with you. 

You're scouting your surroundings when you see him. Lee Heeseung. But he’s not like he usually is, No cocky smirk, no playful teasing, no girls clinging to his arm. He looks… different. Closed off even. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, a red Solo cup dangling from his fingers, but his eyes are unfocused, staring off at nothing. The usual arrogance in his posture is missing. He just looks… tired. 

You hesitate. Normally, you’d avoid him. You’re not sure why you don’t this time. Maybe it’s because he’s alone, or maybe it’s because this version of him—the one that isn’t performing, isn’t playing up his reputation—intrigues you. So you walk over, crossing your arms. “No girl hanging off you tonight?” Heeseung barely reacts at first. He blinks, like he’s just noticing you, then shrugs. “Not in the mood.” 

That’s not the response you expect. Usually, he’d fire back with something smug, something flirty, something to get a rise out of you. Instead, his voice is flat. You glance at him, studying his expression. His usual lightheartedness is gone, replaced with something heavier, something clouded. His fingers tighten around the cup, his jaw shifts slightly, and he isn’t looking at you. Something’s on his mind. And for some reason, you care. 

“…You wanna get out of here?” The words slip out before you can stop them. Heeseung finally looks at you. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze—surprise, curiosity, maybe even relief. And for a second, you think he’s going to brush you off, flash you that smirk and tell you not to flatter yourself. But instead, he nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go.” 

Outside, the night air is cold, but it feels… lighter. You walk side by side down the street, neither of you saying anything at first. The party fades behind you, the music growing distant, replaced by the quiet hum of the night. It’s weird. You’ve never been alone with Heeseung outside of the library. You’re used to him in controlled environments—study sessions, parties where he’s surrounded by people, the ice where he’s the star. Not like this. Not just… walking.

“You okay?” you ask eventually. Heeseung huffs a laugh, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Didn’t think you cared.” You roll your eyes. “I don’t.”

He smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Liar.” You bump your shoulder against his without thinking. “Seriously, though. You’re acting different.” Heeseung exhales, looking up at the sky. For a second, you think he won’t answer. But then—

“It’s nothing,” he says. “Just hockey stuff.”

You frown. “You’re always dealing with hockey stuff.”

“Yeah, well.” He pauses. “It’s my whole life.”

You glance at him, watching the way his features harden, his usual carefree exterior cracking just enough for you to see through. And you remember what Yunjin told you—that he wasn’t always the hotshot, that he had to claw his way to the top. You don’t push him. Instead, you say, “Wanna grab food?” He blinks. “At this hour?”

“Diner down the street’s open late,” you say. “And you look like you could use pancakes.” Heeseung huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. But then he looks at you—really looks at you. And something shifts. “…Yeah,” he says, nudging you with his elbow. “Let’s get pancakes.” And just like that, the night takes on a different shape. 

The diner is the kind of place that always smells like coffee and syrup, no matter what time of day it is. The booths are cracked with age, the neon sign outside flickers every few seconds, and there’s a quiet hum of old music playing through the speakers. It’s not fancy. But it’s warm, and right now, it’s exactly what you need. Heeseung slides into the booth across from you, stretching out his legs so they nearly brush against yours. You don’t know if he does it on purpose or if he just takes up that much space. You ignore it. 

A waitress comes by, barely looking at either of you as she takes your order—pancakes, coffee, extra whipped cream. Heeseung raises an eyebrow at you, amused. “What?” you challenge. “I told you. Pancakes fix everything.” 

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. But there’s something softer about him now. Not in the way he usually teases you—this feels different. And then the moment settles into a more calm setting. You lean forward, resting your arms on the table. “So,” you say, tilting your head. “Wanna talk about it?” 

You expect him to dodge the question, maybe throw out some sarcastic remark to avoid actually telling you what’s going on. But for the second time that night, Lee Heeseung surprises you. He exhales, running a hand through his hair, making it even messier than before. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet. “My dad found out about my grades.” Your stomach twists. You already have a bad feeling about where this is going. 

Heeseung lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “He says if I’m gonna throw my entire hockey career away for some stupid class, then I don’t deserve his financial support anymore.” He pauses, staring down at the table. “Says I should ‘get my priorities straight.’” Your heart clenches. You should’ve expected something like this. It’s not uncommon—parents putting pressure on their kids, pushing them toward success, expecting perfection. But something about the way Heeseung says it, the way his voice drops just a little at the end… You know that feeling. 

“I just—” Heeseung exhales harshly, gripping his fork a little too tight. “I never feel like I’m enough for them, you know?” 

You don’t even think. You just say it. “I do.” 

Heeseung blinks, lifting his gaze to meet yours. You swallow hard, suddenly feeling vulnerable, but you push through. “My mom and I don’t talk anymore,” you admit. “She didn’t approve of me getting a history degree. She wanted me to go into the family business with them.” You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “When I didn’t, she basically—shunned me. Acted like I was a disappointment. Like I wasn’t worth her time anymore.” Heeseung stares at you, expression unreadable. You feel like you should keep talking, should fill the silence, but then Heeseung leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. His gaze softens. 

“That’s fucked up,” he says, voice quieter now. 

You shrug, picking at the edge of your napkin. “Yeah, well. It is what it is.” There’s a pause. Then— “I don’t think it is,” Heeseung mutters. You look at him, and for the first time since you met him, you realize that Lee Heeseung isn’t just some cocky, aggravating hockey star. He’s a person. A person with his own struggles, his own fears, his own wounds. The realization shifts something inside you. The waitress comes by, sliding plates of pancakes in front of you, breaking the moment. Heeseung blinks, like he’s shaking himself out of whatever just passed between you, and you do the same. 

You don’t kiss. You don’t hold hands. You don’t even bring the topic up again, but the both of you feel it. Something was different. 

You glance at the time on your phone and exhale sharply, tapping your fingers against the table. Heeseung is late. Again. It’s been twenty minutes, and you’ve already convinced yourself that if he’s not here in five more, you’re leaving. To say you were disappointed would be an understatement, you were more sad than anything. You had thought that the two of you had made some much progress. You’re mid-internal rant about how utterly irresponsible he is when you hear the sound of hurried footsteps. 

“I know, I know,” Heeseung says before you can even open your mouth. He holds up both hands in mock surrender, slightly out of breath. “Before you rip my head off, I brought you something.” You narrow your eyes as he slides a coffee cup and a neatly wrapped pastry across the table. 

You hesitate, suspicious. “What is this?” 

“A peace offering,” Heeseung says with a grin. “Your favorite, by the way. Thought it might keep you from murdering me in cold blood.” Your lips part slightly, surprised. “How do you even know my order?” 

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “You get it every time we go to the campus café. Not that hard to remember.” You press your lips together, trying to ignore the fact that your stomach does a weird little flip at that. Instead, you roll your eyes and mutter, “Still an asshole,” before taking the cup. 

Heeseung chuckles, sliding into the seat across from you. “Yeah, yeah. But at least I’m a thoughtful asshole.” You’re about to start the tutoring session when a static-filled announcement echoes through the library speakers. “Attention, students: The library will be closing early tonight due to a scheduled event. Please begin packing up your belongings.” 

You blink, glancing at Heeseung, who’s already stuffing his books back into his bag. He shrugs. “Guess we’re taking this somewhere else.” 

“Wait!” You call out. “Where are we going?” You ask him, beginning to pack up your own things. 

“Just come with me.” He says simply with a shrug of his shoulders. You huff but follow after him like he said, through the crowd of people also leaving the library. 

You’re not sure how it happens, but twenty minutes later, you’re sitting across from Heeseung in a quiet corner of a late-night café, your books barely touched. At first, you try to focus on history. You really do. But for once, Heeseung isn’t the one slacking off—you are. The conversation drifts. It’s not about Henry VIII or the French Revolution anymore. It’s about movies. 

“What do you mean you’ve never seen Interstellar?” Heeseung looks genuinely offended. You roll your eyes. “Sorry, I just never got around to it.” 

He lets out an exaggerated gasp. “Unbelievable. You call yourself educated?” You nudge his foot under the table. “Pretty sure history knowledge is more important than knowing a random space movie.” 

“First of all,” he says, holding up a finger, “it’s not just a ‘random space movie.’ It’s a cinematic masterpiece.” 

You snort. “Didn’t take you for the type to get passionate over movies.” Heeseung sends you a smirk, one that you had to admit made you feel mushy inside. What was happening to you? “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” And for some reason, you find yourself wanting to change that. Then the conversation shifts again. This time, it’s about childhood. 

You tell him about how you used to sneak into your grandfather’s study to read history books that were way too advanced for you, even though you were explicitly told not to. Heeseung tells you about how he used to skate on a frozen pond near his childhood home, even when it wasn’t completely frozen over. “Nearly drowned once,” he admits with a laugh. “Didn’t stop me from going back the next week.” 

You shake your head. “That explains so much about you.” The conversation flows too easily. The barriers that were once so firm between you are now… blurred. It scares yet excites you at the same time. At some point, you notice Heeseung looking at you for a little too long. His eyes flicker over your face, his smirk settling into something softer. Something unreadable. It has your heart pounding and your palms sweaty. You felt like one of those rom com heroines that were head over heels in love with the witty Jock. What were you doing? Lee Heeseung was so not your type. Hockey players were so not your type. 

“You know,” he muses, tilting his head, “this kinda feels like a date.” Your breath catches in your throat. 

You scoff, trying to ignore the sudden warmth in your face. “In what world?” 

Heeseung grins, leaning forward slightly. “Come on. Late-night café, deep conversation, stolen glances.” He raises a brow. “You sure you don’t feel it?” Your heart stumbles. You don’t know what to say. So you shift the topic into something more casual but still you don’t miss the knowing smirk on Heeseung’s face, like he knew the effect he had on you and he liked it. And a part of you liked it too.. 

The next day, you and Heeseung are back at the library, tucked into your usual corner. The energy between you is… normal. The way it always is. You tell yourself that last night at the café meant nothing. That Heeseung’s words—this kinda feels like a date—were just him messing with you, the way he always does. So you push it away, bury yourself in your notes, and act like everything is the same. 

And for the most part, it is. Heeseung slouches in his chair, tapping his pencil against the table in boredom while you attempt to drill historical facts into his thick skull. He groans dramatically when you ask him a question. He teases you when you sigh in exasperation. Everything is normal. Until— 

“What’s this?” Heeseung suddenly reaches into your bag and pulls out a slightly worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. You blink. “Uh, my book?” 

Heeseung raises a brow. “You’re one of those people?” 

You cross your arms. “What does that mean? A person who reads?” 

He grins, flipping through the pages. “Y’know. The ones who are obsessed with Mr. Darcy.” 

You roll your eyes. “I like the book because it’s well-written. Not because I’m obsessed with some brooding 19th-century man.” Heeseung hums, still turning the pages. “Mm. I liked it, too.” 

You stare at him. “What?” No way a guy like Lee Heeseung read and liked Pride and prejudice. 

He looks up, amused. “What?” 

“You read it?” 

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Yeah. Had to for a class in high school.” 

You’re genuinely shocked. You don’t know why—Heeseung surprises you more often than you’d like to admit. But for some reason, the image of him reading Pride and Prejudice is not one you ever expected. “What did you think?” you ask, genuinely curious. 

He leans back in his chair, tapping the book against his thigh. “I liked the way Mr. Darcy felt about Elizabeth. That whole ‘I tried not to love you, but I did anyway’ thing? Kinda hits, y’know?” 

Your breath catches. Because the way he says it..It’s not teasing, it’s not sarcastic, it's not a joke. The air shifts between you and for a minute you just stare at each other, saying nothing but so many things all at once. Something pulses in the space between you—something unfamiliar, something dangerous, something you don’t quite know how to name. Then, before you can react— Heeseung laughs, then he leans forward and kisses you. 

It’s quick. Just a press of his lips against yours. Light, fleeting. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s a joke. Something so trivial you do with the everyday person, something with no meaning. And it takes you a second to process what just happened before the reality of it slams into you like a freight train. You shove him back. Hard. “What the hell, Heeseung?” Your voice shakes with anger. 

He just grins, laughing. “Relax. I just wanted to see you flustered.” Your stomach sinks. To him it was a joke, kissing me was a joke to see me– Flustered? That was funny to him? You don’t even realize your hands are shaking until you grab your things and shove them into your bag. Your chest feels tight. Your vision blurs. Because it wasn't a joke to you. You didn't enjoy being the punchline to someone's entertainment. “Hey, where are you—” But you don’t let him finish. You walk out. 

You make it all the way out of the library before the first tear falls. You hate yourself for it. Hate that you’re crying. Hate that you’re letting Heeseung get to you. But you can't help it. That was your first kiss. And he stole it from you. It wasn't special, it wasn't meaningful if anything it was the opposite. It was just a joke. A way for Heeseung to entertain himself. You wipe your face harshly, forcing yourself to breathe. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. That it’s not a big deal. That it’s fine. But it’s not. 

You’re halfway across campus when you hear footsteps behind you. “Wait—wait,” Heeseung calls. You don’t stop. If anything you walk quicker trying your hardest to get away from him. “Hey—seriously—” He jogs up beside you, still laughing. Like it’s funny. Like it’s just another thing for him to tease you about. And that’s when you’ve had enough. That’s when you break. 

You whirl around, eyes blazing. “You think this is funny?” Heeseung falters, caught off guard by the sharpness in your voice. You scoff, shaking your head. “You don’t get it.” 

Heeseung frowns, finally realizing that you’re actually mad. “I mean, come on. It was just a kiss—” 

“No, it wasn’t!” The words come out louder than you intend. Heeseung blinks. Your throat tightens. You stare at the ground, voice quieter now. “That was…my first kiss.” The words feel like ash on your tongue, burning your inside out. Embarrassment flooding your senses. 

And silence followed, dead silence. Heeseung said nothing at your confession. When you finally look up, Heeseung’s expression has completely changed. He doesn’t look smug anymore. He doesn’t look amused. He looks like he just got punched in the stomach. “Shit,” he breathes. 

You shake your head, swallowing hard. “Forget it.” You turn to leave again, but this time, he grabs your wrist. Stopping you from moving away from him. You want to rip your wrist from his hands, it feels like fire on your skin. You just wanted to get away from him even for just a few minutes to collect yourself, so you could calm down. 

Heeseung, although unintentionally, took something from you. And for some people your first kiss would mean nothing but not to you. You had been waiting for the right time, a first kiss, in your mind, was supposed to be romantic. It was supposed to mean something. Even if you didn't end up with that person in the end. Even if you had the messiest break up it didn't matter because in that moment they were the right person and the feeling was there. 

It was the reason you read romance novels like pride and prejudice. You were a foolish, foolish hopeless romantic and you didn't care. You embraced it but now stuck in front of someone like Lee Heeseung who kissed girls like he changed his clothes you were embarrassed. Because it meant nothing to him, it was a joke to see you red, to see you stutter. You couldn't help but be angry about that and you weren't going to let him downplay it. You had more dignity than that. 

“I—” He hesitates, exhaling sharply. “I didn’t know.” 

You laugh bitterly. “Yeah. No shit.” because of course he didn't. Because in his world silly little romantic gestures and the innocence of waiting for the right time to have your first kiss didn’t exist. Kissing was something you just did for him. 

Heeseung runs a hand over his face, looking genuinely guilty. His usual cockiness is gone, replaced by something that almost looks like… regret. “I—fuck. I’m an asshole,” he mutters, shaking his head. 

You sniff, wiping at your eyes. “Yeah. You are.” 

He looks at you, jaw tight. “I wouldn’t have done that if I knew.” And you believe him. You can see it in the way his lips are pressed into a thin line, the way his jaw clenches like he’s punishing himself for something he can’t take back. A long silence stretches between you. Were you really about to forgive him? 

Then, you exhale, your voice small. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that.” 

Heeseung swallows hard. “I know.” Your throat tightens as you look away, the ache in your chest still present but no longer suffocating. “It was stupid, and it—it wasn’t supposed to be a joke.” 

“I know,” he repeats. And this time, his voice is laced with something heavier. Something genuine. You hate that you can’t hate him for it. You chew on your lip, staring at the ground. A part of you wants to stay mad. Wants to tell him to leave you alone, to let you hold on to your anger because that would be easier. But another part of you—one you’re not sure you like—wants to believe him. 

Because Heeseung might be an arrogant hockey player with a flirty smirk and a ridiculous ego, but… he isn’t cruel. You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face. “I can’t believe my first kiss was with you.” 

Heeseung huffs out a laugh, though there’s no amusement in it. “Yeah. And I can’t believe I ruined it for you.” You look up at him then, surprised by the way his gaze is so… serious. He was being sincere. “I’m really sorry,” he says quietly. “I was just being an idiot. I didn’t think—I didn’t know—” He shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “I swear, I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.” 

You stare at him for a long moment, searching his face for any trace of insincerity. But there’s nothing. You could tell with utmost certainty that he was sorry, that he regretted it. And against all odds, you sigh, your shoulders dropping just a little. “I forgive you,” you murmur. 

Heeseung blinks. “You do?” 

You roll your eyes. “Don’t make me change my mind.” 

A slow, relieved smile tugs at his lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

You shake your head, still feeling a little raw, but… better. Heeseung watches you carefully. Then, after a beat, he hesitates before saying, “You know… if you wanted, I could—” He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly looking almost shy. “I mean, I could give you a proper first kiss.” You freeze, your heart stuttering in your chest. 

Heeseung seems to immediately regret saying it, his eyes widening. “Only if you wanted—and not now! I mean—just, like, someday. If you ever wanted to, uh—” You stare at him. Then, despite everything, a laugh bubbles up in your throat. Heeseung let out a groan, running a hand over his face in embarrassment “Just, forget i said anything.”  

But you’re grinning now. It was your turn to tease him and man it felt good. 

The arena is alive with energy, the kind that shakes the walls and hums beneath your skin. You’re here. At a hockey game. Voluntarily. Yunjin nearly fell off the bleachers when you agreed without your usual dramatic sigh and drawn-out complaints. She had pestered you the entire way here, elbowing you in the ribs, wiggling her eyebrows, making heart gestures with her hands. 

“I know why you suddenly want to come,” she had sing-songed, a smug grin plastered on her face. You had simply rolled your eyes, refusing to entertain her antics. But now, sitting in the middle of the buzzing crowd, you feel… different. 

For the first time, you’re actually watching the game. Not just tolerating it, not just suffering through it for Yunjin’s sake—you’re watching, eyes trained on one player in particular. Lee Heeseung. 

You’ve never really paid attention before, never really noticed the way he moves across the ice like he was born on it. He’s fast, insanely fast, weaving through players with a sharp focus you’ve never seen from him anywhere else. The same guy who saunters into tutoring sessions late, who smirks and teases and never takes anything seriously—here, he’s different. He’s serious. Disciplined. And you suddenly understand why people look at him the way they do. Why he’s not just good—but great. 

Your chest tightens as you watch him skate down the ice, stick-handling the puck with effortless precision before passing it off to a teammate. A minute later, the puck is passed back to him, and in one smooth motion, he winds up his shot. The slapshot is powerful, cutting through the air before slamming into the back of the net. The entire arena erupts. Heeseung’s teammates swarm him, cheering, helmets knocking against each other as they embrace. The student section roars, chants of his name ringing out through the stands. 

And you— You cheer. For the first time ever a hockey game has actually excited you. You let the fact that it was a grueling, animalistic sport slip away from you and you allowed yourself to have fun. To watch the people around you at the edge of their seats and you be a part of it. You weren't sulking in your seat wishing you were anywhere but here, no you were having fun. It was liberating. Why hadn;t you allowed such a simple pleasure before. 

You don’t even realize it at first. It’s small, just a quiet “yes!” under your breath, but Yunjin hears it. Her head whips toward you so fast it’s a miracle she doesn’t get whiplash. “Oh. My. God.” 

You blink, startled. “What?” 

Her jaw drops, hands gripping your arm in a death hold. “You just cheered.” You open your mouth to protest, but she’s already gasping dramatically. “I can’t believe it. You—you like hockey. You like hockey.” 

You shove her off, cheeks burning. “I do not.” 

“You do! You just cheered! You’ve been watching the game, and not in a ‘God, this is so stupid’ kind of way, but like a real fan.” She gasps again. “Oh my God, do you have a jersey under your coat? Are you secretly a hardcore Lee Heeseung fangirl?” 

You glare at her. “I swear to God, Yunjin—” 

But she just grins, eyes sparkling with pure mischief. “You like him.” 

Your stomach flips. “I do not.” 

“You do!” She wiggles her brows, giddy like she’s just discovered the best gossip of the century. “You’re watching him like he hung the moon, and you cheered, and you didn’t even complain when I dragged you here!”  

You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. “I just—” You hesitate, glancing back toward the ice where Heeseung is still grinning, fist-bumping his teammates. And for the first time, you admit it to yourself. You like him. You really like him. Even if he stole your first kiss like it was a joke, even if he’s late sometimes, even if he never takes anything seriously with that stupid little smirk on his face. You like him. Lee Heeseung had surprised you. He was nothing you had thought him to be. He was funny, he was kind, he was smart even if he thought otherwise. 

The realization settles over you like a weight you’re not sure you’re ready to carry. Because no way does Heeseung feel the same way about you. Does he? He called your little cafe hang out a date. He’s told you things about himself that i’m sure only his closest friends would know. He kissed you for god sake. Maybe he does like you back? 

“Even if i do like him..” You mutter finding it hard to get the words out. “It’s not like he would like me back?” 

“It doesn’t hurt to find out right?” Yunjin asks with a big dopey grin on her face. 

“That’s the thing..” You trail off “It does hurt to ask, because if he doesn't like me back then it will be awkward, it will ruin everything we've done so far.” 

“Sure.” Yunjin nods “But you can’t walk around with this crush looming over you. Things like this can’t go unsaid..” 

You just nod at her not really wanting to further conversation here of all places. The game was over and everyone was starting to leave, it would be humiliating if someone were to hear the two of yours conversation. 

“Come on.” Yunjin grabbed your arm “We have to wait for Soobin..” 

You stand outside the rink with Yunjin, your arms crossed over your chest as she bounces on the balls of her feet, clearly eager to see Soobin. The energy is still electric from the game, students lingering in groups, buzzing about the win. You’re pretending to listen to Yunjin ramble about some play that Soobin made, but your eyes keep flickering toward the players filtering out of the locker room. Looking for him. But Heeseung’s nowhere to be found. 

You’re not sure why you care. Not sure why your stomach twists in disappointment every time another player walks past and it’s not him. You were sure you looked like a little lost puppy, how pathetic of you really. 

“Looking for someone?” Yunjin cooes, a grin on her face. You shake your head at her relentlessness. She never gives up does she. 

“No.” You deadpan “I’m not.” 

“Sure.” she giggles. But she didn't believe you. And truthfully you didn't believe yourself. 

Luckily, Soobin finally emerges, and Yunjin squeals, launching herself at him. He laughs, catching her with ease, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. “Did you see my goal?” he teases. 

“I saw everything,” Yunjin gushes. You roll your eyes, but there’s a small, unbidden smile playing on your lips as you watch them. You always admired their relationship and the way Soobin takes such good care of Yunjin. Sure, you weren't the biggest fan of hockey players but Soobin was one of the good ones. Yunjin loved him, so in turn you loved him too. Unless he hurt her. Then he’d had hell to pay. But, they've been going strong for two years now so the chance of that happening was slim to none it seemed. 

The moment is cut short when a group of guys from the opposing team walks past, their presence immediately shifting the air. “Nice win,” one of them says, voice dripping with sarcasm. His eyes land on Soobin. “Lucky, huh?” 

Soobin tenses beside Yunjin, but his expression remains neutral. “Just played our game, man.” 

One of the guys scoffs. “Right. Guess even a broken clock is right twice a day.” Jake and Jay join the group just in time to hear that, their easygoing post-game demeanor sharpening. 

“Problem?” Jake asks, his usual grin gone. It was so unlike Jake to not have a beaming smile on his face. He was almost never this serious from what you’ve seen of him. 

The guy just smirks. “Not at all. Just wondering what your team is gonna do when Lee Heeseung finally crashes and burns.” Something in your chest tightens. 

Jake’s jaw ticks. “Excuse me?” 

“Oh, come on. You know it as well as we do. Without hockey, Heeseung is nothing. Just another dude who peaked in college and has nothing to fall back on.” The guy laughs, shaking his head. “Damn shame, really.” You see red. 

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you step forward. “Excuse you?” The guy turns to you, clearly amused. “Oh? And who are you?” 

“I’m the person telling you to shut the hell up,” you snap, surprising everyone—including yourself. Heeseung might drive you insane. He might be arrogant and cocky and an infuriating flirt. But the way they’re talking about him—like he’s disposable, like he doesn’t matter beyond what he can do on the ice—it bothers you. It bothers you a lot. More than it should maybe. But at this moment you didn’t care. You sure as hell were not going to let sore losers talk down on him when he wasn’t even here to defend himself. 

You keep going, anger bubbling to the surface. “You don’t know anything about him. You don’t know how hard he works, how much pressure he’s under. He’s one of the best players in the league, and that’s why you’re all so bitter.” You let out a scoff. “And if he did quit hockey tomorrow? He’d still be ten times the person any of you are.” The group goes silent for a beat. Then the guy just laughs. He actually laughs. You tense up, readying yourself to really have at them. 

“Damn,” he snickers, looking at his teammates. “She’s got it bad.” Heat rises to your face. Was it really that obvious? Were you just humiliating yourself? You cursed yourself for opening your mouth in the first place. For allowing these assholes to get under your skin. 

You open your mouth to argue, but he just shakes his head, still chuckling. “Good luck with that, sweetheart.” Then they walk off, leaving you standing there, seething and embarrassed for making a scene. 

“Damn.” 

You turn to find all eyes on you. It made you want to sink into yourself and put yourself away for the next year. A closed off hole in the dirt would be a better place for you right now then where you were currently. Jake raises his eyebrows, impressed. “Didn’t know you had that in you.” 

“Neither did I,” Jay adds, smirking. 

Even Soobin is looking at you like he’s seeing you in a new light. Everyone was looking at you like you were a totally different person than who you were. And you didn't know if you liked it. 

But it’s Yunjin who nudges your side, grinning knowingly. “Interesting.” You groan, rubbing your temples. Because, yeah. It is interesting. Because for all the times you’ve denied it, all the times you’ve tried to pretend you don’t care about Heeseung— You just proved, in front of everyone, that you do. 

The next day, you wait for Heeseung at the library, tapping your pen impatiently against your notebook. Five minutes turn into fifteen. Fifteen into thirty. But he never shows. Annoyance bubbles inside you. Typical. Still, something feels different this time. After the kiss, after everything that happened, you expected—no, hoped—things would shift between you. Instead, he’s just… disappeared. And you hate that you care. Everything was ok. He was flirty, so why was he ignoring you? Why was he flaking? 

So, against your better judgment, you find yourself heading toward the frat house. The music is low, a few guys lounging around, but it’s nothing like the parties you’ve been dragged to before. When you ask where Heeseung is, they just gesture upstairs, some of them giving you looks you pointedly ignore. You don’t even knock. You push open his door to find him sitting on his bed, scrolling through his phone. 

He barely spares you a glance. “What do you want?” 

You scoff. “Seriously? You skip tutoring and act like I’m the one bothering you?” Heeseung tosses his phone aside, finally looking at you—but there’s no teasing glint in his eyes, no smirk. Just something unreadable, something guarded. “I didn’t ask you to come here.” 

You frown. “Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for you to ignore me, either.” 

Silence. Heeseung rubs the back of his neck, exhaling harshly. “Look, just forget it.” 

You shake your head, frustration growing. “Why are you being like this?” 

“Like what?” He quips with a sarcastic laugh. It makes your blood boil. 

“Like this. Distant. Rude. A total asshole.” 

He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Funny. I thought that’s how you always saw me.” 

“That’s not—” You stop yourself, clenching your fists. “What’s your problem?” 

Heeseung stands, suddenly in your space, forcing you to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. “My problem?” His voice is sharp now. “My problem is you making me look like an idiot.” 

You blink, taken aback. “What?” The confusion coursing through you was palpable. You couldn’t remember a time you had made him look like an idiot. The two of you hardly interacted outside of the library and you certainly hadn’t been around each other when your friends were near. So what the hell was he talking about? 

“Last night,” he mutters, his jaw clenched. “You stood there, in front of everyone, and defended me like I’m some kind of fucking charity case.”  Oh. Oh. 

Your breath catches in your throat. “That’s not what I was doing—” 

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,” he interrupts. “I don’t need you to tell people I’m more than hockey. I am hockey.” His eyes darken. “And just because we kissed doesn’t mean you’re my fucking girlfriend.” 

The words hit you like a slap. You open your mouth, then close it. You don’t even know what to say. The silence stretches between you like a canyon. 

“I wasn’t trying to-” 

“I didn’t ask for you to do that,” he cuts you off. “I don’t need saving.” You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I wasn’t trying to save you, Heeseung. I was just—” 

He laughs, but it’s anything but amused. “You were just what?” 

“Caring,” you snap. “I was caring, okay? God forbid someone actually gives a shit about you.” Something flashes across his face—something raw, something almost vulnerable—but it’s gone as quickly as it came. A beat of silence. Then, softer: “I don't need you to care.” 

And that, somehow, it hurts more than anything else he’s said. You nod, pressing your lips together. “Just drop it.” He says with finality. But you weren't done. No, you were fired up. 

You should. You should just let it go. But instead, you shove his shoulder. “No.” 

He looks at you, startled. “Did you just—” You shove him again. 

He catches your wrist. “You’ve got some nerve.” You glare up at him. “And you’re a coward.”

His grip tightens slightly. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” You take a shaky breath. “You push people away because it’s easier than letting them in. It’s easier than admitting that you actually give a shit.” Heeseung’s eyes flicker with something unreadable. “And what if I don’t?” You swallow. “Then prove it.” His grip on your wrist tightens. And then, suddenly— His lips are on yours. 

This time you don’t push him away, this time you welcome him. Because you wanted this, more than you’ve wanted anything else before. It’s rough, heated, and you should push him away. You should be furious. But instead, you find yourself kissing him back. You barely register him walking you backward until your back hits the wall, his hands gripping your waist, his lips trailing along your jaw, your neck. The argument, the hurt, the frustration—it all melts into something else entirely. Something that has been building since the first moment you met. And you don’t stop him. How could you when this was all you’ve wanted. All you’ve been thinking of. The kiss is hard, almost punishing, like he’s trying to prove a point. But you don’t pull away. You kiss him back, fisting the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer. 

It’s heated, desperate, fueled by something neither of you want to name. His hands find your waist, and before you know it, you’re stumbling back onto the bed. Your heart is racing. This is a bad idea. This is reckless and impulsive and everything you swore you wouldn’t do. But when Heeseung hovers over you, his lips brushing against yours— you don’t want him to stop. And you beg him not to. 

“Don’t stop.” You breathe pulling away an inch to whisper the words. “Please.”

“But-” He stutters his own breathing labored “You’ve never..” 

“I want to.” You nod at him, giving him all the reassurance he needs. 

“Are you sure?” He asks you, his lips leaving a small trail on your neck down to your collarbone. “Tell me you’re sure.” 

“I’m sure heeseung.” You grabbed his face, so his eyes were leveled with yours. “I want you.” 

Heeseung’s hands continued down the expanse of your body. Running his palms up and down your sides until they reached your waist. He pulled at your body until you’re forced down onto your back with a huff. 

“You’re so beautiful” Heeseung mumbles from above you. “I’m so lucky to be the only man to see you like this…” He coos as his hands made quick work of sliding your yoga pants down your legs revealing your white cotton panties to his eyes. “Right baby?” He hummed “I’m lucky right?” 

You could barely form words as you watched drink in the sight of you. You nod at him that being the only form of communication you could offer him. His hands run up your body again, slowly caressing you. Until he reached your tank top covered breasts. His hands squeezed at them causing a broken gasp to leave your lips. 

You had never been touched by a man like this. So sensually, so erotic. Your body felt ablaze with need for him; you didn't know how to contain yourself. “Please.” You whispered, lifting your hips off the bed, showcasing your ever growing need for him. 

“Be patient baby, I want to take my time with you.” Heeseung pulled at the top of your tank top, yanking it down to expose your breasts to him. He smiled at you, a smile that had made you feel warm inside, safe. His hands kneaded the skin of your breasts. Breathy moans left your lips as you watched Heeseung in fascination. He was beautiful like this. You had never seen a more beautiful man before. 

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?” Heeseung asked, and for a second you were confused until you felt his nimble fingers on your most sensitive area. An area that had not yet been explored. It had your breath stuttering, your nerves alight. 

Heeseung’s finger circled your clit, his eyes watching your for any signs of discomfort. “This might feel a little uncomfortable, just tell me if you want me to stop and I will okay?” 

“Okay.” You sigh. Heeseung’s finger dips inside of you and at first the stretch is uncomfortable but not painful and soon..it starts to feel good. A moan leaves your lips before you could stop it. 

“Fuck.” Heeseung hisses eyes trained on your pussy and how well you were taking his finger. “I’m going to add another one..you’re so tight.” 

“Oh my god.” You whispered as the feeling of his fingers going in and out of you became almost too much to bear. 

“Does that feel good, baby?” Heeseung whispered eyes still trained downwards, watching himself fuck you with his fingers. 

“Yes, fuck yes.” Your moans were loudly and could probably be heard throughout the entire house but you didn’t care. It felt too good. 

Suddenly, the feeling was yanked from you when Heeseung pulled his fingers out. His hands immediately traveled to his pants, yanking them down in one fell swoop. “You’re ready for me.” He said, pulling your hips to the end of the bed. 

“Heeseung…” You trailed off “Is it going to hurt?” You asked him. Heeseung looked at you with a softness you had rarely ever seen from him before. 

“It will sting a little..” He admits “But tell me if it's too much and I'll stop right away.” 

“Okay, i’m ready” You give him a little smile and a nod, mentally preparing yourself. You were about to lose your virginity to a guy that wasn’t even your boyfriend. And you wanted to, you were excited to. 

Heeseung lined himself at your entrance watching your face to gauge your reaction, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you. You felt him run the tip of his cock up and down your folds, collecting your wetness. And finally after what felt like forever he slid in. slowly, inch by inch. The stretch was far more uncomfortable than his fingers. And he was right to say it would sting. But it was not unbearable. And finally when he was fully inside, hips flush against yours you had felt so close to him, more close than you had ever felt to anyone. It was almost romantic. Not almost, it was. 

Heeseung slowly moved himself in and out of you allowing you to get used to his size. 

“God.” He hissed out, his fingers making dents in your thighs as he tried his best to contain himself. “So…fucking…tight.” 

“Yeah?” You asked, your voice light and airy. Your hands reached for his shoulders digging your fingertips into his skin. “Does it feel good?” 

Heeseung groaned at your words pistoning his hips harder inside of you. “Y-yes” He stuttered. “Best pussy i’ve ever felt.” 

You smiled at his crude words but you would be lying if you didn't think his words to be oddly…sweet. 

“Faster.” You moaned, moving your hands down to circle at your clit. “You can go faster.” 

Heeseung let out another deep girdled groan lifting your knees to your chest allowing himself to hit a deeper spot inside of you. It had you gasping for breath. The new angle sends you hurtling to your orgasm before you could even catch your breath.  

“Fuckkkk” Heeseung’s moans were like music to your ears, a sound you had never thought you would have the pleasure of hearing and now that you have you would never give up. 

Your orgasm served as a catalyst to his as he pulled out, leaving you feeling empty. His hand worked himself up and down, his breathing heavy and chest heaving up and down. “Oh my god.” He groaned as droplets of his cum landed on your stomach. You watched him with wide eyes, your own chest falling in tandem with his.

“Are you okay?” He asks after a while, letting you both catch your breath. 

“Yeah..” You sigh. “More than okay.” 

The next day, Heeseung is out of town for an away game, leaving you alone with your thoughts—ones you don’t particularly want to sit with. Over thinking the night the two of you had over and over again. It was perfect, in your mind. And you didn’t regret not one bit. 

When Yunjin suggests another movie night, you jump at the distraction. Wanting a way to calm your raging nerves. An hour later, the two of you are curled up on your respective sides of the couch, Chinese takeout containers balancing on your laps, Legally Blonde playing on the screen. But you’re barely paying attention. Your mind is still tangled in the events of last night—the heat of Heeseung’s touch, the way he kissed you like he couldn’t get enough, the things he whispered against your skin. 

It’s only a matter of time before Yunjin notices. She shoots you a knowing look, pausing the movie. “Okay. Spill.” 

You hesitate, staring down at your lo mein. “Spill what?” 

She scoffs. “Don’t even try that. You’ve been acting weird all night. Like, more weird than usual.” 

You exhale, pressing your lips together. Then, before you can overthink it, you blurt, “I slept with Heeseung.” The silence that follows is deafening. Yunjin just stares at you, chopsticks frozen mid-air. “You what?” 

You groan, setting your food down. “You heard me.” She blinks. “Oh my god.” 

“I know.” 

“Oh my god.” 

“I know!” 

Yunjin drops her chopsticks and grabs your hands, shaking them. “Okay, okay. Start from the beginning. How did this happen?” So you tell her. You tell her about going to the frat house, about how Heeseung was being an asshole again, about the argument that escalated into something else entirely. By the time you’re done, Yunjin is still holding onto you, eyes wide. “So… what happens now?” You bite your lip. That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Because the truth is—you don’t know. 

“I have no idea,” you admit. “We didn’t really talk about it. He had to leave early for the game this morning.” 

Yunjin watches you carefully. “And how do you feel?” 

You hesitate. “I don’t regret it.” That’s the one thing you’re sure of. Yunjin nods, but there’s a flicker of concern in her eyes. “Just… be careful, okay?” 

You give her a small smile. “I will.” She studies you for another moment, then sighs dramatically, flopping back against the couch. “Well, damn. I guess this makes you a hockey girlfriend now.” 

You snort. “I am not a hockey girlfriend.” 

“Not yet.” She waggles her eyebrows. You groan, throwing a pillow at her. She yelps, laughing as she ducks. 

Monday rolls around, and you’re actually excited to see Heeseung again. It’s ridiculous. You know it’s ridiculous. But after everything that happened, after the way things felt so different between you, there’s a small, traitorous part of you that wonders if things have actually changed. But then hours pass. And Heeseung doesn’t text. Doesn’t call. You tell yourself you're not the type of girl that obsesses over whether a boy will call her or not but it’s hard not to. Not when said boy just made you feel like the most special girl in the world. The one who took your virginity and made it the most special moment of your life. The boy you're falling so madly and deeply in love with. 

You’re not that type of girl. By the time evening comes around, you’ve tried convincing yourself a hundred times that you don’t care—that you don’t need to hear from him. So when Yunjin texts you, asking if you want to grab food at the diner, you immediately say yes. A distraction is exactly what you need. A night at a little diner with your best friend who knows about Heeseung. You can get some perspective from a girl who's in a happy and healthy relationship. She’ll tell you that Heeseung is just tired, he was away all weekend playing Hockey he might just want to rest. All your worries will be satiated and then you can focus on having a good dinner. 

The diner is packed when you walk in, the usual buzz of students filling the space. You and Yunjin are making your way to a booth near the back when she suddenly stops short. You follow her gaze—and feel your stomach drop. At a table near the center of the diner sits Heeseung, Soobin, and the rest of the hockey guys, all laughing loudly over burgers and milkshakes like they don’t have a care in the world. And Heeseung—he looks fine. Like nothing happened. 

Yunjin glances at you. “Do you want to—” Before she can finish, you take a breath and start walking. You’re not going to hide from him. That would be pathetic. You’re just going to go over, say hi, and act normal. But the second you and Yunjin reach the table, you can feel the shift in energy. 

Heeseung tenses when he sees you, his usual cocky smirk faltering for a second before he recovers. “What are you doing here?” You blink, taken aback by his tone. “Getting food. What does it look like?” Some of the guys at the table snicker, and your stomach twists. You feel small. You feel helpless. 

Heeseung leans back in his seat, his jaw tightening. “Didn’t realize you were such a fan of hockey hangouts.” 

You furrow your brows. “What?” Your heart drops to your stomach. 

He shrugs. “I mean, I just didn’t peg you as someone who follows guys around, but hey—good to know.” 

The table erupts into laughter, and heat flares up your neck. You cannot believe this. is he seriously—after everything—is he seriously doing this right now? He’s humiliating you. And for what? To look cool? To hurt you? Because it was working, he was hurting you. Soobin, however, notices immediately. His gaze flicks between you and Heeseung, frown deepening. You glance at Yunjin, whose mouth is already set in a furious line. But before you can say anything, she grabs a cup off the table—one full of soda and ice—and without hesitation, throws it straight at Heeseung. 

Gasps ring out. The laughter stops immediately. Heeseung sits there, stunned, soda dripping from his hair and down his face. The entire diner is watching now, but Yunjin doesn’t care. “What the fuck, Yunjin?!” Heeseung exclaims, jumping up, shaking the liquid off his hands. She glares at him with pure, unfiltered rage. “You are such a fucking asshole, Lee Heeseung.” 

Then she grabs your hand, yanking you away from the table before you can even process what just happened. Leaving your heart at the table with him. Shattered for everyone to see. 

The second you’re outside, the cool air hitting your flushed skin, you exhale sharply. “Holy shit.” Yunjin looks just as pissed as you feel. “What the hell was that?” 

You shake your head, anger and humiliation swirling inside you. “I don’t know.” But what you do know? You’re done. Done making excuses for Heeseung. Done thinking that maybe—just maybe—he’s not the person you feared he was. Because he just proved exactly who he is. And it hurts. 

When the two of you are back at the dorm you allow yourself to cry, to feel the emotions as they came. The heeseung you thought you knew would never do this to you. But it was clear to you now that he only used you as a means to pass his class. His sweet personality was only a well executed act that you were stupid enough to fall for. How could you fall for that? Hockey boys were nothing but egoistic man boys who threw each other around, chasing a puck for a living. They lacked sustenance, they lived their lives like barbarians and you hated them, and everything they stood for. 

You yanked your phone out of your back pocket before swiping to Heeseung’s contact. You hovered over his name for only a second before you opened messages and typed out; “Tutoring is done. Don’t text me, don’t call me. Goodbye.” and you wished you could gather the words to hurt him the way he hurt you but you just didn’t have the strength. You wanted to forget Lee Heeseung and hockey all together. 

Days pass in almost a blur. You contine life as usual only Heeseung is no longer a part of it. You avoid him like the plague, if he’s near at all you bolt. There was no talk of hockey in the dorm anymore. Yunjin was just as pissed and hurt as you. She was the best friend anyone could ever ask for really. 

It was Friday night when you finally had time to settle in for the night. You had an old copy of pride and prejudice in your hand and a hot cup of tea next to you. Yunjin was with Soobin for the night so you were finally alone. It was just past ten-thirty when the sound of pounding on your dorm broke you out of your reading trance. You hurried out of your bed, opening the door with a sense of urgency. Only to be met with Heeseung. 

He was holding a piece of paper in his hand, sporting a grin on his face. The audacity of him. To show up to your dorm..grinning. Was it is lifes mission to torture because it sure did feel like it. The look on Heeseung’s face as you slam the door almost makes you falter. Almost. You stand there, heart racing, hands clenched into fists as you try to steady your breathing. On the other side of the door, you hear nothing at first—just silence. And then: “Wait—no. Wait.” 

A loud knock. You squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to do this. “Please, just open the door,” Heeseung says, his voice muffled. 

You shake your head, even though he can’t see it. “Go away, Heeseung.” 

“I—no. Not until you listen to me.” Another knock. Then another. “I swear I wasn’t using you.” 

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “Oh, really? Could’ve fooled me.” 

“I mean it.” His voice is closer now, pressed right up against the door. “That night at the diner—I fucked up, okay? I was an idiot. I didn’t want the guys to know about—” He pauses. “About us.” Something about the way he says us makes your stomach twist. You hate that a part of you still wants to listen. “Why?” you ask, your voice sharper than you expect. “Why is it so humiliating to be seen with me?” 

“It’s not,” he says immediately. “That’s not—fuck. That’s not what I meant.” You don’t respond. You don’t know what to say. “Can you—” He exhales, frustration laced in his voice. “Can you at least open the door so I can look at you while I apologize?” You hesitate. Of course, you hesitate. You should just tell him to leave. He doesn’t deserve the chance to explain himself after what he did. But against your better judgement and like a complete and utter idiot, you unlock the door. 

The second it swings open, Heeseung is standing there, wide-eyed, like he wasn’t sure you’d actually do it. He looks… tired. Like he hasn’t slept in days. Slowly, he lifts the crumpled test paper in his hand. “I got a hundred” 

You glance at it, then back at him. “Good for you,” you say again, flatly. “I guess using me was worth it.” 

His jaw clenches. He rubs the back of his neck. “I know you don’t owe me anything. I just—” He shakes his head. “I panicked, okay? I thought if the guys found out about… us, they’d—” 

“They’d what, Heeseung?” You cross your arms. “Make fun of you? Say something stupid? Newsflash—people say stupid shit all the time.” He looks away. “You don’t get it.” 

“Then make me get it.” 

His hands tighten into fists. His lips press together like he’s warring with himself. “I just—I’ve spent years making sure people see me a certain way. That I’m not the same loser I was before.” You stare at him. “And you think being seen with me ruins that image?” 

His head snaps up. “No.” He steps closer, and for the first time since that awful night, his voice is softer. “That’s not what I meant.” He swallows. “You make me feel different. And that—” He shakes his head, frustrated. “That scares me.” You don’t know what to say. Because what do you do with that? What do you do with the fact that this boy, the same one who humiliated you in front of everyone, is now standing here saying things you never expected to hear? 

A lump forms in your throat. “Then maybe you should figure out what you actually want, Heeseung.” He looks at you, something raw in his expression. “I already know what I want.” But you don’t let yourself believe him. Not yet. So you step back. And this time, when you close the door, you do it gently. And you let yourself cry because that’s the only thing you can control right now. 

The next night you're curled up in bed, the soft glow of your laptop screen illuminating your face as a movie plays in the background. You’re not really watching, though. You’re just existing, letting the noise drown out your thoughts. The door swings open, and Yunjin and Soobin step inside, their laughter filling the space. Yunjin glances at you before excusing herself to the bathroom, leaving you alone with Soobin. He hesitates for a moment before sitting down on the edge of your bed. “Hey,” he says gently. “How are you doing?” 

You don’t even look away from the screen. “I’m great.” 

Soobin scoffs. “Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.” 

You sigh, finally meeting his gaze. He’s watching you carefully, like he’s trying to piece you together. His usual playful demeanor is gone, replaced with something softer. “Heeseung is a mess,” Soobin says after a moment. “He misses you. And he’s sorry.” You swallow the lump forming in your throat. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to care. But despite yourself, a single tear slips down your cheek. 

“He used me, Soobin,” your voice cracks, and you look down at your lap. “How can I forgive him? Why would I?” Soobin sighs, shaking his head. He doesn’t hesitate when he says, “Because you love him. And he loves you.” Your breath catches. it’s so simple, so matter-of-fact, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like he’s just waiting for you to admit it to yourself. Before you can say anything, Yunjin steps out of the bathroom, looking between the two of you. “You ready to go?” she asks Soobin. 

He nods, standing up. But before he leaves, he gives you one last look. “Just… think about it, okay?” Then, they’re gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You sit there long after the door closes, Soobin’s words echoing in your mind. Because you love him and he loves you. 

Your heart clenches, and you wipe at the tear on your cheek, frustrated. It shouldn’t be this hard. You shouldn’t still care this much. But the truth is—you do. You sigh, curling up tighter in your blanket. The movie playing in the background is one you’ve seen a million times, but you’re not paying attention. Your thoughts keep circling back to Heeseung. His face when you shut the door. The way his voice wavered when he admitted you scared him. 

Does he really love you? Or is this just another game to him? You don’t know. And that uncertainty terrifies you. Opening your heart up terrifies you. A soft knock pulls you from your thoughts. Your stomach twists, half-expecting it to be Heeseung, but when you open the door, it’s Sunoo. “Hey,” he says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “Yunjin texted me. Said you might need company.” 

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. Of course she did. Sunoo plops down next to you on the bed, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl in your lap. He watches you for a moment, chewing thoughtfully. “So. Are we wallowing or plotting revenge?” You huff out a laugh, shoving him lightly. “Neither.” 

“Boring.” He sighs dramatically, throwing himself back against your pillows. “Okay, then what’s the plan? You’re clearly miserable. And I’m pretty sure Heeseung is too.” You don’t say anything, just stare down at the popcorn in your hands. Sunoo sighs again, but this time, it’s softer. “Look, I get why you’re mad. You should be mad. But…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “I’m not close with Heeseung and I barely know him since it’s my first year, but I’ve never seen him care about anyone the way he cares about you.” 

Your chest tightens. “Then why did he treat me like that?” 

“Because he’s an idiot.” Sunoo shrugs. “And because he’s scared. But mostly because he’s an idiot.” You roll your eyes. “Not helping.” 

He nudges you. “I’m just saying… Maybe talk to him. Really talk to him.” You sigh, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know if I can trust him again.” 

Sunoo is quiet for a moment, then says, “Then make him prove that you can.” You swallow hard, his words settling into your chest like a weight. Heeseung owes you more than just an apology. Maybe if he really wants you, he’ll fight for you. And maybe you, just maybe you’ll let him. 

That weekend, Yunjin had had enough. She wasn’t about to let you wallow in self-pity any longer. “You’re coming to the game,” she announced, standing in front of your bed with her arms crossed. You groaned, pulling your blanket over your face. “Pass.” 

“Not an option.” She yanked the covers away. “You’ve spent all week moping. You need to get out.” 

“I am out,” you deadpanned. “My bed is out.” 

“Not what I meant.” She rolled her eyes. “Get dressed. Now.” Despite your protests, she wasn’t having any of it. Eventually, after an absurd amount of bribery (including the promise of ice cream after), you gave in. By the time you arrived at the arena, the energy in the air was electric—fans were buzzing with anticipation, the scent of popcorn and arena food filling your senses. The rink was already packed, the game about to start, and you felt out of place among the sea of jerseys and face paint. Yunjin, however, was thrilled, chatting with other students and cheering before the puck even dropped. You sat stiffly beside her, arms crossed, doing your best not to look at the ice—because you knew if you did, your eyes would immediately find Heeseung. 

And you weren’t ready for that. A few minutes into the game, Yunjin’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out, eyes scanning the screen before she let out a dramatic sigh. “Ugh. Soobin left his gloves in the locker room. Can you please grab them for him?” 

You turned to her with a glare. “Why can’t y—” 

“Just go do it,” she cut you off, shoving your shoulder lightly. Something about her tone made you pause. She sounded too casual. Too… calculated. You narrowed your eyes. “This feels like a setup.” 

She gasped, all mock innocence. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing?” You weren’t convinced, but the alternative was sitting here and enduring the game, so you sighed. “Fine.” 

Yunjin grinned, and you shot her one last suspicious look before heading down the corridor. The locker room hallway was eerily quiet, the distant sound of the game muffled through the walls. You pushed open the heavy door, stepping inside, expecting to see rows of empty benches and Soobin’s gloves lying somewhere in the mess of gear. instead, standing in the middle of the room, was Heeseung. Your breath caught. He looked different off the ice—less intimidating without his helmet, his hair damp with sweat, curling slightly at the ends. He was still in his jersey, the bold number on his sleeve catching the light, his hockey bag slung over one shoulder. 

And he was staring at you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was heavy, charged with everything that had been left unsaid. You clear your throat, gripping the strap of your bag tighter. “I’m just here to grab Soobin’s gloves.” Your voice is steady, indifferent. Like seeing him doesn’t completely shake you. 

Heeseung nods slowly, then gestures to the bench behind him. “They’re over there.” You walk past him, determined to just grab the gloves and leave, but as soon as your fingers curl around them, Heeseung speaks again. “You’re here.” 

You freeze, but don’t turn around. “Yunjin dragged me.” A beat of silence. Then, softer—almost hesitant—Heeseung says, “I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again.” 

You inhale sharply, gripping the gloves tighter. Finally, you turn to face him. “You made that pretty easy when you humiliated me.” Regret flickers in his expression. “I know,” he murmurs. “I was an idiot. A complete asshole. I told you, I was scared.” 

You scoff. “Scared of what, Heeseung? That people would find out you actually cared about me? That you weren’t just some player?” 

“Yes,” he admits, and the raw honesty in his voice takes you off guard. “I was scared of how much I cared about you. Scared that you’d realize I wasn’t good enough for you.” Heeseung runs a hand through his damp hair, exhaling shakily. “I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to make you feel like you didn’t matter, because you do. You do more than you realize.” 

Your chest tightens, emotions crashing over you all at once. You want to be mad. You want to scream at him for the way he made you feel. But there’s something in his voice, in his expression—genuine remorse, vulnerability—that makes it hard to hold onto that anger. “You really hurt me, Heeseung,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. He steps closer, carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll run. “I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes making it up to you.” 

You swallow, emotions warring inside you. For a moment, neither of you move. Then, hesitantly, he reaches out—giving you the chance to pull away—but when you don’t, his fingers brush against yours, light and uncertain. “Can we just… start over?” he asks. “Please?” 

Your heart pounds. A part of you wants to walk away, to protect yourself from getting hurt again. But another part—maybe the bigger part—wants to believe him. You take a deep breath, looking into his eyes. “Okay.” 

“Okay”

@izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @dawngyu , @hyukascampfire , @saejinniestar , @notevenheretbh1 , @hwanghyunjinismybae, @ch4c0nnenh4, @kristynaaah

series taglist. (★) @saejinniestar , @vixialuvs , @slut4hee , @xylatox , @skyearby @m1kkso @jakeswifez @heartheejake @hommyy-tommy @yunverie @lalalalawon

@strayy-kidz @wolfhardbby @kwiwin @immelissaaa @fancypeacepersona @starfallia @mariegalea @adoredbyjay @strxwbloody @lovingvoidgoatee @beeboobeebss @zyvlxqht @weyukinluv @flwwon

@guapgoddees @demigodmahash @cloud-lyy @heesky @ikaw-at-ikaw @shuichi-sama @shawnyle @kwhluv @iarainha @ikeuwoniee @mora134340

[seungjiseyo]

THE ONLY EXCEPTION

PAIRING: haechan × fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, brother’s best friend trope, fluff, slight angst, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), cunnilingus, penetration, breeding, usage of nicknames, themes of jealousy, mentions of mark (brother) and other dreamies, mentions of yunjin from le sserafim, Imk if i missed anything!

WORD COUNT: 10k words

SYNOPSIS: mark was an overprotective brother and he didn’t fail to show it, warning all the guys to stay away from you, his best friends were no exception. so, how will you make it work when you return back after graduating school, only to find that your crush is paying more attention to you than ever? it most certainly doesn’t help that it’s lee donghyuck, to whom, you are strictly off limits.

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni

A/N: hihi, my loves <3 i finally wrote a fic for the loml hyuckie <3 all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <33

The music blasting from the speakers, reverberating around the room full of university students, the wretched smell of alcohol mixed with cigarettes lingered in the air as your sharp eyes adorned with perfectly winged liner focused around the room, greeting everyone who was shocked to find you at the party. 

It felt good to be back. 

Leaving for a boarding school wasn’t on your bucket list, yet it was an opportunity you couldn’t miss, the school being a prestigious one with a degree that would only be helpful in the future, which left you no choice but to disappear for three years, only to suddenly reappear today, straight making an appearance at the party. 

“Told you, your celebrity status is still intact,” Yunjin winked at you, her being the only friend who was stubborn enough to not break contact with you, and you loved her for the same. 

Raising your brow at her, you took another swing of beer which you had loosely gripped in your hand, “it’s not mine, it all belongs to my brother,” you said, “I don’t want this attention, especially when it’s only valid because I’m Mark’s sister who had a glow up over my time of not being in the town.”

Your brother was well known in the university—the same university which you’d be attending soon along with the people who also attended the same middle school as you, however, his reputation preceded him as he, along with his friends, had turned into the group all girls desired to be with, yet they never let anyone stick around for long. 

Settling down wasn’t their forte. 

People snogging around every corner of the house wasn’t a sight you were willing to witness, granted you had a long flight and were tired. Not having any ride back home was another factor which made you approach your brother—who wasn’t locked up in a room with some girl for once. 

“I wanna go home,” you huffed, standing next to Mark, who was quick to excuse himself from the conversation he was having. 

“I can’t drive you back, I’m buzzed dude,” he says, “my baby sis is all grown up,” he looks your way, patting your head before you step back, disgusted at his overly affectionate big brother act. 

He acted as if everything was normal when in reality, he was the one who always deprived you of every single thing, not allowing you to go out, not allowing you to meet boys, and most importantly, not letting his friends interact with you.

“Ew, drink this and sober up.” You passed on the water bottle in your hand to him, “how am I supposed to go back? Should I take a cab?” 

“No, that’s not safe. You wait here, I’ll get my friend to drop you off,” he asked you to wait by the front door. 

The shock on your face was evident, yet it was better to get a ride with one of his friends rather than fending for yourself this late at night. With a nonchalant nod, you walked away, waiting by the door. 

It wasn’t hard for Mark to find his group, they were sprawled across the sofa as if they owned it, surrounded by girls sitting around them; or on their lap. 

“Who’s not drunk here?” He asked, straight up eliminating Jeno from the list, who was taking big gulps from his can, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, “minus Jeno.”

Haechan was quick to ignore the girl who was leaning down to kiss him, eyes tired yet lined with the perfect amount of eyeliner—a look he went for whenever a party was concerned. 

“I am sober. Driver duties, why?” He asked. 

Even though there was nothing but truth in his words, it would be hard to accept it, provided that his eyes were the perfect shade of brown which harboured the ideal amount of brightness during the day, and just the exact amount of intoxication at night. 

“I had one beer,” Jaemin said, sitting with a bored expression on his face, probably not in the mood to entertain the girls at the given moment, unlike Jeno and Renjun, who basked in the attention of them. 

“Y/n wants to go back home,” Mark explained, grabbing another can of beer, “and I obviously can’t go to drop her off.”

“Y/n? Is she back?” Hyuck asked, playing with his silver rings before unbuttoning the top of his black button up, exposing his chain clad neck and clavicle, which was valid given how hot the room was. 

“Yeah, she came back in the afternoon today. Jaem can you drop her back home?” Jaemin chuckles at the offended look Haechan threw his way. 

“Of course man,” Jaemin agreed. 

“He’s drunk too, in case you overlooked that, I’m the sober one right now,” Hyuck said, pointing out the obvious. 

“Yeah, dude there’s no way I’m letting you go alone with my sister,” Mark laughed, “lord knows you can’t keep it in your pants,” he added. 

Hyuck was quick to raise his eyebrow, scoffing, pushing his tongue inside his cheek, “and he can?” He asked, pointing at Jaemin. 

“He knows where to draw a line, unlike you, and she’s my baby sister, I’m not risking anything,” Mark explained enthusiastically, as if it was a joke, because it caused an uproar of laughter, which only infuriated Hyuck more. 

“I know when to stop,” he said, annoyed. 

“You didn’t know that when you fucked principal’s daughter,” Jeno provided. 

“And when you did so in his office, with cameras installed,” Renjun not so helpfully added. 

Hyuck agrees that they were right to a certain extent, but their lack of trust was always something that bothered him. If there was someone who actually didn’t know where to stop, that would be them, because he did not appreciate the insults thrown his way. 

It also didn’t help how he genuinely wanted to see you, but now his mood was ruined, courtesy of Mark. 

Mark then proceeded to list out a few more things as to prove that Hyuck wasn’t fit for being anywhere close to his sister, “I don’t trust you with her,” he shrugged, asking Jaemin to drop you off and ending the conversation. 

Meanwhile, it had been a solid seven minutes and twenty six seconds since you started waiting for Mark’s friend to come and pick you up, and you made sure to put the time into good use by observing your surroundings yet again. 

In the farther right corner, you spotted your old crush, Park Sunghoon, who was in your ethics class. He never paid attention to you, granted your brother made sure to warn the whole school population that you were off limits. 

You couldn’t deny, it was good to see him happy and you swore you noticed him giggling too, talking to your old classmate, who you remember, was called Moon—one of the beauties of your school, before he pulled her into a sweet kiss. 

Your observation was cut short when one of Mark’s friends, whom you had not seen in the past three years appeared in front of you with a small smile. Na Jaemin, he was charming from the bottom to the top. 

“Welcome back, Y/n,” he smiled, voice slutry, which came naturally to him. 

You offered him a smile in return, shamelessly checking him out, he had gotten buff. You were not expecting him to come here, but then again, your subconscious wanted to see that one boy whose eyes reminded you of honey. 

You wondered how he looked now. Does he even remember you? A sigh left your glossy lips as you admitted that you still might have a teeny tiny crush on Lee Haechan after all this while, and deep inside, you wished to see him again. 

With a smile, you followed him to the car as he engaged you in a conversation. It was probably the first time he had been given the permission to interact with you, and even he couldn’t deny, he loved to see the development, the confidence that you had come back with. 

While you were getting back home, Haechan was fuming with anger, kicking the pavement as he had left the party, his mind formulating ideas for a plausible revenge against everyone. He was rebellious, he’d give himself that, yet in the depth of his heart, he meant well, not wanting to hurt anyone intentionally, only for the sake of having unharmed fun. 

It wasn’t as if his friends were any different, so why should he be the one who’s labelled to be the worst of them all? This time, he wanted to hurt someone on purpose, the someone being Mark Lee. 

Solution? Get as close to you as humanly possible—which would also mean that he’d have to work to get a place in your heart. But he didn’t mind it, especially when he had liked you all this while. 

Mark wanted him to stay away? Tough luck because Hyuck wanted you. 

Thinking about you reminded him of when you first met through Mark, he had priorly informed everyone to stay away from you, despite the fact you were in fifth grade, almost isolating you from the world. However, it wasn’t enough for Hyuck to stop greeting you with his gummy smiles, which caused you to smile back at him too. 

That’s the most exchange you guys have had over these years. Hyuck was gonna change that, and so, he found himself walking towards your house, knowing well that Mark won’t be around to stop him, and your parents would be deep asleep given that it was past midnight. 

Climbing up your room wasn’t hard, especially when he was aware of the ladder kept in your backyard, but being silent after entering your room through a window was tough. 

The lights were dim, just how you liked it when you slept. With a few steps, Hyuck reached your bed, eyes fixated on your sleeping figure. 

A small, genuine smile graced his face when he noticed the small pout on your moisturized lips. Adorable—that’s how he perceived you, yet there was no denying how much you had grown up to be prettier than ever, and he couldn’t help but caress your cheek with his thumb, even the slightest touch making you stir in your sleep, causing him to chuckle. 

He had to have you. 

You weren’t sure if it was a dream or had Hyuck actually visited you at night, though, the latter idea seemed nothing less than a delusion. Maybe it was your brain playing tricks with you, but it wasn’t your biggest concern at the given moment as you wanted nothing more than to freshen up and eat. 

What you did not expect was to see your mom catering the four boys sprawled across your living room, the guy in your dream wasn’t anywhere to be seen still. 

“Good morning, sweetheart,” your mom sweetly pulled you in her embrace, gaining the attention of your brother and his friends, who were sitting together playing some video games. 

“Good morning, mum,” you smiled, having missed her while you were away for school. 

“Yo, I almost forgot you were back for a second,” Mark commented as your mom asked everyone to sit down. 

You looked at him with a sour expression, “yeah, right. Cause there was no one to tell you that you’re wearing two different designs of socks,” you pointed out, getting a snigger out of Jeno, who passed you a sweet smile when you looked his way, averting his gaze within a second, a habit of all his friends who weren’t allowed to stare at you. 

“Or that you’re wearing your T-shirt inside out,” you scrunch your nose as others see a very clueless Mark trying to get everything in order, your mom also amused by the sudden liveliness in the home, “no, but how are you this unaware about yourself?” You mused. 

Mark didn’t get to reply or whine when the front door opened to reveal the guy of your dreams, quite literally. 

Lee Haechan came into the room as if he owned the place, your eyes fixated on his messy hair as he said hello to your mother, who was more than happy to see him here. 

Hyuck was her favourite out of all Mark’s friends. 

Other guys were quick to apologize to Hyuck, you wondered why, and Mark had apparently apologized on text last night for crossing the line. 

He looked carefree and unbothered, so you didn’t ponder upon it much till he sat down next to you for breakfast, finally looking in your eyes. 

You blinked once, focusing on his eyes which looked like they had honey swirling around them, his skin was tanned to the prettiest shade as he passed you a small smile, “hey, Y/n,” he acknowledged your presence, lips almost upturned into what seemed to be a smirk. 

For a second, you couldn’t quite focus as you were too enthralled observing the beauty marks scattered across his face, his plump pink lips—

Yeah, that thought shook you awake, “hey, Haechan,” you greeted back, thinking that calling him Hyuck might just be too friendly. 

“So, are we on for our trip tomorrow?” Jaemin asked, cutting your interaction short. 

“Wait, what trip?” You asked, knowing that your parents were gonna be out for a business trip too, and you weren’t one to enjoy being home alone in such a big house. 

“Didn’t Mark tell you?” Your mom asked and shook your head, throwing an accusatory look his way, “They all are having a stay in at Hyuck’s beach house.”

“And me? Am I supposed to be staying alone for what—how many days?” You asked. 

“A week,” Mark informed, unaffected. 

“I’m not staying home alone for a whole week, mum, this isn’t fair.” The distress was clear on your face. 

“Call your friends over then,” your mom suggested. 

“For a week? We’d rather go out for vacation too,” you pouted, not noticing the stare of two boys. 

“Join the trip with Mark then,” she recommended, placing the fluffy pancake on your plate. 

“What? Why? No,” Mark protested and the room bursted into a web of chaos with everyone discussing it. 

Only Hyuck was silent, his eyes still on your face, admiring your side view shamelessly, but also careful not to give out his intentions in front of Mark. 

“It’s a boys trip, mom. Y’know? Boy stuff,” he winced, trying to explain without explaining that all they planned on doing was drink, smoke and invite girls over, “guys, tell them?”

“Yeah—he’s right,” they all agreed, not maintaining eye contact, looking at each other awkwardly. 

“Okay, since the beach house is Hyuck’s, why don’t we let him decide?” Your mom sighs, looking at Hyuck. 

Now that the sole attention is on him, he tries to act clueless with a helpless look on his face, especially when you are looking at him with big eyes, lower lip jutting out in a pout. 

Then he looked back at his friends, who clearly wanted the girl to go, minus Mark at least. Lastly, he looked at your mom, who only smiled, and that was enough of an excuse for Hyuck to say with the sweetest smile—

“Of course, Y/n and her friend are always invited.”

“He said yes,” you were on the phone, explaining the whole situation to Yunjin, knowing well that she’d be more than ready to accompany you for your rendezvous. 

“He what?” She exclaimed, knowing that the boys would never take your side, especially in front of Mark. 

“I know, mom sorta helped cause Haechan never says no to mom, it’s like he’s her favourite child or something,” a humorous laugh left your lips. 

“Well, he will be once he becomes your boyfriend,” Yunjin gushed, “we’ll make sure he notices you this time, we’ve got a whole week to make it work.” 

You had rushed up the stairs and into your room as soon as the decision had been made, followed by the loud complaints of Mark—which you did not bother to hear, calling Yunjin to fill her in with the situation instead. 

She was packing as you were speaking. 

In all honesty, it never crossed your mind that you would actually want to seduce Haechan, provided that he was Mark’s friend, which would lead to fights you definitely didn’t wish to be a part of, but you were an adult, so Mark held no authority over you. 

There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun after all. 

“I’m not giving you a ride,” Mark deadpanned when you got back downstairs, your mother looking at him with disappointment. 

“I’ll take a cab then,” you rolled your eyes. 

“No need, you’re taking two cars and it’s enough to fit you all,” your mom finally said, “who’s driving?” 

“Me and Mark,” Hyuck replied, voice innocent as you turned to look his way, “Mark is taking the bigger one.”

“Is that so? All boys can go with Mark then. Won’t you give a lift to Y/n and Yunjin, Hyuck?” Your mom asked, knowing he won’t say no. 

She was good at persuasion, unknowingly giving Haechan the full opportunity to be with you, which is exactly what he was aiming for in the first place. 

Haechan only nodded earnestly, eyes almost shining as he looked back at you, “of course, you can ride with me,” he said, ignoring the glare thrown his way by Mark as your name rolled off his tongue, “Y/n.”

As if his voice and gaze wasn’t enough for you to stop breathing in a room full of people, the subtle smirk on his lips successfully had your knees buckling with anticipation. 

Never in a million years you had thought that you’d be riding shotgun in Hyuck’s car, with him driving and humming along to songs under his breath. You had worn the shortest skirt you managed to find in your closet and the little trick had worked as you saw him staring at your legs when you first came downstairs, announcing that you and Yunjin were ready to leave for the trip. 

Not only did it grab the attention of the boy you had been targeting, but also it garnered attention of Jaemin, who at least tried to act respectful by gulping and looking away. 

Hyuck on the other hand believed that he should blatantly stare at the things which are to be admired, including your legs. 

It didn’t take long for you guys to load your bags into his car, as the other one left ten minutes before you guys. Yunjin wasn’t a fan of long drives—two hours in your case, so she put on her AirPods and closed her eyes the second she got into the back seat, also to give you privacy with Haechan. 

He drove with one hand, the other resting on his thigh. The rings and chain adorning his body caught your attention for a second too long. His hands were definitely bigger than yours, veins popping out whenever he gripped the steering wheel. 

The aura around him was too strong, as if he was a magnet ready to pull everyone towards him, you were no exception. 

“Like the rings, darling?” He asked, eyes on the road with the corner of his lip upturned. 

The question successfully broke your train of thoughts. It was probably the first conversation you had with him, excluding the usual greetings. 

And he kick-started it by calling you darling. 

“They’re pretty,” you replied, not letting the nickname phase you, despite heat creeping up your neck. 

His smile widened at your answer and he swiftly got a ring off his finger, passing it to you—again, without even looking your way. 

“They’ll look prettier on you,” he says ever so smoothly, and you bite your lips, trying to stop the smile from widening as your fingers brush against his, taking the ring and inspecting the design, “don’t wear that in front of the boys though, they’ll flip.”

An amused chuckle left your lips, something which Haechan did not expect, “why? Still scared of Mark and his empty threats?” You asked. 

He pissed you off too much with his don’t come near my sister or I’ll make your life a living hell threat to others, and you were bitter about it. 

“Now, why would I be scared of Mark?” He scoffed. 

“Because you’re one of his friends who aren’t even allowed to look my way,” you said as a matter of fact, breath hitching the second you felt his fingers on your thigh, the warmth of his palm juxtaposing the cold metal of his rings. 

The car was stopped at the red light, “I’ve always looked you in the eye, sweetheart,” he whispered, confirming his statement by turning his head and staring right into your eyes, the tension palpable as your gazes locked, the look being too alluring for you to break the eye contact. 

His whole demeanour changed in a second when his serious expression morphed into a sweet smile, the kind that makes you melt right before he shifted his focus back on the road as if he hadn’t just provided you a sliver of hope about him being interested in you. 

He, however, didn’t bother moving his hand which was gripping your thigh lightly, his fingers were long and looked exceptionally pretty on your skin. You couldn’t help but look out of the window, trying not to let your thoughts get out of hand. 

It certainly didn’t help that he was singing explicit romantic songs with all his might while your best friend was sleeping peacefully in the backseat. 

Haechan loved every single reaction he got out of you, your little shivers when he caressed your thigh, your breath hitching for the very same reason midway a conversation, and your sweet blabber as you he initiated a conversation. 

“How was school?” He asked after a while. 

The conversation flowed smoothly after, the ride wasn’t long after all, his hand caressing your thigh throughout the journey, and you wished for it to be longer. 

The beach house wasn’t a house apparently, but a mansion with how grand it was. Meaning, everyone would easily get their own rooms. Mark’s car was already parked as they reached earlier, but you saw Jaemin coming out when he heard the sound of Hyuck’s car, helping you take the bags inside with his ever so charming smile while Yunjin and you silently gushed about the beach view. 

Others were busy preparing for the party that was to be held at night—which was news to you. 

The interior was in the shades of black, white, and greys, matching Haechan’s personality in a peculiar manner, given that he was filled with colours of all sorts. 

You and Yunjin selected the adjacent rooms on the first floor, the balcony giving you a pretty view wasn’t something you’d want to miss out on. Haechan occupying the room which was right in front of your room is another thing which boosted your excitement. 

The next few hours flew by as you rested on the beach with Yunjin, soaking up warmth of the sand with the cold ocean waves reaching your toes. It felt peaceful. 

“So, what are you gonna wear to woo Haechan today?” Yunjin asked, sipping on her iced beverage. 

The sun was about to set, your eyes never leaving the sky which displayed all shades of red, yellow and orange, “what do you mean?”

“I mean that there’s no way they won’t be inviting girls, it was supposed to be a boys trip after all to get their dicks wet,” she said as a matter of fact. 

You winced again, not having it in you to watch your brother surrounded by girls. 

“And if Haechan was flirting with you, then it’s your chance to flirt back now, given that Mark would be drunk beyond the point of recovery. Not to mention how you’ll have to do something so he doesn’t stray off and give attention to other girls,” Yunjin listed out. 

She was right, it wasn’t like you were going to get this chance again, “red dress or black dress?” You asked with a playful smile and she squealed, rushing you into your room to help you get ready. 

The music was blaring by the time you applied the last swatch of lipstick, smacking your lips for the colour to blend in perfectly, complementing your skin tone ever so perfectly. Yunjin doing the same beside you. 

You weren’t sure how they managed to gather all this crowd for a party, granted you guys didn’t even live here, yet who would question these boys, an online invite and people would come running to attend their parties. 

Which was the case at the given moment as well. The second you stepped out from your assorted room, you found Jeno practically eating a girl’s face off with how passionately they were kissing  right beside the door, the music blaring in the background as you tried to overcome the initial shock of seeing your brother’s friend going what you’d consider wild. 

Making your way downstairs, you put on your best confident expression, your eyes immediately looking around, trying to find a certain black haired guy. 

Yunjin stopped you, pointing at the corner of the room where Hyuck was sitting with girls surrounding him, Renjun right next to him, a scoff of disbelief leaving your lips when one of them oh so comfortably sat down on his lap, his arm wrapping around her waist so naturally. 

Yet you couldn’t deny just how effortlessly attractive he looked in that black button up, the first few buttons undone to reveal his chest. The eyeshadow enhancing the look of his eyes to appear more slutry than they already seemed to be. 

Great. This is what you came on this trip for—to see Hyuck tilting the chin of a random girl, shoving his tongue inside her mouth. 

This won’t do, you averted your gaze, going straight to get alcohol, any kind would do, you just needed a boost of confidence to work upon your plan. Yunjin knew exactly what you were up to, winking at you before wandering off in the crowd. 

“Not dancing tonight?” Jaemin asked, standing right next to you as he poured himself a drink. 

His presence made your job easier, especially when he looked so good tonight. His dark hair was a little messy, sleeves rolled up as he was clad in all black, a simple chain adorning his slender neck. 

Perfect bait to get a reaction out of Haechan. 

If he’d bother to look your way, that is. 

“Talking to me tonight? Not scared of my brother anymore?” Your lips curled up, amused. 

That earned a laugh out of him, “he’s locked up in a room as we speak,” he said over the music. Translation: he was busy fucking someone and he won’t be here to monitor your moves. 

Your nose scrunched, not wanting to think about your brother doing the deed. Jaemin walked alongside you as you took up his offer to dance, but also made sure that you could see Haechan clearly with your spot. 

His eyes turned your way for the first time tonight the second you started moving your body along to the rhythm. The distance was fair, yet it felt as if you were the only person in this room and he was the only spectator to your actions. 

Jaemin’s hand came to rest on your waist, your body in sync with his moves, the proximity close and a blissful expression on your face. 

Again, you subtly looked Hyuck’s way, only to find his eyes darker than ever, not straying away from you for even a second, the girl on his lap long forgotten as he couldn’t find a reason to give her his attention anymore. 

Not when you were dancing with Jaemin, not when your dress rode up, revealing your thighs, not when Jaemin whispered in your ear and you giggled, getting closer to him. 

He couldn’t stand it, the muscle in his jaw clenched, his tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek with annoyance bubbling up in his body. 

You turned around, only to find Haechan missing from the spot he was sitting at. All of a sudden, you excused yourself from Jaemin and made your way around the room, to find him again and you failed to do so. 

The room’s atmosphere got stuffy as the night progressed and you made your way upstairs to your room in need of fresh air which was very well provided by the grand balcony. 

Just as you twisted the door knob, getting inside the room, you gasped as Hyuck closed the door behind you, pushing you against the wooden surface of the door, his scent taking over your senses seamlessly as you breathed in deeply. 

“Hyuck—” you whispered, hyper aware of how close he was to you, his body pressed against yours in a way you could feel his torso muscles. His face tilted ever so slightly, just enough for your noses to brush against each other. 

The position alone sent you into a state of frenzy, and he didn’t even let you finish speaking out his name as he chuckled darkly. 

“Didn’t know you were into Jaemin, darling,” he whispered, causing you to gulp down the nervousness, which was of no use as your knees felt even weaker with his slender finger tracing your cheek, stopping right by your lips, “dancing with him while wearing the ring that I gave you.” His thumb caressing your bottom lip, parting it ever so slightly, “doesn’t really sound fair to me now, does it, baby?” He asked, stopping his actions and looking your right in the eye. 

You couldn’t show him how affected you were with possessiveness laced tone, “I don’t see how it’s unfair, Haechan,” you smiled sweetly, keeping your hand on his chest. 

“Wrong,” he said in a beat, “his intentions aren’t pure,” he provided. 

You chuckled, turning your face to the side for a second, “what about your intentions?” You dared to ask. 

His hold on you tightened, “you wanna know my intentions?” He asked, voice so low it gave you goosebumps as he moved even closer to you, his lips on the verge of touching yours. 

They never fully touched, your hand becoming a barrier between you two, “maybe some other day,” you whispered, the expression in his eyes unreadable, “someday when you don’t come here with tainted lips after kissing god knows how many girls,” you smiled tightly, pushing him aside, the alcohol only providing you with unadulterated courage. 

He pulled you back, hand wrapped around your wrist so his torso was pressed against your back, which vibrated with his chuckles, “didn’t know it bothered you that much, pretty,” his lips touched your earlobe. 

“It doesn’t,” you seethed out, trying not to sound breathless as you shrugged out of his hold, “besides, we mean nothing to each other. I won’t stop you from snogging anyone and you can’t stop me from dancing with anyone.”

That’s all you said before slipping out of his grasp, rushing in and closing the bathroom door behind you and breathing in deeply. The feeling of his touch still lingering on your body, he was jealous as you were and he was so close. 

So close to kissing you. 

Hyuck leaned against the door on the opposite side of you, “we mean nothing to each other?” He scoffed under his breath, the image of Jaemin’s hands on your waist coming back to his mind. He was wrong to pay attention to someone else, he admits, but now he was determined to give you all his attention. 

“You’re mine, you just don’t know that yet,” he says, knowing you won’t be able to hear him, “all mine,” his tone was possessive still as he walked out of the room. 

The boys woke up all hungover the next morning, while you and Yunjin snuck out of the mansion before others woke up, only to avoid Hyuck, which was almost funny given that you were here to get his attention. 

Regardless, you sat in this cute cafe you found nearby, explaining the whole situation to your best friend. The slight smirk on her face gave away the fact that she was proud of you for not giving him attention last night. It’ll only make him want you more, she had said. 

Mark called you right after you finished your meal, “where are you?” He asked, panicked, “don’t tell me you got kidnapped,” the horror was clear in his voice and you rolled your eyes, not understanding how his brain worked. 

“I literally left a note on the fridge that I’ll be out for lunch and shopping, Mark,” you explained, almost laughing when you heard him say oh. He was standing right in front of the fridge apparently. 

“Right, have fun,” he said, hanging up the call. 

He wasn’t the best brother but he did care. At times, more than he needed to. 

“Okay so here’s the plan,” Yunjin started to explain. She loved giving out ideas and they always worked, which is why you found yourself in the swimsuit store, purchasing the one which flattered your body in the best manner. 

“And don’t lock your room at night. Knowing Haechan, he would definitely give you a little visit after seeing you pull that stunt.” 

The sun was setting and you were almost back at the mansion. You enjoyed the day and it was a great plan to get Hyuck out of your head, even though it wasn’t possible despite the fact that it had been only two days since you came back and met him again. 

Tonight’s plan was to have a bonfire by the beach, grill meat and have a good time. Mark had finally accepted and asked everyone to tone down and make the trip more family friendly, hence the bonfire.  

The place was empty when you got back in, and you saw the boys setting up the barbecue when you changed into your dress before making your way to join them. 

“Remember the plan?” Yunjin asked and you nodded, loving the feel of cold sand beneath your foot. 

Hyuck was the first one to notice your presence, his dark eyes fixated on your figure as you walked towards them, Jaemin being the second one as he smiled your way, to which you smiled back sweetly. 

You still had Hyuck’s ring on as you approached the place where Hyuck and Jaemin were grilling the meat, Mark was sitting down and playing his guitar while Jeno and Renjun sang along to the song, Yunjin being a great singer also joined those three. 

“Can I have a taste?” You asked, looking at Jaemin with hopeful eyes. 

The weather was cold yet the burning stare of a certain someone had you feeling all kinds of warmth, yet you didn’t look his way. 

“Of course, say ah,” Jaemin said, eyes shining as he held the piece of meat for you and you gladly accepted it, your lips touching his fingers in a caress, the juicy taste making you hum out in pleasure. 

In a second, you were turned around, “there’s something on your lips,” Hyuck muttered, expression stoic as he brushed his thumb on your lower lip, “all cleaned.”

You would have laughed at the jealousy had his action not been so intimidating, as if he was warning you not to do this. 

“Thanks,” you said, voice extra sweet before you looked back at Jaemin who was confused at the exchange, “can I have more?” You asked. 

“Here.” Hyuck shoved a plate in your hands before Jaemin could even reply, “enjoy your food,” he said, smiling but his eye twitched in the process, making you bite your lower lip to contain your laugh yet again and you sat down finally. 

“Do you think the water would be cold right now?” Jeno asked no one in general, his intrusive thoughts winning.  

“Why? Wanna take a dip?” Mark asked with a laugh, eyebrows raising once he realized that Jeno was serious about it. 

“It’ll be fun,” he said as everyone laughed around him. 

“There’s no light out here, Jeno,” Renjun said. 

“It’ll be fun.”

“The waves are strong too,” Mark reasoned.

“It’ll be fun.”

“Okay, his vocabulary is limited,” Hyuck said, sitting by you as Jaemin handed over the plates to everyone, Mark sparing a glance to make sure Hyuck didn’t sit too close to you. 

“We can go one hour after eating, just dip our toes in,” Yunjin suggested and you guys agreed as Mark resumed playing his guitar. 

“Have more, Y/n.” Jaemin smiled, giving you more pieces to eat from his own plate. 

Haechan didn’t remember the last time he felt so pissed over something this small, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. It had been two whole days since you made your comeback in his life but those two days were enough for him to want you, granted he did have a crush on you for the longest time, only now it wasn’t just your sweetness he was attracted to. 

“Thank you, nana,” you beamed, the nickname only infuriating Hyuck more while you could see Jaemin blush faintly and you truly wondered how all these goofballs pulled girls so easily. 

“Nana,” Hyuck mocked under his breath, Yunjin noticing the atmosphere and slightly pushing you towards him. 

“You’re doing brilliantly,” she whispered, “he looks like he’ll blow up anytime now.”

It felt nice, sitting in front of the bonfire while listening to others singing. You knew you were trying to make Hyuck jealous yet it was hard not to stare at his face, which basked in the glow of fire. He was already looking your way, noticing how you still had his ring on, which only tempted him to pull you on his lap, yet he knew it was impossible with your brother monitoring his every move. 

“Let’s go into the water,” Jeno repeated, as Mark smirked. 

“On the count of one, two,” he said, and didn’t even finish before your eyes widened as your brother came to pick you up in hopes of throwing you into the cold water. 

Mark was escapable. Jeno on the other hand, not so much and it didn’t help how they both had lifted you up despite your thrashing and whining and ran towards the water. 

“Mark I swear I’ll kill you—” you warned and Yunjin had the time of her life recording this whole scene. 

Renjun continuously reminded the boys to stay safe while also doing god’s work by providing you with the flashlight set on the highest setting from his phone. 

Within a second, you were screaming and thrashing as the boys dropped you into the cold water, laughing and doing the same with a horrified Renjun before rushing towards the mansion, especially Mark, leaving you all cold. 

Hyuck rushed to close the flashlight. 

You were wearing white, and the water only made your clothes look transparent, which is why Hyuck was taking his jacket off, but yet again, Jaemin was quick to wrap his leather jacket around your shivering frame. 

He was glad that you were covered but the annoyance was clear on his face, the amusement long gone even with you muttering and plotting Mark and Jeno’s murder with Renjun. 

Nor did he enjoy the sight of Jaemin taking you back to the villa, acting all protective as if he was your knight in shining armour. 

“You’re making it so obvious that you’re jealous,” Yunjin quipped, noticing how everyone walked ahead of them, rushing to the mansion. 

He laughed out, ending it with a scoff, “I have no reason to be,” he said, voice calm, “she’s mine anyways,” he shrugged, determination clear in his eyes. 

“Wow, you’re not even scared to admit it out loud? What if Mark hears?” She asks and Hyuck’s expression sours. 

“He wouldn’t approve. That’s a given but that’s not enough to stop me,” he shrugged yet again. 

“Okay Mr. Someone is stealing your girl as we speak though,” Yunjin pointed out, a fake sympathetic scowl on her face. 

Haechan hated feeling this way, the feeling where things do not go his way. He hadn’t felt this way since—forever. He had everything he wanted, but not you. Mark being a hindrance is something he considered to be normal till some extent, but Jaemin? That’s unacceptable. 

“I’ll take care of it.”

It was one in the morning and you were wrapped up in a blanket, sitting down near the balcony to observe the spectrum of stars which you could have sworn were shining. 

Being thrown into the water wasn’t the best experience per se, but you knew it would soon turn into a funny memory you guys would look back at someday in the future. Yet, it wasn’t something you were thinking about much, granted you had better things to ponder about. 

Lee Haechan. 

You well expected him to show at least a sliver of reaction, some sort of outburst during the evening, however it never came. Either he was plotting revenge or he simply didn’t care enough. Or he was trying to keep it in, your mind tried to reason with you. 

You sighed, getting up and closing the sliding doors of the big balcony in hopes of getting a cozy sleep. You needed that warmth after all. Just as you dropped the blanket on the bed, the door swung open—which shouldn’t have happened, given that you were sure you had locked it.

Haechan entered the room, closing the door behind him and you couldn’t help but stand at your place, shocked at his sudden appearance, “how did you—” 

“It’s my place, I can get in and out anytime I want,” he replied, voice smooth, giving you goosebumps as he walked closer to you. 

He was clad in sweatpants and a white T-shirt, the attire was simple, yet he made it look a hundred times more attractive than the usual. 

“Oh,” you breathed out, the dim lights of the room caused his skin to glow a beautiful shade of golden. 

There wasn’t a single ounce of jealousy on his face, rather, he looked content with the setting, settling down and sitting on the corner of the bed, his dark eyes staring at you, the silence louder than ever. 

“Uhm, so—did you want something?” You asked, wincing at your tone as you suddenly felt conscious under his gaze, slightly aroused too, not knowing what he was actually here for. 

He clicked his tongue, looking away for a second before his eyes settled on you for the second time. 

Hyuck gave you no time to process anything as his hands grabbed your wrist, pulling you to him in a single hard tug, which had your body stumbling forward and right on his lap. 

He held on to your waist, helping you stabilize your balance, “what’s wrong, princess? You were so confident, getting cozy with Jaemin, huh?” He raise his brow, letting the possessiveness show on his face, the I don’t give a fuck facade disappearing. 

Your breath hitched with the movement of his fingers on your waist, his thumb rubbing circles on the part where your top had ridden up to expose your skin. 

“He was just being nice,” you breathed out, shivering slightly. 

He rolled his eyes at your statement, a scoff leaving his lips before he leaned in, earning a gasp out of you. His nose caressed yours, and you were scared to move, his lips hovering above yours. 

“Just being nice my ass,” he clicked his tongue yet again, and suddenly you were hyper aware about the fact that you were breathing in the same air, “you wanted to know my intentions, right, princess?” He asked, “then listen, I want you all to myself,” his tone was raspy, your fingers digging into his shoulders for support, “don’t think I didn’t notice your subtle glances towards me, especially when you were with Jaemin,” he chuckled and you gulped, looking elsewhere. 

He was quick to grab your chin, making you look right in his eyes, “trying to get me jealous, darling? Well, good for you, it fucking worked.”

“Hyuck—” you whimper, your body heating up as you realized you were sitting right on his crotch. 

“Shh, bad girls don’t get to talk,” he shook his head, disappointed, “now what do we do about this? Maybe I’ll just have to claim your body to make you understand that you don’t need to make me jealous to have all my attention,” he suggested. 

You could feel the wetness down in your lacy panties and he hadn’t even touched you. Something about the way his voice came out so luscious, something about the way his touch made you feel like putty, something about his eyes made you feel mesmerized. 

“Tell me, baby. Can I mark you mine?” He asked and you felt your heart flutter, his voice was gentle when he asked for your consent, and you couldn’t hold back from wanting him anymore, nodding gently, “use your words, love,” he urged, lips parted. 

“Yes,” you whispered, grabbing on to him as he bit your lip, eliciting another gasp out of you, a teasing smirk on his face. 

“Yeah? You sure you can handle it?” He asked and you tugged on to his collar, impatiently pulling you to him. 

“Let’s find out,” you mumbled. 

Without any more delay, you closed the distance between you both, his hand coming to rest on your nape, tilting your head to kiss you passionately, his tongue brushing over your lips, parting them with ease for your tongue to graze the tip of his own. 

The room felt misty as you continued to kiss, his kisses getting more possessive by second, thinking about how no one else should have you, that you belong to him. He picked you up with ease, putting you underneath him on the bed, his kisses trailing down as you took a deep breath. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mumbled midway kisses, some were long, especially the ones around your clavicle and neck region while the others were feather soft, driving you insane to the point of no return. It only ascended when his fingers finally lifted up your top, exploring the expanse of your skin with teasing touches. 

Your back arched as soon as he caresses the area under your tits, before cupping them fully, leaning back to get rid of your top altogether. You couldn’t shy under his gaze, the way he looked at you only boosted your confidence, as if he was a predator hungry for a meal and you were his precious prey, all ready to be devoured. 

He had no time to waste, his mouth working fast to lean down, swirling his tongue around your hardened nipples, noticing how you react to his each touch, fondling your other tit, hearing you whimper and beg for more, his name chanting on your lips out of sheer pleasure. 

“It’s so fucking cute how your body reacts to every little touch of mine,” he whispered, biting your earlobe in the process, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he stuffed his pretty fingers inside your shorts, chuckling when he realizes how soiled your lacy panties had gotten, “fuck, I wanna taste that pretty cunt,” he says, taking off his T-shirt before doing the same to your shorts, dragging your panties down alongside it. 

You found yourself drooling at the sight of Hyuck’s muscles, he had started going to the gym and the results were clearly visible on his body, but you were ripped out of your thought train when he bit your inner thigh, causing you to clench around nothing, giving you kisses and licks all over, but not touching the part where you needed him the most. 

“P—please,” you cried out of frustration, and he immersed himself, licking a big stripe of your wet cunt, genuinely loving the taste as he hummed with satisfaction, holding your thighs open with his strong arms, “oh god,” you moaned out, causing him to smirk against your wetness, pressing sweet kisses to your clit. 

It felt like heaven when you were being destroyed by the demon himself. 

Hyuck was hard, his thick cock barely containing itself from splitting your pussy into two, but he wanted to see you fall apart on his tongue first, “your cunt,” he said, licking it to make a point, “belongs to me,” he whispered and you nodded. 

“It’s yours—all yours!”

“That’s my good fucking girl, you’re all mine,” he said, his tongue prodding at your entrance, fucking your pussy, which gave you more pleasure than you had ever felt through your life. 

It didn’t take long for you to feel your lower abdomen tightening, your fingers tugging on his silky black roots as he ate you out like a madman, as if he was drunk in the essence of your pussy. With a cry, you found yourself falling apart all over his tongue and he lapped it up, coming to kiss you right after, letting you taste yourself in his mouth. He knew you’d be overstimulated, but that’s exactly what he was aiming for when he finally pulled out his cock. You knew he’d be thick, but you underestimated him still, knowing well his cock wouldn’t fit in your cunt. 

“Gonna claim you mine,” he whispered, intertwining his fingers with yours as he positioned himself on your entrance, “fuck, you’re all mine,” he said, kissing you deeply to absorb all yours moans as he pushed himself inside you. 

Your wetness helped him, yet he had to thrust in a few times to bottom out and could feel yourself clenching around him uncontrollably, loving the stretch and also the fact that he was twitching inside of you. 

His fingers grabbed your hips in a tight hold as he started pistoning into you at a pace which you hadn’t expected, and you were sure you looked crazy with how your eyes were teary, your hair a mess and your lips swollen, courtesy of the boy who groaned and slapped your cunt, fucking you deeper. 

“That’s it, baby, you’re taking me so well,” he praised and you let out broken sentences which he couldn’t comprehend, you were too gone, pushed into your subspace to the point you simply let Hyuck do all the work, moaning and whimpering for him, trying to keep your noises at bay in case anyone wakes up. 

Just when you both were about to read your high, he stopped fucking you, making you whimper out in distress, only to have you flipped with your ass up and head down on the pillow. 

It didn’t take him a second before he was entering your cunt again, fucking you from behind in hopes of giving you the brutal backshots you deserved, to fuck you in a way that you’ll be ruined forever, not even wanting to go back to another guy for their cock. 

This also gave him the perfect opportunity to spank your ass, the hurt only making you clench around him harder. 

“Fuck—I’m so—so close,” you sobbed, voice coming out muffled and Hyuck rubbed your clit to stimulate you further. 

“Go on, baby. Give me everything,” he urged and you both finally let go, groaning and whining as he filled you up with his cum, mixing it with your juices.

It felt as if the universe had blessed you with the highest amount of unadulterated pleasure one could have, and your eyes closed shut as Hyuck lay down next to you, breathing in and out just as quick as you to regain his strength to breathe properly. 

“Y/n,” he whispered, more gently this time, pulling you into a sweet kiss as you smiled into it, finding it amusing that he was the same guy who brutally fucked you not even a few minutes back, “you really are mine, yeah?” He said, caressing your cheek. 

“Yeah?” You asked in a whisper and he nodded earnestly, getting a washcloth and helping you into the bathroom, feeling proud when you couldn’t stand up properly. 

He was sweet. Sweeter than you had ever expected him to be and that’s why you found yourself kissing him again, and again as you both washed up in the shower, turning it to the point you both couldn’t help but giggle, his forehead resting against yours. 

“I really do like you, baby,” he whispered. 

“I really like you too, Hyuck,” you replied, feeling happier than you had ever felt, spending a while in his embrace, talking and kissing and eventually, falling asleep in his arms as you both smiled faintly, even in your deep slumber. 

Hurt. 

That’s what your body felt the second you blinked open your eyes. Images from last night revisiting you as a montage, a small smile lingered on your face, discarding the fact that you were disappointed, not having Hyuck by your side when you woke up, but then again, it was still better than getting caught by Mark. 

With the support of the bedside tables, you managed to stand up on your wobbly feet, stablizing yourself before going into the bathroom to freshen up, you needed that long bath to soothe down your muscles. 

Now wrapped up in your bath robe, you passed by the door, only to hear the sound of someone arguing. Curiosity got the best of you as you walked back, twisting the knob to open it just the right amount for it to not be noticeable, gladly the door opened seamlessly. 

“Stop playing with her feelings,” Jaemin whisper-yelled, and your heartbeat rose when you saw how it was directed towards Hyuck. 

“Who the fuck even said I’m playing with her?” Hyuck asked, his voice full of exasperation and anger. 

Jaemin scoffed, you hadn’t seen that expression on his face, ever. “So you’re just gonna go around fucking her right after Mark told you, specifically might I add, to stay away from her. What are you trying to do here? Take revenge by proving a point?” 

Your heart dropped hearing that sentence. Sneaking around made sense because Mark would, without any doubts, be against this setting, but what revenge was Jaemin talking about? When did Mark ask Hyuck to stay away from her, specifically at that? 

“That’s none of your business,” Hyuck replied, teeth gritted, “besides, weren’t you the one begging for her attention by putting up your good boy act? We aren’t that different, Jaemin,” he mocked, “you only want her cause she’s Mark’s sister.”

Your lip wobbled at his confession, he hadn’t agreed to Jaemin’s claims yet he hadn’t denied it either and suddenly you didn’t feel comfortable, all the positive energy drained as you rushed to get dressed, to get out. 

You trusted Hyuck too easily, and you knew you’d have to confront him about this, but you didn’t feel like doing it now. You wanted to go back home, alone, to deal with your inconvenience which would bother you for a while now. 

So you did what you had to do: run away from your problems. 

You texted Mark that you’d be taking his car, also mentioning it to Yunjin that you’ll be going back home, as you rushed to get dressed up and sneak out of the place without Hyuck knowing, and you were successful in doing so, sighing as soon as you started driving back. 

Hyuck thought you were sleeping in, and he couldn’t enter your room with everyone being awake and roaming around, especially when Jaemin knew what you two had done last night. 

The reminder only made him smile, as cliche as it sounds, he had never felt this way with other girls, your little confession only made his heart beat faster. You liked him back, and that’s all that mattered. 

“Yo, why did Y/n leave? She’s not picking up the calls either?” Hyuck heard Mark ask Yunjin, who knew exactly what was up. 

“She’s got some work to take care of, you don’t have to worry about it,” Yunjin patted his shoulder before making her way out to the beach to call you again. She knows you want space, but she also knows you like it when she checks up on you. 

Now, that was news to Hyuck, his eyes widening as he rushed to open the door to your room, only to find you weren’t actually there. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled, getting his phone out and calling you, only for it to get declined, “no, fuck,” he groaned, thinking about if he upset you in any way, yet he couldn’t understand why you’d leave, especially when you were so happy when you went to sleep. 

Or maybe she heard you talking to Jaemin, his subconscious spoke up, making him lose his mind and punch the wall next to him, running down the stairs to follow Yunjin, calling out her name which caused her to pause and remove her sunglasses. 

“Where is Y/n?” He asked, breathing heavily. 

“Are you playing with her feelings?” She asked instead of replying to his question, “cause if that’s the case then I don’t care if we’re staying at your mansion, I’ll have to kick and break your baby making machine.” Her smile was threatening. 

“Oh god, that’s not it!” Hyuck was frustrated, “I’ve liked her since we were kids, I'm not joking around,” he said earnestly, “is she upset, why did she leave?” 

Yunjin watched the boy with amusement in her eyes, “you’re so dumb actually. If you like her enough then why aren’t you running after her right now? Get in your car and get your girl, shoo,” she dismissed him and Hyuck didn’t wait to chat about how she shouldn’t shoo him away, rather, he ran to grab his car keys, not paying attention to Renjun who asked why he was in such a hurry. 

Hyuck didn’t want any miscommunications whatsoever, it had been an hour since you had left, and it’ll probably be impossible to cover that distance in a short while so he decided to drive faster and get to your place. 

“Y/n, baby, please listen to me,” he muttered to himself, trying to call you again. 

You weren’t dating. It had barely been a week since you came back, a few days since he had started to get to know this new side of you and he didn’t want it to stop, not when he’s genuinely liked you for so long, minus his fuckboy ways of course. 

Mark had tried to call him a few times too, sensing that something was up, yet Hyuck didn’t pick up those calls, focusing on driving till he finally reached your place, relieved to see Mark’s car parked there. 

He knew there was an extra key under the third potted plant on the entrance, and that’s exactly what he took and opened the door. The living room was empty, which caused him to rush up the stairs to find you in your room, his chest heaving up and down. 

The sudden voice startled you, your mouth going dry at the sight of Hyuck. 

You couldn’t avoid him after all. 

“Hyuck, is everything okay? What are you doing here—why are you here?” You asked, pretending to be okay. 

“Did you hear us in the morning?” He asked, eyes softer than you had ever seen. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but stopped, gulping down your emotions before staring at your feet, “I did,” you whispered, “but it’s fine, Hyuck. The sex was great—”

You didn’t look up while rambling, and it was cut short when Hyuck pulled you into his embrace, warmth spreading all over your body with how he held you close to him. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so broken seeing someone’s face, and he couldn’t handle that it was because of him that you felt this hurt. 

“That’s not true,” he whispered, holding you tighter, you could feel tears forming in your eyes. 

“N—no one’s ever approached me because of Mark,” your voice came out muffled, and Hyuck leaned back slightly just to look at your face, his thumb wiping the stray tear that cascaded down your cheek, “i felt like no one wanted to befriend me for me, all girls wanted to get to him through me and all the boys were so scared,” you laughed pathetically, knowing that your story wasn’t even sob worthy, “but you were the only one who still talked to me, even if it was just greeting me, asking me about my day,” you let out your breath. 

“Baby,” Hyuck cupped your cheeks. 

“You were the only exception, Hyuck. Maybe that’s the reason I’ve always liked you so much. So tell me, was it all a joke?” You asked, eyes serious. 

“It wasn’t,” he shook his head, gulping down before explaining it to you, “it happened at the party when I offered to drop you home but Mark was against it, thinking that I would use you to only fuck you, but that was not my intention I swear,” he says with a frown. 

“So that’s what you did,” your voice barely came out, it sounded broken. 

“God—no. No. I could never do that to you,” he felt helpless, trying to word his sentence properly, “I’ve liked you since we were kids, and I was heartbroken when you switched schools and cities. But I just got so excited when Mark told us that you were back—I wanted to see you, talk to you, but Mark only gave me a reminder that I couldn’t have you.”

You listened to him, your heart undoubtedly fluttering with how earnest his eyes looked, how the distress of being denied of you flashed clearly on his face. 

You really wanted to kiss him. 

“And when he gave all those permissions to Jaemin, I couldn’t help it. I never had revenge in my mind Y/n. I like you too much to hurt you, and I know we’re not even dating right now, but I don’t want anyone to ruin it for us even before our story starts and I swear to god I’ll fight Mark if it means that I can have you,” he breathed out, cheeks flushed as he had confessed to someone for the very first time.

You broke into a smile despite the tears in your eyes, “you promise?” You held up your pinky finger. 

He laced his pinky finger with yours, tugging it so you stumble slightly, and he takes it as an opportunity to pull you into a deep kiss, his soft lips caressing yours in a possessive hold, promising that he’ll take care of you. 

“Good, cause I was going to be really upset if you didn’t,” you mumbled against his lips. 

He chuckled before saying, “don’t ever run away from me, yeah?” 

You nodded, hugging him back tighter as you felt your anxiety calming down, your smile widening as he kissed your forehead, easing out your worries and you were sure you wanted to give it a try—you wanted to give you both a try. 

Yet another problem lingered in your mind. 

“So, about Mark,” you winced, knowing it’ll be disastrous.

“Shh, we’ll think about him later,” he mumbled, but the peacefulness wasn’t here to stay for long as a loud voice boomed up, indicating that Jaemin had snitched. 

“Lee fucking Donghyuck, I told you to stay away from my sister!” Mark shouted, your eyes widening as you both looked at each other. 

“Fuck, hide!”

Despite the chaos of hiding in your closet, you knew that Hyuck would always be your exception. 

THANK YOU FOR READING!

TAGGING: @ajayke-reads @jenoslutie @jjaeyuns @heesuncore @celeste-hoon

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[seungjiseyo]

haechan — settle down (rockstar hyuck) | part 3 of 3

wc: 11k (lol) genre: angst, smut (18+ minors dni), fluff warnings: unprotected sex, making out, creampies, fingering, oral (f recieving), lowkey don't have that dog in me anymore so this is kind of vanilla, dirty talk, aftercare...? needs to be read after part 1 and 2 a/n: fucking finally. so so so sorry for the wait and also this is lowkey probably so BAD because its been a hot minute since i've written for tumblr. because this could be written/ended in so many ways, AN EPILOGUE IS COMING with a 'happy' ending, just not putting it here in this part because i think i should post this out first on it's own. i love you guys so much, thank you to every single person who's read, commented, let me know how much you liked it, and waited so patiently. i cannot express how much it means to me.

—

"whose party is this again?" 

"jaemin's friend chenle," mark says, placing his drink down on one of the tables. "think they should be around here somewhere." 

through the smoke, he can see your eyes shine. you've come even closer now, and it's as if every movement of yours is liquified, rendered in slow-motion – you flick a strand of hair out of your face and it's like he can feel the damp air on your cheeks, a slow smile spreading across your face like sunrise spilling over the horizon, that lovely curl of your lip that he's memorized. he feels his chest cave in when he hears you laugh, feel you take another step closer to him even though your eyes never meet his, even though you never look his way – every memory he has of you threatening to burst through his seams. 

your skin glows under the dizzying lights, and all he can think about is the fact that you’re so close, he could reach out his hand and touch you. but he can’t. you weren't his – and he was the one who had thrown you away.

jisung comes up to you, and haechan can see his friend's shy smile met with your beaming grin as you turn to face him. jisung is saying something to you – a hand gently placed on your shoulder as he speaks into your ear, the other gesturing vaguely towards the upstairs rooms. and then you're nodding, and haechan watches wide-eyed as he takes your hand in his and begins guiding you up the stairs. 

he can't help it – he only waits a beat, enough for you to disappear up the stairs, before he's rushing through the crowd, climbing the stairs two at a time. he rounds the corner just as he sees the flick of your skirt as you disappear into the nearest room, the door clicking shut softly. taking a moment to calm himself down – chest heaving, wringing his hands – he pads softly towards the room, placing both hands on the door, straining to hear anything that might be going on. 

low voices. the rustling of fabric. haechan's imagination spun out of control – jisung's large hands on your skin, his plush lips exploring your neck, your soft sounds, the way you might look under him. he heard a light laugh, and he pressed even closer to try to catch what was being said – what if he had you on his lap? what if you laughed because he'd kissed you behind the ear like haechan did once? it had caught you by surprise, and you'd giggled – burying your face in the crook of his neck. you were sorry. you were just sensitive. haechan had wanted to pull you into his chest and never let you go. 

he knew he was breaking his own heart – over-analyzing each muffled sound that came through, all his thoughts drifting back to memories of you. but he couldn't seem to peel himself away as the party raged on and on downstairs, didn't want to be anywhere else but near you even if you didn't know he was there. he had never felt this way with anyone else before – never needed anyone else like this, never afraid like this – and the realisation roared loud in his ears along with the feverish ghost of your fingerprints all over his skin. 

–

jisung knows haechan's going to talk to him. 

can see it in the way he hangs back after practice, fiddling with his guitar and placing it back on its stand, before picking it back up again for no real reason. there was something off, slightly, about haechan these days. not enough for jeno or mark to comment about it, to hold an intervention, but things had definitely changed – haechan never brought around girls, or showed any interest when jeno and mark would discuss them. he was quiet, and subdued during practice, absorbed in his own guitar, or else discussing new songs with mark in low voices. and strangest of all – jisung mused, slinging his own bass over his shoulder as he ambled to the door – haechan started to seem afraid of jisung. 

jisung – who had for the longest time been the most timid and shy of the group, the least experienced by far. he remembered how haechan would tease him if a girl paid him any slightest bit of attention: half-joking, but half trying to build up his friend's confidence. he remembered how he used to be wary of haechan's attention at after-show parties, because haechan would watch him like a hawk and push him into any girls he showed the vaguest interest in. he remembered his shock at haechan, who had never been mean or vindictive – a pain sometimes yes, but never truly cruel to him –, standing there obstinately in his place on stage, staring down at you in the crowd. 

to the version of haechan now, who could barely look him in the eye. 

"jisung?" 

haechan clears his throat. jisung stops in his tracks, turning back to look at haechan. 

"yeah?" 

haechan's gaze is directed at his shoes. swallowing, he takes a moment before he asks. "uh…how was…um…how've you been?" 

jisung has to stop himself from laughing out loud. "i've been good," he says, amiably. he's not going to let haechan have it easy. 

"nice…nice," haechan mumbles. "uh…seeing anybody?" 

"haechan," he keeps his tone light. "come on." he moves towards where haechan is standing awkwardly, taking a seat down on one of the stools. after a beat, haechan sits down too. 

"how did it go with y/n?" haechan sounds almost timid – like a child asking a question, but scared of knowing the answer. 

"can't you ask her yourself?" he knows he's making things difficult, but he needs haechan to work for it. needs haechan to articulate, because he knows that's the least you deserve. 

"i…i could," haechan says. "but i…i don't want to seem possessive. i already fucked up by wishing her luck on the date and i just…" he buries his face in his hands. jisung doesn't say a thing, waiting for him to finish his sentence. "i don't want to hurt her anymore…but i need to know. i need to know what to expect.…" haechan's voice is so small, like he's disappearing into himself. 

"haechan…" he starts, slowly, but haechan cuts in, hurriedly. 

"if you really love her, jisung, if you're happy together, i'll back off. i won't see her again. it'll be…it'll be too hard to see her with you but that's for me to figure out. you…you should both be happy. she deserves you, ji. you'll be good for each other." 

"what are you even saying…" jisung lets out a nervous laugh. he knows haechan tends to get dramatic – loves blowing moments out of proportion, lingering on stories that were fun to tell and relive. loves to exaggerate – always taking the smallest details too seriously and making light of things that had real consequences. but as he watches haechan – curled in on himself, he sees that this is something else entirely. this haechan was anxious and overthinking, unsure of himself, fractured into a thousand different wants and needs. 

"i'm serious, jisung." haechan, the vocalist he is, keeps his voice as steady as possible. "i'll back off if you tell me to. if i'm making it hard for you in any way…" 

"haechan, it's…it's going to be fine. it's not what you think." 

"you…you're not together now?" a hint of hopefulness. 

jisung chooses to be kind. "we're not," he says, gently. when haechan's lips part, he continues on, interrupting him. "it had nothing to do with you. we're just…not." 

"i'm sorry," haechan murmurs, finally lifting his head. "i know you wanted it to work out." he truly means it.

"i'm happy with the way things are now," jisung says it, and he means it too. "but…but you know she's going to start seeing other people, right?" 

a beat. "yeah…yeah of course." 

"you can't go after all of them and ask them if it's working out or not, you know?" jisung says, wryly. "at some point…you need to just talk to her." 

"i…" haechan break off, a pained expression flitting over his face. "i don't have anything to say. but i really want her to be happy. i just want her to be happy. but it sounds…" he catches the look on jisung's face. "i know it sounds like a guilt-trip. i know what it sounds like." 

"give her space," jisung suggests, quietly. "figure out what you're willing to give. who you can be for her."

"hyuck or haechan." he says it almost spitefully. he had never hated the difference more. 

-

you were in the crowd today. 

it had been a little over a month – 6 days more, to be exact, – since haechan had last seen you in the crowd, each time spotting your face easily, everyone else fading to nothing. each time noting every which way your eyes shimmered under the lights, the ways your pretty lips curved into a smile or a shout, or even each time you looked away, distracted. 

he'd practically rushed into the dressing room after the show ended, anxious hands tugging at his clothes, trying to fix himself up just in case you decided to come find him. questions had spun around in his mind so much during the show, he was afraid he would start singing them in place of mark's carefully written lyrics. he's thought of a thousand ways to bring it up, but he wishes he could just ask — how've you been? have you forgotten me? 

he's still lost in thought when the dressing room door opens softly, the lock turning gently in the door barely louder than a whisper. 

"haechan?" 

he turns, and you're there. you're wearing a new dress, probably the shortest one he's ever seen on you, black glittery fabric barely brushing the tops of your thighs. but he doesn't linger on your body, his eyes seeking out your own, the flush of anticipation and adrenaline in your cheeks, the way your hair falls slightly loose, framing your face. the question is on the tip of his tongue, his lips are parting, his breath catches in his throat –  

" – don't worry," you say, breathlessly, as you catch the look on his face. "no one saw me." 

oh. 

walking towards him, you pull him into a hug, arms wrapping around his neck, so you can brush your lips against his cheek. pulling away, you peer at him, wondering why he's looking at you so lost. like he was wondering something since he laid eyes on you tonight.

you frown. "were you going to ask me something else?" 

his lips part, soundlessly. you've never seen him so speechless. his arms tentatively circle around your waist, fingers brushing the fabric of your dress, and understanding dawns on you. 

"yes, it's a new dress," you smile. 

he swallows, the cloudy look clearing from his eyes as he finally runs his heavy touch down your back, a feeling you've grown used to. 

his tone is slightly darker when he plays along, masking the traces of disappointment. "for me?" 

you nod, letting his hands wander to the zipper, eyes traveling to the mirror to catch the way he fiddles with it, slowly starting to drag it down your spine. 

what you don't catch, is the way he's looking at you – lip caught between his teeth, eyes focused on the side of your face, regret and sadness and a desire he still couldn't shake coursing through his body. you had come back – and maybe that was all that he should care about. 

"come home with me," he blurts out, suddenly. "i have to show you something." 

confused, you look back at him, frowning. "now?" 

he swallows. "yes. we'll still…it's just…" he stammers, confidence draining as he watches you zip your dress back up. "i mean…i just…thought you'd like my bedroom more than this dressing room. you said- you said it was uncomfortable, that last time…" he trails off. his head droops, fingers picking at his nails. 

you place your hands on his chest. his head lifts just slightly, glancing at you through his lashes. "haechan," the ache in your chest making your voice soft – barely above a whisper. "why are you so nervous today?" 

"i'm sorry," he starts, but you shake your head. "it's been awhile."

"that's fine, i'll go home with you," you say, smiling, hoping to reassure him. the words instantly relax him, and he lets out a breath. you can feel his chest move under your palms. 

"i'm sorry," he repeats, softly, but you don't know what he's saying it for. 

–

you don't know how you ended up here. 

one moment, haechan was unlocking his door, one hand fumbling with the keys as he held yours tightly in his other palm. the next, you were pushing him against the door – his plush lips, soft and tasting slightly like honeyed lip balm, finally kissing you deeply in a way you'd craved. and then he was sweeping you up into his arms, your legs locked in around his waist, his bag slumping to the floor as he focused all his attention on you. placing you on the countertop, he takes his time with your lips – his hand first cupping your face, then working its way down your neck, as if he was making sure you were wholly real through touch since his eyes were closed for the kiss. 

"hyuck?" you murmur. 

guilt pricks at your conscience when you feel him falter. you would never admit that you realized the name did something to him – made him more desperate and more tender all at once. you used it sparingly, only in certain moments, and tonight seemed just right for it, what with the way his touch was already so infused with longing. 

he hums in acknowledgement, pausing. a gentle palm tilts your face towards his, and his eyes are wide and patient. 

"what's wrong?" he asks. 

"i want to suck you off," you mumble, your words coming out rushed and careless. you almost think he might not catch it, but haechan goes still. his hands, caressing your face, stop moving.  

"what?"

your mind explodes with a million thoughts. did he not want you to? how many girls had sucked him off before you – did he think you wouldn't be good enough? was he not attracted to you enough? 

he was still just looking at you – something unreadable in his eyes. 

"do you not want me to?" you ask, doubt making your tone come off a little more insecure than you'd have liked. "is it…is it because i've never done it before?" 

he blinks. "what?" he repeats, again. 

you shift, uneasy. "you can teach me," you insist, holding onto his arms, wanting to be closer to him. "i'll practice…" 

"oh god," he whispers. "oh… oh y/n…" his hands barely skim your skin, nervously tucking your hair behind your ear. "don't," he says, quietly. 

"why?"

i don't want to hurt you," he says, voice so tender it wavers under the weight of his feelings for you. "being able to touch you is already everything to me-" he trails off, biting his lip, and then he's weak in the knees, and you melt into his embrace as he holds your body against his. "i don't want you to do anything you're uncomfortable with." 

"i want to please you like the girls before," you protest, weakly. "i want to…i want you to tell me your fantasies." 

"all that matters to me," he says, slowly, eyes suddenly grave and solemn. "is that i'm here with you. just you." he holds your hands up to his lips and kisses the tips of your fingers. 

you don't know what to say. the charged atmosphere from before has dissolved into the night, leaving a balmy and sweet taste on your tongue. the only thing that feels right is to hold him in your arms and hold him as close as you can. 

he's looking at you, before suddenly pulling you into him as if he could read your mind – arms wrapped protectively around your back, one hand coming up to stroke your hair as you lean into his chest. 

the memory of that first night comes back to you – the first time he rejected you. he hadn't wanted to hurt you then, either. and then he proceeded to in all ways possible – playing with your heart in a terrible back and forth. and then he disappeared from your life, and then he came back and something was different – in the way he touched you, looked for you, looked at you, was careful with you. 

but you moved on – told jaemin, told yourself you weren't waiting. you'd gone on a date with jisung, and then to some more with a few other guys on campus. you didn't hang around the band all the time now – didn't show up for every concert. and even when you did, you rarely stopped by to see haechan – spending more and more time with jisung, who was steadily becoming one of your closest friends. 

you tried to keep things light when you did visit haechan. always easy, relishing in how well he knew how to please you, how he always knew what to say. and for the most part, he was able to play along – a smile always tugging at the corner of his lips, or his tongue poking into his cheek as his eyes turned dark. 

but it was on nights like these – when the moon was a bit too bright and the air between your lips and his dense like honey, your skin heated and his face flushed – when you used the wrong name, or he said things too vulnerable and too intimate. it was on nights like these when you are faced with the reality that he made you feel the way no one else could – even as he was ever-changing, ever showing you a different side of himself. on these nights you plunge your hands deep into the kaleidoscope of him, and its like diving into shattered glass. 

–

"i wanted to show you this," he murmurs, shyly. 

he places a pair of headphones clumsily on your head, his long fingers scrambling to adjust it on your head, trying not to pull at your hair. your hands come up to help, and you shoot him a reassuring smile. 

it was even later in the night. you were both showered and dressed for bed – you in a long-sleeved shirt of his that you liked. when you came into the bedroom, he was fiddling with his laptop – and you could hear snippets of his honey-sweet voice starting and stopping as he tapped at his keyboard. it was natural, to head over to the bed and lean your head on his shoulder, as he started to explain to you what he was doing, eventually grabbing his headphones from the bedside table. his skin smells faintly of baby powder, and his bare face under the dim light is so soft – mellowed curves, the constellation of moles on his cheek ever visible, eyes tired but warm. 

he clicks play, and his voice fills your ears – clean, without any backing vocals or instruments. you try to catch the lyrics, but he mumbles through his words, voice meandering effortlessly around the melodies, drawing beautiful loops. his voice is delicate and gentle, flowing water with a current of electricity running through it, humming and buzzing with dangerous life. 

it ends all too quickly, and haechan – who was watching your face carefully the entire time, clicks on a few more tracks. you can hear his voice, muffled from under the headphones, start to explain. 

"that's…that's my draft for the melody. i made it for this, uh, it's one of mark's demos–" 

a sultry, low beat now plays, low strings filling in the gaps. when his voice leaks in, you feel your cheeks start to heat up. the same melody from before – so innocuous and sweet, maybe something even vulnerable – sounds sinful all of a sudden. you can practically hear the scream of the crowd punctuating each line, and now even the way he mumbles is hazed with a sort of suggestive glow. 

you look at him, wide-eyed. he's still watching your face, this time his lip caught between his teeth, looking up at you through his lashes. when the song ends, you tug the headphones down from your ears, and he takes them from you absentmindedly.

"mark told me to try writing for that. he said it suited my voice —" 

"it does," you respond. your hands reach out to play with his, tracing the way his fingers curved, running your touch along his calloused finger-tips. 

"but i…i don't know. i want to write something…something that feels…" he stumbles over his words, eyes lingering on the way your hands play with his, the gentleness of your touch. "that feels like this," he finishes, softly. 

"like what?" you hum, tracing loops on the back of his hand. 

but he doesn't respond. 

"do you like it?" he asks, quietly. 

you give his hand a squeeze. "sing it for me?" 

his hand trails off to the keyboard again, but you hold it steady in your palm. "no, sing it for me now. here." 

he's still. you almost think he won't do it, but then he's pushing the screen of his laptop shut, and he turns to face you. 

this time, when he sings, he gets all the words out. 

in person, his voice is hushed and soft, like every word is a secret. his eyes flutter shut, and he ducks his head shyly as he continues. when he ends, his voice trails off, and he doesn't turn to look at you, staring at his hands. you stay silent, until it's like he can't bear it, and his head turns to face you, eyes seeking reassurance. 

"i like it just like this," you tell him, softly. 

his smile blooms. 

—

"keep haechan on his toes," jaemin says, leaning back in his chair. the steam from the coffee he made – a 2am jaemin specialty — curled gently in the air, your hands nursing the mug in front of you, sipping just to have something to do. "don't see him for awhile. keep him guessing." 

"that's cruel," you mumble. 

"he's done crueler," he points out. "you know you don't owe him anything, right?"

"i know i don't," you say, slowly. "i just think that it would kill me not to know how he's doing. if he was going on dates with other people…" 

"and would he tell you?" 

no, is your automatic answer, one you can't run from in your head, but jisung cuts in. 

"he wouldn't go on a date with someone else," he shakes his head, leaning back in his chair so he could stretch out his long limbs. blinking sleep from his eyes, he shook his head again to clear his bangs away from his eyes. it had been late already when he showed up, after a show, bringing food, a tired but giddy smile on his face. "you really fucked him up, that's all i'm going to say."

"he may not go on a date, but he'd fuck someone else, probably." jaemin rolls his eyes. 

"we actually haven't fucked in awhile." the realization feels like butterflies in your chest – an uneasy, fluttery feeling. 

"what?" jisung looks at you in disbelief. "sorry," he adds, suddenly sheepish when both you and jaemin stare at him. "i just thought that was the big part of your relationship." 

"it was…" you say, slowly. ignoring how jisung said 'relationship' when it was really never that. "but…but i don't know. recently we always get distracted…or… or he's… i don't know." 

you think of his unmade bed. the careful, tender loop of his arm around your waist. you think of the way his lashes flutter when you lean in to kiss him – 

and yet, there was something bigger bothering you about this, something that tugged at your gut, the words forcing themselves out of you. 

"i hate that it feels like there's nothing more to me than this." 

"y/n, what are you talking about?" jaemin asks, his voice quiet. when you pause, he presses on, urgency in every word. "what did he say to you?" 

"nothing," you shake your head. "he didn't say that to me, it's something i feel. no matter who i'm with…even when i'm alone….i can't run from it." you take a breath. you hated admitting this, but jaemin's eyes were kind as they looked into yours. "even when we weren't talking, i was thinking about him…and tonight…jaemin i don't think anyone should be able to make me feel like this." 

“there's nothing wrong with being in love," he says, carefully. when you don't say a word, he continues on, as gentle as possible. "you know that no amount of attention he gives you will change the way you feel, right?" 

he was right. if you really dared to dream – to use up every last shooting star, count on all of the angel numbers — and haechan, donghyuck, gave himself to you fully like you wanted, you would still be afraid of losing him. a sick flutter beats in your chest at the passing thought of him slipping away again – that all this fight would have been for nothing. 

it was as if jaemin could read your mind. "there was a life before him," he reassures you. "there is so much more without him. you just need to start living like it, to really see it."

you had nodded, but you couldn't shake the feeling that no matter how many shows you skipped, no matter how many times you drove by his apartment or ignored his messages, it wouldn't change a thing: that even though there was a life before him, maybe it wasn't one that you wanted anymore.

—

you're cutting through the park on your way home from class, when you hear a shout of your name. you barely have time to turn before a small girl is launching herself at your legs, standing high on her tip-toes to throw her arms around your waist. 

"slow down!" 

you'd know that voice anywhere. 

haechan looks different. he's dressed in a striped sweater, glasses askew on his small nose. your heart skips a beat – he looks warm, and cozy, and comfortable. behind the frames, his eyes glow when he looks at you, an involuntary smile tugging at his lips. 

the two of you just stand there, looking into each other's eyes. every sense of yours is heightened –  the autumn air cold on your skin. the light catching everything around you. and your heart beating in your chest, speeding up with every moment you continue looking at him. you can't help it: even now you smile looking at his face. 

he raises his eyebrows. 

"what?" you blurt out, caught off-guard. 

he laughs lightly. "what are you doing here?" he asks, like he's explaining a question. 

"just…passing through," you say, slowly. "you?" 

"the…uh…kindergarten's right near here." haechan point vaguely at a point in the distance, you only look at it for a second before you focus back on him. you can't help it. he smiles again. "you're just passing through? can't you stay for awhile? we were going to get ice cream." 

his sister tugs at your sweater, excited at the sound of ice cream. you look down at her face – she has the same nose as her brother, the same bright smile. 

"just for a bit," you concede. haechan pumps his fist, playing up his excitement to make his sister laugh. it makes your heart go still and race all at the same time. 

—

"we need to talk." 

there was something wrong with haechan. 

the smell of rain and cigarettes hung in the alley behind the dingy venue. haechan sits on the steps with his head in his hands, jeno leaning on the wall opposite, jisung against the doorway behind. it's mark who stands directly in front of him, as he rubs his face with his hands, trying to calm down. mark who crouches down, mark's prying hands which make haechan lift his head to look at them. 

"what happened?" he asks, his eyes blazing. 

haechan swallows. "it's been a bad day," he tries, weakly. 

"it's been a bad month," jeno corrects. at haechan's glare, he raises his eyebrows in a silent challenge, and it's jisung who pipes up.

"i think people are starting to notice something's off," he says, softly. "that you play differently, sometimes."

"you mean that he messes up when she's not in the crowd," jeno says, bitterly. 

"i only messed up today," haechan mumbles. "it won't happen again." 

"what about yesterday? it's like you weren't onstage at all." jeno protests. 

haechan opens his mouth, but closes it. he knew this conversation had to happen, that things would lead to this – his fingers faltering, his mind going blank as his solo began. jeno's drums continuing relentlessly, mark's eyes on him, as he shook his head fiercely, trying to clear his mind and focus all at once. unsure of what to keep — the image of you, or the chords he'd worked so hard to get right. 

"hyuck, do you need a break?" mark asked, his words slow and gentle. "we can stop performing for awhile, cancel some of our gigs…"

"no," he breathes.  "don't." he doesn't want to lose all of it – and because he knew that if he stopped performing, he didn't know if he would ever see you again. 

and it's like jeno reads his mind. "she's not going to like you like this," jeno says, his voice impersonal. "she likes the version of you onstage, remember? it's how she first met you, it's what kept her coming back for more." 

"jeno." mark's voice is stern, but haechan looks up right past him, hurt pooling in his eyes. 

"i know," he breathes. "i know that. but i don't know if i can be that around her anymore." 

"not just around her," jisung notes. "you're not haechan anymore. it doesn't make you happy." 

"i know," he repeats, quieter this time. 

"hyuck, listen," mark sighs. "you're not doing yourself any good going onstage like this. i'm canceling the next few shows –" as haechan protests, he cuts him off with a hand on his shoulder. "no. we could all use a break." 

"mark," haechan croaks. "i can't." 

"we'll still have practice," mark says, firmly. "you still have to show up for all of it. and those songs i told you to work on —" 

"you should go home," jisung adds. "take care of your sister." 

there's a pause, as they wait for jeno to chime in. 

"none of it matters if you don't figure it out with her," he says, a tone of finality ringing in his words. he straightens, broad shoulders squared, suddenly much bigger under the lights. "if you need to get over it, you have to. staying like this is hurting everyone." 

haechan's lips part, soundlessly. there's a sharp creak, as jeno stalks back into the venue, followed by mark – who pats haechan gently on the shoulder. vaguely, haechan waits for the sound of jisung's soft steps to fade, but they only shuffle closer, until the lanky boy drops down next to him. his legs stretch out into the dingy alley, as haechan hugs his knees closer to his chest, for the first time perhaps truly afraid of what he was about to hear from his friend.

"sometimes, we meet the right person at the wrong time-" jisung's voice is quiet, almost a murmur, but the words still scrape against haechan's skin, rough like sand. 

"don't say that." he bites his lip harshly, a sudden rush of anger at the pity in jisung's responding sigh. "don't fucking say that." 

"haechan, it's okay. she liked you, but then she moved on after you realised you —" 

"she didn't –" his fist clenches, restless in his lap. "she didn't move on." 

"really? not at all?" jisung's eyes are fixed on haechan's, holding his gaze. "after weeks of telling her you couldn't give her what she wanted…you think she's still waiting for you?" 

"ji-"

"why should she wait for you?" 

haechan swallows. "she shouldn't," he mumbles. "i…i need to really let her go. jeno's right." he truly means it.

jisung hesitates. he's been spending more time with you, as friends – joining on your movie nights with jaemin, or else baking together, or letting you style him for shows and concerts. and the more time he spends with you, really gets to know you, the more he can see why you and haechan seem to need each other. your patience and gentleness matched the soft way he's seen haechan take care of his sister and at times, mark. he watched the way you sometimes falter – worry overtaking your features for a split second when you stop at a red light, or your teeth tugging at your bottom lip as you stand in front of the stove – and instinctively he can imagine haechan's confidence, his natural propensity to make everything seem easy, fitting in with you and taking care of you. 

but he knew that haechan could only give you his attention – not his heart, not until he was brave enough to admit how much you meant to him. 

your resolve to stay friends with him was as flimsy as haechan's promise to let you go. jisung almost wanted to laugh at the insistence both of you had, upon lying to yourselves. 

"be honest," he says, gently. "what do you want?" when haechan doesn't answer, jisung's low voice continues on, coaxingly. "what's your best-case scenario? what do you want to happen?" 

haechan takes a deep breath. "i don't know." 

jisung tries to hide his disappointment. "do you not know, or are you not ready to say it?" 

"i don't know," haechan mumbles again, burying his face in his hands. i don't know if i deserve it. 

the two of them sit there for a long, long, time. 

–

there was something wrong with haechan.

something's different. that's what jeno had said earlier, after the show. exhausted from sleepless nights, screaming fans making him feel nauseous, haechan barely paid attention to anything during his performances except for his own guitar. he hardly looked at the crowd, didn't acknowledge their pleas of his name, as if it wasn't one he recognised at all. 

he'd started missing parties, and was barely there even if he showed — ignoring the way girls swarmed around him, wondering if he was playing a new game, one where they had to work harder to earn his attention. it was a game they never won, his eyes trained on his cup, or else on the door. 

but out of all of haechan's bad habits, this might be the worst of them – sitting in the living room past midnight, sipping down to the last dregs of his alcohol, waiting for the knock on his door. 

it was late now — so late that the hours had bled into the next day. he hadn't seen you at the concert, not at the party, and despite telling himself not to dream, not to hope, he still carried enough desperation in him to stay up again. 

he's relieved he did. 

his hands shake as he opens the door. his hands falling to his sides as he drinks in the sight of you, letting you in. 

"hi," you breathe, and you don't ask before you lean into him, soft lips brushing his plush ones. 

he's at a loss for words, his tongue numb in his mouth, limbs still heavy from how tired he'd been all day. he lets you guide him to the couch, into the cushions. lets you straddle his hips, holding your body close to his with careful arms, as he meets your kisses gently.

something's different, but haechan's not the only one who's changed. on nights like these, all you do is take and take and take. 

"i haven't seen you in a while," he murmurs. quietly, softly, the words almost getting lost between kisses. immediately after he says the words, he slots his lips with yours firmly, as if afraid of what you would say if he let the space between you and him grow. 

"i've been busy." at the crestfallen look on his face, a small smile tugs at your lips, and you lean in to brush your lips with his. "why? did you miss me?" 

"i did," he says, almost timid. "i missed you."

at this, you raise your eyebrows. "you could have had anyone else." 

but he shakes his head. "i missed you," he repeats, hands mapping your skin, as if checking if you were really here, seeking the familiar way you fit into his palms, your slopes and your edges. 

"i missed you too," you say, meaningfully, letting him pull you in for another kiss. but when you push against him, body rocking into his and mouth open and wanting, the glow in your eyes tells him you're talking about something else entirely. 

his mind races. the feeling of you against him wakes him up like nothing else, the way you touch him, your smell and your taste setting fire to all his senses. there's something sweet about your lips tonight, something he wants to savor on his tongue and drown in all at once. 

he doesn't want to waste any of this, because this was the only thing you ever wanted to see him for — and that's what he tells himself as he pulls you into his body, because finally, finally, your attention is all on him, an electric heat simmering over each fibre of his being, the feeling of your body too sweet to be true.

but it's been one too many nights he's waited, a weight on his chest and a drowsiness he can't shake overcoming him like a cloyingly sweet poison. 

"i–" he's cut off by a shuddering inhale as your lips travel down to his neck, your hips grinding against him just right. "baby, i'm sorry," he tries again, his hands now gripping onto your waist, trying to steady you, even as he gives up. "i don't think i can take care of you tonight." 

you still. 

"don't go, please," he begs. "i'm sorry, it's been…it's been a long day and i…" he breaks off. the performance. the fight with the band. the fact that he'd been drinking for hours, the starless sky inky black outside his window, his fingers still stinging from plucking at guitar strings all night. "just give me a second," he stammers, burying his face in his hands, tugging at his features, before looking up at you with tired eyes. "i'll be fine in a minute, then we'll go to the bedroom, i just —" 

your hands slide down the slope of his shoulders. 

"don't go," he repeats, hands fumbling for yours as he brings them up to his lips, like a prayer. "i can take care of you, i promise. just…" 

"donghyuck," you say, softly. again you smile, cupping his face in your palms. his round cheeks, plush lips, the slight flare of his nose. he almost goes cross-eyed staring at you, as you lean in close and kiss him again – this one different from the rest, close-lipped and chaste. 

"hyuck, let me take care of you tonight, okay?" 

caught in a riptide of his own longing, he lets go. 

"you don't have to do anything," he mumbles. his hands tentatively touch your waist, the barest brush of his fingertips, before he's encircling you in his arms, easing you into his chest. slowly, tentatively, he holds you close by the weight of his arms, a large hand reassuringly patting the space right beneath your heart – clumsy, rhythmic thumps that trailed off into a lingering warmth. "i just want to hold you here, like this." 

he can feel the tension that spreads down your spine, your breath caught in your throat. your lips are parted, your eyes looking at his in an unreadable expression. 

"do you not like it?" he asks, his voice small. his hands fall from your waist, nervously tugging his sleeves down over his palms. "i…i'm just…" 

"i do," you say, slowly. and because your faces are so close, the thought is barely crossing your mind before you press your lips against his. it's supposed to be quick, reassuring, but the look on haechan's face when you pull back makes you lean in again right away. 

it was a look that was open and hurt, his hands still tangled in his lap. his eyes stayed open as you kissed him, as if he couldn't dare believe it was real — finally blinking shut when you kissed him again, his slight relief melting on your tongue. his teeth sunk into his bottom lip as you clumsily got up off the couch, and as you straightened, he ducked away from your gaze, staring at his hands. 

"hyuck," you start, but he shakes his head. 

"it's fine." he still wouldn't look at you - fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "you don't have to stay, it's late." 

"hyuck, listen to me." 

"i know," he says, quickly. the slightest trace of fear in his voice. "you don't….you don't have to remind me, i know. it's too…you said we couldn't…"

" — hyuck, i wasn't going to say that." 

his fingers falter, but he stays silent. 

"i can't fall asleep properly in your lap," you explain, slowly. "let's go to bed, okay?" 

he looks up then. "really?" 

"i said i want to take care of you," you repeat, his wide eyes making you feel shy all of a sudden. "i mean it." 

he lets you take his hands, body following pliantly as he stands from the couch, as you lead him to his bedroom, his eyes focused on your intertwined hands. it's both a familiar and unfamiliar feeling — crawling into his bed with his clothes on your body, sinking into the soft sheets and letting the senses of him wash over you. the usual buzz of pleasure isn't there, and its a different tiredness that seeps through your veins, one that comes with feeling safe. 

since when did you start feeling safe with him? 

you feel his weight sink in behind you, the duvet rustling against skin as he turns. an arm curls around your waist. his head lowers into the crook of your neck – you can feel his soft hair, his pouty lips brushing your shoulders in a light kiss. 

"the band is taking a break," he mumbles. "because of me."

"hyuck?" you try to turn in his arms, but his grip only tightens on your waist. he shakes his head. "hyuck, what happened? are you okay?" 

"m'yeah, i'm okay now." he shifts. "just…i just don't know if i like playing in the band anymore." 

there's a pause. 

"are you…are you disappointed?" the thumb drawing circles on your hip stills. "say something," he whispers. "please." 

"why would i be disappointed?" you ask, quietly. placing your hand on his, you turn, facing him as he encircles you in his arms. his eyes are half-lidded, tousled hair falling over his brows, his cheek squished against the pillow into a half-pout. it's almost instinct – the way your hand goes up to his face to brush his hair out of his face, fingers absentmindedly tracing his moles. 

you can feel his lips move against your fingers. "would you still come to see me?" he wonders, softly. "if you didn't have a reason to?" 

you bite your lip. "i would want to…" you say, slowly. "but i don't know if i should. haechan, what's going on? does music not make you happy anymore?" 

his heart aches. your care for him fills his lungs, making his eyes begin to prickle with tears. 

"i don't think the haechan…donghyuck thing is good for me." 

"oh." your thumb brushes over the bridge of his nose. "hyuck…" you start. "i don't…i don't want to overstep." 

his face falls. "sorry," he says, his voice small. "i won't bother you with it…you don't have to…"

"no, i don't mean…hey, listen to me." you wait until he looks up at you through his lashes, nervously. "i think i've gotten to know haechan and donghyuck, you know? i mean…" your heart skips a beat, suddenly shy at your own honesty. but you've already let your guard down – it's no use. "of course i like haechan. haechan's the one who invited me backstage, haechan's the one who made me go on that rooftop…but…" you take a breath. 

the sleep had worn off from haechan's eyes – he was alert as he watched you now,  hanging onto your every word. 

"i've gotten to know donghyuck too, i think. i hope. donghyuck makes the best sandwiches for his baby sister, donghyuck has a bear tattoo because he looks as cute as one, donghyuck is always gentle with me even when i ask him not to be." your thumb traces the constellation of moles he has again, tracing down to his neck. you draw him closer – the way he's looking at you: like you're his entire world, like your words were the only thing keeping him breathing, filling your chest with a tender kind of ache that didn't go away. 

"donghyuck and haechan aren't that different, not really. they're still you. i like them both. i like all of you. if you woke up tomorrow and told me you were someone else, if you were suddenly becoming someone new, i think i'd still want to fall asleep next to you anyway at the end of the day. because i know you –" you breathe in, sharply. "i…i think i do. i…hope i do." 

he doesn't say anything. just leans in, and brushes his lips with yours lightly – once, twice, and finally sealing them in a kiss. he kisses you deeply, intensely – it wakes you up, that familiar feeling stirring in your belly as your hips move of their own accord. a liquid euphoria fills your veins as he pulls you into him – him on his back, you laying on his firm chest, the toned muscles on his chest grounding you, a feeling so familiar, one that you craved for a long time. you've never felt safer, in his arms. he kisses you like with every moment apart, he wonders if you're still there, and each time he sighs into your mouth it's with relief that you're still here, with him. 

"do you want to…?" he asks softly. he's breathing heavily, but he tries to calm himself down. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and it's that act – so innocent, so nervous even though you've both done it a dozen times with each other, that makes your heart beat harder in your chest. 

"it's been awhile," you murmur. 

"i know." he nods, swallowing. "it just…it hasn't felt right. don't…don't get me wrong, i want you all the time-" he practically groans with frustration. "it's just recently i just…i've been really confused. it's so stupid, but i didn't know which version of me you wanted –" 

"just you," you assure him, softly.

"let me make it up to you then." his tone is just as soft. 

you take his hands, and slide them under your shirt. gently, he tugs it off of you, sitting up slightly to take his shirt off as well before focusing back on you. you're giddy with the feeling of his touch again, nostalgia heightening every single sensation. it's not just hyuck tracing his hands over your chest – his lips finding your nipples, tongue darting out to tease them lightly. it's every single time he's touched you before – in the backseat of his car, hands moving urgently. in your bed that first time – so careful because you were extra sensitive. you have to focus to get back to the present moment, where he's watching you carefully again – noticing that you're lost in your thoughts. 

"everything okay?" he murmurs. 

you nod. "i just missed you so much," you whisper, and you can feel his desperation in the kiss that follows. "i need you now." 

"need to prep you, baby." gently, he eases you onto the bed, crawling down your body as you tug off your shorts and panties. your legs spread, needily, as you can feel him inch closer to your core, his hands coming to hold your hips. "stay still for me?" he mumbles, his eyes dazed as he watches you nod, his own head bobbing along absentmindedly, guiding you through it as he encourages you to bend your knees, baring yourself to him. 

the first flick of his tongue on your clit makes you mewl, hands coming down to grip onto his hair. 

"i know, baby," he comforts you, drawing small circles on your thigh as he leans into suckle your clit, making your hips buck up. he holds you still, patiently continuing to circle your entrance and lap at your clit. "fuck…you're getting so wet, angel." he slides in a finger, and the intrusion makes you clench around him in sensitivity, especially as he kitten-licks your clit shyly while easing in another finger. 

"need you now," you whine, voice reaching that pitch only he seems to bring out in you. his fingers pump more urgently, now curling towards the front of your walls, as he applies more force to your clit with his tongue, massaging the sensitive bud. 

"need you-" you choke out. "need you inside." 

"just give me one right now," he says, a slight plea to his voice. "please, angel. cum for me please, –"

"wanna cum with you inside," you sniffle. that gets his attention. he crawls right up your body until you're face to face, kissing you deeply, palms coming up to hold your face, careful to keep his fingers away. it's heated – your hips rolling into his as he finally loses control, hips bucking into yours until he's practically humping you as he kisses down your neck. your hands go to his waist, and he whimpers into your skin, finally tugging down his sweatpants, and you feel a familiar weight against your core. 

"condom-" he gasps, breaking away. the muscles on his body flex as he reaches for his bedside table, you can feel them move against your hands. 

"have you been fucking anyone else?" 

he blinks. "no, not since…" he breaks off. "no. and i'm clean. mark made me check." the sound of your giggle makes him smile momentarily – a goofy, lopsided grin that makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. 

"i want to feel you-" you say, slowly. "please." 

he sucks in a breath. "this…this isn't one of those things you're trying to do to please me, right?" he looks at you, skeptically. "it doesn't make a difference to me, you know that right? i just want you to feel comfortable. and safe…" 

"i am comfortable," you assure him. "i'm on the pill. i really just want to do this with you." 

"because-" he suddenly sits back, running a nervous hand through his hair. "i'm fine with using protection, you know that. i…i love how you feel either way. i never want you to do anything you don't feel absolutely right about…"

"is this about the blowjob?" you raise your eyebrows at him, smiling when you see his eyes widen. "because i'm going to do that too, with you. i want to make you feel good." 

now it's his turn to laugh, tilting his head back. his adam's apple bobs in his throat. "you have no idea-" he murmurs, voice suddenly low and serious. "you have no idea how good you make me feel just by the way you look at me. by the way you say my name." 

"hyuck," you say, patiently. "i need you. don't make me beg." 

"i should be the one begging," he murmurs, and this time when you reach your arms out, he lowers himself right into your arms, letting you wrap your arms around him. he strokes himself a few times, eyelashes fluttering, before slowly easing into you – a soft sound escaping his lips as his eyes went unfocused. it really had been awhile – his length filling you up, stretching you out in a way that was almost painful, but that pain was quickly dulled by pleasure as his body pressed against yours. 

"fuck-" he curses, eyes screwed shut in concentration. "can i…can i please…" 

you rock your hips against him, letting him in even deeper as he bottoms out. "move-" you whimper, "please-" you barely finish your words before he's already drawing back, barely pulling out before fucking himself back in, short intense thursts feeling dizzying. his slender fingers find your clit again, applying a light pressure as the blunt tip of cock perfectly hits the spongy part of your walls, the sound obscene in the quiet room. you were so aroused, you felt that you were making a mess of his thighs – wetness making the scene seem ever more lewd, creaming around his length as he increased his speed, groaning lowly to himself. 

"cum for me, princess," he pleads, lips dipping down to mark the sensitive part of your neck. you were already close from all the teasing – and once again the familiarity of every touch and movement sends your senses into overdrive. your entire body tenses as you climax, and you can hear him hiss out another string of curses, mixed with your name and every term of endearment under the sun. 

"where do you want it?" he all but whimpers, hips still fucking into you like a reflex. 

"inside-" you mumble, ankles loosely hooking behind his back, trying to stop him from moving away. "hyuck, please come inside, fill me up please-" with a soft cry, he pushes in deep – and you can feel him cum inside you, making a mess between your thighs, the feeling so arousing that it awakens something inside you, and your hips begin to move – begging for more. 

"wait-" he pants. "give me a minute, angel-" his eyes are closed again, head lowered, as he pushes through the overstimulation, feeling his soft cock slowly begin to harden again. the sounds falling from his throat now are scratchy, hoarse whines – a sound so dirty it makes your heart beat even faster, a sense of defiled innocence you've only ever heard in his music. the angle in which he's rutting into you stimulating your clit, pushing you closer to your edge as you fuck up onto him. 

"hyuck?" you push his bangs out of his eyes, tracing your hands over his shoulders, his chest. your fingers brush past his nipples and his mouth falls open with need, an achy sound releasing from the back of his throat, his puffy lips parted obscenely. you pinch his nipples again, gently, experimentative, and you feel his body shudder as he cums again, this time going still. it's so fucking arousing, an different side to him that you've never seen, that you feel yourself climax as well, the stimulation overwhelming. 

the both of you lay there for awhile, before he seems to come to his senses — a shaky hand moving the hair out of your face. 

he looks at you, and you look at him. 

and as if he can't help himself, he kisses you again – this time so soft and gentle, almost as if it were the first time all over again. 

"you alright?" he mumbles. 

you nod. 

"let's clean up in a second," he breathes. "just…let's stay like this for awhile." 

you nod again. you don't trust your own voice. something is happening – something tastes different in the air, something in the way you're looking at each other, something in the way he's touching you now – as if you might break or bruise if he even let his fingerprints get onto your skin. in the way he's looking at you now – something urgent in his gaze. 

"are you…are you free tomorrow night?" 

"i am." you sound stronger than you feel. 

"can i take you somewhere?" 

pause. "yeah." you give him a small smile. "i'd like that."

the smile that breaks out across his face is one that you know like the back of your hand. 

–

sitting across from you now, with your plates already cleared away and all that's left is your last few sips of wine, it hits you how that this is the most normal setting you've been in with him, possibly ever. his long legs stretched out under the table over by your chair, gently placing down his wine glass as he looks at you, his expression soft. his face is lit up by candlelight, hair falling over his brows in a hopelessly endearing way. 

"you good?" he murmurs. 

you nod. things feel cozy, and comfortable – it's a feeling so foreign but at the same time so familiar, you have to keep reminding yourself that this is real. 

he bites his lip. "pretend i'm jisung," he says, impulsively. "and…and you're describing how this went to him. how…how did you find it?" 

you give him a look, but he looks so shy, so nervous to be asking you this question, that you decide to play along. 

"well, jisung-" you take a deep breath, smiling when you see him smile too. "haechan picked me up today, that was really nice-" 

"-sounds like the bare minimum," he mumbles back, head bent.

"well, yeah it kind of is. but he doesn't have the best track record." you see him wince, so you let that comment linger for awhile before continuing on. "he's been a gentleman today. he…he took me to a restaurant that he found out i've been meaning to go to for awhile now, because he asked jaemin beforehand." 

"and that's…creepy? doing too much?" 

"it was thoughtful," you mused. "even though he made the reservation for the wrong date…"

"fucker," he shakes his head. 

"...it was nice because we got to go to walk around, and there was this moment, um…" his head darts up. now you can see him break character – something piercingly vulnerable in the way his bambi-brown eyes shine. 

you swallow. "we were crossing the street…and he put his hand on my lower back, just to guide me forward, and when we got to the other side he took my hand in his and just…held it-" 

he's looking at you, slightly confused and a little nervous. 

"yeah?" 

"he…he usually only acts like that when we're alone…when there's no one around." he still looks lost, so you reach forward across the table, taking his hand in yours. as if on instinct, his hand squeezes yours. "it's sweet," you reassure him. "it was really sweet." 

he bites his lip, but nods to show that he understands.

there's silence, for a bit. you think of breaking the silence, of saying anything, when suddenly he clears his throat slightly, sitting up a little straighter.

"hey, mark-" now he's doing the same bit, and it catches you by surprise a little - making you smile. "yeah, i'm still with y/n. i...uh...i fucked up the reservation, you were right, i should've checked again..."

"i really like spending time with her," he says, slowly. "i...i can't stop staring at her - she looks so beautiful tonight. and...and i can't believe she's finally here with me, that i somehow didn't fuck this up. and um...we were in this record store just now...and i was listening to her talk about an album she liked -" a smile plays on his lips as he recalls the memory. you suddenly become aware that your heart is beating hard again, pounding in your ribs. "and she was so excited, and she kept laughing as she talked, and...and i just realised i would do anything to make her that happy, all the time. and that i want it to be me, i want to be the reason she smiles like that."

you swallow.

"haechan..."

"you don't have to say anything-" he rushes to say. "i just...i just wanted you - i mean, uh, mark - to know."

"okay." you take a deep breath. "and um, i want jisung to know that-"

"yeah?"

"i like spending time with him too," you say, faintly.

he nods, but he doesn't smile.

-

as the car pulls up to your driveway, the quiet hum of the engine is silenced – headlights turned off, only the soft glow of streetlights casting their pools of gold over haechan's face. it's so quiet, you hear the shaky breath he takes as he steadies himself. 

"i have something for you," he murmurs. you can feel the warmth radiating off his body as he leans to pick something up from the backseat, the comforting smell of his perfume making your heart warm. but then you hear the crinkle of paper, his hair falling over his face as he sits back into the driver's seat, and your heart falls in a completely different way – your insides rushing with inertia, dizzy and heady – because he's holding a bouquet of dark red roses. they're wrapped sweetly, tied off with a piece of red ribbon to match the blooms, and your eyes linger on the way his fingers tremble as he holds them out to you with both hands. 

his starts to speak, but whatever he falters as he watches you stare at the soft petals, stems completely stripped of their thorns – and he bites his lower lip, breath caught in his throat. 

"too much?" he asks, softly. "i just thought…i just…mark and jisung said it would be a good idea," he stammers, lowering the bouquet as one of his hands falls to his thighs, nervously clenching his fists. "i was supposed to give them to you when i picked you up, but i got scared…you don't have to take them, i just thought…i wasn't thinking-" 

your hand closes around his hand holding the flowers. your other goes to his face, your thumb brushing his cheek as he falls silent, his eyes fixed on yours, caught in the haze of your touch. slowly, so as not to startle him, you lean in and kiss him gently. it's a beat before he kisses you back, as if he couldn't believe it, and when you pull away just slightly with a soft sound, you can see the nervousness in his eyes. and so you lean in to kiss him again – you kiss him until his lashes flutter shut, until you can feel him settle in his seat, sighing into your mouth as he kisses you deeply. you pull the flowers into your lap, his hand giving up control easily, coming up to your face to hold you in his palms. 

"hyuck." 

he pauses, leaning back – but his hands only leave your face when you hold them in your own, guiding them down to rest against the center console, your fingers intertwined. 

"i never want you to feel like i'm ashamed of being seen with you," he blurts out suddenly. 

"what?" 

"i never meant to let it get that far," he continues on, looking at his hands. "when i first met you…i wanted you to be like everyone else. i tried to do what i always do, but i just couldn't. you kept getting in my head, and i kept hurting you, and i didn't know how to stop and i just-" he exhales. "i never want to make you feel like that again." 

"hyuck, was this a date?" 

he swallows. "if you want it to be," he starts, but then he shakes his head. "the truth is, i was afraid you would say no if it was. but i really want it to be. i really really do." 

"hyuck," you take a deep breath. "whatever you're going through, you're not going to find the answer in me." 

"y/n, i love you," he says, quietly, tenderly. he says it like it's the easiest thing in the world. "i want to be a person who deserves to be with you, and love you, and i know you think you can't change me, and it isn't your responsibility to try at all…but you already have, and you can't take it back. when i'm with you i feel like i can see this version of donghyuck that i want to be all the time for the rest of my life." 

"no two people should change to be with each other –" you start, but he shakes his head. 

"we aren't a scenario," he insists. "this isn't a hypothetical. there's no should and shouldn't, because you know me –" he's pleading. "i'm not the same boy you saw onstage that first time you came to our show, and you're not that same girl on the roof," he pleads, voice breaking, tears welling up in the pretty cut of his eyes. "why is it so hard for you to believe that this version of us is meant to be together?" 

there's silence. 

"i can believe it," you start, quietly. "that's what terrifies me." 

you can see him start to lose hope. he can't force you to stay with him when you're not ready, and he doesn't want to be that person either. 

"i…" he hesitates. he wants to say so much more to you – that no one else makes him feel the way you make him feel. that he feels like he'll never love anyone again, not the way he loves you. the fact that you're it for him in a million different ways, a love he never thought he'd find. that he'll never be able to give anyone else a fair chance. 

but he can tell his love makes your shoulders heavy, makes your eyes go foggy with tears. already, you look shattered sitting in the passenger seat of his car, his love a weight on your chest that you don't know what to do with. already he's losing whatever bravery he had before – the bravery his love for you had given him. 

"sometimes-" you start, breaking off, your voice quivering. "when we're together, i feel like i could do it for the rest of my life. that you're the only one i've met to make me feel this way, that i'm the only one who knows you so deep." 

"you are," he breathes. 

"but-" your voice rises, agitated. "you hurt me. again and again. i came back when i wasn't ready, i should've given it more time, i just couldn't stay away. and then you came back into my life, and i forgave you to be with you again, and i tried to give other people a chance but i just…i just couldn't. what if this is too soon again?" 

i'll wait. the words are on the tip of his tongue, but he knows its the wrong thing to say, wrong thing to want. there's nothing romantic about waiting for someone – it's a cruel promise, one that rots each day going by in the wait for the future. 

"do you…" he takes a deep breath. "do you want to let me go?"

you nod, slowly. haechan can feel his heartbeat in his ears. 

"i'm not sorry," you whisper. "it's not right. you…i know you think you know what you want, but i need you to be sure of who you are, and who you want. i can't give you the answers." 

haechan remembers how – and it seems so far away, almost like a dream now – the night you went out with jisung, he dreamed of you. dreamed up the final version of you and him – everything good and always good, coming backstage to you, coming home to you. and some part of him had dared to hope, that despite everything, despite himself, the two of you would make it to that final version. 

but maybe the final version of you and him was this – the sound of the car door shutting as you walk up the steps to your apartment, and him crying all the way home, roses left in the front seat of the car, the ghost of your hands burning on his face.

(EPILOGUE RELEASE SOON)

@neochan, @ahncosette, @18shy @kittydollzz @jenoslutie @pussymode @yyfka @cheolctrl @jaeminsballs @mysummerhyuck @strawberrytyong @rosiejunnie @nctzen4eva @haechskies @wickedrei @sundamariis @liliansun @lanadreamie @nodisdino @angelwonie @foxydumps @manooffline @moonsmias @skzct7 @iscocohere @ficrecnctskz @makiswrld @itskkung @simpforarmihn @aryraaaa @rbf-aceu @laubyrinthine @yujuvly @nctevia @hyuckenjoyer @guhhfgbbj @girlwholoveslpreppyattire @kasperneo @eneiyri @toroufriteh @cauliephays @jisoung @niinjo @wonaoi @yuskitty @strawbabyz @readingisgodly @daegalfangirl @minkyuncutie @feat-sun @chaoticstrawberryland @shawnyle @sofix-hc7 @scftharu @spageddy @adorejaehyn @manooffline @02mrk @tyongspice1 @runahways @neosdaisy @hotmessexpress35 @kim-seungmins-gf @delllllllsstuff @nohunlee @kingsoowolves @enhasrii @fnafgirl87 @imzerozen @toroufriteh @torothecatt

[seungjiseyo]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪mark lee, ever the stickler, has set himself a list of rules to follow until he obtains his degree and he’s had no problem sticking to it. but alas, rules are meant to be broken and mark isn’t as disciplined as he prides himself in being. especially when you smile at him like that.

pairing: student!mark x fem!reader genre: college au, fluff, very light angst, kinda slice of life, strangers to lovers word count: 11k hehe warnings: swearing, not proofread, mark is a little insufferable, reader is referred to as she/her, small food mention, they kiss but its nothing spicy, reader cries but its nothing too angsty, i'm projecting my feelings for mark here, i wrote this in 5 days

mani's notes: thank you @1ntaks for beta reading and encouraging mark delulu hours. you'll be the witness at our wedding

Ah, yes. The university library where it reeks of dread and stale paper. You thought you were the only idiot who would step foot in this place on a Friday, but you’re quickly surprised by the lack of empty tables on all three floors. Shouldn’t these people be at home preparing for the absolute ragers someone must have planned for the night? Nerds. 

You’re about to call it quits and kiss your research paper goodbye until you spot him. On the very top floor of this god forsaken library, sits a boy at one of the tables near the window. Black framed glasses are perched on his nose bridge and his equally black hair sticking up in all sorts of places. Notebooks, textbooks, and loose papers lay spread across the table as the boy goes to absolute town on writing whatever he’s working on on a piece of paper. You know that face. Of course you know that face – it’s fucking Mark Lee. 

Well, you kinda know him through the giggles and whispers that bubble up from others as they spot him on campus. He’s a total hit with the babes, but you’ve never seen Mark react to any of it. The boy is always power walking to his next destination with his lips pursed and dumb, wired earphones in. Even when someone shouts his name, loud enough to pierce through whatever song he had blasted, he’ll just look up at the source and give a nod. Never one to stop and chit-chat. Pretty interesting guy, you think. 

Knowing all this, you can tell just exactly how focused he is and start to feel bad for what you’re about to do, but he’s the only one with a table to himself, meaning he’s got extra space. “Hey,” you start off once you’re close enough. The boy's head snaps up quickly to the sound, eyes widening at the intruder (you). “I’m sorry to bother you, but you’re the only one with space at a table right now… Is it okay if I sit here with you?”

He looks around, scanning his surroundings to find that you weren’t lying. Groups of 3-4 students were huddled at each table, leaving him all alone at a place meant to seat five. “Oh, uh…” he mumbles, moving his things to create some space for you. “Sure, no problem.” 

You smile at him in thanks, pulling out a chair and taking a seat diagonal to him. He’s quick to go back to whatever he was doing, looking back down at his notes and continuing to write. “I’m Y/N,” you introduce yourself, unzipping your bag to pull out your own notes. He tries his absolute best to hold back a groan, but he just lost his whole flow so he has no choice but to deadpan back at you. 

“Mark” he states simply and you’re still beaming at him despite the sour look on his face. 

The loud sound of your laptop turning on causes his eye to twitch, but you pay no mind. “Thanks for letting me sit here, Mark! I promise I won’t bother you too much.” Mark gives you nothing but a grimace in response, hoping you stick to your word. He was just on a roll before you arrived, nearly ripping his pen through his notebook paper with how intensely he was writing and now he feels like he has to take 20 deep breaths before getting back into it. And surely enough, he does.

Only a handful of minutes go by before he starts to catch your movements out of the corner of his eye. You really haven’t said a word to him, but you’re the type of student who’ll work for maybe 15 minutes, then take an even longer break. He wants to bang his head against the wall everytime you begin to fidget with your phone or click your pen over and over, or lean back in your chair and sigh, but he doesn’t. Even if Mark has a whole system for studying and you just ruined it, he’s not a bitch! 

It’s not until your 3rd break in the hour do you speak up. “I’ll be right back,” you tell him. Moving to stand up, Mark's eyes follow your movements. “Don’t move!” 

Tell that to yourself, he wants to reply. Instead, he opts for a nod of the head and an “okay.” Taking it as a sign, Mark gets back to work quickly. If he’s lucky, he’ll get through at least three modules before you come back and disturb the peace again. Now, that’s a little mean. You’re not even doing that much to bother him, but remember Mark Lee’s got his own system and rules to follow in order to keep himself on track. He’s so self-disciplined that it’s never failed him and he’d like to keep it that way, even if today kind of threw a wrench in his plans. Mark is normally always studying alone with no one even daring to approach him. His own friends are always welcomed, of course, but they never last long at Mark’s table with the way he stares them down whenever they start non-academic discussions. He doesn’t mind, though. Actually, he likes the fact that his friends respect him and his ways enough to know their limits. 

He doesn’t hear you come back, until you slide a pack of crackers towards him. You say nothing as you move the snack across the table, giving him a sweet smile that he just can’t return. “There’s no eating in the library, Y/N.” 

“So,” you shrug, plopping back into your seat. “No offense Mark, but you’re telling me you won’t break the rules for some ol’ processed fuel for the brain?” The crinkling sound of the package opening causes Mark’s eyes to blow wide once again. He turns his head fast to look around, making sure that no one bears witness to you munching on a contraband that could lead him to getting kicked out. Or worse – BANNED. 

“There’s rules for a reason,” he chides at you, whispering so others don’t hear you breaking the law. 

You roll your eyes at how frigid he’s being and turn back to your essay in front of you. The snack was just what you needed to go on. “Whatever, but I’m just saying” you wave a hand at the boy. “I spent a dollar fifty on you because I heard your stomach screaming from across the table.” Mark’s mouth opens to counter your remark, but is silenced by the rumbling feeling in his stomach. You heard it too, of course. Having heard it the whole time you’ve been sat here. 

The way his body has betrayed him leaves Mark no choice but to silently open the snack under the table. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him looking around frantically before shoving a cracker in his mouth. 

Mark Lee’s guide to being better than everyone: rule #4 I know you’re a broke college student, but stay away from processed food as much as you can. 

You run into Mark again a few times after that day in the library. Just in passing on campus and at the coffee shop nearby, but there was never enough time for you to have a chat with him. Whenever you lock eyes with the dark haired boy, you give him your best smile and a big wave hello. Mark returns every single greeting with his own tight lipped smile and a raise of a hand before quickly looking away and continuing his business. A few passerby’s give you two a look, because no way Mark Lee just acknowledged someone. The reality is that Mark thinks you’re causing a scene with the way you’re obnoxiously waving at him and he just wants you to stop. You were hoping to see him again with enough time to actually talk to the guy. The only interaction you have with him can’t be him scolding you for buying him a snack and eating it in the library. 

That moment finally comes when you spot Mark sitting right in the middle of the quad. He’s sat criss crossed on the grass, posture straight as he stares ahead almost as if he’s meditating in the middle of campus? What an odd dude. 

You make your way over to him anyway, deciding that he needs a buddy to meditate with. “Hi Mark,” you greet, sitting cross legged next to him. He barely moves to see who has infiltrated his space, knowing only one person who’d do such a thing. “How’s it going?”

“It’s going alright,” Mark lets out a long sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. Everything he had been trying to let go in the middle of this field starts to bubble up in a rant and it catches you off guard with the way this is the most you’ve ever heard Mark speak, but you listen intently anyway. “I swear, I swear! I packed my bag the night before like I always do, but when I got to my first class I couldn’t find my damn highlighters anywhere! Like who the freak forgets a whole 10 pack of mildliner highlighters?” You can’t help the grin that forms on your face as the boy continues to ramble on and on, some you can’t even make out because he’s drifting off to mumble to himself under his breath. “And it’s not like I could go back home to get them either, like I’m the idiot who decided to live off campus so I have like NO TIME to go and get them. I just had to sit in 3 back to back classes with no highlighters.” 

Mark Lee’s guide to being better than everyone: rule #6 make sure everything you need for the next day is packed the night before.

Mark could have gone and gotten them during this break of his, but he felt so utterly defeated. And when Mark feels like this, he just doesn’t know what to do with himself other than sit someplace and stare – which is exactly what he was doing before you showed up. “I just can’t continue my day like this,” he sighs dramatically. “But I have 2 more classes before I can call it a day.” 

He’s so weird and so dramatic for no reason. But you decide to put him out of his misery anyway, given recent events you just had (your last class). “Mildliner you say?” you hint, pulling out a yellow and a green highlighter from your pocket before handing it out to him. “It’s not a whole 10 pack, but it’s something to talk you off the ledge.” 

You watch as Mark eyes fleet between the pens in your hands and your face with a confused, yet suspicious look on his face. “I can’t take these from you. Don’t you have classes, too?” 

“Nope! I’m done for the day,” you shake your head, happily. “And they’re not mine, either. I found them on an empty desk in my last lecture so I just took them.” Mark continues to stare, deadpanning at you just like he did in the library a week before. 

“First you eat in the library when you’re not supposed to,” he counts his fingers, scoffing. “Then you take someone’s highlighters? So you’re a criminal…” 

It’s your turn to scoff, shoving the pens in the breast pocket of Mark’s jacket with a frown on your face. “I didn’t steal anything because nobody was there, Mark! Imagine how lonely they felt just being left there?!” 

Mark can’t help the way the corners of his lip turn up at the sight of you pouting and spewing ridiculous nonsense about inanimate objects, but still points a finger at you. “I’ve had two whole conversations with you starting now and both times it’s you convincing me that rules don’t exist.” 

“That’s not how you say ‘thank you’, Mark Lee,” swatting his finger out of your face, you cross your arms over your chest and cock an eyebrow. 

“I’m not thanking a thief,” he tsks, then lets out a light breath. “But considering how you saved those two lonely pens, thank you.” The small smile on the boy's face is enough to have you gushing. Standing up from your spot on the grass, you brush off any remnants from your pants and stick out a hand for him to take. 

“Come on, get up” you smile at him. He takes your hand in his and you help to lift him off the ground with a groan, to which Mark scowls at. “When’s your next class? I’ll walk you!” 

Checking the time on his watch, he informs you that his next class is pretty soon and you give him a tug to start moving. “Why are you gonna walk me? You don’t have to.” 

You ignore him and he seems to be ignoring himself too with the way he’s following at your side. He rolls his head back to loosen his neck and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets as he walks with you. “Because that’s what friends are for, Mark!” you sing. “I don’t just give away free pens or spend a dollar fifty on vending machine crackers for just anyone, you know.” 

“One, they’re not yours” he corrects, giving you a side eye. “Two, I never asked you to feed me. And three, no offense, but we don’t even know each other.” 

“Hmm, true!” you hum in agreement, turning to look at his side profile. He turns his head slightly to look at you too and he can’t help but feel a little scared with the way a fire burns behind your eyes. “But I would like to get to know you more! You seem like a cool guy with your head screwed on kinda straight and I like how you’re always so focused. I need more hardworking friends like you.” 

Seeing his lecture building come into view, Mark lets out a little sigh of relief. This moment is about to get awkward and he’s thankful that he’s reached the end of your walk together. “Look, Y/N” he starts, and if he wasn’t such a Leo – so headstrong, the way you’re looking at him with hope filled eyes and chest swelled with pride almost had the words die in his throat. “I-I don’t know if you know this about me, but I’m really trying hard to work towards graduation.” 

“Oh, I know” you cut him off. The interruption stops him for a little, giving you a look before continuing on. 

“And while you seem like a nice girl, I don’t have time for a relationship right now.” 

Tilting you head to the side a little, you wear a confused smile on your face. “I’m not looking to date you either, Mark. I just wanna be your friend.” He shuffles on his feet slightly in front of you, adjusting the straps of his backpack higher on his shoulders. 

“I’m sorry, but the friends I have now are good enough for me” he gives you a smile, an awkward one that lets you know that he just wants this conversation to be over. “I barely have time to see them and when I do, they already keep me on my toes as it is.” 

“Oh…” With the way Mark is fidgeting in front of you, looking around at literally anything but you, you decide to let the protests die down. “Okay, Mark. I’m sorry if I stepped over a line.” You give Mark your best smile, like you always do, and gesture for him to enter his lecture building. “But thank you for letting me walk you. I won’t bother you anymore.” 

“Thank you, Y/N” he replies, looking down at his feet before walking into the building.

Settling in his unassigned, assigned seat at the front of the lecture hall, Mark plucks the two highlighters you had given him earlier out of his jacket pocket and places them gently on his desk. It definitely isn’t his 10 pack, but it’s the most at peace he’s felt all day. Mark is brought back to that day in the library. Those same words, “I won’t bother you” that you had promised to him, only for you to in fact, bother him. He has a feeling that it will happen again, but can’t dwell on it for long because he’s picturing him leaving you there by yourself as you wave goodbye to him. Not above and in the air like you had done before in passing, but a small, almost shy one with a meek expression on your face. 

He decides not to think about it. 

Mark hasn’t seen you in four days. 

It really doesn’t bother him, like, it really doesn’t even if he’s been going about his days wondering if you’ll greet him as you always do from across the way. He just REALLY needs to return the highlighters to you as he’s been reunited with his full 10 pack ever since that day, swearing to never forget them again. 

Okay, honestly, Mark thinks he was really mean to you after you walked him to class and he wants to say sorry. Also, thanks to Chenle who scolded the boy after he spilled his guts to his friend about his day with a sour look on his face. 

“She bought you a snack, gave you highlighters for free, and walked you to class and you don’t even wanna be her friend?!” he had shrieked, standing to his full height with hands on his hips. “You are SO rude, I can’t even – who raised you?!” 

Safe to say that Mark’s day did not get better after that, walking around with a permanent pout on his face as he thought about it. If he were to be so real right now, Mark would actually be the first one to spot you before you see him. After that first day in the library, for some reason, whenever he’d lift his gaze from the ground in front of him, they’d automatically zero in on your form. Those bright eyes weren’t hard to miss at all. Anyways, you had always been by yourself during those times. I mean, who would wanna be around someone who talks to the birds with a serious look on her face? Whether you were sitting somewhere in silence, staring off into space, or standing a full five minutes in front of the coffee shop menu in deep contemplation before pulling out your phone to ask Siri to flip a coin before you ordered, you were alone. 

Mark was weird, but so were you. Not that he cared as a very self aware man. He knew he had odd tendencies, he knew he could be difficult to talk to or be around, but it was all the more special when someone took the time to actually try. Might as well be weird together, right? As desperate as he was to find you, he wasn’t going to try that hard. You’ll pop up eventually. But by the fourth day, Mark had started to grow agitated. Eyes flicking around the campus a lot more than usual and taking different routes to his classes in hopes of spotting you, only to fail. Until he decided to relax his nerves with some good ol’ study time because nothing like using your brain on max power! 

Just like you had first found him before, there you were, sitting in the crowded library at a table by yourself. Your whole demeanor was opposite of Mark as you leaned back in your chair, legs outstretched under the table as you typed away on your laptop with huge headphones over your ears. Despite how fast your fingers flew across your keyboard, you looked so relaxed with your lips turned up in a small smile. He wonders what you’re thinking about. 

“Oh well,” Haechan sighs, a sarcastic tone laced in his voice. Mark decided to drag Haechan with him to the library today to basically force and beg the boy to finish his seven late assignments. “We really tried our best, Markie. Let’s go get a sweet treat to reward our efforts!” 

All Mark can do is roll his eyes at his best friend, knowing how hard he fought to not come here with him. Literally whined and complained the whole time while dragging his feet on the way to success. Mark really did try his best, giving Haechan a motivational speech about how he could do it and he was there to help him, but seeing you right there when he needed to, Haechan can go fail for all he cares. “Actually, I’m gonna stay,” he declares, turning to look at Haechan with a shrug. “I see someone I know so I’m gonna go sit with them.” 

“You know people?” Haechan gasps, bringing a hand up to his mouth in surprise. Mark shoves him by the shoulder in response, groaning. 

“Shut up!” he chides, using force to physically turn Haechan’s body towards the library exit. “I was gonna invite you to join us, but you can leave, like actually.” Haechan lets Mark manhandle him, complying with taking his happy ass out of the library as he laughs. As Mark watches Haechan wave goodbye to him, he exhales deeply, cheeks puffed to calm himself before turning back towards your direction. With each step he takes closer to you, he gives himself a little pep talk in his head and goes over everything he needs to do. First, ask to sit with you. Second, give you back your highlighters. Third, apologize for how mean he was to you four days ago. Fourth, calculus homework. Light work.

Seeing his form loom over you, you look up in surprise with your eyes wide. You quickly straighten your back and lift one side of your headphones off your ears. When you smile at Mark, even with confusion knitted between your brows, he feels a sense of ease wash over him. “Hi,” he breathes. “Is it okay if I sit with you?” Step one: CLEARED!

You say nothing, nodding at the boy with that smile on your face still. After gesturing at the seat in front of you for him to take, you avert your eyes back to your screen and adjust your headphones back into its place. Mark gladly pulls out his chair, taking his backpack off to unpack his things. Even with all the bustling movements in front of you, not once do you look up or attempt to make conversation as he settles in and Mark doesn’t know what to do next. You’re like, actually locked in, a big difference compared to when you two were first sat in this library. He guesses he could move step 4 to step 2 and complete some of his assignments before resuming with the plan. Wake his brain up a little bit, you know?

Ten minutes in and you still haven’t said a word. Still haven’t even taken a glance at him and Mark is officially bothered. He’s been working on the same problem this whole time, unable to move past the third step to solve it. He taps the end of his pencil against his notebook a few times, leg bouncing frantically, before ultimately letting the stick fall out of his hand with a sigh. Leaning back in his seat, Mark stretches his neck from side to side to relieve some tension before letting it completely fall slack, chin against his chest with his arms crossed. Back to the tapping, his pointed finger beats against his arm as he thinks about how to break the ice. When he lifts his gaze to discreetly look at you, you’re still not paying any attention to him in clear agony. His bag sits in the chair next to him, the front pockets zipper open and he sees the two highlighters you had given him. He could just slide them across the table to you in order to get your attention, but would that be enough to start a conversation? What if you just don’t accept them or throw them back in his face? Well, you let him sit here with you so he couldn’t have messed up that bad… Okay, but what if– 

Marks inner monologue was cut short when he catches your movements out of the corner of his eye. You’ve finally taken your headphones off and stretched your arms above your head. Now’s his chance, get the plan back on track. “I wanna be friends!” he blurts out, stopping you mid stretch. His outburst was pretty loud for the quiet atmosphere of the library, catching the attention of a few students nearby. Mortified, Mark feels his whole face heat up and slouches lower in his seat. He scolds himself under his breath as he places both hands on his head, lowering the brim of the hat he was sporting over his eyes. You can’t help but giggle at the blushing boy in front of you, extending your foot to give his leg a tap from under the table. He uncovers his face slightly to look at you and you grin at the expression he wears. 

“If this is about the other day, it’s really okay” you assure him, propping your elbow on the table to rest your chin in your hand. “I understand and I’m not mad at you.” 

“You’re not?” he wonders, a little surprised. When you shake your head in reply, he sits up fully and leans in a little closer to you from across the table. Mark does not need anyone hearing any more of this conversation. “I-I just wanna say sorry, Y/N. I was pretty rude to you that day when you’ve been nothing but nice to me.” 

“Is that why you’ve been sitting here in distress this whole time?” you laugh, quietly. “You really don’t need to feel bad, Mark but I accept your apology anyway.” Marks smile mirrors your own, admiring the way you’ve been so accepting of the situation when he was clearly in the wrong. “But still, we don’t have to be friends if you don’t want to.” 

“I want to!” he interjects, nearly jumping up in his seat. “You really are a nice person and I wouldn’t mind getting to know you more, too. I shouldn’t have treated you like that when you basically saved my life that day.” Mark moves to grab the pens from his bag, laying them out on the table for you to take. “Which reminds me, I’ve been meaning to give these back to you.” 

Reaching your hand out, you scoot the pens back in Marks direction. “You can keep them as backups or something,” you wave off. “You’d probably use them more than I would anyway. I take all my notes electronically.” Pulling out your fancy tablet from your bag, you wave it around for him to see and Mark’s just in disbelief. 

“How can you retain any information that way?” he gapes, eyes popping out of their sockets. “Connecting your pen to paper helps you process your thoughts better, you know.” 

“This is better for the environment!” you argue, rolling your eyes and Mark shakes his head in disapproval. He starts going on a whole tangent about the benefits of physical note taking and you just sit there and take it. But the conversation flows easily with you and Mark talking to each other back and forth. Neither of you get back to your studies for the remainder of the afternoon. 

Mark Lee’s guide to being better than everyone: rule #7 study time is quiet time (friends allowed but they need to shut up).

Heavy footsteps trudge through the halls of the lecture building, but Mark has never felt so light. Even if his shirt is wrinkled, hair all over the place, and eyes about a second away from shutting, he walks to his 8 am class with a tiny smile on his face. 

It’s been weeks since you and Mark had bloomed a friendship. Weeks filled with studying late in the library, fighting over who gets to pay for the sweet treat of the day, and gallivanting around campus as conversation fills the silence between you two. Mark had honestly thought that he’d take a while to warm up to you, but he finds it incredibly easy to open up and be himself in your presence. He likes that he can talk to you about anything and everything, and you listen to him with your full attention. Mark Lee prides himself in how strong his walls are built and how dedicated he is to his craft (being a student), but it’s like his whole resolve crumbles with the more you’re near. Ask him if he cares, because he doesn’t. 

From the moment he had entered the education system at the young age of five, he never stopped. Mark immediately enrolled in college after graduating high school, barely having time to explore the woes of life. So now in his third year of his undergrad, it felt nice to finally feel alive – do everything boys his age are supposed to do. Like last night, Mark had stayed up until midnight on the phone with you, giggling over the drama you two had started watching together during your study breaks. Even after you both had hung up the call, you two had continued to send messages to one another. By the time Mark had fallen asleep, it really wasn’t that late to the normal person, but Mark Lee has a bedtime that he did not follow. Hence, his appearance today. 

Mark Lee’s guide to being better than everyone: rule #2 get a full 8 hours of sleep every night – nothing more, nothing less.

His body feels like dead weight and he can’t stop yawning, but Mark’s heart is soaring. Not that he knows it. As smart as he is, he’s also a big idiot atoning these fluttering feelings to the excitement of having a new friend around. He doesn’t think much about the fact that his favorite part of the day isn’t putting in his earphones while sat in front of a pile of textbooks anymore, but going to meet you in between classes. 

Fueled by caffeine from his second iced tea of the day (coffee makes him feel sick), Mark is basically skipping towards you sat on a bench under the tree. He can’t wait to gush to you about the new topic he’s learning about in his lit class, but the words die down in his throat when he sees the look on your face. 

You’re sat stiff on the bench, hands balled into fists as you struggle to catch your breath. Instead of greeting him with that glowing smile of yours, he’s met with a solemn Y/N. It’s like a dark rain cloud was brewing a storm over your head and when Mark approaches with a soft call of your name, he sees the tears brimming your eyes, only to fall free when he asks what’s wrong. Your lip quivers as you struggle to find the words to answer your friend and Mark feels like his whole world is falling apart. 

He moves quickly to sit next to you, arms moving to wrap around your shaking figure, but he doesn’t quite make it all the way. Everyone knows Mark is not a physically affectionate person and he’s never done anything more than shove your shoulder when you made a joke he didn’t like. This was new territory for him, to comfort a crying friend, which is why he’s sat frozen with his torso turned towards you, arms in the air, looming above your form and not making contact. Mark’s mouth gapes open and closed like a fish, thinking about what he can say to comfort you, but you take matters into your own hands and fully lean into the boy. Your face buries itself into his shirt as you wail like a baby and Mark has no choice but to finally engulf you in his arms when he feels your tears seep through the fabric. 

“Remember that project I was working on all last week?” you muffle into his chest. Mark hums in response because of course he remembers. He remembers how hard you had slaved over your project, doing your best to ensure that it was perfect. But he also remembers how excited you were to have this as your assignment, how bright your eyes had shone when you told Mark how confident you were in the topic to execute it well. This class of yours wasn’t the easiest for you, so it was like a breath of fresh air for you to finally understand something being presented. “My professor kept me after class and tore me to fucking shreds. Told me everything I had written was wrong and the whole thing was crap a-and basically said I should drop the class because I’m clearly not understanding anything!” 

All Mark does is wrap his arms tighter around you, resting his cheek atop your head. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he mumbles into your hair and you pull back abruptly, gripping his shirt in your hands. 

“Am I really that stupid?” you hiccup, screwing your eyes shut. “That my professor tells me to drop out of his class?” 

“Hey hey hey,” Mark scolds you, gripping your shoulders tight, basically shaking sense into you. “You’re not stupid, he’s stupid! You try so hard, Y/N and you shouldn’t discredit yourself like that.” 

Sniffling, you give Mark a small, yet sad smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes and he’s grown furious now. “I don’t think I’m trying hard, I’m just trying my best.” 

“Then that’s all that matters,” he affirms, raising a hand to pat your hair. “Being a student isn’t easy, but you’re doing it! Don’t let one lousy professor tell you otherwise – I say you stick it to him and not drop.” 

“I don’t know…” you laugh, trailing off in thought. “There’s a lot I have to think about. If I stay, he’ll probably give me hell, but if I actually drop, I’d be saving my GPA but my pride would be hurt.” 

Mark purses his lips, then snakes his hands down to yours and pulls you up from the bench with him. “Tell you what,” he starts, tugging you to walk with him. “You don’t have to think about it right now, but how about we clear our heads and go do something?” 

You’re struggling to keep up with Mark’s quick steps, the strap of your bag slipping off your shoulder. “Do what? Don’t you have class?” you interrogate him, pulling at his arm. “And can you slow down a little?” 

He complies, slowing his walk to a normal pace and turns to you with a grunt. “What’s with all the questions? Just trust me,” he rolls his eyes and moves to stand behind you. Mark nudges you forward in the direction he wants despite your protests. “And don’t worry about my classes, I’ll take a sick day or something. I can’t just leave you by yourself after seeing you cry like that!” 

“I’m fine, Mark” shrieking, you reach behind you to make him let go of you. “It’s really okay! You don’t have to break your perfect attendance record for me.” He finally stops forcing you to come with him, stepping to the side to walk alongside you with a light hand on your back to keep you from running. 

“I don’t have to, but I want to” he smiles down at you, which you return with an unimpressed look. “What are friends for, right?” You finally give up, letting Mark take you to wherever he had in mind to do whatever. 

“Fiiine,” you relent and take a step closer to his side. “But you’re paying!” Mark smiles at you again, wrapping his arm fully around you for the second time that day in a side hug before dropping it to hang in between your bodies. 

Mark Lee’s guide to being better than everyone: rule #5 DO NOT SKIP CLASS (unless you’re sick and I mean dying).

From bike riding to ice cream in the park, Mark kept you busy all afternoon. You have to applaud his efforts with the way he was constantly cracking lame jokes just to pull your face up and encouraging you (peer pressure) to let him buy you a second cup of ice cream. If you could give Mark Lee his flowers for making you feel better right now, you totally would, but instead you settled for treating him to the little Lego figurines he had been eyeing in the trinket store you visited. 

“Uhhh,” the boy basically moans in delight. “Since we didn’t go to class, this is perfect to stimulate our brains!” 

You chuckle at how ridiculous he is and how silly he looks. The two of you are sat on a picnic table in a random park, unboxing your figurines to build. Mark had picked a hippo and a penguin while you just chose to build a cat. The excitement is basically rolling off his body as he vibrates in his seat, tearing into the box and plastic bag containing the pieces. “You that excited?”

Mark makes a face at you from across the table, almost as if he’s offended. “Of course I am! For ages 8 and up, easy work dude” he basically brags, chest puffing up. “Thank you for getting these, Y/N. I didn’t mean to linger on them long enough for you to feel like you had to get them.”

“I wanted to,” you chirp, shaking your head. “It’s the least I could do for you after all you’ve done for me today.” He says nothing, glancing at you for a moment before continuing to build his penguin. A grin slips onto his face as he watches you struggle with the tiny pieces, eyebrows furrowed in frustration. 

You both continue to build in silence, enjoying each others company as the sun starts its journey to dreamland. The sky is painted in hues of gold, pinks, and blues, the warmth starting to settle between you two. Mark notices the rays coming down on his skin at looks up at the beautiful sight, quickly pulling his phone out to snap a picture. 

“I have to send this to my friend, Renjun” he hums, satisfied look on his face. “He’s gonna love this.” 

You coo at Mark and he ignores you, finishing up his penguin. “You send your friend pictures of the sunset often?” 

“Yeah,” he shrugs, busying his fingers with the pieces. “Renjun’s an artist so I like to send him stuff I think looks pretty. Maybe he’d draw it or something, but he never asked me to stop so I just keep doing it.” 

Biting down on your lip, you have to contain your smile and squeals at how endearing this guy was. “I hope he’s drawn at least one of them” you voice. “I know if someone sent me pictures of every sunset, I’d cherish it.” 

Mark laughs in response, but trails off as he starts to think. He’s finished his penguin now, rolling the figure between his fingers. It’s only the size of his palm, but he doesn’t think he’ll get to finish the hippo as this took him nearly an hour. It’ll be dark soon. 

“Y/N,” he starts somewhat sheepish. “Why don’t you have any friends?” 

His question freezes you in your seat and you eye him from under your lashes. “I have friends,” you utter. “I’m friends with my roommate.” 

“I-I’m sorry,” he stutters. With the way the air has shifted, Mark feels as if he hit a nerve. “It’s just t-that everytime I see you on campus, you’re alone! I don’t really see you talking to anyone else…” 

Also finished with your cat figure, you fold your hands into your lap and stare it down. “Is that a bad thing?” 

He shakes his head furiously, reaching a hand across the table to tap on it and get your attention. “No, no! Not at all” he insists and takes your cat to stand next to his penguin. “I was just curious, I’m sorry if I made you upset.” 

Looking back up at the boy across of you, the corners of your mouth turn up to give him a small grin. “It’s okay, Mark. There’s nothing wrong with asking questions” you explain. “It’s not like I don’t want friends, I just don’t really know how to make them? I’m not the type of person to strike up a conversation out of the blue… Even with group projects, it’s a little hard for me to open up.” 

“You?” Mark scoffs. “Not the type of person to make conversation with strangers? Then how do you explain how we became friends.” To prove his point, Mark inches your Lego figures closer together. 

“I guess you’re right,” you laugh, throwing your hands in the air. “I don’t really know what’s up with me then. But at least I have you now, right?” 

“Yeah,” he breathes, chuckling to himself too. “Yeah, you got me now. So don’t you worry, Y/N. I’ll send you pictures of every sunset I capture.”

You bring your hands together, clasping them against your cheek as you look out into the horizon. Watching the bright sky paint itself in an array of different colors before it says goodbye for the day, you’ve never felt more content. And Mark does the same, eyes following the rays of gold bleed into pink, but he doesn’t think he can enjoy it as much as you do right now.

He just can’t believe that he’s here with you in a random park in the city. Instead of sitting in class, he’s sitting at a table building animals out of extremely tiny Lego pieces. Mark didn’t even send his professors a courtesy email that he wasn’t going to be present today, too focused on helping you feel better. He’ll never admit it out loud, but he was also busy trying to forget that gloomy look on your face. It was the first time Mark had ever seen you cry, and he hopes it will be the last. 

A part of him also understands you. The overwhelming pressure of having to do well and not wanting to wave a white flag for the sake of your confidence in yourself. Mark knows it all too well. He also knows how hard it can be to make friends here. No one ever attempts to get to know Mark, only approaching to ask if he’d accompany them on a romantic date or help them pass their classes. It took him a while to learn how to say no, and thank God he did. He’s content in his little bubble with the good friends he has, but sometimes he wonders what life would be like if he just gave in. Who would Mark Lee be if he wasn’t so stubborn in his ways?

“Y/N,” he begins again. “Do you think I’m difficult?” 

Turning your gaze away from the darkening sky, you give Mark a puzzled look. “What do you mean?” 

“Like,” he sighs, crossing his arms across his chest. He looks down at the table in front of him, chewing on his lip. “Do you think I’m hard to deal with? Am I too stubborn to talk to?” 

His explanation doesn’t fix your confusion, continuing to look at him funny. “No, Mark. It’s very easy for me to be around you,” you correct him, moving a hand to gesture between both your bodies. “I’m sat here with you— our first time hanging out off campus, by the way, after you comforted me while I cried into your shirt earlier today.”

“This was the most fun I’ve had in a while!” you continue, gushing when Mark doesn’t respond. “I’m not sure what’s going on in that big head of yours, but I enjoy your company. Heck, I asked you to be my friend during our second meeting! You are anything but difficult.” 

Mark looks up, taking in the sight of you sat across of him. The sky has turned into a pretty pink as the sun has started it’s descent closer to the horizon and it’s casted over you beautifully. There must be a magic in the air that has sparked a look in your eyes that is so comforting. He’s been wary of the elation he’s felt since the day he met you. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but in that moment, Mark has never been so sure in his life about going against everything he set himself up for.

“Come on,” Mark smiles and nods his head towards the path. “Let’s go home.” 

Johnny hears shuffling from Marks room and decided to peak in. Cracking the bedroom door open, he’s met with the boy pacing back and forth, combing his hand through his hair frantically. He can hear Mark mumbling to himself, using his hands to express whatever he was feeling to himself. “Dude,” Johnny calls out and Mark snaps his head towards the sound so fast, he thinks he’s got whiplash. “What’s wrong with you?” 

“Fuck if I know!” he roars, placing both hands on his head. “If anyone can tell me what’s wrong with me, PLEASE DO.” 

The older boy sighs, stepping through the threshold as he prepares himself for what’s about to come. He’s used to Mark being on edge, but this is the guy who apologizes whenever he swears. “Come here, buddy” Sat on Marks’ bed, Johnny pats the seat beside him and Mark obliges. His head is hung low and lips set into a deep pout. “Tell Johnny what’s wrong.” 

Mark lets out a sigh of his own, whining as he falls back onto his bed and stares at the ceiling. He had just woken up from his 3pm nap he takes every other day that lasts precisely an hour and a half. Two hours if he feels like treating himself, but today, Mark had woken up in a cold sweat just a little after 8pm. 

Mark Lee’s guide to being better than everyone: rule #3 if you need a nap, only nap on MWF when you end classes early (only nap for 2 hours MAX).

As soon as he sat up, eyes blown wide, he let out a hushed “oh fuck.” He’s usually so tired that he never dreams. Ever. But this time, all he could see in his slumber was you. You, who he had seen just a few days ago after ditching classes. Forget everything he felt and thought that day because it was starting to feel a little too real.

It came to him in flashes, like he was in some sort of stupid movie. From walking down the street together, to banging on rigged claw machines, to simply sitting across of you at the picnic table in the park, Mark dreamt of every moment you had spent with him. Except, whenever he laid eyes on you, the whole world had slowed down to a serene still and tints of light illuminated around your entire being. And when you smiled like you always did, little bells started chiming. 

Oh, the bells. That dream was straight out of those romance movies Haechan likes to watch regularly. What kind of sick world is this? 

“I’m so screwed, man” he voices, rubbing a hand over his face. “I-I think I like Y/N. Whatever that means…” 

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Johnny muses. “If you like her, then you like her. Y/N’s that girl you’ve been hanging around with a lot?” 

Mark sits up fully, head still hanging low. He can’t believe he’s having this conversation right now, even if he lowkey knew it was coming. “Yeah, that’s her” he mumbles. “I swear she hexed me or something! I skipped class the other day to hangout with her, been eating way too many vending machine snacks, and haven’t been getting my full 8 hours of sleep, bro! That’s so not like me.” 

“First of all, you’re an idiot. Girls aren’t witches, they’re just celestial beings” Johnny scoffs, rolling his eyes at his young friend. “Second of all, did she force you to do all those things?” 

“What? No,” Mark protests. “I wanted to do all those things, with her.” 

“Okayyy,” Johnny rolls. “Are your grades slipping from ditching or not sleeping?” 

Mark blinks at the boy sitting next to him. “No, I’m a week ahead in all my classes.”

“Then what’s the problem here, man?” Johnny belts, standing to his full height. “Cause I’m not seeing it!” 

Still sat on his bed, Mark stomps his feet a little as he whines. “Johnny” he complains. “The problem is I’ve broken every single rule I made for myself. For just one person! Like I said, this isn’t like me and I’m not sure how to handle it.” 

“Look Mark,” Johnny chastises, moving to sit next to him again on the bed. “I love you, dude. I really do and I admire how hard you’re working towards your education, but I wish you would just let yourself breathe a little.” Mark sits in silence, taking in every word. “I’m so glad that you’ve been following these rules you set for yourself and it’s been working, but why are you stopping yourself from experiencing something everyone dreams of? Why are you so scared?” 

Great question that he doesn’t really know the answer to. He’s not scared of you, exactly. Marks more scared of the feelings you give him. You’re not trying to change his ways or who he is, in fact, you’ve been trying your damn hardest to fit yourself into Marks usual routine. You don’t make fun of him for his little quirks and comments and he likes how comfortable you make him feel. He likes how you just go with the flow of things, making it a breeze to just enjoy himself in that moment with you. Mark likes how he no longer feels the weight of the world when he’s around you. 

Mark likes you. But he’s never felt this way before about anyone. Not even Jessica Alba in Fantastic Four while all his friends were drooling over their TV screens. 

With pursed lips, Mark looks up to his friend with pleading eyes. “What do I have to do?” 

“That’s not the question you should be asking,” Johnny smiles at him, shaking his head lightly. “You’re the most hardworking guy I know, no matter what you’re doing. Are you willing to put in that same effort with Y/N?” 

Later that night, Mark lays awake and stares at his ceiling in the dark. He’s got one arm folded under his head and the other laid across his chest, deep in thought about the conversation he had with Johnny. He took way too long of a nap, so now he can’t fall asleep. Not to mention how his phone had been pinging with messages from you, but they remained unanswered as he contemplated. 

What was he to do with you? 

He could just pretend that he never had this groundbreaking realization. He could continue to remain the way he is with you, just friends. Mark doesn’t even know how you’d react to his feelings, but he can’t say he’s afraid to find out. Even if you were to turn him down, tell him he’s got no chance at romance, he doesn’t think he’d mind. Like yeah, he’d be pretty devastated, but who wouldn’t be? After talking with Johnny some more earlier today, he realizes how sure he is with the way his heart feels. He’s dumbfounded that this is happening to him, but he’s not embarrassed at all. Who knew that you, who had wanted to be his friend after only meeting for the second time, would be the one to change his entire view? Mark didn’t even want to be your friend at first, but here he is, possibly wanting something more. 

You probably would think the switch was so sudden and Mark wouldn’t be able to tell you anything else. He doesn’t think you’re the type to completely cut him out if you don’t feel the same way, but there’s always that small chance in anything. He doesn’t know what to do with you, but he also has no clue what he would do without you. Groaning into the night air, Mark turns over to his side. He’s face to face with the bright numbers on his alarm clock that read 1:27 AM. Deciding to leave this problem to tomorrows Mark, he screws his eyes shut and tries to force himself to sleep. But he just lays there, staring at the dark behind his eyes still completely awake and tries to think of something that will put him to bed. And oh of course, all Mark can see is you. 

He lets you consume him, taking every glimpse of you in and god damn Y/N, you are doing nothing to help! Marks leg starts to shake under the covers, twitching himself awake til he starts tossing and turning. Eventually, Mark gives up. He can’t get comfortable at all. Ripping his comforter off his body, Mark moves quickly to stand up and shoulder on a flannel that draped over his desk chair. Hasty fingers grab for his glasses and his phone before he books it out the door to God knows where.

No, Mark knows where he’s going in the dead of night. After walking you home the other day, he realized just how close you two were, living just a 10 minute walk away. But with the way Mark is moving, he finds himself standing outside of your apartment building in just 7 minutes. He’d move to enter, but he doesn’t actually know which unit you live in. So like the completely sane person he is, Mark starts shouting into the night, disturbing the peace. 

“Y/N!” he howls, hands cupped over his mouth. There’s a few lights he can see on through the windows, but none of them show movement. “Y/N, it’s Mark!” 

There’s only one window that’s open, and Mark sees the curtains tear open. There you stand, looking down at him from the fourth floor with disbelief all over your face. “Mark!” you whisper shout. This boy must have lost his damn mind to disturb you and your neighbors at this time, after ignoring your messages all night. “Are you insane?” 

“Just come down, please” he brings his hands together, in a begging and pleading gesture. “I have to talk to you.” 

Sighing, you move away from your window and start to make your way down to the front of your building. You’re praying to whoever’s listening that you don’t get any complaints in the morning from Mark screaming in the courtyard. Like seriously, he could have just called you quietly on his phone. You can see it hanging out of his pocket, but you assume he really is out of his mind when you take in his form. 

He’s pacing again, fidgeting as you approach him closer and only snaps out of it when he sees you in the glow of the dim street lamps. “Hi,” he exhales and you just continue to eye him suspiciously. 

“Hi,” you pout, crossing your arms over your chest. “What’s going on, Mark? It’s nearly 2 AM, you could have just called me.” 

Mark smiles sheepishly at you, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he mumbles, kicking the ground underneath him. “I wasn’t really thinking…” 

“Clearly,” you muse, grinning at him. This is the most casual you have ever seen Mark, who never leaves the house unless he’s in a pair of jeans or nice pants. You can tell how much of a hurry he was in, dressed in old basketball shorts and slippers on his feet. The flannel he was wearing over his white tee was also inside out, but you don’t point it out to him. “But you’re thinking about something to come all the way here. What did you wanna tell me?” 

“Uhhh,” he stutters, eyes darting around the dark, avoiding your gaze. “I didn’t wake you, right? I’m really sorry for not calling first.”

You shake your head no, waving him off. You were already awake, but it’s the weekend tomorrow so you have nothing to be up early for. The only important thing you were doing was doom scrolling on your feed. Mark would have known you were still awake if he had just checked his damn phone. Even if he wasn’t interrupting anything important, you still wish that Mark would spit it out. He just nods at your explanation, still not meeting your eyes and says nothing. 

“Hey,” you call out, poking his middle with your finger. He caved into it, swatting your hand away because Mark Lee is ticklish. “Take your time, find the words. I’ll be here when you’re ready.” 

Mark finally looks into your eyes, softening at the way they’re pouring into his. Your lips are curled into the prettiest smile and Mark thinks you have really nice teeth. It’s all enough to squeeze at his heart, causing his blood to pump furiously in his chest. He feels it tighten and tighten, until it finally explodes.

“I’m all bent outta shape, dude” he rants, staring right at you. “And it’s all because of you!” 

You frown at his confession, wondering if he really came all the way over here just to call you out. “What did I do to you, dude?“ 

His shoulders slump and he rubs at his eyes. Sleep is finally getting to him now that he’s here, but Mark has always been way too good and getting what he wants to give up. “Everything,” he basically whines like a child. “And I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Mark looks to the sky, eyes screwed shut as he lets out a long exhale. You’re still confused as to what he’s trying to get at, but seeing him so perplexed himself has you concerned. 

“Mark,” you coax, touching his arm lightly to bring him back down to Earth. “If I did something to upset you, I’m really sorry. But could you please tell me exactly what happened so I can fix it?” 

Eyeing when your hand meets his skin, he smirks lightly at the tingling waves that shot up his arm. He taps the hand that connects him in a reassuring manner before completely engulfing it in his own. “I’m just being dramatic, it’s not that bad” he offers, stroking a thumb over your knuckles. Goosebumps peak through your skin at the gesture. “You did nothing wrong. It’s just…” 

He trails off, looking down at your intertwined hands. “I have these rules for myself, called ‘Mark Lee’s guide to being better than everyone’ and I’m not trying to one up everyone I meet with this. It’s all just to help me succeed and be my best self as a student” he’s nervous as he wears his heart on his sleeve for you when he hears you laugh, but it quickly dissipates when you give his hand a squeeze in reassurance. Come on, it was a funny name! “And I’ve been really good at following them! It’s definitely helped me to stay on track, but from that first day we met in the library, I’ve just been breaking all of them.”

“Oh,” you gasp, quickly letting go of him to shy into yourself. “I’m sorry, Mark. Really, I never meant for you to go off track.” 

“No, it’s okay!” he assures you, grabbing his hand back into his. In the middle of 70 degree weather, Mark felt cold for the split second you let go. “It’s not your fault and I don’t mind it at all. My point is, it’s just not like me at all to do this and I didn’t realize why until now.” 

“I’m so used to being strict in my ways because it’s been working well for me, but here you come along, making it so unbelievably easy to forget it all,” you’re still not sure what he’s hinting at, but you continue to let him talk. “Forget it and realize that it’s not so bad as long as I’m with you, Y/N. I like that I can still be myself without all these rules or barriers, I can still sit in the library all night with you sleeping across of me.”

Mark can’t help the smile on his face at how wide your eyes have blown, almost as if you couldn’t believe what he was alluding to. He also can’t believe it, but the more he speaks, the more it feels right. Even if he feels like he’s saying a whole lotta nothing. But it’s something alright and you feel your heart start to beat a little quicker. You hope Mark can’t tell how your hands have started to clam up and tremble in his hold. 

“I like the feeling you give me, that everything’s gonna be okay and I have nothing to worry about” he beams at you, steadying your shakiness with a tight grip. “I like you, Y/N.” 

You say nothing, taking it all in. Mark starts to shuffle on his feet, loosening his hold on your hand but not fully letting go so you can’t book it inside. He should speak up and add that you don’t have to respond to him right now, because it really is sudden. It just felt like a good time to tell you, even though 2 AM is never a good time for anyone. But you cut him off before you get the chance, grinning like a Cheshire Cat at the nervous boy in front of you.

“You didn’t even wanna be my friend at first,” you point out, tapping your chin in thought with your free hand. “Now here you are, holding my hand and confessing to me in the dead of night?” You’re teasing him and he knows it. 

“Ugh, I know” he exclaims, looking like a kicked puppy. “I’m just a stupid, dumb, idiot boy and I really felt bad for how I treated you that day.” You giggle quietly, stopping him from dropping to his knees in front of you to beg for forgiveness. “I know this all came so fast and I know I have a lot to learn. A lot of things to grow into, but I feel like I can do that as long as I’m planted next to you.”

The taunting coo you let out does nothing to cover the blush rushing to your cheeks. You move your arms to wrap fully around his neck, standing on your tip toes to hide your flushed face in his shoulder. Mark reciprocates, encircling you in his hold completely as he pulls you closer to him. “You’re so cute” you squeal, nuzzling your face closer and inhaling his scent. “You’re so sweet, Mark. I will gladly plant myself next to you.” 

You pull away slightly, still face to face with the boy who is also blushing. He’s fighting back a smile, the apples of his cheeks making a prominent appearance. “Does this mean you’re my girlfriend now?” he’s so clueless with the way he asks you the question, causing you to laugh again. If anyone were overlooking the two of you right now, all smiles and blushing messes, they’d think you’re insane. 

“Do you want me to be?” you press further and Mark nods his head vigorously. His hold tightens around you for the nth time that night.

“Can I be honest real quick?” he utters, staring deep into your eyes. He’s been honest this whole time, you don’t know why he needs to ask. “I’m kinda scared…”

You pat his shoulder reassuringly, standing further on your toes to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. “We can go as slow as you’d like, Mark. I’ll be here all the way.” Mark feels a wave of warmth wash over him, suddenly feeling bold and straightens his back. 

“I think you missed,” he states. You’re back to wondering what the hell he was talking about until you feel his lips on yours. 

The kiss is soft, short, but sweet. It’s enough to unleash a cage of butterflies in the pit of your stomach. It’s enough for Mark to know exactly how you feel, even if you never said it. 

Pulling away, you two share a shy smile as you lean your forehead against his. You play with the hair on the nape of his neck as you lean back in for another. So much for going slow, Mark thinks as he’s basically clawing at your sides to pull you unbelievably closer to him. He breaks away first this time, leaning into your neck as if he can’t get enough of you. 

“Go home, Mark” you laugh at the tickling feeling against your skin. “I’ll see you after we’ve both had some rest, okay?” 

He only sighs loudly and dramatically before pulling back, reluctant to release his hold on you. His feet step away from you slowly, towards the direction of his own apartment building. Mark doesn’t want to go. Mark wants to spend all his time with you, even in the middle of the night, but he listens to your request anyway. You’ve gotten him wrapped around your finger, after all. He knows you’ll have all the time in the world, starting now and he can’t wait for the days to come. 

Mark Lee’s guide to being better than everyone: rule #1 no dating of any kind to prevent distraction (90 and above or no love).

Spoiler: Mark keeps his 3.9 GPA until graduation and graduating with honors is literally nothing compared to the love you shower him in.

mani's notes: i hope you enjoyed reading this! yk true cloudykyu fashion is no real plot lines and whiplash time skips lol it's my first long fic since coming back so i would appreciate any feedback :D please let me know your thoughts in the tags or my ask box!! <3 happy valentines day unless you're mark lee

[seungjiseyo]

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙁𝙞𝙫𝙚: Convincing All Around

I stare at him, my pulse a staggering, uneven rhythm against my ribs. The world around us sharpens—air thick with the scent of damp grass, the distant metallic clang of the flagpole shuddering in the evening breeze, the faint hum of traffic beyond the school’s fences. But in front of me, Mark. Mark, wide-eyed and breathless, his lips parted like he’s about to say something but can’t quite shape the words.

A dozen thoughts collide in my head, none of them forming a full sentence.

Mark. Spider-Man. Mark is Spider-Man.

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Then, as if a switch flips, he lets out a laugh—high-pitched, forced, completely unconvincing. “Wow,” he says, dragging a hand through his hair, ruffling the strands that were already a mess from the wind. “I—I can see how you’d think that, but uh… nope. Not me. Just a fan.” He gestures vaguely at the mask in my hand, like it's some cheap merch he forgot was there.

A fan.

My mouth parts, but I don’t say anything. I just watch as he fumbles with his backpack, shoving prints and sketches back inside with too much force, his movements jerky, rushed. His hands tremble slightly, and he clenches them into fists before shoving them into the front pocket of his hoodie. His foot taps against the pavement. The boy is vibrating with nerves.

“Oh, yeah, totally,” I say slowly, eyes narrowing. “A fan.” I roll the mask between my fingers. “You’re really committed, huh?”

Mark straightens up, a little too fast, and suddenly his hands are on my shoulders, warm and firm. I blink, taken aback by the sudden contact.

“Liya, you—” He exhales sharply, his grip tightening like he’s bracing himself for something. “You can’t tell anyone about this.”

I tilt my head, meeting his frantic gaze. “You’re very passionate for a fan.”

His lips part, his face flickering between a dozen emotions before settling into some weak attempt at offense. “I just—Spider-Man’s reputation is very important to me,” he says, a little too fast, eyes darting to the side. “The city needs him to be, y’know, a symbol, and—”

I don’t hear the rest.

Because suddenly, I’m thinking about my bedroom window.

The open curtains. The cool night air. The figure perched on the ledge, his weight light enough to barely creak the wood. The way the lamplight caught the edge of red and blue, fabric stretching over muscle.

Mark was there.

Mark saw me.

In my pajamas. In my post-shower, half-dead exhaustion. Hair a mess, skin bare, expression as unfiltered as the chaotic state of my entire life.

Oh my God.

And—

The closet. The school. The fire. That argument. When I turned, face inches from his, breath caught between anger and something else. The realization pricks at the edges of my brain, slow, cruel, inescapable.

Mark has seen me at my worst.

Every single time.

I tune back in just as he’s saying, “—so really, it wouldn’t make sense for me to be Spider-Man, and I think—”

But I don’t hear the rest.

Because now, I’m very aware of how close he is.

And of his hands. Still on my shoulders.

And how my face is on fire.

The mask is still in my hand, soft and warm from my grip, but my fingers feel numb. My heartbeat rattles inside my ears, too fast, too loud. Mark is right there, his hands solid and firm on my shoulders, his words still spilling from his lips in a frantic, breathless tumble—something about probability, logic, and why this is all just a coincidence.

I can’t hear a damn thing.

I feel the heat spreading up my neck, creeping across my cheeks, turning my entire face into a furnace. Not because I’m embarrassed. Not because of the absurdity of this situation. But because I am embarrassed.

Because he’s too close.

Because his fingers are still gripping me like I might sprint off screaming his secret into the sky. Because his voice is pitched high, like he’s pleading with the universe to swallow us both whole before I can actually say anything.

His hands tighten slightly, grounding me back into the moment. “Liya, seriously, you—”

I shove the mask at his chest. A little too hard.

He grunts, startled, fumbling to catch it before it drops into the dirt. His hands close around it fast, pulling it toward himself like I’ve just handed him a ticking bomb. His eyes dart to me, wary.

“I won’t say anything,” I say, my voice sharp, a little clipped, still too hot with the realization that he saw me that night. “About you being a fanboy.”

Mark exhales. A rush of relief flashes across his face, like he actually thinks that worked. Like he actually thinks I buy it. He nods fast, stuffing the mask back into his bag, already talking again, already spinning something—an explanation, an excuse, whatever it is.

But my brain is still racing.

The auditorium.

The explosion.

How he was right there—and then gone. And how Spiderman was just suddenly in his place.

The words swirl, connect, snap into place. A puzzle I hadn’t realized I was solving.

My stomach twists, a slow coil of something too tight, too much, squeezing at my ribs. It makes it hard to breathe, harder to focus, harder to be normal, which is already an impossible feat in front of him.

I want to be the version of myself that’s cool, composed, the one who doesn’t get caught in stupid situations like this. The one who wouldn’t be standing here, feet planted like lead, a thousand thoughts colliding at the speed of sound.

But I’m not that version.

I’m the one whose palms are clammy, whose heart is hammering a little too hard, whose brain is short-circuiting under the weight of everything. The one who’s been making a fool of herself in front of Mark Lee since—God, since forever.

And now, after everything, after the fire, after the bookstore, after the night on my window—this is how I find out.

The realization is too much.

“Liya?”

I blink, and his voice cuts through the haze, the static of my thoughts breaking just enough for me to focus. He’s still looking at me, still holding his bag close like I might lunge for it and rip the mask out again. His brows are drawn, concern laced into every inch of his face.

“Are you okay?”

I don’t answer. I can’t.

Because no, I am not okay. I am so far from okay that I don’t even know where okay is.

I take a step back. Then another. The air feels too thick, too charged, like I might drown if I stay here a second longer.

Mark shifts, moving slightly forward, like he thinks I might faint or explode or do something. But I shake my head, quickly, forcing a breath into my lungs.

“I have to go.”

It’s rushed, too quick, barely a full sentence, but it’s the only thing I can get out before I turn, before I start walking. Fast. Away from him, away from this, away from the fact that my crush—the one I can barely function around on a normal day—is freaking Spiderman.

I can hear him call after me. Once. Then again. But I don’t stop. I don’t look back. I just keep walking, my hands balled into fists, my pulse thrumming in my ears.

I just need to go home.

~

The front door creaks open under my weight, the wood groaning as if protesting my presence. Inside, the living room is dim, the late afternoon light slanting through the blinds in thin, golden lines. The scent of coffee lingers, mixing with the faint trace of ink and the sharper tang of developed film.

Dad is at the dining table, stacks of printed photos spread out like an unfinished puzzle, his reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He doesn’t look up immediately, too focused on sifting through the prints, but then his head lifts at the sound of my steps.

“Liya, that you?” His voice is easy, expectant.

I drop my bag by the couch, barely pausing. “Yeah,” I say, but it’s thin, lacking. The weight in my chest hasn’t eased—not with the distance, not with the air between me and him.

Dad hums, flipping through the pictures, not pressing. I can feel his eyes track me as I move toward the hallway, but I don’t turn, don’t offer more. My legs move on autopilot, carrying me up the stairs, past the walls lined with old photographs, past the slightly ajar door of the room that still smells like Mom’s perfume on quiet days.

I reach my door, push inside, and shut it behind me.

The door clicks shut behind me, and the silence of my room closes in like a held breath. I don’t bother flipping the light switch. Twilight seeps through the window blinds, cutting the walls into uneven panels of pale gray and deep shadow. Everything looks off-kilter, unfamiliar—like someone rearranged my life while I wasn’t paying attention.

The pile of clothes on the chair, usually a harmless mess, now feels like evidence of some deeper failure. My half-made bed sits crooked, the comforter twisted like I’d fought it in my sleep. The corner of my sketchbook pokes out from under a hoodie, graphite smudges visible even in the low light.

I stand there, unmoving. Just breathing. Trying to get my heart to settle, to make my brain stop buzzing like a lightbulb about to burn out.

But the weight of the mask—that stupid, glaring red mask—lingers in my mind like an afterimage burned into my retinas. My feet drag across the carpet as I make my way to the bed, collapsing face-first into the mattress. The sheets smell like detergent and something faintly floral, but even that small comfort doesn’t help.

Mark.

Spiderman.

The same person. Probably. Definitely.

My eyes squeeze shut, and the memory hits me again like a freight train. The window. The fluttering curtains. The cool breeze threading through the night air. And him, perched there like it was the most normal thing in the world. I’d thrown a book at his head. Sherlock Holmes, hardcover, limited edition.

I groan, rolling onto my back and dragging a pillow over my face. “Oh my God,” I mumble into the fabric, voice muffled and pathetic. “I threw a book at Mark Lee.”

The pillow does nothing to block out the spiral of humiliation. He’d caught it, easy and fluid, like gravity was just a suggestion. And I’d stood there, wide-eyed, hair probably frizzed out like a dandelion, wearing pajamas with little stars on them. I slap my hands over my face, heat rushing up my neck. “Kill me now,” I whisper to the ceiling.

But—no. No, Mark said he wasn’t Spiderman. He’d babbled about being a fan, about collecting merch or whatever, like that explained the literal mask in his bag.

Maybe… maybe he really wasn’t. Maybe I jumped to conclusions. Maybe I’m being ridiculous.

I lower my hands, staring blankly at the popcorn ceiling, letting the quiet press in again. It could’ve been a coincidence. The auditorium thing. Him disappearing. Spiderman showing up. People wear replicas all the time, right? Right.

Except—God, how stupid do I have to be to even try convincing myself of that?

The mask. The bruises vanishing overnight. The way Spiderman had moved, had spoken to me in the closet, like he knew me. Like he wasn’t surprised to see me there at all.

I sit up fast, heart hammering in my chest, and grip the edge of the bed so hard my knuckles ache. Of course it’s him. It’s been him this whole time. How could I not have seen it?

I did see it.

I just didn’t want to.

The realization sinks in like a stone, heavy and sharp-edged, pressing against my ribs. I sit there, barely breathing, the silence stretching out until the faint hum of the house becomes deafening—the fridge cycling on in the kitchen, the tick of the hallway clock, the creak of the floorboards settling under invisible weight.

My hand drifts to my face, fingers curling into my hair, pulling at the roots like pain might ground me. It doesn’t. The truth doesn’t just sit there quietly; it crackles, electric and unbearable, sparking memories I’d shoved aside because they didn’t fit neatly into the narrative I wanted.

Spiderman, hanging awkwardly at my bedroom window like a stray cat. The low rasp of his voice when he’d told me to stay safe. The way he’d caught the book I’d chucked at his head without even glancing at it.

Mark. It was Mark.

I groan, slumping forward, elbows digging into my knees. Heat burns under my skin, the kind that makes my ears ring and my throat tighten. He saw me—really saw me. Disheveled. Barefaced. Wrapped in an oversized hoodie and existential dread. The version of myself I keep tightly contained outside these four walls.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter into my hands, voice fraying at the edges.

A sharp knock cuts through the moment, rattling the thin veneer of calm I was barely clinging to.

“Liya!” Dad’s voice, urgent and breathless, bleeds through the door. Another knock, quicker this time. “Open up, kiddo!”

I stumble to my feet, legs unsteady like I’ve been standing on a fault line. The floor is cold under my socks as I shuffle to the door, heart still racing for entirely different reasons now.

When I pull it open, Dad’s already halfway into his coat, the strap of his camera clamped between his teeth as he wrestles with the zipper. His hair sticks up in odd angles, like he’d run his hands through it one too many times.

“There’s a scene downtown,” he says around the strap, voice muffled. He spits it out, gesturing wildly with one hand while the other digs through his pockets. “Cops just called it in. Robbery, I think. Could be something bigger. Paper wants shots ASAP.”

I blink at him, still caught in the fog of my own spiraling thoughts. He moves like a storm, fast and chaotic, stuffing a spare lens into his shoulder bag while kicking aside a stray sneaker in the hallway.

“There’s lasagna in the fridge,” he adds, yanking the camera free from where it’s tangled in his jacket. “If you get hungry. And—God, where’s my press badge?—if you need anything, text me, okay?”

“Yeah,” I manage, stepping back as he barrels toward the stairs, half-dressed and fully panicked. “Got it.”

He pauses at the top step, turning back with the kind of sharp, parental focus that cuts through even his rush. “And you’re still grounded, Liya. No sneaking out. I mean it.”

I raise my hands in surrender, too drained to argue. “I know. I won’t.”

Satisfied, he spins on his heel and takes the stairs two at a time, boots thudding against the wood. I trail after him slowly, lingering by the railing as he throws open the front door, the night air rushing in like a slap to the face.

The engine sputters, then roars to life. From my bedroom window, I watch the headlights carve long, pale streaks across the driveway as he backs out, tires crunching over loose gravel. The taillights flicker red before he disappears down the street, swallowed by the dusk.

I lean against the window frame, arms crossed, eyes unfocused. He’s heading straight for the chaos, camera in hand, ready to freeze someone else’s worst day into a perfect, marketable snapshot.

Maybe he’ll finally get his Spiderman shot.

The thought barely finishes forming before another crashes into it, colder, sharper, leaving my breath caught in my throat.

He’ll be there. Mark will be there.

I stay by the window, arms wrapped tight around myself, watching the empty street as if I might catch a flicker of movement, a shadow cutting across the pavement, a web stretching out between the rooftops. But there’s nothing. Just the hum of the neighbor’s porch light and the distant wail of sirens threading through the city, curling around my ribs like a hook dragging me forward.

I turn away too fast, stumbling back into my room, the air suddenly too thick. My hands hover uselessly before they land on the edge of my desk, gripping tight. This is stupid. This is so, so stupid.

But the thought keeps pressing, insistent, curling at the edges of my mind like smoke.

I could go.

I could see—see if he shows up, see if I’m really, actually right, see if Spiderman swings into the scene like he always does.

I push away from the desk, moving before I can stop myself. My closet door creaks as I yank it open. My fingers find the hem of my sweater, tugging it off the hanger in one sharp motion. I pull it over my head, shoving my arms through the sleeves.

Then I stop.

What am I even doing?

If I go—then what? Corner him? Demand an answer I already know? And then what, again? What am I expecting? A confession? Some dramatic moment where he realizes I’ve figured it out?

My hands twitch at my sides. My pulse pounds against my skull.

This is ridiculous.

I tear the sweater off, tossing it onto my bed.

Then—hesitation.

A beat.

Then I grab it again.

Shove it back on.

Walk to the door, hand on the knob.

Stop.

Rip the sweater off again.

The fabric crumples in my grip, my frustration burning hot in my veins. What am I doing? Going means admitting this is real. That Mark is actually Spiderman, that he’s been lying, that everything I thought I knew about him—about who he is—has been something else entirely.

I drop onto the edge of my bed, pressing my palms to my face.

The room is too small. Too tight. Too full of the weight of my own thoughts.

I exhale through my nose, slow, forceful. My hands drop from my face, fingers pressing against the bedspread, gripping, releasing. Then, without thinking—no, despite thinking—I reach for the sweater again.

The fabric slides over my arms, familiar, grounding. I shove my hands through the sleeves, tugging it down over my waist, the motion sharp and mechanical. My heartbeat is an insistent drum against my ribs as I push myself upright.

This is insane.

I’m insane.

I shake my head at myself, dragging my fingers through my hair as I move toward the door. Every step feels weighted, like I’m still fighting myself. But my feet keep going.

Down the hall.

Down the stairs.

Each creaky step a reminder that I am fully capable of making the worst decisions possible.

At the bottom, I hesitate. The house is quiet except for the hum of the fridge, the faint creak of settling wood. The pictures on the wall blur as I pass them, my focus locked on the floor, on my hands, on the sheer absurdity of what I’m about to do.

I crouch down, fingers fumbling with the laces of my sneakers. My knee knocks against the leg of the entryway table as I tug them tight. The impact jolts through my bones, grounding me in the moment.

I don’t have to do this.

I could go back upstairs. Pretend none of this happened. Crawl under my blankets and let Mark—Spiderman—exist in some separate, untouchable reality.

But then what?

I stand up, reaching for the key ring on the hook by the door, fingers curling around the cold metal. The weight of it feels final.

The lock clicks softly behind me as I step outside, the night air sharp against my skin.

The street is quiet. Still. Shadows stretch long beneath the streetlights, painting the pavement in slashes of yellow and black. My breath ghosts out in thin curls as I tug my hood up, ducking my head.

I’ll be back before Dad gets home. That’s the rule I set for myself. The boundary. As long as I make it back first, everything will be fine.

[seungjiseyo]

You’re broke, exhausted, and desperate enough to take a cleaning job no one else will touch. The client lives alone in a silent penthouse, hidden from the world by rumor and choice. You weren’t supposed to know his name—just clean and leave. But when your journal goes missing and comes back with his handwriting in the margins, everything changes.

• minors do not interact

• pairing: schizophrenic concert pianist!heeseung x afab reader

• wc: 28k

• content tags: angst, hurt/comfort, mental health themes, depictions of schizophrenia, poverty, class disparity, emotional repression, slow burn, journal entries, forbidden closeness, soft smut, loneliness, poetic prose, mentions of blood, trauma, caretaker dynamics, emotionally intense, non-idol au, heeseung x reader, reader-insert.

WARNINGS: mental illness (schizophrenia), mentions of blood, emotional breakdowns, poverty, food insecurity, toxic living environment, isolation, possible dissociation, references to past trauma, depersonalization, implied neglect, emotionally heavy content, not a fluff centric story. okay maybe there’s a little fluff.

•a/n: this was meant to be a 15k word fic (don’t ask me what happened) i would still die for recluse heeseung.

nsfw tags under the cut

SMUT, oral sex (f receiving), squirting, unprotected sex, bloodplay implications, sex during dissociation, power imbalance, emotional dependency, mental illness (schizophrenia), mentions of self-harm, trauma, possessive behavior, emotionally intense dynamic, obsession themes. (lmk if i missed any) not proofread!

══════════════════════════

You're running. Again. The strap of your tote bag digs into your shoulder as your shoes slap the sidewalk, water splashing up your ankles with each desperate step. Rain mist clings to your skin like sweat—except sweat would be warm. This is just cold and inconvenient. Your Literature lecture ran ten minutes over because, of course, your professor finally decided to acknowledge your existence the one time you needed to leave early. He asked for your thoughts on postmodern fragmentation in the age of digital alienation while you sat there wondering if postmodern fragmentation was what your GPA would look like this semester.

By the time you made it outside, the bus was already pulling up. You waved frantically, almost twisting your ankle as you darted across the crosswalk—nearly colliding with a cyclist. He swerved. You screamed. He cursed. It was poetic, in a tragicomedy kind of way. Now, you're clinging to the pole in the bus's center aisle, damp hair clinging to your cheeks as it rocks around corners, your phone buzzing with the time—12:46 PM.

Mrs. Do expects you at 12:30. Sharp, always sharp but today you're going to disappoint her, again and it makes you nervous cause this isn't your first fuck up. Getting off at the bus stop in Mrs. Do's neighborhood is like stepping into another world. Wide sidewalks, trimmed hedges. Every driveway is the kind of polished grey stone that seems to repel dirt on principle. The kind of neighborhood that smells like generational wealth and imported jasmine diffusers.

The sky's already sour when you round the corner onto the cobblestone lane. Gray and sullen, like it knows something you don't. Your thighs ache from sprinting across campus, your spine's slick with sweat under your too-thin hoodie, and your fingers are still raw from gripping the metal pole on the bus. You hadn't even realized how tightly you were holding on—like the bus was the only thing standing between you and collapse. You're fifteen minutes late, sixteen, actually.

The house looms before you like a museum exhibit—grand, sterile, and quiet enough to make you feel like you've already done something wrong just by being there. All tall glass windows and trimmed hedges, with a front door so glossy you can see your own desperation reflected in it. You ring the bell, sucking in a breath and she opens it almost immediately. Mrs. Do doesn't need to speak to make her opinion known. Her eyes flick down your frame—hoodie, faded jeans, dirt-smudged sneakers—and her mouth flattens like she's biting back something acidic. Her nose twitches once.

"You're late."

"I'm so sorry," you say, voice thin. "My class ran over and I missed my bus, and—" She rolls her eyes, cutting you off, "You people always have an excuse". You people. "I've already called your manager," she says coolly, stepping back just enough to make room for your shame to enter. "This is unacceptable. I hired help, not excuses."

Help. You step inside anyway because she hasn't technically slammed the door in your face yet. The floor gleams beneath your feet and you're careful not to drip on the marble. "I can still clean," you try, gripping the handle of your tote tighter. "I—I'll stay longer if you need. P—Please don't fire me." She turns slowly, folding her arms like she's posing for a luxury handbag ad. "You'll leave," she says. "And next time, be honest with yourself about what you're capable of."

That's it. No raised voice, no chance to plead. Just ice in human form and the creak of the front door swinging back open like a guillotine. You stand there a second too long—long enough for it to become pathetic—then you turn and walk back out with your head down and your heart thudding where your confidence used to be. It starts to drizzle as soon as you step off her perfect property. Of course it does.You jog down to the bus stop at the end of the street, ignoring the way your socks squelch in your shoes. Your bag knocks awkwardly against your side. You still have half a bottle of disinfectant in there, you could drink it and cleanse the humiliation right out of your system.

The bus pulls up late. You board with the same dread you imagine people feel before surgery—knowing it's necessary, knowing it's going to hurt. Inside, it's packed. You stand, gripping the pole, body swaying with every uneven turn. The lights flicker overhead. A kid is screaming two seats over. A man is coughing into his hand and not covering his mouth. You catch your reflection in the window—wet hair clinging to your cheeks, eyes dull, lips chapped from chewing them in nervous spirals. This is your life, this bus ride, this moment, is unfortunately your life. The route winds through the city, away from the clean sidewalks and polished gates, deeper into the cracked edges of town where the concrete is more gum than stone and the streetlights work in pairs—if at all. You get off at the corner near the faded liquor store, shoulders hunched under the growing weight of your day.

Your apartment building is a boxy, red-brick rectangle with iron balconies rusting at the corners. The woman who lives two floors up is yelling at her boyfriend again. You can hear every word, you wonder why they're still together seeing as they're fighting every other day. You climb the stairs slowly, dragging your legs like anchors. The third floor always smells like someone burned toast and sprayed perfume to hide it. Your door sticks and it takes three tries to get it open. The TV is already blaring, some british reality dating show, laughter, the pop of a beer can. Minjae is sprawled across the couch, shirtless, remote in one hand and a bowl in the other.

Your bowl. "Yo," he greets, mouth full. "You look like death."

"Thanks." You kick off your shoes and look around in the apartment that's in pure chaos—shoes everywhere, makeup on the kitchen counter, someone's bra dangling from the dining chair. Probably Jiyoon's. The dishes in the sink are starting grow by numbers. She appears in the hallway, barefoot and probably wine-drunk, wearing one of her boyfriend's shirts.

"Hey," she slurs. "How was the bitch?" You stare at her. "I got fired." "Again?" she groans, flopping dramatically onto the peeling loveseat. "Ugh. I told you to lie and say your grandma died. It works every time." You don't respond, heading to the kitchen to open the fridge, the light flickers when you open it. There's nothing inside except a carton of milk that expired last week and someone's half-eaten burger. You close it and lean against the counter, pressing your forehead to the cabinet above.

This can't be your life. This can't keep being your life.

Your socks are still wet when you drag yourself down the narrow hall toward the shared bathroom. You don't even bother turning on the light at first—just reach blindly into the shower caddy for your body wash, hoping a hot rinse will wash off the day, or at least the last of Mrs. Do's perfume that still clings to your sleeves like a curse. Your hand closes around the bottle.

Empty.

You blink, now flipping on the harsh fluorescent light. The bottle is sitting there—your expensive one, the only thing you splurged on in months, lavender and eucalyptus, bought during a panic attack at the drugstore like a promise to yourself that things would get better but now it's squeezed dry. You stand there, frozen. Cold water dripping off your hood. Your knuckles whitening around the neck of the bottle. "Jiyoon!" your voice cracks down the hallway like a whip.

A pause. "What?" she calls back, annoyed, like you're interrupting something important—like Love Island. You storm back into the living room, brandishing the empty bottle like evidence at a trial. Minjae doesn't even glance up from the couch, he's playing something on his phone now, earbuds in, cereal bowl at his feet. Your fucking bowl.

"Tell me this wasn't him." Jiyoon sits up, scowling at your tone. "What are you talking about?" "This." You shake the bottle. "My body wash. The one you 'borrowed' last week. It's gone. Empty. And I know you don't like the smell—so unless I'm hallucinating, your leech of a boyfriend used the last of it."

She rolls her eyes. "Jesus, it's not that deep. It's body wash." "No, it's my body wash. The only nice thing I own. And he used it, again, after eating the rest of my leftovers and leaving dirty socks in the sink and never ever paying rent!"

Minjae finally glances up, one earbud still in. "Damn. You need a Xanax or something?"

Your mouth goes dry.

Jiyoon frowns. "Okay, first of all, don't talk to her like that—"

"No, don't defend me now," you cut in, voice shaking. "You let him live here for free. You make excuses for him while I scrape together every last cent to keep a roof over our heads. I work two jobs, Jiyoon. I eat scraps. I got fired today and came home in the rain to this—and now I can't even take a damn shower without discovering he's drained the last thing I own that smells like something other than despair."

She shifts, uncomfortable. "You could've said something nicer."

"And you could've picked someone who showers in his own place instead of mine!"

Silence.

You don't cry and you won't. Not in front of him. Not even here. You don't wait for an apology that'll never come. You retreat to your room, slam the door, and lock it behind you—not because you're afraid, but because you're done.

You strip off your hoodie, throw it in the corner, and climb into bed fully damp and exhausted. The blanket clings to your legs. You curl around your pillow and let the tension tremble out of your fingertips like static electricity.

You curl up in bed fully clothed, hoodie damp and clinging to your skin, fingers still aching from scrubbing tile three days ago. The blanket smells faintly like bleach. Jiyoon is laughing in the next room, voice high and bright and grating. You close your eyes.

*•*•*

You wake up to the clink of glassware and Minjae's laugh from the kitchen, that smug, high-pitched snort that always sets your teeth on edge. There's no time to be angry—not this morning. You're already late. Again.

You roll out of bed and throw on the first vaguely clean outfit you can find, dragging a brush through your tangled hair and pinning it up like your life depends on it. Your backpack's already half-packed from the night before. You stuff in your worn-out copy of Beloved, a dog-eared notebook filled with scribbles and half-finished poems, and race out the door without breakfast.

It's colder today. The kind of cold that bites under your clothes and leaves your fingers raw. You catch the bus by sheer miracle—sprinting half a block and nearly losing a shoe in the process—and squeeze into the back seat between a teenage couple whispering too loud and a man who keeps humming to himself.

You reach campus with two minutes to spare. The lecture hall smells like chalk dust and old books. It's one of your favorite smells in the world. You slide into the third row, clutching your notebook to your chest, and feel a quiet sort of calm settle over you. This is your safe place. Literature. Language. Storytelling.

The professor enters with her usual elegance, a tall woman with soft curls and a warm smile that doesn't waver even when her students barely look up. She doesn't need to raise her voice to command the room. She carries presence the way some people carry perfume—effortlessly.

"Today," she begins, "we talk about longing." You feel your chest tighten in the most bittersweet way.

She reads a passage aloud—something from a contemporary poet you love but couldn't afford to buy the full collection of—and for a while, you forget the bruising ache in your back from yesterday, or the hollowness in your stomach. You forget Minjae. You forget Mrs. Do.

After class, you linger longer than usual, pretending to organize your papers while most students file out. Professor Cha doesn't seem surprised when you approach her desk.

"I loved what you read today," you say, voice still soft from reverence. "The way it ached."

Her eyes sparkle behind her glasses. "That's a good word. A poem should ache. And yours always do."

You blink. "You read my last submission?"

"I did." She smiles, more maternal than academic now. "You write like you've lived ten lives. There's heartbreak in your syntax, but also something... resilient. It's beautiful. Raw."

The compliment hits deeper than she probably intends. You swallow. "Thank you. I... needed to hear that."

She tilts her head. "You've looked tired lately."

"I got fired," you confess, voice breaking a little at the edges. "From one of my jobs." She doesn't blink or pity you, she nods instead. "Then the world made space for something better. Keep showing up. Your stories matter even if no one pays you for them yet."

It's not much but it's enough to lift your spine straighter as you thank her and walk out the door.

The sunshine doesn't feel quite so cold.

You're halfway down the campus stairs, still thinking about her words, when your phone rings. A number you don't recognize, but one you know instinctively not to ignore.

You answer.

"About damn time," a gravelly voice snaps through the line. "Did you turn off your phone all day or do you just enjoy making my blood pressure spike?"

You wince. "Sorry, Cee. I was in class—"

"I don't care if you were in confession with the Pope," he growls. "You missed your shift yesterday and you got us fired from the Do account." You open your mouth to explain, but he keeps going.

"Lucky for you," he says, as if the words are knives between his teeth, "no one else wants this new job and I'm too tired to argue. Penthouse gig. Rich recluse. We charge double, client pays in advance, and no one wants to take it because apparently the guy's a freak."

You frown. "A freak?"

"Unstable. Hermit. Been on the news, but who the hell keeps track? Listen, I don't care if he's a lizard in a human suit—he's paying. You're taking it."

Your throat dries.

"How many days?"

"Three a week. Big place. Clean what you can, don't snoop. I'll send the address. Be early." and then, just before he hangs up, his tone softens—barely. "Don't mess this up, kid. You need it."

You really, really do.

You stare at the phone screen even after the call ends, the manager's words still ringing in your ears. Freak. Hermit. Don't mess this up.

The ache in your calves from walking half a mile after the bus dropped you off doesn't compare to the slow sinking in your stomach as you lift your head to take in the building before you.

It's not just big—it's obscene. The kind of place you'd see in a glossy magazine left behind in a waiting room. Black glass, white stone, gold accents on the automatic double doors. No peeling paint, no squeaky hinges, no smell of cheap weed in the lobby. You shift your backpack higher on your shoulder and wipe your palms on your pants, suddenly hyper-aware of how out of place you look.

The doorman gives you a glance that says you're not the usual type, but he opens the door for you anyway. Inside, the lobby is quiet. Too quiet. Your footsteps echo on the marble like you're trespassing.

You check the note your manager texted again: Penthouse, 45th floor. Don't use the front elevator. Service lift in the back.

Figures.

You find the service lift through a hallway no guest would ever wander down—a dimly lit corridor that smells faintly of lemon polish and secrecy. The kind of place you get swallowed in. You step inside the narrow elevator, the floor humming under your boots.

The doors slide shut with a groan. You breathe out. The kind of breath that's supposed to steady you but doesn't.

Your phone buzzes again just before the elevator doors open.

Cee: Don't fuck this up. Get there exactly at 10, leave exactly at 4. Even if you finish early, you stay. No exceptions. And whatever you do, NEVER go upstairs. He has rules. Don't test them.

You stare at the screen.

What kind of house has an upstairs in a penthouse? you think, and the second the thought passes, the elevator dings.

The doors creak open onto a hallway draped in shadow. No welcome mat, no noise or signs of life. Just a wide, heavy door that looks more like it belongs on a bank vault than a home.

You step out.

Your boots sound stupidly loud on the marble tile, and you hesitate before raising your hand to knock. But there's no need. The moment your knuckles reach the wood, the door clicks open on its own.

Unlocked.

The place is massive. The ceilings stretch too high, the walls too white, everything too pristine. There's barely any furniture. Just space and silence and air so still it feels like it hasn't been disturbed in years. You don't call out cause your manager said he wouldn't speak to you and that he likely wouldn't even show himself.

Just clean and leave. Do not go upstairs.

You hold your breath and step inside.

The air smells like cedar and something colder, like snow, if snow could haunt. You set your backpack down, find the gloves and cleaning supplies neatly packed inside, and glance around for somewhere to begin. The living room stretches out in an open floor plan—windows from floor to ceiling, giving a panoramic view of the city that glitters like it belongs to someone else.

You move quietly, gently, like the house might shatter if you're not careful, there's a faint creak above you that makes you freeze.

Somewhere beyond the mezzanine level—a second floor, tucked behind shadows and sleek black railings—you hear slow footsteps. Nothing fast, just the sound of pacing but then it stops and you don't look up.

You don't have to but you can feel the weight of someone above you. Maybe it's just the paranoia settling in or maybe it's the echo of your manager's warning.

Don't go upstairs.

You lower your gaze and start cleaning the untouched coffee table. You don't see a single cup stain or a single fingerprint. You think of the journal in your bag—the one you always carry, the one you use to write about your clients. He'll be in there by tonight, nameless, faceless. The man who lives upstairs like a ghost in the penthouse he knows.

For now, you work. Quiet and invisible. There's a fine layer of dust on everything. Not filth—just time, settled air and neglect. No signs of life, no spilled coffee mugs or kicked-off shoes. Just clean lines, cold surfaces, and untouched space.

You start in the living room, wiping down the windowsills and working your way around the low furniture. The couch looks barely used, the cushions still stiff. You sweep, mop, vacuum, moving silently through the rooms that all look the same—stunning, sterile, too expensive to feel real.

In the hallway near the back, there's a closet.

You pause in front of it.

It's nothing special—just a tall, sleek black door flush against the wall like all the others. But your fingers hesitate on the handle. Something about it makes your stomach twist. A soft wrongness that makes you not open it, that makes you turn around and just keep cleaning.

By 2:30, you've gone through the whole first floor. Kitchen wiped down. Bathroom gleaming. Trash collected and everything you were paid to do—done.

But Cee's voice rings in your head; Even if you finish early—stay. No exceptions.

So you sit.

You settle into one of the chairs by the window, the soft hum of the city beyond the glass lulling you into something between boredom and thoughtfulness. You reach into your bag and pull out your journal—worn leather, pages soft at the edges.

You click your pen open and start writing.

Day one at the penthouse. It smells like dust and something else I can't quite name. The kind of clean that doesn't feel lived in. I didn't open the black closet near the back. It felt like something in a horror film but I'll pretend it's just full of broken umbrellas.

Got fired from the Do account. Still bitter. She had a face like a lemon and a heart to match. Professor was a much-needed balm in comparison—thank God for her and her endless belief in me.

New job might be decent money if I don't screw it up. Cee says the guy who lives here is a recluse. Said he hasn't left the penthouse in two years. But I don't know. Maybe he's just lonely.

You pause there, tapping the pen against the paper. The upper floor is quiet. Still. You underline the word lonely and draw a small star beside it.

At exactly 4:00, you pack up your supplies, double-check every corner, and sling your bag over your shoulder and slide your journal right back into the side pocket of your bag, safe and sound.

You take the service elevator down, your own reflection warping in the mirrored steel walls, and step out into the cool evening air. The sun is already dipping lower, the clouds streaked in gold and gray.

The bus ride home is slower than usual. You sit in the back corner, forehead pressed to the rattling glass, zoning out to the lull of traffic and tired bodies. The city outside blurs past in tired shades.

As your apartment door creaks open, you start praying no one hears or sees you. But it's already too late.

Minjae's voice rings out sharp and annoyed. "I told you I'm looking, Jiyoon. What do you want me to do, lie on a fucking application?"

Jiyoon fires back just as quickly. "No, I want you to try! I'm covering your half of the rent again this month—what do you think I am, an ATM?!"

You freeze in the doorway, trying to shrink into your coat. If you're quiet enough, maybe you can just slip past—

"Hey," Jiyoon says suddenly, spotting you over Minjae's shoulder. Her tone shifts fast—softer now, almost guilty. "You just get in?"

You nod, shrugging your bag higher. "Yeah." "How's the nut house?"

You drop your bag by the door and stare at her. "The what?"

"The place you're cleaning. You know, that recluse guy who's like—off his rocker? Isn't that what your boss said?"

You toe off your shoes and mutter, "It's just a job."

Minjae grins walking away from Jiyoon's presence like the change in topic is suddenly the end of their argument. "I bet he's got some freaky shit there. Hidden cameras. Severed heads. Weird old dude stuff."

"I don't even know if he's old," you say, voice low. "And you don't know anything about him."

Minjae snorts. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

You turn back to Jiyoon, your constant irritation for her boyfriend crawling up your neck. "It's... weird," you admit. "But clean. Quiet. Better than getting yelled at by lemon-faced socialites, I guess."

Jiyoon gives you a weak smile. "Well, if anyone can survive a haunted tower or whatever that place is, it's you."

You hum, tired beyond belief, and slip down the hall toward your room without waiting for more, maybe more will come in the morning.

And when morning does come, it hits like a slow bruise. No alarm, just the muted scrape of a garbage truck outside and the sound of Jiyoon's laughter echoing down the hall, already too loud for the hour. You blink up at the water-stained ceiling, let the ache in your jaw settle, and for a few seconds, you don't move. The blanket's twisted around your leg like it's trying to keep you here. You wish it would.

But you're broke. So you move

You don't eat breakfast. There's no time, and besides, Jiyoon's boyfriend used the last of your cereal. You found the empty box in the sink this morning, soggy and limp with leftover milk, like a personal fuck-you from the universe.

Outside, the streets are still wet from last night's rain, the air sharp and cold enough to crack your lips. You tug your coat tighter around yourself and walk fast, half-hoping your legs will just carry you somewhere else. But the route to the campus library is too familiar, too automatic. You take the side street behind the deli, cutting through the alley behind the 24-hour laundromat where the machines always sound like they're choking. There's graffiti on the brick wall now—someone's drawn a woman with eyes for hands.

The library is warm in that stale, overused way that makes you sleepy, but you know the quiet corner where the heater rattles just enough to keep you awake. You sit with your laptop and your headphones, the cushion on the chair still warm from the last desperate student who used it.

This is job number two.

You click play on the next transcription project; an audiobook manuscript from some retired executive who thinks the world needs to hear about his rise to glory. The audio crackles. His voice is deep, smug, like he's narrating his own documentary.

"It all began with a vision. I was just a boy, standing in my father's study, realizing the empire I'd one day build..." You try not to roll your eyes. Your fingers find the rhythm. You transcribe as fast as he talks, catching every word, every pretentious pause.

"Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some, like me, are greatness incarnate."

Jesus.

You pause the audio and lean back, pressing your fingers into your temples. He's unbearable. Still—you need the money, so you press play again. But somewhere in the haze of his bravado, your mind drifts, not too far, just up.

Up to the penthouse you cleaned yesterday. The thick silence, untouched surfaces and the staircase you weren't allowed to climb. It all made something you couldn't name press down on the air.

You wonder what he sounds like.

The man who lives there, the one Cee called a shut-in, a recluse. Heeseung. You only know the name because of the envelope on the front table. You weren't supposed to look, but you did. Of course you did.

You imagine his voice now, layered under the pompous narration. Not loud or self-important. Just... quiet. Measured. Maybe hoarse from disuse. You imagine what it would feel like to hear it. To be the reason it breaks the silence. Your fingers falter. The word "greatness" stutters across the screen three times in a row.

You stop typing.

And for a second, you just sit there, headphones still on, the man's voice buzzing in your ears like a mosquito trapped in a jar, and you wonder if loneliness has a sound. And if maybe you've already heard it.

You leave the library when your laptop battery dies, the sky already smudged with dusk. Your ears still ring faintly from the droning of Mr. Greatness Incarnate. You swing your bag over your shoulder, scarf loose around your neck, hands shoved deep into your coat pockets. The wind cuts sharper than it did this morning. You're too tired to fight it.

By the time you reach your apartment building, you dread the climb to the third floor, not knowing what's behind your door—and your key sticks like always when you jam it into the lock but when the door finally swings open, you freeze.

The apartment is clean. Spotless even.

No laundry tossed across the couch, no cereal bowls fossilized with milk crust sitting on the coffee table. The garbage isn't overflowing. There's even a faint citrus scent in the air, like someone opened a window and let the idea of cleanliness drift in.

And Jiyoon's on the couch. Calm. Legs tucked under her, hair braided down one side, munching on a bag of shrimp chips like this is just... normal. Like this is how things have always been.

You drop your keys into the chipped bowl by the door. "What happened?" She glances at you, shrugs. "I cleaned." You blink. "No, I mean... what happened happened. Did the landlord threaten an inspection or—"

"I broke up with Minjae," she says, and pops another chip into her mouth like she didn't just detonate an-eighteen-month-long catastrophe with five words. "Told him to pack his shit and go."

You stare. "You what?"

Her eyes don't even flicker from the TV. "He was a leech. I hate leeches."

You're still frozen in the hallway, bag slipping down your arm, unsure what dimension you walked into. The silence feels wrong. Too still. Too empty. But... not bad.

Just different.

Eventually, your feet remember what to do, and you drift to your room, slowly, almost cautiously, like something might jump out at you. You twist your doorknob, push it open—and stop again cause there's a gift bag sitting on your bed.

Brown paper, neatly folded at the top, a little gold sticker sealing the tissue paper closed. You don't touch it right away, you just stare at it like it might explode.

Then you sit, gently, fingers trembling a little now. but peel the sticker away anyway, opening the bag.

Two bottles. Your favorite body wash. The same kind Minjae used up without asking. Double this time, still sealed and tucked between them, a note—scrawled in Jiyoon's quick, sharp handwriting on a sticky note she probably pulled from her planner.

"I'm sorry."

It doesn't say anything else. Doesn't have to.

You let out this huff of a sound, half a laugh, half a sob—and press the heels of your hands into your eyes. You weren't ready for this, especially not after today, not after everything you've been through this week. You sniff, smile through the sting behind your eyes, and whisper, "What the hell is going on?"

For the first time in a long time, no one answers and it doesn't feel like a threat. Just... peace. Quiet, a rare kind.

And the bathroom is yours again.

*•*•*

The next morning wakes you gently.

Not with screaming or slamming doors or the unmistakable sound of Minjae trying to justify why rent is a social construct—but with the smell of bacon.

You lie there for a moment, still curled in your sheets, nose twitching like it can't quite believe it. Bacon. And eggs. The sizzle, the clink of a pan. There's sunlight bleeding between the slats of your blinds, the kind of sleepy, golden light that feels warm just by looking at it.

You slip out of bed in your socks, shuffle into the kitchen, and there's Jiyoon—hair still messy from sleep, an oversized shirt hanging off one of her shoulders, poking a spatula at a pan like she does this every day, like this isn't a wildly new domestic era you've entered.

"Are you dying?" you ask, voice still rasped with sleep.

She smirks. "Sit your broke ass down. We're having breakfast." You do, blinking dumbly as she plates eggs and bacon and toast like some sitcom mom. The kind of meal that costs too much time and too many groceries for the world you live in. But it's real. It's on your plate. It's hot.

And it tastes like actual heaven.

"Okay," Jiyoon says through a bite, "you're not allowed to cry over eggs." "I'm not," you lie, chewing around the lump in your throat. "Shut up."

It's quiet for a beat, just the sounds of cutlery and your lives slowly stitching back together. Then she speaks, softer this time.

"I missed this."

You glance up.

"I mean—us," she says quickly. "It got weird. And Minjae was—he j—just made everything about him. And I let it happen." You nod, eyes falling to your plate. "I missed you too."

And that's all it takes. The two of you just... fall back into it. Like nothing ever cracked. Like the gap never grew wide enough to drown you.

You're halfway through your second cup of coffee when your phone buzzes. A bank notification lights up the screen.

Deposit: $400.00 — From: H.C.A. CLEANING INC.

Your breath catches and your stomach flips but you don't even have enough time to process it before a follow-up text comes in from your manager.

Cee: Well done. Keep it up.

You stare at your phone, stunned. Your fork hangs mid-air. "What?" Jiyoon leans over, eyes narrowing, trying to look at your screen. "What is it? What's that look?"

You show her the screen.

She lets out a whistle, snatching the phone out of your hand. "Four hundred dollars?! For one day?"

You nod slowly. "It's... the penthouse."

Jiyoon's eyes go wide. "Girl. Are you sure this isn't a sex dungeon?"

"It's not—!"

"I'm just saying!" she laughs, waving the phone in your face. "Do they need two cleaners? Cause I got two hands and a back that only mildly hurts."

You snort.

"No, seriously," she grins, handing your phone back. "Keep this up, and you're gonna sugar mama us out of this hellhole."

"Us?"

"Obviously. I've already picked out my new bedroom. It has a balcony."

You shake your head, grinning despite yourself. The weight on your chest feels a little lighter today. There's food in your stomach, laughter in your lungs, and a number in your bank account that feels like it belongs to someone else. Someone who isn't drowning, maybe someone who could start swimming soon.

You rinse your plate in the sink, tie your boots, and throw on your coat with renewed resilience. There's something weird in your chest—not bad weird. Just... fluttery. A quiet excitement you can't explain, maybe it's the money. $1200 a week is enough to make a broke girl like you feel fluttery.

The penthouse is a mystery. The man inside, even more so and something about it tugs at you. You leave the apartment with a full stomach and something flickering under your ribs that almost feels like hope.

The security guard barely glances up when you pass through the front lobby, your shoes echoing across the cold marble. You know the route now—the elevator on the far end, the one with the gilded trim and the keycard scanner that flickers green the second you swipe the little laminated badge clipped to your bag.

Penthouse access. Floor 45.

You ride up alone, the hum of the elevator filling your ears, your stomach still fluttering for some godforsaken reason. It's ridiculous, really. It's just cleaning. A job. A space.

Still—there's something about this building, this job, this man—something you don't have a name for yet. Something a little strange.

When the elevator dings open at the top floor, you step out and blink at the sheer silence. It always feels a little too still up here, like the air's holding its breath. You cross the short hallway toward the penthouse door, adjusting your bag over your shoulder, then pause.

A man is walking out.

Tall. Black coat. Black hair. He doesn't look up as he pulls the door behind him and lets it click shut. There's a thick folder of papers in his hand—some printed, some handwritten—and he's flipping through them like he's on a mission. Brows furrowed as though he's deep in thought. You shift slightly to the side, give a small, polite "Good morning," but he doesn't respond, he doesn't even glance at you.

Okay.

You watch him disappear down the hallway, a little unsettled, but before your brain can start drawing conclusions, you catch something else. From behind the door.

Movement. Light.

A quiet creak, then a faint thump from the floor above. Right—he's upstairs. He hasn't come down, just like your manager said he wouldn't.

So, not Heeseung.

You shake it off, and push open the door to the penthouse. It's the same as last time. Too clean to feel lived in, a place more structure than soul. The marble kitchen glints under the soft daylight that pours in through those floor-to-ceiling windows, and the air smells faintly sterile. Like eucalyptus and untouched laundry.

You drop your bag by the door, change into your inside shoes, and head for the linen closet to start where you left off last time.

There's a note.

You spot it taped neatly to the inside of the closet door, white paper against the cool gray shelves. Typed in black ink, neatly, not handwritten.

You folded the towels wrong.

Beneath it, stapled neatly, is a printed diagram. A diagram with steps and numbered illustrations. You blink. It's absurd. It's pedantic. It's—

You laugh, quietly, to yourself. "What a nutjob," you mutter under your breath, echoing Jiyoon's words.

And then you catch yourself.

He's paying you. Four hundred dollars. For one day. To clean and to follow instructions. Folding towels properly is not asking too much—not for this kind of money, not for the kind of life you're trying to claw your way toward.

You shake your head, shoulders straightening, and refold every towel in the linen closet with the care of a military cadet. Corners aligned, fold sharp, just the way the diagram instructs.

Once you've checked them twice, you move on. The floors—again. There's always a thin veil of dust on the hardwood, like no one has lived here in years. The glass in the shower, the streaks on the chrome fixtures. You find a guest room with a window cracked just slightly, letting in the city noise below, and you seal it shut.

It's all the same movements as last time. Your body goes through the checklist while your mind wanders, as it always does. Little fragments of poetry rise up behind your eyes. A line about silence that weighs too much, about towels that speak louder than people. You file them away for later.

And like last time, you finish early.

3:26.

You double-check the space. Everything in order. Then you drift toward the single chair by the massive window that overlooks the skyline. The same chair you sat in last time. You pull out your journal, and you start writing.

He left a note about the towels. Said I did it wrong. I guess... he's not what I imagined. There's something almost neurotic about him, but not messy. Not in a Minjae way. It's all too deliberate. He's exacting. Controlled. Still not a trace of him anywhere—not a pair of shoes, not a book out of place. It's like he's trying to erase his presence even though it's so obviously here, breathing under everything.

Your pen hovers, you almost scratch it all out, but you don't.

A soft thud interrupts you. Distant. Upstairs. You freeze, eyes lifting from the page.

Another sound. A voice—muffled. A man's voice, low and smooth, bleeding through the ceiling like the floorboards are too thin to keep him contained.

You can't make out the words, but you hear the timbre. The rhythm.

You write until your hand cramps and the ink starts to skip. At 3:52, you check the time and shut the journal slowly, your gaze drifting out the window for a long moment.

But then... it happens again.

Your eyes flick to the closet door.

Same as last time. Same quiet weight pressing against your chest when you look at it. You don't know what it is about it—just a regular black door, no lock, no sign, nothing particularly ominous—but it nags at you. And before you know it, your legs are moving.

Soft steps across the hardwood. You don't even really make the decision—you just find yourself there, hand on the doorknob, heart ticking unevenly.

It's probably something stupid. Creepy. Like a skeleton, or jars of teeth. A body. It's always the ones who care too much about towel folding who hide people in their walls.

You exhale, slow, and turn the knob.

The door creaks open.

It's dim, a strip of light spilling in over your feet—and then your eyes adjust.

Not bodies. Not bones.

Photos.

Hundreds of them. Pinned to corkboard walls, stacked in boxes, frames leaning against shelves. Posters rolled into rubber-banded scrolls. A trophy case sits in the corner, glass clean, the metal plaques catching the light like little knives.

You blink, stepping in cautiously.

There are certificates. Paper yellowed with age. Borletti-Buitoni Trust Award. First Place —2022. Van Cliburn International Piano Competition 2021. Tchaikovsky Conservatory Excellence Award 2023. All in English, some in Korean, some in French.

You walk along the wall, fingertips brushing the edge of a matte photo. A group picture. A symphony ensemble, maybe. Then another, a candid shot of a teenage boy at a grand piano, his hands hovering above the keys, his brow furrowed like the music is something physical he's trying to catch.

And then another. A close-up this time. His face.

Heeseung.

Your breath catches.

He's younger in these—baby-faced almost—but you want to believe it's him. There's something about his posture, his expression, that quiet intensity even the camera couldn't wash out.

You crouch beside a crate of rolled-up posters and untangle one gently. The paper's dusty, brittle near the corners. When you unroll it, it flutters open across your lap.

A concert poster. The image glossy and faded with time: a sleek black grand piano under a single spotlight. A man sits at it, back straight, head bowed. His name sprawls across the top in elegant serif font:

LEE HEESEUNG

It's signed at the bottom, right across the curve of the piano. —With love, always, LH.

You stare at it for a long moment.

And then... the pieces begin to arrange themselves.

The penthouse. The silence. The exactness. The distance. And now—this.

He must've been a concert pianist.

You blink again, stunned that you'd never heard of him. Someone who'd clearly been celebrated, decorated, known. At some point, at least.

You tuck the poster back carefully and ease the door shut behind you. But the quiet feels different now. Not empty.

The whole bus ride home, your brain won't stop flipping through those images—trophies, posters, photos, that signature on the rolled-up poster. With love, always, LH. You hold it all in your head like puzzle pieces that almost fit, just not quite yet. But there's no mistaking it—the man in the penthouse was someone once.

The apartment smells like garlic and soy sauce when you walk in. You blink at the strange scent, automatically bracing for another fight—but it's quiet. Peaceful, even. The living room light is on, and Jiyoon's perched on the couch still in her stiff black skirt and her knock-off kitten heels, hair pinned up and eyeliner smudged.

"Hey," she says, not looking up from her phone. "Dinner's in the microwave. I made bulgogi."

You pause in the doorway, still blinking, confused. "You cooked?"

She shrugs. "Had a day. Needed to stir something before I murdered someone."

You heat up your plate and sink into the couch beside her, pulling your knees up and balancing the food on top. The meat is tender, warm and sweet, and the rice is just sticky enough.

"So?" she mumbles, mouth full of chips. "How's the nutjob in the tower?"

You laugh, almost choking on rice. "He's not a nutjob."

"Old man, then."

You glance at her. "He's not old."

She raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? And how do you know that?"

You chew slowly, smirking to yourself. "I did his laundry today."

"Oh?" She sits up straighter, grinning. "And what? The briefs don't lie?"

You laugh, snorting, and try to wave her off, cheeks hot. "No, just—his clothes. They weren't... old man clothes."

She gives you the most exaggerated eyebrow wiggle you've ever seen. "Ohhhh. So they were hot man clothes."

"Shut up."

"You want to see what he looks like," she accuses, pointing a chip at you.

You mumble something under your breath, something you don't even realize you've said aloud until she gasps.

"What was that?" she demands. "Tell me. Tell me right now."

You set your plate aside and sink into the couch cushions, eyes on the ceiling. "Okay. Fine. I opened some weird closet in his hallway today"

Her jaw drops.

"And?"

You tell her everything. The photos. The awards. The posters and the certificates. The name. The signature. The signed poster. You recite the words, LEE HEESEUNG.

She blinks. "Wait. Wait wait wait. You mean the dude you clean for is famous?"

"Was," you say softly. "I think he was famous. He was a concert pianist."

There's a beat of silence then she's snatching up her laptop. "What are we doing just sitting here? Let's Google him."

You shift beside her as she types in his name watching it autofill halfway through. She scrolls.

First result: a blurry photo of a younger Heeseung at a concert, fingers splayed on the keys.

Second result: Top 10 Rising Stars of the Classical World.

Third: The Golden Boy of the Grand Piano—Why Lee Heeseung Was Next.

There are photos—clean, posed ones, then live shots of him in motion, bent over the keys, expression contorted like the music is tearing out of him.

"Damn," Jiyoon whispers. "He was hot."

You smack her arm. "Focus."

She scrolls again—and then pauses.

You feel her go still beside you.

Her thumb hovers over the next headline.

Concert Pianist Lee Heeseung Suffers On-Stage Mental Breakdown During Performance.

Your stomach drops. It's dated 2 years ago.

"Holy shit," she whispers.

There's a thumbnail image of the article and beneath it, a video. Your fingers are trembling but you press play anyway.

The video opens on a massive concert hall. Heeseung sits alone at a grand piano under a soft blue spotlight. There's silence—and then music. Soaring, masterful, all-consuming. His fingers move like they're made of air.

He plays so beautifully that you find yourself immersed but then, something shifts.

His hands slow. His face tenses. He mutters something under his breath, eyes wide like he's seeing something the rest of the room can't. Then—

A violent slam of the keys.

The audience flinches.

He starts playing again, erratically, pounding the piano with discordant noise. His head jerks to the side. He mutters again, louder this time. Words you can't make out. Security rushes the stage. The video ends in chaos, with the camera shaking, audience gasping.

You stare at the screen long after it's gone black.

"That's why," you whisper.

Jiyoon nods slowly. "That's why he lives like that now."

Neither of you speak for a long time. There's just the hum of the microwave clock ticking forward, the faint buzz of the fridge, the afterimage of that video burned into your mind.

Heeseung isn't just a recluse. He's a man who was once made of music—and then unraveled by it.

The video plays again in your head when the screen's long since gone black.

Heeseung's face in that last shot—wild and glassy-eyed, haunted—lingers like smoke. Even with the dinner gone and the dishes rinsed, even with the taste of bulgogi faded from your tongue, it clings to your ribs.

Jiyoon breaks the silence first. She sets her phone down with a sigh and rubs her forehead like she's trying to will away her own stress.

"Anyway," she mutters, "my manager's still a raging bitch."

The shift in topic feels abrupt, like someone slammed the door on something unfinished. You blink and turn your head, trying to meet her halfway.

"She moved my report to a different folder this morning and then cc'd her manager asking where mine was," Jiyoon grumbles, tossing a chip in her mouth. "Like she didn't just put it there herself. I swear she's trying to build a case to get me fired."

You hum a vague sound of sympathy, but your eyes are unfocused. Your thoughts are half in that concert hall, half in that penthouse closet, all tangled up with things that don't make sense yet.

Jiyoon squints at you, crunching slowly. "Hey. You okay?"

"Yeah," you say, blinking hard. "Sorry. I just..."

"You look tired," she says gently. "Like tired-tired. Go to bed."

You nod. "I will. Just—gonna change first."

She lets you go, and you disappear into your room, clicking the door shut behind you.

The quiet hits fast.

You peel off your jacket, your jeans. Change into your sleep shirt. The light on your desk is soft and yellow, and you go to your tote bag by instinct, unzipping it without thinking.

You freeze.

Your fingers reach the bottom of the bag.

You check again.

Then again.

Your journal's not there.

You turn the bag upside down—shake it, even though you know how pointless it is—and the only thing that falls out is a used lip balm, your wallet and your bus pass.

You drop to your knees beside the desk, rifling through the bag's compartments. Check under your bed. In your drawers. You dig through the laundry pile.

Your breath quickens. Your pulse starts to speed.

A whole year and a half. That's how long you've been writing in that journal. Every scattered thought, every tiny win, every loss, every panic attack, every private daydream. It's not just a notebook—it's you. You wrote yourself into those pages, over and over and you can think is; it's gone.

You dart back into the living room, voice already strained. "Jiyoon—have you seen my journal? The brown one?"

She looks up from her phone, blinking. "Journal? No. Did you leave it at the library?"

You shake your head too fast. "No—I had it with me. I know I had it with me. I wrote in it today, I always put it in the tote after, I—I—"

She sits up straighter. "Okay, hey. Don't panic. Maybe it slipped out on the bus?"

You clutch your arms, stomach turning. The thought of it sitting there in some grimy bus seat, left behind, already flipped through by strangers, your handwriting exposed—your insides exposed—makes you sick.

Your throat tightens.

"Hey," Jiyoon says, getting up now, her voice softer. "It's okay. We'll retrace your steps tomorrow, alright?"

But you're already crying. Not big sobs—just quiet, stunned tears, the kind that sting as they fall, the kind you can't stop once they start.

You laugh bitterly through it, pressing your palm to your mouth. "It's stupid," you mumble. "It's just a journal."

"It's not stupid," Jiyoon says, crossing the room and pulling you into a hug.

You close your eyes. Her office clothes smell like starch and soy sauce and the bad perfume her coworker probably wears, but her arms are warm and solid around you.

Still, your heart aches like something's gone missing.

And somewhere—somewhere else—those pages are no longer just yours.

*•*•*

You don't even realize how much weight you've been dragging until it starts to leave marks—under your eyes, behind your ribs, along your spine.

It's been a whole day without it. Twenty-four hours without your journal and you're already unraveling. Not crying anymore—just dulled out. The kind of sadness that makes everything taste like paper, feel like static.

Jiyoon tried her best. She really did. She even called in sick that morning just to help look. Said her manager could go chew on gravel, she didn't care. She pulled you out of bed, made you drink an iced coffee, and walked with you back to every single place you'd been.

You retraced your steps with her hand on your shoulder the entire time—gentle, like you'd break.

Back to the library. Back to the plaza where you sat for five minutes waiting on the bus. You even got on the same damn route, asked the driver if he'd seen a brown journal with an elastic band and too many taped-in receipts.

Nothing.

Just a kind smile from a man who said he was sorry and wished you luck.

So when Friday comes around—when you have to drag yourself out of bed again for the penthouse job—you feel heavy. Disconnected. You brush your teeth with your eyes half-closed. Tie your laces without bothering to double knot them. You're not crying, not even angry, just—

Faded.

You leave the house a little past nine. Jiyoon waves from the couch but doesn't try to stop you. She knows money talks, even when you're too tired to listen.

You arrive at ten sharp like always. Same hallway, same elevator ding, same code punched into the keypad.

The door opens.

And the stillness inside hits you harder than usual. Not just quiet—vacant. Like the walls themselves are holding their breath.

You don't bother kicking off your shoes this time.

You walk in and turn toward the kitchen to get the supplies—straight to the cabinets under the sink—and that's when you freeze.

There.

On the counter.

Your journal.

You stand still for so long the air starts to pulse in your ears cause it's open. Pages parted like a secret mid-sentence. And the breath that's been caged in your lungs for a whole day catches halfway up your throat.

You move closer. Like if you blink too hard it'll vanish.

It's turned to that entry. The one you wrote after cleaning here the first time—where you wrote about the towels and the light and the strange emptiness of a life lived up high and alone. The part where you called him lonely.

Your eyes track the handwriting in the margin. Small. Neat. Slightly angled.

An arrow is drawn from the word lonely and next to it, in ink that definitely isn't yours:

you have no idea.

Your throat goes dry.

You run your fingertips over the words—his words—like touching them will make them make sense. But they don't. Not really. They just buzz in your chest like something secret and sad and suddenly real.

He read it. He read it.

And not just read it—responded.

You sink into the nearest stool, heart hammering, holding the journal like it might slip away again.

This man—this ghost of a man, the one who hides behind silence and rules and perfectly folded towels—he read you. And then he left this like it wasn't a confession. Like it wasn't a crack in the wall you didn't think you'd ever see.

"You have no idea."

You don't.

But for the first time, you think you want to so you tear a sheet from the back of your journal. The lines are faint blue, the edge ragged where it rips. You stare at it longer than necessary—like the paper's going to change its mind about letting you say what you need to.

Your hand shakes as you write it, "I didn't mean to be invasive, just honest."

You don't sign it.

You fold it in half once, then again. Then you slide it under the coaster on the marble coffee table—tucked, but not hidden. If he wants to find it, he will.

And then you're out the door. Before 4, for the the first time not caring about the rule.

*•*•*

When you get home, Jiyoon's door is locked. You knock once, then try the handle. Still locked. "Jiyoon," you call. "Let me in." Nothing, so you knock harder. When she finally opens it, her hair is a mess and her cheeks are a deep, guilty pink. She looks like she just sprinted a mile and saw God somewhere in the middle of it.

You know what she was doing but you don't care, you just brush right past her and drop your journal on her bed like it's a live grenade.

"He read my fucking journal," you hiss, turning on your heel. "He wrote in it." "What!?" Jiyoon gasps, not even trying to play it cool. "That's where you left it?!"

"I didn't mean to!" "Wait—he wrote in it? Like, wrote wrote? Pen to page?" You nod, pacing like your bones are electric. "He responded to a line I wrote about him being lonely. Just—drew an arrow to it and wrote 'you have no idea.' Like what the fuck is that even supposed to mean!?" "That's—" She stops. Blinks. Then starts again, because of course she has to. "That's kind of hot," she says, lips twitching.

"Jiyoon!" "Okay, okay! It's fucked up, but it's also..." She trails off, thoughtful. "It's kind of giving tortured artist. Haunted tower. Piano-playing ghost with emotional constipation." You flop onto her bed, face buried in your hands. "I feel violated. But also like...I violated him first? Is that weird? I feel like we both got naked and didn't mean to."

"That is the weirdest metaphor you've ever said," Jiyoon mutters, but there's affection under it and you're about to respond but then your phone rings. Shrill and loud against the padded silence of Jiyoon's room. You check the screen and it's Cee. You answer it with a sigh. "Hello?" "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He barks immediately. "Did you leave before 4?" Your stomach drops. "Yes, I did, but—"

"You had clear fucking instructions! You don't leave before 4. Ever."

"I had to. I was done, I—" "I don't give a shit," he snaps. "From now on? You clean for him every day. That's what he wants." You blink. "Every day?"

"Every. Fucking. Day. Starting tomorrow." The line goes dead. You lower the phone slowly and Jiyoon's looking at you like you just told her you're moving to Mars. "You're cleaning for him every day?" You nod, feeling numb. She whistles. "Guess you better start folding towels in your dreams."

You flop back on her bed again, journal beside you, limbs heavy and brain scrambled, because somehow this man has read your secrets, insulted your towel folding, haunted your thoughts and gotten you trapped in a daily cleaning contract. You stare at the ceiling, heart a mess of beats. You truly have no idea what the hell you've gotten yourself into, just like Heeseung wrote.

*•*•*

You hate today. Not in the throwaway I-hate-Mondays kind of way, but in that deep, simmering, "I'd rather get hit by a bus than scrub your already-clean floors for six hours" kind of way. It's Saturday. Saturday. And you're supposed to be doing anything else. Sleeping in. Going to the corner store with Jiyoon in your pajamas. Sitting in silence and mourning the part of yourself that used to be a free woman.

Instead, you're here. The penthouse again. Cold and looming and weirdly beautiful in a way you hate to admit. It's only 9:30. You're early and you could wait. You should wait. But something reckless and slightly unhinged is buzzing in your blood—maybe it's the journal thing, or the fact that he read every single thing you've ever written about yourself. You don't know.

You just know that this time, you're not waiting. You take the elevator up. No code. No warning. Just your footsteps, soft and slow, echoing across the marble as you step into the penthouse and then—you stop. Dead.

Because there's someone already down here, in fact two someones. One of them, you recognize as the man you saw leaving that day—now unmistakably a doctor of some sort, clipboard in hand, every movement clinical and restrained. He's sitting next to another man. A man who's— Oh fuck.

Shirtless.

Barefoot. Wearing only a pair of jeans that hang low on his hips like they're barely there at all. Lee Heeseung, the one on all the pictures and posters in the haunting closet, the one from the articles you saw.He's not a ghost or a shadow upstairs. He's definitely real and he's here, laughing at something he just said, a low warm sound that breaks the silence—and then cuts off the second he sees you.They both stare and you can't help but stare back cause your brain short-circuits because not only is he real—he's gorgeous. Devastatingly beautiful in a way that feels cruel. Sharp jaw, dark hair a mess, skin golden and soft in the morning light and then the audacity of the amused curl of his mouth as he takes you in.

The doctor doesn't laugh at Heeseung's joke, he just closes his clipboard with a hard snap, locks the files into a black case with practiced hands, mutters something clipped to Heeseung, and walks past you like you're air. You don't move, not because you don't want to but because you can't. And now Heeseung just stands there, right in front of you, 6 feet away. Shirtless.

As if this is all some sort of routine, where he expected you to show up early to catch him sitting there. Then he speaks. Voice low, smooth, maddeningly calm. "You're early."

You blink, stunned mute. He cocks his head slightly. Barely.

"Is this how you always barge into my home?" You open your mouth but you have to close it again because no words will come out.Because all you can think is holy shit. Not only is he not old, like Jiyoon said, not only is he not some weird piano hermit ghost—he is breathtaking. And apparently, deeply unbothered by the fact that you've just witnessed whatever strange intimate evaluation that was.

"I—sorry," you finally manage, voice rough to the point of shame. "I didn't think—there was someone—upstairs, usually—" Heeseung raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "You didn't think as I didn't think you'd be here before ten, hmm?" You bristle, flustered and mortified and somewhere under all that, burning. "I'm just here to clean." He smiles at that and it's not kind, it's not mocking either. Just... knowing, he's got that look—the kind that says he's already pages ahead in your journal entry for tonight, already memorized the lines, already knows exactly how this ends.

"Good," he says. "Then clean." And he walks past you—slow, easy, barefoot steps—disappearing back up the stairs without another word. Leaving you there, alone with your rage, your humiliation, and your heart pounding so loud in your chest it echoes in the silence. What do you do now? You clean. Of course you do. That's what you're here for, and you already showed up thirty minutes earlier than you were supposed to, so now you're finishing faster than usual—dusting the shelves with extra care just to stall, organizing the rows of books he never touches, wiping down the marble countertops even though they don't look like they've been used in days.

And all the while your brain won't stop looping back to your journal on his kitchen counter, to the handwriting in the margins that isn't yours, to the arrow pointing right to the word lonely and the quiet weight of you have no idea written beneath it.

It's unfair, you think, the way he's just living in his architectural digest penthouse, barefoot and cryptic, while you're pacing through his living room, trying not to wonder how much of your life he's read. You almost forget the weight of it—almost—until he's suddenly back.

You hear him before you see him, the soft sound of his footsteps against the dark wood floor, and when you turn, there he is.

Coming down the stairs like a fucking problem you can't afford to have, still barefoot, still in those jeans that hang too low on his hips, but now in a loose linen shirt that he didn't even bother to button all the way.

It's distracting, infuriatingly so. You don't even want to think about how hot he is—because it's wrong, and messy, and also, you're still mad.

He sees you before you can pretend you weren't watching him descend like some kind of fallen angel with unresolved trauma, and for a moment, he says nothing. Just stands there at the bottom of the stairs, head tilted slightly, his eyes unreadably deep, like he's trying to pin you to the spot with silence alone.

Then he turns, walks toward the closet in the hallway—the one with the photographs and trophies and that signed, rolled-up poster of his own damn face—and you stare after him without meaning to, without even trying to be subtle. There's something about the way he moves, like someone who hasn't had to explain himself in years, like someone who only speaks when the silence becomes too loud to tolerate.

You don't expect him to come back out and walk straight toward you and you definitely don't expect him to stop right in front of you to speak.

"Do you always sit in my chair when you psychoanalyze me in your journal?" His voice is even, smooth, and just sharp enough to make your jaw clench. There's something teasing in it, mocking maybe, or maybe just observant, but either way—it makes your chest tighten.

You straighten where you sit, looking up at him without flinching. "You had no right to read my journal."

He doesn't flinch either.

"You wouldn't read a strange book you found in your house?"

And that's what throws you—how casual he says it, how unbothered he is by the violation, like it was never that serious to begin with.

In your head, you're screaming. Not because you're scared, but because it's almost worse that he read it without hesitation. Because that journal was yours, it was everything. A year and a half of pain and boredom and loneliness and softness and tiny bursts of joy that you didn't know where else to put. Little poems about love you've never felt. Sentences that barely made sense to you at the time. Half-finished stories and full-bodied grief. And now he knows. Maybe not all of it—but enough.

You bite your tongue before your mouth runs wild, but your thoughts are already racing.

He read it. He read all of it, probably. God, did he see the poem you wrote about the boy who only existed in your dreams? Did he read the list of things you want to do before you die? Did he see the part about wanting someone to ask you how your day was, without needing a reason?

You want to be mad. You are mad. But under that is the hot sting of embarrassment, the helplessness of being seen without warning, without consent.

He's still watching you, expression still unreadable.

You blink hard. "It wasn't for you."

"I figured."

You exhale sharply through your nose. "Then why did you—"

He cuts you off without cutting you off. His voice is softer this time. "I found your note."

That makes your stomach turn.

You remember the note. I didn't mean to be invasive, just honest.

You didn't even think when you left it. You just wrote it and ran. And now he's standing here, bare feet planted firmly on the floor, chest half-exposed, staring at you like your truth didn't scare him off at all.

"I don't think you're invasive," he says. "You were just... honest, like you said."

That word again.

And suddenly you're not sure what this is anymore—what he is. Because he's not yelling. He's not smug. You don't even think he's trying to humiliate you, he's just standing there, calm, casual—as if this is routine, as if your journal wasn't a goddamn blueprint of everything you never said out loud. As if he didn't drag his pen under the word lonely and scrawl you have no idea in the margins, careless, cruel, and so absurdly calm about it.

You really don't know what to say but you guess your silence must say enough, because his eyes soften just enough to sting.

"People don't usually stay when I'm honest," He says it like it's already written in stone, something that happened, not something he's choosing.

You just sit there, unsure if you're still furious or if your heart just broke a little for a man you don't understand at all.

You really want to ask him why he wrote in your journal, why he felt comfortable enough to reply to it like you were in some kind of conversation. You should get up and walk out, slam the door for good measure, remind him you're the help and he's a man who's too comfortable living above the rest of the world, shirtless and half-smiling at things that should have been private. But instead, you're still sitting there.

And instead of leaving, you ask, "What's with the whole coming at ten and leaving at four thing?"

He blinks.

It's not the question he expected, maybe not the one you expected either, but it's already out in the air now and hanging between you like mist.

He exhales through his nose, shifting his weight slightly as he leans a hip against the back of the chair across from you. You watch the movement—too closely—and hate how your eyes keep catching on the little things: the curve of his collarbone, the faint line of a vein down his forearm, the way he smells faintly like vanilla and clean linen. You force your gaze back up to his face.

He doesn't answer right away.

Then, after a moment, he says, "I just thought six hours was enough time for you to do what you needed."

It's almost clipped, controlled.

"And..." He pauses, eyes flicking to the side, as if choosing his next words carefully. "It's better for you if you follow it."

You blink. "What do you mean better for me?"

He shrugs one shoulder, nonchalant but not exactly casual. "You walked in on something you weren't supposed to see this morning."

Your mind flashes back to that moment—the doctor, the manilla folders, the way Heeseung was sitting on the chair laughing to himself with no shirt on and then suddenly not laughing at all.

Your throat feels a little dry.

"You mean the doctor?" you ask carefully.

He nods once. "Yeah." Then, quieter, "There are... things I deal with. Things I don't need anyone witnessing."

It's not quite a warning. Not quite a confession either. It floats in the space between.

You shift in your seat, uncertain. "So the schedule is more for... your privacy?"

He lets out a sound that's almost a laugh but not quite, low and humorless. "Sure. Let's go with that."

There's something in the way he says it that tells you he doesn't really mean it—not entirely. Like there's more he could say if he wanted to, but he doesn't.

Still, you nod slowly, even though you don't really understand. Even though the idea of spending six hours in a place that holds your most personal words hostage is suffocating.

Even though his presence is starting to feel... electric in the worst and best way.

And then, after a beat, you ask softly, "And what happens if I don't follow it?"

He looks at you.

Really looks at you.

And for a second, something shifts. The air between you turns thicker, heavier. You can feel his eyes like heat on your skin.

"I don't think you'd want to find out," he says, voice low and quiet, but not threatening. Just true.

And you believe him.

Not because you think he'd hurt you. But because there are some parts of him—some stories, some shadows—you haven't earned the right to touch yet.

You don't answer.

You just hold his gaze until it feels like it burns and then drop your eyes to your hands and stand up to walk away, walk towards the door

He straightens then, subtly, pushing off from the chair like the moment's passed. You don't know if you're relieved or disappointed.

"Of course a person as beautiful as you would write so heartbreakingly beautiful." It's low. Almost to himself. Like he didn't mean to say it aloud.

But you hear it.

And it feels like your ribcage cracks clean in half.

You turn—just slightly, just enough to look at him over your shoulder. He's not even watching you. He's looking down at the floor, one hand resting loosely on the back of the chair like he hadn't just broken you open and left you bleeding all over his expensive floors.

"What did you ju—" you almost ask but he's already cutting you off. "You're done for the day, right?"

You barely nod, fully facing him now, bewildered.

"Then you should go."

You turn around and walk slowly, legs a little stiff, journal heavy in your bag, chest heavier still.

And as you move past him, toward the front door, he doesn't say anything else.

He just watches you go.

You walk home like your body isn't yours, it feels like your bones are made of sound, the way you hear everything but can't feel a single step. Your bag is even heavier than it should be for some reason.

The door to your apartment creaks as you open it. Warmth hits you in the face. Jiyoon's music is loud—some upbeat synth-pop song she always plays when she's cooking—and the smell of garlic and oil and something spicy wraps around you like a familiar blanket. But you don't step in right away. You stand in the doorway a little too long, still wearing your shoes, still holding your keys in one hand like you forgot what they're for.

Then she turns. She sees you.

And she freezes.

The music doesn't. But she grabs her phone and hits pause mid-chorus, eyebrows already pulled together in the way they do when she's bracing herself for gossip. "You look... feral."

You blink. "What?"

"Your face," she says, pointing a wooden spoon at you. "It's giving war-torn romantic heroine. What happened?"

You close the door behind you. You walk inside. You don't know where to begin.

So you say the first thing that spills from your mouth.

"I saw him."

She doesn't need clarification. "Him?"

You nod.

"Lee Heeseung?"

You nod again.

She gasps so loud the spoon hits the floor.

You don't laugh. You can't.

"He was shirtless," you add quietly, like it's something illegal.

Jiyoon makes a noise so high-pitched only the dead could hear it.

"No. No. No," she says, rushing over and grabbing both your arms like she's checking for a pulse. "You have to tell me everything. And I mean everything. Did he talk to you? Did he breathe near you? Did he smell good? Does he look weird? Did you black out? Are you still alive? Blink twice if you need CPR."

You let out a long breath, barely a laugh. "He was laughing with some man. A doctor, I think. He was barefoot. Just jeans, low. He didn't even look at me at first. Just kind of... existed."

You don't realize how tightly you're gripping the edge of the counter until your knuckles start to ache.

"Then he did see me later when he came back down, I was sitting. In that chair I said I always journal in. And he just... stared. Then he disappeared into that hallway closet with all the photos and came back out without something, and I watched him the whole time like a creep." Jiyoon looks winded. "This is already the best thing I've ever heard."

"He asked me if I always sit in his chair when I psychoanalyze him in my journal." Her eyes explode. "No."

You nod. "Yes."

"What did you say?"

"I told him he had no right to read it."

"Did he deny it?" You shake your head slowly. "He said—and I quote—'you wouldn't read a strange book you found in your house?'" Jiyoon puts her whole body on the counter, like gravity's too much. "This is sick. This is sick. I can't believe you're living out the plot of the exact kind of emotionally unstable literature you always say you hate." You let your head fall next to hers. "I'm going to have to switch some of my classes."

She lifts her face, blinking. "Wait, what?"

"I can't keep going in the mornings. Not if I'm cleaning for him every day. The only opening left in my schedule is evening sections and some online ones, and I'll probably miss my favorite professors class."

"You love that class."

"I know."

"I don't know if you can tell but you're kind of acting like it's worth it"

*•*•*

You wake up feeling weirdly... eager. Which is insane in your opinion. It's cleaning. You're going to clean for six hours in a house where the walls are silent and the air feels kind of tight, and maybe—maybe—he'll come down again. Maybe he won't. You tell yourself it doesn't matter. You dress in your usual oversized tee and leggings, but you switch your sneakers for the cleaner pair, the ones without scuff marks. You spend longer on your face than necessary. Just moisturizer, a little concealer—nothing obvious. Just in case. You tell yourself it's just habit. You tell yourself a lot of things.

You get there at 9:57. By 10:02, your coat is hung up and the cleaning supplies are laid out in their usual corners. The house is quiet—same as always—but now it's a different kind of quiet. Now you know who it's holding and it makes you all irrationally aware of everything.

You start with the mirrors.

Not because they're dirty. They're not.

But because they reflect the hallway, and every time you glance up, you can see the top of the stairs.

By 11:17, you've vacuumed every rug on the main floor. Nothing.

By 12:04, you've re-organized the kitchen drawers. Again. Not that he'd notice. You don't even know if he uses them.

By 12:58, you're dusting frames that don't need dusting, glancing at the ceiling like footsteps might fall out of it.

By 1:45, you've convinced yourself he's not coming down. That yesterday was a one-off. That he's upstairs doing whatever rich, complicated people do—brooding maybe, like some Austenian shut-in. You try to laugh at yourself for even caring but it sits low in your chest. He's just a man, you only even met him once.

So why does it feel this weird? You're so distracted you almost forget to check the pantry. You always check the pantry. And when you finally do, you find it's already been stocked. Someone else did it.

Maybe him.

Your stomach turns and don't know why. By 3:50, you're packing your things, fingers slow on the zipper of your bag. By 3:56, you're glancing around the room like it might give you a reason to stay longer. By 3:58, you hear it.

Footsteps that make you freeze. And there he is.

Heeseung. Descending the stairs like it's nothing. Like he didn't make you wait all day without knowing you were waiting. He's wearing another linen shirt—this one in charcoal—and it's loose over his frame, the top two buttons undone. His hair is a little messy, like he's been lying down or pulling his fingers through it and, he's barefoot again. He smiles.

"Hey," he says, voice warm in that slow, easy way. "You're still here." You swallow. "Not for long."

He steps down the last stair. "How was your day?" You blink at him. It takes a second for your voice to catch up. "I spent it here. You tell me." His brows lift a little. Not offended—more amused. He shifts his weight and leans against the banister.

"I missed my favorite class."

"You're a student? And you missed a class? Because of this?" You glance down at your hands. They're still a little red from scrubbing tile. "Yeah."

He's quiet for a second. "Have you had dinner?" You start to say no—but your stomach betrays you before your mouth can lie. It growls. Audibly. Your eyes go wide and he laughs at your expression. "Sit," he says, already turning toward the kitchen. "I'll make something."

You blink. "What? No, that's not—" He turns to look at you over his shoulder. "Sit." And there's something in the way he says it that has you obeying, hesitantly still. The counter's cool beneath your palms as you lower yourself into the chair, eyes tracking his every movement. He moves so naturally in the kitchen—opens the fridge with one hand, pulls down a skillet with the other, all casual familiarity and soft clattering sounds. It smells like garlic again. Butter. Something fresh.

"What are you making?" you ask.

He shrugs. "Something edible. Hopefully."

Heeseung's cutting vegetables like he's done it a thousand times. He slices a tomato without looking down, throws it into a pan, then adds something else from a jar. The sizzle is instant.

You lean forward. "Do you cook for all your maids?"

He pauses, halfway to the sink. Then he glances at you, a slow grin spreading across his mouth. "You're barely a maid."

"Excuse me?"

He shrugs again, that same lazy charm. "Have you seen the state of the guest bathroom?"

You laugh—actually laugh, the sound startling even to you but you catch yourself wondering why you're not offended he just insulted your cleaning skills. You watch his smile grow wider and somehow, in the scent of sautéing herbs and low music playing from the speaker he must've turned on when you weren't looking, it feels normal. Almost. Except not at all. Because when he sets the plate down in front of you, you look up to thank him—and he's already watching you. Eyes soft and focused.

And for the first time all day, your chest doesn't feel so tight.

You dig in and it's stupidly delicious, making your eyes go wide again, mouth still full. "Okay.

That's insane."

Heeseung chuckles, taking a bite of his own.

You point your fork at him. "You made this? Just now?"

He nods, watching you intently. It doesn't take long before the plates are empty—yours cleaned down to the sauce, his barely touched—and there's music playing from somewhere in the house, something soft and unfamiliar, all instrumentals and quiet piano.

You're both still sitting at the counter, opposite ends, your elbows propped up, legs curled beneath the stool. He's lounging with his long body twisted toward you, shirt sleeves rolled up, one hand holding a wine glass he hasn't taken a sip from yet.

The conversation has slowed into something looser now—easier. He asked what books you've been reading lately. You asked if he's always this good at cooking. He pretended to be modest and then very much wasn't.

And then you ask, "Why every day?"

He looks at you. "Why did you suddenly want me to come clean every day?" There's a beat of silence. Heeseung's gaze drops to the rim of his glass, the edge of his thumb skimming around it once, twice.

"When I saw your note," he says finally, voice lower now, "I didn't know what to do with it." He lifts his eyes, meets yours.

"I knew you weren't going to come again until the day after next. And it made me... restless. Waiting for a reply. Not being able to ask."

You inhale, slow and careful.

"And then I read your journal."

You stiffen a little, but he doesn't apologize. He doesn't even flinch.

"I didn't read all of it," he adds, leaning forward, closer. "I swear. Just some pages. A few entries. And one poem."

You stare at him.

He sets the glass down. Both elbows on the counter now. His fingers lace together.

"I read this line—" he begins, eyes on yours, "Your silence filled the house louder than your voice ever did."

You're stunned like your brain can't comprehend he's reciting your poem word for word.

He doesn't even blink. "I memorized the gaps in your sentences like scripture. I waited for the ending, but all you left was air."

Your mouth opens—just barely—but you can't speak.

"There's still a teacup on the windowsill. There's still a sweater on the hook. There's still a ghost in the shape of you that lives in the room where you never said goodbye."

You whisper the final two lines without thinking.

"And I still set the table for two, like a fool. Like you might remember that you left me starving."

His lips part—just slightly. Your voice had gone soft at the end, cracking a little, like it didn't want to be said out loud. And maybe it didn't. Maybe it never was.

You didn't even think it was that good. You wrote it half-asleep. You'd forgotten you even. "I needed to know," he says, not looking away, "who could write something like that."

You're quiet for a long time. "You shouldn't have read it."

"I know."

"I didn't write it for anyone to—"

"I know," he says again, voice quiet now. "But I couldn't help it. I wanted to meet the person behind it. I wanted to see if you'd look at me the way your words did."

The room is suddenly very still.

You don't know what to say. You don't know if there's even language for the way your body is reacting. There's heat in your throat, under your skin, behind your ribs. You should leave. You really should but instead you ask, "Do I?"

His brow creases. "Do you what?"

"Do I look at you that way?"

He doesn't answer your question, not with words anyway. Just studies you with that same unreadable stare, something flickering behind his eyes that makes it hard to breathe.

And then, as if someone's pressed fast-forward on the moment, he shifts his weight back and clears his throat softly. "Do you play any instruments?" he asks, voice casual, like he didn't just memorize one of the most vulnerable things you've ever written.

You blink. "What?"

He shrugs, gaze dropping to the counter. "You write. I assumed you like music."

"I do," you say carefully. "I like listening more than anything. I used to sing."

He hums, smiling faintly. "Used to?"

You sigh, deflecting. "It's different when people are watching. When you're older. The recorder was more forgiving."

That gets a real laugh out of him. He tilts his head, grinning. "The recorder?"

"Yes, and I was a prodigy. First chair in third grade." You press a hand to your chest dramatically. "The youngest to ever play Hot Cross Buns with such emotional depth."

He snorts and leans closer like he's about to say something else, but the next thing you know, he's not across the counter anymore—he's beside you.

You don't know exactly when he moved, maybe it was when he stood up from the stool to put the plates in the sink, still laughing about the recorder joke.

His elbow brushes yours. His shoulder is an inch from yours. You feel his presence like heat—radiating and dangerous in the best possible way.

And somehow, you're still laughing. You're still talking about childhood instruments and music you like and whether jazz is romantic or just sad in a pretty way. He teases you for not knowing any Miles Davis and you tease him back for quoting poetry like a teenage girl with a Tumblr account.

It's light. Easy. It's so different from the static in the air earlier this week, from the careful distance you both tried to maintain. But now...

Now his hand brushes the counter beside yours. And your breathing changes. And the silence feels like a held breath.

You don't look at each other—you're still talking, kind of. But your voices are softer now. Lower. A little slower.

And then it happens.

Your eyes meet.

His face tilts just slightly toward yours, making your breath catch.

His hand twitches like he wants to reach for you and doesn't. His eyes drop to your lips. He leans in, just a little—just enough that the space between you crackles—and you feel yourself tilting too, breath hitching, mouth parting.

And then he pulls back, all too quick and 

sudden. He clears his throat, looks away, stepping back so abruptly he almost knocks over the stool that was next to you.

You flinch at the sound.

"I—" he starts, then shakes his head, jaw tight. "You should go."

Your stomach drops.

"I didn't mean to—" he breathes out, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You don't have to come tomorrow. Go to your class. I'll tell your manager."

You stay frozen for a second, eyes wide, lips still tingling with something that didn't happen.

And then you nod, slow. Trying not to show how much you're shaking. "Okay."

He doesn't say anything else.

You leave quietly.

But your pulse pounds in your ears all the way home and in the haze of it all you don't take the bus home.

You don't want the rush of it—the closed windows and stale air and elbows brushing yours. You want air, real air, the kind that cools your skin and cuts through the confusion curling heavy in your chest. The heels of your sneakers hit the sidewalk harder than usual. You don't notice until your toes ache.

You can still feel it. The almost of his mouth on yours. His voice whispering poetry that used to belong to no one but you. The way he looked at you right before he pulled back—like he could drown and not care.

You don't realize how far you've walked until your phone rings, sharp in the quiet. You check the screen and it's Cee. You sigh, thumb swiping across the glass.

"Hello?"

"Hey. Where are you right now?"

You blink. "Uh... on my way home. I finished cleaning—he told me not to come tomorrow, so—"

"Yeah, well, change of plans," he cuts in, voice tight, clipped. "He called. Wants you in tomorrow."

You stop walking. "What?"

"That's what I said. Twenty minutes ago, he told me you weren't coming. Five minutes ago, he said make sure you do."

Your grip tightens around your phone. You glance down at the pavement, cracked and worn, your shadow stretched long in the streetlight. "That... doesn't make sense."

"Welcome to my fucking week."

You don't know what to say. You try to remember exactly how he said it. You don't have to come tomorrow. You can take your class.

He said it like a kindness. Like a favor.

Or maybe—maybe it was a trick. A test. Maybe you failed.

The line is quiet for a moment. Then, softer—softer than you're used to from him, like he has to chew it first before he can let it out—your manager says:

"Hey. Is everything okay over there?"

Your breath catches.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." A pause. "He hasn't done anything weird, right? Or tried something? You'd tell me, yeah?"

You blink again, hard. It feels like stepping off a curb you didn't see. Your lips part, your heart kicks—because no, he hasn't. But he almost did and you're starting to think maybe it would've been fine if he did. Maybe it would've been more than fine.

"No," you say quickly. "Nothing like that. He's... he's not like that."

"You sure?"

"Yes." You don't hesitate. "I don't want to quit."

There's silence on the line. You can hear him exhale.

"Alright," he says finally. "You're there again at ten. Don't be late."

You nod, even though he can't see you. "Okay."

He hangs up.

You just stand there. A low breeze rustles through the trees, brushes cool fingers against your neck.

He asked for you. After almost kissing you and pulling away—after telling you not to come tomorrow—he called and asked for you. Your pulse flickers hot beneath your skin as your mind raced with questions.

Was he testing you?

Did he think you wouldn't come back?

You suddenly realize your mouth is dry, your throat tight. The stars feel too bright above you. Your phone buzzes in your palm, a silent reminder that something has shifted, again.

And for better or worse, you'll be seeing him tomorrow.

You don't even bother to take your shoes off when you get in the door.

The front door slams behind you harder than you mean it to, and Jiyoon—sweet, perceptive, too-curious Jiyoon—is immediately shouting from the kitchen, "Is that you? Are you okay? You've been gone forever, I was about to—"

"I'm fine!" you yell back, already halfway down the hall. Your voice cracks halfway through the word. You don't even try to fix it.

"Wait—" Jiyoon appears around the corner, wooden spoon still in hand, some ridiculous song playing from the speaker behind her. "Wait, wait, what happened? Did you see him again?"

You keep walking.

"Did he—?"

"I'm fine," you repeat, softer this time but not gentler. "He said I don't have to come in tomorrow, so I'll probably go to my class."

"Oh my god, what does that mean?" she laughs, stepping after you. "Did you finally tell him off or did he—?"

"I'm tired, Jiyoon," you mumble, hand on your doorknob. "So tired."

She crosses her arms. "You look like you just made out with someone in a Jane Austen novel."

Your face goes hot.

"I love you," you say, deadpan. "But I need to be alone right now."

She gasps dramatically, "You're hiding something! You always say I love you when you're hiding something—"

You shut the door in her face.

Lock it.

Lean back against it.

Your heart is still thudding too loud in your ears.

You sink down to the floor, journal already in your hands before you even realize you've moved. Your fingers tremble when you unscrew the cap of your pen. You press it to the page.

And for a moment, you just sit there, not even writing.

Just breathing.

You write, He said I write beautifully.

Then, slower, He said he felt restless about not getting a response.

And then, He pulled away.

The ink smudges beneath your fingers. You don't wipe it away. You just keep writing, your handwriting more frantic than usual, trailing across the page in swooping spirals and crooked curves. You write about the way he looked at you—so real and intense it felt like it burned. About how close he was, how you could feel the heat of him.

About the poem.

How he remembered every word.

How you finished it together.

And when you're done, you stare at the page—like maybe it'll give you answers. Like maybe it'll tell you what it means when a man like Heeseung tells you not to come, then calls your manager like he can't bear not seeing you.

You close your journal.

And press it to your chest.

You crawl into bed, still in your jeans, feet hanging off the edge, journal clutched to your chest like a heartbeat you don't trust to stay steady on its own.

It takes everything in you to peel yourself away, toss the journal aside, and dig out your laptop from where it's tangled in yesterday's laundry on the floor. You log into your evening class with exactly thirty seconds to spare, camera off, mic muted, chin propped against the heel of your palm.

The professor's voice starts droning through your headphones—soft, monotone, familiar—and for a second you think maybe you can do this.

And then your eyelids get heavy.

You blink hard.

You scribble your name into the attendance chat and pretend like you're absorbing something, anything, while your mind floats right back to—

That linen shirt hanging open just enough to see his collarbones. His voice, low and steady, reciting your words back to you like scripture. The smell of garlic and rosemary from his cooking still clinging to your hair. The way he moved closer without you even realizing. The moment before the kiss that never happened—the way your heart caught on the edge of it.

You shake your head violently, try to refocus. The slide on your screen says something about semiotic theory. You don't know what that means. You don't care what that means.

You're so screwed.

Your professor's voice fades into a low buzz, and you press your palm to your cheek harder, like maybe pressure can keep you conscious. It can't.

The laptop screen glares into your face. The chat scrolls with questions you don't have the energy to fake-read. You close your eyes just for a second.

You tell yourself it's only for a second.

Just one.

Just—

You jolt awake six minutes later to your professor asking, "And how might this apply to authorial intent, Y/N?"

You blink, brain empty.

You type in the chat: Sorry, my mic's not working.

And you thank every god that ever existed for mute buttons.

*•*•*

You find yourself hovering just outside the penthouse door, hesitating.

Your fingers are curled in a loose fist, suspended midair like they've forgotten how to move. You've stood in this exact spot every day for about a week now, but this time—this time you're unsure. The same polished floor under your shoes, the same towering door with its sleek gold handle and silent weight, but something about today feels different. You feel different.

You almost turn around.

Almost.

But then—voices. Muffled, low but distinct, curling around the edges of the thick door.

You lean in without meaning to, breath held as if your body knows this is a moment you're not meant to be part of. You recognize his voice first, Heeseung's—light, teasing, a tone you've come to know well, though it still unsettles you how easily it affects you. The other voice is lower, older maybe, with clipped words and a sternness that makes your stomach tighten. It must be the doctor from the other day.

"No," the doctor says, firm and quiet. "Now isn't the time to have a new person around every day. You know that."

There's a pause. You hear something creak—maybe a chair.

"It's fine," Heeseung replies, far too casually. "Nothing's happened. She's just cleaning. It's fine."

"She's not just cleaning."

There's silence. A long one. And then—Heeseung's voice again, softer. "Maybe she's good for me."

You freeze. You don't know what they're talking about exactly, not in full, but the heat that rushes to your face is impossible to fight. Good for him? What the hell does that mean? And why does it make your chest feel like it's caving in? Before you can hear anything else, the door swings open, making you stumble back just in time, blinking up at the man who steps through—tall, with sharp eyes that land on you and skim over every inch of your body like you're being scanned. He doesn't say hello, he doesn't smile just like last time. Instead, he mutters something—so low you barely catch it but the edge is there, sharp enough to wound. Something about "distractions" and "too young" and "another mistake."

You step aside without responding, your mouth suddenly too dry to speak. He walks past you with a slight shake of his head and a long sigh, like your very existence is a burden.

And then—

"Didn't think you'd come."

You turn back around.

Heeseung's standing in the doorway, barefoot again, hair still damp like he just showered, dressed in a loose gray shirt and soft black pants that cling to his hips in a way that makes your head fog. He's smiling—nothing too wide, just soft, like a secret meant only for you. Like he's genuinely happy to see you.

You open your mouth to say something, anything—but he's already speaking again.

"About yesterday," he says, stepping aside so you can walk in. "I'm sorry. I overstepped."

And the whiplash? It's instant. Because wasn't he the one who told you not to come today? All quiet and serious and guilt-stricken after nearly kissing you in his kitchen? Now he's soft again, familiar again, and it throws you completely off.

"You don't need to apologize," you say quickly, almost defensively, as you walk inside.

"I do," he says, just as fast. "I really—"

"No, Heeseung." You stop and turn to face him, heart in your throat. "You really don't need to apologize."

He opens his mouth again, brows furrowing, about to insist—but your voice cuts through the air before you can stop yourself.

Quiet. Barely a whisper.

"You didn't have to stop either."

Silence, all heavy and immediate. Heeseung just stares at you. Still and looking stunned. His lips parted like he wants to speak but the words haven't caught up to his brain. His eyes search your face slowly, like he's not sure if he heard you right—or if you meant to say it out loud.

And maybe you didn't.

But you did.

And there's no taking it back.

The door clicks shut behind you before you can even remember stepping inside.

Heeseung doesn't move at first. Just stares at you like he's not entirely sure you're real. Like maybe he conjured you up somehow. His eyes stay on your mouth a little too long, and you try not to notice the way his chest rises and falls, slow and controlled, as if he's reminding himself how to breathe.

Then you say it again. Softer this time.

"You didn't have to stop."

It hangs in the air between you. Heavy, reckless and unapologetic.

Heeseung blinks once. His expression doesn't change, but something in his eyes shutters. He exhales through his nose—shaky—and drags a hand through his hair, the curls still slightly messy from sleep or stress or something in between.

"That's inappropriate," he says, not unkindly. More like he's trying to draw a boundary he doesn't even believe in.

And the words sting. Maybe more than they should. Maybe because you were just beginning to feel something real stirring between the two of you—something outside of your job, your journal, your blurring lines. You freeze. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out at first, and it's too late anyway. He's already turning from you.

The confused hurt in your eyes stops him in his tracks, but only for a second. He looks back at you—and really looks. Something passes behind his eyes, quiet and aching. Regret maybe or worse, restraint. You watch his jaw flex, as if he's chewing on something bitter, swallowing all the things he'll never allow himself to say.

Then he's stepping away. A slow, deliberate retreat. His footsteps are soft against the stairs as he disappears up them without another word.

And just like that, you're alone. Again.

The silence is incredibly deafening.

Your hands are still trembling.

They have been ever since you left his place. You could barely wipe the kitchen counters without your fingers missing the edge. The dishes were spotless before you even realized you'd scrubbed them twice. Your head was everywhere but here, rerunning that moment—that look in his eyes, the cold withdrawal of his body after your quiet, desperate confession.

And he never came back down.

You didn't know what you expected, but it wasn't this.

The day drags, and when the clock finally blinks 4:00, you practically flee. Your phone's already to your ear by the time you hit the elevator.

"I can't do this anymore," you say as soon as Cee picks up.

He sounds startled. "Do what? Are you—what happened? Are you okay?"

"Nothing happened. I just—" You press your fingers to your temple. The weight of everything suddenly lands all at once. "I don't want to clean for him anymore."

He's quiet for a second. Then, softer, "Did he do something?"

"No. I just..." You sigh. "It's better this way."

And you think that's the end of it.

But the second you step into the building's reception, the front desk clerk—neatly pressed shirt, neutral expression, his name tag slightly askew—glances up from his computer. "Miss," he says, "Mr. Lee is asking for you upstairs."

You freeze.

Your mouth goes dry. "I—I was just up there."

He nods once, polite. "He asked me to let you know."

You hesitate.

Everything inside you says don't go. That this is how it always begins—with soft invitations and good intentions and doors that don't close fast enough behind you.

But your feet are already moving.

The elevator ride is silent, save the rush of your pulse in your ears. And when you push the door open, Heeseung is there, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. Waiting.

You can't read his expression.

"I figured you'd quit," he says. Not accusing. Not even upset. Just matter-of-fact, like he'd already prepared for it.

"I am," you say. "I think it's for the best."

There's a beat.

"I don't want that."

You scoff before you can help it, stepping inside, letting the door close behind you with a soft hiss. "I'm not even sure you know what you want."

You don't even realize you're walking until you're standing in front of him, so close y

ou could count the lashes framing his eyes if you weren't too scared to look directly into them. There's something in his face—some falter in his composure—that makes your chest feel too tight.

He doesn't move.

So you do.

Your fingers curl into fists at your sides, your heart hammers, and then—you're kissing him.

It's a mess of a thing. Sudden. Brash. Tipped forward on hope and recklessness. Your lips crash into his like a question you don't want answered and—

Nothing.

He doesn't move.

Your lips are on his, but he's frozen. Unresponsive.

The rejection burns so fast it chokes you, and you start to pull back, humiliated—but something in you makes you whisper to him, "Please," you almost sound broken. "Please kiss me back, Heeseung."

That's all it takes.

The air leaves his lungs like he's been sucker-punched. His hands are on your face instantly, his mouth catching yours like he's been starving for it. Like the moment he tasted you, he remembered how badly he wanted.

And this time, he answers the question

His mouth is on yours like he's finally allowed himself to breathe. You're not sure who moves first after that—him or you—but the space between you disappears completely. His hands are in your hair, on your waist, gripping your hips like he needs the reminder that you're real and here and kissing him back just as desperately.

And when he pulls away to look at you—face flushed, eyes dark and confused—you whisper again, barely audible, "Heeseung..."

That does it for him because you can swear you see the moment something in him breaks. Suddenly he's not hesitating anymore, like the sound of your voice cracked through whatever restraint he'd been clinging to, and now it was all unraveling.

He's swallowing the soft sounds you make, capturing every gasp, every whimper, like he needs to devour them, and his mouth is hot and insistent as it trails down your jaw, your neck, his teeth grazing the delicate skin like he's trying to mark the moment there.

You gasp when he lifts you without warning, your thighs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your arms around his neck. You can feel his heartbeat through his shirt. It's erratic—wild—matching yours nearly beat for beat.

He sets you down on the kitchen counter like you weigh nothing, the cool marble biting at the backs of your thighs through your jeans. His lips return to yours before they begin their descent again, brushing over your collarbone, down the slope of your chest. His fingers find the hem of your top and pause, glancing up, breath hitching.

You nod.

That's all he needs.

He peels it off gently—too gently for the look in his eyes—and when your bra joins the growing pile of fabric, he's silent for a second. Just watching you. Then he exhales something like a curse and leans in, pressing slow, reverent kisses down your sternum, the curve of your breasts, dragging his teeth lightly, sucking your nipple into his mouth, making you shiver and arch into him.

Every time you whimper, he presses closer.

Every time you moan, he groans softly against your skin, like your sounds undo him.

And just when you think your legs might give out from how tightly your body is wound, he lifts you again. Not onto the floor—but down, off the counter, and turns you gently, pressing you forward. You gasp softly as your hands meet the marble again, your heart stuttering.

Your jeans are tugged down with unhurried hands. Your underwear follows. You're so exposed. Breathless. And behind you, Heeseung lets out a shaky breath that sounds almost like a prayer.

One of his hands smooths over your lower back. The other grips your hip. "God forgive me," he whispers.

You don't know how to stay quiet—not when his mouth is trailing behind you, kissing the backs of your thighs, the curve of you, everywhere—and when he finally leans in, when you feel the first sweep of his tongue, your entire body jolts forward like he's short-circuited something deep inside you.

"Heeseung—" It leaves your mouth like a sob.

He groans in response, tightening his grip around your thighs, but his pace doesn't falterr.

And all you can do is press your cheek against the cool counter, eyes fluttering shut, biting down on your own hand as he ruins you slowly.

Intimately.

He watches you unravel with so much intensity from beneath you, it's like he's trying to imprint every detail into memory. His tongue maps out every inch of you, teasing and tasting places you never realized could make you feel this way—until he finds your clit again. Instinct takes over; your hips roll down against his mouth, and he responds with a low hum, gripping your thighs to hold them open just enough to tilt his head and drag his tongue lower once more. "Spread your legs for me baby" He whispers it in a way that has you thinking you'll do anything he says, as long as he says it in that voice.

Suddenly and surprisingly, he shoves his tongue deep inside you while using his fingers to rub tight circles against your clit. "Hee—Ah!" You're moaning and whimpering so uncontrollably, the whole thing has your legs trembling where you're stood. You're convinced if he wasn't holding you up himself you'll collapse from the pleasure and pressure of it all.

His tongue is incredibly relentless, slurping you up, not even caring that he's drooling down his chin with your essence, "Wait! W-Wait!" You cry out suddenly.

"What? What? What's wrong? Did I hu—" His words cut through to you as he gets up off his knees where he was, but you're cutting him off and pulling him for another deep kiss, hopping yourself up on the counter again. Heeseung kisses you back like he's starving—like you're the first thing he's ever been allowed to want.

Your hands are in motion before you can think. Clumsy, eager, pulling his shirt halfway out from where it's tucked into his sweats, feeling the heat of his stomach beneath your palms. You moan into his mouth and his hands squeeze your thighs in response, hard enough to leave a mark.

He doesn't stop you when your fingers find the waistband of his sweatpants. If anything, he kisses you harder. His tongue sweeps into your mouth like he owns it—owns you—and you're letting him. Begging for more.

Your hands are shaking when you fumble at the button of his slacks, but you manage to get it undone, your fingers brushing the trail of skin that dips below the waistband. Heeseung lets out a sharp, broken sound against your mouth—fuck—his head tipping forward, forehead resting against yours as you palm him through the fabric.

You weren't ready for how hard and heavy he would be in your hand. It was like the length of him just went on and on.

You feel the twitch beneath your palm and gasp, and his breath stutters like he's seconds from losing it.

"Jesus—" heeseung grits, his voice deep and wrecked. His head tips back, neck exposed, throat bobbing, you've never seen someone come undone like this.

He's panting now, hips shifting forward like he needs the friction, like your hand is the only thing anchoring him.

"Is this okay?" you whisper, breathless, your voice barely steady as you trace him again, bolder this time.

His eyes find yours, blown wide and unreadable, lips parted. "You're gonna kill me," he breathes, but he nods. "Don't stop. Please take it out, please."

Your hand moves again, more confidently now, doing as he says, and his mouth crashes into yours mid-moan—swallowing it whole, like he can't bear the sound of his own unraveling.

And when he groans into you, deep and guttural and feral, you feel it between your legs—hot and pulsing and near unbearable.

He grips your hips like he's trying to anchor himself—like you're the only thing holding him together. He's dragging you to the edge of the counter and pinning your hand behind you, it has you feeling dizzy—the way he has you pinned there, at his mercy.

Before you can pull away to look down at where you have your hand wrapped around him, he's picking you up off the counter yet again, carrying you and setting you down on the couch, ever so gently.

Heeseung is panting into your mouth, your bodies pressed flush—his chest against yours, your legs wrapped around his waist. The fabric between you is suffocating. His sweats are halfway down his hips, your jeans are already abandoned on the kitchen floor, along with your panties, your composure, and any shred of dignity you once clung to when it came to him.

He's got you caged between his body and the couch. One arm braced beside your head, the other skimming down your side until his fingers are slipping between your legs again. You jolt, gasping against his lips, forehead pressed to his as his fingers slide through the mess he's made of you.

"Fuck—" you whisper, clutching at the back of his neck.

"So wet for me," he murmurs, his voice nothing but gravel and smoke, his thumb teasing your clit in slow, deliberate circles that make your spine curl. "You're perfect like this...I knew you'd come back."

You moan again, louder, desperate, rocking against his hand—your whole body begging for him.

His mouth finds yours again, kisses sloppier now, and then he's gripping himself, lining up with your entrance, breath hot and uneven against your cheek.

And then—

"Rina," he breathes.

You freeze for half a second.

It's soft—tender as a whispered prayer, effortless as a breath, a name escaping his lips before he even realizes it.

But your brain doesn't quite catch it—not fully. You're too far gone. Too overwhelmed by the stretch of him nudging at your entrance, by the unbearable heat of his body, the quiet, feral groan rumbling from his chest.

You blink, dazed. "What...?"

But the next second, he's pushing in.

And everything else disappears.

Your body arches, mouth falling open around a choked cry as he fills you in one slow, devastating thrust.

The stretch burns in the best way, and Heeseung moans something guttural, animalistic, like the moment he's inside you he's forgotten his own name too.

"So tight," he groans, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he holds himself there, buried to the hilt. "Fucking heaven."

Your fingers claw at his back, your mouth finding the shell of his ear.

"Heeseung—move. Please—"

He pulls back, just enough to slam into you again, and you swear the stars tilt. His rhythm is brutal, relentless, every thrust stealing the breath from your lungs, and you're sobbing now—moaning into his mouth like you've lost your mind. Maybe you have.

Maybe he has.

Because he's whispering things you can't quite understand—fragmented pieces of something almost sweet, almost unhinged.

"My perfect girl... only mine... waited so long—so long—Rina..."

You hear it again. Clearer now, but you're too gone to stop. Too full of him to question it. Your body writhes beneath his like it's what it was made for—like he's been carved into your DNA.

And you don't know what he means but something about the way he's holding you—possessive, reverent, frantic like he'll die without you—sends a chill up your spine even as you're unraveling around him.

Where they meet—the madness and the need—you don't know where you end and he begins. But you're already lifting your hips to meet his just to chase your high. You're pretty sure you're drooling now and by the way he looks down at you a smiles you know he likes what he seeing "You're so beautiful" "So tight wrapped aroun—" He keeps silencing himself with strangled moans, pulling back and sitting up, too overwhelmed to even remember he hasn't apologized for already being on the edge.

"I'm gonna c—" "Oh fuck fuck fuuuuckkk" He drawls on and on, you can feel your release coming too, in fact it almost feel like you're going to pee. "Don't stop! Heeseung! Fuck!" You moan loudly, yanking him down into a sloppy kiss before pushing his hips back, his cock slipping wet and twitching from your cunt. Without pause, your fingers find your clit, working it in savage, relentless circles, each one followed by a sharp slap that makes your thighs jolt. "Fuck—shit!" you cry out, body arching as a hot stream shoots from you, splattering across his stomach and chest.

His breath catches—eyes blown wide, chest heaving—watching you lose control all over him "You're so sexy". You haven't even caught your breath when he suddenly takes over again, letting the mess spill from you as if your trembling doesn't matter, pushing you down and driving himself deep into the pulsing aftermath still rippling through your body.

"Cum on my cock again, please" "Need you to, Rina—Fuck! I'm so close!" He's mumbling half incoherent half desperate and your overstimulated self doesn't seem to hear the alarm bells ringing in your head at the name he just called you again.  You're already on the brink again,

trembling and aching for it, and when it finally crashes through you, it's because Heeseung drags it out with no mercy. He pulls out, cock dripping, and fists it furiously as he paints your stomach—but he doesn't let your cunt stay empty. Two fingers slam back into your soaked hole, curling deep and fast, forcing you to squirt all over his wrist as he talks you through it with a low, filthy grin.

You're both trembling.

Sweaty skin pressed to sweaty skin. Harsh breathing. The deep, ragged quiet of two people who forgot where they were, who they were, what any of this even meant. He slumps forward, collapsing into you with a half-groan, half-laugh, and you let your fingers drift up his spine, your body humming with aftershocks.

You don't say anything and neither does he, not for a long, long moment.

Then he pushes up, slowly, gently—his hands sliding beneath your thighs as he lifts you off the couch. You whimper softly from the sensitivity, clinging to his shoulders.

"Come on," he says, voice raw and low. "Shower."

Your limbs feel like water, but you nod, letting him carry you. He walks the both of you to the massive bathroom like you weigh nothing—like you're still something precious in his arms—and sets you down on the warm tile floor. The shower clicks on, hot water spraying against his hand as he checks the temperature, then guides you under it with him.

The moment the water hits you, you shiver—more from the way he's looking at you than the heat. His gaze doesn't drop once. Not when he's rubbing gentle soap over your skin, not when he's rinsing between your legs with careful fingers, not when he presses a kiss to your shoulder like an apology he's too afraid to say aloud.

He doesn't speak until you're both out, towel-wrapped and damp.

"You okay?" he asks quietly, toweling off your hair with surprising tenderness.

You nod. And you don't stop him when he pulls one of his T-shirts over your head—soft and oversized, falling to your mid-thigh. You don't stop him when he pulls on a pair of boxers for you either, or when he leads you to the guest bedroom, the sheets cool and clean beneath your bare legs as you crawl under them.

He climbs in next to you, his body warm beside yours, and without a word, he pulls you close, wrapping an arm around your waist like it's muscle memory.

There's no more heat. No more tension. Just his heartbeat against your back, his breath slow and steady in your ear and you fall asleep like that, in his clothes, in his bed, in his arms. Not thining about the name he whispered.

*•*•*

You wake up before Heeseung does.

There's no buzzing alarm, no sunlight breaking through the blackout curtains, but your body jolts upright anyway—like your soul remembered what your mind didn't.

Panic grips you first.

Jiyoon. She's definitely called. Probably texted. Maybe even filed a missing person's report.

You twist in the sheets, trying not to disturb the weight draped over your waist. Heeseung's arm. Heavy, possessive, warm. His hand is splayed over your hip like it belongs there.

You freeze. Your breath catches in your throat.

What did I do?

Your heart's racing as you carefully, carefully peel his arm off of you, shimmying toward the edge of the bed. You manage to get one leg off, then another, tiptoeing like a thief in the early morning hush—

"Why are you sneaking out?"

You squeak.

Spinning around, your hands instinctively fly to your chest, but you're still wearing his shirt. You breathe a little but then freeze again when you see him. Heeseung is propped up on one elbow, hair mussed, eyes half-lidded and heavy with sleep. His voice is low and scratchy—one of those voices that somehow sounds like velvet and gravel all at once.

You stare. And then it hits you—like a freight train right between the ribs. Everything he did to you. Every moan he pulled from your lips. The way he tasted. The way he touched you like you were something sacred and sinful at the same time. You gasp, clapping a hand over your mouth like you can trap the memory there.

His brow lifts just slightly, eyes crinkling with amusement. "What am I gonna do with you?" he mutters, flipping back onto the bed with a sigh, one arm flung over his eyes. "You're trouble."

"I have to go," you say quickly, eyes darting to the door. "My friend is probably freaking out, she didn't know where I was—"

"Okay," he murmurs, voice muffled beneath his forearm. "But can I get a kiss?" You blink, feeling your heart stutter. Then, slowly, you cross the room again, padding back to the side of the bed. His arm lowers just enough to watch you. When you lean down, brushing your lips to his, he hums—like he's been waiting for that exact moment.

But just as you try to pull away, he grabs you. You yelp, landing on top of him with a soft thud as his hands anchor you by the hips. "Heeseung—" He kisses you again and t's not a chaste goodbye kiss this time. It's deeper, hotter—his lips moving slow and sure against yours, like he has all the time in the world. His tongue licks into your mouth, and you melt against him without thinking, your fingers clutching the soft fabric of his T-shirt over his chest.

You whine into his mouth. "I have to go..." He nips at your bottom lip, soothing the sting with a soft kiss before pulling back just enough to breathe. "Come back," he whispers. "Tonight. Seven o'clock."

You're blinking at him, breathless. "To... clean?" He shakes his head once, lips twitching. "No. I'll cook." You can't help it. You smile. It's shy and warm and completely helpless. "Okay," you whisper.

He lets you go then, but not before placing one last kiss on your cheek, right beneath your eye. "Don't be late."

You close the door to the guest bedroom behind you, twisting the handle slowly so it doesn't make a sound, like he might stir just from the click, not that he could even be asleep again. Your heart's still thudding, though softer now, your body still warm from how he held you—not just last night, but moments ago. You feel him on your skin. Between your thighs. In your mouth, even. You pad into the hallway, feet silent against the floor, and the penthouse feels even bigger in the morning, stretching out wide and echoey. Sunlight slips in through the tall windows of the living room, golden and faint, catching dust in the air.

Your clothes are everywhere. A trail—your bra laying on the kitchen floor with your jeans close by, your shirt hanging from the edge of a barstool like some kind of white flag.

You sigh.

You gather them quickly, cradling the bundle to your chest. But when you unfold your shirt—well, what's left of it—you remember the exact moment he took it off, how he looked at you like you were some forbidden fruit he'd gone too long without, you hadn't even realized he had ripped it. It's unsalvageable.

So you just... don't put it on. You slip your bra back on, then shrug his black shirt over it. It swallows you, soft and warm from sleep. You wiggle into your jeans next, the ones he peeled off of you. Your hands tremble as you do the button up.

Last thing—your phone. You search the couch. Nothing. Under the cushions. Still nothing. You check the kitchen counter, the bar, even crouch down to peek under the sofa. "Come on, come on..." Then finally, mercifully, you spot it near the edge of the carpet, half-tucked under the dining chair. You dive for it like it's oxygen and fumble to unlock it.

Ten missed calls. Three voicemails. Twenty-two messages.

All from one name. You don't even get a word out when you hit call—Jiyoon answers on the first ring. "You bitch." You wince. "Oh my god," she cackles. "You bitch. Where were you? Don't tell me—no, no actually, tell me everything right now."

"Ji—"

"You slept with him, didn't you? You fucking whore. You got that psycho dick, didn't you?! Tell me. Was it good? Was it crazy?!"

You cover your face with your hand, crouching down behind the kitchen island like you're trying to hide from the embarrassment sinking into your bones. "I'm coming home," you say weakly, voice still raspy from sleep and... everything else.

"Oh," Jiyoon says, tone shifting slightly. "I'm not home right now. I'm covering a shift for my lazy coworker. But I'll be back later—wait, wait, is he still there? Are you still there? What's he doing?"

"Jiyoon."

"What?"

"Bye."

You hang up.

Still pink-faced and hot, you shove your phone in your pocket, tug on your sneakers, and walk to the elevator with your head ducked low—like the doors might open and the walls themselves would whisper what happened between them. You're not sure how to feel. Still floating. Still wrecked. But you know you'll be back by 7.

*•*•*

You unlock the door to your apartment with shaking fingers, pushing it open slowly like you might find the night before still waiting for you on the other side. But it's empty, cause there's no Heeseung here. No soft piano notes echoing from hidden corners. No whispered "be back by seven." Just your little apartment, lived-in and warm and smelling faintly of vanilla from the candle Jiyoon must've lit last night. You step inside, close the door behind you, and lean back against it for a second. Just to breathe. Your body aches so deliciously and shamefully. Your lips are sore. Your thighs. Your heart.

You change into something soft and oversized before dropping onto your desk chair and logging into your online class, the kind of class that requires so much effort to focus on even when you haven't just had... whatever that was. The screen lights up. A professor you don't care about is already talking, already droning on about something you're not registering. You blink at the slides. The bullet points. You try. Really, you do. But your brain?

It's busy. Because it won't stop showing you his face in the dark. The way he hovered over you, lips parted, skin burning hot against yours. The way he touched you like you were something he needed to know. Memorize.

The way he whispered—low and wrecked—"Rina." You flinch.

It hits you all at once. You'd been so caught up in the moment, too far gone to process it then. But now? Now it loops. The way he said it. Like a prayer. Like a confession. Rina.

Who the hell is Rina? You shift in your seat, open a new tab, and hesitate. Your heart is racing again—not the good kind this time, as your hands tremble over the keyboard. Then you type it in regardless,

Lee Heeseung Rina

The search bar blinks at you. You hit enter. And there it is.

The very first result is a glossy thumbnail from three years ago. Heeseung in an interview, seated on a sleek navy couch, wearing black slacks and a gray button up sweater and a white shirt beneath it. He's smiling. That breathtaking smile you've only seen a few times up close, so effortless and disarming. You click the video.

The host laughs and leans forward. "Come on, Heeseung. Everyone wants to know. Who's Rina?" Heeseung chuckles, mouth tugging up at one side. You sit a little straighter.

"She's my first love," he says. "And probably the only one I'll ever love like that." The crowd awwws and your heart cracks like glass under pressure, you have pause the video. So she was real. A real woman.Someone he loved so deeply he admitted it on camera—publicly, permanently. Your throat closes up. Your chest tightens. He called you that name. Did he think of her while he was—. You don't even finish the thought. Instead, you search harder. Scroll deeper. You need to know what she looks like. If you look like her. If this is some messed up ghost-of-an-ex situation.

Another video pops up—this one titled "Behind the Scenes | Seoul Symphony Ensemble (ft. Lee Heeseung)"

You click it. The footage is candid, grainy. Heeseung's younger here, maybe only twenty or twenty-one, still too beautiful for it to be fair. The camera follows him backstage as he leads a film crew through the dim corridors of a concert hall. Then he stops, turns to the camera. "Come here," he says with a quiet laugh, gesturing to the next room. "You have to meet her." The camera jostles slightly as they follow. Heeseung walks up to a sleek, glossy black grand piano and runs his fingers across the keys. "This is Rina," he says, like he's introducing a person. His voice is reverent. Almost loving. "She's been with me since I was thirteen. She's...kind of everything to me."

You freeze.

The camera zooms in slightly. Heeseung brushes dust from the piano's surface with his sleeve, smiling at it so softly it hurts. "She's my first love." You sit there, staring, mind blank and full all at once.

Rina's not a person.

Rina's a piano.

A fucking piano. A part of you wants to laugh at your delusion but you don't, instead you just sit there.  Eyes glued to the screen. To him. To the way he's speaking—not to the camera, not even to the crew—but to the piano, like it's something alive. Like it's someone he's missed. Someone he still longs for in the softest, most ruined parts of himself. And that name—Rina—sits different now in your head. Not like a rival. Not like someone he's still in love with. But like... a memory. A feeling. Something that made him whole when the world couldn't.

Rina is his piano.

You let the video run, sound turned low, just watching him—barely twenty two, still beautiful, still broken. The way he presses one key gently and listens. How he says, she's been with me since I was thirteen. How he adds, she's my first love like it's a secret and a confession all at once. Your heart folds in on itself. Because in a way it makes sense now. The way he said your name last night, the way he whispered Rina instead—like he couldn't tell the difference. Like in his mind, in that haze of need and obsession and closeness, you had become something sacred. Something he hadn't let himself love in years. Something he used to play like music. And he'd touched you the same way—with reverence and hunger, as if trying to figure out where you end and he begins. You press your palm to your chest, like maybe you can settle your heartbeat if you hold it hard enough.

He doesn't see you as a replacement. You're not her. But in that moment, you think he felt something he hadn't in a long time. Something pure. Something familiar. Something maybe even terrifying. Heeseung, in his fractured, beautiful, obsessive mind, didn't just mistake you for his piano, he associated the moment—you—with what he once felt when he played Rina. And maybe he's so far gone he doesn't even realize he did it. And maybe you should be scared, but all you feel is this deep, warm ache in your ribs that won't go away. You close the laptop, completely forgetting about your class, and press your fingers to your lips. They still tingle from kissing him and you feel your stomach turn with excitement for the night to come.

*•*•*

You hear it before you see her. The clatter of her keys on the counter. The heavy sigh. And then, sharp—like a bullet of disbelief,  "YOU BITCH." "OH MY GOD." You don't even turn. Just let your eyes flutter shut and mentally brace for it. "You absolute filthy little minx," Jiyoon hisses, storming into the hallway in her work flats and crumpled apron, "Don't even try to deny it—I know you did it." "I'm not denying anything," you mumble, turning slowly to face her. She's halfway through unzipping her jacket, eyes wide, expression scandalized.

Your entire face bursts into flames. "Jiyoon—" "Oh my God, you did sleep with him." She points at you like she's witnessing a war crime. "You have sex hair. You're literally glowing. What the hell is that shirt? Wait—don't tell me." She takes a dramatic step back. "Is that his shirt?" You tug the hem instinctively. "It's just... something I had to wear. Mine got—um. Ripped." She stares at you. Blinks once. Twice. Then screams. "Oh my GOD. He ripped your clothes off? That's—like—that's premium movie-level sexy violence."

You bury your face in your hands. "Please lower your voice." "You didn't even text me last night!" she cries. "Do you know how worried I was? I thought he locked you in a cage or something!"

"I was busy," you say, voice strangled. "You were BUSY getting ravenously destroyed," she says, flopping onto the couch like the dramatics are too heavy for her legs. "Okay. Tell me everything. Don't leave out any of the details. Did he talk? Was it intense? Slow burn? Did he like—say your name all rough and gravelly or was he like, all quiet and crazy about it?" You hesitate.

You want to tell her and you almost do, but something about that moment—about everything that happened last night, the hazy weight of his body pressed against yours, his breath in your ear, how he held you like you were a prayer and a ghost all at once—feels too delicate. Too personal. You can't even begin to explain the shift you felt inside yourself, let alone the strange ache in your chest when he said that name. You swallow, keeping your voice light. "It was... really good."

Jiyoon lifts a brow. "That's it? Good?" You shoot her a look. "I'm not giving you a full play-by-play." She gasps. "So it was insane." "I'm gonna be late," you deflect, brushing past her to grab your phone. "I told him I'd be there at seven." "Ugh. Seven is such a romantic time."

"What does that even mean?" "Like. Not too early, not too late. Right in the middle. Candlelight o'clock." She wiggles her eyebrows. "You gonna let him feed you and then fuck you again?""Jiyoon."

"You are. Oh my God. Are you shaving again or are we doing stubble and surrender tonight?" You groan. "I can't talk to you about this." "Yes, you can," she says, pulling her hair into a bun. "We signed a roommate agreement, remember? Emotional nudity clause." You smile despite yourself. "Just wish me luck, okay?" She softens then, eyes scanning your face. "You like him." You hesitate, fingers pausing on your necklace clasp. "I don't know what I feel," you say truthfully. "It's... fast. Messy." "You don't do messy."

"Exactly." Jiyoon walks over, squeezes your shoulder. "That shirt looks hot on you, by the way. Like dangerously I-was-just-fucked-by-a-mentally-ill-man hot." "Thanks, I think."

"Be safe. Don't let him tie you to anything unless there's a safe word. Call me if he tries to perform an exorcism." You laugh, heading for the bathroom door. "You're gonna fall for him," she calls behind you. "You already are, huh?" But you don't answer, because you don't know that yet, and if you do, you're not ready to say it out loud.

You check the time again when it's 6:38 PM. Your reflection in the bathroom mirror stares back at you—doe-eyed, glossed lips parted slightly, a tiny knot of nerves cinched beneath your ribs. You smooth your hands down your dress for the fifth time, whispering to yourself under your breath like it might change something. "Okay," you murmur. "Just dinner. It's just... dinner." With Heeseung. At his penthouse. In a dress you specifically picked to walk the very fine line between I wanted to look nice for you and I definitely didn't spend two hours trying on everything I own. A dress that clings at your waist and floats at your knees and makes you feel pretty but also exposed. Not in a bad way, just... in a way that makes your skin feel watched. Known.

You hesitate in the doorway, staring down the hallway toward the stairs. And then you groan. "Nope. No way I'm taking the bus." You can already see it—you standing sandwiched between strangers, one arm clutching the overhead bar, the other yanking at your skirt, trying not to breathe too loud. You can feel the wrinkles forming just thinking about it. You'd show up looking like a disheveled little sandwich and Heeseung—Heeseung with his white linen shirts and leather watchbands—would tilt his head and maybe smile and maybe not say anything, but you'd know. You open your phone and call a cab.

It feels ridiculous. Extravagant even. But the moment you sink into the backseat, cool leather beneath your thighs and the city lights blinking past your window like slow breaths, something quiet settles inside you. You take a long, shaky inhale. Heeseung's face comes to mind. The way he looked last night—flushed and breathless and so terribly hungry for you, like you were the first and last thing he'd ever wanted. The way he whispered your name. Except—it wasn't your name. Not the first time. Your fingers tighten slightly on your bag and you push the thought away. You already made peace with it—told yourself it didn't mean anything. Not really. You'd seen the videos. You know what Rina is. And in some strange, abstract way, you think maybe you understand what happened better than you should.

Maybe he sees things in fragments—maybe he feels things in them too. Maybe last night, you reminded him of something he loved once so deeply he carved a home for it in his bones. And maybe tonight, you want him to start carving space for you instead. You glance atthe time on your phone, 6:53. Your stomach flutters. Are you nervous?

God—yes. Your knees won't stop bouncing, and your fingers keep picking at the edge of your dress. But you're also... excited.You don't know what's waiting for you on the other side of this ride—don't know if dinner will be awkward or sweet or laced with something heavier—but it feels like something real. Something different. And that terrifies you. Because you've never been looked at the way he looked at you last night. Not like you were music.

The cab pulls up to the building. You pay with shaky hands, thank the driver too softly, and walk inside. The elevator ride is a blur of breath-holding. The ding at the top floor even sends a jolt through your chest. And then you're standing in front of his penthouse door, your hand hovering, not sure whether to knock or just—. It's not locked. The knob turns and you step inside, closing the door behind you with a soft click, and you're met with... silence. You take one hesitant step forward into the quiet space. It's too quiet. The air feels still in a way it didn't the last time you were here—when it was thick with the scent of his skin, his hands, your gasps and moans echoing off the walls like confessions. Now it's like the space is holding its breath again.

"Heeseung?" you call, your voice barely above a whisper. You glance at the clock on the wall, 7:01. You chew on your lip, glancing around. The kitchen looks untouched. There's no trace of movement, no clatter of pans or scent of dinner in the air. There's a single light on in the far corner by the bookshelves, casting golden shadows across the couch where he held you just hours ago, his mouth in your hair and his arms locked around your waist like he was afraid you'd disappear. You exhale softly. "Heeseung?" you try again, louder this time, taking cautious steps farther in. Still nothing.

And then it hits you—you don't even have his number. You came here like some wide-eyed idiot with your heart between your teeth, expecting him to just be there, waiting, arms outstretched. It hadn't occurred to you that he might not hear the door, or might be upstairs, or might have changed his mind entirely.

God. You sink down onto the arm of the couch and try not to panic. You won't text Jiyoon—not yet. She'd tease you mercilessly and then probably tell you to go snoop in case he was sleeping with other people or something absurd. You don't want to snoop. You just want to see him. You shift in your seat, smoothing your dress again, tugging at the edge of it and check the time again, 7:06. You blink, already feeling defeated and ready to leave but then a sharp loud sound echoes from upstairs that has you snapping your head towards the stairs. There's another thud—louder this time—followed by a crash that sends a sharp jolt through your chest. Something shattered. And then, unmistakably, screaming. Blood-curdling. Ragged. Like pain clawing itself out of a throat too raw to hold it anymore.

Your breath snags. Your heart kicks into high gear. Your body's moving before your mind can catch up, instinct overriding hesitation as you bolt through the living room, past the grand piano, toward the stairs. Breaking every rule you were given when you first started working here, but that's the last thing on your mind.

He's upstairs. That's him—him screaming.You take the stairs two at a time, heart pounding, fingers scrambling against the banister. When you reach the top, there's only one door that makes sense—tall and black, you sprint to it, chest heaving, and try the handle.

Locked.

Your fist slams against it before you can think. "Heeseung?!" There's no response—just another crash, something metallic this time, like a stand being thrown, maybe a chair. Your knuckles are pulsing against the wood. "Heeseung, open the door! Please!" Still no answer. Just a chorus of garbled words—frenzied, nonsensical, frantic.

"They changed the notes—don't you hear it? It's all wrong, out of key, they're inside the piano! Stop watching me! The rhythm's bleeding, I can't—" Another crash. "It's too loud in here, too loud in my head, make it stop!" Your blood runs cold. Something primal flickers inside you—panic morphing into something sharper, braver. You back up, brace your shoulder against the frame, and throw yourself forward.

Once. Twice—

CRACK.

The door flies open, and you stumble into the absolute chaos, the first thing you see is the floor, and at the center of it all; a piano or what's left of one. Splintered wood. Torn wires. Ivory keys cracked like teeth knocked from a skull. You recognize it instantly. Rina.

There more glass and splintered wood than floor beneath her. Crumpled sheet music. A chair lying on its side. Blood. Blood like paint streaked across the wooden floor, thin trails leading to—

Him. Heeseung.

Standing in the center of it all like a broken monument. There's a deep gash across his forearm, blood still dripping sluggishly onto his hand and down his knuckles. His chest rises and falls too fast, ribs pushing sharply beneath skin that gleams with sweat. His hair sticks to his face. His eyes—wide, unseeing, glazed with something far away and chaotic and terrifying—don't register you at first. He's breathing like he's drowning.

You try to speak, to talk to him, but your throat won't open. He moves before you can. Quick, jerky. Like his body's not entirely his own. He spins, stares at the wall like it's speaking to him, fingers twitching at his sides. "They changed the notes," he mutters. "They changed the fucking notes." His voice is shredded. Raw. Like he's been screaming for hours. Maybe he has. You take one step closer, and your heel lands on a snapped piano key. It clicks beneath your foot like a trigger. He whips around, eyes on you now, all wild, unhinged and unfocused. "Who are you?" he rasps.

You freeze. The question slices clean through you. Your mouth opens, but your voice won't come. Heeseung stares, pupils blown so wide you can barely see the brown. His hands curl and uncurl like he's not sure if he wants to reach for you or strangle you. "Who are you?" he repeats. "Why are you watching me? Are you one of them?"

Them? Your heart stutters. "Heeseung..." you whisper, finally finding your voice. "It's me." But he flinches like you've struck him. You take another step and watch as he instinctively steps back. "No," he whispers. "No—Rina? I'm so sorry. I hurt you. You were perfect and I ruined you. My perfect girl. Please forgive me." Your breath catches.

"It's okay, it's okay." You don't know where it comes from. Maybe instinct. Maybe desperation. Maybe the way his voice cracks like the word is a wound. "I forgive you," you say, voice steadier this time. "I came back for you." His mouth parts and his whole body stills. You can see the thought slotting into place behind his eyes, crooked and trembling and fragile. But it settles. "...Rina?" You nod. "I'm here."

He walks toward you slowly. So slow. Like every step might set him off again. And still, you don't move. His bloodied hand lifts, fingers brushing your cheek—his touch clumsy and too hard at first, like he doesn't remember how to be gentle. But then it softens. His palm cups your jaw, and he leans in so close his breath skates across your lips. "I knew you'd come back," he murmurs. Your throat tightens and swallow around the ache, allowing him to press his forehead against yours. "I'm here now."

"Don't leave," he breathes. "Please don't leave me again. The music stops when you're gone. It stops and I can't breathe, I can't—"

"I'm not going anywhere," you whisper. He leans back just enough to look at you. The way he's looking now—it breaks you, because there's no rage or wildness. Just pure, shivering exhaustion. He's unraveling at the seams, and you're the only thread keeping him together. "I want to play," he says softly. "Let me play you."

You nod. And when he tugs you toward the mangled piano, you follow. It's barely standing. The legs are cracked. One pedal's missing. The keys are uneven—some bloodied, some broken. It shouldn't work. It shouldn't sound. But he sits on the shattered bench, breath hitching, and gently pulls you onto his lap.

You settle there, straddling him, your dress bunching slightly against the rough edge of the wood. Your hands brace on his shoulders. His arms wrap around you, drawing you closer. And then—fingers trembling—Heeseung presses his hands to the keys. The sound is... haunting. Off. Warped. But he plays anyway. A melody, jagged and soft. A lullaby with broken bones. The piano cries beneath his touch, but he keeps playing. For you, because of you, it all makes your chest ache for him, you even feel your eyes sting. And all you can do is hold him, let him pour whatever's left of himself into the broken body of his piano—into you.

Because right now, in this room thick with blood and chaos and ghosts, you're the only thing anchoring him to earth. The music tumbles out of him in discordant bursts, crooked and aching like his mind, like his body—like whatever this is between you. And you swear, you'd let him play you forever. But then his fingers slip, not from the broken keys, but because your breath stutters against his jaw. He stills, drifting one hand away from the piano to find your waist instead, the other continues to play, the curve of your back—and then he's holding you so tight you feel the blood from his arm soak warm through your dress.

You don't flinch.

He tilts his face up, searching yours. Your lips part, not for words, but for the way his mouth captures yours the second you breathe in. It's so so desperate. A kiss that tastes like iron and sweat and the kind of madness that wants to be known, wants to be seen.

You whimper into him, clutching at the front of his shirt, and his hands are already moving—shaky, hurried, needing—grabbing at your dress, dragging it up your thighs as if he doesn't care it's stained now, doesn't care it's soft and new and something you wore for him.The keys beneath you clatter with each shift of your hips, and his fingers fumble at the zipper on your side like it's fighting him. He groans low in his throat, kissing you harder, tongue sliding hot against yours as if he's trying to crawl inside of you—trying to disappear there, to lose the noise in his head.

"You came back," he gasps against your mouth. "You really came back—" You nod, breathless, eyes wet, thighs tightening around his waist. "I told you I would." He tugs the dress down your shoulders, hands smeared with red, smearing it onto you, painting you with it. It sticks to your collarbones, your arms, a fever-warm trail of devotion and ruin, but you don't stop him.

He's kissing you like he needs this to survive, like he'll lose his mind all over again if you pull away. Your fingers thread through his hair, and he groans at the way you pull, his mouth moving from your lips to your neck, your jaw, your shoulder—biting, tasting his blood smeared there, claiming. You tremble. And then his hand is between your legs, cupping you through your panties, a low, reverent moan tearing from his chest when he feels the heat there. "For me," he mutters, delirious. "You're like this for me."

"Yes," you breathe, rolling your hips into his hand, nails clawing at his back through his shirt. "Only for you." He groans again, like the words unmake him.

Your dress is halfway down your body, straps hanging off your arms, and you're so tangled together that it's hard to tell whose limbs are whose. He continues kissing you then like a vow. Like salvation. And everything else—the broken piano, the screaming from earlier, the sharp pain in your back from the cracked lid—fades to nothing. The music stutters beneath you—sharp, erratic keystrokes like a hymn being pulled apart at the seams.

But he doesn't stop playing. Even as his bloody fingers slip over the ivories, even as his other hand bunches your dress up around your hips, even as you gasp into his mouth and his teeth catch your bottom lip hard enough to sting. You're still straddling him, thighs trembling on either side of his lap, and he's shifting beneath you like he can't get close enough, like the distance between your bodies is an insult to the devotion he's shaking with.

"Heeseung," you whisper, breath hitching as his hand slides between your legs, the fabric of your panties clinging to you wet and ruined. "Please—" "Shh," he hushes, mouth dragging down your neck, blood and spit slick on your skin. "It's okay, it's okay—I got you, baby, I got you—" His fingers tremble as he pushes the fabric aside, clumsy and rushed, and you flinch when his knuckles brush over you. He groans against your throat, hand gripping your hip like he might break it, like it's the only anchor he has.

"Fuck, you're so warm—" he pants, "—I missed you so much, I missed you—" You don't know if he's talking to you or to her, to Rina, to whatever memory he's tangled you up with—but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when he's freeing himself beneath you with frantic hands, moaning under his breath as he fumbles himself through his sweats, panting into your collarbone like he's on the verge of falling apart. And then he's there. Thick, flushed, already so hard it makes your head spin. He grips your thighs, pulling you up just enough—just enough to align—and then sinks you down onto him in one ragged, choking breath.

You cry out, clenching around him, thighs shaking. Heeseung's head snaps back, a guttural sound ripping from his throat, and his hands clamp down on your hips like he's afraid you'll vanish again. "Oh my God—" he gasps, "—move, baby, please, come on—come on—"

He's twitching inside you already, so sensitive, so overwhelmed, but he's begging for more. Encouraging you, pushing up into you while his hands guide your hips, while his fingers—still stained with his blood—return to the keys beneath him, pressing out that same broken melody. You try to move—hips rising, sinking—but it's messy. Desperate. Your thighs burn, your breath hitches, and your forehead presses to his as he whispers, "Just like that, just like that—don't stop—don't stop—" The piano groans beneath you both. His legs tremble. Your panties are barely hanging on, twisted and soaked, caught somewhere between you, and still—still—he keeps playing.

Keeps playing through the rise and fall of your bodies, through the wet slap of your hips, through the breathless moans and the ache and the madness. He's shaking beneath you. His mouth finds yours again, swallowing your sobs, blood smearing from his wrist to your waist as he holds you tighter—deeper—closer.

"I knew you'd come back," he whispers, forehead to yours. "You always come back to me." You can't answer. You can only cry out his name, again and again, as the notes beneath you unravel into chaos and crescendo Your fingers claw at his shoulders as you rock against him, pace faltering with every thick thrust. The bench groans beneath your bodies, protesting under the weight of it all, but you don't stop. Neither of you could if you tried.

His hands are all over you—up your back, into your hair, clawing at your waist like he doesn't know where to hold, just that he has to hold somewhere.

The piano is completely forgotten now. The keys he was so desperate to press—abandoned mid-chord, half-played notes frozen under bloodied fingertips. But Heeseung's mouth is moving and he's moaning something. At first it's a whisper, hoarse and uneven, barely above the wet sound of your bodies meeting again and again. But then—clearer, louder— "Y/N... oh my god, Y/N—" You halt for a second. Barely. Just long enough to catch your breath. To hear him. Your name—your name, not his pianos—spilling from his lips like prayer, like apology, like it's the only thing anchoring him to reality.

Heeseung's head drops to your shoulder, and he's panting your name again, so sweet and unguarded it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. "Y/N," he gasps, "you feel so good, baby—fuck—so good—" It's like he sees you now. Really sees you. And his hands are softer now, less frantic, still trembling but reverent in how they hold you—his thumb brushing your waist, his other hand cradling your jaw as he lifts your face to his.

Your noses bump. His eyes search yours like he's never seen anything more precious. "It's you," he whispers, almost awed. "It's really you..."He leans in, kissing you like the world's finally slowed down, like he's finally returned to it. To you. And when you move again—hips grinding, slow now, deeper—he moans your name into your mouth, over and over like it's his undoing. Each syllable spills from him shakily, soaked with disbelief and want and something that almost sounds like worship.

Your hands find his cheeks, thumbs stroking where the dried tears have clung to his skin, and when you whisper his name back, soft and breathless, he shudders. Heeseung's forehead presses to yours. You feel him twitch inside you, thighs clenching around him as you both near that terrible, beautiful edge again, and he breathes your name one last time— "Y/N, I'm—fuck—I'm gonna cum, baby, please—stay with me—stay—" Your hips stutter. His hands seize. And then everything splinters—. Your name tears from his throat in a ragged moan, your own lips parted in soundless release as your body collapses forward, curling into his chest like instinct.

Heeseung's arms close around you immediately. One low on your spine, the other twisted into your hair, as if he can press you into him hard enough to keep you there forever. Your pulse throbs everywhere. Between your legs, in your throat, under your tongue. Heeseung is trembling beneath you, arms loose but shaking, chest heaving like he's run for miles and only now stopped to breathe.

He's still inside you. Still in you, cradled and connected and caught in the softness of what just happened. No piano. No ghosts. Just this.You shift slightly, just to catch your breath, and he shudders around you with a hoarse gasp. His head drops to your shoulder, face buried in the crook of your neck. You stay there a while. No words. No need. Just the sound of the wind against the high windows, the echo of your breathing, and the quiet creak of a broken piano bench holding two too-lost people.

Eventually, his fingers twitch against your waist. "Y/N," he breathes, voice scratchy and soft. You hum, stroking the sweaty strands of hair back from his temple. Your touch is gentle, slow, grounding. He lifts his head—eyes glassy, wide and wet around the edges. You watch them drop down, settle on the stains between you, the faint blood still smudged across his hands and chest. He catches your wrist.Brings your fingers—still trembling—to the mess of red streaked across his ribs. The open cuts from earlier have mostly clotted, but the wounds are still fresh, angry-looking, like they're still listening to the madness that tore them open. He presses your palm there, over his heart.

"This body..." he whispers, eyes still downcast. "It belongs to too many ghosts." Your chest tightens, but you don't pull away. Instead, your fingers spread gently over the damp skin of his chest, pressing softly, reverently. You guide his gaze up to meet yours. "It belongs to me tonight," you murmur, voice quiet but sure. "It's okay, Heeseung. I've got you."

He blinks hard and for a second, something in him flickers. Something soft. Almost boyish and safe. Then his forehead presses against yours again. He leans into the cradle of your hands like he's never been touched this way before—like he doesn't know what to do with it. "...Don't let go yet," he whispers. "I won't," you promise. "Not tonight." Heeseung's head is resting against yours, your hand still pressed to his chest, when he whispers it. So faint, it's nearly lost in your breathing.

"...Call her." You pull back a little, brushing your nose against his cheek. "Hm?" He blinks slowly, like the exhaustion is hitting him all at once. "Phone's somewhere here, on the shelf by the metronome. Just—tell her it's bad, she'll come." You stare back into his eyes cluelessly,

"My nurse".

You nod, slipping gently off his lap. He groans softly at the loss of you but doesn't stop you. Doesn't move at all, really—just tilts his head back against the edge of the bench, hair damp with blood sweat and tears. You find the phone where he said it would be, swipe up, and call the nurse. She picks up after one ring. You tell her to come and you don't have to say much more—she must be used to these calls by now. And as you're hanging up, you hear him say it behind you, low and soft, "Thanks... for coming upstairs."

You turn, heart squeezing. He's still sitting there, shirtless and smeared in blood, legs parted like he couldn't stand if he tried. But he's looking at you—really looking—and something about it makes your breath catch in your throat.

You walk over. Kiss his forehead. Then slip into the bathroom for towels, water, and cleaner. By the time the nurse arrives, you're back upstairs, on your knees by the piano, gently gathering the shattered ivory keys and splintered wood into a pile. You've scrubbed some of the blood from the floor, though the stains are stubborn. The piano looks gutted—her insides exposed, wires torn and twisted like veins. Your heart aches again. Not for the piano. But for him.

Heeseung, who stayed downstairs. Who let someone else tend to him while you tried to do what you could for the mess he left behind. You hear footsteps coming up the stairs, then his voice—calmer now, hoarse, but steady. "Leave it." You glance over your shoulder. He's standing there, freshly bandaged, a clean shirt half-buttoned and hanging loose on his frame. The nurse must have left quietly.

"I'm still your cleaner, remember?" you say lightly, trying to ease the air. "Let me do my job." His lips twitch. But there's something softer in his eyes now—something closer to sorrow than amusement.

"You're more than that." You pause and look down at the broken keys in your hands. "I know."

And he comes to you—sinks down beside you on the floor, still moving slowly like he's holding his bones together by sheer will—and rests his forehead to yours again. Neither of you says anything else, you just sit in the wreckage of something beautiful. Together.

*•*•*

It's hard to say how much time has passed. Days, maybe. Weeks. The kind that blur together, quiet and golden at the edges, like light filtered through gauze. The scar on Heeseung's arm is healing well—just a thin red seam now, barely visible when he rolls his sleeves up. He doesn't try to hide it anymore.

You're downstairs today. The sun is dipping low and warm across the windows, lighting up the dust motes dancing in the air. The piano stands rebuilt, restored—not the same one from upstairs, but something new. Something you picked out together.

You're sitting beside him on the bench, your knees touching. Heeseung's hands are guiding yours across the keys with quiet patience.

"No, baby, focus" he murmurs, laughing when you hit the wrong note again. "That's an A, not a G."

"I am focused," you argue, shoulders tensing in mock defense. "I just—I forgot which finger goes where." He leans closer, brushing his lips against your temple. "The one I showed you. Your third finger. C'mon. Try again." You exhale, pouting a little as you reposition your hands. Heeseung watches you with a softness that folds itself into the corners of his smile.

You press the keys again. It's still wrong. You groan dramatically. "Ugh, why is this so hard?" And he can't help it—he grabs your chin and kisses you mid-pout. Quick and warm. The kind of kiss that says you're the most precious thing I've ever ruined myself for.

Your lips curve into a grin beneath his. He chuckles. "You know what I think?"

"Hm?"

"I think you just like messing up so I'll kiss you."

You nudge him with your shoulder. "Maybe." Heeseung leans in again. A little slower this time. A little deeper. Then his hands return to the keys. And so do yours.

You sit like that a while—two shadows against the shine of the piano, laughter and missed notes echoing softly in the room. And if someone were to peek in just then, they might think it's a simple thing. A boy and a girl, and a piano between them. But it's not. It's an anchor. A promise. A world rebuilt from ash and ghosts and broken music.

And maybe you never learned to play perfectly, but he never stopped telling you you were the most beautiful song he'd ever heard.

══════════════════════════

•taglist-

@immelissaaa @fancypeacepersona @inawonderfulworld @usuallyunlikelyfox @starry-eyed-bimbo @strayy-kidz @mheretoreadff @bloomiize @xoenhalover @mamuljji

[seungjiseyo]

GIVING HEESEUNG VIAGRA WHEN HE RATER FOCUSES ON HIS GAME THAN ON YOU (it’s not a want, it’s a need.)

and ends up overstimulating you 😜

hard mode activated - lhs (m)

lee heeseung x reader

When your gamer boyfriend keeps ignoring you for his ranked matches, you slip him something to make sure he never forgets who’s really in control—turns out, three rounds later, neither of you are logging off anytime soon. ✉️ wc 1968 - tw ‼️ drug use (Viagra without consent), dubcon, rough sex, degradation, overstimulation, possessiveness, car sex, masturbation, light manipulation, inexperienced reader, breeding kink, praise kink, spanking

📝: this trope is so fun like guys I’m more important. Genre: smut, romance, comedy, slight angst, gamer!AU, modern AU, established relationship, chaotic energy.

“NO—Jake, you missed! What the hell are you doing, bro?!”

Heeseung’s voice is sharp, almost panicked as he throws himself back in his gaming chair, headset slightly askew, fingers tapping violently at the keyboard like it might help him recover from whatever in-game disaster just happened.

You blink at him from the bed, legs crossed, wearing his hoodie and literally nothing else, but he doesn’t even glance your way.

“Are you seriously yelling at Jake right now?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“He sold the push!” Heeseung says like that’s supposed to make sense, eyes glued to his screen. “We had it, and then he ran past the stun grenade like an idiot— wait wait wait, I gotta rotate—!”

You push off the bed and pad over to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind. You know exactly how warm your skin is, how exposed your thighs are when you bend forward just slightly—but he’s still locked in.

“Hee,” you murmur against his ear, swaying a little. “Let me play a round.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not good at this game,” he says, dead serious, not even trying to be mean—just brutally honest as he adjusts his headset again. “You get motion sick and then you shoot the wall.”

You blink.

Hard.

“Wow. Okay. Rude.”

“I’m just being honest, babe,” he mumbles, eyes still scanning the screen. “It’s fine. You’re good at other things.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno,” he says. “Like… being pretty?”

Heeseung’s never looked away from his screen.

Not once.

You stare at the back of his head for a solid five seconds, arms still wrapped around him.

He doesn’t even notice the silence.

And that’s when something shifts in your brain.

You smile slowly, fingers trailing down to his chest. “You thirsty?”

“Yeah,” he says without hesitation. “Grab me water?”

“Sure.”

You disappear into the kitchen.

And you come back with a water bottle.

But you also come back with a plan.

Heeseung leans back in his chair, headset slipping slightly as he swipes at the sweat gathering on the back of his neck.

Weird.

It wasn’t even hot a second ago.

He adjusts his grip on the mouse, trying to focus. The screen’s still flashing red from the last round. He barely caught the kill cam because your arms were around him, your voice all soft in his ear, and then the way you smiled when he said you weren’t good at the game—it made something twist in his chest.

Now you were gone, and everything felt… weirdly quiet.

Too quiet.

“So… who was that?” Jake’s voice cracks through the headset like a bullet.

Heeseung blinks. “What?”

“Just now. The voice. Sounded like someone was clinging to you mid-match.”

“Oh,” Heeseung clears his throat and taps at his keyboard. “It was just Y/N.”

Jake makes a noise.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, man,” Jake chuckles. “Just didn’t think she was real for a second. You always talk about her like she’s some imaginary girlfriend—‘She’s cute,’ ‘She plays sometimes,’ ‘She made me snacks,’—but I’ve never actually heard her.”

Heeseung frowns. “She is real.”

“Sure she is, bro,” Jake says with a teasing tone. “Although I gotta say, she didn’t sound too happy when you told her she sucked.”

“I didn’t say she sucked,” Heeseung mutters, eyes narrowing at the screen. “I just said she gets motion sick and shoots walls.”

Jake laughs louder now. “Romantic. No wonder she left.”

Heeseung leans back again, shifting in his seat. His whole body is starting to feel tense—tight in ways he’s never felt during a game before. Like every layer of clothing is too warm. His joggers are clinging. The waistband is digging. And his thighs—

He shifts again, more aggressively this time.

“What the—ugh,” he mutters under his breath, running a hand through his hair. His neck is red. His cheeks too. Something’s wrong.

“Hyung,” Jake says slowly. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Heeseung says quickly, voice cracking a little. “Just—it’s really warm in here. I think—maybe I need a break.”

“You? Take a break from ranked?” Jake sounds like he’s about to faint. “Nah, something’s off. Did Y/N mess with you or something?”

Heeseung’s about to laugh it off—say no, of course not—but then he remembers your smile.

That soft “Sure” when he asked for water.

And the way you walked out without a word.

“…I think she did.”

Heeseung yanks the headset off with one hand and slams it onto the desk, jaw tight, breath uneven.

His palms are sweating.

His heart is pounding.

And his cock is aching—harder than it’s ever been in his life, straining against his sweats so much it hurts.

He didn’t even realize it at first—just thought the heat was from the game. But now it’s undeniable. His skin is burning. His whole body’s flushed. And his mind is clouded with one name.

“Y/N,” he growls, standing up so fast the chair wheels screech against the floor.

You’re on the bed.

Phone in hand.

Legs stretched out, innocent as ever like you didn’t just ruin his game and drug him with a freaking hard-on pill.

Heeseung stares at you, pupils blown.

You glance up. Smile.

“Done already?”

His jaw clenches.

“What did you give me?”

You blink, tilting your head. “Just water.”

“Y/N,” he says again, this time lower—deeper. “What did you put in it?”

You hum, pretending to think. “Something to help you focus.”

He’s across the room before you can blink.

Your phone flies out of your hand, tossed somewhere near the pillow, and suddenly you’re pinned flat against the mattress, wrists trapped above your head by one of his hands while the other grabs your thigh, forcing it open.

“Hee—” you gasp, wide-eyed.

“You ruined my game,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours, nose brushing your cheek as his hips slot between your legs. “I had my best K/D this week and you—you—decided to mess with me?”

“I just wanted attention,” you whisper.

“You could’ve said that without drugging me,” he mutters—but his voice is wrecked, his body betraying him, grinding down against your bare skin like he’s already too far gone.

You whimper when you feel it—how hard he is, how thick, how desperate he sounds trying not to lose it.

“You’re gonna fix this,” he whispers darkly, his lips brushing your ear. “All of it.”

You swallow. “How?”

He pulls back just enough to look at you—and the look in his eyes is lethal.

“You’re not leaving this bed until I come at least three times.”

His mouth crashes into yours—no warning, no patience. Just raw, teeth-clashing hunger.

His hands are all over you now, shaking with the effort of holding back, but still desperate to feel everything. Your hoodie rides up as he rips it higher, fingers digging into your hips so hard it leaves marks.

“I can’t believe you did that,” he mutters into your mouth. “You really drugged me just to make me touch you?”

You nod, dazed, already breathing heavy. “You were ignoring me.”

“And this is your solution?” he growls, grinding down into your core, his clothed cock dragging right against your heat. “This? Making me lose my damn mind while I’m on call with my team?”

You moan when he rolls his hips again—harder.

Heeseung groans, low and pained, like even that isn’t enough. “God, I feel like I’m gonna fuckin’ explode.”

Then he pulls back just enough to rip his hoodie off, exposing that unfairly pretty body you’ve been staring at all day. Pale skin flushed, chest rising fast.

He tugs at the waistband of your panties next—snaps them, actually, then pushes them down your legs in one rough sweep. They land somewhere on the floor.

And then he’s pushing your thighs apart, crawling between them like he owns you.

“You better remember this next time you try to pull shit like that,” he mutters, tugging his sweats just far enough down to free himself.

He’s thick—hard—already leaking at the tip, flushed red and twitching with need. It makes you gasp without meaning to, legs trying to close out of instinct.

Heeseung grabs your knees and shoves them wide open.

“Nope,” he hisses, lining himself up. “You started this. You’re taking it.”

And then he’s sliding in—too fast, too deep.

Your back arches immediately, breath catching.

“H-Heeseung—” you choke, the stretch overwhelming. “It hurts—”

His face falters for half a second, but his hands never stop moving—he’s pushing your hair out of your face, kissing your cheek, whispering, “Shh, I know, baby. I know. You’re just tight. It’s okay. You can take it.”

His hips grind down again, slower this time but still deep, and you whimper.

“You’re gonna take all of me, yeah?” he murmurs against your skin, voice suddenly soft again as he rocks into you. “Wanted this so bad you had to drug me for it… now you’re getting every inch.”

By the time he’s buried all the way inside you, your thighs are shaking, your head tipped back, and you’re gasping like you’ve just been pulled under.

Heeseung isn’t faring much better.

His jaw is tight, his brows drawn together, body trembling with restraint. Every roll of his hips makes his breath stutter—but he doesn’t stop. Not when you whine his name, not when your nails drag down his back, and definitely not when your walls clench around him so tight he groans, loud and broken.

You feel it when he starts to lose rhythm—hips jerking harder, messier, as the high claws its way up his spine. “Fuck—fuck, I’m—”

“Inside,” you breathe, nails gripping his arms. “Inside, please—”

His groan splits through the air.

He presses his mouth to your neck, moaning as he throbs inside you, warmth spreading deep with each pulse of his release. You both freeze for a moment, panting hard, your legs wrapped around his waist like you never want him to pull out.

But then—

Heeseung doesn’t move.

Not really.

He stays inside, chest pressed to yours, still twitching. His hips shift slightly.

And then again.

You flinch. “Hee—w-wait—”

He lifts his head.

And when he looks at you this time, his eyes are darker. Hungrier. Like something else just snapped.

“You thought one round would be enough?” he asks, voice low and wrecked, cock still hard inside you. “You gave me viagra, Y/N.”

Your mouth opens—but nothing comes out.

Heeseung leans down, kisses you slow, then starts thrusting again. No break.

“We’re not done,” he whispers. “Not even close.”

“You’re shaking already,” Heeseung murmurs against your lips, voice thick and low as he rolls his hips into you again—slow and deep.

You let out a sob, nails digging into his back. “It’s too much—”

He doesn’t stop.

Instead, he groans softly, forehead resting against yours as he keeps moving. Every stroke is deliberate now—sliding in deep, grinding against every sensitive spot until you’re gasping and arching into him again.

“You really thought you could drug me,” he whispers, “and this wouldn’t happen?”

You whimper, hips twitching under his grip. “I-I just wanted you—”

“You have me.” His voice drops. “All of me.”

One hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit—rubbing slow circles while he keeps fucking into you like he’s trying to brand you from the inside out.

Your back arches off the bed. “H-Hee—!”

He chuckles, soft but breathless, hips never faltering. “Too much? But you were so confident earlier,” he says, kissing along your jaw. “Now look at you. Messy little thing, can’t even keep your legs still.”

You can’t.

They’re trembling, clenching around his waist, your whole body locking up each time his cock presses into that sweet, overstimulated spot inside you.

“You sound so pretty like this,” he groans. “Can’t wait to hear you again when you fall apart.”

You’re already close.

Too close.

Heeseung feels it—your walls tightening, your moans slipping higher.

So he slows down more.

Keeps you right there, teetering.

Your eyes well up with frustrated tears. “Please—Hee, please—!”

He presses a kiss to your lips. “Beg for it.”

You nod fast, desperate. “Please, Heeseung—I need it, I need to come, I—”

“You’re gonna come with me this time,” he breathes. “So you feel it. Every last drop.”

Then he slams into you again.

Your whole body jerks—and this time when you come, it’s full-body, trembling, breathless, tears slipping from your eyes as he groans into your neck and follows right after, spilling deep inside you again with a shaky, “Fuck, baby—god, you’re perfect—”

You both collapse, sweaty and gasping.

He’s still inside you.

And still not softening.

You’re breathless under him, skin flushed and sticky, legs barely able to stay open—and still, Heeseung doesn’t move to pull out.

He’s staring at you, chest heaving, cock twitching inside your overstimulated walls.

“Still so fucking tight,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “You’re not even trying to push me away…”

Your lips part, dazed. “You’re still hard…”

Heeseung leans down, brushing your sweat-slick hair off your forehead. “I told you—this wasn’t over.”

And then he pulls out.

Only to flip you over onto your stomach with no warning.

You let out a shocked gasp, face pressing into the sheets, hips lifted by his hands until you’re on your knees, your ass in the air.

He spreads you open, slow—gentle, almost reverent—but there’s a wildness in his breathing. A quiet groan slips from his throat when he sees how messy you are, dripping and puffy from two rounds of being stuffed full.

Then his voice drops, deeper, darker.

“You look ruined.”

You whimper.

“But you’re gonna take me one more time, aren’t you?”

You nod helplessly. “Y-Yeah—”

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, and then he’s sliding back in from behind, slow and deep and mean, hips slapping against the back of your thighs.

You cry out, legs buckling, but his hands grip your hips tight—forcing you to stay still as he pounds into you again.

“Sound even prettier like this,” he groans, picking up the pace. “All wet and fucked-out and crying my name.”

“Feels too good—” you sob, biting down on the sheets. “H-Heeseung—”

“I know, baby. I know.” He sounds wrecked now, breath stuttering. “One more time. You’re gonna give me one more—come on, you can do it.”

You’re shaking, legs trembling, and when his hand snakes around to rub your clit again—you break.

You scream into the pillow as your third orgasm hits like a wave, clenching around him so tight he curses under his breath, hips stuttering.

“Fuckfuckfuck—”

Heeseung buries himself to the hilt one last time, groaning as he spills deep inside you again, pulsing hard while your name falls from his lips like a prayer.

When he finally stills, your body collapses under him, boneless and twitching, his weight sinking over your back as he pants against your shoulder.

Neither of you says a word for a moment.

Just your breathing.

Just the mess.

Just the sound of your heart pounding in sync.

[seungjiseyo]

love fool

"so i cry, i pray, and i beg!"

pairing: slytherin!heeseung x ravenclaw!reader (fem reader)

genre: hogwarts au, social media au, LOSER heeseung, unserious, fluff

summary: slytherin seventh year lee heeseung, notorious for fucking up every spell he’s ever tried to cast, mistakenly believes he’s the only one at hogwarts not adept at magic. that is until he starts getting blamed for the mishaps of a certain ravenclaw

before you read: this is a universe extension to my riki smau: beat it! you do not need to read it to understand, but i do recommend. also if any of you haven't read my smaus before, the heeseung i write is very very loserish. hope that isn't jarring

schedule:

started: 2.8.25

completed: 3.8.25

status: completed!

teaser: here

character previews: one / two

chapters: one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven / twelve / thirteen / fourteen

(total 14)

[seungjiseyo]

Between lust and revenge

*pairing: Leader alpha Heeseung x omega Girl

*trope: Forbidden love/Enemies to lovers

*synopsis: In an exclusive academy where alphas, omegas and betas coexist, Y/n, a sweet and pretty omega, is forced to marry Jiwon, an omega who does not love and treats her with contempt. But when she finds herself trapped in a fate she has not chosen, the only way out seems to be Heeseung, an alpha tormented by revenge for his brother’s death, caused by the family of Y/n. In despair, Y/n offers herself to Heeseung, asking him to knot her to escape a loveless marriage and the tyranny of her future husband. Despite his resentment towards his family, Heeseung accepts the proposal, but with one condition: he will never love her. As the bond between the two becomes more and more intense and dangerous, Y/n finds herself fighting not only for her own freedom, but also for a love that seems impossible.

*tags: Heeseung is the leader of his 6 younger brothers and whole alpha of the new generation, at first he is really cold and throws darts to Y/n, Y/n is a sweet omega but with a nice character, preliminaries, a lot of kisses, sucking, masturbation, fingering, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) knotting,filling, pet names (princess,little omega,slut) (Hee,alpha)

12.7k (♥️)

(English is not my native language)

The golden lights of the sunset filtered through the wide glass windows of the greenhouse, dancing among the climbing plants and blooming flowers that filled the air with sweet notes of jasmine and mint. The air was warm, scented with spring and anticipation. You stood there, behind a half-open glass door, your heartbeat echoing through your temples. On the other side of the greenhouse, among the shadows of the foliage, he was there. The boy with amber eyes who had never spared you a long look, but whose mere gaze on yours could make your knees tremble. Heeseung. Alpha. Damnably untouchable. And yet, there you were, spying on him as if just seeing him could be enough to make you breathe.

Your fiery red dress clung to your curves with elegance, the light silk swaying with every breath as your heels hesitated on the stone floor. Your hair, smooth as silk, slipped over your shoulders, and your lips, tinged with a soft red, trembled with unspoken thoughts. The heart-shaped necklace your mother had given you seemed to glow with its own light as if reminding you where you came from. But the ring… the ring that Jiwon had ordered for you, that one you didn’t wear. You didn’t want it. Only your bracelets, colorful and mismatched, truly spoke of who you were: a girl who dreamed of freedom, carrying with her fragments of every summer, every laugh, every escape.

"I can’t do it… I can’t marry him. Not Jiwon, that damn omega who never respected me, never respected my family’s name, and would have locked me in a cage as if I were an animal."

Your fingers clenched the edge of the door. Your heart was pounding, too loudly. Not because of the imminent wedding, but because of the tall, lean figure immersed among the greenhouse plants. Heeseung looked like a noble, deadly shadow, and yet there was something in him that gave you relief. Perhaps because, despite the resentment he held against your family, he had never looked at you as an object. In truth, he had hardly ever looked at you, but when he did… he saw your soul.

"He hates me. I know. But he's the only alpha who could break this curse. The only one strong enough to mark me. The only one who could not be controlled by Jiwon or my father."

You, a gentle omega, delicate, raised to smile, to not disturb, to say thank you, and remain composed. Your aura was faint, like the scent of lavender on a summer evening. People said your presence calmed the air, that your gaze brought peace. But they had no idea of the fire that smoldered within your heart. Of how your soul screamed every time Jiwon touched you with those predatory eyes.

Heeseung was dangerous, with fire and poison and silence. But he didn’t scare you. Because beneath his cold mask, you felt something. As if he, too, was waiting for a way to save himself.

"I wasn’t born to be a bride. Not for an omega like him. If only Heeseung would touch me... if only he would agree to bind himself to me... I could break it all."

The black tuxedo clung to his broad shoulders with almost cruel precision. The seams traced his form as if they had been stitched directly onto his skin, and the high collar barely revealed a vein that pulsed faintly on his neck. Heeseung stood with his back to you, still, like a statue of black marble planted among the shadows of the greenhouse. He seemed part of the landscape, as though nature itself had embraced him as a sovereign.

You bit your lower lip. A nervous gesture, but also one filled with awareness.

Did he hate me? Probably.

If someone from my family had killed one of my brothers, I would have hated to death anyone who bore that blood too.

Your fingers trembled as they brushed against the iron handle of the glass door. You lowered it carefully, and a faint click broke the silence, heavy with humidity and suspended petals. You stepped inside. No sound from him. Not even a breath. Only your gentle aura, warm and light like a caress in the dark, making its way into his realm. The scent of your skin—vanilla and wild honey—spread slowly throughout the greenhouse.

Then, after a few seconds, his voice.

That voice.

Low. Rich with a dangerous echo. A voice you had only heard during shared lessons, and even then, it made the hairs on your neck stand on end.

“A scent so sweet for an omega… Do you come into my territory? What have I done to deserve the presence of a single omega… unprotected… and, by the way, not even accompanied by anyone?” The air changed around him. As if he had pulled the strings of the world itself with those words. You lifted your gaze slowly. Your wide, shining eyes met his back, still turned. It felt like you were looking at a wall you could never scale. Heeseung was a true alpha. Not just any alpha. His aura was like a silent storm: strong, regal, impenetrable. He could pick up every single scent, every emotion, every nuance of your essence. And you were there, trembling, with your innocent air and humble gaze. A perfect prey. A gentle omega, with an aura soft as a nest of feathers, but a heart full of storms. With a nervous touch on your arms, you brushed against the bracelets you’d worn since childhood. They were your colorful armor. Light memories in a world that now seemed to crush you. You squeezed them tight. Then, with a clear voice, but with a thread of hesitation, you said: “I need your help, Heeseung.” His shoulders stiffened just slightly. Nothing visible to the untrained eye, but you felt it. He felt that voice. Sweet. Polite. Humble. But the same voice he hated with all his being. The voice of the daughter of the man who had taken his brother from him, the voice of enemy blood. Slowly, he turned around, and his gaze was an abyss of amber. Predator’s eyes. Contained coldness, the tuxedo jacket barely moving with his motion, his steps slow, controlled. When his eyes met yours, they didn’t see a threat. They saw a harmless creature. They saw prey, and you, there in your red dress, looked almost out of place, like a delicate flower in the middle of a fire.

What were you doing there? The daughter of the man who killed his brother, a sweet omega who, instead of kneeling to ask for forgiveness, dared to ask for help. From him.

You fiddled with your bracelets, making the beads you had collected over the years softly jingle as if their sound could calm you. But it didn’t work. Not with him in front of you. Not with those eyes. You observed him. Red hair, as if every strand had been kissed by fire. It fell messily over his forehead, but perfectly so. Amber eyes were so intense they seemed to bore into you. And yet… they didn’t scare you. No. They seemed like doe’s eyes, deep, glossy… melancholic. His face was sculpted with almost cruel precision: straight nose, full lips, a jawline that seemed carved by a tired god. His alpha frame made him imposing, much taller than you—and you, at barely 1.70 cm, felt like a feather before a storm. You took a deep breath, then spoke with a calm but sincere voice: “I know you hate me. And I swear… I hate myself too for what my father did to your brother. I don’t forgive him, not even I. But I… I am here to offer you a deal. A revenge you could use against him. Against the entire omega lineage and—” “NO.” His roar hit you like a sudden gust of wind. Sharp. Clear. Inviolable. He turned away as if you were nothing. As if your heart, right there on the table, wasn’t worthy of even a glance. He returned to his herbs, his hands mixing lavender and calendula in a black mortar with precision. The scent of flowers and rare plants filled the greenhouse, and yet you only smelled the rejection in the air. You sighed softly. A part of you wanted to leave, to cry in silence like a well-behaved omega, but the other part… the part that was tired of being commanded… took a step forward. You entered deeper into the wolf’s den. You approached his table and, with a sweet but firm voice, pointed at what he was doing. “You’re mixing lavender to soothe wounds… you’re adding arnica root. It’s for bites. To heal a wounded alpha… or a victim of an attack. Who are you trying to heal, Heeseung?” Finally, he lifted his gaze and he did it with a growl. “Out. Not another word from you. Not in my territory.” His voice was sharp, deep, filled with contained venom. But you…you didn’t move. Your eyes remained locked on his, and your fingers lightly rested on the edge of the table, between his herbs and his silence. “I’m not leaving.” You said, and a heady silence fell, where the only sounds were the distant trickle of a stream and the rustle of animals.

Heeseung stared at you, his aura growing dense, almost suffocating. The king of alphas was beginning to get irritated. Yet… beneath his coldness, something shifted. A tiny crack. A curiosity he didn't want to admit. "You're a problem, you know that?" His voice was as hard as stone. But his eyes… they were studying you. You, however, barely smiled. With sweetness, a smile that wasn't a provocation… it was a gentle challenge. It was that quiet strength only an omega like you could possess. "And you're so good at solving problems. Maybe… I could be your favorite." Heeseung's gaze darkened. But he didn’t speak. His fingers continued to mix the herbs, but the movements were no longer as confident as before. He was disturbed. Annoyed. Intrigued, and you knew it. Heeseung observed you. Not with the distracted look of someone who notices something pretty, but with the cold, calculating gaze of an alpha who scrutinizes, evaluates… and hates himself for what’s stirring inside him. He didn’t want to admit it, not even to himself. But you were beautiful: one of those rare omegas, born to make even the most stable alphas tremble. He would have wanted to — with his entire body, but not his mind — nurture you, tame you, mark you, bind you to him with the force of an eternal bond, sink every sign of his power into you. And yes… impregnate you, but he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. He knew how delicate the balance between omega and alpha was, how few couples truly worked, how easy it was to ruin a life just to satisfy an impulse. And then… you were the daughter of his enemy. Yet, it wasn’t fear he saw trembling in your fingers, it was awareness. A fear all your own. Not for him… but for what you were about to ask.

“You have two minutes,” he said abruptly, his tone cold but his gaze lit by something he couldn’t extinguish. “And then I want you out of here.” A smile appeared on your face. You clapped your hands softly, like a child who had just been permitted to enter an enchanted forest. He raised an eyebrow, irritated. “You’ve already lost five seconds, now it’s one fifty-five.” You sighed softly, but the smile didn’t completely fade. With a gentle yet firm voice, you spoke. “I don’t want to marry Jiwon. I don’t love him. I don’t respect him. And I already know what awaits me if I become his: a house, a bed, and a future made of nothing but pregnancies and silences. I want to be bound, yes, but I also want the freedom to choose, to study, and to live my life. And the only one strong enough to protect me… the only one Jiwon could never challenge… is you, Lee Heeseung.” He didn’t say anything. You swallowed, your heart racing but your gaze clear. “I know you hate me. And that’s fine. But you can use this resentment, this anger inside you… you can use it against my father. Against my bloodline. You can take revenge… with me.” An incredible silence fell over the greenhouse, the herbs seemed to hold their breath. Heeseung was shocked, staring at you with those amber eyes wide open, his jaw clenched. Then he burst out laughing, but it wasn’t a real laugh. It was a brief, incredulous explosion. “You’re crazy.” You turned slightly, your face serious yet soft, your tone sweet… but sincere. “No, I’m dead serious.”

He looked at you as if trying to find a crack in your apparent calm. But there was none. And that’s what truly unsettled him. “You want to offer me your body… your virginity… as a pact for revenge? Is that what you’re proposing? To be branded by me, tied, used… so that you don’t end up in Jiwon’s hands?” You didn’t look away. “In a sense, yes, and you’re the only way to do it, no alpha has your power, and if I’m tied to you, your scent and your fragrance will be all over my body and no male will approach me, only you, Heeseung.” Heeseung’s lips curled into a half-cynical smile. His eyes narrowed, dangerous. “Too bad I’ve never been the type to save princesses.” He took a step toward you, slow and ethereal. “Especially those who carry the blood of my worst enemy.” You lowered your gaze. Your fingers tightened around your bracelets as if they could save you from yourself. “The only one who can save me… is you,” you whispered. “You can take revenge… on your brother… by tying me to you.” But you didn’t manage to finish. His voice cut you off, sharp like a slap: “Pathetic.” You froze. A silent tear slipped down your cheek slowly. It slid along your face like an unsaid confession. Your omega aura blossomed, finally free, like a sweet and fragile scent that expanded in the room. You felt it, but he thought it much more. It was soft, welcoming, instinctively submissive but with a core of dignity impossible to extinguish. “You’re right…” you whispered, your voice low. “The two minutes are over.”

You turned slowly. And walked away, trying not to give in to the shame, or the pain, but then something happened. “Stop.” His voice was an order. A command, and you… you stopped. Not out of fear. Not because you wanted to. But because something in your omega nature forced you to obey. Omegas live to follow. To feel they belong. And with that voice… your body reacted before your mind. You turned slowly. “You’re pathetic, but also… brave.” He took a few steps toward you, his eyes still burning with distrust, but also something else. Something that tightened his chest. “No one has ever faced me like this. No one. Least of all an omega.” He stopped in front of you, his body just inches away. His warmth was overwhelming, and his eyes, now darker, locked onto yours. “Do you know what happens to an omega… when they’re tied by an alpha?” You swallowed. Your legs trembled. But you didn’t look away. “Yes,” you murmured. “Tell me.” You swallowed again, and with an uncertain but sincere voice, you said: “When an alpha ties an omega, his knot swells inside her… locking in for minutes, sometimes even half an hour. During that time… the omega loses complete control.” You said, looking at him with desperate eyes. “The body opens, surrenders. The scent changes. The orgasm is violent… uncontrollable. The bond forms. And… the omega can get pregnant at the first attempt if the alpha desires. But if the omega isn’t ready… if she’s afraid… her body may react badly. The pain can become too much and yes… in extreme cases… she could die.” The silence that followed was different from all the ones before. Heeseung stared at you as if you were saying the most absurd thing… and at the same time, the truest. “And despite all of that… you want to risk being tied by me?” “Yes.” you said, sure of your words.

Heeseung was stunned. For the first time in years, he didn't know what to do. Your words echoed in his ears, so sweet and desperate that they made him clench his fists. What would his brothers say? Him. Lee Heeseung. The most respected alpha at the Academy. Him, tying an omega. Not just any omega. But the daughter of the man who had wiped out his family. "If I bind you," he said quietly, with a hard voice, "you'll be mine forever, there’s no turning back. The bond will be eternal. Your body, your soul… everything will belong to me." You nodded, the tears threatening to fall, but with your eyes shining. "I know." Then, in an even quieter, almost broken voice, you said: "And I'll do everything you want, Heeseung. Even… even get pregnant. If that’s what you desire from me." The alpha's breath caught in his throat. Those words… offered so sincerely, without malice, without strategy… they were like a blade to the chest. “If you do this,” he thought, “your family will disown you. They’ll cast you out. They’ll cut you off.” But a voice inside him whispered: "Good. Let them. She’ll find a new family. Mine." You looked at him again, standing tall even though your body trembled.

"I… I can become your perfect revenge. Imagine my father’s face when he finds out that an alpha has bound me. That his perfect little girl has been taken, tied, marked… and maybe even impregnated. He’ll be furious. Humiliated, and I… I’ll be free from a forced marriage between two families pretending to support each other." Heeseung gritted his teeth, fighting with himself. "And you think I would give you freedom?" he said bitterly. You smiled, this time bitter but sincere. "I know you don’t like me, Heeseung. You don’t have to. But you… you and I are the best at herbology. No one beats us. And yet they always pit us against each other because they want to see us break. But I’ve always seen you. Always respected you. And I know that when alphas choose a mate, they love her. They protect her. They let her… live. Better than in a gilded cage with Jiwon. Better than being just a breeder to be showcased for my beauty and my calming power over people." Silence.

Heeseung’s breath was broken, his gaze fierce but filled with torment, looking at you as if you were poison and remedy at the same time. Desire and destruction. He took a step closer, then another. Now he was so close you could feel his hot breath on your face. "And if I marked you now?" he whispered. "If I pushed you against that table and bound you mercilessly… in front of these plants… while you cry, but not from fear… just because you’re finally free?" Your breath hitched. Your omega inside was trembling. You looked into his eyes, even though your heart was pounding, and the omega aura crackled in the air, ready to bend, ready to follow… but you didn’t look away. "I'm not ready yet," you murmured. His lips curled into a bitter sneer. "Pathetic," he hissed. "Not even for a kiss?" The tone was venomous and harsh. But you felt it… it wasn’t real. It was self-defense. It was fear. It was broken pride. Heeseung knew you were right. No one was truly ready for the bond of a knot. Not even him. And yet… as your omega scent mixed with his natural alpha fragrance – strong, resinous, with hints of musk and spices – something in the air became dangerously sweet; a mutual intoxication. Lethal but also… irresistible. He took a few steps forward. His voice was low, rasping as if scratched by pain. "Your father… killed my brother. Like a dog. He left him there… eyes open. And blood painting the end on the floor, and you… you’re here. Crying. Asking to be saved." You didn’t answer. You just listened, the tears now free, warm, slipping down your cheeks. Your heart screamed, but your mouth remained silent. He noticed. And for a moment, he softened. He sighed, running a hand through his fiery red hair that he was trying to smother. “…I’ll think about it," he finally said. "I don’t promise anything." Your eyes lit up. And with a light, almost ironic voice, but sincere, you said: “At least it’s not a hard ‘no’…” He looked at you, raising an eyebrow, both irritated and amused at the same time. "I’ve had enough for tonight. Go back to the dance. Surely your ‘perfect omega’ is looking for you. You wouldn’t want to disappoint him, would you?" You looked at him sweetly, with that touch of innocent defiance that only an omega like you could afford. "When will you decide?" Heeseung stared at you for a moment, then looked away. But his words struck straight to your chest: "You’ll know soon enough, and prepare yourself mentally, princess… because if I decide to knot you and make you mine, it won’t be for play." You nodded, feeling every word resonate inside you. You bowed, in the ancient silence of the greenhouse, and you left. Light heels, uncertain steps, a heart-pounding wildly, but behind your chest… a small flame had taken a life, and you knew, as you stepped out into the cold night, that not everything was lost.

Three days had passed, seventy-two hours, four thousand three hundred and twenty minutes. Not that you were counting, of course. Every time you crossed paths with him in the Academy's hallways, or during Herbology class, Heeseung didn't even spare you a glance. He was icy, impassive, as if that night in the greenhouse had never happened, yet… you could feel it. His scent. His fleeting gaze. His breath changing every time you entered the room. In the meantime, you had searched for everything there was about knotting between an alpha and an omega.

“The knot can last from twenty to forty-five minutes.”

“During the mating, the omega enters a state of controlled instinctive heat, where the body completely surrenders.”

“The alpha, if compatible, can permanently mark the omega, leaving an irreversible spiritual, emotional, and physical bond.”

“Fertilization is highly likely if the omega does not take the contraceptive pill, even during non-fertile days, due to the high release of pheromones.”

Every time you read something like this, your thighs clenched involuntarily, as if trying to hold something back. A strange, warm, pulsing sensation. Your body knew. Your body wanted. But your mind was scared. Your best friend was an alpha, Heeseung's cousin, and a small genetic miracle: daughter of a male omega and a female alpha. Like you, she had never been knotted. That afternoon, you both lay under the willow in the inner courtyard, your bare feet in the cold grass, talking softly. "My mom told me it's like… being branded by fire. It hurts. It's ecstasy and tearing together. But also that after, you can never live without him, especially if you start to have feelings during the act." You lowered your gaze, playing with the bracelets on your wrist. "I don't know if I'm ready… but I keep thinking about what he had to go through because of my family, the omega bloodline, and I don’t even know if he truly hates me. I just know that… I'm so sorry. Truly sorry. For him. For what he's lived through." She hugged you gently. Her embrace was warm, and reassuring. Familiar. "Heeseung… suffered more than anyone. You have no idea. He was just a boy when it happened. And since then, he hasn’t let anyone touch him. He’s never been close to an omega. Not even one." You looked at her, your eyes misty, but determined. "I know. And you know what the worst part is? That… I’m jealous." She chuckled softly, nudging you with her shoulder. "Jealous of what, idiot?" she laughed, though also intrigued by your candid confession. "That you can choose whoever you want, whenever you want. No one forces you. But I’ve already got a predetermined fate… unless…" you said, looking at the enchanted clearing in front of you. "Unless you rebel," she finished, hugging you. "Unless you choose who you want to be and refuse to give yourself to a man who will never satisfy you. You know that’s the easiest path, but if you give yourself fully to Heeseung, you know it will be the hardest road, but also the one where you can live and show who you are, not just a docile omega." You smiled and, to lighten the mood, teased her: "So, who would you like to knot you or, I don’t know, go out with someone? Come on, tell me. Jake? Jay? Or… Sunghoon? You’ve got three good options!" She blushed up to her ears and covered her face. "Don’t start!" You winked at her at the mention of Sunghoon's name, and she collapsed onto the grass with an exasperated groan, telling you not to start because she couldn’t stand that guy who looked like a human ice cube. Then, as you both laughed, you felt your phone vibrate. A single message.

One sender: Heeseung. "Friday. 21:30 PM. Classroom above the astronomical tower."

Your breath caught in your throat. You had been summoned, like an ancient ritual, a call that could not be ignored. Your mother had always told you that when an alpha wants you… you feel it, but no one had prepared you to feel it like this.

Friday evening had arrived. Too fast, too slow. Every hour that passed that day seemed to melt into your skin like hot wax. Anxiety? No, it was a deeper bubbling. It was the awareness that in just a few hours, your destiny would change forever or perhaps… you would truly become yours for the first time. You wore something simple but carefully chosen: a loose ivory sweater, slightly faded jeans, and your lucky bracelets. Your fingers trembled a little as you closed the door behind you. It wasn’t fear; it was awareness. You arrived before the set time, but he… was already there. The large classroom at the top of the astronomical tower was bathed in silence. Heeseung was sitting on the couch by the huge window, his back straight, hands in his pockets, his gaze lost in the lake where the moon reflected like a broken dream. His silhouette seemed drawn by the light: red hair like domesticated fire, broad shoulders, an imposing back. A true alpha. A king awaiting his new queen. You didn’t say a word. You entered quietly and sat next to him, fiddling with the bracelets on your wrist to hold back the heart that was beating too fast. Then you looked at him. His perfect profile, straight nose, long lashes, taut jaw. “Have you decided?” you asked, your voice low and sincere. He didn’t look at you, not immediately, and continued staring at the water. “Are you sure?” His voice was rough, low, like a dull blade, and you nodded. “Yes, only your cousin knows, my best friend. No one else.” Heeseung slowly turned towards you, his amber eyes piercing through you. “My brothers know. All six of them: Jay, Jake, Hoon, Sunoo, Jungwon, and Niki.” You swallowed hard. His “brothers,” as Heeseung called them, weren’t his blood brothers, but they had grown up together, seven of them, as a real family. All seven were alphas with true marks and supernatural powers, and Heeseung had been elected as their leader for his aura, his flawless hunting skills, always perfect and borderline survival, but he always made it, one way or another. Two years ago, he had been elected and crowned the leader of the new generation of alphas. You gathered your courage and asked him. “And… what did they say?” You knew some might have turned their noses up, like Sunghoon and Ni-Ki, but others could have pushed him to accept, like Jake, Sunoo, and Jungwon. But the one he trusted most was Jay. He turned fully towards you, leaning against the couch with his arms crossed.

“They said I’d be crazy to do it. That you’re a risk. An emotional bomb. That you carry a dirty past with you. That you don’t deserve a bond with our family.” Your heart clenched… until he added, coldly: “But Jay pointed out something: your family is on the verge of ruin, and they have land in the city that… is worth a lot of money. That’s why they want to marry you off to that scoundrel omega, because with his construction company, he can use his connections, but also benefit from your name. If you were to knot, and then… marry… those lands would become mine, ours, and my family would come out even stronger.” You stayed silent for a moment before interrupting him. “Wait, wait, did you just say Marriage?!”

Heeseung looked at you and shrugged. "You know, after a year of knotting… all bound couples get married. It’s law. It’s culture. It’s biology." You lowered your gaze, your fingers tightening around the bracelets, then lifted your eyes, unsure. "So… is this a yes? Are you telling me yes? That you want to knot me and marry me?" Heeseung studied you carefully for a long time, his gaze so deep it made you tremble inside, as though he could see every crack in you. Then he spoke: "Yes. But I won’t love you. Never. This isn’t a fairytale. There will be no love, no hearts, no ribbons. I’ll give you the freedom you want. I’ll rip you away from your destiny, but my heart… remains mine." His words were a punch to the stomach, but also… salvation. You looked at him with a small spark in your eyes. "I don’t ask for your heart, Heeseung, just the choice, the freedom to be myself." And he nodded. "Then prepare yourself, because when an alpha decides… there’s no turning back." As his words faded between you—cold, sharp, definitive—you didn’t think twice. You hugged him with small, trembling arms but full of courage. He was rigid, cold, like a statue carved from black stone… but you sank into him anyway. You sank into his chest, feeling the tension, the anger… and the heartbeat. That powerful alpha heartbeat that echoed against yours. "Tsk, what’s this, now omegas throw themselves into the arms of their enemies? How pathetic, cliché," he sneered. His tone was cynical, dismissive, but his words didn’t move you. You stayed there. With your forehead resting on his shoulder, eyes closed, and a breath that kicked inside you like a prayer. "I’ll thank you forever, Heeseung… I was more afraid of ending up in the hands of an omega like Jiwon, who doesn’t respect women… than being knotted, fertilized, reproduced, and maybe even dying." Your words were sincere, raw, and the truth made something inside him tremble.

Under his skin, in his blood, and then his heart raced. Unexpectedly, you felt a large hand rest on your back, a hesitant touch, almost instinctive, his fingers moving lightly in small circles.

A caress, a primitive form of contact that felt more like comfort than possession. And it was true what they said about you. A warm aura, made of light and peace, a gentle omega’s touch that soothed the soul, even before the flesh.

When you pulled away, Heeseung immediately felt the emptiness, as though you had torn away an invisible part of him. You lowered your gaze, rummaging in your bag, and handed him a folded sheet of paper.

He took it, perplexed, and opened it:

Medical certificate of Y/n (your surname)

Signature of the university gynecologist, and there were specific words written:

No illness.

Still a virgin.

Stable aura.

Mental and physical healing abilities.

Perfect response to stimulation from alpha, omega, or beta.

Adaptable to repeated knotting.

Receptive to imprinting and consensual domination.

He lifted his gaze to you, an eyebrow raised.

"Wow. My little elite virgin is already ready for the marriage packaging, huh? All that’s left is a pink bow and a tag that says ‘fertilize me, I’m pure.’"

He teased you, of course, with that sharp sarcasm from an alpha who didn’t want to give in.

But this time… there was a different tone, a hint of something not just irony.

It was interest, it was respect, and despite everything, it was… dangerously close to admiration.

You stuck out your tongue at him, playful but sweet, and were about to say something—but you didn’t have time.

His fingers gently took your chin, and for a moment…

those amber eyes—eyes of a deer and a predator combined—studied you like an enigma no one had ever dared to solve, and then he kissed you, without warning, without control.

The kiss wasn’t just a kiss — it was a restrained bite, a bite on instinct.

Heeseung wasn’t just anyone. He was the Alpha of all Alphas. Born to dominate, to protect, to take. And right in front of him stood the perfect embodiment of everything he was meant to destroy… and yet, he wanted to possess it.

You whimpered softly under his touch, and that alone was enough to awaken the darkest part of him — that hunger. That urge to explore every inch of you.

He pressed your shoulders with one hand and gently laid you down on the couch, slowly, almost like a predator who takes his time before devouring his prey. He leaned over you, barely giving you space to breathe.

His Alpha scent was overwhelming. Warm like fire, sharp like pepper. You trembled — not out of fear.

Your body was beginning to accept the inevitable.

Heeseung stared at you, and in his eyes, there was raw hunger.

Not just the desire to kiss you, but to tear away your control, and melt your resistance.

To see you fall apart under his touch and then… cry, call for him, beg for him.

"So small. So pure. I’d only need to spread her legs and she'd already be mine. One thrust, one knot, and her whole life would change. She was made to be filled, born to take me in, to be only mine," he thought as he heard your moan.

“Moaning from just a kiss? Pathetic…” he murmured against your lips, with that crooked, cursed smile — but he didn’t pull away.

He deepened the kiss, opening your mouth again and sliding his tongue in further — exploring, taking, claiming.

And you let him. As if you had been waiting for this all along.

Your bodies moved against each other without shame.

His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them slightly — just enough for you to understand that he could.

That if he wanted to, he could knot you right there.

“You’re not even ready for my kiss — let alone my knot,” he whispered in your ear, voice hoarse, while you trembled beneath him.

“Your thighs squeeze shut every time I get close, you know? I can feel it. Your body begs for me… and you don’t even realize it.”

You gasped, cheeks flushed, throat dry.

“I want it to be beautiful…” you managed to whisper, voice broken.

He laughed. A low, wicked laugh, thick with promises.

“It won’t be beautiful. It’ll be unforgettable. But let me warn you, little omega…”

He moved a strand of hair from your face, looking precisely where he’d mark you.

“When I knot you, I’ll do it properly. I’ll make you tremble. Cry. Come. Not just once. Every time I want it. I’ll train your body to welcome me until you beg to be bred.”

He paused, eyes blazing.

“Because when I want you, I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. No excuses. And you… will thank me.”

You nodded slowly, lips parted, unable to speak — only to feel.

“Good,” he whispered again, leaning close once more. “Then start taking the pill. Because if you forget even once… I swear I’ll knock you up and keep you tied to me forever.”

Classroom near the tower – the fourth day before the knotting

Time seemed to bend every time you entered that room. There was something about the scent Heeseung left on the walls, the curtains, even the wood of the desk — it made your thighs clench just crossing the threshold.

When he entered, silent as always, the air tightened.

You were already there, sitting with your hands on your knees, head lowered, your pleated skirt barely revealing the soft skin of your thighs.

But he saw you and chuckled softly.

“So good. Like a little puppy waiting for its master.”

His voice was velvet and venom. It hit you straight in the gut.

“I’m not a dog,” you murmured. But you didn’t lift your gaze. Never before he allowed it.

“Oh no?” he stepped closer, one slow step at a time. “Then why are you crouched here every time, ready to let me touch anything I want?”

You swallowed.

“Because that’s the deal, Heeseung. If you don’t touch me, don’t train me, I might die.”

He was on you in a second. His body pressed against yours, and his hand grabbed your face firmly, forcing you to look at him.

Those eyes — dark, liquid, hungry. “Stop pretending you're doing this just for the agreement. You don’t tremble like that every time I touch you out of duty.”

“I... I do it to survive, and you know perfectly well what my fate would be otherwise, Heeseung.” A smirk appeared on his lips as he brushed your mouth with his thumb.

“Then surviving turns you on, omega?” You wanted to answer, but you couldn’t. Because he was right. Your body spoke louder than your words.

With a jerk, he turned you around and bent you forward against the desk. Your cheek pressed against the cold wood. You could feel his breath behind you.

“Look at yourself. So obedient. So submissive. You didn’t even ask what I’m going to do to you today.”

“What… what will you do to me today, Alpha?” Your voice trembled.

“I’m prepping you, as always. But today… you’ll be on your knees. With your mouth this time. I need to know if you can take me there too.” Your heart stopped for a second.

Then you nodded slowly. “Yes, Alpha. As you wish.”

“Good little obedient omega.”

His voice dripped sweet poison, and you drank it like water. He made you kneel between his legs. He stroked your hair with slow irony like one would pet a domesticated animal.

“Look how docile my revenge prize is. The father kills my brother, and the daughter kneels for me. There is justice in this world after all.”

You wanted to talk back. You looked up at him, your breath already shaky.

“You don’t own me… yet.”

“But you act like I do. So tell me, little one — who’s in charge here?”

“You… Alpha.”

He made you stand again. Pressed you against the wall, his body locked into yours. His hands were everywhere: on your throat, your hips, under your skirt. He kissed you violently, and then his voice dropped.

“In just a few days, I’ll knot you. And it won’t be sweet. I want to feel your tears, I want to hear your voice begging for more. You asked for revenge… but you served it to me on a silver platter.”

His teeth sank into your neck.

Not to mark you — not yet. But to show he was close.

You gasped, your bare breasts pressed to his warm chest.

“Alpha… thank you… for not breaking me yet.”

He chuckled against your skin.

“Oh, princess… who told you I haven’t already?”

The dining room was bathed in golden light, the chandeliers casting a soft glow across the space. The guests' murmurs wove together in a steady hum. The long, dark wooden table was meticulously set, adorned with nothing but forced smiles and carefully measured words.

You sat poised, hands resting on your lap, back straight, cheeks lightly brushed with makeup. Beside you sat your “future husband”: Jiwon, leader of the new generation of omegas—perfect in looks, rotten in soul. His fake smile stung every time his elbow brushed against yours as if to remind you that you belonged to him.

But that wasn’t true.

In two days, Heeseung would claim you. He would mark you—make you his and none of the people seated at that table knew it.

Your father raised his glass toward you, a proud smile on his lips.

'You look beautiful, Y/n. I can’t wait to see you at the altar. You’ll be the purest bride this clan has ever seen.'

You nodded with a gentle smile.

Pure.

If only he had seen your bruised knees, your reddened neck, and the bites Heeseung had left on you just two nights ago.

Jiwon grinned and added in a smug voice, “Yeah, I’m excited too. Maybe we should put a collar on her to keep her from running off the altar—like she does every time I try to kiss her!”

Scattered laughter rippled among the guests, but the air grew noticeably colder.

You smiled politely, though deep down you wanted to rip his tongue out.

Then Jiwon’s mother, seated across the table, chimed in with a sweet voice and a probing tone.

-And you, Y/n? Where would you like to get married? Something simple, I imagine? A nice garden near the countryside, perhaps. Nothing too extravagant…-

You answered her gracefully, eyes lowered in a courteous smile.

“I’ve always dreamed of getting married at the White Peak Falls. It's wrapped in mist—like it’s floating in the sky. It feels... intimate.”

The woman frowned, clearly displeased.

-Too damp. It would ruin the hair and makeup. Better something classic, like the Hidden Rose Pavilion. At least there, you can breathe nobility.-

Before you could respond, Jiwon shifted in his seat and raised his voice just enough to draw attention.

“Anyway, there’s still time. The wedding can only happen a year after the bonding ceremony, and I haven’t exactly… left my mark on her yet.”

Silence fell for a moment.

Your cheeks flushed—not from embarrassment, but from the searing memory of Heeseung’s hands gripping your waist, his warm tongue on your skin, his raspy voice calling you his "well-behaved little omega" as he bent you to his will.

To everyone else, you seemed so naïve. So obedient. So inexperienced.

But they knew nothing.

You knew how to ignite desire. How to stroke an Alpha’s pride without bruising it. How to touch not just the body—but the mind.

And you had learned it all from the Alpha among Alphas.

You smiled sweetly and raised your gaze.

“Well, a year may sound long... but time flies when one is busy... learning.”

Jiwon looked at you with a flicker of surprise and curiosity, as if the double meaning had taken him a moment to register. Then, he smiled.

He leaned in and took your hand, kissing it in front of everyone—slowly, with exaggerated elegance.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Soon... I’ll be the one teaching you. And you’ll be all mine.”

You shivered. Not with desire— But with disgust.

And under the table, your nails dug into the skin of your palm, just to stop yourself from screaming the truth that burned in your throat:

“No. I already belong to him.”

The night was thick and humid, the fog still clinging to the air, and the faint glow of the streetlamps seemed to float in midair. Every step you took was a risk—sneaking past the night guard, entering the male quarters where omegas weren’t allowed without permission—but you didn’t care. He was waiting for you. When you turned the corner of the main hallway, you saw him. Heeseung was there, leaning against his doorway, hands in his pockets, that usual look in his eyes—slow, dark, like the night itself. “Took you forever,” he said, his voice slipping under your skin. “There’s fog and it’s damp… I even straightened my hair and got ready,” you murmured with a soft huff, tucking a strand behind your ear. He raised an eyebrow and shook his head, smirking. “What a waste. I’ll have my hands in that hair soon… and you might end up sweating, too.” You rolled your eyes, but didn’t bother hiding the heat rising in your cheeks. “You’re awful.” “And yet you still came.” His room took you by surprise. It wasn’t what you’d expected from an Alpha like him—no hunting trophies or flexed muscles covering every wall. Instead, shelves lined with collectible Legos, a wall of perfectly arranged video games, a music console with headphones hanging neatly… and then—the bed. Massive. Dark. With rumpled sheets and heavy blankets. The room was dim, yes, but it radiated him. That blend of dominance and stillness. Controlled chaos just beneath the skin. It crept over you like a chill. “Sit.” His voice was lower now, closer. You looked him in the eyes and obeyed—like a true omega. You sat at the edge of the bed, hands in your lap, back straight, heart in chaos. He stood in front of you, his hands placed on either side of your legs, his body bending forward just enough to make you feel small—just how he liked it. He stared at you for a long moment, then spoke, quiet and serious. “One last time. Are you sure?” You met his eyes—no hesitation left in yours. “Yes. I want this. I want you.” Slowly, he lifted a hand and brushed your cheek with his knuckles. The touch was warm, certain. Then he smiled. Not the soft kind—but the sharp one. The one that sent every nerve on high alert. “To think… out of everyone, you looked the most innocent. The purest. And yet here you are, sitting on an Alpha’s bed, ready to be knotted like a good little obedient doll.” Your breath hitched, but your gaze didn’t falter. His finger ran over your lips, parting them just slightly. “But don’t worry, sweetheart. Tonight, I’ll teach you how to ask for pleasure. And how to receive it… only when I decide.” You nodded shyly, though your heart pounded like a drum. Heeseung sat beside you on the bed with the calm danger of someone who knows exactly what they want. “Kiss me.” You didn’t hesitate. You leaned in, kneeling on the edge of the bed, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him close with that sweetness that tasted of surrender… and need. Your omega scent mixed with the damp air, and your lips sought his—quietly desperate, respectful, hungry.

The kiss was slow, like a silent plea for permission in every touch. But Heeseung… Heeseung was different.He kissed you with teeth, with tongue, like he was taking something from you.

Like every moan you gave was a small revenge pressed into your skin.

His hands gripped your waist, pulling you tighter, and then he chuckled against your mouth.

“Mmh. So good… so hungry… you’re like one of those sweet little dolls, just waiting to be unwrapped.”

You blushed but didn’t get the chance to reply. His hands grabbed your ass, lifting you swiftly to straddle his lap, your body fitting perfectly against his.

Beneath your light skirt, his hands roamed upward, shameless.

“And underneath… what’s my little liar wearing, hmm?” His fingers brushed along the curve of your backside, finding the edge of the fabric.

“Panties…” you whispered, voice barely audible.

“What color?” His voice was poison and honey, the Alpha demanding truth… and control.

“Blue and white… with a little bow.”

He let out a low, amused laugh.

“Well, would you look at that? Do you really want me to take you while you’re still wearing those good-girl panties?

Tsk… you’re just a little omega dressed up as temptation.”

You flushed again but didn’t move.

You stayed still, just like a well-trained omega, breath trembling, lips slightly parted.

Heeseung leaned in again, kissing you with more hunger, more claim.

One hand gripped your hips, holding you in place; the other slid up your back, under your shirt.

Then it moved down—his lips trailing your neck, stopping at the exact point between your jaw and shoulder.

A soft, choked moan escaped you—honest, fragile.

Your body recognized him. Craved him. He smiled against your skin.

“Oh, listen to that moan… so easy, so sweet. Baby, we haven’t even started. And you’re already melting.”

He took your chin in two fingers, making you look into his eyes.

His lips were everywhere along your neck—warm, deliberate, hungry.

Each bite, and each suck left you gasping quietly.

And when you tried to speak, you stuttered.

“H-Hee… y-you’re…”

“What?” he whispered against your damp skin, that teasing tone of someone who already knew.

“Omegas are always so submissive… but you? You’re something else.

You stutter just from me brushing your neck?”

You wanted to reply with something sharp—but another moan betrayed you.

He laughed.

“Pathetic. I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

Still, your voice—trembling—came through, laced with that spark he always liked.

“You talk a lot… but if I wasn’t worth it, you’d never have wanted me in your bed.”

He paused for a second.

Then looked you dead in the eyes, a half-feral grin on his lips.

“Touché.”

His hand slid up your arm, fingers hooking into the edge of your sweater.

“Take it off.”

Of course, you obeyed. Like every well-behaved omega.

Like his omega.

You slipped the sweater off slowly, revealing your bare shoulders and a simple white lace bralette—delicate, but elegant.

Heeseung whistled low, that crooked grin still playing on his lips.

“Cute. But without it… you'd be perfect.”

And without waiting for permission, he unclasped it with one fluid motion.

The fabric slipped away, and your bare breasts rose with each shaky breath.

He bit his lip, eyes locked on you.

“Would you look at that… so sweet, so full… like they’ve been waiting just for me.” He teased you but didn’t give you time to reply. He leaned down over you, his mouth capturing one of your sensitive buds, sucking slowly, savoring the way you trembled, the way your fingers clung to his shoulders. His hand kept you still, but then slid down, grabbing between your legs with sudden force. “H-Heeseung… it’s t-too much…” You whispered, voice trembling between a moan and a gasp. He stopped. Looked at you with a sharp, amused expression. “Too much? What, is my Omega fragile?” Then he nodded, voice dropping lower. “Alright. I’ll go easy… for now.” His hand changed pace—slow, almost gentle. But his mouth didn’t stop. It moved from one breast to the other, licking and nibbling with a hunger he no longer cared to hide. “This skin… this body…” he murmured against you, “—soon it’ll all be mine. Completely. And no one will ever touch you again.”

His lips didn’t stop. They were everywhere on your body: your neck, already marked by his kisses, your aching breasts, then lower… down past your belly button. You trembled not only from his touch but from what it meant. From what was about to happen. Heeseung noticed. He stopped. His hands rested on your hips, his gaze climbing up to your eyes. “Don’t be afraid of me,” he said, voice low, almost dark. You nodded, hands still clutching the sheets beneath you. “I know… it’s just… I didn’t expect any of this. I feel like a lamb laid out for slaughter.” A crooked smile tugged at his lips. Cruel. Tender. Heeseung was everything and it was the opposite. “That’s exactly what you are. A sweet, fragile little omega… too good for this world.” Then his tone shifted, more serious. “But you forgot—there were only two choices: me or Jiwon.” You didn’t hesitate. “I want you.” His eyes narrowed. Something flickered inside him, fast like lightning. Maybe pride. Maybe… something more. “Good girl,” he murmured. “That’s how you answer an Alpha.”

Gently, he laid you down on the bed. Your body sank into the dark sheets, your skin already hot from every touch of his. He knelt in front of you, bare chest rising and falling with deep breaths. He reached out and stroked your cheek—a soft gesture. Unusual. Disarming. As if, just for a moment… he wanted to be something more than your master. Then he leaned down again, this time pressing his lips to your belly button. He kissed you there slowly, and you… giggled softly. A small, unexpected sound. Fragile. Childlike. He stopped and looked at you. “Did you just laugh?” His voice was surprised, but not harsh. Almost… amused. “You tickled me there,” you murmured, hands moving to cover your face in embarrassment. Heeseung shook his head and gave you a light slap on the thigh—a playful scolding. “This is the preparation for the knot, and you’re laughing? Are you disrespecting me, little Omega?” But his tone was no longer just dominant. It was… something else. He stared at you like he didn’t know anymore if he just wanted to mark you… or protect you. And you felt it. Something was changing in the way he touched you, in the way he looked at you, in how he took care of your body… without rushing, without fully dominating. As if he, too, needed to feel something. Not just vengeance. And inside your chest… fear mixed with another feeling. “Now,” he murmured, voice rough and deep, “I’m taking this skirt off.” And it wasn’t a request. With one swift, impatient motion, he pulled it down your hips. The fabric gave way with a sharp tear, and in an instant, you were exposed to the cool air of the room, bare skin tense beneath his gaze. Instinctively, you closed your legs. Too exposed. Too vulnerable. But he didn’t allow it. “Keep them open for me,” he growled, grabbing your knees and spreading them with fierce slowness. “Your scent is everywhere. Do you know how much you’re dripping for me, little Omega?”

He leaned down. His hot breath on your core made every part of you jolt. “Mmh, panties already soaked?” He smiled. The smile of a predator. “You’re really that desperate for me, huh? How cute…” He started kissing your thighs, slowly, with warm lips and a slow tongue, like he wanted to mark you there too, inch by inch. But every now and then he’d graze a sensitive spot, and you… you’d squirm, tremble, giggle quietly. “S-stop… you’re tickling me…” “Tsk,” he muttered, lifting his eyes with mock disapproval. “No girl laughs this much before being knotted. Are you mocking me, Omega?” You looked up at him, breathing in short gasps. Your eyes glimmered with shame and wonder. “Maybe I’m special.” For a moment, the silence was thick. Heeseung stared at you, and something in his gaze shifted.

The pure Alpha mask cracked—just a little. Maybe from pride. Maybe because deep down… he really thought you were special. Then he lowered himself again between your thighs, his fingers slowly trailing along your panties. “Special or not,” he murmured, voice rough like sandpaper, tonight you’re mine. To the last drop of your scent. Until no other man dares to even look at you.”

Heeseung took off his hoodie with a slow but determined motion, and you watched him — you couldn’t help but stare. His body was sculpted, and strong, radiating that raw energy only a powerful Alpha could possess. But what truly struck you were the scars. They ran across his chest, his biceps… old, some of them deep. Painful even to look at. Your hand rose on its own, hesitant, brushing one of the faded lines on his arm. He tensed. For a second, he seemed to hold his breath, even as his lips were still on your skin, right there between your thighs. “Don’t touch those,” he said, voice rough, almost harsh — but you didn’t pull back immediately. You looked at him, with a tenderness you hadn’t expected from yourself. “Who did this to you…?” Heeseung didn’t answer. But he didn’t move away either. Instead, he lowered his head again — and this time, there was no more gentleness. With one sharp move, he tore off your panties too, leaving you completely exposed under his gaze. “Don’t talk about the past. Not now.”

His voice had turned harder. Hungrier. He spread your legs again, and his warm breath made you shiver. Then — without a warning, without a word — he spit slowly between your thighs, and the wet, hot sensation made you jolt. Your breath caught, and a moan escaped your lips. His mouth followed right after — hungry, relentless. “H-Heeseung…!”

You stammered, hands clutching at the sheets, your body trying to hold back a tidal wave you'd never felt before. “Wa–wait… I… it’s too much…” “Too much?” he growled against you. “We haven’t even started.” He looked up at you from below, eyes gleaming with desire and domination. “I’m going to fill you. First with my fingers, then with my cock — and you’ll thank me for every second.” You nodded. You couldn’t do anything else. And then you felt the first finger sink into you — your body tensed, breath catching for a moment, and your mouth tried to form some kind of response: “I-it feels… it’s warm… it’s overwhelming… but I like it…” He smirked, a fierce whisper at your ear. “Look how you open up for me. Such a good little Omega, so desperate. I thought you’d resist at least a little… but you're already trembling from just one finger.” The movement grew deeper, slower, exploring every inch of you — then, without warning, he added another. You moaned loudly. Almost a cry. Of pleasure, of shame, of surrender. And Heeseung watched you, like he was already carving your name under his skin. His fingers moved slowly but with purpose, sinking deeper between your thighs with increasing confidence. Heeseung stared at you like he owned every breath you took, every shiver that ran through you. When he added a third finger, your body arched toward him, and the words tumbled from your lips, a trembling whisper: “It’s… beautiful…” Heeseung laughed softly — a low, sharp sound. “Listen to you talk, little thing. Falling in love with something so simple. You really are an Omega… born to be beneath, born to entertain me.” His tone was cruel, but his voice scratched like molten honey. Already warm and vulnerable, you whimpered as he dipped down again, kissing you slowly, savoring every reaction he could pull from you. You grabbed his hair, tugging with a broken moan — and for the first time, you heard him… groan. A low, animalistic sound, while still buried deep inside you. Your body started to tremble. You knew it. You felt it building. “Hee… I… I’m about to…” He didn’t wait. He pushed you over the edge, adding a third finger, thrusting into you with firm, confident strokes — not even asking for permission. You screamed. And he smiled against your skin, while your body exploded beneath his control. “Look how you come for me…” he murmured, voice low and dangerous. “A little Omega who gives in so easily. So wet, so desperate. You were made to be filled by me.” You were gasping, still trembling, voice shattered by pleasure and surrender. “Only you… only for you, Heeseung. I’m your Omega…” He didn’t answer right away. He just stayed between your thighs, savoring every wave that still shook you. Then he rose slowly, his chest rising and falling, and his lips crashed onto yours with hunger. The kiss was raw. Wet. Tongues searching, claiming. No sweetness. Just possession. Instinct. “Can you taste what surrender feels like?” he whispered against your lips. “It’s sweet. It’s mine.” And you — breathless, shameless — kissed him again.

The room was immersed in a warm pre-shade, imbued with a tense silence. Heeseung slowly pulled off his pants, dropping them at the foot of the bed, and you couldn't take your eyes off him. The boer When he lowered them, your breath froze for a moment. It was like you had heard about the alphas: imposing, thick, damp at the end. You bit your lip slightly, instinctively, without even realizing it. His eyes rested on yours, and in a hoarse voice he asked you: "You want to touch it?»

You barely nodded, and with trembling fingers you brushed him, caressing him shyly, starting a slow movement. He whispered: "Are you sure?"

"One hundred percent," you replied, without hesitation. A satisfied growl came out of his throat. "Well. Then stay still." His hand slid between your legs, touching you with that confidence that only an Alpha like him could afford. he used his length to tease you, rubbing it on your clit until you shivered. "Put your hands on my shoulders. Squeeze, if it hurts." You nodded, your heart beating like crazy. Then, with a single shot, he entered you. Deep. Hot. Too.

Your body stretched, your eyes filled with tears ... but you did not protest. Not a word, just a broken groan. "Good, little omega," he whispered in his ear. "Now you are mine." His cock was completely inside you, and you were shaking under him, thighs slightly apart, hands clinging to his shoulders. Every muscle of yours tightened it with pure instinct, as if your body was born only to welcome it. Heeseung stood still, deeply immersed within you, his chest rising and falling slowly, his eyes nailed to yours. "Look how you're taking it," he growled. "I'll fill you up... and still you can hold me so well." You gasped slowly, your cheeks hot and red. "It's too much... you're like that... large...»

He raised an eyebrow, his smile crooked and dismissive. "Does it really surprise you? What did you think, princess? That the Alphas were delicate?" You shook your head slowly, your eyes shining. "No... it's just ... I didn't think I would like it so much ... and that it was so big" His expression changed. Darker. More intense. He bowed to you, his lips almost against your ear. "Do you like it? Feeling full? To know that you can't run away from me, that I took you all in and I won't let you go until you're branded?"

"Yes..." you whispered in a trembling voice. "I like it, Alpha..." "So you talk," he said, and pushed out slowly, leaving you empty for a moment. But before you could even complain, it came back into you forcefully, making you moan. "M-move ... but ... slowly, please..." Your voice was low, subdued. He laughed. "No. Now I decide. You made the deal, remember? You asked me to tie you. This is the price. And you'll be mine all night." His thrusts became slow but decisive, deep, calibrated to destroy you with sweetness. Every time you heard him go back inside, you moaned against his neck, hungry, surrendering.

"You squeeze so tight ... fuck ..." he muttered as he looked at you from above. "I didn't know an omega could take it this way."

"Because ... because I'm yours..." Those words came out to you without thinking, spontaneous, and had an immediate effect on him. "Repeat," he ordered, grabbing your chin, forcing you to look at him. "I'm... yours, Hee..." He looked at you, growled softly and pushed harder, deeper. Your legs tightened around his waist, your body was looking for his, desperate. "So good... so obedient ... A perfect little omega..." He ducked again, kissing you with hunger, as his cock filled and tamed you, one blow after another.

"And now... get ready, because when I knot you, it will be forever." His cock was so huge that you felt him press high, in the stomach, every push deeper than the previous one. Each blow barely lifted your pelvis, snatched an increasingly messy moan from you. Your legs closed around his hips with force, trying to hold him inside you as if you were afraid that he might leave. But Heeseung was not going anywhere. He was there to destroy you. "C-fuck... It's too much... you're too big ... I'm ... I'm— " you stammered, eyes half-closed, clouded with pleasure.

"What are you doing, huh? Tell me, little omega, are you breaking for my cock?» His voice was hoarse, deep, dripping with enjoyment. "S-yes ... Alpha ... I'm-I'm going crazy..." Your breath was broken, words broken with pleasure. "I can't... you're too much... you're filling me up too much..." Heeseung growled with satisfaction, sweat dripping from his temple as he continued to push into you with increasingly full blows.

"That's what you wanted, isn't it? Get fucked like a real omega. And now look how you're taking me ... you're my fucking prey.»

And you were. Your body had become one with his. Every fiber of yours vibrated to the rhythm of its thrusts. You felt the effect of Alpha running through your veins-hot, searing, like lava. Your muscles tightened more and more around him, held him, welcomed him. Then, suddenly, you felt him hitting something in you. A deeper, more sensitive area. Explosion.

"A-AH! HEESEUNG!"you screamed, your voice broken, as you clung with your fingernails to his back. "Oh God ... it's too ... too hot..." you stammered, trembling under him. He smiled against your neck, as he kept pushing against that precise point. "It's your body that's getting ready, baby. You're knotting. Your uterus ... feels it. And he wants me everything."

You felt your belly swell slightly. A sense of fullness that went beyond the physical. It was the bond that was forming, the knot that was coming. "A-Ah... Alpha... be—" The words came out to you with difficulty, as if you were drowning in pleasure. "I'm ... coming... you're draining me..."

"Very good. Come while I'm knotting you. I want to hear you squeeze it until the last shot."

His breathing became more labored, his thrusts slower but deeper. His hands held you still, and you, completely open to him, stammered only his name, like a desperate mantra. His knot began to swell inside you, slowly but surely, until it filled you in a way no one else could. Each push made it grow even more, and with each lunge your body strained more, unable to handle that superhuman pleasure. "Do you feel how big it is now?" he growled against your skin. "My knot is branding you from within. No one else can ever catch you. You're mine. Mine forever." He kept pushing hard into you, and you could only scream, the body shaken by continuous tremors, the legs clutching him with all the force. "Yes! Yes, I'm yours, Alpha! Only yours!"

"Good omega," he demoted you, in a rough voice.

"Now everyone will know. You're mine to take you in every way. Mine to fertilize you whenever I want. Your pussy is mine. Your body is mine. Every moan you make is for me." The knot was completely swollen now, blocking your every exit, and the feeling was driving you crazy. A heat wave swept over you, you screamed and scratched his back.

"I'm coming! Hee,—" His hand slid down, quick, and he started teasing your clit with expert fingers. You almost screamed from the overload. "N-no... I can't resist ... s-I'm ... I'm exploding!" you stammered between groans. "Your cock ... destroyed me! You're filling me up too much... too much... Heeseung!" Your body strained into a violent orgasm, a real mess that trickled down his knotted cock inside you. You writhed under him, not being able to stop the moans, completely consumed by pleasure.

"Look at you ... a good slut with all my knot in it. You messed up all over my cock.»

He praised you, but his hips did not stop. "And I'm not done yet... I can't stop, baby. The knot is swollen... but I want everything. To the last drop."

"Then give it to me..." you whispered, gasping for breath. "I want everything, I want to hear you... I want you to stay inside. Fill me up, Alpha ... make me yours ... all the way.» Heeseung looked at you with a dirty grin, eyes shining with animal instinct.

"I want you swollen with me. I want you full, smashed, marked. And when you're tired, I'll use you again." And with those words, he pushed again, slow but firm, as the knot throbbed inside you. His viscous cum slowly trickled out of your poor, hot, swollen, still pulsating pussy after knotting. But he didn't stop. He kept pushing inside you, slow, deep, with the knot still stuck, enjoying the way your body shook under his.

"I'm about to fill you again," he whispered in a broken voice, his breath warm against your ear. "You are mine. And I want you to feel it, deep inside." You moaned, the body already tired but still hungry, and then you screamed, bent with pleasure as you felt him ejaculating inside you with force, wave after wave, a boiling river that seemed to never end. Your belly swelled slightly, and your breathing became short. "It's too much... Hee ... it's so much ... you're ... filling me all..."

"You must be. I have to be sure." His thrusts became slower, almost sweet. But he didn't stop until he was sure he had branded you thoroughly.

When the knot finally began to deflate, Heeseung slipped out with a low, deep groan. The hot liquid dripped down your thighs, dirty, impudent. He took you by the hips with a force still present, but no longer violent. He drew you to himself. You huddled against him, your forehead against his bare, sweaty chest, and your body trembled, overwhelmed. Heeseung gently stroked your side, still slightly panting.

"Are you okay?" he asked, the voice calmer, but still hoarse. Nod quietly, without speaking. But after a few seconds, the silence was broken by a sob. One. Then another. Your shoulders trembled, your eyes filled with silent tears. He stiffened for a moment. Then he trembled.

"Did I hurt you?"he asked in a whisper, almost frightened by what he might have caused. He lifted a little on one elbow, looking for your gaze. "Look at me" But you didn't. For the first time, you did not obey. You huddled more, confused, vulnerable, fragile. Then he took you by the chin gently, but with his usual authority.

"princess... look at me. Now." And you, with tears in your eyes, finally looked up. Your eyes met. And without saying anything, you kissed him. A trembling kiss, which smelled of salt and surrender. Heeseung stood still for a moment, surprised. Then he reciprocated, slowly, sweeter than he had ever done. His hands clasped your face as your mouths merged into something new. Between kisses, you whispered: «Thank…» He just peeled off, his lips still close to yours, and laughed quietly, almost in disbelief. "I thought I had broken you... and instead you thank me?»

He shook his head, and stroked your side again, this time more slowly, almost protective. "You're really weird little omega." he said stroking your cheek "It was... beautiful," you whispered against his chest, still short of breath, his voice tired but sincere. Heeseung raised an eyebrow, a half-smile on his lips. "Beautiful, huh? You just got fucked until you lost your voice and now you're talking like you're out of a romantic movie."

You snorted softly, hiding your face in his arms, and he laughed. But that laugh was no longer sharp, nor cynical. It was soft, true. He stroked your hair with his fingers, then said in a lower voice: "You were brave, princess. To trust an Alpha like that... is not for everyone." You were silent for a moment, then you spoke in a low voice. "I didn't want to suffer. I didn't want to be used anymore..." He stiffened slightly, then took you by the chin and forced you to look into his eyes. "I can't promise you you won't suffer, omega. But one thing I can promise you: from now on you are mine.» His voice was deep, definitive.

"You have a new home, a new family. In my eyes you will always be an omega — but not just any omega. Inside you is my seed. My knot. And no male omega can get closer to you. Not even trying." You got a shudder. Not of fear, but of awareness. That connection was real now. Heeseung leaned slowly, her lips warm on your skin. He licked away his sperm that was still dripping between your thighs, slow, precise, as if he wanted to clean you and at the same time remind you that it was all his. His tongue moved where you had the marks of his bites, and he soothed them with moist, warm kisses.

"Hee… it tickles..." you whispered, chuckling softly. He paused for a moment and looked at you with a little grin. "You’re really strange, you know?" He lightly bit your thigh, pretending, then moved up and pulled you into his arms. "I’m sleeping with you tonight." He said it as if it were obvious. You looked at him, surprised. "Really? I thought... once we were knotted, I’d leave." He huffed, as if you’d said something silly. "You still don’t get it, little omega. You’re tied to me now. And I’m tied to you. We’re sleeping together. End of story." He pulled you against him, his broad chest against your back, and wrapped his arms around you, fitting you perfectly into his body. "Close your eyes. We’ll think about everything tomorrow. Now... sleep." And for the first time, you felt truly safe.

You woke up surrounded by a warm, almost reassuring sensation. The sheets were still damp from what you’d done the night before, and your lower belly throbbed slightly, a twinge that reminded you of every thrust, every moan, every possessive whisper that had broken and rebuilt you. You slowly turned and found him there. Heeseung. He was sleeping as if the world outside didn’t exist. His lips, slightly parted, formed an almost tender pout. His nose, large but perfectly proportioned, barely moved with his steady breathing. His red hair was a total mess: it fell messily over his forehead, and you remembered perfectly how you had tugged at it the night before, lost in pleasure. You blushed involuntarily. The little moles on his face seemed to be drawn by hand. And his arms—strong, warm, dominant—still held you close, as if he wanted to make sure you couldn’t escape even in your sleep. Then, without opening his eyes, he whispered in a hoarse voice: "Stop staring at me like that, or you’ll end up falling in love." You lifted your gaze, sighing. "You have an ego as big as your knot, you know that?" He opened one eye, then chuckled softly, that deep laugh that made you tremble even without meaning to. He pulled you closer, pressing you even more into his chest. "And it seems you liked both of them, princess." You sighed, even though you couldn’t deny it. Then, with a more serious tone, you asked him: "And now? What happens?" Heeseung gently caressed your back, his fingers slow, distracted. "Now, when you walk out that door, your scent will have changed. Everyone will smell it. Every alpha will know you’ve been knotted. Every male omega will keep their distance. And no one will dare touch you… because the scent will be mine." You swallowed. "And if... if Jiwon still tries?" Heeseung paused for a brief moment, then looked at you. "Are you more afraid of him... or your father?" You stayed silent, then whispered softly: "My father." He moved, pressing his forehead against yours. "He won’t do anything. Not as long as I’m here or my brothers are. You’re mine now. And no one touches what’s mine." You nodded slowly, but a small knot formed in your throat. Heeseung seemed to notice, but didn’t say anything. He slowly stood up, his muscles flexing as he stretched, and looked at you. "It’s time to see what’s happening outside this room." You were about to get up, but he stopped you. He bent down slowly and left a kiss on your forehead, unexpectedly tender. You looked at him, surprised. "And this?" He shrugged almost indifferently, though his tone was softer. "Post-knot ritual. All alphas do it with their mates." He was lying. And you knew it, but you didn’t say anything, even though you had seen something in his eyes that wasn’t there the night before: something strange, something dangerously close to a feeling.

PT2?

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[seungjiseyo]

One Kiss Too Far ✮ l.hs pt1

口 — stepdad!heeseung x reader

synopsis: Your life takes an unexpected turn when your mom’s soon-to-be husband, Heeseung, enters the picture. What begins as a simple connection quickly turns into something much more complicated and forbidden. Caught between the undeniable chemistry with him and the overwhelming guilt of betraying your mom, you find yourself tangled in a web of emotions and secrets.

wc: 27.9k (in all parts bc if tumblrs 10k word block)

angst · mdni · smut · masterlist · pt 2

You weren’t exactly thrilled about meeting Heeseung. Sure, your mom had every right to move on after everything that happened with your dad, but the thought of meeting some guy she’d found online made you skeptical. You were still adjusting to the idea of her moving on, and the whole online dating thing felt weird.

Your mom’s voice suddenly filled your thoughts as your phone buzzed with her name on the screen.

“Hey, honey, I’m going to be a bit late tonight,” she said, her tone hurried but warm. “Heeseung is on his way over. Can you let him in when he gets here? Traffic’s a mess.”

You sighed and glanced at the clock. “Yeah, sure,” you muttered, feeling the weight of the situation. “I’ll let him in.”

“Thanks, sweetie. I’ll see you soon!” she said, hanging up before you could protest.

A few minutes later, you heard someone knock on the door. You hesitated, not sure what to expect. You’d seen a couple of pictures of Heeseung before—nothing too revealing, but enough to get an idea of what he looked like. Still, pictures didn’t do justice to the real thing, right?

When you opened the door, you froze for a moment. There he was—Heeseung. And he looked even better in person.

He was taller than you, probably around 6 feet, with fair skin that practically glowed under the dim hallway light. His maroon hair was tousled just enough to make him look effortlessly cool, as well as a casual black zip-up hoodie, paired with baggy jeans that somehow, and a pair of glasses that made him look even more laid-back. There was something about the way he carried himself, a kind of quiet confidence that made him stand out.

“Hi,” you said, trying to sound casual, though your voice came out softer than you expected.

Heeseung smiled, and it was warm—genuine. “Hey, hi,” he replied, his voice calm and smooth.

You both stood there for a second, the silence hanging between you, awkward but not in a bad way. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but you weren’t sure what to do next.

Finally, he broke the silence. “You must be Y/N,” he said, his eyes meeting yours with a sort of intensity that made you feel like he was paying more attention than you expected.

“Yeah, that’s me,” you replied, still feeling a little thrown off by how much more… real he was in person.

As he stepped inside, you couldn’t help but notice how much taller he was than you. He was closer to your age than your mom’s, and it hit you all at once—Heeseung was only 25. That made him just a few years older than you, and in a weird way, it made everything feel a little strange. He was closer to you in age than your mom, and that made you look at him in a different light, one you hadn’t expected.

“So, you’re just waiting for my mom, right?” you asked, trying to break the awkward silence that had settled between you.

“Yeah,” he said casually, glancing around the living room. “She told me she’s running a bit late, but I don’t mind waiting.”

You nodded, stepping aside to let him sit down. As you both settled into the room, you couldn’t ignore the electric pull between you two. It wasn’t obvious, but it was there—this subtle tension that made everything feel more… complicated than it should have been.

You weren’t sure what it was about him that made you feel this way, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that meeting him like this—someone closer to your age than your mom’s, someone you never expected to have any connection with—was going to change everything.

The silence between you and Heeseung wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it wasn’t normal either.

As he sat on the couch, his posture relaxed, you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes moved over you. Slowly, subtly—but definitely there. It was obvious he was checking you out. The way his gaze lingered on you for just a second too long before flicking away, the way his fingers tapped lightly against his knee like he was trying to play it cool.

You didn’t say anything about it. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe you were imagining it.

Instead, you sat across from him, keeping some space between you, pretending not to notice the way he kept glancing at you. Heeseung leaned back, draping his arm over the couch like he belonged there, looking completely at ease.

“She talks about you a lot, you know.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his. “Huh?”

“Your mom,” he said with a small smirk. “She’s always talking about you.”

You tilted your head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What does she say?”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Just how smart you are. How independent. She brags about you a lot, actually.”

You scoffed lightly, leaning back against the armrest. “Sounds like her.”

“She loves you a lot.” His voice softened slightly, as if he was trying to be sincere.

You nodded, ignoring the weird feeling in your chest. You knew your mom loved you—there was never any doubt about that. But it was hard to focus on that when you were sitting across from the guy she was planning to marry… a guy who was only six years older than you.

And you weren’t the only one who noticed.

“So,” you said, watching him closely, “what made you want to get together with my mom?”

Heeseung blinked, as if he hadn’t expected the question. For a second, you swore he looked nervous, but he covered it up quickly, letting out a soft chuckle.

“Straight to the point, huh?” he said, tilting his head slightly.

You shrugged. “Might as well ask.”

He exhaled, thinking for a moment before answering. “I guess… she’s different. She’s kind, she’s mature. She knows what she wants.” His gaze flickered to yours, holding it a little longer than necessary. “It’s refreshing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Refreshing?”

He smirked, but it wasn’t the same playful one he had before. “Yeah. I’ve been around a lot of people who don’t really have their life together. Your mom does.”

You stared at him for a second, something about his answer making your stomach twist.

“Even with that huge ass age gap?”

Heeseung let out a small laugh, shaking his head as he ran a hand over his jaw. “I knew you were gonna say something about that.”

“Well, I mean…” You gestured between the two of you. “You’re literally closer to my age than hers.”

Heeseung held your gaze, his expression unreadable. “Yeah,” he said finally, voice quieter now. “I guess I am.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of your words hung in the air, the silence between you thick with something unspoken.

Something you weren’t ready to name yet.

As soon as you could say anything else, the sound of the front door unlocking made you both turn.

Your mom stepped inside, slightly out of breath, her work bag slung over her shoulder. “Sorry, sorry! Traffic was horrible,” she said, barely glancing at you before her eyes landed on Heeseung.

And just like that, she was in front of him, smiling like a lovesick teenager. “Hi,” she breathed.

Heeseung stood up, his face lighting up in a way that made your stomach twist. “Hey.”

Then, before you could even process it, they kissed.

Right there. In front of you.

It wasn’t over-the-top or anything, just a soft, lingering press of lips, but it didn’t matter. It felt so wrong.

Your grip tightened around your phone as you stared, frozen. You knew they were together, obviously. You knew they’d kissed before. But actually seeing it—seeing him, the guy who’d just been sitting with you, talking to you, looking at you like that—now kissing your mom?

Yeah. That felt different.

You looked away, suddenly feeling like you were intruding on something you wanted no part of.

Your mom laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she gazed up at Heeseung. “Wow, it’s so nice to finally see you in person.”

Heeseung smiled, and then, in a tone that was just a little too smooth, he said, “Yeah, and you look even more beautiful in real life.”

You internally gagged.

It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it. His voice was warm, just a little too soft, like he was trying to be charming. And the way he looked at her? Like he was actually flirting? Disgusting.

Your mom giggled like a teenager, resting a hand on his arm. “Oh, stop it.”

Please, yes, stop it.

You focused extra hard on your phone screen, scrolling through random notifications just to avoid looking at them. It was bad enough seeing them kiss, but now you had to sit here and witness this?

“You must be so tired from the trip,” your mom continued, linking her arm through Heeseung’s like they’d been doing this for years.

“A little,” he admitted, but he still looked completely at ease. “But it’s worth it.” His eyes flickered to you for a second—too quick for your mom to notice, but not quick enough for you to miss.

You clenched your jaw and looked away.

“Well,” your mom said cheerfully, grabbing his hand. “I picked up dinner! You must be starving.”

Heeseung chuckled. “Can’t say no to that.”

You watched as she led him toward the dining table, still acting like some lovestruck teenager. Meanwhile, you followed behind them, stomach twisting in ways you didn’t quite understand.

Maybe it was just the weirdness of seeing your mom with someone new. Maybe it was just the age gap.

Or maybe—just maybe—it was something else entirely.

You sat silently at the dinner table, pushing your food around your plate while your mom and Heeseung talked like they were the only two people in the room.

They laughed, shared stories, and acted like they’d known each other forever. Meanwhile, you just sat there, chewing slowly, barely contributing to the conversation.

But even though you weren’t talking, you felt something.

Heeseung’s gaze.

More than once, you caught him glancing at you. It was subtle—quick flickers of his dark eyes in your direction, barely noticeable if you weren’t paying attention. But you were. And every time it happened, your skin prickled.

You kept your focus on your plate, pretending not to notice.

“So,” your mom said, turning to Heeseung with a soft smile, “are you still planning on checking out that apartment tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, taking a sip of his drink. “Figured I’d get settled as soon as possible.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. “Wait—you’re moving here?”

Your mom looked at you like it was obvious. “Of course. Heeseung’s been wanting to move somewhere new for a while, and now that we’re getting married, it just makes sense for him to be closer.”

Closer.

You swallowed, gripping your fork a little tighter.

Right. So he wasn’t just visiting. He was staying.

“Don’t worry,” Heeseung said, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I won’t be too in your way.”

You scoffed under your breath and took a bite of your food, refusing to acknowledge him.

But you still felt his eyes on you.

And you hated that it made your stomach twist.

Alice kept talking, completely oblivious to the way Heeseung kept stealing glances at you. You focused on your food, trying to tune them out, but every so often, you could feel his eyes on you—like a quiet presence that lingered just a little too long.

It made your skin heat in a way you didn’t like.

“So, what do you think, Y/N?” your mom suddenly asked, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You blinked, looking up. “Huh?”

She laughed lightly. “About Heeseung moving here. Isn’t it exciting?”

Exciting? That wasn’t exactly the word you’d use.

You forced a neutral expression, shrugging. “I mean… sure. If that’s what makes you happy.”

Alice beamed. “Of course it does! It’ll be so nice having him around. Heeseung, you’re gonna love it here.”

“I think I already do,” Heeseung said smoothly, his voice light but with something underneath it. You weren’t sure if your mom caught it, but when you looked up, he was already watching you.

Your stomach twisted.

You quickly looked away, taking another bite just to keep yourself from saying something stupid.

Alice, completely unaware of the weird tension at the table, sighed happily. “Ugh, I can’t wait for you two to get along. It would mean so much to me if you guys became close.”

Heeseung smiled, resting his chin on his hand. “Yeah, I’d like that too.”

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like you’d lost control of something you weren’t even sure why you needed control of in the first place.

Later that night, after a long, exhausting dinner, you changed into something more comfortable—a black cropped tank top and short jean shorts. Your hair, still slightly damp from a quick shower, was pulled into a low ponytail as you flopped onto your bed, phone pressed to your ear.

“I’m telling you, it’s so weird,” you groaned to Yunjin, staring at the ceiling. “Like, I get that my mom deserves to be happy and all, but him? He’s literally twenty-five.”

Yunjin snorted. “Yeah, that’s still insane to me. Your mom is, what, thirty-five? She really went, ‘lemme date a man closer to my daughter’s age than mine.’”

“Right?! It’s actually insane,” you said, shaking your head. “And the worst part is, he’s not even, like, some old-looking dude who just happens to be young. He’s actually—” You stopped mid-sentence, biting your lip.

There was a beat of silence before Yunjin gasped dramatically. “Oh my god. He’s hot, isn’t he?”

You groaned, pressing a hand over your face. “I never said that.”

“But you were going to!” She laughed, clearly enjoying this way too much. “Oh my god, Y/N, you think your mom’s fiancé is hot.”

“Shut up,” you hissed, even though your face was already heating up. “I’m just saying—it doesn’t make sense! Like, how did she even manage to pull him? She’s pretty and all, but come on. He looks like he should be dating a college girl, not—” You stopped yourself, the words catching in your throat.

Not your mom.

Not someone ten years older than him.

Yunjin, ever the instigator, gasped again. “Ohhh, this is juicy. You totally have a thing for him.”

You sat up instantly. “I do not.”

“Mhm. Keep telling yourself that.”

“I don’t!” you insisted, but your mind betrayed you, flashing back to dinner. The way Heeseung’s gaze flickered toward you more than once, the way his voice dipped when he spoke to you, the slight smirk he gave when he caught you staring.

No. Nope. Not happening.

Yunjin was still giggling. “Okay, okay, fine. But be honest—if he wasn’t engaged to your mom, would you?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

And that silence said everything.

You sighed, rolling onto your stomach and kicking your feet slightly. “No, of course not! But listen—he kept sneaking glances at me during dinner.”

Yunjin hummed. “Uh-huh. Go on.”

“And I swear he was checking me out earlier when I opened the door for him.” You frowned slightly, your fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your bedspread. “But that’s probably just me overthinking. I mean, he’s obviously in love with my mom.”

There was a pause. Then—

“Yeah… or he’s into you.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Yunjin, no.”

“Y/N, yes!” she shot back. “Look, send me a picture of him. I need to see this man with my own eyes.”

You rolled onto your back again, sighing dramatically. “You’re so annoying.”

“And you’re avoiding the fucking question.”

You hesitated for a second before scrolling through your his social media your mom had shown you. It didn’t take long to find a photo of Heeseung. He was wearing a fitted black sweater, leaning against a railing with his hands in his pockets, sharp jawline and piercing gaze on full display.

You sent it.

The moment Yunjin opened it, she squealed.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” she shrieked through the phone. “Y/N, your mom is actually living my dream—no, your dream—oh my freaking goodness, I’m coming over tomorrow.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I need to see this in person. You’re so blind.”

You groaned, throwing an arm over your face. “There’s nothing to see!”

“Mhm. We’ll see about that.”

After hanging up with Yunjin—who was way too excited about this whole situation—you sighed, tossing your phone onto your bed. You weren’t tired yet, and the house was too quiet, so you decided to grab a drink from the kitchen.

Padding out of your room, your bare feet barely made a sound against the hardwood floors. But as soon as you stepped into the living room, you stopped in your tracks.

There they were.

Your mom and Heeseung were curled up on the couch, a soft blanket draped over them as some random movie played on the TV. Alice’s head rested against his shoulder, and his arm was lazily wrapped around her waist.

You swallowed. You weren’t sure why seeing them like that made your stomach twist.

Shaking it off, you walked past them toward the kitchen, trying to act normal—except the moment you stepped into their view, you felt it.

His gaze.

And this time, it was different.

Heeseung wasn’t just glancing at you like before. His stare was heavy, lingering longer than it should have.

Maybe it was because of what you were wearing—your black cropped tank top barely covering your stomach, your short jean shorts showing off just enough. Or maybe it was just in your head. You were always care free with what you wore, considering it was always just you and your mom in the house.

Either way, you felt exposed.

But you didn’t look at him. You just kept walking, pretending you didn’t notice, even though your skin was heating under his gaze.

Even though your stomach twisted again.

You quickly grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, twisting the cap off with a little too much force. The longer you stood there, the more suffocating the room felt—his gaze still lingering on you like it had weight.

You needed to get out of there.

Clearing your throat, you turned toward your mom. “Hey, is it cool if Yunjin comes over tomorrow?”

Alice barely looked away from the screen, waving a hand dismissively. “Of course, honey. She’s always welcome.”

“Kay, thanks,” you muttered, already stepping toward the hallway.

But before you could take another step, Heeseung’s voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Why don’t you sit, y/n?”

Your grip on the water bottle tightened. Slowly, you turned back to find Heeseung looking directly at you, his expression unreadable.

Alice, still snuggled into his side, smiled. “Yeah, sweetie, come watch with us.”

Your eyes flickered between them. You really didn’t want to. You wanted to go back to your room, away from whatever this weird energy was.

But the way Heeseung was watching you—dark eyes waiting, expectant—made it impossible to say no.

“…Sure,” you mumbled, forcing yourself to walk back over.

You sat at the far end of the couch, keeping as much distance as possible.

But even then, you felt him.

And you weren’t sure if that was better or worse.

As you settled onto the couch, trying to focus on the movie, you suddenly felt it—just the slightest touch. His leg against yours.

It wasn’t much, just the faintest brush of denim against your bare skin, but it sent an uncomfortable jolt up your spine. You shifted away, slow and subtle, putting a little more space between you.

If Heeseung noticed, he didn’t say anything.

But when you dared to glance at him, your breath caught in your throat.

The dim glow of the TV flickered across his face, casting soft shadows over his sharp features. His dark maroon hair, slightly tousled, framed his face in a way that made him look even better than earlier—like something out of a dream, or maybe a nightmare.

You swallowed hard, looking away.

Minutes passed, the only sounds filling the room were the low hum of the movie and the slow, steady breathing of your mom—who had now completely fallen asleep against Heeseung’s chest.

He glanced down at her, then let out a quiet chuckle. “She’s out.”

You didn’t respond. You just watched as he carefully shifted, wrapping an arm around her before effortlessly standing up with her still against him.

You clenched your jaw as he carried her down the hall, disappearing into their room. Their shared bedroom.

The thought of them sleeping together, lying in the same bed, doing God knows what behind that closed door—

You wanted to die.

Your stomach twisted, nausea creeping in as you stared blankly at the screen.

You hated this.

You hated him.

At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

The early morning light streamed through your window, stirring you from a restless sleep. You groggily sat up, realizing you were still in the same outfit from last night—your black cropped tank top and jean shorts slightly wrinkled from tossing and turning.

You sighed, rubbing your eyes before something caught your attention.

Your stomach grumbled as the scent of crispy bacon, eggs, and buttery toast filled the air. For a moment, you thought your mom was cooking—until you remembered how deeply she’d fallen asleep last night.

You hesitated before stepping out of your room, following the scent to the kitchen—and there he was.

Heeseung stood by the stove, casually flipping bacon with one hand while the other rested on the counter. Unlike last night, he was wearing a plain white tank top, exposing his toned arms, his hair still a bit messy from sleep. His baggy jeans hung low on his hips, completing his effortlessly relaxed look.

The sight of him like this—so comfortable in your home, in your mother’s home—sent a weird jolt through you.

He must have heard your footsteps because he turned his head, flashing you a small smirk. “Morning.”

You cleared your throat, shifting awkwardly. “Morning…”

He turned back to the stove, moving the bacon onto a plate. “Didn’t think you’d be up this early.”

“I smelled food,” you admitted, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the counter. “Guess I was curious.”

Heeseung chuckled, grabbing a piece of toast and taking a bite. “Fair enough.”

You glanced toward the hallway. “Mom’s still asleep?”

“Yeah,” he said, cracking an egg into the pan. “Figured I’d let her rest.”

You nodded, watching as he moved around the kitchen like he’d been living here forever. It was strange—how easily he fit into this space.

How easily he was fitting into your life.

You hated to admit it, but Heeseung looked good in the kitchen. Too good.

The way his toned arms flexed slightly as he moved, the way his hair fell messily over his forehead, the way the white tank top clung to his frame just right—it was almost unfair how effortlessly attractive he was.

It pissed you off.

You shouldn’t be noticing these things.

You shouldn’t be watching the way his jaw tensed slightly as he concentrated on plating the food, or the way his long fingers moved as he sprinkled a pinch of salt over the eggs. But you were.

And the worst part?

He knew it.

As he finished serving breakfast, you walked over to grab a plate—but as you reached for it, you caught it.

Just for a second.

His eyes flickered downward.

Right at your chest.

Your black cropped tank top wasn’t that revealing, but it was fitted, hugging your curves just enough. And for the briefest moment, Heeseung’s gaze lingered—before quickly shifting back up like nothing happened.

Maybe it was just in your head. Maybe you were overthinking it.

But still, your skin felt hotter than before, and you weren’t sure if it was because of the food or because of him.

You grabbed your plate, trying to act like you didn’t just notice that. Like you didn’t just catch your mom’s fiancé checking you out.

Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe you were overthinking it.

Yeah. That had to be it.

You sat down at the kitchen island, poking at your eggs with your fork while Heeseung grabbed his own plate and sat across from you. The silence stretched between you, the only sound being the occasional clink of silverware.

After a moment, Heeseung leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his messy hair. “Sleep okay?”

You shrugged. “Yeah. You?”

He smirked slightly. “Could’ve been better. Your mom moves around a lot in her sleep.”

Your stomach twisted at the reminder that he had spent the night in her bed.

You forced a small, tight-lipped smile. “Yeah… she does that.”

Heeseung hummed, taking a bite of his food. His gaze flickered up to you again, slower this time, like he was really looking at you.

“You always sleep in your clothes from the night before?” he asked, voice casual but laced with something else.

You swallowed, gripping your fork a little tighter. “I was tired. Didn’t feel like changing.”

He nodded, but his smirk deepened just slightly. “Looks comfortable.”

Your skin prickled.

You didn’t respond, just focused on eating, pretending like his words didn’t send a weird rush through you.

You needed Yunjin to get here. Now.

The silence stretched between you again, but this time, it felt heavier.

Your stomach twisted, and not from the food. You needed to change the subject. Anything to break this weird tension.

“So,” you said, clearing your throat. “What made you wanna move in so fast? You and my mom haven’t even been dating that long.”

Heeseung took his time answering, sipping his coffee before setting the mug down. “It just made sense. Your mom wanted me here, and I figured, why wait?”

You raised an eyebrow. “That simple, huh?”

His lips twitched slightly. “Yeah. Besides, it’s not like I had much keeping me where I was. New city, new start.”

New life—with your mom.

The thought made your stomach churn again.

You scoffed lightly. “Guess my mom really swept you off your feet, huh?”

Heeseung let out a quiet chuckle, swirling his coffee. “Something like that.”

You huffed, breaking eye contact. “Whatever.”

Heeseung just smirked, taking another slow sip of his coffee.

You pushed your plate away, suddenly not hungry anymore.

Before either of you could say anything else, footsteps padded down the hallway.

“Morning, loves,” Alice’s tired voice broke the tension as she walked into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes.

You exhaled, standing up quickly. “Morning.”

Heeseung leaned back in his chair, greeting her with a soft, “Morning, babe.”

You nearly gagged.

Alice walked over to Heeseung, pressing a sleepy kiss to his cheek before looking at the breakfast he made. “Oh, you’re seriously the best.”

Heeseung just smiled. “Anything for you.”

You clenched your jaw, your fingers twitching at your sides.

You needed to get out of here.

“Hey, I’m gonna go get dressed,” you muttered, already stepping away. “Yunjin’s coming over soon.”

Alice nodded, already too distracted with her perfect fiancé to notice the way you practically bolted out of the kitchen.

But as you left, you could feel it again.

That same heavy gaze.

And this time, you didn’t have to look back to know exactly who it belonged to.

Back in your room, you stood in front of the mirror, running your fingers through your hair as you adjusted the small bow clip you’d just placed. You had styled your hair slightly, just enough to look effortlessly pretty, and paired it with a short-sleeved white top and a white skirt that stopped just above your knees.

You told yourself you were dressing up for Yunjin. It was just a casual hangout, but you wanted to look cute.

But deep down, you knew that wasn’t the only reason.

A small part of you—one you refused to acknowledge—wanted to look pretty for him.

You shook the thought away quickly, grabbing your phone just as the sound of the doorbell echoed through the house.

Finally.

You practically sprinted to the door, opening it to find Yunjin standing there in her usual effortless, laid-back style—a black zip-up hoodie and sweats, her hair pulled up in a messy bun.

She gave you a once-over, eyes narrowing slightly. “Okay, who are you dressed up for?”

You scoffed, stepping aside to let her in. “Shut up.”

Yunjin smirked as she walked in, slipping off her sneakers. “No, seriously. A skirt? A bow? This is giving romantic brunch, not ‘chilling at home with my best friend.’”

You rolled your eyes. “I just wanted to look cute.”

“Mhm,” she hummed, unconvinced. Then, a slow smirk spread across her lips. “Wait… he’s here, isn’t he?”

Your stomach flipped. “Who?”

Yunjin shot you a deadpan look. “Don’t play dumb, Y/N.”

You groaned, shutting the door behind her. “Yes, Heeseung is here. No, I did not dress up for him.”

Yunjin just grinned, nudging you with her elbow. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Before you could respond, a voice interrupted.

“Hey, Yunjin.”

You turned, and of course—there Heeseung was, leaning against the kitchen counter with a lazy smirk, his white tank top still showing off just enough of his toned arms to be annoying.

Yunjin’s smirk only widened.

“Oh. Now I get it.”

Yunjin’s smirk widened as she gave Heeseung a slow once-over. She didn’t even try to hide it.

“So you’re Heeseung,” she said, crossing her arms.

Heeseung chuckled, resting against the counter. “That’d be me.”

Yunjin tilted her head, eyeing him with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Huh. You look even younger in person.”

You nearly choked. “Yunjin!”

She just shrugged, unfazed. “What? I’m just saying.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Should I be flattered?”

Yunjin grinned. “Depends. You got a thing for older women or something?”

You definitely choked this time. “Oh my god—”

Heeseung actually laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t have a ‘thing’ for anyone. Like I told Y/N earlier, it’s about connection.”

He gave you a brief glance, and for some reason, your stomach twisted.

Yunjin hummed, unconvinced. “Right, right. Classic answer.”

Heeseung leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You seem to know a lot about me already. How’s that?”

Yunjin grinned. “Oh, Y/N told me everything.”

Your eyes widened. “No, I didn’t—”

Heeseung turned his gaze to you, his smirk deepening. “Everything, huh?”

“Nope! We’re done here!” You grabbed Yunjin’s wrist before she could say anything else, dragging her toward your room.

Yunjin barely put up a fight, laughing as she let you pull her away. “Aw, come on, I was just starting to have fun!”

You ignored her, shoving her inside and shutting the door behind you.

The moment the door shut behind you, Yunjin flopped onto your bed, dramatically sighing as she stared at the ceiling.

“Dude,” she breathed out, shaking her head. “He is so fine.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Ew.”

“I’m serious!” She propped herself up on her elbows, looking at you with an exaggerated pout. “Why couldn’t my mom pull a someone like him? This isn’t fair. I should be the one with a hot stepdad.”

You scoffed. “Please don’t ever say that again.”

Yunjin just wiggled her eyebrows. “You’re so lucky.”

You groaned, running a hand down your face. “Trust me, I don’t feel lucky.”

Yunjin sat up, crossing her legs. “Okay, okay, but seriously—what’s it like living with him now? You have to have noticed something.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. You weren’t even sure why you were about to tell her this, but it had been eating at you since last night.

You sat down beside her, lowering your voice. “Okay… so, last night, when we were watching the movie…” You swallowed, feeling stupid even saying it. “Our knees touched.”

Yunjin blinked. “…And?”

You exhaled sharply. “And I swear he didn’t move away. Like, I tried to shift, and it felt like he stayed there on purpose.”

Yunjin’s eyes widened slightly, but her smirk was already creeping in. “Oh?”

You shot her a look. “Don’t oh me.”

She grinned. “What else?”

You hesitated, then sighed. “This morning, when he was serving breakfast, I—I think he was staring at my chest.”

Yunjin gasped dramatically. “Shut the fuck up.”

“I could be imagining it,” you said quickly, not even believing your own words.

Yunjin grabbed your arm, eyes practically sparkling. “No, no, no. This is juicy.”

You groaned. “It’s not juicy. It’s weird.”

Yunjin just smirked. “Weird… but interesting.”

You shoved her playfully, trying to ignore the way your stomach was twisting—because you knew, deep down, this wasn’t just in your head.

Yunjin dramatically flopped back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling with a devilish grin. “Okay, so let me get this straight—you two were sitting real close, your knees touched, and he didn’t move? And now you’re catching him staring at your chest?”

You rolled your eyes, lying back beside her with a groan. “It’s not that serious.”

Yunjin turned her head to look at you, her smirk deepening. “Oh, it is that serious.”

You exhaled, rubbing your temples. “Even if he did look, it was probably nothing. Maybe he wasn’t even thinking about it. Guys look at stuff without realizing it sometimes.”

Yunjin scoffed. “Girl, please. You think a grown man—your mom’s fiancé, by the way—is out here accidentally checking you out?”

You groaned again, grabbing a pillow and smacking it over your face. “I hate you.”

She laughed, snatching the pillow from you. “No, you love me. And you love this drama, don’t even lie.”

You sat up, glaring at her. “I don’t love this. It’s uncomfortable. He’s literally about to marry my mom.”

Yunjin hummed, tilting her head. “And yet… you’re dressing all cute today. White skirt, little bow in your hair. You never wear bows.”

Your face burned. “Shut up—I just wanted to look nice!”

“For him.”

“For me!”

Yunjin giggled, clearly enjoying herself way too much. “Mhm. Right. Totally just for you.”

You threw the pillow at her face. “I hate you.”

She caught it, still smirking. “No, you hate that I’m right.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, falling back onto the bed. “I don’t even know what to do.”

Yunjin scooted closer, resting her head on her palm. “Just… keep an eye on him. See if he does it again. If it happens one more time, then we know it’s not in your head.”

You bit your lip, thinking.

You did want to know if you were imagining things.

Or if Heeseung was really that kind of guy.

Just as you were about to say something else, the sound of footsteps approaching interrupted you. The door swung open, and your mom walked in holding a tray of snacks—chips, cookies, and a couple of cans of soda.

“Girls,” she said cheerfully, setting the tray down on your desk. “Thought you might need some snacks. I’ll be downstairs watching a movie with Heeseung if you need me.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at her.

She smiled brightly. “Heeseung’s already got it all set up. He’s such a sweetheart. You two enjoy yourselves, okay? I’ll be back in a little bit.”

You felt your stomach twist at the mention of him, but before you could react, Alice was already heading back out, her footsteps fading down the hallway.

Yunjin waited a beat before raising her eyebrows at you. “Looks like Heeseung is getting comfy in the living room, huh?”

You didn’t even know what to say to that, your mind still stuck on the image of him serving breakfast earlier. It was hard to ignore how his attention seemed to be more focused on you than you were comfortable with.

“Yeah, I guess…” you muttered, not meeting her gaze. You felt your nerves picking up again as the weight of the situation pressed on your chest. You wanted to shake it off, but you couldn’t help it.

Yunjin picked up a chip from the tray, popping it into her mouth. “Listen, I know you’re probably freaking out about this whole thing, but just think about it this way—you’ve got dirt now. You’ve seen him check you out.” Her grin turned mischievous. “That’s gotta be some kind of power, right?”

You frowned, trying to brush it off. “It’s not like that. I don’t want anything to do with him in that way.”

“Sure,” Yunjin said, though her tone clearly didn’t believe you. “But if he’s acting like that… it’s not exactly nothing. I’m just saying.”

You flopped back onto your bed, staring at the ceiling in frustration. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, Yunjin. I don’t want to make things weird, but I also don’t want to feel uncomfortable every time I see him.”

Yunjin laid back beside you, giving you a knowing look. “Look, all I’m saying is this: if he keeps staring at you like that, or making you feel uneasy, you have to say something. Or at least, make sure you know what’s going on. I mean, yeah, it’s weird that he’s your mom’s fiancé, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have the right to know where his intentions are.”

You swallowed, her words hitting harder than you expected. You weren’t sure you were ready to confront him or your mom about it, but the uncertainty gnawed at you. You wanted to know if it was just your imagination—or if Heeseung was actually crossing some lines.

“Maybe you’re right,” you admitted, rolling over to grab a cookie from the tray.

Yunjin gave you a wide grin. “Damn right I’m right. Now, how about we get back to the movie and try to not think about the fact that your soon-to-be stepdad is probably staring at you right now?”

You shot her a deadpan look. “Please don’t remind me.”

But even as you tried to focus on the snacks and the movie, part of you couldn’t shake the thought that Heeseung was lurking somewhere, possibly watching you. And with your mom out of the picture for now, you couldn’t help but feel like this was only just the beginning.

The tension in the room lingered as Yunjin and you snacked on the chips, but the atmosphere was thick with awkwardness. You couldn’t stop thinking about Heeseung downstairs, probably sitting on the couch, just a few rooms away. It was hard to concentrate on anything, let alone the movie.

After a few minutes, Yunjin broke the silence, her tone playful but with a hint of curiosity. “So, are we just gonna sit up here, or are we gonna go hang out with your very fine stepdad?”

You let out a frustrated sigh. “Can we not talk about him like that?”

Yunjin raised an eyebrow. “What, like it’s not true? Come on, you know you’re thinking about it. He’s good-looking, Y/N. Even I’m getting a little jealous.”

You shook your head, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped at her words. “I don’t care how good-looking he is. It’s not about that. It’s… everything else.”

Yunjin clicked her tongue, picking up another chip. “Well, whatever. I’m still going down there to see for myself.” She stood up, stretching, and glanced at you with a grin. “You should come, too. Let’s see how much attention he’s really giving you, huh?”

You hesitated, the thought of confronting him making your stomach churn. But at the same time, there was a strange sense of curiosity about it. You wanted to know if you were reading too much into things, or if there was something more to his behavior.

“Fine, I’ll come,” you muttered, standing up reluctantly.

Yunjin’s grin widened, clearly pleased with herself. “That’s my girl.“

With that, the two of you made your way downstairs, the sound of the TV growing louder as you neared the living room. When you finally reached the doorway, you hesitated, taking in the scene.

Heeseung was sitting on the couch, looking incredibly relaxed in his baggy jeans and that white tank top. His attention was focused on the TV for a moment, but the second you and Yunjin stepped into the room, you could feel his gaze flicker over to you, lingering for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

You couldn’t help but glance away quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed. But you were pretty sure he had.

Yunjin, on the other hand, had no problem with the silence that stretched between you. “Hey, Heeseung, what’s up?” She plopped herself down next to him casually, her gaze shifting from him to you with a knowing smirk. “What movie are we watching?”

Heeseung gave her a lazy smile, his voice smooth as always. “Just some random action flick. You guys want to join?” His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he looked back at Yunjin.

You shifted uncomfortably, wondering if Yunjin could tell how tense the situation had become.

“Yeah, I guess we’ll join,” Yunjin said, patting the seat next to her. “Y/N, come sit by me.”

You hesitated before walking over to the couch, settling beside Yunjin, though your eyes flickered towards Heeseung every few seconds. There was something in his expression you couldn’t quite place, but it made you uneasy.

Yunjin nudged you, her voice low. “I swear he’s looking at you more than he’s looking at the show?”

You shot her a look, trying not to react too strongly, but your heart was pounding in your chest. “You’re imagining it.”

“Am I?” Yunjin said, her voice filled with teasing disbelief. “He’s totally checking you out, Y/N. You can’t deny it.”

You bit your lip, forcing your gaze back to the screen, but you couldn’t stop the nagging feeling that Heeseung was still watching you—his presence somehow even more intense than before.

You shifted uncomfortably on the couch next to Yunjin, doing your best to focus on the movie playing on the TV in front of you, but it was nearly impossible with the weight of the situation hanging in the air. Alice was sitting across from you both, wrapped up in the movie, oblivious to the tension simmering between you, Heeseung, and Yunjin.

Heeseung was sitting next to your mom on the other end of the couch, his attention drifting between her and the screen. Every so often, his gaze would slip toward you, and it was hard to ignore how much longer it seemed to linger on you than on anything else. You felt your heart race with every glance, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look back at him. Not with your mom right there, laughing at something on the screen, unaware of what was unfolding under the surface.

Yunjin leaned in closer to you, her voice a whisper. “You feel it too, right?”

You clenched your fists in your lap, trying to look anywhere but at Heeseung. “Please stop,” you muttered, eyes fixed on the screen. You tried to distract yourself with the plot, but it felt like the world was just noise.

But then Heeseung shifted in his seat, and you felt it—a brush of his knee against yours, just enough to make you freeze. You could feel the heat of his body radiating in that small space between you. His eyes flickered over to you for a second, and you could swear there was a knowing glint in them, something that made your stomach twist in a mix of nerves and frustration.

Yunjin wasn’t helping—her gaze was fixed on you, her lips curled into a grin that only made you feel more exposed. “See? I told you. He’s not even trying to hide it anymore.”

Before you could respond, Alice looked over at you both, interrupting the moment. “What are you two whispering about? Focus on the movie, girls.” She smiled brightly, oblivious to the tension in the room.

You let out a shaky breath, trying to force a smile. “Nothing, Mom, just talking.” You hoped she didn’t catch the sharp edge in your voice.

Heeseung, as usual, was calm and collected, his gaze sliding over to you again before returning to the movie. You swore he was taking his time studying you, as if he couldn’t get enough. You wanted to curl up into yourself, but you forced yourself to stay in place, hoping the moment would pass.

Your mom continued to watch the movie, laughing along at a funny scene, but the weight of Heeseung’s presence beside you was becoming suffocating. You could feel his leg slightly grazing yours again, and this time you couldn’t pretend it was accidental. He was definitely doing it on purpose.

Your breath hitched, but you tried to steady yourself, pretending to be unaffected. You hated how much you cared about how he made you feel. How you wanted to push him away but also couldn’t help but feel the pull.

Yunjin, though, wasn’t letting up. Her smirk was practically growing, and she leaned closer to whisper, “You sure you’re not gonna do something about it?”

Before you could snap at her, Heeseung shifted again, and once again, your knees brushed. This time, though, you felt his leg move ever so slightly, as if pressing just a little closer. You were sure he knew what he was doing. You could feel your heart racing, your skin tingling from the contact, and it made you want to crawl out of your skin. You could feel Yunjin’s eyes on you, watching you carefully.

You tried to shift away, subtly, but his knee pressed against yours again, a little firmer this time, and your whole body tensed. You glanced over at him, heart hammering in your chest, and caught him looking at you—his gaze was intense, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

Your stomach turned, and for a split second, you almost considered standing up and leaving the room altogether. But then you saw your mom laughing at something on the screen again, completely unaware of the electric tension in the air.

You couldn’t bring yourself to ruin the night for her.

So you stayed there, frozen, pretending to watch the movie while Heeseung’s quiet presence next to you felt like an unbearable weight, one you couldn’t escape.

As the night stretched on, the movie played in the background, but you were no longer paying attention to the screen. Every second felt longer than the last, with the weight of Heeseung’s presence beside you making it nearly impossible to focus on anything else. Your mom, Alice, seemed to be enjoying herself, laughing at jokes, talking to Heeseung here and there, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that things had shifted.

Yunjin, thankfully, was keeping herself occupied with her own thoughts, occasionally teasing you with playful glances and whispers that you didn’t have the energy to entertain anymore.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Yunjin checked the time and stood up, stretching. “Alright, I’m out. Got stuff to do tomorrow,” she said, brushing her hands together dramatically.

You barely looked up from where you were sitting, still trying to ignore the unease building up in your chest. “Thanks for coming over,” you muttered, hoping she would leave quickly so you could get some space.

Yunjin gave you a knowing smile. “Sure thing. You better text me later if he does anything weird again,” she teased, her voice a little too loud for your liking. You shot her a look, but she just grinned. “I’m serious though. If anything happens, you’ve got backup. See you later, Y/N.”

You barely had time to respond before she was out the door, her footsteps fading down the hallway. The room felt suddenly too quiet, and the absence of her teasing presence made everything feel even more uncomfortable.

You were left alone with your mom and Heeseung.

For a moment, the awkward tension hung in the air. Alice was still engaged with the movie, completely oblivious to the strange dynamic that had developed between you and Heeseung. You wanted to leave the room, but something kept you rooted to your spot on the couch.

And then, as if on cue, Heeseung shifted again. This time, his knee brushed against yours so gently that it sent a shiver up your spine. You stiffened instinctively, but he didn’t pull away. His leg stayed there, inches away from yours.

You tried to focus on the movie, but your mind kept drifting back to the way Heeseung was sitting just a little too close to you, the quiet pressure of his knee against yours. You could feel his warmth, the subtle rhythm of his breathing, and the unmistakable tension that seemed to wrap around both of you.

Then, your mom let out a quiet sigh beside you. “Well, it’s getting late. I think I’m going to head to bed.” She stood up and stretched, rubbing her eyes. “Heeseung, are you staying the night?”

Heeseung’s voice was calm, as always, but you could hear the faintest hint of hesitation. “Yeah, I’ll stay.”

You clenched your hands together in your lap, trying not to focus on the way he had just casually confirmed he’d be sticking around. The thought of him being in the house, being that close, was starting to make your stomach churn.

Your mom turned to you. “Y/N, I think I’ll head up to bed. You don’t mind if Heeseung stays a little longer, right?”

You swallowed, forcing a smile. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

Alice smiled at you, clearly oblivious to the internal battle raging inside you. “Good. Well, I’m off to bed. You two enjoy the movie.” She gave you both a quick kiss on the cheek and disappeared down the hall toward her bedroom.

And just like that, it was just the two of you.

The silence between you and Heeseung felt thicker now, like it was pressing against you from all sides. He didn’t move, didn’t speak at first, and neither did you. But you could feel his presence beside you more than ever.

The seconds stretched on. You could hear the soft hum of the movie in the background, but your attention was on Heeseung. It was impossible not to notice how he was sitting, a little too close, his body angled slightly toward you. The way his eyes flickered to you every few seconds, his gaze dark and unreadable.

Finally, Heeseung spoke, his voice low and smooth. “I didn’t expect tonight to be… like this.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

He glanced at you, his lips curling into a small smile, though it seemed more like a knowing smirk. “I mean, I didn’t expect us to get so… comfortable so quickly.” He leaned back slightly, the movement casual, but the way his eyes never left you made you feel exposed.

You shifted in your seat, trying to keep your distance. “It’s not like that,” you said, your voice sharper than you meant it to be.

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “No? Then why do you look so nervous?”

Your pulse quickened at his words. The way he was reading you so easily made you feel even more exposed, and you wished you could just get up and leave, but something kept you rooted in place.

He took a breath, leaning in slightly, his gaze piercing. “You know… it doesn’t have to be awkward between us, Y/N. You’re not just my future stepdaughter. You’re a grown woman. We can talk, can’t we?”

Your stomach turned, your heart hammering in your chest. You felt trapped. His words felt too close to the line you didn’t want to cross, and yet here he was, pushing against it.

You opened your mouth to respond, but your voice failed you, the words stuck in your throat. You wanted to say something—anything—but the tension between you felt too overwhelming.

Heeseung seemed to notice your discomfort, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it came.

The room felt tense, the quiet stretching between the two of you as the movie continued to play in the background, but neither of you were really paying attention to it anymore. Heeseung’s eyes never left you, his gaze sharp and calculating, as if he was waiting for you to say something—or maybe for him to say something more.

He suddenly hit pause on the remote, and the sound of the TV cut off abruptly, leaving only the sound of your breathing and the heavy silence that hung in the air. You looked up, surprised, catching his eyes for a moment before quickly averting your gaze.

Heeseung leaned back slightly, his posture casual, but you could feel the shift. “So…” he started, his voice low, “what’s going on in that head of yours, Y/N?”

You swallowed, not trusting yourself to speak right away. His question felt too direct, too personal, and you weren’t sure how to respond. Was he really asking you to be open? Or was this some strange way of pushing boundaries?

“Nothing,” you said quickly, your voice betraying the nervousness you were trying to suppress. You glanced at the remote in his hands, but his focus was entirely on you. His eyes were piercing, studying you like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing you. “You sure? You’re acting a little… tense.” His words were casual, but his tone held a deeper edge, one that made your heart race even faster.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, trying to keep your cool. “I’m just tired,” you lied, feeling the weight of his gaze as if it were pressing down on you. The idea of just leaving the room and escaping this uncomfortable situation crossed your mind, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. It was like your body was frozen, trapped by the unspoken tension between you two.

Heeseung didn’t seem convinced. His eyes softened slightly, but the underlying intensity was still there. “It’s okay if you’re not in the mood to talk. I get it. But I’m just wondering… What do you think about all this?” He motioned vaguely around the room, as if referring to the strange situation you were both in.

Your heart beat faster, and you could feel your palms growing clammy. You didn’t know what he meant by “all this,” but it was obvious he wasn’t just referring to the movie or the casual setting. He was talking about you, about him, about the strange dynamic between you two.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you answered, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

Heeseung leaned forward a little, the shift in his posture making the space between you two feel smaller. “You don’t have to pretend, Y/N. I’m not here to make things weird… but we both know there’s something different between us.” His voice dropped an octave, quieter but more intense, as if he were daring you to admit it.

Your breath caught in your throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, though you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself.

Heeseung didn’t back down, though. His gaze didn’t waver from you. “You can lie to me if you want, but I can see it. The way you act around me, the way you look at me… You’re not fooling anyone, Y/N.” He sat back, almost as if giving you space to process his words, but the way he stared at you made it impossible to look away.

You felt your heart pound in your chest, the room suddenly feeling too small, too suffocating. Everything inside you wanted to run, to get away from him, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t even form the words to challenge him.

Heeseung continued, his voice almost too soft, as though he were coaxing you to admit something you weren’t ready to face. “It’s okay, you know. This doesn’t have to be awkward. We’re just talking.”

The way he said that—like this was normal, like you weren’t crossing some invisible line—made your mind spin. Every instinct in you screamed to stop this, to shut it down, but something else, something you couldn’t control, kept pulling you back to him.

“I—I’m not sure what you want from me, Heeseung,” you finally muttered, your words coming out quieter than you intended.

Heeseung smiled slightly, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “I don’t want anything from you, Y/N. I just want you to stop pretending like this isn’t real.” He paused, letting the words hang between you both. “You don’t have to pretend like you don’t feel it, too.”

Your stomach tightened, your mind racing, trying to process what he meant. You felt like you were trapped in a conversation you couldn’t escape, but somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to end it. You couldn’t look away from him.

The silence that followed his words was thick, suffocating. You were staring at him, unsure of what to say, the weight of his gaze making it feel like the room was closing in on you. His eyes held a quiet intensity, as if he were waiting for something from you. A response, an acknowledgment, something that would confirm whatever it was he was feeling.

You tried to push the thoughts away, the conflicting feelings swirling inside of you, but you couldn’t ignore how much his words made you feel exposed. He was right, in some way. You couldn’t pretend that the tension wasn’t there, that it hadn’t been there from the moment you first met. But admitting that would be admitting to something you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said again, but this time, it felt weaker, less convincing.

Heeseung didn’t look angry or frustrated. If anything, he seemed almost amused by your resistance. “You can keep denying it if you want, Y/N. But I see the way you look at me. I see the way you act around me when your mom’s not around.” His voice softened, and for a brief second, you almost thought he was going to smile. “It’s not just in your head.”

Your breath caught in your throat. His words felt like they were cutting through the walls you had built up inside. How could he be so sure? How could he read you like that, so easily?

“I—I don’t know what you want me to say,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly despite your efforts to keep it steady.

Heeseung didn’t immediately respond. He just studied you, his eyes lingering on your face as though searching for something. Finally, after a long pause, he sighed, his posture relaxing just a bit.

“Look, I don’t want to make things harder for you,” he said, his tone softer now, almost apologetic. “I’m not trying to put you on the spot. I just think… I think we both know there’s something between us. Whether we want to admit it or not.”

The words hung in the air, like a challenge you couldn’t quite escape. You felt your chest tighten at the thought of it. The idea of something between you two was too strange to even process, and yet, the connection was undeniable. Your mind was a mess, emotions tangled in a way that made it hard to think clearly.

For a moment, you stayed quiet, unsure of what to do next. His gaze remained on you, waiting, patient, almost as if he were giving you the space to decide whether you wanted to acknowledge what was happening or not.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out at first. Instead, you looked away, unable to keep meeting his eyes. This was all too much. You couldn’t let yourself get drawn into it.

“I—I should probably head to bed,” you said, standing up from the couch a little too quickly. You needed distance. You needed space.

But as you stood, Heeseung’s voice stopped you, soft yet firm. “Y/N, we don’t have to pretend like nothing’s happening here. You’re not the only one feeling this. You know that, right?”

His words stopped you in your tracks. Your heart pounded in your chest. Was it possible? Could he really be feeling the same way you were?

You didn’t turn around to face him, but you could feel his gaze on your back, heavy and constant. “I don’t know what you want from me,” you muttered, still too afraid to face him.

For a long moment, it was just the sound of your own heartbeat thudding in your ears. Heeseung didn’t say anything more. The air between you two was electric, charged with tension, but neither of you moved to break it.

And then, just as you were about to take a step toward the hallway, Heeseung spoke again, his voice softer now.

“We don’t have to figure everything out tonight. But we will have to talk about it sooner or later.”

Your breath caught. You didn’t know how to respond to that. All you could do was nod slowly, feeling like you were floating in a whirlwind of confusion.

With one last look over your shoulder at him, you turned and walked down the hallway, your mind racing, your heart heavy with unspoken questions and feelings that you couldn’t make sense of.

The next morning, you woke up feeling drained, like the weight of last night’s conversation had lingered in your mind all through the night. You tried to shake off the feeling, to move on and ignore it, but as you made your way downstairs, you were met with the sound of your mom and Heeseung in the kitchen.

They were sitting together at the table, casually chatting over coffee, like nothing had happened. Your mom was laughing at something Heeseung had said, and he was grinning that easygoing smile of his. They looked so natural together—too natural. It was hard to imagine that only hours ago, things had been a lot more… complicated.

Heeseung was wearing his usual relaxed outfit, a black hoodie and baggy jeans, his hair tousled as he leaned back in his chair with a cup of coffee in his hand. Your mom, on the other hand, looked effortlessly beautiful in a loose shirt, her hair messily pulled into a ponytail. The two of them seemed so comfortable in each other’s presence, as if the tension from the night before had never even existed.

“Good morning, honey,” your mom greeted you, her smile warm and bright. “Coffee’s fresh, help yourself.”

You didn’t immediately respond. You just stood in the doorway, trying to process how they could be acting so casually when everything still felt so weird to you.

Heeseung, noticing you standing there, flashed a smile your way. “Morning, Y/N,” he said in that calm voice of his, looking at you with an almost knowing expression. “Sleep well?”

You nodded stiffly, not trusting yourself to speak. The words from last night were still in your head, and seeing them together like this made your stomach twist with discomfort. It felt like nothing had changed for them, like the tension from the night before had evaporated the moment they woke up.

“Y/N, you should sit with us,” your mom suggested, motioning to the empty chair beside Heeseung. “We’re just chatting about random stuff. Why don’t you join?”

You hesitated. The thought of sitting down beside Heeseung again made your chest tighten, but you didn’t want to appear rude. So, you reluctantly made your way to the table and took a seat. As you did, Heeseung gave you another smile, the same one that made your heart flutter in a way you couldn’t quite understand.

“So, what’s on the agenda today?” your mom asked, picking up her coffee and taking a sip. She was all smiles, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside you.

Heeseung leaned back slightly, glancing at you as he spoke. “I was thinking of heading out to the park later, maybe grab some lunch afterward,” he suggested casually. “Could be a nice way to spend the day.”

You barely heard him. Your mind was still caught in that moment last night, when his leg brushed against yours and his gaze lingered on you just a little too long. It felt like he was acting as though it had all been a dream, a brief awkward moment that was easy to forget. But you couldn’t forget it.

Your mom perked up at the suggestion, her eyes brightening. “That sounds like a great idea, Heeseung. I’m sure Y/N would love that too.”

You didn’t know how to respond, but you could feel Heeseung’s gaze on you again. This time, it felt a little more intense. The way he looked at you, like he was waiting for something—like he knew what was going on behind your eyes.

You forced yourself to smile. “Yeah, sure,” you said, trying to sound casual, though your stomach churned with nerves.

The conversation continued, but it felt distant, like you were watching everything from a place far removed from reality. Your mom and Heeseung chatted about their plans for the day, laughing and enjoying the morning like it was any other day.

But for you, everything had shifted. The tension from last night was still there, like an invisible thread between you and Heeseung. It was impossible to ignore, and yet, it was as if nothing had happened. They were so relaxed with each other, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were the only one holding onto something from the night before.

The more you tried to focus on the conversation, the more you realized you couldn’t shake the feeling that things had changed between you and Heeseung. But as far as he and your mom were concerned, the night before had been nothing more than a blip, easily forgotten and brushed off as nothing significant.

You stood in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection with a sigh. Your fingers worked to pull your hair up into a loose bun, trying to make it look effortless. You threw on a black knit sweater that hugged your frame just enough to make you feel self-conscious, paired with some jean shorts that were a little shorter than you’d usually wear. You finished the look with a light amount of makeup—just enough to feel somewhat put together, though you couldn’t shake the unease building in your chest.

‘Who am I kidding?’ you thought, staring at yourself in the mirror. This is so stupid, Y/N. You almost laughed at yourself. Why did it matter so much? Why did you care what Heeseung thought? It was just the two of you today. Just a casual trip to the park. Nothing more.

But deep down, you knew why. There was a part of you—one you didn’t want to acknowledge—that felt like maybe, just maybe, you wanted to impress him. Stop it, Y/N, you thought, shaking your head as you grabbed your bag and headed out of your room.

When you walked downstairs, you found Heeseung standing near the door, his casual black hoodie and jeans making him look effortlessly cool. He was holding his car keys, looking like he was ready to head out. Your mom, Alice, was already gone for work—leaving you two alone for the day.

“Ready?” Heeseung asked, glancing up at you as you reached the bottom of the stairs.

You nodded, a little too quickly, and tried to ignore the nerves bubbling in your stomach. “Yeah, let’s go.”

As you both stepped outside, the bright morning sun hit your face, but it didn’t do much to ease the tension you felt. The car ride was quiet, the only sound being the soft hum of the engine. You couldn’t help but steal glances at Heeseung, who was focused on the road ahead but seemed just as aware of you as you were of him. His presence felt almost too close, his leg brushing against yours every time he shifted in the seat. Every time, your heart skipped a beat, and you tried to push the thoughts out of your head.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you pulled up to the park. It was a quiet, peaceful place, perfect for getting away from everything. You both got out of the car, and as you made your way toward the walking trail, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Heeseung was walking just a little too close behind you. You could feel his gaze on your back, like a weight pressing down on you.

“So,” Heeseung started, his voice casual as he walked beside you, “I was thinking we could grab some coffee first. There’s a little cafe nearby.”

You nodded, though you weren’t really listening. You were too busy trying to ignore the tension building between you two. You could feel him glancing at you every now and then, his eyes lingering just a little longer than usual, and it made your heart race. You couldn’t figure out what was going on between you two—everything was a mess of feelings you weren’t prepared to deal with.

“Sounds good,” you replied, hoping your voice didn’t betray how off-balance you felt.

You walked in silence for a few moments, the park unusually quiet around you. You could hear the rustling of leaves in the trees and the distant sound of birds chirping, but all you could focus on was Heeseung’s presence next to you.

As you reached the cafe, you both ordered your drinks, and Heeseung led the way to a quiet bench near the lake. The moment you sat down, you realized just how aware you were of every little movement he made. You could feel the heat of his body beside yours, the way his legs brushed against yours as you both settled into the bench.

He looked over at you, his expression unreadable. “You alright?” he asked, his voice a little quieter now. “You seem a bit distant.”

You paused, not sure how to respond. Your chest tightened. Distant? You weren’t sure how to explain what you were feeling, so you shrugged.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said, though it didn’t sound convincing even to your own ears.

Heeseung didn’t push you, but you could tell he was watching you closely, trying to figure you out. After a few seconds, he leaned back a little, looking out at the water. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever come here without your mom,” he said, trying to break the tension.

You nodded, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “Yeah. She loves this place.”

There was a brief pause, and then, just as you thought the moment would pass, Heeseung’s voice cut through the quiet. “Y/N…” he started, his tone more serious this time. “About last night… I just want you to know that I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

Your heart dropped. You hadn’t expected him to bring it up, and now that he had, it felt like everything was on the verge of spilling over. You didn’t know what to say, so you just stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue.

He glanced at you, his eyes intense. “But I think you know what I’m talking about, right?”

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine. You wanted to deny it, to brush it off, but you couldn’t. You were both too aware of the tension, the unspoken connection that had been there since the first time you met.

“Yeah,” you finally managed to say, your voice barely a whisper.

Heeseung didn’t say anything more. Instead, he took a sip of his coffee, looking out at the water again, as if giving you space to process whatever it was that was happening between you two. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that the moment had shifted, and neither of you were sure how to navigate it.

The walk back to the car felt much longer than it should have. You tried to distract yourself by looking anywhere but at Heeseung, but the weight of the tension between you was almost suffocating. The air felt charged, crackling with a mix of uncertainty and something you couldn’t quite name.

When you reached the car, Heeseung opened the door for you, but neither of you immediately got in. Instead, you both lingered there, by the car, in a strange silence, each lost in your thoughts. The sounds of the park were distant, muffled, as if the world had faded away for just a moment.

Finally, you broke the silence, turning toward him, your voice slightly unsteady. “So… last night, you said, ‘I wasn’t the only one who felt that way.’ What did you mean by that?”

Heeseung’s eyes were locked on you, and he didn’t look away as he leaned slightly against the car, his posture casual but still holding that undeniable intensity. You could see his jaw tense slightly, his lips biting down as if he were carefully choosing his next words. His gaze never wavered from yours, not even for a second, and it made your heart race.

“I meant that I feel it, too,” he said, his voice low, almost a murmur. He hesitated for a brief moment, as though weighing the effect of his words. Then, he added, “I know you’ve noticed it. The way things are between us. It’s not just you who feels it. You think I’m not bothered by the fact you’re way too comfortable with showing a lot of skin?”

You felt your chest tighten at his admission. Your mind was racing, but you stayed silent, unsure how to respond.

Heeseung’s eyes flickered over your face, studying you carefully, and you could tell he was trying to gauge your reaction. The way he looked at you felt like he could see right through you, and the intensity of his gaze made your breath catch.

“I don’t know what’s happening between us, Y/N, but I can’t ignore it.” His voice dropped even lower, and he took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. You could feel his body heat radiating toward you, the closeness making it hard to breathe.

You swallowed, trying to maintain control of yourself, but his words, his closeness, were making it impossible to think clearly. “What about my mom?” you asked, your voice almost trembling as you spoke. “She’s… she’s the one you’re with. You’re supposed to be with her.”

The question hung in the air, and you almost regretted asking it as soon as the words left your mouth. But you had to know. You had to understand what Heeseung’s feelings meant, what they really meant. Was this some kind of mistake? A passing moment? Or was there something more to it, something you weren’t prepared to handle?

Heeseung didn’t break eye contact, not even for a second. He bit down on his lip slightly, like he was suppressing the urge to say something that might make the situation even more complicated than it already was. But he didn’t look away, and the way his gaze lingered on you made your heart race even faster.

“I… I care about your mom, Y/N,” he said, his voice steady but still carrying a note of uncertainty. “I do. But…” He trailed off, the words clearly difficult for him to express.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him as he took a step closer, his breath almost mingling with yours. “But what?” you whispered, barely daring to breathe.

Heeseung’s lips curled into a faint, almost hesitant smile. “But that doesn’t change what’s been building between us,” he said quietly. His voice was so calm, but there was something underneath it—a depth, an unspoken understanding that seemed to draw you closer to him, no matter how much you tried to resist it.

The air between you felt charged, heavier than before. You were caught, trapped between the pull of your own emotions and the knowledge that this—whatever this was—was something you shouldn’t be feeling.

Before you could say anything else, Heeseung stepped back slightly, but he didn’t look away. His expression softened a little, as if giving you the space to process what he had said. But the tension remained. It was there in the way he was still looking at you, in the way you could feel his presence even though he wasn’t touching you.

“I don’t know what this is, Y/N,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “But I know it’s real.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, your thoughts racing. You didn’t know how to handle this. The weight of what he was saying, the way he was looking at you, was overwhelming. But there was a part of you—a part you couldn’t deny—that felt drawn to him in a way you didn’t understand.

Heeseung’s footsteps were quiet but purposeful as he moved closer to you, the space between you two shrinking with every step he took. The air felt thick, almost suffocating, as if everything around you had faded into the background. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, each beat seeming to echo in the silence that surrounded you.

When he was close enough, his body nearly brushing against yours, he reached out slowly, his hand gently cupping your cheek. His touch was warm, tender, but there was an undeniable intensity in it, as if he was holding something back. His fingers lingered on your skin for a moment, and you could feel a shiver run down your spine.

Heeseung leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, sending a wave of heat through your body. His voice was low, almost a whisper, but you heard every word clearly. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Y/N. I don’t know what this is, but it’s more than I can ignore.”

The way his words slid over you made everything inside you tangle with confusion, desire, and something else you couldn’t quite name. You felt your breath catch in your throat, your heart racing, but the overwhelming sensation was too much to bear. The pull toward him was stronger than ever, and the emotions swirling inside you were too intense to ignore.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe properly with the way he was looking at you, with the heat of his body so close to yours. Without thinking, without even realizing what you were doing, you closed the space between you two completely, your hand reaching up to pull him toward you.

In one swift motion, you pressed your lips to his, kissing him deeply, urgently. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was the culmination of everything you had been feeling, all the tension, the confusion, and the raw desire you couldn’t suppress any longer. His lips were soft, and for a brief second, the world seemed to vanish as he kissed you back just as fiercely, his hand moving from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, if that was even possible.

The kiss was slow at first, tentative, like he was waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you melted into it, into him, feeling his warmth, the undeniable connection that had been building since the moment you met him. The intensity of it left you breathless, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the urgency in the way his hands roamed, trying to make sense of everything happening between you both.

It felt like the world had tilted on its axis, and for that moment, there was nothing else but the two of you, the kiss, and the heat that was threatening to consume everything.

When you finally pulled away, your lips tingling, you couldn’t look him in the eye right away. The weight of what had just happened sank in, but you didn’t regret it—not one bit. Heeseung’s gaze was intense, and his lips curled into a small, almost amused smile. But there was something else in his eyes—something deeper, something that said he felt it too.

“I didn’t think you’d do that,” he whispered, his voice low and almost breathless.

Your heart was still racing, your thoughts scattered, but all you could manage was a quiet, breathless laugh. “Neither did I,” you replied, your voice shaky as you tried to make sense of what had just happened.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension still lingering in the air between you. You were both caught in this strange, electric moment, and you couldn’t help but wonder how things would change from here on out. But for now, you both stood there, silently, feeling the weight of what had just happened—and wondering what would come next.

Heeseung didn’t pull away this time. The moment your lips parted, you could feel him draw closer, his breath mingling with yours as his hand slid around to the back of your neck again, his fingers warm against your skin. You barely had time to catch your breath before his lips found yours again—this time, it was different.

The kiss was deeper, longer, more urgent. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty in the way he kissed you. It was as if he was pouring all of the emotions, the tension, the unspoken feelings that had been hanging between you two into that kiss. His lips moved with a purpose, slow and steady, but it was more intense than before.

You couldn’t help but melt into him, your hands coming up to rest on his chest as his other hand slid down, his fingers brushing against your waist, pulling you just a little bit closer. You could feel his heartbeat under your fingertips, and it made your own pulse quicken, matching the rhythm of his kiss. Every inch of space between you was filled with his warmth, his presence. The kiss gets heated as he shoved his tongue inside your mouth, but you flight back for dominance, feeling him smirk against your lips.

His lips moved against yours with a sense of urgency, but there was something tender in it, too—a softness that made your chest tighten with feelings you weren’t sure how to process. You felt the world around you fade into the background, all that mattered was him, the connection you couldn’t seem to deny, even if you wanted to.

As the kiss deepened, you felt his hand shift, gently guiding you closer, his body pressing against yours. The heat was intoxicating, and you could feel every inch of him now, making you let out a soft groan.

When he finally pulled back again, you were breathless, your body slightly trembling from the intensity of it all. His eyes were dark, full of unspoken words, and he was just as shaken as you were, the air between you thick with the weight of what had just happened.

“You…” he breathed, still too close to you, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “I don’t know how to explain it, but I can’t stay away. I didn’t expect this… I didn’t expect you.”

You couldn’t find your voice immediately, still trying to make sense of everything happening, the whirlwind of emotions inside you. You swallowed hard, looking up into his eyes, your heart pounding louder than ever.

Before you could say anything, his lips were on yours again, and this time, it felt like both of you had given in to it entirely. You kissed him back with just as much intensity, the world around you no longer mattering.

Two weeks had passed since that moment. Two weeks since everything between you and Heeseung had shifted, since the line between what was appropriate and what was not had blurred beyond recognition. And since then, things had been… awkward.

You couldn’t even look at him without feeling your stomach churn, your heart racing uncomfortably. Every time Heeseung was around, you found an excuse to disappear into your room or go for a walk, anything to avoid being in the same space as him. You hadn’t spoken a word about what happened, to him or to anyone, and the silence was deafening.

You’d started getting good at pretending that everything was fine. You acted as if the tension, the awkwardness, wasn’t eating at you from the inside. But it was. And it was getting harder to keep up the facade.

Whenever you did find yourself in the same room as him, you could feel his eyes on you, watching, waiting. Heeseung was still… Heeseung, and he was still as effortlessly attractive as before. But it wasn’t just that—there was a knowing in his gaze, something that made you uneasy. He seemed to want to talk, but you avoided him at all costs, always finding a way to slip away before he could corner you.

Your mom, Alice, had noticed the distance. She was confused, of course. She kept asking if you were okay, if everything was fine, and you would just smile and nod, telling her everything was normal. But it wasn’t. Nothing about this was normal.

“Y/N, are you sure everything’s alright?” Alice asked one morning as you helped her prepare breakfast. She eyed you curiously, her brows furrowing slightly as she noticed how you kept avoiding the kitchen when Heeseung was around.

You didn’t meet her gaze, pretending to focus on your plate as you stabbed at your eggs. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you said, forcing a smile. “Just tired, you know?”

She didn’t seem convinced but nodded anyway, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Well, I don’t know… you’ve been acting a little distant lately. Are you sure it’s not about Heeseung? He’s been kind of quiet around you too.”

The mention of his name made your heart skip a beat, and you felt a sudden, sharp tightness in your chest. But you plastered on that same forced smile, willing the unease away. “It’s nothing,” you said quickly. “Really, Mom, don’t worry about it.”

Alice didn’t press the issue, but the confusion was clear in her eyes. She seemed like she wanted to ask more, but she didn’t, and that made it even worse. You had no idea how to explain this to her—not without making everything worse. How could you even begin to explain to your mother that the man she was about to marry was someone you had kissed? Someone you couldn’t stop thinking about, despite how wrong it was?

The days continued to pass in an uncomfortable blur, with Heeseung and you exchanging occasional glances, but never speaking about what had happened. It was like this unspoken tension was suffocating the air in the house, and no one knew how to address it.

Whenever you did manage to sit in the living room, you could feel Heeseung’s eyes following you, as if waiting for something. But you stayed silent, retreating into yourself as much as possible. Every time your paths crossed, there was this palpable awkwardness between you, and neither of you knew how to break it.

Your mom had no idea what was really going on. She couldn’t understand why you suddenly started avoiding Heeseung, and why he seemed just as distant. She would talk about how excited she was about their upcoming wedding and how happy she was with him, but all you could do was smile and nod, pretending that everything was fine.

But it wasn’t. Not by a long shot.

“You made out with him?” Yunjin practically shrieked through the phone.

You groaned, pressing the heel of your palm against your forehead. “Keep your voice down,” you hissed, even though she wasn’t physically there. “And like I said, yes.”

“And twice?!”

You flopped onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling, the weight of the past two weeks pressing down on you. “I don’t know how it happened, Yunjin. It just did.”

“Girl, you do know how it happened,” she said knowingly. “Because he’s fine as hell, and you’ve been feeling things for him. Don’t even try to lie to me.”

You let out a heavy sigh, your free hand fisting the sheets. “I don’t want to feel things for him. He’s my mom’s fiancé. It’s so messed up. I’ve been avoiding him ever since, and it’s making everything worse. My mom’s starting to notice.”

Yunjin hummed. “Well, no shit she’s noticing. You can’t just act normal one day and then treat her future husband like he has the plague the next. She’s bound to get suspicious.”

You shut your eyes, exhaling through your nose. “I don’t know what to do. Every time I see him, I feel sick. Not just because of guilt, but because… I liked it. I liked kissing him, Yunjin. And I hate myself for it.”

“Okay, first of all, don’t say that,” she said, her tone softer now. “It’s not like you planned for this to happen. But you have to talk to him sooner or later.”

You frowned. “Talk to him?”

“Yes, talk to him. You can’t just keep dodging him forever. You need to know where he stands on this. Is he pretending it didn’t happen? Does he regret it? Or does he…” she trailed off, and you knew exactly what she was implying.

Your stomach twisted. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I don’t think he regrets it.”

Yunjin let out a slow exhale. “Then that’s even more reason to talk to him. You can’t just keep walking around your house like a ghost, pretending this isn’t eating you alive.”

You bit your lip, silent for a moment. You knew she was right. But the thought of actually talking to Heeseung about what happened made you want to crawl into a hole. What could you even say?

“I’ll think about it,” you muttered, though you both knew that really meant I’ll avoid it as long as I can.

“You better,” Yunjin said. “Because if you don’t, this whole situation is gonna explode in your face.”

Your mom had just finished packing when she called you into the living room, excitement lacing her voice.

“I’ll be gone for three days, but I left everything you need in the fridge,” she said, zipping up her suitcase. “You and Heeseung will be fine here, right?”

Your stomach dropped. Three days? Alone in the house with him?

“Yeah,” you forced out, hoping she wouldn’t notice how stiff you sounded. “We’ll be fine.”

Great. Just great.

The second she walked out the door, you turned and bolted straight to your room, shutting the door behind you like it was your personal safe haven. If you could just stay in here for three days—no interactions, no awkward glances, no memories creeping in—you could survive this.

You threw yourself onto your bed, grabbing your phone to distract yourself, but your mind kept wandering back to him. His hands, his lips, the way he looked at you after it happened. You groaned, burying your face into your pillow.

And then—a knock.

You froze.

Another knock, this time firmer.

“Y/N?”

Heeseung.

Your breath hitched. He hadn’t knocked on your door once in the past two weeks, respecting the way you were avoiding him. But now, with your mom gone, with no way to escape, he was standing right outside.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the edge of your blanket.

“Can we talk?” His voice was steady, but there was something behind it. Something unreadable.

Your heart pounded against your ribs. Every part of you screamed to stay silent, to pretend you weren’t there. But deep down, you knew you couldn’t avoid him forever.

You inhaled sharply, sitting up.

“What do you want, Heeseung?”

You sat on your bed, legs crossed, dressed in a simple white tank top and grey baggy sweats. You hadn’t expected to be seen by him today, much less talk to him, but here you were—trapped.

The door creaked open, and Heeseung stepped inside, his presence immediately shifting the air in the room. His eyes flickered over you, lingering just a second too long before he let out a low chuckle.

“You know,” he said, leaning casually against the doorframe, “if you keep wearing those, I won’t be able to keep my eyes off you.”

Your body stiffened.

You hated how easily the words rolled off his tongue, how he didn’t even try to hide it anymore. Ever since that night, he hadn’t once pretended that nothing happened. He let it hang in the air between you like an unspoken secret, teasing, testing, taunting you.

And you hated that part of you liked it—that you were flustered.

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned back slightly. “Don’t say things like that,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze.

“What?” He tilted his head, stepping further inside. “You want me to lie instead?”

You swallowed, your nails digging into the fabric of your sweats. “I want you to act normal.”

His lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smirk but close enough to make your stomach twist. “This is normal, isn’t it?”

Your head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “For who?”

“For us.”

The room felt smaller, the air heavier. Heeseung took another slow step forward, and you hated how your breath hitched, how your body reacted before your mind could tell it not to.

“You’re acting like you didn’t feel it too,” he murmured, his voice softer now.

Your heart pounded, but you refused to let him see it. “I didn’t,” you lied, standing up abruptly.

Heeseung just laughed under his breath, shaking his head like he didn’t believe you for a second. “Sure, Y/N.”

The worst part? Neither did you.

You clenched your fists at your sides, frustration bubbling under your skin. Heeseung was too comfortable with this—too casual, too teasing, too honest. Like kissing you hadn’t changed anything for him.

But for you? It had ruined everything.

“You need to stop,” you said, voice sharper than you intended.

“Stop what?” Heeseung asked, feigning innocence as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“This.” You gestured vaguely between you both. “Whatever this is. You’re my mom’s fiancé, Heeseung.”

His jaw tightened for just a second, but the smugness in his expression didn’t waver. “You think I forgot?”

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself. “Then act like it.”

A tense silence settled between you. Heeseung studied you, his gaze unreadable now. The teasing glint in his eyes faded, replaced by something darker—something almost serious.

Then, he exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his hair. “You really think ignoring me is gonna make this go away?”

You hesitated. “It has to go away.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Right. Because that worked so well these past two weeks.”

You hated how right he was.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” you admitted, voice quieter now.

Heeseung’s gaze flickered to your lips for a split second before meeting your eyes again. “I don’t know either,” he murmured.

That scared you the most.

The air was thick, suffocating. You had to get out of here before you did something stupid.

“I should go,” you mumbled, moving toward the door.

But Heeseung stepped in your way, blocking your exit with ease.

“Y/N,” he said, low and steady.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

He hesitated, his expression conflicted for the first time. Then, after a long pause—

“You really want me to stop?”

It wasn’t a challenge. It wasn’t teasing. It was a genuine question.

And you should’ve said yes.

But the words wouldn’t come out.

A frustrated groan left your lips before you could stop it. Everything about this—about him—was driving you insane. The way he stood there, waiting, like he already knew you wouldn’t push him away. Like he knew you wanted this just as badly as he did.

And maybe that’s what made you snap.

Before you could second-guess yourself, before your mind could scream at you to stop, you grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him down as you pressed your lips onto his.

Heeseung didn’t hesitate.

The second your lips met his, he responded instantly, hands gripping your waist, pulling you closer like he had been waiting for this. Like he knew you’d break sooner or later.

Your heart pounded as heat spread through your body, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. This was so wrong—so incredibly wrong. But the moment his tongue swiped against your bottom lip, all thoughts of stopping disappeared.

Heeseung deepened the kiss, one hand sliding up your spine, making you shiver. He kissed you like he had something to prove, like he wanted you to feel how much he wanted you.

And you did.

You felt it in the way his fingers dug into your waist, in the way his breathing grew heavier, in the way he let out a low groan against your lips, like you were driving him crazy too.

Your mind screamed at you to pull away, but your body didn’t listen. Not when his hands were warm against your skin, not when his lips moved so perfectly against yours, not when you had spent weeks trying to pretend you didn’t want this.

But you did.

And you were completely, utterly screwed.

Heeseung’s lips were just as hot and soft as you remembered. Every brush of his tongue against yours sent jolts of electricity through your body, making it difficult to think straight. The feeling of his hands on your waist, holding you close, made your heart race even faster.

The rational part of your mind was screaming at you to stop, to remember that this was wrong, that he was your mom’s fiancé. But the rest of you—the part that had been thinking about him nonstop for the past two weeks—ignored it.

Your mind was too clouded to protest as Heeseung suddenly gripped your waist and spun you around, pushing your back against the wall. His actions were rough, almost desperate, but you didn’t care. The gasp that left your lips was swallowed by his mouth as he crushed his lips against yours once more.

His kisses were heated, his teeth grazing against your bottom lip, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to stop him. Not when his hands were roaming your body like he owned it, making your skin burn everywhere he touched.

His hands slid down to your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin as he lifted you up effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist, the movement causing a small gasp to escape your lips.

"Heeseung," you murmured between kisses, "we shouldn’t be doing this."

"Shouldn’t be doing what?" he asked, voice low and breathless against your neck. His lips trailed down your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

You inhaled sharply, trying to find the strength to push him away, but your trembling hands seemed to forget their purpose. They found their way to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscles as his mouth moved lower, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your collarbone.

Heeseung’s hands gripped your thighs even tighter, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of your collarbone, coaxing out another gasp from your lips. Your body arched against him, the feeling of his hands and mouth against your skin making it hard to think straight.

A soft moan escaped from your lips, and you felt Heeseung’s lips curve into a smirk against your skin.

“Fuck, Heeseung,” I groaned softly as your mouth opens wider. “We really shouldn’t—“

But your protests faded into a soft whine when he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “You keep saying that,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “But you’re not pushing me away.”

Heeseung’s mouth moved to your neck, his kisses growing rough and insistent as his hands roamed over your body. “Do you want me to stop?” he whispered, his voice low and teasing.

Your mind was a mess, your thoughts blurring together as Heeseung continued kissing your neck. You wanted him to stop, you knew you did, but the words were stuck in your throat. Your body was reacting to his touch, every brush of his lips and his hands setting your skin on fire.

“Heeseung.” Your voice was barely a whisper, a weak attempt to protest, but it sounded more like a moan than anything else. He had you completely at his mercy, and he knew it.

"Answer me," he said, his mouth trailing down the side of your neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin. "Do you want me to stop?"

You could feel his smirk against your skin as he waited for your response, his breath hot and uneven. Your mind was spinning, your body thrumming with need as his hands gripped your thighs tightly.

“No,” you finally managed to gasp, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt desperately. “Please, don’t stop.”

His lips curled into a smirk as soon as the words left your mouth, and he pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, his gaze intense, and it made your breath hitch in your throat.

Heeseung’s smirk widened, his breath hot against your skin as he leaned in even closer. "Beg for it.”

The words were simple, but they sent a shiver down your spine. He knew exactly what he was doing, knew how to drive you crazy with just a few words. Your mind was a mess, your body reacting to his touch, and you desperately wanted more.

But he was waiting, his gaze steady and intense as he watched you struggle with your desires.

"Please," you found yourself panting, your voice a desperate whimper. "Just… just give me more."

Heeseung chuckled, the sound low and rough, and his grip on your thighs seemed to tighten. "I want to hear you say it louder."

Your cheeks burned, but his command had sent a rush of heat through your body. You bit your lip, trying to gather your thoughts, but your mind was clouded. You were desperate for more of him, desperately wanting to feel his hands and his lips on your skin.

"Please," you gasped out again, your voice a little louder but still strained. "I want more."

Heeseung’s eyes darkened, a feral gleam entering them as he heard your plea. He leaned in, his mouth close to your ear as he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. "More of what?"

It was almost a tease, and your body shivered in anticipation, your legs unconsciously tightening around his waist.

"You," you managed to breathe out, your voice a pleading moan. "I want more of you."

He seemed pleased with that answer, his smirk growing. But he didn't move, his body still pressed close to yours, keeping you trapped against the wall.

"Where do you want more of me?" he asked, his voice low and rough. "Here?"

His hand moved up your thigh, his fingers brushing against the inside of your leg, causing you to shiver.

You inhaled sharply, your mind racing as you felt his touch. "Yes," you gasped out. "There, and… and everywhere."

He hummed in response, his hand continuing to move up your thigh, his touch lingering, his fingers grazing you skin. "Everywhere, huh?" he repeated, his voice a deep purr.

Heeseung’s expression suddenly darkened, his smirk growing wider as he looked at you. His grip on your thighs shifted, and before you could even react, he reached down, gripping the fabric of your sweatpants.

With a swift motion, he yanked them down, leaving you in just your bra and underwear. You let out a gasp of surprise, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable beneath his gaze. His eyes roamed over your body, taking in every curve and contour, and the intensity in them was nearly overwhelming.

He leaned in, his body pressing closer to yours, and you could feel the heat radiating off him. His fingers traced patterns on your thighs, his touch both tender and demanding. It was as if he was trying to memorize the feel of your skin, to imprint it into his memory.

His eyes never left your body, and you felt his gaze burning into you like a brand. You squirmed slightly beneath him, feeling both exposed and excited. The combination of his touch and his gaze was intoxicating, and you couldn’t help but surrender to it.

You reached out, your fingers shaking slightly as you unzipped his hoodie, revealing the planes of his stomach. His chest was bare, the defined lines of his abs on display, and you felt your breath catch in your throat at the sight.

Heeseung watched you carefully, his gaze fixed on your face as you took him in, your eyes roaming over his body. There was a moment of tension in the air, the anticipation between you both thick and palpable.

You swallowed hard, your hand hovering over his abs, unable to resist the urge to touch him. Your fingers traced the ridges of his muscles, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your touch. Heeseung let out a low groan, his body tensing in response.

He caught your wrist, his grip firm but gentle. His eyes were fixed on yours, filled with desire and a hint of restraint.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice low and hoarse. "You're playing with fire."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but shiver in response. Your mind was hazy, your thoughts a tangled mess, but all you could focus on was the feeling of his abs beneath your fingertips, the way his breath hitched when you brushed against a sensitive spot, the way his eyes darkened with desire.

You nodded, your fingers fumbling with the button of his jeans. Heeseung watched you, his gaze intense and hungry, and the air was thick with anticipation.

You could feel your heart racing, your mind buzzing with desire and need. You unbuttoned his jeans, your fingers trembling as you unzipped them, revealing his clothed hardened cock. Heeseung's breathing hitched as you touched him, and he let out a low growl.

You wasted no time, sliding his jeans off his hips, letting them drop to the floor. Your hands moved to his boxers, your fingers tracing the elastic waistband.

Heeseung groaned, his breathing ragged as he watched you. Your eyes were fixed on his face, his expression a mix of desire and restraint. You could see the muscles in his jaw clenched, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

You took a slow breath, feeling the tension in the air around you. Without hesitation, you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and began to slide them down, your heart racing with anticipation.

You took a moment, your breath hot against his skin, then reaching out, your delicate fingers lightly stroking his leaking cock. Heeseung gasped, his hips involuntarily shifting forward, a low moan escaping his lips.

You leaned in, the tip of your tongue gently brushing across the sensitive head, as you continued taking more of his length each time.

As your lips moved along his length, heeseung reached out, his fingers burying into your hair. There was a moment of anticipation before he gently gripped your head, guiding you back until just the tip of his cock rested against your tongue.

There was a moment of hesitation as he looked down at you with lust. He was still being gentle, but there was a hunger in his eyes that made you shiver. He could barely contain himself any longer. He wanted to make sure this was what he wanted, even as his body cried out for more.

You started bobbing your head up and down his shaft, gagging in the process. “Fucking hell, y/m,” Heeseung groaned, thrusting up deeper into your throat, causing you to choke slightly. “You look so good like this.”

He pulled back, his eyes fixed on your face. “Look at me,” he said, his voice rough with need. You looked up at him, your eyes locking with his. He was panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly. There was a moment of silence as he looked at you, his expression both tender and possessive.

And with that, Heeseung started brutally fucking your mouth, letting out loud grunts as you continuously gagged on his tip. Slowly, you brought your hand down to your clit and started to touch yourself.

He noticed your hand between your legs, and a feral grin spread across his face. “You’re enjoying this too much,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. He grabbed your wrist and pulled your hand away, pinning both of your wrists above your head.

You whimpered against his grip, wanting the friction back, as he smirked. “No,” he said, his tone firm but teasing. He leaned closer to you, his lips brushing against your ear. “This is all about you pleasing me right now.”

You whimpered again, your body quaking with the desire for more. You could feel the tension building inside you, desperate for release. “Please,” you whined, your voice barely more than a whisper. It was all you could manage as he held you pinned, his eyes fixed on your face.

He scoffed quietly as he fastens his pace. “Y/n,” he groaned loudly, combing his messy, wet hair from his face. “I’m so close- you better take it all.”

He was growing even more impatient, his grip on your wrists growing even more intense. You could tell how close he was, and the thought sent a wave of excitement through you. "I'll take every last bit," you gasped out, your voice trembling with need.

You swallow everything he gave you, relishing the taste. He releases his grip on your wrists, panting softly as he looks down at you with a satisfied smirk. “You did so good.” He praises.

You looked up at Heeseung, trying to catch your breath and regain your bearings. "That was..." You trailed off, unable to find the words to describe what had just happened.

"Yeah, it was," he echoed, a hint of cockiness in his tone as he smirked down at you.

You couldn't deny it - you had enjoyed every moment of it. But the guilt was still there, gnawing at you.

“So are you gonna let me—“ “no,” he cuts you off, placing a finger on your lips. You would have snapped—you really wanted to. But the way he looked at you at that moment stopped you some how. “Maybe if you don’t ignore me from now on, I’ll think about it,” he teased as he got up to put his clothes back on.

You watched him redress with a mix of frustration and desire. He made it sound so simple, as if you could just stop ignoring him and everything would be fine. But you knew it wasn't that easy. You had been avoiding him for a reason—you knew you shouldn't be feeling this way about your mom's fiancé.

But the way he smirked at you, the way he teased you, it made it so hard to resist him.

The next morning, everything felt wrong.

You woke up tangled in your sheets, your body sore, your mind wrecked. The moment your eyes fluttered open, reality came crashing down like a tidal wave.

You and Heeseung,

Your own mom’s fiancé.

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that would erase the memory of last night—the way his hands had roamed your body, the way he had groaned your name, the way you had wanted him so desperately it scared you.

But worst of all?

You had liked it.

And now, there was no taking it back.

You hesitated before finally forcing yourself to get up, slipping on the first hoodie and shorts you could find. Your heartbeat was loud in your ears as you opened your bedroom door, stepping cautiously into the hallway.

The house was silent.

You walked toward the kitchen, dreading what was waiting for you. And there he was—Heeseung, sitting at the counter, drinking coffee, looking just as tense as you felt.

The moment your eyes met, the air turned suffocating.

Neither of you spoke.

Neither of you knew what to say.

Last night had been reckless. It had been insane. The taste of him still lingering in your mouth. And now, with the weight of it sinking in, all that was left was a pit in your stomach and a guilt that felt too heavy to carry.

You swallowed hard, gripping the hem of your hoodie as you finally muttered, “Morning.”

Heeseung exhaled through his nose, setting his mug down. “Morning.”

Another awkward silence.

You couldn’t even look at him properly. Every time you tried, all you could see was last night—his lips, his touch, the way he made you feel things you shouldn’t be feeling.

You needed to leave. You needed to get out of here.

“I—I have plans,” you lied quickly, already turning toward the door.

“Y/N—”

But you didn’t let him finish. You grabbed your phone and rushed out before he could say another word, your heart pounding so hard it hurt.

This was a mistake. A huge mistake.

And now? You had no idea how to fix it.

You didn’t stop walking until you were outside, the cool morning air hitting your skin like a slap. You sucked in a shaky breath, gripping your phone tightly in your hands.

You needed to talk to someone—anyone—before you lost your mind.

Without thinking twice, you dialed Yunjin’s number.

She picked up after two rings. “Damn, you’re up early. What’s up?”

You hesitated for a second, chewing on your lip. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, you muttered, “I did something really, really bad.”

There was a pause. Then—

“Oh my god,” Yunjin said flatly. “What did you do?”

You turned onto the sidewalk, walking aimlessly, your chest tightening. “It’s bad, Yunjin. Like actually bad.”

“Okay, well, how bad? On a scale of ‘I stole my mom’s credit card’ to ‘I ran someone over’—where are we at?”

You groaned, rubbing your forehead. “Way worse than the credit card thing, not as bad as murder.”

“…Did you sleep with him?”

You stopped dead in your tracks.

The silence was answer enough.

Yunjin screamed.

“Y/N, WHAT THE ACTUAL FU—”

“Shut up!” you hissed, looking around as if someone could hear her through the phone. “God, do you want the entire neighborhood to know?”

“YES, ACTUALLY, BECAUSE WHAT THE HELL?!”

“I know!” you whisper-yelled, resuming your frantic pacing. “I know, I know, I know, okay?! I fucked up!”

“No, you literally fucked.”

“Yunjin—”

“With your soon to be step dad?!”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Don’t say it like that!”

“HOW ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO SAY IT?”

You slumped onto a bench, heart pounding. “It just… happened.”

Yunjin let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “I can’t believe this. My best friend is a homewrecker.”

“I know!”

“Ok but was it good?”

“Yunjin!”

“I thought you were just gonna flirt with him a little, not give him a full on blow j-” She cut herself off. “Okay, how did this even happen?”

You shut your eyes, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know. One second we were talking, and then… I kissed him. And then he kissed me back. And then…”

“And then?”

You groaned again, burying your face in your hands. “You know what happened next.”

Yunjin made a strangled noise. “Okay. So, um… now what?”

You leaned back against the bench, staring up at the sky. “I have no idea. We haven’t even talked about it. I literally ran out of the house this morning because I couldn’t deal with it.”

“Oh my god,” she muttered. “You have to talk to him sooner or later, Y/N.”

You shut your eyes. “I don’t want to.”

“You think avoiding him is gonna fix this?”

“No,” you admitted quietly. “But I don’t know what else to do.”

Yunjin sighed. “Well… you better figure it out fast.”

You already knew that.

You just didn’t know how.

You spent another hour outside, aimlessly walking, trying to clear your head. But no matter how far you went, your thoughts kept dragging you back—back to last night, back to him, back to the way he felt against you.

By the time you finally made it home, your stomach was twisting with dread. You stepped inside cautiously, half-expecting Heeseung to be sitting in the kitchen, waiting for you.

But he wasn’t.

The house was quiet—too quiet.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and made a beeline for your room. Maybe if you just locked yourself inside, you could pretend none of this happened for a little while longer.

But the second you shut your door, a voice stopped you.

“You just gonna keep running away?”

Your body stiffened.

Slowly, you turned around.

Heeseung was standing in your doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze was locked right on you—sharp, expectant.

Your throat went dry. “I wasn’t—”

“You were,” he said simply.

You clenched your jaw, gripping the hem of your hoodie. “I just needed to get out for a bit.”

Heeseung nodded slowly, then stepped into your room, closing the door behind him.

Your pulse jumped.

He was too close.

You took a step back, shaking your head. “Heeseung—”

“We need to talk.”

You hated how calm he sounded. Like this wasn’t the most messed-up, complicated situation you’d ever been in.

“No, we don’t,” you shot back. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re just gonna pretend it never happened?”

“That’s exactly what I’m gonna do,” you snapped, folding your arms. “Because it shouldn’t have happened.”

Heeseung didn’t react right away. He just studied you, his expression unreadable. Then, after a long moment—

“Did it feel like a mistake to you?”

You froze.

Your stomach twisted. “Heeseung—”

“Because it didn’t feel like a mistake to me.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

You should’ve said yes. You should’ve looked him in the eye and lied. But you couldn’t.

Because deep down, you knew the truth.

It hadn’t felt like a mistake at all.

And that was the real problem.

You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering in your ears. “It doesn’t matter how it felt,” you muttered, gripping the edge of your hoodie. “It was wrong.”

Heeseung took another step forward, closing the distance between you. “Was it?”

Your breath hitched. His voice was lower now, softer—dangerously tempting.

“You know it was,” you whispered.

He tilted his head, studying your face. “Then why haven’t you told me to stop?”

Your stomach twisted. He was right there, close enough that you could smell the faint traces of cologne on his skin, close enough that if you moved even an inch, you’d be right back where you were last night.

“I…” You trailed off, your grip tightening on your hoodie.

Heeseung’s eyes flickered over your face, as if searching for something—some kind of answer, some kind of permission.

And then, barely above a whisper, he said, “Say the word, and I’ll walk away.”

You felt trapped.

Because you should say it. You should push him away, tell him to leave, end this now before it got worse.

But you didn’t.

And you hated yourself for it.

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Heeseung’s gaze never wavered, his lips parting slightly as he waited—waited for you to do something.

But you couldn’t.

And he knew it.

His hand lifted, fingertips brushing lightly against your cheek. The touch was soft, hesitant—like he was giving you one last chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

And that was all the confirmation he needed.

Heeseung leaned in, his lips ghosting just above yours. Your heart was beating so loud you were sure he could hear it.

But just as his mouth brushed against yours—

The front door clicked open.

Your mom was home.

You jerked away from Heeseung like you had been burned, your heart slamming against your ribs.

Heeseung exhaled sharply, stepping back just as the sound of your mom’s heels echoed through the house.

“Y/N?” her voice called from the front door. “Are you home?”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. “Y-Yeah! I’m in my room!”

Heeseung ran a hand through his hair, his expression unreadable. For a split second, neither of you moved, the tension suffocating.

Then, he turned toward the door.

“I should go,” he murmured, voice low.

You just nodded, unable to say anything.

And just like that, he was gone.

You stood frozen in place, your whole body buzzing with adrenaline. What just happened? What almost happened?

The door creaked open again, and you jumped, but it was just your mom peeking her head in.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she smiled, stepping inside. “Did you eat yet? I was thinking we could all have dinner together tonight.”

Your stomach twisted at the thought of sitting across from Heeseung like nothing was wrong. Like you hadn’t almost kissed him again.

Forcing a smile, you shook your head. “I—I’m not really hungry. I think I’ll just stay in my room tonight.”

Your mom frowned slightly. “You’ve been locking yourself away a lot lately. Everything okay?”

No.

“Yeah,” you lied smoothly. “Just tired.”

She studied you for a moment before nodding. “Alright. Get some rest then.”

You nodded stiffly, and with that, she left.

As soon as the door shut behind her, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

You needed to get yourself together.

Because this?

This was getting way too dangerous.

You stayed in your room for a while, trying to push everything out of your mind. But the longer you sat there, the more restless you felt. You needed water—or maybe something stronger—to cool down.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to get up and step out into the hallway. You told yourself you’d just grab a drink and go right back to your room, avoid any unnecessary interaction.

But the second you reached the kitchen, you froze.

Heeseung was standing there with your mom, his arm lazily wrapped around her waist as she talked about her day. When she turned to him, smiling, he leaned down and kissed her—just like that.

Like nothing had happened earlier.

Your stomach twisted hard.

You had no right to feel the way you did, but you couldn’t help it. The sight of them together made something ugly curl inside of you, a mix of guilt, frustration, and something else—something you didn’t want to name.

You clenched your jaw, looking away, but Heeseung must have noticed your presence because the second he pulled away from your mom, his eyes flickered toward you.

And just like that, it was back. That tension, that unreadable look in his eyes that made your breath catch.

But he didn’t say anything.

He just watched you.

And for some reason, that only made it worse.

You forced yourself to move, walking stiffly to the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water. Your hands felt cold against the plastic, but it did nothing to cool down the heat rising in your chest.

Your mom, completely oblivious, turned to you with a warm smile. “Hey, sweetheart. You sure you don’t want to eat something? I was just telling Heeseung about this new place that opened downtown. We should all go together soon.”

You unscrewed the cap, taking a slow sip to buy yourself time. “I’m good,” you muttered, not trusting yourself to say much more.

Heeseung was still watching you. Not obviously—his expression was neutral, his posture relaxed—but you felt it. That same lingering gaze, that same intensity from earlier, hidden just beneath the surface.

Your fingers gripped the water bottle tighter.

“Are you feeling okay?” your mom asked, tilting her head. “You look a little flushed.”

Heeseung’s lips twitched, just barely.

You hated him.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly. “Just tired.”

Your mom nodded in understanding. “You have been staying in your room a lot. Maybe you should get some fresh air tomorrow.”

“Maybe,” you mumbled, already stepping back toward the hallway. “I think I’m gonna head to bed early.”

Your mom gave you a sympathetic look. “Alright, sweetheart. Get some rest.”

But just as you turned away, Heeseung’s voice stopped you.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched.

You knew it was just two simple words. A normal, polite gesture. But the way he said it—the tone of it—felt anything but innocent.

You swallowed, keeping your face neutral as you nodded. “Night.”

And then, without another glance, you walked back to your room.

The second the door shut behind you, you let out a shaky breath, heart racing.

You were so screwed.

You had barely taken two steps into your room when you felt it—that presence.

The air shifted, the faintest creak of the floorboards behind you sending a chill down your spine.

You knew before even turning around.

Slowly, you glanced over your shoulder.

Heeseung stood in the doorway, his tall frame leaning casually against the doorframe, but his eyes… his eyes were anything but casual.

Your breath caught. “What are you—”

“I just wanted to say goodnight,” he murmured, voice low.

Your stomach twisted.

“You already did,” you said quietly, but even you could hear the slight waver in your voice.

Heeseung stepped closer. Not too much, just enough for you to feel it—that slow, creeping tension that had been building between you for weeks.

“Not like this,” he said softly.

And before you could process his words, he leaned in.

A featherlight touch. The barest press of his lips against your cheek.

It was gentle. Barely there. But it sent a shockwave through your entire body.

By the time you exhaled, he was already pulling back, his lips barely brushing your skin as he whispered.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

And then, as if nothing had happened at all, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, breathless, helplessly aware of the ghost of his touch lingering on your skin.

The second Heeseung disappeared down the hallway, you collapsed onto your bed, grabbing the nearest pillow and screaming into it.

What the hell was that?!

Your heart was pounding, your skin still tingling from where his lips had barely touched you. It was just a kiss on the cheek—so why did it feel like the most dangerous thing in the world?

You groaned, rolling onto your back and staring up at the ceiling. You needed to stop this. You had to stop this.

But how the hell were you supposed to do that when Heeseung kept making it so damn impossible?

Frustrated, you grabbed your phone off the nightstand and checked the time.

12:04 AM.

Great.

How the hell were you supposed to sleep after that?

You sighed, unlocking your phone and pulling up the one contact who might actually talk some sense into you.

You: Are you up?

A response came almost immediately.

Yunjin: Bitch it’s midnight. Of course I’m up

Yunjin: What’s up?

You hesitated for a second. Then, taking a deep breath, you typed:

You: I think I’m actually losing my mindd

Yunjin: LMAO what did he do this time??

You stared at the screen, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. Then, before you could second-guess yourself, you typed:

You: He kissed me. Again.

You barely had a second to process before Yunjin’s reply popped up.

Yunjin: GIRL STFU!

You winced as your phone vibrated non-stop in your hand, Yunjin blowing up your messages.

Yunjin: EXCUSE ME???

Yunjin: ON THE LIPS?????

Yunjin: TELL ME EVERYTHING RIGHT NOW.

You groaned, rubbing your hands down your face before typing back.

You: No, not on the lips. Just on the cheek.

You: But it’s the way he did it. It was so…

You stopped typing, staring at the screen. How the hell were you even supposed to explain this?

Yunjin: …Sensual?

You hesitated, then reluctantly typed:

You: Yeah.

Yunjin: NAH THAT MAN WANTS YOU.

Your stomach flipped.

You: Shut up.

Yunjin: No, you shut up. I TOLD YOU. I KNEW THIS SHIT WAS GONNA HAPPEN.

Yunjin: What did you do after???

You chewed on your bottom lip, replaying the moment in your head.

You: Nothing. I just stood there like an idiot while he walked away.

Yunjin: Girl be honest… you liked it 😨

Your face burned.

You: I DIDN’T SAY THAT.

Yunjin: But you didn’t deny it eitheerr

You groaned, rolling onto your stomach and kicking your feet against the bed like a frustrated child.

You: I hate you.

Yunjin: No you don’t. You hate how much you like your fine ass stepdad.

You slammed your phone down onto the mattress, screaming into your pillow again.

You lay on your bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of everything pressing down on your chest like a boulder.

What kind of daughter does this?

What kind of terrible, selfish, disgusting daughter kisses her own mom’s fiancé?

Your stomach twisted with guilt, your throat tightening.

This wasn’t some stupid crush. This wasn’t some random guy. This was Heeseung—the man your mom was supposed to marry. The man she trusted. The man she loved.

And here you were, sneaking around with him like some pathetic, lovesick idiot.

You hated yourself.

How could you let it get this far? How could you keep letting it happen, over and over again?

Your mom had been through enough. After everything she went through with your dad—after all the nights you spent comforting her, reassuring her that she deserved better—you were doing this?

You felt sick.

You sat up quickly, gripping the edge of the bed as nausea rolled through you.

You needed to stop this. You had to stop this.

No more stolen glances. No more lingering touches. No more kisses.

No more Heeseung.

Because if she ever found out…

You didn’t even want to think about it.

The next morning, you woke up feeling exhausted—like you’d barely slept at all. Probably because you hadn’t.

You stayed up the whole night replaying everything in your head, the guilt sinking its claws into you so deep that you almost felt numb to it. Almost.

Still, you got up, threw on a hoodie and leggings, and made your way to the kitchen.

And, of course, he was there.

Heeseung stood by the counter, sipping his coffee, looking way too calm for someone who had kissed his fiancée’s daughter just hours ago.

You hesitated in the doorway, debating if you should turn around—but he had already seen you.

“Morning,” he said, his voice smooth as ever.

You swallowed hard. “Morning.”

You walked past him, heading straight for the fridge, pretending like everything was fine. Like you weren’t completely falling apart inside.

The air was thick between you two.

You could feel his eyes on you, watching as you grabbed a bottle of water and leaned against the counter.

Then, just as you took a sip—

“Avoiding me already?”

pt 2 bcz of tumblrs stupid 10k space block | masterlist

[seungjiseyo]

QUICK PLAY — L.HS SMAU

SYNOPSIS… Gaming is a common hobby for college students nowadays, with Overwatch being the game of choice for both Lee Heeseung and his favorite streamer loved.venus. The boy shows his love Venus behind the screen name lee.bambi, though he doesn’t realize it is the campus fashionista that he cannot stand behind the streams that had become his comfort in his finally months of university.

PAIRING… Heeseung Enhypen x Reader/OC

FEATURING MEMBERS OF… enhypen, txt, le sserafim, aespa, p1harmony, txt, skz, loona… + (use of ive’s gaeul for main characters photos)

GENRE… social media au, university au

WARNINGS… Swearing, sexual jokes, strained family dynamics, description of panic attacks, tba…

STARTED… 02/27/2024

STATUS… on-going

TAGLIST… open ~ send an ask to be added!

MASTERLIST:

PROFILES #1 | PROFILES #2

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE (.5k WRITTEN)

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT (1k WRITTEN)

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (1.5k WRITTEN)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (.9k WRITTEN)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (1.8k WRITTEN)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE (1.8K WRITTEN)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

[seungjiseyo]

𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 – 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⤲ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⤲ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞!𝐀𝐔, 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐀𝐔, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

⤲ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐣𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬

⤲ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞, 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞. 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨'𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧...

⤲ 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: 𝐄𝐧𝐡𝐲𝐩𝐞𝐧, 𝐈𝐓𝐙𝐘'𝐬 𝐘𝐮𝐧𝐚 & 𝐑𝐲𝐮𝐣𝐢𝐧, 𝐏𝐢𝐰𝐨𝐧'𝐬 𝐉𝐢𝐮𝐧𝐠 & 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐡𝐨, 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐂'𝐬 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐧

⤲ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 | 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒: 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐃

⤲ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓: 𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝟕𝐭𝐡, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 | 𝐄𝐍𝐃: 𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟑𝐓𝐇, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑

⤲ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 & 𝐮𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎: 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄: 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐟'𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐦𝐥

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄: 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗: 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍: "𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐞"

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓: 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄: 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐍: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍: 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲

⤲ 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐞

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄: 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍: 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍: 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐲?

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍: 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍: 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝

⤲ 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑: 𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐬?

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍: 𝐰𝐡𝐲?

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘: 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐢𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐧

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘𝐓𝐖𝐎: 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄: 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑: 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞?

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐦𝐛 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐲

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐗: 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐡 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍: 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓: 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐧'𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄: "𝐬𝐚𝐝" 𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐬

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐲

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘𝐓𝐖𝐎: 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐬

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄: 𝐠𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐩

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑: 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄: 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤

⤲ 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐗: 𝐝𝐚𝐞𝐠𝐮 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍: 𝐬𝐮𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓: 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐬

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄: 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐘: 𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐘𝐓𝐖𝐎: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐡

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐘𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑: 𝐰𝐚𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐘𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄: 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐗: (𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠)

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐘𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍: 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐟𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐘𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓: 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐘𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄: 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞

⤲ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐘: 𝐚 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬

⤲ 𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

𝐍𝐨 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠! 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲!

[seungjiseyo]

WAITING ROOM ──★ ˙

꒰ ‎﹒ pairing: heeseung x fem!reader ... ﹒ friends to lovers, fluff ... ﹒ w/c: 21k synopsis: for three years, you and heeseung have hovered between friendship and something more—stolen glances, late-night car rides, hands brushing under tables. but when the waiting finally ends, you realize you were never just friends to begin with. ꒰ ‎﹒ warnings: smut, mdni! explicit sexual content, petnames, unprotected sex (dont do it!!!!) not proofread 💿 % (◠﹏◠ ✿) #nowplaying: waiting room - phoebe bridgers

Three years ago, you met Heeseung at a Halloween party. And, in a way, he never really left.

You remember the night in sharp, neon clarity, the kind that only exists in memories warped by time and too many cheap drinks. The bass of the music was rattling against the walls, distorting into something unrecognizable by the time it reached your ears. The air was thick, humid with the breath of a hundred strangers crammed into an apartment too small to hold them. It smelled like spilled alcohol, synthetic fog from a cheap smoke machine, and the faintest trace of cinnamon, probably from some idiot who thought Fireball was a good idea.

You were standing in the kitchen, gripping a plastic cup half-full of something blue and questionably sweet, when you felt it. The warmth of someone moving too close. The press of a shoulder against yours. And then—disaster.

A smear of green, across your arm, your ribs, your stomach.

You stared at it, confused. It looked like paint. Wet, sticky, and clinging to the fabric of your skeleton costume like it belonged there. You blinked once, twice, before dragging your gaze upward, locking eyes with the culprit.

“Oh, shit.”

He was green. No, really, he was covered in it, from his jawline to his collarbone, down his arms, streaked across his hands. He was, in fact, one of the Ninja Turtles.

“Are you radioactive?” you asked, because that felt like a genuine concern at this point.

Heeseung—though you didn’t know his name yet—blinked at you, then looked down at his own arm as if just realizing that, yeah, maybe painting his entire body for a costume wasn’t the best idea. “I, uh—fuck, I didn’t think—”

“Didn’t think what?” you repeated, glancing down at your once-pristine skeleton costume. “That maybe body paint takes a while to dry?”

“No, see, I thought it was dry. I waited, like, an hour before putting the costume on.” He sounded both defensive and regretful, like someone who had just now realized the full extent of their mistake.

You sighed, poking at the stain. “Well, congrats. You’ve officially made me the first skeleton in history to die of green slime exposure.”

He let out a breath of laughter, then scratched the back of his neck—a habit you’d later come to recognize as his go-to nervous tic. “On the bright side… at least now you match me?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re trying to make me feel better.”

“Is it working?”

“Not even a little.”

A slow grin spread across his face, lopsided and teasing. “Damn. Guess I’ll have to try harder.”

And he did.

That was the beginning of it, you suppose. A stupid mistake, an even stupider conversation, and a boy painted green who somehow managed to wedge himself into your life like he belonged there. You didn’t know then that he’d become your best friend. That in three years, you’d be sitting next to him in a car at two in the morning, singing along to songs you didn't really know. That you’d learn the exact way he liked his coffee, the rhythm of his breath when he fell asleep next to you on your couch, the way he always looked at you like he was on the verge of saying something important but never quite did.

No, back then, all you knew was that he was an idiot. And that, somehow, against all odds—you kind of liked him anyway. But you and Heeseung became friends by accident.

It wasn’t an immediate thing, not like some cosmic force snapped its fingers and tied the two of you together. No, it was slower than that, more like a series of small collisions, a gradual intertwining of orbits. And most of it had to do with Yunjin.

You and Yunjin had been friends since the beginning of college. One of those friendships that happens fast, like flipping a switch. One day, you were just two people forced into the same group project, and the next, you were sneaking snacks into late-night study sessions, texting each other memes at 3 a.m., and laughing until your stomach hurt over things that weren’t even that funny. She was the kind of person you felt like you had known forever, even though it had only been a few years.

But somehow, despite all that time, you had never actually registered who she lived with. You knew she had a roommate—she’d mentioned him in passing a few times, usually accompanied by an exasperated sigh or an eye roll—but you had never put much thought into it. The guy could’ve been a faceless NPC for all you cared. Just a background character in the world of Yunjin’s apartment. Until one fateful Tuesday afternoon.

You had gone over to Yunjin’s place to work on a mind-numbing, soul-draining research paper, and the two of you were sitting cross-legged on her living room floor. The atmosphere was calm, quiet—at least, until the front door swung open with the force of someone dramatically entering a scene in a sitcom.

“YUNJIN,” a voice rang through the apartment, loud and excited. “I JUST BOUGHT ZELDA: BREATH OF THE WILD. I NEED TO PLAY IT IMMEDIATELY.”

You barely had time to process before the source of the chaos came bounding into the room. A guy, slightly breathless from what must have been a very passionate journey home, clutching a Nintendo Switch game case like it was the most important thing in the world.

And he was green.

Well, not literally—he wasn’t still covered in body paint—but your brain made the connection instantly. The excitement, the unfiltered enthusiasm, the slight air of someone who had been making questionable life decisions since birth.

It clicked.

“Oh my god,” you blurted. “You’re the Ninja Turtle guy.”

Heeseung froze mid-step, eyes flickering to you like he was only now realizing there was another person in the room. For a second, he just stared, lips parted in muted shock, like you had just caught him committing a crime.

Then, in a tone that was both confused and slightly mortified, he said, “Oh. Uh. Yeah. That’s me.”

You squinted at him, taking in the full picture—the messy hair, the slightly wrinkled hoodie, the expression of someone who had absolutely not been expecting to relive his Halloween mistakes today. Then, you turned to Yunjin.

“You live with the Ninja Turtle guy?”

Yunjin, who had been watching this interaction unfold with barely concealed amusement, grinned. “I guess.”

Heeseung cleared his throat, regaining some of his composure. “For the record, my name is Heeseung.”

“Really?” you said, nodding slowly. “I thought your name was Donatello”

He looked mildly offended. “Excuse me?”

“Well,” you said, gesturing vaguely, “I feel like I at least deserve to know which turtle was responsible for my suffering. I thought it was Donatello.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes but played along. “Leonardo. Sunghoon was Raphael, Beomgyu was Michelangelo, and Jake was Donatello.”

You considered this for a second, then turned back to Yunjin. “I can’t believe you live with Leonardo.”

Yunjin, deadpan, replied, “Trust me, I can’t either.”

And that was the second collision.

You didn’t know it then, but this was how it would always be with Heeseung—dramatic entrances, loud declarations, and an energy that burst into the room like an unexpected firework. You had met him twice now, and both times, he had been the human embodiment of chaos. But for some reason, that chaos felt a little less like a background character now. And after that day, Heeseung stopped being just Yunjin’s roommate.

You started seeing him everywhere. Not because you were seeking him out—not at first, anyway—but because he had a tendency to appear in your life like some kind of recurring side character in a sitcom. You’d be minding your own business in Yunjin’s apartment, and he’d burst through the door, ranting about how someone stole his favorite study spot in the library. You’d go to grab coffee before class, and there he’d be, dramatically arguing with the barista about why oat milk was a scam. He just kept showing up, like the universe had decided that, for better or worse, he was part of your story now.

And then, you found out you had a class together. It wasn’t a real class. Not in the sense that it required effort or critical thinking. It was one of those ridiculous elective courses that the university offered purely to fill up credit requirements—something slapped onto the catalog as an afterthought, designed for students who were too lazy or too exhausted to take anything serious.

You had signed up for it without even reading the description, choosing it solely because it fit into your schedule and had a reputation for being an easy A. Heeseung, apparently, had done the same.

That was how the two of you ended up in "The Philosophy of Memes and Internet Culture."

The class was exactly as stupid as it sounded. The professor was a guy in his late 40s who still said things like “epic fail” unironically. The syllabus included assignments like “analyzing the impact of Vine on modern humor” and “writing a 500-word essay on the evolution of the Rickroll.” It was the kind of class that could only exist in a university desperate to appear progressive and relevant, and you were 90% sure the school administration had no idea it was happening.

It was, in short, the best class either of you had ever taken.

You and Heeseung immediately became the worst students in the room. Not because you weren’t paying attention, but because you were paying attention too much—finding everything so absurdly hilarious that neither of you could take it seriously. Every lecture felt like a fever dream. Every assignment was an excuse to see how much nonsense you could get away with before the professor caught on.

And then, of course, came the group project. It was a simple assignment: pick a meme, trace its origins, and present its cultural impact. Most people chose something predictable—Doge, Grumpy Cat, Distracted Boyfriend.

You and Heeseung, however, chose Shrek. More specifically, you chose Shrek’s cultural legacy as an ironic meme figure.

It was supposed to be a joke. A way to entertain yourselves in a class that was already ridiculous. But the further you got into your research, the more serious it became.

Somewhere along the way, you and Heeseung stopped just pretending to care and actually started caring. You spent hours deep-diving into obscure Shrek forums, analyzing the rise of “Shrek is Love, Shrek is Life” discourse, debating whether or not the character’s internet resurgence was fueled by genuine appreciation or detached irony. You became scholars of the Shrek Renaissance.

The night before your presentation, you were in Yunjin’s apartment, sitting on the floor with your laptops open, surrounded by a mess of half-empty snack bags and unfinished slides. The clock blinked 2:37 AM, and neither of you had any business still being awake.

Heeseung was slouched against the couch, staring at his screen with the expression of a man who had seen too much. “I think I know too much about Shrek,” he said, voice hollow.

You let out a dramatic sigh, rubbing your temples. “Yeah. We flew too close to the sun on this one.” There was a beat of silence.

Then, Heeseung slowly turned his laptop around, revealing a slide titled ‘Shrek and the Post-Ironic Era of Internet Humor: A Critical Analysis.’ And for some reason, that was it. That was the moment you broke.

Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the fact that you had just spent the past three hours watching deep-fried Shrek memes with Gregorian chants in the background. Maybe it was just the sheer, stupid absurdity of the entire situation. But suddenly, you were laughing.

Not just laughing—cackling. The kind of breathless, full-body laughter that made your stomach hurt. That made you feel like you were going to die right there on Yunjin’s living room floor, lost to the void of Shrek academia.

And Heeseung—poor, equally sleep-deprived Heeseung—was right there with you. He doubled over, gasping for air, his head nearly colliding with your shoulder as he choked out, “We’re never recovering from this.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You turned to him, trying to catch your breath, and found him already looking at you. His eyes were crinkled at the edges, his cheeks flushed from laughter, his whole body still shaking slightly from the aftermath. And for a moment—just a moment—you thought, this is nice.

Not just the laughing. Not just the inside jokes and the chaos.

But him.

You pushed the thought away before it could settle.

Because, at the end of the day, Heeseung was your friend. Your dumbass friend who still had green body paint under his fingernails two weeks after Halloween. Who got irrationally angry at mobile game ads. Who had just spent the last six hours dissecting Shrek memes with you like it was a matter of academic integrity.

And that was all he was.

Right?

Heeseung, on the other hand, wasn’t sure when it started. That feeling.

That weird, stupid, barely-there feeling. The one that sat quietly in the back of his mind, like a notification he refused to check. Like a waiting room. A vague, almost imperceptible awareness that he enjoyed your company a little too much—that your laugh had started to feel like background music in his life, something he didn’t know he needed until it was gone.

Not that it meant anything. Obviously.

He liked lots of people. He was a social guy. He made friends easily, enjoyed being around them, and—despite Yunjin’s many accusations—was not emotionally repressed. He just… liked the things you liked. That was normal.

It was normal that he started watching that terrible reality show you always talked about, even though he swore he hated it. It was normal that he got a random impulse to buy you a weirdly specific snack he saw at the store because “it just screamed your vibe.” It was normal that he sent you voice notes every time he saw something even remotely related to Shrek, even months after your presentation.

That was just friendship. Which was why, as a friend, he invited you to an arcade.

It was one of those places that felt like it had been stuck in time since the 90s—neon lights, sticky floors, a vague smell of burnt popcorn in the air. The kind of place that probably hadn’t passed a health inspection in years, but had an undeniable charm to it. You were too good at skee-ball.

It was honestly annoying. Heeseung had challenged you three times, and each time, you had obliterated him without breaking a sweat. It wasn’t even close. “You’re cheating,” he accused, arms crossed as he watched you land another perfect shot.

You grinned, tossing the last ball effortlessly. “You’re just mad because you suck.”

“I don’t suck,” he argued. “This game is just—rigged. The physics are all off.”

“Oh my god. Did you just say ‘the physics are off’ in a skee-ball game?”

“Yes,” he said, completely serious. “I am a man of logic and reason.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Sure. Okay. Man of logic and reason. If you’re so smart, let’s see how well you do at Dance Dance Revolution.”

Heeseung froze. “I—uh—what?”

“Come on,” you said, already dragging him toward the machine. “Let’s see those skills.”

Here was the thing about Heeseung: he was good at a lot of things. He could play video games for hours without blinking. He could talk his way out of almost any bad situation. He could even recite the entire “All Star” lyrics from memory.

But he could not dance. At all. And that became painfully clear the second the game started.

Heeseung missed every step. Every single one. While you moved effortlessly, barely even glancing at the screen, he was flailing. His feet weren’t in sync with his brain. His arms kept jerking awkwardly, and he could hear you laughing beside him, and somehow, that made it worse.

By the time the game ended, Heeseung was defeated. He doubled over, hands on his knees, gasping dramatically. “I think I died,” he announced.

You patted his back. “You fought bravely.”

He looked up at you then, about to retort, but the words got lost somewhere in his throat. Because you were smiling at him—really smiling. Your eyes were crinkled at the edges, your face still flushed from laughing. The neon lights flickered against your skin, casting everything in shades of blue and pink, making you look—

Well. Heeseung swallowed. That weird, stupid, barely-there feeling? Yeah. It was there.

But you were just his friend.

So, when Beomgyu casually mentioned, in the most offhanded, unbothered way possible, that he thought you were cute, Heeseung should’ve just let it go. But he didn’t.

“You think she’s what?”

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow. “Cute. You know, in a hot way.”

Heeseung felt something in his chest twist. It was irrational. Objectively, completely irrational. Because, yeah, you were cute. That wasn’t news to him. He had eyes. He was aware. He had just… never thought about the fact that other people might also be aware.

Heeseung almost laughed. It was a knee-jerk reaction, the kind of dry, disbelieving scoff that came when someone said something so absurd it didn’t even process at first. But then, Beomgyu kept talking.

“I was thinking of asking her out.”

And Heeseung felt it. That twist, low and tight, in the pit of his stomach.

He blinked at Beomgyu, waiting for the usual rush of banter to kick in, for the easy teasing to roll off his tongue. But for some reason, his mouth felt dry. Beomgyu liked you. Beomgyu thought you were cute. Beomgyu wanted to date you.

It wasn’t that wild of a concept. People liked you all the time. You were funny and charming in that effortlessly chaotic way, the kind of person who made friends in the span of a single conversation. It made sense that Beomgyu, out of all people, would look at you and go, Yeah, she’s my type.

And it wasn’t like Heeseung had a say in the matter. So he shrugged, leaning back against the couch, and said, “Yeah, good for you, man. Good for you”

And that should’ve been the end of it. Except. Beomgyu actually did ask you out. And the worst part? You said yes.

At first, Heeseung didn’t think much of it. He was fine. It was fine.

So what if you had gone out with Beomgyu last Friday and came back looking kind of flushed, kind of happy? So what if, the next time he saw you, you had that soft, secretive look in your eyes, the one that said you were thinking about something that made your stomach twist in the good way?

So what. You weren’t dating. You weren’t his. And he sure as hell wasn’t jealous. Except then it wasn’t just one date. Because you went out again. And again. And again. And suddenly, Beomgyu wasn’t just one of Heeseung’s friends anymore—he was the guy you were seeing. And that, for some reason, was so much worse.

The thing about Beomgyu was that he was annoying. Like, Heeseung had always known this, but now, for the first time in his life, it felt personal. “Dude,” Beomgyu groaned, stretching his arms behind his head as they sat in their usual spot in the campus lounge. “Y/N is so fun, bro. Like, actually so fun.”

Heeseung clenched his jaw. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. She’s, like… different.” Heeseung made a face. “No, I’m serious,” Beomgyu whined. “She’s not like other girls.”

I’m gonna walk into traffic, Heeseung thought.

“No, like—” Beomgyu hesitated, looking off into the distance. “She’s just cool, you know?”

And Heeseung didn’t know why that pissed him off. Maybe because he knew that already. He had always known that. He had known it before Beomgyu, before any of these dates, before whatever the hell this was.

He had known it since the night he met you. Since the moment you called him Donatello when he was, in fact, Leonardo. Since the first time you said his name with that teasing edge, like you were permanently in on some joke he didn’t even realize he was making.

So, yeah. Maybe he didn’t like hearing Beomgyu say it like he had discovered it first.

But whatever. Heeseung let it go. Because it wasn’t like this was going to last forever. And then, it didn’t.

One day, you walked into Yunjin’s apartment, kicked your shoes off in a way that sent one flying across the room, and threw yourself onto the couch with all the weight of someone carrying a great and terrible burden.

Heeseung, sitting on the floor, scrolled mindlessly through his phone, pretending he hadn’t immediately noticed you. But then, you sighed. A deep, world-weary, existentially exhausted sigh.

Yunjin looked up from where she was painting her nails. “Jesus,” she muttered. “What.”

You groaned, stuffing your face into a pillow. “I think I’m over it.”

Heeseung’s thumb froze mid-scroll. Casual. He had to be casual. So, without looking up, he mumbled, “Over what?”

Another dramatic sigh. You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to life itself. “Beomgyu.”

Heeseung blinked. Okay.

Yunjin, who had been the biggest advocate of this whole thing, frowned. “Wait, what do you mean? You were literally texting him heart emojis yesterday.”

“I don’t know.” You stretched out your legs like the weight of your own existence was exhausting you. “I just… don’t feel like it anymore.”

Yunjin gave you a look. “Like, what? He’s a hobby you got bored of?”

“No! It’s just—” You hesitated, pressing your lips together. “Like, I liked the idea of him. And at first, it was fun. But then, the more time we spent together, the more I realized… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

You exhaled, shutting your eyes. “I feel like I was trying to make myself like him the way I was supposed to. But it just wasn’t working.”

And that was when Heeseung’s grip on his phone tightened. He forced himself to keep his face neutral, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you. “The way you were supposed to?”

You turned your head towards him. “Yeah. Like, Beomgyu is great, okay? He’s funny, and he’s cute, and he’s nice, and I should like him.” You paused, expression softening. “But every time he kissed me, I just…”

You trailed off, lost in thought. Heeseung swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He wasn’t sure why.

Yunjin made a gagging noise. “Okay, ew. Please don’t get all sentimental about kissing Beomgyu on my couch.”

You laughed, pushing her half-heartedly with your foot. “I’m just saying—it’s not clicking. You ever get that? Like, you try to like someone, but no matter how much you do, it just doesn’t fit?”

And the way you looked at Heeseung when you asked that—like you expected him to understand—made something in his chest tighten. Because yeah. He knew exactly what that felt like. He just… couldn’t say it.

So he swallowed, rolling his shoulders back, and forced a small smirk. “Damn,” he said, voice light. “Tough loss for Beomgyu.”

You let out a soft huff of laughter. “Yeah.” Then, a pause. “Guess I’m single again.”

Something in Heeseung’s chest lurched. But he just nodded, keeping his expression neutral, easy, unfazed. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like it didn’t change everything.

A few weeks later, Heeseung showed up at your apartment. It was raining that day.

Not in a dramatic, cinematic way, but in that soft, half-hearted drizzle that made everything look just a little bit duller. The sky was gray, the streets were damp, and Heeseung had definitely stepped into at least two puddles on his way up to your place.

Which, in his opinion, was already way too much effort just to fix your stupid kitchen cabinet.

“Okay, I just wanna say,” he announced as soon as you let him in, dragging his slightly-wet socks across your floor, “I don’t know how the hell you managed to completely detach a cabinet door, but honestly? I’m kind of impressed.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping aside to let him in. “Are you gonna help me or are you gonna make fun of me?”

“Oh, I’m definitely gonna make fun of you.” He grinned, toeing off his shoes before making his way to your kitchen. “But I’ll fix it after.”

You followed behind him, crossing your arms as you watched him inspect the broken cabinet. It wasn’t like you had meant to break it. You had simply been existing in your own kitchen, minding your own business, when the handle somehow got caught on the sleeve of your hoodie—one tug too strong, and suddenly the door was in your hands instead of on its hinges.

“I literally don’t understand how this happened,” Heeseung muttered, crouching down to assess the damage.

“Okay, handyman,” you shot back. “Can you fix it or not?”

Heeseung snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, let me just—” He held out a hand. “Pass me my phone.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“My hands are kinda full,” he said, nodding towards the cabinet door that he was currently balancing on one knee. “Look up how to fix this real quick.”

You huffed but grabbed his phone from the counter, unlocking it without thinking as you leaned against the kitchen island. You didn’t love the idea of looking up a YouTube tutorial like some kind of DIY newbie, but considering that Heeseung was already physically here fixing your problem for you, you figured you could at least meet him halfway.

So, with one hand holding his phone, you typed "how to reattach cabinet door" into the search bar—

And then, your thumb froze. Because right there, at the top of the screen, was a notification. A message. From Chaewon. Your stomach twisted.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know who Chaewon was. Of course, you did. You weren’t stupid. Chaewon was his ex.

The one he never really talked about. The one who had, at one point, been a name you’d only heard in passing, just a piece of his past that you had no real reason to care about. Except… you did.

Because now, here she was. On his screen. Texting him. And suddenly, you felt fucking ridiculous. Because why were you even reacting like this? It wasn’t like he was your boyfriend. It wasn’t like he owed you an explanation. So, then… why did it feel like this?

You forced yourself to look away from the message, pressing the YouTube link on the screen as if nothing had happened. But something had. Because when Heeseung glanced at you, waiting for your next words, you just… couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes.

“Uh.” You cleared your throat, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your voice didn’t sound normal. “It says you need a screwdriver.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow at your abrupt shift in tone, but he didn’t question it. “Okay,” he said slowly, getting up to grab one from his bag.

You took the moment to shove his phone back onto the counter, clenching your jaw as you crossed your arms tighter over your chest. It was fine. You were fine.

“Hey.” His voice cut through the air, slightly muffled as he rummaged through his bag. “Can you hold this while I—”

“No, it’s fine.” The words came out too fast, too stiff.

And Heeseung noticed. He glanced at you, pausing with the screwdriver halfway in his grip. “You good?”

You forced out a laugh. “Yeah. Why?”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, tilting his head. “You just got all weird all of a sudden.”

“I didn’t.”

“You definitely did.”

You exhaled sharply, schooling your expression into something that wasn’t betrayal or insecurity or whatever dumb thing was currently buzzing inside your head. “I’m just tired.”

It wasn’t a total lie. Heeseung didn’t look fully convinced, but he didn’t push. He just hummed under his breath, turning back to the cabinet as he started working again.

And maybe it was stupid. Maybe it was irrational. But you couldn’t stop thinking about it. The notification. The name. The way your stomach had twisted on instinct before you even had a chance to tell yourself it didn’t matter.

Because maybe… Maybe it did.

The next time you’re at Yunjin’s apartment, Heeseung isn’t there.

It’s not intentional, not entirely. Maybe there’s a small, petty part of you that’s relieved when Yunjin mentions he’s out, like the universe decided to grant you a break from the exhausting push and pull of whatever this thing is between you. But mostly, you’re just here because you always are.

There’s an old episode of some dating reality show playing in the background, and Yunjin barely glances at it as she paints her toenails a shade of red so deep it’s almost brown. You pick at the hem of your sleeve, casual, too casual, before finally asking, “Does Heeseung still see Chaewon?”

Yunjin snorts, like it’s the dumbest thing she’s heard all day. “God, I hope not.”

Something in your stomach untwists just slightly, but you don’t let the relief settle. You just raise an eyebrow, feigning indifference. “What happened with them, anyway?”

Yunjin pauses, her brush hovering mid-air. She gives you a look. The kind that says she sees through you. The kind that makes your skin prickle with the discomfort of being known. But then she sighs, leans back against the couch, and says, “They burned out.”

You blink. “That’s it?”

Yunjin tilts her head. “You ever leave a candle burning too long?” She dips the brush back into the bottle, shaking her head. “They were good until they weren’t. And when they weren’t, it was obvious. Chaewon got tired of waiting for him to catch up.”

You frown. “Catch up?”

Yunjin shrugs. “She loved him first. And she wanted him to love her back just as fast, just as much. But Heeseung…” She sighs, blowing lightly on her nails. “Heeseung takes his time. He doesn’t fall in love all at once, he kind of… eases into it. Like the dumbass that he is.”

Your chest tightens.

Because you think about the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching. About the way he always notices when you’re cold before you even say anything. And then you think about the way he doesn’t say anything. About the way he’s always on the edge of something, always almost.

Yunjin is watching you. You can feel it. And you know, you just know, she’s about to say something that’s going to ruin you.

So you get up, stretch your arms above your head like you can shake the weight of this conversation off your skin. “Right. Well. That was fun. Thanks for the gossip.”

Yunjin smirks. “You’re so fucking obvious.” You ignore her, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table. But before you can shove it in your mouth, she says, “Heeseung’s not stupid, you know. He just doesn’t like to move until he’s sure.”

You pause. And because you’re you, and because this is Heeseung, and because everything about this whole thing is a goddamn waiting game— You pretend you don’t hear her.

And then it’s 2:14 a.m. when your phone buzzes.

You’re half-asleep, curled up in bed, the glow of your screen slicing through the darkness. You squint at it, groggy, before reading the message.

heeseung: you awake? heeseung: also. do u want mcdonalds

You blink. Then again. You type out a response with fingers that still feel half-dead from sleep.

you: is that even a question heeseung: valid. be outside in 10

And just like that, you’re stepping into your slides, and slipping out the door like this is the most normal thing in the world. Because with Heeseung, it kind of is.

The streetlights cast long, tired shadows across the pavement, and the air is that weird mix of crisp and stale that only exists at this hour, like the city itself is pausing, caught between the last breath of night and the first inhale of morning.

Heeseung’s car rolls up exactly nine minutes later, music already playing low through the speakers. When you slide into the passenger seat, he barely even looks at you before reaching into the back and tossing you his hoodie.

“You’re gonna get cold,” he says simply.

You huff, but you put it on. It smells like him—faint detergent, something vaguely woody, and the unmistakable scent of McDonald’s fries from however many late-night runs have preceded this one.

Heeseung pulls out onto the street, the familiar hum of the engine settling between you. He’s got one hand lazily resting on the steering wheel, and there’s a soft shadow of exhaustion under his eyes, but he still looks… at ease.

It’s quiet for a while. Comfortable. The kind of silence that doesn’t feel like it needs filling.

Then, as he turns onto the main road, he says, “You ever think about how weird time is?”

You glance at him. “That’s an insane way to start a conversation.”

“I’m serious,” he laughs, tapping his fingers against the wheel. “Like, right now. It’s 2:30 a.m. for us, but somewhere else, it’s a normal afternoon. Someone’s getting lunch, someone’s going to work. And here we are, about to eat McNuggets in a parking lot.”

You hum. “I feel like this is your way of convincing me that time isn’t real.”

He nods solemnly. “Nothing is real.”

“Except McNuggets.”

“Exactly.”

A beat passes, the soft rumble of the tires against the road the only sound for a moment. Then, quieter, more thoughtful, Heeseung asks, “Where do you think you’ll be in a year?”

The question catches you off guard. You tilt your head, thinking. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I mean, I have plans, but… life never really goes how you expect it to, does it?”

Heeseung exhales a small laugh. “No. It really doesn’t.”

You hesitate before adding, “Where do you think you’ll be?”

He takes a moment. His grip on the steering wheel tightens just slightly, like he’s holding onto the words before letting them go. “I don’t know either.” He pauses, then glances at you with something unreadable in his eyes. “I just hope I’m somewhere that still feels like home.”

You feel something shift. A small, almost imperceptible weight settling between the two of you.

And maybe it’s the hour. Maybe it’s the fact that your brain isn’t fully awake yet. Or maybe it’s just him—this version of Heeseung that only exists at 2:30 a.m., the one who speaks in half-truths and unspoken things. But you suddenly feel like you understand exactly what he means.

The McDonald’s drive-thru is basically empty when you pull in. The girl at the window looks like she hates her job, and Heeseung, being Heeseung, makes it his personal mission to get her to smile.

“Are McFlurries still a scam?” he asks solemnly.

The girl raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “You mean, is the machine broken?”

“Yeah.”

“Obviously.”

Heeseung sighs. “I knew it. A tragedy, really.”

Her lips twitch—just barely—but he sees it. He shoots you a triumphant look as he pulls forward.

With the food secured, he parks in a near-empty lot. There’s something about eating fast food in a car past midnight that makes it taste ten times better—something about the way the city is so still, like the world has shrunk down to just the two of you and the glow of the dashboard lights.

For a while, you just eat in silence, the occasional rustle of a fry bag or the quiet click of a sauce container the only noise. Then Heeseung says, “If you could live in any movie, which one would it be?”

You think for a moment. “Probably something stupid and fun. Like… a rom-com where everything works out in the end.”

Heeseung snorts. “Yeah? You want to be the main character that badly?”

“Obviously.”

He grins, dipping a fry into his BBQ sauce. “You’d be the chaotic best friend, though.”

You throw a fry at him. He catches it in his mouth.

“What about you?” you ask, popping a nugget into your mouth.

Heeseung leans back against the seat, thinking. “I don’t know. Something small. Quiet. One of those movies where nothing really happens, but it still makes you feel something.”

You tilt your head. “Like a waiting room.”

Heeseung turns to you. “What?”

“A waiting room,” you say, like it’s obvious. “That’s what those movies feel like. Like something is about to happen, but you don’t know what, and maybe it’s okay if nothing does.”

He stares at you for a long moment. Then he smiles. And it’s not his usual grin, not the teasing, lopsided smirk. It’s something smaller, softer. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Like a waiting room.”

Neither of you say anything after that. The city hums in the background, neon lights bleeding into the darkness, the last remnants of fries sitting forgotten between you.

And then, a party. Not the kind you remember from three years ago, not the one where you met a boy covered in green body paint who changed your life without even meaning to. But still, a party. The music is just as loud, the air just as thick with heat and laughter, the night just as full of things waiting to happen.

You’re not sure why you came. Yunjin had begged, of course, had stood in your doorway with her most dramatic expression, wailing about how you never do anything fun anymore. But even then, you could have said no. You could have curled up in your apartment, wrapped yourself in something soft and safe, ignored the way your stomach flipped when you thought, what if Heeseung is there?

But you didn’t.

And now, you’re here, standing in the middle of someone’s too-small living room, holding a lukewarm drink, feeling like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit. And then, you hear your name.

It cuts through the music, through the laughter, through the static in your brain. It pulls you toward the kitchen, toward the familiar lilt of a voice you know better than your own. And there he is. Heeseung.

Standing in front of the fridge, cracking open a beer, wearing a faded t-shirt and jeans that hang just right. His hair is a little messy, his eyes a little bright, and when he sees you, he grins—that same lopsided, teasing, dangerous smile.

"Look who finally decided to show up," he says, raising his drink in a mock toast.

You roll your eyes, taking a sip of whatever’s in your cup. "Don’t make a big deal out of it."

Heeseung hums, leaning against the counter. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

But he’s looking at you like it is a big deal. Like maybe he’s been waiting for you all night. Like maybe he always is.

Hours pass, the party moves around you—people spilling in and out of rooms, music shifting from one song to the next—but you and Heeseung stay where you are, orbiting around each other.

At some point, someone suggests a game. Cards, or maybe something more ridiculous—something designed to make people confess things they wouldn’t say otherwise. You should say no. You should step away before you find yourself caught in something you can’t get out of.

But you don’t. You sit next to Heeseung on the floor, close enough that your knees touch. The game starts, questions fly, people laugh. And then—

Jake turns to you. "Alright, Y/N. Who was your first college crush?"

You blink. "What?"

The group whoops in unison. Jungwon throws an arm around your shoulder. "Come on, don’t be shy."

Your throat goes dry. Your eyes flicker to Heeseung, just for a second, but it’s enough. His smirk twitches—just barely, just enough to be noticeable—and suddenly, you know you have to get out of this.

You clear your throat, reaching for your drink. "I think I’ve blocked it out," you lie.

A chorus of boos erupts, but the game moves on. The moment passes. But beside you, Heeseung is watching you, his fingers tapping against his knee, like he’s putting something together. You pretend not to notice.

Later, when the party has blurred into something soft and distant, when most people are drunk or half-asleep, when the night has stretched itself out into something too fragile to hold forever, Heeseung finds you on the balcony.

You’re leaning against the railing, breathing in the cool air, staring out at the city lights. "You hiding from me?"

You don’t turn around. "You think everything’s about you, don’t you?"

He laughs—soft, amused, something warm threading through the sound. "It usually is."

You roll your eyes, but then he’s beside you, resting his forearms on the railing, close enough that you can feel the heat of him even through the night air.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The music inside is muffled now, the party nothing more than background noise. The city stretches out before you, endless and alive, full of people who have no idea that this moment is happening.

And then, quietly, Heeseung asks, "You really don’t remember your first college crush?"

Your fingers tighten slightly around the railing. You exhale. "I remember."

A pause. "Yeah?"

You glance at him. He’s watching you, expression unreadable, something deep and knowing in his eyes. You swallow. "Yeah."

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, and for a second, you think—Is he going to ask? Does he already know? But he doesn’t.

He just nods, looking back at the skyline, and says, "Me too."

And somehow, that’s worse. Because you think—no, you know—that he’s not talking about some early college memory, some long-forgotten infatuation.

He’s talking about you.

And for the first time, you wonder if this thing between you—this waiting, this almost, this three years of something unspoken—has been more obvious than you thought. You wonder if maybe, just maybe, you’re not the only one waiting.

One month later. The thing about time is that it moves whether you’re ready or not. It stretches, it folds, it carries you forward even when you feel like you’re standing still.

And ever since the party, things with Heeseung have been… different. Not in an obvious way. Not in the way that people would notice, not in the way that Yunjin would tease you about over breakfast. But in the small things.

In the way his eyes linger just a little too long. In the way your stomach flips when he says your name. In the way every conversation feels like it’s balancing on the edge of something you can’t name.

Because you and Heeseung have always been close, always been drawn together like something written into the universe itself. But now? Now, it feels different. Like someone turned up the volume on something you didn’t even realize was playing in the background.

And the worst part? Neither of you are talking about it.

Instead, you’re doing what you do best—pretending. Pretending that nothing is different, that things are still light and easy, that three years of something unspoken aren’t finally starting to spill over the edges.

Until one day, when you’re sitting on Yunjin’s couch, your phone rings. It’s your mother. You hesitate before answering, already bracing yourself for whatever she’s about to say.

And the moment you put your phone down, you groan, collapsing onto the couch, like the weight of the conversation is physically pressing down on you. Heeseung and Yunjin are both looking at you expectantly, their attention fully on you in a way that makes you regret opening your mouth at all. But it’s too late now, so you just exhale, pressing your fingers against your temples before muttering, "My mom called."

Yunjin snorts. "Yeah, we got that much. What did she want?"

You roll your eyes, but the annoyance in your chest is directed at yourself more than anything else. "There’s a wedding. My cousin’s. Next weekend."

Heeseung, who had been absentmindedly rolling a bottle cap between his fingers, finally glances up, eyes curious. "You going?"

"Yeah." You sigh again. "Didn’t really have a choice. If I said no, she would’ve found a way to guilt-trip me into oblivion."

Yunjin grins knowingly. "Classic mom move."

You hum in agreement, then hesitate, picking at the hem of your sleeve. "And then she made it weird," you mutter.

Heeseung raises an eyebrow, shifting slightly on the couch so he’s facing you more fully. "How weird?"

You pause for a second, then groan, throwing your head back. "She brought up the fact that I’ve never brought a boyfriend to anything."

Yunjin cackles. She actually leans forward, hands on her knees, cackling. "Oh my God," she wheezes. "That’s so embarrassing for you."

You glare. "Thank you, Yunjin, for your endless support."

But Heeseung doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t tease. He just tilts his head, watching you with an unreadable expression. "She said that?"

You nod, rubbing your temples. "Yeah. She was all, ‘You can bring someone, you know,’ and then just immediately went for the ‘You’ve never brought a boyfriend to anything,’ like I don’t already know that."

Yunjin wipes a fake tear from her eye, still far too entertained. "Damn. She really called you out like that."

"Okay," you deadpan, "I think we’ve established that this is humiliating for me. Can we move on?"

But Yunjin grins, her eyes practically glowing with mischief, and that’s when you know you should have never said anything at all. "Well," she says, stretching out the word, "if it bothers you that much… you could always bring Heeseung."

Silence.

You feel it immediately—the way the air shifts, the way your stomach twists, the way your breath catches for just a second too long. You don’t look at Heeseung. You can’t.

Instead, you scoff, shoving her shoulder. "Oh my God, shut up."

"I’m serious!" she laughs. "It makes sense, doesn’t it? You need a date. Heeseung’s around."

Heeseung is silent. And that—that’s what makes your chest tighten. Because Heeseung is never silent.

You finally force yourself to glance at him, just a flicker, just to see how he’s reacting to this. And when you do, you find him already looking at you—his expression unreadable, his fingers stilling where they had been absently playing with the bottle cap.

Something tightens in your throat. Because it’s one thing to laugh it off. It’s one thing to pretend this isn’t something charged, something delicate, something that feels like standing on the edge of something too big to name.

But Heeseung isn’t laughing.

When you open the door on the wedding day, Heeseung is already leaning against his car, hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks, looking entirely too good for someone who is supposed to be doing you a favor. His hair is neat but still has that slight, careless tousle to it, his sleeves are pushed up just enough to reveal his forearms, and his black dress shirt is criminally well-fitted.

You try very hard not to notice any of that. But Heeseung is looking at you like you just stopped time.

It’s not obvious—he doesn’t say anything right away, doesn’t let his jaw drop like some kind of movie cliché—but his fingers twitch slightly where they’re resting in his pockets, and his throat bobs as he swallows. His eyes move over you in a way that isn’t just admiration but something deeper, something heavier, something that makes your chest feel too tight.

You pretend not to notice that, either. Instead, you lift an eyebrow, shifting your weight onto one foot. "You gonna open the door for me, or are you just gonna stand there?"

Heeseung blinks, snapping out of it. He clears his throat, pushing off the car, his usual smirk creeping back into place. "Right, yeah. My bad."

You roll your eyes, but your face feels warm anyway. The ride starts out easy. The hum of the road fills the space between you, the occasional comment about the directions or a song playing on the radio breaking the silence.

"You, uh," Heeseung starts, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. "You sure your mom’s gonna be cool with me coming?"

You blink. "What? Yeah, of course. I already told her."

He raises an eyebrow. "You told her?"

"Yeah," you say, adjusting the hem of your dress. "I mean, I talk about you all the time, so it’s not like it’s weird or anything."

Silence. You don’t notice it at first, but when you glance over, Heeseung is staring straight ahead, gripping the wheel a little tighter than before.

And the thing is—Heeseung is not someone who gets flustered easily. He doesn’t trip over his words, doesn’t get all weird when people talk about him. But now, he’s sitting there, completely silent, like his brain just blue-screened.

Because you talk about him all the time. To your mom. His ears burn at the thought.

Because it’s one thing to be close. It’s one thing to be your best friend, to be the person you go to for late-night McDonald’s runs and life-altering conversations on balconies. But it’s another thing entirely to know that he exists in your life even when he’s not there.

That when you’re on the phone with your mom, when you’re recounting your day, when you’re talking about the people who matter—he’s there. And it’s so stupid how much that does to him.

He coughs, forcing himself to sound normal. "Oh. Cool. Yeah. That’s cool."

You snort. "I told her you’re my friend, and that’s it."

Heeseung hums, tapping his fingers on the wheel again. "Yeah. Right."

But for some reason, the word friend doesn’t sit right in his mouth.

The wedding is beautiful. Not in the over-the-top, fairytale kind of way, but in the way that feels real. The ceremony is held outdoors, the late afternoon light draping everything in gold, the air carrying the soft hum of laughter and clinking glasses. There are flowers on every table, music drifting lazily through the air, and a warmth that lingers beneath the chatter of distant relatives catching up.

And you almost forget that you’re here with Heeseung. Almost. Except—you can feel him.

You can feel him next to you at the table, the warmth of his presence settling into your skin. You can feel the way his hand brushes against yours when he reaches for something, the way his eyes flicker toward you when he hears you laugh.

And the worst part is that he looks good as hell.

It’s almost unfair, the way he carries himself. The way his sleeves are still rolled up, the way his shirt is slightly undone at the collar, the way he leans back in his chair, legs stretched out, watching everything unfold like he belongs here.

And for the first time in a long time you don’t know where you stand with him.

Because this is Heeseung. The boy who sends you Shrek memes at 2 a.m. The boy who once argued with a barista about oat milk for a full five minutes. The boy who makes you laugh until you can’t breathe.

But right now? Right now, he’s something else, too. Something that makes your stomach flip. Something that makes you forget how to breathe.

The music shifts. It’s not immediate—not some grand, dramatic moment where the world slows down—but you feel it.

The moment the first notes of the song drift through the air, you feel it in your chest. Like something tightening. Like something pulling at a thread you don’t want to unravel. Because you know this song. Of course you know this song. And so does he.

You don’t even have to look at Heeseung to know he recognizes it too. That he knows exactly what’s playing, that he knows how much you love her, that he knows you’ve played this song before—in his car, in your apartment, in the quiet spaces between friendship and something else.

You know he knows. And yet, he still turns to you, his voice a low murmur beneath the hum of conversation. “Phoebe Bridgers,” he says.

You swallow. “Yeah.” Heeseung hums, watching you carefully. His fingers drum lightly against the table, slow and steady, in time with the beat of the song. Then, after a second—

"You should dance with me."

You blink. You blink again. Your stomach twists. “What?”

Heeseung shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t mean anything. “You love this song.”

Which—okay. That’s true. But this is not a song you dance to. This is a song you listen to alone, in your room, in the quiet, when it’s too late and you’re too restless and you’re thinking about things you shouldn’t be thinking about.

This is not a wedding song. And yet, Heeseung is still looking at you like that, like this is a dare, like he’s waiting for you to say no, to call him out, to pull away before it’s too late.

And yet, his hand is outstretched, waiting, patient, warm. And yet— You take it. You don’t think, you just do it, just let yourself be pulled. And Heeseung holds you like he’s afraid to press too hard.

One hand on your waist. The other clasping yours loosely, like he’s letting you decide how close to be. Like he’s still waiting for you to laugh and push him away and say, ‘This is so stupid’.

But you don’t. You just breathe. You just exist here, in this moment, with him.

If you were a waiting room, I would never see a doctor I would sit there with my first-aid kit and bleed

Your throat tightens. Because God, this song.

Because you know every lyric by heart, because you know what it means, because there’s something about it that always makes you feel like you’re standing in the middle of something you’ll never quite have.

And now, here you are, dancing to it with him.

Heeseung exhales softly, tilting his head toward you. “You ever think about that?”

You blink. “Think about what?”

His fingers twitch slightly against your waist. “How music reminds you of people.”

Your stomach flips. Because of course you do. Of course, you think about it. Of course, this song, this moment, this whole damn night is going to be tied to him now, forever, no matter what happens after.

You nod. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “I think about it.”

Heeseung hums, like that makes sense. Like he already knew what you were going to say. Then—

"Does this song remind you of me?"

Your breath catches. The air between you thickens.

Because that shouldn’t be a question. Because he already knows the answer. Because you’re standing here with him, swaying to a song that makes your chest ache, and you know, you know he hears the lyrics just as clearly as you do.

I wanna be the broken love song that feeds your misery.

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to sound normal. “Maybe.”

His lips twitch. “Maybe?”

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t push it.”

Heeseung laughs, soft, breathless. And God, you hate him.

You hate the way he makes everything feel like a game, like he’s always hovering right at the edge of something and waiting for you to push him over. You hate that it’s working.

And when broken bodies are washed ashore—who am I to ask for more?

You shiver. Because this is the part of the song that gets to you every time. Because who are you to ask for more?

Who are you to ask for something that maybe, just maybe, was never meant to be yours? But then Heeseung, of all people, says “I think this song reminds me of you, too.”

Your heart stops. You look at him, and he’s already looking at you, and suddenly this doesn’t feel like pretending anymore.

This doesn’t feel like something you can laugh off. Because Heeseung is serious.

Because his hand is still on your waist, his fingers still brushing against the fabric of your dress, his breath still warm against your cheek, and you don’t know how to go back from this. You don’t know if you want to.

Heeseung shifts slightly, his grip tightening for just a second. “You ever think about it?”

You blink. “Think about what?”

Heeseung hesitates, his eyes flickering over your face. His jaw tightens—just barely.

"Us."

Your stomach drops.

Because he says it so simply, like it’s nothing, like it’s a passing thought, like he hasn’t just destroyed your entire world in one syllable. Us. The word sits heavy in the air between you, impossible to ignore, impossible to pretend you didn’t hear.

Heeseung doesn’t move, doesn’t look away, doesn’t do anything to make this easier for you. He just keeps holding you, keeps swaying with you, keeps waiting—like he has all the time in the world.

You want to say something.

You want to throw your head back and laugh it off, tell him he’s being ridiculous, tell him to stop playing with you. You want to scoff and roll your eyes and pretend that the thought of you and Heeseung has never crossed your mind, that it hasn’t been haunting you for years, that it hasn’t been living under your skin since the first time he looked at you like you were something worth remembering.

But you can’t. Because this is Heeseung. Because he knows you too well, because he’d hear the lie in your voice, because there is nowhere left to hide when he’s looking at you like this.

So instead, you stall. You breathe in, slow and careful, and say, "What about us?"

It’s a cheap move. A pathetic attempt at deflection. And Heeseung knows it.

He exhales, the ghost of a laugh slipping past his lips, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on your waist. "You know what I mean."

You glance down at your hands, the way your fingers are still laced together with his, the way your other hand rests so easily on his shoulder, like this is something you’ve done a thousand times before. And maybe you have.

Maybe you and Heeseung have always been dancing around each other like this. Maybe you’ve just never let yourself notice. The song keeps playing, keeps taunting you, keeps threading its meaning between your ribs, pulling you closer and closer to something you don’t know how to name.

I wanna make you drive all night just because I said, maybe you should come over

You let out a slow breath, forcing your voice to stay steady. "We’re friends, Heeseung."

He hums. "Yeah. We are."

But he doesn’t let go.

He doesn’t move away, doesn’t drop his hand from your waist, doesn’t step back into the safe distance you’re used to. He stays. And that’s the part that gets you.

Because if he really believed that was all this was, he wouldn’t be holding you like this. If he really believed that was all this was, he wouldn’t have asked the question in the first place.

You glance up at him again, searching, waiting for him to say something else, to give you an out, to change the subject, to laugh and let it go. But he doesn’t. He just watches you. And suddenly, you feel exposed in a way you never have before.

Like every late-night conversation, every half-smile, every almost has been leading here, to this moment, to this song, to this feeling that you don’t know how to escape. You force yourself to swallow.

"Why are you asking me this?" you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, considering you, considering his words.

"Because I think about it, too."

Your breath catches in your throat. Your fingers tighten against his shoulder. Your heart slams against your ribs.

You feel like the whole world has shrunk down to just this. To the space between your bodies, to the way he’s looking at you, to the fact that he thinks about it, too.

Heeseung’s fingers twitch slightly against yours, but he doesn’t let go. He’s watching you with this careful intensity, like he’s waiting for something, like he’s giving you the chance to decide what happens next.

And that’s the problem.

Because you don’t know what happens next.

Because you’ve spent years existing in this strange, untouchable place with him, in this in-between, in this waiting room of a relationship that never moves forward but never lets you leave either.

And now, suddenly, here you are. Standing on the edge of something irreversible.

She'll be the best you ever had if you let her

Your heart stumbles. Because this song knows too much.

Because this song feels too much like the two of you, like something ripped from your ribs and put into lyrics, like a truth you weren’t ready to confront. And maybe—just maybe—Heeseung feels it, too.

Because he leans in. Just a little. Just enough.

Not enough to cross the line, not enough to destroy the thing you’ve built, but enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath, enough that the scent of him—clean soap, something faintly woodsy, something entirely him—wraps around you.

Enough that you could close the distance if you wanted to. And God, you do.

But you don’t. Because you’re afraid. Because you don’t know what happens when you let this become real.

Because Heeseung is still looking at you like that, like he could ruin you if he wanted to, like he’s giving you the chance to ruin him first.

I know it's for the better

You exhale, too shaky, too uneven. And Heeseung notices.

His gaze flickers, barely, to your lips, to the space between you, to the way you haven’t moved away from him yet. And then his jaw clenches.

Like he’s just realized how close you are. Like he’s just realized this is about to happen if neither of you stop it. And that’s the thing, neither of you stop it.

Not immediately. Not when his fingers tighten slightly on your waist. Not when your grip on his shoulder trembles just a little. Not when the air between you stretches so thin it might snap in half.

Not until you hear, Know it’s for the better…

The song starts to fade. The moment fractures. And just like that, you both pull away.

Not much. Just an inch, a breath, a single second too late. But it’s enough.

Enough for reality to settle back in. Enough for the noise of the wedding to come rushing back, for the chatter and laughter and clinking glasses to remind you where you are, who you are, what you almost did.

And Heeseung, he knows it, too. You see it in the way his throat bobs, in the way he blinks hard, in the way he forces himself to take a step back, to drop his hand from your waist, to roll his shoulders like he can shake off whatever just happened between you.

The song ends. And neither of you say a word.

And three months later, silence.

At first, it’s subtle—just a missed text here, a conversation that doesn’t last as long as it used to, an inside joke that no longer lands the way it should. But then it becomes something else. Something colder. Something that feels less like a pause and more like a choice.

And that’s what happened to you and Heeseung.

You didn’t stop talking completely. That would have been too obvious, too final, too much like admitting that something had shifted beyond repair. You still sent the occasional meme, still ran into each other at Yunjin’s, still had conversations that skimmed the surface of what they used to be.

But it was different. The late-night McDonald’s runs stopped. The effortless teasing felt strained. The ease of being around each other—the one thing you never questioned—was suddenly gone.

Neither of you did anything about it. You let it happen. Because it was easier that way.

Because acknowledging it meant admitting that something had changed, that you had gotten too close, that something had almost happened that night at the wedding. And you weren’t ready to admit that.

You weren’t ready to ask if Heeseung had almost kissed you, or if you had almost kissed him, or if you had both just been caught in some stupid, fleeting moment that meant nothing at all. So, you didn’t.

And now, three months later, all that’s left is silence.

The rain comes down in sheets, heavy and relentless, drumming against the windows of your apartment. You sit curled up on your couch, blanket wrapped around you, phone abandoned on the coffee table. The storm had rolled in an hour ago, sudden and unforgiving, and now the whole city feels swallowed by it, the streetlights barely visible through the downpour.

Then, there’s a knock at your door. You weren’t expecting anyone. It’s too late, too stormy, too much of a nothing kind of night for visitors.

But something in you knows—before you even open the door, before you even take that first breath—that it’s him.

And it is. It’s Heeseung.

Standing in your doorway, soaking wet, hair plastered to his forehead, breathing unevenly like he just ran here.

You freeze. "Heeseung?"

His eyes flicker over your face, searching, desperate, wild in a way you’ve never seen before. His clothes are damp, sticking to his frame, his hands clenched at his sides. But it’s his expression that gets you.

Like something is breaking inside of him. Like something has already broken.

“I can’t—” His voice catches, hoarse and raw, and then he shakes his head, like words are failing him, like they’re too small for what he’s trying to say.

Your heart is pounding. “Heeseung, what are you—”

"I can’t stop thinking about you."

The words crash into you like a wave, knocking the breath from your lungs. You stare.

Heeseung swallows hard, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear it, like he’s trying to find a way to make you understand.

"I’ve tried," he continues, voice shaking. "I really, really tried. But you’re always there. You’re in every song I hear, in every dumb inside joke, in every single thing that happens to me. I see something stupid and my first thought is always, ‘Y/N would think that’s hilarious.’ I go to text you and then I stop because I don’t know if I’m supposed to anymore. I—"

He lets out a sharp, frustrated laugh, dragging a hand through his wet hair. “I thought if I just gave it time, it would go away. I thought I could just—move past it. But I still feel like I’m standing in that damn Halloween party with you, waiting for something to happen.”

Your throat is tight. “Heeseung—”

“I miss you,” he interrupts, pushing forward, stepping into your space like he’s afraid you’ll shut the door on him if he doesn’t. "I miss you so much it’s making me lose my goddamn mind."

Your pulse is roaring in your ears. You should say something. You should do something. But you can’t. You just stand there, staring at him, your body frozen in place. And Heeseung just keeps talking.

"I don’t know how to be your friend anymore," he admits, wrecked, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know how to sit next to you and act like I don’t want more. I don’t know how to look at you and pretend that you’re not the first person I think about when I wake up and the last person I think about before I fall asleep. I don’t know how to listen to that fucking song without remembering the way you looked at me that night."

The air is too thick. Your vision is blurring.

Heeseung breathes out a shaky, desperate laugh, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "And the worst part?" He meets your eyes, and it destroys you. "I don’t think I want to stop thinking about you."

And that’s it.

That’s what breaks you. That’s what makes you move.

You don’t think. You don’t hesitate.

You step forward, grab the front of his stupid wet shirt, and kiss him.

The storm rages outside. And for the first time in three years, neither of you pull away.

The moment your lips crash into his, Heeseung stumbles back a step, caught off guard, but then he’s pulling you closer, like he’s been waiting for this forever.

His hands cup your face, fingers threading into your hair, holding you like you might disappear if he lets go. And you grip the front of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you standing, like if you let go, the moment might shatter around you.

Heeseung sighs into the kiss, like he’s relieved, like this is something he’s needed more than breathing itself. He tilts his head, deepening it, and you melt into him, the heat of his mouth sending shivers down your spine.

It’s surreal, familiar and foreign all at once, like stepping into a dream you’ve had before but never been able to hold onto. Because this is Heeseung. The boy who has always been by your side, the boy who has spent years making you laugh until your stomach hurts, the boy who has always been a constant in your life.

But now, he’s something else too. Now, he’s the only thing you can feel. And that’s the strangest part, how utterly consuming this is. Because your brain is struggling to keep up, still caught in the absurdity of it—Heeseung is kissing me, I’m kissing Heeseung, this is happening, this is happening.

And then he moves forward, stepping into the apartment fully, finally, his hands still tangled in your hair, still refusing to let you go. The door clicks shut behind him, the sound almost lost beneath the roar of the storm outside.

Heeseung doesn’t hesitate. His lips find yours again, his hands skimming over your waist, like he’s memorizing the shape of you, like he’s trying to make up for all the time he spent pretending he didn’t want this. And you can’t breathe. Because this isn’t like any kiss you’ve ever had before.

You’ve kissed people you liked. You’ve kissed people you thought you could love. But you have never, never felt this. This heat, this ache, this impossible, indescribable pull. Like your entire life has been leading up to this moment.

Like every other kiss you’ve had before this was just a poor imitation of what it was supposed to feel like. And that’s terrifying. Because how do you go back after this? How do you pretend this doesn’t mean something?

Heeseung exhales against your lips, his breath uneven, his fingers tightening just slightly against your waist. Like he’s thinking the same thing, like he’s struggling just as much as you are to make sense of this.

You should stop. You should pull away, take a breath, process. But you can’t.

Because he tilts his head, kisses you deeper, and suddenly, you’re walking backward without realizing it, your body moving on instinct, your hands clutching at his shirt as if he’s the only thing keeping you steady. Heeseung follows, one hand sliding down to rest against the small of your back, guiding you without thinking, without hesitation.

Your legs hit the couch. You stumble slightly, your balance faltering for the first time, and Heeseung, on pure reflex, catches you. His hands tighten instantly, pulling you against him, steadying you before you can fall.

But the movement leaves zero space between you. You can feel everything, his chest rising and falling against yours, the heat radiating off of him, the way his fingers twitch slightly where they’re curled into the fabric of your shirt.

His breath brushes against your lips, his nose bumping against yours as you both hover, just for a moment, just long enough to realize how close you are, just long enough to make it worse.

Before you can stop yourself, before you can think, you kiss him again. This time, it’s slower. This time, it’s deeper. This time, it’s not about the rush, the adrenaline, the storm raging outside. This time, it’s about everything else.

About the way his hands move carefully now, like he’s trying to remember every single detail, about the way he tilts his head slightly to fit his mouth against yours like he’s done this a thousand times in his head, about the way he lets out a soft, wrecked sound when you slide your fingers up into his still-damp hair. And you’re drowning in him.

You fall back onto the couch, pulling him with you, and he follows without hesitation, bracing himself with one hand on the cushion beside you, the other still gripping your waist, his fingers trembling just slightly against your skin.

His lips leave yours only for a second, just long enough for him to breathe, just long enough for his eyes to flicker over your face, like he’s trying to memorize you at this moment.

And then, so softly you almost don’t hear it—

“Tell me you want this.”

Your breath catches. Because God, you do. You do. You always have. So you don’t say anything. You just pull him down and kiss him again.

The weight of him settles over you, his body pressed against yours, his hands everywhere and nowhere at once—on your waist, your ribs, twitching like he doesn’t know where to hold you first, like he doesn’t want to stop touching you long enough to decide.

It's overwhelming. His warmth, his scent, the soft, unsteady breaths he exhales between kisses, the way his fingers slide under the hem of your shirt just slightly, just enough to brush against bare skin. It’s careful. Hesitant. Like he’s testing something fragile.

Heeseung groans softly, his grip tightening, his lips parting against yours in a way that sends a full-body shiver down your spine. His hands move up your sides, down to your hips, fingers pressing into the fabric of your clothes like he wants to commit this exact moment to memory. You arch just slightly, chasing his warmth, and the movement makes Heeseung suck in a sharp breath, his forehead pressing briefly against yours.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he mutters.

You laugh, breathless, hands sliding up into his hair, tugging just enough to make him shudder. “That’s dramatic.”

His lips graze yours again, barely there, just enough to drive you insane. “You have no idea.”

And you could stay here forever—wrapped up in him, in his weight, in the way his lips brush over your jaw, the corner of your mouth, like he’s learning you one kiss at a time.

He shifts just slightly, pressing more of his weight into you, his thigh slipping between yours, and your breath catches. Heeseung notices immediately. You feel it in the way his body tenses, in the way his grip on your waist tightens, in the way he exhales shakily against your cheek.

You don’t move. He doesn’t move. The air changes. Slows. Thickens. And suddenly, it’s not just kissing anymore. Suddenly, it’s so much more than that. It’s every feeling you’ve been ignoring, every second of the past three years, every single moment leading up to this one catching up to you all at once.

And Heeseung feels it too. Because he pulls back, just a little, just enough to look at you properly, his expression wrecked. His fingers brush against your cheek, light, careful, like he’s waiting for you to tell him to stop. Like he’s scared of what happens if you don’t.

You stare up at him, breathless, your pulse pounding in your ears, and— God, he’s beautiful.

His hair is still damp from the rain, strands falling over his forehead in a way that makes him look softer. His lips are kiss-bruised, parted slightly as he catches his breath, his chest rising and falling in time with yours.

You exhale slowly, one hand sliding down his chest, feeling the way his heart slams against his ribs, and he shudders. You know what this means. You know there’s no going back after this. So you whisper—soft, shaky, everything all at once—

"Heeseung."

And that’s all it takes.

Heeseung exhales—a shaky, uneven breath, like he’s barely holding himself together. His fingers tighten slightly where they rest on your waist, his body still hovering over yours. Then, softly, barely above a whisper—

"Say my name again."

Your stomach flips. You don’t, not at first. Because you feel lightheaded, because this is Heeseung, because what the hell is happening right now?

But Heeseung isn’t impatient. He doesn’t push. He just watches you, his gaze flickering over your face—your lips, your eyes, the way your breath catches in your throat. And then, carefully, deliberately, he grabs your wrist.

Your breath hitches as he lifts your hand, as he guides it slowly, until your palm is pressed flat against his chest. You can feel it. His heartbeat. It’s slamming against his ribs, too fast, too unsteady, completely out of control.

You stare at your hand, at where it rests over his racing pulse, at the way his skin burns beneath your touch. Heeseung swallows hard.

"You feel that?" he murmurs, his voice low, rough, wrecked.

And you do, because it’s all you can feel, because it’s like his entire body is responding to you, and you nod, your fingers twitching slightly against his shirt.

Heeseung lets out a breath like he’s relieved, like he needed you to know this, to feel this, to understand what you do to him. Then, slowly, carefully, giving you every chance to stop him, he leans down, brushing his lips against the curve of your jaw. You suck in a breath, your eyes fluttering shut as he moves lower, pressing the softest, slowest kiss to the side of your neck. Your fingers curl against his shoulders, your pulse hammering beneath your skin, and he feels it.

“Heeseung,” you breathe, and it’s embarrassing how it comes out, a little too soft, a little too needy, like you’re already losing yourself in him.

He shudders, letting out a sharp breath. “Fuck—”

Then, his teeth graze your pulse point, and you gasp, back arching instinctively into him. Your hips shift beneath his, your hands moving without thinking, fingers grasping at the hem of his hoodie, your skin itching for more of him, more warmth, more of everything.

Heeseung lets you. He lets you push the fabric up, lets you brush your fingers over the bare skin of his stomach, lets you feel the way his muscles tense under your touch. He exhales a groan, head dropping to your shoulder like you’ve just taken the breath right out of him.

He murmurs your name, voice strangled, his fingers digging into your waist as if you’ve completely unraveled him. You suck in a breath, your hands still fisting his hoodie.

“I want to hear you,” he admits, so quietly, like he almost wasn’t planning to say it out loud. “I want to—”

He cuts himself off with another soft groan as you push the hoodie all the way up, your fingers skimming over his bare chest before you finally tug it over his head. It hits the floor with a soft thud, but you barely register it.

Because Heeseung is above you, half-naked, breathing heavy, flushed, and looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that exists. You don’t know what to do with yourself. So you just stare up at him, breathless, waiting. And then, finally, you whisper—

"Heeseung, tell me what you want."

Heeseung exhales sharply, his breath warm against your skin, his fingers still pressing into your waist like he’s trying to ground himself, steady himself, like he’s trying not to lose his mind completely.

His hand slides up, fingertips grazing your ribs, slow and deliberate, and you shudder beneath him. His thumb brushes the fabric of your shirt, his touch gentle but knowing, and he meets your eyes, and God, he looks ruined.

"I want—" He starts, but then he laughs breathlessly, shaking his head like he can’t believe himself, like this is too much, like you are too much. His hands are still moving, still exploring, still teasing at the fabric of your shirt, still making your body burn in ways you’ve never felt before. "I want all of you."

Your stomach flips. Because he’s not even touching you properly, and yet it’s the way he says it, the weight of his voice, the truth in it, that makes your pulse stutter.

And then, before you can respond, before you can tease him for how wrecked he sounds, his hands move, slow and deliberate. Fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, pushing it up, knuckles skimming over your stomach, over your ribs, over every single inch of skin he reveals as he goes.

Your breath stutters, your body arching up into his touch. His jaw clenches, his lips part, and then he’s leaning down, pressing his mouth to your collarbone, trailing featherlight, open-mouthed kisses along your skin as he slowly tugs your shirt over your head.

And then, finally, your shirt joins his hoodie on the floor. And suddenly, you’re both bare and breathless, staring at each other like you don’t know what to do next, even though you both know exactly what’s about to happen.

"Heeseung," you whisper, and his eyes flicker, dark, burning, like your voice alone is enough to unravel him.

"You’re not making this easy," he murmurs, his fingers skimming up your sides, his thumb brushing along your ribs, his body pressing down just slightly, just enough to feel how perfectly he fits against you.

Your breath catches. "Good."

And that ruins him. Heeseung groans, low and deep, and then he’s leaning down again, lips trailing along your jaw, down your neck, to your collarbone, soft, open-mouthed kisses, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every single second. His voice is strained, thick with something raw, something undeniable.

"You feel so good."

You whimper at his words, your nails digging into his shoulders, and Heeseung reacts immediately, his hips pressing down, his body slotting perfectly against yours, his breath catching as he feels you, all of you, right there beneath him.

"Shit," he mutters, his head dropping to your shoulder, his hands gripping your waist like he needs something to hold onto. You’re both breathless now, bodies pressed so close there’s no space left between you, every single movement sending heat crashing through your veins. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this."

Your heart stumbles. Because neither of you were supposed to say it. Neither of you were supposed to acknowledge it. But now—it’s out there. And there’s no taking it back.

And then Heeseung looks at you, really looks at you. His eyes, dark and hooded with something deeper than just desire, trace every inch of your face, your parted lips, the flush spreading down your neck, the way your chest rises and falls, rapid and uneven beneath him.

“You’re…” He swallows hard, his voice thick with something close to reverence. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

His hands move lower, squeezing your thighs before dragging up again, pushing your legs further apart beneath him. Heeseung exhales sharply, his pupils blown wide as he takes in the way you look beneath him, flushed, needy, completely and utterly his for the taking.

“Fuck.” His voice is raw, thick with barely restrained need. “You’re perfect.”

His mouth finds your collarbone, lips hot and insistent as he moves lower, tasting, worshiping. His tongue flicks over the sensitive skin, his teeth grazing lightly before he sucks, leaving a mark. His fingers dig into your skin as he rolls his hips down against yours, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips. He watches, fascinated, as your body reacts to his, as your fingers clutch at his arms, as your lips part with another breathy whimper that shoots straight through his bloodstream.

“You like that?” he murmurs, dragging his lips up to your ear, his voice nothing but a low rasp. “Like feeling me this close?” You nod, but it’s not enough. Heeseung needs to hear you say it. “Tell me,” he demands, his fingers tightening just enough to make you squirm.

“Yes,” you gasp, your voice barely more than a breath.

Heeseung smirks against your skin, the sound of your desperation fueling the heat building between you. “Good.” His lips trail back down, kissing, tasting, exploring every inch of you. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Heeseung hovers over you, his breath warm against your skin as his hands trail lower, fingers grazing the waistband of your pants. His fingers toy with the fabric at your hips, teasing. His voice, when he speaks, is deep and laced with restraint.

“Can I take these off?”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, and the sight of him like this—his lips swollen, his gaze dark with barely contained desire, sends a shiver down your spine. Your stomach tightens, heat curling low in your belly as you whisper, “Yes.”

And the second the word leaves your lips, Heeseung exhales sharply, like he’s been holding back this whole time. His hands move with deliberate slowness, sliding under the waistband, his fingers warm and firm against your hips as he starts to pull your pants down.

His hands guide your pants lower until they slip past your thighs, pooling somewhere near your ankles, and he takes his time, his lips pressing slow, reverent kisses along the soft skin of your lower belly, just above the edge of your underwear.

He groans against your skin, his voice husky. “You have no idea how good you look right now.”

His hands splay over your thighs, his lips follow the same path, pressing kisses, biting gently, dragging his tongue across the warmth of your skin as he moves lower. You let out a shaky breath as he spreads your legs just a little more, his fingers gripping, massaging, his lips marking every inch of your inner thighs as he inches closer to where you need him most.

Heeseung hums against your skin, his breath hot, teasing. “So soft,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with admiration, with hunger. His hands squeeze your thighs, his fingers digging in just enough to make you arch slightly. “So perfect.”

His lips brush dangerously close to the edge of your underwear, his nose nuzzling against the sensitive skin just beside it, inhaling deeply like he wants to drown in you. His grip tightens. His lips part, and he looks up at you.

The sight of him between your legs, hair messy, lips swollen, his dark eyes filled with something you can’t quite name—it’s almost too much.

His voice is thick, teasing but affectionate. “You’re shaking,” he notes, his thumb brushing the inside of your thigh in slow, soothing circles.

Your breath catches. “Because of you.”

Heeseung groans softly, his hands gripping tighter, his lips trailing higher again, back to your hip, back to your stomach, his teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive skin there. “You have no idea how much I love hearing that,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

Slowly, he starts to move up. His fingers slide up to cup your face, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek, like he needs to feel every part of you, like he’s grounding himself in your presence. He exhales sharply, his forehead resting against yours for the briefest second, like he’s gathering himself, like he’s trying to hold back.

“I need to taste you,” he murmurs, his voice nothing but a raw, desperate rasp. “Please.”

Your breath stutters, your fingers gripping onto his arms, feeling the tension coiled tight beneath his skin. You swallow hard, trying to steady yourself, but the truth is, you want this just as much.

“I need to hear you say it,” he murmurs.

Your pulse is a pounding rhythm against your ribs, your whole body thrumming with heat, but somehow, you manage to find your voice.

“Yes,” you whisper. “I want it. I want you.”

Heeseung groans, his grip tightening for just a second before he’s moving again, kissing down your neck, your collarbone, your chest. His hands slide back down your body, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every inch of you.

And then he’s sinking back down between your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours, his hands parting your legs with a reverence that makes your head spin.

Heeseung grips the hem of your underwear between his fingers, his breathing ragged, his hands slightly trembling as he looks up at you. His eyes search yours, dark and full of something raw. “Can I?” His voice is hushed, reverent, like a prayer whispered into the silence.

Your chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths, as you nod. “Yes,” you murmur.

Heeseung exhales, almost like he’s relieved, like he was afraid you’d stop him. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, he slides the fabric down your legs, his fingers grazing your skin as he does, his touch both featherlight and electric.

And then he sees you. His breath catches in his throat, his hands tightening slightly around your thighs as he takes you in. His gaze, hooded and heavy with admiration, rakes over you like he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory, like he can’t quite believe you’re real.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, his voice almost disbelieving.

The way he’s looking at your body, so intense, so completely captivated, sends a flush of heat racing up your spine. Your instincts kick in, your legs twitching slightly as the urge to close them overtakes you. But Heeseung doesn’t let you.

His hands move quickly, firm but gentle as he grips your thighs, keeping you open for him. “Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs. “You’re fucking perfect.”

Your breath hitches, your whole body thrumming under his touch. Heeseung leans in, lips ghosting over your inner thigh, his breath hot against your already burning skin. He looks up at you again, his eyes locking onto yours, and what he says next sends a sharp pulse of anticipation straight through your core.

“I’m going to make you feel so good,” he promises, his voice low, edged with something sinful. “So good that you’ll never forget me.”

And then he dips down. The first press of his mouth against your clit is enough to steal the air from your lungs. Warm, wet, hungry—Heeseung doesn’t just touch, he devours. His tongue moves slow at first, tasting you, savoring every single reaction you give him.

You gasp, arching against him, your body already trembling from the sheer intensity of his touch. Heeseung groans against you, the sound vibrating through your core, sending shockwaves up your spine. His grip on your thighs tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh as he keeps you exactly where he wants you.

“You taste so fucking sweet,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your heat. “Just like I knew you would.”

Your moans come freely now, breathy, desperate, the pleasure crashing over you in waves as Heeseung works you open with his mouth. He hums against you, pleased, lost in you, whispering praise between every stroke of his tongue. “So good for me.” Kiss. “So fucking perfect.” Lick. “You’re mine.” Suck.

And when you whimper his name, broken and pleading, Heeseung only grips your thighs tighter and pulls you even closer, determined to ruin you completely.

Heeseung groans against you, the vibrations sending a shiver up your spine as he keeps his mouth latched onto your clit, sucking, licking, savoring you like he’s starving. Then, slowly, he moves one hand between your legs, his fingers tracing a teasing path through your slick folds. You shudder, your hips instinctively bucking at the sensation, and Heeseung chuckles, a low, rough sound against your skin.

“So wet for me,” he murmurs, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh before glancing up at you through dark lashes. “So fucking perfect.”

And then he presses a finger inside you. The stretch is slow, deliberate, his touch both gentle and utterly devastating as he sinks into your heat. You gasp sharply, your walls fluttering around him, and Heeseung groans, low and guttural.

“Fuck,” he hisses, watching the way you take him in. His finger curls inside you, testing, feeling. “You’re so tight, baby.”

The words send another wave of heat crashing through you, your body tightening at the sheer hunger in his voice. Heeseung doesn’t stop, he eases his finger in deeper as he continues working you open, his tongue never once leaving your clit. Your back arches, your fingers tangling in his hair, and Heeseung groans again, the sound muffled as he devours you, the heat of his mouth sending you spiraling closer to the edge.

“Heeseung—” His name slips from your lips, breathless, desperate.

Heeseung growls against you, deep and possessive, and you swear you can feel the sound reverberate through your entire body. His grip tightens, his pace quickens, his finger thrusting deeper, curling, coaxing pleasure out of you with every calculated stroke.

And then he adds a second finger. Your body tenses, the stretch just enough to make you whimper, and Heeseung groans at the way you clench around him.

“You’re taking me so well,” he praises, his voice thick, raspy, dripping with admiration. “So fucking perfect for me.”

His lips wrap around your clit again, sucking hard, and your body seizes, heat curling so tight inside you that you can’t hold back any longer. Heeseung feels it, and he sucks harder, pumps his fingers deeper, his other hand pressing down on your stomach to keep you still as your moans turn into cries, your body trembling beneath him.

“Cum for me,” he murmurs against your skin. “Let me feel it.”

And you do. The pleasure slams into you all at once, stealing the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping as your body locks up, your thighs trembling around his head. Heeseung doesn’t stop, he keeps licking, keeps sucking, drawing every last drop of pleasure from you as you fall apart beneath him.

Your body shudders, aftershocks rippling through you, and Heeseung finally slows, his touch turning soft, reverent, as he presses one last lingering kiss to your sensitive clit before pulling back.

He looks up at you then, his lips glistening, his pupils blown wide, his breath ragged. And then he smirks, his voice low and utterly wrecked.

“Told you I’d make you feel good.”

You smile softly, but before you can even reach for him, he moves, fast, precise. A startled gasp escapes your lips as he manhandles you, lifting you effortlessly off the couch, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips, his hands gripping your thighs with a possessiveness that sends a shiver through your entire body. His hold on you is strong, unwavering, his fingertips pressing into your skin like he’s afraid to let go.

You cling to him, your arms locking around his shoulders as he carries you with ease, moving through the dimly lit apartment. Your lips find his neck, tasting the warmth of his skin, inhaling his scent. The closeness, the heat between your bodies, makes you whimper softly against his throat.

And Heeseung groans. A low, deep sound that rumbles in his chest as he grips you tighter, his pace quickening like he’s growing just as desperate as you are.

Because this isn’t just anyone. This is Heeseung.

The boy who has been stitched into your life for years, who has laughed with you, argued with you, known you in ways no one else has. This is the person you love most in the world—and you’re finally having him like this for the first time. The thought makes you cling to him even harder, your lips trailing messily along his jaw, your fingers gripping at his shoulders, needing more, needing all of him.

When Heeseung reaches your bedroom, he doesn’t hesitate. He kneels onto the bed with you still wrapped around him, letting your back sink into the soft mattress as he gently lays you down, his body hovering over yours.

His breath is heavy, his chest rising and falling as he looks down at you, his gaze deep, searching. His Bambi-like eyes, so wide, so full of something tender, something real, hold you in place more than his body ever could.

His hands, still gripping your thighs, slowly loosen, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along your skin. Like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s realizing, holy shit, this is happening.

And then, without breaking eye contact, he reaches for his belt. The soft sound of the buckle unfastening fills the space between you, followed by the quiet rustle of fabric as he pushes his pants down, revealing his bare skin, the strong lines of his toned body, every inch of him that you’ve never seen before but already crave more than anything.

You exhale sharply, your eyes dragging over him, admiring the way the soft glow of your bedroom light casts shadows over his sculpted stomach, the definition in his arms, the sharp cut of his hips. He’s breathtaking. And every second that passes, the ache inside you grows, the need twisting tighter and tighter.

You swallow hard, your voice soft but certain when you finally whisper, “I didn’t know I needed you this much until now.”

Heeseung stills. For a moment, his breath catches, his fingers twitching where they rest against your skin. The flush that spreads across his cheeks, blooming down his neck, his lips part slightly, his eyes flickering between yours, something breaking, something giving way inside him.

Then he looks down at you again. And this time, his gaze is molten. Dark, intense, filled with something raw and unfiltered as he leans down, his lips hovering just above yours.

“I think,” he whispers, his voice low, breathless, “I’ve always needed you like this.”

And then he kisses you. Deep, slow, pouring everything into it, every ounce of longing, every unsaid word, every moment spent waiting for this. His hands roam, tracing the curves of your body, feeling, memorizing.

The moment you feel him, thick and hard against your aching core, you let out a soft, needy moan against his lips. Heeseung still has his underwear on, but the heat of him, the way his hips press down, grinding slowly against you, makes your body arch instinctively, chasing the friction.

Heeseung groans into the kiss, deep and guttural, the sound vibrating against your lips. His teeth catch your lower lip, tugging gently, before he soothes the sting with a slow, lingering kiss.

Your hands wander, trailing down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the firm ridges of his toned stomach, lower, until your fingers reach the waistband of his underwear.

Your breathing is ragged, your body thrumming with anticipation as you whisper, “Please, take this off.”

Heeseung curses under his breath, his body tensing above you. He doesn’t want to tease you, doesn’t want to drag this out. He wants you just as much, he needs you just as badly. Without hesitation, he pushes his underwear down, freeing himself completely. The air between you thickens, the weight of the moment settling in as his bare body hovers over yours, his skin flushed, his muscles taut with restraint.

You lean in, hands splaying across his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath. Your fingers trace every inch of him, his collarbones, the defined lines of his stomach, the dip of his lower abdomen, moving lower. But before you can go further, Heeseung catches your wrist. His grip is firm but gentle, his breathing heavy, his eyes dark and searching as he looks at you.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “I need to ask you…” He swallows hard, his thumb brushing slow circles against your wrist, like he’s grounding himself in your touch. “Are you totally sure?”

Your chest tightens at the rawness in his voice. His expression—so open, so vulnerable—makes your heart clench.

“Because once this happens,” he continues, his forehead nearly touching yours, “I’m not ever letting you go.”

And there it is. The unspoken truth, finally laid bare between you. This isn’t just a night of pleasure. This isn’t just a long-overdue release. This is everything.

Your lips part, your throat tightening with emotion, and for a second, you can only stare at him, overwhelmed by how much he means to you, how deeply you feel this. Then you whisper, with more certainty than you’ve ever had about anything in your life:

“I’ve never been so sure about something before.”

The moment the words leave your lips, something shifts in Heeseung. His entire body tenses for a beat, then he exhales shakily, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time, like he’s just now letting himself believe this is real.

And then he kisses you. It’s not slow. It’s not careful. It’s hungry, possessive, filled with all the pent-up emotions neither of you ever dared to voice until now.

His hands slide up your arms, capturing your wrists, pinning them above your head as he presses you deeper into the mattress. His body presses against yours, skin to skin, warmth melting into warmth.

And then you feel it, the tip of his cock, hot and heavy, pressing against your entrance, so achingly close. Heeseung breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his breath uneven. He looks down between you, his jaw clenched, his grip tightening just slightly on your wrists as if this is the moment he’s been waiting for all his life.

His voice is nothing but a hushed rasp when he says: “Tell me if it hurts.”

Heeseung lets go of your wrists, his hands sliding down your body with a deliberate slowness, like he’s savoring the feeling of your skin beneath his palms. His fingers find your hips, gripping them gently before one hand moves lower, wrapping around the base of his cock.

He watches you carefully, his gaze dark, hungry, yet filled with something soft, something almost reverent, as he presses the tip against your entrance. He doesn’t push in just yet. Instead, he rolls his hips slightly, dragging himself against your slick folds, teasing, his length brushing against your clit in slow, deliberate strokes. The sensation sends a shiver through you, a breathless whimper escaping your lips as your fingers dig into his biceps, your body tensing in anticipation.

Heeseung groans, his grip tightening around himself as he watches the way your body reacts to him. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice wrecked. “You’re so wet… so fucking perfect for me.”

Your nails sink deeper into his skin as he finally begins to press inside, the stretch slow and steady, filling you inch by inch. The feeling is overwhelming, him, thick and hot, splitting you open so exquisitely that all you can do is moan softly against his shoulder, your body trembling beneath him.

Heeseung curses under his breath, his forehead dropping to the crook of your neck as he stills, letting you adjust. His hands slide up your sides, fingers grazing over your ribs, your waist, gripping you firmly like he’s afraid to let go.

“You feel so good,” he rasps, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “So fucking good, baby.”

His words send another rush of heat straight through your core, and you can’t help the way your hips shift slightly, taking him even deeper. Heeseung groans at the feeling, his lips parting against your skin.

He lifts his head, searching your face, his eyes filled with both need and restraint. “Is this okay?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing softly over your hip. “Can I move?”

You nod quickly, breathless, your fingers tracing over the muscles of his arms, his shoulders, needing him closer. “Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

Heeseung exhales sharply, his grip tightening on your hips as he begins to move, rolling his hips in slow, deep thrusts. Your breath stutters, a moan slipping from your lips, and Heeseung loses it.

His movements quicken, his hips snapping against yours, his grip turning bruising as he holds you in place, thrusting deeper, harder. His breath is ragged, his chest heaving, and with every stroke, he sinks further into you, like he’s trying to become a part of you.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice rough against your skin. “You’re taking me so fucking well. So perfect for me.”

His lips find your jawline, tracing a path down your neck, his tongue flicking against the sensitive skin before he sucks, leaving a mark, claiming you in every way possible. Your moans grow louder, your body arching against him, and Heeseung groans, loving the way you respond to him, the way you cling to him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

His lips travel lower, over your collarbone, down to the valley between your breasts. He kisses, licks, nips, worshiping every inch of you as he keeps thrusting into you, each movement deep and unrelenting.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice wrecked, possessive. “Only mine.”

His grip on your hips tightens as he pounds into you, his pace growing desperate, wild, his body completely losing control in you. And all the while, he praises you. “Tighter than I ever imagined.” Thrust “So fucking beautiful.” Kiss “You feel like heaven, baby.” Groan.

His words, his touch, his everything push you closer and closer to the edge, your body trembling beneath him as the pleasure coils tightly inside you, ready to snap. And Heeseung feels it. He knows you’re close. And he’s not stopping until he sends you over the edge.

Your body trembles beneath him, pleasure curling tight inside you, hot and overwhelming. Your fingers cling desperately to his skin, your legs wrapped around his waist, trying to ground yourself against the way he moves, deep, unrelenting, perfect.

“Heeseung—” Your voice is breathless, wrecked. Your nails dig into his back as another wave of pleasure crashes over you. “God, you feel so good.”

Heeseung groans at your words, his hips stuttering for just a second before he leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re such a good girl for me,” he rasps, voice dripping with praise, with something darker, something possessive.

And that’s when you snap. The coil inside you tightens dangerously, winding so tight you know you’re seconds from breaking. But you don’t want to break, not yet.

So, with the last shred of control you have left, you grab Heeseung by the side of his neck, your fingers tangling in the damp strands of his hair, holding him in place. “Let me ride you,” you plead, your voice thick with desperation. “Please.”

Heeseung growls. A deep, guttural sound that sends a shiver through your entire body. His fingers dig into your hips, his thrusts faltering for a moment as your request sinks in. Then, he moves. In one smooth motion, Heeseung shifts, rolling over and pulling you with him. The world tilts, and suddenly, you’re on top, straddling him, his cock still buried deep inside you.

A sharp, choked moan leaves your lips as you feel him fully, the angle changing, the sensation making your entire body tremble.

“Fuck,” Heeseung groans beneath you, his hands flying to your waist, holding you steady as his eyes drag over your body, your heaving chest, the flush painting your skin, the way you’re clenching around him, barely able to contain yourself.

His pupils are blown wide, his lips parted, his entire expression wrecked with need. “You look so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmurs, his voice thick, reverent.

His hands move, Heeseung slides them up your torso, fingers splaying across your ribs before catching your breasts in both hands, squeezing, worshiping. His thumbs flick over your nipples, and the sensation sends another jolt of pleasure straight through you, making you whimper.

“You’re so delicious,” he groans, his thumbs circling your hardened peaks, his hips rolling up slightly into you, making you gasp.

Your head tilts back, your hands bracing against his chest, your body arching into his touch. The heat between you is unbearable, your body already on the edge, but you refuse to let this end too soon.

You start to move, slowly at first, rolling your hips in a deliberate, teasing rhythm, feeling every inch of him stretch and fill you completely. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine, pleasure pooling deep in your stomach as you watch Heeseung’s reaction.

Heeseung groans, his grip on your thighs tightening, fingers digging into your flesh like he’s trying to ground himself, trying not to lose control too soon. His head tilts back for a moment, his chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths as he tries to contain himself.

“Fuck,” he grits out, his jaw clenching as his eyes squeeze shut, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. His hands flex on your thighs, squeezing, like he’s trying to hold back, like the feeling of you around him is too much.

But then he opens his eyes, and the second his gaze locks onto you, dark and hooded with raw, unfiltered hunger, your whole body burns. His pupils are blown wide, his lips parted, sweat glistening along his collarbones as he watches you move above him, taking him so perfectly, so effortlessly.

“You’re fucking unreal,” he groans, his voice rough, biting down his lips, barely above a whisper. “Just like that, baby. You feel so fucking good.”

His words send a jolt of pleasure through you, making you clench tighter around him. Heeseung feels it, and his breath hitches, his fingers twitching against your skin.

One of his hands moves from your thigh, sliding up your body, tracing along your stomach, your ribs, before finding the back of your neck. He grips you there, firm but gentle, and pulls you down until your foreheads almost touch, your breath mingling with his.

His other hand stays on your thigh, stroking, soothing, before he snaps. A deep growl rumbles in his chest, and he picks up the pace, his hips rolling up to meet yours, his hands guiding your movements. The pleasure intensifies, your thighs burning with the effort, but Heeseung doesn’t let you slow down.

His hands slide to your hips, gripping hard, his fingers pressing into your flesh as he takes control. And then he slams into you. A sharp, broken moan escapes your lips as he thrusts up, driving deeper, harder, filling you so completely that you swear you might lose your mind.

“That’s it,” he groans, his grip unrelenting as he pounds into you, chasing the feeling of you wrapped so perfectly around him. “Take it, baby. Take all of me.”

His voice, deep, rough, dripping with praise, sends you spiraling, pleasure building, your body trembling under his relentless pace. His mouth finds your jaw, then your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your skin between ragged breaths. His tongue flicks out, tasting the salt of your sweat, and then his teeth graze your pulse point, his lips closing around it as he sucks.

Your fingers claw at his shoulders, your body arching against his, your moans coming faster, higher, completely overwhelmed by the way he’s taking you.

Heeseung doesn’t slow down. His thrusts stay deep, hard, relentless, his grip unyielding as he drives into you, chasing the pleasure building between you both. His hands remain at the back of your neck, keeping you close, keeping you exactly where he wants you, his breath hot against your skin.

He groans, voice wrecked, rough. “Fuck—baby, you feel so good. So fucking perfect.”

His words send another wave of pleasure crashing through you, making your thighs tighten around his hips. You’re close, you can feel yourself unraveling, your body tightening as the coil inside you threatens to snap. And Heeseung knows. He feels it.

His fingers tighten against your skin, his movements growing desperate, erratic, as his own release begins creeping up on him. His forehead presses against yours, his breath uneven, his voice nothing but a strained rasp.

“Cum for me again, baby,” he pleads, his words like fire against your skin. “Let it go.”

The command, the way his voice drips with authority and adoration, is what finally undoes you. A sharp, broken moan rips from your throat as your body tenses, pleasure surging through you like wildfire. Your walls clench around him, pulsing, milking him, and Heeseung loses it.

A deep, guttural groan escapes his lips as he thrusts into you one last time, burying himself deep, his entire body shuddering as he lets go, his release spilling into you. The pleasure crashes over both of you at once, your moans mixing together, filling the room, raw and unrestrained.

And then, stillness.

Your body, still trembling, collapses against his chest, your forehead pressing into the slick heat of his skin. Your breaths are ragged, uneven, matching his as he tries to catch his pace, his chest rising and falling beneath you.

Neither of you speak for a long moment, the silence filled only with the sounds of your slowing breaths, your racing heartbeats.

Heeseung moves his hands, still firm but now gentle, slide down to your lower back, his fingers tracing lazy, soothing circles against your damp skin. His touch is tender, reverent, like he’s memorizing you all over again, like he can’t believe this moment is real.

His lips brush against your hair, barely a whisper of a kiss, before he exhales shakily. And then, he murmurs—soft, breathless, like a vow.

“I’m never letting you go.”

Your chest tightens at the raw emotion in his voice. His arms wrap tighter around you, holding you impossibly close, his hands never stopping their slow caresses against your back. His lips press against the top of your head, again and again, each kiss softer than the last.

“Never,” he whispers. “Never, never, never…”

His words sink into your skin, into your bones, into you. And as you melt further into his embrace, letting the warmth of him envelop you completely, you realize: You never want him to let go.

You slowly lift your head, your breath still uneven, your body still thrumming with the remnants of pleasure.

You meet his eyes, his Bambi-like, doe eyes, wide and full of something so deep, so undeniable, it makes your chest tighten. They glimmer under the dim light of your bedroom, reflecting every unspoken word, every silent confession hanging thick in the space between you.

You let out a breathy, almost disbelieving smile, your gaze sweeping over his face, his flushed cheeks, his damp hair clinging to his forehead, the soft sheen of sweat on his skin. He looks wrecked. He looks perfect.

And he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

Heeseung mirrors your smile, soft and hazy, his expression filled with something tender, something so Heeseung that it makes warmth flood your entire body. His hands find your face, large and warm, his knuckles grazing your cheeks in slow, delicate strokes, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you.

You lean into his touch, nuzzling against his palm, and the way he exhales, soft, shaky, like he’s feeling everything too, sends a shiver down your spine.

Then, barely above a whisper, you say, “I…”

And suddenly, you stop yourself.

Because the weight of what you were about to say hits you all at once.

Your lips part slightly, your throat tightening. The words are right there, sitting heavy on your tongue, aching to spill out. But there’s fear too, fear of what this means, fear of how much this changes everything.

Heeseung notices. His fingers pause against your cheek, his brows twitching just slightly, his gaze flickering between your eyes like he’s searching, trying to read you.

But then, he smiles. Soft, knowing, patient. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, his touch featherlight, his voice a quiet murmur in the space between you.

“I know,” he whispers.

Your breath catches. Because you believe him.

Heeseung has always known you better than anyone, always understood you in ways that no one else could. And right now, in this moment, with the way he’s holding you, looking at you, you realize you don’t have to say it.

Because he already knows.

Heeseung leans in, his nose brushing against yours, his lips hovering just above yours, waiting, giving you the choice. And when you press your lips to his in the softest, most deliberate kiss, you’re telling him everything you couldn’t say in words.

Heeseung sighs into the kiss, his hands sliding down your back, pulling you closer, pressing you against his warmth, his heartbeat steady beneath your palm.

And when you finally pull away, when you rest your forehead against his and breathe him in, you realize: You were never afraid of loving Heeseung.

You were afraid of admitting that you always have.

But now, with his arms around you, his lips brushing against your temple, his heartbeat syncing with yours, you don’t have to be afraid anymore.

Because he’s never letting you go.

And neither are you.

That’s why he stays at your house the next day. And the day after that. And for the few days that follow, until time becomes a blur and neither of you think to question it.

Because how could he leave, how could either of you go back to a world where you weren’t tangled up in each other like this?

The first morning, you wake up wrapped in Heeseung’s arms, your head tucked against his chest, his fingers absentmindedly tracing soft, lazy circles against your back. Neither of you move for a long time. Neither of you want to.

His lips press into your hair, a silent good morning, and you melt into him because it feels natural, because this is Heeseung, your best friend, the boy who has always been a constant, and yet, now, everything is different.

And it’s better. He doesn’t leave. You don’t ask him to.

Instead, you spend the morning like you have a thousand times before: lounging on the couch, talking about nothing, watching movies you’ve seen a hundred times. Except now, there’s a new rhythm, an unspoken understanding.

His fingers brush yours absentmindedly. His arm finds its way around your waist without hesitation. His lips press against your temple between conversations like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Because maybe, it is.

The second night, he kisses you in the kitchen while you’re making dinner, stealing a taste of the sauce on your lips, grinning when you roll your eyes. The third night, you fall asleep with your fingers intertwined, his breath warm against your neck, his hand resting over your heart like he’s afraid you might slip away in the night. By the fourth day, he’s using your shampoo, leaving his clothes in your drawers, stealing your socks because he swears they’re more comfortable than his own.

By the fifth, you don’t even realize he never went home. Because this is home now. Not the walls. Not the bed. But this. Him. You. Together.

One night, a week after everything changed, you find yourselves in your living room, curled up against each other, laughter spilling into the quiet air.

It feels surreal, how easy this is, how natural. And yet, when you look at him, really look at him, you realize this was never sudden at all. This wasn’t a moment. This was a lifetime in the making.

It was in the late-night phone calls when you both should’ve been asleep. It was in the way he always kept your favorite snacks in his kitchen without thinking. It was in the stolen glances, the inside jokes, the nights spent shoulder to shoulder, pretending you didn’t feel the weight of something more. It was in every single thing before this.

And now that the truth is out in the open, now that you know, you don’t ever want to live in a world where you don’t wake up next to Heeseung. And it doesn’t feel real.

Not because you don’t want it to be—but because it still catches you off guard. The quiet way Heeseung reaches for your hand without thinking. The way his presence in your space isn’t something fleeting, but something constant. Something permanent.

It’s been two weeks since everything changed, and somehow, the world didn’t shift to match it. The sun still rises the same way. Your friends still send memes in the group chat. Life moves on, but now, there’s this.

This is Heeseung pressing a sleepy kiss to your shoulder when he wakes up before you. This is him playing with your fingers absentmindedly when you’re watching something together. This is the way he still teases you the same, still makes fun of you the same, but now he kisses you after like he can’t help it.

Yunjin is the only one who knows.

She had her suspicions, she always had her suspicions, but it became painfully obvious the moment you showed up at her place wearing a hoodie that was at least two sizes too big, one she distinctly remembered seeing Heeseung wear last week.

Which is why, at her birthday party, there’s this lingering tension in the air. It’s subtle, the way you and Heeseung hesitate just slightly when you’re around the others, the way you don’t know if you’re supposed to act like you always have or like something’s changed.

Because something has changed. But the world doesn’t know yet.

You and Heeseung sit at the dining table, pretending everything is normal, pretending that you’re not constantly aware of the warmth of his body next to yours, the way his knee brushes yours every time he shifts.

And then, under the table, he takes your hand. It’s subtle, careful, the warmth of his palm slipping against yours, his fingers threading through yours in a way that makes your stomach flip. Heeseung doesn’t look at you, doesn’t acknowledge it, just holds your hand beneath the table, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Finally,” Sunghoon mutters, watching Heeseung with a knowing smirk.

Heeseung freezes. You both turn to see Sunghoon leaning against the chair next to him, arms crossed, eyes flickering down to where your hands are intertwined beneath the table.

“I was wondering when you were gonna stop being a coward,” Sunghoon teases, nudging Heeseung’s foot under the table. “Took you long enough, man.”

Heeseung groans, dropping his head back against the chair. “Jesus, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon just grins, clearly enjoying this way too much. “Nah, I’m happy for you guys. But also, I knew you two had something going on.” He points a lazy finger at you. “Your whole ‘we’re just friends’ thing was so fake.”

The table erupts in laughter, and you sigh, shaking your head. But then, Heeseung squeezes your hand, and when you glance at him, he’s already looking at you. Soft. Quiet. Certain. And you realize, this feels right. Being here. Being together. Being this.

The night winds down. People leave. And you end up in Heeseung’s car, the windows slightly fogged from the cold air outside. The soft strum of Waiting Room fills the quiet, the melancholic chords settling deep into your chest.

You watch Heeseung, his hands gripping the wheel loosely, his face relaxed, bathed in the glow of the streetlights.

“Wanna go to McDonald’s?”

You blink. “What?”

Heeseung smirks, eyes flickering to you before turning back to the road. “You heard me.”

A beat of silence. You laugh. “Yeah. I do.”

You order fries and ice cream and talk about the dumbest things. about how Niki's new girlfriend is the worst, about how Jay got too drunk, about how Jake still doesn’t know how to properly pour a drink.

But somewhere between the laughter, somewhere between the way Heeseung licks salt off his fingers and tosses fries into your mouth, somewhere between the way you lean against his shoulder in the drive-thru line.

Heeseung sighs. And then—

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

You still. Your fingers tighten slightly around your drink, your breath catching at the quiet, vulnerable way he says it. And when you turn to look at him, he’s already looking at you, soft, so soft, his gaze deep, searching.

Your chest tightens. “Heeseung…”

He smiles, a little shy, a little unsure. Then, he reaches out, sliding his fingers over yours, his thumb brushing your knuckles.

“I just—” He swallows, then exhales. “I think I’ve loved you this whole time.”

Your breath catches. And in that moment, in the soft hum of the radio, in the glow of the streetlights, in the taste of salt and ice cream and the warmth of Heeseung’s fingers against yours, you know.

“I thought maybe it would go away,” he continues, his lips quirking slightly, like he’s laughing at himself. “Like—it’s just Y/N, right? My best friend.”

You hold your breath, watching him, the streetlights casting soft shadows across his face, making his eyes look even softer, warmer.

“But then,” Heeseung shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “Every time I thought I had it under control, you’d do something stupid, like wear my hoodie and refuse to give it back, or make me watch Shrek 2 for the tenth time, or grab my hand in a crowded room like it was nothing.” He swallows, his voice dropping to something even softer. “And I’d realize—I was never going to stop feeling this way.”

Your chest tightens. Because it’s always been like this, hasn’t it? The quiet kind of love. The kind that slips into the cracks of everyday moments, unnoticed until one day, it’s too big to ignore.

You feel the words sitting heavy in your throat, pressing against your ribs, and when you finally speak, your voice is barely a whisper.

“Heeseung.” He looks at you, his brows lifting slightly, like he’s bracing himself. You take a slow breath, steadying yourself, then squeeze his hand. “I think I’ve loved you this whole time, too.”

The tension in his shoulders dissolves instantly. His lips part, his eyes searching yours like he wants to make sure he really heard you right.

And then, he smiles. Not the teasing kind, not the smirk he throws at you when he’s making fun of you, but something real. Something deep. The kind of smile that says, I know. I knew before you even said it.

You shift closer, your forehead brushing against his, the warmth of his breath mixing with yours. “I don’t know why it took me so long to realize it,” you murmur. “But I do now.”

Heeseung hums, tilting his head slightly. “You sure?”

You laugh softly, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Good.” He squeezes your hand, his nose nudging against yours. “Because I would’ve had to spend another three years waiting for you to catch up, and I don’t think I could survive that.”

You groan, shoving his shoulder lightly, and he chuckles, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you in, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

And just like that, it’s easy again. The way you tease each other, the way you fit against him, the way you fall back into the rhythm of your friendship except now there’s no pretending.

Now it’s all out in the open. And it’s better.

As Heeseung drives you home, the song still playing softly in the background, your mind drifts back. To three years ago. To that stupid Halloween party where you met, you in your skeleton costume, him in that ridiculous Ninja Turtle onesie.

To the late nights spent working on that Shrek project, arguing about PowerPoint transitions like it was life or death, only to laugh until your sides hurt. To the wedding where he spun you around on the dance floor, looking at you like he already knew, like he was just waiting for you to catch up. To every car ride, every inside joke, every time you almost realized what he meant to you.

Your fingers tighten around his, and Heeseung glances at you, his eyes flickering between you and the road.

“What?” he asks, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You shake your head, but you’re smiling too. “Nothing.”

Because you understand now. Because Waiting Room plays softly in the background, and the lyrics echo in your chest—know it’s for the better.

You do. You know now that keeping Heeseung in your life like this, is the best thing you’ll ever do.

And when Heeseung looks at you, his grip on your hand tightening like he knows too, you realize.

For you, it was worth waiting.

my masterlist 🧦 ☆★ // previous fic

author's note: hey guys! this is my first long fic about heeseung, the first one i've ever written, and i hope you liked it! i know 21k+ words is a lot, but i had so much fun writing it. thank you for reading! <3

[seungjiseyo]

☆ the hates everyone except you trope | park jay

"hey! focus on the assignment!" "well stop being so fucking pretty and i might be able to!"

pairing : badboy!jay x good girl! reader

summary : being the smartest one in your whole year had its perks, but it meaning that you would have to tutor the students that were behind in class was definitely the ultimate con- except for it allowing you to get to know the school’s bad boy in a way no one else has before.

word count : 27,994

includes smut, angst, fluff.

use of drugs and alchohol.

minors DNI

☆read the other volumes?

taglist : @srirachibi @ryu-naa @blank-velvet @hoonstrology @person-standing @yuakagi @moasworld @rein-deer-stuffs @ily-cuz-i @lix-freckle3 @leeis @turnipsandflowerss @hoewithnojams @liliansun @melaninjhs @sunshine-skz @andromedawillburryyou @shynypeacekitten @violevantae @rpkth @hime98 @fvryang @j4yluvr @heelariously @fireflies997 @rikipediaa @yuakagi @person-standing @blank-velvet @ryu-naa @srirachibi (sorry if i forgot anyone lol)

growing up in a small town and then moving to the capital city for your first year of high school is and never will be easy.

your entire family had been born and grew up in your small hometown themselves. it was a town where everyone knew everyone. you had grown to become comfortable in your small town. there wasn't much going on, it was basically silent.

and you loved the silence.

though, you dreamed of moving far away from your small, quiet town once you graduated high school- and you never wanted to return.

you didn't want to be like everyone else in the world, it was one of your biggest fears. you couldn't bear the thought of being like someone else, which was hard since everyone in your town thought the same, dressed the same, talked the same and so on.

besides your fear of being like everyone else, you had a fear of burning out in life.

you had always been intelligent.

you got grades that were so high that colleges had been looking into accepting you even before you had graduated. your teachers were always impressed with you, even giving you assignments that were extremely advanced for someone your age to complete.

your obvious intelligence had made your parents extremely hard on you. always pushing you to study and to get your assignments done on time so that you could go far in life. your parents didn't have the luck of being as smart as you, so when they found out that somehow the two of them had made a genius child- their minds went haywire.

your parents didn't want you to end up like them when you were older. so, they gave you strict rules, a strict curfew, and a strict schedule that you had to follow.

on some days, you didn't mind your routine. you found comfort in it.

but other days, you wanted to pull your hair out as you heard kids your age laughing down the street on a nice spring day- probably making amazing childhood memories that they could tell their kids about one day. you on the other hand had no memories that you could share.

what would you even tell your kids? oh, i sat inside for years with my head in a textbook and stress circulating my entire being so that i could please my parents and make a name for myself in this life.

yeah, really fun.

since your parents really wanted you to live a life that they didn't and would never have, they decided to move to the capital city - seoul - for your first year of high school.

you were excited but so scared at the same time. you got to get away from the small town you had always lived in where you knew everyone and everything. to a place where you knew no one and nothing.

to say that your first year of high school was awful would be an understatement.

your first year of high school was horrendous.

it was like you were invisible to everyone- except to yoon seeun.

"hi!" the girl sat down across the cafeteria table from you.

"um, hi?" you answered with a confused tone, you looked around the busy cafeteria, trying to see if anyone had sent this girl over to sit with you as a prank. no one had sat with you for the first week of high school, you tried to sit with other tables but you got kicked out of all of them as they were apparently 'someone else's.

"what're you looking for?" the girl asked amused as she watched you scan your surroundings.

"just- did someone tell you to sit with me? because you don't have to! i'm fine b-" you started, embarrassment filling you as you explained yourself.

"what? no!" she laughed, "i wanted to sit with you."

"oh."

"i'm yoon seeun." she introduced herself. you looked at her fully as she said her name. she had a rounder face, and pretty big eyes. she had a pretty mole right above her left eye that seemed to match her beauty.

"i'm y/l/n y/n." you introduced yourself as well.

"i know," seeun shrugged, pulling backpack around herself so she could open it, "you sit in front of me in math."

"oh, i'm so sorry. i haven't really learnt everyone's names yet."

"that's okay!" seeun smiled, "what elementary school did you go to?"

"um, i moved here from seungju, so i don't know if you'd know it."

"where the hell is seungju?"

"it's like, really south and really small!"

"how small?"

"like, the population is around two thousand."

"my god! what're you doing here?" seeun screeched, making you laugh at her shocked expression. "there are more than two thousand students just in our grade!"

"my parents wanted a better education for me." you shrugged measly.

"so you really don't know anything about this place then."

"yeah, pretty much. but i think after a week i've been slowly catching on to the cliques going on."

"oh. so you must know the queen sieun." seeun rolled her eyes with a frown.

"no, who's that?"

"she's a brat and she basically runs the whole city. she's in our grade." seeun explained, turning around and nudging her chin towards a table at the far corner of the room. "she's the really pretty one with the light orange hair."

you easily spotted the orange-haired girl from across the room. it seemed like everyone in the cafeteria was staring at her, though she was oblivious to it. she sat with other really pretty girls that didn't seem to match her beauty.

"her dad is park namjung, that famous singer from the 80s."

"holy shit! my mom use to love him!"

"yeah yeah. well, his fame has gone to her head and apparently, everyone else's at this school."

"she's really like that?"

"yeah, believe me, i used to be friends with her."

"no way. what happened?"

seeun shrugged, "everyone found out who her dad was last year and it just totally changed her. she got popular and pretty and i didn't know you know, we stopped being friends."

"you're pretty what're you talking about!" you interjected, shaking your head at her.

"yeah, but not pretty enough to sit at that table." seeun rolled her eyes with a huff.

"who cares, you're pretty in your own damn way, you don't need to look like anybody else."

seeun smiled at your words. she's really needed to hear some positives about her appearance since she's been pushed into the background of sieun's life movie. "thank you."

"no problem."

"now," seeun pulled out a textbook from her bag, "you don't happen to be good at math, do you? because the assignment that's due next period really needs to be done."

"yeah i can help you! i'm kinda smart."

"really!" you nodded in response to her with a shy smile. "good, we need a smart person around here." seeun flipped through the book, making you laugh at her insult.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

seeun and you became close friends quickly. she taught you about everyone in your school and all the drama that you missed out on while living in "some small hick town" as seeun referred it to. she had introduced you to some of her friends, but you didn't really 'click' with them as well as you did with seeun.

your first month at high school was made better because of her.

though, you didn't really understand how much importance that seeun put on the importance of reputation, you didn't really care. you thought it was funny that seeun knew everything about everyone and it reminded you of your hometown. seeun didn't notice how little popularity meant to you, she was just glad that she had someone to listen to her- and you were happy to.

after the first month- you had figured that you had heard everything about everyone from seeun. until an unfamiliar boy walked into the cafeteria.

seeun and you were sitting at 'your table' (yes you even had your own table now) in the cafeteria. the boy wore all black with black combat boots that matched his black hair. his jaw was sharp like all his other features. his lips were pulled down into a subtle frown that made you wonder just how pretty he could be if he smiled. he looked like he came straight out of shitty wattpad fanfic.

"who's that?" you tilted your head to the side where the boy was talking to the usual overly happy lunch lady who now adorned her own frown as she looked up at him.

seeun looked towards the direction, "that's park jay."

"park jay?" you repeated almost absentmindedly as you continued to watch him buy a granola bar.

"yeah, park jongsung, but he likes to go by jay."

"i've never seen him before."

seeun scoffed with a laugh, "yeah because he basically never comes. if he does come then he's either high, drunk or both."

"who does he hang out with?"

"just a bunch of misfits that you wouldn't know either. they hate everyone except for each other."

you watched park jay leave the lunch lady with a granola bar in his hand. a teasing smirk on his face as he walked past sieun and her group's table, his fingers waved mockingly at sieun as she rolled her eyes in disgust at him. he pushed the cafeteria doors open with his back, his smirk never leaving his face as he internally laughed at sieun until he disappeared into the hallway.

park jay didn't seem to be like any of the other boys at your school- especially with the way he acts toward park sieun. he doesn't drop to his knees from her beauty when he sees her.

"what're you thinking about?" seeun asked you as your brain became intoxicated with thoughts of park jay.

you shrugged, "nothing."

"it better not be about park jay."

"it's not!" you defended yourself quickly, avoiding eye contact with your friend as you pretended to read your textbook.

"good, he's a trouble maker, you don't want to get caught up with him."

"what do you mean by trouble maker?"

"mm," seeun thought out loud for a moment, "he parties a lot, does drugs a lot, commits stupid crimes with his friends and has probably slept with half the girl student population in seoul."

you imagined park jay in the scenes that seeun described to you about him. your brain going haywire as you thought about him lazily smoking a cigarette with loud music and girls surrounding him.

"has he always been like that?" you asked seeun curiously.

"no, he used to be nice until last year. he comes from a good family." you nodded at seeun's words, your eyes zoning out on the cafeteria doors where park jay last stood. "why do you wanna know?"

you looked at seeun with a sheepish smile, "just wondering."

seeun shrugged and went back to finishing her lunch, letting you go back to studying.

but it was so hard to study with park jay intruding on every thought.

throughout your years at high school, you had a few classes with park jay. it became a game just for you about how many times he would come to class that month. sometimes he'd come three times a week, other times you wouldn't see him for almost two weeks. your teachers always reprimanded him, but he never seemed to care. his usual tired and faded gaze never indicated anything else.

you always sat in the back of the class, too shy to sit anywhere else. it gave you the opportunity to people-watch the others in your classes. though, there was never really anyone that interesting to watch- besides park jay.

jay had changed drastically from year 9 to year 10. he grew taller, got piercings and a few small tattoos covered his arm. his academic intelligence stayed the same though. barely showing up for school, winging tests that he'd be nowhere even close to passing anyways.

you were sure that you were just as invisible to park jay as you were to everyone else in your school. you people watched- but people never watched you.

you told yourself that you liked it that way- but you felt so misunderstood at the same time. and you loved yoon seeun, but even sometimes you'd feel lonely as you sat beside her.

in year 10, you felt sweat drip down your back as you sped and walked to your class, hoping to not be late. your binder was messily open as you tried to organize all your essays and assignments. a hard thud into your front made the mess even bigger as your papers flew all over the ground. little chuckles and gasps surrounding you in the hallway from the other students.

you dropped down to your knees in a hurry to pick it all up, paying no attention to what or who you had bumped into until you noticed the still, black, combat boot standing right in the middle of your essay.

you glanced up and met the tired and faded gaze of park jay that you had only seen from afar before. he wore the usual serious expression on his face as he looked down at your chaotic and nervous figure.

"what?" he asked you with a tilt of his head.

"you're standing on my essay."

jay's eyes glanced down at his feet, and in fact, he was standing right on the pieces of paper. quickly, almost too out of character for him, he lifted his heavy boot, watching you slip the papers out.

you stood up and still had to tilt your head upwards to look at him, a sheepish smile on your face, "um, thanks." you move around him, almost bolting away from him so you could get to class on time. you felt your ears turning pink out of embarrassment. of course, you had to bump into park jay.

jay never let the memory of you murmuring a 'thanks' to him fade. when he did go to school, he'd always try to catch a glimpse of you in the hallway. he'd smile internally when he did. you always seemed to be so busy. so stressed out from school. always so of him. but it was so mentally draining to pretend to be someone else.

jay really did have no idea who you were, but you were different and cute and he liked it.

jay was tired of seoul and everyone in it. he hated the stereotypes, the cliques, the shitty music that everyone was told to like. he tried to be like everyone else during his elementary school years. he wanted to please his parents and for them to be proud of him. but it was so mentally draining to pretend to be someone else.

he hated how everyone thought they knew everything about him and everyone else. because it wasn't him- and it really pissed him off that it was what everyone thought.

all it took for him to leave his old facade behind was for lee heeseung to offer him a blunt.

lee heeseung was a year older than jay and he was the coolest person in seoul. (at least that's what jay thinks) heeseung knew how to have fun, how to ignore all the stupid stereotypes and he took jay under his wing. heeseung took some others under his wing too; shin jake, park sunghoon, kim sunoo, yang jungwon and nishimura riki.

they liked to have fun and enjoy life. none of them understood how wasting their youth cramped up studying in their bedrooms was an important use of time. they didn't like following the trends that were set in their generation. they liked to think outside of the box unlike the other robots in your school.

so it made them become misfits- and they didn't care. if anything, it just made them hate everyone else more than how much they hated them.

jay never let the memory of you murmuring a 'thanks' to him fade. when he did go to school, he'd always try to catch a glimpse of you in the hallway. he'd smile internally when he did. you always seemed to be so busy. so stressed out from school. always so good.

it made him think that you were too good for a place as bad as seoul.

you were too good for a person as bad as him.

of course, although you were basically invisible to the popularity rankings at your school, you still had some sort of reputation. you were smart, and people knew you were smart.

you weren't a teacher's pet, but it was obvious that teachers liked you a bit more than any of the other students. sometimes other students would ask you for help on a certain assignment, which you didn't mind doing, and it would actually help your classmates in the long run. your teachers noticed your small tutoring and wanted to give you some credit for it.

so, your guidance counsellor called you into his office and offered you extra credits if you became a tutor for your school. you told him that you'd think about it, but of course, your parents forced you to do it as it would 'look good on your school transcript' when you graduate.

you spent your final year of high school tutoring some students. some were in your grade, others were below you, and it was fun at first. until your teacher told you that you'd have to tutor park jay a few times a week.

your first instinct when you heard the news was to shout 'no fucking way', but you internally calmed yourself down and smiled.

"are you okay with tutoring him for a bit? his grades are awfully low and he needs to graduate this year." your teacher practically begged you.

you bleat a quick "sure." and your teacher seems more pleased with you than she ever has before.

"great!" your teacher clapped, "i've set it up for you to tutor him every tuesday! how's that sound?"

"perfect." you nodded, anxiety runs up your spine with the word.

the first tuesday that you were supposed to tutor park jay in the library- he didn't show up.

you sat for an hour after school, waiting for the arrival of the infamous misfit that smoked and drank and committed crimes with his friends for fun.

after ten minutes, you figured that he really wasn't going to show up, you didn't really care. it gave you some time to study for your own tests before you had to go home and study there.

the next tuesday, park jay waltzed into the library with a cocky smirk on his face.

he was about thirty minutes late when your tutoring session was supposed to start- but he showed up.

you heard someone clear their throat from beside the table you were sitting at, distracting you from your history homework. you honestly didn't expect park jay to be standing beside you when you looked up from the textbook. the look on jay's face showed that he wasn't really expecting you either.

when jay was told he wouldn't be able to graduate at the end of the year because his grades were so low, he kept his usual 'i don't give a fuck' expression and attitude on the outside. rolling his eyes when his mother gasped from beside him in the principal's office.

"jongsung!" she hissed to him, utter shock and disappointment filling her voice as his father remained silent on the other side of him.

jay loved his mother.

he thought she was beautiful and caring and thoughtful and everything a good mother needed to be. but she didn't agree with jay and his friends' morals. she insisted that having good grades in school meant everything. when in jay's reality- they certainly didn't.

it took some time for jay's mother to realize jay's heavy decline in school but when she did notice, she wasn't pleased. jay hated that he made her worry every night that he wouldn't be home by the time she had set for him. he hated the look she gave him when she noticed his bloodshot eyes at 3am as he stumbled into the house back from a party. he hated hearing her cry at the kitchen table late at night after yelling at him to go to his room after he regretfully talked back to her.

jay hated the way he was making his mother feel that sometimes it distracted him from how much he hated his father.

although jay hated stupid cliques and stereotypes, he imagined that there were certain groups of people in this world. he imagined that on one end of the long line of groups of people was himself, and on the whole other side that contained the milky way between it, was the group of people his father belonged to.

his father and him had nothing in common.

jay didn't even think they looked the same.

his father worked a lot. he worked from home, he worked at his main office in the middle of seoul and he worked abroad to wherever his company would send him that week. it took his father a lot longer than his mother to realize just how much park jongsung had changed from their 'well-behaved boy' that they 'raised so well'.

jay's father went to the united states during the summer that jay had started hanging out with heeseung. when his father walked through his house's door to greet his family, he felt his stomach sink when he saw his son decked out in all black, raggy clothes and silver jewlery hanging from his neck and ears.

"who the hell is that?" jay remembers his dad speaking out as he stared him down, unable to recognize his 'good' son that he had seen two months ago.

jay smirked to himself as he watched the shocked expression on his dad's face once his mother scolded him for asking such a ridiculous question.

after that day, jay had tried to make that shocked expression on his dad's face at any chance he could get. which was apparently more difficult than expected.

when jay started his second year in high school, he had gotten four tattoos on his left arm overnight from heeseung's older brother: a cartoon sheet ghost, a smiley face with the eyes as x's, a shitty snake that took heeseung maybe three seconds to draw, and a peach that his mother absolutely hated the most.

his mother screeched when he walked in the next morning with black ink and red skin, repeatedly asking him what had he done. jay was laughing as his mother took him over to the kitchen sink and started to scrub at his skin with a sponge. disgust was written on her face as she realized the black drawings were really not coming off.

jay and his mother sat in silence that night, waiting for his father to come home from work and see his 'new decision' as his mother called it.

his father walked in and sighed as he saw the two of them sitting in silence from across the table to each other. "what happened?"

jay stuck out his arm so his father could see the four little drawings on his skin. jay remembers thinking to hold back his laugh once the shocked expression appears on his dad's face.

but the expression never came.

"hm." his father nodded shortly, his lips pulled into a tight, thin line.

"they're permanent." his mother spoke out, she was even surprised at his calm reaction.

"yes, i assumed so." his father walked away from jay's dangling arm, "what's for dinner?" he asked his wife, leaving jay and his mother with the expression he wished his dad would've had.

in his third year of high school, jay still hadn't given up on shocking his dad so, he went over to heeseung's with a bag of (possible) hair bleach that he picked up at the store. he really didn't know if he had picked up the right stuff. but the person on the cover of the box had blonde hair and there were progression pictures of black hair turning blonde on the back, so he bought it.

within six hours (which really took longer than he had expected) he had bright pink hair from the leftover hair dye sunoo had let him have.

"bro, what the fuck have you done?" jake asked amused as he stood beside jay in the mirror, running over to heeseung's house when they told him he needed to come over immediately.

"do you like it?" jay asked, raising his eyebrows up and down teasingly.

"absolutely not." jake laughed, causing him to be pushed into the bathroom counter by jay.

"i think it looks punk." heeseung came into his bathroom suddenly, freshly dyed dark green hair causing jake to stop laughing.

"what the hell," jake stood up straight, "did everyone dye their hair?"

"eh, pretty much." sunghoon said, popping his head in so jake could see his silver hair.

"doesn't he look cool?" sunoo's crescent eyes popped in after, his fingers twirling sunghoon's hair which he had spent all day on.

"what the hell." jake's jaw dropped, looking at all of his friends' hair.

"it was sunoo's salon day!" heeseung smiled, playing with his new hair in the bathroom mirror still. "he did all of our hair."

"even jungwon's and riki's?" jake asked, a pout on his face suddenly.

"nah, i'm doing theirs tomorrow, i already spent all day on these three's hair." sunoo replied, still playing around with sunghoon's hair, trying to style it for him.

"i see," jake nodded, turning around to look at his own plain, black hair in the mirror, "can you do mine tomorrow, too?"

"of course!" sunoo smiled at his older friend.

so on the monday after sunoo's salon weekend, everyone at your high school was shocked as their whole friend group showed up with different colours of hair that seemed to not match them, yet matched them at the same time. they all held back their smiles as they caught everyone's shocked expressions.

it seemed that everyone was shocked about jay's hair- his mother even screamed when he came in the door with it- except for his father who only stole a glance at it before returning back to his 'important' paperwork.

so, when the principal informed his parents that he wouldn't be able to graduate if he kept the grades he had at the moment, he stole a glance at his father- thinking that maybe then his father would hold the shocked expression he only saw once before.

but nothing.

just the same serious- almost bored - expression that he always wore.

"so what can we do?" your mother asked the principal, hoping that there was something that could be done for her son.

so the idea of park jay getting a tutor for the rest of the year was brought up, jay groaned while his mother sighed out of relief and his father remained with the same expression he always adorned.

when you looked up at jay from the ridiculously big textbook, he thought to himself that he must've looked less like his father than ever before with the shocked expression on his face.

he had honestly expected his tutor to be some annoying, nerd guy that would piss him off to the extent of him grabbing the guy's calculator and throwing it at his face. so he had smoked a lot before he needed to be at his 'important' tutor session.

he had smoked so much that he had thought he was literally seeing things when he met your eyes and realized just who it was that would be tutoring him. sure, his vision was kind of out of whack from the amount of weed he and heeseung had just shared in the parking lot but he didn't think he was that high that he'd see a different face on a different body.

"uh, hi?" you spoke up at him, those innocent eyes that he's seen up close only once before bore into him and he realized that maybe smoking before his tutoring session was a mistake- and he's never regretted getting high before.

"hi." jay forced himself to say, his brain beating himself up after hearing it sound so robotic.

so it took you maybe two seconds of analyzing the park jay standing beside you to realize that he was in fact high. he was high while you were supposed to be tutoring him in your school library and the thought had made you very nervous.

sure you had smelt weed before while walking through the hallways at school sometimes. but you've never seen it- or seen any drugs in fact before. you've never been high or drunk before or even been around anyone that's been high or drunk before.

so now park jay is very high standing beside you and you wanted to run away in case a teacher comes by and sees him- taking you with him since you're supposed to be tutoring him.

"you're y/n?" jay asked you, surprising even himself that he sounded normal now.

"yeah, i'm your tutor," you responded meekly, wanting to hit yourself with your introduction and with the way jay was now smirking down at you. you've spoken to park jay for maybe three sentences now and you're already sounding like the nerd everyone thinks you are.

you hear jay chuckle deeply before moving to sit down in the chair beside you. the smell of weed follows him and surrounds you as he sits. his bag swinging onto the table almost makes your eyes bulge out of your head when the weed smell intensifies and the thought of literal drugs being less than a meter away from you.

"um, do you want to start tutoring next tuesday instead?" you force yourself to smile at the all-adorned black-clothed boy, avoiding eye contact.

"why not today?" jay asks, seeing that you can barely look in his direction.

"w-well, there's only twenty-five minutes left now and you're, um, you're...." you trail off, not wanting to embarrass yourself.

jay smirks at your quiet voice, thinking about how shy you truly are. "i'm what? say it."

"you're... high." you finish, your head looking straight down at your hands twiddling your fingers in your lap.

it's silent for a moment between you and jay park and you're sure that you've offended him until he bursts out laughing. you turn your head to look at the laughing boy, unsure of what to do. if you weren't so nervous then you probably would be laughing too at the sight of pure enjoyment on his face as he swings his head back and laughs out into the library.

you see other students around turn and glare at the direction of the noise, but ultimately turn around quietly when they see who's the loud person.

"w-what?" you ask him, a small smile on your lips.

jay stops laughing and looks at you intently. he thinks to himself that it's weird to see you this close up for this long of an amount of time. it gives him time to take in your cute presence and to become aware of how odd you two must look sitting beside each other. you're wearing light colours and your hair is done so neatly while he's wearing all black and he can't remember the last time he's actually ever styled his hair. "have you ever been high before, y/n?"

your shoulders tense more at the volume of his voice, not believing that you're talking about being high with park jay in your school's library. "no." you squeak out embarrassingly. apparently embarrassing yourself in front of jay is the only thing you can do around him.

jay's not surprised at your answer, it's the only answer he was expecting. but it still doesn't get rid of the smirk that's on his face as he scans your rosy cheeks and red-from-biting plump lips. "do you wanna get high today?" you almost jump up from shock at his question, "with me?" he continues and then you almost faint. park jay just asked if you wanna get high with him.

"uh," you started out, not knowing how to answer him. luckily, he starts laughing again, allowing you to think of an answer.

"it's okay, y/n, i'm just kidding. i know a girl like you wouldn't get high with a guy like me." jay starts to put his binder into his bag as he gets ready to leave, letting you sit in silence for a moment trying to process his sentence.

"what does that mean?" you turn your head and look him dead in the eyes now, surprising him. the sudden confidence that he doesn't know if you're pretending to have or if you really have it and he's just a clueless idiot. all he knows is that the way your pretty eyes are staring into his is making his heart feel weird but maybe that's just from the weed.

"i mean, you're so good that it's like a halo is literally hovering above your head. and me," jay shakes his head as he swings his bag over his shoulder, "i don't think I've ever had a halo in my life."

you still sit as jay gets up and walks around you to leave, "do you want to have a halo?" you ask him, not being able to stop your curiosity.

jay almost laughs as he turns around and stares down at your innocent little figure once again. he puts his hand down on the table beside you, holding himself up as he leans down towards you, "i think it's too late for me to have a halo, y/n."

and then jay decides that you really do have a lot of confidence because the way you speak to him next is filled with so much power it makes him think that everything he's ever thought about you is wrong, "then come to your tutoring session next week on time and not high and we can see if it's too late or not."

jay stands up straight at your statement, his notorious smirk spreading across his face as a smirk spreads across your own. "fine," he agrees, "i'll be on time next week and not high." he takes a few steps back still facing you.

"and not drunk either." you point out, making his smirk drop for a second before reappearing again.

"okay, smartass. i'll see you next week." jay rolls his eyes with a teasing smile and walks out of the library- probably to heeseung's house where he and the rest of them can smoke some more.

you've been called smart countless times before that it's gotten to the point where it means nothing to you. but you've never been called a smart ass. and it makes you almost laugh out loud to yourself because it's seemed to bring a whole new meaning of smart to you and you don't think anyone would've ever called you it besides park jay and it that just makes it even funnier to you.

so then, you and park jay spend the rest of the week excited for your next tutoring session.

you only saw jay once during the week until your (hopefully) proper tutor session.

though, it's not like you were looking for him as you zoomed through the other students in the hallways as you walked to your other classes. seeun kept asking you about how tutoring park jay went but, you didn't exactly tell her that he showed up insanely high.

you loved yoon seeun. you really did.

but she was a snitch.

you knew that if you told her that park jay could barely see you last week- to the point where you could just feel him staring at you when you weren't looking- that she would tell your teacher. because although you were considered a 'goody two shoes you weren't the kind to go into other peoples' business like seeun. but that was just her. she liked knowing drama about everyone and she cared so much about you that if she found out you were around jay while he was high- that she would do something to protect you.

because yoon seeun loved you. she really did.

so why would she want you to be around a literal delinquent like park jay?

"if he does anything to you y/n, seriously, you need to tell me, his sexual history is so long!" seeun warns you as she takes a bite into her sandwich.

you smile at her, "yes, seeun, i understand, but it's been fine. he sits and listens and i sit and tutor that's it." you lie through your teeth but you know it's for the best.

jay walks into the cafeteria with his other misfit friends, his head turning to the table where he's seen you and seeun sit before almost out of instinct. so when you're there, your front faced towards the doors so he could see you. a pink headband in your hair to simply get your hair out of your face but makes jay think just how cute it looks on you.

"who're you looking at?" sunghoon asks from beside him as they all wait in the food line.

"what do you mean?" jay asks with his eyebrows furrowed at his silver-haired friend.

"well i know jake is looking at park sieun," sunghoon points over his shoulder to where jake stood with hungry eyes as he stared directly at the popular girl, "so who are you looking at?"

"im sorry but sieun's just so HOT." jake almost says painfully as he turns around to enter the conversation with jay and sunghoon.

jay makes a sound of disgust as the words 'hot' and 'sieun' are put into the same sentence. "bro, shut up, you're gonna make me not hungry." jay jokes, turning around and looking at the shitty food options of the day.

"how do you not find her hot? sunghoon man," jake taps sunghoon's shoulder as a form of agreeance, "you think sieun is hot, right?"

sunghoon shrugs in response, "she's okay."

"what?!" jake's eyes almost pop out of his head, "i think she's the hottest thing i've ever seen."

"bro i told you to shut up or i'm gonna be sick!" jay protests again, thoughts of the annoying girl popping into his head made his head hurt.

"i wanna know who jay thinks is hot." sunghoon nods towards him with a smirk on his face.

"i don't think anyone's hot." jay shakes his head, "at least not here."

"really? then who were you looking at?"

"what makes you think that just because i was looking in a certain direction that i think someone is hot?"

"because you don't look in any certain direction besides at us while you're here- you hate everyone here." sunghoon says with an obvious tone.

"ou," jake points at sunghoon as he agrees with his point, "jay does think someone is hot. who?" jake smiles evilly at his friend.

jay sighs, "she's over there in the corner." he tilts his head to the direction where you are sitting. instantly his two friends turn and are so obviously looking for someone that is almost embarrassing jay.

"the girl with the pink headband?" sunghoon asks, letting jay nod.

"bro she is so not your type and she would so not be into you." jake shakes his head in shock at you.

jay feels his fists clench at his sides, "yeah? and who'd you think she'd be into? a guy like you?" jay gestures to jake's chains dangling from his jeans and red and black hair. jake only rolls his eyes in response before looking over at you again.

"i agree that she's not your type. she's too cute and too pure." sunghoon nods, imagining that there are butterflies flying around you as you talk to your friend. for some reason sunghoon's comment really pisses jay off. he doesn't like the fact that other guys can see how truly cute and innocent you are.

"actually, she is kinda hot," jake speaks after further analyzing you, making jay snap his head towards his friend, "but in an 'i really want to ruin you' type way because you know she's never been touched before. god that's actually so ho-" jake's sudden fantasy gets cut off with jay storming off, pushing past his friends. "bro, what's wrong?" jake called after him.

"i told you that if you didn't shut up i wouldn't feel good!" jay yelled back, not caring that the other people in the cafeteria were looking at him as he slammed open the cafeteria doors. and he really didn't feel good. he didn't know what it was about jake talking so dirty about you that made him want to throw up. he's heard jake say dirtier things about other girls before and jay didn't even bat an eye at it. but since it was about you- it was different. and it was a type of difference that made him feel sick.

sunghoon and jake looked at each other once their friend was out of sight, only smirking and shrugging before telling the lunch lady what they wanted to eat.

"does he always have to cause a scene?" seeun rolled her eyes as she turned back towards you, jay storming out caught the eyes of everyone else as well.

you frowned as you watched his combat boots hit the cafeteria floor and push the doors open with force so suddenly until he was gone. you wondered what had gotten the boy so angry so quick as you noticed his other friends still standing in the lunch line.

though you were curious about it, you didn't ask him what it was about the next day when he came into the library, smirking at you as soon as he opened the doors and started making his way towards the table you were sitting at- five minutes early.

jay stood beside where you sat again, looking down at you, "hi y/n."

"hi, jay." it was awkward for a moment before he sat down, throwing his bag on the table again as he pulled out his school supplies. and this time, you didn't smell any weed and his eyes weren't bloodshot. there was no strong scent of liquor either.

when jay got his supplies ready, he sat and looked at you, an eyebrow quirked up at your suspicious expression as you looked at him.

"well." jay shook his head as if he was ready for something.

"well, what?" you asked confused.

jay sighed as he sat back in his chair, "aren't you gonna ask me if i'm high or drunk?"

you almost smiled at him, "jay, did you smoke or drink?"

"nope!" jay popped the 'p' sound as he really did smile at you.

"really?" you asked suspiciously at the delinquent boy.

"well," jay trailed off, making your heart sink for a second, "i smoked a cigarette but that was it!" jay almost laughed as he looked at your disgusted face. "what?"

"i think it'd be better for your health if you did smoke weed." you rolled your eyes, pulling out your own textbook to prepare to tutor him.

"what does that mean? you were the one who was saying 'blah blah halo blah blah don't get high' last week." jay mimicked your voice.

"yeah but at least weed doesn't give you lung or tongue cancer," you stated the facts.

"i'm not gonna get lung or tongue cancer." jay mused, picking up his pencil as you passed him a piece of paper.

"you will if you keep smoking cigarettes."

"so you want me to start showing up to our tutor sessions high?"

"no, i-!"

"well then i'm gonna keep smoking cigarettes."

you huffed at him, taking a deep breath before looking at him, "turn to page 34, please." you gestured to his closed textbook.

jay smirked to himself when you weren't looking, knowing that you tutoring him wasn't going to be as bad as he thought.

after three weeks of 'properly' tutoring park jay- you could tell that he was done with it. he was bored and he wasn't trying and he was making it really hard for you.

"jay, at least look at the paper." you grabbed his attention from his staring aimlessly at the wall.

"i can't." he groaned, sitting up and looking at you. "all you do is ask me questions that i don't know the answers to and i don't even care about the answers." you sighed as you put your pencil down beside his that he hasn't even touched.

"well, i think it'd be better if you did care, because you need to graduate this year, right?"

"it doesn't matter if i graduate or not."

"yes, it does, jay."

"and why does it matter?" jay leaned over his elbow to look at you. the look in his eyes making you look away from him. it had been four weeks that you had been tutoring jay and you still couldn't look him in the eyes.

"w-well, because i-i thought you wanted to see if you could get a, um a halo," you speak quietly, almost embarrassed by your choice of how to persuade this boy to study and pay attention.

"do you think i could ever get a halo?" jay asks you, and his tone is serious compared to all the other times he speaks to you in a flirty or teasing tone.

"yes." you nod sternly, glancing at him briefly before looking down at your lap again. jay smirks at how cute you are, too cute and too good for him. but the way that you think he could become good is so naive of you that not even himself believes it. there's no way he could become as good as you. even his parents have no faith. he thinks that if he asks his parents if he could ever get a halo they would laugh in his face- but you sound so sure he could that it makes him want to believe you.

"have you heard anything about me, y/n?" jay sits back in his chair with his smirk, "because if you have then i don't think you'd think that."

"yeah, i've heard a few things." you nod quietly, thinking back to everything that seeun has told you in the past.

"like what?" jay asks in the teasing tone that you've become used to.

"that- that," you sit up in your chair as you prepare to speak, "you party a lot, and you do drugs and drink and y-you..."

"i what?"

"you have sex a lot."

jay feels his cock twitch as you say the word. it doesn't sound right as it comes out of your mouth but you turn him on at the same time. your sentence is also a painful reminder that he really would be no good for you.

"hm." jay hums as you feel the heat on your cheeks, wondering if you had offended him now. "can i tell you what i've heard about you?"

"sure." your heart picks up its pace, anxious to know what others say about you. anxious to know what park jay thinks about you.

"i've heard that you're some sort of genius, and that you don't go to parties-ever- and that you're an innocent, little, goody-two-shoes."

you weren't surprised at jay's statement but you were thoroughly upset that you knew that jay knew that you were something close to a loser. it upset you but you had no idea as to why. why should you care that you're an innocent loser and jay is so popular and hot? oh.

"im guessing by that look on your face that everything i heard is true." jay broke your train of thought. you could only glance at him briefly before returning to your textbook, unsure of what to say to get him to think you weren't some loser. "how about you come to a party this weekend?"

your jaw drops as you look up at him, "n-no, i can't."

"and why not? you're the one who seemed so upset when i told you what people are saying about you."

"well, because i can't! i may not like what people say about me, but i can't do anything about it."

"sure you can, come to a party this weekend with me."

you quirk an eyebrow up at his suggestion, "with you?" jay nods with a smirk. "don't you have a test on monday that you need to study for?" jay's smirk drops.

"yeah, so?"

"so you should study for it if you want to graduate this year."

jay rolls his eyes and sits back in his chair, "how about this, i won't go to the party friday night if you come over instead."

you felt the wind knock out of your chest, "and why would i come to your house?"

jay's stupid smirk returns to his face at your red cheeks, "so we could study, obviously."

"i- jay. you should be able to study on your own."

"then what's the point of having a cute tutor?"

there was a silence between you as you both processed jay's question. there was just no way that park jay just called you cute. and jay was preparing to punch himself with the way he so carelessly told you what he's been thinking about you for years. it felt like both of you were dreaming.

jay opened his mouth about to apologize for making you feel uncomfortable until you spoke first, "fine, i'll come to your house, but to study. and to only study." you gave the dressed-in-all-black boy a serious look as he tried to hold back the small smile creeping onto his face.

"of course, what else would we do?" jay sat back in his chair again, never trying so hard to be cool in his entire life before.

you rolled your eyes at the boy before shoving another study assignment towards him, making a groan leave his mouth.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

park jay texting you his address on a random saturday afternoon was something you never thought would happen.

but walking up to a gigantic mansion that park jay apparently lived in was a dream.

the house was so pretty that it really made you feel like you didn't even deserve to set a foot on the property. but you forced yourself up the pretty porch stairs and knocked on the pretty door. you weren't really shocked when a pretty woman opened the door- expecting someone as pretty as her to own a house as pretty as this one.

"hi there, you must be jay's tutor." she smiled with a tilt of her head as she looked you up and down.

"mom!" you heard a familiar voice groan from behind her.

"oh sorry," the woman- jay's mom-, turned and let you come, "i guess im not used to jay having a tutor i-"

"mom!" jay groaned again, making his mom laugh as she closed the door behind you.

you turned and looked at where jay stood on the bottom step of a staircase that twirled around upwards towards the second floor. his upper half looked like how it usually did. an oversized black, band t-shirt and silver jewlery adorning his neck and ears. but you were taken aback by the grey sweatpants he wore. sure it was a casual thing to wear- but jay usually stuck to a strict black jeans or black ripped jeans attire at school.

"sorry!" you heard his mother laugh out from beside you as you tried to peel your eyes away from jay's so casual yet so jay chose of clothing. "i'm miyoung, jay's mother. and you're y/n, right?" jay's mother's smile was so intimidatingly pretty that you couldn't help but smile back. you've known this woman for a minute and you could already tell just how different she was from jay.

"yes, nice to meet you." you bowed politely to the older woman. she bowed back to you, offering to take your jacket for you before letting jay basically usher you away upstairs.

miyoung wouldn't be over exaggerating when she said she was nervous for a girl like you to be alone with a boy like her son. even she could tell that you were just too good to be around a boy as, and as much as she hated to say it, as bad as jay.

"i'm sorry about that." jay said as you followed him through a long, white hallway that had family portraits hung on the walls, along with what seemed to be very expensive paintings. there were doors that led to all different kinds of rooms and two other hallways beside the one that jay led you down on the second floor.

"about what?"

"about, you know, my mom." jay rolled his eyes as he turned to you, opening a door on the left side of the hallway for you to enter.

you chuckled at his answer, "it's fine, she's so sweet." you looked at him as you passed him to enter the room first. and you were nervous before you even arrived at jay's house, but you were even more nervous once you realized that you were in his bedroom.

"yeah, well she can a lot sometimes." you heard jay speak from behind you as he entered himself after you.

you stood in the entranceway of his room as he moved around you and towards a desk that looked barely used, only having a textbook on top of it. the rest of his room looked like a normal teenager boy's room: a slightly messy made bed with a grey duvet and black headboard. there were some shelves with some pictures and trophies on them, and a simple black tv across the wall from the bed.

"you can sit on my bed if you want." jay spoke to you, sitting down in his desk chair. you nod to him and move to sit on his bed, facing him at his desk that's in front of you. he almost laughs with the way you're sitting so awkwardly on his bed. "should we just start?"

"uh, sure." you nod, pulling out your own textbook from your bag.

"y/n," jay calls your name, making you halt your actions and look over at him, "if you're gonna be this awkward the entire time then you don't have to stay if you don't want to."

"i-i'm not being awkward." you stutter, trying to prove a point that doesn't exist.

jay scoffs, "it's okay. i guess we don't know each other that well and you're sitting on my bed so." jay points at the mattress under you, making you try to not shift awkwardly on it as you couldn't stop thinking about it as well.

"w-well, how about we get to know each other." your boldness shocks the both of you in his boyish bedroom.

"y/l/n y/n wants to get to know me?" jay smirks as he leans over his textbook to look at you.

"well, it's just so we can study, and you can graduate." jay sighs at your answer, it's so obvious that that's the only reason he's got you on his bed and it will remain the only reason.

"right, what do you want to know?"

"mm," you wonder out loud, looking around his room before settling on the obvious, "what do your parents do for work?"

jay smirks at your question, "my dad is some big-time ceo for some travel agency and my mom's a teacher." oh, that explains the big house. "how long have you been going to our high school."

his question makes you laugh out loud, making him smile at the sound of your laugh. he's never heard you laugh like this since you've been tutoring him for the past month and a half.

"i've been going there since the first day of freshman year." you shake your head at him, his question just proving that you really live up to your apparent reputation.

"oh," jay nodded, "i remember seeing you in year 10. i just never saw you in year 9, i like never went that year."

"you saw me in year 10?" you ask him, your heart racing at his words.

"yeah, that time i stood on your essay because you bumped into me."

"you remember that?" you ask with a smile on your face, surprised that he would remember such a small encounter.

"yeah! i was high out of my mind but that was the first time i saw you so, like of course i'd remember." his words make you look away from him, and you bite your lip in order to hide your smile and blushed cheeks.

you glance over at his busy shelves that hold pictures from when he was younger, to pictures of his friends and to trophies that look like they haven't been touched in years and you asked him more questions about his life, and you would struggle with answers for his.

"why don't you answer straightforwardly." jay spun around slightly in his chair, a smile through his frustration.

"i'm sorry!" you laughed at him, "i just, i find it hard to open up i guess." jay nods at your answer, ", especially to guys who i'm supposed to be tutoring."

"hey!" jay called out, "i mean, we don't have to study, we could-"

"we're studying!" you interrupted him, picking his textbook off of his carpeted floor and tossing it gently into his lap. "page 234."

jay sighed, but opened his textbook, telling himself to get through this afternoon with his head in his book.

and jay really did study. it was the most you've ever seen him interact with his textbook and pencil. he'd ask you questions if he didn't understand. he took his time answering the questions and really thinking of the answers. you figured that it was probably because he was home where he felt like he could be himself. there weren't a thousand kids all staring at him like he was some crazed criminal that would turn on them in a second. he wasn't surrounded by people he hated.

he was with you, who looked too pure to be sitting on his grey duvet, and his mother was humming a song downstairs that was barely audible, but when it got silent as he worked on a question you'd be able to hear it. even with the words, he was struggling to put together and his mother's humming he found it hard to ignore the fact that your pretty thighs were exposed to him on his bed. the way they contrasted with his old duvet didn't make sense to him and he figured next time you'd come he'd get his mother to put a new, nicer one on that suit you more.

your parents started to text you to come home around dinner time, the two of you feeling proud of how much jay had actually studied and learnt that day. as he walked you down to the front door of his house, his chest was filled with a tightness he's never felt before. and you waved to his mom as you started to go down his pretty porch steps from his pretty house.

"y/n." jay called out to you from his doorway.

"yeah?"

"nothing." jay shrugged suddenly finding words to say was hard.

you smiled sweetly at him, "good luck on your test, jay."

jay only smiled back at you, before stepping back into his house and closing the door, your figure disappearing from his sight.

"she seems like a good girl." he hears his mother say from behind him.

"yeah, because she is." jay nods, too good. and it makes him think that even though he's seemingly understanding how math works now, it makes him think that if he gets too good at math that he won't be able to see you anymore. because there will be no way in hell a good girl like you would hang out with a boy like him.

the next tuesday tutor session between you and jay started when he slammed down his test in front of you on the table.

the loud bang disturbed every other student in the library but jay of course didn't seem to care as you looked up at him and he held the greatest smirk you had ever seen him wear.

"seventy.nine.percent." is all he said to you as he looked down into your eyes.

"seventy-nine?" you yelled out, disturbing others, but unlike jay you did care, mumbling a sorry to the other students who gave you dirty looks and whispered to jay for him to sit down. "seventy-nine?" you whisper shouted to him, excited that he maybe was failing that much anymore.

"seventy-nine!" jay said nodded, that stupid smirk on his face still.

and then you saw it.

the piece of metal that was now wrapped around jay's bottom lip.

the cool silver of the ring securely clung to his rosy, plump lip.

"uh, g-good job," you muttered out, trying to congratulate him on his high mark but too distracted by the new jewlery that he adorned.

"Thanks." he smiled at the way you couldn't stop staring at his lips. "is there anything you want to ask me?" jay teased you, pouting out his bottom lip, rebutting your inner thought of it being a fake piercing.

"yeah uh, when did you get that?" you asked him, touching your own bottom lip as to where his was on his own lips.

"yesterday." jay shrugged, his tongue running over the metal, making your eyes follow it.

"what made you decide to get it?" you asked curiously, your mind just racing with thoughts and questions about it.

"my mom said she'd disown me if i got any more piercings." jay shrugged, pulling out his textbook casually.

"so, you went and got it pierced?"

"yeah."

you couldn't believe him as you continued to watch him act like it was a normal day occurrence. and you couldn't help but think about how well the piercing suited him. it tied in his whole appearance and made butterflies grow in your stomach.

"do you like it?" jay asked you, noticing the way that you couldn't stop staring at his new piercing, a smirk growing on his lips at your glazed eyes.

you felt the blush that never seemed to leave your cheeks when you're with jay arise onto your face, "yeah, it's nice."

"it's nice?"jay teased you, leaning over the table to look straight into your eyes, a chuckle leaving his mouth once he sees that you can't meet his gaze.

"it- it suits you."

jay smirks at your cute remark and sits back in his chair, absentmindedly twirling his pencil as he waits for you to get ready to tutor him. "you know," he starts suddenly, just as you're about to give him an assignment, "since i didn't go to a party last weekend, you should come to a party with me this weekend."

you sigh at the mention of a high school party because you've already heard so much about them- especially about the ones that jay and his friends go to. "i've already told you that i don't go to parties."

"but why," jay groaned, "you're the one that was upset about your reputation, so how about you change it this weekend?"

the mention of your reputation made your body tense, remembering that that probably still is what jay thinks about you. "i- i just can't go."

jay huffs and crosses his arms, his chest popping out as he still leans back in his chair, his legs straight out under the table and bumping into your own. "how about you come over again this weekend, to study more."

"what? you don't have a test for another two weeks why would i need to come over this weekend?" you asked him with genuine confusion.

jay only sighs at how oblivious you are to his flirting before sitting up, "because i learn a lot from you, obviously," he points at his test, "and you're fun to hang out around, i guess."

his statement makes you stop flipping through your textbook as you slowly look up at him, glancing at his damn lip piercing before meeting his eyes, "how am i fun?" all you ever do with him is ignore his stupid remarks and talk about school.

"you're fun to tease."

your jaw dropped as you tried to hide your smile, "i'm fun. to tease?"

"yeah, so you should come over again this weekend, so you can tutor me and i can tease you."

you scoffed, looking away from him in disbelief but amusement, "fine."

"fine?" jay genuinely smiled at you.

"yes. fine." you grinned, "now please, try questions 1 to 5."

jay let out a groan that made other students look at your table again, only this time you could care less about their angry stares as thoughts of park jay went through your mind.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

jay waking up ten minutes before you were supposed to arrive is definitely not what had planned on saturday.

especially the part with him still feeling high from going to a party last night with heeseung.

jay scrambled around his room, trying to find a better shirt to wear instead of the one he wore last night that currently smelt like shitty alcohol and sweat. all he could think about was how fucked he'd be if you came in and saw him like this.

jay knew how uncomfortable you got when you were around someone that wasn't completely sober- and he couldn't imagine how'd you feel being in someone else's house with them still high from the night before.

"fuck, fuck, fuck." jay mumbled to himself as he quickly rinsed his face with water. looking in the mirror, he didn't think he looked too fucked but maybe he was just too used to seeing himself like this.

and he hated that.

last night was the first party that he had gone to where he didn't thoroughly enjoy himself. sure, he had fun because heeseung was there and the music wasn't bad. but it seemed like the drugs and alcohol couldn't distract his mind anymore. so kept drinking, and he kept smoking and the next thing he knew he was waking up in a jolt because you'd be at his house in a matter of minutes.

heeseung could tell that his friend wasn't his usual self the night before. he knew that jay liked to be intoxicated- but he could even tell that he was overdoing it. girls would come up to them, only for them to be shrugged off by jay. heeseung was shocked by it. he knew that jay hated mostly everyone, but he never shrugged at girls, no matter how annoying they were.

before heeseung could ask his friend was wrong, jay was already lost with the drugs and music, dancing in the middle of the party and fitting in with everyone else. heeseung almost laughed at the thought that if jay could see himself right now- he'd hate it.

so now, jay felt rugged and tired as he couldn't help but let his mind wander about the events of last night and what was wrong with him. he just wants to be good for you.

the knock at his front door really pushed his mind back into the present.

"oh hi, y/n!" his mother spoke from downstairs, "i don't know if jay's awake."

"oh, uh, i can come back then," you spoke out sheepishly, about to back out of the pretty house.

"i'm awake!" a quick voice spoke from the bottom of the stairs again. jay stood in grey sweatpants again, and a white and black shirt, his hair looking as if he had run his fingers through it a million times.

"oh! hi, honey. i didn't hear you up," miyoung said, moving to the side to let you come in.

"yeah, i've been quiet, i guess." miyoung perked an eyebrow up at him, knowing that he was lying through his teeth. she had heard jay come home at 4am last night, stumbling to his room before probably passing out. "let's go to my room, y/n." you smiled up at him at his position on the stairs, bowing to miyoung before the following jay up into his room.

his room looked the same as it did the weekend before. but the curtains weren't drawn and his bed was messier. "sorry about the mess." jay said, realizing you were scanning his room. he quickly shoved some clothes that were lying on the floor into his closet before shutting the door to it.

"it's okay." you smiled, sitting down at his desk this time. you put your backpack on the ground beside your feet, watching as jay opened his curtains before sitting on his bed. jay seemed quieter today than he's ever been when he's around you. he looked almost out of it as he started taking his textbooks out of his own bag. "sorry, if you were sleeping before i came."

"no, it's okay!" jay said, waving his hand in the air, "i wasn't sleeping." you nodded your head, feeling almost awkward as you sat across from each other. "do you want to start with biology?"

"sure." you chirped too excited, trying to mask your awkwardness. you weren't sure why you were feeling this way. it just seemed like jay wasn't prepared for your arrival and it made feel like you weren't wanted there.

"what page was the biochemistry on again?"

"481." you heard jay start turning the pages of his textbook as you got your papers out and ready. "i can't find it."

"no? 481?" you restated, looking at your own textbook. "let me see." you got up and walked over to his spot on the bed, leaning over his shoulder slightly, trying to find the right page for him. you felt jay straighten his back at your presence, making you more awkward as your eyes skimmed the pages quickly.

jay thought he was going to die with your face so close to his. he didn't want you to smell weed on him. your hair was dangling over your own shoulder, letting him see the side of your face as you focused on helping him. he could see you were chewing on the inside of your cheek, a habit that he's picked up on quite quickly.

"here." you pointed at a highlighted part on his textbook, "sorry, you have a different edition of the textbook than me so the pages are kind of off." you nodded to him, moving away from him to go back to your chair.

"shouldn't we share mine then, so we don't get confused." jay smirked at you standing above him. you rolled your eyes at him with a smile. "it'd be easier."

you agreed and sat down beside him on his bed, he sat with his legs crossed under his textbook while your legs dangled off the side. you made sure your skirt was covering your thighs as you tutored the boy.

you thanked god that jay was pretty easy to teach. he was funny and he flirted with you the majority of the time, but still, he knew when he had to listen and actually seemed interested in learning sometimes. you think it was the first time that you ever had fun while tutoring someone.

jay thought that it would be over for him once he was forced to go to a tutor. he really thought that he would never graduate hell high school because why the hell would he want someone to tutor him. but since it's you that's the tutor, he really gave it a try.

it's not like jay was stupid. he just didn't see a point in listening to teachers or even going to school. he guesses that schoolwork is actually pretty easy for him because you're the one that's teaching him.

he finds it so easy to listen to you. the way you actually take your time with him to see if he understands everything. you're so caring in general about everything and everyone in your life that it makes him jealous.

with your appearance, he can tell how much thought you put into it- and he's selfish enough to think that sometimes you dress with the thought of him in your mind. he's sure that you've noticed how many times he's stared at your legs in skirts during the past month.

so now jay has the thought of your bare legs against his bed and he can't stop himself from staring at your soft skin and the way your thighs would feel against the palm of his hands and how delicate he'd have to be with them so they don't bruise.

"jay?"

"hm?" he replies to you, not even hiding the fact that he was staring at your legs. he caught the way that you were trying to hide your blush as you realized where he was staring as well.

"i asked if you wanted to take a break, you don't seem to be paying much attention anymore."

"yeah, a break sounds good." jay nods, closing his textbook and throwing it to the bottom of his bed.

jay's hand comes to lay beside him so it's in between you and him. his pinky finger brushing against the lower part of your thigh where your skirt has ridden up. it's silent for a moment, both of you aware of the small touch lingering with the two of you, but both of you can't find yourselves to care.

his finger slowly brushes up and down, it being the only movement in the room besides your chest moving frantically from your heavy breaths. jay assumes that you've most likely never been on a bed with a guy before (and he's right!) and he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable and the weed from the night before is probably not helping him make decisions. so he moves his hand farther up so it's resting on your thigh.

his movement makes both of you turn your heads to look at each other, the warmth from each other's bodies growing substantially.

"do you like tutoring me?" jay asks, a smirk on his face as he scans your own.

"mhm," you almost whisper with a nod, "you're easy to teach."

jay smiles at your innocent answer, "can i tutor you now?"

your eyebrows scrunch in confusion, "tutor me about what?"

jay hums in thought for a moment, rethinking all of the life choices that have brought him here as his fingers lightly trace figures on your skin. it's just as soft as he imagined and he feels himself becoming entranced by it. "well you've taught me how to be a good student," jay and you pause to smile at each other in agreement, "how about i teach you how to be bad now?"

you pause at his words, excitement filling your lungs as you look down at his still freshly pierced lip ring. his eyes hold the mischief that they usually do, but they're mixed with something like genuine concern and care. his gaze mixed with that god forbid hot lip ring is what makes you nod your head until jay is reaching over to your neck and trailing soft kisses down it.

"you're okay with this, right?" jay whispers to you, looking straight into your eyes as he pulls away.

"yes." is all you can speak, still not over the feeling of his warm lips and cold metal pushed against your neck. his lips begin to kiss over your shoulder before he pulls away again.

"and you'll tell me if you want me to stop? because i will."

his words make your stomach flip as you never thought bad boy park jay could be so caring. "yes, jay."

jay pulls away and smiles at you one more time before ushering you to lay down with him, your head meeting his soft pillow. jay was laying on his side, lips still kissing your neck as his fingers played with the hem of your skirt. and jay thinks to himself that he's never been so careful before in his life. he was acting as if you were made out of glass.

"has anyone ever touched you before, y/n?" jay asks, kissing your jaw once before pulling away to look at you.

"no." you nod, somewhat embarrassed at your confession, even though you assumed jay had already known the answer to it.

"just me?" jay asks, a smirk on his face.

"just you."

you feel jay smile against your skin before his fingers started to softly touch your core over your panties, your skirt being pulled up over your stomach. your cotton, pastel panties in yours and jay's sight. you feel like you should be embarrassed about your underwear choice- especially in a time like this- but jay moving slow circles over your clit takes the embarrassment away from you.

jay could feel your wetness through your panties, almost groaning at the thought of how wet you'd feel around his cock. you bit your lip to suppress the moan you already had as you watched his index finger circle directly over your clit. you had thought about jay for so long in this position and you never thought that it would happen.

jay's finger stopped and his hand started playing with the hem of your skirt as he kissed your neck again once. "you're so sensitive." jay breathlessly laughed into your skin. you covered your face at his statement, really feeling embarrassed now. "stop," jay laughed loud now, pulling your hands away. "it's cute," he pecked your jaw, "you're cute."

"you're too nice to be considered so bad," you spoke out to him, the throbbing in your core making your mind hazy.

"only for you." jay confessed, his fingers going back to play with the hem of your panties.

"just for me?" you mocked his words from before.

"just for you."

his fingers dipped into your panties now. jay almost moaned at how easily his fingers slipped between your folds. he heard your rought breath in his ear as he started to rub your engorged clit again, his finger pressing the right amount of pressure on it already.

"so wet." jay whispered to you, both of you looking down at his hand in your pants. he put his middle finger with his index finger as he made faster circles on your clit, your hips jolting up at his change in pace.

you could hear your wetness mix with jay's fingers as he rubbed you, spreading your juices around your core and in between your thighs. you let out a soft moan, biting onto the back of your hand to keep quiet so miyoung doesn't hear. god what if miyoung hears?

the thought only turns you on more even though you feel like it shouldn't. you were really, finally, letting go of that good girl persona you had on. you couldn't decide if it was good that you began to tutor jay or not as his index finger slipped slowly inside your core.

you let out a whimper at the feeling, never feeling it before. "does it feel okay?" jay asked, seeing you nod as he curled his finger upwards towards your belly button. "god, you're so tight." you could only nod as you could feel how tight you wrapped around his finger. he could barely push his index in and out slowly. "can't imagine how tight you'd feel around my cock." he feels you clench around his fingers tighter at his words. "do you like the thought of my cock inside of you?" you whimpered out in response to him, imagining the scenario in your head.

"say it."

"y-yes, i love it!" you moaned out, your arms bending so that your hand could play with jay's hair. you could feel jay smirk against your skin again before pulling his fingers away. you whined out at the stop of his motions before he put his fingers in his mouth, humming around them.

"'m sorry, but i really needed to taste you. been thinking 'bout it for so long." you felt your hips jolt up at his thoughts out of instinct, just thoughts of how hot this boy is were driving you crazy. he stuck the same two fingers out in front of your mouth, "spit." you pursed your lips and let your saliva drip down onto his fingers, earning a groan from him before he started rubbing your clit again with his and your saliva mixed together.

"j-jay." he hummed against your skin in response, "feels t-too goo-d."

"gonna cum?" he asked you, kissing your cheek, an action so sweet compared to the speed he was rubbing your clit at.

"y-yes." you nodded up at him as he hovered above you on his shoulder. your fucked out gaze drove him crazy as he looked down at you.

"that's okay, angel, cum on my fingers," he whispered to you, his head leaning on yours now as you both watched his fingers rub against your clit under your panties. you moaned out, your hand gripping onto his hair tighter.

"jay!" you moaned out, your back arching as you hit your orgasm, his fingers not stopping as you rode it out. you felt your eyes close and open, leaning your head into jay's like some form of support.

"that's it, that's my angel, that's my good girl." jay whispered, kissing your forehead as his fingers slowed down. you whined as the sensitivity started to catch up on you, pushing his fingers away gently, making jay laugh. "can't do another one?"

"god, no." you smiled at his teasing expression. jay wiped his hands on his duvet (the one that he hated) and pulled your skirt back down so you were covered. "you still think i'm a good girl?" you asked him, turning on your side so you were facing him.

jay pulled away with a hum, looking above your head in the air, "yep, i still see the halo above your head."

you shoved his shoulder gently, "shut up."

"do you see my halo?"

you looked above his head at his question, "nope, just devil horns." jay shoved you back with a laugh, rolling so he layed on his back now.

"are you going to stay for dinner?" jay asked, the thought of his stomach being completely empty filling his mind.

"oh god." you sat up immediately at the mention of dinner, grabbing your phone off of his bedside table. "god, i have to go!" you exclaimed, realizing just how close to your dinner time it was and that your parents had probably already expected you home by now.

"what?" jay sat up on his elbows, watching you scramble around his room like he did earlier this morning, gathering your things in a hurry. "why?"

"my parents wanted me home like ten minutes ago for dinner," you said, barely looking at him as you shoved your things in your bag.

jay chuckled at your explanation before laying back down again, "yeah, you most definitely are still a good girl."

"shut it." were the last words you said to him with a laugh before pulling open his bedroom door and leaving his house, saying bye to miyoung before running home to your parents who were already sitting at the dinner table waiting for you.

park jay plops down in his usual spot in the library, wearing a bigger smirk than usual on tuesday afternoon.

"hi, jay." you looked up at him from your book.

"hi, good girl." you rolled your eyes at him and set your book down in front of you. "how was dinner with your parents on saturday?"

"fine." you shook your head in an obvious tone. when he didn't say anything in return you stared at him; his eyes were glazed over, his usual tense shoulders were fallen slack and the lazy smirk never left his face as he stared almost blankly at you. "are you high?"

the smirk left his face then.

"a little- and i'm sorry! i am! i didn't mean to get this fucked."

you sat back in your chair, distancing yourself from him the more you could, making jay feel even more guilty. "i thought you said you were going to try to not get high anymore."

"i was!" he most definitely wasn't. "but then i hadn't seen heeseung in a couple of days and he has a spare at uni right now so he drove by to see me!" he explained to you, the look of annoyance not leaving your face, "you're goody-two-shoes reputation won't be ruined because i'm high, y/n."

you scoffed, "yeah, well yours won't get any better. what happened to wanting a halo?"

jay bit his cheek, feeling guilty that he couldn't live up to your expectations of him. "i'm sorry. i won't get high anymore." you quirked your eyebrow up at him in disbelief, "i won't!" he laughed, nudging your foot with his own.

you couldn't help but smile and give in to him, unaware of just how dangerous it was to do.

"if you really don't want to tutor me today because i'm high that's fine, i'll see you saturday anyways right?"

"saturday?" you repeated with confusion.

"yeah, you tutor me every tuesday and saturday, right?"

you sighed at his teasing, "i guess." your answer made laugh before he stood up, nudging your book towards you again, "get back to reading, good girl."

you picked up your book, sticking your tongue out at him as swung his backpack over his shoulder to leave, "see you saturday."

"bye." you said to him, watching him leave the library without sparing a glance to anyone.

so that's how you ended up going to jay's house every saturday, seeing the boy more often than you had expected when you had agreed to tutor him. texting each other during the week was something you had never even thought would occur. but you were having fun, even if seeun had no idea what was going on.

you had thought long and hard about whether you should tell seeun about your blooming friendship with park jay. ultimately, you came up with the idea that you'd rather be dead than tell her. you knew she wouldn't accept it with all the warnings she had given you in the past four years you had known her- even last week she was telling you to be careful. maybe you should've listened to her.

but it was so hard to listen to her when park jay was staring at you with those pretty brown eyes of his from his bed.

"focus on the assignment, jay!" you scolded him playfully, catching him staring at you again.

"well stop being so fucking pretty and i might be able to!"

no matter how many times jay flirts with you, the blush never seems to escape your cheeks, "stop." you laughed, standing up from your chair and walking over to him, shoving his shoulder so he lay down on his bed. you sit down on his bed, looking down at him.

jay's hand reaches out and plays with your hand lazily, lacing his fingers in and out of your own. you felt your heart swell at his little touches.

suddenly, jay grabs your hand and pulls you down towards him, so your faces are an inch apart and your upper half is laying on top of him. "jay!" you cry at the suddenness before he's pressing his lips to yours.

you quickly realize what he's doing and start to press your lips back to his, slowly your lips move together before you're pulling apart just as fast as they came together. "you taste like cigarettes." you scrunch your eyebrows together.

jay pulls his head back and laughs out, "i told you I'd stop smoking weed, not tobacco."

you pout up at him, your chin resting on his chest as he looks down at you. his hand comes up behind you and starts to play with your hair. "don't give me that face, i'm trying, i want to switch reputations with you."

"you want to switch?" you ask, quirking your eyebrow up in amusement.

"yeah, like you become bad and i become good."

you roll your eyes at him, "that's stupid."

"i know, but i like seeing how bad you can be."

"and how bad do you think i can be?" you teased him, fluttering your eyelashes at him.

"let's find out." jay says, flipping you over so now he's on top of you, your hair spirling out across his pillow.

his lips come crashing down on yours, the movement so rough and sudden compared to his soft lips. the metal from his lip piercing felt so good against your lips that it reminded you about who exactly you were kissing.

jay started to move down your neck, kissing right behind your ear where he found your sweet spot. his hands stay perched on your waist as your legs wrap around his body, locking him in. your skirt has pooled up at your waist, leaving your panty core bare to his jean-clad crotch.

your hips ground up against jay's crotch, making him groan against your warm skin. he pulled away from your neck, his fingers playing with the hem of your panties like he did last time. "can i take these off, angel?"

"please," you begged him, wanting to feel more of him.

"so polite," he smirked down at you, kissing your forehead before pulling down your panties. your legs wanted to close at the sudden touch of cold air, but jay's broad shoulders kept them apart. jay leaned down so he was eye level with your core. "can i taste you, y/n?"

"yes, jay." you nodded down at him, his hand trailing up the side of you so he could lace his fingers with yours again, only this time it was in a more of an inappropriate action with the way his mouth was breathing warm air against your pussy.

jay left open-mouthed kisses on your thighs, teasing you slightly just like he always does. you were about to tell him to stop it before his tongue met your clit.

"god." you moaned out, your head leaning back against his pillow again at the feeling.

jay felt like he was in heaven. he had died and somehow ended up in heaven.

you felt so warm under him and with your hand laced in his. you tasted so good, so pure and just for him that it drove him crazy.

jay swivelled his tongue around your clit in circles, before dipping down and tonguing your hole.

"jay, oh god." you moaned out, unable to hold it in on the new feeling you were experiencing. he felt so talented with his tongue that you weren't sure how you could feel this good ever again.

you squeezed his hand tight as you made eye contact with him. jay moaned at your fucked out expression, which caused vibrations to go straight to your core.

"does it feel good, angel?"

"s-so good, jay." you nodded, seeing spit coat your pussy and his face.

jay's fingers trailed down your thigh, before sticking two fingers into your hole. "fuck, still so tight." jay groaned against your core, thankful for your juices and his spit to make his fingers ease in so well.

his fingers fucked into you at a slow pace, but his tongue swirled around your clit so fast that it caused your hips to buck up into his face. "s-sorry." you moaned out to him.

you felt him laugh into your skin, "don't be sorry, you're hot." jay sucked your clit into his mouth gently, his tongue circling it before he kissed your thigh again. you moaned out at jay's name at his compliment. it felt like a dream to be called hot by park jay- especially when he was eating you out.

his fingers continued to fuck up into you, scissoring once they were shoved all the way in before pulling out and doing it all over again.

you let go of jay's hand, sweat helping keep them together, and reached down to hold onto his hair, your hips digging closer to his face. you could hear how wet you were by the fast pace was jay was slipping his fingers inside of you now.

"oh my god." you moaned breathlessly, "d-don't stop jay, please."

"i won't, angel." jay responded, digging his face further into your wet pussy. "feel like coming?"

"y-yes, so close, so close."

jay kept fingering you, feeling your walls clench around his fingers so well until they were spasming, and your hips were grinding into his face with your back arched off the bed. his tongue kept sucking your clit until all your movement had stopped, and your moans had turned into small whimpers.

jay placed a kiss on your core as he pulled away, rubbing your clit quickly before pulling away which made you cry out.

jay laughed at you, bending down to kiss you right on your lips.

"so mean." you pouted at him, before kissing him again.

"so cute," he responded, pushing your hair out of your face before standing up and walking to his closet. you saw him start to search through his clothes, but you felt so dazed from your orgasm to ask what he was doing.

jay walked back over with a pair of black sweatpants that he had managed to find. he pulled your skirt down, making you realize just how bare you really were to him.

"what?" jay laughed at you suddenly pulling away from him, "don't act like my face wasn't just there."

"jay!" you cried out, your hands covering your face from his dirty words.

"what? it's true!" jay said, gently pulling your legs so they were straight again. "let me put these on you." you sighed and allowed him to slide his sweatpants over your bare legs. you moved your hips so he could pull them over and tie them at your waist.

when you have dressed again, jay leaned over you, pressing a soft kiss on your lips before resting his head on your chest. it was such a different action than what you would've assumed he would do.

everything you had heard about park jay before had completely left your mind at that exact moment. he wasn't the asshole, bad boy that everyone had described him as. he was sweet and thoughtful and he just liked to party with his friends.

so you played with his hair as he rested his eyes while laying on your chest- trying to hide his raging boner from you and enjoy this moment with you.

both of you were known for such different reputations, both wanting to stand out from this world, and together it felt like you did.

"do you wanna have dinner here tomorrow night?" jay asked, breaking the silence. he kept his eyes at the bottom of his bed where your legs intertwined. he had never asked a girl to have dinner at his house before and he was so nervous about the way he was feeling about it.

"sure." you shrugged, trying to hide your excitement by playing cool.

"my dad's gonna be here."

you had never met jay's father before. you've seen pictures of him around the house. and you had heard some stories about him from jay. you knew he seemed to be strict, and he worked a lot so jay wasn't particularly close with him.

"that's fine." you shrugged again, feeling jay's tense body on your own as he mentioned his dad.

"yeah?" jay looked up at you finally, brown doe eyes looked into your own.

"yeah."

jay smiled at you, leaning up to kiss you on the lips slowly, humming into your mouth with a feeling of contentedness. jay didn't really know what he was feeling at the time then. he knew his grades were improving, and his mom was less mad at him all the time, his friends were confused by his new revelations to not get obliviated by drugs or alcohol. but he had you underneath him and that's all he could ever ask for.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

you had never been invited over for dinner to a boys' house before. so you had no idea what to expect as you walked up to the pretty house you had started to become familiar with. every time you walked up the long driveway, it felt intimidating and more friendly.

miyoung opened the door to you with a great smile on her face. she looked the same as usual- beautiful- but her clothing was more dressed up for the occasion.

"y/n!" she exclaimed, ushering for you to come in and to take off your jacket. "y/n's here!" she called out, turning her head towards the inside of the house for others to hear. your heart started racing at the thought of having a formal meal with park jay's family.

jay turned the corner from somewhere in the house, a smirk on his face as he saw you. he wore his usual all-black outfit- but it was more formal than usual and you almost drooled at the sight. he wore black jeans with a black turtleneck. his silver jewlery was wrapped around his fingers and neck- his lip piercing moved against his plush lips as he greeted you. "let's go sit down."

jay walked beside you behind miyoung, walking through their big house. you had never been this far into their house before- usually only going to jay's bedroom, the bathroom and back. it was what you expected it to look like. modern and fancy with great white walls that held expensive-looking decorations and art.

they led you to an even greater room with a long, dark oak table. there was a bright, crystal chandelier hanging above the table and a lovely candle stick in the center of the table.

at the far end of the table sat a man: jay's father.

he looked exactly like jay- but older and strict. he looked expensive and it almost made you quiver away from intimidation.

"james, this is y/n- jays' tut- friend. jay's friend." miyoung stopped herself, smiling at jay before he could groan out in embarrassment.

jay's father looked up from his watch before his eyes met yours. you smiled and politely bowed to him, "nice to meet you, sir."

"oh my, you don't have to call him sir, just call him james." miyoung brushed her hand on your shoulder, "come over here, you can sit across from jay." she ushered you over to one of the empty dining room chairs.

jay's dad hadn't said a word to you, only staring at you with an expression that you would describe as 'shock'. you heard jay stifle a laugh as he sat across from you, not believing that you is what made his father recover that stupid expression.

when jay's father came home earlier in the day- he thought maybe just maybe, his father would break his serious expression at the sight of jay's new lip piercing. but nothing. just a normal 'hello' before he went into his office for the rest of the day.

after years of jay trying to get his father to react to anything he does- the one thing he doesn't try intentionally is what makes his father break: you.

jay feels like he's in a sort of other dimensions as he takes in what is going on. his father is actually interested in something that is related to him. his mother is bringing delicious food out on the table for everyone to eat. and you're sitting across from him looking so pretty and anxious as you smile at his parents.

you feel jay nudge your foot under the table, making you look up at him. he winks at you, trying to reassure you that you're fine.

"so, how are you friends with," james started, pointing at his son, "jay." there was a hint of confusion in his voice as he looked between you two.

"uh, i tutor him sometimes," you explain, taking a sip of the water that miyoung had put down in front of you.

"Ah, so you're the reason why his grades have been getting better." james nodded at you. jay was shocked that his father had actually known he had been doing better at school.

"i've been helping, but he does his tests by himself and such so."

james hummed in approval, moving out of the way so miyoung could place more food on the table before she sat down herself.

"i hope you're all really hungry!"miyoung exclaimed, signalling that everyone can dig in now.

the dinner went by smoothly. james seemed to be impressed with every answer you came up with to his or miyoung's questions. you were talking more than jay was for once.

jay didn't know what to say as he watched you interact with his parents. he's never seen his parents act so interested in one of his friends before. they never even spoke a word to heeseung throughout all these years. jay didn't even want to say anything. he liked hearing you talk so confidently, it was nice to see you be yourself in front of someone that wasn't him.

jay leaned on his front door frame, staring down at you as you stood on his porch. it had started to become dark out now, the sun still setting at the far end of the city. you had bid miyoung and james a goodbye a few minutes ago, thanking them for the dinner as jay walked you out.

"are you okay?" you asked jay, staring at his blissful expression as he scanned your face. you had only ever seen jay this calm before when he was high.

"yeah, i'm really okay." jay nodded, his head shaking against the door frame. "sorry if my parents annoyed you or anything."

"they didn't, i like them, they're so nice."

"my mom's nice, i don't know about my dad, though."

you shook your head at him, "i had fun, don't worry."

"good," jay smiled at you, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair- an action that if he saw anyone else do he'd feel sick, but now it feels so comforting with you- "i'll see you in the library on tuesday, right?"

"of course," you nodded, backing down the porch now, "stay out of trouble, yeah?"

"of course." jay nodded, mocking you with a smile. "bye, angel."

"bye~." you sang out, turning and walking home with a full stomach of food and butterflies.

jay closed the door once you were out of sight, sighing before heading to the stairs for his room.

"jay?" his father called out to him from the living room.

"yeah?"

"come here."

jay quietly groaned as he turned around and went to see his father. he was sitting on the far end of the couch, turning the tv on mute once his son came in. "sit."

jay sat on one of the chairs that no one ever sat in. "what is it?" he didn't want to talk to his dad. he was tired and frustrated that he hadn't been able to smoke all day.

"are you and y/n, dating?"

jay didn't know how to answer his question. you weren't dating but god did he want to. it was something that jay had never had the urge to do before- date a girl and do boyfriend-girlfriend things- and he's sure his past self would cringe if he knew what he was thinking.

"no, we're just friends."

"and you're going to stay friends, right?" james quirked an eyebrow up at his son, unsure of what his intentions were with a girl like you.

"what does that mean?"

"it means that you shouldn't be even hanging around with her jay- you should've stayed as tutor and student."

"what the hell are. you talking about?" jay sat up in the unused chair.

"come on son, you know" james shook his head at him, scanning his face for a sense of knowing, when it didn't come he continued, "i don't know what you plan on doing with y/n, but you know that a girl like her shouldn't be hanging out with a boy like you."

"and what is that?"

james sighed, his fingers coming to pinch his nose bridge in frustration, "you're a troublemaker jay, and she's so innocent that-"

jay scoffed and stood up, cutting off his father's words.

"and so what? i'm just a troublemaker for life? i can't change?"

"of course you can! just not with her!" james stood up now, his hands coming out in front of him in explanation to his son.

"and why not?"

"because you'll ruin her while you're trying to fix yourself!"

the silence in the house is a silence that's never been there before.

there were nights in the park house where the only sound would be miyoung crying out of worry for her son. nights where jay's music would blast through from his room. and some nights, there would be nothing but james' breathing from the living room as he sat and watched tv on mute, trying to relieve his never-ending headache.

the silence now, as jay and his father looked at each other with anger and sadness was something that no one knew how to break. jay always knew that you would be too good for him. the moment he saw you years ago in the hallway- he knew that you were the one thing he had to stay away from. but now that he knew you- how could he stay away?

the silence went on until jay scoffed and left the room. he grabbed his jacket on his way out, slamming the pretty front door on the way out-it being the final sound in the house for the night.

jay doesn't remember the next day.

he knows that once he wakes up in the late afternoon on tueday in heeseung's bedroom- an hour of school left of the day- that he's fucked.

he's fucked because he knows he just messed up his attendance for the semester- and because his head feels like it's been bashed against the wall one million times.

he feels a weight on his side as he tries to move, turning his head to see sunghoon's passed-out figure, his arm resting on jay's body. jay sighs before gently shrugging off his arm, knowing that he won't wake up his drunk friend.

jay scrambles around heeseung's room, trying to find his shoes before going to the bathroom. he looks in the mirror to see a sight he's seen so many times. he's washing his face to try to get rid of any intoxication but he knows it's not going to do anything. and then jay's sighing as he's leaving heeseung's house, heading to the school so you can try to tutor him and he can pretend he didn't just spend the last twenty-four hours partying with his friends.

you had realized the frown on jay's face the moment he walked into the library. you didn't say anything because you knew that he was moody sometimes. you had realized that he wasn't trying the practice problems you had given him. you didn't offer to help him because you knew that he understood the concept.

it was almost completely silent between you two for the hour that you were supposed to tutor him until you finally spoke up about his behaviour.

"what's wrong?"

"hm?" jay asked, looking up from his paper that he hasn't touched.

"i asked what's wrong, you don't seem okay."

"'m fine." he mumbled, going back to staring at question one.

you pouted at his answer, your mind going blank when trying to figure out if you had done anything to upset him. you were obviously getting caught up in your mind about faults that didn't exist. jay could tell that you were feeling upset about him and it honestly broke his heart.

"y/n, i'm fine. just my stupid father." jay explained briefly to you, hoping that the pout on your lips would go away.

"what happened?"

"don't worry about it, it's whatever." jay shrugged you off, not wanting to explain to you that you're too good for him and everyone can see it.

you reached across the table and took his unused pencil out of his hand before lacing your fingers with his. "jay, what happened?" jay looked at your concern-filled eyes, hating himself more because you cared so much for him.

jay sighed, squeezing your hand back, "i don't want to ruin you, y/n."

"ruin me?"

"you're too nice, and caring, and smart and good. stuff that i'm not, and i don't want to change those things about you because you're hanging around with me."

"jay." you stated, staring at his worried face, when he didn't look at you, you squeezed his hand until he did, "jay, you are not going to ruin me. you know about our reputations and didn't we agree that high school reputations are stupid? so who cares if i'm a 'good girl' and you're a 'bad boy'. i can make my own decisions so you are not going to ruin me, okay?"

jay smiled sheepishly at you, realizing that maybe it's all been in his head, his father not helping him at all.

"okay." jay nodded, letting go of your hand so you both could pack your things to leave. when you were standing up jay called your name before he turned to leave. "do you wanna go on a date this weekend? like a proper one- not one that's just in my bedroom where we tutor each other."

you felt your cheeks turn hot at the mention of how you 'tutor' each other, but your heart warmed with the thought of going on an actual date with jay. to a public place where people would see you two together.

"yeah, sure." you nodded, biting your lip to hold back your smile.

"okay, so i'll see you friday night?" jay asked, walking backwards out of the library.

"i'll see you friday, jay."

jay smiled a big smile at you before he turned and left the library, leaving you standing there with pink cheeks and a light heart.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

park jay picked you up outside your house on friday night in his black car that matched his black clothes and black hair. you had decided to wear jeans for tonight, as winter was quickly leaving seoul. you told your parents that you were hanging out with seeun for the night- no wanting to have a conversation with them about having boyfriends and what comes with it (safe sex!).

"hi, jay." you greeted him when you sat down in the passenger side of his car.

"hi, angel." he said, looking at your outfit, "you look pretty." his hand almost instinctively coming out to rest on your jean-clad thigh.

"thank you." you smiled, clicking on your seatbelt as jay started to drive to the movie theatre.

jay had done everything right. he bought your movie ticket, your drink and popcorn. he made sure you were comfortable in your seat. he held your hand during the movie, and asked if you were having fun- and you were. up until a sex scene played during the movie and you couldn't help but think of jay's face in between your legs. you felt your panties become suddenly too tight and you wished you had worn your usual skirts after all.

jay noticed the way your thighs clenched together during the end of the movie, also aware of the painfully long sex scene that reminded him that he was on a date with you. he noticed the way you were quieter than usual as you walked out of the movie theatres when the movie was over- obviously there was inappropriate thoughts rushing through both of your minds and you didn't want them to ruin the nice date you had just had with park jay.

you were both sitting inside of his jay's car, trying to warm up the car before he drove you back home. you were trying not to be obvious about the thoughts of jay running through your mind but the obvious twitching and playing with your fingers was being a dead giveaway that there was something on your mind.

jay put his hand on your thigh- an action that's becoming too familiar and comfortable- and you almost moaned at house sensitive you were still. there had been so many nights after hanging out with jay where his fingers and his stupid lip piercing were all that you could think about. no matter how long and hard you tried to focus on studying- park jay seemed to always appear in your mind. "are you okay, y/n?"

"y-yeah, did you like the movie?" you asked him, trying to ignore the way he was now squeezing your thigh, his fingers were just so close to your core.

"it was alright," jay shrugged, "are you cold? why are you bouncing your leg like that?" the point out of your whole body shaking makes you stop your action completely to a halt.

"i-i'm fine." jay laughed at you, shaking his head and pulling away his hand. "what? why're you laughing?"

"i saw the way you reacted during that sex scene, y/n." jay stated, almost laughing again at your shocked expression. "is there anything you want from me, y/n?"

you took a sharp inhale, "i-i just want you."

jay smirked down at you at your confession, his lip ring shining in the lamp light outside. "yeah? do you wanna go to my house then?" you nodded in response, glancing down at his crotch for a second, gasping quietly when you saw his bulge. you looked around the street where jay had parked his car, everyone that had been in the movie theatre had left by now, no one was around the back of the parking lot where jay had parked.

your hand trailed over jay's thigh suddenly, before cupping his bulge in his black jeans.

"f-fuck, what're you doing, baby." jay gasped out, not expecting for you to touch him like this.

"i wanna show you just how bad i can really be." you pouted to him, a hint of mischief in your eyes that matched his.

"fuck, okay." jay nodded, sitting back in his spot as you climbed over the center console and sat right on his thighs. your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling his lips into yours in a deep kiss. you had never kissed each other so feverishly before- the passion ran through you both at a high speed as you sat on top of him.

jay's hands rested on your hips, playing with the buckle loops of your jeans. your hair was sprawled over his shoulders as you tilted your head down to kiss him. you pulled away, resting your forehead on his as your hands trailed down his chest, stopping at his jean button. "wait." jay's hand stopped yours, making you glance up at him with concerned wide eyes, "are you sure you wanna do that?"

"yes." you nodded strictly, "a-are you okay with this?"

"yes, my angel." jay said, pulling your lips to his again before resting his hands on your thighs.

both of your eyes were locked on your hands unbuttoning his jeans. your hands went inside of his boxers, feeling his warm, hard length under your fingers. you could feel jay twitch underneath you at your touch. you pulled out his length so it was in view. his pale skin seemed like it was glowing from the moonlight shining in the car. you felt your jaw drop at finally seeing jay's cock.

jay laughed underneath you, finding your reaction cute.

"what?" you pouted at him again with a smile, "don't laugh at me."

"i'm not!" jay kissed your nose, "you're just so cute." you shook your head at him, lifting his cock up so it was straight in your hands.

remembering what you had overheard some other girl say in your class, you let spit fill up your mouth before you dropped a glob down on his red tip. jay let out a quiet hiss at your action. you brought your lips to hiss again, your hand starting to move up and down his hard cock slowly. your kissing speed matched your hands' speed.

jay started to kiss your neck, making you throw your head to the side so he could have better access. he hummed against your skin when you tightened your grip on his cock, your thumb brushing over the glob of precum that sat on top of his tip. "i wanna suck your dick, jay." you moaned out, making jay stop kissing your neck and pull away to look at you.

"you what?" he asked in shock about the words that had just come from your mouth.

"i wanna suck your dick."

"fuck." jay rested his head on the back of the headrest, looking up at you in the moonlight. "you're perfect you know that?"

you laughed at him, before moving down so that you were in between his legs, your knees at the bottom of the car floor. you looked up at him through your eyelashes, loving the way that he was looking at you as if you were an actual angel.

you kissed the bottom of his shaft, your hand moving up and down his shaft as you put kitten licks on his tip- trying to imagine what else you had heard other girls talk about. your tongue licked across the slit, making jay groan quietly. his hands went to play with your hair again- something that he never seems to stop doing now.

your hand and spit were getting jay's dick so wet that it was easier to move and squeeze his dick. you pulled away from his tip and started sucking on the bottom of his shaft, your hand speeding up as it moved up and down.

"god, that feels so good angel." jay groaned out, his head going back to rest on the headrest again. he was trying so hard to not buck up into your mouth. this was only a scenario he had dreamed of before- and now that it was a reality he didn't know how long he could hold himself over.

you put his tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around before pushing your head down his cock. when his tip hit the back of your throat, you tried to not pull out but it was hard not to. your hands kept stroking his cock up and down as you pulled away, his stomach tightening at the feeling of your throat closing around him. you put another glob of spit on his dick, making jay groan out at the sight.

"fuck, look at me when you do that." jay groaned out, pulling your hair so that you would look at him. "fuck that's it."

you started to put his cock all the way in your mouth again, your hand stroking what you couldn't fit until you found the right pace.

"my god." jay groaned out, taking a deep breath as he bit onto the back of his hand, trying to not buck into your mouth as your innocent eyes looked right into his. "that's it angel." he nodded at you, praising you for how well you were sucking his dick. your cheeks were hollowing in as you started to slurp around his dick. you were sure if anyone walked past the car they would be able to hear your sucking noises and jay's moans and groans.

"fuck, y/n. 'm gonna cum if you don't stop." jay warned you, gently trying to pull your head off him. his warning only made you suck and stroke his cock harder, wanting to see him cum like he's seen you before.

"please cum, jay." you nodded at him, spitting onto his dick once more before sliding your mouth down on him all the way.

"fuck!" jay moaned out, his body going rigid as he came in your mouth. the feeling of his warm cum coating your mouth only made you moan around his still hard cock- adding more vibrations and sensations to his orgasm.

you pulled off of him, your hand slowly stroking his cock as you showed him his cum in your mouth. "god." jay breathed out, watching you swallow his cum with a smile on your face. "i've actually ruined you, angel." you smile up at him, pulling his boxer and jeans over his cock again, letting him button up his jeans as you climbed back into the passenger seat.

"let's go to your house." you nod at him, putting your seatbelt on.

"my house?" jay asks, you nod in response, laughing at his silly expression. "fuck."

jay thinks he's never sped home so fast in his life. with the radio blasting and you giggling beside him as you tease him about his moaning- it felt like a dream.

jay's parents weren't home when he pulled into his long driveway- they were having a date night before james had to go back to work in another city for a few weeks.

you and jay ran up his pretty porch steps, kissing at the same time while laughing. you kept kissing his neck as he was trying to unlock his front door, trying to not bust the door down so he could bring you to his room.

his bedroom was the same as always as he closed his door and pushed you up against it. his lips going to your neck like usual, trying so hard to not leave hickeys to mark you as his. his hands were sliding down your body, pulling on the loops of your jeans to pull you closer to his hips. your hands were trailing down his back, grabbing onto his black, band shirt that he loved so much.

you pushed him away from you, backing him up until he got to his bed, laying down and propping himself up on his elbows to look at you. you pulled your shirt off, leaving you in your jeans and bra.

"you're gonna be the death of me." jay mumbled as you crawled on top of him, your cores grinding into each other. there was so much built-up lust between you that you were both too scared to act on. you were so inexperienced that you didn't know if jay would like it or not. and jay didn't want to rush you into things too fast.

jay flipped you over so that your head was up on his pillow- a position that you've been in before. you felt jay unbuttoning your jeans, pulling them down your legs until you were only in your underwear and bra. the sudden thought of being bare in front of jay for the first time sent an unwanted feeling of anxiety down your spine.

park jay was known to have sex with multiple girls before. you had wondered before about how many girls exactly that he's been with. so many girls that were more experienced than you- who were probably a lot sexier than you too.

jay felt you tense under his body, pulling away from kissing your collarbones to look at you. "are you okay?" he asked, concern filling him as he looked at your upset face.

"y-yeah, i'm fine." you replied meekly. jay pulled away from you at the sound of your voice.

"y/n, we don't have to do anything that you don't want t-"

"i want to! i really want to!" you cut him off, sitting up on your elbows to look at him. "it's just, you know. i've never done this before and i know you have- and i don't care that you have before!- i just want to be good for you."

jay pulled your lips to his at the end of your rambling, in a soft manner- just like the first time he kissed you. "i don't care if you've never done it- or even if you've done it a million times," you roll your eyes at him, "and you shouldn't care about how many times i've had sex, angel, all those other girls have never been my girl before."

you blush as jay calls you 'his girl'. you take jay's head in your hands, kissing him as a 'thank you for helping your insecurities. he pulled away from you to take off his own shirt. your eyes and hands immediately roamed over his skin as it was the first time that you had seen him shirtless. his skin was breathtaking. it was so smooth, pale and soft. little freckles and scars are visible to your eyes only.

he slid off his jeans and boxers, throwing them to the side of his bed, landing somewhere on the floor before he laid down on top of you again. kissing obnoxiously down your skin, sliding your panties off. you heard him take a sharp inhale as your core came visible to his eyes, having to hold yourself back from closing your legs.

you sat up again, your hands going behind your back to unclip your bra, letting the straps fall to your sides before throwing it to the side with jay's clothing. your breasts were visible to jay now, hearing him groan out before his hand reaches forward and starts to play with your nipple, making your back arch into his touch.

"i need you, jay." you tell him, the wetness between your legs becoming too much.

"fuck, okay, lay back." jay kissed your forehead, his hands trailing down your sides once you were under him once again. "you're sure you're okay with this?"

"yes jay, please." you begged, unsure of what you begged for exactly- all your mind could think of was jay.

jay leaned over to his bedside table, grabbing a condom and sliding it down his dick. he put his cock over your wet slit, your juices flowing all over your core and making a mess. you felt his cock slip in between your folds, circling your clit before beginning to push into you.

"i'll go slow, angel." jay whispered out to you, one of his hands tracing shape into your thigh while the other guided his cock in slowly, just like he said.

you closed your eyes as you prepared yourself to feel uncomfortable for the next few moments. he kept his gaze on your face, looking for any signs of pain until he was balls deep inside of you. your tight walls were already clenched tight around him he really didn't think that he could last this time.

"are you okay?" jay whispered to you, bending over your body careful to not push into your further.

"it- it feels weird," you replied, opening your eyes for the first time to look at him.

"i'm sorry, y/n. it'll stop in a second." jay kissed your cheek, moving one of his hands down between your bodies so that he could rub small circles over your clit.

he groaned quietly when he felt your walls clench even tighter. you stayed in that position for a minute, pleasure slowly taking over as he played with your clit. you told him that he could move after a moment, allowing for him to hold himself up over you with his elbows, his breath fanned your face as he pulled his cock out of you until just his tip was in before pushing back into you.

the feeling of having jay inside of you felt unusual, something that you had never experienced before, but it felt so right. you wrapped your legs tight around his waist as he continued to push his hard cock in and out of you.

the sound of his skin hitting your wet core was breaking the eerie silence that had taken over the park house. your little whimpers of pleasure were taking jay to a whole other world as he tried to not fuck too hard into you.

both of you could feel the sweat start to build up in between you two, the passion and lust adding to the aura of the room.

"g-god jay, feels so good." you cried out to him, your hips starting to push back into his thrusts.

"yeah?" jay's voice let out a deep grunt- a deepness that you've never heard in his voice before. you nodded, your eyes closing in pleasure this time. "you really letting me ruin you, angel? no one else is going to be able to feel you as tight as i am, fuckin' strechin' your pussy so good, right?" jay almost let out a laugh at the way you clamped down on his cock.

"jay, oh god!" you cried out again, you swore you could feel his cock in your stomach he was fucking into you so deep.

"fuck, y/n, i might cum, baby." jay groaned out, kissing your neck to try to keep himself quiet.

"please, cum jay, i wanna feel you cum." you begged him, your hands pulling on his hair to hold onto him tighter.

his orgasm snuck up on him before he could even tell you that he was cumming. a dark groan escaped his lips as he started to fuck into you harder and faster- your tight, wet walls letting him. his hand snuck down and started rubbing your clit and an inhumane rate, making your hips jerk up to meet his.

"fuck!" jay groaned out, feeling your walls spasm with your own orgasm. you felt his cum fill his condom as you hit your high. both of you moaning into each other's ears at the feeling of the insane amount of pleasure. you let out whimpers of his name as you came down from your high, his fingers coming to a stop on your clit as he pulled out of you slowly.

jay pulled off his condom and threw it into the garbage bin beside his bed. your heavy breaths filled his bedroom as he lay down beside you, pulling his duvet (the one that he likes!) over both of your sweaty bodies. you moved over to rest your head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat slow down.

"are you okay?" jay asked you, his fingers stroking your hair away from your face.

"'m perfect." you mumbled into his warm skin, feeling tired from the 'exercise' you just did. "thank you."

jay scoffed, "you don't have to thank me, angel. i had fun, as long as you had fun."

"i had fun." you turned your head and smiled up at him. jay kissed your forehead in return, closing his eyes for a moment, taking in his present reality. you felt sleepiness take over both your bodies until your phone started ringing from the pile of clothes you and jay made on the side of his bed.

you groaned, and reached over him to search on the floor for your phone, the duvet falling off your hips leaving your bare ass for jay to see. out of something like instinct, jay smacked your ass playfully, making you look back at him with a roll of your eyes.

"hello?" you asked into your phone, sitting back beside jay, pulling the duvet over your bare body.

"y/n!" seeun said over the phone, "do you want to hang out and watch movies tonight? i'm near your house so i can stop at the corner store and get snacks before i come!" guilt washed over you at seeun's offer to hang out. usually every other friday you and seeun would hang out at your house and watch a series of movies together- you had completely forgotten that it would be this friday as well.

"oh uh, i'm sorry se, i'm not feeling good so i don't think it's a good idea if we do movie night tonight." you lied through your teeth, your hand coming up to rest on your forehead as you tried to not let it out that you were lying.

"aw! that's too bad! i hope your parents are taking good care of you so you feel better!" seeun pouted through the phone.

"they are! thanks so much, i'll see you monday, right?"

"right! feel better! love you!"

"love you, too! bye!" you sighed and hung up, feeling awful that you had to lie to your best friend.

"what's wrong?" jay asked, his hand rubbing your back for comfort.

"seeun likes to have movie nights on friday nights and i forgot." you replied honestly.

"oh shit, i'm sorry." jay sat up, feeling bad that you had to miss hanging out with your friend because of him.

"no, it's okay, you didn't know!" you reassured him with a smile. "i should get home, though, my parents wanted me home before they get home later."

"okay, angel." jay kissed your temple for the last time of the night, both of you standing up and getting dressed so jay could drive you home.

seeun stood across the street from your house. she could see that your parents weren't home since their car wasn't in the driveway. all the lights in your house were off, including your bedroom light, meaning that you most likely weren't home either.

seeun sighed as she hung up, hurt running through her as she realized you had lied to her. where is she? she thought to herself, throwing her phone in her pocket and picking up the bag of snacks she had bought for her and you to share before walking back to her house alone.

-- -- -- -- -- --

since you had now become park jay's girlfriend, you had brought up the idea that you finally meet his friends.

jay really wanted you to meet his friends, but god did it make him nervous. he knew what his friends were like; they were assholes, and they liked to do dangerous things- but they didn't mean any harm per se, they just wanted to have fun.

the next weekend after losing your virginity to park jay, he invited you to come to a party so you could meet his small friend group. you were iffy about going to a party-having almost finished your high school career without not going to one. but since you would get to meet his friends- you pushed yourself to go.

jay held your hand tight as you walked into the party together. it was in some big house in the south end of seoul where apparently 'all the cool people partied'. you could hear the music down the sidewalk as you approached the party. there were strobe lights flashing out of the windows and cheers from kids partying inside.

the first thing you noticed when you walked into the party was that you did not belong. there were girls wearing practically nothing- compared to your short black skirt and baby pink crop top. the scent of weed and alcohol immediately filled your senses as you followed jay through the thick crowd of people, his hand never leaving yours in fear of losing you.

jay knew that you were nervous to go- and that you were going because of him and his friends. he knew that he'd have to watch himself tonight so he didn't mess things up between you and his friends. he already had a strict talk with his friends about being on their best behaviour for when they met you.

his friends were excited to meet you, some of them had only seen you from afar before, and they had really wanted to meet the girl that had stopped jay from being a total delinquent with them.

you almost bumped right into jay's back as he stopped suddenly, gently pulling on your hand so you could stand in front of him. there were six boys who all sat on the couch or chairs, four of them had red solo cups in their hands as they all cheered when they saw jay's familiar face.

they all looked familiar to you, having seen them around school or heard gossip about them from seeun.

"guys, this is y/n, y/n this is heeseung, jake, riki, jungwon, sunghoon and sunoo." jay introduced you over the loud music, pointing at each of them from left to right. they all smiled at you, some of them having bloodshot eyes from either the alcohol or drugs.

"hi y/n, it's nice to meet you!" one of them spoke up, the one being jungwon who seemed the soberest of them all. you smiled politely at him. "i heard you don't like to drink or anything so you can stay with me and riki all night, we don't do that stuff either." jungwon patted the boy on his right, riki smiling at you, too.

"she can stay all night with me too, guys." jay rolled his eyes at them, sitting down on a chair and grabbing at your hand for you to sit on his lap.

"yeah up until when? until you drink so much you throw up again?" the boy named sunghoon slurred, waving his hand at jay. you kept the smile on your face as you listened to him, trying not to think too much of it.

"he's joking, i haven't done that in a while." jay whispered in your ear.

"it's alright." you reassured him with a smile.

halfway through the night jay had convinced you to get up and dance with him, your bodies meshing in with the other sweaty dancers in the crowd as you all listened to the shitty house music that was making you go partially deaf.

it was fun to have jay grinding and laughing behind you, kissing your neck like he usually does. the rest of his friends had all dispersed around you, dancing on their own or with some girl that they obviously wanted to hook up with. it was interesting to see how they all acted together- some characteristics were just like you had heard within all the gossip- other things weren't even mentioned. they all looked out for each other, making sure that one of them doesn't drink or smoke too much.

"i gotta go piss." jay says in your ear while you were dancing. he felt you nod your head in response, "will you be okay for a second?" he felt you nod again, backing away from you but pointing at jake and jungwon from across the room that you'd be by yourself for a moment.

jungwon made his way to you, jake trudging along as he was definitely intoxicated from all the shots he had taken earlier in the night. you smiled as the two of them came into your sight, easily dancing with jungwon playfully. jake stayed beside you guys, swaying to the music with a smirk on his face that reminded you of jay's.

you were having fun dancing with jungwon, feeling jake stare at you every now and then when jungwon would twirl you in the middle of the dance floor.

"how the hell did jay get a girl like you?" you heard jake ask from beside you, making jungwon nudge him with a 'wtf' face.

"what do you mean?" you asked confused.

"you're just too pure." jake bit his lip as he scanned your face, "a goody two shoes." you gulped under jake's stare, jungwon having to snap jake's gaze away from you.

you saw a hand come from behind you a shove jake's shoulder a bit, "what're you doing, jakey?" you heard jay's voice say, an obviously annoyed tone evident.

"just asking y/n about what she sees in you." a playful smirk is on jake's face, he quirks his eyebrows up at you.

"bro, fuck off, you've had too much to drink." jay shoves him again, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"i got him jay, i'll take him back to heeseung's, it was nice to meet you y/n!" jungwon wrapped his arm around jake's shoulders, ushering jake away from you guys and towards an exit.

jay took your hand in his, guiding you through the crowd of people again, making his way to the front door with you behind him. when you were finally outside again, you didn't know how much you missed fresh air. the spring air felt crisp in your lungs as you walked hand in hand with jay down the sidewalk.

"i'm sorry about him," jay speaks for the first time since you've left the better, "he gets assholey when he's drunk, i didn't realize he was at the point of drinking."

"it's okay, jay." you mumbled, kissing his shoulder through his jacket as you continued to walk back to his house.

"what'd he say to you exactly?"

you hummed as you tried to remember, "something about me being a goody two shoes."

jay scoffed, "i'm sorry about him really, i can't believe he was even looking at you like that, i literally almost punched him."

"looking at me like what?"

jay quirked an eyebrow at you playfully, "you know, the way that i look at you."

"hm," you smirked, "didn't even notice."

"good," jay pulled you into him, "because you're mine, right?"

"just yours." you nodded, kissing his lips quickly.

the minute that you're back in jay's bedroom, the scent of alcohol and weed and sweat still on you, he's pushing you down onto his bed. you could tell from the moment jay saw how close jake got to you, that he was jealous. he tried to play it off while you were walking home, but you could tell with the way he kept you close to his side the entire way that he was a bit angry with his friends' actions.

jay nipped at your neck, making you moan out to him, "no marks, jay." you felt him pout against your skin at your warning.

"why? you said so yourself, you're mine. so why can't everyone else know?"

"my parents jay." you pulled him up and away from your skin. he sighed at the mention of them.

"can't we just tell them?"

"i want to, but we can't, not until we graduate, you know how they are."

jay continued to pout at you until his mischeif eyes returned, "fine, i wont leave marks on your neck."

jay starts to pull off your shirt, exposing your collarbones and the tops of your breasts. his lips attack your skin, sucking and biting until you're moaning under him at the possessive way he's marking your body.

you push him off so that you could unclip your bra, his hands helping slide it off of your tits before he's sucking at your nipples. your back arches into his warm mouth, and his hands start to slide off your skirt until he's throwing it over his shoulder.

"i like that skirt." jay mumbles into your skin, pressing open-mouthed kissing down your stomach to your thighs.

"yeah?" you ask breathless.

"yeah, black looks nice on you." he kisses below your belly button, "sexy."

"sexy?" you almost laugh, never in your life have you thought that you would look sexy.

"really sexy," jay came to your face, "why do you think jake couldn't stop staring at you?"

"he wasn't staring, jay." you kissed him passionately, sensing his worry. "if he was, i don't care, i only stare at you."

"i know angel, i know." he kissed your neck again, his finger tracing circles in your bare hips.

"no one else can fuck me like you, jay." you felt him groan at your words, the vibrations tickling your skin.

"is that what you want me to do? do you want me to fuck you, y/n?"

"please jay, i want you to fuck me so hard."

"okay, my angel." his hands grab onto your hips suddenly, flipping you over so your face is pressed against his mattress. "want me to fuck you like the bad girl we know you are?"

"yes! please!" you cried out, your hands searching for something to grab on to. you feel jay grab your forearms, shoving them together and locking them onto your back.

"leave your hands here." jay grunted out, you feel him stand up off of his bed. you hear shuffling as he undresses. "i need to play some music, i don't want my parents to hear." you hum in response to him, watching him turn his speaker on. angel by the weeknd started to fill his room and hopefully quietly down the hall to block out your future noises.

when you feel jay's hard dick press up against your thighs your body jolts with excitement. you felt him press one last soft kiss in the middle of your spin before he's pushing your upper half down into his mattress so that your ass was in the air for him.

his hands land a loud slap on your ass, making you jolt forward with a moan. "fuckin' love your ass, angel." he slaps your ass again with both hands, "wanted to see it for long, prancing around my room in your skirts, just beggin' for it, yeah?"

"yes, sir." you moan out before you could even stop yourself.

"sir?" you hear jay tease you, "my goody two shoes has a sir kink?" he laughs out, "god you're perfect." jay leans his face down so that his tongue can slide in between your folds, small circles around your clit quickly. you feel his lip piercing's cold metal brush over it ever so slightly before he's pulling away again.

jay reaches over your back, holding onto your locked hands that stayed so obediently behind your back. "i love the way you taste, so sweet, so good just like you." he mumbles into your skin, shoving his tongue into your hole quickly before he's taking it out again. he hears you whine into his mattress. "what's wrong, baby?" he asks in a mocked, caring tone.

"wanna feel you."

jay slapped your ass with his free hand, "ask nicely like the good girl you are."

"please, i want your tongue sir." you felt him smirk on your spin as he pressed a soft kiss before slapping your ass again.

"good girl." his breath was over your core again, "fuck you're so wet." he used his thumb to spread your folds open, cool air being blown on your bare core.

jay dragged the flat of his tongue against your slit, collecting all your juices and wetting you with his saliva. you moaned out into the pillow, feeling so incredibly turned on by him that it was almost too much already. the throbbing pain in your ass from his slaps only increased your pleasure more.

you started to grind your hips back into his face, making him laugh against your core. "are you trying to be a little slut?" he asked you, massaging your ass with his free hand, running his fingers over the red marks that were already appearing.

"'m sorr-ry sir, feels so good." you arched your hips to grind against him again.

at full force, jay started to fuck his tongue into your hole, groaning against your core at your taste. he really couldn't get over how good you tasted on his tongue. you really were an angel and he had you all to himself.

within what felt like a minute, jay had to fall apart on his tongue, his grip on your locked hands tightening as you started to shake against his tongue, he spanked your ass as you called out his name, your eyes closing as pleasure took over.

he pressed one final kiss to your wet core before standing up off his bed away from you, your hands falling to your sides from holding them in place for so long. soft whimpers still left your mouth as your high coursed through you. "you good, y/n?" he asked into your air, kissing your temple as your face was still pressed into his mattress.

"yes, sir." you replied obediently, smiling at him through your eyelashes. you heard him dig through his bedside drawer, plopping a condom packet on the bed before digging some more. you heard him mumble to himself before he closed the drawer.

you felt him get on his knees behind you again, pushing your front down again as he slipped the condom on. you could feel your juices mixed with his spit leaking down your legs. jay slid slowly into you, aware that this was only your second time having sex. "fuck, still so tight." he mumbled, sounding like there was something in his mouth. he let you adjust to his size for a moment.

your heavy breath was mixing in with another the weeknd song as you tried to control your clenching core around jay's cock. you heard lighter flicks from behind you suddenly, making you lean on your elbow to look at jay, who was lighting a cigarette in his mouth. you quirked an eyebrow up at him as you watched him inhale, throwing the lighter somewhere and blowing smoke out of his mouth.

"don't look at me like that." jay shook his head, "i was already at a party tonight with drugs and alcohol, and now i'm fucking you- i need something or else i'm not gonna last." you rolled your eyes at him, plopping your head back down into the mattress as you felt him start to fuck slowly into you.

his cock was already so deep in you that you didn't know how long you were going to last either. the slow r&b song urged jay to start fucking into you faster, gripping onto your waist as he fucked you into his mattress. he'd slow down every few thrusts, getting deep inside of you where he'd circle his hips, reaching everywhere inside of you.

you felt his hand reach underneath you, pinching your nipple before grabbing you by the neck and pulling you up your knees. you rested your head on his shoulder, your body jolting upwards everytime he fucked up into you. his other hand that wasn't holding you up held his cigarette, taking a puff every few seconds.

your hair had become a mess at this point, from the amount of times you had shoved your face into the mattress and now it was getting tangled as it hung over your body that rested against jay's.

you kept your eyes closed as you focused on the way jay was fucking you, making you moan out his name and be thankful for the music he had put on. the smell of sweat, jay's cologne and cigarette smoke filled his room as he continuously fucked deep inside of you.

the hand that was holding you up, slid down to your clit, rubbing wet circles around it, causing slick sounds to be heard in the room. "fuck, angel, clenching around me so damn tight."

"just for you, sir." you moaned out, turning your head so you could look him in the eyes.

"fuck." he growled out, throwing your body down onto the mattress again, his cock slipping out of you making you whine. he knelt over you, reaching to his bedside table to put the rest of his cigarette out.

his shoved his cock back into you forcefully, making you cry out his name.

"can you touch your clit for me angel? wanna feel you cum around my cock." he asked, grabbing onto your waist again and fucking into you at a fast pace.

"yes, sir." he watched your hand snake under your body and start circling the bud as he fucked deep inside of you to reach your high.

the sight of you trying to get yourself off while his cock was pleasuring you was almost too much for jay as he rolled his eyes back and swore out loud. your walls were spasming around him in now time, loving the way he was gripping onto you so tight.

he spanked your ass as you came, intensifying your skin as he continued to pound into you, reaching his own orgasm shortly after.

jay collapsed onto you, his cock still sitting in your wet and used walls. your heavy breaths filled the room as both of you tried to calm down from your orgasms.

when he felt his cock soften finally, he pulled out of you slowly, not wanting to overstimulate you more from how sensitive you were. he tied off the condom and threw it into the garbage bin beside his bed.

"i'll get you some water, angel." jay kissed your temple, rubbing your back briefly before throwing on some sweatpants and leaving for the kitchen.

the slow music still played through the speakers as you sat up in jay's bed, reaching over the side to grab something to cover in. jay's black band shirt was over your shoulders in an instant so you could lay back down. there was already a throbbing in your core from how hard jay was fucking into you- you knew that you wouldn't be able to move for the rest of the weekend but you didn't regret it at all.

jay came back with a soft smile on his face as he saw you in his shirt, in his bed, with his bite marks on your thights.

"here you go." jay gave you a glass of water and climbed to sit beside you in the bed, wrapping his duvet around you and him. "are you okay?"

you nodded as you set your glass of water down beside his burnt out cigarette, "'m perfect." jay smiled at you, pulling you into a deep kiss.

"you told your parents that you're sleeping at seeun's, right?" you hummed in response to his questions, "good, let's go to sleep, we're going to need it since exams are starting soon."

you groaned as you layed back with him, your head coming to rest on his chest. "don't remind me about exams right now."

"i'm sorry! i'm kinda excited for them."

"you're excited for exams?" you asked him.

"yeah, i've never studied for them before ."

you hummed in realization at his words, "maybe you are getting a halo, jay."

"maybe." you heard jay reply before the two of you fall asleep to the sounds of each other's breaths, both content with your relationship for the moment, unaware of lies.

-- -- -- - -- -- -- -

although jay said he was excited about exams, he didn't really know just how stressful studying for exams could be. it felt like there was an outweighing pressure on him whether he was studying or not.

and even though you were there beside him for majority of it, he still felt like he wasn't going anywhere. he hated sitting beside someone as smart as you, bothering you to help him when you needed to study as well.

you constantly told him that you didn't mind helping him (you were his tutor at first) but he just didn't believe you. he felt guilty distracting you from your own work when you're the one who actually has a bright future in front of them.

jay had been trying to be good for you the moment you started to tutor him. cutting out drugs and alcohol so quick for him was proven to be difficult very quickly. anytime that he was around his friends, he'd drink or smoke, not telling you what he was up to.

jay knew that he should've told you that he was still getting intoxicated, but he didn't want to disappoint you like he's done to his entire family and peers. he couldn't bear to see a disappointed look on your face because of his actions.

so friday night, when the stress of studying for exams became all too much, he let heeseung pick him up and take him to an almost end-of-the-year party.

and he drank and he smoked and he lost himself in the shitty house music that he swore he hated. every time the thought of you came into his mind, he took another shot to try to distract himself from how much of a disappointment he was. everyone was right, you were too good for him.

that disappointed look from you came all too quickly when he woke up the next day to you shoving his shoulder, waking him up in his bed. it took him a second to realize where he was and what the hell was going on, but once he did oh god was he fucked.

"y/n!" he jumped out of bed, only wearing those grey sweatpants that you liked on him so much. "i-"

"it's whatever, jay," you put your hand up to him, frustrated that he had gone out and got intoxicated behind your back. "i'll talk to you monday when you're not hungover."

"y/n." he grabbed your arm, stopping you from leaving his bedroom, "i'm sorry! i just, exams! i didn't think they'd be so stressful!" you couldn't look at him as he explained himself, feeling lied to was the worse thing you could feel.

"you could've at least told me you were going to a party," you mumbled to him, wondering if he had hooked up with any girls last night.

"i know! you're right! i'm a fucking asshole. i'm sorry, i tried to be good for you- i did!"

you sighed as he kept apologizing to you, wondering how many times exactly he's lied to you about being somewhere or being sober.

"y/n, look at me." his voice sounded weak as he said your name again. you forced yourself to look at him, tiredness evident on his face from the night he had. "i am sorry. i like you so much i-."

"do you like me?" you cut him off, "because if you did i don't know why you'd lie to me about this."

"of course i fucking like you! i can't go a second through my day without thinking about you! i have to drink to stop thinking about you and how much of a disappointment i am to you! it's so hard trying to be good i- i'm just not."

your hand grabbed jay's face, making him look you in the eyes, "park jay." you made him listen to you, "you are not a fucking disappointment." jay's eyes widen at your use of language, never hearing you swear before in his life, "you don't have to be good for me. no one is exactly good, take me for an example. i understand that you like to drink and smoke and party and whatever! i just hate knowing that you're wasting your life away when you have so much potential! i don't care if you smoke or drink i just want you to be able to have a good future! i didn't mean to make it sound like you had to go behind my back to do those things! so i'm sorry." you confessed to him, feeling guilty yourself for putting pressure on him to feel like he's not good enough for you.

jay sighs at your confession, the weight on his shoulders leaving as he realizes his own stupid mistakes. "it's okay. i'm still sorry that i did those things behind your back." he nodded, moving forward to rest his chin on your shoulder.

you wrap your arms around him, smiling as he almost knocks you over by leaning his entire weight on you, "it's okay. next time, we should just talk about these things, i don't want there to be any more miscommunication, okay?"

"okay, angel." jay nodded, pulling away so he could smash his lips onto your own, kissing you like it's the first time all over again.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

new fact: walking into school with park jay holding your hand will 100% cause everyone to stop and stare at you.

"what do we do?" you whispered to him, continuing your way to your locker.

"just don't look at them, they're fucking annoying." he grunted at you, hating everyone in the school.

"jay!" you hissed at him.

"sorry! you asked!" he shoved you playfully, pulling you back into him by your hand.

"what the hell?" you heard a familiar voice behind you. both you and jay turn at the sudden declaration.

seeun stood behind you, a disgusted look on her face as she looked at you, jay and your intertwined hands.

"seeun." you said her name, pulling your hand away from jay out of instinct.

"save it, y/n. now i know that this is who's been keeping you so busy." seeun pointed at jay, "so busy that you can't hang out with your best friend."

"seeun i'm sorry! i didn't mean for it to be like this!" you tried to explain, but she turned on her heel and stormed through the crowd of students until she was gone. you turned and looked at jay, an upset expression on your face.

"go after her, i'm fine." jay smiled at you, nodding towards the direction where seeun went. you smiled at him, pulling him in for a kiss that made everyone gasp before you ran down the hall where seeun went.

you pushed into the girl's bathroom where you saw her disappear, her bent-over figure leaning over the bathroom sink.

"seeun." your voice makes her head jolt up, a scowl on her face when she sees that it's you. "i'm sorry."

"you're sorry?" seeun says, standing up straight. "you have nothing to be sorry for y/n." she says in a mocked tone, "you're just throwing your life away with some misfit delinquent. go ahead! as if i care!"

"seeun!" you hiss at her, not believing the way she was speaking to you. "it's not like that! he's not like that!"

"he's not a misfit?" seeun laughs in your face, "then what the hell is he? and why is a girl like you dating a guy like park jay?"

god you were getting so sick of that phrase.

"because i'm a misfit too! i don't fit in in this society either! and that's all i ever wanted! i'm fucking happy seeun!"

seeun gasped at your confession before she scoffed, "who even are you?" she asked, shoving past you and exiting the bathroom.

you stood in silence with your jaw dropped open as you walked toward the mirror. you wiped your face from the fallen tears that managed to escape because of your best- ex best friend.

the toilet flushing in one of the stalls behind you made you stand up straight, looking at yourself in the reflection as if anything was fine.

park sieun with her pretty orange hair walked up behind you, washing her hands in the sink beside you.

"you shouldn't listen to her," she spoke to you for the first time in your whole high school career.

"what?" you asked confused, wondering if she even knew who she was talking to. sieun dried her hands before looking at you.

"don't listen to yoon seeun. it's hard for someone to be friends with her. she cares too much about fitting in in this world when that's so hard to do. once she realizes just how much of a 'misfit' someone is, she cuts them out of her life."

"oh." you nod, looking down at your hands, remembering that sieun and seeun used to be friends. "oh."

sieun smiles at your realization, "i'm a misfit too y/n, believe it or not. so don't listen to seeun. and i think it's cool that you're dating jay, whether or not your high school reputations allow it or not, who cares, just have fun."

you smile at her words, feeling a bit better now that you've realized just how much high school stereotypes and cliques can really ruin a person.

"thank you sieun, really."

"it's no problem." she shakes her pretty head, "good luck on your exams." she pats your shoulder and leaves the bathroom as the bell rings.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

within the last few days of high school, yoon seeun had already found a new 'best friend' as she sat with her at your and seeun's old cafeteria table. it made your stomach feel sick when you walked in and someone sitting in 'your' spot. you really were just so replaceable to seeun.

an arm wrapped around your shoulder as the frown deepened at the sight, "just come sit with us outside, it'll be fun." jay spoke from behind you, making you smile up at him.

hanging out with jay and the rest of the 'misfits' was something you never thought that you'd do. but fitting in with them was a lot easier than fitting in with the rest of the world.

jake apologized for the last time you had partied with them, feeling guilty for being such an asshole drunk. but you only smiled and hugged him, catching the wink jay threw to you over his shoulder.

you fit in with the rest of the boys so much that it made them even want to study for their exams. so you all made flashcards and makeshift quizzes and studied in heeseung's bedroom until you rotted.

they all groaned when you told them they had more questions to do, but in the end it worked out the best for them.

jay, sunghoon and jake all graduated that year with you, all of them thankful that you had become their tutor. they had joined heeseung at the local state college, grateful that somewhere had accepted them with their last-minute grades.

you ended up getting accepted into a university a few hours away from seoul, wanting to still get away from your strict parents.

the boys were sad that they wouldn't see you as much. it put worry on you and jay for how much you'd see each other by being hours away from each other every day.

but you made a promise to call and to visit once a month.

and you were perfect with that.

because you and jay need each other.

your relationship can work through the distance as it's worked through the changes you had to make for the better of the both of you.

you were too good and he was too bad- you had to find the balance through each other.

and now park jay hates everyone except for you (and maybe heeseung)

@ taeghi, 2022. do not repost or reuse in anyway.

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