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shoxxcc · 15 days ago

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this is too perfect 🤧

imagerie

park jisung x female reader

In which you're the escort who Jisung has been seeing regularly, but you're pining for him.

Genre: fluff, light angst, nonlinear narrative?

Content: this is set in a non-idol alternative universe. a bit suggestive at the beginning, but there's really nothing else besides that. reader is an escort but there aren't mentions of negative interactions with clients. overall pretty sweet

Word count: 5,344 words

Author's note: In a way, this story is an exercise in pining more than anything else, so it's not necessarily intended to be realistic. I wrote this with the idea that the reader's character is the same age as Jisung, but that is not specified in the story. I'll have more notes after the end!

Looking back, all of this began because of Na Jaemin.

You still remember that day so clearly. At the time, you were accompanying Xiao Dejun at a fancy hotel dinner that was held in celebration of a collaboration agreement between two large companies. It was only your fourth ever appointment since becoming an escort.

Na Jaemin was the most handsome man you'd ever seen in your life. You were flustered when he started flirting with you, with Dejun still by your side, no less. Thankfully, Dejun seemed amused and not annoyed.

Near the end of the party, Jaemin pulled you aside and asked for your phone number. You initially thought it was for himself, but he told you about his beloved younger friend, and how he was looking for a date for the next company gathering.

Na Jaemin was a master at reading people, and he could tell that you were kind and gracious—a good match for his beloved Jisung. But most importantly, he saw a genuine sweetness in you, one that you couldn't mask. He found you beautiful too, which didn't hurt.

So that was the beginning of it all. And here you are now, waiting for Jisung to come down to the pool in his luxury apartment complex. It's been five months since you had your first date with Jisung, facilitated with Jaemin's interference, of course.

Jisung was shy at first, but over time he'd grown more comfortable with you, and bolder too. Now he's one of your main clients, and you see him fairly often. He even started giving you gifts such as necklaces and bracelets. You had tried to refuse them, but he insisted.

It's Saturday afternoon, and Jisung had paid you to spend several hours with him today. This is your first time in his apartment complex, though. When you'd asked, he was vague about the details of how he wanted to spend this time, with the exception of mentioning the pool. So you'd brought your best bikini to look pretty for him.

You sigh loudly, alone at your pool chair. You don't know what you should do about all this.

But never mind that, because the door just opened. It's Jisung. You looked away after seeing him, but you can feel his eyes on you. You'll let him look—after all, you'd wanted to impress him today.

You finally look up to see him standing there awkwardly. He hasn't been this shy since your first few dates together, so you're a little confused.

“What is it, Jisung?” you prompt.

He grows even more bashful, if that's possible. “Ah, it's nothing,” he says. “It's just that when I saw you, I really thought that you're like a goddess.”

A goddess? You feel your cheeks warm. Yeah, Jaemin was right about you. You fall easily for words like this. Even though you've been an escort for half a year now, you're still affected by praise and sweet words.

But you shake your head. “I'm just me,” you say. “And you know me.”

“And you're the most stunning girl I've ever met.”

You don't answer to that. Jisung has a habit of trying to be romantic, and it's one that you should protect your heart from. After all, he could easily have a change of heart and stop paying for your company. It could happen anytime, really.

So you stand up and play the part of the sultry escort. You slide your hand down Jisung's chest and stop at his lower abdomen. He's so hot, you think. “Do you want to go in the pool now?”

The pool was actually really fun. You swam by yourself for a bit before rejoining Jisung. The two of you chattered away, and you ended up smiling so much that your cheeks hurt. Being with Jisung made you happy.

You're done showering now, and your hair is dry. Jisung is showing you some of the new song lyrics he's been writing lately. In his family, his older brother is the one who is more involved with the company, so Jisung is free to pursue whatever he wants, which usually means art. And you too, if you could be considered as someone who entered his life through money.

But really, truly, you didn't have anything to complain about, did you? You were steadily earning money through your profession, and you'd been able to meet Jisung, who treated you well and even went above and beyond. The only problem was that you liked him too much.

Was there ever a way that things could have turned out differently? You don't think so. Your fate was set for you the moment you saw Jisung's smile.

It was during your first date with him. He had been reticent until you said something that made him laugh—you always try to remember what exactly it was, but you’re never able to. All you remember is what happened after. The way he smiled and how it made his whole face look so cute and bright. And you noticed how Jisung’s smile was shaped like a heart, and in that moment, your own heart was set on him.

It didn't make sense, you knew. How could you have loved him already? Well, even if it wasn’t love, you knew there was something there. Not love, but your heart calling out for a home, and maybe it just so happened that Jisung was right there and it was convenient for your heart to attach itself to him. Maybe.

You had decided to wait the feeling out and see what happened. You knew after the first date that it could have been your first and last time seeing Jisung, but it didn't turn out that way. There were several more dates, and it all came to a peak that one Sunday.

You couldn't hold yourself back. At the end of the date, you kissed him, short and sweet. It startled Jisung, and he flinched and stepped back a bit. He hadn't expected you to do that. You saw this, and apologized immediately, feeling guilty because you knew it caught him off guard and you hadn't asked for his permission.

You watched as Jisung patted at his heart and took a deep breath. He told you that it was okay, and that he'd liked it, just that he gets startled easily and he didn't realize what you were going to do. Before he left, he added that you could do it again another time, if you wanted to.

It was after that when he became bolder with you, and a bit more touchy, taking your hand sometimes or leaning his head against your shoulder. You tried to not think too much about what that could mean, because he still paid you for your time every time, and he never said anything that indicated that he actually wanted to date you “for real.” Maybe he just liked the convenience of knowing you'd be there for him as long as he was a source of your salary. That you wouldn't turn him down because this was something you had to do.

You thought it was obvious to Jisung that you genuinely liked him, but one day you accidentally saw his text messages to Jaemin, and he'd written that you were a really good escort, and “Thanks for recommending her.” Did that mean he thought you were just really good at your job? Yes, you tried to be, but it was easy with Jisung because you were just that enamored. Again, you decided to not think about this too much, either.

To your surprise, you'd received a text message from Jaemin. He wanted to ask for your time this Friday evening—there was a fashion gala in your city that he had to be at.

You weren't sure what to make of this. Jaemin was Jisung's friend, so surely he must know how often you see Jisung, right? Unless you really didn't mean anything to Jisung, thus making Jaemin feel like he could ask this of you…

You were getting ahead of yourself. You shook your head and replied to Jaemin, telling him you could make it.

So the evening came, and you came with the resolve that if Jaemin tried to pull anything, you would strongly reject his advances. A silly part of you wanted to show your loyalty to Jisung, even if it didn't make any sense.

“You can relax, Y/N,” Jaemin said, more sincerely than you'd expected. “I won't do anything tonight. Just wanted your company.” He flashed you his megawatt smile.

“How do you always know?” you asked.

Jaemin winked at you, and laughed as he saw the disgusted face you made at him. “I have my ways. People are easy to read.”

And you'd never wished more that he didn't have this ability until this night came. You were sitting down by yourself, Jaemin off in the crowd with someone else—Lee Jeno, he said?—chatting and chatting. You let your eyes wander towards Ning Yizhuo, the star of tonight's gala, and get a heavy feeling in your stomach when you realize the person she's talking to now is no other than Park Jisung.

He knows her? That was your first thought. Your second thought is about whether they were dating or not. Jisung had never mentioned her to you, or anyone who seemed like a possible girlfriend for that matter, so you had assumed that he didn't have anyone and that you weren’t his “side piece,” if that was any consolation. But maybe you were wrong.

You know it's not right to assume that any girl Jisung is talking to is romantically involved with him, but the fearful part of your brain takes over. You want to look away, but you can't. You watch silently as Jisung laughs and smiles easily with her, and wish desperately that you could be in Ning Yizhuo’s place.

“Looking at Jisungie now, aren't you?”

Jaemin is back. He caught you…you remind yourself that tonight, you're with Jaemin, and no one else.

So you apologize. “I'm sorry about that, Jaemin. I promise I'm yours for tonight.” You sit up straighter and focus all your attention on him, looking him in the eyes. You'd forgotten how blindingly handsome he is, and it takes a lot for you to not look away.

But Jaemin just waves his hand. “No need to apologize, Y/N,” he says. “And if you're wondering, Jisung and Ningning are childhood friends. He's not seeing anyone right now. Well, except for you, of course.”

You must have looked visibly relieved at this information, because even though you thought you hid your reaction, Jaemin follows up with, “Wow, you really like him, don't you?” He almost looks sympathetic.

You look down at your lap. There's no point in denying anything when Jaemin knows it all. “Yeah.” You sigh.

Deciding to be brave, you ask, “Do you know how he feels about me?”

But before Jaemin has even opened his mouth, there's a new person pulling out a chair at your table. He has a strong bone structure and dark hair. He greets Jaemin casually before turning to you.

“You're Jaemin’s date tonight, right? Who are you?”

He's very straightforward, you think. But he seems fine. So you say, “I'm Y/N. It's nice to meet you.”

You're confused though, because his mouth drops open and he gasps. “Wait, did you say Y/N? As in Jisung’s Y/N?” At this second question, he turns towards Jaemin.

You were known by somebody as Jisung’s? What is going on…

“My apologies. I totally forgot to introduce myself! I'm Zhong Chenle.” He smiles brightly at you, and you find yourself smiling back easily. He has a melodious voice too, you notice.

Chenle is a fantastic conversationalist. It seems to you that he can talk about anything and everything. Within the span of your conversation with him, he's told you about his dog, what he ate for breakfast this morning, his new exercise regimen, and even the first time he met Jisung.

“Jisung and I have known each other since we were ten,” he says proudly. “I'm his oldest friend.”

Oh wow. So you'd do well to be on Chenle's good side, since they're so close…but wait, why are you thinking about all of this because of a guy who pays you to spend time with him? Are you really that down bad?

The answer is, unfortunately, yes. And you know that more than anyone. More than Jaemin, even.

But what you don't know is that Jisung had a whole conversation about you with Chenle. Chenle remembers it well.

“I really do think she likes me,” Jisung had insisted.

“You know she has to act like she likes you, right? That's what you pay her to do,” Chenle had pointed out, not unkindly but truthfully.

“But I really feel like she does. I think she likes me for real. She always looks at me this certain way and kisses me on the cheek at the end of all of our dates. She doesn't have to do that…”

The two were quiet for a moment. Then Jisung asked, “...Do you really think it's all just fake?”

He looked so dejected that Chenle's demeanor softened. “I don't know, Jisung. I haven't met her. I just don't want you to get hurt over someone who isn't supposed to hurt you.”

Jisung had sighed. “You're right. Maybe I'm just imagining it.”

But now that Chenle's been talking to you, he’s starting to think that maybe Jisung wasn't imagining things. You seem a lot more genuine and guileless than he thought you'd be. He's surprised. He even risks asking you what it's like when you spend time with Jisung, and the way you smile and giggle at the thought of him surely has to be real.

Chenle thinks he has his answer now, but he'll leave it up to Jisung to figure it out.

Chenle isn't the only friend of Jisung's whom you meet here. You hit it off with the kind and well-spoken Mark Lee to the point where you're enthusiastically exchanging phone numbers. As you're doing this Jisung actually passes by your table, and you almost pause what you're doing to wave at him, but he ignores you. You try to not feel embarrassed by that.

And wait a minute…where even is Jaemin?

You're back at Jisung's apartment complex. This time, you're on the rooftop deck, a breeze blowing through your hair and Jisung sitting by your side. The stargazing has been going just okay, since it's cloudy tonight. You've given up for now and have started chatting about other things instead.

Suddenly Jisung asks you, “Did you like meeting Mark the other day?”

“I did,” you say. “He's one of the coolest people I've ever met. I love how well-read he is and how uniquely he thinks about things. It's so cool that you're friends with somebody as amazing as him.”

You say this very sincerely as you look at Jisung, but the compliment doesn't seem to have the effect that you wanted. He just looks at you blankly. “Are you going to be seeing him a lot, then?”

Oh. He thinks it's like that?

“I don't know. I mean, it's up to him,” you reply after a brief pause.

Jisung just nods at you and hums in acknowledgement. It looks like this conversation is over. You don't like Mark like that, though, and you didn't get the vibe from him that he wanted to spend time with you as an escort.

You want to tell Jisung that he's the only one for you, but you keep your mouth shut before you blurt out something you shouldn't. You know you’ll have to say something sooner or later and that you can't hold it in forever, but for now you'll hold your silence. You've been doing it for this long anyways, so a little more should be okay.

Jisung had been hesitant at first, as he often is. When Jaemin told him about you for the first time, he'd refused the idea of hiring an escort to be his date. He didn't know what you'd be like, and he thought it might be immensely awkward to pay someone to spend time with him. But Jaemin reassured him.

“She won't do anything that you don't want her to. Since you're paying her, you can let her know what's ‘awkward’ and what's not, in your words,” Jaemin had said. “Besides, don't you want to meet someone new? She's really sweet and pretty. I promise you'll like her.”

Jisung had his doubts about that. But still, he relented and asked you to be his date.

He didn't know what to expect, but as it turned out, you were just as sweet and pretty as Jaemin said you were. Jisung being Jisung, he was rather awkward with you at first (and then he felt awkward about being awkward!), but you never reacted negatively towards him. You clearly tried to make him feel more at ease, asking him about himself and his interests, his thoughts about the dinner you were provided at the company gathering, and how he was feeling. Soon Jisung felt himself relaxing a bit in your presence, and you smiled at him beautifully.

Near the end of the event, you had told him, “Jisung, I didn't mention this earlier but I want to say this now. You're so handsome.” You put a hand on his arm, gently.

Jisung had blushed red and tried to stop himself from sputtering and embarrassing himself even more in front of you. “Really?” Did you mean it? Were you just trying to butter him up? Maybe this was something you always said…

“Yes, of course! Don't you know? You're gorgeous.” You moved your hand down to squeeze his hand, while Jisung brought his free hand up to cover his mouth in shyness and maybe even disbelief. You giggled at this, making Jisung look at you, and then the two of you giggled together.

Jisung decided that he didn't mind, even if you were just buttering him up. But he learned as time went on that you weren't, and you always meant what you said when you complimented him. It did boost his ego to be lavished with all this positive attention from a girl like you, and he even asked you one time if you could tell him about all the reasons you thought he was handsome. It was your turn to be shy and sputtering, but you told him.

Jisung liked having your attention. He realized that he did have some kind of effect on you, and so he came to enjoy flirting with you just to see your responses. And after the first time you took him by surprise with a kiss, the only kisses you initiated with him were kisses on his cheek. So from then on, he was the one to start kisses with you on the lips, and the way you'd be breathless with your eyes shining as you parted from him—he wanted to see that again and again.

Maybe there was a romantic in him that needed to be fulfilled. Jisung almost forgot that what the two of you had was bound by the material world of monetary payment and time limits. He paid you generously for your time with him, but the way you sweetly thanked him every time somehow tricked him into thinking that it was a gift to the girl he liked, rather than something you required from him.

What brought him out of this endless sky his delusional heart floated in was when you'd ask him if there was anything you could do better for him. Was there anything he wanted you to change? Did Jisung have any feedback for you about your services?

It was always jarring to him. How could it be, that you were only doing a job, but he felt so right with you? Jisung came to understand that you were a very good escort, and he told Jaemin as much. From a more cynical perspective, maybe this was all a ploy to be able to earn more from him.

Still, Jisung dreamed of love. And he remembers that one time you asked him, “Are you sure there's nothing better I could do for you? I can try more to be what you really want.”

He told you, “Just keep being you,” fully aware of how silly that may have sounded.

But you didn't seem to think that. Actually, you looked quite surprised to Jisung, and for the first time since he'd known you, you were fully speechless.

After that moment had passed, you'd nodded and took a deep breath. “Okay, Jisung,” you said. “I can keep being me for you. I will be for you.”

I will be for you. What did you mean by that? That you'd be yourself for him, yes, but had you been trying to say something more? Jisung doesn't know.

That night you quietly kissed his fingertips before leaving him to his own thoughts.

This was wearing on you too much.

Last night you'd stayed over at Jisung's apartment. You weren't supposed to, and it wasn't included in the time that he'd paid you for. But just a few words from him, and you'd folded. His voice had you weak.

“Please, Y/N? I think I'll sleep better if you're here with me.”

You couldn't argue with that. Maybe Jisung made you ditzy; maybe Jisung made you dumb. You prided yourself on being able to maintain your composure and your propriety, but maybe you'd never been that person with him from the start. Too easily swayed when it was words from the boy with the prettiest eyes and pretty lips.

So, even though it was far too intimate, you did it. His white bedsheets were soft, and he made sure you were properly covered by his duvet. It was quiet too; just the subtle sound of his and your breathing. Soft, soft, soft. Your heart that was soft for Jisung, the softness of his bed, and the softness of the peaceful night that felt like it could last forever.

Worst of all, or maybe best of all, Jisung was soft, too. He kissed you on the forehead and whispered to you a good night.

You felt like your heart was going to burst. He made you feel like a girlfriend, but you knew you weren't that to him.

But this had to come to an end. You've made up your mind, and you can only hope you're making the right decision.

You've been an escort for about seven months now, and for six of those, you've been seeing Jisung. You never thought when you started that something like this would happen to you, but you've been consumed by him. Waiting for his texts to know when you would see him next, because it was always up to him and never up to you—though he never kept you waiting for long.

You can only hope that he'll take it well after you tell him what you have to tell him, but part of you wants him to not take it well. You want him to care. But, will he?

No matter how this will turn out, you don’t feel ready for the consequences.

You arm yourself with your best outfit and a gift for Jisung. You're wearing a white tulle butterfly top with a long skirt (even though you're going to be indoors, it's still winter outside!), and around your neck is a locket: the first gift that Jisung ever gave you.

The plan is for you to meet Jisung at the restaurant today. It's a popular restaurant and Jisung was out with his parents for a long while earlier, so to make sure the restaurant honored his reservation, he had to quickly make his way there on time rather than meeting up with you first.

You don't mind. It gives you a little more time to mentally prepare yourself before you have to see him.

But when you arrive at the restaurant and see him sitting there, you almost feel like all your worries were in vain. You're just happy to see him. Jisung looks just as beautiful as he did the first time you met him.

He doesn't notice you until you're a few steps away. “Y/N! You're here.”

“I am!” you say. You lean forward and kiss him on the cheek. Usually you only do that at the end of your dates, but you don't know how today is going to turn out, so you'd rather do it now while you still can.

“What is that?” Jisung asks you. He's looking at the big gift bag you're holding.

“It's for you,” you tell him. “Happy early birthday, Jisung.”

“Wow,” he says, in a very Jisung-like manner. “You didn't have to get me anything! Being with you the weekend before my birthday is enough of a gift for me.” He smiles at you, and you don't think you're imagining the softness in his eyes. That gives you hope.

“You know how it is. Anything for you,” you respond. You resist the urge to sigh those last few words out.

Jisung asks if he can see the birthday present right now, or if you'd rather he wait. You find his excitement cute, so of course you pick up your gift bag and give it to him. In any case, you're trying to have as many sweet moments with him as you can before you might never see him again. Keep it sweet while it's sweet. Don't mix sweet and sad.

You're trying. You think you're keeping the bad feelings at bay well enough so far.

As expected, he likes your gift a lot. You gave him an Oasis vinyl, knowing his love for the band. Jisung says that he thinks this might end up being his best birthday ever. You're struck by how happy he seems to be today. Is it because of you?

Before the two of you start eating your food, you ask Jisung for a selfie together. You can tell he's a bit embarrassed to draw attention to himself in such a full restaurant, but he still says yes, so you come over to his side of the table with the thought that you'll make it quick. But Jisung surprises you again when he reaches for your phone and takes a few extra selfies of the two of you.

“I always take a bunch of extra ones when I take selfies, so don't worry about it,” he reassures you.

Dessert time comes in a flash, and when both you and Jisung are almost done with your chosen desserts, you know it's now or never. With your heart beating fast, you take a deep breath.

“I just want to say happy birthday to you again, Jisung. Today was really fun and I hope your birthday this year will be the best one you've ever had. But I have something I need to tell you.” This time, you can't stop yourself from sighing. The nerves are too much.

Jisung nods and waits for you patiently.

“I'm going to be quitting next week. I thought about it for a while, and I just feel like I'm not a good fit for this job, and I can't see myself doing this for much longer anyways. Since we see each other so often, I wanted to let you know. And I'm really sorry to bring this up so close to your birthday, but the timing…it just worked out that way. I'm sorry.” You lower your eyes, afraid of his response.

When you dare to look up, you see that Jisung looks concerned more than anything else. “Are you okay, Y/N? Did something bad happen?”

“No, nothing bad happened.” You deliberate on whether you want to say the next sentence in your head, and you think, why not, at this point. “Well, something did happen, but I don't think I can really tell you about it.” You shift in your chair.

“That's okay. I understand,” Jisung says. This is going a lot better than you'd hoped. He doesn't seem upset with you for not telling him earlier, and he's also not pressing you about your reasons (the aforementioned “something” being the fact that you really genuinely like him and can no longer handle being in the in-between position you're in as the escort he hires).

Jisung interrupts your mental processing with, “But, while I still have you here with me, is there anything else you want from me? It can be anything. I want to repay you one last time.”

You hesitate. There is something you want from him, but if you ask for it he'll know your feelings for him.

Well, he did say “anything”...

“Yeah, there is something.” With your fingers, you awkwardly hold up the heart-shaped locket you're wearing. “...Do you think you could give me a photo that fits into this locket?”

You immediately regret saying that. From an outsider’s perspective, it makes zero sense for you to have a locket with a photo of one of your clients. It makes even less sense right after you told said client that you're quitting. But you've long given up on trying to make sense to yourself.

You remember what Jisung told you the day he gave you the locket. He said he bought it for you because it reminded him of your style. Although he didn't say it outright, he'd implied that there was no particular reason that it happened to be a locket. Still, you loved it and treasured it, keeping it safe in a jewelry box.

“Y/N…what kind of photo? Do you mean a photo of me?”

“It can be whatever you want,” you mumble, not wanting to admit what you meant. But it seems like he already knew.

“I said it can be anything, so you can tell me exactly what you want. I can give you a photo of me, if that's what you want. But are you sure that you don't want something else? Why do you want a photo of me?”

Oh no. Now he's grilling you. His calm demeanor throughout this conversation is making you nervous.

You never intended to be the escort who got attached to her client, but that's what you are today, and what you were yesterday, and what you were for the past several months. It's time for you to be honest with yourself, and honest with Jisung.

So you say, “Jisung…hasn't it been obvious? I really like you.”

Silence. Oh, you knew this was a bad idea.

Jisung reaches across the table to take your hand. You look at him, vulnerable. “I really like you too,” he confesses. “I thought you knew. I don't think I really hid that.”

You stare at him in shock. This is everything you hoped for. Did you hear that right? Did Park Jisung just confess to you?

You don't say anything, so Jisung continues. “Is it that hard to believe?”

“No, I guess not…but I couldn't be entirely sure of your feelings, since you never said anything.”

“I was going to, but I talked to Chenle and he kind of talked me out of it. I did think that maybe you liked me too, but I started doubting everything after I talked with him. So I decided to just wait.”

“I think I liked you from the beginning,” you say. “I'm so glad you feel the same.”

So when the two of you leave the restaurant and Jisung asks you if he'll be seeing you again soon, you don't say that it's up to him. You give him a time and date, and this time he's the one to leave you with a kiss on the cheek before you go.

You make a note to text Jaemin and thank him for everything.

Notes: Although I'm not entirely happy with the last part of the final scene, I feel like the way it is now is probably as good as it's going to get, so I decided I would leave it and be finished with this. I have been slowly working on this story since July 21, 2024, in sections when inspiration struck me, so it's been a while, and I wanted to finish it! This year, while trying to finalize the context for the final scene, I realized that it would make perfect sense for it to be related to Jisung's birthday, and for me to post this before his birthday. This also gave me the push to really go for sharing this for real! So, thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed! This is my debut fanfiction for NCT, so I'm both nervous and excited to post this. And finally, everyone, please give the real Jisung a lot of love, and look at him prettily!

Credits

Header: from Jisung's Instagram post

Dividers: by enchanthings

References to this poem, this song, and the dedication of Book of My Nights

—imagerie, fanfiction written by moraesong on tumblr, posted 2025

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shoxxcc · 18 days ago

Text

good morning to me and my few tears

BOYS DON'T CRY! ✶ mark lee

SYNOPSIS: you never believed in taking breaks, but a series of small happenings led to mark breaking your trust, and you couldn't take it anymore. far and away from each other, you try to sort your thoughts before it's too late, if it isn't already. — and they say that boys don't cry, except this one does.

PAIRING: boyfriend!mark x female reader

GENRE: angst, established relationship, hurt and comfort, fluff

WORD COUNT: 10k

FEATURING: jaemin, renjun, choi yena as jaemin's girlfriend, brief appearance of haechan and jeno

CONTAINS: mentions of emotional cheating, breakup, mentions and use of alcohol, depressive episodes. dismissal and avoidance of feelings, emotional despair.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: huge thank you to the anon who dropped by expressing their need for some markie hurt & comfort <3 the idea of mark devastated and crying fuelled my inspiration, so i hope you'll enjoy reading this <3 of course meelings are open and PLEASE come talk to me! ᴖ ᴈ ᴖ

You knew this was bound to happen. You look at Mark, who’s standing in the middle of the living room in your studio apartment, his jaw set and his muscles tensed, yet his eyes are so full of emotion, and it has you gulping because you know that if you keep standing like this, looking at him just standing there and looking at you the way he is — it’s going to ruin you and the last grams of self respect you have left in you.

So you avert your gaze, looking somewhere behind him so you won’t be distracted as you finally make up your mind. There’s no going back.

“I think we should take a break,” you mumble, and a lump sets in your throat.

The world around you stills for a few moments, with your heart threatening to burst in your chest and your ears ringing waiting for your boyfriend’s reply, you try to swallow the lump in your throat.

“Y/n, don’t do this,” he warns, but his tone isn’t upset. It’s raw with emotion as his voice trembles, and you finally find it in you to look at him, “You know we don’t believe in breaks,” he tries to convince you, and you agree with his statement but you warned him about all the small things in the past months, and you knew this was bound to happen.

“Y/n, please,” his voice trembles as he pleads, taking a few steps around the couch to be closer to you, except you move backwards, until your back touches the counter of your small kitchen, making him halt his steps. The look in his eyes is full of worries, they’re shadowed by fear, by heartbreak, “If we do this, there’s no going back,” he tries, moving one hand pointing at the two of you, respecting the clear stance you just made by putting space between the two of you. “I love you, please don’t do this,” his voice breaks, and a closer look to his face makes you realise his eyes are brimming with tears.

You close your eyes immediately, reaching behind you with one hand, trying to steady yourself by gripping the kitchen counter. You hate seeing him crying, because he’s always been one of the strongest people you’ve known and he was the one who always consoled you.

You open your eyes, and you feel your eyes swelling with the pressure of tears building up. You look at him — he’s biting his bottom lip, look of devastation making his features sharper.

“I love you too,” the words leaving your lips are barely a whisper, but he hears you nonetheless, seeing him nodding your way and expecting you to call off the whole taking a break thing. “But I also love myself, Mark,” your voice is slightly louder, because this is something you’re not playing about anymore, “I love you so much, but I need to love myself as well, and I’m putting myself first because we talked about these issues before, apparently to no use,”

You see Mark bringing a hand up to ruffle his hair, his gaze not leaving yours, as he registers your words and their meaning. “I promise nothing happened,” he shakes his head, the lump in his throat getting bigger and bigger and he thinks he’ll ruin your beautiful carpet soon.

“Stop!” You raise your voice, and you can’t control your tears any longer, “Stop saying this to me! I feel like an idiot because I always believe you, but you always betray my trust!” You’re accusing him, and you don’t like this side of you but you’ve had enough of this. “I warned you about her and you dismissed my worries every single time!” Your voice is full of newfound courage, your tone accusatory, and you hate how the way he’s looking at you right now is making you doubt your choice and your words.

“I never cheated on you, I swear,” he tries to reassure you, and his words only make your tears stain your cheeks faster. “Y/n, I would never do that to you,” he tries again, and after seeing how you’re not responding, he goes on, “I’m not that kind of scumbag, I love you too much,”

And you sigh, closing your eyes, and feeling an incoming splitting headache making your temples throb.

“We need a break from each other, we have a lot of things to think about,” you start again, and Mark feels like you’re not listening to him or to yourself. His heart starts racing and there’s a strange feeling pooling in the pit of his stomach, and the fear of losing you it’s driving him insane.

He respects your choice of avoiding him physically, and he doesn’t even think about invading your personal space right now, knowing that he’d worsen the whole situation by crossing your boundary, especially because he can literally see you putting up an emotional wall, and denying him access.

You look at him, his disheveled self, and you see him getting paler and paler the more your eyes are set on him. There are tears running down his face right now, and he tries his best not to let out a sob as realisation sinks in. You’re serious about this.

“If we do this, there’s no going back,” he repeats himself, in a last attempt to convince you to give up this idea.

But you stand your ground, and you once again avert your gaze. If you look at him any longer you’ll give in, and so many things have happened that you feel you can’t allow yourself to be this stupid and give in just because it’s Mark.

It’s Mark, the only man you’ve ever really loved, that made you realise what falling in love meant. Mark, who held your head while you cried and rubbed your tummy every time you were bedridden by period cramps. Mark, that wiped your tears with his t-shirts and blew your nose with the sleeves of his hoodies. Mark, who broke your trust after becoming too close to a co-worker. And what hurts you the most is the fact that you warned him about this, about your hunch, and he dismissed you every single time.

You’re doing this for yourself, but also for him. Maybe he’ll realise his mistakes, or maybe he’ll just give up and he’ll start a new life, with no trace of you in it. And if that happens, maybe it was always meant for it to happen.

“Mark, I need you to leave,” you tell him, and your tears are flowing freely, yet you still manage to contain the sobs that you so desperately need to let out past your lips.

Mark closes his eyes, and you see him taking a few seconds to take big breaths. He nods, looking around for his jacket discarded on the couch, and he walks slowly towards the front door. You don’t look at him, you don’t find it in you to give him one last look, because you know it will haunt you forever. So you just watch the spot he stood in a few seconds ago, waiting for him to get out of your apartment.

“Call me, yeah?” He whispers, and you can see him with the corner of your eye as he’s stopping himself from getting out the door to look at you, to take you in one last time, “I love you,”

And the door doesn’t slam, doesn’t creak, doesn’t swish when he closes it after himself, leaving you all alone with your thoughts and the realisation of what just happened finally hitting you.

Everything in your studio apartment reminds you of him. He’s present in every corner you look, his scent fills the air, lingers on your sheets and pillows, his towel is still touching yours by the shower. His toothbrush is propped against yours, his slippers are scattered by the front door just the way he left them the night you told him to leave, your set of keys to his apartment resting in the bowl by the entrance.

Your chest tightens looking at the keyring that he chose for you, a small Spiderman figure dangling alongside the keys to his apartment. You still remember how you chose a miffy one for his keys to your apartment, finding it extremely cute how a token of your favourite things get to be with each other all the time, like a part of you is there to be a reminder of how close you are, the domesticity between the two of you even if you don’t live together. The girly trinket hanging from his set of keys always made your heart melt whenever you caught a glimpse of them — seeing a man like Mark fishing for his keys with miffy attached to them made your heart lurch in your chest.

While you’re left to look at Spiderman, and you’re short of breath remembering you might not use these keys ever again.

His shower gel stays unmoving in your shower, his razor and aftershave lotion catch dust in your cabinet by your skincare, where they look so misplaced between the many products wrapped in such pretty and girly packaging. But they’re a part of you and a part of your space, and you don’t have it in you to move anything of his away from their spots.

Mark’s presence is felt everywhere in your apartment, and so is his absence. No more loud laughing, no more gossiping sessions during which he backs you up even if you’re wrong, only for him to tell you twenty minutes later that you were kinda wrong. No more binge watching a show in one night and no more him coming up to you with a recipe he found on social media that looked just too good, asking you if it would be alright for you to cook it someday.

No more hurried showers together, no more kissing in the middle of the steam of the scorching showers that you take, that have his skin redden because he always takes cold showers instead. No more hands lingering between your bodies and no more kisses traveling down on your skin.

The first two days into this break and things were relatively alright, but only because it was the weekend, and you spent two days rotting in bed with your feet only walking you to the bathroom and then back to bed. And when the workweek began, you had to brace yourself for impact, because every single thing you saw around on the street or at work that reminded you of him, you had to stop yourself from taking pictures to send to Mark so he could see as well. No more ‘outfit of the day’ pictures in the morning or selfies during your breaks, no more ‘thank you’ texts and no more ‘I love you’s’ sent randomly.

On tuesday you had to refrain from texting him about your co-worker, the one you can’t get along with, to let him know what had happened and how it had gone down, just to have him backing you up.

On wednesday it hit you, when it became hard to get out of bed in the morning. The lack of sleep, the lack of appetite, and the apathy you found yourself in made you miserable, not to talk about just how much you missed Mark. He tried reaching out a few times by calling you, yet you looked at the screen and then at how the call went unanswered, prompting him to call you once again. He always called you twice, knowing you might not always hear it or feel it vibrating on whatever surface it is on around you apartment. But you never picked up. You needed your space away from him, because the small conflicts that led to you taking this decision really hurt you, and you needed the distance.

And truth be told, you warned him. You asked him every single time and you confronted him, not wanting to be jealous or toxic, because it was better to talk it out and settle things once and for all, only for him to dismiss your worries. And look where it got him, where it got the two of you.

He met her at work, and you noticed her in his comment section on instagram whenever he posted something with only himself in the picture, never the ones with you, but you turned a blind eye, because Mark never gave you any reason to be jealous or worried about a possible lack of loyalty from his side. Then you noticed the pictures together during the company dinner, when she was a little too close to him, grin plastered on her face as she leaned on your boyfriend’s shoulder, and that’s the first time you opened up about it to him.

“Baby, you have absolutely nothing to worry about!” He reassured you, and you threw a skeptical look his way. “She’s a coworker and she’s friendly to everyone else as well,” his tone was airy, nonchalant, and he kissed you to ease your worries.

So that time you shut your mouth, thinking there’s no way you’re letting this girl you don’t even know ruin your confidence or setting jealousy or insecurity in your bones. Until you met her.

For Jaemin’s surprise birthday party, which his girlfriend organised, inviting everyone from work too. And it was only normal for her to be there too, since Mark and Jaemin worked together. You observed her, discreetly of course. She might have been friendly to everyone else, but she didn’t lean on any other man present at the party, and you definitely saw how she avoided Mark when he was next to you. She only talked to you once that night, and you swear her eyes sparkled with something malicious, but you didn’t bring it up to your boyfriend, only telling him that you have a hunch, and that he should really trust you on this.

You turned a blind eye every time he brought her name up in conversations, and the times you couldn’t take it anymore you spoke openly about it with Mark, who seemed to partially understand what you meant, but he still dismissed your worries.

And thank goodness for your hunch, thank goodness for believing your instincts, because that feeling in your guts was never wrong. Generally a woman’s hunch makes no mistakes, especially when it comes to women like her who aren’t even trying to hide it.

Mark was the confirmation in flesh and bones, because you noticed how he stopped talking to you about stuff. He no longer had that sparkle in his eyes while telling you something that had happened to him, or talking to you about new books he wanted to read and what activities for the weekend he wanted to get to do with you. The weekend activities started disappearing entirely, with Mark telling you he was drained and he didn’t want to spend his free time outside the house anymore.

Mark stopped caring, stopped seeing the signs that things were starting to change when it came to you, and he started avoiding communicating. He lost the spark from his eyes, those beautiful eyes, and you still convinced yourself it wasn’t because of her. Because Mark reassured you, and you blamed all the changes on him being a workaholic on the brim of burnout.

It took Jaemin’s girlfriend unexpectedly calling you, for you to really open your eyes. Yena was nice, Jaemin introduced her to both you and Mark and their other friends a couple of years ago, and you wouldn’t say you are best friends but you definitely are close to each other — maybe not in the ‘I’ll help you bury a body if you need me to’ type of close, but definitely in the ‘hey, watch out for that bitch because I’ve heard something from Jaemin and I felt like I needed to tell you’ type of close.

“Jaemin agreed to let me come to you, because he feels uncomfortable with everything going on,” Yena explained to you, not touching the iced coffee you bought for her before she showed up.

“Is he sure?” You asked, biting on your bottom lip, but you couldn’t resist the curiosity. Everything Yena told you, that she knew from Jaemin, was a confirmation of everything you had your doubts on already, everything that was previously dismissed by your boyfriend.

“Yes,” Is the only thing Yena managed to answer, not knowing what else to tell you, or how to sugarcoat it.

“Thank you, to both you and Jaemin,” you mumble, and you can’t find it in you to fake being your normal self.

What Yena told you started eating at you immediately, the anger of betrayal eating at you while also making you feel incredibly anxious of what you’ve just discovered.

Mark didn’t physically cheat on you, but he did have an emotional affair with his coworker, and it is just as bad. The sparkle in Mark’s eye was gone because another woman had already seen it, the way Mark didn’t have enough energy to entertain you because he had spent it all on another woman. And it made you sick. It made you want to scream, it made you want bawl in the middle of the cafeteria, and although Yena could see your eyes lost yet still getting all puffy from the tears you were keeping at bay, she didn’t say anything.

A week after your and Mark’s break started, you started feeling everything ten times worse than you did before. During days you kept busy with work, but nights were the worst. Although you and Mark didn’t live together, you spent every night together, either at his or at your place. You’re now alone and all by yourself in an apartment that still smells like him one week after he’s last stepped foot in here, you’re engulfed by his scent, and you toss and turn into bed only to feel it even stronger on your pillows. The pillow he used to sleep on now a souvenir of the way the two of you were before, and while you hug his pillow to your chest, his scent lingers in your nose like it’s the only smell you’ve ever known.

Getting straight to bed after you’re done with work, phone on ‘do not disturb’, tossing and turning into bed while you try to get to sleep, seem like the perfect things to do, especially because you need a break from your own racing thoughts, from your own feelings. A very atypical friday night for you, but this is what you have to work with at the moment.

You flinch the moment you doorbell rings, and panic starts to settle in as you think it’s some unwanted visitor, which you’re really not in the mood for because not only do you look like a mess — tired and pale, — but so does your apartment, that has been your depression pit for the past week.

Your steps are cautious as you approach the from door, lights still off in case it really is an unwanted visitor and you need to fake not being home, and you peek through the peep hole, but your brows furrow with confusion, and you turn the lights on with a swift motion of your hand before unlocking the door.

“Hi, I didn’t order anything,” you let the delivery guy know as soon as you open the door, and he looks over the receipt stapled to the brown bag.

“I’m sorry, but this is the right address,” he explains, and the look on your face makes him throw another look at the receipt. “It says here it’s for Y/n… has already been payed for,” he seems to get tired of your cluelessness, so you pick the brown bag up and take it to the kitchen, and when you take the contents of the bag out to sprawl on the kitchen table, it dawns on you.

Friday nights are for Chinese food, a tradition you and Mark established very early on into your relationship, and you look at the receipt to make sure this isn’t just in your head.

Your name is written on the receipt and the note stapled to the bag, and tears form in your eyes knowing that Mark ordered you food, because despite being apart from each other, it still is friday night. The bag contains dumplings — his favourite, — and spring rolls, your favourite.

There’s a lump forming in your throat as you think of Mark’s gesture, but your stomach growls as soon as you open the containers full of food, and it seems like Mark knew you weren’t taking care of yourself well enough.

You take a bite from one dumpling, and you force yourself to chew. Tears start streaming down your face before you can even think to stop them, and feeling the familiar taste of the food has the lump in your throat making it very hard to swallow your bite, — which consequently leads you to put your food down when you feel a sob suffocating you. The familiarity of the meal is almost made unbearable by the atypical silence that’s haunting your place, and your heart can’t help but break inside your chest as you think of Mark, and you hope he’s doing better than you are.

By the time the second week since you decided on taking this break from Mark comes to an end, you’ve changed the sheets. And another piece of Mark’s presence was gone from your life.

Mark’s not sure how he got home that night. He wandered the streets of your neighbourhood hoping for you to call him and to tell him you changed your mind, and that it’s best to talk it out. But your call never came, and he sat down on a curb crying like a little kid the more he spent outside in the cold.

He must have blacked out the moment his tired body hit the bed many hours later, when exhaustion finally took its toll on him. He’s also not sure how he managed to get through that weekend, but one thing is certain, he took a whole week off from work.

He’s so upset with himself, he’s so upset with the entire world — which only makes him want to isolate himself from everyone. He kept hoping he’ll see your contact picture popping up on his screen, and he decided maybe he should be the one to reach out first. Mark’s heart fell to his stomach the more time passed and the only thing greeting his hearing was the dialling tone instead of your sweet voice.

He knows you set a boundary by deciding to go on a break, yet he can’t shake all the anxiety away, knowing all the discussions the two of you had about how you both believed taking breaks meant actually breaking up but it’s just a way of sugarcoating it.

Staying away from you, knowing and admitting what led up to this makes him feel short of breath, and a sob escapes past his lips even before he can register he’s crying in the first place. Something inside of Mark’s chest hurts when he remembers all the times you brought the issue up to his attention, and he dismissed every single one of your worries like the biggest idiot he is.

But to his defence, Mark wasn’t aware this emotional cheating was a thing, and he thought you were being jealous for some inexplicable reason. He should have listened to you, because he loves you so much, and he should have trusted you and your judgement, because look where all this dismissal and avoiding got him.

He loves you so much, he never thought he’ll go through this with you, he never thought he’ll break your trust and heart the way he did. You’re the best thing that happened to him and realising he might never hear from you again has his head falling into his hands.

Mark becomes the shadow of the man he once was, appetite and will to just exist long gone. How will he manage to be without you, when he found your trinkets resting on his desk and tears suffocated him to the point of letting out sobs? Looking at your little Hirono figure that you gave him to bring him luck at work, has a lump forming in his throat.

He’s lost in his misery every time he wears his hoodies and t-shirts scattered around the house, because the collar smells so unapologetically like you, and realising this is the last bit of you he has around makes him sleep in all those clothes of his that you’ve worn recently. It’s the last palpable thing he has of you, and he can’t let go of them. Yes, he has the trinkets, and yes, he has the books and everything else in his apartment reminding him of you, because everything you touched was now marked by your presence.

Your perfume clinging to the collar of his shirts is the last thing he has to remember your body by. There’s a shape of you in his bed, and he now sleeps on your designated side just to feel a bit better and not like his heart is literally trying to crawl out of his chest to get to you. He sleeps with one of those garments nearby, because he can’t hold you, but your scent still present and lingering on his pieces of clothing brings him a bit of comfort, like you’re there with him, and he’s sticking to your warm sleeping figure like he always does, not knowing what personal space is whenever you’re around.

Mark regrets everything he’s done to hurt you, everything he’s done to break your heart. A few more days being away from you and he felt like calling you again, but instead he bit his lips and he switched his phone off, not in the mood to see anybody else calling him, because he’s certain you won’t be one of them.

You made your stance clear, yet it breaks him to know you don’t want to talk about it, because in all honesty you kept trying for the past months, only for him to basically tell you that it was all in your head, and now that he wants to talk and he’ll hear you crystal clear, it’s too late. It’s always too late.

Mark used to judge men who couldn’t keep their relationships by fucking up. ‘How hard can it be to be genuine to each other?’ He always wondered with acerbic judgement, yet look at him know, hanging to everything his girlfriend’s ever touched like he’ll forget who she is and how she looks like if he doesn’t.

Nearly a week into this break and Mark thinks he started hallucinating.

He lays in his bed, wearing his green hoodie, the one you always stole away from him, when he thinks he hears knocking on his door. He thinks he might be going insane, all the knocking feels like it’s far away, echoing in his ears as he rests his heavy head on your designated pillow. The more the knocking persists, the closer the sound feels in his ears, and it eventually brings him back to reality, making him shudder as he wakes up.

He drags his feet to the front door, not even peeping to check who the visitor at his door is, and he opens his door, the motion making his dishevelled hair move on his forehead.

Jaemin walks in, already knowing his way around the apartment. He’s carrying a brown bag in his right hand, a coffee carrier with two tall cups in the other. He’s standing in the middle of the living room, looking concerned around himself, knowing that Mark is not the type of guy who’s messy, but right now his place looks like a pigsty.

Mark is sitting on the couch, one leg bouncing, waiting for his friend to open his mouth. He’s averting his gaze, almost like he knows the look Jaemin’s sporting right now, and he prefers to look at the spot on the floor you usually sit down in while eating in the living room with him, binge watching a new series that you can’t just pause in favour of eating in the kitchen.

Jaemin raises his brows swiftly, getting rid of any emotion that might betray just how concerned he is, because he’s not here to nag, but he’s here to check on his friend and make sure he’s safe and sound.

“So,” Jaemin clears his throat, but he doesn’t move from his spot in the middle of the living room, “I called you a lot these days, but you never answered,”

Mark nods, leg still bouncing betraying his nerves. He only switched his phone back on once a day, usually at night, to check if you had contacted him. No other text was important, not the four hundred missed calls from his friends when they realised he was unreachable.

“Have you,” Mark gulps, his throat suddenly dry, and he finally raises his tired gaze to look for Jaemin’s, whose is already eagerly looking at him like he’s eating up every single bit of this interaction, “Have you heard from Y/n?” You are his main concern, he needs to know you’re at least doing better than him, because while he’s here repenting for everything he’s ever done to hurt you, you only need to think if he’s worth the while after all.

Jaemin shakes his head, lips pressed in a thin line, “She hasn’t reached out to anybody,” Jaemin confirms to him, and Mark wants to ask him to make sure you’re alright, to take care of you — but he ends up swallowing his words, and he only nods as a reply.

Jaemin looks around himself one more time, and then at Mark, who’s known for not being a messy person. Clothes scattered everywhere around the room, the apartment’s a mess. One look at Mark and he can tell he’s been going through it, his hair is disheveled, he hasn’t shaved in days, and his eyes are tired and puffy from all the crying Jaemin is sure these walls have been witness to.

“I brought you food, I was worried about you,” Jaemin shakes both his hands, the ice inside the tall cups of coffee making noise. “Man, you also need to do your laundry,” he rasps, not able to stop himself, “What’s all this?” He points at the few t-shirts and hoodies scattered messily on the couch and any other surface in the living room. Jaemin is sure the bedroom looks even worse, if the living room is presenting itself in these conditions. Thank goodness Mark doesn’t cook because the hairs on the back of Jaemin’s neck stand up immediately thinking of the additional mess, that would officially make this place ready to be burned down instead of cleaned.

“It’s Y/n,” Mark mumbles, bringing the collar of his hoodie up to his nose, hiding half of his face in it.

Jaemin looks confused. Is this the place where you’ve broken up with him? Did you perhaps raid it out of spite? But you’re so sweet and an angel, really, he can’t see you doing this type of stuff.

“Y/n? But this is all your stuff laying around,” Jaemin mumbles, furrowing his eyebrows. He really can’t understand.

“How can I do my laundry when these are the only things left for me to remember her by?” Mark’s voice breaks, and so does Jaemin’s heart while looking at his friend. “How would I ever go on with my life if I don’t have her by my side, Jaemin?"

Mark inhales sharply before squinting his eyes, and his bottom lip starts quivering. His head falls into his hands, and silent sobs are making his shoulders shake.

Jaemin takes pity on him and, after placing the bags on the coffee table, he sits down on the couch next to his friend. He pats Mark’s back, trying to comfort him, only for then to literally drag him into his embrace, because he knows Mark needs this right now.

He just hopes you’re doing better than Mark, because it’s only been a few days, but seeing Mark’s condition has worry creeping up his spine, and his concerns suddenly know no bounds.

It’s been four weeks — almost a month — since you took a break from your relationship with Mark.

You miss him every day, and your apartment has never been this quiet ever since you moved in, a couple of years ago. But you’ve grown strangely accustomed to the silence.

Every single item of Mark’s is still in the same place he left them in. Except for the cleaning up you had to do around the apartment, the sheets and towels that needed to be changed, you didn’t touch anything of his.

Mark is in everything around you, everything you notice, everything you see and touch. He’s in the Andy Williams vinyl, he’s in the sunny side up eggs you sometimes find yourself craving late at night, he’s in the morning coffee and in the late night hot showers. His presence is felt every time you walk by the convenience store around the corner as you make your way home after work, but where you don’t stop anymore because every time you did, it was to get him something. Yet in the last few weeks you didn’t have much of an appetite.

He’s in everything you spot that’s blue — his favourite colour. He’s in every single thing around you somehow, and so is his absence.

You didn’t keep up with your friends that much. You spoke to Yena a couple of times, Jaemin called once to ask for a film you had recommended him two years ago and you never managed to convince him to watch it, so you’re sure he only called to sense your mood and to check on you without him having to directly tell you that’s what he was doing. And with the others, they checked on you but you only told them not to worry about you, through text.

You took your distance from all of them , because they might be your friends, but they were Mark’s first. And you would never put them between you and Mark, like children between divorced parents. During this break they should be of support to Mark, even if you’re not sure how he’s doing and if he needs any of them to be there for him. He might be doing just well and you’re here worrying about him — and you have a clear answer as to why that is.

You’re extremely surprised to see Renjun’s contact picture popping up on your screen during your lunch break. You want to ignore it, you want to send him a text in maybe five minutes to tell him you’re in a meeting, but you’re sure he knows your schedule already and he’s aware that you’re on a break right now, and that throwing a lame excuse through text would be absolute bullshit.

And there’s also a bit of anxiety that’s settling in the pit of your stomach, knowing that he might be calling for an important reason, but then you remember his birthday is in a few days, so you sigh and pick up the call.

“I honestly thought I had to show up to your workplace to talk to you,” he nags as soon as he hears the call going through, “I know you’re on a break right now, Y/n,”

You sigh, “But I picked up, didn’t I?”

“It took you a long time, though,” he retorts, sighing. You know there’s no winning when it comes to Renjun, he’ll always be the one winning in the end, “What are your plans for today?”

You bite your lip, “Home, probably to sleep,” you lie. You haven’t been able to sleep more than two hours a night, and you’re not sure how you’re surviving.

“Great,” his response is dry, like that’s exactly what he needed to hear you say, “You know how my birthday’s in three day, right?” He asks, and you hum, already having a faint idea about where this conversation is headed. “Come to my birthday dinner tonight,” he’s demanding, and you know it’s hard to refuse him.

You sigh, bringing a hand to you temple to massage it slowly, “I don’t know if I can come, Renj-”

“Mark won’t be here,” he interrupts, already knowing your real reason for refusing.

“He won’t?” You gulp, straightening your back, your ears ringing as you wait for his reply.

He tsks, and you can envision him shaking his head, “He said he prefers knowing you were the one having a good time,” there’s something he wants to add, but he hesitates.

“What?” Your voice is high in pitch, and your heart sinks to your stomach thinking of Mark choosing not to be with his friends tonight, so you could be the one going instead, “Renjun I don’t thi-”

“You said you weren’t doing anything tonight so just come by, for a drink at least!” He’s using his authoritarian voice on you, and you know he’ll start cussing at you soon if you go on to make him angry.

“Okay, okay,” you close your eyes, because you feel so many emotions right now that you might start crying, “I’ll come for a quick drink, just text me the details,”

You feel the familiar lump in your throat once again, and it’s like it is already a part of you, with the amount of times you felt it in the past weeks. You stand to your feet, leaving your cubicle behind, and you feel your bottom lip quiver as you make your way towards the restroom.

By the time you enter one of the stalls, tears are already streaming down your face, and you sit on one of the toilets to let all the tears flow freely. You feel like you’re suffocating trying to contain the sobs stuck in your throat, and there’s an ache inside your chest at the thought of Mark. You’ve never felt this broken, this devastated, and you tried coming to reason that maybe being far and away from him is the best thing for you right now, but you feel like you’re torturing yourself. You’ve never been this miserable, so alone.

The loneliness made your ears ring every single time you heard your neighbours laughing or just talking loudly in the building’s hallways. The loneliness physically hurt you every time you laid into bed alone, your muscles aching to be squeezed in the usual warm embrace your body knew so well.

Maybe time will heal your wounds, and maybe time will make it all better. Eventually you’ll stop feeling like a ghost roaming around pretending you’re living your life to the fullest — without the man you were once sure was the love of your life.

The rapid steps you take as you walk your way towards the address Renjun texted you earlier are making your cheeks warm up. You’re a bit late, even if usually you’re not the type, but today you stopped by some shops, buying some flowers and a small gift for Renjun’s birthday, even if he did invite you last minute.

Your nostrils flare at the smell of grilled meat and delicious sautéed vegetables you sense once you enter the restaurant, telling the waiter your friends are already here.

The moment they spot you, everyone greets you, their gaze following your every move as you embrace the birthday boy.

“I’m sorry for being late,” you mumble against his shoulder as he squeezes you in his arms, and your eyes are glossy at the contact, and even if these aren’t the arms you wanted around your figure right now, they’re still nice to feel especially after the tough time you’ve been having. “These are for you,” you hand him the bouquet and the small bag you’ve been carrying around town, “It’s not much, but it’s your birthday and I stopped by some shops on my way here,”

Renjun kisses your cheek, and he takes a good look at you, eyes scanning your features before he shows you to your seat.

You sit down between Yena and Haechan, and the lump in your throat is once again present knowing you’re sitting next to your boyfriend’s bestest of friends. He should be the one here, sitting in your spot right now, enjoying his friends’ company. Not you.

Guilt eats at you and you feel pressure building behind your eyes once again. Like a sign that he knows you’re not feeling your best and that he’s slightly aware of what’s going on with you and what’s happening inside your mind right now, you feel Haechan’s hand patting your back, and you gulp at the feeling of his very warm hand on your cold body.

He gives you a warm and reassuring smile as he pours you a glass of wine, and you try your best to calm your nerves.

Conversations start awkwardly as you chat with Yena and then with Jeno who’s sitting across from you, giving you his signature smile more often than usual, and you have a faint idea why that is. No one talks about Mark, like he’s the unnameable, like they’re doing you a favour not bringing him up, and you’re once again uneasy being around them, guilt making your insides churn.

You don’t stay much longer, blaming the fact that you have an important meeting tomorrow — which is totally a lie, but you have to get out of here because you don’t want to ruin the mood of the dinner, and something tells you that everyone really sees through you tonight, and even if Renjun and Jaemin do their best trying to convince you to stay a bit longer, to make you eat something at least, you decline nonetheless.

“Y/n, wait!” Someone shouts after you as you start walking away from the restaurant. And you turn around to see Jaemin jogging towards you and giving you a smile once he reaches you, “How… how have you been?” He asks, his tone genuine, “You know what I actually mean,” he makes sure you got everything that his question implies right.

You take a big breath, wrapping your arms around your body, “Like shit, to be honest,” you’re truly honest, and he can tell by the way you avert your gaze, looking at something on the ground, eyes all droopy. “How-” you open your mouth, but your throat becomes dry and you have to pause, “How is Mark doing?”

Jaemin smooshes his lips in a thin line, and he puts his hands inside the pockets of his jeans. He ran after you to talk to you about this whole situation, and now you’re here making it easier for him.

“I haven’t seen him in a few weeks,” he admits, but to his defence, it only happened because Mark agreed to call Jaemin once in a while so his friend could check on him without having to show up, “He didn’t speak to the others, so I’m the only one who’s still in contact with him,”

“What?” You furrow your brows confused. Mark loves his friends, and to know he’s gone no contact with them it’s making your heart race.

“Mark…” Jaemin has to make a pause, and he brings a hand to his hair, fingers combing through the strands, “Mark quit his job,”

“He what?” You nearly shout, and you have to seal your lips not to ask a billion other questions.

He nods, gulping, “I think it was after the first week into your break, he just showed up to have a talk with the managers and to take his things,” you can’t believe Jaemin’s words, and your eyes are starting to brim with tears for the second time today — and then there’s the night awaiting, and you’re not sure how many times you’ll have to dry them off your face.

“I know this is tough for you, and taking this decision wasn’t easy. I would never want to be in your shoes and be forced to recur to something like this, but please Y/n, if you can find it in yourself to take a decision soon, for your own good as well as his. You two can’t go on like this,” he brings both his hands up to squeeze your arms, “I know it’s tough, but you’re the one who has all the power right now,”

Jaemin’s words echo in your head, and he holds you in his arms as he pats your head, encouraging you to let it all out. Once again, the arms engulfing you in a hug are not the ones you need, but you feel secure and for the first time in the last four weeks, you feel ready for closure.

Mark’s not sure how he got through the last weeks since he last saw you, since he last heard your voice in person. He finds himself looking through his phone almost every night, listening to your voice messages, watching all the videos you sent each other, even checking the shared folders in his phone, of all the trips and all the events and concerts the two of you attended together, grouping the videos and photos.

He’s also not sure how he plans to go forward. You haven’t reached out to him, and the one month mark has already passed. Just thinking of you and how you’re basically refusing to acknowledge his existence makes him want to hurl.

But he’s acknowledged all his mistakes, and quitting his job was the best decision he’s taken. Distancing himself from what — or who, to be precise — caused his relationship to go into shambles was the wisest thing he thinks he’s done in a while. Because he knows that nothing really matters anymore, only you matter, and just the thought of going to work after knowing what caused your rupture drove him insane.

He also acknowledges that he was at fault, too. Because if only he listened to you, this wouldn’t have happened. If only he took his distance from his coworker, if only he took matters into his own hands and set a healthy boundary, this wouldn’t have happened.

It’s been so long since he felt in touch with reality, and he honestly doesn’t know how many times he found himself crying, tears rolling down his face without him realising. Tears of anger, sorrow and despair.

No one heard from you, they didn’t know how you were doing. And it lowkey pissed him, because how can his friends say they care for him, but at the same time they wouldn’t check on you to see if you’re okay? He couldn’t stand having Jaemin at his doorstep too often, feeling like his friend was coming over more for an inspection than to have a normal hangout, whatever normal could mean for Mark nowadays, anyway.

So he promised Jaemin he’d call once in three or four days and fill him in on how pathetic his little life is, fill him in on how much he loves you and how much he sobs wanting for you to come back to him. And what pissed him off even more is that, during said phone calls, every time Mark asked his friend if he had reached out to you, the answer was always a negative one.

“Then did Renjun or Haechan try reaching out to her?” Mark sniffed into the phone, and Jaemin’s silence made him rasp back to him, “Then don’t expect me to call you again if you don’t know how my girl is doing. The fuck, Jaemin?” His tone was low, seething with anger, before he switched his phone entirely, not caring to hear another word.

And now he’s still worried sick, because he still knows nothing about you and it has been so long. The uncertainties settle inside of him, inside his bones, and now he’s restless because his mind has to worry for one more reason.

No amount of scorching showers or nights spent hugging your pillow could make him feel better. No amount of shed tears could make him stop thinking about you. His entire being is crying for you to give him another chance, and the more time passes, the more Mark is sure you've already thrown his stuff away from your apartment, the more he’s sure that night more than a month ago was the actual breakup and not the two of you just taking a break. Again, Mark remembers how neither of you believed in breaks.

Crying in the shower was the easiest. While pillows were getting damp and t-shirts were getting temporarily stained, the running hot water of the showers he started taking — as a way of feeling closer to you, and remembering the scorching water you liked having on your skin, — was the best choice. He couldn’t notice the wet tears in an already wet environment, and blowing his nose had never been easier than just letting the snot run out his nose and into the running water.

He looks at all the t-shirts and hoodies in his laundry basket, already overflowing, because they stopped smelling like you a while ago, but he still didn’t find it in himself to put them into the washing machine. Maybe another month has to go by for him to make this transition.

There’s a small knock on his door, almost imperceptible if it weren’t for the dead silence in his apartment, and he’s already preparing himself to tell Jaemin to piss off. He closes the laundry basket, putting it back in the corner of his bathroom, and he sniffles all the evidence of his earlier melt down in the shower, walking towards the door lazily.

He doesn’t even peep before opening, all ready to see Jaemin’s concerned scowl, but Mark’s breath catches in his throat the moment his gaze meets yours.

You, who’s standing in front of him now, wearing your comfortable home clothes that you didn’t bother changing before showing up to his doorstep.

“Can we talk?” You mumble softly, and there’s something in your gaze that has Mark weak in the knees.

His eyes try to scan yours to get an idea of what it is you might want to talk to him about, but they don’t get any clue from you, and he gulps while opening the door for you to step in. Mark is glad he at least cleaned some of the mess away, but he’s sure you can still see the traces of the disastrous way in which he’s been living lately.

His uncertain eyes are glued to your back, and he wants to get closer to you, hug you and never let you go, but he’s not sure if that’s accepted of him right now.

“I’m not sure how to start, to be honest,” you mumble again, turning around to look at him. “Not sure if our relationship can be mended,” you gulp, eyebrows furrowing.

Mark feels light headed all of a sudden. You’re here, in flesh and bones to tell him what he dreads hearing the most. It’s really over, and he feels his heart sinking to his stomach. “Y/n…” his voice breaks, and you can hear the tears before you can see them.

Your head snaps towards his direction, and your gaze meets his. He’s trying so hard not to let out all the tears suffocating him, all the sobs stuck in his throat, and you bite your lip pitying him — feeling the urge to pat him for comfort, but you resist your instinct, and decide to go on with your explaining instead.

“Maybe I should start with telling you that you betrayed me the moment all of my fears became reality. Maybe I should tell you how it broke me to know you were neglecting me and our relationship because you found comfort being around your coworker,” you start, and Mark recognises you’re getting upset, the soft tone of your voice changed to a slightly more raging one.

“I don’t know why I did it, but I swear I never cheated on you,” he finds the voice to answer back to you, even if his tone is soft, uncertain.

“Physically, you didn’t,” you retort, bringing your hands behind your back,

“I know, you explained it to me and I looked into it. And I’ll regret it forever, Y/n,” he remembers thinking you’ve just pulled the term out of nowhere when you brought it up in your last fight, right before you said you wanted a break from your relationship with him.

“Do you think taking a break helped us?” You ask, looking into his teary eyes. You hate to see him crying.

“We don’t believe in breaks,” he whispers, averting his gaze so he doesn’t start bawling in front of you.

“I heard you quit your job,” you mumble again, and he nods. “Why did you do that?”

“I knew I couldn’t be there anymore,” Mark really wanted to say that he couldn’t be there with that one coworker anymore, knowing how right you had always been when it came to her, and it brought to his despair, “I can always get a new job, but I can’t possibly get another you,” he gulps, and his head hangs between his shoulders.

“But you loved your job, Mark!” You retort, almost nagging at him,

He shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing as he takes his hands behind his back — otherwise he’ll continue to have the urge to grab you and take you into his arms, “Not as much as I love you,” his reply is simple, it gets straight to the point, “I’m sorry for not showing you how much you meant to me, how much I love you, and I’m sorry for hurting you,”

You sigh, closing your eyes, “I need you to promise me you’ll open up to me more, in the future,”

Mark’s head snaps back up to look at you, “What?” His tone is high in pitch, almost incredulous.

“I need you to be honest in the future, if you want us to work out,” Your eyes scan his face, and he goes through all the emotions in the book. “I love you, Mark, but I won’t be able to go through this one more time,” you say, alluding to the break, all the heartbreak and all the sadness it brought you.

“We don’t have to go though this again. We won’t, I swear!” His voice is full of newfound confidence after hearing your words, and he takes a few steps towards you, and you allow him to take you into his embrace.

This time, the arms wrapping around you are exactly the ones you’ve been needing, the ones your body has been craving for.

Mark’s nose is filled with your perfume, and he starts crying at the way your arms wrap around him, squeezing him.

“I’m not sure how I survived being away from you for so long,” he mumbles, his nose nuzzling into your hair.

You look up at him, his beautiful and sparkly eyes are droopy from all the crying he’s been doing. He takes a few steps back until his heels touch the foot of the couch, and he sits on the armrest, bringing you after him, entrapping your body with his arms and legs as you stand between them. His face is now to the same level as yours, and it doesn’t take you long to grab the sides of his face to bring him in close.

He closes his eyes the moment he feels your sweet lips mere centimetres away from his, and his hands roam on your waist and back to keep you as close as possible to him. His lips are devouring yours in a hungry, desperate kiss, that he deepens as soon as you grant him access into your mouth. You’re so sweet, like everything he’s ever tasted in the past few weeks tasted bland, like your sweetness was everything he’s ever needed.

You have to break the kiss when you feel your lungs burning, asking for air, and as much as you love Mark and his obsession with having your lips entrapped in a kiss, he’ll have all the time in the world to be all over you, literally.

And his head falls in the crook of your neck, nose nuzzling against your skin and lips giving you small pecks. He inhales your perfume, the scent of your skin, he’s not sure anymore what it is — he’s elated to feel you, to have you back into his arms and into his life.

“I can’t believe you quit your job,” you tell him, bringing one of your hands up to play with his now long hair. You hope he knows that getting back together doesn’t mean him getting a haircut, at least for now.

“Stop saying this,” he commands, giving your hips a warning squeeze. “My job isn’t as important as you are, and I love you too much not to do this for you, for us,”

You kiss him once again, and this time it’s sweet and slow, exactly like your relationship will be from now on.

The moment is interrupted as you flinch against his body, after the doorbell startles you. Your boyfriend looks at you, confused, wondering if Jaemin dropped by like he expected just earlier, when he opened the door and the sight of you on his doorstep greeted him.

“Oh, yes,” you say, smiling sheepishly at him, “That must be the delivery guy with our food,” you peck his lips one more time, trying to wipe the confusion off his features, “It’s friday night, after all!”

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shoxxcc · 1 month ago

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damn i just blushed in 60 different ways and changed hair colours reading this. THIS IS SO FFFFFF GOOD

pairing: alien!jisung x human!reader themes: fluff, angst, alien au warnings: abduction, experimentation, imprisonment, execution (sort of?) words: 16k synopsis: waking up from the deepest sleep of your life to find out that you had actually been abducted by aliens and were on their ship was not how you had thought your tuesday morning way going to go. but when a shy alien bursts through the door asking for your help you find yourself saying yes. however, as the two of you get closer to each other, you find yourselves uncovering a twisted web of lies that threaten everything the two of you have ever known.

i. good morning sunshine

Your eyes fluttered slightly, the hold that sleep had on you felt much deeper than you were used to. Normally you weren’t a seriously heavy sleeper, but somehow you felt absolutely knocked out. You rolled over onto your side, reaching for your duvet to pull it over your head and drown out the sound of your alarm. However, your hand grabbed at empty air instead of your warm covers, causing you to squeeze your eyes further shut in confusion. You must have kicked your duvet off during the night. Annoying, but it wasn’t the first time it had happened. You rolled over and buried your face into your pillow, groaning in the usual frustration that came with waking up.

You made no attempt to get up, already tired at the idea of going off to lessons. It was only then, in those seconds you weren’t moving, that you took in the silence around you. There was no high pitched repetitive beeping of your alarm, alerting you that it was time to wake up. You couldn’t hear your mother downstairs, banging pots and pans around as she made breakfast. There was no shouting from your father as he tried to reason with his business partners over the phone. Nothing. No, your room was completely silent. There was no sign of life anywhere.

Your eyes slowly peeled open, hoping to check the time on your phone by your bed. You flung an arm out, a small yelp leaving you when it hit nothing and instead the momentum of your movement caused you to roll rather ungracefully off your bed.

You landed on the hard ground, confusion and sleep clouding your mind. You must have been lying on the very edge of your bed. But you hadn’t fallen out of bed since you were a kid. Also, since when was your bed that small? And your floor somehow didn’t feel like carpet anymore?

You pushed yourself up into a sitting position slowly, rubbing the part of your forehead that still dully ached from you not so gently landing on the floor. As your eyes gradually adjusted to the light, you took in your surroundings.

The walls and floor were a matching light grey colour. In fact, the entire room was varying shades of grey. You jumped up, practically throwing yourself to your feet, but your body felt like jelly and you stumbled backwards into your bed. You closed your eyes tight, trying to get rid of the black dots slightly clouding your vision. Your control over your body began to come back to you, just as you came to a terrifying realisation.

You had no idea where you were.

Your breath began to shorten as you tried with everything you could to keep yourself calm.

Had you been kidnapped? What kind of place is this? Are they holding you for ransom? Why did they want you? Who on earth could “they” be? How long have you been asleep? How much danger are you in?

Just as these worries began to completely consume you, you heard the door begin to click, signalling what you assumed was a lock. Your eyes shot around the room, looking for anything that could pass as a weapon if you needed. However, the room was minimalist, basically empty, and there was nothing that you would be able to pick up and defend yourself with if you needed. Your heart was pounding so hard you wondered if it would be heard by whoever was trying to get into this room. Whoever had taken you.

Dear god you hoped not.

The door suddenly opened at speed, and a tall figure burst in before shutting it again behind them just as quickly. They turned around as you finally got a look at their face.

It was a boy. He was tall and slim, and staring down at you with his eyes wide with panic. His hair lay messily on his face and you couldn’t quite tell if it was a very dark blue, black or purple. It was as if each colour changed with the movement his head made. He kept looking over his shoulder, checking behind him for something before turning back to you. When he spoke his voice was deeper than you were prepared for, the husk in it surprising you. But nothing surprised you as much as the words he spoke.

“You have no idea how many rules I’m breaking here but my human studies final is coming up and I really need help because I’m going to fail it.”

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shoxxcc · 1 month ago

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ayo we need more of thiss 😭

MOONSTRUCK | p. jisung

pairing: werewolf!hufflepuff! jisung x hufflepuff!fem. reader genre: best friends to lovers, hogwarts/supernatural au, angst, smut. wc: 18.3k+ summary: after a cruel prank leaves jisung cursed, he withdraws from everyone—including you, his closest friend. but secrets can't stay hidden forever, and when a full moon pulls you into the darkness he's tried so desperately to conceal, there's no going back. content warnings: werewolf lore & transformation, drug usage, rut/mating behavior, rough sex, biting/marking, mild breeding kink, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, knotting, bulge kink, mentions of bruising & blood, mild body horror, brief medical talk (contraceptive), aftercare. lmk if i missed any! a/n: nearly a month in the making and i can finally say i’m satisfied enough to post this lol. i’m actually really happy with how it turned out—and i finally got to write about werewolves, which has been on my list forever. canonically, werewolves in the HP universe (and most lore tbh) are dangerous nocturnal creatures and primarily bloodthirsty. but for this fic, i took a step away from that and leaned into the rut aspect instead because why not ;) pls don’t judge the cover, i had picsart and a dream lol. btw moonstruck by enhypen and nda by billie eilish are two songs u should listen to while reading this!

ps: i don’t know why i was under the assumption that everyone knows hp terms but i realized that is not the case after my mark fic 😭 so even though i didn’t use too many obscure ones here, here’s a little reference guide just in case: legilimens– someone who can read minds or emotions squib– a non-magical person born into a magical family (in this fic, it’s thrown around more like calling someone useless/coward) wolfsbane– a potion that allows werewolves to keep their mind during a full moon; in hp lore they still transform, but in this fic it's not a full transformation. feel free to message me if anything else was confusing! happy reading<3

You didn’t expect your seventh year at Hogwarts to feel like grieving someone who was still alive.

Three months ago, Park Jisung was still your best friend. Now, he can’t even stand being near you.

The suddenness of this change was something you couldn’t wrap around your head. But things don’t always fall apart all at once. Sometimes they drift until you’re left staring across a room at someone who used to know everything about you and wondering when they became a stranger.

He was the very first friend you made at Hogwarts. You remember how he barely spoke to anyone, and you sat next to him in Transfiguration class just because there was an empty seat. You charmed your quill into a frog that wouldn’t stop croaking, and when he finally cracked a smile, it felt like you’d won something important.

He was awkward and soft-spoken, unsure of himself in the way most boys are before they grow into their limbs. But you liked him instantly. Probably because he liked the same books as you, or because he never made fun of you for being nervous on a broom.

He even held your hand during your first flying lesson, hovering near you the whole time so you wouldn’t be scared. Years later, you found out he was just as scared of heights as you were and only pretended not to be to make you feel safe.

By fifth year, you spent so much time together that you could finish each other’s sentences. By sixth, you were bringing blankets to the highest tower in the castle and naming stars until you both fell asleep mid conversation. There wasn’t a single version of your life in Hogwarts that didn’t include him.

You thought seventh year would be just like that….

You were wrong.

After a summer of sending each other daily letters, pages and pages of thoughts, jokes, and half-sincere promises to never grow up, you returned to school thinking nothing could change.

And at first, it didn’t.

You walked to classes together, fell asleep with your legs tangled on the same couch, pretending not to hear the way people whispered about it the next morning, and snuck out of the common room after curfew not caring that you’d get caught.

The Astronomy Tower was your favorite place, you discovered how pretty it looked at night in your third year.

It was quiet that evening, the wind tugging at your robes as you leaned over the battlement. Jisung set down the little paper packet he’d smuggled from the kitchens—honey biscuits, still warm—and nudged it toward you.

“Payment for helping with my Potions homework,” he said, trying to be casual, though the tips of his ears were already pink.

You laughed and took one, bumping his shoulder with yours. “You’d owe me a whole bakery if this were the price.”

He smiled softly. The moonlight caught in his hair, and for a second you forgot the chill entirely.

“Close your eyes,” he said suddenly.

You arched an eyebrow but obeyed. Something light, wool‑soft, was placed around your shoulders. You opened your eyes to find his black‑and‑yellow scarf wrapped there, smelling faintly of cedarwood soap and parchment ink—purely, unmistakably Jisung.

“You’re shivering,” he mumbled, eyes on his shoes. “Couldn’t have my star‑chart partner freeze.”

You swallowed a reply that felt too big, and instead reached for his hand where it rested on the stone ledge. Your fingers threaded with his, easy as blinking. He stiffened for a second then squeezed back. When you looked up, his gaze was already fixed on you, wide and bright, as though the whole sky were reflected there instead of above your heads.

Neither of you moved for a long while. Orion wheeled overhead, the biscuits cooled, and the castle bells tolled curfew far below. But the only thing you really noticed was the warmth of his palm against yours, and the way your heart tripped every time he glanced your way and smiled shyly.

You learned just how soft‑hearted Jisung was that day on the Astronomy Tower.

Which is why, a few weeks into seventh year, it struck you as utterly wrong when rumors reached you that he’d been seen tagging along behind Lee Seungmin. Seungmin was everything Jisung wasn’t—loud, sharp‑tongued, the sort of Slytherin who thought shoving first‑years into suits of armor was a hobby and swapping curse ingredients under the table was a joke. He hexed quills to peck at classmates and bragged about detentions like they were trophies.

Jisung, by contrast, apologized when he bumped into someone and brought extra quills for anyone who forgot theirs. He flinched at raised voices and fed the barn owls after hours because he worried they were lonely.

So hearing his name linked with Seungmin’s felt like hearing that rain was falling upward. At first you laughed it off, because surely someone must have mixed him up with another quiet Hufflepuff. But then Jisung started arriving late to meals, dodging your study sessions, mumbling vague excuses you’d never heard from him before.

That was when you realized the rumor wasn’t a mistake—and that something was very, very wrong.

Seventh Year

September settled over the castle in a bright rush of golden leaves and new parchment, and for a while everything felt the way it always had. You and Jisung were crossing the courtyard—still laughing about his theory that Professor Lockhart polished his hair with Mrs. Skower’s Extra‑Shine—when a voice cut through the chatter behind you.

“Oi, Park!”

You both turned. Lee Seungmin jogged toward you, grinning widelys. You didn’t bother hiding your sigh.

“Still on for tonight?” he asked, dropping his voice as he leaned in toward Jisung.

“I’m not sure. I’ve got a Potions essay to finish.” Jisung shifted akwardly.

Seungmin smacked him on the back, too hard to be friendly. “Come on, you’ve bailed twice already.”

You stepped forward, folding your arms. “Don’t you have that same essay, Seungmin? It’s half the term grade.”

He turned, as if noticing you for the first time and smirked “Why bother? Snape’s going to fail me anyway.”

“Typical,” you muttered.

“I’ll let you know later,” Jisung said quickly, cutting between you before another jab could leave your mouth.

Seungmin’s gaze lingered on you, faintly mocking, before he turned away with a humorless laugh. “Sure thing, Park.”

The moment he was out of earshot you exhaled. “Since when are you and Seungmin… close?”

“We’re not,” Jisung said, scratching at the back of his neck. “He just hangs around sometimes.”

You searched his face. “You two have nothing in common.”

“It isn’t a big deal,” he insisted, but the laugh that followed sounded fake.

“It is if you’re sneaking off with someone like him,” you said, sharper than you meant to, but the worry was too much to hide.

Jisung’s gaze dropped to his shoes. “I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

You didn’t say anything after that. You just walked the rest of the way to class in silence with a sense of unease settling on your chest.

That was when the distance began to show.

First, he started seating two rows over in Charms, smiling apologetically whenever you glanced his way but never moving back. He stopped leaving crooked little jokes on the margins of your Transfiguration notes or looking at you and trying not to laugh whenever Professor Lockhart messed up a spell.

He still spoke to you, yet every conversation felt stitched together, as if he were acting out a script. One afternoon you finally asked, “Are we all right?” He nodded so quickly you had a hard time believing it.

The next time you saw him with Seungmin it was well past curfew.

You had just left the library after wrestling Arithmancy proofs and stopped short as soon as you rounded the corner near the dungeon stairs. There was Seungmin leaning against the wall and Jisung half‑turned away, both speaking in low murmurs. You caught only fragments of Seungmin’s lazy drawl and Jisung’s tight replies. Then Seungmin laughed sharply, and your best friend flinched as though struck.

Your loud footsteps made both of their heads snap up.

“Y/N,” Jisung blurted, striding toward you as if to block your view. “Why are you out so late?”

“I could ask you the same.” You said arching a brow.

Behind him, Seungmin offered a thin grin before slipping down the stairs into the darkness of the dungeons.

Jisung pressed a hand to his eyes. “I was heading back to the dorm.”

“What did he want?”

“He—” Jisung’s voice faltered and for a heartbeat you saw the words gather behind his lips but he swallowed them down. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” Your voice cracked on the word. “Come on, Ji.”

“I’m just tired,” he whispered. “Can we talk tomorrow?”

Silence pooled between you, at last you forced a smile neither of you believed. “All right. Tomorrow.”

But tomorrow never arrived—at least, not the kind where he told you what was wrong.

Because the next day Jisung never came to class at all.

Two whole days slid by without a glimpse of him and you were so on edge you kept glancing over your shoulder, half‑expecting his soft voice behind you. Or hoping he might walk into the library with that shy lopsided smile, asking if you had spare parchment which he always ran out of because his handwriting was too big and messy.

But he wasn’t anywhere, and no one seemed willing to notice besides you.

By lunch on the second day you couldn’t keep silent. Renjun was halfway through a Honeydukes bar, mumbling that chocolate boosted cognitive function, when you leaned across the table and murmured, “Do you know what’s going on with Jisung?”

He froze mid‑bite. “What?”

“Renjun,” you said, low and tight, “you know he hasn’t been to class, or in the common room. He isn’t anywhere.”

“I thought he was sick,” Renjun offered with a shrug that felt rehearsed.

“He isn’t in the hospital wing, and he hasn’t answered any of my owls.”

A flicker of something, maybe guilt, crossed his face. “Maybe he just… needs space?”

Your gaze sharpened. “Did something happen?”

“No,” he blurted too fast. “No, not that I know of.”

“Renjun.”

“I swear, I don’t know.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes. That was answer enough, but you let it drop for now.

That evening, heading back from a prefect meeting, you passed the hidden entrance to the Slytherin common room and heard voices up the corridor.

You weren’t trying to eavesdrop—until one word snapped you still.

“Jisung.”

“Snape got to him before—”

“—thought he was going to die, mate—”

“—Seungmin won’t shut up, keeps saying it wasn’t meant to go that far—”

A rush of blood pounded in your ears as you picked up bits of the hushed conversation. You edged closer and caught sight of Jay and Niki—Seungmin’s friends—half hidden in the shadows, whispering behind cupped hands.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. Your thoughts finally being confirmed; Something happened to Jisung and Seungmin was at the heart of it.

You didn’t sleep a minute that night. Every time you shut your eyes, the conversation replayed in your head until dawn bled through the curtains and you were already out of bed, fury keeping you upright.

You found Seungmin loitering outside the Great Hall, laughing too loudly at something Jay and Niki had said. You crossed the marble floor without a second thought.

“Where is he?”

The smile slipped from Seungmin’s face. He cocked his head, all polite confusion. “Sorry, where’s who?”

“Drop the act,” you said, stepping close enough that he had to tilt his chin to keep eye contact. “I heard your lackeys talking last night. Where’s Jisung?”

Jay and Niki exchanged a look but said nothing..

Seungmin gave a thin, brittle laugh. “You’re hearing ghosts, sweetheart. Why would I bother with Park?”

“A better question,” you started, voice cold, “is why you’ve been so attached to him lately. You don’t exactly run in the same circles, so what did you talk him into?”

Something sharpened in Seungmin’s eyes and he leaned in by a fraction. “Careful with what you’re accusing me of.”

“Or what?” You didn’t move. “You’ll do to me what you did to him?”

For a heartbeat his mask slipped, just long enough to confirm you’d scored a direct hit.

“I didn’t touch him,” he said, almost gently. “Whatever mess Park’s in? He walked into it himself”

“Liar.”

He dipped his head, a mock‑sympathetic smile curling at his mouth. “You think you know him so well, huh? Ever think that maybe he finally got tired of you shadowing him like a needy bitc—”

Your wand was at his throat before the last word finished leaving his lips. The corridor went silent except for your breathing.

“You know nothing about us,” you said, voice shaking with contained fury. “If he’s hurt, I’ll make sure everyone here knows exactly whose fault it is.”

Seungmin’s gaze flicked to the tip of your wand, then back to your face. A slow, poisonous smile spread. “Ask too many questions, Y/N, and you might choke on the answers.”

He stepped back with his hands raised in surrender, and strolled away. Jay and Niki followed in uneasy silence. You lowered your wand, fingers trembling with adrenaline.

His parting smile told you everything about his involvement. But you still didn’t have clear answers.

So you went to seek the other person allegedly involved. Snape.

When you descended into the dungeons, the silence was immediate and unnatural. No one ever came this far during free periods; only Professor Snape’s office existed at the end of this corridor, buried deep in the coldest, most isolated part of the castle.

Faint green flames floated midair along the walls, suspended in enchanted sconces that made no sound and cast no warmth. They pulsed gently, like breathing, and their glow warped the stone around them, making the shadows twist in ways that defied logic.

You hated it down here. Even now, in your seventh year, walking this corridor alone made your heart thud against your ribs like it wanted you to turn back.

But you were desperate.

Snape looked up slowly when you stepped into his office without knocking, his quill pausing mid-sentence on the parchment. His expression went from mildly irritated to coldly displeased in an instant.

“Is knocking a forgotten concept these days?” he said dryly.

“Professor,” you began quickly, not even trying to hide the urgency in your voice. “I need to talk to you.”

Snape set down his quill, arching a single eyebrow. “Then I suggest you start talking, and make it quick.”

You swallowed. “It’s about Jisung… Park Jisung. He’s been missing for days, and no one seems to know anything. Or at least, they’re pretending they don’t.”

His gaze sharpened and for a second, you thought you saw a flicker of caution behind his eyes before he quickly masked it.

“I fail to see why you’re bringing this to me,” he said coolly, leaning back in his chair. “Missing students are a matter for the headmaster.”

“Don’t,” you snapped before you could stop yourself. Snape’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but you pressed forward anyway. “I overheard some students talking. They mentioned your name…said you found Jisung somewhere. Something happened to him, didn’t it?”

Snape’s eyes flashed briefly. “And you believe the idle gossip of students because…?”

“Jisung wouldn’t just disappear on his own like that. I know something happened to him,” you shot back, voice shaking. “And I believe you know exactly what.”

He watched you silently for a moment. You could feel him weighing something behind his guarded stare. Finally, he exhaled sharply.

“Miss Y/N,” he began slowly, voice heavy with thinly veiled warning, “there are things within these castle walls and beyond them that you are better off not knowing.”

“That’s not your choice to make,” you said immediately.

“On the contrary,” he replied calmly. “It is precisely my choice. And you will do well to remember that.”

Your fists clenched at your sides, frustration prickling hot behind your eyes. “Professor, please. Jisung’s my best friend. If he’s hurt… if something’s happened… I need to know.”

Something shifted in Snape’s expression at your words, almost looked like regret. When he spoke, his voice was almost gentle, which frightened you more than his scorn.

“Sometimes the worst harm you can do to someone is to keep prying.”

He paused, holding your gaze steadily. “Park is alive. That is all you need to know. Now leave.”

You stood frozen for a second, his words sinking in painfully. Jisung was alive—yet somehow, that felt worse. It meant something had happened… Something terrible.

Your jaw tightened. “You can’t keep this hidden forever,” you whispered fiercely.

He leaned forward, eyes piercing yours in the darkness of the room.

“We’ll see.”

You turned away, storming from his office without looking back. Snape hadn’t denied anything which meant there’d definitely been an incident and it was serious enough that Jisung couldn’t be seen right now. He was alive, but he was hurt, and whatever happened to him was being deliberately hidden.

A few days later

The day started like any other.

You pushed cold eggs across your plate, half listening to Renjun’s gentle attempts at conversation while the Great Hall hummed as if a student hadn’t been missing for a week. But suddenly, a hush rolled through the room.

You felt Renjun touch your arm.

“Y/N.”

You looked up, and followed his gaze toward the doors. The breath caught in your throat.

Jisung was standing just inside the oak doors.

He was bent at the shoulders, eyes flicking over the Hall as if he didn’t remember ever being there before. His robes hung wrinkled and loose and there were red scratches carved along his neck and cheek. He was paler than before and the shadows beneath his eyes made him look years older than when you’d last seen him.

Without greeting anyone, he drifted to the far end of the Hufflepuff table nowhere near his usual seat beside you.

You were on your feet before the thought finished forming.

Renjun caught your wrist. “Y/N, maybe wait—”

You shook him off and crossed the hall, every step echoing in the sudden quiet.

“Jisung?”

He flinched but kept his gaze on the empty plate. “Not now, Y/N.”

“You’ve been gone a week,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I was so worried—”

“I said not now.” The snap in his voice was sharp enough to cut. He glanced up and the terror in his eyes chilled you to the bone.

You reached for him, but he stood so abruptly your balance faltered. Without another word he strode the length of the hall and disappeared through the doors, leaving a silence that seemed to bend the rafters.

You stood frozen, heat flushing your face as dozens of eyes slid away. Renjun appeared at your elbow and talked softly. “Let him breathe.”

You nodded, though the emptiness in your chest insisted otherwise.

Jisung returned to lessons, but only in body. He answered professors in one‑word murmurs and offered classmates strained smiles that meant please don’t talk to me. At meals he sat alone, two yards of empty bench marking the space where laughter used to live.

He moved faster when he saw you in the corridors. He no longer waited outside classrooms or drifted toward your chair in the library. His robes hung loose as if he’d lost weight along with sleep, and his hands shook whenever he raised his wand. Sometimes you caught him staring through stone walls at something only he could see.

You tried with soft hellos in the common room, and owls folded with careful questions but every attempt slid off the wall he’d built overnight. The harder you reached, the farther he retreated, until all that remained between you was silence and the memory of how easily you’d once shared the same breath.

2 days later

Jisung sat on the edge of his bed, head buried in his shaking hands. His palms were marked with crescent-shaped indentations from how hard he was clenching his fists.

He kept hearing it.

The snap of branches in pitch-black darkness. The sickening crunch of claws sinking into damp earth. The guttural snarl vibrating through his bones moments before razor-sharp teeth pierced his shoulder. The thick warmth of blood soaking through his robes.

Sometimes it came to him in dreams. Other times, he’d be awake, in class, or walking down the corridor. A sound, or a smell and he was back in the forest.

Snape had said the wolfsbane would help and it had in a way. At least, it kept the full transformation at bay. But it didn’t stop the memories, it didn’t quiet the noise in his head.

His senses were too sharp now, every creak of the floorboards, every flicker of candlelight, every rustle of parchment felt louder. Sometimes he thought he could hear people’s heartbeats, smell their sweat before they entered a room. His insides constantly felt overwhelmed with unbearable energy. He felt trapped in his own skin, moments away from tearing free of himself. Sometimes he felt too much, and other times… he felt nothing at all.

Worst of all, though, was you.

He couldn't stand to be near you anymore. Not because he didn't want to, but because your scent now stirred something dangerous within him. It made his chest ache unbearably, tightened his throat with longing and thirst.

A part of him urged him to get far away from you. But another darker, more primal part whispered the opposite… to scent you, to sink into you, to lose control entirely. But he refused to drag you into his nightmare. He wouldn't allow it, no matter how much it tore at him.

He could remember most of what led him into the forest, up to a certain point.

He remembers Seungmin saying he wanted to hang out and they met near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where one of the slytherins handed out something called shadeleaf. It was an iridescent petal folded into itself like a capsule. Illegal, of course. Banned by the ministry for its hallucinogenic properties and its tendency to react differently based on magical affinity.

Jisung didn't even know why he was there. This wasn’t his scene at all. The guys were drinking something out of a flask that smelled like burnt sugar and smoke. Jay was lighting up a rolled spell-scroll with charmed embers. Niki already looked half out of it, eyes glazed.

When Seungmin started showing an interest in him a few weeks ago, Jisung had been flattered. He'd only ever made two close friends at Hogwarts, so someone new noticing him felt good. That was the only reason he went along with him. He wanted to be accepted.

“Is it safe?” Jisung asked nervously.

“Come on, park,” Niki chuckled, placing a shimmering petal on his tongue. “Don’t be a Squib.”

“What's the worst that could happen?” Seungmin grinned, handing one to him. “You trip a bit? See some weird shit? Wake up with a headache?”

Jisung hesitated, staring at the thing in his palm. It pulsed faintly with a color he didn’t have a name for.

He didn't want to do it, but they were all watching him. So he took it.

The effects hit almost instantly. His vision went fuzzy first; he could only see edges warping and light bending at impossible angles. Then his tongue tingled and throbbed, and his body felt too hot.

“Shit, this is strong,” Jay laughed.

“It’s not that bad,” Seungmin said, puffing from the smoldering scroll between his fingers.

None of them looked as affected as Jisung.

"Come on, Park," Seungmin said, draping an arm casually yet firmly around Jisung’s shoulders. "There’s a spot a little deeper in. We hang out there all the time."

Jisung couldn’t hear properly anymore, everything sounded underwater. He followed anyway.

He couldn’t say how long they walked. It felt like hours, though in reality it was probably mere minutes before his knees gave out, sending him sprawling onto the cold forest floor. His head spun violently, vision fractured.

He tried to speak, to call out but his voice didn't work, the forest blurring darker and darker until only silence and blackness swallowed him whole. He didn’t know when they left him. Just that at some point, he was alone.

The last thing he remembers was seeing bright, yellow eyes and feeling immense pain…

He woke up choking on his own blood.

His body jerked violently, lungs burning as he struggled to take in air. He felt strong hands grip his shoulders, pulling him upright with urgency. Through blurry, half-open eyes, he caught the outline of a wand glowing faintly in the dark. He barely recognized the familiar cadence of Professor Snape’s voice echoing through the haze.

“Park… Can you hear me?” Snape’s voice was clipped, edged with tension he’d never heard before.

Jisung managed only a strangled groan. He couldn’t speak, his throat was raw, filled with the metallic tang of blood. Breathing felt impossible, each gasp shallow and painful, as if his lungs were full of lead. He felt wetness soaking through his clothes and pooling beneath him. He didn't know if it was sweat or blood. Probably both, his clouded mind whispered darkly.

He was certain of only one thing—he was going to die here.

“You’ve been attacked,” Snape explained urgently, casting quick charms that rippled warmly across Jisung’s battered body. “I need you to remain as still as possible while I attempt to slow the bleeding.”

The word attacked echoed faintly in Jisung’s mind. Attacked by what? His thoughts swirled sluggishly. He couldn’t focus enough to piece anything together.

Snape pressed a small vial to his lips. The Hufflepuff hesitated, eyes flickering up weakly, his question dying soundlessly on cracked lips.

Snape seemed to understand instantly. “It’s Wolfsbane.”

The word crashed over Jisung with crushing weight, his mind snapping painfully back to clarity. Wolfsbane. A potion for…

His stomach twisted violently, nausea gripping him as realization cut sharply through the fog in his mind.

He’d been attacked by a werewolf.

It felt impossible. He wanted to deny it, wanted to believe it was just some twisted nightmare brought on by the drugs he’d foolishly taken. But the pain burning through his shoulder and the dark, grim expression on Snape’s face all made denial impossible.

With trembling lips, Jisung allowed Snape to tip the bitter potion into his mouth, grimacing weakly as he forced himself to swallow it down. It tasted vile but he had no energy left to protest.

He collapsed back against the cold forest floor, limbs heavy, vision fading once more as Snape continued muttering charms, trying to keep him tethered to consciousness.

“Stay with me, Park,” Snape’s voice commanded, sharp but oddly comforting. “You’re not going to die tonight.”

But Jisung wasn’t sure he believed him.

The darkness rushed back in, heavy and thick, pulling him under again as Snape’s frantic movements blurred and faded away.

His memory is fuzzy from then on.

One moment he was lying in the dirt, blood soaking the ground beneath him. The next, he was being levitated through narrow hallways, his body wrapped in magic and warding charms.

The room was dark, except for a wandlight hovering near the ceiling. He was placed on a dusty mattress on the floor. His skin felt stiff with blood, every muscle felt like it had been peeled apart and sewn back together with barbed wire.

He recognized the Shrieking Shack from an article he’d read once about the most haunted places on Earth. That’s where they were right now.

The shack was colder than he imagined. This was the place they used to tell ghost stories about in the common room. The place kids dared each other to peek into on Hogsmeade weekends. It smelled like old wood and dust. Snape moved through it like he’d been here before—like this was routine.

He cast a dozen silent spells before even speaking. Layers of enchantments wrapped around the rotting floorboards, the shattered furniture, the warped windows.

“You must take this Wolfsbane every day,” Snape said curtly, setting a tray on the floor beside the creaking mattress. “Or I’ll force it down your throat.”

Jisung didn’t answer. Snape paused, studying him with that unreadable stare.

“You’ll stay here until the full moon passes,” he said. “You’ll say nothing when you return.”

Jisung blinked slowly, the weight of it sinking into his bones. ‘When you return… or If’.

Then Snape turned to go but he stopped in the doorway.

“You are not the first,” he said, voice low. “It will be painful but you’ll survive.”

And with that, he was gone.

The silence was the most unbearable part of being in the Shack. Not even the pain or the way Jisung’s bones ached like they were preparing to snap apart. It was the silence that made him feel like he’d go crazy any minute.

He tried to sleep, but whenever he tried he’d blink awake to phantom sensations of fur brushing his skin, fangs pushing against his teeth, and a sweet scent of honey curling through the cracks in the floorboards.

It wasn’t the full moon yet but his body was already responding to it. The Wolfsbane kept him from changing completely, but it didn’t stop everything. His skin itched as if it was being stretched and he realized he’d grown a few inches taller overnight. His eyes were also becoming sensitive to even the faintest flickers of light, and they were a dark shade of yellow that glowed whenever the moonlight hit them.

It might’ve been on the second night or the third, he couldn’t remember well, but Snape came in and told him that the full moon would be at its peak and he would feel the effects more despite the potion.

Jisung lasted about two hours before the pain began. It wasn’t sudden. It crept in slowly, like frostbite, numbing his fingers first. Then his wrists and his legs. He thought maybe this was it—maybe he’d just fade out before anything happened. Then it spread up his spine and into his skull, where it bloomed behind his eyes like fire.

The pain was so much bigger than his body. It burned and it shredded him, as if his bones were being broken and rebuilt at the same time, like his skin wasn’t big enough to hold him anymore. He scratched at his own arms until his nails cracked and bled. It got so unbearable he slammed his head against the wall hoping he would knock himself out but he couldn’t.

He clawed at the walls, tore at the floorboards and bit into the wood until his mouth filled with splinters and blood. He howled until his throat tore raw. And still, it didn’t stop

He lost count of how many times his limbs broke and reformed. His jaw cracked open so wide he thought it might dislocate, teeth pushing through bloody gums. He was sobbing or at least, he thought he was. It was hard to tell over the sound of his own growling.

The transformation stopped halfway and started again the next day. He never fully transformed but he felt the pain of his body trying to fight against it every single time.

He stopped counting days after that.

Hunger and exhaustion tangled with grief and fear until all that was left was the throb of his body and the steady hum of magic in his blood. He didn’t think about the pain anymore. Or the bite. Or Seungmin. Or the forest.

Mostly, he thought about you.

He tried not to, but you wouldn’t leave him. Your face, your laugh, your voice, it all circled him like the moonlight through the slats in the wall.

The way the thought of you made his body burn now.The way your honeyed scent used to be comforting but now made his lungs tighten and his mouth water. He didn’t understand why he was feeling this way.

On the seventh day he woke up soaked in sweat, shivering uncontrollably. The moon had passed. He could feel it in the way the ache in his bones was retreating and his mind was clearer.

Snape arrived at dawn.

He said nothing about the mess of blood and broken furniture in the room. He just studied Jisung who was sitting slumped against the wall. He pulled out his wand and started casting diagnostic spells over his body.

“You’ll return to class tomorrow,” he said. “If anyone asks, you were ill.”

Jisung didn’t move.

Snape continued impassively. “You are not to mention the Wolfsbane, the forest, or what you’ve become. Do you understand?”

Jisung finally looked at him, barely able to lift his head properly. “That’s it? Just… go back like nothing happened?” His voice came out hoarse.

Snape’s eyes narrowed faintly. “No. That is not it.”

He stepped closer.

“You will take your potion every cycle, no matter what. And you will not seek out the other boys involved, nor will you retaliate.”

Jisung’s jaw clenched. He wanted nothing more than to rip Seungmin’s throat apart, but he knew that was just the wolf thinking.

“And most importantly, you will stay away from her.” Snape said, his voice dropping at the last word.

Jisung sat up sharply, knowing exactly who he was referring to. “Why?”

The professor’s expression didn’t soften. “Because the wolf doesn’t care that she’s your friend. It doesn’t care about boundaries or guilt or decency. It responds to need.”

Jisung’s chest tightened, throat dry.

“The first few transformations are the worst,” Snape continued, pacing slowly now. “Your body hasn’t adjusted. Your instincts haven’t aligned with your mind. You will feel urges…violent, territorial, carnal urges that you can’t control. Those urges will turn into fixations... Especially for someone you already had feelings for”

“I don’t–” Jisung started.

“You don’t need to lie, Mr. Park.” Snape cut him off, “I am a very skilled Legilimens, you know? I can see your mind and I see how it’s filled with thoughts of her.”

Jisung looked away, jaw trembling slightly. Snape stopped in front of him.

“Her scent” he said quietly. “It already triggers you, doesn’t it?”

Jisung didn’t answer. That sweet scent of honey and parchment that he kept smelling through the rotting floors and the dried blood, he figured out it was you. It reminded him of that night at the Astronomy tower.The Shrieking Shack might be a few miles away from Hogwarts castle but he could still somehow smell you.

“You feel it in your chest, in your teeth, in your gut” Snape said, voice like a scalpel. “You want her.”

Jisung’s breathing picked up.

“That is the beginning of your rut.”

“Rut?” he repeated, barely above a whisper.

Snape nodded. “It’s a biological response. Wolves enter a heightened state after the full moon cycle. Some experience it more than others, especially younger ones who’ve recently turned”

Jisung’s heart was pounding now, nauseatingly fast.

“You may feel sudden impulses or worse you might want to act on those impulses.”

He felt sick. “I’m not— I would never hurt her.”

“I’m not concerned about your intentions,” Snape said coldly. “I’m concerned about your self control. A werewolf’s instincts are hard to resist and if you lose control, Mr. Park… She will pay the price.”

“So stay away from her,” Snape said with finality. “It’s the only way to keep you both safe.”

Jisung sat there shaking, the weight of what he’d become pressing down on his spine like a second body.

He couldn’t go back. Not like this.

“I’m not ready,” he said hoarsely.

Snape didn’t turn. He stood by the window, watching the last of the night dissolve into grey morning.

“You won’t ever be,” he said simply.

Jisung clenched his jaw. “I don’t want to see her. Or anyone. I—I can’t trust myself.”

“You must learn to live with your current situation.”

“Why can’t I just… stay here?”

Snape turned at that. His eyes were cold and calculating.

“Because people are already asking questions,” he said. “Students, staff. Your friend.”

Jisung’s heart stuttered at that.

“She’s worried,” Snape continued. “Rightfully so. You disappeared without warning. She’s been to my office several times. She’s even confronted the student who got you into this predicament, pulled out a wand at him. I don’t know how much longer I can keep her from endangering herself trying to find you.”

Jisung lowered his head, guilt flooding every nerve.

“Rumors are spreading, too.” Snape added. “A few students are saying they saw you with Mr. Lee that night. Some think you were injured, others that you’re in trouble. You’ve already been gone too long.”

Jisung swallowed hard. “So I just walk into the Great Hall acting like I’m normal?”

Snape didn’t blink. “Yes.”

His stomach turned. “And if someone sees the scars?”

“You’ll say you had an accident in the forest.”

“And you’ll back me up?” he asked bitterly.

“If I must.”

Jisung exhaled shakily. “And Y/N? We—we’re always together, she’ll find it weird if I suddenly cut her off”

“You’ll keep your distance regardless. If she asks questions, you deflect. If she pushes, you walk away. You’re not safe around her”

He bit his lip hard, so hard it almost bled. “She’ll know something’s wrong.”

“Then hope she’s smart enough not to get too close.”

The doors to the Great Hall had never felt so heavy. Jisung stood in front of them for nearly five minutes, staring at the carved wood. Behind them, he heard laughter, casual conversation, normalcy.

He wasn’t ready.

But Snape’s words echoed in his skull.

"You’ve already been gone too long."

He took a breath and pushed them open.

All the noise overcame him like a wave, the plates clinking, voices overlapping, owls fluttering through the rafters. It all felt loud in a way it hadn’t before, as if someone had turned the world’s volume up just to punish him.

He kept his head low and his pace steady. One foot in front of the other. Just like Snape said. Act like nothing happened.

He could feel all eyes on him almost instantly. First years stopping mid-bite and a few seventh-years whispering across the Gryffindor table. Someone, he thought maybe Jay, froze with a goblet halfway to his lips.

And then you. He didn’t have to loo, he felt the second your eyes landed on him, making something twist deep in his chest. That same unbearable tightness he’d felt in the shack whenever he let himself think about you. About your laugh echoing across the common room. About your fingers brushing his when you passed him a quill and how it used to mean nothing, and now it meant everything.

He knew you’d notice the hollow look in his eyes, the bruises blooming like violets on his neck and the bandage peeking out from beneath the collar of his robes. You’d find it weird that he didn’t sit near you, didn’t even glance your way. But he tried to ignore those thoughts and just focus on the plate in front of him even though his stomach turned at the smell of food.

You stared at him from your seat. It took you several long, painful seconds to process what you were seeing.

Jisung—your best friend, who’d been missing a week without a word—just walked into breakfast looking like he’d seen hell and barely made it back out.

His robes were loose like he’d lost weight and his eyes were ringed with dark circles, exhaustion written clearly in every line of his face. There were cuts visible, thin red marks down his jaw, a deeper scar stretching beneath his collar, fading bruises on the backs of his hands. His hair was tangled, his posture painfully tense.

You felt a sick sense of relief after seeing him, despite his appearance. But most of all you felt angry. You felt everything all at once, a hot rush of emotions almost too intense to handle.

Jisung avoided your gaze completely. He picked at the food in front of him, not really eating, just pushing it around his plate.

He felt you approaching before you spoke. Your scent hit him first, warm and familiar, yet unbearably intense. His jaw clenched tight, fingers curling into fists beneath the table. He didn’t look up even when you stood near him. He simply couldn’t trust himself to see your face and not fall apart.

You called his name quietly and he almost cried at the sound of your voice. But he didn’t move, not even when you stepped closer.

Slowly, he raised his head, gaze finally meeting yours You went still, eyes widening just slightly. He knew instantly what you saw—the darkness in his stare, the shadowed bruises, the fresh scars. The way he looked wrong.

He couldn’t bear your pained eyes, so he snapped at you. Something he’d never do before, but Snape told him to deflect. So he yelled and walked away, trying to ignore how hurt you looked.

This was what Snape meant. You’re not safe around her.

You couldn’t eat after that. Not with the way he’d looked at you.

Jisung had always been soft-spoken, a little awkward, a little shy—but never cold. And you didn’t need a Healer to tell you that whatever he’d gone through wasn’t some stomach bug or routine cold. You weren’t stupid.

You saw the tremble in his fingers when he reached for his fork. You saw the way he flinched when someone behind him dropped their goblet. You saw the bruises just under his collar and the bandages.

Something happened to him.

You sat back down but your heart was still up at the other end of the table with him.

“I need to know,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Renjun.

He sighed. “Y/N…”

“Don’t say it,” you snapped quietly. “Don’t say I should give him time. Don’t say he’ll come around. I know him, Renjun. He’s scared. You don’t just disappear for a week and come back with claw marks on you neck.”

Renjun went quiet.

That silence told you more than anything else.

“Okay, I’m tired of this… You know something, don’t you?”

He avoided your gaze. “It’s not my place to say.”

That hurt. “Is it mine to not know?”

You stood abruptly, grabbing your bag. “If no one’s going to tell me the truth, I’ll figure it out myself.”

Over the next few days, you tried to get close to Jisung in every way you could think of. You waited for him outside the greenhouses after Herbology, hoping to catch him alone. You switched seats in Charms just to be nearer, and sometimes you even loitered in the corridor after Potions, telling yourself you’d walk him back to the common room.

Despite your best efforts, he continually slipped away.

He offered awkward excuses about having somewhere to be, or sometimes said nothing at all and just walked past. Most of the time, he barely managed to look at you, as if doing so caused him physical pain. This wasn’t an icy kind of avoidance, nor was it tinged with anger. It felt worse than either of those possibilities—it was as though he found everything about you unbearable, but still couldn’t muster the energy to explain why.

Once, you nearly cornered him after lunch. He was leaning against the corridor wall outside the Great Hall, head tipped back, looking utterly exhausted. In that unguarded moment, your eyes met his, and you thought you glimpsed your old friend beneath the tension he carried. Summoning the nerve you’d been collecting all day, you stepped forward.

“Can we talk?” you asked softly.

For a split second, it seemed like he might say yes. His mouth opened as though he wanted to form the words but then Professor Snape’s voice echoed from behind you.

“Miss Y/N.”

You turned around to find Snape standing there, unruffled as always, robes hanging in sharp lines. He inclined his head in an almost polite manner yet still carried the weight of an order.

“I need you to come to the dungeons,” he said in a measured tone. “There are ingredients that require sorting. I trust your handwriting is still legible.”

You tried to protest, but as soon as you turned back, Jisung had vanished. From that moment on, it became a pattern: every time you got too close to him, Snape appeared with some new task for you—an extended office hour to discuss a mistake in an essay, a request to reorganize outdated potions, or a perfectly timed interruption just as you were about to speak with Jisung privately.

On a rational level, you knew it was ridiculous to think Snape was orchestrating this on purpose; however, it was impossible to ignore how consistently he managed to swoop in whenever you finally had a chance to approach Jisung alone. You didn’t know why your professor was so intent on calling you away, and truthfully it wasn’t the main issue gripping your mind.

All you could focus on was Jisung.

He looked so different—worn down, scared, ashamed, like he was carrying a secret that weighed on his shoulders every moment of the day. Every time you tried to reach him, he withdrew further. It broke your heart, because you weren’t trying to fix him or make him talk if he didn’t want to. You just wanted to be there, to stand by him instead of watching from a distance.

Yet no matter how hard you tried, the boy who used to seek you out for study breaks and late-night jokes now seemed determined to avoid you. And the more distance he forced, the more you wanted to find out what had really happened, because this Jisung—the one who flinched when you spoke and looked away when you caught his eye—felt like a stranger wearing your best friend’s face.

It was late, far too late for anyone else to be out of bed. So when you heard commotion up in the Astronomy Tower during one of your prefect rounds, you instinctively climbed the stairs to inspect, your wand held loosely in your fingertips.

The castle had felt too quiet lately. Ever since Jisung came back, everything had been off balance. You’d even taken extra patrols just to keep your mind busy. You weren’t expecting to find anything up there except maybe a few rowdy owls.

But when you pushed open the heavy wooden door to the Astronomy Tower, you froze at the sight.

Jisung was there, hunched against the railing, his robes half-open, hands gripping the stone balustrade so tightly you saw his knuckles pale even from across the room.

"Jisung?" you said softly, hesitant.

His head snapped up instantly, and your breath caught in your throat.

His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide, irises shimmering unnaturally gold beneath the moonlight. Sweat gleamed across his pale forehead, his hair was messy and damp, sticking to his face. His breathing came harsh and fast, almost feral.

You took a cautious step forward. "Jisung, are you okay?"

"Stay back," he choked out, voice strained and rough. "Don't come closer."

But you saw the tremble in his arms, the feverish brightness in his eyes. He looked sick. He looked scared.

"What’s wrong? Let me help—"

"No." He shook his head violently, squeezing his eyes shut as if fighting himself. "You can't—I'm not—"

He trailed off, stumbling forward as if pulled by some invisible force toward you. He was breathing heavily, lips parted as he seemed to taste the air between you.

"Jisung—"

Your voice cut off as his gaze snapped sharply to yours again, something raw and dangerous flaring in his eyes. It sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you instinctively backed away half a step.

"Leave," he hissed, the word barely recognizable through his clenched teeth. His whole body seemed rigid with tension. "Please, leave before—"

He broke off with a gasp, doubling over as though a wave of pain had just wracked through him.

You rushed forward instinctively, panic clouding your caution. "Jisung!"

He moved faster than your eyes could track. One moment he was curled into himself and the next he had you pinned against the cold stone floor, wrists pressed tightly beside your head, his face inches from yours, breath hot and erratic against your neck.

"Ji—" Your voice cracked. "What are you—"

He inhaled deeply against your throat, his body trembling against yours. "God, you smell so—" His voice was ragged and broken, almost a sob. "I can't—I can't stop it, I—"

He pressed closer instinctively, hips pinning you hard against the floor. His lips grazed roughly against your neck, sharp teeth skimming dangerously along your pulse point. Your heart slammed against your ribs, fear tangled confusingly with something hot in your lower belly.

"Jisung, please," you whispered, half plea, half gasp. "You're scaring me."

Those words seemed to pierce through whatever haze had overtaken him. He jerked back, eyes wide, suddenly horrified at himself. His gaze flicked down to your wrists, already bruising beneath his grip, and he stumbled away as if burned.

"No," he whispered, horror and guilt bleeding openly into his expression. "I didn't—I wouldn't—"

You stayed frozen on the floor, chest heaving as you watched the agony twist across his face.

"What’s happening to you?" you breathed, sitting up slowly.

He stared at you, anguished, hands still trembling at his sides.

"I'm sorry," he whispered brokenly. "I—I'm so sorry."

Before you could say another word, he turned sharply and bolted down the stairs, leaving you alone, shaking, and terrified.

The Hufflepuff common room was quiet when you walked in. Most students had gone to bed, but Renjun sat alone on the couch.

You didn’t give him a chance to pretend he didn’t see you coming.

“You’re going to tell me what happened.”

Renjun sighed, not looking away from the fire. “Y/N…”

“No,” you said, standing in front of him. “No more deflecting. You’ve known something since the day he came back.”

He rubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know the whole story.”

“Then tell me what you know.”

Silence.

You crossed your arms. “Do you really think I’m going to stop asking? You’ve seen him. You know he’s not okay. And no one’s saying anything, and I’m losing my mind because—” your voice cracked, just slightly— “because that’s my best friend.”

Renjun’s shoulders slumped. He looked like he aged ten years in a second.

“Seungmin and his friends... they planned something,” he said quietly.

Your chest went still.

“I only heard a conversation between Professor Sprout and Professor Snape,” he continued. “But apparently they were hanging out near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Seungmin gave Jisung something. A potion or… some kind of enchanted hallucinogen.”

Renjun looked up at you, guilt heavy in his eyes even though he hadn’t been there. “They led him into the forest, Y/N… And something attacked him.”

You stared at him, voice thick with dread. “Something?”

Renjun hesitated. “Snape... Snape was the one who found him.”

You felt cold all over. “What was it?”

He looked away.

“Renjun. What was it.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“A werewolf.”

A gasp got stuck in your throat.

“I don’t know how bad it was,” Renjun said softly. “But apparently Professor Snape had to lock him up for a week while he went through the transformation.”

Tears stung behind your eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to believe it myself….”

You sank into the chair across from him, everything too heavy to stand.

“A werewolf,” you whispered.

He nodded and suddenly, so many things clicked at once. Suddenly it all made sense.

After Renjun told you, you couldn’t sleep.

You sat in your bed staring at the ceiling until the sun started bleeding through the windows, and then you slipped out of the dorms without a word. You went straight to the library and stayed there all morning.

Madam Pince gave you a curious glance when you asked to go into the Restricted Section after looking through every other possible book in the regular shelves and finding nothing of value. You dropped Professor Babbling’s name as your excuse—said you were doing independent research for an Arithmancy paper. She didn’t ask further, just handed you a list of approved titles and waved you through.

You didn’t touch a single one of them. Instead, you searched for everything you could find on werewolves.

They were mostly old, dusty books with creaking spines and brittle pages. Most seemed to be more folklore than facts but you found a text buried near the bottom of a shelf, half its title burned off the spine.

Lycanthropy and Lunar Madness: A Clinical Compendium.

The chapters were brutal. You read about the first changes, the muscle pain, the sensory overload. The way magic in the blood would flare, fight back, burn from the inside out. You read about the violence, how the mind slips away when the full moon peaks, how instincts override everything else.

But what caught your atention the most was this:

“In cases of recent infection, the afflicted may experience an attraction fixation, often triggered by proximity to a familiar person. This response is especially common in individuals whose first transformation occurs during adolescence or early adulthood.

The instinct is not always sexual, but it is always possessive. The werewolf’s senses recognize the person as a source of comfort or danger. When comfort, the fixation can lead to obsessive behavior, rut-like symptoms, and irrational aggression if the person is perceived as threatened or unattainable. When danger, it can lead to avoidance or attack. Scent is the most common anchor. Once imprinted, it is nearly impossible for the werewolf to ignore.”

Your throat tightened. You re-read the paragraph five times.

It made sense, too much sense. His distance, his flinching, the way he couldn’t look at you anymore.

Your scent.

You remembered how he looked at you that morning in the Great Hall. How he barely breathed when you stood too close and how he wouldn’t meet your eyes when you asked what happened. And last night in the Atronomy Tower, he said you smelled good and it looked like he wanted to eat you alive.

You closed the book with shaky hands and then checked out four more. You didn’t stop reading until your eyes blurred. You didn’t eat or go to class.

By the time the sky outside the window started darkening, you were sitting at a corner table, surrounded by open tomes and loose parchment covered in frantic notes—everything you could find about Wolfsbane, Snape’s potion-making reputation, the legal status of werewolves in magical Britain, and every known case of student infection in the last fifty years.

You turned the page again.

Magical Intervention

“Wolfsbane Potion, taken daily during the week of the full moon, prevents transformation but does not erase the instinctual response. It is crucial that young werewolves are supervised during their first year of turning, especially if they experience early signs of rut.

If left unmonitored, the werewolf may become a threat not only to others—but to themselves.”

You found another book next. Not on lycanthropy, but on magical trauma. It mentioned Professor Snape by name.

“A known expert in dark creatures and cursed bloodlines, Professor Severus Snape has played a role in the treatment and monitoring of several underage werewolf cases, particularly after the war.”

You sat there for a long time, staring at the page, your mind buzzing. Snape knew, he was involved and he wasn’t just keeping the secret, he was managing it.

Which meant whatever happened to Jisung—Snape had seen it before. And he’d chosen not to tell you a thing.

You sat there in silence, your hands numb on the table. Snape had told him to stay away from you, that much was obvious now. But no one had told you what being near him could do.

You weren’t afraid of him. But for the first time, you understood why he was of you.

You left the library as the sky was starting to pale with early morning light, the forbidden books still echoing in your thoughts. You didn’t bother going to class again. You went directly to Snape’s office instead and waited there. When he finally arrived, he paused mid-step at the sight of you.

“Miss Y/N,” he said flatly. “You are not scheduled to meet with me.”

“No,” you said, stepping forward. “But I’m not leaving until you tell me the truth, sir.”

His eyes narrowed. “I beg your par—”

“Did you know?” you cut in, voice trembling with restrained rage. “Did you know what would happen to him?”

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

“I know that Jisung got attacked by a werewolf.”

Snape stilled.

“I went to the restricted section,” you continued. “I know what werewolves go through. I know about the rut cycle. The way someone can trigger it just by being close… Did you know it would be me?”

He didn’t speak, and that silence was an answer.

You took another step toward him. “You told him to stay away, didn’t you?”

Still silent.

You laughed bitterly. “What, were you going to wait until I ended up on the courtyard floor with his teeth in my neck before you decided to warn me?”

“Lower your voice,” Snape said sharply, eyes flicking toward the empty corridor.

“No,” you snapped. “You don’t get to tell me what to do now when you left me in the dark about everything.”

“He is alive and you’re safe because of me,” he said sharply. “Do not mistake silence for neglect.”

“He’s barely alive,” you fired back. “He’s walking around like a ghost and you expect me to believe that’s your idea of help?”

“You think you want the truth but the truth is messy and dangerous. And the truth, Miss Y/N…” he stalked closer to you, almost menacingly “… is that your friend is not who he was anymore.”

“I know that!” you shouted, voice cracking. “But you made him think he was dangerous.”

“He is.”

“No,” you said fiercely. “He’s just scared and you’re feeding it.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “You have no idea what a werewolf in rut is capable of.”

“I do now.” You stepped closer again, voice trembling. “I’m not stupid or fragile. And I’m not going to stay away just because you think it’s better that way.”

“Miss Y/N—”

“No,” you snapped. “You can’t “protect me” by locking him away like some creature. He’s not a danger to me. What’s dangerous is isolating him, making him ashamed of something he didn’t choose.”

Snape’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

“And what will you do, then?” he asked. “If he loses control?”

“I’ll help him.” You exhaled, hands trembling. “I’m not afraid of him and he needs someone who isn’t.”

There was a long pause. Snape looked at you with something like pitty. Then he spoke, carefully.

“Then you’d better learn how to handle what’s coming.”

Knowing about Jisung’s condition didn’t bring the relief you thought it would. If anything, it made everything worse. Because now you understood that there was almost nothing you could do to save him from himself. And, like Professor Snape said, the safest option was to stay far away.

And you tried, but it was so hard.

You'd find yourself turning to complain about Professor Binns's endless lectures, only to realize it wasn't Jisung beside you, but Renjun—quiet, studious Renjun who never dared utter a complaint in class.

Or when you walked toward the kitchens out of habit, thinking maybe you'd sweet-talk the elves into some pumpkin tarts, only to remember it was Jisung who always did the charming.

Or when the night sky looked especially clear and you found yourself wanting to stargaze but realizing no one else knew how to trace constellations on your palm with their fingertip. And you couldn’t even remember their names without Jisung pointing them out to you.

Renjun tried. He filled the empty seat at meals, nodded at the right moments when you rambled, even agreed to sneak out once or twice. But he wasn’t Jisung. He didn’t know your weird inside jokes, didn’t lean his head on your shoulder when he got sleepy, didn’t touch your wrist when you got nervous.

You missed him so deeply it ached.

So, when you saw him slipping out of the common room one night you followed him without a second thought.

He moved quickly across the grounds, his hooded shape skimming the moonlit grass. You jogged to keep up, keeping low behind hedges and statues until he stopped beside the Whomping Willow. Your breath caught as he pressed a knot at the roots and the tree froze mid‑sway, its branches locking in eerie stillness. Then, an entrance yawned open.

You hesitated. Every instinct screamed that going after him was a terrible idea. But the thought of him hurting or worse, hurting alone was too much to bear.

So you followed.

The tunnel led you into the Shrieking Shack. A chill raced down your spine the moment you stepped inside. Rot and mildew clung to the walls, the floorboards seemed like they would give way with each step, and it smelled like old nightmares in there. You had to bite down on your lip to keep from gagging but you kept going, following the sounds of his ragged breathing upstairs into a dusty room.

You opened the door cautiously, barely an inch—but before you could fully register what was happening, Jisung lunged. He grabbed your arm, yanking you roughly inside and pinning you to the sagging mattress with a strength that startled you.

"Jisung—!" you gasped.

He loomed over you, eyes wild, glowing gold in the darkness. His expression was pained, almost feral.

"What—are you doing here?" he growled through gritted teeth. His voice was deep and barely recognizable.

You stared up at him, wide-eyed. “I—I was worried. You missed all your classes…”

Something dark flared in his gaze, and he dropped his head, panting harshly against your throat. He inhaled deeply, shuddering as he pressed closer instinctively. Your breath hitched sharply, your body reacting involuntarily to his closeness.

"You shouldn't have come," he whispered brokenly, hands trembling where they gripped your wrists.

You swallowed, feeling his hips press involuntarily against yours and realizing exactly what was happening.

"Your rut," you whispered breathlessly, realization flooding you. "It's started, hasn't it?"

A helpless whimper slid from his throat as his hips rocked against you once more, his erection pressing unmistakably through his trousers. The desperate sound he made sent heat pooling in your stomach, despite the fear and confusion swirling inside you.

“You smell so fucking… good” He let out another ragged noise, and you reached out instinctively, resting a trembling hand against his cheek. His skin burned under your palm. He looked almost delirious, golden eyes flickering between human fear and something more feral.

You’d spent the past week reading about werewolves and their ruts, absorbing every detail you could from hidden texts and restricted tomes. You knew that once the rut hit, the urge for physical intimacy would become nearly unbearable. You also knew it was dangerous for you to be near him like this.

But as you stared at your best friend, trembling and half-broken with need, your heart clenched. You couldn’t just walk away.

“Jisung,” you said carefully, your voice shaking. “Did you take the Wolfsbane?”

He shook his head, eyes squeezing shut. “I don’t know… I think I didn’t—” He broke off, a pained groan tearing from his throat as he rocked forward, hips searching for contact.

Swallowing hard, you remembered the passage in the book. How an afflicted werewolf needed a trusted partner to help ease the rut’s consuming effects.

It felt like your heart was in your mouth.

“You—” he gasped, voice faint. “You can’t stay. I—if I hurt you—”

You cupped his other cheek, forcing his gaze to meet yours. “You won’t,” you promised, though a part of you wasn’t entirely sure.

“Y/N,” he groaned, hips rutting forward again. “Don’t. Don’t touch me right now, I swear—”

“I want to help you,” you said softly. “Please let me.”

His pupils dilated immediately and he let out a shaky breath, leaning into your touch. The heat radiating from him was overwhelming but despite your own hammering pulse, you didn’t draw away.

Because somewhere deep inside, you knew this was the only way to help him.

His grip on your waist was bruising, claws just barely retracted. His body was sweat-slicked and trembling, panting through gritted teeth as he pressed himself flush against you.

“I warned you,” he growled, voice shaky with restraint. “I told you to leave.”

You pulled him closer up and felt how he shook under your touch. “You can have me”

He didn’t wait another second. Your clothes were suddenly nothing, the fabric ripped under his desperate hands. Your skin was bare before you had time to register the sound of seams tearing. His mouth found your throat instinctively, tongue tasting your pulse before he bit.

You winced at the pain and his hips rutted against your thigh, hard and frantic, his cock felt thick and straining through his trousers. He was whining soft, broken sounds between gritted teeth, like each second without you wrapped around him was tearing him open from the inside.

“You smell—fuck, you smell so good,” he gasped into your skin, humping against you harder. “I need—i need to be inside, I need—”

You spread your legs, breathless, head spinning from the force of it all. “I’m here, Sungie.”

He didn’t prep you, didn’t pause for a second—just spit on his fingers and shoved them inside you hard and fast. Stretching you wide while whispering obscenities you couldn’t even make sense of.

“So fucking tight—fuck—gonna ruin you—fill you up, knot you, make sure no one else ever gets to—”

You didn’t even realize he’d taken his cock out until you felt him line himself up with shaking hands, barely getting the tip in before he snapped his hips forward, burying himself inside you in one brutal thrust.

You cried out and Jisung growled, slamming his hand beside your head, forehead pressed to yours, golden eyes glazed over.

“Mine,” he gasped. “Fuck… Mine. Mine. Mine—”

Suddenly, he shoved your knees up, pressing them tightly to your chest as his hips snapped forward, rough and desperate. You cried out sharply, feeling stretched too wide, overwhelmed by the rawness of him filling you again and again. His teeth dragged harshly against your throat, marking you repeatedly, as if he couldn't bear the thought of anyone mistaking you for anything but his.

You sobbed beneath him, your body caught between pain and a pleasure that blurred into something unbearable. Part of you wondered numbly if it would have changed anything if you'd told Jisung it was your first time—if it would've made him pause, slow down, be gentler. But you knew it wouldn't have mattered. He wasn't fully himself, and even if some part of him wanted to stop, he couldn't.

You felt it then, the swelling at his base. His knot beginning to expand, stretching your entrance wider with every punishing thrust. Panic mixed with need, your mind spinning as your walls spasmed around him.

“Gonna knot you,” he panted desperately, voice breaking as he slammed into you harder. “Can’t stop—fuck, you feel so perfect—gonna keep you like this forever—”

He thrust deeply one last time and locked himself inside, his knot catching and sealing him within you. You screamed, body jolting at the sudden fullness, the pressure almost too much. He shuddered violently above you, his cum flooding hot and deep, twitching through aftershocks that made your thighs quake and your vision blur.

You barely had time to gasp a breath before his knot began to soften, still pulsing faintly inside you. But Jisung didn’t stop, not even for a moment.

Before you could recover, he flipped you roughly onto your stomach, the mattress creaking sharply beneath you. He pressed into you again slowly, his breathing ragged and hot against your sweat-damp back. You trembled uncontrollably beneath him, arms shaking, barely able to keep yourself upright.

“Jisung, wait—” your voice broke, a thin plea lost beneath the rasp of his breath.

But he didn’t acknowledge your begging. One hand pinned your hip firmly, the other flattened between your shoulders, forcing you down into the sheets until you couldn’t move. You felt the ache building again as he pushed inside you once more, pushing mercilessly against your walls. Your thighs burned, your body instinctively arching to escape the overstimulation, but he wouldn’t allow you to shift away.

The moment he felt how wet and open you still were, the last shred of his restraint shattered. His rhythm turned frantic, his hips slamming into yours so fiercely the air was knocked from your lungs with every brutal stroke.

You moaned helplessly into the sheets, fingers clawing at the mattress as your body surrendered. He wasn’t speaking now, wasn’t asking if you were okay—all you heard were harsh, ragged sounds torn from his throat, desperate noises so primal and raw they made your skin burn hot with shameful need.

His movements grew rougher, your bodies locked in a rhythm that erased any remaining thought from your mind. Your senses narrowed until all you knew was the brutal heat between your thighs and the ache of him stretching you. You took every thrust, helpless to stop, unable to do anything but accept the ruthless force of his body on yours.

His teeth bit sharply into the back of your shoulder, fangs scraping against your skin until you gasped in pain. His grip tightened, fingers bruising your hips as he pounded into you without mercy, branding you with every brutal snap of his hips.

With one final thrust, he buried himself impossibly deep, and you felt the knot swell again—filling you, stretching you beyond limits as he locked himself inside with a guttural growl.

His whole body jerked, cock throbbing violently as he spilled into you again. It was so much cum it leaked around the thick swell of his knot, your walls clenching tight, helpless to hold it all in. He held still, panting, hands trembling as he stayed buried in you, locked and pulsing.

He stayed inside you for what felt like forever, body trembling from release, your muscles fluttering weakly around him. His breath came in uneven bursts against your skin.

But even then, you could feel that he wasn’t finished.

He rutted again and let out a feral sound low in his throat, one that sounded more like a growl than a moan. And then he was moving just enough to slip free with a wet sound that made both of you shiver.

His hands moved to your waist, lifting you. He dragged you onto your back again, spread your thighs wide, and settled between them with a single-minded hunger that made your whole body pulse with anticipation.

His gaze dropped the moment he pushed back in and he groaned, eyes locked between your legs with an obsessive intensity. Your walls clenched around him as his cock slid in with zero resistance. His breath hitched, and he stopped for just a second.

His mouth parted when he saw the shape of him pushing inside you, deep enough to press against your belly, the bulge rising with every brutal thrust. He pressed his palm against it and let out a wrecked moan. The sight of his cock inside your belly driving him halfway mad.

“Fuck,” he choked. “That's me? inside you?”

You tried to answer, but all that came out was a gasp as he rocked into you harder.

He watched your stomach move with every stroke, how your cunt took all of him, again and again, walls fluttering around his cock like your body was desperate to keep him.

He was mesmerized. Staring with wide, hungry eyes as hips snapped forward with more force. One of his hands grabbed your thigh, the other pressing to your lower belly as he kept thrusting, rougher this time, watching the bulge disappear and return with every movement.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “you’re made for this—fuck—you’re made to take me like this—”

You could feel the knot swelling again, dragging harder against your soaked, overstretched entrance, until your legs started to shake. He braced both hands on either side of your hips, growled deep in his chest, and slammed forward. The knot forced its way in with a brutal stretch that made your eyes roll back.

His whole body jerked, head falling forward as a strangled moan left his lips. His cock twitched violently, knot fully buried, and you felt the rush of his cum flooding you again, deeper this time, deeper than anything had ever been.

His eyes were still locked on your lower stomach, wide and blown out with awe. The bulge in your belly pulsed with each twitch of his knot, round and taut with the sheer amount he’d pumped into you

“Look at that,” he whispered, almost dazed. “Look what I did to you.”

He reached out again, fingertips brushing against your stomach and the possessiveness in his voice made your body clench all over again.

“I'm inside you.”

He blinked, his eyes flickering to your face as he really looked at you for the first time.

You were trembling, bruised, and barely able to keep your legs from shaking. Your eyes were glassy, your body completely spent beneath him. And something in him seemed to return.

His hands gentled against your skin as he eased out of you slowly, knot slipping free with an aching stretch that made you whimper. You gasped at the sudden emptiness, but he didn’t leave you long. He kissed your thigh once, softly, as if in apology, and then lowered himself between your legs.

You barely had the strength to lift your head. “Ji—what are you doing…”

But he didn’t answer. Just held your thighs gently in his hands, spreading them open again but this time with reverence, not greed.

Then he licked a single, languid drag of his tongue that made your hips twitch weakly. He groaned low in his throat at the taste of you.

You whimpered, the oversensitivity almost unbearable but his hands kept you grounded. Thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your hips, mouth moving with an aching kind of care. He sucked gently at your clit, tongue flicking in slow passes, easing the pain into something warmer.

You threaded trembling fingers through his hair, tugging gently.

His mouth grew more desperate by the second, tongue dipping lower and teasing at your entrance where his cum was still leaking out. He groaned at the taste, sucking softly, messy and slow, like he couldn’t get enough of it. Of you.

He buried himself there with his nose pressed into your skin, mouth drinking you. You let out a soft cry, hips twitching against his face, and his grip tightened just enough to hold you still as he circled your clit again, tender but insistent.

“I need to make it better,” he murmured into your skin, voice hoarse and reverent. “Let me—please…”

You didn’t answer but the way your legs shook around his head told him everything. So he stayed there—worshipping the mess he made, tongue moving slow and devoted, lips soft and endless. He lost himself in you.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the pain.

It was deep and dull at first, but the moment you shifted, it sharpened—radiating through your thighs, your lower back, your hips. Your skin felt hot, stretched too thin in some places, sore in others. You winced as you tried to sit up, limbs trembling slightly from the effort.

Jisung was already awake. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away from you, his robes wrapped tightly around him. His shoulders were stiff.

You swallowed through the dryness in your throat. “Ji?”

He stood up without looking at you.

You watched him move across the room, hands twitching at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. He picked up your clothes from the floor—torn in multiple places, seams ripped from how desperately he’d removed them the night before—and with a flick of his wand, the fabric mended itself slowly in the air.

“Get dressed,” he said flatly. “I’ll help you get back to the hospital wing.”

You blinked. “Back to the—what?”

He turned then, just slightly, just enough to look at you briefly. His eyes were guilt-ridden.

“You’re hurt,” he said. “I can see it.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

“And I’m going to Snape later,” he continued. “I’m going to ask him to relocate me during the next cycle. Somewhere far from here.”

You stared at him, stunned. “Jisung, you don’t have to—”

“I do,” he snapped. “Because this—” He gestured toward you, his voice colder now. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

Your heart twisted.

“I told you to stay away,” he said. “And I didn’t mean that to sound cruel. I meant it because I knew I’d lose control. And I did… and now look at you.”

He walked toward the cracked mirror, stopped a few feet in front of it, and gestured for you to come closer.

You hesitated.

“Please,” he said, quieter now. “Just… come here.”

You stood slowly, legs shaking slightly under your weight. You wrapped yourself in the blanket and stepped toward the mirror.

Your reflection made your breath hitch.

There were bruises on your neck, angry bite marks along your collarbone and shoulder. Finger-shaped welts on your hips and thighs. Your lips were still swollen from where he’d kissed you too hard. Some of the marks looked deep. Others looked like they might last days, if not longer.

“I didn’t know I was capable of this,” Jisung said behind you, voice cracking.

You looked at him through the mirror. His face was pale, jaw tight.

“I’d rather suffer the worst pain a rut could ever give me than ever touch you like that again.”

“Jisung—”

“No,” he cut you off. “You don’t understand. I didn’t even care if I was hurting you. I couldn’t think. You could’ve cried, begged, screamed, and I still would’ve—”

He stopped himself, breathing hard.

“I’m not going to let this happen again. I’ll talk to Snape. I’ll take whatever dose he gives me. I’ll lock myself somewhere no one can find me.”

You stepped forward, reaching for him, but he flinched when your fingers brushed his sleeve.

He turned his face away. “Get dressed,” he said quietly. “Please.”

There was nothing else to say.

He handed you your clothes without looking at you again. When you were dressed, he silently moved to support your weight down the stairs and back toward the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow.

Your legs ached with every step. Jisung’s arm was around your waist, holding you upright as you moved slowly down the path back to the castle, your freshly repaired clothes felt stiff and uncomfortable against your bruised skin.

You hadn’t said a word since leaving the Shrieking Shack. Neither had he.

His touch wasn’t warm, or comforting. It was careful and detached. Like he was holding you not out of care, but out of obligation.

Your heart hurt more than your body. You two had been close for so long. Even after he’d changed, after he came back cold, distant, guarded you still felt more warmth than right now. Like he was reaching for you even when he didn’t realize it. So seeing him acting like this was almost unbearable.

You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t rejection or shame. That he was just protecting you, trying to keep you safe. But it still felt like being left behind.

You didn’t even realize how close you were to the castle until the path curved and the first archway of the courtyard came into view.

“Park.”

Professor Snape stood just beyond the arch, his arms crossed over his chest, black robes billowing faintly in the wind. His gaze flicked over the two of you quickly. His eyes dropped to the way you leaned into Jisung, to your limp. And then he saw the bruises. Even with your collar pulled tight, they peeked out, the edges of bite marks and the faint discoloration just beneath the skin.

Snape’s eyes narrowed.

“Come here,” he said, voice cold.

Jisung didn’t move.

Snape stepped forward. “Now.”

You felt the panic rise in your chest immediately.

“Professor, wait. It’s not—he didn’t—” You reached for his sleeve. “He didn’t force me.”

Snape’s eyes snapped to yours, and for a moment, you almost stepped back. His expression didn’t change, but something in it darkened like your words had confirmed what he already suspected.

“I didn’t ask what he did,” he said sharply. “I asked him to come with me.”

Jisung’s jaw was clenched so tightly it looked painful. He didn’t say a word, just let go of you carefully.

You nearly stumbled from the sudden absence of support.

“I can explain—” you tried again, but Snape raised a hand.

“This is not your responsibility,” he said, more quietly this time. “And you are in no condition to be standing here arguing.”

He turned to Jisung once more.

“Park. Now.”

And without looking back at you, Jisung walked toward him.

You stood there trembling, arms wrapped around yourself, the chill settling deeper into your bones now that he was gone.

Jisung stood in the doorway of Snape’s office with his head hung low. The potions master had stepped away to ensure you made it safely to the hospital wing and to explain the delicate situation to the healers. Minutes stretched on endlessly until finally, he heard the sharp clack of Snape's shoes approaching.

“Go in,” Snape ordered coldly, gesturing toward the open door. The Hufflepuff obeyed silently.

Snape shut the office door behind them with a flick of his wand. The room smelled of ash and damp parchment, but Jisung could still smell your scent stronger than anything else; it clung to him, saturated his senses.

“Sit,” Snape instructed curtly.

Jisung lowered himself into the hard chair opposite the desk, shoulders slumped. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Snape’s eyes.

“How is she?” he asked softly, voice raw.

“She’ll live,” Snape replied coolly, summoning a few vials and herbs onto his desk. “Madam Pomfrey is treating the bruising you saw fit to decorate her with.”

Jisung’s head snapped up, panic clear in his gaze. “I—I bit her. More than once.” The admission spilled out before he could stop himself, heavy with guilt and shame. “Does that mean—”

“No,” Snape interjected sharply. “The curse passes only when the biter is fully transformed under the full moon. You were saturated with Wolfsbane, half-shifted but not contagious.”

Jisung exhaled sharply, gripping the chair arms until his knuckles whitened. Relief flooded him, but Snape wasn't done.

“However,” Snape continued, voice lowering dangerously, “do not delude yourself into believing she was truly safe. Had you missed even one additional dose, or had the moon been at its peak, she would already share your curse, and that responsibility would lie entirely with you.”

Jisung flinched. “I know. I—I keep hurting her. I keep losing control, and no matter how much I try to stay away, something just…pulls me back. I don’t know how to stop it.”

Snape regarded him for a moment in silence before speaking, voice softer but still edged with steel. “That’s because it is no longer a matter of mere control. You've complicated things significantly, Park.”

Jisung looked up slowly, eyes wide with apprehension. “What do you mean?”

Snape folded his hands on the desk, expression severe yet composed. “By marking her during your rut, you've effectively chosen Miss Y/N as your mate.”

Jisung’s breath caught, his throat tightening painfully. "Mate? I—what does that mean?”

“It means,” Snape explained, calm and clinical, “that your wolf has identified her specifically as an anchor. Such mate-bonds occur most commonly during adolescence, particularly around a first transformation. It's why you find yourself physically unable to stay away for long.”

Jisung swallowed, panic bubbling up again. “Is it dangerous? Will I hurt her more?”

“Not inherently,” Snape said evenly. “But the bond is permanent, Park. Your wolf will always crave her presence—most intensely near the full moon or during rut. Ignoring it will only worsen your aggression.”

“Then…what can I do?” Jisung asked desperately. “How do I keep her safe?”

“You must never skip your Wolfsbane. Take it every evening at sundown and report to me regularly so we can adjust dosage accordingly. Furthermore, and pay attention to this, you must manage your bond carefully. You cannot fight it entirely so stay close to her but with awareness, not indulgence. ”

Jisung flushed deeply. “But… after everything I've done, how can I risk being close to her again?”

Snape leaned forward slightly. “The greater risk lies in distance, your instincts will spiral. Proximity is crucial but do not confuse instinct for entitlement.”

Jisung nodded slowly, the weight of responsibility settling heavily onto his shoulders. “Does she…know?”

“She soon will,” Snape replied quietly. “But it is essential she hears it clearly from you. Be honest and thorough. Do you understand me, Park?”

“Yes, sir,” Jisung whispered. “I won't fail her again.”

Snape regarded him a moment longer, then produced a fresh vial of Wolfsbane, setting it decisively on the desk. “Good. Now leave before I decide silence is insufficient punishment.”

Jisung rose unsteadily, clutching the vial to his chest. He walked slowly to the threshold, feeling every step heavy with responsibility. Just as he reached the door, Snape spoke once more.

“Park, if you truly care for the girl, learn how to live with the wolf without letting it consume her.”

The door sealed shut behind him, and Jisung stood for a long moment in the corridor, the potion trembling slightly in his grip.

You lay on one of the hospital wing beds, half-covered by a sterile white blanket, the curtains drawn tightly around you. The air was too quiet, every sound outside muted by the silencing charm Madam Pomfrey had casted when she left you there.

You picked at your cuticles absently, barely noticing the sting where skin peeled back. Your hospital gown gaped at the shoulders, revealing the bruises along your arms in the shape of fingers. Jisung’s fingers. You should’ve been horrified and maybe you were a little bit but there was something strangely comforting about them. His hands had held you through something painful, but they had held you. It made you feel... needed. Like you mattered to him again.

Your thoughts scattered when the curtain parted and Madam Pomfrey stepped through, her face tight with concern. Behind her came Professor Sprout, head of Hufflepuff house. And just before the curtain fell shut again, you caught the edge of black robes retreating down the ward—Snape. He’d definitely told them everything.

You bit your lip and dropped your gaze.

“Hello, dear,” Pomfrey said gently. When you didn’t answer, she cleared her throat. “To begin with, I’d like to offer you a calming draught for the pain.”

“I’m fine,” you said quietly, though your whole body ached. You didn’t want to take anything that would fog your thoughts. You needed to stay alert to explain the situation.

“Well…” she murmured, unconvinced. “Then I’ll start with the surface wounds.”

She gestured toward the scratches and crescent-shaped bites along your shoulders and collarbone. You stayed still while she worked.

Professor Sprout stepped closer, arms folded tightly across her chest. “Miss Y/LN,” she began carefully. “There’s no need to be guarded with us. We’re not here to punish you… but there are a few matters that need to be addressed.”

You nodded wordlessly, eyes fixed on a wrinkle in the bedsheet.

“Madam Pomfrey will heal what she can,” she continued. “But the bite marks will take several days to fade. Magical injuries of this nature are… stubborn.”

“I understand,” you murmured. The marks didn’t bother you.

Professor Sprout hesitated, color rising faintly in her cheeks. “We also understand that Mr. Park was… in a heightened state when you were intimate.”

You saw her flinch slightly at her own words and you almost pitied her. There was no elegant way to discuss something like this. You nodded once.

“Am I correct to assume no contraceptive charms were cast beforehand?”

Your brows pulled together. You’d never studied contraceptive spells properly. You knew they were meant to be used before any intimacy though and given how everything had happened there hadn’t been time for anything like that. You shook your head slowly.

Professor Sprout exchanged a brief look with Pomfrey before exhaling slowly. “Very well. Madam Pomfrey will now perform a diagnostic charm to ensure no unintended consequences arise from your… encounter.”

You nodded again, tending slight when Madam Pomfrey raised her wand and murmured a spell. A pale lavender glow swept across your lower abdomen then faded without a flicker.

“No conception,” she announced softly. “Everything is normal.”

A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding slipped out and you noticed Professor Sprout’s shoulders ease a fraction.

Pomfrey lowered her wand, relief softening the stern set of her mouth. Then she hesitated, studying you over the rims of her spectacles.

“Dear, may I give you some practical advice?”

You nodded, cheeks still furiously warm.

She lifted her wand again. “There are several reliable contraceptive charms you can use. The simplest is Praeventa Conceptum. It’s quick, painless, and lasts a whole day.”

Professor Sprout cleared her throat delicately but said nothing.

Pomfrey demonstrated. She pointed her wand at her own midsection. “Circle once, clockwise, like so.” A pale halo of light traced the motion. “Then speak Prae‑ven‑ta Con‑cep‑tum. Stress on the second syllable of each word. The charm settles just beneath the skin and it’s a mild warming sensation, nothing more.”

You mimicked the motion in the air, whispering the incantation under your breath. A faint peach‑colored glow sparked at your wand tip and faded.

“Good,” Madam Pomfrey said, satisfied. “Remember, the charm must be renewed daily, and it is far more reliable when cast prior to any sexual activity.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, both grateful and faintly embarrassed.

Professor Sprout offered a small, reassuring nod. “Better to learn here than under far less ideal circumstances.”

Pomfrey tucked her wand away. “Knowledge is its own protection.”

“Again, you are not at fault for any of this,” Sprout added, voice firm. “Last night’s events were influenced by circumstances far beyond your control.”

“Is he okay?” you asked softly.

A shadow crossed the professor’s eyes. “Mr. Park is with Professor Snape now, discussing the seriousness of missing future doses of Wolfsbane.” Her tone suggested ‘discussion’ meant something closer to a dressing‑down. “He’ll be monitored closely.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” you said, fingers worrying the edge of the sheet. “I followed him there, fully aware of the consequences. I just wanted to help… and I don’t regret it.”

Madam Pomfrey’s brows knit, but it was Professor Sprout who spoke first. “Miss Y/L/N, no one here is assigning blame. What matters now is that both of you are safe, and that Mr. Park remains diligent with his potion.” Her gaze softened. “Your loyalty is commendable, but your well‑being is equally important.”

You nodded, swallowing the dryness in your throat. “I know.”

Pomfrey dabbed a final line of salve across the deepest bite mark. “You’ll be sore,” she said gently, “but you’ll heal. Rest here tonight, at least until breakfast.”

The curtain swayed gently as they left you alone, and you stared ahead thinking only of the warmth of his breath, the panic in his voice, and the way he’d whispered “you shouldn’t have come” like it had broken him to see you there.

But you would do it all again.

Madam Pomfrey cleared you for release just after sunrise. You dressed in silence, fingers brushing over the gauze she’d left on the deepest bite. She offered one last vial of bruise balm and a faint smile before sending you off.

It was Saturday, thank Merlin. There were no classes so most students were still sleeping. You were relieved as you stepped out of the hospital wing, and saw nothing but an empty corridor.

Though still a strange, hollow pressure settled in your chest. You missed Jisung.

You weren’t sure if it was the residual ache in your muscles, or the fading imprints he’d left on your body, but you felt the absence of him like it was stitched into your skin. You needed to see him.

And then, as if your thoughts conjured him, he appeared.

Jisung was standing at the other end of the hallway, just beyond the shaft of sunlight spilling in from the tall windows. He looked stunned to see you, like he hadn’t meant to be here, like his feet had brought him without his permission.

You hesitated.

Snape had surely warned him again—more strictly this time—to stay away from you. But still, Jisung took a step forward and you followed.

You met in the middle of the hallway, stopping close enough that your chests nearly touched. It wasn’t until you were standing in front of him that you realized how much he’d changed. He was taller now, just slightly, but it was enough to notice. His shoulders were broader, his presence heavier, like the wolf was still there beneath the surface.

He stared at the bruises along your collarbone, what little was visible through the open neck of your shirt. You saw the way his throat bobbed, how his eyes flickered with guilt.

“Are you—?”

“I’m okay, Ji,” you cut in gently, offering him a small smile. “Perfectly fine.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He exhaled shakily, and his hand reached for yours tentatively. You almost gasped at the contact. It had been so long since he touched you first. His fingers threaded through yours like they were remembering how easily he did this all the time before.

“You don’t have to be,” you whispered. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your other hand rose instinctively, brushing against his cheek. He leaned into the touch immediately, eyes fluttering closed.

“Did Snape scold you too badly?” you asked, voice soft and teasing.

Jisung cracked a smile. “Yeah, I have to clean the Quidditch stands every day this winter without magic.”

Your eyes widened. “Seriously?”

He laughed. “I’m joking.” He paused, eyes searching yours. “Though honestly… I think I deserved one.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “You’ve been punished enough.”

He didn’t respond, just looked at you like he was still trying to figure out if this moment was real.

The corridor felt suddenly too small, so without speaking, you guided Jisung toward the nearest side door that opened onto the courtyard. The November air was sharp, but sunlight spilled across damp flagstones and carried the faint scent of wet leaves.

You walked side by side, your shoulders brushing now and then. After a long stretch of silence, Jisung spoke in a quiet voice. “Do you remember fifth year… when we hid in Greenhouse Three during that thunderstorm?”

You smiled. “And you spent the whole time pretending not to be scared of lightning.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “I kept thinking about that last night. How you held my hand and told me storms always pass.” He glanced at you, guilt and wonder warring in his eyes. “I wanted to go there initially. But then I smelled you, and I went to the Shack instead, thinking you wouldn’t follow me into a place like that.” He laughed bitterly. “I should’ve known better.”

The admission loosened something tight inside you. “Storms pass, Ji,” you said. “Even the ones inside us.”

He stopped, turning to face you fully. “Does this one? Because I can still feel it.” His gaze flicked to your neck where a bruise peeked above your collar. “I feel every mark I left on you like they’re on my body, too.”

You lifted a hand to his chest, just over his heartbeat. “You didn’t hurt me.”

He looked at you, like he almost believed it, but the tension in his jaw said otherwise. “Snape told me… the biting… it wasn’t random.” he dropped his gaze and bit his lip nervously “I… marked you.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t interrupt.

“He said you’re my mate now,” he said quietly. “That the wolf chose you. That’s why I can’t stay away. Why I can’t stop smelling you, hearing you even when you’re not around. Why it feels like something’s ripping open in my chest when I try to stay away.”

You stood still, eyes locked on his.

“He said I shouldn’t fight it. That if I try to pretend the bond doesn’t exist, it’ll make it worse. That I just have to be… careful and gentle with it. With you.” He exhaled, voice tight. “He said if I really want to protect you, I have to learn how to live with the wolf, not push it down.”

“What did you say?” you finally asked.

“I told him I’d do anything to keep you safe,” Jisung said. “And I meant it.”

You reached for his hand and he let you take it, though his fingers twitched.

“The bond… is that why you came to the Hospital Wing corridor?”

He nodded, shame creasing his brow. “I woke up and… I was already walking there. I didn’t think.”

“Then next time, think and tell me,” you said. “We’ll handle the need together. On our terms.”

He swallowed. “Snape says if I miss a potion… you’ll be in danger first.”

“Then you won’t miss it.” Your tone brooked no argument. “Even if I have to brew it myself.”

A faint smile ghosted his lips. “You’d sit through that smell?”

“I’d sit through worse.” Your thumb stroked over his knuckles.

He exhaled shakily, some of the tension easing, though the gold still flickered behind his eyes like embers. “I’m not safe yet,” he warned.

“That’s okay,” you answered, stepping close until your foreheads touched. “I’m not scared.”

For a while you simply stood in the sunlight, listening to the distant chatter of students who knew nothing about storms or wolves or the way a heartbeat could echo in someone else’s chest. His hand tightened around yours, and instinctively you looked up, meeting his gaze.

His eyes flickered down to your lips, hesitation clear in the tense line of his jaw. Before he could withdraw, before he could overthink it, you stepped on your tippy toes and pressed your mouth gently to his.

It began softly, a cautious brush of lips but it escalated quickly. His mouth opened hungrily, tongue sliding against your teeth, and you gave in with a low sigh. His hand found your waist first, pulling you closer, then slid up to cup the back of your neck, angling your head so he could deepen the kiss. Your fingers tangled through his messy hair, tugging gently. He groaned into your mouth, hips pressing forward instinctively until you were pinned softly against the rough stone wall.

“I can’t lose control again,” he murmured urgently against your lips but still he kissed you harder, as if he couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to.

“You won’t,” you promised breathlessly. “This is fine.”

His hips snapped forward again, pressing you tighter to the stone behind you. You knew you were out in the open—anyone could pass by and see—but caution melted beneath the heat of his mouth trailing down your neck. The dull soreness from the previous night faded to a faint pulse, replaced by something hungrier, as he sucked gently at your throat.

“Ji—” your voice shook softly, hands gripping his robes tighter. “You’re… you’re not still in rut, right?”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “No. No, I don’t think so,” he panted roughly, almost like he was convincing himself too. “It doesn’t feel the same as last night, but—” He exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead to yours “I want you. Fuck, I want you so bad—I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting you.”

A helpless moan escaped you at the raw admission, your pulse quickening under his mouth when he kissed you again—softer now, more controlled, as if he was proving to himself he could do this without falling apart.

“I won’t let myself hurt you again,” he breathed, lips brushing your skin between each whispered word. “But you need to tell me if it’s too much”

You shook your head slightly, pulling him closer still, holding him like he was the only thing keeping you upright. “Ji, nothing’s ever too much with you. Just stay here… stay with me.”

He shivered, his breath hitching as he kissed you again, trying to ground himself in the feeling of you rather than the wild instinct still whispering beneath his skin.

Someone laughed nearby, close enough to remind you exactly where you were.

Jisung froze against you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder with a soft groan. “We need to move,” he muttered “If anyone sees—”

“Then come on,” you said grabbing his hand.

He followed without another word.

You tugged him along a narrow side-corridor, the secret path behind the Herbology wing that only upper years and rule-breakers bothered with. Past the old broom cupboard, beyond the faded tapestry of a witch laughing drunkenly into her wine goblet, your footsteps were quiet, your pulse anything but. It hammered through your veins, in your fingertips, your throat—everywhere Jisung’s hand stayed locked in yours.

Soon you stood outside Greenhouse Three, abandoned since the storm in your fifth year shattered half its glass panes. Now, ivy and moss crawled along the cracked glass walls, and no one had bothered to repair it, leaving the space forgotten and overgrown.

You slipped through the splintered wooden door, pulling him gently behind you.

Inside, sunlight spilled across broken tables and tangled greenery. Plants had grown wild, illing the air with the scent of damp earth, crushed leaves, and something faintly sweet. You felt your chest tighten from the memory of your younger selves hiding here together.

Jisung remembered it too, you could see it in the softening of his eyes, the way his shoulders relaxed slightly. He caught your lips again, slow at first, but deepening fast, pulling a moan from your throat. Your hands gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him in until you tasted him fully.

“I want you inside me,” you whispered against his mouth, fingers trembling as you tugged at his clothes again.

He groaned softly, forehead pressing to yours. “Say it again.”

Your breath shuddered. “I want you to fuck me, Ji. Right now.”

He kissed you once more, messy and desperate, before stepping back just enough to undo his belt. His hands shook slightly, desire evident as he freed his cock—already hard and flushed, leaking at the tip as he positioned himself between your thighs. You lay back on one of the old greenhouse tables, cool beneath your skin but sturdy enough for this.

Jisung dragged the head of his cock through your folds, groaning openly at how wet you were, coating him perfectly. He pressed gently against your entrance, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip, thumb stroking tenderly.

He met your gaze, eyes filled with heated care. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he rasped, voice thick with want but edged with concern.

You cupped his cheek softly, eyes locked on his. “It’s perfect. It’s always perfect with you…Just fuck me, Ji.”

And he did.

The first thrust was slow, a deep stretch that pulled a gasp straight from your lungs. His cock slid in inch by inch until he bottomed out, and then he just held there, buried inside, groaning like he’d finally found home.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You’re so tight, you feel so—shit—you feel like you were made for me.”

You clenched around him involuntarily and he hissed, head dropping to your shoulder as he fought the urge to move too fast.

But control didn’t last long. His hips started to roll into yours, picking up a rhythm that got harder with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping echoed off the glass, mixed with your breathy moans and the desperate groans breaking in his throat.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into his back, dragging him deeper.

“Yes, yes—right there—don’t stop,” you gasped.

“I won’t,” he growled. “I can’t.”

He drove into you harder, the table creaking beneath you as he pounded into your soaked cunt like he was trying to carve the shape of himself into your body. You arched under him, nails raking down his back through his shirt, gasping every time he bottomed out and hit that spot that made your toes curl.

He pulled out just enough to watch his cock slide back in.

“Look at this,” he breathed, one hand dragging down to your stomach, pressing just above your pubic bone. “Can feel myself right here.”

You could tell Jisung was obsessed with seeing himself inside you, it made his thrusts hit deeper just so he could feel himself in your lower belly. You moaned brokenly, the pressure making it worse, the angle driving you insane.

“Fuck, fuck—I’m gonna come,” you choked. “Don’t stop—please, don’t—”

“I want to feel it,” he growled. “Come on, baby. Come for me.”

Your body clamped down around him, walls spasming hard enough to make Jisung curse violently. He fucked you through it, rough thrusts stuttering until his own orgasm took him.

With a strangled groan, he slammed into you one last time and came hard, cock twitching deep inside you as he filled you again with thick spurts that made your pussy slicker than before.

He collapsed over you, forehead buried in your neck, both of you panting like you’d run for miles. His cock was still buried inside you, twitching with aftershocks.

You dragged your fingers through his hair gently, voice hoarse. “That didn’t feel like your rut.”

He laughed, breathless. “No. That was just me.”

“Are you okay?” he whispered into your neck, voice raw and reverent. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head slowly. “You didn’t. You were perfect.”

He sighed against your skin, relief loosening his shoulders. Then, gently—so, so gently—he pulled out, groaning as his cock slipped free from your cunt. The mess between your legs was immediate, warmth spilling down your thighs, and you whimpered at the sensitivity.

“I got you,” he murmured, already reaching for his wand.

He muttered a quiet cleaning charm, careful not to touch you until you nodded. His hand brushed your knee, then your thigh, his fingers trembling as he whispered the incantation again and wiped away the rest with his robe sleeve.

When he was finished, he kissed the inside of your knee, then your hip, then your stomach like it was part of some silent apology only your skin could understand.

“I’m gonna help you down,” he said, voice soft.

You nodded, and he wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you slowly from the table and holding you close while your legs adjusted. You swayed once, but he caught you instantly.

“You’re shaky,” he murmured.

“You fucked my legs numb, Park,” you whispered, trying to smile, and he let out a breathy laugh, burying his face in your neck.

“I’m never letting you go again,” he mumbled. “Not even if Snape drags me out of your bed himself.”

You held onto him tighter, forehead pressed to his collarbone. “You better keep that promise.”

He kissed your temple. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth.

“I will,” he said. “Forever.”

He helped you sit on the edge of the table while he redressed—pulling his trousers back up, refastening his belt with one hand while the other stayed on your knee like he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching you. When he was done, he reached for your discarded panties, blushing faintly as he held them out to you.

“I should’ve asked first,” he said quietly. “Back then. In the shack.”

You looked up at him, heart aching. “You couldn’t. And I already told you… I don’t regret it.”

He nodded, but the guilt lingered behind his eyes. So you took his hand and laced your fingers through his again.

“We’ll be okay,” you said. “You and me.”

“We will,” he whispered.

You dressed in silence together, stealing soft glances and touches, letting the heat cool but not disappear. And when you finally stepped out of the greenhouse, blinking into the pale afternoon light, Jisung’s arm was already around your shoulders holding you close and as steady as the heartbeat you’d heard pounding through his chest not long ago.

And this time, when he kissed you, it wasn’t desperate or rushed. It was quiet and certain.

Like a promise kept.

eeeeek feedback is greatly appreciated! i love reading ur comments and anons <3

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shoxxcc · 3 months ago

Text

God i haven’t read such a good work for decades. i needed this. my heart needed this sm

champagne supernova ⭑.ᐟ park jisung

pairing: park jisung x gender neutral reader

word count: 4.2k

tags/warnings: fluff, friends to lovers, emo(ish) jisung, non-idol au.

summary: making friends as an adult is difficult. luckily for you, the rock/alternative online community welcomes you with open arms, one person in particular catching your interest.

notes: hi thereee! 😁 back again with another jisung fic, one that i actually came up with myself lmao. since getting back into the dreamies, i've been a bit surprised by (but absolutely loving) jisung's taste in music. hence this silly fic, which i do hope you enjoy! thank you so much for all your recent support, it makes my heart smile whenever you like or comment on a post! anyways, happy reading! much loveeeee! <3

The concept of internet safety is lost on you. How else could you explain sharing a hotel room with someone you’d never met before in real life?

Perhaps, you should retrace your steps. See how you’ve managed to find yourself in such a dangerous position, the front door locked and your body pinned to the bed.

Making friends as an adult is difficult. On par with counting every grain of rice in a field, you’d say.

You underestimated how easy maintaining friendship was when younger, third places like school, daycares, extra-curricular activities demanding your presence, inadvertently strengthening your social life. Not that you were the most social, you had a hard time approaching people actually, but maybe that was a part of your charm. Bringing you out of your shell, like all your friends did before your bond was cemented in tree trunks or sandy beaches. University is the last place you take this ease for granted, exposed to all different kinds of people and relationships, some platonic and not-so much. Either way, despite the barge of assignments and countless nights out, you’d make it into adulthood relatively unscathed.

Adulthood, however, doesn’t turn out as you expect. You’d been sold a dream, one eight-year old you envisioned dabbling with the stars accompanied by a lavish life and all the ice-cream you could get your hands on. Unfortunately, no star would be rubbing shoulders with you anytime soon and any that would, you’d have to pay a large sum of money to even see. A large sum you did not have. So, yeah. Just that, toxic work culture, endless bills and a whole host of other obligations linger above your head like a grey cloud.

What helps is finding the small joys in life. Slow mornings when the city is asleep, the scent of coffee at the crack of dawn, the sunshine against your skin, friends who despite their busy schedules carve out time to see you. All pieces of your life that make it worth living. Music is in there too, the art of melodies and lyrics strung together having the strange ability to carry you throughout even your worst days.

Your moods refuse to stick to a certain genre and in the midst of dark afternoons and frost covered roads, you find yourself gravitating towards alternative music. Slow, steady and aching. Like how your life moves with the severe lack of sun. It’s not a genre your circle of friends dabble in as much as you do. It’s to be expected, anyone who deviates from a standard of ‘normalcy’ was outcasted, one too many examples found in your high school days where kids got called weird and satanic for wearing a Green Day t-shirt to school. The thought makes you laugh now, but back then, when all that matters is fitting in, it was sad and suffocating. Seeing a part of yourself denied before your very eyes. Sometimes you’d hang out with those kids, bond over your collection of CDs and even go to a few gigs together. However, when Monday came around and they’d approach you and your friends, raving about the concert - you froze. Confronted into either owning yourself and being outcasted like the rest of the emo kids or ignoring them, deny yourself for the sake of social standing.

You pretend like they’ve grown two heads, feigned confusion knitting your eyebrows together while your friends laugh and hurl insults at someone who you considered a friend - a better one than the ones at your side. And yet, you let the laughter continue, a coward with its tail between its legs as you depart, the taste of iron on your tongue.

Maybe this is payback for those poor decisions. A dead-end job, a successful but shitting ex and enough inner turmoil to make a therapist clutch their pearls.

You abandon those friends when you get to university, getting better ones that wouldn’t make someone feel small due to their own insecurities. You make amends with the emo kids, your apology marking the true end of your friendship. You search online spaces for like-minded people, showing up as yourself and being embraced as. Everyone in the Reddit community is unbelievably sweet, sharing their music recommendations, concert wishlists and pictures of their cats. Some members, including yourself, form a closer bond, taking your conversation to a Discord server that becomes your escape in a way. A channel for heartfelt discussion that extends past your love for music. You’re not as active due to work obligations, but whenever you pop up, one member in particular always greets you with a warmth like no other.

Linkin.parkjisung is his user, his icon the rock and roll hand sign over his face. Likes Blur, Green Day, Oasis and of course, Linkin Park. He’s like you, dips in and out, types a few responses before he’s gone again. It’s a scenario where other members grow closer, and your anxiety around speaking in the group begins. They’re already close, it seems almost futile to interrupt, right?

What if you’re ignored? What if you’ve missed your window of opportunity?

It’s a line of thinking that crosses your mind when you send in an apology for being inactive, moments later your phone pinging with a notification.

Linkin.parkjisung: no need to apologize! life gets busy for everyone, myself included. hope you’re doing ok (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

Other group members echo his message, sending in their own real-life obligations that the group ends up bonding over, complaining of rising car insurance and overly demanding bosses.

It’s the start of it all, really. That one message, a hand extended to yours that breaks you out of your shell and kick starts your friendship with Jisung. From that day onwards, you move more freely throughout the server, making good friends with everyone but better friends with Jisung. Somewhere down the line, you end up privately messaging each other. What starts out as simply giving each other music recommendations (since he apparently always loves the songs/artists you send into the server) becomes sneaking into the bathroom during a busy family reunion to call Jisung about how your grandmother wore a catsuit to impress her ex, your grandfather. You grow that close, no details spared on life events. How else is there space for secrecy when you’re video calling drunk, watching festival performances of Fontaines D.C.?

In any case, you’re close. You text everyday and call every week like clockwork, namely because you live some hours away from each other. During your calls, he’s shrouded in a low darkness, self conscious of the way he looks, he says. You’re unconvinced, slivers of his features in photos he sends you with his roommates’ three cats or on call saying otherwise. Regardless, you let it slide because Jisung becomes more than his face - he becomes a source of comfort, someone who makes you laugh as much as brings you calm, someone you slowly can’t imagine your days without. In hindsight, this is where your romantic feelings develop. And with convenient timing too because one of the bands you recommended to Jisung, Wunderhorse are on tour, set to perform in a city two hours from the both of you.

“Tickets are going onsale at 10 am on Thursday,” Jisung murmurs, the clicks of his cursor coming through your laptop speaker. “Remember to set your alarm.”

“Will do. Lemme set a remin-” opening up your calendar, you see an unwelcome surprise. “Fuck.”

“What’s up?” Jisung’s voice echoes with sincere concern.

“I forgot I have a shift that day,” you groan, already knowing by the time your lunch break came, the event would be sold out. “We’re understaffed as is, so there’s no way I can get someone to cover for me.”

A deep hum vibrates from Jisung’s chest, a few more clicks of his cursor sounding before he asks in a small voice. “Well, I could just get the tickets for us both.”

“You would?”

“Yeah, I’m meant to be working from home that day anyways. And not to flex, but my internet’s pretty decent.”

You laugh. “Is that for your job or your crippling gaming addiction?”

“A bit of both,” he chuckles back, the sound blooming a warmth of happiness in your chest. “Working in CompSci has its perks.”

“So, I’m finding out,” you smile, an underlying layer of discomfort shifting you against your desk chair. “Are you sure, though?”

“Of course. I’d hate if you lost out on this knowing I could’ve done something to help,” Jisung explains. “You were the one to introduce me to them anyways. Plus we’d have a better chance of sticking together in the pit if we get them together, right?”

You swallow a lump in your throat, something taking flight in your airy chest. “Yeah, you’re right. Just send me your bank details so I can transfer you the day of.”

“Coming right up!” he jokes, and you laugh, however lame he claims himself to be.

On Thursday, he sends you a photo of his solid black high-tech set-up, a PC he’s constructed himself with more monitors than you can count. The side of his face is included in the picture, silky black hair, a brown eye and a beauty mark on his cheekbone you dream of kissing later that night. You find out he secures the tickets on your lunch break, your debt towards him being booking the hotel you’d be staying at. Due to the limited funds you’re working with, you end up getting a shared room, an option that gives him pause before he agrees in a tremored voice. You’re a bit apprehensive yourself, but you booked for two beds, so it should be fine. If worst comes to worst, and something happens between you two – like him turning out to be a sexist neckbeard loser he couldn’t take no for an answer - you’d sleep in your car (or kick him out, actually). At any rate, you had options (and a friend tracking your live location).

In no time, weeks fly by and Wunderhorse drops their latest album. It’s the best thing you’ve experienced since sliced bread, an opinion Jisung shares as you two listen to it over call late one Friday night, speaking about your favourite songs amongst other things. You don’t know how it starts, perhaps it’s a lyric that sticks out to him that he mentions or something else entirely, but suddenly, you’re reminded of high school you. How deeply you wanted to be accepted by others, and how that satisfaction depended on the person you got it from. That you preferred conformity instead of individuality, because being seen with popular shallow kids meant something to you.

“I wasn’t a good person in high school,” you find yourself admitting, your body hollowed out with guilt. Regret like ash on your tongue. “I hurt people because I valued other people’s opinions over my own. I know I was young, but-”

“You said it yourself: you were young,” Jisung comments, the serious intent in his voice catching you off guard. “The fact you recognise your behaviour and feel remorse for it shows how much you’ve grown. I mean, high school can be very unforgiving because nobody really knows who they are or what the fuck they’re doing, so it’s only reasonably to make choices you may regret. What’s important, I think, is how you’ve chosen to move forward,”

“You said it yourself, you’ve apologised to those you hurt. Not many, if any person in your position, would do the same, which shows how much you genuinely care to make things right,” you sniff, vision blurring with tears of relief and sadness. “So, if you ask me, I think you’re being a bit hard on yourself. It’s all a learning curve, you were doing what was best to protect yourself then. And now, you’re a better and kinder person because of it.”

Another time you should’ve known you’d fallen for him. Yet, you remain none the wiser. All the way until concert day, getting off work early that Friday afternoon and making the journey down to the bright city lights of Seoul. Everything twinkles and dazzles, a 180 from your modest living in your hometown. You suppose your excitement for the concert has some role in this too, but considering the lack of vibrancy in your life, you allow yourself to sink your teeth into this. Feel the goosebumps against your skin, the lightness in your limbs and the uptake in your heartbeat.

You check into the hotel first since Jisung has a last-minute team meeting at work, setting yourself up on your side of the cosy room of wooden and white hues. As you slip on your Hello Kitty headband to do skincare, a knock rasps against the door, audible above the sound of your music.

With furrowed eyebrows, you approach the door, revealing a sight that stops your heart in its tracks.

On the other side of the door is who you should’ve expected: Jisung. What you don’t expect, however, is his sharp features, black smooth hair with matching formal clothing to contrast so beautifully with his porcelain skin. The dark, ocean blue contacts he wears with a pretty pink lip tint. Not to mention that beauty mark you’ve been thirsting over for the past few months? Yeah, that’s all in eye-view now, close enough to touch and it’s this fact that sends your brain into overdrive.

While you malfunction, Jisung dips his head, a large fist curled to his lips to hide his sheepish smile. Chuckles in a bit of an awkward and embarrassed way.

Oh my god?!

“Nice to finally meet you,” he greets, black leather overnight bag clutched to his side. A fluffy blue and pink keychain of Little Twin Stars hangs off the zip, a cute juxtaposition to his intimidating outfit. And height. God, he really wasn’t lying when he said he was nearly 6 ft.

“I texted you I’d arrived, but you hadn’t read them,”

A forceful blink out of your trance brings you back to reality, one where you’re not openly drooling over how handsome your internet best friend is. “Yeah, sorry. I was busy getting ready.”

“I figured so,” his eyes scan your clothes - your ripped baggy jeans, leather platform shoes amongst what you have on - and his lips curve, admiration in his eyes. “You look great.”

If there weren’t societal ideals of an inappropriate reaction to that compliment, you would’ve tattooed it to your forehead, or on your lower back. Maybe ripped off your shirt and kissed him before combusting because what do you mean, this very handsome man, thinks you look great?!

“Thank you,” you blush, your body running hot like a furnace. Even so, you decide to take advantage of the situation, leaning in for an embrace that he reciprocates as you mumble into his shoulder. “Nice to finally meet you too.”

The rest of the afternoon blurs, the few moments of scattered glances and awkward silence incomparable with the ease of conversation that flows between you once his favourite song, Poppy, comes on. Catching up to speed with each other’s day as you two get ready, it’s not lost on you how domestic the scene is - how familiar, or right it feels. Jisung, in all aspects of the word, is endearing - flustered by the compliments you send his way, brightening up at the new additions to the setlist and best of you, timid with pink cheeks when he hands over a ‘first meeting’ gift - an assortment of snacks, a Hello Kitty plushie and a card that makes you coo. It takes everything in you not to sink your teeth into him, overwhelmed by the sweetness that laces his actions and words, riding the high he and the music gives you as you make your way to the venue after you’re both finished.

Long lines snake around the arena, grey clouds permeating the area as rainfall clatters to the pavement. Jisung, ever so prepared, brings along an umbrella that you share, squeezing underneath so much you feel the warmth of Jisung through his bare, very defined bicep. How someone looks so good in a silver sequin top under a tattered sleeveless black vest is beyond you. Then again, him being single is beyond your comprehension too. Considering his calm and thoughtful demeanour, coupled with his good looks, you would’ve expected people lining up by the thousands to plead their case. However, whenever you two talked about this, he’d simply say his go-to phrase and change the topic, his phrase being:

“I’ve got my eye on someone. Just working up the courage to ask them out.”

Whoever managed to catch his eye, you’d thought to be lucky. Maybe they’d saved a small village in their past life because as people push when the doors open, Jisung shields you from any damage, reminding you how good of a romantic partner he could be. Especially so when you’re inside and he snaps all your photos, accompanying you to the bar and merch table where you get matching t-shirts before he keeps them with him so you’re free throughout the concert. Dimmed red lights and chatter fill the spacious hall, a flood of warm bodies surrounding you as you peer at the stage, the band all set up and ready to go come showtime. You sing along to the host of songs the venue plays beforehand, enough nudges in the shoulder to get Jisung to sing along and of course - of course - he has a beautiful voice too. At this point, you were convinced he either had a missing toe or had weird opinions about the order of cereal because the more you spent time with him, the more he shines in your eyes.

Eventually, the chatter dies down and all lights go off, screams rising through the crowd as Wunderhorse comes onto the stage. Buzzing at a frequency unheard of, you bounce off the balls of your feet, hand holding Jisung as you exclaim, “It’s them! It’s really them!”

Missing how flushed Jisung becomes at the contact, you sing with all your heart - offkey and all - to their opening song, Midas. The energy is through the roof, a dizzying world of flashing lights and music that retches the lyrics straight out of you. In a moment’s chance, Jisung and you turn to each other mid-song, smiles bright as the stage lights outline your damp faces, chest heaving with a mouthful of lyrics in their wake. It’s the happiest you’ve been, holding his hand like this, and as the night winds to simmer, you sway to slow songs and thank your lucky stars for finding your way back to this.

After the show, you two chatter with other adoring fans before trekking to your nearby hotel, stomachs growling for food. Jisung finds a great Chinese place that delivers until 2 am, a gesture you simper at, unaware he’d even remembered you’d liked the cuisine. At this point, you’re drained in the best possible way, a dull ache in your feet but riding a high of something you’ll remember forever.

Now, you’re all up to speed. Great. Let’s get back to your current dilemma.

Somehow, someway, your unlaced and stubborn platform shoes cause a stumble, one that Jisung tries to save you from but ends up caught in the mix. How, you might ask? Well, you’re not entirely sure but what you definitely know is that you’ve fallen on one of the beds, Jisung’s body caging yours as he braces his own fall. Face-to-face. With you.

Ok.

You’re close enough to share a breath, within reach to see his long lashes and shaky pupils that dart from your eyes to your lips, back to your eyes again. Suddenly, the room temperature dials to an unprecedented heat, walls closing in on you two as you lie in waiting. Waiting for the other to make their move. To lean in or pull away, heads or tails on a coin.

His phone rings, cutting through the tension-filled air with a knife. The moment, gone.

“You okay?” he rasps, a knit in his eyebrows as if he’s holding himself back. You blink wordlessly, your answer in an absent nod. “I’ll, uhm…get the food.”

It’s not a suggestion, nothing that you can object to, particularly when he’s long gone and you’re clutching at your chest, months of infatuation knocking the breath out of you.

When Jisung returns minutes later, you’ve turned the TV on, preparing to fill the silence if need be. It proves necessary, only groans of pleasure and compliments to the chef shared between you two as you eat your weight in noodles. Not much is said when you’re getting ready for bed either, brushing your teeth together as if you're a couple and settling into separate beds, all the lights turned off.

Still reeling for the fall, and convinced his shallow breaths allude to his slumber, you’re startled by the call of your name, head turning towards Jisung beside you.

“Yes?”

“You sure you’re ok?” he asks before clearing his throat. “That was…some fall.”

You can say that again.

“I’m ok,” you lie. You’re on high alert, frazzled at every end with a heart you’ve just realised longs for the man not even two metres away from you. “Are you?”

Silence. The only feedback you hear is the crinkle of his duvet as he shuffles in his bed.

“Ask me another question.”

You turn to him, shrouded in darkness. “Like what?”

He doesn’t speak again, lets the silence devour the space between you before he says. “Ask me about the person I’m interested in.”

Water that rivals the arctic pours down your back, a harsh call to reality as you remember. Right, he has someone he’s interested in. Someone who he’ll devout his time to, listen to their music recommendations and hold their hands at concerts. And you? Well, you’ll still be friends, just not as close. Maybe not even friends at all.

The thought closes an iron fist around your heart.

“Why haven’t you asked them out?” is what you manage, because it’s on your mind - what time and place he’ll find himself in when he confesses his feelings.

“Because I’m scared,” he admits, small and in a whisper. “Considering we met online, it’s kind of hard to gauge their interest or read any signs. You don’t give me much to work with,”

You still. “I don’t?’

“I mean, I haven’t been too obvious, but I’m crazy about you,” he confesses. “I love the light in your eyes and the kindness in your heart. You’re so deeply human and live life like it’s your first and last. There’s no one like you and I think the idea of knowing how special you are triggered my fear of rejection. Because what would my life be without watching festival performances drunk with you? What would it be if you didn’t laugh at my lame jokes and didn’t command my every thought?”

Jisung shuffles again, a flicker of dim light in between you two at a lamp source as he stares over at you, wholehearted and vulnerable. “It’d be an empty one - not worth living.”

Slowly, your body brings you upwards, the two of you hanging off the edges of your bed. So close if you’d reach out, your hands would touch.

“When?” you croak, unable to meet his eyes. “When did you…start feeling this way?”

His eyes lower, a slight curve to the corner of his lips. “Around November?”

Electricity zaps your back straight. Five months ago? “When we joined the server?”

“Shortly after that,” he admits, a coy grin breaking out against his flushed features. “I was having a really hard day and you’d recommend a song in the chat, Favourite by Fontaines DC, and said how nostalgic and hopeful it felt to you. I gave it a listen and…it was like a battery in my back. I cried, but I also smiled too because I understood what you meant by it all,”

He threads his fingers together, peering up with shining eyes as he adds, “it felt like a peak into your soul, and mine too….I think that’s where it started.”

Your hand finally reaches out, overlaying his as tears fill your sight. “You know you’re my favourite, right?”

“No one stood a chance after that drunk video of you singing along to Champagne Supernova,” you share a laugh, reminiscing of the video he accidentally sent into the server one December night. A die-hard Oasis fan till the end. “I mean it. There’s no one I’d want to spend my days with, listen to music with and discover all there is to life. No one but you.”

His bottom lip gives a wobble, hands unearthing from yours as his thumb grazes your knuckles, bringing the hand up in a searing kiss. One he looks you right in the eyes for as he says, “Can we push the beds together please?”

You bark out an unexpected laugh, fondness shaping your smile as you speak with all of your heart. “I would love nothing more.”

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