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sunsetpossum · 2 days ago

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OPERATION: HOW NOT TO GET THE GIRL L.HS

SYNOPSIS ⦂ You've never fit in. That much was true. Always feeling like the odd one out in your friend group. But when you're told to your face, well everything becomes more clear. Suddenly, every sidelong glance, every pity laugh, every party invitation that felt like a mistake, makes a little more sense. But it still stings. Especially when it comes to Soobin; sweet, soft-spoken, out-of-your-league Soobin, who doesn’t even know you exist beyond the orbit of your prettier friends. Enter Heeseung: campus golden boy, effortlessly charming, dangerously smug. He’s the type of guy who knows exactly how attractive he is — and how to use it. When he overhears your predicament (okay, maybe you yell about it a little too loudly in the hallway), he makes you an offer: he’ll help you reinvent yourself, rewrite your story, and finally get Soobin’s attention. In exchange? You’ll tutor him through senior lit, a class he's on the verge of flunking. You agree, of course. What could possibly go wrong?

PAIRINGS: heeseung x fem!reader

WARNINGS: smut mdni, virginity loss, jealousy, alcohol use, mean girls, talk of toxic beauty standards, college setting, ft Dani (katseye), Sakura (le sserafim), Soobin (txt), jay, sunghoon, jake, beomgyu (txt), wonyoung (ive), angst, slight miscommunication + more i’m probably forgetting.

WORD COUNT: 28K

RAIN'S MIC IS ON ࿐ haiii this is based on the movie "the duff" i wanted to give this a fun and very like early 2000s rom-comy vibes!! I do want to note especially that i do not support the toxic mindset that makeup and no glasses and dressing slutty automatically makes you more visually appealing, i think that's a mindset we should be letting go of but for the sake of fiction, it will be playing a part in this. Just a reminder that everyone is beautiful no matter what you wear or what you look like. Wear makeup if you want, or don't. Glasses do not equal ugly and nerdy. Also in this, i shortened “DUFF” to “DUF” because even in fiction i don’t feel comfortable saying “fat” so in my version it just means “designated ugly friend” which is still eh, but again for the sake of fiction it will have to do, Please remember those standards are out dated. Love you all hope you have fun with this like i did (: thank you so much to my love @yeonmuse for helping make the banner, she’s so talented check her out guys.

You’re not sure why you came.

The music pulses like a second heartbeat as you linger in the doorway of the house, the bass reverberating through your ribcage. Inside, it’s packed wall-to-wall with bodies moving in a chaotic kind of harmony, shoulders brushing, drinks sloshing, laughter climbing over music like ivy. You follow the familiar trail of your best friends, Dani and Sakura, as they dive headfirst into the party’s epicenter. They're already laughing with someone, effortlessly folding themselves into a circle of golden-lit conversation. You’re left in the doorway like static caught on the edge of a signal, half-there, mostly invisible. You try to speak, to jump into the flow, but your voice is swallowed by the noise.

Dani’s turning her head too fast, Sakura’s already moving on to a new story. It’s not their fault. They love you. They try; they always do. But in places like this, where charisma is currency and the loudest person wins, you always come up short. You’re the comma in their sentence. The pause between moments.

Eventually, Dani hooks her arm through yours and grins. “Come on. Let’s get some air.” You let them lead you outside, where the music softens behind glass doors and the cool night air brushes against your skin. The wooden deck is lit by string lights and scented faintly of smoke and expensive cologne. And that’s when you see them; The it boys on campus, Leaning against the railing like some untouchable constellation: Heeseung, Beomgyu, Sunghoon, Jay, and Jake. Each one a caricature of cool in different flavors. Beomgyu’s laughing with his head thrown back. Jake is draped over the deck chair like he owns it. Sunghoon and Jay are mid-story. And then there’s Heeseung, casual arrogance wrapped in black denim and a hoodie pushed halfway up his forearms.

The moment the girls approach, everyone shifts to accommodate them, the circle expanding like ripples on water. You find yourself next to Heeseung, who throws you a brief glance that feels like an assessment. His gaze dips for a second to your glasses and lingers. You know that look. You’ve seen it before in classrooms and locker-lined hallways. The look that decides exactly who you are in the span of two seconds and four syllables: nerd. Unworthy of any and all social interaction beside incandescent teasing. How comical that was. “You guys,” Heeseung says, in that smooth, drawling voice that makes everything he says sound vaguely amused, “Mr. Yoon was on my ass today. Said if I bomb this next lit paper, he’s yanking my scholarship. Like, sorry I don’t care about symbolism in 18th-century poetry, man.”

Sakura perks up, turning to look at you. “Wait She’s amazing at lit! Like, scary good.”

“She tutors people all the time,” Dani adds, nudging you playfully. You blink, caught mid-sip of something lukewarm in a red cup, and find five pairs of curious eyes settling on you. Including his.

Heeseung’s lip quirks. “Oh, I’m sure she is.”

You narrow your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He gestures loosely toward your face, vaguely circling your glasses. “Nothing. Just, you’ve got that whole bookish prodigy vibe. You know. Brainiac chic.”

“Brainiac chic?” You raise an eyebrow. “That’s your insult? Do you even have a GPA?” His friends snicker. Jake lets out a low “oooh,” and Beomgyu slaps Heeseung on the back like he’s just taken a hit.

Heeseung, unfazed, smiles lazily. “Touché. Though, I’m not the one who just quoted my GPA like it’s a flex.” You can’t help the way your lip twitches. You shouldn’t enjoy this. You do. Heeseung is irritating. Arrogant. Infuriatingly pretty. But he’s listening. He’s bantering back. In this weird, warped little moment, you almost feel like you matter.

And then he walks up. Soobin. You spot him from the corner of your eye, tall and soft around the edges, dressed in an oversized hoodie that somehow still makes him look like a dream. His hair’s a little messy like he ran his hands through it too many times, and his smile; God, his smile, curls up slow when he sees your group. He says something to Jake, who waves him over, and then he’s standing in your circle, next to you, and your brain short-circuits. You try to say hi, but it comes out as a hiccuped squeak. Your voice cracks in three different places, and as if fate hadn’t humiliated you enough, you flinch backward and knock your elbow straight into the flimsy drink table behind you. The cup in your hand slips, spins midair, and splashes all over your shirt in one mortifying arc.

Soobin blinks. Heeseung stares. You feel the heat crawl up your neck like a flame eating paper. Someone offers you a napkin, Dani, maybe — but it doesn’t matter. You’re already backing away. “I—I’m gonna go,” you mumble. “I’ll see you guys later.” You turn before anyone can say anything else, your heartbeat thudding in your ears, the deck already blurry with shame. Behind you, the laughter starts again, soft, harmless, not mean, not really; but it doesn't matter. You’re already gone. And you have no idea how this mess is only just beginning.

The next morning arrives not like a promise, but like a punishment. The sun is too bright, the sky too smugly blue, like even the weather knows what happened last night. You drag yourself across campus wrapped in oversized layers, hoodie strings pulled tight around your face like armor. You haven't checked your phone since the party. Not because it hasn’t lit up — it has, but because you can’t bear to face the missed calls and texts blinking like tiny sirens across the screen. Dani: “hey, are you okay?” Sakura: “babe, call us pls.” A voicemail you didn’t dare open. It’s all waiting for you like unopened letters from a version of yourself that doesn’t exist anymore.

Because last night, you crumbled in front of Soobin. You keep replaying it like a cursed tape in your head: the way your voice cracked, the look of gentle confusion on his face, the splash of cheap punch soaking through your shirt like a scarlet stamp of shame. You can still feel the sting of it; hot, sticky, humiliating. You picture the exact moment his eyes met yours and how quickly you broke, like a window catching a stone at the wrong angle. You didn’t even say goodbye to Dani or Sakura. Just ran. Just let the night swallow you whole. And now, in the cruel light of day, everything feels worse.

Your footsteps echo a little too loudly on the concrete path through campus. You keep your head down, gaze locked on your shoes as the crowds blur around you in streaks of motion and color. But you feel them; eyes. Not direct. Not obvious. Just there. Flicking toward you. Lingering. Someone lets out a muffled laugh as you pass. You tell yourself it has nothing to do with you, but the way your stomach clenches betrays you. It’s a peculiar kind of spotlight, being noticed for all the wrong reasons. You’re used to being invisible, not mocked. You never asked for attention, never needed a stage. But now you’re walking through campus like a meme brought to life, like the punchline of a joke you didn’t know you were telling. You pass a group of students lounging on the lawn. One nudges the other. Another whispers something behind a hand. Laughter. It could be about anything. It could be nothing. But you flinch like it’s a slap to the face. So you keep walking, keep shrinking.

Your classroom isn’t far, but the distance feels endless. Like the stretch of hallway in a nightmare where your legs move but you never get anywhere. When you finally reach the door, your hands tremble as you pull it open, slipping inside with all the urgency of someone trying to outrun their own shadow. The air inside is still and cold, the hum of fluorescents a dull buzz in your ears. You’re too wrapped in your own spiral to notice where your feet take you. The room is already half full, students murmuring over open laptops, pens clicking like insects in early spring. You move on autopilot, slipping into the first empty seat you see near the back, hoping the distance from the front will buy you some much-needed invisibility.

But the moment you set your bag down and glance to your left, the universe decides to play its favorite game, humiliation, round two. Because there he is. Lee Heeseung. Slouched in his chair with all the grace of someone who��s never had to try too hard, hoodie sleeves pushed up again like it’s a personal brand, one knee bouncing lazily. His arm’s draped over the back of the chair, dangerously close to yours, and he’s already looking at you when you meet his eyes, eyebrow raised, lips curled in that signature smirk that could make a mirror blush. “Well, well,” he says, low and smug. “Couldn’t get enough of me, could you?” You blink, brain short-circuiting for half a second before the sarcasm kicks in like muscle memory.

“Oh, absolutely,” you say, your voice dry as dust. “I just had to sit next to the guy who thinks MLA formatting is a type of sandwich.” Heeseung whistles through his teeth, hand pressed to his heart like you wounded him. “Wow. Vicious. No wonder you’re single.”

Without missing a beat, you smile sweetly, and flip him off. And that’s what does it. Heeseung bursts out laughing. Not a scoff. Not a half-chuckle. A full-bodied, belly-deep laugh that shakes his shoulders and lights up his whole stupidly handsome face. It’s loud, too; sharp enough to draw a few curious glances from the rows in front of you. Someone turns around. Another student raises an eyebrow. But Heeseung just throws his head back and laughs, like you’re the funniest thing to ever happen to 9 a.m. lit. And somehow, against your will, a laugh bubbles out of you, too.

Just a snort at first, barely more than breath. But it grows, because you can’t help it, because it was kind of funny, because maybe you’re so bone-tired from crying that anything even slightly absurd feels like a lifeline. You laugh into your palm, trying to hide it, but that only makes Heeseung grin wider. “See?” he says, nudging your arm with his elbow. “I knew you liked me.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re delusional.”

“And yet,” he hums, “here you are.”You shake your head, biting back another smile—and for a second, just a second, you don’t care that people are still glancing at the two of you. You don’t care that your shirt from last night is crumpled in your laundry basket or that the video of you spilling punch may or may not be circling the group chat. You don’t care that your friends probably think you’re ghosting them. Because for this one moment, there’s no spotlight. No pressure.

The rest of the class unfolds in a quiet, uninterrupted hum. The professor drones on about motifs and metaphor, and your pen finally scratches to life again. Heeseung doesn’t speak after that, not really, but you can feel the lingering heat of his presence beside you, like a low flame that won’t go out. You catch yourself glancing his way more than once. He catches you every time.

Class ends in a quiet unraveling. You gather your things slowly, letting the rows of students trickle out ahead of you like a stream smoothing stone. Heeseung’s already up, stretching his arms over his head in that effortless way that shouldn't be allowed this early in the day. He tosses you a wink as he moves toward the door, and you pretend to roll your eyes, even as something traitorous inside you flutters like a curtain caught in wind. You follow the flow of students into the hallway, hoping to blend in. Hoping, maybe foolishly, that today might end on a quieter note.

But fate has sharp teeth.

A manicured hand taps your shoulder just as you pass beneath the atrium light, and when you turn, you’re met with a smile so sugar-slick and venom-laced it makes your spine stiffen on instinct. Jang Wonyoung. She’s standing in front of you like a statue carved from polished ambition, long legs, glossy hair, not a flaw in sight. Her clothes are designer without needing to scream it, her lip gloss a shade too pink to be innocent. She oozes confidence, curated and sharpened to a point. And you know who she is — everyone does. She’s not just the most popular girl on campus, she’s the one people orbit around. She’s the center of gravity in every room she enters. You’ve never spoken to her before.

“You’re friends with Dani and Sakura, right?” she says sweetly, voice as light as powdered sugar.

You blink, caught off guard. “Uh… yeah,” you answer, nodding a little too quickly, nerves flaring. “I am.” Her smile doesn’t change, but something behind her eyes hardens. Shifts. It’s like watching a rose bloom only to realize the thorns are still sharper than the petals. She tilts her head slightly, and for a moment, you almost wonder if this is some kind of polite small talk. But then she leans in just enough for her perfume to ghost past your cheek; something expensive and calculated, and her voice drops to a murmur, low and cruel.

“Don’t think for one second you have a chance with Heeseung.” She blinks, lashes fluttering like knives. “DUF.” You freeze. The letters don’t click at first. They hang there in the air between you, meaningless and jagged. You open your mouth, confusion spilling out in a quiet stammer. “Wait — what’s a DUF?”

Wonyoung’s smile stretches wider, and it’s not a smile at all now. It’s the curve of something about to cut. “DUF isn’t a name. It’s what you are,” she purrs. “Designated Ugly Friend.” You stare, the words crashing into you like sleet against glass. You don’t even flinch; not yet. You’re too stunned, too caught between disbelief and dawning horror to react. Your throat tightens. Her words burrow under your skin, cold and gleaming. “You’re always with Dani and Sakura,” she continues, still smiling like this is all just a casual observation, like she’s not peeling your dignity apart with her manicured fingers. “They’re hot. Like, objectively. You’re just… there. To make them look better. That’s your role. Know your place.”

You open your mouth again, breath hitching in protest. “My name is—” But she cuts you off, voice turning sharper, all pretense abandoned.

“DUF,” she repeats, slow and deliberate. “And Heeseung? He’s out of your league. So do everyone a favor, babe, and stay away from him.” She gives you one last look; final, dismissive, like you were never really worth seeing at all, and then she’s turning on her heel, walking away like she just dropped a bomb and is already bored of the smoke. And you — you just stand there. Your heartbeat thuds in your ears like a drum played out of rhythm. Your feet feel rooted to the tile, your hands limp at your sides, notebook barely clutched in your grip. It’s as if the world has narrowed to a single hallway, a single moment, and Wonyoung’s words are etched on the walls around you. DUF.

You’ve never heard it before. Not like that. Not named. But now that it’s been said, now that it’s out in the open, it echoes. It colors everything. It twists last night into a sick joke, replays every photo you’ve stood in between Dani and Sakura, every party where you stood off to the side. You see yourself through Wonyoung’s eyes, and the reflection stings. You don’t cry. Not yet. The tears are waiting, crouched behind your ribs, but you won’t let them win. Not in this hallway. Not here. You just swallow hard, lower your head, and walk, each step heavier than the last, as if you’re trying to carry the weight of someone else’s cruelty on your shoulders. And all the while, her words stay with you like a brand: Know your place.

You don’t remember how you got there. One moment you were frozen in that hallway, still tasting Wonyoung’s words on the back of your tongue like something spoiled and sour. The next, you’re seated at the farthest computer in the campus lab, shoulders hunched, the too-bright monitor casting a cold glow across your face. Around you, students move in hushed clicks and muted coughs, the clatter of keyboards filling the silence like light rain. No one looks your way. No one ever does. It’s what you wanted, right? To disappear? To be invisible? But not like this. Your fingers tremble as they hover over the keyboard, uncertain, like they already know what you’re about to unearth. You type DUF first, because that’s what she said. That’s what she called you. The letters feel clunky and unfamiliar, like a language you were never meant to understand. When nothing pops up, you frown, your pulse quickening.

And then, like the knife finally finding skin, it hits you. And the world splits open. The page fills with links, slang dictionaries, gossip forums, teen advice articles, old Reddit threads dissecting high school hierarchies like scientific taxonomy. You click the first video out of instinct, and a girl on the screen, barely older than you, leans into the camera with a sad smile and says, “The DUF is the Designated Ugly Friend. You’re the least attractive in your friend group, the approachable one, the funny one, the one guys talk to only to get to your prettier friends.” You freeze. Her voice continues, but it becomes background noise to the storm inside your chest. Your heartbeat hammers against your ribs like it wants to escape, and suddenly your body feels far too small for what you’re carrying.

Your fingers move on their own, clicking through link after link like each one might offer a different definition, something softer, something kind. But they don’t. They all echo the same gutting truth. The DUF is the one who fills the empty space. The background character in her own life. The girl who exists not for herself, but as contrast, to make her friends shine brighter by comparison. You feel it like a bruise blooming across your entire being. Memories rise unbidden, like film reels unspooling behind your eyes. The nights out where you stood at the edge of a circle, holding jackets and drinks while Dani and Sakura danced with boys who barely spared you a glance. The time a guy asked you for Sakura’s number while you were still in the middle of a sentence. The photos you’d be cropped out of, the stories you weren’t included in, the parties where you stood on the periphery like a shadow no one noticed.

You thought it was just how things were. You thought maybe you were just quieter. Shyer. Less hungry for attention. But now the pieces fit. Too well. And what guts you, what truly guts you, is the realization that maybe — just maybe — they knew. Dani and Sakura. Your best friends. Did they know what DUF meant? Had they heard it tossed around and just… never told you? Had they laughed about it with others, let it live in whispers while you smiled beside them, oblivious? Were you some inside joke dressed in loyalty? Did they ever look at you and feel sorry? Or worse, did they agree?

The nausea coils in your stomach like a slow-moving wave, threatening to rise. You press your palm to your chest, as if you can keep yourself from unraveling entirely. Your vision swims. The sterile blue of the lab feels too bright, too loud, too full of all the wrong kinds of silence. You’re still staring at the glowing screen, that same sentence blinking back at you like a taunt: “The DUFF is the one nobody notices until they need something.” Your throat tightens. You don’t want to be in this body. In this moment. In this story.

You slam the laptop shut without ceremony. The sharp clap of it draws a glance from a boy a few chairs down, but you don’t care. You’re already yanking your bag from the floor, stuffing your notebook inside with shaking hands. Your fingers are clumsy, rushed, like you’re trying to outrun a tidal wave that’s already crashing through you. You need air. You need to move. You need to not be here, not be seen. The walk out of the lab is a blur of cold tiles and humming machines. Your steps echo like betrayal. Like every footfall might draw more eyes, more whispers, more invisible hands pointing in your direction. You don’t even realize you’re crying until you taste salt.

Not the loud, sobbing kind of cry. No, this is something quieter. A leak in the dam. A silent surrender. The kind of crying that happens when the weight of the world doesn’t come crashing down in one dramatic moment; but seeps in, slow and steady, drop by drop, until you’re drowning. You step outside, wind slicing at your face, the sky too wide, too open. You feel small in a way you can’t describe. Not just physically, existentially. Like someone cracked your reflection and you’re left staring at the pieces wondering if any of it was ever real. And in the back of your mind, like a cruel echo still clinging to the walls of your skull, her voice repeats: Know your place, DUF.

The first thing you do after leaving the computer lab is search. You needed to see Dani and Sakura. You find them exactly where you knew they’d be. The C building’s hallway is packed, echoing with the end-of-period rush. Footsteps slap against the floors in every direction. Lockers clang open and shut, laughter weaves in and out of the noise like a skipping stone. The scent of dry erase markers, mint gum, and cheap coffee lingers in the air. But it all feels distant to you, muted, irrelevant. Like you’re underwater, moving through the crowd on instinct, not thought. And then, through the blur of motion and sound, you see them. Dani and Sakura.

The two girls you’ve called your best friends since freshman year. The ones who’ve seen you through breakups, panic attacks, late-night cramming sessions and slow, sleepy Sunday brunches. The ones who claimed to love you. They’re standing outside their chemistry lecture, laughing at something; Sakura’s head thrown back, Dani’s hip nudging hers. It’s such a familiar picture that for a split second, you hesitate. For a split second, your brain lies to you. Maybe they don’t know. Maybe Wonyoung was wrong. Maybe everything was just some cruel misunderstanding. But your heart knows better. You push through the crowd with the desperation of someone chasing the truth, and the second your voice cuts through the air, they turn to you, your hair wild from the wind, breath ragged from running, eyes rimmed with something between fury and heartbreak. “Did you guys know?”

The words tumble out too fast, ragged at the edges, raw like a wound. They both blink at you, confusion washing over their faces like clouds across sunlight. “Know what?” Sakura asks slowly, brow furrowing. Dani’s already stepping forward, hand brushing your arm gently, like she’s afraid you might shatter on contact. “What are you talking about?”

And then you say it; louder than you meant to, louder than you ever thought you’d say anything in public. “Did you know I’m your fucking DUF?” The hallway doesn’t go silent, but it feels like it does. Their faces freeze, and you see it instantly, the flicker of recognition in Sakura’s eyes, the tightness in Dani’s jaw. It’s not confusion now. It’s not disbelief. It’s guilt. Guilt. They look at each other. It’s barely a glance, half a heartbeat, but it’s all the confirmation you need. Something in your chest gives, a sickening drop that feels like the floor vanishing beneath your feet.

Your voice splinters when you speak again. “What? Are you just friends with me because you feel bad for me?” Your words hang in the air like smoke, heavy and choking. Dani’s eyes widen, her mouth opening like she’s about to say something, anything but you see the panic settle across her face. She wasn’t ready for this. They never expected you to find out. They never thought you’d ask.

“That’s not—” Sakura starts, then stops.

Dani shakes her head fast, her voice stumbling over itself. “That’s not true. Don’t say that.”

“Then why?” you ask, louder now, pain bubbling up from somewhere deep and long-buried. “Why did you always brush me off when I said I liked Soobin? Why did you laugh when I said I thought he might like me back? Why did you look at me like I was crazy?” They don't answer. Not really. They just look at you with wide eyes and silence thick between them.

“You didn’t think I was pretty enough,” you say, and your voice cracks right down the middle. Dani swallows. Her hands are wringing the strap of her backpack like she doesn’t know what to do with them. She steps closer again, gentler this time, quieter. “We don’t think you’re ugly,” she says, the words coming slowly, like they hurt her to say. “It’s just… you could try a little harder, you know? Like, you don’t really… put effort in.” The air leaves your lungs in a rush.

You feel it physically, like someone just knocked the wind out of you, punched a hole in your chest and left it gaping open for everyone to see. The people around you are still moving, still living their lives, but all you can hear is the echo of those words: try harder. As if your entire existence hasn’t been one long effort to be enough. And before you can respond, Sakura adds, “You’re just… not Soobin’s type, that’s all.” You blink. Your mind blanks. Your heart is already in pieces, but that line cracks the rest of you open.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you ask, your voice trembling, not with fear, but with something deeper, more dangerous. Rage wrapped in heartbreak. Sakura falters. She opens her mouth, but no answer comes out. Dani shifts uncomfortably beside her. Their faces are pale now, eyes darting around, noticing for the first time how many people are starting to look. How many are pretending not to listen. You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to undo every moment of vulnerability you ever gave them. But more than anything, you want to run. Because staying here, standing in this hallway, heart bared like a wound while the people you loved carve you apart, hurts more than anything you’ve ever felt. You shake your head slowly, backing away from them as the tears begin to fall in earnest. “I thought you were my friends,” you whisper, and then louder, “I trusted you.” Dani reaches out again, but this time you pull back. You don’t want her comfort. You don’t want her pity. You don’t want to hear another word. So you turn. And you walk.

You don’t care that people are watching. You don’t care that your shoulders are shaking, that your tears are spilling freely now, or that your bag keeps slipping down your arm. You walk faster, pushing through the crowd until the voices blur behind you, until the memory of their faces fades into the roar of everything breaking apart. And as you go, the thought haunts you, echoing over and over in your skull: They knew. They knew. They knew. And they never told you.

The doors to the C building groan shut behind you, sealing away the voices, the stares, the wreckage. But the damage doesn’t stay inside. It clings to you, stitched into your skin like frostbite; cold, deep, and invisible to everyone else. The sting of betrayal coils inside your chest, twisting tighter with every step you take. Your breathing’s uneven. Not quite sobbing, but close. That awful in-between sound, caught in your throat like a scream that refuses to come out. The air outside is biting, too cold for early fall, but you hardly notice. It brushes your cheeks like ghost hands, cuts through your sweater, lifts the ends of your hair, nothing reaches you. Not really. You're numb in a way that feels permanent, like someone turned the volume of the world all the way down and you forgot how to turn it back up.

People pass by, some look, some don’t. A few recognize you, eyes flickering with half-curiosity, half-concern, but no one says anything. And thank god for that, because if anyone did, if even one person tried to ask if you were okay, you think you'd crumble. Right there on the sidewalk. Crumple like paper and never get back up again. The walk from the C building to your dorm stretches impossibly long. Every step is heavier than the last, as if the weight of Dani and Sakura’s words is dragging behind you, chained to your ankles. You replay it all, the glances, the hesitations, the way Dani looked away when you asked if they knew, the way Sakura's voice sounded too rehearsed, like she’d already decided what version of the truth you were allowed to hear.

“You could try harder.”

“You’re just not his type.”

Those words circle you like vultures. You can’t outrun them. You can’t out-walk what’s inside your chest. By the time you reach the dorm building, you’re shaking. Not from the cold, but from everything else. Rage. Shame. Heartbreak. All of it, bottled and clinking against your ribs like glass ready to shatter. Your key slips once in the door before you finally shove it in and turn, stumbling down the hall to your room like you’ve just escaped a storm only to find another waiting inside. You push the door open and don’t bother turning on the lights. You don’t take your shoes off. You don’t put your bag down. You don’t think. You just collapse.

Straight onto your bed, face-first, like gravity’s been waiting all day for you to break. The mattress groans under the weight of your body, the quiet rustle of blankets the only sound in the room. But even that silence feels loud. And then — finally — you scream. It’s muffled into your pillow, soaked into the cotton and foam, but it rips through you like it’s been building for years. A scream made of all the things you couldn’t say in that hallway. All the pain you swallowed down so no one would see you break. All the confusion, all the loneliness, all the self-doubt bubbling up into one long, raw, aching sound.

You scream because you thought they were your people. You scream because you believed, deeply, that you were loved. You scream because you didn’t know you were being pitied.

And when your voice finally gives out, when your throat goes raw and your breathing hitches in the dark, you don’t move. You just lie there, curled into yourself like something wounded, like you could shrink so small the world might forget you were ever here. Your pillow is damp now, tears soaking through it, hot and angry. You clutch it tighter like it might hold you together. For the first time in a long time, you feel completely and utterly alone. And the scariest part? You're not even sure who you can talk to anymore. Who’s left. Who actually sees you. Because the people you trusted the most already proved they never did.

The morning light is a pale, washed-out gray, soft and dull like an old photograph, like something that’s been wrung out of color and left to dry. You move through campus like a ghost, every step stiff and heavy, your limbs still echoing with the ache of yesterday’s unraveling. Sleep had barely kissed you the night before. It lingered at the edges of your consciousness but never quite arrived, chased away by looping memories, sharp-edged phrases, and the hollow ache in your chest where trust used to live. You’ve walked this path to Literature 204 a hundred times, maybe more. But today it feels different. The air around you feels thicker somehow, like it knows what happened, like the whole campus has been whispering about you while your back was turned. You keep your head low, hands shoved deep into the sleeves of your hoodie, as if retreating into yourself will make you smaller, less visible, less whatever-the-hell-you-are-now. The DUF. The outcast. The joke.

When you finally step into the lecture hall, it’s mostly empty, the way it always is ten minutes before class starts. The lights are half-dimmed, flickering in patches as if still waking up themselves. A few early birds have already staked their seats, nose-deep in books, airpods in, sipping lukewarm coffee out of dented thermoses. And then, of course, there’s him. Heeseung. You spot him near the front, standing beside Mr. Yoon’s desk. They’re speaking in hushed tones, but the words carry in this room where the ceilings are too high and silence feels sacred. You hadn’t meant to listen, you weren’t trying to eavesdrop, but your ears catch on the tension in their voices, the frustration curling at the edges of Heeseung’s sentences. You hear fragments. Tutor. Flunk. Drop out. Phrases that sound too final, too heavy for someone who always seemed so effortless.

You tell yourself not to care. You’ve got your own storm to navigate. You slide into your usual seat halfway up the rows, far enough to disappear, close enough to hear, and drop your bag beside you with a sigh. Your heart still feels raw, your stomach still tied in knots. You’re exhausted in a way that no amount of sleep can fix. And then you hear his footsteps. Heeseung doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t scan the room for alternatives. He just makes a beeline straight for you and drops into the seat beside yours like it’s his god-given right. His presence is large, like it always is, broad shoulders draped in a hoodie two sizes too big, the scent of citrus cologne and coffee trailing behind him like something you could trip on. Usually, there’s a quip on his lips, something smug and irritating and just a little too charming. But today he’s quiet. And so are you.

For a long moment, nothing passes between you but breath. The quiet around you folds in like a cocoon, the only sounds the low murmur of Mr. Yoon gathering his notes and the soft click of someone’s mechanical pencil two rows back. And then, Heeseung leans back with a sigh and says, “Quite the spectacle you had going for you yesterday.”

You groan before you can stop yourself, dragging a hand over your face like you could scrub the memory out of existence. Your eyes narrow as you turn to him, voice sharp with lingering humiliation. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He’s already grinning, his mouth tilted up in that signature way that makes you want to slap him and kiss him at the same time, not that you’d ever admit that out loud. “Relax,” he says, stretching his arms lazily over his head. “I just mean, you, Sakura, and Dani? Everyone’s talking about it. It was, like, the hallway soap opera of the year.”

Your cheeks burn. You can feel the blood rising in your face like fire licking at your skin. Of course people were talking. Of course the entire goddamn campus probably had a front-row seat to your implosion. “Great,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest, “exactly what I needed, public humiliation on top of personal betrayal.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, like it isn’t your entire world unraveling. But then, out of nowhere, he asks, “How long have you had a thing for Soobin?”

Your heart skips. Not in a cute, rom-com way. In a fuck, how does he know that kind of way. You blink, caught off guard, mouth fumbling for a denial that won’t sound like a lie. “I don’t, what are you even talking about?” He just smirks, eyes glinting with quiet mischief. “Come on. I’m not an idiot. The way you looked at him at that party? Like he was your last meal. It was kinda cute.”

Your stomach turns, part mortification, part defensiveness. “Why do you even care?” Heeseung shrugs again, but this time there’s something more calculated behind his gaze. “Because I think I can help you.”

You raise a brow. “Help me?”

“You like Soobin. Soobin doesn’t even know your name. I know what guys like him want, hell, I am guys like him,” he says, voice dipped in arrogance that somehow still doesn’t feel entirely cruel. “I could get you there. Make him see you. Want you.” You let out a sharp laugh, humorless and jagged. “Yeah, no thanks. I’m not really in the mood to turn myself into a Barbie doll just to impress a guy.”

“Suit yourself,” Heeseung says easily, turning back toward the front of the room like he couldn’t care less. “But when Soobin’s off making out with someone like Yunjin behind the gym, don’t come crying to me.” That line strikes like lightning, quick, bright, and unmistakably true. Because you have seen Soobin talking to Yunjin lately. Smiling. Laughing. He held the door open for her last week and you felt like your heart was trying to crawl out of your throat. And now the thought of him kissing her, or anyone, while you’re still sitting on the sidelines hoping for a miracle? It makes something sharp twist in your chest.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, arms crossed tighter now, and Heeseung must sense your hesitation because he glances sideways again. “I’m just saying,” he murmurs, this time softer. “You help me pass lit, I help you not be invisible. Easy.” It’s insane. It’s humiliating. It’s kind of insulting, if you think about it long enough. But it’s also… tempting. Because what other option do you have? Soobin doesn’t know you exist. Your friends, the ones who were supposed to build you up, have already torn you down. And Heeseung, for all his cockiness, sees you. Maybe not the way you want to be seen. But still.

Slowly, you turn your palm upward between you. He grins, all teeth and trouble, and slides his hand into yours. You shake. And just like that, the deal is struck.

The evening sun sinks past the dorm window like a sigh, casting the whole room in the soft gold of a day exhaling. You’re curled up on your bed in an oversized hoodie, legs crossed, a nearly-empty takeout container of bulgogi balanced dangerously on your thigh. The smell of garlic and soy sauce clings to the air like a second blanket, and you don’t care. You’ve earned this. You’ve survived this week, barely, and now you’re self-soothing with salty meat and zero regrets. Your phone buzzes once against the sheets beside you. You ignore it at first. Probably Dani or Sakura again. Their texts have been coming in slow waves all day; apologies, explanations, questions that aren’t really questions. You’ve left them on read, unread, ignored altogether. You’re not ready. You don’t know when you will be. But the phone buzzes again. And then again. Finally, with a huff, you set your chopsticks down and snatch the device up. It’s not a contact you recognize, just a random number. But the message?

[Unknown Number]

what are you doing tomorrow?

You blink. Narrow your eyes. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, halfway to typing who is this when another text lands:

[ heeseung ]

it’s heeseung

Duh.

And wow. Of course he wouldn’t lead with an introduction. Or an ounce of normal human decorum. You don’t even remember giving him your number; maybe it was one of those group projects last semester or maybe he’s just unsettlingly resourceful. Either way, you're already rolling your eyes. You type back, begrudgingly.

[ you ]

nothing. why?

There’s barely a pause before the dots start dancing again.

[ heeseung ]

i’m taking you shopping and then we’re going to a party, you’ll wear what we buy and pretend to be hot for once. You nearly drop your phone into your bulgogi. You stare at the screen for a second too long, as if the sheer arrogance of his words might combust it in your hands. Shopping? Party? Pretend to be hot?

[ you ]

what the hell does “pretend to be hot” mean???

[ heeseung ]

it means we’re working with what we got. you’ll be fine. trust the process.

You audibly groan and collapse backwards onto your pillow, phone pressed against your forehead as if it might somehow absorb the stress and return with divine wisdom. This was the deal, you remind yourself. You help him pass lit, he helps you with... what? Popularity? Style? Winning Soobin's attention through sorcery and strategic eyeliner?

[ you ]

i’m not “pretending” to be hot just to impress soobin. i have standards , and pride and a favorite hoodie that smells like detergent and self pity

[ heeseung ]

noted. wear something that’s easy to take off tomorrow.

[ you ]

HEY. phrasing.

[ heeseung ]

relax. for the fitting room, nerd. I’ll be at your dorm at 1. and yes, soobin’s going to be at the party ;)

You stare at that last line for a beat too long. Something flutters, just faintly, in your stomach, uninvited.

[ you ]

Fine. but if this party ends with me throwing up in a bush i’m holding you personally responsible.

[ heeseung ]

deal. i’ll even hold your hair back. I'm generous like that.

You throw your phone onto the bed, face-down, like it’s suddenly on fire. You don’t know why you agreed. Maybe it’s the part of you that still wants Soobin to notice. Maybe it’s pride, or maybe it’s just the sheer inevitability of Heeseung’s energy, like trying to argue with a hurricane wearing a smug smirk. Whatever the reason, you’re already mentally preparing for tomorrow. Shopping. With Heeseung. A party. With Soobin. A new outfit. A new you. A new mistake waiting to happen. You look down at your empty bulgogi container, sigh, and mutter to no one: “…this is gonna be a disaster.”

The knock on your door comes precisely at 1PM. Not a second early, not a second late. You open it with one shoe half-on, your hoodie sleeve caught in the zipper of your jacket, and your face still half-moisturized. Heeseung is standing there, leaned casually against the doorframe like a page out of a campus fashion catalogue, black jeans, leather jacket, sunglasses perched on his head like he’s just so effortlessly cool it hurts. His hair is slightly tousled, like he either woke up like this or spent an hour pretending he did. “Took you long enough,” he says, not bothering to hide his smirk.

You scowl and step out, slamming the door behind you. “I said ‘one second’ in the text.”

“Yeah, and I translated that from Girl to Human Time. So twenty minutes.” You roll your eyes, but you follow him anyway, because the deal has officially begun. Operation: Get Soobin to Notice You is in motion. Your dignity is already halfway out the window. Heeseung’s car is just what you expect, black, sleek, a little too clean, and filled with the faint scent of cologne, mint gum, and chaos. You barely get your seatbelt clicked in before he revs the engine and peels out of the dorm parking lot like he's in a race you didn’t know you entered.

“Oh my god, slow down!” you yelp, clutching the side handle like it might keep your soul tethered to your body.

“Relax,” he says, one hand lazily gripping the wheel, the other already reaching for the radio. “You’re acting like I don’t drive this road every day.”

“You drive it like you’re being chased, Heeseung.” He only grins in response, eyes still on the road, the picture of reckless confidence. “Maybe I like living on the edge.”

You’re about to fire back another sarcastic quip when the car fills, suddenly, gloriously, with the unmistakable sound of Taylor Swift. Specifically: Cruel Summer. And not the background kind of playing. The volume is up. Way up. Your eyes immediately dart to Heeseung, whose mouth is already moving, quietly at first, almost unconsciously, as he taps the steering wheel to the beat. “I’m drunk in the back of the car… and I cried like a baby coming home from the bar…” Your jaw drops slightly. Because he’s not just mouthing the words. He’s singing. And not in a “ha-ha this song is funny” way. In a felt that in his soul, this is on his heartbreak playlist, probably posted a breakup selfie to this in 2021 kind of way. You try. You really try to stifle the laugh bubbling in your throat. You press your lips together, you bite the inside of your cheek, you turn to the window in dramatic fashion. But it slips out anyway, a full, helpless giggle, light and sudden.

Heeseung cuts his eyes toward you, still softly singing, and raises a brow. “What’s so funny?”

You blink at him innocently. “You like Taylor Swift?” There’s a moment, a beautiful, brief, perfectly humiliating pause, where Heeseung seems to glitch. His mouth opens, then closes, then he looks back at the road like he’s searching for an exit from this conversation.

“I — well, I mean —” he clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “She’s… I mean, it’s just a good song, alright?”

Your laugh doubles, slipping out like sunlight through cracked blinds. “Cruel Summer, though?”

“She’s a lyrical genius,” he mutters, half-defensive, half-sincere. “That bridge? That’s literature.”

You raise your brows, lips twitching. “Quoting T-Swift now? Is this what my tutoring is doing to you?” Heeseung flips you off with absolutely no hesitation, but there’s no heat behind it. He’s laughing now too, eyes squinting as he turns into the mall parking lot with a slightly-too-aggressive swerve.

“Fuck off,” he grins. “You wish you had taste this good.” You hold up your hands in surrender, still giggling. “Okay, okay. I’m not judging.”

“You are judging,” he says, putting the car in park. “But I’ll allow it. Because you’re clearly not emotionally evolved enough to appreciate her catalog yet.”

“Oh my god. Shut up.”

“Nope. We’re listening to Lover next. You’ve brought this upon yourself.”

The mall greets you with its usual blend of too-loud pop music, screaming children, and the sweet, seductive scent of cinnamon pretzels. It’s packed with people, mothers pushing strollers, bored teenagers clinging to oversized shopping bags, couples holding hands like it’s an Olympic sport. You trail behind Heeseung, your feet already regretting your choice of shoes and your soul regretting this entire arrangement. “So what’s first?” you ask, trying not to bump into a mannequin dressed in denim overalls and heartbreak.

Heeseung doesn’t answer right away. He just keeps walking, purposeful, smug, like he’s on a mission from god. Then he abruptly turns left into a store that is suspiciously sleek and minimal. You blink. “Wait—this is…”

“An eyeglass store,” Heeseung finishes for you, already heading toward the back. “But more importantly, contact central.” You halt, crossing your arms. “Excuse me?”

“You’re getting contacts,” he says, matter-of-fact. “The glasses gotta go.”

You look genuinely scandalized. “Hey! I’ll have you know — I love my glasses.” He stops mid-step and slowly turns to face you, one brow arched so high it’s practically touching heaven. “Yes,” he says, voice dry. “Very librarian core. Sexy in a please return your books on time or I’ll gently scold you in a whisper kind of way.”

You roll your eyes so hard you practically see your ancestors. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are. Following me into Lens & Style like it’s the promised land.” You’re about to argue more, but the woman behind the counter greets you both with a professional smile, and suddenly you’re being ushered into a little fitting room with sterile lighting and a mirror that shows way too much. A few minutes later, you’re handed a trial pair of contacts and instructed, gently, but firmly, to put them in. It’s harder than it looks. “What do you mean I can’t blink? My entire personality is blinking under pressure!”

Outside the door, Heeseung snorts. “You’re being dramatic.”

“You’re being annoying,” you grumble, poking yourself in the eye again.

After a full five minutes of internal screaming, finger fumbling, and probably some divine intervention, you finally get them in. You blink a few times, adjusting. The world sharpens around the edges. For the first time in forever, you can actually see without the weight of frames perched on your nose. You step out slowly, unsure, blinking into the bright lights of the shop. Heeseung looks up from his phone, his gaze flicking to yours. And then — He freezes. His smirk falters for the briefest of seconds. You see it. You feel it.

“Huh,” he says, slower now. “They… actually look good.”

You raise a brow, tentative. “Yeah?” He shrugs, but there’s something unreadable in his expression now, something softer, quieter. “They make your eyes stand out more.” He pauses, then adds with zero fanfare: “You’ve got nice eyes.” It lands like a piano dropped from ten stories. Simple, direct, and impossible to ignore. You blink, stunned; not just by the words, but by the way he said them. Like it wasn’t a joke. Like he meant it. Before you can formulate an actual response, Heeseung clears his throat and looks away. “Alright, let’s go,” he says, already walking toward the exit. “You can thank me later when Soobin gets whiplash tonight.”

It takes you a beat to follow. Just one. But it’s enough to register that your cheeks are suddenly warm. That your stomach did a weird, traitorous flip. That you hate how a single compliment from Lee freaking Heeseung just turned your brain into a puddle. You push the thought aside and jog to catch up, voice light. “You know, for someone who thinks I look like a librarian, you sure stare a lot.”

He doesn’t look at you, but his mouth twitches into a grin. “You wish.” You do not dignify that with an answer. Mostly because your brain is still back at You’ve got nice eyes. And just like that, with one step out of the eyeglass store and into the fluorescent madness of the mall, the first layer of the old you is left behind.

You’ve barely had time to blink, or process the fact that you’re now navigating the mall with 20/20 vision and a slightly compromised emotional state, when Heeseung is dragging you again. His grip on your wrist is light, but determined, like he’s got an agenda and you’re just a reluctant passenger in the Heeseung Express. You stumble to keep up. “Where are we going now? I need emotional closure before the next attack on my personality.”

He doesn’t even turn around. “Hair.”

“Hair what?”

“Hair cut. Hair styling. Hair lesson. Hair magic. Come on, keep up.” You dig your heels into the tile floor and jerk your arm back. “Heeseung, wait — I did not agree to this. My hair is fine!”

He finally turns, a single amused brow arched in classic Heeseung fashion. “Fine,” he echoes flatly. “That’s the bar now? Fine?”

You cross your arms. “It’s my head.” He takes a step closer, voice dipping into that maddening blend of mockery and charm. He laughs — laughs, the audacity of him, and says, “Relax. It’s just a trim. Maybe some layers. She’s gonna show you how to actually style it too. You know, so it doesn’t look like you were electrocuted every morning before class.”

You gasp in betrayal. “I’m sorry?!”

“Respectfully,” he adds, as if that softens the blow, then gestures for you to follow. “Come on. She doesn’t bite.” You eye the interior of the salon like you’re being led to an altar, but against your better judgment, and possibly because you’re too tired to argue anymore, you follow him.

The girl waiting for you is already at her station, brushing her long, glossy black hair behind one ear. She’s tall, unfairly pretty, and wearing jeans that should be illegal. Her name tag reads “Yuri” in bubble-letter cursive. She sees Heeseung and her entire face lights up like a rom-com montage in reverse. “Heeseung!” she squeals, standing to give him a hug. It’s the kind of hug that lasts exactly one second too long to be casual. “You didn’t say you were coming in today!”

“I didn’t,” he says coolly, his hand barely grazing her back. “Brought a friend.”

You watch the interaction with narrowed eyes. It doesn’t take a genius, or even a whole brain cell, to figure out that these two have history. Whether it was a one-night stand, a few steamy study sessions, or something more dangerous like feelings, you’re not sure. But based on the way Yuri’s eyes immediately slide past you and lock on Heeseung like you’re the invisible girl in the background of her fantasy novel? Yeah. They’ve definitely seen each other naked.

“She’s gonna need a trim and a crash course in how not to commit hair crimes.” Heeseung says, throwing a smirk her way. You open your mouth to protest, again but suddenly Yuri’s hands are in your hair and you’re being guided toward a chair like it’s your fate and destiny. “Don’t worry,” she hums. “I’ll take care of her.”

“She’s fragile,” Heeseung calls after her with a smirk as he saunters toward the waiting bench. “Mentally and emotionally.”

“I will throw a brush at you!” you yell back as he flops onto the bench with his phone. Yuri laughs under her breath and begins to run her fingers through your hair. Her nails are long, her movements graceful, and despite your stubbornness, something about the way she works is oddly calming. For the next half hour, you sit there as she snips and styles and explains how to curl and blow out and not look like you just woke up five minutes ago.

“You’ve got good hair,” she says at one point, combing through a section with reverence. “You just don’t do anything with it.” You shrug in the mirror. “That’s kind of my thing.”

Yuri gets to work with practiced ease, fingers threading through your hair, sectioning, snipping. She hums to herself as she teaches you how to twist certain pieces, how to round-brush volume into your roots, how to flick the straightener just so to create an effortless bend. It’s overwhelming, but oddly empowering. Like you’re being handed the controls to your own spaceship. And somewhere beneath all the bitchy undertones, Yuri’s… actually pretty good at this. You glance toward the waiting bench. Heeseung is slouched with his legs sprawled out, scrolling on his phone like he’s not the reason this spiral of makeovers and feelings is happening at all. Every few minutes he glances up; quick, unassuming, but you catch him watching.

Finally, Yuri steps back. “Alright,” she says, tugging off the cape with a flourish. “Moment of truth.” You turn slowly toward the mirror. And okay, fine. You look… kind of amazing. Your hair isn’t drastically different, just sleeker. Softer around the edges. Effortlessly polished in that “I woke up like this but with money and a personal stylist” kind of way. It frames your face, brings out your eyes, makes you look like someone who chose to be seen instead of hiding behind glass and sarcasm. You stand, still a little dazed, and make your way over to Heeseung. He looks up just as you reach him, and something flickers in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything right away.

But then — He grins. That slow, crooked, effortlessly smug grin. “She’s a miracle worker,” he says to Yuri, standing and pulling out his wallet. “Put it on my card.”

Yuri takes it with a wink. “You’re welcome.”

“Thanks, Yuri. I’ll call you.” He says, with the offer a wink in her direction.

She swoons. “You better.”

Once you’re outside, you finally say it, because someone has to. “You’re not going to call her.”

“Nope,” he replies, the ‘p’ popping off his lips like punctuation.

You shake your head in disbelief. “You are such a menace.”

“I prefer charming rascal,” he says, holding the door open for you like a true gentleman-shaped disaster. “Besides, she’s into guys who ghost her. Keeps the fantasy alive.”

You groan. “You’re actually insane.” He only shrugs, hands in his pockets, strolling beside you with the ease of someone who has never questioned his place in the world.

The moment your feet hit the tile floor of the clothing store, you know this is going to be a disaster. The air is thick with overpriced perfume and the walls are lined with mannequins posed like they’re judging you. Bright lights buzz overhead, harsh and clinical, and the racks seem to stretch into infinity, each one more chaotic than the last. There are sequin jackets tangled with pastel blouses, jeans with more holes than fabric, and crop tops that look like they were designed for dolls, not human beings. You glance around, disoriented. “There is… absolutely nothing here I’d wear.”

Heeseung, of course, looks completely in his element. He’s already moving through the racks like a man on a mission, pulling shirts and skirts and things that glitter ominously. “That’s the point,” he says over his shoulder, tossing a fringed jacket onto the growing pile in his arms. “You’re not supposed to wear what you’d wear. We’re evolving.”

“Into what? A disco ball?”

“No,” he replies seriously, “into the kind of girl Soobin stares at across the room and forgets how to blink.” You roll your eyes and reach for a flannel shirt, your comfort zone. Heeseung is there in half a second, gently slapping your hand away. “Nope. Absolutely not.”

“But—”

He points toward the dressing room. “Try these first. And don’t come out until you’ve mentally committed to the bit.” You sigh, arms loaded with fabrics you didn’t even know existed. The dressing room is small and slightly claustrophobic, and the first outfit you try on feels like something a pop star would wear to confuse the paparazzi. You step out hesitantly, tugging at the edges of the bright green top that’s two sizes too tight. Heeseung blinks.

Then he bursts out laughing. “You look like a glow stick in crisis.”

You snort, your face burning. “Okay, rude.” The next outfit is worse: a ruffled floral monstrosity that looks like it belongs in an 1800s romance novel, if that novel had a comedic twist.

Heeseung cackles. “You’re one bonnet away from becoming Pride and Prejudice’s chaotic cousin.” You both descend into full-blown laughter, the kind that makes your stomach hurt and your eyes water. It's ridiculous, how quickly the walls fall between you when you're in this bubble of absurdity, trying on outfits and exchanging insults like secrets. He calls you a fashion war crime. You call him a menace with too much confidence. He claims he’s got the eye of a stylist. You tell him that eye is clearly blind. But somewhere along the way, the laughter shifts. It softens. Somewhere in the middle of the chaos, he starts watching you differently.

You don’t notice it at first, not until you slip into the last dress. It’s simple. No sequins, no plunging neckline, no look-at-me theatrics. Just soft black silk that clings gently to your frame, the neckline a graceful square that highlights your collarbones, the hem brushing just above your knees. You stare at yourself in the mirror for a moment, surprised. It’s not flashy. It’s not dramatic. But it feels like you, the version of you that’s always been hiding underneath. You take a breath, then step out of the dressing room.

Heeseung is on the bench, scrolling through his phone, completely unprepared. He glances up, probably ready with another quip, but the second he sees you, he stops. His phone lowers slowly in his hand. His mouth parts. And he just… stares. For the first time since this entire makeover madness began, Lee Heeseung is speechless. You shift awkwardly under his gaze, tugging at the hem of the dress. “Is it—do I look weird? Be honest.” He doesn’t answer.

You take a hesitant step forward, heart thudding. “Heeseung?”

He blinks, like you pulled him from a dream, and then, because he’s Heeseung, he smirks and shrugs. “That’ll do for tonight, I suppose.”

You scoff and roll your eyes, but the flush on your cheeks betrays you. “Wow. High praise. I’m overwhelmed.” He grins, leaning back and resting one arm behind his head. “Don’t let it get to your head. We’re going for hot, not heart attack-inducing.”

You disappear back into the dressing room before he can see the stupid smile tugging at your lips. Your heart feels like it’s doing somersaults, and not because of Soobin. You shake the thought from your head, firmly, stubbornly, and change back into your jeans and hoodie. A few minutes later, you’re at the register, watching the cashier ring up the pile of clothes that feel like pieces of someone new. Someone a little braver. A little shinier. A little less invisible. Heeseung stands beside you, smug and satisfied, like he just built you in a lab.

The cashier announces the total, and before you can even reach for your wallet, Heeseung slides his card across the counter. “On me.”

Your head snaps toward him. “Heeseung, what?”

He just winks. “Don’t worry. I’ll bill you in character development. The cashier bags the clothes, and you step back into the mall with your arms full of potential and your brain full of questions.

After the last store spits you out, bags in hand, Heeseung’s wallet lighter, your soul slightly transformed, Heeseung glances at the clock on his phone and says, “Okay. Next stop: food court. I need carbs before I collapse.”

You blink at him, momentarily stunned. “You eat pizza like the rest of us?”

He shoots you a look. “ I don’t just eat pizza. I inhale it. Come on.” Your stomach growls before your feet can move, and suddenly you realize that in all the chaos, makeup, mirrors, the emotionally unsettling event of someone finding you attractive, you forgot to eat. Now that he’s mentioned it, you’re starving. Practically feral. You follow him past vendors and kiosks, the scent of fried food and cinnamon sugar swirling through the air. The food court is loud and crowded, but there’s something strangely comforting about it, the normalcy of it, the fluorescent lights and orange booths, the chatter of families and teenagers and friends grabbing greasy comfort.

Heeseung gets in line beside you at the pizza place, his arms still casually swinging at his sides like this is just another day. “What’s your poison?”

You glance at the menu. “Uh… pepperoni. And a soda.” He nods and orders for you both, without asking, like he’s already memorized the way you talk, the things you like. You’re about to protest, but then he’s paying with that same black card he flashed earlier and nudging you toward a table like it’s no big deal. You settle into a booth across from him, the tray between you bearing two steaming slices and a pair of plastic cups filled to the brim with soda. The first bite is practically a religious experience, greasy, cheesy, absolutely glorious.

Heeseung watches you with mild amusement. “You eat like you’ve just returned from war.”

“I have,” you say, voice muffled around a bite. “Battlefield: retail.”

He snorts and takes a sip of his drink. Then, after a pause, his expression shifts. “So… have you ever actually spoken to Soobin?”

You freeze mid-bite, the cheese stretching between your lips and the slice. You blink. “Define spoken.”

He raises a brow. “Words. Sentences. Preferably involving two-way communication.”

You swallow and clear your throat. “I, uh, once held the computer lab door open for him.” He’s already laughing. You roll your eyes, cheeks flaming. “He said thank you!”

Heeseung grins, eyes crinkling. “Wow. A whole conversation. Do you guys have an anniversary for that?”

You smack his arm lightly across the table. “Shut up.”

He rubs the spot like you wounded him. “Abuse. I’m calling my lawyer.” You giggle despite yourself, hiding it behind your soda. There’s something so stupidly easy about sitting here with him. You forget you’re supposed to be awkward and invisible. You forget that you’re the DUF. You’re just… you. Which is why the next thing he says nearly gives you whiplash. “Alright,” he declares, brushing crumbs off his hands. “I dare you to flirt with that guy and get his number.”

You nearly choke on your drink. “Excuse me?” He gestures with a nod to a guy sitting alone across the food court, mid-twenties, dark hair, nose in his phone, clearly minding his own business.

“No way,” you say immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on. This is training. You want Soobin, don’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then get off the bench and into the game.”

You narrow your eyes. “Easy for you to say. You flirt like it’s breathing.”

He smirks. “Because it is.”

And then — he stands up. Before you can even form a sentence, Heeseung is already strolling toward a girl seated at a table nearby, casual and charming, like this is something he does between errands. You watch, jaw slack, as he leans in and says something that makes her smile, tilt her head, laugh. He gestures to his phone, and she takes it without hesitation, tapping her number in and handing it back with a wink. Heeseung returns, smug as a cat, holding his phone out to you like a trophy. “See?” he says, displaying the fresh new contact with flourish. “Easy peasy.”

You stare at him like he’s grown a second head. “I hate you.”

He just shrugs. “Hate me from over there,” he says, pointing again at the guy with the phone. “Go on. Play dumb, but not that dumb. Guys love that shit.”

“I am dumb,” you hiss. “There is no playing.”

“Perfect. Just be your beautiful, awkward self.” Muttering every curse you know, you stand up and start toward the guy. It’s awful. You clear your throat. He doesn’t look up.

You fidget, then say, “Hi!”

He blinks, surprised. “Um. Hi.”

You force a smile. “I like your… phone.” He blinks again. You want to die. “I mean — I like your case! It’s… very rectangular. Classic. Minimalist.”

He looks mildly alarmed. “Thanks?” You attempt a laugh that comes out sounding like a cough. “Sooo, um, are you… single?”

His eyes dart nervously around. “I… I have a boyfriend.”

“OH!” you blurt. “Oh, my bad. I totally support that. I’m not… you know. Homophobic. Or anything.” You want to crawl into a vent and disappear. He offers a small, polite smile. “Have a good day.” And he’s gone, up and out, food tray abandoned. You turn slowly, walking back to the table where Heeseung is laughing so hard he’s red in the face, wheezing into his pizza slice like it’s keeping him alive.

You slump into the seat. “That was a hate crime.”

“That,” he says between snorts, “was the best thing I’ve ever seen. Ever.”

You glare at him. “I hope your soda spills on your lap.” Still grinning, he slides your tray toward you and raises his cup. “To improvement.” You clink your soda against his without smiling. But your heart’s laughing anyway.

When Heeseung pulls up to your dorm, it’s with a dramatic screech of tires and the kind of recklessly confident parking job that screams I’ve never paid a meter in my life. He leans over the center console, smirking at you as you gather your bags of shopping and your still-wobbly self-esteem from the floor of his car. “Alright,” he says, eyes scanning the bags. “You have everything you need to socially destroy the night.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks, fairy godmother.”

He winks. “I’m hotter than a fairy godmother. And taller.” You snort, slamming the car door behind you and flipping him off over your shoulder. He cackles, the sound following you up the stairs of your dorm and into the echoing silence of your room. Once you’re inside, the weight of the next few hours settles in your stomach like a boulder. You place the shopping bags carefully on your bed, smoothing the edges of the tissue paper like they might calm your nerves. Heeseung said he’d be back at 9 p.m. sharp to pick you up, which gives you a little over three hours to get ready. Three hours to transform. Three hours to convince yourself that you’re not the DUF anymore.

You spend the first half-hour just staring at yourself in the mirror. No makeup, hair messy, hoodie baggy and beloved. You look… like you. Regular. Quiet. Familiar.

You text Heeseung: “Okay so do I have to wear the mini skirt???”

His reply is instant. “Yes. And send pics. I’m the boss, remember?” You grumble, but slip into the skirt anyway and pair it with a halter top he claimed made your arms look “objectively illegal.” You take a mirror selfie, looking reluctant, and send it off. Within seconds, he replies: “Too ‘I work at a bar and hate my life.’”

You snort, throw the top across the room, and try again. Next outfit: jeans and a crop top. You pose. Click. Send “Cute. But it’s giving ‘we’re just friends.’” You flip him off through text “Try the dress. You know the one.”

You hesitate. That dress. The black silk one, the one that made his words stutter and his eyes flicker. The one that didn’t feel like you were trying to be anyone else, just a bolder version of yourself. You pull it out carefully, fingers gliding across the fabric like it might whisper back. Slowly, you slip it on. It fits like it did in the store. Soft, secure, like a secret. You stare at yourself in the mirror, and for a second… you see it. You see her. The girl who could walk into a party and turn heads. The girl who could maybe, just maybe, make Soobin notice. You send the picture.

Heeseung replies: “Jesus.” Then, seconds later: “That’s the one.”

No teasing. No jokes. Just those three words that knock your heart off-balance. You set your phone down, exhale slowly. Then, the routine begins. You do your makeup with trembling hands, lashes curled, liner precise, lips tinted a soft rose. Your hair falls the way Yuri taught you, soft waves that frame your face and catch the light. You spray perfume on your wrists, your collarbones, the backs of your knees. A whisper of vanilla and hope. You put on your jewelry, simple earrings, the necklace that sits perfectly in the hollow of your throat. You take one last look in the mirror. You don’t recognize her, but you like her.

Then, your phone rings. The name “Heeseung 💀” flashes on the screen. You answer, voice caught somewhere between a smile and a scream. “Hello?”

“Hey,” he says, casual and breezy like this isn’t the first time he’s hearing your voice dressed like this. “I’m outside.” Your stomach flips.

You grab your bag, give yourself one more desperate glance in the mirror, and whisper to your reflection, “Don’t trip. Don’t choke. Don’t die.” Then you’re out the door, the echo of your footsteps ringing down the hall, your heart doing somersaults in your chest.

The car is sleek and stupidly shiny, purring low like it knows it’s hot. You spot it the moment you step outside your dorm building, standing at the edge of the sidewalk like you’re on the brink of a red carpet. And standing against it, leaning like he was born to be the poster child for a Calvin Klein fragrance, is Heeseung. He looks up as you approach, and even in the dim lighting of campus streetlamps, his smile flickers into something that nearly knocks you over. He’s wearing all black, ripped jeans, a bomber jacket, his signature messy hair that probably took way too long to make look that effortless. You don’t want to say he looks good, because that feels too generous. He looks... unfair. Rude. And worse? He knows it. He gives you a once-over, slow and obvious. “Damn,” he says, like he’s complimenting you and mocking you in the same breath. “You clean up alright.”

You roll your eyes, clutching your purse a little tighter. “You’re not so bad yourself. For a menace.”

He smirks and pops open the passenger door for you with an exaggerated flourish. “M’lady.” You roll your eyes again, but your heart skips a beat anyway as you slide into the seat, the cool leather against your thighs making you realize just how very real this is. You’re on your way to the party. With Lee Heeseung. In a black silk dress and mascara that took you 45 minutes to get right. Breathe. The drive is short, just a few blocks away in one of those off-campus houses you’ve only ever seen through the haze of Instagram stories and hearsay. But your nerves are anything but short. They’ve curled into your stomach, wound tight around your ribs, pressed against the back of your throat. You grip the strap of your bag like it’s a lifeline.

You’ve been to parties before, sure. But never without Dani and Sakura. Without their protective, familiar presence to anchor you in the sea of bodies and music and beer breath. Without their shared eye-rolls and whispered commentary and midnight giggles on the walk home. And now… now you don’t even know if they’ll be there. Scratch that. You know they will. You just don’t want to see them. Not tonight. Not when you're dressed like this. Not when you're trying so hard to become someone new.

You barely realize the car’s stopped until Heeseung throws it into park. You’re frozen, staring out the window at the glittering string lights draped across the porch, the thump of bass already vibrating through the concrete. There are people everywhere, laughing, shouting, spilling out onto the lawn like they’ve never had a quiet thought in their lives. You’re going to puke. Heeseung glances over, and; because he’s Heeseung, he notices immediately. “You good?” he asks, casual but careful. “You look like you’re about to get drafted into war.”

You force a laugh, but it’s brittle. “I’m fine.”

“Liar.” You glance at him, cheeks hot. “Okay, I’m just… nervous.”

He nods like he gets it, and maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t. But his voice is soft when he says, “Hey. Look at me.” You do. “Everything’s gonna be cool,” he says, with a cocky grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You look insane, by the way. Like, criminal levels of hot. If Soobin doesn’t fold tonight, he’s legally blind.”

That earns a weak laugh from you, and he nudges your shoulder gently. “Just remember who got you here when you’re famous on campus by Monday.”

You snort. “You mean when they put me in GroupMe memes for tripping over my heels and knocking over a keg?”

Heeseung grins. “Even better. Instant legend status.” You breathe out, shaky but a little more stable now. “Okay,” you whisper. “Let’s do this.”

“You sure?”

“No.”

He laughs, throwing open the door. “That’s the spirit.”

You step out onto the curb, your heels clicking against the pavement like you’re a contestant on America’s Next Nervous Breakdown. But still, you stand up straighter. Shoulders back. Head high. You smooth the hem of your dress and tell yourself this is what you came here for. To show them. To show yourself. Heeseung falls into step beside you, his hand brushing against yours, not quite touching, but close enough to anchor you. Together, you walk toward the house, the music growing louder with every step. Somewhere behind the front door, the party waits. Soobin waits. They might be waiting too. But for now; it’s just you. And Heeseung. And the version of you that’s ready to finally be seen.

The moment the front door swings open, you’re hit with a wall of noise and heat, thick and heady like you’ve just stepped into the center of a beating heart. The bass is thudding through the floorboards, lights pulsing with every drop of the music, and bodies are everywhere, moving, swaying, tangled up in each other, laughter and shouting and the occasional high-pitched squeal blending together like some chaotic symphony of college nightlife. It’s not your first party, not technically, but it’s your first this kind of party, this kind of entrance. Not as a background extra or the girl carrying everyone’s phones. No hoodie, no glasses, no fading into the wallpaper.

Tonight, you’re a main character. And Heeseung is your entrance music. He walks in first, easy and smooth, like the world shifts to make room for him. His presence is magnetic, and it pulls eyes toward the doorway like gravity. The second you step through behind him, heels tapping softly, dress swishing around your thighs like smoke, there’s a ripple. You feel it. Heads turning. Conversations pausing. The hush of recognition so subtle you might miss it, if your nerves weren’t already on fire.

You try not to look around too much. You try to look confident. Poised. Detached, even. You tilt your chin up like you belong, even though your hands are clammy and your stomach is doing Olympic-level gymnastics. You’re hyper-aware of everything: the way the strap of your dress slides against your shoulder, the way your perfume clings to the heat of your skin, the soft creak of your heels on the hardwood floor. You catch flashes of recognition from familiar faces, faces that used to glance right through you, now blinking, staring, mouths parted, whispering behind their solo cups. And you? You just keep walking. Heeseung’s friends spot him in the far corner of the room, near a low couch littered with bags of chips and someone’s half-eaten box of pizza. The greetings are instant, shoulder claps, finger guns, head nods and booming “Yo!”s that feel like something out of a movie. Sunghoon practically lunges forward, clapping Heeseung on the back like he’s just returned from war. Beomgyu pulls him into one of those half-hugs that somehow involve three back slaps and an awkward shoulder bump. Jay and Jake both pipe up at once about someone from class asking for him earlier, their voices fighting over the music. And for a second, you’re forgotten.

You stand a little off to the side, hands awkwardly clasped in front of you, smile hovering uncertainly on your lips. You’re not mad, they haven’t seen each other in a bit, and the reunion energy is real, but the awkward ache settles in your chest anyway, that old too-familiar feeling of being adjacent to the fun but not quite in it. Until Sunghoon finally turns toward you, and freezes. His eyebrows shoot up so far they practically disappear into his hairline. His eyes flick over you, slow and not particularly subtle, dragging from the hem of your dress to the curve of your collarbone to your lips like he’s trying to solve a riddle with his eyeballs. “Uh… who’s this?”

Beomgyu leans in, squinting in your direction like he’s staring directly into the sun. “Wait. Are you new? Like, transfer student new? Heeseung, bro, you didn’t say you were bringing someone.” Heeseung, who is somehow already sipping a drink he didn’t have two seconds ago, sighs and smacks Beomgyu lightly on the back of the head.

“She’s not new,” Heeseung says casually. “You guys know her.”

Jay looks genuinely confused. “We do?”

ake leans sideways to get a better look at you. “Hold on…” Heeseung glances at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then, with perfect comedic timing and just enough pride to make your knees wobble, he says your name like it was obvious. To them, it was not and for some reason that twisted you up inside.

There is a silence. Then, chaos. “NO FREAKING WAY.” Sunghoon’s voice actually cracks. “Shut up. Shut UP.” Beomgyu’s mouth falls open. “You’re lying. This is not hoodie-and-sweatpants Y/N. This is, like — TikTok viral-level hot girl Y/N. You’re telling me it’s the same person?” You’re half-laughing, half-dying inside. You glance away, cheeks burning, unsure what to do with your hands or your face or your entire existence. This wasn’t supposed to feel like a scene from a teen makeover movie, but, well. Here you are.

“She’s always looked like this,” Heeseung says coolly, giving them a look that says don’t push it. “You just never paid attention.” The group stumbles over themselves with backpedaling compliments, Sunghoon muttering something about your eyes, Jake saying you look “like a star,” and Beomgyu still acting like he just saw a unicorn. You’re saved from having to respond by Heeseung, who, clearly reading your overwhelmed expression, tosses out casually, “You guys seen Soobin?”

Jay shakes his head. “Not yet. Might be outside?” Heeseung nods, and without another word, he reaches down and grabs your hand like it’s the most normal thing in the world. And maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Either way, the contact is sudden and warm and firm, and you don’t even think, you just let him pull you through the crowd, dodging plastic cups and tangled limbs as he weaves toward the kitchen. Your hand stays in his the whole way. You don’t ask why. You don’t let yourself hope. When you reach the drink table, he finally lets go, only to pour you something in a red cup and hand it to you like a bartender with a mission.

“You alive?” he teases, raising an eyebrow.

You take the cup, roll your eyes, and murmur, “Barely.”

Heeseung clinks his cup against yours, grin widening. “You’re killing it.”

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, voice just loud enough to cut through the bass thumping behind you. It’s gentler than you expect, free of teasing or sarcasm.

You nod automatically. “Yeah, I’m—”

“Y/N?!” The sound of your name rips through the music like a siren. You freeze. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is. You’d know those voices anywhere. They’re carved into your memory, every syllable, every cadence, familiar and aching in the way only ex-best friends can be. Still, you turn.

Dani and Sakura are standing there, half in disbelief, half in judgment. Their eyes rake down your body, from the sleek dress hugging your frame to the careful curls in your hair. Their mouths are parted like they can’t decide whether to gasp or laugh. Sakura tilts her head. “What… are you doing here?”

Dani crosses her arms. “And with him?”

You glance back at Heeseung for half a second, who hasn’t said a word yet, just watching them with a slight furrow between his brows. Your stomach flips. You force a breath out of your nose and turn back to the girls, your grip tightening around your drink. You let out a laugh. It’s sharp and hollow and lined with every quiet insult they’ve ever made sound like a joke. “What?” you say, voice laced in dry amusement. “Surprised someone like Heeseung would want to hang out with me?” They flinch, barely, but you catch it. Dani opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You don’t wait.

You take a step closer, letting your voice drop, cold and brittle like breaking glass. “Why do you guys even care? Huh? You didn’t seem to care when you were calling me the DUF behind my back.”

Sakura’s expression twists. “We never—”

“This isn’t you, Y/N,” Dani cuts in, voice brittle. “The dress. The makeup. Hanging out with Heeseung? This isn’t who you are.” Your jaw clenches. The words burn, not because they’re true, but because they’re not. Because they’re laced with that same tired condescension, the same kind of backhanded care that always kept you two steps behind, like they wanted you close but never quite caught up. But before you can speak, a sudden warmth settles across your shoulders. Heeseung. His arm slips over you with ease, casual but claiming, protective but not possessive. His fingers brush the edge of your shoulder, and his voice is laced with syrupy sarcasm.

“We’d love to stay and chit-chat,” he drawls, flashing the girls a lazy grin, “but we’ve got somewhere to be.” And just like that, he doesn’t give them another second. He tugs you away gently, steering you through the party with surprising precision, hand resting firmly on your upper back as he guides you toward the back of the house. You don’t look back. You don’t want to see their faces. You’re too stunned, too angry, too relieved. Your heart is racing and your pulse is pounding and your vision is a little too bright. He opens the back door, and the cooler night air hits you like a blessing. You step out onto the porch, the noise of the party muffled behind the closed door. Fairy lights are strung across the railing, casting a soft gold glow over the wooden planks and the few potted plants half-dead in their corners. It’s quieter here. Private.

You suck in a breath and finally speak. “Thank you.”

Heeseung leans against the porch railing, glancing sideways at you. “For what?”

You give him a look. “For that. For getting me out of there.”

He shrugs, eyes flicking away. “It’s no big deal.”

You watch him for a moment, heart still unsteady. “It is, though.” He finally meets your gaze again, and for a moment, the cocky smile slips away. His eyes are dark and unreadable, but his voice is soft when he says, “They don’t get to make you feel like that. No one does.” You feel something twist in your chest. Something warm. Something dangerous. For a second, the two of you just… stand there. The silence stretches out, thick and humming with unspoken things. Heeseung’s hand is still in his pocket, but his shoulder is just barely touching yours now. Not quite close enough to be a statement, but close enough to feel like a promise.

The quiet of the back porch doesn’t last long. It breaks like glass, sharp and immediate, at the sound of stilettos clacking against the wood. You feel the shift before you see it. A cool draft. A wrongness. And then, the syrupy sweet voice that makes your spine stiffen and your heart drop. “Well, isn’t this cozy?”

Wonyoung stood there, draped in a skin-tight red dress that clings like a threat, hair curled into perfect waves, and lips painted a venomous shade of cherry. She walks like the world’s her stage, and you’re just an extra lucky to be in the background. Her smile is the kind that cuts, sharp and gleaming, like she knows something you don’t. Your heart sinks because you remember. You remember her words last time: “Stay away from Heeseung.” You didn’t listen. Maybe you thought she wouldn’t notice. Maybe a part of you hoped she didn’t mean it. But she’s here now, and she’s looking at you like a hunter cornering something helpless. Heeseung straightens beside you, his entire body going taut like a wire pulled too tight. “What do you want, Wonyoung?” he says, voice clipped.

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she saunters closer and, without warning, nudges you aside with the ease of someone who’s always taken up too much space. Her hand slides onto Heeseung’s shoulder like she owns it, like she’s done it a thousand times before. But Heeseung jerks away instantly, his jaw clenching as he shrugs her off like her touch burned. Still, Wonyoung smiles. “Hee… I miss you.” He doesn’t answer. Not at first. He just glances at you. And the look in his eyes, God, it’s something between apology and warning and please just trust me. But you don’t know how to read it, not really. Not when your stomach is twisting in knots and your voice is caught in your throat.

“Hey, Wonyoung…” you manage, your tone so high and squeaky you want to slap yourself. Wonyoung turns, slow as a villain in a teen drama, and actually groans, like your existence is somehow the inconvenience of the century. She eyes you up and down with obvious disdain before deadpanning, “What do you want?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Uh—I was just—” But she’s already looking away, like you don’t matter. Like you’re nothing more than a gnat buzzing in her ear. It’s humiliating. It’s infuriating. But you don’t say anything. You just shrink a little smaller.

She turns back to Heeseung, pressing forward again like she hasn’t just made you feel two inches tall. “We’re playing spin the bottle,” she says brightly, batting her lashes. “Wanna join?”

Heeseung lets out a dry laugh. “What are we, high schoolers?” His voice is full of disbelief. “Isn’t that a kids game?”

Wonyoung just shrugs, undeterred. “Still works.”

Before he can argue again, she latches her fingers around his wrist and tugs. You don’t know if it’s the surprise or the fact that he’s clearly outnumbered, but he lets her drag him halfway across the porch. You don’t even realize you’re following until you’re inside again, the noise swallowing you whole. The crowd’s shifted, coalescing into a rough circle on the living room floor. The center of attention now: an empty bottle spinning slowly on the wood, the air buzzing with half-drunken laughter and anticipation. You spot Dani and Sakura immediately. They’re sitting between Jake and Sunghoon, giggling, whispering, stealing glances at you. But there’s something different now. Not amusement. Not judgment. Pity. It glimmers on their faces like a sheen of sweat, and it makes something cold spark in your chest. You hate it. You’d rather be ignored than pitied. You tear your gaze away.

“Finally you’re here! Join us!” Wonyoung’s voice rings out, shrill and triumphant. Soobin. He was here, oh god. Your heart lurches at the sight of him. He’s dressed in a white tee and a leather jacket, hair falling perfectly across his forehead, the picture of cool detachment. He smiles slightly as he joins the circle, settling next to Beomgyu without much fanfare. He hasn’t even seen you yet. But suddenly the air in the room is thinner. The lights are harsher. Every breath feels like an effort. This is what you came for, isn’t it? The moment you’ve been chasing. The whole reason you let Heeseung drag you to the mall, to the salon, through an identity transformation that’s still barely settled on your shoulders. You should be thrilled. But instead, all you can feel is this strange, gnawing pressure. You glance at Heeseung, who’s already watching Soobin, something unreadable flickering across his features. Then his gaze shifts to you. There’s tension there. Tight. Heavy. Loaded. And it hits you: the game has started. And you’re no longer sure whose rules you’re playing by.

You watch as people had their turns with the bottle, watching as the glass spun round and round giving someone their fate for the night and finally after countless spins — it was your turn. The bottle spun with a nervous flick of your fingers, clinking softly against the scratched wood floor as it twirled, and you felt your stomach turn with it. Around you, drunken laughter swirled like smoke, the heat of the crowded living room pressing in from all sides. Someone let out a whistle, another person shouted encouragement, and Wonyoung was watching you with narrowed eyes, her arms crossed like she was waiting for you to fall flat on your face. But none of that mattered right now. None of it mattered because that damned bottle had chosen a direction, and it was pointing straight at Soobin. You could barely breathe.

Soobin tilted his head, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a soft, almost apologetic smile, the kind that made your lungs feel like they were filled with helium. His gaze was kind, nonjudgmental. Gentle, even. As if to say “It’s okay if you say no. I won’t be mad.” And God, did that make it worse. Because now the ball was in your court. Your palms were sweating. Your heart pounded so loudly you couldn’t hear the party anymore. Just the roar of blood in your ears. You’d dreamed of this. Fantasized about this exact moment for years. The idea of kissing Soobin had always seemed like something that belonged to a different version of you, a cooler, prettier, worthier version. And yet here you were. Inches from it. One lean forward and you'd touch lips. And still, panic dug into you like claws.

Your mind spiraled in frantic loops. What if I mess it up? What if I bump noses with him? What if my breath smells like the pizza from earlier? What if my lipstick smudges? What if I suck at it and he tells everyone? And more than anything; do I even want my first kiss to be like this? In front of Wonyoung, Dani, Sakura, and twenty semi-drunk strangers? But before you could finish the spiral, Heeseung’s hand gently curled around your wrist. His fingers were warm, grounding. You turned your head slightly, and he leaned in, his voice brushing against the shell of your ear, low and sincere. “You don’t have to do this,” he murmured. “We can leave. Right now.”

You paused. That offer, so casual, so safe, it nearly undid you. You looked at him, and for a brief second the noise of the party dropped away. Just Heeseung and his eyes, steady and unreadable. Ready to walk you out of this chaos with zero judgment. But then your gaze flicked across the circle and found Wonyoung, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable but unmistakably sharp. You couldn’t back down. Not now. Not in front of her. “I’m fine,” you whispered, offering Heeseung the tiniest smile, even if it felt wobbly and weak. “I got this.” Reluctantly, he let your wrist go. And so, heart pounding like a drumline, you leaned in. Soobin did too.

Your faces were so close now you could feel the warmth of his breath, smell the faint citrus of his cologne. You were trying not to close your eyes too soon, but you didn’t know the rules. Were there rules? Were you supposed to count to three? Tilt your head? Your brain screamed at you to stop, to run, to — “COPS!” The word cracked through the house like a gunshot.

In an instant, the entire room exploded. Screams. Shouting. Feet slamming against hardwood. Red solo cups hitting the floor and rolling away. Someone knocked over a lamp, plunging half the room into shadow. The panic was immediate and real, like someone had hit a switch that turned this party into a stampede. You didn’t even get a second to blink before Heeseung was yanking you to your feet. “Come on!” he yelled, wrapping his fingers around yours and hauling you after him through the chaos.

You barely had time to register what was happening before you were stumbling through the living room, dodging people vaulting over furniture and crawling through open windows. The entire party had turned feral. Shouting echoed off the walls, red and blue lights flickered from the front yard, and someone shouted something about hiding in the attic. Heeseung didn’t slow. His hand tightened on yours as he dragged you through the kitchen, shouldering past people, and out the back door. The backyard was even more chaotic. Students were climbing fences, squeezing through hedges, and ducking behind trash cans. You stared at the wooden fence in front of you, at least six feet high, and made a sound somewhere between a groan and a gasp.

“You want me to jump that?” you cried.

“Unless you want your mugshot posted in tomorrow’s student newsletter — yes!” With an ungraceful huff, you hiked up your dress and clambered over the fence, scraping your knee on the way down and landing hard in someone’s overgrown backyard. Heeseung followed right after, barely phased, landing beside you with an effortless thud.

“This way!” so you ran. Breath tearing out of your lungs, dress flapping around your legs, adrenaline pounding through your veins, you ran like your life depended on it. You didn’t stop until Heeseung’s car was in view, parked two blocks down. You practically dove into the passenger seat as he slid behind the wheel and slammed the door shut. He turned the key, the engine roared to life, and the tires screamed against the pavement as he peeled off into the street like a getaway driver in a movie.

You didn’t even speak for the first few seconds, just sat there panting, adrenaline still racing through your bloodstream, chest heaving as the lights and shouting faded behind you. Then, you looked at each other. And burst out laughing. Full, uncontrollable, hysterical laughter. The kind that curled your stomach and left tears in your eyes. You laughed until your lungs hurt. Heeseung clutched the steering wheel with one hand, his other wiping tears from his face. “I almost kissed Soobin,” you gasped out between wheezes.

“And then almost got arrested,” he choked out. “Honestly? 10/10 night.”

You threw your head back, still laughing. “That was insane.”

He grinned at you, cheeks flushed, hair a mess from the mad dash. “You’re kinda fun when you’re not busy hating me, you know that?”

You smiled, your heart slowing in your chest. Outside, the streets blurred past your window. Inside, something was starting to settle. Shift. Change. “I don’t hate you.” You whisper. You were supposed to kiss Soobin tonight. Instead… you ran away with Heeseung. The laughter between you and Heeseung had started to quiet, settling into the thick silence that sometimes follows a shared moment, like the tide pulling back after a crash of waves. It lingered in the air, warm and easy, the kind of laughter that left your chest aching in the best way. You wiped at the corners of your eyes, breath still uneven from giggling so hard, and turned to look at Heeseung.

He was already watching you. His eyes sparkled under the dim glow of the car’s interior lights, lips curled into a half-smile, like he was still amused by the chaos you both narrowly escaped. Then, he tilted his head, that boyish grin deepening. “You were really going to kiss Soobin just now,” he said, like he still couldn’t believe it. You tried to smile back, to laugh it off, but something in your chest twisted unexpectedly. The corners of your mouth dipped, your gaze fell to your lap, and your fingers began nervously toying with your fingers.

Heeseung noticed immediately. The smile on his face slipped, eyes narrowing just slightly—not in annoyance, but concern. “Hey,” he said softly, leaning just a bit closer. “What’s wrong? I thought this is what you wanted?” You swallowed. The words caught in your throat, all scrambled and fragile. You didn’t want to say it. You hadn’t said it out loud to anyone. It was too revealing, too… vulnerable. But something about Heeseung, the steadiness in his gaze, the quiet way he was looking at you now like you mattered, made you trust him in a way that startled you. So you said it.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before.” It came out softer than you intended. Barely above a whisper. But it landed between you with the weight of something unspoken for too long. Heeseung didn’t react right away. He didn’t laugh or make a teasing comment. Instead, he just looked at you. His eyes searched yours for something, you weren’t sure what, maybe the why of it, or maybe just the simple truth. But whatever it was, he found it, because after a moment, he nodded, his voice quiet and sincere. “I can teach you.”

You blinked. “What?”

He nodded again, slower this time. No smirk. No hint of mischief. Just quiet seriousness. “I can teach you,” he repeated, “so you’re not inexperienced when you finally get Soobin.” The words felt… strange. Like something cold and sharp and warm all at once. You weren’t sure what to say, your heart skipping beats like it couldn’t keep up. “You’d really do that?” you asked, voice barely audible.

Heeseung leaned back just enough to look at you fully. “Yeah,” he said. “If you want.” And you did. You didn’t know why. You didn’t know what it meant. But you wanted to. So you nodded. “Okay.” He leaned over the center console, his arm brushing against yours, and suddenly the space between you shrank to something small and intimate. You felt the electricity buzz in the air like static clinging to skin, your pulse racing louder than your thoughts.

You swallowed. “What if I’m bad at it?”

He smiled softly, not in a mocking way but like someone offering reassurance. “That’s why I’m teaching you,” he said. Then, his hand lifted, slow and steady, brushing your hair away from your face and tucking it behind your ear. His touch was featherlight, the pad of his thumb just grazing your cheek. “You want to set the tone,” he murmured. “Don’t just dive right in.” You nodded, breath caught somewhere between your chest and lips, and then — He kissed you. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t rough or overwhelming. It was soft. Intentional. Like he was holding the moment between his hands and molding it into something gentle. His lips were warm, firm but cautious, and he kissed you like he was afraid to scare you off. Like you were something rare. Precious. Fragile.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your hand lifting without thinking to rest gently against his arm. You melted, leaned into him. The world slowed down. The roar in your head dulled to a soft hum. The nervous energy in your chest unwound, slowly replaced by a kind of comfort that made your skin hum. When he pulled away, it was only by inches. His forehead almost rested against yours. His breathing matched yours, shaky and a little uneven. His voice was barely a whisper. “Did you learn anything?”

You blinked at him, dazed, lips still tingling. “I —I think I need another lesson.” He grinned, something sparking behind his eyes, and then nodded. “I think so too.” The second kiss was different. Gone was the careful, tentative pace. This time, his mouth found yours with a hunger that startled you, like he’d been waiting for permission and now that he had it, he wasn’t going to waste a second. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair. Your hands, unsure at first, found their way to his shoulders, gripping lightly as your lips moved against his. It was fire and silk and all-consuming. His mouth moved with confidence, coaxing you, guiding you, his kiss deeper now, filled with something unspoken. You kissed him back with everything you had, wanting, needing, trying to remember everything, to feel everything.

When he finally pulled away, both of you were breathless. The windows were fogged, your hearts thundering. He looked at you with wide eyes and a half-laugh in his voice. “Let’s get you back to the dorms before I forget this is supposed to be educational.” You blinked at him, flustered and floating somewhere between disbelief and bliss. You nodded, cheeks burning, and didn’t say a word.

The morning sun crept in through the slats of your blinds like a quiet promise, painting golden stripes across your sheets and the cluttered floor of your dorm. You stirred slowly, a little dazed, blinking against the light and the memory of last night that came flooding back all at once. Lee Heeseung kissed you. Correction: you kissed Lee Heeseung. Twice, you never thought you would see the day. Your cheeks burned as you sat up, the remnants of sleep falling off your body like petals, replaced with a rush of electricity that made you want to scream into your pillow. It wasn’t just that it was your first kiss, it was the way it happened. Soft. Gentle. Focused. Like he’d been waiting to kiss you and didn’t know it until the moment your lips touched. You padded across the dorm floor, slipping into your morning routine with a weird sort of buzz in your chest. Toothbrush. Face wash. Outfit. Breakfast bar you didn’t feel like eating. But everything felt brighter. Softer around the edges. You were still you, but something inside of you had shifted just a little to the left. Your phone buzzed.

[ heeseung ]

Studying tonight? Meet me at the campus cafe. 6pm sharp.

Your breath caught, and for the briefest second you just stared at the screen, heart kicking up a beat like it remembered the feeling of his mouth on yours.

[ You: ]

Is this a date or is Mr. Yoon threatening your scholarship again?

Three dots danced on your screen before his reply popped up:

[ heeseung ]

Can’t it be both? 😏

You let out a snort and shook your head, fingers tapping against the glass.

[ You ]

Fine. But I’m only coming for the lattes. And the pity.

[ Heeseung ]

You love me for my academic desperation.

The audacity of how quickly your fingers typed out “maybe I do” and how fast you deleted it made your heart skip. You settled on a safer:

[ You ]

6pm sharp. Don’t be late, loser.

He didn’t respond right away, and that was probably for the best. Your head was still spinning with thoughts you didn’t know what to do with. Because despite the fact that this whole arrangement started as a carefully crafted plan to get Soobin to notice you, Heeseung had crept under your skin in a way you hadn’t expected. You were supposed to tutor him, he was supposed to help you get a makeover and gain confidence. You were not supposed to like the way he looked at you. Or the way he laughed at your jokes, like they were the funniest thing he’d heard all day. Or the way he kissed you like kissing you was something he’d been waiting to do forever. And yet…You shook your head and tried to push the thoughts down as you threw your backpack over your shoulder. There wasn’t time to obsess. You had a class to get to and a very smug, stupidly attractive boy to study with tonight. Still, as you stepped out into the cool morning breeze, you caught yourself smiling. That soft, barely-there kind of smile that made your cheeks warm and your chest float.

The clock on the café wall ticked toward six with the dramatics of a heartbeat, each second heavier than the last. You stood outside the door for a moment longer than necessary, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. It was just a study session. Nothing more. Just like it had been every time you’d met with him to talk about literature, syntax, metaphor, only now, every word he spoke felt double-edged. Heeseung had kissed you. Twice. You had kissed him back. And now here you were, stepping into the soft glow of the campus café, with your heart tucked somewhere beneath your collarbone and trying desperately not to show itself. Heeseung was already there, lounging in the corner booth like it was made for him. One long leg stretched out in front of him, a cup of iced coffee sweating on the table beside a half-opened notebook. His face lit up when he saw you, that easy grin sliding onto his lips as if it belonged there. You hated how your stomach flipped.

“You’re late,” he teased, gesturing at the seat across from him.

You scoffed, sliding into the booth and unzipping your bag. “It’s 5:59. Maybe your watch is just as bad as your syntax.”

He let out a sharp laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Touché.” You started with the basics, flipping through your annotated copy of Frankenstein, pointing out literary devices with the kind of precision you were proud of. Heeseung listened. Really listened. His brow furrowed when he was concentrating, and his eyes flicked back and forth between you and the book like he was trying to stitch your words to the page in real time. He asked questions, good ones, and when he got something right, his grin was so smug you almost threw your pencil at him. But then, somewhere between explaining tragic irony and discussing the gothic atmosphere, his focus started to slip. You were mid-sentence when you felt it, his fingers poking at your side, soft and quick like a spark.

You jumped, letting out a startled laugh. “What the hell?”

Heeseung smirked, clearly proud of himself. “You were monologuing. I had to bring you back to earth.”

“You’re such a child.” You quip.

“A cute child,” he said, wiggling his brows. You rolled your eyes, shoving him lightly with your foot under the table, but there was no bite behind it. There never was anymore. Then, he leaned back in the booth, his voice lowering just enough to signal a shift. “I have an idea, by the way. About how you can actually talk to Soobin.”

You blinked, momentarily derailed. “You mean… like a conversation that doesn’t involve holding a door open and whispering thanks?”

He smirked. “Exactly like that.”

“Well? I’m listening.” Heeseung’s gaze flicked over your face before he continued. “Sunghoon’s hosting a get-together tomorrow night. It’s not a huge thing, more like a casual hangout. Pizza, soda, football on the TV, the works. Soobin’s gonna be there.”

You hesitated, twirling your pen between your fingers. “I mean, yeah, that sounds okay but…” You tilted your head. “Is it going to be weird if I’m the only girl there?” Heeseung paused. That pause said more than he probably meant it to. He scratched the back of his neck, like he was bracing himself.

You narrowed your eyes. “What? What is it?”

He sighed. “Sakura, Dani, and… Wonyoung are going to be there too.” Your heart dropped straight to your feet. You leaned back against the booth, head tilted toward the ceiling in a dramatic groan. “Of course they are.”

“I get it if you don’t want to come,” he said quickly. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

But you shook your head, jaw tightening with something that tasted like defiance. “No. I’m going.”

Heeseung blinked. “Really?” his shock, palpable.

“Yeah,” you said, voice sharper than you meant it to be. “I’m not going to let them ruin this. I’m not going to let her ruin this.” You didn’t have to say her name. He knew. Still, you couldn’t help yourself from asking, quieter now. “Why is Wonyoung even going to something like that? I thought you two were… done.”

“We are,” he said. “But she’s still friends with the guys. She shows up to stuff. It’s… whatever.” It wasn’t whatever to you, but you nodded anyway. Because you knew if you let your thoughts go too far, you’d unravel right there over your half-drunk latte. Heeseung shifted again, this time leaning in closer. “Hey. If anything happens, if anyone says something, or makes you uncomfortable, I’ve got you. Okay?”

You looked at him, really looked at him, and for a moment the din of the café faded behind the weight of that promise. “Okay,” you said. And just like that, it was settled. Tomorrow night, you’d walk into a room where your ex-best friends and your accidental nemesis would be seated on one side, your crush would be on the other, and Heeseung would be somewhere in between. You had no idea what would happen. But you weren’t going to back down.

It was barely past six when you heard the knock on your dorm doo, three quick raps followed by a familiar “Let’s go, loser” muffled through the wood. You smoothed down your shirt, did a quick breath check (because you were just being cautious, not because you were thinking about kissing him again), and opened the door. Heeseung stood there, smug as ever, but there was something different in his eyes, an excitement that made him bounce a little on the balls of his feet. “You’re early,” you said, raising a brow.

“I’m prompt,” he corrected with a wink. “Besides, I couldn’t wait to show you this.”

He brought his hands out from behind his back, and there, held like a treasure map or some kind of sacred scroll, was a single sheet of paper. You blinked, confused, until your eyes scanned the header and the bold black print across the middle. Literature 206 – Midterm Grade: 85% Your gasp was dramatic, theatrical, the kind of sound that would’ve made someone down the hall poke their head out in concern if it hadn’t immediately been followed by your delighted squeal.

“Shut. Up!” you shouted, grabbing the paper from his hands and spinning to look at it closer. “Heeseung, you passed! You didn’t just pass; you did amazing!” He grinned like a fool, the kind of smile that made your chest feel too tight, and before you could even think about it, you launched yourself forward and hugged him. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and his arms instinctively caught you around the waist, the paper crushed between your bodies. He laughed, that soft, deep sound you were starting to crave more than you should. And when you pulled back, just barely, your faces were close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.

“Told you I was a genius,” he murmured. You rolled your eyes, still beaming. “No. I’m the genius. You’re just the pretty face riding my coattails.”

He shrugged, smug. “Well, now that I’m officially a scholar,” he plucked the paper from your hand, “it’s time to cash in on your prize.”

You tilted your head. “Prize?” He held the door open for you, gesturing dramatically. “Tonight, you talk to Soobin. It’s finally your moment, superstar.” Your smile faltered, just a hair. Because somewhere, buried beneath all your excited nerves and fresh lip gloss, there it was. That voice. Small. Soft. Inconvenient. What if I don’t want Soobin anymore? You blinked, shoved it down. Laughed, even, like it wasn’t true. But it was. Or at least…it was becoming true. Every second you spent with Heeseung, that voice got louder. The boy who was once just a cocky annoyance was now a constant in your thoughts. He made you laugh. Made you feel seen. Kissed you like you were the only girl in the universe.

But you didn’t say any of that. Instead, you slipped past him into the hallway and said, “Well, let’s not keep my prize waiting.” The drive to Sunghoon’s house was familiar now, the same twisty roads and flashing streetlights. Heeseung’s music was loud, upbeat, something with too much bass and a beat that rattled your bones, but you didn’t mind. He drummed his fingers on the wheel, occasionally tapping along to lyrics, and every so often he’d glance at you out of the corner of his eye and smirk like he knew something you didn’t.

Maybe he did. You watched the world blur outside the window, trying not to think too hard about anything. Not the party. Not Soobin. Not the fact that Heeseung’s cologne was now recognizable by scent alone, or the way your hands had fit so naturally around the nape of his neck just moments ago. When he pulled into Sunghoon’s driveway, the house was already glowing, warm lights, windows open, the soft buzz of voices filtering out to the street. You took a breath.

“Ready?” he asked, not moving to get out just yet. You turned to look at him, heart thudding somewhere between nervous and expectant. “Let’s do it,” you said.

You weren’t sure when your heart had started beating so hard, only that you could feel it in the soles of your feet and the tips of your ears. From the moment you stepped out of Heeseung’s car and followed him to Sunghoon’s front door, your nerves had been steadily building, like pressure in a shaken soda can. The lights inside were warm, the sounds of chatter and clinking glasses casual, but nothing about this night felt easy. You stepped through the threshold like you owned the place, chin high, spine straight, masking your spiraling thoughts with the practiced poise of someone who’d watched one too many confidence tutorials on YouTube. Heeseung’s hand hovered protectively at the small of your back, just barely touching, but grounding you all the same. That slight pressure said, I’m here, and for a moment, you could almost breathe.

The living room was full already. Jake sat cross-legged on the floor, waving a slice of pizza around mid-story, while Jay and Beomgyu were in the middle of a mock argument about what toppings were superior. Sunghoon looked up from where he was grabbing drinks and offered a casual grin. And then, your eyes caught them. Dani and Sakura, tucked on one side of the couch, their laughter too forced, their eyes on you too long. But, Wonyoung. She didn’t say anything at first. Just stared. Her gaze zeroed in on Heeseung’s hand still lingering on your back like it was a personal offense, her perfectly glossed lips curling into something sour. “What is she doing here?” she said finally, her voice louder than it needed to be, slicing through the room like a knife dressed in perfume. You froze, but Heeseung didn’t.

“She’s here because I want her here,” he said smoothly, not even looking at her. His tone was so offhand it made Wonyoung’s eye twitch. She scoffed, turning back to Jay with an exaggerated sigh, tossing her hair like she hadn’t just tried to publicly shame you. You swallowed hard. The room shifted again, the center of gravity pulling you straight toward the boy you hadn’t seen since the party. Soobin. He was seated on the couch, drink in hand, wearing a simple hoodie and jeans, his soft smile as warm as you remembered. He looked up when you approached, a flash of recognition lighting his expression.

“Hey — Y/N, right?” he asked, voice gentle.

You nodded, tucking hair behind your ear. “Yeah, that’s me.” He patted the cushion next to him, and you sat, acutely aware of the way Dani and Sakura were watching, and more intensely, the weight of Heeseung’s eyes on the side of your face. But for a moment, none of that mattered. You and Soobin fell into conversation like it was the most natural thing in the world. He asked about your classes, your major, if you were enjoying campus life. His smile never left his face, and yours slowly returned to yours. You laughed at something he said, something dorky and sweet about how he got locked out of his dorm last week, and your hand brushed his arm without thinking. And then your eyes darted up, Heeseung, across the room, sprawled in a chair like he wasn’t watching. But you could feel his attention. Like it was tethered to your pulse.

Before you could dwell too long, a sharp clink of a glass brought everyone’s attention back to the group. Wonyoung, placing her drink with a flourish, said, “We should definitely play Never Have I Ever.” Heeseung groaned immediately. “Are we really doing every high school game in the book this week?”

She shrugged, all innocent smile and lethal intentions. “Come on, it’ll be fun.” A chorus of agreement echoed around the room, and you knew, there was no getting out of this one. Someone dimmed the lights slightly as everyone started moving toward the center of the room, sitting in a loose circle with half-finished pizza slices and soda cans in hand. You sat between Soobin and Heeseung, though the space between you and the latter felt a little too electric, like if you moved even an inch, you might get burned. The game began light, as they always do.

The circle had started off innocent enough, plastic soda bottles sweating on the table, crusted pizza boxes pushed aside, the living room heavy with the low hum of music and the occasional pop of laughter. Someone asked something dumb about stealing candy from a gas station. Another person confessed to cheating on a test in tenth grade. It was stupid, harmless, the kind of thing you could brush off with a smirk and a sip of your drink. But there was something in Wonyoung’s gaze that made the back of your neck prickle before she even opened her mouth. She was perched on the edge of the couch like a queen on her throne, manicured fingers curled delicately around her cup, eyes glittering with something sharp and venomous. She turned her head slowly, deliberately, and locked her eyes on you with a smile that didn’t touch her lips.

“Never have I ever…” she began, the silence prickling around her, “been a loser virgin that no man wants to touch.” The room froze. The words landed like shrapnel, hot and slicing through whatever warmth had existed just moments before. Your chest constricted instantly, the oxygen leaving your lungs in one swift rush. You could feel every pair of eyes in the room shift to you, some wide with shock, others downcast, uncomfortable. You sat rigid, your cup trembling in your fingers, your pulse thudding like thunder in your ears. And then Wonyoung, as if to twist the knife, tilted her head and said, sweetly venomous, “Y/N, that means you have to put your hand up.” Your throat tightened so fast it hurt. You blinked quickly, trying to swallow it down, trying to pretend you hadn’t heard her right. But Heeseung stood up then, voice sharp and cold in a way you’d never heard from him before. “Knock it off, Wonyoung.”

She gave a lighthearted shrug, still smiling like this was all some twisted joke. “I mean…it’s just a game, Heeseung. No need to get snappy.”

Dani scoffed, disgust heavy in her voice. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Cut it out.”

But the damage had already been done. Your vision blurred as a tear slipped down your cheek without permission, hot with embarrassment, with shame, with the kind of humiliation that clings to your skin like ash. The silence was worse than the laughter could’ve been, everyone staring, no one speaking. Just the sound of your shaky breath and the trembling rattle of your heart in your chest. You couldn’t stay. You wouldn’t. Without a word, you stood up on wobbly legs, grabbing your bag with clumsy fingers and bolting for the front door. You didn’t hear who called your name, didn’t wait to see who stood or who stayed behind. You just ran, your face burning and your lungs struggling to catch up to your heartbreak. Outside, the air was cold and biting, but not cold enough to numb the pain in your chest. You didn’t get far before you felt a hand gently catch your wrist, not rough, not demanding. Just there. Just him.

“Hey; hey, look at me,” Heeseung said softly, turning you to face him. The night was quiet except for your breaths, short and uneven. He reached up, brushing your tear-streaked cheek with his thumb, the gesture so tender you nearly fell apart all over again. “Don’t listen to her,” he whispered. “She’s miserable and she wanted to take it out on someone. That’s all this is.”

“I’m fine,” you choked out, even though you weren’t.

“No, you’re not.” His voice cracked slightly, and he gave a soft shake of his head. “And I should’ve never brought you here. I knew she was going to be here. That’s on me.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you whispered, your voice raw. “You’re not the one who humiliated me.” Still, his face was drawn with guilt, his brow furrowed. He opened the car door for you and you slid in, heart still pounding, nerves buzzing beneath your skin. He got in after you, but didn’t start the engine right away. The silence filled the cabin again, but this time it wasn’t awkward, it was heavy. Dense with something unspoken.

You stared at your lap, thinking of Wonyoung’s words again. Loser virgin. No man wants to touch you. It echoed in your head, bouncing around until it started to stick. Was she right? Was that why Soobin had never looked at you twice? Why you were always the girl just outside the circle? Before you could overthink it, before the voice of doubt could talk you down, you turned to Heeseung. “I want you to take my virginity.”

He blinked like he hadn’t heard you. “What?” You met his eyes this time, steady despite the tremble in your chest. “I want you to take my virginity.” The silence was immediate. Then sharp. His eyes widened, lips parting, trying to find something to say, some script, some defense. But nothing came. Just silence and the sound of your breath coming quicker than before. “I just…” you began, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. “What Wonyoung said. Maybe she’s right. Maybe Soobin wouldn’t want someone like me. Someone who’s never—”

“That’s not true—”

“Please.” Your voice cracked then, raw and soft, but full of something else too. Desperation, maybe. Maybe hope. Heeseung looked at you then, really looked. And something shifted in his gaze, his expression folding into something more serious, more solemn. There wasn’t any cocky grin, no teasing smirk. Just… sincerity.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

You blinked. “Yeah?”

He nodded once. “Yeah.” Relief washed over you slowly, curling around the fear that had taken root in your belly. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, something like gratitude spilling from your chest.

“Tonight?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t hesitate. “Tonight.”

And then he turned the key in the ignition, the engine humming to life as the two of you slipped into the dark, quiet night, no longer running away, but heading toward something that neither of you could quite name yet. But you could feel it, in the beat of your heart, the warmth in your chest, and the hand that rested gently over yours on the console.

The streets outside were washed in amber, the streetlights spilling honey-colored light onto the hood of Heeseung’s car as he pulled up to the quiet curb outside a low-rise campus apartment building. You recognized it, vaguely, though you’d never had a reason to be this far from your dorm before. He eased the car into park, the soft click of the gear shift cutting through the otherwise silent cabin. For a moment, neither of you moved. You were both suspended in this fragile, private space, like the world outside had hit pause just to give you this breath of stillness. He turned to you, one hand still on the steering wheel, the other reaching across the console like he might take your hand but thinking better of it. His gaze flickered to your face, warm and searching, not demanding. Not expectant. Just careful. Just him.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice low but steady. And you nodded. Without hesitation. Without the voice of Wonyoung echoing in your ears. Without thinking about Soobin or the plan or the stupid game that led you here. You nodded because it was Heeseung and somehow, in the softest, strangest way, you’d never been more certain about anything in your life.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sure.” That was all it took. Heeseung stepped out of the car, jogged around to your side, and opened the door for you, offering a hand as you slid out. The air between you pulsed with unspoken tension, not the bad kind, not the kind that makes you want to flee, but the kind that hums beneath your skin like a quiet, rising tide. Neither of you spoke on the short walk to the building. You could feel the beat of your own pulse in your throat, your palms, your knees. Every footstep up the stairwell echoed like a question you were still answering with every breath. When he unlocked the door to the apartment, you stepped into a place that somehow felt like him , even if it wasn’t entirely his. The living room was tidy but lived-in: a half-empty water bottle on the counter, a sweatshirt slung over the back of the couch, a flickering neon sign in the shape of a guitar hanging above the TV. There was a faint scent of cologne and fabric softener in the air , something warm and clean and utterly disarming.

You glanced around, instinctively nervous. “Are you sure no one’s—?”

“I live with Jake,” Heeseung said, gently tugging you further inside. “But he’s out for the weekend. Swear.” Jake was obviously still at Sunghoon’s house. So, you nodded, cheeks warm as he guided you toward the hallway. Every step felt louder now, your heartbeat echoing in your ears. You could feel the shift happening between you, something solemn, something sacred as he led you into his bedroom. The door clicked shut behind you. His room was dimly lit, the overhead light off, only the glow from a desk lamp in the corner casting soft shadows along the walls. Posters of concerts and bands you half-recognized were pinned above his bed. His guitar leaned against the corner, pick still nestled in the strings. The bed was made, barely and a hoodie lay crumpled on the chair by his desk. You turned to him again, breath caught somewhere in your chest. Heeseung was standing just a few feet away now, hands at his sides, gaze never leaving yours.

“Are you still sure?” he asked again, quiet and reverent. And again, you said yes. The word had barely left your mouth before he was stepping toward you, not fast, never fast , just sure, just gentle. His hand reached up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, fingertips brushing your cheek like he couldn’t believe you were real. Then he was kissing you, slow and careful, lips warm and familiar now. The kiss wasn’t like the one in the car, not teasing, not frantic. This one was patient, intentional. Like he was asking permission with every soft press of his mouth, like he was trying to memorize the shape of your yes.

The rest happened slowly. Clothes were shed like old skins, your nerves still there, still fluttering like moths in your stomach, but softened by the way he touched you. Every brush of his fingers was careful, every motion deliberate. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t teasing. He just was warm and present, grounding you with the weight of his hands and the way he whispered your name like it was something sacred. He kissed your shoulder. Your collarbone. The hollow behind your ear. He held you like you were something breakable and beautiful. When it finally happened, he was looking into your eyes, his hand laced with yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles to calm you. It hurt at first, of course it did, but it wasn’t scary. Not with him. And eventually the pain faded into something else entirely, something you couldn’t name, only feel.

His hands caressed your body like you were made of porcelain. His breathing hard groans falling from his lips with the severance of a melody you’d never want to forget. “Fuck” He grunted, his hips meetings yours. His forehead sheen with sweat fell against your naked shoulder, lining the skin with searing hot kisses.

“You feel so good.” His grip on your hips tightened as he allowed himself to go faster, rougher. The sound of skin, mixing with your breathy moans and Heeseung groans were the only sound in the room.

“Harder.” You choked, letting your head fall against the pillow, your hair creating a halo on the satin pillow case. “Please, Heeseung, harder.” You were begging, pleading for me. It felt too good, better than anything you’ve ever experienced and you just couldn’t get enough.

Heeseung groaned, a low groan that rumbled deep within his belly all the way up his throat. “You want it harder?” He asks, His eyes locked onto yours as you send him a frantic nod.

“Yes!” Your voice was almost shrill. “Please.” Your hands found his back, racking your nails up and down the skin — certainly leaving red marks in their wake. Heeseung’s hips pushed harder, the force of his thirst sending your body jerking upwards.

“Oh my god.” You hissed. “Oh my fucking–” Your voice was cut off with his lips falling to yours, his mouth swallowing the sound of your pleasure. He broke away from the kiss with a low moan and a shaky breath. Your breath caught as you tilted your head back, overwhelmed and undone in the best way. Heeseung murmured quiet things into your skin, not jokes, not one-liners, just your name. Just reassurance. Just closeness. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t fireworks. It was better than that. It was real.

When it was over, he didn’t roll away or laugh or ask how it was. He just stayed there beside you, your bodies tangled beneath his sheets, his thumb brushing lazy circles against your hipbone. You rested your cheek on his shoulder, skin still tingling, your heart finally slowing. And for a long time, neither of you said a word. You didn’t need to. Soon, you got up — put your clothing back on and thank Heeseung for all he did that night. You went to your dorm with an even bigger smile on your face.

Morning sunlight seeps through the cracks in your dorm blinds, painting golden stripes across your duvet and the delicate curve of your shoulder. You stir slowly, not with the usual groggy resistance of a school day, but with something like ease, something light. Your limbs feel loose beneath your sheets, your chest warm, your lips tingling with memories. Last night plays on a soft reel behind your eyelids: Heeseung’s hands, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing worth seeing, the way his voice trembled when he asked if you were sure. You smile before your eyes are even open. It wasn’t just physical , it was something else entirely. Something safe. Something soft. You don’t know what it means yet, or what it should mean, but right now, that doesn’t matter. What matters is the way you feel in this moment. Like maybe, for once, you’re not the DUF. Maybe, for once, you’re the girl someone actually wanted.

You get dressed slowly, pulling on your favorite jeans and a simple top that fits you right, a new confidence buzzing just beneath your skin. Your fingers hover over your phone more than once, tempted to text him, something casual, something teasing, but you stop yourself. You’ll see him in Lit anyway. And God, you can’t even begin to guess what that’s going to be like now. The walk to class is a blur of humming thoughts and overplayed memories, your heart skipping each time you think about him. You wonder if he’ll say something. You wonder if you should. You wonder if this is the start of something... more.

When you arrive at the building, the usual crowd of students loiters by the lecture hall, but your eyes find him immediately. Heeseung is leaning against the wall near the door, black hoodie pulled over his head despite the early morning sun, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. He’s looking down at his shoes, but as if sensing you, his head lifts, and there it is. That smile. Soft and crooked and just for you. “Look who finally made it,” you call as you approach, your tone light and teasing, the banter slipping into place like a well-worn jacket. “Didn’t think I’d see your face again after last night.”

Heeseung chuckles, pushing off the wall and falling into step beside you. “Please. You think you’d get rid of me that easy?”

You roll your eyes, a grin curling at your mouth. “You’re relentless.”

“Persistent,” he corrects with a grin of his own. “There’s a difference.” The air between you hums with something more than your usual back-and-forth, a soft awareness, a shared secret, the ghost of his hands still lingering on your waist. Heeseung’s eyes flick over your face for a moment longer than they usually would, like he’s trying to memorize something. Then, as you’re about to reach for the classroom door, he says your name, softly, tentatively. You pause, looking up at him. His expression has shifted, and it’s not teasing now. It’s serious. Vulnerable, almost. Like there’s a weight on his chest and he’s finally ready to let it tumble out.

“Hey, I—” Heeseung starts, but he doesn’t get far.

“HEESEUNG!” Beomgyu’s voice barrels down the hallway like a wrecking ball, all volume and chaos, and before either of you can react, an arm is slung around Heeseung’s shoulder. “Dude! Party tonight. Sunghoon’s place again. It’s gonna be chill this time, no cops, I swear. You’re coming, right? And you,” Beomgyu points to you with a grin, “you better come too. You’re the new fan favorite.” You let out a laugh, caught off guard, but Heeseung just gives Beomgyu a playful shove. “Yeah, alright. We’ll be there.”

“We?” Beomgyu raises an eyebrow, smirking as he wiggles his brows. “Noted.”

And just like that, Beomgyu is disappearing down the hallway, already off to deliver his invite to the next unsuspecting soul. You glance back at Heeseung, your brows furrowed just slightly. “What were you gonna say? Before Beomgyu... you know.”

Heeseung looks at you for a beat, quiet. And in that silence, something shifts again, but this time it doesn’t rise to the surface. Instead, he just shrugs, sliding his hands back into his pockets. “Nothing,” he says casually, a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Forgot what I was gonna say.”

You want to press, there’s something in the way he says it, the way his eyes flick away from yours for half a second too long, but you don’t. Not here, not now. So instead, you just nod, falling into step beside him as you both walk into the lecture hall. You’re still smiling. But this time, your heart is wrapped a little tighter in wonder.

The air tonight feels heavier, not unpleasant, just weightier, charged in a way that isn’t quite like the other parties. The crowd buzzes with the usual electricity, the low thump of bass vibrating through the floorboards, bodies weaving and pressing in rhythm to a beat no one truly hears. But you do. You feel it in your bones, in your blood, in the skin of your arms where goosebumps rise as you and Heeseung step through the doorway into Sunghoon’s house. He walks beside you, shoulder brushing yours, laughter spilling from his lips as he says something teasing about your outfit. It’s familiar, the way he leans in a little closer than necessary, the way he always seems to find something to comment on, from the way you wear your hair to how your drink tastes like battery acid. He’s still the same. But you’re not. Not exactly.

Because now you know what his breath sounds like when it trembles. You know how he looks when he’s above you, eyes full of questions and reverence like you were a poem he wasn’t sure he was allowed to read. You know what it’s like to be wanted, not by anyone, but by him. And that knowledge sits in your chest like a small fire, curling smoke and heat into your thoughts as you walk beside him. You make your way to the drink table where Beomgyu and Jay are pouring vodka into plastic cups with reckless enthusiasm, laughing at something Jake said. It’s all easy, the familiar chaos of a college party, but something inside you feels less swayed by the glitter of it now. Like you’ve seen what matters more, in the quiet hush of a dorm room when all the noise falls away and someone holds you like you're worth the wait.

You glance toward Heeseung, catching sight of him joining in a game of beer pong with Sunghoon. His laugh is loud, tilted back in his throat, his hair flopping into his eyes as he lines up a shot. He’s magnetic like this, full of life, a little too much, and always just enough. You don’t even notice the tap on your shoulder until you feel it. You turn around to see Soobin. Your stomach doesn’t flutter. Your pulse doesn’t spike. You don’t feel weak in the knees or dizzy in the way you once imagined you would. All you feel is... calm.

His smile is soft, almost sheepish, like he’s approaching a wounded animal. “Hey,” he says, voice raised slightly over the music. “I wanted to say… I’m sorry. For what happened the other night. Wonyoung was out of line, and honestly? Everyone knew it.” You blink at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. He rubs the back of his neck, eyes dipping away as if afraid to meet yours fully.

“That… that does make me feel better,” you say after a pause, offering him a genuine smile. It’s small but sincere, the kind of smile you give someone when you’ve outgrown the pedestal they used to stand on. He brightens at that. “Good. You didn’t deserve that.” The conversation unfolds easily, light, harmless. He asks about class, about your professor’s weird rant last week, and you laugh with him, grateful that it’s not awkward or strange. For a few minutes, it’s like nothing ever changed. But every now and then, your gaze slides across the room, to where Heeseung is, to the way his hand gestures wildly in the air after making a perfect shot, the way his eyes scan the crowd and catch on you. You feel it each time, that invisible thread tugging between you both, fragile but undeniable.

Soobin leans closer, tipping his head toward you. “Hey, the music’s kind of loud down here. Do you wanna go upstairs to talk?” You hesitate, only for a moment. This is what you’d wanted, wasn’t it? Alone time with Soobin. This moment; the intimacy, the possibility of something real with him, it used to be the end goal. It was the prize at the finish line. You look back toward the beer pong table. Heeseung isn’t there anymore. You swallow, forcing a smile as you nod. “Sure. Upstairs sounds good.” Soobin leads the way, and you follow, but there’s a hollow tug in your chest, a low ache that whispers: something’s different now. Something’s shifted. And you can’t quite tell if you’re walking toward what you want… or away from it.

The upstairs hall is quieter, hushed like a cathedral built out of creaking floorboards and dim lighting. Soobin’s footsteps are steady ahead of you, confident, calm. You follow him down the hallway, the thump of bass from the party below now muffled by layers of drywall and closed doors. He opens one at the end, someone’s bedroom, likely Sunghoon’s spare guest room and steps inside without hesitation. You enter, arms crossing over your chest instinctively. The room is sparsely decorated: a bed, a desk, a dresser with a dusty mirror. A single lamp glows faintly in the corner, casting everything in warm amber light. The kind of soft hue that makes everything feel a little too intimate.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, hands fidgeting in your lap. Soobin stands near the dresser, one hand running through his hair like he’s searching for the right words, the right entry point into something he’s been building toward. You try not to think about how your heartbeat doesn’t pick up like it used to. How your stomach doesn’t flutter. How the moment you used to dream about, you and Soobin alone in a room, about to have that talk, feels just a little off-center now. He turns to you, expression unreadable. “Can I ask you something?” You nod.

He gives a breathy laugh, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Do you… have a crush on me?”

The question hits you like cold water to the face. You blink. “What?”

“I mean,” he shrugs, “you’re here with me. Alone. Talking like this. And I’ve noticed you kind of… watching me sometimes. Not in a bad way, I just — I figured maybe you liked me.”

Your mouth opens, but no words come out right away. You weren’t expecting this — not so directly, not right now. But wasn’t this the whole plan? The makeover, the party, the studying with Heeseung, the kiss that didn’t happen, wasn’t this what you’d wanted from the beginning? So you say it. Quietly, like you’re repeating a line in a play. “Yes. I think I do.” Soobin smiles softly, like that was the answer he expected. He walks over, taking the spot next to you on the bed. There’s a small silence, not quite awkward but definitely unsure. Then, without another word, he leans in. And kisses you. It’s gentle. Thoughtful. His lips press to yours with an easy kind of care. But instead of feeling sparks or butterflies or that dizzy, swept-away sensation you thought would come, all you feel is stillness. Like kissing someone underwater. The moment suspended. Weightless. Hollow.

You don’t know how long it lasts, but eventually, your hand moves to his chest and you pull away, slow and apologetic. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, eyes avoiding his. Your heart pounds for all the wrong reasons. “I… I don’t think I feel what I thought I felt.”

Soobin tilts his head slightly, studying your face. “What do you mean?” You look down at your hands, twisting your fingers in your lap. “I thought I liked you. I really did. But it doesn’t feel… right. Not like I thought it would. Not like…” You trail off, not daring to finish the sentence. Soobin hums thoughtfully, like he’s already solved the puzzle.

“Ah,” he says, nodding once. “I get it.”

Your eyes lift, hopeful. “You do?”

A soft chuckle escapes him. “You like Heeseung.” It’s not a question. It’s a truth laid bare between you. You pause, breath catching in your throat. Then you nod. Slowly. “I think I’m in love with him.” There’s a moment of quiet. Not heavy. Not tense. Just the shared acknowledgment of something that’s been true for a while now, you just hadn’t let yourself name it.

To your surprise, Soobin smiles. Not bitter or wounded, just warm. Maybe even relieved. “I think you should tell him,” he says.

You swallow. “You think I should?” He nods, leaning back on his hands. “I think you’d regret it if you didn’t.”

Your heart flutters with something different this time, not nerves, not fear. Hope. You stand up, legs shaky beneath you, but your decision anchors you. As you move toward the door, Soobin calls out softly, just before your hand touches the knob. “He loves you back, you know.”

You turn your head, eyes wide. “You think so?”

“I know so,” he says, simple and sure. You nod once, lips parting just slightly. “I hope you’re right.” And then you step into the hallway, closing the door quietly behind you. The music is still thudding below. The party still rages. But you’ve never felt more clear. Never more certain of who, or what, you want. It’s not about proving anything anymore. Not about being experienced or wanted by anyone. It’s about him. And tonight, you’re going to tell him.

You step down the creaky stairs, the bass from the party still thumping like a distant pulse beneath your skin. Your breath catches, a subtle panic fluttering in your chest as you scan the crowded living room for Heeseung’s familiar face. Your eyes dart past groups of laughing friends, clusters of conversations, and neon lights that blur faces into hazy outlines. But he’s nowhere to be found. Heart pounding in your throat, you veer toward the kitchen, hoping for some sign, a whisper, a clue. There, leaning casually against the counter, is Jake. His usual smirk falters when he notices your searching gaze. “Hey,” you say, voice barely steady. “Have you seen Heeseung?”

Jake shrugs, tossing a grape into his mouth. “Last I saw, he was in the living room with a bunch of people. Why? You looking for him?” You nod and push past him, a fragile thread of hope knitting itself between your ribs. The living room comes into view, and your steps slow, the air thickening in your lungs like smoke. And then you see him. There, framed by a cluster of familiar faces, is Heeseung. But he isn’t alone. Wonyoung stands close beside him, her body pressed against his in a way that twists something cold and sharp through your heart. His arm snakes possessively around her waist, fingers resting lightly but surely on the curve of her hip. She leans in, lips ghosting across his neck and jaw, a soft, intoxicating murmur escaping her mouth as he whispers back.

The scene unfolds like a cruel play, one you wish you could close your eyes to, but you can’t look away. Your chest caves inward, a hollow ache blossoming beneath your ribs. Your stomach churns, bile rising bitterly as you struggle to breathe through the sudden swell of nausea and heartbreak. You try to wrench your gaze away, but the sight sears into your vision, branding itself onto your soul. You can’t watch. Turning on your heel, you stumble toward the door, desperate to escape the cruel tableau. The room blurs around you, faces, laughter, music, all fading behind the tight clamour of your ragged breaths and pounding heartbeat. Tears spill unbidden from your eyes, tracing warm, salty rivers down your cheeks. Each step away from the party feels heavier than the last, like you’re sinking deeper into a pool of your own shattered dreams.

You reach the night air, the cold biting at your skin but failing to soothe the ache inside. Pulling your phone from your pocket with trembling fingers, you summon an Uber. The glow of the screen feels alien in your hands, like a lifeline thrown across an endless chasm. Inside the car, the world outside dissolves into a blur of streetlights and shadows, but your tears keep falling, a steady cascade that no driver’s small talk or cityscape can interrupt. Your hands grip the seat, knuckles white, as the distance between you and the party grows with every passing mile. You are utterly broken. Stupid, you think bitterly. Stupid for believing, even for a moment, that someone like Lee Heeseung, with his easy charm and dazzling smile, could fall for someone like you. The DUF. The girl who blends into the background. The girl no one notices, the girl no one wants. You were chasing a dream painted in stardust and whispered promises, but it was always just that, a dream. And now, all that’s left is the ache of reality settling cold and hard in your chest.

The days bleed into each other like a slow, endless ache. You find yourself cocooned in your dorm, wrapped in the faded threads of your favorite hoodie, the one that swallows you whole and carries the scent of safety and solitude. The glasses sit perched on your nose, a barrier between the world and the girl who once believed she could be someone else. The weight of silence presses down, heavier than the thick blankets you pull up to your chin. Your phone lies discarded across the bed, buzzing and blinking with countless unanswered texts and missed calls from Heeseung, each one a fresh pang of regret and confusion you’re too scared to confront. You don’t know how to face him. How to face the truth that your heart still aches for the boy who chose someone else, who wrapped his arms around Wonyoung like you were a ghost in the room. You feel like you’ve been stripped bare, every hope unraveling thread by fragile thread. The girl who dreamed of being seen, of being wanted, it’s hard to find her beneath the rubble of broken promises and whispered lies.

Night falls again, the shadows gathering in the corners of your room as if to hold you close in your loneliness. The quiet hum of the city outside is distant and indifferent. You lie there, heart heavy, tears tracing silent rivers down your cheeks, when suddenly there’s a knock at your door. Sharp. Insistent. You don’t want to move, but something in the rhythm of that knock stirs you, a fragile hope tangled with dread. With aching limbs, you pull yourself from the bed, the cold floor a harsh reminder of the world beyond your blankets. You open the door slowly, and there he is, Heeseung. His presence fills the doorway, that familiar, impossible beauty that twists your heart in the best and worst ways. It makes your head spin, your breath catch in your throat.

His eyes search yours, deep pools filled with worry and something you can’t quite name. “Why haven’t you been answering?” he asks softly, voice low, as if afraid to break the fragile silence. “I saw you go upstairs with Soobin the night of the party…” Your throat tightens, the words choking you before you can even think. You take a shaky breath, then whisper, “The deal’s off. You don’t need to worry about making me ‘hot and popular’ anymore.”

His brow furrows, concern deepening. “What happened? Did Soobin hurt you?”

You shake your head, voice trembling but firm. “No. Just… go, Heeseung. Please.”

You reach out, beginning to close the door, but before it shuts, his foot slides gently into the frame, stopping it with quiet insistence. The space between you is charged, a fragile tension stretched thin. His voice is almost a plea. “What’s going on?” The walls you’ve built so carefully around your heart begin to crumble. You swallow hard, biting back the tears that burn your eyes, and say the words you’ve been holding in for too long. “I’m tired. Tired of pretending to be someone I’m not. Tired of playing a role, like I can be that girl, the one everyone notices, the one guys actually want.”

Your voice falters, breaking with raw, aching honesty. “Guys don’t want me. Not really. Not like I am. This was an experiment... and it worked for you, but it didn’t work for me. So… can you just go?” The silence hangs between you like a thick fog. You hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, loud and ragged. This time, your hand moves with quiet finality, closing the door with a definitive click. The sound echoes in the sudden, crushing emptiness of your room. And then, the floodgates break.

You lean back against the door, knees buckling as the tears you held back spill free. The sobs come unbidden, shaking your body, hot and wrenching and real. Each tear a silent confession of heartbreak, loneliness, and the aching desire to be seen, not as a mask, but as the fragile, imperfect soul beneath. In this moment, the girl you tried so hard to hide is raw and vulnerable and fiercely alive. And though it hurts more than words can say, it’s the first step toward something real, toward healing, toward finding the strength to be exactly who you are.

The morning light feels colder somehow, less forgiving as you step out of your dorm room and into the brisk hum of campus life. Today, you wear your armor: a soft, oversized hoodie pulled low over your frame, the familiar weight of your glasses perched on your nose, and leggings that carry no pretense, no flash, no glamour, just you. The girl who sought to dazzle and command attention has quietly slipped away, replaced by someone quieter, more raw, but undeniably real. As you make your way across campus, the chatter and footsteps of other students blur into a dull roar, a soundtrack to your internal storm. The air is thick with the ghosts of last night’s heartache, the sting of broken trust still simmering just beneath your skin. You tell yourself it’s fine. You tell yourself you’re okay. You’ve got this.

The lecture hall door creaks open, and you slip inside, hoping to be invisible, hoping to blend into the shadowy back rows where no one will notice your retreat from the world. But no one really goes unnoticed, especially not in a room charged with unspoken tensions. And then, just as your foot finds the seat furthest from the usual spot beside Heeseung, you hear it, a snide, low comment slicing through the hum of settling students Wonyoung’s voice, sharp and dripping with that familiar edge, echoes just enough for you to catch it. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s aimed right at you. But this time, something’s different. The bite of her words doesn’t sting. The heat of embarrassment doesn’t flush your cheeks. You simply keep walking, your stride steady and unyielding, heart quietly defiant beneath the soft fabric of your hoodie.

You settle into your seat at the very back, far away from the usual orbit of Heeseung’s presence. And yet, even from there, you feel the weight of his gaze, like a hawk circling above, watching, waiting. His eyes flicker toward you in stolen moments, cautious and curious, as if trying to read the new lines etched into your silence. But you refuse to meet his gaze. You bury yourself deeper into your solitude, the words of the lecture washing over you like distant thunder, barely registered by a mind that’s a million miles away. Minutes stretch on, the clock ticking with relentless indifference. You notice the way Heeseung’s fingers tap lightly against the notebook in his lap, his eyes darting toward you in quick, nervous glances. It’s as if he’s searching for a way back in, a crack in the armor you’ve so carefully constructed. But today, you are a fortress, quiet and impenetrable.

When the final bell rings, a sharp and liberating sound, you rise without hesitation, stuffing your books into your bag with brisk efficiency. Heeseung’s voice trails behind you, soft, hopeful, “Hey, wait—Y/n!” but you don’t stop. You don’t turn. The hall swallows your footsteps as you push through the doors, leaving the echoes of his call behind you.

The evening wrapped itself around your dorm room like a velvet shroud, the dim light casting soft shadows over your tangled sheets and the quiet ache that clung to your chest. You lay there, cocooned in your own solitude, the weight of recent nights pressing down like a relentless tide. The world felt heavy and distant, and the thought of moving, speaking, or facing anything at all felt like a mountain too steep to climb. Then, a sharp knock echoed through the silence, jolting you from your quiet reverie. “Please go away, Heeseung,” you mutter, voice thick with exhaustion and guarded pain, already bracing yourself for the storm you didn’t want to weather again.

But the voice that answered wasn’t his. Soft, hesitant, and tinged with something almost vulnerable, Dani’s words floated through the door: “It’s not Heeseung… please, just open up.” Your heart stutters, surprise and a flicker of warmth breaking through the cold shell you’d built. With a weary sigh, you push yourself up, the weight of days pressing down on your limbs, and unlock the door. There, standing in the dim hallway, were Dani and Sakura, faces soft, eyes sincere, their usual confident air replaced with something tender and remorseful. They step inside without hesitation, their presence gentle like a balm, the space between you shrinking as they settle beside your bed.

“We’re so sorry,” Dani begins, voice low and earnest. “For everything. For not being better friends, for not being there when you needed us.” Sakura nods, her eyes shimmering with an unspoken apology. “We love you, Y/n. We do. And we’re sorry for making you feel anything less than amazing.”

Their words settle over you like a gentle rain, the unexpected kindness dissolving some of the walls you didn’t even realize you’d built so high. They smile, shy but genuine, and Dani confesses, “Sometimes, we’re even jealous of you. You make everything seem so effortless, being smart, funny, just... you. We try so hard, but you just shine naturally.” A quiet laugh escapes you, the sound rusty but honest. You joke back, teasing them for their dramatic flattery, and in the warmth of shared laughter, the tension unravels. The three of you fold into a comforting embrace, a hug woven with forgiveness and the promise of mended bonds.

After the moment lingers, Sakura’s voice breaks through, gentle but curious. “So, what about Heeseung? What’s really going on?” Your chest tightens as you recount the complicated arrangement, the late-night talks, and then, the confession that trembles on your lips. “I lost my virginity to him,” you say quietly, the words both heavy and liberating. “And in all of that... I fell in love with him.”

Their faces flicker between surprise and understanding. Sakura’s eyes soften as she speaks, “The way he looks at you... he loves you too, Y/n.” You shake your head, doubt gnawing at you like a silent ache. “But Wonyoung—”

Dani cuts in gently, firm and unwavering. “He doesn’t care about her anymore. And he never looked at Wonyoung the way he looks at you.” For the first time in what feels like forever, you want to believe them. You nod slowly, the weight of hope settling lightly in your chest. They urge you to hear Heeseung out, to let him speak and show you what’s truly there. But before the conversation can spiral further, they shift the mood, inviting you to a get-together at Sunghoon’s happening just minutes away.

At first, you hesitate, the memory of Heeseung and Wonyoung still stinging fresh. “Heeseung and Wonyoung—” you begin. Sakura cuts you off with a firm shake of her head. “They won’t be there. We promise.” That promise, fragile and shimmering with possibility, nudges you forward. You breathe in, steadying your heart, and then you say yes. Together, the three of you leave your room, stepping out into the night with tentative smiles and the fragile threads of renewed friendship and maybe, just maybe, a second chance at love waiting to bloom.

When you pull up to Sunghoon’s house that night, you’re half-expecting the pit in your stomach to grow teeth and chew you alive. But instead, you’re met with the warm, familiar glow of porch lights, the echo of laughter spilling from inside, and the voices of boys you’ve somehow come to know like brothers. Sunghoon, Jake, Jay, and Beomgyu greet you at the door like you’re royalty, like nothing in the world is out of place. They offer you sodas and cheesy jokes, Beomgyu pulling you into a dramatic bow while Jake salutes like you're being welcomed home from war. And for a flicker of a second, you forget it all, the ache, the shame, the heartbreak. You laugh. You actually laugh. You let your shoulders drop. You exist again.

Sakura appears at your side like she’s always belonged there and gives you a little nudge. “Hey,” she says, smiling with all her teeth, “Can you go grab the extra cooler outside? It’s on the deck.”

You squint at her. “You have legs.”

“Yes,” she says sweetly, “but you have main character energy tonight. So scoot.” You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, pushing through the backdoor into the backyard. And that’s when it happens.

Twinkling fairy lights string above you like constellations pulled down from the sky, wrapped through the branches of Sunghoon’s backyard trees. They blink softly around the bonfire, flames low and lazy, casting shadows across the grass. And there, seated on a log bench near the fire, is Heeseung. His head is bowed, fingers locked together like he’s praying or maybe bracing himself from falling apart. The moment he hears your footsteps, his head jerks up. His eyes meet yours, wide and uncertain. Time hiccups. You stare. He stares. And then, slowly, shakily, he stands.

“I’ve been trying to figure out what I was going to say to you when I saw you again,” he says, voice low but trembling with everything he’s been holding in. “And now… now that you’re actually here, looking like that…”

You blink. “Looking like what? Like a girl who’s no longer hot?” He shakes his head so fast and so fiercely that a laugh escapes your throat without permission.

“No,” he says, stepping toward you. “Looking like you. Just — you. Glasses, hoodie, stubborn scowl and all. You're beautiful.” Your breath stutters. The world sways. You try to speak, to make a joke, to do anything, but your lips don’t work. He fills the silence. “You’re so beautiful,” he says again, his voice stronger now. “And I love you.” You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You’re too stunned. Too overwhelmed. So he continues, and thank God he does.

“When I saw you go upstairs with Soobin that night… I thought I was gonna be sick. I’ve never felt anything like that. Not anger. Not sadness. Jealousy. Like I was losing something that wasn’t even mine to lose.” Your chest aches. You take a step closer, barely breathing. “Wonyoung came up to me after that,” he says, voice rougher now. “Told me she heard you and Soobin hooking up. She tried to kiss me. Said I should get over it. But I didn’t care what she said. Even if you were with Soobin, I didn’t want her. I wanted you. I’ve always wanted you.”

You want to cry. You want to melt. But mostly, you want to run to him.

“I was never going to get in the way of you and him if that’s what you really wanted,” Heeseung continues. “But then, when you told me outside your dorm that it wasn’t going to work out… I knew. I had to tell you how I felt.” His eyes lock on yours with full, unwavering honesty.

“I love you. Just the way you are. And I think I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you at Sunghoon’s party. When you insulted my G.P.A and spilled that drink all over yourself.” He laughs, almost breathless. “That’s when I knew I was doomed.”

A laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it, wet and cracked but real. You take one step closer, then another, until the distance is gone. “I kissed Soobin,” you whisper, eyes locked on his. “Upstairs, that night. And it was... fine. But while it was happening, all I could think about was you. That stupid smile of yours, your dumb little jokes, the way you hold the steering wheel with one hand like you're in an action movie... I realized something.”

Heeseung holds his breath.

“I realized that I love you. Your charm, your goofiness, the way you never let me walk on the outside of the sidewalk. I love you, even the parts I think I hate, because it’s you. And I want you.” His mouth opens like he might say something witty, but he doesn't. He just crashes forward and kisses you, fierce, certain, heart-shaking. His hands come to your face, cradling you like you’re something sacred. It’s not gentle, not this time. It’s messy and passionate and breathless, like a whole novel written in one kiss. Like everything unspoken finally found its voice.

When you finally part, foreheads touching, breath mingling, he murmurs, “You’re it for me, Y/n.” You smile, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“And you’re the dumbest genius I’ve ever met,” you say softly, kissing him again.

Somewhere behind you, from the house, you hear Beomgyu shout, “ARE THEY FINALLY MAKING OUT?!” And then Jake yells, “SUNGHOON OWES ME FIFTY BUCKS!”

You both break apart laughing, and Heeseung groans. “God, they’re never gonna let us live this down.”

You grin, cheeks flushed. “Worth it.” Because it is. It always was.

(♬) - @beomiracles @biteyoubiteme @hyukascampfire @dawngyu @izzyy-stuff @1-800-jewon @xylatox @firstclassjaylee @teddybeartaetae @hoonjayke @princesstiti14 @seokjinthescientist @lillotus17 @yeonmuse @hoonieyun @s1rawb3rry

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sunsetpossum · 4 days ago

Text

TEACH ME —- P.S.H

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅ ⋅•⋅⋅•

What starts as playful flirting lessons turns into real stolen glances, lingering touches, and two people quietly falling — one too scared to admit it, and one already too far gone.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅ ⋅•⋅⋅•

GENRE Romantic Comedy · College AU · Friends to Lovers · Slow-Burn Flirtation

TONE Playful · Emotionally Grounded · Flirt-Heavy · Softly Tense · Lighthearted with Deep Moments

wc: 41k (im sorry)

RATING Mature eventual smut, teasing, emotionally vulnerable intimacy- explicit sexual content, dirty talk, mutual confession, love-drunk behavior, praise kink, fingering, oral (f + mreceiving), squirting, overstimulation, BREEDING penetration, lots of kissing, spit, hair pulling, consent-focused, emotional intimacy, soft aftercare

SYNOPSIS - You're the bold flirt of campus - confident, charming, always one wink ahead of everyone else. Park Sunghoon is your complete opposite: quiet, top of the class, hopeless at flirting. So when you jokingly offer to teach him how to flirt, you expect to lead the game. But lesson by lesson, the rules start to change - and neither of you are pretending anymore. Because somewhere between stolen glances and almost-kisses, you both start falling — only, he's falling harder.

You'd never paid much attention to him before. He always sat two rows ahead of you in Professor Kim's communication seminar — quiet, perfectly straight posture, mechanical note-taking. You knew his name was Park Sunghoon because the attendance sheet always paused on it, like even the roll call respected his GPA. He had a reputation for being brilliant, awkward, and just a little bit... untouchable. And honestly? That made him boring. At least, that was your opinion until today, when Professor Kim assigned that group activity. The one where each pair had to analyze live body language and give a ten-minute presentation on flirtation psychology. In front of the whole class. There were thirty-two students. Sixteen pairs. And somehow, your name got called next to his. You heard the syllables — "Y/N L/N and Park Sunghoon" — and you actually laughed. Out loud. Not because it was funny, but because the universe had a sick sense of humor. Sunghoon turned around slowly in his chair. The eye contact lasted maybe two seconds. Just long enough for you to register the panic behind his sharp, dark eyes, and the way his jaw twitched like he was bracing for impact. Then he turned back to his laptop like you'd physically assaulted him by existing.

"Oh, this'll be fun," you muttered, already biting back a grin.

The first five minutes of your "meeting" did not go well. "I just... think we should keep it academic," he said, without looking up from his notebook. You raised an eyebrow. "It's literally a flirtation study." "Yes, but we could do a theoretical breakdown. No need to be... physical." You blinked at him. "You think I'm gonna kiss you in front of the class?" He didn't answer — just flushed a violent red and adjusted his glasses, which you weren't even sure he needed because he'd never worn them before.

Huh. You leaned back in your chair, studying him now. Sharp jaw, neat black hair, starched hoodie. His biceps flexed unintentionally when he crossed his arms, and for a split second, your brain short-circuited. Those arms did not match that personality. At all. And then — there it was. He licked his bottom lip nervously. And you noticed it.

The tiniest flash of a canine tooth that looked a little too sharp. Oh. No. He's a shy nerd with vampire teeth and hidden biceps? You were doomed.

_________

"So," you said, fingers tapping on your pen. "You really have no idea how to flirt, do you?" Sunghoon looked like you slapped him. "What? No, I— I mean, that's not relevant to—" "You've never flirted in your life." "I— That's—" He stammered. "It's not... necessary for academic success."

You burst out laughing. "That's the most Sunghoon thing you could've said." He frowned at you, cheeks still pink. "What does that mean?" "Nothing," you said, still grinning. "Just that this presentation is going to be a mess unless I take full control." He narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean?" You leaned forward, chin in hand, smile dangerously bright. "It means I'm gonna teach you how to flirt."

___________

Park Sunghoon blinked at you like you'd just offered to teach him black magic. "Flirt?" he echoed, slowly, like the word had never passed through his mouth before. You tilted your head. "You know. Flirting. Light eye contact. Verbal sparring. Emotional war crimes but in a cute way?" "I don't need to flirt," he said stiffly, pulling his sleeves over his hands. "I'm here to graduate." You deadpanned. "What, with a double major in loneliness and repressed eye contact?" That earned you a sharp glare. Okay, so maybe he had a little fire under all that stiff politeness. Interesting. "Look," you said, holding up your hands in mock surrender. "We're paired up. The assignment is literally about analyzing romantic body language. And judging by the way you flinched when I said the word 'kiss,' we're gonna fail unless one of us knows what we're doing."

Sunghoon's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. "We could still do a formal breakdown of physical gestures—" "Oh my god, are you trying to PowerPoint your way out of intimacy?"

He sputtered. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop from laughing. Just then, a chair screeched behind you. Jake plopped into it backwards, eyes wide, iced matcha in hand, as usual. "Okay, what did I miss? Are we betting on how fast you'll make this man combust?" "Jake," you said sweetly, "this is my partner, Park Sunghoon. Sunghoon, this is Jake — emotional support dumbass."

"Pleasure," Jake said, unbothered. "Love the arms, by the way."

Sunghoon went fully rigid. You could've died on the spot. "Jake." "What?" Jake grinned. "We're all thinking it. Look at the man. He's got 'deceptive hoodie strength.' Like those boyfriends in gym TikToks who throw their girls over their shoulder for no reason. I respect it." Sunghoon muttered something under his breath that sounded like a prayer.

You leaned back with a sigh. "Anyway. I offered to help him. Flirting lessons. For the sake of academia." "Oh no," Jake said, blinking. "You're doing the Thing again." "What thing?" Jake pointed his straw at you. "Where you think you're helping, but actually you're creating another man who'll fall in love with you and suffer quietly for six months."

Sunghoon coughed violently into his elbow. You ignored it.

------

The next day, you met again. And this time, you brought notes. Sunghoon walked into the café ten minutes early, as expected. He wore a clean white tee under an overshirt, glasses pushed up high on his nose. You hated how good his biceps looked when he rolled his sleeves. It was the nerd-hot combo of doom.

You waved him over to your corner booth. He sat like the chair was too fragile to hold the weight of whatever chaos you were planning. "So," you said, sliding a notebook across the table. "Flirting, Lesson One: Eye Contact." He stared at the notebook. "Is that... hand-drawn?" "Of course," you said. "Look at the shading on the smirk diagram. That took me twenty minutes." He blinked. "There's a chart labeled 'wink intensity scale.'" "Don't skip ahead." Sunghoon stared at you. You stared back. And that... that lasted longer than expected. His eyes were dark, serious, intelligent. He didn't break eye contact even once. And for a guy who supposedly didn't know how to flirt? He wasn't blinking.

You shifted a little in your seat. Sunghoon noticed. "Am I doing it wrong?" "No," you said, voice tighter than it should've been. "Actually that was... pretty good." He looked down, suddenly flustered. The spell broke. "Sorry," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm just... good at memorization." You almost choked on your own heartbeat.

⸻

By the time Lesson Two rolled around — "Accidental Touches That Aren't Actually Accidental" — you were beginning to understand something crucial. Sunghoon wasn't naturally flirty.

But he was scarily observant. "Here," you said, brushing his hand with yours over the sample cue cards you made, "see how that hesitation adds just a little tension?" He looked down at your hand. Then up. And he did it again. Deliberately. Fingers grazing yours for a second longer.

You stiffened. "Like that?" he asked, trying to sound clinical. But his voice cracked just slightly at the end. You looked up at him. He looked down at your lips. The air between you shifted. You pulled your hand back. "Yup. Perfect." You needed a moment to breathe.

⸻

Later that night, you recounted it all to Yunjin. She was horizontal on your bed, face down in a bag of kettle chips. "You're telling me he did the 'I'm an academic but accidentally hot' thing?" she asked, crumbs in her hair. "Yes." "And he made eye contact?" "Yes." "And you're not in love yet?" "I didn't say that." She looked up with narrowed eyes. "You're gonna kiss him." "No."

"You're gonna let him ruin you with science." "No!"

Yunjin tossed a chip in your direction. "Babe, you're not his tutor. You're his final exam."

________

Sunghoon was early again.

You weren't even surprised anymore. By the time you got to the library's fourth-floor study room, he was already seated, headphones on, pencil in hand, scribbling something furiously into the corner of a page. His hair was slightly messy today — not in an intentional way, just like he'd forgotten to run a hand through it after his shower. He had on a dark sweatshirt with the sleeves shoved up to his forearms again, and — unfortunately — the same stupidly perfect biceps made a guest appearance. You paused at the door. There was something weirdly calming about watching him before he noticed you. Like some kind of social wildlife documentary. Here we see the elusive nerd in his natural habitat, fully unaware of the emotional destruction he's about to cause.

Then he looked up. And immediately straightened in his chair like he'd been caught doing something illegal. "I wasn't— I was just going over the notes," he said. You blinked. "Notes... for flirting?" He turned pink instantly. "I mean. For class. But also, um, the other notes. I reviewed everything. From Lesson One and Two." You dropped your bag onto the chair beside him, impressed despite yourself. "Wow. You're really taking this seriously."

"It's an assignment," he said, avoiding eye contact again. "We should do well." You nodded slowly, lips twitching into a smirk. "Right. All for the grade." He didn't respond. His ears were red again. God, you were going to eat this boy alive.

⸻

Today's lesson was supposed to be "Tone of Voice." But you barely got through the first five minutes before Ni-ki walked in. "Yo," he said, sliding the door open like he owned the place. "Sunghoon, did you eat lunch or are you still running on shame and academic guilt?" Sunghoon sighed. "Ni-ki, what are you doing here?"

"Delivering food," he said, dramatically placing a brown paper bag on the table. "And moral support." You stared at him. "Do you... know what we're doing?" Ni-ki gave you a look that made you feel like you were twelve and embarrassing yourself at a talent show. "Y/N, the entire third floor knows what you're doing." Your stomach dropped. "What?" "You offered to teach the shy guy how to flirt. In a room with glass walls." He waved behind him. "There's a girl out there who's taking notes."

Sunghoon looked horrified. You pressed your hand over your mouth to stop from laughing.

Ni-ki leaned in. "Anyway, just wanted to say... good luck. Also, if he starts flirting too well, I will intervene. He's not ready for heartbreak." "I'm not the one who's going to break anyone," you muttered.

Ni-ki smirked, winked, and walked out like he hadn't just set the entire room on fire. Sunghoon stared down at his untouched food like it had personally betrayed him. "...Should we continue?" you asked gently. He cleared his throat. "Yeah. Sure."

⸻

You sat across from him, posture relaxed, fingers brushing the edge of your notebook. "Okay," you said. "Lesson Three. Tone."

Sunghoon nodded. "This one's tricky," you explained. "It's not what you say, it's how you say it. You could be saying something totally innocent, but if your voice drops just a little, it sounds..." You trailed off. His eyes were on you now. Steady. Focused. Quiet, but curious. "...Intimate," you finished. Sunghoon swallowed visibly. "So it's... inflection?" "Mmhmm. Try saying something neutral. Like..." You looked around. "Like 'I'm cold.'" He blinked. "I'm cold." "No. That's literal. Say it like..." You dropped your voice half an octave, softening the edges. "I'm cold."

Sunghoon froze. You arched a brow. "Your turn." He hesitated, eyes flicking to your mouth. "I'm..." He coughed. "I'm cold." It wasn't quite there — still a little stiff. But the second time? He looked right at you. Said it slowly. "I'm cold." And it landed. You blinked, slightly breathless. "That was... good." He glanced down. A tiny smile played at the corners of his lips.

You stared at him for a second too long. Your brain caught up. You snapped your notebook shut. "Okay. Lesson over." "But—" "We'll review it again tomorrow. With examples." He tilted his head. "Like what?" "Like— I don't know, tone shifts in compliments or something. Just— practice. With a friend. Not me. A different friend." He nodded, but there was something in his eyes. Something new. You didn't want to name it.

⸻

You ran into Eunchae at the vending machines later. "You've got that look," she said, sipping her juice box like a bored oracle. "What look?" "The 'I taught a boy how to flirt and now I'm scared' look." You groaned. "It's too early for this." "It's never too early for consequences." She tossed you a granola bar. "So. Has he tried to kiss you yet?" "No. Absolutely not." "Do you want him to?" You paused. Eunchae grinned. "Oh. We're in trouble."

⸻

Later that night, you reread your notes. Your handwriting from Lesson One looked ridiculous now. All those diagrams. All those dumb arrows and winking tips. You'd made them for fun — a joke. A challenge. Now it didn't feel so funny anymore. Because when you pictured someone practicing those lessons? You didn't like the thought of him trying them on anyone else. You didn't like it at all.

__________

The next day, you showed up ten minutes late to your own "lesson." Which, okay, technically wasn't your fault. Yunjin had cornered you in the hallway with a look that screamed trouble and immediately launched into a full-throttle spiral about whether she should text her ex "for closure" or "just to set his car on fire with emojis." By the time you escaped, you were speed-walking into the library study room with a bag of snacks, zero shame, and half your hair falling out of its clip. Sunghoon looked up from the desk like he hadn't moved in hours. "You're late," he said, but his voice wasn't annoyed — just observant. His usual soft-spoken calm. You dropped into the chair beside him. "You'll live. I brought Cheez-Its."

He blinked. "I'm lactose intolerant." You stared at him. He stared back. Then — and this was new — he smirked. "I'm kidding," he said. You blinked again. Was that... his first ever joke? Was it funny? Not really. Was it earth-shattering because he said it? Yes. You slid the snack bag across the table. "Okay, I'm gonna pretend you didn't just emotionally destroy me with dry humor. Ready for Lesson Four?" He nodded. Calm. Composed. You, meanwhile, had forgotten your own notes at home and were now pulling a half-crumpled worksheet from the bottom of your bag like a clown.

Today's topic: "Flirting in Context: Using Situations to Your Advantage." Totally harmless.

Totally fine. You glanced at the paper. Read the fake scenario aloud. "'Pretend you're trying to flirt with someone who just helped you pick up your dropped books. Your goal is to thank them and make it clear you're interested — without being too obvious.'"

You glanced up. "Okay. So let's say you dropped your stuff. I helped. You now have five seconds to shoot your shot." Sunghoon shifted in his seat, expression uncertain. You gave him a soft smile. "Don't overthink it. Just try." He nodded slowly. Then turned toward you, leaned forward just slightly — enough that the air changed. "Thanks," he said, voice lower than usual. "For helping." You tilted your head. "And?" He hesitated. Then his gaze dropped — slowly, deliberately — to your lips, then back up. "I'd offer to buy you coffee as a thank you, but I'm worried I'd get distracted watching you drink it." Your brain stuttered. What. What the hell. Sunghoon blinked at you. "Was that bad? It felt... too much."

You swallowed. "No, it was... good."

It was very good. It was dangerously good. "Where'd you get that line?" you asked, trying to sound neutral. He shrugged, cheeks pinking slightly. "Watched a rom-com last night. Took notes." You blinked. "You took notes on Netflix flirting?" He nodded. "Verbal delivery is more effective when there's a context model." You put your face in your hands.

⸻

An hour later, you were both packing up. The air was calm again. Neutral. The tension from earlier had been tucked away into a sealed, politely unacknowledged box — as always. You threw your bag over your shoulder. "Hey," you said lightly, "are you coming to the comms mixer tomorrow?" Sunghoon paused. "Mixer?" "Yeah — just a chill department thing. Free food. Mild chaos. Jake's going. Probably Eunchae too."

He hesitated. "You don't have to stay long," you added. "But it might be good... you know, for context." Sunghoon looked at you for a second longer than normal. Then nodded. "I'll go. For... research." You smiled, satisfied. "For science."

⸻

That night, your dorm was buzzing with noise. Jake had crashed on your floor to help "emotionally prep" you for the mixer by giving a dramatic reading of all your past bad decisions in chronological order. "And THEN," he said, standing on your desk like a Broadway villain, "she said, and I quote, 'flirting lessons will be good for him. I'm doing a service.'" Yunjin groaned from the bed. "A service? Girl, you're trying to seduce him with school supplies." "I am not!" Jake pointed a chewed pen at you. "Then explain why he made eye contact during a fake scenario and you sat there breathing like you just got hit by a semi."

You threw a pillow at him.

"I'm serious," Jake said, sitting down for once. "This boy is learning way too fast. He's either a natural or he's in love." You opened your mouth to argue. And couldn't. Yunjin leaned over and smacked your leg gently. "Bestie, you are so not immune to him." You groaned into your comforter. "It's too soon." Jake raised a brow. "You're teaching a man with visible biceps, vampire teeth, and perfect memory how to flirt. You're already doomed."

---

The next morning, you got a text.

[Sunghoon]: will you be at the mixer at 5?

You stared at your screen. Then replied:

[You]: yeah. why?

A beat passed.

Then his response lit up:

[Sunghoon]: just want to know who to look for.

You stared again. Sat down. And decided then and there you were in deep, deep trouble.

__________

College mixers were supposed to be awkward. That was just science. People stood in clumps like bad salad, half-holding paper plates full of grocery store cookies, pretending to be social while calculating the exact second it would be acceptable to leave without being judged. The snack table was a battlefield. The name tags were a lie. And no one — no one — actually wanted to be there longer than thirty-five minutes.

You, however, were thriving. Because when you knew how to work a room — when you were wearing your favorite skirt, and your lip gloss was glossy but not too glossy, and your top was tight in a way that said I'm approachable, but only if you're funny — these events turned into a kind of sport. Also: Jake was there. Which meant you were in for a show whether you wanted one or not.

"Tell me again," Jake said, dramatically swirling his plastic cup of lemon soda like it was vintage wine. "Why are we wasting our Friday evening surrounded by 22-year-old philosophy bros who think Plato invented flirting?" You snorted. "You said you wanted to emotionally support me."

"I do," he replied. "But I also want nachos. And a man with arms. I've seen neither." You pointed at the snack table. "There's guac." Jake gave it a glance. "That's not guac. That's a cry for help." You rolled your eyes and looked toward the door again. Sunghoon wasn't here yet. Which was fine. Normal. It wasn't like you were counting the minutes. Or fixing your hair every five seconds. Or replaying yesterday's I'd get distracted watching you drink coffee line in your head like it was a scene from a K-drama. Except... yeah. You were absolutely doing all of that.

And Jake noticed. "Oh my god," he whispered, clutching his chest. "She's got it bad." "I do not." "You've got the what if he touches my hand again on purpose this time look in your eye." "I do not!" "You wore your flirtiest skirt." "This is a normal skirt!" Jake gasped. "And the matching gloss? You hussy." "Shut up!"

But he just cackled and looped his arm through yours, dragging you away from the snack table and toward the little circle of people mingling by the projector. "Let's at least pretend to be social before you emotionally combust over your lab partner."

"He's not my lab partner." "He's your lesson plan with biceps." You said nothing. Because unfortunately, he was right.

---

You didn't notice Sunghoon arrive. You felt it. One minute you were in the middle of nodding politely through a senior's long, winding monologue about his thesis on media representation in 20th-century soap commercials, and the next— You felt the shift. A ripple. A presence. That weird crackle in the air when you know someone's looking at you — really looking. You turned your head. And there he was.

Park Sunghoon stood just inside the entrance. Dressed in his usual slightly-too-clean hoodie layered over a white shirt, hands shoved into his pockets, his posture a perfect balance of tense and composed. He scanned the room once — quick, efficient, quietly watchful — and then his eyes landed on you.

Your heart did something inconvenient. Sunghoon started walking toward you. Jake noticed before you did. "Ohhh boy," he said under his breath. "He's doing the walk." "What walk?" "The I came to see someone walk. He's zeroing in, Y/N." You tried to act normal. Casual. Chill.

You failed. Because Sunghoon stopped in front of you and said, softly, like you were the only one in the room:

"Hi." You blinked. "Hi." He looked at Jake. Nodded. "Hey." Jake gave a theatrical little bow. "I'll leave you two alone before I get third-degree burns from the tension. If you need me, I'll be over there pretending to understand grad students."

And then he was gone. Just like that, you were standing alone with Sunghoon at a mixer surrounded by fifty people, but somehow, it felt like the only sound in the room was your own heartbeat. "You came," you said, stupidly. He nodded. "You asked." You bit your lip. "Was it hard to find?" "No. I followed the noise." "Smart." Sunghoon gave a quiet, awkward chuckle — just a single exhale, but the sound hit you harder than expected. His eyes flicked down to your outfit, just briefly, before darting back up. You tried not to feel the way your stomach fluttered.

"You look—" he started.

You raised a brow. "Yeah?" His throat bobbed. "You look... confident." You blinked. That was such a Sunghoon answer. Not hot. Not pretty. Not beautiful. Confident. But the way he said it — like it mattered — made something in you soften. "Thank you," you said, genuinely. You weren't sure why your chest felt so full.

---

"Okay," you said, trying to break the tension. "Wanna play a game?" He blinked. "What kind?"

You grabbed two cups of soda and pulled him toward the corner of the room, where a big whiteboard had been set up with Expo markers and a prompt at the top: "Describe yourself in three words." "Come on," you said, handing him a marker. "We're doing this."

He stared at the board like it was a final exam. "You first," he said.

You scribbled quickly: chaotic, flirty, semi-responsible

Then passed him the marker. "Your turn." Sunghoon hesitated. Then slowly, carefully, wrote:

quiet, observant, trying

You paused. Looked at him. His expression was guarded, but something behind his eyes was soft. Like maybe he didn't realize how honest he'd just been. "Trying?" you echoed. He glanced at you. Then down. "Yeah."

You didn't say anything. Just smiled. "Okay," you said after a pause. "New lesson." He looked up. "We're going to test how well you remember Lesson Two. Accidental touches." Sunghoon stiffened. "In public?"

"Don't worry," you said, stepping closer — close enough to feel the heat from his arm. "Just follow my lead." You reached for your cup at the same time he did.

Fingers brushed. Paused. You didn't move away. Neither did he. You looked up. His breath caught — just slightly. But it was there. You smiled. "You passed."

Jake returned twenty minutes later, looked between the two of you once, and whispered under his breath: "Oh no. They're making eye contact. We're past the point of no return."

________

You ended up at a table in the far back of the mixer, somehow sandwiched between a half-eaten bowl of tortilla chips and a girl from the senior cohort who was aggressively pitching her student documentary about postmodern loneliness. Sunghoon sat across from you, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his hoodie like he was trying not to take up space. His name tag had somehow slipped down his chest at an awkward angle and was now reading P. Sunghoo, and for a solid five minutes he hadn't noticed. You didn't correct him. It was too cute. Jake noticed, though. "Oh my god, give me that," he muttered, walking over from across the room and snatching the crooked name tag off Sunghoon's chest like a concerned mother. "You look like someone who wandered in here by accident."

Sunghoon blinked up at him. "I... didn't notice." Jake fixed the tag, patted him lightly on the shoulder, and said with utmost seriousness: "You're flirting with a girl who wore eyeliner for you. You need to notice more." "Jake," you groaned. "What? I'm a wingman. It's my moral duty."

Jake flounced off again, leaving Sunghoon frozen mid-sip of his soda, ears bright pink. You smiled at him from across the table. "Ignore him. He gets dramatic when the crowd isn't about him." Sunghoon set the cup down carefully. "You wore eyeliner for me?"

You froze. He was looking at you now — directly. Not coy. Not teasing. Just curious. You laughed, flustered. "I wore eyeliner because I like eyeliner." He nodded slowly, almost like he was filing the answer away. "You look nice." You blinked. It wasn't flirtatious. It wasn't delivered with confidence. He said it like a fact — something undeniable, something obvious, something he'd probably been sitting on for the last thirty minutes.

Your chest tightened. "Thanks," you said, your voice softer than usual. "You do too." His eyes dropped for a second — not to check you out, but like he didn't know what to do with compliments when they came back to him. You wanted to touch his hand again. You didn't.

Eventually, Yunjin found you both and sat down beside you with a plate full of veggie sticks and a raised eyebrow. "So," she said, casually. "What's happening here?" "We're talking," you said.

"I can see that. But are you flirting or studying flirting? Because the line is blurrier than my foundation in this lighting."

Sunghoon turned bright red again and opened his mouth to respond — but Jake plopped down beside him before he could. Jake took one look at Sunghoon's expression and announced, "Oh yeah. We've entered the girl makes one joke and boy thinks about it for twelve hours phase." You covered your face with your hand. "Please stop analyzing him like a lab rat." "Then stop conducting experiments on innocent STEM boys!" Jake protested. "I feel like I'm watching someone flirt with a golden retriever that has anxiety."

"I do not have anxiety," Sunghoon mumbled. Yunjin patted his arm. "It's okay. Everyone here does. It's academic." Sunghoon gave a tiny, helpless smile. And weirdly, it suited him. He wasn't comfortable in loud groups, that much was obvious. But he was trying — not just showing up, but staying. Listening. Sitting beside you with his whole posture tilted slightly in your direction, like the room wasn't half as important as wherever you were. It made something quiet and warm unfurl in your ribs.

---

Eventually, people began to drift out. The lights dimmed. The professor hosting the event made a round of awkward "thank you for coming" announcements, and music started playing low through someone's Bluetooth speaker — barely a hum in the background, but enough to signal that the mixer had reached its vague after-hours phase. Yunjin and Jake wandered off, muttering about bathroom selfies and "accidentally" crashing the grad student mixer happening one floor up. Sunghoon looked at you. "Do you want to leave?" You hesitated. Then shook your head. "Let's stay. Just a little longer." So you did.

You ended up sitting next to each other on a window bench near the back of the room, legs stretched out, your shoulder brushing his lightly every time you shifted. At one point, someone brought out a deck of conversation prompt cards. They got passed around — silly, half-serious icebreakers. But when one of them ended up in your hand, you raised a brow and read it out loud. "'What's something you've always wanted to say to someone but never had the nerve to?'" Sunghoon tensed beside you. You looked at him. He looked straight ahead. Then, after a pause, he said — so quietly you almost didn't hear it: "Sometimes... I wish I didn't care about doing everything right." You turned your head slowly. Sunghoon was still staring at the floor.

"People expect me to have answers," he said. "To act a certain way. To be composed. I'm not good at... this." His voice dropped a little. "Talking. Feeling. Whatever this is."

You said nothing. Just waited. After a moment, he looked at you. "But I want to learn." Your breath hitched. And then, because you didn't know what else to do, you reached out and nudged his wrist gently with your fingers. It wasn't a big gesture. Not a hand-hold. Not a grab. Just... contact. His breath caught. He looked down at where your fingers grazed his wrist. Then back up. And smiled. Small. Honest. Not performative. Not part of the "lesson." Just real.

---

Jake found you later, walking back toward the dorms with your arms folded tight around your ribs and a look in your eye that could only mean trouble. He raised both brows. "So. Did we hold hands? Accidentally brush shoulders? Accidentally fall in love?" You looked up at him, dazed. "I'm not sure what we did." Jake wrapped an arm around your shoulders, smirking like the cat who got the entire bakery. "Ohhh girl," he said. "It's already over for you."

________

You didn't see Sunghoon for three days.

Okay, technically you did see him — across campus, in passing, once from a distance in the dining hall when he was talking to Eunchae over a tray of rice and soup — but he didn't see you. Or if he did, he didn't wave. He didn't text, either. Not that he owed you anything. You weren't dating. You weren't flirting — technically.

You were just two students working on an assignment about human interaction, using your combined awkwardness and suppressed sexual tension to somehow pass a Communications elective neither of you should've taken in the first place. Totally normal. You weren't spiraling. Until Jake found you in your room on the fourth night, lying face-down on the floor like the carpet could absorb your feelings. "Okay," he said, staring down at your body like it was a crime scene. "Which character are you being today? Damsel in distress, abandoned mistress, or emotionally repressed boy from a 2007 indie film?"

"Option four," you mumbled. "Which is?" "Academic delusion. Girl who thinks she's normal until she teaches a hot boy how to flirt and then he vanishes." Jake stepped over you like a tragic puddle and collapsed onto your bed. "He didn't vanish. He's not Houdini. He's a STEM major."

"He's avoiding me." "He's probably scared." You turned your head, suspicious. "Scared of what?" Jake stared at the ceiling. "Of how hard he's falling."

You blinked. Then sat up. Jake watched you carefully. "Listen, babe. You're a lot. I say that with love. You walk into rooms like they're yours. You make eye contact like it's a weapon. And you offered to teach someone like Sunghoon how to flirt." He paused. "Of course he's freaking out."

You sighed. "Anyway," Jake continued, flopping dramatically onto his side, "didn't Professor Kim assign a new group task?" Your eyes widened. "Oh god. The presentation outline. It's due tomorrow."

Jake raised a brow. "You're meeting him, right?" You swallowed. "Library. 6pm." Jake grinned. "Then wear something unholy and make him regret whatever existential crisis he's having."

---

You didn't wear anything unholy. In fact, you wore jeans, a sweatshirt, and lip balm that had mostly faded by the time you got to the fourth floor of the library. The study rooms were mostly empty — dim, quiet, that kind of soft silence that made your heartbeat feel too loud. Sunghoon was already there. He was sitting at the end of the table, notes spread out in neat rows, laptop open, sleeves rolled just past his elbows like usual. His hair was slightly damp, like he'd showered right before coming. He looked up when you entered.

And for a moment, neither of you said anything. Then— "Hi," he said, soft. "Hey." You slid into the seat next to him. Not across. Next. Your shoulder didn't touch his, but it could have. Your knees could, too, if you moved an inch. You didn't. "Sorry," he said. "I meant to message you earlier. I've just been—" "Busy," you filled in, smiling a little. "It's okay. So have I."

He looked at you for a second longer. Then nodded. You didn't ask why he hadn't texted. You didn't ask if he was thinking about what happened at the mixer. The almost-hand-holding. The eye contact. The trying. You just opened your laptop. "Okay," you said, voice light, "let's outline this thing before I start fake-flirting with the professor to buy more time." Sunghoon blinked. "Would that work?" You smirked. "Only one way to find out." He looked away quickly, but you caught the edge of his smile.

---

An hour in, the presentation was outlined, half the script drafted, and you were halfway into a pack of gummy worms when your arm brushed his. Not accidentally. Not on purpose either. It just happened. And it happened again when you both reached for the same highlighter. And again when he leaned slightly toward you to reread a line and your knees bumped under the table. You didn't pull away. Neither did he. You didn't speak about it. But the air started to feel full. Like something invisible had taken a seat at the table with you, sat between your arms and over your legs, filling the space with all the words neither of you wanted to be the first to say. You swallowed. "So." He glanced at you.

You didn't look back. "When are you gonna practice Lesson Five?" He was silent. You turned to face him slowly. He was already watching you. "What's Lesson Five?" he asked, voice quieter than usual. You tilted your head, heart ticking faster. "Proximity. Space. Intimacy cues." He blinked. "Most people think it's about touching," you explained, keeping your tone calm, casual. "But it's more subtle than that. It's about leaning in. Invading space. Reading reactions." Sunghoon said nothing.

So you leaned forward — just a little. A breath of space. And his gaze dropped immediately to your mouth. Your breath caught. "Like that," you whispered. He didn't move. Didn't look away. Didn't blink. You leaned back slowly, pulse hammering in your throat. He cleared his throat. Picked up his pen. Looked down at the table. And said nothing. The silence stretched. Then— "I think about it," he said suddenly. You froze. He still wasn't looking at you. Just staring at his notes, pen unmoving. You found your voice. "Think about what?" His fingers curled slightly on the edge of the page. "The... lessons. Afterward. When I'm home. I think about what I should've done differently. What I could've tried." You didn't say anything. His voice dropped, barely audible. "And sometimes I think about things you haven't taught me yet." You stopped breathing. The space between you buzzed. You wanted to ask what he meant. You didn't. Instead, you just nodded slowly, your heartbeat so loud you were sure he could hear it.

---

You left the library together just after nine. The night air was cold, crisp, and quiet. He walked beside you without speaking, his shoulder just close enough to brush yours when you turned a corner. At one point, you asked, "You heading back to the dorms?" He nodded. You smiled. "Good. You need to sleep before you try to process any more body language." He laughed. Just once. But it was soft. Real. You stopped outside the dorm building. Neither of you moved. Sunghoon looked at you. Then, like it cost him something— "Thanks. For... teaching me." You looked up. "You're a fast learner."

And before he could reply — before he could pull away or retreat or say something too clinical — you leaned in and pressed your lips softly to his cheek. Just for a second. His breath caught. And then you stepped back. "Lesson Six," you said, grinning. "Unexpected reward for good progress." Sunghoon just stood there. Eyes wide. Frozen. You waved and turned. Didn't look back. But if you had... you might've seen him touch the spot where your lips had been like he didn't believe it actually happened.

__________

"You kissed him?" "I did not kiss him." Jake stopped mid-crunch, a baby carrot half-hanging from his mouth. You stared at the whiteboard in your shared dorm kitchen, where he was currently drawing a visual breakdown of your life like it was a high-stakes conspiracy theory. He pointed to the triangle he'd labeled "CHEEK CONTACT??" and glared. "You kissed him. On the cheek. That counts. It's over."

"It was a reward!"

"For what — existing?" "He showed up! He's trying! It was... encouragement." "Babe, you don't encourage your classmates by kissing them on the face." You sighed and flopped onto the couch, stealing one of his carrots out of spite. "I'm not having this argument again." Jake tossed the marker onto the kitchen counter and plopped down beside you. "Okay, but seriously. How do you feel?" You hesitated. "I... don't know." "Do you like him?" "I like who he's becoming. I like who he is when he's not thinking so hard about how to act." Jake raised a brow. "You like him." You didn't answer. Because maybe you did. But maybe you weren't ready to deal with what that meant yet.

---

Across campus, Sunghoon was staring blankly at his laptop screen, the cursor blinking at the top of a blank Google Doc while Eunchae monologued behind him. "I swear, if that ethics professor docks my grade again for 'not citing vibes,' I'm gonna launch myself into the river."

Sunghoon blinked. "You mean for not citing your sources?" "I mean for not citing his exact opinion word-for-word while pretending to have an original thought. If I wanted to be punished for using my own brain, I'd join the debate team." He glanced over his shoulder at her. "You're not on the debate team?" "God, no. I have taste." He huffed a soft laugh and turned back to his laptop. Eunchae watched him for a second. Then leaned forward on the desk, chewing on her pen. "So..." she said. He didn't respond. "Anything you wanna talk about? Like, say... cheek-based developments? Related to a certain someone whose eyeliner game is violently illegal?"

Sunghoon's ears turned pink. Eunchae grinned. "I knew it. You're so obvious." "It was just—" he hesitated. "It wasn't... anything."

"Right. Just casual cheek kisses. The normal academic kind." He rubbed the back of his neck. "She said it was a reward." "For what?"

"Progress." Eunchae blinked. "Damn. I need to join this class." By Wednesday, campus was buzzing again — not about you, thankfully, but about the upcoming protest march downtown. You heard about it first from Yunjin, who knocked twice on your door and barged in without waiting for a response. "Okay," she said, dropping her tote onto your desk chair. "We're going."

You blinked. "Going where?" "To the protest." "The tuition hike protest?" "Obviously." You sat up. "When is it?" "Saturday. City center. Noon. Wear black. Bring water. Also a sign." You blinked. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because you're a chronic overthinker and I need to give you three business days to process anything mildly political."

"That's... accurate."

She tossed you a granola bar. "Get mad. The school's screwing us over and pretending it's a financial necessity. You like justice. Pretend it's hot." You laughed. "Also," Yunjin added with a smirk, "I may or may not have invited certain tall academic men to join us." You stared. She raised her brows. "I didn't say Sunghoon," she said. "But, like, I didn't not say it either."

Later that day, you found yourself at the coffee shop near campus, trying to focus on your part of the project script while Jake and Eunchae argued about the best condiment. "Okay but hear me out," Jake said, sipping his iced drink like he was about to drop a TED Talk. "Ketchup is just red sugar with delusions of relevance."

Eunchae stared at him. "That's unhinged." "It's the truth." "You put hot sauce on plain white rice." "That's flavorful. Ketchup is just capitalism in a packet." You were about to intervene when a familiar voice spoke quietly from behind you. "Is this seat taken?"

You turned. Sunghoon stood there, holding a cup of tea and looking like he'd rehearsed that line four times in his head before saying it. You blinked. "It is now." He sat down beside you. Close, but not touching. His shoulder hovered just inches from yours. Jake raised his brows and mouthed ooooohhhhhh. You ignored him. Sunghoon looked at your open laptop. "Is this... for the script?" You nodded. "I was rewriting the transitions between sections. You can look if you want." He did. Silently. His brow furrowed slightly in thought. You could practically hear the gears turning. Eventually, he nodded. "It's good." You smiled. "You sound surprised." "I'm not," he said, and then added quickly, "I mean— I'm not surprised. Just— impressed."

Jake fake-gagged. "You guys are adorable. I hate it here." Eunchae leaned across the table. "So, Sunghoon. You marching Saturday?" He blinked. "Marching?"

"The protest. City square. Tuition hike resistance. Screaming into the void."

"I— I hadn't planned to—"

"You should come," you said before you could stop yourself.

His eyes flicked to yours. "You'll be there?" You nodded. Sunghoon hesitated. Then said, quietly: "Then I'll come." Jake knocked over his cup.

_____

The square was already packed when you arrived. You weren't expecting it to be this loud.

Megaphones crackled. Drums beat from somewhere near the front line. Students held up signs, arms stretched high over their heads — slogans painted in angry black and red, bold and hurried, some scrawled in permanent marker on the backs of old pizza boxes.

NO JUSTICE, NO TUITION

WE'RE NOT ATMs

PAY TO BREATHE?

Yunjin handed you a sharpie and a blank board before you could blink.

"Make it sassy or make it loud," she said, adjusting her ponytail. "No in-between." You hesitated, then started writing. I CAME FOR A DEGREE NOT DEBT TRAUMA Jake leaned over your shoulder. "Gorgeous. Devastating. Ten out of ten." "I aim to please."

Eunchae was standing beside him, oversized hoodie flapping around her thighs in the wind, drawing tiny cartoon fists of rage all over her own sign. She added a single sparkle sticker in the corner. For flair. "So," she said casually. "Where's our awkward prince?" You blinked. "Who?" She gave you a flat look. You pretended not to hear.

---

Sunghoon arrived ten minutes later, backpack slung over one shoulder, hoodie zipped halfway up, eyes scanning the crowd like he was walking into a final exam. You spotted him before he spotted you — not because of anything he did, but because of how he moved. Carefully.

Soft-footed. Like he didn't quite believe he belonged. But he was here. He saw you. And then he made a beeline. You didn't say anything at first — just offered him the spare granola bar from your pocket and nudged your elbow into his. "You came." "You said you'd be here." You smiled. He looked down at your sign. Read it. His lips twitched. Then he surprised you. He reached for the sharpie in your hand, flipped your board over, and without a word, wrote something on the back. You leaned in to read it.

IF YOU RAISE MY TUITION I'LL START SELLING MY NOTES TO YOUR MOM

You burst out laughing. Jake glanced over. "Oh my god. You corrupted him." Yunjin glanced up from where she was braiding Eunchae's hair. "No, she just let him be funny in public for the first time in his life." Sunghoon flushed, but the corners of his mouth pulled up. You watched him watching you. And felt something quiet crack open in your chest.

---

As the march started moving — slow, pulsing, chants rising and falling — you found yourself walking beside him without even trying. You were shoulder to shoulder. Hip to hip. When the crowd surged and you stumbled, his hand caught your arm without hesitation. "You okay?" he asked, voice close to your ear. You nodded. His hand stayed there a second too long.

---

At one point, a journalism student with a campus press pass and a painfully retro camera stopped you. "Can we get a shot of you two holding signs together?" You blinked. "Oh— we're not—" But Sunghoon had already stepped forward, still awkward but strangely willing, lifting his side of the board beside yours. The photo clicked. The journalist grinned. "Perfect. You two look good together." You didn't respond. Sunghoon didn't either. But you both went very quiet.

---

By the time the protest circled back to the starting point, the air had changed. The energy was electric. People were still shouting, laughing, clapping each other on the back. Several professors were giving short speeches on the steps of the admin building. The student body president took the mic at one point and got booed — loudly — for talking about "institutional patience." You and your friends had migrated to the edge of the green, sprawled out on the dry grass like a post-battle movie scene. Jake was flat on his back, sunglasses on, drinking from someone else's water bottle. "Okay," he muttered. "I hate this school. But I love revolution." Eunchae was braiding daisy stems into a crown for no reason. Yunjin was arguing with a poli-sci senior about participatory democracy while casually removing her earrings in case the debate turned violent. And Sunghoon? Sunghoon was sitting beside you again. Legs stretched out. Hands resting in his lap. Shirt slightly clinging to his arms because of the sun. His cheeks were pink from the heat. And for once, he wasn't fidgeting. You turned to him. "How're you feeling?" He thought about it. Then said, "Louder." You blinked. "Huh?"

He looked at you, eyes clear. "I'm not usually this... loud. But I don't hate it."

You smiled. "It suits you." He looked away. But not before you saw it — that same flicker of expression you were starting to learn. The tiny, soft tremor of emotion beneath the surface. Not pride. Not shyness. Just... something real.

---

And then it happened. A tall guy walked by. Tall, built, clearly from your department. You knew him vaguely — group project from last semester, always wore backwards caps and smelled like cologne and gum. He stopped.

"Y/N, hey," he said, flashing you a grin. "Didn't expect to see you out here." You blinked. "Hey... Theo?"

"Yeah!" He smiled, and then — very casually — crouched beside you, eyeing your sign. "Still funny, I see." You laughed, polite. Sunghoon sat very, very still. "You marching?" Theo asked. "Yeah. You?" "Just got here. You coming to the post-march dinner thing at Vespa's? Bunch of us from comms are heading there after this." You hesitated. "I didn't know about that."

"Well, now you do." He smiled. "Bring your friend." He glanced at Sunghoon like he'd only just noticed him. You glanced between them. Sunghoon's jaw was tense. Theo stood. "See you there?" "Maybe," you said. He left. The moment hung in the air like smoke. Jake whispered to Eunchae: "Oh no. Theo's trying to eat." Sunghoon didn't say anything for a long time. Then, very quietly, he said: "Who was that?" You looked at him. "Theo. We worked on a comms project last year." He nodded once. Then looked away. You blinked. Was that... irritation? No. No way. You bit back a smile. "You okay?" "I'm fine." "You sure?" He didn't respond. So you leaned in. Close enough for your shoulder to press against his. For your breath to graze his ear. "He's not my type," you whispered. Sunghoon froze. Then looked at you. And this time? He didn't smile. He just stared. Like he wasn't thinking anymore. Just watching. You sat back slowly. Heart pounding.

_________

Vespa's was packed by the time you got there. The student protest crowd had migrated like clockwork — from megaphones to menu boards — filling the little corner bistro with the chaotic hum of post-rally adrenaline. People were still in protest shirts, still holding signs tucked awkwardly under tables, voices hoarse from chanting but laughing anyway. Music played softly in the background. Every table was full. You and your friends managed to claim a corner booth. Sunghoon sat to your left again, pressed lightly to the wall, legs too long under the narrow table. Yunjin sat directly across from you, already halfway through her soda, and Jake was attempting to charm the waitress into letting him order a cocktail despite clearly being underage. "It's for the cause," he argued. "Solidarity shot."

"It's a family restaurant," she replied flatly. "Every family has secrets." She walked away. You were still laughing when Eunchae squeezed in beside Yunjin and dropped her phone on the table. "Okay. Update. I just got a DM from someone who saw the protest photo of you and Sunghoon on the student media account." You blinked. "They posted that?" She nodded. "Caption: 'Academic revolutionaries 😌✊' — it's already trending in the campus group chat." Jake leaned in, eyes wide. "You're going viral. You're flirt-activist famous." "I hate that." Sunghoon was staring at the table. You nudged him lightly with your foot. "You okay?" He nodded. "Just... new." "New?"

He looked up at you. "Being seen. By strangers." You paused. "I like it," he added quickly. "I think. Just not used to it."

You didn't push him. Just smiled. "You'll get used to it."

---

Food arrived. Conversation shifted. Yunjin started telling a story about her ex-girlfriend who used to protest everything — from tuition hikes to vending machine price changes.

"She once handcuffed herself to the campus cat statue because they took out the Matcha KitKats," she said, poking at her fries. "We broke up two weeks later. I loved her. But I also love breathing room."

"You date the worst people," Jake said, sipping his soda like it was tea. "Didn't your last ex say she hated music?" "She said she outgrew music."

Eunchae groaned. "That's like saying you outgrew joy." Sunghoon blinked. "Wait, do you all have exes?" Jake pointed at him. "Don't change the subject. You clearly don't. Spill." Sunghoon looked mildly cornered. "I've... dated. Kind of." You stared. "Kind of?"

"I went on a few dates. In first year. Nothing serious." Yunjin raised a brow. "Did you like her?" "She was nice," he said after a pause. Eunchae sipped her drink. "But?" "She made fun of my major. Said I was too intense."

You opened your mouth. "You're not—" Jake cut in. "Oh, he's intense. But it's hot." Sunghoon turned red again. Yunjin leaned forward. "So what is your type, then?" He blinked. "What?"

"Your type," she repeated. "You've been flirting for two weeks. You must have preferences." You watched him carefully. Sunghoon didn't look at anyone. Just traced the edge of his glass. Then, quietly, "People who aren't afraid to say what they want." You felt your stomach flutter.

He wasn't looking at you. But he didn't need to. Because the table went quiet for just long enough to make it obvious. Then Jake — thank god — cut the silence by coughing dramatically and announcing, "Well, my type are unavailable people with emotional issues, so I'll just keep suffering."

Later, after the food was gone and the noise had thinned, you found yourself standing outside Vespa's with Sunghoon while the others lingered behind to settle the bill. It was quiet. A soft breeze curled through the narrow street, leaves rustling, the smell of garlic and asphalt hanging in the air. You crossed your arms. "You survived your first social protest dinner." He nodded. "I liked it." You smiled. "Even the interrogations?" He glanced sideways. "Some of them." Silence again. Then—

"I liked what you said," he added, voice low.

You blinked. "About what?"

"In the square. About Theo not being your type."

Your breath caught. He didn't look at you when he said it. Just stared ahead. Calm. Still. But his hands were in his pockets. His jaw tight. You wanted to say something. Something real. Something you hadn't prepared as a lesson. But the door swung open behind you, and Jake's voice crashed the moment. "There you are! God, you two are always standing like you're in a movie scene. Come back. I'm starting round two of 'Rate My Ex.'"

You laughed. Sunghoon smiled. But the moment had already passed.

That night, you lay in bed, staring at your ceiling. You didn't dream about kissing him. You dreamed about the way he looked when he was thinking too hard — eyebrows slightly drawn, lower lip caught between his teeth. The way his voice changed when he said something honest. The way he looked at you when he thought you weren't watching. And the fact that, maybe, you weren't as unaffected as you thought. Maybe you were thinking too hard now, too.

__________

The campus library on Thursday afternoons was unusually quiet — too quiet for midterm season. Sunlight filtered through the high windows, slanting across the carpet in faded gold streaks, warming up even the coldest corners of the old fourth floor. You liked it here. It felt... removed. Peaceful. Neutral ground. Sunghoon was already there. You spotted him as soon as you walked in — same table near the back, same stupidly neat spread of books and flashcards and pastel highlighters organized by hue. He sat with his sleeves pushed to his elbows again (of course), legs stretched under the table, brows drawn slightly as he read.

He didn't look up when you dropped into the seat across from him.

"I got you a brownie," you said, sliding it across the table. He blinked. "What for?" "For being brave enough to survive a group dinner without combusting."

A soft smile tugged at his lips.

"I didn't combust."

"Mm. You got close."

"I kept my cool."

"You turned red when Jake said you had 'flirt potential.'"

"That's not a real phrase."

"It is now. I'm coining it."

He took the brownie. You watched him unwrap it carefully, like he didn't want to smudge the wrapper, then take a bite with all the elegance of someone raised by Google Docs and academic shame. It was cute. Disturbingly cute. You opened your laptop before your brain could wander any further.

---

You were supposed to be editing the structure for your final presentation. Instead, you found yourself watching him underline a passage in his notebook. He didn't underline normally. He used a ruler. A ruler. It was both tragic and weirdly endearing.

"Do you ever," you said casually, "relax?"

Sunghoon looked up. "I'm relaxed right now."

You snorted.

"You don't think I'm relaxed?" he asked, blinking.

"You're color-coding your highlighters."

He looked down at them. "That's just efficient."

"Sure it is."

You closed your laptop and folded your arms on the table. "Okay. Tell me something real."

He blinked. "Real?"

"No school talk. No flashcards. No flirting rules. Just something about you."

Sunghoon hesitated.

Then, quietly: "I wanted to be a musician when I was a kid."

You sat up straighter.

"You play?"

"I used to. Violin. Piano. My mom taught music."

You blinked. "What happened?"

He shrugged. "I wasn't exceptional."

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't have kept going."

He looked down. "My dad thought it was a waste of time." You went quiet.

"I still play sometimes," he added after a moment. "Late at night. When no one's around." You stared at him. And for a second, the room felt smaller. Softer. More like a secret than a library.

Jake showed up twenty minutes later, plopping into the chair beside you with the elegance of a raccoon in a recycling bin.

"Okay, listen." Sunghoon jumped. You didn't.

Jake never knocked. "I need you both to tell me the truth," he said, slamming down a bag of popcorn and two iced coffees. "What do I wear to a film screening where I might accidentally run into two people I ghosted and one I'm still in love with?" You blinked. "What?" Jake ignored you. "Option A: leather jacket, statement rings, denial. Option B: 'I'm over it' sweater and clean Converse. Option C—"

"Therapy," Sunghoon said under his breath.

You choked on your coffee.

Jake glared. "Excuse me, Park Shakespeare."

"I'm just saying," Sunghoon said softly. "Maybe talk to them?"

Jake groaned. "God, why is the shyest person I know the one telling me to communicate."

You laughed so hard your ribs hurt.

Jake sank into his seat. "Anyway, it's not just about clothes. It's about power."

You blinked. "I thought you were going for closure."

"I'm going for dominance." He leaned over dramatically. "Besides, the one I'm in love with doesn't even know it. So it's fine."

You and Sunghoon both stared at him.

"...What?"

Jake popped a piece of popcorn into his mouth. "I said what I said." Then he got up and left like a smoke bomb — chaotic and unresolved.

You and Sunghoon sat in stunned silence.

"...Is he okay?" Sunghoon asked finally.

"No," you said. "But he's thriving."

Later, as the sun started sinking behind the buildings and casting golden slants across the table, your energy began to slip. Your fingers slowed. Your notes blurred. Sunghoon noticed.

"You're tired."

You rubbed your temple. "I pulled a near-all-nighter editing my media analysis." He reached over and pushed your water bottle toward you gently.

"Drink."

You blinked.

"Hydration prevents cognitive fatigue."

You stared at him. "You know that sounds like a medical drama line, right?" He smiled — just a little. "You listen better when I speak clinically." You drank the water. And tried not to notice how he was watching you. Again. Always.

---

By the time you packed up, the library was nearly empty. Sunghoon walked you out without saying anything. The hallway lights flickered softly, old wiring buzzing in the ceiling. You stopped at the entrance.

"So..." you said, fiddling with your bag strap. "Thanks. For the brownie support." He blinked. "You bought me the brownie." "Still counts."

He looked like he wanted to say something else. Something more. But then his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. Froze.

"...Everything okay?" you asked. He hesitated. "My dad's in town." You blinked. "Oh." "He wants to meet. Dinner." You didn't know what to say to that. So you said: "Do you want to?" Sunghoon didn't answer right away. Then, softly: "Not really." Your heart ached a little. He shoved his phone back into his pocket like it was something venomous. Then met your eyes. "I'm glad I saw you today." You blinked. He didn't smile when he said it. He just meant it. And somehow, that hit harder.

_______

SUNGHOON'S POV

The restaurant was expensive.Not fancy — just old money. Quiet leather booths. Waiters who didn't write things down. Men in suits that didn't wrinkle when they moved. Sunghoon sat across from his father and counted the folds in his napkin to keep from biting his tongue. "How are your grades?" his father asked, cutting into his steak with a surgeon's precision. Sunghoon kept his voice even. "Top three percent." "Good. That's expected." He nodded. Didn't say thank you. It wouldn't have been received anyway. His father sipped his wine. "Any leadership positions this semester?" "I'm part of the AI ethics club." "That's not leadership." "I've been nominated for student rep. Elections are next month." "That's better." Silence. Sunghoon looked out the window. Thought about the square last weekend. The signs. The shouting. The way your fingers had brushed his when you handed him that marker. "You seeing anyone?" his father asked abruptly. Sunghoon's jaw clenched. His father never asked about dating. Never asked about anything soft. "I'm... working on a project. With someone." "A girl?"

Sunghoon nodded, slowly. "She's—smart." He waited. But his father didn't respond. Just went back to cutting his steak. Neat, silent, clean. Like he didn't care. Like none of it mattered. Sunghoon stared at his plate and thought: She makes me laugh. She makes me feel seen. I wish you knew what that felt like.

That night, you couldn't sleep. Your dorm was quiet. The window open just a little, letting the breeze sneak across your sheets. You lay awake staring at the ceiling, wondering why the world felt so heavy all of a sudden. Your phone buzzed once.

Jake: hey. want to hear something stupid.

You replied instantly:

you: always.

He didn't reply right away.

When he did, it wasn't a message.

It was a voicemail.

You stared at the screen for a full minute before pressing play.

Jake's voice, soft and half-laughing, came through the speaker:

"I think I'm still in love with someone who doesn't even remember what we had. And I think I ruin things just to prove I was right about them leaving."

"Anyway. Sorry. You probably don't want to hear this."

"But you're the only person who makes me feel like I'm not faking everything."

"Goodnight."

You didn't reply. You just stared at your phone until the screen went dark.

SUNGHOON'S POV

He didn't mean to text you. But he did.

[goodjap]: are you awake?

You replied in thirty seconds.

[you]: yeah. you okay?

There was a pause.

Then:

[goodjap]: can I call you?

You stared at the screen.

Then said:

[you]: yes.

Your phone rang.

You answered.

For the first few seconds, neither of you said anything.

Then he spoke. "I hate how quiet it is after I see him." You knew what he meant. "Did it go badly?" you asked. "No. That's the worst part. It just... never changes." You didn't know how to fix that. But you said, "I'm here."

And he went quiet. But he didn't hang up. You stayed on the line. Ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty. Eventually, you both stopped speaking altogether. You just... breathed. Together. In the dark. And somehow, that mattered more than any words.

___________

Yunjin was the one who suggested it. "Group dinner," she announced, bursting through your door with a tote bag full of frozen pasta, red wine in a travel mug, and a look that dared you to say no. "I'm tired of everyone spiraling in isolation. Tonight we spiral in sync." Jake immediately texted "do I need to wear pants?" followed by "jk unless?"

Eunchae offered her dorm's common room because her suitemates were out.

Sunghoon didn't say anything, just replied "ok" within thirty seconds of you asking.

You all met at seven. By seven-thirty, the pasta was boiling, the garlic bread was in the oven, and Jake had turned on a jazz playlist from Spotify titled "chill dinner party vibes but make it bisexual." Yunjin was stirring sauce like it owed her money.

Eunchae was setting out mismatched mugs because "aesthetics are a scam."

Sunghoon stood at the counter slicing cucumbers for a salad he never volunteered to make, sleeves rolled up, knife moving with quiet precision. You were next to him, elbow-to-elbow. Not on purpose. Not not on purpose. "I didn't know you could cook," you said, watching him slice. "I can't," he replied. "But I can follow instructions. Same thing." You smiled. "You're doing great." He glanced sideways. "You always say that." "Maybe I always mean it." He paused, but didn't reply. Instead, he handed you a cucumber slice. You popped it into your mouth and nodded. "Perfectly edible." "I'll take that as a win."

Dinner was chaotic in the way good things often are. You all sat cross-legged around Eunchae's coffee table, mismatched bowls balanced in laps, candle flickering in the center like it was the only thing holding the room together. Jake raised a toast with his mug of Sprite. "To protest signs, poor decisions, and the fact that none of us dropped out this week." You all clinked mugs. The first ten minutes were all chewing and fake insults. Then — slowly — real conversation slipped in.

Eunchae was the first. "My brother got into that tech bootcamp in Singapore," she said, stabbing her penne. "I'm proud of him. But also... now my parents are like, 'What's your plan? What are you building?'" You blinked. "You're building your own web comic from scratch." "Yeah, but that's not an app. It doesn't 'scale.'" Yunjin sighed. "God, I hate when success only counts if it fits into a startup pitch." Jake pointed his fork. "Capitalism has entered the group chat." You laughed. Sunghoon looked down at his plate. Then said, carefully, "My dad asked if I was wasting time." The room quieted.

You looked up. Sunghoon wasn't looking at anyone. He spoke like the words weren't meant for the air, just for the silence to hear. "He asked if I was doing anything that actually mattered. Or if I was just... filling my schedule to look impressive."

Eunchae whispered, "Damn." Jake reached over and squeezed Sunghoon's wrist. No jokes. No flair. Just warmth. Sunghoon smiled — just barely. Yunjin blew on her pasta. "You are doing things that matter." "You're showing up," you added. "You showed up for the protest. For the project. For us." Sunghoon met your eyes. Quietly, he said, "You make it easier to show up." No one spoke. Jake wiped a fake tear. "If I start crying I'm blaming the sauce." You threw a napkin at him.

Later, after plates were cleared and someone passed around a half-eaten tub of ice cream like a peace offering, the conversation turned to Jake. Yunjin was first. "So," she said, licking a spoon. "Film girl showed up." Jake sighed. "Of course you know." "You texted me at midnight saying 'her hair still smells like vanilla death.'" "That could've meant anyone."

Eunchae blinked. "How many people have you dated who smell like desserts?" Jake groaned and covered his face. "It doesn't matter. She's not even— I don't know. She didn't talk to me. She didn't not talk to me. She was just there. Looking like closure I haven't earned yet." Silence. Then you said, "Did you want her to talk to you?" Jake shrugged. "I don't know. I think I just wanted her to see me. Really see me. Not the version she edited out when she left." Yunjin passed him the ice cream. "You're worth seeing, Jake." He looked up. Eyes watery. "That's so gay." She smiled. "And true."

The room softened after that. Not with sadness, but with understanding.

Eunchae started talking about her comic again — her plans to enter a contest next month, how she wanted to draw rage without turning it ugly. Yunjin confessed that she was thinking of switching minors, even if it meant an extra semester.

Jake asked if it was wrong to be terrified of being vulnerable and being alone. You told him it wasn't. Sunghoon didn't talk much after that. But he stayed. He stayed when the playlist ended. He stayed when the lights dimmed. He stayed even when it was quiet again.

And when you walked him to the door, he looked at you like he was trying to remember the exact words to something he hadn't said yet. "I..." he started. "I like this." You tilted your head. "This?" He gestured vaguely — the hallway, the fading voices behind you. "People. Talking. Not pretending." You smiled. "Me too." Then you hesitated. And said, softly, "You make it easier too, you know."

His eyes flickered. You didn't touch. You didn't kiss. You just stood there — two people slowly turning toward each other, step by step, word by word. And it was enough. For now.

__________

The thing about academic limbo is that it doesn't announce itself. It creeps in like late-stage winter — not cold enough to warrant panic, not warm enough to feel like progress.

You're not drowning. You're treading water with a fake smile. And everyone around you is doing the same. Campus looked like it always did on Monday: students hunched over laptops in beanbags, political posters taped to benches, the occasional club trying to hand you a flier you'd pretend to read. But something in the air had shifted since the protest last week — a thin tension that clung to every hallway. Sunghoon noticed it too. You saw it in the way he lingered outside the library before walking in, how he watched people longer now, how his responses were a second too delayed, like his mind was always two exits ahead. You were starting to realize that Sunghoon didn't know how to be seen unless he was performing excellence.

And lately, your presence kept catching him mid-rehearsal.

He passed you a sticky note in class. It said: "Library after 4? We should prep that demo for the final week." You scribbled back: "Is this a flirting strategy? Because it's working." His ears flushed, and he didn't write again. But he smiled. Just barely.

You found him in your usual study corner at 4:10, back straight, laptop open, but the document untouched. He was staring out the window, expression unreadable. "Hey," you said, settling beside him. "You waiting on divine inspiration or...?"

"Just thinking," he said. "Do you ever wonder if we're learning how to argue more than we're learning how to listen?" You blinked. "That's either the most profound thing you've ever said, or you're avoiding the PowerPoint." He didn't laugh. He just looked at you — really looked. Quietly. Curiously. So you said nothing more. And opened your laptop. The silence between you wasn't awkward anymore. It just was. Somehow, that felt like progress.

Half an hour in, your phones started buzzing at the same time.

Jake:

"Group chat. Emergency. We've been ambushed."

Yunjin:

"Come to the quad. It's the elections. Jay just dropped the teaser."

You exchanged glances with Sunghoon.

He sighed. "Do I want to know?"

"I think we're about to find out."

The quad was chaos. Jay had somehow printed glossy posters overnight with slogans like: "Reclaim Your Voice — Vote for Real Transparency."

"Power to the People — Not the PR Machine."

He wasn't running. But he was managing the campaign of someone who was. And it was someone you recognized. Mina Baek. Third-year. Former debate champion. Once suspended for publicly calling out the Dean during a live forum. Now grinning under Jay's arm like a rebranded revolutionary. You found Jake and Yunjin near the fountain. "Jay's trying to own the election," Yunjin said. "He's pushing 'reform' with the same hand that silences us."

Jake nodded grimly. "He's turning protest energy into performance again." Sunghoon stared at the posters. "It's smart." Everyone turned to him. "I mean," he continued carefully, "he's reframing anger into something palatable. He's taking the noise and giving it a soundtrack. That's... effective." You crossed your arms. "That doesn't make it right." "I didn't say it was." You watched him then — the way his fingers tapped against his thigh, the slight furrow in his brow, the way he calculated even as he listened.

Sunghoon wasn't just smart. He was dangerous when he decided to care. And maybe that scared even him. Later that night, you found yourself texting him. you're a terrifyingly good strategist, you know that? He replied six minutes later. i don't know how to be anything else.

Meanwhile, Jake had his own drama brewing. You found him editing sound for his new short film at the media center. "Scene six is ruined," he muttered. "Her mic cut out. And I can't re-record her because she ghosted me again." You sat beside him, passing him a can of coffee.

"You know you don't have to fix people who vanish." "I know," he sighed. "But I keep wondering if I'm just bad at staying. You looked at him. "You're great at staying. You've stayed for all of us." Jake smiled without teeth. "Except myself."

In the background of it all, Eunchae's comic was going viral on student boards. One strip in particular — two characters arguing in a lecture hall about who gets to define justice — was being shared with hashtags like #DebateMeIRL and #OurVoicesMatter. She hadn't expected it. Now everyone wanted an interview. A feature. A panel. "Why do they care now?" she asked, breathless, curling into the couch beside you in the common room. "When I was writing in the corner of the cafeteria no one even looked twice." "Because now they think they can use your voice to echo their own," you said gently. "It's not about seeing you. It's about reflecting themselves." Eunchae blinked. "Shit. That's so real. I hate it." "Then keep drawing the truth."

And then, at the end of the week — the almost happened. You and Sunghoon were leaving the library late after reviewing a revised draft of your presentation. The air was cool, campus half-lit, your steps echoing quietly in sync. "Wait," you said, pausing under the courtyard lamp. "Your shoelace." He looked down. "Oh." He crouched to fix it, and when he stood up again — you were close. Too close. Neither of you moved. Your breath caught. So did his. And for one second, you thought— He looked away. "Goodnight," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "Goodnight, Sunghoon." He walked off into the dark. And you stood there. Not kissed. Not touched. But somehow, still completely undone.

__________

You weren't surprised when Jake didn't show up for the first group meeting that weekend. You were surprised when he didn't even text. By Sunday night, the group chat was full of check-ins, emojis, increasingly dramatic threats from Eunchae ("if you're dead I'm resurrecting you just to slap you") and one unpunctuated message from Yunjin: checked his location. he's at the editing lab. he hasn't left since yesterday.

Sunghoon looked up from his spot on the rug, where he'd been reorganizing your flashcards. "Should we go?"

You didn't answer right away. You stared at your phone for another second, then grabbed your hoodie and said, "Yeah. Let's go."

The editing lab was on the second floor of the media building — always cold, always humming. You pushed the door open softly, greeted by the glow of blue light and looping audio. Jake was there. Sitting cross-legged in front of his monitor, wearing the same hoodie from two days ago, hair a mess, dark circles visible even in the LCD flicker. He didn't turn when you walked in. Sunghoon stayed by the door. You moved closer.

"Hey," you said gently. Jake kept clicking. "I just need to get the pacing right for scene eight," he mumbled. "It drags. The silence after her line, it's too long. It sounds desperate." You sat beside him on the floor. "It's okay to be desperate sometimes." Jake blinked. His hand dropped from the mouse. "I'm not," he said. "I just... didn't want to let her ruin it."

"Her?" Sunghoon asked from behind. Jake laughed bitterly. "The girl I wrote it for. The one who said it 'wasn't deep enough' to be about her. She said she wanted something honest, and when I showed her the script, she said it felt calculated." You winced. "Yikes."

"I don't know how to not calculate," Jake muttered. "I grew up learning how to read people. I thought that was what made a good storyteller. But now I think I just... reflect whatever someone wants to see." You said nothing. Neither did Sunghoon. Not because you didn't care. But because you knew. Knew what it felt like to curate yourself so well you forgot what was real. Knew what it meant to fear your own silence. Knew what it cost to perform truth when no one really wanted it. Eventually, Jake exhaled.

"I think I need a nap." You smiled softly. "I think you need a hug." Jake leaned sideways into you like a deflated balloon. You caught him without hesitation. His forehead thudded against your shoulder. Sunghoon watched. Quietly. Then stepped forward, awkwardly crouched, and reached out to gently pat Jake's shoulder. The motion was stiff, but the intention was there. Jake blinked up at him. "Thanks, bro." Sunghoon cleared his throat. "I, um. I admire your... structure." Jake blinked again. You burst out laughing.

Later, the three of you sat outside on the steps, sharing a vending machine coffee like it was sacred. Jake was half-asleep on your left shoulder. Sunghoon sat stiffly on your right.

"I don't know what I'm doing," you admitted. "With what?" Sunghoon asked. "With any of this. The protest stuff. Our project. My entire thesis. It's all starting to feel like a stunt." Sunghoon looked down at his hands. "I think stunts matter more than we admit." You frowned. "How so?" He glanced up, eyes unreadable. "If you make someone pause — even for five seconds — maybe that's enough to change something. Doesn't have to be big. Just... one person seeing something differently." You were quiet. Then: "Who changed yours?" Sunghoon paused. Then he said, "You." And before you could ask what he meant — Jake snored. You both looked over. Jake had passed out fully, cheek smushed against your hoodie, arms crossed like a disgruntled toddler. Sunghoon smiled. You watched him smile. And something tightened in your throat. Almost.

The next day, Eunchae pulled you aside. "I'm being harassed," she whispered dramatically, sliding into the booth beside you in the dining hall. "By?" "Jay." You blinked. "Explain." "He wants to commission me for a custom piece to advertise the student debates. Says it's a 'creative call to civic duty.' I say it's propaganda with a paintbrush." You grinned. "What did you say?" "I told him I don't work with tyrants unless they pay in boba." You laughed. She leaned closer. "But also... what if I do it?" You paused. "Do you want to?" "I want the exposure. And the platform. But I don't want him to twist my work into his narrative." You nodded slowly. "Then ask to publish a written artist's note with the final piece. He'll think it's harmless. But you can use it to control the context." Eunchae stared at you. "You're evil." "No. I'm learning."

Meanwhile, Yunjin had taken up unofficial security duties. You found her walking the quad with a clipboard and a mean expression. "Why do you look like you're about to fight the Student Council president?" She narrowed her eyes. "Because I am." You blinked. "They're threatening to cut funding for independent campus publications. Says we're 'radicalizing the freshmen.'" You sighed. "So what's the plan?" "Public exposure. A timeline of every time they've silenced minority voices, fact-checked with receipts, signed off with student testimonies." You whistled low. "Remind me never to get on your bad side." Yunjin smirked. "Too late. You're already on my petty side."

Back in class, you and Sunghoon were starting to feel... different. Not in a sudden, obvious way. But in the way his eyes found yours quicker. In the way your jokes didn't fluster him as much. In the way he didn't pull away when your elbows touched during note reviews. Something was shifting. You didn't name it. He didn't explain it. But it was there. And for now, that was enough.

_______

The campus was buzzing again — not in the messy aftermath of protests or the adrenaline of student uprisings, but in something more dangerous: Campaign fever. Jay had set the clock ticking. Voting day was two weeks out, and somehow, every bulletin board, hallway, coffee cup, and group chat had been plastered with sleek neon ads. Campaign videos were streaming on every student media screen — featuring Mina Baek mid-speech, framed like a heroine. Jay's voice narrating in poetic cadence. Carefully edited protest footage rebranded as campaign rallies.

You stared up at one in the common area. It showed a pan to the protest leaders from last month.

Including you.

Your face frozen mid-yell, eyes fierce, holding a sign someone else made.

"I didn't approve this," you muttered.

Yunjin appeared at your side, arms folded. "None of us did."

"They're using the movement as a launchpad." She glanced at the screen. "They always do."

"Then what are we going to do?" Yunjin was quiet for a moment. Then:

"Nothing. Not yet. Let them overplay their hand."

You turned to her.

She didn't blink.

You suddenly remembered she was the same girl who'd once filed an anonymous 13-page complaint against the journalism department for burying sexual harassment claims — with redacted footnotes and hyperlinks. She never rushed. She watched. And waited to strike.

Meanwhile, Jake had recovered. Too much, maybe. He burst into your apartment kitchen that night with a new script idea, an untouched sandwich, and a deep desire to be loved. "It's about media weaponization and silent whistleblowers," he said, "but in the form of a silent film."

Sunghoon — sitting on the couch awkwardly nursing a mug of tea — tilted his head. "How would anyone know it's about whistleblowers if no one speaks?" Jake grinned. "That's the point." You raised an eyebrow. "Are we the target audience?" "No," he said. "But you will be the cast." You gave him a look. Sunghoon tried not to smile.

Later, you sat with Sunghoon while Jake raided your fridge. The quiet returned — but this time, it was different. Easier. Warmer.

Your leg brushed his. Neither of you moved. You took a breath. He took one too. And then—

Your phone buzzed.

Jay 🙄: Meet me at the old media stairwell. Alone. 15 min.

You frowned.

Sunghoon glanced over. "Everything okay?"

"Jay wants to meet."

Sunghoon straightened. "Now?"

"Yeah. I think I'll go."

"I'll come with—"

"He said alone."

A pause. Then, quietly, Sunghoon said: "Text me after." You nodded. But as you stood, he reached out — and tugged your sleeve. You turned. "I'm serious," he said, voice low. "Don't trust him. Not completely." You searched his eyes. "I don't," you said. And left.

The media stairwell was barely lit. You found Jay leaning against the railing, jacket unzipped, chewing on a toothpick like he'd just walked out of a noir film and into your college drama.

"Thanks for coming," he said smoothly.

"Cut to the chase."

He chuckled. "Still direct. I like that."

You crossed your arms. "What do you want?"

"I'm offering you a column."

You blinked. He continued: "In the Tribune. A weekly space. No oversight. Total freedom. Your name front and center. Full credit."

You stared. "Why?"

"Because people listen to you. And Mina needs that. Your voice — authentic, sharp, raw — it's what this campaign needs to close the trust gap. You'd be the bridge." "No," you said flatly.

Jay tilted his head. "You haven't even thought about it."

"I don't need to."

"Don't you want change?"

"Not your kind of change."

He stepped forward, voice lower. "This is bigger than your pride."

"No," you said again, quieter this time. "This is because of it." Jay's expression didn't change. But his eyes flickered — something like calculation, maybe approval. "You're harder to buy than I thought." You didn't answer. But your silence said everything.

You came back to your apartment 40 minutes later. Sunghoon was still there, alone on the couch, fiddling with one of Jake's stress cubes. He looked up immediately. You didn't say anything at first. Just threw yourself down beside him with a groan.

"Well?" he asked, softly.

You turned to him. "He tried to recruit me."

Sunghoon blinked. "And?"

"I said no."

He exhaled — not relief exactly, but something adjacent.

You sat in silence.

Then he said, "I'm glad."

You looked over. He wasn't smiling. But he looked at you like something important had just shifted. Like you'd passed a test he didn't realize he was giving you. You blinked. "Why?" "Because you're not him," he said. "And... I think sometimes I forget that." You said nothing.

But your heart — traitorous, sensitive — thudded a little harder.

The next day in class, something rare happened.

Sunghoon challenged a professor. It was subtle — a disagreement about the framing of dissent in civil law theory — but you watched him sit straighter, speak slower, eyes sharp and calm. And the professor — a man notorious for talking over students — actually listened. The class went quiet. Afterwards, you nudged his arm as you packed up.

"What was that?" you teased.

He looked confused. "What?"

"You. Standing up. Speaking. You went full vampire lawyer mode."

He blinked. You grinned. "I'm proud of you." He flushed. "Don't say it like that." "Like what?" "Like it's... special." "It is. You're special."

Silence. Then—

He turned. And smiled. Not the half-smile. Not the polite one. But a real one. Teeth and all. And yeah — his canines? Sharp. You filed that away for later.

_________

Friday arrived with a headache. Not yours — Jake's.

"I think my brain's melting," he groaned into the throw pillow on your couch, blanket over his head like a corpse in a student film. "I've seen scene 12 so many times I'm starting to hear her line in my sleep."

You sat beside him, cross-legged, sipping coffee. "What line?" Jake peeked from under the blanket and mimicked in a broken falsetto: "Why didn't you run? You could've left me."

Then, in his normal voice: "She says it right after the betrayal, but I can't tell if it lands." Sunghoon — who was perched stiffly on the floor next to the coffee table, flipping through a journal — looked up and said, "It does."

Jake blinked. "You've seen it?"

"You showed it to me yesterday. On the projector."

Jake tilted his head. "Wait... did you stay the whole time?"

Sunghoon nodded, hesitant. "You didn't notice?"

Jake sat up like a cartoon character. "Dude. I thought you left when I went to get snacks."

"I didn't want to interrupt," Sunghoon said, adjusting his sleeves. "It felt... private."

Jake stared. You stared. Then Jake looked at you, wide-eyed. "He's actually turning human." You grinned. "Let's not jinx it." Sunghoon frowned. "I've always been—" Jake dramatically tossed the pillow at him. "Silence, vampire."

By afternoon, the apartment was chaotic. Eunchae was running late. Yunjin was texting you updates from campus. Jake was pacing around with a highlighter tucked behind his ear, half a rice cake in one hand, his laptop open to the tech sheet for his short film debut tomorrow.

"We need to finalize the promo caption!" he shouted from the kitchen.

"I thought it was 'Silence is the loudest scream,'" you called back.

"I'm workshopping that," he said. "What about: Sometimes, what's left unsaid is the real confession?" Sunghoon, still curled into your beanbag chair with your dog-eared law journal, muttered, "Too long."

Jake reappeared in the doorway. "You're right."

He looked possessed. "What if we just call it Mute. One word. Bold. Stark. Cinematic."

Eunchae entered at that exact moment, sunglasses on indoors, iced coffee in each hand. "Are we naming a movie or a designer perfume?"

"Both," Jake said. "Preferably."

She dropped the coffees on the table. "You all look like you haven't slept in 48 hours."

"We haven't," you and Jake chorused.

Sunghoon looked up. "I slept."

Eunchae rolled her eyes. "Of course you did. That's why your skin is glowing and the rest of us look like sad pottery."

---

That evening, the plan was simple: everyone would crash at your place for a final prep night. Except nothing was ever simple. Eunchae got a call from Jay asking to confirm her presence at Mina's upcoming art fundraiser. "He's buttering me up with sweet words and false promises," she said. "Like a man with a mixtape and no talent."

Yunjin stormed in an hour later with two USB drives and fury in her voice. "The university is changing the campus paper's layout to give more space to student council ads. They're squeezing our entire front-page op-ed into the corner like an obituary."

Jake offered her a cookie. She took it and sulked dramatically on your floor. Sunghoon passed her his highlighter wordlessly. She blinked. "Thanks."

He nodded once. You watched that. Then, without even thinking, turned away with a small smile. Almost.

---

Dinner was chaotic. You cooked noodles. Jake made a weird attempt at fusion ramen. Eunchae spilled chili oil on the floor. Yunjin set off your fire alarm while trying to toast garlic. Sunghoon... quietly set the table.

No one asked him to. He just did it. Water glasses, napkins, forks aligned, bowls spaced evenly. When he finished, he stood there awkwardly, unsure where to go next. You noticed. You tugged on his sleeve. "Sit next to me."

He blinked. "Okay." He sat. Close. A little too close. Your knees brushed under the table, but neither of you moved.

Eunchae noticed. She said nothing. But you caught the little smirk she gave Yunjin.

Later that night, everyone was stuffed and half-sleepy from food coma and burnout. You threw on a documentary for background noise. Jake claimed your beanbag. Yunjin was sprawled on the couch. Eunchae had her head in your lap, already dozing.

Sunghoon hovered awkwardly until you pointed at the floor space beside you. He sat — legs crossed, fingers twitching, trying to find a position that felt natural.

Then, slowly, very slowly, he leaned his head back and rested it against the couch — just next to your thigh. It was nothing. And somehow, it was everything. You didn't say a word. You just stayed still. Almost.

At midnight, everyone left except Sunghoon. He helped clean up without being asked. Wiped counters. Dried dishes. Moved slowly, carefully. Like if he did it quietly enough, you might not notice he hadn't said goodbye. You leaned against the sink, arms crossed.

"So..."

He turned. "Yeah?"

You paused. The air felt... heavier. Not thick with tension. Just charged. Like both of you were waiting for something that never quite arrived.

"You're staying?" you asked softly.

He blinked. "Do you want me to?"

You didn't answer right away.

Then: "Yeah."

He looked down. "Okay."

And that was it. You watched him fold your dishrag like it mattered. You watched his fingers tremble just a little. You noticed the slope of his neck, the arch of his back under his sweater, the way his jaw clenched when you said nothing. You stepped closer.

He didn't move. Just stood there, hands still, breathing shallow. And you? You almost said something. But you didn't. Because this wasn't that moment. Not yet.

The next morning, you woke up on the couch. Sunghoon was in the armchair, asleep, curled under your favorite blanket, headphones still around his neck, Jake's script open in his lap. The sun lit the room softly. Quietly.

And as you sat up, rubbed your eyes, and looked at him — really looked at him — you felt something flicker in your chest. Not lightning. Not fireworks. Just... warmth. Almost love. But not yet.

__________

There's a moment just before the start of something — a hush, a pause, like the air's holding its breath. You felt it all week. Not dramatic. Not romantic. But persistent. Like a shift in gravity every time Park Sunghoon stood too close. The almosts were turning sharper. The air around him heavier. His silences weren't nervous anymore — they were loaded. But no one said anything. Especially not you. Especially not him. Not yet.

The week began with the screening.

Jake's film Mute played in the dimmed lecture hall to a packed student crowd, glitchy lights, and even glitchier audio — Eunchae's laptop had crashed twice during setup, and Jake had screamed into a paper cup about creative sabotage. Still, the film played. The room went quiet. And for eleven minutes, everyone watched in silence as Jake's story unfolded in grayscale: a whistleblower, a silent confession, a girl screaming with no sound. When it ended, people clapped. Slowly at first, then louder. Jake didn't move. He looked frozen. His fingers shook. You squeezed his hand without saying a word. Then Sunghoon — standing beside him, unnoticed until now — leaned down and said something so quiet, only Jake heard it. Jake turned to him. Then burst out laughing. He hugged Sunghoon. "You're insane." You blinked. "What did he say?"

Jake grinned, eyes wet. "He said, 'if this flopped I was ready to lie for you.'"

You turned to Sunghoon. He didn't deny it. He just looked at you and said, "I'm loyal." A pause. Then, lower — just for you: "To the people who matter." Your breath caught. But you said nothing. Because that? That was bold. And it was only Monday.

Wednesday night, you and Sunghoon found yourselves stuck in the law library after closing — Jake had stolen your apartment keys to clean up glitter from Eunchae's campaign collages, and Yunjin was out cold from pulling two all-nighters. So you sat across from each other at the study tables, surrounded by stacks of books, untouched highlighters, and the warm buzz of dim reading lamps.

You'd been working on your notes for an upcoming moot trial. He'd been reviewing past case transcripts, occasionally glancing over at your scribbles. At some point, you kicked off your shoes. Your socked foot nudged his knee. You didn't even realize. He didn't move. Ten minutes later, you felt the lightest pressure against your ankle. A nudge. Careful. Barely there. You looked up. He didn't flinch. Just raised his brows slightly. Then went back to reading. You swallowed. That was new. You tried to focus again — really, you did. But then he reached across the table to slide one of your sticky notes closer to him, and his fingers brushed yours.

You looked at him sharply. He met your eyes for just a second too long. You blinked. He turned away, like nothing happened. You almost cursed out loud.

That Friday, you caught a cold. Which meant: headache, runny nose, no voice, and a complete inability to function. Jake brought soup. Eunchae brought gossip. Yunjin brought lecture notes. But it was Sunghoon who stayed. Not the whole day. But long enough. He knocked once, entered softly, and set down a bag with tissue packets, a ginger shot, and — inexplicably — a lemon tart.

"You like citrus," he said.

You blinked at him from under three blankets. "How did you know?"

He flushed. "You always eat around the orange Skittles, but keep the lemon ones."

You stared.

"Also, you order lemon tea. Like. Every time."

You opened your mouth. Then closed it again. Sunghoon looked down. Then added, quietly: "I pay attention." You didn't say anything. Not because you didn't want to — but because your heart was in your throat. And your nose was too stuffed to speak anyway.

That night, your fever finally broke. You woke up sweaty, confused, and reached for your water. The glass was full. You blinked. Then turned your head. Sunghoon was asleep on your couch. Still in his jacket. One arm over his eyes. Your cat curled on his chest like it was normal. You swallowed. And then noticed your charger plugged in. Your notes stacked. A tiny lemon candy by your pillow.

Oh.

So this is how you fall for someone. Not with fireworks. Not even with words. But with lemon candies. And sharp glances. And feet under the table. Almost.

Saturday. You were mostly better — not perfect, but not dying — and Sunghoon was still hovering. Quietly. Efficiently. Jake cornered you in the hallway. "He likes you," he said bluntly. You choked on your tea. "What?" "He. Likes. You." You blinked. "No he doesn't." "He does," Jake insisted. "He's getting bolder. In his weird, stupid way. Like when he said 'I'm loyal'? Are you kidding me? That's foreplay. That's his foreplay." You flushed. "He's just being nice." Jake pointed at you dramatically. "That man has memorized your Skittle preferences and brought you a lemon tart unprompted. If this was fanfiction, you'd be pregnant." "SIM JAEYUN." "I'm just saying," he shrugged. "If he starts talking about your voice or touching your wrist when you pass the pen, I'm calling it." You shoved him. "Go bother Eunchae."

That evening, Sunghoon texted you.

rizzlord 69: do you want to study?

rizzlord 69: or just sit in the same room and pretend we're being productive

You smiled.

And replied:

YOU: i'll bring snacks. but if you touch my notes again i'm filing a restraining order.

A pause.

Then:

rizzlord 69: you'd like that

You blinked.

YOU: what does that mean

rizzlord 69: idk

rizzlord 69: sounded kind of hot in my head

rizzlord 69: i'm deleting this

Your heart stopped. Then pounded. You stared at your screen. Then texted back:

YOU: i'm keeping the screenshots for evidence

rizzlord 69: criminal

YOU: proud

---

You didn't know it yet. But that message? That was the beginning. The first time he flirted — really flirted. Not by accident. Not by silence. But on purpose. It wasn't much. But it was a crack in the door. And the boldness? It was coming. Just very, very slowly.

_________

You'd expected the study session to be awkward. It wasn't. It was worse — it was dangerous. Because sitting across from Park Sunghoon while pretending to revise legal frameworks was starting to feel like Russian roulette with your self-control. Not because of anything obvious. No. Because of how he was looking at you. Not constantly. Not dramatically. Just... deliberately. Like he was actually seeing you, and not trying to hide that fact anymore.

He came over with snacks this time. Grapes, of all things. You'd blinked at them and said, "What are we, Victorian children?" He said, "You eat slower when you're focused. Grapes are quiet." You stared. He shrugged, calm, folding his long limbs onto the couch beside you. That was bold. And the thing was — he didn't even seem nervous anymore. Just quiet. Collected. Like he'd figured something out and wasn't telling you yet.

---

Two hours in, it got worse. You were explaining how a counter-argument worked for your mock debate — something about dual culpability in fraud cases — and you leaned forward, waving a pen in the air as you spoke. He watched your mouth. You didn't imagine it. His eyes tracked the way you said culpability like it was a promise. Your voice caught halfway through your sentence. "...so the whole point is that intent and—uh—execution—are—"

He raised an eyebrow. You snapped your mouth shut. He didn't say anything. But he smiled. Not big. Not soft. Just... slightly smug. Like he knew. And for a second, you wanted to kick him. Or kiss him. Same thing.

It didn't help that he'd changed clothes. Nothing dramatic — just a soft, black t-shirt and sweats, both slightly loose, but not baggy enough to hide much. His biceps looked unfair. Worse were the sleeves. Short enough to reveal his forearms, flexing lightly whenever he reached for your notes. He had nice hands. You'd noticed before. But now, it was like he wanted you to. And the worst part? You think he knew that too. You were lying on your stomach now, arms sprawled, face smooshed into your pillow. "I'm gonna die," you muttered.

Sunghoon flipped another page. "Of what?" "Academic heartbreak," you mumbled. "And your arms." He snorted. "You've got arms." "Yeah, but mine don't make people question their moral compass." He paused. You looked up. He was staring down at you. Calm. Measured. But something flickered behind his eyes. Then — slowly — he said, "What exactly do mine make you question?" Your breath stalled. You didn't look away. "Everything." He smiled — barely. "Good." You turned your face into the pillow. "Don't do that," he added softly. You blinked. "What?" "Hide your face." You turned slowly. He met your gaze. "I like it." Oh. Well. Okay.

You went quiet after that. And so did he. But the silence wasn't awkward anymore. It was thick. Heavy. A little fucked. A little... hot.

Later that evening, Yunjin dropped by to return a jacket you'd left at the media room. She stepped inside, took one look at the two of you on the couch — your legs tangled in the blanket, his hair slightly messy, you both pretending to be reading separate things — and blinked."Well," she said. "Looks like I should've knocked harder."

You sat up immediately. "It's not—" Sunghoon beat you to it. "We're studying." Yunjin smirked. "I bet." You threw a pillow at her. She caught it. Then turned to Sunghoon, eyes narrowing. "You corrupting our girl, Park?"

Sunghoon shrugged. "She started it." You froze. Yunjin raised an eyebrow. You looked at him — really looked at him — and saw it: the slight tilt of his head. The corner of his lip twitching. The almost-smile. He was teasing. In front of people. You wanted to die. Yunjin cackled. "God, you're both disasters. I'm leaving before this turns into a porno." You groaned. "Yunjin, please." "I said what I said." She winked at Sunghoon. "Good luck, loverboy." He just leaned back. Didn't deny it. You stared at him after she left. He looked back at you. And for a second — just one — he let his eyes drag from your lips to your throat and back up again.

Then he blinked. Gone. You said nothing. But you didn't breathe right for the next hour. By the time he left that night, you felt like you'd just survived an emotional marathon. He paused at the door. You stood next to him.

"Thanks for today," you said, voice quieter than you meant it to be. He looked at you. Said nothing. Then — slowly — lifted a hand and brushed your hair back behind your ear. Your heart stopped. "I'll see you tomorrow," he murmured. Then turned and walked out. You stood there for ten full seconds. Then collapsed on your bed and screamed into your pillow. Because that man just tucked your hair behind your ear like it was a sex scene. You were not okay. And neither was your heart.

_______

By Sunday afternoon, it became a matter of personal pride. Park Sunghoon had been flustering you all week — casually, sneakily, like it wasn't calculated — and your ego was taking psychic damage. So today? Today, you'd fight back. With intention. Not desperation. You were going to fluster him. Properly. Cleanly. With poise. With dignity. And maybe with the tank top that fit you just a little too well. Strictly for scientific purposes.

He'd invited you to his place this time. Just to "study," of course — but Sunghoon didn't realize he'd accidentally created the perfect trap for himself.

His apartment was weirdly clean. Bookshelves full of law reviews and graphic novels. A few empty water bottles by his bed. A worn hoodie hanging on the back of a chair that definitely smelled like him. Your downfall was going to smell like laundry detergent and warm skin. He handed you a drink when you arrived. "Ginger ale."

"Why?"

"Because you like lemon. And ginger is lemon-adjacent."

You blinked. "That's not real logic." He smiled faintly. "It worked, didn't it?" You glared. He smirked. This was war.

The study session started predictably enough. You sat cross-legged on his bed with your laptop, surrounded by outlines and pens, while he leaned back against the headboard beside you, posture too casual for someone so dangerous.

For a while, you tried to focus. Really. But then his knee brushed yours under the blankets. And then again. And again. You turned to him. "Sunghoon." "Hm?"

"Stop touching me with your knee."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"It's accidental."

You narrowed your eyes. He didn't move. You raised your eyebrows. "You want to go?" He blinked. "Go where?" "Into battle."

He smiled — small. "I'm always ready."

Your heart stuttered. You turned back to your screen. Okay. Time to deploy the weapon.

Phase 1: The Tank Top Adjustment. You shifted your posture. Arms over your head. Stretching. The fabric rose. You caught the flicker in his eyes before he looked away. He cleared his throat. You almost grinned. "One–zero," you muttered. "What?"

"Nothing."

Phase 2: The Casual Touch.

You pointed something out in your notes and leaned in — just a bit closer than necessary — your shoulder brushing his chest. His breath hitched. You tilted your head. "You good?" He nodded. Too quickly. You bit your lip. Then, barely above a whisper: "You're blushing." He was. You saw it now — just a pink bloom along his cheekbones. Barely there. But real. His lips parted, like he wanted to deny it. He didn't. Instead, he met your gaze — steady, slow. "You're doing it on purpose," he murmured. Your heart skipped. "Doing what?" He didn't answer right away. Then, voice low: "Trying to ruin me." You blinked. Your mouth went dry. He tilted his head.

"You're good at it." You opened your mouth — nothing came out. He leaned in just slightly, voice brushing your skin like silk. "You think I haven't noticed how you talk to Jake when I'm around?" You froze.

His eyes dropped to your lips. "You think I don't see how you bite your pen when you're trying to piss me off?" Your breath caught. "I see everything," he whispered.

You swallowed. "I'm just letting you win," he added, "because you look cute when you think you're in control." Your jaw dropped. "Sunghoon—" He leaned back. Smiled. And blushed again. You stared. "What the hell," you muttered. He shrugged, very pink. "I'm learning."

You didn't speak for a full minute. He went back to reviewing a document like he hadn't just verbally set you on fire. You sat there. Stunned. Hot. Weirdly proud. Because that was flirting. From Park Sunghoon. And even if his ears were still red, he hadn't backed down.

Later that night, you both took a break to make popcorn. His kitchen was dim and quiet, lit only by the soft overhead light and the glow of the microwave. You leaned on the counter beside him. "So. You're bold now." He didn't look at you. "Sometimes." "You practice that line?" "No." "Liar." He glanced sideways. "Okay. Maybe a little." You smirked. "I knew it." "You inspired me." You blinked. He reached for the popcorn bowl. Then paused. "I like the way you look when you're trying to win," he said. You turned to face him. He met your eyes. You stepped closer. "Do I win?" He tilted his head. "You try very hard," he murmured. You grinned. "That's not a no." "It's not a yes either." "Coward."

He raised an eyebrow. "Careful."

"Or what?" He said nothing. Just popped a piece of popcorn into your mouth. You blinked.

"What—"

"Quiet," he said. "You talk too much." Your jaw dropped. He popped another one into his own mouth and smiled — pleased, a little smug. You didn't recover for the next ten minutes.

After that, the mood somehow softened. He handed you a hoodie — his — and you slipped it on without thinking. He watched. Didn't say anything. But he stared longer than necessary. You caught him. He didn't look away. Just said, "You look good in black." You tugged the sleeves down. "So do you." He didn't blink. "I like it better on you." You clutched the hem. He went back to his notes like he hadn't just killed you. By the time you were both back in bed, side by side with your laptops open and shoulders almost touching, you felt the room shift. Still quiet. Still warm. But charged. Like everything almost happened. But didn't. Like you could kiss him. But didn't. And he could kiss you. But wouldn't. Not yet. So instead, he said: "I think I like you more when you're not trying to fluster me." You blinked. "Why?" "You're already dangerous."

He paused. Then, without looking at you: "But you're kind. And you listen. And I think you'd break your own heart before you hurt someone else." You turned to him.

"Sunghoon..." His voice was low. "I just wanted you to know."

You looked down. Your heart swelled. And something inside you ached. Because you wanted to say something — something true. But the words stuck. So you reached for his hand.And he let you take it. No jokes. No smirks. Just silence. And warmth. And maybe, just maybe, love. Eventually.

_________

Sunghoon's POV

You weren't doing it on purpose. That was the worst part. Sunghoon knew you were just talking — about culpability and counter-arguments and something about fraud law — but none of it mattered, because all he could hear was the way you said execution like it was something physical. He blinked. Tried to focus on the case study in front of him. His fingers twitched, tapping the corner of the paper like that would fix his brain. It didn't. You stretched. Arms over your head. Shirt lifting. Skin flashing just enough to make him forget the meaning of precedent. Sunghoon swallowed hard. Looked down. Felt his ears burn. You were going to kill him. And you didn't even know it. Or maybe you did. Because when you leaned closer, pretending to point at a paragraph, your shoulder brushed his chest — soft, warm, intentional.

He almost stopped breathing. You tilted your head. "You good?" He nodded.

Too fast. His body was so obvious. You'd noticed. He could feel you noticing. Which meant — game on.

He didn't know what changed. Maybe it was how comfortable he was with you now. Maybe it was how naturally you made yourself at home in his space. Maybe it was that little twitch of your mouth when you realized you'd made him blush. But something shifted. And he leaned into it.

"You're doing it on purpose," he murmured.

You blinked. "Doing what?" He let the silence sit. Watched the way your throat moved when you swallowed.

"Trying to ruin me." Your eyes went wide. And god — that look on your face. He wanted to laugh. Or kiss you. Same thing. So he kept going. Quiet, bold. "You think I haven't noticed how you talk to Jake when I'm around?" Your mouth parted. "You think I don't see how you bite your pen like you want me to fail a midterm on purpose?" Your hands curled into the blanket. "I see everything."

He let it hang there. Then added, soft: "I'm just letting you win." Your eyes darkened. His pulse spiked. And then he blushed again. Because you were so close and so pretty and still looking at him like that, and he knew he was playing a dangerous game, but god — you were worth every risk. He tried to play it cool. Tried to breathe. But when you turned your face to the side, hiding your expression in your sleeve — the tiniest flustered movement — his stomach did something awful and wonderful at the same time. Because that was when he realized something: He didn't want to win. Not really. He just wanted to see you like this. Comfortable. Glowing. Alive. And if that meant getting destroyed by your smile in the process... fine. He could survive a little heartache. Probably.

______

The next time you saw Jake, he was standing on a table. No, really. A whole table. In the middle of the quad. One foot on a crate of student newspaper stacks, the other on a folding chair, arms outstretched like he was Moses parting the Red Sea — if Moses wore a pink hoodie and had an iced Americano in hand. "DO NOT BELIEVE THE LIBEL," he yelled, voice hoarse, face flushed with indignation and too much caffeine. "I DID NOT, I REPEAT, DID NOT PROMISE FREE WIFI IN THE FOREST."

You stood beside Yunjin, clutching your coffee and blinking. She deadpanned, "What the hell did you do to your assistant?"

"I let him believe in democracy," you whispered. She sipped her latte. "That's on you."

---

Apparently, while you were busy unraveling on Sunghoon's bed, Jake's modest student council campaign had gone viral. Or rather — the rumors about it had. A parody Instagram account under the handle @jake4dictator had posted a mock flyer featuring Jake's face photoshopped onto an anime villain's body with the caption: "HE PROMISED AIR CONDITIONING IN THE LIBRARY. HE DELIVERED VIBES."

Comments ranged from:

"king. i will give him my vote and my heart."

"is this man even enrolled??"

Yunjin scrolled through the account with increasing horror. Jake stood nearby, now fending off a group of girls asking if he could "legally abolish finals." You joined him at the base of the steps. "Jake—" He turned. "They think I have power, Y/N. I haven't even submitted my candidacy form yet." "Then maybe don't stand on furniture and scream." "But they LIKE it." A voice shouted from the crowd: "Jake for President of Everything!" He lit up. You turned to Yunjin. "He's gone." She nodded. "Fully radicalized."

---

By the afternoon, a formal email arrived from the Student Council Board. It wasn't a warning. It was an invitation. You stared at it. "They want him to run... for real." Yunjin laughed. "He can't even tie a tie." Sunghoon, leaning beside the vending machine, added, "That might be why they want him." You looked over. He was in one of his crisp button-downs again, sleeves rolled up just enough to expose the veins in his forearms. His hair was slightly messy, his bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. You tried to focus. Failed. He tilted his head. "You okay?" You blinked. "Yeah. It's just—" you motioned vaguely to Jake's fan club, now passing out pins — "this got out of hand." Sunghoon's mouth twitched. "You proud?" "Honestly?" You exhaled. "Kind of." He studied you. You looked away first.

You all met that evening in the Media Room — the unofficial war room — to figure out what came next. Jake paced. Yunjin edited a new flyer. You sat on the couch beside Sunghoon, laptop open, watching the chaos. "This is a PR nightmare," Jake declared. "We need an actual campaign strategy now. Speeches. Outreach. Voter data. A vibe."

"You are the vibe," Yunjin muttered.

"I need infrastructure!" Jake shouted. Sunghoon spoke quietly beside you, "He's spiraling." You leaned closer. "Should we tranquilize him?" "I've got gummy bears." "That'll work." He handed you the pack. Your fingers brushed. You pretended not to notice. He definitely noticed. You pretended not to notice that either. Jake turned to you. "Y/N. Please. Be my campaign manager. I need a brilliant mind and emotional regulation." You blinked. "What part of me suggests emotional regulation?" "You haven't punched me yet. That's more than I can say for Yunjin."

Yunjin raised her hand. "I'll do it again." Jake clasped your shoulders dramatically. "Help me. I'm too pretty to fail." You sighed. "Fine. But we do this smart. No more shouting in public—" "—no promises." "—and no more making up policies on the spot." "I thought the juice fountain idea was inspired." Sunghoon mumbled, "It was." You turned to him. "You're not helping." He smiled.

Later, when everyone else had left, you lingered in the hallway outside the Media Room, still half-laughing over Jake's campaign tagline ("J-A-K-E: Just A Kid Enlightening"). Sunghoon stayed too. You weren't sure if that was on purpose. But you weren't asking him to leave. He stood next to you, quiet. Not shy — just present. Steady. You both watched the fluorescent light flicker above the hallway door. "I've never had this many people around me before," you said suddenly. He looked over. You clarified, "Not like this. Not chaos, and noise, and stupid slogans. Just... people who care." He nodded. "It's good." "It's overwhelming." He glanced at you. "You look okay." You smiled faintly. "You think?" "You carry it well." You turned. Leaned against the wall. "Do you?" He paused. Then, softly: "I'm trying." You watched his expression shift — something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. You stepped closer. He didn't move away. "Can I ask you something?" He nodded.

You tilted your head. "Why'd you really offer to help Jake last week? You barely knew him." A beat of silence. Then, voice low: "Because you were standing next to him." Your heart jumped. He looked at you. Calm. Open. You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then smiled — warm, slow, maybe a little stupid. "Okay," you said. He smiled too. And that smile was different. It wasn't smug. Or sarcastic. Or flustered. It was soft. Like he'd already decided. Like he'd already picked you. Even if he wouldn't say it yet. Even if it would take a while. That was fine. You had time.

______________

The campus felt different in the days before the debate. Not just busier. Louder.

Banners unfurled from library balconies, leaflets littered the grass, chalk messages ran across the pavement like bright, urgent veins: VOTE THIS FRIDAY — MAKE YOUR VOICE COUNT — KARAOKE KING 2025 (that one was Jake's doing, apparently). It wasn't just a student election anymore. It was a spectacle. And you were in the middle of it.

The Media Room looked like a war bunker. Stacks of flyers in one corner, campaign merchandise in another — mostly buttons and stickers with Jake's face. Half of them were from actual supporters. The other half were ironic. Jake didn't care. At the table, Jake was hunched over his laptop, muttering, "If I mention free donuts in the opening statement, is that bribery or... just kindness?" "No." You didn't look up from your notes. "It's corruption with sprinkles."

Yunjin snorted from the couch, scrolling through the latest student newspaper article. "They're calling him the 'charismatic underdog.'" Jake brightened. "That's good press!" "They also called you 'a golden retriever with questionable fiscal policies.'" He deflated. "...still cute, though."

Sunghoon walked in without knocking, and the air shifted. Not dramatically. He didn't do dramatic. But the quiet attention he carried into a room was impossible to ignore.

He had his bag slung over one shoulder, wearing a plain navy sweater pushed to the elbows. The soft knit clung faintly to his forearms when he set his notebook down. And — god help you — his biceps caught your attention again, the fabric stretching just enough when he pulled a chair closer to the table. "Opposition's been busy," he said, voice low. "They're tightening their platform. Fewer jokes, more attacks."

Jake frowned. "On me?" Sunghoon's eyes flicked to you. "Not just you." You froze. "What?" He slid a single sheet of paper across the table.

On it: a screenshot from a private campus forum thread. Your name. A few lines of speculation. And then, lower, a blunt statement about why you "shouldn't be trusted with campaign funds." You stared at it. "That's not even true—" "I know," Sunghoon cut in, calm but firm. "But it's gaining traction." Jake slammed his palm on the table. "Who posts this garbage?" "People who want to win," Sunghoon said simply.

---

The conversation spiraled into strategy. Yunjin suggested preemptively addressing the rumors at the debate. Jake wanted to "make it a joke." You wanted to set the record straight without drawing more attention to it. Sunghoon listened quietly, jotting occasional notes, but his gaze kept returning to you — not in pity, not in suspicion, but something heavier. Like he was cataloguing your reactions. Filing them away for later. When the meeting wound down, Jake bounced off to a photo op ("They're filming me eating pizza in the quad!"), leaving you, Sunghoon, and Yunjin alone. Yunjin yawned, stretched, and stood. "I'll grab food. You two... do whatever intense staring contest you've got going." You glared at her. "We're talking strategy."

"Mmhm." She winked and left.

Silence settled between you and Sunghoon once she was gone. "You handled it well," he said finally. "The rumor?" He nodded. "Most people would've gotten defensive." "I am defensive." "Not outwardly." His mouth twitched faintly. "You're good at holding the line."

You crossed your arms. "You say that like you've been watching." "I have." That landed harder than it should have. "Because of Jake?" you asked. His gaze didn't waver. "...Not just Jake." Your pulse jumped. You broke eye contact first, pretending to gather papers. "The debate's going to be a mess." "Maybe," he said. "Or maybe it's when they realize you're the real weapon." You looked at him. Really looked.

And there it was again — that calm, steady confidence he seemed to have in you, even when you didn't have it in yourself. It unnerved you. And, annoyingly, it thrilled you too.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur of campaign prep. You reviewed Jake's likely questions, organized cue cards, and tried not to think about the fact that the entire student body — plus faculty and press — would be watching. Outside, the quad was already being transformed into the debate stage. Rows of folding chairs, string lights, and the faint hum of sound checks filled the air. By the time you left the Media Room, the sun was low, the campus bathed in gold. Sunghoon fell into step beside you without a word. For a while, you just walked. And though nothing was said, you couldn't shake the feeling that every step toward that debate stage was also a step toward something else — something unspoken, building between you both, slow and certain.MSomething that wouldn't stay unspoken for much longer.

_______

The quad looked like it had been swallowed by an election festival. By the time you arrived, the sun had dipped low enough to turn the tops of the brick buildings honey-gold, and the string lights above the debate stage glowed like a constellation someone had netted and hung overhead. Rows upon rows of folding chairs faced a low platform draped in school colors. Large screens flanked the stage, already projecting the faces of tonight's "headline candidates" — Jake among them, grinning like he'd been born for this.

Students milled everywhere. Some held homemade signs (J-A-K-E!, KARAOKE KING, MAKE MIDTERMS OPTIONAL). Others wore the opposition's slicker, more professional badges. A small group of student journalists huddled in the front row, cameras slung over their shoulders. It was louder than you'd expected. Louder than it had any right to be.

"You're pale," Yunjin murmured beside you. "I'm fine." "You're gripping your cue cards so hard they're bending." You eased your hold, exhaling. "I'm fine." She glanced at you with that knowing smirk. "You'll be more than fine. You'll make him look like a genius." Before you could respond, Jake bounded up, hair perfectly tousled, jacket looking freshly ironed, the human embodiment of I woke up like this. "Team," he announced, "we are about to make history."You deadpanned. "Let's focus on making it through thirty minutes without you promising free puppies for everyone." He winked. "Noted."

From the corner of your eye, you caught Sunghoon approaching the stage area. He'd swapped his sweater for a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, the neat lines of the fabric framing his shoulders. He carried a slim folder under one arm, moving with quiet purpose, like he'd walked into a high court rather than a campus event. Your gaze caught, held, for a beat too long. He didn't smile. But the flicker in his eyes — subtle, almost imperceptible — said he'd noticed.

The debate moderator, a senior from the journalism program, ran through last-minute rules: candidates at the front, campaign managers in the wings, no interruptions from the crowd. You stationed yourself off to the side, where you could feed Jake lines if necessary. Sunghoon stood just behind the opposition's candidate — a tall, sharp-tongued econ major named Minji — flipping through his notes without looking rushed.

You caught him watching you once. Twice. The third time, he didn't look away immediately. The opening statements were harmless enough — Jake leaned into humor ("I may not have an economics degree, but I know the library vending machines have been stealing our money for years"), while Minji countered with polished promises and fiscal jargon.

It was the third question that shifted the tone. A student journalist stood, adjusting their glasses. "This question is for Candidate Sim," they said — Jake — "but perhaps your campaign manager would like to answer as well."

You froze. Jake tilted his head. "Go on." "Some students have expressed concern," the journalist continued, "about your choice of campaign manager, given her... history with last semester's budget dispute in the Arts Council." There it was. The rumor Sunghoon had warned you about — served under bright lights, with half the campus watching.

You didn't look at Sunghoon. But you could feel him, a quiet anchor somewhere behind your right shoulder. Jake glanced at you. The audience murmured. You stepped forward. "Last semester," you began, voice even, "the Arts Council faced a funding shortage. We had two choices — cut programs, or reallocate funds from unused grants. I recommended reallocation. The board voted against it. That's their prerogative. But it was neither illegal nor unethical. It was a difference in vision."

The words came easily, each one clipped and deliberate. You weren't pleading. You weren't defensive. "Student leadership," you continued, "is about choices. Sometimes hard ones. I stand by mine, and I'd do it again if it meant protecting student opportunities." You held the journalist's gaze for a beat before stepping back.

The murmurs shifted. Not approval exactly — but respect. Jake grinned, turned to the mic, and said, "That's why I hired her." The crowd laughed. The moderator moved on. During the next few questions, you felt the tight coil in your stomach loosen — just enough to notice the way Sunghoon had shifted. He was no longer scanning his notes. He was watching you, elbows resting casually on the table in front of him. It wasn't a smirk. It wasn't even a smile.

It was sharper than both — the look of someone quietly recalculating their understanding of you. And god, it made your pulse misbehave. The debate wound toward closing statements. Jake stayed on message, Minji landed a few pointed digs, but nothing as sharp as that budget question. When it ended, the crowd erupted — half cheering, half already rushing to post clips online. You gathered your notes, stepping down from the stage. The cool night air met your skin, carrying the faint scent of cut grass and something warmer — cologne. Sunghoon was suddenly there, falling into step beside you.

"You handled that well," he said. "Thanks." He glanced sidelong at you. "Didn't flinch once." "Couldn't give them the satisfaction."

His mouth curved — just barely. "Good."

Yunjin appeared, slapping you lightly on the back. "You just made yourself a hundred new enemies and twice as many admirers." Jake trotted over, flushed from the adrenaline. "We killed it, right?" "Moderately murdered," Yunjin said.

"Politically stabbed," you added.

Sunghoon's voice was quieter, for you alone: "Strategically lethal."

And the way he said it — slow, deliberate — lodged under your skin, warm and dangerous.

_____

The quad had emptied slowly after the debate, voices trailing off into the hum of late campus life. The folding chairs were stacked now, the stage stripped of its banners, and the string lights above swayed gently in the night breeze. You'd stayed longer than planned, helping Jake hand off the last of his campaign props to a volunteer, partly because you needed to make sure the equipment got back to the media department... and partly because you weren't ready to go back to your apartment yet. The adrenaline was still too sharp, the taste of that budget question still lingering at the back of your throat.

When you finally stepped away from the logistics, the quad felt almost private.

Not silent — you could hear music from somewhere down the path, the faint rush of the fountain by the library — but stripped of its earlier chaos.

Sunghoon was leaning against the low brick wall near the steps, hands in his pockets, shirt sleeves still rolled, collar open just enough to hint at the line of his throat. He didn't straighten when you approached, just watched you cross the space toward him.

"You waited?" you asked. His answer was simple. "Yeah." "For...?" "You," he said, as if it were obvious. Then, after a pause: "We should talk." You stopped a few feet from him. "About?" He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he pulled one hand from his pocket, holding a folded sheet of paper between his fingers — the same size as the notes he used during the debate. But when you took it, you realized it wasn't debate prep. It was a printed screenshot from that same private forum thread. New posts.

Your name mentioned again. More pointed speculation this time — some of it veiled, some of it not. The kind of things that could fester if left unchecked. You felt your jaw tighten. "I told you, it's not—" "I know it's not," he interrupted, voice low but steady. "I also know the opposition will use whatever they can. They're already digging, and I..." He stopped there, watching your face carefully. "...I just don't want you blindsided." The way he said it wasn't just political strategy. It was... personal. Too personal. You looked down at the paper again, forcing your voice level. "Thanks for the warning. I can handle it." "I know you can."

It was the same words he'd said after the debate — but softer now. Weighted. He pushed away from the wall, closing the space between you until you could see the faint sheen of exertion still clinging to his skin, the curve of his lashes in the light from the lamppost. For a moment, he just studied you — not in the calculating way he had during campaign meetings, but like he was trying to memorize the exact shape of you here, in this moment.

Then he said, "You're used to doing everything yourself." You blinked. "What?" "You carry everything like it's yours alone to fix. Even things that aren't your fault." His gaze flicked down, then back up. "I know that because I've done it too." The words sank in slowly, heavy as stones. "...What are you talking about?"

He hesitated — not the measured kind of pause you'd come to expect from him, but something rougher, as if he was deciding whether to open a locked door.

"My father," he said finally. "When things went wrong, he expected me to fix them. Quietly. No matter whose fault it was." Your throat went tight. He didn't sound bitter exactly — more like someone describing an injury that had healed badly, the ache still deep in the bone. "I got good at keeping things contained," he went on. "Good at staying quiet. At being... dependable. But not because anyone asked if I wanted to be." He stopped there, breathing out slowly, and you realized your hands had curled around the paper he'd given you. "Sunghoon..." you began, but your voice trailed. The air between you shifted. It wasn't sudden — more like a quiet, invisible thread tightening.

You felt it in the stillness of him, in the way his shoulders squared not with arrogance but with decision. His eyes, dark and intent, didn't waver from yours. He stepped closer — slow, deliberate — until the scent of him reached you. Clean soap. A faint trace of cologne. And something warmer beneath, the heat of skin that had been standing too close for too long. One hand lifted, fingers brushing lightly along your temple before sliding into your hair. He tucked a strand behind your ear with careful precision, the back of his knuckles grazing the curve of your cheek on the way down. You caught the tiniest shift in his breathing then — not uneven, but deeper, as though he'd just realized how close he was. His gaze flicked between your eyes and your mouth, not fast, not guilty... just slowly, like he was committing both to memory. His other hand came up, knuckles brushing along the hinge of your jaw before his thumb found your bottom lip. He dragged it once, barely pressing, the pad catching on the soft curve.

You inhaled, pulse thrumming under your skin. His breath hitched — quiet but sharp enough for you to hear it in the stillness — and he bit down gently on his own lower lip, the movement deliberate. Not nervous. Considering. Then the pressure of his thumb deepened, coaxing your lips apart. He didn't rush it. He held your gaze the entire time, as if the act of watching you react was as intoxicating to him as the touch itself. And then — without a word — he slid the pad of his thumb just inside your mouth.

It wasn't crude. It wasn't rushed. But it was filthy in the way it bypassed every polite boundary you'd had with him until now. Your lips closed around him instinctively, the faint taste of his skin and the faint salt of the air between you hitting your tongue. You didn't suck — you didn't need to — but you let your tongue trace against the side of his thumb, a slow, testing motion. His reaction was immediate. A sharp inhale through his nose. The slightest tightening of his jaw. His eyes darkened, but they didn't look away.

The muscles in his forearm flexed subtly where he held your face, his biceps tightening under the rolled sleeve as if restraining himself from more. His thumb lingered inside your mouth for one long, heavy beat, your tongue brushing again before he eased it back — slow enough to leave a faint trail of dampness behind.

He didn't wipe it away. Instead, his thumb brushed lazily along your lip one last time, smearing that faint trace before dropping his hand. The air between you felt thicker now — dense with something you couldn't name but could feel in every inch of your skin. "You..." he started, then stopped, exhaling through his nose. "You make it very hard to be careful." It wasn't an admission of love. It wasn't even an admission of desire in so many words. But the way he looked at you when he said it — like there was nothing else in the world but the person standing in front of him — made it clear he was already too far gone.

________

He didn't move his hand right away. The faint dampness of his thumb on your lips cooled in the night air, but the heat in his gaze didn't fade. If anything, it sharpened — his pupils blown just wide enough that you could see your own reflection in them. And then he tilted his head.

Just a fraction. Just enough that you felt it — the shift in his focus from your eyes to your mouth, the almost imperceptible tightening in his jaw, the faint lift of his chest as he drew in a slow breath. You didn't step back. He closed the remaining space like gravity was pulling him — slow, unhurried, but inevitable. His fingers slid back into your hair, the tips pressing lightly against the base of your skull, guiding without forcing. His other hand, the one that had just been at your mouth, ghosted down the side of your neck, fingertips brushing over your pulse before resting lightly at the top of your shoulder. His breath was warm now, ghosting over your mouth. You could feel it — every exhale, every subtle shift forward — as his gaze flicked to your lips and back again, his own parting just enough that you caught the faintest glimpse of teeth. You were already leaning the rest of the way in before you realized you'd moved.

The space between you was gone. A single inch, maybe less. You could smell the faint sweetness of whatever tea he'd had after the debate, mingling with the sharper edge of his cologne. His lips barely brushed yours — not even a kiss, just the barest graze, enough to set off a chain reaction under your skin — when a sound cut clean through the tension. A phone. Shrill, insistent, and way too close.

Sunghoon's eyes closed for one long second, his forehead dipping forward until it rested briefly against yours in silent frustration. You could feel the sigh in his chest before he straightened, pulling back just enough to look at you properly. It was his phone.

Still buzzing in his pocket. He didn't answer it immediately. Just stood there for another moment, watching you, letting the space he'd just closed stretch open again until the cool air slipped between you. Finally, he drew in a breath, broke eye contact, and reached for his phone. "I have to take this," he said quietly, voice rougher than it had been all night. You nodded, because you couldn't trust yourself to speak.

_____

By the time Sunghoon stepped a pace back, the sound of his phone still buzzing between you, the quad felt different again — not empty, but changed.

You knew the exact moment when his thumb had brushed the inside of your mouth would replay in your head later, uninvited. You also knew you weren't the only one still carrying it. He didn't look away until the last possible second. Then he glanced down at the screen, jaw tightening, and turned slightly so you couldn't see the caller ID.

"Hello," he said, voice clipped in a way it hadn't been a minute ago. He listened, his free hand sliding into his pocket again, shoulders angling just enough to make it clear this wasn't a conversation you were meant to overhear. You caught fragments anyway. "...No, I told you... tomorrow. I'm not—"

Then, quieter: "...We'll talk about it later."

When he hung up, he stayed still for a moment before tucking the phone away and meeting your gaze again. "Sorry. Urgent." You could have asked who it was. You didn't. Whatever it was, it wasn't Jake's campaign business, and the way his tone had shifted made you think it wasn't the kind of thing he'd tell you out in the open.

"You still have Jake's cue cards?" he asked suddenly. You blinked. "Yeah. Why?" "Opposition's already trying to spin his closing remarks. They're cutting clips out of context." "That didn't take long," you muttered. "Nothing does in this place." He adjusted his bag, the motion pulling his sweater tighter across his shoulders for a moment. "Send them to me when you can. I'll forward them to... someone." The way he said it made you suspect "someone" wasn't officially on his team.

The sound of hurried footsteps broke your reply. Jake jogged up from the far end of the quad, slightly out of breath but grinning like the debate had been a personal victory parade. "Did you see?" he panted. "We trended. On two platforms."

"Trended for what?" you asked warily.

"Does it matter?" He slung an arm loosely over your shoulders before you could stop him. "I was charming, you were smart, Sunghoon looked intimidating — perfect campaign optics." Sunghoon arched a brow. "You do realize trending for the wrong thing can cost you the election?" Jake waved a hand. "Details." You shot Sunghoon an apologetic glance over Jake's arm, but he was already looking at you, not Jake, as if there was an entire second conversation happening there without words.

Yunjin arrived a minute later, holding two paper cups of coffee and somehow still managing to look like she'd just stepped out of a photoshoot. She handed one to you, then surveyed the three of you with an expression that said she was catching up on every unsaid thing in the air. "Okay," she said, "which one of you is going to explain the awkward tension, and which one is going to deny it?"

Jake frowned. "What tension?" "Exactly," Yunjin said flatly. She turned back to you. "The journalism department's dropping their debate coverage in the morning. Expect three flattering photos of Jake, one of you mid-blink, and none of Sunghoon because he apparently doesn't photograph without looking like an assassin." "That's a skill," Jake said cheerfully. Sunghoon didn't reply — but the corner of his mouth twitched like he might have, if certain people weren't watching.

The four of you ended up walking together toward the library steps, the night air crisp and smelling faintly of rain. Campaign talk dominated most of it — where Jake should be tomorrow, what messaging to push, which volunteer groups were falling behind — but beneath all of that, you could feel the quiet pulse of the earlier moment with Sunghoon, still unresolved. Every so often, you caught him glancing your way. Not long enough for anyone else to notice. Just enough for you to feel it.

_________

The morning after the debate, campus felt sharper. Not hostile — at least, not entirely — but tuned in a way it hadn't been before. The quad's bulletin boards were already plastered with debate recap posters, some official, some clearly printed in dorm basements. Half were pro-Jake, half were neutral, and a small but loud fraction were openly mocking one candidate or another. The journalism department's online recap had dropped at sunrise. Yunjin had been right: Jake got three flattering shots, you got one caught mid-blink, and Sunghoon's only photo was a blurry side angle that somehow still looked intimidating. By the time you made it to campaign HQ — a repurposed study room at the back of the student union — Jake was already pacing with his phone in hand, gesturing animatedly to someone on the other end.

"...No, I'm not changing my platform," he was saying. "If they want to call me unrealistic, fine — I'd rather be unrealistic than spineless—" He glanced up at you as you walked in, gave a quick salute with the hand not holding his phone, and went back to arguing.

Yunjin was leaning against the corner table, scrolling on her tablet, her coffee cup already empty. "Good, you're here," she said without looking up. "We have a problem." "That's one way to say good morning," you muttered, setting your bag down. "Jake's opponent leaked something," she said. "Not scandal-level, but messy. They've got a clip from an old student council meeting — Jake laughing at a budget proposal. They're framing it as him mocking low-income students." "That's not what happened," you said instantly.

"Of course it's not. But perception matters more than reality. And the clip is already viral." Jake hung up then, tossing his phone onto the table. "I told you," he said to Yunjin, "I can spin it." "You can't spin everything," she shot back. "Sometimes you have to control the story before it controls you."

The door opened then — no knock, no warning — and Sunghoon stepped inside.

He wasn't dressed for class yet, just in a dark sweatshirt and black jeans, but the way he carried himself still drew every pair of eyes in the room. "I've seen the clip," he said without preamble. "It's bad." "Thanks for the optimism," Jake muttered. "I didn't say it was fatal," Sunghoon continued, ignoring him. "But you'll need a counter-narrative before lunch." Yunjin arched a brow. "And you're here to... help us out of the kindness of your heart?" Sunghoon's gaze flicked to you briefly. "Something like that." You didn't miss the way Yunjin's eyes narrowed slightly, like she'd just confirmed a suspicion.

The next hour was a blur of strategy talk. Jake wanted to double down; Yunjin wanted to pivot; Sunghoon quietly dismantled both arguments until the three of them were forced into a compromise — a short video statement filmed that afternoon, explaining the context without sounding defensive.

You noticed, though, that every time the conversation splintered into side arguments, Sunghoon's attention wandered back to you. Not constantly. Just enough that you felt it. By the time the plan was set and Jake had stormed out to "cool off" with a game of table tennis in the rec hall, the study room was quieter. Yunjin left soon after, muttering something about calling her media contact. That left you and Sunghoon.

He was packing up his notes when he said, without looking at you, "About last night." Your stomach tightened — not with dread, but with the kind of sharp, breathless awareness you'd felt when his thumb had been inside your mouth. "What about it?" you asked, keeping your tone as neutral as you could manage. He finally looked at you then, his eyes holding yours like he was bracing for you to flinch. You didn't. "I wasn't... playing a game," he said slowly. "I know it might have looked like I was pushing buttons, but I wasn't trying to get a reaction for the sake of it. I just—" He broke off, exhaling through his nose. "It was you. It's always been you."

Something in your chest clenched. "You don't have to explain," you said quietly. "Yeah, I do." His voice was steady now. "Because if we keep circling around it, we're going to keep getting in our own way. And... I don't want to."

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then you said, "We'll talk about it. Just... not right now. Too much else going on." His mouth curved — not quite a smile, but softer than anything he'd given you before. "Fair enough." But the way he looked at you after that — warm, unguarded, like the rest of the room had ceased to exist — told you everything you needed to know. You were both in it now. Completely. And eventually, you'd have to stop pretending otherwise.

_______

By eight a.m., campus had already decided what happened at last night's debate — whether they were there or not. The student paper's homepage ran a headline that was both dramatic and weirdly affectionate ("The Night Democracy Got a Little Hot"), the anonymous forum had splintered into thirty-seven threads with titles like WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT THE LIBRARY WIFI and WHY DOES THAT QUIET GUY LOOK LIKE HE EATS PEOPLE (COMPLIMENT), and someone had looped a clip of Jake blinking for exactly nine seconds with the caption: our future in one GIF. The clip was playing on a phone screen when you walked into campaign HQ, and three freshmen volunteers were rating the blink like it was a floor routine. "Strong opening," one said, squinting. "But he loses commitment in the middle third."

Yunjin didn't look up when you came in; she was already dressed for battle in sunglasses and lip gloss, tweaking a caption on a draft post while her second coffee cooled untouched by her elbow. "Good, you're here," she said, thumbs moving fast. "We're hemorrhaging the narrative."

You dropped your bag and braced both hands on the table. "Tell me it's not that bad." "It's not that bad," she said, perfectly deadpan. "It's worse." She spun the tablet around and started flipping through windows. "Opposition posted three edited videos before sunrise. Watch—" A split: Jake mid-laugh, then a harsh cut to an out-of-context budget line, then a slow zoom on your face from the Q&A with a caption that read THE REAL BRAIN (DANGEROUS) like you were a supervillain. "And they added anonymous 'sources' claiming Jake thinks 'fun is a policy.'"

"That was a joke," you said. "He made that joke in front of the pizza truck." "I know." She paused, then added in a lighter tone, "To be fair, it was a good joke." "It was a good truck." "Focus," she said, but she was narrowly smiling now, which counted as a small miracle. You rolled your shoulders like a boxer about to touch gloves. "Okay. Strategy. We post a clean clip of the budget answer, clarify context, link the full student council minutes—" "And then they call it a walk-back," Yunjin said. "No. We need the 'ha-ha but also we can read' approach. One part snark, one part receipts, and exactly zero parts panic." "Memes and PDFs?" "Memes wielding PDFs like knives." "Sold," you said, already opening your laptop. The door swung in and Sunghoon slipped through without knocking, sleeves pushed up, hair still a little sleep-ruffled like he'd fought with his pillow and lost, which was unfair because his biceps were winning everything else. He took in the room — the volunteers, the coffee, the slumped inflatable "VOTE" letters in the corner — and set a slim folder by your elbow like he was dropping evidence on a courtroom table. "Opposition's anonymous sources aren't anonymous," he said, voice low but carrying. "It's the same two accounts cycling quotes. One's a burner with three followers; the other's a freshman we can flip with a free sandwich and a kind word." Yunjin finally looked at him over the rim of her sunglasses. "You're suggesting bribery and charm in the same sentence. I'm listening." "It's not bribery if we were going to buy lunch anyway," he said mildly. He glanced at you then, quick and brief, like a reflex he didn't bother to hide anymore. You pretended you didn't notice and also failed completely. "Morning," you said.

"Hi," he said, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

There was that small, ridiculous shift again — a little drop in your stomach, a soft lift in your ribs. If last night had reset some unnamed knob between you two, this morning had simply... left it there. The quad might've been on fire, but the way he said hi still felt like a secret. You pushed the folder open. "What's this?" "Clip map, timestamps, and who posted what first," he said, sliding a pen out of his pocket and circling two lines. "These are the cuts we rebut with context. These are the cuts we let die. If you chase all of it, you look guilty. If you pick the right ones, you look competent." "You're good at this," you said. He shrugged. "I like puzzles." "Is that what this is?" you asked, deadpan. "A puzzle?" His eyes flicked to yours, warm and annoyingly fond. "No," he said, softer. "This is your job. I just don't like watching you get dragged by people who can't read a PDF." Yunjin, not even pretending to be subtle, turned her chair three inches so she could watch the two of you like it was daytime television. "Wow. Did the temperature rise in here? Someone open a window. Or a fire hydrant." "Help or hush," you said, but you were smiling, and she knew it.

"Fine," she said, tapping the screen. "Counterstrike proposal: we post the full budget minutes with friendly bolded sections and a dumb caption so people actually click — something like 'it's a pdf, not a prophecy.' Alongside: a thirty-second highlight reel of Jake being charming and specific. Then you—" she pointed at you "—reply to two threads from the official account with those links. Not defensive. Surgical."

"And me?" Sunghoon asked. "You," she said, "will be our tall, handsome, terrifying smokescreen. DM the freshman. DM the burner. Offer lunch. Offer mercy. Offer a nap. I don't care. Flip them or stall them." Sunghoon nodded once, already pulling out his phone. You watched the way his thumb moved across the screen — quick, precise — and told your brain to please focus on something other than thumbs for one singular day. Your brain refused. "Where's Jake?" Sunghoon asked. "On a campus tour he accidentally volunteered to lead," Yunjin said. "He's misinforming six parents and giving one of them a recipe for the dining hall brownies." You and Sunghoon said, in tandem, "We don't have brownies," then looked at each other and laughed because apparently you were now sharing a single brain cell.

"Okay," you said, corralling the room's chaos. "Timeline: meme-with-PDF goes up in forty minutes. Then the highlight reel. Then we seed the full minutes in the comments of the two biggest threads. No arguing. No paragraphs. We are breezy geniuses who happen to own printers." "Breezy geniuses," Yunjin repeated, typing. "I'm buying that shirt." You got to work. It felt like building a sandbag wall during a very silly flood: one eye on the rising water, one eye on the group chat, and one eye (third eye?) on the man beside you who kept leaning in to point at your screen and somehow always chose chaos-level proximity. Twice his shoulder brushed yours; once his knee bumped your chair; and every time, it shot a small, traitorous bolt of electricity along your spine. The romcom gods said don't be weird about it. You were weird about it internally and spectacularly normal on the outside, which felt like growth.

"Caption?" Yunjin asked, holding up her tablet. You skimmed. 'clarifying because reading is hot: here's the boring pdf with the fun parts highlighted. bring a snack.' "Perfect," you said. "Post it." It went live. Within a minute you watched a reply: reading IS hot, who runs this account and are they single. Yunjin replied from the official handle: we're married to transparency. The like count jumped absurdly fast. You pushed the highlight reel next: thirty seconds of Jake saying actually, here's how reallocation works and citing two sources, cut with exactly two jokes and a blink sequence that somehow made him look competent and adoptable. The comments underneath were the only acceptable mix for internet survival: half light teasing, half ohhh I get it now. You exhaled. The room's collective shoulders unclenched. "Small fire contained," Yunjin announced. "On to medium fires." "On it," Sunghoon said, tucking his phone away. "Freshman flipped. Burner stalled." "How'd you flip him?" you asked. "Kindness," he said. "And?" "A sandwich." You saluted him with your water bottle. "Hero of the people." He tipped his head like obviously, and you hated how charmed you were by the smallest things: the way his eyes warmed when you teased him, the way he gave attention like it was currency, the way his canines flashed when he smiled with his whole mouth — vampire teeth, soft boy, devastating combination.

A volunteer popped her head in. "Um, there's a film club outside asking if Jake will do a cameo in their noir short about a corrupt printer. Also... someone sent cupcakes." "From who?" Yunjin asked. The volunteer checked the card. "It just says Democracy ♥." You and Sunghoon said, again in stereo, "We don't accept edible bribes," which sent you both into another small, traitorous laugh. The volunteer set the box on the far table anyway and whispered, "I licked one so it's mine now," then vanished like a goblin. You glanced at the box, then at Sunghoon, and the corner of his mouth curved, like you'd just shared the same joke without speaking. That was happening more, and each time felt like someone tightening the bow on a gift you were not ready to unwrap in public.

"Walk with me?" you asked, because the room was getting loud and the campus was getting hot and your brain was getting reckless. He didn't even pretend to think about it. "Yeah." You told Yunjin you'd loop back in twenty, she waved you off with a "Don't fall in love on my time," and you and Sunghoon stepped out into hallways that smelled like printer ink and the first too-warm day of spring. The corridor opened onto a quiet balcony above the quad — early birds sprawled on the grass, someone practicing a trumpet badly, two squirrels engaged in litigation over a bagel. You leaned on the railing. He took the spot just beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost touched. "You're good under pressure," he said after a beat, like a fact he was filing. "You make it easier," you said back, before your internal editor could tackle you. You pretended you'd meant the workflow and not breathing near you is my new coping mechanism. He hummed, a low sound that felt like I heard you anyway. "Thanks for backing Yunjin," you added. "She pretends she doesn't care if anyone agrees with her, but it helps." "She is usually right," he said. "Also terrifying." "True on both counts." "Also kind," he said, and when you tilted your head, he shrugged one shoulder. "She pretended not to notice when I forgot my wallet at the café last week."

"Did you?" "For three hours," he said. "She paid. Called me 'Your Highness.'" You laughed, picturing it — Sunghoon, perfectly put-together, quietly mortified; Yunjin, delighted. When you looked at him again, he wasn't watching the quad anymore. He was watching you. Not trying to hide it, not flustered — just openly, thoughtfully watching, like the sight of you enjoying something was more interesting than anything else that could be happening on campus. "Don't do that," you said lightly, because your pulse had popped to the surface.

"Do what?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"Look at me like you just decided where you're transferring your major concentration."

He kept a straight face for almost three seconds, then let it break into a real smile. His teeth flashed — sharp, unfair — and something inside your chest did a small, ridiculous flip. You looked away first, because you were brave in many arenas, and not brave in this one at ten in the morning on a balcony with a boy whose sleeves made his forearms look like an architectural feature. Your phone buzzed. Jake: plz come outside immediately i am about to adopt an improv troupe. You showed the screen. Sunghoon sighed, like a man preparing to herd golden retrievers. Down on the quad, Jake was holding court with a group of theatre majors dressed in trench coats and moral ambiguity. "It's a piece about truth," one was saying solemnly. "And also trains."

"Fascinating," Jake said, equally solemn. "I can be Station Master. Or Train. Or Truth."

"Or Campaign Manager," you inserted, gently pulling him away by the sleeve. The troupe thanked him for his service to art and vanished into a cloud of jazz hands.

Jake pivoted to face you and Sunghoon, eyes bright. "I had an idea."

"Return it," Sunghoon said.

"Rude," Jake said fondly, then clapped his hands once. "Rapid-response booth. We set up a table right now — 'Ask Us Anything, Get an Actual Answer.' The only rule is we don't lie and we don't dodge. We'll do three hours. Optics: transparency, accessibility, freckles."

"You don't have freckles," you said. "Everyone does if the lighting is right." "It's... not terrible," you admitted, then glanced at Sunghoon. "It's very you," he said to Jake. "If we do it, station volunteers who can actually explain things. Not just vibes." "That's hurtful," Jake said. "But fair." "Also," Sunghoon added, taking a small step closer to you like he couldn't help it anymore, "you do the first hour. She does the second." He tipped his head toward you. "They trust her brain. They trust your face." "I'll allow it," Jake said, already texting. "Yunjin will bring signage. Or a sword. Or both." She brought both. Of course she did. The poster read ASK US ANYTHING (WE BROUGHT RECEIPTS) and the foam sword read CIVIL DISCOURSE in glitter. It should not have worked; somehow it did. For ninety minutes your table fielded everything from "where does my money actually go?" to "could the dining hall use cilantro more responsibly?" to "are we replacing finals with karaoke," and because this was still college, someone asked, "would you guys ever date each other," gesturing vaguely between the three of you like it was a love triangle audition. Jake said, without missing a beat, "I'm married to transparency," and Sunghoon said, very calmly, "She's out of my league," while looking at you like an answer had already been decided in a completely different room. You smiled down at a budget spreadsheet until your cheeks cooled. Romcom tension rule: never let the extras see you swoon.

By the time the second hour ended, the mood had shifted from gleeful chaos to something surprisingly... supportive. A student you didn't know dropped off a hand-drawn card that said thanks for not talking to us like we're dumb, and a professor you vaguely recognized told Jake he was "refreshing," which Jake would clearly live on for a week. The thread titles on the forum started changing tone: wait i learned something; the pdf was spicy; the quiet one is... funny?? That last one had a blurry shot of Sunghoon explaining reallocation with a marker in hand and an animation of sparkles someone had added over his head. You locked your phone so you wouldn't stare at it like a teenager.

You helped pack up the table; Yunjin handed back the foam sword with a solemn "for your enemies," then glided off to a meeting. Jake was already on to the next thing — signing a protest banner, filming a thank-you video for someone's club — and the volunteers drifted away, leaving the quad sunlit and soft and a little sleepy. Somehow, you and Sunghoon ended up alone again, standing just off the path where the shade cut the heat. For a minute neither of you spoke. The campus hummed at a low, pleasant volume: bees in the azaleas, distant laughter, a skateboard that absolutely should not have been on university property.

"You handled that well," he said at last, with the same calm certainty as last night. "You say that a lot," you replied. "It's because it keeps being true." You let yourself look at him — really look, in the forgiving noon light. The navy sweatshirt, the ink on his fingers from the marker, the way he'd stood half a step behind you at the table like he'd decided bodyguard was a volunteer role he could excel at. He caught you looking and didn't look away.

"About last night," you said, because it had been sitting on your tongue all morning, sweet and electric and impossible to swallow. "I'm not... confused." His expression didn't change, but you felt it anyway — a subtle drop in his guard, like a door unlatched. "Me neither," he said, voice low. "We have to work," you said, a little helpless, gesturing vaguely at the entire mess of election season. "There's a lot we have to do first. But—" "But," he echoed, and there was a smile in the word. You breathed out, a laugh caught in it. "I just wanted to say it out loud. So when we do talk — really talk — it won't feel like a surprise." "It won't," he said, stepping the smallest half-step closer, close enough that your shoulders brushed and stayed. "It doesn't." You stood there like that, not kissing, not rushing, not ruining the moment with jokes — just letting the quiet admit something you'd both known for days. It wasn't dramatic. It didn't need to be. It was simple and warm and true: a promise disguised as a pause.

"Okay," you said softly. "Okay," he repeated, and his canines flashed when he smiled, and you were absolutely done for. Your phones buzzed at the same time — Jake, obviously. emergency meeting he'd typed, followed by do you think a debate afterparty is tacky or patriotic and a photo of him holding the foam sword like Excalibur. You groaned. "He's going to make merch with that."

"He already did," Sunghoon said, showing you a link. CIVIL DISCOURSE tees. You stared. He added, deadpan, "I got you a medium." You bumped his shoulder with your own. "Spoiler alert: I'm wearing it ironically.” His voice dropped, amused. "You'll look good in anything." "You can't say things like that at lunchtime," you said, but you were smiling, because it was hopeless and happy and very, very you.

He pretended to consider. "Noted. I'll wait until three." "Terrible," you said, laughing. "Accurate," he said, a little softer, like he was tasting the word we without saying it. Back inside, the flurry resumed — Yunjin corralling schedules, volunteers mapping posts, Jake bright-eyed and chaotic, the campaign a tide you'd learned to surf. Through it all, Sunghoon stayed exactly where he'd been all morning: half a step beside you, offering strategy with the same hand that passed you a water bottle, rolling up his sleeves like the day had room for one more version of him you hadn't seen yet. Every time your arms brushed, neither of you moved away. Every time your eyes met, neither of you pretended you weren't looking. It wasn't awkward. It wasn't a secret. It was simply there — the thing you were both choosing to take seriously enough to do slowly. On your way out, as the meeting broke and the room emptied, he paused with you by the door, one hand on the frame, the other tucked in his pocket. "We'll talk," he said, as if you'd asked again, as if he'd heard the echo. "Yeah," you said. "We will." You started down the hall, then looked back. He was still there, handsomeness dialed to unfair, smiling like a promise he didn't have to say twice. You didn't need it twice. Once was already enough.

__________

It's too hot in here. Not sweltering, not uncomfortable — just... too warm for him to be focusing on cue cards while you sit across the desk, leaning forward like that. Sunghoon tells himself he's counting the number of rebuttal stacks you've sorted. He is. Mostly. But every few seconds, his gaze catches on the neckline of your blouse, on the faint slope of skin he absolutely should not be noticing, and it feels like the air shrinks between you. You're talking about framing points for Jake's next interview. He's hearing you — he is — but he's also hearing the faint rustle of fabric every time you shift, the click of your pen, the small sound you make when you concentrate and bite the inside of your cheek.

"Are you even listening?" you ask suddenly, looking up from your notes. He blinks, straightens. "Yes." You raise a brow. "Then what did I just say?" There's no way he can repeat it word-for-word without proving he's been distracted. He goes for the safest answer: "Something about restructuring the third response so he doesn't sound defensive." Your eyes narrow, but not in irritation. More like you know. "Right."

He drops his gaze back to the papers, trying to look busy, but then you lean forward again to grab a highlighter, and the movement pulls his attention right back. You don't notice, or maybe you do — the line between oblivious and deliberate with you is impossible to tell. "Your handwriting's terrible," he mutters, scanning one of your index cards. "It's called personality," you say without missing a beat. "Something you clearly lack." He looks up at that, just in time to catch the corner of your mouth twitch. "You've been spending too much time with Jake." "You'd rather I spend more time with you?" you tease, casual but edged in something warmer. The question lands heavier than it should. He answers by shuffling a fresh stack of cue cards and sliding them toward you, his fingers brushing yours — not by accident.

The door opens without warning. Yunjin steps in, eyes flicking between the two of you before she even closes it. "Well," she says, "this is cozy." You glance at her, then back at your notes like nothing's unusual. Sunghoon just raises an eyebrow. "Don't let me interrupt your..." she gestures vaguely between you, "...prep session." You give her a look. "We're working." "Sure." She grins, lingering a beat longer than necessary before walking out. The door clicks shut.

Jake bursts in less than a minute later, full of energy. "Okay, hear me out — what if I show up to the interview with a guitar?" "No," you and Sunghoon say in unison. Jake pauses, eyes bouncing between you like he's just witnessed something rare. "Weird. You two agreeing on something. Noted." He leaves with a mock salute, muttering something about "anti-music bias" under his breath.

When it's quiet again, you reach across the desk for a sheet he's holding, leaning close enough that he can smell the faint trace of your perfume. Your knee brushes his under the table — light, fleeting, but you don't move it away. Neither does he. The rest of the prep is done in low voices, shoulders occasionally bumping, fingers brushing when you pass each other pens. At one point, you're both bent over the same page, your hair falling forward just enough for him to imagine leaning in that fraction closer.

He doesn't. Not yet. But when you hand him the last of the sorted cards, he lets his thumb linger against your palm a beat too long, his voice dipping without thinking as he says, "Good work." You look at him for a second longer than necessary before going back to your notes.

__________

The press-prep room always smelled like dust and printer ink, a little too warm even with the door propped open by a stack of outdated style guides. You and Sunghoon had been shoulder-to-shoulder for an hour, smoothing the jagged edges of Jake's talking points into something that sounded like policy and not freestyle poetry. Every so often, your knees touched under the desk. Neither of you moved away. At some point, Sunghoon's voice started living in a lower register — not for effect, just because it did that when he was concentrating and you were close. A volunteer skidded into the doorway, breathless. "They found the leak," she blurted, eyes pinging between you and Sunghoon like she'd walked in on a secret. "It's in the Student Union. People are gathering. Jake's already there." You stood so fast your chair squeaked. "Define 'found.'" "Like... found found." She winced. "And he—uh—he's talking to them."

You and Sunghoon were in the hallway before the sentence landed. He fell into step beside you automatically, one hand steadying the door for you as you pushed into the main corridor. Your pace matched without discussion. That kept happening now — your bodies made small decisions before your mouths caught up. "Best case?" you asked, half-jogging for the stairs. "He leaves with context," Sunghoon said. "Worst case—" "Viral." You didn't have to say it. It was already vibrating in the air. The Student Union atrium was a live wire. A knot of students had formed by the bulletin wall where flyers layered like geological strata. In the middle: Jake, jacket off, sleeves rolled, trying to smile without looking smug. Across from him: a junior you recognized from a rival campaign's volunteer Slack, arms crossed, chin up. Phones hovered in the edges of your vision like insects.

"...I laughed because the number was wrong," Jake was saying, hands open in what he probably thought was a friendly gesture. "I wasn't laughing at anyone—" "It sounded like you were laughing at us," the junior shot back. "At people who need that funding."

"Which is exactly why we're clarifying it," you said, stepping into the circle before the room could decide you weren't invited. The phones swiveled. Sunghoon arrived at your shoulder like a shadow that had learned to stand upright. "You're Y/N, right?" the junior asked, tone sharpened by an audience. "The one who wants to 'reallocate' anything that isn't nailed down?" "Cute," you said, smiling just enough to look like you'd slept since 2019. "The minutes are public. We posted them. I recommended moving unused grant money to save live programs. The board voted no. I didn't take a penny from anyone." "It sounds like a loophole." "It was a loophole," you said cheerfully. "A legal one that would have kept two student showcases alive. You can dislike it. That's fair. Saying I stole something is not." A murmur. A few nods. Jake relaxed a fraction you could measure with a microscope. "Also," you added, tipping your head at the junior's phone, "if you're recording, please include the part where I asked for a post-mortem to design a better grant rubric next semester. I love being quoted in full sentences." A small ripple of laughter. Sunghoon didn't laugh. But you felt the heat of his attention turn toward you, eyes steady, pride threaded through the quiet like he'd wrapped it in brown paper so it wouldn't look like a gift. "Look," Jake said, tone softening, "if I sounded like a jerk last semester, I'm sorry. We're not above apologizing when we step on toes. That's why we're doing the open Q&A hours. Ask anything; we'll pull the receipts."

Silence stretched, thinner, less hostile. The junior's jaw worked, ready to fire again — and then the crowd shifted for a new arrival. Theo. Of course it was Theo — baseball cap reversed, grin a few watts brighter than necessary, the guy who managed to smell like gum and gym at the same time. He clocked the ring of phones, the angle of attention, and saw a stage. "Y/N," he said, surprised and not surprised, like the universe had aligned itself to be generous to him. "Didn't think I'd see you running comms for a meme candidate."

"Hi, Theo," you said. "Still mistaking volume for charm?" Somewhere in your peripheral vision, Yunjin appeared, leaned against a column, and whispered god, I love when you're mean.

Theo laughed, big and bright, like he'd decided you hadn't just insulted him in front of an audience. "I liked your debate answer," he said, stepping closer than necessary. "Passionate. You always were." Sunghoon didn't move. But the air around him did. It wasn't obvious. He didn't puff up or step in or do anything idiotic. He just... focused. The way a hawk focuses when the field gets interesting. His jaw set, a muscle ticking once. His hands slid into his pockets because that's what he did when he was deciding not to do something else. Theo kept talking. "You remember the group project?" he asked, angling himself so his shoulder brushed yours. "How we carried the team?" "You mean the one where I did the work and you put your name on the slides?" you said, brightly. "Exactly, teamwork," he said, unbothered. "We should catch up." "We're catching up now." "In private." "She's busy," Sunghoon said, so calm it was almost gentle.

Theo turned, blinked like he hadn't noticed there was another person in the conversation. He took in Sunghoon's rolled sleeves, the clean lines, the eyes that did not blink back, and went for a smile that didn't reach anything soft. "And you are?"

"Opposition research," Sunghoon said. "Of a student election," Theo drawled, impressed in the way people are when they think they've found a joke they can keep forever. "Bro, touch grass." "I did," Sunghoon said, voice like cool water over stone. "It was easy. No one was standing too close to it.” The crowd's laughter broke like a small wave. Theo's smile faltered. Your cheeks hurt from not smiling. Yunjin put a hand over her mouth like she was praying for restraint. Jake, god bless him, whispered bro. to himself like a benediction.

Theo rallied. "Hey, man, relax. We're all just—" His phone pinged. He looked down, frowned, then recovered so fast you could see the thread. "Anyway. Y/N, I'm hosting an after-event at Vespa's tonight. You should swing by. We can talk... about ethics." "Pass," you said, sweet as frosting. "Bring your bodyguard," he added, a little too loud. Sunghoon's mouth didn't move. His eyes did — from Theo back to you, down to your hand where your fingers had curled into your palm, back up. Then he tipped his chin a millimeter, as if to ask a question only you could hear: You good?

You uncurl your hand. I'm good. The junior volunteer cleared her throat. "So... are we done yelling?" "We were never yelling," you said. "We were practicing literacy." "Hot," someone said. "Thank you," Yunjin replied automatically. The knot loosened. Phones lowered. Jake launched into a gentle explanation of grant structure, the crowd thinning as curiosity was fed. Theo drifted away, remembering somewhere he had to be, and the atrium's noise reshaped itself into normal campus chaos. You were left standing at the edge of it all, adrenaline ebbing, Sunghoon still at your shoulder, the line of his body stretched taut with a tension you knew had nothing to do with policy. "You didn't have to do that," you said eventually, once the worst of the heat had dissipated.

"Do what?" he asked, too innocent. "Humiliate a man with a hat." He considered. "It seemed efficient." You huffed out a laugh. The backs of your hands brushed — the smallest thing — and your body misfiled it as newsworthy. You could feel your pulse where your wrist touched your sleeve. You could feel his pulse in the tautness of his silence. "Also," he added, softer, "I didn't like him standing that close to you." You should have teased him. You didn't. "I didn't either," you said. A beat. Two. "Good," he said, and it landed heavy and warm and close to mine without being foolish enough to say it aloud in a lobby with witnesses. A door banged somewhere up the stairwell; the atrium breathed back into motion. Yunjin peeled off the column and joined you with the brisk satisfaction of a general whose side won the skirmish.

"You were perfect," she told you, then looked at Sunghoon. "And you were... frightening. In a useful way." "Thank you," he said, like she'd offered him an award for Best Quiet Menace. She glanced between you, eyes narrowed in fond suspicion. "If you two are going to fall in love, please do it on my schedule so I can live-tweet it."

"Never," you said. "Soon," she corrected, then drifted away, already texting three people and the future. Jake reappeared, flushed and triumphant. "Well, we didn't die." "Low bar, achieved, you said, passing him a bottle of water. He drank like he'd been digging trenches, then saluted you with the cap. "Next," he said, energized, "I film a goofy montage with the film club—" "No instruments," you and Sunghoon said at the same time. "Wow," Jake said solemnly. "You are one terrifying brain." "We're two brains," you said. "I stand by my sentence," Jake said, backing away before either of you could parent him harder.

When it was just the two of you again at the edge of the railing, the atrium quieter, the taste of confrontation finally fading from your tongue, you realized the burn in your chest wasn't just adrenaline. It was want. It had been building for days, a steady, sweet pressure. It felt concentrated now, an ache that made simple things — like the clean line of his throat when he swallowed, like the way his forearms flexed when he slid his hands back out of his pockets — unbearably specific. He felt it too. You could tell by the way he looked at you: not possessive, not greedy — just decided. Like he'd reached an answer he trusted.

"Tonight," he said quietly, as if testing the shape of the word. You tilted your head. "Tonight?" "Jake's filming ends at nine." He held your gaze, steady, sure. "Meet me after." Your mouth went dry. "Where?" He thought for a second, then smiled the smallest, sharpest smile. "Somewhere people won't ask us about PDFs." "Impossible," you said, but your pulse had already said yes. His phone buzzed, slicing the moment neatly. He glanced at it, jaw tightening, and for a flicker you saw something heavier — a name he didn't want to see, a conversation he didn't want to have. He swiped the notification away. Whatever that was — the thing you were going to name later — he set it aside without denting the present. "Go," you said, nodding toward the stairwell. "Before Jake brands the printer."

"He already did," he said, and you groaned because of course there were stickers. You started toward the stairs together. Halfway down the landing, a familiar voice cut across the space again — Theo, somewhere below, laughing with a friend. You felt Sunghoon feel it — not with his shoulders or his mouth, but with something you could almost see: a quiet flare, as controlled as everything else about him and twice as hot for being contained. It wasn't ugly. It wasn't petty. It was jealousy shaped like focus — a small, sharpened thing that turned his attention to you and asked a single, private question: Are you mine to worry about?

You didn't say yes. You didn't have to. The way you leaned a little closer as you walked, the way your sleeve brushed his wrist and stayed — that was answer enough for now. You reached the bottom step. Students flowed around you like a river around two stones. He didn't touch you, not where anyone could see. He didn't need to. The promise was already humming between you, steady as a heartbeat. "Tonight," he said again, softer. You met his eyes. "Tonight." And just like that, the fuse was lit.

_______

You found him exactly where you knew he'd be. The quad had emptied to a soft hum — a couple walking their bikes, a lone skateboarder rolling past the library steps, the faint echo of Jake's laughter from somewhere in the film club's orbit. And under the oldest oak, half in shadow, Sunghoon leaned against the bench like he'd been standing there a while, hands in his pockets, the night turning the clean lines of his shirt and trousers into something you couldn't stop looking at.

He saw you and straightened, slow, like the moment itself deserved patience. "You came," he said quietly. "You asked," you said, equally quiet. There was no warm-up. No small talk. You walked toward each other until you were close enough to share the same patch of air, and something in that proximity made your chest ache in a way nothing else did. He glanced down once, as if to check you were real, then back up with that same intent you'd seen all day — the kind that felt like a decision. "How was Jake's shoot?" he asked, voice low enough that it seemed meant for the space between you. "Chaotic," you said. "He almost broke a tripod." "I'm shocked." "You shouldn't be." His mouth quirked — but only for a second. Then the smile faded, replaced by something heavier. "My father called," he said. Not dramatic. Not leading. Just a fact laid between you. You didn't rush him. You just nodded once, the kind that meant go on. "He saw the debate clip. Said I was wasting my time here." A pause. "Said I sounded like him."

"That's... not the worst insult," you said gently. "It was," Sunghoon said, and there was no bitterness in it — just truth. "He's the reason I learned to win every argument. Losing wasn't an option in that house." Something twisted in your chest. "That sounds exhausting." "It was," he said. His eyes flicked to yours, searching. "It is." For a moment, you thought he might stop there. But then he exhaled and kept going, voice dipping like a secret. "You make it... different. I don't have to fight you to be heard. But I still want to win with you. That's—" He broke off, almost smiling at himself. "That's new."

Your hand moved before you thought about it, brushing a stray piece of hair back from his forehead. He didn't flinch. He just let you, eyes fixed on yours like the contact grounded him. And then his gaze dropped — slow — to your mouth. Your heart was loud now, loud enough you were sure he could feel it. You could see the moment his breath caught, the faint parting of his lips. His hand came up, fingers curling near your face before he actually touched you — like he was asking permission without saying it. When his thumb brushed your cheekbone, it was almost careful. When it skimmed the corner of your mouth, it wasn't. The pad of his thumb traced your lower lip, lingering there like he was memorizing the shape. He was still looking at you, but his lashes had dropped slightly, the weight of his focus slipping lower. When his thumb pressed gently, sliding along the seam of your lips until it was inside — just barely — you inhaled sharply.

You didn't suck on it. Not exactly. But your tongue brushed the inside edge in a way that made his breath hitch hard enough for you to feel it. His mouth curved — not a smile, something hungrier. And then he leaned in. It wasn't rushed. It wasn't clumsy. It was inevitable. The first touch of his mouth to yours was warm and patient, like he'd been rehearsing restraint for weeks and wanted you to feel every second of it breaking. His lips were soft, but the pressure built almost immediately — the tilt of his head deepening the kiss, his free hand finding your jaw, anchoring you closer. You tasted the faint hint of mint, felt the quiet sound he made in the back of his throat when you kissed him back.

When his tongue brushed yours, it was unhurried, but there was nothing innocent about it. His thumb was still at your mouth, sliding down to your chin as if he couldn't bear to stop touching you there. He kissed like he thought about it — like every movement was a choice, deliberate and exact, even when it was messy. By the time you pulled back, the space between you felt charged, the kind of air you could only breathe in small, measured doses.

"That," he said, voice low and a little rough, "was overdue." You laughed — breathless, not mocking. "We're going to have to talk about this." "I know." His thumb grazed your jaw again, lighter now. "Later." "Later," you agreed. But neither of you moved away. You just stood there, in the quiet, letting the fact of it — the kiss, the want, the love neither of you had said aloud yet — settle in like it belonged.

______

The next morning, campus had that electricity it only got after a major event — not quite celebration, not quite chaos, but something buzzing just under the skin of every conversation.

The results of Jake's campaign had been posted an hour ago, plastered on noticeboards and pinging phones in a thousand different group chats. The quad was already crowded; students were pretending to sip coffee while openly staring at anyone connected to the race. You'd been bracing yourself for this — the awkward congratulations, the curious stares — but what you hadn't prepared for was how different it felt walking into this atmosphere after last night.

Because last night, you kissed Park Sunghoon. And he kissed you back. It wasn't awkward now. If anything, it made everything sharper. The moment you spotted him across the quad, standing near the railing with a coffee in one hand and the morning sun catching on the sharp line of his jaw, it was like your pulse knew before your mind did. He looked up. Found you instantly. And just like that, it was back — that warm pull, that silent conversation in a single glance. You didn't look away. Neither did he.

---

Jake was the first to break the moment. "Manager!" he called, barreling toward you with a grin that looked a little too practiced. "We did it. Well — I did it. But you were there, so." You rolled your eyes, but the relief in his voice was obvious. "Congratulations, Jake." "Thanks." He lowered his voice. "Also, small crisis — someone's already making memes about me crying at the end of my speech last night. I wasn't crying, I was—" "Getting emotional?" you suggested. "—allergic to the podium wood," he finished flatly. You snorted, but before you could reply, Yunjin appeared from behind him, sipping her own coffee. "Or maybe you were thinking about how Y/N and Sunghoon were basically eye-fucking during your victory speech." Jake choked on his drink. "Excuse me?!" You didn't bother dignifying it with a response, but you caught the way Sunghoon — who had walked over by now — simply tilted his head and smiled, like Yunjin had said something he'd been thinking all morning.

---

The real chaos began fifteen minutes later, when word spread about a new petition. Some student committee — completely separate from the campaign — was pushing to ban the administration from monitoring student social media. The admins claimed it was "safety compliance." Everyone else called it censorship. And because you and Sunghoon had been so visible in the last few weeks, you were now "perfect neutral faces" for the press to grab for a quote. "Neutral faces?" Yunjin muttered as you, Sunghoon, Jake, and a couple other committee reps got ushered into a prep room. "That's hilarious." The prep room was cramped — one long desk, too many chairs, stacks of printed talking points. You ended up next to Sunghoon, shoulders brushing every time someone squeezed past. He smelled faintly of coffee and something sharper, clean — the kind of scent that clung to his collar and made you wonder what it would be like to lean in just a little closer. He was quieter than usual, listening more than speaking, but you could feel his attention. Even while Jake argued with one of the committee reps about phrasing, you could sense Sunghoon's gaze flicking toward you whenever you spoke. At one point, you leaned forward to reach a folder near the center of the table. The neckline of your blouse dipped, and you didn't notice until his voice faltered mid-sentence. It was barely a pause — anyone else might have missed it — but you felt it. You glanced at him. He was looking down at the papers in front of him now, jaw set, ears faintly pink. You bit back a smile. "Distracted?" you murmured when the others' conversation got louder. His eyes cut to you, slow, deliberate. "Not the word I'd use." It was nothing explicit, not here in a room full of people — but it was enough to leave your heart kicking against your ribs.

The meeting dissolved into a kind of semi-organized chaos, people shuffling papers and exchanging hurried plans. You and Sunghoon ended up pushed to one corner, sorting through rebuttal cards for the student media interviews scheduled for later. Every time your fingers brushed his, he didn't pull away. At one point, your knees bumped under the table. Neither of you moved. "You're still thinking about it," you said softly, not even sure why you were daring enough to say it. His eyes found yours again. Steady. "You're assuming I ever stopped." The air felt heavier then — not tense in the way it had been weeks ago, but charged. Like something between you had shifted permanently and neither of you were pretending otherwise anymore.

By the time the committee wrapped and everyone filed out, Jake was yelling something about ordering lunch for everyone, Yunjin was muttering about how "your sexual tension is killing my productivity," and Sunghoon was holding the door open for you with the faintest, most infuriating smile. "See you at the interviews?" he asked, voice low enough that it was just for you. You nodded. "Try not to get... distracted." The corner of his mouth curved higher. "No promises."

________

The campus media building was a mess of wires, mic stands, and too many interns pretending they had authority. You and Sunghoon had been ushered into a waiting area for the interviews, the kind with cheap fabric chairs and a coffee table stacked with magazines nobody read.

The space was too small for the number of people crammed inside. Jake sat in the far corner, reviewing his talking points with all the focus of someone about to go on national television rather than a campus broadcast. Yunjin, of course, had found the lone empty swivel chair and was spinning idly, watching the chaos with open amusement.

You ended up seated next to Sunghoon again, not because you wanted to — okay, maybe a little because you wanted to — but because the only other seat was directly under an ancient air vent spewing freezing air. Your knees bumped the second you sat down. This time, neither of you shifted.

The low murmur of voices filled the room, but all you could hear was the even sound of his breathing beside you. When you glanced over, you found him leaning back in the chair, one arm draped along the backrest — not quite touching you, but close enough that you could feel the ghost of heat from his sleeve. "Comfortable?" you asked under your breath. "Getting there," he murmured, eyes still fixed on the far wall. "Could be warmer, though." "You could've taken the vent seat." His gaze slid to you then, slow enough to feel deliberate. "This one's better." You knew exactly what he meant, and the way his lips almost — almost — twitched into a smirk made you want to kick him under the table. Instead, you crossed your legs, the movement making your skirt shift higher along your thighs.

His eyes dropped for a fraction of a second before returning to your face. "Distracted?" you echoed from earlier. He didn't look away. "Not the word I'd use." Yunjin's voice cut through the quiet between you. "Okay, am I the only one watching this? Or are we all just pretending they're not about to—" "Yunjin," Jake warned without looking up. She grinned, leaning toward the both of you. "Fine, fine. But if you two start making out in the green room, I'm charging admission." Your cheeks warmed, but Sunghoon's only reaction was to reach for the stack of cue cards between you. His hand brushed yours — and stayed there just a little longer than necessary.

The first interview slot opened, and chaos erupted again. Jake was pulled into makeup, Yunjin got cornered by a tech about lighting cues, and somehow you and Sunghoon ended up sent to a cramped side room to "coordinate messaging." It was barely the size of a storage closet, with a single desk, two chairs, and an overhead light that buzzed faintly.

You sat across from him, knees knocking under the table as you sifted through the cards. The room was warm enough that you felt heat gathering at the base of your neck, and you caught him looking at you in the kind of way that made it impossible to focus on the printed words in front of you. "What?" you asked finally, leaning back in your chair. He tilted his head slightly. "Just... thinking about last night." Your pulse kicked. "And?" "And wondering why we stopped."

You froze for half a second — not because you didn't have an answer, but because the way he said it was so... calm. Like it was just a fact, as obvious as the desk between you. "I think we got interrupted," you said, keeping your tone light even though your heart was pounding. His mouth curved slightly. "We did." For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the faint hum of the light and the shuffle of cards between your fingers. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. His gaze flicked from your eyes to your mouth and back again. "You have coffee on your lip," he murmured. You were about to reach up, but he beat you to it — his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. Not hard, not lingering... just enough to make your breath hitch. And then he pulled back like nothing happened, flipping a card over. "So, question three..." You exhaled slowly, pretending to read along while trying not to think about how his touch still burned on your skin.

________

The interview was supposed to be harmless. Student-run, low stakes, barely ten minutes of airtime. And yet, the second the host leaned forward, smile syrup-sweet, and said —

"So, Y/N, you and Jake make such a charismatic team... anything more going on there?" — you knew you were in trouble. You laughed it off, shaking your head. "Strictly professional." But the host wasn't done.

"Shame. You two have great chemistry." From the corner of your eye, you saw Sunghoon's expression shift — almost imperceptibly, but enough for you to catch the way his jaw ticked, the subtle lean forward like he wanted to cut in.

Fifteen minutes later, you were backstage, weaving between coiled cables and stacked equipment. The muffled noise of the next segment filtered through the curtain. "Nice save in there," you said, glancing back at him. "Didn't know you could keep a straight face through that much nonsense." He didn't smile.

In two strides, he was right in front of you, the narrow hallway forcing you back until your shoulder blades brushed the wall. His hands stayed at his sides, but his presence was everywhere. "You think that was funny?" His voice was low, almost calm — except for the thread of heat running under it. You blinked up at him. "What?" "Hearing some guy tell you you have 'chemistry' with someone else." His gaze dragged down your face, lingering on your mouth. "While I'm sitting right there."

You swallowed. "It was an interview, Sunghoon. They were fishing." "I don't care what they were doing." He took a step closer. You could feel his breath now, warm against your cheek. "You have no idea what it's like, sitting there, watching you smile at someone else like that." "That was my polite smile." His mouth curved — not in amusement, but something darker. "Don't care. I don't like sharing it." Before you could answer, his hand came up, fingers brushing your jaw, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch lingered, tracing down until his thumb skimmed the corner of your mouth. "You keep doing this to me," he murmured. "Sitting there, looking at me like you're not doing anything wrong, when all I can think about is how you'd taste."

Your breath caught as his thumb pressed against your bottom lip, just enough to make it part. "Open," he said softly.

You did. His thumb slid inside — slow, deliberate — until it rested on your tongue. He watched the way your lips closed around it, the faint scrape of your teeth. "God," he exhaled, eyes locked on yours. "You're killing me." You didn't suck, exactly, but your tongue curled just enough against the pad of his thumb to make his breath hitch. His other hand braced against the wall beside your head, caging you in. "You like teasing me?" he asked, voice rougher now. "Maybe." He huffed a laugh, low and filthy. "One day, I'm not gonna stop at this. One day, I'm gonna have you so deep in it you won't remember anyone else's name but mine."

A voice called from down the hall — Jake, asking if you were ready for the next photo op. Sunghoon's thumb slipped from your mouth, his hand falling back to his side like nothing happened. But his eyes... his eyes said everything. "Later," he murmured, stepping back just enough to let you pass. "We're not done."

________

The ride back from the interviews was quiet in the way that makes silence feel like a touch.

Yunjin was on her phone, Jake was reading messages, and you... you were stealing glances at the boy sitting beside you, the one whose thumb had been in your mouth less than half an hour ago. He didn't look at you once. But his hand was fisted loosely on his knee, knuckles pale, like he was holding something in.

When the van pulled up to the campaign office, you expected him to bolt. Instead, he waited until Jake and Yunjin headed inside, then caught your wrist as you stepped onto the pavement. "Come with me," he murmured. No explanation, no hesitation — just the quiet press of his fingers around yours as he led you down the side of the building, out of sight. The air was cooler here, the streetlights throwing soft halos across the brick wall. He stopped, turning to face you. His chest rose and fell faster than normal, eyes darting over your face like he was memorizing it. "I tried to wait," he said, voice rough, almost hoarse. "I can't."

Before you could answer, his hand cupped the side of your neck, pulling you in — and then his mouth was on yours, hard. It wasn't sweet this time. It was messy. Desperate. Your lips parted immediately under the pressure, and his tongue was there, hot and insistent, licking into your mouth like he'd been holding this back for years. The taste of him was dizzying — coffee, mint, something entirely him — and the quiet, wrecked noise he made into your mouth made your knees weaken.

He pressed you back against the wall, body angled over yours, one arm braced beside your head. The other slid around your waist, pulling you flush to him until you could feel the pounding of his heart against your ribs. When he pulled back for air, it was only far enough to bite your bottom lip, catching it between his teeth until you gasped. His tongue followed, soothing the sting, and then he was kissing you again, wetter this time — spit-slick and filthy, like neither of you cared about breathing. You moaned into his mouth, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer. That sound undid him. His hand tightened at your waist, dragging you fully against him, hips nearly touching. You felt, more than heard, the groan that rumbled in his chest. "I'm—" he broke off, kissing you again, deeper, slower this time, like he wanted to sink into you. "—so far gone for you." You felt it in the way his thumb stroked the hollow of your hip, the way his lips kept finding yours like he couldn't bear to stop, the way he breathed your name between kisses like it was a prayer.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were panting, foreheads pressed together. A thin string of spit still connected your mouths before it broke, and you swore you saw his pupils dilate at the sight. He smiled then — small, crooked, completely unguarded. "Now I'm in trouble," he murmured.

"Why?" you whispered. "Because I'm in love with you, and I don't think I can hide it anymore."

______

The next morning felt different in a way that wasn't loud.

You didn't announce anything, didn't come in holding hands, didn't sit closer than usual. But apparently, the air between you and Sunghoon had decided to write its own press release, because Jake and Yunjin noticed within ten minutes.

You were standing by the campaign office coffee station, still running on too little sleep after last night's prep session, when Sunghoon passed behind you to grab the sugar. His hand ghosted over your back — not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for you to feel the heat of it. Jake noticed. His brows went up, and he bit back a smile, glancing between you and Sunghoon like he'd just walked in on the middle of a rom-com plot twist.

"Morning," Sunghoon said to the group, voice neutral. But when his eyes landed on you, there was that look — the one you'd only seen in the quiet corner last night when he'd kissed you like he was memorizing how you breathed. Yunjin wasn't as subtle as Jake.

She leaned back in her chair, pen between her teeth, and stared. "Okay. What's going on here?" "Nothing," you said too quickly, reaching for your coffee. Jake snorted. "Yeah, sure. Because 'nothing' looks exactly like you two making intense eye contact like you're about to... what's the word? Ah. Ravish each other." You choked on your sip, coughing. "Jake—" Sunghoon, bless him, looked away like maybe if he avoided eye contact with anyone but you, this conversation would cease to exist. His ears, however, had turned the faintest shade of red.

Yunjin leaned forward, her grin pure mischief. "Oh, this is so good. First the whole 'opposite sides of the campaign' thing, now whatever this is... I'm telling you, Jake, the voters love a good love story." Jake tilted his head, still grinning at you. "Mm-hmm. And does this love story come with an R-rating?" You gave him a look sharp enough to slice paper. "If you don't shut up, I'll reroute all your campaign emails to spam." That made him laugh, but his gaze flicked to Sunghoon. "Take care of her, man." It was joking, but there was weight under it. Sunghoon finally looked up, meeting Jake's eyes. "I do." Simple. Firm. The air went still for a beat before Yunjin clapped her hands. "Alright, alright, lovebirds, let's get back to the actual work before I start narrating this like a reality TV confessional."

The rest of the morning was business as usual — or at least, it tried to be. But every time you passed Sunghoon a file, your fingers brushed. Every time you leaned over his desk to look at something, his eyes lingered just a second too long. By the time Jake and Yunjin left for a lunch meeting across town, the office felt empty in a way that made your pulse jump. You were alone now. Sunghoon stood by the window, jacket off, tie loosened. His eyes followed you as you crossed the room, and there was a quiet, dangerous curve to his mouth that told you exactly where this was going.

_______

By the time you managed to escape for lunch, Yunjin had you cornered in one of the smaller break rooms. She shut the door behind her like she was about to interrogate a high-value witness. "Alright," she said, planting her hands on the table between you. "Spill. I'm not talking vague. I want details." You sighed, leaning back in your chair. "It was just—" "Don't you dare say 'just a kiss.'" She pointed a finger at you. "Because the way Sunghoon has been looking at you all morning? That was not a PG-13 peck." Heat rose in your cheeks before you could stop it. "Fine. It... wasn't exactly gentle." Yunjin grinned like she'd just hit the jackpot. "Define 'wasn't gentle.'" You hesitated, then gave up trying to downplay it. "It was... rough. Not in a bad way — in a God, I've been waiting for this forever way. He kissed me like he didn't want to stop breathing me in." You shook your head, biting your lip at the memory. "There was... a lot of saliva. Lip biting. His hands were—" You stopped, realizing you were practically giving her a play-by-play. "Oh, no, keep going," she urged, sliding into the seat across from you like she was settling in for a movie.

"They were in my hair, pulling me closer. And at one point..." You swallowed. "He pulled back just enough to look at me, and he said—" "What?" she demanded. You took a deep breath. "That he's in love with me." Yunjin froze for half a second, then slapped the table so hard you jumped. "HE WHAT?!" You laughed nervously, rubbing your hands together. "Yeah. And I didn't say it back. Not because I didn't want to, but because I was... shocked. I mean, I am in love with him. I've been in love with him. But I just—" "—completely short-circuited," she finished for you, still looking like she was about to combust. "Oh my God. You're telling him back, right? Right?" "I will," you promised, a smile tugging at your lips. "Soon. I want it to be... right." She leaned back, fanning herself. "When you do, you'd better hope I'm not around, because I will scream. That man is gone for you. Like, clinically." You laughed, but the truth of it settled warm in your chest. He was gone for you. And soon, you'd tell him you were just as gone for him.

______

It was supposed to be nothing more than study prep.

Sunghoon had offered to stop by after dinner to help you review a few points for Jake's next campaign appearance — he had the opposition's talking points down to muscle memory, and you... well, you were better with coffee and highlighters than you were with statistics under pressure. You didn't even realize how much you'd cleaned until you heard the knock on your door. The apartment didn't look like you lived there — bed neatly made, pillows fluffed, faint candle burning on the nightstand. The living room had been a lost cause (you had too many notes spread out), so you'd resigned yourself to working in your bedroom. When you opened the door, Sunghoon stood there with his jacket over one arm, sleeves rolled to his forearms, hair a little mussed from the wind. His eyes scanned you quickly — in that way he did where it felt like he was memorizing something before you could hide it — and then flicked past you to the tidy bed. "You've been cleaning," he said, lips twitching. "You've been imagining things," you countered, stepping aside to let him in. He smirked just enough to make your pulse skip and followed you inside.

Ten minutes later, you were both cross-legged on your bed, papers spread between you. You were trying to explain your outline for Jake's response strategy when you noticed Sunghoon leaning back against the headboard, listening — or at least pretending to. "What?" you asked when you caught him staring. "Nothing," he said, too quickly. "Just... you talk with your hands a lot." You rolled your eyes, tossing a pen at him. "You're impossible." "I'm observant," he corrected, catching the pen without looking away from you. "And you're avoiding my notes." "I'm not avoiding—" you started, but his grin told you he knew exactly how much you were.

The banter kept up like that — soft jabs, quick comebacks, the kind of easy rhythm that had been building for weeks. You were laughing at something he said when he reached over to tug gently at the sleeve of your shirt, a wordless signal to move closer so you could both look at the same page. You did — but your knees bumped. Stayed there.

He didn't move his. His voice dipped just slightly as he asked, "You always let people take over your space like this?" You tilted your head, pretending to think. "Only when they bring decent notes." "Mm." His gaze held yours a beat too long. "Guess I'll have to keep showing up, then."

You meant to laugh it off, but the air felt different now — slower, thicker. The paper in front of you was suddenly irrelevant.

He reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just long enough to make you shiver. "You're distracted," he murmured. "I wonder whose fault that is," you whispered back. His eyes softened, but there was something hungrier under it now. His thumb brushed your cheekbone, then traced along your jaw, and you swore you saw his breath hitch before his gaze dropped to your mouth. "What are you thinking about?" you asked quietly. He hesitated, then gave you the truth, low and unsteady. "Last night. The way you tasted. The way you looked at me." Your chest tightened, heat pooling low in your stomach. "You're not supposed to distract me." He smirked faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes this time — those stayed locked on you like you were the only thing worth noticing. "Not supposed to, but I want to." The words sat between you for a second before he leaned forward, thumb brushing your bottom lip. This time, it wasn't just a graze — he pressed gently until your lips parted, the pad of his thumb sliding into your mouth.

Your tongue met his touch instinctively, tracing the warm skin, and his jaw tightened.

He didn't break eye contact, watching you as you flicked the tip of your tongue over the edge of his thumb. "God," he muttered, almost under his breath, "you're gonna kill me." The thumb withdrew, but his hand didn't leave your face — it tilted your chin up, his fingers threading into your hair. You could feel him leaning in, slow enough for you to stop him if you wanted to. You didn't. His mouth found yours in a kiss that was... devastating. Not gentle, not rushed — deliberate. Lips parting, pulling, tasting, biting just enough to make you gasp into him. His other hand found your thigh, squeezing lightly before sliding higher, and you couldn't stop the soft sound that escaped you. He swallowed it in the next kiss, pressing you back against the pillows like he needed you closer than this bed would allow.

_______

His mouth left yours just long enough to trail kisses down the side of your neck, the kind that started soft but got bolder when he heard the change in your breathing. "Sensitive here?" he murmured against your throat, and before you could answer, his teeth grazed the skin just above your pulse point. You gasped, clutching at his shoulders, nails curling into the cotton of his shirt. He grinned against your neck — you could feel it — and muttered, "Noted." When he pulled back to look at you, his eyes were darker now, almost glossy with how much he wanted you. His hand slid into your hair, curling just enough to tilt your head back, exposing more of your neck to him. You laughed breathlessly. "You're enjoying this way too much."

He smirked, thumb brushing over your jaw. "And you're not?"

Before you could answer, his mouth was on you again, this time deeper, filthier — a kiss that left your lips tingling. You felt his hand slide from your hair to cup the back of your neck, holding you there while his tongue swept against yours. The control in the way he moved you was enough to make your stomach flip. When he finally pulled back, his breath was unsteady. "You have no idea what you're doing to me." "Maybe I do," you whispered, and his eyes flashed with something primal.

That was the moment his hand trailed lower, over your side, past your hip, until his palm was resting on your thigh. He squeezed once, then slid his hand higher, fingers tracing the edge of your shorts before brushing over the thin fabric of your panties. Your breath caught — it was barely a touch, but it sent a rush straight through you. He glanced up at you, gauging your reaction, and when you didn't pull away, his fingers pressed just slightly harder. "Already warm," he said quietly, almost to himself, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

He started slow, just moving his fingers over you in lazy circles, the fabric catching against your skin in a way that made you squirm. You tried to bite back the sound in your throat, but his other hand tangled back in your hair, holding you steady. "Don't hide it from me," he murmured. Your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping as his movements grew more deliberate, the heel of his palm pressing where you needed it most. Every so often, he'd kiss you again — quick, hungry pecks between touches, like he couldn't decide which he wanted more.

______

The lazy circles he'd been tracing over you suddenly picked up speed — not a gradual build, just a shift into something faster, hungrier. Your gasp turned into a broken sound, head tipping back against the wall behind your bed, but Sunghoon didn't stop. He leaned in, his forehead almost brushing yours, eyes locked on your face like he wanted to memorize every reaction. "You like that?" he asked, voice low and rough. Your answer was a shaky nod, but he didn't seem satisfied — his fingers pressed harder through the fabric, moving so quickly the friction made your thighs tremble. Your breath came in shallow bursts, your mouth falling open, and his eyes flicked down to it before dragging back up to meet yours.

The look in them was devastating — all soft devotion tangled with raw need, like he couldn't decide whether to worship you or ruin you. "God, you're—" He cut himself off, biting his lip, then leaning forward to kiss you hard. It wasn't sweet. It was all teeth and tongue, his mouth claiming yours while his hand worked you over mercilessly. The sound of the fabric dragging against you filled the air between gasps and muffled moans. Your hips started to move with his hand, chasing the pressure, and that was all it took for him to lose the last bit of composure. His own hips pressed into yours, the hard line of him grinding against your thigh. You felt him — solid, unyielding — and it made your eyes flutter shut for a second. When you opened them again, he was watching you with that wrecked expression, jaw clenched, breathing ragged. "Look at me," he said quietly, almost pleading, his hand never slowing. You did, and it was like something broke in him. His forehead pressed to yours again, his hips moving with a sharp rhythm as his fingers kept up their relentless pace. Every stroke made your eyes roll back, your mouth parting helplessly. You tried to form words, but they dissolved into little moans that only spurred him on. He groaned under his breath, the sound vibrating against your lips. "You're so wet for me, even like this..." His thumb dragged harder, faster, over the exact spot that made you jolt.

You felt his breathing hitch — every time your body reacted, his hips ground into you harder, like he couldn't help it. The heat of him, the rhythm of his touch, the way his gaze burned into you — it was dizzying. When your hand fisted in the front of his shirt, pulling him even closer, his lips brushed your ear. "You have no idea how much I want you right now." And the way he said it — not a tease, not a joke — made you believe it down to your bones.

______

The second you tugged at his shirt like you couldn't take any more, something in him shifted — a decision, quick and irreversible. Without breaking eye contact, Sunghoon slid his hand down between your thighs again, this time slipping under the waistband of your shorts and panties in one motion. The first touch of his fingers against your bare skin was enough to make you gasp, your hips jerking forward into him. "Fuck—" he breathed out, low and shaky, staring down at where his hand had disappeared. "You're dripping."

He didn't ease you in. Two fingers pushed inside immediately, the stretch deep and rough, making your mouth fall open. His thumb settled perfectly against your clit, pressing in a tight circle before dragging hard. You clutched at his shoulders, nails digging in, and he kissed you again — a filthy, wet kiss that swallowed the moan you let out when his fingers curled just right inside you. "Say it," he murmured against your lips, voice breaking with arousal. "Say you want me to fuck you with my fingers." Your answer was half a whimper, half a plea: "I want it."

He didn't just give it to you — he took it from you. His pace turned brutal, his fingers driving into you over and over, the wet sounds of it filling the room.

Your head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut, and he immediately tangled his free hand in your hair, pulling just enough to make you look at him. "Don't hide from me," he said, almost desperate. "I want to see every fucking second of it." You could barely hold his gaze with the way his fingers were hitting that spot deep inside you, his thumb rubbing faster on your clit until your thighs trembled. Every time you clenched around him, his jaw tightened and his breathing got harsher. "That's it. Take it for me, baby." When you let out a shaky "Sunghoon—" his thumb pressed harder, and the pressure in your stomach snapped — but before you could fall apart completely, he pulled his fingers out. The loss made you whine, but then you realized why — he was moving down, pushing you back against the bed. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open, and his eyes met yours from between them — dark, starving, and entirely in love. "I've wanted to taste you since the first time you fucking smiled at me," he admitted, voice rough with honesty. Then his mouth was on you.

It wasn't tentative — it was possession. His tongue dragged through you slowly at first, savoring the taste, before focusing on your clit with relentless flicks that made your hips jerk. He groaned into you when you gripped his hair, the vibration making you gasp. "God, you taste so good," he said between licks, voice muffled against you. "Sweet, warm—fuck, I could stay here all night." You couldn't think — not with his tongue circling and sucking, not with his hands pinning your hips down when you tried to squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure. When his eyes looked up at you, his mouth still working you, the sight alone made your chest tighten. "Tell me you're mine," he said, pulling back just long enough to breathe, lips shiny and wet. "I'm yours," you managed, voice breaking. His smirk was pure heat. "Then come on my tongue and let me prove it."

___________

The wet, obscene sounds of his tongue on you filled the quiet of your room, each flick against your clit making your thighs shake harder.

He didn't hold back — the flat of his tongue would press broad and slow against you one second, then the tip would circle and tap right on the swollen bundle of nerves the next. Every movement made the slick between you louder, wetter, and he was eating up every second of it.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned into you, lips sealing around your clit as he sucked hard enough to make your eyes roll back. The sound was filthy, like he wanted to drain every bit of you onto his tongue. He'd pause for just a second to breathe, letting his hot breath ghost over you before dragging his tongue upward again. "You're so sensitive... you twitch every time I touch you here," he said, flicking the tip of his tongue rapidly against your clit until your hips lifted off the bed. Your moans were shameless now, spilling out between sharp gasps as he kept you pinned down. Every lick was followed by a low hum, like he was savoring your taste. "You're fucking perfect," he murmured against you, his lips wet and swollen, "so soft, so sweet... made for my mouth." The combination of his tongue stroking hard over your clit and his voice — low, wrecked, completely gone for you — was too much. "Sunghoon— I'm—" "I know," he said quickly, almost possessively, before sealing his mouth around you again. His tongue rolled against you in deep, deliberate pressure, alternating with sharp, fast flicks until the knot inside you snapped. Your thighs clamped around his head, and then it happened — your body jolted, a rush of wet heat spilling over his mouth and chin. The sound it made — a sharp splash over his lips — made his eyes widen, but he didn't pull away.

"Holy fuck," he breathed when he finally lifted his head, his face glistening with you. His tongue darted out to lick the corner of his mouth, and his pupils were blown wide.

"You just squirted on me." You flushed hard, but he wasn't teasing — he was turned on to the point of shaking. "That was the hottest thing I've ever fucking seen." His voice dropped lower, darker. "I want to make you do that again."

But then he sat back onto his knees, looking down at you with something almost reverent. His hand went to the bulge in his trousers, palming himself through the fabric with a quiet groan, eyes locked on your face. His lips parted like he couldn't believe how much he wanted you right now. "Please." Just one word — needy, reverent, and laced with desperation.

______

You pushed yourself up slowly, your legs still trembling from the way he'd just wrecked you. He stayed there on his knees in front of you, hand still palming his cock through his trousers, lips shiny and swollen, eyes fixed on you like he couldn't look anywhere else. That one word — please — was still hanging in the air between you. You leaned forward, your palm sliding over the bulge in his pants, pressing down just enough to make him groan. He was hard — painfully so — and the heat of him burned through the fabric. "You did so well for me, Hoon," you murmured, your voice low and sweet, brushing the words right against his ear. "You made me feel so good... all over your mouth, all over your face." He let out a shaky laugh, but it broke into a gasp when you squeezed gently. "You liked it, didn't you?" you asked, teasing but tender, your thumb brushing the head of his cock through the cloth.

"I loved it," he admitted without hesitation, his hips twitching forward into your hand. "You don't even know—" "Then let me return the favor." You started undoing his belt, your fingers slow and deliberate, watching the way his breath got heavier with every movement. The moment you unzipped him, the hard outline of him pressed forward, straining against his boxers.

You cupped him through the thin fabric, giving him a slow stroke. He groaned low in his throat, eyes fluttering shut for a second.

"God, baby..." His voice was wrecked, almost unrecognizable. "You've been so good to me," you whispered, your lips brushing his jaw, "I want to taste you." That got his eyes open again — dark, wide, hungry. "Fuck— yeah. Please."

You pushed his boxers down, and his cock sprang free, flushed and heavy in your hand. He was already leaking, and the sight alone made you feel lightheaded. You wrapped your fingers around him, starting slow, stroking from the base up to the slick head, spreading his pre-cum with your thumb. He let out a deep groan, his head tipping back for a moment before he looked back down at you like he couldn't stand not seeing. "You're so big, Hoon," you breathed, leaning down just enough to let your lips ghost over the tip without taking him in yet.

His jaw clenched, and his hand went instinctively to your hair, not pushing — just holding, like he needed the contact. "Fuck, say that again," he muttered. "You're big... and so hard for me," you said, giving him another slow stroke. "You've been thinking about this, haven't you? Thinking about me on my knees for you." He bit his lip, his breath catching. "Every fucking night."

You licked up the underside of his shaft, slow and deliberate, feeling him twitch under your tongue. The first time you wrapped your lips around the head, his hips jerked forward slightly, and a sharp groan ripped from his chest. "Oh, fuck— you feel so good."

You took him deeper, your hand working the part of him your mouth couldn't reach yet, twisting slightly as you stroked. The wet sounds of your mouth on him filled the air, obscene and intimate. When you pulled back just to catch your breath, a thin line of spit connected your lips to him. You met his gaze as you licked it away and let more saliva drip from your mouth onto his length, using your hand to spread it. "Messy girl," he rasped, both praise and curse. "You're gonna kill me." You smiled against him, then took him in deeper this time, relaxing your throat until the head brushed the back. His groan was low and guttural, his hand tightening in your hair — still careful, still reverent, even with how desperate he was. "You're perfect," he said, voice breaking. "So fucking perfect for me."

You hummed around him, and the vibration made him gasp. His thighs tensed, and his hips gave a small, helpless thrust before he caught himself. You pulled back just enough to speak, your voice husky: "Don't hold back. I want you to fuck my mouth." His eyes went black at that, his chest rising and falling fast. "Baby— if I do that, I'm not gonna last." "Then don't."

_______

Sunghoon's breath was already ragged, but something in your voice — the way you'd just told him not to hold back — snapped the last thread of restraint he had.

His hand tightened in your hair, not yanking, just guiding. "Look at me," he said, low and rough. You tilted your eyes up at him as you wrapped your lips back around him, taking him in deeper. His jaw flexed, and you could see the muscle ticking there, like he was holding himself back from ruining you. "Fuck— you're so beautiful like this," he breathed, thumb brushing over your cheekbone before settling at the corner of your mouth, feeling the stretch of your lips around him. He eased his hips forward, testing, and when you didn't flinch, he gave a slow thrust deeper into your mouth. You gagged softly around him, eyes watering instantly — and he groaned like it was the hottest thing he'd ever seen. "That's it," he said, voice almost reverent. "God, those eyes— keep looking at me." Your mascara was already smudged from earlier, and now with the tears spilling over, you knew you looked wrecked for him. He loved it — you could see it in the way his gaze drank you in, dark and adoring all at once.

He started moving — slow at first, then picking up pace, the wet schlk of your lips around him filling the space between his broken moans. You could feel your spit and his pre-cum mixing, dripping down your chin, your throat working to take as much of him as possible. Every time you gagged, his fingers tightened in your hair, his breath hitching. "You're so fucking good to me," he panted, hips rocking into your mouth. "Taking me so deep— fuck, baby, I can feel your throat." Your eyes rolled back for a second at the sound of his voice — the filth, the awe in it — and when you looked back up, his expression almost undid you. He was gone — flushed cheeks, lips parted, brows drawn together in desperate pleasure, watching every twitch of your mouth on him.

"Pretty girl," he rasped, almost to himself. "My pretty girl..." When you flattened your tongue under him and let your throat open, he groaned so loud you swore someone outside could hear. His thrusts got rougher, more urgent, but never careless. He wanted you ruined, but still wanted you safe. "Shit— I'm close," he warned, his voice shaking. You sucked harder, your hand twisting at the base, encouraging him. His hips stuttered.

Then his eyes locked on yours, pupils blown wide, and he growled, "Don't you dare look away." You held his gaze, teary and flushed, lips stretched around him — and that was it. With a broken groan, his hips slammed forward, burying himself in your mouth as he came. The heat hit your throat in quick, pulsing waves, the taste flooding over your tongue. You swallowed instinctively, still holding him deep, your eyes still locked on his even as fresh tears slipped free. He looked completely undone, mouth parted, chest heaving, eyes so full of you it almost hurt.

When he finally pulled back, his cock slipped from your lips with a wet pop, a thin line of spit and cum connecting you for a second before breaking. He stared at you — at your messy chin, your wet lashes, your flushed cheeks — like you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "Holy fuck," he breathed, almost laughing in disbelief. "You... you just killed me." He still hadn't stopped palming your hair, brushing damp strands back gently now. Then, softer but with that same awe, "I'm so fucking in love with you."

_______

He was still holding your face like it was something precious, chest rising and falling fast from the high he'd just come down from. "I'm so fucking in love with you," he repeated, voice low and raw. Your heart hammered. The words slipped out before you could think.

"I love you too." It was quiet but certain — no hesitation, no doubt.

Something changed in his expression instantly. His mouth parted like he'd just been hit in the chest, and for a second, he didn't move. Then he kissed you — hard, desperate, his lips still tasting faintly of you from earlier. You were already pulling him closer, hands sliding down his toned stomach until you felt him again — already heavy, already hard, his skin hot against your palm. He groaned into your mouth, breaking the kiss just enough to press his forehead to yours. "I need to be inside you," he said, not like a demand, but like a plea.

You let him push you back gently until your head hit the pillows. His shirt came off fast — you didn't even register the motion, just the sudden expanse of bare chest above you, his abs tightening as he worked his trousers open. When he pushed them down, his cock was flushed and thick again, and your breath caught at the sight. The weight of it in his hand as he stroked himself made your thighs clench. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, settling between your legs, the tip of him brushing against your entrance. His free hand came up to cup one breast, thumb circling your nipple slowly. "I want to fuck you and keep you full until you can't think."

He pushed in slowly at first, the thick head stretching you open, making you gasp. The stretch burned in the best way, your walls gripping around him immediately. "God— so tight," he groaned, jaw clenching, eyes locked on where you were taking him. When his hips pressed flush against yours, you both exhaled hard — the fullness overwhelming. He stayed there for a beat, one hand gripping your thigh, the other still palming your breast. Then he started moving.

The first few thrusts were slow, deep, letting you feel every inch of him. His balls tapped against you softly each time he bottomed out, the sound wet and obscene in the quiet room. "Feel that?" he asked, voice rough. "All the way inside... fuck, you're perfect." You moaned, nails digging into his shoulders. He dropped his head to your chest, lips closing around your nipple, sucking while his hips sped up. The wet pull of his mouth on your breast and the deep stretch of him inside you made your back arch off the bed.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hair falling over his forehead, sweat beading at his temples. His expression was wrecked — flushed cheeks, parted lips, eyes dark with lust and something softer underneath. "Gonna fill you up," he groaned, one hand sliding down to your hip to hold you in place. "Gonna cum so deep you'll feel me for days." The words made your walls clamp around him, and he felt it. His thrusts turned sharper, balls slapping harder against you. "Say you love me again," he demanded between thrusts, his voice breaking slightly. "I love you," you gasped, and his groan in response was almost animal.

He moved faster now, his hips driving into yours, every push sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. You could hear the wet sound of him inside you, the low slap of skin, the faint catch in his breath each time your walls clenched. "Fuck— I'm so close," he panted, his rhythm faltering just slightly. His free hand cupped your breast again, squeezing, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

His eyes locked on yours again, and you could see it — the exact second he let go. With one final, deep thrust, he buried himself fully inside, groaning as the heat of his release filled you. He stayed there, pressed deep, his hips twitching with aftershocks, balls snug against you as he pumped every drop into you. When he finally eased back slightly, you could feel the warm spill of him inside, his cock still heavy and hard. He kissed you again — slower this time, like he was sealing something in.

He was still inside you when he whispered against your ear, voice dark with need.

"Not done with you." Your legs twitched from the oversensitivity, but your body reacted instantly, tightening around him. His lips brushed your cheek, then your jaw.

"You think one round's enough after what you just said to me?" he murmured, hips already starting to move again. The tenderness from moments ago was gone. This was sharp, hungry, impatient. He pulled out almost entirely, just to slam back in hard enough to make the headboard hit the wall. Your gasp turned into a moan as his pace went from steady to brutal — each thrust hitting deep, his balls slapping hard against your ass. "Listen to that," he gritted out, the wet, obscene sounds of your pussy taking him echoing in the room. "You're fucking soaked for me. You like when I use you like this?" "Yes—" you gasped, cut off by a rough thrust that knocked the word out of you. He grabbed a handful of your hair, yanking your head back just enough to make your spine arch beautifully for him. His mouth was right at your ear now. "Say it again. Say you love me while I fuck you like this." "I—love— you," you moaned, broken between thrusts. "Good girl." His voice was all grit and pride. "Gonna cum in you again. Make it drip down your thighs."

He flipped you over without warning, dragging you onto your hands and knees. His hands gripped your hips hard, thumbs digging into your skin as he lined himself up again. The first thrust from behind made you cry out — it was deeper like this, rougher, every stroke hitting a spot that had your arms shaking. "Fuck, this view," he groaned, one hand sliding down to smack your ass, the sharp sound followed by a delicious sting. "Watching my cock disappear inside your perfect little pussy... never getting over it."

He reached under you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing fast, messy circles that matched the frantic pace of his hips. The combination had your breath stuttering, your knees threatening to give. "You're dripping all over me," he groaned. "Making a mess on my cock. You love it, don't you?" "Y-yes—" you managed, only for it to break into a loud moan when he started grinding into you in between thrusts, pressing deep before pulling out just to slam in again. He was relentless now, fucking you hard enough that you could feel his balls slap against you with each thrust. "Gonna cum— fuck, gonna pump you so full it leaks for hours," he growled, hips snapping into you. The words pushed you over the edge — your orgasm ripped through you, making your pussy clamp so hard around him he cursed loudly. "Fuck—fuck, that's it—" His thrusts got sloppy, rougher, until he buried himself deep one last time and spilled hot inside you again, groaning your name like it was the only word he knew.

When he finally pulled out, the sight of your pussy fluttering and leaking his cum made him groan again. He palmed himself lazily, eyes still fixed on the mess.

"Could go again," he murmured, still out of breath. "But I'd ruin you completely."

______

The room still smelled like sex — heavy and warm — and the sheets were a tangled mess beneath you. You were still catching your breath, but Sunghoon didn't move far. He stayed pressed to you, his hand lazily stroking up and down your side, his forehead resting against yours like he didn't dare let the moment break. When he finally pulled back enough to look at you, his hair was a wild mess, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen, eyes still soft and blown out from everything that had just happened.

"I need to say this before I combust," he murmured, his voice hoarse but steady.

"Can I please be your boyfriend?" The question landed with the weight of everything you'd just felt between you — the way he'd touched you like you were precious and fucked you like he'd been waiting forever. You blinked at him, almost laughing at how urgent he looked, but his eyes weren't joking. He was dead serious. "I mean it," he continued quickly, his hand coming up to cradle your face like he was afraid you'd look away.

"I want to wake up next to you every day. I want to see you smile every time I walk into a room. I want to be the one you lean on when shit gets hard. I want to... be yours. Completely." Your throat tightened, and before you could speak, he added, "You already own me, you know. I just... want it official." You laughed softly, brushing your thumb over his cheekbone. "You're ridiculous." "Yeah," he admitted without hesitation. "Ridiculous for you." It made your heart ache in the best way. "Yes," you said simply, and the way his entire face lit up could've powered the whole campus. "Yes?" he echoed, grinning like a kid before leaning in to kiss you again — soft this time, lingering, all the heat replaced with something warm and infinite.

By the time you both dragged yourselves out of bed and into clean clothes, the glow between you was impossible to hide. Which, as you realized the moment you stepped into the student union, was going to be a problem. Because Jake and Yunjin were both there. And you and Sunghoon were... holding hands. Jake froze mid-sip of his coffee, eyes darting to your interlocked fingers like he'd just spotted a UFO. "No. No way. I leave you alone for two days and this happens?" Yunjin didn't even look surprised — she just raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Knew it. Saw it coming from a mile away. The tension was practically a health hazard."

Jake set his coffee down like he needed both hands to gesture. "Do you two understand the levels of smug you're radiating right now? It's offensive." Sunghoon just smirked, squeezing your hand, clearly unbothered. "Jealous?"

"Not jealous," Jake shot back instantly. "Disgusted. And slightly betrayed. Mostly disgusted."

Yunjin, leaning back in her chair, chimed in, "So... when's the wedding?" You groaned, burying your face in your free hand, but Sunghoon just grinned wider, his thumb stroking the back of your hand like he couldn't stop touching you. "Sooner than you think," he deadpanned, earning a dramatic gag from Jake and a slow clap from Yunjin.

_______

The teasing from Jake and Yunjin faded into background noise the second Sunghoon tugged you gently toward the exit. Not in a rush, not dragging you — just... guiding you, like he wanted to be anywhere but under that fluorescent lighting with everyone staring. The late evening air was cool when you stepped outside, the campus quieter now. You walked without talking for a bit, the sound of your shoes on the pavement and the faint rustle of leaves filling the silence. His thumb kept brushing against yours, like even now he had to keep touching you. When you reached the edge of the quad, he stopped. You turned toward him, expecting some joke about Jake, but instead, he just looked at you. Really looked. Like he was memorizing your face.

"You know," he said softly, "I wasn't exaggerating in there. About the waking up next to you part." Your chest tightened. "You were serious." "Dead serious." He stepped closer, the warmth of him chasing away the chill. "I want all of it. The big stuff. The boring stuff. The you-stealing-my-fries stuff. Everything. I want you when you're laughing, when you're pissed at me, when you're stressed out over work... I want you." You could feel your heart beating in your fingertips. "You already have me," you said quietly. That smile — the one that made you feel like you were the only person on earth — broke across his face. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing you in like he couldn't get enough. "I'm so gone for you," he murmured. "Like... hopeless." You laughed under your breath, slipping your arms around his waist. "Good. Because I'm not letting you go."

For a while, you just stood there, wrapped up in each other. No noise, no eyes on you, no deadlines. Just you and him, the glow of the campus lights painting him in gold, and the knowledge that whatever came next, you were walking into it together.

______

OKAY SO THAT'S IT. WE'RE DONE. MY BEAUTIFUL, CHAOTIC, SLOW-BURN IDIOTS FINALLY GOT TOGETHER AND DID THE NASTY — AND NOW I'M JUST SITTING HERE LIKE A PROUD PARENT WHO ALSO PROBABLY NEEDS THERAPY.

THANK YOU FOR READING, SCREAMING, AND LOSING BRAIN CELLS WITH ME. I'M GRATEFUL, I'M EMOTIONAL, AND I'M ALSO WONDERING WHAT TO DO WITH MY LIFE NOW THAT I CAN'T DRAG OUT THEIR ROMANTIC TENSION ANYMORE.

FORGET TO HYDRATE AND BULLY JAKE.

perm taglist - @yourislandgirl @luvr4gyu @staarflowerr @whattlulu @chae-rries @mariegibeau @wonuziex @iris65 @toastmenace @saraabbas @kaykay11sworld

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sunsetpossum · 4 days ago

Text

OMGGG THIS WAS BEAUTIFUL

MAKE YOU MINE — pjs

2.1: PROVE I'M YOURS — You’re an Omega with rare, selective instincts, untouched by every Alpha you've ever met. That is, until you catch a scent that stops you cold and ignites a hunger you’ve never known. It leads you straight to Park Jongseong—the quiet Alpha who barely acknowledges your existence.

Now, every encounter becomes a quiet war with your own body. You try to ignore the pull, and yet, you can’t shake the fear that he might be the only Alpha your instincts will ever respond to… and the only one your heart will ever want.

content tags: a/b/o dynamics: alphaljay, omega!reader, (ft. beta ningning, beta yeonjun, omega giselle and alpha! heeseung, jake and sunghoon), burning slow burn, the tables has been turned, descriptive topics of: alpha ranks, premature pre-heat, imprinting, and ofc reader's outfits, makeup and nails. jealousy, internal conflict, mutual pinning lmao, jay is being soooo obvious but it's okay bcs reader is oblivous, heeseung is a typical alpha but let's ignore that bcs he's hot, confessions. :> no explicit warning. WC: 41.3K of reader being dramatic. previous chapter - next chapter

⋮ ⌗ act eight

IF YOU ever had the chance to go back in time, you swear you'd do everything differently. You wouldn't let yourself be driven by instinct, wouldn't let yourself spiral into that warm, confusing place your Omega kept pulling you toward. You wouldn't have chased after Jay like your heart was some unruly thing you had no control over.

If you had a chance to rewind, you would have chosen silence. You would have scrolled past his face in your memories. You would have let the scent of him fade into the background instead of curling into it. You would've ignored that first flicker of hope the moment he tolerates your presence.

But who could blame you, really? When you're wired to crave, when your instincts hum louder than your logic, when you're walking around with a heart that beats in a rhythm you can't always understand. And then someone like him comes along, and your Omega folds like paper under heat. So no, you don't entirely blame yourself. But you're tired of this.

"Why are you such an idiot?! I said I wanted avocado shake!" you snap, nearly throwing your compact mirror into your bag as you glare at Yeonjun with all the frustration currently boiling in your system.

Yeonjun flinches, yelping as you smack him on the back of the head with your notebook. "Ow?! What the hell, woman?"

"I was very specific. Avocado. Not mango. Avocado. Do I look like I want mango right now?!" You bark, grabbing the drink he handed you.

He throws his arms up in exasperation, rubbing his head. "Fuck you! I told you there wasn't any avocado left and you said, and I quote, 'Just get whatever's available.' So I did! And now suddenly it's my fault?!" He huffs. "Fuck this life! I should've just left you dehydrated!"

A few classmates turn their heads at the raised voices, eyes flicking between the two of you, but they don't linger. Most of them are used to this by now, your mood swings, your tantrums, fights with everyone that always sound like a serious scene but are somehow just another Tuesday. It's your brand. It's expected. So they go back to their conversations and assignments, writing it off as noise they've already heard before.

But today, it doesn't feel like noise to you. Today, it feels like the whole world is pressing in on your skin, dragging across your nerves, making you want to scream. You drop into your seat, the shake Yeonjun got you sitting untouched on the table. You cross your arms, lean forward, and stare down at the scratched surface of the table like it holds answers you've never been able to find.

Fuck this life, you echo silently. Because truly, what the hell is happening to you? You're restless, overstimulated, irritable. You can't sit still, can't focus, can't breathe without wanting to either cry or snap or disappear into a spa and never come back. You told yourself you still had a month before your heat, your tracking app, your body's usual rhythm always gave you that much warning. But this time, it's all different. There's a heat blooming under your skin that feels different than before. More invasive. It's not just a dull ache in your lower belly or a sensitivity in your scent. It's a slow-burning need that twists in your gut, worse with every hour. You can feel your Omega coiling tighter and tighter, your scent beginning to shift in ways you can't fully mask. The light sweetness is still there, but it's being layered over with deeper—richer, warmer scent.

Your eyes narrow and your fingers twitch on the desk. You can feel someone staring. "What the fuck are you looking at?" you snarl, turning your head sharply.

The Omega girl flinches slightly but doesn't look away. She's sitting three seats down, her hand delicately curled around a designer pen, face perfectly powdered and soft—but your eyes zero in on her dress.

Dior. Or at least, that's what the little tag on the visible collar suggests. Except you know it's fake. The stitching is off. The hem is wrong. You've seen that same knockoff on Taobao for fifty bucks and the zipper sticks when it's real Dior. And her scent was thin. Covered in layers of store-brand fragrance and desperation.

You want to claw the smug look off her face. You heard the fake compliments from the girls around her, all clapping like trained seals about her "taste," pretending they didn't know her entire look was counterfeit. And now she has the nerve to look at you like you're the mess?

She looks at you with that judgmental, sweetened kind of pity like she thinks you're unraveling. And maybe you are. But at least you're not pretending!

And suddenly, you hate everyone.

You hate the Alphas who get up to stretch and throw their dominant scents around. You hate the Betas who sit there unaffected, quietly smug in their neutrality. You hate the Omegas who sit all pretty and soft, their schedules synced with their bonded mates who actually show up when their heats begin.

You hate the idea that you're alone and everyone here gets to pretend they're not. Because no one understands what it feels like to sit in a room full of people and still feel like you're suffocating. To be burning from the inside and have no one to pull the flames off your skin. To ache and ache and ache with no relief in sight, only the slow humiliation of knowing your scent is starting to leak into a desperation.

You're tired of the ache crawling beneath your skin. Tired of waking up hot and flushed, your limbs too heavy and your thoughts running in circles. You're tired of the phantom scent of him.

THE DOCTOR clicks her pen and glances up from your chart. "You're experiencing premature heat symptoms," she says.

You blink, mouth slightly open, a sudden urge to curse out loud is rising fast in your throat. If you could blame anyone—or anything—it would always come back to him.

"Doc," your mother interjects, hands clasped tightly over her mouth, brows knit in worry. "My daughter has a regular cycle. Every six months. Is it... is it serious? Do we need to prepare for something?"

The doctor's expression doesn't shift. "Not serious, no. But it does suggest that her Omega may have identified an unbonded Alpha. The reaction is instinctual."

Your mother gasps sharply, eyes snapping to you. "An Alpha?" she asks, as if it's the most outrageous thing she's ever heard. "Is this true? You didn't tell me anyone was... involved."

Involved. You scoff internally. What involvement? There was no "involvement." There was just you, orbiting him. A star collapsing in on itself while he stood there, unmoved. If anything, you weren't involved—you were invested, alone. You scoff inwardly, lips twitching. You can't even begin to explain it. Now he's acting like he cares. Showing up at your most vulnerable moments. Scenting you calm when your distress surges. Talking to you when you've already given up trying. It's enough to make your Omega stir again, confused and hopeful—hopeful, after everything. Maybe, it's because he can smell your pre-heat. Maybe that's the only reason. The biological imperative.

"I don't..." you start, but your throat closes up, too full of shame. Your mother leans in closer, clearly waiting for an explanation you're not prepared to give. "It's nothing serious," you finally say, forcing the words out past the lump in your throat. "I'll be fine. Just—" your voice falters again, your hands curling tightly into your lap, "maybe some kind of medication?"

"I can't prescribe heat suppressants for this," she says. "This is a premature heat. Suppressing it improperly could destabilize your cycle long-term. Your hormonal levels are too elevated for standard blocks, and there's no established bond to anchor the response."

You freeze. That phrase again. No established bond. "I can give you scent-neutralizing patches," she continues, "if the pheromonal response becomes overwhelming. But the root cause isn't something a patch will fix."

Your mother wrings her hands beside you, stiff in her seat, visibly distressed. "What about stabilizers? She's never had a history of imbalance. I never had history of imbalance. I— I don't understand. Why is this happening now?"

The doctor offers her a sympathetic look. "That's common. A presenting Omega might carry stable cycles for years before someone disrupts the balance. If her Omega has responded to an unmated Alpha, especially one within close proximity for extended periods, it can trigger early hormonal activity. The body reads it as readiness. Her system is beginning to align, preparing for what it thinks is a potential bond."

"But there isn't a bond," you say quickly, a little too defensively. "There's nothing—he's not—he doesn't want that."

Your mother's eyes are wide, her expression flickering between disbelief and dawning realization.

The doctor glances up from her notes. "Ah. A one-sided bond, then," she muttered, "That doesn't matter. Your Omega has already begun responding to his scent, and from what I see in your charts, your body is attempting to sync. Whether the Alpha reciprocates or not is irrelevant to your body."

You sigh heavily, rubbing your palm over your face. Every word is a confirmation of what you've been denying for weeks now. You've been spiraling into this heat because of something he didn't even give you. He didn't even claim you, he didn't scent you regularly, he barely gave you scraps of kindness. And yet, you're still experiencing all of this, your body still chose him.

Fuck this hierarchy. Fuck every structure built to remind you that no matter how hard you try to keep control, your body will always be ruled by something beneath the skin.

The doctor moves to stand, her hands smoothing out the hem of her coat. "You just need to manage your stress," she says with gentle authority. "Keep yourself hydrated. Eat well. Rest when you can. Try not to overstimulate your system with strong scents or emotional surges. And if possible..." Her voice wavers. "Distance yourself from the Alpha."

You scoffed silently. Distance. Like that hasn't already been your first defense. Like you haven't already forced yourself to sit rows away in lectures, to swallow the instinct to check if he's behind you in crowded halls.

You keep your expression blank, nodding once. The doctor doesn't press further. She's probably seen enough cases like yours to know which ones are about to fall apart and which ones already have. She offers you a paper bag with the scent patch, a mild suppressant in a sleek white box, and a bottle of electrolyte tabs.

"Just stabilize yourself," she says gently. "Even if you can't cut the bond, you can dull the symptoms. Give yourself time. Give your Omega space to detach—if it can."

If it can. There's always that part, warning that not all imprints fade, that sometimes the body doesn't forget the Alpha it first aligned with. And worse—sometimes it waits. Sometimes it breaks down slowly, months, years, unraveling.

You step out of the clinic, blinking hard against the sunlight. Your mother is at your side again, her expression tight, but she doesn't speak. But later, in the car, she tries in her own way. "Maybe we could stop somewhere," she says. "There's that boutique near the roundabout—didn't you say they have new arrivals this week? We could look. Or just window shop. Something to distract you." Her tone is mothering in the gentlest way, her fingers tapping against the steering wheel.

You sigh and lean your head against the glass. The suggestion is kind, sweet even, but there's a part of you that recoils at the thought of dresses and handbags. But still, you nod. uThe silence settles again as it gives you space to think. What are you supposed to do? Rip him out of you like a root too deep to reach? Cut the string that ties your Omega to him? You scoff softly under your breath, eyes focusing on the moving blur of street signs and passing faces.

You almost laugh at the absurdity of it all. Exorcise him? As if Jay had ever been something so fleeting, so easily removed. He was embedded—threaded into your senses, branded into your chemistry. And for what? For nothing. For him to treat you like a nuisance one moment and then scent you like you belonged to him the next. Maybe he didn't know what he was doing. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe he just didn't care.

But you do. You care too damn much, you don't even know why.

Maybe the suppressants will help. Maybe they'll level out your imbalance, make the nights less cruel, keep your Omega from crying out for a bond that was never offered. Maybe the scent patch will shield you from inhaling him again and again. Maybe. But maybe not. Either way, you have to try. You have to claw your way back to center. Back to the version of yourself that existed before your biology hijacked your dignity.

Because if you don't—if you keep letting yourself unravel under this invisible thread, keep spiraling around every moment he chooses to show up and confuse you—you'll lose more than just your pride. You'll lose you. And haven't you already given enough?

⋮ ⌗ act nine

"WHY DO you have that?" Yeonjun's voice dripped with curiosity, but it grated on your nerves. Your eye twitched the moment his finger grazed over the edge of the cat-shaped patch stuck to the side of your neck, and you felt a familiar boiling sensation beginning to bubble beneath your skin.

You swatted his hand away with a slap, fixing him with a glare. "Don't touch it," you snapped, pushing the chair away from him, but he moved his chair closer to yours again.

Yeonjun chuckled, entirely unfazed by your tone. "Chill, I'm just asking. It's cute!"

"Fuck off," you snapped, kicking the leg of his chair so hard it screeched against the floor, jerking sideways. Ningning let out a yelp as she caught it before he toppled over.

"Geez! You've been a menace lately!" he complained, rubbing his side. "I'm seriously hurt! You're so painfully mean these days, I'm starting to think you're developing violent coping mechanisms."

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your compact mirror from your bag just to avoid eye contact.

"I can't believe we're going to be stuck together all second semester," Yeonjun added with a dramatic sigh. "I thought maybe you'd mellow out now that you and Jay are back to... whatever the hell it is you two are doing. You were all sunshine last last week when he brought your clip back, now look at you now."

You clicked your tongue and gave his chair another kick. "Don't. Even. Mention. His. Name."

Ningning tilted her head, her curiosity flaring immediately as her brows knit together. "Seriously? What happened this time? You two were like practically not—so flirting last time."

"I'm moving on," you said plainly, flipping your compact mirror open and pretending to inspect your mascara, even though you could feel both of their eyes practically drilling holes into you. A beat of stunned silence followed, then a gasp from both of them in sync. You didn't even look up—just reapplied your lip gloss.

"So you're admitting there was something going on?" Yeonjun was the first to speak, already leaning forward with a shit-eating grin on his face, eyes sparkling with the satisfaction of catching you slipping. "That's what I heard. Clear as day."

You kicked his chair again with less force but more intent, eyes still trained on your reflection. "That's not what I said."

"That's exactly what you said," he sang back. "You said, and I quote, 'I'm moving on,' which implies there was something to move on from."

You finally lowered the mirror, giving him a dry look. "If you keep talking, I'm moving on from your existence."

Ningning reached across the table to gently tug at your wrist, drawing your attention back to her. "Babe, for real. If you're trying to move on, that's totally valid. But... how about the bond?"

Your eyes met hers slowly, your jaw tight, your pulse a dull throb in your neck. You didn't even realize you were holding your breath until your chest tightened. "There's no bond," you said flatly.

For a second, there was only silence. Then, Yeonjun gasped, so exaggerated you almost threw your things at him. Ningning mirrored the reaction, hand flying to her mouth.

Your eye twitched with irritation. "God, both of you deserve an award for worst acting," you muttered, dragging your hand away from Ningning.

"You don't scent someone like that if there's nothing!" Ningning said. Yeonjun nodded quickly, supporting her claim. "Jay didn't just sit beside you and breathe. He was reacting. He reacted to you."

You looked down at your hands, your freshly done nails glittering faintly. Despite the mild spring warmth outside, your fingertips felt cold, like your body was refusing to settle, like your Omega was stuck somewhere between longing and denial. "He only reacts when I cry," you said. "He only notices when I'm falling apart. When I'm breaking in front of him. That's not bonding. That's..." You paused, the word sour in your mouth. "That's — I don't know? Pity? Basic human decency?"

Ningning didn't speak for a beat but when she did, her voice was gentler. "That's not whatever you think it is, love. That's instinct. That's Alpha behavior when they're drawn—when their instincts aren't neutral. If he wasn't reacting at all, if he was truly indifferent to your scent or your state, we'd be having a very different conversation right now."

You scoffed, dragging your nails across the table in a slow absentminded motion. "That's exactly what I'm talking about, Ning. It's all just instinct. Just... pre-coded biological nonsense. His Alpha reacts to my Omega. My Omega reacts to his Alpha. None of it means he wants me. None of it means anything real."

Ningning's brows furrowed, lips pressing into a tight line. "It could mean something real," she finally said. "Just because it starts with instinct doesn't mean it has to end there. That's how most bonds start. A flicker. A pull. And then choice. It becomes real because we choose it."

You exhaled, hollow, your thoughts curling around that last word. Heh. Choice? Jay also had a choice but he chooses to be cold, distant and guarded. Every time you offered even the smallest piece of yourself, he returned it either with silence, or scolding, or irritation.

A bitter smile tugged at your lips as you reached for your bag, standing up with an exhale. "You know what?" you said, interrupting the silence that followed your last admission. "We really have to stop letting my Omega confuse biology for something that pretends to be love."

Ningning and Yeonjun both straightened at your sudden shift in tone, watching as you began gathering your things. "I'm not being dramatic," you continued as you slung the strap of your bag over your shoulder. "This isn't about Jay anymore. This is about me. Guarding my peace, my Omega, my sanity. And finally choosing something different—because this back-and-forth has been toxic, and I'm tired."

Yeonjun gave a low whistle under his breath, impressed. Ningning looked like she wanted to cry. "So yeah," you added, already walking toward the door, "topics done."

You stopped just before the threshold, glancing over your shoulder at them. "Also... I'm skipping classes. Who's coming with me?" Yeonjun was the first to move, already pushing his chair back. Ningning didn't even hesitate—she threw her pen down and rose with a grin, looping her arm through yours as you all stepped into the hallway.

The conversation shifted easily as you walked. You didn't mention Jay again. Ningning was already excitedly chatting about the upcoming university games, and Yeonjun was making bets on who'd be crowned king this year.

SINCE THE second semester had officially begun, the atmosphere on campus had shifted. The subjects, on paper, felt heavier—more academic and more demanding. Titles like Media Law and Ethics, Digital Media Production, Advanced Communication Theory, and the continuation of Media Research Methods, loomed large across your schedule. There was Audience Analysis, which sounded painfully dry, and Media Effects, which felt like a glorified summary of everything you already knew. Then there was Strategic Communication and PR Campaigns, and honestly, the name alone was enough to make your brain start buffering.

Still, with all those options laid out in front of you, you made your choice with one thing in mind: preservation. Of your mental health. Of your joy. Of your damn peace. Advertising and Promotion was the clear winner—not because you dreamed of building brand empires or writing catchy taglines, but because the syllabus looked manageable and the assignments felt less like theoretical death traps and more like hands-on creative output. And if you were being completely honest, it just sounded easier. After everything that had drained you last semester, you deserved easy.

You told yourself this was your redemption, It helped, too, that this semester came with a fresh schedule. A clean slate. A different crowd. A new seating chart in every classroom. And best of all? Park Jongseong was nowhere to be found!

No shared lectures. No overlapping labs. Not even a fleeting encounter in the corridors. You didn't see his face, didn't hear that sharp, indifferent voice, and perhaps most importantly, you didn't catch a single whiff of that painfully addictive Alpha scent that had once made your Omega curl.

It was a cleanse. A detox! And as each day passed, you became more and more convinced: life was easier without him. You could wake up without overthinking what you were going to wear in case he showed up. You didn't have to check your reflection fifteen times. You could reapply your gloss for yourself. Your Omega wasn't purring randomly, wasn't flaring its emotions at every second breath.

And for once, the universe seemed to be aligning in your favor—like it had finally decided to cut you a break after everything it put you through. You almost felt like you should start lighting a candle every morning in gratitude or whispering a little thank-you prayer into the void, because everything was just... working.

You tapped your foot against the floor of the campus café as you scrolled through your wishlist, excitement bubbling beneath your skin. Across from you, Ningning was mid-sip of her strawberry milk when you dropped your grand announcement. "I want to shop for new clothes for the University Games," you declared, glancing up from your screen. "And I definitely need a new bag. I swear I've already used all my cute ones last year, and I refuse to repeat an outfit cycle. Don't you agree?"

Ningning groaned dramatically and slapped a hand over her ear. "Please, spare me. I can't even think about bags right now—I have a date this weekend and I need to save money. Do you know how expensive one nice outfit can get?"

You stared at her. "What the fuck? Let your date pay for that!"

She burst into laughter, sliding her phone across the table to avoid the potential guilt trip from your wounded expression. "It's a first date! I can't just show up expecting him to foot the bill like I'm some spoiled heiress."

"Why not?" you shot back with a scoff. "You are a spoiled heiress in my eyes. If he can't handle that, dump him and move on to someone with a platinum card."

Ningning groaned and slumped back in her chair, dragging her drink closer. "I was the one who asked him out..."

You blinked. For a second, your brain refused to process it. "Wait—what?" Your voice was sharp with disbelief, your mouth falling open. "You asked him?"

Ningning winced and took another sip, avoiding your glare. "I did..."

"Oh my god." You leaned forward, hands gripping the edge of the table. "It's okay! First date etiquette exists for a reason! Men are literally hardwired to compete for attention and resources. It's their only evolutionary flex."

She snorted at that but didn't argue.

"I mean it! First dates are like ceremonial performances—they need to show off a little. Pick the place, foot the bill, act like they're worthy of your time. Not the other way around! You're the one who's soft and glowing and moisturized. He's the one that should be sweating!"

"It's not... I kind of... forced him," she muttered into her straw, and you nearly gasped, scandalized for all of two seconds—until the realization dawned on you, that you were exactly like that. Maybe not in the same brand of Ningning wielded so effortlessly, but the fire underneath it? The need to chase, to claim, to wrap your fingers around something the moment you decided it belonged to you—that was a language you both spoke fluently.

Because when the two of you wanted something, you didn't ask for permission. You didn't wait for it to be handed to you, or for fate to gracefully align the stars in your favor. No, you went after it. With the same fierce insistence you applied to limited-edition makeup drops, to the last size of a dress on sale.

You took what you wanted—unapologetically, recklessly, and sometimes with the kind of conviction that made people either fall in love with you or sprint in the other direction.

Her version of pursuit came with dangerously sweet smiles and paper-thin threats disguised as flirtation, the kind of behavior that somehow made men fall at her feet. Yours was subtler. Less sharp, more glazed in charm and a glimmer of need. You never threatened, never cornered. You dropped hints, left trails, spoke a little too sweetly, laughed a little too long. You tried to be soft enough to invite warmth and not too much to scare it away. Always just enough to be remembered, never quite enough to be kept.

You watched her now, bent over her phone, eyes dancing as she planned her weekend. Her certainty made you ache.

A pout tugged at your lips, God, were you really this hopeless? The envy, the slow-burning ache of watching someone love so easily, so cleanly — it all sat heavy in your chest. It wasn't the boy you were jealous of. It was her. That fearless kind of wanting. That persistent pursuit without hesitation, without shame.

Because you? You always second-guessed. You always bent to the shape of the person you were chasing, making yourself smaller, quieter, more palatable until you weren't even sure what you wanted anymore, only that you were exhausted from wanting it alone.

But maybe that was okay. You've survived longer seasons, you made it through a full year of watching people pair off while you learned how to love yourself in all the ways they couldn't. You learned to fill the quiet with laughter, to paint your own joy across days that didn't offer any.

You were still here. Beautiful. Loud. Rich in the kind of confidence that only came from rebuilding yourself every time you were chipped down. And if there's a piece missing? A puzzle edge that never quite locked into place? Then fine. You'd rather have a puzzle with an open ending than one completed with a shape that never really belonged to begin with.

⋮ ⌗ act ten

FLORASIS COSMETICS —the rival to Flower Knows in your mental beauty Olympics—has finally made its way into your vanity, and you honestly feel like pulling your hair out just trying to process the beauty of it. The sculpting palette is nothing short of a work of art: delicate carvings pressed into fine powder, patterns so intricate they could be framed and mounted instead of swiped across your cheekbones. How were you supposed to use this? How were you supposed to dig a brush into something that looked like a museum artifact without feeling like you were defiling sacred ground?

The box—an actual gift box, not one of those cheap promotional kits—was brought in like a treasure chest by your father, who had just returned from a business trip to China. You had nearly tackled him at the door, tearing into the wrapping with the urgency of someone who had been emotionally deprived of joy and beauty for weeks. Inside: the kind of packaging that made you gasp out loud. Carved brass details, silk linings, the softest cushions hugging each product like they were crown jewels. Your hands had literally trembled.

You swore a part of your soul left your body when you caught the glint of the lipstick packaging shaped like an ancient scroll. A part of you wanted to display them in a glass case. Another part is wanted to use them immediately, to feel like a regal goddess in every passing mirror.

"Guess who got new makeup and a new perfume," you chirped, voice sing-song as you twirled with your shopping bag in hand, the hem of your skirt swaying with each step. You sank down dramatically between Yeonjun and Ningning, full of the high that came from indulging in luxury and the scent of Dior still fresh on your wrists. You expected the usual noise: Ningning's squeals, Yeonjun's fake gagging, both of them leaning in to inspect your haul and playfully beg for samples.

Instead, silence. Their mouths were slightly open, expressions oddly blank, both pairs of eyes staring past you in unblinking unison. You frowned, confused. "Hey. Hello?" You waved your hand between them. "I just said I got new makeup. A Florasis palette. New Dior scent. You two always freak out about this kind of stuff."

Still nothing. You reached out and tapped Ningning's arm. Nothing. Tapped Yeonjun's shoulder a little harder and he finally turned his head, slowly. "Guess who's gonna spiral later," he muttered with zero inflection.

Your heart dropped somewhere beneath the floor. "What are you talking about?"

And then you felt the air shifted around you. A subtle but sharp curled at the edge of your senses. That scent, so unassuming, yet so devastatingly familiar, brushed past your nose with that clean, slightly cool undertone you hadn't let yourself think about in weeks.

No... You turned your head and the world tilted. Park Jongseong! In the flesh!

Sitting in the back corner of the lecture hall, headphones were in, one hand holding an open book, the other absently tapping against his leg. His hair was pushed back again, effortlessly styled like it always was when he was too busy to care but still ended up looking stupidly sooooo good. The sleeves of his sweatshirt were rolled to the elbow. His brow furrowed as he read, jaw clenched ever so slightly like he was concentrating, or irritated, or both.

Your mouth parted. "What the fuck is Jay doing here?" The words scraped out of your throat.

Yeonjun winced like he'd been bracing for the explosion. "Surprise elective merge," he said, shrugging helplessly. "Professor Han's class got absorbed into ours. Jay's on the updated roster now."

You stared at him, then turned to Ningning, who nodded in silent confirmation, eyes still bouncing nervously between you and Jay's corner of the room. "And when," you said slowly, "were you going to tell me that my personal nightmare suddenly enrolled in this class?"

"We just found out," Ningning hissed in a whisper. "They emailed the schedule update late last night. And you were too busy texting about your spa booking and new contour brush—"

"I was in a good mood!" you snapped, hugging your Dior bag to your chest. "Why does fate have the worst sense of timing?"

And as if summoned by the sound of your voice alone, Jay shifted in his seat. He didn't look up, but you knew. You knew he knew you were here. Knew he felt it too—that invisible cord still tangled between you, no matter how much you tried to sever it. Your Omega stirred violently inside you, purring like a fool. Begging for attention.

Shut it, you hissed internally. You hadn't even been wearing your scent patch today. Idiot. You were so caught up in the glow of shopping and the shimmer of new makeup that you forgot the one rule you've kept religiously since deciding to move on—never let your scent bleed out around him again.

But it was too late. Your Omega had caught the scent of him too, and you could already feel the beginning ripples of that premature hormonal shift your doctor had warned you about. The low curl in your belly. That fuzzy, heat-prickled pressure that nestled between your skin and your bones.

Panic gripped you for a second. Okay, yes, fine, he looks good. So what? He always looked good. He was always handsome in that infuriating, sharp-boned way. Hair swept back just messily, long fingers flipping pages, jaw set with focus, lips pressed together in that unreadable line. That was just his face.

It's okay, you assure yourself again. It's just one course. One elective out of your entire schedule. You'll only see him once a week, and you've survived worse. You've already gone through the slow, brutal undoing of your pride, your patience, and your Omega. There's no reason why this should be any harder than what you've already endured.

You can handle this—with respectful distance, calm indifference, and a full commitment to self-preservation. You've trained yourself for this, haven't you? You don't need him. You're over it. Your logic is stronger than your instincts. You can do this.

But then, like some twisted joke the universe decided to play at your expense, he starts showing up in places he shouldn't be. Not just in that one elective—no. Suddenly, he's everywhere. Fucking everywhere!

You see him in the library when you're trying to print something for class, sitting across the room, eyes already on you. You catch him in the campus café, ordering two tables away, hands tucked in his pockets. You find him leaving the same building at the exact time your class ends—even when you know he doesn't have a lecture there.

Okay, campus is small. Schedules overlap. It's just a coincidence! He probably has his own reasons—assignments, club meetings, group work. Maybe his favorite café happens to be the same one you like. Maybe his classes just happen to end when yours do. He's not doing anything wrong, not really. It's not like he's chasing you. Not in any obvious way.

But there's a consistency. A thread pulling tight every time you turn a corner and see him already there. A breath caught in your throat when your eyes meet for half a second longer than they should. A pressure in your chest that builds every time you feel him near—even before you actually see him. You know this feeling too well. You've walked this path before—this rabbit hole of spiraling thoughts. You've memorized every turn it takes to fall into delusion, and you swore you'd never take the plunge again.

But, you feel yourself teetering on the edge, again. Get a grip, you hiss internally, forcing yourself to blink it away, to ground your thoughts, to remind your body who's in control here.

Ugh. You hate how your body responds before your mind has time to stop it. You hate the little things: the flutter in your chest when you smell him first; the way your Omega perks up, tail-wagging and alert, just because his presence registers nearby. You hate how your carefully constructed routines begin to warp—shifting to avoid him in the halls, choosing the longer route just to not pass by the old lecture building, holding your breath whenever you step into the library. It's like you're hiding from a ghost. Only Jay is very much alive, very much real, and whether he means to or not, he's haunting you.

"THERE'S A whole meeting coming up for the University Games prep," Yeonjun groaned as he swung his bag onto the table with a dramatic sigh. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms. "I pulled a late-nighter reviewing terms for our summative. I swear my brain's leaking out my ears."

You barely looked up. Your gaze was fixed blankly on the whiteboard ahead, mind fogged, drifting somewhere far from the present moment. You hadn't even touched your notebook. Ningning had bailed on today's lecture with a casual 'Skip it, babe, not worth the stress—Jay's in that class anyway, just come over and nap.' You should've followed her advice. Should've turned on your heel the second you smelled him near the hall, should've saved yourself this tension gripping at your spine since you entered the room.

Instead, you sat frozen in your chair, arms crossed tightly as if you could physically anchor your emotions from escaping again.

Yeonjun dropped into the chair beside you, not bothering to glance around first. The next second, he let out a sharp yelp. "Ow! What the hell?! Who the fuck leaves their ID on a damn seat?" He shot upright, grabbing at his backside with one hand and snatching the culprit card off the chair with the other. His voice echoed through the half-filled classroom. Your face remained carefully blank, eyes locked on the whiteboard ahead, where nothing particularly interesting was written.

Yeonjun paused, staring at the object in his hand—a student ID card—before going uncharacteristically quiet. That caught your attention. Slowly, you turned your head to glance at him, one brow arching in question.

He startled slightly, caught in your gaze, then offered an awkward smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. "I—uh... damn, maybe someone just dropped it by accident or something," he said, voice an octave higher than usual. "I'll go, um... I'll just put it on the center table. Y'know. So they see it."

You narrowed your eyes slightly, confused by the shift in his tone. But you said nothing, watching him as he stood up and briskly crossed the room, the ID clutched a little too tightly in his fingers. He set it gently down on the table at the front before returning to his seat, brushing his pants off like the ID had burned him.

You blinked once, then shrugged, pushing the interaction aside and sinking back into your thoughts. Your mind had been a cyclone of clutter since the moment you stepped into the lecture hall—ever since you'd sensed a familiar presence brushing too close, like a scent you couldn't scrub out of your skin.

You endured the next three hours of the painfully dry lecture with gritted teeth. The professor's voice blurred into a steady drone, too monotone to hold anyone's attention, especially not yours. Your fingers tapped restlessly on your notebook, and you had to stop yourself from sighing for the twentieth time in the past ten minutes. On your right, Yeonjun had long since surrendered to the lull of the lecture, head tilted slightly back, lips parted as he snored softly with absolutely no shame. The sound grated on your nerves and you didn't know if you were more annoyed at him for dozing off while you suffered or at yourself for not being able to zone out the same way.

But the truth was, you couldn't relax. Jay's presence pressed at your awareness. He wasn't even doing anything. Just sitting there—silent, poised, occasionally jotting down notes with his signature. But it was enough to unsettle you. Every time he shifted, your eyes involuntarily flicked toward him. Every time his scent subtly curled through the air, your Omega responded instantly, purring traitorously despite your best efforts to ignore it.

It wasn't even a strong scent today: neutral, faintly clean, but your Omega reacted like it was ambrosia. God, you wanted to scream. And to make matters worse, the adhesive patch on your scent gland—already half-worn from overuse—was starting to itch like hell. You resisted the urge to scratch at your neck, rolling your shoulder instead in an effort to relieve the sensation without drawing attention. It didn't help. The irritation only amplified the restless coil tightening in your belly.

It felt like your Omega was trying to claw its way out, pressing up against your skin. You clenched your jaw and forced your gaze back to the front, blinking hard, trying to refocus on the slide about ethical dilemmas in digital advertising. It might as well have been written in a foreign language.

The back of your neck was prickling now, heat crawling up your spine. You tugged the collar of your shirt slightly, willing the sensation to ease off, but it didn't. The discomfort was relentless. A low thrum of biological tension building under your skin. Maybe it was the air circulation. Or the broken AC. Or the fact that you hadn't slept properly in three nights because your body was going haywire again, dancing on the edge of another hormonal shift.

Your hands curled into fists in your lap. You almost wanted to kick Yeonjun awake, just to have someone to blame.

You needed a massage, a facial, a two-hour-long scalp treatment. You wanted to lie down in a silk robe while someone pressed hot stones along your spine and whispered that everything would be okay. Maybe a shopping spree would help. A new pair of heels, another designer bag you could photograph and flaunt. You were already planning the text to your father: Daddy, Dior dropped a new saddle bag and it's giving limited edition... please? ૮ ⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄ ·̭ o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝ ྀིა⸝

Instead of going to your next class, you skipped the rest of your schedule entirely and took a cab straight to Ningning's house.

All you got was a casual, "He definitely wants you that bad," muffled slightly through her salmon roll as she sat cross-legged on the floor, scrolling her phone while dipping sushi in soy sauce.

"That's it?" you snapped, yanking a pillow into your arms. "That's all you have to say?"

She shrugged. "What else do you want me to say? You came in here with that look on your face and said his name within five minutes. What am I supposed to do—not assume he's got you all twisted again?"

You scowled at Ningning, lips pursed, but it was more out of habit than true annoyance. You didn't have the energy to argue with her, because as much as you wanted to dismiss her words, to chalk them up to her usual dramatic flair—she wasn't wrong. You did feel twisted. Frayed at the edges. Emotionally constipated. Whatever poetic metaphor you wanted to use for being perpetually on edge—none of them could really capture the constant, low-burning confusion you carried every time you saw Jay.

And, he was everywhere. Again.

The more it kept happening, the harder it became to ignore. And Ningning was having the time of her life narrating your slow descent into reluctant delusion.

"Oh my God," she whisper-hissed one afternoon, grabbing your wrist as the two of you stepped out of the admin building. "He's there. At the top of the stairwell."

You didn't even have to ask who.

"And now he's walking down—like right as we appear. I swear, he was standing there for five minutes doing nothing."

You pretended not to care, focused intently on your phone screen, but your Omega was already humming, alert and all-too-excited.

The next day, Ningning didn't even wait for a proper sighting.

"Okay, what the hell?" she hissed, sliding into the booth across from you at your usual café. "You're telling me he's suddenly into iced lavender matchas and this place's god-awful acoustic playlist? No. He is not a coffee person. I've never seen that man drink anything!"

You didn't even look over your shoulder. You'd felt the shift in the air the moment you walked in. That familiar weight settling at the back of your neck. "I'm telling you, he's hovering," Ningning continued, dropping her voice as she leaned forward. "And he's only doing it because you won't look at him."

You gave her your best withering glare over your straw, "I'm ignoring him because I'm trying to move on. Not because I want to bait him into doing something."

She raised both brows and popped a macaron into her mouth. "Babe, you are not ignoring him. You're avoiding him. And you know what happens when you avoid something that wants your attention?"

"I swear to God, if you say it grows stronger—"

"It grows stronger," she said, grinning. You groaned and dropped your forehead to the table, muffling your frustration in your arms. But you couldn't stop the restless pulse of your thoughts.

You weren't that pathetic! Your life didn't revolve around a single man's presence—or worse, absence. But your chest had been feeling heavier lately. The quiet days were harder to get through. There were moments when you glanced toward a doorway or listened for footsteps that never came, and the disappointment curled in your gut. And under the layers of pride and anger and well-constructed apathy, you knew that you were doomed the moment your body started keeping track of him.

You had memorized him. His presence wasn't just something you recognized. It was something your body anticipated. And under all the pride you wore all the carefully layered apathy, all the glitter and gloss you applied—you knew. You had been doomed the moment your body started tracking him. You were absolutely, irrevocably fucked the second you realized your eyes scanned the room automatically. The second you noticed your own awareness sharpening whenever he was near, even if he didn't say a word. Even if he was just there.

It wasn't fair! He didn't even have to do anything anymore. Just existing within your vicinity was enough to stir everything you'd spent weeks trying to bury. And still, you kept your routines, sat in your usual spots, retouched your gloss every thirty minutes, let Ningning drag you around the campus café circuit, hoping distraction would erase the obsession. But it didn't. Because he kept showing up. Always!

"What the fuck is he doing at the ladies' bench?" you snapped. "That's, like, the most feminine corner on campus—soft pink umbrellas, flower-painted tables. Why is he studying there?"

Ningning didn't even flinch. "He's been there for thirty minutes. Didn't even open his laptop. Just sitting and occasionally glancing. You sure he's not waiting for you?"

You waved her off, muttering curses, heart jackhammering in your chest like you were about to be ambushed. Jay this. Jay that. You didn't even notice how often his name slipped from your mouth until you heard it echoing back at you. You didn't even realize that your every minute—your thoughts, your movements, your entire schedule—had started to orbit around him.

You were done for the day he didn't show up and everything felt off. Fuck!

⋮ ⌗ act eleven

"YOU NEED to join at least two minor games or sign up to facilitate one," the Government rep from Education was saying into the mic. "Event logistics, food coordination, support for the major teams—whatever your strengths are, we'll find a spot. We also need volunteers for infractions and violation tracking—points, fouls, that sort of thing."

You leaned forward toward Ningning, completely disengaged from the mandatory meeting. "Hey," you whispered, flicking your nails together lightly, eyes gleaming with quiet excitement. "I got it. The new Dior blush—the one with the redesigned packaging? Forty bucks. The shade's softer now, less of that neon-cool pink from before. It's more muted, moreeee wearable."

Ningning's eyes snapped wide as she turned toward you, forgetting entirely about the ongoing announcements. "Already?! I saw the previews online. I'm not gonna lie, I'm not sold on the new packaging yet. The text is kind of... oversized?"

You rolled your eyes. "Who cares about the packaging? The formula, babe. The formula is everything. I did side-by-side swatches last night. The old one's a little chalky compared to this—it's so finely milled now, almost like silk. Blends like butter. No fallout either."

"Ugh, I hate you," Ningning groaned softly, eyes sparkling with envy. "Let me try it next time we hang out. I want to feel that buttery blush on my skin."

You smirked, flipping your hair back. "Of course. And wait 'til you see the bags I bought too. Bags, plural. Like—more than one. Because—"

Your words died mid-sentence. A shadow fell behind you, and your breath hitched. Something inside you tensed, your instincts flaring up. Slowly, almost reluctantly, your head turned toward the figure standing just behind your chair.

Park Jongseong?! It was him, wearing that usual booooring clean, muted palette of grays and blacks, eyes calm and unreadable behind the rim of his glasses, expression completely devoid of emotion. His backpack was slung casually over one shoulder, his presence as quiet as it was disruptive. Since you were sitting at the leftmost seat of your row, Ningning in the center and Yeonjun on the right, both of them followed your movement, turning their heads almost in sync with yours. You could feel their collective stillness tighten as the air shifted.

"What the fuck?" you snapped, mix with panic you hated. "Can't you see that this chair's for our bags? Like, obviously? This is not your seat." Your tone wavered slightly at the end, the bite softened only by the way your Omega stirred—rattling behind your chest.

Jay stared at you, unmoving for a heartbeat. Then, as if the tension in your voice didn't register, he spoke in his usual clipped, impassive tone. "There's no seat available."

You blinked, glancing around the lecture hall—okay, fine. Most of the chairs were already taken. People had crammed in at the last second, and yes, you might've been using the extra seat as a glorified handbag throne. But still!

"That's not my problem," you muttered, but the protest had lost momentum. Your hands moved on their own, dragging your bag with a little too much force. You avoided looking at him as he took the now-cleared chair beside you, moving with the effortless quiet that annoyed you to your core.

Yeonjun looked between the two of you, eyes narrowing. Beside him, Ningning shifted in her seat, biting down on the inside of her cheek, her entire body visibly vibrating with barely-contained excitement "The plot is plotting something," she hissed under her breath. "The plot is plotting something!"

You didn't even turn your head. With the smallest twitch of muscle and the elegance of someone who'd done this more times, you reached under the table and pinched Ningning's thigh. She let out a small yelp and covered her mouth, giving you a wide-eyed glare. You crossed your legs carefully, your entire posture shifted. You turned your body just enough to face Ningning, presenting your side to Jay.

"—Most of the minor games are based on child-friendly formats," the representative was saying. "Some are casual online games like Roblox, while the major events include Mobile Legends, basketball, volleyball, cheerdancing, swimming competitions, and more."

Your attention was half there, half flickering in annoyance as you felt the brush of an arm—his arm—bump into yours. You hissed under your breath, your brow instantly furrowing as you turned to glare at Jay. He didn't even look the slightest bit fazed. His fingers casually ran through his hair like the brush of his skin against yours was completely unintentional. And the audacity? He didn't even offer a damn apology.

You scoffed softly, flipping your hair with irritation as you shifted your entire body slightly away from him, putting your focus elsewhere.

"—We're estimating a contribution of around seventy dollars per student on the team," the organizer continued, clearly reading off notes. "That may vary depending on whether the head department decides to sponsor a portion. But our projected budget is about two hundred and fifty thousand dollars total. That includes uniforms, props, transport allowances, and basic essentials for team prep."

Just as you were about to reach for your iced coffee, Jay's elbow nudged yours again. Your head whipped in his direction, a sharp glare forming in your eyes—only to catch him smoothing his hair back again, eyes lazily forward. Again?! You sighed sharply through your nose, pulled your chair a few inches to the left, and tried to pretend he wasn't there.

The speaker's voice droned on. "—Of course, a lot will fall under coordination. We'll need volunteers not only for player support but also for logistics, media coverage, and audience management. There will be performance numbers, cheer squad allocations, and disciplinary committees to monitor violations. Our biggest competitors will be CHS—they're known for their full-sponsorship systems and aggressive prep. So we need full cooperation this year—especially from the upperclassmen."

Jay's shoulder brushed against yours again.

You clenched your jaw, turning your head slowly. "What the hell is wrong with you?" you snapped under your breath, arms folding tightly across your chest. "If you're that desperate to fix your hair, there's a whole damn restroom for that. Go stare at yourself in the mirror like a normal person. Geez, what's with—"

"What the—?! You dyed your hair?!" Yeonjun's voice cut through the air before you could finish yours. His reaction drew a few curious glances from the students sitting nearby.

You turned, actually seeing Jay now. And there it was: silver. Cool-toned silver, like rain-washed chrome, with the undercut now even more prominent, sharp lines framing his already angular face. His fringe was swept back effortlessly.

What the fuck? You hated him, and his hair looked really, really good. For a split second, your eyes followed the line of his jaw to the edge of his neck, then the slope of his nose. Your Omega let out the quietest purr in the pit of your chest, like some embarrassed reaction you couldn't control, and you cursed internally, dragging your gaze away before it wandered further.

Yeonjun was still gawking like Jay had just walked onto a runway. "Dude, I swear, if you didn't already have that resting death stare, you'd be making people fall left and right!"

Jay didn't respond. He just leaned back in his chair and tapped his pen on the edge of the desk, focused on the front as if he couldn't feel your barely concealed stare burning a hole in the side of his head.

Yeonjun pulled a face at being ignored, the moment losing its momentum. His shoulders slumped as he sighed, stretching out his legs and flopping his arms. "I think people treat me this way because I'm a Beta," he grumbled.

You turned your head slowly, brow raised, finally glancing at him. "You act like being a Beta is a curse."

"It is!" he huffed. "I'm literally the most approachable, least threatening person in every room and still I get no attention. Meanwhile," he gestured vaguely toward Jay, who remained unbothered, still tapping his pen, "mister Alpha here just breathes and people trip over themselves."

"—We'll be passing around sign-up sheets for the University Games tasks," the student organizer called out through the mic. "Please choose roles according to your ability and availability. Let's all do our part to make this event successful!"

You leaned back with a groan, tilting your head toward Ningning with a sigh. "Okay, what's the least energy-draining, makeup-safe, non-haggard role I can grab without ruining my nails? Just pass me the damn paper. I'll pick something brainless and get the hell out of here."

The paper made its way toward you—after brushing across Jay's arm—and you snatched it without a glance in his direction, though your Omega stirred immediately at the proximity. Stupid instincts.

"You did not just salivate while looking at that man's face!" Ningning whisper-shrieked beside you, eyes wide. "My God, you looked like you were about to bite his hand off—or kiss it!"

You kicked her ankle under the table in retaliation, shooting her a warning glare while quickly scanning the list of roles.

"'Documentation—Violation Monitoring' and 'Charades (Minor Games)' sound tolerable enough," you muttered, clicking your pink gel pen. "I'll just snap a few pictures, wear sunglasses, and laugh at people. That's it." You scribbled your name in your usual cursive signature.

"Write mine too," Jay said suddenly, glancing sideways.

Your pen froze midair. "Excuse me?!" you barked, twisting your head to glare at him fully. "You have two functioning hands and your own alphabet system. Write it yourself!"

Jay blinked once, completely unfazed. "You already have the pen."

You stared at him in disbelief. "So what?" you hissed, waving the pen dramatically. "What, do I look like your secretary? How am I even supposed to know which games you're planning to join?"

He didn't flinch. "Same as yours."

Your mouth dropped open. "Excuse me?!" The second shriek of the day tore out of your throat, louder, shriller. "Charades? Seriously? That's your pick?" you asked, incredulous. "You—you—are going to join Charades? That game is literally about exaggerated body language and miming! You?! You?! You're going to make the team lose!"

Jay's gaze remained steady, the corner of his lip twitching slightly as he said, "You're playing it."

You scoffed, incredulous, "Yeah, because I'm good at it! I have range, I can express, I can act—I know how to sell it." You gestured to yourself. "What about you, huh? You barely blink. You probably give the same face when someone confesses their love and when someone tells you the building's on fire."

Jay didn't even flinch. He met your stare evenly, "I can guess your acting."

Your mouth fell open. "Excuse me? Excuse me?!" You shot up slightly from your seat, your voice pitching so high you were almost squeaking. "A-Are you insane?! What the hell is that supposed to mean?! That's the most arrogant thing I've heard today."

Ningning leaned forward with her face half-buried in her hoodie sleeve, trying to muffle her laughter, while Yeonjun threw his hands up. Jay, who looked completely unfazed by your rising blood pressure. He was watching you like you were being ridiculous, like you were giving him exactly what he expected—and he liked it. Smug bastard.

"Just pick another damn game," you hissed through gritted teeth, narrowing your eyes. "There's like fifty other things you can do. Go do something that fits your boring personality, like counting scorecards or gluing banners or—I don't know—standing still and breathing silently in a corner."

A polite cough echoed from behind you, one of the organizers clearly signaling that you were getting too loud, again. You slouched a little in your seat, glared forward, then muttered under your breath. "I just need to participate," you mumbled, biting the inside of your cheek.

Jay didn't hesitate. "Then participate."

You twisted your neck back toward him sharply, eyes narrowed. "In other games. Why not literally anything else? Are you doing this on purpose?!"

"No. Why would I?" he replied, far too calm. "Charades is the easiest option. I don't see a problem."

You flushed, the heat rising up your neck and blooming across your cheeks. You stared at him, at his face so infuriatingly relaxed. Your jaw tightened as you grabbed the pen again and furiously scribbled his name in capital letters, aggressively neat, right beside yours "There!" you snapped, shoving the clipboard toward him, letting it hit the desk with more force. "Happy now?"

Jay tilted his head slightly, glancing at the paper, and then—your eyes widened—his lips twitched. A small, subtle pull at the corner of his mouth. "Very," he said, and it was enough to make your already-overheated skin burn hotter.

Oh my God. So handsome. You screamed mentally, slapping yourself internally. How the hell were you supposed to survive this semester when the universe insisted on throwing him directly into your path like a walking, brooding landmine? Your patch was starting to itch again, a subtle irritation blooming along the sensitive skin of your neck. It was your Omega—restless, unsettled, silently whining beneath your skin like a spoiled child denied its favorite scent. Fucking Jay! Annoying, emotionally unavailable, completely infuriating—but absurdly handsome—Jay.

You sat rigid in your chair, back unnaturally straight, hands folded tightly on your lap to stop yourself from clawing at the patch. You scratched the side of your neck instead. Another few minutes crawled by. You tapped your foot with impatience, irritation, and the overwhelming need to move—to get away from the heat simmering under your skin and the mess buzzing inside your chest.

The moment the student organizer dismissed the meeting, you bolted up from your chair so quickly it screeched against the floor. You didn't even care, grabbing Ningning's hand. "Come on, I'm starving. I'm craving burgers—extra bacon, extra cheese—" But you never finished the sentence.

A group of tall, broad-shouldered Alphas were suddenly blocking your path. You froze mid-step, heart thumping, your Omega coiling so fast it felt like your lungs collapsed. The air grew heavier, saturated with the thick, sharp press of testosterone. You immediately tilted your head back, blinking up at their towering figures. That cocky, easy swagger of males who knew they had presence. Your breath hitched. And without meaning to, you instinctively stepped back.

Your Omega didn't like this. Not even a little. It wasn't about submission—it was recoil. Threat. These Alphas weren't your Alpha. And your instincts knew it instantly. One of them—the tallest, with soft eyes, voice directed in front of you.

"Park Jongseong, right?"

Your eyes darted back toward where Jay still sat, gaze already lifted. Since he was seated at your side, the group of Alphas—four, maybe five of them—stood directly in the path infront of him and the rest of you. There was no leaving now. You were stuck behind a wall of their alpha pheromones, your Omega instantly curling inward in discomfort, unsure whether to brace or bolt.

The one in front, obviously the leader, stepped forward, "Choi Soobin," he introduced. "Basketball team. We've been scouting players for varsity matches next month."

You narrowed your eyes, confusion flaring as your gaze flicked between him and Jay. "Word is, you're an Apex Alpha. We want someone like you to anchor our team. Someone who can carry pressure. Someone who leads."

Apex Alpha? Your breath hitched as the phrase settled in you. You blinked hard, as if your brain needed time to process what your ears had just heard. Apex Alpha? Like a Prime Alpha? You scrambled through the dusty, half-retained memories of your ABO History lectures—those classes you mostly ignored.

Prime or Apex Alphas were considered elite. A rare, dangerous subclass. Born into old, prestigious bloodlines, often exhibiting traits far more potent than the average Alpha. Their ruts were intense, their scent practically intoxicating to any Omega within range. It could trigger early heats. Induce involuntary scenting responses. Break down barriers you didn't even realize your body had built.

It made sense! The way your Omega reacted to Jay—how she curled, howled, melted even with the smallest proximity. He was the only Alpha your Omega had ever accepted. Your Omega had always been so selective. Why every other Alpha made her flinch, or fall into dead silence. Why none of their scents worked, why their attempts to soothe or bond never even registered.

You're not broken, your Omega is not cold. She just had the highest fucking standards. And Jay—Park Jongseong, Apex Alpha, Prime bloodline, emotionally unavailable bastard with hands you wanted to hold and a voice you wanted to strangle—somehow met them all. And of course, Jay's Alpha scent affect you that strong because he's an Apex.

And because you were a deeply unwell, fully spiraling, possibly scent-drunk mess, you leaned toward Ningning and hissed under your breath, "Does it mean he's like... super rich?"

Ningning blinked at you, visibly stunned, before her brows shot up and she leaned in with a deadpan stare. "Seriously? That's your first thought?" she muttered. "Out of everything that just happened—you went with money?"

Your lips parted, then shut again. You coughed. "W-What? No! I mean—yes. I mean—I just wanted to confirm, like, a detail. You know? For context."

"You're spiraling," Ningning said flatly.

"I am not," you muttered through clenched teeth, your eyes flickering back toward Jay and the group of Alphas still hovering around him. They were talking about the varsity team—mock schedules, warm-up games, practice formations, sports events.

"I don't play team sports," Jay said with that signature unbothered edge.

Soobin blinked, slightly thrown off by the flatness of Jay's rejection. But instead of pushing back, he just let out a low chuckle, clapping Jay once on the shoulder in a gesture of friendly defeat. "Alright, alright. Still—think about it," he said with a nod. "Apex or not, you'd change the game."

The other Alphas murmured in agreement, but most began to drift away, muttering about scrimmage plans and heading out. Except one lingered, still eyeing Jay, his posture a bit too stiff, his scent spiking faintly. You could feel it even from your spot—not overpowering, but enough to make your Omega stiffen in warning. You scrunch your face as you smell it, you hated the smell, it was so wrong, too aggressive, too territorial. Not Jay.

You shifted your stance instinctively, chest tightening. And then, unexpectedly, Jay's voice cut through again. "Are you done?" he asked sharply, his gaze lifting for the first time since the conversation began. "And can you back off already?" Jay added. "There's an Omega here. Are you seriously going to keep standing there leaking scent like that? You trying to distress her?"

Your stomach twisted so hard it knocked the breath from your lungs. He noticed. He hadn't looked at you, hadn't addressed you by name, but it didn't matter. Everyone in that conversation knew who he was talking about. You were the Omega. You were the one he was lowkey shielding.

The Alphas backed off immediately, caught off-guard. One muttered an apology. Another gave Jay a stiff nod and turned on his heel.

You didn't wait for another beat. The moment there was space, you gripped Ningning's wrist, tugged her forward, and shouldered your way through the path that had been previously blocked. Ningning stumbled behind you with a squeak, and her hand latched onto Yeonjun's jacket to pull him along too, forming an escape chain.

You didn't need to look back to know Jay was watching. You could feel his gaze, lingering at the nape of your neck, behind your ears, deep into your spine.

"Wow," Yeonjun exhaled as soon as the three of you stepped outside the doors, blinking against the light, his tone caught between disbelief and admiration. "So that's why every Alpha suddenly knows how to shut up. That explains everything." You turned toward him with a confused scowl, but he was already shaking his head in mock amusement, tossing a casual glance back toward the hallway. "Have you seriously not figured it out yet?" he added. "It's not just how he looks. Or how he smells. Or even how he talks. It's the way everyone stays the hell out of his way. The kind of energy that just... makes room."

It pissed you off. How dramatic. You and your Omega—both of you were overindulgent messes, mirrors of each other in every inconvenient way. Your Omega's selectiveness was spoiled, like a princess too used to silk and refusing to touch cotton. And you were no better. Just as stubborn. Just as dramatic. Craving you swore you didn't want, again and again.

You huffed out a breath, fixing the strap of your bag on your shoulder as you picked up your pace, heart hammering for reasons that had nothing to do with cardio. "Can we not talk about it?" you muttered, not bothering to look at either of them.

Yeonjun opened his mouth like he was about to tease you again, but one glance at your expression had him wisely zipping it shut. Beside you, Ningning was biting back a grin behind her hand.

AND SO the misery dragged on. Between the growing mess of university games preparation and your personal unraveling over a certain Alpha, your sanity was hanging by a shimmery thread—one you were trying to keep from snapping entirely.

Everyone around you was drowning in deadlines and rehearsals, meetings and budget finalizations. Even the ones who volunteered for simple tasks like handing out water bottles or fixing props were being pulled into everything else. You had thought assigning yourself to the easiest roles—minor facilitator, observer for group violations, and a light participation in charades—would buy you some peace. A clean getaway. But clearly, the universe had other plans.

"Cat? Tiger? WHAT?!" one of your groupmates blurted in frustration. They were standing dead center in the practice circle, waving their arms wildly in a manner that looked more like someone having a seizure than mimicking an animal.

You stood toward the back, arms folded, eyebrows scrunched together in a mix of confusion and disbelief. What the hell was the point of practicing charades? It was a game, not a professional competition. What were they trying to do? You scoffed under your breath and shifted your stance, only for your gaze to fall again on Jay.

He was seated on the sidelines, long legs stretched out in front of him, arms crossed, head tilted in the most indifferent angle possible. Not even pretending to guess, just watching. You tried looking away, forcing your attention toward the front, only to feel that gnawing awareness buzz again under your skin. When you looked back, he had shifted closer, slightly. Huh?

You blinked. No, surely that was just your overcooked brain playing tricks. Still, you took a quiet step to the left, casually. You repositioned yourself slightly, putting more space between the two of you. But minutes passed, and each time you glanced at him, intending to make it the last glance, he had moved again. Inch by inch.

You moved again, subtly this time, hoping no one would notice your slow migration toward the side of the gym. Your back brushed the wall now as you pretended to examine your nails. You sighed, pretending to look interested in the group still trying to guess whether the front actor was portraying a lion or having a breakdown. You exhaled slowly, pretending to be interested, when instinct tugged at your awareness once more—and your eyes, despite your will, slid sideways. What the hell?! He's closer again, and this time, time he wasn't even pretending to be subtle about it!

He sat himself against the row of benches just a few steps from where you stood, one arm slung over the backrest. His body was angled just slightly toward you. Was he trying to drive you insane? Your Omega certainly didn't mind. She stirred in response, all soft approval and giddy treacherous purrs, already reacting to his presence, to his nearness, to the subtle flare of his scent in the air.

You could practically feel the edge of his attention brushing against your skin. You took a half step to the right, hugging the wall as if proximity to stone would somehow create distance from him. You were running out of space to move, running out of excuses to act like you didn't notice the subtle pursuit happening right before your eyes.

What did he even want from you? He was too handsome for his own good. For your good. So handsome it made your stomach flip in betrayal, made your Omega thrum low with interest even when your mind screamed no. Soooo quiet and confusing.

You pressed your palm to your forehead, hissing softly under your breath. Was this all in your head? Were you spiraling again? Letting your mind fill in blanks? Because if Jay really was trying to get closer to you—if he really had intentions—shouldn't he be doing more than just orbiting you? Shouldn't he say something? Shouldn't he be... Alpha about it? Direct. If he had something to say, why didn't he say it?

You bit the inside of your cheek, jaw tight with frustration. If he stepped up, if he really approached you with something, you might even talk to him. You'd consider it. Maybe. Depending on how sincere he was. Depending on whether he finally decided to show something other than brooding detachment—

Ugh. You scowled at the floor, fingers twitching at your sides. "Get a grip," you muttered. You'd promised not to fall again, not to spiral, not to read into things that had no definitive shape. But here you were, teetering on the edge of hope like a fool all over again.

The actor's arm shot out, finger aimed directly at you. All eyes shifted to your spot near the edge of the group, and a few uncertain voices from the team began guessing aloud. "Girl?! Omega?!"

You scoffed at the predictability of it all, one brow arched as you crossed your arms and tilted your head ever so slightly. "Seriously? That's your guess?" You sighed. "Gorgeous girl? Or beautiful? Or goddess-tier attractive? Ethereal-level?"

Others rolled their eyes. The actor at the front gave you an exasperated look and waved their hand to signal an emphatic no. Without hesitation, they redirected their finger—this time, toward the person standing a few feet to your right. Jay.

Your smirk slipped, you narrowed your eyes and shifted your weight, watching him between mischief and challenge. "Oh," you said, dragging the word out as your gaze sharpened. "Okay. If it's him..."

You didn't even hesitate. "Boring?" you said dryly. There were a few immediate snorts from around the room. Jay's brow twitched ever so slightly. You pressed on, chin lifted, eyes still on him. "Annoying? Cold? Stoic to a fault?"

Jay finally turned his head, slowly, his eyes locked onto yours, unimpressed. "Mute? Robotic?" you added, your voice rising as you threw a hand in the air. "Is that it?"

The timer buzzed sharply, the actor at the front let out a frustrated groan, throwing their hands in the air before stomping once. They pointed between you and Jay, "It was mate! The word was mate!"

Someone in the crowd groaned. "What?! That was the answer?! Dude, you should've made a kissing motion or pointed between them and made a heart or something!"

"Yeah, how the hell were we supposed to get that? You can't just stare at them all intense and expect us to read your mind!"

The actor scowled and dropped their arms in defeat. "I thought it was obvious! They were the only Alpha and Omega here."

You rolled your eyes hard, pivoting away before anyone could catch the way your expression had cracked for just a second. "First of all," you snapped as you threw your bag strap over your shoulder, "you can't just point at me and him like that. We're not mates or whatever delusion you're trying to project. That's not how it works." Your words earned a mix of laughter and awkward glances from the group. You didn't care. You were already done with this entire thing. "Second," you continued, lifting your brows with biting impatience, "are we done? Or are we still pretending this is productive?"

Someone from the group coughed awkwardly. "O-Okay, okay. Let's call it for today. We'll send out the next schedule in the group chat."

You didn't wait for anything more. With a heavy sigh and the clatter of your bag's chain strap jingling from the abrupt movement, you turned on your heel and made a beeline toward the gym's exit. But the moment you reached the threshold of the doorway, a firm hand gripped your wrist and pulled you back. Your breath hitched in your throat, eyes snapping wide as your entire body jolted in surprise. Heat bloomed in your chest, and you instantly glanced down at where your skin touched his. Jay's fingers curled around your wrist.

Your voice came out breathier. "W-What? What do you want?" You tried to pull your hand back, but his grip remained.

Jay met your gaze with that same maddeningly unreadable expression of his. Then, slowly, his lips parted. "I'm not boring," he said.

You stared at him. Really? That's what he wanted to say? That's what he grabbed you for? Your eye twitched so hard, you yanked your hand out of his grip, fingers twitching as you pushed your hair behind your ears, trying to regain control of your composure. You blink and scoffing aloud. "Okay? So what?" You adjusted your bag with a jerky movement as you rolled your eyes. "Geez," you muttered under your breath, "grabbing me just to make some random declaration? What do you expect me to say—thank you for not being boring, Jay? God."

You didn't wait for his response. Your steps carried you away. "Save that crap for someone who cares," you muttered under your breath. You didn't look back, not even once.

But if you had... You would've seen him still standing there, frozen in place long after your silhouette disappeared through the exit. Jay remained where you left him, hand slowly rising to the back of his neck as he stared at the spot you'd just vacated. His brows were drawn together. He dragged his hand up to rake through his hair, fingers lingering at his scalp, thinking if he's really... that boring?

⋮ ⌗ act twelve

THE WEATHER today was a rare kind of perfect—sun-drenched, warm without stifling heat, the air light with the of early spring. The sky stretched out in a near cloudless blue, and a cool breeze swept through the campus, threading between the buildings and fluttering the edges of banners and flags already posted for the University's most anticipated event: the University Games. With classes canceled and most students bustling through final setup or cheering on their teams, the grounds were buzzing with energy. You couldn't help but admire the aesthetics of it all.

The theme colors were bold, but you were particularly grateful that your team had landed the color red. And conveniently, it aligned beautifully with your latest indulgences. You'd recently completed your Strawberry Cupid cosmetics collection. And as if that wasn't enough, your luck had been on your side with your latest blind box pull: a Hirono figure, one with a subtle red accent that matched your theme perfectly. You had it displayed in a protective case, clipped securely to your bag like a prized charm, joining a chorus of other preppy red trinkets that clattered softly with every step you took.

Your outfit for the day had been planned to the last detail. You wore a cream-colored tube top with a tiny cherry print pressed delicately at the center of your chest. The hemline dipped into an asymmetrical cut, paired beautifully with your choice of bottoms—bright red gingham ruffled mini shorts that flounced with every step, the layered fabric catching light and movement. Your legs were bare save for a pair of cream slouch socks pulled just above your ankles, tucked neatly into glossy red ballet flats that completed the look with an effortless, doll-like finish. Your accessories tied everything together. A red-and-white handbag hung at your side, your hair was styled in soft, airy waves that kissed your collarbones, a thin red ribbon headband adding a final bow to the entire ensemble.

"Wow," Giselle breathed, her mouth falling open in admiration as her eyes swept over your outfit. Clad in her own team's yellow-themed uniform. All around, students were beginning to gather—each department assembling by their designated colors as the short parade preparation commenced.

"Bitch," Ningning hissed under her breath, shooting a warning glance toward one of the faculty marshals pacing nearby. "We cannot be caught talking right now. Do you want to rack up a violation on the first day? They're being extra strict this year."

Giselle rolled her eyes with an exaggerated sigh, clearly unbothered. "Please. As if any of us care about their point deductions when we're drowning in deadlines. I've been buried under banners and rehearsals for three nights straight. I haven't even had the time to stalk your life updates, let alone breathe." Her voice dropped dramatically. "God help these competitive people. I swear the yellow team is training like we're about to enter the Olympics."

You smiled despite yourself, adjusting the ribbon in your hair as you caught your reflection in a tinted window nearby. "That's because you guys think school spirit is war."

"War is easier to win than keeping up with our cheer choreographer," Giselle muttered. "Also—hello, why did no one tell me you were showing up like a walking Strawberry Shortcake ad? Is this Dior? Don't tell me you got the blush already."

You gave a lazy tilt of your head and flashed a coy, smug smile as you adjusted the strap of your red-and-white handbag. "Ningning didn't tell you? I already got it," you replied, shifting your bag just enough to reveal the glint of the compact inside. The logo shimmered briefly in the sunlight, catching Giselle's full attention.

Ningning gave a sigh and crossed her arms. "She even pulled the red-accent Hirono figurine in her blind box yesterday. It's been nonstop flexing. Honestly, I'm exhausted."

"Okay, I'd brag too," Giselle snapped, without an ounce of shame, then squinted toward your bag with renewed suspicion. "Wait—wait a damn minute. Is that the strawberry lip glaze too? Bitch... Bitch?!"

"Don't touch it!" you squealed, laughing as you pulled your bag slightly away. But it was too late. The three of you were already spiraling into squeals, flailing your hands in a flurry of uncontained excitement. But just as you were about to gloat further about your matching blush-and-glaze combo, the air around you shifted.

The entire atmosphere of the field seemed to hush, as if everyone collectively sensed the gravity of someone approaching. Heads turned slowly, chatter dulled to whispers, and your own breath hitched when you finally followed their line of sight.

He wasn't walking through the crowd so much as parting it. People instinctively moved aside, their conversations falling silent in his presence. Every eye was on Jay, yet he remained unbothered, completely immersed in his own stride. Your mouth parted in disbelief, a soft "meow" slipping past your lips without your permission.

He was dressed in a deep red velvet jacket. Black trim lined the lapels and pockets in clean, elegant lines, echoing the sharp structure of the black collared shirt beneath it. And the pins—tiny enamel pieces, all vibrant—rested perfectly over his heart. A silver chain glinted at his throat. His hair was styled back, parted to the side in a soft wave that exposed the sharp cut of his jawline and the single silver hoop he wore in his left ear.

"Since when did he learn how to style?" Ningning whispered sharply beside you, her eyes wide as she nudged you with her elbow. "And—oh my God—he's not wearing his glasses! Are you seeing this? Your Alpha is getting hotter by the day. You better watch yourself before you fall flat on your face."

You opened your mouth to respond, but you didn't get the chance. A sharp whistle blew through the field. Students immediately snapped to attention like a ripple of panic, and Giselle practically leapt back into her designated team cluster like she was afraid she'd be penalized just for existing outside of her assigned line.

You and Ningning exchanged a silent look, then grabbed each other's hands out of habit, stepping into formation with the rest of your teammates dressed in bright shades of crimson. Your heart was still beating too fast, the residual heat from earlier making your palms slightly damp. As you adjusted your position in the line, another wave of scent hit the air. You recoiled slightly, nose wrinkling.

"Gosh!" you whispered under your breath, your hand tightening around Ningning's wrist. "I can smell Dior Sauvage layered over Alpha-grade pheromones. I don't like this!"

"What the hell," Ningning whispered back quickly, eyes flicking over the crowd. "It's that guy—look, from CHS. The one with the stupidly wide shoulders. God, he's marinating in it."

You tried not to gag as the scent continued to invade your space. It wasn't that it was bad, it was just so strong. Your Omega curled, restless, clearly displeased. You grimaced, fighting the urge to scratch at the patch on your neck as it began to tingle, reacting to the collision of Alpha presence in the air. It didn't want the ones broadcasting their dominance like a badge of honor. No. It wanted the quiet one in the red velvet jacket.

"The parade hasn't even started and I can already smell the Athletics department's goddamn pheromones," you hissed under your breath, fanning yourself with your palm even though the temperature wasn't to blame. Your brows furrowed sharply, frustration tightening your expression. "Why can't the university make an official rule to contain that shit for at least an hour? One hour! That's not too much to ask!" You groaned, nose wrinkling. "There are so many Omegas here, and none of these steroid-brained Alphas are bothering to keep themselves in check.Be fucking sensitive, assholes!"

Ningning tugged discreetly at your arm, her voice low and nervous as she leaned in. "Hey, hey—volume down. You're going to start a scene. They're already looking. Do you want us to grab the scent oil in my bag? Or change your patch? We can duck out for five minutes, seriously."

You exhaled in a rush, frustration curling hot under your skin. "Leave it," you said, jaw clenched. "I just need to stretch out what little patience I have left—"

But you didn't finish your sentence. Both you and Ningning turned your heads in unison, a shared instinct prickling at the base of your neck. Your heart immediately dropped to your stomach. There was Jay, moving behind you quietlyy. You hadn't even heard his footsteps, he was too close, near enough that you could already feel the subtle diffusion of his pheromones against your skin. It wasn't overwhelming like the other Alphas', not the raw musk of competition or lust. No, Jay's scent hit different — grounding, soothing. It was a calm you didn't ask for but your Omega reacted to instantly.

But then you noticed the two Omegas standing near him, heads tilted up, practically glowing under his presence. Their expressions were soft, eyelids heavy, and one even let out the smallest purr—an involuntary sound of want, shamefully transparent in its yearning. The sight made a sour feeling twist in your gut.

And it wasn't your Omega this time. It wasn't instinct that made your stomach coil, or your spine stiffen. It wasn't scent compatibility or hormonal alignment or any of those excuses you usually clung to when you wanted to justify the way he affected you. It was deeper, uglier. It was you—your own bitter, jealous flame hissing at the audacity of other Omegas being near him.

You sucked in a sharp breath and turned away, jaw clenched. Your eyes burned from the effort not to glance back at him, not to check if he noticed them, if he noticed you. So you moved. Stepped backward without thought, crafting a clumsy escape that looked like a little accident.

You let yourself stumble. Your balance tipped just slightly, and there he was. Jay's arm was already around you, one strong, sure hand curled low on your waist, steadying you. His chest met your back, your heart thundered against your ribs, betraying every carefully built wall you'd constructed.

You didn't immediately move away. You didn't shove him off. Instead, your hand moved behind you, seeking him out out of sheer need to reclaim, to assert something of your own. Your fingers found his wrist, curled lightly around the hand still resting at your waist. Your gaze, sharp with disdain, flicked back toward the two Omegas who were still watching—watching him, watching you, watching the space between. One tilted her head, the other biting her lip with a look that made your skin crawl. You met their gazes directly, cocking your head with your tongue pressed hard to the inside of your cheek, a single brow raised in a clear challenge.

Yeah. That's right. His hand is on yours.

You didn't mean for the thought to form. It just did. Only then did you turn your head slightly, speaking low, "I'm fine."

Jay coughed lightly in response, then, wordlessly, he let go of you. His touch disappeared as quickly as it had come. You straightened your spine with grace, brushing your hair back over your shoulder in a casual, indifferent sweep, even as your fingers trembled faintly from the leftover heat of contact.

Beside you, Ningning said nothing, but her lips were pressed together, trembling with the effort it took not to unleash a barrage of teasing remarks. She caught your eye, her gaze wide, gleaming with unshed laughter and then, mercifully, seemed to reconsider. Instead of speaking, she quietly reached into her pocket and pulled out a small roller bottle of scent stabilizer oil, offering it to you without a word.

You took it gratefully, pressing the vial beneath your nose, inhaling the grounding floral notes until your heartbeat began to settle. The faculty marshal's voice cut through, commanding the line to form and settle. A whistle followed. And just like that, the parade began. You moved forward, linking arms with Ningning as your team fell into stride, feet crunching rhythmically on the pavement. You refused to look back as you know that Jay is still behind you, if anyone asked, he was just walking in the same direction. Just part of the team. Just another Alpha in red. But you knew better, you could sense it in the way his steps matched yours perfectly, in the subtle bubble of pheromones he projected—not forcefully, not possessively, but to anchor the space around you. Like he was standing guard.

Damn him for existing like that, for breathing like that, for walking around campus with that face. For showing up with silver hair and that velvet-red jacket. For looking so good you could practically taste him. Ugh. You're so hungry, you could eat Park Jongseong.

BORING. That was the only word you could use to describe the atmosphere as your group filed into the stuffy theater hall for the official kickoff of the University Games program. Each department team was set to perform—either a dance, a cheer, or some half-hearted thematic act—but none of it sparked even a flicker of your interest. You weren't here for the school spirit or the applause. You were here because attendance was required, and the penalty for skipping involved a long conversation with the student council and a deduction from your participation credits.

You shifted in your seat, elbows pressed to the armrest, chin propped against your hand as your eyes lazily traced the glitter on your nails. At least those were worth your attention—Strawberry Gel Gloss, imported and cured perfectly. The subtle shimmer caught the lighting just enough to distract you from the secondhand embarrassment unfolding on stage.

Why does this day have to be sooo long? Beside you, Ningning had long since surrendered to the tedium, slumped in her seat with her arms crossed, head tilted at a sharp angle as she let out a soft, very unladylike snore every few minutes. You didn't even bother to nudge her awake. She wasn't missing anything of value. On your other side, Yeonjun had decided the only way to endure the event was by blasting ridiculous sound effects on his phone to mock whatever act was happening on stage. You would've told him to stop, but honestly, it was the only source of entertainment keeping you from standing up and walking out.

You sighed, slumping deeper in your seat as the stage lights shifted for the next performance, another over-rehearsed dance team stepping out with manufactured smiles and glittery costumes. You could already feel your patience thinning. With a sigh, you rose from your seat, slipping your small makeup purse.

"Restroom," you muttered, half to the facilitator and half to yourself, not bothering to explain further. Before leaving, you leaned over and pinched Yeonjun's arm hard enough to make him jolt upright.

"Ow! What—?"

"Watch my stuff," you said flatly, already turning away before he could argue. As you shifted out of the row, your gaze unintentionally brushed past the row behind. Jay was sitting a few seats back. Your breath hitched, and you immediately looked away.

You huffed under your breath and headed toward the exit doors. The moment you stepped outside the auditorium, the heat of the air hit you. God, you needed a moment. You navigated the hallway, zeroing in on the nearest restroom. But when you rounded the corner, your heart sank, a long, snake-like, unreasonable line. Dozens of girls outside the restroom door, chatting, fixing hair, spraying perfume. You stared at the scene for a moment, there was no way in hell you were going to wait in that disaster.

With another exhausted huff, you turned on your heel, heading in the opposite direction without a word, already scanning the halls for an alternate restroom —only to realize with a grimace that it was in an entirely different building. Too far. And honestly? Maybe worth it. The program was dragging anyway. No one was checking attendance between segments, and as long as you returned before the final signature round, you wouldn't be marked absent.

So with zero remorse and zero intention of turning back, you pushed open the exit doors, stepping out into the warm air with relief—only to be met with a sudden blur of movement then a splash of a full, icy wave of water hit you from the left, soaking your upper body. Your entire torso and face were instantly drenched, droplets clinging to your lashes, your cherry tube top is soaked, your hair plastered flat to your cheeks in soaked strands. Your mouth fell open in pure disbelief, hands raised midair.

A group of students in green team uniform stood frozen in place for a split second before one of them, a Beta girl with wide eyes and a guilt-stricken face, stammered, "S-sorry!" Then she bolted. The rest of her group followed, scattering, shouting over their shoulders, pretending not to see the aftermath of their recklessness.

You stood motionless for a beat, trembling. Your perfectly curled hair was now dripping. "Are you freaking serious right now?!" you hissed, pushing your wet hair out of your face. You took a step forward, heels slapping violently against the concrete, eyes narrowed to slits.

"Fuck!" you shouted, unable to hold it in anymore. "I will personally observe and write every single one of your team's goddamn violations during every game this week, you fucking losers!"

Your voice echoed across the building's outer walkway. A few nearby students turned their heads, startled, but quickly looked away, pretending not to hear your meltdown. You didn't care. Your fists clenched at your sides, shaking with frustration, your chest heaving as you tried to collect yourself. Inhale. Exhale. Your teeth grit together. Your jaw ached from how hard you were biting down to keep from screaming. You stood still for a few more seconds, head tilted up toward the sky, eyes clenched shut, fists trembling in midair.

Okay. Breathe. Spiraling right now would only make things worse. Sending out distress signals through your scent? Even worse. You couldn't afford that. You glanced down at your soaked top, returning to the theater hall in this condition was not an option. You were already one wrong breath away from an emotional meltdown, and going back in front of dozens of people—including him—would only send you hurtling over the edge. You needed privacy. A place to breathe. A place to reset. Somewhere you could hide, wipe down, and at least try to salvage what was left of your dignity before figuring out what excuse to file for an early dismissal. Yes. That was the plan. Go somewhere quiet, breathe through it, pull yourself back together. You were smart. You could handle this.

With your jaw clenched and your shoulders stiff, you hurried toward the adjacent building. The water from your clothes leaving small, wet footprints in your wake. You rubbed your bare arms for warmth and clutched your purse tightly against your chest. You reached the restroom and tried the handle. Locked.

"Fuck!" you snapped, voice cracking at the edge. You kicked the door with the side of your foot. Frustration seethed through you, and you could feel your scent patch beginning to lose its grip—literally and biologically. The adhesive was already slipping at the edge of your neck, the warmth of your skin making it worse, and under it your scent glands throbbed with suppressed irritation.

You could feel your Omega starting to rise beneath your skin, agitated and uncomfortable, your body was undeniably distressed, and the scent trying to claw its way out was getting harder and harder to suppress. Your jaw was locked tight, your eyes blinking hard against the sting of overwhelmed tears that threatened to spill at the corners. The wet fabric clung mercilessly to your skin. It was sticking under your arms, your back, your chest, your skirt was wet at the hem. The discomfort was physical, but it was also emotional, like every inch of your pride had taken a direct hit.

You stormed down the corridor again, testing every door you passed, one after the other. Locked. Locked. Locked. Every knob that refused to turn made your breath shallower, your chest tighter. There wasn't even a custodian in sight, no staff or faculty nearby to beg for a key. The building was quiet, abandoned for the weekend games. You paused near the stairwell at the end of the hall, pressing the heel of your hand against your temple. You could feel yourself unraveling, the wetness of your clothes feeding your panic, and the creeping warmth of your scent threatening to spike into full Omega distress.

You were close, so achingly close, to spiraling completely. Your lungs felt too tight, your heart racing with the sort of panic that brewed just beneath the surface of logic. Your Omega instincts were beginning to fray at the edges, and the soaked, clinging fabric of your clothes was not helping. You needed somewhere to regroup before your emotions fully detonated.

That was when your eyes caught on the slightly ajar door across the hall, the gold-plated sign reading Faculty Room B. The overhead lights were dim, but the gentle hum of the air conditioning told you the room wasn't fully shut down. You hesitated only for a second before approaching, your steps slow and cautious, fingers brushing against the doorframe as you peeked inside. It was empty, or so it seemed. You knocked once—lightly. Then again, no answer, taking a careful breath, you slipped inside and shut the door behind you. The room was too cool. The air from the vents blasted steadily, goosebumps rising along your bare arms and soaked shoulders. You winced, arms wrapping around yourself as you stepped deeper into the room.

Tears pricked at your eyes again. You had looked so good today. Every detail was perfectly curated—from your cherry-print top to your soft waves tied back with the matching red ribbon. You had spent hours getting ready, all for what? To be doused like a wet rag by careless teammates hauling around gallons of water. You didn't even have a change of clothes. What were the odds something like this would happen today of all days? And your phone—God, your phone was inside your bag in the theater hall, with Yeonjun, and probably buried under other people's bags by now. You were stranded. Humiliated. Cold. And your scent patch was definitely beginning to give up on clinging to your damp skin.

You shivered under the sharp current of the AC, stepping toward the control panel near the window and jabbing at the buttons to lower the power. Nothing. Your eye twitched. It didn't respond, and the icy air just kept blowing, relentless and indifferent. Your teeth clenched, body shaking slightly—not just from the cold, but from the rising tide of every little thing that had gone wrong.

"Fuck this life!" You screamed, wanting to cry loudly. Or maybe be held... or scented.

Maybe... maybe if Jay were here, he'd do something. He always did. Whether it was scolding you or pulling you back from the edge, he always seemed to know exactly when you were about to break. Your body remembered the calm he could bring, the way his presence seemed to quiet everything, and for a moment your heart genuinely wished he'd appear right then, take one look at you, and just fix it all.

"Loud." A groggy voice, interrupted your spiraling from somewhere behind.

Your body jolted, startled, as your pulse slammed against your ribcage. A soft, strangled sound escaped your lips as your eyes frantically scanned the room again. You had been sure—absolutely sure—that you were alone. But as your gaze slid past the cluster of stacked chairs and cluttered filing cabinets, it landed on a shadow you'd missed. Tucked away behind one of the larger staff desks, nearly swallowed by a mismatched collection of boxes and forgotten bulletin boards, was a worn leather sofa. And on that couch, now stirring and stretching with a yawn that cracked his jaw open, sat a figure slowly rising from the grip of sleep.

His movements were sluggish, bleary-eyed, disoriented like someone still not entirely convinced they were awake. He rubbed his eyes with the back of one hand and dragged the other through his silver-gray hair, which stuck out at every possible angle. It was styled in a loose undercut. His yellow jersey clung to the shape of his arms and torso, crumpled. He was blinking at you. Just as confused as you were. Just... far more composed about it.

You, on the other hand, let out a pitchy, breathless squeal. Your hand flew to your chest as if to hold your heart in place. The panic bloomed across your face, cheeks heating in humiliation as your feet instinctively stepped backward, nearly stumbling over themselves. Your purse slipped down your wrist.

The man on the couch tilted his head lazily, still groggy, his voice laced with irritation. "Did you close the door?"

You blinked at him, confused. "What?"

"The lock's busted from the inside," he muttered, gesturing vaguely without lifting his head. "You won't be able to open it again. We're stuck unless someone opens it from the other side."

Your stomach dropped. Immediately, you spun on your heel and stormed back toward the door, gripping the handle and yanking it hard. Nothing. You jiggled it again, then again, a little louder each time, until your fists were pounding against the wood, your voice rising into panicked calls for help. "Hello?! Someone?! We're locked in! Hello?!" The only response was the muffled hum of distant noise down the hallway—likely the sound of cheers from the program.

The man behind you sighed, long and bone-deep, as if the sound of your distress physically exhausted him. You turned around, chest heaving. "D-Do you have your phone? Call someone! C-call your teammates! I don't want to die in here!"

He stretched his arms above his head, visibly unbothered. "Skipped basketball practice," he said lazily. "Didn't bring my phone."

You stared at him, lips parting, speechless. The weight of everything that had happened—your ruined outfit, your ruined mood, your ruined pride—pressed down on your shoulders. With a broken sob, you dropped to your knees near the doorway, the tile floor cold against your skin, and finally let it happen. The tears spilled faster. Your palms rubbed against your arms, trying to create friction, some sort of warmth. Your chest rose and fell in unsteady gasps, jaw clenched from how hard your teeth chattered. "God, I'm going to get pneumonia," you mumbled to no one, vision blurring with fresh tears.

From behind, you heard the soft creak of leather and the rustle of fabric. "You're seriously making my ears ring," the man muttered, not moved with your spiral as he rubbed the back of his head. You ignored him, curling inward slightly, clutching your cold arms to your chest. Your wet clothes clung tighter by the second, and your scent patch had completely given up. You could feel your scent struggling not to escape, your control thinning out. All you wanted was warmth, comfort. You wanted Jay. You wanted him. You were too exposed, too shattered, and all your instincts screamed for the one Alpha your Omega had ever let in. You didn't even have the energy to be embarrassed by it.

Your answer came in a sob that was nearly a wail. "I'm cold," you choked out, the words tumbling between shivers. "So cold, I can't—I'm gonna dieeeee..." You didn't know if the tears were because of the actual cold or just the absurdity of your situation. You wanted to lie down. You wanted to disappear. You wanted Jay's voice, Jay's scent, Jay's arms. "I need—" Your voice cracked, and you couldn't say the rest. You need Jay. But it sounded too real, too humiliating to say aloud.

The man groaned under his breath again. You could hear the irritation in it, like he was holding back the urge to cover his ears as though your very presence was testing the limits of his patience. He pushed himself to his feet, borderline irritated. Then, without warning, he reached for the hem of his yellow jersey and pulled it off.

"W-What are you doing?!" you shrieked, hands flying up to shield your eyes. "Pervert!"

"I'm not," he muttered with complete disinterest, like he didn't even have the energy to be offended by your accusation. Before you could register what was happening, something hit you in the face. You flailed, letting out another shriek as the fabric slid down your arms and into your lap. "Put it on," he grumbled, already flopping back down onto the sofa. "Wear it or die in the cold. Either way, it's not my problem anymore."

You blinked down at the crumpled fabric in your hands, your lip curling slightly. His scent clung to the jersey, so masculine, it wasn't exactly unpleasant, but it was overpowering in your already heightened state. You inhaled shakily and glared in his direction, even though he wasn't looking at you. "C-Can't we just turn off the damn AC?!"

"Try," he shot back flatly, eyes closed again, arm thrown over his forehead like he was trying to nap. "There's no remote. Outlet are on the wall—practically mounted near the ceiling. You planning to fly up there?"

You glanced toward the unit, your expression souring. Sure enough, the panel was ridiculously high up, nowhere near your reach even if you stood on your toes and prayed. "Are you kidding me?" you muttered through clenched teeth.

"Nope." He sounded positively indifferent. "Been stuck in this room enough times to know it's useless unless you're over six foot or suicidal."

You bit your lip, the frustration building again. You didn't want to wear some stranger's scent-marked jersey, but your body was shivering violently, and your scent glands were screaming. Fine. You were past caring. With a slow, shaky breath, you reached up and peeled off the nearly useless patch from your neck. The adhesive tugged, the last bit of restraint coming undone with it. You hissed softly at the exposure but the relief was immediate. Your Omega shifted beneath your skin, uncurling like a cat finally freed from a box. You glanced toward the Alpha still lounging on the sofa across the room. His eyes were closed, clearly uninterested in anything involving your emotional breakdown. Good.

"You're naked. Aren't you cold?" you asked, your voice wobbling slightly as you tried to shift the attention off your own spiraling nerves.

The guy barely cracked an eye open from where he was reclined on the old staffroom sofa. His bare chest rose and fell slowly, unbothered, and his voice came out uninterested. "I'm an Alpha. Our bodies regulate heat differently."

You blinked at him, stunned by the sheer nonchalance. Meanwhile, your body was about two shivers away from collapsing. "I—I'm going to change now," you declared, voice catching at the beginning, but you straightened up, planting your feet firmly. You shifted a half-step toward the wall, clutching the jersey close to your chest. "Don't look. Seriously. If you even glance in this direction, I will kick your head clean off your neck. I studied karate. I'm a Yellow belt. I know things."

He didn't even glance over. "Not interested," he said. You narrowed your eyes suspiciously and shot him one final glance, as if to make sure he wouldn't try anything. He had one arm draped lazily across his eyes, his posture loose, the epitome of bored indifference. With a huff, you turned back and exhaled through your nose, peeling the soaked tube top from your skin. The chill from the AC hit immediately, making you clench your jaw. Your tube bra was no better—cold, wet, and absolutely miserable against your skin. You reached behind and unclasped it, letting it fall silently to the floor.

Just as you were about to yank the jersey over your head, a low, drawn-out whistle cut through the silence. Your head snapped on him, cheeks warming. He was still sprawled on the worn leather sofa. His arm was still thrown over his eyes, but you could see the curve at the edge of his mouth. A smirk stretched slowly into place.

"Fucker," you hissed in mortification. In a panic, you yanked the oversized jersey back down, the fabric clinging awkwardly to your skin as you stormed toward him. Your legs carried you fast across the floor, fists clenched.

Without a second thought, you slapped your hand against his shoulder. His body jolted slightly with the impact, but he didn't so much as flinch. He merely lowered his arm enough to look at you, one eye cracking open lazily, his smirk never faltering. "Damn," he drawled, still unbothered, "you hit like a damp tissue."

You gaped, your mouth floundering for words that wouldn't come out in full shrieks. Your fingers twitched at your sides, torn between strangling him and wrapping yourself tighter in the borrowed fabric. "You—you pervert—!"

"I'm not," the man replied coolly, shifting on the worn leather couch as he propped himself up on one elbow to look at you more directly. Your breath hitched sharply as his eyes dragged over you. Not in a leering way, but it didn't matter. You weren't wearing a bra, and the oversized jersey did little to hide the shape of your body beneath it. You gasped, one arm shooting up to shield your chest, jaw hanging open in disbelief.

His gaze didn't waver. His head tilted slightly, brows furrowing in a lazy sort of intrigue. "Damn," he muttered. "Damn... you're actually really pretty. Now I'm interested."

Your mouth fell open, rage eclipsing embarrassment in an instant. "Well, I'm not interested!" you snapped, voice cracking on the edges of indignation as you shoved your foot toward the couch in a warning kick. He leaned away slightly and let out a chuckle, one hand patting the empty space on the cushion beside him.

The audacity! Your eyes widened further, lips parting in disbelief as your body instinctively retreated a step, horror blooming across your features. He didn't move closer or didn't push but that didn't lessen the surge of unease and fury twisting inside you.

"Okay," he said after a long beat, stretching. He slouched back again, fingers lacing behind his head, and let out a low sigh of satisfaction. "But damn. You've got one hell of a presence. Can't really blame a guy for being honest."

You recoiled further, glaring at him. "This is harassment," you hissed under your breath, shoulders bristling as your eyes darted to the door again. Still locked. No sounds from outside. "This is exactly what I expect from Alphas like you. You were practically drooling over a nap a minute ago, and now suddenly I'm your new fixation?"

He blinked slowly, dragging one hand down his face. "Sleep resets your system," he mumbled. "Helps the senses recalibrate. Clears your mind. Maybe even helps you notice... certain things."

"God," you muttered, throat tight. "Are Alphas all like this? So cryptic? Always acting like they're saying something profound?"

He didn't answer immediately. Just studied you, unmoved by your contempt, "And you—you walked in here soaked, upset, wrapped in my scent. You were sobbing. That kind of thing... it doesn't just disappear from a guy's head."

A slow, crawling discomfort crept up your back, one vertebra at a time, until your entire spine locked in place, unwillingly stiff. You could feel that subtle flicker, that disoriented stir of your Omega instincts, fumbling for footing it didn't have. Confusion, annoyance, a strange curl of heat. You clenched your jaw, grinding down the reaction before it could show, though your face was already betraying you—flushed cheeks, twitching eye, the whole storm of irritation you were trying not to wear. So annoying!

That guy just stood there, half-naked and completely unfazed. Did he think he was attractive? Seriously? Please. If he was expecting a compliment, he'd have to dig through hell and ego first. No. There was only one Alpha you had ever looked at and actually felt something in your chest that wasn't immediate disgust—and that was Park Jongseong. Annoying, boooring, infuriating Jay. As much as you wanted to hate him, his presence was a whole different gravitational pull. You hated how he moved, how he looked at you, how he lingered.... but none of it compared to the raw, unfair truth: Jay was hot. Unbearably, insultingly hot.

And this stranger? He was just... shirtless and in the way. How the hell were you supposed to take anything he said seriously when he looked like that?

You needed to get out. Not just from this room—but from this entire moment. Spinning sharply on your heel, you stormed toward the door, jaw set, heartbeat tapping erratically in your ears. You slammed your palm against the panel with a force. "Hello?!" your voice cracked at the edge, but shame wasn't your priority right now. "Anyone?! Can somebody hear me?! This isn't funny—open the damn door!"

"Why are you masking your scent?" His voice floated from behind.

You froze for a beat, then turned so fast your hair swung with you. "What?

"You removed your scent patch," he said. "Earlier, it was still faint—peeking through in places. Not fresh. It's messy. Like you peeled it off and hoped no one would notice. But now..." His eyes narrowed slightly as he tilted his head and inhaled, subtly. "There's an imprint underneath. Old. But it's there."

You stared at him, blood suddenly loud in your ears. "What the hell are you talking about?" you hissed, taking a sharp step toward him. "Okay—first of all, shut up. Don't throw around bond terms like you're some kind of scent analyst. You don't know me." Your arm shot out, finger aimed directly at his face. "Imprint? Are you serious? Who do you think you are? Going around sniffing people? God—I knew it! You're one of those creepy, repressed Alphas who acts quiet so no one notices the weirdo underneath."

"I didn't assume anything," he said, tone as neutral as before. "I noticed."

You stared at him, caught between fury and disbelief. "You noticed?" you echoed, voice inching toward hysterical. "You noticed? What, is that supposed to make it better? That's your defense?" You scoffed loudly, throwing your hands up. "Do you even know what imprinting means? Do you understand how insane you sound right now? That requires actual physical proximity. Closeness. Repeated exposure. A bond—not a scent accident. And guess what? I don't touch Alphas. I don't talk to Alphas unless I'm forced to by divine misfortune. No one has ever been close enough to leave any kind of mark on me, scent or otherwise."

Even as the words poured from your mouth, your mind betrayed you with flashes of memory you hadn't invited in. Jay had always been there, in this persistent, maddening way that never allowed you to forget him. The only times you'd truly let yourself near him was when you were chasing him. When your Flower Knows favorite hair clip vanished. You'd snapped at everyone in sight, too distressed to think clearly, until Jay, of all people, calmly handed it back to you. And for some reason, without thinking, you hugged him. No way, it's impossible... But still—surely you'd feel it if something had happened then, you would have noticed, wouldn't you? Snapped out of it! You forced yourself to swallow the thought. It didn't matter. None of it mattered.

"I'm not someone people imprint on," you muttered under your breath.

The guy tilted his head slightly, there was a glint of curiosity? amusement?—in his eyes that only made your skin crawl further. "Hmm," he murmured, unconvinced. "Must've been a powerful Alpha to leave that kind of imprint."

Weirdo. You didn't even bother answering. You were too tired, too over it, too seconds away from breaking the door down yourself. You turned away from him completely, knuckles already preparing for another round of pounding against the door. But just as your hand drew back to knock again, the door swung open without warning, and the motion startled you so badly that you let out a high-pitched shriek. The sudden rush of light, air, and relief hit you at once, and your eyes immediately welled with tears.

And there, standing in the doorway, was Ningning. Your beautiful, perfect best friend, looking mildly confused. Without hesitation, you threw yourself into her arms, burying your face into her shoulder as the tears finally spilled over. "Ningie," you cried into the curve of her neck, clutching her. "Oh my God, thank you—I was trapped—I thought I'd die in there—"

But Ningning didn't hug you back. Instead, she let out a loud, startled shriek that made you jerk back instinctively. Her hand flew up, pointing with trembling fingers over your shoulder. "Oh my God! N-Naked!" she shrieked, eyes wide with pure horror.

You blinked, confusion flickering through your lashes as you turned your head over her shoulder, dread already twisting in your stomach. Slowly, you pulled away from Ningning, lifting your eyes—and that's when you felt the air leave your lungs. There was one people. Because standing just behind her, half-shadowed by the frame of the open door, was Jay.

Your entire system short-circuited. Cold. Then heat. Then a full-body freeze so intense it made your fingers numb. Panic rippled through your nerves, your Omega curled deep inside your chest, cowering. You couldn't even form a thought, let alone an excuse. You looked away immediately—hard left, anywhere but at him. But your body didn't obey the instinct to flee. You stepped back from Ningning, as if pulled forward by something magnetic and quiet and impossible to reason with. Your feet moved before your mouth did. Moved toward him. "I-It's not what you t-think," you stammered, "I—It's not—I didn't—he wasn't—nothing happened—"

You were trying to speak but every word landed wrong, cracked in half before it even made it out of your throat. Your mind was spinning, you couldn't explain it, not with Jay standing there looking like that, expression too calm, and definitely too close to seeing through you.

Ningning's shriek tore through the air again, unhelpful and explosive. "Why is he naked?! What the hell is going on?!"

You opened your mouth to reply, to protest, to lie—something—but nothing came out. Instead, before you could even process what was happening, Jay stepped forward.

Silently, without speaking a word, he shrugged off the red velvet jacket he'd been wearing and draped it carefully over your shoulders. You were cold. He noticed. So he fixed it.

You stiffened, overwhelmed by the shift in warmth, the sudden weight of the fabric, the soft brush of it against your neck and arms. His scent was already embedded in it, and your Omega coiled tighter in response. Still trembling, you turned slightly, uncertain of what to do or say next—when Ningning's voice cut in again. "Wait—did he do something to you?!" she snapped, stepping between you and Jay with her fists already half-raised. "Say the word and I'll punch him. I swear to God, I'll break his Alpha jaw."

"Calm down. I didn't do anything to the Omega," the guy muttered, irritation creeping into his voice.

But you didn't lift your head. You didn't understand why your voice had abandoned you, why your throat refused to shape the words clawing just beneath the surface. You weren't scared. No one had laid a hand on you, and yet there you stood, silent, breath shallow, eyes averted like you had something to hide. What made it worse was the guilt that had begun to bloom low in your stomach. You weren't anything. So why did wearing someone else's scent feel like a betrayal? It shouldn't matter!

As if your body had given up waiting for your brain to make sense of anything, you started moving again. Just one step, then another. A soft whine slipped from your throat, then a low, shaky purr followed, rumbling beneath your breath. Mortification hit you, and you froze mid-step, eyes widening, hands clenching the jacket tighter. The shame was instant and scorching, washing over you in waves that made your skin burn and your Omega retreat in embarrassment.

You couldn't even look at Jay now.

"How are we supposed to believe that, huh? You're naked, and my friend was on the verge of a breakdown banging against the damn door! You think that doesn't look suspicious?!" Ningning's hand lashed out without warning, delivering a sharp slap to the stranger's arm. The Alpha barely flinched. He rubbed the spot on his arm with a mild frown, more annoyed.

His jaw tensed for half a second before he exhaled slowly. "She's the one who came into the room," he said. "She was soaked through. Crying. Completely spiraling and shivering. I gave her something dry to wear. That's it."

Ningning scoffed, unconvinced. Her arms folded tightly across her chest, lips pressed into a thin line as her eyes darted between you and the half-dressed Alpha standing in the doorway. "If that's your version of events," she muttered, narrowing her gaze, "then you better hope he believes it too." She jerked her chin toward Jay without looking at him.

Jay hadn't said a word yet, but his silence was louder than any outburst. Your head dipped lower beneath it, eyes fixed to the floor. The other Alpha raised an eyebrow at Ningning's challenge. "I don't care if he believes me," he said, flatly. "I'm not guilty. If you've got a problem, write a letter. Student Affairs, Disciplinary Board—whatever makes you feel better. I've got nothing to explain."

Ningning gasped, scandalized, her jaw falling open at the nerve of the man. She looked like she was about to launch into another tirade, but before she could get the words out, the Alpha stepped forward—out of the room. His movements were slow, he didn't look at Ningning, he looked at you, then Jay.

The air shifted instantly. The moment his eyes landed on Jay, something tightened. It wasn't obvious, but you felt the hallway dropped a few degrees. Two Alphas sizing each other up without a single word exchanged.

You felt your breath catch in your throat. Instinct took over again, before you could stop yourself, your body inched closer to Jay. The man paused briefly, his gaze still moving between the two of you. Then he clicked his tongue. "Lee Heeseung," he said finally, tone dry and dismissive. "That's the name."

And without waiting for a reaction, he turned and walked away down the hall, bare-chested, unbothered, and entirely unapologetic.

The events that followed unfolded in a haze, everything moving too quickly and too loudly for your brain to keep up. There were voices, hands on your shoulders, questions flying at you from every direction, but it all felt distant, like sound underwater. You remembered Ningning grabbing your arm, dragging you down the hallway with a fierce grip that was more protective than angry, her voice rising in disbelief every few seconds. But your responses—if you gave any—were delayed, quiet, or maybe non-existent. You weren't sure. You couldn't even remember the walk back to your house, only that somehow, you ended up here.

The next thing you truly registered was the soft tug of Ningning's fingers combing gently through your hair, "I still can't believe this," she huffed, brushing a little harder than necessary. "The group that soaked you should pay for damages!"

You didn't answer. You were curled under the blanket, knees drawn up, Jay's jacket folded next to you, your fingers kept brushing against the edge of the velvet, guilt lingering in your chest.

Ningning let out another sharp exhale as she grabbed a different comb from your nightstand and switched tactics. "And I'm glad Jay woke me up, by the way," she added, "He said he heard you scream, and that something about it just... felt wrong."

That finally pulled you out of your fog a little. Your brows furrowed as you turned your head toward her, eyes narrowing. "Wait—what scream?" you asked slowly. "I mean, yeah, I was panicking, but I was at least two buildings away from the theater hall. How would he even hear that?"

Ningning stopped brushing for a moment, her fingers hovering in your hair as she gave a shrug. "I don't know. That's what he said. Something about how your voice echoed. Said it sounded off? He looked kind of scary, honestly. Geez, It was the first time I ever talked to him."

You blinked slowly, processing that piece of information. She sat down beside you with a sigh, tossing the comb onto your vanity. "He even got into it with Yeonjun," she muttered. "Told him he should've noticed something was wrong, said it wasn't like you to disappear for that long. And Yeonjun looked so confused and kept saying you were just in the bathroom or getting snacks."

Your brows knit deeper together, thoughts still spiraling, but then a slow, creeping realization settled into your chest, interrupting the emotional numbness you'd been floating in. Something was missing. Not metaphorically—physically missing.

"Ningning," you said suddenly, eyes scanning your room as you tapped around the bedcovers, then moved to brush your fingers across the top of your vanity table. "Where's my bag?"

Ningning froze for a second, her posture straightening as her hands flew to her head, pressing against her temples like she was forcing the memory to rewind. "Oh my God," she muttered. "No, I—I didn't. I think... I think Yeonjun had it? I saw him near the bleachers after Jay found you, maybe he grabbed it? Wait—huh?"

You groaned softly, dragging a hand down your face. "That bag has my phone, my ID, all of my cards." You stood up abruptly, the blanket falling off your lap, and began pacing as Ningning already had her phone out, fingers tapping with speed as she called Yeonjun.

You watched her carefully as the call connected, her expression flickering from impatience to confusion, then suddenly her eyes widened, mouth dropped open.

"What?" you demanded. "What is it? What did he say?"

Ningning slowly pulled the phone away from her ear, staring at you like she wasn't sure whether to laugh, scream, or panic. "Yeonjun said... Jay has it."

You blinked once. "What?" you choked out, voice climbing. "Jay? Jay has my bag?!"

⋮ ⌗ act thirteen

YOU MOVED through the team hall with careful steps, your eyes sweeping across the space in search. The air was filled with overlapping voices, laughter, the shuffle of sneakers on linoleum floors, and the occasional cheer from one of the outdoor games echoing faintly through the open windows. You barely registered any of it. Your focus was singular: locate Jay.

You are painfully aware of the eyes around you. Well, the fitted red knit dress you wore hugged your upper body snugly while the skirt flared into a soft ivory bell lined with a feathered white hem that danced slightly with each step. You'd layered a cropped ivory sweater over it, the cable-knit texture stitched with delicate fringe, intentionally letting the bold red collar of your dress peek through for contrast.

It was the second day of the Games, and the energy had only gotten more competitive. Everyone was scrambling around, cheering for their assigned teams, decorating booths, carrying snacks, losing their voices over sports they didn't actually care about. There was too much sound, too many bodies, too much everything. And honestly, you'd rather be anywhere else—shopping, napping, locked in a cold boutique fitting room with ambient music. But no. Attendance was mandatory, and the events hadn't even kicked off yet and you were already mentally checking out. The day hadn't even started, and somehow, you felt done.

Your jaw tightened slightly as you tried to stay composed, irritation simmering just under your skin. Where the hell is Jay? You had been searching for him all morning, and still nothing. You just wanted your damn bag back. Your phone, your keys, your wallet—your life—were in there, and the fact that you couldn't even send a text or check your messages without borrowing someone else's device was driving you insane.

You spotted a girl standing near one of the refreshment tables, an Omega, familiar, from your department maybe, and you didn't hesitate, you reached out and tapped her shoulder.

"Hey," you said, trying to keep your tone casual despite the growing urgency in your chest. "You know Jay, right? Park Jongseong? I heard he's doing logistics for the games—do you know where he's stationed right now?"

The girl blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question, but then recognition lit up her face and she clapped her hands together. "Ah! Yes, I saw him earlier," she replied, nodding. "He joined the basketball team yesterday. He's been practicing since this morning—probably still at the gym."

You stared at her, not quite processing. "Basketball?" you repeated in disbelief. You rubbed your ear like it would somehow fix the sound.

She nodded again. "Yeah, the tournament's scheduled for the end of the week, so they've been doing practice rounds. He joined last minute."

You blinked slowly, mouth falling open. "He what?" you muttered under your breath, a delayed thank-you leaving your lips as you turned away.

You walked off, mind racing. Basketball practice? Jay? The same Jay who, just a few weeks ago, had flatly refused the sports committee's recruitment offer? The one who said, and you quote, "I don't play team sports." What the hell was he doing now, suddenly dribbling basketballs?! But honestly, you were too exhausted to untangle the mystery right now. You just wanted your bag. That was the priority.

With determination tightening in your jaw, you pushed through the outer doors of the gym building, your steps echoing across the polished floors as you made your way inside. The moment you entered the gymnasium, however, instant regret washed over you in a hot, overwhelming wave.

The smell hit you.

Your face twisted in disgust as your hand flew up to pinch your nose, the scent practically clawing at your sinuses. "What the fuck," you muttered under your breath, already feeling your head start to spin. The air was heavy with Alpha pheromones, sweaty, competitive, aggressive and it clung to every surface, saturated the floorboards, the padded walls, even the damn water coolers. You hadn't expected a scent this strong, overwhelming, and entirely suffocating.

You took a cautious step back, instinct screaming at you to retreat, but before you could fully process whether to hold your breath or just bolt, a panicked Beta came stumbling into view. He looked like a student manager, clipboard in hand and sweat already forming along his temple.

"H-Hey! Omega presence isn't permitted during team practice hours!" he stammered, trying to usher you out. He reached for your elbow and your brows arched as you stepped to the side and delivered a sharp slap to his arm that was about to hold you.

"Don't touch me," you snapped, eyes narrowed to communicate that you were not in the mood for being handled like a lost freshman.

The Beta immediately froze mid-motion, hand suspended awkwardly in the air as his expression crumbled into panic. His mouth opened, then closed again, clearly searching for the right words to de-escalate the situation, but you didn't bother waiting for them. You brushed past him, you didn't miss the shift in atmosphere around you. The ripple that spread through the rows of resting players, the subtle halt in bouncing basketballs, and the sudden awareness settling into the shoulders of those sitting on the benches. A few turned to whisper to each other. Others didn't even pretend not to stare.

The moment you walked deeper into the gym, a visible shift occurred among the Alphas on the court. You watched them stiffen—spines straightening, postures tightening, muscles coiled. Their heads lifted slightly, the scent in the air thickening as tension coiled around them. You kept your expression neutral, gaze forward, refusing to give them the satisfaction of acknowledging the stir your presence had caused. You kept scanning through the crowd of until your eyes locked onto him.

Jay was drenched in sweat, chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths, his shirt clinging to his torso. His jaw was clenched, brows drawn together in annoyance. His hair was damp, messier than usual, and his arms were taut where he stood, barely masked tension rolling off him in waves. His gaze met yours with a directness that made your stomach twist. And then he glared. At you.

What the hell? Why was he glaring at you like you'd committed a crime by simply walking into the gym? You narrowed your eyes in return, raising your chin, refusing to be the first to look away.

Another Alpha pointed in your direction and blurted, "Huh? There's an Omega on the court!"

Before anyone else could react, Jay was already moving. You were still walking toward him, fists clenched at your sides, ready to start a fight over your damn bag, when he met you halfway. And then, without warning, he bent low, one arm sliding behind your knees, the other bracing your back, and lifted you off the floor in one swift, solid motion. You let out a high-pitched shriek, startled beyond reason.

"Jay?! What the—?! Put me down, jerk!" You gasped, your hands flying to his neck for balance as your feet left the ground.

He didn't answer, he just carried you out of the gym. The stares followed you the entire way, but Jay didn't spare them a glance. Once you were out of the suffocating heat and scent of the gym, he stopped just outside the building. Without a word, he set you down, slowly, carefully, his hands steady as he placed you on your feet.

The moment your feet touched the floor, you spun on him with wide eyes and a breathless scoff. "What was that?! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Jay exhaled hard, nostrils flaring, jaw still tight. "What are you doing here?" he hissed, scolding. "Did you not see the sign? Omegas aren't allowed in the gym during Alpha practice hours."

You gawked at him, mouth falling open, the nerve of him sending a fresh wave of indignation up to your brain. "Wow, okay. I should be the one asking you that," you snapped, hands flying to your hips. "Why the hell did you suddenly join basketball? You don't do sports, remember?!"

Jay opened his mouth, clearly ready to respond, but you were already done with the conversation. Before he could get a single syllable out, you stepped forward and pressed your finger firmly against his lips. "Whatever," you said coolly, cutting him off. "Save it. I don't care about your explanation." You lowered your hand, extended your palm between you, raising your eyebrow. "My. Bag."

Jay blinked at you, still slightly breathless from practice, eyes flicking from your outstretched hand to your face, his jaw ticking again. "You couldn't wait until later this afternoon?" he asked, irritated, though not exactly surprised by your intensity. "I said I'd give it to you."

You let out a sharp, incredulous scoff, stepping closer until there was barely a breath of space between the two of you. "Of course I couldn't wait," you snapped, "my cards are in there. My phone. My student ID. That is my entire life compressed into one overpriced designer handbag. You don't just walk off with someone's personal belongings and wait for the mood to strike before returning them. And on top of that, you didn't even bother to tell me you had it!"

Jay exhaled deeply, dragging a slow breath through his nose before closing his eyes for a second longer than necessary, as if silently counting down from ten. "It's at my apartment," he finally muttered.

Your mouth dropped open. "Apartment?" You blinked once. Then, despite yourself, you laughed out of pure disbelief, the kind of dry, edge-of-sanity laugh that meant you were dangerously close to unhinged. "Then call your butler and have him bring it here."

Jay let out a low groan, running a hand through his damp hair in frustration. "I don't have a butler."

You gave him a look so full of skepticism. Hah. A Prime Alpha without a butler? He's practically kidding! You were tired! The past few days had been one long stream of disasters stacked on top of humiliations, and now—this. Nothing beautiful had happened lately. Nothing soft or safe or remotely easy. It was just pure bad luck, and Park Jongseong somehow always showing up in the middle of it all, disrupting your balance with that expressionless handsome fucking face.

You took a step back, inhaled slowly, and crossed your arms. "Skip practice. Right now. We're going to your apartment."

Jay's eyes widened instantly, his entire body reacting, and you swear, you saw a flicker. That rare flicker of visible emotion breaking through his stoic facade. It cracked across his face in the perfect mask he always wore: a flash of hesitation, confusion, and unmistakable panic.

"W-What?" he stammered. "You can't just order me around—" he began, words tumbling out in a rush, like they were trying to catch up with the situation in front of him. His composure slipped another degree, lips parting with another excuse he couldn't seem to form fast enough. "I—I'll bring it here later—"

But your patience was long gone. You leaned forward slightly, narrowing your eyes. "I need it right now," you hissed through your teeth. You hadn't even noticed your fangs pressing into the soft flesh of your lower lip. It was your Omega reacting, agitated by the mix of his scent, your stress. Your gums throbbed faintly, a physical reminder of how close you were to losing the last thread of composure you had left.

Jay continued staring at you, and for a brief moment, it looked like he might argue again. His throat bobbed with a slow, visible gulp—like he was forcing something down. Then he sighed, his shoulders shifted slightly, as if bracing himself, and without another word, he turned and jerked his chin toward the gate in a silent cue for you to follow.

You didn't move right away, still watching him closely, trying to read whatever expression flickered beneath that calm, quiet surface. But then your legs responded and you fell into step behind him as he led the way out of the practice building and into the university's parking lot.

You were already mentally preparing for what you were about to see. Given who he was—the stoic, elegant, too-put-together-for-his-own-good Jay— you were expecting a deep black luxury sedan, maybe a matte-gray Rolls-Royce, or some obnoxiously expensive imported car with tinted windows and too much horsepower. You were already rolling your eyes in advance.

But when he came to a stop, it was in front of a... scooter. Not even a motorcycle. Not a hoverboard. A bright red electric scooter. You blinked once. Your footsteps stalled as your eyes locked onto the sleek little thing, and you stared at it in stunned silence. You tried to form a thought, but your brain refused to cooperate. It was just... so damn cute. Clean. Efficient. And somehow even worse—it had stickers. Tastefully minimal ones, but still stickers.

Jay turned slightly, glancing at you over his shoulder. He didn't speak at first, just watched you for a moment longer, his eyes narrowed in anticipation. Like he was waiting to see how you'd react. If you'd laugh. Mock him. Judge. If you'd ruin the quiet, almost personal thing that this was. But your eyes didn't leave the scooter. Jay drives this? you thought, almost dazed. This was not on your bingo card. At all.

He reached toward the handlebars and pulled off one of the helmets hanging from the side. "Here," he said simply, extending it toward you.

You took it without question, too caught in your swirling thoughts to ask why he had two helmets ready. It didn't even matter. You were still processing the sheer unexpectedness of everything. Your fingers curled around the helmet's edges, and you started to raise it toward your head, but your hands fumbled slightly, distracted, unsure if it would mess up your carefully styled hair or worse—slip and smudge your makeup.

Jay noticed, he let out another small sigh, and gently reached out, taking the helmet from your hands. You froze as he stepped in front of you, surprisingly close, and his fingers brushed lightly against your hair, cautious, as though he was being absurdly careful not to tug or displace anything. His touch was so warm that it sent a small, involuntary shiver straight down your spine.

Your heart flipped. Annoyingly. Why is this doing something to you? you screamed internally, trying to focus on anything other than the way his eyes narrowed slightly in concentration as he adjusted the helmet, ensuring the fit was snug but not uncomfortable. He avoided your skin, even as his hand lingered just at your jaw, his fingers brushing close but never quite touching as he clipped the strap beneath your chin.

Your eyes drifted to his face—his lashes low, mouth set in a faint line of focus, brows drawn in concentration. So handsome! Jay stepped back once the helmet was secure, his hands falling away, and still he said nothing but his eyes stayed on you just a second too long.

You didn't let yourself dwell on it. Instead, you adjusted your dress, and carefully perched sideways onto the seat, your knees pressed together, legs to one side, one arm curling instinctively around Jay's waist for balance. Your other hand found the back of his shirt and tightened there, knuckles brushing against the thin fabric as you braced yourself. You could already feel the heat of the sun on your skin, the warmth of his body just beneath your palm, and worse, his scent—so annoyingly clean and muted, yet distinctly him curling into your senses with every gust of wind that rushed by.

The scooter rumbled gently beneath you as Jay started driving, the silence between you is broken only by the low whir of the motor and the occasional flutter of your hair catching the wind. You tried to act composed, calm or unbothered. But then you looked down.

"Wow," you whispered, a breathless sort of awe slipping from your lips as you blinked at the road beneath you. "Wow," you said again, barely able to believe what you were seeing. Your feet—nearly touching the ground. It was surreal. Slightly terrifying. And definitely unforgettable!

"Core experience," you muttered under your breath, unable to stop the grin twitching at the corner of your mouth. You didn't mean to enjoy it, but the absurdity of the moment, the thrill of the wind whipping past your face, the way you had to grip him tighter every time he took a sharp turn—it all added up. Goddamn it, this was kind of... fun.

Eventually, the ride slowed as Jay pulled up to a modest two-story apartment building. The neighborhood was calm, framed with trimmed hedges, a few overgrown trees, and minimal foot traffic. Not flashy. Not luxurious. Just... ordinary. Jay parked the scooter and removed his own helmet first, but his eyes flicked to you immediately—hesitant again. Like he was waiting for something. A comment, or judgement, a reaction, but you were too busy turning your head, surveying the area with curiosity.

"My apartment's on the second floor," he said with a kind of caution you didn't often hear from him. He reached out toward you again, hands careful as he unclasped the helmet's strap beneath your chin. You stilled without protest, letting him remove it.

You didn't say anything. You just followed him, watching the way his shoulders tensed as you climbed the stairs behind him. He glanced back only once, and when he did, it wasn't impatience you saw.

When he finally stopped at a small dark-brown door, he hesitated a moment longer before unlocking it. He didn't open it fully, just nudged it halfway and turned toward you with a tight expression, like he was preparing for disappointment. "I know you know I'm an Apex Alpha," he began, eyes avoiding yours as he spoke. "And I know most of them live... differently. The luxury. The image. I get it. I know this isn't what you were expecting—"

"What are you talking about?" you cut in flatly, brow arching as you leaned against the doorframe, thoroughly unimpressed with his dramatics. "Jay, I don't care if you sleep on a yoga mat or a gold-plated bed. Just go inside and find my bag."

Jay blinked, momentarily stunned by your lack of reaction. His mouth parted as if he were going to say something, but no words came. Eventually, he just gave a tight nod and stepped inside, and you followed closely behind.

The moment you stepped over, his scent hit you. It wasn't just faint traces clinging to his jacket —it was everywhere. It wasn't overwhelming, not like the gym. It was so familiar in a way that made your skin prickle. It wrapped around you and you stood there, unmoving, blinking against the sudden dizziness that came not from disorientation, but from how right it felt. Your muscles, so tense just moments ago, slackened without your permission. Comfort. Safety. Stability.

Your eyes flicked around the room again, trying to anchor yourself. The interior of the apartment was... small. Minimal. Clean, definitely. The walls were bare, the furniture practical, and everything seemed organized within an inch of its life. The color palette was expected—black, gray, a few white accents—but there wasn't a single thing that hinted at personality. No photos. No posters. No art. Not even a clock!

You walked further in, eyes slowly scanning every corner. It wasn't bad. Just... boring. Predictable. The opposite of your space, which was a colorful textures, clothes, cosmetics and more cosmetics. Your gaze drifted toward the single window, where soft daylight spilled in through half-closed blinds. And that's when you saw a small cactus, sitting on the ledge. The pot was matte black, the cactus itself was mature, its shape clean and symmetrical, not too large, but clearly well-kept. It was the only sign of something living in the entire apartment besides him.

"Hah," you breathed out quietly as your fingers lightly brushed the surface of the cactus pot. Your fingertip traced a slow circle along its rim, as if expecting the little plant to respond. "Poor you," you murmured, eyes narrowed in sympathy. "No one to talk to." You paused, tilted your head thoughtfully, and imagined the cactus silently agreeing with you.

Before your fantasy plant friend could offer any more unspoken wisdom, Jay's voice broke through the silence from behind you "Here," he said, and you turned to find him holding your bag out, arm extended.

You stared at him for a beat longer then took the bag from his hands. Without offering a word of thanks, you immediately unzipped it, fingers moving through the contents. Wallet—still there, still depressingly holding only forty bucks. Your cards—campus ID, bank, library, cafe loyalty (with two sad stamps). More cards, a half-empty bottle of mouthwash, your trusty alcohol spray, an entire family of tissues and wet wipes, a slightly dented pepper spray canister

You looked back up at him, face is blank for a moment, then gave a long, exaggerated roll of your eyes, making sure he saw it. Jay's brow furrowed instantly, his face shifting into the kind of confused scowl.

"Okay," you said, voice a little too cheerful, as you slung your bag over your shoulder, "let's go back, pretend this never happened, and—if the stars are kind—let's hope we never see each other again. Ever. As in never ever again." You even wiggled your fingers a little for extra flair on the final words.

Jay didn't flinch, just nodded once, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly, the barest hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "Okay," he said, almost too agreeable. Like he was humoring you.

Which was suspicious. You narrowed your eyes, but didn't linger. You were too tired for another round of whatever game he was playing. If the universe had any sense of justice, that would've been the last time you ever had to see his face.

But as it turned out, the universe was kind.

Jay, however, was not.

THE THIRD day of the University Games dawned far too early. You were dead asleep, dreaming about clawing your way into a luxury spa. It was 5:30 in the goddamn morning, and the sun wasn't even up properly, but your phone had decided to become possessed, vibrating across your nightstand.

You groaned, half-asleep, limbs tangled in your blanket, and reached for it blindly. "It's five-thirty in the morning," you hissed to no one in particular, voice croaky with sleep. "Who the hell thinks this is a good time to ruin my skin cycle?"

Your hydrating face mask had slid halfway off your cheek, clinging on for dear life, and one of your heatless curls flopped onto your forehead. You snatched the phone without checking the caller ID, already prepared to eviscerate whoever it was with the same energy you reserved for late assignments and bad service.

"What time do you usually sleep for you not to wake up at five?" came the voice on the other end—calm, composed, and unmistakably male.

Your brows furrowed. The voice clicked in your brain a beat later, and your eyes snapped open fully. You squinted blearily at the screen. It was an unknown number. Unregistered contact. Fucking Jay.

You sat up, face mask dangling off your chin now, your voice are clearly in disbelief. "First of all, who the hell wakes up at five unless they're being punished by the gods? And second—what the hell do you want?!"

There was a pause. Then: "I need my jacket."

Your mouth dropped open. Your eyes swung toward your vanity table, where said jacket was currently draped over the back of your chair. "You called me at five-thirty in the morning... for your jacket?"

"I figured you'd be up," he replied, not even bothering to sound apologetic.

"You figured wrong," you growled, flopping back onto your pillow. "You couldn't wait until literally any reasonable hour? I was going to give it back later, obviously! Are you seriously calling me over a piece of clothing right now?!"

Without even a hint of shame, he said, "You don't just walk off with someone's personal belongings and wait for the mood to strike before returning them."

Your jaw dropped. He did not. He did! He just threw your words back at you!

"6:30 a.m. I'll meet you at my apartment." The call cut off. Just like that.

You stared at your phone. Your blood pressure shot through the roof. You let out a high-pitched screech and launched your pillow across the room. "Fuck you!" you screamed at the now-black screen. "I hope you choke on your bland-ass breakfast!"

Then you stomped out of bed, and stormed toward your massive, color-organized closet. You flung the doors open so fast one of them bounced off the hinge. If he wanted petty, you could do petty. You could do petty in style. But time was slipping, and styling was suddenly a luxury you couldn't afford. You only had an hour. Sixty minutes. For a girl like you, it was hell!

So you threw something together. You pulled on an oversized white hoodie, soft fleece inside, the sleeves long enough to cover your hands, the only pop of color being the deep red drawstrings hanging. Underneath, your favorite branded white sports briefs sat high on your waist, their waistband peeking out deliberately from beneath your crisp white shorts. Your legs were wrapped in mismatched sheer knee-high socks, one plain, the other adorned with bold red stripes that matched the hoodie drawstrings. You finished it off with your white-and-black Adidas sneakers.

Makeup was on emergency mode. Concealer, winged liner, highlighter, and a quick pop of gloss. You grabbed your bag, flung the door open, and stomped out of your house with your driver. All for one jacket.

Your driver blinked awake, still groggy, rubbing his eyes behind the wheel. "It's okay!" you chirped with a wide, falsely sweet smile, slipping outside the passenger seat. "I can handle the commute from here, I just need to finish some business. Really quick. Promise. You go home and rest—you look exhausted. Sorry for waking you up so early. Love you!"

The moment the door clicked shut behind you, your face flattened into a withering glare. The smile evaporated. Your irritation returned with full force, bubbling just beneath your skin. You stomped your way up the stairwell of Jay's apartment. You could already smell his pheromones bleeding into the corridor but you were too angry to let it rattle you. Your Omega twitched at the edges, unsettled by the scent, but you forced her down. This was not the time!

You raised your fist and slammed it against the door, hard. No response. You clicked your tongue, rolled your eyes, and knocked again—this time with more pressure, the flat of your palm echoing against the wood. Still, no response. Just as you raised your hand for a third, even more aggressive strike, the lock clicked and the door creaked open.

"I have neighbors," Jay said flatly, "If you don't want me to get a noise complaint, maybe stop trying to break my door."

You opened your mouth to snap something back—but then you saw him. The words froze mid-breath. Jay stood there, barefoot, wearing a black sando that clung unforgivably well to his chest and shoulders, and a pair of light gray pajama pants that immediately sent your brain into a mental spiral. His silver hair was mussed, pieces falling over his forehead. His eyes—those cold, sharp eyes were fixed on you. You didn't know what was so special about his expression. It was always the same blank, emotionally constipated face he always wore.

And yet—God. Your gaze dipped before you could stop it. Down right to those pants. Gray. Pajama. Pants. Suddenly, Ningning's voice echoed in your head: "Gray sweatpants? Oh honey, they reveal everything. Even if it's not hard? You'll still see God."

And wow. Woooow. Oh my God. There was no logical reason why this one particular shade of pants could wreck a woman's entire thought process—but here you were, doing mental gymnastics trying not to faint from the very real, very visible outline haunting your vision.

Was it... Was it even fully soft? Why is it that big just... existing like that? Your mouth went dry. Your palms went warm. For one cursed, embarrassing second, you almost gasped in holy reverence.

Snap out of it! Your Omega nearly purred and you practically hissed at her to shut up. You shook your head. You narrowed your eyes, forcing your voice steady as you bit back everything your traitorous body wanted to say. "You open the fucking door when I knock," you seethed, each word pushed out with a tight smile and clenched jaw. "The first time."

Jay, entirely unbothered, simply widened the door and turned away, leaving it open behind him as he walked further inside.

You scoffed, half in disbelief, half in outrage, before marching in after him with a vengeance. "Here's your ugly jacket," you snapped, waving the paper bag.

"Put it on the table," he replied without looking back, voice even and careless, like you were some delivery person. You gasped audibly.

Your mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "I—Excuse me?" The sheer nerve. The audacity. This man woke you up at dawn, summoned you to his apartment, barely acknowledged your existence, and now he wanted you to just waltz in like some obedient little errand girl and drop it off? You bit down on your lip so hard you felt the sting. Somewhere in your brain, a nerve twitched. Your eye followed suit. You stepped inside, crossed the room with a stomp in every step, and slammed the paper bag onto his kitchen table. You even gave the table leg a small kick on your way back. "There," you said. "We done now? Great. I'm leaving."

But Jay, unhurried as ever, was already reaching into a cabinet and placing not one, but two plates on the table. "Let's eat," he said calmly. You blinked, eyebrow raised and brain short circuited. Huh?

"Wha—Are you fucking with me right now?" you practically screeched, staring at him. "I am not—not—eating breakfast with you. You dragged me out of bed at the break of dawn to return your stupid jacket, not for a sit-down meal. Who even does that?!" You fanned yourself with your hand, more from the emotional overheating than the temperature. You were genuinely at risk of hair loss from the stress of this man's behavior.

Jay just set down a glass, pulled a chair out from the table, and tilted his head slightly—gesturing for you to sit. No words, the smallest hint of challenge in his eyes, like he was daring you to keep being difficult.

Your mouth opened again but your gaze betrayed you. It dropped, straight to his biceps. They flexed subtly as he held the chair in place, the curve of his forearms tightening. Your lips parted in a silent curse, and you swallowed hard, trying to drag your eyes back up. But then his eyes met yours, soft brown, framed by lashes far too long for someone who clearly didn't care about skincare—and for some reason, your knees stopped listening to you. Before you even realized it, you were sitting.

What are you doing?! Get up! Fight! Bite him! Throw the chair! But there you were, lips slightly pursed, sitting at Jay's table. Stupid. You were so disappointed in yourself. Disappointed in your lineage, your entire bloodline, in every proud Omega empowerment seminar you'd ever half-attended for extra credit. Was this what your foremothers fought for? To be reduced to a flustered heap at the sight of an Alpha's biceps flexing through a tank top? You were supposed to demand your worth, blaze trails, radiate strength—not crumble at the sight of defined triceps and the vein down his forearm. Stupid. So stupid.

"Coffee?" Jay's voice broke into your silent, he opened a cabinet and reached for two mugs without even looking at you. You narrowed your eyes, your lip twitching as you rolled them.

"I want an iced vanilla latte," you replied, chin lifted.

Jay paused mid-reach and turned his head slowly toward you, one brow raising just a little. His eyes trailed over your face, taking in the unapologetic challenge in your tone. "I don't have that," he said.

"Well, that's too bad," you shot back without missing a beat, crossing your legs under the table. "Because I want it."

You watched his jaw tighten. Jay stared at you for a beat longer, like he was trying to process whether or not you were serious. You stared right back, unflinching. Heh. If he was going to play the host, then you were going to play the guest—and a very high-maintenance one at that.

To your disappointment, he didn't argue. Didn't roll his eyes, didn't even sigh dramatically. He simply turned back to the cabinet and grabbed a glass. You blinked once. That was it? No fight? No eye-roll? He was just... complying? Your eyes trailed after him as he began placing dishes on the table. Eggs. Rice. Kimchi. Toast. Even a bowl of sliced fruit. He moved without rush, setting things down.

Your brow furrowed. "What the—?" You blinked again, narrowing your eyes to the soup. "Did you—? Is that—?" You pointed at the bowl. "Is that egg soup?"

Jay didn't look up from where he was neatly arranging utensils. "Yeah."

"Like... real? Not from a packet?"

"No packet."

You stared at him, genuinely scandalized. "Are you telling me you actually cooked?"

Jay glanced up at you. "You don't think I know how to cook?"

You snorted. "I didn't think you knew how to speak until last week." He didn't answer. Just pushed the bowl of soup toward you and set down a clean spoon next to it.

You stared at the bowl, then at him, then back at the bowl. Steam curled from the golden broth, gentle and warm, carrying the faint, rich scent of sesame oil and soft herbs. A few tender scallions floated along the surface. It was too well made to be instant. You could see the care in it, and worse, you could smell the fresh, savory, and comforting in a way that made your stomach tighten. How much cholesterol does an egg even have? You mentally tried to remember that one diet chart you saved during your health-obsessed week two months ago. Was it 180? 210?

Jay, who had just reappeared at your side, setting down a tall glass filled with what suspiciously resembled a vanilla latte. Cold, and perfectly creamy, He said nothing, just quietly placed it on the table in front of you. Your mouth opened slightly in shock. He actually... made it? Before you could ask, he sat down across from you and began scooping rice onto your plate. He didn't even glance up, just calmly portioned the meal as if you hadn't threatened to never see him again less than 48 hours ago.

You stared at him, bewildered, impressed and hungry. The worst part is you could feel yourself softening. You looked down at the food, then took a spoon. You could always fight him after second bite, maybe third, or fourth.

YOU FOUND yourself staring at the cactus near the window, head tilted slightly, lips pursed in curiosity. You didn't know what it was exactly but something about the tiny creature just... intrigued you. It was undeniably cute in the most underwhelming, passive-aggressive way. You kind of admired it. You also kind of wanted to interrogate it. Did it have a name? Did Jay talk to it when no one was around? Did it have a designated birthday? You narrowed your eyes and leaned in.

Meanwhile, Jay was behind you, washing dishes at the sink with silence. The soft sound of water running and porcelain clinking was oddly domestic, unsettlingly gentle. You weren't used to this kind of quiet. Certainly not around him.

Your eyes drifted back to the cactus. You'd been staring at it for—what, twenty minutes now? It was so visually uneventful that it actually started making your brain itch. Cute, yes. But also boring. Like everything else in this apartment. You frown, did cacti bloom? You were pretty sure they did. You'd seen pictures. Tiny flowers, delicate and absurdly lovely, sometimes pink or yellow or white, sprouting from the spikes. You liked that idea. That even something that armored and still could suddenly bloom. This one deserved to bloom. It deserved something pretty. Without thinking, you reached for your bag and opened the small front pocket. Inside, tangled between your hand sanitizer and spare lip tint, was a pale pink satin lace. You unwound it from the keychain and carefully wrapped it around the base of the cactus's pot. You tied it into a small bow, a makeshift ribbon. You sat back and admired your work, head tilting again. It looked objectively better.

Behind you, Jay turned off the faucet. You glanced over your shoulder just in time to catch him drying his hands. Then, he reached for his black jacket hanging neatly by the door—your attention sharpened as he shrugged it on. You narrowed your eyes. It wasn't just any jacket. It was Prada. Jay slipped into it, the label stitched at the collar caught the light for a second. Your head tilted slightly, your suspicion growing in real time as the details started lining up in your head.

"Ready to go?" he asked. You gave him a slow look, one brow lifted, the kind that immediately made him tilt his head ever so slightly, like he was trying to guess what kind of trouble was brewing behind your eyes. He didn't press you for an answer. Smart man. You didn't say anything either. Just grabbed your bag from the table, slung it over your shoulder and headed toward the door without a word.

You stepped outside first. Behind you, Jay locked the apartment, then he followed slinging his bag over his shoulder—another Prada. You squinted again. You recognized that design. Same model he had slung across his back the first time you saw him. And then your eyes dropped slightly to his glasses. Also Prada. You were sure.

Okay, sure. Apex Alphas were known for their proximity to luxury. That wasn't news. Statistically, they were born into families that could afford private medical enhancements, exclusive early education, access to inter-Alpha networks. Even the lowest-ranking Apex could land a sponsorship just for breathing near a prestigious program. And most high-paying jobs were designed to be physically and pheromonally exclusive anyway—companies wanted Alphas. The stronger, the better. Politics loved them. Even universities made exceptions and handed out funds during Alpha enrollment campaigns.

So no, it wasn't shocking that Jay had Prada accessories. Not even a little. What was strange was the hesitation. The awkwardness from yesterday. The way he'd stood in that apartment, muttering something about not living the lifestyle people expect. He'd sounded... reserved. Like he didn't want you to think he was that type of Alpha, even though his wardrobe alone could buy you an entire designer weekender set with matching heels.

You don't actually care, rich or not. But something about the contradiction rubbed at your thoughts. As you followed him down the narrow stairwell, your gaze locked on the smooth line of his back, broad under the designer jacket, and your brain wandered—building theories. If he had money, why hide it? If he didn't, how did he have those things? And if he did have it but pretended not to care... why act so cagey?

You hopped back onto the scooter, despite how annoyed you were, your body betrayed you by leaning forward unconsciously, chin hovering almost obnoxiously close to Jay's shoulder as you squinted sideways at his profile. You weren't even trying to be subtle about it anymore. Jay didn't comment at first, he simply drove. But when the scooter rolled to a stop near the university gates and he got off to help remove your helmet, his eyes flicked toward your suspicious expression. He paused as he unclipped the strap under your chin, clearly holding back the urge to ask what was wrong with you.

"Why do you have two helmets?" you asked abruptly, lips pursed in a tight pout, eyebrow raised high.

Jay blinked, briefly thrown off by your tone. He recovered quickly, fingers moving carefully as he lifted the helmet off your head without messing up your hair. "I have a younger brother," he replied, like it was obvious.

You tilted your head, suspicious curiosity deepening. "Huh? Where is he?"

Jay turned away to grab his bag from the scooter's compartment and slung it over his shoulder, then gave a nod toward the sidewalk as a silent cue to start walking. "At my parents' house," he said evenly.

You fell into step beside him, still brimming with nosiness. "Wait, so why aren't you at your parents' house? I live with my parents! And my maids. And my driver. And two part-time gardeners. You mean to tell me you're living independently? In a tiny apartment with no butler? How are you even surviving that? You're an Apex!"

Jay didn't flinch at your curiosity. "I don't want to live with them anymore," he said calmly. "And I can't afford a bigger place."

You narrowed your eyes, slowing your steps as you absorbed that answer. "But why?"

He stayed quiet for a moment, that you thought he might ignore the question completely. Then he exhaled, eyes still ahead. "Because the price of freedom is high. And mine didn't come with a platinum card."

You blinked, caught off guard. Your gaze lifted instinctively, eyes drifting toward his face as your brain tried to process what he'd just said. There was something about the way he said it. It was like pushing further would cross a line he hadn't even officially drawn, but you could feel it all the same. You didn't know what to say back, and the topic sounds so sensitive so you adjusted your bag with a small huff, laced your fingers together behind your back, and kept walking at his side.

You walked in silence for a stretch of sidewalk. But then, because you were you—and because lingering sincerity made your brain itch—you cleared your throat and huffed a dramatic sigh. "Not that it matters," you muttered, lifting your chin slightly, your tone sliding back, "but I don't actually care. Just in case you're having some weird internal crisis about what I think of your tragic little lifestyle."

He didn't answer, so you keep going. "I mean, if you think I care—like care care—then you're delusional. I do not. Not at all. Couldn't be me." Jay glanced at you sideways, but you ignored it. "Whatever. Byeee." You tossed the word over your shoulder, adding a flip of your hair. Then you strode ahead of him with your exit walk.

Jay slowed to a stop for a second, staring at your retreating figure. His eyes followed the sway of your steps, the bounce of your styled hair, the unapologetic swing of your shoulders as you marched off. And then he scoffed under his breath. A faint smile ghosted across his lips. He shook his head to himself and followed behind you. Silently. As always.

⋮ ⌗ act fourteen

"VIOLATION OF not wearing a proper dress code from Green Team."

Your voice rang out across the court, lollipop stick clutched between two fingers, the bright candy tucked between your lips as you casually snapped a photo with your phone. "Based on the regulations clearly outlined in the student handbook—which, by the way, I doubt any of you have ever read—uniform protocol for all players participating in intramural sports requires footwear that supports ankle safety and team consistency," you began, scrolling through the notes on your phone. "That Alpha over there is wearing off-brand running shoes with no grip. Immediate violation."

Someone on the sidelines groaned loudly. You didn't even flinch "And another infraction," you continued, drawing out your words as you made a show of sniffing the air, then pointing your pen directly at the guy in question. "Excessive scent release. Intentionally broadcasting dominant Alpha pheromones in a co-ed match? Yeah, that's not just poor sportsmanship, it's a form of intimidation. This is a mixed bracket. That Omega on the opposing team is literally blinking like he's been chloroformed. Unacceptable. Eight-point deduction."

The eruption of protest was immediate. "What the hell?! You're seriously gonna call us out for that when you're walking around dressed like that?!"

You slowly turned your head, gaze lifting over the rim of your sunglasses as you pulled the lollipop from your mouth. "Dressed like what exactly?" you asked flatly. "Be specific, since you seem so comfortable evaluating appearances. Is it the cropped team jacket? The standard-issue mini skort? The approved colors? The school-endorsed athletic shoes that I'm wearing while not even playing? I'd love to hear which part offends your fragile Alpha sensibilities most."

You began scribbling on your form with flourish, making a show of it. "Also—another violation," you added sweetly without missing a beat, "for harassment of officiating staff. Verbal aggression. That's two-point removal and an official warning. Want to keep going? I've got a whole page of penalties just waiting to be assigned, sweetheart."

The boy opened his mouth again, but the teammate beside him shoved his elbow into his ribs and whispered something, clearly urging him to shut up before the deduction got bumped to a full disqualification.

You smirked as the lollipop slid back between your teeth, cherry-sweet and smug as your pen scratched confidently against your clipboard. With your phone tucked under your arm and your fingers flying over the notes app, you continued documenting every violation. There was a certain power in it—standing at the edge of the court, perfectly dressed, entirely unbothered, while others scrambled to clean up their infractions.

But then, something shifted, a change in the air pressure beside you, a subtle tension brushing your shoulder. Your brow creased automatically, muscle memory responding. You turned your head with annoyance, fully prepared to glare at whichever unfortunate Beta or misguided assistant had wandered into your bubble.

But instead of some flustered student intern, you were met with the sight of a tall figure in a fitted yellow jersey. His fingers brushed back silver hair, eyes already fixed on you with a glint you absolutely did not trust. And then—God help you—he smiled. Your mouth parted slightly, the gasp catching in your throat. Not because you were impressed. No. No, no, no. But because you knew that face. Your eye twitched hard. Memories flashed against your brain, you had barely recovered. And here he was, right in front of you. What was his name again? Heedong? Hee-something? Heeseung?

The name clicked into place right as his expression shifted into a knowing, wicked grin. He had the audacity to wink. Wink. "Didn't expect you to be this serious, Omega," he said smoothly.

Your expression flattened, flipping rapidly from disbelief to offense in less than a second. You pull out the lollipop in your mouth. "Didn't expect you to still be alive," you muttered. "But here you are. Unfortunately."

He just grinned wider, like your snark only fueled whatever delusion he was currently riding. "Alive and well," he replied, gesturing casually to himself. "And I've been missing you, actually."

What?! Before you could even respond, he had the audacity to lift a finger and point toward his neck, then at yours. "You're not wearing your patch," he observed, far too confidently. "I can see it. The imprint."

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your skull. Did this man have no shame? No internal filter? Did the concept of boundaries get erased? "Still with that imprint bullshit?" you snapped, stepping back, your hand clutching your clipboard because it was the only thing keeping you from launching it at his face. "Bruh. I don't know what kind of nose you're operating with, but there is nothing there. Nothing. If someone imprinted on me, newsflash: I would've sued them. And even if there was something—which there isn't, thank you very much—why are you acting like it's your business?"

He tilted his head, eyes dancing with far too much amusement. "It's just... irritating," he said. "You're interesting. And it pisses me off that someone had the nerve to leave a mark on you before I could."

You stared at him, horrified that this was real. That this was a conversation happening in public. In daylight. On a campus that was supposedly accredited. Your scoff came out loud. "Okay. Wow. That's definitely your Alpha talking. Must be exhausting carrying around that much ego with zero emotional intelligence. Do you all just imprint on girls like you're tagging street cats? God, no wonder the Omega Empowerment Alliance exists."

You rolled your eyes so hard it gave you a headache, turned on your heel, and stormed off with your clipboard hugged to your chest. You weren't even going to entertain whatever fantasy this man had conjured up. This was why you kept your scent blockers industrial-strength and your walls emotionally reinforced. If this Hee-something boy thought he was going to claim you just because he looked like a Pinterest thirst trap and knew how to smirk, he had another thing coming. And honestly? You were starting to understand why your Omega was so damn picky. Because Alphas? Alphas were exhausting.

"Sorry, did that make you uncomfortable?" His voice dropped as he stepped in closer. "I think I can feel the bond."

You turned to him slowly, eyes narrowing into a glare as you twirled your index finger near your temple, the universal sign for certified lunatic. "I think I can feel the delusions," you replied with absolute dryness, not bothering to hide the cringe curling at your lip.

That earned a reaction. He threw his head back with a laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're too cute," he said between chuckles. Ew. You already knew you were cute. That wasn't the issue. The issue was men like him thinking they could state the obvious and act like it was some gift from the heavens.

Unfazed, he merely shrugged and leaned slightly back, still grinning. "Anyway, I just need my jersey back." Your expression dropped immediately. The flicker of disgust was replaced by unfiltered disbelief as you blinked at him, letting the silence stretch. Are All Alphas like this?! So obsessed with their own belongings?!

"I already burned it," you said with a straight face.

It was a joke, technically, but at this point, it might as well have been. The jersey in question had been thrown into your laundry basket the moment you got home, and you'd immediately instructed your maid to wash it not once, but ten separate times. When it came back clean and folded, you still weren't satisfied. The scent was gone, sure, but the idea of it wasn't. So out of nothing more than principle—and maybe a little spite—you had it tossed back into the wash, twice. It had sat on your vanity for a grand total of three hours before the mere sight of it annoyed you all over again. So you banished it once more to the laundry room, telling yourself you'd decide what to do with it later, and then promptly refused to touch it again.

You glanced sideways, watching for any sign that he might take the hint and drop it altogether, but instead his grin only stretched wider. His confidence wasn't shaken in the slightest—in fact, if anything, he seemed encouraged by your visible annoyance. "Really?" he asked. "That's a shame. I kind of need it back for our match on Friday. But hey, you know, as payment. One date in exchange for a jersey—seems fair, doesn't it?"

You blinked at him, your lips parting. With a sharp laugh, you reached out and gave his shoulder a solid slap. "I'm kidding!" you said brightly with mockery. "You really don't have a sense of humor, do you?"

He looked mildly confused for a second.

"Relax," you continued, exhaling as you folded your arms and gave him a quick once-over. "I'll give it back tomorrow. Washed. Folded. Maybe even steamed if you're lucky—but that's where my generosity ends. So, if you could kindly evaporate from my vicinity and stop hovering, that would be fantastic." You didn't give him a chance to respond, already turning slightly, your attention shifting pointedly back to your clipboard and whatever half-baked rule enforcement you had lined up next. "I'd rather not get slapped with a violation for chatting with the enemy," you added over your shoulder. "And believe me, you're not worth the deduction."

"Hmm. Okay, Miss," he said, drawing out the words. You thought that was the end of it until you suddenly felt a hand brush your wrist. Your head snapped back toward him, a glare already forming, ready to bite out something—only to freeze as you watched him pluck the lollipop from your hand. Before you could stop him, he popped it into his mouth, sucking once. His eyes held yours, mischief gleaming unapologetically, and then he had the nerve to wink again before casually stepping back.

"Watch my match on Friday," he called out, already turning toward the court. "I'll be playing against your team."

Your jaw dropped as the audacity of it fully landed. And then came a sharp, high-pitched squeal of outrage that escaped your throat. "You absolute fuck! You think this is funny?!" you yelled, stomping your foot against the polished floor. "Fine! I'll watch your stupid match, and I'm going to tally every single one of your violations! I swear to God, you won't last five minutes before I have you benched and deducted!" You didn't care that you were drawing attention. You didn't care that a few heads turned or that someone on the sidelines snorted into their sports drink. Your blood was boiling! It was fucking boiling!

He didn't even look back. Not once. Just kept walking toward the other end of the court with your lollipop in his mouth like he'd won. Fuck him!

YOUR MOOD had been steadily declining since noon, but by the time the late afternoon sun had dipped behind the university's western bleachers, it had bottomed out completely. You stormed across the event grounds with your clipboard clutched so tight your knuckles were pale, brows permanently drawn together in a scowl. The worst part? Ningning had somehow managed to skip the entire day. Not a single text, no check-in, just radio silence while you were drowning in endless committee announcements, senseless violations, and last-minute logistic changes that no one consulted you about. How was it that she could disappear and no one said a word, but you missed one event briefing, and suddenly three different facilitators were breathing down your neck.

You let out a frustrated, high-pitched squeal that startled two passing Beta volunteers. You stomped toward the corner of the field where the recycling bins were lined up, spotted a half-empty trash can that looked slightly unstable, and kicked it without hesitation. Worst, you were eliminated at the Dress to Impress game at Roblox for having a VIP access. That's not even in the rulebook!

You stomped in place, foot hitting the ground again and again like your frustration was trying to escape through your heels. Your hands waved in the air, almost flailing, your hair bouncing with the force of your movements, unaware that your phone had been vibrating steadily in your bag. The screen lit up again and again until finally, you snatched it out with a shaky hand, not even glancing at the caller ID before pressing accept.

"What?!" you screamed into the phone, breathless.

There was a pause. Then, a low voice—infuriatingly calm—slid into your ear. "...Are you okay?"

You froze for a minute before you sucked in a slow breath through your nose, clenching your jaw. "What do you want, Jay?"

"I just finished my preliminary basketball game."

You could practically feel your eye twitch. "Okay? And what do you want me to do? Throw you a parade?"

There was a short pause, followed by an annoyingly even reply: "I have your ID."

You blinked. Your head snapped down, eyes darting to your open bag, hands rustling through its contents as if to prove him wrong. Lip gloss? Check. Backup perfume atomizer? Check. Five pens, three hair ties, a scrunchie, and a receipt from last week's café run. All there. But your ID—absolutely missing. A growl of disbelief tore from your throat. "Why do you have it?"

"You left it on the table earlier," Jay said. "During breakfast. I thought you knew."

You almost screamed again. "Then why didn't you give it to me sooner?!"

"I was at my game."

You huffed so hard your nostrils flared. "Give it back to me right now, Jay. I swear—"

"...Are you sure you're okay?"

That question again. Your hand tightened around the phone, the words sticking in your throat. You opened your mouth, closed it, then sighed. "I've been screamed at by three facilitators, eliminated by a jealous team over a fake rule, and now I'm standing next to a trash can I kicked over at the Seniors Building because nothing today is going right. So no, Jay. I am not okay."

There was silence on the line for a moment before he speak up again. "I'll meet you in ten. Stay where you are."

You didn't respond. Just ended the call with a frustrated tap and let your hand fall limp into your lap.

By the time he arrived, you were fully committed to your drama. Slumped on the grass near the half-toppled trash bins, head resting heavily on your knees, hair falling over your face. You hadn't even lifted your head, but you felt him —it was like your Omega could sense him from meters away, whispering: He's here.

"Give me my ID and leave me alone," you muttered without looking at him, stretching one hand out with your palm up, fingers twitching in demand.

There was a soft rustle, then his voice again. "Want an ice cream?"

That made you lift your head, slowly and with all the grace of someone who absolutely did not want to be intrigued but was. You squinted up at him through your lashes, taking in the sight of him standing there in his red jersey and loose basketball shorts, his silver hair still slightly damp from sweat. He had a plastic bag in one hand, and from the top peeked the bright wrappers of ice pops—an almost ridiculous sight, if he didn't somehow still look annoyingly composed.

"Fuck off," you said, brows furrowed.

"Strawberry or matcha?" he asked again, ignoring your scowl entirely as he lowered himself beside you on the grass. He didn't look at you, just kept his eyes ahead, watching the sun as it dipped slowly toward the horizon. The light bathed everything in a warm glow, and the subtle hum of his pheromones drifted from his skin. Your chest tightened. Your heartbeat thumped faster, in that way that had become far too familiar when he was around.

Without another word, he unwrapped one for himself and popped it into his mouth, the crackle of plastic and the snap of the popsicle breaking the silence between you. You rolled your eyes, but your hand reached out anyway—snatching the matcha. If he insisted, then fine. You weren't going to suffer for pride when there was free sugar involved. You leaned back slightly on your elbows, legs stretched out in front of you, the cold treat resting against your lips before you took a slow bite.

You tried not to glance at him again, but your eyes drifted anyway—sideways, quickly—just to check. The sunlight kissed the side of his face, outlining the line of his jaw and making the silver in his hair glow faintly gold. Your mouth tightened. It was annoying how effortlessly good he looked, especially when you were actively trying to be pissed at him.

You chewed slowly, facing forward again. "Where's my ID?" you asked, the ice cream still pressed against your tongue. Jay didn't respond immediately. He reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled it out—your student ID. He held it between two fingers, offering it without looking at you.

You took it, inspecting it with a suspicious eye, then tucked it safely into your bag with an annoyed huff. "Geez," you muttered under your breath, sucking the remaining flavor off the stick.

Another long silence stretched between you and Jay. The breeze rustled the leaves above, birds chirped somewhere in the trees nearby, and the only other sound was the faint crackle of your popsicle wrapper as your fingers played with the plastic. You shifted your legs, idly swinging one foot over the other. The end of the University Games was crawling into your thoughts again, with all its mess, pointless rules, annoying team members, and overly eager Alphas. You thought about that Heeseung guy, about the way he spoke to you. But what kept creeping in louder than all of that—more often, more sharply—was Jay. How he was always there. How his timing always seemed to land precisely when your world tipped sideways. And how he never said the right things, but still left you with a feeling that curled under your skin and refused to leave.

You let out a slow exhale through your nose and leaned your chin on your knees. "Jay," you said. He glanced over at you, popsicle paused halfway to his mouth. You didn't look at him. Just lifted a finger to your neck, touching lightly over the sensitive area just under your jaw. "Can you tell if there's an imprint?" you asked quietly. "You'd know, right? You're an Apex. Or whatever."

The air change with the way Jay's body subtly stilled completely. He didn't answer right away. You could feel him stiffen beside you, the shift in his posture. He swallowed. "Why are you asking me that?"

You rolled a shrug off your shoulder, pretending it didn't matter. "No reason." But your fingers betrayed you, immediately fidgeting with the laces of your shoes. Your thoughts started spiraling again before you could stop them.

If there really was an imprint—if there was even the slightest chance—then the only Alpha you could think of was Jay. No one else had been close enough. But it didn't make sense. He didn't like you. He barely spoke unless necessary, never gave any clear signal beyond those annoying stares. He treated you like a storm he chose to walk through, not someone he was drawn to. Could an imprint really form without affection?

"There's no imprint," he said.

You should've felt relieved. The weight in your chest even lightened slightly, but the way he said it—that carefully detached, struck something in you and his gaze didn't even meet yours.

"It looks like just a residual scent transfer," he added.

Your eye twitched, irritation flaring even as confusion gnawed at you. You looked down again. What the hell were you even expecting? You didn't know whether you were supposed to be relieved that it wasn't real, or offended that it didn't mean anything.

"Right," you said at last, aiming for a breezy tone, but your voice came out strained. "That's good."

"Hm." Jay's voice was quiet as he gave a single nod. The silence that followed stretched long, filled with an awkward tension neither of you seemed willing to break.

You exhaled through your nose, resisting the urge to fidget again. Your lips parted slightly in frustration, a sigh catching in your throat as your thoughts circled back to the same conclusion that had haunted you since day one: You really hated Alphas.

⋮ ⌗ act fifteen

FOURTH DAY of the University Games, today's lineup featured the charades competition—arguably the least stress event so far—but that didn't make it less exhausting. If anything, it somehow demanded more of your soul. The only true gift the universe offered you today was that Jay, due to already being rostered for a major event, was no longer eligible to join any of the minor games, including charades. Finally, some space to breathe without that man's silver hair appearing from the side of your vision and ruining your pulse rate for no reason. But the victory itself? Not worth the cortisol spike. You'd helped your team snatch a clean win during the final round of charades, and the reward for that stunning display — a plastic pin with a glittery sticker that read "You Win In My Heart <3" and a handful of candies that looked like they were fished from the clearance bin at a local grocery store. Truly, an insult disguised as appreciation.

You threw the paper bag onto the table with a grunt just as Ningning sighed beside you, aggressively fanning herself with her mini turbo fan. "Damn, can't even go out. I need lunch!"

You narrowed your eyes at her with a smirk. "Wow, look who remembered to exist today."

Ningning blinked at you, then leaned back. "Oh my God—you're so pretty, I forgot to say it earlier. That outfit is giving actual main character."

Your gaze flicked toward her, unimpressed. Still, you made a half-hearted twirl of your wrist as you sat down next to her, your movements lazy and irritated. You had put effort into today's look, not that it mattered anymore. The off-shoulder top with sculpted rose along the neckline was already beginning to stick to your skin, the wide-leg jeans heavy around your ankles despite the bold red platforms that added just the right height. The little cherry chain swinging from your belt loop was the only part of you enjoying itself.

You leaned on the table, propping your chin on your fist. "Where's the yellow team practicing their basketball today?" you asked. "I need to finish some business I should've burned yesterday." Your nails were already scratching absentmindedly at the edge of your scent patch, the thought of that guy reappearing in your path again souring your mood faster.

Ningning, who normally couldn't care less about team formations unless it meant extra snacks, finally lifted her head and gave your question a second of actual thought. "I think they're practicing at the south gym. Our team's stationed in the east, and I saw the Blue and Green teams out on the main field earlier. Since tomorrow's the last match day, everyone's on high alert."

You gave another roll of your eyes. Why was everyone so obsessed with it lately? Basketball, basketball, basketball. God, it wasn't even that impressive. Just a bunch of tall Alphas running around, grunting, dunking a ball into a net. And sure, some of them were attractive, if you were into the whole sweat-drenched ego-on-legs vibe. But you weren't. Definitely not. Absolutely not!

"It's not like I care," you muttered to yourself, before Ningning started talking again.

"A lot of people are hyping up the Yellow versus Red match," she said, tapping her phone. "I heard there are a lot of hot Alphas on the Yellow team. They've got half the Omega dorms setting alarms just to watch their warmups. God, why is my life like this? I should've called in sick today. But no—here I am, stuck on cheers and design duty. Under the sun!" She showed you her fingers, now stained with streaks of red, gold, and a murky blue that looked suspiciously like it came from the spray can she wasn't supposed to use. You gave her a glance of sympathy, but your mind had already begun drifting back to what she said earlier.

South gym. Your eyes narrowed slightly as you absently peeled a label off your bottle. You weren't stalking. You weren't going there to ogle or be curious. No, you had unfinished business with that imprint-obsessed Alpha, Heeseung—or whatever his name was.

"Don't you dare sneak out," Ningning added suddenly, squinting at you as if she'd just read your thoughts. "If you get caught by the facilitators, I am not bailing you out."

You stood up, smoothing your top. "Who said I'm sneaking out? I'm just taking an... unscheduled inspection tour."

Ningning groaned as you flounced away. "Unscheduled my ass," she mumbled. "At least put your scent patch on straight this time!"

You just had one objective, and it wasn't even personal—well, not entirely. You needed to return a jersey. Simple! Except, maybe, you also wanted to check what the Yellow team was up to, especially considering half of them were CHS students. If you knew anything about that school, it was how painfully competitive their athletes were. And it wasn't beneath you to keep an eye on potential stunts they might pull. If sabotage happened along the way, like their sneakers mysteriously vanishing or their water bottles getting switched with vinegar, then that was just... divine intervention.

And if Ningning disapproved? Well, she had zero authority. She followed you anyway, even after all her whining.

"Go already!" she hissed from behind a row of decorative banners near the entrance of the south gym. "I'll stay here and watch. I've got extra perfume to mask your scent if anything happens. Just drop the paper bag and don't do anything stupid. They can track scent trails!"

You shot her a thumbs-up over your shoulder, already tiptoeing toward the building. You eased through the back hallway, careful not to let your shoes click too loudly. The muffled thump of basketballs echoed through the open court on the other side of the wall. You slowed your steps, eyes narrowing through the slits of the divider as you peeked into the gym.

A handful of Alphas were scattered across the court, some practicing shots, others jogging drills. You recognized more than a few of them. Huening Kai was definitely there, tall and expressionless, calmly dribbling. But there were red jerseys mixed in too, which didn't make sense. Why was Red team here with Yellow? This was supposed to be a closed practice.

You sniffed the air instinctively, trying to pick up Jay's scent, only to be reminded that your scent blockers had been amped up lately thanks to your inconvenient, creeping pre-heat symptoms. You'd doubled the dosage earlier, and now the scent haze around the gym was nothing more than vague Alpha musk and expensive deodorant.

"Whatever," you muttered under your breath, gripping the paper bag tighter. "Just drop it and go."

You padded over to the locker room entrance, ignoring the subtle thrum of adrenaline in your chest, and crouched low near the first bench, you lowered the paper bag beside one of the cubbies—your handwritten sticky note sticking awkwardly to the top with just enough passive-aggression in its message: To: Heesong. Return complete. Don't speak to me again. :)

You dusted your hands dramatically, ready to make a clean exit. But just as you turned, your eyes drifted to the row of shoes lined up neatly beside the locker room bathroom door. Bright, clean and clean sneakers. Your fingers itched. You didn't have to steal anything. You were better than that. Morals. Self-control. You had both... barely. Maybe next time... You turned away with a silent sigh of restraint, but as you took a single step toward the hallway exit, a shadow blocked your path.

"Shit—"

That Heeseung guy was standing casually in front of you, water dripping from his silver hair, trailing down the sculpted lines of his bare chest. His shorts hung low on his hips, towel thrown lazily around his shoulders, skin still glistening from a post-practice shower, his finger rose to his lips. He smiled, "You're here for me?"

Your mouth dropped open, but only one word made it out. "Yuck." You instinctively took a step back, casting a quick glance over your shoulder to check for a clear exit route. You lifted your arm and pointed stiffly toward the bench behind him where the paper bag sat. "Your jersey's over there," you said. "I've done my part. I'm leaving."

But of course, nothing was ever that simple when it came to Heeseung. He stayed exactly where he was. "Already?" he asked. "What about catching up?"

You stared at him, unimpressed, then slowly set your hand on your hip, weight shifting as your patience visibly thinned. "Can you stop being a weirdo and just let me leave?" you snapped. "God, I get it—I'm pretty. I know. Thank you, the mirror tells me every morning. But just to set the record straight, bursting your little fantasy bubble: you're not my type. Not even close." You gestured vaguely at his entire being. "I hate smug, arrogant, flirt-happy, attention-seeking Alphas who think the world revolves around their scent. Especially ones who corner people in locker rooms like it's cute. And yes, sure—you're objectively handsome, congratulations—"

His eyes lit up instantly. "You think I'm handsome?"

And just like that, your entire monologue derailed into flames. You blinked at him, stunned that that was the part he chose to latch onto. "Wow," you said slowly. "Out of everything I just said, that's what you heard?"

He smiled wider, clearly enjoying himself far too much. "Well, it was the only part that felt sincere."

"I am not sincere," you snapped back, already spinning on your heel before the conversation could spiral further into delusion. You didn't wait for a reply, your voice trailing behind as you stormed toward the exit. "I'm done. I'm leaving."

"Hmmm. Okay," he said behind you. "Let me guide you out, then. Make sure you don't get caught lurking where you shouldn't be."

"You're naked, Heeseung!" you hissed over your shoulder without stopping. "Put some clothes on! God, please!" You reached up to cover your eyes, already regretting every decision that had led you here, but then you felt his hand land lightly on your shoulder, guiding you.

"It's not a big deal. Alphas walk around like this all the time, especially after training. I'm an athlete—it's normal," he said. "Why so conservative, princess?"

"Don't call me that," you groaned, swatting his hand off your shoulder. "And I am not conservative. I just don't enjoy seeing half-naked Alphas wandering around like it's some kind of fashion statement. There is nothing attractive about this. It's not hot. It's actually—"

The second you turned the corner toward the hallway leading to the exit, another Alpha emerged from the shower room—towel slung casually over his shoulder, chest completely bare, water still trailing down his skin in slow, glistening lines. His hair was dark and wet, tousled from the steam. "The hell, man? Why's an Omega in the locker room?" the stranger asked, his voice was with a thick Australian accent that only made the moment more absurd.

Your eyes locked on him—and unfortunately, so did everything else. Your mouth fell open as you stared, completely frozen. His shoulders were impossibly broad, abs chiseled. Your hand shot up to cover your mouth, but it was too late. You were already staring.

"Jake," Heeseung's voice came from just behind you, surprisingly composed. "Lower your voice, alright? She's just here to return something. If she gets caught, she'll end up with a bigger problem than whatever that is in your hand." You weren't even going to ask what Jake was holding. You didn't want to know.

Jake tilted his head, his brow lifting just a little as he looked you over. Then he shrugged, completely unbothered. "Alright, chill. I'll guide her out then. Locker room's a maze if you're not used to it."

"Wait, what?!" you shrieked, turning fast on your heel as Jake stepped forward. "I can walk! I have feet! I am perfectly capable of exiting a door without an escort!" But your protest died just as quickly as it started, because behind Jake, another guy appeared—also freshly out of the showers, towel thrown around his neck, absolutely no shirt in sight.

You blinked. He blinked back.

Then his finger rose slowly and pointed at Heeseung's hand resting a bit too casually near your back. Then at Jake's arm, which had lifted like he was about to guide you by the elbow.

"Bro?" the new Alpha said with confusion. And that's when your soul nearly exited your body. Water was dripping down his arm—slow, gleaming trails that curved right over his flexed biceps, down to his forearm, before disappearing into the waistband of his shorts. Shorts that, in your opinion, barely counted as decent. Your eyes went wide. Wider than wide. They hurt, from the effort of trying not to look any longer. You practically slapped your own face to remind your brain to shut down immediately.

"That's Jay's Omega. Back off," came from the man who'd just stepped out of the shower. His arm shot out, brushing off Heeseung's hand from your shoulder and halting Jake just as he was about to place a palm near your lower back. You stumbled a step away, not from fear, but because the entire situation had escalated into something so absurd your brain couldn't keep up. All of them were half-naked. You were surrounded. Your mind was still catching up to the phrase that had come out of that man's mouth.

Jake scowled, his brow drawing low, clearly not satisfied with the declaration. "The hell, Sunghoon? Anyone can throw claims like that. I don't see a mark. She's unmated. Don't start acting territorial just because you think she's pretty."

"Doesn't matter. You don't need a scent bond to understand boundaries. If someone's protecting her, you respect that. Alpha or not."

Heeseung's lips curled into a scoff, eyes flashing as he stepped slightly forward, shoulders squaring. "Calm down?" he echoed, mocking. "We weren't doing anything. She's a friend. She came to say hello. Or is that suddenly a crime now?"

The tension in the room sharpened, and though you'd taken your scent blockers religiously that morning—double dosed, in fact, just to keep your pre-heat symptoms under control—it wasn't doing much now. The moment their pheromones began to bleed into the air, it became impossible to ignore. So oppressive that it was like being trapped in a room slowly filling with steam, your lungs working harder than they should, your heartbeat quickening against your will.

God, why can't Alphas just love each other and leave the rest of you — Omegas out of it? you thought, teeth gritted, irritation mounting just as fast as the scent pressure building around you. Always posturing. Always testing boundaries. It was like watching dogs circle each other with slightly more vocabulary.

"What the hell is going on?"

Your entire body went still. You turned your eyes to the fourth voice you heard and your mouth parted on instinct at the catastrophic sight in front of you. Jay had stepped out from the shower hallway, hair soaked and slicked back, droplets of water cascading down his temple, trailing past the line of his sharp jaw and down his neck. His bare chest, still glistening, rose and fell slowly as he surveyed the scene—eyes narrowing first at the other three Alphas, then landing on you.

Your body reacted faster than your logic. Blood rushed everywhere, your heart thudded too loudly, and heat prickled behind your knees. You bit your bottom lip before it could tremble, gaze dropping against your will to follow the curve of water running from his collarbone to the firm lines of his torso and—Goddamn it, look away!

You were spiraling, embarrassingly fast. The argument around you continued, but everything else blurred into background noise. The voices became muffled, meaningless, as the air distorted around you. All you felt was the proximity, the weight of Jay's stare, and then—suddenly his hand was on your wrist. He didn't yank or tug, just shifted his body until he was directly between you and the others, shielding you completely from view. And just like that, Sunghoon flanked him without needing instruction, shoulder-to-shoulder like a wall had been built between you and the rest.

You could barely focus, your brain caught somewhere between oxygen deprivation and a full hormonal breakdown. Your ears were ringing, and the only thing you could clearly register was the vibration of voices.

"Why are you getting so worked up, Park Jongseong?" Heeseung's voice slithered. "We had an agreement. Don't play dirty now."

"She's still bonded to me, Lee Heeseung. You can't demand I cut it because you suddenly decided to care."

You barely registered Jay's voice or the weight of what he said. The words floated around the edges of your consciousness, slipping past you without meaning. You weren't even remotely interested in their territorial Alpha argument—not when your eyes were fixed on something far more distracting. Jay's torso, a single bead of water trailing slowly down the ridge of his abs and disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts.

Your brain short-circuited, you could feel saliva pool beneath your tongue as your throat tightened, and you forced yourself to swallow the lump gathering there, though it did nothing to stop the fire spreading through your veins. Your gaze, which should have been respectful—hell, at least subtle—refused to move elsewhere. Your attention dropped lower, sliding past his hips, until it hit the line of his shorts. You froze. And then you made the mistake of looking lower. Oh God.

You clamped your mouth shut before something embarrassing could escape, pressing your lips into a thin, desperate line, trying to keep it together. The heated air, already saturated with Alpha pheromones, was thickening around you. Your knees felt increasingly useless.

Heeseung scoffed behind the haze. "Hah. You're seriously pulling that card now?" he hissed. "You haven't even claimed her properly. You don't get to hold her in place and pretend she's yours when you haven't done a damn thing to prove it."

Jay didn't flinch. His voice remained even. "I never said she was mine," he said firmly. "But I'm not about to let you toy with her either."

And just like that, you forgot how to breathe again. Because in the next moment, Jay's grip on your wrist shifted, and without waiting for a response from you or anyone else, he drew you closer, his body shielding yours completely. You stumbled forward slightly from the sudden shift in gravity, your hand splaying against his torso. And oh, God—you could feel it.

Around you, the rising heat of the room was tangible —but you didn't care. Your entire brain had condensed into a singular focus: your hand, resting flat against his stomach. You blinked once, trying to claw your way back to reality, but the moment was already slipping from your control.

"I can treat her better than you," Heeseung growled, stepping forward again.

You didn't hear the rest. The pressure behind your eyes throbbed. Your heart skipped a beat, then another, the rush of your blood too loud in your ears. Jay's scent curled into your lungs, too potent for your weakened blockers to resist any longer.

You opened your mouth to speak, to protest, to snap, but the room spun so suddenly that you didn't even get the chance. Everything swayed, tilted, fell sideways. And then you collapsed—right into Jay's chest, the last thing you saw before everything went black.

EVERY OMEGA has a choice. No matter what the world, the rules, or the Alphas may claim, the right to decide is always in their hands. No bond, no mark, no so-called instinctual claim could ever override that truth. Every connection—no matter how fierce or instinctive—demands consent. The right to say yes. The freedom to say no. And the power to break it when necessary.

The weight of those words echoed somewhere far in the back of your mind as you drifted upward through a dense fog of unconsciousness. Your limbs felt heavy, your mouth dry as paper, your head thick and muffled like it had been wrapped in cotton. Blinking slowly, the first thing your eyes focused on was the whiteness of the ceiling above you. You recognized the faint hum of a light, and—more strongly—the scent of stabilizers in the air.

Your throat burned. Your lips felt cracked, parched beyond comfort. You shifted slightly, and the only word you could muster, hoarse and pathetically faint, was: "Lipgloss..."

A shriek rang out immediately after, followed by the sharp shuffle of footsteps and the nurse's concerned face leaning into view. The student medic did a routine check, murmuring something about vitals and scent suppressant stabilizers.

Ningning wasted no time diving into a full-blown explanation. You barely reacted, eyes unfocused as you stared past her, the antiseptic white of the clinic ceiling offering nothing but emptiness. You listened without interrupting, the pieces of her words falling into place slowly, like puzzle pieces that refused to lock in.

"You passed out because of the scent overload," she was saying, pacing beside the bed with wild gestures. "Your suppressant wasn't strong enough—probably because your heat symptoms have been acting up lately—and then, add three territorial Alphas practically leaking pheromones and your poor Omega system couldn't take it."

You didn't respond. Your eyes didn't move. You were still frozen on the part she said just before that.

Imprint. An old imprint, she said. You had an imprint? You had a mark? Somewhere on your neck, hidden under patches, under layers of self-control you lived by—there was an Alpha's imprint?

But how? When? Who—? Jay?

The only possible answer that surfaced in your thoughts. He was the only Alpha whose presence your body seemed to betray you for—one you involuntarily reacted to. It was always him. So why had he said there was no imprint? Why had he looked you dead in the eye and calmly dismissed it as residual scent transfer? Why had he lied?

The more you thought about it, the more absurd it all became. Ridiculous. That was the only word for it. You'd been walking around all this time, unaware of something so fundamental happening to your own body. Your fists clenched the blanket tighter as the realization dawned harder and harder.

Why the hell does everyone else know what's going on with your body—except you?

And worse, why didn't Jay tell you? Was it to protect you? To spare you? Or was it just another one of those decisions Alphas made without bothering to consult the Omega involved?

The more you tried to make sense of it, the more it all dissolved into one massive, tangled blur. You couldn't even think straight anymore. Your thoughts were colliding with each other, folding over fragments of memory. Furious wasn't even close to describing what you were feeling now. You'd stormed out early, snapped at Ningning, and used a flimsy excuse to get out of your duties, locking yourself in your room for the rest of the day.

You sat motionless at your vanity, staring at the single flower Yeonjun had given you earlier in an awkward attempt to comfort you.

None of this made sense. You retraced every conversation you had with Jay. There was a pattern, but it led nowhere clear. This was exactly why you hated Alphas. Their unpredictability. Their possessiveness. Their habit of acting first and explaining later. Why imprint someone if you were too much of a coward to face it directly? The last question wasn't even Alpha behavior!

You let out a high-pitched shriek and hurled your pillow across the room, following it with a flurry of punches into the mattress as your frustration peaked. You hated Heeseung—his cocky smirk, his walking-pheromone problem. You hoped his feet started stinking and he suffocated in his own scent cloud.

And Jay—God, you hated Jay even more. You hated how quiet he was. How he showed up in every corner of your life without warning. How he stirred something in you even when you were trying to ignore him. And imprinting?! God! He didn't even like you!

You didn't even want to think about their stupid basketball match tomorrow. You weren't going to be there. You hoped they both ran into each other at full speed and knocked each other out cold, maybe that would finally jolt some clarity into their thick skulls.

You shrieked again, even louder this time. You stormed to your vanity to pack your bag, only for your blush compact to fall with a loud clatter.

"Fuck!" you dropped to your knees, reaching under the table, stretching your arm toward where the blush had rolled—only to spot something else.

A glimmer of blue.

Your hand paused mid-reach, then curled around the delicate object. It was your blue ribbon hair clip, dusty from being under the vanity... Wait. What?

You stood slowly, brushing off the clip with trembling fingers, staring at it in growing confusion. You were sure you hadn't seen this clip in days. Jay had handed you your "lost" hair clip after the presentation. But you clearly remembered wearing it that day—right at this table, when you were doing your makeup. You'd taken it off before changing your outfit and left it right there on the vanity. Hadn't you?

Heart thudding, you crossed the room to your storage drawers, pulling open a box where you kept your backup accessories. You grabbed the satin version of the same ribbon—another gift from Ningning—and held them side by side. The exact same model. The same sheen, same cut, same clasp. But... you'd never bought another one. Ningning had only given you one. The clip you found today was the one you lost. So then... what the hell was the one Jay returned?

Your eyes widened, the pieces beginning to click in. Did Jay replaced it?

You sank onto your chair again, clutching the clip as your brain spiraled into the implications. Jay had seen your distress. He'd watched you cry over something he knew he didn't actually have. And instead of correcting you... he found the exact same ribbon and brought it to you. Without saying a word. Just so you wouldn't be upset.

But why? Why go through that trouble? Your hand clenched around the ribbon, thoughts spun faster. Was it guilt? A sense of duty? Was this just another way Alphas acted without meaning? And yet... no. It didn't feel thoughtless, it felt intentional. So then—what was it?

Did he like you? Or not?

⋮ ⌗ act sixteen

ALPHAS are wired for protection, possession, and preservation. It's in their nature, embedded deep into their biology. Their instincts aren't always logical; they act before thinking, driven by the urge to claim—people, space, scent, habits—anything that signals a sense of "mine." And that behavior, that entitled assumption of ownership, that overwhelming need to dominate everything around them without thought or question, is exactly what you hate.

You've spent years guarding yourself against it, you've taken pride in the way your Omega instinct remained steady, discerning, unmoved by proximity. You're grateful for it, honestly. For not folding just because someone looked at you a certain way or growled in that low, stupid Alpha register they all think is so charming. You're glad you didn't get swept into someone else's hormones. That your biology didn't betray you like it so often does with others.

But now? Now, you're not sure.

Jay wasn't loud. He didn't circle you or demand attention. He didn't mark his scent around you. He just acted like it. Without ever calling it what it was, which unsettles you. You could handle the usual Alpha arrogance. You could block it, bite it back, scream it, but whatever Jay was doing...it was quiet. Is that better? Or worse?

"Huh?!" Yeonjun gasped, nearly dropping the team banner he'd been holding as you appeared beside him without warning. His eyes widened, disbelief etched across his face. "Wait—what the hell? Weren't you supposed to be on your way to Japan by now? Your dad booked the ticket himself!"

On your other side, Ningning choked mid-sip from her water bottle, sputtering and slapping her palm against her chest as she stared at you. "What the—?! Why are you here?! I thought you were halfway to the airport! And—wait—did you even take your scent suppressants? The Alpha pheromones in this place are thick enough to bottle and sell—do you want to pass out again?!"

You didn't respond to either of them. Your arms stayed firmly crossed over your chest, shoulders drawn tight as your gaze remained locked on the basketball court below. The noise of the crowd, the bounce of the ball echoing off, and the sharp, repetitive shrill of the referee's whistle all blended into a white noise that buzzed somewhere behind your thoughts.

"What's going on?" you asked, finally lowering yourself between them on the bleachers, eyes never leaving the game.

Yeonjun blinked at you, his head tilted, brows knitting in disbelief as he scanned you from head to toe. "What do you mean, what's going on? I should be the one asking you that!" he blurted.

"I just wanted to watch," you replied calmly, brushing off his reaction. "Didn't want to miss the last match. Everyone worked hard for this. Would be a shame not to show a little support."

Despite the casual tone you forced into your voice, your eyes betrayed your focus as they scanned the court, trailing across the players. Your attention moved over until it landed on Sunghoon, whose stance was locked and composed despite yellow team closing in on him. He pivoted quickly, faking left before darting right, shielding the ball with clean, practiced movements. Four defenders from the Yellow Team tried to close him off from every angle, their shoes shrieking across the court in quick, aggressive slides, but he held his own, determined to protect the ball.

Your gaze flicked to the scoreboard, squinting. The Yellow Team was leading, and the Red bench looked tense, some standing now, voices rising over the crowd in overlapping instructions. You could feel the heat of the game, and for a second, you forgot about everything outside the court.

As if pulled by something invisible but persistent, your gaze landed on a figure crouched near the key, hands braced on his knees, his breathing visibly heavy. His silver hair was damp with sweat, strands clinging to his forehead, his red jersey darker now, plastered to his chest.

Jay wasn't looking at the game. Not the ball, not the score, not the frantic coordination of his teammates. He was looking at you. Straight at you.

It took a second for you to realize the weight of that gaze—what it meant, how direct it was. You expected the usual straight mask he wore so well, the blank distance he used. But that wasn't what you saw now.

What met you across the court was something else. His expression held a vulnerability it almost hurt to witness. There was no smugness, no dominance, no flicker of Alpha pride. Just those eyes, fixed on you.

Your breath caught, your spine straightened, and yet your arms stayed folded across your chest, refusing to betray how those eyes made something inside you stutter.

"They're exhausted!" someone exclaimed, snapping you back into your body. "They're relying too much on Jay—he's got more stamina, yeah, but that's because he's an Apex. He doesn't even have a basketball history, what are they doing?!" The voice belonged to an Omega a few rows down, clearly panicking, hands flailing as she tugged on her banner. "They're going to burn him out!"

You blinked, shaking your head, breaking the gaze that held you in place. You leaned slightly forward to observe the court again, but your focus faltered as another Omega directly in front of you pointed and squealed. "I don't care about Jay's stamina, look—Soobin just lifted his jersey!"

"Oh my god, those abs!" her friend gasped, clutching her arm. "He's glistening like a God."

You rolled your eyes, dragging your gaze away from Jay to where Soobin, indeed, had momentarily lifted his jersey to wipe his face. The group of Omegas in front of you practically burst, losing their minds over the sharp cut of his waist and the stretch of his toned muscles.

You leaned back, exhaling slowly, trying to tune it all out. But your eyes still drifted sideways—back to him.

The game had resumed at a pace twice as fast as before, both teams locked in a tug-of-war of strategy and desperation. The Yellow Team clearly had more refined players with better coordination, but the Red Team had grit—rough around the edges. Each time the ball landed in his hands, the dynamic shifted.

His movement was fluid, deliberate but fast—like he didn't second-guess the weight of responsibility being thrown on him again and again. Sweat dripped from his temples down to his jaw, his expression tense with focus, but he didn't fumble nor flinch. You watched as he cut through defenders, shielding the ball like it was instinctual, eyes scanning, calculating, moving with a predator's grace.

You didn't know the rules of basketball in detail, weren't sure what counted as a violation or what the term "full court press" even meant, but somehow you found yourself rising from your seat each time the ball left Jay's hands and soared cleanly through the hoop. You didn't even realize you were clapping until Ningning nudged your side, and Yeonjun leaned over with a teasing grin.

Your cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and stubborn denial as you cleared your throat and quickly sat back down. Ningning, of course, was already watching you with narrowed eyes and a knowing smile.

"Yellow team's still ahead," she said, folding her arms with a small sigh. "Honestly, at this point, I've already accepted the loss. Everyone's looking burnt out except for Jay. He's the only one still fighting."

You didn't respond right away. Your eyes followed Jay again. You swallowed hard. Ningning, ever the nosy friend, tilted her head toward you. "You're not angry at him anymore, are you?"

You blinked. "Angry? Angry at what?"

She didn't hesitate. "For imprinting you," she said bluntly, shrugging. "Come on. You know it's him. You've always known. He's the only one who could've left an imprint strong enough for your Omega to react the way it did. We didn't want to say anything earlier because we thought you'd explode."

You were silent for a moment, then let your gaze fall to the polished tips of your shoes, your mind fogging over with thoughts that swirled without direction.

Were you angry? Maybe you had been. When it first hit you. You hated the loss of control, the uncertainty of not knowing what was happening inside your own body, the fact that someone else had crossed a boundary so quietly and so intimately.

But now? Now, you weren't sure what you felt. The anger had softened, bled into confusion, into curiosity. Into questions you weren't ready to ask out loud. Before you could formulate a proper response, Ningning continued, waving her hands. "But you know, it's okay if you're still mad. Seriously. He's so emotionally constipated sometimes it's actually impressive. But also—me and Yeonjun? We've been shipping the two of you since day one. You guys are like... peak slow burn. The entire student body is practically waiting for you two to snap and make out behind the bleachers."

Yeonjun, clearly eavesdropping, threw up two fingers in a peace sign and added, "We're your biggest fans, honestly."

You groaned audibly, dragging a hand down your face in exasperation. "Shut up. No one is making out behind the bleachers," you muttered, though your eyes remained glued to the court. The numbers on the digital scoreboard glared back at you—58 for the red team, 65 for the yellow. Time was draining fast. The gap wasn't impossible to close, but it was getting harder with each passing second.

Yeonjun leaned closer again, lowering his voice. "You know, I'm not entirely sure, but I think Heeseung challenged Jay. That's why he even agreed to play in the first place."

Your body went rigid, an electric feeling crawling along your spine as your gaze snapped back to the court. Jay was there, caught in a corner of the court, three defenders pressing around him, Heeseung leading the charge. You could see it clearly on how his fingers trembles, the barely-disguised falter in his breathing. His shoulders were squared but heavy, he was running out of energy.

"I don't know what kind of pissing match they've got going on," Yeonjun murmured next to you again, "but I'm glad I'm not an Alpha. If you ask me, this is all just ego. Pride games. Honestly, if you think there's something there—between you and him—maybe go for it. One more move, you know? What do you have to lose?"

You rolled your eyes, shoving him lightly with your elbow. "Go write a blog about romance. You had a talent for it."

"Already have one," he grinned.

You didn't bother responding, attention snapping back to the court as your stomach twisted with nerves. Your breath caught when you realized Jay had the ball again. He was surrounded—boxed in by the yellow team with nowhere to pass, nowhere to pivot. And at the center of it all, Heeseung. The smug set of his jaw was clear even from this distance. You gripped the edge of your seat unconsciously, legs stiffening with tension.

And then Jay looked up, his eyes flicked to the crowd, and found you. There was no confusion in his gaze. He knew exactly where to look, as if he'd already memorized the section, the seat, the way you sat with your arms crossed. Your chest clenched when your eyes locked—his expression cracked open for the briefest moment, and you saw it. A question.

Was this his answer to the challenge? The fight Heeseung had demanded, the one he'd agreed to without a word? Was this how Alphas proved a claim?

You shook your head slowly. The tiniest, instinctive motion.

But Jay saw it, and he listened, because suddenly, he stopped. His body relaxed all at once, his hands fell open. The ball slipped from his fingers.

And in the next breath, Heeseung snatched it.

The yellow team surged, the gym exploded in noise, sneakers screeching against the floor as Heeseung drove the ball down the court. A sharp pass, a clean leap, and then the final whistle. The scoreboard blinked red. The crowd roared. Yellow team erupted into victorious cheers while the red team deflated collectively, chests heaving, hands falling to hips or knees in exhaustion.

Your gaze remained fixed on Jay. He stood still for a second, his head lowered, his silver hair shadowing his eyes as his teammates closed in around him, patting his shoulder, murmuring something you couldn't hear.

And just like that, the moment blurred after. You barely registered the victorious roar of Heeseung being lifted by his teammates, arms spread wide, triumphant grin plastered across his face. The yellow team surged around him, claiming the court. Meanwhile, Jay walked out of the scene, towel pulled up to wipe his face.

You watched the shift ripple through the red team—the way their pride adjusted into polite applause as they made their way off the court, nodding respectfully to their opponents, offering congratulations they didn't entirely. It was part of the game, but none of it settled the anxious twitch in your fingers as you fumbled with the zipper of your bag, barely aware of the way your Omega instincts had fully taken the reins.

Because no matter how much you told yourself not to care, your body had already decided for you. The urge to check on him. To find out if he was okay. To demand answers. To scream at him and maybe, to your own horror, comfort him. Curse these hormones. Curse these goddamn dynamics.

You didn't wait for your thoughts to catch up with your feet. You grabbed your bag, slinging it onto your shoulder and stood up. Ningning blinked from beside you, startled by the sudden movement. Yeonjun tilted his head but didn't ask. Your legs moved, descending the stands with determined steps, pushing past the clusters of students flooding the aisles toward the exits. But you didn't head for the exit. Your feet knew where to go—the locker rooms.

Behind you, Ningning and Yeonjun exchanged a look—hers wide-eyed and almost concerned, his filled with knowing exasperation. "I think we already know who actually won," Yeonjun said dryly, adjusting his lanyard and falling into line behind the stream of students heading out.

Meanwhile, you kept walking. You didn't know what you were going to say when you found Jay. You didn't even know if you'd be able to say anything at all.

But that didn't stop you pushing through the double doors that led toward the inner hallway of the gym, until you found him, sitting alone on the bench, elbows resting on his thighs, hands slack between his knees, head bowed. His legs were spread, his posture one of complete exhaustion.

You inhaled sharply, squared your shoulders, then crossed your arms. "God, you're such a loser," you said flatly. "If you don't know how to play or have any background in basketball, why sign up?"

His head lifted slowly at your words and you faltered. Not because you regretted what you said—but because of the expression that met you. His lips twitched upward in the faintest smile, tired, but somehow still warm.

It was the strangest, most unsettling smile you'd ever seen—and yet it was so disarmingly handsome your heart gave a reluctant jolt. You clenched your fists at your sides, straightening your posture.

"I wanted to prove I could be good at everything," he said.

You scoffed, eyes rolling as you turned your face slightly away. "Not everyone is good at everything, Jay. That's just reality. You don't have to win every time. You're academically smart, sure—but emotionally?" You clicked your tongue. "Your EQ is a disaster. You've really mastered the whole 'typical Alpha' thing."

You considered turning around and leaving, you really did. But something in the way he remained seated kept you rooted. Your fingers twitched toward your bag. You swore it wasn't your Omega instincts, it was just a decision you made.

What would you lose? Nothing you hadn't already risked.

You stepped forward, closing the distance between you and him. Your hand reached into your bag as your feet planted firmly in the space between his knees, and he blinked up at you in confusion. His lips parted slightly, as if about to speak, but no words came.

With trembling fingers, you pulled the small pin from your bag and gently leaned forward. You were close—so close you could feel the faint heat of his breath against your cheek, the scent of his fading pheromones barely clinging to the air around him. You lifted the pin to the edge of his jersey, your fingers brushing against the damp fabric as you secured it just above his number.

Jay's eyes never left your face. His hands remained planted on the bench at his sides, unmoving. A faint release of scent curled from your skin into the space between you as if to soothe, to anchor, to comfort, just like he always do.

Jay looked down. His eyes landed on the pin you'd fastened to his chest.

You Win in My Heart <3

He exhaled through his nose—slowly, deeply—and with it, a ribbon of his pheromones released into the air between you.

"Why did you accept his challenge?" you asked, straightening your posture though your knees already felt too weak to hold your pride. "I didn't expect you to be the kind who picks a fight over ego."

Jay looked at you for a long moment, the flicker of tension passing across his brow. "It's... an Alpha instinct," he answered quietly.

You cringed, face twisting, and you didn't bother to hide it. "Of course it is. You really are no different from the rest of them," you muttered.

Jay's gaze didn't shift. "He said if he won, I had to remove the imprint."

Your heart stuttered. For a second, the words didn't quite register, him admitting the imprint and when they did, you blinked at him—then scoffed. "And the imprint?" you asked, lifting your chin. "Was that just your instinct too?"

When he nodded, your chest deflated. You felt your breath falter, just a little. Like something in your chest had been punctured. You turned away almost immediately, trying to hide how it knocked the wind out of you. Your arms crossed tighter against your chest, your hand clenching the strap of your bag.

"Well, I don't care," you said, your voice carefully detached, clipped. "Remove it, or don't. As if I'll be swayed by that smug, overcompensating Alpha shit. Let him think he won."

You swallowed hard. The lump that had formed in your throat was too heavy. You didn't even know if you were mad at him or mad at yourself—for hoping, for imagining, for reading something soft behind his gaze when it had only been instinct all along.

Damn it. You liked him. And you hated that you did.

You hated how you can't read him, how tightly he reined in everything, how he never let you see more than fragments. But now you had seen enough to confirm what you feared: maybe you were the only one feeling anything real.

And just when you told yourself to let it go—to walk away for good—his voice reached you again.

"I'm not removing the imprint."

You froze mid-step, his words halting you. You turned slowly, head tilting, your brow rising in challenge. "Go touch some grass and reflect—"

"I like you." The words didn't tremble, didn't hesitate. They came out clear. And then again, softer, slower, as he began walking toward you: "I like you."

And just like that, something inside you ruptured. The world slowed, dulled to a blur around the sound of his voice. It was ridiculous how cliché it felt—the heat blooming up your neck, the imaginary fireworks bursting behind your eyelids, the sudden hitch in your breath that made it hard to speak.

You quickly looked away, cheeks burning, fingers gripping your bag. "Is it your Alpha instinct again?" you asked, almost whispering. "Another convenient chemical reaction?"

"No," he said without pause. "It's not instinct. It's me... Just me."

You bit the inside of your cheek, your jaw tightening, the war between pride and longing already clawing at your ribs. Still, you didn't turn around. You stayed rooted there with your back to him, your fists curling, a thousand unspoken thoughts swirling in your head, waiting to break.

"Talk to me," his voice reached you again, almost pleading. "Talk to me about your makeup, the palettes you like, that shopping vlog you always watch. Show me more of those ridiculous bags you keep collecting, the ones with pearls and strawberries. Keep telling me about 'Flower Knows' and why the packaging matters so much to you. Wear your Jo Malone again—the one you always wear when you sit next to me in class. I... I memorized it before I realized I even liked it."

Your lips parted, air rushing out of your lungs as your heart twisted. You stood there, shaking, held together by nothing but sheer restraint, your body screaming to turn around, your Omega humming, quietly, insistently, for the truth.

The kind of truth that didn't come from instincts. But from feelings. And Jay was giving you all of it, finally.

"I noticed every time you wore it. I could tell when it faded. I hated how easily I could pick you out in a crowd, and hated myself more for liking it."

You still hadn't turned around, but your body betrayed you in the smallest ways—fingertips twitching, knees gently swaying, the way your spine arched just slightly, as if the gravity between you and him had grown stronger.

"I lied," he continued. "About the imprint. I knew it the second it happened. I felt it snap into place the moment it formed. But I didn't say anything because I didn't want to lock you into something you hadn't chosen."

He took a breath, the kind you only take when you're standing at the edge of a ledge. "I didn't mean to imprint you. I didn't even know it could happen like that, so fast." You could hear him take another step forward. The heat of his presence crept up your back.

"I've been so afraid of doing this wrong. Of messing it up. You're... you're everything I didn't think I was allowed to want. You talk so much and half the time it's about things I don't understand, but God, I want to learn. I want to keep hearing it. Even the things you rant about when you think no one's listening—those are the things I remember the most."

Your breath caught as he stepped closer, his voice barely above a whisper, right behind you. "You don't need anyone—but I want to be someone you want anyway."

"— And I lied. I didn't fight Heeseung because I thought it would win me anything. I fought him because he tried to reduce you to a prize. And because even if I never get to call you mine, I won't stand by and let someone treat you like something to win."

Your hands had gone limp at your sides, bag forgotten. The walls you'd built around yourself were disintegrating, trembling under the weight of everything he was saying.

"I like you," he said again, firmer this time, no longer a question but a vow. "Not just in the way an Alpha is wired to like an Omega. I like you. The person. With all your contradictions. I like you more than I know how to say."

Make him yours. Your Omega purred beneath. But your walls, built so carefully around years of protecting yourself, didn't come down all at once. So instead, with your throat tight and your vision swimming, you gathered what little armor you had left, swallowed hard, and bit out the only word your pride could manage.

"Fuck off," you snapped.

You turned away fast, heels clicking against the floor, spine rigid. The kind of exit you'd perfected—one that screamed indifference. Except it wasn't indifference, and Jay saw it. He saw the flicker in your steps, the slight stumble in your stride as you reached the door. Saw how your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag, saw how your scent, no matter how restrained or suppressed, trembled in the air like loose threads unraveling behind you.

He didn't call after you. Because the moment you stepped outside the locker room doors and were out of his sight, your composure cracked into a hundred glittering pieces.

A high-pitched screech echoed down the hallway, followed by the unmistakable sound of you jumping on the spot like you'd just won the lottery. "Fuck—fuck—fuck!" you squealed under your breath, fanning your face with both hands like you were overheating, cheeks burning as if the confession had lit your skin on fire. You slapped your own cheeks twice. Not hard, but enough to try grounding yourself in the reality you'd just walked away from.

Your lips stretched into a grin you couldn't contain, fingers twitching as you let out a little hop, whisper-screaming into the palm of your hand. "Stupid fucking Jay! Why did he have to say that like that?! Why did he have to be good at it?!"

Back in the locker room, Jay hadn't moved. He was back at seated on the bench, hunched slightly forward, the sweat on his skin cooling in the post-game silence. His fingers, however, remained in motion—slowly, gently with care brushing over the little badge now pinned to his jersey.

You Win In My Heart <3

It was corny. Incredibly so. But his lips curved anyway, the smile starting small and growing with each passing second.

Outside the locker room, your voice echoed faintly through the hallway—shrieking, laughing, with wild and breathless. His advanced senses picked up every word, every thud of your feet against the tile, every muffled curse and squeal as you tried to compose yourself and utterly failed. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting it wash over him, laughing softly.

There you were. Still difficult. Still infuriatingly unpredictable. Still saying one thing while your scent betrayed another. Still the same girl who rolled her eyes at Alpha antics but scented him in the most delicate, protective way.

Still, somehow, his.

Jay's hand lingered over the badge again, fingertips pressing. He thought about your sharp tongue, your firecracker temper, the way you folded your arms when you were about to deliver one of your trademark verbal takedowns. He thought about how stubborn you were, how emotionally guarded.

He didn't mind the walls. He didn't mind the attitude. He didn't even mind that your version of affection came wrapped in sarcasm and profanity. If anything, he preferred it that way. Because it meant that every piece you gave him was real.

Jay leaned back, letting his head fall gently against the cool metal of the locker behind him. His fingers still played with the pin, heart thudding quietly beneath it.

You weren't going to make this easy. You were going to fight him at every step, throw fits in hallways, and scream. But that didn't scare him.

Because now he knew. He just had to prove it.

Every damn day, if that's what it took.

889 notes · View notes

sunsetpossum · 4 days ago

Text

Kiss List !! 💋

── .✦ pairing: c.yj x reader

The whole world knows by now how much you despise Choi Yeonjun, yet he seems to never leave your mouth albeit being muddled in a monologue of spite. He's always chasing after what's yours and you're always chasing after his downfall- in this tedious game of cat and mouse a new competition lights a fire in your souls- one that stems out of jealousy. ࣪𖤐

╰┈➤MDNI - NSFW content ahead...

…or in simple words…ʀɪᴠᴀʟ!ʏᴇᴏɴᴊᴜɴ x ʀɪᴠᴀʟ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᝰ.ᐟ wc - 14.7k

mentions!! and warnings!! jealousy sex wrapped in anger, p with p, cocky!yeonjun, fingering, small edging scene, handjob, Yeonjun has nipple piercings & hence nipple play, spitting, hair-pulling, some degradation, unprotected p in v, kiss scenes of reader with others written in somewhat detail but no yeonjun scenes with any of the female idols (don’t write idol x idol), creampie, marking, switch!yj and reader, drinking, smoking, both of them have raging superiority complexes and are annoying sorry guys!!!

tyunningism's note: Finally completed wooo !!! Big weight off my schedule for me so i’m glad it’s out and ready for you guys to read hehe. Got super carried away with all the side characters kiss scenes but hopefully it’s up to standard !!

Coffee-stained, crumpled, poorly put together by no other than Choi Yeonjun is how you would describe the flimsy sheet of paper— slipped onto the grain of the college’s study table you booked for privacy…before he came along.

“This is?—“

“—A kiss list. Four for you, four for me. Whoever kisses everyone on their list first gets to have the loser do whatever they want for a year. And I’m warning ya, it’s not going to be me.” The male pulls up a chair to situate himself on the other end of the desk, his fist hidden in the fat of his cheek as he leans on an arm expectant for your response.

But it seems as if you’re the only person on campus who can see through this ‘friendly party-animal’ act he’s got going on. You pick up on his bad habits— or should you say actinglikeajerkandcoveringitwithawidesmile— that others don’t.

And that includes the time in high school when he completely forgot to hand in his hunk of work for the final chemistry project; too occupied with ‘basketball practice’ when realistically he had been smoking with your brother in your penthouse. Combining his 49% and your 105% with extra credit, the both of you received a combined grade of B— the only B you’ll receive in your life and you’ll make sure of it, as long as Choi Yeonjun doesn’t get picked to be partners with you once more.

Moral of the story, the red head in front of you is a sneaky jerk you shouldn’t enter some stupid competition he’s obviously better at with. However, something you would like to see is his dumbfound face crushed under your foot like some peasant bug. That’s what really drags you into these competitions that are nothing but a waste of time for you and a game to keep him doing something other than whipping it out of his pants all the time.

And you hate to admit that you enjoy the thrill of it— especially because as of now the score for you to Yeonjun is 100 to 99. Meaning that another victory will consolidate you as the winner of this never ending childish competition you always find yourself partaking in, it’ll put an end to 6 years of bickering you’re dying for.

You sip out of your mango smoothie to clear your throat as you shut your laptop to talk to him face to face, bathing in how he rolls his eyes out of impatience when you take your sweet sweet time to dab and refine the lipstick on the corner of your lip.

“You’re telling me you want to compete over who can kiss more people faster? That’s obviously biased in your favour Choi.”

“And as ugly as you are you’re still somehow on my best friend’s top ten girls he wants to fuck list, and it’s not just him.” A finger drags towards the first photo poorly stuck on your half of the list, a shaggy male you’ve seen countless of times before in Yeonjun’s circle.

“And you decided to add Beomgyu after hearing that?”The male sticks his tongue out sourly at the thought you put in his head, attempting to squeeze the cup of your smoothie while you lean in for another sip, but you know Yeonjun and his antics far too well by now to snatch the cup away.

“For fun. I added a little someone to balance it out.” His tapped finger lands on a photo of Mina Myoi— a good fucking photo as well, if only she weren’t your backstabbing ex best friend.

“You wouldn’t.” A sharp nail glides along the vulnerable paper of the photo leaving a white scratch mark down her face which you grin at.

“Jealous? She’s been begging to get a taste of me since you introduced us.”

“That fat ego of yours wouldn’t let you risk that kind of punishment.” The weight of your bag starts to sag as you organise your textbooks and pens one by one; lipgloss in hand as you swipe it along your lips and a hand tucking your chair in with courtesy.

“And that fat ego understands I’m not losing this time to a girl who can’t get laid.” He rocks back on his chair with his legs crossed over one another, the strawberry gum in his mouth wafting towards your direction as he chews irritatingly loud with aggravation towards you.

Which works because shortly after you’re leaning across the desk to pop his bubble with the end of your nail, wickedly amused as it splatters all over his mouth and the unshaved stubble you point out.

“Not when I’m playing this game of yours too, Choi, don’t get too cocky.”

As you walk away from the study table you still had booked for another half hour, you’re reminded of the three things to keep in mind when entering the same battlefield as Choi Yeonjun— who’s still got gum all over face despite you leaving his vicinity a good 3 minutes ago.

1 — Choi Yeonjun will go all kinds of lengths to win.

And that includes buttering up to your father with that grossly moisturised face and puckered lips; he’s shaved his stubble, slicked his hair back, and somehow forced himself into a suit and tie instead of his regular hoodie horribly paired with those outdated black jorts. His little clean up of his usual scraggly messy look always puts a smile on your lips— because he’s not fooling anyone that he’s some next level business man with the red box dye stained in his hair. And if he was going to go red, he could most definitely afford a hairstylist in one of his father’s many hotel chains to do it for him rather than splotch it on blindly.

He’s still favourable among most of your family, or well…everyone but you in the family. Always joining for dinner sat at the righthand of your father while you were a couple seats further down, like it was routine— like he was some favourite child that managed to walk in and snag everyone from your grasp.

Whatever it was that you had he’d compete with you over it. Including now as you try to politely ask the butler for another drink with the wave of your hand while he deafens the room with a cough straight into his palms…gross. And the scowl on your face is nothing short of ‘unladylike’ as your mother calls it when the butler tends to his disgusting cough over your sign, a sly smirk on his face as he points towards the lemon-infused water dispenser.

“You don’t even drink water. Every time I see you there’s a can of monster in your hands.” You should’ve seen the slap to your hand coming from your mother who hisses at your insolence but you still find the bother in you to frown and rub at the after-burn with your palm.

“It would be brilliant if the two of you would just get along for once.” Clad in his work suit still you can already expect the routine of events that are about to unfold; a napkin to wipe at his mouth, a long talk about the history of business between the Chois and your family, how you should both enter the lounge to interact with each other kindly, all before your father’s left the table himself to enter the dungeon he calls his office.

There’s not a word exchanged between the two of you as you leave your respected seats to head towards the lounge warmed up by the artificial fire place your father loves so very dearly— but you’d much rather prefer a real fireplace, in the instance that you’d be able to throw Choi Yeonjun who’s sauntering behind you into it.

“No need to walk with a straight back, no one can see your hunchback down here.” A smile graces your lips as you spin on your heel to face him, eyebrows quirked in victory as he finally shrugs the burden of having to look proper in front of your parents. The tie around his neck is tugged loose as he unbuttons the first button of his collar; something your purity-culture fanatic mother would lose her mind over.

“You’re one to talk with the rip in your dress right now. Lilac underwear, that’s cute.” One sentence alone is enough to cut off your short lived upper-hand and feel around the back of your ass for a rip in the expensive dress— horror sewn into each strain of muscle in your shock-ridden face. Which evolves into anger when he howls in laughter clutching at his stomach; ruining his perfectly ironed shirt. “Hah—You’d think that the top student would be less gullible.”

“How did you know..the colour?” He had wiped his false tears away with a finger yet when you ask him the anything but absurd question it truly triggers real tears of amusement to form.

“Pfft! — Just a lucky guess…so Mingi’s little sister wears lilac underwear? Too scared to try something sexy like black?” The male dashes ahead of you to find comfort on the cashmere couch, his performatively polished shoes kicked up on the padding which you swat off with great force.

“First of all, that’s too niche of a guess and second lilac can be sexy too!” You’re sat on the opposite armchair, your legs crossed close in case he happened to have peeked under your dress during dinner, with classic literature he wouldn’t be able to name in your hands as you skipped to your bookmark. He’s nothing short of prideful as he leans on his side, an arm bent to rest his head as he pulls faces at the book you’re holding. “That Rihanna lingerie brand you girls like to fawn over, kept seeing the same set on every one of ‘em.”

And while the brand he’s on about isn’t the pricey lace you’ve got on at the moment you’re no less appalled by how verbal he is about who he’s sleeping with— when you had to pay hush money to keep Heeseung quiet about fucking you, hot tits according to him, who opened his mouth at every opportunity to describe your parts to his friends in absurd detail.

“Fuck you Choi Yeonjun —”

“Don’t remember adding that rule or myself to the kiss list, love.” That kiss list again. After three days of no mention about it you assumed he had forgotten about such a stupid idea, but with how he’s scrambling through the stitched-pockets of his blazer he must’ve been thinking about kissing his half of girls since forever. Although, when is he not?

Yeonjun’s quite the little celebrity around here in a different means to you. While your popularity is still tied to your actress mother and business-frenzied father, Yeonjun’s is directly sourced from baseless rumours you’ll never be granted the opportunity...? The chance…? to prove; that he’s good in bed— really fucking good apparently. And that means he doesn’t even need to lift a finger before those four girls are all over his lips while you might have to send a wink or two as a hint to the men who’re nothing less of the dirt under your heel on that very list.

“I find it unfair that you got to choose who you get to kiss and who I’ve got to kiss as well. Come on Choi, you’re pairing me up with Ellis— doesn’t he like guys?!” Your eyes scan over the piece of paper, even more crumpled than when you last saw it probably from showing it off to his friends.

Choi Beomgyu at the very top of the list…you don’t know what he majors in but you know that if Yeonjun is dumb then he’s dumber. Probably even begged to be on top of that list after all those failed attempts at trying to hit on you at every party, and you would’ve agreed to his dates earlier if only he wasn’t tightly knit with the red-head scratching his scalp.

“Not fancying Mr 70% Muscle mass?” Choi San is lazily stuck on and cut off at the flex of his biceps most likely out of jealousy from Yeonjun— who doesn’t even bother to cut around the silhouette of the black-haired male, the sauna behind him still in view around some difficultly sharp curves. You’ve had your eye on him for a while after spotting him first at Ryujin’s pool party; toned and tanned with abs basically poking out your eyes with how defined they were. If only you weren’t dating that crybaby Sungchan at the time you would’ve most definitely slept with him that very night, and though you didn’t you were a hair’s inch away from prowling onto him even with Sungchan’s kisses still lingering on your lips.

“Mr Muscle Mass can stay, he’s real boy toy material and I heard his daddy’s quite well off as well. Motor company or something— he’d be an easy target if he knows to chase after someone in his league.” When you flick onto the next page of the book you’re struck with a whole text of explicit sensual sex you mindlessly read the build up to without thinking, squeezing your crossed legs a little tighter when you skim over the main character’s teasing.

“Squeezing your thighs thinking about him? Or Minho there?” He finally sits upright to reach for the desserts neatly stacked on to silver cake trays prepared by the patisserie chef and eaten by the red-head solely, his eyes not leaving your legs even when you shout at him. “I wasn’t! And I’ve already kissed Minho so he’ll run back for seconds in no time.”

Crumbs attach themselves on to the corner of his lips as he chews. “Made it easy for you didn’t I?” Said with such leniency as if he’s rigged the list to give you an upper hand you could’ve achieved without his help, until you wander your eyes back to Ellis who still remains on the list.

“Switch Ellis with someone else you prick, he’s not going to kiss me back!” You know this is one of Yeonjun’s many ways of obstructing your victory, completely unfair in how he’s picked himself a whole chain of girls who’ll ruin their perfectly layered lipstick without him needing to ask— and how he’s picked a target who doesn’t like women for you to figure out.

“Picking and choosing again, what do you think of Jongseong, Jay? Fucking musical genius he is I heard, but he’s really reserved to his own little group. Think you can handle it princess?” Something about those nicknames he likes to tick you off with stirs your stomach weirdly. Not in disgust nor lovely butterflies, but because he shouldn’t be using them when you’re bickering and competing against each other into total warfare. Even if it rolls off his tongue so naturally you don’t even question him about it.

Jay who’s a musical genius with his guitar— of course you know about him, but not through the melodies he’s critically appraised for, you know him through his old-money heritage and that’s what ends up ripping off Ellis’ face in the end to replace it with a fresh and uncrumpled Jay.

“Fancying guitarists I see. Wanna host a costume party at yours? To get the actual kiss list going you know.” You close your book back to its sage cover at the mention of hosting a party; fun, you haven’t hosted one in a while and it would definitely be some sort of advantage in knocking off that kiss list of yours. But the last time you hosted a party three months ago the smug male sat opposite you took over by storm and drove his car head first into your holiday home’s fence.

“No shot. We blamed some random guy for what you did last time and I’m not covering your ass again.” You frown at the recall of your parents’ scolding and your brother’s uncontrollable laughter. If you were going to host a party then you shouldn’t invite Yeonjun. And if you didn’t invite Yeonjun then he’d host a party on the exact same day as yours out of pettiness— that’s just how far this rivalry of yours will go.

“Then I’ll host it at the Cheryl Manor. I’ll text you the details…or not since we’re on opposite teams anyway,” The male readjusts his tie and slicks his hair back into shape as an indicator that he’s ready to leave, not wanting to drop the well kempt image in front of your parents as he prepares to bid them goodbye with a flattering compliment and handshake you’ll roll your eyes at.

“Oh—and spoiler alert the Imogen girl dies in that book.”

Saturday night rolls by in an instant, the thump of music audible from the balcony of your penthouse as you stumped your cigarette on its tray— letting Winter untangle the curls in your hair with her manicured fingers as she swats away the ashes blown in the air. The city rushes with cars even at the darkest hours of night and the lights to the manor on the hills remain flashing and lit. Late to the party by an hour you are, but you’ve always prefered the high of a sudden appearance to an awestruck crowd than watch the number of invitees fill up from the corner of the room.

Yeonjun had messaged you that the dress code was ‘sexy’, yet you perk at the sight of Winter’s pink-frilled skirt and corset bedazzled with diamonds paired with a tiara nestled in her neatly styled hair. And she returns the same fleeting glances at the sheer nylon tights strapped to your thighs, black latex shorts that clung to your hips with a matching v-line top. Lace gloves ran down from your forearms to your fingertips in contrast to the pink silk that ran down hers, and in that very moment a sunken gut feeling triggers you to realise there’s an elephant in the room that needs to be addressed.

“What did he tell you was the dress code—not sexy costume party, was it?” You spin on your heel to lean your back against the balcony, watching as Winter shook her head in disapproval, quickly checking through her messages in case she had read the memo wrong. “Costume party…but it was supposed to be fairytale based—and you look like cat woman,”

Of course you did, Yeonjun had told you Beomgyu would be there as ‘sexy batman’ or whatever that meant, and in an attempt to garner his attention you decided to discreetly match. Which would’ve worked if only he had told you the right dress code in the first place. A means to embarrass you? Possibly. But knowing him it’s more likely an attempt to cockblock you from anyone on your kiss list with how distinctly you stood out.

“Going to change? It’d be easier to sneak out of the penthouse in a princess costume than sexy cat woman in front of that nun of a mom” Her hand is already wrapped around your wrist ready to guide you towards the vault of clothes you call your closet when you pull her towards the stairs. “It’s fine. Sexy cat woman is a statement on me, what’s there to be embarrassed about?”

If Yeonjun wants to play this game then you’ll make sure to bite back twice as hard and fuck his best friend at his party if you needed to. Unless he’s pulled some nasty strings which you’ve come to realise he has when you enter the gates of Cheryl Manor. A couple of stares in your direction—but not judging, confusion and piqued interest more like as you scan for the red head.

His arm is swung around Daniela who matches his attempt at dressing up as Flynn Rider with a mauve minidress, a headful of tight curls slipping off his shoulder as she laughs into his chest. And who’s he to not entertain her further? Swiping a deceiving thumb down her cheek as he whispers sultrily in her ear— eyeing you down as you approach with a meek Winter struggling to catch up in her pointed heels.

Not an ounce of shame radiates from him as he slithers a hand around her waist in the middle of conversation with one of his friends, still maintaining eye contact as you shove past a group of people dealing baggies you could possibly need by the end of tonight. In one swift motion he redirects the centre of attention towards you with his obnoxious body language.

“Princess, or should I say latex hooker, what fairytale did you come from?” The grin that appears after his taunt isn’t short of haughty as he flaunts his target—already hooked to him— with pride as he leans in for a quick peck to her lips.

“Did your boyfriend show up as batman with an abs cut-out then?” You pick up a drink with your gloved fingers, the shot slightly stronger than you’d hoped as you place it back down onto the server’s tray. One mistake would be showing up to his party, another would be getting drunk there.

“Who—Beomgyu? Oh you poor thing~ He wasn’t invited, neither was anyone else on your half of the list.” You’re becoming agitated by the second with how Daniela laughs as if she knows anything about the list like she’s not one of his many targets, but you’ll let her off because she’s undeniably hot and kissable. Choi Yeonjun on the other hand isn’t, and if gathering you here at a party where none of your targets are to be seen is his method of getting a head start then you’re no guest to entertain it.

“Fine! Have it your way Choi. Your party’s fucking lame anyway.” You shoot him a glare before storming towards the exit and leaving a clueless Winter stranded in the heat of the argument. The metaphoric fire ablaze on top of your head only being fuelled further by the male’s cheers of ‘another victory to Choi’ and what not.

“I’d fuck her.”

“That’s not the first time I’ve heard it Daniela, I’d fuck her too.”

By the time you’ve left the gates you’ve already dialled Beomgyu’s number; who picked up on the first ring and is somewhere speeding on the roads to collect you. The bitter taste of falling into Yeonjun’s trap doesn’t compare to the alcohol in your system, a permanent grimace and pout written all over your face even when the Audi rolls onto the limestone carved road.

“Not enjoying the party? This is the first time you’ve voluntarily called me you know.”

“Change of heart. Couldn’t you have picked me up in something nicer?” The handle to the passenger seat creaks with age, rusting and lined with mud and grime you cringe at. “When was the last time you washed this thing—”

“Woah— I may be a Choi but I’m not one of the Chois. Respect the hustle will you…cat woman?” You strap yourself into the front seat, turning down Beomgyu’s horrible radio music because you’ve heard enough bullshit from his best friend’s mouth already to be singing along to the Beatles. And even with the windows rolled down as he starts the car to head towards the main city the tension in the air between you and your kiss list rival thickens with each thought of the peck to Daniela’s lips.

But Choi Yeonjun shouldn’t think too lowly of you. If he’s going to settle for a soft peck then you’ll settle for a heated make out session with San, in this exact costume you catch Beomgyu not so discreetly gawking at.

“Remind me of what the dress code was again? I was paid to not go.” You could bet your trust fund that he’s cross eyed right now— an eye on the road and the other on the latex shorts stretched around your thighs as he removes a hand off the steering wheel to readjust his sweats.

“Long story Beomgyu just take me to his apartment.” City skylines blur into one big mass of streetlights as he pulls into the empty driveway, way past eleven but most of the lights are on still and as you reach to unbuckle your seatbelt Beomgyu holds your hand in place.

“Any reason you’re here to see San tonight? You look like one of those fem-doms I see on twitter all the time.” Your hand breaks out of his grasp as you pat down your shorts to smooth them, the disgust on your face inevitable as your chatterbox of a driver keeps revealing his long list of kinks to you.

“You’ll find out another time, apartment 206 right? I owe you a date for today so message me later Beomgyu.” The slam to his car door is louder and faster than any words he can scramble and piece together but you don’t need an answer to know he’s nodding his head yes until it’s about to snap off. And the excited honks in sync with each heel studded step up to the entrance of the apartments only eggs you on as you hold down on the buzzer, mustering up the sweetest tone you could when the line cuts through to apartment 206.

“Hello?”

Your ears are graced by the deep and throaty rough of a man’s voice that sounds through, closer to a man like San than his roommate Wooyoung who you’d hope is at Yeonjun’s party— otherwise this little plan of yours will fall apart in shambles at Yeonjun’s very feet.

“San? It’s me,” The doorbell picks up on your desperate waving in hopes that he’ll let you in despite the situation leaving you awkwardly stood in costume unexpectedly, “ Wooyoung told me he left something in his room that he needed for Yeonjun’s party and it’s freezing outside so can you let me in?”

“Ah it’s probably his power bank, no worries come on up.”

There’s a variation of stares you receive as you navigate through narrow hallways and up fleets of stairs with a compact mirror and lipstick in hand; some gawking, some judging. Whereas San seems to freeze in shock upon opening the door, his glance bouncing off each patch of bare skin until it finally lands on your freshly-coated lips.

“Did Wooyoung get the dress code wrong—”

“—I’ll be quick! Just need to find something.” You’re welcoming yourself into the apartment, not finding the need to kick off your heels nor explain your costume predicament to someone you’re planning on kissing tonight. And San doesn’t seem to have a problem with you storming through a random drawer in his apartment for this imaginary item you’re going to have to quote on quote ‘find’ now.

It’s when you spot a pair of dumbbells that you’re able to shift the topic from finding Wooyoung’s item to something centred around the burly man in front of you. Curious hands reach to grab for the weights without realising just how heavy they actually are. “I heard you work out a lot but even in the apartmen—”

“Wait! —” A hand reaches to lift the heaviest fucking dumbbells you’ve ever held in your life from your palms, more comparable to a bench press than any of the child’s play weights you’ve been curling in your weekly Pilates workouts. San’s arm supports your waist to stop you from falling over your own measly heels.

“Careful, those are heavy…” His hand scratches the back of his head as you cough off your mistake sheepishly, trying to spin the situation in your favour as you turn to face him. “Is that how you got muscles like these?”

You run your gloved fingers up his arms to poke and stroke at his visible biceps, giggling a twee bit more exaggerated than usual while batting your eyelashes; effective in how he completely malfunctions on the spot and stutters here and there that you realise he’ll be an easy target.

After all, he doesn’t play off as hard to get when he’s fumbling over each syllable and rubbing the back of his neck, so how do you shut him up before he makes an even bigger fool of himself? Why a kiss of course!

Hands slot and find comfort around the broad of his neck, one slightly higher to cup at the chisel of his jaw as you lean in, lips ghosting over one another before he takes the initiative to lean in to your touch. Sweet strawberry stains his lips and coats them in the Chapstick under the tint, his tongue dabbling out to trace your teeth as he guides you gently towards the wall with a hand resting above your hip bone; dangerously low to the hem of your latex shorts.

He’s a damn good kisser you must admit, not rushed like any of the hormonal boys rushing to dip their hands into the panties of the campus belle. He takes his time in exploring the surface of the fat of your lips, each curve and dip as you smiled into the kiss embraced with the graze of his, large hands lowering to the small of your back before squeezing your ass lightly— causing you to moan into the kiss softly.

You detach yourself before you end up crossing the line of your mission tonight, a hand still cupped at his face before you lean in for the last time tonight to leave your kiss mark on the corner of his mouth; a small pout forming on his face when you hint you’re about to leave. A quick dig for the phone in your handbag ends up with you snapping a picture of the male trying to quietly sulk at the lack of action with your lipstick smudged all over his mouth. You tell him it’s because he looks adorable although it’s really just evidence for you to tick him off the kiss list before Yeonjun denies otherwise.

The edge of your heel is almost out of the door when you turn your head to apologise for leaving him on a half-hard note, one that you’ll revisit seeing the absolute size of him as he leans against the frame of his bedroom.

“Sorry San! Can’t be gone from the party for too long. Can you keep this a secret from Wooyoung that I came by nor did I find his item? Don’t want him to know I was busying myself with you instead of searching.” Winking in his direction seals his lips shut for good as he guides you outside of the apartment, your heels starting to feel wobbly after getting a taste of Choi San on your lips. Completely different to the smirk proudly displayed on your face as confident hands send the photo to Yeonjun, the image loading tauntingly into the chat that you reel in victory with when he chooses to leave you on read.

Fuming is what you’d expect to see on his face right now, and if he was that sore of a loser, or upset about a tie then he’d have probably sent everyone home by now. And while he doesn’t, Yeonjun who glances at your evidence of kissing your target puts on a front that he couldn’t care less— yet he catches himself in a salty mood for the rest of the night as he waivers Daniela off of him.

An ongoing party nonetheless, except without the host because the redhead’s guzzling down shots to keep him from lashing out; unsure why he’s so bothered about you competing with him in a silly challenge when this rivalry’s been a core fragment of your bond for years now. Jealous? God no, he’ll need a stronger drink to drown out that possibility. It’s merely just the rush of being tied with you in a competition he tells himself although the party starts to slowly die down when word gets around that the male’s mood isn’t improving at all.

So the city rocks in silence once more as taxis and chauffeurs flood in past the gates, the night coming to a different end for each of you as you squeal into your pillow while he locks himself into a guaranteed hangover tomorrow; preparing himself for the sea of rumours headed towards both of you once Daniela opens her mouth about what she saw on his phone tonight.

Which doesn’t take long because by the time it’s back to lectures on Monday you’ve treaded into an unwanted questionnaire about the new competition between you and the downright detestable Choi. Most of them meddling towards the storyline he was upset you kissed another guy while dating him, which you shut down instantly with a grossed expression to top it off and leave their investigations a cold case.

Yeonjun’s seemed to have kept the kiss list fairly secret as well when you approach his spot during lunch break, a begrudging smirk reluctantly lifted by his facial muscles out of self-pride but you could most definitely pick up on subtle changes to his emotions.

After years of dealing with an erratic Yeonjun you can identify faster than anyone when he’s feeling like shit, an observation you laugh at because it’s embedded into the small furrow of his brow whenever he speaks.

“Mind if I sit Soobin? I’ve got an itch to talk to your friend here today for some reason, possibly about the events of Saturday night.” Soobin shifts up the bench for you to squeeze in, a crowd of his friends dragging their ooos and aaahs immaturely when you lock eyes with the upset male.

“Liked the gift I sent you? Tick him off the list unless you want to pussy yourself out of this competition.”

“Don’t act like you’ve won over one boring kiss princess; we’re tied right now.” Yeonjun beckons Mingyu for another roll of gum, averting his eyes from your glimmering ones before he starts to feel unreasonably sour again now that you’ve kissed San.

“But surely a whole make out is ten times more impressive than a passionless peck for poor Daniela hm? Heard you made a scene pushing her off you last night, but you’ve got some loyal followers for the odds to be in your favour treating a girl like that.” You kick at his foot under the table which launches him into hissing and cursing at the sting, baring his clenched teeth in annoyance as you ruffled your hand into lovely Soobin’s hair.

“Consider yourself lucky anyone wants to kiss you, does anyone still want to bang you after that circus stunt you pulled off?” If anyone was going to ruin your moment of victory it for sure isn’t going to be Choi Yeonjun. And if he thinks your kisses are ‘circus stunts’ then he should be howling in entertainment when you harshly squeeze Soobin’s cheeks between two pinched fingers; sinking into his dimples perfectly when you guide his shy lips close towards yours to test the waters.

That short second of mutual agreement is urged by the uproar of cheers and loud commentating from Yeonjun’s circle as you indulge in a small kiss with the tall male to rile up your kiss-list competitor.

The both of you know that Soobin’s not on the list. But Yeonjun in particular struggles to hide his foul death glare he doesn’t know whether to aim at you or the hilariously flushed Soobin who suddenly word vomits incoherent words jumbled into sentences.

Spitting in his regular can of monster is the last taste of his own medicine you’ll offer him today, placing the can of dirtied liquid back in front of him which he can no longer enjoy nor fuel the stupid in his brain with.

“Tell me the wrong dress code again and I’ll make sure the next ‘party’ you’re invited to is a public castration instead fucker.” Your hand softly coos at your favourite of his friend group again before you’re on the way to Winter and Yves’ table knowing you’ve indefinitely won in some way today whether your rival admits it or not.

“Can I have that can? —”

“Fuck off, throw it in the trash Soobin.”

1—Choi Yeonjun will go all kinds of lengths to win, but you’ll go all kinds of lengths to outdo him.

2— Choi Yeonjun is unpredictable

Including his appearance at your parent’s 25 year anniversary as he swirls his own glass of champagne in a toast to your delighted father, who’s busy discussing the future of the Chois’ business to him as if he has any interest in taking over hotel chains for a living aside from the inheritance. You can already tell your father’s sent the redhead towards you for more ‘bonding time’ as he usually does despite not being able to hear the details of the conversation; the shit-eating grin on your kiss list rival’s face says it all.

“Miss me? The last time we saw each other I guess I did show off as a little weak, but until now you haven’t kissed anyone but San have you?” He sips his champagne with a topped up ego you’ve noticed with each prideful stride he had taken towards you. The event is due to end in an hour but one look into the crafty glint in his eye tells you he’s up to no good, and that’s enough to warrant you to had back upstairs to your room.

“I have priorities outside of this stupid kiss list unlike you.” Your hand guides him towards a more secluded place of the hall where you could be blessed with even the littlest moment of privacy from your mother’s preying eyes. “Woah love, if you drag me somewhere like this I might get the wrong idea.”

His hands feign innocence in the air to tease you; the same shit eating grin still plastered on his face despite the grimace seeping through your perfectly applied makeup. “You have got the wrong idea. Lower your voice when we’re discussing the kiss list will you? You know how my mother is.”

“Oh really?” Pockets ruffle with each search of his hands before he pulls out the folded kiss list and his phone— pressing down on a play button of some sort when an audio of girlish moans and shrieks blast loudly. Wet kissing noises of multiple mouths break the sound barrier with how close his phone was pressed to your ear as you shoved him away, spilling your pale drink on the silk of your dress in the process.

Panicked, you scan the room in case any of the guests happened to have heard the filthy audio as well. And while you find it easier to breathe noticing the commotion of the celebration drowned out the volume of the audio, the shock on your face is undoubtedly the best thing Yeonjun’s seen all week. Aside from the way your wet dress clings to your chest stickily, his gaze not leaving the damp of the fabric even once, that may possibly be the highlight of his month.

“Think you were all that kissing Soobin? While you were priding yourself over one valid kiss I managed to tick off an other two in one go,” you watch in shock as he unfolds the kiss list once more— Mina’s signature lip stick in his hands as he crosses her and Sakura out to join Daniela and San ridden in red.

“You didn’t. There’s no way that bitch would’ve kissed you back she hates anything to do with me! —”

“She was awfully desperate to get her hands on me when your brother’s girlfriend invited her to our snooker session, tell me princess— are you upset I kissed your ex best friend? Jealous even?”

This must be it. Choi Yeonjun trying to salvage his pride since he refuses to swallow it, trying to turn your gears by kissing Mina as a response to you kissing Soobin despite the circumstances being two polar opposites. And it works a charm for him because you’re seething with a hand ready to outlash any moment now.

Because you never cared about him kissing multiple girls at once including your ex best friend— you’ve done nastier and gave Taehyun a hickey at Yeonjun’s 19th birthday party when they had a fall out… you can still remember the death wish that had earnt you.

Though your fists clench at the replay of the audio in your head, biting down on your back teeth in anger when you envision the two men slobbering over what’s not even yours. But it’s not jealousy— you’re mature enough to understand it doesn’t matter, especially not when it comes to an idiot like Choi Yeonjun. Except you can’t blame your irritation on his smug expression. Nor can you wholeheartedly blame it on the fact he kissed two girls despite it being your counterargument for the upset and jealous allegations falling playfully from his tongue.

“I’m not jealous over you kissing Mina. I’m mad because you kissed two girls at once like some whore without telling me that was part of the rules. Playing dirty is childish Yeonjun— because I could have easily kissed Beomgyu and San at once.”

The male’s confident grin falters into an anger similar to yours for a reason he can’t verbalise at your words; crumpling the kiss list messily in his hands to shove it back into his suit pocket— as if he wanted you to be jealous, like your answer wasn’t what he was looking for.

“I’d hurry if I were you. I’ve got one target left and you’re still stuck with three.” With that he leaves you with an untouched glass of champagne still in your hands, eyes watching him merge with the large gathering as his words laid heavy on your shoulders.

It’s not the time to be overthinking every single emotion discovered and felt in that short conversation between you even if something in your dynamic has changed. He’s right to warn you that he’s dangerously close to winning and you’re not looking forward to scrubbing the floor he walks on like some lap dog for a whole year.

So you set your eyes onto the guitarist next, a challenge you’ll have to plan over exactly like San if you had any plans on catching up to a tie again.

Private practice rooms are occupied by all sorts of aspiring musicians in this department of the college. You’ve learnt to play a handful of instruments from a young age with the pestering of your parents— seen as a reason to boast and compete with other children rather than something for you to pursue. But you’ve never once walked into a practice room here on campus and hence you find yourself peeking in through the windows for a black hair male with a guitar; an almost impossible task since half the people in these rooms fit that description.

It would have been helpful if Yooyeon would’ve specified what times Jay would lock himself in these dull sound-proofed rooms, he ‘usually is there’ is far too vague for your liking if you were aiming on kissing him by today— if you can find him in the first place that is.

As you cross through into another hallway of practice rooms the riff of an electric guitar is barely audible in the mashup of leaked melodies from all the shut practice rooms combined. You take a sharp turn around the corner in your precisely styled outfit, a grey zip-up accentuated with a fur hood from some brand Yooyeon had recommended after seeing the guitarist frequent the store. An absolute power move if you wanted to be on his lips today according to her.

The guitar riff continues even as you walk up to the small room; empty and dull aside from the male too lost in the rhythm his fingers play without hesitation, like it’s second nature to him as his eyes close in concentration.

Knocking on the door slightly harsher than usual in case he couldn’t hear you over his guitar you peek through the glass panel of the door with expectant eyes. Jay was much taller than you had last seen him at one of the many dinners both your families were invited to; although to him this must be your first meeting from how he bares a confused expression upon opening the door.

“Can I help you?” His voice is husky and tired at first until he notices your familiar choice of clothing today, his voice immediately refreshing itself as he fixes his posture realising it’s from his favourite brand— or at least you hope it is judging from his reaction.

“I left something here yesterday…rosin for my violin, one of the expensive ones if you’ve seen it?” Hands clasp together with hope that he’ll let you in to the practice room for even a second to search for once again some imaginary rosin you need to find, the daunting possibility of being turned away slowly killing your confidence with each unanswered second.

“That’s strange I booked this room for the whole of yester—”

“I left it in those drawers some where I think! Also you’re really good at guitar, when did you learn to play?” The slip up in your version of events is quickly forgotten when you start searching in the drawers and try to make small talk with the male who watches you scavenge through piles of sheets and scores.

“A long time now, I started off with acoustic at first.”

Jay sits himself back on his stool with his guitar in hand and you can feel his suspicion arising when every drawer you open is just buttloads of scribbles on paper. And then and there you realise this must be a room only he practically lives in instead of some anyone can walk in room that you expected it to be.

“I must’ve got the wrong room sorry! But geez you’ve got a lot of sheet music in here; did you compose these by yourself?” The male hums in approval at your question, picking up a couple of sheets from his desk as he sets them on his stand.

“Wanna hear me play one of them?” Fell right into your hands Jay did as he picks his guitar up from the floor. You couldn’t give two shits about this mind blowing original performance you’re about to hear from him but you’ll have to play the role of acting interested in his music if you wanted him to kiss you back and not push you away in disgust for Yeonjun to laugh at later.

“Can I record the song? It’ll be nice to listen to on my way back!” Twinkling and batting your eyelashes is the easiest shortcut to these men you’ve found, and Jay’s no exception when he nods almost too excitedly as if you had asked him to headline a major gig or something.

The phone lays angled towards him instead of you as you hit the record button— the cue for him to start playing as he slides his fingers along the fingerboard, each note raw with emotion as his black hair rocks in sync with the tapping of his foot. Strings bend and vibrate under each precise and sharp pluck of his calloused fingers in a legato fashion, his strumming soulful and passionate enough to have you awestruck for a first.

Yeonjun had told you he was good at the guitar, but fuck— Jay’s more than real damn good at it, you’re still nodding your head to the rhythm of his composition moments after he ends the piece and unplugs the guitar which elicits a genuine laugh out of him.

“Thoughts on the small snippet?”

“That was insanity! No one told me we had such a talented guitarist here I’m upset now. What’s your name?” Without a word you pull out the spare seat from under the dusty keyboard in the room, seating yourself on it before he could show you out without a kiss and even more of a sore loser.

The male blushes at your compliments, a sudden bashfulness washing over him in crashing waves as his heart beat struggles to stay put with a woman in front of him, dressed in his idea of perfect taste and a shared interest in music…or so he thought. “It’s Jay.”

“Jay can you teach me to play something simple? I’ve always wanted to play the guitar.” You’re lying straight through your teeth that eventually shifts into a tight lipped smile as he places the guitar onto your lap, standing from behind you to manoeuvre your finger position as he talks you through each step of the process.

“First put your index on the first thread of the E string here, ring on the third A and pinky on the third D.” His words barely register in your head as he guides your hands down the neck, solely focusing your short-circuiting mind on the veins running down his hands and the plasters winded around his fingers; dirty images ruining your train of thought that you couldn’t help but indulge in as you bit down on your lip.

“I don’t think I’m fit for the guitar. Don’t worry about it.” Dragging the mission for too long will make it awkward to kiss if he ends up befriending you, so you cut it short and gesture him to sit on the empty stool he was sat on earlier— his legs most likely aching from standing up for so long. The disappointment on his face renders you a bit guilty but you don’t have all the time in the world to be taking a whole guitar lesson, not when Yeonjun’s got his eyes set on Bae.

“Giving up so easily? Guitar takes a lot of prac—”

“You’re really hot as a guitarist you know?” A finger twirls your hair in a lacklustre manner; flashing him a semi-forged sweet smile that strikes him weak in the knees and unsure of what to respond to your sudden outwardness. “And you’ve got really pretty lips I’m jealous seriously!” Your finger swipes at his lower lip to press down on the fat, watching as the guitarist stiffens on instinct and locks his eyes onto yours.

“You wouldn’t turn me down if I wanted a taste, would you?” To him you’re siren-like in each seductive drip to your voice as your finger drags along his angular jawline. Like some loser he stutters similarly to the staccato of his guitar, beyond red and sweaty at the palms as he shakes his head no; flushing even harder when you giggle softly and glide your thumb over his bobbing adam’s apple. “Mm, that’s what I like to see.”

Jay doesn’t know the gist of kissing exactly. He’s nervous to lean in but when he does his lips are naïve and messily try to match the movement of yours, meaning that you’d have to spread his lips apart with your thumb for him. Leaning in to take the lead of the kiss as you suck and gently bite on his upper lip, watching him squeeze his eyes shut in concentration through your half-lidded ones.

The guitarist runs his expert fingers lightly around your waist as you lean down to deepen the kiss— his soft pants not a sign for you to stop by any means, he’ll skip a much needed breath to lengthen the soft plush of your lips against his for even a second longer. The pink blush on his cheeks burning into bright red when you prod your tongue through the small gap between his teeth.

His tongue intertwines with each dip and curve of yours as you melt into the warmth of his mouth, the male’s confidence growing as he domineers with his tongue, pushing you back in the process until you stumble on your own feet. You slightly yelp into the kiss at the sudden change of position; your back flush against his hand as you sat with your knees bent on the carpeted floor, his other arm cups your face as he towers over you.

Not once does he attempt to break apart from your lips for a breather, he’s greedy for the taste of cherry wine on them and the feel of your soft skin against his palm. Fully lost in the bliss of the addictive synergy between you when he chases for another kiss that you have to push away gently in an attempt to let your lungs breathe properly.

You giggle at his eagerness and the hazy droop of his eyelids as he patiently waits for you to make up for all the air he had knocked from your lungs, a much softer edge to him than people would expect and you’d be a liar to say you didn’t find him hard to resist when he finally starts to feel shy at your cooing.

The red button is tapped again to end the video as you wave it in front of Jay, teasing him about recording the whole ordeal to which he shocks you when he asks for a copy of it— to gain experience he says, but you can tell from the score sheet slack over his jeans that that’s far from the truth.

“I accidentally got carried away I’m supposed to be meeting a friend right now for practice. But thanks for the guitar clip— and the kiss!” Because if he can lie about the boner he’s hiding then you can lie about your intentions and plans as you lazily wave him goodbye out the door. Not wasting anymore time in the practice room before you’re giddily speed-walking with your handbag slung around your shoulder and your phone in hand to trim down the multiple minute long video.

And hopefully the surprise you’re brewing for Yeonjun, who’s still yet to update you on any progress with Bae, is far more than satisfactory in the sense that he’s fuming the exact same as you were at the anniversary celebration.

Yeonjun’s minutes away from his scheduled hour at the gym when your message pings through his phone amidst thousands of others— coincidentally all from you as well. A notification from Instagram, messages, and hell you even decided to email him the same attachment; a 2 minute long video he knows will leave a bad aftertaste in his mouth yet he presses play without second thought.

You had kissed Jay in his designated practice room, and he just couldn’t let his hands off of you, could he? Yeonjun zooms in on every minute detail you yourself hadn’t even noticed; the video was too passionate, too real for his liking. It wasn’t some scummy kiss that he conjured with Mina and Sakura— you kissed him and guided him through it with a smile on your face as if he meant something deeper than just a target for some childish challenge. And you’ve never been that patient with anyone, you’ve never been patient with the redhead himself who slams his hands on the steering wheel, accidentally missing and honking in the middle of a parking lot instead.

“Fuck! —”

“—Holy shit what happened?!” An alarmed Taehyun sits up from his laying position in the backseat having rubbed his nose after his phone dropped on his face. The two of them had been parked here for a pre-workout smoke and rest when your spam of video evidence flooded in and irked something within the frustrated male who slumps in his seat.

“Asking me that is only going to make it worse, damn right you kissed her too.” The brunette in the backseat catches on immediately that he was pissed at you yet that doesn’t stop him from trying to sneak a look at Yeonjun’s phone; notification after notification of the same video he doesn’t replay, choosing to shut off his phone completely as if that would drown out his thoughts.

Is he pissed because he’s pent up? From what exactly? He’s never had any issue with sleeping around and soiling his image as one of the Chois. But since the beginning of the kiss list he hasn’t tried anything other than some kissing and mild touching, held back by something he couldn’t even comprehend and that’s the worst part of it.

Or is it because Bae’s shown no interest in kissing him at all this week. Each failed attempt of trying to take her out, and sweet talking what most girls would like to hear from his good for nothing mouth lingers in his head. As you cross off your targets one-by-one he’s stuck at a dead end with his large chance at victory slimming by the second. Although at some point he had hit clarity just like this, here in his car in some random parking lot after the anniversary celebration your parents held. He had come to terms that he was no longer upset at the idea of losing because he’d have to listen to your every word for a year, his poor mood was always inflicted by the thought of you kissing other men— and not yet him.

It was never jealousy to him. It was more than that. A thirst only you could quench and a high only you could give him; and he’s never been the type to be attached to anything, but just this once he’d like to be a bit greedier than he already is—with you.

“Bro…isn’t that the video of them kissing?” Taehyun’s hand stuck out the window snaps Yeonjun out of thought, pointed towards a billboard right outside of the gym of a short looped clip of the two of you making out to taunt him and topped with a small block of text in the corner. ‘One point to me Choi’

“Get out of the car go do your shit on your own.”

“Yeonjun what the fuck man?”

2 — Choi Yeonjun is unpredictable, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be either.

3 — Choi Yeonjun doesn’t like to play by the rules.

If you were asked how many times you have seen Beomgyu this week then you’d only be able to answer zero. Because all throughout the week the moment you caught sight of his scruffy black hair he would be dragged into the closest hallway by no other than his best friend, who’s chosen to give you the silent treatment now after all your messages.

And while him giving you some peace of mind by not being cocky twenty four seven and bragging directly into your face is a blessing in your books, it’s far more suffocating to see him act completely cold and snarky even with this whole rivalry thing going on.

By simply just guessing you assume he’s bothered about not getting any progress with Bae considering it’s been a good week and a half since he last updated you with Mina and Sakura. Whatever he’s having issues with won’t stop you from twisting the earring back of your ruby teardrops though, neither will his temporary tantrum ruin your date tonight with your target Beomgyu.

About an hour ago he called in to let you know he was there for the date already; better to arrive earlier than agreed than let him sleep through the whole date he’s been looking forwards to since forever. Considering this is his first time in a luxury suite like this, his first experience at one of the Chois’ grand hotels you happen to have exclusive access to thanks to a certain someone.

You tie the halter bikini top around your neck covered by an off shoulder shirt as you pack your folded towels and conditioner into a pleated bag, reapplying your lip gloss before leaving the penthouse for the 25 story hotel lined with exotic palm trees and sprinkler fountains decorated with stone-carved cherubs on its peaks. Yeonjun’s never had any problems with you visiting or using his privately owned hot-tub and pool steamed with essential oils imported from the middle east, so surely he wouldn’t mind you sneaking in an ecstatic Beomgyu who he cherishes so much.

Beomgyu for a start is hurriedly rushing towards you when you enter through the gold lined doors in a red robe offered by the hotel staff. Two fingers pinch at his nose to prevent any nose bleeds that could occur within the ten seconds that it takes you to unsheathe yourself of it, revealing the two piece viridian bikini that runs a size smaller than when you had lost worn it three years ago— now skin tight against your hips and chest.

“Did I keep you waiting?” You tread lightly down the steps into the steam of the heated pool, hand clutched in his as he guides you towards the railings near the deep end towards the hot tub with a head shaking no.

“N—no! It’s on me that I wanted to arrive early, I know you’re busy and all.” The poolside bar is stacked with cocktail glasses filled with Mojito and gold-flaked leaves Beomgyu had ordered beforehand, offering you one with a small blush on his face in hopes that you’ll like it which you gladly accept with an enticing smile.

Bubbles start to form at the surface of the water in the hot tub as you sit opposite to Beomgyu without breaking eye contact; your hand lightly grasping your mojito while you slick back a wet strand of hair from your face. “Nice, isn’t it? Usually I wouldn’t take you here on a first date but I have my reasons.”

The male gulps down his drink in a rush that burns at his throat as his mouth leaves the rim of the glass with a grunt as he reaches for another glass, suddenly raising a brow with a smirk trying to uncover the underlying meaning of your words as he manspreads a little wider to get comfortable. “Reasons?”

“I caught you staring in the car last time you drove me to San’s, you can stare all you’d like down here. Nothing to be ashamed of Gyu~”

Chokes and coughs spurt from his lips in shock as he places down the pricey cocktail glass hastily enough to shatter if he was unlucky, hands wavering in front of him as if that would clean him of his guilt. Eventually he calms down into a quiet sulk when he realises he can’t deny you catching him that night— and even worse, how disgustingly perverted that makes him seem for your first date together.

“Was it…that obvious?”

“Let’s leave it at you need to work on being discreet. Besides, why did you beg me to go on a date so bad? Something you wanna tell me?”

Beomgyu relaxes the tension in his muscles seeing that you weren’t angered by him by any means, running a hand through his damp hair to figure out what would flatter you the most.

“You’re really hot—”

“Anything else?”

“You’re really smart. And also really hot.” You deadpan at the straightforwardness of his answer. He doesn’t seem to think much outside of you being hot— though that’s not exactly a problem for you since you’re only here today to entertain him for a short while, for the kiss list that is.

Small talk comes naturally with Beomgyu, witty words fall from his lips before he can even register them and he’s managed to make you laugh at lest 20 times over the last 30 minutes; mainly spilling embarrassing stories about Yeonjun that he swore to keep secret. In short words, he’s funny and you can see why most people adore being in his presence so much and at the same time why he and your kiss-list rival get on so well too.

Both of you are on the verge of tipsy after two drinks, it’d be dangerous to drink yourself drunk and the alcohol on his breath you’d have to kiss if that were the case? Gross. You reach for the phone to pretend to check the time, making a quick excuse that you’ve already cut into some of your plans to stay a little longer with him to ease him up to the big kiss. Although really your hand swipes to the contact list, scrolling down to the name ‘dumbfuck’ before secretly giving him a call unbeknownst to Beomgyu.

“I’m sorry I’m so busy lately Gyu, I had a nice time, what a shame to cut it short… will you let me make it up to you?” Droplets of water drip down the soft canvas of your skin as you approach him, placing your phone on the tile behind his head before placing your hands on either side of his legs.

It’s not like you’ve never seen Beomgyu kiss before but with how his gaze is flitting between your eyes and chest to his trunks like some virgin makes you laugh, swallowing his spit animatedly to slow the butterflies in his stomach. “L-like what?”

“Like…a small kiss?” Your hand reaches to pluck the slice of lime neatly slotted on the rim of his cocktail, squeezing the juices onto your tongue before edging closer to his mouth as the liquid drips down the corner of yours when he connects your lips together. Sour sweetness pools in the saliva of your tongues as you lick along his lips again to revisit the taste of lime, humming and sucking on the dip in the middle of the plush fat for the remnants of mint from the mojito. He lazily kisses along your upper lip, moaning into the kiss when you straddle him and slide your hands along his bare chest, tilting your head to the side to welcome him deeper into your mouth.

The male pulls away from the kiss to whisper against your lips, too quiet to be heard over the fountains of dripping water but audible enough for Choi Yeonjun to listen in one. “You’re so beautiful in this bikini...” His eyes don’t break contact and neither does his forehead pressed against yours; hot breath steaming your faces as you panted in the small space between you before eventually pulling away for good.

“I’ll see you later, yeah? —”

“—What the fuck are you two doing?”

The breakthrough of Yeonjun’s voice sounds through your speaker. You’re surprised to hear that he stuck through the whole of the call and listened in whereas Beomgyu had thought someone entered the private room on accident, horror distressed in every strain of his widened eyes as he scans the heated pool.

Immediately you’re off his lap and reaching for your robe, tying it around as you hang up the phone spouting all sorts of angry questions from the redhead. “Oops! I must’ve slipped my hand contacting my driver! I really have to go now if I want to dry my hair— message me if you can’t drive back, I’ll book you a hotel room!”

Tonight your parents are supposed to be out of town preparing for a business trip overseas meaning that you have the entire penthouse to yourself. Unless Mingi got kicked out from his girlfriend’s place and happened to have moved back in with the rest of your family, which you doubt because she had just posted a story of them out for dinner.

Confusion riddles you further when you’re stopped in your tracks from kicking off your heels by an unfamiliar pair of shoes larger than the usual quirky trainers Mingi likes to wear. And guests without your parents’ prior notice are close to none, the maids would never let anyone unwarranted into the penthouse.

The walk through the complex is swarmed in a menacing quiet that unsettles you, each empty lounge soothing your heightened nerves that the shoes were coincidentally left at the doorstep on accident by your father and his large collection.

“Holy shit! What are you doing here?!” One turn into the lounge compact with the artificial fireplace reveals Yeonjun with his legs spread open and a head hung low— his expression unreadable but no doubt the most pissed you’ve ever seen him when usually his high ego cushions his anger. You tread lightly around the L-shaped couch to stand in front of him with your arms crossed, unamused that he’s trying to prolong the silent treatment again despite your stomach flipping in on itself seeing that he rushed over to the penthouse upon listening in on you and his best friend.

“Stop the kiss list.”

“What?” Your eyes flicker to search for any sincerity in his low gaze covered by the mess of his unbrushed red hair— he was in a hurry and didn’t even have time to care for his appearance, a new low for flashy Choi Yeonjun.

“As of right now this kiss list is no more. I’ll take the punishment so don’t kiss Minho—”

“Are you insane? This whole thing was your idea and now you of all people are giving up? Did something go wrong with Bae?…are you—jealous?”

“Exactly. I’m jealous you’re kissing other guys is that criminal?” Your jaw hangs speechless as you idly stand in front of him. His question is wrapped under a blanket of emotions you couldn’t distinguish; radiating both restricted anger and indescribable tension that could pass of as borderline lust with how he strips you of your clothes with his gaze alone.

“W-we’re not even dating— this is childish Yeonjun are you hearing yourself?”

“Don’t lie to me and say you weren’t jealous when I kissed Mina. If I played that audio again you’d be losing your fucking mind and we both know it— we just can’t put it into words.” This time you don’t want to argue with him, tired really of the silent treatment and full blown arguments than the usual pestering and bickering you’re used to. But also because you can’t argue with the truth you’ve been sucking in between shut teeth and blurring as simple ‘competitiveness.’ Because real rivals would be jealous over who kissed more people, not over each other kissing others.

“Fine, we’re both jealous. What does that matter to you?” You bite down on your lip hesitantly as he lifts up his head to press his back against the backrest of the cashmere couch, letting out a shriek when he suddenly holds you by the wrist to drag you into the small space between his spread legs. His breath is staggered and shaky as he leans his into your ear, mouth dangerously close as he fans each syllable with heated agitation.

“Tell me you want it.” His hand restrains your wrists to his sides making it difficult for you to escape his grip if you needed to, except you find yourself following his direction— your own built up jealousy transforming into taunts to see how far Choi Yeonjun would go. To see how long he’ll last beating around this bush that you’re ‘rivals’ who happen to hate each other’s guts and not an egoistic pair desperate to fuck.

“Want what—to kiss Minho? Going to stop me?” You pull back from his breath fanning in your ear to straddle him properly, nestling down on top of his crotch that rips a throaty grunt out of him as his hands fly towards the dip of your hips to keep them still. The maids are nowhere to be seen in the penthouse, probably an order from Yeonjun seeing that the only noises you can pick up on are the rustling of clothes and the heavy breathing shared between the both of you as he prepares to open his mouth again.

“Tell me you want me to fucking ruin you for everyone else. Tell me you’ll take my dick instead of running that loud mouth of yours.”

“Can you really fuck me that good Choi? I’ll let you try and ruin me, so are you going to put it to the test?”

His lips are zealous to chase after yours, no time to breathe between the end of your sentence and the interlock of the kiss as he roams his hands around your waist. He slides a warm hand under your shirt to roll his fingers over as he licks over your teeth before dragging his tongue back down your lips; needy and messy as he marks each crevice and curve of them to make up for the soiled kisses from your targets in the long forgotten kiss list.

The male’s quick to break away while you try to lean in for seconds, a hand slithering down from your waist to your back as he grips the flesh of your ass clad in tiny shorts that ride up with each fondle from his palm; moans loud and unrestrained as you grab onto his shoulders for support.

“One for Choi San.”

Yeonjun leans back in for your lips again, moving his in sync with every purse of yours perfectly like they were born to be connected through mutual lust as he bites down on the edge of your bottom lip, harsh enough to draw blood if he wanted. Nimble fingers glide up the smooth curve of your thighs as they tug on your shorts, wasting no time in ripping them off of you as he pushes in further to the kiss— tongue flat against yours before exploring the roof of your mouth only to drag himself away once again.

“One for Park Jongseong.”

The male switches from diving into the sultry heat of your mouth to peppering kisses along your jawline, licking over your lobe before dipping his head below to work down on your neck. At the same time he pulls down your set of black panties until they dropped and hooked around one of your ankles, strong hands lifting up your hips from the crotch of his sweatpants as he runs a finger down the slit of your dripping pussy— sticky fluid linked by thin strings coated all over his digits as you arch your back at the sensation.

He doesn’t hold back on biting down onto the soft and vulnerable skin, sharp stinging pain running through your blood as your clenched over each contact his index made with your clit, the hickeys on your neck only starting to form as he kisses over each creation. Drool pools down from his tongue and down your neck as he sloppily licks and kisses over each mark, his hands starting to merge into possessive territory when he slips two thick fingers inside of you at once.

“Mmh—fuck! Yeonjun take it slow—”

“And one for Choi Beomgyu,” His head dips to catch sight of how his fingers pummel into you, each pump leaving them more slicked than the last as you jolt at each press of his finger pads against the walls of your sopping cunt, “Such a slut letting him see you in one of those tight bikinis you own. Did that fucker do anything other than kiss you? Did he fuck you like I am right now?”

The pace of his fingers picks up speed out of spite as he imagines the hands of his best friend tainting what’s his. It sickens him to even think about what happened in that heated pool out of his sight. If Beomgyu really had his way with you then Yeonjun doesn’t think he can hold back from moulding your tight cunt to fit only his cock with the piston of his fingers forever.

“N-no! I wouldn’t think of it!” His fingers don’t halt their relentless pumping even if you tell him the truth, the impending orgasm creeping up on every hair of your body as you squirmed under his touch. The lewd scene of your pussy swallowing every inch of his fingers making your head spin as you leaned your head on his shoulder, the thrusting motion of his arm causing you to bob around as your moans continued to echo off each of the trophy and certificate filled walls and shelves of the lounge. “Hngh! Yeonjun don’t stop ‘m close!”

Uncontrollably you start to clench and grip around his fingers in an attempt to chase your orgasm— until you’re clenching around nothing but thin air, your eyes shooting back open in surprise as you whine at the loss of contact.

“W-wha…I was about to cum you jerk!”

“Don’t think you’ve earned it yet; you want me to show you how good of a fuck I can be? I’ll make you cum so hard on my dick and stretch you out so fucking good you won’t be able to run to any of those men you kissed— hell you won’t be able to run to anyone but me.”

You can’t tell if you’re whimpering over the lost orgasm or his dirty words that he says vulgarly with whole hearted adamance, his hands having completely left your skin while you paw at him for even a slither of touch. His grin only widens when he sees how helpless you look sat on top of him with near tears in your eyes. You can barely let out a couple of cusses towards him before your orgasm starts to slip away back into untreated need, not enjoying how the male happens to have control when you’re the supposed winner of the kiss list.

So you instinctively lift up his tight fitted shirt to reveal the rigid muscle lining down the centre of his abdomen, and also the double sided bulb of the piercings through both of his nipples. You had heard humours that he had them pierced but never asked for nor saw any concrete evidence of them until now, licking over you lips as you shift your focus onto Yeonjun who bites down on his.

“So you really got them pierced…”

“Yeah. Don’t like them?” His head cocks to the side in a questioning manner but quickly shoots back into place when you tease around the sensitive mound, dragging your tongue over the bud to taste the cold metal as you moan around it. Your hand reach to pinch at the other perked nipple as you roll the bud between your fingers, his head swings back in pleasure as his thighs flex beneath you in an attempt to restrain his own squirms.

“W-wait fuck, they’re sensitive still don’t ack! be gentle with them—” Your swirl your tongue teasingly around the piercing before gently biting and tugging at the skin around his nipple, watching him lurch and stammer over whatever cocky words he was about to retaliate with amusedly.

You continue to suck around the soft flesh as you pull down his sweats and boxers in one go. A glob of precum stretches from his damp underwear to his tip before snapping when his cock flings straight against his stomach; hard and flushed red in a complementary shade to his bold hair.

“I don’t need you to fuck me good— I can ride you until both of us are spasming, Choi”

The male seems to enjoy your taunts with how his cock twitches excitedly in your hand, a couple of lazy pumps lubed with your spit as you line him up to your entrance. When you first sink down the whole of his tip you’re already trembling at the stretch, you had thought you’d be able to take on a challenge dealing with his size but the struggle catches your breath as you attempt to adjust yourself to him.

Yeonjun’s no different as he pokes his tongue at the inside of his mouth, his eyes squeezing shut while he relishes in the tight fit of your pussy as it squelches erotically with each inch of him that you envelop.

“S-shit baby, think you can handle me? Aren’t you getting too confident now? Or what— did San teach you how to take cock?” The male is shut up by the soft plush of your lips against his once more as you start to ride him slowly, the stretch becoming easier to bear as your juices drip down your thighs and onto the cashmere you so deeply protected from his shoes a couple weeks prior.

“Keep quiet and let me take the lead.” The lift of your hips is subsequently followed by the slam of them as you steady yourself on his shoulders again, the prod of his tip bulging through every drag of the lining of your walls. His own hips bucking upwards to meet yours half way as he groans your name; abs flexing when you squeeze his cheeks in your hand to pry his mouth open, spit landing on his outstretched tongue and drooling down the side in the process.

The redhead swallows it without a problem— even going as far as to tug on your waist for more until he finds the urge to retrace the hickeys painted all over your collarbone and neck. Soft purples and reds that burn under his hot breath, a means of marking what belongs to him and him only as he reaches up for your breasts to grope them in the comfort of his palm.

You alternate between rocking your hips and bouncing on top of his cock which all nonetheless ends up with you whining in harmony with his obscenely loud moans that would drive your mother up the wall if she had heard them from outside the penthouse door. He’s deliciously thick inside of your cunt that clenches with each dragging moan from the pretty pout of his lips as he slowly melts further into your touch; satiating the need for him you’ve been hiding since you started straying from your parents’ warnings. Since you started lusting for him silently each time he’d poke fun at you for when your skirt was far too short for your mother’s liking, and when he’d randomly show up to your home shirtless with your brother’s arm around his shoulder after basketball practice.

“Fuck, this whole time you’ve been walking around me with such a tight pussy like this. Should’ve fucked you earlier to knock some real sense into you before you started slutting yourself out to those men.”

Yeonjun starts to nestle his hips closer to yours when he notices you tremble and shake when he brushes his hand teasingly down to your clit you swat his hand away from. “I-I can handle it myself Jun…ngh!”

The long awaited orgasm approaches you slowly as you tangle your fingers and clasp onto his red hair, squeezing your eyes shut when your stomach starts to tighten with want.

“Shit! S’ good fucking love your cock mmh!” The final push is his thumb pressing down on your clit again that triggers the release of your pulsing cunt as you shake from the intensity of the pleasure that washes over you. Your body falling limp but having enough energy to carry yourself off of him— a confused Yeonjun tilting his head because he hasn’t cum yet, but he was real close with how his cock twitches at the cold breeze of air conditioning that hits him instead of the warmth embrace of your hole.

“Princess are you going to leave me hanging?” At the end of the sentence his voice lifts into somewhat of a whine as he bucks his hips into thin air. Confused and bothered he’s quick to tug on your arm to beg to dive right back into your pussy he’s fallen in love with today. And you’re aware he’s spent all of his energy trying to please you while he’s been begging for release for ages— but you want payback from earlier, a little challenge for Choi Yeonjun to bear for the next couple of minutes.

“You’re forgetting that you kissed Mina Myoi too. I don’t think you deserve to cum so soon either Choi.” Shock embeds itself on his face as he raises his brows with chilled laughter falling from his lips that quickly shifts into a loud hiss when you press your thumb against the slit of his tip.

You twist and tug at the bulbous head repeatedly as it twitches excitedly in your hand, whines cascading from his lips like a memorised prayer when you trickle your fingers lightly down the base of his cock; feathery and teasing.

“T-that’s it baby keep doing that— I-I’m really close.” Though when you pick up on how his entire body tenses from his shoulders to his thighs you retract your hand with a gleeful laugh as his face immediately drops and his teeth unclench in disappointment. The cutest pout forming on his lips that you’d usually despise when you see him open his mouth; he’s much prettier quiet and desperate, powerless at your fingertips.

“Not so soon Yeonjun, I won the kiss list. That means I get to choose when you cum.”

After multiple rounds of teasing his throbbing dick and eliciting the softest mewls and moans from his mouth by a couple flicks to his sensitive nipples decorated with steel piercings. And you’ve got him in the exact state you wanted— a watered down version of the cocky Yeonjun who now slumps against the couch with a permanent pout on his face as his dick leaks with need for release.

“Do you think you deserve to cum now Choi? You look so helpless right now I can’t not feel bad~” The male looks up at you pitifully before nodding yes, his hands already reaching to tie around your waist.

“I lost the kiss list so please— let me cum inside of you baby that’s all I’m asking for.” And when he gives into you so easily with a mind entirely clouded with his pleading dick you just have to pity him as you sheathe yourself back inside.

The moment he gets a feel of bliss once more Yeonjun doesn’t hold back in spilling milky ropes of his cum inside of you; a thick load from how long you’ve been holding back his release as he groans into your shoulder; a series of babble that leaves his mouth mindlessly as he fills you up.

“Fuckkk…no one…else gets to fill you up like this. Pretty pussy not for Beomgyu or Jay, only for me right? From now on only I get fuck you, I know what feels best for you baby, god…look at the way my cum’s spilling out of you— don’t want it to go to waste do we?”

“Cut the talk once you’re done fucking your cum back inside of me, I want a talk with you later Yeonjun.”

3 — Choi Yeonjun doesn’t like to play by the rules, but you can tame him pretty easily.

The doorbell rings multiple times with impatience as you fasten the strap of your heel before opening the door to a bashful Yeonjun— despite the cockiness still visible in his pristine outfit. A bouquet of roses neatly arranged by professionals and void of any blemishes or variegated leaves are proposed in front of you as he coughs nervously; he’s must’ve never gone all out for a woman before on a date, but with you he’ll learn to.

“You said the loser does whatever right?”

“Yeah, guess I did.” Yeonjun groans at the recall of you asking him to help sort out your mess of a closet last week, pinching at his temples already as he prepares to fold your laundry or something along those lines. But he’s pleasantly proven wrong when you tilt his chin up lightly with your freshly done nails and welcome him with a sweet smile instead of a grimace this time.

“Kiss me then, and not for some stupid competition this time.”

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sunsetpossum · 5 days ago

Text

Kiss List !! 💋

── .✦ pairing: c.yj x reader

╰┈➤MDNI - NSFW content ahead...

…or in simple words…ʀɪᴠᴀʟ!ʏᴇᴏɴᴊᴜɴ x ʀɪᴠᴀʟ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᝰ.ᐟ wc - 14.7k

“This is?—“

“You’re telling me you want to compete over who can kiss more people faster? That’s obviously biased in your favour Choi.”

“For fun. I added a little someone to balance it out.” His tapped finger lands on a photo of Mina Myoi— a good fucking photo as well, if only she weren’t your backstabbing ex best friend.

“You wouldn’t.” A sharp nail glides along the vulnerable paper of the photo leaving a white scratch mark down her face which you grin at.

“Jealous? She’s been begging to get a taste of me since you introduced us.”

“Not when I’m playing this game of yours too, Choi, don’t get too cocky.”

1 — Choi Yeonjun will go all kinds of lengths to win.

“How did you know..the colour?” He had wiped his false tears away with a finger yet when you ask him the anything but absurd question it truly triggers real tears of amusement to form.

“Fuck you Choi Yeonjun —”

“Oh—and spoiler alert the Imogen girl dies in that book.”

“I’d fuck her.”

“That’s not the first time I’ve heard it Daniela, I’d fuck her too.”

“Not enjoying the party? This is the first time you’ve voluntarily called me you know.”

“Hello?”

“Ah it’s probably his power bank, no worries come on up.”

“Did Wooyoung get the dress code wrong—”

“Liked the gift I sent you? Tick him off the list unless you want to pussy yourself out of this competition.”

“Can I have that can? —”

“Fuck off, throw it in the trash Soobin.”

1—Choi Yeonjun will go all kinds of lengths to win, but you’ll go all kinds of lengths to outdo him.

2— Choi Yeonjun is unpredictable

“You didn’t. There’s no way that bitch would’ve kissed you back she hates anything to do with me! —”

So you set your eyes onto the guitarist next, a challenge you’ll have to plan over exactly like San if you had any plans on catching up to a tie again.

“That’s strange I booked this room for the whole of yester—”

“A long time now, I started off with acoustic at first.”

“Thoughts on the small snippet?”

“Giving up so easily? Guitar takes a lot of prac—”

“Fuck! —”

“Get out of the car go do your shit on your own.”

“Yeonjun what the fuck man?”

2 — Choi Yeonjun is unpredictable, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be either.

3 — Choi Yeonjun doesn’t like to play by the rules.

“I caught you staring in the car last time you drove me to San’s, you can stare all you’d like down here. Nothing to be ashamed of Gyu~”

“Was it…that obvious?”

“Let’s leave it at you need to work on being discreet. Besides, why did you beg me to go on a date so bad? Something you wanna tell me?”

Beomgyu relaxes the tension in his muscles seeing that you weren’t angered by him by any means, running a hand through his damp hair to figure out what would flatter you the most.

“You’re really hot—”

“Anything else?”

“I’ll see you later, yeah? —”

“—What the fuck are you two doing?”

“Stop the kiss list.”

“As of right now this kiss list is no more. I’ll take the punishment so don’t kiss Minho—”

“Are you insane? This whole thing was your idea and now you of all people are giving up? Did something go wrong with Bae?…are you—jealous?”

“W-we’re not even dating— this is childish Yeonjun are you hearing yourself?”

“Tell me you want me to fucking ruin you for everyone else. Tell me you’ll take my dick instead of running that loud mouth of yours.”

“Can you really fuck me that good Choi? I’ll let you try and ruin me, so are you going to put it to the test?”

“One for Choi San.”

“One for Park Jongseong.”

“Mmh—fuck! Yeonjun take it slow—”

“W-wha…I was about to cum you jerk!”

“So you really got them pierced…”

“I don’t need you to fuck me good— I can ride you until both of us are spasming, Choi”

The long awaited orgasm approaches you slowly as you tangle your fingers and clasp onto his red hair, squeezing your eyes shut when your stomach starts to tighten with want.

“Not so soon Yeonjun, I won the kiss list. That means I get to choose when you cum.”

“Cut the talk once you’re done fucking your cum back inside of me, I want a talk with you later Yeonjun.”

3 — Choi Yeonjun doesn’t like to play by the rules, but you can tame him pretty easily.

“You said the loser does whatever right?”

“Kiss me then, and not for some stupid competition this time.”

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sunsetpossum · 5 days ago

Text

WHERE HE CAN'T REACH ❥ 강태현, 최수빈

⋆·˚ ༘ * taehyun knew what you were to soobin: off-limits. boundaries were supposed to protect what you all had. but when affection starts to feel like ownership, and longing begins to look a lot like love, taehyun’s desire becomes the loudest betrayal of all.

pairing: taehyun x reader x soobin ✮⋆˙✐ 9.3k

warnings: f!reader, smut with plot, jealousy, toxic best friend soobin, possessive soobin, taehyun's in love, reader favors taehyun, roommates, alcohol consumption, hidden feelings, no mxm, voyerism, dom!soobin, switch!taehyun, sub!reader, eiffel tower, oral (f & m rec.)

˚₊ · »-♡→ masterlist

Soobin saw it in the way your eyes followed Taehyun across the room. The way you sighed dreamily, drinking in every inch of him—it was unmistakable.

You thought you were being discreet with your longing stares, only to have Soobin force your attention back to him with a tug on your waist.

Soobin was your childhood best friend. Connected at the hip for as long as you could remember. Every major life event, every core memory, every milestone. Soobin was there, as you were for him.

He had always been quite... territorial about you. And he couldn't tell when the feeling crept up on him.

Maybe it was the first time you cuddled during a movie as adults. Maybe it was the first time you changed your clothes in front of him in college, not thinking much of it since you took baths together as children. Or was it that day he finally had the chance to taste you, drunk and sloppy after a night out?

Or maybe—just maybe—it was when Kang Taehyun stepped into the picture.

Soobin had known Taehyun first, of course. Their friendship formed almost instantly when they ended up sharing the same schedule in college. Naturally, it wasn’t long before Soobin introduced you, his childhood best friend, to the person who had quickly become his closest friend at school. How could he not?

Soobin didn't regret many things in his life. But watching the way your eyes locked with Taehyun's as you spoke each other's names for the first time? That made him wish he could go back in time.

It wasn’t always bad, though. The three of you had once been inseparable, a tight-knit trio that stayed together well beyond college. You even became roommates as you stepped into your busy adult lives. On paper, it was the kind of perfect setup anyone would envy.

Until the year stretched on, and lines began blurring more by the day.

First, it was Soobin coming home from work later than usual, only to find you and Taehyun cooking dinner together and laughing a bit too softly. Not to mention the abrupt end to the laughter once he closed the door behind him.

Then it was Taehyun waiting up for you when you were out late, pretending like it was a casual concern, nothing more.

The worst one to date was you falling asleep on the couch during your typical Friday movie nights. Except your head conveniently rested in Taehyun's lap, not Soobin's like you had done for years.

Soobin couldn’t help but crave your attention. It wasn’t because he wanted you. Not in any real, romantic way at least. It was just that you’d always been his to have around. His constant.

You were supposed to be his. You were supposed to go to him when things were hard. Go to him when you were needy late at night. Trust him with any and everything. Cuddle him, cherish him, love him. Only him.

Yet there went your fucking eyes scaling Taehyun as he walked past the TV and into the kitchen without a care in the world.

You knew exactly how Soobin felt when it came to you. You’d known for a while at this point. But part of you had hoped it would fade—that if you stayed close, stayed safe, you wouldn’t have to hurt him.

Across the room, Taehyun wasn’t stupid.

He felt your eyes on him. He wanted to look back, to match the desire in your stare. But he knew one glance at you would earn him a reprimanding glare from Soobin.

It was no secret how close you and Soobin were. One thing about Taehyun—he notices everything.

He saw how Soobin's hands always managed to find your waist. How your head tilts toward him during conversations. Even now, with your legs swung over Soobin's lap as you settled in for your movie night.

But of course you were close. You were childhood friends, for crying out loud. Your relationship was something sacred. Something off-limits to Taehyun.

It was never said out loud, but you were Soobin's. And Taehyun wasn't the type to steal.

Taehyun had become quite good at playing it cool with you. But his patience would easily wear thin when you laugh too hard at his jokes. When your hand lingers too long on his forearm. When you fall asleep next to him on the couch, Soobin nowhere in sight, and your breath brushing his neck.

And he couldn't do a single thing about it. Not when Soobin set his boundaries so clearly. So instead, he's gotten so used to burying it.

I can live like this, Taehyun would try to convince himself. Stay the third. The extra. It's better than risking the whole trio.

At least until tonight.

Taehyun found his way back to the living room after retrieving the half-empty bottle of wine from the kitchen. A movie night wasn't complete without a few shared drinks.

Topping off both yours and Soobin's glasses, he put the bottle down and settled back on the couch beside you, pretending not to look.

But now it's Soobin's stare that catches Taehyun's attention. He suddenly couldn't take his eyes off the younger boy beside you.

With some liquid courage, Soobin sucked in a breath. Fuck it.

"You want her, don't you?" Soobin muses, his grip on your shin tightening. Your body goes stiff under his touch.

Taehyun’s throat dries. Because he’s wanted you for so long, he forgot what not-wanting feels like.

He glances at you, still frozen, then back at Soobin. "Excuse me?" is all he manages.

A scoff emits from Soobin's throat. He watches you, but speaks to Taehyun. "Don't act dumb. I see the way you eye fuck each other across the room every chance you get."

Your heart drops into your stomach. You swallow hard, pulse ticking behind your ears. “Soobin… what are you doing?” you ask cautiously.

"Giving you what you both want."

Taehyun doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t leave either. His silence screams.

That’s when Soobin smiles. Not cruel or mocking, just curious. Possessive. "Maybe I should see what happens when I share. Just once."

You blink as if trying to reset what you just heard. Your brain floods with static, but underneath it… there’s intrigue. You hate how your breath hitches. Hate that he’s not wrong.

For a moment, you don’t speak. Not because you don’t want this, but because you do. Because this is the kind of thing that changes everything.

Slowly, you turn your head. Taehyun won’t even look at you. His jaw is locked, throat bobbing, fists clenched in his lap. His silence is louder than any yes.

“This feels like a game to you,” you finally say.

"Maybe it is." He nods his chin over at Taehyun. "But he's the one who's losing."

Taehyun's jaw tightens, the first time he's moved since Soobin's outburst. What was he to do? He's been in love with you for years. But he didn't want you like this. Not as some power play. And certainly not as Soobin’s dare.

"Taehyun?" You whisper, exchanging silent words that Soobin can't decipher, and he hates the secret language you two share.

Taehyun felt like he was being set up. Like Soobin was daring him to cross a line. To see how much pride he’d swallow.

If this was the only way he could have you, even for one night, then so be it. He’d give Soobin a fucking show.

“Don’t think this is about you,” Taehyun breaks his silence, eyes never leaving you. “She’s the only reason I’m still sitting here.”

Soobin hums in content. The words sting, but Taehyun is still submitting. That’s a win in his eyes.

Your name lingers in your ears. Then you feel Soobin’s large hand gripping your chin, guiding your gaze back to him. "If you want this," his voice is calm yet commanding. "I need you to stand up. Right now."

You want so badly to look back at Taehyun, to check if his eyes still burn for you. But Soobin's grip keeps you locked on him. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for your decision.

Before fear can catch up with you, you're straightening your shoulders and swinging your legs off Soobin's lap. Now you're standing directly in front of the two men on the couch. Just waiting.

After watching you for a moment, Soobin slowly stands with you. To your surprise, he laces his fingers with Taehyun's, who is still sitting on the couch, pulling him to his feet.

Soobin bends down to pick up both yours and Taehyun's wine glasses. You take yours from his hands without question. After an intense exchange of eye contact, Taehyun finally takes his glass—a reluctant agreement.

Eventually, Soobin picks up his own. "Finish it," he commands, tilting his head back first, downing the dry red liquid. He sets his glass down, staring back at Taehyun. "Hope you can take direction as well as you talk back."

The gravity of the situation was beginning to strike you. You could only hear the sound of your own heartbeat, all the nerves and excitement beginning to pile up. Staring down at the red wine in your glass, you debate whether it's too late to turn back.

It's the second thud of glass hitting the table that brings you back. Taehyun had finished his drink. He was in. Your chest tightens as you lift your eyes to find him already looking at you, steady and unflinching.

Here's goes nothing. Finishing your wine, Soobin is quick to set your glass down for you. He takes your hand in his.

You glance back at Taehyun before Soobin pulls you away, leading you all the way to his bedroom. The two of you follow him closely behind, unspoken consent hanging in the air.

Taehyun rolls his eyes once Soobin turns his back. Of course he picked his own bedroom. It was a deliberate move. A silent dig at Taehyun that he was meant to swallow.

Now the door is shut behind all three of you. The room is buzzing with a new energy, and you almost don't know what to do with yourself. Nobody speaks right away.

Soobin moves first. His large hand presses firmly against Taehyun's chest, guiding him toward the bed. You couldn't quite grasp the dark look they exchanged, but it made your breath catch. "Sit down," he gently commands.

With slight hesitation, Taehyun takes a comfortable seat on the edge of Soobin's bed. Excitement bubbles inside Taehyun, watching you stand so helplessly in the middle of the room. He notices the way you bite the inside of your cheek, a common nervous habit of yours.

The excitement is quick to fade, though, as Soobin slowly circles you, stopping directly behind your body.

"Stand still for me," he directs you this time, pulling your shirt over your head and discarding it onto the floor. "Let him see you like this."

Your lips part in a quiet gasp when Soobin presses himself against your back. He gathers your hair in a ponytail, craning your neck to the side. Suddenly, he begins pressing soft kisses to the warm flesh.

Your eyes flutter closed. The feeling of Soobin's lips was too good not to bask in. Especially as his hands began searching your body. Light grips of your hips and thighs became overwhelming. Soobin had always been greedy when it came to you, and this was no different.

A gentle moan escaped your lips as Soobin's hand settled between your legs. He cups you over your pajama shorts, firm and in just the right place.

Taehyun wonders what he did in his past life to deserve such torture.

It pained him to see you crumpling in Soobin's hands. But watching the way your needy hips leaned in the touch, almost begging for more, had Taehyun tightening in his pants more than he'd like to admit.

Your eyes flutter open, Soobin still moving behind you. “He’s j-just watching us,” you stutter. Across from you, Taehyun’s hands grip his knees, knuckles gone white.

"Good. That means he's learning." Soobin simply responds.

His assault against your skin continues, biting down on the junction of your shoulder and neck. His eyes stayed trained on Taehyun as he did so, predatory and teasing.

Taehyun can't stay silent for much longer. "What do you want me to do?" He's desperate at this point, dying for Soobin to instruct him.

The question delights Soobin. He smiles against your skin at Taehyun's obedience. "You'll know when I tell you." Soobin removes his hand from between your legs, and you whine at the loss of contact. The noise alone has Taehyun twitching where he sits. "See? He can follow directions."

"And what if I want to direct him instead?"

"Then I'll listen," Taehyun answers you quickly, round boba eyes filled with need as he stares at you. His eyes are fixed on your lacy bra, trying hard to ignore the way Soobin's long fingers trace circles over your nipples through the undergarment. The action pulls more whimpers from you.

God, Soobin had you right under his fingertips. Literally. It's all he's wanted to experience again for a while. And having Taehyun as his witness? He felt as if he'd already won.

"Not yet. He only gets what I give him." Soobin is firm in his stance, keeping his focus on your pleasure. "And right now, I want him to see what it looks like when you start to fall apart.

You don’t get a second to brace yourself before Soobin’s hand slips into your shorts, a finger pushing inside you without warning. “Damn, you’re already soaked for us,” he mutters, emphasizing the word us.

Your legs nearly give out, and your arm shoots back, hooking around Soobin’s neck just to stay upright.

But it’s not him you’re thinking about.

You can’t stop your eyes from drifting to Taehyun, guilt blooming in your chest. Every curl of Soobin’s fingers threatens to drag a name from your lips, and it’s not his. You bite your tongue, swallowing Taehyun’s name like a secret, praying he knows these moans are meant for him.

Cursing silently at the situation he could no longer escape, Taehyun gave in—pulling off his shirt and running a hand down over the front of his sweats, desperate for any kind of relief.

It was the most he could do right now, closing his eyes and pretending those moans were coming from beneath him instead. “Fuck,” he groaned, voice shaky. The effect you had on Taehyun bordered on inhuman.

Your eyes ogled over Taehyun's bare torso. You traced every mole, every dip and curve of his abs with your gaze like you’d been starved of him. Soobin noticed your reaction before Taehyun did. His fingers slipped out of you without warning.

"Go on," Soobin says, almost too kindly, peeling off your shorts. He hooks a finger into your underwear, pulling and snapping the fabric against your skin. You yelp, and he’s already hard just seeing you like this, in almost nothing, in front of them both. Taehyun hates how easily Soobin plays with you.

"Give him some attention. He’s earned it. Right, pretty girl?" You nod, breathless.

Although Soobin hates how eagerly you stride toward Taehyun, he lets you. He wants to see how you act when he allows the other boy access to you. This is exactly what he wanted.

Soobin follows close behind you, ridding himself of his own shirt in the process. The wine had made him bold and dizzy. Without thinking, Soobin presses his hand against the small of your back, almost guiding you into Taehyun's lap.

A low groan leaves Taehyun's throat at the mere sight of you on top of him. When you fully settle into his lap, he's already hissing, grappling with the chains of his own self-control.

For fuck's sake, Taehyun didn't know what to look at or where to touch you. He'd imagined this scenario more times than he could count. But seeing how perfect you were on top of him, it was incomparable to any made-up fantasy. His hands skimmed your sides with uncertainty.

If he let himself fully touch you how he wanted, he worried he would never be able to let go.

Taehyun was keenly aware of Soobin's eyes on you both. The older boy had made his way to bed as well, settling in right behind Taehyun.

The filthy grind of your hips pulls Taehyun's attention back to you. His hands fly to your sides, steadying you, slowing you down.

You understand—he wants this to start slow. He wants to savor you, in case this is the last time. Your eyes lock, the silent language between you growing louder than words.

Your head spins watching Taehyun all fucked out from such simple movements. You hope he knows how long you've been wanting this, too. "You look so perfect," Taehyun sighs longingly.

Taehyun’s arms wrap around your waist, subtle but defiant, as he stares up at you. He starts moving with you, his hips syncing to your rhythm.

His eyes stay on yours, mouth parted, already imagining the way you’d feel wrapped tight around him in this position—how you’d sound moaning his name.

What an unfortunate situation this was.

Without thinking, you lean in, ready to finally press the tender kiss to Taehyun’s lips. The one thing you’ve been aching to give him for what feels like forever.

But before your mouths can meet, your eyes fly open. A large hand grips your face, squeezing your cheeks tightly.

It’s Soobin.

He’s reached around Taehyun’s body, fingers firm on your jaw, his chin resting casually on Taehyun’s shoulder like it’s nothing. Like this isn’t the most intimate moment of your life.

Soobin wasn’t content with how effortlessly in sync you and Taehyun were. It unsettled him more than he thought it would. The quiet intimacy, something he’d never shared with you, was too much to ignore.

So he did the only thing he could think of to stop it. He forced space between you, a silent command to hold off.

"You don't get that part until I say so." Soobin chastises you both.

"Soobin, please," you beg. He hates how he could rarely say no to you. Not when you look at him like that. But he needed to retain his control.

A short sigh leaves his chest. "Taehyun, would you like to feel her lips somewhere else?"

Taehyun doesn't speak. He looks to you first, like he always has and will, for any sort of consent. Of course he wants that. He would be a fool to say no. But he can't give in too willingly. Not when this was Soobin's game.

Carefully, he nods, side-eyeing Soobin, whose face was inches from his own.

Soobin hums beside him, chin still resting on Taehyun’s shoulder as his hand slips from your face. “Alright. He’s been good enough. Go ahead, baby. Show him how sweet you can be.”

Your stomach twists with anticipation, heat pooling between your legs. You don’t need to be told twice. Crawling down Taehyun's body feels natural, like instinct.

You don’t dare look at Soobin as you move, but you feel the heat of his palm pressed on your shoulder, guiding you down, allowing you.

Taehyun’s whole body tightens watching you. His hands fist into the sheets. He doesn’t move—he can’t. Not with you between his legs and definitely not with Soobin's admittedly distracting breath against his neck.

You’ve both waited for this moment, dreamed about it in secret. But now that it’s real, his throat feels tight, like breathing too deeply might ruin everything.

When you kiss just above the waistband of his sweats, he exhales a curse. “Shit…”

He doesn’t touch you when you're like this. He wouldn’t dare, not without Soobin’s permission. But every fiber of his being aches to cup your face, to thread his fingers through your hair, to keep you there.

You tug his waistband down slowly, your hands trembling just slightly. He’s already so hard and leaking. He’s beautiful. How long have I wanted this? For a second, you worry that you’re both toeing the line of something you might not come back from.

“Look at him,” Soobin says from the bed, voice low and amused. “He’s barely holding it together.”

You glance up through your lashes. Taehyun’s head is thrown back against Soobin's shoulder, lip bitten and brows drawn in tight concentration. But then his gaze drops to meet yours, and suddenly he looks wrecked. There’s so much raw emotion layered into that look. So when you finally wrap your mouth around him, you feel him break.

His back arches, his hips twitch, but he still doesn’t thrust. He moans loudly and unfiltered, like the sound was dragged from his chest against his will.

You never thought giving a man head could be so pleasurable until now. You felt almost determined to take all that you could, hand wrapping around the base. Your cheeks hollowed, and your tongue slowly worked against him, dragging over every curve and vein.

He sounded so pretty above you, and all you wanted was for him to touch you. Your hair, your face, your neck, anything to prove he was really here with you.

But one glance at Soobin’s watchful expression told you everything. Taehyun was doing the most he could, trapped by the rules of this game.

He was holding himself back so much that if Soobin gave him even the slightest permission, he’d have you pressed into the mattress in no time.

Lost in thought and mindless pleasure, Taehyun accidentally thrusts up into your mouth, forcing a heavy gag from your throat.

“Oh my god…” his breath shudders, followed by your name. As if it were the only word he remembers.

The sound of his voice sends something sharp through you. You realize, deep in your gut, that you need him to say your name like that again. Over and over like it means something.

Soobin moves fast.

His hand snaps out, gripping Taehyun’s jaw tightly, jerking his head towards him. You stop your movements.

“Aht, aht,” Soobin snaps, his voice low and reprimanding. “You don’t get to claim her like that.”

Taehyun blinks, startled. “I'm sorry. I—I didn’t mean—”

“You will be sorry,” Soobin mutters, releasing him with a final squeeze before turning his attention to you. “Up. Come here.”

You hesitate, lips still tingling, Taehyun’s taste on your tongue. Part of you doesn’t want to leave. But Soobin’s voice is commanding, firm, and you’ve never quite been able to disobey him.

He helps you up, pulling you onto the bed and into his lap, your bare back settling against his warm chest as he rests against the headboard. His arms wrap tightly around your waist, grounding you.

But your eyes are still on Taehyun.

He’s panting, undone, watching the way Soobin holds you like you belong to him. And it hurts. More than it should. More than he expected.

Soobin kisses your temple, his lips soft against your sweat-damp skin. “You’re too generous, pretty girl,” he murmurs, a smile in his voice. “Let’s see what he does now that he can’t have you. Not yet.”

And even though his tone is teasing, you hear the edge of something else underneath.

Because even Soobin knows. The way Taehyun said your name just now…

That wasn’t lust. That was love.

Taehyun’s gaze flickers between your parted lips and the curve of your hips as Soobin draws idle circles into your skin. He can’t breathe, can’t think. You’re right there, so close, yet you were still somehow out of his reach.

He’d give anything to feel you against him. But he knows the rules. He knows who’s in charge.

Soobin studies him like a scientist, intrigued by every inch of restraint. “You're holding back,” he says, almost curious. “You want her bad, don’t you?”

Taehyun doesn’t answer right away. Then, through gritted teeth, he speaks barely above a whisper, “Only an idiot wouldn't want her."

Your heart flutters at Taehyun's words. Soobin hums in discontent. His lips graze the shell of your ear as his voice drops. “But you don’t get her just yet.”

You suck in a breath, your body already responding, heart racing. Taehyun doesn’t look away from you. It's an impossible task.

Soobin’s hand trails slowly down your abdomen. “You want to claim her?” he murmurs. “Then you can start where she needs it most.”

And just like that, he's spreading your legs wide apart for Taehyun. A sight he thought he'd never get to see.

“Keep them open, pretty girl,” Soobin purrs, eyes fixed on Taehyun now. “Let him taste what he’s been dreaming of.”

"Anything you want, Soobin," you whimper, voice cracking. "Just... please let him touch me."

Taehyun, being the gentleman he was, wouldn’t make you wait. Not when you looked at him all desperate, chest heaving, hips arching up to meet him.

Even with you squirming beneath Soobin’s mouth on your neck, his fingers drawing lazy paths across your stomach, Taehyun stayed good and obedient.

If it meant giving you the pleasure you so clearly ached for, he’d wait his turn—but not a second longer than necessary.

Two fingers hooked around the waistband of your underwear, slowly tugging the fabric down your thighs and discarding it somewhere in the room.

A shiver raced down your spine at the exposure, your legs spreading wider until they draped over Soobin’s thighs.

Taehyun’s kisses against your inner thighs were soft. His movements are stiff and unsure at first, afraid to cross that invisible line.

That’s when you felt Soobin’s breath against your ear, his voice low with a command. “Taste her.”

Taehyun is quick to oblige. The moment his lips come in contact with your dripping cunt, it's like he's lost in you.

A starving man is the only thing you could compare him to. It was quite a beautiful sight, watching him split you apart.

A hard drag of his tongue on your clit makes you call out for him. Your nails sink into the meat of Soobin’s thighs.

“Fuck T-Tae,” you whine lowly. Taehyun groans against your folds. He swears he hasn’t been this hard in his entire life.

Soobin is watching over your shoulder. Even he could see the way Taehyun devoured you, deriving pleasure from the act alone.

Soobin took note of everything—from the way Taehyun’s hands splayed over your stomach, to the way he looked up at you through his tousled hair, eyeing your reactions to ensure he did everything right.

In a quiet act of defiance, Taehyun held Soobin’s gaze as he deepened his mouth between your legs. The eye contact made Soobin clench his jaw behind you, but he didn’t look away.

You felt the pressure of Soobin’s arousal pressing firm against your lower back, your body flush against his. Every twitch of your hips, every breath you took—he felt it all. He always loved seeing you like this, teetering on the edge.

But he couldn’t stand how your body naturally responded to Taehyun’s movements. His heart secretly panged, wanting to take back some control. Even just a little. Just enough.

Soobin’s hand moved sensually down your arm. Goosebumps rose in the wake of his touch, and Taehyun noticed.

There he goes again, owning you, Taehyun thought.

Soobin’s fingers curl over yours where your hand rests on his thigh. Slowly, he lifts it, bringing your fingertips to his lips. Without breaking eye contact, he parts them and takes your middle and pointer fingers into his mouth, sucking with a lewd, deliberate moan.

The feeling of Soobin’s tongue swirling around your fingers—paired with Taehyun’s tongue flicking over your clit—was almost too much to comprehend. Your eyes roll back as your head drops against Soobin’s chest. The dual attention was overwhelming in the most sinful way.

He pulls your fingers out of his mouth with a wet pop, moving his lips to decorate your neck and chest with kisses.

But not before guiding your hand down into Taehyun’s hair, forcing you to thread your fingers through the soft strands. You tugged lightly without thinking, drawing a desperate groan from the boy between your thighs.

“So good for us,” Soobin chuckles. “Show him where you need him most. Gotta get that pretty hole nice and ready, don’t we?”

If Soobin let him, Taehyun would’ve stayed between your legs forever. He would’ve had you fucking his face until you were trembling and out of breath—just one of the many obscene fantasies he kept hidden away.

The taste of you was intoxicating, the only thing grounding him to reality. His hips rutted helplessly into the mattress, probably staining the sheets with pre-cum, desperate for a friction he could never satisfy on his own.

“So pathetic,” Soobin breathes against your ear, fingers rolling your nipples between his fingers now that your bra lay forgotten on the floor. He watches Taehyun unravel between your legs, lips slick and eyes wild with want. A cruel smile tugs at his lips.

“That’s your type, huh?” he coos. “Men who beg with their mouths full?” His teeth sink gently into the shell of your ear, and you shiver at the sting.

You're so close to the cruel edge of release now. Soobin’s sharp words only twisted the coil tighter inside you, but it wasn’t his voice your heart clung to.

It was Taehyun. He pulled at something deeper and tender, even in the filth of it all.

You should’ve left the room before it got to this point. Should’ve said no. Should’ve stopped this before it got any further.

But you don’t. Because this is insane, yes. Reckless and dangerous.

In your mind, you’ve already made your choice. You fell in love with Taehyun before you even realized it, before you ever meant to.

It was in the little moments—the way he always waited up for you. The softness in his voice when he said your name. The ache in your chest when he would smile at someone else.

Emotionally, you chose him a long time ago. This? This is just confirmation.

Soobin sees your mind churning and your breath increasing. He couldn't lose this game.

Soobin’s fingers grip your jaw hard, forcing your head down. “Look at him,” he spits harshly.

Taehyun’s face is buried in your pussy, eyes shut tight as his tongue flicks fast and firm over your clit. He groans like he’s addicted to the taste, hands locked around your thighs to keep you open and still. His head moves with desperate rhythm, like he’s trying to fuck you with his mouth alone.

“Fucking starving for you,” Soobin growls. “You see that? He’s shaking like he’s gonna cum just from eating you.”

You whimper, your breath stalling. Your hips twitch up against Taehyun’s mouth, and he moans louder, grinding his tongue into you harder.

“Don’t look away,” Soobin says. “You wanted this. Now fucking watch him lose it.”

You obey, but you're only focused on the boy below you. "Taehyun, I'm so close. You feel so fucking good."

If you took any longer to cum, Taehyun might’ve made a mess in the bed just from the way you praised him. But it hits you fast—your legs shaking, clenching around nothing, his tongue relentless as it drags over your folds.

Your hips try to jerk up, chasing more, but Soobin’s strong arm pins you to the bed, holding you down like you’re nothing but his.

A scream builds in your throat, Taehyun’s name right there on your tongue—ready to give him everything.

But Soobin doesn’t let you. He collides his mouth with yours, swallowing it, taking the name meant for someone else and replacing it with his own brutal kiss. He owns the sound, owns the moment, and refuses to let you come undone for anyone but him.

Even though the sight of Soobin’s lips on yours makes Taehyun’s blood boil, he doesn’t stop. He coaxes you through every tremble of your orgasm, mouth tracing soft kisses along your thighs and hips. Anywhere he can reach.

This was for you. Always for you. He’d grit his teeth and endure it if it meant getting to have you, really have you, in the end.

Your body shakes, the aftershocks of release leaving you dizzy and pliant against Soobin’s chest. His fingers trace your skin, proud and possessive. You can barely think, but then you feel it.

Taehyun’s hand, tentative yet deliberate, sliding up your thigh.

It’s gentle, a stark contrast to the way Soobin handles you. Taehyun's touch is lighter against your oversensitive skin, filled with care and longing.

You blink down at him. For a moment, the world shrinks down to the softness in his eyes. A small, shaky smile tilts the corner of his mouth.

Not for Soobin, and not for the game they’re playing. For you.

Soobin doesn’t miss the exchange. His hand fists in your hair, tugging just enough to make you whimper, reclaiming your attention.

"Sweet, isn’t he?" Soobin murmurs into your hair, amused. "Thinks he can fuck you better if he touches you softer."

Taehyun's jaw tightens, but he doesn't let go of your thigh. His thumb rubs soothing circles on your skin, a silent promise that even if he’s not allowed to have you, he still feels for you.

"On your knees," Soobin commands, pushing you forward slightly. You’re quick to listen to him.

A contrast to Soobin forcing you forward, Taehyun quickly helps you shift onto your knees. "She's so good for you," Taehyun whispers, surprising himself, admiring your obedience. But he wishes it were for him, not Soobin.

"Isn't she?" Soobin muses. He observes you on your hands and knees as he stands from the bed. In one motion, he slides down his sweat pants and boxers, cock pressed hard and heavy against his stomach.

Taehyun is sitting, waiting beside you on the bed. His hand strokes your back lovingly. Too tender for Soobin's liking. "Did I say you could touch her yet?" The boy snaps.

Taehyun sucks in a frustrated breath, standing from the bed. "What the hell am I supposed to do then?"

Soobin doesn’t answer, just tilts his chin toward you. That was all Taehyun needed. Their eyes lock over your body, an unspoken exchange passing between them. For the first time all night, they weren’t at each other’s throats. They were united in this moment, in what they both wanted. You.

You knew what was going on, and a shiver runs down your spine at the thought of taking them both.

The bed dips behind you. Soobin grips your hips in a bruising hold, positioning himself just right.

Taehyun is more careful when he gets onto the bed, kneeling in front of you. You’re perfectly trapped between the two of them now. His eyes find yours instantly, that same hunger reflected back at you.

The sight of you, on all fours, waiting for him, was something Taehyun could hardly believe. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen—your body laid bare, ready for both of them.

A harsh slap to your ass draws your attention, once again, away from Taehyun. You yelp, retreating slightly, only for Soobin to tug you back against him. “Don't make him wait," he chuckles, enjoying every bit of this. "He's been so patient.”

When you look up at Taehyun again, he gives you a subtle nod in confirmation. His hand wraps around himself as you part your lips, taking him into your mouth for the second time tonight. This time slower, deeper, and more intentional.

Taehyun’s breath shudders out of him, eyes fluttering closed as he tries not to lose control too early. He groans, completely undone by the feeling of you.

Behind you, Soobin doesn’t wait. He takes the moment you’re distracted, and bottoms out inside you with a single, ruthless thrust.

Having been so empty for so long, you can't help but whimper around Taehyun.

"Shit baby," Soobin groans loudly above you, throwing his head back. “If I knew you'd be this tight, I would've had Taehyun stretch you more."

You knew Soobin was getting off on this power play. Every thrust, every word, every command—it was all a show of dominance.

The way he gripped your hips, the way he bent your body to his will. He wanted Taehyun to see it. To watch as he fucked you like he created you.

And god, did he know what he was doing. Each ruthless slam of his hips had your mind short-circuiting, your body jerking with every sharp roll. You could feel how deeply he wanted to leave a mark, to make sure neither of you ever forgot this.

You barely had time to process it, given the way Taehyun filled your throat. Your hands gripped at his thighs for stability as Soobin’s thrusts shoved you forward, pushing Taehyun deeper every time. The gagging sounds only made him groan.

And yet, somehow, it all made your stomach twist deliciously. Being used by one and worshipped by the other.

Neither of the boys was small, either, might you add. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, your throat stretched around Taehyun while your cunt was relentlessly pounded from behind. It was overwhelming—in the best way.

Soobin grunted behind you, digging his fingers into your hips hard enough to bruise, clearly enjoying the way you struggled to take it all. “Look at you,” he growled, watching your body bounce between them. “So full, so fucking messy.”

Taehyun’s hand came up to cradle your jaw, his touch softer, wiping a tear away with his thumb as you blinked up at him. His brows were drawn, his lips parted, like he was barely holding himself together. “You’re doing so good,” he breathed, voice strained.

The praise only made the pressure in your core worse—like you could cum from the stimulation alone.

More than the tears in your eyes, guilt continues to spread through your veins when you peer up at Taehyun. He was so intently focused on you, trying to distract himself from the way Soobin used your body.

Taehyun wanted to show you there was nothing to feel guilty about. You’d both agreed to this, to surrender to something bigger than yourselves. He would never hold you accountable for the situation Soobin orchestrated, for the role you were forced to play in a dynamic you never asked for.

Taehyun saw it clearly now—how Soobin had drawn thick, confining lines around you, ones you couldn’t cross without bleeding. But even as you writhed beneath Soobin, Taehyun didn’t see betrayal. He saw the ache you carried. He saw himself in your eyes.

The fire burning in his chest was undeniable. Hot and all consuming. And he knew you felt it too. Because even with Soobin buried deep inside you, Taehyun could feel your heart racing for him.

Your mind wasn’t where your body was. It was with him.

Taehyun wants to touch you even more. He reaches a careful hand up, ready to grip your head for some connection. But he stops himself, looking up at Soobin.

Soobin is already watching his movements. He gives Taehyun a sly smile. “Pull her hair if you’d like. But watch me fuck her while you do it.”

Taehyun’s fingers tangle in your hair gently. The intention isn’t to tug and pull, its to reclaim even just a small part of you.

Even while locked in that silent war with Soobin, eye to eye, neither willing to back down, Taehyun felt his orgasm creeping up fast.

The way you gagged around him, the sight of you being fucked so roughly, it was too much. And Soobin, ever the showman, only fucked you harder under the pressure, like it was a challenge.

You are breathless and dazed from Soobin’s thrusts and grips at your body, keenly aware of Taehyun’s jaw tightening, nearing his climax.

Taehyun moans, watching the say Soobin slid himself in and out of you with ease. Your ass and thighs recoil with Soobin’s every action, slapping of skin filling his ears.

His senses are fully overwhelmed with you. And it’s about to make him spill his load into your mouth while Soobin gets to take you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Taehyun is panicking. He doesn’t want to finish like this. He won’t finish like this.

Without letting another second pass, Taehyun cups a soft hand under your jaw, sliding his length out of your mouth and dropping onto the edge of the bed.

"I- I can't," he pants. "Not like this.”

It didn’t matter how carefully Taehyun stepped aside. The second he did, Soobin grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing your face down into the mattress, your cheek flush against the sheets as he fucked into you harder than before.

He didn’t flinch at Taehyun’s absence—he welcomed it. This was his chance to remind him, to show him what he could never have. What had always been his. You.

Soobin’s large frame looms over your own, chest pressed against your back. “Fuck you look so good like this,” he moans against your ear.

Both of Soobin’s arms locked tight around your hips like a seatbelt—no, more like a cage. There was nothing protective about his grip. Every thrust was a claim, every shift of his body a reminder that he owned this moment.

His hips slammed into you with brutal precision, his cock dragging along every sensitive spot that had you biting into the sheets. You weren’t going anywhere, not with the way he held you down like a prize he refused to share.

“Shit,” he gritted through his teeth, eyes flicking down to watch where your bodies met. “You feel that? I'm in your fucking stomach.”

He grinds in deeper, making your body jolt with each stroke. It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s raw, filthy, Soobin fully unraveling inside you, and all you can do is take it—and enjoy every second.

Your throaty whines and whimpers go straight to Soobin’s core. It was the perfect circumstance for him. Taehyun sitting beside you both, forced to watch. You, face down in the bed letting Soobin claim your cunt.

Soobin pulled out and came loud and hard on your thighs, painting your skin with ropes of his cum. He held you in place with one hand as the other finished himself off proudly.

His hands roam your body slowly, palming your ass, dragging down your spine. He wanted to commit every inch of you to memory, to hold it over Taehyun later.

Soobin glances sideways, expecting to catch a twitch of jealousy, a clenched fist, anything from Taehyun. But the other man’s face is maddeningly blank, too composed for Soobin’s liking.

“Tsk,” Soobin scoffs, voice low. “Not even gonna put up a fight? Guess you don’t want her bad enough.”

Taehyun’s look darkens at that, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. His eyes don’t leave yours for a second. “I want her so bad I’m not about to ruin it by acting like you.”

Instead of feeling jealous, Taehyun is simply fixated on you. Your hair falling around your face as your body dropped down onto the white sheets, glowing and smiling up at him.

He could feel the strangling hold that Soobin had on him for years when it came to you slowly unraveling. He was beginning not to care about the repruciations.

He couldn't keep letting these invisible lines delay what he could have right now. Not when he was this close to heaven.

Soobin's hands still possessively gripped your waist as he basked in the aftermath. You were wrecked beneath him, trembling, used, and somehow still desperate for more.

With an annoyed look, he glanced over at Taehyun, who hadn't torn his eyes off you for a second.

"Whatever," Soobin says, helping you move onto your back. His next words are blunt and vulgar. "Your turn to fuck her."

He said it like a joke, like a gift thrown carelessly into the air.

But for Taehyun, it wasn't casual. Not at all.

Soobin lifts himself from you, pressing a final kiss to the base of your throat. He removes himself from the situation entirely, sitting in his gaming chair in the corner of the room.

In Soobin's mind, he'd already succeeded. He put all his cards on the table and showed Taehyun what those boundaries look like up close.

He felt comfortable enough to leave you each to your own devices under his watch, especially with how Taehyun sat frozen. There was no need for him to stake another claim. He already made his point clear.

Soobin would let Taehyun have his last hurrah with you. Let him pretend, for a moment, that any of this was his.

But even as he stepped back, there was a smug glint in his eye. Because no matter how tender Taehyun touched you, no matter how deep his feelings ran, Soobin knew you’d still be aching from him. Still dripping with him. Still ruined by him.

Taehyun hesitates, fists balled at his sides. His instincts warred inside him—to obey, to fall in line, to pretend this was still just a game.

But then you looked at him. Your eyes pleading and trusting.

Taehyun reached for you, hands shaking, and finally touched you. His palms smoothed over your sides, cradling you as though you were something breakable.

Your heart stops once he climbs on top of you. His hand is holding your face lovingly. The other is on his cock, gliding it up and down your folds, covering himself in your slick.

You're already arching into him, wanting him to devour you. He hovers above you now, lips inches from yours.

Taehyun's eyes soften. "Can I kiss her now?"

Soobin opens his mouth to speak, but Taehyun barely waits for instruction. He’s already kissing you breathless, full of all the reserved energy he’s bottled up since the moment he met you.

His lips were softer than you ever imagined, plush and warm against yours. Tilting his head to the side, he deepened the kiss, tongue slipping past your parted lips to tangle with yours. It was messy and sweet, needy and slow. So perfect it almost hurt.

His heart thudded painfully behind his ribs. He should’ve just played along. Should’ve been grateful for scraps. Grateful for Soobin even letting him touch you.

And yet the second your arms reach around his neck, a whine escaping your lips, something inside him snapped again.

This wasn't Soobin’s anymore. There was no more pretending

You were his. And you always had been.

When he finally slides into you, it’s like the gates of heaven open just for him. The warmth, the tightness elicited a guttural moan he didn’t even try to hold back.

His hands grip your hips with a desperation he’s been holding in for far too long, and for a moment, he’s completely lost in the feeling of you.

The way Taehyun fucks you is at an entirely different rhythm than Soobin. It's slow, focused, and intimate.

Each roll of his hips feels like worship. Like an apology for every second he spent pretending you weren't everything he ever wanted.

Soobin leans back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. He watches, expecting Taehyun to fall in line—to treat you like a toy the way he had.

But the longer he watches, the more his smirk fades.

Taehyun’s attention is entirely on you. Soobin might as well not exist. His obedience has completely vanished.

Taehyun leans down, his lips brushing your ear as he rocks into you. His voice is just a whisper, too soft for Soobin to catch.

"Please let me have you," he breathes with his head in your neck. "Let me keep you. I don’t want to keep playing this game."

His words make you clench around him, and Taehyun shudders from the feeling. He cradles your waist, pressing his forehead against yours.

Another slow thrust is followed by a broken whimper from your throat that he captures with a kiss. You’re trembling underneath him, legs spread and nails dragging down his back. It’s driving him insane.

"Taehyun," you're gasping. "More. I need more of you."

The way you whisper his name, all broken and needy, undoes him.

At first, Taehyun tried to be careful. Tried to savor the feeling of finally having you underneath him, your body clinging to his with every movement.

But he couldn't do it. Not when you were gasping his name like that. Not when your hands fisted his hair, trying to pull him even closer.

Taehyun groans low in his chest. His hips start snapping harder into you, the bedframe creaking beneath the force.

"Holy shit," you whimper, your voice wrecked. "Please. Don't stop, don't stop."

Taehyun knows Soobin’s still in the room. He knows this isn't how it was supposed to go. But he doesn’t give a fuck anymore.

He kisses you more, claiming every little moan and sob that spills out of you. His hands are everywhere—your hips, your ass, your thighs, holding you down so he can fuck you properly.

"Mine," he rasps against your lips. "You're fucking mine. Say it."

You nod frantically, too overwhelmed to form words. Tears prick at your eyes from how deep he’s hitting, from the way he’s using you like you belong to him—and you do.

"Yours," you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders. "I'm yours, Taehyun. Just yours."

He promised he would burn Soobin's control to the fucking ground.

Taehyun thinks he hears Soobin say something, but he’s not even listening anymore.

It’s your eyes. Your lips. Your voice when you moan his name. Taehyun doesn't know how he lasted this long without you.

Taehyun suddenly slides one hand between your bodies, rubbing slow, tight circles over your clit intimately, right in front of Soobin. Claiming you in a way that wasn’t about performance or obedience.

It was about you and him and nothing else.

Soobin keeps watching from his chair. Arms still folded behind his head, trying to look relaxed. Trying to look like this was all still his game.

But his eyes narrow, because he finally see it.

The way you cling to Taehyun like he's oxygen. The way Taehyun fucks you like he owns every inch of your body, and you let him.

Not because you were told to, but because you wanted to.

Soobin shifts in his seat, adjusting the growing tightness in his pants, but says nothing.

You make a brief, subtle eye contact with Soobin over Taehyun's shoulder. Taehyun's head is buried in your neck, running his tongue over your skin.

The eye contact lasts for only a second before Taehyun kisses you again. Soobin looks down, defeated.

It wasn’t just that he’d lost you. It’s that he’d created the space for you to be found.

In truth, he wasn’t sad about losing control. He felt like an asshole. All this time he’d acted like you belonged to him, without ever really seeing you. And by doing so, he’d left the door wide open for someone else to treat you like you deserved.

He sees it now—the emotional aftermath of his actions. How all his possessiveness didn’t protect anything. It only pushed you further into someone else’s arms.

And Taehyun, he wasn’t some rival. He was the one who waited. The one who loved you gently. Respectfully. Quietly. The one who never needed to control you because he always believed you deserved to choose.

It hits Soobin like a punch to the gut.

Taehyun isn't fucking you. He's making love to you.

It felt like he was watching you fall for each other right in front of him—slow, inevitable, and completely out of his hands.

Unaware of Soobin’s shift in demeanor, you’re too busy with your legs pressed into your chest, Taehyun focused on every inch of you.

You're gripping his shoulders, never wanting to let him go. "You feel so good wrapped around my cock. Always knew you would," Taehyun whines out between heavy breaths.

He reached out to close his hand around your throat. Not squeezing, he just wants to feel your blood pulse beneath his fingertips. See if your heart raced the way his did. He's close, and you are too.

"I'm s-so close Tae, please keep going." You're drowning in him. Moans loud and unconcealed at this point.

"That's it," he's whispering again, savoring the moment for you both. His hips are sputtering against you, about to release. "Let go for me."

A few more thrusts and you're orgasming even harder than you did on his tongue. Taehyun's name echoes on your lips, and Soobin isn't there to swallow it this time.

Taehyun is almost disappointed. He wants to fuck you until the end of time. But your cunt clenching around him like a glove has him spilling his seed on the spot. He pulls out just in time, releasing onto your stomach and chest.

You smile up at him through your pretty eyelashes like you were waiting for an order. But not from Soobin, from him. His heart swells with pride.

Taehyun would hate to put you in a box the way Soobin has forever. But in this moment, he felt you belonged to him.

He collapses next to you on the bed, the hesitation in his mind completely eradicated as he pulls you against his side, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Been wanting this forever."

Soobin abruptly stands from his chair. Your heart jumps, and you're afraid of how he might react. He just watched Taehyun make love to you, and he's the one who let it happen in his own bed.

Both yours and Taehyun’s heads snap in his direction. Instinctively, Taehyun’s hand tightens around your hip, keeping you against him. Soobin’s gaze roams your body until he tears them away to meet Taehyun’s.

Soobin’s eyes soften. It’s a complete 180 from the beginning of the night. He offers Taehyun a faint, sad smile, and for once, Taehyun lets his guard down. They share a quiet nod—a moment just between them, one you don’t try to understand.

Soobin looks at you one last time. “You guys stay here, I’m gonna go get a towel.” His tone is different now, less commanding and more concerned.

Stepping away, he knew what his role was now. Not to possess you, but to care for you. To make sure you felt safe and seen. His earlier attempts at control felt hollow compared to the connection you shared with Taehyun.

As Soobin moved toward the door, he caught a glimpse of you two tangled in bed—noses brushing, lips exchanging words too soft for him to hear.

It hits him again when he closes the door.

He wasn't watching the two of you fall. You already have.

This whole time, the game was over before it had even begun.

tags: @taebatu @yyeonbinn @binniesblep @beomgyusluver @feet4liferss @vvjolyneee @chubichubs @soo-blue @bakugosbottombitch @thegalaxyisunfolding

reblogs/comments/feedback are always appreciated <3

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sunsetpossum · 6 days ago

Text

i need a big boy 𖤐 [p.sh]

you've heard the stories and you know what happens to bunnies that enter the woods at night. really, it’s your fault. you knew this would happen. it’s like you wanted this… no? oh, but didn’t you?

pairing → wolf!sunghoon x afab bunny!reader word count → 3.9k tags → oneshot, wolf!sunghoon x bunny!reader, little red riding hood inspired, petnames (bun, bunny, u get it), reader is a little dumb smut tags → pwp, noncon/dubcon, p in v, oral sex (f!receiving), loss of virginity, some blood, blood kink, virginity kink, breeding kink, mentions of womb/cervix/cherry-popping, knotting, saliva/drool, squirting, biting/claiming, mentions of death, this is just a tiny bit nasty :3 warnings → pls heed the tags! noncon/dubcon claiming :3 lapslock + not proofread i’m sleep deprived and Crazy rn. a/n → wrote this trying to get out of my writer’s block </3 pls enjoy my belligerent 1am insanity

♪ all the girls are needing, i need a big boy give me a big boy, i need a big boy

minors dni. dark content ahead.

“h-hello? is anyone there?”

your voice is soft and shaky. your soft, plush white ears stand tall as they flick, listening for something—anything. your tail is stiff in fear and you can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

you don’t know how you got here; the middle of the dark, dangerous woods that are in no way a place for something like you, at least not this late at night. you’ve never ventured this far at night, you know better—you know that it isn’t safe for bunnies like you.

you’ve heard the stories of what happens to bunnies like you when they get caught. you’ve seen the bodies brought back to your village—bloodied, mangled, dead and used. every corpse that was brought back reeked of… of wolves.

you were just supposed to be on your way to your grandma’s house. every month, on the same day, your grandma calls you to her house for a visit. usually you make the journey with your mother, but your mother is terribly sick with a cold and told you it was okay for you to venture alone.

“you’ll be okay, sunshine. whatever you do, stay on the trail. do not leave the path. if it starts getting dark, come back.” your mom’s voice was sweet and caring as she packed you a basket with treats for you and your grandma to share.

your mother trusted you enough with this, and you didn’t want to let her down. you missed your grandma terribly and wanted nothing more than to make it to her house safely.

but—there’s always a but.

you’re lost.

somehow you managed to stray from the trail. something distracted you, but in your fear you can’t even seem to recall what it was. one second you were walking the trail like a good daughter, and the next the sun was gone and so was the path.

you tried to find your way back, but it only caused you to be more confused and lost. it was dark, the only light coming from the glow of the full moon. you were whimpering in fear. the full moon only means one thing: wolves.

somewhere along your search back to the trail, you heard something. there was a snap! then it was quiet, too quiet. the silence is eerie, uncomfortable. you feel like you’re being watched… like something is there with you, watching you, waiting for you.

you let out another sound of distress, your ears flicking anxiously. you freeze when you hear the sound again, closer this time. you don’t move—you can’t. you’re frozen in place, just like a helpless prey.

“hello? is anyone there?” your voice shakes. you’re trembling, your fingers gripping the basket so tight that the wood starts to splinter. “hello?”

then, you hear a chuckle. the sound is low, deep, and it echoes and resonates deep within you.

“tsk, tsk, tsk.” the voice is getting closer. “poor little bunny, are you lost?”

your eyes widen like saucers when the owner of the voice shows itself. a wolf. you’re frozen in fear still, not knowing whether to run and hide or to freeze and accept your fate.

“w-wolf!” you stutter, your voice not able to reach a complete scream. you can’t scream, you can’t run. it’s too late.

“pretty bunny, are you lost?” the wolf repeats himself. “i can show you the way. i don’t bite.”

the wolf emphasizes the word with a big grin, the moonlight glints and his canines radiate.

“oh, what sharp teeth you have,” you whimper. “you’re not going to eat me?”

“no, bunny,” the wolf still has that wolfish grin on hus face. “i would never eat a bunny. i’m a nice wolf, you can trust me…”

“_____,” against your better judgement, you tell the wolf your name. “will you really show me the way?”

“yes, bunny,” the wolf nods, taking a few steps closer. his eyes rake up and down your trembling body, and his gaze stops at the very end of your cloak. “my name is sunghoon, bun.”

“s-sunghoon?”

the wolf, sunghoon, nods. “sounds so pretty comin’ from your mouth, bun. what are you doing out here all alone? it isn’t safe for an innocent bunny like you. you’d be eaten alive by some real bad wolves by now if i hadn’t found you.”

your cheeks heat, and your gaze drops to the floor. your ears droop at the shame of being lost. “i’m just trying to make it to my grandma’s house, mr. wolf. she lives near the middle of the forest, by the big lake.”

“ah, does she now?” sunghoon licks his lips. “i know exactly where that is. you’re lucky you ran into me tonight, bun. i can show you the way.”

“really?” you perk up, meeting his eyes again. he’s closer now, so close that if you reached your arm out you would be able to touch him. he smells… oddly okay, not like how the other bunnies at your village describe wolves to smell like. he smells of grass and flowers and oak, not like the blood of bunnies. “please, please, please!”

sunghoon chuckles, his gaze dark as he looks down at you. the height difference is jarring, he’s over a head taller than you, and from up close you can see that he’s big.

he’s way bigger than you, his arms are so big that the plain t-shirt he’s wearing looks small, way too small for his body. he has prominent veins along his forearms and hands that pop out and twitch with his every movement, and his chest is so extremely large that it looks as if he has ginormous pecs. his shoulders are so broad, and you think that sunghoon is probably very strong.

“of course, bunny. you just have to follow me. i know a shortcut to the lake. it’s very close, just up ahead. maybe another half mile.” sunghoon reaches his hand out, offering it to you. “come, bun. let me take you.”

you’re trusting—too trusting for your own good—as you take his hand, letting him enclose his large palm over your small hand.

sunghoon leads you deeper into the woods, and you follow him blindly. you can’t wait to be at your grandma’s house, and you trust that sunghoon will lead you there in no time.

it’s odd, though. you haven’t seen or heard a single animal or creature near you in minutes.

“you’re very pretty, bunny. your cloak seems so soft and warm.” sunghoon’s voice breaks the silence. “i wonder, what are you wearing underneath it?”

“thank you. my grandma gifted me this cloak,” you say, softly. “i’m wearing a dress my grandma also handmade for me.”

“mmm,” sunghoon hums. “you smell very good, bun. like chocolate and vanilla. i wonder how you taste, too.”

you shiver. “what?”

“nothing, bun. we’re almost there.”

you start to tremble again, but then you smell the water, and you know the lake is near. your parents always told you to not trust wolves, that wolves will only tear you apart and lick your bones clean one by one, but this wolf—sunghoon, has been trustworthy. he didn’t eat you.

the lake comes into view moments later, the water practically sparkles underneath the moonlight.

you gasp. “sunghoon! you really brought me here! thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“i told you, bunny,” sunghoon grins. “your grandma’s house should be near. are you staying overnight?”

“no, i’m supposed to return home tonight, my parents will be worried sick if i don’t…”

“then i shall wait for you, bun. i will accompany you on your way back home to make sure you make it safe and sound.”

“oh,” you say, surprised. “you would do that?”

“of course. i have to make sure you don’t get eaten by any wolves… hm?”

“o-okay,” you murmur, sheepish. “i shouldn’t be long.”

sunghoon nods, and you rush off to your grandma’s. her house is only around the corner, so the walk is quick.

you think about sunghoon the whole way there. he proved that wolves aren’t all bad. some wolves can be trusted and some wolves won’t eat you. everything you’ve learned about wolves was wrong, and you can’t wait to go back to your village and spread the new information you learned.

“grandma! i’m here!”

your grandma’s house is warm and comforting as you enter. you set the basket of goods on her small wooden table.

“dear! you made it!” your grandma approaches you, rushing you into a hug. “i was so scared, dear. it’s so late at night.”

“yes, grandma. i’m safe.” you reassure her. “mom packed you some sweets, your favorite.”

“ah, did she—” your grandma stills. “dear, what’s that smell?”

you sniff the air. “what do you mean?”

“you—you reek of wolf!”

“grandma, it’s okay! please, calm down! the wolf helped me here! he didn’t try to eat me!”

“you’re a traitor—traitor!” your grandma backs away in horror. “you brought a wolf here? you need to leave, now.”

“no, grandma, please! he wouldn’t hurt me, or you!” you reach for her, wanting to console her, but she flinches away like she’s been burned.

“no family of mine will be in contact with a wolf,” your grandma spits the word like it’s poison. “get out. never come back.”

“no, grandma!”

she rushes you out the door, locking it behind you and leaving you out in the cold with nothing but your cloak. you sniffle, hot tears making their way down your cheeks as you sob and knock on the door rapidly.

“grandma! please! let me in!” you cry, helplessly holding onto the doorknob like she’ll open it. “please!”

it seems like an eternity that passes before you get tired of trying. your grandma disowned you and left you in the cold. you can’t go back, what if the rest of the town also treats you the same way? what do you do?

you get a brilliant idea then. you’ll go to the lake and wash yourself. you’ll wash the scent of sunghoon away and make it back home. nobody will know.

you make it a few steps before you smell it again—him.

“bunny? what’s wrong?” sunghoon steps into view. his face is masked with concern and pity. “poor little bunny, why are you crying?”

“my grandma—she,” the thought of your grandma has you breaking down once more. you rush into sunghoon’s arms, his big chest comforts you. “she left me! she told me to get out as i smell like a wolf, and told me she never wanted to see me again!”

sunghoon cradles your head as you sob into his chest. “shh, there, there. it’ll be alright, bunny. she just doesn’t understand.”

“i have to go to the lake—i have to wash off before i go home. or else they—they won’t accept me back.”

“okay, bunny. let’s go to the lake and wash you off. then i’ll walk you home, okay?” sunghoon’s voice is deep and low, and somehow comforting.

you nod, sniffling, and let sunghoon lead you to the lake, hand in hand.

sunghoon is quiet as he leads you both knee deep into the water. he reaches for your cloak, and you let him undress you. your cries quiet now, only sniffles escape every few moments.

sunghoon drops your cloak somewhere below you, before reaching for the straps of your small, silk babydoll dress.

he sucks in a breath, but you’re too overwhelmed by your grandma to pay any mind to it. he undoes the straps one by one, before letting your dress slide down and fall into the water as well.

“bunny,” sunghoon murmurs. “kneel and wash yourself.”

you obey, making sure to rinse yourself and get rid of the wolf scent on you. after your fur is soaked and your body is freezing, you consider yourself clean enough.

“bunny, you’re shaking,” sunghoon says. “are you cold?”

you nod, and sunghoon coos. “but your clothes are all wet. whatever will we do?”

“i-i don’t know…” you’re freezing and trembling so much that your teeth chatter as your tail drips water into the lake. “it’s so cold.” you whine.

“aw, is my bunny cold?” sunghoon coos again. “do you need me to warm you up?”

you nod, and sunghoon grins. “come here, bunny. come to me.”

you step closer to him, and he pulls you in roughly. he wraps his arms around you, enclosing your body with his larger one. he’s so warm, extremely warm, and you let out a soft sigh as your body finally starts to warm up.

“you’re so small, bunny,” sunghoon’s breath hits your ears as he speaks. “and so soft, so supple and soft.”

you whine, shy, and then you feel it.

“s-sunghoon… something is poking me,” you whisper.

“is there?” sunghoon murmurs, his voice low and dripping something you aren’t sure of.

the hardness you feel twitches, pressing deeper against your thigh. you’re scared to look down, scared of what you might see.

“sunghoon, it—it’s…”

“fuck,” sunghoon growls, suddenly. you flinch at his outburst, your ears stiffening and standing tall upon your head. “i can’t hold back anymore.”

“sunghoon, what?” you say, your voice shaking.

sunghoon ignores you, picking you up and out of the water, carrying you in his arms as he reaches grass and mud again.

“you make me crazy, bun,” sunghoon’s voice is rough as he speaks. “i can’t hold back anymore. not when you’re nude and presenting yourself so nicely to me.”

“s-sunghoon?” you tremble in his hold. he releases you, then, to put you back onto your feet.

when you meet his eyes again, he looks different. gone is the comforting face you thought you knew, and now there’s a predatory, evil look in his eyes.

“please, sunghoon, you’re scaring me.” you plead, whisper. “sunghoon?”

it’s like he can’t hear you. he doesn’t answer as he leans down, his hands on your bare waist as he presses his nose into the crook of your neck and inhales deeply.

“fuck, bun, you smell so good,” sunghoon groans, and you feel the hardness return. sunghoon grinds against your leg, and your tail stiffens in fear. “you smell so delicious, bunny. so perfect for me. i’m going to tear you apart.”

“sunghoon, no! please!” you cry and beg. he wouldn’t eat you, he’d never, right?

“don’t worry, bun. i’m not going to eat you,” sunghoon chuckles and it vibrates against your skin. he licks a stripe from your collarbone to your ear, before whispering, “but i’m going to ravage you. you’re mine now, bunny.”

you tremble in his hold, cringing at the feeling of his tongue against your skin. “no! sunghoon! please, please!”

then suddenly, sunghoon lets you go. “no?”

“no!” you cry, pleading. “please!”

“run, bunny,” sunghoon smirks, his sharp canines making an appearance again. “i’ll count to three. i’ll give you a headstart. if i catch you, i get to take you.”

you turn on your heels immediately, scrambling to run for your life. you’re still naked, and the ground is rough on your feet as you try to dodge rocks and branches.

“one…”

you’re heaving, running so hard that you feel like you might throw up.

“two…”

but bunnies are known for being quick, aren’t they?

“three! i’m coming, bunny. you can’t hide from me!”

your heart drops. you don’t know where you are, but you know that sunghoon is already close, you hear his footsteps gradually getting closer to you, and you have nowhere to hide. you look around frantically, looking for something, anything.

your eyes land on a small hole, just big enough to burrow yourself in. that’s it, you think. you’ll hide there.

you’re almost in the hole, digging yourself deeper when you smell him.

“poor little bunny,” sunghoon’s voice is too close. “are you lost?”

he growls, and you feel his fingers close around your ankle as you get violently dragged from the hole. you were so close.

you let out a bloodcurdling scream.

“found you.” sunghoon looks crazy. he’s panting, his eyes wide with excitement. “i told you, you can’t hide from me. you’re mine. i could smell your fear from a mile away. could smell your sweet, little pussy calling out to me.

“no! please, let me go!” you thrash in his hold, but it’s no use. sunghoon is stronger than you as he straddles your hips, your wrists above your head and held by one of his hands as the other explores your body.

“shhh, bun. i’ll take good care of you,” sunghoon laughs, in a frenzy. “you smell unmated, fresh and sweet. i’ve never taken a bunny before. it’ll be both our first times, hm?”

you can’t reply anymore, you’re choking on your spit and tears, and you’re more than sure that there’s snot rolling down the sides of your cheeks as well.

“sweet, virgin bunny,” sunghoon leans in to lick your cheek, eating up all your tears and wetness. “you taste so good, i wonder how you taste down here.”

you kick your legs and thrash when sunghoon lifts his hips. it’s the wrong move, because sunghoon comes back up to snap his teeth at you. he bites at your jaw, not hard enough to break skin but enough to make you go limp—tranquilizing you.

“stay still, bunny. or i really might just eat you instead.”

you cry silently, finally giving up as sunghoon disappears below you. he spreads your legs open, exhaling at the sight of your pussy, all presented to him.

“you look delicious,” sunghoon leans in, inhaling deeply as he uses his fingers to spread your folds, exposing yourself to him. you feel wetness as he licks a stripe from your asshole to your clit. “you taste so good—i’m never going to get enough of you, bunny.”

you whimper as he licks you—practically eating you with his mouth. your clit is sensitive, the nub starting to swell against your will as he continues to devour you with his tongue.

“bunny,” sunghoon murmurs. “you like this, don’t you?”

“n-no! no, no!” you say, weak. you shake your head, trembling as your ears flatten.

“oh? but your body betrays you. your hole is already getting itself ready for my cock.” sunghoon chuckles, evil. “so wet already.”

sunghoon trails his fingers from your thighs to your pussy, and your hole flutters as he slowly sticks his two fingers past your entrance.

“fuck, bun, you’re so tight,” sunghoon groans. “your little virgin pussy is going to break when i get my cock in you. how are you going to take my knot like this?”

your eyes widen in fear. “knot? no—sunghoon, i can’t!”

“but you will,” sunghoon raises himself, and you’re horrified to see that he’s already nude. his cock is huge, hard and leaking. his cock is a deep shade of red, bordering on purple with how hard he is. “you’ll make it fit. it’s okay if it doesn’t. i’m still going to take you anyways.”

you shake your head as he gets closer to you, one hand around his cock as the tip prods at your entrance. “no! sunghoon! i’m not ready—you’re going to break me! please!”

sunghoon growls. “shut up. take it. take it like the innocent virgin bunny you are. i’m going to ruin you, you’re going to reek of alpha once i’m done with you. you’ll never be able to go home after this.”

he pushes into you roughly, and you can’t hold back the scream you let out. your voice cracks with the intensity of your scream. the pain is unbearable, your body just wants to cave in on itself and shut down.

“fuck, you’re so tight. i’m going to break you. i’m going to fill you with my litter. you’re never leaving, you’ll take my cum and carry my pups forever.”

sunghoon groans, his eyes never leaving yours as he fucks into you roughly, his balls slapping against your buttcheeks with every thrust. you smell the blood—the blood that leaves your cunt as sunghoon’s cock breaks past the first layer inside of you. it drips down your cheeks and onto the dirty ground beneath you, and you’re ashamed.

you’re no longer a virgin anymore. you’ve been taken and broken in by the worst kind—a wolf.

sunghoon growls, animalistic, slamming into you at a pace ao brutal that it bruises your insides—bruising your cervix. then you feel it, the tip of his cock breaching so deep into you, practically reaching your womb.

“you feel that?” sunghoon groans, rolling his eyes. “i’m so deep inside you, bunny. i’ve broken you, i’m going to fuck you so good, every day, every day until your stomach is round with my pups. and then i’ll do it again, and again, and again.”

you cry, but your body betrays you. the pain and pleasure makes you want to just die. you’re torn between submitting and fighting back.

your body seems to decide for you as you tighten around sunghoon’s cock.

“fuck, yeah, you like this, don’t you? you like being used by me, huh? fucking whore. just wanted to get your virginity stolen away from you by a big, bad wolf, hm? that’s all you really needed, right?”

sunghoon never lets up. his cock pushes past the entrance of your womb with every thrust, and he’s losing himself in the feeling of being inside your tight, wet heat. your walls are so soft, so tight, practically sucking him in every time he pulls back out, just to slam back in harder than before.

your body keeps betraying you, because on a particularly hard thrust, you seize up, releasing wet, clear liquid all over sunghoon’s cock.

“i’m—i’m peeing!” you squeal, your release still squirting like a waterfall on sunghoon’s cock.

“fuck, bunny, your little pussy just squirted all over me. you like it that much? fuck, fuck,” sunghoon growls, leaning down and pressing his face into your neck. “that’s it, keep squirting on alpha’s cock, just like that. make it all wet for me, fuck!”

sunghoon does the unimaginable then; he bites you. his teeth sink deep into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, biting down and breaking skin, his canines drawing blood from you.

you cry and scream and thrash in his hold, your pussy weakly clenching around his cock as he forces his mating bite onto you—claiming you as his for life.

you feel his cock swell, growing larger and bigger. you panic, trying to push him off of you, but it’s no use. he’s going to knot you, and you have no choice but to take it.

he pushes into you, breaking you open and shoving his knot inside of you. it hurts, you feel like you’ve been ripped open, and you can feel his body shake with pleasure as he finally releases his cum into your womb.

he keeps grinding and grinding as his cock shoots out more cum, filling you up with his white, hot release, marking you from the inside out.

he releases your neck, then, finally pulling his teeth out of you. you meet his eyes in horror, your mouth dropping open with a sob when you see blood—your blood all over sunghoon’s lips and chin.

he smirks, his teeth stained red, as he licks his lips.

“you’re mine now, little bunny. you can’t ever hide from me again.”

sunghoon grinds his cock, inflated with his knot, inside of you, and you know now—this is never going to end.

a/n: i feel insane it’s 2am i finished this in an hour pls bare w me if there r any mistakes…

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sunsetpossum · 6 days ago

Text

Under the Bed, Over the Edge

enhypen masterlist

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♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

a/n: the first pic of him is DRIVING ME INSANE????

summary: You get stuck under the bed while cleaning. Heeseung finds you — ass up, back arched — and instead of helping, he ruins you. Multiple rounds, overstimulation, squirting, crying, and he still won’t stop until you’re trembling and soaked. Husband of the year (in the worst way).

warning: degrading praise, overstimulation, multiple creampies, squirting, crying, eye-rolling, bed-trap position, oral (f. receiving), slapping (ass), slight hair pulling, dirty talk, cockwarming, lots of cum, aftercare, love beneath the filth, dumbification

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

You were supposed to be doing laundry.

Just a little cleaning before dinner — Heeseung had said he’d be home late anyway, so you thought you had time. You’d changed the sheets, vacuumed the living room, even wiped down the baseboards like some kind of Pinterest wife. You felt hot, sweaty, and smug.

And then you dropped a sock.

Under the bed.

Naturally, instead of getting a hanger or literally anything logical, you decided to crawl underneath, army-style. One arm outstretched, the other bracing your weight. One knee on the hardwood, the other dragging behind you. You almost had it—

And then your hips stuck.

Like, really stuck. The bedframe was just low enough to wedge against your back, and now the only thing visible was your lower half — bent over, arch in your spine, shorts riding up, panties peeking out, and your poor little hands trying to wiggle free.

You shouted his name.

No answer.

You shouted again — half-panicked, half-embarrassed. “Heeseung! Baby, I’m— I’m stuck, can you come help me?!”

Footsteps.

Soft, measured, casual.

The door creaked open. A beat of silence.

Then—

“…The fuck are you doing.”

You groaned into the floor. “Don’t ask. Just help me. I can’t move—”

“No, no, wait. Don’t move.”

You froze.

“…What?”

He didn’t answer.

But you heard the unmistakable sound of a belt buckle.

“Heeseung—”

“Oh, baby,” he muttered, suddenly kneeling behind you, calloused hands spreading over your thighs. “You don’t even know what you look like right now.”

You squeaked, trying to push yourself forward, but the frame dug harder into your back. Your ass arched naturally, thighs spread wide, your panties now fully exposed. Heeseung hummed.

“Poor baby. Trying to clean the house… and ended up looking like a fleshlight gift-wrapped just for me.”

“Heeseung, I swear to god—”

“I believe in god, baby. I’m married to her.”

Slap.

His palm cracked against your ass.

You choked. “Fuck—!”

“Oh no, don’t start cursing yet. We’re just getting started.”

He leaned in, breath hot against your lower back as his fingers dragged the hem of your shorts down slowly — inch by inch — until they pooled around your knees. Your panties were soaked.

“Aw, baby,” he cooed. “Were you already wet before I came in? You really are a dumb little thing, huh?”

You whined. “I wasn’t— I didn’t—”

“I didn’t ask for excuses.”

And then his mouth was on you.

He ate you out like a man starved — messy, moaning, sloppy, like he was trying to drink you straight from the source. Tongue flattening against your clit, lips sucking until your thighs trembled. His grip held you firm, not letting you squirm away, even as your moans grew louder and your legs started shaking.

“God, fuck— Heeseung—”

You tried to push back.

You didn’t know whether you were trying to escape or get deeper.

But he didn’t care.

He growled into you.

“Stay still. Or I’ll record this and make you watch it on the big screen.”

You screamed into the wooden floor.

He didn’t stop. Not until your thighs clenched, your breath shattered, and your body arched helplessly as your orgasm ripped through you like a firestorm.

And then he pulled back, licking his lips, casually wiping his chin on your discarded shorts.

You were panting. Sweating. Twitching.

“…Done?” you whimpered.

He laughed. Loud. Cruel.

“Oh, baby,” he said, already lining himself up behind you.

“You think that was round one?”

___________

You didn’t even get a second to breathe.

Not before Heeseung’s cock was dragging between your folds, hot and hard and heavy, nudging against your oversensitive clit as you whined, cheek pressed to the cold floor. Your legs were spread too wide. Your ass was trembling. You couldn’t see him — just feel him. Laughing softly. Stroking himself. Lining up.

“Still stuck?” he asked.

You groaned. “What does it look like, you bastard—”

He slammed in without warning.

Your scream cracked against the floorboards, your body jolting so hard your arms went numb.

“Oh my god—!”

“Mmm,” he moaned, head falling back. “That’s what I thought.”

His cock was thick. Hot. Brutal. And he buried it all the way to the hilt in a single, devastating thrust, your walls squeezing around him so tight and soaked he nearly choked. You heard the bedframe creak from above. Heard your own ragged breathing bounce off the hardwood.

You were dripping. From just one orgasm. One.

Heeseung wasn’t stopping at one.

⸻

He started fucking you slow.

Deep. Unhurried. Cruel.

Each thrust pushed your hips forward, grinding your pelvis into the carpet, your pussy clenching helplessly as he bottomed out again, and again, and again. You couldn’t push back. Couldn’t escape. Your ass was made for this angle — arched and helpless, catching every inch of his cock until you were slurring nonsense into the floor.

“You hear that?” he muttered, smirking behind you. “That’s how wet you are. You got stuck like a dumb little wife and now you’re just dripping all over our bedroom floor.”

You whimpered something incoherent.

He spit onto your pussy.

You screamed.

“Oh? That make it worse? You gonna cry, baby?”

Slap.

Your ass jiggled under his palm, stinging sweet.

Then he leaned down and stayed inside you — fully buried — pressing his cock so deep you swore you could feel it in your gut.

��Listen to me,” he whispered, breath hot against your back. “You’re gonna stay there until I say you can come out. Understood?”

You nodded furiously, brain barely working. Your legs were shaking, your pussy fluttering around him, already on the edge again.

But he wasn’t done. Not even close.

⸻

He started moving again — this time fast.

Snapping his hips into you. Feral. Wet, obscene sounds filling the room.

You were soaked. Squelching around him. Each thrust sending a ripple through your thighs, your body convulsing, your toes curling as tears blurred your vision. You reached back weakly — tried to claw at his wrist — but he just grabbed your hand and shoved it to the floor.

“Take it,” he growled. “You wanted help? This is me helping you.”

You were crying. Babbling. Gasping his name.

And then it happened.

Your body snapped. Orgasm tore through you so hard you squirted — legs jerking, hips spasming, soaking the sheets beneath you.

“FUCK—!”

Heeseung moaned like he was losing his mind.

Your eyes rolled.

Your mouth hung open.

And you kept squirting as he kept fucking.

⸻

He didn’t stop.

Even after you were a limp, shaking mess — cheeks wet, thighs trembling, drooling onto the floor — Heeseung was still thrusting. Still buried deep.

“Too much?” he asked sweetly. “Want me to stop?”

You whined. “C-Can’t— I— I can’t—”

“Oh,” he cooed. “Then I better fuck you through it.”

And he did.

He came inside you once.

And then again.

He didn’t pull out.

Your pussy was milking him, twitching uncontrollably, cream dripping down your thighs as his cum spilled out, his cock still stuffed inside you like he was plugging his mess in.

He held your hips open.

Slapped your ass once more.

And laughed when you cried again.

“You’re not coming out from under there,” he muttered, “until this carpet’s soaked with you.”

________

You didn’t even know what time it was anymore.

Your body was wrecked.

Thighs trembling. Pussy swollen. Cheeks wet with tears, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth onto the floor like you’d forgotten how to close it. Your brain was mush — twitching from aftershocks and overstimulation, from the way Heeseung had just kept going, dragging orgasm after orgasm out of you like he was unmaking your whole nervous system.

You weren’t even speaking anymore. Just moaning. Whimpering.

And he was still inside you.

Not moving now — just sitting back on his heels, cock fully sheathed inside your pulsing, ruined pussy, one palm spread over your lower back as he kept you pressed down.

“See?” he murmured, brushing your hair back gently. “So pretty when you’re like this. Quiet. Dumb. Soaked.”

You twitched under his touch.

He grinned. “Mm. That mean you’re still with me?”

You whimpered something that might’ve been his name.

Heeseung laughed.

“You don’t even know where you are, do you?”

His thumb reached between your legs again, lazily rubbing your clit, his cock still buried so deep you could feel the outline of him with every breath. You sobbed. Body jolting. Your legs tried to close but he pinned them open again.

“Nope,” he said simply. “You’re not done yet.”

⸻

His fingers left you.

You had half a second of peace—

before his tongue was back on you.

You screamed.

This time, it wasn’t sweet.

This time, it was filthy.

He licked up the mix of cum and slick that was dripping out of you. Slurping, moaning, groaning like a man tasting the best fucking dessert on Earth. His fingers spread your folds wide and he tongue-fucked you from underneath, making a mess of his chin while you shook violently, sobbing into the mattress frame.

You came again.

And again.

You didn’t even realize you were squirting until he laughed against you, licking up every drop like a rabid husband hellbent on never letting a single drop go to waste.

“Look at that,” he muttered, slapping your inner thigh gently. “Can’t even stop, can you?”

You twitched violently. Barely able to breathe.

He pulled back finally — kissed your swollen pussy — and then kissed the back of your thigh, your hip, your spine.

“You okay, baby?”

You sobbed into the floor. “No.”

He kissed your ass. “Want me to help you out now?”

You were silent.

“…No.”

Heeseung grinned.

“That’s my girl.”

________

Eventually—

eventually—

he pulled out.

And you whimpered.

A hot gush of cum dripped between your thighs, pooling down your inner legs, soaking into the carpet. You were shaking, twitching, your hips giving out as your arms collapsed beneath you. Your entire body felt like it had been electrocuted and then hollowed out, and your brain was just one long static hum of:

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—

Heeseung exhaled above you. Then crouched again, gently tucking his thumbs under your arms to pull you back.

“Let’s get you outta there, babe.”

You whimpered. “Don’t touch me.”

“Aww.” He fake-pouted. “That’s no way to talk to the love of your life who just made you squirt so hard you might’ve baptized the mattress.”

You wheezed. “You’re not funny. You’re going to hell.”

He kissed the top of your thigh. “I’ll see you there.”

⸻

It took a solid five minutes to untangle you from under the bed.

Your legs didn’t want to work. Your brain refused to reboot. Heeseung had to lift you — princess-style, because of course he did — and carry you to the bathroom, where he sat you on the sink counter like you were porcelain.

He knelt down between your knees.

Turned the tap on.

And started cleaning you.

Tenderly. Gently. Like he hadn’t just split you in half and turned your pelvis into a disaster zone. He wiped up the cum and spit between your thighs. Kissed every mark he left. Washed your face with warm water, humming softly under his breath.

“You’re such a good girl,” he whispered, kissing your temple. “My pretty little wife. My housewife. My angel. My mess.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“…No, I don’t.”

⸻

He tucked you into bed after.

Clean sheets. Soft towel between your legs. His hoodie over your head. Water on the nightstand. Ice pack for your knees.

You were silent.

He kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips — soft and slow and sweet.

And then—

You slapped his chest weakly.

“If you ever do that again without a warning—”

“I did warn you. I said, ‘you want help or dick first.’”

“HEESEUNG—”

He burst out laughing, full-on giggle mode, crawling under the covers and pulling you into his chest like you were the best pillow in the world.

You huffed into his shoulder.

Then frowned.

“…Did you take a picture.”

“…Define picture.”

“HEESEUNG.”

“It’s a memento! You looked so cute! Ass up, face down, married and fucked like a little treat!”

“I’m divorcing you.”

“No you’re not.”

“…No, I’m not.”

⸻

Later that night, you heard your phone buzz on the nightstand.

You reached for it, groggy, confused—

Only to see a new AirDrop request from Heeseung’s phone.

“NEW RINGTONE?”

Attached file:

🛏️💦 moaning_marriedbaby.mp3

You screamed into your pillow.

Heeseung snored. Smiling.

_________

RAHH REBLOG AND COMMENT 😝😝😝

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sunsetpossum · 6 days ago

Text

implausible deniability

❝ don't spin this on me. this is about you getting turned on by your best friend's sister, you freak. ❞

PAIRING ▸ jake sim x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ smut, crack, fluff, college au, brother's best friend au, academic rivals to lovers au

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, alcohol, weed, lots of banter, sexual tension, dry humping, dirty talk, teasing, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (m. receiving), semi public sex, jayhoon bullying jake

SUMMARY ▸ in which jake comes to the horrifying realization that he might have somewhat of a masochistic streak. case in point: he can't stop himself from getting turned on whenever you argue with him.

WORD COUNT ▸ 12,652 words

PLAYLIST ▸ sweet lies by exo • damn right by jennie, childish gambino, kali uchis • red angel by s.e.s. • thirsty by tinashe

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ this was written on a whim because of that weverse live clip of jake nerding out lol hope u like it!!

JAKE SIM WAS CURRENTLY EXPERIENCING A MAJOR PREDICAMENT THAT PROBABLY WOULDN’T SURVIVE MOST FRIENDSHIPS.

To preface, when it came down to it, he respected Lee Heeseung a whole lot (although he would rather die than admit this out loud). There was something special about having a childhood friend—someone who was there for him at the awkward stages of puberty and lowest points of his life—and Jake would’ve been a fool to ever take that for granted. For their tight-knit friendship to carry into university made their bond irreplaceable to Jake. He genuinely trusted that he and Heeseung would be friends even when they were old and cheating at bingo together in a retirement home.

That being said, the chances of that happening were looking bleak now that you, Heeseung’s younger sister, were constantly occupying a space in Jake’s head that was strictly reserved for something more… impure.

It was strictly lust; however, that somehow made matters much worse because how could he possibly lust after his best friend’s sister? If it was some complicated emotion like love, then at least Jake could tuck his heart away and hide his feelings until the day he died.

Hiding a boner, though—that was difficult.

Even more so because you were in the same Engineering & Society seminar as Jake, and since the course was structured for small group debates, the two of you were often at each other’s throats in heated arguments. Of course, Jake tried to approach you as civilly as possible, so their professor believed the intense back-and-forth was simply a healthy dialogue, but neither of you would back down once it started.

The problem only made itself clear last month, despite how many excuses Jake made for himself to deny your involvement. It took him three more weeks to accept that his hard-ons were your doing and not simply a standing ovation out of respect for the debate (which was one of his worst possible reasons, to be honest).

And the cherry on top was that they always happened when you two were quarreling.

You two could be insults deep in what was supposed to be a casual discussion about greenwashing in product engineering, and Jake would, without fail, feel all the blood rush to his dick until it was uncomfortably stiff.

Unsexy thoughts, unsexy thoughts, unsexy thoughts, he kept chanting to himself, attempting to force an image in his head of Heeseung kicking his sorry ass. Unfortunately, it did very little to prove effective against the scarily overwhelming libido that tented his pants.

Jake was ashamed to admit that he was also mildly turned on by the idea of being caught, which made absolutely no sense because that was also his biggest fear.

So, to summarize, Jake now found himself horny in situations where:

he was pissed off

he was in the middle of a heated argument

he was potentially going to get beat up

It wasn’t looking good for him, to say the least.

Now, there was a justifiable reason as to why Jake was under the assumption that Heeseung was going to punch the living daylights out of him. Although you were only a year younger than your brother, he was awfully protective of you because a little sister was all he ever wanted.

Back when they were middle schoolers, running over to each other’s houses across the street to show each other their new comic books, Heeseung would always bring you around. Jake had nothing going on in his head but Spider-Man and legos back then, so he wasn’t very pleased with you constantly trailing behind them like a lost puppy. Naturally, that led to you and Jake often bickering about your annoying, lingering presence.

The last time Jake ever complained about you hanging around them was when he blew up on you for following them to the corner store. That place was practically their sanctuary back then. The 99 cent AriZona iced tea was like uncut cocaine to him. The fact that you, a mere fifth grader, encroached on their safe haven was an insult—a disgrace! The reputation of the fine establishment simply didn't allow for puny elementary kids to come and go as they pleased (in Jake’s head, at least).

“Quit following us, Y/N,” eleven-year-old Jake muttered back then, throwing you a glower over his shoulder. “Don’t you have other friends to bother?”

“Not really.”

“Yeah, I can tell, so stop trying to steal mine.”

Although you were all pigtails and Barbie dolls back then, you were surprisingly sharp-tongued for an elementary schooler. “Sure, Jake. You can have my brother and the rest of your imaginary friends.”

He wasn’t even the type to get angry. In fact, Jake had glowing reviews about his personality; moms loved him, the guys always picked him first for sports teams, and he even caught the attention of some of the girls at school. It wasn’t like him to get so riled up over something so small and petty, but he always happened to blow his top when it came to you.

It was rather unbecoming of him (considering Park Sunghoon later deemed him Mommy’s Little Misogynist for this one), but Jake was boiling with so much anger that he wound up chugging the rest of his iced tea in one go, crumpling up the aluminum into a disc, and throwing the empty can straight at your forehead. The force of his throw, normally reserved for intense sessions of Four Square on the playground, left behind an angry red mark that quickly brought you to tears.

Before Jake could even stutter out an apology, he was met with a blow to his gut that had him doubling over Heeseung’s fist. It was then that Jake realized that his friend did not take any disrespect toward his sister lightly.

This carried on into high school, too, where Jake got to witness Heeseung hunt down your first ever boyfriend for cheating on you. It was quite the scene, full of threats and rather creative insults, but Jake realized that he was only let off the hook because of his close friendship with Heeseung.

Over the years, he learned he could bicker with you all he wanted—Heeseung finally realized that you could stand up for yourself—but to lust after you so shamelessly was a death wish. It was the pinnacle of disrespect toward you. If your brother ever found out, Jake was a dead man.

That was why he was now fiercely determined to get through the rest of his seminar without having to cross his legs and hide the deplorable tension in his jeans.

Today, he prepared himself by starting his day off with a bowl of Corn Flakes, intended to curb sexual desires by John Harvey Kellogg himself. Then, he devoured a handful of graham crackers before class, which Jake wasn't quite sure would be useful as an anaphrodisiac, but it was worth a shot. Actually, he wasn't very confident with either of these options, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

The question they were tackling today was whether engineers were to be held accountable for how their inventions were used, such as facial recognition for surveillance or military drones. Thought-provoking, for sure. Jake made a mental note to discuss it with the professor at office hours—anything he could do to suck up to the guy to compensate for his crass behavior during discussions.

“You can’t just start something potentially dangerous and walk away from the consequences,” you claimed, that challenging look in your eyes daring anyone to speak against you.

Usually, no one other than Jake dared to oppose you, so the silence that followed after was thick with anticipation, stuck in their throats like honey. Your gaze met Jake’s for a split second, eyebrows lifting in mild surprise. He would usually be standing up by now, but he didn’t feel the need to. To be quite honest, Jake agreed with your point this time, so there was no reason for him to come up with some half-baked counterargument for the sake of participating. Plus, it was far too risky to argue with you; he was already determinedly set on making it through this class without his blood rushing to rather inappropriate regions.

Still, the way you were looking at him, waiting for him to argue back with those sickeningly adorable eyes, had him rising to his feet, anyway. What a weak-willed man he was. Sunghoon would laugh right in his face.

“But if someone misuses the technology, that’s on them, not the people who created it,” he countered, surprisingly convincing for someone who didn’t believe a word he was saying. “The engineers can’t control how their technology is used once it’s sold to whoever.”

“But don’t you see how technology’s being used? You really think mass surveillance keeps improving because engineers are just super passionate about innovation? It’s all about the money, isn’t it?” He could hear the emotion rising in your voice; you were just an overly-passionate person when it came to these things, but you sucked in a breath to collect yourself. “If they know the harm their inventions cause and keep going, they should be held accountable for what they make!”

This was honestly ridiculous. Jake fully agreed with you, yet here he was, scrambling to think of a rebuttal so that he could watch the irritation grow on your face.

“Then what about the ones built with good intentions? Should they be held responsible because their honest work was manipulated?”

“Impact over intent,” you replied with a firmness intended to shut him up. “Honest work only goes so far. Would you be okay with the vision for your product getting warped into something else entirely?”

“So, you think if someone designed tracking features on a health app or some shit, they should be held responsible if that data gets sold or used by the government?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I think.”

Well, yeah, that checked out.

Jake raised a brow. “How are they supposed to know? Most engineers are working on small parts of these big projects.”

“Seriously? Look at Boeing! All these sloppy engineering decisions resulted in those plane crashes.” There was a hint of venom in your tone and your eyes were sharp. Jake could tell you were getting to that level of frustration that he couldn’t help but get excited over. “Over three hundred people died because of plain negligence. Who’s to blame, then?”

“I just wanna ask where you think the line should be drawn,” he said. “If we hold every single engineer accountable for how their work gets used, then no one’s gonna build anything. You just end up driving them all into a corner.”

“Are you trying to be an engineer for the money, or are you in it for meaningful work?”

“Uh… yeah, the meaningful work, of course.” And the six-figure starting salary. That was beside the point, though.

“Then shouldn’t you be approaching what you create with some more tact? You can’t just mindlessly build whatever without thinking beyond your creation.”

“Are we still talking about engineers here, or are you just coming for me now?”

“Well, if the shoe fits.”

“The most I’ve done is code a calculator. I don’t think the government’s interested.”

“I’m clearly not talking about that. I’m talking about—”

“This is a seminar, Y/N. We’re supposed to be talking about society here.”

“Are you not part of society anymore, Jake? I sincerely apologize for assuming.” There was nothing sincere about your tone, though. “What? You’ve got nothing else to say?”

And, like clockwork, there was that telltale strain once again as Jake felt his chest grow hot. He reached behind him to grab the head of his chair and sit back down, slowly crossing one leg over the other. You frowned as you watched him concede, and Jake felt rather pathetic that everyone was under the impression that he surrendered. There was a chill in the room—whether it was from a draft or the tension from the conversation, he couldn’t tell.

“I think I’m done, but I agree with you, by the way,” he said, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Just wanted to participate.”

A few snickers rose from some of their classmates. You scoffed, partly out of amusement and partly out of exasperation, and slumped back in your seat with your arms crossed. The seething look on your face wasn’t doing him any favors, nor did the Corn Flakes and graham crackers, apparently.

“Okay, good stuff, good stuff,” said Jay Park, Jake’s longtime friend and current TA for the semester. “Anyone who isn’t Y/N or Jake wanna give it a go? Hopefully without making the rest of us painfully uncomfortable.”

He unfortunately had to bear witness to every single one of the showdowns between you and Jake, but he always kept his mouth shut in front of Heeseung because, as Jay put it, the feud between the two was “too messy to escalate.” Jake was just glad he didn’t have to resort to blackmail to shut Jay up.

It turned out that people were, in fact, willing to participate as long as you and Jake weren’t involved. Jake got to sit back for the rest of class and grit his teeth, willing his hard-on to go away before they were all dismissed. What made that quite the feat was the fact that you kept watching him for the rest of class with calculating eyes, as if you were peering into his very soul.

By the time class ended, Jake felt relief flood his chest. He needed to get a mile away from you before your eye contact made his situation a whole lot worse. As he was zipping his backpack back up, Jake saw your perfectly manicured fingernail dragging across the grain of his desk through the corner of his eye.

You were standing right in front of him.

He looked up, alarmed. From behind you, Jay, who was about to approach him, was backing up slowly, shooting his friend a grimace and opting to duck out the door instead. As the last few people in the classroom were filing out, Jake realized he was now left alone with you.

Fuck.

Jake cleared his throat. “Can I help you?”

“You can start by explaining why you keep going out of your way to get on my bad side,” you said. “If you agreed with me that entire time, why were you purposely trying to piss me off?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it going out of my way,” he retorted. “Class participation is a requirement. All I did was stand up.”

“And refute every single point you believed in?”

He clicked his tongue. “What can I say? I do it for the love of the game.”

“Uh-huh.” Completely unconvinced, you looked him up and down. Your demand was simple, yet downright mortifying: “Uncross your legs.”

Jake froze.

“Odd request, don’t you think?”

Your gaze dropped for a split second—not long enough for it to be obvious, but Jake caught it in time. “I don’t think so. We’ve known each other since, like, forever. I think we’re at the point where I can make odd requests.”

He felt his mouth going dry. What were you even on about? Sure, Jake was probably close to you in a forced proximity sort of way, but that didn’t mean you two were suddenly buddy-buddy. You two were close in the sense that Jake went to your high school graduation (as per Heeseung’s invite, of course) and drove you to your tennis practices whenever your brother was busy—not whatever this was.

But who was he kidding? Nothing about this conversation screamed buddy-buddy. You were clearly onto him, and all Jake could do was think of every sad movie he’d ever watched to get rid of the growing erection in his pants.

Jake swallowed thickly. “You want me to uncross my legs,” he stated matter-of-factly, and you snorted.

“What, didn’t hear it the first time?”

“Can’t do that,” was all could say in response—strained, like something was lodged in his throat.

“You can’t… move your leg?”

“Nope—arthritis.”

“Arthritis,” you repeated blankly.

“Yeah. Runs in my family.”

You shook your head, seeing right through his attempt to steer the conversation back into calmer waters. “You’re a terrible liar, Jake.”

“Really? I thought I was doing a pretty good job earlier.”

“Mmhm. A real Oscar-winning performance for someone arguing against his own opinion—truly,” you said. “Also, you’re stalling.”

“Here,” he bit out, and slowly—deliberately—Jake uncrossed his legs for you to see. The bulge in his pants had effectively gone down with much mental gymnastics, and you simply stared down at his groin with a frown settling on your lips. “Happy now, you pervert?”

All you did was look at him with a beady gaze, raising a perfectly arched brow before pulling your phone out of your bag. Jake could only return a look of absolute bewilderment as you flipped your hair over your shoulder and tapped away furiously, the glow from the screen illuminating your features just enough for you to look even more radiant.

“I see. So, uh… Heeseung’s gonna be out of town for his hockey tournament and I need a ride to Kazuha’s place tonight. She’s throwing this huge party, and I was planning on pregaming before I head over, but I’m not about to drunk drive, for obvious reasons.” You wouldn’t even look up as you spoke, keeping your eyes trained on the text messages that seemed to be delivering in a flurry. Notification after notification—Jesus, would it kill you to turn your ringer off? “Pick me up at eight?”

Jake blinked slowly—a few more times, for good measure. He couldn’t believe his ears. You just grilled him to a crisp, and now you were acting as if nothing happened? He was fighting his own blood from pumping to his dick, and you were just casually changing the topic?

But—whatever. As long as the attention wasn’t on his crotch anymore, he could roll with this.

He scowled. “Kazuha’s? Hey, I’m not your chauffeur.”

But you were already walking out the door. “Yeah, yeah. So, eight?”

A retired sigh fell from his lips. “Sure—fine, whatever. I’ll be there.”

In a happy world, Jake’s schedule was packed with classes all day so that he wouldn’t have to run into Heeseung right after that not-so-fun encounter with you.

In the real world, however, Jake’s schedule was specifically structured so that he and Heeseung had the same breaks between classes. They planned this out well in advance so that they could meet up once they were done with class. Of course, this didn't always work out because of overlapping course times, but the two of them happened to luck out this semester (although it wasn't exactly working in Jake’s favor right now). Just as he walked out of his classroom, his friend was making his way down the hallway to get to him.

“Yo,” Heeseung greeted. He had his hockey stick slung over his shoulder; for weekend tournaments like these, Heeseung would usually leave campus early so that he could commute before nightfall. “I thought you’d be at our table already. Jay isn’t with you?”

“I was hanging back for, uh… homework help,” he lied, hoping it came out smooth enough to convince his friend.

“Couldn’t you just ask Jay?”

Well, he had a point there. Jake settled for saying, “Nah. Fuck that guy.”

To his relief, Heeseung just laughed. “Yeah, true. That fucker goes on for hours if you get him to start explaining something. I asked him one question about my calc homework the other night, and I swear the sun was coming up by the time he was done.”

“That’s why you come to me first.”

“I tried. Your ass was knocked out, so all I had was Jay.” Then, Heeseung added, “By the way, since I’m gonna be out this weekend, I need you to do me a favor.”

“Yeah?”

“Y/N said she needed a ride to this… I don’t know—I guess Danielle’s sorority’s hosting something? A charity event or some shit like that. Anyway, I won’t be here, but she needs a ride. Are you free? It’s Saturday evening.”

“I’m already—” Jake stopped himself. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to disclose the minor detail that he was also going to be driving you to Kazuha’s party tonight. As hard as he racked his brain for an excuse, he couldn’t think of anything productive he’d be doing the next day. “Yeah, it’s no problem.”

“Appreciate it, man,” Heeseung said, thumping Jake’s chest with the back of his hand.

Their chatter continued out of the science building, pushing open the doors to be hit with a gust of cold wind. Heeseung then stopped dead in his tracks, looking down at his phone before throwing his head back in exasperation.

“Coach wants us to meet in the gym before we leave,” he told Jake with a resigned shrug. “I’ll see you on Monday, okay? Tell Sunghoon and Jay I said bye.”

The one thing Jake despised in the world was saying goodbye to people. He got far too emotional over a gesture that really wasn’t that dramatic, and he hated how seriously he took them. Still, acting as if he was a normal person who knew how to act normally about such matters, he clapped his friend on the back and wished him good luck before watching him walk off.

Seriously, he felt like a military wife sending off his husband.

When Jake found the table that Sunghoon and Jay were sitting at, scarfing down their sandwiches at record speed. Jake dropped his bag on the ground and collapsed into the seat next to Sunghoon. He reached over to grab one of Jay’s curly fries, twirling it around in his finger before he nibbled on it.

“Heeseung’s gone,” he told them.

“Oh. His tournament?” Jay took an obnoxiously loud sip from his drink. “You phrased that like he died.”

“He said bye.”

Sunghoon nodded wistfully. “He will be missed—mostly ‘cause he always does the dishes. Now we’re responsible. Ugh.”

With his elbow on the table and chin sunk into his palm, Jake nodded along to Sunghoon’s words, still stuck in some strange sort of daze.

Sunghoon shot him a questioning look before turning to Jay. “Okay, I'll bite: What’s up with Sadness?”

“Dunno.” Jay covered his mouth to finish chewing the rest of his bite. “He and Y/N were getting into it during class today.” He looked up from his food to turn back to Jake. “What happened after she cornered you after class?”

“Cornered?” Sunghoon asked with sudden intrigue.

To state his concerns as vaguely as possible, Jake groaned feebly into his hands and said, “I’m in deep shit, you guys.”

The two men were dumbfounded to hear Jake Sim, who had a shiny record of being a perfect son and perfect student all his life, make such a claim. (Well, perfect enough to make his parents proud; there were surely several imperfections that wouldn’t earn Jake his Perfect Son badge if they were ever to find out. Exhibit A: whatever was happening to him because of you.) Not once had he gotten a detention or even a warning. Jake was a poster child all his life, which was why he felt especially embarrassed that he was acting so shamefully when it came to you.

“You didn’t make her cry, right?” Jay asked.

“No!” he exclaimed. In fact, you almost made him cry. “I just…” He sighed and straightened up, his voice taking on an edge of seriousness. “You can’t tell Heeseung.”

Jay raised a brow. “What’d you do, throw a book at her?”

Sunghoon let out a low whistle. “Mommy’s Little Misogynist strikes again.”

“I got a boner, okay?” Jake blurted out, sick of their mindless assumptions, even though his confession was probably a one-way ticket to the deepest circle of Hell.

At first, there was silence. Then, a scream—an obnoxious, garbled sort of scream that Jake almost thought was a squawk. Sunghoon and Jay doubled over in laughter, dropping their sandwiches to swat at each other as they were unable to contain themselves. Jake sat there for a good two minutes, a deadpan expression on his face while he waited for them to calm down.

“A boner?” Sunghoon clarified, a Cheshire-like grin plastered across his face. “A stiffy? A hard-on? An erec—?”

“Okay, Merriam-Webster, I don’t need every single synonym,” Jake snapped. “But, yes, I’ve been getting hard during class because of her, it’s—”

Jay spluttered out, “Been—!” And then they exploded into a fit of laughter again, collapsing into each other and wheezing from the absolute joy of their friend’s humiliation. With tears now spilling from his waterline, Jay rose up and pointed a finger at Sunghoon in utter glee. “Multiple times!”

“Multiple times!” Sunghoon cried back, pounding his fist on the table.

Jake was not amused in the slightest. “Okay, I feel like you guys are just overreacting now.”

It took Sunghoon and Jay quite a few minutes to pull themselves together after laughing hysterically for what felt like forever, so Jake took it upon himself to steal a couple more of Jay’s fries as revenge.

“It’s fine, dude, seriously,” Sunghoon placated, as if he hadn’t been losing it moments earlier. He sucked in a deep breath to collect himself while Jay’s shoulders were still shaking.

“You guys were just making fun of me!”

“Did we laugh? Yes. Do we think you’re kind of a freak? Also yes.” Sunghoon shrugged. “But do we have your back? No.”

At that, Jay straightened up. “I think you messed that up.”

“I think so, too.”

“I’d assume we do have his back.”

“Should I change it to—”

“Okay! I get what you’re saying—very heartwarming, I think,” Jake interjected. “But am I seriously in the wrong here? No matter how much Y/N pisses me off sometimes, I’d never want to disrespect her. It feels weird, you know… getting hard over her, of all people. I mean, she’s Heeseung’s sister!”

“So you popped a boner over her—who cares?” Sunghoon placated. Jake fought back the urge to roll his eyes; they clearly cared when they were cackling like hyenas. “I’ve gotten hard in situations I probably shouldn’t get hard in. It happens to the best of us. It’s fine.”

“What kind of situations?” Jake questioned.

“Don’t spin this on me. This is about you get turned on by your best friend’s sister, you freak.”

“But you said it was fine!”

“That was before you pissed me off. Now I’ve changed my mind: Heeseung’s gonna kick your nasty ass straight to Hell.”

Frustrated, Jake tugged a hand through his dark hair. “Jay, do you have anything to contribute? Preferably anything that shuts Sunghoon up.”

“I knew this day would come.” Jay wiped the stray tears from under his eyes with his thumb. “See, Jake, when a man and a woman, or a man and a man, or a woman and a woman, or a person and a per—”

“Yes, I’m aware of all the possibilities on the spectrum,” Jake interjected. “Continue.”

“When a man and a woman love each other very much, they—”

“Oh my God,” Jake cut in once again, digging the heels of his palms into the hollows of his eyes. “I’m a grown man. I don’t need the sex talk—and I’m not gonna have sex with her, either!”

“You’re not?”

“No!”

“You don’t think she’s hot?”

“Well—I… I mean—that’s no reason—”

“You’re not getting a boner over someone you’re not physically attracted to, that’s for sure,” Jay said, clearly tired of his friend by now.

“I’m calling for plausible deniability,” Jake announced.

“Implausible. Vetoed.”

“Wait,” Sunghoon chimed in before looking at Jay, “how did you not notice?”

“Notice what?”

“His boner, dude.”

“Are you crazy? I have better things to do than stare at Jake’s dick all class,” Jay answered. Recollection seemed to hit him like a slap, his hand raising halfway to his mouth. “Actually… now that I think about it, I did think it was weird that you sat back down before you finished your debate… and your legs were crossed for the rest of class!”

(“So you did stare at Jake’s dick all class,” Sunghoon said.)

Jake threw him a withering look. “Yeah, I know. That’s probably why she caught me.”

Sunghoon’s jaw froze mid-bite, and without any respect to the onions that were falling off his bread, he dropped his sandwich and exclaimed, “She caught you?” Jay, who was equally as shocked, seemed to also be struggling to hide how gleeful he was about the drama.

“Well, almost,” he corrected. “It was more of a suspicion, but I didn’t give in—and I called her a pervert! It feels good to win.”

“Cool! What’d you win?” The unexpected voice nearly made Jake jump; thanks to years of working on a collected composure, though, chills ran up his spine instead. Sunghoon and Jay were both caught off guard, too, judging by their nearly imperceptible jolts that had them pulling their shoulders back.

He turned to see you with a hand on your hip, a curious smile on your lips. If his expression didn’t give it away, surely knocking over Jay’s curly fries was a sure sign of Jake’s nervousness.

“Uh… League? League match—nothing important—yeah, um… so—what’re you—what’re you doing here?”

Real smooth, Jake.

Jay, who looked as if the scene before him was physically painful to witness, valiantly chimed in to save Jake’s skin, “Are you looking for Heeseung? He already left for his tournament.”

“Nope,” you said, walking over to stand behind Jake so you could card your fingers through his hair. He remained frightfully still and tried not to think about your fingernails against his skin. Your sharp, manicured fingernails… dragging across his—okay, his mind really needed to stop wandering. “I have a quiz next class, so I came here to ask for a calculator. I just need it for my next class.”

Jake’s TI-83 was most definitely tucked away in his backpack, but he was reluctant to move with the way you were running your fingers through his hair. Albeit how he had to fight to keep his mind out of the gutter, Jake could also admit that this was rather… soothing. He could stay like this all afternoon and he wouldn’t mind at all.

Sunghoon started, “Oh, I’ve got—”

“I got it,” Jake, with a deep edge of unease, spoke over his friend. Sunghoon didn’t seem to look upset about being cut off, though; in fact, the senior was trying to hide a growing smirk that he had to cover with his hand. Jake dug into his backpack, sifting through each of the pockets haphazardly, before pulling out his graphing calculator and handing it to you. “You can just give it back to me later.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll find an opportunity,” you replied before turning on your heel. “See you guys later!”

After their goodbyes, the three boys lapsed into silence. Jake wondered if they were all thinking about that interaction with you and how strange it was. The three of them took high school graduation pictures with you, went over for Thanksgiving dinner at your house, and even awkwardly lingered about in Victoria’s Secret while you were trying on bras—but this? This change in behavior was something none of them would’ve ever expected from you.

Sunghoon was the first to break the silence, saying, “That was weird.”

“Indeed,” Jay agreed, perplexed.

“She was all over you,” Sunghoon observed. “Like, I’m almost convinced that Y/N was replaced with a horny clone last night.”

“Jake, at this rate, you might—”

“Don’t say it,” Jake pleaded. “Don’t say anything about me and her. I swear, I just need to get back on Tinder or something, and I’ll forget all about Y/N—probably.”

Jay gave his shoulder a weak punch. “Yeah, I believe you, man.”

He did not, however, sound like he believed in his friend at all.

Jake didn’t quite fit the partying archetype.

Heeseung was a social butterfly, Jay and Sunghoon could get by as long as they could slip away to recharge from time to time, but Jake always looked for a way to get out of such events. Whether it was a project or a supposed family emergency, he played any card he could—although it was usually a fruitless attempt. Plus, Jake was strictly herbal; he wasn’t a big drinker like his friends were, especially when it came to his mortal enemy (Everclear).

So, now, while he was watching you stumble down your driveway to get into the passenger seat of his car, Jake was already trying to do the math in his head to calculate when he’d be back in the comfort of his room.

Tonight, you were dressed up a little more than usual. Your strappy black stilettos were dangerously high, and paired with the little black skirt that stopped halfway down your thighs, Jake found it difficult to pull his gaze away from you.

“How’re you getting back home?” he asked as he pulled out of your driveway. Jake recalled several occasions where Heeseung had to do a U-turn to pick you up from Kazuha’s, so he was quite familiar with the route. “Uber?”

“—and he was trying to get with me, even though I know he has a girlfriend! Isn’t that crazy? I literally have the same lab section as her, like, I could walk up to her and tell her everything. Are men just stupid? Like, I can literally ruin his relationship—I mean, he pretty much did that on his own—but I could just expedite the process, you know? Ugh, and he wasn't even cute—so mid, like, not my type at all,” the lilting voice through your phone kept rattling on.

You shot Jake an apologetic look before you kept trying to calm down Hanni Pham, who he often saw you with. Well, he supposed small talk was out of the question now, which Jake didn’t mind one bit. Still, lowering the volume of Kendrick Lamar’s new album just to listen to Hanni’s incessant ranting for the rest of the ride was starting to drive Jake insane.

Finally, you made a quick excuse to Hanni before ending the call, and Jake waited a few more moments before he raised the volume again. He kept his eyes trained on the road, for if they wandered in your direction, Jake was sure he wouldn’t get away with crossing his legs in this situation.

“You didn’t have to hang up,” he said.

“I didn’t?” You gave him a knowing look. “You kept looking over at me like you were in agony, so I thought I’d put you out of your misery.”

A sheepish grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “Thanks for that. Who’s the guy she was talking about, anyway?”

“Wow, so now you wanna hear more?”

He shrugged. “You could at least repay me for the ride by entertaining me.”

“Entertaining you?” This time, you were grinning. Jake felt a bit nervous as you leaned over the center console. “If you want entertainment, then come to Kazuha’s with me.”

“Really?” Jake kept his tone light as he looked for street parking, and then he pulled over to the sidewalk to let you out. You had the door half-open, looking at him expectantly. “I’ll pass, then. Have fun.”

You leveled him with a glower. “You’re seriously not coming?”

“I’ve got, uh, homework.”

“Homework? It’s a Friday night, Jake. Just do it over the weekend.”

“Just get inside already, Y/N. It’s cold.”

“Fine,” you said, curt. There was little gratitude in your tone when you added, “Thanks for the ride,” and flung the door shut, too.

Jake sat back with a sigh, hoping that the solitude would aid in unclouding his judgement. He couldn’t just go to that party with you; things were weird between you two, and that was only putting it as simply as he could. But, on the other hand, maybe he should’ve just gone. There was no harm in showing face for a while, and it wasn't like Kazuha was a complete stranger, either.

He let one opportunity fall right through his fingers; another presented itself right in front of Jake.

Your phone.

You left it on the seat before you left, whether it was intentional or not. The polaroid of you, Hanni, and Danielle showed through the back of its clear case, and Jake stared at your (admittedly charming) smile before he unbuckled his seatbelt in defeat.

One hour. That was all he’d give himself in there.

He was sure the duration of his decision-making process wouldn’t keep him from catching up to you in time, but that wasn’t the case at all. Jake couldn’t spot you at all, not even after he did a lap around the first floor. You must’ve noticed your phone was missing by now, so where were you?

Cramped, narrow hallways. Blaring music. Flashing lights. Sweaty people packed together. The lingering stench of booze.

It was dreadful.

Jake had to take a break in the kitchen, leaning against the countertop where someone’s bluetooth speaker was blowing out his eardrums. To his knowledge, Kazuha was renting next to an elderly couple with low tolerance for noise. How she could get away with throwing parties like these was beyond Jake.

“Oh, shit,” a familiar voice called out. “You’re here, too? Thank fuck.”

Jake turned to see Choi Beomgyu walking over to him, cradling a red solo cup. Perfect. Jake was dreading the very idea of being sober right now, and he knew Beomgyu would have the fix he needed. Last time he saw Beomgyu, the guy was canisters deep in whippets; it would’ve been impossible to tell he was conscious if his hand didn’t keep inching inside of Jake’s bag of chips.

“I was supposed to sell Yeonjun some weed, but where the fuck is he?” Beomgyu went on to complain, setting his empty cup down and flicking it across the counter with little care. “When’d you get here? Just now?”

“Yeah, have you seen Y/N?” Jake shouted over the music. Beomgyu gave him a little shake of the head, and a weary breath escaped Jake’s lips. His eyebrows lifted as he then suggested, “Smoke break?”

“Hell yeah.”

It just so happened that Jake was already breaking his one hour rule. At one minute past his self-mandated curfew, he was not in a state to be driving at all.

All thanks to Beomgyu, he was blazed out of his mind now, moving through the house with an air of indifference this time. Normally, Jake felt like his brain was buzzing constantly, like a hurricane that never stopped raging. But when that sweet Mary Jane filled his lungs, he felt more in control of himself. It felt almost as if he was underwater, weightless and drifting along with the current. For someone who swam desperately his whole life, he liked that he could just float.

And, because the universe apparently decided that weed was the answer to all of Jake’s problems, he eventually wandered back into the kitchen and found you.

Minor problem: There was a man right next to you.

But Jake, floating about in a blissful daze, strolled right up to you without a second thought about interrupting your conversation.

“... fucked up how she curves, it’s usually—oh, what the hell?” You did a double-take when you saw Jake walk up beside you, noticing his red and glassy eyes almost instantly. Your attention was immediately pulled from the unmemorable man beside you, which was not good because this was a horrible time to stroke Jake’s ego, and you grabbed onto the sleeve of his leather jacket. He took a step back to avoid your drink sloshing onto his clothes. “I thought you went home!”

Another minor (or maybe major) problem that Jake forgot about prior to his smoke break: Weed only made it easier for him to get turned on.

That—coupled with standing so close to you—was sure to be disastrous.

“Had to return this,” he answered, holding up your phone, which you snatched at record speed. You were going on about how forgetful you were before Jake asked, “Were you two busy? I can leave.”

“Oh, uh, we were just talking,” you said, looking between Jake and the other dude (whose name still remained a mystery) a couple of times before clearing your throat. The guy, who earlier had a hopeful glint in his eyes, seemed to wilt a bit. In a more cheerful tone, you added, “He’s an old classmate. We both had Robbins for O-chem.”

Robbins for O-chem. Sounded like a cheap excuse to talk you up, was what Jake thought. Last year he had physics with Kim Minji, but he wasn’t cornering her in the living room to talk about the good old days of wave mechanics.

Jake gave you a smug look. “Robbins? What was that about the curve, then?”

“Someone scored a hundred and screwed the rest of us up.” You scoffed. “Always that one kid.”

“Ah. That was me.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, that’s why I didn’t show anyone my score—except Jay, but he said he felt sick looking at it.”

“I feel sick hearing about it. You should’ve just kept that to yourself forever.”

That was the plan, actually, but Jake strangely felt the need to impress you in comparison to Background Character #1 and his unremarkable presence. Well, considering all he achieved was pissing you off, he supposed it wasn’t going too well.

“That was the plan.” Slightly miffed, he leaned back against the counter with his arms folded over his chest. “But I earned that hundred. I didn’t sleep for three whole days to study for that final.”

“Oh, boo-hoo. I stayed up, too—and got a sixty.”

Jake simply shrugged. “You passed the class, didn’t you? That’s all that matters.”

“Easy for you to say! You got a perfect score!”

“I don’t think that—”

But you weren’t backing down, cutting Jake off to ask, “What’d you put for the cyclobutene question?”

Jake scowled at you. He thought one or two drinks in your system would calm you down, the same way weed did for him, but you were pushier than ever.

By now, he also realized that Guy-whose-face-he-now-forgot was long gone. He probably realized that there was no hope in trying to hit on you after seeing how your full attention was captivated by Jake. He wasn’t trying to boast—he was just calling it like he saw it.

“Seriously? That was a whole year ago, Y/N.”

He felt the weight of your incredulous stare. “But you remember your answer, don’t you?”

To be honest, he did.

“Conrotatory ring opening under thermal conditions,” he answered after a minute of spacing off to remember what he put down (and ignore your blatant staring). “Four pi electrons.”

“Wait, no, then it wouldn’t follow the Woodward-Hoffman rules. 4n would be antiaromatic in the transition state, so it would be forced to be a disrotatory mo—”

“Nope, the 4n system makes it conrotatory. Disrotatory would misalign the orbitals. Dude, I’m telling you, I remember it perfectly. I drew it out and everything.”

You opened and closed your mouth a few times, and Jake found great pleasure in watching you flounder for a response. Moreover, he was starting to imagine very dangerous things that involved his body pressed up against yours—preferably somewhere private, but he was almost tempted to pull you closer right now.

“But… but then the cis product—”

“Stays as is,” Jake finished for you. “I can even draw the diagram for you. I’m sure there’s a paper and pen somewhere.”

“Ugh, don’t bother. I’m pissed off.” You shook your head, frustrated, and a lazy smile stretched across Jake’s face. “Why are you so smart when…”

It took him a moment to even notice that you stopped in the middle of your sentence, dragging the syllabus an octave deeper than usual. Jake thought that he finally pushed you to your limit, that you were going to stop talking to him altogether, but the reality was much, much worse.

You jabbed your elbow sharply into his side, hard enough to make him wince in pain.

“Okay, ow. What’s—?” Then he looked down.

Oh.

Jake’s lips parted, framing an apology that he couldn’t bring himself to utter. He was caught somewhere between alarm and shame, hardly able to move as the cold reality sank in that you just saw his growing bulge.

It was dark enough so that only you were aware of it, but fuck, Jake couldn’t even get himself out of this one.

He looked down at you to say something—anything that would save him from this horrible situation, really—but there were no words to explain himself. Jake looked helplessly to the side for some escape route out of this situation, or perhaps even his Deus ex Machina: Beomgyu. Before he could open his mouth, you smoothly stepped in front of Jake, effectively cornering him in the kitchen and shielding him from onlookers.

Heroic, truly—except your thigh was now pressing firmly against the tent in his pants.

His blood ran cold when he saw the twinkle in your eyes, as if you were getting a kick out of this. Meanwhile, Jake made a mental apology to Jay and Sunghoon, who were going to be very disappointed that Jake didn’t take any steps toward forgetting all about you. It proved rather difficult when you were as intoxicating as the drugs in his system.

“I fucking knew it,” you whispered, triumph tugging your lips into a smirk. “You were hard during class today, too, weren’t you?”

This time, Jake was the one at a loss for words, flailing for any excuse that would defuse the tension, but he was already a lost cause. In less than twenty-four hours, Jake managed to expose his deepest, darkest secret to the one person who was never supposed to find out. All he could do now was accept slow, torturous suffering as the jaws of social suicide ripped into him.

“Y/N, p-please, I can—”

You threw your head back to laugh, delighted. “What? Are you trying to apologize for a boner?”

He stammered, “No—I mean, yes—but… I…” One more brush of your leg against his clothed cock had Jake holding onto your shoulders, trying to keep his lust at bay. “Y/N, stop. You’re Heeseung’s sister.”

“Excellent observation. Wouldn’t have figured that one out.”

“I mean, this”—he gestured between him and you—“isn’t gonna work out.”

You blinked. “Why not?”

“W-what do you mean, why not? Heeseung and I have been friends for years. I can’t just… I can’t do that to—”

“Oh, give it a rest. Why are you even bringing him up right now?” you asked in a snippy voice, waving his qualms off.

“Because—”

“Anyway, I’ve put together a little theory, and I think I’m right.”

Jake raised his brows at that, slightly intrigued to what you could’ve possibly pieced together in the past twelve hours. If it had anything to do with why he was getting turned on, he was certain that you would be completely off the mark.

“You get horny when we argue, don’t you?” you asked.

Oh, so you were spot on. Fantastic.

He let out a desperate, wanting breath, trying to cover it up as a sound of misery. The kitchen was mostly cleared out since everyone gathered in the living room to play beer pong, but Jake lowered his voice to speak, anyway.

“Pretty much. Nothing sexual—just attracted to the mind, is all. Debates can be stimulating, you know?”

“Nothing sexual about your dick getting hard?”

In a rather strangled voice, he answered, “Normal physiological reaction, really.”

He felt your hand smooth over his chest, your fingers splaying out before you dragged your hand lower and lower. He shivered as he felt your fingertips run across his abs, tracing each groove of muscle before your hand dipped to the front of his pants. Jake screwed his eyes shut when your palm pressed against his stiff, aching cock.

You simpered. “Really? So you don’t need my help getting you off?”

He suppressed a growl at the back of his throat, opting to loop his fingers in your belt loops and pull you closer instead. “Don’t.”

“Hm?”

“Not here. We’re in public.”

But your other hand was snaking around his neck, playing with the ends of his dark hair that fell to his nape. Jake could feel his body trembling as he restrained himself from holding you close and kissing you like his life depended on it.

I shouldn’t, he told himself, forcing the words to burn into his skull (and still, they would not stick). I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t—

But, fuck, the way you were looking at him. It was enough to drive a sane man to the brink of madness.

Well, Jake presumed he had always been a bit out of his mind when it came to you.

After an unsteady breath, Jake slid one hand up your waist, up your arm, and then across your shoulder to hold your neck. Your chest swelled before you leaned into his touch. Jake found his thumb straying from where his hand cradled your jaw. He traced the outline of your lips with careful precision, charting each curve and line in his course.

He kissed you once, light and fleeting—just enough to taste you.

The sweet second of contact lost its grace soon after. He wet his lips, chasing what was left of your lipstick. With one more look into your eyes, all the nerves that gripped him seemed to melt away in a breath. Jake held your gaze before reaching up to hold the sides of your face and pulling you in for a searing kiss. It had been merely one taste—one press of his lips against yours—and jagged splinters of desperation tore into him, burying deep in his flesh.

Jake, with a heavy heart, wished he could formally apologize to everyone who was bearing witness to their sloppy makeout session. He simply couldn’t help that you were both intoxicated, turned on, and extremely riled up from bickering. He shoved his tongue past your lips, messy and eager, sating a hunger that had him starved for longer than he thought.

It soon slipped Jake’s mind entirely that he was making out with you in the kitchen. His cock throbbed in his jeans, pulsating each time your hips made contact with his. You were slowly rolling your hips over his—subtle enough to go undetected, but it was driving him wild. Honestly, though, if Jake truly wanted to stop you from moving against him that way, he would’ve let go of your hip by now.

You were an insanely good kisser. Jake felt a small pang of jealousy upon recollecting all the times he witnessed you kissing someone before him—your first boyfriend, your senior prom date, your college situationships. He never thought too deeply about how he felt in the moment, but it was like he had locked up all those messy feelings bordering on jealousy. They were all spilling out now, like a crack in the dam, threatening to make Jake feel something for you that he hadn't felt before.

He broke from the kiss to leave gentle pecks along your jawline and down your neck, each one leaving you sighing happily. “Let’s go upstairs, yeah?” he whispered against the shell of your ear, leaving a featherlight kiss in its wake. His drawl was stronger when he lowered his voice to a murmur, “Don’t go shy on me now, sweetheart.”

“Shy? I’m not shy.”

“Oh, yeah? Look me in the eyes, then.”

“Shut… shut up—and follow behind me, unless you want everyone here seeing your di—”

“Okay, that’s enough.”

You, being his knight in shining armor now, led the way upstairs, allowing for Jake to stand directly behind you and hide his boner. He kept his arms wrapped loosely around your waist, trying to focus on anything but the nape of your neck. Having his bulge pressed up against your body was making his senses go haywire.

(Also—and he wasn’t quite brave enough to admit this to himself just yet—he kind of wanted to lace his fingers with yours.)

Jake hastily wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was sure he must’ve looked like an absolute douchebag walking around like that, considering the amount of lipstick he had just rubbed off.

The first empty room was theirs for the taking. Jake sported a wolfish grin as he closed the door to whoever’s bedroom they locked themselves in. You, however, looked uncertain.

“I’d feel bad doing it on their bed,” you confessed.

Jake, who didn’t realize he was going to encounter a moral dilemma amidst getting his dick wet, blinked slowly.

“That’s true,” he agreed. Sure, yeah, he would probably kill his friends if any of them hooked up with someone in his bed. Jake made his way to you slowly; at first, you didn’t budge, but then you let him walk you backward once he grabbed your hips. “I wouldn’t feel as bad doing it against their wall, though.”

Your fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt, as if you were about to peel it right off him. “Then how about I suck you off first? Make up for all those debates?”

“Really?” he spluttered out, gawking at you as you turned him around so that his back was against the wall.

You hastily undid the buttons on his jeans, all the while maintaining eye contact with him. “You’re too cute. Don’t tell me you weren’t waiting for this.”

His gaze darkened slightly.

He joined you immediately in getting rid of his pants. Jake couldn’t help but let out a blissful sigh as he pulled his boxers down and his cock sprang up. Seeing you slide down to your knees to wrap your hands around his length nearly made his knees buckle under him. His hand moved to the back of your head, tangling his fingers through your hair.

Just like that, Jake Sim lost all willpower to keep himself away from Lee Heeseung’s sister.

“I don’t know if I can fit all of it in my mouth,” you told him, lips ghosting the tip of his cock.

“That’s okay, baby.” He tightened his grip in your hair. “Take however much you can.”

You started with a gentle kiss to his tip, and it was enough to make Jake shudder. He watched you in wonderment, eyes glued to your mouth and how his cock disappeared past your lips. With one hand holding onto his hip for leverage, you ducked your head to lick from base to tip, running your tongue along a rather thick vein that wrapped around the side.

Jake was thankful for the pounding music below; although he prided himself on his self-control (prior to Y/Ngate), he was never good at being quiet in the throes of pleasure. Slowly, you sucked on the tip, earning a drawn-out moan from Jake that he hardly bothered muffling.

And then, you were hollowing your cheeks to take more of him in, and a flicker of intensity flashed in his eyes when he felt his cock hit the back of your mouth. Jake had to hold onto the nearby dresser for support, his knuckles going white. You gagged a little as his head brushed against your uvula, and then a few tears sprang in your eyes.

Jake watched them pool at your waterline, and he wiped at them with his thumb, cooing at you sympathetically.

“Just like that, baby,” he murmured, stifling a groan. He closed his eyes and tightened his grip on the back of your head to thrust into your mouth—careful, experimental. “Ah—fuck, your mouth feels so fucking good.”

Despite the unbelievably erotic image of you blowing him, Jake could also detect some smugness. As you bobbed your head, each motion driving Jake closer and closer to a release, you could pick up on the effect you were having on him.

His eyes, glazed over with lust, were threatening to roll back, but he was determined to keep them on you now. He couldn’t get enough of watching how you were taking him in, how you were so quick to pleasure him.

Then, as Jake felt heat burning under his skin, he gently pulled back, holding your jaw securely to keep you from chasing his cock. You looked up at him with a frown, head cocked to the side.

“What’s wrong?” you asked as he wordlessly helped you back up to your feet.

Jake switched your positions, backing you into the wall again. He slid his hand under your thigh, pulling it up so that your leg wrapped around his hip.

“My turn,” he said. “I’d rather be inside you when I cum.”

A needy little moan escaped your lips, and suddenly the both of you were a mess of hands, clawing and tearing to get each other’s clothes off. You yanked at Jake’s shirt, shoving it up and over his head, and he didn’t let it go unnoticed that your gaze dropped to the lines of his chest. You didn’t get much time to ogle, though, because Jake was quick to get rid of your clothes next, even snapping your bra off in one go. Your underwear, however, was pulled down with slow reverence. Jake had to take a minute to admire your breathtaking body in all its glory.

He never imagined this. All this overwhelming passion. Your body pressed flush against his—no walls up between either of you.

Jake almost felt like all of this was dreamlike as his finger skimmed your folds, moving to rub your clit in a slow, languid motion. A shaky whine fell from your lips.

“You’re already soaked, sweetheart,” he said. He slipped a finger inside you as you were opening your mouth, and your words died on your tongue. “You’re just as filthy as me, aren’t you?”

All he got in response was another petulant whine, like music to his ears. Jake added another finger, pumping it inside you while his thumb pressed against your clit. You squirmed in his hold, but Jake held you steady, keeping you pinned to the wall as he fingered your cunt.

“I thought about this so many times,” you gasped out, much to Jake’s surprise. He raised a brow while speeding up his ministrations. This only made it harder for you to get your words out coherently, so it took you a while to add, “Thought about you fucking me after those stupid arguments, just like this.”

Jake, a simple man, wasn’t built to handle such words; he would’ve come on the spot, untouched, if he wasn’t so eager to bury his cock in you.

Jake guided his cock to your slit, and the two of you moaned simultaneously as he pushed inside you. The room went a little fuzzy for a moment—something high-pitched seemed to be ringing in his ears—and then Jake’s hips met yours, drawing shuddering breaths and whimpers from you two.

Shit. He felt like he was on fire and your every moan was ice.

Caging you in his grip, he gave a shallow thrust, rousing a gasp from you. In turn, your leg curled tighter around his hip. Jake had to bury his face in your neck to suppress his groans, his hot breath fanning your skin as he littered kisses and bites along your supple skin. He just hoped your makeup could conceal the marks that were blooming along the tender column of your neck.

Another thrust—deeper, this time. He seemed to hit a spot that sent stars glittering behind your eyelids, judging by the dazed look that clouded your expression.

“M-more,” you begged, your voice catching on the end of the sentence.

"More? You want more?"

Your response came out in a breath. "Please."

Your hand threaded into his hair, pulling him down for another kiss, like it was all you could hold onto. The position your leg was in was strained at this angle, but you didn’t seem to care, clawing at Jake’s back to keep him closer.

His tongue slipped into your mouth without hesitation, and he was pretty sure he was getting drunk off the liquor on your tongue. Slowly, like he was taking off the training wheels, Jake’s hips started to move at a steady rhythm—shallow thrusts going deeper and deeper.

As Jake relentlessly thrusted into you, he left no place untouched, each stroke dragging inside you a little longer. It drew out the prettiest whines from you, so he couldn’t help but tease you a little longer. His otherwise consistent rhythm, however, faltered as you clenched around him tightly.

“I-I’m close,” you gasped out, pulling from the kiss to watch where his cock disappeared inside you.

“I've got you, sweetheart,” he replied gently, honey dripping from his words, and Jake held you tightly in his arms as he sped up his pace to bring you closer to your orgasm.

He was getting there, too—real close, actually. Jake felt like he was unravelling, his nerve endings alight, skin buzzing, and his breath trapped in his lungs. With a couple more thrusts, you shattered with his name on your lips, crying over the music. Jake had to cover your mouth with his hand to keep you quiet, but he couldn’t deny that he was loving how responsive you were. He followed after you with a loud groan, making sure to pull out before his cum spilled all over his hands.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Jake watched as your chest rose and fell for a couple of minutes. He tried to ground himself—convince himself that what just happened wasn’t a dream.

For the rest of the night, neither of you addressed how the next kiss held something deeper—something that reached beyond lust. Jake was sure you felt it, too, lingering like a secret between your lips, but he wouldn’t dare give that feeling a name just yet.

“Jake would be the type to catch feelings after hooking up.”

Park Sunghoon was the one to make this outrageous statement, effectively snapping Jake out of whatever dreamy daze he was in. Ever since he had sex with you hours ago, Jake couldn’t stop thinking about how you felt around him. He thought FaceTiming his friends would help clear his mind, but he was starting to believe that they were, in fact, the problem.

He didn’t return home immediately. Jake had to pretend like he didn’t just blow your back out when he went downstairs to talk to Kazuha and her very drunk roommates. One of them was so obviously flirting with Jake that you cornered him later to leave a prominent hickey on his collarbone. Then, after he sobered up enough to drive you home, you didn’t seem to have your heart set on getting back; you requested that Jake stop at a parking lot on two separate occasions (during a fifteen minute drive) so that he could eat you out in the backseat.

After that, there was a lot more kissing on the way to your doorstep, a lot of heavy petting as he carried you to your room, and you graciously offered to ride him before he drove back home.

When Jake recounted all of this to Jay and Sunghoon, he left to get himself a midnight snack because they were laughing their heads off for a record-breaking amount of time. It started to feel like a humiliation ritual.

At the end of the call, Jay spouted some bullshit like, “Heeseung won’t even care, trust me.”

Jake refused to even consider that as a possibility, but he vowed to keep his distance from you to make sure last night wouldn’t happen again. (It was important to note that he laughed right after because even he couldn’t believe that.)

Despite the shame that bubbled in Jake’s gut, he had to honor the commitment he made to Heeseung, even though it was a terrible idea to see you again. (No, it’s a wonderful idea! those feel-good neurotransmitters in his stupid, horny brain argued. Viagra in your future! Always prioritize sex! Get laid quick!) So, the next day, there he was—at 5:00 p.m. sharp—parked outside of your house with a sinking feeling that you were going to greet him in a way that would make your older brother faint on the spot.

The sky was splotched with peach and lavender, like a watercolor painting that dried into soft, muted hues. There was a dreamy glow out on the horizon, but when Jake turned to see you walking out of his house, there was the sun—ablaze with brilliant light.

Your eyes caught, and he felt suspended in time for a few seconds. Jake’s stupid, pathetic heart pumped out blood a bit too quickly.

Something was off, though.

You were wearing cotton shorts and an oversized t-shirt with Snoopy printed on the front—more fitting for a sleepover than a charity event, no offense. Jake understood that plenty of people prioritized comfort in their outfit choices; although he was quite surprised that you, of all people, would fall in that category. He recalled that blink-182 concert where he had to take turns with Sunghoon to give you a piggyback ride back to the parking lot because you were so damn adamant on wearing your death trap high heels. Your ankles, of course, suffered the consequences.

But maybe this was a good thing. Maybe this meant that you felt comfortable around him… and whoever else was going to be at that charity event, he supposed.

Would it be so wrong to ask for clarification on the event, though? But what if he came across like he was prying too deeply into your personal life?

No—he would not dare make one comment about it.

So he didn’t. Until he realized that he made a grave mistake.

“A Love Island watch party? Heeseung told me this was a charity event!” Jake exclaimed, utterly baffled.

“Yeah, the winners get a hundred grand,” you replied casually, as if you hadn’t been withholding crucial information that would’ve changed Jake’s mind about following you into the house. “Voting for your favorite couple is basically charity work, if you think about it.”

Jake groaned. This was a set-up, and he was not about to stay over at Danielle’s to watch Love Island, of all shows.

But then, you leaned over to press a chaste kiss to Jake’s cheek. “If you don’t vote for Nicolandria, you’re dead to me, by the way,” you whispered. Although your choice of words weren’t exactly tempting, Jake found himself unbuckling his seatbelt and following you into the house. The effect you had on him was absurd.

To his surprise, though, he was thoroughly entertained for the night. Sure, he was the only guy in a room full of girls that had enough Stanley cups to beat him to death, but Jake almost felt like he was in his element. When Kim Minji went on a five minute rant to explain why Nicolandria deserved to be the winning couple, Jake was so intrigued that he ended up agreeing to join their Love Island nights until the season ended.

(He later discovered that Love Island released a new episode five days a week, but that somehow didn't change his mind on attending.)

In a tangled mess of feelings and desire, Jake was now making plans to keep seeing you. He only hoped that he could muster up the courage to tell his friend everything before things got serious with you.

Heeseung’s return didn’t change much, to be honest.

Jake was under the impression that he’d be far too paranoid to be messing around with you once your brother was back, but it seemed to be the exact opposite. He couldn’t get enough of you these days. Although you two were keeping things under wraps for now, Jake found it hard to not reach for your hand and think about how it would be if he could keep you by his side for longer. Whenever he woke up in your bed, he wanted time to freeze so that he could hold you until the moon came out again.

Oh, and their seminars.

You ended up proposing a solution to Jake’s problem. It wasn’t anything very sophisticated, but as soon as class ended, you’d be dragging Jake somewhere private to ease the tension growing in his jeans.

Or, when he was really done for, Jake would be the one pulling you along.

“No way,” you mouthed once as Jake grabbed your wrist right as soon as you walked out of the classroom. A smirk was creeping up your lips as you kept your eyes trained on him, effectively cracking through his impassive facade. Jake’s eyes flitted away before you could see any color bloom on his face. “Horny already? And to think I was holding back…”

Jake, who was too busy looking for the closest enclosed space that offered enough privacy, was walking so fast that you were nearly stumbling to keep up with him. He flung open the door to an empty lab. It seemed too risky to simply close the blinds when there was no lock on the door, but there was, however, an equipment room in the back. He pulled you over by the wrist, ushering you inside.

“Yeah,” he finally replied, turning the lock on the handle, “I was holding back, too.”

And then he fucked you against the door with one hand bruising your waist and the other wrapped around your throat.

He truly didn’t think this would be the course of his love life. Not that Jake was complaining, but he wished that being with you didn’t involve the daunting feat of confronting Heeseung. Not only could the interaction go disastrously, but Jake was terrified that Heeseung would look at him differently for going after his sister. He didn’t want to be the guy that Heeseung should’ve watched out for.

Jake willed himself to break the news to Heeseung after spending a Friday night with you, curled up on your bed and catching up on the latest season of Love Island. Jake had to admit that he was too deeply invested in the contestants’ storylines.

While he played with your hair, he heard you ask, “Can you ever see us dating? Like, officially going out?”

“Yeah,” he murmured back. “That’s the plan, isn’t it?”

The first time you told Jake you wanted things to get serious, he outright told you no. However, his body betrayed him when he nodded enthusiastically along with his refusal, making you even more confused. Now, though, Jake was determined to get that conversation with Heeseung out of the way. Leading you on would break his heart more than not getting your brother’s approval.

When Jake decided to fess up to Heeseung, though, he made sure Jay and Sunghoon were right with him. They knew how honest Jake’s intentions were—kind of—and they would surely have his back when it came down to it.

Unfortunately, he forgot that Jay and Sunghoon were the two worst people for this sort of situation.

“This is the worst boba consistency I’ve ever had,” Sunghoon complained, stabbing at the last of the boba pearls in his taro milk tea. “Sorry, Heeseung, what were you saying? You made the basket or whatever.”

(“Oh, Heeseung, I need to tell you something,” Jake mumbled as quietly as possible, although the wind successfully drowned him out.)

“Close—that would be basketball,” Heeseung replied. “But, yeah, I made the winning goal. Whoever wants to ride my dick is going on a waitlist.”

(“Speaking of…”)

“Shit. Put me on the waitlist,” Sunghoon said. “Priority reservation, please.”

(“Heeseung…”)

“I’ll get to you eventually, Twenty-Six.”

(“Heeseung?”)

Jay pounded a fist on the table. “Jake has something to say!” After witnessing his friend moping about and mumbling for so long, it was only a matter of time before he snapped.

Heeseung looked alarmed for a moment before asking, “What’s up?”

Jake only had a few seconds to shoot Jay a death glare before he had to fix his face and explain, “Right, um… I kind of have to tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s really not that bad if you think about it.”

“Okay…”

“And, actually, it should be more reassuring that it’s me and not—”

Heeseung scratched the side of his head. “Uh, I’m still gonna need context.”

“I’m, uh… so, I’m…” Jake sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “So, I’m kinda seeing Y/N.”

There it was. The truth was out and Jake could stop skirting around it. He knew it would be near impossible to keep hiding it because Jake discovered that he was becoming far more endeared by you with each coming day. Absolutely terrifying, really, considering that he was already endeared at an incomprehensible level.

Heeseung’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “You and Y/N?”

As if the whole thing couldn’t get any more awkward, you walked right out of the boba shop that the four of them were just in. To be fair, Heeseung was the one that called you over because he put in a request for a breakfast wrap after stalking your location, but of course you had to come out right this minute.

“Damn,” you said, scrunching your nose up in distaste. “Garbage boba consistency.”

“Right!” Sunghoon exclaimed. Jake was starting to think that he should’ve just met up with Heeseung on his own. “All I taste is disappointment when I drink this.”

Jake was petrified as Heeseung, completely unfazed by your arrival, stared at Jake in utter disbelief. He couldn’t peel his eyes away, even after you dropped his breakfast wrap onto the table in front of him. “Wait, hold on—before anyone says anything else—did you just say that you’re seeing Y/N? Y/N, my sister?” He practically flung his arm to point at you. “Her?”

Jake swallowed thickly, but you casually answered for him, “Yeah, he is.”

The air around him thickened, pressing down on his chest like a weight. Jake’s thoughts were spiraling by now, imagining countless scenarios of Heeseung dropping him as a friend and forever plagued by his betrayal. Jake knew his friend deeply, and he knew that when Heeseung was hurt, he’d—

“Nice,” Heeseung drawled, raising his fist so that you could fist-bump it. “About time, too.”

What?

“You’re not mad?” Jake blurted out, floored by the response. Now this was a turn of events that he didn’t prepare for in the countless scenes he practiced in his head.

“I asked you to drive her to Danielle’s for a reason, dude. She could’ve just taken an Uber.”

“Wait… you were in on this?”

“I wouldn’t say I was in on anything, but I knew she had a thing for you. I was just glad she’s interested in you and not, like, Sunghoon.”

“Hey,” Sunghoon piped up, sounding stung, but he seemed to recover quickly. “I’m saving myself for you, Heeseung.”

“Twenty-six—remember that.”

“See? I told you, you had nothing to worry about,” you said as you slid into the bench next to Jake, reaching over to squeeze his hands. “Now you can stop denying that it’s perfectly fine for us to date.”

“I guess I was a little in over my head.” Jake returned a sheepish—and frankly, lovesick—grin, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your temple. Now that Jake had you, despite his friends cringing before him, he didn’t want to let you go.

He could probably also admit to himself that he had liked you all along.

That, he supposed, was what Jay meant about implausible deniability.

AUTHOR'S NOTE ▸ the jake brainrot really got to me this time 🚬 thank you for reading this if you made it all the way here !! i'm so so grateful if you chose to give this fic a chance so i hope you enjoyed :') also contrary to how the summary sounds, jake is too babygirl for me to not make him a loverboy <33 i swear something about him just screams Yearning

TAG LIST ▸ @allthesqueaks @pshnoona @wvnkoi @dearestdreamies @notleclerc @nyxtwixx @sucrosxi @rubyunie @m1kkso @remgeolli @seokjinthescientist @zzzsunghoon @nithxhoon @radcustoms @katseye4mimi @niniissus @averieee19 @yuniesluv @hoonkishoe @choeryyxyz @fancypeacepersona @v1shwa-xo @vantxx95 @wonnieswife @heesdazed @k1ttyjwon @rosebarzallo @jakeslvt

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sunsetpossum · 6 days ago

Text

˖*°࿐ •*⁀➷ 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆❜𝒔 𝒏𝒐 𝒊 𝒊𝒏 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑

➜ summary: you don't really like jungwon. too bad, he likes you.

pairing: yjw x f!reader, wc: 13k words , genre: highschool, fluff, w: rude jokes, cussing

Yang Jungwon. Some claimed he was the greatest being to grace the earth since Albert Einstein. Others (okay, just you) thought he was stuck-up, snobby, and a walking narcissist.

Unfortunately, you fell squarely into the latter category. Fortunately, you were also the president, vice-president, and sole member of his anti-fan club. Uncontested views? Check. Lifelong grudge? Check. Emotional maturity? Debatable.

You couldn’t even remember exactly when your vendetta against him began. Maybe it was that time in fourth grade when he beat you in the spelling bee because you messed up the word “friendship.” Who knew there was an ‘i’ in friendship? (Jungwon did. Of course he did.)

Or maybe—and this one still haunts your dreams—it was that fateful night at your first senior party. The lights were dim, the music was loud, and Jungwon spun the bottle. It landed on you. Everyone screamed. He looked you dead in the eye, let out a low chuckle, and said:

“I can’t take her first kiss like this.”

Cue the chorus of laughter that still echoes in your ears during your quiet poops.

So no. You didn’t like Jungwon. At all. Obviously.

You glanced up at the boys near the front of the classroom. They were crowded around the class skeleton, draping a hoodie over its shoulders and pretending it was a hot girl. You blinked once, then sighed long and hard. This was your peer group. Children. Absolute children. To your left, a group of girls giggled behind manicured hands, their eyes glued to their phones. You didn’t have to look twice to know they were texting their college boyfriends, acting like seventeen wasn’t a whole year away from knowing how taxes worked.

Maybe you did, in fact, relate to that one viral Jaden Smith video. The one where he claimed his peers were all stupid and that he preferred to talk about the political and economic state of the world. Maybe you too wanted to host a philosophical podcast at lunch instead of watching Park Jongseong from the neighbouring class pretend the skeleton had an OnlyFans.

But the truth was: you were still in high school. Still surrounded by greasy cafeteria fries, half-hearted gossip, and teenage delusion. You had your own brand of immaturity—though you’d never admit it. You were far too busy judging everyone else to notice your own. Just like any other high schooler.

You turned back to Heeseung, who was slumped dramatically on his desk, face buried in his arms like the world had ended overnight.

“Hee,” you whispered—not exactly a whisper, more like a stage-whisper with yelling ambitions.

He groaned without lifting his head. “Didn’t get any sleep last night. Don’t bother me.”

“You son of a—this is important!”

“Now what,” he mumbled, “could possibly be more important than my beauty sleep?”

“It’s really not my fault you stayed up all night playing that wretched game of—”

“I was this close to Diamond again!” Heeseung sat up with a jolt, eyes wide and bloodshot with the weight of regret. He turned to you, serious as a man whose world had crumbled. “That stupid, no-good Park Sunghoon lost it for all of us.”

You scoffed. “Sure. Blame Sunghoon.”

Your eye roll was practically a full-body movement. Heeseung looked like he was about to launch into a passionate monologue about teamwork and betrayal, but just as he opened his mouth—

The classroom door creaked open.

And in walked the bane of your existence.

Well, not walked exactly. He sauntered in, with the kind of swagger reserved for people who peaked at seventeen. His hand went up lazily in greeting, a wave aimed toward the back of the class.

“Ni-ki!” he called out, voice way too loud for eight in the morning, like he was the only person who existed in this entire room.

You rolled your eyes so hard you could see your own brain. Could he not tell that other people were trying to have a breakdown in peace? Rude.

“Did you wake me up just to stare at Yang Jungwon?” Heeseung muttered..

“No. I actually wanted to ask if you were coming over after school. My mom misses you.”

Heeseung grinned as he stretched, cracking his neck like he was preparing for battle. “I guess even she prefers me over you.”

“I’ll kill you in your sleep.”

“And your mom will kill you for even thinking about laying hands on her precious son-in-law.”

“We’re not getting married, Lee.”

“I hope not. I’m trying to have good-looking children.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Aw, come on. You love me.”

You rolled your eyes again, but this time, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips before you could stop it.

Heeseung shifted, burying his face back into his arms like he was preparing for hibernation, then turned his head just slightly to glance at you.

“Y’know I was kidding, right?” he murmured.

“Huh?”

“You’re pretty,” he said, simple as breathing. “Before you start overthinking in there—” he lazily pointed to your forehead, “—I figured I’d clarify.”

You rolled your eyes, heat threatening to creep up your neck. “Yes, Heeseung. I know you’re joking.”

“Good,” he mumbled, eyes already closing again. “Because if anyone tells you otherwise, they’re stupid.”

And with a dramatic sigh and a yawn, he slipped right back into sleep.

You liked Heeseung. Like… liked liked him.

Maybe it was because he was the only guy friend you had who didn’t make you want to choke yourself with a charging cable. Or maybe it was the way he always knew how far to go with his jokes—never pushing too hard, never making you feel like the punchline. He just got you. Like he had some internal manual titled How to Handle You Without Ruining Everything. He was just… right.

You thought he was handsome. Kind. Genuinely funny. And yet, he never really seemed interested in dating anyone. Which was objectively bizarre, considering how many girls trailed after him.

But he’d just smile, ruffle their hair like an older brother, and say, “I’m sorry, I’m not really looking for anything right now. But thank you for being honest.” Then he’d say something so sweet—so emotionally intelligent—it almost cancelled out the heartbreak.

But it wasn’t like you were in love with the guy. That would be insane. It was just a silly little crush. Something that should’ve faded after a few weeks. Only… it had been six months.

You shrugged to yourself. It’s not like you’d ever act on it. Heeseung was eyeing some fancy art school in Seoul, while you were hoping for SNU, fingers crossed for a spot in English Language and Literature. You were both headed in opposite directions, and you’d made peace with that.

Jungwon wasn’t exactly sure when it started. All he knew was that you had been staring at him for the past few minutes. And not the accidental kind, either. The kind that lingered.

At first, he thought maybe there was something on his face. Food, maybe. Ink? But no—he had checked. Twice. Then he thought you might be staring past him. But there was literally nothing behind him except a dead plant and Ni-ki trying to balance a pen on his nose.

So what was it?

He wasn’t trying to be narcissistic. God, no. Contrary to popular belief, he hated that reputation. He was just curious. Mildly intrigued. Intellectually invested, even. Then you stood up and walked out of the room, presumably to the toilet. And before he could stop himself, Jungwon was at your desk. Sitting in your seat.

He faced the direction you’d been looking, squinting slightly. His eyes landed on his own desk. Then his own chair. Then himself, reflected in the window across from where you sat.

Oh.

Interesting.

His gaze drifted downward. He didn’t mean to snoop. He really didn’t. But there, scribbled hastily at the top of your notebook, was a line repeated over and over in varying levels of despairing handwriting:

“You’ll only get hurt. Don’t fall for him. You’ll only get hurt. Don’t fall for him.”

His eyebrows slowly crept up his forehead.

Okay. Wow. That was a lot. Intense, even. Dramatic. A little poetic, if he was being honest.

And then—just to make things worse—his eyes fell on the side pocket of your pencil case. A doodle of a heart. Literally. A heart. With... a J scribbled next to it. Could've been anyone. But this was high school. It was always obvious.

He sat back, blinking in disbelief.

You liked him.

Holy shit.

He stood abruptly, knocking your chair back an inch. He didn’t mean to see all of that. God, he really didn’t. He ran a hand through his hair and muttered a quiet curse under his breath.

And just as he turned to walk away, he heard footsteps behind him. You. Coming back.

Panicked, he grabbed the first thing he saw—your eraser—and pretended to inspect it like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. You walked in just in time to see Jungwon squinting down at your strawberry-scented eraser like it held the secrets to the universe.

“What the hell are you doing?” you asked, blinking.

He looked up, face neutral, maybe a little smug. “Didn’t know you were so into cryptic love notes,” he said, voice maddeningly calm.

You froze. “Huh?”

He pointed casually at your notebook, then raised a brow. “You’re being kind of obvious, you know.”

“Obvious about what?” you snapped, walking back to your seat, already feeling that familiar sense of dread pooling in your stomach.

“Nothing,” he said, smile just barely twitching at the corners. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

And with that, he walked off with your eraser in hand.

For the rest of class, you could feel it, eyes burning into the back of your skull like laser beams. Yang Jungwon, for some reason only the gods could explain, wouldn’t stop staring at you.

You turned your head slightly, catching him in the act. His gaze snapped up, caught red-handed. You narrowed your eyes and offered him the most vicious glare you could muster, like you were trying to kill him with pure facial expression alone.

“Stop staring!"

After class, Heeseung shot out of his seat like a rocket, clutching his stomach and mumbling something about the milk he drank that morning definitely being expired.

“I swear to God, if I die like this—” he was already halfway out the door.

You snorted, laughing as you packed up your books, slinging your bag over one shoulder while checking your phone. Sunghoon, Jay, and Jake had already texted the group chat, promising to save you and Heeseung a seat at the cafeteria. You were halfway to freedom.

Until an arm blocked your exit.

“What do you want?”

He tilted his head at you, that same smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Y’know, I was wondering why you were playing this whole... thing. The game. The attitude. The icy act. And now I know.”

You blinked. “Know what?”

He grinned wider, like he was about to drop the world’s most obvious truth bomb. “Still playing dumb?”

“What?”

“Come on.” He nudged your shoulder lightly with his own. “Be honest.”

You stared at him, bewildered. “What are you talking about?”

Jungwon rolled his eyes, as if you were the one being dramatic. “Dude. It’s obvious. Just give it up.”

You blinked. Once. Twice. “What—are you on drugs?”

“No—! I—” He looked personally offended by the question, then let out a long-suffering sigh. “I know you like me.”

Silence.

You looked at Jungwon. Then at the floor. Then back at Jungwon.

And then, you burst out laughing.

“You think—” you gasped between giggles, “you think I like you?”

Another wave of uncontrollable laughter ripped through you. You clutched your side, barely able to breathe.

Jungwon blinked, watching you spiral, visibly unsure if he should be flattered or insulted.

By minute two of your personal stand-up comedy routine, his smile had disappeared completely. His arms crossed. His brows furrowed. The tips of his ears turned the faintest shade of pink.

“Okay,” he said, arms still crossed, watching you as your laughter finally died down into breathless wheezing. “You done?”

You wiped your eyes, still catching your breath. “I mean—seriously, Jungwon. Me? Like you? Be so serious right now.”

He stared at you like you were the one being delusional. “I am being serious.”

“You stare at me in class,” he said, casually following you. “A lot.”

You turned on your heel. “What? I glare at you in class.”

“Staring is staring,” he shrugged. “Even with murderous intent.”

“That doesn’t count—”

“You always roll your eyes at me”

“That’s because you deserve it.”

He stepped closer. “You laugh at my jokes.”

“They’re not even funny, it’s like pitiful laughter” you snapped.

“But you still laugh.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

Jungwon’s eyes glinted like he’d just scored a point in a very dumb game only he was playing. “You let me copy your notes.”

“That’s because you’d fail if I didn’t!”

“You scold me when I forget my umbrella, and you told Jay I shouldn’t drink soda after 10 p.m. because ‘some people are still growing.’”

“That was a general health comment I made once at a party!”

“Sure it was,” he said smugly.

You stared at him, half in disbelief, half… okay, maybe just a tiny bit panicked. Not because he was right. He wasn’t. Obviously. But because somehow, he had compiled a semi-coherent case of you being suspiciously human around him.

“Jungwon,” you said slowly, carefully, like explaining to a child. “I do not like you.”

He squinted at you, like you were a glitch in his very confident reality.

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I would rather set myself on fire.”

“And I would bring the marshmallows. But that doesn’t change the fact that you like me.”

You poked your chicken like it was the one who had personally accused you of emotional damage.

“The chicken’s already dead,” Jay said casually.

You looked up and scowled at him. He raised his hands in mock defence.

“Damn. The things I get for just saying stuff.”

“She looks on edge… Should we tell her the bad news now or later?” Jake whispered.

You turned your glare to him. “What bad news?”

“Nothing!” Jake’s voice shot up an octave. His eyes darted away.

You were terrifying when you were pissed. Like, hella terrifying. Only two people could handle you in that state: Heeseung and your mother.

“Sim Jaeyun, I will tear you up.”

Jake folded instantly. “The rumor! The one about you liking Jungwon and how he rejected you!”

You froze.

“What?!”

You looked at Jake, then at the rest of your friends who were now all suddenly very interested in the contents of their trays.

“Who started this rumour?”

“A few upperclassmen overheard your little... conversation,” Jake said, wincing.

“That conversation happened ten minutes ago.” you yelped.

Jay shrugged, grimacing. “You know how this school is. Gossip moves fast.”

“So it’s true?” Sunghoon asked, brows raised.

“Ew no!” you snapped, gagging.

Your friends blinked at you in unison.

“The rumor… it’s kinda spreading through the school really fast,” Jake said carefully. “I tried to stop it.”

“Oh really?” you deadpanned. “What did you do?”

He glanced up, sheepish. “I said, ‘oh really?’”

You stared at him. “That’s your damage control?”

“I don’t know! I was just curious if it was true!”

You rubbed your temples. “Don’t you think you guys would know if it was true?”

Jake opened his mouth, but Heeseung beat him to it. “You rarely tell us anything about that secret crush you’re harboring. We just assumed it was him.”

That made you pause. Your head shot up. “What?”

“Oh, cut the crap,” Sunghoon said, leaning back in his seat. “We know you’re in love with someone.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Oh please,” Jay chimed in. “You’re always scribbling those cringe girly things in your textbooks.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I do not.”

“You literally wrote ‘love is a knife’ next to a drawing of a bleeding heart,” Sunghoon said.

“That was an artistic expression!”

“Was it?” Heeseung said through a mouthful of rice.

Jake nodded. “Also, you wrote ‘you’ll only get hurt, don’t fall for him’ like ten times on your English test paper.”

You clutched your tray like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to Earth. “Can we not dissect my mental breakdowns over lunch?!”

The table went quiet for two seconds. Then Jay asked, “So if it’s not Jungwon, then who is it?”

You blinked. Trying not to look over at Heeseung. Then stood up.

“Where are you going?” Jay called.

“To find out who started this rumor,” you said, already storming off.

The noise around you, the clatter of trays, the conversations, the squeak of sneakers on tile—faded into white noise. Your eyes were locked onto one person, and one person only: Yang Jungwon.

He sat at a table near the windows with Ni-ki and Sunoo, laughing at something on Ni-ki’s phone, chopsticks mid-air as he reached for a piece of meat. He didn’t even see you coming.

But he looked up just as your shadow fell over the table.

And the moment his eyes met yours?

It was done.

His expression shifted. Mouth slightly parted. Shock flashing across his face for just a split second before it was replaced by that annoyingly calm, infuriatingly confident smirk. Like he knew.

The entire cafeteria quieted. Forks paused midair. Conversations stopped mid-word. Every single person turned to look. It was like the first ten seconds of a movie scene, right before someone makes a very public mistake.

You didn’t care.

You reached down, grabbed the front of his uniform, and yanked his tie upward, forcing him to stand.

Jungwon stood slowly, the smirk never leaving his face. Your fists were tight in his tie. His face was close now and every pair of eyes in the room was on the two of you.

“We need to talk.”

“Well, whatever happened to ‘hello’?” Jungwon said, his voice laced with amusement as you dragged him out of the cafeteria.

You stopped just outside the doors, where the hallway was quiet and empty except for the vending machine humming in the corner. You turned to face him, still gripping his tie, though you finally let go with a dramatic flick of your wrist.

“Did you start that rumor?” you snapped.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow. “What rumor?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

He blinked. “You’re going to have to be more specific. There are a lot of rumors about me. I’m very mysterious.”

You let out a breath through your nose. “The one where I like you. You absolute—” You cut yourself off before your vocabulary got too colorful. “Did you spread it?”

“You think I started that rumor?” he asked, grinning as he leaned a shoulder casually against the wall. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know!” you snapped. “Maybe because your ego’s the size of the entire school—”

He held up a hand. “Think about it. Why would I spread the idea that you like me?” He looked at you, head tilted.

You hated that he had a point.

You stared at him, lips pressed into a thin line. “Look. I don’t like you.”

“Mmm,” he said, pretending to ponder. “Sure.”

“I don’t.”

“Oh, no, totally. You glare at me because you’re overwhelmed with love.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t even like you like that—”

“I know, I know,” Jungwon said, clearly enjoying himself. “It’s okay to be scared of your feelings. Happens to the best of—”

“For God’s sake, I like Heeseung!” you snapped, voice loud and sharp enough to slice through the air like a blade.

Silence.

Jungwon went completely still, the smirk wiped off his face so fast it was like it had never been there to begin with. He stared at you.

“I—” you tried.

But the words got stuck somewhere in your throat.

You looked at him. He looked at you.

And in that quiet hallway, you felt the air around you shift. Not because of what you’d said about him but because of what you’d accidentally admitted about someone else.

Your hand flew up, clamping over your mouth.

Too late.

You said it.

Jungwon blinked once, but didn’t speak. He just stood there, his tie slightly wrinkled, hair a little messy from when you’d grabbed him earlier, like the entire moment had punched a hole in whatever game the two of you had been playing.

You stormed off, heart pounding, fingers raking through your hair like they could somehow untangle the mess you’d just made.

“Whoa, you good?”

You looked up and nearly ran straight into Heeseung.

Perfect.

Just perfect.

He looked at you, one brow raised, concern etched across his features. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You opened your mouth, but your voice came out weird and high-pitched. “I’m fine.”

“Really?” he asked. “I saw you drag Jungwon outside. Thought you were gonna kill him.”

You forced a nod, your heart now beating even faster. Like it was trying to launch itself straight out of your ribcage. “Yeah. Totally fine.”

You tried to brush past him. “Anyway, I should get back to—”

“Wait.” He stepped in front of you gently, blocking your path. “You sure you're okay?”

“I said I’m—” You turned away, flustered, and ran a hand through your hair again, this time tugging a little at the roots. “God. This day is just—stupid.”

“You don’t get like this,” he said. “Not unless something actually gets to you. So are you sure you’re okay?”

You stilled before nodding again.

He watched you for another moment, like he was trying to read between the lines.

“Then… can I ask something?”

You hesitated. “Uh—sure?”

He didn’t look away from you. Didn’t even blink.

“This guy…” Heeseung said quietly. “The one you’ve been writing about. If it’s not Jungwon… then is it someone I know?”

Your brain short-circuited.

“What?” you asked, like maybe if you pretended not to hear him, this wouldn’t be happening.

But Heeseung just looked at you. Really looked at you. And in that second, you could see it—he knew. Of course he did.

He wasn’t dumb. He noticed things. The way your voice shifted when you talked to him. The way you hovered around his desk longer than necessary. The way you went quiet every time he joked about dating someone. The way you scribbled the same damn line in your notebook like your brain couldn’t let it go.

And now he was standing there, trying to be kind about it. He was trying to let you down easy. Just like how he did with those random girls.

He even smiled, just a little, just enough to soften the edges of what was coming. “Is it–”

“It’s me.”

Your head snapped toward the voice.

Jungwon.

“She likes me,” he repeated, like he was confirming a fact. “Didn’t you hear the rumor?”

Heeseung blinked, all the softness in his expression flickering into confusion. “Yeah, I heard. But… isn’t it an unfounded rumor?”

Jungwon pushed off the wall and stepped closer. “Well, it’s founded now.”

He looked at Heeseung, then at you. “She likes me.”

The way Jungwon looked at you. And for a second, you understood. And for the first time since this whole disaster started… he was trying to help you. So you nodded.

It was barely a movement, just a small dip of your chin. But Jungwon caught it. And something softened in his expression.

Tears pricked at your eyes, not from anything anyone had said, but from the rejection that hadn’t even come. From the moment you realized Heeseung had been preparing to let you down gently, and you’d beat him to it with a lie.

You turned your gaze toward Jungwon, voice quiet and raw.

“I lied before,” you said. “I like Jungwon.”

That caught Heeseung off guard. He blinked, his brows drawing together. “Hm?”

You couldn’t look at him anymore.

“We just… finished having a little chat, y’know?” Jungwon stepped in smoothly, voice light. “And we decided to give things a try.”

You didn’t speak.

You couldn’t.

Because now you were standing in a lie of your own making, held up only by Jungwon’s unexpected kindness. And somewhere deep down, it hurt more than if Heeseung had just said no.

You couldn’t look up at Heeseung.

You wanted to. You wanted to explain, to laugh it off, to make the world rewind ten minutes—but you couldn’t. You could only look at Jungwon. The boy you hated. The boy who annoyed you more than anyone else on Earth.

But right now?

He was your only hope.

And then you felt it.

His hand, slowly sliding into yours, warm and solid. His other arm came around your shoulder, holding you just enough to make it look real.

You looked up at him, your back fully turned to Heeseung now, and mouthed, “Get me out of here.”

Jungwon’s fingers tightened around yours.

And for the first time since you'd met him, you saw something completely unfamiliar in his face. Just a quiet seriousness in the way he nodded. Like he understood. Like he knew exactly how badly this was hurting you.

He cleared his throat and looked back at Heeseung.

“Sorry, bro,” Jungwon said. “If it’s okay with you… I really need to tell her something in private. We haven’t really fine-tuned the specifics of our new relationship, so…”

He let the words trail off with a shrug, like this was nothing.

Heeseung blinked, then nodded slowly.

“Yeah. Sure,” he said, and his voice was quieter now. Then, even softer, “You’re okay?”

“Mhm,” you managed, your voice barely there. “I am.”

“Good.”

You just let Jungwon lead you down the hall, your fingers still laced in his.

You were still crying, your face buried in the front of your mortal enemy’s uniform, and your fists clenched weakly into the fabric like you didn’t know where else to hold on. Your body trembled from the sobs you couldn’t seem to swallow, and it was humiliating in the kind of way that burned. But you couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t believe you were falling apart like this in front of him.

And yet, there was Jungwon.

He didn’t say much. He didn’t tease, didn’t laugh, didn’t pull away like he normally would’ve if this had happened on any other day in any other world. He just stood there, arm wrapped around your shoulders, hand patting your back with the kind of clumsy way that said he had absolutely no idea what he was doing but he was doing it anyway. Slowly, his palm flattened, movements gentler, slower, as if he finally knew how to comfort you. His fingers brushed circles along your spine, and for some reason, it didn’t feel wrong. It didn’t feel like it was him.

You hiccupped between sobs, your voice muffled against his shirt. “I hate this.”

“I know,” he said softly, and you hated how kind his voice sounded.

“I hate you,” you added, almost out of reflex, the words heavy and desperate and stupid.

That made him snort, and you felt the faintest rise of his chest with it. “You’re the one sobbing into me, not the other way around.”

You weakly punched his chest with the side of your fist, not even enough force to matter. “Shut up.”

Eventually, the tears stopped.

Not all at once, but slowly. Like your body had run out of grief for the moment and was now just tired. The shaking eased. Your breathing slowed. The front of Jungwon’s shirt was slightly damp where your face had been, and the realization of that sent a fresh wave of embarrassment crawling up your spine.

You pulled back just enough to wipe at your eyes with the sleeves of your uniform, not looking at him. His arm was still around your shoulder, though he loosened it a little like he wasn’t sure if it was still needed. He didn’t say anything right away. He gave you space to gather yourself.

Then you cleared your throat, “How bout that weather…”

“You really don’t like talking about your feelings.”

“Not to you.” You said.

“Right…” He nodded.

Then he was quiet again, like he was letting you bask in the silence.

“You know,” he said slowly, resting his chin on his hand, “now it’s starting to make a little more sense.”

“What is?” you asked, wary.

He shrugged. “Y’know… the way you brighten up when Heeseung walks into the classroom—”

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you actively trying to push me down a slippery slope right now?”

“No but if it helps,” he added, “I think you handled it way better than I would’ve.”

You didn’t really speak to Jungwon for the rest of the day.

Not because you were mad at him. Not even because things were awkward. You just figured he’d already done enough for you. The least you could do was give him some space. Let him sit at his desk, laugh at whatever Ni-ki was whispering beside him, and pretend today had been normal.

But it was hard.

It was hard not to think about it when Lee Heeseung was sitting directly in front of you…existing.

You stared at the back of his head, trying to focus on anything else. The clock ticking too slow. The corner of your worksheet. The pen cap between your fingers. Anything.

And then it happened.

Another wave of emotion.

You felt it build in your chest rising fast, sharp and hot, wrapping around your lungs until it was hard to breathe. A quiet whimper slipped out before you could stop it. You slapped a hand over your mouth, eyes wide, panic rising.

Heeseung started to turn in his seat, halfway twisting to check on you. “Hey, are you—?”

You stood up abruptly.

Didn’t answer. Didn’t look at him. Just walked fast, unsteady, as you made your way across the classroom. Jungwon was at the back, hunched over his notebook, laughing at something Ni-ki had drawn in the margins.

You stopped beside his desk, eyes already glassy. He turned, mid-laugh, only to freeze when he saw your face. The smile fell. His eyes darted to your hands, then your face again, immediately reading the panic.

His chair scraped back as he stood.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly, voice lower now.

You swallowed hard. “I felt emotion.”

He blinked. “That’s… great?”

“Negative emotion,” you clarified, your voice barely holding steady.

“Oh.”

He didn’t say anything else. Just stepped around his chair and gently took your wrist, guiding you away from the rows of desks, past curious glances and hushed whispers. You felt Ni-ki’s eyes follow you as Jungwon pulled you toward the door.

“Come on,” he murmured.

And you followed.

Because even though he was the last person you ever imagined seeking comfort from…

He was the only one who actually knew what to do with you.

Jungwon didn’t say a word as he led you up the stairs, his grip on your wrist light but steady.

You just followed…past the classroom door, past curious stares, past whatever thoughts were trying to claw their way into your head. Up one flight of stairs, then another. The world narrowed to the sound of your footsteps and the quiet hum of the building.

When he pushed open the rooftop door, the breeze hit you first. You stepped out slowly, blinking at the sudden wash of sunlight, and Jungwon finally let go of your wrist. He walked ahead a few steps, then turned and sat on the short concrete ledge that wrapped around the rooftop’s edge. His shoulders relaxed, his usual energy fading into something quieter as he glanced toward the sky. For once, he didn’t fill the silence with teasing.

You stood there for a second, arms crossed over your chest, not sure if the tightness in your throat was going to come back or not.

Then you let out a breath and walked over to sit beside him.

He didn’t look at you. Just kept his eyes on the sky, one leg bouncing slightly against the ledge, like he was giving you space to start first—if you wanted to.

“I didn’t mean to cry,” you said eventually.

“Well…you’re processing all of this in just one day so I figured…you wouldn’t be too…okay.”

You turned to look at him. He was still facing forward, but there was something in the set of his jaw, the way his hands were folded loosely in his lap that told you he wasn’t brushing this off. He was listening.

After a moment, he tilted his head and finally looked at you.

“I get why you didn’t tell him,” he said. “Heeseung.”

Your shoulders tensed. “Do you?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “You didn’t want to ruin the thing you had. You liked the version of him that didn’t know. It was safer.”

You blinked.

He wasn’t wrong.

You looked down at your hands. “Is that stupid?”

“No,” he said. “You’re a good person.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You weren’t used to Jungwon being serious. You weren’t used to anyone being this gentle with you when you were messy and falling apart. You opened your mouth to say something but your voice didn’t come out.

Instead, you just sat there, next to the boy you hated. The boy who pretended to be your 2 minute boyfriend for the sake of your dignity.

The wind picked up slightly, tousling your hair as you stared down at your hands, the silence between you and Jungwon finally feeling a little less heavy.

You didn’t expect it when he said, “Do you want a hug?”

You looked up, surprised. “What?”

He shifted a little, clearly second-guessing himself now that the words were out. “You know. Like—just if it helps. People do that. In sad movies and stuff.”

You gave him a look. “Are you insane? Why would I hug you?”

“Well… I’m sorry for offering one! I thought girls liked it—I watched a movie—”

“If I hug you, will you shut up?” you cut in, glaring.

“No. Now I don’t want to hug you anymore,” Jungwon said, crossing his arms.

“Oh please. You’re such a child.”

“Oh, I’m the child?” he scoffed. “Just accept the warm embrace of an acquaintance trying to help you.”

“Gross.”

“Oh, real mature,” he snapped.

“I’ll have you know I am mature,” you replied, poking a finger into his arm.

“Oh really?” he shot back. “Crying over someone and then not being brave enough to hug your mortal enemy who’s been helping you sounds super mature.”

Your eyes narrowed. “I am mature.”

“Prove it.”

“I will!”

“Go ahead, then!”

You stepped forward, arms raised like a dare. “Look. I’ll hug you right now!”

And just as you lunged forward—arms out, dramatically wrapping around Jungwon in the most half-committed, competitive embrace of all time—

“HEY!”

You both froze mid-hug, heads turning slowly toward the rooftop door where the school security guard was now standing, arms crossed and judgment fully loaded.

Jungwon's arms were still halfway around you. Your face was about three inches from his shoulder. Neither of you moved.

“You two!” the guard shouted. “You think I don’t see you?! This is a school, not a honeymoon!”

You jumped back so fast you nearly tripped over your own feet.

“Wait—no—we weren’t—!” you yelped.

“We don’t even like each other like that!” Jungwon added quickly, already putting space between you two like it would erase the entire situation.

The guard squinted. “Uh-huh. Down the stairs. Now.”

“But we didn’t even—”

“Go!”

You opened the door to your house and stepped inside, already dreading what fresh embarrassment awaited you. Kicking your shoes off at the door, you called out automatically, “I’m home!”

From the kitchen came your mom’s voice, loud and cheerful: “Did Heeseung come today?”

Your soul left your body.

“No,” you called back, grimacing. “I… brought another friend though.”

The word friend felt foreign and uncomfortable in your mouth. It sounded wrong.

Behind you, Jungwon stepped in, hands in his pockets, looking around curiously like he was touring a museum. His eyes skimmed over the hallway, the furniture, the wall of framed photos—until one in particular made him pause.

“Cute,” he said, pointing at a picture hung slightly crooked on the wall.

You turned your head.

It was you. Age six. Dressed in mismatched pajamas, standing in the backyard with a watermelon slice in both hands and two missing front teeth.

You groaned, already regretting everything about this.

Jungwon turned to you, grinning like he’d just discovered a secret.

“Don’t.”

“But it’s so cute.”

“I will push you down the stairs.”

Then your mom appeared in the hallway, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Oh! Is this him?” she beamed.

You didn’t even have time to introduce him before Jungwon stepped forward with a charming smile and said, “Hi Auntie, I’m Jungwon. It’s really nice to meet you.”

Instead, your mom smiled like she’d just met her future son-in-law and said, “Jungwon? The Yang Jungwon? My daughter talks about you all the time.”

Jungwon smirked, “She does? Good things, I hope.”

Your mom paused, visibly digging through memories.

“Well,” she said, thoughtfully, “he doesn’t look anything like you described.”

Your stomach dropped. “Mom.”

Jungwon tilted his head, curious. “Oh? How did she describe me?”

Your mom smiled warmly, like this was the most innocent conversation in the world. “Do you know that green monster? It’s this cartoon she used to love? What’s it called… Shrill…Shr…Shrek?”

Jungwon’s smile froze.

“Shrek?”

Your mom nodded, completely sincere. “Yes! But I don’t see it. You’re very handsome.”

Jungwon turned to you, eyebrows raised. “You think I look like Shrek?”

You stared at the ceiling, wishing for divine intervention. “Well. Are you forgetting that I hate you or–”

“Sweetheart,” your mom interjected, “we do not hate.”

You sighed. “You didn’t let me finish. I meant to say I don’t hate him anymore.”

Jungwon blinked. “Anymore?”

Your mom raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t it just yesterday that you said you wanted to boil him alive?”

“Oh wow,” Jungwon muttered. “That’s awfully graphic.”

You gave her a look. “A day can change someone’s opinion.”

Your mom ignored you, looking over to Jungwon and beamed. “Would you like some oranges?”

You stood up immediately. “He’s probably busy, I’m walking him out.”

“Stay for dinner!” she called.

“She’s gonna kill me,” Jungwon whispered.

“Not on my watch,” your mom said, standing in front of the doorway like a tiny but terrifying general. “Stay for dinner. This is a demand.”

Jungwon blinked. “Okay.”

He nodded obediently, already kicking his shoes off. You stared at him, betrayed by the switch up. He looked over his shoulder and smiled at you.

You glared. You knew he was enjoying this.

Ten minutes later, you were upstairs, towel in hand, trying to mentally detach yourself from the fact that Jungwon was in your kitchen. With your mom. Bonding.

You could still hear them through the floor vents.

The occasional “Oh, she did what?” from Jungwon that made you slam your door shut just a little louder than necessary.

Downstairs, Jungwon stood at the counter beside your mom, sleeves rolled up as he helped slice vegetables for dinner. It was strangely peaceful.

“She’s stubborn,” your mom said as she chopped green onions with practiced precision. “She gets it from her father.”

“Oh yeah,” Jungwon replied with a smirk. “She once refused to do group work unless we let her pick the team name.”

“She picked the name, didn’t she?”

“Friends 4ever. With the number four.’”

Your mom laughed.

“She’s a little difficult, you know,” she added, softer now. “Strong-willed. Always arguing.”

“She’s kind of like that at school, too,” he said. “Always trying to win every conversation. Gets dramatic about almost everything. Complains about anything.”

“But I guess…” he continued, glancing toward the stairs without meaning to, “she’s also the first person to offer you her charger when your phone’s dying. Or send you the notes even when you didn’t ask. She’ll grumble the whole time, but she’ll do it. Even if she claims she hates you.”

He paused. “She’s kind of… sweet. When no one’s watching.”

Your mom didn’t say anything, just quietly slid another cutting board toward him.

“And,” Jungwon said after a moment, his eyes flicking back to the tomatoes he was slicing, “she’s… really something.”

Your mom didn’t respond, just kept chopping, quiet and patient.

He kept going, almost like he was talking to himself now.

“She does this thing when she’s mad—flips her hair, real dramatic. It’s actually kind of funny. Like she’s about to fight someone. As if anyone could take her seriously.”

Your mom chuckled softly.

“And when she’s nervous,” Jungwon added, “she bites her finger. Not like the finer but just the nail. Like she doesn’t know she’s doing it which is probably why her nails are so brittle and short all the time.”

There was a small pause.

“And she has this smile,” he said, voice softer now, the rhythm of his chopping slowing. “It’s kinda crooked. Only shows on one side at first. And it only shows up when she thinks no one’s looking.”

He let out a quiet chuckle and shook his head.

“It’s cute.”

He didn’t even realize he’d said it.

Your mom didn’t say anything.

She just looked at him.

And for a split second, Jungwon realized he may have said a little too much.

But your mom just gave a small nod and turned back to her vegetables. She didn’t say anything, not then. Not about the way he’d talked about you. Not about the little smile that had curled at the corner of his mouth without him noticing.

She just let it sit there.

Like maybe, just maybe, she knew.

Because whether he realized it or not…

Jungwon liked you.

Dinner was a mistake.

Not because the food wasn’t good, your mom had gone all out, as usual, and Jungwon, the absolute traitor, had already complimented the soup three separate times.

No. The mistake was sitting down across from both of them like you were the guest of those roasts celebrities did.

“She used to cry if her rice was touching the sauce so we had to separate it far apart,” your mom said, setting a bowl in front of Jungwon.

“I did not,” you muttered, stabbing a piece of tofu.

“You definitely did,” your mom confirmed.

“That explains so much,” Jungwon said, barely holding in a laugh.

You rolled your eyes. “I was five.”

“She was five and dramatic,” your mom added, sitting down beside you.

“She’s still dramatic,” Jungwon said under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You glared at him across the table. “I can literally throw this bowl at your head.”

“She says that, but she won’t,” he smirked. “Too soft.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I am not soft.”

“Oh really?” he grinned, leaning over the table slightly. “Say it again without pouting.”

“I’m not—!”

But before you could finish, he reached forward and pinched both of your cheeks at once, squishing your face together.

“You’re adorable,” he said in the most irritatingly smug voice you’d ever heard.

“Yang Jung–” You burst into laughter, batting his hands away while trying to keep a straight face. “Get off me!”

He sat back, grinning, while you glared at him through the tail end of your laughter.

And then it hit you, your mom had gone silent.

You both turned at the same time.

She was watching the two of you with her chin in her hand, smiling.

“What?” you and Jungwon said in unison.

She didn’t answer. Just smiled.

After helping your mom with the dishes, Jungwon stood by the door, sliding his shoes back on with the same efficiency he did everything else.

You hovered near the entryway, arms crossed lightly over your chest. The words were already building in your throat, but when they finally came out, they sounded more like a mumble.

“Thanks… for today.”

He looked up mid–shoelace knot, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re surprisingly fun to hang out with,” you added, slightly louder, refusing to make eye contact.

“Oh really now?” Jungwon grinned.

“I’m not repeating it.”

“Didn’t say you had to,” he said, pulling the knot tight and standing up with a sigh.

He glanced down at you, smile softer now. “Not gonna lie… I had fun today too.”

You nodded. “It was… a little dramatic. But fun. Even though half the day was me crying.”

“You’re taking today better than anyone would’ve,” he said.

“Well, yeah. Because I’m strong.” You smiled, baring your teeth just a little like it was part joke, part fact.

“You are,” he said without missing a beat. “You did really good today.”

You blinked. Your smile faded, just slightly, the air around you going a little still.

Because he wasn’t joking.

He wasn’t teasing, or playing, or waiting to say something sarcastic afterward.

And for some reason, that made your chest ache in a way that was hard to explain.

You nodded, looking down at your socks. “Right. Thanks.”

“It’s fine,” he said, rocking on his heels. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

“Friends?” you echoed. A slow, skeptical smile crept onto your face. “I’m friends with Yang Jungwon?”

He smirked. “Surprise, surprise. Turns out I’m actually real fun and a decent guy. The things you find out when your first love breaks your heart.”

Your smile dropped instantly into a frown.

He winced. “Too soon?”

“You think?” you deadpanned.

Jungwon laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, fair. Poor timing.”

You shook your head, the edge of a reluctant smile tugging at your lips again despite yourself. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Still your friend, though,” he said, nudging your shoulder lightly with his own.

The next few days were… funny.

Suddenly, all eyes were on you and Jungwon. Whispered questions trailed behind you in the hallways. Side glances turned into straight-up stares. Were the two of you really dating? Was it serious? Were you holding hands after school or just walking next to each other by accident?

You didn’t bother answering. Neither did Jungwon.

Let them wonder.

And maybe that was the problem. Because you weren’t exactly doing anything to make it look less real.

You hung out with him more now. A lot more. Every lunch break, after eating with your usual group, you’d pick up your tray and walk over to his table like it was muscle memory. You’d sit beside him, sometimes across, depending on the day. And it never felt weird.

In fact, it felt... easy.

Your friends didn’t say much. They’d just exchange glances or smile knowingly as you wandered off with your tray, all of them clearly under the impression that the two of you were trying to date. Trying to “work it out.”

And you let them think that.

Maybe because correcting them would mean explaining how stupid your first heartbreak (if you could even call it that) felt.

And if you thought about it too hard, about how Jungwon always saved you a seat without asking, or how he passed you the parts of his lunch you liked without a word, or how he said things like "you look tired today" in a voice that made you feel seen.

You were sure you didn’t have any feelings for Jungwon. None. Whatsoever. The idea was laughable, really. Besides, you were still emotionally recuperating from your extremely inconvenient, mildly soul-crushing crush on Heeseung. It had been a whole month since the incident. You were healing. You were doing so much better now. You could even look at Heeseung and have a full conversation without tearing your eyelids off or biting your tongue in half. That was progress. Real, mature, adult-level progress.

And okay, so maybe you hung out with Jungwon a lot. And maybe he texted you dumb TikToks at 2 a.m. and maybe you always answered. And maybe you knew his favorite bubble tea order by heart now and maybe he always ate the cherry tomato from your lunch when you didn’t want it. But that didn’t mean anything.

Lunch was loud as usual, someone shouting across the cafeteria, trays clattering, a wave of laughter erupting from one of the far tables. You tuned most of it out as you made your way to the back, tray in hand, moving on autopilot.

You didn’t even ask if you could sit next to him anymore. You just did.

Jungwon was already mid-conversation with Ni-ki, hands moving as he animatedly reenacted something ridiculous like Sunoo falling down the stairs again. You set your tray down next to his, plopped into the seat, and sighed.

“Aw man, I forgot my banana milk.”

You didn’t expect anyone to answer. You hadn’t even meant to say it out loud.

But without missing a beat, Jungwon reached into the side pocket of his backpack, pulled out a packet of banana milk, and slid it across the table toward you, all while still talking to Ni-ki.

“Oh, yay!” You mumbled.

He just nodded like it was nothing, like this was routine, like he hadn’t just read your mind.

You opened the straw, eyes still on him, quietly puzzled.

Then he reached for the pair of disposable chopsticks sitting on your tray. Snapped them clean in one quick motion. Rubbed them together, precisely three times, just the way you did when you thought they felt too splintery.

Again, he didn’t say anything. Just broke the chopsticks and placed them neatly back on your tray before going back to his story.

And you were still sitting there, watching him.

Then came the final hit: your tonkatsu.

You hadn’t even started eating yet. Just poking at the rice absentmindedly, eyes wandering around the cafeteria while you waited for your brain to feel like food. But Jungwon, with his fork already halfway through his own meal, glanced at your tray and casually reached over with your knife cutting up your tonkatsu into neat little pieces before you even realized it.

He didn’t even look.

He just did it.

All while telling Ni-ki about how someone had nearly set the chem lab on fire.

You sat there, twiddling your thumbs, watching him work through your tray like he’d done it a hundred times before. Like it was muscle memory. Like it was natural.

And that was the moment it hit you.

He knew you.

Not just the surface-level stuff. Not just your favorite color or your star sign or your Instagram handle.

He knew how you liked your chopsticks. Knew your go-to drink without asking. Knew when you weren’t feeling hungry enough to start on your food, but still wanted it ready.

You didn’t even know when he started paying attention.

But he had.

You stared at him.

He looked up mid-sentence and blinked. “What?”

You shook your head quickly. “Nothing.”

It wasn’t supposed to turn into a routine.

But it did.

Ever since that one dinner at your house, Jungwon had started coming over. At first, once. Then again. Then twice a week. Now, it was just expected. Part of the schedule.

Your mom adored him. Naturally.

And somehow, your dad, who was barely home before 9 p.m. most days, knew him too. Not in the passing, handshake-and-small-talk kind of way. No. He knew him. Asked him about his classes. Invited him to stay for dessert. Offered him beer once. Jungwon declined politely, of course, but still. You weren’t sure your dad even knew your blood type, and yet he knew Jungwon’s college plans.

He was a crowd favorite in your house.

And he made himself at home like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He knew where everything went now. The moment you stepped into the entryway after school, he’d lean down, take your coat off your shoulders without being asked, and hang it by the door while placing his shoes neatly on the rack. Then he’d stroll into the kitchen to greet your mom with the same cheery “Hi, Auntie!” like he lived there.

He’d wait for you to finish showering..

And by the time you came out, hair damp, wrapped in your towel robe, your favorite show would already be playing on the living room TV. He’d set a hot cup of tea in front of the couch, carefully positioned at your usual spot. He never drank it himself. Just made it for you. Every time.

You never had to ask.

Then he’d return to the kitchen to help your mom with dinner, sleeves rolled up, chopping and washing and stirring like he belonged in that apron. You could hear them from the living room. Talking. Giggling over some ridiculous story he’d tell about you at school. How you tripped over your own shoelaces in front of the vending machine. How you pretended to be allergic to gym just to avoid running.

Your mom loved it. Ate it all up.

And then came dinner.

He’d set the table without being asked. Laid out all your favorite dishes in front of your seat. Your favorite part of the chicken already on your plate—deboned. The kimchi snipped into bite-sized pieces with the kitchen scissors, just the way you liked it.

You sat down, glanced at your plate, and everything was already done.

He didn’t even sit until you did.

And you never asked him to do any of it.

He just did.

Like he'd been watching and learning you this whole time.

And it was easy, so, so easy to pretend it was normal.

But every now and then, while sipping your tea and watching him laugh with your family like he was part of it, you’d get this strange feeling in your chest.

Dinner was normal. Jungwon was helping your dad refill side dishes, your mom was happily recounting a story from her work, and you were comfortably tucked into the rhythm of your usual meal. For a while, everything felt good.

Until, mid-bite, your mom looked up and said, “By the way, sweetheart… how’s Heeseung?”

You froze.

It wasn’t even a pointed question. Just a casual thought, dropped innocently into the center of the table like it wasn’t going to crack everything open.

She laughed a little, smiling to herself. “I still remember how the two of you kept saying you’d marry each other when you grew up. Now I rarely see him.” She sighed, fond and wistful. “Kids grow up so fast, huh, dear?”

Your dad chuckled, nodding in agreement. “Ah, well. He’s a smart boy. Probably busy studying.”

You nodded, careful to keep your voice light. “Yeah. I’ll ask him to come over with the others next time they’re free.”

“Oh, please do,” your mom said. “I miss them.”

You nodded again, forcing a smile, trying to say all the right things because that’s what you did.

But then your eyes drifted across the table.

To Jungwon.

He was quietly playing with a piece of chicken on his plate. Not eating. Not listening.

Just moving it around like it didn’t matter.

Like he didn’t want to be there.

And it bothered you.

“Won,” you said softly, “you okay?”

He looked up quickly, blinking like you’d snapped him out of something. His expression didn’t falter, not even for a second. A smile appeared right on cue—bright, easy.

“Yeah,” he said, voice smooth. “I’m good!”

Then, without missing a beat, he popped the chicken into his mouth and turned to your dad with a question about soccer, like the moment had never happened.

Like he hadn’t just gone completely silent.

Like the name Heeseung hadn’t changed the entire air around him.

You stared for a moment longer, something tight curling in your stomach.

He was acting normal.

And that was the most unconvincing part of all.

You were laying on your stomach, sprawled across your bed like roadkill, head buried halfway into your pillow and the corners of your math textbook stabbing your ribs. The numbers blurred in and out of focus. Functions, graphs, equations, you were pretty sure none of this was going to help you in your actual future unless you somehow grew up to become a calculator.

“This is actual torture,” you groaned.

Jungwon, who had been spinning gently in your roller chair like he lived there, snorted. “Oh, c’mon. There’s literally two more questions.”

“That’s two more than I want to do,” you grumbled.

He rolled over beside you and reached out to poke your side, right where he knew you were ticklish. You flinched with a squeak, kicking your leg back without looking.

“Fine!” you whined dramatically, lifting your head just enough to glare at the textbook. “But I genuinely think they should’ve used math for death row instead of the guillotine.”

Jungwon just laughed and started reading out the next question aloud, voice low and casual. He mumbled through the word problem, pausing here and there as he tried to figure it out, assuming you were listening.

But you weren’t.

Not really.

Because at some point, your eyes had drifted toward him and they hadn’t moved since.

You watched the way his lips moved around, soft and easy, every syllable deliberate. You noticed the way his eyebrows furrowed when he got stuck, how his eyes went wider when something clicked. How he bit his lip when he was trying to remember a formula. How he licked the corner of his mouth absentmindedly when he was really thinking.

You blinked.

And then blinked again.

Because suddenly you were no longer hearing anything he was saying.

Instead, all you could think about was how close he was. How warm his voice was. How much you wanted to lean forward and—

Your heart stuttered. You blinked hard and sat up a little too quickly, grabbing your pencil like it was some sort of emotional grounding stick.

Did you just—?

Were you actually just thinking about kissing Jungwon? Yang Jungwon.

You stared at your textbook in horror, the numbers looking even worse now.

You were in trouble.

“Okay, seriously,” Jungwon sighed, dragging his chair closer. “You’re just not listening at this point.”

“I am listening,” you lied, gripping your pencil tightly.

“You’ve been stuck on the same question for more than five minutes.”

You blinked at him, heart still racing from your earlier thoughts. “Well, maybe if math was as interesting as, I don’t know, literally anything else—”

“Okay, that’s it,” he muttered, rolling his chair right up to your bedside and leaning over your textbook. “Come here. I’m showing you.”

Before you could protest, he was right there, sliding the textbook toward both of you, one hand pressed casually beside your arm, the other using his pen to point at the equation. His voice was low, focused.

“So here, this part,” he said, tapping the numbers, “you just need to factor this term and then move it to the other side.”

You tried to follow.

You really did.

But your brain had fully abandoned you. All you could focus on was how close he was. The warm brush of his arm against yours. The subtle scent of his shampoo—something citrusy and soft. His lips moved just inches from your face, forming words you couldn’t process. His eyelashes flicked downward, dark and long, as he concentrated.

And then he paused, glancing up when he noticed your lack of response.

“Are you even—”

He turned to look at you.

And you were already looking at him.

The movement brought your faces dangerously close, just an inch between your mouths. Close enough to feel his breath catch. Close enough to notice the way his lips parted slightly in surprise. Close enough that if either of you tilted just a little, you’d be kissing.

Everything around you faded, the ticking of your clock, the noise outside, the textbook lying open and ignored between you.

He didn’t move.

Neither did you.

The space between you was impossibly small—an inch, maybe less. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips. Your heart thudded so loudly you were convinced he could hear it. He wasn’t smiling anymore. Neither were you.

Jungwon’s eyes dropped briefly to your mouth.

Your breath hitched.

And then, softly, gently his hand came up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered at your jaw, featherlight.

“Would it be stupid if I kissed you?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Your throat tightened.You shook your head.

He leaned in the tiniest bit, like the air between you was magnetic, like maybe you were already meeting halfway—

Knock knock knock

“My love, I cut some oranges!”

You both flinched, violently.

You practically fell off the bed. Jungwon shot back in his chair so fast it nearly rolled into the wall.

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Then your mom’s voice called again, cheerful and oblivious: “Should I bring them in?”

“No!” you and Jungwon shouted at the same time.

Another beat of silence.

“…Okay, then,” she replied, still chipper, her footsteps padding back down the hallway.

You stared at the floor, heart hammering, trying to remember how to breathe.

Jungwon cleared his throat.

You still couldn’t look at him.

He still wasn’t looking at you.

Neither of you spoke.

You just turned back to the math textbook.

But suddenly, you couldn’t remember what the question was anymore.

Jungwon was the first to move.

Fast.

Too fast.

He stood up abruptly, muttering something about homework and his mom probably texting him. He was already grabbing his bag, already rolling his sleeves back down, already not looking at you.

You blinked.

He didn’t even say goodbye.

Just a quick, “See you tomorrow,” tossed over his shoulder like it meant nothing. Like you weren’t both still sitting in the ruins of something that almost happened.

And then the door shut behind him.

The next day at school, neither of you said a word.

You saw him across the courtyard that morning, maybe thirty feet away. Normally, you would’ve walked beside him, bumped shoulders, made some snarky comment about his bed hair. But today?

You turned the other way.

By the time Math class rolled around, your nerves were already shot.

You walked into the classroom a few minutes early, automatically glancing toward his seat.

Empty.

Good.

You sat down, keeping your eyes locked on your desk. Your stomach felt weird.

Jungwon came in two minutes later, quietly slipping into his seat like a ghost. Not a single glance in your direction. Not even the usual eye-roll or quiet hey.

You didn't look at him either.

Not once.

And then the teacher began going through the homework questions.

“Alright,” she said, tapping her marker against the whiteboard. “Now for question eight. Let’s go over this together. Anyone want to walk me through it?”

Your eyes dropped to your open textbook.

There it was.

Question eight.

The one he was explaining. The one you weren’t listening to. The one you didn’t hear a single word of because you were too busy staring at his mouth and imagining something that never happened.

“I need to go to the bathroom!”

Both of you said it at the exact same time.

The entire class turned.

Even the teacher paused, marker still in hand, eyebrows rising slowly.

You didn’t dare look at him. Not directly. But out of the corner of your eye, you could see Jungwon frozen mid-shuffle, eyes slightly wide, caught in the same panic as you.

A beat of silence passed.

“...Is there something wrong with the school water?” your teacher asked dryly.

No one laughed.

No one said anything.

You both stood there like two idiots sharing one brain cell, equally horrified that you’d spoken in sync, equally determined not to explain why.

“Fine,” your teacher sighed after a moment and then waved her hand. “Go.”

You didn’t wait.

The next thing you knew, you both bolted out of the room like you were fleeing a crime scene.

You kept walking. He kept walking. Until finally, both of you turned a corner—empty corridor, cold tile, no witnesses.

“We need to talk.”

Jungwon was the first to speak, voice quiet but steady.

You shifted your weight, eyes flicking away. “About what?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You know what.”

You crossed your arms. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“I do,” he said, firmer this time. “I don’t know about you, but you’ve become a routine to me. So I can’t possibly pretend nothing’s wrong. Because it’ll feel weird if I can’t… do things for you. If I can’t be next to you.”

You blinked, throat tightening. “Jungwon—school barely started.”

“And we didn’t even go into class together.”

His voice cracked just slightly at the end.

You finally looked at him.

He wasn’t mad. He wasn’t even pushing. He just looked... lost. Like he didn’t know where to put any of this.

“I didn’t know if I should say hi,” he added quietly. “I didn’t know if I should sit next to you. If I should look at you. And that’s the part that freaked me out the most.”

“Look,” Jungwon said, his voice lower now, more careful. “We can pretend it didn’t happen last night.”

You blinked at him, heart stalling.

“Like we didn’t almost kiss,” he added, like saying it out loud might make it less real. “If it makes you feel better.”

You stayed quiet.

Not because you didn’t have anything to say.

But because you didn’t know how to say it. Because the word almost hit harder than it should’ve. Because it hadn’t happened but it almost did. And that almost felt like a confession in its own right.

Jungwon rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s fine. I mean—it was late. We were tired. You were upset. It’s probably better we didn’t—”

“Don’t,” you said suddenly.

He froze. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t try to explain it away like it didn’t mean anything.”

He looked at you then. Really looked. And for a second, neither of you breathed.

“I’m not saying it meant something,” you added quickly, heart pounding now. “I’m just saying… don’t pretend like it didn’t almost…happen..”

Jungwon swallowed hard. Nodded once. “Then…should we talk about it?”

You were about to nod–

“Hey,” Heeseung’s voice called out, casual and bright, like he hadn’t just stepped straight into the middle of something fragile. “You ready to head to the next class?”

You jolted upright. Your body moved before your mind could catch up. The sudden intrusion cracked the moment like glass underfoot. Jungwon stiffened beside you, his eyes flicking to Heeseung, then back to you.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t offer even a quiet “see you later.”

Something in him shifted. A flicker of hesitation. A wall going up too fast to stop. You weren’t sure what it was, not exactly but it made your stomach twist, cold and tight. He just looked at you, a beat too long, like he was deciding whether or not to say something. And then he didn’t. He turned and walked away.

But just before he rounded the corner, he looked back.

That one glance hit harder than anything else he could’ve done. You met his eyes. For half a second, neither of you blinked.

Then you shook your head.

And you followed Heeseung.

He didn’t seem to notice at first. Just walked next to you, casual as always, your shoulder brushing his in the way it used to feel comforting. Today it felt like pressure.

It was silent for a while. Then, gently, Heeseung asked, “Are you okay?”

Your throat tightened. The honest answer formed before you could lie.

“No,” you said, quiet and shaky.

He stopped walking. Turned to face you fully, brows furrowed now. “Does this have something to do with… Jungwon?”

You didn’t answer immediately. You couldn’t. There was a sharp sting in your chest. A lump in your throat you couldn’t seem to swallow down. Because it wasn’t just the almost-kiss or the silence or the way he couldn’t look at you in class. It was the fact that you didn’t want to pretend anymore. And it was terrifying.

You nodded.

Just once.

And suddenly the hallway felt too long, and your next class felt impossibly far away, and your heart… didn’t know what to do with itself anymore.

Jungwon shouldn’t have looked back.

He knew it the second he did, that one glance over his shoulder felt like walking into the very thing he was trying to leave behind. But he looked anyway.

And there you were. Standing beside Heeseung. Nodding. Following.

Not him.

Jungwon’s jaw clenched. He turned back around quickly, the hallway ahead of him blurring around the edges. He didn’t know what he’d been hoping to see. That you’d hesitate? That you’d stop? That maybe you’d chase him?

But you didn’t.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to breathe through the pressure that had started building in his chest. It was stupid. All of it. You weren’t even dating. The fake thing had never meant to go this far.

Except.

He was ready.

Or at least, he had been right up until Heeseung showed up and you nodded like he was the one you wanted to follow. Like he was still the center of your universe, even after everything. And now Jungwon wasn’t sure if he was more mad at himself… or at the situation.

Because if he hadn’t hesitated last night…

If he’d just kissed you…

Would you still have walked away?

You stopped walking.

Just like that, your feet rooted themselves to the floor.

“I like him,” you murmured, so low it felt more like an admission to yourself than anyone else.

Heeseung turned back instantly, confused. “What?”

Your eyes were fixed on the floor now. You didn’t move, didn’t blink. Your voice was steadier the second time, but your heart pounded so loud you could barely hear yourself speak.

“I like Jungwon.”

Heeseung stared at you. There was no shock in his expression, not really.

“Yeah,” he said gently, nodding once. “I know. I thought we cleared that up.”

You shook your head. “No. Heeseung, you don’t get it.”

You looked up, finally meeting his eyes.

“I really like him.”

The words were soft.

“I was pretending at first—like it was funny, like it was just to get past the whole thing with you, or the rumor, or whatever. And I told myself it didn’t mean anything. I kept saying it didn’t. But now…” You paused, your voice catching in your throat.

“Now I don’t think I’m pretending anymore,” you whispered. “I think I actually… really do like him.”

The hallway was quiet.

So quiet, it almost scared you.

Heeseung didn’t say anything at first. He just stood there, letting the weight of your words settle between you. And then, very softly, he exhaled.

You looked down, your throat tight.

“He probably needs to hear it, too.”

You hesitated. “What if—”

“If you keep thinking about what ifs instead of doing something about it,” he interrupted gently, but firmly, “then nothing’s ever going to come out of it.”

“You’ve been brave for other people before,” he added, watching you closely. “Try being brave for yourself this time.”

That broke something in you.

Your heart clenched, your feet already itching to move. Because he was right. Because this wasn’t about timing anymore, it was about trying.

You met his eyes.

And then you ran.

Your shoes hit the floor hard as you bolted down the corridor, barely registering the blur of students and teachers around you. You didn’t know what you were going to say. You didn’t have a speech. You just knew you had to find him.

You checked his next class first, flinging the door open with more force than necessary. A few students looked up. The teacher hadn’t arrived yet. But Jungwon wasn’t there.

“Have you seen Jungwon?” you asked, eyes wide, voice tight. The girl closest to the door shook her head, confused, and that was all you needed to be gone again.

You searched the cafeteria—empty. The courtyard—quiet. The stairwell, the science wing, even the vending machines by the old lockers. Nowhere.

He wasn’t anywhere.

Finally, you reached the rooftop. Your last hope.

You pushed open the door so hard it banged against the wall with a clang that echoed across the open space.

But no one answered.

The wind rushed past your ears as you stepped forward slowly, chest heaving.

The rooftop was empty.

You stood alone on the rooftop, surrounded by silence and cold metal railings, your breath forming quick clouds in the crisp afternoon air. Your fingers curled tightly into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you tried to swallow down the frustration bubbling in your chest.

"God," you muttered under your breath, voice cracking at the edges. Your hand shot up, dragging through your hair with shaky frustration. The wind whipped around you, rustling your sleeves and your thoughts and every shaky breath you couldn’t get under control.

Without thinking, you turned toward the nearest thing, an old dented metal trash can by the wall and kicked it as hard as you could.

And then—

“...Woah, woah, woah, you okay?”

Your body froze mid-breath. Your heart stopped, then slammed against your ribs with dizzying force.

Slowly, you turned.

And there he was.

Jungwon.

Standing in the doorway like he’d just stumbled into the middle of your breakdown. His hand still rested on the handle, backpack slung over one shoulder, eyes wide. He looked caught, unsure, surprised. Like he wasn’t sure if he should take a step closer or stay exactly where he was.

Your eyes locked.

Neither of you moved.

Your hands hung at your sides, fingers twitching with adrenaline. His brows were slightly furrowed, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

And something inside you snapped.

Your feet hit the ground hard as you ran toward him, closing the distance in seconds. His eyes widened again, but he didn’t move. He didn’t flinch.

You reached up, grabbing the front of his hoodie with both hands and pulled him down to you. Your breath was uneven. His eyes searched yours for only a second before you leaned in, closing the space, and kissed him.

Then he kissed you back.

His hands came up one finding your waist, the other cupping the side of your face, his thumb brushing just beneath your jaw. His grip was gentle, but grounding. Like he’d been holding back for far too long. Like this was the thing that had been waiting between you for weeks, quietly demanding to be acknowledged.

“Damn,” he said. “So you like me.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him.

“What?”

His lips curved.

Your face twisted in mock offense, eyes narrowing as you pulled back slightly to look at him properly. “Oh, you wanna play that game?”

His grin widened, cocky and boyish.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve had a crush on me even before I did,” you said, crossing your arms even as your smile betrayed you.

Jungwon blinked, deadpan. “You’re not wrong.”

His expression contorted for half a second, like admitting it physically hurt, then melted into something a little sheepish, a little too real.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

“Obvious to who, exactly?”

He exhaled like it was the most dramatic moment of his life. “Who do you think I’ve been venting to about you for the past month?”

You paused.

Your smile faded into something wary. “Wait. Who?”

He looked at you.

You blinked, slowly putting two and two together.

Then your eyes widened in horror.

“No. No way.”

“She’s the only one who listened without judging me!”

“You’ve been telling my mom?! About your feelings?! For me?!”

And then it all made sense.

It was the night before.

Your mom was finishing up some dishes in the kitchen, and you’d just excused yourself to the bathroom, disappearing down the hallway.

Jungwon stayed where he was, sitting politely on the couch in the living room, hands clasped, trying not to look too out of place in a home that had started to feel painfully too familiar. He glanced toward the hallway once, then back at the TV that was playing some cooking show on mute. He didn’t expect your mom to come sit next to him.

But she did.

Not with her usual teasing smile or nosy aunt energy, this time, it was softer. Almost… concerned.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked suddenly, her voice gentle. “When I brought Heeseung up earlier?”

Jungwon blinked. “What?”

She smiled kindly, her eyes scanning his face. “You got quiet. I didn’t mean to make things awkward.”

“Oh. No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “No! Never. I just… it wasn’t that.”

She looked at him knowingly. “You know… it doesn’t take a scientist to figure out that you like my daughter.”

Jungwon let out a quiet groan, dropping his face into his hands. “Is it that obvious?”

“Very,” she said with a laugh. “But the good thing is…my daughter is completely oblivious.”

He exhaled a helpless little laugh, dragging his hands down his face. “I don’t know how to make it more obvious if I tried, Auntie. I swear, I’ve done everything short of confessing.”

“Telling her wouldn’t kill you,” she teased, nudging his arm.

He gave her a small, sheepish smile. “I just… I figured she’s still got feelings for Heeseung.”

Your mom shook her head, eyes twinkling like she’d been waiting for this exact moment. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

She turned toward him fully, folding her arms, her voice more certain now. “Do you really think I don’t know my own daughter? I’ve seen her with her friends. She’s never been like this with anyone.”

Jungwon raised his eyebrows slightly. “Like what?”

“Comfortable. Herself. She looks at you like you’re the only person in the world,” she said, matter-of-fact. “She lets her walls down around you. You don’t know how rare that is.”

Jungwon blinked. His throat tightened a little.

“And let me ask you something,” she said, leaning in like she was telling a secret. “Do you really think she wakes up at five in the morning to go grocery shopping with me just for fun?”

He frowned. “What?”

Your mom grinned. “She goes with me just to pick up ingredients for your favorite dishes and she prioritizes sleep more than anything in this world.”

“She does?”

“Every time you come over. You think it’s a coincidence we always happen to have your favorites? No, Jungwon. She picks them out.”

Jungwon stared at her, completely still.

“Oh.”

Your mom reached over and patted his hand gently, smiling. “You’re in deeper than you think, sweetheart.”

“Remember that day at your place… when I stayed for dinner the first time?”

You opened your eyes, looking up at him. “Yeah?”

“She told me,” Jungwon went on, his eyes crinkling, “that you wake up early to go grocery shopping with her before school. Just so you could cook the things I like for dinner.”

You blinked. Heat rushed to your cheeks.

“Honestly, I was still trying to figure out how to tell you I liked you,” he said, laughing softly, “while your mom was out here practically planning our wedding.”

Your mouth fell open slightly, words stuck in your throat.

He looked down at you. His gaze was steady, open, entirely unreadable in the way that meant it was everything all at once. “I’ve liked you since the beginning,” he said quietly, and this time he didn’t laugh. “Even when you said you hated me. Even when you swore you’d never like me back.”

“Wait,” you said slowly, voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve been crushing on me… this whole time?”

Jungwon tilted his head.

“Since the spelling bee,” he said, laughing.

You choked. “Fourth grade?!”

“Friendship,” he mimicked, grinning like the devil himself. “F–R–E–N–D–S–H–I–P.”

“You’re evil,” you said flatly, staring at him like you were trying to set him on fire with your mind.

“While we’re reminiscing,” Jungwon said, his voice tilting cocky again. “I guess I did end up taking your first kiss after all.”

You blinked.

And suddenly, the rooftop wasn’t cold anymore.

Your mind flashed back, months ago, during that stupid party, during that even stupider game of spin the bottle. You remembered the way the bottle had landed on you. The way he’d chuckled. The way he’d leaned in only to pause, shake his head, and say, “I can’t take her first kiss like this.”

Now, you looked at him again. Really looked.

“You could’ve just done it then,” you said, softer now. “Gotten it over with.”

He shrugged, almost shy. “Felt like it’d be unfair if your first kiss happened in some stupid spin-the-bottle game. In front of all those idiots.”

You searched his face, your voice barely above a whisper. “How are you so sure that was my first kiss?”

“Because,” he said quietly, “I knew you’d be mine.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Oh, come on,” he said, laughing softly. “You really think I’ve kissed someone?”

“Uh—yeah?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Do I look like I kiss random people at parties?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. He looked at you, all teasing faded now.

“I was saving it,” he said simply, like it wasn’t the most heart-stopping thing he’d ever confessed. “For someone special.”

And suddenly you weren’t breathing.

He looked back at you like it was obvious.

You reached for his hoodie again, your fingers twisting into the fabric without even thinking. “You’re an idiot,” you whispered.

His eyes crinkled, you tugged on the strings of his hoodie. Pulled him closer. Close enough to see the flutter in his lashes. Close enough that his breath hitched when your noses brushed.

And then you kissed him again.

His arms tightened around your waist immediately, pulling you in, deeper this time. It was slow and certain and everything that had been waiting between you for weeks—months, really. The rooftop wind curled around the two of you, but it didn’t matter. He was warm.

And then—

“Are you kidding me?! You two again?!”

You froze.

Jungwon jerked back so fast you almost stumbled.

You turned slowly, lips still tingling, and there he was—again.

The same security guard from the last time. Hands on his hips. Brow raised.

“Now I know for sure you’re kissing,” he said, squinting at both of you. “Don’t even try that hug excuse again.”

“We weren’t—” you started.

“It was windy,” Jungwon said quickly, brushing his hair out of his face. “And she almost fell—”

“Into your mouth?” the guard snapped.

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

Jungwon cleared his throat.

“Uh. We’re dating,” he finally said, sheepish, a little proud. “Officially. So.”

The guard narrowed his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Congratulations. Now get off the rooftop before I call your principal.”

“Yes, sir,” you both muttered in unison, scrambling for your bags.

As you walked down the stairs side by side, shoulder bumping into his, you could feel your face burning. But when you looked up at Jungwon, he was smiling like it had all been worth it.

“We should’ve made out in the library,” he whispered.

“You’re the worst,” you muttered, shoving him lightly.

2K notes · View notes

sunsetpossum · 6 days ago

Text

˖*°࿐ •*⁀➷ 𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐞

➜ summary: you ask jake to teach you how to flirt so jay will notice you. he says yes...despite having a 10 year crush on you

pairing: sjy/jake x f!reader,wc: 13k words , genre: friends to lovers, neighbor!au, fluff, romcom w: rude jokes, cussing, kissing

If someone asked you what Jake Sim smells like, you’d say a spoonful of ego, a dash of overpriced cologne samples he steals from Sephora, and a hint...just a hint of asshole. You’ve known him since you were six and he tried to sell you your own eraser for a dollar. You called him a scammer and well, he called you stupid for not realising it sooner.

It’s only been downhill ever since.

You grew up with him through scraped knees, schoolyard brawls, and the terrifying year he thought bleach blonde hair made him look like Draco Malfoy. It didn’t. Made him look like a surfer dude, probably named, Todd.

In middle school, he once convinced your entire class that you’d peed your pants during dodgeball. Naturally, you got your revenge by hacking into his Habbo account and stealing all his hard-earned furniture. He didn’t speak to you for a week…though you framed the silent treatment as “the best week of your life.” He jumped on you and tried to strangle you with his bare hands before you kicked him in the groin. The two of you had to be pulled apart by your parents and forced to kiss and make up.

But then again… you were also the only one there when his pet turtle died. He went through four tissue boxes, wiping away tears over the early death of his beloved friend, Sheldon. You stood beside him in his backyard, both dressed in black, as he solemnly lowered the shoebox coffin into the soil. You played Auld Lang Syne on the recorder because Jake, with tears in his eyes and dirt under his fingernails, insisted it was what Sheldon “would have wanted.”

And then there was that one time in algebra class when you got bored. You sat behind him in the class, and thought you’d try your hand at hairstyling…with actual scissors. He went home with a bald patch the size of a nickel and didn’t let you live it down. He cried. You laughed which obviously made him scream bloody murder. You only laughed harder.

That night, instead of letting it go like a normal person, he stood by his bedroom window which was exactly three feet away from yours and started launching tiny pebbles at your glass. Every ten seconds. Tap. Tap. Tap.

You tried to ignore it. Stuffed your head under a pillow. But by the twentieth pebble, you yanked your window open and glared at him across the narrow gap between your houses.

“God’s sake, Yun, it’s midnight.”

He didn’t even flinch. Just pointed dramatically at the back of his head like he was presenting a war wound. “I've bald patch because of you!” he whisper-shouted, so he wouldn’t get in trouble.

You felt bad. Only a little though. So you didn’t yell when he kept throwing pebbles until sunrise. You just stuffed your head under the pillow and endured it. Because that’s what Jake Sim was…an unavoidable constant. Just like those darn pebbles.

–

The two of you sat in your respective rooms, windows wide open. You were blasting your music loud enough for the bass to shake his desk lamp, and he didn't even complain. If anything, he hummed along.

Jake was sprawled in his desk chair, legs kicked up, pencil spinning between his fingers. “What’d you get for number six?” he called out.

You didn’t even look up. “I’m not gonna tell you.”

He scoffed. “Why the hell not?”

“Because you’re not gonna learn if I just give you the answer,” you replied, circling something on your worksheet just to look busy.

“Oh please, you get worse grades than I do.”

You whipped your head toward your window. “That was one time.”

“You mean multiple times, dumbass.” He leaned forward, smug. “Don’t make me pull out the receipts. Midterms, Chemistry quiz, that one math test you didn’t even finish—”

“Okay, okay, shut up,” you groaned, chucking an eraser in his general direction. It bounced off the wall beside his window and dropped harmlessly into the space between.

Jake grinned like he’d just won something. “You’re so aggressive. No wonder Jay won’t look at you.”

You froze.

“What is that supposed to fucking mean?”

“Oh, come on,” he said, unabashed. “You don’t think I notice the way you look at him? It’s painfully obvious.”

You scowled. “You’re such a dick.”

He smirked. “Relax. I know you like the back of my hand, Bun.”

Your eye twitched. “The nickname's getting old. Retire it”

“No, it's not. It's a national treasure.”

“I was six,” you snapped.

“And yet so confident. ‘Jaebun! Jaebun!’” He mimicked your childhood voice with alarming accuracy.

You muttered, “Should’ve gone with dumbass instead.”

“Too late.” he said cheerfully.

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. Since you claim to know me so well, when’s my birthday?”

He didn’t even blink, answering you in less than a second.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. “...Lucky guess.”

He leaned back in his chair, smug as ever. “Try me again.”

“What’s my favourite colour?”

“Trick question,” he said immediately. “You don’t have one. You once said colours were 'capitalist scams to sell more color pencils’”

You stared at him.

He shrugged. “I listen. Unfortunately.”

You grabbed a pen and pointed it at him like a threat. “Say ‘Bun’ again and I’m glueing your locker shut tomorrow.”

He only grinned wider. “Sure thing, Bun.”

–

Jake wasn’t wrong. You did perhaps have the tiniest crush on Jongseong and it wasn’t like you had crushes all the time. In fact, you barely had any. You were too busy…in your own little world.

Besides, Jongseong was different. He was quiet but warm, always smiling. Sure, you didn’t really know him but you could, if only he ever looked in your direction.

But he didn’t. Well, not specifically at you. He was nice to everyone. That was part of his charm.

The thing was, Jongseong only seemed to date girls who were everything you weren’t. The kind who wore frilly dresses and tiny skirts, who always smelled like some kind of floral mist. The girls who sat with their ankles crossed and giggled behind their hands. The girls whose hair was always curled and upright. The ones who never cussed.

You, on the other hand, lived in Jake’s old hoodie, the one he tossed at you when you were shivering so you’d stop shaking the bed. You never gave it back, and he never asked.

You sat with one leg propped up. You swore like a sailor and forgot lip balm existed. Your lips peeled constantly, sometimes dotted with dried blood from the sheer lack of moisture.

Of course, there was nothing wrong with being girly…it just wasn’t you.

You so badly wanted to be.

But you didn’t think you could pull it off.

You weren’t that girl.

You were never going to be that girl.

Or… so you thought.

—

It happened on a Tuesday.

You and Jongseong had been assigned to the same bio project, which, for the record, you took as a cosmic sign that fate was finally giving you a win. He’d come over to ask you something and you’d tried to hold an actual conversation with him while pretending you weren’t breaking into a nervous sweat.

It was going well. You thought it was going well. You were almost funny.

And then it happened. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw it.

A girl, pretty, with soft makeup and a sundress, waved at him from the lockers. He glanced over.

There was a flicker in his eyes. Something subtle. Something you couldn’t quite describe. But you caught it. Something you’d never been on the receiving end of.

He looked back at you and kept smiling. The same smile he gave the lunch lady. The janitor. It wasn’t attraction. It was…niceness. Jongseong was just being nice.

And for some reason, that wrecked you.

–

The lunch line crawled forward at a snail’s pace, the dull clatter of trays and scraping chairs echoing through the cafeteria. You stood still, half-slumped over your plastic tray, caught in the kind of daze that wasn’t sleepy so much as indifferent.

You stared blankly ahead, shoulders hunched. Your hoodie sleeves hung past your wrists, fingers tugging at the frayed edge while the smell of overcooked rice and some kind of mystery soup drifted around you. You barely noticed the guy who cut in front of you until his tray knocked against yours, loud and careless.

He didn’t look at you. Didn’t see you.

A hot senior. One of those boys who walked through life like it was a fuckin’ breeze and perhaps it was for him.

You sighed through your nose, small and bitter, eyes flicking instinctively to the other side of the cafeteria.

There he was.

Park Jongseong, laughing with his friends at their usual table by the windows. His perfect hair, his clean white shirt collar poking out of his sweater.

Why would someone like Jongseong ever court someone like you?

You dropped your gaze quickly, heat rising up your neck for no reason at all. Just in time for the cafeteria auntie to scoop a mound of fried noodles onto your tray.

You trudged toward your usual table, trying to hold the tray steady with numb fingers. Ni-ki and Sunoo were already seated, arguing about something stupid. Their voices bubbled in the background, warm and alive, but you barely heard them. You moved on autopilot.

And then your eyes wandered again.

A few tables down, Jake had his arms draped over the shoulders of some girl you didn’t recognize by name, but had definitely seen hovering around him during gym. Her nails were perfect. Hair curled. Really pretty.

Sunghoon said something, and their table erupted in laughter. Jake leaned in, grin sharp and stupidly attractive, fingers squeezing the girl’s shoulder like it was second nature. She turned her face toward his without missing a beat and kissed his cheek. Like she’d done it a hundred times.

You blinked.

Your grip on your fork tightened slightly.

Of course Mr. Resident Playboy was surrounded by affection, by attention, by options. While you sat here picking at your noodles, heart full of things you wouldn’t dare say out loud, mourning the simple, brutal truth:

You weren’t anybody’s type.

Not Jongseong’s.

Not anyone’s.

And definitely not Jake’s.

–

That night, you stood in front of your mirror, hoodie sleeves tugged over your palms, joggers slouching low on your hips. You weren’t sad, exactly. Just… tired. Of being invisible. Of blending into the background in every hallway. Of being the kind of person people looked through, never at.

Your gaze scanned your reflection. Slouched posture. That faint acne scar near your cheekbone. The uneven hair you barely brushed unless someone nagged you. There was nothing extraordinary about the person staring back. And yet, all you could think about was the way Jongseong had looked at her.

Not just looked…seen. That quiet, effortless kind of attention. Like she wasn’t just beautiful. She mattered. Like the world bent slightly in her direction just to be closer. You wanted that.

So you did the unthinkable.

You unlocked your window and slid it open, the humid night air brushing your skin. The three-foot gap between your houses had always felt insignificant—just years of shared childhood, unfinished arguments, and mutual pranks. You leaned out, scanning the opposite window.

“Yun,” you called softly.

No answer.

You stared a little longer before scooping up a small pebble from the ledge and flicking it against his window with a soft click.

Still nothing.

Of course. He was probably gaming again, headset on, screaming profanities at preteens while Park Sunghoon made terrible jokes in the background. You groaned, fished out your phone, and tapped his name.

It rang once.

“What?” Jake answered, already sounding irritated.

You exhaled. “Open your damn window.”

He hung up.

You blinked at your screen, jaw slack. “Asshole,” you muttered, arms crossed as you stared at his dark window.

A full minute passed. Then, the curtains shifted and his window creaked open. Jake leaned out lazily, resting his forearms on the sill. His hair was messy, and he looked like he’d just rolled off his bed. “Sorry,” he said. “I was mid-shit.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. Of course. He always said things like that. Because he didn’t see you like that. You weren’t a girl in his eyes. Just you. And even if you didn’t like Jake like that, it still stung more than it should’ve.

Your fingers gripped your window ledge tighter.

“Yun,” you tried again, voice lower now, more vulnerable. “I need your help.”

Jake squinted across the narrow space between your windows, “Sup?”

You hovered near the edge of your bed, fingers curling into the blanket. The words clung to your throat like they didn’t want to be let out. “I, uh…”

He tilted his head, eyebrows pulling together. “You what?”

You looked away, suddenly regretting saying anything at all.

Jake let out a groan, dragging a hand down his face. “Dude. Just spit it out. You’re stressing me out.”

Your voice came out smaller than you intended. “I want you to teach me how to be a girl.”

He blinked before scoffing, “Stop fuckin’ around. I’m in a Fortnite lobby with Sunghoon. I don’t have time for this.”

“I’m not fucking around.” Your breath hitched slightly. You didn’t mean to sound dramatic, but you couldn’t help it.

Jake leaned farther out the window, his legs swinging carelessly over the edge as he peered at you like he was trying to read your face. “You’re insane.”

“How am I insane?”

“You’re already a…a girl.”

You crossed your arms. “Just ten minutes ago, you told me you took a big fat shit.”

“So? I always say that kind of stuff to you.”

“Exactly. Now, would you say that to the hot girls you’re trying to flirt with?”

“No, but that—”

“No,” you cut in sharply. “You wouldn’t. And that means…”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “That means what?”

“That means you don’t see me as a…” Your voice softened to a whisper. “Woman.”

Jake exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “Well, I clearly do now. You’re acting like you’re on your period.”

You grabbed a ping pong ball from your nightstand and lobbed it at his head. It bounced off his temple with a soft thwack.

“OW—?” he recoiled, rubbing the spot. “What the hell?”

“You practically asked for it,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze.

Jake sighed, shifting to sit properly on his window ledge, feet dangling as he leaned his head against the frame. “Is this about… your crush on…uh…Jongseong?”

You said nothing. Just stared at your blanket.

Jake let out a low laugh. “It is, isn’t it? Why do you wanna change anyway? You're fine the way you are...just like this.”

"I don't wanna be just—"

"God, you are such a girl."

“If you’re gonna be an asshole about it, I’m—”

“You’re gonna what? Threaten me even though I know your biggest, darkest secret?”

You scoffed, arms tightening across your chest. “Fine. You win. Like always. You get the girls you want, the friends, the popularity. You get everything, Jaeyun.”

Jake let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, except it wasn’t. “You think I get what I want? You are sorely mistaken because–”

He paused. His eyes flicked to you. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something but he shut it just as fast and shook his head. “Doesn’t even matter.”

You didn’t press him. You figured it’d be something sarcastic or gross anyway.

“Yun…” You bit your lip. “You don’t know what it’s like. Knowing people don’t look at you the way you want them to. I don’t mind being invisible. I don’t mind being forgettable. But sometimes it just sucks. Watching people flirt with girls like they’re the only ones worth looking at. And I’m not. This is stupid but it’s just–”

“It’s really funny you think that way.” He said, laughing almost bitterly before he shook his head.

The room fell into silence. Jake didn’t say anything for a while.

“Look, if I help you, will you shut up about this cringey bullshit?” He spoke again.

You looked up. A slow smile tugged at your lips. “You’ll help?”

Jake rolled his eyes. “I don’t even know why I’m the person you’re asking.”

“You’re the closest thing I have to a friend.”

He stilled.

And that, more than anything, made Jake stop and think.

–

Jake hated Wednesdays.

He hated the long hours, the after school academy his mom sends him to, the way the fluorescent lights in the academy made his eyes ache by the second hour. Everyone there moved like machines, quiet, efficient, terrifyingly focused. He didn’t know anyone, and no one cared to know him.Just equations and deadlines and that one girl who once cried during a physics mock.

But one thing made it bearable.

You.

Same academy, different class. Same hell, different schedule. But you always ended up outside the gates at exactly 9 p.m., when his last class ended.

He saw you before he felt the wind, your figure under the yellow glow of the streetlamp, head bowed, nose buried in a half-crumpled chemistry textbook. Your bag hung off one shoulder, your cardigan sleeves pushed up, revealing ink-stained wrists. You were walking slowly, lips moving like you were mouthing formulas, completely oblivious to the world around you.

Jake watched for a second, letting the cold bite his cheeks.

He adjusted his hoodie and jogged up to meet you, as he always did, no hello, no warning, just bumped your shoulder lightly with his.

You blinked up from your book, startled, “Jesus fu—Jaeyun. You scared me.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you wait for me up front?”

“I wanted to get the last hotteok before the shop closed,” you said, pointing ahead.

“Without me?”

“You always take your time, and I got lazy.” You rolled your eyes and snapped your book shut, fumbling to shove it back into your bag.

Jake scoffed, reaching over to grab the book from you. He slid it into your bag with ease. “What makes you think I didn’t want any?”

“I was gonna get you one and pass it to you through the window,” you muttered.

Jake grinned. “How sweet.”

“Don’t push it.”

“Why the sudden generosity?” Jake asked, giving you a sideways glance as the two of you continued walking under the soft orange glow of the streetlights. The path curved through the park, quiet except for the faint rustle of leaves.

You hesitated. “Last night—” You swallowed hard. “I… I was in a rut. And I didn’t really mean for you to, you know, teach me how to be a girl. I think I was just...spiralling."

Jake didn’t say anything, but he slowed a little, turning just slightly toward you.

“You were right,” you went on, hugging your arms around yourself. “I am a girl. And I don’t have to… change who I am to be with Jongseong.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. “Glad you finally see it my way.”

“But…” You stopped walking, spinning to face him as you pointed a finger at his chest. “I do want to change my request.”

Jake groaned, head tipping back as he rolled his eyes. “What now?”

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, fingers fidgeting at the sleeves of your cardigan. The words got stuck in your throat. You looked anywhere but him, your shoes, the tree beside you, the flickering street lamp overhead.

“If you’re not gonna teach me how to be girlier…” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper, “could you at least teach me how to…”

There was a pause. Your hands made vague, awkward motions in the air. Jake just stood there, waiting, arms folded, eyebrow raised, looking far too amused.

“What?”

You looked up at him, cheeks burning. “Could you teach me how to… flirt?”

Jake blinked. “You want…me to teach you how to flirt?”

His voice cracked…barely, but enough to make your shoulders tense.

Then, slowly, his expression shifted. The corners of his mouth twitched. His brows lifted, eyes lighting up. You knew he was about to say something incredibly annoying.

“Oh.” He took a step closer, head tilted, grin spreading wide. “Oh. Flirting, huh…”

You immediately regretted speaking. “Don’t make it weird, Jake.”

“Too late,” he said, voice practically gleeful. “So do you call me Mr. Sim now? I have a small whiteboard at home. I could bring it over tomorrow. Maybe some flashcards—OW!”

You smacked his arm, sharp and fast. He flinched back, laughing as he rubbed the spot you hit.

“You’re the worst,” you muttered, spinning on your heel. Your pace picked up, arms crossed tight over your chest as your bag bounced against your side with each frustrated step.

Jake was still laughing behind you, low and amused. You could hear the gravel crunch under his sneakers as he jogged to catch up.

“Bun, come on,” he called, still breathless with laughter. “Don’t be like that. I’ll stop. I swear.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t even slow down.

Jake finally caught up, matching your stride as he nudged your arm with his elbow, more gentle this time. “Okay. Okay, I’ll do it.”

You glanced at him, eyes narrowed. “Really?”

He nodded, gaze fixed ahead now, hands buried deep in his hoodie pockets. His grin was still there but a little softer, a little less smug.

“Yeah,” he said. “Why not.”

And though he kept smiling, though he bumped your shoulder again like everything was fine, something tugged quietly at the edge of his chest.

–

It was a Saturday afternoon, and Jake had insisted your “first official lesson” take place at a café just down the street from school.

You sat across from him at a window seat, fingers wrapped awkwardly around a lukewarm latte while Jake leaned back in his chair, legs spread, one arm slung casually across the backrest.

“Alright,” he said, tapping the side of his cup with a spoon. “First target locked. Look at that guy over there.”

You followed his nod toward a boy near the counter. He had dark hair that curled just slightly at the nape of his neck, a clean, sharp profile, and a navy windbreaker slung effortlessly over a white tee. He was scrolling through his phone, occasionally glancing toward the barista with a faint, almost unreadable smile.

“Ooh, he’s kinda cute,” you murmured, straightening a little in your seat.

Jake blinked before shaking his head. “Yeah, okay. New target.”

“What? Why?” you frowned.

“He… he doesn’t seem nice,” Jake muttered, picking up his drink and deliberately looking away.

You squinted at him. “He seems totally nice. Mysterious, sure, but definitely polite.”

Jake scoffed under his breath. “You don’t know men.”

You rolled your eyes. “And you do?”

“I am one,” he snapped, scanning the room again like a snob.

“You are? Didn’t notice.”

Jake frowned, ignoring your comment. A second later, he pointed toward a guy near the pastry shelf. “That guy.”

You followed his gaze again, but you were still stuck on the first one.

“…He’s not even cute,” you said flatly.

Jake didn’t look at you. “Exactly, so ask him out.”

“But he’s not even–”

He exhaled sharply through his nose and cut you off. “Look, we’re here to boost your confidence. It’s not gonna be a sure thing, so start small.”

“Fine,” you muttered, folding your arms. After a beat, you turned to him. “Do I look okay?”

Your hair was down for once, soft waves brushing just past your shoulders. You’d run a brush through it and tucked one side neatly behind your ear. Your skin had that subtle glow, not from makeup really, but from actually washing your face and maybe using that tinted sunscreen your friend, Sunoo, swore by.

That even Jake had done a double take when you opened the front door. He’d blinked, eyes flicking from your hair to your blouse like his brain couldn’t compute what he was seeing.

EARLIER THAT DAY

Jake showed up five minutes early, as usual, slouching on your porch with his phone in hand. He didn’t bother knocking…he never had to. He was practically part of the house by now. The front door swung open before he could even reach for the handle. “Oh, Jaeyun,” your mom greeted with a knowing smile, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “You’re early today.” Jake grinned. “Just a little. Didn’t wanna get yelled at for being late.” She laughed and stepped aside to let him in. “She’s taking a bit long today. Not too sure why.” He kicked off his shoes and followed her into the entryway, glancing up the stairs. “It’s fine, I can wait.” Your mom raised an eyebrow at him, amused. “I mean…sure. But she usually doesn’t take this long. She’s been up getting ready for two hours.” Jake nearly choked. “Two hours?” Before your mom could answer, your voice floated from upstairs. “Is Jake here, Mom?” “Just arrived!” she called back. Jake leaned against the banister, still puzzled. He could hear your footsteps now. Then you appeared at the top of the stairs. He paused. Your hair was down. Like, fully down. He hadn’t seen that since you were twelve and you’d cut your own bangs in a bathroom mirror. It was longer now, softer, brushed neatly around your shoulders. You wore a pink blouse with tiny buttons and puffed sleeves, cinched just slightly at the waist. It hugged your frame in a way none of your hoodies ever had. Paired with a white skirt and sneakers that didn’t look like they’d survived through hell and back, for once, you looked… polished. His heart stuttered. Jake cleared his throat, eyes trailing over you as you stepped down the stairs. “You look… different.” You froze mid-step, one foot hovering slightly above the next stair, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Different good? Different bad? God, I knew I shouldn’t have followed that stupid Pinterest board. It said ‘cute girl outfits’ and I just assumed—” “I didn’t even say—” “Oh my God, I do look stupid.” You looked down at yourself in dismay, tugging at the hem of your skirt. “God, Bun,” Jake muttered, already striding up the steps toward you. He reached out, exasperated but weirdly gentle, and slapped a hand over your mouth. “Let me fuckin' speak,” he said, voice low and a little too sincere for comfort. “You look good. Now shut up.” And his hand lingered for just a second too long before he seemed to realise what he was doing and stepped back.

PRESENT

His gaze dragged from your eyes to your mouth, then darted away too fast, like he’d been caught staring. “Yeah, you look fine” he said, nodding once, maybe a little too firmly.

You frowned. “Are you sure?”

Digging into your pocket, you pulled out a tube of gloss and held it up. “Do I need more lip gloss? I saw this TikTok? Apparently these are, like, really in right now.”

You leaned toward the window as you dabbed it on, lips pressing together with a soft smack. Then you turned back to him. “Better?”

Jake swallowed. His jaw twitched.

He turned back toward the window a beat too quickly, pretending to scan the crowd like he hadn’t heard you. “Yeah,” he muttered, voice dipping low. “You look fine.”

“Is that the only thing you can say?”

He groaned. “What the hell do you want me to say?”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. So what do I do now, Mr. Sim?”

He cleared his throat, straightening up. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping just a notch as he shifted gears.

“Well… one thing about guys is that they’re simple. They like to be complimented.”

You raised a brow. “Are they dogs?”

“Not gonna lie, they tend to be,” Jake snorted. “Anyway, since your hair’s already down… you could just—”

His hand moved before your brain could catch up. Fingers brushing lightly behind your ear as he tucked a loose strand of hair back.

Your breath caught.

He didn’t pull away immediately, just hovered there, close enough that you could smell the faint, clean scent of his cologne. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, unreadable for half a second.

“Then,” he said, voice lower now, “just flick your hair over your shoulder when you laugh. It’ll drive him crazy. Trust me.”

You swallowed, nodding slowly. “Okay. I can do that.”

Jake stepped back, giving a short, almost nervous laugh. “Alright. Let’s have a test run. Show me the flick. Let’s see if you’re ready.”

You blinked. “Now?”

“Yes now,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Flip your hair. Then bat your eyelashes. Slowly.”

You gave him a long look. Then, trying to copy the motion, you awkwardly tossed your hair over your shoulder and blinked up at him, slightly exaggerated and incredibly mechanical.

Jake choked on his own breath.

You gasped and smacked his arm. “Don’t be a fucking prick!”

“I didn’t even say anything!” he protested before bursting into laughter.

“You didn't have to!”

“It's not my fault you looked insane!”

“You told me to flip my hair and bat my lashes!”

“Yeah, I told you to do it normally. I didn’t tell you to give me crazy eyes.”

You crossed your arms, shoulders slumping. “I can’t do this. This is stupid.”

“Yes, you can,” Jake said firmly. “Now look at me. Try it again.”

You sighed, took a breath then did it.

Your fingers swept through your hair, flicking it over your shoulder in one fluid motion. You glanced up at him, wide-eyed, lashes fluttering with just enough hesitation to make it feel real. Your lips parted slightly, soft with a natural pout. And the soft blush on your cheeks—God. It made you look so much cuter than he was prepared for.

Jake’s breath caught in his throat. He didn't move. Didn't say a single thing.

Because somehow, in the middle of this dumb pretend flirting lesson, you’d accidentally knocked the wind out of him.

And you had no idea.

His mouth opened slightly but nothing came out. His heart stammered in his chest like it forgot how to beat properly. Fuck. You looked good doing whatever the hell that was.

Then you sighed. “Ugh. I looked ridiculous again, didn’t I? God, I’m such a mess—”

“No!” he blurted out, way too loud, making both of you jump. “You looked… fine. I think you’re ready.”

His voice cracked at the end. He turned his head like it would somehow hide it.

But it didn’t.

You didn’t seem to notice. Or if you did, you didn’t say anything.

“But… what do I even say to him?” you asked, your voice softer now, uncertain.

Jake cleared his throat, grounding himself. Right. This lesson wasn’t for him. It was for you. For Jongseong.

“Keep it simple,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets to keep them steady. “Ask what he’s drinking. Compliment his shirt. Make eye contact. Smile. Then ask for his number.”

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

“Guys don’t need a Shakespearean monologue,” he added with a dry chuckle. “Just give them a reason to look twice.”

You took a deep breath and repeated to yourself, “Okay… I can do this. I can do this.”

Jake grinned, tossing back the rest of his drink like it was a toast. “You can. Knock ’em dead.”

You wiped your sweaty palms on your jeans again. Useless. Your hands were still clammy, and your heart felt like it was sprinting laps in your chest.

You glared at him. “If I embarrass myself, I’m blaming you.”

“Can’t embarrass what’s already rock bottom,” he grinned.

You flipped him off but your legs still carried you across the café. You passed the actually cute guy Jake had vetoed and kept walking until you reached the guy Jake had actually pointed out.

He was okay. Not ugly, but his hair was gelled too flat, and his shirt had some ironic graphic that made you wince. He was tapping loudly on his phone, chewing gum. Still, he had decent shoulders. That was something.

You cleared your throat. “Hey.”

He looked up, blinked once like he was trying to figure out if he knew you,. “Hey.”

You gestured to his drink. “Is that the cold brew? I was gonna get one, but I panicked and got a hot chocolate instead.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Cold brew’s not bad. Keeps me awake for my 8ams, y’know?”

You forced a smile. “I’m the same way! I'm a totally different person without my morning coffee.”

He laughed. Good. Good. Great! Until it wasn't.

You flicked your hair back like Jake told you to, trying to make it look natural. It didn’t.

"What are you...doing?"

You immediately stopped, dropping your hands to your sides. Straightening up.

Then, before you could stop yourself, you added with what you thought was a flirty smile, “I love your elbows! They’re so…uh…pointy.”

The guy blinked. “Sorry—what?”

You laughed before panicking a little, “Like if you were ever robbed, you could probably stab the robber with your elbow.”

He was staring now, straw paused at his lips. “Uh–thanks?”

“Anyway!” you blurted. “I should—uh—my friend’s waiting. Bye.”

You turned and speed-walked back to your table. The moment you reached Jake, you crash-landed into the booth, practically throwing yourself onto his chest to hide your face.

Jake raised an eyebrow, then completely lost it, laughter spilling out before he gently pulled you closer, one hand sliding into your hair, the other resting lightly between your shoulder blades.

“Sim Jaeyun, I will kill you.” You lifted your head just enough to glare at him, your cheek still pressed against his chest.

He didn’t flinch. Just chuckled and eased you right back into him, his hand still idly moving through your hair. You could feel his laugh rumble beneath your cheek.

“It’s not my fault you couldn’t follow one simple instruction,” he wheezed, voice light. “Flick hair. Speak words. That’s it.”

“He was clearly not interested,” you muttered, sitting up and crossing your arms.

Jake shrugged, finally catching his breath. “Then he probably doesn’t have good taste.”

You paused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He looked at you, blinking. “I mean—come on. You’re a total ten. And he’s like… a five. At best.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Did you just… call me a ten?”

“Y–yeah,” Jake said quickly, already regretting it. “On the insane scale.” He winced slightly, like even he knew that didn’t make any real sense.

You rolled your eyes and smacked his arm, “Can’t I just talk to the cute guy?”

Jake let out a sharp laugh, drumming his fingers against his cup. “You couldn’t even string a sentence together for that guy, and now you wanna shoot your shot with the hot one?”

You leaned back against the booth with a dramatic sigh, one arm flung across the backrest. “If I’m gonna die of embarrassment, I’d rather die pretty.”

Jake snorted. “You’re gonna die delusional.”

You turned to him, eyes narrowing with playful challenge. “Okay, then how about I practice on you?”

He blinked. “What?”

“I can’t practice on a hot guy. Too risky. And I already humiliated myself in front of the other one. So now I’m left with you.” You shrugged, like it was the most logical conclusion in the world. “Let me just see how it feels to flirt with someone I’m already comfortable with.”

Jake blinked again, visibly thrown. “And you think I’m the guy for that?”

“Yes,” you said, matter-of-factly. “Just treat me like one of those girls you’re always trying to impress.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” You pouted, lips pulling into a dramatic curve. “Am I not your type?”

Jake opened his mouth, then closed it again. There was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

“No. I didn’t say that.”

“Then what is it?” you challenged. “Why can’t I just practice on you?”

“Fine! Fine—just shut up for a second.” His voice was low, tight before covering your mouth with his palm to shut you up. “Or… we could get Sunghoon to help.”

You froze, eyes narrowing against his palm.

“Fungfoon?” you repeated through his hand.

He removed it slowly.

“You mean that trash ass frat boy who can’t shut up for more than thirty seconds?”

Jake narrowed his eyes right back. “Sunghoon’s my best friend.”

“I don’t care?”

Not even ten minutes later, Sunghoon strolled into the café, hoodie sleeves half-rolled, a lollipop tucked between his lips. You gave him a slow side-eye as he approached your table.

It wasn’t that you hated Sunghoon. But the two of you bickered like a divorced couple whenever you were together. Maybe it was your clashing playstyles when you gamed together, he was a reckless, charge-in-without-a-plan kind of guy, and you were more methodical, strategic. Or maybe it was just the fact that if Jake wasn’t hanging out with him, he was with you and well, Sunghoon could be… territorial.

He dropped into the seat beside Jake, legs wide, completely unbothered. “Alright. What is this even about? Why am I here to help the Devil herself?”

“Reason isn’t important but,” Jake muttered, not even looking up from his drink. “We just need you to pretend you’re some guy she’s trying to flirt with.”

Sunghoon pulled the lollipop from his mouth, brows raised. “Ew. Why would I flirt with her?”

You scoffed. “Don’t be flattered. You were my last choice.”

He grinned. “Still made the cut though.”

You rolled your eyes and took a deep breath, straightening your posture. Okay. Practice round. You could do this.

You turned to face him, smile soft, lashes lowered just a little. “Hey,” you said, voice dipped slightly lower. “You look kinda familiar…”

Sunghoon smirked, playing along, finally meeting your eyes after ignoring you the whole minute he arrived. “Oh yeah? From where?”

You flicked your hair back, just like Jake told you to, letting it fall behind your shoulder.

And that’s when it happened.

Sunghoon blinked. His entire body paused for a beat like his brain lagged for half a second before catching up. He stared at you, eyes trailing from your mouth to your collarbone, then back up again.

There was a few seconds of silence before...

“Dude,” Sunghoon muttered, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at you again. “Did you do something to your hair? You look really good today.”

“What?”

“I’m just saying,” he said, leaning in a little, arms folded casually on the table. His tone wasn’t exactly flirty, more like intrigued. “You look different. In a good way.”

Your brain went completely silent.

Not because it was flattering. But because it was Sunghoon.

“Are you calling me—”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I’m calling you pretty. I can’t believe I’m saying it either.”

You gawked at him. Mouth slightly open. Sunghoon looked at you like he was analysing a glitch in the matrix, brows furrowed, eyes scanning your face.

“Ew,” you said automatically, scrunching your nose. “I can’t believe you’d call me—wait. Hold on. I am?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, almost like he was confirming it for himself. “Totally. You’re just, like, glowing or whatever.”

“Well…” You sat up straighter. “I put on mascara. And some lip gloss.”

He was seeing you as a girl. Like...a girl girl. Not Jake’s best friend. Not the rando he was forced to game with when the squad was short one player.

You straightened slowly, crossing one leg over the other with a little more sway than necessary, letting your hair fall over one shoulder like a curtain. You tilted your head, gaze playful. “Well… maybe you’re just slow at noticing things.”

Sunghoon’s grin curled, his eyes dipped, lingering, and his tongue flicked out to wet his bottom lip. “Or maybe you’ve been hiding that pretty face on purpose.”

You leaned in, elbows resting on the table, chin propped on your hand as your voice dropped to a murmur. “Or maybe you just never looked close enough.”

That did it. Sunghoon's posture straightened almost reflexively, and for half a second, he was visibly flustered, eyes flicking down again before darting back up to meet yours.

Across the table, Jake cleared his throat.

You didn’t even turn to look at him.

Jake slammed his hand on the table, not hard, but enough to rattle your water glass. “Alright. Lesson’s over.”

Sunghoon blinked. “What—why?”

Jake stood up, his jaw tight. “We’re done. Congrats. She flirts well. You’re dismissed.”

Sunghoon raised both brows. “I just got here.”

“You’re just back up, Hoon. She’s not actually trying to date you, dumbass.”

“But we so totally could though.” Sunghoon looked back at you, winking.

“Okay, we’re done here.” Jake stood up suddenly and grabbed Sunghoon by the arm. “Let’s go. Your turn’s over.”

“Chill,” Sunghoon said, laughing. “You jealous or something?”

Jake didn’t answer. Just pushed the door open and muttered, “Thanks for your service. You helped a ton.”

—

Yes. Okay, fine. Yes! Jake liked you.

He hated admitting it. Hated even thinking it.

But he did. He liked you.

The only person who knew? His mom. Or maybe Layla, his dog—if she actually understood English.

He’d liked you since the day you stood in his backyard, dressed in black, playing Auld Lang Syne on the recorder for his dead turtle. RIP Sheldon. You’re still missed.

But Jake was an idiot. As most boys are.

Somewhere along the way, his dumb boy brain decided the only logical way to get your attention was through relentless teasing and it stuck. It became a habit. Your thing.

Because, obviously, nothing says I like you like public humiliation.

Jake liked you with your hair up in that lazy bun you always wore. He liked you with it down, falling in soft, messy waves around your shoulders. He liked you when you were yelling profanities into your headset, and he liked you when you were quiet in your room, curled up with your knees to your chest, scribbling in that little diary you thought no one knew about.

He liked you when you were laughing so hard you snorted. And he liked you when you were trying to hide your smile behind your hand.

He never really understood why you wanted to change.

To him, you were already enough. You weren’t “boyish.” You weren’t “too girly.” You were just you. And to Jake, you had always been the point.

What mattered wasn’t how you looked. What mattered was that you were there.

So when he found out you liked Jongseong, he couldn’t even breathe for a second. It felt like ten million trains had flattened him right where he stood. But when he realised you didn’t just like him you were willing to change for him?

That broke something deep.

Because it meant you liked Jongseong enough to become someone else.

And Jake… Jake never wanted that.

But he had pride. Stupid, gnawing, heavy pride. And what made it worse, what buried the knife deeper, was knowing you’d never look at him that way.

Not the way you looked at Jongseong.

Not the way he looked at you.

Jake remembered one of his most recent so-called flings if you could even call them that.

To you, he was the local fuckboy. The guy who always had someone new to flirt with. You’d rolled your eyes every time he winked at someone, and he’d leaned into the reputation like it was armor.

But the truth was far messier.

Because somehow, the girls he messed around with… they always ended up knowing about you.

The last one, her name was Hyejin or maybe Hyerim, he couldn’t remember anymore, she ended up sitting next to him in her tiny apartment while he nursed a soda he didn’t want and tried not to cry.

“I just don’t get it,” he’d admitted, voice cracking a little. “I don’t know how to tell her I like her. And it’d be weird, right? If I suddenly just… said it?”

She’d looked at him, mascara slightly smudged from a long day, and tilted her head with a sigh. “Jake, you just have to be honest.”

He laughed at the time. “I can’t even be honest with myself.”

Jake swore there was nothing more humiliating than crying in front of a girl who he’d once tried to flirt with, only to have her comfort him about another girl entirely.

Worse than that?

She hugged him. Gave him her leftover tiramisu. And said, “I think she already knows. She just doesn’t know that you know.”

Jake sighed and leaned his forearm against the windowsill, the cool wood pressing into his skin as he looked across the short distance between your rooms. Your window was open again, curtains pulled halfway back.

You were lying on your stomach, half-buried in pillows, legs bent at the knees and swinging lazily in the air. Your phone was cradled in both hands, and every few seconds your shoulders shook with silent laughter.

Jake told himself he wasn’t watching. Just glancing.

He liked when your curtains were open. Not because he was trying to spy. It was more like… habit. You were always there, in that same spot, doing something normal and unbothered. Sometimes reading. Sometimes chewing on your pen while you worked. Sometimes yelling at your screen when your game crashed. He liked those quiet glimpses, the small, domestic pieces of you when you thought no one was watching.

From across the window, he could hear your soft giggle through the open night air.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?” he called out from his side of the room, voice echoing slightly against the concrete walls outside.

You turned your head, chin resting on your wrist. “It’s just... nothing.” Your lips curled again as you looked back at your screen.

Jake smiled, just a little, then pushed off the sill and crossed the room. His headset was still hanging from the corner of his chair. He grabbed it, sank down into the seat, and slid it over his ears.

“Hey, I’m back,” he muttered into the mic.

There was a short pause. “Hold on,” came Sunghoon’s voice. “I’m in the middle of something.”

Jake reached for his mouse, nodding to himself. “Kay.”

And then he heard it.

A soft, unmistakable ding echoed faintly from the room across the way. He turned his head slightly, just enough to catch you laughing again. Your fingers moved quickly over your phone screen.

“Okay, I’m back,” Sunghoon said a few seconds later. He sounded amused.

Jake narrowed his eyes.

Another burst of laughter from your room. Another ding from Sunghoon’s mic. Then more quiet typing from your end. Another ping. Another laugh from Sunghoon.

Jake blinked at the screen in front of him. His hand was still resting on his mouse, unmoving.

Then he looked back out the window.

You were biting your bottom lip now, trying to suppress another laugh as you stared at your phone. Your shoulders were trembling again. You kicked your feet once, as if you couldn’t contain the energy anymore.

Sunghoon chuckled again in Jake’s ear.

The realization settled in slowly.

You were texting.

And not just texting anyone.

You were texting Sunghoon.

Jake leaned back in his chair, headset still snug over his ears, eyes locked on the warm glow pouring from your bedroom window. A breeze moved through the gap, rustling your curtain just enough for him to see your face again. You were smiling at your phone, soft and lit up in a way that made something in his chest tighten.

His grip on the mouse went slack.

“Are you texting her?” he asked, voice flat, low.

There was a pause on the other end of the mic.

“What? Who?” Sunghoon replied, feigning clueless.

Jake narrowed his eyes, staring now, not at his screen, but out the window, straight at you as your fingers danced over your phone screen. Another muffled laugh echoed through your open window.

“I can hear the two of you giggling like idiots,” Jake said.

Sunghoon let out a short laugh, not bothering to deny it. “Dude, what’s the matter with you? I can’t text her now?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Sunghoon replied. “You’ve been weird since the café. She looked cute today. I’m trying to shoot my shot.”

Jake sat up straighter, jaw tightening. “On my friend?”

There was a pause.

“Relax,” Sunghoon said, tone still light. “We’re just talking. Harmless flirting. Nothing disastrous. She knows me. She knows how I am.”

Jake didn’t answer.

His eyes drifted back to the window. You were still there, head bowed over your phone, smiling again at something that didn’t come from him.

“Whatever, man. I gotta go,” Jake muttered.

“What? We haven’t even played—”

“I forgot I had some homework to do.”

Before Sunghoon could reply, Jake clicked off. The headset hit the desk with a dull thud.

He stood quickly, crossed the room in a few long strides, yanked open his window, and grabbed the nearest thing on his desk…a ping pong ball. The very ping pong ball you threw at his head.

He tossed it with perfect aim.

It bounced cleanly off your forehead.

“OW—what the hell!” you yelped, looking up in disbelief, hand flying to your temple.

Jake leaned halfway out the window, one brow raised. “So now we know how that feels.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What was that for?”

“Stop texting Sunghoon.”

You sat up straighter. “What? Why? And how did you even know—”

“I could hear the gross, synchronized giggling. Cut it out.”

You crossed your arms, scowling. “You’re the one who told me I needed more confidence.”

“And you chose him?”

You rolled your eyes. “Come on. It’s not like he’d get hurt. I know how he is. He knows it’s just practice.”

Jake shook his head. “No. Not Sunghoon.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You were literally the one who told me to practice on him.”

“I take it back.”

“What?! We were finally getting into good banter and shit. Why are you—”

“You either stop texting him,” Jake said, voice dropping lower, “or I tell Jongseong your stupid secret.”

Your mouth fell open. “What?! Why would you—what does that even have to do with anything?!”

Jake didn’t answer.

But his grip on the windowsill had tightened, knuckles pale under the streetlight glow, and his eyes didn’t leave yours for even a second.

“JUST STOP TEXTING HIM!”

–

The next day at school, Jake dragged himself through the crowded hallway, feet scuffing against the linoleum. His eyes were heavy with sleep he never got. Every time he closed them the night before, his brain had decided to play out an imaginary scenario where you and Sunghoon were holding hands in the cafeteria or kissing in front of the gym lockers.

It was enough to make him gag. If that ever actually happened, he was pretty sure he’d launch himself off the nearest cliff without hesitation.

He adjusted the strap of his backpack and yawned, turning the corner...

A hand tugged on his arm.

He blinked, looked down, and there you were. Standing in front of him with your brows knit together, that expression you always wore when you were trying to pretend you weren’t nervous.

“Bun?” he mumbled, still half-asleep.

You let out a breath. “Look… I’m sorry for not telling you I texted Sunghoon yesterday.”

Jake shook his head. “I wasn’t mad because you didn’t tell me.”

“Then why were you—”

“It’s nothing,” he cut in, voice low. He glanced down at his shoes.

You tilted your head. “Didn’t seem like nothing. You were yelling, dry heaving, and threw a ping pong ball at my head.”

Jake gave a short scoff. “You threw one at me last week, so I don’t see why we’re keeping score.”

You smiled. “Touché.”

There was a moment of quiet between you, the hallway noise fading under the weight of whatever you were about to say. You rocked on your heels.

“So…” you started. “Promise you’re not gonna get mad at me?”

He looked at you suspiciously. “What?”

“Just—promise.”

Jake exhaled. “Fine. What?”

You hesitated for only a second. “Sunghoon asked me out.”

Jake stopped walking.

For a moment, it felt like the hallway went silent around him, like the crowd and noise and lockers all blurred into nothing. He couldn’t feel the weight of his bag anymore. Couldn’t hear the scrape of sneakers or the slam of doors down the corridor.

And then one very clear thought.

He was going to kill Park Sunghoon.

“I said no.”

His head snapped toward you. “Wait—what?”

You shrugged, casual, like you hadn’t just pulled him out of the depths of hell. “I said no.”

A slow smile crawled its way onto his face before he could stop it. Then another feeling hit, bright and stupid and way too much for a school hallway. He wanted to do a triple backflip. He wanted to grab your face and kiss you right there between rows of lockers. He wanted to sing something obnoxious and dramatic and completely out of character. Maybe dance in the rain.

“Why would I?” you said, nudging his arm, eyes still fixed ahead. “Jongseong’s the end game.”

And just like that, Jake wanted to go back to murdering.

“Of course, he is,” he said with a hollow laugh. He nodded, then mockingly clapped his hands together once, sharp and sarcastic. His smile dropped almost instantly, and he turned his face away before you could see the frown taking over.

He felt like biting his own arm off.

Then he looked back at you. “Right. I forgot this was all for that… Jay guy.”

You tilted your head, thinking. “Well… to be honest, I don’t really know him. But he seems sweet. From the times we’ve talked. And the group project. He’s… nice.”

Jake hated how gently you said it.

And the worst part? Jay was sweet. He was the kind of guy who held doors open without being weird about it. The kind who sent the group notes without being asked. He always smiled. Always remembered birthdays. He was, objectively, everything a girl like you deserved.

Jake knew that.

But he didn’t want to admit it.

Because you were his. At least in the world that existed in his head. You were his gamer buddy. His childhood friend. You weren’t supposed to look at other guys like that. God, he wanted you to look at him like that.

He clenched his fists inside his hoodie pocket.

He wanted to stomp his feet like a toddler and let out a big, ugly cry.

But unfortunately, that was not considered appropriate school behavior.

You didn’t notice the way he looked at you. Or maybe you did, and you just didn’t want to deal with it. Either way, you were still rambling.

“I dunno. I mean… I guess I just wanna see where it could go if he ever, like, noticed me or something.” You scratched your neck, glancing at the floor. “Not that he would. He’s… Jongseong.”

Jake didn’t say anything.

You sighed. “I’m probably just kidding myself. I’m not really the type guys go for, you know?”

“You ever think maybe it’s not you?” He looked at you. “Maybe they’re just dumb.”

Something about the way he said it stuck.

Jake glanced away before walking toward his locker.

You didn’t know what to say.

So you didn’t say anything.

But hours later, long after the hallway cleared out, after you were alone in your room, that sentence would come back again and again.

“Maybe they’re just dumb.”

And maybe Jake Sim wasn’t dumb.

But why would he ever see you that way?

You were the girl who screamed into her headset. Who wore the same hoodie three days in a row. Who got mistaken for a guy in Discord chats more often than not.

You shook your head and turned back to your phone, forcing yourself to scroll. Still, that voice stayed in the back of your mind.

And the way he looked at you when he said it.

–

It was time for lesson number two. You were back in the corner booth, your half-melted drink leaving a wet ring on the napkin beneath it. Jake sat across from you, lounging like he owned the place. One arm stretched over the back of the seat, his iced latte in the other, rings of condensation slipping down the sides of the cup.

He was watching you. That look again. The one that made it impossible to tell if he was amused or genuinely disappointed in you.

"This is the third guy that you’ve chickened out on. You’re not going to get better if you keep coming back after saying a simple hi," he said, nodding toward some guy seated near the counter. "Go talk to him. For real, this time."

You frowned. "I can’t. I freeze up and start to sweat."

Jake sighed and set his drink down. "Fine. Do it on me then."

You blinked. "What?"

"Practice. On me," he repeated, now leaning forward, his arms resting on the table. "Pretend I’m some guy you want to impress."

You stared at him. "You’re serious?"

"And you're stalling."

You turned your body toward him with a quiet sigh. "Okay. Fine."

"Go ahead," Jake said, his voice lower now, patient. He watched you with an unreadable look, the corner of his mouth still curved.

You tried. You really did.

Jake raised an eyebrow, pretending to be charmed. “Wow. Off to a strong start.”

You scowled. “Shut up, I’m trying.”

He smiled wider, amused. “No, no. Please. Continue. This is wildly entertaining.”

You gestured at his chest. “It looks… soft?”

Jake blinked, then burst into laughter. “Soft?”

“I meant—like. The material? It looks comfortable. On you.” You cringed. “Forget it.”

Jake leaned in, voice smooth like honey. “You want to touch it? That what you're trying to say, sweetheart?”

You made a strangled noise. “That’s not—”

He gently reached forward, fixing the way your fingers fidgeted with your sleeve.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Jake was already moving. He shifted closer on the bench, slow and smooth, until his knee touched yours under the table. One hand reached out and found your waist. His fingers slid just beneath the hem of your shirt, warm and steady.

"Also, a tip, if you will, from your ever so generous teacher, this," he said, "is the kind of touch that makes someone lean in."

His thumb brushed lightly against your side. His hand didn’t move much, but it didn’t need to. It rested there like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he was measuring your reaction.

And he was close now. Too close. You could see the way his lashes curled slightly at the tips. You could smell the quiet scent of his cologne, something clean and a little sharp, like cedar and mint. It wrapped around you in a way that made the entire café blur.

Your heartbeat quickened.

You hated that it did.

You laughed, a little too fast, wondering why your heart was feeling a certain way. "Okay. Great. Lesson learned. Thank you, Mr. Sim. I mean—Jae. Jake. Jaeyun. Jake."

Jake smirked and leaned back, finally letting his hand fall away. “Cat got your tongue?” he asked, laughing.

It really did.

How devoid of men were you, seriously?

It had to be that. The fact that you’d been so completely off the radar of all male existence for the past… forever. That had to be the reason your heart skipped when he tucked your hair back. Or the reason your brain short-circuited when he looked at you a little too long.

It definitely wasn’t because you saw Jake that way.

Right?

—

Jake spotted the two of you from halfway across the hallway.

You were leaning against the row of lockers outside the atrium, one leg slightly bent, head tipped back as you laughed. Sunghoon stood in front of you, arms crossed but posture relaxed, that stupid smirk already creeping onto his face.

Jake knew that smile. It was the one Sunghoon always used when he was trying to be smooth. The kind of half-smile he used when he was talking to a girl he wanted to take out or maybe just get a reaction from. He looked confident.

You giggled again and nudged Sunghoon’s arm, your fingers brushing lightly against his jacket sleeve. Jake’s stomach turned. That move. The casual touch. The lean-in. All of it. You were doing exactly what he taught you. The timing, the tone, the touch.

He felt heat rising in his chest, tension winding up his spine like someone had pulled a cord tight. His hands curled into fists inside his hoodie pockets.

He walked straight up to them.

“Hey,” Jake said, voice low but even.

You turned to him immediately, eyes lighting up. “Hey,” you said, beaming like nothing was wrong. Like your heart hadn’t just flipped for someone else. You had no idea how you looked right then.

“Can I talk to Hoon alone for a second?”

You glanced between them and nodded. “Sure. I need to pee anyway,” you said, swinging your bag over your shoulder before heading off down the hallway.

Jake watched you disappear, then turned to Sunghoon.

“Walk.”

He grabbed his friend by the sleeve and pulled him along. Past the lockers. Past the noisy vending machines. Past the drama kids yelling in the corridor. He didn’t stop until they were behind the stairwell, tucked into the shadowy corner where the lights flickered overhead.

He looked at Sunghoon, really looked. “I need you to stop flirting with her.”

Sunghoon blinked like he didn’t hear him right. “What?”

Jake squared his shoulders. “I need you to stop. Whatever it is you’re doing. The flirting. The teasing. All of it.”

“What? Why?” Sunghoon asked, brows furrowing. “We’re just talking. She’s fun.”

Jake’s jaw clenched. “She’s not just some girl to mess with. She’s not like the others. She’s my friend.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Didn’t you say last month she was like a pet chihuahua?”

Jake faltered for a second. “That was before,” he said quickly.

“I know you, Sunghoon. I know how you are with girls. You don’t mean to hurt them, but you do. You get bored. You move on. And I can’t watch that happen to her.”

Sunghoon gave a half-laugh, but it was dry. “Dude. Relax.”

“I won’t relax,” Jake snapped. His voice was sharp enough to echo faintly off the concrete. “Not about this. Not about her.”

Sunghoon finally went quiet. He studied Jake’s face, expression shifting from surprise to something slower. More serious.

“Why are you this worked up?” he asked.

“You’re my best friend,” Jake added, voice quieter now. “You know I love you, but I can’t do this if it means watching you screw around with someone who means this much to me.”

Then…something clicked.

Sunghoon’s eyes widened, just a little.

“Wait,” he said. “Do you actually like her?”

“Just. Please,” Jake said. “Don’t say it.”

—

You didn’t expect him to notice. Not really.

You’d just started wearing your hair a little differently. Put on some gloss.

So when Jongseong stopped you outside school, hand rubbing the back of his neck and his eyes holding that familiar mix of shyness and charm, your heart should’ve jumped.

But it didn’t.

“I was wondering if you wanted to maybe get coffee sometime? Just us?”

You blinked. And blinked again.

This was supposed to be it. The goal. The moment. The reason you spent hours flicking your hair over your shoulder like an idiot while Jake made fun of you.

But all you could think about was… Jake. Sim Fucking Jaeyun.

“I…” You looked up at Jongseong. Kind eyes. Good guy. Someone you used to swear you wanted. “I really appreciate it, Jongseong. I do. But… I think I’m going to pass.”

His smile faltered, just for a second. Then he nodded slowly. “No worries. Thanks for being honest.”

You gave him one more grateful smile and watched as he walked off, disappearing into the crowd.

And then you stood there.

Why the fuck am I thinking about Jake right now?

It was Wednesday. You’d just spent the last three hours at the academy doing absolutely nothing productive unless you counted emotionally spiralling in the corner seat while pretending to highlight your notes.

All you could think about was how it would’ve felt if Jake had been the one to ask you out.

Would you have said yes?

Would you have kissed him right there?

Would you have blacked out and screamed in his face?

You had fallen for Jake.

Oh fuck.

You groaned into your hands and started walking home, trying to mentally scrub the thoughts from your brain. But just as you passed under the flickering streetlamp by the park…

“BUN!”

You screamed.

Jake doubled over laughing behind you. “What the—?!”

You spun around, nearly flinging your textbook at him. “JAKE WHAT THE HELL!”

He was wheezing. “You scream like that for me? You’re dramatic as hell.”

You clutched your chest, heart going a million beats per second, not just from the scare.

Jake walked over casually, reaching for your textbook. “Give me that, your bag’s wide open—”

“DON’T TOUCH IT!”

You screamed again, stumbling back like he was radioactive.

Jake screamed back, instinctively jumping a full step away. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

“I DON’T KNOW!” you yelled, then immediately spun on your heel. “I HAVE—A LOT OF HOMEWORK!”

“What—?”

But you were already speed-walking away, hair flying behind you as you left Jake stunned in the middle of the path.

By the time you slammed your front door behind you and collapsed onto your bed, you were in full mid-life crisis mode. Rolling back and forth, groaning into your pillow, muttering, “It’s Jake. Oh my god it’s Jake. I like JAKE.”

You were still flailing when you heard a voice.

“You call this homework?”

You froze.

Your head shot toward your window.

There he was. Jake. Standing in his room, staring at you through your open window with a raised brow.

Fuck. You forgot to close it.

You cleared your throat and sat up like a malfunctioning robot. “Gotta… prep. For homework.”

Jake squinted. “Are you okay? You’ve been acting weird.”

You nodded a little too fast. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“…Okay.” He cleared his throat, clearly unconvinced. “Anyway. I was thinking for tomorrow’s lesson—”

“I don’t need them anymore.”

Jake paused. “Huh?”

You swallowed. “I don’t need the lessons. I’m good. I’m… fine. I don’t need to flirt. Or anything. Anymore.”

Jake stared at you from across the gap, mouth parting like he wanted to say something—but then it closed again.

“…You—”

“Jongseong asked me out today,” you blurted.

Jake went still, “Oh.”

It came out quiet. Just a hum. Then his eyes dropped to his feet. “So that’s why you don’t need the lessons anymore.”

“No!” you said quickly, maybe too quickly. “Not entirely.”

Silence fell between you, stretched across the space between your open windows. Both your hearts were racing, but for completely different reasons.

Yours…because it hit you again, hard and sharp: you had fallen for the guy who once smacked you in the face with a ping pong ball. The guy who threw pebbles at your window until you opened your window just to yell at him.

His…because you’d done it. You got Jongseong. The lessons worked. You didn’t need him anymore. You’d won.

So why did it feel like losing?

Thoughts ran rampant, words stuck in throats. The silence said too much.

“I—” you both said at once.

“You first.” Again, in unison.

“Okay, I’ll go,” you said, clearing your throat. “I said no.”

Jake blinked. “To Jay?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He looked at you, brows furrowed. “The lessons… the whole thing… I don’t get it. Why’d you say no?”

“He asked me out. And I didn’t feel the way I thought I would. It didn’t hit. I didn’t want him to ask me out anymore.”

Jake’s gaze lingered on your face, “Are you okay?”

God. Even now. Even like this. Stupid Jake. Always worried about you.

You nodded. “I’m fine. I just… figured I wanted something else.”

Jake looked down again. “Oh.”

“I wanted…someone else.” You said, softly, looking back up at him to see his reaction.

He gulped and then cleared his throat, “Oh. I see.”

You sighed, frustrated that he wasn’t budging or showing any other emotion other than a silent nervous puppy.

You looked at him, hair messy, probably from running his hands through it. A pair of fake glasses perched above his nose, the light from his lamp casting a shadow on his already perfect face.

There was slightly disbelief in his voice, from knowing you had said no to Jongseong. A boy who’d spent probably 10 years convincing himself that you’d only ever see him as a friend–scratch that, not even a friend. Someone you’d yell at or a human punching bag. Someone to drop guns for when she had no more in game credits. Someone to finish the bag of family sized cheetos with because “it’s too much”.

Your throat tightened, you weren’t sure why but you started talking: “I…uh…I didn’t really want it to be him. I kept picturing someone else.”

“Mhm.”

“Someone who…who notices I get cold without me ever saying anything. Someone who walks me home every night. Someone who leaves pebble marks on my freakin’ window.” You said, eyes fluttering to the two tiny hairline cracks caused by Jake.

You stopped, looked up to see Jake’s reaction once again. Your heart was pounding even louder this time. All Jake was doing was staring. At you.

Then suddenly realization sunk in, you idiot.

“Nevermind, I was just…saying stuff. Forget what I said.”

“No.” He said, firmer.

He was leaning forward against the windowsill, knuckles white, “Say it. Please?”

You looked at him, taking a deep breath, gulping for another breath of air because you couldn’t breathe, “I…I wanted it to be you.”

The words hung in the air for a moment or two and you’re unsure if you actually did essentially him that you liked him.

Jake didn’t move. Stunned. Stared at you with those pearly wide eyes and then you see him inching towards his window.

“Jake? Jaeyun? Yun, what are you–”

He inched closer, climbing through his damn window.

“JAEYUN!”

He was already halfway out, one leg swung over his windowsill and another at your window.

“Our windows are like three feet apart,” He huffed, voice strained from awkwardly balancing on the narrow ledge, “I’ll survive.”

“You can just yell!”

“I’m not yelling this!”

Then he crossed the gap and then Jake Sim was in your room.

You inched backwards, on your bed. Jake stood on your floor, scratching the back of his head. His hair a mess, him, slightly breathless.

“You’re insane.”

“You were saying…” He gasped for air. “You wanted it to be me.”

You nodded, mouth dry, “Yes.”

Jake took one step forward, then he was right in front of you. His hand found his way to your cheek, lifting you up to look at him.

“I wanted it to be me too,” He whispered. “For so fucking long.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. Because he was standing in your room now, three feet away but somehow close enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

Jake closed the rest of the gap in half a second, hands reaching for your face. His fingers brushed your jaw as he leaned in, eyes still locked on yours like he was checking, still checking, like he needed a thousand confirmations—

So you kissed him first.

You crashed your lips onto his in a heartbeat, short-circuiting whatever overthinking he was spiraling into.

And then, he melted. His hands slid to cradle your face fully, thumbs brushing your cheeks as he kissed you back.

You gripped the front of his hoodie, fisting the fabric to keep yourself steady. And when you finally pulled back, you whispered, “For the record, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Jake didn’t even hesitate. He leaned in again, his smile brushing your lips before he kissed you deeper this time.

“You’re doing,” he murmured between kisses, pressing another one to the corner of your mouth…

“Really,” one more, this time near your jaw…

“Good.”

Then he pulled back just enough to grin at you. “Then again, your boyfriend’s a teacher. I could always teach you how to kiss.”

You blinked. “Boyfriend?”

Jake tilted his head, still way too close, still grinning. “You’re telling me we’re not headed in that direction right now?”

“Not if you’re being smug about it.”

“I’ve been waiting ten years for this,” he said without missing a beat, “I’m gonna be as smug as I can be.”

“Ten years?!” you exclaimed, eyes wide.

He nodded seriously. “Remember when you wore that black dress to Sheldon’s funeral?”

You squinted. “Yeah?”

“I thought you looked really pretty.”

“At your turtle’s funeral?”

Jake shrugged. “Am I crazy?”

You stared at him. “Yeah. Kinda.”

He grinned wider. “Crazy about you, though.”

Your fingers tightened on the front of his hoodie, knuckles brushing against his chest as you pulled him closer. Your noses were barely apart, your lips curving as they brushed again—

Knock knock knock.

“Sweetheart? Everything okay there? I heard… noises.”

You froze mid-breath. Jake froze too, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

“Shit—” you hissed, panic flaring in your chest. “Closet!”

You shoved him hard toward the wooden closet door by your bookshelf, nearly tripping over your math notes and discarded socks in the process. Jake stumbled, muttering a curse, then ducked into the closet just as you reached for the doorknob.

You plastered on your most innocent smile, heart pounding as you swung the door open.

“Hi, Mom!” you chirped, voice pitched up way too high.

She raised an eyebrow, eyes drifting over your slightly messy hair and suspiciously glowing cheeks. “You okay?”

“Yep! Just watching Netflix.”

Her gaze swept past you into the room. Your bed was unmade, your pillows tossed, one of your shoes lying sideways on the rug like it had been kicked off in a hurry.

“I heard a boy’s voice.”

“Using my new speaker!”

She didn’t look convinced. In fact, she leaned in slightly and lowered her voice. “Are you sure? Because if you are seeing someone…”

You tensed.

“I just hope it’s not someone else.”

Your smile faltered. “…What? What do you mean?”

“Y’know…” she said, shrugging. “If it’s not Sim’s son.”

You blinked. “Sim’s—”

“Jaeyun.”

“She told me he has a crush on you, y’know? Her boy.” Your mom gave you a look. “And to be honest, we’ve been rooting for you two since that turtle funeral.”

You groaned, dropping your forehead dramatically against the doorframe. “Oh my God.”

“It was just so cute! The way the two of you stood in the backyard, looking at each other.”

“Please stop talking.”

“We made a bet. She thinks you’ll get together right after graduation, and I said before.”

“Mum.”

“So who do you think will win? Do you need help speeding things up? I’ve got experience. Want me to tell you how I got your dad?”

“Mum. Stop.”

“Oh, fine. I’ll go,” she sighed. “Just keep the Netflix down, would you?”

As her footsteps retreated down the hall, you slammed the door shut and spun on your heel.

You yanked the closet door open.

Jake stood there, his hair was tousled, cheeks flushed, like he’d barely kept it together in there.

“Can’t believe my mom told yours,” he sighed, stepping out carefully. “It’s like secrets aren’t even secrets anymore.”

“Well, it’s a good thing she told me today,” you muttered. “Right after the whole… thing.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling now.

“I still can’t believe our moms ship us.”

You sighed, already tugging on the front of his hoodie again. “Whatever. Just shut up and kiss me again.”

Jake grinned, stepping closer until your backs were to the door and your room was quiet again.

“Gladly,” he whispered, before leaning in once more.

—

ONE MONTH LATER

You were sprawled on the floor of your room, hoodie sleeves tugged over your palms, legs folded underneath you as you scribbled furiously into your notebook. Your knees were propped against the edge of the bed, an d your hair was half up, half giving up. Jake sat cross-legged behind you on the rug, elbows resting on his knees, watching you.

“You’re so cute when you’re concentrated,” he said, voice all soft and sing-song.

You didn’t even look up. “Yun.”

“Mmh?”

“Stop staring.”

“I can’t help it.” You could hear the grin in his voice. “My girlfriend’s too pretty.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled to yourself.

Without warning, Jake scooted closer until his knees touched your back. Then his arms slipped around your waist, pulling you gently into his lap like it was muscle memory. You let out a startled yelp as your notebook was abandoned somewhere across the carpet. Now you were seated between his thighs, his arms looped tightly around your middle, face buried in the crook of your neck.

“I love this hoodie on you,” he murmured, brushing his nose against your skin. “You always smell like sunshine and detergent.”

“Baby, let me go. I was doing something—”

He kissed your shoulder, lips slow and warm. Then your jaw. Then the soft skin just beneath your ear. “Shhh. Let me love you for, like, five minutes.”

You squirmed. “You’re clingy.”

“I’m touch-starved.”

“You literally hugged me the entire walk back from the academy.”

Jake tightened his hold, hands splayed across your stomach now. “It’s not my fault you make me clingy.”

You finally turned to face him, arms loosely around his neck. He leaned in like gravity pulled him to you, brushing his nose against yours. His gaze flicked from your eyes to your lips.

“You’re so pretty,” Jake whispered, his fingers gently brushing along your cheekbone and down to your jaw. “I don’t think you even know what you do to me.”

You exhaled a laugh, “Jake, I was literally almost done.”

He pouted immediately. “Jake?” he repeated, like the word physically hurt him.

You looked up, confused. “What?”

“Did you just call me by my actual name?” His face twisted, mock-offended, as he clutched his chest dramatically. “No. Nope. Not allowed.”

You blinked. “Are you seriously mad because I called you Jake?”

He sat up slightly, brows furrowing. “Yeah. Yes, I am. That’s what teachers call me. You? You call me baby. Or sweetheart. Or love. Or beautiful boy. I’d even take Yun. Not Jake.”

You smirked. “Jake—”

“Lalalala—” He slapped his hands over his ears and turned his head away from you. “I’m not listening

“Jake.” You grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands down from his ears. “JAKE! Okay, fine! Baby?”

He immediately stopped, all sweet-eyed and smug. “Yes?” he replied, voice as soft as sugar.

“Oh my god. You’re insane.”

“Insane?” he scoffed, pulling you closer until your legs straddled his lap. His hands gripped your waist like they belonged there. “What’s insane is that you don’t fucking love me.”

You stared at him, jaw dropping. “Sim Jaeyun—”

He gasped, scandalised, throwing his head back like you’d physically wounded him. “And again with the full name. Gah! You hate me.”

You burst out laughing as he yanked you forward and buried his face in the crook of your neck, groaning

“Okay, fine,” you said, playing along. “Oh, my dearest bundle of love, light of my life, tell me—how must I ever earn your forgiveness?”

He perked up instantly, lifting his head with a bright smile. “Ooh. This is fun.” He clapped once, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I want kisses.”

You snorted. “Kisses? That’s it?”

“I want one here,” he tapped his cheek.

You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to it.

“And here,” he tapped the other.

Then he tapped his lips. “And one here. Minimum a minute. No funny business. Though, I don’t mind if you slip in a little tongue.”

You narrowed your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “You’re ridiculous.”

Still, you leaned in, slowly, lips brushing against his. Jake’s hands slid up your back, holding you close as he kissed you back properly.

When you finally pulled away, breath mingling with his, he whispered against your mouth, “Forgiveness granted.”

You smiled, forehead pressed to his until your phone dinged.

You pulled back and glanced at the screen. “Why did Sunghoon just text me, ‘control your damn dog’?”

Jake tilted his head, expression too casual. “Oh. I think he’s referring to the text I just sent him.”

You squinted. “What text?”

He gave a nonchalant shrug. “I don't know could be the one where I told him to eat shit and get diarrhoea.”

Your jaw dropped. “What?! Why?”

“He texted you for your chem notes.”

“Jake!”

He grinned, smug and unrepentant. “Name? Again? That’s strike two, baby. One more and you’re out.”

"You're insane."

1K notes · View notes

sunsetpossum · 6 days ago

Text

˖*°࿐ •*⁀➷ 𝐢 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮

➜ summary: jay’s always had everything. you were just the girl who followed him around until you became the one thing he couldn’t let go.

pairing: pjs x f!reader, wc: 16k words , genre: best friends to lovers, rich!jay, fluff, a wee lil angst w: rude jokes, cussing, kissing

When you were eight, your pet fish died. Jay, being the perfect friend, snuck out of his house, hoodie zipped up to his nose, and stood outside your door with a juice box and a Pokémon sticker. He didn’t say anything, just left them there with a note that read: “U ken yoos the stikr four yur dairi.”

He wasn’t the best speller, but he was the best friend you could ever ask for.

When you were thirteen, you stayed up until 3 a.m. on the phone, ranting about how some snotty new transfer from Australia, Sim Jaeyun said your feet looked “weirdly shaped.” Jay spent an hour trying to convince you that Jaeyun had a thumb that looked like Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson and couldn’t tell a mermaid from a fish so he didn’t deserve to have opinions.

When you turned seventeen, Jay gave you his favourite hoodie before flying to Seattle for a month to visit his relatives. You wore it religiously while he was gone, just to feel a little closer to him.

And till now somehow, Jay still orbited your everyday life.

“You’re late,” he said without looking up, eyes fixed on some game playing on the TV.

“I wasn’t even supposed to come today.”

“But you did,” he replied, finally turning to glance at you. His grin was lazy, a little smug. “Couldn’t stay away from The Jonginator 3000.”

“Gross,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Please never call yourself ever that again.”

You crossed the room and dropped onto the other end of the couch, knees curling up beside you as your shoulder brushed his. Jay made space for you without saying anything.

“Here,” you muttered, digging through your tote bag and tossing a bag of chips his way.

He caught it one-handed. “Oh, how you spoil me.”

“Well, that’s because you’re unbearable when you’re hungry.”

“And equally as charming when I’m full,” he added with a wink.

You bit back a smile, tilting your head with mock thoughtfulness. “Hm… I’m not sure that’s entirely accurate,” you said.

You liked to believe your friendship with Jay could weather even the strongest storms but lately, you weren’t so sure.

It wasn’t that anything had gone terribly wrong.

It was quieter than that. Slightly more subtle? Things had just… started to change. Not in ways you could clearly name, but in the little things.

You and Jay were friends. Best of friends, even.

Your mum had worked for his family for almost a decade, taking care of his grandmother, the same woman you’d come to call Grandma, too. Jay never minded. His grandmother never corrected you. If anything, she loved it. Jay was an only child, and without a granddaughter of her own, she’d folded you into her life without hesitation.

His family had always been kind. They treated your mum with respect, and you never felt looked down on.

But lately, something had started to shift. Nothing harsh or particularly cruel. Just… small things, little things you were starting to piece together.

Maybe it was the way people talked about the future now about colleges, cities, careers. Plans that didn’t involve waking up in your childhood bedroom. Plans that didn’t include walking into Jay’s room, knocking once before flopping onto his bed to rant about terrible Netflix documentaries you’d force him to watch.

But most of all, they were plans that didn’t include both of you.

Maybe it was the realisation that Jay was heading somewhere you couldn’t afford to follow.

And maybe Jay was starting to realise that too.

You loved him. Almost too much. You didn’t like putting a label on it. Romantic, platonic, it didn’t matter. All you knew was that he made you laugh when you wanted to cry, and he made you smile when you were knee-deep in anger.

And losing that? Losing him? Somehow, that scared you more than anything.

You’d left for the bathroom a little over five minutes ago, but it took nearly three just to get back to Jay’s room.

You were about to push open the door, fully prepared to return and absolutely obliterate him in the game you’d been playing, when you heard a voice.

“Baby,” his mum said gently.

You froze. Your hand hovered just above the doorknob. Something about her tone stopped you. It sounded serious… a little too serious for you to barge in like nothing.

So you didn’t.

You stayed where you were, just outside his door, waiting for the right moment to step in.

“Mom, I’m not going,” Jay said. You could hear the sound of him ruffling his hair, followed by a long sigh.

His mum exhaled softly. “Jong, it’s a tradition. The family went there. I went there. You—”

“I’m not going,” he repeated, firmer this time.

There was a pause.

“If this is about…” she began before letting out a deep breath. “Look, I love her. You know I do. I treat her like a daughter too, but baby, this is a big deal. You have one foot in the door and you’re throwing it all away?”

“Mom—”

“No, listen to me.” Her voice cracked slightly. “You can always come back to her, but this… this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance.”

A long stretch of silence followed, thick and heavy, before she spoke again, softer now but still thick with tension.

“I’m not saying she isn’t good for you. She is. She’s smart, she’s pretty. She’s… kind. But do you really think the two of you have anything in common besides growing up together?”

Oh. Oh. Oh…

So this was how they saw you: not bad, not unworthy…just not enough. Not for him.

“Baby,” she said, “the two of you are on different paths and…well, Jong, you were meant for greater things. Big things.”

Through the small crack in the doorframe, you caught a glimpse of Jay, sitting on the edge of his bed, brows furrowed, elbows resting on his knees. He wasn’t answering. He looked like he was thinking about it.

That hurt more than anything.

You backed away quietly, each step careful, like even your breath might give away that you had been listening. When you reached the top of the stairs, you glanced down at your feet, your socks, mismatched and worn. They had never felt like such a statement before. And now, in this house, with its icy cold Italian marble floors, they felt impossibly…prominent.

You were rushing toward the door when something made you pause. The second living room, the one you’d always walked past, never into. You turned, just a little, just enough to see it.

The walls were lined with frames. Studio portraits of Jay and his parents, always dressed to the nines, always looking like they belonged on the cover of some high-society magazine. There were formal family shots with his extended relatives, his cousins in their prep school uniforms, their parents with Rolexes and pearl earrings, champagne glasses in hand at some gala that probably changed the world without you knowing.

Then your eyes landed on the final frame tucked in the corner.

Jay, standing beside the minister at a government scholarship ceremony. A navy suit that fit him too well. His parents beaming on either side of him. The plaque in his hand gleaming. You remembered that day vaguely, he had texted you something self-deprecating about tripping on stage. You had laughed then.

You weren’t laughing now.

Because all of it somehow was starting to feel like a mockery of just how different your worlds really were. There was a bitter sting in your chest, and you weren’t sure if it was jealousy over a life you’d never live, or the ache of knowing someone you liked so much came from a place you could never quite reach.

While Jay had birthday dinners at restaurants you didn’t even know existed, yours were made of takeout leftovers and cakes baked in a neighbor’s oven. Jay had a whole wall of proof that he belonged. And all the while, you didn’t even have matching socks.

—

Jay: Did you just leave? Without saying goodbye? 🙁

You didn’t reply.

You were too deep in your own spiral…spinning, crashing, drowning in thoughts you didn’t ask to think. His mom had been right. About everything.

She hadn’t been cruel. She hadn’t even sounded angry. Just… honest. Like a mother trying to protect her son from making a mistake. And maybe you were the mistake. You knew she liked you. You knew the whole family did. But that didn’t change the fact that you’d always been her daughter, the caregiver’s daughter. Not one of them. Not really.

And for the first time in your life, you felt it, not just the distance, but the pity. Ten years of your mom’s hard work, all the quiet pride she carried, all the long nights and it suddenly felt like none of it mattered. You were just the tagalong. A nice girl with nowhere better to be.

You were never someone in that house. You were just... there.

Your phone lit up again.

Jay: I’m coming over.

Your eyes flew open. “Damn it–” you muttered, wiping your face with the sleeve of your hoodie.

You: Don’t.

Jay: Huh?

You: I’m fine.

Jay: But you left so soon?

You: I had to take a shit so I left.

There was a pause.

Jay: I have a bathroom, you idiot.

You: It’s too fancy. I like mine better.

Jay: LOL well at least say goodbye next time. I went around the house like an idiot looking for you for 10 whole minutes.

You stared at the screen, thumb hovering. You wanted to say more.

But you didn’t want him to pity you too.

—

Jungwon stood beside you, rhythmically tapping two fingers against your back, drumming out a song only he could hear. You hunched forward at the front desk, shoulders tense, chin propped against your palm as you glared at the dusty computer monitor displaying your completely empty Tuesday schedule.

You part timed at Goober Galaxy, an indoor playground targeted for kids ages 3 and up. Today was quiet. It was the perfect shift for a breakdown. Unfortunately, Jungwon hadn’t gotten the memo.

You swatted his hand away without even turning around. “Cut it out.”

He laughed, and leaned over the counter so that his chin now rested on his folded arms beside yours. “I’m bored,” he declared, eyes scanning your blank expression.

“Then go find something to do.”

“I like bothering you,” he said with a smile.

You turned to glare at him, grabbing the nearest pencil and holding it up like a weapon. “I’ll stab you with this.”

“Ooh, how scary,” he said, grinning wider.

“Shut up.”

You didn’t mean for it to come out as sharp as it did. Jungwon blinked, his smile faltering just a little but only for a second. You dropped the pencil back onto the desk and folded your arms, slumping deeper into your chair. You’d been like this all day: distracted, fogged over, stuck in your own head with thoughts of you and Jay.

It’d been two days since you left Jay’s house without saying goodbye. Two days since you’d heard his mother’s voice echoing in the hallway, reminding him that people like you didn’t belong in their world.

He’d been texting you ever since. But every time your phone lit up with his name, your heart clenched so hard it made you nauseous. You couldn’t answer. Not when you didn’t know how to exist next to him without feeling small.

You didn’t realize Jungwon had moved until he dropped onto the beanbag beside your stool with a dramatic huff, his legs splayed out in front of him, head tilted toward you.

“Okay,” he said, “seriously. Who is it?”

You didn’t answer.

“Come on,” he continued, tapping his foot against your shoe. “Tell the master of Women who has you acting up like this.”

“I highly doubt you even know what a woman is.”

You let out a breath through your nose and glanced at him. Jungwon’s dark hair tousled from where he’d been running his hand through it, polo shirt wrinkled, name tag barely hanging on. He was annoying and loud. But he was also one of the only people who understood what it meant to want more than you were allowed to have. You both had jobs instead of highly paid tutors, worn-out sneakers instead of new ones, savings goals that felt like they’d never be reached.

He didn’t know what was wrong. Not exactly. But he knew enough to ask.

Still, your voice caught in your throat. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it aloud: I overheard Jay’s mom say I don’t belong in his world and I think she’s right and now I can’t even look at him without wanting to cry.

So instead, you mumbled, “It’s nothing.”

Jungwon didn’t push. He just leaned back with a sigh and said, “You know I’ll keep annoying you until you tell me, right?”

You looked at him out of the corner of your eye. “I know.”

He grinned. “Cool. Just making sure we’re on the same page.”

You sighed then tilted your head toward him, your voice quiet. “D’you ever think we’ll be bigger than we are right now?”

Jungwon blinked, caught off guard. “I mean… I heard Mr. Kim say we stop growing after we turn 18, but I’m not too sure.” He tilted his head dramatically, thinking hard. “Though… I have been drinking more milk lately so all fingers crossed!”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant! I meant... just us. Will we ever be bigger than this? Than who we are now?”

He looked at you, his smile fading into something gentler. You didn’t usually say things like this. “Like... spiritually? Emotionally? Or like tax bracket-wise?”

You stared at him flatly.

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, raising both hands in surrender. “I get it. You mean like, in the world.”

You nodded slowly, your voice tightening. “I mean…look at us….We’re just... two kids. Two random people in this giant fuckin’ world. And there are people out there who are so much bigger than us. So much more important. Doing things that matter. And we’re just here. Doing this.”

Jungwon leaned his head back against the beanbag, legs stretched out in front of him. He looked up at the ceiling for a long moment before shrugging. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “But I like where I am.”

You glanced at him, brows furrowed. “You like working for scraps?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Well... it’s a Tuesday afternoon, and I’m hanging out with the prettiest girl I know. So yeah. Not bad.”

You shoved his shoulder, trying not to smile. “Be serious, Won.”

His expression softened then, all teasing drained out of it. He shifted to face you more fully, his voice quieter. “Okay. You’re upset. And since it’s you, and you don’t get like this unless it’s something big, I’m guessing this is about Jay.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

Jungwon reached out and gently poked your forehead. “Then let me say this clearly: you need to stop letting that big, overthinking brain of yours spiral.”

You exhaled shakily.

“I know Jay. Not like you do, obviously,” he added with a small grin, “but well enough. And I know, for a fact, that Jay doesn’t give a single fuck that we’re working at...” He looked around and grimaced. “Goober Fuckin’ Galaxy.”

You laughed.

“I’m serious,” he said, nudging your knee with his. “That guy looks at you like you invented…I don’t know…the freaking internet? It clearly doesn’t matter what job you have, or where you come from. You’re not small to him. Not to me. Not to Hee. Not to any of us.”

You didn’t reply, but something in your chest eased…just a little.

The bell above the entrance gave its usual pathetic worn out ding, but you didn’t look up…no one came to Goober Galaxy on a Tuesday. That was the whole point of working Tuesdays.

“Uh oh,” he muttered beside you, sitting up from his beanbag.

“What?” you asked, barely glancing over.

“Lover boy incoming.”

Your brows knit together as you turned and froze.

Jay was standing in the entrance, chest rising like he’d sprinted from the subway (which he’s probably never taken), hair tousled in that way that looked both accidental and annoyingly perfect. In one hand, he held a bouquet of white daisies wrapped in soft brown paper. In the other, a box of chocolates with a ribbon tied so tight it was starting to crumple the corner.

And then you noticed it, the faint red splotches blooming across his knuckles, creeping up his wrist. His grip didn’t falter. Jay was allergic to flowers. You’d known that since forever, since the day he sneezed through an entire spring picnic and blamed the pollen for his watery eyes.

Your heart twisted.

Suddenly, you felt awful. And soft. And maybe a little bit in love all over again.

He walked straight toward you, eyes never leaving your face, and you hated the way your breath caught.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “I’m sorry.”

You blinked, completely thrown. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, pushing the flowers into your hands like they might prove his sincerity. “I don’t know what I did. But whatever it is, I’m sorry, okay? I—I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t even realize something was wrong until you stopped replying and then I thought maybe it was something I said or maybe I looked at you weird and—”

“Jay—”

“I was going to come yesterday, but I didn’t want to be pushy. And then I tried calling again this morning but I figured maybe you were busy—”

“Jay.”

He finally paused, breath short, his eyes scanning your face with desperation. And just like that, your chest ached in another way.

He didn��t know. He thought he did something wrong. And he came all the way here just to apologize for a mistake he didn’t even understand.

You looked down at the daisies, hands curling around the brown paper. The stems were still wet. Fresh, which means he got the flowers that day.

God, he was sweet. Stupidly, painfully sweet.

Before you could say anything, Jungwon cleared his throat loudly from behind the counter. “Sooooo,” he drawled. “You got her flowers and chocolates? What do I get?”

Jay turned to look at him with the flattest, most unimpressed expression you’d ever seen. Without a word, he reached into his hoodie pocket, pulled out a single crumpled bill, and tossed it onto the counter.

“A dollar,” he said.

Jungwon stared at it. “That’s it?”

“You’re lucky I didn’t give you lint from my pocket.”

“Then…I’ll just have the dollar.” Jungwon muttered, pocketing the dollar.

Jay turned back to you, lips parted like he wanted to say more but the words didn’t come.

Jungwon hadn’t moved.

He was still standing there, hovering way too close, arms crossed, eyes bouncing between you and Jay like he was watching the tension build. His eyes crossing between you and Jay’s a silly grin on his stupid face.

You shot him a look. “Can you get lost?”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered. “It’s Tuesday. I’m bored. I wanna see how this plays out.”

“You want entertainment?”

“Desperately.”

You sighed through your nose, then shoved the box of chocolates into his chest without looking. “Here. Take this. Go sit in the ball pit and eat this.”

He stared at the box, then back at you. “These are from him, though.”

“I don’t care. Just go.”

A smug smile bloomed on his face as he clutched the box. “You know what? Say less.”

And with that, he strolled off, climbing into the nearest corner of a giant ball pit, where he immediately sprawled across the plastic balls.

You turned back to Jay, your eyes flicking upward to meet his.

He was still watching you, brows drawn just slightly. His arms were at his sides now, hands twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to reach for you or give you space. He didn’t know what he’d done, but he knew something had changed. And it was killing him.

You looked at the flowers still in your hands. You looked back at him. You weren’t sure which one made your chest hurt more.

So you said it.

“I heard what your mom said that day.”

His entire expression shifted subtly. His mouth parted, but he didn’t speak.

“I didn’t mean to,” you added, softer now. “I was coming back to the room and I just… I overheard the entire conversation.”

Jay’s shoulders tensed. He looked down for a second, then up again, jaw clenched, eyes searching your face.

You swallowed. “I wasn’t avoiding you because I was mad. I just… I don’t know...I didn’t know how to act.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just blinked slowly, like the words were still settling into place.

“Look,” Jay said finally, his voice low but firm, “you don’t have to worry about it. I’m not going anywhere—”

“Jay,” you cut in, your voice sharper than you meant, “I’m not worried about that.”

You looked down, fingers tightening around the bouquet of daisies in your hands. The stems crinkled slightly in your grip.

“I’m not mad about what she said,” you said quietly. “I’m just... she’s right.”.

His mouth opened slightly, brows drawing together like he didn’t understand how those words could’ve come from you. His chest rose as if to argue, but he didn’t speak yet. He couldn’t.

You lifted your gaze slowly, and your throat burned. “She’s right, Jay. We don’t have anything in common besides growing up together.”

He shook his head immediately, stepping closer. “You’re more than what she said—”

“Jay,” you said again, this time with a bitter laugh laced into it, “who are we kidding?”

He sighed when you cut him off.

“I work in a stupid kids’ playground called Goober Galaxy. You’re in every high-end after school academy, tutoring centre, test prep institute money can buy. You’re made to get straight A’s, made to end up at some fancy university. Made to do something big. I’m not.”

“I don’t care about any of that,” he said, his voice cracking just barely at the edges. “Do you think I ever looked at you and saw anything less?”

Jay exhaled shakily and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “I’ve liked you since the day you showed up behind your mom in that stupid little yellow dress you hated. You were hiding behind her, and God—” he let out a soft laugh, almost breathless, “The moment you sat beside me, you punched me in the shoulder and said I had a dumb name. I’ve liked you since then.”

Your eyes fluttered up to glance at him, but only for a second, before dropping back to your shoes. He reached out gently, fingers brushing under your chin, and tilted your face toward his.

“I loved that version of you,” he said, eyes locked onto yours. “I love this version of you. I’ve never thought you were less than me. Not even once. It’s always been you.”

The silence that followed clung to the air, thick and trembling.

You stared at him, barely breathing, barely able to believe this was real.

“Jay–”

“UH GUYS, CAN I COME OUT NOW?” Jungwon’s voice rang out, followed by a hacking cough. “I THINK I SWALLOWED THE RIBBON.”

You almost burst into laughter. Almost.

But instead, you did the one thing you’d been aching to do for far too long.

You leaned forward over the counter and kissed him.

Jay froze for just a split second, stunned. His hand hovered uncertainly beside you, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch you. But his eyes fluttered shut, and when you pulled away, his lips chased yours like he didn’t want it to end.

His cheeks flushed immediately. He laughed softly, a little dazed. “I didn’t think today would end up like this.”

You smirked. “Do you want me to take it back?”

He shook his head quickly, still smiling. “No. I just... I wish it wasn’t in front of—”

The both of you turned.

Jungwon was now sitting fully upright in the ball pit, legs criss-crossed, waving at you. A half-eaten piece of chocolate dangled from his fingers.

“I think I’m the first person to ever witness a love confession in Goober Galaxy,” he said. “A sentence that has never, ever been said before in the history of mankind.”

Jay groaned and dropped his head onto the counter with a thud. “Why are you like this?”

He tilted his head, beaming like he’d just officiated a wedding. “So… can I come out now?”

You and Jay both answered without missing a beat.

“No.”

—

The two of you had been dating for a whole month now and sneaking around had become a normal occurrence for the two of you.

A month of stolen glances, hushed giggles, and kisses behind closed doors. You came over under the same old pretense, “I’m just hanging out at Jay’s while waiting for Mom to finish work”. It was familiar. There was nothing to question.

Except now, every time you stepped into his room, the door clicked shut behind you and the rest of the world disappeared.

You’d start out pretending to study. Laptops open, notebooks flipped to blank pages, a pencil stuck behind your ear. Jay would sit beside you, his knee pressed against yours, trying really hard for maybe ten minutes. And then he’d look over.

You’d barely meet his eyes before his lips were on yours.

Usually, soft first then it goes deeper, slower, the kind of kissing that made you forget what time it was. It’d be 4:30 one moment and 6:00 the next. He’d push your hair behind your ear, you’d tug lightly on his hoodie, and the math textbook between you would be quietly shoved to the floor by someone’s feet.

It always ended the same way. A knock at the door. Your mom’s voice floating in, “Come on, time to head home!”

You’d jolt apart, breathless, cheeks burning, smoothing out your hair and reaching blindly for a notebook. “Okay!” you’d call out, voice a little too high. Jay would flop back onto his bed, dramatic and pouty.

Your mom would open the door, glance in, see the two of you surrounded by notes and open textbooks, and nod. “I’ll wait downstairs.”

“Just five more minutes,” you’d reply automatically.

She’d leave. And before you could even stand, Jay would hook a finger through your sleeve and pull you gently back down.

One last kiss. And then another. And then five more, because he always said one wasn’t enough. He’d press them to your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, grinning like an idiot.

“Do you really have to go?” he’d mumble, arms still around you.

“She’s literally my ride home.”

“I could give you a ride.”

You snorted and leaned back just enough to look at him. “You got your license like... five minutes ago.”

“Exactly. I’m freshly certified. I’m a responsible driver.”

“Jay,” you said flatly, “I heard what grandma said about you hitting the curb”

Jay groaned, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. “What a snitch.”

You laughed, pulling away gently as you stood up. “That’s a no, by the way. You’re not driving me home.”

Jay pouted, tugging lightly on your hand. “You don’t trust me?”

“I trust you. I just wanna go home in one piece tonight.”

Still pouting, he leaned up and kissed your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “One day you’ll be begging me for a ride.”

“Sure. The day you stop kissing the curb.”

—

It was another ordinary day, or at least it had started that way. You were in Jay’s room, lying beside him with your head propped on your hand, half-listening to him ramble about something stupid Heeseung had texted. His hand was resting on your knee, your fingers loosely interlocked until the knock came.

The door creaked open a second later.

“Oh,” his mother said, her smile soft but surprised. “You’re here.”

You sat up immediately, your hand slipping out of his. You nodded politely, reaching for your bag even though you weren’t meant to leave for another hour. What used to feel like home now made your shoulders tense. Jay noticed. Of course he did.

“Are you staying for dinner?” his mother asked, stepping inside like she always had.

You shook your head quickly. “No. I was actually just about to leave.”

“So soon?” she pouted slightly. “You haven’t eaten dinner with us in a while.”

“I just have a lot of homework to get through,” you replied with a rehearsed smile, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You turned to Jay, silently asking if he’d stop you, if he’d ask you to stay. But he saw it. The unease in your body, the way your smile didn’t quite meet your eyes. He wanted to reach for you, to pull you back down and kiss the worry out of your forehead. But he didn’t.

He just nodded. Smiled like it didn’t hurt.

“Go,” he said gently.

And so you did.

The door clicked shut behind you.

Jay stood there for a beat, staring at the closed space you’d just filled. Then he turned back, meeting his mother’s gaze across the room.

She crossed her arms. “Is something wrong?” she asked, frowning now. “She hasn’t stayed for dinner in almost two months.”

“Nothing’s wrong, Mom.”

“I think there is.”

Jay exhaled, his jaw tight. And he hated it…hated how something that was once easy had turned into this sharp-edged discomfort. How your laughter had grown quieter. How he had to love you in secret all because the life carved out for him didn’t have room for anything outside of perfect.

Over the past two months, Jay had started to feel something sour curling inside him. A quiet resentment. Not towards you. Never you. But toward everything else. Toward the silent expectation to carry generations of ambition on his back. He loved his mother, God, he really did. But that love didn’t soften the frustration. It didn’t erase how badly things had shifted between you both since that night.

He had so many things to be grateful for. But all he’d ever really wanted was you. Just to be by your side. And somehow, even that felt like something he wasn’t allowed to have.

“Mom, drop it,” he said, voice flat.

She frowned, stepping further into the room. “Jongseong, you’ve been acting different since the day—”

“That’s because I’ve been talking, and you haven’t been listening,” he snapped.

Her expression faltered. “What do you want me to do, Jong? Your dad and I have worked tirelessly for this opportunity—”

“That I didn’t ask for!” His voice cracked, hands clenched at his sides.

“You are going to that university. It’s in your blood. It’s good for you. And deep down, you know it too. If I told her how important this is, how good it is for you, I’m pretty sure she’d be supportive.”

“Don’t tell her.”

She froze.

“Baby—”

“Don’t. Tell. Her.” he repeated, each word heavier than the last.

His mother blinked, visibly thrown by his tone. And Jay just stood there, chest heaving, trying to hold back the rest of the words rising in his throat. Because if he said more, he wasn’t sure what would come out.

He just knew this: She wasn’t allowed to take you from him, too.

—

The two of you had wandered into a small alleyway market off the main district, less glossy, more charm. Little stalls lined both sides, selling handmade accessories, mismatched shoes, thrifted bags with peeling zippers, and the kind of bracelets that cost just enough to mean something, but not enough to break a wallet.

You stopped in front of a table full of them, rows of braided cords, beaded charms, faded ribbons wrapped around thin, bendy wire. You held up one with small star-shaped beads, smiling a little to yourself.

Jay hovered beside you, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes scanning the stall. “You sure you want one of these?” he asked, not unkindly, just confused. “There’s a place down the street that does custom silver bands. We can go there. I’ll pay.”

You shook your head immediately, the smile slipping off your face. “I don’t want anything too expensive,” you said quietly. “I just want something pretty.”

Jay frowned. “Yeah, but we could get something prettier. Something that’ll last. I just—why not get something better?”

You didn’t say anything at first, just lowered your hand. Something in your chest twisted. He didn’t mean anything by it. You knew that. But it still hit the wrong nerve.

You turned to him, jaw tightening. “Just because I’m buying cheaper things doesn’t mean they’re ass, Jay.”

He blinked, startled. “I didn’t even mean it that way,” he said, voice low but tense. “I just meant—if there’s something you want, I’ll get it for you. That’s all. You don’t have to—”

“I don’t want anything,” you cut in, too fast, too sharp. “Not with your money.”

The silence that followed was instant.

Jay’s brows lifted slightly. He’d been reaching for your hand without even realizing it, but at that, he pulled back. Just a fraction. Just enough to make your heart drop. His expression didn’t shift much, just the tiniest flicker of hurt. But that was worse. You could tell when he was trying not to show it.

You reached for him quickly, fingers wrapping around his hand before he could pull away further. Your grip tightened, desperate.

“I’m sorry,” you said, softer this time. “I didn’t mean it. I just—sometimes I feel weird. I don’t know.”

Jay looked at you for a long moment. And then, wordlessly, he pulled you into his arms.

Your face pressed against his chest, your fists gripped onto the fabric of his hoodie. He didn’t say anything.

“I just want to give you everything,” he whispered after a long silence.

And even though your throat burned, you didn’t cry. You just nodded, clinging to him.

—

Jay stared long and hard at the framed certificates on the wall of his father’s office.

He’d been sitting there ever since he got back from your little date.

You’d cried for almost 30 minutes before finally falling asleep on his shoulder. He’d felt every quiet sob, the uneven rise and fall of your chest. Like being with him hurt.

He knew you loved him. God, he loved you just as much, probably more. But seeing you in that much pain simply because the two of you came from different worlds made his chest ache.

He didn’t care about any of it. Not the money. Not the future his parents had mapped out. Not the name on the wall in front of him.

But you did.

He didn’t know how to fix it. How to make you believe you were never less than him. That you’d always been the best part of his world.

“Jong?”

Jay’s head snapped up. His mother stood at the door, peeking through. He cleared his throat and quickly wiped away a single tear he hadn’t realised had fallen.

“Mom,” he said, nodding stiffly.

He hadn’t spoken to her since the last time she tried to push him into going.

Jay had already made peace with attending a good university in Korea. One that meant a thirty-minute drive from you. One that didn’t require a time zone between your hands. He didn’t care about prestige. He didn’t need legacy. He just needed you.

Because no place could feel like home unless you were there.

He wanted a small, lived-in apartment where the walls were filled with pictures of the two of you, some crooked, some blurry, all perfect. He wanted late mornings and lazy nights, strumming his guitar while you sat on his lap, flipping through TV channels.

He didn’t want boardrooms. He wanted breakfast in bed. He wanted you in his hoodie, laughing at something stupid, your legs tangled with his on the couch. He wanted to choose that life.

He just didn’t know how because his life wasn’t his.

His parents were successful, respectable, powerful, intimidating in every room they walked into. And Jay? He was their only child. The heir. The one meant to carry it all.

He didn’t want to seem ungrateful. He knew he was lucky. But sometimes…he wished he was at Goober Galaxy right next to you. Sweeping floors, handing out stickers, chasing after toddlers. Living the kind of life he got to choose.

He wished he could trade places with Jungwon, just for a moment. To know what it felt like to live freely, to love without strings.

But he wasn’t Jungwon.

He was stuck. Caged by expectations that didn’t belong to him. And no one had asked if he wanted them.

“Your dad wants to see you.”

Jay blinked. His mother was still standing in the doorway, phone in hand, the screen already lit up with a call. He swallowed. She passed it to him without another word.

Jay sat up straighter, the back of his neck already tensing as he accepted the phone. His father's face filled the screen, sharp suit, crisp tie, backdrop of a sleek conference room somewhere in Hong Kong. The time zone difference didn't matter. His father always made time when it came to lectures.

“Jongseong,” his father began without pleasantries, eyes narrowing slightly. “What’s this I hear about you not wanting to attend Oxford?”

Jay opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He glanced at the wall, at the same framed degree he’d been staring at moments earlier, and felt the familiar weight return to his chest.

With his mother, he always knew what to say. How to deflect, how to counter her logic with his own. But with his father… it was different.

With his father, Jay always felt like a little boy again.

Like he wasn’t the man of the house, but a kid sitting at the edge of a chair too big for him, trying not to swing his legs.

With his father gone so often, Jay had stepped into the role by default…holding things down, keeping things quiet, managing expectations. But every time his dad reappeared, even just through a screen, it was like the years peeled off and left him exposed.

He felt his mouth go dry. His fingers curled tightly around the edge of the phone.

“I’ve… decided not to go,” he said finally, voice quiet but steady.

There was a pause. A beat of silence that buzzed louder than any scolding.

“Decided?” his father repeated, eyes narrowing. “Jong, we don’t just decide things. You know that.”

His voice rose, firm and cold.

“We’re not like anyone else. Do you understand that? You don’t get to just throw away opportunities people would kill for.”

Jay swallowed again, throat tight. He wanted to argue. He wanted to say I don’t want it. I never did. But the words sat heavy in his chest, unmoving.

He didn’t want any of it. But how could he say that to a man who had spent his entire life building it?

“I—”

“Son,” his father’s voice dropped, deeper now, tinged with concern. “I didn’t… we didn’t build this by making decisions that went against our family. We built this by honouring tradition. By upholding it.”

“Dad—”

“We’re not just… anyone, Jongseong. You have to remember that. Even when it comes to the people we keep close.”

Jay’s eyes flicked to his mother, still standing in the doorway. Her gaze faltered just slightly.

So she told him. About you.

Of course she did.

And now it wasn’t just about the university anymore. It was about you. About everything he’d kept safe and sacred. Everything he thought he could keep separate.

—

You barged into his room with your bag slung over your right shoulder, hair slightly windblown..

“School was so boring!” you groaned, flopping straight onto his sofa. Without warning, you dropped your head onto his lap, staring up at the ceiling.

“But you wouldn’t guess what happened though,” you continued, grin creeping onto your face. “I got an A for Biology and Hee got an F, so now he has to retake the test. He looked like he was about to cry—”

You stopped mid-sentence.

Jay wasn’t laughing.

He wasn’t smiling.

His eyes were somewhere else, fixed on a spot just past you, like he wasn’t really here at all.

Your smile faltered.

You sat up slowly, shifting your weight until you were straddling his lap. His hands instinctively moved to your waist, but his gaze was still lost. So you reached for his face. Your hands cradled his jaw, thumbs pressing gently into the softness of his cheeks as you squished them together.

“Jay?” you said softly, brows furrowed. “Where’d you go?”

That finally pulled his eyes back to you.

He blinked, like surfacing from deep water, lips parted as if he’d forgotten how to speak.

“Jay?” you repeated, your voice quieter now, more cautious.

Jay shook his head quickly, almost like he was trying to shake something off. Then his hands tightened around your waist, grounding himself.

“Baby,” he murmured.

“You okay?” you asked, eyes searching his face.

He nodded. “Yeah. Fine.”

But he wasn’t. Not even close.

Ever since the call with his father, the decision had been made for him…he would be going to Oxford. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a discussion. It was a statement, sharp and final. There was no room to disagree, no room to even think.

Not that he had a choice. He never really did.

Jay had spent the entire night buried under the covers of his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as the hours ticked by. His phone had lit up over and over again, messages from his mom, soft knocks at the door but he hadn’t moved.

He didn’t want to read what she had to say. He didn’t want to hear reassurances...not anymore. Because the truth was, nothing anyone said would make it feel any better.

And now here you were, sitting in his lap, smiling like the sun, laughing about your day, trusting that the world hadn’t just changed for him entirely.

He didn’t know how to tell you.

Didn’t know how to say he was leaving.

Didn’t know how to break your heart when you had only just handed it to him.

But he had to.

Because he was leaving.

At this point, it wasn’t about academics. It wasn’t about prestige. It was about control.

His father thought this was the cleanest way to fix things.

Remove the distraction.

Remove the attachment.

Remove you.

Jay felt it in his chest, this sick, sinking sense of being packaged up and delivered to a life he never chose. Like this would be better. Like this would make things easier. Not for him. But for them.

—

You were worried.

Jay wasn’t acting like himself. He wasn’t snarky, or smug, or sarcastic in the way you’d come to love. He wasn’t cracking jokes or teasing you every time you said something dumb. He was quiet and distracted.

Jay was usually good at hiding things. But today… today, whatever it was had cracked through.

So naturally, you turned to the two most emotionally stunted people you knew.

“I think he’s broken,” you declared, arms folded on the table in front of you. “Like, actually broken.”

Jungwon blinked. “Did you try turning him off and back on again?”

“I’m serious, Won,” you said, glaring at Jungwon, “He hasn’t texted me all day. And yesterday, he...was so different? I don’t know what’s wrong but it’s not nothing.”

“Have you considered…” Jungwon began, “that he’s just constipated?”

“Jungwon, I swear to God—”

“I’m just saying, emotional constipation and actual constipation are cousins.”

“Please shut up,” you muttered, face in your hands.

Across from you, Heeseung was flipping through his notebook like he wasn’t listening. But then he spoke, casually, without even looking up.

“Why don’t you plan something lowkey for him?” he said. “Like, something you guys used to do. Remind him what home feels like. He clearly needs it.”

You and Jungwon both froze.

Then slowly, you turned to look at him.

Heeseung glanced up, blinking at your silence. “What?”

Jungwon pointed at him dramatically. “Holy shit, that’s the first good idea you’ve ever had.”

You side-eyed Jungwon. “You haven’t had a good idea today either, Won.”

“Yeah, but I usually do,” he shrugged, sipping his drink. “So this makes up for it.”

Still, you leaned back in your chair, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you let the idea settle.

Something simple. Something that would pull Jay out of whatever fog he was in and back into the version of himself he only ever seemed to be around you.

Maybe Heeseung was right. Maybe it wasn’t about fixing anything. Maybe it was about reminding him that he was loved.

–

You sat on the edge of the sofa, elbows resting on your knees, hands fidgeting with the sleeve of your hoodie. Jay was upstairs grabbing something, his keys maybe, or a jacket, or just taking forever like he always did. You’d planned everything with Jungwon and Heeseung down to the detail. A quiet dinner at your place. His favourite food, his favourite people, and a homemade banner Jungwon insisted on duct-taping across your kitchen ceiling.

You tapped your feet against the floor, eyes flicking between the staircase and the coffee table in front of you.

“Oh—hey!”

You hadn’t expected to run into his mom.

She came out from the hallway with a small stack of neatly folded towels, pausing slightly when she saw you there. Then her face relaxed into a smile, almost like the kind you couldn’t quite read.

“Oh, you’re here early,” she said lightly, crossing into the living room. “Jong’s still upstairs?”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Said he’d just be a minute.”

She set the towels down on the armchair, smoothing one absent-mindedly. “How have you been? It feels like I haven’t seen you properly in ages.”

You stiffened slightly. Not out of rudeness. Just… because you never knew how to be around her anymore. Not since that night.

Still, you tried to keep your voice even. “I’ve been okay. School’s been a little hectic.”

“Mmm, I remember those days,” she said fondly. “So much pressure to figure everything out. Especially now.”

She gave you a knowing look, and you tried to return it, even though your stomach twisted.

A moment of silence passed. You glanced down at your hands.

“I really haven’t seen you around much,” she added gently, “Not even for dinner.”

You gave a small shrug. “I’ve just been… busy.”

Her gaze flicked to the corner of the room, almost like she wanted to say more. But then she smiled again, too quickly.

“I’m actually waiting for a delivery,” she said, as if to fill the quiet. “Should be arriving soon.”

“Oh?” you said, seizing the normalcy in her tone. “Something exciting?”

She waved a hand. “Just a new luggage set.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. “Ooh, another vacation, Mrs. Park?”

She laughed softly. “Oh, no, not for me. It’s for Jay, we’re giving it to him before he goes to Oxford.”

And just like that, the world stopped.

The words didn’t even sound dramatic. Just a casual statement, something said mid-sentence, in passing.

But your brain latched onto it like it was the only thing that mattered.

Your mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out.

Oxford…

Oxford?

Jay was going to Oxford.

Your chest constricted. “Oxford?” you repeated, and you hated how your voice sounded small and uncertain.

Mrs. Park blinked, like she was only just realizing what she said. “Oh… oh, didn’t he tell you?”

Your heart dropped.

Your ears started to ring.

“He’s been accepted for early enrolment,” she continued, her smile faltering just slightly. “We’ve been sorting everything out this week. He’ll finish his last semester online and leave by the end of next month.”

End of next month.

That was four weeks.

Four weeks.

Four weeks left with Jay, and he hadn’t said a word.

“I thought you knew,” she said gently. “I’m so sorry, I assumed—”

But you didn’t hear the rest.

You could barely hear anything past the blood rushing in your ears. Your throat tightened. The lump rising felt sharp, like glass.

You nodded. Or at least you think you did. Some vague, stiff movement that looked enough like understanding to make her stop talking.

Upstairs, you heard Jay’s door creak open. His voice called out, cheerful and completely unaware.

“You ready?”

You stood up too fast, your legs unsteady. The smile you threw on felt like someone else’s.

Because right now, your heart was already cracking.

And he didn’t even know yet.

–

Jay was finally driving you. In his new car.

It was sleek, glossy black, still smelling faintly of showroom leather. The dashboard glowed with lights, the music system softly playing an instrumental track you barely registered. You’d never ridden in a car with him driving before. A month ago, that would’ve made you tease him endlessly, maybe fake a scream when he made a sharp turn, joke that your life was in his hands now. He would’ve laughed, reached over to pinch your knee, and said something stupid like, "Relax, I got my license in one try."

But now, you just sat there… quiet.

Your hands stayed clamped in your lap, fingers twisting into each other until you found the skin along your thumb and picked. You pulled. Peeled the hangnail until a thin trail of red welled up against your nail bed. You rubbed it away quickly with the sleeve of your hoodie.

Jay’s eyes flicked over from the road. Then back. Then again.

“You okay?” he asked carefully, hands still gripping the wheel. “You haven’t said a word since we left.”

You nodded. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. Because how could you?

How could you turn to him and ask ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ How could you ask ‘Was I supposed to find out from your mom? Like a stranger?’

You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry and beat your fists against the dashboard and shake the truth out of him.

“Baby?”

His voice pulled you out of your spiral. Your head snapped up.

“Huh?”

Jay glanced over again. “Something’s clearly going on.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, your voice too tight to be convincing.

He didn’t buy it. “Is this because I’ve been acting weird? I swear it’s all good now. I’m good.”

You shook your head and tried to laugh, but the sound came out cracked and hollow. “No, no. I just—”

Jay gave you a look. “Now I know you’re lying. You’re not about to pass that off as your real laugh.”

“I guess I’m just… worried, that’s all,” you said, brushing a loose thread off your jeans.

Jay’s brows knit. “Worried about what?”

You stared out the window, watching the blur of trees and apartment buildings pass. Your voice dropped. “The future.”

He didn’t press.

He turned onto your street, easing the car to a slow stop right outside your house. The engine purred into silence, but the tension between you roared. Still, you didn’t move. You didn’t speak.

He waited, hoping, maybe, that you’d open up. That you’d say something. But you didn’t. You just shrugged, gave him a vague “I guess,” and unbuckled your seatbelt like the conversation had ended.

The car locks clicked open.

You were already halfway out the door.

Jay cursed softly under his breath and slammed his door shut a second later, jogging after you. You’d unlocked your front door with shaky fingers and were about to step in when he caught up.

“You’re mad,” he said from behind you.

“I’m not mad.”

“Yes, you are.” His voice was tense now. “Baby, c’mon, did… did I do something? I’m sorry. I really am.”

You stopped in the hallway. Still didn’t turn.

Your heart thudded in your chest, hard and loud. You didn’t want to look at him because you knew that if you did, you knew everything would fall apart. You’d been holding it together and he was tugging on the last thread without even knowing it.

But it was the way he apologised, when he didn’t even know what for, that did it.

You turned.

Your eyes were red. Not just teary, bloodshot, swollen, like you hadn’t slept in days. You weren’t crying yet, but your expression… it was wrecked. Like someone trying to hold back a flood that had already started leaking.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you whispered.

Jay froze. He looked at you like you’d just split him open.

“Tell you what?” he asked softly, though the dread was already sinking into his eyes.

“That you were going.”

Jay’s lips parted, but no sound came out.

And then the pain hit again, your words echoing off the hallway walls, hanging between you like smoke.

“I…” He tried. God, he tried.

But the words didn’t come.

Because how could he explain it? How could he say, ‘I didn’t want to see this look on your face?’ How could he say, ‘I tried fighting for us but it wasn’t enough?’

You shook your head slowly. “You were going to leave without telling me.”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, it wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it?”

Jay stepped closer, voice trembling now. “I didn’t want to lie. I just… I kept waiting for the right time. But every time I saw you, I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to see you look at me like I was already gone.”

“But you are,” you choked out. “Aren’t you?”

His face crumpled.

“I didn’t choose this.”

“Not telling me was a choice. Your choice.”

Jay dragged a hand down his face, chest rising with shallow breaths. He looked older in that moment.

“I tried to stay. I told my dad I didn’t want to go. I told him this—” he gestured between the two of you, eyes glassy, “you — this is what matters to me. But he didn’t care. He never does.”

Your lip trembled, but you held it. “Then you should’ve told me.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I know.”

He took another step. Close enough to touch now, but he didn’t. Not yet.

“I was scared you’d hate me.”

You looked up at him then and for the first time, he saw it all: the betrayal, the grief, the love.

“I don’t hate you,” you said, voice breaking. “I just didn’t want to be the last to know you were leaving.”

Jay’s breath hitched. His shoulders dropped.

“I’m not trying to leave you,” he said, so quietly it almost sounded like a plea. “They’re just making me go. Please.”

You didn’t answer. Your throat was too tight.

He stepped forward, slowly, gently cupping your face with both hands.

“You’re the only thing I don’t want to leave behind.”

And this time, when the tears came, you didn’t stop them.

Your face crumpled as you collapsed into his chest, your arms wrapping tightly around his middle like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go. Jay held you immediately, his hands splaying across your back, his cheek resting against the top of your head. .

“I’m not leaving,” he said suddenly, the words tumbling out in a single breath.

You blinked up at him through wet lashes. “What?”

“I’m not leaving,” he repeated, more firmly now. “I never wanted to go. I’m not going. I’m staying.”

You pulled back slightly, brows furrowing. “Jongseong… you can’t just up and ignore your parents—”

“I’m not ignoring them,” he cut in, “I’m just finally standing up for myself. Look. I don’t even want to go. If I’m not allowed to make my own choices about my own future, then what am I? A puppet?”

“Jong…”

“God, I love them,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated but honest. “I love my parents so much. But if they truly give a shit then they’ll just have to respect me enough to let me make my own decisions. They can’t keep deciding my life for me and call it parenting because it’s not.”

You hesitated. “Jong, you’re not doing this solely for me, are you?”

Jay sighed.

“I’ll admit that a huge part of me wants to stay because of you,” he said, not flinching. “Of course I do. But it’s not just that.”

He stepped back slightly, just enough to look you in the eye. “I don’t want to be living somewhere where I don't know anyone. I don’t want to start over. I don’t want to wake up in a city that doesn’t have you, Hee, or Won. And c’mon, there are good schools here — great ones, even. I can still make something of myself without crossing an ocean for a name, all while being here…with you.”

You searched his face, your chest tight.

“But your dad—”

“Can live with my decision,” Jay said, quiet but certain. “I’ve been pretending I could live with this, but I can’t. Not anymore.”

He took your hands, thumbs brushing over your still-shaking fingers.

“I’m happier when I’m with you,” he said, voice cracking just slightly. “When I’m here. With you guys. Near the people who make me feel like I��m already enough.”

You swallowed hard. His grip tightened.

“I’m not giving that up for a future that doesn’t even feel like mine. So please…don’t make me go.”

You breathed, like you’d been holding it in, “Okay.”

He sighed like the weight pressing on his chest had finally loosened.

And then he kissed you.

There was no hesitation, no inch of space left between you. It wasn’t delicate or careful, it was immediate, all heat.

His hands slipped from yours and rose to cradle your face, palms warm against your cheeks, thumbs brushing the corners of your mouth like he needed to feel you. His lips crashed into yours.

Your breath hitched in your throat. You leaned into him instinctively, your hands fisting in the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss. His nose brushed against yours, his lips parting against your bottom lip, tasting the salt of your tears.

It wasn’t perfect. It was messy, and rushed, and aching. His mouth trembled just a little when he kissed you. Jay’s thumb traced along your jaw, slow and reverent, while his other hand slid behind your neck.

Your knees felt weak. Your lungs burned. But none of that mattered. Because he was kissing you.

“So… like, uh… do we come out now or…?”

You and Jay froze.

From behind the sofa, Jungwon slowly popped his head out, holding a cake with “Stop Being Sad!” scrawled messily across the top in blue icing. Heeseung followed a beat later, scratching the back of his neck.

“We could, like… pretend we aren’t here,” Heeseung muttered, glancing down at the cake as if he suddenly regretted every life choice that led him to this moment.

You and Jay instinctively pulled apart, both of you flushed and teary-eyed, your breaths still uneven. It wasn’t exactly how you wanted to be seen.

Jungwon winced at the sight of you two. “Uh. Sorry? We were gonna jump out and yell surprise, but like… then you guys were fighting then the next thing we knew you were kissing so–”

Jay dragged a hand down his face with a low groan. “Oh my god. What are you guys even doing here?”

“We were going to throw a surprise feel-better party,” Heeseung said flatly, lifting a plastic bag of takeout containers, “but if I’m being honest, I think we're the ones more surprised.”

Heeseung sighed before continuing, “We even brought your favorite food. Well… kinda. I think Jungwon ate half the fries while we were waiting.”

Jay didn’t say anything. Just let out a slow breath and sank into the sofa, his body folding inward like something was caving in. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. His thumbs rubbed together, a nervous habit. One you’d seen since you were kids.

But Jay didn’t look at anyone.

His eyes were fixed on the floor, staring through it.

You watched him from across the room, your own shoulders still tense, fingers curled around the frayed edge of your hoodie sleeve. He hadn’t said much since the kiss. Since the apology. Since he told you he was staying. And now, sitting there in your living room, he looked smaller somehow.

He was staying. But that decision came with consequences and Jay knew exactly who he had to face next.

The thought of confronting his father made his chest tighten. Not just in fear but in something closer to shame. Not because he regretted his choice. But because he knew what that choice would cost him. What it had always cost him.

The memory came back before he could stop it. A flicker of a younger version of himself, standing in the marble foyer of his family’s house, backpack still on, heart pounding after sneaking back in too late. His father’s voice slicing through the silence. “You skipped prep school?” His tone wasn’t surprised. It was more like disappointment. And then the yelling came and it didn’t stop. Not till three hours later.

But all Jay could remember was the way your face had looked earlier that day, eyes wide and glowing under a canopy of fairy lights at the amusement park. The way your hand had never let go of his. How you’d smiled like the whole world had finally opened up for you. And how, just for that one afternoon, he didn’t care about anything. He just wanted you to feel like someone had chosen you.

And now, he was choosing you again.

Except this time, he had no idea how to explain that to the man who had spent his whole life choosing everything for him.

The room had gone quiet, heavy with the things no one wanted to say aloud.

Jungwon, seated cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table, glanced up and studied Jay’s profile for a moment. Then, gently, he asked, “Thinking about how you wanna talk to your dad?”

Jay’s jaw tightened. He nodded once, not looking up. “Yep.” The word left his mouth flat, clipped, like he didn’t trust himself to say anything more.

He leaned in further, pressing his hands together, elbows braced against his thighs. His voice dropped to a murmur. “I don’t even know how to start. It’s like… the moment I stand in front of him, I’m twelve again.”

You moved before you could stop yourself.

Quietly, you crossed the room and eased down beside him on the sofa. The cushion dipped beneath your weight, your knee brushing his. His shoulders didn’t flinch, but they didn’t relax either.

You slipped your hand into his.

Jay blinked. Looked down at your fingers curled around his.

And when you spoke, your voice was soft. “Do you want me to be there?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he stared at your joined hands, breathing slowly through his nose like he was trying to think. But you could see the shift. The hesitation that made your stomach turn.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Your brows pulled together. “What do you mean?”

Jay let go of your hand slowly. He rubbed his palm against his jeans and sat back slightly, like creating space might help him form the words he was scared to say.

“I just… I think it might be easier if I go alone,” he said. “He’ll be less... intense. If it’s just me.”

You frowned. “Jay.”

He didn’t look at you.

“That’s not the real reason, is it?”

Jay shut his eyes, jaw clenched. Then, reluctantly, he nodded. “No. It’s not.”

“Then what?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

He hesitated. Again. And when he finally spoke, it was carefull.

“He just… doesn’t understand,” Jay said slowly. “Why I want to stay. Why that matters more than prestige or legacy or whatever. And bringing you into that conversation might just… complicate things. He’s upset. It’ll pass.”

But you heard it.

The way he didn’t say it.

You sat back slightly, looking at him now, “Complicate things,” you repeated.

Jay nodded faintly.

You stared at him for a moment, piecing it together. And then your voice came out flat. “You mean to say... they don’t think I belong in your world.”

Jay’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “No. Those aren’t my words. I’d never—”

“But they’re his,” you said softly. Not accusatory. Just… hurt.

Jay’s voice broke as he reached for you again. “I…I don’t agree with anything they’re saying.”

But the words, even as warm and trembling and full of love as they were, couldn’t take back what you already knew.

You blinked hard.

“It’s funny…I really thought they liked me,” you said, more to yourself than him. “I really did. I thought I was like family.”

“You are. To me, you always have been.”

But that wasn’t the same.

You looked down at your lap, your fingers now curled in on themselves. “So all this time… they just smiled at me and still thought I wasn’t enough.”

Jay’s hands fell to his sides. His voice cracked. “It’s not about you—”

“It is, though,” you whispered. “That’s exactly what it is.”

He didn’t argue. Because he knew. And you knew he knew.

You looked down at your lap, your fingers now curled in on themselves. “So all this time… they just smiled at me and still thought I wasn’t enough.”

Jay’s hands fell uselessly to his sides. His voice cracked, almost a whisper. “It’s not about you—”

“It is, though,” you said, quieter now. “That’s exactly what it is.”

No one spoke.

Not you, not Jay and not Jungwon or Heeseung, who had been silently sitting off to the side, exchanging hesitant glances as if trying to gauge whether they should stay or disappear. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was heavy.

Then, slowly, you stood up.

“Thanks for coming, guys,” you said, your voice strained but steady. “I just… I think I need some time alone.”

Jungwon blinked, rising immediately without protest. “Of course,” he said gently, grabbing his jacket.

“Take all the time you need,” Heeseung added, pulling Jungwon by the arm, guiding him out of the room.

And just like that, it was only you and Jay.

He hadn’t moved. But his eyes never left you, still wide, still searching, like he was waiting for some version of you to reach back out and say this wasn’t real. That you didn’t mean it.

You exhaled sharply, hugging your arms across your chest. “Jong, I need time. Alone.”

He rose to his feet, almost stumbling forward. “I can’t possibly leave you alone with all these thoughts—”

“With what thoughts?” you snapped, voice wobbling. “That your parents think I’m not good enough for you?”

Your throat tightened as tears welled up again, threatening to fall. “For the record, Jay, I’m precious to other people too.”

And that cracked something in him.

Jay’s breath caught in his chest as he watched you fall apart in front of him.

He couldn’t speak. He should’ve swallowed his fear. Should’ve protected you better. But instead, here you were, crumbling under the weight of his parents’ ignorance and all he could do was watch it happen.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

You were already shaking your head. “Jay, they’re right,” you said, your voice cracking as tears spilled down your cheeks. “I’m crying because they’re right.”

“No,” he said quickly, stepping closer.

“They’re not—”

“Look at us!” you cut in. “From the moment we got together till now, we’ve been fighting over the same thing. Me and you. We don’t belong in the same world. And you know it.”

Jay flinched.

You took a breath but it came out in pieces. “What’s gonna happen in the future, huh? When you’re out there doing all these big world things and I’m just… I’m just stuck. Working at a stupid kids’ playground, scraping money together just so I can go out with my friends like a normal person?”

You couldn’t breathe between sentences now. It was all tumbling out, everything you’d been burying deep inside.

“No,” he muttered under his breath. Then louder, “Enough.”

You startled at the sharpness in his voice.

“That’s enough,” he said again, stepping forward in two long strides before pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you so tightly. “Stop. Please,” he whispered against your hair. “Just stop.”

You didn’t fight it. You were too tired. Too worn. You just stood there, pressed against him, your hands balled.

“I love you,” Jay said suddenly, voice rough. “I fucking love you. How can you even say that? That you’re not enough?”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands cradling your face now, his forehead pressed to yours.

“I don’t care about status. I don’t care what my parents built. I don’t care about any of it. The only thing I care about is you.”

His chest rose and fell too fast, like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs.

“I spend day and night thinking only about you. I always think about you. Dreaming that someday, I’ll get to wake up next to you and not have to keep it a secret. That I can walk out into the world and tell everyone that you’re mine. That I chose you. Over everything.”

You didn’t speak, didn’t move. Your heart felt like it was breaking and being stitched back together at the same time.

“I don’t care where we live,” he said fiercely. “I don’t care if it’s some shabby motel room or a one-room apartment over a laundromat. I just care that you’re there. Right beside me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

His voice softened, cracked down the middle.

“If my mom and dad can’t see that? Then fine. Whatever. Let them be blind. Because… the only thing I’ve ever really wanted, the only thing that’s ever mattered, is this.”

He gripped your face tighter, thumbs brushing your tear-streaked cheeks. “Us. Our relationship. You.”

Your chest shook with the sob you hadn’t meant to let out.

And this time, when you collapsed into him, it wasn’t from sadness.

It was from the unbearable weight of being unconditionally loved.

–

Jay’s house had always been intimidating in a quiet, understated way not because it was large or lavish (although it was), but because of the tension that wafted it in the air. A kind of coldness that never really went away, even when his mom was smiling or his dad was out of town. You felt it now more than ever as you stood in the hallway outside his father’s office, the sound of your heels clicking against the marble floor echoing louder than you wanted it to.

You were in a pretty little dress, nothing flashy, just enough to look presentable. Your hair was done in a half ponytail, neat and soft, something you’d fixed just before you came even though you knew it wouldn’t change anything. Jay had decided to bring you with him. After everything, the two of you had spent the night talking, curled up together on your couch, deciding that no matter what happened in that room, you would walk out together.

Even if that meant Jay leaving with three suitcases and no home to return to.

When the heavy double doors to the office opened, thunder cracked outside, almost like the sky itself was warning you. Jay flinched. So did you. But still, he stepped in first, fingers tightly curled around yours, and you followed behind him into the room.

His father sat behind his massive mahogany desk, posture straight, glasses perched low on his nose, the blue light from his laptop casting sharp shadows across his face. He looked like any other wealthy middle-aged man, if you were being honest, if you didn’t know better, you’d never guess how much power his voice held over Jay. How that man could reduce him to something so small with a few words.

“Close the door,” his father said without looking up.

Jay obeyed wordlessly. The soft click of the door shutting made your heart pound louder in your ears.

The silence was unbearable. The only sounds in the room were the quiet clack of his father’s typing, the occasional pop from the crackling fire in the fireplace, and the rush of blood in your ears. You could feel Jay’s hand trembling in yours as he led you closer toward the desk.

His mother sat just to the side in one of the leather armchairs, perfectly composed. She looked at your joined hands, then up at you both. Her expression was unreadable, but when she exhaled, you caught the faintest trace of defeat in it.

Jay stopped just a step short of the desk. You could feel the tension in his body, the rigid line of his shoulders, the way he shifted his weight slightly from one foot to the other like he was grounding himself.

He cleared his throat.

“I’m not going.”

The typing stopped.

The silence that followed was louder than anything else that had come before it. His father slowly closed the laptop, fingers steepled over it as he raised his head. And then, he smiled.

Not a kind smile. Not even a confused one.

It was the kind of smile you gave when you thought someone was playing a prank on you. Condescending. Amused, but in that way that made you feel small.

“Not going?” he repeated, voice low but laced with ice. He leaned back in his chair. “And who exactly made that decision?”

Jay’s grip on your hand tightened.

“I did,” he said, voice steady but strained. “Because it’s my life.”

There was a moment where the room stood still.

Then came the slam.

THWACK.

His father’s palm hit the desk with a force that made you flinch and Jay instinctively step a little in front of you.

His dad’s face darkened, his voice rising now. “You did?” he echoed. “You decided to throw away Oxford. Throw away everything we’ve worked for. Everything I’ve sacrificed for this family. For what? Her?”

Jay didn’t respond.

His father’s eyes flicked to you, cold and sharp. You tried not to shrink under it, but it was hard, your chest felt like it was caving in on itself. He continued, now addressing his son with pointed disgust. “I always knew you were impulsive, but I didn’t think you were stupid. Do you understand what you’re giving up?”

Jay stayed still. Then slowly, he nodded.

“I do,” he said softly. “And I’m still not going.”

His dad scoffed, jaw tightening. “This isn’t just about you. This is about our name. Our reputation. Do you think you can waltz out of this house and pretend like your choices don’t affect the rest of us? Do you think—”

Jay stepped forward then.

“I’m not pretending. I know they affect you. But this—” he motioned between you and him, “this affects me too. And for once, I’m choosing the life I want to live.”

You could feel your lungs struggle for air.

Jay’s mom shifted in her seat, something soft flickering across her face. Her eyes moved back to the two of you, and this time, it lingered.

His dad rose to his feet.

“Then you can pack your things,” he said coldly. “And leave.”

Jay didn’t say a word. He just grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the office like the walls themselves were going to swallow him whole if he didn’t move fast enough. The last glimpse you caught before the door shut was his father, still standing, his expression unreadable save for the sharp stare he gave you and his mother, her eyes lingering on you.

Then you were in his room. The room you’d spent so many years in. The room where you studied on the floor for hours, where you once fell asleep watching movies with your legs tangled together. But now, it felt different. Felt almost unfamiliar despite the million times you’ve been in there.

Jay was moving fast, throwing open his wardrobe doors, yanking shirts and jackets off hangers, pulling drawers open and emptying clothes into an open suitcase. It was all happening so fast you could barely process it. You stood there, frozen by the door, the click of the doorknob behind you still echoing in your ears.

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. Your limbs were locked in place like your body had gone into shock. Guilt rose steadily in your chest, thick and choking.

“Baby…” your voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t think… shouldn’t we talk? Shouldn’t there be more to it than just this?”

Jay didn’t stop packing. He only glanced at you briefly, his eyes hard, lips set. “Talk about what?” he said sharply. “They’re never going to listen.”

You walked over to him slowly, your hand reaching for his arm, grounding yourself. “I just… I don’t want to be the reason you stop talking to your family. This is heavy, Jay. This burden—it’s heavy as hell.” Your voice cracked near the end, and you hated it. Hated how weak you sounded. Hated how helpless this all felt.

Jay finally paused, his shoulders still heaving with frustration. He turned to you, placed both hands gently on your shoulders, thumbs brushing your skin as if that alone could reassure you. His voice dropped, low and tender, full of a kind of pain that was older than this moment.

“Baby, this isn’t about them right now. It’s about me. About trying to live my own life. I’m so tired of living a version of me that only exists to please them. I’ve been the perfect son for years, and now…” His hands tightened, eyes boring into yours. “Now I’m just trying to take my life back.”

You looked up at him for a long second, your breath caught in your chest, and then you slowly nodded. Wordlessly, you stepped beside him and knelt, beginning to fold the wrinkled clothes he had shoved into his suitcase. You couldn’t fix anything, not really, but you could help him pack.

He watched you for a moment. The way your eyes were lowered, expression unreadable. Guilt settled heavy in his stomach. He knew you were hurting not because of something you did, but simply because of who you were. And how his family had decided that was somehow… not enough.

Then he felt it.

Eyes on him.

Jay turned toward the door.

His mother stood there, a hand still clutched lightly against the frame, her face soft and wet with tears. Her gaze flickered from him to you, back again. “Jong…” she said, her voice cracking. “Don’t go.”

His heart squeezed. God, he’d always had a soft spot for her. For the way she brushed the hair from his eyes when he was sick, for the quiet way she defended him during family dinners. She loved him and he knew that. But when it came to standing up to his father, she never stood a chance.

“Mom…” he said, his voice breaking.

“Jong, please,” she whispered again.

He looked down. Then at you. You stood slowly now, standing behind him, your hands twisted tightly together, fingers fidgeting in a desperate attempt to stay grounded.

Jay swallowed hard. “I’m not going,” he said, barely more than a breath. “And if it’s too much for you or Dad to handle, then I’ll leave.”

His mother stepped into the room, shaking her head, eyes red. “I tried talking to your father—”

“He’s not going to change his mind, Mom.”

“He can. We can try.”

Jay let out a bitter laugh, short and sharp. “I’ve been trying. For years. And nothing’s ever budged.”

She stepped closer, voice pleading now. “What if you went? Just for now? You could visit every few months—”

“Because I don’t want to!” Jay’s voice rose, his frustration boiling over, his fists clenched at his sides. “The love of my life is here. I want to be here. My friends are here. You’re here. I don’t want to go somewhere where I don’t know anyone, where I have to pretend like I’m someone I’m not.”

He was crying now. A mess of breathless anger and heartbreak. He looked at his mom, desperate for her to see him. To see you.

“You used to tell me stories, remember?” he said, voice trembling. “How Dad courted you for three years. How you didn’t even like him at first, but he waited. You told me about your love story growing up. And now what? I don’t get to have one?”

His voice broke completely.

“I’m in love with her, Mom,” he whispered, his hand reaching behind to find yours again. “And I can’t let you or Dad take her away from me.”

The door slammed open with a violent crack, bouncing off the wall behind it. You jumped, your breath caught in your throat as Jay instinctively turned, stepping back to shield you behind him.

His father stood in the doorway, tall and unmoving. His expression was unreadable.

Jay stiffened in front of you, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides as he positioned himself like a barrier. He didn’t say anything. Neither did you. It was like the two of you were back in school, caught sneaking out past curfew, facing down a teacher.

“You’re comparing whatever you have with her to the story of your mother and me,” his father said, his voice calm but sharp, every syllable slicing through the room like glass. “So tell me, Jongseong. What makes you so sure she’s the one?”

Jay blinked. “What?”

The question caught him off guard. Of all the things his father could’ve said… that wasn’t it.

His father took a slow step forward, hands still tucked neatly into his pockets. “You’re willing to give up your education. Your future. Everything your mother and I worked for. You’re willing to throw it all away for her.” He didn’t look at you when he said it, only at Jay. “So explain to me. What makes you think the two of you are so special? What makes you believe this is real? That it’s not just some immature, irresponsible decision for a—” his voice dipped, “—a passing fling.”

You felt the breath leave your lungs.

Jay’s shoulders tightened in front of you, his jaw clenching so tightly you could see the muscles twitch. He didn’t move at first. Just stood there.

You swallowed hard, your eyes locked on the back of Jay’s hoodie, your fingers trembling at your sides.

Jay turned slowly, just enough to glance back at you. His eyes met yours for the briefest second.

He looked back at his father, drawing a breath.

“I know,” Jay said, voice steady, though it cracked faintly at the edges. “I know because I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. I’ve never fought this hard for anything before. And it’s not a fling. It’s her. It’s always been her.”

His father raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “And that’s supposed to be enough? A feeling?”

“No,” Jay replied, firmer now. “It’s not just a feeling. It’s the fact that I see my entire life with her. Not just today. Not just tomorrow. All of it. I don’t care if we’re rich or broke or living in a shoebox apartment. I want her there with me. I want to wake up next to her, argue with her over dumb things, bring her coffee when she’s tired, learn how to braid our daughter’s hair if we ever have one…that’s how sure I am.”

You blinked, your heart thudding so hard it hurt.

Jay stepped forward, his voice rising slightly. “You want to know what makes this real? It’s that when I think about what makes me feel safe, what makes me feel like I have a home, it’s her. Not a country, not a job, not a title. It’s her.”

He turned and reached for your hand again, threading your fingers through his, holding you tightly like he was afraid the world might tear you away at any moment.

“And if you can’t see that,” Jay said, looking directly into his father’s eyes now, “then maybe it’s not me who’s being reckless. Maybe it’s you for thinking love has to come with a some sort of societal hierarchy.”

The room fell silent again.

Jay’s father didn’t move. His face didn’t change.

“Then so be it,” he said.

Jay stiffened, not expecting him to fold, at least not like this.

“I expect three schools you’re planning to apply to. On my desk. Monday morning.” His gaze flicked between the two of you, briefly, unreadable. “Top three in the country. Or you’re going to Oxford. That’s the deal.”

And just like that, he turned and left.

The sound of his shoes against the hardwood echoed down the hall. The door clicked shut behind him.

You turned slowly to Jay, still gripping his hand, still trying to find your footing.

His eyes were locked on the door his father had disappeared behind. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t move.

You gently brushed your thumb against the back of his hand. “Jong?”

He blinked, once. Then again. And finally turned to look at you.

“He didn’t say no,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “He didn’t… shut the door.”

“No,” you said softly, stepping closer. “He didn’t.”

Jay nodded slowly, but the tension didn’t leave his shoulders. Not completely.

Because this wasn’t a win.

But it wasn’t a loss either.

–

Things at home were still tense. No one had said much since the confrontation. His dad mostly kept to himself. His mom cooked in silence. Meals were eaten quickly and apart. It felt like everyone was walking on glass, afraid one wrong step would crack it all open again.

You were at Jay’s place, waiting for your mom to finish work so she could swing by and pick you up. The rain had just stopped outside, leaving the windows streaked with droplets, a quiet stillness hanging in the air like the whole world was holding its breath.

You were both sitting cross-legged on his bed, half under the covers, half sprawled out with glossy brochures scattered between the pillows and across the floor. Jay was holding one upside down, dramatically squinting at it.

“Do you think they give scholarships for people who have a traumatic past?” you asked, grinning.

He scoffed. “Please. I deserve a full ride just for surviving my father.”

You laughed, nudging his arm. He retaliated by leaning in, pressing a teasing kiss to your temple, then one to your nose, and then your lips, just a light brush, slow and sweet.

“You’re distracting me,” you mumbled against his mouth.

“Mm,” he hummed, grinning. “Good.”

You rolled your eyes, about to swat his shoulder again when the door creaked open.

Both of you froze.

Jay’s mom stood at the doorway, a brochure in her hand, her expression unreadable. She cleared her throat gently. “How about this one?” she asked, her voice even.

You blinked. Jay sat up straighter. “Huh?”

She walked in and handed the brochure over, and as you took it, your fingers grazed hers. It was another local university, one that hadn’t been on either of your lists but was known and reputable. A place his father wouldn’t hate.

And then you understood.

She was helping. In her own way.

Your lips parted slightly.

Jay’s mom sat down beside you on the bed, smoothing her skirt down as she exhaled.

“I’m sorry,” she said, eyes flickering to yours. “For everything you’ve gone through these past few months. I wish you told me the truth. I wish you told me you and Jongseong were together. I would’ve fought harder for the both of you.”

Your throat tightened. You swallowed hard.

“But then again,” she continued, her voice lowering, “I was wrong. You heard what I said that day… about you not being in our world. And I was wrong for thinking that.”

She turned toward you more fully, her tone warm but earnest. “What Jong said was right. At the end of the day, we’re all just people. Status, names, connections… they shouldn’t matter. And I’m sorry I ever made you feel like they did.”

You nodded slowly, blinking through the sting in your eyes. You weren’t sure what to say, maybe because there was too much to say.

–

The sun was merciless, high above the stadium, baking the crowd in waves of heat and happiness. You were squinting into your mom’s phone camera, standing shoulder to shoulder with Jay, both of you dressed in identical deep navy cap and gowns.

Your mortarboard was already slightly crooked. Jay’s tassel kept swaying into his mouth.

“Mom,” you groaned, “that’s like the hundredth picture you’ve taken just today.”

Your mother didn’t even look up from her camera. “And?”

Mrs. Park, standing right beside her, chuckled warmly, nudging your mom like they were old best friends now which, frankly, they kind of always had been. “The two of you look so cute in your cap and gown,” she cooed. “We have to document this. For memory sake, c’mon!”

Jay groaned under his breath but smiled anyway. You rolled your eyes dramatically.

“A little kiss for the camera?” your mom added with a wink.

“Gross, Mom,” you muttered, already turning your head away.

Too late.

Jay took your chin gently and turned your face back toward him, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek. “I won’t say no to a free kiss,” he murmured, smug.

You shoved his chest lightly, but the laughter broke through before you could even pretend to be mad. “Ugh. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Behind you, a familiar voice cut through. “Okay, lovebirds, let’s not forget who the actual valedictorian is.”

You turned just in time to see Jungwon walking up, cap perfectly straight, robe pressed to perfection, not a single wrinkle in sight.

And then, Heeseung who was trailing behind him, in a gown that looked like it had been stuffed into a bag.

The sleeves were slightly too short, the zipper was half-stuck, and it hung off one shoulder.

“I can’t believe my parents didn’t spring for a second gown,” Heeseung said, exasperated, lifting a loose sleeve. “I’m stuck wearing my brother’s ratty one from two years ago. I found a mint in the pocket. Unwrapped, by the way. I swear to God, he’s the filthiest creature on Earth.”

Jungwon didn’t even pause. “You look stupid.”

Heeseung blinked back at Jungwon, completely deadpan. “Thank you, Jungwon. As always, a pillar of encouragement.”

Jay snorted into his sleeve. You were already wheezing, clutching your side as the two of them launched into another round of sarcastic bickering that made you question how either of them made it to graduation.

“Oh…hold on,” Heeseung suddenly perked up, biting his lip and raising a brow. “Some girls from the junior classes just showed up to congratulate me.”

You rolled your eyes. Jay muttered, “Here we go…”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Heeseung said, already straightening his sad excuse of a gown, “Won, you’re coming with.”

Jungwon blinked. “And why the hell would I do that?”

“I need a wingman. Jay’s taken, and I need someone to distract the extras while I move in on the main event.”

“Stop talking,” Jungwon said immediately.

“C’mon, please?”

“Just stop talking and I’ll go.”

“Sweet. Let’s go,” Heeseung grinned, already dragging him away.

You and Jay watched them go.

“Are we… sure he graduated?” you asked.

“Honestly?” Jay shrugged. “A miracle.”

But then, a throat cleared.

You turned, laughter freezing in your throat.

Jay’s father stood a few feet away in a crisp suit, arms crossed, sunglasses pushed up on his head. He didn’t say a word right away. Just looked at the two of you, at Jay in his cap and gown, hand intertwined with yours.

Jay’s hand stiffened slightly in yours. You looked at him and caught the faintest flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

To be fair, since the Monday Jay had placed the list of his top university applications on his father’s desk and then got into those schools, no less, there hadn’t been much conversation. Just the occasional grunt, nod, or one-word answer. It wasn’t new. Jay never expected his father to be warm. He could live without it. Had done so for most of his life.

But right now, Jay held his breath.

His father stepped forward, slow but sure, gaze unreadable. You tightened your grip on Jay’s hand without realizing it.

He stopped in front of Jay. His eyes scanned him once then paused on the crumpled gown, the slightly crooked cap, and then your intertwined hands.

“Well,” he said, voice low. “You wore the cap properly.”

Jay blinked, unsure if that was a jab or a compliment. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

And then, Jay’s father reached out.

To you.

He adjusted the tassel on your cap, gently sweeping it from the left to the right side.

“You’ve graduated too,” he said, not looking at you directly, but something in his tone softer than before. “Should wear it properly.”

You didn’t move.

Then his father stepped back. He looked at Jay for a long beat, something tight in his jaw, but his voice steadier this time.

“You did good,” he said. “Better than expected.”

That was it.

Jay’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Because those few short words, that deadpan delivery, that subtle nod was his father’s way. And Jay knew, as frustrating and emotionally constipated as it was, that was as close as he’d ever get to hearing “I’m proud of you” out loud.

Before either of you could say anything, Mr. Park had already turned away, his footsteps slow and composed as he made his way through the crowd. He nodded at your mother and Mrs. Park in passing, the gesture polite.

Then, weaving through the field, he crossed paths with Heeseung who, at that moment, was mid–peace sign, tongue out, and clearly trying to impress a group of younger girls.

Mr. Park came to a halt. Looked him up. Then down.

“Fix your collar, boy,” he said in the most unimpressed tone known to man, “You look stupid.”

Heeseung blinked. He turned to Jungwon, stunned. You and Jay were already doubled over trying not to laugh.

A minute later, Heeseung made his way back to the two of you.

“Guys,” he said, eyes wide, “who was that and why was he mean?”

Jay rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, that’s… my dad.”

“Oh,” Heeseung said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, he seems lovely.”

“I lowkey agree with him, though,” Jungwon added, eyeing Heeseung’s wrinkled sleeves.

“That’s because you’re an asshole,” Heeseung snapped.

You turned toward Jay, stifling your laugh behind your hand as Heeseung and Jungwon continued to bicker beside you.

Jay slipped his hand into yours giving it a gentle squeeze. His thumb brushed over your knuckles absentmindedly, and when you glanced up, his gaze was already on you.

“Hard to believe we made it here,” he murmured.

You smiled, stepping closer until your forehead touched his. “Well… I kinda had a feeling we’d make it.”

“Weren’t you the same person who cried for two hours because you thought I was leaving?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

“Still… I would’ve chosen you,” he said quietly, just for you. “Even if it meant packing up and leaving with nothing but you.”

You leaned in, kissed him gently, then pulled back just enough to speak. “Lucky for you,” you said, your smile matching his, “I came with everything we need.”

“Okay, kids! Group photo!” Mrs. Park called out, already motioning for you, Jay, Heeseung, and Jungwon to squeeze together.

You groaned playfully, but there was no use resisting. Jay laced his fingers with yours and tugged you forward, Heeseung fixed his borrowed gown while Jungwon rolled his eyes and tried to smooth his already-perfect one.

“Closer!” your mom called, squinting at the screen. “Act like you like each other!”

Heeseung threw an arm over Jay’s shoulder. “That’s a big ask.”

“Oh, as if you’re any better.” Jungwon scoffed, flicking Heeseung’s forehead.

“Smile!” Mrs. Park added, then laughed. “Okay, last one and then we’ll go for dinner!”

The four of you leaned in, grinning wide for the camera. Jay’s hand slid to your waist and pulled you in, close and quick, pressing a kiss to your cheek just as the shutter clicked.

You squeaked in surprise, eyes wide, but the warmth on your face gave you away instantly.

“Now that’s burned into our graduation photo. Great,” Jungwon groaned.

“Unless… you want all of us to kiss you too?” Heeseung suggested, wiggling his brows.

Jungwon blinked. “No. I don’t really… I don’t want that.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, already leaning in.

“Let’s do it,” Jay said, grinning.

Before Jungwon could escape, the three of you planted a kiss on his cheeks all at once.

“I’VE GOT COOTIES NOW!”

2K notes · View notes

sunsetpossum · 6 days ago

Text

Bleeding Velvet

PAIRING: vampire!biker!jake x fem!college student!reader

CHARACTER MOODBOARDS: JAKE NIKI

TROPES: (21k) | vampire au | strangers to lovers | age gap au | Jake is a little shit in this one, so teasing and mysterious, but literally dream boyfriend | 02z mentioned- they’re all 300 year old vampires | Niki and Sunoo mentioned- Y/N’s best friends, protective, college life | reader hooks up with Niki at some point and there’s a lot of angst there | dark moon and vampire diaries plot mentions- you’ll understand when you read the fic (not that important)

Possibility of a part two- still planning.

T/W: blood, getting bitten by a vampire described as pleasureful, illegal activity such as underage drinking and drugs, cheating, smut so MDNI, reader gets fed on during sex but it’s all consensual, obviously this fic deals with somewhat dark topics so beware- don’t say I didn’t warn you

SMUT TAGS: fingering (in semi-public space on a bike), p in v (no protection, wrap it before you tap it queens), blood kink, choking (ig?), praise kink, angst-hook up

SUMMARY: Y/N never planned to fall for Jake- a breathtaking vampire motorbike racer with secrets older than centuries. But between midnight bike races, stolen kisses, and the dangerous allure of his fangs at her throat, she’s drawn into a world where love could mean immortality

“Niki is racing too. Don’t you want to see him?”

Sunoo’s voice floated over Y/N’s shoulder for what felt like the hundredth time that week, soft but persistent, like rain tapping on a window.

It had become his personal mission lately- to drag her out to one of those late-night bike races near the crumbling edge of town. Races held beneath flickering floodlights, surrounded by the smell of gasoline and burnt rubber, where engines roared like beasts and the crowd pulsed with adrenaline.

They were her best friends, Sunoo and Niki- the three of them a tight, slightly chaotic unit since their first bewildered day at university. Two years in, and they were still orbiting each other’s lives like planets locked in gravity. Through all the cramming for midterms, the shared instant noodles, and the drunken crying sessions about future careers that terrified them, they’d stuck together.

But lately, it felt like her friends were spinning off into different universes.

Sunoo was, in most ways, the definition of gentle. He was the fun tide in their little group, someone who found joy in simple things- like knitting lopsided sweaters in pastel colors for his friends, or throwing himself into campus theatre productions with the kind of passion reserved for people who believed stories could save the world. His laugh was soft and high, and when he was happy, his eyes crinkled into tiny crescents. He smelled faintly of wool and cinnamon-scented hand cream.

Niki, though- Niki was wildfire.

It had started innocently enough with hip-hop dancing. He’d always been good at moving his body, rhythm flowing through him as naturally as breathing. But then came the cigarettes with the crowd, the expensive sneakers scuffed from running across roof top edges, and the fascination with engines and the rush of speed.

Somehow, it all escalated until he was taking corners on his motorcycle at bone-rattling speeds under neon lights. And instead of discouraging him, his parents- wealthy, aloof, and maybe a little too eager to buy their son’s affection- had gifted him a sleek motorbike for his birthday.

Since then, he’d been vanishing into the nights, returning smelling of oil and night air, eyes lit up like stars.

These bike races weren’t just casual joyrides. They were loud, teeming with people, sometimes violent, sometimes thrilling enough to feel like you’d stepped off the edge of the world. Illegal, of course- held on abandoned highways or in empty industrial parks where echoes bounced off concrete walls. People sold drugs in the shadows. Money changed hands fast, in wads and wire transfers. The police raided them sometimes, though never enough to snuff them out entirely.

And once, a rumor had circulated through campus that someone had died at one of these races. They were trampled under panicked feet when a fight broke out- or maybe stabbed. No one quite knew. The story shifted depending on who told it.

But the one thing that made these races truly unique- the reason they were such a dangerous draw- was that they were open to both humans and vampires.

Because in the world Y/N lived in, vampires were no longer creatures of whispered stories and dark alleys.

They’d come out of hiding over a century ago.

The reveal hadn’t been smooth. There’d been riots, governments collapsing, entire religions fracturing under the weight of suddenly discovering that immortals with fangs had been walking among them all along. There were still extremists who wanted vampires exiled, or worse, exterminated entirely. Marches and protests occasionally filled the streets with signs painted in blood-red letters.

But, eventually, the world had found an uneasy equilibrium.

Vampires were legally recognized as citizens now, provided they adhered to strict laws. They weren’t allowed to kill humans (obviously) or feed on anyone without explicit consent. Many vampires fed only on animals- pigs, cows, deer- carefully regulated by blood banks. Others had agreements with willing humans, who sometimes even signed contracts allowing bites in exchange for money, gifts, or the intoxicating high that came with a vampire’s fangs.

The news loved to sensationalize the dangerous ones- those who lost control, killed, or went feral with bloodlust. But the truth was, the majority of vampires just wanted to live quietly among humans- to hold jobs, fall in love, drive fast bikes through midnight streets for the sheer thrill of it.

Sunoo seemed determined to focus on the fun side of things, eyes pleading.

“You’ll love it,” Sunoo insisted, his voice bright, practically glowing with excitement. “And we can watch Niki in his prime. Wouldn’t that be exciting?”

Y/N let out a groan- loud enough that a few heads turned from nearby tables, and somewhere across the library, the librarian’s head snapped up like a hawk spotting prey.

They were supposed to be studying. That was always the plan when the three of them retreated into the cavernous hush of the university library. But somehow, books and highlighters always gave way to whispered debates, laughter, and Sunoo’s elaborate schemes to lure Y/N into adventures she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted.

And every time, they risked getting thrown out by the librarian, who seemed convinced they were a personal blight upon her quiet kingdom.

“One of these days, he’s going to hurt himself really badly,” Y/N hissed, lowering her voice but still sounding exasperated. “And it’s going to fuck up his whole life. Wasn’t there some guy who broke his leg during one of these races and now he can’t walk or something?”

Sunoo shook his head, his hair flopping into his eyes. “No, he can still walk. But yeah, he broke his leg. Niki’s met him, apparently. He told me the guy’s cool about it now, says the adrenaline was worth it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, slumping further into her chair. The edge of her oversized hoodie sleeve dragged across the surface of her open textbook, smudging a neat line of highlighted notes. “That’s… not comforting. At all,” she exhaled, pressing her palms against her temples as if trying to squeeze the reluctance out of her skull. “You know I don’t like crowds. I hate all those people pressing in on me. And those races… they’re insane, Sunoo.”

“I promise I’ll be beside you the whole time,” Sunoo said quickly, leaning closer. His voice softened, slipping into the coaxing tone he always used when trying to sway her. “You’ll have fun. I swear. Plus, we’ll be watching from right at the front as Niki’s friends. You know he’d want you there.”

Y/N glared at him, her lips pressing into a thin line as she struggled to hold onto her reluctance. But Sunoo was giving her those big, hopeful eyes that crinkled at the corners, and she was starting to feel the walls of her resistance crack, brick by brick.

“I hate you,” she muttered finally, though her voice had lost its bite.

Sunoo let out a soft, triumphant squeal, earning another sharp look from the librarian. He quickly ducked his head, cheeks flushed.

“But fine,” Y/N sighed, waving a dismissive hand. “I’ll come. Just don’t expect me to enjoy it.”

Niki walked in then, weaving his way between study tables, the strap of his heavy backpack digging into one shoulder. He dropped into the chair beside Y/N with a quiet groan, the chair legs screeching against the library floor.

He looked worn out but still somehow electric, hair tousled as though he’d been running his hands through it all day. A faint sheen of sweat clung to his temples, probably from rushing over from his last class- or maybe the gym. His backpack slumped against his chair, bulging with textbooks and, Y/N suspected, a change of gym clothes and maybe even some motor oil-streaked gloves shoved in the side pocket.

“What were y’all talking about?” Niki asked, blinking at them as he reached up to scrub a hand over his face.

“Trying to get her to come to your next race,” Sunoo announced immediately, leaning forward on his elbows like he’d just dropped a critical piece of gossip.

Y/N shot him a look, then turned to Niki with a sigh. “I’m not very keen.” She rolled her eyes, slouching further into her hoodie as though she could disappear into its fabric.

Niki paused, his dark eyes softening. He glanced briefly at Sunoo, then reached out and set his hand gently on Y/N’s shoulder. His palm was warm, steady.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to come. I’m not forcing you.”

His tone was earnest, carrying that weight he always reserved for moments when he could see she was struggling.

Because Niki knew.

He knew how crowds pressed in on her like suffocating walls, how the roar of too many voices could trigger that spiraling panic in her chest. Ever since college started, Y/N had only dared to attend one house party. She’d spent most of it hiding near the bathroom door, hands trembling, heart stuttering like a bird trapped in a glass box. By the time Niki found her, she’d been on the brink of an anxiety attack, gasping for air as though drowning. She’d never stepped foot into another party after that.

Niki had been the one to drive her home that night, silent and unquestioning, making sure she got inside safely. Since then, he’d been gentle about things like this.

He never pushed.

Sunoo, though, was different. Hewas full of big ideas about facing your fears and transforming into a new, braver person. He believed discomfort was a cocoon from which better versions of yourself emerged. He meant well- but sometimes, Y/N thought, he didn’t quite understand that fear wasn’t always something you could simply muscle through.

“I know,” Y/N mumbled, reaching up to squeeze Niki’s wrist where it rested on her shoulder. “But… Sunoo’s got this whole ‘Y/N has to live a little’ mission going on.”

Sunoo sniffed, tossing his hair out of his eyes. “I’m just saying, it could be fun. And besides,” he shot Niki a look. “Don’t you want her to see how cool you are when you’re racing?”

Niki snorted, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not cool. I’m just fast.”

Y/N rolled her eyes again, though the corners of her mouth betrayed a faint, reluctant smile.

“You’re both impossible,” she said.

They went to the race that night.

It was the kind of night that felt poised on a knife’s edge, where the air shimmered with heat and noise and the feeling that anything might happen if you breathed too deeply. Y/N could barely remember why she agreed to this, only that she found herself gripping his hand so tightly her knuckles ached as they pushed through the crush of bodies. Every step was a jostle, someone brushing too close, someone else shoving past with laughter that sounded like shouting, while bassy music throbbed from somewhere unseen, vibrating through her chest like a second heartbeat.

The lights painted the darkness in violent flashes of neon- reds, purples, flashes of silver. The smell was sharp and thick- gasoline, sweat, something metallic beneath it all, as though the night itself was bleeding. Sunoo, ever determined, led her forward without hesitation, weaving between people as though the crowd were nothing but a maze he’d memorized. He held her hand the whole way, his thumb stroking hers each time the crowd surged too close.

By the time they reached the barricades at the front, Y/N felt both dazed and electrified. The metal was cold beneath her palms when she gripped it for balance, and she stared past it at the wide stretch of cracked concrete that served as a racetrack. It seemed unreal, this entire place- like stepping into a hidden world she wasn’t meant to see. But here she was, breathing the same smoky air, feeling the same thrill in the pit of her stomach.

There were three racers tonight.

Niki, the human boy who sometimes felt like pure fire bottled up in mortal skin, stood between two figures who exuded something darker, older, something that seemed to bend the air around them even when they were perfectly still.

Jake and Jay- vampires- legends among the underground racing crowd. Their names were murmured like charms, half fear, half worship, and it was easy to see why. Even standing there in their racing suits, helmets tucked beneath their arms, there was a coiled energy to them, a predator’s grace barely contained. They waved at the crowd, and the crowd reacted as though blessed, screams rising higher, hands thrust forward as if trying to touch something forbidden.

Niki looked like he belonged there too, despite being human. His bleached hair was slicked back until it looked almost like polished ivory under the lights, and he held his helmet in one hand, waving at the people calling his name with the other. He looked so utterly fearless, eyes glinting with a challenge as he soaked in the attention.

When his gaze swept the front rows and found them, his entire face transformed. His grin exploded across his features- wide and bright, a boxy smile that showed all his teeth and squeezed his eyes into joyous slits. For a moment, he was just Niki again, the boy who danced in studio mirrors and tried to teach Y/N footwork while she tripped over her own feet.

Beside him, Jake and Jay both waved too, their movements slower, deliberate, carrying the quiet confidence of creatures who’d lived long enough to understand that time always bends to those who know how to wait. They shared quick handshakes with Niki, a gesture of mutual respect that seemed to pulse with silent electricity.

“Go Niki!” Sunoo screamed beside her, voice so shrill and full of pride that Y/N jumped, pressing a hand to her ear as laughter spilled out of her throat despite herself. Her eyes scrunched as though to block out the sheer noise of him, but there was a spark of fondness flickering at the edges of her grin.

“You’re such a fangirl,” she said, shaking her head, hair brushing her cheeks. The lights caught on the fine strands, glinting like threads of copper.

Sunoo whipped toward her, scandalized. “Are you not excited to see Niki race? He’s incredible, Y/N. Like- actually incredible.”

She didn’t answer right away because, over Sunoo’s shoulder, she saw Niki point toward them. His hand shot up, fingers jabbing the air as he waved furiously, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet like he couldn’t keep still. His eyes found Y/N’s, shining with such open delight that it made her chest tighten, as if the sight alone might split her in half with affection and fear for him.

Y/N lifted her hands, offering him a quiet, almost shy cheer, her fists pumping half-heartedly. Sunoo, on the other hand, whooped so loudly she was sure the university librarian would’ve died on the spot if she were anywhere nearby.

And then it happened.

Jake turned his head.

She saw the moment he registered Niki’s enthusiastic wave, the moment his eyes tracked along the crowd, searching, scanning faces lit by pulsing neon. And then those eyes- dark as midnight, flecked with hints of something ancient and dangerous- landed on her.

It was the briefest eye contact, no more than a second or two, but it felt as though the entire world narrowed to a single point. Y/N blinked, startled by the weight of his stare, by how intensely he seemed to look at her as though they were already in the middle of a conversation neither of them had spoken aloud.

Jake smirked, and there was nothing casual about it. His fangs glinted white beneath the lights, just barely visible as his lips curled upward. Slowly, his tongue traced across his bottom lip, and Y/N felt her entire body seize up, a cold shiver rippling down her spine even as heat flooded her cheeks. His hands tightened on the handlebars of his bike, his entire posture shifting as though preparing for something violent and exhilarating all at once.

And then he looked away- just like that- as though nothing had happened.

A woman in impossibly tiny shorts and a black crop top strutted into view, hips swaying, a pair of checkered flags gripped in her gloved hands. She paused in front of the three racers, flipping her hair over one shoulder, her body illuminated by flickering neon. The crowd surged forward with new energy, cameras lifting, people whistling and screaming.

Jake. Niki. Jay.

Helmets lowered onto heads, visors snapped shut, engines growled, deep and alive, rattling the air like thunder rolling across the sky.

Y/N found she was holding her breath, one hand wrapped so tightly around the metal barrier that her fingers throbbed. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Jake even though Niki was right there, waving, eager, alive.

The girl lifted the flags high, slender arms trembling slightly under the weight of hundreds of eyes on her. For a moment, time seemed suspended, the racers frozen like statues at the edge of destiny.

And then she dropped the flags.

A sharp whistle cut through the air.

The three bikes screamed to life in perfect unison, surging forward like beasts unleashed from a cage. Wind and dust exploded outward as the racers tore past the girl, engines howling, leaving only streaks of color and the burning scent of rubber in their wake.

The crowd erupted, a tidal wave of cheers and screams, and Y/N felt it all crash through her chest.

They rode around the sandy, gravel-strewn track so fast that they blurred into strokes of color suspended in midair, like paint flung across a black canvas. The engines howled, high and furious, drowning out even the screaming crowd, and the night seemed to warp around the racers as though time itself were bending to keep up.

Yet, for all the speed and chaos, everyone could tell them apart.

Niki’s bike was streaked in vivid blue, gleaming like a shard of ocean under the floodlights, his silhouette slightly lighter, his form looser, more fluid as he leaned into every turn. Jake’s bike was drenched in a metallic crimson, each shift of his weight sharp and deliberate, the red glinting like blood each time the lights flashed across the track. Jay’s machine shimmered in electric green, the color bright and almost radioactive, cutting through the dust clouds like a neon blade.

It was nearly impossible to track who was leading. They wove around each other in a dangerous, relentless dance, their positions shifting with every lap.

For the first half of the race, Jake had been dominating the front, carving perfect lines through the curves while his engine roared like a beast possessed. Jay kept close behind him, his movements smoother, more measured, biding his time like a predator waiting for the precise moment to strike. Niki lingered in third, trailing slightly as if studying the two vampires ahead, searching for weaknesses in the way they rode, his bike occasionally fishtailing in the loose gravel but always righting itself at the last instant.

Then, somewhere in the dizzying chaos of engines and wind, Niki found his gap.

Y/N didn’t even see exactly how it happened. One moment he was tucked in third place, the next he burst forward with an explosive surge of speed. The crowd erupted, gasping, voices turning shrill as Niki’s blue bike flashed between Jake and Jay like a comet slicing through the night sky.

Sunoo nearly fell over the barricade screaming his name. Y/N felt her own heart hammering against her ribs, each beat echoing in her ears louder than the engines. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched Niki, her best friend, outpace creatures who had centuries of strength in experience.

From that point on, the race became a constantly shifting kaleidoscope of color and motion. Jake, Niki, Jay- all three surging forward, jostling for the smallest advantage, riding so close their bikes might have touched. Dust billowed around them, catching the lights in glittering clouds. The crowd’s energy grew feverish, the chanting and screams creating a wall of sound that pressed against Y/N’s chest like physical force.

Every few seconds, the lead would change hands. Jake would roar ahead, cutting sharp angles that seemed impossible, then Niki would slipstream past him on a straightaway, the blue streak of his bike a bolt of lightning. Jay kept appearing and disappearing like a phantom, swooping around the outside of turns only to fall back again, waiting for the perfect chance.

By the final lap, the noise reached a pitch that felt like it might fracture the concrete beneath their feet.

In the end, it was Jake who crossed the finish line first.

Barely.

Niki followed so close behind that the difference could only be measured in milliseconds, the blue bike screaming over the line with a burst of speed that left the crowd howling in delight. Jay swept through just after, green glinting like emerald fire, his posture relaxed even in defeat- as though the race were just another night’s entertainment for him.

It wasn’t terrible, Y/N thought dazedly, staring as Niki coasted his bike to a slow halt. Not terrible at all, considering Niki was human, considering he’d only been racing for a fraction of the time Jake and Jay had prowled the streets.

And as the racers pulled off their helmets, sweat-soaked and grinning, the crowd surged forward to greet them.

Niki was beaming, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes alight with adrenaline and pride. Jake stood beside him, smirking, fangs barely visible as he said something low that made Niki laugh. Even Jay was smiling faintly, wiping dust from his cheek with a gloved hand.

Niki found Y/N and Sunoo somewhere in the crowd after the noise of the race had begun to bleed into other kinds of chaos- music pounding from massive speakers, lights flashing in dizzy spirals, the scent of spilled beer mixing with gasoline and dust. The air felt different now, looser somehow, the tension of the race melting into laughter and dancing and the occasional crash of bottles being knocked over.

Y/N and Sunoo had edged closer to one of the barricades, trying to find a pocket of space to breathe. She was still feeling the echoes of the race rattling through her chest, the lingering vibration of engines and the ghost of wind whipping past her face. Sunoo’s cheeks were pink with excitement, his eyes glittering.

Then Niki appeared, pushing through the thinning crowd with his helmet tucked under one arm and a thick wad of cash clutched in his other hand. His grin was impossibly wide, boxy and boyish, the kind of smile that seemed to radiate its own warmth. He held up the cash triumphantly, waving it like a flag.

“I’ll buy you guys whatever you want, just ask for it,” he crowed, practically vibrating with leftover adrenaline. “A gift from me.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms as she tried- and failed- to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Aren’t we supposed to be giving you the gift? Congratulations, though. You really were amazing out there.”

Niki tilted his head, smirking playfully and proud, as if soaking in the praise.

“Told you so,” Sunoo piped up beside her, nudging her arm hard enough to make her sway a little.

“I try,” Niki said with exaggerated modesty, then brightened all over again. “C’mon, let me introduce you to Jay and Jake.”

Y/N felt the words no, thank you rising automatically to her lips, an instinctive reaction to the idea of being plunged into another new social interaction- especially with two vampires whose presence seemed to bend the environment around them.

She could still feel Jake’s eyes on her from earlier, the way his smirk had felt like a secret aimed solely at her, and she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to test the gravity of it up close. Her mind spun with thoughts of how awkward she’d be, how she’d fumble her words or freeze or accidentally say something stupid.

But she didn’t even have the chance to speak.

Around them, the crowd swelled and shifted, laughter rippling like waves, people brushing past with sloshing cups and neon bracelets flashing wildly. And in that chaos, Sunoo seized her wrist without hesitation, his fingers wrapping firmly around her own.

“Let’s go!” He shouted over the music, his grin mischievous and determined.

Y/N tried to protest, but her voice was swallowed up by the bass thudding through the speakers and the cheer that rose as someone popped open a bottle of champagne nearby, foam spraying into the air like sparkling rain. Her words broke apart before they ever reached her tongue.

And so, helpless against the tide of bodies and the relentless determination of her friends, Y/N found herself being dragged forward, following the bright trail of Niki’s bleached hair through the crowd, feeling every thud of the music echoing in her chest like a war drum.

They found Jake and Jay exactly where Y/N should have expected to find them- at the molten center of chaos.

The two vampires were engulfed by a press of bodies, an ever-churning whirlpool of people drawn to them like moths to flame. Women clung to their arms, throwing themselves into the vampires’ personal space with the fervor of worshippers at an altar. Men surrounded them too, waving bills of money high in the air, some shouting bets, others screaming for the simple joy of adding their voices to the electric roar of the night.

Jay had a girl practically molded to his chest- a woman so striking it was almost painful to look at her. She was all curves and crimson lips, glossy hair cascading over her shoulders like silk. Her eyes glittered as she gazed up at Jay, who looked down at her as if she were the most fascinating thing he’d seen in centuries. His expression was hungry, intense, as though he’d commit unspeakable sins if she asked him to. But Y/N could sense it wasn’t real, not entirely- it was lust, raw and consuming, but shallow at its edges. For a moment, they swayed together to the pulse of the music, moving as one, bodies brushing in time with the rhythm. And then, as though there had never been another possible outcome, they met in a kiss so heated and consuming that the crowd roared in approval, hands slapping shoulders, voices rising even louder.

Beside them, Jake was entangled in his own tableau of seduction. He cradled a girl against his side, his hand curled possessively around her waist as he leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of her ear. Whatever he whispered made the girl’s eyes flutter shut, a shiver running through her as her lips parted into a soft, dazed smile. And then Jake dipped his head lower, mouth pressing against the pale skin of her neck- not merely kissing, but sinking his fangs in, puncturing her flesh with effortless precision.

Blood.

Y/N could see the faint trickle of it sliding down the girl’s neck, catching the glow of neon lights in thin rivulets of crimson. And the girl didn’t flinch- instead, her fingers dug into Jake’s shoulders, her back arching slightly, a gasp escaping her lips that was part moan, part ragged breath. Pleasure was written all over her face, her eyelids heavy, her smile small but rapturous, as though she were balanced on the edge of bliss and pain and couldn’t tell the difference.

Y/N stared, unable to look away, revulsion and fascination warring in her expression. A sharp pang twisted her stomach as she watched the girl’s soft sighs, the way her hands clung to Jake as though begging for more. The sound of the music throbbed in her skull, a rhythmic pounding that made her feel slightly dizzy, and she shrank closer to Sunoo, who was gazing at the scene with wide-eyed awe, his mouth hanging slightly open.

Niki, beside them, looked somewhat taken aback, shifting his weight from foot to foot as though unsure whether to stay or bolt.

Y/N elbowed him sharply in the side, her voice cutting through the tangle of music and noise. “You’re not gonna end up like them, are you?” Her tone was half teasing, half serious, the words slipping out before she could help herself. And it wasn’t the vampirism she meant. It was the spectacle of it- the random girls, the drunken, lust-fueled chaos, the way both Jake and Jay seemed to exist in a cloud of magnetic hedonism.

Before Niki could answer, a voice slid in, low and smooth, each word coiling around her spine like smoke.

“End up like what, darling?”

Y/N felt her pulse stutter.

Jake was standing right in front of them.

She hadn’t seen him leave the girl he’d been feeding on. Hadn’t noticed the precise instant when he’d disentangled himself from the crowd, when he’d wiped his mouth, when he’d slipped through the throng of people like a shadow and appeared at her side.

Now he stood there, closer than she expected, close enough that she could see the faint smudge of dried blood near the corner of his mouth, which he casually wiped away with the back of his hand. His smirk was lazy but edged with curiosity, his dark eyes glinting beneath the neon lights as though lit from within. The music thundered around them, but somehow it felt as though the world had contracted, leaving only this small pocket of space where Jake hovered, dangerous and intriguing.

Y/N tried to keep her face neutral, but she felt the muscles in her jaw twitching as she scrambled for words. “I wasn’t- I didn’t, um-”

“Hyung,” Niki interjected quickly, his voice a lifeline slicing through the awkwardness. He stepped forward, gesturing between them all. “These are my friends, Sunoo and Y/N.”

“Ah,” Jake said, his voice smooth as silk, his tongue clicking lightly against the roof of his mouth as he tilted his head, that ever-present smirk curling his lips. “Niki talks about you all the time.”

His words hung in the air, somehow feeling both casual and deliberate, as though each syllable was carefully chosen and weighted. His gaze slid briefly to Sunoo, whose eyes had gone impossibly wide, sparkling like a child staring at his idol in flesh and blood- or rather, in cool marble and red-tinged fangs.

Without missing a beat, Jake stepped closer to Sunoo, his movements fluid and graceful, almost feline in how effortlessly he navigated the space around him. He wrapped an arm around Sunoo’s shoulders in a quick, firm hug that made Sunoo emit a startled squeak, then dissolve into delighted laughter. Sunoo’s entire face lit up, cheeks flushed pink, and he seemed to vibrate from the sheer force of his own excitement, clutching at Jake’s black and red bomber jacket as though afraid he might vanish like smoke if he let go.

Then Jake shifted his attention back to Y/N.

It was subtle- barely a shift in his weight, a faint angling of his body. Y/N felt her breath catch as he took a single step forward, close enough that the scent of him washed over her- something sharp and cold, like night air after rain, threaded through with the faintest hint of iron.

And then, so naturally it seemed almost inevitable, Jake leaned in.

His hands hovered at her waist, not quite touching her, yet close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his skin- or whatever passed for heat in him. The proximity made her entire body go tense, every nerve in her abdomen firing at once, and she swore her pulse must have been visible in her throat.

Jake’s lips brushed the shell of her ear as he spoke, his breath cool and sending a delicious shiver skittering down the length of her spine.

“Careful, darling,” he murmured, voice dropping low enough that only she could hear him. “We’ve got strong hearing.”

Y/N swallowed, her throat dry as parchment, her mind momentarily blank. The noise of the crowd seemed to fade around them, drowned out by the pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears. Her skin prickled where his voice had grazed it, and for one dizzying instant, she could almost feel the shape of his fangs close to her skin, as though he might lean just a fraction closer and-

Before she could gather her thoughts- or her dignity- Jake pulled back slightly, though his eyes remained locked on hers, dark and glimmering with amusement, as though he enjoyed watching her flustered.

“Stop intimidating them,” Niki laughed, reaching out to dab Jake up before pulling him into a hug- this one tighter, more familiar, the kind that came from years of riding, racing, and risking things side by side.

There was an ease in their body language, a quiet rhythm that showed just how comfortable they were with each other. Jake’s grin softened a little as he patted Niki on the back, something a bit more sincere slipping through the usual mischief in his eyes.

“You raced amazingly today,” Jake said as they pulled apart. “Jay was cooked before it even started, huh?”

“No, no,” Niki waved it off with a sheepish smile, his voice still breathless from the thrill of the race. “I think I just got lucky. You both are legends.”

Y/N stood beside Sunoo, watching them with a mix of amusement and disbelief. It was honestly kind of funny, seeing Jake- this intimidating vampire who had just been feeding on a girl like it was foreplay- looked almost small next to Niki.

Not that Jake wasn’t impressive on his own- silky hair falling into his eyes, thick lips that curled in that cocky way, lean muscles wrapped tight under his jacket- but in front of Niki, he looked... compact. Like a sports car parked next to a monster truck.

Niki had always been known for his build. Tall in the way that made ceilings look short, shoulders wide enough to block out the sun, and that rare combination of athletic and gracefulness that made people do double-takes even in the middle of campus. Every inch of him seemed like it had been drawn with purpose, sculpted not just for power but for presence. He towered over almost everyone- Y/N, Sunoo, and now even Jake.

Still, Jake held his ground with quiet confidence, not at all insecure about the height difference. There was something calm in the way he stood, like he knew exactly who he was and didn’t need to prove anything. But even so, the contrast, even in the difference of their voices, made Y/N bite down a smile.

“You should give yourself more credit,” Jake said, voice a little softer now, more genuine. His eyes flicked up to Niki’s, steady and unflinching.

Niki just hummed in response, scratching the back of his neck, unsure of what else to say. Compliments always made him a little shy, and it showed now- the small shift in posture, the way his mouth curved awkwardly.

Jay approached them then, threading his way through the crowd, a faint daze still lingering in his dark eyes. He looked between Jake and Niki as though reorienting himself to the world outside of loud music and soft lips. A trace of red stained the corner of his mouth, but he wiped it away with the back of his hand as though it were nothing more than spilled wine.

“You did great, kid,” Jay said, voice low and a little gravelly, before reaching out to clap Niki on the shoulder. He tugged him into a quick hug, thumping his back with a force that would have rattled a normal person. “Getting better day by day.”

“All your inspiration, really,” Niki chuckled, shaking his head as if embarrassed, waving his hands as though trying to deflect the praise.

Jake snorted and shoved Jay lightly, the push carrying an affectionate weight. “Too busy with that chick to come say hi, huh?”

Jay shot him a look, eyes narrowing, and raised his hand in mock threat. “You had your fair share too,” he shot back, tone edged with annoyance but softened with the tiniest upward curve of his lips.

Jake leaned back, laughing, and Jay finally lowered his hand with a resigned shake of his head.

Then Jay turned his attention to Niki. “Are you coming to the after-party? You can bring your friends too, you know?”

Niki glanced over his shoulder, his eyes automatically finding Sunoo, who was already nodding so enthusiastically that his hair bounced around his face like a golden halo. Beside him, Y/N was frozen, wearing an expression that looked like she was silently reevaluating every choice that had led her to this exact moment.

“I’ll see, hyung,” Niki said, scratching his neck, the slight nervousness betraying him even as he tried to keep things cool. “It’s a school night, anyway.”

At that, Jake and Jay both chuckled, a sound that held something ancient beneath the amusement, as though they were momentarily reminded that the kid standing in front of them was mortal, young, still tethered to mundane things like early classes and campus life.

“Try, yeah?” Jake said, clapping Niki on the shoulder once more before stepping past him, Jay falling into step beside him, both of them moving with the kind of smooth confidence that seemed to part the crowd wherever they went.

But as Jake passed Y/N, he paused for a single heartbeat, leaning in just enough that she felt the warmth of his presence ripple across her skin.

“You’ll come, won’t you, darling?” He murmured, his voice low and teasing, eyes glinting as if he knew exactly how much chaos he was leaving in his wake.

And then he was gone, swallowed by the crowd, his figure dissolving into a swirl of bodies and neon light, leaving Y/N standing there, her pulse skittering in her chest.

When the three of them finally made it out to the parking lot, the night air felt cooler against their flushed faces, the roar of music fading behind them into a distant pulse. The lot was surprisingly empty, the lamplight throwing long shadows across the asphalt, puddles of old rain reflecting neon glows from the street. It felt like the first breath of quiet they’d had all evening, the silence almost echoing after the sensory chaos of the race.

They piled into Sunoo’s car, the doors slamming shut with hollow thuds. Sunoo slid behind the wheel, the keys jangling softly as he started the engine. Niki climbed into the passenger seat, insisting he’d pick up his bike the next day rather than ride it home tonight. Y/N settled into the back, leaning her head against the cool window, her body still vibrating faintly from adrenaline and too much noise.

“Y/N?” Niki called gently, twisting in his seat to look back at her. His voice cut through the low hum of the idling car, warm and steady. “If you don’t want to go to the party, we can just go back to the dorms and sleep. Or put on a movie if you want.”

Guilt prickled at the edges of Y/N’s chest, curling there like an ache. She glanced at Sunoo, who was staring straight ahead, hands loose on the steering wheel, his face blank but his eyes flickering toward her in quick, hopeful glances. He looked like he was trying not to hope too hard.

But it was Niki who made her throat tighten. He was watching her like she was the most important person in the world, one hand braced on the edge of his seat as he half-turned around, his expression open and waiting. There was no pressure in his gaze, only quiet concern, the kind of gentle loyalty that made her heart squeeze painfully.

“It’s okay,” Y/N said at last, though her voice was softer than she intended. She forced a small smile, meeting Niki’s eyes before glancing back at Sunoo. “We should go. Besides, Sunoo promised he’d stick with me the whole time.”

Sunoo let out a breath she hadn’t even realized he’d been holding and shot her a grateful look in the mirror, his shoulders relaxing visibly. Niki smiled, bright and relieved, his eyes softening into crescents as he turned forward again.

Y/N didn’t know whose house this was, but it was obvious that whoever owned it was no stranger to throwing these kinds of after-parties. The place had the worn-in feel of a venue used often for secrets and noise, the kind of house where memories and rumors clung to the walls like invisible cobwebs.

It was mellower here compared to the frenzy of the race grounds. The music pulsed at a softer, steadier rhythm, lights glowing in pink and lavender hues that painted everyone’s skin in dreamy colors. The shadows were gentler, and while Y/N was certain people were doing all manner of illicit things- hooking up in darkened rooms, trading pills for money or favors- it was at least happening behind closed doors.

Out here, in the main hall, people were drinking from red plastic cups, lounging on couches, talking in tight circles. Some seemed to scan the crowd, eyes darting, clearly hunting for someone to disappear behind a bedroom door.

Some were vampires. Some were human. Y/N couldn’t really tell them apart unless they bared fangs or did something obviously supernatural. Sunoo, however, seemed to possess an uncanny radar. He could apparently identify a vampire by the way they breathed, or by a small, surprised gasp. More than once, they’d played a ridiculous game of “Vampire or Human?” where Sunoo guessed correctly every single time, to Y/N’s ongoing astonishment.

“Are you feeling alright?” Niki asked, as they finally claimed a mostly-empty couch tucked along one wall. He and Sunoo made sure Y/N sat safely between them, like she was the most precious thing they’d brought into enemy territory.

“Yeah, Niki,” Y/N exhaled, pressing a palm briefly to her forehead. “I think I prefer this over that race ground chaos.”

“Yeah, the after-parties are usually calmer,” Niki agreed, leaning back against the cushions, though his knee still bounced with leftover adrenaline.

“Hey, Niki,” Sunoo said suddenly, leaning forward, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “How old are they? I mean… Jake and Jay?”

“If I’m not wrong, they’ve been twenty-three for a little over three hundred years now.”

“Three hundred years?” Y/N choked on air, coughing as her eyes went wide. “They existed during the French Revolution?”

“I guess so, yeah,” Niki mused, rubbing the back of his neck as if the weight of vampire history was somehow his responsibility. “I’m not really sure of the details. I just picked it up from bits of conversation. They haven’t exactly sat me down to tell me their life story. But Jake, Jay, Sunghoon… apparently they turned together and stuck together ever since.”

“Sunghoon?” Sunoo blinked.

“Yeah. He’s the third one. Those three are a trio- it’s usually them racing each other. I only got to race with them tonight because Sunghoon fell sick.”

“Vampires get sick?” Y/N asked, eyebrows high.

“Barely,” Niki admitted. “First I’d ever heard of it too. But apparently, he went on this weird animal-blood-only diet and suddenly stopped drinking human blood. The imbalance made him sick, or something. I really don’t know what any of it means.”

“Wow,” Sunoo breathed. “You’re lucky to be friends with them.”

“It’s all circumstantial, Sunoo,” Niki sighed, shaking his head as if the entire notion exhausted him.

“I’m surprised they’re so… nice,” Y/N said after a moment, voice tentative.

“What, did you think they were going to kill me for coming in second place?” Niki shot her a crooked grin. “Of course they’re nice.”

“Yeah, I guess… they just seem so… heavy.”

“Talking about me again, darling?”

The voice dropped into the conversation like a coin tossed into water. Y/N stiffened at the familiar timbre, smooth and edged with humor, and turned to find Jake standing just behind the couch. He looked impossibly relaxed, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his dark eyes glinting with mischief under the pink lights as though he’d been lurking there for a while, listening.

Jake circled the couch, moving like water around obstacles, until he stood squarely in front of them, hands tucked into the pockets of his bomber jacket. His smile was a strange blend- welcoming and sinister all at once, as if he was equal parts host and predator. Niki, for his part, seemed utterly unfazed, leaning back into the couch cushions like this was the most ordinary conversation in the world. Sunoo, meanwhile, practically sparkled with curiosity, eyes wide, drinking in every nuance of Jake’s presence.

“Super-hearing, remember?” Jake said, tapping a finger lightly against his ear, his other hand still buried in his pocket. “Gotta be careful what you say.”

Y/N stared at him, wide-eyed and frozen, words piling up on her tongue but refusing to come out in any coherent order. Her lips parted, a faint squeak of breath slipping through, but she stayed silent, afraid that if she spoke, she’d just trip over her own tongue and embarrass herself.

“Hyung, you’ve gotta stop doing that,” Niki chuckled, glancing upward to find Jake looming above them like a shadow.

“Doing what?” Jake asked, tilting his head slightly, a picture of innocent curiosity.

“Showing up outta thin air,” Niki replied, shaking his head in exasperation. “How do you even do that?”

Jake’s grin stretched wider, the tips of his fangs peeking out. “Vampire secrets,” he teased, clasping his hands together as though to seal his lips. Then he swept his gaze over all three of them. “Didn’t think you guys would make it. Can I get you any drinks?”

“Anything that’s available, really,” Niki said with an easy wave of his hand.

Jake shifted his attention to Sunoo, who answered, “whatever he’s having.”

Then Jake’s eyes found Y/N. He held her gaze a moment longer, his voice lowering into something warmer, softer. “And for the lady?”

“She doesn’t drink,” Niki cut in quickly, answering before Y/N could open her mouth. She shot him a brief look, pressing her lips into a thin line, half-annoyed at being spoken for but grateful not to have to answer Jake directly.

Jake tilted his head, studying her with mild amusement. “Yeah, I don’t drink,” Y/N added finally, her voice small but firm.

“Then we’ll get you something non-alcoholic, darling,” Jake said, his smile softer this time, genuine warmth slipping into his eyes. “Care to join me at the counter? I’ll fix up something nice for you.”

He sounded perfectly polite- a kind stranger offering to help. But there was still something in the way he looked at her, the faint flash of his fangs when he smiled, that made shivers trace up Y/N’s spine.

She could feel Niki and Sunoo nudging her lightly on either side, a silent chorus of encouragement- and maybe warning. Because no matter how charming Jake seemed, there was an unspoken understanding that it was best not to offend a vampire, especially one who could snap you in half if the mood struck.

“Okay,” she whispered at last, her voice barely audible above the thump of the music. Gathering her courage, she pushed herself off the couch, her heart knocking around in her chest like it was trying to escape.

Jake’s smile deepened as he offered his hand, palm open and waiting.

Y/N slipped her hand into Jake’s, his fingers cool but surprisingly gentle as they closed around hers. He guided her through the press of bodies, weaving easily between clusters of people, moving with that fluid grace that seemed to come naturally to him. The few steps it took them to reach the drinks counter felt longer somehow, stretched out by the soft pressure of his palm resting just above the small of her back. It was a light touch, protective almost, like he was shielding her from an invisible threat- though there was nothing dangerous around them.

When they reached the counter, Jake released her from his touch, leaning one elbow against the marble. “Any preferences?” He asked, tilting his head as he scanned the rows of bottles, mixers, and crumpled cartons of juice stacked haphazardly behind the bar.

Y/N glanced at the kaleidoscope of labels, none of which meant much to her, then looked back at him. “Any recommendations?” She asked, her voice lighter than she felt.

Jake chuckled, the sound low and rich, the corners of his eyes crinkling just slightly. “Let me,” he said, his fingers already moving as he reached for a red plastic cup.

He began to mix something, his motions practiced and sure, moving between cartons of juice and bottles of soda, pouring precise measures of each. His hands were quick and deft, veins shifting beneath the pale skin of his forearms, and there was something almost mesmerizing in the way he worked.

As he twisted a cap off a bottle, Jake’s voice broke through the quiet concentration, soft but edged with curiosity. “You know, if you want to know more about our kind, you can always just ask me.”

His words hung between them, gentle but weighted, and Y/N found herself staring at him, caught between intrigue and caution, her heart beating just a little bit faster than before.

“I heard you asking Niki,” Jake continued, eyes still focused on the drink he was building layer by layer. The ice clinked gently as he swirled the cup, his fingers elegant and precise. “I was, in fact, there at the French Revolution. It wasn’t very fun, I must say,” a low chuckle escaped him.

“What’d you do back then?” Y/N asked, the words slipping out before she could second-guess herself. Her eyes were fixed on him, on the sharp line of his jaw and the way a stray lock of hair fell forward as he worked. He wasn’t looking at her, and somehow that made her feel strangely untethered, as though she were leaning off balance, reaching for his gaze and missing it.

Jake tilted the bottle in his hand, pouring a pale ribbon of juice into the mix. “We tried our best to go into hiding,” he said, his voice softer now, more reflective. “Back then, people were still questioning if vampires even existed. Jay, Sunghoon, and I- we turned at the same time. All we knew was that we had to stay hidden. But eventually… we had to find ways to survive. Food, shelter, money. We tried blending into society.”

He paused, giving the mixture a quick stir before reaching for another carton. “Didn’t last long, though. People started noticing things. We were hunted.”

Y/N felt her throat tighten around a hundred new questions, but one slipped out, quiet and tentative. “Why’d… why’d you all turn?”

Jake finally glanced up at her, and when their eyes met. “I’m afraid that has to remain a secret too, darling,” Jake said, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he grinned and slid a red plastic cup into her hands.

Y/N stared down at the drink, suspicious, then lifted her gaze back to him, one brow arching high. “You haven’t drugged it, have you?”

Jake let out a snort, half-laughing as he tilted his head. “Vampire’s honor, I haven’t.” His fangs flashed briefly when he smiled.

Tentatively, Y/N brought the cup to her lips and took a cautious sip. Sweet, tangy citrus exploded on her tongue, chased by a gentle fizz that made her eyes widen in surprise. It was actually good- refreshing, light, and far better than anything she’d expected.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Jake said, his smile curling with unmistakable pride. “You just gotta trust a little.”

“I’m just cautious,” Y/N countered, hugging the cup closer to her chest, as if it were some small shield between them.

Jake leaned in slightly, not quite touching her but close enough that she felt the cool brush of air between their bodies. His eyes locked onto hers, sharp and searching. “Or maybe… you just don’t like vampires.”

The accusation hit her like a slap, and Y/N visibly bristled, heat creeping up her neck.

Because it wasn’t true- not even a little. She liked to think of herself as open-minded, modern, different from the conservative voices that still lingered in pockets of society.

She didn’t hate vampires.

In fact, she’d had nothing but decent experiences with them. Her favorite teacher in high school had been a vampire; her favorite author was a vampire; even in her family, she had an uncle by marriage who was a vampire- and who’d eventually turned her aunt so they could stay together forever.

All in all, Y/N did not dislike vampires.

“That’s not true,” she said firmly, glaring at him as if daring him to challenge her again.

Jake tilted his head, dark eyes glittering with mischief as he reached for two other red cups from the counter, likely the drinks for Niki and Sunoo. His grin widened as he pulled back. “You sure, darling? We’ll see,” he said, voice dropping to a teasing rumble.

And then, without waiting for her reply, he breezed past her, his bomber jacket brushing lightly against her arm as he moved, disappearing back into the press of bodies toward the couch where their friends waited.

Y/N trailed after Jake, her footsteps quick and stubborn as she weaved through the crowd behind him. Her cheeks were flushed- not from the drink, but from the heat of his teasing, the weight of his gaze still clinging to her like smoke.

“I don’t hate vampires,” she said again, firmer this time, the words cutting through the chatter around them.

Jake turned just enough to glance over his shoulder, his smirk lazy and knowing. Ahead of them, Niki and Sunoo had already reclaimed their spot on the couch, but both were watching now- Sunoo with a tilted head and knit brows, Niki blinking between them like he’d missed something.

“Whoever said anything about hate, darling?” Jake replied smoothly, his voice a velvet tease as he slowed to match her pace. He took a step closer, deliberate, his gaze dropping briefly to the drink still clutched in her hand.

“You’re twisting my words now.”

Jake tilted his head, his grin curving with something sharper than humor. “Then prove it.”

Her brows rose. “How would I do that?”

But she barely got the words out before the world shifted. In a blink, Jake moved. Not in the human way, not even in a fast-human way- but in that eerie, weightless blur vampires were infamous for. One moment they were standing in the middle of the room, and the next, air rushed around her ears, and everything was a smear of color and noise as she was swept into motion.

Her gasp barely left her throat when they stopped.

Y/N found herself pressed against a cold wall, her back hitting it with a soft thud that knocked the breath out of her. Her drink had sloshed but not spilled- miraculously. Jake stood in front of her, too close, his chest brushing against her hands where she instinctively pressed them to keep him at bay. One of his hands was on her waist, not squeezing, just there, firm and grounding. The other was planted against the wall beside her head, caging her in, but not in a way that screamed threat- just intensity.

Her eyes widened, searching his, heart thudding like a drum beneath her ribs. His face was close enough for her to see every flicker of movement, the subtle twitch of his lips, the glint of something old and unreadable in his gaze.

Slowly, with a deliberateness that made Y/N’s breath catch, Jake’s hand slid from her waist, gliding upward over the soft fabric of her shirt. His fingers were featherlight, barely skimming her ribs, and the faint heat of his touch seeped through the cotton, sending a shiver coursing down her spine.

He reached her hand where it still clutched the red plastic cup like a lifeline. Gently, he curled his cool fingers around hers, prying them loose from the drink. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned sideways just enough to set the cup down on a narrow shelf beside them, the soft clack of plastic against wood echoing in the hush of the small room.

Then, as though reclaiming what was his, Jake’s hand returned to her waist, fingers splaying possessively over her side. His thumb began to move in slow, idle patterns, tracing invisible shapes over the thin material of her shirt. Each pass of his thumb sent tingles radiating outward, and Y/N felt the muscles in her stomach tighten, her pulse stuttering unevenly in her throat.

Jake leaned closer, a fraction of an inch at a time, as if savoring the anticipation as much as the contact itself. His nose brushed hers, delicate and fleeting, and her breath hitched. The tips of their noses lingered together for a moment, like the barest prelude to a kiss. His eyes were half-lidded, lashes lowering as he murmured softly, voice a velvet whisper that slid down her spine like cool silk.

Y/N’s palms pressed a little firmer into Jake’s chest, enough that he felt the faint resistance of her body, though not enough to truly shove him away. It was just a barrier- a line drawn in the sand, trembling but there.

“I… I’m not the kind…” she whispered, her words barely more than breath, feathering over his lips.

Jake immediately eased back, pulling his face away just enough that cool air slipped between them again. His dark eyes flickered across her features, searching, patient, as if reading the meaning between every nervous twitch of her lashes and the quick rise and fall of her chest. It made perfect sense- of course Y/N wasn’t the sort of person to melt into a stranger’s arms, much less a vampire’s, in the back of a party house.

“You don’t drink, you don’t kiss…” Jake said at last, the corners of his mouth lifting into a teasing grin. His voice lost all of its earlier sharpness, turning warm and gentle. “What do you do then, darling?”

Something in the way he said it lit a spark in Y/N’s chest, flaring up in the quiet space where her fear lived. She’d always had a stubborn streak- a sharp-edged pride that sometimes got the better of her. And right then, staring at Jake’s sly, knowing smirk, she felt it flare bright and reckless.

Fine, she thought, her jaw setting stubbornly.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Y/N surged forward, closing the tiny gap between them. Her fingers clutched at the fabric of Jake’s shirt, knuckles whitening around the soft weave as she tilted her face up toward his. Her heart felt like it might burst from how hard it was pounding.

But just as their lips were about to meet, Jake lifted a finger and gently pressed it against her mouth, halting her in place. His touch was light, but commanding, cool against the warmth of her skin.

“We don’t have to if you really don’t want to, you know?” He murmured, voice low and careful, as if afraid of breaking something delicate. His gaze searched hers, full of patience and something like respect, even as amusement still danced faintly in his eyes.

For a moment, she hesitated. Her mind raced with doubts, with fears, but then- something shifted. A flicker of determination sparked in her chest, burning away the uncertainty. She brushed his finger aside, the touch sending a shiver down her spine, and closed the space between them.

Her lips met his in a kiss that trembled at first- soft, tentative, as if testing the waters. But then, as the seconds passed, it deepened. His lips were warm, firm against hers, and she felt a jolt of heat shoot through her body. Her hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she pressed herself closer to him.

Jake’s hand slid to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair as he deepened the kiss. His lips moved against hers with a hunger that took her breath away, his cool tongue slipping into her mouth, exploring, claiming. She moaned softly, the sound swallowed by him as he pulled her closer, his body pressing against hers.

The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mix of mint and something uniquely him. She moaned softly into his mouth, the sound muffled but no less intense. His hands slid down to her hips, gripping her tightly as he pressed her further into the wall. The cool surface pressed against her back, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from his body.

Their lips moved together in a frantic rhythm, each kiss deeper, hungrier than the last. She could feel the hard planes of his chest against her breasts, the way his heart pounded in time with hers. One of his hands slid up her side, leaving a trail of fire in its wake, before tangling in her hair. He tilted her head slightly, changing the angle of the kiss, and she whimpered at the new intensity it brought.

Her hands roamed over his shoulders, down his arms, feeling the strength in them. Her nails dug into his biceps as he nipped at her lower lip, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to her core.

Without warning, he shifted, his lips skimming a delicate path along her jaw. “You’re fucking perfect,” he murmered. The scrape of a fang- accidental, featherlight- made Y/N’s breath hitch and her body shiver as he traced his way down to the side of her neck.

She froze, a tremor rippling through her as his cool breath ghosted over the thin, sensitive skin there. Her pulse hammered so wildly she was sure he could feel it, pounding against his lips- because obviously he could; he could probably hear her heart pounding even from a mile away.

Jake stilled, sensing her hesitation instantly.

“Don’t worry, darling,” he murmured, his voice a soft rumble that vibrated against her throat. “I won’t bite.”

His words were teasing but gentle, and though a sliver of laughter threaded through his tone, there was something sincere in the promise.

Then he lowered his mouth and pressed a lingering, open-mouthed kiss to the curve of her neck. Not biting, not even nibbling- just the heat and softness of his lips, as if savoring the spot without taking anything more.

Y/N let out a shaky exhale, eyes fluttering shut as her hands slipped higher on his chest, gripping him lightly for balance. A flush spread up her neck and into her cheeks, caught between wanting to pull away and wanting to lean closer.

But before she could decide, Jake pulled back, just a hair, enough to look at her again. His lips were curved into a wicked smile, eyes glinting under the dim pink light.

“You taste sweet, darling,” he said, his voice low and velvet-smooth. “Careful, or I might change my mind.”

Then he stepped back fully, releasing her waist, leaving a sudden and startling emptiness in the space where his body had been. He gave her one last playful wink, turned on his heel, and slipped out of the laundry room, disappearing into the thrum of the party.

Y/N stood there, breathless, her fingers still curled into fists, her entire body humming with heat and confusion. It took several long moments before she could even remember how to move.

After that night in the laundry room, Niki decided firmly that Y/N was no longer allowed at the after-parties. He didn’t say it outright, never forbid her with words, but every time someone suggested going, he was suddenly “too tired,” or “had an early class,” or simply steered them all back toward the dorms instead.

Y/N understood why- she’d felt the way Jake’s presence could tilt her entire world off its axis. And Niki, protective as ever, wanted her nowhere near that particular brand of danger again.

But it didn’t stop her from coming to the bike races. Even on nights when Niki wasn’t racing, Y/N still turned up, hands stuffed in her jacket pockets, eyes scanning the track, always searching for a glimpse of familiar red. Sunoo was more than happy to tag along, all bright-eyed curiosity and delight. And Niki would inevitably give in and come too, because he knew her, knew that she’d show up with or without him, standing out there in the smoky night air, waiting for the possibility of a vampire’s crooked smile.

For three weeks, though, Jake was nowhere to be found. Three long weeks where Y/N kept pretending she didn’t care, kept telling herself that it had just been one charged moment in a laundry room that didn’t mean anything at all. And yet, every race felt a little emptier without him.

In those weeks, three races came and went. Two of them saw Niki flying across the track, winning first place both times, his blue-streaked bike slicing through dust and light like a comet. The third race was filled with strangers- new bikers, human and vampire alike, none of whom made Y/N’s chest clench the way Jake’s presence did.

She wanted to ask Niki about him- where he was, why he hadn’t shown up, whether he’d even mentioned her in passing. But embarrassment knotted her tongue, and every time she opened her mouth, the words crumbled into silence. Niki, perceptive as always, noticed. He never brought Jake up, pretending her quiet yearning didn’t exist, letting her hold onto her pride.

And then, on the fourth week, Jake was back.

The crowd roared as he rolled up to the start line, his bike gleaming under the track lights, streaked in that familiar red. Jay was there too, his own grin rakish and playful, and Sunghoon- the third one of the trio- appeared on a sleek bike painted white as bone.

Jake lifted his hand and waved at the crowd, his sultry grin lighting up his features, his eyes glistening like something sharp and secret under the floodlights. The sight of him hit Y/N like a punch to the chest. Her heart leapt into her throat, thudding wildly as she watched him lean forward on his bike, laughing at something Jay said beside him.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away the entire race. Every swoop, every turn, she tracked that streak of red like it was tethered to her soul, and it felt almost like those three weeks had never happened- like he’d never disappeared at all.

“Seriously, Y/N,” Niki said beside her, arms crossed over his chest as he glanced at her sidelong. His voice held no judgment, just gentle exasperation. “You’ve gotta stop yearning for him.”

“I’m not yearning for anyone,” Y/N shot back, eyes fixed firmly on the racetrack.

“Liar,” Niki murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips as he shook his head.

Jake won the race effortlessly. His red bike streaked across the finish line first, followed closely by Jay and then Sunghoon- not far behind but clearly outpaced in the final stretch. The crowd erupted, bodies pouring toward the track like a tide breaking free, the air thick with cheers, alcohol, and a frenzied need to be near the winning trio. People surged forward, jumping, screaming, throwing their hands up to touch something legendary.

Y/N, Niki, and Sunoo were quickly lost in the sea of movement, pushed along by strangers and flashing lights, the electric pulse of celebration buzzing in their bones. They stayed close, shoulder to shoulder, weaving through the chaos without direction, faces turning to find familiar ones in the blur.

And then, as if summoned by a thread she didn’t know she was tugging on, Jake appeared right in front of them- still in his gear, helmet tucked under his arm, his expression calm amidst the wild energy, like a flame untouched by wind. His eyes found Y/N first.

“Looking for me, darling?” He asked, voice smooth as silk, teasing but soft, the corner of his mouth curled in that lazy, knowing smile.

“Jake,” Y/N said simply, her tone flat but not unkind, more like an acknowledgment- an instinctual reaction to a presence she’d memorized.

“I spotted you in the crowd,” he said, glancing at Sunoo and Niki as if only just realizing they were there. “Thought I’d say hi.”

Sunoo gave a bright wave, practically bouncing where he stood. Niki’s expression, though, was locked somewhere between suspicion and reluctant tolerance. He wasn’t glaring- he never meant to- but he also couldn’t help the way his jaw tensed now that Jake was near Y/N.

Jake’s gaze returned to her, and it softened in a way that made Y/N's pulse skip. “Do you mind if I whisk her away for a moment, gentlemen?”

And before anyone could object- or even say no- Jake’s fingers curled around Y/N’s arm, gentle but unrelenting, and the world around her blurred. It was the same feeling as that night at the house party; the wind suddenly against her face, the ground a flicker of motion, her breath caught somewhere between her lungs and throat.

Vampire speed.

When it stopped, the sudden stillness felt disorienting. Y/N blinked, realizing she was in the parking lot- mostly empty now, bathed in dim yellow light from the overhead lamps. Jake’s red and black motorbike was behind her, the smooth metal cool against the back of her legs where he’d backed her up into it. His hands were on her waist, keeping her in place, not tight but firm enough that she could feel the heat of his palms through the fabric of her clothes.

“I’ve missed you, darling,” Jake said, voice low and rich, almost a purr. His grin was slower this time, more intimate.

“And here I thought you were avoiding me,” Y/N confessed, the words slipping out before she could second-guess them. There was a small tremor in her voice, the kind that betrayed just how relieved she felt to finally see him again. Her fingers tightened slightly around the lean muscle of his forearms, leaning into him.

Jake’s expression softened, his eyes glittering under the parking lot lights as he tilted his head a fraction. “My apologies,” he said, voice dipping lower, warm and velvet-smooth. “Just got busy, love.”

Y/N hummed at that, pressing her lips together as if to keep more words from tumbling out. She nodded slowly, eyes flicking over his face, waiting- for what, she wasn’t entirely sure. An explanation? Another tease? A kiss?

“Didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” Jake continued, leaning closer still, close enough that she could feel the faint, cool brush of his breath on her cheek. His hand slipped higher on her waist, fingers splaying gently across her ribs, thumb tracing delicate lines along the curve of her side. “Don’t want to wait any longer, though,” he murmured, tilting his head as if he might close the distance entirely. His eyes dropped briefly to her lips, then flicked back up to lock onto hers, a question shimmering in the darkness between them.

Their lips met in a slow, deliberate kiss, soft at first, testing the waters. But Jake didn’t let it stay soft for long. His hand slid up to cradle the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as he deepened the kiss, his mouth moving against hers with a hunger that made her knees weak. She gasped into him, her hands sliding up his chest to grip his shoulders for balance.

Jake’s other hand moved lower, skimming down her side until it reached the hem of her shirt. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, cool against her warm skin, and she shivered at the contrast. He broke the kiss just long enough to murmur against her lips, “you’re so warm,” before claiming her mouth again, his tongue sliding against hers in a way that made her head spin.

His hand continued its exploration, moving up her ribcage until his thumb brushed the underside of her breast. Y/N moaned softly, arching into his touch, and Jake took that as permission to go further. He cupped her breast fully, his thumb circling her nipple through the fabric of her bra until it hardened under his touch. She gasped again, breaking the kiss to press her forehead against his shoulder as pleasure shot through her.

“Jake,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Someone might see.”

“No one’s coming down here now,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke. His hand left her breast to trail down her stomach, fingers hooking into the waistband of her jeans. “Trust me.”

“Alright,” she managed to say, her voice trembling.

That was all the encouragement he needed. His fingers deftly undid the button of her jeans and pulled down the zipper, the sound loud in the quiet of the parking lot- sensual, arousing. He slid his hand inside, past the edge of her panties, and Y/N’s breath hitched as his fingers found her already wet and ready for him.

“So eager,” Jake murmured, his lips curving into a smirk as he pressed a kiss to her neck. His fingers teased her entrance, circling slowly before slipping inside, and Y/N let out a soft cry, her hands gripping his shoulders tighter.

He started with one finger, moving it in slow, thumb simultaneously circling her clit, deliberate strokes that had her hips rocking against his hand. When he added a second finger, she gasped, her head falling back, ass pressing into the bike as pleasure coursed through her. Jake’s lips trailed down her neck, nipping and sucking at her skin as his fingers worked her with expert precision.

“You feel so good,” he whispered against her skin, his voice rough with desire. “So tight, so wet for me.”

Y/N could only moan in response, her body trembling as he curled his fingers inside her, hitting that spot that made her eyes flutter shut and see white. Her hips moved of their own accord, riding his hand as pleasure built inside her like a coiled spring ready to snap.

“That’s it,” Jake encouraged, his breath hot against her ear. “Let go for me.”

A few more times, his fingers scissored inside her and with a whimper that echoed through the empty parking lot, Y/N came undone, her body shuddering as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Jake held her through it, his fingers slowing but not stopping until she was spent and trembling in his arms.

When she finally opened her eyes, Jake was watching her with a look of pure satisfaction on his face. “Beautiful,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Absolutely beautiful.”

Y/N could only smile weakly, still catching her breath as Jake gently withdrew his hand from her jeans and helped her straighten up. But before she could say anything, he leaned in again, capturing her lips in another searing kiss.

“You haven’t even taken me on a date yet,” Y/N breathed against him, barely. “Is that what you want, darling?” Jake murmured. “Alright then, I’ll take you out on a date.”

“A parking lot?!” Sunoo half-yelled, half-hissed, eyes nearly bugging out of his head as they made their way through the university campus gates. “You’re joking. That’s insane.”

Niki, however, said nothing. His face was pinched, caught somewhere between secondhand embarrassment and mild horror as Y/N recounted, in quiet but breathless detail, her late-night rendezvous with Jake- the vampire biker Niki respected far too much to be comfortable imagining in compromising positions.

“It felt insane, that’s for sure,” Y/N admitted, her voice softening as she thought back to the previous night. “And then he dropped me back at the dorms on his bike. I honestly can’t tell if it’s dirty or… romantic.”

“Both,” Sunoo declared immediately, as though this were obvious. He looped an arm around Y/N’s shoulders, beaming like a proud parent. “Our Y/N is coming out of her cocoon and exploring her life!”

“Yeah. Exploring some wild shit,” Niki grumbled under his breath, not meeting her eyes.

They were almost at the campus gates when all three of them pulled up short, surprise halting them in their tracks.

There, leaning casually against his bike as though he belonged nowhere else, stood Jake. He was waiting right outside the gate, arms folded over his chest, eyes shining like stars as they zeroed in on Y/N. In one hand, he held a small bouquet of roses wrapped messily in newspaper- clearly an attempt he’d made himself, petals slightly bruised from the effort.

Y/N’s face split into a hesitant smile the instant she saw him.

“How was class?” Jake called, his voice warm, eyes flitting over Sunoo and Niki before settling firmly back on her.

“Great!” Sunoo said, a little too eagerly.

“What are you doing here?” Niki demanded, crossing his arms. His tone wasn’t exactly hostile, but it was edged with suspicion. Vampires- especially Jake and his crowd- never showed up near the college.

Jake just shrugged, as though it were the simplest thing in the world. “Taking her out on a date,” he inclined his head toward Y/N, lips quivering.

Y/N blinked at him, the words not quite processing. “What?” She murmured.

“I said I would, didn’t I, darling?” Jake teased gently, stepping closer to press the bouquet into her hands.

Y/N accepted it meekly, eyes dropping to the crumpled newspaper around the stems. Niki and Sunoo stared at her like she’d sprouted a second head.

“Thank you…” she trailed off, voice small.

“Come on now,” Jake slung a leg over his bike, revving the engine to life.

His grin was easy, boyish, lacking the sharp edge it usually carried on race nights. He looked almost impossibly normal at that moment- baggy jeans, a dark sweater layered over a pale blue button-down, hair soft and undone instead of slicked back with gel and sweat. He looked like any other twenty-three-year-old guy picking up his girl for a coffee date, and somehow that was what made it even more surreal.

“You’re dressed perfectly as well,” he called over the rumble of the bike. “Let me take you somewhere nice for a cup of coffee.”

Y/N turned to her friends, as if silently asking permission. Sunoo practically shoved her forward, eyes shining with mischief and excitement. Niki just gave her a short nod- his eyes unreadable, but there was no real protest there.

As Y/N stepped toward Jake, still clutching the bouquet, Niki reached out and gently tugged her bag off her shoulder, slinging it over his own. It was a silent gesture of care, a small reassurance that he’d hold onto her things so she wouldn’t have to worry, the same way Sunoo always carried everyone’s essentials whenever they went out.

When Y/N finally wrapped her arms around Jake’s waist and settled herself behind him on the bike, the engine growled louder, and in the blink of an eye, they were gone. Her hair streamed behind her in a dark banner, her cheek pressed to the warm, solid expanse of Jake’s back, and all that remained was the faint echo of the engine in the distance.

They pulled up outside a café tucked into the corner of a narrow street- quiet and dimly lit, with ivy crawling up the front windows and flickering yellow lights glowing inside like they were suspended in honey. Jake parked the bike with ease, dismounted, and held out his hand to her. She took it without hesitation.

The bell above the door tinkled softly as they stepped in, and it smelled like roasted beans, warm vanilla, and something faintly burnt in a good way- caramel or sugar left on the stove too long. The place wasn’t crowded, just a few quiet people at their laptops and one older couple sharing a slice of cake at a corner booth.

Jake placed a palm gently at the small of her back, guiding her toward the counter. Y/N was still clutching the bouquet, her fingers tracing the edges of the newspaper wrapping like it might offer her some grounding in this very strange, very wonderful moment.

“Take a seat, darling,” Jake said softly, gesturing toward a booth by the window. “I’ll order for us.”

She blinked up at him, then nodded, too dazed to argue or even pretend she had preferences. Her legs carried her to the seat, where she set the bouquet down beside her and stared out the window, eyes catching on the reflection of Jake talking to the barista. He looked relaxed, smiling easily, his posture confident but not arrogant. Just like on the race tracks, he carried himself like he belonged in every room he walked into.

And yet here he was- in a soft café, ordering drinks in a voice low and polite, his vampiric intensity dialed down to something almost… tender.

Y/N rested her chin on her palm, eyes never leaving him. There was a tiny voice inside her- still trying to figure out how this was her life now, how a three-hundred-year-old vampire had picked her up from campus like they were in some coming-of-age romance movie.

After ordering, Jake strolled back to the booth, setting his glossy black helmet carefully on the table like it was a crown. He flashed Y/N a grin- boyish, excited, almost childlike in its purity. The fluorescent café lights reflected softly in his dark eyes, making him seem both achingly human and impossibly otherworldly all at once.

“Do you bring all your dates here?” Y/N teased, leaning forward slightly. “Is this your way of steering them away from the intense vampire aesthetic you’ve got going on?”

Jake threw his head back and laughed- a warm, genuine sound that made a couple of people at nearby tables glance over, half-curious, half-dazzled. “I don’t go on dates, darling,” he said, still grinning. Her eyes flickered, catching the implication in his words, but before she could probe further, he tilted his head at her, mischief lighting his expression. “You think I’m intense?”

“Are you forgetting the night we met?” She shot back, arching a brow.

“Touche,” Jake conceded, leaning back in his seat just as the server arrived with their drinks- a simple black coffee for him and a caramel macchiato for Y/N, the caramel swirling in glossy golden ribbons across the foam.

Y/N blinked at her cup, a little startled. “How do you know my order?”

Jake lifted his cup, his smile easy. “Niki talks about you a lot, you know?” He said. “I know a lot about you and Sunoo. You’d think I was stalking you.”

“What does he even say?” Y/N asked, half-shocked, half-amused.

“In all honesty?” Jake leaned his elbows on the table, eyes glinting. “He rambles. When I first met him, I thought he was quiet. But all it takes is for Jay to ask how his day went, and suddenly it’s ‘Went here with Y/N, did that with Sunoo, Y/N this, Sunoo that.’”

Y/N’s laughter spilled out, soft and genuine. “I didn’t know that,” she admitted, a little glow rising in her cheeks. “Feels unfair- I don’t know anything about you.”

Jake cocked his head, studying her with those sharp eyes that seemed to see too much. “Well then,” he said, voice low but inviting, “what do you want to know?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N giggled again, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “How’d you meet Jay and Sunghoon?”

Jake’s smile softened. “It’s an old story, darling,” he said, swirling his coffee absently. “I don’t want to bore you.”

“No, I won’t get bored,” Y/N insisted, leaning forward, chin perched on her palm. “I want to know.”

Jake studied her for a moment, as though weighing how much of himself he wanted to hand over. Then he exhaled, giving in. “If you say so.” he set his cup down. “Our parents were servants for a royal family at the time. We grew up running around the castle corridors, sneaking scraps of food from the kitchens, hiding in storage rooms to avoid chores. Jay was always getting us into trouble. Sunghoon tried to keep us out of it, which never worked.”

Y/N’s eyes were wide, her mind trying to picture it- Jake as a boy, human and vulnerable, in dusty castle halls.

Jake went on, a touch of wistfulness in his voice. “Eventually, we grew up too. Took on the same roles as our parents, serving the royal family. Until… well, we didn’t.”

“You turned?” Y/N asked gently.

“Yeah.” Jake nodded, looking down into his coffee, the humor leaving his eyes for a brief second. “It’s… not that interesting of a story.”

“It’s still insane to me that you’re… that old,” Y/N admitted softly. “You must have lived so much.”

Jake’s lips curved again, faint but real. “We have, yeah. Did a lot. Traveled a lot. Saw the world change right before my eyes.”

“I’ve always wanted to travel,” Y/N confessed, staring at the swirl of caramel dissolving into her drink.

Jake tilted his head, watching her. “I’ll take you one day,” he promised quietly, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Y/N’s eyes flicked up, searching his face.

“You know, I’ve got an uncle who’s a vampire?” She blurted out suddenly. “A while after he and my aunt got married, he turned her. And now… I guess they’re gonna live forever with each other.”

Jake’s brows lifted, genuine surprise flickering across his features. “Wow. They must love each other a lot to do that.”

“Is that… not a common thing?” Y/N asked, curiosity brimming in her voice.

Jake slowly shook his head. “No,” he said, voice lower now, more thoughtful. “It’s rare, actually. Not everyone wants forever. And turning someone… it’s not just about love. It’s about burden too. Responsibility. Knowing you’re asking them to give up the way life’s supposed to go,” he met her gaze squarely. “Immortality Isn't always what it’s cracked up to be, darling.”

“How was the date?” Sunoo asked the next day, voice barely a whisper above the rustle of turning pages and the faint scratching of pens against paper.

They were sitting in their usual corner in the library, where sunlight filtered in through high windows and dust motes floated lazily in the beams. Technically, they were supposed to be studying- but, as usual, they were failing spectacularly at it.

Y/N sighed, slumping lower in her seat, fingers playing with the edge of a page until it threatened to tear. “Good,” she said, her voice soft, almost hesitant. “It was good. Really good.”

“But?” Sunoo prodded, leaning closer, eyes wide and glimmering with curiosity.

Next to her, Niki shifted in his seat, closing his textbook with a quiet snap, arms folding across his broad chest. His face gave nothing away, but the way his eyes pinned her felt like a silent demand for honesty.

“He’s a vampire,” Y/N said finally, the words dropping between them like a stone into water, sending ripples through the silence.

“I thought that’s what drew you,” Niki said, trying to keep his tone light, but a note of something sharper- worry, maybe, or annoyance- broke through despite his best efforts.

“Well,” Y/N tilted her head, gaze flickering toward the window as if she might find the right answer written in the sky. “I guess? But then he said something about immortality and… ”

“Yeah,” Sunoo nodded, a thoughtful crease forming between his brows. “Vampires don’t date humans often. It didn’t hit me until now either. But they don’t… not seriously, anyway. Because if they fall in love, it usually means they’ll want to turn whoever they’re with. And not many humans want that. It’s painful. And… it changes everything.”

“I know,” Y/N whispered, chewing at the inside of her cheek. “I just… I’m not sure how to feel about it.”

Niki opened his mouth then, eyes narrowing slightly, an answer ready on his tongue- he wanted to tell her to let it go, to walk away before she got in deeper, before she found herself in a world she wasn’t built for.

But Sunoo beat him to it, leaning forward, eyes gentle and shining in the filtered sunlight. “Why don’t you just… see where it goes, Y/N?” He said softly. “Surely this guy isn’t in love with you after two dates. And you… well, you seem happier lately. I think this experience could be good for you.”

Y/N didn’t know when things had shifted. Maybe it was during the third coffee date, when Jake had insisted she try the lavender syrup in her macchiato and she ended up loving it. Or maybe it was that late morning when he texted her to meet him just after sunrise, only to take her on a silent walk through the waking forest, dew glittering on the grass, the wind tousling their hair. It was hard to trace the exact moment when a string of small nothings became something- something warm, something constant, something that looked dangerously like love.

Jake wasn’t what she expected. Not after their first few encounters- flirty, teasing, always two steps ahead of her, smirking like he knew too much. But in the weeks that followed, he revealed himself in fragments- so painfully human for someone so not. He was thoughtful- gentle, even. He remembered things she mentioned offhand and circled back to them like they mattered. He never missed a chance to tell her she looked beautiful when she didn’t feel it.

And when he cooked for her- quietly, methodically, barefoot in his kitchen with soft jazz playing low- she could see the centuries in him. The experience, the patience, the way he knew when to speak and when to just exist beside her.

It had turned domestic before either of them realized. Her toothbrush rested in a cup on his sink. Her hair ties lived on the coffee table. She did his laundry because he always forgot to separate whites. He folded her socks because she always lost a pair. They bickered about which movies to watch and fell asleep halfway through them anyway. He helped her study when Sunoo and Niki were busy, sat beside her on the floor with her highlighters in his hair and his fingers tracing diagrams she couldn’t make sense of.

And every week, she found herself back at the night races- less out of fascination now and more out of habit and loyalty. She was there for Jake, and everyone knew it. Sunoo always clapped wildly beside her, always jumping up and down like Jake’s biggest fan, even if it was Y/N who’d caught Jake’s eye. Niki, when he wasn’t racing himself, would lean against the fence a few feet behind, arms crossed, jaw tight, watching everything with a protectiveness he couldn’t fully explain.

“Jake’s girl,” they’d say, half in awe, half in warning. Y/N didn’t know how she felt about the title, but she liked the way Jake smiled when he heard it- like he was proud, like she belonged with him.

Tonight had been another win. Jake had raced like the wind had chosen him, like the world had no choice but to watch. And as the engines quieted and the crowd simmered into something oblivion, Jake had turned to her with that familiar boyish glint in his eye.

“Wanna learn?” He’d asked, gesturing to his black and red monster of a bike.

That’s how she ended up here- sitting on his bike, hands trembling slightly on the handles, laughing breathlessly as Jake guided her, his chest pressed to her back, his voice low and steady in her ear.

“You’re doing fine,” he told her when she shrieked after a slightly sharp turn. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

And she believed him.

It was fun, really- the kind of fun that left her breathless, trembling, and alive all at once. Y/N’s hands gripped the handlebars so tightly her knuckles had gone white, and every twist of the throttle sent a shiver of panic and thrill up her spine. The bike growled under her, a living creature of polished metal and power, surging forward at the slightest nudge.

She kept bursting into fits of laughter, sharp and startled, tangled up with little shrieks that echoed under the stars. The cold wind whipped her hair around her face, stinging her cheeks, and tears gathered at the corners of her eyes- not from fear, not entirely, but from the sheer rush of it all.

When they finally pulled over to the side of the highway, the world around them quiet and unlit except for the glow of passing headlights in the distance, Jake didn’t get off the bike. Instead, he guided her to turn in the seat, her legs sliding around him, facing him now. The bike stood heavy beneath them, his legs grounding its weight, hers curled uncomfortably around the machine’s bulk. Her back leaned into the cool steel of the handles, arms looped around his neck without thinking.

Jake looked at her, his eyes warm and content. “Come here,” he murmured, voice almost lost in the stillness between them.

And she did. She leaned forward, soft and certain, and he kissed her- slow, certain, with none of the wild hunger from that first party, none of the anticipation.

Her fingers curled into his hair. His hand wrapped around her waist, holding her like she was the only thing anchoring him to the earth. And for that moment- just that sliver of borrowed eternity- they weren’t a vampire and a college girl. They weren’t from different timelines or worlds. They were just two people, halfway down a highway, kissing on a bike, hearts beating in sync.

Then his lips began drifting lower, tracing a path down the line of her jaw, pressing heated kisses to the soft skin beneath her ear. When he reached her neck, Y/N shivered as she felt the barest graze of his fangs- she could never get used to it.

She knew he wouldn’t bite her- not without permission, never without her permission- but lately, she could feel how much he wanted to.

There were moments, especially when they lay naked in bed, when Jake would pause with his lips lingering over her pulse point, his eyes gone dark and feral, listening to the frantic beat of her heart. Sometimes he’d have to physically pull himself back, growling low in his throat as though fighting a primal instinct.

And tonight was no different. As he nuzzled into the crook of her neck, a groan rumbled through him. He buried his face against her shoulder, his silky hair brushing her skin as he pulled her tighter into his arms and pecked her shoulder.

His voice was barely a whisper. “Do you think you’ll ever let me feed on you?”

Y/N froze, breath catching in her chest.

Jake hadn’t had fresh human blood since they started seeing each other. She’d asked him about it once, and he’d simply said that it felt wrong somehow- that there was a peculiar sense of loyalty vampires felt toward someone they cared about. So he’d subsisted on blood from the bank instead, human or animal.

But Y/N knew how much he missed the real thing- wanted her to be his next feeding. She could see it in the way his eyes sometimes flickered when he was close to her neck, how his jaw would tense and his breath would come out ragged.

“I… I don’t know,” she whispered, voice small.

Jake pulled back immediately, his thumb brushing her cheek as he tilted his head to look into her eyes. His smile was gentle, warm. “It’s okay, darling. No need to panic.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his touch featherlight. “It’s alright if you never want to.”

“Well… it’s not a never,” Y/N murmured, and a faint spark lit up in Jake’s eyes, his brows lifting.

“Oh?”

“But… eventually. Maybe. In some time,” she said, cheeks flushing pink.

Jake’s grin turned lopsided, playful. “Don’t push yourself for me, darling,” he leaned in again, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to her neck, his lips warm and patient against her skin.

A moment later, Y/N’s voice wavered as she spoke up. “You know what I never learned about, though?”

Jake hummed against her throat. “What’s that?”

“How to… turn,” she said, her words tumbling out quickly.

Jake froze, his mouth still against her skin, before he slowly lifted his head to stare at her, a furrow forming between his brows. “What?”

“Oh, I’m just…” Y/N stumbled over her words, flustered under the weight of his gaze. “Just curious. No one’s ever explained it to me, and I’ve always been too embarrassed to ask.”

For a long second, Jake only blinked at her, then released a quiet laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing. He gave a slight shake of his head, an affectionate, exasperated smile curving his lips.

“God, you’re adorable,” he murmured, and leaned in to kiss her again, as if he couldn’t help himself. And Y/N found it funny that he was finding her adorable in this conversation. “Have you ever watched The Vampire Diaries?” Jake asked finally, his breath still warm against Y/N’s skin, his fingers splayed gently at the nape of her neck.

Y/N blinked up at him, still half-dazed from his kisses, and nodded. “Yeah.”

Jake gave a quiet chuckle, tilting his head. “It’s something like that.”

“That show’s based on real life, huh?” She teased, eyes narrowing at him as a small smile curved her lips.

Jake’s lips quirked. “Well… not entirely,” he admitted, leaning back a little, though his thumb was still brushing circles against her neck. “We can’t control minds, witches and werewolves don’t exist, and we definitely don’t need magic rings to walk in the sunlight. But some of it’s true. Our blood does have healing properties.”

Y/N nodded slowly, trying to piece together fragments of the show from memory. “So…” she started, biting her bottom lip. “I’d have to drink your blood.”

Jake's eyes glinted. “Yup.”

“And then I have to die.”

Jake gave a single nod. “Yup.”

Y/N exhaled a shaky breath, her brows drawing together. “And then I become a vampire.”

Jake’s smile softened, almost apologetic as he lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “It’s not very romantic, I know.”

“How did you die?” Y/N asked softly, her voice carrying the hush of genuine curiosity and something darker underneath- an uneasiness she couldn’t quite shake.

Jake’s eyes flicked away for the briefest moment. “Snapped my neck.”

Y/N froze, lips parting. “Oh… by who?”

Jake tilted his head, his thumb still tracing gentle patterns along the side of her throat. “A second-generation vampire… much older than any of the vampires I know right now. When I turned, I became a third-generation vampire.”

Y/N swallowed. “So if you turned me…”

“You’d become a fourth-generation, yes,” Jake nodded, his tone matter-of-fact but his eyes tender as they searched her face. “But don’t worry about all this, darling. You look terrified right now.”

He reached up and cupped her cheek, his palm cool against the heat of her skin. Y/N instinctively leaned into the touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a second. “Yeah.”

Jake smiled softly. “Do you want to come home tonight… or back to the dorm?”

Y/N was sitting up on her bed, legs folded beneath her, the pale glow of the bedside lamp casting soft shadows across the room. She couldn’t sleep- her mind crowded with thoughts she couldn’t untangle- and apparently, neither could Niki. He slipped inside her dorm room without a knock, quiet as ever, his presence both a comfort and a reminder of how complicated everything felt lately.

He saw the exhaustion in her eyes before she even spoke, and without asking permission, he crawled onto the bed beside her. He sat close, leaning back against the wall, folding his long legs up and resting his arms on his knees.

“Is it something about Jake again?” He asked, his voice low but not accusing- just tired, like hers.

Y/N scoffed softly, trying to smile, though it wavered at the corners. “You don’t have to ask me, Niki. I know you don’t like me being with him.”

“It’s… it’s really not that,” Niki shook his head. His hair fell forward slightly, bleached strands soft and a little frizzed around his temples. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”

Y/N sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, the weight of the confession sitting heavy on her tongue. “He asked me if I’d ever let him feed on me.”

The effect was immediate. Niki’s eyes went wide as he panicked, his hands reaching out to push her hair aside, checking both sides of her neck as if certain he’d find twin puncture wounds hidden there.

Y/N burst into laughter, batting his hands away. “He didn’t do anything, don’t worry,” she said, shaking her head, though her smile faded almost as quickly as it had come. “But every day, I’m reminded how different it’s going to be with him.”

“Well… yeah,” Niki murmured, his voice softer. “The man’s immortal. You’re gonna age and he’s still gonna… look like that majestic thing that he is.”

Y/N dropped her eyes, twisting the hem of her shirt between her fingers. “Insane, right? I don’t know how to feel about it.”

Niki watched her, his brow furrowed, waiting.

“Do you think you’d ever want to turn?” He asked eventually, though his voice was almost a whisper.

“God, no,” Y/N said immediately, shaking her head. “I’m still in college. I’m still so young. I can’t do that to myself. But then… I think about if we do fall in love, if I get too attached and want to spend the rest of my life with him- what then? What other choice do I have? Vampires can’t have kids, and you know I’ve always wanted kids- ”

“-two boys and one girl, yeah, I know.”

Y/N let out a trembling sigh. “And sure, I can adopt. But vampires don’t… die. I don’t want to not die, Niki. And I don’t want to have to turn my kids into vampires too. What’s the point of life if it never ends? I don’t want to live forever- that sounds insane.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean,” Niki nodded, but there was something in his voice, tight and struggling.

Y/N’s eyes glistened under the soft lamp light. “He’s perfect, Niki, he really is,” she said, voice catching on the edges of her words. “He cares about me, he knows me like the back of his hand already, he cares about you and Sunoo, he’s gentle, he’s kind, exactly the kind of guy my parents would want for me… but… he’s not human.”

Niki’s breath hitched, and the words came out before he could stop them. “I care about you.”

For the first time since he’d entered her room, Y/N looked up properly, her eyes finding his. And in that moment, Niki looked so achingly sincere- like he was on the brink of something he’d been holding in for far too long. He had that expression that made him look soft and vulnerable, like a duck plush toy, even though he insisted he looked like a puma.

“I know you like the back of my hand, too,” Niki continued, leaning closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m kind too. And… I’m human, Y/N. I’ll age with you. Everything he can’t give you… I can.”

And Y/N blinked at him, suddenly feeling as though she’d been living in some fever-dream, conjured up by a tired and restless mind.

Because she’d never looked at Niki that way- not really, not as a romantic possibility, a partner, someone she could imagine kissing or holding close in the quiet dark. But now that she was looking… it made sense.

Niki, who made sure she was comfortable wherever they went.

Niki, who looked out for her.

Niki, who listened to her even when he was angry, and never forced anything on her.

And it wasn’t that Niki was lacking. Far from it. He was beautiful, truly. Tall and lean with muscles, strong where it mattered, with freckles scattered across his skin like constellations, and hair that was just the right amount of wild.

And the way he was looking at her right now- the way his breath mingled with hers in the narrow space between them, the way his eyes hooded as they lingered on her mouth- in that moment, none of it felt wrong at all.

And for a moment, just for a brief flickering moment, she told herself that maybe she could be with him- that she could fall for him.

“Yeah, you’re human,” Y/N said, voice barely above a whisper, her eyes darting between his. She swallowed, feeling the dryness in her throat.

“Just like you,” Niki murmured.

And in the next heartbeat, he leaned in and kissed her.

At first, it was just the softest press of his lips against hers, almost questioning. But then her breath caught, and without even meaning to, she kissed him back. It was like something inside her slipped its tether, rushing free.

She felt the heat of him pouring into her, the familiar scent of his cologne and faint whiff of engine grease from his bike. Niki angled his head, deepening the kiss, and she let out a soft, helpless sound. Her hands found his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie.

Niki moved closer, crowding her gently until her back hit the headboard. Then he slid an arm around her waist and eased her down onto the bed, bracing himself above her on his elbows so his weight wouldn’t crush her.

His lips roamed over hers with delicate hunger. His other hand threaded into her hair, thumb brushing her temple like he was memorizing the shape of her face.

When he pulled back for air, their breaths mingled. His dark eyes were half-lidded, his freckles standing out stark against his flushed skin.

“Y/N…” he whispered, voice rough. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

And he said it because he meant it- because he’d been waiting for this moment for longer than he could remember.

He dipped his head, pressing kisses across her cheekbone, along her jaw. She shivered as he found the hollow beneath her ear, his warm breath making goosebumps rise on her arms.

“You’re so perfect,” he breathed against her neck, lips ghosting over her pulse point.

And that- that- was when the panic twisted in her chest like a knife.

A sharp, cold realization flooded her.

Jake.

Jake’s face flickered through her mind- the vampire grin, the softness in his eyes, the way he’d held her like something precious. The way he’d offered her the world and made her feel like it was safe.

“Niki, stop,” she blurted out, her voice trembling as her palms pressed to his chest. “Niki.”

He froze, hovering above her, eyes wide and searching.

She pushed at him gently, enough for him to shift off her, giving her space. She sat up quickly, chest heaving, hair falling around her face in a messy curtain. She ran trembling fingers through it, trying to breathe.

“Did I… do something wrong?” Niki asked, voice small, like he was terrified of the answer.

“This is fucked- I can’t be doing this- Niki, I’m sorry- I can’t- ” The words fell out in a rush, messy and panicked, as tears sprang hot in her eyes.

Niki blinked rapidly, his own throat working as he swallowed. He reached for her again but hesitated, hand hovering in the air between them. Then he lowered it, letting it rest on her shoulder lightly, his touch gentle and grounding.

“I get it,” he said finally, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… considering you’re with Jake. I get it. But I just hope you know… that I’ll be here. No matter your decision. I’ll wait.”

He gave her shoulder a final squeeze and slowly pushed himself off the bed. He stood there for a moment, looking down at her like he wanted to say more. But instead, he just nodded, turned, and walked to the door.

The next day, Y/N didn’t leave her room.

She lay curled up on her side under the covers, eyes red, hair a tangled mess around her face. Light leaked through the slats in her blinds, dust motes swirling in the air, but she kept her eyes squeezed shut, trying not to cry again.

Guilt gnawed at her like teeth sinking into flesh. It sat like a heavy stone in her chest, crushing every breath. The silence of her room felt punishing, echoing with memories of Niki’s touch, of his soft words, of the way her body had responded even when her mind screamed no.

Then there was a gentle knock on her door.

She tensed, wiping her eyes hurriedly on the sleeve of her oversized shirt. She cleared her throat, voice hoarse as she called out, “it’s open.”

The door eased open, and Jake stepped in, as if he belonged there. He was dressed as impeccably as ever, a dark sweater hugging the sculpted lines of his shoulders, dark jeans clinging to lean legs. And his usual softness towards her lingered in his gaze.

His hands were stuffed into his pockets, as though he was trying to keep himself from reaching for her too quickly.

“Hey, darling,” he murmured as he crossed the room, each step quiet and measured, like he was approaching a wounded animal. When he was close enough, he sank down onto the edge of her bed, weight dipping the mattress beside her. “Niki called me earlier, explained everything.”

Y/N’s breath caught. She pushed herself upright on trembling arms, hair falling forward into her eyes. Tears spilled over the moment she blinked, tracking hot and silent down her cheeks. Her chest heaved as she sucked in a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, voice breaking as the sobs climbed up her throat. “I’m so sorry.”

Jake reached for her immediately. His cold fingers brushed her damp hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. His eyes, usually burning with passion, were glassy, softer than she’d ever seen.

“It’s okay,” Jake admitted, his voice low and even. He shifted closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. The cool solidity of him seeped into her skin, comforting and painful all at once.

Y/N shook her head fiercely, sobs trembling her shoulders as she gripped the front of his sweater.

“What?” She cried, eyes wild with confusion and regret. “Why aren’t you mad? You should be yelling at me, you should be on the verge of killing me for doing that.”

Though solemn, Jake cracked a small, rueful smile. He pulled her closer until her cheek was pressed to his chest, the steady thud of his heart- or whatever beat echoed there- thudding in her ear.

“Y/N, I get why that happened,” he said, voice gentle and heartbreakingly patient. His hand stroked up and down her arm, his thumb tracing soft lines over her sleeve. “I understand it- being with a vampire, it’s a lot of pressure. It’s a lot of confusion. It’s selfish of me to want more from you,” he turned and pressed a soft kiss to her temple, lingering there as if trying to soothe her thoughts away. “If you decide you don’t want this anymore, I’ll understand.”

A fresh sob tore out of Y/N’s chest. She pushed back slightly to look at him, her vision swimming with tears.

“Why are you giving me that option?” She cried, voice trembling as the words stumbled out. “You’re supposed to hate me for doing that. I don’t deserve you, Jake.”

Jake just shook his head slowly, the corners of his lips quivering as if he were holding back his own sorrow. He drew her back into his chest, his chin resting atop her head, his breath cool against her hair.

“No, darling,” he whispered into her hair, kissing the crown of her head as his fingers threaded through her tangled strands. “I’m the monster, you’re only human.”

Immediately, her hands flew up to cup Jake’s face, her palms framing his cool, chiseled cheeks. Her fingers trembled where they touched his skin, tears falling so quickly that they splashed onto his sweater.

“No,” she sobbed, shaking her head violently from side to side, her hair brushing his cheeks in soft, frantic waves.

Before he could utter another word, she crushed her lips to his. It was a desperate kiss- wet, salty with tears, her breath hitching as she poured every ounce of sorrow and affection into him.

Jake let her kiss him, a solemn smile tugging faintly at the corner of his mouth even as his eyes glistened, reflecting the light like dark glass. He lifted a hand to gently grasp one of her wrists, thumb pressing lightly against the delicate pulse there.

“You’re not a monster- far from it,” Y/N whispered against his lips, her voice breaking. And then she kissed him again, her mouth pressing frantically to his.

Jake broke away only enough to speak, his brows drawn together, gaze tender and sorrowful all at once.

“You don’t need to do this, Y/N,” he said, his voice low, gentle as velvet. “Regardless of what happens, I’ll still end up loving you.”

Y/N wouldn’t stop.

“You’re the most gentle person I’ve ever met, Jake,” she insisted, breathless as she peppered small kisses across his cheeks, the corners of his mouth, the strong line of his jaw. Her lips were trembling, her voice thick with emotion. “How could you call yourself a monster?”

Jake let out a small, strangled sound- a sound caught between a sigh and a laugh- as he finally pulled her close and kissed her back. His lips were soft and cool, moving slowly, savoring her as though he was trying to memorize every second. His eyes fluttered shut, lashes brushing her cheeks.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the small space between them.

“I don’t want you doing anything out of guilt, darling,” his words were a plea, spoken so gently it broke her heart anew.

“I’m not,” she insisted, voice fierce though it quivered at the edges. “I’m really not.”

Jake’s fangs grazed Y/N’s lips as he kissed her again, the faint scrape sending a thrill down her spine. His tongue slipped into her mouth, tasting her, coaxing soft whimpers from her throat.

Slowly, he maneuvered her body until her head lay cradled against the cool pillow, his larger frame hovering over hers, shadows and moonlight playing across the sharp angles of his face.

His hands roamed over her, fingertips ghosting along the delicate lines of her body- the soft curve of her waist, the gentle flare of her hips. Beneath him, her legs shifted wider, instinctively opening, making space for him to settle between her thighs.

He broke the kiss, lips slick and slightly parted, eyes burning into hers with an intensity that stole her breath.

One by one, he stripped her of her clothes, taking his time. Her bra went first, and cool air kissed her newly bared skin, making her nipples harden instantly. He dropped the garment aside, fingers trailing over her soft skin as though memorizing every inch.

Next, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her pajama bottoms, sliding them slowly down her legs, the soft fabric gathering in his palms before he discarded it. Her panties followed, leaving her entirely exposed beneath him.

A shiver rolled through her as he paused to look at her, drinking in the sight, his chest rising and falling with quiet hunger.

Shifting his weight, Jake straddled her hips, the cold of his thighs bracketing her as he reached for the hem of his shirt. He tugged it over his head in a single smooth motion, revealing a torso sculpted with lean muscle and pale skin that caught the faint light- even having seen this so many times, she always found herself in awe.

Muscles flexed and rolled beneath his skin as he worked to open his jeans and pushed them down, followed by his boxers, leaving him just as bare, just as vulnerable, and utterly breathtaking above her.

He groaned, his cock already hard and ready. He positioned himself at her entrance, rubbing the tip against her wetness. "You sure about this, darling?"

"Please, Jake," she panted.

He didn't need any more encouragement. He pushed into her, inch by inch. She was tight, hot, and so incredibly wet. She moaned, her back arching, inviting him deeper. He filled her completely, his hips pressing against hers, so that there was barely any space between them.

Jake moved, his hips rolling as he started to fuck her. He moaned into her ear, the sound low and vulnerable. She clung to him, her nails digging into his back, leaving little crescent moon marks. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, but her eyes were bright, her body shaking with pleasure.

He moved faster, his cock sliding in and out of her with ease. She met his thrusts, her hips rising to meet his. He grunted, his breath coming in short pants. Her pussy was tight, milking his cock.

“You asked me if I would ever let you feed on me, right?” Jake’s thrusts slowed, hips rolling more steadily as he turned to look at her, the expression on her face.

She was clouded with pleasure, hooded eyes and parted lips staring back at him as he continued to thrust, chasing his high. “What?”

“Feed on me Jake.” It took all the energy in his to not ruin her right then and there, to not slam his cock into her until she was writhing with both pain and pleasure and only the thoughts of him. But he stopped himself, cupped the side of her cheek and brushed away the hair that stuck with her sweat. “I know you’re doing this to try and make it up to me,” Jake whispered, voice strained and cracking as her cunt tightened rhythmically around him, squeezing him so perfectly he nearly lost his thoughts altogether. “But you don’t- you shouldn’t feel like you owe me anything right now.”

“I’m being serious, Jake,” Y/N moaned, her voice catching as her brows knit together in desperate pleasure. Her back arched into his, pressing the soft peaks of her nipples against his bare chest. Jake thought he was going to lose his mind from how soft and hot she felt against him. “Please- it’s always been you.”

Jake paused for a heartbeat, searching her eyes, a hesitance in his gaze as his chest heaved. But the look in hers- wild, yearning, sincere- pulled him in like gravity.

Slowly, he lowered his face toward her neck, lips brushing over the delicate skin as he listened to the frantic pound of her heartbeat, felt the rush of her blood pulsing just beneath the surface.

And then, gently, he parted his lips and pressed his fangs into her flesh.

Y/N let out a loud, broken moan, her fingers clawing into the hard muscles of his back as he began to drink. A deep, primal groan rumbled in Jake’s chest as he tasted her- warm, sweet, impossibly alive.

His hips stuttered, then picked up a faster, more desperate rhythm, thrusts growing harder as he fed from her, each swallow driving him deeper into a frenzy. In the back of his mind, he thought about how he never wanted to turn her- because turning her would mean he could never taste this again, never feel her warmth, her life coursing through her veins.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he gasped, breaking away from her neck briefly, blood glistening on his lips and chin. Her pillow was stained crimson where her head lay, a stark contrast to her flushed skin and parted lips. “You kill me.”

And he dove back in, sealing his mouth to the wound, drinking her down as though he’d been starving.

Y/N felt a coil tightening low in her abdomen, every nerve alight, the sharpness of his bite blending with the liquid heat building between her thighs. Jake’s thrusts grew messy, his moans vibrating into her throat as he fed, and suddenly it all crashed over them in a single, blinding crescendo.

She shattered around him, crying out his name, and Jake followed her over the edge, spilling into her as he drank the last drops of her blood he dared to take.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were stained red, his pupils blown wide with pleasure and something rawer, more dangerous. But as he looked down at her, he brushed trembling fingers through her hair and whispered, voice thick with devotion, “My darling… you have no idea what you do to me.”

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