#FRM Video Lectures | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nayiana0 · 17 days ago

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Quiet Until You | 6

⋮ ⌗ ┆analysis : you had everything under control—your grades, your goals, your walls. but when Choi San, the school’s troublemaker, gets assigned the seat beside you .. control is the first thing to go. he talks too much. smirks too often. And somehow, when detention throws you two into each other’s orbit for real, the tension gets harder to ignore—and so do the feelings. she was quiet. until him.

⋮ ⌗ ┆ genre : slow burn, fluff/angst, romance, enemies to lovers.

⋮ ⌗ ┆ warnings : mentions of non-consensual video leaks, emotional manipulation , minor physical abuse, toxic romantic dynamics, explicit content, jealousy, betrayal.

wc : 11.1k.

a/n : this chapter got a lot messier than i expected. san? ... he’s still complicated. kai’s not perfect either, so things get a little difficult here. also this isnt proofread so if u see a diff name or something wrote in a different pov, those r jst placeholders frm the draft.

as always, take care of yourself & don’t romanticize red flags — this is fiction, not a guidebook. please, talk to someone if you need help. 🖤

══════════════════════ ✧. ┊⋆ ★

*Chapter 6: Eyes on Me**

It had been weeks since you felt a semblance of emotional stability again. You’d hadn’t seen San since last semester and things were starting to look up. The weather was nice, you’d been doing well in your classes, and your new boyfriend— Kai —had been sweet in the ways San wasn’t.

You try not to think about it when his hand was in yours walking across campus, or when he kisses you goodbye before class. But some days—like this one—it was harder to ignore.

“God,” you mutter as you climb the steep stairs of the packed lecture hall. “Why are these seats always so cramped? My legs are gonna fall asleep.”

You turn to Kai, hoping for a laugh or even a sarcastic comment back. Instead, you caught him blatantly looking at another girl a few rows down. A long stare. Bold. Practiced.

Your voice fell flat. “Alright..”

“Huh?” he mumbles, not meeting your eyes. “I’ll text you after. Love you.”

He gives you a distracted peck on the cheek and dips down into a row. You sighed, clutching your bag a little tighter, and made your way to the very back—your favorite hiding spot when you didn’t feel like being perceived.

---

You settled into the corner seat, pulling your hoodie up over your head, tugging your sleeves down. Alone. Good. That’s how you liked it lately.

Until you noticed movement beside you.

Someone plopped into the seat next to you. Big frame. Hoodie on. Head down. No eye contact.

Choi San.

You had to double take to make sure it was actually him you saw.

He looked… different.

His jawline was sharper, cheeks slightly more hollow, but his skin was clear, his lips pink, his hair fluffy and a little longer than before—soft waves falling messily over his forehead.

He wore a silver chain around his neck, barely visible beneath a black shirt and an oversized hoodie, and his scent—God, his scent—hit you like a memory too vivid to suppress.

You stared. He caught you.

He looked at you. And then said it:

“Long time no see.”

You blinked, heart rattling in your chest.

“Y-yeah,” you reply, mouth dry. “Didn’t know you were coming back.”

“Didn’t plan on it,” he says with a lazy shrug. “But you know…” he sighs, “Life’s unpredictable.”

You clutch your notebook like it could protect you. He leaned toward you, elbow resting casually on the shared armrest, legs wide-spread in that familiar, cocky posture. You tried not to look, but he was impossible to ignore.

“So, I heard you moved on,” San says, voice low and teasing.

You turned to him sharply. “Mhm. What’s it to you?”

There was a pause. And then—

“Does he fuck you better than I do?”

You froze.

Your breath caught. Eyes wide. Your mouth opened—but only a scoff came out. You turned away, shaking your head, but the heat rushed to your face too fast to hide.

He leaned back in his seat slowly, that damn pencil twirling between his fingers as he looked ahead with that smug, taunting grin.

“Didn’t think so.”

Your jaw clenched. You turned back toward him, whispering harshly.

“What’s your problem, San?”

“Nothing,” he said, still not looking at you. “Just.. curious.”

You stared at him. Hard. Your chest tight, vision slightly blurry. His voice. His tone. His eyes. He was the same—and not.

For the rest of the lecture, you didn’t absorb a single word. You could feel him beside you—his presence loud. Like the ghost of something you weren’t ready to face. And it only got worse when the professor asked him a question.

“Choi San, can you answer question fourteen?”

You both looked up. The room went quiet.

San opened his mouth.

Closed it.

“Uhm…”

He looked completely caught off-guard. Not because he didn’t know the answer, but because he hadn’t heard the question. His jaw locked, his eyes flicked once toward you, and he let out an exhale through his nose.

“Sorry, I—I don’t know.”

You watched him with a swirl of conflicting feelings —part pity, part pride, part heartbreak. He wasn't untouchable. Not anymore.

But he was still him. And a part of you still ached at the sight.

As the professor moved on, San slouched a little further in his seat, still twirling that pencil in his fingers. You stared straight ahead, trying to focus, trying to ignore the heat rolling off of him beside you.

But he turned his head just slightly and muttered under his breath:

“That was your fault.”

You blinked, glancing at him quickly. “What, how?”

“That question,” he said, low and cool. “I literally couldn’t focus on answering it because you look…”

He paused, eyes scanning your face, slowly down to your mouth, your neck, your lap.

“…so beautiful today. More than normal. It's fucking distracting.”

Your throat went dry.

You opened your mouth to speak, but your eyes flickered across the hall, catching sight of him—your boyfriend, Kai. He was seated down below, turned completely around in his chair, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched. He’d seen all of it.

Shit.

San noticed too. Of course he did.

“That’s him?” he asked, jerking his chin downward. “The guy sitting over there looking clueless?

You sighed, exasperated. “Don’t start.”

“Nah, I’m not starting shit,” he said with a smirk. “Just saying — he looks like the type to ask ‘is it in yet?’ he said mockingly in a high pitched voice, while still poking around like the hole’s a–”

You let out a small gasp, whipping your head toward him.

“San,” you hissed. “Stop it.”

“Can’t believe you’re defending that,” he scoffed, sitting up straighter, eyes ahead now.

“But okay, princess. I’ll shut my mouth.”

And he did.

He didn’t say a single word for the rest of the lecture.

But you could feel him beside you the entire time—so aware of his silence, his clenched jaw, the way he tapped his foot just slightly, restless. It wasn't just what he said. It was the way he said it. Like it wasn’t just jealousy.

And you? You couldn’t focus either. Not on the board. Not on the professor.

All you could feel was the sting of heat behind your eyes, and the ache blooming in your chest.

As the lecture wraps up, the chatter around the room rises, and you gather your things slowly, trying to avoid eye contact with San.

You can still feel his intense gaze on you from the back of the room. Your heart beats a little faster, and the unease from the earlier exchange sits like a weight in your chest.

You walk out into the hallway with Kai, who’s still a bit tense after what just went down. He’s smiling, talking about his plans after class, but you can barely hear him over the thoughts that are rushing through your mind.

Suddenly, the air feels colder, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You glance over your shoulder.

And there he is. San. Standing a few steps away, staring at you like he’s about to walk right up to you.

Kai doesn't notice, still rambling away, but you feel the tension building. And before you can even register what's happening, San's striding towards you, cutting off any chance for you to escape.

"What the fuck," you mutter, the words slipping out before you can even control it.

He doesn’t acknowledge Kai, his eyes only locked on you, cold but intense. You can feel your breath catch in your throat as his figure towers in front of you.

Kai pauses, sensing the shift in the air. "You know him?" he asks, but San's attention is solely on you, his posture demanding that you pay attention.

San doesn't look at Kai. His gaze remains fixed on you, unwavering, almost challenging.

You open your mouth to speak, but before you can form a response, San cuts you off, stepping closer, closing the gap between you.

"Like I said, you look beautiful today," he continues, voice thick with unspoken emotion. "I couldn't even think straight. It’s your fault. You look better than I remember, y/n"

The words hit you like a punch in the chest. Your breath hitches, and for a moment, you feel conflicted. You want to tell him to leave, but the way his eyes linger on you has your heart racing, making your thoughts scatter.

Kai finally looks over at San, sensing the tension. "Who the fuck is this? What's this bullshit, y/n?" he asks, his voice rising a bit.

"He’s no one," you say, trying to brush it off, but Kai doesn’t seem convinced.

San chuckles under his breath, leaning in just a bit closer. “ 'No one,' huh?” His voice is filled with a mix of sarcasm and something darker, almost possessive.

Kai’s jaw tightens, and he glares at San. "Yo, back the fuck up man," he yells.

San glances briefly at Aiden, dismissing him like he’s nothing more than an inconvenience. His eyes flick back to you. “I can’t believe you’re with this,” he says, almost sneering. “Him?” “Out of ALL people?” he scoffs, his lips curling into something that’s both sad and amused at the same time.

"You don’t know anything about him, San," you snap, your voice firmer than you feel.

San’s expression hardens. “So you’ve moved on from me? You’re really telling me that?” His voice softens, a dangerous edge threading through the words. “I don’t believe it… I really don't,”

You stand your ground, refusing to let him get under your skin, but it’s harder than you want to admit. "Yes, I’ve moved on and… and I’m happy!" You barely recognize your own voice, filled with conviction you didn’t know you had.

San shakes his head, leaning back, crossing his arms. “Whatever,” he mutters, his tone dripping with annoyance. “But you know, I’ll never forget what we had. Don’t think for a second that I will.”

And just as quickly as the tension rose, he turns and walks away, shoulders stiff, leaving you standing there with your chest heaving slightly, unsure of what just happened.

Kai doesn’t say a word, but you can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s not entirely happy with how things went down.

You feel exhausted, emotionally drained from that brief exchange with San, but at the same time, there’s this lingering feeling that maybe, just maybe, you haven’t completely moved on from him.

---

“What was that?” Kai asks, his voice uncertain but laced with a hint of protectiveness.

You force a smile, but it’s not convincing. “It’s nothing. Just... an old acquaintance.”

“An acquaintance?” He looks over his shoulder, but San’s already disappeared down the hall. “The way he was looking at you... that didn’t seem like just an acquaintance,’” he says, his tone edging toward frustration. “Who was that, Y/N? What’s going on?”

“He... he’s just an ex,” you admit, not quite meeting Kai’s gaze.

An ex?” His voice falters, and the shock is evident on his face. “You’ve had a thing with him?”

You nod, biting the inside of your cheek, trying to brace yourself for the fallout. The last thing you want is to hurt Kai, especially since you care about him.

Kai exhales sharply, rubbing a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know you had an ex. You never told me about him.”

“I know,” you say quietly, your throat tight. “I didn’t want to bring him up. It’s... complicated.” You hesitate before continuing, the words coming out in a rush. “San and I... it wasn’t just a casual thing. It was serious. We were—”

“So... this guy’s an ex, but he’s still messing with your head?”

You nod, feeling guilty for not opening up sooner. “I guess. I didn’t expect to run into him today, especially not like that.”

“I didn’t know. And you didn’t tell me. It just felt... weird, you know? The way you two interacted. He didn’t seem like just an ex, Y/N. He acted like he still had a thing.. or something on you.”

"I swear, Kai, it’s not like that," you say quickly, trying to reassure him. “I’m with you. I’m trying to move on.”

But Kai’s quiet for a long moment, his eyes flickering with unease. “I just don’t like the way he looked at you,” he says. “Like he wants something more.”

“I know,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “He’s just—he’s just like that.”

Kai seems to let out a long breath, trying to regain his composure. “It just makes me feel... like I’m in a competition, you know?”

You feel a pang of guilt, and you step closer to him, placing your hand on his arm. “You don’t have to compete with him, Kai. I’m not going back to him. I’m with you. I promise.”

“Well, you know, if he does something like that again...”

You smile softly. “I promise, Kai.”

“Alright.” he says.

=====================================

But then, the jealousy started getting serious.

At first, it was subtle.

You’d come to school, and Kai wouldn’t kiss you hello. He’d look at you too long. His eyes too still.

“What took you so long? Thought you had a ride.”

“Class ran late, chill.”

“Chill?” His voice had that low edge now. “Don’t forget who picks you up. I don’t have to.”

You laughed it off. Until one day, you didn’t.

He started asking who you texted. Demanded screenshots. Checked your phone when you were asleep. Grew quiet when San’s name showed up even in old group chats.

The first time it happened physically was… stupid. So stupid.

You forgot to respond to one of his texts.

You were out shopping with a friend — a girl.

And when you went over to his house, like he’d asked you to, his voice was calm, scarily soft.

“You ignoring me now?”

“What? No, I just—my phone died.”

He took your wrist. Not hard, but not gentle. Just enough.

“I really don’t like being lied to, y/n.”

And you apologized. Because it was easier than fighting.

=====================================

A week later, you wore long sleeves. Even though it was hot out. Even though you were sweating.

In class, you couldn’t focus. Your wrist still ached. You winced when your pen dragged across the page.

San noticed. He always noticed.

“Y/N,” he whispered. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not even holding your pen right.”

You tried to smile. Failed.

“Just tired.”

But San’s eyes drops to your wrist. The one you were clearly trying to hide.

He said nothing. Not yet.

But he was watching.

He was always watching.

=====================================

That day after class, you left early. Told your professor you felt sick.

You just didn’t want to run into San again. Because he looked at you like he knew.

But fate’s cruel.

Behind the gym, near the back parking lot— Kai was waiting.

He grabbed your bag, not even looking at you.

“Get in.”

“I have to stay for a club meeting—”

“I said get in.”

He slammed the car door after you and drove in silence.

“You still talking to him?”

“Who?”

“Choi San.”

You hesitated too long.

“Fucking knew it.”

He pulled over. Got out. Came around. Yanked your door open.

“I bet you’re fucking laughing at me, huh?” “Letting me touch you while you run to him—”

“Kai! Stop! I didn’t—”

And then he hit you.

His palm had connected with your cheek so fast, so sudden, that your breath caught in your throat. Not from the pain—but from the shock.

You didn’t cry.

You just… stood there. Hand lightly pressed to your cheek. Frozen.

Your eyes met his, wide, blinking. Like maybe if you looked long enough, the reality would unwrite itself.

“Why would you do that..?” you whispered.

Kai’s chest rose and fell hard.

“Don’t fucking look at me like that.”

You flinched.

“Like you’re innocent. Like I’m the bad guy. Don’t you dare.”

Still, you said nothing. Your mouth opened—but nothing came out.

He laughed. Cold and cruel.

“Fucking pathetic.”

He turned back toward the car, muttering under his breath.

“Go run to your little ex. He probably already had his dick in you.”

And just like that—he yanked open the driver’s door, climbed in, and slammed it shut.

“Kai—wait!”

You rushed forward, heart pounding now that reality hit. You reached for the passenger side—

He locked the doors.

Rolled down the window just enough.

“You make me fucking sick.”

Then he drove off. Tires screeching.

Left you. Alone. On the side of the road.

You stood there, stunned. Hands shaking. Face burning from the slap, from humiliation, from fear.

A car passed by. Slowed. Didn't stop.

And suddenly—

You couldn't breathe.

=====================================

You didn’t speak the next day. Or the next.

Not much. Not about anything that mattered.

You showed up to school, same clothes, same backpack, same dead look behind your eyes. If someone asked you if you were okay, you smiled. If someone asked you about Kai, you nodded.

But he noticed.

San always noticed when something was off. And you hated it.

He watched the way your posture had changed — smaller, more hesitant.

How you kept rubbing your wrist, like it hurt. How you didn’t laugh when your friends joked around like usual. How your sleeve kept slipping down and you’d yank it back up like your life depended on it.

It was third period when San finally cornered you.

He slid into the seat beside you — didn’t ask.

You stared straight ahead, eyes on the whiteboard, even though nothing was written yet.

“Y/N,” he said low. “You good?”

You gave a tight smile.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You haven’t said a full sentence to anyone in two days.”

You shrugged.

“Maybe I don’t feel like talking.”

He leaned in closer, voice quieter now.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

He reached for your hand — just to tap it.

And the moment he lifted his fingers—

You flinched.

Not dramatically. But enough for his entire body to stiffen.

San went still.

So still.

You cursed yourself under your breath. Looked away.

“Y/N,” he said slowly, carefully. “Why’d you just flinch like that?”

You shook your head.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine. Please—”

But he wasn’t listening.

He gently reached for your wrist again — and this time, you didn’t stop him fast enough.

He rolled your sleeve up.

Saw the bruise.

Deep. Faint purple with yellow edges. The shape of a grip.

His jaw clenched.

“Did he do this..?”

“No,” you rushed, voice cracking. “No! Stop—stop, it’s not like that—”

“Y/N—he fucking hit you?”

Your breath hitched.

San looked up at you, and he looked like he was shaking. Like his rage had to hold itself down.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your voice was barely there.

“San— we’re not—.”

He stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back hard against the floor. People looked over, but he didn’t care.

“That son of a bitch—”

“He put his fucking hands on you?”

You grabbed his hoodie sleeve to try to calm him.

“Please, just stop—”

“No. No, you don’t get to defend him right now.”

His voice was low. Furious.

“You flinched when I raised my hand. Me. That’s how scared you are now.”

You started crying.

“San, please—”

“I swear to fucking god, Y/N, I’ll break his jaw. I’ll break his whole face. He thinks he can touch you and walk away?”

His knuckles were white. His whole body rigid.

“He’s lucky I didn’t see him that night. I would’ve put him in the goddamn ground.”

You broke down harder, covering your face with your hands.

And San's voice softened — not calm, but broken.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want it to be real,” you whispered.

The room buzzed around you — chatter, pencils scratching, phones vibrating — but your world was silent except for him.

San leaned in again, voice trembling.

“You didn’t deserve that. Not a second of it. You hear me?”

You nodded, sniffling.

“I thought he loved me.”

“That’s not love,” “That’s control. That’s weak, insecure piece-of-shit behavior.”

You leaned into him before you could stop yourself. He let you. Let you sit there, forehead against his chest, even if people stared. He didn’t give a shit.

=====================================

Word spread.

Not because you told anyone.

But because bruises talk louder than secrets.

People whispered. They looked at you differently in the halls. Like you were a walking headline.

Like you were weak. Or worse… lying.

Even your closest friends didn’t know what to say. One of them asked if it was true. Another said she “never liked Kai anyway.” None of it helped.

You stopped talking again.

You avoided the lunchroom. Spent free periods in the nurse’s office or the bathroom stall. You kept your hoodie sleeves pulled low, even though the bruises were fading.

Three days later, something slid into your locker.

Folded paper. No name. No handwriting you recognized at first.

Your stomach dropped the second you read it.

"You think I’m done with you? I know you still love me"

Your knees nearly buckled.

You looked over your shoulder — but no one was there. No Kai. Just classmates. But it felt like the walls were closing in.

That night, you couldn’t sleep.

You couldn’t eat. Couldn’t think straight.

You kept hearing his voice in your head. The way he yelled. The crack of that slap. The sound of the car leaving you on the side of the road like garbage. You’d never seen him act like this.

You cried into your pillow.

Not the loud, messy kind.

The silent kind. Where you pressed your face into the sheets so no one would hear.

=====================================

The next morning, San spotted you outside the school before the first bell. You were sitting under the bleachers. Knees hugged to your chest.

“There you are,” he breathed, walking up slow.

You didn’t look at him.

“Why don’t you respond to my calls anymore?,” he added gently.

“He left me a note.”

San blinked.

“What?”

“In my locker,” you whispered. “He said I still owe him.”

San’s jaw locked so tight you thought he might snap a tooth.

“You’re kidding me.” “This sick fucking—”

He stood, pacing, fists clenched.

“I should’ve gone to his house that night. I should’ve—”

“San, stop—”

“No. I’m not stopping. This isn’t over. He thinks he can hit you, threaten you, and just what? Scare you into silence?”

“San.”

“What?”

“Why do you care so much all of a sudden?”

“Y/N–

“You cheated on me, San.”

He stopped.

Stared at you.

“Is this your way of trying to sneak back into my life?”

“I was just–”

“You’re out here ready to go to war for me and act like you’ve always been this good guy. But dont forget you fucked me up first.”

San swallowed. Hard

“You had me thinking I wasn’t enough, remember? You had girls texting you shit like ‘i miss you.. still thinking about last night.. cant wait to fu—”

“I told you it didn’t mean anything—”

“You didn’t tell me shit,” you snapped. “I found out. You were never going to tell me.”

“You don’t get to play the savior now, San. You don’t get to show up and be the knight in shining armor when you were the first person to tear me apart.”

San was quiet. The silence buzzed like static.

Finally, he said, low and broken,

“I know I don’t deserve to be here. But I can't allow myself to let you down. Not again.”

You got up and started walking back to the school.

—

You were almost there when he showed up again.

As if the slap never happened. As if leaving you on the side of the road was just… nothing.

He didn’t text an apology.

He didn’t even say sorry.

Just showed up behind you like a shadow.

“Didn’t block me this time,” he whispered, voice too close to your ear. “Smart girl.”

You stepped back immediately, but your words caught in your throat.

He smiled like he knew.

Kai starts showing up everywhere again.

"You really think San would want you back if he knew everything?" "Tell me again how much better you are without me. C’mon, say it like you mean it.""You look tired, baby. He not keeping you up the way I did?"

Every word digs.

Every glance from him starts to make you feel like you’re losing it.

And San just had to be in the middle of all this.

One day he corners you after school in the hallway, everyone else already gone.

“I know he’s messing with you again,” he says quietly.

“You think I can’t tell when you’re falling apart?”

You shrug him off.

“I’m fine. I cut things off with him.. why does everyone keep saying I’m not—”

“Because you’re not,” he snaps. You freeze.

San softens. Steps forward.

“I’m not him,” he says. “But I swear to god, Y/N, if he tries anything again—”

“Then what?” she whispers. “You’ll hit him? You’ll save me? What if I don’t want to be saved?”

He looks stunned. Hurt.

You walk away before you break.

=====================================

And then just as you thought it couldn’t get any worse..

It starts with a phone buzz.

Then another.

Your friend sends you a text with no words — just a link and a shaky “omg y/n.”

You click it.

And it’s you.

Your body. Your face. Your noises.

A video. From weeks ago. From before things with Kai turned ugly.

And a photo — from his camera roll, clearly not meant for anyone else’s eyes. You trusted him.

You trusted him.

You can’t breathe. You’re in the girls’ bathroom stall, crouched with your phone shaking in your hand, messages flooding in from people you haven’t spoken to in months:

“is this u?”“damn, girl...”“wtf did u do to him?? he’s leaking u like that??”“you okay?”

You want to throw up. You want to disappear.

And worst of all — you know Kai did it on purpose.

Because you told him last week you were done. And this is how he says goodbye.

=====================================

San’s sitting on his bed, scrolling TikTok.

He pauses when he sees a message pop up from an unknown number.

He clicks.

And what he sees makes him drop his phone.

He watches the video once.

And again.

Not because he wants to—but because he’s processing, not believing it’s real.

“What the fuck is this…”

“This is Kai??”

“That’s her—That’s Y/N... holy shit.”

His face goes pale. His heart’s racing. His jaw’s clenched. And then—

“She looks so good though...” he mutters, under his breath, before snapping back into himself and whispering: “No—no, what the fuck am I saying—this isn’t right.”

He texts you immediately:

“wya. u good? i need to see you. now.”

You leave him on read.

====================================

You see San the next day — in the courtyard, pacing. His face is red, fists clenched.

You try to walk past him.

“Y/N—hey, wait.”

“No. Don’t talk to me.”

“I saw it.”

You stop.

“I figured.”

“I didn’t mean to—I just—it popped up, I—” he’s rambling, like he’s trying to prove something to himself more than to you.

You face him. Dead serious. Emotionless.

“You watched it?”

“I—”

He hesitates. Doesn’t lie.

“Yeah.”

“How many times?”

He flinches.

“Uhh.. I mean you didn't look too terrible in it..”

You stare at him like you’re seeing someone else.

“Oh my gosh, this isn’t just embarrassing, San,” you whisper. “This is ruining me. I can’t look people in the eye. I can’t sleep.”

He softens.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry—this is my fault—”

“It’s not about your guilt,” you snap. “This is about my body being out there, being passed around like a joke, and you’re talking about how good I looked in it? Are you serious?”

San’s face drops.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I swear to God, Y/N. I’m just... I’m pissed. I’m disgusted. I want to kill him.”

“That’s not going to fix it,” you whisper. “Nothing’s going to fix it.”

You’re crying now, but the tears are silent. You wipe them fast, hoping no one sees.

==================================

Midway through the day, the announcement hits:

“Y/N Y/L/N please report to the principal’s office.”

Your chest tightens.

Inside the office, the principal doesn’t even look up when you sit down.

“Y/N,” he says. “We’re aware of the content that surfaced over the weekend. We take this seriously. But... we also have to consider the school’s image.”

You blink.

“I was leaked. I didn’t post anything. I was recorded without consent.”

“Of course. And we’re investigating that. But while we do, you’ll need to stay home for a few days. It’s for your safety — and to avoid ‘disruption.’”

You feel like you’re going to be sick.

“So I’m getting suspended… for being the victim.”

“It’s not a suspension,” he says too quickly. “It’s just a temporary hold.”

“Everyone’s seen me, but he gets to walk around like nothing happened?”

The principal sighs.

“We’ve spoken to Mr. K—he denies involvement. We can’t act until we have evidence.”

=====================================

And then it gets even worse. It starts with a screenshot.

Your name.

The video thumbnail blurred — but just enough for people to know it’s you. Someone from another school reposted it. Then a local gossip account picked it up. And then — boom.

500+ comments.

Most aren’t even from your school anymore.

“yooo who is this??” “is this fr that girl from tht skl??” “she kinda bad tho not gonna lie” “why would she let him record that??” “ain’t no way she didn’t know”

You’re trending in the worst way. Not because you're famous — but because your body, your pain, your humiliation has become content.

------------------------------------------------------------

You shouldn’t have come home.

You knew the moment your key turned in the lock and the living room was silent — not dark, not empty, just still. Like the calm before the storm.

Your parents’ car was in front of your house, both of them. That alone made your chest tighten.

They were never home, unless it was something super important.

“Y/N.”

Your mom’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade. She stood in the hallway. Her arms crossed. Her face unreadable. Behind her, your dad was pacing — not his usual tired shuffle, but angry, agitated, worried.

Your bag slipped off your shoulder. You tried to act normal.

“Hey.”

No smile. No hug. Just tension thick enough to drown in.

Your mom’s voice cracked.

“Please sit down.”

You blinked. “Why? What’s going on?”

She motioned to the couch. Your dad finally turned, arms locked across his chest.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

That’s when it hit.

They knew.

Your knees buckled slightly as you sat, suddenly ice cold. Your throat dried up. Every lie you could think of vanished the moment your mom pulled out her phone and held it up.

There it was. Paused. A screenshot.

“This… this is what you’ve been doing at college?” her voice trembled, not with rage, but something worse. Disappointment. Horror. “Is this why you didn’t want to come home for Thanksgiving?”

“Mom, I—”

“Who is this boy? Who took this video of you? Why is it online?”

You couldn’t speak.

Your dad spoke next — not yelling, but cold.

“Was it consensual?”

Your head snapped up. “What?”

“Did you agree to be filmed, Y/N?”

“No!” Your voice cracked. “No, I would never— He didn’t even tell me. I didn’t know. I didn’t know until everyone else—”

You broke down. You couldn’t finish the sentence. The couch swallowed your body as the sobs ripped through your chest, loud and uncontrollable.

Your mom sat beside you. Quietly. She touched your back, stiff at first, then softened.

“We’re pressing charges,” your dad said.

You wiped your face, trembling.

“He already threatened me. He said they’ll say I wanted it.”

“Then we’ll make sure they know the fucking truth,” he snapped. “And if that shitty school doesn’t back you up, I’ll bring them down with him.”

It was the first time in days that you felt something solid. Support. Anger, yes. But the right kind. The kind that pointed outward, not at you.

Your mom leaned her forehead to yours.

“Baby, you didn’t do anything wrong. You hear me?”

“I feel so—dirty. I can’t even go back there—”

“You’ll go back when you’re ready,” she said, voice steady. “But not until that boy faces what he’s done. We’ll take care of this. You’re not alone.”

And for the first time since the video leaked, you believed that.

=====================================

You barely made it up the stairs.

Your eyes were still red. Your chest still tight. The words from your parents still hanging in the air like fog.

The doorbell rings.

You don’t move at first. Just stare up at the ceiling, the edges of your blanket bunched in your fists. The day still clings to you — raw, suffocating, like your skin’s too tight.

From downstairs, your mother calls.

“Y/N? You have a guest.”

Your heart drops.

No one knows you're home. No one should know — unless...

You sit up too fast, stomach already coiling. The second your feet hit the floor, your mind races through possibilities, excuses, defenses. Not him. Please, not right now.

But when you round the corner at the bottom of the stairs — you see him.

San.

Standing there, slightly hunched, like he knows he doesn’t belong in this moment. His hoodie’s wrinkled. His hands are jammed into the front pocket like he’s trying to disappear inside himself. And your parents? They're watching him like he's a threat.

Your dad's arms are crossed tight over his chest. Your mom doesn’t even try to hide her displeasure.

San’s eyes find yours the second you step down.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft. Cautious.

You stop a few feet from him, trying to control the emotion on your face.

“What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to know if you were ok. I needed to see you.”

Your mom steps in before you can respond.

“Young man, could you give us just a minute with our daughter?”

He nods slowly, jaw twitching. Doesn’t say anything. Just backs away and pretends not to notice the heat rolling off your father’s stare.

You follow your parents into the kitchen, pulse hammering.

Your dad doesn’t sugarcoat it.

“Do you trust that boy?” he asks, looking you dead in the eye.

“Dad…”

“We’re asking seriously, Y/N. Is he someone who deserves to be in this house right now?”

“He didn’t do anything. He’s just—he’s checking in.”

“So are we,” your mom says. “And we don’t want you overwhelmed. Especially now.”

You breathe in, slow and shaky.

They’re right.

As much as your heart aches at the sight of him, as much as part of you wants to collapse into his arms and say help me, you know this isn’t the time.

So you walk back to the foyer, slowly.

He looks up again when he hears your steps.

“Y/N,” he starts, hopeful. “I just want to talk. I won’t stay long—”

“I know,” you interrupt gently, trying to keep your voice calm. “But… not right now.”

His face falls.

“You’re asking me to leave.”

You nod, trying not to cry. “I just… I need space. And my parents are already—this whole thing is a lot. I’m not saying never. Just not now.”

He swallows hard, shoulders tensing like he’s holding something back.

“Okay,” he says after a moment. “Okay. I get it.”

He starts to turn, but hesitates.

“I meant it though. I’m here for you. Whenever you're ready.”

You nod again, but this time you can’t speak. You just stand there, hugging yourself as he walks out the door.

The door clicks shut behind him.

You don’t move.

Your arms stay wrapped around yourself, eyes locked on the door like maybe he’ll change his mind. Come back. Say screw your parents and pull you into a hug you definitely aren’t ready for but so desperately want.

But he doesn’t.

And then you hear her voice—low, a little amused.

“He’s… kinda cute.”

You blink.

Turn your head slowly.

“Mom—what?”

She shrugs, unbothered. Sips from her mug like she didn’t just say that after thirty seconds of death-glaring the guy at the door.

“What?” she repeats. “I’m just saying. The hoodie, the jawline, the sad puppy-dog eyes… I get it.”

Your dad groans audibly from the kitchen.

“Lisa, please. This is serious.”

“I am being serious. I’m saying I understand the appeal. Doesn’t mean I trust him yet.”

You press your lips together to keep from smiling. It’s the smallest flicker of light in your chest—momentary. But real.

“He used to be important,” you murmur.

Your mom’s eyes soften. She nods, gently.

“Still is, if the look on your face says anything.”

You don’t answer. You just walk back upstairs, each step slower than the last.

But for a second—just a second—you let yourself imagine what it might feel like if things weren’t so complicated.

And somewhere below you, your mom mutters to herself:

“Still kinda cute though…”

=====================================

It’s been a few weeks.

Three, maybe four. Long, grueling, silent weeks where your world slowly stopped spinning and started to stitch itself back together.

The court settled it. The school handled it.

Kai? Expelled. Gone.

The photos, the video — removed. Locked down. Tracked. And your name? Finally off everyone’s tongue. Mostly.

But the scars? Still there. The noise still lives somewhere behind your ribs.

And now… you're walking back into school.

Every hallway feels unfamiliar, even though you know them by heart. You clutch your bag tighter, ignoring the whispers — the people trying to make eye contact just to say “hey, I heard—”

You don’t care what they heard.

You’re here. You survived. That’s enough.

But the scars? Still there. The noise still lives somewhere behind your ribs.

And now… you're walking back into school.

Every hallway feels unfamiliar, even though you know them by heart. You clutch your bag tighter, ignoring the whispers — the people trying to make eye contact just to say “hey, I heard—”

You don’t care what they heard.

You’re here. You survived. That’s enough.

But then you see him.

San.

Leaning against your locker like he doesn’t know he’s the last person you were ready for.

Hoodie on. Hands in pockets. Eyes on you.

You stop a few feet away. “What are you doing here?”

He straightens slowly. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t joke. He’s serious — maybe for the first time in a long time.

“I heard you were coming back today,” he says. “I wanted to talk. But I won’t force it.”

You sigh. Exhausted.

“Now’s really not—”

“I never cheated on you.”

Your breath catches.

You blink. “What?”

“That text? From that girl?” He shakes his head. “It was from a hookup. Before us. She texted me out of nowhere, and I didn’t respond. I swear to God, Y/N — I was stupid, yeah. But I didn’t cheat.”

You stare at him, expression unreadable.

“Why didn’t you just tell me then?” you ask, low.

“Because I was scared you'd leave anyway,” he says. “And because I didn’t think I deserved to chase you after how I’d been treating you. After I saw what you went through with him—I realized I failed you too.”

A pause.

“Not in the same way,” he adds quickly. “But I still let you down. I wanted to fix it. I just didn’t know how.”

You don’t say anything for a long time.

He looks at you, like maybe this is his last chance.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” he says. “But I needed you to know the truth. Finally.”

Your voice comes out soft.

“You should’ve told me sooner.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know what I feel yet.”

“I know that too.”

He backs away, just enough to give you room.

“But I’m here,” he says. “If and when you ever want me to be.”

And just like that — he walks off.

And for once… he doesn’t look back.

=====================================

The morning comes easier than you expect.

Not fixed.

But thats okay.

You head to class, coffee in hand, hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up, and slide into your usual seat. You half expect the awkward return of tension. But instead, when San walks in, he just gives you that subtle nod — the one that says “I see you. We’re good.”

You nod back.

Your professor claps her hands. “Okay, folks, listen up — you guys get to choose your midterm presentation partners today.”

A few groans. You silently pray for literally anyone—

“I’ll do it with Y/N” San says, while holding your hand up.

You blink.

You feel him glance at you. But you don’t look.

Not until your professor adds, “You’ll be covering the 1970s case study. Check the syllabus for details. Presentations are due in three weeks.”

After class, you stand. You expect him to head straight out the door, maybe text you later.

But he’s already waiting.

You try to smirk. “Why'd you choose me?”

“Figured if I was gonna keep trying... might as well start by doing something useful.”

You shake your head, biting back a grin. “If you say so...”

“So… you wanna work on it today?” he asks, suddenly shy. “Library? Or we can grab coffee, or—”

“Library,” you interrupt gently.

He nods. “Okay.”

You start walking beside him, neither of you saying much.

It’s weird.

The air between you doesn’t hum with electricity. Not today.

It feels like silence you want to be in.

Like maybe, this is how something new begins — not with fireworks, but a quiet kind of honesty.

=====================================

The library is too quiet.

You don’t realize it until you’re ten minutes into the study session and San hasn’t said a word about the project. He’s been doodling on a receipt. Not even the right side of the paper.

You, meanwhile, have three Google Docs open, a notebook half-filled, and a color-coded outline he hasn’t even looked at.

“Okay,” you say, trying to stay calm. “We’ve got three weeks to put together a full historical analysis and a presentation. I broke it down by topic. You can do sections two and four. They're shorter—”

“Cool,” San says, flipping the receipt over and writing ‘Y/N is a nerd’ in stylized block letters. “I’ll freestyle it.”

You blink.

“No. No freestyling it.”

He looks up at you, lazy and amused. “Why not?”

“Because this is our grade, San. And I’m not about to tank over some half-assed—”

“Relax. I’ll figure it out.”

“You always say that and then you don’t. You just show up and charm your way through it, and people let you slide.”

“You sound pissed,” he says, still smiling like this is a game.

You glare. “You chose to be my partner, remember?”

“Yeah. ‘Cause I wanted to spend time with you. I didn’t sign up for a midterm breakdown.”

You stare at him. “Are you serious?”

He leans back in the chair, eyes tired now, voice lower. “You want everything to be perfect so bad, Y/N. Crack a little. It won’t kill you.”

That hits harder than you thought it would.

You feel your throat tighten.

“Just.. shut up,” you whisper.

He shrugs like he doesn’t care, but his gaze lingers on your face a beat too long.

“I’m not trying to be perfect. I’m just trying not to fall apart.”

Silence.

San looks away first.

“Yeah. Well. You’re exhausting.”

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t mean it. Or maybe he does.

Either way, it hurts.

“Then don’t pick me,” you say, standing up fast. “Next time you wanna play around in a group project, find someone else.”

You gather your things.

San doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t even look up.

And it stings all over again because you realize something:

He only wanted to be close to you.

Not help you.

Not meet you halfway.

Just be close.

Even if it meant dragging you down.

=====================================

It’s the next day. Noon sharp.

You’d texted him earlier:

library. 12. don’t be late this time.

No emojis. No softness. Just business. You meant it.

You even got there early — picked the table by the window, spread out your laptop, notebooks, colored tabs, all the signs of someone who cares.

At 12:03, he shows.

Hood up, headphones around his neck, the usual lazy look like time’s a suggestion and deadlines aren’t real. He drops into the chair across from you.

“You’re late,” you say flatly, not even looking up from your notes.

“I like to make an entrance,” he says, pulling off his hoodie and stretching like he just woke up from a nap he didn’t earn.

You hand him a packet — the one you spent your whole night putting together because somebody needs to pass this class.

“Section three is yours. No Wikepedia this time.”

“Damn. You really hold a grudge.”

“I hold standards.”

“Sexy.”

You roll your eyes, flipping through your annotated book.

“Okay, so if we split the content like we said yesterday, we can present it as a timeline. You talk through the third act and—”

Then he leans in.

No warning. No buildup.

He kisses you.

Not deep. Just… enough.

Just long enough to short-circuit your brain.

You blink.

“What the hell was that?”

He smirks. Shrugs.

“You just look so good.. couldn’t help myself.”

“We’re in the middle of the library.”

“Didn’t stop you from looking all good and professional,” he says, lazily dragging your highlighter across a random line in the textbook — absolutely not where it’s supposed to go. “All... assertive and focused. Kinda messed me up.”

“San.”

“What?”

“Focus.”

“On you?”

“On the project.”

“You’re not even trying.”

“I’m trying not to kiss you again.”

That stops you for a second. You glance away — cheeks warm, heartbeat uncomfortably fast.

“God, you’re so annoying,” you mutter, flipping your notebook back around to your own side.

“Still here though,” he says, settling in with that annoying-but-charming slouch, like the project is suddenly worth doing now that you’re next to him.

You try to refocus. Truly.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you catch him staring.

Still smiling.

And for a second — just a second — you smile too.

You’re both a little ridiculous.

But the work gets done.

Sort of.

Eventually.

You snatch the highlighter from his hand. He grins wider, like he's only fueling off your frustration.

====================================

The night’s dragged on longer than you thought. The library’s dim, half the lights off already. You stretch your arms, glancing at the clock. San closes the book he definitely hasn’t been reading.

“It’s getting late,” he says, sliding his phone into his hoodie pocket. “We should.. lowkey go back to my place.”

You raise a brow.

“We all know how that ends.”

He smirks — but it’s soft, not cocky. Like he’s waiting to see if you’ll shut the door or leave it cracked open.

“Doesn’t have to be like that,” he murmurs. “Just figured… it’s quieter. More space. I’ll even pretend to do the work this time.”

You don’t answer right away. But you don’t say no either.

His house smells the same.

Familiar.

Masculine.

A little like oak, cedar, worn-in cologne, and something else you can’t name but used to fall asleep next to. You hesitate in the doorway, eyes trailing over the things he still hasn’t changed — the hoodie you borrowed once still slung over the back of his desk chair, that dent in the couch from all the nights you collapsed there.

You turn — and he’s closer than he was a second ago.

His hands find your waist.

He spins you gently to face him, thumb brushing over your side like he’s making sure this is real.

“I missed this,” he says low, voice rough around the edges. “I missed you.”

And then he kisses you.

Not cautious. Not light.

Like he’s been holding his breath for months.

You kiss him back — for a moment.

Until your hand lifts to his chest, pressing lightly.

You pull back.

Breath unsteady.

“Is this… too much?” he asks, his forehead resting against yours, voice softer now.

“I—I don’t know,” you breathe, your words getting caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat. “Shouldn’t we be working on the project?”

He doesn’t answer right away. One hand still rests low on your back, the other ghosting just above your hip.

“You really wanna waste all this time on a project?” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear, like it’s a secret.

His hand grazes the edge of your shirt, and you feel your whole body tense, heart climbing your ribs like it’s trying to escape your chest.

A soft noise escapes you —. And it breaks the spell.

One hand holds your lower back tight, the other trails down, fingertips brushing under the hem of your shirt — moving slow, unsure, testing. His palm finds your skin, warm against your stomach. Then… lower.

Fingers dip just beneath the waistband of your pants — not moving, not pushing, just there.

Waiting.

You freeze for a second — breath caught.

You step back.

Grab his hand.

Hold it — and then gently push it away.

“San… we should really work on this project,” you say, more breath than voice.

His jaw flexes — just a little. You can tell he’s not angry. Just… frustrated. The kind of frustration that comes from wanting too much, too soon.

He steps back. His eyes flick away for a beat before he gives a small, almost invisible nod.

“Okay,” he says flatly. “Let’s work on it.”

You sit.

Open your laptop.

Neither of you speaks for a long while — but the air in the room still feels electric, charged with everything that almost happened.

Everything that might still happen.

You’re sitting side by side at his desk, both staring at the shared Google Doc like it holds the answers to something deeper than a group assignment.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, pretending to focus.

San hasn’t said a word in fifteen minutes.

Every now and then, you feel his gaze flick toward you — not obvious, not lingering — just long enough for your skin to prickle. But you don’t dare meet his eyes.

Not after what almost happened.

You’re on a sentence about economic policy when he finally says something, low and not entirely related to the project.

“You didn’t stop me right away.”

You pause. Hands still on the keys.

“San,” you say, not looking at him. “We’re working.”

“I know,” he says. “I just… I’m not trying to start anything, I swear. I just… noticed.”

You turn to him slowly, guarded. He’s leaning back in the chair now, eyes on you — unreadable, but softer than they were earlier.

“It wasn’t the time,” you say quietly. “It still isn’t.”

“Wasn’t trying to push anything,” he replies. “Just... when you pulled back, I thought maybe I messed it all up again.”

That hits you harder than you want it to.

You exhale and refocus on the screen.

“I’m not saying that,” you murmur. “I just need… I don’t know what this is yet. And I can’t afford to get it wrong again.”

He nods — slowly — like he gets it. But there’s a flicker of something wounded in his expression. And guilt. Maybe even hope.

“Okay,” he says. Then quieter: “I’ll follow your lead.”

You glance at him. He’s already looking back at the screen now, but his shoulders are tense, his fingers tapping restlessly against the edge of the desk.

You type another sentence. The tension doesn't go away — it just settles. Not gone, just waiting.

Waiting for one of you to crack.

The cursor blinks on your screen. You’re trying to finish a paragraph on economic downturns, but your brain short-circuits every time San leans a little closer. He’s barely doing anything. But that’s the problem.

He shifts in his chair beside you, his knee bumping yours — not hard. Just enough.

“You’re distracted,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing.

You don’t look at him.

“I’m not.”

“Mhm.” He leans in a little more. “Then why haven’t you finished that sentence in six minutes?”

“Because you keep talking,” you snap, but your voice isn’t angry. It’s tight. Controlled. Barely.

He chuckles under his breath — that smug sound, the one you forgot you missed.

“I’m trying to help.”

“You’re trying to get in my head.”

“I'm already in your head,” he says, and your eyes finally meet.

He’s closer than you realized. Too close. And that look — the one you used to hate because it always made you want him more than you should — it’s right there, painted across his face like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“San,” you say, warning in your tone.

“What?” he shrugs. “I’m just sitting here. Respectfully.”

His knee brushes yours again, this time lingering. His hand is on the table — but the way his fingers slowly inch toward yours, like it’s a game, like he’s waiting for you to stop him — it makes your heart stutter.

“We’re supposed to be working,” you say, quieter now.

“We are,” he replies, voice smooth. “We’re working through things.”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“But it’s what you want to mean.”

You stare at him.

And he stares right back, unblinking. That smirk dances on his lips, but his eyes? They’re serious. They’re watching you like you’re a puzzle he’s almost solved.

You should say something. You should push him away. You should shut this down.

But you don’t.

You can’t.

So you look away. You force yourself to focus on the screen again. You type another word, and then another — but it all feels meaningless with his gaze burning into the side of your face.

“You keep biting your lip when you concentrate,” San says suddenly.

You freeze for half a second. Then glance at him, confused.

“What?”

“That thing you do,” he repeats, slower. His voice is lower now. “You’ve done it for the past twenty minutes.”

He’s staring at your mouth.

You should ignore it. You should push him back to the project, to the timeline you were outlining, to anything safe.

Instead—

“Why are you watching me like that?” you whisper.

San leans forward, closer, chair scraping quietly across the linoleum.

“Because I’m tired of pretending I’m not.”

You can’t breathe. He’s right there now. That same cologne — the oak, the something smoky and familiar — it hits you all at once. His hand comes up, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek.

“We shouldn’t,” you murmur, but your voice cracks. “This is a bad idea.”

“So bad,” he agrees, his thumb brushing your jaw. “But I can’t keep sitting here like this.”

And then—

He kisses you.

Not soft. Not tentative.

It’s hungry. All of the restraint he’s been holding onto finally snaps — and the desk trembles as his hand slips behind your neck, pulling you closer, deeper.

Your laptop nearly topples.

You gasp against him, and in one smooth motion, he rises, lifts you by the waist, and sets you on the desk like you weigh nothing.

Papers flutter to the floor. Pens clatter. You feel your back arch slightly as he slots himself between your legs, hands splayed at your hips like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“San—” you whisper against his mouth, dizzy.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, breathless. His forehead leans against yours. “Right now. Tell me and I will.”

You don’t.

You can’t.

Because your fingers are already gripping his hoodie, and your legs are hooked around him without you realizing. And it’s too late — you both already know.

But still, he waits.

Eyes locked with yours. Breathing hard. Shaking.

“Say it,” he says. “Or I’m not stopping.”

You didn't say anything.

The kiss grew more intense, your bodies gravitating towards each other as if pulled by an invisible force.

San wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer until you were straddling his lap.

Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms. The sound of your breaths mingled with the whispers of the night, each gasp and moan a secret shared only between them.

With a swift movement, he lifted you, carrying you onto his bed..

The wood was rough against your back as he laid you down, the planks digging into your skin, but you didn't care.

All you could focus on was the heat of his body pressing against yours, the desperation in his kisses.

His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and contour, as if he was trying to memorize you.

You shivered with desire, your breath hitching in your throat as his fingertips danced along her collarbone and down to the hem of your shirt.

His kisses grew more passionate, your bodies moving in sync with the pulse of the night. his hands found the zipper of your pants, and with trembling fingers, he slid it down, revealing your bare thighs to the cool evening air.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him closer as he kissed a trail down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You could feel the hardness of him through his jeans, and you knew you wanted him just as badly.

San's hands roamed up your thighs, his fingertips teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs before finding the edge of your panties. He hooked his thumbs under the fabric and began to slide them down, his eyes never leaving yours.

When you both fully exposed, bare skin touching, the anticipation was almost too much to bear. San positioned himself above you, the tip of him teasing your entrance. Your breath hitched, body aching for more.

You wrapped your legs around him, urging him closer, needing him to fill you. He didn't disappoint. With a slow, deliberate movement, he slid it into you, inch by inch, stretching you until you could feel every part of him.

Your eyes remained locked as he began to move, his hips setting a rhythm that matched the pulse of the ocean. You arched your back, nails digging into his shoulders, urging him deeper, faster.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as San's movements grew more urgent. You could feel your climax building, a tight coil in her belly that grew tighter with every thrust.

"San," you breathed, his name a desperate plea on your lips. He responded by increasing his pace, his hands gripping your hips as he drove into you with a desperation that left you trembling.

You could feel every inch of him, each stroke hitting just the right spot, sending jolts of electricity through you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him down for another kiss.

His teeth grazed your lower lip, bringing out a whimper from deep within your chest. You could feel his muscles tense as he held himself back, not wanting to lose control too quickly. But you didn't want him to hold back. You needed him to let go, to show you just how much he wants you.

"Harder.. please don’t stop," you whisper into his mouth, your voice a mix of need and want. San's eyes blazed with a new intensity, and he complied, his strokes becoming more forceful. You met him thrust for thrust, your body responding to his every move.

"You feel so good," he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with passion.

Your eyes rolled back as he hit just the right spot, sending you over the edge. San's own control slipped, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own release.

"Fuck, Y/N," he groaned, the words ripped from his chest as he felt himself getting closer.

Your walls tightened around him, and he whispered encouragements, his breath hot against your ear. "Cum with me.. please" he begged, his voice a sweet symphony of need.

San's eyes squeezed shut, his teeth gritted as he felt the climax build within him. He didn't hold back anymore, his hips driving into yours with a primal force that sent both of you hurtling towards the edge.

"Come on, y/n," he whispers, his breath warm and ragged against your cheek. "Let go with me."

San couldn't resist. With a final, powerful thrust, he reached his peak, releasing himself inside you. The warmth of his release filled you, and you clung to him, your body shaking with the aftershocks of your own orgasm. And you two lay there, panting and entwined, the only sound the steady beat of your hearts.

San's kisses grew softer, more tender, as he nuzzled against your neck, his breaths evened out. You could feel the weight of his body pressing you into the wooden bed, but you didn't mind.

"Are you okay?" he murmured, his voice still hoarse.

Y/N nodded, her breaths coming in soft pants. "More than okay," you managed to say, a small smile playing on your lips.

He leaned over and kissed you again, slower this time, as if he was trying to convey something with his lips that words couldn't. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close, your legs still shaking from the intensity of your shared release.

“I've wanted to do that for so long," he said, his voice low and filled with emotion.

“Same,” you say. “That was… yeah.”

You both start laughing — that breathless, relieved kind of laughter, like everything you’ve been holding in for weeks finally spilled over and now you can breathe.

“I mean,” you grin, pulling the blanket higher, “we really didn’t work on the project.”

San turns his head, resting it back against the pillow with a smug smile.

“We worked on something.”

You lightly swat his chest.

“You’re annoying.”

“You like it,” he mutters, smiling wider.

He reaches over to the nightstand, grabs a water bottle and hands it to you without a word. You take it gratefully, sipping in silence.

He watches you the whole time. Not like before — not hungry or teasing — just… quiet. Soft.

Present.

“I can get you a hoodie,” he says, suddenly sitting up. “Or sweats. Something comfier.”

“I’m okay,” you say, but he’s already halfway across the room, rummaging through a drawer.

He tosses you a worn hoodie — gray, oversized, definitely his.

“Put it on. I like seeing you in my stuff.”

You slide it over your head. It smells like him — warmth and home and trouble.

When you look up again, he’s watching you with that same unreadable expression.

“What?” you ask.

San just shrugs. Then lies down beside you again.

“Nothing,” he says. “Just… I missed this. Not just this, like— all of it. You. Us. Even the bickering.”

“You mean especially the bickering,” you correct.

“Maybe,” he smirks. “It’s our love language.”

You turn your face toward his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

It’s steady. Sure. Real.

And when he wraps his arms around you again, you let him. No tension. No hesitation.

Just two people, finally letting themselves fall.

=====================================

The next morning, you had barely made it through the first ten minutes of class.

Your notebook lay open in front of you, pen tapping absentmindedly on the blank page, but your mind? Somewhere else or — someone else.

The ghost of his hands still lingered on your skin. The weight of his stare, the way his breath had hit your neck, how he’d whispered your name like a secret he didn’t want to let go of — it all played in loops behind your eyes.

You didn’t even realize you were smiling until a familiar voice pulled you back into the fluorescent-lit reality of the classroom.

“Didn’t think chemistry class was that funny,” San muttered beside you, voice low, teasing.

You jumped slightly in your seat. “What?”

He was already grinning, elbow propped on the desk, chin resting in his hand. His eyes raked over your expression — your flushed cheeks, your bitten lip — like he was reading every thought out of your head.

“You’ve been zoning out since class started,” he said, voice dipping. “And smiling like someone just told you the funniest joke ever.”

You tried to hide your face behind your hand. “You’re imagining things.”

“Oh?” He leaned closer. “So you weren’t just thinking about last night?”

You blinked. “Wha—I—no.”

He smirked. “No?”

“I was thinking about…” You scrambled for anything. “The project.”

San chuckled under his breath. “Sure. The project. The one we absolutely didn’t touch last night because you were too busy moaning my na—”

You slapped your hand over his mouth, wide-eyed. “San! Shut up!”

He laughed, pulling back slightly but not before catching your wrist, thumb tracing over your pulse. “Relax. No one’s listening. Except maybe you, to your own dirty daydreams.”

You yanked your hand back, trying to focus on the board. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

You didn’t respond. Mostly because the heat in your chest, in your throat, said otherwise.

He leaned in again, closer this time. “You know, if you’re gonna spend all morning thinking about it, we might as well skip class next time.”

You glared at him, trying not to laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re easy to distract.”

His knee nudged yours under the desk, and you swore the temperature in the room spiked. You didn’t even hear the teacher call your name the first time.

“Y/N?”

You snapped your head up. “Yes! Sorry.”

San tried to hide his laugh beside you, biting his lip, not at all helpful.

This boy was going to drive you insane — and you knew he loved every second of it.

—

The second the bell rang, you bolted up from your seat, trying to make a clean getaway.

Unfortunately, San was faster.

“Y/N!” he called, effortlessly falling into step beside you. “You in a rush? Or just running from the truth?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m running from you.”

“That’s fair,” he said, that usual cocky tilt to his smile. “But kind of rude, considering how well I treated you last night.”

Your steps faltered. “Please don’t start again..”

“Oh, I’m not starting,” he grinned. “Just… reminiscing.”

You groaned. “San—”

“You know,” he continued, his voice dropping just enough to make your skin prick, “I really didn’t expect you to be that loud.”

You spun toward him, smacking his arm. “Shut up!”

He only laughed harder, rubbing the spot. “I’m serious! I thought we were still working on that whole ‘quiet in the library’ thing, but then you were out here sounding like—”

“San, please,” you hissed, glancing around. “We’re literally in the hallway.”

“Oh, I know,” he said, unbothered. “I just thought maybe you’d want a reminder."

"You sounded so sexy saying my name last night. Real breathy.” He leaned in, mock-whispering into your ear: “‘San—please—don’t stop—’”

You shoved him away, face burning hotter than the sun. “You’re so annoying.”

He smiled like he won. “You’re so into it.”

You covered your face with your hands and groaned. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“I should.”

“But you don’t.”

You peeked at him between your fingers. “If you keep talking like that, I’m going to punch you.”

“Worth it,” he said easily. “Totally worth it.”

He nudged your shoulder with his. “Besides… you can’t be mad at me. You were literally daydreaming about it all morning.”

“I was not—”

“You were biting your pen,” he said. “The same way you bit my—”

You gasped. “SAN!”

“Okay, okay!” He held up his hands, laughing. “Too far. I’ll behave.”

“Promise?”

“Maybe..’” he smirked.

You groaned again — but you were smiling.

And he saw it.

He always saw it.

------------------------------------------------------------

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