#NIGHT TEETH (2021) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zreamy · 6 months

Text

won't let you go (this time)

pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader

summary: back home for good after a semi-unsuccessful first year at university in a new city, you’re looking forward to getting back into the routines of your old life in the town you grew up in but the one person you’d been desperate to see doesn’t seem too pleased about your return :(

genre: angst.. ......... fluff, smut, college au, exes to lovers, second chance romance, slow burn

warnings: minors dni, british in a way that's not vague (might be vague.. it's hard to tell when ur british), so so long, sad heeseung, long paragraphs..

word count: 36,007 .. (apparently, i'm in a competition with myself to see who can write the longest fic)

playlist: seasons wave to earth, understand keshi

author's note: writing this fic was like pulling teeth and then cooking pasta out of it.. bUT IT'S DONE !!! also one of these scenes is smth i reworked from a fic i posted to wattpad in 2021.. thanks @asahicore for the beta u rock ! and as always be lmk ur thoughts (positive/negative/anything) 🤍

fic taglist: @enhastolemyheart

Lee Heeseung had often imagined what it would be like when he saw you again.

Sometimes, he envisioned you standing on his doorstep, playing with the cuffs of your sweater. Other times he’d dream up a chance encounter at the local grocery shop, where you’d be distracted and bump the end of your trolley into his. He’d even pictured a sun-soaked vacation, a gorgeous white sand beach where the temperature would be inching past the thirties. You, laying out on a patterned towel, lost in the pages of a book, and your pretty face obscured by its cover. Yet, even with the sun in his eyes and his poor vision, he’d recognise you without a doubt.

Regardless of circumstance or setting, in all of his hazy daydreams, you’d look up at him with unbridled love in your eyes and say the words he wanted to hear all those months ago: I choose you.

Heeseung had always imagined that his heart might glow in his chest, through his shirt like something from Jane the Virgin, and you’d know you made the wrong decision.

But sometimes, typically when in an alcohol-fuelled state of despondence, these images would be rougher around the edges. Heeseung would be hot, with bleach-blond hair and thick dark brows—a walking, talking beacon of sexual energy when you’d see him. In his head, it would happen at a party or a club somewhere, and he’d be too busy talking to another girl to notice you, his arm hanging off of her, lust clear in his eyes. Somehow, even in sweatpants and an old hoodie of his, you’d still look as beautiful as always.

“Heeseung,” you’d say, completely crushed with tears welling up in your eyes under furrowed brows. “I choose you.”

Reluctantly, he’d draw his eyes away from the girl and notice you, finally, and a smile would spread on his lips, a mean one, condescending. He’d shrug, wrapping his arm tighter around the girl and say, “You’re too late.” He wouldn’t mean it, but he’d say it just to drive you crazy. Make you beg him to take you back for months until he felt you’d suffered enough—as much as he had.

These thoughts were few and far between and mainly followed by hot, guilty tears rolling down his cheeks because he knew it was his fault. After all, he was the one to let you go.

For now though, the little round table in Mark’s backyard seats four, and, in the arms of a balmy summer night, Heeseung chooses the seat closest to the fence. The garden light is still busted so in his seat of choice, furthest from the kitchen door, he’ll go completely unnoticed but still see anyone who might join him outside.

His phone is freezing when he takes it from his pocket and unsurprisingly holds no notifications beyond the outsiiiide text he’d gotten from Jake before the party started. Through Instagram stories, Heeseung watches the night play out from the perspective of people who are enjoying themselves while ignoring the voice in his head that tells him he could be one of those people if he tried.

Maybe he was a fool for believing that tonight would go differently and that the boys would keep their ‘bro’s night’ promise for longer than it took to cross the threshold—but it’s not like he blames them. Maybe he was a fool for believing he would find more company than his somewhat abandoned bottle of Peroni that watches him mockingly from the glass table.

He grimaces after taking a sip from it, remembering that he was only ever carrying it around so his friends wouldn’t feel the need to load him with shots. Now he’s not so sure that would’ve been a bad thing, seeing as he’s completely sober and aware of the tightness in his chest as he scrolls through the text thread he’s had pinned for years. Its end came abruptly; revived only by an ignored blue bubble saying: i heard you’re back home for the summer..

Seeing it now, he regrets hitting send even more than he did two weeks ago. Heeseung hates himself for believing the boys when they said it was a good thing that you opened the message right away. “Means she’s thinking of u 2 dude,” was Jake's message to the group chat (along with four bicep emojis and two red exclamation marks). Jay replied: i hope you guys can talk things out! And Sunghoon didn’t say anything.

All your conversations bring up memories that hurt more than the last but he has to take a break when he reaches a text you sent last January: i had so much fun tonight, hee, idk how to thank u enough :((( i hope ur not in too much trouble.. i love you i love you and i’ll love you forever !!!

He ended up getting grounded for three weeks and lost car privileges for months after staying out four hours past curfew, but he’d do it a million times over if it meant he’d get to see you as happy as you were that night on the two-hour drive back, running your fingertips over the Sharpie autograph of your favourite author on the book’s front page—“Heeseung?”

His jaw falls slack and his whole body stiffens. If you don’t count old videos in his camera roll, Heeseung hasn’t heard your voice in over a year. The back door slides shut and when he finally lifts his head, he wants to throw up. Even without the glow of the kitchen lights on your face, he’d still be able to make out the cute point of your nose, and the slight curve of your soft lips. Unfortunately, the breakup only seems to have made you even more beautiful and he hates himself for wishing you were having a hard time too.

“Hey,” you say. “Can I sit?”

Regaining his mobility, he moves his shoulders in a stiff shrug. The sound of your chair scraping the concrete makes him cringe and he hates that you chose the seat closest to him.

“I didn’t think you’d be here tonight.”

Heeseung scoffs, his brows furrowing defensively. “You didn’t think I’d be at my friend’s party?”

You set your jaw. “Okay.”

An unbearable silence follows, so heavy he can feel it sitting on his shoulders, weighing him down. There’s no way to know how much time has passed but he feels less tense when you start to hum, drumming your fingers against the table to the beat of whatever song the kitchen door is struggling to muffle. If he doesn’t think too hard about the lingering quiet, it feels like everything is okay between you two.

His heart races when you giggle. “You still do that?”

“Do what?”

You smile before mirroring his expression, puffing up your cheeks and exhaling dramatically a few times. Due to the heat, nothing comes of it but you laugh anyway. “You always liked when it was cold enough out to see your breath. I remember having to nudge you every night of summer to get you to stop.”

To Heeseung, there’s something sinister about the fact that you can so easily bring up a memory you share with him. About the fact that even after what happened, his cheeks heat up just from seeing you grin. He deflates, unable to look at you, finding interest in the label on his bottle instead. It’s slightly curled up at its edge, and he runs his thumb over it a few times before peeling it off completely—with some struggle, leaving a sticky patch in its wake. Under your loaded stare, he folds it a little to make a square before trying to craft a swan or a crane (you were the one who knew these things) from the sticker.

Your hands are just as soft as he remembers when your fingers touch his, though it shocks him so much he drops the label, immediately withdrawing his hands and, for lack of a better option, sitting on them. Even softer than your hands is your voice when you say, “I don’t want things to be so tense between us.”

It must be easy, he thinks. For you to say something like that after dumping him. Heeseung wants to laugh, to let his head fall back and cackle from sheer disbelief; you really must have some nerve. Instead, a bitterness, raging and sour, works in his chest, choking the laughter into silence. It pushes his lips into a scowl as he lifts his head to look at you. You’re shivering with your arms crossed over your chest and Heeseung softens. Without thinking, he shrugs off his flannel to drape it over your shoulders, almost regretting it when he fixes his tongue to scold you playfully like he used to. Still too hot for a jacket, right, baby? he wants to say. This is the last time I’m doing this for you, next time you’re on your own. Heeseung figures that somewhere, in another reality where you’re still together, a version of him says these things but continues to give you his flannels and jackets anyway.

He’d give anything to be that Heeseung instead.

Over the last year, he’s been replacing the clothes in his wardrobe. He noticed that during your time together you steadily wore every t-shirt, flannel, and hoodie he owned. Now, as you thank him with a sincere smile, he realises he’ll have to donate his new favourite shirt too.

“What’s in your pocket?” you ask, reaching in to find out. A bleak carton of cigarettes sits full in your hands as you look over at him with wide eyes. “You smoke now?”

“No.” Heeseung shakes his head. “Never.”

Back and forth between your hands, the box and its contents rustle. “Really? Because this—” You pause to pull a lighter from the same pocket. “—and this tell me something different.”

“Sunghoon’s quitting again,” he explains, with air quotes around the word quitting.

“Oh.” You let out a laugh, nodding fondly. “He’s on, like, five weeks or something by now, though, right? Surely you don’t still need to carry these around for him.”

His head tilts so quickly he hurts his neck. With knitted brows, he inspects you. Nothing about your expression seems like you’re trying to hurt him, in truth, you look like you’re being quite sincere; your eyes are wide, curious, and your lips are quirked up at the corners with an amusement he adores. “Six,” he corrects. “How do you know?”

“He told me.”

“You guys still talk?”

A shoulder-dropping sigh falls from your mouth as you put the cigarettes and lighter back in his pocket, raking a hand through your hair. “You’re the only one who doesn’t talk to me anymore,” you say in a small voice.

The five of you stuck together in high school — where he and Jay first met you, Jake, and Sunghoon — and he knew it would be unreasonable for him to expect your shared friends, especially the youngest two whom you’d known longer, to turn on you. He also figured, given how close you’d grown to Jay, and his undying rationality, that his best friend would outright refuse to shun you on Heeseung’s behalf. Even though they didn’t need his permission, he told them that he didn’t want them to feel like they had to pick sides and that he was perfectly happy for them to keep talking to you. On one condition: that none of them tell him anything about you or your life without him unless you’re hurt—a condition they’ve clearly carried out more faithfully than Heeseung expected them to.

Bile rises in his throat thinking about all the things your friends have kept from him about your year away. His heart twists over mundane details like your class schedules and favourite things to eat for lunch, and his eyes sting with tears over the important stuff like new friends and, worst of all, new partners.

Heeseung jolts out of his chair, knocking the table so hard with his thighs that his bottle tips over. You’re quick to catch it. “My mum’s calling,” he blurts out, overwhelmed.

“Heeseung.”

“I really have to go.”

“Heeseung!” you call out, but he’s already back inside.

You don’t follow him.

But that was in June, and now it’s September.

While his friends complain about the chill of autumn, Heeseung’s just happy he can comfortably wear hoodies everywhere again. In a cool lecture hall, home to his Ethics and Responsibility class for the next few months, he relishes the feeling of soft cotton against his ears as he copies the course reading list into the first page of his notebook.

“Is someone sitting here?”

Heeseung’s stomach sinks to the floor. Reluctantly, he lifts his head, and through the gaps in his bangs, he sees you and the way your face falls when you see him, instantly looking around the room.

“Oh,” you say, eyes blown. “I’m sorry, I’ll just..” you trail off.

He scans the room, chewing his lip when he realises that, despite the lecturer not having arrived yet, the seat to his left, with his backpack on it, is the only empty one. “It’s okay,” he says, trying to seem nonchalant as he takes his bag from the chair and puts it on the floor.

“Thanks,” you mumble, frowning a little as you sit down.

In the light of day, he really sees you and a lone butterfly, one he was sure had died with the rest last year, flutters lazily in his stomach—wings buzzing against the lining, tickling him. Even with messy hair and tired bags under your eyes, you’re just as beautiful as the first time he saw you. It’s unfair, he thinks. That you could be dealing with this and still manage to look presentable. Jealousy kills the butterfly, stirring a pit in his belly at the thought that you were able to break up with him and continue with life as normal on the other end of the country, making new friends and new memories as if nothing happened.

Even when Dr. Kim comes in and starts the class, Heeseung can’t take his eyes off of you. You haven’t lost any of your mannerisms, he notices when you stick your tongue out a little while typing notes as the lecturer says them, barely looking up from your laptop to see the slides.

At the end of the lecture, all he has to show for it is the reading list and a couple of bullet points that seemed important as he copied them from your screen. Side by side, you silently walk down the stairs to leave the room, and the sight of Sunghoon through the doorway pulls a relieved sigh from Heeseung’s chest.

Sunghoon’s brows raise seeing you together and he clears his throat when you’re close enough. “Hey, you two! My little study buddies,” he says in a strained voice. “First day back! First day for you, YN, what was that like?” He sounds like he’s reading from a script as he walks between you.

Heeseung lets you answer, listening to your voice as he walks behind you down the stairs. He wonders if things will be this way forever, briefly contemplating throwing himself over the bannister so he doesn’t have to find out. If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t show it, talking excitedly with Sunghoon about the class, mentioning things Heeseung hadn’t even heard, despite having sat through the same hour-long introduction lecture as you. He trails behind the two of you all the way to the library, where Jay is sleeping with his chin on his arms and Jake is staring at the table of contents in his textbook. You cut yourself off, jogging over to the table they’re sitting at to wake Jay. As soon as you wrap your arms around him, he flinches, waking up with his brows pulled together.

“What are you doing?” Jay mumbles, trying to shake you off.

As Heeseung sits beside Jake, he skims over the front page of the textbook, trying to remember what tensile strength means. Sunghoon stands at the end of the table looking at his phone, and you sit next to Jay, pulling your seat a little closer and letting him rest his head on your shoulder. Heeseung looks away, trying to bury the unease building in his stomach.

Sunghoon breaks the silence. “Can we go get food?” And suddenly, you all stand up, filing out of the library towards the Tesco Express down the road.

Jay and Sunghoon take the lead, picking up their lunch without much thought before waiting in line at the self-checkout, while you, Jake, and Heeseung spend an ungodly amount of time weighing up options in front of the meal deals. Heeseung gets the same thing every time but looks at every single sandwich, drink, and snack option just in case before picking up his food.

“Just cheese is crazy, bro,” Jake says, shaking his head. “What’s wrong with you?”

Heeseung shrugs. “It’s reliable.”

“It’s absurd.”

You hum between the two of them, tilting your head thoughtfully. “I don’t know, I think it’s cute.” Your shoulders rise and fall in a casual shrug, almost as if you haven’t just paid Heeseung a compliment for the first time in a year and three months.

Jake’s eyebrows raise, a grin playing on his lips as he glances between the two of you when you step forward, pulling a just cheese sandwich from the shelf too. “Cute,” he repeats. “Sure.”

Outside, Jay and Sunghoon are sitting on a half-finished brick wall, and while normally, Heeseung would say something to interrupt Jay’s never-ending lecture series on making the most of your meal deal, he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself or the small smile he’s struggling to keep off his face.

“Hoon, think about it,” he says, resting his giant can of Red Bull on the stepped brick next to him. “A meal deal costs £3. You get a sandwich, a drink, and a snack, all for £3. You, foolishly, bought a sandwich, a snack, and a bottle of water, you gave them money.”

“Yeah, man, anyone who shops anywhere gives money, that’s, like, an entry-level requirement.”

“But I’m taking money from Tesco, you get it?”

Jake sighs, taking a seat next to Sunghoon. “You’re technically right, but you still paid for your food under a promotion Tesco created. If you really wanted to take from Tesco, you should be stealing your lunch. Also, the sandwich he got was £2.85, and there’s more water in his bottle than Red Bull in your can, so I actually think Hoon got the better offer today.”

Beside Heeseung, you roll your eyes, wrestling with a packet of crisps while juggling everything in your hands. Seeing your struggle, he reaches over, taking hold of your drink and sandwich. “Thanks,” you mumble, smiling. You glance towards Jay and Sunghoon, then back at Heeseung. “Are they always like this?”

He nods with a slight frown. A tiny laugh comes through your nose as you nod too.

During the walk back to campus, as you split your sandwich with Sunghoon, Heeseung has an unsettling realisation. If he wants to get you back, he’ll have to start out being your friend. He’s not too sure what that will look like, seeing as the two of you were friends for six weeks — that he spent hopelessly in love with you — before he asked you out. All he knows is he wants to be the one you share your lunch and link arms with unthinkingly. While he assumes that your shared friend group and three out of four classes will naturally lead to friendship, things might go better if he makes an effort.

He doesn’t.

Not today at least. The second and last class of the day ends much like the first, with a heading in his notebook, and slowly reviving butterflies in his stomach every time your knee bumps into his under the desk. Again, neither of you says much as you leave the class to go meet Jay in the library. He’s awake this time, grinning at the girl across from him.

“They’re so cute!”

“They’re talking.”

“Yeah, in a cute way. Look at the smile on his face,” you say as if anyone could miss Jay’s grin or the way it widens when he notices you and Heeseung staring.

Yunjin immediately looks over, waving before getting out of her seat to come over. She greets Heeseung with a hug before flinging her arms around you, gushing about how it’s been so long. Heeseung feels his brow raise when you giggle and say, “We hung out two weeks ago.”

She loosens her hold on you, looking down into your eyes with a shocked look. “Yeah, two weeks too many. What are you doing later?”

It feels like Heeseung skipped a chapter and his stomach hurts when he realises he has—a whole year's worth of the contents of your life. Of course, Jay already introduced Yunjin to you, of course, you’re already friends.

Leaving you with Yunjin in the library, Heeseung and Jay walk back to their flat. They take the long route home, through the winding bike path and over the creaky footbridge by Sunghoon’s old apartment. Jay is eerily quiet, only responding in nods and hums—this silence means one of two things, he’s either too exhausted to speak or he’s saving his words to reprimand Heeseung at home.

Outside their flat, Jay hesitates, gripping the handle tightly before turning to Heeseung. In his eyes is a familiar look, the one he typically wears before telling someone off and Heeseung bites his tongue lest he pisses Jay off even more. A few times, Jay opens his mouth but doesn’t speak, exhaling a deep sigh as he rests his head against the door. “I want you to know I’m on your side, sort of,” he says. “If it’s too hard being around YN, we can always hang out together instead, just us.”

Jay’s key clicks in the lock and Heeseung watches, shocked. He didn’t expect that at all.

“It’s not like it’s hard, just weird, you know?” Heeseung runs a hand through his hair, leaving his shoes by the door while Jay locks it before following him into the living room and sinking into the couch. “We have the same friends, so I can’t avoid her, but I don’t think I want to.”

“Like I said, we can just hang out on our own if we’re on campus.” Jay pauses for a beat, clearly pleased by whatever he’s thinking about as a smile spreads on his face. “It might do you some good being around her though, like, to see why none of us want to date her.”

The offer is generous and Heeseung spends a while considering it. But as Jay said, it probably would be a good thing to hang out with you if he wants to build the friendship he finds himself craving.

“It might also do you some good to, you know.. start looking nice again. It’s been a year, dude, and she’s back now, don’t you want her seeing what she’s missing out on?”

Heeseung cocks his head to the side, surprised and honestly a little offended. “Are you saying I’m ugly now?”

“No, I’m saying it probably wouldn’t hurt to put some essence in your hair, touch up your roots, and, you know, use deodorant.”

Reflexively, he grabs the pit of his hoodie, bringing it to his nose and sniffing furiously. The only thing he can smell is fresh detergent and he looks at Jay with a frown. “So you think I should change everything about myself basically.”

“I hate to be the one to say it..” Jay trails off, head falling back in contagious laughter. “Seriously though, if you want her back or, at least, want her to miss you, start putting some effort in.”

Heeseung’s eyes are wide as saucers. “She doesn’t miss me?”

“You spent the whole day together, why would she miss you?”

“So she doesn’t.”

“I didn’t say that.” Jay shrugs.

Outside, a cloud moves away from the sun, letting it shine right through the window and into Heeseung’s eyes. He squints a little, groaning before bringing his arm over his face to shield himself. Jay laughs and Heeseung flips him off. “You didn’t really say anything.”

“Are you crying?” Jay coos.

“Sure.”

“Too bad, I’m taking a nap. Club later?”

Heeseung grunts in response, considering taking a nap too.

A dramatic sigh tugs its way from Jay’s chest. “Look, it’s not my place to say, but she told me a few months ago she was miserable in first year, something about wanting to see some guy she dated in high school.”

“You knew she was coming back?” Heeseung practically jumps in his seat, sitting up straighter. “You knew I’d see her today and you let me leave the house looking like this?” It’s not like he looks bad in his oversized black hoodie and sweatpants but he might have taken the time to do more than run a hand through his hair this morning if he knew.

Jay holds his hands up defensively. “You said you didn’t want to hear anything about her unless she died. I was just doing what you told me to.”

“I think it goes without saying that that would’ve been a nice thing to know.”

“Noted.” Jay nods. “Club later?”

Despite saying no, Heeseung finds himself at the club anyway, having a friendly dance battle with Jay while you hype them up, filming blurry videos with your finger over the camera lens. Jake and Sunghoon came out too but went off to find girls.

Heeseung spent all of pres and the journey to the club worrying about being drunk around you. Or rather, worrying about being drunk around drunk you. Drunk you who typically gets clingy and oversentimental just looking at a bottle of vodka, or brings up old memories and uses pouty, gloss-coated lips to say things without thinking of the consequences. For better or for worse, you haven’t done any of that yet.

Between knocking back drinks and rivalling the club photographer, you find time to make a look of disgust every time a guy comes near you, immediately shaking your head and pressing yourself against Heeseung before mumbling an apology in his ear each time, even though he tells you it’s okay. Your admirers start to dwindle when he dances with you to a song you like, letting you hold his hand and pull him closer, all while wishing he’d stayed asleep on the couch.

It’s only when the fifth guy shows up with a stupid smirk on his face, that Heeseung speaks up. His arm finds your waist and he holds you close as he looks at the stranger. “Dude, leave her alone,” he says, angling his shoulder to him in an attempt to shield you. “She’s not interested.” The weight of his words is lost on him until the guy rolls his eyes, shrugging and mumbling whatever as he leaves.

He saw how uncomfortable you looked after being approached and hated how long it took for you to start enjoying yourself again, so in the moment, it seemed like the right thing to do. To look after you. But now, as he stands with his hand on your waist, his skin touching yours at the hem of your shirt, he’s starting to feel like he’s crossed a line. It’s the worst possible time to freeze in place but there’s nothing he can do about it, and Jay staring at him, with wide eyes and a dropped jaw, isn’t exactly helping.

With embarrassment burning his cheeks and neck, Heeseung finally looks down at you. You look almost as shocked as Jay for a split second before letting your hand rest on his chest, smiling. The moment feels endless until you lean up to his ear and Heeseung has to bend down a bit. “Thank you, Hee,” you say, still smiling when you pull back.

All he can do is nod, smiling too.

Over your head, he sees Jay grinning and the heat returns to his cheeks. As if suddenly aware of your position — your hands now resting on his shoulders, chests held together by your grip on each other — the smile falls from your face as you take a huge step back, bumping into Jay while Heeseung’s hand slips from your body.

“Let’s get more drinks!” you yell to Jay, slinging an arm over his shoulders to pull him away.

On his own, Heeseung dances to three whole songs, only stopping when Yoo Jimin wraps her arm around him, holding him in the world’s tightest hug. “Lee Heeseung, did I just see you all over a girl?” The interaction takes him by surprise, seeing as he hasn’t actually spoken to her since before summer. “Let’s go for drinks soon, to say congrats on finally moving on!”

This, of course, is when you and Jay finally return. Jimin notices before he does. “Be good to him,” she yells, smiling, and never letting go of Heeseung. “Bad breakup!”

You stand there, holding two drinks so tightly your hands start shaking, causing one to spill over your fingers. A strained smile spreads over your lips as you nod. “Right! I’ll try!”

As quickly as she appears, Jimin vanishes with a smile on her face, pleased with herself. You visibly relax, handing Heeseung his drink and swaying to the music again. Just like at high school parties, you let Jay sling his arm over your shoulders as you dance together. Back then, you’d dance with all of your friends while waiting for Heeseung to return, usually with a cup of water for you to drink, but tonight, with Heeseung standing there, it seems like he’s as good as dead according to you.

It’s around 2 a.m. when you and Jay decide you’ve had enough, with Jay struggling to keep his eyes open. After failing to locate Sunghoon and easily finding Jake with his cap on backwards and makeup all over his mouth and cheeks, the three of you let him know you’re going home.

As seems to be the unspoken rule amongst your friends, Jay walks between the two of you while trying to convince you both that if you had fun tonight, there’s no reason to regret having gone out. Even if it means you’ll be sitting in class holding your eyes open. Heeseung ignores him, conspiring out loud about Sunghoon’s whereabouts—getting lost on his way to the restroom or finding an ice rink out back.

For a while, you entertain him before sighing. “I saw in the chat, he said he’s out talking to a girl he saw wearing a band shirt—Nirvana.”

The notion is so surprising that Heeseung almost stops in his tracks. Jay voices his shock with a raised brow and an incredulous tone. “Hoon listens to Nirvana?”

“No, but she’s pretty. I had to send him a screenshot of their popular songs on Spotify when one of her friends came over looking for a lighter.”

At Jay’s request, you and Heeseung spend the rest of the walk back to your flat trying to name fifteen Nirvana songs. By the time you reach the lift in your building, you’ve successfully listed nine and the three of you stand inside while you look for your keys. On your doorstep, you pull Jay into a tight hug, whispering something in his ear that makes him laugh as he pats you on the back and says, “You probably could.”

Pathetically, Heeseung hopes you’ll hug him too. With no hesitation, you do, arms locking around his neck, leaving him with flushed cheeks and a racing heart. “Thanks for looking out for me,” you whisper, lingering by his ear before burying your face in the base of his neck.

Heeseung holds his breath, counting to twelve before you lean away from him, your arms in place as you look up into his eyes. “I’m always going to look out for you,” he manages to say. He can already hear Jay teasing him about it when they’re alone, but the smile on your face is worth it.

In your doorway, you wave goodbye and they wait outside until they hear your lock clicking before heading home, where Jay doesn’t tease Heeseung at all.

Turns out, getting home at 3 a.m. when he has a class at 10 o’clock doesn’t fit in amongst any of his better ideas, but still, he gets out of bed and gets ready, heeding Jay’s advice and scheduling a hair appointment on his way to class.

As soon as he sits down, he gets a text from Jay: thinking of getting smth pierced later, come with?

Heeseung: what is smth.

Jay: cartilage probs

Heeseung: im getting my roots done at 5

Jay: okayyyyyyy good shit man !!! tmrw?

Heeseung: 👍👍👍

It shouldn’t surprise Heeseung that you look good, but the sight of you walking through the door in your zip-up hoodie and jeans almost knocks the wind out of him. You’re holding your notebook to your chest, stopping in the middle of the stairs and sighing when the white strap of your tote bag slips from your shoulder to the crook of your elbow. You apologise to the people behind you before rushing up the stairs to Heeseung’s row, putting your things down and slumping into the seat beside him. The room suddenly feels warmer when you take off your hoodie and next to you and your bare arms, his heart starts to race.

“Do you have, like, an interview or something?” you ask, doodling in the margin of your notebook, filling the space with pretty butterflies that make his heart race.

Heeseung, who hasn’t looked for a job in two years, panics. “No?”

“Oh.” You nod slowly, looking away from him. “A date? Maybe?” There’s something in your voice that makes him want to say yes and see your reaction, but the look on your face makes his stomach turn.

“No, ne—just no.”

“You can tell me if you’re going on a date.”

“Why would I go on a date?”

You shrug, gesturing to his outfit. Heeseung looks down at himself and the cream-coloured cardigan he’s wearing. “You just look nice, that’s all,” you mumble after a while. Suddenly, Jay’s Prada loafers squeezing his toes doesn’t seem so bad and Heeseung sits through the whole lecture with a smile on his face.

The leaves yellowed on October first, and unfortunately for Heeseung, the last two weeks didn’t play out how he hoped they would. Of course, he knew that you flinging your arms around him and confessing your love was probably a far stretch. But this is torture. You only talk to him when the rest of the boys are around, and even then, you only say things like, what time does class start? and do you have a pen I can borrow?

His nice outfits don’t let up, but his hair is so long these days that you don’t take any notice of the throbbing hole through his cartilage that Jay somehow convinced him to get. Or so Heeseung tells himself because his ears stick out as far as his shoulders.

Today marks the first time he’s sat in the library during the day for more than ten minutes, and it’s surprisingly busy. Most of his library trips take place in the early hours of the morning, playing his way through the Papa’s Gameria franchise on the computer next to Jake, who spends several minutes at a time staring at his fancy engineering software before clicking the mouse and staring again. So seeing the steady flow of students come in and out, setting up camp at their tables with headphones and thick binders, while groups of friends whisper amongst themselves, leaning back in their seats and gasping every now and then feels like a culture shock.

There’s about an hour until your class finishes, and he’s been sitting here for two hours already since his Music and Identity class ended, wondering if he’s making a mistake by waiting for you. Especially because he knows you’re not expecting him to. He’s at a table right by the library’s entrance, so you’ll see him on the way out and it can feel like a chance encounter. Uncharacteristically, he’s used this time quite wisely, deciding to go through the reading he was given on the role music plays in maintaining cultural identity among diaspora communities and making notes in the margins of his handout until your class is done.

Impatience starts to settle in after thirty minutes so he texts you to see to ask if your class is over yet. Immediately, your response lights up his screen: yeah about an hour ago but i stayed home lmao what’s up :)

Staring down at the message, he sighs, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as he tries to come up with something to say. This goes on for a while until he realises what he’s doing and his heart clenches. How did you go from spending every waking moment texting each other to clutching at straws for a valid reason to talk?

At the very least, the smiley face you sent is doing wonders for his declining mood.

Heeseung settles on, “i just left office hours and wanted to know if anyone was still around haha,” before hiding his face with his hands.

oh nooooooo :( sorry dude, you reply. how’d it go?

In the six years he spent by your side, he’s never known you to use the word dude—at least not with him. By the looks of things, it seems like your time away was spent studying Jake’s texting patterns or a secret other thing that makes his head hurt when he thinks about it.

Sighing, Heeseung types back: good! had a couple questions after sem but it went well!

You react to the message with a heart but don’t reply. He doesn’t have enough time to think about what that might mean because Mark approaches the table, clutching the straps of his backpack with a grin on his face that makes Heeseung feel at ease, like a wide-eyed first year riddled with anxious excitement.

“You look good, man. You going somewhere nice later?” Mark asks, dapping him up.

Heeseung shakes his head. “Just home.”

“Nice.” Mark nods, gasping after a beat. “Did you hear? I made captain!”

“That’s major, dude, congrats! I knew you would.” If anyone deserves to be team captain, it’s Mark Lee. He was captain of the basketball team in high school and vetoed his spot to Heeseung when he graduated. Two years later, when Heeseung came to college, Mark had been enthusiastic about him joining the team too.

“I’ve been thinking that my first official act as captain should be getting you back on the team?” Mark’s voice tips up at the end, his brows raising hopefully.

The last time Heeseung was on the home court, he cried with the ball in his hands because he overheard someone in the crowd saying they didn’t think he could make the shot—they were right. He laughs, shaking his head. “Way too much pressure in uni basketball. Thanks for thinking of me, though.”

“I’m not giving up on you,” Mark says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, I hear your birthday’s coming up, can I host?”

“Host what?”

Mark’s hands clap soundlessly as he laughs. “A party, obviously! Twenty’s a big one! I’ll text you the deets, alright?” he asks, though it doesn’t sound like Heeseung has a choice because Mark’s already walking away, still laughing to himself.

In Heeseung’s eyes, there’s nothing better than knocking back (more than) a few bottles of soju with friends and singing your heart out in the four walls of a karaoke room. Worried about killing the mood, he enjoys from a distance, staying glued to the booth, ad-libbing for the boys and polishing off their drinks as discreetly as he can. The table is adorned with a collection of empty bottles and buckets of feasted-upon fried chicken that still envelop the room in a mouth-watering aroma, while a green strobe light pierces the air as Jake and Sunghoon wrap up their cover of Party Rock Anthem.

By the time Jay manages to convince Heeseung to sing something, he’s four bottles in and searching for the most heart-wrenching ballad he can find. Sofa by Crush has always been his favourite karaoke song. Even when it first came out and he was in a happy relationship; even at home, alone in the kitchen, using a broom handle as a makeshift microphone, singing until his voice went hoarse and tears stained his shirt.

It feels like fate when the song’s title flashes across the screen in big bold letters and he knows there’s no real way to ignore destiny, so he chooses it and stands up from his seat. Weighed down by alcohol and an aching heart, he stumbles to the front of the room to stand with his back to his friends. Clutching the mic until his knuckles turn white, he takes a deep breath, letting the intro wash over him before singing. He gets through the first half of the song before practically caving in on himself, too moved by the lyrics to stay on two feet. To Heeseung’s credit, he’s always had a beautiful voice, so he’s not exactly tanking in that respect, but if he was even a tiny bit more cognisant, he’d scrape himself up from his knees and finish the rest of the song in the same light-hearted way everyone else had.

The lights shift through red and blue, casting a pretty glow over the dim space and streaking purples and pinks all over the walls—aesthetically, the room is as moody as Heeseung feels. If he had eyes on the back of his head (or picked himself and his dignity from the floor) he might notice the way everyone else in the room is struck by his sadness, with all three boys sitting in solemn silence as a drunk Jay records the whole thing.

Tired of watching his friend fall apart, Sunghoon gets up from his seat, muttering dick at Jay for filming before taking the phone from his hands and cutting off the recording. He lifts Heeseung at the armpits like a baby and takes the mic. Clearing his throat, Sunghoon half-heartedly finishes the rest of the song while Heeseung cries into his shoulder. Their duet scores them 63 points and Jay spends the next few minutes texting. Heeseung appreciates Sunghoon’s efforts, crying more as his emotions oscillate from love for his friend to yearning for you, all while Jake attempts to lift the mood with a genuinely moving performance of Highway to Hell. From the way he’s air-drumming and bouncing his leg to the song, anyone could tell that Sunghoon is desperate to join in, but holding back for Heeseung’s sake. With a hiccup, Heeseung wipes his tears with his sleeve and throws himself out to the front, accompanying Jake with an air guitar. It’s only during the start of the second verse that Jay and Sunghoon join in, and a full-fledged rock band moment falls upon them as if gifted from heaven.

After another hour of singing and drinking, Heeseung and Jay race up their apartment building’s stairs. Panting heavily, with his heart beating in his throat, Heeseung’s knees ache when he reaches the top — though caught up in catching his breath and the sight of you sleeping against the doorframe — he can’t even celebrate his win.

“Huh,” Jay says when he joins him. “How’d she get here?”

Heeseung can only shrug in response.

Suddenly self-conscious in your presence, he stands up straighter, pushing some of his hair off his forehead. Jay moves from behind him, approaching you, but Heeseung’s too hung up on the way you hold your jacket tight around your body to do the same. He wants to though—wants to help you out, pick you up and hold you in his arms, kiss your forehead and lovingly scold you for staying out in the cold. But he’s not drunk enough to convince himself you’ll take that well.

Instead, he remains glued to the spot, watching Jay wake you up, only mobilising when you’re on your feet, stretching your arms above your head. To you, the sliver of skin peeking out where your shirt ends and your jeans begin is a fleeting detail, lost entirely under a veil of just-risen drowsiness. Yet, to Heeseung, it’s everything. It’s enough to make him want to beg you for a second chance right then and there. But he’s not drunk enough to convince himself you’ll take that well either.

You’re talking with Jay and there’s a crease in your brow when Heeseung reaches you. Your voices were too quiet to make sense of with the distance but now he hears you loud and clear. “You told me almost two hours ago that you guys were leaving soon,” you sigh, rubbing your neck.

Jay snorts, missing the keyhole a few times before catching it. “Should’ve just joined in, stupid.”

“It was boy’s night and you made it very clear that I don’t count. And when I asked what bar you guys were at, you just said doesn’t matter, leaving in ten, and, by the way, none of it was spelt correctly. It felt like you were using code.”

“Caesar Cipher, perhaps?”

“Pig Latin, more like,” you scoff, leaning against the wall.

A mischievous grin spreads over Jay’s lips and Heeseung already hates whatever he’s about to say. “Ixnay on the Eeseunghay.” Yeah, Heeseung hates it. He glances between the two of you, picking up on the smile you can’t hide as you roll your eyes.

Your gaze finds Heeseung’s and your lips curl into a frown as you look back at Jay. “Otgay ityay.” You nod firmly.

From context — and memories of numerous private conversations the two of you used to have in his presence — he figures it’s Pig Latin, a linguistic puzzle more intricate than any the English language has ever thrown at him.

After a beat, you nod towards the open door. “Get inside.”

You follow the boys in and lock the door when Jay hands you his keys. He quickly heads to his room, leaving Heeseung shifting his weight from one foot to the other in the living room, staring at you. Save for Jay’s bedroom, all of the lights are off. The only light shines through the open blinds, a vivid orange beam coming from a streetlight outside, casting a harsh shadow over the room. The terminator line is stark—a clear partition between Heeseung, who’s standing in the shade, and you, who stands in front of the window, backlit by the warm light. You’re glowing. Or, at least, the lighting makes it look like you are—outlining all your edges in soft orange.

Absently, he plays with the zipper on his jacket—unsure of what’s going on or why you’re here at all. It takes a while, but the words finally escape him. “What are you doing here?” Simultaneously, you ask if he’s okay.

Even in the dark, your smile warms the room. For you and Heeseung, speaking in unison like that isn’t anything new, so it’s not enough to rouse a reaction from him—nonetheless, he smiles too. Whether by way of drunk optimism or his own sudden acceptance, Heeseung’s starting to feel as though maybe just being by your side, making you smile, might be enough for him.

“Jay texted me, and I wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.”

“What did he say?”

“That you were having a hard time.”

Heeseung nods slowly.

“Actually, he said—” You pause to check your phone. “—Jay said, worried but hyung he is m let down. I think he meant meltdown?”

“Hyung,” Heeseung repeats, tilting his head as if the word is foreign to him. A crease runs along his brow, Jay is way drunker than he let on.

“Huh,” you utter, tilting your head too. “I actually thought m let down would’ve gotten a bigger reaction out of you.”

A moment passes, and then another before Heeseung says, “You can sit if you want. I don’t know if you’re going to stay long or anything, but you can always sit here.”

You smile and he can hear it, watching you take your coat off before sitting on the couch. It’s a bit of a stretch from where you’re sitting but you reach over to turn on the lamp in the corner and Heeseung sits too, as far away as he can. You look comfortable, like you’re supposed to be there and the thought warms his heart.

“You didn’t have to come here. I’m happy you did but you didn’t have to,” he says after too long.

A frown tugs your lips down. “Of course, I did. I care about you, Heeseung, you know that.”

Now doesn’t seem like the time to argue, so he makes a mental note to mull over this later. “I know,” he lies, his voice nothing more than a mumble as he nods.

“Did you guys have fun?”

Deciding it best to pretend his Crush cover went well, he nods again, smiling as he thinks about the nice parts of boys’ night. With your encouragement, he talks happily for a while about their song choices and the way they all came together in the end. “I feel like we’d get on pretty well as an AC/DC tribute act.”

“Do you know what room you were in? There’s got to be a way for me to pull the security footage and see for myself.”

“I actually think Jimin works there, she might be able to hook you up.”

“Jimin?” you repeat in a different tone. The shift is so subtle that Heeseung barely picks up on it, never mind placing it or knowing what it might mean. If he were any more delusional, he might think you’re jealous, but the curiosity in your voice tells him to get out of his head.

“Yeah, this one girl in the year above,” he explains. “She transferred to humanities so we had a couple classes together last term.”

“Oh, cool.”

He really can’t work out your tone and it’s disconcerting. Maybe he should talk about Jimin some more. “She’s like mega smart, and really nice too. She was actually at the club that night! The girl I was talking to when you and Jay went to get drinks,” he says, suddenly remembering.

“Good for Jimin.”

“I think you’d like her.” He smiles. “You know, if you’re looking for friends or anything.”

You only nod, pressing your lips together and leaving Heeseung at a complete loss for words. He watches you chewing on the inside of your cheek, playing with the thread bracelet on your wrist. “I’ve always loved your voice,” you mumble, looking down.

“I know.. You used to beg me to stay up on the phone singing for you.” Heeseung presses his lips together after speaking, mentally locking them and throwing away the key.

You nod with a smile on your face that makes his stomach flutter. “You’re, like, the best guy ever.”

That makes sense. That Heeseung could be like, the best guy ever but not quite good enough to stay with. He mulls over your words and contemplates setting himself on fire. Standing up from the couch, he goes over to his room. From the doorway, he says, “You can share Jay’s bed, it’s too late to go home by yourself.”

Heeseung closes his door with plans to stay inside the whole night, but only manages an hour before he gets sick of the stale taste in his mouth. He leaves quietly, and in the light from outside, he sees you sleeping on the sofa with your hands tucked under your head. His heart sinks. Without much thought, he carries you to his room, tucks you in and runs away before doing something stupid like kissing your head to go and brush his teeth. Unlike you, he’s not afraid to wake Jay up, pushing the boy over to make room for himself on his bed, where he lays awake for hours trying to figure out what went wrong with you two until his head starts to hurt.

In the morning, Heeseung doesn’t see you before you leave, but he spends the better part of an hour with his ear pressed against Jay’s door, eavesdropping on your conversation. If you weren’t talking about him he might feel guilty about this, but you are, so..

“I just feel bad, you know? I don’t know how to fit into his life and I feel like I’m only making things harder for him by being here,” you say. “Harder for everyone.”

Heeseung grips the doorframe until his knuckles turn white. He’s spent too much time thinking about how to be your friend without actually trying to be, too caught up in his own feelings to see how he’s affecting everyone else. The corners of his lips droop at the thought.

“We’re happy to have you back, Heeseung too. He’s just.. hurting, you know? I’m not sure if you heard but he kind of got blindsided and dumped by his high school girlfriend,” Jay says.

You laugh drily and he pictures the way you roll your eyes. “Hey, uh, random Q, what do you know about Jimin?”

Jay’s quiet for a bit. Or he’s whispering. Heeseung presses his entire body to the door as if it’ll help. “Yoo Jimin?” he asks.

“Probably. Heeseung’s friend.”

“She’s cool,” he answers simply. “You’d like her.”

“So I keep hearing. What’s going on with them?”

“Nothing really. They met at some party last year, both pretty drunk, and somehow ended up in a random bedroom where she tried hooking up with him.” Jay’s words strike Heeseung like a jolt, his heart pounds and his stomach twists. It takes a lot for him and the knot in his stomach not to burst out of the room and clear things up. The main thing stopping him though, is that Jay’s telling the truth. “But he misread the whole thing and ended up detailing your entire relationship for two hours,” Jay adds after a while.

“And now?”

“Why do you care?” Jay’s tone is teasing but the question makes Heeseung spiral.

His mouth starts to dry up at the thought of you admitting that you don’t care, that you’re over him and just being nosy. Panic swells in his chest and he jumps away from the door as if it’s red hot, scrambling back under the covers of Jay’s bed and falling back asleep.

In the following two weeks, Heeseung finds himself mastering the art of avoidance. He fills his evenings with pick-up basketball games with Mark on random courts in the neighbourhood and rushes out of class before you have the chance to talk to him. Playing with Mark is fun, but he can’t ignore the regret festering within him, a persistent thorn in his side. Fortunately for him, Jay, whether knowingly or not, presents him with a potential turning point. He’s invited you and the boys over for pres before his party, instructing Heeseung to get his shit together and acknowledge your existence.

On the night before his birthday, the apartment echoes with your voice, yelling at Jake to get off the floor. Sunghoon’s cackles only get louder, filling the space. Behind his closed bedroom door, Heeseung catches a panicked glance of himself in the mirror, running a hand through his hair and adjusting his bangs. He lingers in his room as long as he can, trying to put off seeing you.

Jay opens the door without knocking, a lazy grin on his face and a slight sway in his stance that tells Heeseung he’s drunk already. “What are you doing? We’re waiting.”

“I don’t know,” he admits.

Rolling his eyes, Jay lets out a tired groan. It’s an unspoken scolding that Heeseung heeds immediately, following him into the kitchen, where Jake is messily pouring shots on the counter. He doesn’t see you anywhere, but Sunghoon distracts him, cheering and wrapping his arms around him—also drunk already. “She’s in Jay’s room, Yunjin called,” he says. “Oh, yeah, happy almost birthday, man. Twenty is crazy.”

By the looks of things, Sunghoon’s on a mission to kill Heeseung. Twenty shots for his twentieth birthday doesn’t sound like as much fun as Sunghoon thinks it does, it sounds like a punishment or a death sentence. Heeseung — put off by the smell of vodka — manages four shots before tapping out, deciding that he’d quite like to remember tonight and wake up on his birthday without a headache.

Heeseung’s eyes widen when you show up in the doorway, a confusing sense of surprise washing over him. It’s not like he didn’t know you were here; he heard you earlier. It’s just that your sudden presence catches him off guard. His heart skips a beat and a sudden rush of nerves courses through him. He takes in your appearance, his eyes tracing every inch of you before meeting your eyes. As you run your hand through your hair, you smile at him, so pretty and genuine that he can’t help grinning back.

Your dress is beautiful, of course—black satin, he thinks, with pretty pink ribbons tied into perfect bows on the top, and you’re the only girl Heeseung’s ever wanted in his life.

A whispered whoa falls from his lips, which seem to rest in an ‘o’ as he stares at you. You’re looking away from him now, focused on the tequila puddle Jake’s left on the counter, grabbing some paper towels to mop it up. Jay snorts beside him, nudging his ribs hard. “You’ll catch flies, Heeseung. Come on—decorum, please.”

Heeseung clears his throat, running a hand through his hair and wiping his palms on his pants, but he doesn’t make any moves towards you.

“Do something,” Jay mumbles.

He nods in response, repeating do something, over and over in his head until he finally approaches you. “Hey,” he says, breathless. His heart hammers in his chest when you look up at him, beaming.

“Heeseung,” you say. “Happy almost birthday. How’re you feeling?”

Before he has a chance to respond, you wrap your arms around his waist, and like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his arms fall around your shoulders, holding you close. It’s perfect. Some combination of your warm scent and alcohol causes the butterflies in his stomach to rage, fluttering so frantically he thinks he might be sick.

“Insane,” he admits.

He can hear you laughing, feeling your chuckles against his chest. “You know, what?” You lean away from him, arms still around his waist, eyes locked on his and a soft smile on your lips. “Me too.”

An odd weakness settles in his knees, a dizzying flutter alighting his entire body as he nods. Over his shoulder, Sunghoon calls for him, chanting, “More shots! More shots!” For a while, Heeseung ignores him, watching you until he feels his ears heating up at the top.

“I think I have to go,” he mumbles, eyes locked on your lips. They curl up into a crooked grin, and you use a hand to pat his chest.

“Good luck.”

Heeseung takes a deep breath when you let go of him, taking shaky steps towards his friend, who’s grinning widely enough to show his fangs. “Sorry to interrupt, I think you could use the help though,” Sunghoon says, holding out a shot glass to him.

He shakes his head at the shot, taking it from Sunghoon’s hand and placing it down on the table. “I need a minute.”

Sunghoon only shrugs, taking the drink himself, knocking it back with no visible reaction, and Heeseung thinks he must be a monster. “I really think you could fix things tonight,” he says afterwards, pouring another.

Instead of taking this in stride, Heeseung decides to pretend you don’t exist after hugging you—it’ll be easier that way. To him, this looks like staring at you in your pretty dress and snapping his neck in the opposite direction when you look over at him.

To appease Sunghoon, he takes another three shots and has to sit down, overwhelmed by the way his cheeks burn and how the kitchen starts to tilt around him. His mouth is oddly dry; a sensation that has nothing to do with you or the way you look in your dress. This time when you catch him staring, he smiles.

Even in his beyond-tipsy state, Jay manages to ensure everyone leaves the flat before requesting an Uber. Heeseung finds himself sitting cross-legged on the pavement, for some reason, scrolling through his camera roll.

“Car’s here, get up,” Jay eventually mumbles, nudging his back with the tip of his shoe.

With some stumbling, Heeseung stands up, dusts off his pants and heads to the car. Jay holds the door open for you, and as you slide across the backseat, your dress rides up. Heeseung screws his eyes shut, shaking his head to clear his thoughts, like resetting an etch-a-sketch. Jay’s hand claps his back as he instructs him to get in, which he does. Hesitantly, he slides into the middle seat, glancing to his right to see who’ll be joining you.

“You’ll thank me later!” Jay calls out, closing the door.

Before he even has a chance to shift over, your hand lands firmly on his knee, silently urging him to stay put. With a pounding heart, he complies. The back of his hand brushes against your thigh as he fastens his seatbelt, and the feeling of your soft skin against his leaves him breathless. He feels afloat when the car starts moving. A few minutes pass before you take your hand from his knee, mumbling an apology as you place it on your lap, idly playing with your fingers.

Mark lives about twenty minutes away, leaving Heeseung with something close to sixteen minutes to think of something to say. R&B from the early 2000s rumbles through the speakers in the car, vaguely explicit lyrics alluding to something he’s craving fill the space around the two of you, wrapped up in your warm vanilla scent and the fresh peppermint gum you’re chewing. To put it simply, there’s not a coherent thought in his head he could express that wouldn’t get him into trouble.

“I didn’t know you were on the basketball team,” you say after a while. “Well, I did know, but you know.”

“I don’t know,” he admits quietly because he has no idea what you’re talking about.

A beat passes before you speak again. “How was your day?”

The first thing on his mind is what falls from his lips. “You look beautiful,” Heeseung blurts out, trying to ignore the tinge of anxiety that’s irritating his stomach. “Your dress is.. It’s really pretty,” he adds, feeling as though he won’t lose anything by putting everything on the table.

“Thanks.” You smile. “You look beautiful too.”

Heeseung’s breath hitches in his throat and he looks down at his outfit in the dark. If Jay hadn’t interfered, he’d be wearing a hoodie and sweatpants right now, but he’s happy with the simple striped shirt and loose pants Jay suggested, even if it leaves him a little chilly. “It’s, uh, it’s actually my birthday party tonight,” he supplies uselessly.

You laugh, and it’s the best sound he’s ever heard. “I kind of just meant in general.”

“Me too.”

The car falls silent as he lets his head fall into the space between the headrests and closes his eyes. When you reach Mark’s house, he opens them and finds you staring with a smile. “I thought you fell asleep,” you say.

He shakes his head, sliding over the backseat and opening the door. He didn’t expect you to leave from the same side as him, but he likes the heat on his cheeks as he closes the door for you. Wordlessly, the two of you go through the gate and join Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon who are sitting cross-legged on the porch, giggling around a shared joint. He has no idea how they arrived before you did.

Heeseung isn’t sure how he loses you guys but it’s not until his third round of beer pong that he actually notices. Lee Jeno and his red eyes are a poor shot, barely managing to throw the ball without hitting Heeseung’s chest or dropping it before he gets to aim. He almost feels bad for the guy when he sinks another one of his cups, watching Jeno frown before pinching his nostrils shut and taking a big gulp.

Jay’s sudden presence startles him, though he’s quick to grin at his best friend. The smile isn’t returned. Instead, he leans up to Heeseung’s ear, yelling that YN’s crying before nudging his way out of the room. His heart sinks and he offers no explanation to Jeno, following Jay upstairs and into the bathroom where he finds you, sitting on the floor, crying into Sunghoon’s shirt while Jake watches with a frown, picking at his nails.

“What happened?”

Jake talks with a hushed tone while Sunghoon helps you up before leaving. “She didn’t say anything, she just asked us to go to the bathroom with her and started crying.” He opens his mouth to continue but Jay yanks him out of the room, closing the door.

“I’m not, like, upset or anything,” you say after a while, wiping your eyes with the back of your hands. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m sorry. I really didn’t want to ruin tonight for you so I told Jake not to say anything, but obviously, he didn’t listen.”

“Jake did the right thing telling Jay, none of us want to see you upset.”

“I’m not upset.” You hit Heeseung’s chest with a weak fist, crying more. “Why does everyone think I’m upset?”

“It might be the tears,” he offers, feeling good about making you smile.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Are you using a new liner? Mascara? You still look good.”

You take a look in the mirror, resting your hands on the edge of the sink. “Yeah, I discovered waterproof makeup in first year.”

“Is it harder to take off?”

“Definitely, but it’s worth it, I think, for nights like this.”

“Yeah, right.” Heeseung nods, watching you carefully as he sits on the edge of the bathtub. It’s like being in high school, seeing you like this. Most of the parties you went to were spent in the bathroom, with Heeseung holding your hair back and trying to calm you down after throwing up. He misses all of it except the vomit. “Are you okay?”

Catching his gaze in the mirror, you nod but look down at your hands when he says your name. “It’s just a little harder being back than I thought it would be.”

“Oh.”

You sigh, playing with your hair as you sit down next to him. “Obviously it’s great seeing the guys all the time, seeing you all the time, but everything’s fucked and we act like strangers and it’s killing me not being able to just..” you trail off. Heeseung is clearly drunker than he feels because it looks like your eyes are stuck on his lips. After a beat you slide away from him, moving until your back hits the wall. A mixture of frustration and something else colours your face. “I just don’t like treating you like a stranger and I don’t know how to fix it.” Before he has a chance to think or to say anything you ask him for the time.

“It’s 12:23.”

“Happy birthday!” you say, smiling. “Am I the first to say it?”

“You’re always first.” Even last year, you sent a text at midnight, so Heeseung’s not sure why there’s a surprised look in your eyes or why it’s making him want to kiss you more than usual. “You don’t have to treat me like a stranger if you don’t want to,” he says carefully, trying to get you both back on track.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to act around you.”

His voice is soft when he says, “Honestly, neither do I.”

“I wish I never left.”

“Everything happens for a reason, I guess.” Despite the small smile on his face, he’s still trying to understand what reason you had.

An exhaled laugh comes from your nose and you nudge him. “Were you secretly trying to get rid of me?”

“You caught me,” he sighs, holding out his hands in defeat. “I had this whole elaborate plan. I was going to fake my death, but you saved me the trouble. Thanks for that.”

Both of you share a genuine laugh and the tension in the air eases up a bit. Heeseung’s eyes meet yours; a brief moment of silence follows. You clear your throat. “I’m sorry for leaving. I really wish things could’ve been different.”

It can’t be your intention to hurt him by saying that, but you do, leaving Heeseung feeling the full spectrum of his emotions. A pang of hurt, of longing—hurting himself even more as he thinks about the could-have-beens. He purses his lips, looking down at his shoes. “Me too.” Sick of the tension, of his feelings, he glances at you, sitting up a little straighter. “How about we start fresh? Clean slate?”

“Clean slate?” you echo, raising an inquisitive brow.

Heeseung nods, determined, extending his hand for you to shake. “I’m Heeseung.”

“YN,” you chuckle, taking his hand in yours.

He holds onto it, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “Funny, you look just like my ex.”

Your eyes widen, amused. “Wow, Hee, you always know just what to say.”

The two of you sit quietly for a moment, but Heeseung’s just glad you’re not crying anymore. He feels lighter now, hopefully you do too. Standing up, he holds out a hand to help you get to your feet which you take, smiling up at him as you straighten out your dress.

“You know,” he says, clapping his hands together. “For a second there, I thought I’d need a manual on how to talk to you again, but I think we’re doing pretty well.”

Heeseung feels pleased with himself when you laugh, rolling your eyes and nudging his chest with your hand. “Shut up,” you say, light and playful.

“Are you ready to get back to the guys?”

You smile at him, nodding before quickly turning back to the mirror. “Do I look okay?”

It doesn’t make sense to Heeseung that a girl as beautiful as you could ever look just okay. Even with the slight swell to your glassy eyes, you’re the most perfect person he’s ever seen. But he can’t say that. So instead, he pulls a sharp breath through his teeth, tilting his head a bit and raising his hand in a horizontal gesture, his fingers wobbling as if balancing an imaginary scale. A non-committal sound escapes him, a soft eh before he laughs at the way your jaw drops.

You punch his arm. “Heeseung!”

“Come on, you know you look great,” he mumbles, looking away to hide the flush in his cheeks. The sound of your lips spreading into a smile makes his stomach flutter as he opens the door to find Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon sitting cross-legged in the hall in front of it.

“Birthday boy!” Jay yells, springing to his feet and flinging his arms around Heeseung.

“And YN!” Jake adds from his seat.

Heeseung hears you saying thanks to Jake before sitting next to him.

“So, did you two kiss and make up or what?” Jay’s attempt at whispering is futile and somehow Heeseung’s cheeks burn even more as he frees himself from his friend’s hold.

“Kiss, no. Make up, yes.”

“Playing the long game, I like it.” Jay grins, patting Heeseung on the back. “Sit down, let’s talk.”

Heeseung sits in the space next to Sunghoon, holding his legs awkwardly to his chest. He’s not entirely sure what’s happening and he feels like he’s not drunk enough anymore to fully relax into it, until you leave Jake’s side, crawling over to Heeseung and resting your head on his shoulder. In the dim hall, the boys shuffle around but it’s too dark to see what they’re doing—not that he cares much at this point, letting his head rest on top of yours and closing his eyes. It almost sounds quite pretty when they start singing Happy Birthday, and Jake has a tiny lunchbox cake in his hands when Heeseung opens his eyes. Its purple-frosted TWENT-HEE is disrupted by a half-smoked joint stuck in the centre which the flash on Sunghoon’s phone provides a makeshift flame for.

“Make a wish!” you squeal, clapping your hands.

It takes three attempts for Heeseung and Sunghoon to coordinate the timing between his exhale and Sunghoon turning the flash off, but the candle is blown out, and, right now. Heeseung has everything he’s ever wanted.

Almost.

Heeseung wakes up pressed against the wall with an arm wrapped around his waist. An embarrassing surge of excitement courses through him as he thinks about your conversation and puts his hand over yours. What he’s met with is less of the softness he’d anticipated, and more of the coarse skin and defined knuckles he’s come to recognise as Jake’s hand under the duvet. It only takes a look over his shoulder to make sense of why Heeseung’s nose is grazing his bedroom wall. Behind him is Jake, who’s being spooned by you, and behind you is Sunghoon who’s clinging onto your frame for dear life, even in his slumber. Evidently, Jay’s had a successful night and with his unwavering loyalty to Yunjin, it’s not hard to figure out what happened in the room across the hall.

With his eyes pressed shut, desperate to clutch some more sleep, he hears you mumbling. “Park Sunghoon, if you don’t wake up and let go of me, I’ll kill you,” you say with a tone that frightens Heeseung and sets off a flutter in his stomach. The yelp and thud that follow seem to wake Jake up and he crawls over you to get out of bed, stretching his arms out above his head and making no effort to step over Sunghoon on the floor. You roll over in the bed, wrapping an arm around Heeseung’s waist and pressing yourself into his side. “Happy birthday,” you say through a yawn before getting up.

He manages to mumble a thanks, butterflies running wild in his stomach and a flush creeping up his neck as he watches you leave the room, eyes stuck on the way your hips move in last night’s dress. He gets out of bed, sighing, untucking his shirt to cover the tightness in his pants before joining his friends in the kitchen.

Hungry but unmoving, you and the boys occupy the three seats at the small kitchen table, harping on about the different things as Jake whines, begging you to keep it down.

Heeseung’s first intense emotion as a sober twenty-year-old is betrayal. There are used dishes lying in the sink, plates, mugs, and pans — two of each — staring up at him, wafting the scent of a cooked breakfast, with no leftovers in sight, up to his nostrils. He sighs, wondering if it’s his responsibility as host, and eldest friend, to make more food for everyone, or if, as the birthday boy, he should sit around and wait for someone else to take action. Settling on the latter, he sights up on the countertop, sure to keep his back to you so he doesn’t have to see the low neckline of your dress.

Finally, Jay comes back, whistling an unfamiliar tune and twirling his keys on his finger when he reaches the kitchen. “Hello,” he says simply, leaning against the doorjamb as if he hadn’t single-handedly ruined Heeseung’s birthday.

Sunghoon rubs his eyes, looking in Jay’s direction. “So now, if I want a nice breakfast after a night out, do I have to fuck you?”

Jay’s cheeks flush as he looks at his feet. “I mean, I planned to cook for you guys when I got back.”

“I don’t want your sloppy seconds,” he scoffs, slumping in his chair.

“I do, Jay. Cook for me,” you say, gesturing toward Jay’s general direction making grabby hands at him.

With a gentle smile, he crosses the room and pats your head. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Anything,” you mumble into his shirt.

Jay nods, going over to the fridge. He stands in front of it with his hands on his hips, completely still for almost two minutes and Heeseung only approaches him because he’s worried about the outside heat getting on all the food through the open door.

“What are you doing?” he asks, uttering his first sentence of the morning.

Jay clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck as he leans towards Heeseung. “I, uh, finished the eggs, milk, and bacon.” A nervous look covers his face before he continues. “And we ate your Hello Kitty pancake mix,” he adds, mumbling like he doesn’t want to be heard.

Unfortunately, he is, and Heeseung’s mortified. “My Hello Kitty pancake mix?!” He takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “YN got that for me, we were supposed to make those together.” His voice is as whiny as his volume will allow, and he struggles not to stomp his feet.

“Oh, you were? How’d that work out?” Jay’s words are cutting.

“Okay, ouch.”

“Dude, it was expiring next week. Plus, Yunjin just looked so cute when she saw it—I had to.”

“What if I wanted to make them this week?”

“You’ve had the box for two years,” Jay reminds him. “Think of Yunjin.”

With a sigh, Heeseung actually does think of Yunjin. Although the girl he envisions is different from the one Jay wants him to imagine.

They met on the first day of university. She had a guitar strapped to her back, and a huge amp in hand when she approached him. Her eyes were wide with nervousness or excitement; Heeseung couldn’t tell which. Immediately, she extended her free hand for him to shake. “Yunjin,” she said.

“No.” He shook his head while pointing at himself. “Heeseung.” From the way she laughed at his stupid joke, he knew she was the next girl Jay would fall for.

Jay had a habit of falling in love with the first girl to do something nice for him on any given day. And then the next girl. But after hearing Yunjin talk about her gap year, spent learning guitar seriously, Heeseung had a feeling things were going to change for his friend. He was right.

The memory, along with the satisfaction of having figured those two out from the beginning, brings a warm smile to Heeseung’s face. “You owe me.”

“Yeah, whatever. I owe you,” Jay scoffs, though the slight furrow in his brow suggests genuine remorse. “Just so you know, they weren’t special or anything.. just pancakes, you know?”

Heeseung chuckles despite himself. “Are you trying to make me feel better?”

“Maybe a little,” Jay shrugs. To his credit, it works.

At least until Heeseung’s stomach grumbles, a noisy reminder of why they’re standing there in the first place. He also learns the hard way that the fridge starts to beep when you leave it open too long. Jay laughs through his nose, closing the door with his elbow.

“What are we eating?”

Jay seems to think about this for a minute, tilting his head and suggesting McDonald’s.

If asked, Heeseung probably wouldn’t have said he pictured spending the morning of his twentieth birthday squished between Jake and Sunghoon in a sticky booth, but he’s here and can’t find anything to complain about as he inhales his breakfast. Too caught up in the way his hoodie drapes over you, he listens half-heartedly as you all quiz Jay on his night. It seems like he’s being pretty tight-lipped about the whole thing but the dreamy grin on his face is hard to miss.

Eventually, you all pile back into Jay’s car, with Heeseung sitting shotgun as a birthday gift, that he doesn’t get to fully enjoy because he falls asleep as soon as the car starts moving. He sinks into the front seat, a contented smile playing on his lips as the warmth of the sun and his full stomach lull him into a peaceful nap.

At home, he thanks Jay before crawling into bed where he replies to messages before letting his head fall into the pillow.

His eyes don’t even close all the way before you come into the room. “Can I nap in here?”

Heeseung nods, watching you get comfortable under his duvet. In a matter of seconds, you’re just an arm’s reach away, softly snoring with your back to him. Meanwhile, he spends four hours laying completely still, trying to convince himself that the heat radiating from your sleeping form doesn’t make him miss you more.

At around 3 p.m. when everyone wakes up, you and the boys hurry away for various mumbled reasons, leaving Heeseung home alone, trying to practise his surprised face for whenever you’re all back with cake and a gift.

You don’t return until Heeseung’s hair has started to dry after his shower, but you waste no time shuffling around the kitchen before coming back with a pretty cake and real candles with a real flame, singing for him again. With the way Jake’s rushing him, Heeseung can’t come up with a wish in time, so blows out the candles with a clear mind.

“Woo!” Jake cheers, clapping around a wrapped present that he immediately thrusts into Heeseung’s hands. “Open it!”

He barely gets to peel the first piece of tape before he jumps off the couch and kneels down next to him. “It’s LEGO! The Infinity Gauntlet, you know? And the best part is..” Jake pauses dramatically. “You get to put it together with your best friend, Jake! Right now!” His excitement is endearing even though he’s ruined the surprise. “The others can help too, I guess.”

You frown at him. “I paid for the kind lady at the LEGO store to gift wrap that for us.”

“Yeah, and she did great!” Jake grins. “Can I help you open it? Please, Heeseung, please. You’re taking forever.”

With a smile, Heeseung hands the box to Jake, letting him open it carefully before Sunghoon joins in, tearing the paper to shreds all while Jay records the whole moment like a proud father. All five of you are sitting on the floor now, covered in wrapping paper while Jake holds the LEGO set up like it’s his, blinking hard at the camera with a smile on his face, and it’s Heeseung’s favourite birthday yet.

my girl: who wants to take me on a date?

Heeseung knows he should probably change your contact name but the notification still makes his cheeks burn in a way he thinks he likes.

jake: heeseung probably

jake: idk tho

my girl: ok heeseung come to the museum with me for class

sunghoon: next time open with the museum thing holy shit.. i almost fucking volunteered

heeseung: when?

my girl: i would have rejected you hoon

my girl: whenever ur free !

Heeseung’s schedule always has a way of clearing up when it comes to you, and he skips pick-up with Mark to pick you up at your door that evening. You answer right when Heeseung knocks, sliding some rings onto your fingers with a smile on your face, saying, “Hello.”

“You..” Heeseung swallows, nodding his head. He’s doing his best not to check you out but he really can’t help it when your jeans seem to fit like they were made for you. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Hey.”

He clears his throat, finally managing to unstick his gaze from your thighs and gestures in the direction of the stairs. “Shall we?”

At the train station, you don’t object when Heeseung pays for your ticket, he didn’t mean to, his finger just clicked through for two tickets instead of one. He’s happy when you don’t make a big deal about it, only smiling and thanking him when he hands you the ticket. He stands close behind you, protective, letting the peak-time commuters nudge past him instead of you as you wait in line for the only working ticket barrier. You go through first and Heeseung quietly follows, trying to keep his eyes off your ass and praying that the rest of the day goes by more comfortably than it’s started.

The train is packed too, so you stand by the doors and, again, Heeseung stands maybe a little closer than necessary, his arm above his head gripping the yellow handrail. “Why did you want to go to the museum anyway?” he asks, gulping when you look up at him.

“I’ve always liked museums.” You shrug, playing with the buttons on your cardigan.

“I know, it’s just.. You said earlier you wanted to go for one of your classes.”

“Right. It’s a requirement for one of them. Visualising Culture,” you explain, looking him in the eyes. Suddenly nervous, he doesn’t trust his voice to speak so he nods, keeping his gaze fixed on yours. “Museum and Exhibition Studies.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah.” You nod and turn your head from him, looking through the window.

Your eyes are stuck on the trees outside, blurring into each other, and his eyes are stuck on the side of your face, staring shamelessly for the rest of the journey. A tinny voice announces the name of the station you’re approaching, and you nudge Heeseung gently, a silent signal that it’s time to leave. Silence seems to follow you out of the station and into the museum, but he tells himself he doesn’t mind.

For the last hour, you’ve been looking at artwork without taking note of anything or making comments, all while Heeseung observes you, wondering what you’re supposed to be doing for class. “What’s the point of this trip?” he finally asks.

Without backing away from the painting, you turn your head to look at him, raising a brow. “What do you mean?”

“Like, what’s your task?”

You chew on your lip for a bit before looking back at the painting. He can’t help but wonder if in all your time away you’ve been flexing some sort of elitist muscle, or if it’s come about as a result of your fancy exhibition studies class that you had to take a test to be accepted into. Finally, you lean away from the painting and use your phone to take a picture of the blurb before looking at him again.

“I wanted an excuse to get someone to come to the museum with me and I wanted it to be you.”

Your words are so cute and so honest that his heart warms in his chest, even as he ignores his sadness about the fact you felt like you needed an excuse to hang out. “You could have just asked me.”

Considering his words, you frown, tilting your head at him. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is easy, or it should be, it’s us,” he says unthinkingly. Clearing his throat, he scratches the back of his neck. “I mean, that’s, like, the whole point of having friends, right? To hang out with them?”

“Well.. yes. I just.. I don’t know.”

Somehow, this makes perfect sense to Heeseung who only nods his head, moving on from the frame when you do. It’s nice watching you admire the art, to watch the soft smile that develops as your eyes scan the canvas.

You like looking at the paintings when no one else is, to get up close and try spotting the brush strokes. You like imagining the artist and how they might have felt as they painted, and when the paint is thick, protruding from the canvas, when you can see streaks of yellow peeking through a sludgy green. You have a lot to say about the paintings and how they make you feel, and how they don’t make you feel, finding something you like in all of them.

After a while, you grab Heeseung’s hand and excitedly pull him through all the Ancient Egypt stuff, and he’s too happy that his fingers are locked with yours to worry about his aching feet anymore, and you’re so cute with your wide grin that he doesn’t have the heart to tell you he’d like to sit down. He hates you a little when the two of you take turns writing your names in hieroglyphs, and you somehow manage to maintain your neat handwriting. But you make up for it by writing his name too, drawing a pretty butterfly at the end that makes his heart race.

You start rambling about shabtis and how people were typically buried with a few, depending on their wealth and status, but Tutankhamun was buried with something like four hundred, and some of them were even painted to look like him. “Look at how pretty this one is,” you say, grinning while holding your phone in his face with a picture of one. Your excitement peaks when you reach the big sarcophagus, and you let out a squeal when you open it and three kids run out, bursting into a fit of giggles. You’re excessively cute when you ask him to take a picture of you, and then make him take a video opening the front while you're ‘dead’ inside it. Which takes a few attempts because you’re laughing each time.

You tell him to delete those takes. He doesn’t.

Right when he’s expecting you to get out, you grab him by the wrist and pull him in with you, closing the front of it before letting go of him. Heeseung is certain he’s lived this exact moment before, but he was seventeen and you were giggling like crazy, feeling around in the dark for his shoulders to wrap your arms around before kissing him. He has no idea what he’s supposed to do or what you want him to do, and the feeling of your breath fanning his neck in the tight space isn’t helping.

Silent minutes pass by like hours until a kid pulls the sarcophagus open. The light is blinding but Heeseung steps out, relieved, almost thanking the kid for saving him. You’re fiddling with your necklace and struggling to meet his eyes. When you do though, you shoot him an easy grin, laughing to yourself about nothing.

“Do you want to get something to eat?” Drinks maybe?” you ask after a while, playing with the zipper on your jacket.

Heeseung takes you to a restaurant where university students he’s only seen on Instagram walk around like they own the place. A tired-looking guy comes to take your orders before you even have a chance to take your coat off so Heeseung asks for a minute and the waiter leaves. There’s something in his demeanour though that makes it seem like you only have one full minute to make up your minds.

“What do you want to drink?” you ask, holding the drinks menu out to him.

Heeseung closes it, sitting it on the table. “Probably a beer.”

You laugh at this. “You don’t have to act all manly in front of me.” There’s a soft look in your eyes like you mean it.

“I actually like beer these days.”

Your brows raise and your jaw drops before you utter the word whoa.

“What?” he asks, suddenly self-conscious.

You shrug, collecting yourself. “You’re just.. different now.”

The very prospect of being different is shocking to Heeseung who prides himself on being pretty consistent with his behaviour. His brows knit together as he tilts his head. “Because I like beer?” he asks, scoffing slightly at the mere suggestion.

“I mean, that’s part of it.” To his dismay, this seems to be the end of your sentence. He gives you a little nod, hoping you read his mind and elaborate like he wants you to. “You bleached your hair, pierced your cartilage, what’s next? Are you going to tell me you have a tattoo?”

Heeseung feels his breath catch in his throat when you say the word tattoo but you don’t seem to notice. “It’s been a year,” he points out, folding the corner of his napkin, pressing his thumb against it with enough pressure to leave a defined fold and have it stick up a little when he lets go.

“I know, it’s just.. weird, you know?” Your voice is small when you speak, soft and quiet, barely anything above the noise around you both.

Heeseung nods. He does know.

“You’re weird too.”

“How?” There’s a defensive tone to your voice that makes him chuckle.

“You’ve always been weird.”

A dramatic frown curves your lips and the waiter is back before you can object. Leaning forward slightly, he orders for both of you, the sharing platter of fried chicken, your French Martini, and his controversial draught beer. He doesn’t miss the way you raise your brows when he orders the beer, as if you’d been waiting to catch him out or something. After the waiter leaves, Heeseung meets your gaze briefly, matching the gentle smile on your lips before looking away.

The drinks only take a few minutes and you thank the waiter before looking over at Heeseung, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you slide your cocktail over to him. “Do you want to try?”

He nods, lifting the glass and moving the straw out of the way to take a sip from the rim. Nodding his head, he hums in approval, eyes widening. “It’s good.”

You lean back in your seat, twirling the straw when he hands the drink back to you. “Yeah?” you ask, smiling triumphantly as if you made it yourself. “A normal person would’ve used the straw.”

Heeseung can’t help but roll his eyes, liking the way you laugh. “Are you acting out because I called you weird?”

“A little.”

The waiter places the platter at the centre of the table with a small smile, that you match, clearly hungrier than you’d been letting on as you lick your lips at the sight of the chicken. Heeseung’s stomach grumbles quietly as the scent hits his nose and he feels like he hasn’t eaten in days when a plate lands in front of each of you. A comfortable familiarity settles over him when he lets you pick first, and he knows you feel it too from the sweet smile you give him before eyeing the food. You take a while considering every wing, even though all of the pieces are scarily identical, before picking one and Heeseung follows, choosing with much less care than you, but enjoying it nonetheless.

Under your light-hearted scrutiny, he orders a cocktail the next time the waiter comes around. It’s much better than his beer, and so quickly, one cocktail turns into two until both you and Heeseung are four drinks in, laughing over nothing and putting in an effort not to slur your words together.

Time seems to pass at the same rate as your drinks, though neither of you seems to notice until you check the time on your phone and your mouth falls into a gasp. Heeseung does the same when you show him your screen, you only have ten minutes to make the fifteen-minute walk back to the station so you can catch the last train.

He gets up to settle the bill as quickly as humanly possible before you grab him by the hand and book it out of the restaurant. Though breathless, he knows he can’t let up, running as fast as his legs will carry him as he tugs you along behind him. Somehow you still have it in you to cackle every time either of you trips up.

Out of breath, you both slump into the first seats you find, sobering up a little after the run. He looks at you and feels his heart snag in his chest. “You okay?” he asks, huffing out a breath that pushes his bangs into the air.

“No,” you whine, pouting and resting your head on Heeseung’s shoulder. He lets his head rest on top of yours reaching his hand out to grab your own. He squeezes it gently, in a way he hopes is comforting. You lock your fingers with his before he can pull away and Heeseung’s heart starts pounding again.

He doesn’t realise you’ve fallen asleep until the train reaches your stop and you don’t react. He doesn’t want to wake you up, nor does he want to let go of your hand, but he knows he has to. Heeseung nudges you gently, rousing you from your sleep. “Let’s go,” he mumbles.

Stretching your arms above your head, you nod while yawning.

You take tired steps alongside him on the short walk back to your apartment, not saying anything until you reach your doorstep when you yawn once more, looking up at him. “I actually had fun today, thanks for hanging out with me.”

“Actually?” Heeseung raises a brow. “Did you think you wouldn’t?”

You shrug, chewing on your lip. “I thought it might be awkward.”

“It kind of was.”

“Maybe,” you admit with a nod. “It was a pretty successful first date though.” Your eyes are like saucers as your hand flies up to cover your mouth. “Not in that way. I’m only saying ‘date’ because that’s what I said in the chat—I would’ve called it a date if Hoon came with me, you know? I didn’t see this as a date if that’s what you’re thinking. Because it wasn’t. And I didn’t.”

“Mhm,” Heeseung hums with a sceptical look on his face, finding amusement in watching you scramble to correct yourself. “First dates are always awkward, baby, don’t worry.” The endearment slips out before he can help it, his heart stopping in his chest until he sees you smiling.

“Well, yeah, but this wasn’t a date, baby.”

“Are you sure? I mean, you made me pay for your train ticket, I paid for dinner and drinks. As far as first dates go, I’ve been a perfect gentleman all night.”

“That you have.” You nod once, firmly. “I’m not going to pay you back or anything. And this is hardly our first date.”

Heeseung grins despite himself. “Is this your way of saying I can bill you for our other dates? Do you have savings?”

Your head falls back in laughter, the sound infectious as it falls from your lips. You sigh softly, straightening up after a beat and nudging his shoulder with your fist. “Stop making me laugh or I’ll do something stupid like kiss you.”

His heart races in his chest, caught between your laugh and the thought that maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. “I feel like if we pulled up a typical date timeline we’d be right on track for that, don’t you think?”

“Heeseung,” you mumble, face softening. It doesn’t seem like you’re finding this funny anymore. Your gaze locks on his lips — a hyper focus that makes him press them together nervously — before snapping up to meet his eyes. You gulp. “Goodnight, thank you for today.”

“Anytime.”

“Don’t say that or I’ll take you up on it.”

Heeseung shrugs. “You say that like I’d have a problem with it.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“Never.”

A small laugh comes through your nose as you smile up at him. “I’ll see you, let me know when you get home.”

“Got it.”

Wordlessly, you open the door, crossing the threshold before saying goodnight again. Heeseung says it back, watching you shut the door and waiting for the lock to click before he leaves.

He’s never drinking with you again.

Heeseung feels like he’s settling into the role of your friend quite well. So well that he can spend time alone with you without the discomfort he felt in September. Maybe he’s taking liberties, bending the word friendship to suit him, but as you lie in his bed together, your head on his chest as you nap, he can’t bring himself to care too much. He knows he’ll get hurt by this at some point, but for now, he’s just happy to play with your hair and try his best to fall asleep too. You don’t stir when Jay opens the door, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight before him, tilting his head before closing the door quietly.

Sleep never reaches him, but he pretends to yawn, rubbing at his eyes when your alarm wakes you up, making a point to stretch his arms over his head and only respond to you in a lazy mumble when you speak. “Whose idea was it to nap between classes, again?”

“I think it was yours.”

“Damn,’ you mumble, yawning again before laying back down, head returning to his chest as if drawn by a magnet. “I think ten more minutes, fifteen, and then we wake up and go back.”

“Or we could skip?”

The suggestion makes you jolt upright, fully awake now. You let your eyes drag over his face, and maybe Heeseung’s being hopeful or straight-up imagining things, but your gaze lingers on his lips for more than a few seconds before you gulp and meet his eyes. “Lee Heeseung trying to skip class? I never thought I’d see the day.” A smile spreads over your lips, turning into a laugh as you throw your head back. “That was funny, Hee. Let’s go.’

Heeseung’s brows furrow, watching you stretch your arms out in front of you. Was it so hard to believe he would skip class if it meant spending more time with you? His lips settle into a pout. “I’m serious.”

“No, you’re scaring me. Come on, let’s go,” you say, making no attempts to get up.

To prove a point, Heeseung shifts under the covers, lying on his side with his back to you. “You go ahead, I’m staying.”

You sigh but don’t get out of bed, only lying down next to him and draping an arm over his waist. “Ten more minutes.” You press yourself against his back and he feels his heart racing. As quickly as he feels it, you stiffen behind him. “I’m not crossing a line, right? Holding you like this? It’s always been easier to sleep if you’re next to me,” you say into his shirt.

Remembering the way you would cuddle into his side during sleepovers, his heart aches, wondering if you had endured the same sleepless nights as him. Heeseung only lifts your arm to turn onto his back, pulling you onto his chest like you had been earlier. “Fifteen,” he says.

Seeing as neither of you bothered to set another alarm, you sleep through class, only waking up when it’s dark out and Jay comes back. “I bought dinner, come eat,” he says, leaving the door open on his way out.

Wordlessly, you both peel yourselves from bed, dragging your feet to the kitchen to wash your hands before joining Jay in the living room. Heeseung sits cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table while you and Jay sit on the couch. He’s not awake enough to fully register your conversation over the rustle of plastic takeout bags and his sudden overwhelming hunger, but you’re telling Jay to shut up, mumbling something and he lets out an exaggerated groan, clutching his chest when Heeseung turns around to hand over your food.

With his elbows on the table, he takes a bite from his burger and has to suppress a moan. Most of your conversation with Jay goes over his head and he doesn’t realise how much time has gone by until you’re standing at the door pulling on your shoes. Given the way Jay’s lying on the couch, Heeseung assumes he’s on walking-you-home duty and grabs a jacket before stuffing his feet into Jay’s slides.

The conversation is light as you walk together, Heeseung making sure he’s on the edge of the pavement the whole time and letting you talk about your friends. The walk has become so natural now that he only realises you’re approaching home when you take out your key to open the door to your building.

“Do you want to meet before class tomorrow? To go over the slides we missed today?” you ask, with something behind your eyes that Heeseung sleepily interprets as hope.

He nods, smiling at you and waiting for you to lock the door before he leaves.

Jay’s awake when Heeseung gets back home; he can’t say he’s surprised. Heeseung only nods at Jay, who sits on the couch, but he knows his flatmate well enough to know there’s a conversation coming because the TV is off and his laptop is shut. Heeseung makes it all the way to his door before Jay says anything. “You’re in way over your head.”

Heeseung sighs, not in the mood. “Okay. Night,” he says, opening the door.

By the time November arrives and Jake’s birthday approaches, everything is back to normal again. Turning nineteen, Jake celebrates with a modest pub crawl that spirals into a three-day bender, leaving him bedridden for nearly a week due to dehydration and fear of a test he’d forgotten to study for.

In standard Jake fashion, he manages to bounce back and sits across from Jay at his favourite restaurant only six days after his actual birthday. Considering the state he was in, it’s a wonder he can stomach the smell of alcohol, let alone down four cocktails without a pause. Jay and Sunghoon exchange sighs, each supporting one of Jake’s sleeping arms on their shoulders to carry him home.

“Cover the bill and let me know the amount. I’ll transfer you in the morning,” Jay mumbles before they leave.

You shake your head when Heeseung asks if you want to go home as well. “Unless you want to,” you say, all of your words blending together. “If you want to go home, we can. I don’t want you sitting here bored or anything.”

Heeseung smiles. “I’m not bored, we can stay as long as you like.” You seem to take this to heart, nodding and flagging down a waiter to order more drinks. “Let’s maybe slow down a little though,” he suggests.

He pours you a glass of water and makes you drink the whole thing, withholding your alcohol until you’ve finished the cold tteokbokki in front of you. Gradually, you become more coherent, wiping your face with your hands and sitting up a little straighter. You thank him when he pours soju for you and take tiny sips from the glass here and there, telling Heeseung about some of the friends you made while you were away. There’s Yizhuo—sweet, funny, and down-to-earth. And Minjeong—a quiet girl who needed a while to warm up to new people. You tell him about meeting her for the first time, how unsure she seemed when Yizhuo introduced you two, but by the end of the night, she was falling asleep next to you in bed with her arms and legs tangled around you.

“Do you miss them?” It’s a stupid question, anyone could tell from the fond smile on your face that you do.

A beat passes while you think about it before shrugging. “Not as much as I missed being here.” If he wasn’t watching you, or looking you straight in the eye, he probably would’ve missed the longing in your gaze.

He’s never known you to be subtle after a drink, and Heeseung knows he needs to nip this conversation in the bud before either of you says something you can’t take back. “How are you getting on with your research task?” he asks, while at the same time you say, “I’m so happy to be back.”

A short laugh slips out of you, a hand falling to the table before wrapping around your glass. You bring it up to your face but don’t drink, only looking down into it as if it’ll tell you what to say. “Are you happy I’m back?”

“Sure,” Heeseung says noncommittally.

You sigh, sinking into your seat a little. “I loved you. I still love you,” you mumble. “Even after all that.”

He’s not sure what to make of this, of anything you’re saying. It’s not like you had a messy breakup or anything. At least, he wouldn’t describe his long-term girlfriend breaking up with him and asking if they could be friends after as messy. Even in heartbreak, Heeseung was a reasonable person, and any reasonable person would’ve said no. Like he did.

“I still.. You’re still the one for me.”

His stomach lurches violently. “Don’t say that.” He gets out of his seat quicker than he means to and leaves you at the table, tapping his foot as he waits in line by the bar to pay the bill, praying he’s right about the two of you sitting at table ten when the cashier asks. With a folded receipt in his pocket and too much to think about, he returns to the table, only putting on his coat and mumbling, “Let’s go.”

For some reason, you don’t seem to mirror his urgency, only finishing off the drink you had left in one go and sitting for a bit longer. He takes your jacket from the back of your chair and holds it open for you, helping you into it when you finally stand up. “Thanks,” you giggle.

Heeseung says nothing.

The silence and fresh air outside are sobering as he watches an Uber driver through the app, very slowly moving from two minutes away to one before arriving. Maybe if you hadn’t said what you said at the table, he might have warmed to the idea of a forty-minute walk alone with you, but you did say those things and even the thought of this fifteen-minute car ride is unbearable when John (4.9 stars) pulls up on the curb outside. You thank Heeseung quietly when he opens the door for you, and against his better judgement, he walks over to the other side of the car and sits in the middle seat like he used to.

Slow R&B murmurs through the speakers as the driver pulls off while Heeseung hums along. His thigh is pressed against yours but he does his best not to think about it, only chewing his lip when you rest your head on his shoulder. He lets his head rest on top of yours before regretting it.

He doesn’t move.

It feels a little bit like the driver is playing Heeseung’s playlist, as every song he knows and loves seems to come on one after the other, steeping him in an odd comfort in the backseat of this car.

Your hand falls onto his knee so clumsily he’s sure it’s a mistake, so sure you’ll move it back into your lap that he’s genuinely surprised when you don’t. Unsure what to do, he chooses not to acknowledge it, acting like you sitting so close to him, like the feeling that no time has passed, doesn’t make his heart clench. Slowly but surely, your hand inches up his thigh—a motion Heeseung stops as soon as he realises, his hand falling heavily over yours and pushing it back to his knee. He thinks about keeping it there, but when he feels his thumb stroking your skin, he moves his hand immediately. You’ve obviously gotten the wrong idea. For a moment, he wonders if you’ve actually gotten the right idea. You have. But it can’t happen like this. After a few minutes, you move your hand again, and like before, Heeseung pushes it back, keeping his hand over yours and reminding himself not to move his thumb.

You’re drunk. This will pass.

Finally, the driver parks outside your building, and Heeseung’s sure his “thank you so much” holds the world’s sincerity in it as he unbuckles his seatbelt and practically leaps out of the car. He opens your door and has to undo your belt for you, helping you out and thanking the driver again.

There’s a couple leaving the building when the two of you reach the door, and with your arms wrapped around his, he thanks them when they hold it open.

The lift takes forever to come and Heeseung pushes the up button five times before it arrives. He lets the girl in fleecy pyjamas with a takeout bag in her hand go in first before following, pressing the button reading 7 before relaxing a bit. Under the protection of a stranger, he knows you won’t do anything. The journey to your floor feels like hours as the lift drags its way up the shaft—why does nothing share his urgency?

You don’t say anything until the elevator door swooshes shut behind you. “I love you, Heeseung. You know I love you.” You’re saying everything he’s been wanting you to say for ages, but the words make his words sting.

“Do you know where your keys are?” he asks, though you still have a ways to go before you reach your door.

“My pocket,” you mumble.

Heeseung finds your keys, unlocks the door and helps you in. As much as he wants to leave, he knows if he does, you won’t take your makeup off or change, so he holds your hair back for you as you brush your teeth and wash your face in the sink quietly.

In your bedroom, you search through your drawers, pulling out something to wear. He turns his back to you and ends up face-to-face with an old photo of the two of you from school.

“You can look, Hee.”

Drawn to the picture, he doesn’t reply. The boys are in it too, but it feels like you two are the focus. Everyone’s smiling at the camera except Heeseung, who — with his arm around you — stares at the side of your face with a lopsided smile. Happiness radiates from his being, lighting his eyes and face.

“I want you to look.” The softness and desperation in your voice tug his heart.

“Come on ba—” Heeseung sighs. “Just get dressed, yeah?”

You don’t say anything but he can hear the rustle of your clothes as you change.

Jealousy blooms in his chest, looking at himself three years ago. Happy and full of love for you and your friends, for life. Everything was so easy then. His chest tightens and he has to close his eyes.

Heeseung feels you next to him, hears your jewellery falling into the clay holder on your dresser and opens his eyes, looking at you. You’re in a t-shirt he’s sure belongs to Jake and struggling with the clasp on your necklace. He knows you want him to help but he feels like he can’t move.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but I really do want to be with you,” you say when you finally get the necklace off. “And I know I’m too late, but I didn’t break up with you because I didn’t want to be with you.”

You’re so close the peppermint on your breath hits him like a wave. A distinct smell of citrus and summer, of Jake, comes from your body, mixed up with the scent of you in a way that makes him uneasy.

He gets a headache trying to make sense of your words, if it wasn’t that you didn’t want to be with him, then what was it? Even back then, you didn’t elaborate, you just repeated his name and the words: it’s not your fault, over and over until they sounded made up. Heeseung can’t entertain this conversation, not now. Not when you’re drunk and looking up at him with longing in your eyes. “I think we need to get you to bed,” Heeseung mumbles, taking a step back. “I’ll get you some water.”

“But I’m here now and we can be together again.”

“You moving was never the problem. You know that wasn’t the problem.” A tear slips down your cheek and he softens immediately. “I wanted to go with you, I was going to go with you.”

You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, frowning. “This university was your dream. How could I let you give up your scholarship for me?”

“You were my dream,” he admits. “And it wasn’t your decision to make.”

“You would have made the wrong one.”

Heeseung scoffs. “Do you think breaking up was the right one?”

Your silence is brutally telling. You squeeze your eyes shut as if trying to magic yourself out of the conversation, but it only makes more tears fall. A realisation hits him like a truck: you’re thinking about it. A painful lump forms in his throat. How could you have anything to think about? How was breaking up with him, not the single worst decision you’ve ever made? He can’t believe you could have let go so easily if you loved him. Long distance wouldn’t have been easy, but surely if you loved him, you would have made it work. You would have tried. Heeseung wishes he hadn’t asked at all.

“I do,” you say finally, opening your eyes to look at him.

His heart is heavy in his chest. “Okay.”

“Heeseung.”

“What?”

A stomach-churning sob falls out of you. “I don’t know.”

Another silence weighs the room down and Heeseung knows what he needs to do. He sighs. “Let’s just.. I should go.”

You don’t put up a fight, you don’t say anything, only letting your shoulders droop before you sigh and lead Heeseung to the front door. He says goodbye as he puts his shoes on and all you do is watch as he leaves your apartment. He waits for you to close the door and lock it before walking away.

Heeseung walks all the way home and only cries when he closes his door, sliding down the back of it like something from a movie. With tears in his eyes, and his knees to his chest, he pulls out his phone to text you. I hope your hangover isn’t too bad, he types. Let’s only talk when we need to.

The two of you manage to hold this up, with you finding others to sit with during classes, and no one seeming to question Heeseung’s skipping plans or new close friendship with Mark’s group who he spends time with between classes instead. But as always, things have a funny way of going different to how Heeseung expected them to.

After three weeks of near radio silence, Jay barges into his room with his face scrunched up. “What are you doing?”

“Right now?” Heeseung asks, confused. Standing by the bed with the corner of his duvet in his hand, in nothing but his underwear, he thinks his plans look a little obvious. “I’m about to jerk off.”

Jay rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “You know what I mean.”

“Evidently, I do not.”

“Why don’t you hang out with us anymore?” he asks, squinting at Heeseung.

“We’re hanging out right now.”

“Forgive me if I don’t count an impromptu circle jerk as hanging out.”

“I don’t.. want to do that.”

Jay clutches his chest. “I’m crushed.”

Heeseung studies his expression. Serious, an inch of concern pooling in his eyes. “We dated for six years, she dumped me, I turned into a shell of myself, but she moved back home and we’re all friends again, so I think things are looking up for me.”

A deep sigh leaves Jay as he sits on the bed. “What happened at the bar with YN three weeks ago when we all left?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“What exactly counts as ordinary for you two?”

Heeseung’s still trying to figure that out. He shrugs. “Making the right decisions.”

“So you’re okay?”

“Never better.’

“You don’t have to lie to me, you know?” There’s a sincere look on Jay’s face as he leans back on his hands.

“Which is why I’m being honest.”

It doesn’t seem like Jay’s going to let this go, but to Heeseung’s surprise, he smiles. “Perfect,” he says, standing up from the bed and walking over to the mirror where he checks himself out. “Because she and the guys are going to be here in ten. Put some clothes on.”

He does just that, pulling some shorts over his hips and a shirt over his head before pulling the two bean bag chairs stacked next to the couch to sit in front of the TV, claiming one of them with his body by sinking into it. The cosy material is soft against his thighs and he wonders why they don’t use them more.

Ten minutes go by like seconds when Jay gets up to answer the door, laughing at something one of you says before leading you all into the living room. He’s watching some show Jay left on, greeting you and the boys with a wave before turning back to the TV. Behind him, the four of you laugh and talk on the couch but Heeesung’s too wrapped up in an argument on screen to join in. His attention only falters when he reaches for the open six-pack on the coffee table. It’s barely out of his reach, so he turns around to take a beer, trying to ignore the way his heart sinks in his chest seeing you and Jay cuddled up together. It’s friendly, he knows that. Jay’s with Yunjin and you’re.. He’s still not sure, but it hurts nonetheless. You’re bickering over a bowl of popcorn and he only laughs when you throw a handful at him.

The red speaker Sunghoon’s holding chimes three times when he turns it on, a Frank Ocean thudding out of it that drowns out the show he’s watching, leaving him to follow along with the subtitles instead. But he can’t focus.

Heeseung tries to settle his heartache, comforting himself with the thought of the two of you in another reality. One where it’s him instead of Jay. Or one where you come over and sit with him, curling up in his lap, pouting because Jay’s being mean. He pictures himself stroking your hair and kissing away your pout, holding you into his chest when Jake and Sunghoon start teasing you. In this reality, however, he watches you peel Jay’s shirt from his chest and dump a handful of popcorn in the gap, cackling to yourself at the clear frustration he doesn’t verbalise. Heeseung sighs, looking back at the TV and taking a sad sip of his sad beer.

After a while, you fall into the beanbag next to him, sprawling out over the whole thing and looking at him. “Hey, Heeseung.”

“Hello.”

“I’m sorry about that night.” Your voice is quiet, clearly apologetic if the way you don’t meet his eyes is anything to go by.

“Okay.” Heeseung nods and a beat passes. “I meant what I said, what I texted you.” It hurts to say but it’s for the best. He stands up out of the beanbag, making a show of stretching his arms and legs before sinking into the couch next to Jake. Over Jake’s slouched form, Jay shoots him a look, arching a brow. Heeseung only stages a chuckle, shrugging before looking at the TV again. He can’t make sense of anything on the screen.

Sunghoon emerges from Jay’s room with a grin on his face, asking when you’re going to eat. In standard fashion, the four of you stand around Jay in the kitchen, bothering him by telling him what to do like he’s a child as he puts frozen pizza and some garlic bread in the oven.

“The middle one’s the timer,” Jake says, pointing at the knobs above the oven door. “It’s there so you can set how long the food needs to cook for, and after you set it, it’ll go off so you know it’s ready.”

“But it’s all up to you and your discretion. You can open the door whenever you want to check on everything,” you coo, patting his shoulder.

If Jay’s actually annoyed, nothing about his smile gives it away as he nods with a clenched fist, closing the door and sitting next to Heeseung on the countertop. Heeseung’s almost too busy focusing on the way his beer heats his stomach to notice the way you watch him with a small frown from barely an arm’s length away. Sunghoon picks up on your declining mood and thrusts an open bottle into your hand. “We like to drink with—” He’s cut off by Jay taking the bottle and setting it behind you on the counter, mumbling cut it out, dude, and tugging you out of the kitchen by the arm when he notices the tears in your eyes.

He hears Jay’s door close and nobody says anything until the timer goes off and Jay comes back alone, filling a plate with food and going back to his room.

“Thanks for dinner,” Jake says to the back of Jay’s head, offbeat and half smiling as he washes his hands in the sink.

Sitting at the table, he watches Jake and Sunghoon eat while pretending nothing’s wrong.

At the end of the night, when everyone’s gone home, Heeseung gets into bed, barely managing to pull the duvet up when there’s a knock at his door. “Yeah?” he calls out. Jay appears with his arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he says quickly.

Jay regards him with a frown. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“You were going to.”

“Yeah.” He nods, and Heeseung prepares himself for a lecture. “I was going to say, I’m going home next week, for Christmas, so I was wondering if you wanted to go with me.”

The holidays go by in a soju and tteokguk-filled blur, with Heeseung choosing to stay at home until the day of his first class of the second semester so he doesn’t have to be around you. He tells himself it’s for the good of your friend group, as he watches you all make plans in the group chat through notification bubbles, so he doesn’t leave a read receipt.

The commute is more jarring than he realised. What had been a twenty-minute drive turns into an hour-long journey, including a thirty-minute walk to the train station ‘near’ house, fifteen minutes on the train into the city centre, and another fifteen minutes on foot to campus. He’s drenched in sweat despite the below-zero temperature and has to make a stop to the bathroom to sort himself out.

He arrives early at least, finding the room where his Ethnography: Theory and Practice 2 class is set to start in fifteen minutes. The only indicator that he’s in the right place is the lecturer’s name and contact information written in the top corner of a whiteboard, and Heeseung picks the seat furthest from the door. It’s an elective class and, judging by the nine empty chairs next to him, not a very popular one. He’s relieved at least that he’ll be able to start off the semester without running into anyone he knows, least of all you. As seats start filling up and the lecturer arrives, he’s feeling unusually lucky.

So, of course, you show up, running a hand through your hair as you walk through the open door, apologising for being late even though there are still two minutes until the class is scheduled to begin. Of course, the only empty seat is the one next to him, which you sit in without looking at him, making an effort to angle your body away from him. Of course, the lecturer assigns a presentation for two weeks time, pairing the class with the person they’re sitting beside. Neither you nor Heeseung say a word to each other, but you raise your hand when prompted to pick a topic to cover. He can’t help his irritation at you for making the decision without asking him, but you look so nice in your hoodie with your hair tied up that his annoyance settles before it has a chance to bloom.

“YN YLN and Heeseung Lee, we’ll do music and cultural expression,” you say, picking the topic he wanted to do anyway.

When class is over, you’re quick to get out of your seat, pulling on your jacket and stuffing your laptop back into your bag before leaving so quickly that Heeseung has to leave his stuff behind to go after you. You don’t stop walking when he calls out your name, and too scared to make a scene, he overtakes you, leaving you with no option but to stop in front of him.

“We should go to the library, get the research and shit out of the way ASAP,” he suggests.

You nod, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Yeah, okay, I’m going to get my stuff.”

You follow him back to class, watching from the door as he puts his things in his bag before putting on his jacket. You don’t say anything on the walk to the library, when you get there, or when you browse the Cultural Studies section. Heeseung glances at you and you’re chewing on your lip, crouching a bit to read the spines of the books on the lower shelves. “Are you alright?” he asks with genuine concern.

You look up at him, nodding.

“Are you sure? Because you haven’t said anything in an hour.”

This makes you straighten up, your brows furrowing in an expression he can’t figure out. “Sorry, Heeseung,” you say, your voice weak. “I’m just trying to figure out if you think I need to talk right now.”

“Obviously, a paired project is a situation where we need to talk.”

You sigh, muttering oh, my God, before you look at him. “You know what, I’m going home. Let’s do this tomorrow.”

“We have class in twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, I’ll read the slides when I get in.”

Unsure what to say, he watches you walk away, deciding that he should just go home too.

At the flat he hasn’t seen in five weeks, Heeseung feels slightly out of place, going straight to his room and into bed, not even getting up when he hears Jay coming home. Jay opens the door without knocking, his mouth falling into an excited ‘o’ shape. “Hey, stranger,” he says. “I thought you weren’t coming back, so I started advertising your room on Gumtree.”

“Any offers?”

“No one as good as you.” Heeseung doesn’t have to look at Jay to know he’s smiling. “Move over,” he mumbles, lifting the duvet.

Lazily, he rolls over in bed, making room for Jay who makes himself comfortable under the covers.

“What are you doing, Heeseung?”

“Trying to sleep.”

“Talk to me, help me understand.” Jay sighs and Heeseung’s lips curl into a frown. “You’re my best friend,” Jay says quietly, with a tenderness that strikes him.

“You’re my best friend,” Heeseung repeats like an affirmation.

“So why won’t you talk to me?”

There’s a subtle hurt in Jay’s voice that upsets Heeseung, who shifts around to lie on his back. “I don’t think there’s anything I can tell you that YN hasn’t already.”

“She only told me that she fucked up.”

Hearing it from someone else’s mouth makes it sound drastic, especially considering he’s the one who left. Again. But he’s too bitter to say that out loud so he bites his tongue. “Seems to be the theme in our relationship.” The words taste rotten when he says them.

“Just because you’re my best friend doesn’t mean you get to be a dick,” Jay says. “What happened?”

It takes some time but Heeseung explains everything, letting Jay ask questions and make comments until the end when he looks away, pressing his eyes shut and saying, “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t think I get it. Boy loves girl. Girl loves boy. Why can’t you just be together already?”

Everything sounds painfully simple when it’s put like that. But there’s too much between you both for it to go that way. It’s not like he didn’t want to be with you when you confessed, it’s that he didn’t know how he could without knowing why you left him in the first place. Without knowing what he did that was so terrible you couldn’t stand to be in a relationship with him, never mind the same area code.

A beat passes before Heeseung speaks. “There was something wrong, and instead of trying to fix it, she just.. gave up. I would’ve done anything she asked me to. I could’ve changed, could’ve fixed things, but she didn’t even tell me.”

“Maybe she didn’t feel like she could. I don’t think she wanted to hurt you, Heeseung.”

“But she did.”

“Yeah,” Jay admits, sympathy lacing the word.

“How can I be with her knowing there’s some awful part of me she hates?”

“It’s not like that, not really.”

“What’s it like then?”

“I’m not sure it’s my place to say.”

Heeseung laughs, shaking his head. “Do you keep my secrets as dutifully as you keep hers?”

“Are you kidding? She doesn’t even know you have secrets.” Jay sounds exhausted as he speaks, and it’s the last sound to come from him until a few minutes pass and Heeseung hears him snoring.

You didn’t reply when Heeseung texted you asking to meet in the library before class, but you show up anyway, pulling out the seat across from him and dumping your bag on the table. “I don’t know if you saw the email, but the partner work is just for the presentation.”

“Cool.” he nods, relieved.

“I think after that, I’ll start hanging out with Yunjin instead, so you’re not uncomfortable.”

Heeseung frowns, shaking his head. “I’m not uncomfortable around you,” he says. “I just don’t.. get you. You dump me and move as far away as you can. Now you’re back and what? You love me again?”

You furrow your brows, inspecting him for a moment before you speak. “I don’t love you again, Heeseung. I’ve loved you this whole time.”

“So why didn’t you choose me? I just wanted you to choose me.” He’s too anxious to know the truth to worry about how desperate he must sound. Until he notices that the guys sitting at the other end of the tables are watching him, their brows arched sharply in a mixture of shock and curiosity. Heeseung runs a hand over his face, hoping the motion might wipe away the flush burning his cheeks.

“You wanted me to choose you over my future?”

“I could’ve been your future, part of it. I’d never ask you to choose me over university, you know I wouldn’t. I’m saying you could’ve had both.”

“It wasn’t as easy as that.”

“Why not?”

“Heeseung,” you say like it’s an answer.

“Just tell me why you didn’t want me. That’s all I want to know.”

The following silence makes him consider packing up abruptly and faking an emergency. He’s sure he could probably fake his death if he slumps in his chair slowly enough.

You sigh heavily, interrupting his train of thought—now, he’s wondering if he even wants to know. “Because you would’ve put me first,” you say, avoiding his gaze. “If I stayed here or moved away, I would’ve been your top priority and I couldn’t let you throw away everything you worked for, for me.”

“I loved you, of course, you were my top priority.” He can’t believe he even has to say it, can’t believe you might have thought you weren’t the single most important thing in his life.

“Heeseung, you were sacrificing your life for me. You missed your cousin’s engagement party to help me study for a history test, you deferred your scholarship entry by a year just so we could go to college at the same time. How could I keep letting you miss out on your life?”

“Deferring my entry wasn’t just for you,” he lies. “And it’s not like I missed the wedding.”

“But I think you would’ve if I stubbed my toe.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

You sigh again, shaking your head. “Do you hear yourself? You can’t keep living like that, you can’t just throw everything away. You’re such a hard worker, Heeseung, and I’d hate to see you waste that over some girl.”

“But you’re you. You weren’t just ‘some girl’ you were my girl.” He doesn’t mean to say it but it’s true. “We were in high school and I was studying constantly; it didn’t matter back then. And you were so far away, it’s not like I could feasibly drop everything and go to you every time something happened.”

“Heeseung.”

“You had a choice.”

“Heeseung.”

The way you’re saying his name reminds him of your breakup—the pink walls of your childhood bedroom and the pictures of the two of you stuck up all over them, in frames on your desk, and stickers on your light switch. How they seemed to close in around him as he put all of his energy into staying on two feet, instead of falling to the floor and begging you on hands and knees to stay with him.

“Why didn’t you just tell me? I’ve spent the last year and a half wondering what I did wrong, I don’t understand why you didn’t just tell me.” We could’ve tried, he wants to say. I could have changed and we could’ve tried.

“I didn’t want you to lose that. I felt really lucky that you loved me like that, and I didn’t want to rob someone else of it, you know. I thought maybe you’d find a balance with someone someday, but I didn’t think that person would be me.”

Heeseung has to put in an effort to stop his jaw from dropping. How could there ever be someone else? How could you ever think he could have someone else? There’s so much he wants to say, to ask, but he can tell by the way you press your lips together that you’re done with the conversation.

“It’s not too late.”

You tilt your head at him. “What?”

“In your room that night, you said you were too late,” he explains. “I love you.”

“Still?”

His heart shifts uncomfortably in his chest at the tone of your voice and the way your eyebrows shoot up. “Always,” he says.

A smile starts to curve your lips, but it slips before it has a chance to bloom, stifled happiness that you cover with your hands, hiding your face completely. “I don’t think we should talk about this here.” Your palms muffle the words but not their impact; you’re right and he knows it.

It’s been a year—the longest of his life, and the hard part is already over. He knows now and he’ll do anything he can to fix it. “Right.” Heeseung nods but you’re not looking at him. He’s going to fix it. For now, though, he says, “What’s our research topic again?” Despite having had Music and Cultural Expression typed into the search bar since before you arrived.

With Heeseung’s work ethic and your commitment to being the best, the presentation goes quite smoothly. You make no mistakes, and Heeseung, distracted by how pretty you look in professional attire, manages to stumble through the script he’d rehearsed. The two of you even win the first place prize — satisfaction that you got a perfect score — and celebrate with coffee afterwards.

Between the four walls of the campus café, you and Heeseung sip lattes that taste like temperature — still too hot to have a real flavour — and laugh with each other about something Jay said when you all hung out last night. Neither of you mentions your conversation from two weeks ago, deciding instead to fall into the patterns of your first term together: napping in his bed after class and coming up with excuses for alone time. He makes an effort to follow through with his commitments, even when you ask him to hang out, to show you that he’s different now. If you’ve noticed, you haven’t said anything about it, but Heeseung tells himself it’s a good thing while missing shots on the court with Mark, too hung up on you to focus on anything else. The only thing left is to figure out a way to be yours again and do everything he can to make sure he doesn’t lose you.

Over your shoulder, through the window, the sun slips below the horizon, casting long shadows around the café. He takes a deep breath when he looks at you, smiling down at your phone as you take a picture of your half-drunk latte and the milky swirls still peeking through your coffee. A tangible determination settles in his chest as evening’s first stars appear in the sky, he knows one thing for sure: he has to grab the chance to be yours again with both hands, and once it’s his, he won’t let go this time.

The café may be clearing out, but his heart is full of hope and for the time being, sitting with you as a friend is.. fine.

You’d often imagined what it would be like if you hadn’t broken up with Lee Heeseung.

Most of your first year was spent daydreaming about him in all of your usual hangouts. Sometimes, at drinks with your friends, you envisioned him showing up, a smile on his face as he apologised for being late. He’d slide into the booth next to you, wrap his arm around your shoulders and kiss your cheek. Other times you imagined him showing up to surprise you, sitting on a bench in the quad and grinning when he saw you leaving. He’d run up to you with open arms and a bouquet in his hand, wrapping you in a hug and whispering that he missed you too much to wait another day to see you. You would even fall asleep thinking about FaceTime calls that stayed on overnight or drunken texts after the club, misspelt I love yous and can’t wait to see yous filling your text thread.

You didn’t tell your new friends much about him, briefly mentioning a partner you’d watched some film with or an artist he liked if they came up, and most nights were spent begging Jay to send you Heeseung’s social media posts and tell you every detail of the day they had without you. Based on accounts from Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon, it seemed like he was getting on well, a fact that — while hurtful — pushed you to try and do the same. After a month of avoiding your flatmates, you finally managed to connect with them, going to various social events around campus and rolling your eyes any time a drunk guy complimented you.

This is why it took you by surprise to see him at Mark Lee’s party in the summer—sitting alone in the garden, in sweatpants and a flannel, looking at his phone with a deep frown etched over his lips. When you think about it, it feels like so long has passed since then and it’s hard to believe it wasn’t even a year ago.

Being back in Heeseung’s life has been more challenging than you thought it would be when you filled out your transfer application. Especially in the weeks since you finished your presentation together, since you suggested the library might not have been the right place for the conversation you were having and never followed up on.

Now doesn’t seem like the right time either—you’re sitting on the floor in Jake and Sunghoon’s living room with your back against the couch, sharing a blanket with Heeseung. Jay left about an hour ago to go to Yunjin’s, leaving the four of you to your own devices. You know you can’t bring it up with Jake and Sunghoon around, but you’ve had plenty of opportunities to over the last month.

When you finished your celebratory lattes, Heeseung walked you home. The sky was a perfect inky black, and it was cold enough to see your breath, just the way he liked, so cold he offered you his jacket to wear. He didn’t say anything about it, only shrugging it off and setting it gently over your shoulders, shocking you so much that you stopped walking. The scent of his cologne, dark and woody, was overwhelming as you slid your arms into the sleeves, zipping it up and after three paces without you, Heeseung turned his head with wide eyes. You could have said it then, you wanted to say it then, but you bit your tongue and thanked him instead. He smiled, gulping when you closed the gap, you should have kissed him, he was close enough, his lips just a tip-toe and tilted head away, but you hugged him instead.

After that, the two of you had all the time in the world together. Between your shared classes and going for meals alone. All the time you’d spend in his living room together, cosy on the couch when Jay would go to sleep. So many moments to talk, to get back together, but the words would die in your throat every time you thought them. It all seemed too cheesy or not cheesy enough, too dramatic or too casual, you couldn’t strike a balance and had no idea how to even find one.

Last night was probably the most jarring occasion. Yunjin and Chaewon had been trying to convince you to go the club all week but you just weren’t in the mood. They seemed happy enough when you suggested hosting pres—but now you think they’d been hoping you’d be so drunk you’d just agree to go out. Yunjin brought half a litre of vodka and Chaewon brought a soup flask with enough murky cocktail in it to feed a small family. Together, the three of you drank and gossiped around the small table in your living room, with Chaewon’s phone in a glass to amplify her playlist. After taking a whiff of whatever she brought, you and Yunjin decided — for everyone’s wellbeing — to hide her flask and take shots of vodka, finishing off the cider you had left in the fridge.

“Please come out,” Yunjin begged. “I’ll feel bad leaving you here, all pretty and drunk by yourself.”

“I’ll feel bad too!” Chaewon added, clasping her hands. “Not bad enough to stay with you, but I’ll probably have less fun.”

You shook your head. “I don’t even have an outfit.” The words were like music to their ears and you regretted them as soon as you said them. Both girls grabbed you by the hand, tugging you to your room and flinging open your wardrobe. Yunjin looked for a top and Chaewon for a skirt, though both of them gasped when they saw the dress you wore for Heeseung’s birthday. Chaewon pulled it from the rack, holding it out in front of her.

“We won’t pay for anything if you wear this,” she squealed before she and Yunjin started chanting: Free booze! Free booze!

You sighed, thinking of Heeseung and shook your head again. That dress, though beautiful, hadn’t been enough for him to lose all composure and skip the party in favour of fucking you into the mattress, and you didn’t love the idea of guys that weren’t him ogling you all night. “Anything but that dress.”

Yunjin and Chaewon seemed sad, but you were able to distract them by bringing out the disaster cocktail the oldest girl brewed earlier, pouring each of them half a glass and ordering an Uber to come and take them away. You promised them you’d go out next time, locking your pinkies with theirs and closing the door behind them.

Alone in your room, with nothing but thoughts of Heeseung to keep you company, you called him. He answered right away. You can’t remember exactly what you said but you remember the soft sigh he let out when you said it. You could practically see him tilting his head, weighing his options.

“I’m trying to get a paper finished, it’s due Monday,” he said finally.

“But it’s Thursday.”

“Yeah, and I want to have my weekend free. If you’re still up when I’m done, I’ll come over, okay?”

You nodded. “Okay.”

Heeseung hung up after that and you got out of bed to clean up, hoping the time would fly. It didn’t, but your flat was clean again so you pretended not to mind.

He called you after midnight. “Do you still want me to come over?” he asked, breathless.

“Please.” There was a knock on your door after you spoke and you mumbled hold on before going to check it. Warped by the peephole, you saw Heeseung standing there, holding his phone to his ear and playing with the zipper on his jacket. He hugged you when you opened the door, asking if you were okay. “Perfect,” you said, looking into his eyes.

His pretty face scrunched up and he pinched his nostrils shut with his fingers, turning his head. “Well, you smell like a distillery.”

Heeseung stood in the doorway of the bathroom while you brushed your teeth, grinning every time his eyes met yours in the mirror. Tell him now, you thought. You have to tell him now. Those thoughts nagged you as you gargled mouthwash, plagued you when you hugged him again and tortured you when he carried you to bed.

He stiffened when kissed his jaw. “You can’t do that,” he mumbled, setting you down under the duvet. “Not now.”

Then when? you wanted to say. “I’m sorry,” you said.

Heeseung sighed, shaking his head. “No, it’s just.. It’s okay.”

Neither of you spoke after that, you made room for him on the bed and he lay down next to you, let you rest your head on his chest and played with your hair until you fell asleep. He was gone when you woke up in the morning but he left a glass of water and some paracetamol on your end table, along with a note.

I had to go to class and you wouldn’t wake up :( We’ll talk about everything soon, we have to. See you at Jake and Sunghoon’s later?

— Your Hee.

If you hadn’t been drunk he might have been okay with the kiss, he might have looked down at you and kissed you properly. You might have talked last night, fixed things—you’ve never regretted drinking so much in your life.

Things are better tonight at least. You’ve been nursing the same can of cider since you arrived a few hours ago and Heeseung’s only had two sips of his beer, so hopefully, if you get some alone time, the two of you can finally talk. You’re still not sure what you should say, if you should apologise for waiting so long, for leaving in the first place. It seemed like a good idea at the time, applying elsewhere. You didn’t even think you’d get in but you knew you’d never forgive yourself if you didn’t at least take the chance. It seemed like a sign when the acceptance letter reached your inbox before the term had finished, an unconditional offer to a high-ranking university, you couldn’t pass it up. And knowing Heeseung as well as you did, you knew he’d do anything to be by your side when you needed him, you knew he’d drop everything to move with you if you let him. You’d owe him forever. It wouldn’t be fair on either of you.

You called Jay in tears after a month away, telling him you made a mistake, that you needed to come back and had already filled out a transfer application. He convinced you to at least stay until the end of term, to actually make friends with the girls you were living with and see how you felt. A week later, he, Jake and Sunghoon showed up on your doorstep with chocolate and booze, hoping your room was big enough for all of them to stay for the weekend, it wasn’t, not really, but for three nights, the four of you slept head to toe in your bed after eating your body weights in pizza and ice cream. There was no talk of Heeseung, even though you begged them, and by the time they left, you felt much better. At the end of your first year, you quietly submitted your transfer application and shared a tearful goodbye with Yizhuo and Minjeong before finally flying back home. The boys seemed happy to have you back, even if it meant sneaking around to hang out with you—A nudge pulls you out of your thoughts, Heeseung.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

When you look at him, it feels like the wind has been knocked out of you. His eyes are brimmed with concern, wide and beautiful, a deep brown you’ll never get sick of. His lips are curved into a soft pout, a crease running along his brow that you want to smooth out.

Heeseung relaxes a little when you nod, but he seems unconvinced. “You sure?”

You reach up to poke his cheek, grinning when he turns his head, trying to fight a smile. “I’m good,” you say, pressing a dimple into his cheek anyway.

He holds your finger in his hands, unclenching your fist and locking his fingers with yours. A wide grin stretches over your lips as you plead with your cheeks to stop burning. Jake’s hand interrupts the moment, falling from the couch, limp and curled into a fist that smacks the back of your head. He’s fast asleep, not stirring at all even when Heeseung laughs.

Unfortunately, you lose rock, paper, scissors and have to wake Jake up. He shifts a little on the couch when you shake him, whining at you to stop and scrunching up his face at you. Heeseung and Sunghoon eventually sigh, grabbing him by the arms and legs to carry him to bed.

Both boys return, laughing about something and Heeseung sits down next to you again while Sunghoon leans in the doorway, yawning. “You two can have my room,” he says, cutting his eyes at you. “No funny business though, I just changed my sheets.”

You chuckle nervously and Heeseung makes a show of hiding his face in the crook of your neck, much to Sunghoon’s visible dismay. He clutches the doorframe so hard you see his knuckles paling and uses his free hand to point a stern finger in your direction. “I mean it,” is the last thing he says before leaving.

“Sorry,” Heeseung mumbles when the door closes. “It’s just so funny teasing him.” He’s grinning when he lifts his head and runs a shaking hand through his hair. “Anyway, you still haven’t told me about your group project.”

A sigh curls out of you, dramatic and loud as you let your head fall back against the couch at the thought of it. You brought it up in passing on Monday after class and spent the rest of the week pretending it didn’t exist.

“Damn,” he mutters. “That bad?”

You don’t have many friends in your Archaeology class, but you always look forward to it — because you’re covering Ancient Egypt — and enjoy it. But this morning, you slept in, arriving late, to find your lecturer assigning groups for a project weighing 25% of your final grade. She put the groups together based on where people were sitting, which left you, standing in the doorway fighting for breath, being added to a group of boys you shared a seminar with last term. They never contributed, and rarely showed up, constantly sending messages in the class Whatsapp group to ask if anyone had the tutorial answers. The sinking feeling that your project was doomed before it began plagued you throughout the lecture and all the way to lunch with Yunjin afterwards. Even though it doesn’t have anything to do with the story, you tell him in meticulous detail about your time with her that day. Thankfully, you’re sober so don’t admit that you spent a lot of the meal exchanging increasingly ridiculous ideas to get him back.

Heeseung is just as beautiful and good at listening as always, nodding his head and uhm-ing and ah-ing at all the right parts. Until his gaze changes for a split second into something so soft and so sweet that it leaves a mark on your heart. “I was pissed about it earlier, but now I’m here, with you, and I want you to be my boyfriend again,” you say, jaw hanging open as soon as the words come out.

His eyes widen, lips parting in shock. Then his brows furrow, pushing a crease into his forehead.

“I know what you’re going to say and I’m sorry.” You start running damage control and pray that Jake or Sunghoon will wake up and come back. “I really didn’t mean to say that, especially not now when we haven’t talked about everything. But you looked at me, Heeseung. You really looked at me just now and I can’t pretend I don’t want to be with you. I’m sorry, really, but it’s your fault I said that.”

Mortified, you cover your face with your hands. “Can you say something now?” you ask, mumbling into the heels of your palms.

All he says is your name and a pit forms in your stomach. “God, anything but that,” you groan.

Heeseung chuckles, which you think is a good thing. “Would it be better if I called you baby?”

“In what context?”

Holding your breath, you watch as he presses his lips together, humming as he tilts his head. “Term of endearment between a girlfriend and her boyfriend.”

You lift your head, separating your fingers to see him properly through the space and the pit in your stomach dissolves into something live, butterflies fluttering in a frenzy from the look on his face. The gentle curve of his lips, the warmth in his eyes, and the slight flush on his cheeks all make your head spin.

“Really?”

Heeseung nods so hard his hair follows the movement. “Yes, baby.”

“Can we kiss now?”

“Maybe if you move your hands out of the way.”

“I don’t like maybe.”

“Definitely if you move your hands out of the way,” he corrects.

You can’t bring yourself to move, worried that the sudden motion might disrupt something, might knock you out of the moment. Heeseung laughs, so softly it sounds like an exhale, as he takes your wrists in his hands, tugging gently. With your face in full view, his eyes flit over your features for a beat before he cups your cheek in his hand, dragging his thumb over the soft skin of your lips.

You don’t even realise he’s leaning in until his lips touch yours. There’s a rush of something in your chest, an intense warmth surrounding your heart. His lips are softer than ever, gentle as he kisses you like you might break—you think you might. Nothing is better than this, better than having Heeseung’s lips on yours after all this time. You lean into him completely, pressing your body impossibly close to his and twirling your fingers around the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I love you,” he whispers, barely pulling away. “I love you so much.”

You can’t bring yourself to reply, emotions too close to the surface, tears too close to spilling. Instead, you smile into the kiss, somehow holding him closer and hoping he’ll understand. He pulls back, just enough to gaze into your eyes with a look of pure affection. He doesn’t press for words, a reassuring smile tugging his lips.

He understands, Heeseung always understands.

Sunghoon’s sheets are soft against your skin when you wake up, tickling your nose with the scent of detergent and Heeseung’s shampoo—fresh and light. Your hand finds its way into his hair, fingers curling around the strands as Heeseung watches you with a soft smile, eyes scanning your features, taking you in. He lets his hand rest on your cheek, thumb stroking the skin there and his eyes flick up to meet yours. You feel like a teenager, a giddy smile gracing your lips, giggles tumbling out at the tickly feeling of lovestruck butterflies rumbling in your stomach. Heeseung beams, nuzzling into the touch of your hand as his eyes flutter shut.

“If we’re going to work out this time—I want us to work out, but we need to talk,” you say after a beat.

Heeseung’s brows raise like he can’t believe what you’re saying, his lips pushing into a pout. “We are going to work out, of course we’re going to work out.” His voice is still raspy from sleep, a deep hoarseness that’s too sexy for the cute way he’s chewing on his lip, doe-eyed and sweet as his eyes scan your face.

“I know, baby, I want that.” You nod, using your hand to push his hair out of his face. It’s so long now it’s starting to cover his eyes, the soft blond strands curling into his eyelashes. “But you have to say no to me, you know? I want you to have a life of your own, we both should.”

“No.”

“No?” You press your eyes shut, sighing. “What do you mean, no?”

“I’m starting now.”

“I’m serious, Hee, this is serious.”

He pouts for a second before nodding. “I’m serious too. I can say no to you, I will say no to you.”

You can’t help your scepticism, raising your brow at him as you inspect his face. There’s nothing about his expression that suggests he’s not being serious, nothing in those huge eyes seeming insincere. But you know Heeseung, you’ve been with Heeseung, and you know better than anyone, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do if it meant spending time with you, so you have to ask. “So from now on, if I text you when you’re in class or out with friends, and I tell you I want to see you, what are you going to do?”

Heeseung sighs. “I’m going to text back and say that I’m.. busy.” His lips curl into a frown. “My heart will be super heavy though.”

“But you’ll do it? You won’t see me until you’re free?”

“I’ll do it, I won’t leave or anything.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yeah, baby, I promise.” When you smile at him, Heeseung leans in to seal his promise with a kiss, his lips meeting yours softly.

You flinch when the door opens and Heeseung chuckles against your lips, but he doesn’t stop kissing you. Over his head, you see Sunghoon standing in the doorway, hair dripping water on the floor with a towel wrapped around his hips.

Sunghoon sighs, loud and dramatic, his head falling back. “I specifically said no funny business,” he mutters. “Quit looking at me.” He comes into the room and lifts the duvet over your heads.

Under the covers, Heeseung pulls away, poking his head out and laughing. “We’re just kissing.”

“Yeah, with your shirt off. Why is your shirt off?”

“She wanted to wear—”

Sunghoon cuts him off with a gasp, pulling the duvet back. “Wait, why are you kissing?”

“I can’t kiss my girlfriend?”

The word makes your cheeks burn and you hide your face in Heeseung’s chest. His lips find the top of your head, kissing you as he wraps his arms around you.

Sunghoon groans at the sight. “I haven’t missed this at all,” he says. “Who else knows?”

“Just you so far.”

You can hear Sunghoon grinning when he drops the duvet back over your heads and shuffles around the room, getting ready for skating. Heeseung calls you cute and holds you closer. “I’ve missed you so much, missed this,” he mumbles into your hair. “I love you.”

Dating Heeseung again is better than anything you could have imagined, even if it has only been two weeks. He’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more, and even the simple things he does make you smile so hard your face aches. Like when he picks up snacks for you after class or sends you pictures of sweet things he wrote about you in his old diary. Chaewon and Yunjin comment that you seem happier, that you’re glowing, and you can’t help the giggles that always escape and the flush that burns your cheeks when you mention your boyfriend, Heeseung.

Even under the pressure of taking on a group project by yourself, you find yourself fighting a grin in the library just thinking about him. Your class finished an hour ago and you’re doing research in the computer lab while waiting for him so you can go back home together. With a crease in your brow, you try to make sense of conflicting articles on the origin of the Great Pyramid of Giza, happy when your phone lights up with a text.

hee: we should go on a date tonight !!! how does the fair sound?

you: sounds good :D

hee: ❤️

As if sensing that plans have been made without him, Sunghoon sends a message to the group chat asking who wants to go to the Spring Fair in the city centre tonight.

you: hee and i are alr going :/

sunghoon: awesome i can meet u at hee’s in a few hours?

You really can’t find the heart to tell Sunghoon it’s a date so you decide not to say anything, only feeling worse when Jay replies.

jay: sounds good :D

hee: it’s a date dumbass, you’re not invited.

sunghoon: ok.. i can still go

jake: time?

With your date set and whatever else the boys are planning in the group chat, you manage to finish up your work in time for Heeseung to show up with a grin on his face as you pack up your notebook. Excitement stirs in your stomach when he locks his fingers with yours and you’ve never looked forward to the sticky heat of a night in spring as much as you are right now.

“How was class?” you ask, squeezing his hand.

Heeseung grins at you, swinging your hands between your bodies as you weave through tables to leave the library. “Turns out I focus really well when you’re not sitting with me.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mm.” He nods, biting his lip.

“I can sit with other people if it’ll help you focus.”

“No!” he whines, loud enough to draw side eyes from the students around you before the tips of his ears burn red and he pulls you out of the library at lightspeed.

When you reach his flat, Jay’s sitting on the couch grinning at something on his phone, so distracted he doesn’t even realise you’ve arrived until you sit down next to him. He’s got a lot to say about his mock trial and tells you everything, all while you’re cuddled up to Heeseung, with your head on his shoulder.

You blink and the sun’s gone down, Jay isn’t around anymore and Heeseung’s arms are around your waist, holding you close. “Hey,” he says when you stir. “The boys left already, you just looked so cute sleeping that I didn’t want to wake you.”

There’s a wet patch on his sweater where your mouth was that you try to wipe away. It doesn’t budge. And a burning flush attacks your cheeks and neck when Heeseung uses his thumb to wipe some of the drool by your mouth. “So cute.” He chuckles. “Should we get going?”

You spend the whole journey to the city centre with your hand in Heeseung’s, trying to fight the butterflies in your stomach every time he smiles at you. It’s weird. To have been with him for so long, yet still feel giddy when he looks at you. This is new though, you suppose, to live away from home and see him whenever you want. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder and you can’t help the grin on your face at the thought of spending infinite nights like this, with him.

The Spring Fair is alive with laughter and squeals of delight that you can hear from around the corner. Winking lights spill onto the pavement in rapid succession, somehow showing the whole spectrum at once. Heeseung is bursting with excitement, running down the street with you in tow, desperately trying to keep up with his stride and regulate your breathing. His eyes are huge when you reach the gates, scanning the area for the churros he’s been talking about for the entire walk and he gasps when he sees the stall, pulling you along with him. You have to weave through the crowd, dipping and dodging tired locals and excited tourists as you call out apologies to everyone Heeseung bumps into. The first night is always packed like this, so full it’s hard to believe the fair runs for six whole weeks.

You share a heart-shaped churro and pose for the photos he wants to take, your heart swelling with affection as you pretend to be embarrassed when he buys matching character headbands for you both. Two years ago, Heeseung would’ve told you that headbands aren’t a good use of your money and bought them anyway, but today, he spent fifteen minutes trying on and taking photos with each character before finding the perfect pair. You can’t help but grin as he puts the headband on for you, a sense of excitement blooming inside you, so great it’s overwhelming.

Heeseung buys a blue raspberry slushy in an obnoxiously large reusable cup with two straws, and as he clutches his head with each brain freeze, chuckles pour out of you, only increasing when he pouts.

At every opportunity, the two of you take selfies, and the grin on his face in each one warms your heart. He posts his favourite to his story, showing you all the compliments he’s getting in his DMs, all aimed at you. He seems so proud and excited to be with you, and butterflies go mad in your stomach as he reads some of them out to you, agreeing with and adding to the messages.

“You’re so beautiful, baby. I think I might delete the picture,” he says, frowning as the story replies pour in.

The look on his face makes you laugh, struggling to talk but trying anyway. “But I love it.”

Heeseung puts his phone away, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “I love you,” he says, using his free hand to tip your chin towards him. He grins when you say it back, tracing his thumb along your jaw. An odd stillness hits you, in the midst of vibrant chaos. Flashes of multi-coloured LEDs dance in orange and purple strobes over his face and your breath hitches in your throat. His eyes are pretty and wide, flicking from your eyes to your mouth a few times as a flame starts to burn in your stomach, low and scorching.

“I love you,” you repeat, tip-toeing to close the gap.

You kiss him, slow and sweet to savour the sugary taste on his lips as they move against yours. His tongue slips into your mouth, deepening the kiss and the taste of syrupy artificial fruit, leaving you craving more, craving him. A pop goes out in the air and you flinch in Heeseung’s arms. He chuckles against your lips before he pulls away, looking up. Trails of pink and gold paint the sky above, vibrant sparks spreading everywhere as a few more go off. If you weren’t so busy trying to catch your breath, you might appreciate their beauty, but you are and the next pop only startles you too.

Heeseung looks down at you, his slightly swollen lips curving into a grin. “How are you so cute?” he coos. “And don’t most people want fireworks to go off when they kiss someone?”

“It’s probably a sensation thing, Heeseung.” You know it’s a sensation thing. The first time he kissed you, it felt like you were floating on air, as if Sunghoon’s basement, cold and dark, was the most romantic place on Earth. You were sweaty and nervous, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Heeseung while the boys were sleeping. He was the one to lean in and he kissed the tip of your nose by accident.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “Come here.” His voice is so deep and raspy that it spurs the flame on, burning higher, hotter, until it’s the only thing you can think about. His hand finds your jaw again, pulling you towards him to kiss you. Of course, you can’t resist; he’s Heeseung.

The kiss is rife with neediness, whether from you or Heeseung you can’t tell, but you’re tugging at his hair and he’s clutching at your t-shirt, both of you struggling to get enough of the other. You nip at his bottom lip with your teeth and a heady sigh falls from his mouth into yours, brewing a storm in your mind, a thick fog obscuring everything but thoughts of him.

At the sound of a forced throat clearing, you break away from Heeseung, seeing an elderly lady with a steaming cup in her hand and a disgruntled look on her face. She extends an arm, gesturing behind you. When you follow the direction of her hand, you see a bench that you’re standing right in front of. Heeseung grabs your hand, mumbling an apology and tugging you as far away as possible. You struggle to stifle a laugh at the redness of his ears against his hair.

A huge ride swings and spins into the air, catching your attention, though Heeseung seems to be more interested in the way Jake stands by the entrance with a scowl on his face. Jake waves you over when he sees you, grinning and hugging you both like it’s been years since he saw you.

“Jay and Hoon are..” he trails off, using his arm to vaguely gesture towards the sky.

“Man,” Heeseung whispers, pointing a reverent finger to the sky, “R.I.P.”

Countless fireworks shoot up noisily, painting the dark sky, and Heeseung’s arms fall heavily around your shoulders, his body warm against your back. If not for the way Jake’s flinching next to you, covering his ears with his hands and ducking slightly at the bang of each one, it might feel like the two of you are alone in the moment. Alone despite the chatter, the laughter and squeals. Just you and Heeseung.

And Jake.

Heeseung is amazing at fair games, especially the ring toss. But a tired-looking man in a business suit wins the Hello Kitty plush you’d been eyeing for the snotty toddler wrapped around his leg, so you settle for the Kuromi plush instead. Heeseung says it’s cuter. You agree.

His voice is soft when he asks, “Maybe we can go on the Ferris wheel later?” This is a far cry from the boy of sixteen who fainted at an amusement park just from seeing the drop on the biggest ride there. When you look up at him, his eyes are wide, boring into you, holding the stars in his pupils with a grin across his blue-stained lips, and how could you say no to that face?

The platform by the Ferris wheel is sticky under your shoes, making you cringe with every step you take towards the front of the line. Heeseung’s grip on your hand is tighter than you think it’s ever been when he realises that you’re next to get on. This might be the most scared you’ve ever seen him, your poor boyfriend with his overpriced Kuromi headband shivering beside you.

You frown at the sight, reaching up to kiss his cheek. “We don’t have to do this, Hee,” you say.

He tries to play it cool, shrugging with a nonchalance that doesn’t match the fear in his eyes. “I want to,” he assures, though his voice lacks conviction.

“Are you sure?” The way he flinches when the ride operator opens the gate gives you his answer, but Heeseung is firm in his words as he pulls you towards the cart, despite wincing when the operator locks you in. “Baby,” you whisper, touching his cheek. “It’s not too late to get out.”

In what appears to be a display of his bravery, he makes a show of rocking the carriage — only to be told off by the operator (who can’t be older than sixteen) — and cheering (with no conviction) about nothing in particular. You can’t help but laugh, the cart shaking slightly as you let your head fall back and you only laugh harder when Heeseung gasps because of it.

He flinches again when the ride starts moving, an unsettling creak sending you forward just enough to allow the next victims — according to Heeseung — to get on the ride. When the last of them board, the wheel sets off in a slow spin and he spends the entire first rotation with his eyes clamped shut, only opening them after a while when he thinks the ride is over.

The wheel creaks more than what you think is necessary and he only grows more and more outwardly uncomfortable, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth and gripping the safety bar above your laps until his knuckles turn white.

“Would it make you feel better if I held your hand?” you coo, holding your left hand out to him.

He rolls his eyes but takes your hand in his, holding it between his palms. Seemingly at ease, Heeseung shifts slightly in his seat to close the tiny gap between you, pressing his knee into yours.

Even in the distance, the fair’s LED lights are beautiful, melting away into flashing bokeh before your eyes as the carriage inches higher and higher. You almost forget your company, leaning over the edge to get a better look, only for Heeseung to put his arm on your arm, mumbling, “Stop it.”

His skin is warm despite the slight chill that comes with your increasing altitude, and you wish the carriage was smaller—cramped even, forcing the two of you together so tightly that you have no choice but to become one. You sit in the quiet of the night, excitement on the fairground growing quieter as the wheel spins, agonisingly slow, until eventually it’s just the two of you—you and Heeseung: the only people in the moment.

The only people in the world.

“Why are we even on this thing?” you whisper, squeezing his hand.

Heeseung shrugs his shoulders as gently as he can manage so as not to rock the carriage. His eyes are big when he looks at you, holding your gaze intently. “I wanted to be romantic.”

Oh, Heeseung, you think, pressing your lips into a frown. He’s the sweetest person in the world and just the thought of it makes your stomach flutter. “You’re plenty romantic,” you say sincerely.

He scoffs. “Yeah, because pretending you didn’t exist for a year is romantic.”

“Yes! Very!” You chuckle, nodding your head.

Again, he rolls his eyes at you but he uses his hand to hold your face, pulling you in. His kiss tastes like candy floss and the blue raspberry slushy you shared earlier, lips soft, relaxed against your own. Your hand reaches for his thigh, meeting instead with the squished plushy between your bodies and you can’t help but laugh.

With your presentation out of the way, you and the guys are all sitting in Heeseung and Jay’s living room for the first night of Spring break. You’ve just about reached your limit, cuddling into Heeseung’s side with your eyes closed, sleepily listening to the conversation. It’s unintelligible, more laughter and wheezes than anything else.

You shift your way into Heeseung’s lap after a while, moving around to get comfortable. It only takes two movements for him to grab you by the waist, holding you still. You try again, and his lips catch the shell of your ear. “Relax, baby. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” you admit, moving around again until he sighs, relieved, you think. A wicked grin spreads over your lips when you feel him getting hard, grinding down on him a little and liking the warmth that spreads in your stomach from having him pressed against you.

“Stop it,” he whispers, kissing the spot behind your ear.

You heed the warning but can’t help the thoughts filling your mind, though you try to ignore them, laughing at something Sunghoon said about Jake’s ugly hat and shoes. Jake doesn’t find it as funny as the rest of you seem to.

Another hour passes by in the same way before the boys stumble into Jay’s room, calling out a slurred goodnight to you and Heeseung on the couch. You stand up first, holding out a hand for him to take and giggling when he presses a kiss to the back of it.

In his room, he stares at a spot on the wall as you close the door, a contemplative look on his face. “Are you okay?” you ask, but he doesn’t look at you, only nodding his head with a crease along his brow.

You kiss him, a featherlight touch of your lips against his. It’s soft for a while, sweet and sincere until he clutches your shirt like his life depends on it. Heeseung’s hands are all over you, stroking and squeezing every part of you he can reach. Overwhelming heat burns your skin under his touch. He inhales sharply through his nose when you reach for his waistband, tugging the drawstring free but he grabs your wrist, stopping you. He keeps kissing you, keeps trying and frowns when you pull away.

“You don’t want this?”

He tilts his head, looking down at you with concern flooding his wide eyes. “Do you think we’re going too fast?” His voice is quiet and he chews on his lip after speaking.

“We’ve been together for six years.”

“A month,” he corrects, looking at his feet.

As badly as you want him, you don’t want him doing anything he’s not ready for, so you wiggle your arm free from his grip, dropping it at your side. He lifts his head to look at you, brows knitted together, the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen. “I don’t want to rush you.”

“It’s not that.” He shakes his head with wide eyes. “I just don’t want us doing anything you’ll regret.”

“I’m not going to regret this, I don’t regret anything we’ve done, Heeseung,” you say, holding his face in your hands.

He closes his eyes, nodding.

“Do you want to stop?”

“Never,” he whispers and the word has you falling to your knees.

It’s hard to see his exact expression in only the dim glow of the streetlights outside, but you can clearly see the way he’s watching you. The way his eyes are lidded as he chews on his bottom lip, watching you reach for the buckle on his belt. Heeseung threads his fingers through your hair, groaning, and for a few seconds, you’re hypnotised. Too wrapped up in tipsiness and lust to move your fingers, completely focused on the way his breath starts to pick up before you’ve even done anything. You’re starting to think it might be enough for him just to see you like this, on your knees for him, wide-eyed and eager.

Whether on purpose or not, Heeseung tugs on your hair gently, pulling you from your trance. His blunt fingernails scratch at the back of your head as you undo his belt, tugging his jeans down. He steps out of them as soon as he can, smiling when you toss them behind you. Too worked up to wait, you push your face against him. You take a minute to hold his covered cock between your lips, shuddering at the feeling of the damp spot at the top of it. Heeseung grunts, bucking his hips. He looks like sin when you lock eyes with him, licking a strip to the top of his waistband, sucking and nipping at the skin and coarse hair there.

“Quit teasing,” he says, still keeping control of his voice.

You blink up at him sweetly, shaking your head. “I’m not,” you mumble, pulling his underwear down.

Heeseung’s dick smacks his stomach with a wet sound that makes you clench around nothing, and you sit back on your heels to admire him. Maybe it’s from time, or your unbearable desire, but he looks bigger, thicker, and much prettier than you remember. When you finally drag your eyes from his dick, you notice a mark on his hip, right above where his thigh starts. It’s a smudge of something dark, inky almost. You furrow your brows, licking the pad of your thumb to try and get rid of it. He practically flinches when you touch it, moving away from you. The increased distance between you and the low lighting only further obscures it—when you rub at the mark it doesn’t budge.

“What is this?”

“It’s nothing,” he says, sitting down on the bed and covering it with his hand.

If it was anyone other than Heeseung, you might have thought it was a tattoo, but you can’t make sense of the thought so it slips your mind as soon as it occurs. You reach for the lamp on his bedside table, flicking it on, losing your breath at the sight of his skin glowing golden in the light, and the tip of his cock is a tempting, glossy red. You can’t help but take him in your hand, stroking him slowly.

“Tell me, baby.”

“It’s a bruise,” he manages through a gasp, licking his lips.

Your thumb swipes over his slit and he crumbles. “Heeseung.”

“Butterfly, it’s a butterfly.”

A fuzzy warmth starts to bloom in your chest, overwhelming you. “Lay down,” you say, voice as soft as it’s ever been.

Heeseung obliges, linking his fingers with yours when you move his hand from his thigh. Under the light, you can see it clearly, dark strokes of ink forming a pretty butterfly, tiny, and heart-achingly familiar.

“Is it..” You trail off, moving your lips around words that you can’t get out as tears sting your eyes. “Did I draw this?” Leaning over him, you get as close as you can, using your finger to trace the shape.

Sitting up on his elbows, he looks down at you with a worried look on his face as he nods. “Do you hate it?”

“I love it.. it’s perfect.” You let go of his hand, using the back of your fingers to wipe at your eyes.

Heeseung sits up, letting his hand cup your cheek and looking at you. He uses his thumb to wipe some of the tears you missed before leaning down and kissing you. His lips move slowly with yours, he’s being gentle, so gentle that you hear your heart thudding in your ears.

“Come sit,” he mumbles against your mouth, helping you up and guiding you into his lap, a whine falling out of him when you sit on his cock and you mumble an apology that you don’t mean.

“When did.. Why did you..”

His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “My first birthday I spent without you. I just wanted to have something for you.”

You’ve seen it and you’ve heard it from him, but you still can’t make sense of it. “But you’re.. you’re Heeseung. You’d never get a tattoo, you told me that.”

“I’ll probably never get another tattoo, it hurt like hell,” he says, frowning.

“You’re such a sweetheart.” You cradle his face in your hands, gazing into his eyes, your sweet Heeseung. So different yet so incredibly similar. “You’re, like, obsessed with me.”

There’s a loud adoration in his eyes that makes your stomach turn. “How could I not be?” His smile is wide even though his lips are smushed a little by the way you’re holding his face.

Heeseung tilts his chin towards you so you kiss him, the two of you passing moans and whines between your mouths as you grind on him, his hands gripping your waist under your shirt. He shudders under you, rutting his hips against yours with a groan. He’s harder than ever underneath you, his cock hot between your thighs, pressed up against your core in the most maddening way. It can’t be comfortable for him, the friction from your underwear but he seems like he’s enjoying it just as much as you, maybe more, you think, when he starts throbbing.

Conscious of the boys across the hall, you try your best to be quiet, though Heeseung doesn’t share your concern, his lips parting too wide to keep kissing you and his head falling back as he lets a whine out into the air. His nails dig into your skin, hips speeding up more than you can keep up with as he trembles, clearly so close to the edge that you moan at the sight of him all fucked out in front of you. You chew on your lip, watching his whole face scrunch up before falling to your shoulder, his cum leaking out all over your panties and the tops of your thighs. A grin covers your lips while your pussy aches from the heat of his release and the feeling of his staggered breath hitting your skin. When he finally sits up, sweat slicks the column of his neck and chest, a nervous look in his eyes that he can’t quite bring to meet yours.

“This is j—” Heeseung cuts you off by covering your mouth with his palm.

“I remember. You don’t have to say it, baby, I remember.”

“You were so cute that day,” you say when he moves his hand. Butterflies fill your stomach when you think about it, the first time you ever did anything with each other, with anyone. He was fifteen, with cute round glasses perched on the end of his nose and teeth too big for his mouth, finishing in his jeans with you in his lap.

“You don’t think I’m cute anymore?” he asks, frowning.

“You’re always cute.”

Heeseung grins at your words, so wide and sweet your heart races. He kisses you gently and slips his hand into your underwear, his finger trailing the length of your pussy slowly, groaning into your mouth at how wet you are. You whine into the kiss when he strokes your clit and gasp when he pushes a finger into you easily. Gradually, he adds more fingers, fucking you open on his knuckles and watching as you fall apart.

His lips move from yours, falling to your neck so he can kiss and suck the sensitive skin there. “You feel so good, baby. My sweet girl,” he mumbles, breath searing your skin. The words make you clench, your stomach fluttering relentlessly as he uses his thumb to press on your clit, the pressure enough to make you spiral. It’s all too much too fast and before long, you’re squirming and mewling in Heeseung’s arms, finishing all over his fingers.

Immediately, an excruciating flush burns every inch of your body as you hide your face in his neck to catch your breath. His arms wrap around you and he whispers sweet nothings into your hair while stroking your back.

Ever since that night in his room, all your senses feel heightened when Heeseung is around.

And it doesn’t help that you spend every waking moment with him. Whether in his flat or yours, you’re joined at the hip and it’s near impossible not to pounce on him. In your stomach blooms a heat you haven’t felt in years. An all-consuming flame that makes you hold your breath when he cuddles you; makes you look away when he strips before showering.

He’s taken a liking to shirtlessness, only seeming to remember that the garments exist when he has to leave the house—which isn’t often now that classes have ended. This sudden cotton allergy plagues you, burning the image of his ever-increasing muscle definition and the tattoo on his hip into your memory, so deeply they’re the only things you see when you close your eyes at night.

Even when Heeseung’s being romantic, cooking dinner for the two of you and almost burning his finger with a match while lighting a candle, you’re thinking about him fucking you. When he goes out with the boys and stumbles into your flat, drunk, with a crushed bouquet in his hands, you’re thinking about what might have happened if you’d gone out too. If he’d finger you in the back of a taxi or take you against the door when you got back.

Weeks go by like this until you finally reach your limit.

There’s nothing overtly sexual about the way Heeseung’s sitting. About the way his lashes kiss his cheeks when he blinks, or the way his hair sits in a sleepy mess on his forehead. But it’s Heeseung. So these things existing on him drive you crazy.

Given the lack of privacy in your family homes — by way of an open-door rule when visiting each other — you and Heeseung didn’t have many opportunities to have sex that didn’t involve being tangled around one another in the backseat of his car. And even those occasions were few and far between.

With the only three brain cells that seem to function around your shirtless boyfriend and your head on the doorjamb, you begin to scheme. It doesn’t have to be elaborate—just a way to get Heeseung to fuck you without you having to bring it up.

“What’s up, baby?” he asks, finally looking over at you. His voice pulls you out of your thoughts, with a raspiness to it that makes your thoughts run wild. From head to toe, his eyes drag over your body, his tongue coming out to run over his lips.

Clearly, a very delicate, well-timed conversation is in order and the gears in your mind scrape against each other, turning egregiously as you try to figure out how to start the conversation. “I want you to fuck me,” you blurt out. Not the most delicate approach, but the way Heeseung’s eyes widen suggests you might be on the right track. “I didn’t mean to say that,” you admit sheepishly.

He chuckles deeply in a way you haven’t heard in years. “So you don’t want me to fuck you?” There’s a challenge in his question, evident from his raised brow, the setting aside of his phone, and the way he sits up straight. The movement forces the duvet to slip a little, falling from above his belly button to his hips in one fell — effortlessly sexy — swoop.

In spite of this, you can’t help but roll your eyes at him. How could you be standing there, in nothing but his t-shirt, asking him to fuck you and he’s caught up on semantics? “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“What are you saying?” When you don’t say anything, Heeseung lifts the duvet from his body entirely, grinning when your gaze locks on his hips. His pyjama pants are sitting low enough to show off the waistband of his underwear, and they don’t do anything to hide the way his hard cock pushes against them.

Heeseung towers over you, overwhelming you and the space of the doorframe as his mouth quirks up at one corner. “You want it, baby?” he asks, his voice soft as he cups your face in his hand, using his thumb to trace your lips.

His face dips down to yours and you can’t resist reaching up to kiss him, whining at the contact as you move your lips in sync with his. The sounds he’s making are dizzying, deep groans you feel in your chest. His hand grips your waist, pulling you as close as possible so you can feel him, hard and thick, pressing against you.

You whimper when he pulls away, chasing his kiss, but Heeseung only chuckles. “Say the word and I’m yours,” he whispers, looking down at you with those big eyes.

“I’m not going to beg.”

He smiles sweetly, a soft curve of his lips summoning butterflies. “Suit yourself,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to the base of your neck and leaving the room.

Flustered, you follow him, flinging your arms around his waist and pressing your face into his back. “Okay, I’m going to beg.”

“I’m listening.”

“I need you,” you mumble into his skin.

“You have me.”

Even though his words and the way his lips audibly split into a grin make your heart race, you can’t help your frustration. “Heeseung,” you say, pleading with him.

He frees himself from your grip, turning around. When you look up at him, he’s watching you closely through lidded eyes, his lips parted in a soft pout that makes your heart melt. His arms wrapped around your shoulders, holding you close enough to feel him pressing against you. “I’m all yours, baby. What’s up?”

“Why are you torturing me?”

This makes him smile as he shakes his head. “I’m not.”

“Please.”

He brings a hand up to your face, his thumb stroking your cheek and you can’t help but nuzzle into his palm. “Please what?”

“You know what I need and I can’t go any longer without it,” you mumble into his hand. Heeseung only raises a brow and you sigh. Somehow, your want for him is greater than your embarrassment so you sigh, looking him in the eye. “If you want to, please, please, fuck me, Heeseung. Any way you want, baby, just promise me you’ll do it. I need it, need you.”

A shit-eating grin takes over his face as he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Was that so hard?” he asks, frowning when you don’t reply. “Don’t get all moody, baby, talk to me.”

Heeseung picks you up, holding you close as you wrap your legs around his waist. Both of his hands are spread over your ass and you’re too embarrassed to say anything, chewing your lip and staring at the little mole on his forehead.

“Need me to fuck you ‘til you can talk again?” There’s a roughness to his voice that makes your cheeks flush, but you can’t help but laugh, head falling back in a fit of cackles.

“What are you talking about?”

His pretty lips come together in a pout before he speaks. “I don’t know.” He shrugs, the tips of his ears burning red as he carries you to his room, using his foot to close the door behind him. “I’m rusty.”

You shake your head before kissing his forehead. “You’re perfect.”

Heeseung sets you down on the bed gently, crawling over you. “I like seeing you in my shirts,” he says, clutching the fabric in his fists, tugging a little.

“Someone has to wear them.”

A breathy laugh falls from his lips. “What?” He tilts his head, leaning away from you to sit back on his heels. “You don’t like seeing me like this?”

It’s hard to find a balance between missing his warmth and looking at his body. Staring at the definition that marks his chest and stomach and the way his muscles stick out over his biceps, you can feel yourself leaking at the sight of him. Your eyes catch on his waistband, on the strip of hair that’s cut off by the start of the fabric before falling to the bulge in his pants.

“You’re looking at me like I’m your next meal,” he mumbles, leaning back over you with a deep flush on his cheeks and neck.

“I think I want you to be.”

“You think?”

You nod eagerly, anticipation swirling in your stomach.

“Anything I can do to make you certain?” Heeseung’s voice is thick with something you think could be enough to make you finish.

“Whatever you want,” you say, desperate.

He chews on his lip, considering you for a while before kissing your cheek. Once more, he sits up, tugging at your waist. “First, I want this shirt out of my way,” he says with a smile.

Immediately, you lean off the bed to let him take it off, tossing it behind him. “Anything else?”

Heeseung’s too busy staring to speak, taking you in hungrily with a jarring combination of lust and adoration behind his eyes. You thought you’d feel shy about him seeing you after so long, but you’ve never felt more comfortable in your life as he reaches down to lock his fingers with yours. He brings your hand up to his mouth, kissing the back of it. “You’re so pretty,” he says against your skin.

There’s no stopping the flutter in your stomach or the smile that spreads over your lips. You tell him you love him and he says it back as he leans back down to kiss you slowly, his tongue licking into your mouth at an agonising pace, a line of saliva connecting you to him when he pulls away.

“I want to get my head between your legs,” he mumbles, letting his hand dip between your spread thighs. “So wet already?” he asks, dragging your slick up to your clit, rubbing it with a featherlight touch that leaves a whine slipping from your lips. “Will you let me?”

You nod.

Heeseung smiles and you match it before he dips his head into the crook of your neck, kissing the skin there for a minute. His breath and wet mouth are hot, burning a trail down to your collarbone and chest, where he gets distracted, pulling one of your nipples between his lips.

Your stomach twists at the sight of him, his pretty, pouty lips sucking and biting at your sensitive skin, the way he’s moaning against you, using his thick fingers to tug and pinch your other breast. It takes him a while to move on but you don’t complain, even when he presses tickly kisses to your stomach.

When he reaches your legs, he gets off the bed, kneels on the floor and hooks his arms around your thighs to pull you towards him. You feel exposed when he uses his thumbs to spread you, staring at your pussy with wide eyes, his lips parted a little until his head falls back with a groan.

“Missed this pussy. Been thinking about it so much, all the time. So beautiful, baby.” He manages to drag his gaze from between your legs to lock eyes with you. “You’re so beautiful, baby.” His lips touch your thighs, kissing the soft skin there, sucking marks into it and biting softly. The sting is subtle but it makes you clench, a movement that isn’t lost on him. “You’re so needy, huh? You want me that bad?” he asks, looking up with a tilted head.

You mumble the word ‘no’ and shake your head. “Need you.” The words come out of their own accord, nothing more than a desperate whine that makes Heeseung press his eyes shut. You watch as he shifts on the floor, leaning in and giving you the attention you deserve.

Heeseung’s nose grazes your slit and you gasp at the sudden contact, flinging your head back into the pillows when he licks a strip from there to your clit, giving it a quick peck.

You card your fingers through his hair, gripping at the strands so hard it must hurt, but he doesn’t seem to mind, going slow despite the way you’re trying to rut against his face. He kisses the spot above your clit, his tongue poking out to lick at the skin there, only hitting the bud a few times and the anticipation is enough to make you spiral.

Time stands still, all concept of it demolished when, finally, he wraps his lips around your swollen clit, running his tongue over it with a pressure that leaves you shaking against the sheets. Moans pour out of you like water from a faucet with nothing but pleasure and Heeseung’s sweet mouth crossing your mind.

It doesn’t seem like he’s ever going to stop, only coming up for air for a brief moment before sticking a finger into you and attaching his mouth to your clit, burying himself in your wetness. The stretch is minimal, barely registering in the waves of pleasure crashing over you, until he adds a second finger, thick and rigid as he works you open for him. By the time his third finger enters, you have to pull him away by his hair, struggling to find the words to say and settling on a whiny cry of his name.

“Hmm?” He looks up at you, face covered in slick that shines on his chin and nose, shoulders rising and falling heavily, but his fingers don’t let up, curling towards your belly button torturously slow.

“Want to cum with you inside.”

Heeseung’s eyes darken and he licks his lips. “Yeah?”

“Uh-huh, and I don’t want you using a condom either, want you to fill me up.”

“Are you sure?”

You nod. “I’m still on the pill and you’re the only person I’ve ever been with.”

Heeseung wastes no time standing up from the floor, watching hungrily as you sigh at the emptiness, moving up on the bed. He uses his fist to pump his cock slowly, sighing when he drags his thumb over his tip. A beat passes before he grins, boyish and handsome while crawling over you again. His face softens and his eyes burn into yours as he cups your cheek in his palm. “You sure about this?”

“I’m sure, Heeseung, you’re all I want,” you whisper, pecking his lips.

“Me too.”

He uses his free hand to reach for his cock, rubbing his tip over your clit and chewing on his lip. He lets his cock split your folds, grinding his length against you, rubbing your cunt with a wet sound that fills the room. Heeseung straightens up and you moan when he spits into his palm, stroking himself before pressing the head of his cock to your entrance. You hold your breath, bracing for the stretch and crying out when he pushes in. His head falls forward with a sigh, his hair tickling your forehead.

“I missed you,” he groans when he bottoms out, his thumb running over your lips. A moan slips out of him when you open your mouth, running your thumb over the pad of his finger and sucking on it. “Missed these pretty lips, this pussy. Don’t know how I got on without it.” His words and the feeling of him inside after so long only make you dizzy, knowing that he wanted you like you wanted him. He watches you with parted lips, rocking his hips tenderly against yours.

“Faster, Hee,” you whisper. “Harder.”

Heeseung’s brows knit together and he slows to a pace that lets you feel single vein and inch of him as he bottoms out before pulling almost all the way out. “Can you take it?” he asks, a jarring tone to his voice that you think is a challenge.

You nod desperately. “Please.”

The word flips a switch for him and he speeds up, thrusting so hard, so deep that your back arches off the bed as his tip nudges your g-spot each time. Just when it all starts to feel too much, Heeseung lifts one of your legs, hitting deeper than he has before and tangling up a knot in your stomach.

“You’re so good, baby, so good for me.” His eyes are dark and lidded, full of all the love in the world as he gazes into yours, a tangible love that overwhelms you, eating you alive along with his praise.

Sweltering heat stretches through every part of your body at the drag of him inside, the push and pull of his cock along your stuttering walls. It’s enough to make you shiver and a cry of his name rips out of you when he starts rubbing your clit again, pushing the bud in slow circles that make you screw your eyes shut.

“That’s it. Cum for me, baby, make a mess,” he whispers and that’s as much as you can take.

Stars flash behind your closed eyes as every single part of your body sets alight, dazed by Heeseung’s whines and the feeling of being full, finally being full, until both ends of the knot tug and tug, leaving you with nothing but a hoarse moan that dies in your throat as your orgasm hits you like a truck.

A lewd squelch accompanies each of his thrusts as they get sloppier and sloppier, losing their rhythm and intensity. It seems like he’s right there with you though when he collapses on top of you, his head falling into the crook of your neck and his moans slipping out like music to your ears.

It’s hard not to fall apart under him, but you try your best, dragging your nails over the toned muscles of his back while telling him you love him over and over until he finishes. Both of you are trembling, fighting for breath and whining as Heeseung sloppily fucks you full of his cum. The sound is downright pornographic, loud and wet as your cum mixes with his for the first time in so long. An inexplicable intimacy so thick it hangs in the air, perching on your shoulders as he looks into your eyes.

Heeseung slows down after a while, stopping completely but not pulling out yet, keeping you full and aching around him. When he catches his breath, he gives you a dreamy smile, thanking you before pressing soft kisses to every part of your face he can reach.

You whine when he pulls out, missing him as soon as he’s gone. Despite your sensitivity, you want to beg him to come back, to slip back into you and stay forever, though Heeseung has other plans. He sits between your legs, dragging a lazy finger up your slit and watching with a smile as cum leaks out. You squirm against the sheets, pushing your head into the pillow when he uses two fingers to push it back in.

“Wish I could keep you full like this forever,” he mumbles absently, curling his fingers.

All you can do is sigh happily. Long minutes go by until he takes his fingers out of you, reaching behind him for his shirt to wipe you up before leaning down to your face, mumbling against your lips to come and shower with him.

You’ve never showered with Heeseung before and a voice in your head tells you to press your cheek against the tile and let him have you again, but you’re way too sleepy for that. The warmth of the water and his big hands roaming your body do nothing to help, only forcing your eyes to fall shut as you lean back against Heeseung’s chest, willing yourself to stay awake.

Once you’re all showered and clean, you only feel sleepier, standing on the plush bath mat in front of the steamed-up mirror. Droplets of water trickle down your skin and you can’t help but revel in the warmth of the room around you. Wrapped snugly in a soft, fluffy towel, you find yourself too tired to follow Heeseung out, slathering some of the expensive moisturiser Jay keeps in the bathroom over your skin. You peer into the mirror, though you don’t see much, and for a moment, it’s just you and the steady trickle of water from the showerhead. The bathroom smells like Heeseung’s minty shower gel and you miss him already, but you take your time anyway, savouring the moment and everything that came before it.

You find him in his room when you’re done, tucking the last corner of a fitted sheet around his mattress.

“You want to nap, baby?” he asks when he sees you, holding out a clean shirt for you to wear.

“Mm,” you hum, nodding your head and dropping the towel so he can put the shirt over your head.

“Let me just fix the pillowcases, yeah?”

You nod, slumping into his desk chair and watching the muscles in his back shift and flex as he moves around the room, dumping the dirty bedding into his laundry basket and slipping the clean linen over his pillows. He pulls the duvet back and pats the mattress, grinning when you shake your head and make grabby hands in his direction,

Heeseung stretches his arms above his head and comes over to you but you stop him before he can pick you up.

“I’m going grocery shopping with Yunjin later and I need a pound for the trolley, do you have any?” you ask through a yawn.

He scratches his chin, thinking about it. “If I do, they’re in my wallet,” he says, reaching for it on the desk and handing it to you before taking a seat on the end of his bed.

When you pull on the zipper to open the coin slot, you find a shiny pound coin and a folded piece of lined paper. You leave the coin where it is and hold the paper between two fingers for him to see. “What’s this?”

Immediately, he hides his face with his hands but you can still see the flush on his ears. You’re not sure what reaction you were expecting, but despite your curiosity, you won’t look at it if he doesn’t want you to. “Sorry, baby,” you say, putting it back. “Forget I asked.”

Heeseung sighs, looking up at you through the gaps in his fingers. “You can look if you want, it’s nothing bad, just mildly humiliating.”

Nervous anticipation settles over your body and you can’t help but laugh a little, feeling your breath catch in your throat when you unfold the crumpled and creased paper. It’s blank. You arch a curious brow at Heeseung, who, though still slightly embarrassed, gestures for you to turn it over.

What meets your eyes on the other side leaves you stunned. There, inked in blue with delicate care yet bearing the natural imperfections of a hand-drawn butterfly, was a familiar image. It’s the very same butterfly you drew in your notebook on a spring date with him four years ago. Your fingers tremble as you trace the lines, your heart racing as you remember how he’d torn it from the page, eyes full of appreciation for the simple drawing.

Tears well up in your eyes when it dawns on you. It’s the very same butterfly he has tattooed on his hip, a permanent reminder of your love that endured separation and time.

Your voice is weak as you look up at him, quivering with emotion. “You kept it after all these years,” you whisper.

Heeseung smiles, his eyes full of love. “I never let go of what matters to me.”

permanent taglist: @asahicore

#heeseung smut #enhypen smut #enha smut #enhypen scenarios #heeseung scenarios #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung smut #lee heeseung #lee heeseung x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen oneshots #heeseung oneshots #heeseung imagines #enhypen hard hours #fic.heeseung

2K notes · View notes

whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 months

Text

not allowed xvii, m | jjk

pairing(s): est. poly relationship – yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary: The date of Jeon Jungkook's mandatory military service is drawing close. There's a heart-to-heart... following by fucking all three holes. What? That harsh training is easier to endure when Jungkook has nice memories of his girlfriend's sweet, sweet ass.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; JK and reader only; relationship talk; all the feels and heart eyes; smut (fem reader, all the kisses, nipple play, fingering [pussy + ass], f and m-receiving oral + face fucking, slight edging, anal doggy, vaginal penetrative sex, mentions of m-masturbation, multiple orgasms); idol!BTS - Yoongi x reader x Jungkook; reader is JK’s noona; based on real time (before 2023.12.11) this is late but I can't not send off the bunbun :D

part of ‘not allowed’ series, but can be read alone. basic summary: your bf asked JK to fuck you, twice, and then on the regular. blue haired JK. 2021 YG birthday, ‘Butter’, wiyllt remix. new skill acquired, JK’s sheer pj punishment, 2021 JK birthday, during PTD in LA, 2022 HNY, 2022 YG birthday, PTD in LV, 2022 JK birthday; 2022 Christmas, before YG's service

“Yoongi warned me.”

“Hm?”

He didn’t have much time left. But he made time for you. He had made your favorite food (crispy samgyeopsal, hehe), bought you a gift even though you didn’t want to accept them (ended up being Google Play gift cards, which you gladly accepted; however, they came with a stipulation – “you better buy all of my and SUGA-hyung’s in-game outfits with this”), and made you take off your shirt (???????) to yank one of his white Calvin Klein t-shirts over your head. You always refused physical items from him. After all, you didn’t date him for the money, plus you didn’t want anyone to notice that you had any lavish gifts. They would think you had a suga daddy or something.

Hehe.

“Noona, it’s a t-shirt. Most people can afford a Calvin Klein t-shirt. Why do you think I accepted the campaign?”

“So you could be shirtless for a reason?”

“Hey!”

“Hmm, all for ARMY, huh?”

“That includes you too, you know.”

You had grinned at Jeon Jungkook then and, just this once, you accepted his gifts. He had smiled back with those round cheeks, bright white teeth, sparkling eyes, and a newly bald head. It was a strange look to see him in, but he made it amusing, joking about it all night, not addressing the why even though you both knew the part of life that was yet to come. He puffed his chest, shirtless, and jokingly pumped up his muscles.

“You remind me of The Rock right now,” you quipped.

His head tilted in confusion. “Eh?”

You pulled up a photo of Dawyne Johnson. “I expect your biceps to be this big after eighteen months.”

“Woah! That’s impossible!”

“Just imagine ARMY’s faces when you show up at the first concert as buff as The Rock. Still bald,” you laughed good-naturedly, setting your phone down. “We gotta pick someone to People’s Elbow.”

“Seokjin-hyung would never agree.”

“You said it, not me.”

Jungkook was laughing with you. It slowly died out, your smile remaining, and he was smiling back. You had noticed this feeling all night. Something weighing on him even though he was trying to be as normal as possible. It suddenly occurred to you that you were in a unique position now. You always had to hide your true emotions about Min Yoongi and Jeon Jungkook, staying silent until you were behind closed doors and only in their presence. After all, who would understand the love between you and two men, let alone two of the most talented and most famous world-class superstars of BTS? You could confide in no one. But now, everyone knew the timeline of their service to their country. It would not be strange for you to say out loud, in public, that you missed them being around.

It was…

Comforting.

Just knowing that you could say it out loud and people would likely say, me too, even if no one really knew what you truly meant.

Those big brown eyes searched your face. You smiled softly at him and didn’t back away, letting him find what he needed. You knew Jungkook wanted to say something, but you didn’t press for it. He would tell you on his own time. He was always like that.

“Yoongi warned me.”

You paused. “Hm?”

He came closer and held your shoulders. You looked up, seeing the infinite sky and the endless universe in those eyes. The strangest adjustment for you was not the hair but the lack of piercings. They had remained constant (or as constant as Jungkook had allowed, heh) even when his hair changed. He had removed all of them now, leaving only earrings in his lower earlobe that he would have to eventually have to remove too. Still, it was the same person looking back at you. No matter how many years passed, no matter how much his appearance changed, the pureness of his emotions always shone through those big peepers.

The original Magic Shop was that big heart of his, after all.

He made wishes come true all the time.

“I’m not… good at speaking or anything…” Jungkook mumbled, chewing the left side of his lower lip, exposing that familiar and well-loved underlip mole. He always started off with that. You didn’t interrupt even though you wanted to tell him he was always super obvious to read. Especially to you. “I… I wished I spent more time with you.”

You stilled, not expecting that. “Well, you know I understand–”

Jungkook smiled and shook you a little, telling you to shut up. You only did because of the faint sadness in his expression. “That’s what Yoongi-hyung warned me about. That you would understand. That you would always understand, no matter what. But, still… I know, I spent a lot of this year working on my album and flying to places and trying new things and recording content I knew ARMY would like. I really wanted to prepare stuff everyone could enjoy while we were gone.”

You chuckled. “Am I not included in that? You just said so earlier.”

He stubbornly shook his head. “You are different, noona. There are not enough hours for all the time I want to spend with you.”

You waited for him to look back to you again. He looked apologetic. He had run out of time. There was no one more time. But he never needed to give you more. You had always been grateful for every second, every minute, every hour that he gave you.

“Any time with you is enough for me, Jungkook.”

He held you tight.

“But it’s not enough for me.”

He was holding onto your shoulders very firmly. You could tell he did not want to cry. You gave him a moment to breathe. He blinked hard and swallowed, letting out a heavy exhale, expansive eyes full of glistening stars.

“I know you’ll be fine, noona.”

He tiled his head down, leaning his forehead against yours, and there were no shadows of his hair, just soft warm light all around.

“I have saved thousands of photos,” you murmured, and he cracked a smile. “And I’ll definitely still see your face all over Korea. I won’t be able to escape you, I promise.”

He stared into your eyes.

“You’re the strongest person I know.”

You closed your eyes and breathed in, imprinting Jungkook’s clean scent into your memory.

“Even stronger than Yoongi,” he whispered, and you imprinted his voice into your memory too, even though you already had many of his words archived already.

“Don’t let him know you said that,” you whispered back. “He’ll get sulky.”

His breath trembled against your lips.

“But I won’t be fine knowing I should have done more.”

You reached up and wrapped your arms around him, hooking your hands behind his shoulders.

“There is no should here. And you are stronger than you know. You’ll be golden, my love.”

You used to only use that for Yoongi. You both mostly hated pet names. Somehow, my love snuck its way in there. It was never used lightly. There was weight to it. And now you used it for Jungkook, in the same tone, with the same softness. My love. Every time you felt him shiver and hold you tighter. Tilted his head to close the distance. You kissed him back, letting it linger, letting it take shape as a core memory. You let him be the one to break it. You let him take one of your hands and hold it up to his, palm to palm, fingertips touching.

He looked down at your joined touch for a moment.

At the same time, your fingers and his fingers curled forward and interlocked.

“Hyung and I are lucky to have you.”

“Dunno, sometimes my jokes aren’t smooth like butter.”

Jungkook squeezed your hand tighter, chuckling lightly. “You know what I mean, noona.”

“Do I?”

Then he surprised you.

“I’ve never heard you complain about your situation even though you had every reason and every chance to.”

He had noticed.

He really is growing up, huh?

“There’s nothing I need to complain about. I’m pretty lucky, I think,” you hummed.

“With adamant-almost-insufferable personality SUGA-hyung and very-difficult-to-handle Jungkookie?”

They were light-hearted words but the way he said it was not so. His tone indicated this was something spoken about between them. You didn’t mind it. In fact, you preferred it. Not only did they have complimentary personalities but they had someone who understood their unique situation well. But you also understood the apprehension. They had expressed it before.

“You two are my favorite challenges,” you chuckled, rubbing your nose against Jungkook’s. “Life is too boring without you.”

It had probably been a bad decision back then. After all, the agency was against Min Yoongi and you dating from the start, telling him repeatedly that romantic relationships were not allowed. But with youth and stubborn personalities came resilience. And becoming really good at lying to authority. Whoops. The agency both had to low-key accept what was going on and slowly relaxed over time. But life had other ideas to make your love life even more unconventional. And hectic.

(And loud. Jeon Jungkook was very loud.)

Of course, life was hard, but every life was. In fact, maybe challenge was the wrong word as it had possible negative connotations. The odd hours, the lost sleep, the sneaking around, the no-gifts rule, the creative dates behind closed doors – these things were a small price to pay in the light of the unbreakable connections you had between Yoongi and Jungkook.

Not one red line of fate, but two.

One silver.

One golden.

Jungkook held your face in his hands.

“ARMY is the reason I live, but you are the reason I know my heart is always safe.”

You tried not to wince and shifted your eyes from side to side. Eerily similar to a certain someone. Hard to tell if it was a habit that you picked up from Yoongi or one he had picked up from you. You could tell Jungkook was being sincere, but it was still a dramatic cheesy compliment that you weren’t used to accepting. He laughed and deliberately peppered theatrical smooches all over your face that you tried to squirm away from, successfully breaking away and starting a chase throughout his home where he would catch you and pick you up to yell that he loved you straight into your ear, followed by a kissing frenzy. You would temporarily lose hearing and wiggle away to start the cycle all over again, knowing full well that you couldn’t run faster than him. Maybe something to think about for the new year.

In those moments, everything was perfect.

In those moments, the world was only you and him.

In those moments, no one could break the wholeness between you and him.

No one but time.

You both tumbled into his bed, laughing, childish, holding onto each other. Somehow, your hand landed on his waist and his ended up in your hair, playing with it, and Jungkook asked you how you did it.

“Do what?” you teased with a smirk.

“I sometimes think about if I could love someone else, but I really can’t,” Jungkook frowned, running his fingertips over your temple. “I just get obsessed and can’t stop.”

“Oh, I know.”

Everyone knew that, keke.

“I got jealous of hyung, really,” he admitted. “Not only because he had you, but because it seemed to work so well. And then it turns out that you guys really are perfect.”

You rolled your eyes. “We’re not perfect–”

“It made me love you even more,” Jungkook continued, talking over you. “You pair with him so well. You pair with me well. You’ve always listened to me. Really paid attention. You know what I want before I say anything. You sometimes even know how I feel before I know. You know everything.”

“I definitely don’t know everything,” you scoffed. “Stop making stuff up.”

“And you never get mad at me.”

You shrugged. “The trick is to always be mad.”

“Hey!”

You grinned. Softened a bit when you saw his narrowed eyes and pout.

“Life’s too short to be mad at you.”

Jungkook’s expression changed at your words.

“When you’re young, you think you have all the time in the world, but that’s not true,” you sighed, remembering how it was. “Time is finite. Why waste it letting things pile up and be resentful? It is better to know yourself, to articulate how you feel, and to approach problems with confidence that you can solve them. There are things people can do and things people can’t. Even if… Even if things don’t work out tomorrow, I will have lived knowing I did what made me happy and knowing I did everything I could to make you happy.”

You squeezed his waist and exhaled softly.

“Maybe I can’t do that forever. But is that a reason to stop? I don’t think so. So what if people think it’s wrong? So what if people don’t believe in my heart? So what if they think it can’t be done? Wrongness is not as easy to define as people would like it to be. I only need you and Yoongi to believe in my heart for it to be true, and my toxic trait has always been that I think I can do anything, hah…”

A year and a half was a short time. And a long time, perhaps, but dedication and loyalty were always the foundation you built these precious feelings on. Maybe it wasn’t very romantic to rely on your stubbornness to stay in love, but it did help keep promises.

“You ask me, how do I do it?”

You had hesitated in the beginning not for your sake, but theirs. It was hard to live complicated. It was harder to love in a complicated way. It was impossible made possible through sheer determination, and maybe everything would become more impossible in the future, but it would be disingenuous to right now if you let those worries consume you, and it was important to you for your love to know that every moment with them was never taken for granted. As long as you made that promise, you would spare no expense.

The only way to do that was to, of course, live like that.

“I love you because I want to, with everything I have. And I will never make a promise I don’t intend to keep.”

Jungkook stared at you with awe.

“You’re so cool, noona.”

You half-smiled. Not denying it. “Can you tell Yoongi that so he stops disagreeing with me?”

He grinned mischievously. “He actually thinks you’re really cool too, but he didn’t want me to tell you that.”

“That punk–”

Words fell away. You wouldn’t say the conversation was surprising, but you hadn’t expected that level of depth. You appreciated it. Maybe it had been Yoongi’s idea, but it had been up to Jungkook to vocalize it. You understood that it meant a lot to him who thought he wasn’t elegant in his communication. He didn’t have to worry though. You could feel his sincerity in other ways. In the way he looked at you, turning to lift himself over your body, fitting his hand over your wrist above your head. You shifted to be on your back, looking back with a playful smile. In the way he leaned in and kissed you. In the way his free hand grazed the hem of the t-shirt and slid over your skin.

He showed rather than told.

So show me.

You felt him whimper into the kiss as your tongue slid against his. Felt the shiver of desire as his thumb grazed over your nipple and his fingers close in around your breast. You smiled against his lips. Nothing had changed since the first time. Jungkook still touched you with the same earnestness, the same unflinching lust, pushing away your clothes with the same frustration, as if they personally offended him by existing. But he was different too, savoring the moment, letting his hot exhale wash over you, kissing down your neck in the way you liked, sliding his arms under you so he could dig his short nails into your back and make your spine arc and your chest press against his, his teeth biting into the curve of your shoulder and sucking hard.

You gasped, gripping his shoulder tightly.

His forearms tensed against your back, kissing back up to your ear and biting down just under it, leaving his marks on your skin, your pulse thundering under his devouring lips.

Good thing winter called for turtlenecks and scarves.

You looked down at him when Jungkook scooted back and licked up the center of your torso, slow and dripping saliva, feeling the heat and wetness and possessiveness in the action, opening his eyes slowly as he lifted his head from your cleavage, those brown irises dark and heavy with desire.

“The baldness makes it feel like I’m sexing up a stranger,” you admitted with a snicker.

He glared. “Shuddup. I’m tryin’ to be sexy here.” His Busan satoori came out more when he was done with your bullshit.

“Keep trying. It’s fun,” you cheerfully remarked.

What?

It was fun to annoy him. It worked too, for his anxious need to make this a perfect moment dropped and was superseded by raw emotion and carnal need. He dropped his head and worked his mouth all over your breasts. Lips, tongue, teeth. Your breath caught in your throat, back arching, sparks over your skin, and his arms pulled out from under you. He gripped your thighs, curling his tongue around your hard nipples and making you moan from his mouth. Flaring his tongue over one, pushing it around, sucking, then moving to the other, sinking his fingers into your thighs, groaning as your hands encircled his head and pushed him closer, more, your head pressed to the soft pillows he always brought out when you stayed over.

Jungkook’s usual sleeping pillow was not optimal for fucking.

Facts were facts.

(You still didn’t understand how he was comfortable on that cylinder but he was one of the seven wonders of the world. The other six being the rest of BTS, of course.)

It was never about what, but how.

It was never about who he was, but about who he was with you.

He kissed up your collarbones, leaving your skin tingling with the strange sensation of missing lip rings. His fingers dipping inwards, your thumbs prickled by his short hair, and your eyes connected as his fingertips slipped under your panties, stroking your wet slit, shuddering as he felt your heat while basking in the heat of your gaze, stilling your inhale.

The moment settled into memory.

Burned.

He pushed two fingers inside you and your moans were cut off by his lips, roughly kissing you as your hips rose and your pussy locked around him, closing your eyes to turn low-lit reality into a continuous dream. One of your hands sliding down and into his pants, cupping your palm around his erection still constricted by his boxer briefs. Creating a rhythm, his fingers pushing in, your erratic breath making his, rubbing his hardness with each wave of pleasure, feeling the fervor build between bodies, layer by layer, the physicality becoming more intense with the depth of emotion, deeper, his cock throbbing under your touch, catching his tongue, feeling his saliva mix with yours and trickle down your throat.

Pleasure seeping into every fiber of your being.

“J… Jungkook…”

He ducked his head, your hand falling out of his pants, but your protest was cut off by the overwhelming ecstasy of his lips around your nipple once again, flicking it with his tongue, fucking you with more force, and your hips matched his pace, your head tipping back, throat exposed to the air, unafraid, moaning to the ceiling, close, closer, there.

Gasping sharply, and your walls clenched around his fingers, spasming, the heavy and sweet scent of sex bursting into the air, coating his fingers, sticking to your thighs, racing electricity up your stomach and into your lungs, the orgasm leaving you shockingly breathless.

Then your eyes rolled up into your head when Jungkook pushed himself down the bed, peeling your soaked panties down your legs, and he shoved his face between your legs, moaning hotly when his tongue met slick skin, your hands immediately gripping the sheets, your hips bucking into his face, ravenous for the sensation of circling tongue and soft lips, your eyelids fluttering as your swollen clit pulsed against wet muscle.

“F-Fuck…”

It wasn’t elegant but it felt fucking good. Your legs hooked around his shoulders and Jungkook lifted your lower body, his strong hands squeezing your ass, thumbs pressing in and spreading out your holes to give his greedy mouth more access while your thighs suffocated him, your palm pushing down on the crown of his head, shuddering as his tongue circled your trembling pussy.

He sucked up your cum.

Eyes opening and directly looking up at you.

You dug your fingertips into his head and fucked his face.

His eyes rolled back and he thrust his tongue into you, moaning again into your wet heat as you flexed around it, and then he shoved his thumb into your tight ass. Thankfully you had come prepared (and knowing him too well), so it didn’t surprise you, although you were a bit amused at his audacity. It was easy to forget about though, especially when his lips sealed around your clit, licking fervently. His thumb began to push in and out, in, out, his muffled groans vibrating through your core, fingering your ass while sucking your engorged clit. You would think he wouldn’t dare without checking with you first. Then again, he told you all the time to let him in your ass.

He was lucky you had foresight.

He was also right, though, because clearly you were letting him do whatever he wanted and enjoying it.

Hah.

You came again, hard, all the blood rushing to your head and gasping for air.

“Oh? It’s clean.”

“Yeah, something told me you’d try and go for the ass tonight,” you chuckled between pants, only to lose all breath once more as Jungkook planted his knee above your shoulder, mysteriously missing pants and underwear somehow (the spedy efficiency he was capable of when horny was remarkable), pushing down the dark red head of his stiff cock onto your open mouth, shifting his leg as you expertly adjusted your hair out of the way.

You raised an eyebrow at him but all Jungkook did was throw his head back and moan as your tongue wrapped around his girth, molding your mouth around him. His hips flicked forward, and you had the angle, swallowing him deep in your throat, deep enough for your lips to press against the base, his balls smacking into your chin. The tip of your tongue slid out and licked them. He groaned, low and erotic, slowly fucking your face, his pitch hiking as your tongue ran up to the thin skin under the head and down to his balls, smoothly not missing a beat as he dictated the pace. He didn’t touch your head, giving you the chance to move away if it was too much, but he didn’t have to worry. He was getting harder and thicker with this steady pace, his length twitching wildly between your lips, giving you all the control in the world, tilting your head to keep it at the perfect angle, curling your tongue to the underside of his cock to press it to the roof of your mouth and down your throat, anchoring yourself with your hands clutching his hard thighs, his girth stretching you out.

A desperate whine above you and he slowed, almost to full stop.

“N-No… w-wait…”

You calmly continued to move your head back and forth, leisurely, your lips pressed against the base of the head, licking around and around, flaring the slit with the tip of your tongue, his strong flavor invading your taste buds.

His hips nearly buckled and Jungkook cried out, tapping your upper arm hurriedly.

“I… I w-want to fuck your ass…”

Oh.

So that was why he wanted to be as hard as possible.

“You act like I’m gonna let you do anything you want,” you fake complained, choosing to roll onto your elbows after he backed up. Hey, you were going to picking the position here, even if you were succumbing to all his wants. Once again you guessed right. You looked back to see sweat glistening on Jungkook’s collarbones and his wide eyes honed in onto your perky round ass bouncing in the air, on your knees with your chest against the mattress. He carelessly dumped the hand towel back onto the nightstand and ripped open the condom, oblivious to you witnessing his hard dick bobbing up and down in the air as he climbed back onto the bed.

This guy was spacing out staring at your butt.

“Hey, I’m still here,” you joked.

“Uh huh,” was his distracted reply.

You turned back to face forward as his expression disappeared behind you, half-amused but not offended by his one-track mind. You figured he was busy carefully rolling down the condom until you felt his thumb once again press into your tight ring of muscle and heard him moan as he sank inside.

Um.

“Fuck, it’s so tight and so soft inside you…”

While you appreciated his complimenting observations, some warning would have been nice, but, then again, who cared about that, certainly not you as you gripped his sheets and survived on shallow breath and the repeated shallow fullness, in, out, in, out, this time using more force and stretching you out, acutely aware of Jungkook watching your body’s reaction in fascination, his rough pants deepening, hauling himself up.

Forget it.

You didn’t want any warning.

He pulled his thumb out and replaced it with his cock, bottoming out right away.

You clenched your jaw and felt your core tighten involuntarily, his wanton moan striking the air, somehow remembering not to move for a second despite you knowing that he desperately wanted to, his entire body trembling as he gripped your hips. There was a dull ache, of course. His fully hard cock was a lot bigger than a finger, but you knew what was about to happen, experience helping you relax, and then you snapped your ass into his crotch.

Which meant, fuck me.

Pussy dripping, ass full, face down into the sheets that smelled just like him, you pushing back as he thrust into you, any pain fading into a heady euphoric state that was inescapable, overwhelming, unforgettable, his grasp imprinted onto your skin, loud smacks melting into the air filled with your joined, unashamed moans, both giving pleasure as much as receiving it. Sensations piling on sensations, everything you wanted and more. Everything he wanted and more, fuck, I love your ass, probably because you didn’t have as much control over him as you did with your pussy, damn, maybe he was smarter than you thought, gasping as you dropped your torso lower to give his cock a more comfortable angle.

“N-Not fair, y-you can’t go low like that…”

You would have replied, oh yes I can, but you were face-first into his bed getting fucked in the ass, being pounded so hard that even your thighs were shaking, so you only focused on what little breathing you could do, although you did evilly snicker in between thin inhales.

You heard a disapproving huff behind you.

Oop, he heard you.

His grip on your hips tightened and you barely had time to gasp before he slammed into you, deliberate and rough and focusing on giving it to you as hard as he could without cumming too fast. You could tell because his noises were turning into stifled grunts, probably biting down on his lower lip, but then again there wasn’t much you could do to go against what you enjoyed most. Pure, intense fucking, digging the base of your palms into his mattress and throwing your head back, driven by his pace and the rapturous passion, your leaking pussy throbbing with need, filled up in other ways, pulse roaring in your ears and pushed to the brink of tension, deep inside, his name tumbling from your mouth, drawn-out and shaken, your core clenching, adrenaline striking to a feverish high.

Jungkook choked on your name, losing control faster than he could speak.

He came hard and with a tangible jerk that you could feel, even within you, and the thought and sensation sent you over the edge, burying your face into the pillows and letting out a wanton string of curses, powerful pulsations shuddering up your spine, so intense it was nearly an out-of-body experience, heart beating so hard and so fast that you felt like it was going to leap out of your throat.

Well, shit.

Maybe your age was catching up to you.

No time to worry about that though, because the most awkward sound came out of you after Jungkook pulled out with a shuddering gasp.

“Uh…”

“Damn, that’s hot.”

You shot him a look.

Jungkook was sweaty, panting, and pointedly stared back at you, brows furrowed and eyes big, very serious and twice as defiant. “What?! I don’t give a fuck. It means I fucked you so well your body can’t help it but make embarrassing noises.”

…

You were speechless.

Well, he was kind of right and also kind of wrong (gravity and displacement and other various scientific explanations), and strangely sweet for not making you feel bad about it, but also… what the fuck? How are you supposed to respond to that? You gawked at him, scooting to the edge of the bed, intending to leave as he peeled off the used condom and threw it in the trash, but then he blocked you and pushed you back down, unmoving hand on your stomach.

“Um…”

Your legs dangled off the edge of the bed.

“I didn’t say you could go,” Jungkook huffed, narrowing his eyes.

“Well, I wasn’t asking for permission–”

His hard dick smacked your thigh, smearing the remnants of lube and cum onto your skin.

“Hey!”

Then you realized he was holding up another condom in his free hand. Menacingly. Er, would be if he wasn’t so cute. You raised your eyebrows at his stern face, not intimidated in the slightest, but apparently Jungkook didn’t care.

“I want to feel all three of your holes before I go serve my country.”

You blinked slowly.

Was this guy for real?

“Ah, hmmm, I mean I would have let you even without that milestone – woah!”

Despite your (pretend) protests, you weren’t opposed to the back-to-back-to-back nature of each hole being used. Impressed, even, that he planned(?) this, willingly letting yourself be yanked to the edge of the bed with your legs open and propping yourself onto your elbows to watch him roll down the condom on his once-again hard cock. Driven by his insatiable horniness (relatable). You then looked back up to his face, trying not smirk at how sweaty he was.

Failing, obviously.

Jungkook lined up and then glanced at you, realizing your attention on him.

His gaze darkened, turning sly.

“Don’t look so smug, noona.”

“Who, me–?”

Then you choked on your words as he thrust into you with one swift stroke. Unlike your ass, Jungkook knew he didn’t have to wait with your pussy – you had already cum twice and truly loved the tightness that you gripped him with – so he lifted one of your legs and pressed it to his chest, snapping his hips into you over and over, looking down at you. Your body reacted accordingly, back arching, arms outstretched and clawing at the sheets, shallow breath, heatedly staring back at him.

There was a very brief power struggle in which both of you tried to silently assert dominance.

Brief because suddenly neither of you gave a shit. Too lost in the lust. Your other leg wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, and Jungkook fell forward, catching himself with his right hand and still clutching your leg, fucking you harder. Locking eyes. The love in them so real that they glistened, and you held onto his arm tightly, your touch alone reminding him you were always with him, bodies moving in unison, breathless and sharing oxygen, the corner of your lips rising.

Jungkook smiled back.

It would have been chaste if he wasn’t ramming you into the edge of his bed.

His inhale caught and so did yours, realizing you must have shifted your hips slightly, making the angle suddenly perfect, right there, that depth he loved and that spot that scattered all your thoughts, trapping you and him in entangled limbs, chasing the tightness, the heat, the physical overtaking everything. So hard, so solid, his taste still lingering on your tongue, his lips gasping your name, your walls squeezing his length and drawing him in, closer, fuck, I love you, his sweat sticking to your thigh and calf, I love you too, o-oh, you feel so fucking good, and you lifted your body as much as you could to meet his and Jungkook pressed down, his heavy body burning with passion, wanting to feel more too.

You shuddered and your head tipped back.

He groaned, gravelly and hoarse, smacking his hips into your throbbing pussy, and you felt his orgasm after your own, maybe even stronger than before, his cock twitching in your constricting, flinching inner walls, strongly massaging him through his high, digging your nails into his tattooed forearm and hoping no one would notice the marks. Wave after uncontrollable wave, closing your eyes to savor it, inhaling his familiar scent mixed with sex and sweat.

The afterglow lingered.

Jungkook rested his forehead on your breasts, gasping for air.

You ran your fingers over his fuzzy head, breathing heavy and slowing back down to normal. Hm. Somewhat therapeutic, to be honest. You still preferred his longer hair but he pulled off the egg cut better than most. Probably because he had the cutest face ever.

“Your pussy is too good,” he mumbled.

“You lasted pretty long.”

“Not long enough,” he complained to your tits. “Let’s go again.”

“I really need to clean up. We can go again after.”

“Okay, then I’ll just follow you and jack off while you’re cleaning up.”

“That isn’t awkward at all.”

“Why would it be awkward? You look the best naked. My eyeballs and dick have to soak in every second of it.”

“… You do realize you have vacation days, right?”

But, of course, you let him do whatever he wanted, because he was Jeon Jungkook and you could never deny him. Ah, such is life. Hard, but apparently not as hard as his dick was for you.

“That’s really impressive.”

“What? You make me horny! I’m gonna go until I or he literally passes out from exhaustion.”

“Pardon?”

“You heard me, noona.”

Welp.

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #yoonkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #yoonkook x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

416 notes · View notes

ooihcnoiwlerh · 22 days

Text

so...I have a new chapter of my Feyd-Rauta/Reader fanfic up and ready.

AO3 link: And I Don't Want Your Heart - Chapter 4 - ooihcnoiwlerh - Dune (2021) [Archive of Our Own]

I also have it below the cut. It does require some content warning/TW and is NSFW/not safe for minors.

CW: arranged marriage, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, dubious consent, implied/referenced self-harm, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced sexual abuse, implied/referenced incest, rough sex, blood and pain kinks, graphic depictions of violence

Chapter below the cut:

You wake up the next morning to the sound of the timepiece on your nightstand.

Idrisa had assumed correctly when she told you that just a half-tablet would help both with the pain and with getting to sleep later. For half an hour afterwards, you sat in the bath, staring at the opposite wall and hoping the warm water would add to your relief. Five minutes was all it took to start feeling better, your torn muscles relaxing, and half an hour to start feeling drowsy.

It took some effort, but you managed to get out, drain the tub, and clean your teeth before settling into bed, thinking about how this will be your nightly routine at least until you’re carrying his child. Who knows? You might be already.

You’re sipping from the water still left on your nightstand when Idrisa comes in with a tray carrying a couple of mugs. Over the past few days Idrisa’s learned that you like a bit of caffeine first thing in the morning but you’re not sure what the other mug’s for as she sets the tray down on the desk and hands you one. You sniff at the contents; it smells savory.

“It’s bone broth for you, Na-Baroness,” she explains. “I thought it might be nice. It’s not medication but it has healing properties of its own.”

Bones of what, exactly? you think as you accept the mug. “Thank you.”

“How are you feeling?” she asks, trying to keep her tone light, avoiding the direct question.

“Sore,” you admit after taking your first sip, and it tastes quite nice. “But what you gave me last night helped.” You expected your womanhood to throb, but there’s also a persistent ache in your legs, your hips, the undefined muscles in your abdomen.

“You still have more for tonight,” she says, “just in case.”

“I wish I didn’t have to,” you tell her. She looks away before trying to figure out what she could possibly say to that.

“I can’t help you with that part,” is what she comes up with. “But I can assist with almost everything else.” She turns to your closets and rifles through, picking out a few items for you to choose from. Over her shoulder she tells you, “You’ll be expected at breakfast in an hour. It shouldn’t take too long to get you freshened up.”

One of the few things you quite like about the Harkonnen Fortress is the emphasis on good hygiene. Of course, you have extra features to maintain that the rest of the Fortress doesn’t, but you brought the supplies and ointments needed for that and you know where to have more imported when you run out.

When it comes time to dress you decide on a combination of your own clothing and Harkonnen that doesn’t clash. A bit of a symbolic union of the Houses. You can’t help but think that people will have certain ideas of you today as a newly married woman who had, as clear as day to everyone, fulfilled all the marital duties expected of her last night. Your walk isn’t quite as stiff as last night, though, and if you just walk a little slower then your discomfort won’t seem obvious to anyone not looking for it.

Of course, everyone at breakfast will be looking for it; your family out of concern, your new husband and in-laws presumably out of amusement. It’s all you can really think about as you leave your chambers and descend for the Dining Hall. That and the look on your new husband’s face as he’ll undoubtedly want to assess the damage.

You manage a smile as Idrisa announces your entrance. There’s an open seat next to Feyd-Rautha that’s clearly meant for you and you take into account that your family has only just arrived and everyone’s watching you. Everyone but the Baron stands in respect as you keep your polite smile, the one that projects that nothing could bother you, and you greet the table.

To his credit, Feyd still displays the kind of chivalry your father would expect when in his presence. He stays standing when everyone else sits down so he can pull your seat out for you. The kindness of the gesture’s somewhat undermined by the look in his eye, gauging every movement, every minute detail, and it makes you feel naked again under his shark-like gaze.

You don’t look him in the eye as you sit down, nor when he pushes your chair in and takes his seat beside you, nor when you quietly thank him. You know he’s still watching you, wondering how effectively he’s broken you in already, like a pair of combat boots.

The table is laid with everything you could need as far as drinks, but as a courtesy it’s not until you sit down that food arrives, delivered on massive platters by slave girls in billowy white garb and whose biceps strain under the weight of each tray. You’re sure that the Baron’s patience is a pretense that he’s upholding to appear polite towards your family, not one that will continue after breakfast, especially when you see his enthusiasm when he digs in with the appetite of multiple men.

The food itself takes up most of his attention, but he does discuss trade routes with your father, who seems subdued and withdrawn. Father maintains his end of the conversation but doesn’t offer more and barely touches his food–the latter you can assume is because he’s put off by seeing the Baron eat, and you don’t blame him. Even with the bone broth from earlier you’re pretty sure you’d have more of an appetite if you didn’t have to sit close to someone who inhales nearly half of a spread meant for eight people.

You break away from that thought when Feyd-Rautha says, “Oh, so you don’t need to head back to Arrakis so soon,” and you follow his gaze to the entranceway.

Rabban trudges in, nose heavily bruised and in a splint. He nods in acknowledgement to your family, offering a brief salutation before taking his seat. He doesn’t respond to his brother, but quickly accepts a small glass of what you can only assume is whatever he was drinking last night. He pours it into a mug that he tops with coffee.

“I leave in the afternoon,” he says, addressing his uncle instead. “The spice is abundant.”

As they briefly discuss spice production on Arrakis, you shift in your seat. Sitting down, you’d quickly realized, is also uncomfortable, and you’re glad for your brother-in-law’s entrance causing a diversion.

It doesn’t last long, though. The Baron says, “It’s lovely that we get to reconvene again after such a fruitful wedding.”

Fruitful . You can’t help your blush and you’re sure everyone notices. You wonder if they’re all thinking the same thing and as the meal stretches on, the longer the worry of it eats at you.

It all goes understood, and for you it’s excruciatingly awkward, and everyone senses it, but no one mentions it. Rabban certainly wants to; you can feel it whenever he sneaks glances at you, and you’re certain it’s on the tip of his tongue as he looks at you. You don’t think he’s really lusting after you, though. He just happens to covet his sibling’s shiny new toy. It’s more than a little immature, given that he has nearly twenty years on Feyd-Rautha, and had come of age by the time his brother was born, but you think you can understand. You may love your siblings and they may love you too, but that’s not how the Harkonnens work. For them, siblings are a safety measure just in case the first one dies. They’re taught to fight one another for the approval of their parents–or in this case, their uncle–and are stripped of any sentimentality lest they become weak.

Oh, Great Mother. What does that mean when you do finally have a child? You’ll likely be expected to have more than one even if one is all you need to appease the Bene Gesserit.

You take a sip of water and avoid Rabban’s gaze. He probably would’ve been amused to see how slowly and gingerly you were walking earlier, maybe he would’ve bit down on a cutting remark on how you’d be a lot sorer if he’d been your groom.

Oh, Rabban definitely wants to taunt you over what you all know transpired last night, but he won’t. He can sense the power shifting within the family and if he wasn’t aware that his younger brother was their uncle’s favorite before, he certainly knows now and knows why. He probably just wants to go back to Arrakis where he has unquestioned power.

The Baron is once again the one who actually comes close to mentioning it. “With such a distinct change in environment I’m sure you’ll want to relax, especially once you’re with child,” he says. “We have an excellent system for that, some well-trained attendants as well who can provide things like massage, special baths. We can keep you comfortable.”

After last night, the concept seems nice, but you’ll go out of your mind with boredom if that’s all you have to look forward to. You want to know as much as possible about the planet you’re inhabiting and the family you’ve married into, no matter how gruesome the details. You doubt the Baron or your new husband probably had thought about that, and had just assumed you’d be content as a human incubator for the next nine months.

“That is a wonderful offer and one I’d be interested in another day, perhaps, but I was actually wondering where you kept your library? Maybe a room of archives?” you ask. “I’ve had some education about the history of the Harkonnen line and some of the infrastructure of Geidi Prime, but I’m interested in learning more.”

The Baron considers your interest in his people and his planet versus your dismissal of his original suggestion before saying, “We have a very fine library, young Y/N, and within it a room of records. Your attendant will know where it is and can accompany you whenever you like.”

“I can take her, uncle,” Feyd-Rautha says immediately. “I can give her a proper tour.”

I know you can take and give a lot with your new little pet , you can practically hear the Baron think.

“If you prefer,” he says instead. “We still need to discuss your birthday. It’s only a few weeks away.”

Right. Another gladiatorial “match.” The one in which you’re to paint your new husband’s–-admittedly chiseled–-torso beforehand.

“We have time for that,” Feyd says. “But I’d also like to show my bride the other parts of our Fortress, starting with the library.” He manages to keep his tone casual, but you can tell his rebuttal irritates the Baron. It’s almost comical, his surprise and annoyance that his nephew would want to spend any time with his wife other than the compulsory impregnation.

“Very well,” the Baron says. “You can show her the library after our guests have left.”

They’re already packed up, as it turns out. Worried about leaving you alone but eager to get back home, and perhaps ever so slightly assuaged by the fact that your new husband has some sense of decorum and that you seem intact. Not your virginity, of course, but everything else.

You excuse yourself to use the bathrooms, a sort of salon with individual cubicles and sinks but a larger sitting area with vanities and larger mirrors. You tilt your head at it, curious, because it implies that there are women of leisure on Geidi Prime, but there aren’t many that you’ve seen. A single girl stands near the entrance and gives a small bow as you enter.

You also don’t expect to see your mother when you leave your cubicle and head for the sinks to wash your hands.

She stands in the middle of the room, looking like she wants badly to speak but not sure what to say. You give her a small smile as you wash up. The girl’s quick to hand you a towel and patient to wait until you’re done drying your hands before accepting it back without a word.

They truly have people for everything , you think, looking after her as she scurries back to her post and drops the towel in a hamper before you can so much as thank her. You and your mother look back at each other.

“Father looks miserable,” you say, trying to keep your tone light.

“Your father has a hangover,” Mother says.

“He didn’t seem drunk when I left,” you say, leaning one hand against the counter.

“He wasn’t,” Mother says. “He got drunk after you and your…husband…left for the evening.”

She doesn’t need to elaborate. You open your mouth, exasperated, wishing you could explain how it feels to have everyone act as though you’ve been handed a death sentence that they put you up to. She takes your hands without a word and nods towards the salon.

“How are you feeling, really?” she asks once you’ve acquiesced and you’re seated across from each other.

“All things considered, fine,” you tell her. She doesn’t look convinced. “Mother, I…” you try to articulate it. “I can’t say that I’m happy about this arrangement, but I’m going to have to live with it for years to come. If I act as though my life is over then it is.”

She looks down and runs her thumb over the top of your hand. “I kept preparing you for something like this hoping it wouldn’t happen,” she says.

“Well then, you did exactly right,” you tell her with a small smile that feels fake but one that she returns, however briefly. She sighs and looks down. “I’m grateful that you’re worried, and trust me, I am, too. But it would help more if you believed that I can survive this.”

Mother leans forward, eyes widening in hurt. “Your father and I wouldn’t have let you near that man if we didn’t think you’d survive,” she says. “The Bene Gesserit gave us their word that you will, and it’s the reason we’re here right now.”

You furrow your brow. Mother hesitates, glancing at the girl in her gauzy white dress, who remains standing and silent, not acknowledging your conversation. Mother needn’t worry; the Baron would never bother listening to a slave speak even if she had something to offer. When the girl doesn’t indicate that she’s heard anything, Mother continues.

“When the Reverend Mother spoke to us, she assured us that as brutal as he is, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen won’t defy Bene Gesserit orders to make sure you’re safe to have and raise his child. She also said that he has an ingrained sense of honor and loyalty to the Harkonnen line. He’ll ensure your survival and your children’s survival.” And even if survival is the best you can expect right now, you can still count on that.

....................................................

The Na-Baron accompanies you when you see your parents off; neither his uncle nor his brother does the same. He offers you his arm and you could almost laugh at the formality of it, his entire behavior towards you when you’re both fully dressed juxtaposed against last night. He can play the perfect gentleman all he likes, but you won’t forget how he pressed you onto your stomach and fucked you ruthlessly. Still, you take his arm, appearing as his poised and docile new wife. He offers his final respects to your father but otherwise stands back at a distance, watching in silence as you hug everyone one last time. You wonder if he’s ever hugged anyone a day in his life.

He still stands, waiting, when they board their ship, when it takes off. He watches you watch until their vessel is no more than a pinpoint in the sky before he approaches you, arm extended again. “Shall we?” he asks.

You’re still trying to accept that it’ll be a long time before you see your family again, your correspondence with them likely to consist only of letters, and he’s probably waiting for you to speak when you have nothing to say to him. He doesn’t understand what you’re feeling and you doubt he cares to try. You just take his arm and he leads you to the Fortress library in silence.

“I hope you slept well,” he says finally.

“I did,” you tell him. “Although Idrisa had to give me a mild sedative to do so.”

You glance over at him and think that another man would feel guilt over hurting his new bride, but of course you’re stuck–for now–with this one, who keeps his expression neutral but who you can already see in his eyes both that he’s satisfied that he caused you pain and that he doesn’t care what methods you used to relieve it. At best, he’s indifferent to your pain given that you seem fine now.

“Good, because I’ll want you in my chambers tonight after dinner. Same procedure as last night. Your girl will collect you when it’s time.”

“Alright,” you say, and he waits for just a moment before you realize what he wants and add, “ husband .”

He glances sideways at you, as if to say, Good. You’re learning. Don’t get too confident, though. What he says, though, as you reach a set of double doors, is, “Everything and everyone here is at your disposal.” Just as you are at mine .

When he opens the doors and you get your first look, you can’t help but be impressed. Your impression of Geidi Prime was that it was hardly a planet of scholars, but the library is immense.

Feyd-Rautha notes your surprise. Not that he says anything, but you doubt he’s flattered by it. A librarian’s quick to appear at your side, head bowed, and Feyd snaps his fingers in his direction before gesturing forward. “Come with us,” he says, and gives a rudimentary tour of the layout, showing you the Archives room and different wings. It’s even more expansive than you’d realized, and you’re grateful for it. You’ve got your work cut out for you, you think as you see the impossibly high walls lined with shelves up to the vaulted ceilings.

How many of these have you read? you want to ask him but refrain as the tour ends.

“Make sure the Na-Baroness has everything she needs,” he says to the librarian. He doesn’t look at him as he speaks, though. He looks directly at you, then beckons you forward with a simple curl of his hand. When you come forward he cups your cheek in that same hand, and his kiss is neither chaste nor passionate; it’s a simple statement that he’s claimed you. He’s marking his territory.

“See you at dinner,” he says once he lets you go.

............................................

You know what you want to read up on first.

There’ve always been rumors about the depravity of the House of Harkonnen. You’d heard a few of them regurgitated over the years. Some of them, like cannibalism, you’re reasonably certain aren’t true, but there are others you can’t dismiss.

Father implied once that the Baron’s voracious appetite for food was the least repulsive of his desires. You’d been too young at the time to understand what he was saying, nor were they for your ears as you’d been listening in, unnoticed, but you can’t help but think about Father’s disgusted tone, because you certainly know what he’d been implying now. Not that a Harkonnen-sanctioned record is likely to provide such details in their own library, but it’s a possibility you’ll have to consider even as the thought turns your stomach.

You start, though, with Feyd-Rautha. It takes pulling out several books and bound sheaves from a couple of different sections to get started, but a worthy investigation once you’ve found a comfortable place to spread everything out and get to reading.

You hadn’t realized that he was born not on Geidi Prime, but on another planet, Lankiveil. You had , however, heard about how his father, Abulurd Rabban, defected from the Harkonnen line and everything it represented, opting for a different sort of life on a distant planet with a Bene Gesserit woman who gave him two sons born eighteen years apart. This leads you into reading about Lankiveil, how it’s cold and water-based like your own planet. Its main source of industry is whaling, and it almost makes you laugh to picture Feyd in a raincoat on a dock. It’s just so far-fetched, the idea that he almost had a life very different from this one.

Of course, that was never going to happen. Rabban is infamous for one major act that changed all of their lives forever: as a younger man he killed their father for abandoning the bloodline and shaming the Harkonnen name. For the crime of patricide, he earned the moniker “Beast,” which he wears with pride. The Baron had already gotten his claws in his elder nephew by then, but Feyd-Rautha had still been a little boy. You’re not entirely sure how much he even remembers his father. You don’t know if they’re happy memories, or if he’d loved him. It’s still hard to imagine him ever having a childhood, but not only did he have one, his early childhood had been free from the Baron, from Geidi Prime, from the expectations of the House of Harkonnen and with two parents who you’re sure must have loved him.

It's an irrefutable fact that he’d come to Geidi Prime at the age of seven. And that is where rumor and fact intermingle. Some have claimed that Feyd’s mother sent him away for what she thought was his own protection; after all, she had never been on Geidi Prime nor known her late husband’s family, so it wouldn’t have been unreasonable for her to assume that her son would be better off with his uncle. Some believe she sent him away as punishment or for her own self-preservation, sensing danger in him at a young age and fearing what he’d grow up to become. Others have insisted that the Baron had his youngest nephew taken away to ensure the possibility of another heir, having no sons of his own.

You pause only part way through when Idrisa come in and suggests you take a break, maybe retire to your quarters and have something to eat and drink to tide you over before dinner. Apparently no one will mind if you take whatever documents you choose back to your quarters.

“We are at the Na-Baroness’s disposal. Whatever she desires,” the librarian assures you when you ask, his head inclined in a bow and his gaze downturned. It’s still a foreign feeling, the way no one can bring themselves to look directly at you, their fear of you by pure association. You clamp down on that discomfort as you thank him and return to your quarters with as many documents as you and Idrisa can carry between you.

As you reach your quarters and get settled in again, you wonder about Feyd-Rautha’s mother and the theories behind the Baron taking over as his guardian. The first theory, you decide, is unlikely. If she knew that her lover had defected and renounced his lineage, she would’ve known why. He would’ve warned her about them, even if she’d never been and even if he hadn’t, the Bene Gesserit would have. The second theory is entirely possible; you have no idea what Feyd was like as a young child. You’d assume he was made rather than born, and that personality traits aren’t inherited, but perhaps the darkness was always there. Perhaps she’d felt that he was doomed to be an extension of everything the Harkonnen represented. Still not terribly likely, given his age, but possible.

What you can likely imagine, though, is the Baron simply plucking Feyd-Rautha from his home to collect and repurpose as his own. He’s never been married nor produced any children and to simply claim one from a deceased family member, knowing no one could truly challenge him over it, would be an easy solution for that. From what you already know about him, he probably wouldn’t even see it as kidnapping, just taking what rightfully belongs to him.

You’re aware that Feyd’s an orphan, but nothing as to why beyond Abulurd’s murder. You find that there really isn’t enough to go on as far as his mother’s concerned other than her Bene Gesserit training and identity as Abulurd Rabban’s concubine, until you finally find the date and cause of death.

Feyd’s mother, according to the records, died when Feyd was fourteen. She’d been murdered in her own home. No one was caught, which means that the culprit’s been fiercely protected. You’d be willing to bet real money that the Baron had someone kill her and take away the one motivation he’d have to return to Lankiveil. It would line up with something else that you read; Feyd’s mother’s murder would have taken place shortly after Feyd-Rautha had attempted to assassinate his uncle. It had been quickly thwarted and fourteen-year-old Feyd-Rautha had been punished severely but spared his life.

You can easily imagine the Baron killing the one family member left not connected to the Harkonnens so his young nephew would be so isolated that he’d have nowhere else to turn.

Are the lashes on his back part of the punishment he faced? It would make them just over a decade old. You’re still not sure about the scars on his inner thighs. He likes pain; could they be self-inflicted? Maybe done to him at his own request by a lover? There’s an intimacy to them that you can only hope was done in an act of passion rather than a punishment administered by his uncle.

Although, and it makes you feel sick to think about, that option is also entirely possible.

If they were self-inflicted, or done for his own gratification, you wonder if he’ll one day ask you to draw a knife on him as well. The more you think about it, the more you realize that you’d be willing to; certainly rather him than you.

“Idrisa,” you start, looking up as she enters the room carrying what looks like a pair of black dresses. “How much do you know about the time Feyd-Rautha tried to assassinate his uncle when he was a boy?” She hesitates. You wait.

“My apologies, my lady,” she says, looking down, “but I wasn’t in the Fortress then. It was before my time.” Instead of elaborating further, she holds up the dresses, one in each hand to compare. “The Baron wants you to dress in the traditional Harkonnen style for dinner this evening. Which of these would you prefer?”

You glance between the two. Both long, both structured, but one with paneling and a more elaborate bodice that looks like it would take more time to actually get in and out of. “That one,” you say, pointing to it. If Idrisa knows your logic behind your choice, she doesn’t bring it up. She just waits for you to put your documents away and after you’ve taken to the bathroom to freshen up, helps you get ready.

When you arrive for dinner, you’re almost the image of a Harkonnen lady, the only traits betraying you being your hair and eyebrows. As expected, the Baron is already eating and while neither he nor Feyd-Rautha stand for you when you enter, your groom does stand to pull your chair out once more as you reach the table. It’s a simple formality, you assume, to hold up the pretense that this is a normal marriage and as something he can easily take away.

“What did you think of our library?” the Baron asks when you sit down, accepting only one answer.

“Truly impressive, Baron,” you tell him. “A testament to the House’s power and resilience.”

If you were worried what he would think about you wanting to look into his bloodline and history, those worries were unfounded. After the exchange he barely acknowledges you the entire meal. He and Feyd-Rautha, however, discuss the arena and new spice routes. You quietly take everything in and watch them interact.

The Baron switches between backhanded compliments, mean-spirited little quips, and the occasional genuine compliment for his nephew. He oscillates between seeming to respect him as a man fit to ascend the throne and still undermining him as hardly more than a child out of his depth handling any conflict. Feyd’s frustration remains quiet, just beneath the surface, but palpable. He seems to know that the Baron’s toying with him, testing him constantly, wondering which new way he flatter him only to put him down again.

It’s also immediately clear that Feyd doesn’t like that you’re seeing him like this, that once again as soon as he’s gotten what he’s wanted he’ll abruptly send you away. Whatever control his uncle takes from him he can always claim from you.

He tried to kill him once, when he was much younger and weaker than he is now. What changed? Does he still think about killing him now that he’s entering the very prime of his life?

You’ve long since finished eating by the time you realize that the men at the table have probably forgotten that you’re even there, so you clear your throat to get their attention.

“My apologies, but may I go to my chambers to prepare for the evening?” you ask, voice light.

You wait. Feyd-Rautha turns and gives you a small nod. “I won’t be too much longer,” he says, exchanging a cold look with his uncle. You don’t want to think about what they say about you when you’re not around, or what kind of innuendo the Baron will leave.

..........................................

The second time of what you’re sure will become a nightly routine is a little less nerve-wracking, but not one that you’re looking forward to.

When you’re stripped down in his bedroom again you choose the same position, even as you feel like a completely different person than you were just one day ago. There’s no fear this time, just resignation. You’re not sure if it’s going to hurt again but it also doesn’t matter, won’t change anything.

He comes out of his bathroom in the same manner as last night, naked and only partially erect. The sight may not scare you anymore, but you still, unfortunately, find his body nice to look at. You’re getting used to everything else, as well. The black teeth and gums nearly made you flinch the first time; now you’ve accepted it as the only mouth you’ll kiss from now on.

He approaches the bed. “Lay back,” he says as he starts to climb into it with you. “Spread your legs. I want to check something.”

You blush, thinking, Can’t we just get this over with? as you comply and take a breath to calm yourself, staring at the ceiling to avoid looking directly at him. You try to tamp down the embarrassment at how exposed you feel.

He inspects the damage, his fingertips pressing against your swollen folds and eyes darting back up to your face at your sharp inhale. He gives your privates a more thorough pass-through than you were willing to give yourself last night. You blink, concerned, as he takes his hand and spits on his fingers.

Why would you? --you think for only a split second before he brings his fingers back down to your torn and stretched womanhood, circling your bud in lazy circles and keeping his thumb there before dipping a finger inside of you.

You instinctively clench around the digit even as it doesn’t actually hurt. “Relax,” he says, as if that’s something you can easily do in your situation. His thumb continues working your bud as he curls his finger inside of you, pressing forward, and you see his brief smirk as you whine, taken aback by the jolt it provides. He does it again, slipping in a second, and the stretch doesn’t burn quite as much, doesn’t pinch so much as it tugs. You glance between his legs to see that he’s filling out the rest of the way from the sights and sounds of you skewered on his fingers. That in itself makes you gasp and flush at the idea that this, warming you up and seeing you aroused, gets him going. In many ways this preparation is just as much for him as it is for you.

Just as last time, you sense when he decides, Alright, you’re ready .

He has enough decency to pause when he’s pressed all the way inside of you, because he still feels massive, and like there’s not enough of you to accommodate him, as though your insides need to rearrange themselves for this intrusion.

It doesn’t hurt as much as last night, you remind yourself. You breathe through your nose as you tremble and hold onto him, gripping his shoulders and remembering how he likes the way you “get your little claws in.” The rocking of his hips is steady and deep but not too rough, not yet. You whimper and adjust your grip on him, managing to breathe, taking in the way he slides in and out of your bruised canal. It’s okay. It’s fine. You’ll get through this .

As soon as he can sense that you’re adjusted he goes harder, faster, relishing the way your nails scratch down his back. You raise your knees up to his ribcage and squeeze, trying to get some leverage in.

It’s no real use; he controls the pace, grips your hip with his free hand and seems to like when your whimpers and moans are laced with discomfort, wordlessly begging for him to please slow down, be gentler. Even if he doesn’t force you onto all fours like last night, it still feels animalistic when he speeds up further, grunting against the flushed skin of your neck, keeping you locked in place around him until you feel him coming, shuddering as he fills you up.

For a moment he raises himself up from his forearms to his hands, looking down at you with an expression he can’t place, before drawing a few errant strands of hair away from your face and pulling out. You don’t look at him as he collapses onto his back beside you. Somehow you feel even more used than before, more like a warm hole than a woman.

The two of you lay together in silence as you wait for the throbbing to subside. It takes a couple of minutes, but when you start to feel better you sit up and slide your legs to the side of the bed. You won’t wait to be dismissed. You sense him turn his head to look at you but don’t acknowledge him. You’ll head back to your chambers, soak in another lukewarm bath, and take the second half of the tablet from last night, even if you don’t need it as badly. It’ll at least help you sleep.

You get up and head for his dresser, reaching for your clothes when Feyd-Rautha’s voice stops you.

“Where are you going?” he asks. “I didn’t tell you to leave.”

You turn and look at him, your eyebrows raised. “You want me to stay?” you ask.

“I didn’t say I was finished with you yet,” he says.

You give his still-softened dick a pointed look. “You look pretty finished off to me,” you tell him, and step into your slippers.

You realize you made a mistake as soon as you say it. Feyd-Rautha’s up and at your back before you can finish pulling on your chemise. He tears it off you, throws it to the floor and wraps an arm around your ribcage as he lowers his head to your ear.

“I won’t tolerate you questioning my own body or abilities,” he says. “If I say I want another go, then I’ll have one.”

You squirm, and he turns you around, pinning you to the dresser as he grabs your hair and tightens. You wince and try to push away from him, but he only grabs your wrist in his free hand and brings it down to the dresser.

“I won’t be disrespected in my own bedroom,” he says, and you force yourself to look him in the eye. It’s the first time he’s seemed angry with you; the harsh angles of his narrow face more pronounced, his eyes pale and pupils blown out, his full lips the closest you’ve seen to a thin line.

Maybe it’s you he’s actually mad at, maybe not. Either way, you’re the one he can take his frustrations out on.

Play along, you tell yourself. Even if he’s not going to kill you for insolence, he’ll find ways to make life worse for you .

“What do you want me to do?” you ask finally. His face seems to relax slightly, and you realize when his chest moves again he’d been holding his breath. After a moment he decides how he’ll punish you for your so-called disrespect.

“Kneel on the bed, hands braced on the headboard, with your legs spread. Make sure to keep ‘em there,” he says.

You slowly step out of your slippers and turn, walking towards the bed. The seconds that pass as you get into position are silent, agonizing.

You wait, and when you don’t sense him move any closer, turn your head to look at him.

He’s still staring, taking in his fill, before he strides forward and settles in behind you, one hand braced beside yours against the headboard, the other cupping your breast.

It doesn’t stay there, though. After giving the soft flesh a squeeze for good measure he moves his hand upwards, around your throat. Your first instinct is to freeze, wanting to move.

He’s not going to kill you; he’s just trying to scare you, you tell yourself, and it’s working. You try to breathe, calm your rapid heartbeat. He can taste your fear; he revels in it. He doesn’t squeeze but he deliberately leaves his thumb against your windpipe, his long fingers curled around your neck.

I won’t kill you but I easily can, he seems to say. Unarmed and naked I could still kill you in brutal fashions you’ve never heard of. And then he gently nuzzles against your hair, and the shift disarms you, makes you feel all the more helpless as you whine.

He releases your neck and you inhale, closing your eyes. His hand trails back down, squeezing your other breast this time, down your stomach and to the apex of your thighs. He idly strokes your bud, and it gives you a jolt despite your nerves.

“Who else has ever touched you here?” he asks. It’s not a threat, but you could easily picture him killing anyone you name–it’s also not lost on you how fucked up that is. Thankfully you can provide none.

“Just myself,” you tell him. He huffs, as if to say, Yeah, I thought so , before taking one of your hands from the headboard and guiding it back in between your legs.

“Show me how you do it,” he says, his hand over yours.

You flush with embarrassment, but comply, bringing your fingertips to your bud and pressing down in a circling motion.

He gives a hmm , as you trail your fingertips to your slit, collecting the combination of his spent seed leaking out of you and your own growing wetness before bringing your digits back to your bud, has you whimpering at the slick of it. He follows, hand tight over yours, learning your movements. Despite your nerves it’s easier to get slicker, and to your horror you find yourself rocking your hips up against both his hand and yours. You give a breathy whimper, unsure how your own body can betray you like this. He finally tightens his grip on your hand and moves it to the headboard, leaving you in shock as he spits on his fingers and takes up where you’ve left off.

He mimics your movements exactly, touches you the way you’ve touched yourself over the past few years, and yet it feels all the more exhilarating to have another hand there that you can’t help but gently move against his fingers, larger and so much longer than yours and yet so precise and deliberate.

Before you realize it his cock, stiff again, slides against the cleft of your ass. You gasp, wanting to turn around but he’s so close to you, chest against your back, and he grabs your hips to jut out further behind you, pulls you down his level, your thighs on top of his.

“Don’t move,” he tells you, withdrawing his hand from yours and settling back. You can feel your body flush, your nipples stiff against the air, holding onto the headboard as you sense him grip himself in his fist and press against you.

It doesn’t hurt this time when he pushes in. He can sense it in your moans, the way you’re wet and pliant for him, ready to take him however he comes to you. You almost hate it, that he can do this to you. That he probably could have from the beginning. He rolls his hips up into you, the glide and pressure of it only on the verge of discomfort, but a welcome ache, a stretch inside of you.

You reach a hand behind you, skimming along his flank, wanting to touch him, but he’s just out of reach and you drop your forehead against the headboard, your moans and whines spurring him on. He grabs your hand and presses it back against the headboard before giving a deeper thrust into you, one that would’ve hurt yesterday but the push of it provides a delicious throb now.

The tension builds. You can feel it like flames licking up your spine and belly, and he can hear it. Your cries become increasingly desperate, your own hips rocking back down to meet his. You hardly register that you’re doing it or why; your body takes over and makes the decisions for you. He brings one hand to fondle your breasts again, one after the other, before bringing it down to your bud, and you can only imagine how smug he must be feeling that not only does he have you exactly where he wants you, that he’s making you enjoy it.

It finally feels good. You’d almost assumed that it never would, but it does. If anyone listened in, they’d hear the unambiguous pleasure in every noise you make and Great Mother, does Feyd-Rautha draw a lot of noises out of you.

But then his hand comes back to your other hip, leaving you so close to the precipice and after several more thrusts he comes, grabbing your hips and pushing upwards with a harsh grunt against your hair. He spears you onto him, pausing, rocking his hips up once more, and once he’s certain that he’s finished pulls out, grabs your jaw, and turns his face as much as he reasonably can to yours.

He sees your stunned expression, can feel that you’re still throbbing and in need of some sweet relief, and nods his head dismissively towards the door.

“ Now you can go,” he says.

You stare at him for a moment, not sure if you want to slap him across the face or pull him in for a furious kiss. He can see the warring impulses on your face and looks at you as though he’d be perfectly content with either, but still will react differently depending on which you choose.

You settle for a kiss, grabbing the back of his head and mashing your lips against his. You think that you’d like nothing more than to push him down and take him for yourself, for your own selfish pleasure like he did. You’re not entirely sure of the positioning but you’ll figure it out. You shift, managing to turn to face him properly before resuming the kiss.

He allows it, even responds to it, for a minute before grabbing the back of your head and pulling you away.

He tilts his head at you as if to say, ‘ Next time don’t question my virility or how I can make you feel, and maybe then I’ll let you come. ’

You bastard, you think, wondering how much he’s enjoying the clear indignation on your face. He likes provoking you, that much is certain, whether it’s fear or lust or anger. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction, then, and so after some awkward shuffling you dismount the bed and pointedly look away from him as you walk to the dresser. It would probably be more dignified if you didn’t have his seed leaking out of you, trailing down your inner thighs.

You don’t bother to look back or say anything as you quickly redress and leave.

Neither you nor Idrisa speak as you head to your chambers, but as soon as you’re behind closed doors again you tell her that you’ll need a moment alone in the bathroom.

You’re grateful that she leaves you to it without an explanation this time as you glance in the mirror and the remnants of your blush that start at your hairline and follow down to your chest.

You shrug off your robe and turn on the faucet before finally, shamefully, bringing your hand between your legs and feeling the slick of him there mingling with your own slick and rub down, cursing Feyd-Rautha and cursing this planet and hoping that the sound of the running water drowns out your cries as you brace yourself against the sink, head bowed, and come, shaking and twitching, to the memory of his tongue and fingers against you, of him inside of you.

When it’s over you can’t bring yourself to look in the mirror was you wash your hands and turn off the faucet

You’ll need the half-tablet tonight. Not for pain, but because otherwise there’s no way you’ll be able to sleep tonight.

#feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd-rautha #feyd rautha smut #dune 2 #dune par 2 #feyd rautha x reader

105 notes · View notes