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lisired · 2 months

Text

wish i never

pairing: Jaehyun x (f) reader

genre/warnings: smut, angst, debatable morals, unprotected sex, brother’s worst enemy, forbidden love, mark’s dad is a cop for the sake of plot, mentions of drugs and drug-related death

summary: Your brother, Johnny, hates Jaehyun and has never told you why. Although you intend on leaving it alone, unforeseen events thrust you into a forbidden love affair with Jaehyun. In between hookups and stolen kisses, you have to bury your feelings for Jaehyun around your overprotective older brother.

word count: 27.2k (listen… i don’t know anymore okay)

a/n: this one lowkey kinda hit different for me cause i’ve had a forbidden love and it broke me. you can kinda tell by how long this is lol ya girl went all OUT. as always, feedback is appreciated!

“Absolutely not.”

“Dude, come on,” Mark whined.

“Hell the fuck no,” Yuta barked firmly, crossing his arms. “The last time we gave you shrooms, you texted Johnny to ask him where your phone was.”

“And?”

“You texted him from your own phone,” Yuta deadpanned.

You snickered. Your best friend and drugs were an infamously egregious combination. Mark Lee sober was already full of shit, but Mark Lee high on whatever substance he could get his hands on? Indescribably bad. You couldn’t think of a word to even explain it.

Mark gestured over to you. “But you gave her drugs.”

Yuta grimaced. “First of all, don’t say that too loud. Johnny will kill me. Second of all, she can actually handle her shit and what can I say? She's a loyal customer.”

You added, “Plus I’m not doing fucking shrooms. Yuta just deals me weed. If Johnny ever found out I was doing anything else, he would have a fit.”

Mark huffed something under his breath about how shrooms were the softest of soft drugs there were, not that it would’ve helped his case.

Your lips curled into a grin as you joked, “Why don’t you just chug Jeno’s notorious punch and call it a night? That’s what I’m gonna do.”

“I’ve actually got plans with a chick who’s been dying to chug my notorious punch. I’ll be back later. Save me a drink, dude,” Mark said, grinning from ear to ear at a text message on his screen. Probably from the aforementioned chick that was begging to blow him, or so he said.

You pretended to wince, but gave him a high five in celebration. “Aye, aye, captain,” you chirped, saluting him.

After Mark made a break for the stairs, you abandoned Yuta to make a beeline for the drink bar. There was no such thing as a party with some of your boys without drugs and alcohol. Your brother was an overprotective nuisance, but even he knew it was impossible to keep you away from your shots and the occasional marijuana.

Plus it would've been hypocritical as all hell, so he let it slide. Not that you wanted to press your luck with something harder. On some nights you were a little drunk and a little high, and it brought out the worst in you. You were certain all of Johnny's friends kept blackmail worthy videos of you doing the unspeakable and you were content with never knowing what all those fuckers had on you. The embarrassment would be enough to kill.

You clocked one girl dry-heaving in the corner on the way and it was all the discouragement required to make you reach for a can of beer instead. To your surprise, it seemed like somebody had a similar plan, their hand coincidentally dropping on the same one.

"Oh, I'm sorry. You can have it…," you trailed, glancing up to make eye contact with nobody less than the devil incarnate.

Ricky looked surprised to see you, though you weren’t sure why. If Jeno was throwing a party, you were bound to be in attendance. “What up, baby? Long time no see.”

“Ricky, you lost the right to call me that the second I caught you with your pants to your ankles in a closet with what's-her-face.”

More importantly, you were frankly surprised to see him there. Your stupid ex was many things, none good, and his audacity? It was out of control. Part of you wanted to commend him, because it took guts to show his face around your side of town after you yanked his trousers down in front of everyone and their mother.

And yet he took that retort in stride. “Baby, how many times do I have to tell you that I’m sorry? It was a mistake and I’ll never make it again.”

“You’re absolutely right,” you replied, bobbing your head in agreement. “You’re a sorry motherfucker and you’ll never make it again, because we’re done for good.”

But Ricky just couldn’t take the hint that you were so fucking over anything that had to do with him and crept closer, continuing darkly, “Don’t you know you’re nothing without me? Nothing!”

Having surrounded yourself with enough drunk and high people countless times, it was obvious that Ricky was under the influence, which made him extremely capricious. He looked a grand total of two seconds away from reaching out and seizing you by your arm.

Your eyes darted across the room for anybody you knew, but it was difficult when dancing bodies obscured them from your field of view. Yuta had probably wandered to snag more drug deals, Mark was getting his dick wet, and Johnny and Taeyong were nowhere to be found.

You were about to resign yourself to the fact that you were positively out of luck until you heard a deep baritone ask from beside you, “Do we have a problem over here?”

It took all of two seconds to recognize its owner. Jeong Jaehyun, sang the little chorus in your head. Your brother’s worst enemy. The beef seemed more than a little one-sided, but you didn’t ask questions. For whatever reason, the mere mention of Jaehyun’s name made your brother tense.

It was clear that Ricky was sizing Jaehyun up and he snapped with potent venom, “Who the fuck are you?”

“The host’s cousin,” Jaehyun said, looking tall and foreboding, as if he was daring somebody to challenge him. “And you are?”

“The love of her life.”

You didn’t know how he could confidently lie like that, though you wouldn’t be surprised if he wholeheartedly believed it, which was downright terrifying. You learned the hard way that this boy was as self-centered as they came.

Jaehyun took one look at you, and the glaringly obvious discomfort on your face, and replied, "Yeah, I don't think she wants to be around you. If I were you, I'd get the fuck out of here and never come back."

Ricky chuckled. "And if I don't?"

Jaehyun shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "Fuck around and find out," was all he said. His lips were drawn into a line and his gaze was fixed to your ex's idiotic face with a lethal stare. Not to mention Jaehyun had a couple of inches on him, which made you resist a satisfied little grin.

Obviously, Ricky wanted to stay and claim you as his pretty property, but even the lack of inhibitions didn’t hinder his judgment at that moment. Like any wise person would, he made a beeline for the closest exit. It was common sense that Jeno and his associates were not to be fucked with.

Your shoulders relaxed when Ricky was gone. If anything, he had gotten off easy. He was lucky that you had no clue where Johnny was. You were positive he would’ve knocked the sense out of him, if he had any, which was debatable.

“Insufferable prick,” you grumbled under your breath. Then, you glanced up to Jaehyun, who, to your surprise, was already looking at you. “Thanks, Jaehyun. I don’t know what he would’ve done if you weren’t here.”

Jaehyun still looked a little pissed, but your words seemed to make him soften. “You don’t have to thank me for that. It’s basic human decency.”

“And some people don’t even have that,” you replied, intending for it to be a joke, but it came out a little more melancholy.

If Jaehyun noticed, he said nothing about it.

Before he could even if he wanted to, something stitched your brows together and you mentioned, “Hey, I didn’t know Jeno was your cousin.”

“Me, neither.”

It took a second for that to settle in, but once you finally understood, amusement broke the confusion tensing your face and your lips parted in laughter. Jaehyun joined you. His bold-faced little white lie saved your ass, but ironically, that wasn’t what you were focused on.

It was those deep, adorable dimples on both of his cheeks that somehow made him even more handsome.

Instantly, something in you chided, Bitch, don’t check him out. He’s your brother’s worst enemy. You’re out of your goddamn mind if you think you’re getting laid tonight just because he’s playing nice.

“I should go,” you said after a minute, finally grabbing a beer. “Thanks again. I really appreciate it.”

You escaped before Jaehyun could tell you not to thank him. His eyes were fixed to your back, following you until you were obscured completely by partygoers. He knew you were Johnny’s sister, but damn, you were kinda cute.

At least for now, Jaehyun wouldn’t play with fire. Johnny almost kicked his ass one time and he wasn’t exactly keen on getting his ass handed to him.

You were half tempted to stop by Jeno’s room to check if any of the guys were passing a blunt around in there, but the last time your curiosity got the better of you, you accidentally walked in on Jeno shirtless with some half-naked girl. Not a sight you wanted to relive, so you kept downstairs.

Your eyes scanned the living room for any familiar faces, but it was difficult to tell if anybody was there. There was a gigantic crowd dancing to Kiss Me Thru The Phone and you chuckled at a certain memory of Mark drunk-singing along to the lyrics.

“There you are,” came a familiar voice beside you. Your gaze flitted to Johnny, whose face was stitched with concern. “Taeyong told me that he saw you with Jaehyun. You good?”

“I’m fine,” you hollered over the music. “Just heartbroken that Mark abandoned me to get laid.”

Any other time, Johnny would’ve laughed, but his lips were pressed into a solid line. “Have you had anything?”

You rolled your eyes and exhaled a breath. “Just the beer in my hand, Johnny.”

He studied your face, as if he was attempting to figure out whether or not you were telling the truth, but ultimately decided to believe you. “Listen, I just wanna look out for you. You’re my little sister. If anything were to happen to you...”

“Mom and Dad would kill you and dump your body in the woods for bears to find. Yes, I know,” you groaned exasperatedly, cutting him off. “I get it, Johnny. But I need you to get that I’m not a little girl anymore.”

“If you were a little girl, you wouldn’t be here and we wouldn’t give you weed.”

That comment wasn’t even worth a roll of your eyes. You took a sip of beer and ignored it.

“Why were you around Jaehyun anyways?” Johnny asked. It was obviously the question he was itching to ask. Probably wanted to make sure Jaehyun wasn’t making any advances.

The memory of your bastard ex getting uncomfortably close to you after reaching for a drink he clearly didn’t need, raising his voice at you in a way no woman should ever accept, made you shudder. “Ricky decided to try and win me back. If you can even call it that.”

Johnny immediately perked up in anger. “What?”

“Relax. Jaehyun already took care of him. That’s why he was there. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“I swear to god, I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch,” Johnny hissed, looking a total of five seconds away from giving someone a piece of his mind.

“Ricky, or Jaehyun?”

“Does it matter?”

You shrugged. Your lips parted to ask why he hated Jaehyun in the first place, but you cut yourself off. There was a reason why you didn’t ask him months ago. Johnny might’ve been overprotective, but that was because he was your brother and he loved you. When he was ready, he would tell you.

The night dragged on. This one was a little more boring than usual, but that could’ve been chalked up to you still being shaken up about your encounter with your ex. You almost considered what would’ve happened had Jaehyun not been around to intervene, but your mind dared not wander there.

Part of you wanted to know where he was camping out at. Surely, he had to be around here somewhere, but you weren’t going to look. Especially not with Johnny on high alert. He was being extra careful, wanting to be there in case your ex was crazy enough to return.

You listed what you knew about Jeong Jaehyun. For one, he was fine as hell. That was undeniable. Secondly, he was lowkey, which was why you essentially knew nothing about him other than the fact that he was drop-dead gorgeous.

Sure, he made an appearance at these parties every now and then, but most of the time he kept to a tight-knit circle of friends and if they weren’t there, there was no way in hell he was coming. Sometimes his roommates’ threw parties at their house, but he rarely went downstairs, preferring to linger in his room doing fuck knows what.

You honestly couldn’t blame him. People sucked. Most of them, anyways.

Only one day later, you were gripping an overlook, peering down at little critters splashing in the lake from the bridge above. For a long time, there was nobody there to join you other than your little nonhuman friends. You liked coming here every now and then to clear your head. It was your safe place, your happy place.

The sky was cloudy but there was only a nine percent chance of rain this afternoon, thus you weren’t too worried. You needed to go somewhere. Home was too isolating, but everywhere else was too open.

You could be happy here. There were no entitled assholes or overprotective brothers around to get on your nerves every five seconds. It was only you and the gifts of nature.

And somebody else.

“I thought that was you,” said somebody from your side.

Imagine your shock when you turned and saw Jeong Jaehyun jogging towards you. In the fucking flesh.

It was harder not to check him out this time. The man was practically drenched head to toe in sweat, his very exposed skin glistening with moisture. The shirt he was wearing hugged his chest and it was all you could do not to salivate.

Rather than continue to rake your eyes up his frame, you asked playfully, “Are you stalking me, Jeong Jaehyun?”

Jaehyun’s eyes twinkled with mirth. God, how come you never noticed how pretty and brown they were? “Actually, I’m surprised. I was cutting through here instead of my usual jog route. The weather looked pretty bad.”

You snickered, crossing your arms. “You didn’t check the forecast before you left the house? It’s not gonna rain. Probably.”

Jaehyun furrowed a brow. “Probably?”

“That guy on the news is an infamous liar,” you grumbled under your breath.

Jaehyun chuckled. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, coming closer to the railing where you were, but kept a safe distance between your bodies lest he made you uncomfortable. “I told you why I’m here. What about you?”

Your nose got an instant waft of Jaehyun’s scent and it was godly, which was shocking considering he was literally sweating everywhere. “Oh, you know. I come here from time to time to think, or to not think. Depending on what the situation calls for.”

“Really?”

You bobbed your head. “Yeah. Why?”

Jaehyun shook his head. “Nothing,” was what he said, but in reality, he was thinking about how he passed this bridge nearly every goddamn day and never knew if he took a detour, he’d potentially cross paths with a pretty little thing like you.

You lifted a brow, but didn’t press.

“Are you… okay?” Jaehyun reluctantly asked.

You bobbed your head. “Yup, I’m alright. It’s just that Ricky approaching me has Johnny on edge, so now whenever I go out he and his friends are watching me like a bunch of hawks.”

Jaehyun winced. “Damn. That must suck.”

“I get he’s doing it from a place of love, but fuck, sometimes I just wanna be left the hell alone, you know?”

Jaehyun nodded. God, did he know. And not only because he was an overwhelmingly introverted dude. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.”

That caught your attention. “You do?”

Jaehyun scratched the back of his head. “I mean, I don’t have an overprotective brother, but I do have an overprotective mother. It’s sweet and all, but do you know what it makes you look like when you’re on a date with a girl and your mom won’t stop calling you?”

Your lips couldn’t help but curl into a grin. “Aw, you’re a Momma’s boy.”

“This is exactly what I mean,” Jaehyun groaned.

“No, it’s… cute,” you said, but it was impossible to control the giggles falling from your lips. “Most of the guys I know like that are sweethearts. Johnny, Mark. Maybe you.”

Jaehyun found that amusing. “You think I’m a sweetheart?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Maybe. I don’t know you well enough to decide, but seemingly, sure.”

“Do you want to?”

“Do I want to what?”

“Know me better,” Jaehyun said, tentative. Almost as if he wasn’t sure what he wanted.

That was the million dollar question. On the one hand, Jaehyun was cute and it most likely wouldn’t hurt to spend a little time together, but on the other, there was the Johnny thing. You groaned. “God, Johnny would have a heart attack if he knew I was with you right now. Maybe even an aneurysm.”

Jaehyun snickered with mischief. “Who said that he has to know?”

That response downright shocked you. You weren’t expecting it from somebody like him, though then again, you knew virtually nothing about this boy and it only made you want to sate your curiosity. “Ooh. You’re trouble, Jeong Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun took that in stride. “I’m guessing you like that.”

Taking a step closer, you started to close the gap between you that Jaehyun had created for your sake. “Hm, you know what they say.”

“I don’t think I do.”

“It’s always the quiet ones that deal the most damage,” you whispered sultrily, glancing into his gentle brown eyes.

Jaehyun’s eyes flickered. That caught him off-guard.

Then, you backed away and waved him goodbye. “I’ve gotta go. Later, Dimples.”

Dimples? That was new. Jaehyun was pleasantly surprised by the nickname and he was so stunned that it distracted him from his train of thoughts.

It was only when you were long gone that he realized that you never answered his question.

You needed time to think, to decide if Jaehyun was worth potentially losing your brother’s trust. You didn’t know why he hated him, but his less than enthusiastic reactions to him said more than enough. Jaehyun was cute, but you could easily find another cute guy whose bones your brother didn’t mention crushing.

But damn, you were curious. And curiosity killed the cat. You knew one thing, though. You were starting to like Jeong Jaehyun.

You shook your head, ashamed of yourself. This is really what’s it’s come to, huh?

Jaehyun thought about that exchange on the bridge every now and then for the next couple of days and chastised himself for even making moves on you of all people. She’s his baby sister, you asshole. She’s off-limits.

Not that it would really stop him, if you let him have you.

It wasn’t like Johnny had to know. Jaehyun could keep a secret and he assumed that you had a handful of your own. People with strict upbringings tended to have a lot of practice with being sneaky and your situation was close enough.

He sat on his bed and heaved a breath, playing with a lighter.

Meanwhile, you were with your boys, listening to them chatter about disgusting boy things but lowkey too curious to abandon your spot on the sofa that was too comfortable for its own good. Nobody liked sleeping on sofas, but you swore you wouldn’t mind on this one. Plus sometimes you’d gotten drunk here enough where you almost dozed off.

You made a gagging noise when Mark started to talk about his nth blowjob of the week. You weren’t counting, but he definitely was.

“Your dick probably has so much chlamydia that it’ll mutate into a different variant like Covid,” Haechan teased.

You grimaced, but you definitely agreed.

“You’re one to talk,” Mark snapped.

Haechan nodded, grinning proudly. “Of course, I am. I always wear condoms and get tested regularly. I’m clean as a whistle.”

You shook your head in amusement. “I’ve never understood the saying ‘clean as a whistle.’ Like aren’t whistles actually contaminated from being in someone’s mouth? Now, when you combine that logic with your dick…”

Jeno burst into laughter. Yuta obviously found it funny from the smile on his face and Mark would never miss a chance to laugh at his friend’s expense.

Haechan dramatically rolled his eyes. “And what about you, little miss? How often do you get laid?”

“Definitely not as often as you guys,” you replied, coming to a stand. Not that you wanted to kiss the sofa goodbye. “I’ll be right back. I’ve gotta tinkle.”

Mark’s nose wrinkled. “You didn’t think that was too much information?”

You almost threw the remote at your best friend, but spared him. There was no way this dude was talking about too much information when he was literally giving you all a play-by-play of his sex life.

“If it burns when you pee, Mark gave you the airborne strand of chlamydia,” Yuta joked dryly.

You left too quickly to see Mark attempt to murder Yuta and it was a shame that you had to miss it. There was no doubt that Haechan would exaggerate the moment to make you regret not being there, but right now, you were concentrated on finding the bathroom.

And of course, it was when you finally made it upstairs through the groups of bodies that you realized you didn’t know where it was.

You groaned, cursing yourself for being so forgetful. You’d only been here a couple of times and never long enough to use the fucking bathroom, apparently. And you really couldn’t fucking hold it.

You glanced around the set of doors upstairs, incapable of keeping still. Thank god nobody was here except for you. If I was a bathroom, which door would I be behind?

You set eyes on a random door and said, “Fuck it.” You marched right up to it and knocked none too gently, seeping with impatience.

To your surprise, it was Jaehyun that opened the door, a pair of headphones slung around his neck. And behind him was a bed, not a toilet.

Jaehyun’s eyes flickered with shock and he said your name. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, um, I was kinda looking for the bathroom. I’m guessing this isn’t it,” you said with a little humor, which was remarkable, all things considered. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here, baby.”

“Oh.” You knew that, so the fact that it slipped your mind meant that you definitely weren’t yourself when you had to pee.

Jaehyun had the audacity to laugh. He opened his door a little wider. “You can use mine. It’s that door over there.”

“Thank you,” you said in relief, immediately darting for the bathroom.

You were even more relieved by the time you washed your hands and walked back into his bedroom, no longer fighting to keep still. Jaehyun was sitting on his bed where his headphones were now cast aside. God, how loud did you have to be knocking for him to hear you over those?

“You sure were in a hurry,” Jaehyun teased.

You rolled your eyes, but a little laugh fell from your lips. You wholeheartedly blamed Jeno and his damn poisonous drinks. Sighing in relief, you glanced around Jaehyun’s room. For a boy, he was exceptionally tidy. He had vinyls organized on a shelf. “No girls in here, I see.”

Jaehyun didn’t know whether to be offended by that or not. “What do you think I am, a pimp?”

You snickered. “Nah. I’m just traumatized. Sue me.”

Jaehyun knew better than to ask questions that he didn’t want to know the answers to, so he left it alone. “You never answered my question the other day.”

“What question?” you asked. Obviously, you were playing dumb. You needed every second to think about what your response would be, although you’d had the past forty-eight hours and then some to contemplate.

Your damn brother was the only thing that stood between you and Jaehyun.

Johnny wasn’t around this time for obvious reasons. There was no way in hell that he’d step foot in the house of his mortal enemy. He didn’t want you to be there either, but you assured him that you’d steer clear of all things Jeong Jaehyun.

And it wasn’t as if you had deliberately lied. It (kind of) wasn’t your fault that you didn’t know where the bathroom was.

“If you wanted to get to know me better.”

You stepped over to his bed, sitting beside him and sighing. “Jaehyun, you know my brother won’t approve.”

“I guess that’s a ‘no’ then,” Jaehyun muttered.

Your eyes glanced at his handsome face, then his beautiful, twinkling brown eyes, and finally his soft pink lips. And when they flitted so low, there was no looking back. You leaned in and pressed your lips to Jaehyun’s, waiting for him to kiss back, and when he did without hesitation your heart soared.

His hands flew to your back, eyes fluttering closed. God, he tasted as good as he smelled, and it was more than a little arousing. You made him fall against his mattress, straddling his hips and kissing him even deeper.

The change was welcome. His heart was racing just from locking lips with you and it took him to the sky. He grabbed a hold of your hips, which fit snugly in his palms, and listened to the soft sighs that slipped from your mouth in between the kisses.

Mark was probably downstairs wondering, Damn, bitch, how long does it take to piss?

You pulled back when a certain groan of his turned you on a little too much to be safe. Jaehyun was secretly disappointed, but he didn’t complain, taking time to catch his breath. “Is that a maybe?”

You giggled and shook your head. “It’s a yes.”

Jaehyun sat up and grinned. He knew what he was getting himself into, but he didn’t care. There was something about you that made him defy gravity.

Still straddling his hips, you threaded your fingers through his hair and leaned in to whisper into his ears, “We’re playing with fire.”

“Ironically, I thought the same thing,” Jaehyun deadpanned.

You chuckled. Well, if you didn’t care, and he didn’t care, nothing more needed to be said. You were really doing this.

Jaehyun realized that he already really liked holding you. You were warm and soft to the touch, and you fit perfectly in his arms. “Have you been drinking?”

“Nope.”

“Did you do any drugs?”

“Not even a little,” you said, raising a brow at the question. Much to your chagrin, it reminded you of your brother’s incessant worry. “Why?”

Jaehyun said without hesitation, “Because I’ve got weed.”

That was exciting. No wonder Jaehyun never came downstairs during his roommates’ parties. The real party was in his bedroom. “Geez, Dimples. What are you waiting for?”

Jaehyun laughed at your enthusiasm and grabbed his lighter off his nightstand. You were flattered when he let you roll and even more when he praised your technique, which took years to develop. Thank god for your experienced friends.

The high had you hyper aware of everything. Jaehyun’s whole room smelled like him, to no surprise. As he said, he lived there, fuck’s sake. But it was pleasant and you were honestly forgetting that you even promised to return downstairs.

The guilt and pressure of keeping secrets from Johnny was heavy on your back a few moments ago, but after the marijuana settled in, you relaxed into Jaehyun’s side. He didn’t seem to mind. Maybe it was the tree getting to his brain, but his hands got a little bolder, too.

And it also only enhanced your curiosity. “Do you do this often, Jaehyun?”

“You mean invite girls into my room to talk and smoke?”

“Yeah.”

Jaehyun took a drag and exhaled into the thick air of his room. “Eh, not really. I’ve had girls in my room before, obviously, but it never really lasts.”

You weren’t surprised. Any girl could see that Jaehyun was handsome as all fucking hell and you didn’t expect him to be a total sexless loser. Matter of fact, if he told you that he was a virgin, you doubted that you’d even believe it.

“Maybe you haven’t met the right girl then,” you suggested coyly.

Jaehyun chuckled. “Maybe.”

It was way too soon to ask if he thought you were the right girl, so instead you settled for asking where his interests lay. “What exactly are you looking for?”

Jaehyun knew the answer to that question in perfect detail because he’d thought about it countless times, being his typical hopeless romantic self. This was a boy that dreamed of finding his miss right before he went to bed. He was a simple guy. He wanted picket fences and kids. Perhaps a puppy.

But maybe it wasn’t all too simple. Jaehyun wasn’t searching for a housewife. He wanted someone to go to random old shops with and look at vintage items together. He wanted someone that didn’t draw a lot of attention, but liked to go outside and explore. Money be damned. Thanks to his mother, he had ample cash, but no one to spend it on.

Jaehyun hummed, pretending to think about his answer. “Guess.”

You threw him a look. “Are you serious?”

Jaehyun bobbed his head eagerly, lips curling into a mischievous little grin. “I’ll tell you, but I want you to guess first.”

You sighed and glanced around his bedroom for clues, and fortunately enough, there were plenty. “Vinyls from the nineties. You’re an old soul and you want someone who fits your vibe. You smell like expensive cologne, so maybe you want someone to wine and dine, but you definitely want to be comfortable.”

Jaehyun said nothing, but you could tell that he was listening.

You looked at the pictures of him and an older woman framed on his nightstand and continued, “You want the type of girl you can take home to your mother. And your mother wants the absolute best for her son, so she raised you to have high standards.”

“You’re good at this,” Jaehyun muttered.

“I’m nowhere close to being finished,” you said, grinning from ear to ear. “Judging from the souvenirs on your shelf, you like going to different places, so you want someone curious and adventurous in nature. Appreciative and respectful of different peoples' cultures.”

Jaehyun was only smiling at this point. It was kind of funny and spooky being read like this.

“You’ve searched for love and haven’t found something that feels right, so now you keep girls around for a good time, not a long one. And you love a damsel in distress, I think,” you said, concluding your investigation.

“Wow,” was all Jaehyun said.

Though you already knew the answer, you pressed your lips into a smile and asked, “Am I warm?”

“You’re on fire,” he replied, wondering how in the hell you got all that just from looking at his bedroom. “But how did you know?”

“That you love a damsel in distress?”

“That I’ve looked for love and gave up on it.”

You almost rolled your eyes. You couldn’t believe he was seriously asking that question. “No offense, but you scream hopeless romantic. Plus you’re hot. You know your worth and what you want and I doubt it’s meaningless sex.”

Jaehyun had this melancholy look on his face for the briefest of seconds, but it disappeared so quickly you could’ve imagined it being there.

“I don’t think you gave up, I think you took a little pause. You know she’s out there, and when the time’s right, you’ll know.” Then, you abandoned the sadness and quipped, “But you’re also a guy, and guys want sex.”

Jaehyun chuckled, but you had somehow penetrated his mind. You had part of him figured out and he didn’t know what to do with that. It was too soon to get too deep.

You exhaled contentedly, but the marijuana had you thinking. You could’ve been wrong about Jaehyun. You had definitely been wrong before.

There was this tension in the room now that neither of you were equipped to handle. As standard when he was fooling around with a girl, there was a piece of him that wondered if it could be the real thing this time, but he didn’t want to get ahead of himself.

It wouldn’t have been the first time.

Jaehyun gave you back the blunt. “What about you - what are you looking for?”

“Who said I was looking?” you asked with obvious amusement.

That shattered Jaehyun’s former thoughts of possibly wifing you up one day. Of course you didn’t intend on dating the dude your brother hated. It would’ve been a very unconventional relationship. You could keep him around for fun, but it would have to end sooner or later.

So Jaehyun contentedly resigned himself to the fact that you would pass, just like all the other girls he brought up to his room, and decided he was fine with that. Maybe he had high standards, but you’d forgotten to mention the part that they came with moderate hopes and low expectations.

That way getting hurt was borderline impossible.

Then, Jaehyun started to grin like an idiot and reminded, “You said that you think I’m hot.”

“I literally said that ten hundred hours ago,” you groaned, exhaling a puff of smoke into the air.

You cried out in shock when he grabbed your hips and pulled you back onto him again, but instinctively leaned into his shoulder. Jaehyun was (usually) humble, but anyone who thought he didn’t know he was hot was a fool. “Am I hot enough to kiss?”

Your lips tugged into a smile, and rather than directly answer his question, you went in for a kiss, holding the blunt away from his face so that he wouldn’t get burned. Jaehyun effortlessly matched your rhythm and it was dumbfounding how he could be so excellent of a kisser.

You spent the better half of the night passing a blunt back and forth with Jaehyun, kissing and talking in between (featuring some inappropriate touches). Jaehyun was so fucking easy to talk to, the topics were boundless. Neither of you opened up much outside of your relationship goals and lack thereof, but you still got to know each other a little better.

Jaehyun loved music from r&b to jazz to soul, though you could’ve guessed how passionate he was after one look at his vinyl collection. He was flirty sometimes, but soft-spoken and very gentleman-like and he never once proposed for the two of you to have sex. Plus he was a bit of a goofball.

To say nothing of the fact that he could play the guitar. You didn’t know why, but that somehow made him even more delightful.

It was pleasant to be in the presence of a guy that was simultaneously attractive and respectful.

Because it was far too late for you to drive yourself home when you finally started to get sleepy, he let you steal his bed and slept in the room of one of his roommate’s that was never home, according to Jaehyun.

Jungkook was what he said his name was. Apparently he basically lived full-time in his girlfriend’s apartment and Jaehyun didn’t know why he still paid rent, but he didn’t complain. It was going to be a sad day for his bank account when Jungkook finally moved out.

And that left Yugyeom. He was the one that threw all of the parties. You asked Jaehyun last night why he rarely came downstairs during those parties and his response was, “I don’t like the attention.”

Morning had come loudly as ever. Birds chirped outside, singing sweetly. You stretched your arms above your head and yawned, unable to ignore the dark curtains that effectively kept the sunlight out.

The first thing you did was let a little light in. And the second thing was remember how you spent last night, memories of marijuana and laughter, and flirtatious behavior hitting you all at once. It seemed that Jeong Jaehyun was a promise of fun.

Grabbing your phone, you headed down the stairs and breathed a little in relief when you saw Jaehyun already awake, waiting by the toaster. “Good morning, Dimples.”

Jaehyun turned when he heard your voice and the smile that spread across his lips was instantaneous. “Good morning, beautiful. How did you sleep?”

“I should’ve known that your bed would be as cool and collected as you are,” you quipped, rubbing your arms. It was colder without Jaehyun’s blankets to help strengthen the temperature.

Jaehyun shook with mirth and it was a sight you wanted to see more often.

“I could’ve slept on the sofa,” you said without complaint. “The party was over by the time we called it a night and it’s the most comfortable sofa I’ve ever put my butt on.”

“It goes against everything I believe in to let you sleep on a couch when there’s a perfectly functional bed upstairs.”

“Aw, what a gentleman,” you replied, coming to stand at his side. “I drew the curtains in your room open, by the way. I don’t know how you live like a damn vampire.”

“What’s wrong with living like a vampire? Vampires are cool.”

“I don’t think Vampires need Vitamin D. Humans do,” you retorted, arms crossed.

Jaehyun’s lips curved into a stupid little smile that reeked of mischief and you instantly knew where his thoughts were before he even said anything.

You rolled your eyes at his silliness and told him, “Whatever you’re about to say - don’t.”

Bagels popped out of the toaster and the sight of food made Jaehyun forget about his previous shenanigans. He set both bagels on individual plates that already had food and said, “I made you something. It’s not much because I’ve gotta go soon, but I didn’t want you to be hungry.”

“Thank you,” you said with gratitude, accepting the plate he handed to you. Plate in hand, you went to sit at the table, watching Jaehyun bring cups over.

“You’re welcome,” Jaehyun told you gently. “Next time I’ll make you a real full-course meal as a treat.”

You gawked. “You can cook?”

“A little bit, yeah. Why?”

“You just got so much hotter,” you breathed.

Jaehyun grinned.

The time you spent together that morning was a duplicate of the night before except there were only the lingering overnight highs instead of the fresh ones. You were sad that you had to leave, but Jaehyun had to work and you needed to go home.

Sitting in your car, you checked your phone for the first time in hours. There had to be a thousand missed calls and unanswered messages from your friends and Johnny. Though it wasn’t unusual for your phone to be on Do Not Disturb, it was definitely strange to not at least tell your loved ones that you were very much still alive.

You were just so hooked on Jaehyun that it completely slipped your mind to check your phone. There wasn’t a dull moment upstairs in his bedroom and even when it was silent you were comforted by the sound of a vinyl playing quietly on his record player, which you were stunned that he even had.

You texted your friends to let them know that you were on the way home and called Johnny to get his usual tantrum out of the way before you got there, but it was safe to say that you weren’t expecting to come back to Johnny and Mark waiting for you in the kitchen like two unhappy parents.

You reached into the cabinet to grab a glass and deadpanned, “Uh oh. Am I in trouble?”

Mark snickered and he looked like mischief. “Very much so.”

Your gaze flitted towards Johnny, who was clearly the more disgruntled of the two, and asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You look like you had a long night.”

“That’s probably because I did.”

“Did you hook up with anyone?”

You grimaced. “Gross, Johnny. Do I ask you who and what you do with your dick?”

Johnny gave you a look that told you he was serious.

“No, I didn’t hook up,” you replied, filling your glass with water and hoping to find a way out of this situation so that you could shower and brush your teeth.

Johnny’s lips were tugged into a frown. This older brother responsibility was far from easy when his little sister made it even harder to check up on her. “I worry about you. Is that a crime?”

You exhaled a long breath. “You’re right. I should have at least let you know that I was okay and I didn’t, and I’m sorry. I just got… distracted.”

That got Mark’s attention and he butted in dramatically, “Where did you go last night? I was this close to filing a police report, but it hadn’t been twenty-four hours.”

Typical cop father response. That was half the reason why nobody wanted to deal him drugs. Thank goodness he had you to vouch for him. “And what would you do if I was off with a serial killer instead of some hot guy?”

“I wouldn’t be too worried. You’re annoying. They would return you on the front doorstep with a note that said ‘come get your bitch back.’”

You were tempted to roll your eyes, but you noticed Johnny laugh a little and it honestly made you feel somewhat better. He had been painfully uptight lately and you just wanted him to chill for once.

“I’m gonna go take a shower and brush my teeth,” you announced, discarding your glass in the sink and heading for the stairs.

Of course, Mark had more insults on deck and didn’t hesitate to ask, “You’re gonna need more than that for all the cum you had to have gargled last night.”

“For the last time, I did not hook up,” you huffed in exasperation, marching up the stairs. “And get the hell out of my house - you don’t even live here!”

You could hear Mark laughing from the overlook.

A lot of time was spent counting down the hours until you could see Jeong Jaehyun again. You learned that he was not the type of guy to sit around waiting by his phone. This was a busy man with business to take care of and he didn’t have a lot of spare time.

You didn’t mind, because he spent it talking to you, which was definitely an indicator that he was starting to really like you. With so few hours in a week, let alone a day, it was hard to believe he let just anyone consume the little downtime that remained.

Jaehyun let you crash some nights at his place when your brother was being a massive thorn in your side. It wasn’t a crime, but it was easy to get away with, all things considered. Yugyeom never bothered either of you and Jungkook was rarely there, so you spent most of the time talking incessantly and getting high.

Maybe some kisses were shared in between, but nothing more. Jaehyun was content with just getting to know you for now. His usual invitees consisted of one-night stands and girls he hung out with for a couple of weeks, but you were different. You made him think, high or not, and it was rare a girl penetrated his mind so deeply.

And so quickly. It had only been a month, maybe a little longer. He was still afraid of being completely open with you, but the way the two of you touched each other was starting to get riskier and riskier.

Kisses lasted longer. More than once, he caught himself going after your clothes, but he didn’t want to seem like an animal. You did seem a little eager too, kissing the breath out of him and getting more and more flirtatious, but Jaehyun hated having to guess.

He wanted you to tell him what you wanted in no uncertain terms. No room for uncertainty.

Yugyeom knocked on Jaehyun’s bedroom door, which was already cracked ajar, and asked, “Hey, is she coming over tonight?”

“Yes, so please be on your best behavior. No bullshit,” Jaehyun replied, getting a whiff of the trouble that was Yugyeom and wrinkling his nose.

“Have you guys… you know?”

“That’s a personal question.”

“So you haven’t.” Yugyeom pressed, “Man, when are you gonna tell her you’ve got the hots for her? You know what, I’ll clear the house and leave a bottle of wine out. Light one of your expensive candles. Girls like that shit.”

Like hell Jaehyun needed advice on how to set the mood, from Yugyeom much less. Plus he was none too pleased at being interrupted, especially because now he was thinking about having sex with you and it was doing things to him down there. “I think I know what girls like.”

“Then what’s the problem? And don’t tell me that you haven’t thought about it. We’re both dudes, man. That’s bullshit.”

“There isn’t one,” Jaehyun replied to his roommate honestly. Of course, he had thought about having sex with you. He might’ve been respectful, but like Yugyeom said, he was still a dude. Hell, the words had come out of your own mouth.

Yugyeom prodded, “Then?”

“I just don’t wanna rush into it.”

Now that Yugyeom could buy. Jaehyun was sentimental like that. When he really liked a girl, evaluating her worth took priority over getting laid. Jaehyun had this wall of ice put up that even Yugyeom had to steadily break through. Ironically, sometimes it felt like he was still on the outside.

But he put two and two together. If Jaehyun liked you - as in really, really liked you - then that made shit even more complicated. It was no secret that Johnny had it out for Jaehyun and he obviously came to the same conclusion that Jaehyun had; shit getting serious with you was dangerous.

So Yugyeom left it alone.

Like clockwork, you were pulling into Jaehyun’s driveway only a few hours later. You discerned that the lot was empty save for your car and Jaehyun’s which more than likely implied that the two of you would be completely alone in the house together.

Slipping the spare key from under the mat, you unlocked the door and sang after locking it behind yourself, “Darling, I’m home!”

“I’m upstairs,” Jaehyun called out from the second floor, his room door obviously open for once. The benefits of having the house to himself.

You didn’t hesitate to make your way upstairs, not failing to clock the bottle of expensive wine on the counter when you passed by the kitchen, but you thought little of it when you came through the hallway and slipped into Jaehyun’s comfortable bedroom. “Hey, Dimples,” you greeted.

Jaehyun smiled at you and waved. His room was dimly lit. The overhead lights were turned off, but the candles on his nightstand were ablaze and there was an old school classic going on in the background.

The second you came in, Jaehyun set his book aside, giving you his undivided attention. “Come here.”

You wasted no time doing as told, advancing towards the bed and giggling when he snatched you into his open arms for a handful of kisses. Your whole body was soothed from his slightest of touches, at ease in his arms. Jaehyun had quickly become your second safe place.

God, you had been waiting for this moment all week. Johnny wasn’t on your ass any more than usual, but it got lonely in that house and it was even worse when you found yourself only craving Jaehyun’s company. There was something happening to you and you couldn’t tell if you liked it or not.

Jaehyun drew back after a minute, taking a moment to breathe and brush a loose strand of hair behind your ears. “Things okay at home?”

“New topic,” you groaned.

Jaehyun winced. That couldn’t have been too good.

“You smell good,” you purred, breathing in his scent.

“You always say that.”

“Because you always smell good.”

“I just got out of the shower.”

“Without me?”

“You sound like a guy,” Jaehyun said in disapproval.

You snickered. You had definitely gotten that comment from a boy before.

Jaehyun’s eyes were fixed to your face, taking in how beautiful you were. Damn, it was like every time he saw you, you looked even more breathtaking.

You couldn’t help but stare back. Jaehyun’s visuals were out of this damn universe and it was borderline maddening he could be this fucking fine. But deeper than that, sometimes you couldn’t help but stare into his dark eyes and wonder what all he was hiding back there.

It was plain as day that Jaehyun wasn’t the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, especially not when his romantic feelings were involved. In the time that you’d spent together, you had gotten to learn some things about him, but there was plenty that he filtered out as a defense mechanism.

When you wanted to get closer, Jaehyun shut down, which was totally ironic, because he was the one that asked if you wanted to get to know him. Now you had to fight for it?

Maybe he meant get to know his body and you were oblivious - and you wouldn’t have minded one bit - but if that was the case, you should’ve already had sex and been out of the picture. Yet he was keeping you twice as long as most girls lasted and for no apparent reason.

Sex made things more complicated. If you had sex with Jaehyun right now, and it was good, there was absolutely no telling how that would shift the trajectory of your entire life. But the way he was looking at you right now tempted you to risk it all.

Your lips found Jaehyun’s again, but the kiss was different this time. It was needier, desperate. It sent heat stretching through every bone in your body and straight between your thighs, and you felt like you were levitating. Your body scorched with desire, hands running down his chest.

Jaehyun kept up with your reckless kissing very well, but he couldn’t ignore the nature of it and it made him ask himself questions. You were kissing him like you wanted him. Tired of wondering, he pulled back and asked forthrightly, “Do you want to have sex with me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” you countered, quickly seizing the opportunity to return your lips to his.

All of this beating around the bush was getting on his nerves and Jaehyun took matters into his own hands. Literally. You gasped when he pushed you onto your back, pinning you onto his bed, and locked your wrists above your head. “I want to hear you say it.”

Now that was sexy as hell and your thighs involuntarily pressed together. “I want to have sex with you.”

That was all Jaehyun needed to hear. He was quick to catch your lip in between his teeth and seal your lips in another heated kiss, taking in your every trembling exhale. You moaned into his mouth, a little too enamored with how good it felt beneath him.

His hands released your wrists in favor of your waist, testing the waters. You were reactive to Jaehyun’s touches, hyper aware of his hands steadily falling lower, but not daring to touch you too intimately yet. Like he was waiting for something to happen.

Jaehyun’s eyes sank to your empty neck and something deep in the pit of his gut was set on fire. “Are marks okay?”

Making quick work of his shirt and tossing it over his shoulders, you nodded your head. “Yeah. Johnny will notice, but he’ll never assume they’re from you.”

It took absolutely nothing else for Jaehyun to connect his lips to your throat hungrily, leaving mark after mark on your skin in an effort to stake his claim to you. And all it did was turn you on further. There was a thudding between your legs, arousal spilling over.

Little soft sighs and curses slipped from your lips and you could feel the bedroom get hotter and hotter. It wasn’t as if you and Jaehyun had agreed to be exclusive, but you hadn’t been with anyone else in the time that the two of you had been hanging out, meaning it had been over a month since you’d last had sex.

And it fucking showed. You were aching for more, on top of your natural desire for Jaehyun. If you didn’t fuck his brains out right now you were going to self-destruct.

“Jaehyun, fuck me,” you groaned impatiently.

Instead, he grinned, too fond of the neediness in your voice and on your pretty face. Jaehyun looked you plain in the eye and said, “I want you to beg.”

You were too gone to roll your eyes, but not too out of it to retort, “Make me.”

“I’m gonna make you beg, alright,” Jaehyun said without question. He made a move for your shorts and tugged them off your ankles, repeating the gesture with your panties.

The only thing that kept you from being totally naked was your top but Jaehyun didn’t look too concerned with getting rid of it yet. Instead, he focused his undivided attention between your legs, entranced by your glistening core and his mouth going dry with the desire to have a taste.

You watched the enthrallment on his face with satisfaction. Funny how his ability to conceal his emotions went out the window when pussy was involved. His eyes were dark as ever and Jaehyun’s voice somehow got deeper when he asked, “Will you let me taste you?”

“Fuck,” you mumbled, sensing that he was about to wreck the living hell out of you. “Uh, yeah. Yes.”

No room for uncertainty. Now that he had your consent, Jaehyun gathered your legs in his hands, tossed them over his broad shoulders, and went to town. You gasped aloud at the first pass of his tongue at your clit and it couldn’t have been further from tentative.

Of course this man went straight for your sensitive bundle of nerves instead of your slick folds, he knew better. Given how exciting the thought of Jaehyun dicking you down had been, you were already throbbing, but now you were tense and unstill.

There was something about the feeling of his lips sucking and licking at your cunt that made you squirm and cry out in an overwhelming bolt of pleasure. Jaehyun clamped his big hands onto your thighs to keep you pliant, holding them right where he wanted them, and kept eating you out.

It made zero sense how hot you found every little thing that he did.

“Jesus, fuck,” was basically all that you could say. With how vigorously Jaehyun was sucking at your bundle of nerves, it was getting borderline impossible to think.

Jaehyun sure didn’t seem timid. Matter of fact, the way he refused to shy away from in between your pair of legs, doing everything in his power to keep them separated at both sides of his head, said loud and clear that he was a man on a mission to make you unravel.

Not to mention that he was doing a damn good job. Your ears were hardly even working, the whole world fading to static, the only audible sound being the incessant throb of your pulse quickening by the minute.

The sheer opposite was true for Jaehyun. His ears were on full alert and he could hear everything from the increasing volume and speed of your breaths plus your soft moans to the gentle rustling of the trees' leaves outside his open window.

Jaehyun peered up at you, noticed the euphoria tensing your beautiful features, and his lips broke into a wide grin. “How are you doing up there?”

No words would come. It took twice as long to even process the ones that left his mouth. Your eyes were drooping and misty, damp with moisture, and all that escaped you was a befuddled, “Fuck.”

Jaehyun snickered. That was answer enough. “It sounds to me like you’re having a fun time,” he started. “Do you want to cum?”

You obviously heard that and hissed, “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“If you want to cum, then beg me for it,” Jaehyun growled darkly. You appreciated the brief lull of peace, but of fucking course, it was that moment Jaehyun chose to press a long pair of fingers into your dripping pussy.

Your back arched and your soft cries filled the air. It felt like somebody had given Jaehyun the blueprints to your body with how he excelled at satisfying you in ways literally nobody had previously.

The answer was obvious. Jaehyun wanted you to beg? Fuck it. You would beg.

“Please,” you said, your voice raising a few pitches. “Oh, god. Please make me cum, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun didn’t make a sound but you could feel his mouth on your cunt again and knew that he was about to take you there.

And then it came. The mind-numbing orgasm engulfed you in its fury and you were scarred with burns from head to toe, most of it pivoting towards your core.

Your hands desperately grasped locks of Jaehyun’s soft fluffy hair in an attempt to anchor yourself and you didn’t release him from your clutches until every tremble faded. Jaehyun got so aroused watching you shudder with release that he swore his own mind went blank.

It took a good minute and a half at the least for your mind to start to clear itself and you sighed pleasantly as the wrath of your orgasm slowly began to die out. You peered down at Jaehyun, blinking a couple of times, and slackened your grip when you realized how tightly your hands were latched to him.

Jaehyun didn’t seem to mind, contentedly watching you try to gather your bearings. “Are you back to earth?”

“Barely,” you rasped, still unable to feel your thighs.

“Do you want to stop?”

You gawked. “Are you kidding? I still wanna fuck you. If you still wanna fuck me.”

“I still want to fuck you,” Jaehyun said, pulling you in for another hot but reassuring kiss. It was hard to breathe, but so worth it. You slipped your tongue into his mouth and tasted yourself on his.

Kissing you made Jaehyun feel like he was ascending, but right now it also made his dick ascend and his patience was steadily dissipating into thin air. You could feel his hard-on against your naked thigh and it sent shock waves to your brain.

I think that’s the best head I’ve ever had, you admitted to yourself, but not aloud. Your dating history wasn’t top secret but you spoke little of it to Jaehyun. Did it matter that all of your exes were scumbags and rarely bothered to get you off?

Except for one. The sex was good, but it wasn’t a fair trade-off for your heart. No man nor his cock was worth your sanity and you told that to yourself every time you engaged with one.

Plus you just got this weird feeling where nothing or nobody else mattered when you and Jaehyun were alone together. You didn’t think of the various roots of the stresses in your life and calmness was finally an option.

You didn’t want to ruin that, so you didn’t get too deep.

But you were hoping Jaehyun was packing enough to be deep inside of you. Fuck that, you had felt it against your thigh. You knew that he was and it was exciting.

Your voice was weighed down by the thickness of your breaths. “Do you have condoms?”

“Always,” Jaehyun replied, pulling a drawer open on his nightstand to retrieve one.

That was a relief. You had never done it raw before and though you liked Jaehyun, you weren’t sure where his dick had been and what all it had seen. You’d rather be safe.

Jaehyun gently pushed you back onto the mattress and crawled over you, drawing the condom between his teeth while he tossed your shirt and bra halfway across his bedroom, then whispered, “Tell me how you want it.”

“Hard and deep. Deep and hard,” you confessed sultrily, looking him dead in the eye.

Jaehyun smirked. “That can be arranged.”

You watched Jaehyun shuffle out of his pants and put the condom on, but the bulk of your attention was set on that thick, girthy cock. Your mouth was watering. Maybe some other time you could suck him off, but right now getting it between your thighs was all you wanted.

It didn’t seem as if he glanced up, but Jaehyun said, “You’re staring.”

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Jaehyun said.

You giggled. “No, I’m not.”

The sound faded when you spread your legs apart invitingly and he penetrated you at an excruciatingly slow pace, sinking deeper inch by fucking inch.

You and Jaehyun made a sound in harmony when he finally filled you to the hilt, grasping your waist and using it as anchor like he was at risk of going dangerously deep if he made one wrong move and never returning to the surface.

Good thing it was only the two of you. You, keeping quiet when he was this good with his hands and presumably even better with his thick cock? There was no way in hell.

“Oh my god…,” you whispered, obsessed with the sensation of being filled.

Whatever you were thinking right now, Jaehyun wholeheartedly agreed. You made his brain grind to a halt and stutter. “Does that feel okay?”

“More than okay,” you told him, because it was the truth. Somehow the pleasure was only spiking. The ecstasy continued to build.

You looked so beautiful beneath the golden-yellow hue of his lamplight and Jaehyun knew he would be fantasizing about how your face tensed with pleasure for weeks, if not months.

Jaehyun especially liked the way you were tightening around his cock, gripping it for dear life as if letting go simply wasn’t an option. You wound your legs around his hips and helped draw him into yours in spite of knowing it could ruin you, a telltale sign that your desire for more outweighed any rational thinking.

It just felt so good that it had to be illegal and though you knew that it wasn’t, it was damn near close.

There was still music playing from the vinyl player in the background that soothed any and all nerves that you could’ve ever had. You took a moment and inhaled deeply, breathing in the musk of Jaehyun and the scent of the candles.

Your eyes fluttered closed. It was ironic that you were on a raging high even though you hadn’t even gotten around to having your usual fill of marijuana. In legal terms, you were far from inebriated. But according to yourself? You were fiending for Jaehyun and found him lethally intoxicating.

His weight on top of you. His deep, guttural grunts in your ear between his jagged breaths. His perfect thrusts and the way he stroked you exactly how you wanted, all the while reaping his pleasure from your body.

It was fucking mind-blowing.

Jaehyun had a similar thought and it tore a noise out of him. His intentions in inviting you over tonight weren’t to have sex, in spite of his roommate’s attempts at getting him to get laid when he was only trying to break you in, but it was an unregrettable decision.

“You take it so good, baby,” Jaehyun said tenderly, but it barely scratched the tip of the iceberg of praises he had in storage especially for you.

Fuck, you wanted to hate how easy it was for him to kindle these rash flames inside of you, but your attraction to Jaehyun became undeniable the second you initiated the first rendezvous.

You were peering into Jaehyun’s soul, searching his whole face without knowing what you were looking for, and saw the euphoria fluttering his eyes closed and spreading his lips apart just enough for those heavenly sounds to slip through.

You guessed you found it then, because the tightening in the pit of your gut was at an all-time high and it wasn’t skipping out on the extremes.

Combing your hands through his hair, you whimpered, “I’m so close.”

Jaehyun accelerated his pace, wanting to take you to the ends of the earth and back. You noticed, because you could feel his hard dick slapping against your hips with a purpose, and you swore to god your eyes rolled somewhere black.

The end was creeping up on you from behind. You could feel it. Jaehyun could feel it himself, the telltale twitch of his cock indicating that he was pushing his limits.

“I want you to cum,” Jaehyun growled in no uncertain terms, his tone dominant. “Nice and hard. Can you do that for me, baby?”

“Yes,” you choked out.

If you were being frank, he didn’t even have to ask. It was impossible to hide the evidence of your impending orgasm, the heightened tremors in your voice and the shakiness in your body were more than enough proof.

All you could think about was how restlessly you were going after this orgasm and how terribly you needed it like it would fix every little thing going wrong in your life.

Your hands slipped from Jaehyun’s hair to his shoulders to finally his back, raking your nails down the flesh in a set of ministrations that were bound to leave red lines, and you rasped breathlessly, “Finish me.”

The hoarseness of your voice alone could’ve broken Jaehyun but he hung on for your sake, fingertips flitting to your sensitive, swollen clit again because he knew he wouldn’t last very much longer.

You were even more restless than before and it wasn’t long until Jaehyun granted your wish, your lips parting in a scream and your vision going totally black. Your toes curled into tight bends as you grinded your hips into Jaehyun, milking your release for every damn dime.

Jaehyun could feel you clenching rapidly and repeatedly around his cock and merely seconds after that it was game over. He came with the deepest, sexiest groan you had ever heard before in your life, hips stuttering as his cum filled the condom, and all you could think about was how this could not be a one-time thing.

The next few minutes were a blur. You only recalled Jaehyun peeling off you to dispose of the condom, the layers of sweat on your naked bodies keeping you connected, and returning to your side briefly.

Jaehyun scanned you for any signs of obvious discomfort. “Are you okay?”

Your mouth was hanging open, aggressive pants falling from your lips, but Jaehyun’s attention was no longer focused on your heaving chest - it was on you. “No, more like incredible.”

That had Jaehyun in the first half, but he snickered in amusement and relief when you wrapped up your sentence. “Do you wanna shower with me?”

“That’s kinda intimate,” you said, as if that was actually going to stop you. “Hell yeah, I do.”

Jaehyun rolled his eyes, but there was a smile plain as day on his face. You cried out in surprise when he hauled you into his burly arms, hooking one of them under your knees, and carried you into his bathroom.

Your own individual toothbrush was in there on the sink counter squarely beside Jaehyun’s. It was only right that he let you keep one there, given how many late Friday nights you spent at his house instead of your own.

Plus some of your clothes were there, tucked into his drawers, but when you returned to his bedroom, you donned one of his shirts that was unsurprisingly oversized on you.

You sat on Jaehyun’s bed, memories of what you’d just done on his sheets still fresh, and watched him rifling through his vinyl catalog, but because he was shirtless you quickly got distracted by the view you had of his back.

At least until he turned around after setting the vinyl on his record player, apparently oblivious, and coming to sit at your side.

There was mischief on your face and you were struggling to stifle a giggle. It was obvious, and Jaehyun furrowed his brows. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh, nothing.”

Jaehyun didn’t believe you at all, but he didn’t press.

You sighed contentedly, leaning into his naked chest. The little voice in your brain was thinking about how he smelled so clean and fresh, and good. Well, duh, she snapped. If you somehow weren’t paying attention, he just got out of the shower.

But you were definitely paying attention, maybe a little more than you should’ve. It wasn’t your fault he looked like the leading role of every romance book ever. This was a man out of every little girls’ childhood dreams and, more importantly, every grown woman’s wet ones.

As Jaehyun held you in his arms, you couldn’t help but think, spotting little items in his room that screamed, I come from money. “Jaehyun, is it okay if I ask you a question?”

Jaehyun hummed. You figured he might’ve been close to dozing off, but in reality, he was just captivated by the smell of your hair and hoping it lingered on his pillows.

“You’re pretty well-off, but you live with two other guys. You’re technically always alone, but you don’t live alone. Why?”

Now that wasn’t what Jaehyun was expecting you to ask him, but you were full of surprises. He took a moment to ponder his answer, finding himself reflecting. “It’s because of how I grew up, I guess. I was the only child, so it was just me and my parents in the house. I guess I kind of wanted to know what it's like to have brothers.”

You made a noise of content. “You’re close then.”

“Yup.”

You could feel Jaehyun playing with your hair and it made you smile gently.

“What about you and your friends?”

“What about them?”

“What’s the relationship like? Have you fucked Mark?”

You were taken aback, though rather than be affronted, the ridiculousness of that question made you laugh. “No way. I prefer my vagina itch-free,” you quipped.

Jaehyun chuckled. It was a shock that that kid got around town the way he did, but that was why Jaehyun had to respect the hustle.

Then, out of nowhere, you got a little sober. “On a serious note, Mark is my bestie and he’s what I imagine having a little brother is like. Johnny really likes him too, so sometimes I’ll walk in on them hanging out without me.”

You didn’t notice the way Jaehyun’s head bobbed along, but he was listening. It was believable. Mark was a social butterfly and impossible to dislike, no matter how irritating.

And he was only irritating to some. Those who didn’t find him to be a thorn in their side probably wanted him a number of inches deep in their guts.

You continued, “Yuta is more Johnny’s friend than he is mine, but he’s laidback. Haechan is a little shit but he’s funny as fuck. And you know Jeno is chaotic as ever.”

You were fond of your circles of friends. Most folks assumed it must’ve been suffocating to be the only girl amongst a group of insufferable horny dudes, but it wasn’t half bad. Jeno had tried to get into your pants before, but when you turned him down he took the rejection coolly.

Mark, like you said, was like a sibling to you and that went both ways. When somebody suggested the two of you hook up, his knee-jerk reaction was to hiss, “Ew!”

Haechan was a slut like all of them but he knew better than to slut himself out to you and Yuta, though you already couldn’t have been further from his type, was one of your older brother’s closest friends. According to Yuta himself, the thought of being in a relationship with you was hilarious.

Never mind the fact that he admitted he’d actually do it, but strictly for fun. Pissing off Johnny was his full-time job and dating his younger sister? It would’ve been the easiest way.

You and Jaehyun chatted until you couldn’t ignore each other’s incessant yawns and made the mutual agreement to crawl under the sheets together. A rare Jungkook appearance one weekend forced you into bed with each other and ever since that was how you’d slept.

Side by side, skin to skin.

The sun was brighter than ever when you woke up some hours later. You noticed that the curtains were open. And they had been since you likened Jaehyun to a vampire.

Speaking of Jaehyun, he was still sleeping like a rock beside you, completely still other than the gentle heave of his chest as he snored quietly. You crawled gingerly out of bed so as not to disturb his rest, the sight of him still asleep when you stood making you sigh out in relief.

After a quick wash-up in the bathroom, you headed downstairs for a snack. Your stomach was rumbling and you realized that you hadn’t eaten since you left home.

What you didn’t expect was to see Yugyeom half-naked in the kitchen though.

You weren’t sure why. It was his house and if he wanted to walk around like he just went skinny dipping, then he had that right. Fortunately, he was wearing sweatpants, so you were spared from that unsightly picture.

Yugyeom heard your footsteps and turned. “Oh, hey. Sleep good?”

“I only slept for a few hours,” you confessed, though you felt like you were quite well-rested. “But yeah, I slept pretty good.”

Yugyeom chuckled. “I bet.”

You said nothing else. Yugyeom wasn’t a total stranger, even before you started crashing at his house, but you weren’t close by any means.

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” you said after a pause, straddling a barstool.

“I mean, I do live here. Who do you think pays most of the bills?”

“Jaehyun,” you chirped.

“Okay, that’s fair. Who do you think pays the second most of the bills?”

“You and Jungkook, but it wasn’t always that way.”

Yugyeom threw in the towel, realizing Jaehyun had most definitely had this discussion with you at some point. Then, he started to laugh. Jaehyun was discussing their finances with you? There was no way in living hell.

I’ll be damned. Yugyeomed sighed in amusement. “You know, you’re the first girl I’ve seen last this long with Jaehyun.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not saying he’s a player, but I thought I’d stop seeing you around here, like, two weeks ago. For a girl to survive a month with him, she has to really crank up his brain. And Jaehyun isn’t easily impressed,” Yugyeom said.

It was obvious what he was implying and you knew exactly where this was heading. “I’m sure, but Jaehyun and I are just vibing.”

“I didn’t say that you weren’t.”

“Yes, but you think that we aren’t,” you replied, rubbing your arms. It was always cold the mornings after.

Yugyeom laughed. “No, I don’t. Not right now. I didn't even crack Jaehyun that soon. All I’m saying is Jaehyun is a real gem and I think that you have a solid chance.”

“And you want me to take it?”

Yugyeom was strategically bouncing around, going from subtly planting ideas in your head to making them seem as if they were your own. “Whatever you do with that information is out of my hands and none of my business.”

Your lips parted to speak, but you were fortunately saved by the bell. Footsteps were heard from the hall and Jaehyun emerged from around the corner, voice deep from sleep, “What are you two talking about?”

Yugyeom lied without hesitation, “How handsome you are, of course.”

Jaehyun didn’t believe it for a second, but he stole the barstool beside you and gently nudged your elbow. “You think I’m handsome?”

“Oh, the handsomest,” you deadpanned, but rested your head onto his shoulder.

Jaehyun let you. At least for a little while, but then he pulled you into his chest and mumbled groggily, “You left me.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your hands tangled into his dark hair. “I’ll stay next time.”

“Good.”

Yugyeom was peering into the fridge, shaking his head, wondering if he was the only one that saw your fate.

The whole weekend was spent in Jaehyun’s arms, restless. If you weren’t getting high on marijuana and chatting about whatever came to mind, you were dancing to one of his vinyls. If you weren’t kissing each other breathless, you were fucking each other senseless.

It was two days of whimsical fun, ignoring the world and its insignificant little woes. In many ways, Jaehyun was like your oasis.

You were starting to hate Mondays. They were the days where you realized that nothing was forever, every time without fail. The days you had to finally face the world after a weekend of neglecting its existence.

Plus you didn’t get a lot of Jaehyun during the other five days of the week, and though you understood your conflicting schedules, it was getting less and less easy to cope.

Finals week thankfully gave you less time to think about whatever the hell was blossoming between you and Jaehyun. You didn’t want to think about it, because you were well aware that it wouldn’t last. As perfectly as Jaehyun molded into you, there was no piece of him that fit the bigger picture.

But of course, you were pacing down your school’s courtyard with a bag slung over your shoulder when you noticed Mark’s footsteps catching up to you. “Wanna tell me why Johnny asked me if you’ve been going out with somebody lately?” he asked.

You pretended to be oblivious, keeping your head straight and your steps quick. “Why would he ask you that?”

“Because I’m your best friend and you tell me everything, or so I thought,” Mark hissed.

You groaned, weighing your options. You could keep this private love affair to yourself and let the guilt and pressure split you down the middle, or you could confide in your best friend and hope it took the edge off.

Pulling Mark behind a tree and scanning your surroundings for unwanted bystanders, you exhaled roughly and said, “Don’t freak out, but I may or may not be sleeping with Jeong Jaehyun on the weekends.”

Mark was understandably dumbfounded by that information and screeched aloud, “What the fuck, dude?”

“I just said don’t freak out!”

Mark shook his head, the total opposite of cool and collected. There was no way in hell he wasn’t going to freak out. “Are you kidding? Johnny literally wants to kill him.”

“God, I know,” you bemoaned, pressing a palm to your forehead. This whole situation combined with the stress of finals was giving you a splitting headache.

The shock was still evident on Mark’s face, but he seemed to be cooling off. “Shit, dude. This is crazy. Is the sex at least good?”

Your mind was fluttering with memories and it was hard to resist a smile. Getting laid right now would probably fix you. “Jeong Jaehyun may be a scoundrel for whatever reason, but I can reassure you he is not lacking in the sex department.”

Or any department. It was strange that in the weeks the two of you had spent bonding and the like, you had yet to identify a single red flag of Jaehyun’s. Apparently, the weirdest thing about this boy was the amount of pictures he kept of his toes.

“Oh my god,” Mark gasped.

“What?”

“That night you went upstairs to pee and didn’t come back,” Mark started, finally connecting the dots and displeased he hadn’t seen the hints earlier. “You were off screwing Jaehyun, weren’t you?”

“Actually, no. I was with him, yes, but we weren’t hooking up then.”

Mark was baffled to very fucking his core. That had to be half a decade ago. This whole time, you were spending your spare time on Jaehyun and nobody knew?

Gripping Mark by the shoulders, you stared into his eyes and said sternly, “Listen. You can’t tell Johnny.”

Your best friend made a face of disapproval, but nodded his head. “Alright. Fine.”

“I’m serious. You have to promise.”

Mark groaned, “Dude, I’m not gonna tell Johnny that you’re fucking Jaehyun. No matter how bizarre and borderline batshit insane that is to say aloud. I promise your secret is safe with me.”

You released his shoulders and a shaky breath, relenting. “Okay.”

“But that doesn’t mean that I approve.”

“Understandable. I can live with that.”

“I don’t see how,” Mark grumbled under his breath.

You frowned.

Months flew by. Christmas and News Year were a blur, two events you and Jaehyun spent at separate locations. Your parents were rarely home, but the winter holidays were a period of time that they always made sure to be around for. And Jaehyun paid his family a visit that week.

But then it was February, and the national holiday that was Jaehyun’s birthday came of nowhere.

“No way you were born on Valentine’s day,” you remembered telling him a few months back after asking him about his birthday. Jaehyun had groaned, more than accustomed to how this conversation played out. This was far from his first rodeo.

Though it was rare that a girl made it to actually celebrate his birthday with him.

Idiotically, you found yourself scorching with nerves that afternoon, overwhelmingly anxious. Your whole body was tense and you paced around your room antsily for hours until it was time to get in your car and head out to Jaehyun’s house.

You had gotten him a gift and you weren’t sure whether he would like it or not. Then again, you had spent weeks planning what you would give him based on every second of every little conversation you’d shared and you were half confident, half uncertain.

Jungkook opened the door to leave at the same moment you were preparing yourself to go inside, most likely heading to his girlfriend’s place after spending the morning celebrating his friend’s birthday, and held the door open for you. “Uh, do you need a minute?”

“No. Thank you,” you replied bashfully, catching the door and finally turning inside.

You took one more deep breath and paced upstairs while gripping the box in your hands so tightly it might’ve broken.

Jaehyun was sitting on his bed, his guitar in his hands instead of standing upright in the corner of his bedroom as typical, and glanced up when he heard your footsteps. “Hi.”

“Hi, birthday boy,” you greeted.

Jaehyun was smiling. You had already wished him a happy birthday at midnight on the dot which was a sweet gesture in itself.

“I, uh, got you something,” you said, mentally cursing yourself for sounding so nervous.

“I can see that.” Jaehyun set his guitar aside. There was curiosity in his stare, but he whispered, “You didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to. You’re my… friend,” you told him awkwardly, handing over the gift before it made you say something stupid. “I didn’t know what to get a guy who has literally everything he wants, but I tried.”

Jaehyun accepted the gift box graciously, peeling off the wrap, and said, “Whatever you got me is more than enough, baby.”

You sure hoped so. You didn’t spend the past few weeks stressing over this very moment for nothing. You wanted to give him something thoughtful and memorable.

Anticipation made your heart sound like thunder. You fidgeted, twiddling your thumbs as Jaehyun slowly opened the box, retrieving a guitar strap alongside a couple of other items. The awe that tensed Jaehyun’s features was authentic and your heart was taut with giddiness when his lips tugged into a beaming smile.

A few words scribbled onto the guitar strap caught Jaehyun’s attention and he unhesitatingly pulled them closer to his face to get a better look. It was like a little note, but words only you would say. Play me till the end.

“Wow,” Jaehyun whispered, feeling a thumping inside of his ribcage. “You… I literally mentioned that I wanted one of these in passing.”

“When you talk, I listen.”

Jaehyun’s eyes met yours. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you murmured, straddling his lap and tossing your arms around his neck. “Happy birthday, baby.”

Jaehyun set his hands at your hips and kissed you restlessly, restraint taking the backseat as he absorbed every bit of your warmth and used it to fuel his fire. Your lips took him to the other side but your hands kept him grounded.

Things felt different now. Kissing Jaehyun had never not been spellbinding, but right now? The feeling in your chest was indescribably hot.

But it was dangerous and terrifying. It defied everything you told yourself to be true, and every principle you had laid out. This was deeper than building a relationship with the enemy. It was the intimacy that accompanied trusting another guy with your heart, and fighting the unshakable doubts.

You had built something of a friendship with Jaehyun. Friends that occasionally kissed and felt each other up and had hooked up more than once.

But what if you wanted more? What if you were really two star-crossed lovers that couldn’t have each other? What if?

Jaehyun wondered if your feelings had gotten as tense as his were. Months ago, he was telling himself not to get too close to you because of who your brother was and your clear lack of romantic intentions, but no amount of walls he put up could’ve prevented his feelings from getting this deep.

You wouldn’t tell him even if they had. What good would it have done for him to know that you loved him, but you couldn’t have him?

When Jaehyun pulled back, he stared into your eyes, not at your lips. “Let’s go make hot cocoa,” he said after a pause.

You blinked in surprise, but Jaehyun was already tugging you along before you could even think.

The time in the kitchen together was a beautiful mess. You liked randomly bursting out into song and Jaehyun liked dancing, which ultimately turned into him tenderly cradling you there in his arms and mumbling into your ear, the hot cocoa all but forgotten.

You especially liked the toasty smell of a hot, creamy mug of hot chocolate. It was very Jaehyun-like. The winter seasons in general were reminiscent of his personality, not because he was cold (like some people assumed), but the sheer opposite.

Jaehyun was the warmest guy that you had ever met, in a way. Anyone who said otherwise didn’t have the privilege of knowing him, but you? You liked to think that you had him all figured out.

Maybe there was a chance you did to an extent. Getting to know him over the course of these long months had definitely shifted your previous perspective. Jaehyun kept to himself because he was afraid of his vulnerability being used as a weapon, but when you broke those stubborn barriers, you saw that Jaehyun was just a guy that wanted a home.

He had one, metaphorically speaking, but no one to share it between. That was why you used to think he was shy, and why others thought he was cold. Jaehyun wanted to protect the home he’d built for himself and was reluctant to let others in, because he wanted it to be sturdy for the ones he would let stay.

A hopeless romantic to his core.

After making sure the kitchen was tidy, Jaehyun led you away to the infamous white couch that stretched along his living room wall. Your favorite spot in the whole house. Aside from his bedroom, of course.

Jaehyun, on the other hand, couldn’t decide. Half of it was littered in a slew of memories of you and his whole bedroom smelled more like you than it did himself now. Picking a favorite would be an impossible choice.

There was a lull of silence as the two of you sipped from your mugs, but it wasn’t an issue. The silence was always comfortable with Jaehyun, as well as literally everything else about him.

Though you didn’t notice, the weird thing now was that Jaehyun was less secure. He didn’t make it obvious, but he was remarkably nervous. Jaehyun tried to cloak his nerves when he said, “I kind of got you something, too.”

Your eyes went wide with shock. “You got me something… for your birthday?”

“I mean, yeah. It’s also Valentine’s day and you’re… important to me,” Jaehyun confessed softly, a tiny smile breaking out onto his lips.

“I am?”

“You are,” he whispered, hurriedly reaching into his pockets for something. Imagine your surprise when he dropped a USB drive into the palm of your hand. “Stick it into your computer when you get home.”

You nodded obediently, sitting it on the coffee table so that it wouldn’t be crushed in your jeans, but your innate curiosity was never satisfied and you asked, “What’s on it?”

“A surprise,” was all Jaehhyun said.

You hummed. If Jaehyun didn’t want to tell you, you knew it would be pointless to press.

But you would be lying if you said that it wasn’t killing you.

Jaehyun knew that. He knew you were a curious individual, because he was drawn to your insatiable need to know. But he didn’t want to be there to see your reaction. Just looking at you made his chest taut and rejection’s brutal fangs still ripped him to shreds.

At least you couldn’t tell by looking at him. Jaehyun had made sure of that. “Talk to me,” he said, squeezing your hand.

You smiled, because his hands were warm from the hot cocoa. “About what?”

“Tell me more about yourself. It’s been months, but I feel like there’s still more to know about you. Talk to me about what you love. Your hopes and dreams.”

A little sigh left you. “Where do I even begin?” That was what you said, but you’d already continued without affording yourself any time to pause. “I want to be an orthopedic surgeon. I’m obsessed with anatomy and how our bodies function. That’s why I’ve been busting my ass for grad school.”

That much was obvious. Anybody that saw you on the party scene might’ve assumed you were merely another hopeless college student who only knew hooking up and getting shit-faced drunk, but Jaehyun’s first time seeing you was in the back of a library with a laptop and a heap of textbooks.

You were a hard-worker and no hangover stood a chance between you and your goals. But you were also just a normal girl who wanted to let loose sometimes. It was the perfect balance.

Jaehyun was a keen listener. “That sounds tough.”

You fought a groan. “God, yes. But it’s so worth it. It’s my senior year and I’ve been waiting my whole life for med school.”

“You’ve wanted to be a surgeon for that long?”

“I’ve always known who I wanted to be,” you exhaled contentedly. And for that you were endlessly grateful. “What about you?”

Jaehyun shook his head. “No. Not always. First, I guess I had to leave home and do the whole ‘finding yourself’ thing.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s rare that people are born with an innate sense of who they are. We deserve to live life through trial and error. That’s freedom,” you said.

Jaehyun wholeheartedly agreed. Leaving home to explore his identity might’ve been the toughest decision he ever made, but also the best one. “What about love?”

“What about it?”

“Did you ever dream of that, too?”

You should’ve figured he would go there. It was the essential question. The world of trauma beyond your control. “I used to,” you admitted, somber. “I just haven’t had a ton of faith in it lately. That’s what happens when you grow up, I think. You realize life’s not like the movies.”

Funny how I call you a hopeless romantic when hopeless romantics are anything but hopeless. In spite of the pain and the betrayal, they refuse to accept that they might die alone one day. If anything, I’m the hopeless one. I’ve fallen in love with the one boy I could never make mine.

Jaehyun frowned for a split second, but recovered quickly. “Yeah, I know.”

You wondered who had hurt him, but chose not to ask. If he wanted to tell you, then he already would’ve.

“You didn’t ask me,” Jaehyun started.

You glanced up at him.

“About my pain,” he continued shortly. “About her.”

“I didn’t think you were ready.”

“Do you want to know?”

“I mean, yeah. Of course, I want to know who hurt you and how that made you who you are. I want to understand you. But only as much as you want me to,” you told him. The truth was that as curious as you were, you were afraid of overstepping. The same way that Jaehyun was terrified of oversharing.

He replied with total certainty, “I want you to know.”

You swallowed, feeling a lump form in your throat and unsure why. It was his deep, dark secrets being revealed, not yours. Plus you were positive there wasn’t a single person in the county who didn’t know your history with your one and only ex. “Okay. Take your time.”

Jaehyun heaved a shaky breath, preparing himself to share something that he’d never specifically told anyone. “Back home in Seoul, I dated a girl. I was naive and I thought she was the one. But she wasn’t. She only wanted a guy handsome enough to impress her parents.”

You maintained eye contact to let Jaehyun know you were listening.

Jaehyun continued, “I guess we had different desires in life. She wanted a boy to show off and I wanted a girl who was my best friend at the foundation. We only talked about surface things. I couldn’t be myself around her.”

You nodded. That sounded like the Jaehyun you knew.

“Then, I found out she was cheating on me,” Jaehyun added calmly, but he still recalled the trembles of anger that wrecked through his body. “And I left her then and there. I dipped. I might’ve been a naive idiot, but I knew my worth. She was my first and my last.”

You were shocked. That you shared the same pain - an unfaithful partner - and that Jaehyun hadn’t had nearly as many other partners as you thought he would’ve. “You’ve only dated once?”

“For me, once was enough to figure out what I wanted in a relationship, and it wasn’t a girl who I could barely trust or be myself with,” Jaehyun said. “I talked to other girls, but like I said before, nothing lasted, and I’ve obviously hooked up.”

Ironically, I’ve been hurt more by girls I never had than a girl that was supposed to belong to me.

“I harbored resentment for a long time, but what lasted longer was the leftover fear of trusting someone again. I only let people see what I want them to see. And because of that, I’m a little lonely sometimes, but it’s okay.”

“Does it get sad?” you asked quietly.

Jaehyun shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe, but it’s better than being heartbroken. Anyways, I’ve gotten better about inviting people into my life and having good judgment. Time makes it easier.”

You make it easier, was what he meant, but Jaehyun wasn’t that bold yet. He might have been the one to approach you and attempt to initiate this private affair, but you sticking around was the last thing he expected. And that opened the door for the possibility that relationships didn’t have expiration dates.

Reading between the lines, you were hoping that somewhere along them he wasn’t hinting about a potential future with you. Jaehyun’s head was in the clouds, but you were grounded below the surface. Because you had already resigned yourself to the fact that you didn’t have a future together.

But of course, that never stopped you from letting him undress you.

You were hyper aware of Jaehyun’s eyes staring into yours and it was beginning to unnerve you a little. “Is there hot cocoa on my face?”

Jaehyun shook his head with a cute laugh and finally leaned into you for a kiss, obviously done speaking and prepared to show. You let him take you down onto the couch, laid defenseless beneath him, on the edge of surrender.

You giggled into his lips, pleased at how silly it was that he tasted like the hot drink you’d shared. Your hands were wound through his hair and tugging him closer to you, wanting to be inseparable. You wouldn’t be sated till his soul was tied to yours.

When it came to your body, you were more than inclined to let Jaehyun dominate you. But your heart was more than you had bargained for.

Jaehyun yanked at the waistband of your sweatpants and you swore you could sense your heart swelling with the exhilaration of getting laid by the only guy you wanted. You raised your hips, letting him take them and your underwear from underneath you.

You gasped loudly when his fingers ghosted along the insides of your thighs and unhurriedly traveled to your core, which was throbbing at the barest of touches. Jaehyun made you ache. Your body neglected every thought that didn’t concern him when it longed for him to use it until you were sore.

Jaehyun sucked a slick pair of fingers into his mouth fleetingly before inserting them inside your pussy, making you verbally respond to the contact with a soft whimper, and stole the sound right from your lips with a hot wet kiss. You only tightened around his digits when he pressed his lips to you and it made his head spin quicker than ever.

You pulled back and panted, “So, you won’t let me sleep on the couch, but you’ll fuck me on it?”

“It’s seen worse days,” Jaehyun said, muting the sound of his own chuckle when he pressed his mouth to your neck.

You were torn between a laugh and a moan and the final sound was a breathy whimper of Jaehyun’s name. His mouth felt too good on your neck and you couldn’t forget his hands between your parted legs. Gentleman in the streets, but a beast in the sheets.

Jaehyun was touching you impatiently. Your exhales were loud and jagged when he pulled back from your stained throat, and Jaehyun couldn’t help but imagine the noises you would make when he was finally seated deeply inside of your pussy that was clenching around his long slender digits.

Deciding you were wet enough to take his cock, Jaehyun recouped his hand from between your thighs and asked, “You ready for me, baby?”

“More than,” you whispered, disgruntled with the emptiness but consoled by the knowledge that you would be full of him momentarily.

Jaehyun stepped out of his clothes without hesitation and got a hold of your naked legs, dragging you toward him and leaving no room for empty space. The two of you locked eyes when he finally started to penetrate you and he looked at you with need. But you glanced away. You couldn’t stare into his soul as he captured yours. You couldn’t do it.

You moaned when he pushed the head of his cock through your entrance and again when it went as deeply as it could enter. The stretch was so mad, but so good. You never knew how closely the pain could be interlocked to pleasure before Jaehyun took you for a spin on his big cock.

Jaehyun pulled out with a disgruntled groan, stealing the pleasure before you could really soak in the sensation.

You winced your eyes open and asked confusedly, “Why did you do that?”

“I forgot a condom,” Jaehyun admitted bashfully, a timid little glint in his stare.

“Gee, you sure chose a fantastic time to remember,” you deadpanned.

Jaehyun looked like he was a little ashamed and it amused the hell out of you. In the heat of your vice-like cunt, he’d lost track of all thoughts other than getting his cock inside.

You gawked when he stood and you caught an eyeful of his cute butt when he turned for the stairs. “Where are you going?”

Like it was the most obvious thing in the whole world, Jaehyun replied nonchalantly, “To get a condom.”

“Sit your cute ass down,” you told him a bit too assertively. “You can have me raw.”

Jaehyun looked like his brain short-circuited. “For real?”

You nodded. “Yes, for real, you dummy. Just pull out.”

Jaehyun combed his fingers through his hair and groaned, “That’s one hell of a responsibility, woman.”

You purred teasingly, “Are you scared you won’t be able to do it, or are you scared that you’ll bust too fast?”

Jaehyun’s eyes fell to your gorgeous, spread legs, thickly swallowing the lump in his throat at the mouth-watering sight of you laid bare and exposed as you waited for him to take you. Fuck. Maybe both.

You snickered to yourself. Unbeknownst to Jaehyun, you were on birth control. And you had no intention of telling him right now. You wanted to gauge his restraint.

Jaehyun didn’t reply, but he did return to the couch to slip between your folds again, and that was even better. Your pussy throbbed tirelessly, missing the way his thick cock stretched you out, and it drew deep grunts from the very back edge of Jaehyun’s throat.

You could feel every inch of him pressed deep inside your pulsing walls, flush against you. All of him. There was literally nothing to separate the two of you, exactly as you had wanted, only the heat and tightness of your cunt suffocating his cock relentlessly.

Jaehyun loved how you took him like a fucking champ. You sucked his cock back in like you needed it, like you needed him just as badly as he needed you. Your eyes winced closed and your lips parted as you sang his name in a shrill whimper.

You were rapt with ecstasy at his long, deep thrusts that took you to the moon. The pain and guilty thoughts disappeared into his slow yet steady rhythm, as if Jaehyun wanted to make sure you could feel every bit of himself that he had to offer.

Like he was making love to you.

“You’re so beautiful. I’m in love with your body,” Jaehyun whispered gently into your ear, hooked on you.

You moaned, oblivious to the fact that he really meant he was in love with you. When your naked bodies were bursting with heat and satisfaction, meeting each other in a wet collision, all else ceased to matter.

Jaehyun kissed you again. You swore he stole the pulse right from your chest in that very moment, your heart open to him. His hands were everywhere, tenderly cupping your breasts and thumbing your stiff nipples. This was pleasure. This was elysian. This was all yours.

You were breathless when the two of you separated and the minutes of your lips tangled together felt like mere seconds. God, Jaehyun made you insatiable. As you did to him. The two of you couldn’t get enough, not of the sex and not of each other. It was lethally dangerous to want something as badly as you both wanted one another.

But you knew that when you laid eyes on him, when you indulged him. You knew that he was endless trouble and yet you crept into his arms anyway like a moth to the flame.

“God, fuck,” you rasped, throat hoarse from how you were screeching his name. “You make me feel so good.”

Jaehyun was so gentle and affectionate with you, tickling kisses down every bit of your soft skin his lips could access. It was times like these, when he completed you perfectly, where you welcomed the thought that you were made for each other. And only for each other.

Your mouth was dry, open with every halfway cry of Jaehyun’s name that you could manage. Your skin was damp and sticky with moisture, a thin layer of sweat keeping his skin adhering to yours. Of course, there was a similar glistening sheen dripping down Jaehyun, beading at his forehead and neck.

It made you lick your chapped lips. This man was abundantly mouth-watering. You wanted to give him anything he wanted and in this sex-induced haze, you knew that you would have.

Jaehyun noticed your eyes fixated on literally anywhere but his face and it made him chuckle smugly. He craned his head downwards to nibble beneath your ear and groan praises about how perfect and tight you were around his cock.

You tangled your hands in his hair again, desperate to ground yourself, before sitting them at his handsome broad shoulders. He had no business being this good at touching and fucking you. You were downright ashamed of the noises that left your lips but made no attempts to block the pleasure causing them to slip into the dense air.

“Like that. Fuck, I’m gonna cum, Jay,” you whimpered, squeezing his shoulders.

The thought of you releasing around his bare cock made a shudder shoot through Jaehyun and he almost couldn’t take it. You sensed his pace getting a little rougher, as if he was out to get you. Out to finish you. “Look at me,” he growled.

You did. You didn’t have any other options. Not when it was him bleeding you dry, making your body dependent on his touches.

Looking into his dark eyes, everything stopped. The whole world was set on pause. You almost couldn’t breathe. This was how it felt to fall with no anchor.

“I want you to cum on my cock,” Jaehyun said lowly, rutting into you at a dangerous pace.

You nodded. You were completely submissive to his desires.

There was a throbbing pressure in your gut that only got harsher with every wet smack of Jaehyun’s hips into yours. You wound your legs around his waist and pulled him into you, wanting to fuse together your limbs.

Your body felt as if it were on fire. The sweat cooling down your neck, the lack of oxygen in the air. The breaths Jaehyun snatched plain from your lips. It was more than enough to take you out.

Jaehyun watched as your orgasm finally seized you in its open arms, taking you by surprise. Your abs tensed viciously and you arched into Jaehyun with pleasure, sensing your eyes roll to the very back of your head and your toes curl into taut knots.

You were still sensitive from your climax but Jaehyun’s pace was absolutely unforgiving, rutting into you mercilessly through your release. The tightness of your pussy drew a thick groan out of his mouth, but he still wasn’t done with you yet. And you were very keen on letting him use your body until he finished.

Jaehyun relented when you finally started to calm down after coming undone, kissing your cheeks and the corner of your lips as you went almost entirely slack. The only motion in you was the aggressive heave of your chest as you panted for breath.

You let Jaehyun thrust in and out of you, fighting the overstimulation for his sake. You were content to feel him brushing against your slick walls and hear those breathy grunts.

Smoothing your hands up and down his burly arms, you whispered, “Jay, baby, keep going. I don’t care how long it takes. Fuck me until you’re done.”

Jaehyun bit his lip to veil a pathetic moan at those words. After he took care of your needs, you were letting him ply you for his own pleasure. You were his vice, his ruining. Your fingers grazed across his back, gathering the droplets of moisture that were beading at the surface.

You could feel how hot his skin was, burning up in the heat of you.

Abruptly, Jaehyun pulled out of you and tore you upright, holding his desperate cock in the palm of his hand as he groaned, “Get on your knees.”

You obeyed without hesitation, meek. Crawling onto the carpet floor, you took him in your palms and stroked his thick girthy cock gingerly, careful not to be too rough. He was victimless in your warm hands, needy and at your mercy, leaving you with total control.

Then it was game over for Jaehyun when you finally took him between your soft lips, gently easing him to the back of your throat. God, it was a struggle to fit his big cock completely into your mouth, but you somehow managed. You kept your cheeks hollowed, opening them for him to thrust.

“Fuck,” Jaehyun moaned, head thrown back and eyes winced closed. You knew exactly what needed to be done to finish him off.

You liked playing with his cock, obviously, but you loved having it in your mouth way more. There was nothing like driving Jaehyun to the cusp of insanity, teasing him with your tongue and hot mouth, plucking those beautiful sounds out of his lips. He lost himself whenever he was inside your throat.

Jaehyun was in total bliss. Your mouth was no less impressive than your sheathlike cunt for all he knew, your lips wrapping around his stiff cock feverishly without a doubt in your mind that you could make him lose his own, and he almost didn’t want to orgasm yet. He only knew you, and what you did to him. And he was too greedy to want it to end.

You had this boy all to yourself, wrapped tightly around your fingers with nowhere to hide. And you didn’t have the slightest clue what to do with him, or yourself.

Aside from pleasuring each other in bed, or on the couch in this case. You were exceptionally gifted at getting him off.

Jaehyun could feel himself approaching the threshold of release and he did everything in his power to fight it off, to keep it at bay, but it was basically useless. He couldn’t even help but fuck your mouth. You were working him too good and he was coming whether he liked it or not.

You were impressed that he had even lasted this long. Normally, when you let a guy hit it raw, they could barely resist emptying their load into you at the peak of climax.

Jaehyun ultimately couldn’t control himself anymore and his jaw slacked with a deep, lethal groan as his hips came to a total standstill, painting the back of your throat with a streak of cum. Fuck, it was the sexiest noise you’d ever heard, and it aroused a throbbing between your legs.

You managed to gulp him down and it was the hottest thing Jaehyun had ever seen watching you swallow his cum like that. He pulled back, a misty gleam in his dark soulless eyes as he collapsed onto the couch, breathless. There was a layer of dew at your lashes and you dabbed at your eyes to wipe them clear.

Jaehyun looked like he’d just had the ground ripped from underneath him. “You just blew my mind,” he said through jagged breaths.

You didn’t miss a beat. “I just blew you.”

Jaehyun laughed, shaking the hair out of his face.

After both of you found your clothes and redressed yourselves, you decided to mention slyly, “By the way, I’m on birth control.”

Jaehyun’s mouth gaped open. “Are you serious? I was scared you might get pregnant.”

“That didn’t stop you from fucking me though, now did it?” you replied, crossing your arms.

“I wasn’t that scared.”

You snickered. This idiot was a man you wanted to protect with your life, but you knew that you lacked the arsenal. “Besides, at least our baby would’ve had the world’s finest father.”

“And the world’s finest mother. They would’ve been beautiful,” Jaehyun flirted.

Your cheeks flushed with heat at the compliment and his obvious flirtatious behavior. “I meant that you would’ve been a good dad, but sure. That works too.”

Jaehyun’s eyes flickered in shock. “Why do you think that?”

You shrugged, not thinking too hard about it. You didn’t need to when the answer was right at the tip of your tongue. “Because love itself is your passion. You’re selfless, patient. Protective. And you fight for what you love.”

Jaehyun said nothing. He was mulling over your confession, suspiciously quiet the whole time, but you were so tired that you hardly noticed. Your body was spent and you wanted to go upstairs and climb into his bed.

You stretched your arms over your head and stood to collect the cocoa-stained dishes in your arms. Jaehyun blinked at the action, and would’ve stopped you to do it himself, but you were already halfway to the kitchen by the time he noticed.

Jaehyun walked over and pressed himself behind you, draping his arms around your hips and resting his chin on your shoulder. You giggled, enamored with how it felt to be skin-to-skin with him, and when you finished with the two mugs, he reached over your head to set them down in the cabinets.

You dragged Jaehyun upstairs by his arm to his own bedroom and slipped beneath his silk sheets, but invited him to drape himself above you and rest his head on your chest like you were his fluffy pillow and he was the thick, cozy blankets.

It was comfortable that way. You liked Jaehyun’s weight on you, so close to you, crushed beneath the pressure. His arms would tangle around you and leave you little room to escape. But you wouldn’t want to leave.

That was how you woke up sometimes. You used to be afraid that you’d accidentally rouse him and disturb his beauty slumber, but Jaehyun always slept like a ton of bricks. This boy could probably sleep through a hurricane and wake up wondering what happened to his roof.

You sighed, whisking your fingers through his dark hair and staring at his face. You expected his eyes to be closed when you looked at him, but they were watching you. The ache in your chest was unignorable, unbearable.

Those long nights and shorter mornings with Jaehyun were all you had, but you wanted something of permanence and you were finally admitting it to yourself. You knew these moments couldn’t last forever and didn’t attempt to deny it, but you were hoping and wishing.

Smoothing your thumb down Jaehyun’s cheek, you felt a piece of your heart crumble. I can’t have you and I don’t even know why.

“Jay?” you whispered.

“Hm?”

You hesitated, brimming with reluctance. A few months ago, you would’ve thought it wasn’t your place to ask, but dammit Johnny was your brother and Jaehyun… meant something to you. This was officially your business. “Why does my brother hate you?” you asked.

Jaehyun sat up abruptly, surprised. You matched the shock in his eyes, startled by his sudden movements. “You don’t know?”

You shook your head. “No. Johnny never told me. I assumed he would when he was ready, but it’s killing me and I need to know.” Because I can’t make sense of why we can’t be together, but ironically, it makes it easier to justify being here with you right now.

Jaehyun ran his fingers through his hair, looking particularly perturbed. No wonder it was so easy for you to climb into bed with him. Night after night, weekend after weekend.

You were almost afraid to ask, “Is this going to change my perspective on you?”

“It shouldn’t if you believe me,” Jaehyun said, but the truth was that he wasn’t too confident that you’d take his side.

You peered up at him expectantly, resting your hand on his back while he sat beside you. You were partly terrified to know the truth, watching him nervously, but god, you were exhausted of being kept in the dark.

Jaehyun exhaled deeply. He didn’t want to lose you, not before he truly had you, but he knew what he was, and more importantly, he knew what he wasn’t. “You knew Mike, right?”

You bobbed your head, lips parting in surprise at the mention of Johnny’s friend, but let him continue.

Jaehyun explained, “I’m sure you know, but he was addicted to drugs and it was fucking up his whole life. I tried to help him get clean before he fucked around and killed himself. And he was, I think. That’s what he said.”

You recognized this story. Johnny had said something similar, but it was about his own efforts. You somehow never realized that Jaehyun and Mike were friends. “But?”

“But then he wasn’t clean anymore,” Jaehyun said in the tiniest voice ever. “Last year, at one of Xiaojun’s parties. It came out of nowhere. He overdosed on fent and coke.”

You knew that too. And you hated that Mike was gone so soon, taken by a poison he couldn’t stop once he’d gotten his hands on it. It was heartbreaking.

“Then some people started to say that I did it, that I gave him the drugs. And I was at the party only a room away when he OD’d, but I swear to god it wasn’t me. But they ran with it anyway.”

You frowned, pausing your hands’ consolations at his back in shock. It was starting to add up now, why Johnny hated Jaehyun. Because he thought he was complicit in the death of one of his closest friends.

That was when he started to become a tad too overprotective of you and it didn’t take a genius to piece together why, but you never knew it was the reason he loathed Jaehyun and didn’t want you anywhere near him. There were so many nights where you went to parties at Jaehyun’s house and Johnny would ask if you’d done any drugs.

Because of Jaehyun.

“God, to this day, I want to punch the bastard that gave Mike that stuff. And if I knew who he was, I’d kick his ass. So, I can understand why Johnny wants to kick mine. But it wasn’t me,” Jaehyun said, sounding broken.

You blinked, taking it all in silently. You were at a crossroads.

Though he was hesitant, Jaehyun glanced into your eyes, unsure of what your silence meant. It was killing him. “Please tell me you believe me.”

“I believe you,” you said, because you did. You had no reason to doubt Jaehyun. Plus you hadn’t known him to press his luck with anything other than weed in the time that you’d known each other.

“Thank god,” Jaehyun sighed in relief. “Does this change things between us?”

You shook your head. “No. I thought you were a good guy before and I still think you’re a good guy now. Nothing is new.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

Jaehyun rested his head on your shoulder and mumbled with obvious melancholy, “Trusting me.”

You laced your fingers through Jaehyun’s, squeezing his hand. “I’ll always trust you.”

That warmed Jaehyun’s heart and he sat there wondering what he had done to deserve you. It felt like there was a burden lifted from his shoulders.

The day went on, bleeding into night. You expected Jaehyun to want to go somewhere to celebrate his birthday, but he reassured you that he was more than content to spend it indoors with you.

Still, it made you a little sad and you tried your best to cloak your gloomy emotions with your affections. You didn’t want Jaehyun to know, but you were thinking about how nice it would’ve been to do something as simple as go out together.

Reasonably, you were shocked when Jaehyun said, “I want to try out this Japanese restaurant with you next weekend.”

You blinked. “You want to go out… with me?” you asked, making sure you weren’t mistaken.

Jaehyun nodded, enthusiastic. “Is that a bad idea?”

“What if we get caught together?”

Jaehyun shrugged. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“Of course it is. You don’t have anything to lose,” you said, but your tone was humorous.

Jaehyun replied without hesitation, “I have you to lose.”

You were sold. Those five words were all you needed to hear.

There was a ginormous beaming smile on your face when you both finally decided to call it a night and you fell asleep with a certain soreness in your cheeks.

Jaehyun stayed up a little later than you had. Not on purpose, but it was impossible to rest his eyes when he was distracted by your sleep patterns. Your soft snores and the way your hand curled over his stomach.

It was the sheer opposite of annoying. It was intoxicating.

He was the one clinging to you when you roused from bed after sunrise. You felt bad for slipping away like a thief in the night, but in your defense, it was daytime and you had to be in your professor’s classroom for attendance.

After washing up and tossing on a spare outfit you had in Jaehyun’s room for events like these, you scribbled an apologetic note that he would surely find on his nightstand and quietly crept downstairs with a sadness weighing on you now that you had to leave.

And surely enough, Jaehyun woke up to the note and smiled like a dumbass when he rubbed his eyes and read it to himself.

Good morning, sleeping handsome. I’m gonna miss you today, but I have an early afternoon class that I have to pass to graduate. You sleep like deadweight, by the way. I had to fight out of your arms and you didn’t notice. See you next weekend. Call me.

Jaehyun crawled out of bed and headed to the bathroom for a shower, but he could tell that you’d obviously already taken one with a single simple glance, and he was wishing you had invited him to join you.

Now he sounded like a guy. Which was fair, because he was one.

You raced home after class ended. Though you had more than enough exams that it would’ve been a good idea to study for, the main thing on your mind was plugging in the flash drive Jaehyun had gifted you, because you still were dying to know what was on it.

It was safe to say that a song was the last thing you were expecting.

You froze on your bed, unsure of how to feel. Everything hit you hard. The wistful yet romantic lyrics, the softness of his voice. Jaehyun was pouring his heart out to you, opening up to you about his feelings the best way he knew how.

There was a ripple of emotions bursting through you. The lyrics were a little too sentimental for you to attempt to convince yourself that this wasn’t Jaehyun’s idea of a love confession. Maybe you’d known all along, but you didn’t want to accept it, because you knew that it wasn’t written in the stars.

Now you had no choice.

You sat there and cried. God, it was a beautiful song and that only made the tears drip even harder. You were bemused and overwhelmed. Bemused that he had obviously taken a lot of time out of his busy life to sit there and record a song for you, and overwhelmed by everything else.

Jaehyun loves me. Jaehyun really loves me, you thought, admitting it to yourself. And it scared you to death, because you loved him too.

Then the day came for you to hang out at the restaurant. It was the first time you and Jaehyun actually spent time together outside of his house. The meetup on the bridge and the incident at Jeno’s house didn’t count. Those were merely instances you’d happened to cross paths.

When Jaehyun came up behind you in a back hug while you were waiting for him (you were embarrassingly early), you didn’t jolt or startle, relaxing into his touch without sparing him a glance first. Nobody else would be wearing his sexy ass cologne.

You didn’t mention the song or acknowledge the obvious romantic tension between you at all, much to Jaehyun’s disappointment. But he knew you definitely took the flash drive back home. It wasn’t on the coffee table when he went downstairs, meaning you had grabbed it on your way out.

He couldn’t help but wonder if you had listened to it and vividly pictured your reaction, but Jaehyun knew it would be pointless obsessing over the thought if he wasn’t going to ask.

The truth was that you were conflicted. Your heart wanted Jaehyun, but you were rational and knew it was ridiculous. There was no point in setting yourselves up for more useless heartbreak.

But you had fun with Jaehyun in that restaurant. You didn’t want to admit it, but it was the closest thing to a date you would ever have with him. You talked and held hands underneath the table like the pair of lovers you hoped you were in another life.

Your insatiable lovesick heart was aching for more. And the worst part was that Jaehyun was oftentimes right there in your arms but had never felt further.

It wasn’t until you were unfortunately back home and walking through the front door that you read aloud the text you’d received from Johnny. We need to talk. I’ll be home in an hour. “Well, that cannot be good,” you mumbled to yourself.

“It isn’t.”

You jolted in alarm. You didn’t know Johnny was home, though it had most definitely been well over an hour. Jaehyun was too interesting for you to even think about touching your phone once.

Given the familiar less than content glare on Johnny’s face, you fought a groan, wondering what you could’ve possibly done now when you’d been on your best behavior lately. You lilted in the usual tone you used when you wanted to get out of trouble, “Hi, my handsome big brother that I love dearly.”

Johnny, obviously not in the mood, snapped, “Taeyong saw you with Jaehyun today. You wanna explain that to me?”

That was the last thing you expected him to say and the shock was plain on your face. “What?”

Johnny shook his head, unsurprised that you were acting clueless, and though he was furious he tried not to raise his voice. “Don’t play dumb. Are you dating him - fucking him?”

“I’m not dating him, we’re just…,” you trailed in frustration, realizing that you’d been caught. “Shit, yeah. I’ve fucked him and we’re hanging out.”

Johnny blew out a long, exasperated sigh. “I can’t believe this. God, my own sister.”

Tears threatened. At this point, you were desperate. Your whole world was crashing down without warning. You wished you would’ve at least seen the text and braced yourself. “Johnny, please. If you gave him a chance, I think you two would really like each other!”

“I could never like him,” Johnny replied viciously, face tensing in fury as if the suggestion was an affront to his entire existence.

You approached Johnny, somehow mustering the courage to come near him. “Please listen to me, alright? He didn’t do it, Johnny. It wasn’t him!”

Johnny gawked. He couldn’t believe you were defending Jaehyun and took a gigantic step back, wanting to be nowhere near you. He hissed, “Of course that’s what the bastard told you. Did he give you proof?”

Frantic, you shook your head, and it came to you that you only had trust to back Jaehyun’s claims. “No, but...”

Johnny grabbed his keys and interjected, “Stop. Just stop. I don’t even want to see your face right now.”

Your lips were agape when Johnny stormed towards the garage, full of purebred rage and disappointment.

After a few minutes, the shock started to dull away and you temporarily regained the ability to function, racing upstairs to your bedroom to be inert. You hated the brutal sting splitting you in half. While your thoughts were on pause and you were consumed by emptiness, it was the one thing keeping you from dissociating.

Sitting there on your bed, knees pressed to your chest and your arms curled around yourself, you couldn’t even cry. It would come, but right now you were trying to process the pain. And in the meantime, you realized what needed to be done.

Two long days later, you were meeting Jaehyun at the bridge one final time. It took nearly forty-eight hours of gathering the courage to pick up your phone, but you had to let him know it was over. That this was goodbye.

You ran your fingers across the wooden overlook, taking in nature, but even the peaceful noise of your surroundings failed to soothe your heartbreak.

The sound of tentative footsteps barely drew you from your own head, and you didn’t want to face your visitor. You knew it was Jaehyun. For more reasons than one.

Though you couldn’t see, Jaehyun had his hands in his pockets. “Am I late?”

“No, you’re perfectly on time. I got here early. I needed time to think,” you replied with a fleeting glance at your watch.

Jaehyun watched you with unease, a perturbed thud in his heart making it challenging to breathe. This was bad, he knew, and for whatever reason, that fear that he was doomed was unshakable. “What happened?”

“Johnny knows,” you began, finally whipping around. It was the least you could do, knowing you had to break his heart. “Taeyong saw us together. He snitched. Now Johnny wants nothing to do with me.”

Jaehyun’s heart sank. No wonder you hadn’t texted or called him in two days. Aside from inviting him here, that is. “What now?”

“I can’t see you anymore. Johnny already hates me now. If I keep seeing you behind his back, I won’t have a brother anymore. I can’t live with that guilt. That’s why I’ve been running from it for months,” you said quietly.

Jaehyun stiffened, like a boulder. “We’re giving up? That’s insane! Don’t let him stop us from being together.”

You recoiled, surprised. “Are you asking me to choose you over my brother?”

“No, of course not,” Jaehyun sighed, combing his hands through his hands as he searched for the right words.

You desperately wanted to reach out to him, to touch him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. “You should be with someone who can treat you the way you deserve to be treated. Someone you can hold and kiss outside without any worries. I can’t give you that, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun shook his head. “None of that matters to me. I want to be with you. I don’t care what compromises I have to make.”

“Well, I do,” you whispered sullenly, reminding yourself of everything you had to lose. “It was never going to work. You had to know this. We aren’t Shakespeare characters. Hell, even they don’t get to be happy!”

Jaehyun’s chest was taut with pain. It was usually him that had to tell people the brutal reality of unfortunate situations. And this was how it felt to be on the other side?

Fighting the oncoming threat of tears, you continued, “I’ve enjoyed these past months with you and we’ve made special, unforgettable memories together. But enough is enough. We were gonna have to face the truth one day, and that day is today. It was inevitable. I hope that somehow we can still be friends.”

Jaehyun spat, “I don’t want to be just friends. I can’t be just friends with you. Why don’t you understand that?”

Oh, you did. You really, really did. This was hurting you in ways unimaginable and nothing could’ve prepared you for the moment where you had to set Jaehyun free.

Not even knowing this day would come.

“I love you,” Jaehyun confessed for the first time, taking some steps closer to you. The gleam in his eyes killed you.

Those words were like ice in your veins. Your heart stopped beating. For half a minute, the whole world ceased. You shook your head, sensing a vicious pain returning to you. “You can’t love me.”

Jaehyun switched on a dime and hissed, “You can’t tell me how to feel.”

Denial still crept through your blood. Apparently, it was one of your many talents. Jaehyun’s too. “You’re in love with the idea of me. You just want somebody to love again and maybe I made you realize that, but you don’t love me.”

Jaehyun was trembling. You were trying to diagnose him and he wouldn’t stand for it. “Saying that doesn’t make it true.”

You were defiant. You needed it to be true. There had to be some way to get him to let you go and move on. You didn’t want to resort to cruel methods, but you would if you were rendered optionless.

Jaehyun continued, “You did make me realize that I wanted love again. But I also realized that I could have it all in you.”

Finally pushed past your limits, you shattered and screamed, “Goddammit, Jaehyun - you can’t have me!”

You turned away, hoping he would let you leave. You didn’t want things to end on even worse terms than they already were.

But you should’ve known Jaehyun would be relentless. He was a fighter. You were what he wanted, what he loved, and he’d damned if he surrendered without a fight. “So, that’s it? You’re just going to walk away?”

You rooted in place and exhaled loudly, bristling with frustration. “The fuck do you want me to do, Jay? It’s out of my hands.”

“Talk to Johnny - you know that I didn’t do anything!”

“No, I don’t know anything,” you grumbled, crossing your arms tightly.

That stunned Jaehyun. You didn’t trust him anymore?

Jaehyun laughed, but it was humorless. Needless to say, he was pissed. “Wow. You gave up the fight before it started, before it was over. You never gave us a chance.”

You walked away. You didn’t have the strength.

Jaehyun kept prodding. You were unbelievable and he couldn’t stand you right now. “I bet this isn’t just about Johnny. I bet him being your brother is just a cop-out so that you don’t have to trust another guy again.”

Now that stung deep. He was hitting you where it hurt, making sure you understood how badly you had wounded him, and you realized there was a chance he was right and you hadn’t even considered it. You whipped around, snapping, “Fuck you. I wish I never met you.”

Jaehyun watched you disappear behind the thick branches, simmering where he stood. God, he resented the fuck out of you right now. You were accepting defeat, throwing in the towel, and he hated you because of it.

The seemingly endless months of ignorant bliss were washed down the drain all because you didn’t want to be a little more optimistic. You could’ve had it all together, had you not resigned yourself to being unhappy. You were so hell-bent on being realistic that you closed the door on other possibilities.

Almost the second you burst through the front door, your tears fell after what felt like an eternity of fighting them back. Johnny and your parents turned to face you with alarm when you paraded through the living room, but you ignored your mother’s questions and made a beeline for your bed.

Johnny didn’t ask. He already knew, and he was only somewhat satisfied that you had done what should’ve never needed to happen in the first place.

The days of the week started to bleed into each other. You didn’t talk to Jaehyun for obvious reasons. Johnny, the man whose shoulders you thought would always be there for you to lean on, was ironically giving you the cold shoulder. And Mark wouldn’t understand even if you explained, though you knew he was available.

Never had you felt so alone. You had no one to escape to. No one who could comprehend or justify the moral dilemma you forced yourself into. I’ve truly outdone myself. I’ve betrayed my brother, baffled my best friend, and lost my lover back to back. That has to be a world record.

Seven days marked the longest time you had gone without speaking with Jaehyun since the onset of this private love affair. He didn’t call or text you either, which was understandable. Plus it was what you wanted, or at least that was what you used to think.

You weren’t sure anymore. Cutting him off was the whole purpose of meeting him, but why did it make you feel so isolated?

It wasn’t that long ago that you did it because you thought it was the right choice, or maybe because you thought it would make things better. But it hadn’t. Now that you had effectively shielded yourself from the universe, you were less free and more lonely.

And time continued to fly by, days of leaving the house only to attend class and coming back to your room only to collapse into sorrow.

Johnny felt bad. At night, there were a couple of times where he hovered near your door and heard you sobbing, but he was too petty and spiteful to knock or check up on you. You had stung him too.

The difference was that when Mike died, you did everything in your power to console Johnny. You gave him the space he needed, of course, but you opened the door for him to talk to you if he wanted and lent him a shoulder to cry on. You bought all his favorite snacks and encouraged him to go outside, even if it was just the backyard.

Now, you were suffering your own loss, one of many but in a different manner. It wasn’t like you were a bereaved wife, but the agony wasn’t any less excruciating.

Mark came over whenever he had the extra time to spare every week to check up on you, reminding you that you weren’t as alone as you thought you were, but you still didn’t want to confide in him about your emotions. You were afraid he would unintentionally make you feel more stupid.

You were a little verklempt. Maybe more than. They said time was the healer of all wounds, but with every week spent without Jaehyun’s familiar musk in the air and dreamy voice in your ear, you felt less and less whole.

What could you have done to keep him close to you, even if it was just for a little while longer? Maybe if you hadn’t ended on such cold, distant terms, moving on would be easier and you would be happier. You could’ve contentedly looked back on the memories of your last time together knowing you had done everything in your control to make it better.

But you were worried that that was false. You were worried that Jaehyun was right and this ending was premature.

It doesn’t matter, premature or not. It was going to end either way. There’s no point in delaying the inevitable, you reassured yourself in what you once believed was aggressively honest consolation, but you were starting to question how you could be so certain.

You told yourself that with the burden of your immoral secrets weighing you down, you and Jaehyun could’ve never been a pair. You knew it wouldn’t last forever. You’d always known. You didn’t expect things to make it this far, but dammit you didn’t expect to have your fun cut short so soon either.

It wasn’t fair.

Sometimes you dreamt of what it would be like to hold Jaehyun in your arms without worries, without stolen touches and kisses when nobody was paying attention.

You sat in the nook at your window, curled up into yourself, thinking only about Jaehyun. If it wasn’t for the stupid secret that unraveled far too damn quickly, maybe none of this would’ve ever happened. Maybe I would have you, with nothing to lose. Nothing to fear.

Fuck, you should’ve been happy. Given how unlucky in love you were, you doubted that you were intended to ever be happy. You hadn’t smiled in an eternity. But Jaehyun made you feel your peak of happiness, as if you had never been more euphoric with anybody else.

More than once, you had been in love, but never like how you were in love with Jaehyun. Why did things have to become so complicated for the both of us? Why did reality hit like a fucking freight train?

If only you never fell for Jaehyun, never even gave him the time of day, then you wouldn’t be hurting. Your heart was being tortured.

It took another day of stumbling into the kitchen with dark eye bags after yet another sleepless night of sobbing into your pillows, and Johnny ignoring your existence altogether while he poured himself a mug of coffee, but it finally occurred to you that you couldn’t relive this agonizing cycle over and over.

You were sick of the pain and the dread. The insufferably cold distance when his bedroom was right down the hall from yours. You were sick of sniveling until you had no more tears left to weep, until you felt totally empty.

Something had to give.

To your surprise, and luck, Mark called you a few minutes after you strolled back into your room wordlessly, devising a plan you loathed yourself for not thinking of earlier. “Hey, bestie. Talk to me,” he said. “How you feeling?”

“Like judgment day came early for me, I guess,” you mumbled into the phone, collapsing onto your sheets.

Mark sighed roughly. “Damn. I was hoping you would feel a little better this week. Johnny said you’re the world’s biggest hermit and it’s kinda depressing.”

That shocked you to your core, but you tried to play it off. “Oh, Johnny’s been talking about me?”

“Well, yeah. I’ve obviously been checking up on the both of you on the regular, and neither of you really wanna open up to me, but Johnny has less of an issue talking about you. Man, he still cares. He’s your brother.”

Your heart was sore. You wished he would tell you that himself. In your own home, to your own brother, you felt like a stranger.

Tears burned your eyes, but you fought them and lilted playfully, “Oh, my beloved bestie…”

Mark knew that tone and interjected, “Fuck.”

You fought a tiny laugh and continued, “Would you mind doing your best friend a teeny tiny little favor?”

The suggestion alone sounded like bad news and Mark was questioning what he was about to get himself into, because no matter what came out his mouth first, you were his best friend. Of course, he was going to tell you “yes.”

Mark huffed, “Jesus. Ease up on the mischief. Johnny still wants to beat my ass too, you know? He asked me if I knew you were boning Jaehyun and of course I couldn’t lie. I’m a man of God.”

Because you didn’t feel like disputing that statement, you ignored his speech entirely and asked knowingly, “Your dad’s a cop, isn’t he?”

“I don’t like where this is going.”

Your voice was maybe a little hopeful. “Is there a way that he can look into the investigation of Mike’s overdose?”

Mark knew exactly why you were asking and even he was ashamed he hadn’t thought of the little plan. There was a brief pause before he said, “I’ll call you back.” And then he hung up.

You were a little tense sitting there on your bed waiting around for a phone call. Not because you were worried about Mark not doing it, which would be ridiculous because you both wanted what was best for Johnny. It was because you were scared of not having a solution.

Deciding it would be useless to sit around antsily, you took a well-deserved nap after a restless twenty-four hours of no sleep. It would only do you good. Even if Mark didn’t have the answers you wanted, your grades would thank you.

Sleep came easy. Though they weren’t Jaehyun’s, it was nice and peaceful bunched beneath your blankets. You flipped your pillow over to the side that wasn’t stained with tears and let darkness take the wheel.

Johnny peeked inside your room after an hour or two, wanting to talk to you, but when he saw you comfortably snoozing in your bed and obliviously clinging onto a spare pillow for dear life, he backed away and shut the door. He knew you needed the rest.

You jolted awake when your phone started to ring vehemently beside your head, cursing yourself for not turning on Do Not Disturb before immediately remembering why you didn’t, and quickly lifting the phone to answer gruffly, “Hello?”

“Good news,” Mark started, sounding suspiciously chipper. “I had my dad pull some strings. And you’re gonna wanna hear this.”

Sitting up, you exclaimed in an impatient whisper, “Well?”

“Jeong Jaehyun is not a suspect, for one. There were witnesses that confirmed him giving Mike his fix was impossible. But for two, the case reopened a few months ago and they’re literally about to bust the guy that did it. They’re waiting on a warrant. You’ve got great timing,” Mark said.

You rubbed your eyes in disbelief. “What the hell?”

“Isn’t this good news?”

“Yeah, it is,” you whispered, too shocked to know how to feel. You didn’t think the stupid plan would really work. “Thank you, Mark.”

Mark was quick to reassure you, “You don’t need to thank me. You’re my best friend and Johnny is like my brother-in-law in some weird way. See, that sounds weird. Anyways, when do you plan on telling him?”

You laughed at his rambling, but hummed when you thought about his question. “Uh, would today be a bad time?”

“The sooner the better.”

You sighed in relief. Then, you donned the loveliest tone you could muster, and asked sweetly, “Will you come with me please? I think your presence will really help.”

Mark retorted, “Should I bring the entire police force too?”

You rolled your eyes and begged, “Come on, Mark. You’re my bestie and I need you. He’s more mad with me than he is with you and plus you have the benefit of a credible father.”

“I was already on my way,” Mark chirped, jiggling his keys loudly before hanging up.

You giggled. What would you do without that boy? He was your ride or die.

Fifteen minutes later, Mark was pulling into your driveway and hopping out of the car. You let him in, locking the door behind your best friend and embracing him in the biggest hug of his life. You needed the comfort to wean off your nerves.

The last thing you expected was for Johnny to come trudging down the stairs within the very next minute.

You released Mark, turning to your brother, and you and Johnny said in unison, “Hey, I really need to talk to you.”

Johnny blinked in surprise. It almost seemed like he was mirroring you. Mark snickered to himself, mumbling something about you two obviously being related, but Johnny was chill and said, “You can go first.”

You heaved a breath. It was a shock that Johnny deliberately chose to speak to you for the first time, presumably without the intervening influence of your parents’ rebuttal on your behalf. “I don’t know how to say this, but first I wanted to tell you that I’m really sorry for sneaking around with Jaehyun behind your back. It was a really shitty thing for me to do.”

Johnny nodded along, listening.

“But I fell in love with him,” you said without hesitation. “And I’m not going to ask you to accept us or anything. That’s your choice. But I thought there was something you should know that’s bigger than Jaehyun and I.”

Johnny looked tense, but he encouraged you to go on. “Okay.”

It felt like the whole world was watching you with Johnny’s eyes carefully set on your face, but you didn’t let it stop you from continuing, “It really wasn’t him that gave Mike his supply, and yes we have proof. Mark’s dad not only confirmed it wasn’t him, but they’re working on getting him into custody.”

Mark nodded, standing right behind you. Like he was vouching for you the same way you’d vouched for him all these years. “It’s true, Johnny. It wasn’t Jaehyun. It was some random shady dealer that preys on addicts at these parties. He has a track record.”

Johnny’s eyes flickered. “It really wasn’t Jaehyun?”

Mark shook his head. “He’s innocent, dude.”

Johnny fell silent for a long time. You could see him stiffening, penitent. “I don’t know what to say,” he whispered. “I feel like shit now.”

You snorted. “Don’t do that to yourself. Please. I’ve felt like shit enough these past few weeks for the both of us.”

“About that,” Johnny began, getting whiplash. The look on his face was gentle, remorseful, and he hated himself for being anything else to his sister. To the last person that deserved his misplaced frustration. “I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for freezing you out.”

“Johnny…,” you trailed.

Johnny shook his head. He needed you to let him say this. “I know you’ve had a rough few weeks, and though I haven’t exactly been pleased with you, you’re still my sister. The least I could’ve done was ask you ‘how are you doing?’ but I couldn’t even be bothered.”

You sighed loudly. That was true. And you’d be lying if you said it didn’t rub salt in the wounds.

“I haven’t done a good job at showing it, but I care for you. You’re my only sibling and let’s be honest, I don’t think I’ll be getting another one,” Johnny said lightheartedly.

You snickered. Damn right. You knew your parents would vehemently agree if they were here. They couldn’t be happier that all of their kids were adults. Well, maybe if you moved out.

Johnny breathed in some air. A lot of mistakes had obviously been made on both parts and he was ready to put it all behind him. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I forgot to do what was more important. Be your brother. And I’ll apologize for the rest of my life until you forgive me.”

“No need. I forgive you right now,” you whispered, simpering.

Johnny stood there like a dumbass, hesitant. He didn’t feel like he deserved your forgiveness and would be spending the next weeks repairing his relationship with you, doing whatever it took.

You took the lead, starting reluctantly, “Listen. I know Mike’s passing has been hard on you, Johnny. That’s why you want to protect me and everything else you love in your life, but I’m an adult. You need to let me take care of me.”

A cloud of melancholy hung over Johnny and it wouldn’t leave. The grief was still fresh, as if Mike had died yesterday.

You stepped forward, placing a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “And you’re my big brother. I’ll obviously still give you a call when I’m going through a rough time. But you have to respect that I’m my own person.”

Johnny nodded. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry about all that too. I’ll be better.”

“I will too,” you said, because the truth was that it was time the two of you started making efforts.

Johnny grabbed you in his arms and pulled you into a gigantic bear hug. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close, and breathed easier in relief as weeks worth of wounds vanished.

Wincing your eyes closed, you let yourself be content in your brother’s loving embrace for the first time in a while. You needed this.

You could barely feel yourself breathe when Johnny started to hug you so tightly you thought he might accidentally squeeze the life out of you. “Alright, chill, Johnny. I think I might die,” you wheezed.

Johnny released you with a chuckle. You gasped for breath, shaking your head. Though the bone-crushing hug was appreciated nonetheless.

Mark was content to be in the background and cheered in awe, “I’m so proud of you guys. You overcame your differences and reunited like real siblings. I knew it would happen eventually, but dude, this is refreshing to see.”

You nodded in agreement. One less broken relationship. But you had another one to salvage before it was too late.

Then, Mark remembered Johnny was none too thrilled that he was complicit in you getting away with your sneaky little secret and asked, “Yo, Johnny, are we good?”

“No.”

Mark gawked.

“I’m kidding,” Johnny said with a teasing lilt. “We’re good, man.”

Mark exhaled in relief. “Thank god.”

You smiled to yourself. You were happy, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing from your life.

Johnny clamped a hand onto your shoulder and said, “Go get him.”

You gasped, but you didn’t question how he knew. He just did. It was a sibling thing. “You mean it?”

“Yes. You said it yourself. You love him, and I have no reason to come between that anymore. You deserve to be happy after dating asshole after asshole,” Johnny told you (sort of) kindly.

You snickered, and grabbed your keys from your pockets. “Pray for me. He’s not gonna be thrilled.”

Johnny shook his head, disagreeing. “Yeah, he will. Tell him that I’m very sorry, but the threat to kick his ass still stands if he fucks with you.”

“I’ll be sure to let him know,” you deadpanned, heading for the door.

The drive to Jaehyun’s house was inexplicably anxious. You could still think, but every thought went by at the speed of a thousand miles per second. And it didn’t help that you were overthinking the entire situation, dreading the endless amount of “what ifs.”

For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even know if he would be there. You were showing up unannounced, uninvited. What if he had already found another woman to keep him company in your forgettable absence?

Then, you were at his front doorstep. And you had no time to vividly imagine every possible scenario, because Jungkook answered your knocks and you could only barely see inside.

You politely greeted him in a small voice and asked, “Can I come inside?”

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed and he didn’t waste any time in snapping, “Why should I let you in after you broke my friend’s heart?”

“Because I’m sorry and I want to set things right with him,” you said, matching his lack of hesitation.

Yugyeom hurried over and took the lead, widening the door for you to enter and whining dramatically, “Oh, god. Please come in. Fix him. Do your womanly magic and bring him back to life. I’m sick of his brooding ass.”

You wanted to laugh, but you hated the thought of causing Jaehyun all this suffering. If it was anything like the kind you’d been through lately, you knew he was in a tough spot.

Thanking Yugyeom, you made a beeline for the stairs, rushing up them like Jaehyun would somehow know it was you approaching them and slip away before you could get the chance to apologize.

You knocked on Jaehyun’s door, but you guessed he really wasn’t expecting you to come over, because he shouted exasperatedly, “Jesus, Yugyeom. Fuck off.”

“It’s not Yugyeom,” you called back. “It’s me.”

All you could hear was silence. Then there was a shuffle, and a few moments later the door clicked unlocked and Jaehyun was standing before you in all his glory. “What are you doing here?”

“I walked to talk,” you replied timidly, struggling to maintain eye contact.

Irritated, Jaehyun huffed, “We already had a conversation.” Though the truth was that he was glad you were here, standing in front of him again. He was borderline miserable without you in his life.

The reminder of your final exchange with Jaehyun made you wince in shame. “I know, but I wanted to apologize. Won’t you at least hear me out?”

Jaehyun turned to return to his bed, reminding sharply, “You’re the one that walked away. I was willing to at least try to make us work, but you didn’t even want to do that.”

“Because I thought it would be useless,” you admitted, giving chase and shutting the door behind yourself. “But I don’t anymore. You were right. I should’ve fought for us and I regret not doing it earlier.”

Jaehyun might’ve acted like he wasn’t listening, being totally dismissive, but he definitely noticed your specific use of language. “You said ‘earlier.’ What do you mean?”

You had a beaming smile on your face as you admitted, “I mean, I talked to Johnny about us. I managed to get him to listen to me and proved your innocence. Thank god Mark’s father is a cop.”

Jaehyun softened. “You did all that? Why?”

“Because you’re worth fighting for,” you whispered tenderly, looking at Jaehyun like he was your entire universe.

Jaehyun was so close to accepting that he would never have anyone look at him that way again. After a heartbreak, the feeling of being unlovable always loomed over his head and you were no different. But dammit if he wasn’t tired of the doubts.

Tentatively, you came towards Jaehyun completely, sitting beside him on his mattress that you missed almost as much as you missed him. “I didn’t mean it, when I said I wish I never met you.”

Jaehyun almost laughed. That was the least hurtful thing to leave your lips. “I know. You were upset. And you had every right to be.”

You frowned, suspicious of how calm he was. You half expected him to lash out. “Stop being understanding.”

“If you’re expecting me to be angry, I can’t do anything for you. I’ve already spent the past few weeks in that stage of grief.”

You blinked. It was as if he could read your mind. “Where are you at now?”

Jaehyun was totally indifferent when he told you, “Bargaining.”

“Funny. Me too,” you sighed. If only you had been more open-minded, you could have spared you and Jaehyun all this worthless misery.

You noticed that Jaehyun said nothing, but he looked a little in his head. And he was somewhere up there, scolding himself for letting him be a fool for you, then thinking, I couldn’t resist loving you. Sue me.

The emotion was finally surfacing on his face. You could see all of it now. The distress and the love and the heartache. You smirked, thinking to yourself, He’s my little damsel now.

The grin on your lips was fleeting and it disappeared by the time you grabbed Jaehyun’s hands in yours and he peered down at you in surprise. “I’m sorry,” you told him softly. “I thought you were crazy and hopeless for thinking we could be together. Now, I see that you didn’t want to quit until you’d exhausted your resources. And I forced your hand. I’m sorry.”

Jaehyun squeezed your hand. “It’s okay. I understand where you were coming from. You were trying to make things as painless as possible because you genuinely thought we didn’t stand a chance against fate.”

“And somehow I made shit ten times more painful,” you murmured, ashamed.

“Like I said, I understand where you were coming from,” Jaehyun said, being gentler than he should’ve.

You shook your head. That meant nothing. “But do you forgive me?”

Jaehyun gazed into your pained eyes. It still broke him, but he was starting to lick the wound clean. Things were changing. “Yes. I forgive you, baby.”

Your heart softened at the pet name. You never expected to fall for Jaehyun. Not Jaehyun or his precious smile and adorable face. Not the little things he’d say that made you feel as if you would burst with love.

But you did fall for him, and all those little things that made him himself. And you didn’t want to be without them ever again.

“I’m tired of loving each other behind closed doors. I want to be seen with you. I want to go to museums and look at really abstract paintings that you’ll tell me are meaningful for whatever reason. I want to explore the city with you and visit shops I’d never think to go to otherwise.”

Jaehyun was sporting a beaming smile. “You said you love me.”

“I haven’t said it before?”

Jaehyun huffed, “No. Not even once.”

You held his face, cradling it just shy of yours, and confessed, “Then, I love you. I love you. I love you so much, Jaehyun. I don’t know what to do without you.”

“I love you too,” Jaehyun said, leaning in to mumble the tiny confession into your neck, and reminded of how desperately he craved the warmth of your skin.

You were grinning so hard your cheeks were hurting.

“Don’t leave me ever again. Don’t ever let me go. Never,” Jaehyun instructed you sharply, and although it was partly muffled, you heard him loud and clear.

“I won’t,” you told him, kissing his forehead. “If you play me that song you made me on your guitar.”

Jaehyun blinked up at you in surprise. “You liked it?”

“I think I’ve cried to it, like, a million times,” you admitted unabashedly.

Jaehyun’s jaw went slack for only a split second, then he quickly recovered and leapt up to grab his guitar from its resting position in the corner of his room.

A smile danced onto your lips as he held the guitar, strumming to the beautiful song he’d written with only his insurmountable adoration for you in mind, and the pining nature of the lyrics made you realize that the yearning was over. You were Jaehyun’s. And Jaehyun was yours.

Losing Jaehyun, one of the few people you loved depthlessly, was like losing the last person you had. You didn’t know how to be without him. And you didn’t have to learn, because you never would be without him again.

You watched him attentively, beaming from ear to ear, taking in his beautiful smile and soft voice, and familiar heady cologne. And you thought to yourself, There’s nothing to dislike about this guy.

#jaehyun smut #nct 127 smut #nct smut #jaehyun x reader #nct imagines #jaehyun imagines #jung jaehyun smut #nct x reader #nct #nct scenarios

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bwabys-scenarios · 2 months

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When Sanemi finally broke the news about having a wife, many of his colleagues seemed almost… worried for the woman. If you had been there, you may have been upset, because they didn’t know the Sanemi you knew.

Your Sanemi spent his nights fighting demons and his days in your arms, covering you in kisses and worshiping the ground you walk in. He was the most gentle a husband could be, holding your hand when you walked down flights of stairs and kissing the top of your head every chance he got.

Every single morning when he came back to you, he had something to show for it. Sometimes it was as simple as a piece of candy he bought while patrolling, or as extravagant as a shiny new hairpin or silk kimono. You would call yourself spoiled, but Sanemi would tsk and say you weren’t pampered nearly enough.

No one knew the gentleness of his hands, the soft caress of his lips like you did. Those hands that had slain so many demons held your hips down ever so gently as he fucked into you, promising that this time he’d give you that baby you so desperately wanted.

He’d kiss your temple after you were thoroughly stuffed with cum, then hold you close, tracing his finger along your belly. “That’s where our baby will be, sunshine.”

You couldn’t necessarily blame others for assuming your hulking man of a husband was a brute, he was covered in scars and had a resting bitch face to match, but you can’t judge off of appearance alone. That angry face melted into a content smile every time you held it in your hands, his arms moving to wrap around your waist.

If only they could see him through your eyes, maybe they wouldn’t judge so quickly.

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moonjxsung · 2 months

Text

Reckless Convictions

Pairing: Han Jisung x fem reader

W/c: 31.5K

Warnings: masturbation, perversion, use of pet names, breast/nipple play, clitoral stimulation, unprotected sex, dry humping, trespassing, sex in a semi-public place (no one is around), fingering, cum eating, mention of cheating

Synopsis: Your senior year of college takes a strange turn when you develop a relationship with your professor.

18+. Mdni!

•

The first time you come across a coda in a piece of music, you are to ignore it. You may only jump to it once you’ve begun from the da segno symbol, and played through until reaching the written indication to return to the coda.

If we've passed the coda once, let this be our sign.

Come back to me.

•

Upon entering your senior year of college, the news is broken that the old lecture hall on the east side of campus is officially on its last leg as a functioning location for classes. You’re made aware of this through an email from the school’s president, detailing the intricate plans to demolish it entirely and build a new gymnasium in its place. And for the most part, the students are happy about this fact, whispering excitedly amongst themselves as they traverse the grand cherry wood flooring and picture all of the new sporting equipment this facility will soon house. They speak of the bright painted walls that will represent the school’s colors like every other new modern replacement for the old-fashioned buildings- cobalt blue and white, resembling that of a dentist’s office on most days. And they make sure to voice their very robust distaste for the spiral staircase that leads to the second floor of the lecture hall, the stairs always announcing the late arrival of students with the deafening creak of wood and a tarnished banister.

Yet as you hoist your bag further up your shoulder and follow a trail of students into the lecture hall for your first day back at classes, you can’t help but feel sorry for the old place, always having loved the courses you took here. A philosophy course one semester, where the ancient feel of the building only made stories of Greek myths more vivid as they graced your imagination. A writing course the semester after that, where your professor could hardly be bothered to properly read your essays, despite the attention to detail you gave to them. And now this course- the only remaining course with afternoon availability, something about the history of classical music.

One glance around the room tells you all you have to know about this course- it's full of students who couldn’t care less about courses pertaining to music, especially not general education ones for mindless credits. You reckon all of the students here would rather have landed art analysis, or even some form of a writing course, yet instead they’ll be stuck learning about Bach and Mozart for the next few months. Of course you’re not bothered by it, being a music major yourself, but it’s painfully evident in the way that they keep their faces glued to their cell phones and blow bubbles of gum as you wait for the arrival of the professor. The rows of chairs are fuller than you’d anticipated, groups of friends chatting amongst themselves, while those sitting alone are busy on their laptops or with headphones blasting muffled music.

You settle on a spot in the middle, away from most of the students already acquainted with each other, and cross your legs as you wait in silence. While the others groan about their courses and inquire about their remaining credits, you take in the sight of the lecture hall- it’s just as massive as you remember it from last semester, the ceiling housing patterned medallions and hanging pendant lamps that give a dim glow to the room. The seats are just as uncomfortable as you remember them, too, folding suede brown chairs that jerk violently if you move a little too much, and at the very bottom is a crescent-shaped desk and a tall podium reserved for the professor. It’s a little old, sure. And it smells like mothballs on most days- but it’s a shame to tear down someplace so historical like this.

Your course is set to start at three, and at almost five minutes past the mark, the students are visibly confused by the absence of a professor. You can hear them murmuring and speculating about canceled courses or retired professors, and it’s then that you realize you’re not even sure who the professor is. So you reach into your bag, pulling out your schedule for the one class you have today, and printed in bold black text to the right of the course name is the professor’s name.

Mr. Han, it reads, and you scan the name over a few times before shoving the paper back into your bag. You conclude he sounds like an older man, probably a little irritable toward students who couldn’t care less about music history. And he’s probably late to most of his classes like he is today, not bothering to be punctual for a group of students who will grow to despise him mere weeks into the semester.

A little past the ten minute mark, some students have begun to pack their belongings, ready to depart from the confines of the lecture hall and go inquire about why there’s no professor assigned to this course, maybe even beg for a switch of classes. And then, as though he can sense they’re making attempts at an escape, a man you can only assume to be the professor shoves past the double doors, a leather laptop case slung over his shoulder, making his way to the desk in rushed motions.

“Sorry, sorry,” he calls out, hoisting his bag over the desk and motioning for students to take their seats again.

“I apologize,” he reiterates, sighing deeply, hands tucked in his pockets as he glances around the room. It’s then that you notice he’s drenched, stringy black strands of his hair falling into his face, droplets of water speckled on the thin wireframe glasses that sit on his sharp nose.

And your second observation- he’s not old. In fact, he’s nothing close to the likes of the average professor- he’s attractive. Not just attractive- he’s alluring, captivating, like a model cut out from the thin pages of an editorial magazine. He’s tall, with a slim frame that contrasts his broad shoulders and sculpted biceps that protrude through the sleeves of his collared button up shirt. The white fabric clings around his broad chest so erotically, patches of dark gray rainwater conveniently providing you a better view, and his shirt is tucked into a tight pair of khaki slacks, hugging his toned thighs and leaving little to the imagination. He’s not even dressed provocatively, you mentally remark to yourself. He just looks like that.

All of this so perfectly complementing his flawlessly sculpted face, an angular jawline that clenches as he speaks, and plump pink lips that pull back to expose a pearly white and perfectly straight set of teeth. His pronounced nose bridge is made more attractive with his geeky pair of glasses, and those eyes- big and brown, framed by thick black eyelashes that flutter as he pulls off his glasses and wipes the lenses with the cuff of his sleeve.

“Lots of traffic when it rains,” he says sheepishly, pinching the frame of his glasses with two fingers and setting them so delicately back on his face. “It won’t happen again.”

And then he pulls his hands out of his pockets, leaning against the podium at the front of the room and taking a good look at the array of students.

“Welcome,” he announces, giving a small nod before continuing to speak. “My name is Professor Han. I’ll be your instructor for the duration of this course.”

He pulls back from the podium, shuffling through the leather bag on his desk and pulling out a stack of papers. The first student to the left is handed the stack, instructed to pass them to the back of the crowd as he explains it’s your course syllabus.

“Pretty much everything you need to know is listed here,” he says a little louder, as the room teems with echoing chatter. “I accept late work up to a week after it’s due, with a point subtracted every day it’s late. If you’re going to be later than 15 minutes, please don’t show at all. The stairs are too loud. Food and drinks are permitted, just don’t make a mess. And do whatever you want with phones and laptops, just shut off the sound.”

He paces back and forth as he speaks, his wet shoes squeaking along the tiled flooring as he does. He wears canvas sneakers with his fancy teaching attire, and he pulls them off remarkably well.

“A little bit about me,” he then says, and you perk up at his words, intrigued by just everything about his presence. “Been teaching here for about five years now, since I finished grad school. I love music, and I love music theory, so you’ll hear me talk about it a lot in between historical lectures. I teach three classes in total, all pertaining to music history, and in my free time, you can usually find me doing something related to music. Any questions?”

The class falls silent as his gaze scans the room, his curious eyes falling over the rows of seated figures who in reality, desperately want to ask him questions, but they’re also painfully shy in his presence. He gives a little nod as he takes note of their blank stares- and then his gaze falls momentarily over yours- staring directly into your paralyzed figure, almost as though he’s challenging you to ask him something, anything. But you don’t- you just remain seated, staring back at him, hoping the glowing blush on the tips of your ears doesn’t pick up under the dim lighting of the room.

“Okay,” says Professor Han, clasping his hands together and gesturing to the board behind him now. “Let’s see if I can figure out how to use this projector this time around.”

Lucky for you this semester, your schedule is sparse throughout the week, just a total of three classes on varying days. Which means you have ample free time to laze around your dorm when you’re not attending courses. Students make the most of their senior year, scoping out parties and sneaking out late at night to catch a movie or a quick bite- and you would join them, if you had people to join.

It’s not that you failed to make friends in the duration of your college career- in fact, you made solid efforts to befriend most of the people you came across, sometimes even allowing yourself to be dragged to a party and entertain mindless frat boys. But none of them stuck around, and you quickly realized they were much further from the simplicities you actually enjoy about college. Like the coffee shop on the second story of the student union, where the barista always adds a little too much caramel to your lattes. Or the windowed seat at the very back of the 8th story in the library, where when it rains, you can watch lines of people rush to their classes with hands over their heads and desperately clutching their umbrellas. Even your dorm room is a preferred spot for you, where you often find joy in curling up under your covers and getting lost in a good book. And although you’ve grown to love being alone, it’s a little jarring some nights, like the following Friday in your first week when almost everybody is out at a party, and the return to your dorm room is pitch quiet as you walk down the carpeted hallways. As you swing your door open, you gasp at the sight of your roommate, who’s not usually occupying her side of the room- not unless she needs something.

“Oh,” says Mina, as she places a stack of folded clothing into a large duffle bag and zips it up. “I didn’t know you’d be here today.”

You chuckle softly at her remark- of course you’d be here today. And the day after that, and the day after that… you’re always here. It’s Mina who seldom graces you with her presence, usually too busy at her boyfriend’s dorm or out with a group of friends.

“I’m here,” you say sheepishly, assuming your spot on the edge of your bed. Mina says nothing, raising her eyebrows a little and nodding, and you can tell she’s thinking about what a pathetic life you must lead.

You and Mina have never quite gotten along- not for reasons much more complicated than disagreements regarding her cleaning style or her boyfriend coming over unannounced. You’re simply from two separate worlds, and it’ll remain that way for the next few months until you graduate.

“I’m going to my boyfriend’s,” Mina announces unsurprisingly, hoisting the duffel bag over her shoulder. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Okay,” you say to her finally. “Have fun with Lucas. I’ll see you on Monday.”

She seems to roll her eyes as she makes her way out the door, not so much as a goodbye from her. And when the dorm is all to yourself again, you reach for the book on your shelf, one you’ve gotten halfway through since yesterday’s time spent alone, and curl up under the covers, the sound of gentle rain tapping on the window behind you.

By the time Monday rolls around, you’ve almost forgotten entirely who your course professors are.

It’s always taken you a few months to get situated with their lecture styles, and on occasion, even their names- but this semester in particular feels so unimportant. It’s your final one, after all, and while students talk excitedly about plans for the future and their graduation parties, the only thing you’re looking forward to is the physical degree you’ll get to leave here with.

Mondays are for your intermedia course, led by a professor who dismisses the class early almost every chance he gets. Wednesdays, you have another writing course, and you have to stop yourself from dozing off while students review their essays dissecting music theory during critique sessions. And Thursdays are spent in the old little lecture hall on the east side of campus with Professor Han. You’ve forgotten about him by the time your first official class with him rolls around, and you mentally scold yourself for dressing so casual in his presence when you remember how attractive he is.

When he saunters in, much earlier this time around, the students cease their chatter, and all eyes are on his handsome figure as he makes his way to the podium. He wears fitted slacks again, a knit sweater tucked into the belt that hugs his thin waist, and a collared white button down is visible at the neckline. His jet black hair is styled neatly out of his face to reveal his chiseled features, and his wireframe glasses are absent this time around, emphasizing the big brown eyes that peer back at his students.

“Good afternoon,” he says to the class, and they utter mumbled replies back at him.

“I hope you all had a good weekend,” he then remarks, pulling his laptop out of his bag plugging in a series of wires to set up the projector. The class remains quiet at this, not a single word from any of the students as they sip coffees and navigate their own laptops in hushed motions. Professor Han looks up at the class as his fingers hover over the mouse of his keyboard, his lips pulling into a grin, eyes forming little crescents as he lets out a soft chuckle.

“Come on guys,” he says dramatically. “Why are you so silent? You’re killing me.”

It’s the first time the classroom fills with laughter, and Professor Han seems to relax a little as he takes in the sight of smiling faces. He’s not quite sure he’ll ever get used to the silence that falls over college lectures, especially in the awkward first few weeks, when students are too scared to even look him straight in the eyes. And what Professor Han never quite grasps is that the students aren’t afraid of him- they’re intrigued by him, just the way that you are.

The girls wear full faces of makeup to a single 3pm lecture in hopes that he’ll take special notice of them, and the boys almost seem to mirror his dapper choices of clothing, trying their hand at knit crewnecks and slacks with canvas sneakers. Anybody who knows him concludes he’s just about one of the coolest professors around, yet he’s too consumed by his passion for music and theories of composers to take notice of anybody’s fascination for him.

And aside from that fact, he’s a professional at his job, only here for the purpose of lecturing and distributing course materials. He doesn’t make friends with other professors on campus, he doesn’t traverse these buildings when he doesn’t have to be here. And he certainly doesn’t care to know any of his students beyond the space of these four walls.

The projector starts up with a low hum, and a slideshow is promptly shone onto the wall across from you, a painting of some historical figure accompanying the title slide.

“I want to preface this lecture by saying that this particular composer is often deemed one of the greatest of his time, which is true for the Baroque period, and untrue in comparison to some of the other greats.”

There are stifled laughs from around the room as he makes his way to the screen at the top of the wall. As he transitions to a speech about the Baroque period, he reaches up to pull on the little string that dangles from the center, and your eyes can’t help but observe his lean figure as he does. The hem of his sweater is untucked from his slacks momentarily, revealing the small waist he flaunts beneath such a broad chest, and one hand reaches down promptly to cover himself again. It feels so wrong losing your focus from the lecture like this, your mind wandering places you know it shouldn’t be. Yet as he speaks, you can’t help but imagine what the rest of his chest must look like underneath the oversized knit that swallows his sculpted figure. Your eyes graze briefly over his navy slacks, ones that hug him so generously, and down to the stylish canvas sneakers he wears, the same ones he wore last time. They squeak along the tiled floor as he paces, hands gesturing passionately as he recounts the history of Johann Sebastian Bach, who you’ve only just realized this lecture is about.

“Not only was he a composer, but he was an organist, a harpsichordist and a violinist,” he explains, clicking the little remote in his hand and proceeding to the next slide. “He was a prolific part of the Baroque period, and he’s well-known today for some of his most famous instrumental and choral pieces.”

He paces the room confidently as he speaks, head down most of the time as he details accounts of Bach’s life, seemingly having memorized most of it.

“Does anybody happen to know any of his orchestral music? There’s one in particular he’s very famous for.”

The class falls silent again as Professor Han scans the room, pausing from clicking through slides as he awaits an answer. Nobody says anything, and all that fills the air are the sounds of keyboard clicking as they do their best to mindlessly copy his words. Without a second to properly think it over, and before you can even begin to doubt yourself, your hand is shot straight into the air, heart racing as his eyes fall to your seated figure, and then he gestures toward you, a small smile on his face.

“Yes!” he says enthusiastically. “Go ahead.”

“Brandenburg Concertos?” You voice quietly, a slight tremble in your voice as you speak. You’re not sure you’ve ever done adequate research on Bach- let alone any classical composer. But you are familiar with German history, and the Baroque period and the grand titles of symphonic pieces are still ingrained into your memory from years of piano lessons.

“That’s correct,” he replies, an amused breath escaping his lips as he speaks. His gaze lingers on yours for a second- just a brief second, not enough for the students to imply anything.

And Professor Han is admittedly fascinated by you himself, the question always marking the course as his first official question of the semester. One he’s never gotten the right answer to until now. In fact- one he’s never even had a student take a stab at answering until now. He’s well aware that no normal college student is going to have the Brandenburg Concertos in the back of their mind like the rest of the frivolous knowledge that dwells there, but perhaps he’s finally been assigned a student who gives the slightest shit about this course and its materials.

“Sorry- what was your name?” Professor Han then asks, the corner of his lip pulling into a half-smile before he proceeds with his lecture.

Students in front of you crane their necks to get a good look at you, and the peers on either side of you glance at the single sheet of notebook paper on your desk, scribbled with sparse notes in dark blue pen.

“Y/n,” you finally respond, your voice coming out more timid than you’d hoped it to. You feel microscopic with all eyes on you like this, quietly praying he’ll proceed with the lecture so that you can go back to admiring him from afar and in the comfortable silence of your thoughts.

“Y/n,” he repeats, giving a small nod, and then he finally transitions to the next slide.

Professor Han might not care to be on campus when he doesn’t have to- but that certainly doesn’t mean he’s generous about early dismissal when it comes to his courses. The analog clock above the doorway counts down the seconds before he finally dismisses his students- and even then, he’s not averse to keeping students a few minutes past to wrap up his lectures, either. While it’s a trait most students despise during their classes, not a single student utters a word of dismay when he requests just five minutes more of their time, their eyes still fixated on his pacing figure as he rushes through the remainder of his slides. He has a way of encapsulating a whole room when he speaks of ancient composers, like he’s meant to be up on a podium recounting Bach’s concertos. And the students soak up every last second they get to be in his presence, a sort of melancholia present in the room when they finally file out the door for the afternoon and back to their dorms.

When you find yourself lingering in the classroom a bit longer than the other students, completing the futile task of shifting around papers in your bag, Professor Han seems to take notice, glancing at you over the screen of his laptop and observing the way you shuffle about in the now silent room.

“Brandenburg Concertos, huh?” He calls out to you, and your gaze falls to him, where he’s seated at his desk, the familiar wireframe glasses now sitting upon the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah,” you respond, a little unsure of how to entertain the conversation without coming off as painfully awkward as you truly are.

Professor Han chuckles a little, and then he glances back to his laptop, typing something as he continues speaking.

“Nobody’s ever gotten that one right. In my five whole years of teaching.”

“Really?” You reply, thoroughly surprised nobody’s heard of the most famous orchestral pieces by one of the most significant composers.

“Nope,” he says plainly, shaking his head to affirm his answer. “Are you secretly a composer or something?”

It’s your turn to chuckle lightly, approaching his desk with your bag slung over your shoulder as you shake your head.

“Just years of piano,” you say to him.

“Piano? Very tricky instrument, it’s good to pick up when you’re still young.”

“I’ve been playing competitively for ten years,” you explain to him, heartbeat quickening a little as he lowers the screen of his laptop to make eye contact again.

“Wow,” he breathes out, thoroughly impressed by the fact. “I might have you teach a lecture or two, then.”

You chuckle in unison with him, shrugging as he pushes his glasses a little further up on his face.

“Convince them to put a piano in here and I’ll think about it,” you say to him. “I need a few course materials.”

“Deal,” he replies, narrowing his eyes a little as his lips pull into a smile, flashing you his perfect set of teeth. He glances around the room momentarily, and just as you think the conversation’s over, he sighs deeply, pushing back his laptop screen once more and continuing to type.

“Pity they’re tearing it down, though. A piano would have been a nice addition.”

It’s your turn to glance around the room, craning your neck up toward the tall medallion ceilings and elegantly crested walls. The room looks even more beautiful at this hour, rows upon rows of vacant brown chairs folded neatly back into their place, beams of afternoon sunlight streaming through the long glass windows on either side of the room.

“It is a shame,” you echo, grazing your fingertips along the smooth wooden finish of his desk. He seems to be lost in thought as he stares at his computer screen for a brief second, eyes glazed over as he remains silent. There’s not a sound in the room as he pauses his typing- no students remain in the hallways, no one taking notes in the stillness of the lecture hall. Just you and your professor, in silent thought about the unfortunate fate of the grand lecture hall.

“Maybe next year I’ll be teaching in a gymnasium,” he says finally, shooting you a sad smile and shrugging.

And then he winks at you- nothing romantic behind the gesture, just a brief blink of his left eye as he lets his gaze fall to yours.

And for the second time in the confines of this grand lecture hall, you pray the dim lighting doesn’t reveal the growing blush across your cheeks.

As the weeks pass, Professor Han’s lectures are stuck in your head like the piano melodies you’re so acquainted with. Beethoven Fidelio. Le nozze di Figaro. Adagio Cantabile.

The titles of famous composer pieces circle your mind like they’re suggestions by him, to you. And you like to think they are, when he’s slipping comments into his lectures about which pieces are his favorites, which are the most evocative and which ones he’s listened to the most.

The other students sit absentmindedly as he lectures, hearing the words he utters and writing notes like they’re translating his musical language to one they can comprehend. But they’re not listening to him- you’re certain they’ll never understand it the way that you do.

“Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake was my first piano recital piece,” you’d told him once after class. And the way his face lit up when you did, indulging you in a long list of reasons why he deems Tchaikovsky his favorite composer of the Romantic period.

“Only a genius could have produced 1812 Overture,” he said to you excitedly, throwing his head back in disbelief and slouching back in his swivel desk chair as he collected his thoughts.

“That’s the one he used real artillery as background noise in, right?” You had responded, a bright smile on your face as you spoke the common language only the two of you seemed to understand.

“And church bells!” He had responded excitedly, clasping his hands together as he recalled the booming melody.

And then he had played it for you- despite the two of you already knowing the piece very well. His slender fingers hovering over the keyboard of his laptop, searching for the overture he’s listened to almost daily in the duration of his career as a professor.

As a quiet stillness fell over the lecture hall following the departure of the last few students, the speakers echoed with the booming instrumentals of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture- the entire four minutes of the song. You watched in fascination as Professor Han gestured at his all favorite parts, waving his hand in the air to mirror the harsh eighth and sixteenth notes that span the intricate melody. Excited chuckles escaping his lips as the familiar sound of cannons could be heard in the background, followed by the lull of harmonious church bells.

It was then that he turned the music down a few notches, explaining how he helped teach this piece back when he still worked as a musical director. You recall the fleeting sadness that seemed to overtake him, his smile faltering a little as he seemed to think back to his time there. And when asked why he didn’t teach anymore, he had simply shrugged, failing to give you any sort of explanation for it. He just kept his gaze on his desk for a moment, snapping out of it seconds later, turning the volume up again and waving his hands in composing gestures as the song reached its end.

It was also the first time you recall feeling a little sorry for him, carefully observing the way these talks of music and composers seem to bring out a sort of sadness from within him. The dichotomy of him against the overtures he’s so drawn to- their booming crescendo notes and tempos noted allegro con brio, and yet when the lecture hall is empty and he’s all alone, he carries himself like a somber melody, beaming only with the mention of music and then shrinking like a diminuendo set of notes, dying down until a silence falls over the two of you again.

Some several weeks in, you’re certain the fascination is no longer rooted in lust, but simply a desire to speak this mutual language of music with him, the only time either of you ever really feel heard.

If someone were to tell you that you’d ever find interest between the pages of a course-assigned college textbook, you would have taken them for a complete liar. And yet you can’t help but find yourself engrossed in the textbook for this course, the thick red book taking complete precedence over the stack of unfinished books on your nightstand.

Weekends are spent flipping through the pages of quotes by famous composers, stories detailing their fast-paced lives and detailing all of their greatest accolades. You carefully study the music sheets, too, reading between the staff lines the same way you scan the plain text of the chapters. It comes to you easily, translating quarter notes to melodies you hum to yourself, reading key signatures like novel dedications.

And the book ignites a sort of spark in you again, reminding you of the days you still spend in front of the monochrome keys for hours, memorizing pieces and adding in your own annotations along the treble and bass.

So when Mina comes home one afternoon, desperate to borrow your textbook, you’re admittedly vexed by the request, reluctantly reaching into your bag to retrieve it for her.

“I didn’t know you had this course,” you say to her, wiping fingerprints off the matte cover and carefully handing it to her.

“Yeah, it’s the worst,” she says, making no effort to avoid transferring new fingerprints onto the cover as she stuffs it into her bag. “But the professor’s hot.”

And her mention of him is somehow vexing to you- of course she only sees the young, attractive professor he is, and not the sheer brilliance behind his lectures. Of course she doesn’t care to understand his background, his favorite historical pieces or take notice of the way he lightens up at the mention of his old days as a musical director. She’s just like the other students in your class- hearing him, but not really listening.

“Professor Han?” You inquire, knowing very well he’s the only professor who teaches that particular course.

“Yeah,” she says, reaching into her duffle bag and shuffling around for something. “Pretty sure he’s the only reason people still show up to that stupid class. I wonder if he goes for younger girls.”

She chuckles as she pulls out a tube of lipstick, uncapping it and reapplying the dark red tint to her pouty lips.

“I’m going to my boyfriend’s,” she then says to you, tucking the tube of lipstick back into her bag and pivoting to face you. “I can have your book back by Monday.”

“Could you have it back by early morning?” You say to her, voice almost cracking as you plead so desperately. “I really need it back before my quiz.”

You’ve already practically memorized the chapter you’re being quizzed on, but you’re always well-prepared for quizzes and tests in Professor Han’s course, reviewing the textbook a thousand times to earn the highest grade possible. You’d be ashamed to score any less than remarkable on his tests, feeling a need to prove to him that his course is something you take just as seriously as he does.

“I guess,” she says furrowing her brows a little at your desperation. “I’ll try to have my boyfriend drop it off before my class or something.”

“Tell Lucas it’s important,” you relay to her, as she keeps her gaze on yours. “I really need to pass this quiz.”

“I said I’ll try,” she emphasizes, making her way to the dorm with the same pink duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

And then she’s gone again, not so much as a wave goodbye as you’re left alone for the weekend.

By the time Monday rolls around, Mina is nowhere to be seen. She does this sometimes, spending entire weeks at her boyfriend’s apartment and ditching a long list of her classes.

Except along with the absence of your roommate, comes the absence of your textbook.

Lucas never shows on Monday to return your textbook, and Mina is completely MIA when you try to call or text. So by Thursday, you have no choice but to attempt your quiz without having read the textbook chapter a millionth time.

“Welcome, welcome,” Professor Han calls out as students take their seats. “Put your phones away and get out a pen or a pencil. We’ll start the quiz in a few minutes.”

You occupy the seat at the very front, where you always do now, and wait patiently as he digs around his bag for the stack of quizzes.

“This quiz covers all of chapter 7,” he says, passing along the stack of papers and instructing students to distribute them across the room. “You have 30 minutes from now. If you have questions, please raise your hand and I’ll come to you. Other than that, good luck.”

And the room falls silent as he makes his way back to his desk, the etching sound of pencils scribbling on paper as students begin their quizzes. You swallow nervously, scrawling your name across the top of the paper, and then let your gaze fall to the first question.

Name one the symphonic pieces Ludwig van Beethoven was famous for.

Your lips pull into a knowing smile as you pencil in a response with ease- Symphony No. 5, the same one you discoursed with Professor Han about just last week.

What time period defined Classical antiquity?

Between the 8th century BC and the 5th century AD, you write down quickly, moving on to the next question.

From his desk across from you, Professor Han glances over the screen of his laptop at your slouched figure, observing how you pencil in responses quicker than any of the other students, without even taking a moment to think over the answers. He smiles to himself a little, amused at the clear indication of the only music major in here, a clear liking for this subject the way he has, unlike the students rushing through his course for credits. His eyes fall back onto his laptop screen where he begins to work on an email, and yet before he can continue, you’re sauntering over to his desk with your quiz in hand.

“You’re finished already?” He inquires, lowering the top of his laptop to meet your gaze.

“Yes,” you say simply, sliding him the sheet of paper and giving him a little nod.

He grasps your quiz between his calloused fingers, and just like you assured him, every line is complete with a clear response in pencil.

“I can grade it right now since you’re the only one finished,” he asks, a challenging expression on his face as you stand confidently across him.

“Sure,” you say, gesturing to the paper as he retrieves a red pen from his bag.

You watch with bated breath as he scans the first question with the tip of his uncapped pen, giving a small nod as he then moves on to the next. The second question is the same, Professor Han looking it over and moving on to review the third now. Your heart beats wildly in your chest as he reviews your answers, despite being confident you’ve gotten at least the majority of them correct. Your gaze averts his seated figure as strands of his hair fall into his face, head hanging over your little sheet of paper as he checks and then double checks your responses.

“Yeah,” Professor Han finally says, sitting up straight once more and fidgeting with the red pen he neglected to even make use of. “It’s all right.”

He looks up at you with a curious expression, a kind of twinkle in the big eyes that are magnified by his geeky looking glasses. And his lips quiver with the intention to say something to you, but he can’t quite find the words. He’s simply taken aback by your skill, never having seen somebody share this similar level of knowledge regarding music history as he does. He wishes you would stay and discourse all your favorite pieces with him the way you normally do after his lectures, but the rest of the class remains quietly scribbling down their own answers, probably most of them incorrect like they usually are, and he can’t possibly request your presence for much longer in an unassuming fashion.

“You can leave early,” he whispers so as not to disturb the other test-takers, giving you a small nod as he slides the quiz into his bag.

“Really?”

“Yeah. That’s all I had planned for today. Just read chapters 8 and 9 for next class.”

You begin to pivot on your heel, excited to depart from class a little bit earlier today and hopefully catch up on other course work, despite this being your favorite class. But his words make you stop in your place, turning to face him once again and shrugging sheepishly.

“Professor, I…don’t have my textbook,” you say awkwardly, fiddling with the sleeve of your sweater as you speak. “My roommate borrowed it last Friday and I haven’t been able to get a hold of her. If there’s a PDF you know of, or maybe a library rental-”

He doesn’t let you finish before he’s reaching into his bag again, pulling out his own textbook and sliding it across the desk to you.

“Take mine with you,” he says confidently, giving you a thin-lipped smile. “Just remember to bring it back next week.”

“Are you sure?” You question, taking the thick book from his grasp and flipping it over to examine the cover. It looks a little different than yours, a varying colored font on the cover and much yellower, older pages, but it’s the exact same book as the one you’ve familiarized yourself with so well already.

“Positive. I think you’ll enjoy the next two chapters, too. Lots of piano stuff.”

He grins as he finishes, flashing you his signature toothy smile, and you feel your heart flutter at the fact that he’s even remembered you play the piano.

“I’ll tell you what I think,” you reply, tucking the book under your arm and smiling back at him. You hope that nobody behind you suspects why you’ve been standing at his desk for just a little too long, but you’re entranced by his presence in the silence of the room, wishing so badly you could stay and ask him about all of his favorite pieces like you normally do after class is dismissed. But you can’t be sure if they’ve taken notice, and you make your departure, anyway, giving Professor Han a small wave as you finally make your way out of the class and to the hallway.

Inside the lecture hall, Professor Han observes the remainder of the students working on their quizzes, not missing the way they visibly struggle to comprehend some of the questions or make guesses to material they should definitely know by now. And it’s a familiar sight to him, seeing his students disregard the course entirely and drag their feet just enough to pass the course.

You seem to be the only exception, though, thoroughly understanding and even enjoying the course material. And try as he might to brush off the thought of you, he can’t seem to, fascinated by the way you not only hear him, but listen to him, making his role on campus feel a little less futile- something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

His brows are furrowed as he works on his laptop, the room teeming with the scribbling noises of doubtful penciled-in answers by students on their quizzes and the subsequent erasing because they simply don’t know. But you know- you always know. Like the passing moments after class in which you indulge him in a fact about your journey as a music major, and he’ll often gift you with tales from his days as a prestigious symphonic director.

And you always send him off with a benevolent wave, tucking your hair behind your ear and sauntering out so gracefully, your short skirt flowing with your purposeful strides back to your dorm room.

Not that he’s taken notice of you, of course. Not that he sometimes prays you’ll be the last one out the room so that he can try to impress you with a fact about his musical knowledge or earn little anecdotes about your life he pieces together. That would be entirely inappropriate considering he’s a professor and you’re his student- and no fleeting amount of finally feeling listened to could change that fact.

Conversely, is he wrong to admit to himself that he’s fascinated by your musical knowledge? That the silence of the room is more unnerving when you’ve already gone home for the day?

Furthermore, that he doesn’t feel like such a loser when you beam at his stories and press him for more details about his musical career? Of course he can’t admit it to himself, because that would be entirely inappropriate- he’s a professor, and you’re just a student. But as he remains in front of his laptop, his eyes scanning the room at the students who are lost in thought- or lack of, rather, there’s only one empty seat in the front row. A seat typically occupied by your graceful presence, where you do your best to avoid making heavy eye contact, too, tucking strands of hair behind your ear and smiling at all his jokes. And inappropriate as it may be to admit it, he misses you when you’re not around- musical conversations, the sight of your delicate figure seated and paying attention to him and only him. Learning, listening.

The library is empty that same weekend, the gentle tap of rain on the window closest to you making for a peaceful ambiance as you settle on the velvet cushions of the vacant sofa. In your possession, a warm cup of coffee, as well as Professor Han’s textbook, held tightly in your grasp as you navigate to the inside cover.

Mr. Han, the inside hard cover reads, written neatly along the bolded black line. You smile to yourself, grazing the tips of your fingers along the black sharpie, imagining how he’d looked when he first penned it in. Probably the same way he does now, his big eyes blinking as he cocked his head in concentration and grasped the pen between his slender fingers.

You wonder briefly how old his book is- it appears much older than yours, the pages thin and worn like it’s something he’s utilized for a good while. Your fingers skim the smooth stack of pages before thumbing to the inside, landing on chapter 8 as he requested for this week’s reading assignment. And you smile as you do, taking careful note of the state of his book pages.

Surrounding the small black text, in disarray and almost indistinguishable in loopy blue penmanship, are his annotations, carefully analyzing the sentences as though he’s studied them a million times.

“Written at just five years old!” One sentence reads, underlining a sentence describing Mozart’s Minuet in G major. You can’t help but chuckle softly to yourself, fascinated at the fact that he annotates with the exact same level of enthusiasm he speaks of these pieces.

Another annotation specifies how Mozart’s music was tuned to 432 hertz, a frequency commonly associated with instilling a sense of peace and calmness within one’s body. And as you continue reading the bolded text of the chapter, his annotations provide a clearer image into the history of the composers, detailing minuscule facts about their lives and their music. They aren’t facts mentioned in the book, but rather ones he seemed to know based off memory alone, and you’re impressed he’s able to retain such a vast collection of information pertaining to the subjects. Some excerpts are simply marked with a “wow!” Or a series of exclamation points, and you find yourself endeared to how much of a clear liking he’s taken to the work of a textbook chapter.

As you skim a paragraph explaining the intricate work of Piano Sonata no. 12, his familiar blue annotation catches your eye again, except this time, it feels as though it transcends the page and speaks to you.

“Listen to this one,” it reads, underlined twice in blue pen. And for a moment, the thought overtakes you that he may be telling you to listen to it.

The sentence looks so intentional, almost begging for you to give into the simple request. The implication of underlining it not once, but twice, knowing he’s the only one reading this book. Except maybe he had intended to lend it to you, so that you might take the suggestion and listen to it like he had when he annotated it.

So without another second wasted on analyzing his intentions, you pull out your phone, popping in your earbuds and selecting Mozart’s Piano Sonata no.12 from a list of classical pieces. The piece is almost 20 minutes long, a fact which you find comfort in, knowing you get to think about Professor Han for the entirety of the 20 minutes you’re listening to his suggestion.

The notes begin short and vibrant, melting into one another with such fluidity and color. You shut your eyes to the flowing melody, letting yourself melt with the harmony and become one with Professor Han’s recommendation. And 30 seconds in, there’s a shift, from the joyful tune to a more rushed one, notes transitioning to staccato touches along the keyboard and picking up in pace. Like a gentle stride to a fast-paced sprint, similar to many of the tunes you lose yourself in completely while performing.

Then back to a gentler tune again, the pace slowing down once more and moving again in gentle strides. And just as you think it’s died down, the tune assumes both tempos- fast and then slow again, from a relaxed stroll to a purposeful sprint, in the direction of resolution and with every intention of taking your emotions for a wild ride in the process.

You scan the text again as you listen, indulging yourself in the complex history of Mozart’s experience writing the soulful piece, one he was presumed to have written in either Munich or whilst visiting Vienna. And you read Professor Han’s annotations in the process, heartbeat quickening as you allow yourself to imagine they’re all for you.

“This part is the best,” he annotates, referring to the melancholy movement that begins at nearly seven minutes in. It’s much slower, assuming a minor key and with little resolution at the end of every measure. Dragged-out half notes make up the majority of the piece which bewitches you, your mind racing with thoughts of Professor Han and his little inscriptions jotted down just for you.

The piece sounds a little like him- robust and enchanting, but with something more behind it all. Perhaps a story that’s dying to get out, a history he keeps tucked away in the back of his mind or even a secret he harbors. You think back to the way he gets when he speaks of his favorite pieces and his favorite composers- undoubtedly full of life and glowing with passion. And yet when questioned about his time directing, he’s quick to pull back again, shifting back into the professional composure he wears everyday, simply there to lecture from his memories alone and assign textbook pages as homework.

You’re not sure you’ve ever met somebody who mirrors your passion for music so well- like the two of you speak a language nobody else seems to comprehend. Even his annotations must look like gibberish to the masses, who probably wouldn’t bother to tune into Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 for the sole purpose of understanding him through it. Your alphabet transcends the English language- perhaps the two of you speak only in treble and bass, utilizing the eight notes available to you on a pin-straight staff and yet producing hundreds of thoughts in the process.

Ones that yearn to know him beyond the confines of a classroom, to understand who he was before all of this, before he was stuck in the old hall to the east of campus and made to preach to students who couldn’t give less of a shit about it all.

But you do- you always do.

And as the third movement begins at the 12-minute mark, the sounds of distressing melodies and ill-paced harmonies flooding your ears, you grasp a red pen in hand, leaning over his textbook and inscribing similar annotations to his.

“I love this one,” you scribble alongside his words, smiling to yourself as you converse on the thin pages of his old textbook. It doesn’t cross your mind once that your annotations will exist on the pages for eternity- in fact, you hope they do. You hope his message is received on the pages as much as they are by every inch of your yearning soul, that the bright red pen you wield contrasts so clearly against his blue marks and provides reciprocation to all of this passion.

“The third movement is my favorite,” you then note, scribbling something about the melody in juxtaposition to the evocative choice of tempo. And your annotations continue, and continue, all through the page, as though the book is yours and not something entirely borrowed.

The final paragraph is concluded by him with a simple sentence- one that critiques the lack of resolution.

“Discoordinate, fading notes,” it reads. “Feels like it’s missing something.”

And a bold decision it is, to make a record of Mozart having possibly forgotten something. But music is only reflective of your own emotions- perhaps it’s not Mozart forgetting something, but rather Professor Han feeling as though something’s missing. To you, the piece ends here- discoordinate fading notes that serve as the resolution. To Professor Han, there’s still something beyond those final few eighth notes, like the song isn’t reaching its full potential.

Beside his comment, one last penned-in annotation, one that you observe for a good while, reading it once, twice, and three times over as he practically offers a suggestion to Mozart himself.

“Coda?” It reads simply.

A coda- somewhat of an epilogue in music. It’s ignored the first time around- not really regarded by the musician until the da segno- to which a musician then plays until the indication to jump to the coda. And the coda serves as a resolution to the entire piece, typically a sonata, concluding with triumphant notes and the complete opposite of fading discoordination like Professor Han is so averse to.

You bring your red pen down to his comment, hovering the ballpoint tip over the paper for a moment, before making your final annotation along his pages.

A circle, with a cross in the center- a coda, a musical epilogue, an offer for resolution.

“Here’s your textbook,” Mina says casually when she finally returns that week, tossing it beside you on the bed and averting your gaze.

“Thanks,” you reply, entirely failing to confront her about having returned it a week later than you’d originally requested.

“I shouldn’t have even borrowed it,” she says with a frustrated huff. “I failed his stupid quiz.”

“Chapter 7?” You question, unsurprised by the admission to you.

“Yeah,” she replies, hoisting herself over her duvet and spreading her arms out behind her. “I don’t know a single person who’s passing that useless class.”

She keeps her gaze on the wall for a moment, and then she glances at you briefly, her expression unreadable as she speaks.

“Can’t believe I also have to waste my time at the stupid extra credit thing this week,” she announces, huffing as she concludes her speech.

You continue working on your laptop, not yet meeting her gaze as she rants, her legs dangling carelessly over the edge of the bed.

“What extra credit thing?”

Mina turns to look at you again, furrowing her brows together, almost in disbelief at your words.

“The extra credit thing Professor Han emailed about? There’s an exhibit at the art museum nearby for famous dead composers or something. If you turn in a ticket for proof you attended, you get like, 10 whole points or something.”

You stop typing on your laptop momentarily, glancing over the top of your screen to meet her gaze at last, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“This week?”

“Yeah,” she says, frowning slightly as you turn back to the computer. “You didn’t get the email about it?”

“I guess I didn’t,” you say to her, beginning to look up the event online. “I’ve been so busy.”

In reality, Professor Han’s email missed your inbox because you weren’t invited, consistently boasting an A in his class all semester. The extra credit is only intended for students like Mina, who are well on the route to failing his course without some form of extra credit. But to you, the event won’t serve as extra credit- it’s just an excuse to catch a glimpse of Professor Han again, maybe gain more insight into his favorite pieces and converse with him beyond the four walls of the lecture hall.

The rain is still coming down in sheets by the time your next lecture with Professor Han rolls around, the class much emptier than usual, most students opting to remain in the comfort of their dorm rooms. Professor Han produces a thought-provoking lecture on Mozart this time, conveying many of the works you read about in his textbook. And when his lecture concludes, he leans back against the podium, thanking all students who did attend today, an unspoken race against the clock unfolding as the two of you stall and wait for the rest of the students to clear out.

When the class is finally empty, he beckons for you with two fingers, remaining slouched against the podium and crossing his muscular arms out in front of him.

“I have your book,” you say to him, reaching into the bag slung around your shoulder.

He accepts it from your grasp, glancing at it briefly, before setting it down on his desk and folding his arms again. You want him to open it, to read your annotations and feel heard like the purpose your little scribbles are intended for. But he doesn’t- he just leaves it there, keeping his gaze on yours and remaining silent for a minute.

“What did you think of chapters 8 and 9?” He asks finally.

“Good stuff,” you say, giving him a shy nod. “I was familiar with a lot of it, but definitely still some new pieces I hadn’t heard of. I’ll try to get around to them when I can.”

Professor Han nods, and then you watch as he sprawls his hands out behind him, leaning back against the podium still and crossing his legs at the ankles.

“There’s an exhibit at the museum across the street later tonight,” he says, voice trembling a little as he speaks.

He’s not sure why he’s even bringing it up- maybe because he’s trying to keep the conversation course-related. It’s definitely not because he wants you to be there- a reckless way of thinking indeed.

“I know,” you say to him with a knowing smile. “I was wondering where my invite was for the extra credit.”

A breathy chuckle escapes his toothy grin as he holds his gaze on yours.

“You have a perfect score,” he replies in a low voice. “The extra credit is for people who are failing my class.”

“It can’t also be for art enthusiasts?” You retort, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe I want to tour the dead composers gallery, too.”

Professor Han wants to entertain this- so, so badly. He wants to drop the professional act and flirt with you like you’re so clearly doing to him- but he can’t. You’re just a student, and it would be wrong to toy with the imbalance of power he holds over you. Still, there’s no reason you can’t also show to the exhibition, as a student who simply wants to partake in a walkthrough of the subject at hand. He can’t prohibit you from going, after all.

“I can’t give you any more credit,” Professor Han says with another breathy chuckle, cocking his head to look at you a little better. Your eyes sparkle as they stare back at him, a giddy smile plastered on your face and your hair tucked behind your ears between laughter as you meet his gaze again.

“But I can’t stop you from going, either.”

At this, he pivots on his heels, turning around to reach into the leather bag by his laptop. You watch curiously as he pulls out a small piece of paper, handing it to you and saying absolutely nothing.

But one glance at it tells you exactly what it is- a ticket to the exhibition, one that’s already been paid for. You remember Mina telling you she had purchased her ticket already, meaning this one was purchased for you- by Professor Han.

“Really?” You question with wide eyes, examining the ticket and then looking back at him with an excited smile.

“I didn’t ask you to come,” Professor Han reiterates. “You asked for extra credit. And you bought that ticket yourself.”

At this, he cocks his head a little, and then he shoots you a wink the same way he did once before. Only this time, your heartbeat quickens at his actions, ones that seem to desperately seek out attention from you and even make attempts at getting closer to you.

“I wanted extra credit,” you repeat to him finally, shooting him a wink, too. “And I bought this ticket myself.”

The so-called “dead composer’s gallery” has been an extra credit assignment of Professor Han’s for all five years he’s been teaching. It’s hosted in the art museum right by campus, the same few paintings of composers he lectures about making the rotation every fall to tell stories of their lives and flaunt the work they produced. Students don’t typically care for it, showing up to walk the duration of the gallery in a rush, flashing their ticket to Professor Han and collecting an easy ten points so as not to repeat his class.

He’s aware of the fact that they don’t read a single one of the bronze plaques that detail the names of the composers, or that they audibly insult the paintings, despite Professor Han being within earshot of them in the quiet space that houses the art. But for him, it’s simply a way to avoid teaching the same set of students a second time. One semester of watching them drag their feet is enough, he’s always thought to himself.

Professor Han has walked the exhibit a plethora of times, thus he usually shows in a simple sweater and some jeans, and the students marvel at the sight of him dressed so casually unlike at his lectures. And despite the exhibit being no different than the last few years, he feels compelled to dress up for this visit, admiring his efforts in the mirror as he adjusts the collar of his white button-down and centers his tie.

Of course, deep down, he’ll never admit he’s dressed up for you tonight, his mind racing with the unprofessional thoughts that you might show up just for him. He’s usually a mere spectator at these exhibits, silently assuming a spot in the corner of the room as the students make their rounds and eye him nervously. He emphasizes the notion that asking questions is encouraged, or that the students are free to chat with him about their favorite paintings and apply them to his lectures. Yet they never do- they just pace the marble floors at an expeditious pace and send him off with the wave of their ticket, not a single painting having resonated with them in the process. Some of them even groan, or verbally complain about the task, as though Professor Han’s forced them here tonight, and not the near-failing grade so many of them are stuck with. As though he’s not doing them a favor by offering extra credit for such an easy task, and an enjoyable one at that- or at least to him.

Wet sneakers squeak along the marbled floors as the students make their rushed rounds, many of them accompanying groups of friends as they stifle laughter at the art and then make their departure with the flash of a ticket in Professor Han’s direction. He remains in the corner of the large gallery room, one hand shoved in the pocket of his black slacks, the other grasping a folded pamphlet as he skims the artist names and waits for students to approach, should they require his attention. Yet it’s a futile task, having been at the event for nearly two hours now as the students come and go.

Admittedly, and with all the profound guilt weighing deep in his chest, Professor Han can’t think about anything except for you, desperately scanning the halls and glancing at the doorway for the familiar sight of you sauntering in, a beaming smile on your face and purpose in every stride. The exhibit is near closing by this point, just a handful of students remaining as he glances around the room and watches them rush to finish touring the display.

And embarrassingly enough, he counts down the seconds on the silver wrist watch he wears, hoping maybe you’re just running late by chance.

As the little hands on his watch tick in seconds, and you’re still nowhere to be seen, the thought suddenly overtakes him that this is all so stupid. What is he thinking, waiting around for a student like this- one he teaches, and one he’s tried his best to avoid having non-platonic thoughts about? It's silly. Not to mention- wildly inappropriate.

As Professor Han gathers his canvas bag hoisted over a nearby bench, and sends the last handful of students off with a polite bow, a quick turn of the corner confirms his first theory.

“Hi,” you say to Professor Han, bowing to him and tucking a wet strand of hair out of your face. “Sorry, I was running a bit late. Lots of rain outside.”

Professor Han can’t help but hold your gaze momentarily, enchanted by the sight of you, despite coming to the conclusion that this is wrong. If it’s wrong, he’ll have to sort out the logistics some other time- because you standing in front of him like this, dressed much more elegantly than he’s ever seen you, a smile on your face and already glancing around at the gallery at the works of art- everything about this feels right.

“Hi,” he says back, a nervous exhale escaping his lips as he does. He silently prays you can’t tell that he’s been waiting around for this all evening, longing to see you just once tonight and maybe talk about musical composers the way he’s been dreaming of.

“Vivaldi?” You question, brushing your way past him to the giant painting across from you, depicting the famous composer in a red robe clutching his signature violin. “I’m assuming, by the violin.”

“Yeah,” Professor Han says, turning to face the painting, too. “Kind of a scary dude, isn’t he?”

Professor Han realizes you’re the first student to make a single comment about one of the paintings here- a fact he’s well endeared by, and simultaneously completely unsurprised by.

“Debatable,” you respond. “For his portfolio alone, sure. But if we’re talking looks, I think Brahms might win this one.”

Your eyes shift to the left of Vivaldi’s at the cold stare of Johannes Brahms, a long white beard and a sharp mustache framing his glaring eyes. Professor Han laughs lightly, and then he takes note of the way you cock your head at the bronze plaque, reading a detailed little account of Brahms and scanning the art as you do.

“Brahms wasn’t scary,” he finally says with a shrug of his shoulders. “He was actually really lonely.”

“Yeah?” You question back, observing the way he stares up at the painting.

“Yeah,” he affirms. “There was a long-standing rumor that he had a crush on pianist Clara Schumann- of course she was already married. Some think Clara may have cheated and secretly reciprocated feelings for Brahms, too- but regardless, he died alone.”

The space is quiet between you both, a sort of melancholia falling over you two as you piece together the story in your mind. You can’t help but imagine how lonely it must have been for Brahms, keeping his love for Clara a complete secret in the presence of her spouse. A love so strong and so unmoving that he chose to die alone rather than find a woman that served as replacement for the love he felt for Clara.

Your mind paints images of Brahms and Clara together, his gaze fixed on hers and so helplessly in love while she was wed to another man all along.

“That’s tragic,” you say finally, feeling a pit form in your chest. “What a lonely life it must’ve been.”

Professor Han seems to take note of your change in tone, perking up a little as he chimes in again.

“He still had his music,” he says to you. “And a very successful career.”

And your head cocks again at Brahms’ face across from you, a stoic expression in his eyes and his thin-lipped pout- almost as though he was hiding part of himself from the masses all along.

“But he didn’t have the one thing he wanted,” you finish telling him.

Professor Han says nothing, giving a small bow to the painting with his arms tucked behind his back. He searches for the words to say, ones that might comfort you in this pity you take on him. But he can’t, feeling as though you may be right.

Brahms had music, a successful career composing everything from Wiegenlied to Symphonies 1 and 3, a long list of credits and enough fortune to travel the world when he wasn’t producing excellency. But he never had Clara Schumann- a tragic unrequited love he took with him to the grave. Could the tender touches and kindred soul of a lover ever be replaced by half and eighth notes on a staff? By the wave of a baton in a sea of brass and wooden reeds? Was he happy, simultaneously getting everything he wanted and nothing he dreamed of?

Johannes Brahms never had Clara Schumann. And conversely, perhaps Professor Han will never get close to what he wants, either.

The dead composer’s gallery quickly proves to be a lot more tragic than you’d anticipated. The paintings are beautiful- grand golden crested frames that house detailed depictions of famous composers, wearing powdered wigs and fancy dress robes. And every stride to the next work of art is accompanied by Professor Han’s tragic, detailed account of their love lives.

“Tchaikovsky was gay during a time when it was highly illegal,” Professor Han explains. “He had a long list of gay lovers with whom he’d write romantic letters to, and he came under heavy scrutiny when it was made public- especially since he was already of a low social class.”

“Must’ve been terrifying,” you tell him, narrowing your eyes at the intense stare of his painted portrait. “What did he do?”

Professor Han is quiet for a moment, glancing over at you and parting his lips as though he’s going to say something. But he simply remains silent, staring back up at the painting and swallowing nervously.

It’s only when you glance over at him, raising your eyebrows a little in the direction of his looming figure and almost gesturing for him to continue, that he reluctantly provides an answer to your question.

“He married a student,” Professor Han says quietly.

And he understands very well what the implications are here, producing stories of instructors being romantically involved with their students, when he’s here with a student himself.

Here with you, the very same student he’s been waiting on all evening. The student he’s enjoying telling stories of composers and their romantic involvements to, and the same student he’ll find any excuse to spend more time with once the dead composers gallery is already closed for the night.

“They didn’t last, of course,” Professor Han then continues. “It was impulsive, and they were severely incompatible. Not to mention his heart already belonged to another.”

It’s your turn to get quiet, simply nodding at his words and piecing together tidbits of Tchaikovsky’s tragic romance.

“Professor,” you say to him suddenly, turning to face him with a small smile on your face. “How do you know so much about the romantic histories of famous composers, anyway? Is this part of your lecture style?”

Professor Han chuckles lightly in response, his eyes forming little crescents as his lips pull back into a big grin. He looks much happier here like this, compared to the way he carries himself during his teaching- more laid back, comfortable, even.

“I think you have to understand where they fell short in romance,” he says, maintaining the same warm smile on his face. “It’s where most of the passion, and pain alike, stemmed from in their pieces. The sheer intensity of some of the orchestral or symphonic pieces, they’re…” his voice trails off momentarily, observing a painting of Mozart on the wall in front of the two of you, whose story he hasn’t even indulged you in yet as the museum staff prepare to close for the evening. He tilts his head to one side, pondering his words briefly and giving a little nod before continuing.

“They’re all crafted from yearning in one way or another.”

The evening rainfall is torrential outside, the sidewalks almost empty as people seek shelter in the safety of their cars and apartments. Once you’ve both exited the museum, Professor Han remains under the concrete roof that spans the entrance, looking out at the glistening pavement roads that reflect with red and green traffic lighting.

“Are you parked on the street?” He asks hesitantly, his hands shoved in the pocket of his slacks as he awaits your reply.

“I walked here,” you say to him, a light chuckle escaping your lips. “My dorm’s just a few blocks away.”

His eyes widen at the admission, thinking back to where his car is parked, just around the corner in the museum’s designated parking garage. He debates offering you a ride, but he knows it’d be in his best interest to avoid being alone in a car with the one woman he so dangerously can’t stop thinking about.

“Do you need a ride?” He then asks, the words leaving his lips before he can even stop himself. It’s like he’s overtaken by another version of himself- one who can’t cease this little chase you’re indulging him in, too.

“I don’t want to burden you,” you respond, a sheepish smile on your face as you try to veil the fact that you’re elated he’s even offered.

One more chance to make things right- and yet there’s no discernible boundary between what feels right, and what is right.

“It’s not a burden,” he affirms. “It’s not safe to walk home in this rain.”

Your gaze meets his, a sort of triumphant smile pulling on your lips as he cocks his head in the direction of the parking garage. There’s no distinctive plan either of you have in mind, but you’re also drawn to each other, admittedly wanting nothing more than to find little excuses to put off your departure for the evening.

He begins in the direction of the garage without even waiting for verbal confirmation, and yet he doesn’t have to, because you’re already trailing alongside him like it’s been your plan all this time. You maintain a giddy smile on your face as you both brave the rain together beyond the concrete ceiling of the museum entrance, tucking your necks into your shoulders and laughing as the rain drenches your clothes completely, strands of hair falling into your face and dribbling rainwater down your glowing cheeks.

“It’s just past here!” he calls out over the deafening sounds of rainfall, squinting his eyes amidst the drops of water that weigh on his eyelashes and making out the faint outline of his car in the dimly lit parking garage.

You trail behind him as he gestures for you to follow, also catching a glimpse of his parked car in the garage, seemingly the only remaining one at this hour.

Professor Han opens the passenger door for you, stringy pieces of hair falling into his face as he gestures for you to get in. And you do without hesitation, smoothing down your skirt and occupying the sleek black leather seat. When the door is shut, there’s a brief silence that falls over you as he makes his way around to the driver’s side, and you catch a glimpse of yourself in the rearview mirror. Your makeup is a little smeared from the rain, wet hair slicked down and your clothes clinging to your figure with dampened spots. But for the first time in a long while, you look happy, finally making use of your time beyond the walls of your dorm room.

Professor Han slides into his seat at last, the door shutting promptly beside him, and he runs his slender fingers through the slick black strands of hair that fall into his face. You watch him curiously, heart racing at the sight of him so close to you, your bodies almost touching if not for the center console that so conveniently separates your yearning bodies. Drops of rainwater find purchase on his bent knees, further dampening his slacks as he wrings out his jet black hair over them. And he chuckles as he does, a little embarrassed he looks so disheveled in your presence.

When he hears you reciprocate with a gentle laugh, he turns to look at you, and it’s then that he realizes how dangerously close he is to you.

From this proximity, he can make out the spheres of rainwater that collect on your blushed cheeks, every last speck of mascara that collects under your eyelashes and flutters as you blink curiously at him. He can distinguish the lipstick you’ve strategically worn just for him, one that almost mirrors the natural pink shade of his pouty lips. He can feel the clear tension that bubbles over the center console as you lean in just a little, not enough to graze his mouth over yours, but certainly enough to feel the sharp breath that escapes his lips as he leans in, too.

And just as your eyes begin to shut, with every intention to kiss him right then and there, the sound of distant rainfall lessening as your rapid heartbeat fills your ears, he pulls back again.

“Sorry,” Professor Han remarks quietly, resting his hands on the steering wheel and shaking his head as though he's physically ridding himself of the urge to kiss you.

Your eyes open again, met with his trembling brown pupils that fixate on the dashboard in front of you both. And then he starts the car without another word, not yet backing out as he sits with his thoughts for a moment.

You desperately want to think he was going to kiss you, too, but you feel painfully stupid for being turned away like this in his car. Maybe it’s not how you’ve been reading into- maybe this is strictly a teacher-student relationship the way it’s supposed to be.

“Do you want to go back to your dorm?” He asks amidst the silence, not meeting your gaze. He’s scared he’ll get the urge to kiss you again, or that you might clock how nervous he is to be here with you.

You’re quiet for a moment, a little angry with things as you ponder the question. He’s not quite telling you to go home- but he isn’t asking you to stay, either. He’s just putting the ball in your court- both a safe, and a risky play at hand.

“No,” you voice finally.

He just nods at your response, clicking his tongue once and waiting for you to say something else. But you don’t- instead, you wait for him to say something else, too.

“Do you want to get out of the rain?” He then asks in a quiet voice, not specifying where that may imply. And although he doesn’t, you nod in agreement, meeting his gaze briefly as he reciprocates with an affirmative nod of his own.

Professor Han may have physically refuted the notion that kissing you in his car was anywhere near appropriate- and yet at this hour, the only place he can think to seek shelter from the rain with you is his apartment.

His apartment is nothing special at first glance, just your typical run-of-the-mill unit on the third floor of his building, but at a closer inspection, everything is exactly what you’d expect it to be.

Music sheets scattered along tables and couches, scribbled hastily with notes and annotations, much like his textbook was. A studio piano against the wall of his living room, the leather-seated bench that accompanies it stacked high with music theory books and more sheet music. The walls are decorated with rows of photographs, ones that you wish you could derive answers from, much like the dead composers gallery.

“Sorry for the mess,” he says sheepishly, peeling off his coat and draping it over the back of a chair.

Your arms are folded behind your back as you traverse the wooden floors as though this place is a museum, too. You relish in the sight of every decorative item, every sheet of music and every placement of his old-looking furniture, like it might give you more insight into exactly who Professor Han is. It’s just like he is- classic, enchanting, captivating.

“What are all these?” You ask him, pointing to a wall with a neat collage of photos.

At a closer inspection, you realize many of them include him, presumably from several years ago. He’s blonde in one of them, wearing a black pinstriped suit and a stylish pair of silver earrings. Another one shows him with midnight blue hair, the cool-toned hue contrasting rather beautifully against his tanned skin. His hair is still black in many of them, but he looks younger, dressed casually with a big smile plastered on his face.

And the most fascinating quality in all of them- he looks important. Like he’s a notable figure among the other subjects, usually standing in front of a podium or a music stand, sometimes with a baton grasped between his hands and raised in motion.

“Are these from your directing days?” You then ask, knowing the answer already.

It feels a little wrong to be seeing the photographs, almost as though they’re not supposed to be visible to just a student of his. They’re a glimpse into another life he’s lived- one you’re too late to be a part of. And more importantly, one he hasn’t seemed to be interested in talking about. You remember the times he’d brush off the mention of directing, change the subject or even just respond with an absent shrug. And yet standing in front of the proof it happened, you can’t help but probe for answers, feeling as though they might provide insight into who exactly he is underneath this pensive mask he wears.

“Those are from my directing days,” he confirms with a sad smile, making his way over to you and staring up at the wall. He examines one in which he’s in the middle of composing, stick held high in the air and a concentrated expression on his chiseled face.

“You look really cool,” you tell him, and he laughs lightly in response.

“Thank you,” he replies politely. “I always felt cool.”

You begin to tell him that he’s still cool, the way he captivates a whole room with lectures about famous composers and music theory he just knows offhandedly now. But you quickly get quiet again, not wanting to overstep any boundaries.

When you turn to face him again, you’re well aware of how close he is to you, droplets of rain still gliding down the bridge of his nose and onto the damp collar of his dress shirt. You also notice he’s wearing his glasses again, which remain the only dry part of his attire.

He seems to take notice of the heightened proximity for the second time today, too, making his way over to the couch and sitting on the edge of the velvet green cushions. But his gaze still remains fixed on yours, admiring the way you peer at his space.

“Professor, can I ask you something?” You say to him, approaching him cautiously, yet keeping a comfortable distance from him.

“Anything,” Professor Han replies, swallowing nervously and resting the palms of his hands flat on his knees. His long legs are draped over the edge of the couch, bent at the knees and spread so that he’s comfortably resting against the back of the cushion.

“You didn’t tell me about Mozart,” you say to him, twiddling your fingers in front of you. “What was Mozart’s love life like?”

Professor Han thinks it over momentarily, his eyes darting to the ceiling as he recalls Mozart’s romantic involvements. And it doesn’t take long, because it’s another tale he knows very well already.

“Well he lived with a family during his time in Vienna,” he explains. “They had a daughter named Constanze, who he took a particular liking to.”

You nod at his words, approaching him a little more now and observing the way he tenses a little, yet also noticing he makes zero effort to move away.

“His father didn’t approve,” Professor Han continues, eyeing the gentle sway of your skirt as you near him. “And yet when Mozart moved out, they maintained a relationship in secret.”

“A secret relationship?” You echo, and he nods affirmatively. “And then what happened?”

“Well,” he begins, dropping his hands to his sides as you stand right in front of him now. “Mozart wrote Constanze’s disapproving father a very famous letter. And they later married.”

“A letter?” You question. “Do you recall what was in the letter?”

You eye him from above, your thighs practically grazing his kneecaps as he remains seated in front of you.

And then in a painfully slow movement, all the while reminding yourself not to rush it, your hands find his, intertwining your fingers together and allowing you to pull yourself even closer to him, effectively slotting yourself between his knees. Professor Han’s breath hitches in his throat as you do, his heart racing wildly in his chest, pulsing reminders grazing his conscience that this is wrong. Yet juxtaposed against your delicate touches on his skin, and your curious eyes awaiting a resolution to his story, he can’t help himself.

“The letter?” He asks nervously, and you nod at him.

“Yeah. Do you remember it, by chance?”

Of course he remembers it- he could recite it in his sleep if he wanted to, every last word and emotion ingrained so deep within his soul as though its memorization was some requirement to work in a music-related field. But he hesitates to utter the words, knowing that if he does, they serve as permission for this- all of this, to indulge himself in all his reckless convictions right here with you.

“You don’t have to,” you say to him shyly, loosening your grasp on his fingers.

And you refer to both the utterance of Mozart’s letter, as well as the actions you know are bound to unfold if he does.

“No, I…” he interrupts, a sharp breath leaving his lips as he speaks. “I want to.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, tightening your grasp around his fingers once more, and then you wait for him to begin.

Professor Han takes a deep breath, some form of a prayer or maybe a beg for absolute forgiveness to a higher power racing his mind before he speaks again. And then, with all the weighing guilt in his heart, he begins to voice the letter back to you.

“I must make you better acquainted with the character of my dear Constanze,” he begins, finally allowing you to pull yourself onto his lap and steady yourself with two hands on his strong forearms.

“Keep talking,” you say to him, reaching out to tuck a strand of wet hair out of his face.

“Her whole beauty consists of two little black eyes and a pretty figure,” he continues, swallowing nervously at every tender touch you produce against his skin. His hands rest on the curves of your waist, delicately grazing up and down as you watch him curiously. Your legs bend to straddle him, skirt flowing over his black dress slacks and draping over the fabric of his crotch, where he can feel himself growing unbearably hard for you.

“Mhm,” you say, two hands now grazing the fabric of his silk black tie and loosening the knot at the collar.

“She likes to be neatly and cleanly dressed, but not smartly; and most things that a woman needs, she is able to make for herself.”

At this point, Professor Han’s tie is completely undone, your nimble fingers now undoing the buttons of his shirt and grazing fingertips along the exposed strip of his chest to you.

He pauses momentarily, eyes fluttering briskly as he relishes in the sensation of your skin against his. And then in one swift motion, your hands tug the fabric of his tie toward you, grazing your open mouth over his and pressing a short, chaste kiss to his pink lips.

He waits for more, but you don’t indulge him just yet, pulling away to stare into the swirling galaxies he houses in his big eyes.

And before he can finish reading the letter, you’re speaking again, putting out the same words he completely intended to produce.

“I love her, and she loves me with all her heart,” you say to him, finishing Mozart’s signature letter for him. “Tell me whether I could wish for a better wife.”

Professor Han says nothing, his eyes widened with shock for a moment as you toy with the fabric of his tie. He wasn’t expecting you to know the tale, let alone echo the letter back to him- one he’s had memorized for most of his life.

“Mozart’s letter to Constanze’s father,” you voice with a small shrug. “It’s always been one of my favorites.”

And Professor Han can’t take it anymore, finally allowing himself to pull you in by the small of your back, desperately gripping his fingers against the fabric of your shirt and locking his lips with yours once again. His kisses are purposeful, and needy, but he’s still gentle with you, guiding you further down the length of his legs until you’re sat right over his crotch. The two of you say nothing in between kisses for a good while, remaining like that and exchanging gasped breaths into each other’s mouths as his hands explore every inch of your still-clothed body. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him into you and arching your back into his touches. And when his hands graze the length of your skirt, tenderly stroking up the skin on your inner thighs, you chuckle lightly into his mouth, well amused by the actions as though you haven’t wanted it all this time, too.

“Is this okay?” He says nervously, pulling away momentarily to scan your expression.

“It’s more than okay,” you say to him, toying with his tie again. “I’ve wanted to do this so badly.”

Professor Han chuckles lightly, not wanting to admit he’s been thinking about it, too. Maybe externally you’ve already taken note of the way he stares at you as he speaks during lectures, or the way he eyes your short skirts when you assume your seat in his classroom. But you don’t know the nights he spends alone in his apartment, desperately fucking his fist to the thought of you bent over the podium in his lecture hall and filling the space with your erotic moans. Or the way he’s had to divert your gaze in class sometimes, lest he accidentally flaunts a hard-on for the whole class to see, because he knows his mind will run someplace it shouldn’t be.

He’s completely ridden with guilt, his sleep schedule almost nonexistent as he spends hours after he’s already tucked himself into bed, praying the universe won’t punish him for thinking about a student like this.

But he can’t help it- not when you saunter into his classroom so confidently every week, speaking of composers with the same level of admiration he shares, earning the highest grade possible and taking a genuine interest in his life. He’s almost angry at the reality of it, questioning constantly why you hadn't crossed paths before he became a teacher.

“Where were you during my college days?” Professor Han says out loud, a sort of disappointment evident on his face as he speaks. “I wish I’d known you earlier.”

You chuckle in response, one hand tangling in the back of his hair as you rub in gentle massaging motions.

“What’s wrong with right now?” You retort, trailing one finger over his plump lips.

“What’s wrong is that I’m your professor,” he emphasizes, scoffing lightly. “Everything about it is wrong.”

“I’m an adult,” you respond, pulling him in by his collar to work kisses down the column of his neck. “And I want this.”

“Yeah, but…” he begins, the guilt weighing heavily on him all over again.

“You don’t want this?” You then ask, pushing yourself off him briefly and holding eye contact with him. He looks as nervous as he always does when he’s near you, his eyes wide with fear and his timid movements conveying a clear reluctance to reciprocate the affection.

“I do want this,” he mutters sheepishly, knowing it’s also not in his best interest to lie to the woman he’s been leading on for several months now.

“I can leave,” you say to him finally, acknowledging how scared he sounds at the prospect of being here with you. “I won’t tell a single soul. It’ll be like it never happened.”

And Professor Han’s eyebrows arch up in an almost pleading motion, not verbally conveying anything, and yet telling you all that you need to know in the process.

Without saying anything back to him, you reach down to pinch the bridge of his wireframe glasses between your index finger and thumb. His glasses are fogged up, resting almost crookedly on his face when you pull them off, snapping the frame shut between your teeth and setting them on the couch beside you. You can hear Professor Han’s breath hitch in the back of his throat, nervously awaiting your next move and practically shifting total control over to you, who wastes no time reattaching your lips to his and humming into his mouth. He looks completely helpless under you like this, beads of sweat forming on his temples, indistinguishable against the rain droplets that still grace his attire. When you pull away, you examine his chest again briefly- the very same one you couldn’t seem to look away from on your first day of classes. His broad pectorals jut out against the thin white fabric of his button-down shirt, almost completely see-through all drenched in rainwater. And two buttons reveal his sharp clavicles to you, but you’re still just as eager to see the rest of him.

So in slow movements, you graze your hands down lower, snaking off his tie and discarding it alongside him with his glasses. Your nimble fingers work his buttons now, undoing them one by one, pulling open the hem of his shirt so that his chest is visible to you, and when the very last one is undone, you practically tear open both sides of his shirt, allowing the fabric to drape down over the couch and slouch off of his shoulders.

His waist is a sight to marvel at, delicate yet still muscular, made even more erotic in contrast with his broadened shoulders that span much wider than his hips. And your lips quickly find every curve of his chest, pressing a trail of kisses along his clavicles, up to the crook of his neck, down where his nipples protrude and along his shoulders, which tense up beneath your touch.

“Fuck,” he breathes, shutting his eyes in blissful pleasure as your kisses turn a little harsher, pulling his flesh between your teeth and sucking small bruises onto the raised goosebumps that grace every inch of him. You can feel him shift beneath you, trying his best to keep his now swollen cock at a distance from you, as though the act might be less incriminating if you can’t feel his physical yearning for you. And yet it’s enough for you to take notice, scooting closer to him with a smile on your face as you meet his lips once more.

When he feels you squeeze your thighs around his still-clothed cock just once, enough for the friction to emit a bead of precum from under his slacks, his hands find your waist again, tugging lightly at the fabric to signal you to remove it.

“Can I take this off?” he asks in a low voice, his eyes now hooded with lust, lips parted at the sight of your body practically grinding onto his.

You don’t reply, simply crossing two arms over your torso and pulling your shirt off over your head. It’s discarded along with the pile of other things, and then before he has to ask, your bra joins it beside him, too.

Professor Han feels as though he might finish right here at the sight of your breasts on display for him, your hardened nipples protruding generously with arousal and practically begging for his touch. He feels his mouth water with saliva, desperate to take you in his mouth, but somehow even with you straddling him like this, he’s too scared to make a move.

“Professor,” you say to him quietly.

“Hm?” He responds.

You say nothing back to him, blinking innocently down at him and waiting for him to act upon his urges. You know what it is that he wants so badly- and you want it, too. But you want it to feel as mutual as the yearning has, for some confirmation neither of you are manipulating the other into this. His eyes don’t leave your breasts, examining the way your chest rises and falls with every heavy breath as you wait for him. And then he meets your gaze again, a sharp breath escaping his lips as he does.

“Jisung,” he says, now chuckling lightly. His hands snake up your sides, rising higher, and higher, until they’re resting on the mounds of your breasts, not yet making contact with your hardened nipples.

“What?” You hum in response, a small smile on your lips as he watches you carefully.

“That’s my name,” he now says, leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss again. As he does, his hands move lower, until his slender fingers are sprawled out over your nipples. He doesn’t stop kissing you, moving his hands in gentle kneading motions over your breasts as his kisses turn more eager.

“You don’t have to call me professor,” he says in between kisses, hands now reaching around to pull you in closer, gripping your ass just as tenderly the way he did your breasts and desperately grazing your smooth flesh against his calloused fingers . “Just call me Jisung.”

As you smile into the kiss, he flips up your skirt, looping one finger into the hem of your panties and toying with it as he adjusts himself below you. He tugs at your panties just an inch, now transitioning his movements to find the buckle of his pants, metal clinking between your bodies as he unfastens it and snakes it out beside him.

You pull your own panties off as he unbuttons his slacks, awkwardly parting from you momentarily to rid himself of the still-drenched fabric. And then all that remains are his boxers, his erection pitching a tent against the constricting fabric as he resumes his kisses.

“Jisung,” you breathe into his mouth, earning a toothy grin from him against your parted lips. “I love it. I love your name.”

“You’re welcome to say it whenever you want,” he says back, running his hands along the small of your back.

“Just me?” You ask teasingly, tangling two hands in his ebony hair.

“Just you,” he emphasizes, grazing his fingers along your inner thighs. “Just like you’re the only one who scores a perfect on everything she does,” he continues, the pads of his fingers attaching to your clit.

“Just like you’re the only student I’d bring back here in the first place.”

Jisung’s fingers begin slow, circular motions on your bundle of nerves, earning a gasp from you as he dips once into your entrance to gather your wetness and spread it around again.

His mouth accumulates with a needy wad of drool, cock growing even harder at the sight of your eyebrows arched for him as you grind into the pads of his fingers and push him even harder against your flesh.

“Do you think about me often?” You ask him between labored breaths, tilting his chin up to meet your gaze. His eyes are wide with lust and curiosity alike, peering back at you so innocently, with every intention to pleasure you.

“I do,” he affirms, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“What do you think about?” You now ask him, scooting even closer and allowing your chests to make contact as you wrap your arms around him.

“Those short little skirts you wear just for me,” he replies, smiling as he speaks. “They drive me insane.”

“That’s on purpose, you tell him, grazing your nails along the back of his neck. “What else?”

“Your stories of piano,” he then says, surprising you with his response. “It’s so sexy how talented you are.”

“Really?” You ask him, chuckling lightly as he kisses you once again. He nods affirmatively, dipping two fingers into your entrance with ease, just past your glistening folds, but not yet moving them inside of you.

And then he grows quiet for a moment, meeting your gaze with a serious expression, before he begins to pump his fingers slowly in and out of you as he speaks again.

“I touched myself to your book annotations,” he tells you, this time a smile absent from his chiseled face.

“My book annotations,” you repeat, and he cocks his head to look at you.

“All for me,” he continues, filling the ache between your legs with the gentle thrust of his fingers. “Were you trying to get my attention?”

“Depends,” you reply, clutching his shoulders and moving down the length of his fingers a little further.

“On what?”

“On whether yours were for me,” you say to him finally, clenching down around his digits.

He moves his thumb to stimulate your clit as he fucks you, earning a breathy moan as you struggle to speak now.

“Tell me what it was like,” you say to him breathlessly. “Describe it to me.”

“It was earlier today- just before the gallery,” he explains, cocking his head as your lips part in pleasure. “I never annotate in red. I knew instantly that it was you. Your handwriting- your words,” he continues. “I wasn’t expecting it- I’d hoped maybe you penned in a phone number or something.”

You chuckle lightly as he speaks, taking note of the way his fingers pick up the pace inside of you.

“You would’ve loved that, huh?” You retort. And his fingers now move inside of you in a ‘come hither’ motion as he resumes his actions.

“I would’ve loved that,” he groans. “Too bad all I had was your handwriting, and the thought of you in that skirt you wore today. And ten minutes alone with my right hand, praying you’d actually show up tonight.”

Jisung can’t cease his perverted confessions once they begin escaping his wet lips. In complete contrast to his reluctance earlier, his fingers now thrusting in and out of your sopping pussy with such force, spilling every little detail about how much he’s thought about you these past few months.

“God, I love your body,” he breathes against you, craning his neck to take your breast in his mouth. His mouth latches around your erect nipple, tongue swirling in circular motions as he hums helplessly. And you let out a fervent moan at the sensation, not missing the way his fingers prod into your squelching entrance, your thighs trembling as you near your finish.

“Jisung,” you gasp, tangling a hand in his hair and tugging him gently off of you. A string of drool connects his wet lips to your flesh as he meets your gaze, labored breaths grazing your skin, desperate to taste you again.

“What is it?” He coos back.

“I want to finish with you,” you say helplessly. And your hand reaches down between the two of you onto his still-clothed crotch, taking his girth between your hand and giving a light squeeze. He’s wet, as though he’s already finished once for you, and he whimpers powerlessly at the contact.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, shutting his eyes in pleasure at the sensation. “Fuck, touch it again, will you?”

You chuckle lightly in response, looping a finger into the hem of his boxers and tugging down.

“I can do a lot more than just touch you,” you tell him, allowing his fingers to depart from your entrance as you position yourself over him. He watches too as you tug his boxers over his crotch, his eyebrows arching in preemptive arousal as he feels the cool air graze his exposed flesh. And when his cock is finally free, growing erotically against the concave of his abdomen, you can’t help but gasp, completely in awe at the sight.

He’s much bigger than you’d anticipated, a thick girth lined with pink protruding veins and a generous length, his cock almost red at the tip and leaking with precum.

“Fuck,” Jisung says for a third time, feeling another bead drip down his length at the prospect of you watching.

“Is it okay if-”

Jisung doesn’t let you finish your sentence before he’s nodding eagerly, practically begging you to ride him. And you waste no time indulging him in the request, positioning your entrance over him and steadying yourself with two hands on his broad shoulders. He says nothing as he waits, his nails digging into the small of your back as he shuts his eyes, reveling in the sensation of your body so close to his. And then before he can meet your gaze again, you’re sliding down the slick of his length with complete ease, almost bottoming out fully as he opens his eyes again and whimpers loudly.

He’s already pulsating rhythmically inside of you, the tip of his cock kissing your walls as you move even lower, precum mixing with your wetness and producing a light sloshing sound as you begin to move up and down.

His eyes watch your pussy swallow him for a few motions, doing his best to stave off his orgasm as you pant at the sensation. You can feel him all the way in your stomach, filling you up so fully and deeply, labored breaths leaving your lips as his whimpers fill the room. And then you capture him in a wet kiss again, just barely grazing your lips over his as his voice rises in pitch.

“Shit, I can’t,” he whines, gripping your skin a little tighter. “I’m gonna cum so fast.”

“It’s okay,” you emphasize, clenching around his girth and smiling against him. “We have all night.”

The words make him twitch once inside of you, the thought of fucking you a second time making him dizzy with anticipation. Any fleeting thought that this might be a bad idea is completely dissipated from his mind, replaced with unwavering pleasure and his longing to fill you up the way he’s imagined for the better part of the semester now.

“Can I cum inside of you?” He groans, using two hands to move you down his length a little deeper, your clit grinding softly against his abdomen as he bottoms out inside of you. “Jesus, you feel so good.”

You nod in response to him, burying your head in the crook of his neck as he continues to help you, one finger stimulating your clit again as beads of sweat trickle down his forehead.

For a while, no one says anything, the only sounds present between the two of you being the gentle slosh of your juices around his girth and the helpless panting that bridges the gap between your bodies. Your moans and his whimpers are a lot like the discoordinate piano pieces he analyzes so deeply, fading in and out of pace and searching relentlessly for resolution.

And as you crescendo toward your release, you can’t help but take note of how right it feels to be here with him, consuming each other the way you pour yourself into your music, as he does his work. He had asked you earlier where you’d been all his college life- but you know you’re supposed to be together like this now, regardless of his relationship to you. Had he been ten, twenty years your senior, you wouldn’t care- it’s your souls that keep you intertwined like this, the way he sees you for your passions and your interests, beyond just the traditional sense of a student and a teacher. He’s so much more than that- he’s so much more than just a professor.

As Jisung reaches back to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, you feel yourself clench once around his pulsing girth, and then you let go entirely around him, grasping his broad chest as you breathe out his name like a prayer in the duration of your release.

“Jisung,” you moan against him, allowing his first name rather than his professional title to linger between your two listless bodies.

“Y/n,” he groans back, shutting his eyes briefly and arching up his eyebrows. And then as you tremble in exhaustion around him, legs aching from working yourself to your finish, he reaches his finish, too, shooting generous ropes of cum up inside of you and wrapping two arms around you to pull you closer to him.

He remains like that through his finish, his head finding purchase in the valley of your breasts, resting against the chest that rises and falls with deep breaths as his release dribbles down out of you.

And neither of you make any haste movements to get cleaned up just yet, allowing yourselves to remain pressed up against each other, hands tenderly caressing flesh and limbs tangled together.

In the midst of massaging his soft ebony locks, the pads of his fingers clinging tenaciously to your body, you can feel the presence of tears graze your chest, soft sniffles emitting from his flushed face against you. He weeps for you- for his guilt, for yearning, for the confirmation that he’s not better than his filthy conscience after all. And contrastly, because he knows he has all night to do it again, and again, and again.

By the morning, your bodies are sore and bruised, sunbeams absent through the giant glass windows of Jisung’s apartment as it continues to rain outside. There’s a chill in the air as thick clouds of fog caress the windows, and not even the layered duvet of Jisung’s bed is enough to warm your still-nude body.

You blink in a state of confusion around you, not realizing where you are momentarily. It’s not until you eye the stacks of music books, loose sheet music and picture frames that you recall last night’s events.

How many times had he fucked you- four, maybe five times? You can’t remember; you do remember he was good at it, switching back and forth between having his way with you, and then submitting to you again, letting you take the reins and ride him until you physically couldn’t anymore. As you sit up in bed, you catch a glimpse of him beside you, his bruised chest visible under the white duvet that drapes lazily over him and covers only his lower half.

He’s still asleep, lips parted innocently and his hair tousled around his chiseled face. He’s also in need of a shave, flaunting a generous patch of stubble on his chin. And you’re not sure he’s ever looked so tantalizing to you before.

When he hears you stirring about, his eyes flutter open, meeting your tired gaze and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He begins to say something, but then he gets quiet again, sighing deeply and shutting his eyes once more. You observe as his lips pull back into a sheepish grin, his straight teeth exposed as he chuckles lightly.

“We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” He says with a groan. And you simply shrug in response, lying back down beside him, resting one hand on your pillow as he turns over to face you.

It’s a little more real at this proximity, the fact that you’re in bed alongside your professor. But the point still stands- it doesn��t feel awkward, nor do you regret any part of what unfolded yesterday. It’s like something that was bound to happen- if not last night, it would’ve been a week from now, maybe two weeks- definitely not three considering how long you’ve been thinking about him.

Jisung swallows from across you, his hand tucked under his pillow, too, and he watches as you reach out to trace the mole he flaunts on his cheek. It’s not one you’ve had the pleasure of noticing until now- it’s really not one that can be noticed from the vast distance between a lecture chair and a podium. But beside him in his bed, you take notice of everything- the mole in his cheek, the flutter of his long lashes, the sheer guilt he still wears on his face.

“Come on,” Jisung says from beside you, cocking his head in the direction of his bedroom door. “I’ll make you coffee.”

“The blue hair was a bold choice,” you say to Jisung, gripping a warm mug of coffee in hand as you sit cross-legged on his wooden flooring.

You’re in nothing but one of his t-shirts, your hair still messy from last night’s events and lipstick staining the edge of the white mug he’s provided you with. He’s a little more put together this morning, despite canceling today’s classes, a white woolen cardigan enveloping his figure and gray sweatpants hung loosely around his toned legs.

“I dyed my hair a lot back then,” he says from his spot on the couch, staring up at the photograph you admire.

And for some reason, the utterance of “back then” makes you laugh, the way he speaks as though he’s twenty years older than he is. He’s really just six years beyond you, a gap that most would overlook had he not been a professor. And sure, he already boasts a master’s degree and years of experience, but it’s not as though you’re not on the same path yourself.

“Why did you stop?” You ask, turning to meet his tired gaze.

He sighs momentarily, bringing the mug up to his lips for a sip, and then he shrugs at you.

“It’s not professional,” he says plainly. “I had to look the part.”

You smile at him, shaking your head before responding.

“Not the hair,” you emphasize. “Directing. Why’d you stop directing?”

It’s the first time you’ve asked the question so boldly, despite pondering it for all the time you’ve known him. And his composure turns uncomfortable again, as though the question implies much more than it lets on.

“You don’t have to answer,” you say to him after a brief silence, feeling guilty for having overstepped. But Jisung shakes his head, furrowing his eyebrows before speaking again.

“It was eating me alive,” he explains, his gaze falling to a distant stack of books as he thinks back to his days as a director. “I couldn’t do anything else. I couldn’t focus on anything. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep- I wanted to be the best. I just wasn’t a very good person.”

You nod at his words- it’s a phenomenon you know very well already, being a music major yourself. The soul-crushing weight of turning everything into a competition, of bypassing your peers and losing loved ones along the way. You’re pretty sure your lack of friends in college can be largely attributed to the same thing.

“Well I think you’re a good person,” you say finally, but his gaze still doesn’t find yours. You can tell there’s more he wants to say- but he remains there, staring into the distance, pondering a lifetime of regret he’ll continue to take with him if he doesn’t at least try to address the hurt.

“I wasn’t,” is all he can say, earning another head shake from you.

“You can’t blame yourself for wanting to be good, Jisung. I’m sure you feel the same thing working as a professor. Besides, that doesn’t mean you can’t-”

“I was a lousy husband,” Jisung finally blurts out, and your eyes snap to his gaze again, finally making contact with his trembling eyes.

“Husband?” You echo, and he swallows nervously.

“I married so young,” Jisung tells you now, folding his legs on the couch in front of him. “I thought it was the right move, fresh out of college with a girl I’d been dating for four years. I had everything- a job, a wife, a sense of stability.”

You’re taken aback by the admission, never once having taken Jisung to be a formerly-married man. He is young, and aside from the sexual tension that’s risen between the two of you, he shows no interest in pursuing another partner.

“The divorce cost me everything,” Jisung says, his eyes glazing over again as he recounts the story. “I was responsible for somebody walking away from what they believed was a lifetime of stability. And she knew it, too, that I was lousy. She told me- her parents told me. I just wanted to be the best at my work. And it cost me everything. So I quit. And I opted for something that wouldn’t drive me crazy anymore.”

Jisung’s heart races wildly in his chest as he speaks, and then he’s hit with the realization that he’s venting to a student of his- one who shouldn’t be occupying his apartment in the first place. One he slept with several times last night- one who he feels oddly safe confiding in. But a student, nonetheless.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” Jisung finally says, furrowing his brows again. “I’m sorry- maybe you should go.”

You remain quiet, still sat on the floor, not even halfway finished with the cup of coffee he’s brewed. And he feels bad again, knowing it’s not fair to be taking his frustration out on you.

“Do you want me to leave?” You ask in a meek voice. Jisung chews the inside of his lip, meeting your gaze with a sorrowful expression. At first he shrugs, like he might indeed want you out of this space he calls home. But then he shakes his head sheepishly, shrinking back into the couch cushions and sighing heavily.

You’re not entirely sure what to say to him, not wanting to overstep any boundaries, but longing to keep him company. He just seems lonely, you can’t help but think to yourself. He’s so ridden with loneliness, and guilt and yearning for more.

“Jisung,” you say to him, setting your mug aside and folding your hands in your lap.

He meets your gaze again, a sort of heavy, exhausted expression on his face.

“Do you really think Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 is missing something?” You then ask him, referring to the annotations from his textbook.

He keeps his gaze set on yours, fascinated you’ve remembered his penned-in opinions on the aforementioned works from class. And then he nods lightly, humming a little in response to you.

“There’s no resolution,” Jisung huffs. “It just fades into nothingness.”

You nod back at him, sitting back on the palms of your hands and cocking your head slightly.

“That's a resolution to some listeners,” you say to him. “Maybe you just desire something beyond those last notes.”

His gaze flickers over your knowing expression, pondering the way you speak of the familiar tune.

“Maybe you ought to seek what a resolution is to you.”

“I think Professor Han is fucking somebody,” Mina says to you one day as she gets ready in front of the full-length mirror across from her bed.

“Why do you say that?” You retort with a small chuckle, your interest piqued at her words.

“Haven’t you noticed he cancels class a lot?” She replies, wiping a mascara smudge off from below her left eye. “He runs late all the time now, he just shows up in a t-shirt when he does lecture. And he just seems happier, overall. That’s every indication that he’s getting some action.”

You thumb the pages of your textbook- or rather, Professor Han’s textbook, red pen grasped between your fingers as you finish up an annotation.

An annotation you pen in just for him- responses to his music suggestions, comments about his analyses and flirting between the lines of music notes. The textbook is exchanged back and forth between the two of you, conversing secretly between the thin pages of music theory, producing poetry from a language only the two of you speak- by each other, and for each other.

Sometimes you imagine it the way Mozart and Constanze’s relationship unfolded- secret, but robust, full of passion and yearning for one another.

And when you tell Jisung about it later that week, he practically doubles over in laughter, eyes forming little crescents as the melodious tune of his “ha ha’s” fills the space between the two of you.

“I guess I never realized how presumptuous you students can be,” he says, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

He doesn’t seem worried in the slightest- at least not with this cautious system the two of you have developed to maintain the secrecy. You don’t linger in his classroom when lectures conclude, careful not to make it too obvious that you’re waiting around for him. Instead, you meet him at his apartment, just a few blocks away from campus and void of people who might piece together the reality of the situation, like Mina. It’s convenient that she doesn’t seem to suspect anything regarding why you’re always absent from your shared dorm now, considering she’s always at her boyfriend’s place, anyway. And although Jisung makes a mental promise to himself to stop canceling his evening classes so frequently, he can’t help it.

He’s just as drawn to you as you are to him, finding solace in the way he can finally confide in somebody after so long. Jisung thinks back to the way he handled the divorce so privately, quietly putting in his two weeks notice as a musical director and opting for a career path which didn’t take so much of his time and sanity.

He recalls the majority of his friends and family acknowledging what a lousy husband he’d been, and the feeling of knowing he’d made a colossal mistake agreeing to marry so young when he could hardly grasp what he even wanted further down the line. But to you, he’s just a work in progress- you’re still enchanted by the way his mistakes are rooted in sheer passion for his work. The way he lights up when he speaks of his old days as a director, the alluring poetry he produces for you between the pages of a course-assigned textbook. He’s so much more than his mistakes- he’s so much more than the evident loneliness, and guilt, and yearning he harbors.

And although the physical aspect is but a minuscule factor of the relationship, it’s still undeniably sweeping, as though it’s another language the two of you share in secrecy. Jisung had admitted once that he hadn’t even been with another woman following the divorce- a fact which you now know to be true, the way he fucks with such desperation, as though he’s going to lose you to the same careless mistakes as before. But he also understands that you’re different, and that you don’t apprehend him for any of his former mistakes.

He indulges you in tales of his days directing, one arm slung lazily around your waist as he holds you close and plays old films of the symphonic band in action. And it’s more captivating to watch him get lost in his work, the way his eyes glaze over as he watches himself on screen, the thin black baton waving around in rushed motions as the band plays. He wears elegant suits lined with brass buttons and expensive cufflinks, and the expression on his face when the on-screen symphony turns to him for direction- hundreds of eyes eagerly awaiting his next move, as though he controls them. Pairs of eyes who actually give a shit about the field of work- not just make an appearance for a grade. He grins ear to ear when you pry for more answers, and especially when you conflate the pieces to that of your own, mentally recalling your own piano sheet music. And when you deluge him in compliments, reminding him that he’s remarkable for all that he’s done, and he’s still remarkable- as a professor, and even following his divorce, he can’t help but grow hard at the affection, reveling in the robust support and the love he’s not sure he’s ever felt before you.

He’ll often make love to you right there on the sofa, symphonic pieces still playing faintly on the tv in the background, and he’ll do it again and again to convey the reminder that he’s grateful, and that no one has ever heard him the way that you do.

One month into the arrangement, Jisung texts you in a sheer panic, requesting you meet him in the east lecture hall. It’s extremely uncharacteristic of him to make efforts to meet in the one place you could get caught, but still you adhere to his request, throwing on a sweater and rushing out of your vacant dorm to the east side of campus.

The campus buildings are almost haunting at this hour, no more than two, maybe three students in sight under the dim glow of the lamps that line the concrete pathways. The building names are also completely indistinguishable at this hour amidst the sheer darkness, and the only sounds that can be heard are the distant chirp of crickets and the occasional roll of a skateboard. When you arrive at the grand hall, you quickly realize it’s no longer accessible, closed off by rows of fencer wire and shut off entirely from the rest of the school.

“It’s finally done for,” a voice says from beside you, and you know it to be Jisung’s before even turning to face him.

“Already? I thought construction was supposed to begin next semester, though.”

Jisung shakes his head, hands stuffed in his pockets as he exhales deeply.

“I got the email today,” he says in a frustrated tone. “Just some short thing about not delaying the project. They’re moving me to the tiny little hall around the corner.”

You take a moment to think over the hall he speaks of- it might as well be a mobile classroom with how small it is in size, just one narrow hallway that branches off into a line of 3 other rooms. The desks are reminiscent of those from your high school days, and you can’t remember the heating ever having worked during your time passing through, the hall constantly freezing when it rains.

“I didn’t even get a proper send-off,” he reiterates, his gaze not moving from the bright orange temporary fencing. “I would’ve taken a moment to appreciate it one last time.”

You think for a moment, taking a brief moment to glance around you at the eerily empty campus, and then you turn back to Jisung with a small shrug.

“Don’t you still have your keys?”

“Yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “But…”

Jisung doesn’t finish his sentence, instead pondering the suggestion as he keeps his gaze on the fencing. He knows it would be reckless, practically breaking into the old lecture hall like this to give it one last look, but he’s also overtaken with frustration and a longing for closure.

“I do have my old keys,” he says suddenly, glancing around the vacant buildings nearby, at the faint silhouettes of shadowy trees and dim streetlamps. You watch curiously as he runs a hand along the tip of the neon orange fence, pushing down to locate where it gives in a little. And just at the very end of it, it does, pulling down much further and lowering just enough so that it’s adequate to climb over. Jisung hoists himself over the fencing, his muscular arms steadying himself as he lifts one leg over the fence, followed by the other, and then grounds himself in the muddy grass on the other side. It's the first time you take notice that he’s in a simple pair of blue jeans, brushing mud off his toned thighs and then meeting your gaze again.

“Come on,” he says to you, nearing the fence again and holding a hand out, beckoning you to follow his lead. You don’t think twice before you’re mirroring his actions, hoisting your frame over the plastic fencing and planting two feet in the mud, Jisung helping you regain your balance with his calloused hands finding purchase on your waist and then interlocking his fingers with yours.

“I hope they haven’t changed the locks yet,” he says, leading you to the familiar grand entrance of the lecture hall. His keys are fished out of the pockets of his jeans, jingling softly as he twists his gold key into the lock, and then with an affirmative thud of the door being pushed open, he smiles to himself, beckoning for you to follow him inside.

The lecture hall is even more eerie than the campus is at this hour, not a single light illuminating the dark wooden floors that span the tower. The moonlit glow through the windows flashes with the gentle wave of trees that almost grazes against the glass panes, and you can’t quite distinguish where the gargantuan ceilings even end in this darkness. Jisung makes his way to the spiral staircase to the right of the room, craning his neck up to get a good view of the room, and then he beckons you again with the wave of his hand.

“They haven’t touched the stairs yet,” he says, beginning up the stairs with one hand cascading along the wooden banister. You follow behind him, the only sound echoing around the hall being the familiar loud creak of the stairs as you make your ascent. And for the first time, it’s a sound you realize you’re going to miss very dearly, never having realized it was something you took for granted all this time. The way these stairs obnoxiously announce your arrival when you’re late to class with a coffee in hand, or how the wooden steps boom in volume when students rush down them in hordes toward their next class. Although you’ll have graduated and moved on by then, the knowledge that everything is going to be different remains a jarring fact.

At the top of the stairs, it’s comforting to see that nothing looks different just yet, the podium still intact and rows of chairs folded neatly in their places. Jisung doesn’t make any move to turn on the lights, careful not to reveal that anyone’s broken into the old building, and he makes his way to the podium, staring out at the sea of vacant chairs that sit untouched amidst the darkness.

“I loved this room,” he says after a moment of silence, his voice laced with regret.

You span the perimeter behind the podium, grazing your hands along the old walls, recalling how many times you’d stared at them beyond Jisung’s pacing figure as he spoke of composers and musical theory.

When you make your way to the podium alongside him, mirroring the way he stares out at the empty seats, he glances at you briefly out of his peripheral vision. Jisung wonders if you can tell that the demolition of this room is so painfully metaphorical for him, like one final indication that he deserves no better than the confines of a dingy little room far away from this one. As though every time he feels he’s that much closer to redeeming himself following a nasty divorce, he’s shut out again, misplaced, suddenly right back to where he was five years ago. Misguided, lost, full of regret and a permanent yearning for resolution- one that never seems to come.

In fact, he’s pretty sure you’re the closest he’s ever gotten to one, when you’re assuring him that there is a life beyond the mistakes he made in his early 20s- that the curse of pondering his place here doesn’t have to define him entirely. And that there’s always still time- to love, to better himself, and to revisit the passion which once drove him mad.

It doesn’t mean it’s going to repeat itself, you had told him once. You could do it differently.

“I don’t think Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 needed a coda,” you say to him, breaking the deafening silence between you two in the vast empty space of the room.

Jisung finally turns to look at you, hands still stuffed in the pockets of his jeans as he replies.

“Why’s that?”

“It doesn’t need to repeat the entire first part,” you explain to him. “That part is emphasized enough. I think the listener should appreciate that it just ends where it ends.”

Jisung thinks over your words for a moment, not entirely sure why you’ve brought up the piece way back from chapter 8 of his lectures. And yet he nods in response, his breath hitching in the back of his throat a little when you turn to face him, too.

“I like that it’s a little unclear,” you finally say to him.

And this time he doesn’t respond- not with words at least, opting to pull you in for a gentle kiss, his hands working their way down the small of your back. His lips feel somber against yours, like he seeks to inhibit his sadness with the tender touch of your lips against his, pushing you back against the wooden podium and spinning you around to work kisses down your neck.

There are no words spoken between the two of you, just the vibration of small moans echoing from your lips as he sucks a hickey into your flesh, even though he knows he shouldn’t mark you. And yet he does, a physical reminder that you belong to him, and hopefully one to convey the notion that you’re the closest thing he’s ever gotten to resolution.

Jisung’s hands work your blouse open, his jeans pressing into you from behind, already rock-hard for you as his hands tug off your shirt. And he giggles against your flesh when you gasp at the cold air that grazes your skin.

“Jisung,” you say to him, your hands gripping the wood of the podium. “We probably shouldn’t do this here.”

It’s he who brushes off the lewd act, consoling you with the unzip of his jeans, his bulge pressing into your thigh as he continues to work kisses down your neck.

“We won’t get caught, baby,” he says as his fingers rub circles over your clothed core under the thin fabric of your skirt. “I promise.”

And then it’s you tugging your own panties down, allowing him full access to your wet cunt as the palm of his hand works you in rhythmic back and forth motions. He doesn’t even need to touch you- not when you’re already dripping for him. And yet he remains like that for several minutes, breathing heavily into the shell of your ear as your moans echo around the dark lecture hall, his cock only growing harder against you with every touch.

It’s undoubtedly arousing for him to look out at the classroom he’s lectured in for so many years, one he usually associates with nervous test-takers and monotonous speeches- and to watch the very same space be filled with your gasps of pleasure. His eyes scan over the very seat you occupy every week, recalling the times he’s fantasized about exactly this- touching you the way he knows you deserve to be touched and making you his in the forbidden confines of a classroom. Without so much as a word, his boxers are pulled down too, positioning you in front of him and allowing his fingers to wrap around the base of his leaky cock. He strokes himself just once, eyes shutting at the sensation of his tip brushing against your warm flesh. And then he prods into your entrance, tapping ever so gently as his other hand intertwines with yours.

You take him with complete ease, the way you always do when he’s fucking you this sweetly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as indication to speed up his movements. But he doesn’t- he just maintains a steady pace inside of you, his hips smacking lightly against yours as he resumes wet kisses along your shoulder.

A million thoughts graze his mind as he fucks you- like the fading notes of Mozart’s Sonata no. 12, and how evidently his annotations referencing a coda have resonated with you. Or the tales of Mozart and Constanze’s secret love, of Johannes Brahms and Clara Schumann and a lifetime of unrequited romance that never quite got its closure. Jisung thinks about the nights you two spend in his apartment, watching reruns of him directing symphonies, or mornings when he cancels class because all he can do is lie entangled with you and bask in the love you two share in the privacy of his home.

His mind also goes back to the divorce, a constant pain he carries with him, remembering all the ways he let other people down in efforts to focus on his career and his love of music. Nights he stayed out far too long annotating sheets of music, knowing very well that his wife was waiting up for him. Anniversaries he forgot, birthdays he failed to prioritize because music always came first. And consequently, begging his ex-wife to stay, knowing very well she had already made up her mind- that he was a lousy person, far too consumed by his career and incapable of loving the way she had.

Jisung’s movements pick up in pace as he thinks about the future of this old building- soon demolished into a pile of dust, the old walls crumbling despite the years of history pent up inside of it. Tests failed and lectures given, days he spent funneling that same passion into something entirely new, because directing was never the same once he understood what a neglectful husband he’d been. The walls to be painted blinding shades of cobalt blue and white, like a fucking dentist’s office, and not an inch of the building to suggest it had ever housed an appreciation for music, simply replaced by a basketball court and cold metal bleachers.

He also thinks about you, and how you made the semester far more tolerable, your beaming smile and your curiosity about not only music, but him, serving as a beacon of hope that perhaps this wasn’t all in vain. And your comforting words helping him understand that perhaps this isn’t what he wants after all, that this chapter of life may very well crumble along with this old building. Maybe this is the end, like resilient music notes approaching the finale of a symphonic piece- and he can either allow the fading discoordination to mark the finish- or take to the da segno, and start again.

Maybe a coda is sooner than he thinks- maybe resolution is closer than he thinks.

You’re well aware of Jisung’s now rapid movements inside of you, gasping at the sheer size of his swollen cock grazing your walls, your hand tightly gripping his and your mind wandering to where his currently lies.

But you can’t verbalize the curiosity- not when he’s interrupting you to tilt your face to his, planting a wet, open-mouthed kiss on your mouth and breathing desire back into you.

His fingers prod themselves into your mouth as he fucks you, murmuring little pleas to let him watch you taste yourself, his cock inserting in tandem with his fingers as he matches their pace. Your moans are stifled as your tongue swirls his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you let the pleasure overtake you.

And then he slides his fingers out for a moment, watching strings of saliva drip so erotically down your parted lips as you continue to take his cock obediently.

“I love you,” he says like it’s an epiphany. But it’s not- he reckons he’s known it for a long time now, almost scared at the intensity of his emotions for you. He’s not quite sure he loved his wife like this, and he’s not sure he knew he was even capable of loving again. In fact, Jisung only knows that he truly loved one thing in his lifetime- music. Music, and now you.

“How could I ever ask for a better woman?” He breathes against your skin, goosebumps rising as his words echo Mozart’s letter to Constanze’s father and echo in the vast, empty room.

Your reciprocation is muffled with the re-insertion of his fingers in your mouth as he reaches his finish inside of you, painting your walls with his release, holding you close and stimulating your clit again as he coaxes an orgasm out of you, too. And the finish is nowhere near fading, nor discoordinate, as the echoes of your moans reverberate off the walls and fill the emptiness with your passionate yearning for one another.

Da segno

Returning to the dorms to find Mina in her bed for once is a shock to you- especially considering she’s been speaking of a camping trip with her boyfriend for several weeks now.

At first you check your phone, briefly, thinking maybe you’ve gotten the date wrong. But you haven’t- it’s a Friday evening, the same evening you know she should be on route to her planned trip with Lucas.

She’s propped up in bed, carefully examining something when you make your way past her, eyebrows furrowed and deep in thought.

“Hey Mina,” you say to her cautiously, pulling your sweater up a little higher up on your neck.

She doesn’t reply, eyebrows still furrowed as she keeps her head down. And then she chuckles lightly, still not looking up at you.

“I feel like you’re out more than I am these days,” she says to you, and you can’t quite make out whether she’s being condescending or cordial with you.

“Yeah,” you reply nervously, sitting on the edge of your bed across from her and crossing your arms. “Just been trying to take more walks.”

Mina purses her lips, nodding, and then she exhales sharply before she speaks again.

“Lucas broke up with me,” she explains. But she doesn’t sound sad, or even angry- she simply relays the news with a straight face, not even glancing up to catch your shocked expression.

“He did?” You blurt out, feeling an overwhelming sense of sympathy for her- of course you don’t really care for Mina, but you also know how frequently she’s out with him, how highly she speaks of him and how in love she’s been with him for all the years they’ve been together.

“Yeah,” she reaffirms, sighing as she speaks. “He’d been cheating for several months. I’m over it now- I just thought I might get a head-start on this week's notes.”

You nod at her again, still aware she seems to be repressing something, far too casual for your liking and almost ready to lash out at any given second.

“That’s good,” you tell her, crossing your legs on the bed. “I’m really sorry. Let me know if you need anything-”

“I did find this week’s chapter to be particularly interesting,” she interrupts, slouching further back against the wall by her bed.

It’s your turn to furrow your brows, a little confused by her behavior, especially considering she hardly ever reads assigned textbook chapters.

“Listen to this,” Mina says, and then her lips pull into a wicked grin as she begins down the page, her voice laced with rancor.

“I must make you better acquainted with the character of my dear y/n,” she begins, and your heart all but stops in your chest.

It’s then that you notice the textbook in her grasp, the familiar old font and the yellowing of the pages- Professor Han’s textbook, the same one riddled with erotic poetry between the lines of music theory.

“Mina, please-” you begin, voice cracking, a futile task as she raises her voice and continues speaking.

“Her whole beauty consists of two sparkling eyes and a delicate figure,” she reads. “She likes to watch me direct symphonies, and she knows music theory like the back of her hand.”

Your heart races in your chest, mind swirling with fearful thoughts as she voices the familiar love letter back to you. Professor Han’s most recent addition to the textbook, derived from Mozart’s letter to Constanze’s father, and a written account of Jisung’s affection for you. A letter you’ve read over and over since he produced it, and the same one you so carelessly left lying open on your dorm bed in a rush to go see him at the lecture hall.

“She likes to hear the stories of famous composers and their romances, and she lets me make love to her as though she belongs to me,” Mina reads, her voice growing even louder as you now approach her. Your hands reach desperately for the book, which she holds away from your reach as she now stands up on her bed, her feet digging into the mattress as she steadies herself with one hand on the wall.

“Please, stop,” you beg, to no avail, as she then concludes the letter.

“Most things that a student neglects, she excels in. I love her and she loves me with all her being- tell me whether I could ask for a better woman.”

The room falls painfully quiet as she finishes, thumbing through the pages with a soft rustling sound.

“That’s just one,” she says, maintaining the same wicked expression on her face. “The book is full of them.”

And then she shuts the book, examining the cover, meeting your gaze as she assumes her position back down on the mattress and crosses her legs.

“This is the professor’s textbook, right? That’s why it looks a little different. I had wondered, when I first snatched it from your stuff.”

You stay quiet, your gaze falling to the floor as tears brim your eyes. You want to fight back, but in reality, the book serves as admission itself- there’s no denying it’s a letter from him, to you. It’s incriminating by his loopy cursive handwriting, the book she’s seen him wield so many times in the classroom during lectures and the way he speaks of making love to you.

“You’re fucking Professor Han?” She finally says aloud, and the words sting, although you’ve been expecting them.

“It’s not like that-”

“That’s why you’re doing so well in his class? While the rest of us bust our asses studying for his stupid quizzes? What do you even do, suck him off when nobody’s looking? How big is he?”

“Stop!” You exclaim, the tears now cascading down your flushed cheeks and gathering on your trembling chin.

Mina says nothing as she wears the same stupid smirk on her face, and then she tosses the book to you, which you grasp in your shaky hands. You hold it close to you, wishing so badly you could undo whatever it is she’s seen in the book, but you know that it’s far too late- the book is no longer a sacred little thing between you and Jisung.

“What do you want?” You say to her quietly, sniffling as you tuck the book under your duvet.

“What do I want?” She echoes.

“Yes,” you huff frustratedly. “Anything. Just please don’t tell the dean about this- or anyone, for that matter. I promise to do whatever it is that you ask, especially since-”

Your rambling comes to a sudden halt when Mina begins laughing, her hands clutching her stomach as she does, almost doubling over on the bed and kicking her feet with enthusiasm.

“Do you think I’m gonna blackmail you, or something?” She questions between laughter, meeting your gaze with tears in her eyes as she continues giggling between words.

“I always knew you were weird,” she remarks. “Not like, ‘fuck a professor’ weird. But it is weird that you think I’m gonna blackmail you.”

You don’t say anything to Mina, sitting on your bed again and sprawling one hand out to rest atop the book, which remains hidden under the duvet.

“You mean… you… won’t tell?”

“I’m impressed,” Mina replies, now lying on her side and propping her head up in her hand. “He is the hottest professor on campus. But no, I’m not going to tell anyone. Contrary to your belief, I really don’t care to ruin either of your lives. I have more important things to worry about.”

You sigh a heavy breath, relieved that Mina’s taken the high road and chosen to ignore the situation altogether. But you can’t cease the heavy weight it bears within you, one that fears not for your future, but for Professor Han’s. You know the majority wouldn’t believe it, the tale that this was a mutual thing between the two of you, that he’s just a pained divorcee, and you’re a lonely college student. To the masses, it would look like complete manipulation, Professor Han requiring a sexual relationship from you for an A in his course, and keeping the discrete flirting alive within the pages of his textbook. It’s more irresponsible on his end than it is yours- and although you both know it’s wrong, it still feels different. It still feels as though it’s rooted in yearning.

“I still need a textbook,” Mina says, breaking the silence between you two. “Like, for this week’s chapters.”

“Oh, right,” you say to her quietly, reaching inside your school bag for the correct book. You toss it to her without another word, observing the way she flips to the page she was on, and resumes reading as though nothing happened.

But her voice still replays in your head, reading aloud the sacred letter Professor Han produced for you within his textbook, one that never should have graced anybody else’s eyesight except your own.

And the tears resume as you watch her, a heavy guilt present as the words play in your mind again, and again, and again.

Jisung’s apartment doesn’t feel the way it normally does later that week- not when you’re first sauntering in with meek steps, being flooded by a barrage of questions about why you’ve skipped class for two weeks. And especially not when you finally recount the incident to Jisung, tears flooding your eyes and cascading down the deep gray bags that hammock under your lashes. The nights have been sleepless for all fourteen days, tossing and turning on your mattress about whether Mina is actually going to keep her promise about not telling. And she appears to, failing to acknowledge it whenever she’s in your presence, visibly still coping with the aftermath of her breakup. She simply comes and goes in casual strides, sometimes still borrowing your textbook from you and returning it far later than you care for, but it really doesn’t matter by this point. You’ve stopped reading the textbook entirely, coming to terms with the fact that you’ll have to rely on your own knowledge to pass any of the assignments distributed. And Jisung knows something is wrong when he finally does see you after two weeks, dressed loosely in a pair of sweatpants, your face flushed with tears and averting his gaze.

“You’re going to be so mad at me,” you emphasize to him, shielding the tears that fall from your trembling eyes with one hand, as he crouches on the floor in front of you and gives your hand a little squeeze.

And he’s adamant that nothing could make him hate you- that whatever it is you’re facing can be worked through, and that he’s going to stand by you regardless. Yet when you recount the incident to him, explaining the way Mina had read through his written confessions of sleeping with you and expressing his love for you, Jisung falls completely silent- a reaction which is somehow more scary to you than vexed words.

“Are you sure she knows it’s mine?” He asks, pulling away to stand in front of you. He feels much taller when he’s towering over you like this, pacing frantically along the wooden floorboards and chewing on the inside of his lip nervously.

“I’m sure,” you reply quietly. “She must’ve been reading it the entire time I was out. It has your name in it and everything.”

Jisung is quiet again, thinking over your words, and then he places his hands on his hips as he speaks again.

“Did she say anything else?” He inquires.

“She said that she wouldn’t tell anybody. As far as I know, she hasn’t. I just feel-”

“I’m never going to get it now,” he then says, running his hands through his hair nervously and glancing around the room.

“Get what?”

“Jesus,” he says, almost chuckling in disbelief. “I spent all this time interviewing, and if this gets out it could ruin everything.”

“Interviewing?” You echo meekly.

“Just when I thought I had it all again. I was so close to being back. Getting out of this shitty job and making a name for myself again.”

Jisung assumes a spot in one of the chairs across from you, burying his head in his hands and remaining silent. You want to ask him to clarify what he means by interviewing, but you’re also scared of him when he’s like this, knowing he’s reverting back to the version of himself who puts music above everything.

“You couldn’t just make something up?” Jisung then asks, scoffing lightly as he finally meets your gaze.

“What?”

“You couldn’t just fucking lie? Why on earth would you admit to it?”

“Lie?” You repeat to him with a shaky voice. “What did you want me to say?”

“Say I wasn’t interested in you,” Jisung retorts. “Say you were writing the letters to yourself. You’re putting my entire career at risk because you couldn’t be bothered to put my book away?”

You’re taken aback momentarily by Jisung’s words, hardly making sense of them at first. There’s no way he could be blaming you for this- not when he’s just as guilty as you are. In fact, Professor Han may be more guilty, acting upon his urges when he knows the power imbalance he wields over you- you’re just a student of his, nowhere near the status he upholds at this school. But as he continues prodding you for questions about why you hadn’t just lied, or made a bullshit excuse, or something, the message is conveyed loud and clear. He’s blaming you entirely for being found out.

“This is about directing,” you say when the realization hits you, almost laughing at the sheer absurdity of it.

“Of course it’s about directing,” he retorts, throwing his hands in the air and scoffing loudly. “I worked my ass off interviewing for one of the most prestigious roles a few hours out of here, I got an offer just yesterday, and now this is going to ruin everything. When they hear about the little fling I had, and they assume I coerced you into it, when you know damn well you led me on. And it’s going to be my divorce all over again.”

A silence falls over the room as you take in his words. You suddenly feel microscopic in his presence as the betrayal sets in, and for the first time since the arrangement, the discomfort of this being a student-teacher relationship washes over you.

“It’s not going to get out,” you say to him softly. “Mina hasn’t told anybody, and I’ll make sure it stays that way.”

Jisung gives a small nod at your words, and then he slides his hands into the pocket of his jeans.

“I hate that you don’t realize when you’re doing the same thing all over again,” you then say to him, averting his stern gaze.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why are we even doing this?” You continue, scoffing lightly. “Is this some sick way of reenacting the same mistakes you did before, and hoping for a different outcome? Now your directing days are just within reach again, and you’re doing the same thing, making your shortcoming’s everybody else’s fault except your own. I think you’re more afraid of not being able to relive your glory days than of losing anybody you love.”

“That’s not what this is, and you know that,” Jisung retorts. “You know how I feel about you.”

“Just admit that I’m a distraction because you miss your old life,” you continue, a little calmer now. “It’s the first time your career felt like it once did when you were directing, and in love, and I’m just some good fuck who takes genuine interest in your stories.”

“That’s not what I’m-”

“Do you ever imagine I’m her?” You ask him, meeting his concerned gaze. “When you’re fucking me in your bedroom? Do you ever imagine I’m your ex-wife waiting up for you the way she used to? Pretend you’re still a director and that you finally have everything you want?”

“That’s enough,” Jisung voices, and you shake your head at him.

“You might have been infatuated over some fleeting moment, seeing the face of your ex-wife whenever you looked at me. But I really, truly loved you. And she was right- you are a lousy person. You just can’t seem to understand when your interests take precedence over your emotions.”

Jisung is silent as his lip quivers in response, experiencing all over again what he did on the night his ex-wife left him. He’d always feared it would come back to haunt him- but not like this. Not through repeating the same mistakes all over again- just as he thought he finally found closure.

Like a musical piece with triumphant notes approaching an end, suddenly directing him right back to the symbol forcing repetition. It’s dizzying, and it’s painful, and he’s sure that a conclusion is far from his reach now.

Without another word, you pivot on your heel, gathering your bag and making your way toward his front door again.

“Y/n, please wait,” Jisung calls out, but he can’t find the words to clear his name of your accusations. Instead he remains quiet when you turn to face him, his shoulders sagging in a defeated manner as you shrug in his direction.

“I really think you ought to find what resolution means to you,” you say to him finally. “Repetition isn’t always it.”

The dingy old hallway within the radius of the old east lecture hall is indeed just as undesirable as you remembered it- it’s freezing cold when it rains outside, the students struggle to traverse the narrow hall as they brush against each other in passing and the classroom is nowhere near as enchanting as the grand room of the old hall. Made much worse are the stripes of cobalt blue and a blinding shade of white, which line every wall in the building, almost distracting as lectures are conveyed from the front of the room. The students maintain their same positioning as the lecture is given, typing on their laptops, the clicking sounds of keyboards much louder now at this close proximity of all the chairs to each other. And you don’t write down a single thing, staring at the stripes of blue and white on the walls, following their trail from one side of the room until they reach the hinges of the door, and then repeating the process over and over again.

Professor Han’s departure comes as a surprise to many, the students murmuring amongst themselves as they theorize what could cause such a sudden leave. He fought with the dean and quit. He has a terminal illness. He’s sleeping with a student.

Of course some of them come close to the truth, but they’ll never know for sure- not unless they’re one of the two people on campus who do know.

Mina makes an attempt to ask you about it at first, fiddling awkwardly with the pages of your textbook as she inquires about the status of your relationship. She proceeds to ask if you’d known he was leaving, but not before tears are streaming down your face, your words coming out between hiccupped sobs. And all that she’s able to coax out of you is the verbal confirmation that yes, you knew he was leaving, and no, nobody else found out about the arrangement.

Professor Han’s replacement is a shameful excuse for a lecturer, an older man who only knows as much as the textbook explains, and nothing beyond the printed text. He goes so far as to actively discourage questions, expressing his distaste for “wasting time”, yet the students are well aware it’s because he simply doesn’t have the answers they seek. Your classmates don’t care of course, their grades cushioned by the generous 20 points, instead of 10, which Professor Han opted to distribute for the dead composer’s gallery walkthrough as one final parting gift. And aside from one last email thanking the class for their participation in the duration of the few months he taught it, Professor Han promptly makes his departure from your life, too. Not so much as a thank you, an apology or even a love letter the way you know he once would have written, had he not been so consumed by a yearning for his old life. Just like his ex-wife, you’re shut out by him, made to feel as though reciprocated affection is somehow a selfish request. And maybe it is when it comes to Professor Han- maybe he’s truly just incapable of loving without the limitations of his work. Like the famous composers you learn of, he’s a genius in so many ways- just not in romance. And certainly not in learning from his mistakes.

On occasion, you write to him again, tearing out pages from old chapters in your textbook and scribbling along the vacant margins.

“The old lecture hall’s finally been torn down- all that remains are gray dust and pieces of the old stair banister. They’ve already built up part of the new gymnasium. If I look out the new classroom window, I can see them sampling paint swatches- all shades of blue and white, of course. The students miss you- the boys still dress like you, and the girls don’t even look up from their laptops when your replacement speaks. There’s nothing to look at, of course- not when you’re absent.

We finally reached Constanze’s short chapter in the textbook- chapter 14. Did you know she remarried after Mozart? There was no animosity between the two until his death- she spoke so highly of him until the end. We credit Constanze for many of his posthumous works. Ones that never would have seen the light of day without the respect she paid to him.

I think highly of you, too- I know you don’t know it, but I think back to your old videos, when you’d wave around that black baton of yours and lead symphonies. I understand the fear you harbored in letting all of that go.

You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met. I wish you hadn’t told me that you were falling in love, and I hope you’re doing terrible-”

Your red pen is set down promptly as you allow yourself to catch your breath, ceasing this unproductive flow of consciousness you spill onto the pages of your textbook. Many nights end this way, your thoughts poured out and then repressed once more, no method of delivering them to him, regardless. And although you want to reconnect with him, you have no way of actually doing so, even his apartment now vacant as he assumes his new role as a director a few hours out of town. It’s a jarring fact, coming to terms with the notion that you’re likely never going to see him again. But you know it’s his way of resolution- repeating the same process as before, hoping for a different outcome.

“You’re starting the tempo change too slow,” Jisung says with a heavy sigh, setting his baton down on the music stand and waving his hand. “Pick up from measure three, on your own this time. I’ll be back in five.”

The room fills with the discoordinate overlap of instruments practicing, woodwinds rotating their reeds and brass players emptying spit valves. Jisung makes his way past the double doors, shielding his eyes from the almost blinding rays of sunlight that glare down over the music hall at this hour. And then he leans against the same brick wall he always does when he’s this mentally exhausted, shutting his eyes momentarily and exhaling.

He’s directing again, conducting symphonic pieces he’s only ever dreamed of. His hair is two shades lighter than it was when he was teaching, his closet is filled to the brim with elegant blazers and he’s compiled a generous collection of gold and silver cufflinks the way he once used to. But something feels different- and it’s felt that way for months now.

Sometimes Jisung can’t recall if symphonies were always this arduous to lead. He’s almost certain he’s verbally noted the painfully slow tempo change to them about a trillion times, and yet every time the metronome is turned on, guiding them with the obnoxious repetitive click at 80 beats per minute, they’re too slow.

Slow enough for his mind to wander elsewhere- like whether they’ll ever have the chance to rehearse the final few bars of this piece. Or questioning if they actually respect him here, as a director, and not just as a replacement for a metronome when he’s not yelling at them.

And occasionally, as much as he hates to admit it, the thoughts involve you. His pride’s too far gone to admit he ruined things, and his ego would never let him find you and convey some form of an apology- especially not after begging someone to stay once long ago, to no avail. But his mind wanders to the image of you in the audience, observing him keenly with the same beaming smile on your face and a genuine interest in whatever it is he’s doing- whether it be conducting grand symphonies, lecturing facts he’s memorized like the back of his hand or even just recounting old tales alongside you.

In the pocket of his blazer lies the same pathetic scrap of paper he just can’t seem to let go of- and as he glances at the inching second hand on his wristwatch, he pulls it out again, carefully undoing it from its folded state and scanning the contents. Page 256 from his textbook, detailing Mozart’s Sonata no. 12, complete with his scribbled annotations, and yours, so perfectly complementing all of his remarks.

“Coda?” He had written along the margins- a little addition that stuck with you all that time. Every time you were tangled in his embrace, listening to stories of his days as a director, Jisung pressing little kisses to your forehead, you’d inquire about his need for a musical epilogue. One that you didn’t believe was necessary within the piece, feeling as though the repetition equated redundancy in this case. “I think the listener should just appreciate that it ends where it ends,” you’d told him once, a statement he disagreed with at the time, but one he finds himself thinking over a lot these days.

Perhaps you were so certain about the finale of Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 because you could appreciate every other measure of the piece. The triumphant swell of the crescendos that mark the introduction, the changes within tempo and the distinctly separate movements that complement each other with such force. Measures that Jisung seemed to neglect, always searching for something beyond the eight notes that make up the piece in its entirety. But maybe you were right all along, that sometimes a listener should simply appreciate where a piece ends- that there doesn’t need to be any form of repetition, or even the need for a coda. Maybe those fading, discoordinate notes are enough- maybe that’s a coda in itself.

The double doors swing open as Jisung takes careful note of the symbol you also tagged at the bottom of the page, an oval with a cross through the center, a coda- an offer for resolution.

“Jisung?” Somebody asks, and he glances up to catch the gaze of who he remembers to be a third chair woodwind player.

“We practiced measure three again,” he says cautiously. “Could you… have a listen one more time?”

Jisung sighs, tucking the folded piece of paper back into his blazer and glancing beyond the student through the double doors. The music hall is dark inside, despite it being the middle of the day, the navy blue carpeting and the tinted windows completely obscuring the beauty of the world beyond the four walls. And then he looks the other direction, at the clear blue skies and the bustling roads, where the people don’t look back the way he’s done for so long.

“Sir?” The student asks again, twiddling his fingers together in front of his collared shirt.

“Not now. I’m leaving early today,” Jisung says, buttoning his blazer closed and giving the student a small nod. “Practice measure three until it’s perfected for next time.”

And then he begins toward his car, taking purposeful strides with a plan he hasn’t even conjured up yet, only knowing he has to keep looking forward if he wants any sort of resolution to all of this.

“And for god’s sake,” Jisung then calls out suddenly, stopping in his tracks to convey the message clearly.

“Get the tempo right, next time, will you? I’m tired of hearing the same thing over and over again.”

Coda

The evening of some important date in December is marked by the particularly frosty air, your dorm window fogged up with a sheet of ice and the halls much too cold to traverse without generous layers of clothing.

The remaining students here walk up and down the length of the hallways with cardboard boxes balanced in their arms, talking excitedly amongst themselves about plans for graduation parties and post-college life. And you can’t seem to part with the comfortable atmosphere of your dorm bed, neglecting your own stack of boxes as Mina makes her way in and out of the shared dorm room you’ve gotten so accustomed to.

“Are you using that box?” She asks, loudly sealing one with packing tape and setting it on top of another.

“No,” you say plainly. “It’s all yours.”

She takes careful notice of the way you remain draped over the bed, eyes glued to the ceiling as you think back to the last of your college days. A formal graduation in a week, which you’ve already opted out of. A series of parties even Mina tried to drag you to, every invitation promptly declined. And a prestigious internship in the city waiting for you come springtime, where you’ll be right back to appreciating the intricacies of music theory and piano.

Everything should feel as though it’s falling into place- and yet it doesn’t. It feels different- and it’s felt different for months now.

In a perfect world, you reckon you’d be elated to make your departure from these dorms, and anticipate the new life that awaits you after these four years of dedication. But you can’t help but feel as though something is missing from all of this- something well beyond your reach.

You think back to Brahms and Clara Schumann a lot these days, and the passionate, yet unrequited love that he took to the grave with him. He never got close to what he wanted- he had music, and a career so successful he was deemed one of the best composers who ever lived. And yet much of his life’s work was still rooted in unadulterated yearning, because he never had Clara Schumann. You want so badly to place your own musical accomplishments over your yearning, and yet you can’t. Not when the yearning had quickly transitioned to unrequited love the same way it did for Brahms, and it’s been that way since Jisung left.

You also think of Mozart and Constanze, and how he fought for everything to be with her, despite the hardships they faced. And you want to scream at Jisung when you recall Mozart’s letter to her father, one that’s now been tainted by his poetic words to you along the margins of his course textbook.

“Y/n, you’re never going to finish packing today at this rate,” Mina remarks, occupying a spot next to you on the bed. “Do you need help or something?”

“I’m good,” you say to her, meeting her gaze as she looms over you.

She remains quiet for a moment, examining your expression, and then she folds her hands in her lap politely.

“You know,” she begins. “You’re the smartest musician I’ve ever met. It’s a little weird how much you know sometimes.”

“Thanks,” you retort with a small chuckle.

“And I don’t think messing around with anybody got you where you are today. You did that yourself.”

You meet her gaze finally, not speaking as she shrugs softly. You’re a little surprised at the kind tone she assumes, wondering briefly if there’s some sort of catch to her words.

“Just… give yourself what you deserve,” she finishes. “Whether that means going back, or looking forward. But don’t settle for less than you really want. I did, for so long. And I’ll be the first to tell you it’s not worth it.”

You swallow as you nod at her words, knowing who she refers to without the utterance of a name. And then you furrow your brows as you press her for one more thing.

“Mina,” you say to her. “Why didn’t you tell anybody? What did you get out of keeping my dirty secret?”

She chuckles softly, throwing her head back and shrugging before speaking again.

“Those annotations,” she begins. “They’re not just some dirty little secret. That’s… a sort of thing I’ve never seen at that proximity. They way you speak to each other, it’s like some language the rest of us would never understand. At first, I thought I was skimming too far ahead in the textbook or something. Of course, maybe it also had something to do with the 10 extra points he gave us before leaving.”

You laugh lightly at the same time she does, and then her expression grows serious again as she picks at a loose thread on the duvet.

“It just kinda sounded like you two were in love,” she finishes. “I wouldn’t get in the way of that.”

You hold her gaze for a moment as she stands up again, brushing off her jeans and hoisting another box into her arms.

“Anyways,” she continues. “I’m out of here. Good luck in the city, and-”

“Mina,” you interrupt her, sitting up to look at her properly.

She blinks a few times, surprised you’re sitting up in bed for the first time today, and holds your gaze over the sealed top of her cardboard box.

“Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it enough.”

Mina smiles, her pink glossed lips pulling into a kind grin, and there’s no remaining tension between the two of you for possibly the first time since you’ve lived together.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, accompanied by a gentle nod. “Oh- and you might want to check out the new part of the gymnasium they finished constructing today. I think they followed your advice and finally put a piano in there.”

And then she’s off again, shooting you a small wink before she saunters out of your dorm, this time for good.

The chill of the December air is unforgiving at the early hours of the morning like this, the campus nearly empty as students depart from the place they’ve called home for four years, their college years packed up into cardboard boxes and sealed away at last.

You still have a lot of packing to finish yourself, a new chapter in the city awaiting you while you traverse the concrete village one last time. And although these halls have housed some of your most stressful memories, staying up late studying for exams and rushing to make it to class on time, you’re going to miss every part of it. Like the coffee shop on the second story of the student union, where the barista always adds a little too much caramel to your lattes. Or the windowed seat at the very back of the 8th story in the library, where when it rains, you can watch lines of people rush to their classes with hands over their heads and desperately clutching their umbrellas.

And of course, the grant east lecture hall- one you’ve already missed for the better part of the semester following its demolition. As you round the corner, you can make out the new gymnasium that’s already partially erected in its place. It’s another blinding shade of white, like the rest of the buildings are, closed off to the public and still lined with the same bright orange temporary plastic fencing as before. At where is supposed to become the entrance at some point in time, a rectangular cutout in the concrete slab of a wall, nothing but a thin plastic tarp prohibiting entry. And though you know that you really shouldn’t, you can’t help yourself, hoisting your legs over the orange fencing to the other side, your feet planting into the grass lining with a gentle thud.

There’s nobody around at this hour to watch you sneak into the new gymnasium- and realistically, what form of punishment can they even issue, anyway? Expel you?

The tarp sways with the gentle caress of a December breeze, like an invitation to come wander the new space which once housed years of history, now structured for basketball games and college rallies alike. And with one last look around, only to ensure nobody’s watching you partake in the prohibited act, you sneak your way past the orange fencing, kicking the tarp aside to gain entry, and then taping it back into place behind you.

It looks like a gymnasium- and it smells like a gymnasium. Gone are the overpowering scent of mothballs that once graced the music hall’s staircase, replaced instead by the woody notes of sawdust and fresh paint. The walls are white, true to the rest of the school’s buildings, and along the walls which are finished, the signature cobalt blue stripe. At this proximity, it’s almost humorous to bask in the putrid colors you’re grateful you’ll never have to stare at again.

As you take in your surroundings, you remember Mina’s words from earlier, recalling a new piano they placed here, and you scan the room from left to right- only there’s nothing. No piano- not even a dingy keyboard like the one in the old practice room. Why would a piano be here, anyway? In a gymnasium meant for sports and jock gatherings? Could it be Mina’s way of sending you off with one final bout of animosity?

You’re doubtful- that isn’t Mina. You know her way of comforting you earlier was rooted in the good intentions she’s always had. Which still begs the question- why did she send you here?

As you begin toward the other side of the gymnasium, a gentle rustle from the tarp startles you, the blue masking tape being lifted piece by piece and moved aside for another person to gain entry.

Construction workers, you think to yourself. It’s going to be awkward getting out of this one. And as you approach the cutout in the concrete wall again, ready to conjure up some form of an explanation, another person does make entry, crouching so as not to bump his head, as he stumbles inside and regains his balance.

His hair is two shades lighter than the last time you saw him. He still wears the same dorky wireframe glasses as before. And he looks elegant, in a white button down and black blazer, the same canvas sneakers he used to love double-knotted at the laces and complementing his black slim-fitting slacks.

“What are you doing here?” Is all you can say to him as he approaches, his hands shoved in his pockets and a leather bag slung over his shoulder.

“Mina practically chased me when I was leaving,” he says, gesturing to the empty space around you both. “Said I had to come see some new piano they put in here.”

He glances around the room, eyebrows furrowed in a confused manner, and then he turns to face you.

“Where is it?”

“There is no piano,” you say to him, crossing your arms frustratedly. “She told me the same thing.”

Jisung begins to say something, and then he stops, giving a small nod as he averts your cold stare.

His thumb toys with a loose thread inside the pocket of his slacks, and then he meets your gaze again, strands of brown hair falling into the shy expression he wears on his face.

“Graduated, huh? How’s it feel?”

“Fine,” you reply in a reluctant tone. “I leave today.”

“Where are you headed?” Jisung asks, swallowing nervously.

“Landed an internship in the city,” you tell him. “It’s close by. Just some piano thing.”

Jisung’s lips pull into a grin, chuckling lightly as he nods in response. “I always knew you’d land something good.”

You remain quiet, looking around the gymnasium once again, and then you turn to him with some hesitation.

“What are you doing here?”

Jisung sighs deeply, looking around the gymnasium, too, before speaking.

“I had an interview. Quit my directing gig.”

His words take you aback momentarily, a million questions racing through your mind about why he’s no longer directing and why he’d be interviewing here of all places.

“You interviewed here?”

“Wasn’t so much of an interview as it was a conversation,” he retorts. “They even had my old badge. I really need to get that updated considering my hair’s not technically black anymore-”

“Why would you interview here?” You emphasize to him again. “You hated it here. I thought you wanted some fancy directing thing.”

Jisung is quiet again, digging the heel of his canvas sneaker into the thick layer of sawdust that lines the floor. He knows that his ego is far too big, and he’s still consumed with an overwhelming amount of selfish pride. But he also knows that he’s not going to find any form of resolution without breaking this vicious cycle of repeating his mistakes, especially when a resolution is finally within reach.

“Look, I fucked up, okay?” Jisung finally says, taking you by complete surprise.

“The minute I started there again, I knew that wasn’t my calling anymore. Maybe it was back when I was still young, and all starry-eyed for the stupid baton and the fancy suits.”

He turns to face you at this point, taking a step toward you and almost physically demanding you reciprocate the eye contact.

“But you were right- that chapter of my life is finished now. And yeah, maybe the students don’t pay attention when I stand up there and lecture. And sure, I’m just going to be some lousy assistant college band director out here. But finding you- and the way you’d listen to me, and the way you never judged me for my shortcomings, even though I was a shitty husband once, and a shitty professor and an even shittier boyfriend to you- you made me realize it was finally time to let go.”

Jisung can’t seem to cease his emotional speech once he begins, frantically gesturing as he continues speaking. He feels like a different person entirely in this vulnerable form- like the Jisung you knew when he was first breaking his walls down around you. And the Jisung you know when he isn’t putting his dreams of a past life before the people he loves.

“… and then I couldn’t stop thinking about Brahms and Clara, and how he died without ever having told her how he felt. Or Tchaikovsky who had to hide who he loved- and then Mozart! God, that stupid letter- she remarried, you know that? Did you ever get to that chapter? Of course you did, before I could tell you, at least.”

Jisung paces the floor in rushed motions as he speaks, his wet sneakers squeaking obnoxiously along the gym floor as the words escape his lips. You don’t try to speak for a little while, carefully soaking in what you assume to be an apology. And then he stops in his tracks, eyebrows arching into a pleading expression as he towers over you.

“Music isn’t the same without you,” he finishes. “None of this is.”

You lock your gaze with Jisung’s, his big brown eyes almost trembling as he awaits a reply. And simultaneously, you do your best not to let your guard down too quickly.

“Is this how it unfolded back then, too?” You ask calmly. “When you begged somebody to stay after the first time you made this mistake?”

Jisung’s lips part to say something, but then he’s quiet again, waiting for you to continue, praying for something better than this.

“I think you’re a genius,” you continue. “I think you’re remarkable, and talented, and loving you comes so easily. But you make it hard when you do the same thing to everybody you’ve ever loved.”

“You’re the first woman I’ve ever loved,” Jisung blurts promptly, and a deafening silence falls over the room. He hesitates to continue at this point, fearing as though he’s going to scare you off, but he’s also never verbalized it to you despite thinking about it every waking second of the day, and he’s determined not to form new mistakes he could risk repeating.

“I let it happen back then because music was the only thing I loved,” he explains. “It was a shitty thing, and for so long I struggled to move on because I was still lost in the only thing I ever loved. And then you came along; I don’t need to direct when I have you. I’ll be a teacher- hell, I’ll be a fucking janitor if that’s what you want. You were my sign to move on from repeating the same fucking thing all over again- you are my end.”

Jisung breathes heavily as he finishes, gauging the shocked expression in your trembling eyes. He waits for you to say something, and then without averting your gaze, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a folded piece of paper and handing it to you.

You unfold it slowly, already knowing it by the familiar yellowing color and small printed font- page 256 of his course-assigned textbook, detailing Mozart’s Sonata no. 12, complete with all your annotations alongside his. Only his are no longer visible- they’re crossed out, completely scribbled over in black pen, concealing his call for any form of repetition within the piece. All that remains at the bottom of the page, in the same red pen you first marked in, is a single oval with a cross through it- a coda.

Your gaze meets his after examining the page briefly, surprised he’s kept it after all this time. And then he sags his shoulders a little, gesturing to the page still in your grasp.

“I passed my sign once,” he says sheepishly. “Just please come back to me.”

Jisung doesn’t wait for you to respond this time, instead cupping your cheeks gently with his hands and pulling you in for a passionate kiss, which you don’t hesitate to reciprocate, letting your hands wrap around the back of his neck to pull him even closer to you. His lips work against yours eagerly, but still tenderly, breathing all of his desire back into you and confirming the notion that this is all he’s ever really yearned for.

He smiles into the kiss against you, grazing his thumbs up to wipe stray tears that cascade along your cheeks, and then with one more chaste kiss to your lips, he pulls away once more, chuckling lightly.

“Can we just start over?” He asks you innocently. “No repetition, no secrecy. Just start anew.”

You chuckle lightly at his proposal, nodding in his embrace, and then he pulls away entirely to hold a hand out to you.

“Han Jisung,” he says. “I’m an assistant director for the college band.”

“Y/n,” you respond with a smile, shaking his hand firmly.

“So lovely to meet you- can I interest you in a tour of the gymnasium I work in?”

He throws an arm over your shoulder, beginning down the length of the vast space and gesturing to the walls beside you.

“This is where I yell at students to fix their tempos,” Jisung explains, giving your shoulder a little squeeze as you chuckle in response to him.

“And this is where I tell stories about famous composers and their love lives. Tell me, y/n- do you know the tale of Mozart and Constanze?” He then asks with a smile.

“I can’t say I do,” you play along, earning an exaggerated gasp from him.

“Well then I’d love to tell you all about it. How do you feel about art galleries? There’s one not far from here…”

And Jisung’s hand drops to yours, intertwining your fingers together as he lets himself start anew, alongside who he now knows to have been a sign for him this entire time- a coda, an epilogue, an offer for resolution.

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 6 months

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Hi, I just found your blog, and I love your Simon's fics! I was wondering if i could please request something where Reader and Simon had broken up bc he thought he put her in danger. After a few months, he comes to her after a mission and they spend the night but he leaves before she wakes up thinking hes doing whats best (and all that angsty jazz 🥲🤭) . A few weeks after she finds out shes pregnant and decides to take on her own, as reader thinks simon wouldnt care. But maybe one of the guys see her heavy preggo and tell simon, and hes fuming and super protective mode is on.

Sorry if it is too specific and for the terrible english. I just have this idea, and i dont think i can picture it right. Anyway, thanks for reading this and for your good work on your fics 💗 hope you have a lovely day

—Digging Gaze

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [You indulge in a one-night-stand after you'd both called it quits, only, it leads to more problems. When he sees you again, how will he react to the swelling of your stomach?] ❞

You knew it was the effects of a less-than-gentle breakup, but you should have at least cursed him out before you let him have his way with you on the living room couch. You’d woken up back in bed, alone, and had gotten dropped back to where you had been weeks earlier—stuck in the throws of confusion and hurt.

Simon had left you, and he never gave you a reason.

A part of you was heated; pissed off and feeling betrayed by the insult, yet, the rest of you knew that Simon needed to have his reasons—he always did. Even if you didn’t agree with them, and you knew he tended to look at life with a glass-half-empty type of glance.

So that left you here.

You were pregnant.

You’d found out two weeks after you’d slept together for that last time, your cheeks still hot from the memory and your fingers clutching the plastic of a test.

Pregnant.

It had been a shock, a deep panic. The both of you had been reckless. Stupid. And while you had stared at those two pink lines, you felt a sinking in your gut akin to a drowning ship. Should you tell him? It would be proper, of course.

But you don’t think you can face him again after you’d awaken to an empty bed—as if your entire relationship had only been about sex and not the deep nights of confessions and soft brushes of skin. You knew Simon Riley better than he probably knew himself.

And you wouldn’t put this on him.

At seven months, you couldn’t walk as much as you could before—and you would huff for breath as you went up the stairs to change the sheets—but who else could do it but you? Shopping also fell to you, and so, you pushed a large cart around and packed the metal basket with cravings and necessities. That was when you fell to a familiar face.

“Johnny?” You ask, blinking.

The Scot pauses, turning. His brows furrowed for a moment before a kind smile peeled his lips back.

“Hen!” He comes closer, laughing. “Well, I haven’t seen you in a good minute, then. What have you been up to in all—”

The man freezes at the sight of your stomach, jaw going slack as you fight an internal war with yourself to say pleasantries and leave.

“Hell,” Johnny clears his throat. “I guess you’ve been doin’ a great deal.”

You sigh, shaking your head softly. “Thanks, Johnny.”

“I’m just joking, Little Lady.” The man laughs and waves a hand. “Who’s the lucky man then? I’ll have to meet him one of these days.”

Your face blanks and your lips snap shut in an instant.

Blue eyes wait for an answer as the silence laps over itself. Slowly but surely, the realization dawns on his face in a tight pull of horror.

“You can’t tell him,” you interrupt his tight gasp. “Not a peep, MacTavish, you hear?”

“What the fuck,” he breathes at you, hand coming up to his mouth as he glances down at your swelling bump. “Holy hell.”

“Johnny,” you snap, his eyes jerk back to you.

“It’s bloody Ghost’s—”

“You can’t,” you growl, coming closer, “tell him.”

“What do you mean I can’t tell him,” Johnny hisses under his breath, looking at the people passing by and lowering his tone. “You’re pregnant and he doesn’t know!”

“That’s the point,” you ease out, exasperated and feeling drained already. Jesus, you needed to go lay down—your back was killing you. “Johnny,” you breathe, growing softer as you reach out a hand and put it to his arm. He grips it and holds on, looking incredibly concerned. “He doesn’t need to know, okay? That’s a lot of stress on him, and you know what he does for work. Even worrying about me was hard on him, what do you think a child would do?”

“You can’t think like that,” the Scot mutters. “He can help—what, you mean to tell me you plan to do this by yourself?” It isn’t malicious how he says it; Johnny’s worried about you. Incredibly. “Hen, no,” he shakes his head. “No, you can’t.”

“I can, Johnny,” you frown, dread filling your heart. “And I will.”

In the future, you really had to take into account Johnny’s flapping lips when under the spell of alcohol. Maybe you had enough faith in him to watch himself for the last little while of your pregnancy as he had into the latter half of the eighth month.

And then three firm knocks were at your door, and when you opened it, you were face to face with a painted balaclava and frazzled brown eyes.

Those eyes immediately snap down, and not even a word is uttered to your face until then.

The both of you are stone-still. Frozen. Dead to all else.

You swear it was hours of this—standing in the doorway with Simon’s fingers stiff in his pockets and his chest not even moving in a pulse or flare of his lungs. He doesn’t even blink.

“How far along?” His voice is monotone. A low drone in the ringing of your ears.

Damn that Scot.

“Eight and a half,” you say quietly.

Brown eyes shift up to yours. Simon stares, and you see his jaw clench under his balaclava, his shoulders moving. Again a long pause.

“When’s the next appointment—”

“It’s a girl.” You see his eyelids peel back and halt there, watching you. “In case you care to stick around and see her.”

Cruel perhaps, but it was nothing short of how he acted while leaving you.

Simon’s hidden face is slack, stuttering silently for a moment as the light fades outside.

“Didn’t…didn’t know,” he grunts out, blinking quickly.

“I know you didn’t,” you utter. “That was the point, Simon.”

“Johnny told me ‘bout it, didn’t believe him.” His brown eyes swirl, breaking. “Thought you’d mention it if you were.”

“You left,” you breathe. “Why would I reach out to someone that did that to me.”

“M’sorry, I-I don’t…” Simon clears his throat, looking away. His eyes are glossy, fingers moving out of his pockets so his twitching hands can splay out. “Could have explained, but I didn’t know how, Love. I’m not…this isn’t…”

Words fail him just like his ability to explain his emotions. Part of him was angry—angry that you’d gone all this time without reaching out when he could have helped.

A daughter.

But he was afraid, as well. Terrified. You were in the right and he knew it. Simon didn’t know the first thing about being a father…but then again, you didn’t know how to be a mother, either.

This was new territory.

“Marry me,” Simon pushes out with a quick force of breath.

“Wh—,” you choke on air. “What?”

“Let me make it up to you, yeah?” Gloved hands move at his sides, eyes honest but still shiny. “Wasn’t thinking—my fault and I can’t go on if I don’t know you’re safe.” He licks at the corner of his mouth. “...Both of you. Thought leaving would make the best sense, but I was…fucking hell. M’sorry.”

“Simon, there are many more ways other than marriage.” Your anger wasn’t something that could be washed away that easily, even if your heart fluttered at the idea and his apology.

You had more self-respect than that.

“Let me fix this,” he whispers, leaning closer.

Your hand rests over your stomach, staying there as the minutes draw. Simon waits, nervous and his fingers tap on his thigh. You know he’s afraid. You know he’s nervous about what he could bring home from work, even if those are only his paranoia talking in his ear like a demon.

You frown.

You huff.

And you open the door wider.

“The sheets need changing in my room. Get on it.”

The man says nothing before he enters the house and slips off his boots; disappearing into the linen closet.

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evie-sturns · 1 month

Text

Sorry - Matt Sturniolo

summary: you and matt have been bickering the whole day, but one thing that comes out of his mouth accidentally makes you cry.

contains: arguing, crying, comforting, fluff.

---------------└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘---------------

matt and i have spent the day out together, but hes been snapping at me for the smallest things. i've just brushed it off, i decided hes just tired and needs to get home.

"ready to go matt?" i ask, squeezing his hand as i heave myself up off the chairs in the mall.

"mhm.." matt hums, shutting off his phone and sitting up.

the loud chatter from crowds of people in the shopping center echos through my ears. matt walks ahead of me, i follow close behind as he walks through the double doors out into the parking lot.

he unlocks the car before letting himself in, shutting the car door behind him. "jesus" i mutter under my breath before opeing the passenger side and jumping in.

"so what should we get for dinner tonight?" i question, breaking the painfully loud silence.

"don't know" he replies quietly, his voice monotone.

"i could make us something?" i say, tapping my fingers on my leg as matt pulls out onto the street.

"sure." he responds with a slight nod of his head.

the rest of the car ride is silent, matt grips the steering wheel with both hands, taking sharp turns towards home.

"matt..?" i ask quietly,

"mhm" he mutters back,

"are you upset with me?" i say, my voice soft as i look directly on the road ahead.

"nope" matt sighs as he pulls into our garage.

i nod silently as he opens the door of the drivers side, he slams the door shut behind him and walking into the house. he doesnt even bother letting me out of the car, let alone leave the door to the house open.

i sit in the car for about a minute in silence, trying to think about what is actually pissing matt off today

i get out of the car and walk up the concrete stairs to our house, i approach the door to matt and i's bedroom, the door handle rattles before swinging open.

matt is sitting on his desk chair, scrolling on his phone. he doesn't even look up at me as i flop down on the bed.

i grab my airpods off our bedside table, accidentally knocking matts cup of coffee which has been marinating on the table for several hours.

the mug hits the wooden floor, the porcelain shattering and coffee painting the wooden planks.

i look up at matt, "shit-"

"can you actually fucking stop?" matt says, almost disgusted by me.

"you've been so annoying all day and i'm so sick of it. stop." he continues.

he stares directly into my eyes as those words exit his mouth.

i usually wouldn't cry if anyone said this to me, but today it feels so personal. they way hes been so uninterested in me, and now he says this to my face?

my eyes water as matt maintains eye contact, my bottom lip trembles as my throat feels like its practically closing in.

a loud sob exits my mouth as tears instantly start to stream down my face, my shoulders slouched and bouncing up and down as i stand infront of matt.

"you're being mean now matt" i say in between shaky breaths.

he stands in shock in front of me for a few seconds before grabbing me and pulling me into a passionately tight hug, he holds my head as i feel his hands shake slightly as he takes deep breaths.

after a few seconds i pull away from the hug "look at me, please" matt says, his voice soft as his mouth parts slightly.

i look up at him, my face drenched in tears. he bends over and picks me up, holding me up around his waist by my thighs.

he sits down on the bed with me, i'm sitting on his lap, almost straddling him as he sits back against the headboard.

"please don't cry, i promise i didn't mean to make you cry im so sorry-" matt rambles on, panic in his voice.

"i've been a proper dickhead today i don't know whats wrong with me i am so sorry"

i nod, he takes the sides of my face in his ringed hands, "i am so, so grateful to have you. i have been so tired recently and i've only been getting three or four hours of sleep a night because of nick, chris and is schedule for the past few weeks and its taken a toll on me"

"and its not your fault, nothing is okay?" he finishes, his eyes scanning my face for a reaction.

i nod "thank you", matt takes his hand and casually wipes the snot from under my nose.

"can you please give me a smile sweetheart?" he asks, his hands finally dropping slowly from the sides of my face down to my palms.

i wipe my eyes and give matt a somewhat ugly smile, matts face lights up "there she is" he smiles "gorgeous girl."

he taps my waist "do you want a shower?" he asks, its been a 'tradition' that matt and i have a shower together mosts nights.

"yeah" i smile warmly at matt, he sits up, picking me up off his lap and carrying me into his bathroom.

he sets me down on my feet and helps me get my clothes off, he follows, his clothes in a neat pile by the door.

i turn on the shower up to a high heat, the steam fogging the room.

matt steps in, "holy shit- i know i've been an asshole but do i deserve to be scolded alive- fuck." he laughs, his eyes scrunching and his wide grin plastered on his face.

"its nice!" i joke back, matt steps in again, trying to keep a straight face. "oh my god-" he whispers with a smile as he turns down the water temperature. "matt!!" i whine, slapping him lightly with a smirk "i had to" he says, reaching for the shampoo and squeezing it into his hand.

he rubs the shampoo into my hair, a comfortable silence fills the bathroom along with the sweet smell of strawberry shampoo.

suddenly matt breaks the silence,

"for the record, i did enjoy the mall with you earlier sweetheart, and i'm sorry i ruined it for you."

"awh matt, its okay i go to the mall every 2 days anyway." i coo back at him with a cheeky smile.

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

matts smile btw in the shower heat cause i thought it was cute

#nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut

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palajae · 1 month

Text

my name. | nishimura riki

PAIRING ▸ nishimura riki! x reader

GENRE ▸ detective! au, fantasy! au, high school! au, s2ls, romance, fluff, angst, humor, SLOW BURN

WC ▸ 15.6k

SUMMARY ▸ you supposedly get transported to a different world, where you encounter niki. apparently, you already existed here. note: past tense. so now you’re stuck in an alternate universe and technically, you’re supposed to be dead.

AKA after facing the truth, you come to the realization that someone was definitely trying to kill you.

AN/NOTES ▸ mentions of death!!!, a murder mystery/whodunit, profanity, mentions of suicide, depictions of murder, a few curse words, violence, blood, dead bodies, some gorey stuff, kissing, nothing too harsh, excuse any typos/misspellings...

wow... i can't believe it but it is finally out... it's been a long time coming lol. with losing several family members and hospital visits over the past year, i wasn't sure if this was ever going to get released. thank you all for your endless (fr) patience and support. happy reading ❤️

a faceless figure stretches out a hand towards you.

you squint but for some reason, you still can’t make them out. the longer you stare, the more you realize it was a person—a blurry vision of a faceless boy. considering the matching uniform to yours, he must’ve gone to your school …was he your classmate?

you frown. you’ve never seen anyone like him in class before. you stretch out your arm, fingertips barely grazing his-

the sound of the school bell ringing causes your eyelids to fly open. you groan, yawning and getting up from your seat by the window by default.

it wasn’t a nice nap—just one that left you feeling groggy, unsettled, and strangely incomplete.

you pack up your stuff quietly and leave the classroom alone, not bothering to look for your friends. as you walk down the stairs, you hear your classmates chattering about the weather.you glance outside.

it was a dreary, unwelcoming kind of rain—part of the reason why you fell asleep earlier in class—and you suddenly feel the urge to get home. as soon as possible.

you weren’t sure why, but it wasn’t just raining. it started to pour, especially hard, on this spring day. you want to think that was what made your mood all miserable and forlorn.

not to forget the fact that you didn’t have an umbrella, leaving you no other choice but to throw your hood on and tighten the strings of your hoodie over your school uniform. not exactly the most stylish look, yet it was comfortable enough for you.

you couldn’t put a finger on the emotion, but you felt out of place, like for some weird reason… you didn’t belong here. like you belonged out of this circle, away from this life and world.

that feeling always came up when it started to rain, and you always tried your best to suppress it. but it was particularly strong today.

you shrugged it off though. those “phases” weren’t uncommon, right?

though you made it halfway out the school grounds by yourself, hyein and hanni catch up to you as you walk. you give them a half-hearted smile, “hey.”

it doesn’t take much for them to notice your off behavior. hyein eyes you.

“you okay, y/n?”

you debate internally, reminding yourself that they’re your friends. you can trust them, rely on them. you’re allowed to do that. even more so, aren’t you supposed to do that?

but the words that come out of your mouth suggest otherwise. you shrug, “it’s nothing. it’s just been a weird day, you know?”

they share a glance before turning back to you, sympathetic smiles on their faces. hanni pats you on the shoulder, “yeah, we get it. you should get some rest at home, y/n. we’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“be careful on the way back! the rain doesn’t look like it’s stopping soon.” she calls out before they continue, leaving you behind—still as soaked as ever.

you wave before sighing, gripping the straps of your backpack tighter and making your way towards the train station. the sound of the rain almost makes you fall into a daze as you go about your way. all your school stuff and clothes were definitely getting soaked, which probably meant an oncoming cold, but you could’ve cared less.

the only thing that mattered was going home and sleeping off this weird feeling, so it could become tomorrow and you didn’t have to be in this situation anymore.

the train station is strangely busy, you figure the downpour was making everyone go home sooner. you bypass several people, almost getting your soaked and stained shoes stepped on several times. all while muttering quiet “excuse me’s” to practically everyone and anyone who cared to listen.

after what seemed like ages, you manage to make it to your train. although, the large crowd surrounding the entrance effectively prevents you from getting anywhere.

you mutter a curse, trying to navigate through the waves of people. you just barely get on before the doors begin closing. letting out a huff in relief, you lean back against the door and slowing yourself a moment to close your eyes in peace. all the seats were obviously taken at that point, so you had no choice but to stand. that’s fine—you end up drifting off anyway.

you don’t know how long it’s been since you fell asleep. or why you feel even more exhausted when you wake up. but the robotic voice announcing your arrival makes your eyes automatically flutter open. you feel your body getting pushed and shoved around as everyone tries to get out all at once.

so you grit your teeth and tug down your hood further until you can finally get out. you don’t pay much attention to your surroundings, too focused on not getting knocked to the ground. when you finally stumble out of the crowd onto the station platform, you try to collect yourself while shaking your head. then you frown,

wait a second-

something solid knocks into you from the side, a rough oof! escaping out of their--mouth?

you’re knocked onto the ground, bottom first. pain shoots into your palms that tried (and failed) to catch your fall—and obviously, your butt as well.

you groan, eyes flashing in annoyance at your unknown assailant. looking up, you stop at the sight of the… boy in front of you.

you really have no idea why, but a question immediately pops into your head—

have you met before?

you don’t voice it, but it lingers in the back of your mind. the boy—as far as you can tell, he looks around your age— simply stares at you. he’s in a strikingly similar uniform.

a flicker of recognition passes in his eyes before you watch his expression grow flabbergasted. he continues to stare at you for a solid minute, while you only stare back in confusion, still on the floor.

“it’s rude to stare, you know.” you finally state with a furrowed brow as you quickly gathering your bearings.

his only response is a blink.

it's like the two of you are frozen in time, everyone else getting drowned out in the moment.

you frown, narrowing your eyes at him. “hello? did you hear me?” you repeat yourself and this time he snaps out of it.

“y-you’re not supposed to be here.” he gets out shakily, looking around while his hand runs through his dark locks in distress. you cross your arms, “what do you mean? this is my stop…”

you falter when you remember what you saw earlier. when you got off the train, you took a quick glance at the signs and posts. yeah, this definitely wasn’t your stop.

that wouldn’t have been a huge issue- if it wasn’t for the fact that you never missed your station, no matter the circumstances.

“no!” he exclaims and you flinch at the outburst. the boy glances at you again, and this time you involuntarily shiver at the unreadable look in his eyes.

“you’re…. you’re supposed to be dead.”

your mouth drops open.

“what a great first thing to say to someone you just bowled over. not even a sorry..” you mutter off, suddenly finding the strength to get up and wipe your hands.

the boy takes a step back away from you. curiously, you take one forward, towards him. he gestures a hand at you almost aggressively.

“you’re dead. you died. i swear-“

you hold out your hands in half desperation and half exasperation, “i dunno if this is some dumb prank or something i missed, but i hate to break it to you. i’m not dead. i’m literally right here in front of you. i think i would know if i died or not. i’m-”

again, that feeling of being out of place washes over you. this time it steals your breath away.

the strange boy shakes his head. “there’s no way. i know exactly who you look like.”

his next words make your blood run cold.

“you’re exactly like y/n y/l/n—who died a week ago.” he looks you up and down again, hands curling into fists.

“who are you? and why do you look just-?”

“because that’s who i am? my name is y/n! now, if you would excuse me.”

you hold up a hand, you didn’t have the time or patience to deal with weirdos on the street. it did struck a little odd that he knew your name, but then again he must’ve gone to your school and heard of you somewhere. the only thing that unsettled you was his reaction.

it just seemed too real, like he couldn’t have been that good at acting.

he grabs your arm to prevent you from leaving. all he does is shake his head again like he’s just trying to reassure himself. you’re about to protest, so utterly confused at what’s happening-how you missed your stop and why this strange boy is saying that you’re dead. none of it makes sense.

his face looks pale and grim, and you’re sure yours look exactly the same. “you can’t be y/n. and yet, here you are right in front of me.”

“i will scream like a little girl for help if you don’t let me go at this-“

“p-please. this isn’t a joke. you can’t be here. we need to get out of here—where everyone can’t see you.”

before you can even splutter a response, he drags you off.

you can call me niki, his words echo in your head.

his name rolls off your tongue unfamiliarly. in his states of panic—to which niki kept slapping himself and you kept denying that you were a hallucination—

you ended up introducing yourselves and deciding to find a better place to discuss. more like, niki decided. you soon began to regret that decision.

all you wanted to do was go home, but this persistent kid you’ve never seen before wouldn’t let you or your conscience go. maybe it was the weird feeling from earlier, but you have the urge to at least hear him out. but when you walked out of that train station behind him, everything was wrong.

you don’t know how to describe it. it was right but… at the same time, it wasn’t.

to begin with, you ended up at the wrong station but it led you to the right street to get home. the streets name were the same, but the stores weren’t.

and the bus stop—the bus driver that had worked there for fifteen years, the one you had greeted for fifteen years, suddenly became an entirely different person. he never missed a day, no matter what occasion it was.

things weren’t right and you had no idea what was going on.

following niki, you get lost in your thoughts. you shake your head, clapping a hand over your forehead. maybe… you’re just in a weird dream. a really realistic one, because none of this made sense. it wasn’t raining anymore either, which would’ve been fine, excluding for one tiny detail: the streets were completely dry. judging by the strength of the rain earlier, it really shouldn’t—no, it couldn’t have dried up that fast.

It wasn’t physically possible.

you could easily navigate your way around this area because you lived here all your life. and yet, it felt like you didn’t live here. not when this random stranger (only on a first name basis) keeps insisting that you died.

niki—or whoever—leads you to a very familiar library, the same one where you spent hours studying for your finals. you head in, feeling a bit better hearing the familiar entrance chime. you walk ahead of him to take your spot by the back corner. the fact that this place was essentially the same gave you some comfort.

niki seems surprised, but he doesn’t say anything, only taking the seat across from you.

“okay.” you start, glancing at the boy with wary eyes.

“if whatever bs you’re spewing is true, explain.”

he raises his eyebrows.

“me? explain?”

you nod and he scoffs, “i think you’re the one who should be explaining. after all, you’re the one that’s supposed to be dead-“

“i’m not dead.” you grit out, rolling your eyes.

“okay, okay,” he raises his hands in surrender, “but you still need to talk.”

you sigh, rubbing your temples.

“what do you want me to say? that i got soaked, took the train home, overslept, and then missed my stop? then, i bumped into a weird boy-”

he shoots you an offended look, which you ignore.

“-who keeps telling me that i died. oh, and the more and more i stay here with you, the more wrong everything gets?” you barely get the last word out before niki leans in, eyes focused intently on you.

the closer he gets, you more you begin to malfunction. you unconsciously hold your breath, alarm and confusion evident in your eyes. his hand reaches out, slowly, to your head. your body freezes.

his fingers catch a drop of water at the tip of your hair. “sorry. that was bothering me.”

you exhale, glaring at him. “are you serious?”

“yeah. are you?”

“no,” you deadpan, “i’m a ghost and i’m haunting you. of course i’m being serious!”

he gives you an unconvinced look and you roll your eyes, “i’m y/n y/l/n. we live an hour away from the capital. my house is two blocks away in the neighborhood with the broken fountain, and right now we’re at the library that doesn’t open on thursdays.

you harshly tug off your suddenly dry hoodie, displaying your school uniform.

“and by the looks of it, we go to the same school.”

his eyes widen as he leans in closer to study your uniform. you shrug away, caught off guard. then you frown, “but i’ve never seen you before at school. how do i know that you’re not some imposter? that you somehow stole a uniform to get something from me?”

he rolls his eyes while you gaze at him suspiciously.

“obviously not, because that’s dumb.”

you scoff.

“i live here. why would i go through all the trouble to steal a uniform to get something from you? besides, what would i need from some-“

he glances at you and you tense,

“-kid like you? you’re the one who came out of the train looking so suspicious, it’s like you appeared out of nowhere,” he counters.

you place your palms flat on the table, “okay, it’s obvious we aren’t getting anywhere. we both don’t have answers and we’re not even close to one. all i know is that i’m alive,” you shoot him another look, “and that i somehow ended up here. now, can i go?”

there’s a brief pause before niki speaks up, slowly. “i already told you, you can’t be seen. come with me. and keep the hood on.”

you roll your eyes. who was he to boss you around?

he grumbles something along the lines of- “don’t want to be seen walking around with a dead person.”

the only reason you listened was partly due to fear that you would lose your way in this familiar, yet unfamiliar place. except, you know exactly where he’s taking you. because it’s the same neighborhood you live in.

“wait,” you call out, “this is where i live.” you point to your house, and niki grimaces.

“i know. there were police here for days.”

you stop, unsure of what to say or do. police? at your house? when?

you stare at your supposed house, suddenly dark and empty. what in the world happened?

“come on,” niki calls out and you move to catch up. you’re starting to think niki may be telling the truth.

soon enough, you make it to an unfamiliar house about a street down from yours. as niki unlocks the door, you take the opportunity to study him, trying to recall if you’ve ever seen him before. but when he turns to you, you clear your throat and look away.

“this is my house,” he tilts his head while opening the door.

you like the fact that it’s messy. it felt much more homey because of that. it was also a lot bigger than yours, filled with fancy and intricate things. to which you assume this niki guy has more money than he has yet to admit. he tells you to wait in the living room, and he soon returns with a stack of books.

you pause, “yearbooks?“

he nods, “yeah, our school’s.”

strangely enough, most of the covers are different than yours at home.

but everything else is the same, like the name and logo. he pulls out this year’s yearbook and flips through before stopping at a page.

“that’s me,” he points to the picture of him and you tilt your head, frowning.

“huh. so we are in the same year. but i’ve never seen you in my yearbook—or at school before. i swear i would’ve seen you at least once before...”

you rub your temples, this whole situation was making your head hurt. none of it made sense. you study his picture, why in the world did he actually look good in his yearbook photo? your eyes shift toward his name,

nish—

he turns the page before you can finish reading, only to get distracted by seeing familiar classmates in your yearbook. niki stays silent as he flips through pages and you continue to point out your friends and classmates and stare in wonder at the unfamiliar ones-

ones that you’ve never seen before in your life but somehow their faces are printed on the page, in the same grade and same school as you.

just like niki. you were actually speechless.

eventually, he stops flipping eventually and looks at you. you catch his eye and glance down at the page, immediately catching on. you breath hitches.

“no way—”

“—and there’s you.”

it is you. you can confirm, it’s a photo of someone who looks exactly like you. but… it’s not you.

almost everything is the same, your face and clothes. your hair was cut shorter, and your smile wider for the picture. you were even wearing makeup, for crying out loud. you can only stare at the photo.

according to niki, this you is dead?

you look up at him, stomach churning. what in the world was going on?

the silence lasts until niki finally speaks up with a hesitant tone. “i might be tripping, but have you ever heard of… alternate realities?”

you shake your head firmly, “don’t even get me started on that-“

he cuts you off, “i know, i know. but just hear me out.”

you have no choice but to internally whisper a quiet plea of help. he scoots closer,

“wouldn’t it make sense? there’s really no other explanation. maybe it’s because i watched that spider-man movie recently, but you being from another world would explain how you’re alive right now—when in this world, you’re dead. plus, all the similarities and differences that you mentioned can be chalked up to different timelines—the butterfly effect and stuff like that.”

you don’t know what to say.

could it actually be?

what other explanation could there be?

“please say something,” niki mumbles and you release a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

“okay. okay. fine. say the whole multiverse crap is true. then how did i even get here? how did i—”

you do air quotations,

“—switch dimensions to another world?”

niki shrugs, “no idea.”

he scratches his head, “it’s weird to think about but i mean, maybe there’s a reason why you came here.”

his voice suddenly gets lower and you shiver, “you know, the timing’s a bit weird that you showed up right after the other you passed away.”

you clear your throat, “let’s not think about that right now. we should probably focus on the whole me being dead thing, right?”

“what?”

you glance at him questioningly, “what?”

niki raises an eyebrow. “what’s there to focus on? you died.”

you don’t have to rub it in my face, you mumble under your breath.

“shouldn’t we be focusing on how to get you back to your world?”

you roll your eyes, “sure, but still, i kinda want to know how i died? i think i deserve to, you know, so maybe i don’t make the same dumb mistake back home.”

“-if you ever get home,” he corrects and you huff.

“whatever, just tell me. we don’t even know if your dumb alternate reality theory is right.”

“okay,” niki rubs his hands nervously and you wait in anticipation.

“well, it actually happened last thursday.”

you swallow. why was your heart rate picking up?

“at school. on, uh, the rooftop. no one witnessed it, and the cctv was broken so we don’t have any exact answers. but from what I’ve heard,” he gives you a cautious glance,

“the police are about ready to call it a suicide.”

at first, you think you misheard him. but the hesitant gaze and pause proves you otherwise.

at first it doesn’t hit you. but then suddenly you feel sick to your stomach. your hand grips the table for support as you try to take it all in.

you?

a suicide at school?

what about your family, your friends-

“no,” you whisper, shaking your head. “i… i would never-“

you slam your hands on the table, “i know myself. i would never do that.”

his face is grim and sympathetic, which you can feel the dislike churn in your stomach at that. “i’m really sorry… that’s the current situation. it kinda blew up at school, but everything’s still so recent that nothing is confirmed yet.“

unspoken words linger in the back of his head, that he questions if he should say it or not.

that niki really didn’t know you that well, that you were just another classmate of his. one that he passed in the halls without a second glance back. that the you in his world-

was just a stranger to him.

yet seeing you, desperate and alive, right in front of his eyes. he doesn’t know what to do or say. so niki watches you bury your head in your hands. and he waits.

it’s only a couple of minutes later that you look up. his face morphs into one of surprise when he sees your determined expression.

“niki,” you state carefully and he nods, waiting patiently.

“are you sure that i-i did it?”

you can’t bring yourself to say the word but niki gets it. he sighs,

“no. no one’s sure. but from what i’ve heard, the police haven’t found any other motives so… a suicide seemed most likely.” the more and more niki talked, the more unsure he got.

your face hardens.

“so there’s no proof? the police aren’t doing their freaking job and investigating?”

his eyes widen—surprised at your sudden outburst—and you sigh, voice falling to a whisper.

“did i really commit suicide? and why do i care so much?”

something warm falls over your hand and you jump, glancing up.

even for only a split second, his hand covers yours in a sympathetic attempt, “i’m sorry y/n. i wish i had answers but i really don’t know…”

despite the awkward look on niki’s face and overall awkward situation, his words strangely comfort you.

you bite your bottom lip. “i-i have to get to my house.”

he stiffens, “what?”

you stare at him, eyes sharp, “if no one else is going to do something, i at least have to.”

you need to. for yourself.

niki scoots closer, “y/n, you can’t just-“

“i know. but i need to know. something just-ugh,” you rub your face in frustration, “something doesn’t add up. i have to check. it’s like i can feel it deep within me.”

he sits there wordlessly. when you don’t get a response, you stand up. niki splutters, “w-where are you going?”

you cross your arms, “without or without you, i’m going to my house.”

he slaps a hand to his face in frustration. “just how stubborn are you?” he mumbles. you hear it and yet you decide to ignore him.

“thanks for the help i guess,” you give him a (weak) half-smile before turning towards the door

“wait! you’re being serious?!”

his desperate voice calls out and you internally debate if you should listen to him or not. slowly, you turn back around, “yeah. do you need something?”

“no, but you do— a plan. especially since the police closed off your house for investigation. plus, most of the evidence would have been taken already.” he clasps his hands together behind his back.

you shrug. “okay, and? i’ll still find a way. i have nothing to lose. i’m not even supposed to be alive.”

he groans loudly and you raise an eyebrow.

“idiot. i’m trying to say that i’ll help you. i-i want to help you.”

“i didn’t ask,” you raise your hands in mock surrender. annoyed, niki puts his hands on his hips.

“sure, but i know plenty of things you don’t. this is my world. so, are you gonna accept or not?”

“you wish you did,” you retort, yet you can’t help the small smile that grows on your face, “but… i would appreciate it. just be grateful that i’m accepting your dumb theory from a spider-man movie as of right now.”

niki gulps at the sight. it was the first time he saw you smile since you met. at least, the first smile he saw from the you of an alternate universe.

“whatever you say,” he holds out a hand,

“miss imposter.”

you take it gladly, harshly. “don’t call me that-“

“my name is y/n y/l/n.”

you spin around in niki’s chair, having went up to his room to figure out your so called master plan. niki (respectfully) offered to let you stay in his room for the length of your “visit.”

to which you almost punched him.

but he explained that there were no extra guest rooms and you were still technically dead, so hiding in his room was the best bet as to not raise any questions. you could take the makeshift bed in the corner of his room as to not raise suspicion. you were surprised yet grateful.

“i’ll grab extra blankets and pillows. and i’ll sneak you food and whatever you need.”

“what about clothes and toiletries?”

he yawns, “easy. i’ll steal some from my sisters.”

you feel bad, but you realize you have no other choice. you were literally stuck here.

a part of you still wondered if this was a dream. a horrible one, at the least. but while you were stuck here, might as well make the best of it. niki graciously offered and you had no choice but to accept. you almost scoff at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“so basically, i’m like a secret pet you’re hiding from your parents?”

“technically… yes,” niki rubs his hands together, and you can only watch the mischievous expression grow on his face.

“but i like to think that you’re like eleven. you’re different—you’re special, like her.”

you hold back a laugh at the words.

clearing your throat, you try to play it off. “from stranger things? your world has that show too?” he lets out a scandalous gasp and this time you giggle.

“of course, dude. what kind of world would i be living in if i didn’t have stranger things?”

“apparently a horrible one,” you snort.

after the whole living situation was sorted out, you returned to your investigation.

“so you’re saying the police taped off my house for further examination?”

“uh, yeah? that’s how it works?” he raises a brow.

you stuck your tongue out at him, “okay, smartass. then how do we get in?”

“clearly, there’s only one way: sneak in.”

“i don’t think this is a good idea?” niki whisper shouts at you and you shush him.

the sun was barely setting. if anyone knew you, they knew you really couldn’t be deemed as patient of any sort.

niki watches you struggle up the tree in your backyard.

obviously, going through the front door was a no go. luckily this house looked pretty much the same as your house, at least from the outside. you knew your parents weren’t home judging by the darkness. you wondered if they were staying with other family.

or were they at work? so soon after your death?

you grimace, now was not the time to be getting in your feelings.

the best (only) option was jumping the backyard fence and going in through your bedroom window. leading to your predicament now.

you exhale heavily when you find a place to rest, gripping the tree with all your might in hopes that you don’t fall

you glance down at niki.

“can you make it?”

he scoffs,

“easy.”

it was easy— easy for you to watch niki struggle to get up to your point.

you were sort of scared the tree wasn’t going to support both your weights, at the way it was trembling slightly. niki makes it though, by the time the sun is well down.

you can see him sweating heavily and your nose scrunches in amusement,“easy, huh?”

“yeah, for you just standing there and watching me. we don’t have all day, grandma.”

“don’t call me that,” you mutter while stretching out towards your window.

niki’s eyes widen.

“be careful, y/n.”

“i got it,” you stretch out a leg to the ledge and your sweaty hands begin to slide from the bark, most likely from exertion.

without even thinking about it, niki places his hands around your waist to stabilize you. you don’t notice in your concentration to not fall to your death. you certainly didn’t want another dead you.

your foot clicks the lock, and with a grunt you’re able to push the window open.

“you got it?”

“yeah,” you breathe out, clumsily making your way in. you reach out a hand for niki and he takes it, maneuvering his long body in through the small window.

finally, you can breathe.

it’s the first time you have the luxury to desperately wish that you were home right now. your real home. you certainly didn’t mean this home, the empty and cold looking one locked up for the police’s investigation.

after catching your breath, you get up to examine your surroundings. you weren’t not sure what you were expecting. this was the other you’s room.

all you can think is, at least this y/n was much cleaner than you.

a part of you feels like you’re invading someone’s privacy. but then you realize that it’s literally your own privacy that you’re invading, with the addition of niki. you actually can’t believe the absurdity of the situation.

at first glance the room looks pretty normal, an average teenagers room. not what you expected for yourself, but there’s not much you can see. you turn to niki,

“there’s no shot we’ll get caught right?”

he gives you another sympathetic look, “we’ll keep a look out for the police, but i heard your parents were busy with your other family and funeral preparations, so it wouldn’t be them catching us.”

“oh.”

the air feels so glum, you clear your throat to move on. “guess we should look around?”

he nods and begins to snoop around.

“wait,” you call out hesitantly.

niki cocks his head and you cough awkwardly.

“it’s still my room, so like, be careful with what you look through.”

he rolls his eyes. “yeah. i got it.”

you gaze at the photos on your shelf, displaying your happy family and friends. it just made you acknowledge how precious they were. it made you miss your friends and family at home even more.

you’re appalled at the books you read. you shake your head, seriously? you take out one of the books-

“ten days to love,” you voice aloud with disgust written across your face.

you weren’t one to judge, but what kind of cheesy romance novels were you reading?

niki opens your closet and you turn at the sound. your eyes widen-

wait a second,

your closet with clothes? possibly including…. more personal things?

you dash over in desperation, praying that niki hasn’t already seen something that he shouldn’t.

“don’t!”

his wide eyes meet your panicked ones, shocked at the sudden change of events. he doesn’t move until you push past him, blocking the door from his view.

“you didn’t see anything, right?” you stare at niki desperately and he furrows his eyebrows.

“no? am i not supposed-“

“no reason. just being cautious. we can, uh, open it together.”

you carefully examine your belongings inside before deeming it safe for niki’s eyes. you let out a sigh of relief.

he gives you a weird look and you shoot him an exaggerated smile.

“you can proceed!”

he mutters something under his breath as you continue your search on the other side of the room. it didn’t seem like there was anything of importance on the shelves. but, after careful examination, you see a glimpse of something. pushing past some folders, your face morphs into a stunned one.

you pull out…

a pink teddy bear with hearts? why would this be in your room?

and even more so, why was it hidden?

niki calls out your name and you turn around. your mouth drops open.

“a box of chocolates?“

he scoffs, “yeah. stuffed behind some clothes in your closet for some reason.”

“it’s not even the good brand,” you mutter.

niki laughs, “maybe you had secret admirers from school?” suddenly, you give him a suspicious glance.

“what makes you say that? you sure you weren’t one of them?”

he side eyes you, “trust me, you wouldn’t catch me within five feet of you at school.”

you walk over to shove his arm and he only laughs harder. you huff, suppressing a smile on your face as you turn away. but you keep niki’s comment in the back of your mind.

after a solid thirty minutes, you can feel your resolve waning. there was no sign indicating that you felt suicidal. at least, none that you found after the police probably scrounged through everything. some stuff was suspicious—

like the teddy bear and chocolates. and some lavish perfume and makeup in the drawers. that just wasn’t your style. but you supposed this world’s you was just different.

just because you weren’t particularly into those things didn’t mean another you couldn’t be.

“did i have a diary? what about my phone?”

niki frowns, “the police would’ve taken it. it’s their evidence now.”

you suddenly get an idea, and it’s probably wasn’t a good one.

“hey, niki?” you call out. he hums in response.

“what day and time is it, currently?”

“uh…” he checks his watch, “sunday. 8pm. why?”

“when does the police station close?”

dummy, most people would say--why would the police station be closed?

luck seemed to be on your side, because you knew especially well from complaints by locals, that your local police station did actually have a curfew. and you could only hope it was the same here.

niki scratches his head, “in ten minutes? why are-“

his mouth drops open, “no. no. no.” you shrug and he shakes his head adamantly, “y/n, there’s no way that we’re going to sneak in.”

you dust off your hands, “i’m all ears for any other ideas you have.”

you have him at that and he falls silent. after a couple moments, he speaks up albeit hesitantly. “well… i might have a way.“

you grin. “onwards, then.”

“wait, so how did you manage to get access again?”

he coughs, “my friend jungwon is the son of the police deputy chief… so i may have called in for a favor.”

“he managed to sneak in with his dad’s keys and get the files to my case?” you finish.

he nods.

“illegally?”

he nods again.

you tap your chin, “would we get arrested if we got caught?”

he shrugs, “probably.”

“good thing i’m not from this world.”

perhaps secretly hanging outside this jungwon’s house was not the best idea, either. he rolls his eyes before offering the file to you.

“do you want to open it?” to your surprise, his voice comes out quite comforting and soft.

you gulp, “i guess i should.”

you feel sick for the second time that day. luckily, the photo didn’t show too much. not that it made it any better. it was still you, dead.

you had to look at yourself and imagine yourself in that situation. you cover your mouth and niki immediately takes the file away from you. he watches worriedly as you shake your head.

“i’m fine. i-is there anything else your friend managed to get?”

“are you sure?”

“yes.” he doesn’t protest anymore at the tone of finality in your voice.

niki pulls out a bag with your name on it. taking a deep breath in, you open it. you shuffle through some things hurriedly until niki speaks up.

“hold on a sec,” he softly places a hand on your arm to stop your actions.

“we should be careful. someone could notice that we tampered with the evidence so we need to be very careful when putting things back. plus, we have to give it back to him as soon as possible—we don’t want them noticing that your stuff is missing.”

you curse, “that’s right. we can’t risk taking anything.”

“then what?”

you pinch your nose bridge, “we snap pictures and hope it’s good enough. unless we want to take another field trip here.”

you manage to snap a few pictures and go through a few things. you catch a glimpse of your diary and flip to the most recent page. it was about a week and a half ago, and-

it wasn’t finished. you skim through it, reading boring stuff about how your day was and how you met-

you squint.

the rest of the words were scratched out, harshly, with a black marker. seeing how it was getting late and dark, you can’t make out who’s name it was even with your phone flashlight. you wonder, could it be-

your thoughts are interrupted by niki.

“y/n, i think we need to hurry and head home soon. the longer we stay out, the greater risk we’re at for getting caught. oh, and i found your phone.”

he holds it up and the extremely glittery case makes your eyes hurt. you eye it. heaving a deep breath, you prepare yourself to open your phone.

but when you click the power button and nothing happens, you groan. you try again, and again, holding it down for seconds but the screen remains black.

“the phone’s dead.” you sigh again and niki bites his lip.

“maybe we should give up. we can ask jungwon another time,” he suggests

you nod wearily and he closes the box. as he gathers everything, opening his phone to text his friend to come back out, you glance at the time. it was quite late for a school day.

“that’s right, you have school tomorrow?”

he groans, “yeah. i guess you’ll just have to stay home in my room. no one will go in while i’m at school, so you don’t have to worry.”

you nod, “okay.”

it felt weird knowing you were supposed to be at home, in bed and preparing to go to school yourself the next day. instead, you were stuck in another world—in a stranger’s room, forced to hide since you were supposed to be dead.

were you considered missed at home? did anyone notice? call the cops?

more like, if anyone cared?

while you get ready for bed in niki’s bathroom, you stare at yourself in the mirror.

yes, you affirm, you’re alive.

you’re staring back at yourself, dressed in one of niki’s oversized shirts and basketball shorts.

but the image of your dead face flashes in your mind and you immediately squeeze your eyes shut. you breathe heavily, hands planted on the sides of the sink.

everything’s fine. you will get back home. things will figure themselves out. you’re okay. you’re breathing and-

a knock on the door makes you jump.

“y/n? everything okay?” niki’s voice sounds out hesitantly, “it seemed like you were taking a while so-“

the door swings open.

you stand there, face emotionless. he doesn’t say anything, and neither do you. niki tries to keep the image of you wearing his clothes out of his head, but it won’t seem to go away.

“goodnight, niki.”

you slowly walk over to the temporary bed he’s set up on the floor for you. he blinks,

“night, y/n.”

it’s surprisingly comfortable, or maybe you’re just so exhausted you don’t seem to care or question anything anymore.

you hear light footsteps padding to turn off the lights.

in the darkness, your eyes close. but your mind is awake.

you know his is too, judging by the sounds of quite shuffling every couple minutes or so.

“niki?” you say quietly.

another shuffle.

“yeah?”

“this may sound weird, but have you noticed anyone that looked particularly sad?”

there’s a pause.

“about you?”

“yeah, but not like the typical sadness. like, anyone who seems to have changed drastically after hearing about me? let’s say,” you swallow, “any guys or friends of yours who seemed particularly upset or affected?”

niki rolls to the other side of his bed so that he faces you, but in the darkness he can only see the outline of your figure. “y/n, what are you trying to say?”

you tug the covers over yourself a little tighter.

“nevermind, niki. have a good day at school tomorrow, and don’t worry about waking me up. you won’t be able to.”

“wasn’t planning on it,” he snorts.

you fall asleep with a faint smile still lingering on your face.

the next day at school, niki struggles. he struggles when it’s supposed to be another normal day, and all he can think about is you.

especially about what you said.

niki never paid much attention before to his surroundings, there was no reason to. but now he keeps an eye open.

he eyed anyone who passed by your locker, empty desk in class, anyone who mentioned your name. but the fact that you mentioned guys specifically, made him confused.

why did it matter if a guy was upset? a lot of people were shocked and sad at the news. niki shook his head. he didn’t get it.

meanwhile, you stayed at his home.

thinking.

thinking about yesterday. somehow everything that happened was all just yesterday. you took the train and ended up here. then you found out you were apparently dead.

you spent what felt like hours scrolling through the photos you took and waiting for niki to come home. all while eating snacks that niki left for you graciously.

you don’t even know what time it is when you hear the door begin to open. you scramble to your feet before realizing that there was a chance it wasn’t niki.

you go back to your hiding spot, shrinking underneath the covers. next thing you know, the bedroom door flings open. you tense.

however, a call of your name allows you to let out a sigh of relief. you hop up, “niki!”

he grins, looking rather cute in his ruffled school uniform, backpack slung off one shoulder. you stop yourself, horrified at your thought. at your face falling, he cocks his head. “what’s wrong?”

you laugh awkwardly, “nothing! nothing at all!”

he gives you an unconvinced look but doesn’t press further.

“you must’ve been bored without me.”

that was the niki you’ve come to know (in the span of a day or so). sarcasm drips from your lips as you laugh dryly, “sure.”

but you knew he was right and he knew it too.

“i spent the day looking through the pictures, but i couldn’t find much else,” you frown.

“same here. today was pretty normal, no one seemed any different than usual…”

“i mean, the mood has been somber ever since you,” he pauses, “left. but nothing out of the ordinary.”

you seemingly deflate, but niki perks up. “i talked to jungwon and he said he’s going to try and get your phone next time. we can only hope that someone charges it or that we can charge it ourselves.”

you nod, “that’s good.”

“but, don’t you have work to do? what about your family?”

you realized you didn’t see or even hear of them yesterday.

“oh, they usually stay late at the dance academy—me included. but my grades haven’t been good recently, so they’ve been forcing me to go to home and study…”

you tsk as niki gives you a sheepish look.

“you know, while we’re waiting, i’m not too bad at studying myself. what do you need help with?”

niki rolls his eyes, “thanks, but no thanks. i don’t need another person on my back about my grades.”

instead, he falls back onto his bed with an oof.

“don’t worry, i’ll manage. let’s just talk about our next step.

“step? as in, my case?

“yeah,“ his eyes glint, “i have an idea.”

you were starting to believe he was getting more invested in this than you were.

“okay—shoot.”

what was the worse thing he could suggest?

“we should sneak you into school-“

your eyes practically bulge as you gape at him. “excuse me? weren’t you the one saying i was going too far with sneaking into my own house and you want me to do what?”

niki gets up, placing his arms on your shoulders to calm you. strangely enough, it did.

“hear me out first—we sneak into school at night, bust open your locker, and see what you have. that’s better than waiting for jungwon.”

“don’t you think the police would have already looked through my locker?

“well, he looks around nervously, “as far as i’ve heard, the police were already mostly convinced the case was closed and didn’t care to check. but, what can i say? rumors are just rumors.”

you purse your lips. what did you have to lose? being in a different world made you much more reckless than you would have ever thought. but that didn’t mean you were going to be stupid about it.

“fine.”

niki winces at your tone, but you speak up,

“how in this stupid multiverse crap am i going to break into my own locker? and with cameras all around school?

he smirks and you raise an eyebrow.

“i didn’t miss a whole chem lecture for nothing—“

confused, you give him a look as if to say, what in the world are you talking about?

“who said we had to know the combination?” he takes out a pair of keys form his pocket.

you gasp in awe, clasping a hand over your mouth.

you gaze at him with wide eyes for a second, causing him to look at you questioningly.

“you’re actually being smart...”

his confused expression immediately changes to one of irritation.

you stand up straight again, “how did you even get those keys? and what about the cameras?”

he winks and you glance at him, trying to remain expressionless. if there was anything you noticed, it was that niki was actually quite attractive. it made you wonder if he was popular at school…

“it’s a secret. don’t worry about it.”

“you sure have a lot of secrets, niki. like, is niki even your real name?” you squint accusingly.

niki chokes on his spit, “how in the world did you know?”

you falter. “huh? it isn’t?”

he clears his throat, “anyway, i have to get up early for school tomorrow.”

you eye him but decide to let it go. niki shrugs, “usually i’m up playing games, but you look like you need the sleep with those eye bags. you aren’t surprised.

“tomorrow night,” he says shortly after. “i’ve got a plan—you just have to trust me.”

turns out said plan was dumb, but you really had no other choice.

niki made some lame excuse to his teachers about staying late to study- and his teachers, being utterly shocked that he offered to study, immediately agreed to let him linger.

meanwhile, niki would sneak you in, wearing one of his old uniforms that was too small for him so that just in case, no one would question anything. along with one of his totally inconspicuous baseball caps to hide your face and hair.

you sigh, you couldn't believe you were sneaking into school through the boys bathroom. you groan while maneuvering through the window. niki shushes you, causing you to stick your tongue out at him. he raises his hands playfully and you resist the urge to smack him.

on your way to jump down from the window, your left foot gets caught on the ledge. you stumble forward, expecting to be met with the revolting bathroom floor face first. instead, perhaps now was the time to thank the universe (in this case, his universe?) for niki’s quick reflexes.

he inhales, catching you by catching and pulling you towards him instead of the ground, essentially into his arms.

instead of faceplanting into the ground rather foolishly, you fall into his strangely soft and warm chest. you let out a barely discernible squeak, unable to respond due to the pounding of your heart.

after a couple of seconds—that felt like forever— niki lets you go with a shake of his head.

“my god y/n, i had no clue you were this clumsy. please don’t ever do that again.”

please don’t ever make me sneak into a nasty teenage bathroom again, you wish you could retort.

you shake your head quickly, lips pressed thinly together. don’t get distracted, you remind yourself. “yeah-thanks. let’s uh, just hurry.“

you don’t have time to wonder what would the consequences be if you got caught by cameras or anyone else while niki leads you down the familiar hallways.

“how do you know which one’s my locker? i thought you said we didn’t really know each other?“ you eye him suspiciously.

he scoffs, “don’t get too excited. mine’s just a couple lockers down so i was bound to see you at your locker by some point.”

he hands you the keys and you gratefully accept—your hands slightly trembling. you didn’t know what to expect.

niki watches from behind, and you can feel his warm breath on you occasionally, causing you to shiver.

with a slight click and creak of the rusty locker door, the locker opens. you hold your breath at first glance. it’s…. normal?

normal as in any average high schoolers locker one would expect. what catches your eye first are a couple of photos of you and your friends.

on deeper inspection of yourself (it was still weird to imagine and even weirder to see) you see a twinkling, intricate chain around your neck. maybe you were tripping (again, but mentally this time) or that necklace you had on seems really expensive?

“there’s no way,” you suddenly gasp and turn to niki with wide eyes.

“what?” niki starts to panic, “what is it?”

“am i actually loaded in this world?”

niki pinches the bridge of his nose as he shakes his head. “jesus, you scared me. i mean, you didn’t seem like it.. who knows where you got that super expensive, luxury brand necklace? it looks familiar…“

you try your hardest not to roll your eyes. of course, niki would know.

“how much are you talking?”

he taps his foot on the floor, “well, my mom and sister likes that brand. that specific necklace is specially made since it’s a seasonal limited edition, so it’s somewhere in the thousands-“

you truly forgot how rich niki’s family was, you think with a half joking tch and a shake of your head. niki glances at you, impressed.

“-whoever gave that to you must’ve really cared.”

you frown, “sure… or maybe i just really worked hard to get it for myself?”

he’s shoots you an amused look, “you wanted to get yourself the valentine day’s collection necklace?

“what?”

you feel your heart rate begin to pick up, “are you implying what i think you are?

“yes?” he responds with a raised eyebrow, “someone must’ve been really in love with you to gift you that. maybe your parents or friends?”

then niki pokes your side playfully, “-or a secret admirer?”

you don’t answer his question, regardless of if he was being serious or not. you peer into the locker again, “but where is it? it’s so valuable i’m certain we would’ve seen it in the police’s evidence…”

suddenly, niki grabs your wrist. that’s when you hear the footsteps. you turn to him with wide eyes as he mouths for you to hide. panicking, you look around in desperation before he pushes you—

straight into the locker.

your own locker.

you know you should be freaking out over getting caught, but you could only wonder—could this be considered a crime?

in the dark, stuffy locker, you see a glimpse of niki’s silhouette run past through the tiny openings of the door. just barely a second later, you hear more footsteps. squinting, you able to discern a familiar, yet weirdly unfamiliar guy. your eyebrows raise.

no way. park sunghoon was in this world too?

you hold your breath when you hear him call out, “is someone there?”

really, curse niki for shoving you in your own locker. yet it was also a smart move as no one could see into your locker, but you were able to see out.

“sorry. that was me, pres.”

it was niki’s voice.

you can barely see his relaxed demeanor appearing to face sunghoon.

“i was staying back to study and catch up on work—you know already,” he adds hastily.

sunghoon nods coolly, “i was just checking. making sure everything’s good before leaving.”

niki was a little too good at acting, you questioned how often he had done this to those around him. he fake salutes, “i promise to clean up after i’m done. no need to worry, class president.”

“alright, see you later.”

you have a sigh of relief as sunghoon turns to leave.

but you swear, for a split second, his expression changes as his eyes fall on your locker.

your heart rate picks up. did he notice you?

however, sunghoon leaves without a second look back.

you frown—what was that?

after waiting a minute to be safe, niki quickly lets you out. only to be greeted by your displeased face and crossed arms.

“that was the only thing i could think of in the moment!” he immediately defends himself.

“seriously? i could’ve-like-“ you trail off and niki smirks.

“see? nothing bad would’ve happened.”

“doesn’t change the fact you stuffed me in my locker. it’s not even mine, for crying out loud.”

“whatever. just be glad you didn’t get caught by park sunghoon, our school’s super rich, smart, and handsome-“

“i know him from my world. he’s irrelevant, let’s continue on.” you wave him off.

you can’t help but compare him to niki. niki was way more genuine and… boyish in a way? he felt real. you preferred that. not to mention he had a much more tolerable presence, you supposed.

everything else in the locker was useless. random crappy notes, perfumes and hand lotions, along with the pictures you already inspected were the only things that decorated your locker. no sign of that ridiculously expensive necklace.

you rub a hand over your face in exasperation. “that’s it…”

one thought still lingered in the back of your mind. where was the necklace?

“hey, y/n, i think we should get going soon. the lights are going to turn off soon-they’re automatic and we didn’t bring any flashlights.”

you sigh. next time.

it feels like you’ve hit a dead end. by the end of the week, niki has caught up on his studies. you were surprised to find that he was quite dedicated to school, even if it didn’t seem like it.

the days that niki came home with a pile of schoolwork and other duties, you went out to think—with one of niki’s hoodies and a mask on. but the times you spent with niki since you couldn’t go out much, mainly at night, were nice.

tutoring him at subjects he was struggling in, learning new dances together (and learning how talented he really was), simply being around him was enough to distract you from your impending crisis.

niki always came to keep you company and bring you food. you really were his eleven.

niki was gaming while you sat off to the side, watching him play. you admired his side profile, the shine from the bright computer screen enhancing his features, the furrow of his eyebrow as he focused.

he yells as his character dies and you can’t hold back your laughter, “you kinda suck-“

all of a sudden, you hear a knock on the door.

“bro, you good? i swear i heard another voice-“

the door handle begins to turn.

you and niki share a look of panic.

your first instinct is to dive and roll, underneath niki’s bed. you ignore the fact that it’s as dusty as you’d expect for a teenage boy’s room and hold your breath.

“mom said dinner is ready. also, what’s with all the noise? it sounded like someone else was in the room with you.” a girls voice—niki’s older sister, you presume.

“nope. just me.”

you cringe at the fact that niki’s voice is octaves higher. it wouldn’t be that much of a problem if his voice wasn’t as deep as it normally was.

“it was just probably the video i was playing.”

“…sure,” you hear his sister’s footsteps as she leaves and shuts the door behind her.

you let out an exhale of relief.

“y/n?” you hear soon after.

“under here.”

you turn to see niki’s head peeking down underneath the bed.

you meet his curious eyes. cute.

“jeez.” he holds a hand out and you gladly accept it, letting him pull you up with ease. huffing, you dust yourself off.

“jeez, indeed. who knows what horrors you’ve been hiding under there.”

“hey,” niki defends himself, “i’ll have you know i am a very clean person and don’t-“

“oh really? then what’s this?” you hold up the sacred item, jerking your hand back as he reaches out to snatch it.

“hey! haven’t you ever heard of privacy?”

he lunges again as you laugh, just keeping it out of his grasp. however, you feel the bed frame hit your legs, and you gasp.

you fall back, niki over you on his bed. he must’ve underestimated his arm-span and overestimated yours.

niki lands over you with a soft grunt, eyes wide. you peer up at him wordlessly. his arms catch him, but it’s still so close you can feel his hair tickle your forehead.

is this what the movies mean when your heart… skips a beat?

niki snaps out of his trance, “s-sorry,” he hastily gets up. you cough, trying to dispel the stuffy atmosphere.

“so, uh, i had an idea.”

“yeah? what’s up?”

“i was thinking we look at the evidence again. i just want to double check something.”

“come on,” you take niki’s hand. it was habitual by this point.

“you got the charger, right?”

niki nods, taking it out of his pocket.

it was risky asking niki’s friend to retrieve the evidence for you again, but you needed to confirm your suspicions. or, hit a dead end.

when niki returns, carefully holding a plastic bag (and dinner, your grumbling stomach reminds you), your eyes zero in on one thing.

“thanks. i know it must be hard for your friend to sneak behind his dad’s back like that.”

“it’s fine,” niki shrugs, “i promised to buy him lunch for the next week.”

you snort as you take out “your” phone and plug it into the charger.

“okay. now we wait.”

niki looks at you expectantly, and you only stare at him back. subconsciously, a hand raises to your face. “is there something wrong?”

he shakes his head while looking away sheepishly, “nothing, nothing.”

you open your mouth to question him further, but the phone screen flashes. you scramble to open it. thankfully you were able to use your own face id.

as soon as you scroll through your messages, your stomach sinks. you raise a hand to cover your mouth.

“what?” niki jumps up, “what did you find?”

you open the photos app, which only confirms everything. you drop the phone, and that’s when niki sees it.

“oh my god.”

“don’t even-“

“i was secretly dating park sunghoon?!”

you cup a hand over your mouth. “i think i’m gonna be sick.”

niki scoffs, taken aback. “b-but how? you- and him-?”

you rub a hand over your face. “don’t ask me. but the valentines gifts and necklace were so suspicious, i started wondering… i just didn’t expect it to be him.”

niki notices the sour expression on your face.

“oh. you don’t like him?”

you shake your head vehemently, “bro, not even if he and i were the last two people on earth.”

you think about your world’s sunghoon and almost shudder. he was selfish, arrogant, could but would never keep a girl for more than two weeks. yet the whole class still loved him and you never understood it, never understood the appeal of him.

besides getting bro-zoned, niki relished your words.

“good to know.”

“i wish i didn’t,” you sigh.

but that was besides the point. you still didn’t know how it all added up. did sunghoon—unfortunately, your boyfriend in this world—have anything to do with your death? did he really get you that expensive necklace?

and as much as you wanted to deny it, you couldn’t rule it out. thinking as rationally and fairly as possible, suicide was likely-as much as you didn’t believe it. you couldn’t rule it out simply based on a feeling. plus, his expression when he passed by your locker lingered in your mind.

“so, now what?” niki watches you carefully.

“you’ve heard of the saying, keep your friends close but your enemies closer, right?”

“yeah,” he cocks an eyebrow, “why?”

“well, i’ve got a task for you.”

niki has never spoken a word to your friend group in his entire life. the most he’s ever done was send a cold look their way and pretend not to know them out in public.

he had nothing against them—nothing against your choice of friends—but he preferred not to associate with your group. he couldn’t put his finger on it, but he just didn’t vibe with them.

and yet here he was, talking to your “friends” because you asked him to. he sighed, the things he did for you.

danielle looks him up and down with her arms crossed. “why are you asking about y/n? since when did you care about them?”

“please,” he sighs in exasperation, “i just need to know if anyone disliked y/n or was acting suspicious around them.”

haerin steps up, an annoyed frown on her face. “there’s no one. can’t you tell this is a touchy subject for us? now, leave us alone.”

she grabs danielle and walks off, angrily whispering into a distressed looking danielle’s ears.

niki wants to punch someone. besides the fact that surrounding people were catching onto his conversation and whispering about the interaction, he essentially got nothing out of it.

you were also at a dead end. after scrolling through hundreds of disgusting texts and photos of you and sunghoon, there was nothing remotely suspicious. plus, you had to give your phone back to jungwon soon before anyone noticed it was missing.

everything seemed normal. everything was normal. normal until this world’s you suddenly died.

the only lead you had was the missing necklace. and yet where were you supposed to find it? it could be anywhere—in the police’s hands, with sunghoon, most likely gone.

you couldn’t even go out on your own, you felt like a hopeless rapunzel trapped in her tower, desperately wishing for answers and freedom. it was starting to get to you. the stress, homesickness, and most of all, loneliness.

you throw your phone to the side and bury your face in your hands, trying your best to focus on your breathing. you almost don’t realize how long it’s been until you hear a faint call of your name.

“y/n? y/n, what’s wrong?” niki drops his backpack and rushes to your side.

his eyes carefully examine your body, checking for who knows what. you slowly lower your hands, revealing your bloodshot eyes and tear stained face.

what scared niki the most was the lost look in your eyes, a deep and dark pool void of any emotion.

“niki… i don’t think i can do this anymore,” your words float out carefully, like a whisper of the wind.

“i’m trying my hardest, but it’s so frustrating. i miss my home, i miss my life. i miss myself.” as soon as the words leave your mouth, you feel yourself break down. and right as you do so, niki reaches forward to wrap you in an embrace.

“i want to go home,” you whisper in an small voice.

his heart almost breaks at the sight. you sounded like a little kid—you looked like you were a little kid again, as small and curled up you were when he found you. in his eyes, he saw a lost child looking for their parents, their guidance and their own light in the world.

he resolves to never be the cause of your pain again.

niki holds you for the entire night as you cry and drift off to sleep.

you wake up with a headache and a dry throat. you feel hungover, although you’ve basically never drank alcohol before.

somehow, you’re not sure exactly when, you ended up in niki’s bed. as soon as you’re able to sit up, your eyes fall on the clock on the bedside table.

11 am. niki must be at school still, you note.

you wonder what he’s up to, if he was being a good student while you were stuck all alone at his home, skipping your own school. you wonder what life is like back at home. did time even pass?

niki heads home as soon as the bell rings. he wanted to see you, to comfort you and reassure you. he wanted you to be okay.

when he knocks on his own bedroom door and there’s no response, he frowns. all there’s left is a pink sticky note on his desk.

went out for fresh air. don’t worry and don’t look for me.

niki immediately drops his stuff and runs out. he goes to the train station, the bookstore. he even goes back to school, for crying out loud.

he’s breathless and exhausted by the time he’s arrived back home. niki knows his family won’t be back. it was competition season, which meant the busiest time of the year for the other dancers. you were the sole reason he attended school at this time of the year, studying hard instead of skipping and dancing 18 hours each day.

he’s scared.

niki hasn’t felt this feeling in a long time—he can only recall the time where he was six and went to disney world. his older sister was pressuring him into riding one of the larger roller coasters, and he felt that sickening nausea fill him as he looked up at the towering structure.

he almost gives up. he basically has, until he notices something strange. his balcony door is unlocked, and he always kept it locked for safety purposes.

tense, niki reaches out and slowly turns the handle. what greets him is certainly not what he expected.

you sit on the balcony railing, hanging over the edge quite precariously with your feet swinging. one slight mistake and you would fall.

you stare down at the passing cars, cloudy and dreary skies showing you it was soon to rain.

niki stares at you, and you turn around at the sound of the door to stare back, not a single word exchanged.

then you finally break the eye contact, glancing down at your stilled feet. “i wasn’t going to do it.”

he silently moves closer, hopping next to you on the railing as well. “okay.”

you don’t see the tender way his eyes travel over you. your voice is quiet as you speak up, “you don’t have to say anything.”

“okay,” niki repeats.

it’s not said in a sarcastic way. it’s not sad, either. it’s just..... soft. soft and understanding enough to make a blanket of comfort fall around you, to make it known that niki’s presence is here by your side.

suddenly, the rains starts and niki asks if you want to go down. you slowly nod and he helps you safely off the railing before opening the door for you guys go out in the rain.

the rain doesn’t stop.

and niki doesn’t stop either. he grabs your hand, dragging you along with him haphazardly.

“where are we going?” you ask breathlessly.

“out. like most people our age. we’re still kids.”

“wow, i had no idea,” you mutter sarcastically.

he holds back a smile of relief. good to know you were still your usual self.

“you need a break. you’ve been so caught up in this case, you need to rest.”

“but-“

“come on,” he leads you on, “relax. it’ll give you a clear mind, so we can come back with a fresh start.”

you’re hesitant until he pulls up at an arcade. “what if someone sees me? what if they-“

niki places a finger over your lips, silencing you. “we’re here to have fun like everyone else and not give a crap about anything else. now, are you gonna play or are you gonna get your butt kicked by me?”

a challenge was a challenge.

you laugh at niki’s rambunctious side, yelling as he tries to cheat during competitive games and fight over the better toy gun.

“just so you know, i technically won.”

you playfully shove him, “in your dreams. you’re just saying that because you don’t want to-“

you get cut off by the loudest (and most embarrassing) grumble of your stomach. you both look down at your stomach. you look back up, petrified.

niki almost cackles, “i guess that’s a sign.”

“it’s not my fault i fell asleep before eating yesterday,” you pout.

“what do you want to eat?”

“anything. i’m serious.”

niki watches with a fond smile as you quite literally inhale your food.

“eat any faster, and you’ll make a new record.”

you flip him off as he laughs, putting more food onto your plate from his. you can only watch wordlessly, feeling your heart warm. after you finish eating, niki takes your hand again. you glance at him questioningly.

“there’s one last thing i wanted to do,” he mumbles while avoiding your gaze.

“how’s this one?”

you scrunch your nose in distaste at the sight, reaching to place red devil horns on niki’s head.

“i think this one fits you more.”

as he grumbles, you laugh.

“fine, but i get to choose yours.”

he ends up picking a frog headband for you—which you complain to no avail. his reasoning was, “you remind me of a frog. like the princess and the frog.”

you splutter, “but that means-“

“yes. i’m the princess.”

“obviously,” he adds.

in the photo booth, you sit awkwardly. niki cocks an eyebrow.

“i’ve never done this before, so…"

instead of teasing you like you originally assumed, niki only brings you closer. he wraps an arm around you while posing for the camera. you’re frozen, even as the countdown starts. you can barely manage a smile as the camera flashes.

“what now?”

niki glances at the screen, “we still have three more pictures. what poses do you want to do?”

you’re at a loss for words.

niki leans closer again. he makes a half heart with his hand as he looks at you expectantly. “how about a heart pose?”

“o-okay.”

you never felt so suffocated in that photo booth. and yet, you’ve never laughed harder. you’ve never been so happy in your life with someone else.

“hey, this photo came out good!”

“but what happened to the first one?”

you both lean in to get a closer look at the photos that printed, and you end up feeling niki’s breath on your cheek.

it was warm. it was nice to have someone so close to you and still feel comfortable. it was nice to know you were close enough to someone to feel that way.

it was something you had never felt before.

“..-y/n?”

“huh?” you snap out of your trance.

“i said, you can keep this copy.”

you look at the pictures and then at niki. “what? no, it’s fine-“

“i said keep it,” he forcefully shoves the photo into your hand as he quickly heads over to the cashier to pay.

you stand there for a minute, looking at the photos. you guys looked happy. you guys looked good…together. like you were a real couple, or something. you internally chide yourself while taking off your headband. what a silly thought, you brush off.

on the walk back home, you feel utterly satisfied, humming as you match your pace with niki’s.

“when we arrive, i’ll let you in through the back, just to be safe.”

“whatever you say, mr. responsible.”

he ruffles your hair and you swat his hand away in annoyance.

that night was the first night you’ve felt content. almost like you could stay here—like you belonged. you stare up at the dark ceiling, reflecting on the days events.

“niki?”

you hear his bed shift. “yeah?”

“i just wanted to say thanks. for everything. you’ve been providing everything for me, all while helping me on my case. i’m grateful for everything. i don’t know how, but i promise to pay you back one day.”

“what’s with the sudden sappiness?” his tone is teasing, but light. he clears his throat to add, “but yeah, of course.”

“i dunno, i guess i’m just not used to this type of treatment back home.”

“what? what do you mean?”

even in the dark, you can feel inquisitive stare on you.

“i mean, i’m usually left on my own since my parents are working. and my friends, well, they’re nice and all…”

“but you don’t feel a true connection?” he finishes, and you roll over.

“yeah. i don’t really know what my friends are like in this world. who even are my friends? do i even have any?”

niki grimaces.

“uh, yeah. i don’t know if they exist in your world, but have you heard of danielle? and haerin?”

“nope. what are they like?”

he shifts again, and the bed creaks. “you see, i don’t really talk to your friend group. it’s nothing personal, i just don’t want to associate with them.”

“dang, maybe it really is just a me problem, in every life too.”

you hadn’t thought about hanni and hyein since you got here. but danielle and haerin were two new leads. a new start, perhaps.

now that you had more information from niki, you started your research again. specifically, insta-stalking.

your specialty.

niki hands you his phone with a suspicious look when you casually ask for it. you pray he doesn’t hear the sound of blood rushing in your ears or the pounding of your heart.

as he goes to do his night time routine, you quickly tap on the instagram app and search up danielle’s name. it doesn’t take long for you to find her account since niki followed her. checking to make sure he didn’t come out of the bathroom, you scroll through her feed.

and your heart stops when you see it. in the corner of a photo—a picture of her and haerin posing at school in front of their lockers.

that’s your ridiculously expensive bracelet on danielle’s arm. you’re sure of it.

you felt yourself grow nauseous as you quickly turn off niki’s phone as soon as you hear the door turn.

“hey, are you okay? you look like you just saw a ghost..”

you blink and smile, peeking at him innocently, although the dread grows in the pit of your stomach. “huh? no. what are you talking about?”

“what were you doing on my phone?”

you look away sheepishly, “trying to see if i could call my mom?” maybe niki’s acting skills were rubbing off on you.

“oh, and?”

you shake your head, a fake grim expression plastered on your face.

that night, you lay awake staring into the darkness. when you hear niki’s soft snores, you sneak over to his bedside table to retrieve the key. you know you shouldn’t, but you felt this was something you needed to do alone.

you feel like you’re on the edge of the cliff, about to jump into the water. the adrenaline filled you, you were right there-

it was so close.

the next day, you have to pretend everything is okay. you smile when niki greets you good morning, even peck him on the cheek when he tells you he has to stop by the dance studio for the night.

he visibly blushes, stuttering on his words, “w-uh, w-what was that.. for..?”

you shrug, “i’m just proud of you for getting your grades up. it’s your first time back dancing in a while so have fun, okay?”

he nods, beaming as he squeezes your hand goodbye. as he leaves, your smile fades. it felt too normal. it felt too right to imagine having a life with niki, like this everyday.

and knowing what you knew now, it was wrong. it was wrong from the start, and yet you couldn't help yourself fall even deeper. you had to get back into the right mental state. you couldn't keep deluding yourself.

it was time to confront the truth.

you can’t believe you’re sneaking into through the school boy’s bathroom again. the locker key safely stored in your pocket, you find danielle’s locker. the same one from the photo she posted.

this had to be the one. you can only hold your breath and hope as you unlock it.

you quickly scramble through all the stuff, looking for the shiny bracelet. you don’t find it, but when you go to close the locker door in defeat, a crumpled up piece of paper falls onto the floor.

you huff, taking it and opening it up. it’s a picture of sunghoon, you, and danielle, all smiling as you three posed for the camera. but it wasn’t just an ordinary picture—there was a big, red “X” scribbled over your face, with the words “finally done” written next to it.

and hearts next to sunghoon’s face.

horrified, you clap a hand over your mouth.

during a break at the dance studio, niki doesn’t expect to open his instagram app and see danielle’s instagram show up on his recently searched. frowning, he taps on the account. he never cared to pay attention to danielle, so why was her account the last thing searched up?

just out of curiosity, he scrolls through her recent posts.

and then he sees it. something that is so hard to miss. it’s so strikingly familiar.

he rushes home. when niki bursts through the front door, he doesn’t expect to find you missing. and when niki notices his old school uniform and cap gone, his heart drops.

you sit on the floor next to the lockers with your head buried on top of your knees. you’re sure you could get caught, but you don’t care.

the crumpled picture feels heavy in your pocket.

you stay there, staring at the walls until you see the moon shining brightly outside one of the windows. you haven’t eaten or drank anything the whole day. you’re not sure how long it’s been.

“y/n!”

great, now you were hearing things as well?

furious footsteps stomp towards you.

“why did you leave without telling me? you could’ve gotten caught-it could’ve been dangerous?!”

“n-niki?” your eyes widen.

before saying anything else, he pulls you up to your feet.

“why would you come to school without me?”

for some reason, his words sting. you cross your arms, “what? like i can’t take care of myself?”

he groans, “that’s besides the point! if someone saw you—“

“i don’t care! so why do you care so—“

a sound from down the hall cuts you both off. you turn to niki in panic and he curses. “the custodian comes on weekends to clean.”

you hold back a yelp as niki grabs your wrist and pulls you along in the opposite direction.

he pushes through a door and turns to the left. you don’t stop until you’re inside the.. natatorium?

“why are we-“

“there are no cameras here, unlike in the school building. i thought you would’ve known that.”

after he speaks, there’s an awkward silence.

niki sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “well, are you gonna tell me?”

you feel the frustration flow through your veins, “and what about you? you tell me why i have to let you know my every location? why i feel like i can’t take care of myself, l-like a sick, old dog who can’t go anywhere or do anything? i’m sick of it all!”

“you don’t understand,” his voice raises, and you interrupt him, getting closer and closer to him.

“you’re right, i don’t. i don’t understand why you helped me in the first place. you say that you barely knew who i was, yet here you are acting like you care! like you cared about the dead me!”

at this point, his face is so close to yours, you can feel your breaths mix as neither of you back down.

“i do care! of course i care! about you, standing right in front of me!” he clenches his fists. your eyes linger on a single vein on his neck that sticks out due to the intensity. the fire burning in his eyes, your trembling voices, it all makes you falter.

you don’t know what you asked. you know the truth. niki always cared—more than cared. he always went out of his way to search for you, like the day on the balcony and today. he wanted to find you, he wanted to have you in his life,

you realize it now. to put simply, he wanted you.

and this was the first time you felt wanted.

you don’t know what else to do, so you lean in and close the gap to kiss him. and if anything, niki immediately pulls you closer to him.

when you break apart for air, his dark eyes still staring deep into yours, you think he’s gonna lean back in again. but you hear a faint voice sound, growing louder. your eyes both widen. the janitor.

without a second thought, niki pushes you.

he does it lightly, although it’s still enough to make you lose your balance, and for a second you stare back at him, betrayal evident before you fall backwards—

straight into the pool.

your eyes just barely peek open in the water, and then there’s a splash accompanying yours a few seconds later.

he easily swims to you, cupping your cheeks and bringing your lips to his once more. it was a much different experience from just a few seconds ago.

you stay entwined like that together, eyes squeezed shut, until you actually can’t breathe anymore and you have to smack niki’s arm. you both rise to the top, heaving water and air.

after a few seconds of coughing and gathering your bearings, niki’s raspy voice fills the air.

“at least he’s gone. i’ve always wanted to do that.”

you roll your eyes, splashing water back at him in revenge for pushing you earlier. “seriously? after we got almost got caught? we could’ve drowned!”

you splash him again, “also, you could’ve given me a heads up!”

he grins, wiping the running water free from his face. “and where’s the fun in that?”

you shake your head in amazement, “you’re actually an idiot. i can’t believe you, niki.”

“an idiot who saved us from getting caught.”

after returning home together, you sit and enjoy the peaceful silence as niki dries your hair. your mind can’t help but replay the last few moments, from finding the picture at school to kissing niki, and then finally get pushed into the pool. specifically, the kissing part.

growing sleepy at the soft and warm feeling of niki’s hands running through your hair, you almost don’t hear him when he says, “all done.”

you thank him and he looks around awkwardly.

“what is it?” you squint at him.

“well, i wanted to apologize. i didn’t mean to make to feel that way. i was just really worried about you, and i felt hurt you didn’t tell me why you snuck into school again today. did you not trust me? did i do something wrong?”

you soften, eyes falling to the floor.

“i’m so sorry, niki. i didn’t mean to lash out on you. of course i trust you, i just wanted to do something for myself for once. without needing your or anyone else’s help.”

you exhale, “the reason i left today was for this—“ you take the damp, crumpled picture and unfold it as best as you can.

niki’s hands fall to his side. “oh god.”

“it was danielle. she took my bracelet and i-i think she wanted my boyfriend. i know it has to be her.”

“w-what? but how?”

you shake your head. he goes to hug you.

you feel tears brimming at the corner of your eyes, but you won’t waste any tears on her. you pull back to look at niki, with a determined expression on your face.

“you have to catch her and make sure they get what they deserve.”

niki stares at you deeply, “are you sure? because if you are, i won’t stop.”

he wonders why you say you and not we.

at that, you falter.

“no. i never be sure because she is—was my best friend and i will always hold that guilt in me. but you have to do something about it.”

niki’s hold around you tightens, “and what about you?”

you smile, albeit sadly. “you know i can’t stay here, hiding away forever. i don’t belong here. i already existed in your world, and at some point, i have to leave soon. i can feel it.”

it was the same feeling as when you first came here. that day you felt off. the feeling that you don’t belong anywhere, but this time, you feel fulfilled. complete. like you were ready to go back home.

“it’s not something i can explain, but i know it,” you look at him with determined eyes.

and he looks back at you with pained ones.

niki is able to convince jungwon to get his dad to reinvestigate the case again. the picture is given up as evidence, and danielle and haerin are taken in.

the day they confessed out of guilt, you and niki celebrate by sneaking onto your school’s rooftop. the same place where it all started.

it’s a cold and windy night, but you could care less about getting sick. because it was your last day anyway.

you didn’t tell niki, but you had a good feeling—like the world was patting you on the back and saying, “you worked hard.”

the two of you watch the stars, snuggled up and reflecting on how your lives came to be like this. wondering how far away apart your worlds were.

you kiss niki’s cheek, wishing to remember the feeling of being in his arms forever. his scent, his touch, his warmth, you wish you could keep all of it. you smile at him, willing back the tears.

“there was a reason i bumped into you that day, of all people. there was a reason you came into my life, and i came into yours, niki.”

he bites his lip, “y/n... you changed my life. every day with you was better than the last.”

if this was a dream, you wouldn’t want to wake up. you trace his face, so it will remain ingrained in your mind forever, even when you go back to your world.

“what will happen when i leave?” you whisper.

“how will you even get back home?”

you shrug, “i don’t know how, but i know that i will.”

niki laughs, “that’s the y/n i know.”

as he kisses you once more, a star falls across the sky.

the next day, you find a ticket in your bag. a train ticket.

you don’t recall having bought one, and you don’t question niki. you only ask him to take you to the train station.

while walking hand and hand, you reminisce on the past month or so. “will we still remember this once you go back to your world?”

your body trembles, “i don’t know.”

“then… will i ever see you again?”

you don’t want to meet his eyes, because you know you’ll cry.

yes, you want to say. instead, you say, “ i don’t know.”

niki wipes a stray tear on your face. you don’t even know how you reached your stop already.

“this is it,” he says.

but neither of you move.

“don’t worry, even if i don’t remember you, you’ll always be in my heart. we’ll meet in your world,” he reminds you while the tears start falling down both of your faces.

“don’t forget that there’s another me out there to annoy you. you just need to search hard.”

you sniffle, playfully pushing him away as you furiously blink away the tears that blur your vision. you needed to soak up the sight of him as much of him as you could.

“i promise i’ll find you again.”

he holds onto you until the very end, until you slip out of his grasp once more.

crossing the platform into the train while giving him one last, slow wave was painful. the last thing you can think of is the fact that you never knew. you never asked for niki’s full name. his real one.

you never knew niki’s name.

and then everything fades into nothing.

that’s the last time niki ever sees you. the train passes by in a flash, blowing his bangs across his face while he tries his best to keep that fake smile on his face for you—all for you before you go.

then, you’re gone.

in those seconds as the train passes, niki knows exactly why he did it. why he helped you through all of it, through everything together.

all because you were there in class. you never looked at him, but he looked at you. he saw all of you, everyday—even if you didn’t know it. all your quirks and habits that he couldn’t help but find cute. you made his days interesting.

but he was the coward for never approaching you. that was his fault because one day, you weren’t there anymore.

and he had to pretend like nothing happened. on the outside, that’s how it was. even if he felt the slightest connection, tiniest pull towards you, you were still strangers.

you were strangers until you knocked into him on the train platform.

niki had to be selfish. he thinks it could have been fate that he saw you again, but now he’s just left with the lingering regret and feelings. those memories flash past like the train does. they come and go in the blink of an eye- a split second.

when the train is gone, niki frowns and wonders why he’s standing there.

he also wonders why it feels like there’s a piece of his heart missing.

after that, he attends your funeral in his world. it was an open funeral to everyone who wanted to come- classmates, friends, and him. niki didn’t even know you that well, but he get this unexpalaniable urge that he should go- he needs to go. he brings flowers and gets to see you one last time.

when niki sees the picture of your serene face, he can’t help but get this sense of peace, like everything’s resolved.

and then he’s free.

epilogue...

you sigh, trudging along the walkway on the way to work. looking at your surroundings, you were getting major deja vu. but at this point, you were used to having episodes like that.

there were many, many times where some things simply felt so familiar. but it was like your memory was wiped and you couldn’t remember why. some times you had flashes of an adventure, a feeling of mystery, a boy.

ever since some day in high school, it just happened. and from then on, you’ve always felt like something was missing. or wrong. you can’t tell. it became a part of you, to the point where you almost forgot about it. that feeling of misbelonging, being just out of reach. it’s strange, like a weird occurrence that makes you want to open your third eye or whatever to find out more.

even after graduating, it never left you.

you being so lost in your thoughts, fail to notice when you bump into someone coming off the train you were about to get onto.

“i’m sorry,” you quickly apologize, but you soon falter when you meet eyes with sparkling brown ones. weirdly enough, they draw you in.

they were familiar, you’ve certainly seen them somewhere. the moment lasts for a while, with the two of you standing still in the middle of the passway, staring at each other.

you slowly smile, extending a hand. “i apologize if i’m mistaken, but have we met before?”

he stares at you too, confused yet enthralled.

“i-i think you may be mistaken,” he starts hesitantly and you begin to apologize.

“are you sure?“ you quickly introduce yourself, “and you?”

you swore you were not such a desperate person, but you couldn’t help it, not this time and definitely not in front of this particularly alluring guy.

“me?”

he takes a quick glance at you before taking your hand with a small smile.

“my name is nishimura riki.”

first i wanted to say thank you for reading! this was a rough time coming, and i wanted to apologize for the long wait. this has actually been a wip of mine for years and i finally was able to finish it with riki after months and months of writing. this past year has been the worst one so far, but i'm just grateful to still be here. just feeling super appreciative for those who stuck with me and waited patiently. thank you. can't wait to see you guys again soon with the next oneshot (hint hint)!

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#enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #niki x reader #niki x you #niki fluff #niki imagines #niki scenarios #nishimura riki x you #nishimura riki x reader #enhypen au

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alvojake · 2 months

Text

Those Eyes | P.JS

「paring」 : dad!jay x fem!reader 「word count」 : 6.6k

「synopsis」 : after finally getting out of a very toxic relationship you desperately needed a restart. your brother offering you just that, letting you live with him until you can get back on your feet. when you get all moved in heeseung throws a little get-together, or as he would call it, a celebration for you leaving the asshole of an ex. meeting your brother's friends again after so many years was a little nerve-racking but once you see them all walk through the door with wide smiles and open arms it all disappears until your childhood crush comes walking through the door with a little girl on his hip.

「genre」 : fluff, humor, romance, a tinge of angst

「warning」 : light cursing, mentions of a toxic relationship, mentions of abuse, small mention of blood, talk of unwanted pregnancy, drinking, tooth-rotting fluff, lmk if I missed anything!

「note」 : here's a cutie little jay fic until I finish the first part of the demon sunoo fic! I hope you enjoy this because I absolutely love the dad jay agenda

You flopped down on your brother's couch with a huff, wiping some of the sweat off of your brow. You guys had spent the majority of the day moving all of your stuff out of your apartment, well mostly you taking everything and getting out while your ex was gone. Thankful that he hadn’t decided to come back early not really wanting to bail your brother out of jail for getting into a fight.

Heeseung then walked into the living room with two cups of water, taking the empty space next to you. “You okay?” His voice was soft as he handed one of the glasses to you.

With a nod you took the drink, downing half of it before wiping your lips. A laugh left your brother’s lips causing you to glare at him. “I was thirsty, leave me alone.” You bumped your shoulder against his before glazing out the window, worry and fear etched in your veins.

“He can’t get you anymore,” The dark-haired male next to you put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. Heeseung took in your glistening eyes when you turned your head to look at him, causing his heart to lurch. He never truly knew what your ex had put you through but when you showed up on his doorstep a few days ago, covered in bruises and blood he knew he needed to put an end to it. You still refused to talk about that night or the extent of what he used to do to you, but he wasn’t going to push either.

He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged on his lips when you held your pinky out to him, “promise?” Your voice was shaky, a clear sign that you were holding back tears.

“Promise.” Heeseung linked his pinky with yours, pressing the pad of his thumb to yours, sealing the words.

That’s when the tears finally spilled past your eyelids, all of the emotions you have been holding in for the past few days coming out in your sobs. Heeseung was quick to pull you into his body, wrapping you in his warmth, letting you cry until your heart's content. You hadn’t realized just how much you have missed your brother, his soft touches and playful personality. It left you feeling guilty knowing that you had pushed him away because of your ex, you let someone drive you apart despite your childhood promise of never leaving each other's side. Yet you were the first to leave, it made you cry even harder clutching onto Heeseung’s shirt, scared that if you were to let go that he would just disappear.

After you had finally cried everything out, you lay against your brother, the room filling with a comfortable silence. A few moments later, Heeseung shifted causing you to sit up. He reached forward to wipe a few stray tears that were stuck under your eyes before planting a kiss on your forehead.

“Come on, let's get you to bed.” He stood from the couch then turned to you, holding a hand out.

Placing your smaller hand into his, he pulled you to your feet before letting you lead the way to the stairs.

Once you made it to your room, you stood in the middle of the room still unsure how to feel. Noticing your slight discomfort he walked forward, rustling a hand in your hair, “Give it some time pipsqueak, you’ll get there.”

You let out a deep sigh before nodding, you knew he was right, this wasn’t going to be something that you would just get used to overnight. Though you were going to try your best. Walking over to the unmade bed you sat down on the edge, looking at the picture you had sitting on your nightstand.

It was of you and Heeseung just right before you met your ex. You had come home from college for a break so Heeseung decided to drag you out to the arcade they had just reopened. Heeseung had managed to win you the giant dragon plush that you had been eyeing the whole day and when he gave it to you he could have sworn you had won the lottery.

You smile fondly as you reach out to grab the frame, fingers running over the cracked glass. Your ex had tossed a bunch of your stuff, especially the things that tied to your brother. You, however, fought with him for this photo which resulted in him cracking the picture frame in the process.

“Get some sleep, I’ll be right across the hall if you need anything.” Your brother’s voice startled you seeing as you had almost completely forgotten he was still in the room. You looked over at him with a small smile, nodding your head.

However, your nerves spiked as soon as he walked out of the room, leaving the door cracked. Your hands shook slightly as you placed the photo back on your nightstand. Thinking maybe a shower would help you relax, you stood from the bed, gathering the things you needed before heading to the bathroom.

The shower seemed to help a little bit until you were lying on your bed after turning the lights out. You lay on your side, facing the picture hoping that it would give you some peace to try and sleep. However, no matter how hard you tried you just couldn’t fall asleep. Tossing and turning until you were sure your hair looked like a bird's nest. Biting the inside of your lip to the point that it was swollen.

Giving up you laid on your back, staring at the white ceiling above you. Then your brother popped into your head, though you didn’t want to bother him you knew that he would give you the comfort you were seeking.

So you tossed the blankets off of your body before making your way out of your room. Walking quietly, not making a sound, a habit you’ve picked up from having to walk on eggshells around your ex. When you got to Heeseung’s door you noticed that he had left it cracked and you could see light seeping out of the seam.

Knocking softly you pushed the door open, peeking your head in and seeing him lying on his bed, phone in hand. His eyes flicker up to you when he notices the door opening, he knows why you were here and quite frankly he had been waiting for you to make your way into his room. Hitting the power button on his phone he set it to the side, giving you his undivided attention.

You encased your body with your arms, eyes looking anywhere but his, feeling a bit embarrassed now that you stood here. Your bottom lip was once again trapped between your teeth, chewing on the irritated skin.

“Come here.” Heeseung’s tone was sweet as he moved back in his bed, making room for you before holding the blankets open. Tears unintentionally brimmed in your eyes as you shuffled over to your brother's bed, climbing inside of his blankets.

You wrapped your arms around his midsection before snuggling your face in the crook of his neck, his warmth instantly relaxing you. Once you were comfortable Heeseung let the blankets drop, covering the both of you. He said a quick good night before placing a kiss on top of your head.

Not even five minutes later you were fast asleep, small snores escaping your parted lips making Heeseung chuckle before closing his eyes to sleep.

“Okay, so let me get this straight…” You leaned against the counter opposite of Heeseung who had just revealed a plan he had, “you want to throw a party-”

“A get-together, there’s a difference.” Heeseung interrupted you with a pointed look causing you to roll your eyes.

“You want to have a ‘get-together’ in honor of me leaving my ex?” You made sure to empathize the ‘get-together’ part while raising your eyebrow. Heeseung just looked at you with a wide smile and nodded his head as if you just acknowledged he passed a huge test.

You looked away apprehensively, you couldn’t tell your brother no, not with that huge smile on his face. So taking a second to think you nodded and looked back over at him, “who’s gonna be here?” You were mainly worried about who was going to be invited rather than the party itself, you weren’t too sure about being around so many people at once after everything.

“Just the boys I swear.” Heeseung informed you and you just nodded softly, “they were super excited when I told them about it.”

Your tongue jutted out wetting your lips as you looked around the kitchen. It’s not like you weren’t excited to see the boys you had grown up with, it’s just you weren’t really sure how they felt after you left them hanging for so many years.

That little voice in the back of your head was telling you that they didn’t want to see you, that they would find any and every reason not to come, and you wouldn’t blame them. You would only blame yourself for your actions, that didn’t mean it hurt any less though.

“Y/n.” Heeseung called out to you, placing a hand on your arm snapping you out of your thoughts. His face held nothing short of concern as he looked down at you, “We don’t have to, I can tell the guys another time and we can just chill here and watch movies or whatever.” He knew that it would probably trigger your anxiety and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

You looked up at him with wide eyes, you appreciate your brother so much, but as much as you would love to take him up on his offer you knew you’d have to face the boys sooner or later. So quickly shaking your head you told Heeseung that it was fine and that you would love to see them again. Now that wasn’t all a complete lie, you were excited to see them after so long, but you were also nervous.

A bright smile erupted on Heeseung’s face causing your heart to jolt. You had almost forgotten how happy he got when you agreed to any of his ideas. Though most would get you in trouble when you were younger. That didn’t stop either of you from doing it again so it was safe to say that your parents were always kept on their toes.

“Don’t worry too much about it pipsqueak, we’ll just do something small,” Heeseung reassured you and he reached forward to ruffle your hair, but you smacked his hand away. “How does ordering in and watching movies sound?”

You couldn’t help but smile as you nodded, remembering all of the times the five of you would build pillow forts in the living room for movie nights. Jake would always get a little too excited and knock down one of the walls before sheepishly apologizing while trying to desperately fix it only to further destroy your imaginary castle. All of the boys would tease him while you sat to the side with a wide smile watching with an endearing gaze.

Though there was one movie night that would forever be etched into your brain, the night that you realized that you had feelings for one of your brother's best friends. It was your sophomore year of high school and it was a weekend when all of you guys weren’t busy with work or school so you decided to plan one of your beloved movie nights. Jay was the first to show up and being the gentleman he was, he helped your mom finish dinner while you were in the shower and Heeseung finished up the round on his game.

When you had finished getting around you made your way downstairs walking into the kitchen to ask your mom when dinner would be done. However, you were met with Jay standing over a pot, mixing the contents inside. His blonde hair slicked back while a few loose strands framed his face. You watched how his muscles flexed under his shirt sleeve, before watching him cook. There was something so domestic about it, something that finally made you realize that maybe you were falling for your brother’s best friend.

He turned his head and flashed you his signature, charming smile which always made you weak in the knees.

“Dinners almost done, why don’t you set the table bug?” He suggested as he moved back a little bit to turn the stove off. You stood there staring for a few moments longer before Jake walked into the room loudly greeting you and Jay. He swung his arm around your shoulder to which you groaned and pushed his arm off, jabbing his side with your finger.

You quickly set the table just like Jay had requested and when he brought the pot of food over he smiled widely.

Your eyes went wide when he placed his hand on top of your head, “good job bug.” It was the twinkle in his eyes when he smiled at you that confirmed it. You were in love with your brother’s best friend.

“Hey, pipsqueak… earth to y/n.” Heeseung waved his hand in front of your face, snapping you out of your reminiscing. Heat rushed up your neck, dusting your cheeks a light shade of red, realizing you had been caught daydreaming. “There she is.” Your brother chuckled as he took a step back, “what were you thinking so hard about?” There was a teasing undertone in his words that made you squint at him.

“I was just remembering all of the times we used to have movie nights.” You rolled your eyes before standing from the bar stool with a yawn, “when are we doing this?”

“I told them Saturday afternoon,” You nodded at his words, stretching your arms above your head, letting out a small groan before letting them drop back to your sides.

“Cool, so I have time to take a nap.” You covered another yawn before heading towards the entryway of the kitchen.

“You do realize it's three in the afternoon right?” Heeseung raised an eyebrow, pointing to the clock that was hanging on one of the walls in the kitchen. You just glanced at it before shrugging and walking off, but not missing his small ‘weirdo’.

You sat on the bar stool with a glass of wine your mother had brought over the other day watching as Heeseung laid out all of the takeout that had just been delivered, making sure everything was there. However, you couldn’t help but notice that there was an extra box, far too small to be one of the guys. Before you could start questioning your brother you heard the doorbell ringing.

“That’s probably the guys,” Heeseung told you as he wiped his hands off before making a beeline for the door. You stayed put looking down at the crimson liquid that swirled around in your glass, trying to gain some confidence to face your childhood friends.

Deciding that it would just be best to rip the bandaid off in one swift go you just stood, downing the rest of the wine. Walking to the entrance of the kitchen you could hear their voices a little more clearly.

“Where’s Jay?” You heard your brother’s voice before another, familiar voice followed.

“He should be here soon, Minji was being difficult I guess.” Sunghoon shrugged his shoulders before looking around, trying to find any sign of you, but you had stopped dead in your tracks at the mention of another girl. Someone with Jay nonetheless.

Did Heeseung really forget about your feelings for Jay, or did he think you finally got over him? Also, why hadn’t he told you that Jay was bringing someone with him? Is that why there was another container of food? So many questions rushed through your mind at once making your head hurt.

You rubbed your temples half tempted to just run off to your room and say screw it, but they were already here it wouldn’t be fair to the boys. So you shook off the feeling before putting on a brave face.

As soon as you rounded the corner, arms wrapped around your smaller frame causing you to let out a small sound of surprise. The familiar scent of his cologne had your body relax instantly, and you wrapped your arms around his body, pulling him closer.

“Hey, Jakey.” Tears involuntarily filled your eyes as his warmth surrounded you, if there was anyone besides your brother that you felt instant comfort in their hugs it would be Jake. He always managed to spill all of his emotions in just a simple gesture, no words needed.

“Hey, pipsqueak.” Jake pulled away from you, hands holding you at a distance so he could look over you. His eyes scrunched a little at the still healing cuts that were on your face and jaw, wanting nothing more than to beat your ex into the next life and then some.

Noticing where his gaze was, you smiled softly, “I’m okay, don’t worry.” Your words seemed to have reassured the boy a bit, but before he could open his mouth a black-haired male came into view.

“Quit hogging Jake,” Sunghoon hissed before bumping the older out of the way. Once Jake was out of the way Sunghoon smiled down at you, his canines poking out from under his lip. You couldn’t help but laugh as you saw Jake grumbling off to the side before you opened your arms, offering Sunghoon a hug. He was quick to wrap his arms around you, pulling you close, scared that if he let go that you would disappear. His chin rested on top of your head as you hummed contently.

A cough interrupted your hug causing Sunghoon to pull away, looking over at your brother who stood there with a raised eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest.

“What? We all know we won’t get a chance once Jay shows up.” Sunghoon rolled his eyes, but his words caused your face to heat up. Out of all of the boys, Sunghoon had been the first to figure out your feelings for Jay. Though his words did confuse you, because why would Jay focus on you when he was bringing a girl with him?

Just then another knock was heard at the door and your heart dropped, it was Jay. That’s the only person it could be seeing as everyone else was already here. Sunghoon moved to stand next to you while Heeseung opened the door revealing the tall dark-haired male, and a… little girl.

“Hey sorry we’re late, someone could pick a bow.” Jay teased the child on his hip causing her to burst out in giggles. The sound alone made a smile creep onto your lips, but who was she? His daughter? You suddenly felt sick at the thought, that if she were his daughter that could only mean that he was with her mother.

Your mind swirled and you didn’t even notice Heeseung’s gaze on you, worry gleaming in his eyes as he watched your face fall. But just as soon as it was there, it was gone and a smile spread on your lips.

Jay’s eyes then landed on you, a smile pulling on the corner of his mouth, his eyes holding that same twinkle from years ago.

“Hey bug,” There it was, that same little nickname he has called you since fourth grade. Your heart fluttered as you waved at him before your eyes flickered over to the little girl. Jay placed the girl down on her feet where she latched herself to the male's leg, eyes looking up at you in curiosity. “This is Minji, my daughter.”

You swallowed thickly but continued to smile nonetheless, bending down so you were a little closer to the girl’s height. “Hi Minji, I’m y/n, your dad’s friend.”

Jay couldn’t help but feel his heart drop a little when you so easily said ‘friend’, but the word seemed to have comforted his daughter enough for her to move towards you. She walked forward until she stood in front of you.

“You’re really pretty, it’s no wonder why daddy talks about you all the time,” Minji spoke clearly while playing with her fingers, however, her words nearly choked both you and Jay while the other boys stifled laughs.

“Oh, um… thank you Minji. You’re very pretty as well.” You gave her a soft smile besides the raging red that colored your skin.

Minji smiled widely before grabbing your hand to pull you somewhere, “Uncle Hee we’re gonna go color!” The little girl announced before dragging you off into the living room to pull out her stash of coloring books and crayons.

The boys stood there with an adoring gaze as you and Minji started talking about her week at school and how nice her teachers were. Heeseung then turned to look at Jay, noticing the small smile that was tugging on his lips. He walked over and clapped the younger male on the shoulder.

“Just go slow, she’s been through a lot.” That’s all he said before walking into the living room, “Now where’s my coloring page at Min?” He crouched down in front of you two and the little girl quickly grabbed a book and picked a page out for your brother.

Jay hadn’t thought that you felt the same as him, at least not anymore, but Heeseung’s words still rang in his ears. Jake was soon to follow after Heeseung and loudly complained about being hungry which resulted in a fit of laughter from Minji’s lips.

Sunghoon looked over at his older friend, who seemed to be lost in thought, “Don’t overthink it, man, just let it flow naturally.” And Jay nodded, because he was right, all he can do is see where the night takes you guys.

After you all finished dinner everyone decided that it was movie time, picking something was relatively easy, but the seating arrangement was another story. Minji grabbed a throw blanket before completely dodging Jay who was reaching out for her and climbed her way onto your lap. You couldn’t help but giggle at the look that fell upon Jay’s face at his daughter's betrayal.

“Aww Minji I think you hurt your dad’s feelings.” You told the little girl who was too busy unfolding the blanket to really care.

Her boba eyes looked over at Jay, “Sorry daddy.” She apologized before snuggling into you the moment she was able to cover you both with the blanket. Your lips curled inward to keep from laughing at Jay’s wide eyes, he then looked up, meeting your eyes.

“You’ve done stole my kid.” His tone was one of faux hurt causing you to laugh softly, shrugging your shoulders.

“Not my fault she likes me more.” Your words only had Jay rolling his eyes playfully before you got comfortable and watched the movie.

Not even halfway through the movie, Minji had fallen asleep in your lap, her hand wrapped around your finger tightly. You were also on the verge of falling asleep, eyes dropping as you laid your head in your hand that was propped up on the arm of the couch.

Jay glanced away from the TV for a split second, looking over at you two, his heart swelling. His daughter was never one to trust so easily, especially another woman, so seeing her warm up to you so quickly was a pleasant surprise. He smiled fondly as he watched your eyes falling close, your lips parted slightly as you fell asleep.

“Are you gonna tell her about Minji’s mom?” Jake’s sudden question caught all of the guys by surprise and they all looked over at him with wide eyes, “she thinks you’re with someone Jay, you could see it on her face the moment you walked in with Minji.”

There was one thing that the boys hated the most, that being those rare moments where Jake got a little too serious and started giving out facts straight. Heeseung and Sunghoon knew he was right, they had seen the way your face fell for a split second before you covered it. Jay, however, didn’t know exactly what he meant.

“What are you talking about?” Jay’s eyes flickered over to you and Minji, had you really been worried that he was with someone? He could admit that it was a reasonable thought, but it couldn’t be further from the truth.

“She still likes you, Jay,” Heeseung said flatly as his eyes went back to the forgotten movie. Heeseung knew you like the back of his hand, even after the years of barely seeing each other he still knew you. He knew that deep down you still harbored that same undying love for Jay, whether you’d admit it or not.

Jay looked at Heeseung surprised, did you really still feel the same after all these years? Though now he couldn’t be sure that you’d want a relationship with him, not after all of the hell you went through. That and he came with more commitment than normal.

Glancing over Heeseung caught Jay’s gaze on you, how his eyes twinkled when he looked at you, the same way they have always done. He could see the longing in his eyes, knowing that you were so close yet so far away. He sighed before shifting on the couch, growing a little tired himself.

“Just don’t fuck it up this time.” Heeseung’s words struck Jay hard, he knew that he screwed up when you guys were younger. In his hopes of letting you down easy, he only shattered your heart into pieces. It’s not like he didn’t feel the same, but the fact that you were both leaving for college and he didn’t think he could handle the distance. However, now that he had another chance, even if it was very slim, he was going to take it. This time he was going to win you over in the end.

After the move was over it was pretty late so the guys decided to wrap it up seeing as everyone was getting tired, well besides you and Minji who were still passed out. Jake and Sunghoon were the first to leave, quickly bidding Heeseung and Jay bye before walking out of the door. Heeseung walked into the kitchen to clean things up before heading to bed while Jay worked on trying to get Minji out of your lap.

“C’mon baby girl we gotta go home.” His voice was soft as he tried to coax the little girl awake, but she wouldn’t budge, jerking away from Jay which caused him to stumble forward. Thankfully he was able to catch himself on the back of the couch, but the movement had woken you up. Opening your eyes you were met with Jay’s face barely inches away from your own.

Neither of you said a word, eyes conveying enough for both of you to know. You saw his eyes flicker down to your lips for a split second before meeting your eyes once more. You wanted nothing more than to lean forward and connect your lips to his, but you knew you shouldn’t, not when he had to go back home with Minji to her mother, his girlfriend, and possibly his wife. The word left a bitter taste in your mouth, your stomach turning.

“I’m sorry, she kinda just pulled me forward.” Jay apologized lowly, his breath fanning your face leaving a chill to go down your spine.

You just nodded, curling your lips inward, “It’s okay, are you guys leaving?” You asked as Jay shifted away from you, standing back on his feet. He nodded watching as you bit at your bottom lip, a habit you’ve had for as long as he remembered, and wanting nothing more than to kiss you to get you to stop.

“Yeah, it’s getting late.” He looked over at the clock on the wall once more, as much as he would love to spend more time with you, he knew he needed to get Minji home and in her bed otherwise, she’d raise hell tomorrow.

You shifted a little, moving the girl so Jay could pick her up. She protested with a whine until she was fully in Jay’s arms. Once she was settled on his shoulder he turned back to you only to find you avoiding his gaze, abusing the irritated skin on your lip once more.

“Hey, we’re gonna be going to the park tomorrow, did you want to join?” He extended the offer to you hoping you would take it, so he could have an actual chance to talk to you. Your eyes flickered up to his, eyebrows scrunched together, why would he ask that? Wouldn’t her mother be there?

“What about her mom? I don’t think she’d be comfortable with me there.” The words tumbled from your lips before you even had a chance to stop them, face burning red.

Jay looked down at you with wide eyes, the boys hadn’t been lying when they said you thought he was with Minji’s mother. He licked his lips before looking off to the side, the topic of Minji’s mother wasn’t one he liked to bring up very often, but he knew he had to with you, or he’d lose his chance entirely.

“She’s…” Jay cleared his throat before meeting your eyes once more, “she’s not in the picture, it’s just Minji and I.”

It was your turn to look at him with wide eyes, embarrassment creeping into your gut. “Oh I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“No it's okay, but please come tomorrow, I can explain everything then.” He begged and you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter, his pleading with you to agree. So you did, you agreed with a nod and Jay couldn’t help but smile. However, you had pulled your lip between your teeth once more, but this time he reached forward cupping your face and using his thumb to pull your lip away from the assault it was receiving, “And please stop biting your lip.” His thumb brushed over your bottom lip making your heart hammer in your chest as you looked up at him, sure that your face resembled a tomato right now. Realizing what he just did Jay pulled away, a nervous smile adorning his features. “I’ll see you tomorrow y/n.”

Hearing your name fall from his lips like honey was making your brain mushy so all you could do was nod and watch as he walked out of the house, Minji fast asleep on his shoulder.

Heeseung walked back into the living room after seeing the two out only to find you zoned out on the couch, “you okay over there pipsqueak?”

He watched in amusement as you nearly jumped out of your skin at his voice before you told him you were fine before rushing off to your room, the earlier scenes replaying in your head.

Though in truth Heeseung knew you weren’t, in a good way of course, but not okay at all. He shook his head to himself as he turned the lights off before making his way to his bedroom for the night.

The next morning you had woken up groggy, not really getting much sleep the night before. However, you weren’t about to let that stop you so you got out of bed and started getting around, not truly knowing what time you were supposed to be there.

Just as you finished doing your hair your phone dinged on the counter and when you picked it up you noticed an unknown number. A sense of dread filled your senses as you feared the worst when opening the message, but relief flooded your system as you read the message.

‘Hee gave me your number but we’ll be at the park around noon.’

A silly smile tugged on your lips as you sent a quick ‘Okay see you soon’ before turning your phone off. Sitting it back on the counter you looked back up to check your makeup one last time only to have your soul nearly snatched out of your body when you saw Heeseung’s reflection behind you.

“My lord Hee! Announce yourself for fuck sake.” You turned and chucked one of your beauty blenders at him, hitting him square in the forehead. He burst out laughing and you couldn’t help but join in, a hand on your chest trying to calm your racing heart.

“Sorry, sorry, you just look so cute smiling like a love-sick puppy.” He teased, causing you to glare at him.

“Go away Heeseung,” You pouted but he didn’t move an inch and you narrowed your eyes at him once more, “Go.”

“This is my house, you can’t kick me out of my bathroom!” He exclaimed, a playful smile on his lips as you marched up to him, pushing him out of the doorway.

“Don’t care, go away.” With that, you shut the door in his face and he just chuckled, shaking his head. He was happy to see you finally gain back that smile that he loved seeing so much, he only hoped it was here for the long run.

You pulled up to the park a few minutes before noon, looking around trying to spot Jay and Minji. Your hand came up to shield your eyes from the harsh rays of sunlight so you could see. Though you didn’t see them anywhere, maybe you showed up a bit too early…

Jay walked into the park with Minji’s hand in his, his eyes searching everywhere for your figure. When he did see you he had to stop in his tracks, his breath caught in his throat. There you stood a few feet away, a purple floral dress wrapped around your body perfectly, the wind making the skirt sway softly. The light shining behind you made you look like an angel in his eyes, you were breathtaking.

“Y/N!” Minji exclaimed, slipping from her father’s grasp to run up to you as you turned to face her. A smile crept onto your lips as you greeted the young girl, asking where her father was to which she pointed behind her to the man that was still frozen in place.

As soon as your eyes met his Jay could feel his heart pound against his ribcage, a lump in his throat. You grabbed Minji’s hand and walked over to Jay, a smile adorning your features still and he could have sworn he died and gone to heaven.

“Hi.” You greeted the male while Minji swung your joined hands, singing some tune that was stuck in her head.

“Hi.” Jay smiled sheepishly before looking you over for the nth time, “you look good.”

Your face heated up, “thank you… you don’t look too bad yourself.” You laughed softly which only caused Jay to laugh as well, until Minji was tugging on your hand.

“Come on, I wanna go play on the playground!” She exclaimed before tugging on your hand harder causing you to giggle before nodding.

“Alright, alright, let’s go.” You nodded before motioning for Jay to follow, which he did.

Once you and Jay had the blanket situated under a tree Minji took off to the playset, while you and Jay sat down. The tree blocked you both from the harsh rays of sunlight, the wind blowing softly while the birds sang above you.

The silence was comfortable between the two as you watched Minji play with all of the toys, but Jay knew he would have to break it at some point. So he swallowed thickly before releasing a deep breath which caught your attention.

“About Minji’s mom, it was an accident that wasn’t meant to happen, we were just getting to know each other and had a few too many drinks.” His eyes averted yours, but you just let him continue, “When we found out she was pregnant she wanted to get an abortion, but I begged her to think it over. I knew I had no right to her body so the decision in the end was hers, so we ended up keeping the baby.” Your eyes studied his face, watching all of the emotions that flickered there. “But we fought constantly, like there wasn’t a day that went by that we didn’t argue and it drove me up a wall, but I stayed for Minji.”

You felt your gut wrench while he spoke, all of the pain in his voice and how defeated he sounded. You wanted nothing more than to take that pain away, but you knew it was all in the past and that there wasn’t anything you could do.

“We actually fought about you, ironically.” His words caught you off guard, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Me?”

“Yeah… I was always wondering how you were doing and if you were doing okay, she would always berate me about how I didn’t love her at all or how if I could I would leave her for you, but it became worse when you dropped off the face of the earth,” You felt guilty as his words sunk into your soul, not only were you hurting him, but also his relationship. Seeing the thoughts go through your head Jay reached out, grabbing your hand in his, “don’t blame yourself bug, none of it was your fault. She was right about a few things though, I didn’t love her, there was no love in our relationship, it was just coexisting until the baby was born.”

You glanced over at Minji who was talking to another little girl, a huge smile on her lips, “what happened after Minji was born?”

Jay followed your gaze, landing on his daughter, “After we got back home I woke up one morning and there was no sign of her anywhere.”

Your eyes went wide, looking over at him, “Please tell me you went to court and got her guardianship revoked.”

Jay couldn’t help but laugh at your statement, but nodded nonetheless, “I did with the guy's help, Yeji was actually my lawyer and we both know how she is.” You giggled at the mention of Sunghoon’s little sister, she was always a persistent one.

“But that brings me to her other point.” Your head tilted at his words, not entirely sure what he meant, “that I probably would have left her for you if there wasn’t a baby involved.” Your heartbeat started to accelerate as he met your eyes, “but now it’s different and I want to try, I want to give us a try bug.” His voice was pleading as well as his eyes, the hand holding yours was shaking.

You couldn’t help but feel a surge of happiness and excitement at his words. A wide smile pulled on your lips as you clasped your fingers around his hand bringing it to your lips, pressing a light kiss on the inside of his wrist causing his heart to swell.

“I’d want nothing more Jay.” Your words sung loudly in his ears, a smile almost as bright as the sun adorning his face as you watch in adoration.

He then moved forward, cupping your face in his hands, eyes glancing from your eyes to your lips. “Can I kiss you?” A simple nod from you was all he needed before his lips met yours.The kiss was sweet, but so full of need, of want, of longing, of promise, and you melted into him sealing that nonverbal promise

@alvojake | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @heesitation @jaeyunology @luvyong2z

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