#hands on ur thighs to keep you balanced despite how red his face is...yeah....

[sukunasstarlight]

Welt the type of bf to let u perch in his lap and practice graphic liner looks on him I can feel it in my bones

[santigarcia]

Camping 🏕

Human Touch Part Eight

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

word count: 3.4k

rating: M for smut, dirty talk, hurt/comfort (pls don’t read unless ur 18+!)

summary: You and Nathan go on a camping trip in your backyard.

a/n: thank you all so much for reading this series! let me know what yall think! thank you to @punkpascal​​ and @sergeantkane​​​ as always!!

Nathan bolts upright in his sleep. His gasp for air wakes you. He’s up and out of the bed before you can ask him what’s wrong. His feet carry him fast across the floor into the bathroom. He doesn’t even close the door all the way before he’s turning on the shower and stepping inside.

You can’t help but worry, so you quietly get up and walk into the bathroom.

“Nathan?” no answer.

You turn the corner and see him sitting on the shower floor. He didn’t even fully undress. His boxers are sticking to his wet thighs. He’s covering his head with his arms.

“Nathan?” you touch the top of his head and he looks up at you. His eyes red from crying. “What’s going on? The dream again?”

He nods.

He struggles to turn his mind of, with you at his side it helps. But it’s not a permanent solution. Sometimes, most times it’s good. That mind of his needs to be working. But there’s a negative side. Nightmares plague his mind. Not often, but often enough it’s troubling to him.

His most frequent one involves you dying at the hand of his AI. Him stuck behind a glass door watching as you fall, covered in your own blood.

“Ok baby, stand up.” You reach for his arm and ‘pull’ him up. There’s no way you can pull him, but he stands up with you. You peel off his shorts, and you take off your sleep shirt. You shove him under the spray and grab his beard wash. You lather it up good and dig your fingers into his beard. He sighs heavily, he’s beginning to relax.

“You had to strip me naked to wash my beard?” he quips.

“There he is,” you grin and kiss his shoulder. “Let’s go for a walk tomorrow ok? Get some fresh air.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I have those fucked dreams when I overwork.”

“I know,” you nod gently. “Fresh air will do you good. Get out of the house for the day.”

The next morning Nathan is up bright and early. He wakes you up with kisses before the sun’s come up.

“Rise and shine!” he bounces off the bed and throws a pair of your jeans on the bed.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” your eyes creak open and you snort out a soft laugh. “Do you need to go for a walk, boy?” you tease.

“Stop,” he shakes his head. “Maybe I’ll reconsider my plans of taking you up against a tree.”

“No please! Anything but that!” you giggle and throw the blankets back.

While you get dressed, he talks. He’s packed backpacks for you both, and he throws you a piece of fruit for breakfast.

“It might be chilly this morning, so take one of my jackets,” he looks at you softly. You have plenty of jackets, but he likes seeing you in his. “Pick your favorite,” he tells you and you walk right over to his closet and grab the one you always grab. It’s the warmest. It’s also his favorite so it smells like him.

“Ready?” he asks while you pull on his jacket.

“Ready,” you loop your arm with his and you step out the back door together.

He’s better at hiking than you are. If he could he’d sprint up the cliffs and see if he could beat his time. But he likes walking with you. It’s slower, but he can appreciate the view. It’s a gorgeous day.

“Are you just talking about my ass?”

“Maybe,” he grabs a handful causing you to squeal. “It really is a beautiful day.”

“It’s a little chilly for my taste though,” you shiver when a gust of wind blows. You shove your hands in the jacket pockets and you feel a small velvety box. “Nathan?” you pull it out. You stand frozen in the middle of the trail, he’s a few steps ahead of you when he turns.

“Open it.”

You click the box open to find a beautiful diamond ring.

“What’s this for?” you gasp softly.

“Well, you – kitten,” he smiles softly. “Will you marry me?” he comes closer taking the ring out of the box.

“Nathan…”

He puts the ring on your finger and kisses your fingertips. “I’m gonna need an answer kitten.”

“We’re married you goofball! We have been for like three weeks now!” you laugh.

“I know, but I wanted you to have this. I completely forget to take it with me when we got married.”

“How long have you had this?”

His eyes get a little wide and he clears his throat. You swear he’s blushing. His cheeks are pink from the wind, but that’s not it.

“Like a week….after…”

“After what?”

“We met,” he bites his lip, his face is really red now and it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Nathan,” your throat feels tight and you put your hand on his chest. His heart is thudding rapidly under your palm. “You secret romantic.”

“I knew what I wanted,” he shrugs. “So, that’s a yes?”

You shake your head laughing, but you give him a resounding yes.

“Good, I was scared there for a minute,” he leans in to kiss your lips. Then again. Then one more time.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” he cocks his head.

“You need a ring!”

“I was going to make one.” He takes your hand in his and you start walking again. He tells you about the plan he has for his ring, and why he didn’t make yours. How he would have spent too long on the details and it was easier to buy one than to agonize over it. You smile listening to him ramble. He’s excited.

“Well, I love it,” you tell him, outstretching your hand to look at it. When you reached back for him, you took a wrong step and your foot slips between to rocks. “Nathan, my foot! It's stuck! I think I twisted my ankle!!” you scream louder than you mean to, but the pain and sudden falling scared you.

He whips around and reaches for you, “Ok, whoa, hold still for a second. Let me help you out.” He’s very calm, he doesn’t panic. His hands steadies your teetering body as checks you’re alright.

“I can’t move it!” you start to panic.

“Hey, whoa,” he gently cups your face. “Stay with me, I need you to stay calm. It’s gonna be ok. Let me help you.”

“Ok ok,” you lean into his touch. “It really hurts,” you hiss out in pain. “Sorry I ruined this hike.”

“Don’t worry about it, ok? I know it hurts, I’m gonna help,” he brushes your cheek. “It’s gonna be ok.” He kneels then to check your ankle his hands steady on your leg. “Put your hands on my shoulder- keep your balance.”

He carefully moves one of the rocks aside, and you cry out when your ankle is free.

“I know, baby,” he rubs his thumb gently over your swollen ankle. It’s dirty and there’s a scrape from the rock when you slipped in.

“What now?” you wince.

“Let’s see if you can put weight on it first. If not, I’ll carry you back.”

“You are not carrying me down this mountain Nathan Bateman,” you grunt trying to steady yourself. His hands are on you, keeping you steady. You have your hurt foot up; it hurts too much to step on it. “I- I don’t think I can put weight on it.”

“It’s ok, baby. Let’s get you home, ok?” he wraps his arm around your waist and holds your hand with his other. “Walk with me ok? One step at a time.”

He walks in tandem with you for the rest of hike down. His hands are strong in guiding you, making sure not to let you slip. You squeeze his arm tight when it gets slippery, but he never lets you fall.

“Did you just flex your arm?”

“Maybe,” his eyes flick over to yours and he looks forward quickly. “I coulda carried you, ya know.”

“Nathan-“

“Have a little faith, baby, I know you’ve checked me out when I lift,” he smirks. And yeah, he could carry you. But his arms would have fatigued from the length of the journey. You kiss his cheek; it means everything he cares enough to even think about that.

“You like when I check you out,” you bury your face in his shoulder.

“You know I do.” Smirk. “Gets me hot.”

“Ok focus up baby, don’t get hard out here when you can’t do anything about it,” you giggle.

“Hey, I’m trying to distract you,” he chuckles softly. “I can function with my cock a little hard, I’m not a teenager.”

“distract away then. If you think you can make it,” you tease him.

“I was looking forward to you letting me fuck you up against the tree at the top. Or at least let me finger fuck you. Shit, I’m addicted to your pussy.”

“That was what I wanted too, but then I slipped and well, here we are,” you groan softly. “Now I'm thinking about your fingers.”

“I’ll give you my fingers when we get home and get some ice on that ankle, how does that sound? If you’re feeling up for it,” he teases back.

Walking with him is nice, despite the pain in your ankle. He keeps the mood light and makes corny jokes and promises of pleasure when you get home.

“My ankle is hurt not the rest of me!” you snort. “I’m not looking forward to the ankle wrap. It’s really hurting.”

“I know, but it’ll help you heal baby. Will you let me at least carry you through the front door? Since we’re officially married now?”

“Nathan!” you laugh but you let him. He holds you for one second and then sets you down- just enough to cross over the front step.

“Alright, let’s get you taken care of yeah?”

You can’t help but cling to his jacket sleeve a little too tight. He turns when he feels your tug.

“I know, baby. It’s gonna be ok. You could put a little weight on it, so I don’t think it’s broken, it just needs to rest a little bit. I’ll get you some painkillers and then we’ll get that ankle wrapped.” He kisses your forehead, and he wraps his arms around you again to help you walk through the house.

“I'm sorry I'm being such a baby. Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

“It’s ok, cuz you’re my baby,” he chuckles softly. “I’m always gonna take care of you, baby. It’s part of the husband package.”

“I like the husband package,” you laugh, but the moment the words come out of your mouth you laugh for a different reason. “Don't say it, I know you're thinking it. Don't say it!”

“I know you like my package,” he pumps his eyebrows. “I’m sorry! You can’t just set me up like that and expect me not to say it!” he laughs out loud. You like when he laughs, he’s freer. More relaxed. You’d been worried you ruined the day by falling, but he doesn’t seem bothered at all.

“Ok,” you take a deep breath. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed. He’s carefully taken your shoes and socks off, and slowly peeled down your jeans. He was extra careful about your ankle. “I’m ready,” you tell him.

With warm water he cleans the dirt off and disinfects the scrape. You recoil but he’s stronger than you.

“I know kitten.” He kisses your knee and your shin before he starts wrapping your ankle. “Let me know if it’s too tight?”

You watch him as he wraps you up. His smooth fingertips brush your skin. It’s calming. He’s entirely focused on wrapping your ankle and you can’t help but smile at the way his brow creases in concentration.

Having him take care of you, and the image of him kneeling in front of your spread legs is getting you hot for him. The moment he’s done, you grab his hand.

“Nathan?” You put his hand between your legs, and he starts to rub you through your underwear. “I need you here.”

“Fuck, you went from concerned to horny so fast…”

“You’ve taken such good care of me and you mentioned fingerfucking- oh-“ you throw your head back on a sigh as his fingers press a little harder. He slides your panties down your legs and spread you open for him.

“I’ll definitely give you my fingers, baby. Still ok?” he looks up at you after he pulled your panties off your legs.

“I just can’t move my foot.”

“Try and sit still, let daddy work. Where do you need my mouth and fingers, baby? I wanna hear you say it.”

“I want your fingers in me.”

“Where kitten? In your mouth?” he slips two fingers in your mouth and you moan around him. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your clit, and you gasp around his fingers. “Fuck, I love the way you taste.”

“Wait,” you moan and pull his hand away. “Put my leg over your shoulder, it’s hard not to move it.”

He kisses your thigh as he lifts your thigh over his shoulder. He’s gentle not to aggravate your hurt ankle. But this position is much more comfortable.

“Better?”

“Yes,” you giggle, “please keep going.”

“Eager?” he teases and slips his fingers now into your heat. His mouth closes around your clit and he sucks hard while his fingers curl in deep. “Feel better baby?”

Your moan is your answer, and he smiles.

“Fuck, you taste amazing.”

“How many times have you eaten me out and you still say that?”

“Because it’s true,” he moans licking your heat. He moves his fingers so he can get a better taste, and he puts his fingers back in your mouth. He chokes out a groan when you suck on his fingers, his dick aching with need from feeling you.

“Right there!” you gasp around his fingers, and he repeats the motion with his lips. His beard tickles your thighs, and he chuckles softly when you hit your high.

“Feel better kitten?” he asks when he pulls off you. He gently lowers your leg and kisses your knee again. He unzips his pants, and you watch him pump his cock with his wet fingers.

“You need me baby?” you sit up, but he presses his hand to your chest. He gently pushes you back down.

“Let me take care of you? Yeah?” he stands to lower his pants and he lines himself up with your entrance. He stays standing while you lay on your back. His hands grab your thighs, and he pushes in slowly. You both groan as he slides in all the way. His hand stays on your injured leg, so you won’t move it, but he lets you wrap your other leg around him. His free thumb presses onto your sensitive clit and he doesn’t stop touching you until you’re pulsing around him. He knows how to drag it out, and he has the endurance to do so, but right now he wants to come fast and hard. So that’s what he does.

He moans louder than you when hits his high.

“Nathan, you came so hard,” you giggle watching him. “You’re turned on by the wedding ring, aren’t you?”

“Fuck,” his cock jumps again inside you. Your laugh mixes with a moan.

“You are full of surprises,” you sit up and press a kiss to his shoulder.

“And you’re full of me,” he hums. He kisses the top of your head before he pulls out. “You want me to draw you a bath baby girl?”

“I’d love that,” you sigh.

“I’ve got something I need to work on, so I’ll let you bathe in peace yeah?”

“You better not- Nathan! You need an off day!”

“It’s not what you think woman!” he kisses your cheek. He adjusts himself in his pants and leaves to start you a bath. He helps you in the tub, and he disappears to work on his secret project.

You soak for a long while, it feels amazing and soothes your aches. He wanders back in a little while later just in time to help you out, so you won’t fall.

“I have a surprise for you,” he says grabbing a towel and wrapping it tight around you. He sets down a stack of clothes for you, which includes some fresh underwear, some sweatpants, and one of his shirts.

“What have you been up to?”

“Get dressed and you’ll see,” he smiles. He helps you step into your clothes and it pricks at your heart how gentle he is.

Once you’re ready, he guides you down the hall to one of the rooms in the house that’s not being used for anything currently. He covers your eyes with his hands and when he moves them, you see there’s a tent set up on the floor with sleeping bags. There’s a little lantern on the floor illuminating the space, and you see a package of marshmallows and chocolate for s’mores. It was your original plan before you slipped and fell.

“Nathan!” you gasp looking at all of it.

“I thought I’d bring the campsite to you,” he smiles and motions for you to come sit on one of the sleeping bags.

He walks over to a laptop he has set up and you start to scold him, but he pouts.

“Just one thing, let me do just one thing!” he laughs and punches in a quick code. The ceiling then lights up with stars and a soft hue of Aurora Borealis. “I wanted to do this on the deck, but it’s raining. Guess it ended up better we were here after all.”

“It’s perfect,” you smile.

“Now,” he sits down next to you. “How do you want your marshmallows?”

“How are you cooking them??”

He flicks out a lighter and holds it under a marshmallow he has ready on a wire coat hanger.

“Nathan-“

“How do you want your marshmallow?” he’s rotating the stick over the lighter.

“Like you.”

“Like me?”

“Golden brown and gooey on the inside.”

He closes his eyes and clicks off the lighter. He sighs and looks at you with a cocked brow for a solid 20 seconds.

“I fuckin’ hate how adorable that was even though that was a terrible joke babe. One Nathan marshmallow coming right up-“

“So, you don’t deny it.”

“Deny what?” he asks while he starts cooking the marshmallow.

“That you’re gooey on the inside.”

“I am perfectly golden brown,” he grins, “but yeah ok I’m gooey for you. Only you though.”

He makes your s’more and hands it to you while he starts on his own.

“I like mine burnt to a crisp,” he states, sticking his tongue in the corner of his mouth while he burns the marshmallow.

“Please don’t burn the house down,” you tell him while you bite into the sweet treat.

“There’s a sprinkler system, it’s fine.”

He makes his s’more and eats it happily. You watch him devour it and you can’t help but laugh at him.

“Good?” you giggle.

“I haven’t had one of these in forever,” he says shoving his hand in the bag to get another marshmallow out.

Before he starts to cook it, you lean up and kiss his cheek. He turns to look at you, his eyes soft.

“Thank you for taking care of me today. And for all this,” you cuddle into him.

“It’s what I’m supposed to do,” he says. “That reminds me-“ he reaches into his sweats pocket and pulls out a little ring. “Made this too,” he hands it to you.

“What’s it made of?” You ask holding it in your palm. It’s silver.

“A leftover piece from one of the AI. A reminder.” He holds his hand out to you, telling you to slide the ring on his finger. He kisses your lips; his kisses taste sweet. There’s chocolate in the corner of his mouth.

“I love you,” you tell him when you pull apart. “Even though you have marshmallow stuck on your beard.”

“I love you,” he replies, “even though you made a really lame joke,” he winks.

You curl back into him as he starts again on his next s’more. Besides from your twisted ankle, this night couldn’t be more perfect.

This time he just pops the marshmallow in his mouth. His mouth is full, but he still asks, “So round two in the tent?”

tagging: @pascal-isaac​​​, @wasicskosgirl​​​, @velvetmel0n​​​, @huliabitch​​​, @shadow-assassin-blix​​​, @writefightandflightclub​​​, @aellynera​​​, @softboywriting​​​, @veuliee2​​​, @spider-starry​​​, @mylifeliterally​​​, @millllenniawrites​​​, @ntlmundy​​​, @foxilayde, @writingletterstothefire​​​, @mandoplease​​​, @anetteaneta​​​, @feelmyroarrrr​​​, @artsymaddie​​​, @shakespeareanwannabe​​​, @poedameronsbeard​​​, @deanfanatic67​​​​, @magicsuperheroes​​​​, @phoenixhalliwell​​​​, @that-one-weird-one​​​​, @mariesackler, @yourbucky084​​​​, @woakiees​

[honeybammie]

burn › hwang hyunjin

↳ all you’ve been able to think about for weeks is your drunken kiss with hyunjin, but he doesn’t even remember that it happened.  ↳ i guess this is fluff? it’s basically just,,heavy making out with jinnie ↳ wc: 3,751  ↳ hyunjin has been wrecking my bias list lately (sorry felix) and i rlly just wanted to write about making out with him so enjoy if ur thirsty like me 

I have been avoiding Hyunjin for three weeks minus one day, which is the longest we’ve gone without talking since we were elementary schoolers, but after what happened last time we were alone, I can no longer look him in the eye without blushing a furious red and sputtering on my words. The easiest way to keep myself from turning into a fool is to avoid him entirely—not the best method, but it’s all I can think of.

Chan is having a party, like he does every so often, and there are enough people around that I think I can continue to avoid Hyunjin, since I know he’ll be there, too. He never misses the opportunity to mingle amongst friends and friends-of-friends. Part of his charm is being able to whisk people away with his easy, comforting smile and breezy laugh, and it works on everyone. Including me.

I attend because I know my best friends will be there and drinks won’t be far out of sight and I have to uphold my tipsy solitaire record. I haven’t lost a game in months, but for the past few weeks I’ve barely been drinking anyway, afraid of letting myself go and losing my senses like I did so recently.

I’m sure Hyunjin notices that I’ve disappeared. At first, he continued texting me as normal, but after I failed to reply to half a dozen messages, he stopped trying to get a hold of me. If he does see me at parties, he doesn’t approach. When I see him, I turn the other direction and distract myself with something else.

Unfortunately, whether or not Hyunjin realizes, someone else does. Jisung corners me in the kitchen as I’m sitting on the countertop, slice of pizza in one hand and plastic cup full of juice and rum in the other. Minho is trying to tell me a story, but he’s already had a few drinks and can’t keep his wires straight.

When Minho sees Jisung, he forgets his story entirely and throws his arm around his friend. “Jisung!” he exclaims. To me, he says: “Look, Jisung’s here.”

“I noticed,” I say, lips quirking into a smile.

Jisung is less concerned with Minho than he is with me, looking straight into me as he asks, “Can I talk to you? Alone?”

I raise my eyebrows, ready to object or ask why, but there’s a clear intent in his eyes that makes me realize he wasn’t really asking me to join him, but telling me to.

“Alone? Without me?” Minho gasps. “We’re not supposed to keep secrets!”

“It’s not a secret, it’s just…something important.” Jisung tries to come up with an excuse, but it still sounds like he’s talking about a secret. “Will you come with me?”

“Sure,” I agree, taking one last bite of my pizza and throwing the crust in the trash. I bring my cup with me, but on my way through the threshold I cast another glance at Minho. “Take it easy, alright? Drink a water or something,” I instruct, which he replies to with an enthusiastic thumbs up. I don’t know if he’s going to listen or not, but I don’t have time to confirm because Jisung grabs my wrist and leads me out onto the front porch, where no one is because everyone is either crammed into the living room or hanging out on the back patio or in the swimming pool.

“What is it?” I ask when Jisung releases my wrist. I take a sip from my cup. It’s still my first drink, despite the fact that the party is entering its third hour.

“Why are you avoiding Hyunjin?” Jisung demands.

I almost choke on the alcohol, and it burns hotter in my throat than usual. “What?” I feign ignorance, like I can somehow lie my way out of this one, but I already know I’m being backed into a corner.

“He’s been saying for weeks that you won’t speak to him. At first he thought maybe you were busy, and I told him to wait it out, but this is week three and it’s getting out of control. He says he can’t even find you when you’re both at the same party, so what the Hell is wrong?” Jisung is demanding, defensive, and I imagine the pitiful look in Hyunjin’s face, wondering what he did to upset me.

I bite my lip, pondering my next words carefully. “He really doesn’t know?” I ask Jisung. “Why I’ve been avoiding him…he has no idea?”

“Should he?” Jisung pressed. “All he remembers is that a few weeks ago, we were all at a party like this, and we were all pretty drunk hanging out on the couch, and then suddenly morning comes and you won’t even look at him.”

I had considered that Hyunjin might be avoiding me, too, but Jisung only proves that Hyunjin has no idea what happened, which should make it easier for me to go forward in our friendship, but the fluttering pit of my stomach forbids it.

“We kissed,” I admit, and it’s the first time I’m saying the truth out loud. I expected to feel like a weight was lifted, but the two words sit heavy on my chest. Jisung’s stare does nothing to help.

“You what?” He gathers himself after a few moments. “There’s no way. He’d remember.”

I shrug, trying to be nonchalant, but I’m almost certain my face is a half-dozen shades of pink. I can only hope Jisung doesn’t notice in the dim lighting of the porch lamp.

“Clearly he doesn’t, and I’d kind of like to keep it that way, but I can’t hold a conversation with him without thinking about…yeah.”

Kissing is an understatement, actually, but I don’t tell Jisung that.

Three weeks ago, ten of us were crammed on seven seat cushions, watching the newest episode of a shitty reality TV show we all liked despite being too drunk to follow along properly. Hyunjin had been next to me all evening, and I was quickly noticing that he was twice as affectionate when he was drunk, which was saying something considering how often he clung onto us in his everyday life.

I wasn’t sure if Hyunjin was doing it on purpose—laughing into my neck so that his lips grazed my skin, splaying his palm across my thigh and lingering there far too long for me not to notice, leaning into me so that I could smell his cologne and feel his taut figure underneath his shirt. I tried to credit all of these things to our close proximity on the couch, but that didn’t change the way my breath hitched every time he brushed close enough.

I excused myself to the bathroom, half because I actually had to go and half because I needed to clear my head of all of Hyunjin’s little touches. He did this all the time, I told myself. He was known for his constant want for physical contact, and he would’ve done the same things to any of the other guys if he had been next to them. Right?

The bathroom was attached to Chan’s bedroom. When I opened the door to return to the group downstairs, I found Hyunjin sitting on Chan’s bed, glassy-eyed and swaying a little bit, his center of gravity thrown off. He was completely harmless, but I almost screamed at the surprise, clinging onto the doorframe to keep my balance.

“You scared me,” I hiccuped. His attention was locked on me, eyes slightly hooded. I assumed he was tired, dazed, lost in a world of his own intoxication. “What’re you doing here?”

“This is the line for the bathroom, right?” He asked. The sentence came out in a singular word, spaces blended together, and he stood, stumbling towards me on unsteady feet, all of his dancer’s grace gone.

I don’t remember whether I answered or not. I tried to step out of his way, make room, but he stilled me by placing one hand over mine on the doorframe, his palm warm against the back of my hand. He was only steadying himself, I thought. If he didn’t hold onto something, he’d fall.

I meant to say something, but whatever it was left me when I looked up at him. Bottom lip caught in his teeth. Eyes scanning my face. I flinched when his other hand came to rest on my jaw, my pulse thick underneath, pumping blood and alcohol and maybe a flicker of courage.

He was staring with an intensity usually reserved for longtime lovers. That much I remembered, since it was my last thought before leaning forward and closing my eyes, welcoming him, silently begging, and he pressed his lips to mine and his fingertips held deeper into my jaw. He tasted like fruit, like alcohol diluted with pineapple juice because he didn’t like the burn. But I wanted the burn to swallow me whole.

I reached for the back of his neck, running a hand through the silky wisps at his nape, and for a moment I felt myself falling forward before I realized he was stepping backwards. Not pulling away, but pulling me along until we fell together. His back hit the springs of Chan’s bed with a dull thud, forcing us apart for a brief second. His chest was solid underneath mine, his body as intoxicating as the liquor coursing through both of us.

“Was that okay?” he asked, raspy. His eyes were still barely open, but he must’ve noticed when I gave a slight nod. “Can I do it again?”

“Please,” I mumbled, my mouth already aching to meet his again.

The coolness of his rings made me realize that he had worked his hands under my shirt, not yet roaming, but gripping my waist in silent need. When he pulled away to catch his breath, his lips ghosted against my collarbones, nose nudging the side of my neck. “You taste like cherries,” he said, and I sighed in response to him digging his nails so gently into the flesh of my sides.

When he readjusted his hands a couple inches to find the hem of my shirt, he looked me in the eye again, brown eyes almost black with the dilation of his pupils. “Can I take this off?”

I almost said yes, almost let him devour me. A million thoughts of drunken bravery flashed through my mind at once, all of them filthy. His chest and his lips and his hands and his—

And then clarity, just enough for me to push myself up, opening up a canyon between the two of us. We were in Chan’s bedroom, with all eight boys waiting for us downstairs, and we were in no condition for sex. Hyunjin sat up, vaguely confused, but already he looked like he had no idea what had happened. He needed to sleep, or drink some water, and in any case kissing me or sleeping with me should be at the bottom of his to-do list.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out, fixing my shirt and running a hand through my hair so no one would notice what we had done. I gave no more comment, still running through the last couple minutes as I hurried out the door and back to the living room, completely oblivious to what was happening on TV.

“Took you long enough,” Changbin teased.

“I was fixing my makeup,” I lied, but no one would’ve suspected as such. None of them could’ve guessed on their own what had just happened, and they were so entranced by the show or by their drinks that I doubted any of them noticed I was gone a moment too long. And when Hyunjin returned a couple minutes later, I was the only one who looked at him, desperate for him to return my gaze, but he didn’t even sit next to me.

Now, with Jisung burning a hole into my head, I shrink into myself, all of the confidence from a few weeks ago gone. When I think of Hyunjin, all I can remember is his body beneath mine and his lips on the edge of exploring every inch of me, but he has no idea. He was probably off in the pool flirting with someone else while I was with Jisung.

“Do you…like him?” Jisung ventured when it was clear I wouldn’t give more details on my own.

“I…I’ve been trying not to think about it. We’ve all been friends since we were kids, and I can’t imagine ruining that. Maybe it’s best that I don’t tell him, you know?”

“And avoid him forever?” Jisung scoffed. “He deserves to know what happened so the two of you can work it out.”

“He was probably just pent-up and I was the closest person available. It probably doesn’t even matter,” I argued, but in honesty, I was terrified of telling Hyunjin the truth, terrified of him brushing that night off like dust. He had looked at me like kissing me meant something—like it meant everything—and having him forget was bad enough without him telling me that it was a mistake, that he hadn’t really wanted to.

“If you don’t tell him the truth, I will,” Jisung said. “He’s distraught that you won’t say anything, and you can’t lie to him. This is serious, and—”

“Fine, okay. I’ll do it.” I couldn’t stand listening anymore, and if anything was worse than Hyunjin telling me that kissing me was a mistake, it was losing him entirely. “Do you know where he is?”

“Out back. I’ll show you.” Jisung doesn’t drag me this time, but leads me through the house and to the stone patio in the backyard, lit up by string lights, and when I find Hyunjin amongst Woojin and a couple girls I vaguely know, he knocks the wind out of me.

“Wait, I changed my mind,” I blurt out, turning away to go back inside, but Jisung is too fast and grabs my arm.

“Hyunjin, over here!” Jisung calls, waving his hand. I despise him, but to keep unwanted attention off of me, I don’t struggle against him.

Hyunjin’s whole group glances over, and I hold my breath as he meets my eyes. His expression is unreadable, a far cry from his usual transparency. There’s no drink in his hand, I notice, and I wonder if both of us have been avoiding alcohol these past weeks.

He says something to the other three that I can’t hear, and Woojin pats him on the back as he goes. Hyunjin’s looking only at Jisung now, expression unchanging

“What’s up?” he asks, showing a faint smile, but it’s so forced I can’t stand it.

“We…need to talk,” I say because Jisung has gotten us this far and I know he’s not going to help any longer. “Can we go somewhere?”

I don’t want to be alone with Hyunjin, but having to explain in front of anyone else might turn me into ashes, so it’s my only option.

Hyunjin casts a wary glance at Jisung, as if asking if this is a trap, but Jisung nods toward the house, earning me a short, “Sure,” from Hyunjin. “Should we go upstairs?”

“That’s fine,” I say, but already I’m sweating. As I wind through the house again, I barely check over my shoulder to see if he’s following, and part of me wishes he wasn’t. I don’t know if I’m ready to be in Chan’s room with Hyunjin again, but I don’t have much of a choice and can’t think of another plan before we’re exactly where we were three weeks ago.

Hyunjin sits on the bed, waiting, just like before, but this time he’s waiting for me instead of the bathroom, and all I can do is pace the carpet.

“Are you going to explain why you haven’t spoken to me at all in almost a month?” Hyunjin asks, and I can’t tell if his tone is demanding or desperate.

“Are you mad at me?” is my first question. It’s the one that burns most in my head and if he’s already mad, I’m scared that the truth will anger him more.

“I’m…” he starts confident but trails off, his exterior starting to melt as his eyebrows crease together. “I’m confused. One night we’re best friends, and the next morning you refuse to talk to me, or look at me, or even be near me. I just…did I hurt you? Did I say something, or—”

There’s a fear in his eyes that has me standing in front of him in a heartbeat, anxious pacing forgotten. “No, no, Jinnie. You would never,” I cut him off, half-whispering. “You didn’t do anything wrong. We just…”

“We?” he asks, something new crossing his face, like his fear has met curiosity.

“We kissed,” I say, which is all I told Jisung, but I realize this is going to require the full story and I spit out words faster than I think of them. “When we were all watching that show, you kept touching me, and I tried to tell myself that you’re just clingy, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I came up here to go to the bathroom. When I came back out, you were sitting on the bed, and then you stood up and—” My voice catches. It’s only a memory, but in all of its shrouded haze, his eyes are still clear as day, and his lips soft and satin.

“And?” Hyunjin presses, reminding me what we’re here for.

“You kissed me. Or I kissed you. And you pulled me back to the bed, or I pushed you back to the bed, and you asked to kiss me again and I said please and we kept on kissing for…forever, probably. I don’t remember how long, and you asked if you could take off my shirt but then I remembered this is Chan’s room and we were so drunk, and I ran out and…yeah.”

“And yeah,” he echoes, and I step away to brace myself. I wish I had a way inside his thoughts so I would know what he intended to say before he said it. As things are, waiting is torture and stretches to infinity.

“I’m sorry,” I say even before he gets angry. “Neither of us knew what we were doing, but it’s okay if you’re upset or don’t want to talk to me.”

He runs his hands over his face once and stands, like his body is made of lead. “I can’t believe this,” he says, and I shuffle backwards one more step. I think I’m going to cry, a decade of friendship ruined by one mistake that I could’ve avoided. I was more sober. I should’ve stopped him before he had the chance to kiss me.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, resisting the urge to run out again. I have to face whatever happens.

“Sorry?” he whispers. With every step backward I take, he follows, and I’m the one this time who can’t look him in the eye until he cups my chin with both hands and makes me. He doesn’t look angry, at least not with me. His eyebrows are creased and his mouth hangs a little lax and—don’t look at his lips.

“The first time I got to kiss you…and I don’t even remember it.”

I watch him harder, search deeper, and notice that he looks like he’s reaching for a memory that’s just out of grasp, and he can’t stand it.

“I’m so sorry.” It’s his turn to apologize, and I can’t figure out why. He lets go of my chin to reach for my hand, and I don’t look away, nor do I move when the tips of his fingers nervously brush mine. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long, and I wasted our first kiss when I was drunk.”

I barely understand what he’s implying. I’m not even sure he’s real until I reach my other hand to the back of his neck, a vaguely familiar territory. “Are you drunk now?” I ask because I’m afraid that the same thing will happen twice, that he will only want me when he can’t think straight.

“No.” He shakes his head. “I haven’t had anything since that night.”

So these are his sober thoughts. Part of me doesn’t believe him, but I have to. His regret at having forgotten makes me feel almost as bad as his anger would’ve. He’ll never remember our first kiss.

But he’s still looking at me with those eyes that remind me of lovers and I know that this is real and I have been holding my breath for three weeks while waiting for another chance.

“You can do it again,” I whisper in a voice barely my own.

I think he’s about to ask twice, but I don’t let him. Still holding the base of his neck, I bring him back to me, remind him how our lips fit together, and even if he doesn’t remember, his subconscious does, somewhere deep down, because he picks up where we left off, all needy hands and tongues and breathless sighs into my neck that prick my skin and send jolts through my spine.

I’m backed against a wall, hardly aware of how I got there, and Hyunjin is talking again.

“If we hadn’t been so drunk, and if we hadn’t been in Chan’s room, what would you have said?” he asks, balling the front of my shirt in his hand. The bigger question makes me dizzy, all of the blood in my head draining elsewhere.

“We’re still in Chan’s room.” I gasp when he presses a grasping palm against my hip. His face is disguised in the crook of my neck. His open mouth leaves a trail on my exposed throat, my collarbones, my shoulder.

He stops, briefly, to say, “Entertain me. If we weren’t in Chan’s room, what would you say?”

I didn’t realize before, but my hands are no less guilty than his. They have wandered from his neck to his jaw, down his torso so that I, too, am holding onto flimsy fabric, sinuous body underneath, one I have been picturing every day for weeks and dying to discover.

He’s patient as he watches, waiting for my decision.

“I’d say yes,” I tell him, burning all over, just how I want to be. “Please.”