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jaeyuniversal · 2 months ago

Text

you broke me first - l.hs

pairing: virgin!lee heeseung x experienced fem!reader

synopsis: you and heeseung are the school’s golden pair — popular, admired, and constantly shipped. the only problem? you can’t stand him. from competing on exams to gym class, you’re always neck and neck, and no one gets under your skin like he does. but while you see a rival, he sees the love of his life. when you overhear a hushed conversation that breaks you, will heeseung be able to win you back?

featuring: all of enha, winter from aespa, yuqi from (g)i-dle, and keeho from p1h

genre: angst... slow burn, some fluff, kissing, skinship, SMUTTTT, college au, first love trope?? sorta? one sided enemies to lovers

warnings: smut so mdni (18+), alcohol consumption, vandalizing property, Sexual Tension, everyone is around the same age (21-23), lowercase intended <3

playlist: you broke me first by tate mcrae & what was i made for — billie eilish

(smut warnings under cut!)

wc: 13.271k

a/n: first fic is here! plsplspls leave feedback as anything helps!! was listening to you broke me first and got inspo for a kinda angsty fic pls bare with me :3 anyways! enjoy the read <3<3

smut content: mention of toys (but no use), fingering, squirting, unprotected sex (not for you), dry humping, switch! hee and reader, riding, mating press, too much kissing, masturbation (m.), breeding kink, slight dacryphilia, oral (m. & f.), deepthroating, belly bulge, creampie, size kinkish, big dick! hee, not much aftercare but it's like fluffy, y/n has a “reputation” that she gets around, VIRGIN HEESEUNG (but no one knows…) i think thats it? lmk if i missed anything ◡̈

not proofread!

lee. fucking. heeseung. you hate him. you can't stand him. he always knows what to say just to piss you off. you might be wondering, "why don't you just try to avoid him?" the issue is... you do. you try with ALL your power but to no avail, he's in the same friend group as you.

your friends, knowing you hate him, decided to combine friend groups to see if you and him could mend things. spoiler alert: it failed miserably.

you felt safe in your small circle with keeho (the man you deemed to be your biological older brother — you aren't related), yuqi (your junior high best friend), and winter (your literal wife).

you guys were well known around the entire city of seoul for being the "it group" — always partying, hooking up, and somehow still acing every class (while nursing massive hangovers).

however, heeseung's friend group consisted of the golden boys in decelis university: park jongseong (known as jay, he hates his given name), sim jaeyun (known as the australian transfer student, jake), park sunghoon (the insanely hot figure skater), kim sunoo (the bubbliest person you've ever met), yang jungwon (the boy with feline features, however you've made a special note to never piss him off cause he has a black belt), and nishimura riki (known as ni-ki because he wanted to be different).

you loved riki. he was like your younger brother — chaotic, blunt, and always three steps ahead of everyone. you’d even joked once that if you had to suffer heeseung’s presence, at least you got riki out of it.

unfortunately, riki had the worst habit of instigating chaos.

“truth or dare?” he asked one friday night, grinning like he already had your life planned out. everyone was crammed into jay’s ridiculously large basement, music low, snacks half eaten, and bodies sprawled on beanbags and plush carpet.

you should’ve said “truth.” you knew you should’ve. but you weren’t a coward.

“dare,” you answered, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

the group erupted in ooooh's in perfect synchronicity.

riki’s grin only widened. “i dare you to sit on heeseung’s lap for five minutes.”

you almost lunged across the room.

“riki,” you hissed, “you are so dead.”

he just wiggled his brows suggestively. “i’m a baby. you wouldn’t hurt me.”

the worst part? he was right.

you looked over at heeseung, who was watching you like a cat watching a cornered mouse — lazy smirk, fingers casually drumming against his knee. “scared, sweetheart?”

“i’ll kill you in your sleep,” you said sweetly as you stalked over and dropped yourself into his lap like he was made of cardboard and air.

he oofed, not because you were heavy, but because he wasn’t expecting you to actually do it.

“wow,” he murmured, lips near your ear. “you smell like citrus and bad decisions.”

you resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs.

five minutes. you just had to survive five minutes.

but then his hands casually settled on your waist, and you felt it — the spark. the electric, traitorous, goddamn spark that told you this was a very, very bad idea.

because maybe, just maybe, your hatred wasn’t as pure as you thought- no. what are you thinking??? you immediately shook the feeling that was buzzing inside you and blamed it on the alcohol swimming in your blood.

you definitely. hated heeseung. yup, yeah, you really did.

heeseung on the other hand? he was just praying to every god he could think of that you couldn't feel how sweaty his palms were getting.

because he was panicking. full blown, internal screaming, oh-no-she’s-sitting-on-me-and-she’s-warm kind of panicking. he hadn't expected you to actually follow through on your usual threats, much less practically straddle him in front of your mutual friends.

but now? now he was just trying to not pass out from the sheer force of your perfume and presence and the weight of years of unresolved tension that sat heavier than you ever could.

"you're sweating," you said flatly, side eyeing him with that expression that usually meant murder or mockery — or both. "you good?"

"totally," he croaked. "i always nearly die when beautiful people threaten me. it's, like, my thing."

you blinked once. twice.

"did you just call me beautiful?"

"i said what i said," he muttered, then immediately regretted everything.

your brows lifted in slow, dangerous amusement. "you feeling okay, heeseung? you hitting on me while i’m threatening you?”

“wouldn’t be the first time,” he said, almost too quiet for you to hear.

and there it was again. the spark. like a lighter flicked too close to your frayed nerves.

you looked away, choosing to focus on literally anything else, but his grip on your waist tightened just slightly, grounding you, almost daring you to acknowledge it.

“how much longer do i have to sit on this assholes lap?” you questioned under your breath, reminding yourself, reminding him, that this was temporary.

"4 minutes!" jake sang back as his accented voice rang in your ears. fuck, it's only been one minute? you thought to yourself... until he spoke.

“i could ruin us in three,” he whispered, warm breath tickling your ear. he was so close you could practically feel his labored breathing against your back. you craned your neck to the side so you could look him in the eyes, "what did you just say???" heeseung was at a loss for words — his brain only drawing blanks.

did he say what he thought he said in his head out loud? impossible. he's hidden it so well, no one in your guys' shared friend group had even suspected his overbearing attraction towards you.

so heeseung did the only thing he could think of. he gulped.

just as your gaze dropped to his adams apple, sunghoon cleared his throat, reducing the fiery tension between you two to reduce to a simmer. "time's up" he stated. and just like that, the warmth you once shared was gone.

as the game progressed, the most interesting things to occur were jake kissing sunghoon on the cheek, riki vandalizing an old alley way that never saw the sun, and winter lady-and-the-tramping a twizzler with keeho.

you and heeseung never dared to even spare a glance in each other's direction for the rest of the night.

───

you laid awake, staring at the ceiling in jay's basement while trying to get comfy on the leather couch that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe. you couldn't sleep. and the reason? none other than your self-proclaimed arch nemesis: lee heeseung.

your friend groups slept on different floors to prevent you and heeseung arguing and waking up the entire house. you slowly got up, attempting and (barely) succeeding to not step on a sleeping figure sprawled on the floor.

as you walk up the stairs from the basement, you hear two people whisper shouting at each other.

you glance at the time displayed on your phone.

a measly 3:16 am stared brightly at you. who's awake at this hour?? as you step closer to the hushed voices, you think you can make out the unmistakeable deepness of riki's voice and heeseung's annoying(ly hot) whispers, tinged with sleep.

"why the fuck would you dare HER of all people to sit on MY lap????" heeseung shouts quietly, clearly frustrated. riki bursts into a fit of giggles. "dude, don't tell me you feel something for her, don't you guys like hate each other?" he says between snide little chuckles.

heeseung freezes. there's no way riki really caught on to what he was supposed to never let slip through the cracks... right?! so he musters up all the dignity he has left and defensively grunts a series of defenses "nowhywouldieverseeherlikethatsheisn'tmytypeandithinkshe'sgross"

riki blankly stares back at heeseung's panicking eyes, "okayyy," he drags the word out, "you don't need to put her down like that, she's like my older sister, dude" riki spits back.

your lips twitch in a small smile, just for a second. just long enough for riki to catch your eyes peeking behind the corner. he nods once, subtle and solid. always in your corner.

but the comfort dies as soon as heeseung opens his mouth.

"i could never love someone like her."

and the world stops.

he says it so casually. almost like it’s a joke. like it's just another throwaway comment tossed between drinks and half-meant insults. but it lands with the weight of something cruelly true — or at least, something you believe he means.

you feel the breath hitch in your throat. just once.

riki's gaze is drawn to your frozen frame. and that's when everything freezes. heeseung whips around to see you standing there. eyes blown and glossy.

riki shifts, but he doesn’t move to try and console you — he knows better. knows this is something that'll bruise. something you need time to process, alone.

you bite back tears. “right,” you say, quietly. “of course.”

heeseung’s expression flickers — confusion, regret, something else — but you’ve already masked the pain. emotion draining from your face like you’ve trained for it. like it’s a sport. like if you stop moving, the hurt will catch up.

“i didn’t mean it like that,” he says, a little too late, a little too soft.

you readjust your posture, fixing your shirt.

“you meant it exactly like that,” you reply, and it’s not even bitter. it’s worse. numb.

riki’s there before heeseung can say anything else. standing between you like a wall. like a shield.

“walk away,” he tells you gently, and you do.

because if you stay, you might ask him why not. and you’re not sure your heart could take the answer.

riki turns back to heeseung, flames he's never seen before burning in the younger boys irises that are normally filled with mischief and teasing glints. but all of a sudden none of that is there anymore. it's pure, unfiltered anger. raw emotion.

heeseung wants him to yell at him. say something, anything. but nothing comes. riki just walks upstairs like he doesn't even know who heeseung is anymore.

and maybe he doesn't.

───

the next morning, when heeseung wakes up, it's almost peaceful. until rain begins to tip tap on the roof and everything comes crashing down. his chest is tight and immediately swells with regret. so much he thinks it'll spill out of him just like the rain outside.

he needs to talk to you. make sure you're okay. but he knows he's the last person you want to see right now. still, he has to try

as he descends down the stairs, he doesn't smell the usual feast jay would prepare them: eggs, bacon, toast, orange juice and cereal for jake since he claims, "it doesn't hurt his tummy," (his words).

he actually doesn't see jake. nor sunghoon, sunoo, jungwon, jay, winter, yuqi, or keeho.

after last nights events, he expected not to see riki as he was probably with you.

how did he go from having the girl of his dreams sitting on his lap, to making her hate him even more?

it's simple, really: he fucked up.

he moves through the house like a ghost — rooms too quiet, air too still. no laughter, no music playing off someone’s phone. just him and the rain.

the basement still has the blanket you’d curled up with last night. your mug — half full. he picks it up, and it’s cold. like him.

he tries to call riki. no answer.

he tries to call you.

it goes straight to voicemail.

he types out a text. deletes it. tries again.

“i didn’t mean what i said. i didn’t mean to hurt you. i'm sorry, y/n”

he stares at it. sends it.

and immediately regrets it. because what if you never answer?

as he packs up all his belongings, ready for the uncomfortable drive home, someone enters the house.

heeseung's heart rate picks up. what if it's you? he bolts down the stairs and is ultimately disappointed when he's met with a very disapproving jay.

they stand across from one another, staring into each others eyes.

heeseung's the first to break. he collapses on the bar stool at the counter and drops his head into his hands like it weighs a ton.

jay just sighs and sits down next to his friend.

"is she okay?" heeseung mumbles, his face buried in his hands.

jay’s jaw tightens. "why do you care?" he snaps. "you sure as hell didn’t last night when you said you could never love someone like her."

the words hit hard — harder than jay intended — and heeseung shatters.

the sobs break out of him like a dam giving way, loud and raw. tears stream down his face, and the sound of it makes jay flinch, caught off guard by how real the pain is. how broken heeseung suddenly looks.

still, jay moves without thinking, reaching out and rubbing slow circles on his friend’s back. it doesn’t fix anything, but it softens the edges of the moment.

they sit there in silence, the storm outside echoing the one inside, as heeseung cries himself hoarse.

by the time he’s able to breathe steadily again, nearly an hour has passed. his eyes are red, his voice barely there. he lifts his head and meets jay’s gaze; tired looking into just as tired.

neither of them says much. there’s no need.

finally, jay sighs and stands. “go grab your stuff,” he says quietly. “you’re in no shape to drive. i’ll take you home.”

heeseung doesn’t argue.

because for once, he knows jay’s right.

───

your phone dings.

dni: i didn't mean what i said. i didn't mean to hurt you. i'm sorry, y/n

you stare at your phone. gaze void of emotion. you've cried out everything you could muster.

you don't even know why heeseung's words echo in your head.

were you really that intolerable to be around? surely you weren't. all of heeseung's friends enjoyed hanging out with you and same with your little group.

so why did hearing your supposed enemy say he could never love someone like you hurt so bad?

you suppose you need to distract yourself from thinking that heeseung's words have any sort of impact on you. and that's when your door swings open. riki, yuqi, winter, keeho, sunghoon, jake, sunoo, and jungwon walk into your apartment with food, video games, board games, coloring books, skincare — everything you needed at the moment.

a break.

a break from your spiraling thoughts and endless questions you didn't want answered.

there's a knock at the door, jay comes in after he dropped heeseung off, with a freshly made cake, red velvet. your favorite.

you don’t move at first.

the warmth of your friends floods the apartment — laughter, chatter, the familiar rustle of takeout bags and the buzz of game controllers syncing. but it feels distant, like you’re underwater, watching from behind a thick pane of glass.

yuqi wraps her arms around you from behind, cheek resting on your shoulder. “we got your favorite pork buns,” she says softly.

you nod. you don’t trust your voice.

riki’s the one who notices your phone still clutched in your hand. screen glowing. that message. his message.

he doesn’t say anything, but he takes the phone from you gently, pressing the lock button, letting the screen fade to black. and you’re grateful. because if you kept staring at it, you might’ve started crying again, and you didn’t think you had anything left in you.

“movie?” sunghoon offers, holding up a stack of dvd's none of you ever returned to the library.

“coloring?” sunoo chirps, already spreading out gel pens across your coffee table.

“face masks?” winter insists, already tearing them open.

you let them distract you. you let them love you in the only way they know how — loudly, messily, unconditionally.

there’s a moment, in the middle of the chaos, when keeho makes a stupid joke and jungwon snorts soda out of his nose, that you laugh. actually laugh.

and then it hits you like whiplash — how easily heeseung could’ve been here. how almost close you came to letting yourself believe there was something soft behind his smirks and eye rolls. how you’d dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, the tension between you wasn’t just one-sided delusion.

but then he said it. “i could never love someone like her.”

and even with the people you love surrounding you, something in your chest hurts. like a bruise that won’t stop blooming.

later, after everyone’s settled into pillows and half-finished coloring pages, riki sits beside you. he doesn’t speak for a long time.

then, quietly, “you don’t have to pretend around me.”

and that’s when your lip trembles. just slightly.

“i don’t know why it hurts this much,” you whisper. “i knew he hated me. i knew. so why do i feel so broken?"

“he didn’t have to say it like that,” riki replies, voice firm. “he didn’t have to break something just because he couldn’t admit he wanted to hold it.”

you nod, finally letting a single tear trail down your cheek. riki wipes it away before it can fall too far.

he squeezes your hand.

“he messed up,” he says. “that’s on him. not you.”

you hold onto that — his words, their presence, the comfort of being chosen and cared for.

and for the first time since last night, you breathe. not easily. not painlessly. but it’s a start.

───

heeseung didn't know how hard it would be to try and get any information about you.

how you were doing, if you were okay. anything

your mutual friends? after hearing how massive he fucked up, they sided with you.

sure, jay, jake, sunghoon, sunoo, and jungwon would text him and hang out with him occasionally, but they wouldn't utter a word about you. most of the time heeseung saw them, it would be for awkward movie nights or when they would game together when none of them could sleep.

when he was alone, his mind ached, his chest twisted in pain, but mostly... his body ached.

he tried to stop it, he knew it was wrong.

but when you sat on his lap, something in him shifted.

sure he knew you were pretty (breathtakingly stunning), but he never imagined something he thought about constantly would ever become reality.

he thought back to those 5 minutes. the tension. surely it couldn't have just been made up in his head, right?

the way your entire body tensed when his hands rested on your hips. normally he wouldn't have touched you, but you were shifting and he needed to stop his growing problem before you noticed.

and thankfully it worked.

however, he was already hard as a brick.

his breath hitched as he remembered the look in your eyes — uncertain, but not scared. curious, maybe? or was he projecting again?

he swallowed hard, his hands now clenched at his sides like if he let them loose, they’d betray him again.

five minutes. that’s all it was. but it looped in his head like a damn broken record.

you hadn’t said a word. but your thighs had tensed. and when he shifted, trying to regain his composure, you hadn't moved away — not immediately, anyway.

maybe it meant nothing. maybe you hadn’t even noticed the way his breath had gone shallow or the way he was holding back like his life depended on it.

but god, his body remembered.

he shifted in his bed now, alone, frustrated, angry at himself. this wasn’t who he was supposed to be. he wasn’t supposed to want this — to want you — not like this. not in silence, not in secrecy, not in pain.

but the damage was already done.

and the worst part?

he wasn’t sure he even wanted to stop anymore.

as he stared at his chase atlantic posters, he thought to himself. any guy would get hard when a pretty girl sits on his lap, right? surely it isn't just because he's a pathetic virgin who's had to lie to his entire friend group about how he "gets around."

soon enough, his thoughts were interrupted by the rapidly increasing ache between his legs.

his hands trembled slightly as they hovered over the tent in his shorts. his breathing was shallow, lips parted, eyes half-lidded as if he were caught in some fever dream he didn’t want to wake up from.

he hated how much he needed this.

how much he needed you.

with a low, strangled groan, he finally gave in, palming himself over the thin fabric. the relief was immediate, but it wasn’t enough — it never was. not when the ache ran deeper than just skin. not when every nerve in his body was screaming for more.

he slipped his hand beneath his waistband, hissing through clenched teeth as his fingers wrapped around his thick length, already twitching with need. he was so hard it hurt, painfully stiff and dripping at the tip, slicking his palm almost instantly.

your name burned on his tongue, but he swallowed it back.

he couldn’t say it. shouldn’t say it.

but in his head, it echoed over and over again. your laugh. your voice. the way you looked at him — or didn’t. the way you moved. god, he remembered everything. he was haunted by it.

he shut his eyes tight and let his hand move — slow at first, starting at his base and dragging his fingers up each vein decorating the sides. his patience wore out quicker than he'd ever admit, starting to move up his length, then down with just enough pressure to make his thighs twitch. he bit his lip, hard, trying to hold in the sounds. but as the memory of you shifting in his lap played behind his eyelids like a cruel fantasy, a soft whimper escaped.

he was losing it.

desperation clawed at him with every stroke, every flex of his hand. his hips lifted off the mattress as his muscles tensed. he imagined your fingers replacing his, your body hovering over his, your breath against his neck.

“please,” he gasped into the dark — not even sure what he was begging for. forgiveness? permission? you?

he pumped harder now, faster, chasing that high like it would save him. his other hand gripped the sheets, knuckles white. he was right on the edge, falling apart with nothing but the echo of your presence and the throb of need coiled deep in his belly.

“i need — fuck, i need you,” he moaned, broken and breathless. his body was hot, slick with sweat, twitching under his own touch.

he could feel it. the band threatening to snap at any moment.

he swirled his fingers around his tip, hitting that spot that made his vision go white. he was close.

all it took to unravel him was an image of you, mouth replacing his hand. trying to fit as much of him into your mouth while he just laid there and took it.

eventually the thought was too much, his seed spilled over his stomach in thick, messy ropes, his fist slowing only when the aftershocks wracked his frame like a wave of guilt and pleasure colliding all at once.

he laid there for a moment, chest heaving, skin flushed and sticky.

and then it hit him.

he still wasn’t satisfied.

because it wasn’t your touch. it wasn’t your voice, your kiss, your heat. it was just his hand and a fantasy he couldn't let go of.

and no matter how many times he did this, no matter how many times he used the memory of you…

it was never going to be enough.

───

you’ve held it together for as long as you could — smiled through movie nights, laughed at keeho’s stupid impressions, even ate something other than ramen yesterday. but it’s all surface level. the moment you're alone again, the cracks split wide open.

there you are, sitting on your couch, drowning in your thoughts.

the faint glow of the streetlamp filters through the windows, further highlighting the text message staring back at you

“i didn’t mean it.”

it replays in your head over and over like a broken record until your vision starts to blur. tears flood your waterline but you make no effort to stop them.

you don’t sob. you just sit there, hurting so quietly it’s almost peaceful.

until it isn’t.

your lip trembles slightly, then it all comes pouring out.

“why? why did you say that? what the fuck. did i do to deserve those words?”

riki hears your quiet words from the bathroom. he comes rushing out, empathy and sadness twirling in his eyes.

“hey, hey, hey, talk to me y/n. yell at me if you need to, yeah?” he says. voice barely above a whisper. all you can choke out is a tiny “no, none of this is your fault.”

riki sits next to you, holding you, trying to piece you back together as if he were the one who broke you.

disrupting the mellow silence lingering in your apartment, there’s a knock at the door.

not wanting the worst case scenario, you answering the door to heeseung, riki gets up and makes his way to where the sound came from.

to both of your dismay, a tired heeseung stands in the doorway.

his hair is messy, dark bags under his usually teasing eyes, looking like he hasn’t slept in days.

he freezes when he sees you. your puffy eyes, shaking hands, the way you curl in on yourself like you’re trying to disappear.

riki steps in front of you, but you give him the signal to back down. you and heeseung can handle this alone. what’s another argument anyways?

as riki walks away, heeseung starts slowly “yn…”

you look at him. and no matter how hard you could have tried, nothing could have stopped you from snapping at him.

“why are you here?” “i had to see you. i had to say–” “you already said enough, heeseung.”

god. the way you say his name. all he’s thought about since you last saw each other was you saying his name. and now, he doesn’t wanna hear it ever again.

he opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.

“do you know what it felt like to hear you say i wasn’t lovable? that someone like me could never be enough for you?”

as if you could read his mind, you shake your head, dismissing whatever he was about to spit out.

with every last ounce of energy you can gather, you scream. “you don’t get to feel sorry now. you made your choice the other night. i knew we had a mutual hatred, or at least some twisted distaste, but i never even thought about saying something like that to you.”

he doesn’t respond right away. just stands there, frozen. then you hear it. soft sniffles. ragged breathing. sobs.

he breaks.

because this is the first time he gets it. really, truly understands what he did. what he said. what it cost you.

“i’m sorry,” he chokes out, voice cracked and barely audible. “truly. what i said last week… i didn’t mean it. even thinking it broke me.”

you stare at him for a long, quiet second. and then you say it — flat, but shaking.

“you broke me first, heeseung.”

his breath catches. your words land like a punch to the gut, because they’re the truth. maybe the first truth spoken between you in a long time.

heeseung, who’s always so calm. so composed. the one who rolls his eyes at everything and makes everything feel like a joke. he’s crumbling in front of you now. not fighting. not defending. just falling apart.

and then it hits you. maybe he’s always been like this.

watching you. listening. never the first to strike, only ever the one to react. maybe he was never the villain in this story.

your breath hitches. maybe, just maybe, you were wrong.

you don’t know why the realization crashes down now. maybe it’s the sound of his sobs. maybe it’s the way the silence has more weight than anything he’s ever said. but something inside you shifts.

and for the first time, you see him — not as the enemy. but as the boy who let you hate him, because he didn’t know how to ask for anything else.

you replay every argument like a tape stuck on rewind. you were always the one who started it.

the snide comments. the sideways glances. the venom you dressed up as jokes.

heeseung never really fought back. he always matched your energy, sure, but he never escalated it. never crossed a line. not until that night.

your chest tightens. you realize you don’t even remember what the first fight was about. some hallway bump? a misunderstood glance? maybe it was never about anything. maybe it was just you, projecting every piece of your brokenness onto the only person who saw through it and stayed.

god, had he always stayed?

you remember in elementary school, how he used to bring you extra snacks when you forgot lunch. how he gave you his hoodie that one time you were shivering during morning assembly, even after you’d spent the entire week roasting him in front of your friends.

you remember the way his gaze always lingered—not in a way that felt invasive, but like he was always checking. watching over you without saying a word.

and now here he is. slumped into his knees. back pressed against the wall, crying over you.

you were so busy building walls with your bitterness that you didn’t notice it was slowly breaking him.

the quiet way he tried to reach over them.

you sink to the floor across from him, not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the weight of everything between you.

for a long moment, you don’t speak. neither does he. you just breathe in the silence together — like it’s the only language you both understand.

“i didn’t know how to stop hating you,” you whisper, voice catching. “because if i stopped… i think i would’ve started needing you.”

heeseung lifts his head. eyes red, lashes wet.

“i already did,” he says. “i never stopped.”

your heart fractures in a way that doesn’t feel sharp, just tired. heavy.

“i don’t know what to do with that,” you admit.

“you don’t have to do anything,” he murmurs. “not tonight.”

you nod. once. then you help him get up. both your legs feel numb, but you walk him towards the door. your hand rests on the handle, taking a second to look up at him. really look at him, and you’re tempted to say something.

but instead, you give him the quietest thing you can offer: a small, broken sort of smile. not quite forgiveness. not quite goodbye.

then, he steps out into the night. and just like that, the quietness of everything settling in takes over. no more lies. just the truth.

as you’re deep in thought, riki walks in with two mugs of hot chocolate — extra marshmallows, your favorite.

-ˏˋ⋆ 3 years ago ⋆ˊˎ-

it’s a chilly summer night. you and riki are sprawled out on the roof of his parents' house, the shingles warm beneath your backs from the day’s lingering sun. crickets hum below. the stars blink overhead, careless and constant.

you shift slightly, seeking warmth, and without a word, riki lifts his arm. you curl into the space beside him, head on his shoulder, fingers tucked into the sleeve of his hoodie. his arm settles around you like it belongs there.

“do you think we’ll ever feel like this again?” you murmur. “peaceful. like nothing’s wrong.”

he hums low in his chest. “you mean without chaos or boys who don’t deserve you?”

you let out a breath, half a laugh. “exactly.”

there’s a pause, the kind that feels thick with unspoken things.

riki’s voice is soft when he finally speaks. “i think… the people who make you feel heavy, like you're constantly questioning yourself, that’s not love, y/n. that’s something else.”

you turn your face slightly to look up at him. he’s gazing at the stars like he’s afraid of admitting he craves the one thing he’s always sworn to never care about.

“love should never hurt,” he says, quieter this time. “not the kind that stays.”

you don’t say anything right away. you’re too busy memorizing the way the night folds around his words. the way he’s always been a comfort for you, the one to pick you up when you’re falling.

and in that moment, you believe him. you really do.

you nod once. “then i hope… when it’s my turn, it feels like this. safe.”

riki swallows. “me too.”

-ˏˋ⋆ present time ⋆ˊˎ-

and now, back in your bedroom, the silence left in heeseung’s absence is deafening.

your gaze flicks toward the window, rain still threading down the glass like tear tracks. your mind lingers on that rooftop — the stars, the safety, the version of you who still believed in soft things.

before all the hook-ups, parties, and one-sided confessions.

you pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders and whisper. either to riki or yourself, you don’t know.

“you said love should never hurt. i think heeseung missed that memo.”

and god, how you wish you could go back to that night — before the spiral, before the ache.

before the boy who made you feel like an afterthought.

before you let yourself fall over someone you thought you didn’t care about.

riki leaves after making sure you’re alright, mumbling something about dance practice.

and again, it’s just you. in the quiet.

then, almost without thinking, you rip a blank piece of paper out of your journal.

you don’t plan it. it’s just instinct — fingers gripping your pen, waiting for permission your heart hasn’t quite given. but then you start writing.

dear heeseung,

i hated you before i knew how badly i could want you. maybe that’s where it all went wrong. because at some point, i stopped seeing you as the boy who annoyed me and started seeing you as someone i wanted to understand. as someone i wanted to look at me and see me. and for a while, i thought maybe you did. i thought maybe the way you pulled me into your lap, the way you whispered near my ear, the way your hand rested on my waist — i thought maybe it meant something. i thought i was stupid for hating you. turns out i was just stupid for hoping. you said you could never love someone like me. and god, that broke something in me i didn’t know was still whole. because even when i told myself i hated you, there was always that small, traitorous part of me that wondered: what if he doesn’t hate me back? what if it’s more? but it wasn’t. and now i can’t unhear it. you probably didn’t even mean it — not in the way it came out. maybe it was fear, or pressure, or ego. but it doesn’t matter, does it? words don’t get erased just because we didn’t mean them. they echo. and yours… yours are still echoing inside me like a song i can’t shut off. i don’t think i’m mad at you anymore. i think i’m mad at myself. for letting you get close. for not guarding the parts of me i only let out in small doses. for thinking i was different to you. i wish you hadn’t said it. but mostly, i wish it hadn’t mattered so much to me that you did. – y/n

you take out an envelope, neatly fold the paper and stuff it inside, writing a neat ‘heeseung’ on the front of it.

some truths aren’t meant to be sent. some confessions are only meant for the rain to witness.

and tonight, that’s enough.

───

the second the door shuts behind him, the silence hits like a punch to the ribs.

heeseung stands there for a second too long, staring at the wood grain of your door like it might open again. like maybe you’ll come running after him. like maybe that small, broken smile you gave him wasn’t the end.

but it doesn’t open.

and it was the end.

he starts walking. he doesn’t even remember moving his feet, just that suddenly he’s outside, and the rain greets him like an old friend. cold, sharp, unforgiving. it soaks through his hoodie in seconds, but he doesn’t flinch.

he deserves it. every drop. every chill. every echo of your voice in his head.

“not quite forgiveness. not quite goodbye.”

god, what did he do?

how did he take someone who was literally sitting in his lap, trusting him with the fragile thread of something real — and turn that into this? this mess of silence and space and words he can’t take back?

“i could never love someone like her.”

he had said it so carelessly. so cruelly. trying to deflect the attention off himself in front of your friends, like a coward. like a boy who still thinks protecting his ego is worth more than protecting a heart.

especially your heart.

he wipes his face with the back of his hand, unsure if it’s tears or rain. it’s probably both.

he thinks back to your eyes right before he left. the way you looked at him like he was someone you used to know. like whatever thread was between you had finally snapped.

and the worst part?

he couldn’t even beg you to stay.

because he knows — he knows — he doesn’t deserve it.

he walks home in silence, the city around him buzzing and breathing like it doesn’t care at all about the wreckage inside his chest. his phone buzzes a few times in his pocket, probably jay or jungwon checking if he made it back safely.

but none of it matters.

because there’s only one person he wants to hear from.

and you’ve already said everything you needed to say. in the way you didn’t ask him to stay. in the way you didn’t cry. in the way you simply closed the door.

so when heeseung finally steps into his apartment, soaked to the bone, trembling from more than just the cold, he collapses on his bed, stares at the ceiling, and whispers:

“i didn’t mean it. i swear i didn’t mean it.”

but there’s no one left to listen.

not tonight.

───

heeseung isn’t the center of your world anymore.

not in the way he used to be.

in the weeks that follow, your friends become your anchor. riki never leaves your side. winter brings over matcha lattes and blankets. sunoo paints your nails while jake tells bad jokes. you laugh again. slowly, but surely.

you start writing more letters.

some are angry. some are soft. some are nothing more than wordless scratches of ink on paper.

but one night, you write a letter that feels different.

you don’t even realize what you’re saying until it’s already down:

i wanted you. for a long time. maybe even when i said i hated you. maybe that was the only way i knew how to say it without crumbling. i masked want with rage. affection with sarcasm. love with loathing. you made it easier to run. but i wanted to stay. god, i wanted to stay.

you fold that letter gently. tuck it into your drawer. it doesn’t matter if he reads it. not now.

because healing isn’t about him.

it’s about you.

and you’re getting there.

lately, the weekends have felt lighter. your apartment has become a familiar gathering place again, only now, it’s just the people who stayed. who showed up. who chose you. heeseung hasn’t come around in weeks, and no one really talks about it. not in a cruel way, just in the quiet, understanding way that friendships shift when someone slips out of the picture.

you used to dread saturday nights, used to flinch every time the group chat lit up with plans. used to wonder if he’d show up, if you’d have to spend the night pretending not to notice the weight of his silence, the way your laughter dulled around him. but somewhere along the way, those nights started to feel easier. not because you stopped missing him — but because you started remembering how to miss him without hurting yourself in the process.

your living room is alive with warmth and laughter. the scent of popcorn and mango smoothies drifts through the air. blankets are piled high on the couch, soft pillows strewn across the floor where riki is dramatically throwing himself down after losing yet another round of mario kart to sunghoon, who’s grinning like he just won the olympics.

“cheater,” riki groans, pointing an accusing finger without lifting his head.

“just admit i’m better,” sunghoon replies smugly, stretching his legs across the coffee table like he owns the place.

in the corner, winter and yuqi are dancing barefoot to a chaotic mix of early 2000s pop and indie throwbacks — somehow still synced up to choreography you’d all made up back in sophomore year. their laughter is contagious, unfiltered and bright, and it tugs a smile onto your face before you even realize it.

keeho is halfway through teaching jungwon and sunoo a tiktok dance in the kitchen doorway, voice loud and arms flailing with exaggerated energy. they’re laughing too hard to get the moves right, collapsing into each other every time they mess up. jake, unfazed by the chaos, is blending something suspiciously green in the kitchen, wearing a headband that reads “chef vibes only.”

you’re curled up on the loveseat, blanket wrapped around your shoulders, a half-finished smoothie in your hands. and for once, you’re not scanning the room for him. you’re not wondering what he’d say or how he’d look at you or if tonight would be the night he pulled you aside and finally said something real.

you’re just… here. and it’s enough.

someone throws a pillow at your head, probably riki, based on the cackling, and you lunge to retaliate, laughing as the pillow war erupts across the living room. it’s messy, loud, ridiculous. and it’s yours. this little world you’re rebuilding, one laugh, one night, one breath at a time.

there’s still a part of you that misses him. maybe there always will be. but tonight, that part is small. quiet.

outnumbered by joy.

meanwhile, heeseung is alone in his apartment.

the place is dim. quiet. it hasn’t felt like home in a long time. he's been staring at his phone for an hour now, hoping for a text that doesn’t come.

he thinks about the group chat. the silence from everyone. he thinks about the night he ruined everything. and how, somehow, he still wants to fix it.

he knows an apology isn’t enough. not this time.

he needs to show you, all of you, that he’s not the same guy who let his fear speak louder than his heart.

he just doesn’t know how yet.

but he will. he has to.

because he doesn’t just want forgiveness.

he wants to deserve it.

───

somewhere in the chaos, one of your unsent letters goes missing.

riki finds it by accident. tucked under a cushion, edges worn. he doesn't mean to read it, but your handwriting draws him in, and before he knows it, he's holding your heartbreak in his hands.

he doesn't say a word. just slips it into his pocket and walks away.

a day later, heeseung finds the letter folded on the seat of his car.

he doesn’t recognize the paper at first. but the second he sees your handwriting, his heart drops.

his hands shake as he unfolds it. the silence around him is so loud, he can hear his pulse in his ears.

and then he reads it.

every word. every line. every raw, aching truth you never meant for him to see.

i thought maybe the way you pulled me into your lap, the way you whispered near my ear, the way your hand rested on my waist — i thought maybe it meant something. turns out i was just stupid for hoping. you said you could never love someone like me. and god, that broke something in me i didn’t know was still whole.

heeseung sits there, completely still. letter trembling in his grip.

"fuck," he whispers. "fuck."

he shows up to the next group hangout like his life depends on it.

he doesn’t talk to anyone. not really. not until you walk in.

you freeze when you see him. part of you wants to turn around and leave.

but he doesn’t let you.

he stands. crosses the room.

"can we talk?" he asks, voice low, not demanding, but pleading.

you don’t say anything.

"please. just five minutes. if you still hate me after, i’ll leave you alone. forever."

there’s a long pause.

you nod.

he takes you outside, away from the noise, into the quiet night.

"i read it," he says.

you blink. "read what?"

he reaches into his jacket and pulls out the letter. your letter.

your stomach drops.

"i wasn’t supposed to see it, i know. but... i’m glad i did."

"heeseung—"

"no. let me say this. please."

his eyes are desperate. glassy. his words shaky.

"i lied. that night. i said that because i was scared. because i felt too much, too fast, and didn’t know what to do with it. i thought if i pushed you away, i could kill whatever it was before it killed me."

he takes a step closer.

"but you weren’t just someone i hated. not really. you were someone i couldn’t stop thinking about. you were the highlight of every party, every night, every moment. i was an idiot. but i never stopped wanting you."

your throat is tight.

"you broke me," you whisper.

he nods.

"i know. and i’ll spend every second proving to you that i’m sorry. not with words — with time. with actions. with everything you’ll let me give."

there’s silence.

then you take a breath.

"you’ve got a lot to prove, lee heeseung."

he gives the smallest, hopeful smile.

"then let me start now."

and he does.

not with fireworks. not with promises he can’t keep. but with the small things. the consistent things.

the next morning, there’s a text from him. simple.

“did you sleep okay?”

you stare at it for a while before replying.

“yeah. you?”

“not really. kept thinking about you.”

you don’t answer that. but your heart stirs anyway.

a few days later, he’s waiting outside your class with a drink in his hand, the one he used to make fun of you for ordering (“that’s basically sugar and foam, y/n”), but now buys without hesitation. he doesn’t try to walk you home. doesn’t push. just hands you the drink, offers a soft “you looked tired,” and walks away before you can respond.

he lets you come to him.

at the next hangout, he doesn’t hover. doesn’t sulk. he helps jake in the kitchen, jokes with jungwon, lets the others tease him without biting back. when you walk in, his eyes find you — but he doesn’t pull you aside. just offers a quiet, careful smile. like he’s waiting. like he’s learning how to stay.

one night, you’re struggling with your laundry, balancing way too many bags and a basket of unfolded clothes, and he appears without a word, grabbing half the load from your arms. you glare at him, but you don’t tell him to stop.

he walks with you to the laundry room, helps you separate colors, folds your towels when you’re too tired to finish. “i owe you way more than this,” he says softly. you don’t look at him. “yeah,” you murmur. “you do.”

he doesn’t reply. just keeps folding.

you start to notice it more after that. the way he lingers behind after group dinners to help clean. the way he listens, really listens, when you talk, even if it’s just about the books you’re reading or the music you’ve been into lately. the way he starts learning your rhythms again, not to manipulate them, but to respect them.

one night, you find a note slipped into your bag.

“this isn’t about getting you back. it’s about being someone who deserves to stand beside you. i don’t expect anything from you. just… thanks for letting me try.”

you don’t know what to do with that. but you keep the note anyway.

and maybe the biggest moment doesn’t feel big at all. it’s late. you’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, overwhelmed with everything—assignments, memories, feelings you’ve tried to ignore—and he shows up.

he doesn’t say anything. just sits beside you. close, but not too close. his shoulder brushes yours. your hand trembles. and without looking at you, he says, “you don’t have to talk. just let me sit here.”

and you do.

because he’s not trying to fix you. he’s just showing up. and maybe that’s what love looks like now.

quiet. patient. real.

you don’t forgive him all at once.

but some nights, it’s harder to pretend you don’t want to.

like the night it rains, and you forget your umbrella. you’re standing under the campus archway, clutching your books to your chest, half-considering just running for it, when a quiet voice says, “hey.”

you turn. heeseung’s holding out his umbrella, expression unreadable, hair already wet from the walk over.

“you’ll get soaked,” you mumble, surprised. “i don’t mind,” he says. “but you hate the rain.”

you want to tell him to leave. want to remind him that knowing those things doesn’t mean he’s forgiven.

but instead, you step under the umbrella. shoulder to shoulder. hearts too close. you don’t say a word the whole walk home. but you remember how he always matched his pace to yours. he still does.

───

there’s another time. movie night.

everyone’s over again, sprawled across the living room. you end up between yuqi and jungwon on the couch, but at some point, someone moves, and when you shift, you realize you’re next to him. again.

the movie plays. people whisper and pass snacks and argue over the plot twist. but all you feel is the space between your knee and his. the ghost of warmth where your arms nearly brush.

you don’t move away. neither does he.

and at one point, you laugh at a stupid scene. without thinking, you glance at him, wanting to see if he found it funny too. he’s already looking at you. and for a second, everything stills.

you look away first. but your heart doesn't stop racing for a long, long time.

───

the third moment is softest of all.

it’s late. everyone’s left. you’re cleaning up alone, stacking plates in the kitchen.

you don’t hear him come back until he’s beside you, rolling up his sleeves.

“thought i’d help,” he says gently. you nod. don’t speak.

you’re both quiet for a while, working in sync. something about it feels… familiar. domestic. like home.

then, as you’re drying the last cup, you glance over. he’s watching you, and there’s something in his eyes. something tender. careful. full of things he hasn’t said yet.

“i miss you,” he says softly.

your breath catches.

you set the cup down.

“heeseung–”

“i’m not asking for anything,” he interrupts, voice thick. “just… i miss you. and i wanted you to know.”

you swallow hard. there’s so much you could say. but instead, you whisper, “i know.”

he nods once. and then he leaves. because he meant it — he wasn’t asking for anything. but that’s the moment you know: you don’t hate him anymore. you never did.

───

it happens a week later.

a rooftop. stars overhead. winter’s birthday, most of your friends are tipsy on alcohol, sugar and too many karaoke songs. you haven’t had a drop of alcohol, wanting to truly feel everything.

heeseung finds you leaning against the railing, eyes on the sky.

“hey,” he says. you nod and let him stand beside you.

the silence isn’t awkward anymore. it’s soft. steady.

“can i ask you something?” he says, barely audible.

you hum.

“do you still feel it?” he asks. “whatever it was… whatever we had.”

you don’t answer for a long time.

and then, quietly… “i never really stopped.”

he turns. slowly.

your eyes meet. and in them is every apology he’s ever whispered with his actions. every moment he gave you space. every time he showed up when he didn’t have to.

you reach for him first.

your hand brushes his. his fingers curl around yours like a prayer.

and then, finally, he kisses you.

soft. aching. full of every unspoken word, every almost, every could’ve been. this isn’t the kind of kiss that demands anything. it’s a promise. a beginning.

you pull back first, just enough to whisper, “i don’t wanna do this while you’re intoxicated, i don’t want you to regret it.”

he stares at you before mumbling into your lips.

“y/n, i haven’t had a drink, but it feels like i’m drunk when i kiss you.”

your heart stops and everything fades into the background. “don’t break me again.” you plead, face inches away from his.

he presses his forehead to yours.

“never again,” he breathes.

and this time, you believe him.

as he reconnects your lips, his hands tremble slightly where they find purchase on your waist. the night air is cool, but your skin is burning—flushed, alive, and aching in a way you haven’t let yourself feel in so long.

he pulls back just enough to look at you. his eyes flick between yours and your lips, like he’s still not sure this is real.

“we don’t have to,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “just say the word.”

but you don’t want him to stop. not tonight. not after everything.

so you slide your fingers into the collar of his jacket, tug him closer until your lips brush his again.

“take me home, heeseung.”

and he does.

his apartment is quiet when you get inside, the chaos of the earlier party gone, the night still humming with something electric. you barely have time to kick your shoes off before his mouth finds yours again. hungrier now, more desperate. like all the restraint he’s shown is unraveling, thread by thread.

his hands are everywhere — your hips, your waist, your jaw. like he’s relearning you. memorizing the weight of you against him.

you tug his jacket off, fingers fumbling with the zipper, and he lets out a low, breathless laugh against your neck.

“still impatient,” he teases.

“still hot when you shut up,” you shoot back, and he groans.

you barely make it to the couch.

he sits first, pulling you into his lap like it’s instinct, like he’s needed this for months. your knees straddle him, bodies pressed chest to chest, your hands tangled in his hair as he kisses you like he’s starving for it.

he tilts his head, deepens the kiss, and it’s filthy. slow. wet. your hips roll against his without thinking, and the noise he makes, low and guttural, goes straight to your core.

“fuck,” he groans. forehead against your collarbone. “you’re gonna kill me.”

you arch into him, tug his shirt over his head, and he follows suit, fingers slipping under the hem of yours, eyes flicking up for permission. you nod, and he peels it off slowly, reverently, like unwrapping something precious.

his hands trail over your skin like he’s trying to remember what it feels like to deserve you.

and then his mouth is on your neck, your shoulder, trailing down until you’re gasping his name, your back arching as he presses kisses across your collarbones.

“you’re so beautiful,” he whispers, like it hurts.

as you reach for his belt wanting to make him feel good, he puts his hand over yours. “there’s something i need to tell you.. before we take anything further.” he says like he doesn’t even want you to know.

“what is it, hee?”

god. that nickname.

it’s what all his close friends call him, however when you say it. he wants to lay the world at your feet.

“i’m.. uh– a vir-virgin…” he mumbles. you would have missed it had you not been paying close attention.

you laugh.

heeseung leans back into the couch, hoping, praying, wishing it to swallow him whole.

as you observe heeseung, you realize he must be serious. “you’re a virgin? but you– you always used to talk about your hook-ups and how every week it was like you had someone new hanging off your arm??? what do you mean you’re a virgin?”

he whimpers. he fucking whimpers. “i’m not proud of it, okay? i always came really close to hooking up with girls but i um. i couldn’t you know.. get it… up.”

you sit there quietly, giving him time to compose himself and continue.

“everytime i tried to lose my virginity, i couldn’t get hard unless i thought she was you,” he speaks, not gaining enough courage to look you in the eyes.

you stare at heeseung for a moment, trying to process what he just said. the weight of it settles between you like a delicate secret, and suddenly the playful teasing tone you’d had before feels completely inappropriate.

you can see it in his doe eyes — how embarrassed he is, how much he wants to crawl out of his own skin. the corners of his lips are tugged in a tight line, as if holding in every emotion that threatens to spill out. but you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face. it’s soft, gentle, but laced with a teasing warmth.

“you’re a virgin?” you ask, letting the words linger a little longer than they should, pretending to be surprised as if he hadn’t just told you, twice.

heeseung’s face reddens, and you see him shrink further into the couch. you could almost feel his desire to hide, to escape. but you don’t let him. instead, you move closer, shifting between his legs, and place your hand on his thigh. a gentle, reassuring pressure.

“god, heeseung,” you tease softly, your lips curling into a smile that isn’t cruel, but playful. “how could you keep that from me? you’ve been all… big talk and ‘i get all the girls,’ and here you are, this nervous little thing, blushing at the thought of being with me?”

his eyes flicker with uncertainty, but you lean in just enough to press your lips to his ear. you feel him tense under the touch, and the subtle shiver runs through his body, telling you everything you need to know. he’s not as confident as he makes it seem.

“you should’ve told me sooner, you know,” you whisper, your voice low, just enough to make his breath hitch. “i would’ve been patient. we could’ve taken it slow.”

heeseung groans softly, his hands gripping the fabric of the couch like he’s holding onto some semblance of control. you smile knowingly, watching the struggle on his face. but it’s not discomfort — it’s desire. you can feel it in the way his eyes refuse to leave yours, in the way his body reacts to the gentleness in your touch.

“i… i don’t want you to think less of me,” he mutters, barely audible, but you catch it anyway. “it’s just… with you, it’s always felt different.”

you gently trace your fingers up his chest, watching as his breath quickens. you’re giving him space to breathe, to process, and then you lean in, brushing your lips against his in a soft, teasing kiss.

“stop worrying about that,” you say quietly, your lips just barely touching his. “i don’t think less of you. if anything, you’re hotter right now than ever before.”

the vulnerability in his eyes shifts. he’s still nervous, but the weight is lifting. and for the first time in a while, you see him start to believe that he doesn’t need to hide anything from you.

then, you shift your focus, teasing him once more with a playful grin. “but you know, heeseung… i could help you with that. we could take this slow, maybe help you get comfortable with what it feels like to be with me. you trust me, don’t you?”

he nods, slowly, not trusting his voice. he’s ready. maybe more than he thought.

and you take that as your cue. you kiss him again, deeper this time, letting the heat between you grow. his body responds to you almost immediately. hands shifting from nervous to eager, pulling you closer as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

“let me take care of you,” you murmur, your hands trailing down to his belt. this time, you don’t hesitate. you undo it slowly, giving him time to react, but he doesn’t stop you. instead, he leans back into the couch, chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.

heeseung’s eyes search yours one more time, a silent question in them. you nod gently, giving him permission to be vulnerable, to trust you fully.

and when your hands pull his pants down, you can feel the heat of him, see the evidence of his desire. you take your time, enjoying the way he reacts to each touch, savoring the way he trembles under your hands.

you start by rubbing over his bulge when your eyes widen.

he just stares back at you, not blinking, but incredibly nervous. “is– is something wrong?” he stutters out.

“wrong? no, heeseung. you’re huge.”

he blushes and hides his face in his hands. his veiny hands. you’ll definitely need to put those to use later.

you softly drag his hands away from his face and tell him to never hide from you. you think he’s beautiful like this.

after he calms down, you look back into his eyes that resemble a deer, and he nods. signaling you to continue.

you finally trail your eyes down to his raging hard on, you can almost see it pulse.

his breath quickens the longer you take to begin touching him.

you start by teasing his swollen tip, arousal evident in the stain on his gray boxers. he sighs heavily, tipping his head back.

as you rub your hand down to his base, you get a feel for how thick he truly is.

he’s hard. aching. even at the slightest touch, his eyebrows furrow and he holds back soft groans.

you rip your hand off his clothed bulge. “if you want me to continue, you need to let me hear you, baby.”

that was his breaking point, he quickly nods his head yes looking at you with pleading eyes, “c—can you please touch me? it hurts.”

not wanting to tease him any longer, you rip his boxers off his thighs and his throbbing length slaps against his lower abdomen reaching just above his belly button. precum smears on his abs and you get the urge to lick it off.

so you do.

you gently move his dick away from his toned stomach, swiping your wet muscle along his abs, sucking to leave light marks.

the noises he makes are downright pornographic, and you think you’ll never be able to hear them enough.

moving your attention back to the hardness in your grasp, you begin to lick up his shaft, tracing each vein with the tip of your tongue. his head is still tipped back, frustrating you a bit because you want his attention on you.

so… in one swift motion, you take him down your throat until his tip hits the back. his head shoots up and he moans. loud.

heeseung is in heaven. the feeling of your throat constricting around his cock, he never wants you to pull off of him. he gently pulls your hair into a ponytail, hands shaking when you start moving.

his apartment is filled with filthy noises: wet, loud, and obscene.

he can hear and feel your gag reflexes kicking in but you don’t budge. you continue to move up and down, not wanting to stop until he cums.

his tipping point was you somehow taking him even further down your throat, nose brushing his pelvis. he thought you were going to take a break for air but you didn't.

you stay.

swallowing around him.

the pressure in your jaw is almost unbearable but when you feel his thighs shaking, you know he’s close. and you need to ruin him.

hollowing your cheeks, you swirl your tongue around his engorged tip, hands coming up to play with his heavy balls. he can’t hold back anymore. the sensation of you taking his whole cock down your tiny throat and the stimulation of his balls in your hands. he groans.

desperate. low. deep

and spills down your throat. warm, wet, and sticky ropes, pour out of his tip. taking up all the space you had left, some spilling out from the corners of your mouth.

you swallow all that you can, then pull off from his dick.

heavy breathing is the only thing that can be heard. heeseung threw an arm over his eyes, chest heaving, trying to regain control of his senses.

meanwhile, you haven’t stopped clenching your thighs together.

you didn’t even notice you were staring until he clears his throat. he just looks so gorgeous all fucked out.

“wow. did you– swallow.. it?” he asks through pants.

you answer him like it was the most natural thing in the world, “yeah, because it was you”

he moans, again. and that’s when you notice he’s still hard, still aching.

as you move to straddle his lap, he grabs your thighs and wraps your legs around his waist. “not here, i want our first time to be special” he says softly, with a kiss to your temple.

he carries you to his bedroom on wobbly legs and gently lays you down on his bed, hovering on top of you. he plants wet kisses all over your face, trailing down to your neck, collarbones, until he reaches your covered chest.

looking at you with big, lust filled eyes, he waits for your green light. you nod and he fumbles with your bra clasp, eventually tearing the fabric away.

“you’re stunning,” he says completely awestruck by your half-naked form.

as he continues staring, he licks his lips, slowly lowering his head wrapping his soft lips around one of your perky buds.

you instinctively arch into his touch, one of his hands wrapping around your waist as his other hand gently kneads your other boob. soft gasps and whines slip from your lips as you try to grind up in search of any friction where you need it most.

he senses your desperate pleas and starts moving his body to slot between your legs, face in front of your clothed core. you wiggle your hips trying to convince him to speed up and touch you where you need it the most.

“can i…?” he practically begs, “yeah” you sigh as you relax into his plush sheets. he drags your sweats down your soft legs planting kisses along the inside of your thighs, all the way down to your calves. he makes his way to your panty clad pussy, pressing a soft kiss to your bundle of nerves aching for him.

you don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on before.

he looks so good between your thighs, you want this image ingrained into your brain forever.

he brings his thumb up to press on the wet spot that’s formed on your panties, groaning, “fuck, you’re so wet.”

“all for you.”

he replays those words in his head and his patience snaps. tearing your underwear in half, he wastes no time. tongue lapping and the wetness between your legs, like he’s been deprived of any liquid all his life.

you’ve never met someone this desperate to eat you out. or anyone for that matter.

he mumbles against your core, “guide me, please, wan’ you t’feel good, mmh.”

your hands take place in his silky soft roots, gently tugging on the strands.

through whimpers, you tell him to focus on your clit, and surprisingly (for a virgin), he finds it fairly quickly.

he briefly sucks on the nub, flicking it with his tongue to soothe it. “fuck, hee” you moan out into the space of his bedroom.

he groans against your pussy, carefully bringing up his fingers so he can push his tongue into your awaiting hole. the moment he starts fucking you with his tongue, you arch your back and grind into his face, needing more.

he heard his friends talking about “prep” and “stretching girls out,” so he wonders if you need to be stretched out to take him. you said he was huge, did you mean it? he has no idea, he’s a pathetic virgin who has only shoved his dick into his right hand. not even a pocket pussy or fleshlight.

to your dismay, he pulls away for a brief second asking if he should use his fingers. “please, i need you to stretch me out, i can’t– take you without prep,” you rush out feeling your high not far away.

“shit, okay baby,” he mutters back before bringing his middle finger up to spread your juices around.

your hips jerk up when he focuses on your clit, surprised by the stimulation.

slowly, he pushes his finger in, getting used to the warm sensation of your walls.

you clench around his thick digit, feeling fuller than when you finger yourself. as he pumps it in and out, you tell him to add another one and he does.

moaning in relief, you arch into his touch as his tongue finds its way back to your sensitive clit.

between him lapping like a dog and the feeling of two of his fingers pumping in and out of your tight hole, you feel a familiar band in your stomach building up.

your moans increase and heeseung feels dizzy, taking in all that you give.

he curves his fingers all while sucking on your bundle of nerves, causing you to tip over the edge and that band in your stomach to snap.

you come crashing down, chanting his name like a mantra as heeseung helps you ride out your high.

as you lift your head and meet his gaze, he looks more fucked out than you do. hooded eyes, tongue lolled out of his mouth, gaze consumed with lust. you pull him by the collar of his shirt until your lips collide in a mess of tongues and teeth.

your makeout session unfortunately doesn’t last long as heeseung starts whining into your lips.

that’s when you realize his cock found your bent knee, not so subtly grinding against it, trying to relieve some of the ache.

“feeling needy, are we?” you tease, earning a playful roll of the eyes from heeseung.

pulling back, you drink in his bare torso– he’s always been muscular as he was very popular with the ladies (until he got into bed with them).

dragging your hand up his chiseled abs, his stomach tenses and his dick twitches.

you found his second biggest weakness, besides you. his abs.

deciding to end the teasing there, since you’re also becoming increasingly impatient, you flip him over so you land on top of him with a quiet, “oof.”

as you settle your bare core on his rock solid cock, you start grinding, placing your hands on his chest for support.

he can’t hold back the guttural groans spilling from his mouth. not believing you’re really on top of him right now. this isn’t just one of his wet dreams.

he thought this couldn’t get any better, but when he struggles to get out a weak ask for a condom, you just respond with “no, i’m– on the pill. need to feel you. all of you.”

and to that, he moans, not believing his ears.

it’s his first time. and he’s about to have sex with YOU. raw. he thinks he’s dreaming. there’s no way you’re real.

you gently angle his dick towards your awaiting hole, sinking down until his fat tip is inside you.

instantly, you both sigh in relief, starting to feel the pressure ease up.

if you feel a stretch at his tip entering you, you don’t know how you’re supposed to fit all of him inside you. he’s the biggest you’ve seen and he doesn’t even know it.

your attention is drawn back to the man consuming your brain when he whines. “m-more, please.” he’s becoming needier the longer you stay at just his tip but you don’t know how to tell him you’ve never taken a size like him before.

“hee-heeseung i need a sec, you’re– fuck. so thick,” you say between moans.

his grip on your hips tightens, a silent way of telling you to take your time.

when you finally deem yourself ready, you sink lower, wanting to speed it up, bracing the stretch to come.

you feel him pulsing inside you and that’s all you need to sink all the way down, him bottoming out inside you.

it’s his first time feeling anything other than his hand wrapped around him, and he whimpers, loud. it’s overstimulating in the best way possible and before he knows it you move up to his tip and bounce back down. his dick twitches and you feel it. every vein, every pulse, every movement, even his heavy breathing.

heeseung, not in control of his movements, bucks his hips up, making another non-existent inch fit inside your stretched out core.

you moan soft and loud, eyes rolling back, as the pain turned into pleasure. bouncing faster on his girthy cock, you uncontrollably clench around him, causing heeseung’s grip to tighten. you know it’ll bruise tomorrow, but at the moment, he feels too good for you to care.

the room smells of sex, and the only sounds that can be heard are skin clapping and your shared noises.

heeseung must notice your legs becoming tired because before you know it, you’re flat on your back with heeseung on top of you, cock never slipping out from your pussy.

his large hands grab each of your thighs, pressing them to your chest.

his pace is slow at first, testing the waters, getting a feel for a rhythm.

as his hands stay pressed to your thighs, he slowly drags out and pushes all of his dick inside you.

you feel him deeper in this position, a bulge forming in your lower belly.

when he notices, his eyes stay glued there.

you wonder what he’s looking at but the moment you look down, you’re met with his hand pressing slightly on the bulge causing the loudest moan to leave your lips.

he signals you to hold your thighs as one of his hands holds himself up and the other focuses on how he can feel his dick inside your guts with every thrust.

his pace suddenly quickens when you clench hard around him, making his hips stutter briefly.

endless praises leave his pretty lips, telling you how good you feel, how hot you look laid underneath him, taking whatever he gives you.

feeling a familiar, yet new sensation building rapidly, you try to warn him that you’re close but somehow, he already knows. “i know baby, let go whenever you want.” he mutters back, feeling just as close to his high.

“fuck– where do you want it?” he rushes out, not wanting to cum inside you if that isn’t what you want.

but apparently, all the gods are smiling down on him as you release your thighs from the grip you had on them and wrap your legs around his waist. “inside,” you moan.

and at that, he cums. hard. ropes of his hot, gooey, cum spill inside you. tipping you over the edge.

with a loud groan, clear liquid comes rushing out from you, spraying all over his sheets and lower abdomen. soaking his dick.

heeseung moans. again. raw and unfiltered at the fact that you just squirted all over him (he’s seen enough porn and heard too many stories from your shared friend group to know what squirting is).

as you come down from your high, heeseung is somehow still cumming. it spills out of you, creating an even stickier mess on his bed. but he doesn’t care.

not when you’re beneath him, chest rising rapidly, trying to catch your breath.

heeseung’s cock is still lodged inside you, holding half of his cum inside you, not wanting it to go to waste.

as he collapses on top of you, he places a soft kiss on your forehead, holding your trembling body close to his.

you were the first to speak, “i didn’t even know i could do that,” talking about how you squirted all over him. “guess we both had firsts today,” he softly chuckles.

his breath is warm against your skin, his arm tightening just a little around your waist as if anchoring himself in the moment. you don’t respond right away, too caught up in the quiet thrum of your heartbeat, the lingering warmth between you, the way his fingers begin tracing gentle, absent-minded shapes against your spine.

“i didn’t expect it to be like this,” you murmur, your voice almost lost in the hush of the room.

“like what?” he asks, voice low, like he’s afraid to shatter the calm.

you shift slightly to face him, resting your head more comfortably on his chest. “soft. safe.”

Hheeseung lets out a breath that sounds like relief and something deeper, something reverent. “yeah,” he whispers. “me neither.”

for a while, neither of you say anything. he pulls the blanket higher over both of you, his other hand brushing your hair back with such tenderness that it makes your eyes sting. he presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering like he means it.

“you okay?” he asks, voice still rough from earlier, but softer now, like the edge of him has been smoothed by your touch.

you nod, then glance up at him. “are you?”

heeseung meets your gaze, and something in his expression shifts. vulnerability bleeding through the cracks he used to hide behind. “i am now.”

your heart squeezes.

he licks his lips, nervous. “i’ve been so stupid with you. all this time, i kept pushing and pulling, thinking maybe if i kept it messy, it’d be easier to walk away if i had to.” he pauses, his voice thinning. “but tonight just… made me realize i don’t want to walk away.”

your breath catches. “heeseung…”

“i don’t want this to be a one time thing,” he says, eyes searching yours. “not the sex, not the closeness. i want you. the fights, the tension, the way you drive me crazy and still somehow make me want to be better just by being around you. i’m so in love with you, it hurts.”

your lips part in surprise, and he laughs quietly, self-deprecating and shy. “too much?”

instead of answering, you lean up and kiss him, slow, deep, and full of all the things you couldn’t say until now. when you pull back, you rest your forehead against his, smiling as his thumb brushes over your cheek.

“i’m in love with you too, idiot.”

he grins, wide and a little teary-eyed, and pulls you closer like he’s never letting go.

and you know he won’t have to.

pls reblog & leave feedback <3 hope you enjoyed the read ◡̈

[ @jaeyuniversal ] prod. 250417

3K notes · View notes

nephynes · 2 months ago

Text

You’re broke, exhausted, and desperate enough to take a cleaning job no one else will touch. The client lives alone in a silent penthouse, hidden from the world by rumor and choice. You weren’t supposed to know his name—just clean and leave. But when your journal goes missing and comes back with his handwriting in the margins, everything changes.

➺ minors do not interact

➺ pairing: schizophrenic concert pianist!heeseung x afab reader

➺ wc: 28k

➺ content tags: angst, hurt/comfort, mental health themes, depictions of schizophrenia, poverty, class disparity, emotional repression, slow burn, journal entries, forbidden closeness, soft smut, loneliness, poetic prose, mentions of blood, trauma, caretaker dynamics, emotionally intense, non-idol au, heeseung x reader, reader-insert.

WARNINGS: mental illness (schizophrenia), mentions of blood, emotional breakdowns, poverty, food insecurity, toxic living environment, isolation, possible dissociation, references to past trauma, depersonalization, implied neglect, emotionally heavy content, not a fluff centric story. okay maybe there’s a little fluff.

➺ a/n: this was meant to be a 15k word fic (don’t ask me what happened) i would still die for recluse heeseung.

➺ nsfw tags under the cut

SMUT, oral sex (f receiving), squirting, unprotected sex, bloodplay implications, sex during dissociation, power imbalance, emotional dependency, mental illness (schizophrenia), mentions of self-harm, trauma, possessive behavior, emotionally intense dynamic, obsession themes. (lmk if i missed any) not proofread!

══════════════════════════

You're running. Again. The strap of your tote bag digs into your shoulder as your shoes slap the sidewalk, water splashing up your ankles with each desperate step. Rain mist clings to your skin like sweat—except sweat would be warm. This is just cold and inconvenient. Your Literature lecture ran ten minutes over because, of course, your professor finally decided to acknowledge your existence the one time you needed to leave early. He asked for your thoughts on postmodern fragmentation in the age of digital alienation while you sat there wondering if postmodern fragmentation was what your GPA would look like this semester.

By the time you made it outside, the bus was already pulling up. You waved frantically, almost twisting your ankle as you darted across the crosswalk—nearly colliding with a cyclist. He swerved. You screamed. He cursed. It was poetic, in a tragicomedy kind of way. Now, you're clinging to the pole in the bus's center aisle, damp hair clinging to your cheeks as it rocks around corners, your phone buzzing with the time—12:46 PM.

Mrs. Do expects you at 12:30. Sharp, always sharp but today you're going to disappoint her, again and it makes you nervous cause this isn't your first fuck up. Getting off at the bus stop in Mrs. Do's neighborhood is like stepping into another world. Wide sidewalks, trimmed hedges. Every driveway is the kind of polished grey stone that seems to repel dirt on principle. The kind of neighborhood that smells like generational wealth and imported jasmine diffusers.

The sky's already sour when you round the corner onto the cobblestone lane. Gray and sullen, like it knows something you don't. Your thighs ache from sprinting across campus, your spine's slick with sweat under your too-thin hoodie, and your fingers are still raw from gripping the metal pole on the bus. You hadn't even realized how tightly you were holding on—like the bus was the only thing standing between you and collapse. You're fifteen minutes late, sixteen, actually.

The house looms before you like a museum exhibit—grand, sterile, and quiet enough to make you feel like you've already done something wrong just by being there. All tall glass windows and trimmed hedges, with a front door so glossy you can see your own desperation reflected in it. You ring the bell, sucking in a breath and she opens it almost immediately. Mrs. Do doesn't need to speak to make her opinion known. Her eyes flick down your frame—hoodie, faded jeans, dirt-smudged sneakers—and her mouth flattens like she's biting back something acidic. Her nose twitches once.

"You're late."

"I'm so sorry," you say, voice thin. "My class ran over and I missed my bus, and—" She rolls her eyes, cutting you off, "You people always have an excuse". You people. "I've already called your manager," she says coolly, stepping back just enough to make room for your shame to enter. "This is unacceptable. I hired help, not excuses."

Help. You step inside anyway because she hasn't technically slammed the door in your face yet. The floor gleams beneath your feet and you're careful not to drip on the marble. "I can still clean," you try, gripping the handle of your tote tighter. "I—I'll stay longer if you need. P—Please don't fire me." She turns slowly, folding her arms like she's posing for a luxury handbag ad. "You'll leave," she says. "And next time, be honest with yourself about what you're capable of."

That's it. No raised voice, no chance to plead. Just ice in human form and the creak of the front door swinging back open like a guillotine. You stand there a second too long—long enough for it to become pathetic—then you turn and walk back out with your head down and your heart thudding where your confidence used to be. It starts to drizzle as soon as you step off her perfect property. Of course it does.You jog down to the bus stop at the end of the street, ignoring the way your socks squelch in your shoes. Your bag knocks awkwardly against your side. You still have half a bottle of disinfectant in there, you could drink it and cleanse the humiliation right out of your system.

The bus pulls up late. You board with the same dread you imagine people feel before surgery—knowing it's necessary, knowing it's going to hurt. Inside, it's packed. You stand, gripping the pole, body swaying with every uneven turn. The lights flicker overhead. A kid is screaming two seats over. A man is coughing into his hand and not covering his mouth. You catch your reflection in the window—wet hair clinging to your cheeks, eyes dull, lips chapped from chewing them in nervous spirals. This is your life, this bus ride, this moment, is unfortunately your life. The route winds through the city, away from the clean sidewalks and polished gates, deeper into the cracked edges of town where the concrete is more gum than stone and the streetlights work in pairs—if at all. You get off at the corner near the faded liquor store, shoulders hunched under the growing weight of your day.

Your apartment building is a boxy, red-brick rectangle with iron balconies rusting at the corners. The woman who lives two floors up is yelling at her boyfriend again. You can hear every word, you wonder why they're still together seeing as they're fighting every other day. You climb the stairs slowly, dragging your legs like anchors. The third floor always smells like someone burned toast and sprayed perfume to hide it. Your door sticks and it takes three tries to get it open. The TV is already blaring, some british reality dating show, laughter, the pop of a beer can. Minjae is sprawled across the couch, shirtless, remote in one hand and a bowl in the other.

Your bowl. "Yo," he greets, mouth full. "You look like death."

"Thanks." You kick off your shoes and look around in the apartment that's in pure chaos—shoes everywhere, makeup on the kitchen counter, someone's bra dangling from the dining chair. Probably Jiyoon's. The dishes in the sink are starting grow by numbers. She appears in the hallway, barefoot and probably wine-drunk, wearing one of her boyfriend's shirts.

"Hey," she slurs. "How was the bitch?" You stare at her. "I got fired." "Again?" she groans, flopping dramatically onto the peeling loveseat. "Ugh. I told you to lie and say your grandma died. It works every time." You don't respond, heading to the kitchen to open the fridge, the light flickers when you open it. There's nothing inside except a carton of milk that expired last week and someone's half-eaten burger. You close it and lean against the counter, pressing your forehead to the cabinet above.

This can't be your life. This can't keep being your life.

Your socks are still wet when you drag yourself down the narrow hall toward the shared bathroom. You don't even bother turning on the light at first—just reach blindly into the shower caddy for your body wash, hoping a hot rinse will wash off the day, or at least the last of Mrs. Do's perfume that still clings to your sleeves like a curse. Your hand closes around the bottle.

Empty.

You blink, now flipping on the harsh fluorescent light. The bottle is sitting there—your expensive one, the only thing you splurged on in months, lavender and eucalyptus, bought during a panic attack at the drugstore like a promise to yourself that things would get better but now it's squeezed dry. You stand there, frozen. Cold water dripping off your hood. Your knuckles whitening around the neck of the bottle. "Jiyoon!" your voice cracks down the hallway like a whip.

A pause. "What?" she calls back, annoyed, like you're interrupting something important—like Love Island. You storm back into the living room, brandishing the empty bottle like evidence at a trial. Minjae doesn't even glance up from the couch, he's playing something on his phone now, earbuds in, cereal bowl at his feet. Your fucking bowl.

"Tell me this wasn't him." Jiyoon sits up, scowling at your tone. "What are you talking about?" "This." You shake the bottle. "My body wash. The one you 'borrowed' last week. It's gone. Empty. And I know you don't like the smell—so unless I'm hallucinating, your leech of a boyfriend used the last of it."

She rolls her eyes. "Jesus, it's not that deep. It's body wash." "No, it's my body wash. The only nice thing I own. And he used it, again, after eating the rest of my leftovers and leaving dirty socks in the sink and never ever paying rent!"

Minjae finally glances up, one earbud still in. "Damn. You need a Xanax or something?"

Your mouth goes dry.

Jiyoon frowns. "Okay, first of all, don't talk to her like that—"

"No, don't defend me now," you cut in, voice shaking. "You let him live here for free. You make excuses for him while I scrape together every last cent to keep a roof over our heads. I work two jobs, Jiyoon. I eat scraps. I got fired today and came home in the rain to this—and now I can't even take a damn shower without discovering he's drained the last thing I own that smells like something other than despair."

She shifts, uncomfortable. "You could've said something nicer."

"And you could've picked someone who showers in his own place instead of mine!"

Silence.

You don't cry and you won't. Not in front of him. Not even here. You don't wait for an apology that'll never come. You retreat to your room, slam the door, and lock it behind you—not because you're afraid, but because you're done.

You strip off your hoodie, throw it in the corner, and climb into bed fully damp and exhausted. The blanket clings to your legs. You curl around your pillow and let the tension tremble out of your fingertips like static electricity.

You curl up in bed fully clothed, hoodie damp and clinging to your skin, fingers still aching from scrubbing tile three days ago. The blanket smells faintly like bleach. Jiyoon is laughing in the next room, voice high and bright and grating. You close your eyes.

*•*•*

You wake up to the clink of glassware and Minjae's laugh from the kitchen, that smug, high-pitched snort that always sets your teeth on edge. There's no time to be angry—not this morning. You're already late. Again.

You roll out of bed and throw on the first vaguely clean outfit you can find, dragging a brush through your tangled hair and pinning it up like your life depends on it. Your backpack's already half-packed from the night before. You stuff in your worn-out copy of Beloved, a dog-eared notebook filled with scribbles and half-finished poems, and race out the door without breakfast.

It's colder today. The kind of cold that bites under your clothes and leaves your fingers raw. You catch the bus by sheer miracle—sprinting half a block and nearly losing a shoe in the process—and squeeze into the back seat between a teenage couple whispering too loud and a man who keeps humming to himself.

You reach campus with two minutes to spare. The lecture hall smells like chalk dust and old books. It's one of your favorite smells in the world. You slide into the third row, clutching your notebook to your chest, and feel a quiet sort of calm settle over you. This is your safe place. Literature. Language. Storytelling.

The professor enters with her usual elegance, a tall woman with soft curls and a warm smile that doesn't waver even when her students barely look up. She doesn't need to raise her voice to command the room. She carries presence the way some people carry perfume—effortlessly.

"Today," she begins, "we talk about longing." You feel your chest tighten in the most bittersweet way.

She reads a passage aloud—something from a contemporary poet you love but couldn't afford to buy the full collection of—and for a while, you forget the bruising ache in your back from yesterday, or the hollowness in your stomach. You forget Minjae. You forget Mrs. Do.

After class, you linger longer than usual, pretending to organize your papers while most students file out. Professor Cha doesn't seem surprised when you approach her desk.

"I loved what you read today," you say, voice still soft from reverence. "The way it ached."

Her eyes sparkle behind her glasses. "That's a good word. A poem should ache. And yours always do."

You blink. "You read my last submission?"

"I did." She smiles, more maternal than academic now. "You write like you've lived ten lives. There's heartbreak in your syntax, but also something... resilient. It's beautiful. Raw."

The compliment hits deeper than she probably intends. You swallow. "Thank you. I... needed to hear that."

She tilts her head. "You've looked tired lately."

"I got fired," you confess, voice breaking a little at the edges. "From one of my jobs." She doesn't blink or pity you, she nods instead. "Then the world made space for something better. Keep showing up. Your stories matter even if no one pays you for them yet."

It's not much but it's enough to lift your spine straighter as you thank her and walk out the door.

The sunshine doesn't feel quite so cold.

You're halfway down the campus stairs, still thinking about her words, when your phone rings. A number you don't recognize, but one you know instinctively not to ignore.

You answer.

"About damn time," a gravelly voice snaps through the line. "Did you turn off your phone all day or do you just enjoy making my blood pressure spike?"

You wince. "Sorry, Cee. I was in class—"

"I don't care if you were in confession with the Pope," he growls. "You missed your shift yesterday and you got us fired from the Do account." You open your mouth to explain, but he keeps going.

"Lucky for you," he says, as if the words are knives between his teeth, "no one else wants this new job and I'm too tired to argue. Penthouse gig. Rich recluse. We charge double, client pays in advance, and no one wants to take it because apparently the guy's a freak."

You frown. "A freak?"

"Unstable. Hermit. Been on the news, but who the hell keeps track? Listen, I don't care if he's a lizard in a human suit—he's paying. You're taking it."

Your throat dries.

"How many days?"

"Three a week. Big place. Clean what you can, don't snoop. I'll send the address. Be early." and then, just before he hangs up, his tone softens—barely. "Don't mess this up, kid. You need it."

You really, really do.

You stare at the phone screen even after the call ends, the manager's words still ringing in your ears. Freak. Hermit. Don't mess this up.

The ache in your calves from walking half a mile after the bus dropped you off doesn't compare to the slow sinking in your stomach as you lift your head to take in the building before you.

It's not just big—it's obscene. The kind of place you'd see in a glossy magazine left behind in a waiting room. Black glass, white stone, gold accents on the automatic double doors. No peeling paint, no squeaky hinges, no smell of cheap weed in the lobby. You shift your backpack higher on your shoulder and wipe your palms on your pants, suddenly hyper-aware of how out of place you look.

The doorman gives you a glance that says you're not the usual type, but he opens the door for you anyway. Inside, the lobby is quiet. Too quiet. Your footsteps echo on the marble like you're trespassing.

You check the note your manager texted again: Penthouse, 45th floor. Don't use the front elevator. Service lift in the back.

Figures.

You find the service lift through a hallway no guest would ever wander down—a dimly lit corridor that smells faintly of lemon polish and secrecy. The kind of place you get swallowed in. You step inside the narrow elevator, the floor humming under your boots.

The doors slide shut with a groan. You breathe out. The kind of breath that's supposed to steady you but doesn't.

Your phone buzzes again just before the elevator doors open.

Cee: Don't fuck this up. Get there exactly at 10, leave exactly at 4. Even if you finish early, you stay. No exceptions. And whatever you do, NEVER go upstairs. He has rules. Don't test them.

You stare at the screen.

What kind of house has an upstairs in a penthouse? you think, and the second the thought passes, the elevator dings.

The doors creak open onto a hallway draped in shadow. No welcome mat, no noise or signs of life. Just a wide, heavy door that looks more like it belongs on a bank vault than a home.

You step out.

Your boots sound stupidly loud on the marble tile, and you hesitate before raising your hand to knock. But there's no need. The moment your knuckles reach the wood, the door clicks open on its own.

Unlocked.

The place is massive. The ceilings stretch too high, the walls too white, everything too pristine. There's barely any furniture. Just space and silence and air so still it feels like it hasn't been disturbed in years. You don't call out cause your manager said he wouldn't speak to you and that he likely wouldn't even show himself.

Just clean and leave. Do not go upstairs.

You hold your breath and step inside.

The air smells like cedar and something colder, like snow, if snow could haunt. You set your backpack down, find the gloves and cleaning supplies neatly packed inside, and glance around for somewhere to begin. The living room stretches out in an open floor plan—windows from floor to ceiling, giving a panoramic view of the city that glitters like it belongs to someone else.

You move quietly, gently, like the house might shatter if you're not careful, there's a faint creak above you that makes you freeze.

Somewhere beyond the mezzanine level—a second floor, tucked behind shadows and sleek black railings—you hear slow footsteps. Nothing fast, just the sound of pacing but then it stops and you don't look up.

You don't have to but you can feel the weight of someone above you. Maybe it's just the paranoia settling in or maybe it's the echo of your manager's warning.

Don't go upstairs.

You lower your gaze and start cleaning the untouched coffee table. You don't see a single cup stain or a single fingerprint. You think of the journal in your bag—the one you always carry, the one you use to write about your clients. He'll be in there by tonight, nameless, faceless. The man who lives upstairs like a ghost in the penthouse he knows.

For now, you work. Quiet and invisible. There's a fine layer of dust on everything. Not filth—just time, settled air and neglect. No signs of life, no spilled coffee mugs or kicked-off shoes. Just clean lines, cold surfaces, and untouched space.

You start in the living room, wiping down the windowsills and working your way around the low furniture. The couch looks barely used, the cushions still stiff. You sweep, mop, vacuum, moving silently through the rooms that all look the same—stunning, sterile, too expensive to feel real.

In the hallway near the back, there's a closet.

You pause in front of it.

It's nothing special—just a tall, sleek black door flush against the wall like all the others. But your fingers hesitate on the handle. Something about it makes your stomach twist. A soft wrongness that makes you not open it, that makes you turn around and just keep cleaning.

By 2:30, you've gone through the whole first floor. Kitchen wiped down. Bathroom gleaming. Trash collected and everything you were paid to do—done.

But Cee's voice rings in your head; Even if you finish early—stay. No exceptions.

So you sit.

You settle into one of the chairs by the window, the soft hum of the city beyond the glass lulling you into something between boredom and thoughtfulness. You reach into your bag and pull out your journal—worn leather, pages soft at the edges.

You click your pen open and start writing.

Day one at the penthouse. It smells like dust and something else I can't quite name. The kind of clean that doesn't feel lived in. I didn't open the black closet near the back. It felt like something in a horror film but I'll pretend it's just full of broken umbrellas.

Got fired from the Do account. Still bitter. She had a face like a lemon and a heart to match. Professor was a much-needed balm in comparison—thank God for her and her endless belief in me.

New job might be decent money if I don't screw it up. Cee says the guy who lives here is a recluse. Said he hasn't left the penthouse in two years. But I don't know. Maybe he's just lonely.

You pause there, tapping the pen against the paper. The upper floor is quiet. Still. You underline the word lonely and draw a small star beside it.

At exactly 4:00, you pack up your supplies, double-check every corner, and sling your bag over your shoulder and slide your journal right back into the side pocket of your bag, safe and sound.

You take the service elevator down, your own reflection warping in the mirrored steel walls, and step out into the cool evening air. The sun is already dipping lower, the clouds streaked in gold and gray.

The bus ride home is slower than usual. You sit in the back corner, forehead pressed to the rattling glass, zoning out to the lull of traffic and tired bodies. The city outside blurs past in tired shades.

As your apartment door creaks open, you start praying no one hears or sees you. But it's already too late.

Minjae's voice rings out sharp and annoyed. "I told you I'm looking, Jiyoon. What do you want me to do, lie on a fucking application?"

Jiyoon fires back just as quickly. "No, I want you to try! I'm covering your half of the rent again this month—what do you think I am, an ATM?!"

You freeze in the doorway, trying to shrink into your coat. If you're quiet enough, maybe you can just slip past—

"Hey," Jiyoon says suddenly, spotting you over Minjae's shoulder. Her tone shifts fast—softer now, almost guilty. "You just get in?"

You nod, shrugging your bag higher. "Yeah." "How's the nut house?"

You drop your bag by the door and stare at her. "The what?"

"The place you're cleaning. You know, that recluse guy who's like—off his rocker? Isn't that what your boss said?"

You toe off your shoes and mutter, "It's just a job."

Minjae grins walking away from Jiyoon's presence like the change in topic is suddenly the end of their argument. "I bet he's got some freaky shit there. Hidden cameras. Severed heads. Weird old dude stuff."

"I don't even know if he's old," you say, voice low. "And you don't know anything about him."

Minjae snorts. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

You turn back to Jiyoon, your constant irritation for her boyfriend crawling up your neck. "It's... weird," you admit. "But clean. Quiet. Better than getting yelled at by lemon-faced socialites, I guess."

Jiyoon gives you a weak smile. "Well, if anyone can survive a haunted tower or whatever that place is, it's you."

You hum, tired beyond belief, and slip down the hall toward your room without waiting for more, maybe more will come in the morning.

And when morning does come, it hits like a slow bruise. No alarm, just the muted scrape of a garbage truck outside and the sound of Jiyoon's laughter echoing down the hall, already too loud for the hour. You blink up at the water-stained ceiling, let the ache in your jaw settle, and for a few seconds, you don't move. The blanket's twisted around your leg like it's trying to keep you here. You wish it would.

But you're broke. So you move

You don't eat breakfast. There's no time, and besides, Jiyoon's boyfriend used the last of your cereal. You found the empty box in the sink this morning, soggy and limp with leftover milk, like a personal fuck-you from the universe.

Outside, the streets are still wet from last night's rain, the air sharp and cold enough to crack your lips. You tug your coat tighter around yourself and walk fast, half-hoping your legs will just carry you somewhere else. But the route to the campus library is too familiar, too automatic. You take the side street behind the deli, cutting through the alley behind the 24-hour laundromat where the machines always sound like they're choking. There's graffiti on the brick wall now—someone's drawn a woman with eyes for hands.

The library is warm in that stale, overused way that makes you sleepy, but you know the quiet corner where the heater rattles just enough to keep you awake. You sit with your laptop and your headphones, the cushion on the chair still warm from the last desperate student who used it.

This is job number two.

You click play on the next transcription project; an audiobook manuscript from some retired executive who thinks the world needs to hear about his rise to glory. The audio crackles. His voice is deep, smug, like he's narrating his own documentary.

"It all began with a vision. I was just a boy, standing in my father's study, realizing the empire I'd one day build..." You try not to roll your eyes. Your fingers find the rhythm. You transcribe as fast as he talks, catching every word, every pretentious pause.

"Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some, like me, are greatness incarnate."

Jesus.

You pause the audio and lean back, pressing your fingers into your temples. He's unbearable. Still—you need the money, so you press play again. But somewhere in the haze of his bravado, your mind drifts, not too far, just up.

Up to the penthouse you cleaned yesterday. The thick silence, untouched surfaces and the staircase you weren't allowed to climb. It all made something you couldn't name press down on the air.

You wonder what he sounds like.

The man who lives there, the one Cee called a shut-in, a recluse. Heeseung. You only know the name because of the envelope on the front table. You weren't supposed to look, but you did. Of course you did.

You imagine his voice now, layered under the pompous narration. Not loud or self-important. Just... quiet. Measured. Maybe hoarse from disuse. You imagine what it would feel like to hear it. To be the reason it breaks the silence. Your fingers falter. The word "greatness" stutters across the screen three times in a row.

You stop typing.

And for a second, you just sit there, headphones still on, the man's voice buzzing in your ears like a mosquito trapped in a jar, and you wonder if loneliness has a sound. And if maybe you've already heard it.

You leave the library when your laptop battery dies, the sky already smudged with dusk. Your ears still ring faintly from the droning of Mr. Greatness Incarnate. You swing your bag over your shoulder, scarf loose around your neck, hands shoved deep into your coat pockets. The wind cuts sharper than it did this morning. You're too tired to fight it.

By the time you reach your apartment building, you dread the climb to the third floor, not knowing what's behind your door—and your key sticks like always when you jam it into the lock but when the door finally swings open, you freeze.

The apartment is clean. Spotless even.

No laundry tossed across the couch, no cereal bowls fossilized with milk crust sitting on the coffee table. The garbage isn't overflowing. There's even a faint citrus scent in the air, like someone opened a window and let the idea of cleanliness drift in.

And Jiyoon's on the couch. Calm. Legs tucked under her, hair braided down one side, munching on a bag of shrimp chips like this is just... normal. Like this is how things have always been.

You drop your keys into the chipped bowl by the door. "What happened?" She glances at you, shrugs. "I cleaned." You blink. "No, I mean... what happened happened. Did the landlord threaten an inspection or—"

"I broke up with Minjae," she says, and pops another chip into her mouth like she didn't just detonate an-eighteen-month-long catastrophe with five words. "Told him to pack his shit and go."

You stare. "You what?"

Her eyes don't even flicker from the TV. "He was a leech. I hate leeches."

You're still frozen in the hallway, bag slipping down your arm, unsure what dimension you walked into. The silence feels wrong. Too still. Too empty. But... not bad.

Just different.

Eventually, your feet remember what to do, and you drift to your room, slowly, almost cautiously, like something might jump out at you. You twist your doorknob, push it open—and stop again cause there's a gift bag sitting on your bed.

Brown paper, neatly folded at the top, a little gold sticker sealing the tissue paper closed. You don't touch it right away, you just stare at it like it might explode.

Then you sit, gently, fingers trembling a little now. but peel the sticker away anyway, opening the bag.

Two bottles. Your favorite body wash. The same kind Minjae used up without asking. Double this time, still sealed and tucked between them, a note—scrawled in Jiyoon's quick, sharp handwriting on a sticky note she probably pulled from her planner.

"I'm sorry."

It doesn't say anything else. Doesn't have to.

You let out this huff of a sound, half a laugh, half a sob—and press the heels of your hands into your eyes. You weren't ready for this, especially not after today, not after everything you've been through this week. You sniff, smile through the sting behind your eyes, and whisper, "What the hell is going on?"

For the first time in a long time, no one answers and it doesn't feel like a threat. Just... peace. Quiet, a rare kind.

And the bathroom is yours again.

*•*•*

The next morning wakes you gently.

Not with screaming or slamming doors or the unmistakable sound of Minjae trying to justify why rent is a social construct—but with the smell of bacon.

You lie there for a moment, still curled in your sheets, nose twitching like it can't quite believe it. Bacon. And eggs. The sizzle, the clink of a pan. There's sunlight bleeding between the slats of your blinds, the kind of sleepy, golden light that feels warm just by looking at it.

You slip out of bed in your socks, shuffle into the kitchen, and there's Jiyoon—hair still messy from sleep, an oversized shirt hanging off one of her shoulders, poking a spatula at a pan like she does this every day, like this isn't a wildly new domestic era you've entered.

"Are you dying?" you ask, voice still rasped with sleep.

She smirks. "Sit your broke ass down. We're having breakfast." You do, blinking dumbly as she plates eggs and bacon and toast like some sitcom mom. The kind of meal that costs too much time and too many groceries for the world you live in. But it's real. It's on your plate. It's hot.

And it tastes like actual heaven.

"Okay," Jiyoon says through a bite, "you're not allowed to cry over eggs." "I'm not," you lie, chewing around the lump in your throat. "Shut up."

It's quiet for a beat, just the sounds of cutlery and your lives slowly stitching back together. Then she speaks, softer this time.

"I missed this."

You glance up.

"I mean—us," she says quickly. "It got weird. And Minjae was—he j—just made everything about him. And I let it happen." You nod, eyes falling to your plate. "I missed you too."

And that's all it takes. The two of you just... fall back into it. Like nothing ever cracked. Like the gap never grew wide enough to drown you.

You're halfway through your second cup of coffee when your phone buzzes. A bank notification lights up the screen.

Deposit: $400.00 — From: H.C.A. CLEANING INC.

Your breath catches and your stomach flips but you don't even have enough time to process it before a follow-up text comes in from your manager.

Cee: Well done. Keep it up.

You stare at your phone, stunned. Your fork hangs mid-air. "What?" Jiyoon leans over, eyes narrowing, trying to look at your screen. "What is it? What's that look?"

You show her the screen.

She lets out a whistle, snatching the phone out of your hand. "Four hundred dollars?! For one day?"

You nod slowly. "It's... the penthouse."

Jiyoon's eyes go wide. "Girl. Are you sure this isn't a sex dungeon?"

"It's not—!"

"I'm just saying!" she laughs, waving the phone in your face. "Do they need two cleaners? Cause I got two hands and a back that only mildly hurts."

You snort.

"No, seriously," she grins, handing your phone back. "Keep this up, and you're gonna sugar mama us out of this hellhole."

"Us?"

"Obviously. I've already picked out my new bedroom. It has a balcony."

You shake your head, grinning despite yourself. The weight on your chest feels a little lighter today. There's food in your stomach, laughter in your lungs, and a number in your bank account that feels like it belongs to someone else. Someone who isn't drowning, maybe someone who could start swimming soon.

You rinse your plate in the sink, tie your boots, and throw on your coat with renewed resilience. There's something weird in your chest—not bad weird. Just... fluttery. A quiet excitement you can't explain, maybe it's the money. $1200 a week is enough to make a broke girl like you feel fluttery.

The penthouse is a mystery. The man inside, even more so and something about it tugs at you. You leave the apartment with a full stomach and something flickering under your ribs that almost feels like hope.

The security guard barely glances up when you pass through the front lobby, your shoes echoing across the cold marble. You know the route now—the elevator on the far end, the one with the gilded trim and the keycard scanner that flickers green the second you swipe the little laminated badge clipped to your bag.

Penthouse access. Floor 45.

You ride up alone, the hum of the elevator filling your ears, your stomach still fluttering for some godforsaken reason. It's ridiculous, really. It's just cleaning. A job. A space.

Still—there's something about this building, this job, this man—something you don't have a name for yet. Something a little strange.

When the elevator dings open at the top floor, you step out and blink at the sheer silence. It always feels a little too still up here, like the air's holding its breath. You cross the short hallway toward the penthouse door, adjusting your bag over your shoulder, then pause.

A man is walking out.

Tall. Black coat. Black hair. He doesn't look up as he pulls the door behind him and lets it click shut. There's a thick folder of papers in his hand—some printed, some handwritten—and he's flipping through them like he's on a mission. Brows furrowed as though he's deep in thought. You shift slightly to the side, give a small, polite "Good morning," but he doesn't respond, he doesn't even glance at you.

Okay.

You watch him disappear down the hallway, a little unsettled, but before your brain can start drawing conclusions, you catch something else. From behind the door.

Movement. Light.

A quiet creak, then a faint thump from the floor above. Right—he's upstairs. He hasn't come down, just like your manager said he wouldn't.

So, not Heeseung.

You shake it off, and push open the door to the penthouse. It's the same as last time. Too clean to feel lived in, a place more structure than soul. The marble kitchen glints under the soft daylight that pours in through those floor-to-ceiling windows, and the air smells faintly sterile. Like eucalyptus and untouched laundry.

You drop your bag by the door, change into your inside shoes, and head for the linen closet to start where you left off last time.

There's a note.

You spot it taped neatly to the inside of the closet door, white paper against the cool gray shelves. Typed in black ink, neatly, not handwritten.

You folded the towels wrong.

Beneath it, stapled neatly, is a printed diagram. A diagram with steps and numbered illustrations. You blink. It's absurd. It's pedantic. It's—

You laugh, quietly, to yourself. "What a nutjob," you mutter under your breath, echoing Jiyoon's words.

And then you catch yourself.

He's paying you. Four hundred dollars. For one day. To clean and to follow instructions. Folding towels properly is not asking too much—not for this kind of money, not for the kind of life you're trying to claw your way toward.

You shake your head, shoulders straightening, and refold every towel in the linen closet with the care of a military cadet. Corners aligned, fold sharp, just the way the diagram instructs.

Once you've checked them twice, you move on. The floors—again. There's always a thin veil of dust on the hardwood, like no one has lived here in years. The glass in the shower, the streaks on the chrome fixtures. You find a guest room with a window cracked just slightly, letting in the city noise below, and you seal it shut.

It's all the same movements as last time. Your body goes through the checklist while your mind wanders, as it always does. Little fragments of poetry rise up behind your eyes. A line about silence that weighs too much, about towels that speak louder than people. You file them away for later.

And like last time, you finish early.

3:26.

You double-check the space. Everything in order. Then you drift toward the single chair by the massive window that overlooks the skyline. The same chair you sat in last time. You pull out your journal, and you start writing.

He left a note about the towels. Said I did it wrong. I guess... he's not what I imagined. There's something almost neurotic about him, but not messy. Not in a Minjae way. It's all too deliberate. He's exacting. Controlled. Still not a trace of him anywhere—not a pair of shoes, not a book out of place. It's like he's trying to erase his presence even though it's so obviously here, breathing under everything.

Your pen hovers, you almost scratch it all out, but you don't.

A soft thud interrupts you. Distant. Upstairs. You freeze, eyes lifting from the page.

Another sound. A voice—muffled. A man's voice, low and smooth, bleeding through the ceiling like the floorboards are too thin to keep him contained.

You can't make out the words, but you hear the timbre. The rhythm.

You write until your hand cramps and the ink starts to skip. At 3:52, you check the time and shut the journal slowly, your gaze drifting out the window for a long moment.

But then... it happens again.

Your eyes flick to the closet door.

Same as last time. Same quiet weight pressing against your chest when you look at it. You don't know what it is about it—just a regular black door, no lock, no sign, nothing particularly ominous—but it nags at you. And before you know it, your legs are moving.

Soft steps across the hardwood. You don't even really make the decision—you just find yourself there, hand on the doorknob, heart ticking unevenly.

It's probably something stupid. Creepy. Like a skeleton, or jars of teeth. A body. It's always the ones who care too much about towel folding who hide people in their walls.

You exhale, slow, and turn the knob.

The door creaks open.

It's dim, a strip of light spilling in over your feet—and then your eyes adjust.

Not bodies. Not bones.

Photos.

Hundreds of them. Pinned to corkboard walls, stacked in boxes, frames leaning against shelves. Posters rolled into rubber-banded scrolls. A trophy case sits in the corner, glass clean, the metal plaques catching the light like little knives.

You blink, stepping in cautiously.

There are certificates. Paper yellowed with age. Borletti-Buitoni Trust Award. First Place—2022. Van Cliburn International Piano Competition 2021. Tchaikovsky Conservatory Excellence Award 2023. All in English, some in Korean, some in French.

You walk along the wall, fingertips brushing the edge of a matte photo. A group picture. A symphony ensemble, maybe. Then another, a candid shot of a teenage boy at a grand piano, his hands hovering above the keys, his brow furrowed like the music is something physical he's trying to catch.

And then another. A close-up this time. His face.

Heeseung.

Your breath catches.

He's younger in these—baby-faced almost—but you want to believe it's him. There's something about his posture, his expression, that quiet intensity even the camera couldn't wash out.

You crouch beside a crate of rolled-up posters and untangle one gently. The paper's dusty, brittle near the corners. When you unroll it, it flutters open across your lap.

A concert poster. The image glossy and faded with time: a sleek black grand piano under a single spotlight. A man sits at it, back straight, head bowed. His name sprawls across the top in elegant serif font:

LEE HEESEUNG

It's signed at the bottom, right across the curve of the piano. —With love, always, LH.

You stare at it for a long moment.

And then... the pieces begin to arrange themselves.

The penthouse. The silence. The exactness. The distance. And now—this.

He must've been a concert pianist.

You blink again, stunned that you'd never heard of him. Someone who'd clearly been celebrated, decorated, known. At some point, at least.

You tuck the poster back carefully and ease the door shut behind you. But the quiet feels different now. Not empty.

The whole bus ride home, your brain won't stop flipping through those images—trophies, posters, photos, that signature on the rolled-up poster. With love, always, LH. You hold it all in your head like puzzle pieces that almost fit, just not quite yet. But there's no mistaking it—the man in the penthouse was someone once.

The apartment smells like garlic and soy sauce when you walk in. You blink at the strange scent, automatically bracing for another fight—but it's quiet. Peaceful, even. The living room light is on, and Jiyoon's perched on the couch still in her stiff black skirt and her knock-off kitten heels, hair pinned up and eyeliner smudged.

"Hey," she says, not looking up from her phone. "Dinner's in the microwave. I made bulgogi."

You pause in the doorway, still blinking, confused. "You cooked?"

She shrugs. "Had a day. Needed to stir something before I murdered someone."

You heat up your plate and sink into the couch beside her, pulling your knees up and balancing the food on top. The meat is tender, warm and sweet, and the rice is just sticky enough.

"So?" she mumbles, mouth full of chips. "How's the nutjob in the tower?"

You laugh, almost choking on rice. "He's not a nutjob."

"Old man, then."

You glance at her. "He's not old."

She raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? And how do you know that?"

You chew slowly, smirking to yourself. "I did his laundry today."

"Oh?" She sits up straighter, grinning. "And what? The briefs don't lie?"

You laugh, snorting, and try to wave her off, cheeks hot. "No, just—his clothes. They weren't... old man clothes."

She gives you the most exaggerated eyebrow wiggle you've ever seen. "Ohhhh. So they were hot man clothes."

"Shut up."

"You want to see what he looks like," she accuses, pointing a chip at you.

You mumble something under your breath, something you don't even realize you've said aloud until she gasps.

"What was that?" she demands. "Tell me. Tell me right now."

You set your plate aside and sink into the couch cushions, eyes on the ceiling. "Okay. Fine. I opened some weird closet in his hallway today"

Her jaw drops.

"And?"

You tell her everything. The photos. The awards. The posters and the certificates. The name. The signature. The signed poster. You recite the words, LEE HEESEUNG.

She blinks. "Wait. Wait wait wait. You mean the dude you clean for is famous?"

"Was," you say softly. "I think he was famous. He was a concert pianist."

There's a beat of silence then she's snatching up her laptop. "What are we doing just sitting here? Let's Google him."

You shift beside her as she types in his name watching it autofill halfway through. She scrolls.

First result: a blurry photo of a younger Heeseung at a concert, fingers splayed on the keys.

Second result: Top 10 Rising Stars of the Classical World.

Third: The Golden Boy of the Grand Piano—Why Lee Heeseung Was Next.

There are photos—clean, posed ones, then live shots of him in motion, bent over the keys, expression contorted like the music is tearing out of him.

"Damn," Jiyoon whispers. "He was hot."

You smack her arm. "Focus."

She scrolls again—and then pauses.

You feel her go still beside you.

Her thumb hovers over the next headline.

Concert Pianist Lee Heeseung Suffers On-Stage Mental Breakdown During Performance.

Your stomach drops. It's dated 2 years ago.

"Holy shit," she whispers.

There's a thumbnail image of the article and beneath it, a video. Your fingers are trembling but you press play anyway.

The video opens on a massive concert hall. Heeseung sits alone at a grand piano under a soft blue spotlight. There's silence—and then music. Soaring, masterful, all-consuming. His fingers move like they're made of air.

He plays so beautifully that you find yourself immersed but then, something shifts.

His hands slow. His face tenses. He mutters something under his breath, eyes wide like he's seeing something the rest of the room can't. Then—

A violent slam of the keys.

The audience flinches.

He starts playing again, erratically, pounding the piano with discordant noise. His head jerks to the side. He mutters again, louder this time. Words you can't make out. Security rushes the stage. The video ends in chaos, with the camera shaking, audience gasping.

You stare at the screen long after it's gone black.

"That's why," you whisper.

Jiyoon nods slowly. "That's why he lives like that now."

Neither of you speak for a long time. There's just the hum of the microwave clock ticking forward, the faint buzz of the fridge, the afterimage of that video burned into your mind.

Heeseung isn't just a recluse. He's a man who was once made of music—and then unraveled by it.

The video plays again in your head when the screen's long since gone black.

Heeseung's face in that last shot—wild and glassy-eyed, haunted—lingers like smoke. Even with the dinner gone and the dishes rinsed, even with the taste of bulgogi faded from your tongue, it clings to your ribs.

Jiyoon breaks the silence first. She sets her laptop down with a sigh and rubs her forehead like she's trying to will away her own stress.

"Anyway," she mutters, "my manager's still a raging bitch."

The shift in topic feels abrupt, like someone slammed the door on something unfinished. You blink and turn your head, trying to meet her halfway.

"She moved my report to a different folder this morning and then cc'd her manager asking where mine was," Jiyoon grumbles, tossing a chip in her mouth. "Like she didn't just put it there herself. I swear she's trying to build a case to get me fired."

You hum a vague sound of sympathy, but your eyes are unfocused. Your thoughts are half in that concert hall, half in that penthouse closet, all tangled up with things that don't make sense yet.

Jiyoon squints at you, crunching slowly. "Hey. You okay?"

"Yeah," you say, blinking hard. "Sorry. I just..."

"You look tired," she says gently. "Like tired-tired. Go to bed."

You nod. "I will. Just—gonna change first."

She lets you go, and you disappear into your room, clicking the door shut behind you.

The quiet hits fast.

You peel off your jacket, your jeans. Change into your sleep shirt. The light on your desk is soft and yellow, and you go to your tote bag by instinct, unzipping it without thinking.

You freeze.

Your fingers reach the bottom of the bag.

You check again.

Then again.

Your journal's not there.

You turn the bag upside down—shake it, even though you know how pointless it is—and the only thing that falls out is a used lip balm, your wallet and your bus pass.

You drop to your knees beside the desk, rifling through the bag's compartments. Check under your bed. In your drawers. You dig through the laundry pile.

Your breath quickens. Your pulse starts to speed.

A whole year and a half. That's how long you've been writing in that journal. Every scattered thought, every tiny win, every loss, every panic attack, every private daydream. It's not just a notebook—it's you. You wrote yourself into those pages, over and over and you can think is; it's gone.

You dart back into the living room, voice already strained. "Jiyoon—have you seen my journal? The brown one?"

She looks up from her phone, blinking. "Journal? No. Did you leave it at the library?"

You shake your head too fast. "No—I had it with me. I know I had it with me. I wrote in it today, I always put it in the tote after, I—I—"

She sits up straighter. "Okay, hey. Don't panic. Maybe it slipped out on the bus?"

You clutch your arms, stomach turning. The thought of it sitting there in some grimy bus seat, left behind, already flipped through by strangers, your handwriting exposed—your insides exposed—makes you sick.

Your throat tightens.

"Hey," Jiyoon says, getting up now, her voice softer. "It's okay. We'll retrace your steps tomorrow, alright?"

But you're already crying. Not big sobs—just quiet, stunned tears, the kind that sting as they fall, the kind you can't stop once they start.

You laugh bitterly through it, pressing your palm to your mouth. "It's stupid," you mumble. "It's just a journal."

"It's not stupid," Jiyoon says, crossing the room and pulling you into a hug.

You close your eyes. Her office clothes smell like starch and soy sauce and the bad perfume her coworker probably wears, but her arms are warm and solid around you.

Still, your heart aches like something's gone missing.

And somewhere—somewhere else—those pages are no longer just yours.

*•*•*

You don't even realize how much weight you've been dragging until it starts to leave marks—under your eyes, behind your ribs, along your spine.

It's been a whole day without it. Twenty-four hours without your journal and you're already unraveling. Not crying anymore—just dulled out. The kind of sadness that makes everything taste like paper, feel like static.

Jiyoon tried her best. She really did. She even called in sick that morning just to help look. Said her manager could go chew on gravel, she didn't care. She pulled you out of bed, made you drink an iced coffee, and walked with you back to every single place you'd been.

You retraced your steps with her hand on your shoulder the entire time—gentle, like you'd break.

Back to the library. Back to the plaza where you sat for five minutes waiting on the bus. You even got on the same damn route, asked the driver if he'd seen a brown journal with an elastic band and too many taped-in receipts.

Nothing.

Just a kind smile from a man who said he was sorry and wished you luck.

So when Friday comes around—when you have to drag yourself out of bed again for the penthouse job—you feel heavy. Disconnected. You brush your teeth with your eyes half-closed. Tie your laces without bothering to double knot them. You're not crying, not even angry, just—

Faded.

You leave the house a little past nine. Jiyoon waves from the couch but doesn't try to stop you. She knows money talks, even when you're too tired to listen.

You arrive at ten sharp like always. Same hallway, same elevator ding, same code punched into the keypad.

The door opens.

And the stillness inside hits you harder than usual. Not just quiet—vacant. Like the walls themselves are holding their breath.

You don't bother kicking off your shoes this time.

You walk in and turn toward the kitchen to get the supplies—straight to the cabinets under the sink—and that's when you freeze.

There.

On the counter.

Your journal.

You stand still for so long the air starts to pulse in your ears cause it's open. Pages parted like a secret mid-sentence. And the breath that's been caged in your lungs for a whole day catches halfway up your throat.

You move closer. Like if you blink too hard it'll vanish.

It's turned to that entry. The one you wrote after cleaning here the first time—where you wrote about the towels and the light and the strange emptiness of a life lived up high and alone. The part where you called him lonely.

Your eyes track the handwriting in the margin. Small. Neat. Slightly angled.

An arrow is drawn from the word lonely and next to it, in ink that definitely isn't yours:

you have no idea.

Your throat goes dry.

You run your fingertips over the words—his words—like touching them will make them make sense. But they don't. Not really. They just buzz in your chest like something secret and sad and suddenly real.

He read it. He read it.

And not just read it—responded.

You sink into the nearest stool, heart hammering, holding the journal like it might slip away again.

This man—this ghost of a man, the one who hides behind silence and rules and perfectly folded towels—he read you. And then he left this like it wasn't a confession. Like it wasn't a crack in the wall you didn't think you'd ever see.

"You have no idea."

You don't.

But for the first time, you think you want to so you tear a sheet from the back of your journal. The lines are faint blue, the edge ragged where it rips. You stare at it longer than necessary—like the paper's going to change its mind about letting you say what you need to.

Your hand shakes as you write it, "I didn't mean to be invasive, just honest."

You don't sign it.

You fold it in half once, then again. Then you slide it under the coaster on the marble coffee table—tucked, but not hidden. If he wants to find it, he will.

And then you're out the door. Before 4, for the the first time not caring about the rule.

*•*•*

When you get home, Jiyoon's door is locked. You knock once, then try the handle. Still locked. "Jiyoon," you call. "Let me in." Nothing, so you knock harder. When she finally opens it, her hair is a mess and her cheeks are a deep, guilty pink. She looks like she just sprinted a mile and saw God somewhere in the middle of it.

You know what she was doing but you don't care, you just brush right past her and drop your journal on her bed like it's a live grenade.

"He read my fucking journal," you hiss, turning on your heel. "He wrote in it." "What!?" Jiyoon gasps, not even trying to play it cool. "That's where you left it?!"

"I didn't mean to!" "Wait—he wrote in it? Like, wrote wrote? Pen to page?" You nod, pacing like your bones are electric. "He responded to a line I wrote about him being lonely. Just—drew an arrow to it and wrote 'you have no idea.' Like what the fuck is that even supposed to mean!?" "That's—" She stops. Blinks. Then starts again, because of course she has to. "That's kind of hot," she says, lips twitching.

"Jiyoon!" "Okay, okay! It's fucked up, but it's also..." She trails off, thoughtful. "It's kind of giving tortured artist. Haunted tower. Piano-playing ghost with emotional constipation." You flop onto her bed, face buried in your hands. "I feel violated. But also like...I violated him first? Is that weird? I feel like we both got naked and didn't mean to."

"That is the weirdest metaphor you've ever said," Jiyoon mutters, but there's affection under it and you're about to respond but then your phone rings. Shrill and loud against the padded silence of Jiyoon's room. You check the screen and it's Cee. You answer it with a sigh. "Hello?" "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He barks immediately. "Did you leave before 4?" Your stomach drops. "Yes, I did, but—"

"You had clear fucking instructions! You don't leave before 4. Ever."

"I had to. I was done, I—" "I don't give a shit," he snaps. "From now on? You clean for him every day. That's what he wants." You blink. "Every day?"

"Every. Fucking. Day. Starting tomorrow." The line goes dead. You lower the phone slowly and Jiyoon's looking at you like you just told her you're moving to Mars. "You're cleaning for him every day?" You nod, feeling numb. She whistles. "Guess you better start folding towels in your dreams."

You flop back on her bed again, journal beside you, limbs heavy and brain scrambled, because somehow this man has read your secrets, insulted your towel folding, haunted your thoughts and gotten you trapped in a daily cleaning contract. You stare at the ceiling, heart a mess of beats. You truly have no idea what the hell you've gotten yourself into, just like Heeseung wrote.

*•*•*

You hate today. Not in the throwaway I-hate-Mondays kind of way, but in that deep, simmering, "I'd rather get hit by a bus than scrub your already-clean floors for six hours" kind of way. It's Saturday. Saturday. And you're supposed to be doing anything else. Sleeping in. Going to the corner store with Jiyoon in your pajamas. Sitting in silence and mourning the part of yourself that used to be a free woman.

Instead, you're here. The penthouse again. Cold and looming and weirdly beautiful in a way you hate to admit. It's only 9:30. You're early and you could wait. You should wait. But something reckless and slightly unhinged is buzzing in your blood—maybe it's the journal thing, or the fact that he read every single thing you've ever written about yourself. You don't know.

You just know that this time, you're not waiting. You take the elevator up. No code. No warning. Just your footsteps, soft and slow, echoing across the marble as you step into the penthouse and then—you stop. Dead.

Because there's someone already down here, in fact two someones. One of them, you recognize as the man you saw leaving that day—now unmistakably a doctor of some sort, clipboard in hand, every movement clinical and restrained. He's sitting next to another man. A man who's— Oh fuck.

Shirtless.

Barefoot. Wearing only a pair of jeans that hang low on his hips like they're barely there at all. Lee Heeseung, the one on all the pictures and posters in the haunting closet, the one from the articles you saw.He's not a ghost or a shadow upstairs. He's definitely real and he's here, laughing at something he just said, a low warm sound that breaks the silence—and then cuts off the second he sees you.They both stare and you can't help but stare back cause your brain short-circuits because not only is he real—he's gorgeous. Devastatingly beautiful in a way that feels cruel. Sharp jaw, dark hair a mess, skin golden and soft in the morning light and then the audacity of the amused curl of his mouth as he takes you in.

The doctor doesn't laugh at Heeseung's joke, he just closes his clipboard with a hard snap, locks the files into a black case with practiced hands, mutters something clipped to Heeseung, and walks past you like you're air. You don't move, not because you don't want to but because you can't. And now Heeseung just stands there, right in front of you, 6 feet away. Shirtless.

As if this is all some sort of routine, where he expected you to show up early to catch him sitting there. Then he speaks. Voice low, smooth, maddeningly calm. "You're early."

You blink, stunned mute. He cocks his head slightly. Barely.

"Is this how you always barge into my home?" You open your mouth but you have to close it again because no words will come out.Because all you can think is holy shit. Not only is he not old, like Jiyoon said, not only is he not some weird piano hermit ghost—he is breathtaking. And apparently, deeply unbothered by the fact that you've just witnessed whatever strange intimate evaluation that was.

"I—sorry," you finally manage, voice rough to the point of shame. "I didn't think—there was someone—upstairs, usually—" Heeseung raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "You didn't think as I didn't think you'd be here before ten, hmm?" You bristle, flustered and mortified and somewhere under all that, burning. "I'm just here to clean." He smiles at that and it's not kind, it's not mocking either. Just... knowing, he's got that look—the kind that says he's already pages ahead in your journal entry for tonight, already memorized the lines, already knows exactly how this ends.

"Good," he says. "Then clean." And he walks past you—slow, easy, barefoot steps—disappearing back up the stairs without another word. Leaving you there, alone with your rage, your humiliation, and your heart pounding so loud in your chest it echoes in the silence. What do you do now? You clean. Of course you do. That's what you're here for, and you already showed up thirty minutes earlier than you were supposed to, so now you're finishing faster than usual—dusting the shelves with extra care just to stall, organizing the rows of books he never touches, wiping down the marble countertops even though they don't look like they've been used in days.

And all the while your brain won't stop looping back to your journal on his kitchen counter, to the handwriting in the margins that isn't yours, to the arrow pointing right to the word lonely and the quiet weight of you have no idea written beneath it.

It's unfair, you think, the way he's just living in his architectural digest penthouse, barefoot and cryptic, while you're pacing through his living room, trying not to wonder how much of your life he's read. You almost forget the weight of it—almost—until he's suddenly back.

You hear him before you see him, the soft sound of his footsteps against the dark wood floor, and when you turn, there he is.

Coming down the stairs like a fucking problem you can't afford to have, still barefoot, still in those jeans that hang too low on his hips, but now in a loose linen shirt that he didn't even bother to button all the way.

It's distracting, infuriatingly so. You don't even want to think about how hot he is—because it's wrong, and messy, and also, you're still mad.

He sees you before you can pretend you weren't watching him descend like some kind of fallen angel with unresolved trauma, and for a moment, he says nothing. Just stands there at the bottom of the stairs, head tilted slightly, his eyes unreadably deep, like he's trying to pin you to the spot with silence alone.

Then he turns, walks toward the closet in the hallway—the one with the photographs and trophies and that signed, rolled-up poster of his own damn face—and you stare after him without meaning to, without even trying to be subtle. There's something about the way he moves, like someone who hasn't had to explain himself in years, like someone who only speaks when the silence becomes too loud to tolerate.

You don't expect him to come back out and walk straight toward you and you definitely don't expect him to stop right in front of you to speak.

"Do you always sit in my chair when you psychoanalyze me in your journal?" His voice is even, smooth, and just sharp enough to make your jaw clench. There's something teasing in it, mocking maybe, or maybe just observant, but either way—it makes your chest tighten.

You straighten where you sit, looking up at him without flinching. "You had no right to read my journal."

He doesn't flinch either.

"You wouldn't read a strange book you found in your house?"

And that's what throws you—how casual he says it, how unbothered he is by the violation, like it was never that serious to begin with.

In your head, you're screaming. Not because you're scared, but because it's almost worse that he read it without hesitation. Because that journal was yours, it was everything. A year and a half of pain and boredom and loneliness and softness and tiny bursts of joy that you didn't know where else to put. Little poems about love you've never felt. Sentences that barely made sense to you at the time. Half-finished stories and full-bodied grief. And now he knows. Maybe not all of it—but enough.

You bite your tongue before your mouth runs wild, but your thoughts are already racing.

He read it. He read all of it, probably. God, did he see the poem you wrote about the boy who only existed in your dreams? Did he read the list of things you want to do before you die? Did he see the part about wanting someone to ask you how your day was, without needing a reason?

You want to be mad. You are mad. But under that is the hot sting of embarrassment, the helplessness of being seen without warning, without consent.

He's still watching you, expression still unreadable.

You blink hard. "It wasn't for you."

"I figured."

You exhale sharply through your nose. "Then why did you—"

He cuts you off without cutting you off. His voice is softer this time. "I found your note."

That makes your stomach turn.

You remember the note. I didn't mean to be invasive, just honest.

You didn't even think when you left it. You just wrote it and ran. And now he's standing here, bare feet planted firmly on the floor, chest half-exposed, staring at you like your truth didn't scare him off at all.

"I don't think you're invasive," he says. "You were just... honest, like you said."

That word again.

And suddenly you're not sure what this is anymore—what he is. Because he's not yelling. He's not smug. You don't even think he's trying to humiliate you, he's just standing there, calm, casual—as if this is routine, as if your journal wasn't a goddamn blueprint of everything you never said out loud. As if he didn't drag his pen under the word lonely and scrawl you have no idea in the margins, careless, cruel, and so absurdly calm about it.

You really don't know what to say but you guess your silence must say enough, because his eyes soften just enough to sting.

"People don't usually stay when I'm honest," He says it like it's already written in stone, something that happened, not something he's choosing.

You just sit there, unsure if you're still furious or if your heart just broke a little for a man you don't understand at all.

You really want to ask him why he wrote in your journal, why he felt comfortable enough to reply to it like you were in some kind of conversation. You should get up and walk out, slam the door for good measure, remind him you're the help and he's a man who's too comfortable living above the rest of the world, shirtless and half-smiling at things that should have been private. But instead, you're still sitting there.

And instead of leaving, you ask, "What's with the whole coming at ten and leaving at four thing?"

He blinks.

It's not the question he expected, maybe not the one you expected either, but it's already out in the air now and hanging between you like mist.

He exhales through his nose, shifting his weight slightly as he leans a hip against the back of the chair across from you. You watch the movement—too closely—and hate how your eyes keep catching on the little things: the curve of his collarbone, the faint line of a vein down his forearm, the way he smells faintly like vanilla and clean linen. You force your gaze back up to his face.

He doesn't answer right away.

Then, after a moment, he says, "I just thought six hours was enough time for you to do what you needed."

It's almost clipped, controlled.

"And..." He pauses, eyes flicking to the side, as if choosing his next words carefully. "It's better for you if you follow it."

You blink. "What do you mean better for me?"

He shrugs one shoulder, nonchalant but not exactly casual. "You walked in on something you weren't supposed to see this morning."

Your mind flashes back to that moment—the doctor, the manilla folders, the way Heeseung was sitting on the chair laughing to himself with no shirt on and then suddenly not laughing at all.

Your throat feels a little dry.

"You mean the doctor?" you ask carefully.

He nods once. "Yeah." Then, quieter, "There are... things I deal with. Things I don't need anyone witnessing."

It's not quite a warning. Not quite a confession either. It floats in the space between.

You shift in your seat, uncertain. "So the schedule is more for... your privacy?"

He lets out a sound that's almost a laugh but not quite, low and humorless. "Sure. Let's go with that."

There's something in the way he says it that tells you he doesn't really mean it—not entirely. Like there's more he could say if he wanted to, but he doesn't.

Still, you nod slowly, even though you don't really understand. Even though the idea of spending six hours in a place that holds your most personal words hostage is suffocating.

Even though his presence is starting to feel... electric in the worst and best way.

And then, after a beat, you ask softly, "And what happens if I don't follow it?"

He looks at you.

Really looks at you.

And for a second, something shifts. The air between you turns thicker, heavier. You can feel his eyes like heat on your skin.

"I don't think you'd want to find out," he says, voice low and quiet, but not threatening. Just true.

And you believe him.

Not because you think he'd hurt you. But because there are some parts of him—some stories, some shadows—you haven't earned the right to touch yet.

You don't answer.

You just hold his gaze until it feels like it burns and then drop your eyes to your hands and stand up to walk away, walk towards the door

He straightens then, subtly, pushing off from the chair like the moment's passed. You don't know if you're relieved or disappointed.

"Of course a person as beautiful as you would write so heartbreakingly beautiful." It's low. Almost to himself. Like he didn't mean to say it aloud.

But you hear it.

And it feels like your ribcage cracks clean in half.

You turn—just slightly, just enough to look at him over your shoulder. He's not even watching you. He's looking down at the floor, one hand resting loosely on the back of the chair like he hadn't just broken you open and left you bleeding all over his expensive floors.

"What did you ju—" you almost ask but he's already cutting you off. "You're done for the day, right?"

You barely nod, fully facing him now, bewildered.

"Then you should go."

You turn around and walk slowly, legs a little stiff, journal heavy in your bag, chest heavier still.

And as you move past him, toward the front door, he doesn't say anything else.

He just watches you go.

You walk home like your body isn't yours, it feels like your bones are made of sound, the way you hear everything but can't feel a single step. Your bag is even heavier than it should be for some reason.

The door to your apartment creaks as you open it. Warmth hits you in the face. Jiyoon's music is loud—some upbeat synth-pop song she always plays when she's cooking—and the smell of garlic and oil and something spicy wraps around you like a familiar blanket. But you don't step in right away. You stand in the doorway a little too long, still wearing your shoes, still holding your keys in one hand like you forgot what they're for.

Then she turns. She sees you.

And she freezes.

The music doesn't. But she grabs her phone and hits pause mid-chorus, eyebrows already pulled together in the way they do when she's bracing herself for gossip. "You look... feral."

You blink. "What?"

"Your face," she says, pointing a wooden spoon at you. "It's giving war-torn romantic heroine. What happened?"

You close the door behind you. You walk inside. You don't know where to begin.

So you say the first thing that spills from your mouth.

"I saw him."

She doesn't need clarification. "Him?"

You nod.

"Lee Heeseung?"

You nod again.

She gasps so loud the spoon hits the floor.

You don't laugh. You can't.

"He was shirtless," you add quietly, like it's something illegal.

Jiyoon makes a noise so high-pitched only the dead could hear it.

"No. No. No," she says, rushing over and grabbing both your arms like she's checking for a pulse. "You have to tell me everything. And I mean everything. Did he talk to you? Did he breathe near you? Did he smell good? Does he look weird? Did you black out? Are you still alive? Blink twice if you need CPR."

You let out a long breath, barely a laugh. "He was laughing with some man. A doctor, I think. He was barefoot. Just jeans, low. He didn't even look at me at first. Just kind of... existed."

You don't realize how tightly you're gripping the edge of the counter until your knuckles start to ache.

"Then he did see me later when he came back down, I was sitting. In that chair I said I always journal in. And he just... stared. Then he disappeared into that hallway closet with all the photos and came back out without something, and I watched him the whole time like a creep." Jiyoon looks winded. "This is already the best thing I've ever heard."

"He asked me if I always sit in his chair when I psychoanalyze him in my journal." Her eyes explode. "No."

You nod. "Yes."

"What did you say?"

"I told him he had no right to read it."

"Did he deny it?" You shake your head slowly. "He said—and I quote—'you wouldn't read a strange book you found in your house?'" Jiyoon puts her whole body on the counter, like gravity's too much. "This is sick. This is sick. I can't believe you're living out the plot of the exact kind of emotionally unstable literature you always say you hate." You let your head fall next to hers. "I'm going to have to switch some of my classes."

She lifts her face, blinking. "Wait, what?"

"I can't keep going in the mornings. Not if I'm cleaning for him every day. The only opening left in my schedule is evening sections and some online ones, and I'll probably miss my favorite professors class."

"You love that class."

"I know."

"I don't know if you can tell but you're kind of acting like it's worth it"

*•*•*

You wake up feeling weirdly... eager. Which is insane in your opinion. It's cleaning. You're going to clean for six hours in a house where the walls are silent and the air feels kind of tight, and maybe—maybe—he'll come down again. Maybe he won't. You tell yourself it doesn't matter. You dress in your usual oversized tee and leggings, but you switch your sneakers for the cleaner pair, the ones without scuff marks. You spend longer on your face than necessary. Just moisturizer, a little concealer—nothing obvious. Just in case. You tell yourself it's just habit. You tell yourself a lot of things.

You get there at 9:57. By 10:02, your coat is hung up and the cleaning supplies are laid out in their usual corners. The house is quiet—same as always—but now it's a different kind of quiet. Now you know who it's holding and it makes you all irrationally aware of everything.

You start with the mirrors.

Not because they're dirty. They're not.

But because they reflect the hallway, and every time you glance up, you can see the top of the stairs.

By 11:17, you've vacuumed every rug on the main floor. Nothing.

By 12:04, you've re-organized the kitchen drawers. Again. Not that he'd notice. You don't even know if he uses them.

By 12:58, you're dusting frames that don't need dusting, glancing at the ceiling like footsteps might fall out of it.

By 1:45, you've convinced yourself he's not coming down. That yesterday was a one-off. That he's upstairs doing whatever rich, complicated people do—brooding maybe, like some Austenian shut-in. You try to laugh at yourself for even caring but it sits low in your chest. He's just a man, you only even met him once.

So why does it feel this weird? You're so distracted you almost forget to check the pantry. You always check the pantry. And when you finally do, you find it's already been stocked. Someone else did it.

Maybe him.

Your stomach turns and don't know why. By 3:50, you're packing your things, fingers slow on the zipper of your bag. By 3:56, you're glancing around the room like it might give you a reason to stay longer. By 3:58, you hear it.

Footsteps that make you freeze. And there he is.

Heeseung. Descending the stairs like it's nothing. Like he didn't make you wait all day without knowing you were waiting. He's wearing another linen shirt—this one in charcoal—and it's loose over his frame, the top two buttons undone. His hair is a little messy, like he's been lying down or pulling his fingers through it and, he's barefoot again. He smiles.

"Hey," he says, voice warm in that slow, easy way. "You're still here." You swallow. "Not for long."

He steps down the last stair. "How was your day?" You blink at him. It takes a second for your voice to catch up. "I spent it here. You tell me." His brows lift a little. Not offended—more amused. He shifts his weight and leans against the banister.

"I missed my favorite class."

"You're a student? And you missed a class? Because of this?" You glance down at your hands. They're still a little red from scrubbing tile. "Yeah."

He's quiet for a second. "Have you had dinner?" You start to say no—but your stomach betrays you before your mouth can lie. It growls. Audibly. Your eyes go wide and he laughs at your expression. "Sit," he says, already turning toward the kitchen. "I'll make something."

You blink. "What? No, that's not—" He turns to look at you over his shoulder. "Sit." And there's something in the way he says it that has you obeying, hesitantly still. The counter's cool beneath your palms as you lower yourself into the chair, eyes tracking his every movement. He moves so naturally in the kitchen—opens the fridge with one hand, pulls down a skillet with the other, all casual familiarity and soft clattering sounds. It smells like garlic again. Butter. Something fresh.

"What are you making?" you ask.

He shrugs. "Something edible. Hopefully."

Heeseung's cutting vegetables like he's done it a thousand times. He slices a tomato without looking down, throws it into a pan, then adds something else from a jar. The sizzle is instant.

You lean forward. "Do you cook for all your maids?"

He pauses, halfway to the sink. Then he glances at you, a slow grin spreading across his mouth. "You're barely a maid."

"Excuse me?"

He shrugs again, that same lazy charm. "Have you seen the state of the guest bathroom?"

You laugh—actually laugh, the sound startling even to you but you catch yourself wondering why you're not offended he just insulted your cleaning skills. You watch his smile grow wider and somehow, in the scent of sautéing herbs and low music playing from the speaker he must've turned on when you weren't looking, it feels normal. Almost. Except not at all. Because when he sets the plate down in front of you, you look up to thank him—and he's already watching you. Eyes soft and focused.

And for the first time all day, your chest doesn't feel so tight.

You dig in and it's stupidly delicious, making your eyes go wide again, mouth still full. "Okay.

That's insane."

Heeseung chuckles, taking a bite of his own.

You point your fork at him. "You made this? Just now?"

He nods, watching you intently. It doesn't take long before the plates are empty—yours cleaned down to the sauce, his barely touched—and there's music playing from somewhere in the house, something soft and unfamiliar, all instrumentals and quiet piano.

You're both still sitting at the counter, opposite ends, your elbows propped up, legs curled beneath the stool. He's lounging with his long body twisted toward you, shirt sleeves rolled up, one hand holding a wine glass he hasn't taken a sip from yet.

The conversation has slowed into something looser now—easier. He asked what books you've been reading lately. You asked if he's always this good at cooking. He pretended to be modest and then very much wasn't.

And then you ask, "Why every day?"

He looks at you. "Why did you suddenly want me to come clean every day?" There's a beat of silence. Heeseung's gaze drops to the rim of his glass, the edge of his thumb skimming around it once, twice.

"When I saw your note," he says finally, voice lower now, "I didn't know what to do with it." He lifts his eyes, meets yours.

"I knew you weren't going to come again until the day after next. And it made me... restless. Waiting for a reply. Not being able to ask."

You inhale, slow and careful.

"And then I read your journal."

You stiffen a little, but he doesn't apologize. He doesn't even flinch.

"I didn't read all of it," he adds, leaning forward, closer. "I swear. Just some pages. A few entries. And one poem."

You stare at him.

He sets the glass down. Both elbows on the counter now. His fingers lace together.

"I read this line—" he begins, eyes on yours, "Your silence filled the house louder than your voice ever did."

You're stunned like your brain can't comprehend he's reciting your poem word for word.

He doesn't even blink. "I memorized the gaps in your sentences like scripture. I waited for the ending, but all you left was air."

Your mouth opens—just barely—but you can't speak.

"There's still a teacup on the windowsill. There's still a sweater on the hook. There's still a ghost in the shape of you that lives in the room where you never said goodbye."

You whisper the final two lines without thinking.

"And I still set the table for two, like a fool. Like you might remember that you left me starving."

His lips part—just slightly. Your voice had gone soft at the end, cracking a little, like it didn't want to be said out loud. And maybe it didn't. Maybe it never was.

You didn't even think it was that good. You wrote it half-asleep. You'd forgotten you even. "I needed to know," he says, not looking away, "who could write something like that."

You're quiet for a long time. "You shouldn't have read it."

"I know."

"I didn't write it for anyone to—"

"I know," he says again, voice quiet now. "But I couldn't help it. I wanted to meet the person behind it. I wanted to see if you'd look at me the way your words did."

The room is suddenly very still.

You don't know what to say. You don't know if there's even language for the way your body is reacting. There's heat in your throat, under your skin, behind your ribs. You should leave. You really should but instead you ask, "Do I?"

His brow creases. "Do you what?"

"Do I look at you that way?"

He doesn't answer your question, not with words anyway. Just studies you with that same unreadable stare, something flickering behind his eyes that makes it hard to breathe.

And then, as if someone's pressed fast-forward on the moment, he shifts his weight back and clears his throat softly. "Do you play any instruments?" he asks, voice casual, like he didn't just memorize one of the most vulnerable things you've ever written.

You blink. "What?"

He shrugs, gaze dropping to the counter. "You write. I assumed you like music."

"I do," you say carefully. "I like listening more than anything. I used to sing."

He hums, smiling faintly. "Used to?"

You sigh, deflecting. "It's different when people are watching. When you're older. The recorder was more forgiving."

That gets a real laugh out of him. He tilts his head, grinning. "The recorder?"

"Yes, and I was a prodigy. First chair in third grade." You press a hand to your chest dramatically. "The youngest to ever play Hot Cross Buns with such emotional depth."

He snorts and leans closer like he's about to say something else, but the next thing you know, he's not across the counter anymore—he's beside you.

You don't know exactly when he moved, maybe it was when he stood up from the stool to put the plates in the sink, still laughing about the recorder joke.

His elbow brushes yours. His shoulder is an inch from yours. You feel his presence like heat—radiating and dangerous in the best possible way.

And somehow, you're still laughing. You're still talking about childhood instruments and music you like and whether jazz is romantic or just sad in a pretty way. He teases you for not knowing any Miles Davis and you tease him back for quoting poetry like a teenage girl with a Tumblr account.

It's light. Easy. It's so different from the static in the air earlier this week, from the careful distance you both tried to maintain. But now...

Now his hand brushes the counter beside yours. And your breathing changes. And the silence feels like a held breath.

You don't look at each other—you're still talking, kind of. But your voices are softer now. Lower. A little slower.

And then it happens.

Your eyes meet.

His face tilts just slightly toward yours, making your breath catch.

His hand twitches like he wants to reach for you and doesn't. His eyes drop to your lips. He leans in, just a little—just enough that the space between you crackles—and you feel yourself tilting too, breath hitching, mouth parting.

And then he pulls back, all too quick and

sudden. He clears his throat, looks away, stepping back so abruptly he almost knocks over the stool that was next to you.

You flinch at the sound.

"I—" he starts, then shakes his head, jaw tight. "You should go."

Your stomach drops.

"I didn't mean to—" he breathes out, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You don't have to come tomorrow. Go to your class. I'll tell your manager."

You stay frozen for a second, eyes wide, lips still tingling with something that didn't happen.

And then you nod, slow. Trying not to show how much you're shaking. "Okay."

He doesn't say anything else.

You leave quietly.

But your pulse pounds in your ears all the way home and in the haze of it all you don't take the bus home.

You don't want the rush of it—the closed windows and stale air and elbows brushing yours. You want air, real air, the kind that cools your skin and cuts through the confusion curling heavy in your chest. The heels of your sneakers hit the sidewalk harder than usual. You don't notice until your toes ache.

You can still feel it. The almost of his mouth on yours. His voice whispering poetry that used to belong to no one but you. The way he looked at you right before he pulled back—like he could drown and not care.

You don't realize how far you've walked until your phone rings, sharp in the quiet. You check the screen and it's Cee. You sigh, thumb swiping across the glass.

"Hello?"

"Hey. Where are you right now?"

You blink. "Uh... on my way home. I finished cleaning—he told me not to come tomorrow, so—"

"Yeah, well, change of plans," he cuts in, voice tight, clipped. "He called. Wants you in tomorrow."

You stop walking. "What?"

"That's what I said. Twenty minutes ago, he told me you weren't coming. Five minutes ago, he said make sure you do."

Your grip tightens around your phone. You glance down at the pavement, cracked and worn, your shadow stretched long in the streetlight. "That... doesn't make sense."

"Welcome to my fucking week."

You don't know what to say. You try to remember exactly how he said it. You don't have to come tomorrow. You can take your class.

He said it like a kindness. Like a favor.

Or maybe—maybe it was a trick. A test. Maybe you failed.

The line is quiet for a moment. Then, softer—softer than you're used to from him, like he has to chew it first before he can let it out—your manager says:

"Hey. Is everything okay over there?"

Your breath catches.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." A pause. "He hasn't done anything weird, right? Or tried something? You'd tell me, yeah?"

You blink again, hard. It feels like stepping off a curb you didn't see. Your lips part, your heart kicks—because no, he hasn't. But he almost did and you're starting to think maybe it would've been fine if he did. Maybe it would've been more than fine.

"No," you say quickly. "Nothing like that. He's... he's not like that."

"You sure?"

"Yes." You don't hesitate. "I don't want to quit."

There's silence on the line. You can hear him exhale.

"Alright," he says finally. "You're there again at ten. Don't be late."

You nod, even though he can't see you. "Okay."

He hangs up.

You just stand there. A low breeze rustles through the trees, brushes cool fingers against your neck.

He asked for you. After almost kissing you and pulling away—after telling you not to come tomorrow—he called and asked for you. Your pulse flickers hot beneath your skin as your mind raced with questions.

Was he testing you?

Did he think you wouldn't come back?

You suddenly realize your mouth is dry, your throat tight. The stars feel too bright above you. Your phone buzzes in your palm, a silent reminder that something has shifted, again.

And for better or worse, you'll be seeing him tomorrow.

You don't even bother to take your shoes off when you get in the door.

The front door slams behind you harder than you mean it to, and Jiyoon—sweet, perceptive, too-curious Jiyoon—is immediately shouting from the kitchen, "Is that you? Are you okay? You've been gone forever, I was about to—"

"I'm fine!" you yell back, already halfway down the hall. Your voice cracks halfway through the word. You don't even try to fix it.

"Wait—" Jiyoon appears around the corner, wooden spoon still in hand, some ridiculous song playing from the speaker behind her. "Wait, wait, what happened? Did you see him again?"

You keep walking.

"Did he—?"

"I'm fine," you repeat, softer this time but not gentler. "He said I don't have to come in tomorrow, so I'll probably go to my class."

"Oh my god, what does that mean?" she laughs, stepping after you. "Did you finally tell him off or did he—?"

"I'm tired, Jiyoon," you mumble, hand on your doorknob. "So tired."

She crosses her arms. "You look like you just made out with someone in a Jane Austen novel."

Your face goes hot.

"I love you," you say, deadpan. "But I need to be alone right now."

She gasps dramatically, "You're hiding something! You always say I love you when you're hiding something—"

You shut the door in her face.

Lock it.

Lean back against it.

Your heart is still thudding too loud in your ears.

You sink down to the floor, journal already in your hands before you even realize you've moved. Your fingers tremble when you unscrew the cap of your pen. You press it to the page.

And for a moment, you just sit there, not even writing.

Just breathing.

You write, He said I write beautifully.

Then, slower, He said he felt restless about not getting a response.

And then, He pulled away.

The ink smudges beneath your fingers. You don't wipe it away. You just keep writing, your handwriting more frantic than usual, trailing across the page in swooping spirals and crooked curves. You write about the way he looked at you—so real and intense it felt like it burned. About how close he was, how you could feel the heat of him.

About the poem.

How he remembered every word.

How you finished it together.

And when you're done, you stare at the page—like maybe it'll give you answers. Like maybe it'll tell you what it means when a man like Heeseung tells you not to come, then calls your manager like he can't bear not seeing you.

You close your journal.

And press it to your chest.

You crawl into bed, still in your jeans, feet hanging off the edge, journal clutched to your chest like a heartbeat you don't trust to stay steady on its own.

It takes everything in you to peel yourself away, toss the journal aside, and dig out your laptop from where it's tangled in yesterday's laundry on the floor. You log into your evening class with exactly thirty seconds to spare, camera off, mic muted, chin propped against the heel of your palm.

The professor's voice starts droning through your headphones—soft, monotone, familiar—and for a second you think maybe you can do this.

And then your eyelids get heavy.

You blink hard.

You scribble your name into the attendance chat and pretend like you're absorbing something, anything, while your mind floats right back to—

That linen shirt hanging open just enough to see his collarbones. His voice, low and steady, reciting your words back to you like scripture. The smell of garlic and rosemary from his cooking still clinging to your hair. The way he moved closer without you even realizing. The moment before the kiss that never happened—the way your heart caught on the edge of it.

You shake your head violently, try to refocus. The slide on your screen says something about semiotic theory. You don't know what that means. You don't care what that means.

You're so screwed.

Your professor's voice fades into a low buzz, and you press your palm to your cheek harder, like maybe pressure can keep you conscious. It can't.

The laptop screen glares into your face. The chat scrolls with questions you don't have the energy to fake-read. You close your eyes just for a second.

You tell yourself it's only for a second.

Just one.

Just—

You jolt awake six minutes later to your professor asking, "And how might this apply to authorial intent, Y/N?"

You blink, brain empty.

You type in the chat: Sorry, my mic's not working.

And you thank every god that ever existed for mute buttons.

*•*•*

You find yourself hovering just outside the penthouse door, hesitating.

Your fingers are curled in a loose fist, suspended midair like they've forgotten how to move. You've stood in this exact spot every day for about a week now, but this time—this time you're unsure. The same polished floor under your shoes, the same towering door with its sleek gold handle and silent weight, but something about today feels different. You feel different.

You almost turn around.

Almost.

But then—voices. Muffled, low but distinct, curling around the edges of the thick door.

You lean in without meaning to, breath held as if your body knows this is a moment you're not meant to be part of. You recognize his voice first, Heeseung's—light, teasing, a tone you've come to know well, though it still unsettles you how easily it affects you. The other voice is lower, older maybe, with clipped words and a sternness that makes your stomach tighten. It must be the doctor from the other day.

"No," the doctor says, firm and quiet. "Now isn't the time to have a new person around every day. You know that."

There's a pause. You hear something creak—maybe a chair.

"It's fine," Heeseung replies, far too casually. "Nothing's happened. She's just cleaning. It's fine."

"She's not just cleaning."

There's silence. A long one. And then—Heeseung's voice again, softer. "Maybe she's good for me."

You freeze. You don't know what they're talking about exactly, not in full, but the heat that rushes to your face is impossible to fight. Good for him? What the hell does that mean? And why does it make your chest feel like it's caving in? Before you can hear anything else, the door swings open, making you stumble back just in time, blinking up at the man who steps through—tall, with sharp eyes that land on you and skim over every inch of your body like you're being scanned. He doesn't say hello, he doesn't smile just like last time. Instead, he mutters something—so low you barely catch it but the edge is there, sharp enough to wound. Something about "distractions" and "too young" and "another mistake."

You step aside without responding, your mouth suddenly too dry to speak. He walks past you with a slight shake of his head and a long sigh, like your very existence is a burden.

And then—

"Didn't think you'd come."

You turn back around.

Heeseung's standing in the doorway, barefoot again, hair still damp like he just showered, dressed in a loose gray shirt and soft black pants that cling to his hips in a way that makes your head fog. He's smiling—nothing too wide, just soft, like a secret meant only for you. Like he's genuinely happy to see you.

You open your mouth to say something, anything—but he's already speaking again.

"About yesterday," he says, stepping aside so you can walk in. "I'm sorry. I overstepped."

And the whiplash? It's instant. Because wasn't he the one who told you not to come today? All quiet and serious and guilt-stricken after nearly kissing you in his kitchen? Now he's soft again, familiar again, and it throws you completely off.

"You don't need to apologize," you say quickly, almost defensively, as you walk inside.

"I do," he says, just as fast. "I really—"

"No, Heeseung." You stop and turn to face him, heart in your throat. "You really don't need to apologize."

He opens his mouth again, brows furrowing, about to insist—but your voice cuts through the air before you can stop yourself.

Quiet. Barely a whisper.

"You didn't have to stop either."

Silence, all heavy and immediate. Heeseung just stares at you. Still and looking stunned. His lips parted like he wants to speak but the words haven't caught up to his brain. His eyes search your face slowly, like he's not sure if he heard you right—or if you meant to say it out loud.

And maybe you didn't.

But you did.

And there's no taking it back.

The door clicks shut behind you before you can even remember stepping inside.

Heeseung doesn't move at first. Just stares at you like he's not entirely sure you're real. Like maybe he conjured you up somehow. His eyes stay on your mouth a little too long, and you try not to notice the way his chest rises and falls, slow and controlled, as if he's reminding himself how to breathe.

Then you say it again. Softer this time.

"You didn't have to stop."

It hangs in the air between you. Heavy, reckless and unapologetic.

Heeseung blinks once. His expression doesn't change, but something in his eyes shutters. He exhales through his nose—shaky—and drags a hand through his hair, the curls still slightly messy from sleep or stress or something in between.

"That's inappropriate," he says, not unkindly. More like he's trying to draw a boundary he doesn't even believe in.

And the words sting. Maybe more than they should. Maybe because you were just beginning to feel something real stirring between the two of you—something outside of your job, your journal, your blurring lines. You freeze. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out at first, and it's too late anyway. He's already turning from you.

The confused hurt in your eyes stops him in his tracks, but only for a second. He looks back at you—and really looks. Something passes behind his eyes, quiet and aching. Regret maybe or worse, restraint. You watch his jaw flex, as if he's chewing on something bitter, swallowing all the things he'll never allow himself to say.

Then he's stepping away. A slow, deliberate retreat. His footsteps are soft against the stairs as he disappears up them without another word.

And just like that, you're alone. Again.

The silence is incredibly deafening.

Your hands are still trembling.

They have been ever since you left his place. You could barely wipe the kitchen counters without your fingers missing the edge. The dishes were spotless before you even realized you'd scrubbed them twice. Your head was everywhere but here, rerunning that moment—that look in his eyes, the cold withdrawal of his body after your quiet, desperate confession.

And he never came back down.

You didn't know what you expected, but it wasn't this.

The day drags, and when the clock finally blinks 4:00, you practically flee. Your phone's already to your ear by the time you hit the elevator.

"I can't do this anymore," you say as soon as Cee picks up.

He sounds startled. "Do what? Are you—what happened? Are you okay?"

"Nothing happened. I just—" You press your fingers to your temple. The weight of everything suddenly lands all at once. "I don't want to clean for him anymore."

He's quiet for a second. Then, softer, "Did he do something?"

"No. I just..." You sigh. "It's better this way."

And you think that's the end of it.

But the second you step into the building's reception, the front desk clerk—neatly pressed shirt, neutral expression, his name tag slightly askew—glances up from his computer. "Miss," he says, "Mr. Lee is asking for you upstairs."

You freeze.

Your mouth goes dry. "I—I was just up there."

He nods once, polite. "He asked me to let you know."

You hesitate.

Everything inside you says don't go. That this is how it always begins—with soft invitations and good intentions and doors that don't close fast enough behind you.

But your feet are already moving.

The elevator ride is silent, save the rush of your pulse in your ears. And when you push the door open, Heeseung is there, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. Waiting.

You can't read his expression.

"I figured you'd quit," he says. Not accusing. Not even upset. Just matter-of-fact, like he'd already prepared for it.

"I am," you say. "I think it's for the best."

There's a beat.

"I don't want that."

You scoff before you can help it, stepping inside, letting the door close behind you with a soft hiss. "I'm not even sure you know what you want."

You don't even realize you're walking until you're standing in front of him, so close you could count the lashes framing his eyes if you weren't too scared to look directly into them. There's something in his face—some falter in his composure—that makes your chest feel too tight.

He doesn't move.

So you do.

Your fingers curl into fists at your sides, your heart hammers, and then—you're kissing him.

It's a mess of a thing. Sudden. Brash. Tipped forward on hope and recklessness. Your lips crash into his like a question you don't want answered and—

Nothing.

He doesn't move.

Your lips are on his, but he's frozen. Unresponsive.

The rejection burns so fast it chokes you, and you start to pull back, humiliated—but something in you makes you whisper to him, "Please," you almost sound broken. "Please kiss me back, Heeseung."

That's all it takes.

The air leaves his lungs like he's been sucker-punched. His hands are on your face instantly, his mouth catching yours like he's been starving for it. Like the moment he tasted you, he remembered how badly he wanted.

And this time, he answers the question

His mouth is on yours like he's finally allowed himself to breathe. You're not sure who moves first after that—him or you—but the space between you disappears completely. His hands are in your hair, on your waist, gripping your hips like he needs the reminder that you're real and here and kissing him back just as desperately.

And when he pulls away to look at you—face flushed, eyes dark and confused—you whisper again, barely audible, "Heeseung..."

That does it for him because you can swear you see the moment something in him breaks. Suddenly he's not hesitating anymore, like the sound of your voice cracked through whatever restraint he'd been clinging to, and now it was all unraveling.

He's swallowing the soft sounds you make, capturing every gasp, every whimper, like he needs to devour them, and his mouth is hot and insistent as it trails down your jaw, your neck, his teeth grazing the delicate skin like he's trying to mark the moment there.

You gasp when he lifts you without warning, your thighs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your arms around his neck. You can feel his heartbeat through his shirt. It's erratic—wild—matching yours nearly beat for beat.

He sets you down on the kitchen counter like you weigh nothing, the cool marble biting at the backs of your thighs through your jeans. His lips return to yours before they begin their descent again, brushing over your collarbone, down the slope of your chest. His fingers find the hem of your top and pause, glancing up, breath hitching.

You nod.

That's all he needs.

He peels it off gently—too gently for the look in his eyes—and when your bra joins the growing pile of fabric, he's silent for a second. Just watching you. Then he exhales something like a curse and leans in, pressing slow, reverent kisses down your sternum, the curve of your breasts, dragging his teeth lightly, sucking your nipple into his mouth, making you shiver and arch into him.

Every time you whimper, he presses closer.

Every time you moan, he groans softly against your skin, like your sounds undo him.

And just when you think your legs might give out from how tightly your body is wound, he lifts you again. Not onto the floor—but down, off the counter, and turns you gently, pressing you forward. You gasp softly as your hands meet the marble again, your heart stuttering.

Your jeans are tugged down with unhurried hands. Your underwear follows. You're so exposed. Breathless. And behind you, Heeseung lets out a shaky breath that sounds almost like a prayer.

One of his hands smooths over your lower back. The other grips your hip. "God forgive me," he whispers.

You don't know how to stay quiet—not when his mouth is trailing behind you, kissing the backs of your thighs, the curve of you, everywhere—and when he finally leans in, when you feel the first sweep of his tongue, your entire body jolts forward like he's short-circuited something deep inside you.

"Heeseung—" It leaves your mouth like a sob.

He groans in response, tightening his grip around your thighs, but his pace doesn't falter.

And all you can do is press your cheek against the cool counter, eyes fluttering shut, biting down on your own hand as he ruins you slowly.

Intimately.

He watches you unravel with so much intensity from beneath you, it's like he's trying to imprint every detail into memory. His tongue maps out every inch of you, teasing and tasting places you never realized could make you feel this way—until he finds your clit again. Instinct takes over; your hips roll down against his mouth, and he responds with a low hum, gripping your thighs to hold them open just enough to tilt his head and drag his tongue lower once more. "Spread your legs for me baby" He whispers it in a way that has you thinking you'll do anything he says, as long as he says it in that voice.

Suddenly and surprisingly, he shoves his tongue deep inside you while using his fingers to rub tight circles against your clit. "Hee—Ah!" You're moaning and whimpering so uncontrollably, the whole thing has your legs trembling where you're stood. You're convinced if he wasn't holding you up himself you'll collapse from the pleasure and pressure of it all.

His tongue is incredibly relentless, slurping you up, not even caring that he's drooling down his chin with your essence, "Wait! W-Wait!" You cry out suddenly.

"What? What? What's wrong? Did I hu—" His words cut through to you as he gets up off his knees where he was, but you're cutting him off and pulling him for another deep kiss, hopping yourself up on the counter again. Heeseung kisses you back like he's starving—like you're the first thing he's ever been allowed to want.

Your hands are in motion before you can think. Clumsy, eager, pulling his shirt halfway out from where it's tucked into his sweats, feeling the heat of his stomach beneath your palms. You moan into his mouth and his hands squeeze your thighs in response, hard enough to leave a mark.

He doesn't stop you when your fingers find the waistband of his sweatpants. If anything, he kisses you harder. His tongue sweeps into your mouth like he owns it—owns you—and you're letting him. Begging for more.

Your hands are shaking when you fumble at the button of his slacks, but you manage to get it undone, your fingers brushing the trail of skin that dips below the waistband. Heeseung lets out a sharp, broken sound against your mouth—fuck—his head tipping forward, forehead resting against yours as you palm him through the fabric.

You weren't ready for how hard and heavy he would be in your hand. It was like the length of him just went on and on.

You feel the twitch beneath your palm and gasp, and his breath stutters like he's seconds from losing it.

"Jesus—" heeseung grits, his voice deep and wrecked. His head tips back, neck exposed, throat bobbing, you've never seen someone come undone like this.

He's panting now, hips shifting forward like he needs the friction, like your hand is the only thing anchoring him.

"Is this okay?" you whisper, breathless, your voice barely steady as you trace him again, bolder this time.

His eyes find yours, blown wide and unreadable, lips parted. "You're gonna kill me," he breathes, but he nods. "Don't stop. Please take it out, please."

Your hand moves again, more confidently now, doing as he says, and his mouth crashes into yours mid-moan—swallowing it whole, like he can't bear the sound of his own unraveling.

And when he groans into you, deep and guttural and feral, you feel it between your legs—hot and pulsing and near unbearable.

He grips your hips like he's trying to anchor himself—like you're the only thing holding him together. He's dragging you to the edge of the counter and pinning your hand behind you, it has you feeling dizzy—the way he has you pinned there, at his mercy.

Before you can pull away to look down at where you have your hand wrapped around him, he's picking you up off the counter yet again, carrying you and setting you down on the couch, ever so gently.

Heeseung is panting into your mouth, your bodies pressed flush—his chest against yours, your legs wrapped around his waist. The fabric between you is suffocating. His sweats are halfway down his hips, your jeans are already abandoned on the kitchen floor, along with your panties, your composure, and any shred of dignity you once clung to when it came to him.

He's got you caged between his body and the couch. One arm braced beside your head, the other skimming down your side until his fingers are slipping between your legs again. You jolt, gasping against his lips, forehead pressed to his as his fingers slide through the mess he's made of you.

"Fuck—" you whisper, clutching at the back of his neck.

"So wet for me," he murmurs, his voice nothing but gravel and smoke, his thumb teasing your clit in slow, deliberate circles that make your spine curl. "You're perfect like this...I knew you'd come back."

You moan again, louder, desperate, rocking against his hand—your whole body begging for him.

His mouth finds yours again, kisses sloppier now, and then he's gripping himself, lining up with your entrance, breath hot and uneven against your cheek.

And then—

"Rina," he breathes.

You freeze for half a second.

It's soft—tender as a whispered prayer, effortless as a breath, a name escaping his lips before he even realizes it.

But your brain doesn't quite catch it—not fully. You're too far gone. Too overwhelmed by the stretch of him nudging at your entrance, by the unbearable heat of his body, the quiet, feral groan rumbling from his chest.

You blink, dazed. "What...?"

But the next second, he's pushing in.

And everything else disappears.

Your body arches, mouth falling open around a choked cry as he fills you in one slow, devastating thrust.

The stretch burns in the best way, and Heeseung moans something guttural, animalistic, like the moment he's inside you he's forgotten his own name too.

"So tight," he groans, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he holds himself there, buried to the hilt. "Fucking heaven."

Your fingers claw at his back, your mouth finding the shell of his ear.

"Heeseung—move. Please—"

He pulls back, just enough to slam into you again, and you swear the stars tilt. His rhythm is brutal, relentless, every thrust stealing the breath from your lungs, and you're sobbing now—moaning into his mouth like you've lost your mind. Maybe you have.

Maybe he has.

Because he's whispering things you can't quite understand—fragmented pieces of something almost sweet, almost unhinged.

"My perfect girl... only mine... waited so long—so long—Rina..."

You hear it again. Clearer now, but you're too gone to stop. Too full of him to question it. Your body writhes beneath his like it's what it was made for—like he's been carved into your DNA.

And you don't know what he means but something about the way he's holding you—possessive, reverent, frantic like he'll die without you—sends a chill up your spine even as you're unraveling around him.

Where they meet—the madness and the need—you don't know where you end and he begins. But you're already lifting your hips to meet his just to chase your high. You're pretty sure you're drooling now and by the way he looks down at you a smiles you know he likes what he seeing "You're so beautiful" "So tight wrapped aroun—" He keeps silencing himself with strangled moans, pulling back and sitting up, too overwhelmed to even remember he hasn't apologized for already being on the edge.

"I'm gonna c—" "Oh fuck fuck fuuuuckkk" He drawls on and on, you can feel your release coming too, in fact it almost feel like you're going to pee. "Don't stop! Heeseung! Fuck!" You moan loudly, yanking him down into a sloppy kiss before pushing his hips back, his cock slipping wet and twitching from your cunt. Without pause, your fingers find your clit, working it in savage, relentless circles, each one followed by a sharp slap that makes your thighs jolt. "Fuck—shit!" you cry out, body arching as a hot stream shoots from you, splattering across his stomach and chest.

His breath catches—eyes blown wide, chest heaving—watching you lose control all over him "You're so sexy". You haven't even caught your breath when he suddenly takes over again, letting the mess spill from you as if your trembling doesn't matter, pushing you down and driving himself deep into the pulsing aftermath still rippling through your body.

"Cum on my cock again, please" "Need you to, Rina—Fuck! I'm so close!" He's mumbling half incoherent half desperate and your overstimulated self doesn't seem to hear the alarm bells ringing in your head at the name he just called you again. You're already on the brink again, trembling and aching for it, and when it finally crashes through you, it's because Heeseung drags it out with no mercy. He pulls out, cock dripping, and fists it furiously as he paints your stomach—but he doesn't let your cunt stay empty. Two fingers slam back into your soaked hole, curling deep and fast, forcing you to squirt all over his wrist as he talks you through it with a low, filthy grin.

You're both trembling.

Sweaty skin pressed to sweaty skin. Harsh breathing. The deep, ragged quiet of two people who forgot where they were, who they were, what any of this even meant. He slumps forward, collapsing into you with a half-groan, half-laugh, and you let your fingers drift up his spine, your body humming with aftershocks.

You don't say anything and neither does he, not for a long, long moment.

Then he pushes up, slowly, gently—his hands sliding beneath your thighs as he lifts you off the couch. You whimper softly from the sensitivity, clinging to his shoulders.

"Come on," he says, voice raw and low. "Shower."

Your limbs feel like water, but you nod, letting him carry you. He walks the both of you to the massive bathroom like you weigh nothing—like you're still something precious in his arms—and sets you down on the warm tile floor. The shower clicks on, hot water spraying against his hand as he checks the temperature, then guides you under it with him.

The moment the water hits you, you shiver—more from the way he's looking at you than the heat. His gaze doesn't drop once. Not when he's rubbing gentle soap over your skin, not when he's rinsing between your legs with careful fingers, not when he presses a kiss to your shoulder like an apology he's too afraid to say aloud.

He doesn't speak until you're both out, towel-wrapped and damp.

"You okay?" he asks quietly, toweling off your hair with surprising tenderness.

You nod. And you don't stop him when he pulls one of his T-shirts over your head—soft and oversized, falling to your mid-thigh. You don't stop him when he pulls on a pair of boxers for you either, or when he leads you to the guest bedroom, the sheets cool and clean beneath your bare legs as you crawl under them.

He climbs in next to you, his body warm beside yours, and without a word, he pulls you close, wrapping an arm around your waist like it's muscle memory.

There's no more heat. No more tension. Just his heartbeat against your back, his breath slow and steady in your ear and you fall asleep like that, in his clothes, in his bed, in his arms. Not thining about the name he whispered.

*•*•*

You wake up before Heeseung does.

There's no buzzing alarm, no sunlight breaking through the blackout curtains, but your body jolts upright anyway—like your soul remembered what your mind didn't.

Panic grips you first.

Jiyoon. She's definitely called. Probably texted. Maybe even filed a missing person's report.

You twist in the sheets, trying not to disturb the weight draped over your waist. Heeseung's arm. Heavy, possessive, warm. His hand is splayed over your hip like it belongs there.

You freeze. Your breath catches in your throat.

What did I do?

Your heart's racing as you carefully, carefully peel his arm off of you, shimmying toward the edge of the bed. You manage to get one leg off, then another, tiptoeing like a thief in the early morning hush—

"Why are you sneaking out?"

You squeak.

Spinning around, your hands instinctively fly to your chest, but you're still wearing his shirt. You breathe a little but then freeze again when you see him. Heeseung is propped up on one elbow, hair mussed, eyes half-lidded and heavy with sleep. His voice is low and scratchy—one of those voices that somehow sounds like velvet and gravel all at once.

You stare. And then it hits you—like a freight train right between the ribs. Everything he did to you. Every moan he pulled from your lips. The way he tasted. The way he touched you like you were something sacred and sinful at the same time. You gasp, clapping a hand over your mouth like you can trap the memory there.

His brow lifts just slightly, eyes crinkling with amusement. "What am I gonna do with you?" he mutters, flipping back onto the bed with a sigh, one arm flung over his eyes. "You're trouble."

"I have to go," you say quickly, eyes darting to the door. "My friend is probably freaking out, she didn't know where I was—"

"Okay," he murmurs, voice muffled beneath his forearm. "But can I get a kiss?" You blink, feeling your heart stutter. Then, slowly, you cross the room again, padding back to the side of the bed. His arm lowers just enough to watch you. When you lean down, brushing your lips to his, he hums—like he's been waiting for that exact moment.

But just as you try to pull away, he grabs you. You yelp, landing on top of him with a soft thud as his hands anchor you by the hips. "Heeseung—" He kisses you again and t's not a chaste goodbye kiss this time. It's deeper, hotter—his lips moving slow and sure against yours, like he has all the time in the world. His tongue licks into your mouth, and you melt against him without thinking, your fingers clutching the soft fabric of his T-shirt over his chest.

You whine into his mouth. "I have to go..." He nips at your bottom lip, soothing the sting with a soft kiss before pulling back just enough to breathe. "Come back," he whispers. "Tonight. Seven o'clock."

You're blinking at him, breathless. "To... clean?" He shakes his head once, lips twitching. "No. I'll cook." You can't help it. You smile. It's shy and warm and completely helpless. "Okay," you whisper.

He lets you go then, but not before placing one last kiss on your cheek, right beneath your eye. "Don't be late."

You close the door to the guest bedroom behind you, twisting the handle slowly so it doesn't make a sound, like he might stir just from the click, not that he could even be asleep again. Your heart's still thudding, though softer now, your body still warm from how he held you—not just last night, but moments ago. You feel him on your skin. Between your thighs. In your mouth, even. You pad into the hallway, feet silent against the floor, and the penthouse feels even bigger in the morning, stretching out wide and echoey. Sunlight slips in through the tall windows of the living room, golden and faint, catching dust in the air.

Your clothes are everywhere. A trail—your bra laying on the kitchen floor with your jeans close by, your shirt hanging from the edge of a barstool like some kind of white flag.

You sigh.

You gather them quickly, cradling the bundle to your chest. But when you unfold your shirt—well, what's left of it—you remember the exact moment he took it off, how he looked at you like you were some forbidden fruit he'd gone too long without, you hadn't even realized he had ripped it. It's unsalvageable.

So you just... don't put it on. You slip your bra back on, then shrug his black shirt over it. It swallows you, soft and warm from sleep. You wiggle into your jeans next, the ones he peeled off of you. Your hands tremble as you do the button up.

Last thing—your phone. You search the couch. Nothing. Under the cushions. Still nothing. You check the kitchen counter, the bar, even crouch down to peek under the sofa. "Come on, come on..." Then finally, mercifully, you spot it near the edge of the carpet, half-tucked under the dining chair. You dive for it like it's oxygen and fumble to unlock it.

Ten missed calls. Three voicemails. Twenty-two messages.

All from one name. You don't even get a word out when you hit call—Jiyoon answers on the first ring. "You bitch." You wince. "Oh my god," she cackles. "You bitch. Where were you? Don't tell me—no, no actually, tell me everything right now."

"Ji—"

"You slept with him, didn't you? You fucking whore. You got that psycho dick, didn't you?! Tell me. Was it good? Was it crazy?!"

You cover your face with your hand, crouching down behind the kitchen island like you're trying to hide from the embarrassment sinking into your bones. "I'm coming home," you say weakly, voice still raspy from sleep and... everything else.

"Oh," Jiyoon says, tone shifting slightly. "I'm not home right now. I'm covering a shift for my lazy coworker. But I'll be back later—wait, wait, is he still there? Are you still there? What's he doing?"

"Jiyoon."

"What?"

"Bye."

You hang up.

Still pink-faced and hot, you shove your phone in your pocket, tug on your sneakers, and walk to the elevator with your head ducked low—like the doors might open and the walls themselves would whisper what happened between them. You're not sure how to feel. Still floating. Still wrecked. But you know you'll be back by 7.

*•*•*

You unlock the door to your apartment with shaking fingers, pushing it open slowly like you might find the night before still waiting for you on the other side. But it's empty, cause there's no Heeseung here. No soft piano notes echoing from hidden corners. No whispered "be back by seven." Just your little apartment, lived-in and warm and smelling faintly of vanilla from the candle Jiyoon must've lit last night. You step inside, close the door behind you, and lean back against it for a second. Just to breathe. Your body aches so deliciously and shamefully. Your lips are sore. Your thighs. Your heart.

You change into something soft and oversized before dropping onto your desk chair and logging into your online class, the kind of class that requires so much effort to focus on even when you haven't just had... whatever that was. The screen lights up. A professor you don't care about is already talking, already droning on about something you're not registering. You blink at the slides. The bullet points. You try. Really, you do. But your brain?

It's busy. Because it won't stop showing you his face in the dark. The way he hovered over you, lips parted, skin burning hot against yours. The way he touched you like you were something he needed to know. Memorize.

The way he whispered—low and wrecked—"Rina." You flinch.

It hits you all at once. You'd been so caught up in the moment, too far gone to process it then. But now? Now it loops. The way he said it. Like a prayer. Like a confession. Rina.

Who the hell is Rina? You shift in your seat, open a new tab, and hesitate. Your heart is racing again—not the good kind this time, as your hands tremble over the keyboard. Then you type it in regardless,

Lee Heeseung Rina

The search bar blinks at you. You hit enter. And there it is.

The very first result is a glossy thumbnail from three years ago. Heeseung in an interview, seated on a sleek navy couch, wearing black slacks and a gray button up sweater and a white shirt beneath it. He's smiling. That breathtaking smile you've only seen a few times up close, so effortless and disarming. You click the video.

The host laughs and leans forward. "Come on, Heeseung. Everyone wants to know. Who's Rina?" Heeseung chuckles, mouth tugging up at one side. You sit a little straighter.

"She's my first love," he says. "And probably the only one I'll ever love like that." The crowd awwws and your heart cracks like glass under pressure, you have pause the video. So she was real. A real woman.Someone he loved so deeply he admitted it on camera—publicly, permanently. Your throat closes up. Your chest tightens. He called you that name. Did he think of her while he was—. You don't even finish the thought. Instead, you search harder. Scroll deeper. You need to know what she looks like. If you look like her. If this is some messed up ghost-of-an-ex situation.

Another video pops up—this one titled "Behind the Scenes | Seoul Symphony Ensemble (ft. Lee Heeseung)"

You click it. The footage is candid, grainy. Heeseung's younger here, maybe only twenty or twenty-one, still too beautiful for it to be fair. The camera follows him backstage as he leads a film crew through the dim corridors of a concert hall. Then he stops, turns to the camera. "Come here," he says with a quiet laugh, gesturing to the next room. "You have to meet her." The camera jostles slightly as they follow. Heeseung walks up to a sleek, glossy black grand piano and runs his fingers across the keys. "This is Rina," he says, like he's introducing a person. His voice is reverent. Almost loving. "She's been with me since I was thirteen. She's...kind of everything to me."

You freeze.

The camera zooms in slightly. Heeseung brushes dust from the piano's surface with his sleeve, smiling at it so softly it hurts. "She's my first love." You sit there, staring, mind blank and full all at once.

Rina's not a person.

Rina's a piano.

A fucking piano. A part of you wants to laugh at your delusion but you don't, instead you just sit there. Eyes glued to the screen. To him. To the way he's speaking—not to the camera, not even to the crew—but to the piano, like it's something alive. Like it's someone he's missed. Someone he still longs for in the softest, most ruined parts of himself. And that name—Rina—sits different now in your head. Not like a rival. Not like someone he's still in love with. But like... a memory. A feeling. Something that made him whole when the world couldn't.

Rina is his piano.

You let the video run, sound turned low, just watching him—barely twenty two, still beautiful, still broken. The way he presses one key gently and listens. How he says, she's been with me since I was thirteen. How he adds, she's my first love like it's a secret and a confession all at once. Your heart folds in on itself. Because in a way it makes sense now. The way he said your name last night, the way he whispered Rina instead—like he couldn't tell the difference. Like in his mind, in that haze of need and obsession and closeness, you had become something sacred. Something he hadn't let himself love in years. Something he used to play like music. And he'd touched you the same way—with reverence and hunger, as if trying to figure out where you end and he begins. You press your palm to your chest, like maybe you can settle your heartbeat if you hold it hard enough.

He doesn't see you as a replacement. You're not her. But in that moment, you think he felt something he hadn't in a long time. Something pure. Something familiar. Something maybe even terrifying. Heeseung, in his fractured, beautiful, obsessive mind, didn't just mistake you for his piano, he associated the moment—you—with what he once felt when he played Rina. And maybe he's so far gone he doesn't even realize he did it. And maybe you should be scared, but all you feel is this deep, warm ache in your ribs that won't go away. You close the laptop, completely forgetting about your class, and press your fingers to your lips. They still tingle from kissing him and you feel your stomach turn with excitement for the night to come.

*•*•*

You hear it before you see her. The clatter of her keys on the counter. The heavy sigh. And then, sharp—like a bullet of disbelief, "YOU BITCH." "OH MY GOD." You don't even turn. Just let your eyes flutter shut and mentally brace for it. "You absolute filthy little minx," Jiyoon hisses, storming into the hallway in her work flats and crumpled apron, "Don't even try to deny it—I know you did it." "I'm not denying anything," you mumble, turning slowly to face her. She's halfway through unzipping her jacket, eyes wide, expression scandalized.

Your entire face bursts into flames. "Jiyoon—" "Oh my God, you did sleep with him." She points at you like she's witnessing a war crime. "You have sex hair. You're literally glowing. What the hell is that shirt? Wait—don't tell me." She takes a dramatic step back. "Is that his shirt?" You tug the hem instinctively. "It's just... something I had to wear. Mine got—um. Ripped." She stares at you. Blinks once. Twice. Then screams. "Oh my GOD. He ripped your clothes off? That's—like—that's premium movie-level sexy violence."

You bury your face in your hands. "Please lower your voice." "You didn't even text me last night!" she cries. "Do you know how worried I was? I thought he locked you in a cage or something!"

"I was busy," you say, voice strangled. "You were BUSY getting ravenously destroyed," she says, flopping onto the couch like the dramatics are too heavy for her legs. "Okay. Tell me everything. Don't leave out any of the details. Did he talk? Was it intense? Slow burn? Did he like—say your name all rough and gravelly or was he like, all quiet and crazy about it?" You hesitate.

You want to tell her and you almost do, but something about that moment—about everything that happened last night, the hazy weight of his body pressed against yours, his breath in your ear, how he held you like you were a prayer and a ghost all at once—feels too delicate. Too personal. You can't even begin to explain the shift you felt inside yourself, let alone the strange ache in your chest when he said that name. You swallow, keeping your voice light. "It was... really good."

Jiyoon lifts a brow. "That's it? Good?" You shoot her a look. "I'm not giving you a full play-by-play." She gasps. "So it was insane." "I'm gonna be late," you deflect, brushing past her to grab your phone. "I told him I'd be there at seven." "Ugh. Seven is such a romantic time."

"What does that even mean?" "Like. Not too early, not too late. Right in the middle. Candlelight o'clock." She wiggles her eyebrows. "You gonna let him feed you and then fuck you again?""Jiyoon."

"You are. Oh my God. Are you shaving again or are we doing stubble and surrender tonight?" You groan. "I can't talk to you about this." "Yes, you can," she says, pulling her hair into a bun. "We signed a roommate agreement, remember? Emotional nudity clause." You smile despite yourself. "Just wish me luck, okay?" She softens then, eyes scanning your face. "You like him." You hesitate, fingers pausing on your necklace clasp. "I don't know what I feel," you say truthfully. "It's... fast. Messy." "You don't do messy."

"Exactly." Jiyoon walks over, squeezes your shoulder. "That shirt looks hot on you, by the way. Like dangerously I-was-just-fucked-by-a-mentally-ill-man hot." "Thanks, I think."

"Be safe. Don't let him tie you to anything unless there's a safe word. Call me if he tries to perform an exorcism." You laugh, heading for the bathroom door. "You're gonna fall for him," she calls behind you. "You already are, huh?" But you don't answer, because you don't know that yet, and if you do, you're not ready to say it out loud.

You check the time again when it's 6:38 PM. Your reflection in the bathroom mirror stares back at you—doe-eyed, glossed lips parted slightly, a tiny knot of nerves cinched beneath your ribs. You smooth your hands down your dress for the fifth time, whispering to yourself under your breath like it might change something. "Okay," you murmur. "Just dinner. It's just... dinner." With Heeseung. At his penthouse. In a dress you specifically picked to walk the very fine line between I wanted to look nice for you and I definitely didn't spend two hours trying on everything I own. A dress that clings at your waist and floats at your knees and makes you feel pretty but also exposed. Not in a bad way, just... in a way that makes your skin feel watched. Known.

You hesitate in the doorway, staring down the hallway toward the stairs. And then you groan. "Nope. No way I'm taking the bus." You can already see it—you standing sandwiched between strangers, one arm clutching the overhead bar, the other yanking at your skirt, trying not to breathe too loud. You can feel the wrinkles forming just thinking about it. You'd show up looking like a disheveled little sandwich and Heeseung—Heeseung with his white linen shirts and leather watchbands—would tilt his head and maybe smile and maybe not say anything, but you'd know. You open your phone and call a cab.

It feels ridiculous. Extravagant even. But the moment you sink into the backseat, cool leather beneath your thighs and the city lights blinking past your window like slow breaths, something quiet settles inside you. You take a long, shaky inhale. Heeseung's face comes to mind. The way he looked last night—flushed and breathless and so terribly hungry for you, like you were the first and last thing he'd ever wanted. The way he whispered your name. Except—it wasn't your name. Not the first time. Your fingers tighten slightly on your bag and you push the thought away. You already made peace with it—told yourself it didn't mean anything. Not really. You'd seen the videos. You know what Rina is. And in some strange, abstract way, you think maybe you understand what happened better than you should.

Maybe he sees things in fragments—maybe he feels things in them too. Maybe last night, you reminded him of something he loved once so deeply he carved a home for it in his bones. And maybe tonight, you want him to start carving space for you instead. You glance atthe time on your phone, 6:53. Your stomach flutters. Are you nervous?

God—yes. Your knees won't stop bouncing, and your fingers keep picking at the edge of your dress. But you're also... excited.You don't know what's waiting for you on the other side of this ride—don't know if dinner will be awkward or sweet or laced with something heavier—but it feels like something real. Something different. And that terrifies you. Because you've never been looked at the way he looked at you last night. Not like you were music.

The cab pulls up to the building. You pay with shaky hands, thank the driver too softly, and walk inside. The elevator ride is a blur of breath-holding. The ding at the top floor even sends a jolt through your chest. And then you're standing in front of his penthouse door, your hand hovering, not sure whether to knock or just—. It's not locked. The knob turns and you step inside, closing the door behind you with a soft click, and you're met with... silence. You take one hesitant step forward into the quiet space. It's too quiet. The air feels still in a way it didn't the last time you were here—when it was thick with the scent of his skin, his hands, your gasps and moans echoing off the walls like confessions. Now it's like the space is holding its breath again.

"Heeseung?" you call, your voice barely above a whisper. You glance at the clock on the wall, 7:01. You chew on your lip, glancing around. The kitchen looks untouched. There's no trace of movement, no clatter of pans or scent of dinner in the air. There's a single light on in the far corner by the bookshelves, casting golden shadows across the couch where he held you just hours ago, his mouth in your hair and his arms locked around your waist like he was afraid you'd disappear. You exhale softly. "Heeseung?" you try again, louder this time, taking cautious steps farther in. Still nothing.

And then it hits you—you don't even have his number. You came here like some wide-eyed idiot with your heart between your teeth, expecting him to just be there, waiting, arms outstretched. It hadn't occurred to you that he might not hear the door, or might be upstairs, or might have changed his mind entirely.

God. You sink down onto the arm of the couch and try not to panic. You won't text Jiyoon—not yet. She'd tease you mercilessly and then probably tell you to go snoop in case he was sleeping with other people or something absurd. You don't want to snoop. You just want to see him. You shift in your seat, smoothing your dress again, tugging at the edge of it and check the time again, 7:06. You blink, already feeling defeated and ready to leave but then a sharp loud sound echoes from upstairs that has you snapping your head towards the stairs. There's another thud—louder this time—followed by a crash that sends a sharp jolt through your chest. Something shattered. And then, unmistakably, screaming. Blood-curdling. Ragged. Like pain clawing itself out of a throat too raw to hold it anymore.

Your breath snags. Your heart kicks into high gear. Your body's moving before your mind can catch up, instinct overriding hesitation as you bolt through the living room, past the grand piano, toward the stairs. Breaking every rule you were given when you first started working here, but that's the last thing on your mind.

He's upstairs. That's him—him screaming.You take the stairs two at a time, heart pounding, fingers scrambling against the banister. When you reach the top, there's only one door that makes sense—tall and black, you sprint to it, chest heaving, and try the handle.

Locked.

Your fist slams against it before you can think. "Heeseung?!" There's no response—just another crash, something metallic this time, like a stand being thrown, maybe a chair. Your knuckles are pulsing against the wood. "Heeseung, open the door! Please!" Still no answer. Just a chorus of garbled words—frenzied, nonsensical, frantic.

"They changed the notes—don't you hear it? It's all wrong, out of key, they're inside the piano! Stop watching me! The rhythm's bleeding, I can't—" Another crash. "It's too loud in here, too loud in my head, make it stop!" Your blood runs cold. Something primal flickers inside you—panic morphing into something sharper, braver. You back up, brace your shoulder against the frame, and throw yourself forward.

Once. Twice—

CRACK.

The door flies open, and you stumble into the absolute chaos, the first thing you see is the floor, and at the center of it all; a piano or what's left of one. Splintered wood. Torn wires. Ivory keys cracked like teeth knocked from a skull. You recognize it instantly. Rina.

There more glass and splintered wood than floor beneath her. Crumpled sheet music. A chair lying on its side. Blood. Blood like paint streaked across the wooden floor, thin trails leading to—

Him. Heeseung.

Standing in the center of it all like a broken monument. There's a deep gash across his forearm, blood still dripping sluggishly onto his hand and down his knuckles. His chest rises and falls too fast, ribs pushing sharply beneath skin that gleams with sweat. His hair sticks to his face. His eyes—wide, unseeing, glazed with something far away and chaotic and terrifying—don't register you at first. He's breathing like he's drowning.

You try to speak, to talk to him, but your throat won't open. He moves before you can. Quick, jerky. Like his body's not entirely his own. He spins, stares at the wall like it's speaking to him, fingers twitching at his sides. "They changed the notes," he mutters. "They changed the fucking notes." His voice is shredded. Raw. Like he's been screaming for hours. Maybe he has. You take one step closer, and your heel lands on a snapped piano key. It clicks beneath your foot like a trigger. He whips around, eyes on you now, all wild, unhinged and unfocused. "Who are you?" he rasps.

You freeze. The question slices clean through you. Your mouth opens, but your voice won't come. Heeseung stares, pupils blown so wide you can barely see the brown. His hands curl and uncurl like he's not sure if he wants to reach for you or strangle you. "Who are you?" he repeats. "Why are you watching me? Are you one of them?"

Them? Your heart stutters. "Heeseung..." you whisper, finally finding your voice. "It's me." But he flinches like you've struck him. You take another step and watch as he instinctively steps back. "No," he whispers. "No—Rina? I'm so sorry. I hurt you. You were perfect and I ruined you. My perfect girl. Please forgive me." Your breath catches.

"It's okay, it's okay." You don't know where it comes from. Maybe instinct. Maybe desperation. Maybe the way his voice cracks like the word is a wound. "I forgive you," you say, voice steadier this time. "I came back for you." His mouth parts and his whole body stills. You can see the thought slotting into place behind his eyes, crooked and trembling and fragile. But it settles. "...Rina?" You nod. "I'm here."

He walks toward you slowly. So slow. Like every step might set him off again. And still, you don't move. His bloodied hand lifts, fingers brushing your cheek—his touch clumsy and too hard at first, like he doesn't remember how to be gentle. But then it softens. His palm cups your jaw, and he leans in so close his breath skates across your lips. "I knew you'd come back," he murmurs. Your throat tightens and swallow around the ache, allowing him to press his forehead against yours. "I'm here now."

"Don't leave," he breathes. "Please don't leave me again. The music stops when you're gone. It stops and I can't breathe, I can't—"

"I'm not going anywhere," you whisper. He leans back just enough to look at you. The way he's looking now—it breaks you, because there's no rage or wildness. Just pure, shivering exhaustion. He's unraveling at the seams, and you're the only thread keeping him together. "I want to play," he says softly. "Let me play you."

You nod. And when he tugs you toward the mangled piano, you follow. It's barely standing. The legs are cracked. One pedal's missing. The keys are uneven—some bloodied, some broken. It shouldn't work. It shouldn't sound. But he sits on the shattered bench, breath hitching, and gently pulls you onto his lap.

You settle there, straddling him, your dress bunching slightly against the rough edge of the wood. Your hands brace on his shoulders. His arms wrap around you, drawing you closer. And then—fingers trembling—Heeseung presses his hands to the keys. The sound is... haunting. Off. Warped. But he plays anyway. A melody, jagged and soft. A lullaby with broken bones. The piano cries beneath his touch, but he keeps playing. For you, because of you, it all makes your chest ache for him, you even feel your eyes sting. And all you can do is hold him, let him pour whatever's left of himself into the broken body of his piano—into you.

Because right now, in this room thick with blood and chaos and ghosts, you're the only thing anchoring him to earth. The music tumbles out of him in discordant bursts, crooked and aching like his mind, like his body—like whatever this is between you. And you swear, you'd let him play you forever. But then his fingers slip, not from the broken keys, but because your breath stutters against his jaw. He stills, drifting one hand away from the piano to find your waist instead, the other continues to play, the curve of your back—and then he's holding you so tight you feel the blood from his arm soak warm through your dress.

You don't flinch.

He tilts his face up, searching yours. Your lips part, not for words, but for the way his mouth captures yours the second you breathe in. It's so so desperate. A kiss that tastes like iron and sweat and the kind of madness that wants to be known, wants to be seen.

You whimper into him, clutching at the front of his shirt, and his hands are already moving—shaky, hurried, needing—grabbing at your dress, dragging it up your thighs as if he doesn't care it's stained now, doesn't care it's soft and new and something you wore for him.The keys beneath you clatter with each shift of your hips, and his fingers fumble at the zipper on your side like it's fighting him. He groans low in his throat, kissing you harder, tongue sliding hot against yours as if he's trying to crawl inside of you—trying to disappear there, to lose the noise in his head.

"You came back," he gasps against your mouth. "You really came back—" You nod, breathless, eyes wet, thighs tightening around his waist. "I told you I would." He tugs the dress down your shoulders, hands smeared with red, smearing it onto you, painting you with it. It sticks to your collarbones, your arms, a fever-warm trail of devotion and ruin, but you don't stop him.

He's kissing you like he needs this to survive, like he'll lose his mind all over again if you pull away. Your fingers thread through his hair, and he groans at the way you pull, his mouth moving from your lips to your neck, your jaw, your shoulder—biting, tasting his blood smeared there, claiming. You tremble. And then his hand is between your legs, cupping you through your panties, a low, reverent moan tearing from his chest when he feels the heat there. "For me," he mutters, delirious. "You're like this for me."

"Yes," you breathe, rolling your hips into his hand, nails clawing at his back through his shirt. "Only for you." He groans again, like the words unmake him.

Your dress is halfway down your body, straps hanging off your arms, and you're so tangled together that it's hard to tell whose limbs are whose. He continues kissing you then like a vow. Like salvation. And everything else—the broken piano, the screaming from earlier, the sharp pain in your back from the cracked lid—fades to nothing. The music stutters beneath you—sharp, erratic keystrokes like a hymn being pulled apart at the seams.

But he doesn't stop playing. Even as his bloody fingers slip over the ivories, even as his other hand bunches your dress up around your hips, even as you gasp into his mouth and his teeth catch your bottom lip hard enough to sting. You're still straddling him, thighs trembling on either side of his lap, and he's shifting beneath you like he can't get close enough, like the distance between your bodies is an insult to the devotion he's shaking with.

"Heeseung," you whisper, breath hitching as his hand slides between your legs, the fabric of your panties clinging to you wet and ruined. "Please—" "Shh," he hushes, mouth dragging down your neck, blood and spit slick on your skin. "It's okay, it's okay—I got you, baby, I got you—" His fingers tremble as he pushes the fabric aside, clumsy and rushed, and you flinch when his knuckles brush over you. He groans against your throat, hand gripping your hip like he might break it, like it's the only anchor he has.

"Fuck, you're so warm—" he pants, "—I missed you so much, I missed you—" You don't know if he's talking to you or to her, to Rina, to whatever memory he's tangled you up with—but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when he's freeing himself beneath you with frantic hands, moaning under his breath as he fumbles himself through his sweats, panting into your collarbone like he's on the verge of falling apart. And then he's there. Thick, flushed, already so hard it makes your head spin. He grips your thighs, pulling you up just enough—just enough to align—and then sinks you down onto him in one ragged, choking breath.

You cry out, clenching around him, thighs shaking. Heeseung's head snaps back, a guttural sound ripping from his throat, and his hands clamp down on your hips like he's afraid you'll vanish again. "Oh my God—" he gasps, "—move, baby, please, come on—come on—"

He's twitching inside you already, so sensitive, so overwhelmed, but he's begging for more. Encouraging you, pushing up into you while his hands guide your hips, while his fingers—still stained with his blood—return to the keys beneath him, pressing out that same broken melody. You try to move—hips rising, sinking—but it's messy. Desperate. Your thighs burn, your breath hitches, and your forehead presses to his as he whispers, "Just like that, just like that—don't stop—don't stop—" The piano groans beneath you both. His legs tremble. Your panties are barely hanging on, twisted and soaked, caught somewhere between you, and still—still—he keeps playing.

Keeps playing through the rise and fall of your bodies, through the wet slap of your hips, through the breathless moans and the ache and the madness. He's shaking beneath you. His mouth finds yours again, swallowing your sobs, blood smearing from his wrist to your waist as he holds you tighter—deeper—closer.

"I knew you'd come back," he whispers, forehead to yours. "You always come back to me." You can't answer. You can only cry out his name, again and again, as the notes beneath you unravel into chaos and crescendo Your fingers claw at his shoulders as you rock against him, pace faltering with every thick thrust. The bench groans beneath your bodies, protesting under the weight of it all, but you don't stop. Neither of you could if you tried.

His hands are all over you—up your back, into your hair, clawing at your waist like he doesn't know where to hold, just that he has to hold somewhere.

The piano is completely forgotten now. The keys he was so desperate to press—abandoned mid-chord, half-played notes frozen under bloodied fingertips. But Heeseung's mouth is moving and he's moaning something. At first it's a whisper, hoarse and uneven, barely above the wet sound of your bodies meeting again and again. But then—clearer, louder— "Y/N... oh my god, Y/N—" You halt for a second. Barely. Just long enough to catch your breath. To hear him. Your name—your name, not his pianos—spilling from his lips like prayer, like apology, like it's the only thing anchoring him to reality.

Heeseung's head drops to your shoulder, and he's panting your name again, so sweet and unguarded it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. "Y/N," he gasps, "you feel so good, baby—fuck—so good—" It's like he sees you now. Really sees you. And his hands are softer now, less frantic, still trembling but reverent in how they hold you—his thumb brushing your waist, his other hand cradling your jaw as he lifts your face to his.

Your noses bump. His eyes search yours like he's never seen anything more precious. "It's you," he whispers, almost awed. "It's really you..."He leans in, kissing you like the world's finally slowed down, like he's finally returned to it. To you. And when you move again—hips grinding, slow now, deeper—he moans your name into your mouth, over and over like it's his undoing. Each syllable spills from him shakily, soaked with disbelief and want and something that almost sounds like worship.

Your hands find his cheeks, thumbs stroking where the dried tears have clung to his skin, and when you whisper his name back, soft and breathless, he shudders. Heeseung's forehead presses to yours. You feel him twitch inside you, thighs clenching around him as you both near that terrible, beautiful edge again, and he breathes your name one last time— "Y/N, I'm—fuck—I'm gonna cum, baby, please—stay with me—stay—" Your hips stutter. His hands seize. And then everything splinters—. Your name tears from his throat in a ragged moan, your own lips parted in soundless release as your body collapses forward, curling into his chest like instinct.

Heeseung's arms close around you immediately. One low on your spine, the other twisted into your hair, as if he can press you into him hard enough to keep you there forever. Your pulse throbs everywhere. Between your legs, in your throat, under your tongue. Heeseung is trembling beneath you, arms loose but shaking, chest heaving like he's run for miles and only now stopped to breathe.

He's still inside you. Still in you, cradled and connected and caught in the softness of what just happened. No piano. No ghosts. Just this.You shift slightly, just to catch your breath, and he shudders around you with a hoarse gasp. His head drops to your shoulder, face buried in the crook of your neck. You stay there a while. No words. No need. Just the sound of the wind against the high windows, the echo of your breathing, and the quiet creak of a broken piano bench holding two too-lost people.

Eventually, his fingers twitch against your waist. "Y/N," he breathes, voice scratchy and soft. You hum, stroking the sweaty strands of hair back from his temple. Your touch is gentle, slow, grounding. He lifts his head—eyes glassy, wide and wet around the edges. You watch them drop down, settle on the stains between you, the faint blood still smudged across his hands and chest. He catches your wrist.Brings your fingers—still trembling—to the mess of red streaked across his ribs. The open cuts from earlier have mostly clotted, but the wounds are still fresh, angry-looking, like they're still listening to the madness that tore them open. He presses your palm there, over his heart.

"This body..." he whispers, eyes still downcast. "It belongs to too many ghosts." Your chest tightens, but you don't pull away. Instead, your fingers spread gently over the damp skin of his chest, pressing softly, reverently. You guide his gaze up to meet yours. "It belongs to me tonight," you murmur, voice quiet but sure. "It's okay, Heeseung. I've got you."

He blinks hard and for a second, something in him flickers. Something soft. Almost boyish and safe. Then his forehead presses against yours again. He leans into the cradle of your hands like he's never been touched this way before—like he doesn't know what to do with it. "...Don't let go yet," he whispers. "I won't," you promise. "Not tonight." Heeseung's head is resting against yours, your hand still pressed to his chest, when he whispers it. So faint, it's nearly lost in your breathing.

"...Call her." You pull back a little, brushing your nose against his cheek. "Hm?" He blinks slowly, like the exhaustion is hitting him all at once. "Phone's somewhere here, on the shelf by the metronome. Just—tell her it's bad, she'll come." You stare back into his eyes cluelessly,

"My nurse".

You nod, slipping gently off his lap. He groans softly at the loss of you but doesn't stop you. Doesn't move at all, really—just tilts his head back against the edge of the bench, hair damp with blood sweat and tears. You find the phone where he said it would be, swipe up, and call the nurse. She picks up after one ring. You tell her to come and you don't have to say much more—she must be used to these calls by now. And as you're hanging up, you hear him say it behind you, low and soft, "Thanks... for coming upstairs."

You turn, heart squeezing. He's still sitting there, shirtless and smeared in blood, legs parted like he couldn't stand if he tried. But he's looking at you—really looking—and something about it makes your breath catch in your throat.

You walk over. Kiss his forehead. Then slip into the bathroom for towels, water, and cleaner. By the time the nurse arrives, you're back upstairs, on your knees by the piano, gently gathering the shattered ivory keys and splintered wood into a pile. You've scrubbed some of the blood from the floor, though the stains are stubborn. The piano looks gutted—her insides exposed, wires torn and twisted like veins. Your heart aches again. Not for the piano. But for him.

Heeseung, who stayed downstairs. Who let someone else tend to him while you tried to do what you could for the mess he left behind. You hear footsteps coming up the stairs, then his voice—calmer now, hoarse, but steady. "Leave it." You glance over your shoulder. He's standing there, freshly bandaged, a clean shirt half-buttoned and hanging loose on his frame. The nurse must have left quietly.

"I'm still your cleaner, remember?" you say lightly, trying to ease the air. "Let me do my job." His lips twitch. But there's something softer in his eyes now—something closer to sorrow than amusement.

"You're more than that." You pause and look down at the broken keys in your hands. "I know."

And he comes to you—sinks down beside you on the floor, still moving slowly like he's holding his bones together by sheer will—and rests his forehead to yours again. Neither of you says anything else, you just sit in the wreckage of something beautiful. Together.

*•*•*

It's hard to say how much time has passed. Days, maybe. Weeks. The kind that blur together, quiet and golden at the edges, like light filtered through gauze. The scar on Heeseung's arm is healing well—just a thin red seam now, barely visible when he rolls his sleeves up. He doesn't try to hide it anymore.

You're downstairs today. The sun is dipping low and warm across the windows, lighting up the dust motes dancing in the air. The piano stands rebuilt, restored—not the same one from upstairs, but something new. Something you picked out together.

You're sitting beside him on the bench, your knees touching. Heeseung's hands are guiding yours across the keys with quiet patience.

"No, baby, focus" he murmurs, laughing when you hit the wrong note again. "That's an A, not a G."

"I am focused," you argue, shoulders tensing in mock defense. "I just—I forgot which finger goes where." He leans closer, brushing his lips against your temple. "The one I showed you. Your third finger. C'mon. Try again." You exhale, pouting a little as you reposition your hands. Heeseung watches you with a softness that folds itself into the corners of his smile.

You press the keys again. It's still wrong. You groan dramatically. "Ugh, why is this so hard?" And he can't help it—he grabs your chin and kisses you mid-pout. Quick and warm. The kind of kiss that says you're the most precious thing I've ever ruined myself for.

Your lips curve into a grin beneath his. He chuckles. "You know what I think?"

"Hm?"

"I think you just like messing up so I'll kiss you."

You nudge him with your shoulder. "Maybe." Heeseung leans in again. A little slower this time. A little deeper. Then his hands return to the keys. And so do yours.

You sit like that a while—two shadows against the shine of the piano, laughter and missed notes echoing softly in the room. And if someone were to peek in just then, they might think it's a simple thing. A boy and a girl, and a piano between them. But it's not. It's an anchor. A promise. A world rebuilt from ash and ghosts and broken music.

And maybe you never learned to play perfectly, but he never stopped telling you you were the most beautiful song he'd ever heard.

══════════════════════════

➺ taglist-

@immelissaaa @fancypeacepersona @inawonderfulworld @usuallyunlikelyfox @starry-eyed-bimbo @strayy-kidz @mheretoreadff @bloomiize @xoenhalover @mamuljji

#enhypen fics #enhypen fic #enhypen angst #enhypen smut #enhypen fanfiction #heeseung #heeseung fic #heeseung smut #heeseung angst #enhypen x reader #enha smut #enha x reader #lee heeseung #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung x reader

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trash-raccoon-boy · 8 months ago

Text

So here's some lmk Wc designs +1 redesign

(I'm still fleshing out this world, trying to figure out how normal and supernatural I want it to be)

Tw:talk of animal death, and abandonment/cruelty

DeadTooth, was a ex deputy back when he was alive and long before he met the Bonestar(lbd). He had always had a strange connection to the darkforest, and one leafbare he met his lady. She saved him from freezing too death, and soo was forever in dept with her.

He would sneak out to visit her, she'd slowly infect his mind and soon have her minion. She'd send him strange dreams and visions, instructing him to kill cats and soon his leader. Of course his ex-leader found out and exiled him, he spent most his times in the dark forest until one day. When he was out hunting one dawn, he was ran over by a monster. StarClan or better known as celestial clan, wouldn't take him because of his tainted soul, but his lady did.

He earned the name DeadTooth, and served as his lady's right hand man. No one knows his living name.

Bai He, currently known as Freezepaw. Was a kittypet and lived with her twolegs out in the city, one harsh winter she was abandoned in the middle of the woods, during a harsh blizzard. She tried chasing after her humans, but they where gone before she knew it.

She wasn't meant to survive that night, she knew that, but unfortunately faith had other plans. While walking through the deep snow trying to find shelter, she started to hear a voice Calling her. Turning around she saw a strange grinning cat looking at her before vanishing, alarmed but curious she chased after the cat before collapsing. She was cold and fearful, as she washed her vision blurred.

Then she woke up! But something was wrong she wasn't in her body, yet it was moving on it's own talking and muttering something about a plan. She tried talking, but the entity paid no mind, to busy controlling it's new toy.

She came to find out it was Bonestar, and with her soul still attached to her body she was unable to leave or go to a afterlife. She watched this horrible cat kill and hurt people, unable to stop her as she built her empire.

The she-cat remembered when the monkie kids came, she remembered feeling relief but also dread. She didn't know much about possession, but she was sure if her body got extremely injured she'd be dead permanently as a lost sprit. Bonestar didn't want to keep her body anymore tho, finding it to weak and fragile.

Bai he didn't know what happened after that tho, she knew the she-cat was defeated and no more though. Unfortunately tho even with the happy ending, her life was far from it. She was still homeless, and still too young to fend for herself, barely 6 moons old.

Fortunately she didn't have to worry tho. Wandering around the City, she happened to stumble upon a abandoned theater which was home of Shadowears. The Loner seeing her pitiful state and remembering recent events decided to take her in, giving her the name Freezekit before quickly naming her Freezepaw a moon after.

(While she's not part of any clan, she is now an honorary apprentice of Macaque's)

Now onto our redesign.

Now I changed his backstory a lot, since most my old backstories where concepts. Also now he doesn't look like rip off Litten. (I couldn't decide between Flametail or Redpelt, for his name)

Red son is the son of Ironwing(PIF) and Bullstar (DBK), His mother was exiled from StarClan when she was found out to be in love with a living cat. She was a darkforest spirit for awhile before Guanyin took pity and gave her back a living body.

Anyways onto Red sons actually Backstory.

Redson was born in desertclan, a warm sandy area surrounded by lava and volcanoes. They where 2 moons old when he met Peachstar (Monkey King) who at the time of the journey was demoted to Peachheart. He doesn't remember much just that Peachheart came to ask for help with something, and his father getting agitated with him. This wouldn't be his last encounter with him tho.

At 6 moons old, he was apprenticed to missingear(place holdername for Ironclad general.) As a apprentice Red paw/Flamepaw was bad tempered, messing with clan boarders, hunting where he wants and having no respect of the warrior code... (Cloudpaw 2.0 lol)

Because of his recklessness his mother feared he'd end up dead before he's a warrior, so at night she'd prayed to StarClan for them to help guide him on the right path. Apparently this ment sending down Lotusflame(Nezha) as his guide, the stary cat followed him everywhere and mentored him on his bad temper. Unofficially becoming his temporary mentor.

(Idk if I'm making this next part canon but thought I should add it) during his apprenticeship, Red son had been hunting closer to the city in hopes of finding better food then the stupid lizards in his clan. Unfortunately he was too careless and unfamiliar with the unfamiliar area, and was caught by a Twoleg.

The Twoleg had fitted him with a leather purple collar, planning on making him a disgusting Kittypet. Fortunately for him tho, he was only gone for a moon. He managed to escape the property the moment a door opened, and managed to find his way back home after a long journey. (Managing to get the collar off somehow)

(The rest is canon)

When he got back to his clan tho he was met with devastation, the clan was destroyed. All his clanmates where missing, including his father, the only one left was his mother IronWind. When asked what happened, she told him how after he was captured, Bullstar went out on a patrol to find him and never came back. During this a ban of rouges who had a vendetta against his dad, attacked the clan. Driving everyone out, his mom was only here in hopes of waiting for her love.

Upon hearing this, Red son was devastated. He wailed and begged for StarClan to help that night, but... There was no reply, not even Nezha answered. He doesn't remember when the spirit left, but he was certain with one thing StarClan was to blame for this. Refusing to help and sit on the sidelines to watch.

Despite his growing resentment, Red son gather enough courage to convince IronWing to follow him and find a new place to live. Eventually finding a place to live under a construction zone.

They weren't a clan anymore, even if they found a few of their lost warriors... What was a Clan without a leader, heaven knows his mother didn't want the position. What was a Clan without faith, what little faith he had faded over the years. Soon he was named a warrior though, and he could officially help his mom.

He spent years searching for his father, and then he did. bullstar was kept in a small cage inside a weird constructed building filled with other cats, among them was the rest of their lost warriors. Red son made a plan to break them out, unfortunately he had no idea a certain cat was gonna become a pain in his tail for a long time.

After getting his father out, he bumped into a kittypet who smelled of noodles. The kittypet seemed to have been spying and following them. Surprisingly stealthy, but not stealthy enough. The kittypet had made a noise that alerted the whole reunited clan.

And well, the rest is history (and will be touched upon some other time.)

#lmk #lego monkie kid #monkie kid #lmk fanart #lego monkey kid fanart #monkie kid fanart #lmk mayor #lmk mayor fanart #lmk bai he #lmk hostess #lmk bai he fanart #lmk red son #lmk red son fanart #lmk warrior cats au #lmk wc au #warrior cats au #warrior cats

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letsbangts · 2 months ago

Text

paint me, play me: moonlight || jjk

⤷ summary: you are the day; he is the night. you are the sun; he is the moon. not meant to collide—one must set for the other to rise. but what happens during that rare moment when an eclipse occurs? can you both coexist peacefully together?

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ word count: 46k+

18+ // mdni

⟶ genre: e2l, college au, fluff, angst

⟶ content: grumpy!jk (+ rocker!jk, fuckboy!jk) x sunshine!reader (+ cheerleader!reader, artisit!reader, bimbo!reader), rockband!bangtan

⟶ warnings: explicit language, mean comments, jk being a jerk, jess is a b*tch, bullying?, insults, bickering, insecurities, self-doubt, past trauma, ptsd?, mentions of death, mentions of car accident, mentions of verbal abuse, mentions of smoking, mentions of alcohol, flirting, teasing, (idt there's anything else, but if there is pls lmk!!)

⟶ part: 1/4

↬ a/n: this took forever but I hope the wc justifies why lol but I’m so excited to finally have pt. 1 of pmpm out. the response I got from my initial post about this series was way more than I expected so I hope you all enjoy. and to my little freaks there’s no smut in this chapter but just you wait my loveys ;) happy reading! angel xoxo

↬ a/n2: AND LET IT BE KNOWN I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT UNIVERSITY, ROCK, ART, OR CHEERLEADING. I have no knowledge about anything I’m writing about sooo readers discretion is advised. *also this is edited to the best of my ability but she is a beast so feel free to let me know of any mistakes*

˖⁺. ༶ NOW PLAYING ༶ .⁺˖ moonlight ariana grande 01:43 ─✮───── 03:07 ⇆ ⊲ II ⊳ ↺ ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

series masterlist ˚.⋆˚.⋆˚.⋆ main masterlist ˚.⋆˚.⋆˚.⋆ join my taglist

i never knew, i never knew you could hold moonlight in your hands 'til the night i held you you are my moonlight, moonlight

New beginnings and change are hard for people, but you have grown accustomed to them. You have come to embrace them. There aren’t many things that could bring you down, and a new town and school aren’t among them. This move might be good for you; a shift in your surroundings may be what you need.

At first, you felt a bit nervous when your mom accepted a new job out here, but once you saw the new house, it sold you on the move. Then, when you looked up the university located here and discovered it is known for its Visual Arts major, all your worries faded. So, when you applied for a transfer from your previous university to Borahae and not only got accepted but also received a scholarship for all your achievements, you felt as if everything was falling into place. You felt as if it was all destined to be.

You walked around to familiarize yourself with the area; it was a pleasant town. It has a small-town vibe but is still a bustling city, and the people are very nice. When the adorable elderly lady who works at the convenience store you stopped by heard you were new to the town, she gave you your lollipop for free. You would never pass up free sweets, even though you were ready to pay.

With a skip in your step and a treat in your mouth that tastes even sweeter because free food is always more delicious, you head home with a newfound high – not from the sugar, but from the feeling that things are looking up.

You practically bounce up the stairs and through the front door, where you find your mom doing some of the last bits of the unpacking. It was overwhelming when the two of you first moved in, but you expected to be stressed out when relocating your entire life from one place to another. But as always, you both had each other to lean on.

You could not ask for a better mom, even without a biased opinion, because she is the woman who gave you life; she is the strongest and kindest woman you know. She has always been in your corner, cheering you on, and had your back when things got shaky. As you have gotten older, she has also started to come to you for support, and you have always been there to give it to her. The past year and a half have been tough on both of you after your dad’s passing, but you noticed she seemed to carry the weight of everything much heavier on her shoulders.

You have seen how this move has brought back that spark in her. Everything about your old home was like a constant reminder of his absence, making it difficult to move on from grieving. Although you both will never forget him or all the memories shared with him, a new space for building a new chapter in both of your lives has boosted her drive for life.

Your mom looks up from the box she was unpacking when she hears you come through the door, and a smile forms on her face as you walk into the living room.

“Oh, sweetie, you’re back already! How was everything?”

“It was nice! Everything is so pretty and old-timey, and the shop lady gave me a free lolly!” You wave the dwindling candy in the air to show her.

She laughs lightly and continues unpacking, placing books on the half-full bookshelf.

“Well, that was nice of her. I will have to stop by myself and greet her. The town seems full of kind people; you just missed one of our neighbours. This sweet young man helped me bring in this box,” she gestures to the heavy box of books. “He mentioned how he and a few other boys live together next door. They’re actually around your age and even attend Borahae as well.”

“Oh, what a coinkydink!” you giggle.

“I know, right? And get this: he said they all play in a rock band! Talk about coincidence! They rehearse in their garage, so he wanted to be sure the noise wouldn’t bother us, but I told him not to worry.”

You nod with wide eyes and your mouth in the shape of an ‘O’.

“I wish I was here to say hi to him.”

Your mom waves her hand, “Oh, it’s okay, sweetie. You’ll meet him soon. I mentioned that I have a daughter his age and that you will be attending the same university as him. I’m sure you’ll meet all of them eventually.”

You nod again, with your lollipop perched between your pursed lips.

“Well, I guess I’ll finish the last few boxes in my room.”

You walk over and kiss your mom on the cheek.

She smiles and continues with her box. As you walk up the steps, she calls out,

“Keep an eye out for him; he was a nice boy. His name is Namjoon!”

☾☀︎

You walk down the sidewalk as fast as possible in your wedge heels. Being late on your first day isn’t ideal, but you had to be sure you looked cute. As you hurry towards the enormous building, your pink mini-dress flows in the light breeze. As you step onto the school grounds, you hear the roar of an engine. When you turn your head towards the sound, you see a motorcycle zoom past you at top speed.

“Ooh, shiny,” you gasp, coming to a halt as you stare at it, mesmerized until it banks the corner and disappears. You shake your head, pulling yourself from your trance and refocus, resuming the trek to the main entrance.

The large building makes you nervous; butterflies form in your stomach as you get closer. You see two guys at the bottom of the stairs leading to the main doors. The guy standing with the broadest shoulders is talking to the other guy sitting on the large stone bannister. The shoulder guy is laughing at something he said, but the other guy sits there with a neutral look as he takes a drag from his cigarette.

You approach them with a big smile, their conversation pausing as they both turn to you. The shoulder guy raises his eyebrows in question while the other looks you up and down before turning back and continuing to smoke.

“Hi! Do you know where the office is?”

The shoulder guy smiles and nods his head.

“Uh, yeah. When you enter the building, turn right, and you’ll see a big ass wooden door, that’s it.” He says, gesturing up the stairs to the building as he talks.

“Big ass wooden door,” you mumble to yourself, nodding. “Got it, thanks, Shoulders!”

You turn and walk away, following his directions before he can reply, causing you to miss his reaction to your name for him and the grin that spreads across the other guy’s face as he chuckles.

“Did she—Did she just call me Shoulders?”

“Well, that is like 75% of you.”

You also miss the guy holding a motorcycle helmet who walks up and joins the other two.

☾☀︎

In the office, you are filling out some forms, making sure all your ‘i’s are dotted with a heart, when you see a middle-aged woman walk out of the back office with a red-haired girl, immediately catching your attention.

She looks the complete opposite of you in her black denim dress, black fishnet tights, thick-winged black eyeliner, and a hoop nose ring.

The secretary assisting you interrupts the two’s conversation, notifying her of your arrival.

“Mrs Baek, this is Y/N L/N.”

Once the woman sees you, she grins and extends her hand for you to shake.

“Ah, Y/N! It is lovely to meet you. I’m Mrs Baek, the dean here. We are so honoured to have someone of your merit attend Borahae. I was very impressed by your work. You are such a gifted artist with a great eye for fine detail. I am sure you will make our school proud.”

You don’t notice how the red-haired girl’s eyes light up.

“Thank you, Mrs Baek! I am so excited to be here!” you bounce in place while giving her hand a little squeeze.

Mrs Baek chuckles, giving your hand in hers a pat with her free hand.

“If you have any questions, my door is always open, dear.”

You nod eagerly, and with that, she turns to leave. She gives the red-haired girl a tiny nod, which she returns with a smile.

You and the girl are now left standing at the counter alone. She steps closer to you, her hand gliding across the wooden surface.

“So you’re new here, huh?”

“Yup! My mom and I just moved here—not to the school, to the town; we don’t live here.”

“I hope not; we’re here enough as it is,” she laughs, and you join in.

“Y/N, right? I’m Chaerin.”

“Nice to meet you! I love your hair, it’s so pretty, it reminds me of a–”

“A cherry?”

“Yes!” you gasp.

“My nickname is Cherry; all my friends call me that. You can, too.”

“Oh, yay! Are we friends?”

Cherry nods with a smile.

“Wow, I haven’t even gone to a class yet, and I’ve already made a friend. This place is great!”

“I heard Mrs Baek say you’re an artist. I’m guessing you’re an art major?”

“Yeah, Visual Arts. Are you studying art, too?”

“Oh no,” Cherry shakes her head fervently, “I can’t even draw stick figures properly. I’m a music major, Music Technology.”

Your mouth hangs agape because your new friend keeps getting cooler and cooler.

“What kind of art do you do?” Cherry asks.

“The one with pictures...” you furrow your brows.

“No, no,” she laughs at your confusion, finding it adorable, “Like, what do you specialize in? Drawing, painting, sculpting?”

“Oh! I’m good at everything, but painting is my favourite!” you beam.

“So you draw too?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

“Oh my gosh, this is perfect,” Cherry mutters, thinking aloud.

Before you can ask what she means, she grabs both of your hands, bringing them up to her chin with pleading eyes. You look at her in surprise.

“I know we just met, and I’m not usually this forward... that’s a lie, I am, but I don’t want to seem rude. But what are the chances that I would run into the new artist getting the dean’s praise? It’s like fate crossed our paths,” she rushes out her words in one breath, “So as your new friend, I need a favour from you. You see, my boyfriend is in this rock band with his friends, and they have been looking for someone to design a logo for them.”

“A rock band?” your look of surprise only grows.

First, you move in next door to a rock band, and now your new friend is dating someone in a rock band. What crazy odds.

“Yeah, Army of Bombs is what they go by. I help them with their songs sometimes. I know I’m a little biased, but they are amazing!”

“And you want me to design a logo for them?” you say slowly, taking her request in.

She nods desperately, squeezing your hands tighter. “Please, pretty please, with a cherry on top. No pun intended.”

You giggle at her remark and even more at her puppy dog eyes and pout.

“I would love to help you, but—”

Cherry, thinking you’re about to say no, interrupts.

“Look, I know rock music is probably not your thing,” she gestures up and down at you, “But I mean, you don’t have to like it,” she says, trying to reason.

You chuckle at the irony.

“No, that’s not it. I just—I don’t know the band well enough to design a logo for them,” you shrug with a small smile, not wanting to disappoint her.

“You can come and sit in on their rehearsals! You can get a feel of the band’s vibe. The guys won’t mind. They’re cool; you’ll like them.”

She stares at you nervously as you tilt your head in thought, considering her offer.

“Hmm, okay! I’ll do it!” you exclaim.

“Oh my gosh, seriously! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She pulls you into a tight hug, swaying side to side. “You’re the best, Y/N! If you ever need anything, say the word, I’m your girl.”

You hug her back just as tightly.

“I can’t help this week though. I have a lot going on since it’s my first week here,” you tell her as you pull apart.

“That’s cool, I get it. Whenever you’re free, let me know. You can text me. I’m usually always at the rehearsals anyway. They rehearse at their house. Oh yeah, here, let’s exchange numbers.”

She pulls out her phone, encased in a piano phone case and hands it to you to put in your number. You pull out your pink rhinestone-covered phone and give it to her to do the same.

She enters her number and flips your phone in her hand. She looks at the sparkly case before glancing at you and chuckling as she hands the device back.

You look at her with wide, curious eyes.

“You really are like a little Barbie, huh?”

You light up at her comment, “Thanks!”

“They will be so pumped; I can’t wait to tell the guys about this! My boyfriend is waiting for me outside. He’s probably wondering what’s taking me so long.”

“I’m excited to meet everyone,” you smile.

“Barbs, I believe this is the start of a beautiful friendship,” she smiles back.

You think the same thing.

☾☀︎

You are nearing the end of your first week; it has been great so far. You like all your classes, and your professors have been very welcoming; they have all heard of you and your scholarship. You’ve made connections with a few classmates and gained more friends, but Cherry still sits at the top of the list.

You and she have been texting all week, and it’s not just about the band logo; she has been making sure you are doing okay with adjusting to everything. However, she did mention that she told her friends that you agreed to design their band’s logo and that they were excited.

Speaking of bands, you have yet to meet any of your neighbours that your mom told you about. You would think no one even lives there if it weren’t for the music you hear coming from the garage almost every night. That Namjoon guy must be nice if he warned your mom about the noise because it is loud. But they are talented; you’ve caught yourself bobbing your head to the music numerous times. You’ll tell them you’re a fan when you finally meet them.

You are headed to the gym to try out for the cheerleading team. Art is a relatively sedentary and solitary activity, so you enjoy cheerleading because it gets you moving and allows you to socialize with others. Also, the uniform is super cute, and you love cheering people on.

You push open the gym door and walk over to the girls gathered on the bench, waiting for the tryouts to begin. You sit down next to a strawberry-blonde girl who is texting away on her phone. You notice a pink gummy bear charm dangling from her cell.

“I like your charm; it’s so adorable!”

She looks up upon hearing your compliment, and her eyes dart from you to her phone and back to you before she smiles.

“Thanks, I like your set,” she gestures to your hot pink sports bra and matching pants, “I see we both have great taste in colours.”

“I love pink and candy, so this is like they had a baby,” you say, taking the charm between your fingers and examining it more closely.

“You’re funny. I’m Rina, by the way,” she lifts her hand in a small wave as she introduces herself.

“I’m Y/N,” you wave back gleefully.

The doors open before you two can talk anymore, and the room fills with the echo of laughter. Three girls walk in, wearing purple and white cheerleading uniforms, and stand in front of the waiting students. The tallest girl among the three stands between the others and plasters a wide, fake smile on her face before she speaks.

“Hello, everyone. Welcome to the cheer tryouts for the Borahae Belles. I’m Jess, the cheer captain. And this is Mei,” she points to the girl on her right, “And this is Kat,” she points to the girl on her left.

“This is our second year cheering for the school; we had a stellar year last year, winning nationals,” Jess flips her ponytail over her shoulder, placing a hand over her chest, “And like I did last year, I plan on leading us to victory this year, so I hope you brought your ‘A’ game.”

Everyone’s faces fill with fear, but you aren’t worried. You are excited to be cheering again; you missed it.

“We would usually have tryouts out on the field, but the football team has practice today, so we had to settle for in here. As you can see, we only have a few roll-out mats, so try not to get injured because we really can’t deal with that right now,” Jess rolls her eyes, and the other two girls snicker.

“Okay, enough talk. Let’s get started!” Jess claps twice, and Mei hands her a clipboard with the signup sheet.

One by one, people start going to the centre of the room and performing their routines. The three cheerleaders give little to no response, simply calling out the next name after each performance.

“I’m so nervous, are you?” Rina whispers to you.

“No, not at all,” you shake your head.

“You must be confident.”

You are. You were cheer captain throughout high school and even at your old university. You don’t have a big head, but you know you’re good, so you’re confident you’ll make the team.

“I am; you should be, too. I bet you’ll do great,” you say, squeezing Rina’s shoulder in encouragement.

Just then, Rina’s name gets called out. She gives you a weak smile, gets up and makes her way to the mat. She performs her routine flawlessly, finishing with a back handspring, jumping into a herkie, and landing in a torch position.

“Yay, Rina,” you applaud enthusiastically for her, thinking she had no reason to be nervous.

You don’t see the dirty look Jess gives you.

Rina mouths a silent “thank you” and “good luck” and gives you a thumbs-up before she leaves the gym.

Four more people’s names get called out before you finally hear yours; you spring up and skip over to the mat.

“Hi, I’m Y/N L/N! I’m very excited to cheer for you.”

“Yeah, we know your name’s on the signup sheet,” Kat says as she and Mei snicker.

Jess tilts her head, eyes scanning you, “Why don’t you start your routine?” she smirks.

While you perform your routine, Jess sits up straighter than she has since tryouts began. Both Mei and Kat’s eyes are wide in shock. You’re good–excellent. You’re better than they thought you’d be, better than the others who have tried out. The two girls don’t say anything for fear of upsetting the captain, but you’re even better than Jess.

Mei and Kat glance warily at Jess, her eyes are narrow, and her lips are pursed from her sucking her teeth.

You finish with a toe touch and land in a liberty pose. Once you face the three girls with an anticipatory expression, Jess immediately breaks into a smile, which you return, unaware of her disapproving look throughout your routine you were too absorbed into to notice.

“You’re good. Y/N, was it?” Jess asks, raising an eyebrow.

You nod, clasping your hands behind your back.

She hums, glancing down briefly before continuing, “I shouldn’t say anything before the official list goes up, but I think you can consider yourself a Borahae Belle.”

You hop up and down in place, hands balled up, nearly bursting with joy.

You’re clueless about how the other two cheerleaders whip their heads towards the captain in surprise, taken aback by her complimentary words and acceptance of you.

You thank the three girls before practically bouncing out of the room.

As soon as you’re out of sight, Jess’s smile disappears.

☾☀︎

Cherry is sitting on the sofa in the guys’ garage as they get ready to rehearse, tune their instruments, and set up the equipment. Seokjin, who is rolling out the amplifier and plugging it in, calls her name.

“Hey Cher, when are we going to get to meet this art girl? I’m dying to discuss logo ideas with her.”

Hoseok, who was tuning his guitar, chimes in at the mention, “Yeah, it’s about time we finally got one. Every iconic band has a logo; branding Army of Bombs if we want to make our mark is a must.”

“She’s super busy this week; I told you she just moved here. Once she settles in, she will start working on the design. She’s going to sit in on rehearsals to help her get ideas,” Cherry replies.

“If she is as good of an artist as you said, shouldn’t she be able to draw something up at the snap of her fingers?” Jimin comments.

“The logo has to fit the band, and she knows nothing about you guys or your music. Also, rock and roll music doesn’t seem like her style, so she has to get familiar with it.”

“Did you get to see any of her work? You know, to see how good she is?” Namjoon asks.

“No, I never got a chance to,” Cherry shrugs.

The band exchanges pessimistic looks with one another.

“So let me get this straight, you asked a girl who doesn’t like rock and who might be a shit artist to design our logo? Well, that sounds promising.” Taehyung smirks, his tone laced with sarcasm.

“She is talented; I heard the dean praise her myself.”

“The dean would kiss anyone’s ass. You know how much people pay to go there,” Taehyung rebuts.

“She said she was honoured to have her attend the school. I don’t remember ever hearing that she complimented any of you.”

“She once told me I was, and I quote, “unbelievable” actually,” Jimin says.

“She wasn’t saying that as a compliment, you idiot. She said it in disdain,” Seokjin clarifies.

“Semantics,” Jimin waves off. “The point is that Cherry has probably roped us in with some new girl and opened our rehearsals to her without checking her credibility.”

“What are you blaming my girlfriend for?” Yoongi inquires as he walks in with Jungkook a few steps behind him. He sits on the sofa beside Cherry and wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side.

“We just found out that she doesn’t know if the girl she got to do the logo has any real talent,” Hoseok updates while pointing at Cherry.

Yoongi turns his head to look at her, his brows furrowed, “I thought you said she was good?”

“She is!” Cherry exclaims, throwing her hands in the air. All the guys jump in shock at her outburst.

“I can’t believe you guys are giving me such a hard time. You were eager to find someone, and now that I have found someone willing to do it, you are complaining.”

“We aren’t complaining, Cher; we are sceptical. She might be willing, but that doesn’t mean her work will meet our standards,” Taehyung states.

“Didn’t you see any of her drawings or something?” Jungkook asks while grabbing his guitar and putting the strap over his head. When he looks up, he sees the rest of the band staring at Cherry, whose eyes are rolling in exasperation.

Jungkook smirks and snickers, “You didn’t. Way to put in the work, Cherry.”

“Okay now, step off. We gotta give this girl a chance at least; I’m sure Cher is vouching for her for a reason.” Yoongi comes to his girlfriend’s defence, calming everyone down. He kisses her on the temple before making his way to his keyboard.

“Yeah, who knows? She might be like a little Picasso,” Namjoon says, intervening to lighten the mood. He pats Cherry’s shoulder as he walks by her and sits behind the drum set.

The guys take their positions, and Cherry leans back onto the sofa with a huff.

“I’m telling you, she’s good and doing us a big favour by agreeing to help us. Once you guys meet her, you’ll be eating your words.”

Namjoon does the count-off, his drumsticks hitting together with each number, “One, two, three, four.”

☾☀︎

Rehearsal ended a little while ago, and the band was scattered around different spots in the garage resting.

“Kook, what happened to that chick you were seeing? I haven’t seen you with her since Junho’s party,” Hoseok asks from his seat in the beanbag chair in the corner.

Jungkook, sitting on top of an amp, looks up from his phone, tilting his head in thought.

“Which girl?” Jungkook questions in return.

“Wow, seriously, man? You’re an animal,” Jimin laughs, shaking his head.

“The one who always showed up at the venue an hour before our shows and sat on stage the entire rehearsal,” Hoseok describes the girl.

“Oh her, I got rid of her a while ago.”

“Why? What was wrong with that one now?” Seokjin asks from the sofa, accustomed to the youngest one’s pattern.

“I just ended it,” Jungkook shrugs.

The older guys shake their heads, some chuckling at Jungkook’s nonchalance.

“Ugh, you are such a stereotypical rocker,” Cherry scoffs.

“Don’t hate the player, babe, hate the game,” Jungkook smirks, sending her a wink.

“Getting with girls shouldn’t be a game, Kook.”

“Hey, it’s all good fun, and we’re all consenting adults. It’s not like I hunt for these girls; they come to me.”

“More like they cum for you,” Taehyung jokes and daps Jungkook.

“Disgusting,” Cherry turns to Yoongi sitting beside her, “I sometimes question your choice of friends.”

“How come in moments like this, they’re not your friends, too?” Yoongi laughs.

“Speaking of girls, Joon, didn’t you say the lady who moved in next door has a daughter our age?” Jimin diverts, sitting on the armrest of the recliner Namjoon is sitting on.

Namjoon nods, “Yeah, she said she goes to Borahae too, but I haven’t run into her yet.”

“She must be one of those students who live their lives studying–home to school to the library and back,” Jimin says, waving his hand, tilting his beer bottle back and forth.

“Wait a minute, did you say a girl our age? Why am I only hearing about this now? I would have gone over to introduce myself, like a good neighbour should,” Taehyung perks up on the stool he’s perched on.

“That is what we don’t want,” Seokjin points to the three youngest, “You three are prohibited from going next door.”

“Hold up! Why are we being singled out?” Jimin exclaims.

“Because you guys wreak havoc wherever you go, and her mom is nice and was cool about us rehearsing out here. We don’t need you ruining that by messing around with her daughter,” Seokjin explains.

“Excuse me, I am a perfect gentleman. These two are the ones you need to worry about,” Jimin says, pointing two fingers at Taehyung and Jungkook.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about me; I don’t shit where I eat,” Jungkook raises both hands in surrender.

“And I resent being classed the same as Kook; I am nowhere near as big of a hoe as he is,” Taehyung defends himself.

“We’re not taking chances; don’t go anywhere near the kid, all three of you,” Yoongi declares.

“Yeah, the poor girl just moved here. Don’t corrupt her with your sleaziness; give her a break,” Cherry smirks.

“I can keep my hands to myself, but if she approaches me and she’s cute, I make no promises where my hands will be on campus,” Taehyung shrugs before sipping his beer.

The conversation shifts after that, and various topics are discussed, from upcoming shows to party invites they have received. The current topic is their female escapades despite prior denials.

Seokjin is in the middle of a story when he gets interrupted by a low whistle from Taehyung.

“Hottie headed this way,” he announces, his eyes focused on the street where a girl is walking down the sidewalk.

All heads, excluding Yoongi’s and Cherry’s, turn to follow his line of sight.

“Those are our school colours,” Namjoon notes.

“Damn, since when did cheerleaders roam this street,” Hoseok says.

That causes Cherry to glance in reluctance briefly before doing a double take. She suddenly stands up from Yoongi’s side, “Y/N?”

The guys all redirect their eyes to her in question.

“Y/N? Didn’t you say the art girl was named Y/N?” Yoongi asks.

She stands up, walks out of the garage, and yells, “Hey, Y/N!”

☾☀︎

As you expected, you made the cheerleading team, but you were still excited when you saw your name on the list of those who made it onto the team. Rina also made the team, so you were extra happy.

You changed into your new uniform right after you picked it up and made your routine stop by the convenience store on your way home. You told Mrs Lee, the adorable elderly lady who works there, that you made the team and twirled around to show off your new outfit. She was just as excited as you were and told you how pretty you looked. When you went to pay for your lollipop, she refused to let you pay, saying it was a reward for the special occasion.

So now you are walking home in your cute uniform and with a celebratory lollipop in your favourite flavour: bubble gum.

You think you’ve reached peak happiness at this moment. You can’t wait to get home to tell your mom the news and have her happiness added to it all. You turn the corner to your street and walk down the sidewalk to your house. As you get closer, you notice your neighbour’s garage open, this being your first time seeing any sign of life from the residence.

You pick up your pace, wondering if this is when you’ll finally meet the elusive rock band from next door that you’ve been hearing through the walls all week.

As soon as the garage comes into full view, you hear your name called.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You look up your neighbour’s driveway to see Cherry waving at you. With a big smile, you run up to her and hug her, making sure not to get the sticky candy caught in her hair. The thought of finally meeting the rocker’s neighbours gets instantly forgotten.

“Cherry!”

“What are you doing here?” she laughs as you pull away from the hug.

“I’m on my way home,” you point towards the direction of your house.

“You live close by?”

“Yup!” you giggle.

“And what’s this,” Cherry gestures to your uniform, “You didn’t tell me you were trying out for the cheer team.”

“I guess I forgot to mention it,” you knit your brows and pout briefly before lighting back up, “But isn’t it great! Don’t I look so cute?” You give her a twirl with your arms stretched out at your sides.

The guys watch in amusement while Jungkook slides off the amp, rolling his eyes as he heads over to the mini fridge in the back.

“You look cuter than anything my eyes have ever seen,” Taehyung interjects from his seat.

You glance over Cherry’s shoulder and smile at the boy. She lets out a huff and grabs your hand.

“I guess this is a time as good as any to introduce you to the band,” she tugs you into the garage with her.

“How do you know them?” you ask as you walk behind her.

Cherry turns and looks at you with a confused yet amused expression, letting go of your hand, “Huh? What do you mean? Remember when I asked you for help? I said my boyfriend was in a band with some friends.”

You nod slowly, still not caught up.

She smiles at you and flails her hand at the guys dispersed around the garage, “This is the band. Y/N, meet Army of Bombs.”

Your mouth hangs agape at the news. Your rocker neighbours are the same band Cherry asked you to design for. Wow, another coinkydink!

She pulls Yoongi from the sofa by his arm, “This is my boyfriend, Yoongi. He is the keyboardist of the band.”

He gives you a nod in greeting before a look of realization crosses his face.

“Wait, haven’t we seen you before?” he asks, pointing to you but turning to Seokjin.

You follow his gaze and gasp, “Shoulders!”

“I usually go by Seokjin, but I’ll take the nickname as a compliment,” Seokjin says with a laugh as he gets up to shake your hand.

You laugh as you shake hands while Cherry’s eyes dart between the three of you, puzzled.

“You met her already?” she asks the boys.

“She asked us, well, me, Yoongi — as usual, gave no help, for directions to the office,” Seokjin tells her.

“That was the day I met you,” you add, lifting your lollipop back to your mouth.

“Wow, that’s so crazy. Fate seriously crossed our paths!” Cherry exclaims.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you formally, Y/N. I’m the band’s manager,” Seokjin explains.

“Or, as we like to call him, our roadie,” a voice adds, stepping forward to join the introductions.

“I’m Taehyung, the visual relief of the band, but my official role is bassist,” the boy says, bared with a suave smile. He takes your hand and is about to bring it to his lips when Cherry rips his hold of you and pushes past him.

“He is also the official buffoon; ignore him,” Cherry glances back, glaring at Taehyung, who sticks his tongue out playfully at her before smirking.

“This is Hoseok. He’s the rhythm guitarist. Jimin, he’s the lead singer.” The boys give you a friendly wave and a smile, greeting you.

“Namjoon’s the drummer,” the boy flashes you a dimpled smile.

The name catches your attention, and your perplexed expression has Namjoon and Cherry looking at you bewildered.

“What’s wrong?” Cherry asks.

“Namjoon,” you mutter, tapping your lollipop against your lips in thought.

Namjoon sends Cherry a worried look, and she shrugs.

“Ah!” you exclaim, and they both raise their brows at your sudden outburst.

“You’re the sweet young man,” you smile and point your candy at him.

He gives you an amused chuckle, tilting his head slightly, “Am I?”

You nod, “Yeah, my mom said you were a nice boy.”

“Okay, Joon, going after MILFs now,” Jimin hollers but receives a quick nudge in the ribs from Yoongi and a dirty look from Namjoon.

“Your mom met Namjoon? Where?” Cherry questions.

“Outside,” you point out of the garage, answering Cherry.

The boys let out a small chuckle; Cherry ignores them and gives you a stare, urging you to explain further.

“He helped my mom bring in a heavy box.”

When everyone comes to the same realization, their faces turn to shock. You glance around and giggle at their expressions.

Cherry grabs you by your shoulders and turns you to face her body.

“Y/N, you moved in next door? Like into the house beside this one?” Cherry simplifies, trying to get a clear answer.

“Mhm,” you nod up at her, sucking on your lollipop.

“So you’re the daughter she mentioned,” Namjoon sends you a gentle smile.

“Well, now we know she for sure isn’t one of those students who live their life studying,” Jimin whispers to Hoseok, causing both of them to stifle a laugh.

A clink is heard from the back of the garage, catching your attention. You gaze in that direction, catching a glimpse of a broad back closing the mini-fridge door. As the person turns around, you encounter the most beautiful human you have ever seen.

His dark hair is black like the night sky, his skin is golden like a radiant star, and his eyes are big and intense like a black hole. He is like a galaxy walking on two legs, his gravitational pull too strong to escape; you feel the need to move towards it.

“Oh, right. Y/N, this is Jungkook; he’s the lead guitarist,” Cherry says, though her voice is almost like white noise to you, yet you still hear her.

“Jungkook,” you repeat.

For a brief moment, Jungkook, wearing a blank expression, his eyes unreadable, holds your gaze before breaking it, opening his beer, and walking over to sit on the stool in the corner. But you can’t ignore how your heartbeat quickens, the tingling sensation, how you somehow feel warmer.

“We never got to thank you for agreeing to design our logo,” Namjoon says, pulling you out of your trance and resting a hand on your shoulder.

“O-oh,” you blink, collecting yourself, “It’s no biggie!” you smile brightly.

“You’re doing us a solid; we’ve been searching for someone for months to do it,” Hoseok says.

“I’m so excited to do it and to sit in on your rehearsals. I’ve wanted to meet my neighbours. I can hear when you guys play through the walls, and I’m already a fan. You guys are super duper,” you say, giving them a thumbs-up.

Jungkook scoffs to himself quietly while the rest of the band smiles at you in gratitude.

“We’re excited to see what you come up with. Do you have any drawings so we can see your style?” Jimin asks.

“I don’t have my sketchbook with me; it’s at home,” you shake your head.

The boys give Cherry a doubtful look, which she ignores.

“Oh yeah! I have to go; I told my mom I would be back in time for dinner,” you say.

“Of course. We’ll see your stuff when you come to rehearsal. You’re still coming tomorrow, right?” Cherry asks as she walks you out.

You nod eagerly, “Yup, I’ll be here!”

She smiles, and you hug each other goodbye.

Before you take the few steps to your house, you turn and wave to the band.

“Bye-bye, see you tomorrow! It was nice seeing you again, Shoulders and Shoulders’ friend! And it was nice meeting the rest of you,” you call out, saying the last part while looking at the beautiful boy on the stool.

He doesn’t even acknowledge your words, occupied with his phone. The band bids you farewell, and you head to your house.

As you walk up the steps to your home, you smile with a blush, “Jungkook,” you muse, “What a pretty, pretty boy.”

☾☀︎

After your departure, Cherry turns to the boys with a raised brow.

“She’s nice,” Seokjin nods in approval with a smile.

“I can’t believe the person who asked for directions, the one Cher got to help us, and our new neighbour are all the same girl. What are the chances of all that?” Yoongi raises a finger with each point.

“I can’t believe you failed to mention how hot she was,” Taehyung says in disbelief to Cherry.

“Maybe because that has no relevance to anything,” Cherry deadpans.

“To you, but a hot cheerleader who is a talented artist and lives next door is like the female trifecta,” Jimin says.

“Oh, so now that you guys see she’s cute, you’re suddenly backtracking and agreeing with me that she’s got talent,” Cherry notes.

“I’m more hopeful about it,” Taehyung shamelessly declares with a nod, receiving an unimpressed look from Cherry in return.

“You guys can’t be serious,” Jungkook pipes up.

“What?” Cherry asks.

“You couldn’t find someone whose head isn’t in the fucking clouds.”

“Come on, don’t be so judgemental, Jungkook,” Cherry scolds.

“I have to admit, Cher, I’m still wary that she’s got any real art skills; she does seem a bit... ditzy,” Hoseok says gently, trying not to offend.

“She’s an airhead. I’d be surprised if she can even spell art,” Jungkook comments, his tone harsh.

“All of you should be the last to judge someone so quickly. Do you think when people hear you say you’re in a rock band, they don’t immediately assume you’re a bunch of wannabe rockstar losers before hearing how talented you are?” Cherry rebukes.

“You’re talking as if you’ve seen how “talented” she is,” Jungkook counters, his fingers making air quotes around the word.

“You know just as much about her supposed talent as we do. You’re just being defensive because she’s your new little friend,” Jungkook continues.

“And you’re being rude because she isn’t all doom and gloom like you,” Cherry argues.

“More like I’m calling it as I see it; she’s living in a world of her own,” he ripostes.

“And what does that have to do with her capabilities?”

Namjoon steps in to de-escalate the conversation: “She has a point: We can’t evaluate her abilities based on her personality. I say we wait to see what she shows us before jumping to conclusions,” he says, throwing Jungkook a look of reassurance; he adds, “We may be pleasantly surprised.”

“Whatever,” Jungkook mumbles, backing off. But he remains very doubtful that you can bring anything of substance, not believing that there is anything under your surface of lip gloss, bows, and lollipops that will surprise him.

☾☀︎

The next day couldn’t come fast enough for you; it was a bit after lunchtime when Cherry texted you that she had arrived at the garage and that the band was setting up for rehearsal.

As you skip next door with your sketchbook held to your chest, it feels like you are floating on a cloud. You thought about the pretty boy with the pretty big eyes all night, and you couldn’t wait to lay your eyes on him once again.

The garage door is wide open. You turn to enter and nearly bump into the very man you’ve been eager to see. You look him up and down shamelessly; he is wearing baggy jeans, black chunky combat boots and a white shirt with a black bomber jacket. With a chance to look closer at him, you notice his plump pink lips adorned with two piercings, his right eyebrow pierced, his ears decorated with several earrings, and a small scar on his left cheek.

“Oh, um, hi!” you smile at Jungkook with a tiny wave.

Jungkook gives you a once-over, his face emotionless, and walks away without a greeting.

You pout slightly, glancing down at your pink frilly crop top and white jean skirt, but don’t stay hung up on it for too long as Cherry notices your arrival.

“Barbs, you’re here. Come in,” Cherry waves you over.

She gives you a quick hug, and the rest of the band greets you warmly with head nods and waves.

“Hey, Shortstack,” Taehyung says with a gentle pat on your head.

You giggle at the nickname the tall boy has given you. Cherry sees the book cradled in your arms and smiles at you, excited for the guys to finally see how talented you are and, quite frankly, to see herself.

“Is that your sketchbook? Can we take a look?” she asks.

“Mhm,” you nod and hand her the baby pink sketchbook, a picture of two swans with their beaks touching on the cover.

The guys abandon their instruments as they overhear and huddle around the red-haired girl. You sit on the worn-out black leather sofa, glancing around the grungy place decorated with posters of different rock bands and filled with musical equipment. Your eyes land on Jungkook tuning his guitar in the back, not concerned with seeing your sketches like the rest of the band.

You watch as Cherry opens the sketchbook, and her eyes light up. Her mouth drops open as she flips through the pages, and her eyes widen with the guys’.

“Y-You drew these?” Hoseok asks dumbfounded, pointing at the book.

You nod brightly.

“Holy shit, Y/N! These are amazing!” Jimin exclaims.

“I knew you were talented, Y/N, but I didn’t think you were this good,” Cherry chuckles at the pages, shaking her head.

“They’re okay; I’m better at painting,” you blush at the compliments.

“No need to be humble, kid. These are way better than okay,” Yoongi says.

At Yoongi’s comment, you watch Jungkook walk over to the group, look over their shoulders at your drawings, glance at you, and then walk back over to continue tuning his guitar, all while his face remains impassive.

“Huh, you are like a little Picasso,” Namjoon says with a kind smile.

“Thank you,” you mutter shyly.

“I get why the dean was kissing your feet,” Hoseok says in awe, nodding.

“She didn’t kiss my feet,” you correct, shaking your head with knitted brows.

“He means why she praised your work,” Cherry explains.

“Oh... yeah. Mrs Baek is very nice,” you nod.

The guys all snicker, “Nice? Now that’s the first time I’ve heard that said about her,” Jimin tilts his head to the side with a slight shake.

“Well, the scholarship was nice of her,” you shrug.

They all look at you with faces of astonishment, and you give them the same look in return.

“What?” you ask, eyes wide.

“You got the dean’s scholarship?” Cherry asks, amazed.

“Yeah… is that bad?” you ask, worried at everyone’s shocked expressions.

“Man, we hit the jackpot!” Seokjin laughs with a clap of his hands.

“Getting a scholarship at Borahae, especially in Visual Arts, is very impressive, Barbs,” Cherry says as she comes and sits beside you, handing you back your sketchbook.

“You are very talented, Shortstack. Army of Bombs is honoured to have you design our logo; I’m sure you’ll make us proud,” Taehyung winks.

“I’ll do my bestest!” you declare with a determined nod but then pause before continuing, “On one condition, though,” you say, holding up your index finger.

Their eyes fill with apprehension, “What is it?” Yoongi asks.

“Remember to thank Y/N with $1 million when you become rich and famous,” you smile brightly.

They all chuckle at your cuteness when an irritated voice interrupts.

“Are we rehearsing today or not; because I have other places I could be,” Jungkook says in exasperation.

The boys roll their eyes and then move to take their positions. Seokjin sits beside you and nudges your shoulder with his; you turn to look at him.

“Thank you for helping us; we seriously appreciate it,” he says, shifting his eyes to the band. You follow his gaze to Jungkook. “All of us,” he finishes.

You look back at Seokjin, “I’m happy to do it,” you reply with a soft smile.

Cherry puts an arm around you, pulls you into her side, and gives you a little squeeze. You rest your head on her shoulder as the band begins to play. The loud music you previously had only heard through the walls shakes the room. Your body vibrates, and your ears ring as a sentimental smile forms on your lips at the nostalgia.

☾☀︎

It has been two weeks since you started attending the band’s rehearsals, and Jungkook still has not said a single word to you. He barely even looks at you, but when he does, it is brief, as if he is looking right through you.

The rest of the band seems to have accepted you into their circle quite warmly, even Yoongi, who isn’t very expressive; however, Jungkook remains cold and distant. You refuse to believe someone so beautiful could be so closed off. You have never been a girl who gives up quickly, so you have become determined to get the boy to embrace you just as the rest have — maybe even more. You can’t ignore the attraction you feel for him, not just physically, but it seems something deeper is compelling you to him.

Sitting in your newly designated spot on the sofa, Jungkook approaches you, and you perk up at the hope that this is the breakthrough you have been waiting for. But to your disappointment, as usual, your presence is dismissed as though you don’t exist; he reaches to the side table next to the sofa and picks up a water bottle. You stare at him as he chugs the liquid, watching his Adam’s apple bob and the sweat trickle down his neck.

He is captivating and handsome no matter what he does, even with the moody, intimidating aura around him.

Your eyes flicker down his body, and his arm catches your eye. As this is the first time you have seen him without a jacket on, you have never gotten to admire how his right arm, from his fingers going all the way up, is fully decorated with intricate ink designs.

This time, your gawking must be too much for Jungkook because only a second later, he sets his gaze on you.

“What?” he snaps.

You lift your eyes to his own, “What?” you blink.

The roll of his eyes is something you’re familiar with now, so you don’t take it to heart.

He sighs, closes his eyes, and exhales slowly through his nose as if calming himself, “You’re staring.”

You nod, “I am. I always do. You’re so pretty,” you say as if it’s obvious, gazing into his eyes.

You smile when his eyes meet yours. He turns his head to the side, looking away from you and clears his throat.

“You’re staring more than usual,” he states.

You seize the opportunity and jump off the sofa to his side; he flinches slightly at your suddenness.

“I was looking at your tattoos; I never noticed them. I like them! They are almost as pretty as you,” you take hold of his arm to examine the designs.

Jungkook rips his arm out of your grasp like your touch burns his skin. You don’t let his movement stop you, carrying on.

“They must have been painful. You are so brave to have done that,” you point at Jungkook’s arm, smiling in awe.

“They’re tattoos, not battle scars,” he grumbles, his tone grim.

“You’re so funny, Jungkookie,” you giggle.

His head whips, his jaw clenched, and he steps forward, towering over you.

“Don’t call me that,” his teeth gritted, his voice low, almost a growl.

Jungkook’s eyes flash dangerously, throwing a look meant to be a warning, but it completely unfazed you.

“Why don’t you like it? I think it fits you perfectly; your eyes are like big chocolate chips,” you tiptoe to peer into his eyes, not paying attention to how close your faces are to each other.

Jungkook stares back silently, then he leans back, looks to the side, blinks, clears his throat again, and pushes you back by your shoulders.

You turn your head to his big hand on your shoulder and blush; his touch is warm and not too forceful, just enough to create a suitable distance between you.

Then he tilts his head, “Are you always so annoying?” he sighs.

“I don’t think I’m annoying,” you say nonchalantly with a shrug yet pouting.

Jungkook only shakes his head, blinking once again before he walks away with a quiet curse escaping his lips.

☾☀︎

You waltz into the garage, no longer hesitant; it has become a place of comfort for you.

“Hi!” you announce your arrival and are greeted with hellos from those present. Your eyes shift, and you notice that a few members are missing, most notably the man of your dreams.

“Where’s Jungkookie?” you ask, not bothering to name the others absent.

Namjoon picks up on this but doesn’t mention it. He chuckles as he replies, “JK, Tae, and Jimin are on their way; they should be here soon.”

You nod, relaxing slightly; your eyebrows unfurrow, and your shoulders ease.

You settle beside Cherry on the sofa in your spot, pull out your sketchbook from your tote bag and open it to see the rough drawings you have made for the Army of Bombs logo. The book now has several pages of draft illustrations that you hope will lead you to the final design. You also pull out a new lollipop, unwrap it, and pop it into your mouth, humming in satisfaction.

“What flavour is it today?” she grins and nods towards your candy.

You pull out the red sweet and point it towards her with a wink, “Cherry,” you giggle.

“Ah! The superior flavour, as expected, great taste, Barbs,” she says, shooting a finger gun at you.

“Bubble gum is the greatest flavour, actually, but cherry is a very close second,” you correct jokingly.

You hear gravel crunching, and then Jungkook and the other boys enter the garage. His figure almost glowing as you watch him walk in.

“Sup,” Jungkook says, greeting the guys and doing that dap-hug guys do.

“Hi, Jungkookie!” you wave enthusiastically.

You don’t see how Cherry raises a brow at him, knowing his habit of ignoring you. He sighs and turns to you reluctantly.

“Hi,” his voice curt. The second the word is out of his mouth, he turns away, but you beam at the attention.

“Hey, Shortstack.”

Taehyung walks over and hugs you, patting your head.

“Hi, Taetae, where were you guys?”

“We were at the venue for our upcoming gig, just checking some last-minute stuff. Why did you miss us?” Taehyung pinches your cheek.

You nod, although you missed one of them more than the rest. Taehyung chortles, patting your head again with fond eyes.

“Sorry, Shorty. We had to take care of business,” Jimin taps your chin.

“Bold of you to call her Shorty,” Cherry quips, eyes darting up and down Jimin’s body.

“Haha. Funny,” Jimin laughs mockingly, “Why don’t you tell that joke to your boyfriend?”

“Touche, Park,” Cherry narrows her eyes at the mention of her equally short boyfriend.

Although, the whole band still towers over you.

“Why am I getting caught in the crossfire? I’ve been silent,” Yoongi comments.

Cherry waves him off, “Barbs, you should come to the show,” she taps your knee lightly.

Jungkook, whose back is facing you, winces at the invitation. The idea of you coming to their show already agitating him.

“Yeah, Y/N! You have to see us at our full effect!” Hoseok agrees.

“Really? That would be so cool!” you smile, bouncing in your seat.

“She has already been sitting in on all our rehearsals; is it necessary for her to come to our gigs?” Jungkook counters.

“Rehearsals and live shows are completely different,” Namjoon replies, “You have to come and see us to get the total Army of Bombs experience,” he adds, speaking to you.

“It’s not real rock and roll if you don’t have a crowd cheering you on, it’d be great to have you there,” Taehyung says.

“And it’d be great to have someone else to keep me company; Seokjin doesn’t cut it,” Cherry pouts to you.

“Now I’m catching strays,” Seokjin whispers to Yoongi.

“So you’ll come?” Cherry’s eyes are hopeful.

“I’ll come!”

And Jungkook grits his teeth at your answer.

☾☀︎

You’re in your bedroom with Cherry, and the both of you are getting ready to go to the guys’ show. They are playing at a bar known for having live performances—The Golden Bottle. It usually attracts a large crowd, but an even larger turnout tonight is expected since Army of Bombs is well-known in town.

Cherry had picked out your outfit: a hot pink latex strapless mini-dress paired with silver chunky platform heels. It’s still you—as Cherry had put it— “with just a little edge”. Since she picked your outfit, you’re doing her makeup in trade.

“When you told your parents you’re going to see a rock show, did they freak out?” Cherry asks as you apply her eyeshadow.

“No, my mom thought it sounded like fun! Plus, she knows you’re my friend, so she trusts me to go with you,” you tell her.

”What about your dad? You seem like you’d be a daddy’s girl?”

Your hand freezes as you move to pick up the blush brush, but you gather yourself quickly, hoping Cherry doesn’t see your falter.

“Um, my dad isn’t around,” you say, phrasing your words carefully.

“Hey, I understand. My parents are divorced too,” Cherry waves her hand at you, “My dad lives in a different city; I barely talk to him, let alone see him.”

“Oh, no, that’s not... I-I mean, that’s sad too... but,” you stammer over your words, “My dad, he, um, he passed away,” you finally get out.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Y/N—” she begins, her eyes widening with a face of guilt.

“You don’t have to apologize; you didn’t know,” you cut her off, offering her a reassuring smile.

“How long ago? W-wait, oh god, I’m being insensitive, aren’t I? That’s insensitive. I didn’t mean to—” she starts nervously babbling.

“You’re not, Cher,” you let out an airy laugh, “It’s been a little over a year and a half. It was a car accident,” you tell her, knowing she probably wanted to ask but was already feeling remorseful.

”So it’s just me and my mom now,” you say, dabbing the blush brush into the powder.

Cherry’s sad eyes look down as she fiddles with her fingers in her lap, not knowing what to say. You begin applying the peach powder on the apples of her cheeks.

“But you were right,” you break the silence. “I am a daddy’s girl, but he also would have thought it was super cool that I was going to a rock show.” You smile fondly at the thought.

Cherry smiles, and her body is no longer tense. She gets a view of her reflection in your vanity mirror and gasps.

“Oh my gosh, look at me! If they made a punk rock Barbie, it’d look like me,” Cherry laughs.

”Hey, no fair. You weren’t supposed to see yet,” you fake pout, “I still have to do my finishing touches.”

You twist open a tube of lip gloss and apply it to Cherry’s lips. Your tongue sticks out slightly as you focus, and Cherry pokes at it with her finger, causing you both to giggle.

“Okay! All done,” you back up, admiring your work, “I have finished my new masterpiece. You were pretty before, but now you’re pretty with sparkly eyelids,” you smile proudly.

Cherry gets up and hooks your arms together, dragging you to the full-length mirror to check out your final looks. She is wearing a black leather mini-dress that fits her like a second skin; she looks phenomenal.

“Damn, we look hot!” she exclaims, “Wait till the crowd gets a look at us. I bet the whole audience won’t even be watching the band play; they’ll be too focused on us,” she jokes.

“I hope Jungkookie thinks I look good,” you giggle as you fix some strands of your hair.

“Barbs,” Cherry’s voice now a bit cautious, “You don’t like Jungkook for real, right? Like, have feelings for him?”

“I do,” you nod, your eyes brightening, “Why is something wrong? Does he have a girlfriend already?” you question, worried.

“No, he doesn’t,” she shakes her head.

Your shoulders relax at her answer.

“But,” she continues, “I don’t think Jungkook is the best fit for you,” she rushes to explain when she sees you frown.

“He’s my friend, don’t get me wrong. I get it if you have a crush on him; he’s a good-looking guy. I just don’t think,” she pauses to think over her words, “You’re such a sweet girl, but Jungkook isn’t the type of guy to commit. And when it comes to girls, he isn’t the nicest, and I don’t want you to take him not liking you back personally.”

“He doesn’t have to like me back; me liking him is enough for me,” you shrug and give her a grin. “I think he’s the most handsome guy ever, and I want to get close to him.”

“He doesn’t open up that easily, so don’t take him not being the most caring to heart. He doesn’t consider others where feelings are concerned. You’re my friend, too, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

You pull Cherry into a hug, and she rubs your back. When you pull away, you smile.

“Don’t worry about me, Cherry. I like being around him; there’s no harm in that. I won’t get hurt.”

She nods, “Okay, but still, just be careful, alright?”

You nod, and she sighs, “Then, with that, let’s get going, Barbs. Yoongi will have my head if we’re late.”

☾☀︎

You and Cherry enter the bar arm-in-arm, and the smell of sweat, alcohol, and smoke hits you. The aged dark wood reveals how old this dingy bar is. It maintains its historical familiarity, but a few newer elements show the renovations made to keep the place relevant for younger patrons.

The venue is full of people, bustling with life when you arrive. The two of you push through the packed crowd to the front of the stage, with Cherry leading. You navigate through the crowd with relative ease, thanks to her aggressive elbowing, while your eyes wander all over, scanning the mass of people, all about to see Army of Bombs perform.

“There are so many people, it’s like they’re celebrities,” you lean over, speaking directly into Cherry’s ear due to the noise of the patrons, the soft clinking of glasses, loud drunken chatter, others laughing boisterously in their groups.

“In this town, they are. Almost everyone knows of them or at least has seen them play before,” Cherry tells you, leaning in as well.

The lights overhead dim, and then the crowd erupts out into cheers. You can feel the energy pulsing through the air. You and Cherry stand pressed close together, shoulders touching as she keeps a secure arm around you to keep together amongst the upcoming chaos. You can see the silhouettes of the band as they take their positions. You find Jungkook’s figure right away. The stage lights turn on as Jimin takes the mic, and the feedback rings through the speakers.

“What’s up, everyone? We are Army of Bombs! Hope you’re ready to rock out!” he yells before turning and nodding to Namjoon.

Namjoon does the count-off, and the set begins with the last hit of his sticks. Jungkook plays the opening note to the first song, followed by Jimin’s voice as the rest of the band joins in.

The bar’s atmosphere becomes electric with the music, the audience’s screams, the many devil’s horns raised in the air, and the headbanging. The guys are performing their all, but your eyes remain on Jungkook: how fast his fingers move on his guitar strings during his solos, how his melodic voice resounds as he sings backup, and how his body glides around on stage in tune with the melody so effortlessly. The lights shine down, glistening as sweat accumulates on him, and you’ve never seen someone look so angelic and sinful all at once.

You and Cherry get lost in the music, jumping up and down while you sing along to songs that you have now memorized. All too soon, the last notes of the final song of the set fade, and the crowd roars, chanting the band’s name.

The guys all come to the edge of the stage out of breath, bowing and sending out waves and winks to the audience, basking in the glory. Jungkook pushes back his sweat-dampened hair, chest heaving as his eyes sweep the crowd; they find you.

His gaze lingers on you longer than usual, and you swear everything else fades; you two are the only people in the room as your eyes lock. The world moves in slow motion. You get tunnel vision; he is all you can see, and all the screams become white noise. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears and feel your blood rushing through your veins. But then the spell breaks, and he’s walking off the stage with the rest of the band.

You feel a tap on your shoulder and spin around, spotting Seokjin standing behind you and Cherry.

“Hey, Shoulders,” you wave.

“Hey, I had to make sure the VIPs of our fan club attended the after-party. I’m heading backstage to meet the guys; I gotta talk to the bar manager, but we’ll be at the lounge afterwards, so meet us there,” Seokjin points his thumb over his shoulder behind him.

“Okay, see you guys there,” Cherry nods.

Seokjin walks through the mass of people and disappears, heading backstage. Once he’s gone, Cherry grabs your hand and leans in to speak to you.

“Let’s go touch up our makeup first,” she says, and you nod. You let her lead the way to the restrooms, holding your hand.

☾☀︎

With the time it takes the two of you to wait in line for the restroom, freshen up your makeup, and elbow your way to the lounge, the guys are already there.

When you approach the entrance to the lounge, a security guard is blocking it. Cherry yells over his shoulder to get Yoongi’s attention. When he sees you two, he walks over and pats the security on the back, telling him to let you two in.

Cherry wraps her arms around Yoongi’s neck, kissing him on the lips and complimenting him on how much of a good show it was, and you think you see a blush form on his cheeks. You smile at their interaction and decide to give them a moment alone.

You look around, hoping to spot Jungkook, but there are too many people in the lounge to get a view of everybody. You spot Namjoon standing in a corner talking to some people, so you go to him.

He shifts his head while in conversation, and once he notices you approaching, he smiles and hugs you.

“Great show, Joonbug!” you speak loudly over the music playing.

“Thanks, I’m glad you made it. I told you it was way different than rehearsals, didn’t I,” Namjoon nudges your elbow with his.

”It was insane; it was like you guys were different people. I felt like I didn’t know you at all,” you laugh, and he does as well.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. Invitation is always open to our shows; you’re more than welcome to them.”

“I will! I got told I am a VIP of your fan club, so I can’t disappoint,” you wink, “By the way, where’s everyone else? I want to congratulate them on the show,” you swivel your head around; finally asking the question that you have been itching to ask.

You follow the direction he points to with the neck of his beer bottle and see the rest of the band sitting on the couches surrounded by people, primarily women. You try to mask the frown that threatens to take over your face when you notice Jungkook sitting between two girls, his arm resting on the back of the couch as the girl on his right leans into his side.

Ignoring the twist of your stomach, you saunter over to the couches with your head held high. When you are close enough, Jungkook’s eyes flicker in your direction absentmindedly, and just as he glances away, he does a subtle double take once he registers it’s you approaching. He gives you a discreet up and down as you walk closer.

Hoseok notices you, already seeming to be a bit tipsy; his arms shoot up like he just shot a goal.

“You made it!” he smiles, his voice booming.

You wave nervously as everyone’s attention lands on you, but your face flushes from having Jungkook in front of you. Jimin and Taehyung give you a much more blatant scan of your body up and down with approving smirks on their face.

Taehyung rests his drink on the glass table in front of the couch and gets up to give you a tight hug. When he lets go, his hands run down your arm, squeezing your hand as he steps back to glance over your outfit again.

“My, my. Shortstack, don’t you look extra lovely tonight,” he says.

“Lovely? She looks fucking hot!” Cherry appears beside you, wrapping an arm around you in a side hug, causing Taehyung’s hand to let go.

“I was going to be gentlemanly with my words, but yeah, you look fucking incredible, Shorty,” Jimin shoots you a wink, raising his bottle.

“Thank you,” you smile bashfully.

“Speaking of incredible, the performance was fantastic! You all looked so so so cool, you sounded so so so good, and—and everything was just amazing!” you beam, bouncing in place.

“You know how to boost a man’s ego, Y/N,” Hoseok chuckles.

You continue brightly, speaking to Jungkook, “Your guitar playing was really, really awesome, Jungkookie!”

Jungkook raises his brows and stretches his mouth in a tight line, his dimples emerging even though he does not smile.

“Wow, Y/N, I’m sad. You’re just going to ignore your cheer captain without even saying hi?” a voice makes you turn your head.

You failed to catch that the girl sitting to the right of Jungkook was none other than Jess, and with a quick scan, you soon see Mei sitting on his left and Kat sitting next to Jimin. A frown threatens to break out on your face for the second time when you see Jungkook’s arm resting on the backrest behind her. Somehow, it bugs you more now that you know the girl.

You compose yourself, keeping your voice bright, “Oh, Jess, I’m sorry I didn’t know it was you. Hi!”

“I didn’t think I would run into you here. I didn’t know this was your kind of scene,” Jess says, eyes raking over you in a judgemental manner you don’t pick up on.

But Cherry instantly does, and alarm bells go off as she carefully observes Jess’s behaviour. Jungkook sits silently and watches your interaction.

“They invited me to the show; they’re my friends,” you smile as you gesture to the guys.

“Friends, huh?” Jess turns to Jungkook, tilting her head with a fake pout and laying a hand on his chest, “Where was my invite? I thought we were friends?”

Jungkook shrugs in response, taking a sip of his drink. Your breath hitches at their contact, but you keep calm.

Cherry pulls you to sit down with her, and you find yourself sitting directly in front of Jungkook.

“Y/N is designing our band logo for us since she is an art genius,” Jimin says to Jess and motions to you.

“Ah! So you’re working for them,” Jess nods to herself as if she finally understands the situation.

Cherry narrows her eyes but grins as she speaks, “More like she’s a friend helping out; she’s doing the band a huge favour.”

“Well, AoB is the hottest band in town,” Jess rubs a hand along Jungkook’s thigh with her eyes fixed on him.

Your heart clenches. For one, because Jungkook accepts Jess’s touch and welcomes it—something he doesn’t do with you. Also, because she’s pretty, and a pretty boy like Jungkook belongs with a pretty girl like her.

She continues looking at you with a smile.“So I hope you’re able to design something worthy.”

“I hope so too!” you answer warm and cheerfully, oblivious.

“She will,” Cherry says curtly to Jess before switching her attention to Seokjin, “So what did you talk to the manager about?”

“Oh, right!” he claps, remembering his previous conversation. “He was so impressed with the response we received from the crowd that he offered us a full weekend gig! Friday to Sunday, baby!” he hollers.

The band also celebrates, with high fives going all around. You even catch a hint of a smile on Jungkook’s face.

“Fuck yeah!” Jimin fist pumps.

“What are we celebrating?” Namjoon asks as he and Yoongi join the group. He sits beside you, and Yoongi sits beside Cherry.

“We got offered a full weekend gig here,” Hoseok informs them.

“Man, that’s great! Y/N must have brought us good luck,” Namjoon punches your knee lightly.

“Or the manager must have finally caught up with the rest of town and realized how talented you guys are,” Mei says, fluttering her eyelashes.

Seokjin bypasses her comment, “It’s not for another month, and I’m not trying to rush anyone,” he glances at you, “But it would be a perfect time for us to unveil our logo.”

“That would be sick! Do you think you could finish it by then, Shortstack?”

Feeling put on the spot with everyone’s hopeful eyes on you, you stutter, “U-um, I—”

“Don’t pressure her, you nimrod. Art takes time; she’s not a machine,” Cherry chides him.

“It was just a question,” Taehyung defends with his hands raised.

“A stupid question,” Cherry disputes.

Namjoon leans over to you as they bicker, “There’s no pressure, seriously,” his voice soft. He nudges your knee gently with his.

You look at him and nod with a grateful smile.

“Have you designed a logo before, Y/N?” Jess asks.

“No, this is my first one. I’m so excited to do it.”

“Are you sure you can do it? I’m sure you’re good, but a rock band logo isn’t the same style as painting flowers and trees, right?”

This time, her words sting. It’s a common occurrence—people doubting your art. You don’t let it get to you; you know what you’ve done and what you can do. You don’t have to prove your talents to anyone; your work speaks for itself.

“It is, but I am good. I can do it,” you shrug with an assured tone.

“Enough about the logo. You guys are playing a full weekend; I’ve never heard of a band booking three nights in a row here,” Cherry enthusiastically changes topics.

“I know. The manager said he couldn’t remember the last time he booked the same act for an entire weekend, but the crowd’s reaction blew him away,” Seokjin matches Cherry’s enthusiasm.

“We should write a new song and debut it on our first night, create some extra buzz. What do you say, JK? Up to working on one?” Yoongi says, asking the member who has been silent so far.

Jungkook nods, “I have a few different scores I’ve been working on; I recorded some of them already. I’ll send them to you.”

Yoongi nods in reply. You’re awestruck by this revelation; it shows on your face and tone of voice.

“You can write scores?”

His eyes shift to you, and he nods as his hands fiddle with the rings on his fingers. Your eyes stay locked on each other until Jess’s voice cuts in.

“He’s a musician; obviously, he can write,” she sneers, with Mei and Kat snickering.

Cherry, fed up, is about to clap back, and her mouth opens, but you speak before she can.

“A lot of musicians don’t know how to write or read music,” You lift your fingers and count, “Jimi Hendrix, Slash, Eddie Van Halen, all of The Beatles, some of the greatest guitarists in rock and none of them could write or read scores. So it’s impressive that he can do both.”

Cherry looks at you with proud eyes, and the guys look at you taken aback. Even Jungkook looks at you with raised brows and wide eyes, although his face is still emotionless.

You fail to see how Jungkook hides his smirk when he raises his beer to take a sip and how his arm no longer rests behind Jess.

You bat your eyelashes, chuckle, and add, “But what am I saying? I’m sure you already know playing an instrument isn’t the same as writing scores, right? Since this is more your scene than mine.”

“Exactly, I meant he’s a trained musician, so of course he knows how to do both,” Jess tries to save face, her eyes shifting in embarrassment, “No need to get all defensive, Y/N.”

“Y-Yeah, Jess knows all about rock,” Kat says. Mei nods in agreement.

Cherry scoffs audibly and grabs your wrist, “Let’s go get drinks before I say something I won’t regret and hurt some feelings,” she glares at the three cheerleaders.

She gets up and pulls you with her. When you both reach the bar, she huffs, rolling her eyes, “Can you believe them? What bitches! The nerve! I’m usually a girl’s girl, but—ugh! I hate girls like them, acting all high and mighty when all they are are a bunch of desperate groupies. I was so fucking close to giving her a piece of my mind.”

She glances at you and smirks, “But I didn’t have to, huh? I didn’t know you had it in you. You sure are full of surprises, Barbs. Where did all of that come from?”

“Me? What did I do?”

“Oh, don’t give me that! I know you were giving her a taste of her own medicine. You kept your innocent demeanour but were quick with your comeback about guitarists. How do you even know all that anyway?”

“It’s just something I know,” you say casually with a shrug, hoping to bypass the topic.

Luckily, the bartender comes over before Cherry can say anything else. She tells him her drink order and looks over at you, to which you shake your head, not wanting to drink tonight. When the bartender walks away to make her mojito, she leans in to speak to you.

“I have to pee,” Cherry says as she looks towards the restrooms. “Can you grab my drink and wait for me here?”

You nod and give her a thumbs up, not bothering to give a vocal response over the music. She returns the gesture and manoeuvres through the sea of people.

You puff out your cheeks as you wait, tapping your fingers on the glass bar while staring at the shelves of alcohol bottles on the wall behind the counter illuminated by red and blue lights.

When you feel a hand on your lower back, you turn with a small smile, stunned at how quickly Cherry peed, but instead of your vibrant-haired friend, you face a sweaty, tipsy, dishevelled man.

The man is drenched in sweat but not in a soft glow from dancing. His face is dripping, several beads streaming down. The dark stains on his shirt sticking to his skin are apparent even in the low lighting.

His presence instantly fills you with worry. You step away, sure not to be within arm’s reach of him. He stands in front of you with a greasy smirk; although he is standing in place, his body sways due to intoxication.

“Hey,” he says over the music, voice a bit louder than necessary.

“Hi,” you reply, leaning over the counter to get a glimpse of the bartender.

The tipsy stranger ducks his head into your view, blocking your line of sight of the bartender. You try to suppress a cringe when the stench of perspiration and booze hits you, burying your nostrils.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing at a place like this? Get lost on your way to an Ariana Grande concert,” he laughs at his lame joke.

“I’m here with friends,” you say, hoping he will leave you alone if you mention you are with people.

It does nothing of the sort, and his smirk widens, “Hmm, with friends, so not with a boyfriend?” he asks, his speech slurred.

“Um—”

He interrupts, stepping towards you, invading your space again, “If I were your boyfriend, I would never let you out of my sight. A sexy woman like you should never be left alone.”

His bloodshot, predatory eyes and creepy attempt at flirting were making you extra uncomfortable; drunk guys and rejection often led to anger, and you did not want this guy to become aggressive with you.

“I-I’m not alone; my friend will be back soon,” you glance over your shoulder, pointing to the restrooms. “Uh, so—”

“I’ll keep you company then. It’s not safe for a gorgeous girl like you here,” he licks his lips and coats them sloppily with his saliva, taking a step closer to you. He leans in, his wet lips disgustingly brushing the shell of your ear, “There are plenty of bad men just waiting to get their hands on a sweet thing like you.”

With the crowd surrounding you, you cannot back away from him. As a sense of panic begins to form in the pit of your stomach, you internally scold yourself for not walking away from this guy the second he approached you.

You try to muster your refusal, but the lump in your throat makes it hard to speak, “I don’t—No, I don’t want—”

You feel physically ill. Your breathing starts to pick up, and your palms turn clammy as they raise to push at the creep’s chest to create even the smallest distance between you two.

Suddenly, the drunk creep is yanked back by the back of his shirt, sending him stumbling back into the people behind him. He barely manages to catch himself with a hand on the bar.

A gasp leaves you, but despite the slight chaos, so does your panic. The man’s red, glassy eyes widen and match yours in shock. Your body stiffens. Slowly, you both turn your heads towards the source, your heartbeat pounding. Your eyes remain the same while his eyes narrow into slits filled with irritation as your sights land on your saviour. And as much as it adds to your shock, instant relief takes over your body, and you visibly relax as you release a breath.

“Everything okay here?”

Jungkook stands beside you, his stance intimidating. Towering with his hands in his front pockets, he shows no sign of agitation, but his stern calmness and his strong physique show he is not to be messed with.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? What’s your problem?” the drunkard spits out, too intoxicated to recognize this is one of the guys he just watched perform.

“You good?” he asks, focused on you, completely ignoring the man.

“We were just having some friendly conversation, right, doll?” the persistent creep slurs his interjections, sending you a wink.

“I didn’t ask you,” Jungkook retorts sharply.

“We were just talking, bro. Ease up,” the man tries to defuse the tense encounter he has got himself in.

“Were you guys talking?” Jungkook looks down at you, waiting for your answer.

You look at him with big, uneasy eyes and shake your head.

Jungkook steps in front of you, blocking your view of your harasser. His firm body acts as a shield. You feel so small standing behind him but have never felt more protected, more safe.

Jungkook narrows his eyes in a glare with his chest puffed out, “Looks like now you’re done talking; conversation over. Bro.”

With way too much pride and ignorance, in an attempt to get in Jungkook’s face, the drunk takes a step forward, but instead of standing nose to nose, the men stand nose to chin.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the creep sneers.

But Jungkook doesn’t move. He doesn’t budge.

Jungkook tilts his head, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. He almost looks amused, but there is nothing funny about the way he lets out a snicker through his nose and bends slightly, burning gaze staring the man dead in the eye to say,

“The guy telling you to fuck off.”

There are about three seconds of them having a stare-down. Jungkook is unrelenting, his confident yet harsh stance unmoving.

The drunkard cracks under the unnerving pressure, and his alcohol-induced cockiness falters. Accepting the evident disparity between the two and becoming reconciled to the physical disadvantage he is at, the drunk finally gives up. With a parting huff, he mutters one last expletive and stumbles away.

You are still left with some remaining shock, partly from that whole interaction and also partly from Jungkook coming to your rescue. Relief could barely settle in your chest before it’s ripped away.

“Thank you, Jungk—”

Jungkook turns around, runs his tatted fingers through his hair, and his eyes settle on you, annoyed.

Your breath hitches, your entire body frozen in place. Jungkook had just jumped in and rescued you from a drunken creep. Yet, there isn’t a single ounce of sympathy in his expression—only irritation. It feels as though you have caused him an inconvenience. Gone is the protective man who was an impenetrable defender. Now stands an uncaring, vexed man.

He clicks his tongue.

“If you can’t hold your own, you shouldn’t come to places like this,” he gestures around vaguely, unimpressed.

“I-I’m sorry, I—”

“Everything’s not all sunshine and rainbows all the time. There isn’t always gonna be someone around to babysit you and come to your defence.”

You are stunned in silence, not expecting to be reprimanded for being cornered by some intoxicated jerk and saddened that this is the most Jungkook has ever spoken to you.

“What? You’re constantly running your mouth and suddenly have nothing to say. Where did all that insufferable boldness go?” he scoffs, continuing, “I mean, you’re a chick at a bar; you didn’t expect some tipsy guy to make a pass at you? You seriously can’t be that naive, Y/N.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself not to cry. Not here. Not in front of Jungkook.

For the first time since meeting him, Jungkook’s gaze is unwanted. You wish his attention were on someone else as you hang your head in shame and embarrassment.

It stings that this is the most you’ve ever heard him speak and the most emotion you’ve ever seen him express, but it’s nothing like what you’ve dreamt of; it’s all negative. It’s hurtful.

That familiar feeling surges back within you: being berated, talked down to, made to feel small.

Overwhelmed by everything that has happened—Jess, the drunk creep, and now Jungkook—all these confrontations are beginning to take a toll on you. You feel your throat tighten, and your breathing picks up once again.

“I d-didn’t—”

“I’m back! Sorry, that line was killer. I swear I was about to piss myself,” Cherry returns. Surprise on her face at seeing Jungkook with you, she quickly looks between you two, sensing the tension and scanning your face; she gently touches your upper arm, “Hey, you okay?”

Still avoiding looking at Jungkook, you sheepishly give Cherry a nod and a tight smile. Jungkook’s gaze drags a quick once-over, a slow run of his tongue over his lip rings, and a sniff before he lets out a frustrated sigh.

“If you insist on bringing her here, watch after your friend.”

Jungkook walks away, and from your peripheral vision, you see the same broad back that was protecting you minutes ago disappear into the crowd.

“What the hell is his problem?” Cherry says as she watches him walk away. “Did something happen? Was he mean to you? I’ll kick his ass if he was an ass to you.”

With a hand still on your upper arm, she uses her other to point in the direction Jungkook walked off to and is already taking a step forward to go after him.

You frantically shake your head, pulling her back by her wrist.

“No, no, he helped me. There, um, there was this creepy guy who was drunk and was bothering me. Jungkookie made him leave me alone.”

Cherry doesn’t hide the astonishment on her face; her eyebrows shoot up so high that if they go any higher, they will touch her hairline.

“Jungkook? He helped you?” she asks in disbelief.

You find her reaction interesting; Jungkook is standoffish, but was it so shocking that he would help someone in need? Even someone as aloof as him would swoop in when they see a damsel in distress and save them, so it shouldn’t be such a shock to his good friend. Right?

Or was this really out of the norm for Jungkook? And if so, why did he save you?

You nod.

“Oh…” Cherry glances in the direction Jungkook went, and after coming out of whatever thoughts were running through her mind, she turns back to you in worry, “Well, what about you? Are you sure you’re alright? He didn’t do anything to you, did he?”

“No, I’m okay. The guy got a bit too close, but Jungkookie showed up before he could do anything,” you reassure her, putting on the best smile you can muster right now.

Her eyes flicker over your face, assessing your expression to be sure you’re telling the truth, and she takes your word with a worried nod. She pulls you into a hug as she sighs in relief.

“Okay, good. I’m glad someone was here to help you. I would have hated myself if my bladder had created the opening for some drunk creep to get to you,” Cherry shudders at the thought, “That fucker, though! What’s with tonight? I’m so sorry, Barbs. I did not want your first AoB show to turn out like this.”

“Don’t feel bad about it, Cher. I’m honestly okay,” you squeeze her hand and gesture around at the bar, “And no offence, but I didn’t expect this place to be crawling with prince charmings,” you giggle, attempting to lighten the mood regarding how the night went.

Cherry also glances around and giggles, “Fair, and hey, I mean, I did say we look hot. I should have been on high alert for creeps. Hotties like us always have to be on the radar for hopeless losers,” she rolls her eyes, smirking.

“I think Yoongs was keeping the losers at bay for you, you know, with his… face,” you wave a hand over your face and laugh.

“Yeah, gotta love my Yoongi the Grouch,” Cherry smiles fondly, her eyes twinkling at the topic of her boyfriend, “He’s like my own personal creep deflector. We should get back to him before we start attracting them,” Cherry grabs her mojito, the glass now covered in condensation.

“Do you mind if I go home? There has been a lot of excitement for me for one night. I’m still getting used to this rock and roll lifestyle.”

“Sure, let me finish this drink and tell Yoongi; then we can head out.”

“You don’t have to leave because of me. I can go on my own; I don’t want to ruin your night,” your words trail off as Cherry sends you a look.

“Barbs, I invited you. We came together, and we’re leaving together. I have been to enough shows; I know I’m not missing anything. Plus, I would never let you go alone at this time. Are you crazy? What kind of friend would I be?”

You smile, this one reaching your eyes. You have to blink back tears. Cherry’s friendship is unwavering; she is one of a kind.

With that, Cherry lifts her drink to her lips and chugs it down like it’s water, and you two are off to tell Yoongi that you’re heading out.

When you return to the lounge, subconsciously, your eyes find Jungkook. He’s back to sitting on the couch with Jess tucked into his side as if he never left that spot. You catch his eyes flicker over to you so briefly that you almost doubt it even happened.

Yoongi notices Cherry return without a drink and gives her a questioning look. She leans down slightly to speak to him.

“We’re going to go home now; tonight’s been a lot for Y/N,” Cherry tells him. Without Cherry even asking, Yoongi nods, downs the rest of his beer, and gets up to leave with the two of you.

“No way! You guys are going? You can’t leave yet!” Hoseok calls out.

Namjoon smirks at you, “Party too hard, Little Picasso?”

“I was right; this isn’t your scene after all, huh?” Jess remarks with that antagonizing smile you are becoming familiar with. Mei and Kat snickered at her remark.

“No, some drunk bastard was harassing her,” Cherry speaks for you.

That shuts Jess up quickly and catches the band’s attention. Jungkook sits up straighter as his body tenses. The rest of the guys focus on you, their faces now serious.

Jimin and Taehyung stand up, “Are you okay, Shortstack? Did he touch you?”

“I’m okay,” you smile, shaking your head lightly.

“Who was the son of a bitch? We’ll find him and take care of him,” Jimin says.

You wave your hands to stop them.

“It’s fine now. You guys don’t have to. It—He’s been taken care of,” you tell the guys to calm them down, your eyes going to Jungkook for a fraction of a second.

Jungkook, who is still avoiding looking your way, is biting on his lip rings—but otherwise seemingly totally removed from the conversation.

“I don’t want to cause trouble,” your voice is smaller than usual, but your eyes are as big as a scared puppy, and you can feel your face heat up again from all the unwanted attention you’re causing.

“We can’t let him get off scot-free, especially doing something like that on our night here and to one of our crew,” Namjoon remarks.

Being called part of their crew doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you are too worried about them causing a ruckus because of you, especially after the whole Jungkook thing, his words still lingering in your head.

“There isn’t always gonna be someone around to babysit you and come to your defence.”

“She’s right; he’s been dealt with already,” Cherry says, her eyes locking on Jungkook, who meets her gaze, holding it for a moment, then continues, “I don’t think he’ll be a problem again. Y/N wants to get out of here, and I can’t blame her. I would want to call it a night, too.”

Reluctantly, the guys settle down, and Taehyung pulls you into a hug and cranes his neck to look at your face, “This didn’t scare you off from coming to our shows, right?”

“Y/N? Are you kidding? Nah, she just joined the fan club; I even made her a VIP. Of course not,” Seokjin says, winking and playfully ruffling your hair.

The drastic change of now being flooded with words and touches of comfort warms you and melts away the anxiousness.

“Yeah, I can’t give up my spot that quickly,” you laugh.

“Well, just to be sure, I’m promoting you to fan club president, so it’s mandatory to attend live shows,” Taehyung narrows his eyes and points at you.

“Yes, sir!” you bring your hand to your brow in a salute.

“Get some rest, Prez. We’ll see you at rehearsal,” Jimin bids you farewell, hugging you tight and kissing the top of your head.

Hoseok and Namjoon also hug you goodbye. While hugging Namjoon perched on your tiptoes, you glance at Jungkook over Namjoon’s shoulder.

Jungkook, with his typical impassive expression, has his arm back to resting on the backrest behind Jess. He faces her as she leans into him, whispering in his ear, her nails running up and down his thigh, her hand getting close to his crotch; you’re sure her fingers have grazed over it.

You tear your eyes away once you feel a hand pat your back, “Let’s get you home, kid,” Yoongi says gently.

You give him a soft nod and smile, turning to leave. With your back turned, you’re unaware of how Jungkook’s eyes trail after you. Jess, however, is very aware; she follows his gaze when she sees how uninterested he is in her flirty words and wandering hands.

You hear a voice call out.

“I’ll see you at practice Monday morning, Y/N,” Jess says with her phoney smile, her hand still inappropriately gripping Jungkook’s thigh.

You plaster on a smile that matches hers and seal it with a friendly wave.

“See you bright and early Monday, Captain!” you hesitate but decide to continue, “Bye, Jungkookie.”

Jungkook appears surprised by how his eyes widen slightly, his brows twitching, but you get no other kind of acknowledgement of your goodbye. Not a word, a wave, not even a nod.

You and Cherry tell the guys one last goodbye, and Yoongi gives them a nod before you three make your way to the exit and bring an end to this eventful night.

“I should’ve asked her what the guy looked like. I could’ve told the manager to keep an eye out for him,” Seokjin mentions after your departure.

“The girls made it sound like he won’t show his face around here anymore, but we can tell them to let us know if he does,” Namjoon says.

What you don’t know, what the guys don’t know, is that Jungkook did talk to the manager. He had him check the cameras and pointed out the guy. The drunkard is banned from the bar now.

☾☀︎

You are at cheerleading practice, doing some warmup stretches with Rina by your side. Today, the team is supposed to be running through a routine for an upcoming game; this will be your first performance since joining the team, and you are so excited to experience that rush again.

You are helping Rina stretch, holding her leg down, when you see Jess and her minions walking across the field towards the team.

Jess jumps into business without greeting the team; she claps her hands twice and yells, “Okay, into your starting positions! You should all have this down by now; if not, don’t bother. I expect perfection.”

Practice ensues, and it’s not the smoothest. Some people make minor mistakes: a little stumble, timing a bit off, pose slightly mispositioned. But Jess watches them like a hawk, scrutinizing everyone’s performance or sending Mei or Kat to chastise them immediately if she doesn’t do it herself.

As the end of practice nears, the field erupts into mild chaos as the football team arrives, gathering for their practice. Their booming voices and boyish roughhousing practically take over the area. The quarterback, Mingyu, walks away from his team; the players are huddled at the side of the field by the bleachers while waiting their turn.

He approaches Jess, Mei, and Kat. He is still far from them when he calls, “Hey, Jess. Are you guys coming to the party tonight?”

You are performing the routine flawlessly, as you always do when Jess stops when she reaches you as she makes her rounds around the team.

There hasn’t been any mention of seeing each other that night at AoB’s show, so you thought Jess had moved past it. The little back and forth you two had was probably so minuscule in her whirlwind of a life that she must have forgotten about it already.

“Hey, Gyu, hmm, I don’t know. Jungkook and I were supposed to hang out tonight. Unless he’s going, too,” Jess turns to you, “Y/N, you’re friends with Jungkook and his band, right? Do you know if they’re going to the party?”

“I don’t know, they haven’t mentioned anything,” you shrug, “But if you already have plans with him, why would he go to a party? ” you ask, slightly out of breath.

Rina’s eyes widen beside you, and Mingyu laughs lightly with his head down. You are unaware and lost in your genuine curiosity when Mei interjects.

“Well, obviously, if he didn’t mention it, then he’s not going because he has plans with Jess,” she narrows her eyes at you.

“You can hang out at the party; it’s gonna be wild! You know how we Borahae Bears get down! You should still pull up. All of you,” Mingyu says loud enough for everyone to hear, motioning to the cheer team.

Mingyu speaks directly to you when he adds, “Tell Jungkook and the guys to come, you as well,” he smiles.

“Thanks! I’m going to their rehearsal later, so I’ll let them know,” you smile back at him.

“And if I talk to him first, I’ll tell him,” Jess adds.

“R-Right,” Mingyu nods stiffly, his eyes shifting between you and Jess.

“Well, I should go start getting ready for practice,” Mingyu points a thumb over his shoulder, “But I’ll hopefully see you all tonight,” he flashes a wink before turning around and jogging back to his team.

“A party sounds like a lot of fun!” you say to Rina with a big grin, softly clapping your hands.

With you not facing her, Jess narrows her eyes at you while clenching her hands into fists, yelling, “Practice is over!”

You flinch at the sound and see her spinning around and storming off the field with Mei and Kat running after her.

��☀︎

Since the night at the bar, things haven’t changed regarding your interactions with Jungkook—or lack of interaction, you should say. You’ve been attending the band’s rehearsals as usual, and just as he was before, Jungkook ignores your entire existence. But of course, just as you were before, you don’t let that stop you.

Despite his harsh words, you can’t forget how he was like your knight in shining armour that night. After spending a month in his presence, he may not treat you like a friend or be as cordial as you would like, but he was there for you when you needed help. He stepped up without being asked and protected you. To you, that means something, so even if he continues to ignore you, you won’t ignore him.

Jungkook can keep up his cold, grumpy attitude, but you know, within him, there is a kind man. What he said to you may have been hurtful at the moment, but when you reflected on it in bed that night, his words sounded more like a lecture for your safety than an insult. And although he may disregard you, he has never really been rude to you despite your persistent efforts to get close to him.

So tonight, like every other time you’ve entered the garage, you say hello to all the guys present—including Jungkook.

“I’m here!” you sing, dragging out the words as you skip in, still in your cheer uniform and, of course, with a lollipop in your mouth. It’s watermelon flavour today. And once again, Mrs Lee didn’t let you pay; something about that being the last one of that flavour, so there was no point in charging you for it.

“Hey, Prez,” Jimin smiles as he looks you over, “Had practice today?”

“Mhm,” you nod, “Hey, Jungkookie!”

Jungkook keeps tuning his guitar without raising his head to spare you a glance. Taehyung, standing beside him, gives him a serious look, “Dude.”

Jungkook raises his head, “Hi,” lowers it and resumes tuning his guitar.

Taehyung rolls his eyes, swinging his bass around to hang behind him, “Hey, Shortstack, how was practice? Were you getting thrown around in the air today?”

“No, not today, Taetae,” you giggle, “But I did tumble a lot today; look how red my hands are!”

You pop your lollipop into your mouth and hold your palms up in his face, “I’m going to end up with ugly, rough hands like you guys,” your words mumble due to the candy as you pout with a slight grimace.

Taehyung grabs your wrists with a fond smile, then furrows his brows as he pretends to examine your hands, “Well, aren’t you one tough cookie.”

You smile—wait, cookie, cookie. Hmm, why does that remind you of something? Cookie? Cook? Jungkoo—Jungkookie! Right!

You gasp, startling the members; even Jungkook’s head shoots up. He watches you sceptically as you approach him.

“I almost forgot! Jungkookie, I’m supposed to tell you about the party.”

“What party?” Cherry jumps in, asking as she and the rest of the members walk through the door, entering the garage from inside.

She walks over and throws an arm around your shoulder as you answer, “The football leader told me to tell Jungkookie and the guys to come to his party. What did he say… teddy bear party?” You tap your chin, thinking.

“Football leader? Do you mean the captain, Mingyu? The Bears are having a party?” Namjoon asks with an amused grin.

“Mingyu! That’s his name!”

“Sometimes I forget you hang around those frat douches,” Cherry says.

“You know, I think I remember Jaehyun telling me about the Bears having a party at the frat house,” Jimin comments.

“Why would Mingyu tell you to tell JK about the party?” Hoseok asks.

“During practice, Jess asked me if you all were going, even though she has plans with Jungkookie tonight,” you point to Jungkook with your candy. He looks confused by what you’re saying, but you continue, “But I told her I didn’t know, so Mingyu said you all should go. He invited the cheer team, too!”

“You have plans with that bitch?” Cherry asks Jungkook.

“No,” Jungkook shakes his head, then juts it to you, “I don’t know what she’s going on about.”

“Jess said you’re hanging out with her tonight. You’re not?” you ask Jungkook, looking up with big, hopeful eyes.

He looks down at you, surprisingly meeting your gaze, “No, I’m not,” he sighs.

You release a breath and can’t hold back the smile on your face, “Oh... okay,” you break eye contact, looking down at your feet as you blush. His stare and words take over you; you honestly didn’t expect a direct response from him.

Cherry squeezes your shoulder, “You seriously wanna go to this party?”

“Yeah, I have to! My friend on the team is going, and I told her I would go,” you see the look of reluctance on Cherry’s face.

“Pretty, pretty please! The muscle bear said it would be fun,” you add, attempting to convince her.

“Wait, did I hear you say the cheer team is going? Like the whole team? As in multiple cheerleaders at one party?” Jimin asks you.

You nod.

And Jimin turns to the band with a firm nod and says,

“We are going to this party.“

☾☀︎

The frat house comes into view, music already pumping through the walls. You can hear the music as you walk up the porch steps, the bass thumping through the floorboards under your feet. People pack the house from the inside to the backyard; even the front lawn has a few partygoers scattered. You’re arm in arm with Cherry as you step into the house, with Yoongi and Namjoon behind you, having chosen to come here with you two instead of leaving with the others. A decision they later regretted if their groans about how long you two took to get ready are any indication.

“Okay, first objective: find the alcohol. If I’m going to be mingling among jocks, I need to be intoxicated,” Cherry announces.

The three of you chuckle at her, but the guys lead the way to the kitchen anyway. You glance around, bodies swaying to the beat on the makeshift dancefloor in the living room, pairs locking lips against the walls, a rowdy game of beer pong in the corner. Your eyes fail to find any familiar faces; although you don’t catch sight of a certain doe-eyed boy, you are scanning the place in search of Rina.

You refocus when a red solo cup gets shoved into your hands. You sniff it, scrunching your nose at the strong smell; nevertheless, you cheers with Cherry and down the drink—tequila, oh God, it’s tequila— in one go. Once the shot burns its way down your throat, you ask Namjoon to mix you a drink, asking for something much sweeter this time.

With your drink in hand, you pull Cherry in, “I have to try and find Rina.”

She nods and turns to say something in Yoongi’s ear; he nods at her in reply, and then you are off to search for your teammate. Luckily, you don’t have to search for too long; you’re passing the beer pong table when you notice a head of strawberry blonde hair sitting on the sofa nearby. You grab a hold of Cherry’s wrist as you guide her over with you.

“Rina!” you call out.

Only when you get closer do you see that she is sitting with none other than the guy who invited the team himself: Mingyu. Rina pauses midcoversation, turning away from him.

“Y/N!” she jumps up and smiles as she swoops you into a hug. You chuckle at your seemingly already intoxicated friend.

“This is Rina, my closest friend on the cheer team,” you say to Cherry, then switch to Rina, “And this is my bestie for the resties, Cherry.”

The girls give their greetings after your little introduction, and just as you expected, the three of you get along seamlessly. After a few minutes, Rina seems to remember the football player she was conversing with earlier; she sits back down beside him, bringing him into the conversation, “I was just telling Gyu, I can’t recall the last time I’ve seen so many people enjoying themselves like this. It’s nice.”

The nickname doesn’t go unnoticed by you, nor does the way Mingyu flushes it; you make a note to tease Rina about it another time.

“It is! Thanks again for the invite,” you say to Mingyu.

“Don’t mention it,” he flicks his hand, “The football and cheer team have always had a good bond. Oh, and thanks for extending my invite.”

Mingyu tilts his head to the side, and you turn to see Jimin and Taehyung playing against Hoseok and Seokjin in a game of beer pong. Your eyes wander behind Jimin, landing on Jungkook braced against the wall, drink in hand.

When you set your sights on him, your knees almost give out. He looks hot—somehow hotter than usual. He is wearing his signature baggy jeans and black chunky combat boots; his black leather jacket, unzipped to display how his fitted white shirt hugs his firm body that sets you off, and his fingers, clad with several silver rings, send you right over the edge.

Beside him stands Jess, who is without her two sidekicks for the first time. She is leaning into him, whispering in his ear, and you get a sense of Deja Vu; images of them from that night at the bar flash through your mind, but you shake them out.

Jungkook said he didn’t have plans with her. She’s here because Mingyu invited her to the party. Jungkook wouldn’t lie to you—or at least he has no reason to. If they had plans to hang out together, he would have just said so.

Last time, your disappointment held you back from interfering, but this time, you have the warmth and courage of alcohol coursing through your veins. So, with a confident stride, you head in their direction.

“Prez!” a very tipsy Jimin stops you, tackling you into an embrace.

“Hey, Chimchim,” you pat his back.

He pulls back, but his hands remain on your shoulders, clutching them, “Thank you for reminding me about this party, Prez. This is amazing! You are the best! Forget president! You are officially the queen of the fan club,” he slurs.

“Man, how are you already this far gone?” Cherry walks over.

“Cher!”

He tackles her next, swaying their bodies back and forth. Now free from the shackles that are Jimin, you spin around and find your target with his eyes already on you. You don’t let it sway you.

You exhale sharply, then force yourself to meet his gaze. And then, with zero hesitation,

“Hi, Jess,” you give her the briefest of glances, then settle on Jungkook, “Hi, Jungkookie, you look handsome!” you run your hand down one side of his jacket along the zipper.

His eyes widen in shock, and his lips part, but no words come out due to Jess’s interruption.

“Y/N, I see you made it. Jungkook and I were talking about you and your little mix-up earlier. We cleared it up, though; no need to worry.”

She takes a small, almost inconspicuous step forward, her body between you and Jungkook’s. She squeezes your elbow in faux cordiality, and you’re left puzzled.

“Mix-up? What do you mean?”

“At practice today, you misunderstood when I said I wanted to message Jungkook about hanging out at AoB’s next show, for me saying he and I had plans for tonight.”

Now, as much as you may be a bit forgetful, there is no way you mistook how she went on about having plans with Jungkook tonight. She made it clear right when Mingyu mentioned the party.

“No, I didn’t, you said—”

“It’s okay; I understand how you could get confused.”

Jungkook is still looking at you from behind Jess with an expression you can’t determine. Being blamed for something untrue this blatantly with your crush watching would typically embarrass you, but being portrayed as a liar bothers you.

“That’s not what happened, you said—”

“Little Picasso, it looks like you need a refill. Let’s get you one, come on,” Namjoon suddenly comes behind you.

He takes you by the shoulders and guides you to the kitchen; you don’t have time to grasp what’s happening.

Once at the array of bottles, Namjoon begins mixing you a drink. While pouring the liquid into a new red plastic cup, he speaks.

“You shouldn’t let her get to you.”

“Hmm?” you watch him.

“Jess. She’s trying to get a rise out of you, don’t let her.”

“But what she said wasn’t true. I heard her. I would never lie to Jungkookie,” you fret.

There’s a pause as he finishes mixing your drink and hands it to you. He sighs, “People like you are better off staying clear of people like Jess, who provoke others to make themselves feel superior. She’s the kind who will always take the opportunity to walk all over you if you let her.”

“We’re on the same team; I can’t avoid being around her. And she’s the cheer captain, so I can’t be rude to her.”

“I can respect that,” he nods with a sympathetic smile, “But that doesn’t mean you should let yourself get belittled.”

You lower your head, swishing around the drink in your cup.

“She’s patronizing because she feels threatened by you.”

“I never did anything to her,” you pout.

“No, I’m sure you didn’t,” he mulls his words, “Evny comes out without you having to incite it. From what I heard from Cherry, you are an equally talented cheerleader as she is, dare I say more. Among your other great qualities, you also seem to be gaining attention in other areas where she seems to fall short,” he smirks after his statement.

Namjoon looks over at Jungkook and Jess, the latter failing to capture the interest of the man beside her despite her forceful attempts. With your cup covering your view from taking a sip of your drink, Namjoon averts his eyes before you notice.

“Huh?” you wonder what other areas you’re exceeding Jess in.

He shakes his head, bypassing you, and continues.

“There aren’t many people like you, Y/N. You’re a very positive person, and the world needs that. Plenty of things and people will try to test how brightly your light shines but never dim it.”

His words wrap around you like a hug, a much-needed hug. A comfort you didn’t realize you needed till now.

“Thanks, Joonbug,” you smile, but a frown soon takes place, “I don’t like this, though. I don’t care if she doesn’t like me, but I don’t want her to make Jungkookie not like me too.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Jungkook isn’t someone easily deceived; I wouldn’t worry about that,” Namjoon pats your shoulder reassuringly.

☾☀︎

After your talk with Namjoon, Cherry came looking for you with Yoongi in tow, and Cherry, ever the encourager, kept the drinks flowing. One shot became two, and two became seven. You stopped counting drinks during several rounds of beer pong against Hoseok and Taehyung.

How Jimin got cut off by Seokjin but not you two is beyond you.

Now you and she have some concoction of a cocktail in hand as you dance—or try to dance in your heels to the EDM music blasting through the speakers.

After the current song ends, you and Cherry crash down onto the sofa, out of breath and plastered. The party is still in full swing around you. You two chat and giggle about insignificant topics for a while; your sense of time has long gone. There’s a peaceful lull in between when you are both sitting there with your head resting on her shoulder, no talking, just being. Your lingering thoughts break through the pause.

“Cher, do you think I’m naive?”

“Hmm? Where did that come from?”

“Just—” you shrug, “Do you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

The words pierce through the noise of the party; you wince, deflating emotionally and physically. You slouch deeper into the sofa. Cherry doesn’t seem to catch on to the effect of her words, yet she doesn’t stop there.

“You have this… innocence about you. A pureness as if you have been untainted by the world. It makes me want to shield you from it.”

“You don’t think I’m… useless?”

Cherry cranes her neck to look down at you so fast you’re surprised she doesn’t get whiplash. Her eyes widen.

“No! Why would you ask that? Did someone call you useless?” she sits up straight.

You pull her back to sit comfortably and place your head back on her shoulder.

“No. Not recently, anyway; I have been called that before. I was just curious what you think.”

Cherry rests her head against yours.

“Do you think you’re useless?” she asks gently.

You shake your head, “There was a time I did; someone I thought loved me made me doubt myself. I know other people’s opinions don’t matter. But I still care about how the people that matter to me think of me, and you matter to me.”

“I think you are naive, but not in the typical sense. You are one of the wisest people I’ve ever met. And that’s saying something when you know someone like Namjoon,” you both chuckle at that.

Cherry reaches for your hand and holds it.

“It takes a certain kind of person to walk through life so optimistic and unaffected by—well, by life.”

You inflate; your self-esteem is experiencing a huge boost tonight.

“You matter to me too,” she squeezes your hand, “I have always been a protective person, but the guys have always been around to look out for me. Since I’m an only child, I’ve always considered them family, so it’s nice that I have a sister to look out for now.”

The sentimental bubble bursts when Yoongi emerges, smirking down at your bodies on the couch as if dumped there.

“There’s my little boozer,” Yoongi pinches Cherry’s cheek with a grin on his face like a Cheshire cat.

She swats away his hand, and he laughs.

“You ready to head out? I should get you home before your mom sends the cops after me,” he tilts his head towards the front door.

Cherry groans, tossing her head back against the couch.

“Going home means moving. I don’t know if I can manage that,” her eyes are shut while she speaks.

“Again, with the dramatics,” Yoongi grabs her hands and pulls her up with a soft grunt.

“You too, kid. Let’s go,” he reaches out and pulls you up.

The three of you walk to the door, you and Cherry stumbling, Yoongi trying to make sure neither of you falls on your face. When you see Yoongi’s shielding hand on Cherry’s lower back, you remember Jungkook. You were having so much fun in your tipsy state you didn’t realize you hadn’t seen him since you tried talking to him earlier when Jess tried embarrassing you.

The cool night air washes over you; the contrast to the inside instant. The crisp breeze kisses your hot skin, and a shiver runs down your spine as you step onto the porch. The muffled music and laughter echoed from inside; you shut your eyes and inhale deeply to try and sober up with fresh air, but instead, breathe in the scent of cigarette smoke.

You have no time to relax when Yoongi’s low voice cuts through the quiet night air.

“Oh, sick, you’re here. I need to take Cher home, so make sure Y/N gets home,” Yoongi tells someone.

“Why me? Get one of the guys to take her.”

You open your eyes, and there on the porch is Jungkook, smoking a cigarette. The smoke curls up into the air as he holds it near his face, halting his movements at Yoongi’s order.

“Jimin and Tae are even more wasted than these two, believe it or not,” he refers to his girlfriend and you, “So Seokjin has his hands full with them. And I have no idea where Hoseok and Namjoon are.”

“Throw up,” you mumble.

Jungkook and Yoongi both quickly look at you with startled expressions.

“Hobi went to throw up. Joonbug is with him,” you drawl, clarifying.

“There you go, that’s why you,” Yoongi claps Jungkook on the shoulder.

“If anything happens to her, I’ll rip one of those piercings out of your face, Jeon,” Cherry rounds Yoongi and stands chest to chest with Jungkook poking at his chest threateningly.

Cherry hugs you goodbye, and the couple are off before Jungkook can make any more protests.

Just like that, you are left alone with the guy you have been enthralled with since you met him. The thumping bass and the joyful murmurs are the only sounds between you and Jungkook as you both stand there in painful silence.

You keep your gaze locked on the street, trying to focus on anything but the suffocating presence beside you.

Jungkook leans against the railing like he has nothing better to do, smoking the remainder of his cigarette, his gaze fixed in the distance on the night sky. You sigh, side-eyeing him as you shift, restless with your arms crossed. You try to remain calm, but inside, you are as excited as ever, pondering how to use this chance to your advantage.

He doesn’t attempt small talk or any other interaction, so you leave him immersed in his thoughts.

What makes this situation a little more nerve-wracking is that you know you are not really in his good books. Yet, you can’t miss out on this moment with him because being alone like this won’t happen again so smoothly. He dismisses you whenever he gets the chance or keeps his engagement short and curt when he does pay you attention.

A beat of silence later, you ask cautiously, “Did you have fun?”

“I did,” for the first time in minutes, he looks at you. “Until I got stuck chaperoning,” he snarks.

“There isn’t always gonna be someone around to babysit you and come to your defence.”

His sharp response had felt like a slap. Your drunken pride steps in, “You don’t have to. I can take care of myself,” you meekly contest.

Jungkook doesn’t answer this time.

Instead, he merely shifts his gaze from you to the empty, streetlight-lit road ahead before he begins to move. He drops the butt of his cigarette, putting it out with the toe of his boot, then stomps down the steps as he takes out his phone from his back pocket.

You follow immediately, walking by his side until he says, “I’m ordering an Uber.”

Your chest tightens, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

It all flashes before you in a millisecond.

Tires screeching. Glass shattering. Metal crunching. Blood. Pain. Fear.

“No!” you react instinctively and grab his arm, stopping him.

When you meet his eyes, Jungkook eyebrows furrow. Surprised and annoyed, he sends you an intense, fiery glare.

“I can’t take an Uber,” you shake your head frantically.

“Do you expect me to fly us there?” he huffs, pulling his arm out of your hold.

Your mouth opens and closes, but your throat seals shut. What possible defence could you offer?

Your nails carved crescents into your palms as you clenched your fists, your eyes tightly shut, “I-I just can’t ride in an Uber,” you force out quietly, ashamed; your voice is barely audible. A single tear slips down your cheek before you hurriedly wipe it away

Jungkook hears your voice crack and your sniffle. His scowl falters for a split second as he takes in your appearance—your teary eyes, chest rising and falling far too quickly, hands trembling at your sides. You are practically hyperventilating.

“Jesus…” he wavers, staring at your face, scratching the back of his neck, his eyes flicking around awkwardly, “You don’t have to cry about it.”

He shifts uncomfortably; abruptly, he walks away, his back now to you. You are left standing there like an abandoned kitten. He calls over his shoulder without even looking at you,

“You gonna stand there and sulk all night? Are you coming or not?”

His voice is cold and detached—as if he’s doing this out of obligation rather than concern.

Your eyes narrow, and your lips press into a thin line.

“Not,” you frown.

Jungkook freezes, leans his head back, looks up at the stars and groans, dragging his hands down his face in frustration. He lets out a slow breath before turning to you to speak again,

“What?”

You shake your head, cross your arms in protest, and pout, “I don’t want to go with you if you’re going to be a grumpy pants.”

He looks genuinely perplexed. As if you have just spoken in tongues.

“Grumpy pan—Are you a child?“

You remain silent, fixed in your spot. Feet planted on the sidewalk, arms crossed, as you and Jungkook engage in a staring contest.

Jungkook rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek, cocks his pierced eyebrow. He squints his eyes at you, slipping his hands into his front pockets, “And how exactly do you plan on getting home then?“

“By myself,“ your chin lifts defiantly.

“By walking there. The same route I have to walk. Because we’re neighbours,” he deadpans.

Oh. Right. Damn, you didn’t think that through. You try to conjure up your next comeback to counter.

“Do you always have to be this difficult?” he exasperates.

“Hmph!” you stomp your foot, turning away from him to face the road.

Jungkook, for a brief moment, can’t tell if he wants to laugh or cry.

“For fuck’s sake,” Jungkook mutters his curse to himself between gritted teeth, exhaling a long aggravated breath before returning to your side.

“Alright.”

You ignore him.

Jungkook places a hand on your upper arm, using it to have you face him. The warmth of his touch vanishes just as quickly as it came.

“Look, let’s just walk home. I won’t say anything,” Jungkook holds his hands up in surrender.

You peek at him through your lashes, “You won’t be a meany? You’ll be nice?”

“I won’t be mean,” Jungkook replies, disregarding the second part of what you said.

“And…” You bite your lip, trying not to smile. Your eyes are innocent, but your tone is playful when you tiptoe, lean in a little, hesitantly, and say, “We can stop to buy a lollipop on the way?”

Jungkook, holding onto his last bit of strength, doesn’t say anything. He breathes through his nose, pressing his lips together and responding with a stiff nod.

Like a flip of a switch, your mood brightens so fast that Jungkook flinches slightly.

“Yay! Okay, let’s go,” you cheer and brush past him.

Jungkook is stunned as he watches you head off, swaying your hips.

“Come on, Jungkookie!” you yell back to him.

Jungkook rolls his eyes.

That damn name.

Jungkook walks after you, wanting to hurry and get you home as fast as possible so he can get away from you just as fast.

He is left thinking about how he has a feeling that wasn’t his last hurdle of the night.

☾☀︎

Jungkook, true to his word, is on his best behaviour. But that is because he doesn’t utter a word on the walk to the convenience store. Even when your heel snags on the sidewalk and you lose footing, he catches you by the elbow with a displeased grunt and proceeds on.

“Are you seriously going to stay silent the whole way?” you wonder.

Silence.

Your shoulders brush his as you walk, your steps in sync with his, although yours are more clumsy.

“I know you said you won’t say anything, but it feels like I’m walking with a ghost,” you mope.

Silence.

You gasp, covering your mouth with both hands, “Maybe you are a ghost,” you raise a hand to poke at his bicep.

Is he made out of stone or something? His arm is rock solid, like a statue. Having the perfect view of Jungkook’s profile, he does look like an ancient Greek sculpture, with chiselled features and sharp, distinct edges that Adonis would envy. With the moonlight breaking through his hair, you marvel at his beauty.

Jungkook tuts and throws you a disapproving glare.

“Didn’t you want me not to be mean?“ he gruffs.

You gasp again dramatically, “Oh my gosh! I can’t believe it, he speaks,” you joke.

The thought flashes through Jungkook’s mind. With your wide, happy smile, your hands cupping your cheeks. How you look up at him with big eyes, sparkling under the glow of the night—it’s almost… cute.

He shakes his head, this time not at you but to force the thought out of his mind before it accidentally spirals into something worse.

“We agreed on just walking home—”

“And to stop and get a lolly,” you add, correcting him.

“Yeah. Whatever. My point is I didn’t agree on any conversation.”

“But it’s boring walking in silence. Plus, you said you’d be nice,” you whine.

“I said I wouldn’t be mean.”

“Well, isn’t ignoring me pretty mean?”

But he won’t answer. He only makes a disapproving sound.

“I’m so nice to you. I don’t know why you ignore me all the time. I wish you liked me as much as I like you. Jess also doesn’t like me, so you aren’t the only one. What she said wasn’t true, by the way,” you turn to face him while walking, “I know what I heard. I would never lie to you, Jungkookie. Joonbug said you wouldn’t believe her, but I still wanted to tell you myself,” you ramble on, filling the silence.

“Jeez. How drunk are you?”

“Only a little,” you singsong, pinching your index finger and thumb together, leaving a tiny gap in between.

“But I got you to talk to me,” you smile, bumping your shoulder into his arm.

He stares at you and tilts his head slightly, studying you. Then, he lets out this half-laugh, half-disbelieving breath.

You don’t look away. Jungkook’s warm stare seeps into your skin, grounding you in a way that feels too easy.

The pure gaze you give him throws Jungkook off guard for a moment — it’s somewhat endearing.

Jungkook’s stomach lurches. He snaps his head forward and coughs awkwardly into his fist.

Woah. Stop. What is with him tonight? How drunk is he?

You give in to Jungkook’s silence this time, sighing and letting him sink into his thoughts.

The convenience store’s sign comes into view, flashing in the short distance.

“Jess’s words hold no merit to me. Whether what she says is true or not doesn’t matter. I don’t care. Because I don’t care about her,” Jungkook’s tone is flat, emotionless, as if he’s simply stating a fact.

The convenience store’s sign comes into view, glowing in the near distance.

“The same goes for you,” Jungkook says casually before turning to enter the shop, his response so abrupt that it catches you off guard.

↬ THE CHAPTER ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ boo 1k block limit!! you can read the second half of the chapter in this reblog!! it continues where this leaves off and begins with a new scene <3

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lmk-warrior-cats · 11 months ago

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☁ LittleCloud's Ref Sheet! ☁

Optional neck pattern:

Oh what a ref? no wayyy that's crazzzy-

#dealers warrior cats lmk au #lmk wc littlecloud #lmk mk #lmk #lego monkie kid #warriors #warrior cats

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peanut-with-wifi-access · 2 years ago

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shadowpeach lykoi kitties 💛💜

[base by supurrnovae on deviantart]

this took me an hour and half, you heathens better appreciate it 😤 /j

@nic-liveblogs look their bellies make a heart 🥺

credits & proof

#shadowpeach #lmk shadowpeach #shadowpeach lmk #warrior cats #wc #lmk #lego monkie kid #monkie kid #wc au #lmk au #lmk sun wukong #sun wukong lmk #sun wukong #six eared macaque #lmk macaque #macaque lmk #❦lmk/wc au #flowerfruit'clan au🥜#okay but they're shapeshifters they could totally do this if they wanted

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cinnamonbloom · 11 months ago

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Finally got to Mac- or uh... Sixear

@lmk-warrior-cats

#Lmk wc sixear #Lmk wc chiliflare #Lmk wc Redsun #lmk macaque #lmk red son #lmk redson #red son lmk #red son fanart #red son monkie kid #six eared macaque #macaque #macaque and cheese #Idk why I have that but I do so #lmk warrior cats au #Lmk wc shadowplay #wild original post

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hwaflms · 1 year ago

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HAPPY NOW? ★ [ j.jh ]

your family has been pressuring you for months to bring your boyfriend, jaehyun, over for dinner, and you think it’s really sweet that they like him so much. the only problem is that your “boyfriend” jaehyun, hates you.

———————————————————————

[☆] PAIRING. ex!jaehyun x f!reader

[☆] GENRE. angst, smut, fluff | fake dating?, exes to ??? au

[☆] WC. 19.9k (i don’t even know)

[☆] WARNINGS. angst, reader has anxiety, mentions of anxiety attacks, fighting, reader be lying a lot, reader has a little sister, crying, reader is kind of a dumbass, explicit content (piv smut), unprotected sex (don’t do this gang!), fingering, sex in public kinda, pls lmk if i forgot anything!!

[☆] NOTES. i’m so fucking annoyed with tumblr it’s not letting me insert images properly UGH this took me over 2 hours to upload man 🗣️ im pretty proud of this one ‼️ idek how it got this long but it’s my longest fic yet and it’s been sitting in my drafts for ages until i finally got the inspo to write it :p i want jaehyun so bad it’s not even funny tbh but anyway PLS GIVE ME FEEDBACK/A REBLOG LITERALLY ANYTHING IS APPRECIATED <33

———————————————————————

six months.

you haven't seen this door in six months.

it's funny because, this was a door you used to push open and walk through every other day, yet now you stand on the opposite side of it, unsure as to whether you should even be thinking of knocking.

your hand is raised to the door, shaped like a fist but you make no move to actually knock. you were aware that you still had time to bail out of this, that you could turn on your heel and make your merry way back to your sad little house and go back to pretending you're happy with the choice you made six months ago.

or you could just do what you came all the way here to do.

the weather seems to be in your favour, at least. the sun shines radiantly, making the temperature warm, but not too warm, and a cool breeze travels through the air in short intervals. the summer had begun early, birds chirping in their habitual singsong way and wild bougainvillea already flowering in various shades of pink and lilac. usually when the day starts off with good weather, the rest of it follows suit, and thus your day is made better. hopefully, this is the case for you today.

pausing for a short, morale-boosting intake of air, you tighten your fist and knock, knock, knock on the mahogany door, immediately regretting your decision as you feel your stomach churn and plummet. a good ten seconds pass, and you hear no reply nor movement from the inside of the house, and part of you is relieved because that means he may not be home.

more than happy to do a 180° and skip along joyously back to the metro that would take you home, your feet begin to make for that trip but your mind decides against it. you know that you are being overly dramatic, but even with being aware of this, your heart rate does not slow down one bit. you also know that what you've come here to do is more than just selfish, its pathetic and rather embarrassing. it's also a hugely unsavoury request, and if your roles were reversed, you'd most definitely laugh in his face and shut the door.

finally somewhat making up your mind with a quiet groan, you raise your clenched fist and rap against his front door again in a set of three. you nervously shift your weight from your right to your left foot, then back to your right and then once again to your left, the anxiety and anticipation not allowing you to stand still and relax, thinking that if he doesn't answer this time, you really will just return home.

"hold on, i'm coming!", a hurried, muffled voice calls from inside the house and you don't think your heart has ever beaten this fast in your life. not even during the one time you ran a marathon to prove a point to your friend chenle, and while you did show him that you didn't only run to get away from spiders, your body took its own sweet time to recover from that.

now you hear footsteps approaching the door from the opposite side of it, and you don't think you can handle anymore of this tortuous, build up of a wait because you are quite literally one step away from calling it a day and just sprinting your way out of there, just like you did on the last few metres of the aforementioned marathon, and you know he's nearing the door because the footsteps are getting clearer and clearer, and soon he's going to open the door, take one look at you and just slam the door right in your face, but not before spewing verbal explosives at you, which would be totally deserved since he has every right to just spit on you and tell you how you're a terrible, downright horrible human being completely unworthy of forgiveness and-

"sorry for making you wait so long, i was-"

if your heart rate was at its maximum speed before, now it just stopped.

standing in front of you, in the flesh, was the man who's heart you broke six months ago.

jaehyun had just about opened his door in a way that his body was sticking halfway out of it, but he was now frozen in that position, neither in nor out, just stuck there looking like he was contemplating his next move. he adorned a loose, white shirt that clung to his defined shoulders and chest, paired with a pair of red plaid pants with a patch of some different material stitched just above where his knee was. you'd recognise those pants just about anywhere, having worn them a number of times and being the cause of that strange patch with mismatched material (you'd tried to balance a pot of steaming hot ramen on your knee in order to move something, resulting in it causing a burn in the pant).

his attire tells you that he was either just about to eat breakfast, in the process of eating breakfast, or about to finish breakfast; jaehyun was not an early riser and he liked to take his time getting ready for the day.

apart from his slightly changed hair, jaehyun looks the same as he did before, if not better. his once shorter, straight, brown hair, was now a darker kind of black and longer in a silky, mullet-y, layered sort of way, the mullet part stopping just above where his shirt met his neck and the front bits falling on to his face in thin, soft wisps.

everything about the man was captivating and entrancing, but if you had to pick a specific feature that really takes the cake, it would have to be his eyes. his eyes, deep-set and fierce, always gave the impression that he was cold or unapproachable, whereas in reality, he was the opposite. as striking as they may be, they always carried a certain warmth to them.

while they still held the same intensity to them, the warmth was missing as he looked straight at you now. after the brief moment of confusion when he first opened the door dissipated, the familiarity had sunk in, and his expression now was more or less unreadable, but you still tried to make out what he was thinking and feeling- was it shock? anger? maybe even disgust?

"okay, are you going to just stand there or are you going to say something?"

you think it was largely a combination of the last two. in all your fidgeting and gawking, you'd forgotten to actually speak to the man who's door you'd just knocked on, leaving him standing there wordless and confused, an eyebrow raised as he waited for you to open your mouth.

you try to do so, so many words wanting to tumble out your mouth but an invisible gate seems to block it, so now you're just stood still with your mouth opening and closing soundlessly, looking like an idiot.

c'mon y/n, fucking say something, anything-

"how have you been?", is what you decide to go with to break the silence in the end, an awkward smile plastered on to your face. you realise before the sentence is even fully out of your mouth that that would be a really weird thing to start off with, seeing as you and jaehyun have had absolutely zero contact for six months, and are obviously not on the most wonderful terms.

jaehyun's eyebrows furrow, a look of clear disbelief on his face as he clutches his door handle a little tighter. he looks away with a sarcastic smile, shaking his head before turning back to look you dead in the eye. oh, he's going to slam the door on you, you just know it-

"really? 'how have you been'?", he questions incredulously, licking his bottom lip while an exasperated smile plays at them. funnily enough, his response is somewhat relieving to your pitiful self, because you weren't even expecting to hear a reply to what you said, you figured he'd just walk away. you would've. "we haven't seen each for six months since we broke up and 'how have you been' is the best you've got?"

you wince apologetically and bite your lip, playing with your fingers nervously as he quite literally stares you down, irritation written all over his face.

he waits a couple more beats for you to break the tense silence and speak but you are inwardly (and outwardly) struggling to word your thoughts, so he simply scoffs and backs away to return inside.

"okay wait, i didn't tell my family that we broke up and they keep pressuring me to bring you home for the holidays, so i would really like if you'd pretend you don't hate me and come with me."

you don't even want to open your eyes to witness his reaction to your blurted little confession, so you merely stand, frozen in place with your eyes squeezed shut tightly. a couple seconds pass yet you don't hear a door slam, a good sign, so you take that as an affirmative to open your eyes.

he doesn't say anything, or do anything either really, he just leans against his doorframe with another indecipherable expression. this irks you even though you know you have no right to feel irked, but the fact that you once had the ability to know what he was thinking and now don't bothers you to the core. plus, it leaves you feeling unsure as to whether to continue. he might just start laughing at you manically or angrily tell you to get off his property like some bitter, 60-year-old man, and either of these scenarios would be completely fair of him to do.

the heavy realisation that your request sounded absolutely delusional and conceited dawns upon you, and something about his irksome expression makes you feel like you should keep talking. "you have literally every right to just tell me to fuck off, and i don't even expect an answer, i don't really know why i even came here, oh my god- this is so fucking stupid, i'm so fucking stupid and honestly i don't know why you're still standing here listening to me ramble-"

"i need to get ready then. give me ten minutes."

✧ ──────── ✧ ──────── ✧

the front door you're stood at now holds a very different ambience to the previous one. while jaehyun's was quiet and peaceful, the front door to your parents house reveals that the inside is just bustling with activity. the chorus of kate bush's 'running up that hill' plays faintly from behind the door, so you figured that your dad must have brought out his old record player from the dusty attic.

jaehyun stands beside you, hands shoved into the pockets of his light grey hoodie that you feel he must be boiling in, because you're wearing a black tank top with some loose cargoes that you think you might have drenched with sweat.

the sweat would be from the burning heat, but also from the agitation you're really starting to feel. there are so many different ways this dinner could go. what if jaehyun suddenly tells them the truth? then everyone in the room would hate you, and rightly so. you don't want to have to explain to your parents why you broke up with him; it's a stupid fucking reason, if you can even call it that, and it made you completely miserable. how were you supposed explain to your little sister that you and jaehyun aren't together anymore? you suppose relationships are a totally foreign concept to her young mind, but you were sure that she knew you and jaehyun loved each other very much. and you knew she loved jaehyun very much.

he does not look at you, instead choosing to really focus on the christmas themed welcome mat that your parents put out during the winter of '09 and never bothered to change. how he even agreed to come here with you, you don't know, but to say you're grateful would be an understatement.

"you still have time to back out, you know.", you mumble softly, trying to give him one more chance to escape, but he doesn't even spare you a glance, shaking his head and squinting at the door.

"let's just get this over with."

with a small sigh, your raise your hand to press your parents doorbell, the embarrassingly loud 'ding dong' ringing out from behind the door. "oh, that must be her!", you hear the muffled voice of your father speak from the inside, making a slight smile form on your lips.

within a couple seconds, you hear the sound of the muted metal bolt as your dad struggles to open the door to let you in. a grunt of "this damn door..." makes both you and jaehyun release short giggles, and you peek over at jaehyun to see his lips curl upwards into a smile, a small one but it's still breathtakingly pretty . he clears his throat and it's gone in a flash, but the image doesn't leave your mind, and you're still seeing it when your dad finally manages to open the door. "i really need to start using the new lock", he mutters, shifting his eyes to you with a big grin, leaving against the doorframe with his arms folded. "hello, sweetheart."

you chuckle and throw your arms around him, squeezing him a little as he laughs and pats your back in return. releasing you, he turns to jaehyun with a smile, who promptly sticks his hand out politely. "hello, mr. l/n, long time no see."

your dad ignores his hand, throwing his head back with a gruff laugh. "what's with all the formalities, come here, son.", and with that he gives jaehyun a hug as well, a slightly shorter one albeit, but a hug nonetheless. the word 'son' repeats in your mind like an echo, sounding more and more distorted the longer you focus on it. you can't even begin to think of what was going through jaehyun's mind. this was not your brightest idea.

you notice your mom waiting by the door with her hands behind her back, eyes bright and shiny. "hi, mom.", you beam, and she laughs cheerily, opening her arms for you to run into, which you do. she presses numerous kisses to the crown of your head, making you groan lightheartedly and try to escape her hold, but it only tightens. "oh, how i've missed you."

"i missed you too, mom.", you say but she's already let you go and is making a bee line for jaehyun with her arms open, who falls into the hug so readily and comfortably. "i may have missed you, y/n, but i missed jaehyun ten times more.", she jokes, pinching jaehyun's cheeks affectionately.

jaehyun is turning bright red, but he has a toothy grin on his face, a real one, you can tell. his eyes travel the front room where all of you are stood with a nostalgic smile, having not seen it or your parents in over six months. you watch as they look from the various photo frames hung up on the wall alongside the staircase, to the curtains that they recently changed, finally landing on the record player thay was sitting on the table. "wow, mr. l/n, where did you get this?", jaehyun asks, and you wonder whether he's trying to make conversation or if he's genuinely curious. you think it may be the second one.

while him and your dad engage in small talk about his record player, you turn to your mom to ask of the whereabouts of your little sister, and as if on cue, you hear an excited squeal from the top of the stairs. all four heads turn to see your sister bounding down the stairs hurriedly, paying no mind to your mom's strained shout of "careful!".

"y/n!", she piped, finally reaching the bottom of the stairs and running straight to you, wrapping her arms around your legs. she barely reaches your hip so her hug is really just her face pressed into your thigh with her arms squeezing your legs together, while you pat the top of her head.

somehow managing to pry her off of your legs, you kneel and give her a proper hug in return, now happy that you made the decision to come home for a bit of your holiday. she lets go and reaches into her pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper and jutting her hand out to you, urging you to take it.

you smile and furrow your eyebrows with confusion but you take the paper anyway, opening it as carefully as you could so as to not tear it anywhere. smoothing it out flat on your knee, you're greeted with a drawing; two people stand holding hands under a deep blue sky, a large yellow sun shining in one corner along with some "birds" that are really just little 'v's scribbled in black. they're stood on a beach, at least you think they are because there are two shades of blue on the paper, one of them probably being the blue hue of the ocean.

you assume the two people are you and your sister, since one of them has shorter, shoulder length hair and is miniscule compared to the other person, who's hair length and height are similar to yours.

you hold the picture to your chest and pull your sister in for another heartfelt hug, kissing her temple. "is this us?", you ask her, pointing at the two people in the drawing. she gives you a proud nod in return, taking the picture from your hands and holding it in front of her face. "yup! the big girl is you and the small girl is me! we're gonna go swimming.", she informs you, flashing you the toothiest of smiles. "thank you, it's perfect.", you tell her, ruffling her hair a little as she hands you the drawing back.

she clearly doesn't appreciate that, because she whines and swats your hands away, but soon her eyes focus on something behind you and they enlarge, the second excited squeal of the day emerging from her lips. "jae!", she just about screams, completely abandoning you in favour of running off to jaehyun, who has a wide smile on his face and looks equally as happy as her. he scoops her up in his arms and lifts her in front of his face, doing a little spin as peals of laughter escape her.

he finally puts her down but she holds on to his hand, looking at the male with absolute adoration. "hi, cutie.", he boops her nose affectionately to which she giggles, turning to look at you. "you didn't tell me jaehyun was coming!"

"i wasn't sure if he could make it", you reply to her honestly, looking at jaehyun as you speak because only the two of you know what you really mean by that. he holds your eye contact for perhaps a millisecond longer than he did before, but again, it was gone in a flash. he clears his throat a little and straightens up, rocking back on his heels.

sensing a shift in the air but mistaking it for some form of awkwardness, your mother shoos the rest of your family away in the direction of the kitchen. "they probably want to freshen up together, let's let them do that."

once they're gone, it feels like you can finally release your breath, truly seeing this situation going wrong in so many ways. they don't suspect anything yet, but how much longer until they eventually connect the dots? or what if they don't even need to do that, because jaehyun only agreed so he could embarrass you by telling them the whole story? you don't acknowledge the tense silence until jaehyun speaks up. "can i use the guest bathroom? still the second door on the right, yeah?"

you don't respond immediately because you're processing the fact that he still remembers these minute details. you also realise he's only asking because he doesn't want to share your bathroom with you, and that clears your thoughts up a little. you nod in affirmation and he begins climbing up the stairs, and you wait until you hear he's reached the upstairs landing before you move.

it's so tense. the last time you were in this house with jaehyun, you had taken a short road trip to get there. you say road trip, but it was just a couple hours long, but the playlist you and jaehyun had curated said otherwise. you arrived at the house and everyone was all smiles, your parents just happy to have you home and happy to see him as well. you think that part's just as hard as thinking about the two of you together. the fact that your slightly judgemental parents adored him, your little sister looked at him with stars in her eyes– you had lucked out in every department, and you were always aware of it, the joint guilt you felt from breaking it off and lying to your parents really getting to you now.

you swore that after this was over, you would apologise to jaehyun and finally break the truth to your parents.

finishing off in the bathroom, you step out into the hall, only to bump straight into jaehyun. backing up awkwardly, you both try to get past each but keep going in the same direction, resulting in a bunch of 'sorry–'s and 'wait– just–'s being blurted out by the two of you. finally getting past you, he doesn't look back at you again, just walking down the stairs mumbling something about "they're waiting...".

wincing, you make your way down the stairs as well, arriving at the living room to see your mom standing beside your dad with an excited expression on her face. you approach with caution, noting that your dad has his hands behind his back. "so...", your mother starts, raising her shoulders a little out of anticipation. "since we haven't seen the two of you in a while...we got you some presents! nothing too grand but..."

"mom, it's not even christmas", you whine, ready to argue with them because you feel bad that whatever they got was still overpriced, but your mother shakes her head, urging your dad to reveal the presents. "just take a look first..."

in one hand he holds a small, white box, no bigger than his palm, and your mom picks it up, holding it out to you. the print on the box is small and typewriter-like, the material it's made out of just screaming fancy. you narrow your eyes at your parents but take the box in your hand anyway, pushing it open. inside, it reveals maybe the prettiest necklace you've seen; dainty and silver, the chain is simple but it's the pendant that's the real charm– it's an uncut stone of some kind, a pale, translucent white crystal that's pretty much shapeless but it's wrapped in this thin silver wire that forms little loops and hearts over the stone and it makes it so alluring.

"it's a seaglass necklace", your mom speaks, taking the necklace out of its box for you and inclining her head for you to turn around. you're now facing jaehyun, who looks curiously at the new piece of jewellery with the faintest of smiles on his face. pushing your hair to the side, your mother places the necklace around your neck and clasps it (though it takes her a while, squinting and looking at the necklace hook from every angle because she forgot to wear her reading glasses). she leads you to the mirror by the entrance of the hall so you could get a better look at the necklace hanging on top of your collarbones, reaching up to touch it. "you remember? from that lady who owned the fancy place by the beach last summer?"

you do remember. that was the first trip jaehyun had joined you and your family for, under the suggestion of your little sister. when you brought up the fact that jaehyun was going back home to see his parents a little later than he had anticipated, your sister immediately asked if he would want to come with all of you, who were heading to the beach in a day or two for a little family getaway. and much to your surprise, your parents were very warm to the idea of jaehyun accompanying the lot of you. he must have severely impressed them the first time he met them, bringing a bouquet of flowers for your mother and a hearty bottle of whiskey for your dad– it's like he had won their hearts before he had even stepped inside the house.

of course, he had met them a couple more times again after that, but your parents had never raised any issues about your then boyfriend. your dad had claimed that he wanted jaehyun to come along so he could "keep an eye on him" and "see how he treats you in front of us", but you knew all too well he just wanted someone to talk to about his interest in sound systems. the trip had gone so smoothly, so perfectly and you think that it had planted the seeds of doubt in your mind about your relationship.

the position of the window and sun allowed for the light to bleed on to half of your face, the necklace glinting under the rays as you stood in front of the mirror and surveyed it. the last couple drops of the golden hour sun slipped through the windowpane and painted your skin like it was a canvass and the necklace was the cherry on top. you were radiant, and the look in jaehyun's eyes told you that he knew it too. when your eyes meet in the mirror, it's like he tears his eyes away from you, forcing himself to look at his shoes.

snapping out of your soon-to-be miserable thoughts, you fix a smile on to your face so as to not seem ungrateful, turning to hug your mother. "i love it", and you really do, knowing that you wouldn't be wearing a single other piece of jewellery for the next couple months.

jaehyun stands in the doorway soundlessly, just taking in the scene. he had always told you that he wished his family was as close and tight-knit as yours, but due to his dad always being away on some business trip or another and his mother having her own job to attend to, it resulted in a lot of time spent by himself.

you think that might be way he slotted right in with the rest of you, from the very first meet, because his desire to belong worked very well with your family's lively, chaotic home, which welcomed him right away. this was the main reason why couldn’t bring yourself to tell your family that you had broken up him mercilessly. they wouldn’t blame you of course, but you know everyone would be immensely disappointed when they realised that he hadn’t even done anything wrong in the first place; he was so good to you, and they just wanted to see you happy.

while your mom cooed at how pretty the necklace looked on you, your dad faces jaehyun with a wide grin on his face. "you didn't think we'd forget about you, did you?"

he probably wasn't expecting anything for himself, because you weren't either, so you and jaehyun simultaneously furrow your eyebrows. "oh, mr. l/n, you didn't have to–", he starts but your father is quick to cut him off, waving his hands. "what nonsense. of course we had to get you something, it's no big deal", he tries to appear nonchalant but the smile that creeps on to his face is a telltale sign that it is, in fact, a big deal. "besides, if you're family to y/n, you're family to us."

it's as if someone just stuck a large knife into you, the pang you just felt in your stomach. you can't even begin to think about what must be going through jaehyun's head, because even he can't hide the way his eyes soften at your dad's words. watching your sister spring up from the couch, she runs behind your father and plucks whatever he was holding out of his hands, now revealed to be a medium-sized bag. "i wanna give it to jaehyun!", with that, she's running over to him with the toothiest smile plastered on her cheeks, holding the bag out to jaehyun with stretched arms.

he ruffles her hair just like you did, but she makes absolutely zero complaints as he does it– if anything she's revelling in it. this makes you want to scoff, but you smile instead without thinking about it, taking a couple steps away from the mirror and towards them. "are you gonna open it or should i take it back to the store?", your dad jokes and jaehyun chuckles quietly while you don't even bother forcing a laugh, and he takes the bag from your sister's hands, mumbling a soft 'thank you'.

from where you're standing, you can't see what's inside the bag, but you can see jaehyun's eyes widen when he looks inside and back up at everyone. "me and mrs. l/n, i can't take this."

"of course you can", your mother tuts in response, dismissing him with her hand. "if i recall correctly, you had said something about your airpods not working properly?"

realisation dawns on your face when jaehyun pulls the shiny headphones from the bag, turning them over in his hand. "i think i did mention it, yeah...", he nods, eyes scanning over the clear box he holds. you remember that only one of his airpods would function properly, the other deciding whenever it wanted to do its job. you didn't realise your parents remembered, as well. "but these are so expensive, i can't–"

"do you like them or not?", your dad asks, shrugging his shoulders. jaehyun's quick to nod, "yes, i love them but–"

"then end of story." your father's not hearing anyone out, even going so far as to cover his ears jokingly when jaehyun opens his mouth again. after your sister tugs on his pant leg and urges him to try them out, jaehyun slips them over his ears, whipping his phone to connect them to it. he thought it was too expensive to try fixing his airpods so he resorted to listening with just the one ear in, or using your headphones till you broke up.

by the look on his face, they work just fine, and he couldn't be happier. a wide smile is pressed on his face, a real one that doesn't even drop when he makes eye contact with you. you smile back at him slowly, but he doesn't look away immediately, slowly turning to look at your parents. "i don't know what to say. thank you."

you'd had a couple boyfriends before, not none as close to your family as jaehyun had been. none of your previous relationships had lasted very long and you could never pinpoint the exact reason why, you just knew at some point that you had to break it off. your mother always thought that this was a result of your first ever relationship, the first and last man that ever dumped you. it crushed you at the time, though you were able to power through, but since then, relationships were never your strong suit. change seemed promising when you met jaehyun through a mutual friend, however. he was kind, he was smart and he was genuine, three traits that you didn't typically see in guys you dated, but you didn't see any reason to dwell on your biggest fumble yet.

the rest of time until dinner continues in a steadfast manner with all of you sitting in the living room. the scene looked like something out of a corny movie montage, but the beautiful part of it was that it was reality, all the laughs, the eye-smiles, the stupid jokes and conversations, all of it. your parents had recently returned from a holiday together that they took to celebrate their wedding anniversary, which meant that you two deserved to look through all eight hundred and sixty two of the photos they took. super proud of the new projector he had ordered off amazon, your dad had connected his phone to it and was going through his gallery slideshow-style, with your mom making offhand comments about every other photo.

"that's from when we went on a date to this fancy restaurant, that's from the shoe store your dad wanted to go to...oh! that's when your dad just learnt how to take 0.5x pictures on his new phone!"

your mom speaks animatedly while each photo is being shown, pointing out various different things without any prompting. there were badly taken selfies of your parents that made both you and jaehyun laugh, pictures of the different kinds of food they ate, the said 0.5's of your mother taken from the top of her forehead– your dad was slapping his knee even though your mom wasn't too impressed.

after what seemed like years, they ran out of vacation pictures and moved on to pictures and videos taken during your little sister's talent show. this was especially endearing, because your normally high-energy sister was suddenly all shy and avoidant of eye contact in the presence of jaehyun, particularly displeased with a video of her singing on stage.

jaehyun wipes the pout right off her face however, poking her cheek with a smile. "you sound amazing, s/n", he pipes genuinely, and she's back to smiling again, even offering to sing the song for everyone towards the end. no one has the heart to turn down so innocent a request, so for the next couple minutes you are subjected to a very slightly off-key rendition of some song from the movie 'frozen'. everyone cheers when she is done, jaehyun even throwing in a little "whoo!" for good measure, and your sister performs a small curtsey before seating herself between you and jaehyun's legs.

you're situated on the same couch, but only so that things don't look weird. you invited him here to pose as your boyfriend, and he agreed, so you have to play the part too. that part wasn't as hard as you expected, the acting like a couple, no, it was the avoiding questions that was really getting to you. at some point in the conversation, your dad had congenially asked jaehyun when the next time he'd be coming home was. normally, he would congenially reply with something like "as soon as possible", but this time, he just froze. he appeared to attempt a reply, but was cut short at "uh–", the rest of the sentence never following through.

hoping to repair the awkward moment, you start to construct a fib. "jaehyun's been uh– you know, working at one of those um, nursing homes–", this is too out-of-the-box a reply even for jaehyun who turns to you, trying and failing to the hide incredulous look on his face.

"a nursing home? oh, i didn't know you were training to be a nurse!", your mother is surprised but definitely not disappointed, placing her hand on her chest with a sympathetic look on her face as she looks at jaehyun. he looks as if he's trying to speak to you using only his eyes, widening and squinting them at a rapid pace, tilting his head towards you so your parents don't see his expression. there are clear signs of confusion and you're aware he's questioning your decisions, but that's as far as you get with his eye signals and you let him know by shrugging and wincing, so he closes them while sighing inwardly and turns to face your parents, a fake smile stuck on his lips.

"yes! haha, funny story, this one...", he grits his teeth but furthers your stupid concoction of a story, snapping his fingers while trying to think. "i'm not really training to be a nurse, i just volunteer there sometimes. love being around old people, you know, makes me feel full of life–"

you cut him off before he can make this even worse for the both of you, taking in your mother's furrowed eyebrows and your dad's slightly opened mouth. "yes, well, it's hard for him to catch a break, you know, with all the...", you slap your hand over his knee and give it a little squeeze, turning to him with a grin while he smiles tightly back at you, eyes focusing on the hand on his thigh without changing his expression. "...hard work he does."

jaehyun's eyes don't leave your hand, seeing as this is the first act of skinship in six months, albeit casual. your hand feels so hot that you think you might be burning a hole through the material of jaehyun's jeans, finally ripping your hand off of him.

"of course...", your father trails off in confusion, and no one can seem to make head or tails of the situation. in a moment, your mother pauses before clapping her hands, seemingly already forgotten about the strange situation as she chimes "dinner in five!~". your sister scampers off with claims of helping your mother out in the kitchen (and probably to try and secure a spot close to you and jaehyun), and jaehyun stands up and heads to the cupboard containing all your placemats without out even being asked. you offer to help but he shakes his head, and you opt to go sit back down on one of the arm chairs facing the kitchen area, just observing.

this was one of jaehyun's qualities that made you fall in love with him, but also pissed you off to no end. first of all, didn't he ever get tired of just being so good all the time? second of all, why couldn't his own parents see what everyone else saw in him? and thirdly, why did you choose to ruin your life six months ago? as for the last one, you knew why, but the extent of your stupidity was real apparent to you now.

you look away when he meets your eyes and catches you, your heart beating fast when you see out of the corner of your eye that his gaze lingers for a moment or two. underneath all that hatred, was there still a small part of him that cared about you? after you broke up with him, over call that too, he attempted to call you back two or three times, but you couldn't bring yourself to pick up. out of fear or maybe even shame, you never answered his calls and since then, you'd had no contact.

it was impossible. with a break-up like that and six month's worth of time to sit and think about it, you imagine that one could hold a surprising amount of hatred for someone–especially after a relationship as real as yours. if you switched the roles, you think you wouldn't feel much different.

at your mom's signal, you heave yourself off the couch and to the dining table, seating yourself next to jaehyun (everyone expected you to sit with him, they left the chair empty on purpose). your sister has already claimed the spot opposite jaehyun and was patiently awaiting the vegetables that she knew your mother was going to pile on her plate, a little pout forming on her lips at the sight of broccoli. "you can't make that face every time, like i'm feeding you dog food", your mother scolds her with a smile, giving her a generous helping of veggies. the pout deepens and she folds her arms with a cross look on her face. "you guys don't have to eat the broccoli. why do i?"

she's got a point, you think, but before you can tell her to just eat them, jaehyun speaks. "that's exactly what my little cousin sungchan said...", jaehyun tells her, looking around the table with a dramatic sigh. "and we all know what happened to him..."

little cousin sungchan? as far as you know, there is no little cousin sungchan, and you know a lot about jaehyun's family, so you put your fork down in favour of listening to his story at the same time your sister curiously asks, "what happened?".

"well, like you, sungchan didn't like eating his veggies", starting off the story with a shrug under your mother's listening ears, he talks in a low voice. "he'd always argue with my aunt till one day, he refused to eat them.

your sister is knocking food around her plate while she listened to jaehyun, and she's not impressed with the story so far. "see! why can't i do that?", she asks indignantly, and your mother shoots jaehyun a look to which he winced and continues. "nothing happened for a while, so sungchan thought he had proved his point. but he hadn't heard of the veggie monster."

the story is heading in such a stupid direction that you almost laugh out loud, but you catch yourself when you notice your sister's expression, guarded and wary. "...the veggie monster? ...that's not real...", she speaks like she's not fully sure of her words herself, pausing her attack on her food.

"sungchan thought that too", jaehyun agrees, lowering his voice like one would when telling a scary story, looking around him like it could be listening before continuing, for the story's sake. "but he didn't know that without veggies, a child's body is weak. their bones don't grow strong, they stay small and their minds aren't sharp at all. that's how the veggie monster chooses his targets."

you hold back a snort at your sister's wide-eyed expression and how serious jaehyun looks, he's even got your dad attempting to look nonchalant as he followed the story. "the less veggies a kid eats, the weaker they get, and that's easy pickings for the veggie monster. he comes late at night, and there's no point in hiding because he knows. he can smell when a kid doesn't have enough vitamins and it makes him hungry."

with your sister, your parents and even you hanging on to every word, jaehyun lowers his voice to almost a whisper, and all of you lean in closer to listen. "legend has it that he looks so scary that you lose the ability to move or speak, so he just takes you. sungchan was never seen again. the police said he was missing but i knew what happened to him."

you have to admit, jaehyun can tell a story. the atmosphere felt more eerie as he concluded the story cryptically, but your sister looks positively gutted. "did he take him?", she questions, face white and voice small. he nods slowly, like he didn't want to be talking about this, and all you can think about is how this man deserved an award after the show he put on. "i had my suspicions. no one believed me, but i'm ninety-nine percent sure that at dinner, i saw a pair of dark, red eyes staring straight into the kitchen from the window."

as if nature was a paid fucking actor, a slight crash sounds from outside the window on cue, like if a cat knocked over a plastic bin, but you're pretty sure your sister shit her pants. you've never seen her shovel vegetables into her mouth at that kind of record speed before, even your parents are looking at her astounded. with her food in her mouth, she pleads with glazed eyes, "please– i'm sorry, i'll have my veggies, don't let him take me!"

it takes all of you a little while to convince your sister that she'd be completely fine if she ate all the veggies given to her and that the veggie monster wouldn't even think of her, but it's safe to say that she'd never leave a bit of stray carrot on her plate ever again. your mom comically mouths 'thank you' to jaehyun which makes you laugh, and you turn to smile at him, and he gives you a nod in return. small steps, you think, because a nod is a whole lot better than a glare.

the rest of the dinner continues as if nothing changed. sure, you and jaehyun knew things were different, but it didn't fully feel like it at the moment. your mom had prepared a lot of nice food for the occasion, and your dad even helped, particularly proud of the way his stir fry turned out. jaehyun made sure to compliment both your parents on their cooking, and they all but melted– he still knew exactly how to talk to them. conversation was easy; you talked about work, you talked about how university was going, you talked about the school play your sister was going to take part in, about jaehyun's parents, nothing was forced.

you'd fall into comfortable silences at times in favour of sitting back and observing, listening, just being a part of the moment. for someone who was so reluctant to be here, jaehyun seems comfortable, the familiarity of the situation helping ease the tension between the two of you. expecting some bumps along the way, you were rather pleased with how things were turning out, but you were also anticipating the end of the lovely evening– where you and jaehyun would eventually go your separate ways. you don't want to think about it just yet, not when everything was going so smoothly, and your opportunity to snap out of your thoughts is presented to you, just not in the way you would have liked.

your mother's question seems to have thrown jaehyun for a loop as well, because his eyebrows are furrowed and he looks blatantly confused. at some point during a lull in the conversation, your mother had politely asked jaehyun how his christmas in japan had gone; the only problem with this question was that he never had a christmas in japan, not to his knowledge anyway. this, was yet another lie you had told your parents, when they had asked why jaehyun hadn't accompanied you home to celebrate christmas, like he had originally planned to. unbeknownst to them, you had already broken up with him prior to the christmas holidays, so jaehyun wasn't exactly going to come along anyway. so, you told them that he had to spend christmas with an aunt in japan, for familial reasons.

you didn't exactly have time to prep jaehyun and give him a run down of every single lie he had to play along with, so he turns to you with a look of uncertainty and desperation in his eyes. "my, uh- christmas? in japan?", he puts emphasis on the two keywords, not blinking when he speaks directly to you in hopes that you would take the hint and help him out.

"yeah, your christmas. in japan. with your aunt", you reply to him with the same tone and expression as he does, trying your best to sound subtle so your parents don't catch on.

"yes, with your aunt! we were so sad to hear that you couldn't make it for christmas", your mother is unknowingly helping jaehyun catch up with the fake story, and he releases a short "ahh" during his moment of 'recollection'. "right, my real aunt who definitely lives in japan."

he grits his teeth when he talks, making you grimace and the fact that your parents look completely puzzled doesn't help. you need to save your dignity anyway, so you try to cut jaehyun off before he can make things worse. "haha, jaehyun of course she's your real aunt, silly", you awkwardly chuckle, feigning nonchalance when you bump his shoulder with your fist, wishing you could telepathically communicate with him right now, but you'd probably only be saying "please, please, please" on repeat.

he sighs but speaks up again, much to your relief. "it was slightly boring, my aunt doesn't do much", he laughs softly, fully back in character. "but you know, it's still nice to spend time with your family."

if your parents are suspicious, they don't say anything, seemingly satisfied with jaehyun's answer. dinner continues with few hitches until jaehyun insists that he washes the dishes. "it's the least i can do, after you both made such delicious food."

your mother at least tries to argue with him for a bit, but your dad is quite happy to not have to wash dishes, patting jaehyun on the back before standing up. what surprises you however, is jaehyun turning to you with the sweetest, most fake smile you've seen in a minute plastered on his face. "you mind helping, y/n?"

smiling tightly, you nod and begin clearing the table. this is done in silence, neither of you even looking at each other as you pick up dishes and carry them to the kitchen. your sister has run off to the living room to watch some t.v with your dad, and it feels like you're finally allowed to breathe when your mother exits the room as you’re picking up the last dirty dish. walking into the kitchen, jaehyun's back is facing you while he washes dishes, the environment and the little tune he's humming making everything seem so domestic in your eyes. this is how dinner used to always go when he came over, with you and him washing the dishes together in the end, taking breaks to splash each other with the soapy water or making out secretly by the counter.

but the air is foreign now, none of the former warmth or softness remaining. he turns to you with a frown when you place the final dish on the side of the sink, and he really doesn't look too happy. "visiting an aunt in japan? really?", he scoffs, looking incredulous while you look sheepish, avoiding his eye contact entirely.

you were expecting something like this but you hated being put on the spot. "i don't know, okay, what else was i supposed to say?", the exasperation in your voice is evident but it only fuels jaehyun, and rightfully so.

"i got an idea, how about 'oh, he can't come because i dumped his ass over call for no reason, sorry'?", he digs snidely, voice laden with scorn. there it is. "or is that too close to the truth for you?"

he doesn’t even let you open your mouth, chucking the cloth he was using to dry the dishes on the counter somewhere, folding his arms while he looks at you in a hostile way. “you wanna know how i really spent my christmas, y/n?”, he sneers sardonically, a sarcastic smile etched on to his lips. “alone in my house. miserable. i wish i had an aunt in fucking japan that i could’ve spent it with.”

you hate to admit it, but his words sting and you are well aware that you deserve it. just asking him to join you for this dinner was a huge reach, a request you really didn't expect him to accept. you don't fully understand why he did, though. he clearly despised you, so many be it was out of love for your family? you know jaehyun cared for them, but doing all this was uncharacteristic even for him. when you don't say anything but wear an agonised expression on your face, jaehyun further questions you.

"do you not have anything to say for yourself?", he tries again, his voice a little softer and more hopeful than before but you look like you're fighting some internal battle that doesn't involve him. he exhales deeply, clearly disappointed in your lack of an explanation and just walks past you and out of the kitchen.

you remain in the kitchen for a couple beats more, trying your level best to collect yourself. you can feel tears pricking the corners of your eyes and your breathing is quicker, but this is the absolute worst time to have a little panic attack in the kitchen. how you wished the two of you could just forget about everything for a minute so you could wrap your arms around his figure and fall into his embrace, feeling like that would solve all your problems. it's selfish and wrong, but you know that you're not getting over jaehyun anytime soon.

you'd come to that conclusion a couple months back. the first month after you broke things off with him was possibly the worst time of your life, struggling to eat, sleep or even get out of bed. your friends urged you to reach out to him like they knew you wanted to, but you remained stubborn, convinced at the time that you had made the right decision that would hurt the least for the both of you. you were wrong, you could see that now, but you knew it was much too late. you'd already gone through all the stages of grief, but seeing jaehyun again in this environment had really gone and thrown a spanner in the works for you, all because of your terrible decision-making skills.

any hopes you had of the two of you at least being on semi-friendly terms had just flown out the window as well, and you suddenly think that this might've been the reason why jaehyun even agreed to come. an explanation. a well-deserved one at that. you don't know why you find it so hard to give him one, but you suspect it's because you're not ready to face all that yourself.

upon hearing your mother faintly call out your name, you realise how long you've been standing in the kitchen, taking a couple more deep breaths before you join the rest of them. it's clear that everyone's winding down, your sister curled up on your dad's lap, trying to blink away her sleepiness, while everyone else mutedly watched the television. "didn't mean to keep you all up past your bedtime", you try to joke lightheartedly because your parents look like they're about to hit the hay themselves, but it's really so that no one suspects you were having a little breakdown in the kitchen; especially jaehyun.

"you're not wrong", your dad agrees gruffly, stretching a little before tapping on your sister's cheek to wake her, much to her displeasure. "it's technically your mama's turn to put you to bed, isn't it?", he attempts, but is quickly shot down by your mother, pinching his arm after claiming it was certainly not her turn. after their grand performance, both of them comically turn to look at you with a suspiciously bright look in their eyes. you don't even have time to argue, because the second the hint of a sigh leaves your mouth, they're saying "thank you" and "how nice of you to offer", urging your sister to wake up to let her know that you'll be tucking her in tonight.

she perks up a little at this, nodding with a little glint in her eyes. hopping off your dad's lap, she sleepily totters over to you. "can jae come too?", her voice is hopeful and small, and she yawns in the middle of her sentence but she just has this certain charm that makes everyone unable to say 'no' to her. this includes jaehyun, because one look from her with her arms raised and he's picking her up, pretending to complain about it. you can't help but smile at the whole interaction.

"oh quick! before i forget...", your mom gasps in remembrance, picking her phone up from the coffee table with a tired smile. "don't know when i'll get to see the two of you again so, pictures!"

this may be the only part you were slightly prepared for. your mother had a special affinity for taking photos; not that she was any good at it, she just enjoyed capturing these little moments and treating her gallery like a scrapbook. she had more or less documented the entirety of you and jaehyun's relationship, from the first few months where all the photos were cheesy smiles and awkward poses, to when you had grown more comfortable around each other. in fact, a photo she had taken of jaehyun was your wallpaper for quite some time (it took a lot of effort and explaining to help your mom airdrop you the picture)– it was a shot of jaehyun and your sister grinning from ear to ear, both adorning aprons that were covered in flour after a failed attempt at baking cookies.

the point being, you're pretty sure jaehyun was also expecting the pictures, so it didn't really surprise you when he plastered a smile on his face and came to stand beside you. his hand finds the small of your back soon enough and it makes your body stiffen while simultaneously sending a jolt through it, and jaehyun feels it. mistaking the action for uneasiness, he immediately lifts his warm hand off you so that it's now hovering awkwardly over your body, though no one can see that from the front. while you are disappointed, you lean into him anyway, clasping your hands together behind your back as you both give the camera wide smiles. you're so close you can smell his cologne and it's making you dizzy, not because the scent is overpowering but because it's just so familiar and you can't get enough of it.

the moment is gone in a flash because your mother takes three to four photos while cooing at the two of you before she decides to call it a night, and then jaehyun is ripping himself from you. you don't think anyone else recognises it, the way he seems to want to be as far from you as possible because he's so good at masking these things, but you can feel it. you can feel this heat radiating off of his body whenever he's near you and it's not the warm, fuzzy kind of heat. the spot on your back where his hand rested still burns a little.

your parents are exhausted and look more than happy to be able to jump straight into bed, but not before thanking you and jaehyun. you hug and kiss them goodnight, promising that your next visit will be sooner than this one before they exchange pleasantries with jaehyun, making him promise the same. you know this has to be hard on him, making a mental note to apologise profusely before you part ways. with a reminder that the door now locks from the inside, they bid you goodnight and goodbye, trudging off to their room while your sister scampers up the stairs to hers, suddenly full of life.

you understand why your parents were more than happy to hand over bedtime duties to you and your "boyfriend", because putting your little sister to bed turned out to be a piece of work. she started off by blatantly refusing to brush her teeth, but jaehyun had that one sorted when he reminded her that the veggie monster had a lot of friends, so that was done. she changed into her pyjamas all on her own which was a relief, but you were at a loss over how to actually get her into bed.

you both humoured her for a bit, understanding that she was just happy to have her big sister and her big sister's nice boyfriend home again, so a little excitement was expected. jaehyun played along with her, which was a sight to see, following along with the characters she assigned him in her imaginary games. but when bouncing on her bed turned into running around the room like a crazed bunny, it was a little harder to convince her that she needed to sleep now. "look at me, i'm wide awake", she insists, widening her eyes with her fingers to show you both just how awake she was. jaehyun tried a couple times to catch her, but you're both taken by surprise at her remarkable speed and agility. in the end, you had to resort to just sitting down and hoping that she'll tire herself out, which eventually does happen.

she climbs into bed of her own accord, rubbing at her eyes while you pull the duvet over her body, up to her shoulders. "when are you coming next?", she mumbles curiously while you sit on the edge of her bed, jaehyun standing close by. "soon", you reply honestly, knowing that you'll always have a safe place to come to whenever you need. "maybe i'll even stay for a whole weekend next time."

she likes the sound of this, smiling tiredly with her hands peeking over the edge of her cover, holding it closer to her. "will you come too?", this question is directed towards jaehyun, who looks defeated when he opens his mouth to answer. it's not fair, expecting him to lie to your family like this, but you know you've gotta come clean soon. you'd made up your mind at this point and come up with a plan; you'd explain yourself to jaehyun and apologise after which you'll go your separate ways, then you'll tell your family the truth after tonight, or at least make up a more recent break up, and that's that.

when jaehyun looks to you for help, you play with your hands a little, not fully knowing what to say. "if the old ladies at the nursing home let him go, maybe...", is what you decide is the safest option to go with, and your sister seems satisfied enough, giggling drowsily. you know she's close to falling asleep, and you're about to inwardly celebrate a job well done when she pops her next, unexpected question. "will you both be together forever?"

oh. there's a hint of teasing behind her voice, but everything else about the question is innocent and genuine, blinking her eyes open so she can look at the both of you when you answer. though you're not touching him, you can feel jaehyun stiffen next to you, his voice sounding more than a little awkward when he lets out an involuntary "uhh".

"what do you mean, cutie?"

you don't know why he asks that, because it's a pretty straightforward question; will the two of you be together forever? you want to laugh at the irony because you know that if she had asked the same question last time jaehyun came home, you both would have exchanged knowing smiles, giggling shyly while you tried to answer. the answer would've been 'yes', and you know deep down that it still should be.

she clicks her tongue like it's the most obvious and easy question in the world, shrugging her shoulders when she speaks. "you know, that's what people do when they're in love,", she answers with no hesitation, and you want to roll your eyes because who kidnapped your little sister and replaced her with dhar mann? "just like mommy and daddy!"

"daddy and mommy are married, sweetie, it's a little different–"

"i know that", she cuts off your little improvised answer in a deadpan voice that almost makes you feel stupid, but all her questions have your heart thudding against your rib cage, and you're praying to god that jaehyun can't hear it too. "but still, they love each other, and that's why they're together forever. don't you love each other?"

you're pretty sure the world stopped spinning and your heart stopped beating simultaneously, most definitely not expecting these kinds of questions from your sister. how do you even prepare an answer for this kind of situation? you know for a fact that your cheeks are coated in a dark sheen of red, and out of the corner of your eye (because you refuse to look at him), you’re pretty sure you can see the distinct pink colour paint the tips of jaehyun's ears, like they always do when he's shy or embarrassed. you can't not give her an answer, because that looks weird and she's clearly waiting for one, but answering meant that you either tell her the truth, that no, you will not be together forever because your dumbass went and ruined everything for the both of you six months ago, or you can lie and say that she's right, which would be admitting a lot of things that you didn't want to admit–

"nothing's for sure, but you're right, if two people really do love each other...", jaehyun's deep voice brings all your spiralling thoughts to a halt, and you look at him for the first time in a bit, only to find that he's already looking at you, gaze raw and piercing. you hold your breath when he speaks, because you don't trust yourself at the moment. "...they'll end up together forever."

you hear your sister make some kind of a reply, but the heartbeat in your ears is so loud that you don't quite catch it, the eye contact you're holding with jaehyun so intense that it feels wrong to look away. what could he have possibly meant by that? or was it just some half-assed answer to get your sister to go to sleep? you realise that staring at him while trying to use your sixth sense to nonverbally convey these questions to him isn't going to work, but you can feel the lump forming in your throat, needing to get out of this situation quickly.

it takes everything in you to break the eye contact in favour of pressing a quick peck to your sister's temple, and she looks about ten seconds away from just crashing. "night y/n, night jae...", and with that she's out like a light, and you two wait wordlessly until her breathing evens out before silently exiting the room.

once her bedroom door is shut, you make a beeline for the front door, way too scared and vulnerable right now to look at jaehyun. he doesn't say anything, so neither do you, making sure the door is actually locked before taking your phone out of your pocket. the time on your phone screen reads '11:43', and you know it's too late to try and catch the metro or a bus, but you're too stubborn and embarrassed to ask jaehyun to drop you.

the air is cold outside, much colder than it was inside your warm house. at the current moment, there is no breeze either, the trees are still and there are only a few lights on around the street, and it just makes everything seem so still and loud. you look out at the road, eyes zeroing in on this one lamp post where you shared one of your first few kisses with the man standing beside you. it's crazy how time can change things, you think, because never would you have believed in the moment that jaehyun called you "the most beautiful girl in the world" before leaning in to sweetly connect your lips that he could ever be something so close to a stranger within months.

ultimately opting to look at him, you're once again unable to read the expression on his face as you try your best to speak your mind to him. "um, i'm gonna book a cab, so you're officially free to go. thanks again for tonight, you really didn't have to come with me, so i owe you one. or i don't have to owe you one, because we're not going to see each other again- anything's good with me, just uh...thanks."

he waits patiently for you to finish, and aside from the slightest hint of amusement in his eyes, you're at a loss over what he's really thinking, but his face is so stupidly handsome that you're feeling angry and a little awkward, choosing to look around, and at the floor, playing with your fingers as you spoke.

"you're so dramatic y/n, i can drop you home, it's no big deal", he's already walking towards the road and biting his lip, and you can't tell whether it's out of habit or if he's trying to hide a smile, yet something tells you that it might be the latter.

"so you just let me say all that even though you were gonna offer to drop me? dude..."

the initial ten minutes of the drive are uncommunicative, both of you choosing to look at the dark road instead of acknowledging the awkward silence that was swallowing the car up whole. you don’t talk about your argument in the kitchen, you don’t make small talk about dinner, you don’t talk. you'd normally play some music in the background and you know that your phone is definitely still connected to his car's bluetooth, but somehow it just doesn't feel right– punishing yourself by sitting in this impenetrable silence should do you better.

the roads are more or less empty, save for the lone car or bike that speeds past you. jaehyun knows the way to your house from your parent's because of the amount of times you've driven back and forth, so you don't feel the need to tell him to turn right or to keep going down a certain road, making for even more silence.

part of you is still a little thankful that it isn't the most short drive, even though you aren't even speaking to each other. all it takes is picturing your empty house, devoid of the homely domestic feeling it used to carry when jaehyun was a frequent visitor. what would you even do when you got home? wallow in self-pity over your life choices? play 'sweet' by cigarettes after sex because it reminds you of him, then put on his hoodie that doesn't even smell like him anymore, just so you can curl up in bed and have a good cry while you reminisce? you're starting to think that maybe attempting to talk to him isn't the worst idea, at least it'll give you something to cry about later.

you're going crazy wracking your brain, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't make the atmosphere even more uneasy, but all you got was "hey, thanks again for coming" and "hey, sorry for breaking up with you, what's good though?". you can't even help the wince creeping on your face, finally choosing to go with the former before you have a heart attack and die in jaehyun's front seat.

"thanks again for agreeing to come", you start, absolutely hating the break in your voice from not talking for some time. "you really didn't have to do that. and for dropping me."

he offers you a quick nod in your general direction and fixes his eyes on the road ahead like he was zipping through a crowded highway, though you're sure there isn't a car in sight. "like i said, it's cool", is all you get in return, and you have to remind yourself that he has every right to be short with you.

but still, you try again. "and you don't have to worry about my parents", chewing on your bottom lip, you actually look at him this time, hoping it'll prompt him to do the same, but it doesn't. "i'm gonna tell them the truth."

he releases a short breath from his nose like he finds your statement funny, but continues to not really say anything, just nodding to indicate that he heard you. you subconsciously clench and unclench your jaw at that, because god, he's so fucking annoying, but you swear you don't mean to release the slightly irritated sigh that you do. if you hadn't seen his knuckles turning white from how hard he's gripping the steering wheel, you might not have known that your little sigh pissed him off, because you can't tell it from his face, save from the barely-there eyebrow twitch.

you don't know what it is about car rides with only one other person that make you feel so vulnerable, but you think paired with this kind of silence, you could potentially confess to murder in this setting. it's infuriating, how unresponsive he is, and part of you thinks you're jealous of the control he's exerting, because you're dead sure that if you were in his position, you'd have a fair amount to say. it must be satisfying for him in a way, watching you squirm like this out of guilt and discomfort, but you know in your heart that jaehyun simply isn't like that.

"look, jaehyun", your mouth is working faster than your brain, the silence proving to be too much for you to handle. "i know i fucked things up a bit. with how i ended it and everything..."

perhaps you should've taken a little more time to properly articulate your thoughts, because even jaehyun can't control the astounded scoff that slips out of his mouth. you yourself can't believe that you chose to deliver your words like that and it makes you sound so self-righteous, but they're out, and now you're bracing yourself to finally hear what jaehyun really has to say.

"fucked things up a bit? are you serious?", you can hear it in his voice that he's holding back, but he chooses to laugh in disbelief instead, which you think is actually worse than him straight up screaming at you. "y/n, you didn't even bother telling me in person. you dumped me over the fucking phone, saying it wasn't working."

you now kind of wish that you had just kept quiet and sat in his awkward car, and exchanged awkward niceties when you reach home, never to see him again. but this is your final chance at some form of redemption, and now that jaehyun was actually speaking his mind instead of giving you tight nods, you tried to explain yourself.

"jaehyun, i know, i just–"

"i called you a bunch of times. i tried to come see you and everything, but you went and changed your lock and all your friends were saying you didn't want to see me?"

there goes trying to explain yourself. so you sat and listened instead, and it was the least you could do. jaehyun's voice became more and more strained as he talked, the emotions he was feeling now a lot more evident. he was angry, but more importantly, he was confused, and sad.

"i just- i didn't know what went wrong, you know? we were completely fine as far as i knew", he continues on in a laboured way and he's not looking for you speak right now, so you don't. "fuck i- i thought we were in love."

the little laugh he lets out in between his words more or less breaks your heart, the whole scenario sounding all too familiar. those exact words were the last thing you'd heard from jaehyun before you fully and cruelly broke things off, letting him know the decision was final before cutting the call. you remember that day so clearly. you had meant to go see him and explain all this in person, that’s the whole reason you were in the car, but for some reason, you just couldn’t do it. you remember how much your hands were shaking as you waited for him to pick up the call, sitting in the car by yourself in the middle of your driveway. how long you sat and cried after you ended the call, tears falling until there weren't any left. how it began raining the very second you stepped out of your car to go back inside.

the weather was a funny thing, choosing to mirror your mood only when it saw fit. it was warm and sunny on the day you broke up with him, gentle breeze and wispy clouds all around. it was warm and sunny this morning, the weather ever so pleasant as you plucked up the courage to walk to his door. it was still unusually warm and sunny for the couple months following your break up, feeling sour as ever that the weather was so lovely and all you could do was sit in your room and feel sorry.

you took note of all these occasions because it always used to piss you off. though you shiver now in the car, you think it's kind of satisfying in a way, because the only two times your mood and the weather lined up was right after the break up, and the second you stepped outside your house with jaehyun; it feels like a premonition, or a revelation of sorts. the grey of the stormy sky matched the absolute devastation you felt after breaking up with him, rain pouring from the heavy clouds like they were crying for you. now, the cold, still air feels like baited breath, awaiting your next move.

"and nothing, i hear nothing from you for six fucking months until you're suddenly on my doorstep, asking me to pretend to be your boyfriend for a night. that's fucking insane!", he sounds a little wild now, very exasperated, but you figure it's probably better to just let him get it all out of his system, and you'd do good to listen to him as well. everything he's saying makes complete sense, all the emotions he dealt with akin to what you would've gone through had it been you in his place. "and you know what's more insane? i agreed. after all that, i agreed."

that’s the part you don’t understand. your heart is racing listening to him and you have so many thoughts swimming around in your head, it's difficult to filter them. you feel similar to how you felt back in the kitchen, although this time you can't take a minute by yourself to get over it. you absolutely refuse to cry in this moment, not wanting to seem like you're trying to victimise yourself when you are aware you're the problem. but you can feel your heart breaking all over again.

"why did you agree?", you physically can't raise your voice to louder than a whisper, the tension too thick to try and overpower it.

"why did you dump me?", he counters like a child, and while you were expecting the question, it still makes you freeze up a little. he huffs in annoyance when you don't say anything, inclining his head while he waits expectantly for you to answer. "you wanted to talk? let's talk, y/n. you don't get to just waltz back into my life like it's nothing. it's not fair," it's so cold, the way he says your name, but you try your best not to let it further shake you, mustering up the courage to finally speak. "it's so stupid, jaehyun."

he looks like he's about two seconds away from just combusting, the only sound piercing the cold air being the gentle hum of the engine. "don't you think i deserve to know?", he urges, voice edged with hurt and frustration. "i spent the whole day with you and your family, pretending like everything was happy and normal when it's not."

"i know, jaehyun-"

"then, tell me."

you shift uncomfortably in your seat, teeth toying with your bottom lip as you avoid looking at him. "i don't know," you murmur, your voice barely audible to yourself over the pounding of your heart.

"you don't know?", he repeats incredulously, his tone tinged with disbelief. "after everything, you don't know? don't lie to me, y/n."

your throat tightens as guilt washes over you, but you try to stand your ground. "i just... i couldn't do it anymore," you confess, voice trembling with emotion.

"couldn't do what?", he presses, his frustration mounting with each passing moment. you know he doesn't believe you, dead set on getting the answers he deserves. he's driving slowly now, allowing him to turn his head in your direction more often.

"this!", you exclaim but immediately recoil when you see the look of hurt flash in his eyes. "no! not this, i mean- me! it's my fault, you did nothing wrong." you're saying all the wrong things, but you're too overcome with emotion to attempt to form a coherent sentence. still, you know it's time that the truth came out, so you continue to explain with a heavy heart.

"i didn't mean to hurt you," you choke out, and your voice is so thick you have to swallow before you carry on. he looks indignant and rightfully so, but you go on before he can interrupt you again. "but i was so scared, jaehyun."

his expression softens at your state, replaced with a mixture of sadness and resignation. "scared of what?", he asks quietly, his words hanging heavy in the air. you feel the need to pause for a moment, hands balled into tight fists as you try to regulate your breathing. you really didn't take into account how debilitating the night would be on yourself. sure, you knew it was going to be tough seeing jaehyun again, especially if he agreed to pretend to be together, but you weren't really expecting to hash it out like this, the weight of your decision pressing down on your like a leaden blanket.

the car moves so slow it may as well be still but when you turn to him, you can feel the burn of jaehyun's gaze, his eyes searching for some semblance of understanding. "i loved you", he whispers, voice cracking with the intensity of his words. "i would've done anything for you."

you're still, you're so so still. tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you struggle to find the right words to say, but he's completely thrown you off. the car has slowed to a stop, engine idling before he eventually turns it off in favour of turning to you.

"that's exactly why," you reply weakly, your voice a fraction of the volume it normally is. he surveys you intently, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt, eyes reflecting the very same sadness you feel.

"what do you mean?"

"i was scared of hurting you," your confession does nothing to ease his confusion, but you can see he looks more shocked than anything now. "scared of hurting me?," he echoes, his uncertainty and disbelief palpable. "this is so ironic, it's almost funny..."

you think hearing any more of what he has to say is actually going to kill you internally, so you know you have to rush to explain before he starts giving you a piece of his mind again. "i know, it's so fucking stupid, jaehyun", your voice is trembling from the sheer guilt you feel, bottom lip quivering so much you have to bite it to get it to stop. "everything was going so perfectly, you were so perfect, and it scared me so much."

he falls silent, much to your relief, his expression even softening minutely as he processes your words and this gives you the encouragement to continue. "remember that night on the beach? on the trip last year?", you speak tentatively, wanting him to understand your thought process and the tangled mess of emotions swirling inside you at the time, though it's not much of a defense. the memory floods into your mind so vividly, and you can see it all; the salt in the air, the gentle breeze, the feeling of the sand, your intertwined hands swinging. it was so serene and you'd give anything to be there in that moment again, though it's nothing but a distant dream now.

he nods slowly without speaking, and you release a wet sort of laugh, feeling like you'd choke on the lump in your throat. "we talked about everything that night, our families, our childhoods, our futures...and then you brought up what would happen after we graduated college."

you know he remembers because his eyes light up with recognition and he looks like he's replaying that exact moment in his head, and you hope he remembers it with the same soft, gushy feeling you do. "you said you wanted to move in together, and don't get me wrong, i was thrilled, but it made me realise how...serious everything was, you know?", your voice catches in your throat and you're talking to yourself as much as you're talking to him and he seems to understand that, because he makes no attempt to stop you.

it's silent again for a bit as you two reminisce, but you break it again. "i just knew i was going to fuck up, jaehyun. maybe not right away, but eventually, and the thought terrified me," you sniffle a little, not being able to bring yourself to look up from your hands to meet his gaze. "that feeling never really went away, and it was eating me up from the inside. it got so bad that i had convinced myself that you were going to leave me, so i had to do it first, before i fucked up."

your sorrowful confession hangs in the air like an echo and you finally give in to the urge to look at him, and you're shocked– he looks at you so carefully, his expression soft, much, much softer than before. you couldn't stop the tears from finally falling if you tried , the soft glow of the dashboard illuminating the contours of your now wet face. your shared eye contact makes you feel nervous, but not in the way you were expecting– it's too gentle, too raw and it makes you feel a certain way.

"i know it's not an excuse," you're blubbering so much that your cheeks feel hot, you're practically falling apart in the passenger seat of jaehyun's car while he watches and lets you pour all your miseries out onto him. "you don't know how much i regretted it...but i thought i did the right thing. for the both of us. even though i just ended up doing what i was trying to avoid by hurting you."

it's too much now, jaehyun's too silent, and too not-angry for your liking; why is he looking at you in a way that makes you feel like he doesn't think you're the worst person in the world? you can't hold back the sob that's building in your chest, doubling over in favour of pressing your hands against your face and bawling into them. you're not too loud a cryer, but the tremors of emotion you feel are making your shoulders shake, so you're crying silently into your hands while trembling. however guarded he tries to be, the gentleness of his voice overpowers it as he speaks. "i know, shh...," he murmurs and you can't believe your ears, that the man you thought hated you is actually attempting to comfort you after everything. "breathe, y/n."

like it's second nature to him, his hand travels to your back as the sobs wrack through your body, immediately drawing soothing circles on to your covered skin with his thumb. you don't know how but this almost makes you feel worse, the fact that he's still so caring towards you. you pluck up the strength to lift your face from your moist hands, and you're sure it's not a pretty sight that greets him. your nose feels unbelievably stuffy, and your face is on fire when you meet his sympathetic eyes, the warmth from his gaze and hand spreading throughout you, even though he's now removed it. "i'm sorry," you manage through sniffles, but you think you almost flatline when he reaches his hand towards your face, ever so gently caressing it. his thumb juts out and sweeps across the skin under your eye, wiping away at the wetness. "i know."

"shh, it's okay. you're okay", he coos gently and slowly takes his hand back in favour of imitating slow breaths for you, helping you relax a little as you copy him. "why would you think i'd leave you?", he asks carefully once you've calmed down a bit and wiped your tear-streaked face, simply surveying you now. all you can offer him is a defeated shrug, attempting to collect your thoughts. "remember i told you about my ex? the very first one?"

he nods.

"i moved on obviously, like ages ago, but since then i think i've always had this idea that getting dumped is inevitable", you try to explain, voice small as he listens patiently. "it was either leave them or get left, and i was so scared that it would happen with you, that i'd fuck up so bad that you would leave. i couldn't do it."

he frowns and calls out your name in a way that sounds like he's about to lecture you, but you know he can't tell you anything that you haven't already told yourself. "i know, jae, it was so stupid, i know. i don't regret anything more", you sigh, giving him a tight, small smile when you lock eyes. "i'm sorry."

you notice his eyes soften at the nickname, releasing a quiet huff before he runs a hand through his hair. his body language doesn't carry the same anger it did before when he was ranting, now looking subdued and reflective. "i understand why you did what you did. it was stupid, but i understand", he murmurs, his voice impossibly soft when meeting your gaze, the eye contact so intense that you have to physically remind yourself not to cry again by digging your fingernails into your palms. "i would've never left you."

you nod slowly at his admission, his words hanging in the air. "i should've just talked to you...", you concluded in a sullen way and he doesn't reply in full, just mumbling a soft "yeah" under his breath. you don't mind the silence that fills the car this time, the underlying tension more or less dissipated, but you do notice the time, realising that jaehyun still needs to go back home after dropping you.

"should we, uh...", you gesture towards the road and he jumps up in his seat, as though he forgot that he was driving you somewhere in the first place, muttering "sorry" before twisting the key to start the car. this makes you let out an involuntary giggle and jaehyun shoots you a quick glare which immediately shuts you up, a certain warmth blooming in your chest when you see a small smile creep on to his face out of the corner of your eye.

it's quiet for a bit, jaehyun focusing on the road while you gaze out the window. much to your dismay, both the road and the various buildings and shops start to look a lot more familiar, indicating that you are nearing your home. you shouldn't be dismayed really, because this wasn't the most congenial of car rides, but it means that your time with jaehyun is coming to an end. you don't know what the conversation that took place means for you and him however, because unless you're alarmingly stupid, you feel that he may not hate you as much as he once did. does this mean you might even be able to see him again sometime? in a setting where you're not sweating and shaking at just the thought of seeing him?

you think it might be a bit audacious of you to ask that, so you don't. instead, you turn to him with a light grin, playing with the necklace clasped around your neck. "hey, at least you got some new headphones out of all of this", you joke lightheartedly, eyeing the package sitting on the backseat. he lets out a heartwarming chuckle at your comment, glancing at the bag through his rear view mirror. "i can't believe your parents bought that for me. you think they'll make me return it when they find out we aren't together?", he remarks, and you do your best to ignore the little pang you feel at the reminder of your situation. his comment does make you snort though, and you nod along with him. "nah, you need it more than anyone. your airpods have seen better days."

he laughs again, and you wouldn't believe that you two were arguing back and forth like madmen some twenty minutes back. this feels familiar and comfortable, and you cross your fingers in case you jinx it. "do you remember that time when we planned a picnic..." jaehyun begins, a sense of nostalgia shining through his cheeks. "and you forgot to bring the speakers? and we tried blasting music through my one airpod?"

you can't stop the peals of laughter that escape from your mouth as you nod, covering your mouth when your snort makes him laugh as well. "remind me why we didn't just play the music straight from your phone?", you question, replaying the memory in your mind like it was recent. he pauses to think for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck while he hums. "yeah, what the fuck? why didn't we just do that?"

you're laughing in unison as you take this trip down memory lane together, the next few minutes of the car ride consisting of exclamations of "oh! remember when..." and "that time when...", both of you adding on to the memories with your own perspectives and insights. the fact that the conclusion of your little dispute remains ambiguous doesn't bother you too much at the moment, happy to just enjoy the warm atmosphere while you can.

jaehyun's animatedly recounting a story about your sister downloading a game on his phone when you face him, and the last thing you remember paying attention to was that she had somehow managed to spend a large amount of his actual money on it. your eyes are focused on him now, just studying him, and he seems to realise that you aren't listening to his story when he glances at you.

"what?", he questions, the corner of his eyes crinkling when he narrows them at you in an playful manner, taking one hand off the steering wheel to drum absentmindedly on his thigh. "nothing, i just...", you trail off, scanning his features. "you changed your hair. it's...nice. i wanted to tell you that earlier."

he clearly wasn't expecting the compliment, mouth opening and then closing as he tries to think of an admissible reply. "you like it?", he then asks, a shy smile tugging at his lips when he consciously cards his fingers through the longer bit at the back. at your reaffirming nod and heavy gaze, the expected pink sheen dusts his cheeks and though you can't see them, you know the tips of his ears are pink too. he mumbles something of a timid "thank you", both of you smiling like idiots while he trains his eyes on the road.

not too soon after, his car is pulling into your dark driveway. you can't help the sinking feeling in your chest, lips curved slightly downwards. none of the lights are on, save for the streetlight, illuminating the street in a ghostly, dim way. your house looks just like it had for the past many months, gloomy and lonely, and you're absolutely dreading the idea of moping around once again. if this day spent with jaehyun has showed you anything, it's that you're a 100% sure you've not moved on, and that you won't for a long, long time. simply put, you're still in love with him, and you'll have to carry the cross of your mistake for some time to come.

he switches the ignition off but neither of you move. you're sat in your dull driveway on an otherwise empty street, all the other lights of your neighbouring houses off. neither of you say anything, mostly because you're not sure what one is supposed to say in this situation, so everything is still.

"so–"

"well–"

you let out a nervous chuckle while he smiles a bit, both of you mumbling apologies for interrupting each other. "you go first", jaehyun compels you, but now you don't know what to say because you were just going to make it up as you speak. your mouth has a way of working faster than your brain sometimes, but neither seem to be too functional at the present moment. "no, you go", is all you got, and jaehyun has the nerve to roll his eyes, twisting in his seat a little so he's facing you.

"i was just going to say that we uh, reached your place", he claims in a deadpanned manner, but your car door is still locked and your seatbelt is still locked in. you think you must have lost your mind, hoping that he'd tell you to stay with him forever and never leave (which you would have agreed to in a heartbeat). "i guess we have...", you nod, looking out the window and observing your home. maybe it was the dread of going back to your old routine that gave you the sudden boost of confidence, but you realise he never answered your question from before.

"jaehyun...", you begin but falter when you think you might be overstepping, ultimately deciding to just ask anyway when he looks at you expectantly. "why did you agree to come today? we both know you didn't have to."

he looks like he was dreading the very question you asked for some time, shutting his eyes when he leans his head back against the headrest and sighs. "i don't know", is the answer he gives you, voice muffled through the palms of his hands that are rubbing his face tiredly. biting your lip, you have to hold back a similar sigh because you should've known he's not going to just tell you like that. you have no right to press, but yet you do, one more time. "jaehyun, please?"

maybe it's because you sound so meek, but he drops his hands in favour of looking at you, really looking at you, like he's searching your eyes. "why do you think?", he turns it back on you, but you know this is just his way of avoiding the question. "if i knew, i wouldn't be asking. i know you don't have to tell me, you don't owe me a single thing, i just–", you speak desperately with all of the confidence you can muster, worried that your bottom lip would start trembling again. "please, i need to know."

you're looking each other dead in the eye, and while your voice isn't strong, it's honest and raw, and jaehyun can sense that. you can see that there's a million thoughts running in his mind just by the pained look in his eye and your own heartbeat has picked up, the sound deafening in your ears.

"if you haven't figured it out by now, i don't know what to tell you."

thud. thud. thud. you wonder if he can hear your heartbeat over the sound of his, but the blood pumping through your veins is making your ears ring, because what did he mean by that? you hope it means what you want it to mean, but you can't just assume you know everything because you're delusional at this point. "jaehyun, what are you sayi–"

"i agreed because i'm still in love with you."

there it is. the silence after his confession is positively deafening, your mouth agape as your try to register what you just heard. your eyes flicker between his, searching for any signs that he's just messing you and that it's some cruel joke, though it would be completely in his right to fuck with you if he wanted. he's never looked more vulnerable, eyes trained on you in an almost frantic way, like he himself can't believe what he just said. the way he just blurted it out makes you think that he didn't fully mean to admit that, but it's out, nothing he could do to take it back.

"what?", your own voice sounds like an echo and you wish you had something else to say because you heard him loud and clear, but there's a burning ache in your chest that claws all the way up to your throat. the shock is evident in your voice, not knowing what to do with yourself as you visibly process his words. "tell me you're joking", you plead in a pained way, words barely above a whisper. he doesn't say anything, looking lost in his own thoughts as his eyes scan your face. "you don't hate me?"

"hate you?", he scoffs disconsolately, shaking his head slowly. "i couldn't hate you if i tried. and believe me, i tried."

you can hardly believe your ears. you know your heart shouldn't be pounding the way it is, it feels wrong almost for you to be feeling as relieved as you are. "after everything?", you insist dumbfoundedly, but the longing in your voice is palpable, even if you're trying to give him a way out. "i was so horrible to you, jaehyun." you hate the way your voice cracks, but jaehyun just sighs and offers you a sad smile.

"there's nothing you could do to make me hate you."

it's heartbreaking, how defeated he sounds, but he's also looking at you like you could do no wrong in his eyes. "i never moved on", you whisper, hesitance clear as you tell him the truth. "i couldn't delete any of our pictures, i still have all your clothes, sometimes i accidentally set the table for two when it's just me..."

he's blinking quickly, and if you didn't know any better, you'd say he was trying to hold back tears. your break-up did nothing but cause immense amounts of pain for the both of you, and you'd give anything in the world to make up the time lost. his wide-eyed and nearly motionless expression urges you to continue, ready to pour out your heart to the man you loved.

"i still have your number memorised", your face mirrors his, voice growing stronger by the minute. "all the gifts and letters you've ever given me, they're all still there in that shoebox in my cupboard."

"i thought about you everyday", his whisper is raspy, speaking right after you do. "every party i went to, i looked for you even though i knew you wouldn't be there. you know johnny tried setting me up with people?"

you try to suppress the little sting, but you feel it deep inside you. "he did?", you have to clear your throat, and you almost don't want to ask but you do anyway. he releases a sad little chuckle and nods, toying with his fingers. "yeah. i knew i was doomed when the whole date, i wished she was you."

the smile finds its way on to your face against your will, feeling that familiar lump make its way to your throat. "she could've made you happy, jae", you argue anyway because at the end of the day, you want the best for him, and you know you're far from the best.

"no one could make me feel the way you do, y/n", he replied honestly, and there's a sense of finality to his words, like he'd had this same argument with himself time and time again, only to come to this conclusion. “the thought of anyone else touching you made me sick”, he croaked, not missing the way his eyes ghost over your frame.

his words bring about a noticeable shift in the air, followed by silence. he watches you, and you watch him, breathing slow as your eyes dart across his face.”i don’t want anyone but you”, you confess slowly, and a few beats pass before you find it in you to speak again. "i love you, jaehyun."

silence.

you expected disapproval, maybe even a malicious scoff, but you certainly weren't expecting to feel a soft pair of lips against yours as he suddenly lurches forward.

you're stunned, so stunned that you don't even reciprocate the kiss, lips unmoving against his. it's only when he takes this as a sign of discomfort and breaks the kiss that you find yourself reacting, hands immediately making their way to caress his cheeks, leaning forward to chase his lips and close the distance between you. he lets out a sound of surprise against your lips but kisses you back right away, a hand wrapping around your neck from the back, tangling itself in your hair. the kiss is heated and so long overdue, tangible through the way his lips meld furiously together with yours, teeth clashing every now and then.

your hands make their way to his broad shoulders, one wrapping around them while the other comes to rest on his chest, gripping the material of his hoodie. you have the urge to be impossibly close to him, trying to lean forward to kiss him more fully but you're restricted by your seatbelt. it's almost as if he can read your mind, because the hand placed against your face now moves to press on the buckle to release you without breaking the kiss. "fucking seatbelt...", he mumbles disgruntedly against your lips, fiddling with the button until you hear it click, finally separating yourself from him to slip it over you. "there we go."

you don't stay separated for long because jaehyun uses the hand behind your head to pull you towards him again, capturing your lips in a way that makes all the air leave your lungs. "come here", he grunts, using his long arms to pull you clumsily over the gearshift and straight on to his lap. you settle yourself in to the somewhat awkward position in the enclosed space, but that's the last thing on your mind when all your thoughts consist of jaehyun, jaehyun, jaehyun. his lips are back on yours in a instance, tongue sweeping across your bottom lip messily and you gladly allow it to explore your mouth.

the air is impossibly thick, heavily contrasting to the cold weather outside the car, even his lips and hands feel warm against your hot body. you feel his hands grip your waist easily in this position, lips leaving your own to drag across the expanse of your jaw. you whine quietly at the feeling of his mouth sucking a particular spot on your neck, tilting your head back as you wrap your arms around his neck. "missed this", he muses, tongue peeking out to kitten lick at your neck, breath hot against your sensitive skin. "missed you."

the feeling in your chest when his hands find their way under your shirt and on to your bare skin is inexplicable, unable to stop the soft moan from tumbling from your lips when his big hands glide over your stomach, back and finally your breasts. everything about the way he's touching you and kissing you is greedy and urgent, like he's afraid you'll disappear from his arms if he loosens his grip even by a little bit. you'd be a fool to not match this energy, pressing into him while you squeeze your hands over his. "need you so bad, jae."

you're subconsciously grinding down against him needily, hips stuttering against his lap like you've never been touched before. "fuck", your eyes widen at the groan that leaves his throat, sounding absolutely guttural as he grips the skin of your hip harshly.

he's barely done anything and you're coming undone right in front of his watchful eyes, your panties dampening at the look on his face. "jae..", you whine when his fingers dip past the waistband of your pants, gently cupping your clothed core as you rut against it. "shit, baby", he marvels at the stickiness of your panties, feeling your wetness on his fingers just through the material. "you really missed me, huh?"

you don't even have the time to respond to his cocky remark before his fingers are slipping beneath the band of your panties to circle your clit, spreading the wetness around your folds. a breathy sigh escapes your lips, throwing your head back as he experimentally prods at your entrance and eventually slips a finger inside. "still so tight for me", he all but groans, pumping his finger in and out of you languidly, drinking in the sounds of your pleasure. he feels so blissfully familiar, and though you haven't been touched by him, or anyone for that matter for months, the stretch of his second finger feels the same kind of intimate as it did before, if not more.

you lean forward and press your lips against his once again, kissing him like you might never get the chance to again, all while you're grinding back down on his hand that's fingering you steadily with a thumb circling your clit at the same time. his free hand moves to bunch your top up above your breasts, peppering kisses over the tops of them. he wastes no time in pulling your breasts free from from their cups, attaching his lips to one nipple and swirling his tongue around it in a way that makes you cry out. "my pretty girl", he mumbles almost to himself while cupping your other breast, making a show out of it as his tongue flicks over your hardened bud over and over until your arching your back and pressing it further into his face. “thought about this all the time.”

keeping in mind that you're still technically in a public place, you bite your lip to contain the sounds of your pleasure, though jaehyun doesn't make it easy when he notices this and increases the pace of his fingers. the hand fondling your breast leaves it unattended for a moment to release your bottom lip from your teeth, smoothing his thumb over the swollen skin. "i've waited months to hear these sounds. let me hear you, baby", he all but purrs and that's all it takes for a moan to tumble out of your mouth, pressing your forehead against the side of his face while you screw your eyes shut out of pleasure.

with his attack on your sensitive buds and his fingers pistoning inside of you, you know you aren't going to last long. "already?", jaehyun chides with a small smirk, and it's embarrassing how well he knows your body, grazing his teeth against your nipple in a way that feels painful and heavenly at the same time. you can feel his rock hard bulge against you, and with the untimely grinding of your hips against him, you're sure this is torturous for him. "don't wanna come like this", you whine against his cheek, your entire body feeling sticky from the heat inside the closed vehicle. your puckered lips leave wet kisses all over the expanse of his cheek, and the boyish giggle that leaves his mouth makes your heart flutter. "wanna feel you, jae."

his head is thrown back against the headrest and his eyes are shut tightly, jaw clenched as he slowly slips his fingers out of you. though you whine at the loss of contact and you're almost grinding against the air, you want nothing more than to make him feel good as well. "want you to fill me up", you coo at him, softly linking your hands behind his neck as you test the waters with your words. it's clear they have an effect on him, both hands placed on your hips as he helps you lazily grind against his erection. "don't– have a condom", he grits out, hips bucking up to meet yours. "don't need one", you murmured immediately, knowing he wants this as bad as you do.

his eyes flicker open at that, one hand leaving your hip to brush some stray hairs away from your face, gently tucking some behind your ear. you could melt at the way he's looking at you, so tender and loving, a warmth spreading all over you until you feel like you have to look away. he doesn't let you however, hand quickly coming you to cup your cheek before leaning in place a small peck against your lips. "are you sure?", he sounds breathless, but still firm as his eyes glance between yours like he's reading them.

if he can read them, he'll know that you can't nod fast enough, dragging your hips across his needily to show him. "i'm sure. i want you, jae.", you're so needy that you don't even bother to take your pants or panties off fully, fingers fumbling with the waistband as you shimmy them down a little, leaving your underwear on. you swear your mouth waters when he unbuttons his pants and lets his cock spring out against his stomach, lustful eyes taking in the way he keeps his shirt up with his teeth. if this weren't such an awkward position, you'd have taken him in your mouth in an instant, knowing exactly what to do to hear the man in front of you whimper.

nudging your panties to the side, he focuses on collecting your wetness all over the tip of his dick, hissing at the contact. "please", you whine, not wanting to waste another moment, finally sighing in relief when he begins to press his cock inside you. he swears under his breath at the feeling, and you're feeling so stretched out just from him slipping it in even though you're still so wet that you just go lax in his arms until he bottoms out. "that's it", he grunts like he's holding back. "taking me so well, angel."

you preen at his praise, finally beginning to move your hips a little at his coaxing. sighing against the shell of his ear, he picks up the pace for you, not warning you before thrusting upwards to meet your movements with a groan. you can feel your mind going blank at the sensation, your moans sounding more like cries whenever he snaps his hips into yours, the obscene sounds filling the car. you're just so full, his hands gliding up and down your sides as he fucks deep inside you, making up for all the lost time. "you feel so good, baby", he barely gets his words out, but it gives you the encouragement to bounce up and down on his thick cock a little faster than before, his eyes widening at the feeling. "just like that."

he's kissing and sucking all over your neck again, lips ghosting over whatever skin he can reach and it's all so much, feeling a single tear stream down your face. he almost slows down for a second when he feels the tear drop on to his own face, eyebrows raised in surprise because he thinks he's hurting you, but he's even more shocked when you let out the high-pitched whine. "what's wrong, angel?", he mumbles into your neck, peering up at you carefully. you shake your head profusely, continuing to grind down on his cock. "i just- just love you so much, jae", you blabber incoherently, so wet that you're practically gushing around his dick.

"aw, baby", he shushes you sweetly, pressing his forehead against yours as his thrusts become more and more erratic. "i'm here. not going anywhere." the coil in your stomach is tightening and you can feel every inch of him inside you, more tears threatening to spill from your eyes before he's kissing them away. "i'm here."

he's hitting all the right spots inside you in this position, and he's basically doing all the work because you're like putty in his strong arms, all you can do is moan and cry out against him weakly. "i'm close", you warn him, but you know he already knows that, and you know he is too, slipping your hand down to where his rests on your hip and interlacing your fingers. "me too, pretty", he sputters through his teeth, giving your hand a tight squeeze as you start to come undone. “want you to cum. can you do that for me?”

"oh my god", you're crying out as you cum around his cock, body and mind going numb and ears ringing as the coil finally snaps. "cum inside me, jae, please", his eyes go wide at the way you're begging him, and he doesn't look like he can hold back much longer. "fuck angel, you- you sure–"

"yes, please, need you to fill me up", you cut him off, too sensitive from the way he's helping you ride out your high to move anymore. with a few more sloppy thrusts, his cock is twitching inside you before you lets out a guttural groan, his warm cum filling you up. you go limp against him, face nuzzled into the crook of his neck as the both of you try to regulate your heartbeats.

the sounds of your heavy breathing fills up the car along with jaehyun's soft murmurs of "so perfect" and "did so well for me". any doubts you had in your mind of this being a mistake in jaehyun's eyes are wiped away when he begins petting your head, gently smoothing your messy hair as he presses firm kisses to your head. his cock softens inside of you but he makes no move to pull out, wrapping his arms around your waist while you do the same around his neck, simply sitting in each other's presence silently.

you struggle but finally pick yourself up, gazing at his moonlit face from your place on his lap. “you okay? was that okay?”, he murmurs softly, his voice thick and eyes hazy as he traces little shapes on your back. “more than okay”, you reply tiredly, pressing your lips against his once again because you feel you’re in a dream-like state right now. you're sure he's the most beautiful man you're ever had the privilege of looking at, feeling incredibly vulnerable when you speak again even though he's looking at you with nothing but love in his eyes. "now what?", you question, suddenly feeling like you've jumped the gun when he opens his mouth to say something but stays silent. "never mind, don't answer that, we'll talk about it later", you shake your head, laughing a little breathlessly when he grins at you, pecking his forehead sweetly.

you look away from him and at your lifeless house, mouth working faster than your brain once again. "would you...want to come in?", you wince, feeling kind of stupid for asking but meaning it anyway. you're both comforted and thrilled when a large grin is plastered on to his face, feeling like maybe your home won't be as lifeless anymore.

"i think i'd love to come in."

5K notes · View notes

agustdtown1 · 2 months ago

Text

CLOSER TO YOU [JJK]

PAIRING: nerdy!roommate!jungkook x fem!OF!reader

GENRE: smut, roommates au, nerdy!jk, photography major!jk, friends to fuck buddies.

SUMMARY: After getting various comments about your poor filming skills for your OF page, you finally decided to give in and reach out to the one person that could help you with your problem. However, what started as your roommate just helping you to film your video turned into you begging him to fuck you.

How long would it take for Jungkook to finally give in? After all, all he ever wanted was to be closer to you.

WC: 8,7k

WARNINGS: smut, masturbation, fingering, voyeurism, dirty talk, nerdy!jungkook going from shy to freaky to shy and freaky again. Pet names, jungkook with glasses (that NEEDS a warning idc), jk being completely whipped for reader but also mocking her and being a little shit when he got into it. Use of “good girl” (1), mention of only fans and adult content. If I’m missing something lmk!

A/N: part one is finally out!! I honestly feel nervous to post again and I really hope you guys enjoy this one! lmk what you think in the comments or sending an ask, enjoy ur reading <3!

masterlist

“I need a favor.”

You barging into his room along with those three words were enough to break the quiet and cozy atmosphere that your roommate had going on. He was sitting in his gaming chair, with his headphones covering his ears and glasses slightly falling off the bridge of his nose. Jungkook looked startled, with his big, round eyes staring at you as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t, when in reality a loud and violent video game was the only thing playing on his computer screen.

“H-Hi to you too.” His response and his rapid way of blinking let you know that Jungkook was not expecting you to come into his room unannounced, however, there was not a single complaint flying out of his mouth. More often than not, you would invade his personal space with your overenthusiastic self, chatting his ear off about some new gossip from your class that he was not really interested in, but Jungkook being Jungkook could never tell you to shut up, even when it was needed. “What do you need? Is everything okay?”

A pang of guilt spread through your chest by the way he completely abandoned whatever game he was playing to put his undivided attention on you when he noticed how distressed you were; what you were about to ask him was far from being a serious or urgent matter, but rather something that might bring chaos and awkwardness into your friendship. In all honesty, you weren’t even sure why you decided to entertain the idea of asking for Jungkook’s help. All you knew is that Eunbi, your best friend, was very eloquent while suggesting your roommate as a solution for your problem, and while you weren’t exactly desperate, you didn’t want to spend more time thinking of other alternatives either.

So here you were, hoping that the following minutes would remain the same after you inevitably tell Jungkook the truth.

“Y/n…? Is everything alright?” He asked once again, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Yes, right! It is. I just…” A frustrated sigh escaped your lips. “I need a huge favor, but I don’t know how to tell you.”

“You know you can tell me anything, I’m here for whatever you need.” His tender smile made that guilty feeling become stronger.

You tried to find the words to voice the idea running through your mind without making this situation painfully weird, but nothing could really prevent the inevitable awkward silence that was bound to be installed between you two once you put it all out.

The favor and the help you needed was regarding your line of work, something that Jungkook was pretty much aware of, but never fully involved in. Being a creator for adult content, more specifically for only fans, was already hard enough to explain to him when he moved in with you a few years ago, but somehow you managed to make it seem as if it wasn’t a big deal. You thought that it would be a dealbreaker, that Jungkook would run far away from you and never even consider being your roommate when you told him you made content for only fans, however, after a few days, he willingly showed up at your apartment with boxes full of his belongings and a shy smile, telling you that he was ready to live with you.

That memory was the only thing keeping you from running out of his room and hiding inside your own until the embarrassment subsided, instead, it helped you to follow through with your plan and accept the outcome of this, like the confident woman that you were.

However, the long pauses that you were taking to organize your ideas were starting to worry the brown-eyed boy in front of you. He’s never seen you like this before, hesitating and so unsure of yourself. Your confident demeanor would often throw him off, and the way you so surely carried yourself wherever you went was a stark contrast to his shy and awkward way of living, but that’s something Jungkook was used to, that’s how things worked between you two. You were the easygoing, extroverted friend that would strike up a conversation with almost anyone, while he was the quiet, shy and reserved friend that was ready to lend his shoulder if you ever needed a good cry.

But this, the way you were so notoriously nervous and preoccupied was something new for Jungkook, a new side of you that he never thought he would see.

“Listen, Y/n, you don’t have to tell me right now. I’ll help you with anything you need, but if you feel like it’s too much in this moment, you can talk to me about it whenever you’re rea–”

“I need you to help me film a video for my page.”

There, you said it, it was all set in stone, with no way to go back. No backtracking, no regretting, no way to undo it. Your words hung in the air with a heavy weight falling upon you two. If Jungkook was startled when you came into his room, he was completely dumbfounded after listening to what you needed.

“Co-Come again.” It wasn’t the smartest way to ask you to repeat yourself, but it sure fit into the conversation. “I-I mean, are you seriously asking me to do what I think you’re asking?”

He wasn’t stupid, Jungkook was familiar with your work, and while he didn’t consume your content, apart from a few pictures he looked at while scrolling through your page out of curiosity, the boy knew exactly what your deal was. Posting your whole body on the internet for almost anyone to see was the easiest way to describe your job; making videos, taking pictures that left little to the imagination for the people that came across your profile, even going as far as hosting lives to chat with your followers and sometimes cater to their filthy needs. That’s the kind of job you had, the kind of things you were willing to do, and it was crystal clear how comfortable and okay you were with it.

Jungkook had never judged you or questioned what you did for a living, not once in the years he’s known you, mainly out of respect and because it was none of his business, but also because he didn’t want to think or imagine the things you did in front of the camera. Now, however, he might have to, because what you were asking of him was more than what he was expecting from you.

Asking him to cook dinner, fix your laptop or pick up his clothes from the bathroom floor was okay with him, he could do it in a heartbeat, but filming a video for your secret page was something he was not ready for.

“I know it sounds crazy, believe me. I actually thought about this for a few days, but I wouldn’t ask you to do it if I truly didn’t need your help.” You were almost ready to beg him at this point. It has been weeks since the last time you posted a video and the lack of content was starting to upset your followers. There was really no other option. “I swear I’ll try to make it as normal as possible, but I really need you”

She needs me.

Jungkook had to look away from you, the pleading eyes you were sending his way were starting to affect him more than they should have, and while he was usually willing to lend you a helping hand at any moment, this time he really needed some time to think about it.

“I don’t know, Y/n…” He hesitated, taking his glasses off for a brief moment and rubbing his eyes. “I mean, why me? Doesn’t Eunbi usually help you with that stuff?”

“Yeah, she does, but it’s mainly to help me choose an outfit, makeup or the color of the lights. She doesn’t know about cameras like you do. And lately my followers have been complaining about my poor filming skills.” You finally explained your reasons behind it all. “You’re a photography major after all, wouldn’t you know about angles, settings, and all that stuff better than us?”

You took some cautious steps towards your roommate before making him turn around in his chair only for you to sit on his lap. You were aware that it was an unfair strategy to use on him, but desperate times call for desperate measures, don’t they?

A blaring alarm went off inside of Jungkook’s head the moment you became painfully close to him, invading his personal space. Then again, it was not out of the ordinary for you to be touchy-feely with him, but the boy still had a hard time getting used to your overly affectionate demeanor. His hands were eager to lay on the warm skin of your waist and feel your soft flesh against his, nonetheless, he knew better than crossing that line. If Jungkook wanted to maintain his sanity, he needed to remain still for as long as possible.

“Would you be a sweetheart and help me with this, Kookie?

Fuck, not that nickname.

Jungkook melted right on the spot whenever you called him that or any other short variant of his name. He was weak for you and both of you were aware of it.

“I…” It was a hard decision, but how could he say no to you when you were looking at him as if he was your only saviour. “Okay, yes. I’ll help you, but just this time. I will teach you everything you need to know to make your videos better, but next time you’ll be on your own.”

“Oh my god! Thank you, Kook, thank you so much.” Your arms found their way to his neck, engulfing the shy boy into an effusive hug. “I promise I’ll repay you with anything you want.”

“We can figure that out afterwards, don’t worry about it now.” He assured you with a sheepish grin while his hands finally reciprocated the affection by timidly patting your back.

The more you stayed in that position, the more Jungkook wondered if he was really ready to take such a big step into your dynamic, however, there was no way out. You were already counting on him.

What have I gotten myself into?

The following days were spent trying to figure out the logistics and set a schedule that would work for the both of you. Despite what anyone would think, Jungkook was a very busy guy, between his major, work and tutoring lessons he offered three days a week, he had little to no time to hangout with his friends or even watch a movie with you. Therefore, Saturday seemed like the safest option to film the video. Usually Jungkook would play online games with his friends during the weekends as it was the only time he could actually have some free time for himself, but he was willing to sacrifice one day just this time, especially if it was for you.

The boy was in a constant fight or flight mode during those days, overthinking every single minute of his day about how terribly wrong the whole thing could go. He had a plan from A to Z for any unfortunate situation that might occur, only to prevent ruining your friendship any further. Jungkook was so anxious and absorbed in the predicament that he didn’t even notice when Saturday finally arrived.

In a blink of an eye both of you were already making sure that everything was ready to start filming. You would use his professional camera instead of your phone to enhance the quality of the video; he helped you find the perfect spot in your room, void of your personal stuff or anything that could be used to reveal your real identity. He even showed you the angles that you could use to prevent your face from showing but still giving your followers what they wanted. The setting and ambience was perfect, with the perfect amount of lighting and the right color to make the whole moment more enjoyable for your viewers.

“Whenever you’re ready.” His soft voice echoed through the room while you were doing some touch ups to your makeup. Jungkook was doing a good job with keeping a straight face and calm attitude. It was barely impossible to tell how nervous and anxious he was at that precise moment.

“I’m ready.” You stood up from the chair in front of your vanity, and started your way towards the place where you would be filming. It was a corner decorated with a bunch of pillows and a fluffy blanket to make it comfortable for you. “I should take this off now, shouldn’t I?” A nervous giggle escaped your mouth while pointing to your robe.

It would be the first time you would present yourself like this to Jungkook, at least that you were aware of. The boy had already seen more of your body that he would’ve preferred, thanks to his curiosity, however, this time it was different, it wasn’t a simple picture of you in lingerie or with your bare chest showing. It was you in the flesh, quite literally. Naked and ready to put your body under a plethora of sensations he could only think of —he shouldn’t even think about it in all honesty—, along with sounds that up until this moment were only part of his imagination.

“Do-Do you want me to like… turn around?”

It was an innocent and genuine question, yet you couldn’t help but laugh.

“There’s no point. You’ll have to see me to check that the filming is going right, either way.” You waved him off, trying to ease his worries. “It’s okay, don’t read too much into it, you’re only being a good friend and helping me.”

“Sure… a good friend.”

Why does it bother me so much when she calls me that?

Oh, if only he understood.

“Okay, here goes nothing.” In a swift motion you undid the knot of your robe, taking the piece of clothing completely off to show your body covered in the prettiest set of red lingerie that you owned.

Your tits were engulfed by the soft lace of your bra, adorned with a red bow right in the center, drawing more attention to your cleavage. Your panties left little to the imagination; see through lace covering just enough to tease the viewers and make them crave for more of your beautiful body. In hindsight, it wasn’t the sexiest or most elegant set out there, but you liked the way it enhanced your features just the right way to feel comfortable and sexy with your body. And as it turns out, Jungkook thought exactly the same.

The boy could not tear his eyes, covered with his round glasses, away from your figure, taking his time to let the way you presented yourself before him sink in. So bare and vulnerable, yet so sexy and confident. You looked incredibly stunning, beautiful, gorgeous, delectable… words were not enough to describe what he thought of you the moment your robe fell to your feet. However, along with appreciating your body came the realization that helping you film this video would be the hardest task he would ever do.

How can I do this to myself?

“Does it look good?” A very dangerous question, but it was intended to ease the tension already forming in between the two. The longer Jungkook took to answer, the more you wondered if you chose the correct outfit “Should I change?”

“No!” His answer, then, was definitive. “I-I mean, you don’t really need to change, unless you want to. It looks… good, very good on you.” He used one finger to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

His cheeks turning red was something you could not ignore, it brought a sweet smile to your face.

“Alright then, let’s get this over with!”

A faint fighting came out of your roommate’s mouth while waiting for you to position yourself in front of the camera. The moment you stepped into the comfortable yet sexy set your whole demeanor changed. Your cheerful smile was replaced with a cheeky smirk; your eyes were charged with this sensual energy that made the boy in front of you swallow harshly; your velvety voice was like a siren chant, luring him to step closer and fall into the trap.

Jungkook was mesmerized by the nonchalant way you executed every single movement, as if it was second nature for you, and it sure was. It was part of your routine, part of your lifestyle. The brown-haired man was only now discovering what it was like, but you’ve been under the spotlight for quite some time. Your hands knew perfectly well the path they had to go through to get to the most sensitive parts of your body. Your fingers knew just the right amount of pressure they had to put into your flesh to elicit those sinful sounds. There was no hesitation, no second thoughts, you knew what to do and you loved every single second of it.

Jungkook was entranced by your performance, hands curled into fists to prevent them from acting on their own; cheeks tinted with a rosy color that got lost in the red lights adorning your room. His eyes were glued to your fingers dancing up and down your sides, stealing faint sighs out of you. He had a love-hate reaction to how long you were taking to strip out of your bra. It was sensual, teasing, yet it made the boy fall into a desperate state, eager to see you fully, in all your glory.

“I’ve missed you guys so much.” Your sultry voice sent a shiver down his spine, but the words coming out of your mouth were a cold reminder that he wasn’t there as a viewer but rather as a helper. “It’s been so long since the last time we saw each other.”

A small gasp fell from your lips when you finally pushed down the cups of your bra to display your bare chest. Your hardened nipples were glazed with your saliva after running your wet fingers over them. Little by little you let loose, forgetting that Jungkook was even there, watching you touch yourself and talk to the camera with the most cliche and nasty lines you’ve mastered up until now. Once again, it was part of your routine, and in that routine you needed to have some sort of interaction with your viewers. But truth be told, Jungkook was loving it. He loved how free you looked, and probably felt. He loved how careless you were, how you never hesitated to take a step further and further until you were fully naked, panting and moaning while your fingers graced your inner thighs with a tender touch. He loved it because you were in your element, you were in full control of yourself and body, and that was beyond attractive for him.

“Shit.” A breathy moan elicited from your soft lips when your fingers ran over your folds with a feather-like touch. “I’m so wet.”

Fuck.

Jungkook mentally cursed himself for getting into this situation. It was so hard to watch you in such a lewd way and not be able to get involved. But then again, even thinking of the possibility of being the reason behind your sinful sounds was beyond wrong. You were his friend, his roommate for fuck’s sake, he shouldn’t be thinking of you in that way.

He shouldn’t think of how beautiful you’d look under him, writhing and chanting his…

“Jungkook.”

Fuck, yes.

“Jungkook!”

If only I could make her sound like that.

“Kook!! I’m talking to you.”

Your urgent tone snapped him out of his dirty thoughts. His eyes connected with yours, with a disoriented expression as he fixed his glasses.

“Shit, sorry, I just… zoned out for a bit.” He tried to excuse himself, but the way his voice cracked in the middle of the sentence prevented it from sounding sincere. “Wh-What were you saying?”

You chuckled, deciding to ignore his reaction and cutting right to the point.

“I can’t get into it.”

“What do you mean?”

His tilted head and innocent, round eyes made your frustration lessen. The whole time you let your hands run free over your skin you were trying —almost begging, to get in the mood to continue with the video, but as it turned out, you were nowhere near turned on. It was disappointing — after putting so much effort into it and gathering the courage to ask Jungkook for help, you couldn’t even get aroused.

What is wrong with me today?

With a deep sigh, you sat right up and covered your naked skin with the fluffy blanket next to you. “What I mean is that I can’t get in the mood to, you know… do it.”

“I’m not following.” Jungkook shook his head slowly, trying to comprehend the message that you were sending him. “Do you need anything? Are you uncomfortable?”

“No, it’s not that. I just can’t get turned on.” Plain and simple. He surely would get what you were trying to say.

“You mean that you’re not–”

“Oh my god, I’m not wet enough to continue filming!”

A pregnant silence fell into the room. Neither of you dared to move or say a single thing after that. Jungkook was rendered speechless after your confession and you could not even look at his face due to the embarrassment you were experiencing right in that moment. Maybe it was too much information, but then again, you were literally naked in front of him, voicing out your frustrations to the only other person in the room wouldn’t be that bad, would it?

Well, apparently it was, especially because it was not just anyone but Jungkook. The boy who not only had to endure seeing you touch yourself but also had to listen to your ridiculous complaints about not being aroused.

“Bu-But you just… you said you were…” He couldn’t even finish his sentence. “Fuck, I feel so lost right now.”

The brown-eyed boy was so confused, if your facial expressions and sounds were anything to go by, Jungkook could swear on his life that you were enjoying it. Your frustrated reaction and straightforward confession threw him off; how come he was fighting his own instincts and urges to not come right on the spot while you were faking it all along? Maybe it was due to being the first time in such an environment with you. Would your viewers know when you’re not being genuine and that’s why you stopped? Or was he really that clueless to women’s pleasure?

“I was acting.” You confessed. “Sometimes I talk like that to help myself and get in the mood, but clearly today is not working for me.” A dejected groan flew out of your mouth.

“Can I, I don’t know, help you with that?” He shyly asked, “Maybe it’s because I’m here. Perhaps having another person in the room is making it difficult for you, I can leave…”

You shook your head, “No, if anything, your presence is helping me to feel somehow relaxed.” You thought about it for a second, trying to come up with a quick solution. “Maybe we can try something else.”

“What would that be?”

It took you a few seconds to voice your idea, mainly out of fear and nervousness due to how much it could damage your friendship. In all honesty, involving Jungkook in the filming was already damaging and risky enough, but it was still within the limits you mentally established for this situation. What you were about to ask him, however, was beyond those limits.

“Could you step closer?” You waited a few seconds before developing your whole idea. “I mean, could you film me from a closer angle?”

“Would that really help?” He asked in a shaky voice.

“We could try and see.”

And see he did. Jungkook moved from his position behind the camera, trying to get his equipment and himself as close to you as possible —losing a little bit of his sanity in the process— with the utmost caution and respect. He didn’t want to overstep the boundaries that were established before starting filming, he also didn’t want to do a wrong movement and throw everything to waste. Jeon had the opportunity to see your body from a closer perspective, and albeit unsure, he managed to keep calm and resume his work.

“Is this okay?” Your roommate asked, angling the camera to focus solely on the space between your legs, right where your fingers wished to disappear in. “Tell me if it becomes too much, okay?”

“Will do.”

After listening to your words of approval and making sure you felt comfortable with the new position, Jungkook continued filming you and every single movement you did. It was hypnotizing how you so confidently went back to your previous endeavors to get you in the mood. Your noises sounded sexier, your breathing was heavier, your eyes were closed tighter than before, willing yourself to enjoy the moment thoroughly and push back the feeling of being so exposed to the only man you swore would never see you like this.

Jungkook tried to stay calm and collected, cool and relaxed, even when he felt the air getting stuck in his throat when he watched your fingers dive into your warm walls through the lenses of the camera.

“Fuck…” He breathed out without realizing. The boy was quick to cover his mouth with his hand when he noticed your quizzical look. “Sorry.” Jungkook mouthed and focused on his work as the cameraman.

You continued with your ministrations, ignoring the heat in your cheeks that wasn’t exactly due to finally getting worked up from your touches. Your fingers moved in and out of your cunt, slowly and carefully, as if you were calculating what you were going to do next. A faint moan fell from your lips, eliciting a raspy groan from the boy in front of you.

Right in that moment you noticed how aggravated Jungkook was. Eyes shining in the dark like a pair of beautiful stars but with a glint of lust covering them along with his glasses; lips parted, letting out his heavy breath and small sighs. His hands were twitching at his sides, eager to move and, most likely, to touch what he was not even allowed to taste.

Maybe this was more than he could handle, maybe you shouldn’t have asked him to help you with this video, perhaps this was already creating a dent in your friendship that you were nowhere close to know how to fix, but the way he was looking at you was nothing you had ever seen before, at least not from him. There was hunger, need and desperation mixed in his hard glare, and as much as you wanted to deny and ignore it, his reaction was doing wonders on you. And so a new idea was installed in your mind. Your friendship was already beyond salvation, how bad would it be to make a last request?

“Kook…” You breathed out, “I need you.”

It was so subtle, so fleeting the smugness that covered his face that you barely noticed. His eyes widened and his lips moved like that of a fish trying to survive out of the water, he didn’t know what to do, much less what to say.

“Me?” He whispered, completely clueless of the effect he was having on you in that moment. You nodded, fingers stilling in between your legs. “Wh-What do you mean?”

You sat up, stopping the filming once again. “Exactly what I said, I need you… I-I need your help with something else. You can say no, but… I would be forever grateful to you if you said yes.”

Jungkook was putting to use his 128 IQ score to try and understand what you were hinting at, but none the wiser, he needed the words spelled out to him to get your idea. And so, as softly as possible, you explained what your need was actually about. You noticed the way his body reacted to you and the show you were putting on for your viewers but more specifically for him; it was painfully obvious how much he desired you, and in all honesty, you weren’t any better.

Ever since you two started living together, you swore that you wouldn’t act on the small and silly crush you developed for him after meeting for the first time. It was just a silly attraction that wasn’t worth the hassle of getting involved with your roommate; his built body and big biceps drove you crazy, and you couldn’t turn a blind eye to the intricate tattoos adorning his arm, which was such a stark contrast to the type of man he made himself out to be; the lip ring shining from his mouth was so painfully enticing, and more often than not, you found yourself wondering what it would feel like against your lips while kissing the life out of him. And God bless the person that gets you started on how much you loved those black rimmed glasses that adorned his eyes almost 24/7, giving him a geeky look that would never fail to make you weak in the knees. But all of those features, as well as the lewd scenarios conquering your mind minutes before going to sleep, had made it difficult for you to stay in your lane all this time. Tonight, however, might be your one and only chance to turn your dirty dreams into reality, only and only if Jungkook agreed to your idea.

“I don’t want this to ruin our friendship.” He murmured, looking down at the floor and avoiding your hopeful eyes glaring at him. You reached out for him, your soft hands coming in contact with his covered thighs while you kneeled in front of him. “Y/n… don’t do this to me.” His whole body stiffened, fighting the urge to jump your bones and turn you into a crying mess just like he always imagined.

“You don’t want me like that, Kookie?” You so innocently asked, lashes fluttering against your cheekbones. “Is that the real problem, hm?” Your hands were sliding up and down his thighs, teasing him.

“God, no.” He answered breathlessly, “You have no fucking idea how bad I want you…”

“Then why don’t you show me? What’s stopping you, hm?” Your cheek resting on his jean-covered thigh elicited a soft gasp from your roommate. “It's just a small favor.”

“I… fuck, you’re driving me crazy right now.” He ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends while letting out a frustrated groan. Jungkook took off his glasses while rubbing his eyes before looking at you again. “You have to promise… you really have to promise that it will be a one-time thing. No more favors after this, at least not of this caliber.”

You nodded eagerly, looking at him with a spark in your eyes. “I promise, just this time.”

“Okay,” Jungkook nodded, “I’ll help you with anything you need.” One of his hands, albeit shakily, reached out to push away a strand of hair falling into your face.

With a wide grin you pull his hand to get him closer to you. It was a bit hard to get his face and the majority of his body out of frame, but both of you managed. Jungkook sat behind you, with his built back leaning on the soft pillows while yours was resting on his firm chest. Both of his strong arms wrapped around your body while his hesitant hands touched your skin lightly.

In all honesty he didn’t know what to do, it felt unreal to be this close to you, especially under those conditions. Jeon was trying so hard to figure out what to do next that the tension conquering his body was noticed by you.

“Relax, Kook, do what you would do with any other girl.” You tried to reassure him while softly stroking his forearm, but the silence in between you two was making you feel uneasy. “You’ve done this before, right?”

Should he answer honestly? The short answer would be yes, he’s done it before; the long one though, would be that he only did it once when he lost his virginity at a random party his friends at the time invited him to. Jungkook couldn’t even remember the name of the girl or how she looked, all he could recall from that time was the awkwardness and how short it lasted. Jeon wasn’t sure that he could live up to your expectations, and while he was not clueless to how it worked, he doubted his performance would be as amazing as that of all your previous sexual partners, which caused part of his nervousness.

He was reading too much into it whereas you were starting to feel desperate and needy. You had the boy of your dreams right behind you with his hands very close to the place that was basically begging to be touched, but not much has happened. It was a bit disappointing how long it was taking him to act, but you also understood that it might not be an easy task to do, especially if it was your roommate doing it.

“Let’s go with an easy start, okay? I’ll lead.” Your hands reached out for his, guiding his right hand towards one of your tits. “You can explore my body as much as you want, don’t be afraid to touch.” And just as if you were reading his mind, you added, “Don’t think too much about it, I won’t be mad if this doesn’t go as planned.”

“Okay.” With a deep sigh he let his fingers feel your skin up, touching, caressing, pinching even.

His slender fingers wrapped around one of your already hardened nipples, toying with it, which elicited a soft gasp from you. His other hand slowly reached for your other tit, trying to stimulate both at the same time.

“Yes… like that, Kook.” Your praising words were helping him to build up his confidence. The more you praised him, the more adventurous he got, letting his hands explore the entirety of your body.

After a few more minutes of playing with your boobs, his hands finally started to drift south, with feather-like touches here and there before reaching your tender thighs. His big hands looked very attractive against your flesh, like the prettiest accessory. The one that was cladded with a bunch of tattoos started to descend more and more, landing small smacks on your inner thigh.

“Oh…” you breathed out, a bit surprised by the sudden move.

“Sorry, should I not have done that?” Jungkook asked, retrieving both of his hands.

“No, no, no!” You pulled them right back where they were placed before. “Please continue… I really liked what you were doing.”

“Okay.”

With a more confident attitude, Jungkook started to touch your thighs, kneading your skin while his hot breath was hitting the back of your neck. In all honesty, it all felt surreal, you never thought that a moment like this would ever happen, that you would have the same boy that you had fantasized about many times before touching you and willing to please you.

“You can use more than your hands, you know?” You whispered softly, closing your eyes due to how good everything was feeling.

“Are you sure?” He murmured really close to your ear, sending shivers through your body. You hummed in response, leaning more and more into his touch. “So, it would be okay if I do this.” His lips graced your neck with a faint kiss, eliciting a small gasp from you. “Or this,” a firmer kiss was placed right under your ear, Jungkook’s lips moving skillfully. “And since I’m at it, you surely wouldn’t mind me doing this,” His teeth sank into your skin suddenly. “Right?”

“Shit…” You moaned out loud, “N-No, I… I don’t mind, at all.”

A husky chuckle erupted from his throat, “Good.” His hands kept moving in between your legs, now finally reaching your needy cunt. “Are you sure you want me to do anything I want to you, Y/n?” You once again hummed, unable to properly answer due to his touches. “I think I might need to hear you say it, before I go any further.”

If he was trying to get your consent or just teasing you, you didn’t know, but you were sure of one thing, you needed to feel any part of him inside of you. Now.

“Fuck, yes, I’m completely sure, don’t make me wait anymore, please.”

It was the please added at the end that really did it for him, the way your needy and desperate voice echoed through the room was enough for Jungkook to give you what you wanted.

He finally pushed one of his fingers inside your velvety walls, slowly sliding in and out with enough easiness that got you wondering just then how wet you were before he started touching you. Your whole body squirmed, reacting at how great it felt to be touched like that. Curses, moans and gasps were falling from your lips, creating the most sensual cacophony.

“You like that?” His husky voice rang through your ears, earning an effusive nod from you, “You like that I’m touching you like this, hm?” You could feel the smug smile against your skin, right under your earlobe, “Maybe I should try harder, since you’re not answering to me.” With no further warning, Jungkook added a second finger, stretching you out deliciously. He picked up his pace as well, pushing in and out with such vigor that got you sinking your nails into your palms.

“Oh my god!” You breathed out.

Where was this sudden change in attitude coming from? Not a minute ago he was acting shy and reserved, as if he had never touched a woman before, as if he didn’t have it in him to wreck you in the way you wanted. But now, that whole act was left behind and there seemed to be no trace of the innocent and nerdy Jungkook you thought you knew, only this suddenly confident and teasing boy, ready to make you fall apart on his fingers.

“That’s not quite the answer I’m looking for.” Jeon goaded you on to the response he wanted from you. “Come on, pretty, tell me how much you like it.”

“Fuck…” You cursed out loud, “I-I can’t.”

It was difficult for you to concentrate on gathering the words that your roommate wished to hear due to his fingers moving deliciously inside of you. He was hitting the right spots with his long and slender digits, over and over again to the point that tears were pooling in the corner of your eyes.

“Hm, and why is that?” Jungkook questioned with feigned innocence in his voice. “Is it really that difficult for you to speak?”

You nodded desperately, looking into his eyes right through those slutty glasses you adored so much. “I can’t… I-I can’t con… centrate.” You finally admitted.

A mocking chuckle flew out of his mouth, his fingers never relenting, “Poor little you.”

“Ah, fuck, Kook.” Your sounds were becoming dirtier, needier, more naughty and desperate as the familiar hot sensation started to invade your body. You knew your release was coming with such rapidness and ease.

It was astonishing how Jungkook could so effortlessly get you to your breaking point, when it took you several minutes to even get aroused. You wanted to believe that it was all due to your previous touching, but deep down you knew that doing it on your own would never get you the pleasure you were experimenting in that moment.

“Shit, you’re squeezing my fingers so much.” He pointed out, struggling to move thanks to the firm grip your walls had on his digits. “So tight and warm.”

If only he knew that his way of talking was only contributing to your forthcoming release. Your eyes could not look away from his face. His hard features and the way his lustful orbs were looking right down at you got you in a trance, one that you didn’t want to get out. The faint smirk on the corner of his lips, along with the lip ring were once again taunting you, tempting you; threatening you with a good time, and just as you were about to reach and find out if your assumptions were correct, Jungkook leaned down and captured your lips in a harsh kiss.

Kissing you for the first time was life-changing, or so he would say, because despite all the girls –only a few actually– he has ever kissed or been intimate with, Jungkook has never felt like this with any of them, so addicted, so eager to taste more of you; craving you in ways that he probably shouldn’t.Your lips were so soft and sweet, and it was right in that moment that he realized that it would be a living hell to go back to normal after getting a taste of you. The way your mouth was chasing after him when he pulled away briefly due to running out of air, it drove him crazy, making him feel light in the head. Being able to see that look in your face as your orgasm was approaching, while your puffy, red lips were begging him to kiss you more was, in fact, something that Jungkook would never forget.

Kissing Jungkook for the first time felt exactly like you imagined, dangerous and messy. It was dangerous because it was right in that moment that you realized that there was no way to go back to your normal routine after this; it wasn’t only because of the intimate act that you both decided to engage in, but because there was no way in hell that you would let him go on with his life without having him like that again. Your previous words became an empty promise the more his lips devoured yours, kissing and biting as if his life depended on it. The coldness of his lip ring was making you shudder and chase for more; you finally got an answer to your question: it felt amazing while kissing. On the other hand, it was messy due to the both of you being so eager to feel more of one another; saliva coating your lips while his tongue finally made an appearance inside your mouth, making you squirm and fight the urge to burst right in that moment.

“I’m so close.” You announced against his lips, panting ridiculously loud.

“You’re gonna come for me, baby?” It was so strange to hear him talk to you like that, using pet names and saying things that Jungkook would never even think of saying in any other situation. “Wanna come on my fingers, hm?”

“Yes, yes, please.” The begging and whiny voice almost made him come in his pants, but Jeon managed to maintain his composure.

“Go on, let go, baby, but keep those pretty eyes on me.” Jungkook’s free hand came up to lay right under your jaw, squeezing lightly but firmly enough to keep you in place. You didn’t have to be told twice, the moment his hand came in contact with your hot skin you felt the waves of your orgasm crash over you. “That’s it… you’re doing so good.”

Fuck, if only he could talk to you like that all the time.

“Oh my god, Jungkook!” You moaned, closing your thighs tightly, capturing his hand in between your legs. “Shit, it feels… so good.”

“I know, doll, I know.”

Not once did your eyes look away from him, not even when the tears started to spill down your face like the most beautiful raindrops, all due to the overwhelming feeling or your orgasm. You couldn’t even grasp the fact that you just came on Jungkook’s fingers, or that your body was shaking uncontrollably while his hand kept moving rather slowly, going from sliding up and down your soaked folds to rubbing your swollen clit. Even in your post-orgasmic state you recognized that one was not enough; as good as his fingers were, you needed more of him. It was more a want than a need, but you couldn’t finish the day without knowing what his cock felt like inside of you.

Craving.

That’s the best way you could describe this feeling; you were craving his body on top of yours, even under, sideways, it didn’t matter, but you had to have more, even if it was just for the night. Even if it would leave a burning memory in your brain to fantasize about in the solitude of your room, when your hands were the only solace for your lewd desires and obscene scenarios playing in your head.

And so, letting the wild side of you speak, you uttered a sentence that was bound to change the whole course of your friendship.

“Jungkook…” You called for him, getting his attention right back on your face rather than in the space in between your legs. After listening to his humming you added “I want you to fuck me.”

His hand came to a halt, fingers not moving an inch, completely frozen in place. His brown eyes were now coated with a glint of fear and uneasiness. Jungkook had been taken by surprise a lot during the day, but right there in that moment, with you eagerly waiting for his response while looking at him with perfect innocent eyes, it had to be the most unexpected thing that could have happened to him.

A deep silence fell in the room once again, with Jungkook quickly retrieving his hands from your body. It took him several minutes to come up with something to say, something that wasn’t pure stuttering and nonsense coming out of his mouth.

“I-I beg your pardon?” His feeble voice rang through your ears due to the proximity, otherwise you wouldn’t have heard him. “I don’t think you understand what you’re asking me.”

You sat up straight, turning in your place to be face to face with Jungkook. “I’m fully aware that what I’m asking of you might be too much, but I honestly can’t ignore how much I want you, Kook.” You leaned forward, straddling his hips and resting both of your hands on his shoulders. “I thought you liked this too.”

It was funny how minutes ago he was completely into you, adamant on making you come and talking with his sultry voice until you fell apart on his fingers and now he was back to his shy and reserved persona; stuttering while trying to gather his thoughts. There were two sides of Jungkook as it seems. One was simply Jungkook, the co-founder of a comic club at your local library; the boy that spent a whole night trying to recover a document you foolishly deleted the night before you had to submit it. Jungkook who always pulled you close whenever you walked near a group of guys whose eyes were glued to your legs, and the one that didn’t hesitate to go and buy you a bunch of snacks as a way of comfort when a date you were so excited to go on went terribly wrong. That was the Jungkook you knew and adored, the one that was ready to do anything for you, being at your beck and call, but that also would get upset if you interrupted him while watching his favorite show.

And then, there was Jeon Jungkook, the boy that rocked your entire world with a few touches. The boy that spoke to you in such a sensual voice with the craziest sentences that you would never imagine him uttering. The Jungkook that called you baby, doll, pretty and kissed you so passionately that you almost forgot your name. The same man that unexpectedly acted with confidence, sure of himself and what he was doing, moving his skillful fingers in and out of your cunt with an ease that left you beyond surprised. There was the side of Jungkook that you didn’t know, and that was exactly why you needed to have more of him.

“It’ll be just this time, remember? Why not go all the way out and have a little fun yourself?” You reiterated your previous promise, even though you knew it was far from being the last time having each other like this. Without thinking too much about it, you started to grind your soaked cunt on top of his crotch; hips moving slowly to rub deliciously on top of him. “So what do you say, hm?”

You could see his self-control starting to crumble the more you rubbed yourself on him. His hardening cock felt wonderful under your hot pussy, along with the rough material of his jeans, because yes, he’s the type of guy to wear jeans while being home, even if he wasn’t expecting anyone to visit him.

You were getting too lost in the sensation, in the way Jungkook was fighting against his own moans escaping his lips or his hips thrusting up into you that you were startled by the weight of his hands on your hips, stilling you in place and preventing you from moving any further.

“I say,” He began with a husky tone, “that you’re making it really difficult to be nice to you.”

Those words caused a shit-eating grin to appear on your face, and with the most seductive voice you could muster you said “I didn’t ask you to be nice to me.” Leaning in closer to his ear you added “I asked you to fuck me… as hard as you possibly can.”

A hiss abandoned his lips while Jungkook’s hands squeezed your hips deliciously tight.

“Is that what you really want, hm? For me to fuck you senseless.” One of his hands weaved through your hair, pulling you away with enough strength to get you to look right into his eyes. “Didn’t think you would be that desperate.” A mocking chuckle echoed through your four walls, bouncing on every corner and back to your warm ears.

“You clearly don’t know everything about me.” You said through gritted teeth, the harsh grip he had on your hair was hurting you in the right way, making you wetter by the second. “Please say yes… I need you so bad, baby.”

It was the first time you called him that, and Jungkook would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy listening to your sweet voice saying it. He retrieved his hand from your hair, changing his direction to rest his thumb right onto your bottom lip.

“I did promise I would help you with anything you needed, didn’t I?” A playful smirk adorned the corner of his mouth.

“That you did,” You pointed out. “And now you have to keep your promise.”

“Alright, alright. I wouldn’t want you thinking I’m not a man of my word.” Jungkook sighed. “But you have to be good, okay? You gotta be good for me.” His thumb brushed against your bottom lip, ever so slightly, making it bounce right into place after playing with it.

An electrifying rush went down your spine by the way his voice tone changed so quickly. Once again, there was no trace of his shy demeanor as it seemed to blend into this smug attitude growing slowly inside of him. A lazy smile took place on his face while his hand continued to caress your tender skin.

“You’re gonna be my good girl, hm? Do exactly as I say?”

A moan flew out of your mouth, not expecting him to say it so confidently. You nodded effusively, though, wanting nothing more than to follow whatever order he had for you.

Hot cute, he thought, admiring the way you were so eager to agree to anything he said.

“I need you to say it, Y/n. Use your words, sweetheart.”

“I’ll be good, I’ll do anything you ask me to.”

“Alright then, let’s see how much you can handle.”

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